Russian Treasures

37. EPILOGUE

No sooner had Sofia Karlovna boarded the dreadnought Waldeck-Rousseau than the nightmare of Novorossiysk fell away, and she found herself in France. She was given a five-course dinner and a cabin with a bath along with a now subdued and obliging Shushunov, who had gotten himself a place on the ship by passing himself off as her butler.

Although the ship was far from shore, clouds of smoke and the glow of fires could still be seen from the direction of the port. Sofia Karlovna wasn’t looking in that direction. The sea was calm, the clear sky was the color of lilac, and the moon was rising over the mountains like a worn cameo.

The evacuated cadets from the Alexander Military School lined up on the ship’s deck to sing a prayer. The old countess listened to their clear young voices and crossed herself.

Everything was as it should be: the mistress of the ball was bidding farewell to her guests and wishing them a good night. Now, she could rest while the servants swept up the rubbish and cleared the dishes from the tables.

A year later in Montmartre, Sofia Karlovna read in a newspaper that—following the tragedy in Novorossiysk—some Whites had fled and others had been taken prisoner. Many more, believing that they would be given amnesty, had taken part in a voluntary registration. All of those who had registered had been arrested. Some had been sent to labor camps while others—drafted into the ranks of the Red Army—had taken part in the bloodbath that was the Polish war.

The Poles had prevented the victorious Red Army from rushing westward, forcing the Bolsheviks to abandon their dream of the World Revolution. At least for a while.