Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

Return to St. Petersburg
1905
Konrad was wandering aimlessly through town. Weary from the long journey, he was
trying to reconnect to his old routine. St. Petersburg was no longer the town he had left a year
ago. Elegant ladies crowded the fashionable cafés on Nevsky Prospect, shops were
overloaded with expensive imports: fresh oysters, caviar from Persia, oranges from Morocco,
lemons, terrines de pâté, vintage Grand Cru wines and French champagne, clothes from Paris,
shoes from Italy…
As he passed Kluchkov’s bookstore the irrational idea suddenly seized him to look for
the lingering presence of Vladimir and Alexandra, her scent, their intimacy. The familiar, musty
smell of tobacco greeted him. Kluchkov removed his pipe and delightedly welcomed Konrad.
He involved Konrad in a drawn-out chat about Witte’s new political order underscoring the
important points with the pipe in his hand.
"Count Witte has accomplished amazing things. For me the most important one is, of
course, the lifting of the stifling censorship. Look," he waved his hand over a table loaded with
new books, "these books have existed only in clandestine manuscripts for the past eight
years."
The blaring horns of a detachment of police automobiles interrupted him, followed by a
cavalcade of crack-troops of the ministry of interior on horses. The contingent raced down
Liteini Boulevard towards the outlying districts. Konrad went to the window to watch the
ominous spectacle. People ducked into house entries. As soon the spook had passed, street
life continued as usual. Kluchkov was puffing at his pipe as if nothing had happened.
"Where are they going?"
Kluchkov shrugged. "Who wants to know? It happens so often these days that we no
longer pay attention to our government’s crazy actions. Stay out of their way. It is all politics."
Kluchkov picked a collection of poetry by Blok and the latest novel by Tolstoy off the
table.
"Look at these, Blok’s poems have been suppressed for two years. He has become the
most exciting new poet in this city. And this novel by Tolstoy was withheld for six years—for
religious reasons! What a national shame to have suppressed the writings of our greatest living
writer for so long. It is no Anna Karenina, a late work by an old man who preaches
revolutionary Christian morals. But Tolstoy’s Russian is unsurpassed."
Konrad, still pondering the demonstration of despotic power, sat down and leafed
absentmindedly through the Tolstoy. Voskresheniye, The Resurrection, a mystical love story
between an aristocrat and a prostitute who is exiled to Siberia in chains. Saturated with
religious fervor, very Russian, not his kind of taste.
Distracted, Konrad scanned the stalls for traces of Vladimir and Alexandra. Where had
they met? He was emotionally too absorbed in this game to ask Kluchkov for the whereabouts
of Vladimir.
Really, how childish I am, Konrad thought, and then Vladimir’s name jumped at him from
a slim volume.
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