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

Part I

Chapter 1
Who to thank for happy childhood?

The future English diplomat Archibald Kerr was born on St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 1882, in the suburbs of Sydney (South Wales, Australia). He was the penultimate child of eleven children born to John Kerr Clark (1838–1910) and Kat Louise Robertson (1846–1926). The Clarks lived on their ancestral Scottish estate, Inverchapel, and they had all been successful farmers for centuries. The name of our hero has changed many times: before becoming Lord Inverchapel, he tried several options, until in 1911 he stopped at the simplest. So he will be called below – Archibald Kerr.

Archie's paternal grandfather, James Clark, did not finish his studies at the University of Edinburgh, got a job in a trading firm, where he quickly married the owner's daughter Margaret Kerr. This short marriage ended with the birth of their only son, Margaret died in childbirth. The heartbroken grandfather returned to Inverchapel, and the child was named John Kerr Clark – he will be the father of the future diplomat.

After graduating from the local school, young John Kerr Clark traveled a lot in Europe. His father's wealth allowed it, though he had three other sons and several daughters by his second marriage. Of long-distance travel, John returned to the family, which every year became more and more strange. He was in his early twenties when he decided to seek his fortune abroad.

He went to Australia. Two hundred miles from Sydney, he and his uncle had bought property, and then they had acquired adjoining lots, so that in a few years they had more than two hundred thousand acres and forty thousand sheep. A few years later, the wealthy John Kerr Clark married Kat Louise, daughter of the neighboring landowner John Robertson, former Premier of New South Wales.

To say that his Scottish father – in-law was the head of the Australian state government is to say nothing of such a unique personality as John Robertson. In thirty years, this Australian grandfather of the future diplomat became Prime Minister five times. On the face of the terrible, he kept at bay the whole of the South-Eastern part of the Australian continent. There were two passions boiling inside him: for alcoholic beverages and to coarse language. By the end of his life, titled sir, he did not change these passions, and if someone loved more, it was his own numerous children, especially girls.

Kat's eldest daughter Louise was married to wealthy neighbor John Kerr Clark, and her youngest daughter to Robert Clark. Two families, so to speak, became related twice. But the youngest daughter's marriage was short-lived: at twenty-one, Margaret-Emma Robertson-Clark became a widow and returned to her father's house.

The house was gigantic. A wide wooden staircase led up to a huge veranda, where a long table on holidays gathered numerous relatives. On weekdays, the children were fed here, which every year became more and more. Children in the Robertson-Clark family were named after grandparents, so the names Margaret, James or John, for example, were answered by several people at once. Archibald in this sense was lucky.

He remembered his Australian grandfather John for life. And his Scottish grandfather James died before he was born. So Archie's childhood memories were the most vivid: a formidable grandfather, a huge house with many bedrooms on the second floor, a lawn in front of the main entrance and fun games with brothers and sisters in the Indians.

One day my grandfather brought with him a thin, bearded guest. He looked like an Egyptian, or even an Indian, but not a Scotsman or an Australian.

‘Here are my Penates, my dear Nicholas!’ Grandpa John said, trying to avoid strong language. ‘Come, women, we'll have a table in a jiffy! Do not make a mistake before the Russian scientist, and then I will…’

Guest – Russian! Wow! From that far and wide country where there are no roads at all, and bears easily approach doors, as if postmen. The kids immediately clung to the table, opening his mouth, looking at the strange guest. But grandfather drove them away:

‘All of you get out!’

The three of them remained: the owner himself, the Russian scientist from bear's corner, and Aunt Margaret-Emma. That's how it all started. Five minutes later the visitor had nothing to say to the chief Minister of state. He and Aunt Margaret looked at each other and asked and asked and told. She talked about what she had read recently, about wanting to study singing in Italy, about her last trip to London. He talked about the construction of a biological station not far from here, about traveling far from here, about what he had seen in distant countries and where he was going to go again.

Then they laughed that they had double surnames: she had Robertson-Clark, he had Miklukho-Maklay. Then they gasped that they had a mutual acquaintance in London- the eldest daughter of a famous Russian revolutionary. They did not know yet about the tragic fate of this delicate nature: Natalia Herzen will put an end to the intricate love triangles of her father and his faithful friend, confessing her love for Ogarev, and soon she will go mad.

There was much they did not know, young Margaret and Nicholas. Only six months later, leaving on business in St. Petersburg, he will leave her a letter with a proposal of marriage. And her answer would be waiting for Nicholas in the Russian capital before his ship docked in the Gulf of Finland. The answer was short:

‘I agree. I will wait for you from all your travels.’

He would return to Australia and they would marry. He will then return to the island of New Guinea, where only the Papuans lived, and Nicholas would describe their life in diaries and in detailed letters to his wife. She read them aloud in the evenings, sitting at the long table on the veranda. Sir John Robinson was not at home till late, and all the children sat down next to Aunt Margaret, and eagerly listened to every word from so far and wild a country.

‘The natives of the coast on which we landed had never before come in contact with a white race,’ Aunt Margaret read slowly. ‘These Papuans live in the stone age. They do not know how to make a fire and always keep the log burning, lit once from a tree that was struck by lightning. When they travel, they carry this burning log with them…’

Night was falling. The children were put to bed, but neither Archie nor his siblings could sleep for a long time. And the next morning in the bushes near the old Fig tree, the action began. The older ones whittled spears, the younger ones made new clothes out of burdocks and smeared their faces with soot and clay. An hour later, a band of bedraggled savages were whooping around the house. Archibald's brother Robin, as the eldest, pounded his chest with his fist:

‘I'm Maklay!’

No one argued with him. And each had to give his Indian name. Archie became Mikl-Ukho… And in the evening all, already washed, again, holding their breath, listened to the letters of Uncle Nicholas. They were so afraid that the savages would eat him, as they had done to cook, the traveler, a hundred years ago. Aunt Margaret was most afraid of it. But Nicholas reassured her in his letters:

‘They love me here; they call me the man from the moon. Nobody's going to eat me, don't worry. I was bitten by huge fish, bees and wasps, orangutans and monkeys, stung by poisonous plants and insects. But all is well, I am well, and I really missed you and the children.’

He and Aunt Margaret had two sons. But they were still small and could not play with all. And all made caches and secrets, hid in them matches, glass, beads, needles, knives- everything that could be useful in future battles.

‘No wars!’ the sisters, Margaret-Emma and Kat Louise, said sternly.

And they began to tell how once the Papuans gathered with spears, axes and bows to fight with a neighboring tribe. They did it every year – and there was no other reason. When Uncle Nicholas heard this, he silently filled a bowl with water, added a little kerosene, and set it on fire. He said: ‘I will set fire to the sea if you start a war.’ They threw down their spears and buried their axes in the sand. So-never any wars, children…

And the children obediently laid down their spears and sat around the table on the veranda.

‘Read 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, not twenty-five, and do not need to run ahead of the horse.

But you can do sports, it is welcome. And when the bosses disappeared, junior clerks played cricket in the corridors – rolls of paper instead of clubs.

Swimming, horse riding, fencing, shooting at the shooting range were encouraged. It was implied that the young diplomats of the British Kingdom are not only impeccably educated, but also physically strong.

However, sport now his little relished. Archie was sitting idle, and therefore unhappy and lonely. This spleen would have covered his head if he hadn't remembered his father's instructions in time:

‘In days of doubt and brooding, put on your kilt, think of your native Scotland and you'll be strong and confident.’

And so he did. And so in a kilt he came to the Embassy. Then something unexpected happened. The Minister was coming towards him with a stranger in the uniform of an American captain. Kerr would have been reprimanded if it hadn't been for the guest, which suddenly yelled on the entire corridor:

‘Archie, wow you look good!’

The American rushed to embrace him. Kerr recognized him instantly: they had met in Europe and had even once been neighbors in a hotel. The American's name was also Archibald. Lieutenant Butt was twenty years older than Kerr and had been stationed in the Philippines…

The Minister's eyes nearly popped out of his head: the guest of honor, chief military adviser to American President Theodore Roosevelt, embracing some junior clerk?! Who was the guy in the plaid kilt?

They were just good friends, the two Archibald. And it is not known how their relationship would have developed further, if Major Butt in April 1912 did not set foot on the deck of the Titanic. He was said to have helped women and children to the last. His body was never found…

Needless to say, a week after this meeting at the Ministry, Archibald Kerr was promoted to third Secretary. From that day his life began to change rapidly. The receptionists, Maria and Elizabeth, greeted him first:

‘Good morning, sir. How are you? What are the instructions?’

They greeted him as if there had never been any intimacy between them, no mischievous glances or hints. It was as if he were a different man. And he, as before, treated them to sweets and instructed them to always remain as dazzlingly beautiful. Two cuties – one black, the other white – both at once, fun rushed to perform…

Chapter 3
Berlin tango with the aroma of Greek Fig tree

Six months of his probationary service had expired. The first foreign trip is designated – Berlin. The Foreign Office believed that the British mission in Germany was the most important and responsible place. The rivalry of both countries is growing, no one wants to give in, and the military power of the Germans and their aggressiveness is stronger and stronger.

Archibald Kerr was not impressed. In his diary he wrote: “The thought of working in this place fills me with the blackest despair”.

It was in this mood that he arrived in the German capital. With such thoughts and served, more and more closed and suffering from routine, more and more dreaming of independent work and more and increasingly he wore a kilt.

The Embassy officials in Berlin squinted at him, wondering if he should be wearing a tuxedo instead of a plaid kilt. However, Archibald himself was thinking of buying a dress gentleman's set from the first salary. Almost half of the two hundred pounds was spent on new clothes and shoes. Such a dandy of London, in full dress, he walked all the way from the Brandenburg gate to the British Embassy and deliberately climbed slowly up the wide stairs. The podium led to victory. Fifteen minutes later he was summoned to the Ambassador's presence.

Kerr had been in this huge office before. The former Ambassador had been on friendly terms with Wilhelm II, but the stronger the bond between them grew, the more often the Emperor of Germany developed a strange and savage hatred of all things English. Who was the cause is unknown, but one day the thread broke, and the UK had to urgently look for a replacement. The new Ambassador, as he could, began to settle the situation.

When Kerr entered his office, the Ambassador something was playing the violin. He put down his instrument and smiled good-naturedly:

‘Good morning, Archie. Thanks for stopping by. I have a surprise for you! Kaiser's sister Sophie invites us to a party. Previously, such invitations were ignored. But now I suggest you come with me to the crown Princess's Palace and meet the local elite. It's been ignored before, and I suggest you ride with me to the crown Princess Palace and meet the local elite. You don't mind?’

Another would argue.

Kerr, of course, had heard about the Princess Sophie. The granddaughter of Queen Victoria of England, the wife of the Greek crown Prince, the mother of five children, she could Eclipse the beauty of any at the court of the German Emperor. Slim, lithe, she loved social gatherings and fun picnics in nature. Sophie had just arrived from Athens, and was making up in her own home for what seemed impermissible at the court of her crowned father-in-law.

Archibald was introduced to the Princess. He bowed his head courteously. Sophie held out her hand for a kiss, and when Kerr looked up, her laughing face was close to his.

‘I am very glad to see you,’ she said in German. ‘At last there are real English gentlemen in this palace!’

The Ambassador offered some witty toast, everyone smiled, drank champagne. One of the Grand Dukes offered a toast to the health of His Majesty King Edward VII – again drank. Within half an hour, the guests had broken up into Islands, where glasses rang, individual toasts and bursts of laughter sounded.

Kerr couldn't take his eyes off Sophie. She was the only one at the party in a tight dress. The narrowed skirt without a bustle, unlike the other ladies, the stand-up collar, the flowing kimono sleeves; the wide hips, and the serpentine waist – she looked like a mermaid in her silvery attire. Archibald stood amazed and muttered to himself: ‘I don't know what it means, that I am so sad…’

A silver mermaid slid out of a nearby islet and swam toward the young diplomat.

‘I hope you are not bored here at my place. We gathered today specifically without music. We'll dance with you next time, won't we?’

‘I will,’ he barely managed to squeeze out one word.

Sophie laughed, tilting her head back a little. Her gray eyes turned blue-green.

‘You're very nice. But you needn't be shy. We have everything in a simple way. Would you like me to show you both palaces?’

And without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away. Kerr quickly caught up with her. The Princess told him of the purpose of the rooms through which they passed.

‘At first there was one Palace, for the Crown Princes. My brother was born there. A little later, a Palace of princesses was built nearby. Now they are connected by a passage. But we're not going there. Let's sit on this couch and talk. Tell me about yourself!’

As in an exam, Kerr started with his parents and the place where he was born. The Princess was surprised by his account of Australia. She even moved closer to him.

‘What, what are they called?’ she laughed. ‘Emu? What a strange name! Do they really look like a little running haystack? Grunting like pigs? It can't be, Archie!’

She studied his face with interest. And she kept asking.

‘Did they call you Australopithecus at school? Is it just because you were born in Sydney? Are you really the son of a native? Anyone punished? Did you get your nose broken, too? Oh, God, Archie, I feel sorry for you. And you've never loved anyone before? Not once? How interesting I am with you…’

She was twelve years older than Kerr, but she enjoyed the conversation quite sincerely. And then Sophie began to pour out her heart to the young man: how unhappy she was in Greece and how she loved her mother and through her grandmother and all Britain.

An hour later they returned to their guests. The Ambassador of His Majesty King Edward VII had already left the party without his subordinate…

In August, the third Secretary of the British Embassy, Archibald Kerr, received a personal invitation to come to the summer residence of the Kaiser family as a personal guest of Princess Sophie. On the day off, he went there.

The Princess met him in an Amazon costume. She led him away from the castle and seated him on a bench in a small artificial grotto.

‘This is where we'll continue our conversation, do you mind, Archie? And then I'll introduce you to my brother, and we'll go to Breakfast.’

They laughed a lot again, and talked about everything, interrupting each other. Then he stood before the stern eyes of the Kaiser.

At noon the great doors were thrown open, and Wilhelm II. He was dressed in a field Marshal's uniform, which fitted him perfectly. Oddly enough, he carried a glittering iron helmet with a crest on it.

The Emperor first greeted his sister, and then he waved them into the dining room, where he seated his guest to his right. The table was laid simply, the only delicacy being the golden bell, which the Emperor used whenever it was time for a change of dishes. There was soup, roast, and fruit dessert. There was no champagne, no liqueurs, only red Rhine wine.

The Kaiser spoke only to the guest. He ate with surprising speed, despite his left arm, which had been paralyzed since childhood. The Emperor used a special fork, which had a serrated blade on one side, and he cut off pieces of roast meat with admirable dexterity.

Kerr found it impolite to eat when the Emperor was talking to you, so he listened, hanging on every word, and hardly touched his breakfast.

Taking two of the largest figs from the vase, the Kaiser swallowed them instantly, washed them down with wine, wiped his famously curled moustache with a napkin, and silently nodded goodbye. The guest and Princess Sophie were alone again.

They also walked through a wonderful park, sat by the fountain on a bench.

‘Archie, close your eyes,’ Sophie said suddenly.

He was suddenly afraid that the Princess was going to kiss him.

‘Don't peek! And don't blush so! Say, what smells?’

It smelled of fresh figs and Cologne water. He hadn't lied to the Princess.

‘It smells like figs and Cologne.’

Sophie laughed her silver bell.

‘That's right! Here is and let this smells will remain you on memory from me!’ And she stroked his face with her warm hand.

All the way back in the coat-of-arms carriage, Kerr could smell it.

…In September, Princess Sophie had to return to Athens: in neighboring Turkey, there was a coup, trouble could touch Greece, and her husband demanded her presence. Kerr also received an invitation to the farewell party. The Ambassador unconditionally released him and even gave him a short vacation, saying at the same time:

‘My dear Archie, I am truly pleased that you are making progress not only in business matters, but also in matters of the heart. I can't keep up with you.’

Kerr probably wouldn't have been surprised if Sophie had thrown her arms around him when they met – she was so glad to see him.

However, he, too, was very glad. Here's what he wrote in his diary a couple of days later:

“After dinner we danced the Creole tango. I blushed because I did not know a single movement of the new-fangled dance she had taught me. I danced most of the time with Sophie… And I blush again, saying that I took a strange pleasure in holding her in my arms. Moreover, it seemed to me that she was completely at my mercy and felt the same…”

Outside the window the night rain was rustling, it was time for him to leave. He was gone, gone unnoticed. But the night was not over. He could not sleep. About an hour later, Sophie knocked on the door of Kerr's room in the Palace.

‘Archie,’ she whispered. ‘I can't just let you go…’

She came close to him, took his hand, and led him as if he were a little boy. Through the dimly lighted corridor, through the suite of deserted salons where music had played, champagne and Rhenish wine flowed like a river, ladies in smart dresses and their partners – German officers in high boots and crowned offspring in tailcoats-glided across the parquet floor.

It was only when they reached her apartment that Sophie turned to face him.

‘Know I shouldn't do this, but… Hush, please don't interrupt. Don't say anything, or I'll change my mind!’

So they crossed all boundaries, but did not pass on “you”. They listened in silence to the rain pattering on the bedroom windows. Finally, Sophie spoke.

‘There's so much I want to tell you, Archie. I see in you a kindred spirit. We're so alike.’

Kerr understood her German fluently, but the last word, in which the Princess brought together two incomparable feelings – resemblance and loneliness, – made him smile. She smiled kindly, too.

‘Are you a spy, Archie?’

‘No. I dream of a career only in my profession.’

‘Thank God, there are plenty of spies here. Believe me, I can't even open up to my husband. Especially now, that he had a new mistress. It's hard to imagine now that twenty years ago I was in love with this man. Do you know what a great wedding we

had? Granddaughter of Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and crown Prince of the Greek Crown – Constantine and I were related not only to each other, but to almost all the Royal houses of Europe. It was believed that Constantinople and St. Sophia would again unite with Greece when Constantine and Sophia ascended the throne. Thousands of guests arrived. We were married twice – first in the Orthodox rite, then in the Lutheran. And my brother, when he found out about it, forbade me to go to Berlin. Have you noticed his oddities?’

And then the Princess just carried.