Тигрис Рафаэль Letters from beyond

— Do you think it's right to torture an old woman?

Don't be afraid, Robert. She is alive. During the interview, he definitely will not die.

Robert, who was accustomed to the medical cynicism of his doctor friend, nevertheless exclaimed:

— She's almost 100 years old!

— So what? She'll catch a cold at our funeral. Ballerinas get sick a little. Life in motion is the key to health.

What's the point of sharing her past?

— Nu this, my friend, already your problems. Here you have to show your talent as a journalist. My business is to bring you together, well, then let your ingenuity work.

Robert shuddered, anticipating a difficult journalistic job. Marek sensed his friend's concern.

— You're not very shy. Recently, in addition to other ailments, she began to experience such phenomena typical of eldership as memories of long-forgotten events. Kshesinskaya may not remember what she ate during yesterday's breakfast, but she will accurately describe what Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovich gave her for Easter 1905. Yes Yes! Do not be surprised. This is very characteristic of the senile brain, and you should take advantage of it.

— Shall we take my assistant? She will keep records.

— It's not a very good idea.

— In what sense?

— In the most direct. Matilda cannot stand the presence of girls of increased cuteness. Your assistant is a pretty chick, isn't she?

— Well, she has such a disadvantage.

— And certainly not an old woman?

— Years that way 23.

— You see now.

— But I need someone to write accurately.

— You'll get by with nothing. Remember — Kshesinskaya living history of Russian ballet, autocracy, revolution and emigration — in short, the primary source of everything that has happened in Russia over the past 100 years. She is the personification of an entire era. There is enough information in it for 10 reports.

They drove up to a luxurious house located on one of the central streets of Paris.

— Wow! — Robert raised his eyebrows, getting out of the car, — and the prima of the royal court in Paris was not in poverty at all. You told me that until recently she gave ballet lessons to rich Russian offspring. Why did she do this being a wealthy woman?

— For the soul, probably, — Marek answered evasively and added already quietly, — or maybe for averting eyes. Okay let's go to the house. I will introduce you to the person closest to Kshesinskaya.

— With Madame Josephine? I've heard about her. Listen, then I have a question. How, then, does Kshesinskaya endure Josephine next to her? After all, she certainly is not old and by no means a fearful person.

— Good question. Well, firstly, Zhozya is her close relative, whom she has known since childhood, and secondly, an effect is triggered, which is called “mirror nostalgia” in psychology.

— Don't be silly, explain plainly.

— Well, this is when a person already in old age is looking for his young likeness in someone else.

— Are you saying that Matilda sees herself in Josephine in her younger years?

— Well, sort of. And this is close to the truth. Josya really reminds her of those glorious years in everything, when the men of the imperial family, including the heir to the throne, swore love to her.

Dr. Marek politely let Robert go ahead.

The interior decoration of the house is quite consistent with its external appearance. Luxury was felt in everything: expensive floor carpets, golden stucco on the ceilings, artsy porcelain vases everywhere, figurines along the stairs, picturesque paintings on the walls — all this indicated that the hostess of the house was not in poverty at all, but, on the contrary, spared no expense to live in luxury and splendor.

From the second floor, down the stairs, Josephine herself descended to them — an elegantly dressed, well-groomed woman of about forty, with a penetrating look of a sly fox.

— Welcome, Robert! I heard a lot of flattering things about you and not only from Marek.

— Nice to hear about it, ma'am.

— You are a well-known person in wide journalistic circles both in America and in Europe. Robert Jackson Jr. is the successor to the work of his grandfather Robert Jackson Sr., a renowned journalist.

The three of them sat down on easy chairs by the fireplace, and the servants began to serve drinks and refreshments.

— I have prepared Matilda for today's conversation. Its main condition is no recording device. I mean the tape recorder, she hates it. God forbid you poke her in the face with a microphone.

— I wanted to involve my assistant for the record, but Marek was categorically against it.

Marek is right. Your young assistant would have affected her worse than a tape recorder with a microphone.

— You're scaring me. Is Madame Kshesinskaya really so withdrawn that I won’t be able to arrange a sincere conversation with her?

— Why so pessimistic? Your respectable appearance and professional skill will play the right role, and it will open up to you. After all, at one time your grandfather managed to talk to the Russian Emperor Alexander III himself.

— Do you know how this interview ended?

— Yes, the emperor died by the end of it. But don't worry, Mali's health won't let you down. If she lived to be a hundred years old, then the interview with you will somehow survive too.

For many years, this incident with the Russian Tsar hung like a sword of Damocles over the reputation of the Jackson publishing house. However, the glory of Robert Jackson, Sr., as an interviewer of the Russian emperor, did not fade because of this accident.

— I have this question. In what language will our communication with Mrs. Kshesinskaya be? Robert asked.

— For her, Polish and Russian are native, but of course she will communicate with you in French, but I warn you — her French is different from Parisian. It is a salon, it was used by the Russian nobility in St. Petersburg.

Robert shook his head placatingly.

— Well, if there are no more questions, gentlemen, then I will order the servants to roll out the carriage with our ward here into the living room, closer to the fireplace.

Soon a carriage with a thin, withered old woman drove into the room. Having managed to live up to the 70s of the twentieth century, Kshesinskaya saw and talked live with the great Tchaikovsky, the legendary Petipa, the father of the heir to the throne, Emperor Alexander III, visited the bed of the last Russian tsar, his brother and uncle, survived two of the bloodiest wars of mankind and now as a living history appeared before those who had not yet managed to live even a third of her life path.

Despite her advanced age, she looked alive. A lot of wrinkles on the face, sagging skin on the neck and senile hands could not spoil the impression that small penetrating eyes and neatly styled hair, woven at the back of the head into a narrow long pigtail, made.

The old age of the woman was also hidden by skillfully applied cosmetics, which did not disfigure her face at all. But Kshesinskaya did not like to smile. The reason for this was the crooked bite of her teeth from a young age. The dentistry of those and subsequent years could not cope with this task, and therefore in all the photographs the ballet prima was captured with her mouth closed, without a dazzling Hollywood smile.

As evidence that her body was still agile and not completely decrepit, Kshesinskaya independently moved from the stroller to one of the armchairs by the fireplace.

Those in the living room watched with satisfaction how stubbornly the former prima of the Tsar's ballet, full of life, stubbornly resists the inexorable years.

Catching a look of delight on herself, Kshesinskaya spoke first, modifying the famous phrase of Mark Twain in her own way.

— 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