Russia’s Dissolution

“I DO NOT LIKE the direction this country is taking,” confided Alexander to Holger, as they were having a drink in Alexander’s study at Katharina’s Thor. The year was 1911. Outside the snow glittered and sparkled under a bright March sun, but the cheerful brightness outside was still the deceitful brightness of ice, frost and cold, enhanced by a steady freezing wind.

A Kachelofen warmed Alexander’s study, a freestanding stove encased in brick and Delft tile that absorbed the heat created in the firebox, releasing it over long periods.

At seventy-one, Alexander had become a smaller, more slender version of his former self. His hair, like old thatch on a roof, had a gray-brown hue; his face had become ethereal. Only his eyes were looking as lively and intelligent as ever.

“The problem, Holger, dear boy, is the resurrection of the old Pan-Slavistic scheme to rouse the country to new nationalistic fervor, thereby obscuring the real problems, which we all know only too well. I once again have a very strong wish to leave Russia. It’s the rats leaving the sinking ship syndrome. If not for your family, we’d be long gone.”

“I know, Alexander! You remember how strongly I advocated staying here, this being home and all; well, I don’t mind telling you, I am weakening in my resolve. I have been trying to talk some sense into Vicky, telling her that we, too, should leave. So many of the people we know are already gone – but she will not hear of it.” Holger shook his head in frustration. “I understand she does not see the anti-German sentiment that I am often exposed to. Sometimes, when my buyers in Nizhniy Novgorod, Kazan or Vladivostok talk about the sarpinka weavers, thinking that I am Russian, I hear the vilest, most vicious sentiments.” His face creased with the distaste he felt, recounting these things.

“Did you know that they have been told by the rabble rousers that the Germans stole the art of making sarpinka from the Russians? Every child knows that German Mennonites constructed the looms fine enough to weave cotton into chintz, and that they furthermore developed dyes and the art of mercerizing the yarn for the best products!”

“I know. There are those who would prefer the country’s instability, enriching themselves by ruining the German colonists,” said Alexander tiredly.

“And what about the Tsar? I have heard it said that he can change his mind three times in an hour, depending on whom he consults. Then there is the matter of the Tsarevich. People speculate about his health. Some whisper that he is a bleeder, a hemophiliac.”

“I have heard such rumors, too. If the Tsar would just tell the Russian people the truth – all would be well. He does not know the Russian heart, the capacity for empathy and commiseration of his people. Too isolated from his subjects, he has forgotten the lessons taught by Peter the Great, Elizabeth and Catherine: the Tsar or Tsarina is Father or Mother of the country and as such must be able to reach out to touch them and be heard.”

“There is another thing on my mind, Alexander.” Holger’s face had grown even more serious than before, sharp even. “I am worried about Albina. Nothing could be more awkward and worrisome than the girl’s falling in love with a Russian. What do we know about this Grushov?”

“My mother had a saying – ‘nothing is consumed as hot as it is cooked’ – meaning that perhaps this long distance adoration will cool over time. Young people get over such things quickly if exposed to other suitors.”

Alexander thoughtfully pulled on his cigar, contentedly expelling a blue cloud of smoke before adding, “However, just in case they do not cool off quickly enough, I had Grushov checked out by a police captain who owes me money. As much as I wanted to find a flaw with the fellow, he looks very good, very clean in the report.”

Alexander went to his orderly, carved oak desk and pulled from a drawer a sheet of paper. He searched for his looking glass and, finding it, he began to read.

“The subject, Alexander Petrovich Grushov, was born into a noble family of middle rank. Most of his family died in a terrible conflagration of their home while Grushov was away at military camp. Besides Alexander, only another brother, Ivan Petrovich, survived; his last address – 16735 Ulitza Academia, Moscow 148.

As the family was already impoverished, Grushov could barely buy his commission in the Preobrzhensky Regiment. Subject is highly esteemed among fellow officers, has good reputation in the regiment and with his superiors.”

“So we know that much about him. But what kind of fellow is he really? Are there entanglements with women, loose and otherwise? Is he a betting man, gambling his allowances away? Does he carry debt?”

“No,” said Alexander, “I have not heard any more than what I told you. He lives in officers’ quarters; sometimes he goes drinking with the others. Fellow officers think he is melancholy at times because of the deaths in his family.”

“Although he looks squeaky clean, I must admit I wish he’d go away. I had a different man in mind for my daughters. A Russian in the family during times like these is like having an enemy in the camp. With a Russian husband she will never leave.”

“Holger, Holger, I hardly know you anymore, saying such things. He could be the best man for Albina, and what do we know, he might want to leave Russia, too.”

Holger had risen from his chair; promenading up and down in front of Alexander, he stretched his considerable frame as if for a fight. Alexander rose, patting his son-in-law soothingly on the arm as they returned to the women in the drawing room.

When Holger had a chance to broach the subject to Albina a few days later, he lacked the fortitude to confront her with his misgivings about Grushov.

What was it about his daughter that made him so pliable, almost weak? Must be her extreme sweetness and kindness that totally disarmed everyone in her orbit.

To Holger’s chagrin, more letters arrived for Albina from St. Petersburg. Grushov’s letters became more urgent as the country’s political situation became critical. In an effort to show Grushov’s honest intentions and the difficulties under which he labored, Albina often read excerpts from his letters to her family.

“Rumors of a coming war abound in St. Petersburg. Unwarranted alliances are pulling Russia into conflict. I am counting the days until my commission ends – until I am free. Should war break out before I am discharged and gone, I can be held over indefinitely. Pray that I might be able to leave here soon,” he wrote in one letter.

“There are German haters among the officers of my regiment. Few of the fellows know that I am engaged to a German girl. My close friends think I am making a mistake, marrying into a German family. I do not care one whit what they think – I know that I am bound to you – bound by more than culture, class and country. I know we belong to each other.”

Not long thereafter, Holger received a visit from Count Kurakin at his Kontor. The count seemed to be very formal that day, as Holger ushered him into his office. Holger had a samovar with freshly brewed Grusinian tea brought in, together with fresh sugar lumps, savory and sweet zakusky, and a flask of vodka. Now they were ready to settle down in comfortable leather chairs and talk. While a servant filled their cups with the hot fragrant tea and piled tidbits on plates, the two friends exchanged news about their families, talked about business and the sinister political climate.

Kurakin, a progressive, was in the minority among a nobility that alternately admired, needed, hated, and despised Germans.

“Life for thinking people with discernment will become very difficult in times to come,” said Kurakin, referring to the anti-German sentiment pervading the country.

“I can see the day where I might have to disavow you, my friend. I know my countrymen. We all can be zealots in the right cause.” He laughed deprecatingly.

“If it comes to that, I will make sure that I don’t jeopardize your family, my friend, and I promise I won’t hold it against you if you don’t know me on the street.”

“This is the reason that brings me here today. I am concerned for you and your family, and I also am here representing Alexander Grushov who is asking for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

For a moment it seemed to Holger as if the ground below his seat should open and swallow him, chair and all. However, he recovered after taking a large swallow of vodka.

“I wondered where this long-distance courtship would lead,” he said hoarsely.

“You should not have doubted, my friend. Alexander is as genuine a man as they come. I saw him with your daughter in our home and I knew. Some things you just know are meant to be. They cannot be destroyed by distance, by war, by evil men – they are meant to happen. I never knew such a thing until I saw him look at your daughter.”

The count drank more of his tea and smiled into Holger’s gloomy visage.

“Face it, my friend, they will be together, whether you agree or not. So give them your blessing and make them happy. I have known Grushov for many years. After his family died in the fire, I thought he would succumb to melancholy, becoming a hopeless alcoholic, but he did not. When I saw him with Albina, I knew she would be the cure, she would save him.”

Count Kurakin handed Holger a letter from Alexander Grushov, addressed to him. After reading the lines Holger brushed his hand across his eyes, then he turned to the Count and said, “There will be a wedding the end of June; that is the time my future son-in-law will be discharged.”

Albina’s joy, when she was told of her father’s blessing for her marriage, was quiet and profound. She walked about with an absent, gentle smile on her face, as if in another place. Victoria complained, for the girl cared nothing about the wedding arrangements.

“I can’t get a word out of her about her dress, the flowers, the food, the guests – nothing – she doesn’t care. ‘Where will you live with your groom?’ I ask. ‘We will find something,’ she says. ‘How will he support you?’ I want to know. ‘I don’t know. He will know,’ she smiles sweetly.”

Victoria stamped her foot and glared at Holger, “Your daughter is frustrating, maddening, Sir! She lives some place in the clouds. You are her father; bring her down! Make her see reality, help me!” Victoria was almost sobbing with frustration.

“Let the girl be, Victoria, meine Liebe. It is as Count Kurakin says, they are meant to be together, they have more than mere mortals are given. You are much better at arranging things anyway. It will be a fine wedding.”

Victoria sighed and went away. At last she decided that the wedding should be rather small by Volga German standards, perhaps a hundred of the very closest relatives and friends. She would arrange it at Katharina’s Thor, with the ceremony to be held in the big Lutheran Cathedral. It would be a more private affair, laid back and dignified, than one could do in big Norka.

Her mother, Adela, thought this was a great idea. She and Alexander would love to have their granddaughter’s married life start at home.

Grushov arrived at Katharina’s Thor two days before the wedding. Henceforth the young couple was inseparable.

“They are useless,” groused Victoria, “no help at all. They just walk about the countryside – moonstruck. If there were boulders in their way, they’d fall over them. They have eyes only for each other.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” laughed Holger. He looked at his still beautiful wife, putting his arm about her waist. Victoria at forty was the picture of a woman at her best. Although more rounded than before, she still had the small waist of a girl, her skin, a bit hardened by the unforgiving seasons, was mostly free of wrinkles and her hair crowned all in fullness, without gray.

“Yes, it is good. I will keep on with my preparations.”

Somehow all things contrived to be perfect for a memorable wedding, on that late day in June. In the morning close friends and family arrived at Katharina’s Thor for a champagne breakfast. Everyone had a chance to meet the groom as he circulated among the guests, gorgeously attired in his parade uniform.

“What a handsome, nice fellow,” said Adela to Victoria.

“I think I could get to like the fellow,” commented Alexander acerbically.

“He is adorable,” moaned the bridesmaids, including Barbara, married now for three years.

The bride was secluded, as brides should be before the event. She sat upstairs in the room of her childhood, looking into the mirror above her small vanity. Nothing mattered today. She knew she was getting married to the only man she’d ever wanted. He was to become a Lutheran, giving up Orthodoxy for her. With this step he would make himself an outcast among his friends, everyone he knew.

The church service was simple, touching, celebrated with much dignity. Holger led his daughter down the isle. Somehow the wintry beauty of the girl had been transformed into the delicate brilliance of spring. The white, embroidered gown, tightly enclosing most of her body, reminded the people of the birch trees in spring, a picture enhanced by the simple bouquet of white roses and green foliage. She wore her hair piled atop her head the way she knew Grushov liked. A delicate veil covered her face.

Somehow, throughout the ritual, everyone felt how deeply in love this young couple was. They only had eyes for each other – no one else existed in their orbit.

“He waited for her for two long years after he had seen her for only a week,” said one of the girls enviously to her friend, and there were tears in her eyes.

“Yes, she is very lucky,” replied the other. “It is a blessing from God to have an indulgent father. My father would have married me off to the first suitor asking for my hand.”

Victoria, the stalwart mother-of-the-bride, at last was overcome by emotion, crying into her handkerchief. Even Holger wiped away a tear when his girl, now the wife of another man, passed him on the way out.

Suddenly the festive, happy mood in the church changed to deathly silence. From outside, loud voices coupled with raucous laughter and jeering, could be heard. A man’s deep voice roared in Russian. A moment later Count Kurakin loudly voiced a protest in Russian, obviously countering accusations. Most people inside were clueless, but Holger and Victoria understood.

They rose from their seats in the front pew and flew down the isle in terror. Victoria, looking wounded, clutched her long dress on each side, allowing her larger steps; Holger’s face had gone pale with worry as he hastened toward the door. Concerned guests and friends followed the fleet couple.

Holger threw the heavy church door open. The astonished eyes of the wedding assemblage beheld a most dramatic scene. Albina, white of face and pale of dress, stood to one side, Count Kurakin’s arm about her like a shield, while the groom in his splendid uniform stood alone above a motley array of drunken soldiers, sword in hand, glaring at the crowd.

“What is going on here, Alexander,” Holger bellowed in Russian, wanting the soldiers below to hear.

“Nothing! Was a misunderstanding. Eh?” Grushov glared at the men below. They looked befuddled, not only by vodka imbibed earlier, but by radically changed circumstances.

“Da, da, misunderstanding,” said one of them, apparently their leader.

“Good! Then I will take my bride to her wedding feast,” said Alexander. With these words he sheathed his sword and, walking toward Kurakin, reached for Albina.

Many German guests knew not what to think. As they spoke no Russian, they were anxiously awaiting an explanation.

The soldiers, in brand-new uniforms that they’d already managed to soil and crease, beat a more or less hasty retreat, while the wedding party dispersed into waiting carriages.

Because Alexander, Albina and Kurakin carried on as if nothing had happened, it was impossible for anyone to gain any knowledge of the incident. Therefore Grushov found himself besieged by Holger, Victoria and other intimates the moment the party reached Katharina’s Thor.

The groom spoke reluctantly, hesitantly at first. “It was ugly. I have never seen anything like it. Russians love weddings and greet a young couple, whoever they may be, with humor and good wishes. But this bunch had been treated to liquor and food after their swearing-in ceremony and received, with the victuals, from their benefactors some hate speeches.”

“What was it they shouted?” Holger wanted to know.

“They screamed that German swine should not be allowed to get married to make more children. Already they were overpopulating Russia, making colonies everywhere. There were shouts of approval for this sentiment, producing in turn more verbal offal.”

“And you? What did you and Kurakin say to calm them?”

“I screamed: Don’t you know my uniform? I serve the Tsar and Russia always and you insult me on my wedding day. I will cut down the first man coming up the steps. Before they could figure out that they stood in front of a Lutheran church, Kurakin called out that the bride was the niece of a count and they would pay for their insolence.”

“They must not have been from our area,” said Victoria, smiling, “because, even drunk, everyone hereabouts knows our grand church to be Lutheran.”

Despite the ugly interruption, no unpleasant spell remained on the remainder of the day. The wedding feast, followed by the traditional dance, was much enjoyed by the guests. Grandfather Alexander danced with Albina and quite a few dances with Victoria, leading Holger to comment how vigorous, hale and hearty the old man still was.

Fairly early in the evening the young couple slipped away from the festivities. Count Kurakin and his wife had given Grushov the use of a hunting lodge upriver as a wedding gift for a honeymoon.