— As you can see, the rumors about my commemoration are greatly exaggerated.
Marek smiled sourly, but Josephine decided not to give vent to her ward's cynicism and said:
— Mala! Let me introduce you right away to our guest today, North American Review correspondent Robert Jackson.
Kshesinskaya's attention immediately switched to the stranger. She pierced Robert with the eyes of a woman who is obliged to evaluate the merits and demerits of any man.
Robert was embarrassed by the literally exposing the soul and body of the inspection, and he lowered his head.
“And I knew your grandfather, Robert,” Kshesinskaya said, fully enjoying her inexhaustible magic to rule over men, “This talented reporter at one time managed to talk our king in such a way that at the end of the interview he literally stretched out his legs.
Matilda burst out laughing with that universal female laughter, which means genuine joy and sarcasm at the same time, which made Robert even more embarrassed and lost his reporter's gift.
The cunning Josephine, a kind of connoisseur of Matilda's spiritual fibers, decided to smooth the situation.
— The interview has nothing to do with it, Malya. The tsar just overdid it with vodka that day. The man showed off in front of the American guest. The servant then reported that the two of them emptied several bottles of white, only occasionally biting caviar.
Kshesinskaya's face changed, expressing complete disagreement.
— And you're talking to me? I, who personally witnessed how our tsar at the table emptied liters of vodka at a peasant pace, occasionally sniffing with pickles, and after that he went to the stable and unbent the horseshoes with one stroke. Our king was still that drunkard. In this case, he could plug any groom from his stable into the belt. No, my dear, it was not a trifling dose of alcohol that brought down the king that day.
Dr. Marek nodded in the affirmative, confirming, as a doctor, what he had said.
— And what? — asked out of a state of stupor Robert.
Kshesinskaya looked slyly at the emboldened American and said:
— Pour this American for the courage of my favorite cognac. Let's see what he can do.
— Maybe a glass of champagne? Josephine was concerned.
— Not! Today I will drink cognac with this young man, ”Kshesinskaya said in a tone that did not require objection, and signaled to the servants.
Everyone was poured a velvety drink with a golden-chocolate tint into wide glasses.
Matilda twisted the glass, sniffed its walls for a long time and drank in small sips, eating sweets and fruits, after which she ordered to repeat the procedure.
— Well, what killed the king? the reporter didn't hesitate.
Matilda glanced at the people present, then carefully looked at Robert and said meaningfully:
— Conscience!
So saying, she gestured for the servants to refill their glasses.
— Is that enough for today? Josephine hesitated.
— Yes, Madame Matilda, large doses of alcohol will only harm you. Do you want me to add work? Dr. Marek added demagogically.
Kshesinskaya looked at them ironically.
— Do you want to extend my longevity with your ostentatious care and other medical porn? I advise you not to disgrace yourself in front of our guest from America.
Kshesinskaya repeated the gesture, and the servants obediently obeyed her.
— On that day, your grandfather arrived in the Crimea early in the morning by train from St. Petersburg, — Matilda began to recall, — and already at noon they had the most intimate conversations with the king. So sincere that the tsar managed to tell about how he instructed me to seduce Tchaikovsky.
Hearing this, everyone raised their heads in surprise.
— Mala! — Josephine said, without having time to bite off a piece of Italian cake from amazement, — but you don’t compose by any chance?
— Jose! Would I start writing in anticipation of the second hundred of my life?
Everyone looked at each other.
— I see that you do not want to hear the details? Well, whatever you want. I won't tell you anything more.
Kshesinskaya got up from her chair, went to the piano and began to lightly play melodies from Chopin's nocturnes.
— We really want to, — Robert was alarmed, — please continue. We are listening to you carefully. So the tsar persuaded you to seduce the composer Tchaikovsky. How could he convince you and what reason did he have for this?
— Very simple. He promised me all the title roles in the upcoming ballet season. How could I refuse such a gift?
— Well, for what purpose did he go for it?
Matilda stopped playing the piano for a moment and looked at her audience with a smile.
— Our cunning king wished to kill two birds with one stone at once. Firstly, to defame me to Niky and separate us, and secondly, he really hoped that after my hugs and charms, Tchaikovsky would get a taste and take the path of normal relations with the female sex.
The audience looked at each other in shock.
— Why are you so surprised? The whole empire knew about my love affair with Niky, and there were always bad rumors about Tchaikovsky's strange behavior.
Kshesinskaya finished playing Chopin and began to type the notes of the well-known "Chizhik-Pyzhik".
Do you remember this crazy song? Pyotr Ilyich composed it when he put on the black and yellow uniform of the law school, which was located on the Fontanka.
— And what, they drank vodka in this school? Josephine chuckled.
Kshesinskaya laughed ironically.
— You can immediately see Zhozya that you were born in the era of Marxism-Leninism. Then on the Fontanka, in the basement, the tavern was where the future lawyers would go. True, Tchaikovsky hardly drank vodka, but the song about the fawn-fawn took root there.
— Well, who is to blame that you, Malya, were born in the time of Tsar Pea and remember the Old Testament details? — Josephine said with mock resentment, provoking Kshesinskaya to more significant memories.
— I remember a lot of things, — the former prima said meaningfully.
— Okay, we are well aware of your intimate relationship with members of the royal family. Better tell about how you seduced Tchaikovsky?
— Very simple. Early in the morning I went to the maestro's apartment and immediately applied the most reliable method.
— Which?
— Women's cry, turning into hysterics. Works flawlessly on men.
Yes, but you need a good reason to cry. Tchaikovsky himself could not offend you so much as to bring you to hysteria.
— Of course not.
— Well, what caused you to cry?
— Not what, but who. Petipa. Marius Ivanovich Petipa. This paddling pool always pursued me, found fault, deliberately did not put me in the first roles. Especially when the heir to the throne himself was sitting in the imperial box with his mother, the queen.
— Why did he do it? Was he really that mad at you?
— Not at all. On the contrary, he was delighted with me.
— So why?
— At the instigation of the Empress. This German hag in every possible way prevented our love with the heir. Remind me Robert, I'll tell you someday what tricks I had to go to in defiance of the maestro to go on stage and please Nicky with my presence.
— This juicy story I myself will tell Robert. Better continue the story about the seduction of Tchaikovsky.
— So. With a load of resentment against Petipa, I showed up at Tchaikovsky's house.
— And you managed to seduce him? Robert asked.
— Hell no. As soon as I rushed to his chest with a cry, the bedroom door opened and from there came out in underpants the mustachioed Joseph Kotek, or as my Kotik affectionately called him.