Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [481]
The gay intimacy of their afternoons together was only occasionally dampened by the presence of a rather serious sixteen year old.
It was November when they first began to notice that Alexander Bobrov had entered their lives. His father at that time had just become one of the Moscow deputies, for the liberal Cadet party, to the Tsar’s new and conservative Duma – which, after losing their estates, had been some comfort to the family. Since his own father had just been cut out of the Duma, however, this did not make Dimitri especially friendly towards the solemn youth. Nadezhda was polite, because he was a friend of her father’s. But Karpenko, only two years Alexander’s junior, made no secret of his contempt.
Alexander seldom said much. Having called upon Suvorin on some pretext, he would come in with him, or sometimes venture in alone, speak a few polite words to Nadezhda, and stand around for a short while, listening to their conversation rather awkwardly. And it was not long before Karpenko had found a nickname for him. ‘Look out,’ he would whisper, ‘here comes the Russian calendar.’
It was a clever joke. Though Peter the Great had reformed the calendar, he had used the old Julian system for counting the days; and whereas the rest of Europe had since transferred to the more modern Gregorian system, Russia and her Orthodox Church had stuck with the Julian. As a result, by the start of the twentieth century, the huge empire now lagged thirteen days behind the rest of the world. The cruel nickname exactly captured Alexander’s conservative mentality.
Whenever he saw young Bobrov, Karpenko would speak enthusiastically of the coming new age, of the folly of the Tsar, and declaim the lines of Alexander Blok on Russia’s years of stagnation:
Let the ravens croak and fly
Over us who daily die
God, O God, let better men
See Thy Kingdom come.
And poor young Bobrov would watch, morosely.
It was the following Easter, in 1908, that a small incident made plain what was in young Bobrov’s mind.
As for everyone in Russia, Easter Day was a busy time in the great Suvorin house. Though neither Vladimir nor his brother Peter were religious, it never occurred to either to miss the long Easter vigil the night before; and on Easter Day the house was open to a constant stream of visitors. In the huge dining room, the long table was piled high with the rich foods that were allowed now the Easter fast was over. In the centre of the table were the two traditional Easter dishes: kulich, the creamy, thick bread decorated with the paschal sign; and the white sweet shaped like a little pyramid – the paskha. And everywhere, of course, decorated Easter eggs, some painted red, some in the Ukrainian manner covered with elaborate designs: people brought them, received them – several thousand eggs would be consumed in the huge Suvorin mansion. And all washed down with iced vodka.
The Bobrovs came by in the middle of the day, just after Peter Suvorin and his family, and so Dimitri and his friend were witnesses to the little scene. Young Nadezhda and her mother were both wearing the traditional festival dresses of Russian women. Mrs Suvorin also wore a high diadem – the kokoshnik – of gold and mother of pearl, which made her look more regal than ever. As was the custom, each arrival went from one person to another, kissing each one three times and exchanging the Easter greeting: ‘Christ is Risen’: ‘He is risen indeed.’
When young Alexander Bobrov reached Nadezhda, however, he did not pass on but paused and reached into his pocket and drew out a little box. ‘This is a present for you,’ he said gravely. Astonished the girl opened it, to find a tiny but beautiful little Easter egg, made of silver with decorations in coloured stones. It came from Fabergé.
‘It’s lovely.’ For once, she was so astonished that