‘But that icon, you bought that?’
‘Yes,’ GeGurra said. ‘Which took on an entirely new significance when Eriksson appeared and showed me pictures of it a couple of weeks later. When I asked him who he had used to value the items, I already had a good idea who it was.’
‘But if you didn’t think it was one of the items Willy got from that little Russian, I don’t quite understand why you still bought it?’
‘As you know, my dear friend, I make my living trading in art,’ GeGurra said with a conciliatory smile. ‘Besides, I already had a buyer who was interested. An old friend of mine who had expressed an interest in this particular painting. He was so interested, in fact, that he contacted me, rather than the other way round. He is still thinking about it, actually, even though it can hardly be a lack of money that’s stopping him, so it’s still in my storage room. In case you yourself might be interested, Bäckström. And, as it’s you, you could have it at a specially reduced rate. What do you say to some dessert, by the way? Oscar II’s meringue pie. Perhaps I might even be able to tempt you with some fine port to accompany it?’
‘Cognac will do nicely,’ Bäckström said. Who does he take me for? Surely only old bags drink port. And men who are halfway to being old bags, like GeGurra, he thought.
‘By the way, did you know that Oscar II, the man who lent his name to the meringue, was Prince Wilhelm’s grandfather? And he was the one who contacted the Russian tsar, Nicholas II, and suggested that his grandson should marry Maria Pavlovna. As a means to strengthen the bonds between the old arch-enemies, Sweden and Russia. To break with our bad old historical traditions, once and for all. We live in a small world, my friend. A very small world.’
What’s this got to do with my meringue pie? Bäckström wondered, but made do with a grunt of agreement. GeGurra has a quite phenomenal ability to talk about all manner of crap that has nothing to do with the subject, he thought.
‘This collection we’ve been talking about. How much is it worth? In total, I mean?’ Bäckström asked. He was a man who was keen on basic facts.
‘Fifteen icons, two sets of silver cutlery, the cigar-lighter, the hunting service … a total of nineteen objects. Once the remaining paintings have been sold, I imagine the total will be somewhere in the region of four million,’ GeGurra said.
‘That’s a lot of money,’ Bäckström said.
‘I suppose so,’ GeGurra replied. ‘But, bearing in mind the final item in the collection, I’d suggest that it’s an insignificant amount.’
‘So what’s that, then?’ Bäckström asked. The twentieth item in the collection …
‘I thought we might get to that presently but before that … if you’ll excuse me … I thought I might go to the little boys’ room and wash my hands while we wait for our just desserts,’ GeGurra said, gesturing with his long, slender fingers. ‘And while we’re enjoying them, I thought I might finally get to the real reason why I wanted to see you, my dear friend.’
About bloody time, Bäckström thought, and nodded. Time for that nice fat, brown envelope.
GeGurra’s obviously pretty thorough with his personal hygiene, Bäckström thought when his host returned ten minutes later. Having a piss shouldn’t take more than a minute or so. All you needed was the right amount of pressure, and he usually took care of that detail every morning and every evening, whether or not it was actually necessary. Fortunately, he wasn’t left sitting in the lurch in the meantime, because he had been brought a large cognac while he was waiting. GeGurra had also taken his briefcase with him when he went to the toilet, so there was no chance of passing the time by snooping about in it.
‘I assume you’re familiar with the story of Pinocchio’s nose, Bäckström,’ GeGurra said. ‘The story of the little wooden puppet whose nose grew longer and longer when he told a lie.’
‘Yes, although that never actually happens at work,’ Bäckström said. ‘If the people I come across had noses that grew whenever they told a lie, I wouldn’t have any room left in my office. That applies to the whole lot of them, in case you’re wondering. The crooks, the so-called victims of crime and my so-called colleagues. They all lie the whole time, about absolutely everything. And their noses don’t grow by a single millimetre,’ he declared with an emphatic nod.
‘Is it really that bad?’ GeGurra said with a gentle smile.
‘Even worse, if you ask me,’ Bäckström said. He was starting to feel upset about all the lies and betrayals, all the trickery and deceit that surrounded an honest man like himself, who was just trying to do his job.
‘Pinocchio in the story,’ GeGurra went on, sounding largely as if he were thinking out loud. ‘Pinocchio means “pine eye” – did you know that, Bäckström? The Italian story of the poor woodcarver Gepetto who carves a puppet out of pinewood in the shape of a little boy, called Pinocchio, and the puppet suddenly comes to life and his nose grows each time he tells a lie. And only when he stops telling lies does he turn into a real little boy. A story we were all told when we were small.’
‘Sure,’ Bäckström agreed. ‘I understand what you’re saying, and in my line of work it would certainly be very practical. But, sadly, I’ve never believed it.’ Not even when I was still in short trousers, he thought.
‘The writer of the story of Pinocchio was an Italian. Carlo Lorenzini. He was an author, journalist and a right-wing politician, lived in Florence, and when he wrote the story he published it under a pseudonym, Carlo Collodi. The first parts, which actually appeared as a serial in a newspaper, were published in 1881, and the final chapter of Pinocchio’s story, when he stops lying and becomes a real boy, was published in 1883. A total of forty or so chapters about Pinocchio’s adventures. Collodi himself died in 1890. The story of Pinocchio has been translated into—’
‘I know all that,’ Bäckström interrupted. Here we go again. On, and on, and on.
‘Oh—’
‘I know all that,’ Bäckström assured him. How can I shut the fucker up?
‘But the true story of Pinocchio’s nose, you haven’t heard that one,’ GeGurra said, lowering his voice and leaning forward.
‘The true story?’ Is he pissed, or what? Even though he’s only been sitting there sipping his red wine all evening.
‘The true story of Pinocchio’s nose,’ GeGurra repeated. ‘About the time when Pinocchio’s nose came close to changing the entire history of mankind. You’ve never heard that, have you?’
What’s the bastard going on about now? Bäckström thought. The true story of Pinocchio’s nose?
80
‘The true story of Pinocchio’s nose, the one which could very easily have changed the entire history of mankind, had it ended differently – you’ve never heard that story,’ GeGurra said, turning his glass of port between his long, thin fingers. ‘But I’m going to tell it to you and, obviously, I’m taking it as read that what I’m about to say will stay strictly between us.’
‘You’ve got absolutely no need to worry on that score,’ Bäckström assured him, taking a large gulp of cognac, realizing from GeGurra’s expression that this was likely to take a while.
The true story of Pinocchio’s nose is set in the St Petersburg court of the last tsar of Russia, Nicholas II, between the autumn of 1907 and the summer of 1908. Like all good stories, it has two main protagonists. Everyone else who appears in this story plays a supporting role, and the important thing is what happens between our two main characters.
The first of these is a young Italian woman, Anna Maria Francesca di Biondi, who is twenty-four years old when our story begins. Anna Maria was born and grew up in Florence, where she has spent most of her young life, apart from short trips abroad to France, Greece, Austria, Switzerland, Germany, Poland and Tsarist Russia. Twenty or so short trips, spread across a life of almost as many years, and in that sense not particularly remarkable for a woman of her background and family. In her thoughts, however, she is constantly travelling. Anna Maria Francesca di Biondi is an
extremely talented woman, and in her mind she is free to travel wherever she chooses, and do whatever she chooses with whomsoever she chooses.
In the reality in which she lives her life, there are other, stricter barriers, however. Anna Maria Francesca di Biondi is the daughter of an Italian marquis, who lives his life according to the same rules as her, laid down by traditions born of ancestry and the blood that tied socially privileged families together. Her father is a learned man, a linguist and a professor at the University of Florence, but – in a purely relative sense – he is not a wealthy man, and it is his financial circumstances rather than free will which have led him to contribute to his own and his family’s upkeep by teaching at the university. If he could have chosen, he would surely have lived the life that only his imagination could offer him. He prefers the peace and quiet of his own library to the company of his colleagues and students. At the same time, it doesn’t trouble him much because the reality around him, no matter how it manifests itself, can never match up to what is going on inside his head. The fact that Anna Maria Francesca is his favourite of his six children need not perhaps be mentioned.
Anna Maria also has a mother, a good and educated woman who divides her time between taking care of the practical concerns of her family and Christian charity for the Diocese of Florence. The fact that we, after such a brief description, choose to ignore her from now on has nothing to do with her character or activities. It is simply because she is of no interest when it comes to the true story of Pinocchio’s nose. But her own mother, Anna Maria Francesca’s grandmother, is of more interest. She is of Russian extraction, has lived in the same house as Anna Maria throughout her childhood and is also the reason why Anna Maria speaks fluent Russian.
Anna Maria’s grandmother is the daughter of a Russian nobleman and general who fought against Napoleon one hundred years before. The general had chased the French oppressor from the sacred soil of Mother Russia, following him the whole way from Moscow to Europe, killing thousands of his soldiers as they were trying to cross the Berezina River, beating him in several skirmishes and battles in both Poland and Austria. Once the usurper had been vanquished, the general remained in the Europe that had been liberated from the French oppressor. First as the tsar’s ambassador in Austro-Hungary and, towards the end of his life, as his envoy to the Holy See in Rome. The general lived in Italy until his death, and when after thirty years’ service abroad his body was taken home to St Petersburg from the Vatican, it was in order to be buried with every conceivable honour and in the presence of the tsar himself.
One of his many daughters had, however, stayed in Italy. She had married an Italian count, and twenty years later one of her daughters married a learned man from Florence, himself a marquis. The marquis is also a very good person, and the only criticism his wife is willing to make of him is that he perhaps devotes more time to his own thoughts than to the practical demands that life makes of a married man and father.
In the summer of 1907 the di Biondi family receives a visit in their large house in Florence from a distant relation of Anna Maria’s grandmother, and it is Anna Maria that he has come to see – at least if the letters he wrote to the marquis and man of the house before his visit are to be believed. His name is Prince Sergei, a member of the great House of Romanov, a distant relative of the tsar and, like everyone else in the family, he is also incredibly rich. He is also a bad Russian. Bad in the sense that he prefers to spend most of his time in Europe while his stewards take care of his vast estates back home in Russia, which stretch all the way from Karelia in the north to Baku on the Caspian Sea in the south.
This summer he has come to Italy, on one of his many educational tours; he has forgotten how many he has already made, because the art, music and culture keep bringing him back. The art, music and culture but, to be honest, also the women and the food. Most of all the women, and the first time he sees Anna Maria he is hopelessly smitten.
Prince Sergei is almost thirty years older than Anna Maria, and there are five thousand kilometres between Florence and his palace in St Petersburg. Judging by the expression in her eyes, he has already realized that this would not be a significant problem. The real problem is that his putative father-in-law cannot even begin to imagine that his beloved daughter might leave him for a Russian who is the same age as him, to go and live in another country. In another world, and to live a different life from the one going on inside his head – if he were to consider the matter more closely, which, fortunately, he does not.
For Prince Sergei, on the other hand, his unknowing and putative father-in-law is a human problem, and he is used to dealing with those. That’s the other side of his nature. Prince Sergei is a man of many parts. A man with a genuine love of art, culture, music, food and not least women, but he is also a practical man. He cancels the rest of his tour and stays in Florence all summer while he devotes his time to courting Anna Maria secretly and, most of all, making plans for the future. Approximately one month later he is ready and can present a detailed proposal to the marquis, who eventually gives his consent, and even his approval. Entirely unaware of what is really going on.
The family’s beloved maternal grandmother has expressed a strong desire to visit, one last time, the Russia where she has her roots, and it is she who has taken the initiative. But she is starting to get old, and it is worth considering that she might need the company of a close, younger relative on the journey, and, if it were up to her, she would prefer to have Anna Maria with her. Anna Maria herself is more than willing, and gives the same reason as her grandmother, that she wishes to explore her Russian roots. This leaves merely the practical arrangements, which Prince Sergei will carry out down to the last detail, and entirely in accordance with the marquis’s wishes. Anything else would be unthinkable. He wouldn’t dream of going against these self-evident wishes of his beloved Italian kinsfolk – family ties and nobility together are assurances of that.
He has already organized a companion for the elderly grandmother, a chaperone for Anna Maria Francesca and maids for the pair of them. As far as the rest of the company is concerned, his own exalted personage and the nature of the journey have dictated the circumstances. Sergei’s adjutant, his personal secretary, three servants, two bodyguards and the usual half-dozen maids and lackeys to wash his clothes and carry heavier items of luggage. And of course Prince Sergei himself.
Towards the end of August they leave by train from Florence railway station. The journey to St Petersburg will take three weeks, because they will be taking it slowly and stopping along the way whenever they feel like doing something else. The company has three carriages for its exclusive use. One for the elderly grandmother, Anna Maria Francesca, Prince Sergei and their closest attendants. One carriage for the remainder of the staff and one for the luggage. Anna Maria Francesca has brought ten trunks for her own use, seven more than originally planned, but Sergei had spent their last week in Florence taking her round all the shops in order to procure a few extra things she would need for the journey.
It is Prince Sergei who is the instigator of this story: in a dramaturgical and narrative sense, he is what is usually known as a ‘facilitator’, and the reason why he ‘facilitates’ has nothing to do with the true story of Pinocchio’s nose. His motive is extremely personal, and it is hard to conceive of a real man like him having nobler intentions than that. The parts of the story concerning his love for Anna Maria will also end happily for all concerned. For Anna Maria Francesca and for him too, for Anna Maria’s grandmother and mother, for her five siblings and for her beloved father.
Not least for her beloved father. Admittedly, it will be almost a year before she returns to Florence, which is numerous months later than Sergei had indicated to her father when he gave his blessing to the trip. He will learn that they have taken the opportunity to marry in secret on the way home to Florence by way of a telegram that reaches his house only a week before they do, and it will be another month before he learns that she is already
with child. But by the time they step off the train he has already forgiven them both, and he greets them with open arms.
How could he do anything else? His daughter is more beautiful than ever, and in her eyes he can see that the life she is now living is closer to her thoughts than the life she was living when she left him one year earlier.
Anna Maria Francesca di Biondi is a very beautiful young woman. Much more beautiful than all the other women Prince Sergei has met in his life. She is a highly talented woman, and speaks several languages. She is also extremely musical. She has a beautiful voice, a rich mezzosoprano that ranges with no audible effort across the scale of whatever it is she has chosen to perform. She plays a number of instruments and can when necessary – and with the greatest of ease – accompany herself on the piano, guitar or mandolin.
Because Sergei has promised to present her at the tsar’s court, she had also brought with her from her homeland presents for the imperial children. Fans of the thinnest ricepaper, shawls of the finest Italian silk, artistic Venetian masks for the spring balls, gifts for the four daughters, Olga, Tatiana, Mari and Anastasia.
For their little brother, Alexei, the tsarevich, just three years old, she has brought a more personal gift. Forty issues of the Florentine weekly magazine Giornale di Bambini, published between 1881 and 1883. The story of Pinocchio, the entire richly illustrated tale about the little boy whose nose grew longer whenever he told a lie. A story from her own childhood, which she took to her heart when she was the same age as Alexei. In her imagination, she has already begun to read it out loud to him long before she steps off the train at the station in St Petersburg.
Alexei, the tsarevich, who is the second protagonist in the true story of Pinocchio and his nose.
81
What a uniquely long-winded bastard, Bäckström thought. The object of his ire was his host, GeGurra, who seemed utterly entranced by all the words that were flowing in a ceaseless torrent from his well-oiled lips.
The Sword of Justice Page 30
