them. But I mean elders of every social class. The shopkeepers and milkmaids, blacksmiths and peasants.”
Never hesitant to express her sentiments with facial expressions, Nina frowned. The Count elaborated.
“The principle here is that a new generation owes a measure of thanks to every member of the previous generation. Our elders planted fields and fought in wars; they advanced the arts and sciences, and generally made sacrifices on our behalf. So by their efforts, however humble, they have earned a measure of our gratitude and respect.”
As Nina still looked unconvinced, the Count considered how best to make his point; and it so happened that at that very moment, through the great windows of the coffeehouse could be seen the first hoisting of umbrellas.
“An example,” he said.
Thus commenced the story of Princess Golitsyn and the crone of Kudrovo:
One stormy night in St. Petersburg, related the Count, young Princess Golitsyn was on her way to the annual ball at the Tushins’. As her carriage crossed the Lomonosov Bridge, she happened to notice an eighty-year-old woman on foot, hunched against the rain. Without a second thought, she called for her driver to stop the carriage and invited the unfortunate soul inside. The old woman, who was nearly blind, climbed aboard with the footman’s help and thanked the Princess profusely. In the back of the Princess’s mind may well have been the presumption that her passenger lived nearby. After all, how far was an old, blind woman likely to journey on a night like this? But when the Princess asked where the old woman was headed, she replied that she was going to visit her son, the blacksmith, in Kudrovo—more than seven miles away!
Now, the Princess was already expected at the Tushins’. And in a matter of minutes they would be passing the house—lit from cellar to ceiling with a footman on every step. So, it would have been well within the bounds of courtesy for the Princess to excuse herself and send the carriage on to Kudrovo with the old woman. In fact, as they approached the Tushins’, the driver slowed the horses and looked to the Princess for instruction. . . .
Here the Count paused for effect.
“Well,” Nina asked, “what did she do?”
“She told him to drive on.” The Count smiled with a touch of triumph. “And what is more, when they arrived in Kudrovo and the blacksmith’s family gathered round the carriage, the old woman invited the Princess in for tea. The blacksmith winced, the coachman gasped, and the footman nearly fainted. But Princess Golitsyn graciously accepted the old woman’s invitation—and missed the Tushins’ altogether.”
His point expertly made, the Count raised his own cup of tea, nodded once, and drank.
Nina looked at him expectantly.
“And then?”
The Count returned his cup to its saucer.
“And then what?”
“Did she marry the blacksmith’s son?”
“Marry the blacksmith’s son! Good God. Certainly not. After a glass of tea she climbed into her carriage and headed for home.”
Nina mulled this over. Clearly, she thought a marriage to the blacksmith’s son a more fitting conclusion. But despite the shortcomings of history, she nodded to acknowledge that the Count had delivered a well-told tale.
Preferring to preserve his success, the Count opted not to share his normal coda to this delightful bit of St. Petersburg lore: that the Countess Tushin had been greeting guests under her portico when Princess Golitsyn’s bright blue carriage, known the city over, slowed before the gates and then sped on. This resulted in a rift between the Golitsyns and the Tushins that would have taken three generations to repair—if a certain Revolution hadn’t brought an end to their outrage altogether. . . .
“It was behavior befitting a princess,” acknowledged Nina.
“Exactly,” said the Count.
Then he held out the tea cakes and Nina took two, putting one on her plate and one in her mouth.
The Count was not one to call attention to the social shortcomings of acquaintances, but giddy with his story’s reception, he could not resist pointing out with a smile:
“There is another example.”
“Where is another example?”
“A princess would be raised to say please when she asked for a cake, and thank you when she was offered one.”
Nina looked taken aback; and then dismissive.
“I can see that please would be quite appropriate for a princess to say when she has asked for a cake; but I can see no reason why she should have to say thank you when she has been offered one.”
“Manners are not like bonbons, Nina. You may not choose the ones that suit you