A Day at the Museum
Another sleepless night awaited Nasrosoltan. The more he tried not to think of Irina, the more he did. He was walking on the razor’s edge between the fear of jeopardizing his tutoring position and an unnerving infatuation for Irina. He had experienced this feeling before, back in Shiraz, and that memory still felt like a wound that had not healed. Nasrosoltan desperately wanted to avoid the same emotions from resurfacing to betray him once more.
His life had suddenly become too complicated, and he realized he needed to seek guidance for soothing the unrelenting turmoil within him. He knew he should stay away from Princess Irina, yet with each lesson, this had become more difficult for him to do.
In his quest for calm, Nasrosoltan decided to consult his old friend Rustam to discuss his predicament. He sent word to Rustam at the Astoria to see if he was available to meet the next day, noting that he needed to discuss something with him urgently. Rustam replied via return note that he could not meet the next day since he had a prior appointment with the minister of commerce, adding:
I also have some good news to share. My family is finally moving to St. Petersburg from Tbilisi in the coming weeks. I am overjoyed, and I look forward to them finally meeting you.
Rustam ended by suggesting they have lunch the day after next, at the Astoria. Reading his friend’s note made Nasrosoltan think about how much he missed his own family, and suddenly a feeling of loneliness engulfed him. In St. Petersburg, he had no friends other than Rustam. He did have acquaintances from the conservatory with whom he socialized. But with none of them did he feel close enough to discuss matters of a personal nature or to ask for their advice.
Nasrosoltan was eager to meet with Rustam to see what words of wisdom he may offer. Obviously, his friend was more experienced—not because of his years and graying hair, but because he had a unique way of recognizing solutions to problems through his keen perception of situations. This ability may have been the reason for Rustam’s success as a businessman, always seeking what others may have missed. More than anything, Nasrosoltan just needed someone trustworthy with whom to share these feelings he had bottled up within himself.
The next day, to ease his cluttered mind, he planned to visit the State Hermitage Museum. Nasrosoltan hoped that art could clear his vision to find a path out of his confusion. On his way there, he noticed a crowd of people going in the same direction toward one of the government buildings, where hundreds of striking workers had already gathered and were demonstrating.
Even though the Russian economy was growing at a pace that was the envy of other European nations, there still was much discontent with the tsarist regime. There had been a massacre of striking Siberian gold miners a year earlier that had led to an eruption of protests and industrial unrest throughout the country. This mayhem had now spread to the capital city with a series of strikes and demonstrations.
Rustam had become an investor and partner in the Putilov Company, which produced railway products and supplied artillery to the Imperial Russian Army. He had mentioned to Nasrosoltan how anxious he was that his workers would follow suit and strike. He even confided to Nasrosoltan that some nights he could not sleep, consumed with such worries. Nasrosoltan understood Rustam’s concerns, but he also felt sympathy with these workers. It did not seem fair to Nasrosoltan that while the owners of capital, like his own friend, were increasing their wealth several-fold a year, these workers had to fight for safe working conditions and fair compensation.
Considering how money seemed to have provided a poor pillow for Rustam, Nasrosoltan was at least grateful that his insomnia had to do with his feelings for Irina rather than for money.
When Nasrosoltan approached the gathering, the crowd was peaceful, with the strikers protesting loudly. As he strained his neck to look over the mass of people, he sensed a tension in the air. A feeling of foreboding overtook him as he witnessed government troops on guard at the building entrance, with their rifles and bayonets primed.
Suddenly without warning, a few shots rang out. Nasrosoltan initially thought the troops were firing in the air to disperse the crowd. But the gunshots seemed to come from a direction other than where the guards were standing. He had heard that agent provocateurs sometimes mixed with the demonstrators to create havoc, to entice the soldiers to respond with force. No matter who had fired the shots, it resulted in the now terrified crowd scrambling for cover.
Nasrosoltan was far away in the back of all that was happening but was immediately overwhelmed by the crowd barreling toward him. He attempted to get out of the way of the stampede when someone pushed him, knocking him down to the ground forcefully. The sound of the roaring crowd frightened him. Nasrosoltan struggled to get up off the ground, but he lost his balance and was knocked down again. He could not breathe, panicked that he would suffocate, while all around him, people were running and screaming in fear. His heart raced, and his limbs felt numb, and he thought he was going to pass out when out of nowhere, a stranger’s hand reached out to grab his. If not for this helping hand, which allowed Nasrosoltan to get back to his feet, he would have certainly been trampled. He finally righted himself and was able to mix in with the crowd and run to safety.
He escaped the commotion and collapsed on a nearby street bench, still breathing heavily. While Nasrosoltan sat there catching his breath and dusting himself off, he remembered the tragic and bloody Sunday afternoon in January 1905, when thousands were killed by the tsar’s Imperial Guard. It made him wonder if history may be repeating itself, a thought which greatly disturbed him.
His plan to visit the museum now seemed frivolous in light of what he had gone through, so an unsettled Nasrosoltan abandoned the idea of going altogether. Since he had lost his bearings, Nasrosoltan tried to reorient himself to find his way home and soon realized that he was actually very close to the Hermitage. Now out of danger’s way and feeling much calmer, Nasrosoltan spent a few moments wondering what to do. Even though he was still unnerved, he changed his mind and decided to go to the museum after all. Nasrosoltan hoped that viewing the rare artwork on display would help settle his nerves and afford him a feeling of serenity amid the morning’s chaos.
Once at the Hermitage, the first exhibit Nasrosoltan encountered included Napoleonic war era paintings, many containing scenes of gruesome death and destruction, rattling him even further. He had decided to come to the Hermitage to gain peacefulness; instead, he was confronted with blood and guts, something he was in no mood for, not even in a masterpiece. Nasrosoltan immediately recognized he had made a mistake in coming to the museum after such a harrowing morning, and he decided to leave.
On his way out, as he passed one of the cavernous rooms dedicated to French painters, Nasrosoltan found himself fixated by a Henri Matisse painting, Harmony in Red.
The painting had a magnetic pull, drawing him in closer. He sat down in front of this sizable oil-on-canvas masterpiece and carefully spent time studying the bright red colors and the rhythms of the foliage patterns. For some reason, this particular painting had a powerful effect on his sensibilities, distracting him from his recent troublesome thoughts.
As he studied the intricate details of this work, it was as if he could almost hear the painting. This surprised Nasrosoltan as he began to recognize similarities between music and painting. He noticed how both shared principles of rhythm, harmony, and balance. The same rhythm he used in his compositions, inviting listeners to sway to the music, was used here by Matisse, inducing Nasrosoltan’s eyes to dance from one point of this painting to another. And just as Nasrosoltan used musical motifs to give his melodies their overall balance, the artist had used this same balance to add structure to Harmony in Red. A harmony and balance that, as of late, was missing in Nasrosoltan’s life and that he was desperate to restore.
This visit to the Hermitage actually turned out to have a calming, therapeutic effect on Nasrosoltan, silencing the chatter in his mind and washing away the dust of confusion from his soul. A much-needed interruption of what had been, until today, a hectic schedule of study and tutoring, culminating in the calamitous events of the morning.
Nasrosoltan left to go back to his apartment and realized he had lost track of time, as the sun had set long ago, and it was totally dark outside. The trip to the museum had cleared his mind enough that upon returning home in the fresh evening air, he was finally able to have a good night’s rest.