When the chief of the Secret Police departed, Baklanov drew closer to Fedorcenko in a fashion that Viktor took for conciliatory.
“These are dreadful times, Viktor,” Baklanov said.
Viktor nodded his concurrence.
“I frequently ask myself where it will lead,” Baklanov went on. “But no matter what the end results, the only way left open to men like us is for Russia’s noble classes to bind together. We are doomed otherwise.”
“Alex,” replied Viktor, “you and I both once believed that the only way Russia could survive was for the government to initiate drastic reform.”
“You said it yourself,” his friend replied. “These militants will settle for nothing short of a constitution. I believe it goes further than that. They want our destruction—a Russian Reign of Terror with a guillotine in every noble’s future!”
“So then, our counter policy must be to ‘get them before they get us’?”
“They have forced such a course upon us.”
“I know how you have suffered because of Ivan’s death, Alex. He was a good, fair-minded man. What happened to him was so senseless, so wanton. But do you think he would support this reaction that has set in?”
“My brother was a fighter,” rejoined Baklanov. “We spoke of these violent attacks before he himself was struck down. He was adamantly opposed to any kind of appeasement for terrorists. This is a war, Viktor, nothing less. The insurgents must be treated not only as traitors to our country, but also as the enemy.”
“That is a strong position.”
“But the only realistic one. Besides, there is no reason for us to back down. They are relatively few in numbers.”
“It is rather ironic when you think about it,” said Viktor. “The Russian aristocracy is numerically small also. What would you say? A few thousand in each camp in this battle?”
“I still call it a war.”
“I won’t argue the point. The numbers are small, but we contend for the destiny of millions—millions who would probably be content and little affected, no matter what the outcome. Yet both the government and the malcontents believe that their way is best for the peasants.”
“It sounds almost as if you are proposing the idea of a democracy for Russia.”
Viktor chuckled lightly. “I have not gone that liberal, Alex. On the contrary, I think it would take decades, perhaps even centuries of intensive grooming before the Russian peasantry would be even close to ready for any form of self-government. In 1613, Russia stood at a historical crossroads. We were leaderless. At that point the option of self-government clearly rose before our predecessors.”
“You do not think it was a practical option, even at that point?”
“It might have been. Democracy, from the little I know of it, always seems to emerge out of something else.”
“Hmm,” mused Baklanov. “Democracy in Russia in 1613—an interesting twist of historical interpretation.”
“But the boyars and gentry chose Michael Romanov and an autocratic monarch instead. I believe they perceived something that these anarchists are quite blind about—the Russian character is far different than that which makes up the people of Western democracies. The Slavic temperament is as different from the Anglo-Saxon as the African is from us both. Self-rule is a very long way off in the future for us in Russia, if it ever comes at all.”
“Then why are you so bent on conciliation to the radicals?”
“What I just said does not preclude the necessity for change, for reform, even within the governmental apparatus. I do not believe the Ivans and Peter can any longer be our models for leadership.”
Baklanov said nothing.
“I believe the same principle applies today that the tsar used when he proposed emancipation of the serfs twenty-three years ago—that it is better for revolution to come from above than for the people to begin attempting to liberate themselves from below.”
“Well spoken, Viktor. Though I do not know if the tsar would approve of the fine variation you have given his words.”
Viktor tensed slightly. A man had to be careful what he said, especially when he was no longer sure of his friends. He answered defensively, “I believe I have kept to the spirit of his words, Alex.”
Count Baklanov’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “We have been friends a long time, Viktor,” he said. “And though we have lately departed from one another politically, I hope a friendship I value greatly will not be sacrificed.”
Viktor Fedorcenko was not a man given to shows of emotion. He did not embrace his friend at the kind words, though he felt like doing so. A relaxed grin melted his controlled features.
“Your words mean a great deal, Alex. Thank you for having the courage to speak them to me.”
“It hardly takes courage to speak openly to a friend.”
They shook hands, and Viktor, feeling more in the mood, suggested they sample the drinks and pastries that had been set out. But before they turned to join the rest of the contingent, Baklanov laid his hand on Viktor’s arm to hold him back.
“Viktor, in the spirit of our friendship, I feel constrained to speak to you on a serious matter,” he said, and his voice was grave.
Viktor stopped and turned toward him.
“I don’t want you to take offense, but I hope our long years of association perhaps give me some right to candor.”
“Go on, Alex,” Viktor said apprehensively. What new calamity was about to befall him?
“I tell you this because the last thing I think you need or want right now is for your integrity at court to be compromised. You are a respected man in all the highest circles in St. Petersburg, and the tsar himself thinks highly of your counsel. Thus you must not have even one black mark that could be used against you. Especially in times like these, such a . . . such a mark, shall we say, could undermine your career.”
“I am at a complete loss, Alex. A black mark . . . what are you trying to tell me?”
“I am referring to your daughter’s recent association with Dr. Anickin’s son.”
“I still do not understand,” faltered Viktor. Even if he did understand what his friend was driving at, he felt the need to refrain from drawing premature conclusions.
“Come now, Viktor, you cannot be unaware of young Anickin’s associations. His trouble in Moscow is general knowledge.”
“I know he holds some rather liberal viewpoints. I know he had some problem with deportment during a trial, and that he has from time to time taken it upon himself to defend radicals.”
“And that does not disturb you?”
“In all honesty I suppose I would rather my daughter was seeing a man of better character. But he is the son of an old family friend, and thus I feel obliged to give him a certain courtesy,” replied Viktor, hedging. He actually did not know what to make of Basil Anickin, nor of his daughter’s recent infatuation with him. He had hoped, however, that by ignoring the situation it would dissolve itself. He simply could not believe that his daughter could ever be serious about a man like young Anickin. He also knew Katrina well enough to fear that undue attention might only force her deeper into the relationship. He said none of this, however, to his friend.
“I hope you have enough insight to realize that Anickin is more than a mere social curiosity,” Baklanov went on. “There are many who invite him to social gatherings simply for the amusement he provides with his radical rhetoric. No one takes him seriously, choosing to think he is but a bag of jovial wind like his father. But he is more than that, mark my words.”
“Honestly, Alex, I have not given it much thought. I wouldn’t want my daughter to marry the man. But thus far I think she is just being hospitable to a young man who is rather new in town and needs a companion.”
“I suggest that the next time he comes to your house, take a good look at him. He is a dangerous man.”
“I can hardly believe that.”
“You must draw your own conclusions, Viktor. Some consider him a buffoon, but there are others whose suspicions he has aroused. I have it on the best authority that the Third Section has had him under surveillance since his arrival in St. Petersburg. Out of respect for Dr. Anickin, that incident in Moscow has been played down, but the truth of the matter is that his son physically attacked the prosecuting counsel in the courtroom.”
“That is serious.”
“Young Anickin was arrested, then he was sent to a mental hospital where he received a series of shock treatments before the police would agree to release him.”
“Shock treatments! That is rather drastic, is it not?”
“Perhaps indicative of the extent of his derangement.”
“Or of the overzealousness of the police.”
“Do you then choose to defend Basil Anickin?”
“Out of deference for his father—”
“Unfortunately, Basil Anickin has been given too much latitude for that very reason already. I believe it is a mistake to underestimate him. And, Viktor, it is especially a mistake for you to do so.”
“Do not misunderstand me, Alex. No one could possibly think that I am sympathetic in the least to his politics simply because I show him hospitality.”
“Viktor, don’t make the added mistake of underestimating court rivalries.” Baklanov paused to give his words dramatic emphasis. “You are one of the moderates the tsar still listens to. And there are many, especially now, who think that is one voice too many. There are those who would silence you, Viktor.”
“That is ridiculous!” They had been speaking quietly, but now Viktor’s voice rose noticeably, drawing the attention of several at the other end of the room. He glanced around at the faces that had turned toward him and felt a chill. In that instant, every one suddenly seemed like a stranger.
After the conversation in the room gradually resumed to its previous level, Alex spoke again. “I only tell you this out of friendship, Viktor. Even the implied association with militants could ruin you, my friend. If you value your position at court and in the government, it would behoove you to cut any ties either you or your daughter has to Dr. Anickin’s son. The doctor is greatly respected in this city, but believe me, it will not be long before even that will not save his son—or anyone who supports him.”
By the end of the day Viktor’s headache had not subsided. He went home, spoke to no one, and immediately closeted himself in his study.
What irked him most about his conversation with Baklanov was that, though he tried, he could not deny the validity of his friend’s words. Even if Basil was nothing more than a harmless eccentric, it could still be damaging to Viktor if key officials deemed the young man dangerous. Men had been arrested and exiled on less evidence than that stacked against Dr. Anickin’s son. Should such a thing occur, it would prove embarrassing, at best, to Viktor.
He did not like to capitulate to this wild reactionism that dominated the court lately. But he realized also that now, more than ever, his voice of reason was desperately needed in the Winter Palace. There must be a way to subtly distance himself from the Anickins for a time without insulting the good doctor.
Viktor usually traveled with his family to their estate on the Crimean Sea during the oppressive St. Petersburg summer. But he had already decided not to leave the city himself.
There was nothing to prevent him from sending Natalia and Katrina away. Natalia had become irritable when he told her they would not be going; she would readily leave, even without him. And Katrina’s absence for a few months should take care of the Anickin problem—at least for the time being.