My complexion was no darker than most. I was frequently compared by old ladies to the Tsarevitch himself, the poor little boy whom Rasputin claimed to have ‘cured’. It was not as if I had any Semitic characteristics, save my father’s mark, that stupid operation done ‘for the sake of health’. But the most damaging rumours spread magically. It is not always possible to stop them, however privately one lives. In Germany, I believe, the operation was already common and it became ‘quite the thing’ amongst ordinary people in England and Canada between the wars. Doctors recommended it. The same is true in America. But certainly not in Tsarist Russia! My dead father’s curse follows me still. It will follow me, I suppose, to the grave. I could wind up in the Jewish Cemetery in Golders Green. That would be an irony. The rabbis would spin if they knew a gentile lay next to them. My hope is that I will have the full Orthodox Service. I shall, as soon as possible, speak to the Archbishop of the Bayswater Orthodox Church which I attend whenever my health allows. It is so moving, the Russian service; all the white and gold, the incense, the people standing about the priest while he blesses them: then the icons are carried in procession. I celebrated the main holy days with the Zinovieffs in St Petersburg. This was almost the only time in my youth I was able to experience the wonderful feeling of acceptance and joy known to the true believer. It is a strange thing that the people which knows best how to worship God is today denied God in its own country!
My relationship with my fellow students left much to be desired but I had the comfort of the Zinovieffs, my regular letters from Esmé, and less frequently from my mother and Captain Brown; the close, enthusiastic interest shown in my progress by Dr Matzneff, who soon made me his favourite. Since it was not possible for me to afford the long journey back and forth to Kiev every holiday, I spent the vacations in Petersburg and Dr Matzneff would have me visit his own apartment which, although rather dark and empty, had the feel of a home that had once been happy and not unprosperous. Here were books on all the subjects I was studying: physics, applied mechanics, electrical and architectural engineering, draughtsmanship, mathematics and so on, and they were available for me to borrow, together with books on subjects not really related to my studies but which also interested me, such as ordinary architecture, geography and astronomy.
On only one occasion did Dr Matzneff ask me anything about my past. He supposed I had become Kryscheff because of my ‘background’. I said that it was true we had not been rich. My mother could not afford the fees of the recognised schools and colleges but my uncle was helping with my education.
‘And your uncle is associated with Mr Green.’
‘Mr Green is his agent in the capital. My uncle is in shipping.’
This seemed to enlighten Dr Matzneff. ‘Of course, you could not get the necessary travel permissions, so you used another person’s... ?’
I believed that my uncle, I said, had known Dimitri Kryscheff would not be using his place at the Polytechnic. Dr Matzneff held up a tactful hand and said I need tell him no more. This was just as well. I had little else I could tell him. Thereafter, my professor showed me even more attention and needless to say I came in for almost exactly the kind of cruelty and name-calling I had experienced a few years earlier as a pupil of Herr Lustgarten.
