ST. PETERSBURG
We have put up at the Grand Hôtel where we feel very comfortable. This
winter I mean to lead a quiet, homely life, being wonderfully changed
after my marriage. Out of a frivolous society girl, I have developed,
thanks to Sergy, into a very domestic sort of person. I have seen enough
of the world to understand how flippant it is, how empty—a vanity of
vanities! Marriage has given me a new view of the world altogether, I
have taken off my rose-coloured spectacles to look at life as it is, and
have learned many things which I did not know.
Russia continues to outlive troublesome times; after the war it is the
anarchist conspirators who organise inquisitions, condemn to death, and
hold themselves the office of executioners. A rumour has spread in town
that on Easter Eve there will be a repetition of St. Bartholomew’s night,
and that all the wealthy inhabitants of the city will be massacred.
The life of our Emperor is in constant danger. An attempt to murder him
was made whilst he was taking his usual afternoon walk. Luckily the
malefactor’s bullet missed the Tzar. Petersburg is all in a flutter
through that attempt. Te Deums are sung in all the churches and the town
is decorated all over with flags. The day of the attempt, during the
performance of the opera “Life for the Tzar,” a large audience packed the
house from floor to ceiling. When the Emperor appeared in his box, the
hymn “God save the Tzar,” resounded through the hall; the whole audience
rose to their feet, and deafening cheers were heard. Our monarch bowed
graciously in response.
Though the Neva thawed very late this year, larks were singing, and the
sky was blue, and the whole air was full of the spring promise. It gave
me a wild desire to go abroad and fly over hill and dale. Sergy wanted to
take a two months’ leave of absence, but the doctor that he had summoned
to certify the absolute necessity of a cure, after having given his
diagnosis, said that Sergy was blessed with excellent health. As it was
absolutely necessary to find an ailment of some kind, I had recourse to
artfulness. Before the doctor took leave, I put my head through the door
and made faces behind his back, grimacing so wildly that Sergy had to
struggle with suppressed laughter; the muscles of his face moved and his
lips twitched. “Oh, I don’t like that at all!” cried out the mystified
Æsculapius. “I see now what is the matter with you! your overstrained
nervous system calls for energetic treatment, and a month’s holidays, at
least, is the sort of physic you want. Your ailment is overwork, pure and
simple!” When the doctor left I burst into wild laughter, and thought
him the nicest physician in the world. My scheme was thus successful,
and Sergy, being ordered abroad by the doctor to take a long rest, had
obtained a six weeks’ leave of absence.
I was tremendously pleased to visit foreign countries, and looked forward
to it with great anticipation. Quantities of pleasant things were
planned. But, alas! it had only been a sweet dream! I soon awoke to grim
reality. Quite unexpectedly Sergy was appointed chief of the staff of the
circuit of Moscow. I was greatly disappointed that we had to give up our
cherished trip abroad. It was all so sudden, so totally unexpected, and I
cried that night when I went to bed. But it means a very brilliant future
for my husband, and it would be madness to refuse it. We have to start
without delay.