The case of Vertinsky

Once in the “Kazbek”, where I spoke after one in the morning, the door opened. It was three hours. I was terribly sleepy, and I looked impatiently at the clock. At four I had the right to go home. Suddenly, a blond young Englishman appeared in the doorway, a little tipsy, cheerful and smiling. Behind him came two more. Sitting at a table, they ordered champagne. There was no public at this time, and the British were the only guests. However, according to the law of cabarets, every guest was granted by God, the entire artistic program had to be shown from the beginning to the end to this only table. I was annoyed. "My dream is gone!" I thought. Nevertheless, by duty, I smiled, answering the questions of the blond guest. He spoke French with a terrible English accent and was dressed absolutely wildly, obviously out of mischief: he was wearing a gray sweater and over it ... a tuxedo. The musicians tried: the guest was apparently rich, because he immediately sent the orchestra half a dozen bottles of champagne.
“What do you play, sir?” Asked the Romanian violinist.
Guest thought.
“I want one Russian thing ...” he said hesitantly. - Only I forgot her name ... There-there-there-there! ..
He began to hum a tune. I listened. It was the melody of my tango “Magnolia”.
Guessing her, the musicians began to play.
My table was next to the Englishman. When it came to me to speak, I sang to him this thing and a few others.
The Englishman made me cuss. After the speech, when I sat down in my seat, the Englishman finally went to my table, and, expressing his enthusiasm to me, among other things said:
- You know, in London I have one familiar Russian lady, Lady Deterding. You do not know her? So, this lady has many records of one Russian artist ... - And he pronounced my surname with a terrifying accent, distorting it beyond recognition. “So, she gave me these records,” he continued, “why I asked you to sing this thing.”
I smiled and handed him my business card, on which stood: "Alexandre Vertinsky."
His amazement knew no bounds.
- I thought you were singing in Russia! He exclaimed. “I never thought of meeting you in such a place.”
I patiently explained to him why I did not sing in Russia, but in such a place.
We got into a conversation. Saying goodbye to me, the Englishman invited me to dine at the Syros the next day.
In the most fashionable restaurant of Paris, “Syros”, by dinner, you had to be in a tailcoat. At exactly 9 o'clock, as agreed, I entered the lobby of the restaurant. The head waiter Albert, smiling, walked towards me.
“Are you alone, Monsieur Vertinsky?” - he asked.
- Not! I am invited ...
- Whose table? - looking into a notebook, he asked.
I hesitated. The fact is that on the eve it was somehow inconvenient for me to ask the Englishman his last name.
- My table will be by the fireplace! I remembered his last words.
“It can't be by the fireplace!” - he said.
- Why?
- This table is reserved for the whole week and is not given to guests.
At this time, we were already entering the hall. From the fireplace, from behind a large table with flowers, where there were about ten of some old-fashioned men and old women in diamond tiaras, I easily jumped out and quickly walked towards me my blond Englishman. This time he was in an impeccable tailcoat.
From afar, he smiled and held out both hands to me.
- Well, that's what he is! I said, turning to Albert.
The head waiter's face portrayed sacred horror.
“Do you know who this is?” He said in a stifled whisper.
- Not! - I confessed frankly.
- Unhappy! Why, this is the Prince of Wales! ..

Alexander Vertinsky. The Long Road ...

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