Konrad and Alexandra (PDF) - Rolf Gross

the brutal power he exuded. He was used to getting what he wanted. He had promised to show her his collection ofpaintings."My forefathers came from Spain in the seventeenth century." said Manovsky, "I love Mediterranean women, especiallywhen they are as enigmatic as you are, Princess Dadiani, with your blue eyes."His exterior belied his purported Spanish ancestry. Stocky, a few strands of thin white hair and watery blue eyes. Thebags under his eyes, his fleshy nose and mouth made him look like any other aging Russian Jew. Except for his heavy,brutal hands."I have two passions, regal women and paintings which nobody has discovered yet. Both are high-risk gambles."She smiled, and to distract him, asked him to tell her his life’s story."I come from an impoverished family in the Polish-Russian Pale. To escape the recurring progroms, tired of my ferventlyreligious environment, I ran away from home when I was fifteen. I found employment with a Moscow merchant anddiscovered that I had a talent for financial speculations. After a few years I became the manager of the man’s firm, heoffered me a partnership and the hand of his daughter. I panicked and quit work. He was a good Mensch, he paid me offwith a handsome sum."I invested the money into the booming railroad business, and soon found that I had accumulated enough to buy acontrolling share in a company engaged in building the Trans-Siberian railroad. That was in the eighties. For a while Iworked closely with your cousin Sergei von Witte, and several times tried to persuade this intelligent and well-connectedman to join my company. Together, we could have made enormous profits, but he was too much of an idealist. Hewanted to save the Russian empire from disintegration."Alexandra thought of Witte’s political acumen and his honesty. Surrounded by a similar aura of unbending willpower asthis man, Witte was a gentleman through and through. She could not imagine the two as partners.Manovsky began again. "Maybe you have to be a liberated Jew to see that Witte was working into the hands of thereactionary clique around the Emperor, which was scheming all the time to dispose of him. I had no such illusions. I stillbelieve that we should all support the Bolsheviks, they are the only political organization that has a viable concept forhow to clean up the rotten Russian social order. I put my money were my mouth was, and here you see me, an outcastfrom the Motherland."The waiter brought the dinner which Manovsky with superior arrogance had ordered for them, the famous pressed duckserved on a silver platter accompanied by a small side dish with two shriveled, black nuts cut into thin slices and asauciere with a brown sauce heavily laced with Madeira. The sommelier brought a heavy red Bourgogne. Manovskyinspected the cork and expertly swilled the wine in his mouth.The waiter placed a piece of the duck and a few slices of the black nuts on her plate and withdrew discreetly."In very few Parisian restaurants can one get an honest truffe périgourdine with a taste worth one’s money. Try this wine,it is far better than a Tsinandali."Manovsky, trying to catch her eye, raised his glass with a toast to her beauty and regal bearing.His blatancy insulted her, but she had to admit that she had never tasted a comparable wine. Its complex bouquet wasmost elusive and left a taste of violets on her tongue. This sensation was surpassed by her first slice of the truffle, itsperfume exploded in her head: "The wine is excellent but nothing compares to the taste of this truffle. One could loseone’s mind over it."He did not smile about this successful surprise. His watery eyes watched her with a hungry expression.She asked when he had begun to collect art."I never married, I devoted all my passion to paintings. At first it was as an investment, later they seduced me. With thehelp of a French art dealer, who represents the unknown painters whom you met the other evening, I abandoned myselfto collecting contemporary art. The paintings became an addiction as powerful as any drug, they nearly drove me mad.An irrepressible craving took hold of me. I spent more time in Paris than in Moscow. I sat night after night through theseboring bouts of drinking, paid for the wine, which these lazy, arrogant, penniless bohémiens pour down by the liter,settled their debts and listened to their prattle, only to hunt down new paintings."Eventually I retired from the railroad business and completely devoted myself to the collecting of paintings: Gauguin’serotic Tahitian women, mad Van Gogh, and now Modigliani, Matisse, and Picasso. I have watched the value of thesebeauties rise every year. This passion is more exciting than roulette and more mind-numbing than these truffles."She took another sip of the wonderful wine. The fragrance of the wine was getting more beguiling as time passed.Manovsky’s large, ruddy hand trembled as he put down the glass. An alcoholic, she concluded. He ate in a great hurry,like an addict, who only seemed to long for more, and hardly noticed the exotic flavors of what he downed.He pointed at a house across the river."That is my house, 16 Quai d’Orleans. Let me show you my collection of paintings, it is unique. Only then will youunderstand what I mean."She was torn. She thought of the collection of Becky’s father which had pursued her for years. But his was such anobvious ploy that she felt insulted.She coolly examined her situation. Her honor was not her concern. What could happen? Maybe he would try to166