Coronation, or the Last of the Novels
Author	Boris Akunin
Genre	"high society detective"
Original language	Russian
Original published
Decor	Konstantin Pobedin
Series	The Adventures of Erast Fandorin
Publisher	Zakharov
Pages	352
ISBN
Cycle	The Adventures of Erast Fandorin [d]
Previous	State Councillor
Next	Mistress of Death
Electronic version

Boris Akunin conceived the series of books “The Adventures of Erast Fandorin” as a summary of all detective genres; each novel represented a new detective genre. This book describes events in the highest society of the Russian Empire - the royal family.

The action of this novel takes place in 1896, on the eve and during the coronation of Emperor Nicholas II. Mikhail, the four-year-old son of Grand Duke Georgy Alexandrovich, was kidnapped. The kidnapper, calling himself "Dr. Lind", demands " diamond(diamond) Count Orlov", with which the imperial scepter is decorated. But without the scepter, the coronation cannot take place. Erast Petrovich Fandorin undertakes to save the honor of the monarchy.

The novel recreates the tragic atmosphere of Russia at the end of the 19th century and describes the coronation of Nicholas II (as an action plan, which Zyukin recalls) and the Khodynka disaster (in which Lind, Zyukin and Fandorin participate).

Published under the Zakharov publishing house, like all the books in this series.

Name

The phrase “..the last of the novels” may suggest that this is the last book in the series “The Adventures of Erast Fandorin” or the last book of the writer. However, this phrase is the words of the English butler about the new king, with which the book ends:

“Mr. Freyby looked at the gilded landau with the chamberlains at the back. Shaking his head, he said: “The last of Romanoff, I’m afraid.” - He also took out a dictionary, English-Russian, muttered: - The article is out... “Last” is “posledny”, right... “of” is “iz”... And with unshakable confidence he said, carefully pronouncing each word: - Last - from - Romanov.”

Plot

The story is told in the form of a diary on behalf of Afanasy Zyukin, the butler of Grand Duke Georgy Alexandrovich. The novel begins with the arrival of the imperial court in Moscow in connection with the Coronation of the Tsardom. Zyukin is clearly dissatisfied with the preparation and decoration proposed by the Muscovites for the royal persons.

Upon arrival, during a walk, the youngest son of the Grand Duke, the cousin of the future emperor, Mikhail (Mika), is kidnapped from the hands of the governess. After some time, a ransom is demanded from the family - jewelry (first ladies' jewelry, and then “Count Orlov” from the ceremonial scepter), otherwise Mika will be returned, but in parts. Members of the Romanov family entrust the investigation to Fandorin, since the matter is serious, sensitive and does not require publicity.

During the search, Fandorin discovered that all criminals associated with Dr. Lind had an extraordinary affection for him, bordering on love. Fandorin himself entered into a romantic relationship with Grand Duchess Ksenia, which earned him Zyukin’s enmity.

Afanasy Zyukin still helps Erast in the investigation, but the butler ends up in captivity and misses the coronation, for which he was so prepared and which he was so looking forward to. Later, Mademoiselle Declique, the governess of the kidnapped Mikhail Georgievich, is kidnapped. She is captured by Linda, but Fandorin and Zyukin save her.

Zyukin and Fandorin, in pursuit of Lind, end up on Khodynka. Lind shouts to the crowd that gifts are being distributed unfairly somewhere, which starts a stampede (see photo). Tragedy on Khodynka Field), Erast and Afanasy miraculously manage to stay alive.

Erast Petrovich begins to guess who Dr. Lind really is, and in this he was helped by Mademoiselle Declique herself, who incorrectly formulated her story of imprisonment. However, the boy was never saved.

Real persons in the novel

Akunin somewhat distorted the Romanov family connections. As in all his works, he changed the names of historical figures.

Summary: On the eve of the coronation of Emperor Nicholas II, the son of Grand Duke Georgy Alexandrovich was kidnapped. The kidnapper, calling himself “Dr. Lind,” demands as ransom the “Count Orlov” diamond, which adorns the imperial scepter. Erast Petrovich Fandorin undertakes to save the life of the child and the honor of the monarchy. It is possible to negotiate with the criminal to rent the diamond until the coronation. The resulting reprieve makes it possible to get on the trail of the kidnappers and blackmailers. At the same time, the mistakes of Karnovich and Lasovsky lead to the failure of a number of Fandorin operations. The last meeting should dot all the i’s, but even here Linda manages to slip away. Fandorin and Zyukin are wanted. In the end: “no matter how much a thread twists, it will still lead to a ball.” The misogynist Lind, the genius of evil, turns out to be the governess Emilia Deklik.

Personal impressions: A fairly well-developed plot is a set of events that allows you to hold the reader’s attention without straining him with the course of the drama being played out. At the same time, Akunin seems to not have enough of just one detective story, and the book contains a number of essentially meaningless deviations from the main narrative. It is difficult for Grigory Shalvovich to move away from the political line; it seems that history and politics are one for him. There is also some strangeness that I noticed in the previous book “State Councilor”. Remember Pozharsky’s words:

I descend from the Varangians, you are a descendant of the Crusaders.

This is where Erast Petrovich comes from with some pedantry and some aloofness. Just look at his words addressed to Afanasy Stepanovich:

You believe that the world exists according to certain rules, that it has meaning and order. But I realized a long time ago: life is nothing more than chaos. There is no order at all, and there are no rules either... Yes, I have rules. But these are my own r-rules, invented by me for myself, and not for the whole world. Let the world be on its own, and let me be on my own.

It is clear that a large share of fatalism is a reflection of Chkhartishvili. But I’m somewhat offended by how those around him look against the backdrop of Fandorin... Perhaps this is a necessary writer’s move in this case, creating a contrast... But nevertheless.

Grade: 9 out of 10 points
Links: find and download for free

From the series “The Adventures of Erast Fandorin”:

1. 1998 - (1876)
2. 1998 - (1877)
3. 1998 - (1878)
4. 1998 —

Boris Akunin

Coronation, or the Last of the Novels

He died before my eyes, this strange and unpleasant gentleman.

Everything happened quickly, so quickly.

Simultaneously with the roar of shots, he was thrown towards the rope.

He dropped his small revolver, grabbed the shaky railing and froze in place, throwing his head back. A white face flashed, crossed out by a stripe of mustache, and disappeared, hung with black crepe.

- Erast Petrovich! – I shouted, calling him by his first name and patronymic for the first time.

Or did you just want to shout?

The unreliable flooring swayed under his feet. The head suddenly jerked forward, as if from a powerful push, the body began to fall with its chest onto the rope and the next moment, turning over absurdly, it was already flying down, down, down.

The treasured box fell out of my hands, hit the stone and split, the multi-colored edges of diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds flashed with dazzling sparks, but I didn’t even look at all these countless treasures that fell into the grass.

A soft, crunching sound of impact came from the crevice, and I gasped. The black sack, accelerating, rolled down a steep slope and stopped its sickening spinning only at the very stream, limply dropped one hand into the water and remained there, face down in the pebbles.

I didn't love this man. Maybe he even hated it. In any case, I wanted him to disappear from our lives once and for all. However, I did not want him to die.

His trade was taking risks, he played with danger all the time, but for some reason I didn’t think that he could die. He seemed immortal to me.

I don’t know how long I stood there, looking down stiffly. It must not be long at all. But time seemed to crack, split, and I fell into this hole - back into my former, serene life, which ended exactly two weeks ago.

Yes, then it was also Monday, the sixth of May.

We arrived in the ancient capital of the Russian state in the morning. In connection with the upcoming coronation celebrations, the Nikolaevsky station was overloaded, and our train was driven along the transfer branch to Brestsky, which seemed to me an incorrect action on the part of the local authorities, to put it mildly. Presumably, this was due to some coldness in the relationship between His Highness Georgy Alexandrovich and His Highness Simeon Alexandrovich, the Moscow Governor-General. I can’t explain in any other way the humiliating half-hour standing at Sortirovochnaya and the subsequent transfer of an emergency train from the main station to the secondary one.

And it was not Simeon Alexandrovich himself who met us on the platform, as required by protocol, tradition, kinship and, in the end, simply respect for his elder brother, but only the chairman of the committee for receiving guests - the minister of the imperial court, who, however, was right there left for Nikolaevsky to meet the Prince of Prussia. Since when is the Prussian heir given more respect in Moscow than His Majesty's uncle, Admiral General of the Russian Navy and the second most senior of the Grand Dukes of the Imperial House? Georgy Alexandrovich did not show it, but I think he was no less outraged by such an obvious front than I was.

It’s good that Her Highness Grand Duchess Ekaterina Ioannovna remained in St. Petersburg - she is so zealous for the subtleties of the ritual and the observance of august dignity. The measles epidemic that struck the four middle sons, Alexei Georgievich, Sergei Georgievich, Dmitry Georgievich and Konstantin Georgievich, prevented Her Highness, an exemplary and loving mother, from participating in the coronation, the highest event in the life of the state and the imperial family. True, evil tongues claimed that Her Highness’s absence from Moscow celebrations was explained not so much by maternal love as by her reluctance to play the role of an extra at the triumph of the young queen. At the same time, they remembered last year’s story with the Christmas ball. The new empress invited the ladies of the august family to establish a needlework society - so that each of the grand duchesses would knit a warm cap for the orphans of the Mariinsky Orphanage. Perhaps Ekaterina Ioannovna actually reacted too harshly to this undertaking. I also do not rule out that since then the relationship between Her Highness and Her Majesty has not become entirely good, however, there was no shocking in my mistress’s non-attendance at the coronation, I can vouch for this. Ekaterina Ioannovna can treat Her Majesty in any way she likes, but she would never allow herself to neglect her dynastic duty without a very serious reason. Her Highness's sons were indeed seriously ill.

Russian language

Year of publication: 2000

Pages: 306

Brief description of the book Coronation, or the Last of the Novels:

The adventures described in the detective novel do not come from the perspective of detective Erast Fandorin. The protagonist is Afanasy Zyukin. He is the butler of the famous Romanov family. Athanasius describes the events taking place shortly before the coronation. The crime that happened was the kidnapping of the prince’s youngest son right from the hands of the governess. The villains demanded a ransom for the child - first jewelry, then something more. If the ransom is not provided, the boy will be returned in parts. The case was entrusted to Fandorin as a professional. It is he who will have to unravel the whole tangle of mysteries in order to return his son to the prince, simultaneously punishing the villains. His assistant will be Zyukin himself, who does not have a very warm attitude towards the detective.

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May 20

He died before my eyes, this strange and unpleasant gentleman.

Everything happened quickly, so quickly.

Simultaneously with the roar of shots, he was thrown towards the rope.

He dropped his small revolver, grabbed the shaky railing and froze in place, throwing his head back. A white face flashed, crossed out by a stripe of mustache, and disappeared, curtained with black crepe.

- Erast Petrovich! – I shouted, calling him by his first name and patronymic for the first time.

Or did you just want to shout?

The precarious flooring swayed under his feet. The head suddenly jerked forward, as if from a powerful push, the body began to fall with its chest onto the rope and the next moment, turning over absurdly, it was already flying down, down, down.

The treasured box fell out of my hands, hit the stone and split, the multi-colored edges of diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds flashed with dazzling sparks, but I didn’t even look at all these countless treasures that fell into the grass.

A soft, crunching sound of impact came from the crevice, and I gasped. The black sack, accelerating, rolled down a steep slope and stopped its sickening spinning only at the very stream, limply dropped one hand into the water and remained there, face down in the pebbles.

I didn't love this man. Maybe he even hated it. In any case, I wanted him to disappear from our lives once and for all. However, I did not want him to die.

His trade was taking risks, he played with danger all the time, but for some reason I didn’t think that he could die. He seemed immortal to me.

I don’t know how long I stood there, looking down stiffly. It must not be long at all. But time seemed to crack, split, and I fell into this hole - back into my former, serene life, which ended exactly two weeks ago.

Yes, then it was also Monday, the sixth of May.

the 6th of May

We arrived in the ancient capital of the Russian state in the morning. In connection with the upcoming coronation celebrations, the Nikolaevsky station was overloaded, and our train was driven along the transfer branch to Brestsky, which seemed to me an incorrect action on the part of the local authorities, to put it mildly. Presumably, this was due to some coldness in the relationship between His Highness Georgy Alexandrovich and His Highness Simeon Alexandrovich, the Moscow Governor-General. I can’t explain in any other way the humiliating half-hour standing at Sortirovochnaya and the subsequent transfer of an emergency train from the main station to the secondary one.

And it was not Simeon Alexandrovich himself who met us on the platform, as required by protocol, tradition, kinship and, in the end, simply respect for his elder brother, but only the chairman of the committee for receiving guests - the minister of the imperial court, who, however, was right there left for Nikolaevsky to meet the Prince of Prussia. Since when is the Prussian heir given more respect in Moscow than His Majesty's uncle, Admiral General of the Russian Navy and the second most senior of the Grand Dukes of the Imperial House? Georgy Alexandrovich did not show it, but I think he was no less outraged by such an obvious affront than I was.

It’s good that Her Highness Grand Duchess Ekaterina Ioannovna remained in St. Petersburg - she is so zealous for the subtleties of the ritual and the observance of the august dignity.

The measles epidemic that struck the four middle sons, Alexei Georgievich, Sergei Georgievich, Dmitry Georgievich and Konstantin Georgievich, prevented Her Highness, an exemplary and loving mother, from participating in the coronation, the highest event in the life of the state and the imperial family. True, evil tongues claimed that Her Highness’s absence from Moscow celebrations was explained not so much by maternal love as by her reluctance to play the role of an extra at the triumph of the young queen. At the same time, they remembered last year’s story with the Christmas ball. The new empress invited the ladies of the august family to establish a needlework society - so that each of the grand duchesses would knit a warm cap for the orphans of the Mariinsky Orphanage. Perhaps Ekaterina Ioannovna actually reacted too harshly to this undertaking. I also do not rule out that since then the relationship between Her Highness and Her Majesty has not become entirely good, however, there was no shocking in my mistress’s non-attendance at the coronation, I can vouch for this. Ekaterina Ioannovna can treat Her Majesty in any way she likes, but she would never allow herself to neglect her dynastic duty without a very serious reason. Her Highness's sons were indeed seriously ill.

This, of course, is sad, but, as people say, every cloud has a silver lining, for along with Her Highness the entire Grand Duke’s court remained in the capital, which significantly facilitated the very difficult task that faced me in connection with the temporary move to Moscow. The ladies of the court were very upset that they would not see the Moscow celebration and expressed dissatisfaction (of course, without going beyond the bounds of etiquette), but Ekaterina Ioannovna remained adamant: according to the ceremony, the small courtyard should be located where the majority of the members of the grand ducal family reside, and the majority of the Georgieviches, as our branch of the imperial house is unofficially called, remained in St. Petersburg.

Four went to the coronation: Georgy Alexandrovich himself, his eldest and youngest sons, as well as his only daughter Ksenia Georgievna.

As I already said, the absence of the gentlemen of the court only made me happy. The manager of the court, Prince Metlitsky, and the manager of the court office, Privy Councilor von Born, would only interfere with my work, poking my nose into matters completely beyond their understanding. A good butler does not need nannies and supervisors to cope with his duties. As for the chamberlain and ladies-in-waiting, I simply wouldn’t know where to place them - such a miserable residence was allocated to the Green Court (that’s what our house is called after the color of the Grand Duchess’s train) by the coronation committee. However, the conversation about the residence lies ahead.

The move from St. Petersburg went well. The train consisted of three carriages: the august family was traveling in the first, the servants in the second, the necessary utensils and luggage in the third, so I constantly had to move from carriage to carriage.

Immediately after leaving, His Highness Georgy Alexandrovich sat down to drink cognac with His Highness Pavel Georgievich and Chamberlain Endlung. I deigned to drink eleven glasses, got tired and then slept all the way to Moscow. Before going to bed, already in his “cabin,” as he called the compartment, he told me a little about the voyage to Sweden, which took place twenty-two years ago and which made a great impression on His Highness. The fact is that although Georgy Alexandrovich holds the rank of admiral general, he went to sea only once, retained the most unpleasant memories of this journey and often mentions the French minister Colbert, who did not sail on ships at all, but nevertheless made his country great sea ​​power. I heard the story of Swedish swimming many times and managed to memorize it. The most dangerous thing here is the description of the storm off the coast of Gotland. After the words “And then the captain will shout: “Everyone to the pumps!”,” His Highness has the habit of rolling his eyes and hitting the table with his fist. This time the same thing happened, but without any damage to the tablecloth and dishes, since I took timely measures: I held the decanter and glass.

When His Highness got tired and began to lose coherence in speech, I signaled to the footman to undress and put him to bed, and I went to visit Pavel Georgievich and Lieutenant Endlung. As people who are young and healthy, they are much less tired of cognac. One could say that they were not tired at all, so it was necessary to keep an eye on them, especially considering the temperament of Mr. Chamberlain.

Oh, this Endlung. One should not say so, but Ekaterina Ioannovna made a big mistake when she considered this gentleman a suitable mentor for her eldest son. The lieutenant, of course, is a clever beast: his eyes are clear and pure, his face is pink, a neat parting on his golden head, a childish blush on his cheeks - well, just an angel. He is respectful with older ladies, shuffles his feet, and can listen with the most interested look about John of Kronstadt and about the Italian greyhound’s distemper. It is not surprising that Ekaterina Ioannovna melted from Endlung. Such a pleasant and, most importantly, serious young man, not like the rogue midshipmen from the Naval Corps or the slackers from the Guards crew. I found someone to entrust custody of Pavel Georgievich on the first big voyage. I've seen enough of this trustee.

In the first port, Varna, Endlung dressed up like a peacock - in a white suit, a scarlet vest, a star-shaped tie, a wide Panama hat - and went to an obscene house, and his Highness, then still just a boy, dragged with him. I tried to intervene, and the lieutenant told me: “I promised Ekaterina Ioannovna that I won’t take my eyes off His Highness, wherever I go, he will go.” I tell him: “No, Mr. Lieutenant, Her Highness said: where He, you too." And Endlung: “This, Afanasy Stepanych, is casuistry. The main thing is that we will be inseparable, like the Ajaxes.” And he dragged the young midshipman through all the dens, all the way to Gibraltar. And after Gibraltar to Kronstadt, both the lieutenant and the midshipman behaved quietly and did not even go ashore - they only ran to the doctor four times a day to do syringes. This is what a mentor is like. Because of this Endlung, His Highness has changed a lot, it’s simply unrecognizable. I already hinted to Georgy Alexandrovich, but he just waved his hand: nothing, they say, such a school will only benefit my Polly, and Endlung, although a dunce, is a good friend and a wide-open soul, there won’t be much harm from him. In my opinion, this is called letting a goat into the garden, to use a popular expression. I see right through Endlung. Why, the soul is wide open. Thanks to his friendship with Pavel Georgievich, he received a monogram for his shoulder straps, and now also a chamber cadet. This is unheard of - such a respectable court title for some lieutenant!

Left alone, the young people started playing bezique to make their wishes come true. When I looked into the compartment, Pavel Georgievich called:

- Sit down, Afanasy. Play American with us. If you cheat, I’ll make you shave your precious sideburns to hell.

I thanked him and declined, citing that I was extremely busy, although I had nothing special to do. It wasn’t enough to play “American” with His Highness. Yes, Pavel Georgievich himself knew very well that I would not make a partner - he was just joking. In recent months, he has developed this disconcerting habit of making fun of me. And all thanks to Endlung - his influence. Endlung himself, however, has stopped teasing me for some time now, but Pavel Georgievich still won’t stop. It’s okay, His Highness is allowed, I have no complaints.

And now he told me with the most stern look:

– You know, Afanasy, the phenomenal hair on your face arouses the jealousy of certain influential people. For example, the day before yesterday at the ball, when you stood at the door so important, with a gilded mace and sideburns on both sides, all the ladies looked only at you, but no one looked at cousin Nicky, even though he was the emperor. We need to, we need to shave you, or at least cut your hair.

In fact, my “phenomenal vegetation” was nothing out of the ordinary: a mustache with beards and sideburns - perhaps luxuriant, but not excessive, and in any case kept in a decent form. My father and my grandfather wore the same ones, so I didn’t intend to shave or get a haircut.

“Okay, Polly,” Endlung stood up for me. – Don’t torment Afanasy Stepanovich. Better go, it's your turn.

Apparently, I still have to explain about my relationship with the lieutenant. There is a story here.

On the very first day of sailing on the corvette "Mstislav", as soon as we left Sevastopol, Endlung lay in wait for me on the deck, put his hand on my shoulder and said, looking with impudent eyes, completely transparent from the wine he drank at the farewell:

- What, Afonya, lackey soul, did you let go of the mops? Was it blown away by the breeze? [My sideburns actually became somewhat disheveled from the fresh sea wind - later I had to shorten them a little for the duration of the trip.] Not for service, but for friendship - fly to the squalid barman, tell him that His Highness ordered a bottle of rum to be sent - so that didn't get seasick.

Endlung, on the way, while we were traveling by train to Sevastopol, kept teasing and teasing me in the presence of His Highness, but I endured it, waiting for an opportunity to explain myself in private. So the opportunity presented itself.

I delicately, with two fingers, removed the lieutenant’s hand (not a chamber cadet at that time) from my shoulder and politely said this:

“If you, Mr. Endlung, have the fancy to be concerned with the definition of my soul, then it would be more accurate to call it not “lackey”, but “Hoff-Fourier,” for for my long, blameless service at the court of His Majesty, I was awarded the title of Hoff-Fourier. This rank belongs to the 9th class and corresponds to the rank of titular adviser, army staff captain or naval lieutenant(I emphasized the last one on purpose).

Endlung jumped up:

– Lieutenants don’t serve at table!

– Served sir, in the restaurant, and to the august family serve. Each in his own way, according to honor and duty.

After this very incident, Endlung became like silk with me: he spoke politely, did not allow jokes anymore, but called me by my first name and patronymic and only “you”.

It must be said that a person of my position has a special relationship with addressing “you” and “you”, because the status of us, palace servants, is special. It is difficult to explain how it turns out that from some people it is offensive to be addressed as “you”, while from others it is offensive to hear “you”. But I can only serve the latter, if you understand what I mean.

I'll try to explain. I only tolerate being addressed as “you” by august persons. No, I don’t tolerate it, but I consider it a privilege and a special distinction. I would simply be killed if Georgy Alexandrovich, Her Highness, or any of their children, even the youngest, suddenly said “you” to me. Three years ago, I had a disagreement with Ekaterina Ioannovna regarding one maid, who was unfairly accused of frivolity. I showed firmness, insisted on my own, and the Grand Duchess, offended, “scorched” me for a whole week. I suffered a lot, became haggard, and couldn’t sleep at night. Then, of course, we explained. Ekaterina Ioannovna, with her characteristic generosity, admitted that she was wrong, I also obeyed and was allowed to touch my hand, and she kissed me on the forehead.

But I digress.

The players were served by the younger footman Lipps, one of the newcomers, whom I specially took with me to take a closer look at what he was worth. Previously, he served on the Estonian estate of Count Benckendorff and was recommended to me by His Excellency's majordomo, an old acquaintance of mine. He seems to be an efficient fellow and a man of few words; but a good servant, unlike a bad one, is not immediately recognized. In a new place, anyone stretches with all his might, here you need to wait half a year or a year, or even two. I watched how Lipps refilled the cognac, how deftly he replaced the soiled napkin, how he stood still - this is very, very important. He stood correctly - did not shift from foot to foot, did not turn his head. Perhaps we can let them out to guests for small receptions, I decided.

And the game went on as usual. First, Endlung lost, and Pavel Georgievich rode him down the corridor. Then fortune turned away from His Highness, and the lieutenant demanded that the Grand Duke, completely undressed, run into the toilet room and fetch a glass of water from there.

While Pavel Georgievich was undressing with laughter, I slowly slipped out the door, called the valet and ordered that none of the servants should look into the Grand Duke’s salon, and I myself grabbed a cape from the duty compartment. When His Highness, looking around and covering himself with his hand, jumped out into the corridor, I wanted to throw this long robe over his shoulders, but Pavel Georgievich indignantly refused, saying that a word is a word, and ran to the toilet room and then back, laughing very much .

It’s good that Mademoiselle Declique didn’t look out laughing. Fortunately, His Highness Mikhail Georgievich, despite the late hour, had not yet gone to bed - he deigned to skip on the seat and then swung for a long time on the curtain. Usually at half past eight the youngest of the Grand Dukes is already asleep, but here Mademoiselle considered it possible to make an easing, saying that His Highness was too excited by the journey and would not fall asleep anyway.

Here, in the Green House, children are not raised strictly, not like at the Blue Court, among the Kirillovichs. There they adhere to the family traditions of Emperor Nikolai Pavlovich: boys are raised like soldiers, taught frunt from the age of seven, hardened with cold douches and put to sleep in camp beds. Georgy Alexandrovich is known as a liberal in the imperial family. He raises his sons gently, in the French manner, and, according to relatives, he completely spoiled his only daughter, his favorite.

Her Highness, thank God, also did not leave her compartment and did not see Pavel Georgievich’s leprosy. Ever since St. Petersburg, I locked myself with a book, and I even know which one. "The Kreutzer Sonata", a composition by Count Tolstoy. I read it in case there was a conversation between the butlers - so as not to lose face in the dirt. In my opinion, the reading is very boring and completely inappropriate for a nineteen-year-old girl, especially a Grand Duchess. In St. Petersburg, Ekaterina Ioannovna would never have allowed her daughter to read such dirty tricks. One must think that the novel was secretly stuffed into luggage. It was only the maid of honor Baroness Stroganova who supplied it, there was no one else.

The sailors calmed down only in the morning, after which I allowed myself to take a little nap, because, to be honest, I was pretty tired from the pre-departure efforts, and I foresaw that the first day in Moscow would not be easy.

* * *

The difficulties exceeded all my expectations.

It so happened that in the forty-six years of my life I had never been to Belokamennaya before, although I had traveled a lot around the world. The fact is that in our Family we do not favor Asians, St. Petersburg is recognized as the only more or less decent place in all of Russia, and we are cold with the Moscow Governor-General Simeon Alexandrovich, so there is no need for us to visit the ancient capital. Even to Crimea, to Miskhor Manor, we usually go in a roundabout way, through Minsk, since Georgy Alexandrovich likes to shoot bison on the way in Belovezhskaya Pushcha. And I didn’t go to the last coronation, which was thirteen years old, because I held the position of assistant butler and was left to replace my then boss, the now deceased Zakhar Trofimovich.

While driving from the station through the whole city, I made my first impression of Moscow. The city turned out to be even less civilized than I expected - no comparison with St. Petersburg. The streets are narrow, meaninglessly crooked, the houses are miserable, the public is slovenly and provincial. And this despite the fact that on the eve of the expected royal arrival, the city tried its best to spruce itself up: the facades were washed, the roofs were freshly painted, on Tverskaya (this is the main Moscow street, a stunted likeness of Nevsky) royal monograms and double-headed eagles were hung everywhere. I don’t even know what to compare Moscow with. A village as big as Thessaloniki, where our “Mstislav” visited last year. On the way, we did not encounter a fountain, a house with more than four floors, or an equestrian statue - only the stooped Pushkin, and even that, judging by the color of bronze, was recently acquired.

At Red Square, which also pretty much disappointed me, the cortege split up. Their Highnesses, as befits members of the imperial family, went to venerate the icon of the Iveron Mother of God and the Kremlin relics, and I and my servants went to prepare our temporary Moscow abode.

Due to the forced division of the court into two halves, they had to be content with the most modest number of servants. I was able to take with me from St. Petersburg only eight people: His Highness’s valet, Ksenia Georgievna’s maid, a junior footman (the already mentioned Lipps) for Pavel Georgievich and Endlung, a barman with an assistant, a white cook and two coachmen for the English and Russian trips. It was assumed that I would serve tea and coffee myself - this is a kind of tradition. At the risk of seeming immodest, I will say that in the entire palace department no one performs this type of duty better than me, which requires not only enormous skill, but also talent. It’s not for nothing that I served as a coffee-maker for five years under their majesties, the late sovereign and now the dowager empress.

Of course, I did not expect that I would get by with eight servants, and in a special telegram I asked the Moscow department of the Palace Administration to appoint me a smart assistant from the locals, as well as to provide two postilions, a black cook for the servants, a footman to serve the senior servants, two junior footmen for cleaning, and a maid for Mademoiselle Declique and two porters. He didn’t ask for more, fully understanding the shortage of experienced servants in Moscow due to the arrival of so many high-ranking persons. Of course, I had no illusions about Moscow servants. Moscow is a city of empty palaces and decaying villas, and there is nothing worse than keeping a staff of servants with nothing to do. This makes people stupid and spoiled. Here we have three large houses in which we live alternately (minus the spring, which we spend abroad, because Ekaterina Ioannovna finds the time of Lent in Russia unbearably boring): in winter the Family lives in their St. Petersburg palace, in summer in a villa in Tsarskoe, in autumn at Miskhor Manor. Each of the houses has its own staff of servants, and I don’t let them idle. Every time I leave, I leave a long list of instructions and always find the opportunity to visit from time to time with checks, always unexpected. Servants are like soldiers. They need to be occupied with something all the time, otherwise they will start drinking, playing cards and getting into mischief.