THE GHOST OF NATASHA ALEXANDROVA PREOBRAZHENSKY: A STORY FOR CHRISTMAS

THE GHOST OF NATASHA ALEXANDROVA PREOBRAZHENSKY: A STORY FOR CHRISTMAS

“You too are an exile, I thought. You mourn for the broad open steppes where you have room to spread your icy wings. Here you feel stifled and constricted, like an eagle that cries and beats against the bars of its iron cage.”

Mikhail Lermontov

‘My love had grown one with my soul; it became darker but did not go out.’

Mikhail Lermontov A Hero Of Our Time

The reign of Nicholas 1^st, Tsar of Russia began in 1815 with the bloody crushing of the ‘Decembrists,’ idealistic young men who wished to install a constitutional monarchy and establish basic rights and freedoms. Nicholas’s reign continued as it began and Russia became frozen, an autocratic police state. However by the beginning by the 1840’s and 50’s there began the first stirrings of what was to become the Russian revolutionary movement.

Whilst this story is fiction, such idealistic young people did exist. They perhaps now seem naïve and unsophisticated in their thinking, whatever our thoughts about them there is no disputing their courage. The bloody and brutal suppression of such young people undoubtedly led in turn to the creation of equally ruthless terrorist organisations. The rest as they say is history.

As to Herzen he was very much a living breathing soul whose legacy is still being fought over, though without question he is the founding figure of the Russian Revolutionary movement. 

I.

The pale winter sunshine was slowly beginning to melt the remaining clumps of snow around the dirty communal bins. The sunlight of this day in truth did not have long to live and the birds that flew low over the rooftops of West London knew as much.

Alexei made his way back toward his Bayswater flat heavily laden, the Muscat had been on special offer. It was Christmas and so he had treated himself. White wine would be a pleasurable break from brutish and nasty cheap cider, more chemical than apple in origin.

His sister had scribbled on the Christmas card in which she had enclosed the money, ‘please don’t spend it on drink.’

By this she had surely meant cider and strong lager. Wine simply did not count. In fact what could be more innocent than a glass or two of white wine at Christmas? She might disapprove of the two bottles of vodka though, Viktor Value Vodka, the alliteration better than the quality of vodka.

The sun was sinking amidst a blaze of pink, red and gold, making its own contribution to the light show provided by the flickering Christmas lights in the shop window, penetrating the winter evening as it grew discernibly colder.

He turned his key and entering the dark hallway felt for the light switch. The floor was strewn with flyers and mini cab cards, which he swept with his foot to one side, then slowly climbed the seven flights of stairs to his attic apartment.

At the top of the stairs he had to recover, catch his breath. He felt older than his thirty years. He then carefully placed the carrier bags down beside the door and was about to place his key in the lock when something startled him and he froze, it was a female voice that seemed to be coming from inside the flat, a voice speaking in Russian.

“Ты глуп, ты никогда не сможешь вернуться”

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he translated in his head, ‘I must go back.’ He stood silently as seconds passed, listening intently for more conversation. Had he left the radio on?

But now there was only silence, the whole house still and seemingly vacant. He turned the key of his flat and cautiously opened the door, feeling a mix of fear, curiosity and anger that someone might have somehow gained entry to the security of his refuge.

The room was empty, just as he had left it, the radio mute. What had changed was the temperature, for the room was now icily cold. He crossed the tiny bed-sit and turned on the two bar electric fire, usually sufficient to heat the small apartment.

It had perhaps been a freak of nature; someone’s voice having somehow carried up from the street below, giving the impression that it was coming from inside his flat?

Still it had unnerved him and he needed a drink. He fished one of the bottles of vodka from the carrier and poured himself a good half cup. Aside from anything else he thought it was a long time since he had heard Russian spoken. Not since his mother had died ten years ago and even she had spoken it rarely, sometimes when on the phone to some of his father’s friends. His father had spoken it all the time, but he barely remembered his father who had left when he was six.

It had always been a source of pride to Alexei, adding as he believed it did, to his kudos, that he could describe himself as a Russian. Indeed he was a Russian, born in St Petersburg, Leningrad as it was then. What could be more romantic? Though as he had left Russia when he was two years old and had never been back the claim felt more than a little phoney. Still he could make the claim and more significantly was able to speak Russian, his father had insisted upon it, after his father had deserted them his mother had insisted on continuing to teach him, although English her self, believing this would help with his sense of identity. Though now his fluency in the language had faded out of lack of practice during the passing years. He thought of these things as he looked out of the little attic window, taking mouthfuls of vodka watching the sun set on the winter city in a glorious riot of red and pink.

Soon a drunken drowsiness began to settle upon him and he lay down on the sofa bed pulling the duvet over his head. Before long his thoughts began to drift and the irresistible pull of sleep claimed him.

II

He stirred, more asleep than awake, with a shiver, though the glow of the electric fire still cast its warmth upon the room. He saw her first out of the corner of his eye, standing beside the window dressed all in white. Instantly consumed by disbelief and astonishment he knew he must still be dreaming. She turned to look at him. Incredibly beautiful, her long blond hair breaking over her shoulders, with eyes that even in the dimly lit room he could see had the lustre of precious stones.

She smiled. “I’ve been watching you sleep.” She spoke in English with a heavy Russian accent. Perhaps sensing his thoughts she asked. “You can understand my English? I know it is not so good.”

He ignored her question. ”Who are you? What do you want? How did you get in here?”

“So many questions all at once, be patient Alexei. The questions you asked are…сложный. How do you say this in English?”

“Complicated, intricate, sophisticated,” he translated as best he could.

“Yes complicated, this is correct, very complicated. I have been trying to speak with you for some time, but you could not hear me, or see me, but now it has become possible. This is a great чудотворный, удивительный, thing.”

“A miracle?” Again he translated, surprised by the accuracy and speed of his translation.

“Yes, a miracle, do you want we speak in Russian?”

“No, no English is better.”

“This I think, since I never hear you speak in the Russian language.”

The idea that he was being watched Alexei found disconcerting. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Oh, I don’t know, a while, or no time at all. Time is something I am not very clear about. The important thing is that I am able to talk with you now. This is only possible this time of year, close to the… зимнее солнцестояние, the time when the sun has little time to warm the earth. At this time, though they do not know it, people make little windows in their soul. Sometimes this allows us to be seen and heard. But the moment is short and we must use it well.”

Alexei began feeling for the bottle of vodka and then poured himself a hefty slug.

“Like your father, and his father before him, you drink too much.”

He ignored her and gratefully received the vodka which warmed his thirsty gut.

“You know my father?”
”Yes I have known your father, it is possible for me to know a great many things now, things that were hidden from me on earth and things that I choose to find out. I am afraid Alexei you father is no more on the earth.”

Alexei sat upright, shocked by the news, feeling uncomfortable emotions welling up within.

“Your father betrayed you Alexei, he betrayed Russia and he betrayed your adopted country, England. There is much you do not know about your father. But it is not your father who brings me here, nor even his father, but your great, great grandfather whom I knew when I was alive like you. You are now living in the same attic apartment, though it has of course changed much since then, that he occupied during his short stay in London. An amazing совпадение, coincidence that is the right word, you might think. Perhaps this is so or perhaps it was meant.

He had come to London to see Herzen and found this apartment here in Bayswater.”

She now sat upon the sofa bed close beside him, her dazzling eyes fixed upon him, her hair framing her face, intelligent, graceful, hypnotically beautiful.

She paused momentarily, and he felt the room loose all sense of solidity, he felt as if he were floating in space.

III.

My name is Natasha Alexandrova Preobrazhensky; I was born in Oryol Oblast, [1] in September 1838. My father was a minister in the Navel Department, my mother Helena the daughter of Count Peter Ustinov. Though I was born on my father’s estate in the Oryol Oblast we soon moved to St Petersburg. A year after I was born my brother Dmitry came into the world.

St Petersburg

My mother was a very beautiful and intelligent and sensitive woman, my father though handsome much less intelligent and a lot less sensitive. My mother’s beauty did not stop my father keeping a mistress, a fact, I learnt later, this was widely known in Petersburg society. My father soon lost interest in my mother and his new family altogether and I do not remember him spending any time with us when we were young.

My mother spoke French and German and liked to read all the progressive literature of the day. She was a great champion of Belinsky and Chaadayev.[2] She was also determined that Dmitry and I should be well educated and hired an English Governess, Miss Jones. to teach us English, French and European manners and a German Professor, Nolte,  to teach us German, History and philosophy.

The summer months we spent in Oryol and my childhood was wonderfully happy. Dmitry and I were inseparable and used to dream of becoming like the Decembrists[3] whom we worshipped. Dmitry loved Pushkin, my hero was Lermontov.[4]  

In September 1853 Dmitry was sent to Moscow to further his Education and prepare for entrance to the university. I was mad with jealousy as I would be forced to stay in St Petersburg on my own. Though that Christmas I met Sasha and my life changed for ever.

My mother was holding a soiree for a number of her liberal friends. My father, a staunch conservative, was always away on official business, anyhow he did not interfere in my mothers social affairs.

I remember coming down the stairs and being introduced to a bald middle aged man called Sablin, who told me that, yes he had met Herzen and Turgenev in London. I was so exited; here was I a mere girl talking to someone who had met the great Alexander Herzen. I started to bombard him with questions. What was Herzen like? What did Herzen think about Slavophil’s? Was Turgenev as charming as they, said? She had loved his Huntsman’s Sketches. Her mother had quickly come and rescued poor Mr Sablin who was beginning to wilt under my relentless interrogation.

  I then sat in the drawing room entranced by something magical about the occasion that I couldn’t quite pin down. I said underneath my breath. “Something special is going to happen.” It was just then that I saw Sasha.

Tall and erect, he stood like a guardsman, but I could see he was no soldier. I thought him about 21, but later learned he was just 18, only a few years older than I. Great sideburns adorned his handsome face and he looked at the assembled group with aloof disdain. He looked so proud, but there was something attractive, not haughty or mean spirited about this pride. I felt instantly drawn to him. Longed to know what he was thinking. I caught his eye and smiled. He merely nodded politely. I was desperate to know who he was.

I stood up and walked over to our footman, Aloysha. “Who is that proud looking young man in the corner, the one standing next to the bust of Suvarov?”

“That is Alexander Pytor Golitsyn mistress, he is the son of Leo Pytor Golitsyn, the gentleman speaking with you mother.”
I had heard of this Alexander Golitsyn, he had caused a scandal by absenting himself from a party shortly before the arrival of the Tsar. Everyone had read a political motive to his actions. My cousin Vassily had said that he was wild, a radical and was being watched by the Third Section.[5]

I now was determined to affect an introduction. I boldly walked up to him and said, “You look bored, perhaps you have better things to do?”

“Certainly, there a great many better things and I would gladly be doing them, but I have made a promise and a man must keep his word.” He spoke coolly and with absolute confidence.

I decided I had to match his boldness. “I hear you are a radical, there are people here who have met with Herzen, Turgenev and Belinsky, and this does not interest you?”

“Herzen is well and good but Belinsky and Turgenev are old hat.” He swept his blond hair from his forehead and fixed me with his crystal blue eyes. “These people here that so impress you are yesterday’s men. Russia makes them old before their time. It is for us the young generation to take over and sweep all the dead wood away.”

 He spoke with a passion that thrilled me, and he had said ‘us’, had included me in his pronouncement. I noticed that his lip was bleeding.

“But perhaps you feel such matters do not concern a pretty little girl like yourself…”

“I thank you for telling me that I am pretty,” I broke in infuriated, “but you are very much mistaken. These matters concern me greatly. You know nothing about me.”

“I am very pleased to hear it,” he said smiling for the first time, “but we have not been introduced. Allow me to present my self Alexander Pytor Golitsyn.”

“Natasha Alexandrova Preobrazhensky,” I said, “and you have blood on your lip. Perhaps you like to draw blood?”

“If you are to draw blood,” he smiled again, “you must be very careful to ensure that it is not your own.” He spoke more softly now, had dropped a little of his aloof manner.

“Alexander,” it was his father’s voice, “it is time that we departed. I promised Prince Sheramatov that we would be punctual for the recital.” Alexander’s father bowed to me. “My apologies young lady but our attendance is required elsewhere.”

As Alexander began to follow his father he whispered to me. “All my friends call me Sasha.”

I don’t know whether I blushed, but up until then I did not know what it meant to be truly filled with joy, confusion and anxiety all at the same time. I was in love.

III.

 I could not sleep that night for thinking of him. The following days dragged, empty and futile, filled with despair and anxiety. What if he left St Petersburg? What if he went abroad? What if he were arrested and exiled or made to serve in the army? I would never see him again!

What if he loved someone else? What if he was betrothed? What if he saw me merely as a “pretty little girl”, as little more than a child? Every moment of those days was agony; I could not eat, could not relax, and could not sleep. My mother became concerned and feared that I was coming down with a fever and talked about us leaving damp St Petersburg and going to Moscow. This of course added to my agony. I had to beg her not to even think of doing this. It was nothing, only that I was a little bored and restless. This would pass.

Then on the fourth day the magical note came, pressed into my hand with a sly look by my maid Anna.

Dear Natasha Alexandrova,

I was very charmed to meet you on Thursday and was pleased that you did not allow me to intimidate you. I would like to meet you again. I can think of no good reason to call upon your mother and anyhow dislike artifice. Could you meet me on Wednesday at 3: 0 clock outside the Tsarkoye Selo Rail Station?

I know you are an admirer of Herzen and I have a surprise for you.

Sasha

I treasured those words and hugged his note close to my heart. But how was I to reply? I wanted to write something light and witty or should the tone be more serious and grown up. I could not think, I felt dizzy with excitement. In the end I simply wrote YES!

My mother was greatly relieved by the sudden change in me and it was easy to persuade her to let me go to the Nevsky Prospect on the Wednesday with Anna.

I swore Anna to secrecy and must admit I frightened her greatly with the stories I told her of the consequences of betrayal, saying that the Saints never forgave those who betrayed secrets and that they would come and get her should she say anything to anyone about Sasha and I.

Tsarkoye Selo Rail Station

At the appointed time I made my way to the rail station. My heart stopped when I saw him standing there. He was wearing a grey overcoat and blue trousers, his handsome face breaking into a smile on seeing me. He kissed my hand and we began walking toward the Nevsky Prospect, with Anna walking several paces behind.

I cannot remember now all that was said on that day, only that a deep and lasting bond developed between us. He confided much in me. That he had promised his father to be on his best behaviour and to change his ways. That he had promised to enter government service in the spring. But that his heart belonged neither to government service or even loyalty to his father, but to the Russian people. He was pledged to act in their service and was only awaiting the chance to prove his worth. He was telling me all these things since he somehow knew that I shared his beliefs, though it worried him to be talk to me of such matters since he was afraid to endanger me, though somehow he could not stop himself.

I protested, said it was my decision whether to enter into danger or not and that any risks I entered were my own and solely my own responsibility; that my cause too was Russia and the Russian people and that I was now old enough to understand these things.

We walked I think for nearly two hours. When it came time for us to part, he again kissed my hand and discreetly gave me a pamphlet.

“Take this, but be careful not to let anyone else know you have it. Read it somewhere private and when we next meet we will discuss its contents.” We agreed to meet again in three days time.

As soon as I returned I hurried to my room, telling my mother I was a little tired after my walk with Anna. I took the pamphlet from my coat pocket and began to read:-

                “To our brothers in Russia

Why are we silent?
Do we really have nothing to say?
Or are we really silent because we dare not speak?
At home there is no place for free Russian speech, but it can ring out elsewhere if only it’s time has come…’

The words were Herzen’s and I read them as you would a religious text. When I put the paper down I made a quite oath to my self to devote my life to Sasha and a free Russia.

IV

The next six months were the happiest of my life. I met with Sasha, once, sometimes twice a week. I counted the hours until we could be together while parting became increasingly a torture for me.

We soon began to bribe Anna so that she left us alone together. I lay for hours in Sasha’s arms, down by the Neva, or in a little park close to the Smolny Institute.  We talked of Russia and the coming revolution and made plans for the future, for we would be married soon, when the time was right, when I came of age.

In July my brother came from Moscow and brought with him a friend, Sergey Nikolai Martov, your great, great, grandfather.

Sergie was two years older than my brother and already attending the university. A littler shorter than my self, around five feet six and not handsome, his face pock marked and his complexion dull and grey. He had though remarkably bright eyes and a way of dominating the room as he spoke with great eloquence.   

It was soon clear to me that Dmitry worshipped Sergey. For my self I longed to confide in Dmitry about Sasha and it seemed he too was eager to talk to me about Sergey.

It was all I could do not to laugh when Dmitry told me, in hushed tones that Sergey was a radical. That he and Sergey were determined to form a secret society dedicated to overthrowing autocracy.

For the first time I felt older than poor Dmitry. Sergey’s radical inclinations were no secret, apparent to anyone but an idiot. Whilst he and Sergey dreams were as nothing compared to Sasha and his definite plans.

When I confessed to Dmitry about Sasha he was indeed shocked and when I told him about Sasha’s contact with the underground he became angry. Who was this Sasha? He had no business putting me in danger like that and that I had no business being involved in such political conspiracies.

Now it was my turn to be angry. Who did he think he was telling me what I could and could not be involved in? Was he such a reactionary conservative that he thought women had no business with politics?

“Women perhaps,” he had shouted, “but not young girls.” At this I stormed out.

It was the most serious quarrel we had ever had and the next few days were spent in a cloud of frosty hostility. I was also afraid that he might say something to mama.

It was Dmitry in the end who broke the silence between us. He would very much like to meet Sasha. It seems that Sergey had heard of Sasha from friends in Moscow and that he was a truly good fellow. Would it be possible to arrange a meeting for Sergey and himself with Sasha?

Pleased that the icy relations between us had been broken and believing that Dmitry and Sasha would soon become firm friends I arranged the meeting for the following Sunday.

The meeting went even better than I had hoped and soon the three of them were as close as brothers. I was so proud to have affected this union of those committed to the struggle. A pride I was later so bitterly to regret.

As summer turned to winter I soon began to find my self sharing Sasha more and more with Dmitry and Sergey. Sasha’s love and affection for me did not lesson, but I could see that his love and commitment to the cause was growing stronger every day. For my part I began to feel increasingly excluded from the struggle to which Sasha and I had so committed ourselves. I suspected Dmitry’s hand in this.

Surprisingly it was Sergey who insisted that I be firmly included in the plans that they were making.

V.

It was decided that we needed to make contact with Herzen in London, and through Herzen link up with fellow revolutionaries throughout Russia. Sergey stated that he had contacts that would enable him to obtain a passport; this would have been much harder for Sasha and impossible for Dmitry, given his age.

I was much relieved, since this meant that Sasha would not be undertaking a potentially dangerous mission and would be staying with me in St Petersburg.

It was also decided that Sergey would need English Lessons and that I should provide these. Dmitry would soon have to return to Moscow and my teaching English would provide perfect cover for Sergey to visit the house, since it was increasingly important to develop lines of communication and it was far too dangerous to entrust Anna with messages relating to the cause.

My mother was dubious at first, but she liked Sergey and I suspect that she was happy for me to have a diversion that would ward of any further attacks of ‘melancholia.’

Soon Sergey began to arrive in the afternoons and be guided to the library where I was waiting for him, Anna sitting in attendance for the sake of propriety. Soon though Anna was bribed and it was consequently possible for us to be alone together and talk of the cause.

Given the constraints of time, Sergey was due to travel in late October, these lessons could cover only the basics. Still I was determined to do the best I could and thought hard about all the phrases it was most important for Sergey to learn.

It is hard now not to read the past with the knowledge that only came later. Still even then there was something about Sergey that made me uneasy. He was somehow too charming, too persuasive. When he spoke of the cause his tone was very different from the passion of Dmitry or the intensity of Sasha. His manner was easy and relaxed, even glib.

Then one afternoon, shortly before Sergey was due to leave, he sent Anna away with a handful of kopecks. I was expecting some information from Sasha or some new development in the plan. Instead I suddenly found Sergey grabbing holding of me and pushing his lips toward mine. With all the strength I could muster I pushed him away, upsetting a small table and smashing a vase upon the floor. I quickly grabbed hold of a heavy brass candlestick and said that if he came near me again I would kill him.

He laughed and adjusted his jacket. Running his hand through his hair he asked what I was making such a fuss about, that I was now part of the struggle and from now on there would be no more room for bourgeois niceties. He laughed again and left the room.

I called Anna and together we tidied up the mess. I told her I had slipped when escorting Sergey to the door.

I never spoke to anyone about this. Had I told Sasha he would have killed Sergey. It also would have wrecked the plan. If I had told would things have all turned out differently?

I managed to avoid any further contact with Sergey before he left for London, telling Sasha that I had taught him all that he could possibly learn in such a short period. On the 21^st October Sergey left for England.

VI

With Sergey gone and Dmitry back in Moscow Sasha and I could be alone together again. This time, despite his aversion to artifice, he found a way of calling on my mother and me, saying that he had read some English novels in translation and would very much like to discuss their contents with someone who could speak the language.

Sasha had now developed a reputation in society for having changed his former wild ways and of beginning to settle down. He also made a considerable effort to charm mama. Sasha was heir to a considerable fortune and I believe that mama felt that he might just be a suitable match for me. 

Thus we were able to be as open as we were ever going to be during those few short happy weeks. It was also true that he had changed since I first met him. He was now less inclined to clever witticisms, more serious and focused, but also more loving and affectionate. I loved him all the more with each passing day in those last days we spent together.

For Sasha and I those weeks were a time of waiting, for Sasha with a sense of excitement, for I with a growing sense of dread and fear, though I did my best to conceal these fears from Sasha. I knew that when Sergey returned all would change.

It was the week before Christmas when Sergey retuned. Sasha was radiant with excitement on hearing that Sergey’s was back in Russia, believing that he would be Sergey’s first point of call.

This was not the case. Sergey’s first point of call was the offices of the Third Section where he provided a full report on his visit to London and the names of all the contacts in Russia provided to him by Alexander Herzen. He painted a particularly black picture of Sasha, accusing him of being the ringleader of a plot to assassinate the Tsar.

Sasha was arrested that afternoon as he waited impatiently for Sergey. Over the next two days along with countless others Dmitry too was arrested. In deep despair I waited for my own arrest, but it did not come. This somehow felt worse; If Sasha was to suffer this fate so must I.

My mother fainted when she heard the news about Dmitry and readied to go to Moscow. My father began to do what he could to secure Dmitry’s release but was told that the charges were serious.

Peter and Paul Fortress

I elected to stay in St Petersburg with my father whilst my mother went to Moscow. I was torn, frantic both for Sasha and Dmitry but I could not bear to leave St Petersburg, I had to be close to wherever they were holding Sasha.

On the day mama left for Moscow I received a note through Anna. One of Sasha’s friends had somehow managed to get word of Sasha and of his desire to let me know that he was alive and thinking of me. He was being held in the Peter and Paul Fortress on the Neva.[6]

With mama away it was easy for me to slip out of the house unattended and I made my way, alone for the first time on the streets of St Petersburg, to the offices of the Third Section, where I intended to plead Sasha’s case.

They would not let me in, nobody would see me. I must have stood outside in the snow for hours, I don’t remember. Someone took pity on me and somehow persuaded me to return back to home to my father with him.

My father was furious with me for going out onto the streets on my own, unaccompanied, “…like a common whore!” But all his shouting did not seem to touch me but seemed to come from a far off country in which I no longer belonged. I passed out.

I do not remember much the following days, for my fever was very bad. The first thing I recall is the realisation of all that had happened as I tried to swallow a mouthful of hot soup. I lay back on my pillow. How could I make contact with Sasha?

As soon as I was strong enough I insisted on going out to get some air. I was given strict orders not to stay out longer than 10 minutes.

Outside in the cold air I felt able to clear my head of the fog in which it had felt enveloped ever since Sasha’s arrest. It was essential now that I remained strong for Sasha. I needed to find ways to work toward his release, or if more likely he was to be exiled, ways to be with him.

We walked slowly and I became increasingly aware that Anna was behaving strangely, avoiding eye contact, being very silent.

“What is it Anna,” I managed to ask, gripped by fear.

“Nothing miss Natasha, I’m cold we should soon start back.”
”Don’t change the subject. What has happened Anna, you must tell me.”
”Please miss nothing, don’t make me say, let’s go back.”

“Anna if you don’t tell me God will be very angry with you for keeping secrets from your mistress!”

“Oh miss,” she started to cry, “I’m so sorry miss.”

“What Anna, what is it?” I demanded though feared I already knew.

“He’s dead miss, gone to heaven, the young master.”
I was confused whom was she talking about? “Who is dead Anna, have they killed Dmitry!
”Oh, no miss, your young man, count Golitsyn.”
Sasha, Sasha was dead, I could not feel my body for a second and it was in that second that I really died.

VII.

The Neva makes a sharp turn close to The Smolny Institute and it was here that I said goodbye to the world. I hated my self for what this would do to poor mama, but she still had Dmitry. Without Sasha I had no life, as I said I was dead already.

The current quickly sucks you down, though instinctively you put up a fight, you soon are suffocated by the effort. It is as easy and as hard as letting go. Death itself is not so terrible it is the loss of what it means to be alive that tortures souls such as my own. But now that I have spoken to you, have told my story, I too will soon be truly at peace.

They said that Sasha had hanged him self. This was a lie, as of course I knew it was. Sasha would never have killed himself whilst I was still living. He died of a brain haemorrhage after a savage beating by one of his jailers.

Poor Dmitry was sentenced to 25 years exile in Siberia. He did not last long, just fifteen months, breaking stones in minus 30 degrees saw to that. Dmitry’s death killed my mother too, for one year later, a recluse who had turned her back upon the world she followed him. My father then married his mistress.

As for Sergey he left St Petersburg and settled in Moscow, going into business as a wine merchant. He was very successful and mixed with a liberal set that he regaled with tales of how he had escaped the clutches of the Third Section.

He later married a beautiful young woman, much younger than himself. Her family, once part of the nobility, had fallen on hard times. Later he took to beating her. They had three children which is eventually how you came into being, but that is another story. And now that I have concluded my own it is nearly time for me to go.

Alexei noticed that the room was beginning to regain its former solidity. “No, wait, wait why did you tell me all this and what am I now to do?”

“I told you to set me free. Now a burden falls from me to you, for our stories as you can see are linked. You are not of course responsible for the behaviour of your ancestors, but you are the first capable of changing your ways. The fact that I have been able to talk to you is testimony to that. You must do what in your heart you believe to be right, if you are able to seek the truth and work for good in the world.”

She paused, hesitating for a moment, Alexei could see that she was beginning to fade before his very eyes. “Remember too that there was and is another Russia, oppressed yes by autocrats, tyrants and gangsters, but a Russia that fights for freedom, equality and the brotherhood of all.”

“Yes, of course, but what was it you said about my father…” He began to ask but she had already gone and he was lying alone again in the cold dark morning.

VIII.

Alexei stood before the house in Westbourne Terrace in West London staring up at the little blue plaque. ‘Alexander Herzen 1812 – 1871 Russian Writer and Revolutionary lived here.’

He had drunk little on Christmas day, feeling he owed this to Natasha. Indeed in the following two days, haunted by thoughts of the beautiful young Russian he had tidied up his flat and drunk even less. In fact, ironically, he was now really haunted by Natasha. Even crazier he had fallen in love with her, or at least the idea of her.

For what had occurred? Had it been just a particularly vivid dream, or even some sort of hallucination brought on by heavy drinking? He didn't’ care. He only knew that he now needed to find out more about himself, and more about his ancestors, particularly his father whom he now realised he did not really know at all. Most of all he wanted to change and stop wasting his life. Natasha had made him want to be a better man.

Alex Talbot December 2013

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1] Oryol or Orel is a city and the administrative center of Oryol Oblast, that is administrative district, in Russia, located on the Oka River, approximately 360 kilometers south-southwest of Moscow.
[2] Vissarion Grigoryevich Belinsky was a Russian literary critic of Westernizing tendency. He was an associate of Alexander Herzen, Mikhail Bakunin, and other critical intellectuals. Pyotr or Petr Yakovlevich Chaadayev was a Russian philosopher. Chaadayev wrote eight "Philosophical Letters" about Russia in French between 1826-1831, which circulated in Russia as manuscript for many years.(Wikepedia).
[3] Early Russian revolutionary group, who demanded a constitutional monarchy and democratic rights, Brutally crushed by Nicholas 1st.
[4] Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov, a Russian Romantic writer, poet and painter, sometimes called "the poet of the Caucasus", became the most important Russian poet after Alexander Pushkin's death in 1837. (Wikepedia)
 [5] Tsarist secret police eventually became the Okhrana, forunner of the Checka, NKVD, KGB, FSB.
[6] The most notorious of Tsarist prisons.

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