The Life and Surprizing Adventures of Archibald Kerr, British Diplomat - Виктор Королев

Скачать книгу

on, Aunt Margaret, read on!’

      ‘When I looked back, I saw a man who seemed to have grown out of the ground, who looked in my direction for a second and ran into the bushes,’ Aunt Margaret continued to read. ‘I followed him almost at a run down the path, waving the red ribbon I had in my pocket. When he saw that I was alone, without any weapons, he stopped. I slowly approached the savage, silently handed him a red cloth, he took it with pleasure and tied it on his head…’

      In the morning all the young tribe ran with red ribbons on their heads.

      Who to thank for a happy childhood? Why childhood ends quickly, but in the memory of a person remains until the last day? Why in old age it is impossible to remember the name of a neighbor, and children's nicknames are remembered forever? Everything in this life is strange. It was strange that Nicholas Miklukho-Maklay had died so young, and Aunt Margaret was a widow again. It is strange that at school it's not as interesting as in the house of my grandfather. It was there that Archie found the answer to the question “Who to be?” He wants to visit different countries.

      The dream of becoming a traveler was not supported by Archie's mother. She considered herself a matron, worthy of a high position in London society. They can't live in Australia with drunken cattlemen. It's a shame to baptize a child in the street, under an old Fig tree!

      Sir John Robertson was not so fierce and terrible, he had grown old. Shortly before his death, Archibald's mother and father announced their decision to return to England. He could no longer curse or order.

      In Britain his parents bought a house. Archie followed his brother Robin to the local College.

      The years went by. Before graduation, his mother asked if he would like to become a diplomat, because they also travel a lot around the world. He willingly and with complete seriousness said:

      ‘There are very difficult exams, but I think I'll be able to prepare. It won't take a year, but you and dad won't be ashamed of me. I promise to work hard to get my statue in Trafalgar Square!’

      Chapter 2

      Two Secretaries and the Third Secretary

      It’s decided: he will be a diplomat! It is clear that one College is not enough – it is necessary to study, study and study again. Those wishing to serve the United Kingdom in the field of foreign policy must pass difficult entrance exams. Some foreign languages need to know at least four, plus other subjects.

      It would take Kerr a long six years to get that knowledge. He spent a year in France, another year at a private College in London, where his family moved to support him in his chosen profession, and then years of study in Germany, Italy, Spain and again in France.

      To support a son is to pay for his studies. Tutors and then cost a lot of money. And even if he had successfully passed the entrance examination, his parents would have had to pay another four hundred pounds-a guarantee that the choice of the young man and his parents is as firm as their purse.

      And if will accept, then the first time salaries him at all not in sight. A diplomat is entitled to two hundred pounds a year from the position of third Secretary alone. It's only two hundred a year, half a pound a day. Such rules, for a long time and they were invented not by us…

      Even during the summer holidays Kerr did not forget about cramming, surprising seriousness of all relatives. The ancestral home in Inverchapel, the low Scottish mountains, lakes, forests

      are great places for fun games, fishing and hunting. And he never leaves his books.

      “Today I’m German.” And all that the young man saw before him, he described aloud in German, the whole world was stacked in heavy frame structures. Repeating the complex rules past time, he thought only of his bright future. He thought, of course, also in German.

      The next day he is French. He wandered among the rocks and listened to the echoes answering him with a rolling Burr. On the third day he took a boat and in the middle of the lake he sang Neapolitan songs at the top of his lungs – to the indignant cries of seagulls. And so he did every day, in a circle. He was only twenty, but he had no doubt of the path he had chosen. Not then, not for the next forty years.

      Finally, Archie decided that he was ready to fight for a place in the diplomatic service. In early 1905, he participated in the entrance examinations, the winners of which will be offered a job in the Foreign Office. He didn't… Or rather, did not get points. Not even in the top five. It was a shame to tears.

      ‘Nothing, Archie!’ his mother said. ‘You're doing the right thing, and you're going to win.’

      The next year there were four seats. Kerr was in the top three. In March, just before his birthday, the postman brought to their house the long-awaited envelope from the Ministry of foreign Affairs. The postman didn't have to knock twice.

      ‘Wow!’ That was the first word Archibald whispered as he entered the main Foreign Office building on King Charles Street. It was something to gasp. The ceiling of the vestibule is a masterpiece of architecture, remarkably like the work of the great Michelangelo in the Vatican – these frescoes, stuc

      co, columns, chandeliers… No, it is a great honor to be in the service of His Majesty king Edward VII, to represent Britain in foreign missions.

      However, until overseas missions was still far. At least six months is a mandatory period before the first foreign trip.

      The duties of junior clerks were surprisingly easy. They worked from eleven to one o'clock, then from five to seven. Most of the time was spent on minor matters: registering and sorting telegrams, sending letters to the Cabinet office in Whitehall, copying documents, typing texts and other “bring-give”.

      Letters of a confidential nature came in special green envelopes. They were forbidden to be opened.

      The clerks were only responsible for their registration. And when the Department had two young secretaries, there was absolutely nothing to do.

      Kerr was the first to meet them. They were both nice. Maria was a blonde, Elizabeth is a brunette. Contrary to Victorian etiquette, Archibald introduced himself. He even joked about being Scottish and offered to help. The girls answered in unison:

      ‘If you help us in any way, we won't have any work to do ourselves!’

      Contact was established.

      ‘Good morning, ladies!’ so he now began his working day, looking first at the Secretariat. He had short, light conversations with the girls – he made fun of them and of himself, and gave them candies. Cuties with great pleasure flirted with him. In the eyes of both in turn Archie read in them a wandering hope of something more, something very pleasant. And that's right – the season of ballroom Dating in London always began in April. One afternoon he passed the secretariat and, of course, looked in. The waiting room was empty. But on the way back, he almost bumped into Elizabeth in the hallway.

      ‘Oh, Liz, it's so good to see you!’

      The brunette looked at him for some reason with a bleak expression.

      ‘Archie, you're very nice. But I shouldn't be standing next to you. It wouldn't be nice if Maria saw us together. She's my friend…’

      And she was gone. “Yeah, so the blonde Maria chose me,” Kerr thought. The very next day he saw Maria from afar, hurrying somewhere along a deserted corridor.

      ‘Maria, wait, please, I you should something say!’

      She waited for him. And strangely, she put a finger to her lips.

      ‘Hush, Archie, hush! You're very nice. But I shouldn't be standing next to you. It wouldn't be nice if Elizabeth saw us together. She's my friend.’

      “Oh,’ flashed in the mind of Kerr. ‘Girls are actually created uniquely – each of them can beat two hearts at once.”

      He was less frequent in the waiting room. He tried to forget himself in his work. One day he wrote an important letter. He thought he would be praised, taken to his superiors. He got it on the nose: to write letters on your own, you need to be over thirty years old,

Скачать книгу