PARIS
When our train stopped at the Gare St. Lazarre, we got a fiacre and drove
to the Hôtel de la Paix, a large, ponderous edifice, one of the most
stylish hotels in Paris. I waited in the cab whilst my husband went with
inquiries for an apartment, hoping all the time that Sergy would not find
one to his taste, for I hate these stiff and grand hotels. It turned
out as I wanted, there was no room to our disposal, and so we betook
ourselves to the Hôtel de Calais, an unpretending house situated in one
of the most elegant quarters.
We spent a whole fortnight in Paris, which is a lively and beautiful
city, the jolliest place in the universe. I was quite in raptures with
the French Metropolis and the numberless attractions it offers. I woke
the next morning in high spirits, pleased with the idea of being in
Paris. The street-vendors and news-boys awoke me early, shouting each
their wares. Here goes a woman wearing a hat with the inscription “I
shave dogs,” who is leading a beautifully shaven poodle by the chain.
The poor animal seems quite worn out, and lies down on the pavement at
every two steps. I was overcome with pity for that unfortunate living
advertisement and felt still more sorry for a young woman turning a
barrel-organ with one hand, and rocking her baby, laid down in a sort of
cradle, with the other one.
Though we are of a roving disposition and seldom remain long in one
place, being always between two trains, in Paris we never thought of
being dull, rushing about to theatres, concerts, etc. The weather was
faultless; after the London fogs and damps the sky appeared to be
especially blue. In the afternoons I was out on shopping expeditions. The
“Grands Magasins du Louvre,” so well described by Zola in his novel _Au
Bonheur des Dames_, especially attracted me. Before their huge stalls one
might idle away many pleasant hours. There are such wonderful “Occasions”
to be got, such lovely costumes, which fitted me like a glove but cost
a tremendous lot; I devoured them with greedy eyes. Sergy is awfully
generous in money matters, there is nothing in the way of dress, jewels,
luxury that I couldn’t have if I wanted them; the instant I admired
a dress, or a hat, he would say, “You shall have it.” Sergy is such a
delightful husband! he is so good that I look on his shoulders every day
for wings. One afternoon between two fittings in one of the numerous
dressing-rooms in the “Louvre,” not much larger than a cupboard, I felt
dreadfully fagged and entered the “Salon de Lecture” to rest a little.
Turning over some French papers I came upon a paragraph entitled “Asia,”
and was awfully indignant to see that it contained recent news from St.
Petersburg. Shall we ever be considered as Europeans, I wonder?
Walking one day on the Boulevards our eyes fell upon an inscription in
large gilded letters “Korestchenko Magasin Russe.” In one of its windows
we saw a manifesto of the recent Coronation of our Tzar, and were told
that a Russian traveller had left that paper to be sold for 40fr. The
address of a Russian restaurant was given to us in that shop, to which
we immediately proceeded, wanting to enjoy the different dishes of our
national cookery, the foretaste of which was delicious to me. But a
great deception awaited us. We didn’t perceive any Russian element round
about; the proprietor and the waiters were all French. Noticing our
disappointment we were told that the cook was a Russian, and that was
some comfort. We sat down at a table with a cloth that was not too clean,
took up the menu-card and studied it through. It appeared very copious
and made my mouth water. But alas! all the dishes that were served to us,
beginning by the famous _stchi_, our national cabbage-soup, with scanty
bits of over mature mutton, were horrid, and so was all the rest. We only
lunched on a herring and a glass of milk. Hungry and cross we directed
our steps to a neighbouring French restaurant, where this time the tasty
menu did not deceive us.
We then went to the “Jardin des Plantes,” visiting in the first place
the part of the gardens where the useful plants of the whole world are
exposed; amongst them we saw our native sunflowers, at the sight of which
a sudden pang of home-sickness came over me. I was beginning to pine
already for my dear old country, for my motto is and always will be:
“There’s no place like home.” Life is so much more open and free in our
Alma Mater! It is true that every piece of ground is cultivated abroad,
but one feels restraint in everything here, everywhere one meets with
peremptory orders to keep off the grass, and with placards saying, “Do
not walk here, do not touch that.” This restraint is especially felt
by myself who am so fond of freedom and space. We just ran through the
mineralogical museum, close to which grows a gum-tree planted in 1636,
and then entered the Monkey Pavilion where the Fathers and Mothers of
mankind (according to Darwin) performed all sorts of tricks and gambols,
obtaining a great amount of laughter. Amongst other curiosities of the
“Jardin des Plantes” we saw a white sheep with two black heads and a
calf with five legs. In a separate Pavilion is shown the skeleton of an
enormous whale caught in the waters of the Seine in 1847. I had a ride on
the elephant and felt rather frightened to be perched so high up on the
back of the great beast. I had also a ride in a car drawn by an ostrich;
before starting I asked the conductor laughingly if his bird would not
fly away up in the air with me. It was tremendous great fun!
We returned to our hotel for dinner and then went out for a drive in
the “Bois,” full of carriages, horsemen and pedestrians. In one of the
remotest parts of the park a merry band of collegians were playing
football whilst their tutors, black-robed curés, rested under the trees.
On our way we passed the “École de Médecine,” on the front of which there
is an inscription saying, “Liberté, Fraternité, Égalité,” and just below
some passer-by had written with a bit of coal, “Vive Henri V.,” (the
Duke of Chambord), meaning quite the reverse of these three words, and
propagating Monarchy.
The next day being Sunday, we went to hear mass at the Russian church.
The singing was beautiful, but our priest, with his hair cut short, did
not at all harmonise with the rest of the Orthodox surroundings. After
lunch, we had a nice trip by boat to St. Cloud. We had lunch there at a
small inn over the entrance door of which we read with eager eyes, “Lait
Frais,” (Fresh Milk). A simpering red-armed and rosy-cheeked servant girl
in a pink print dress, appeared wiping her hands with her blue apron; she
spread a brown cloth upon a table standing in a green harbour under a big
walnut tree, and served us a frugal repast, consisting of milk and eggs.
A few steps from us stood a pair of scales with a placard saying, “Come
and see how much you weigh before and after dinner,” serving, surely,
as a catchword to this inn, as over the door there was a painted hand
pointing to the scales. After our cosy meal, we walked gaily through the
grounds of St. Cloud, enjoying our walk as two big school children out
for a holiday.
On our return to Paris we were not yet too tired to go to the “Musée
Grévin,” where we made a long halt before a group of wax figures
representing the Coronation of our Emperor. All the personages were
unrecognisable, the cadets of the “Corps de Pages” were arrayed in
costumes dating from the time of Louis XV. Another group also represented
a Russian scene, the capture of a band of anarchists at work in a secret
printing office, in which it was the police agents who looked like
villains, and the anarchists like innocent victims. It interested me
greatly to listen to the opinions of the passers-by upon this group,
they made such funny comments! Not wanting to disclose my nationality,
the idea came to me to give myself out for an Englishwoman, and I asked
Sergy, who didn’t speak English fluently, to answer only in the negative
or the affirmative to all I should say, and catching his eye I passed
the signal, making him understand when he was to say “yes” or “no.” He
acted his part fairly well, and two French ladies were taken in. They
endeavoured to make me understand the meaning of the criminal printing
office, and one of them said to me in the very worst English, “This scene
takes place in Russia, here is the Russian God,” (pointing out to an Ikon
of St. Nicholas hung in one corner of the printing office). Then, this
well-informed person, wanting to flatter my national pride, added, that
this Museum could not be compared to Madame Tussaud’s wax-work-figures in
London.
Our stay in Paris was drawing to a close. It was with much regret that
we had to bring our delightful visit to an end. As we had plenty of time
to spare before the beginning of the Italian manœuvres, it was settled
we were to go first to Switzerland. The number of our trunks having
considerably increased during our stay in Paris, we decided to cut down
our luggage to the minimum, and left our big boxes to go straight on to
Moscow through a transport-office. The chief of this office, a fat little
jew, put himself quite at my disposal and proposed to forward to me in
the future, all the _Nouveautés_ appearing in the Paris shops for all the
seasons, through his office.