The Four Winds of Heaven (39 page)

When the evening was over, Johanna de Mey tiptoed to the master bedroom, and listened at the door. She heard only the rustle of David's pen upon the page of his diary. Then she moved to Mathilde's boudoir and hesitated, her heart pounding. She smelled Mathilde's scent, felt rather than heard the soft silk of her nightclothes brushing against the vanity. She tapped quickly, and turned the handle. The door swung open. Mathilde, combing her masses of raven hair, faced the intruder. She shook her head and extended her hands: “Come,” she murmured quietly.

“You did not go to the Baron?” Johanna asked.

Mathilde's eyes fastened upon the Dutchwoman. Slowly, she made a gesture of infinite weariness. Then she smiled, and her features came alive like those of a small child awakened to a new sensation. Johanna shut the door behind her, and sighed with inward relief. Her lips tilted upward at the corners.

I
n 1909
, Ossip returned from Japan, healthy and anxious to see his loving family. He had learned a good deal about the coal industry, under the tutelage of his employer, Moise Mess, and had mastered the Japanese language. Sonia felt as though her life had stopped that spring two years past when Ossip had left, and that her hopes and dreams, which had lingered on, ghostlike, after his departure, had been banished by Volodia's death that September. Now, at nineteen, she greeted her twenty-two-year-old brother with enormous relief, as though by his return he had given her life again. But she refused to share her personal grief with him, and kept it locked within her. He was perceptive enough, now that love no longer blinded him, to see that she had suffered deeply, that her laughter was perfunctory where once it had been spontaneous, full of joy and life. But he did not intrude. Not even Ossip could intrude with Sonia.

She, for her part, noticed that the brief surge of vitality that had characterized her brother during his love affair with Natasha, had been drained out of him. He was the old Ossip, her friend and ally, the one who had watched others live and never dared to live himself. Natalia had transformed him, with her power to bring courage, daring, and drama to her brother. Sonia had found Ossip foolish then, histrionic, and disloyal to their father. Now she was sorry, for the young man who returned from the Orient had lost his zest for life. What is it that love does? she thought with bitterness. It had turned her sister into a recluse, her brother into his former passive self—and she herself would never again trust her own impulses toward a man. For if she had said yes to Volodia, he would not have died. But what would their future have been?

Soon after his return, Ossip began attending classes at the Faculty of Far Eastern Studies, and because he had already learned to speak Japanese, he was also able, in the afternoons, to take a part-time position at his grandfather's bank, the Maison Gunzburg, which was managed by his Uncle Sasha. Sasha had always cast a favorable eye upon his oldest nephew, and now that Ossip had returned with some knowledge of business, Sasha was anxious to introduce him to the family enterprise.

In the evenings, Ossip found himself attending endless soirees, for he had returned to discover himself topping the list of eligible young bachelors of the capital, and was therefore deluged with invitations. He would escort his sister and almost always his eighteen-year-old cousin Tania, as Sasha and Rosa would not hear of Sonia's attendance at any ball or dinner to which their own daughter had not been invited.

Tatiana Alexandrovna de Gunzburg, at eighteen, had completed her studies at the French girls' school, the Ecole Lebourdet-Caprenier, and had spent a final year in a gymnasium in order to pass her baccalaureate examinations. She was by no means stupid, but her desire to play far exceeded any desire to learn. She had attended this exclusive institution in order to possess yet another desirable attribute with which to catch a husband. She spoke perfect French and Russian, and also her mother's language, German; and she was familiar with the Hermitage Museum and the Museum of Alexander III, for it was considered detrimental to a young lady's personality to appear ignorant of certain works of art. But museums bored her. She had stopped reading serious literature, and had ceased attending lectures with the advent of her diploma. She now awakened after ten, took a leisurely walk before luncheon, and in the afternoon she went visiting or received her friends in her mother's house. Evenings were spent at the theater, at dinners and balls; or there would be a reception in her home.

For Sonia, life was different. She had studied without fanfare under the coaching of Johanna, and she still practiced the piano at least two hours a day. Early in 1909 Sonia and Nina Tobias asked a young English girl, Miss Maxwell, to come to them twice a week, and they would take turns reading aloud from books while Miss Maxwell corrected their pronunciation. The evenings would end with a three-way conversation in English. In the fall, Baron David arranged for his daughter and her friends to take some philosophy courses. Nina, who was a rather serious person, was always present. The two girls also attended many lectures: they heard an avant-garde poet recite his works, a professor of Greek speak of his travels, and an explorer recount his adventures on the North Pole. Since on Saturday night there was always a ball or a reception, Sonia made a point of going to the matinee rehearsal of the symphony, which was open to the public; symphony nights coincided with dances, and she wished to miss no concerts or recitals. There was no chance of encountering Tania at any of these events, except when Ossip was known to be accompanying his sister.

Tania was a constant irritant to Sonia, but she amused Ossip. Nina Tobias, quiet and reserved, danced with her gold-flecked eyes upon him, her soft-voiced questions probing his work, his interests, his stay in Japan. He liked her a great deal, and thought that during the two years of his absence she had acquired a calm grace somewhat like his mother's. But she was not regal, as Mathilde was. She was like a soft flower in bloom, a soft but sturdy flower, a pansy or a poppy. She was well read, and Ossip enjoyed her conversation. But it was Tania who made him laugh.

Tania had heard whispers about a dark, forbidden love affair in Ossip's past. She had guessed, quite accurately, that the young man must have been seduced by verve, by exuberance, by total sensuousness. She did not think that to conquer Ossip it was necessary to understand him. She saw the slender, sensitive man, and did not guess how terror gripped at his insides in the face of risk, of involvement; she knew only that life had long withheld its pleasures from him, and that he had stood enviously on the sidelines. Life, to Ossip, was the forbidden fruit, desired as well as shunned in fear. Natasha had conquered his fear and shown him that together they might bite harmlessly into the apple. But since losing Natasha his fear had returned with even greater strength. Tania's small efforts at bringing him laughter caught him off guard, for they were truly harmless. He was amused rather than delighted, when only delight might have caused him to risk his regained security.

There was an easy carelessness about Ossip now, as though nothing were important anymore. He laughed with Tania and went off with his male friends to the Aquarium, the nightclub where the privileged youth of Petersburg spent their rubles on the gypsies who entertained them. Sonia had never set foot inside the club. It was considered off-limits to unmarried girls; even married women went there only accompanied by their husbands. Ossip craved the fun, the mindless gaiety, and sometimes ended the evening with a feverish gypsy upon his lap, and a bottle of Dom Perignon on the table. But he seldom finished the champagne, for halfway through he would grow bored and restless. Not much captured his attention these days.

“I do not know what to make of your brother,” Nina once said to Sonia. “He spends time with me, sometimes his eyes sparkle when we discuss a play, or a new ballet. But then, the next time I see him, he treats me like a stranger. What am I to believe?”

“You must give him time,” Sonia replied. More and more frequently, when Nina went into society, a young man of their acquaintance, Zenia Abelson, was proffering his attentions upon her; but Sonia was not concerned, for she knew that Nina's feelings were for Ossip. She grew anxious over her brother's shiftlessness, however, over his lack of perseverance in anything but his University work. Even his job went well solely because of his good mind, not because he relished what he was accomplishing in the service of his grandfather and uncle. He continued to work only because there was no reason to stop.

Sasha and Rosa frequently invited him and Sonia to supper. For Sonia these evenings were an unpleasant chore. Rosa usually ignored her. But she fussed over Ossip, and he permitted it, not bothering to discourage her. She would serve him his favorite foods, all the time drawing attention to Tania and her charms. Ossip would smile. His cousin had grown into a superb young lioness with a golden mane, an apricot complexion, and blue eyes rimmed with black lashes. Her figure was round and pleasant, though she was petite, like her cousin Sonia. And she dressed in the latest Paris fashions, in warm colors to match the tones of her skin and hair. “If she were less egotistical, Tania might fool a man into believing he was in the presence of a sensualist,” Ossip told his mother with amusement. “She bites into an apple with such relish, and her bosom palpitates with excitement. But it is not life that moves her: it is only the prospect of grabbing something from it for her selfish pleasure—preferably a husband.”

“You must keep your shocking thoughts to yourself, young man,” his mother said; but she could not help smiling at him with her eyes. She was as fond of her niece as her daughter was.

“I have never been interested in Russian men,” Tania said to Ossip one evening at her parents' dinner table. “They bore me. I want the civilization of Paris, or Rome, or London. Russian men are peasants at heart.”

“She is being foolish,” Sasha said fondly. “All Russians are not like that. Have I made you afraid of your countrymen, little one?”

Tania giggled. “Oh, Papa! I know all about you. No, I would not marry you, if you were mine to choose. But Ossip is an exception. He is delicate, like Aunt Mathilde, who is, after all, Parisian. I am certain that if Ossip marries he could easily be transferred to the Paris branch of the bank.”

“But I am perfectly happy in Petersburg,” Ossip declared.

“Is it Nina Mikhailovna? She is a tadpole, Ossip! No spirit whatsoever. If you married her, boredom would overcome you within minutes of breaking the nuptial glass beneath your slipper!”

“I am not committing myself, Tanitchka,” Ossip said, bursting into laughter. “Perhaps you are forgetting that I am a prince among men, and that one kiss might turn a tadpole into a princess!”

“I have the society bulletins, Ossip,” his aunt interposed. “Come, look them over with me. See if you can find something interesting to which to escort Tania after supper. She has been so lethargic today!” Rosa held out the bulletins which had arrived in the morning mail. “There is nothing tonight,” Rosa sighed. “It is Saturday, and so there is ballet instead of opera at the Mariinsky Theater, with the prima ballerina Karsavina. But Tania has already seen her twice in
Sleeping Beauty,
At the Alexandrinsky Theater there is some Chekhov; but Tania has read all his works, and it is stupid to waste time to see what has been read. At the French Theater… Well! That is unsuitable! There is the weekly concert—but how boring! No ice skating upon the Neva River tonight, and two lectures, but such dull ones. The Grand Duchess Vladimir is giving a Charity Sale—but Tania would know very few people there. Oh—what shall we do?”

“You have invited us, Aunt Rosa,” Sonia declared. “We can keep Tania company at home.”

Her aunt started. She laid aside the papers and said, “Sonia I had forgotten all about you, so quiet in your corner! But you, now that I think of it, the three of you, could talk. Tania has received some delicate embroidered handkerchiefs which she can show you, and then you can play dominoes, or
halma etiha.
Better yet, you can play the piano while Ossip and Tania waltz!”

“What a pity,” Ossip said softly, his tone tinged with irony, “that you did not invite one of those boring young Russians, to waltz with Sonia. She likes to dance, as well as Tania. And she is less choosy. Her countrymen will do, in a pinch.”

“That is why Sonia will be married later than Tatiana,” Aunt Rosa stated. “She is so unparticular! But then, perhaps she is just being a realist about her possibilities. Tania has received five proposals since her debut.”

“But I want my foreigner!” Tania cried. Then, blushing, “Or one who is half and half…”