MOSCOW
On returning to Moscow we found among our numerous correspondence
a number of the Parisian paper _L’Evenement_, sent to us by the
Rothvillers, with my biography and expressions of regret that the sojourn
of the blonde young lady who had made a brief appearance in the “Bois,”
handling so surely a pair of restive horses, was of so short duration. It
appears that when I entered a café to drink a cup of chocolate, during
my drive in the Park with the Baroness Rothvillers, a reporter of the
_Evenement_ had asked our groom the address of the hotel where I had put
up, and learnt from our hotel-keeper, who had known me a good many years,
all sorts of things concerning my life. It is thus that my biography
appeared in the French paper.
A Japanese Imperial Prince, who was returning from a long tour in Europe
to his country through Russia, with his spouse and a numerous suite,
stopped for a few days in Moscow. I went to see these Japs at the
_Manège_, where a great festival was given in their honour. The Prince
and Princess wore European costumes which did not suit them at all;
they would have been much better-looking in their own national costume.
The Princess, into the bargain, had golden teeth (the sign of Imperial
blood), which did not really embellish her.
In November my father came to pass the winter with my aunt Galitzine in
Moscow. He had been ailing for some years, and I was painfully struck
to see the change that had come over him. His illness took a dangerous
turn, and soon after his arrival he departed this life. Father’s death
gave me a great shock. It was weeks before I got over it. I wouldn’t see
anyone, or take interest in anything. My health broke down completely
and the doctors ordered me away from Moscow for some time. We decided
to make a tour in Sweden and Denmark. So, at the end of June we started
off to Stockholm, taking from St. Petersburg the Finnish boat “Döbbeln.”
The captain, a consummate patriot, had with extreme suddenness forgotten
every word of Russian, and we had to talk German to him, though we
knew, of course, that he spoke and understood Russian perfectly well.
That detestable man made disparaging remarks about Russia to our
fellow-passengers, foreigners for the most part, and prided himself
that his steamer was named “Döbbeln” after a famous Finnish hero, who
had distinguished himself in the war of Sweden against Russia. When we
approached Kronstadt, I heard him say that this fortress had only two
strong forts, and that the rest of them were good-for-nothing, and could
be easily blown to pieces by one bomb. My patriotic pride was awfully
wounded, and I did all in my power to resist the temptation to give the
captain a bit of my mind.
On the right side of the bay of Kronstadt our cruisers stood in a long
line, and huge German men-of-war were anchored on the left one. Numerous
steam-launches were plying all the time from one fleet to another. On one
of our vessels a band was playing on the deck; it was our marine officers
who were feasting their German comrades.
The weather was very fine and the sea had scarcely a ripple. Towards six
o’clock dinner was spread on deck in Swedish fashion on a long table
covered with appetising dishes, and you were asked to help yourself. That
is a good way, because you have the opportunity of selecting what you
prefer and of taking as much as you like.
At five o’clock in the morning we landed at Helsingfors and had only one
hour to survey this pretty town. When we returned to our boat a fresh
breeze arose and our ship began to pitch and rock. This disagreeable
tossing of the waves made me feel sick and giddy. I hastened to my cabin
and lay down. Early in the morning I was up and hastened on deck. The
shores of Sweden had appeared at last, and soon we entered the port of
Stockholm, the Venice of the North. The town, built upon islands, is
very picturesque. As a rule, the Swedes are exceedingly courteous to
strangers, nevertheless at the Custom House the officials burrowed into
our trunks and opened all our bags, making a mess of everything. One of
the men picked out a little folding looking-glass and turned it about in
his clumsy fingers trying to find out what it was, till Sergy, at the end
of his patience, opened the looking-glass and thrust it under the man’s
ugly face, after which he left us in peace.
We put up at the Grand Hôtel, just opposite the Royal Palace. After
having taken a little rest we went for a stroll in the town and crossed
in a small steamer to Djurgarden, a beautiful park on the other side of
the bay, where we had dinner at a small restaurant. A waiter, napkin upon
arm, came up to us, but as we couldn’t speak a word of Swedish, we found
it difficult to make him understand what we wanted, and had to converse
by gestures to illustrate our meaning. But our attempts to describe a
chicken being useless, the idea came to me to cry out cou-ca-ri-cou,
and I came out of the difficulty. We ended our evening at “Tivoli,” a
fashionable music-hall, where we met several fellow-passengers of our
boat. The performance took place in the open. The actresses who sang and
danced were more or less bad, very short-petticoated and very generously
décolleté.
The next day we visited Drottningholm Palace, situated out of town, the
summer residence of the King, who was for the moment in Norway, where he
is obliged to live a part of the year. After dinner we started for Malmö,
where we arrived early in the morning on the following day, and then took
the train to Copenhagen.