The Coronation (5 page)

Shortly after four Georgii Alexandrovich and Pavel Georgievich put on their dress uniforms and left for the station. Xenia Georgievna began sorting through the books in the small dining room, which in the Chesmenskys’ time had apparently been used as a library. Lord Banville and Mr Carr locked themselves in His Lordship’s room and asked not to be disturbed again today, and Mr Freyby and I, left to our own devices, sat down to have a bite to eat.

We were served by a junior footman by the name of Zemlyanoi, one of the Moscow contingent. Uncouth and rather awkward, but very willing. He gaped at me with wide-open eyes – no doubt he had heard of Afanasii Ziukin before. I must confess that it was flattering.

Soon Mademoiselle Declique joined us, having put her young ward down for his after-lunch
repos.
She had already taken lunch with Their Highnesses, but what kind of meal can one have, sitting beside Mikhail Georgievich? His Highness is possessed of an extremely restless temperament and is constantly getting up to some kind of mischief: he will either start throwing his bread about, or climb under the table so that one has to drag him back out. In short, Mademoiselle was glad to take coffee with us and she did justice to Filippov’s admirable honey cakes.

Mademoiselle’s presencewas most opportune, since she knew English and managed the responsibilities of an interpreter perfectly.

In order to make a start on the conversation, I asked the Englishman: ‘Have you beenworking as a butler for a long time?’

He answered with a very shortword, and Mademoiselle translated: ‘Yes.’

‘There is no need for you to be concerned; the things have been unpacked and no difficulties arose,’ I said with a distinct hint of reproach, since Mr Freyby had taken no part at all in the unpacking, having sat in the carriage with his book to the very end of this important procedure.

‘I know,’ was the answer.

My curiosity was aroused – the Englishman’s phlegmatic manner seemed to convey either a quite amazing indolence that exceeded all conceivable bounds, or the supreme chic of the butler’s artistry. After all, he had not stirred a finger, and yet the things had been unloaded, unpacked, hung, and they were all in the right place!

‘Have you looked into His Lordship’s and Mr Carr’s accommodation yet?’ I asked, knowing perfectly well that since the moment he arrived Mr Freyby had not set foot outside his own room.

‘No need,’ he replied in English, and Mademoiselle translated equally succinctly into French: ‘
Pas besoin.
’

In the time that Mademoiselle had spent in our house I had been able to study her, and I could tell from the gleam in her eyes that she found the Englishman intriguing. Naturally, she knewhowto control her curiosity, as a first-class governess accustomed to working in the finest houses of Europe should (before us, for instance, she had educated the son of the King of Portugal and had brought the most excellent references with her from Lisbon). But the Gallic temperament would sometimes break through, and when Mademoiselle Declique felt enthusiastic, amused or angry about something, bright little sparks lit up in her eyes. I would not have hired an individual with such a dangerous peculiarity as a servant, because those little sparks are a sure sign that still waters run deep, as the common folk say. But governesses, maids and tutors are not my concern – they come under the competence of the court steward, Metlitsky – and so I was able to admire the aforementioned sparks without the slightest anxiety.

And on this occasion Mademoiselle, dissatisfied with the modest role of interpreter, could not resist asking (first in English and then, for me, in French): ‘But how do you know that everything is in good order?’

At this point Mr Freyby uttered his first rather long phrase: ‘I can see that Mr Ziukin knows his job. And in Berlin, where the things were packed, they were packed by a man who also knows his job.’

As if rewarding himself for the exhausting effort of producing such an extensive utterance, the butler took out a pipe and lit it, after first gesturing to ask the lady’s permission. And I realised that I was apparently dealing with an absolutely exceptional butler, such as I had never encountered before in all my thirty years of service.

Shortly after six Xenia Georgievna declared that shewas bored of being stuck inside and we – Her Highness, Mikhail Georgievich, Mademoiselle Declique and I – set out for a drive. I ordered the closed carriage to be brought, because the day had turned out overcast and windy, and after lunch a fine drizzle had started to fall.

We drove out along the broad highway to the elevated spot known as the Sparrow Hills, in order to take a look at Moscow from above, but owing to the grey shroud of rain we saw very little, only the broad semicircle of the valley with low clouds hanging above it like steam, for all the world like a tureen full of steaming broth.

As we were driving back, the sky brightened a little for the first time that day, and so we let the carriage go and set off on foot from the Kaluga Gate across the park. Their Highnesses walked ahead with Xenia Georgievna leading Mikhail Georgievich by the hand, so that he would not run off the path into the wet bushes, while Mademoiselle and I hung back slightly.

It was three months since His Highness had stopped having little accidents, and he had just reached four, at which age the Georgieviches are transferred from the care of an English nanny to the tutelage of a French governess, are no longer dressed in girls’ frocks, and moved on from pantaloons to short trousers. His Highness found the change of attire to his liking, and he and the Frenchwoman got on quite excellently. Imust confess that at first I had found Mademoiselle Declique’s manners too free – for instance, encouragement in the form of kisses and punishment in the form of slaps, as well as noisy romping in the nursery – but as time passed I came to realise that there was a deliberate pedagogical method involved. In any case, after a month His Highness was already babbling away in French and loved singing little songs in that language, and in general he had becomemuch more cheerful and free in his behaviour.

Recently I had noticed that I was glancing into the nursery much more frequently than before, and probably more frequently than was necessary. This discovery gave me cause for serious thought, and since it has always been my rule to be honest with myself in all things, I was rather quick to work out the reason: apparently I enjoyed Mademoiselle Declique’s company.

I am accustomed to regard anything that is enjoyable with caution, because enjoyment goes hand in hand with relaxation, and from relaxation it is only one step to negligence and serious, even irreparable lapses in one’s work. And so for some time I stopped visiting the nursery altogether (apart, naturally, from those instances when my duties required it) and became very cool with Mademoiselle Declique. But this did not last for long. She herself approached me and requested me with irreproachable politeness to assist her in improving her mastery of the Russian language – nothing special, simply to talk about various subjects with her in Russian from time to time and correct her crudest errors. Let me repeat that the request was framed so politely that a refusal would have appeared unjustifiably rude.

Thatwas the beginning of our custom of daily conversations – on perfectly neutral and, naturally, respectable subjects. Mademoiselle learned Russian quite amazingly quickly and already knew a very large number of words. Of course, her speech was grammatically incorrect, but this had its own charm which I was not always able to resist.

On this occasion also, as we strolled along the allée in the Neskuchny Park, wewere speaking Russian. This time, however, the conversation was rather brief and uncomfortable. The problem was that Mademoiselle had been late in coming out for the drive and we had had to wait for her in the carriage for an entire thirty seconds (I was keeping track of the time with my Swiss chronometer). In the presence of Their Highnesses I restrained myself, but nowthatwewere speaking
tête-à-tête
, I felt it necessary to issue a slight reprimand. I did not like reproving Mademoiselle, but my duty required me to do it. Nobody dares to keep members of the royal family waiting, not even for half a minute.

‘It is not at all difficult always to be on time,’ I said, pronouncing every word slowly so that she would understand. ‘One merely has to live fifteen minutes ahead of things. Let us suppose you have an appointment with someone at three o’clock, then youmust arrive at a quarter to. Or, say, in order to arrive at some place on time, you need to leave the house at two, then youmust leave at a quarter to two. For a start I would advise you to simply to set your watch forward by fifteen minutes, until you become accustomed to it, and then punctuality will become a habit.’

What I had said was both practical and rational, but Mademoiselle Declique’s reply was impertinent.

‘Mr Ziukin, can I put my watch fohward by half a minute? (She could not manage the Russian ‘r’ – it came out rather like the LittleRussian ‘kh’.) I have neveh been lateh than half a minute in any case.’

I frowned at that and decided it would be best to pause, so we walked on in silence, and Mademoiselle even turned her head away.

Her Highnesswas telling her brother a fairy tale; I think itwas
Chapeau Rouge
¹
. In any case I heard the words: ‘
Et elle est allée à travers le forêt pour voir sa grandmaman.
’
²
Mikhail Georgievich, very proud of his new sailor suit, was trying to behave like a grown-up and hardly being naughty at all, except that every now and then he began skipping on one foot and once he threw his blue cap with the red pompom down on the ground.

Despite the overcast day we occasionally encountered people walking on the paths in the park. This, as my Moscow assistant had explained to me, was because the Neskuchny Park was not usually open to the public. Its gates had only been opened in connection with the festivities, and then just for a few days – until the ninth of May, when the emperor and empress would move here from the Petrovsky Palace. It was hardly surprising that some Muscovites had decided to take advantage of the rare opportunity to ramble through this forbidden territory, undeterred by the poor weather.

Approximately halfway back to the Hermitage we encountered an elegant middle-aged gentleman. He politely raised his top hat, exposing a head of smooth black hair with grey temples. He glanced at Xenia Georgievna inquisitively, but without offending against the proprieties, and walked on by. I would not have taken any notice of this gentleman if Her Highness had not suddenly looked round to watch him walk away and Mademoiselle Declique had not followed her example. At that point I took the liberty of looking round myself.

The elegant gentlemanwaswalking on unhurriedly, swinging his cane, and I failed to notice anything whatsoever in his figure that ought to have made the grand princess and her governess glance round. But walking behind us, in the same direction as ourselves, there was a man of truly remarkable appearance: broad-shouldered and stocky, with a shaggy black beard. He ran the searing gaze of his ferocious coal-black eyes over me and began whistling some
chansonette
or other that I did not know.

This individual appeared suspicious to me, and I promised myself that we would not come here again until the park was closed once more. Who could tellwhat kind of riff-raff – begging your pardon – might take a fancy to promenading here?

As if to confirmmy misgivings, a bandy-legged, squat Chinese pedlar camewaddling out from round the corner, carrying a tray of his dubious wares. The poor fellow had obviously thought that there would be many more people strolling in the park that day, but he had been unlucky with the weather.

When His Highness caught sight of a real live Chinaman, he pulled his hand free and went dashing towards the short, slant-eyed Oriental as fast as his legs would carry him.

‘I want that!’ Mikhail Georgievich shouted. ‘I want that one!’

And he pointed at a poisonous-pink sugar lollipop in the form of a pagoda.

‘
Ne montrez pas du doigt
!’
³
Mademoiselle cried.

Xenia Georgievna caught up with her brother, took hold of his hand again and asked: ‘
À quoi bon tu veux ce truc
?’
⁴

‘
Je veux, c’est tout
!’
⁵
His Highness snapped and jutted out his chin, demonstrating remarkable obstinacy for his age, and obstinacy is an excellent foundation for the development of character.

‘Ah, Afanasii, buy him it,’ Xenia Georgievna said, turning to me. ‘He’ll never stop pestering me now. He’ll lick it once and throw it away.’

The grand princess had no money of her own and in general I believe that she did not even know what it looked like, or what it was worth. Why would she need to?

I looked at Mademoiselle, since it was her decision. She wrinkled up her nose and shrugged her shoulders.

To give him his due, the Chinese did not make any attempt to impose his nightmarish merchandise on us; he merely peered at His Highness through the blank slits of his eyes. Some Chinese can be genuinely handsome – with delicate features, white skin and elegant movements – but this one was truly ugly. A flat face as round as a pancake and short hair that jutted straight up.

‘Hey, pedlar, howmuch is that?’ I asked, pointing at the pagoda and taking out my purse.

‘One roubr,’ the insolent Oriental replied, evidently having realised from my appearance that I would not try to haggle with him.

I gave the extortioner a ‘canary’, although the lollipop was worth no more than five kopecks at the most, and we walked on. The crude delicacy seemed to be to His Highness’s liking – in any case, the lollipop was not discarded.

The railings of the Hermitage came into view at the far end of a side path, and we turned in that direction. There were no more than a hundred
sazhens
left to walk.