The Coronation (27 page)

I was struck completely dumb, with no idea at all of how to resolve this terrible situation.

‘Afanasii,’ Izabella Felitsianovna said firmly, ‘go to the dining room and bring some cognac. And don’t forget to slice a lemon.’

I rushed to carry out this instruction with a feeling of quite inexpressible relief and, to be quite honest, I was in no great hurry to get back. When I finally entered the room, carrying a tray, the picture that met my eyes was quite different: the ballerina was standing, with Their Highnesses sitting on pouffes on each side of her. I was rather inaptly reminded of a performance of Chinizelli’s circus which Mademoiselle and I had attended with Mikhail Georgievich the previous Easter. We had seen roaring lions sitting on low pedestals while a brave slim female lion-tamer strolled around between them, clutching a massive whip in her hand. The similarity was heightened by the fact that the heads of all three of them – Snezhnevskaya standing and the great dukes sitting – were on the same level.

‘. . . I love you both,’ I heard and halted in the doorway, because this was clearly not the moment to come barging in with the cognac. ‘You are both very dear to me – you, Georgie, and you, Paulie. And you love each other too, do you not? Is there anything in the world more precious than loving devotion and affection for one’s kin? We are no vulgar bourgeois. Why hate when you can love? Why quarrel when you can be friends? Paulie is not going off to Vladivostok – we would miss him wretchedly, and he would miss us. And we will arrange everything excellently. Paulie, when are you on duty at the Guards company?’

‘On Tuesdays and Fridays,’ Pavel Georgievich replied, batting his eyelids.

‘And you, Georgie, when are the meetings at the ministry and the State Council?’

Georgii Alexandrovich replied with a rather dull-witted (I beg your pardon, but I cannot find any better definition) expression on his face: ‘On Mondays and Thursdays. Why?’

‘See how convenient it all is!’ Snezhnevskaya exclaimed delightedly. ‘So everything’s arranged! You, Georgie, will come to see me on Tuesday and Friday. And you, Paulie, will come on Monday and Thursday. And we will all love each other very, very much. And we won’t quarrel at all, because there is nothing to quarrel about.’

‘Doyou love him in the sameway as you love me?’ the admiral-general asked stubbornly.

‘Yes, because he is your son. He is so very much like you.’

‘But . . . what about Afanasii?’ Pavel Georgievich asked, looking round at me in bemusement.

Izabella Felitsianovna’s eyes glinted, and I suddenly sensed that she did not find this terrible, impossible, monstrous scene in the least bit arduous.

‘And Afanasii too.’ On my word of honour, she winked at me. But that is impossible – I must have imagined it – or else it was a nervous tic in the corner of her eye. ‘But not in the same way. He is not a Romanov, after all, and I have a strange destiny. I can only love the men of that family.’

And this last sentence sounded perfectly serious, as if Snezhnevskaya had just that moment made a remarkable and possibly not very happy discovery.

¹
Thank God! He has recovered consciousness. You were right.

²
Affair of the heart.

13 May

I found myself caught in a false and distressing position, and I did not know how to escape from it.

On the one hand, the previous day’s clarification at the Loskutnaya had put an end to the tension between the grand dukes, and at breakfast they regarded each other with a sincere goodwill that reminded me more of two good comrades than a father and son, and I could not but be glad of that. On the other hand, when I entered the dining room with the coffee pot, bowed and wished everybody good morning, they both looked at me with an odd expression on their faces, and instead of the usual nod, they also said ‘Good morning,’ which confused me completely. I believe that I even blushed.

I had to rid myself of this monstrous suspicion somehow, but I had absolutely no idea how to raise such a subject with Their Highnesses.

As I was pouring Georgii Alexandrovich’s coffee, he shook his head reproachfully and yet also, I thought, with a certain hint of approval and droned in a low voice: ‘Well, I never . . .’

My hand trembled and for the first time in my life I spilled a few drops straight into the saucer.

Pavel Georgievich did not utter a single word of reproach; he simply thanked me for the coffee, and that was even worse.

I stood beside the door, suffering terribly.

Mr Carr was chattering away incessantly, making elegant gestures with his slim white hands. I think he was talking about the opera – at least, I heard ‘
Khovanshchina
’ repeated several times. Lord Banville had not come to breakfast, owing to a migraine.

What I had to do, I thought, was to approach Georgii Alexandrovich and say this: ‘The opinion that Your Highness has formed concerning my presumed relationship with a certain individual well known to you has absolutely nothing in common with reality, and the only reason I happened to be in thewardrobe is that the aforementioned individual wished to avoid compromising Pavel Georgievich. And as for the love that this individual declared for my own humble personage, if a feeling so very flattering to me should indeed exist, then it is without the slightest hint of any passion of a non-platonic nature.’

No, that was probably too involved. What if I were to say: ‘The reverence in which I hold the members of the royal family and also the affections of their hearts would never, under any circumstances, allowme, even inmywildest fantasies, to imagine that . . .’ Just at that moment my glance accidentally met that of Lieutenant Endlung, who assumed an expression of admiration, raising his eyebrows and winking at me, as well as giving me a thumbs up sign under the tablecloth, from which I concluded that Pavel Georgievich had told him everything. It cost me an immense effort of will to maintain an air of imperturbability.

The Lord had truly decided to subject me to grave trials.

As everyone was leaving the table, Xenia Georgievna whispered to me: ‘Come to my room.’

Five minutes later I set out for her room with a heavy heart, already knowing that nothing good awaited me there.

The grand princess had already changed into a promenade dress and put on a hat with a veil, behind which her long beautifully moulded eyes glittered resolutely.

‘I wish to take a drive in the landau,’ she said. ‘It is such a bright sunny day today. You will drive, as you used to do when I was a child.’

I bowed, feeling incredibly relieved.

‘Which pair of horses would you like to be harnessed?’

‘The sorrels, they are friskier.’

‘Right away.’

But my feeling of relief proved premature. When I drove up to the porch Xenia Georgievna did not get into the carriage alone, but with Fandorin, who looked a genuine dandy in a grey top hat, grey frock coat and mother-of-pearl tie with a pearl pin. Now it was clear why her Highness had wanted me to occupy the coach box instead of the coachman Savelii.

We drove through the park, along the avenue, and then Xenia Georgievna ordered me to turn towards the Sparrow Hills. The carriagewas brand new, with rubber shock absorbers, and driving it was a sheer pleasure – it did not jolt or pitch, and only swayed ever so slightly.

While the horses were trotting between the trees, the quiet conversation behind my back merged into themuted background of sound, but on the Kaluga Highway we had a strong following wind that snatched up every word spoken and carried it tomyears, with the result that, despite myself, I played the part of aneavesdropper, and therewas nothing I could do about it.

‘. . . and nothing else matters . . .’ Those were the first words that the wind brought me (the voice belonged to Her Highness). ‘Take me away. It doesn’t matter where to. I would go to the end of the world with you. No, truly, do not grimace like that! We can go to America. I have read that there are no titles or class prejudices there. Why don’t you say something?’

I lashed the entirely innocent horses and they started trotting a bit faster.

‘Class p-prejudices exist even in America, but that is not the problem . . .’

‘Then what is?’

‘Everything. I am forty years old and you are nineteen. That is one. I am, as Karnovich recently put it, “an individual of no definite profession”, while you, Xenia, are a grand princess. That is two. I know life only too well, and you do not know it at all. That is three. And the most important thing of all is that I belong only to myself, but you belong to Russia. We could not be happy.’

His habitual manner of numbering off his arguments seemed inappropriate to me in this particular instance, but I had to admit that this time at least Erast Petrovich was speaking like a responsible man. From the ensuing silence I concluded that Her Highness had been sobered by his words of reason.

A minute later she asked quietly: ‘Do you not love me?’

And then he spoiled everything!

‘I didn’t s-say that. You . . . you have d-disturbed m-my emotional equilibrium,’ Fandorin babbled, stammering more than usual. ‘I d-did not think that such a thing could ever happen to me again, b-but it seems that it has . . .’

‘So you do love me then? You love me?’ she persisted. ‘If you do, then nothing else matters. If you don’t, it matters even less. One word, just one word. Well?’

My heartwas wrung by the hope and fear that I heard in Xenia Georgievna’s voice, and yet at that moment in time I could not help admiring her resolve and noble candour.

Naturally, the sly seducer replied: ‘Yes, I l-love you.’

How could he possibly dare not to love Her Highness!

‘At least, I am in love,’ Fandorin immediately corrected himself. ‘Forgive me for speaking absolutely honestly. You have completely turned my head, but . . . I am not sure that it is simply a matter of you . . . Perhaps the m-magic of a title played some part in it . . . In that case it is shameful . . . I am afraid to p-prove unworthy of your love . . .’

At this point I found this heroic gentleman rather pitiful. At least, in comparison with Her Highness, who was prepared to abandon everything for the sake of her feelings, and in this case ‘everything’ signified so much that it was simply breathtaking.

‘And also . . .’ he said in a more restrained, sadder voice, ‘I do not agree with you that nothing matters apart from love. There are more important things than love. That is probably the main lesson I have drawn from my life.’

Xenia Georgievna replied in a ringing voice: ‘Erast Petrovich, you have been a poor student of life.’ And then she shouted to me: ‘Afanasii, turn back!’

For the rest of the way they did not say a word to each other.

I was not present at the meeting that preceded Mademoiselle’s departure for her next meeting with Lind, since none of the grand dukes were involved and no drinks were served. I was left languishing in the corridor, and now that my fears for Xenia Georgievna were a little less acute, I was able to focus on the most important thing – the fate of the young prisoner. What the all-wise Snezhnevskaya had said about having to sacrifice the lesser for the sake of the greater had seared my heart, but Izabella Felitsianovna did not know anything about Fandorin’s plan. There was still hope – everything depended on whether Mademoiselle was able to determine the location of the hiding place.

The meeting did not last long. I caught Mademoiselle in the corridor and she told me in French: ‘I just hope I don’t lose count. I didn’t sleep all last night – I was training my memory. Erast said that the best way to do it is to learn poetry that you do not completely understand. So I learned a passage from your terrible poet Pushkin:

‘Oh ye at whom have trembled

Europe’s mighty tribes,

Oh, predatory Gauls (
ce sont nous, les français
)
¹

You too have fallen in your graves.

Oh dread! Oh fearsome times!

Where are you now, beloved son of fortune and Bellona (
il parle de Napoléon
)
²

The voice that scorned the truth, and faith and law,

Dreaming in pride of casting thrones down by the sword,

Has vanished like a frightful dream when morning comes!’

‘After that, memorising the creaks of the wheels will be a sheer pleasure. Just as long as I don’t lose count. Imust not lose count. Today is our last chance. I am very nervous.’

Yes, I could see that her affected cheerfulness and all this jolly banter was merely a screen for profound anxiety.

I wanted to say that I was I was verymuch afraid for her. After all, Fandorin had said that Doctor Lind did not leave witnesses. It would be nothing to him to kill the intermediary when she was no longer needed. If those in higher spheres were willing to abandon Mikhail Georgievich to his fate, then who would be concerned about the death of a mere governess?

‘I should not have run after that carriage. It was an unforgivable mistake,’ I finally said in Russian. ‘You see, now you will have to carry the can for me.’

It was not what I wanted to say – it came out wrongly – and there was that phrase ‘carry the can’, which a foreigner was unlikely to know. But even so Mademoiselle understood me perfectly well.

‘Do not be so afraid, Athanas,’ she said with a smile, calling me by my given name for the first time. On her lips it acquired an unfamiliar Caucasian ring. ‘Lind will not kill me today. I still have to bring him the Orlov tomorrow.’

I am ashamed to admit it, but at that moment I felt a sense of relief as I recalled how confidently Snezhnevskaya had declared that the Orlovwould not be handed over to the kidnappers under any circumstances. Itwas a base unworthy feeling, and I blanched at the realisation that in that moment I had betrayed poor little Mikhail Georgievich, who had already been abandoned by everyone else. In my opinion, the very worst of sins is to abuse those most precious of human feelings, love and trust.