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 Rouge1. 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.
A crow on a branch cawed raucously and I looked up. But I didn’t see the bird, only a patch of grey sky between the dark leaves.
I think that I would give anything at all to halt time at that precise moment, because it was destined to divide my existence into two halves: all thatwas rational, predictable and orderlywas left behind in the old life, and the new consisted of nothing but madness, nightmares and chaos.
I heard the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly from behind and looked round in surprise. At that very instant a blow of prodigious force came crashing down on my head. I caught a glimpse of the face, distorted in incredible fury, of the bearded man I had seen not long before as I slumped to the ground and lost consciousness for a second. I say ‘for a second’ becausewhen I raised my head, which felt as as if it were filled with lead, off the ground, the bearded man was only a few steps away. He threw Mikhail Georgievich aside, grabbed Her Highness by the arm and started dragging her back past me. Mademoiselle froze on the spot in bewilderment and I felt as if I had turned to stone. I raised one hand to my forehead, wiped away something wet and looked at it – it was blood. I didn’t know what he had hit me with, brass knuckles or a lead cudgel, but the trees and bushes all around were swaying like ocean waves in a storm.