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ONE YEAR AT THE
RUSSIAN COURT: 1904-1905
[Illustration: THE EX-EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA OF RUSSIA WITH THE
EX-TZAREVITCH ALEXIS]
ONE YEAR AT
THE RUSSIAN
COURT: 1904-1905
BY RENÉE ELTON MAUD
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXVIII
_Printed in Great Britain
by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_
CONTENTS
PART I
PAGE
THE FULFILMENT OF MY DREAM 1
PART II
IN THE CAUCASUS 79
PART III
AT PETROGRAD 105
PART IV
RASPUTIN: HIS INFLUENCE AND HIS WORK 189
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE EX-EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA
OF RUSSIA WITH THE EX-CZAREVITCH
ALEXIS _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
RUSSIAN COACHMAN 6
CAUCASUS--GOURIAN PRINCE 6
RUSSIAN EQUIPAGES--TWO TROÏKAS 7
IN THE PARK OF MONREPOS--THE FERRY TO
LUDWINSTEIN 14
MONREPOS--THE CHAR-À-BANCS 15
THE CASTLE OF MONREPOS FROM THE PARK 22
PETERHOF--THE IMPERIAL CHILDREN 23
CRONSTADT--TWO SURVIVORS OF THE GLORIOUS
KOREITZ 62
THE BARRACKS AT PETERHOF--TWO COSSACKS
OF THE ESCORT 62
THE CROWN PRINCE OF GERMANY WITH PRINCESS
CECILIE AS FIANCÉS 63
SCENERY IN THE CAUCASUS 90
IN THE MOUNTAINS OF THE CAUCASUS 91
TIFLIS--A PERSIAN BAKER’S SHOP 94
TIFLIS--A PERSIAN SHOEMAKER’S SHOP 95
PLOUGHING IN THE CAUCASUS 216
THE IMPERIAL PALACE OF TZARSKOË-CELO 217
PART I
THE FULFILMENT OF MY DREAM
CHAPTER I
At last, I was on the eve of my departure for Russia! The dream of my
twenty summers! For that great Russia, the country of my devoted
grandmother, Baroness de Nicolay, who, however, was born in London, her
father, Baron de Nicolay, being at the time attached to the Russian
Embassy there. He subsequently became Russian Minister at Copenhagen,
where on account of the many friendships he had formed in society and
his deep attachment to the then King and Queen of Denmark and all their
family--who held him in the greatest esteem and intimacy--he remained
more than twenty years, refusing every offer of advancement in
consequence.
Queen Louise, Queen Alexandra’s mother, kept up a frequent
correspondence with my grandmother up to the time of the latter’s death.
Here, it may be of interest to mention that I have amongst my most
valued possessions a beautiful diamond bracelet given by the Queen to my
grandmother, who was by birth half French on her mother’s side, _née_
Princesse de Broglie-Revel, and until her marriage maid of honour to the
Empress of Russia. That great Russia, the charms and delights of which
in my innermost self I had longed for and at night dreamt of, during
the long winter months passed in the solitude of my ancient and austere
Norman home, listening to the howling of the wind amongst the pine trees
as they groaned and bent their heads in cadence. How good it was to
dream then!
Years after my Uncle Auguste de Villaine, my father’s brother, was
specially requested by the King and Queen of Denmark, in remembrance of
the past, to be sent as French Military Attaché to Copenhagen.
The husband of my friend Madame de Saint-Pair had just been appointed
Naval Attaché at St Petersburg (Petrograd), and I obtained my father’s
permission to accompany her on her journey to rejoin her husband. First
of all I was to pay a visit to my aunt, Baroness de Nicolay, who was
waiting to receive me.
On reaching the Russian Frontier, at Wirballen, at 8.30 p.m., we had to
change from the North Express into the Russian train on account of the
gauge being much wider in the land of the Tzar--as it was then. No
sooner had the train come to a standstill than our compartment was
literally invaded by a crowd of porters--at least one for each of our
packages! The train which had been so full on leaving Paris was by this
time almost empty--hence the reason for this invasion, each one fighting
as to which should bear the burden! Dressed in those curiously long
coats caught up in pleats at the waist, with their baggy trousers, top
boots, flat caps and white aprons reaching to the knee, as they walked
about on the station platform with their hands behind their backs, they
looked like male hospital nurses.
Thanks to the very special recommendation of the Russian Ambassador in
Paris and, in spite of the fierce expression worn by the tall, pompous
and bewhiskered Colonel of the Gendarmes, this very important
functionary merely bowed to our luggage allowing it all to pass the
customs without being examined. Many jealous eyes must have watched us
there, for the Russian Customs were most severe.
I noticed a large picture of the Sacred Heart with a huge candle burning
in front of it--I was indeed in Holy Russia.
An amusing incident occurred on the arrival of the train at Gatchina,
where Her Imperial Majesty the Dowager-Empress had a palace, which I
feel I must relate. From the windows of our compartment we were able to
get a peep at the Grand Duke Nicholas-Michaelovitch, who had just left
our train for a dressing-room in the station, and witnessed in silence
the transformation of a Grand Duke from civilian clothes into the
uniform of his rank, which is by no means a small affair--but I must say
a quick one!
A few minutes later we saw His Imperial Highness dashing away in a
brilliant Court equipage, his attendants in Imperial scarlet liveries.
This was certainly my first experience of a Grand Duke in such complete
_négligé_.
At Petrograd my aunt’s brougham was awaiting me. A Russian turn-out is
delightfully picturesque. The coachman is dressed in a long dark blue
padded coat, especially thick in winter; his vast proportions completely
fill up the whole box-seat and sometimes even overlap it. The fatter he
looks, the smarter he is. He wears a very full skirt and, with his face
framed by his long hair, his top hat cut short, his waist-belt of many
colours, his fashion of driving with both his arms stretched out at full
length in front of him, and instead of using a whip--which is
non-existent--occasionally calling out in guttural tones, he forms a
truly picturesque object to the visitors from foreign lands.
There is yet another type of coachman, seen more seldom, however, who is
dressed as a Russian postilion and who in summer wears long silk sleeves
of varied brilliant hues issuing from his dark coat. The top of his
round toque is edged with short up-standing peacock feathers. The big,
black, sure-footed, nervous horses, with their long tails and manes, do
not resemble ours in any way. The reins and the red or blue tassels
brighten up the harness, and how enjoyable it is to go for a drive in a
sleigh at full tilt, zigzagging about over the pure white snow as
slippery as glass, specially so in a troïka, to the tinkling sound of
its many bells. But, in a droschki, with its narrow borderless seat, the
only alternative is to seize one’s companion’s waist; it may have its
charm also!
My Aunt de Nicolay--Tante Sonine, as I always called her--_née_ Baroness
de Meyendorff, had frequented all the most brilliant Courts of
[Illustration: RUSSIAN COACHMAN]
[Illustration: CAUCASUS--GOURIAN PRINCE]
[Illustration: RUSSIAN EQUIPAGES--TWO TROÏKAS (THREE HORSES)]
Europe, being well known both in London and Berlin. Being married at the
age of eighteen to my uncle, my grandmother’s brother, she had
accompanied her husband during his entire diplomatic career--necessarily
a somewhat nomadic existence. My aunt welcomed me with much warmth,
which touched me profoundly. I had met her for the first time in 1900 on
the occasion of her visit to Paris at the time of the Great Exhibition,
after which she had come to Normandy, and it was during this visit that
I began to form for her that deep admiration and affection which her
memory will always invoke in me.
My aunt was altogether charming; tall and very distinguished looking,
and extraordinarily refined--in fact a real _grande dame_ to her
fingertips. She appeared to be much younger than she was. Her beautiful
features had preserved a wonderfully youthful charm, to be seen at their
full value when she smiled that sweet smile of hers--so good and so
true. I very soon began positively to adore her.
During her youth my aunt had been very pretty, with her dazzling fair
hair and fresh pink and white complexion, so much so that at a great
Court ball at the Winter Palace one of the Grand Dukes remarked: “She is
not a woman, she is a swan!”
Even at the time of my visit she still gave one this impression: she was
so graceful in all her movements and as active and supple as any young
woman of twenty-five; and, to see her beautiful little head so proudly
borne on her long flexible neck with its aristocratic lines attached to
those exquisitely moulded shoulders of hers, one could imagine that she
had simply sailed through life partaking of all its beauties and
avoiding all contact with the horrors and pettiness of the great world
she frequented, thus conserving intact, both in a moral and a physical
sense, the pure whiteness of the “swan”!
Left a widow at thirty-two, my aunt was always an ideal mother, giving
every proof of entire devotion to her children--her every thought was
for them and theirs. Her voice, combining softness with firmness, was
one of her most charming characteristics, with such a perfect
pronunciation in French, English and German that a stranger would have
asked himself which of the three was her native tongue.
She declared she did not know Russian well enough, and preferred never
to speak in that language in society.
One of the first instructions I received from her was--“Always shake
hands with a gentleman when he is presented.” How different from the
English custom, where a slight nod and side look often suffices! While
in France a young girl is more demure still! Where a married woman is
concerned in Russia, a man generally kisses her hand--which suits the
Russian as much as it renders ridiculous the Frenchman when he tries to
imitate.
Then, another day, she said to me looking rather upset at having to
touch such a delicate subject: “Tu sais--on a beaucoup de cousins ici.”
This was said as a warning for me not to be shocked, as I might perhaps
have been, at the sight of a somewhat too great familiarity between
certain people on frequent occasion. This warning amused me intensely,
as, although I was very innocent at the time, I was not sufficiently so
not to understand the hint! I was simply charmed by the thought--more so
still at the explanation and was never quite able to repress a smile
when I came across “happy cousins”!
She always retained the best impressions of London life, having spent
several years here. “Jews are very well received there,” she once said
to me, “very different from here.” In fact, I think London is their
Paradise, I am quite sure they are in no hurry for the accomplishment of
the Gospel!
She informed me, much to my surprise, that the German woman was the most
light of morals of any nation. Their heavy, massive appearance had
always made me imagine them unable to see life but through
heavily-rimmed spectacles and that the great majority of them followed
the example of their homely plump Kaiserin and her three “K” doctrine
for women--“Kinder, Kirche and Kuchen.”
On my return to France my aunt accompanied me as far as Berlin and
proved herself an excellent cicerone, pointing out to me the various
palaces she had so often been received in and other places of interest.
The only thing I could truthfully admire in the city was its scrupulous
cleanliness. I beheld with horror these long rows of white “stucco”
rulers of Germany erected by their descendent and admirer Wilhelm the
Hun; neither was I impressed by that fearful crude blue light of the
chapel containing the Imperial tombs--again a result of the imagination
of the “All Highest.” Clearly this decoration simply aimed at showy
effect--just like every action he commits.
Although Petrograd is more primitive than Paris, yet it impressed me far
more, with its wide arteries, its large quays, its superb Neva, like an
arm of the sea.
Russia is the country of space, of dreams--the country of all that is
magnificent. It gives one an unforgettable impression.
The Newsky Prospect is said to be the widest street in Europe; on one
side of it is an ancient caravanserai of enormous dimensions, now
occupied by shops of every description, some of which are most
fascinating.
I was also taken to see the famous fortress of St Peter and St Paul, the
burial place of the Russian sovereigns and also a prison, returning by
steamer on the Neva, and then to the Hermitage--the National Gallery of
Petrograd--containing many of Murillo’s best works as well as
Rembrandt’s and others. Another day I went to the Alexander III. Museum
and to the Church of Kazan where there is a most venerated statue of the
Virgin. The Cathedral of St Isaac is of magnificent proportions and
possesses immense wealth of decoration--the mosaiques being superb,
whilst a number of the sacred images are inlaid with diamonds and other
precious stones.
During the course of my explorations, nothing struck me so forcibly in
contrast to all this magnificence as the house of Peter the Great--which
is so minute!
I thoroughly enjoyed going to the restaurants at The Islands, specially
to Ernest’s, where one meets natives, diplomats, foreign visitors, in
fact, every one, while listening to the strains of a gay Rumanian
orchestra.
The Islands are the Bois de Boulogne of Petrograd. The place is lovely:
very green; beautiful trees overshadowing paths which are well laid out;
and from the end of the park a view of the sea is obtainable. There are
many beautiful villas there occupied during the summer.
I never shall forget my impressions of Paris on my return from Russia,
where there seems to be no limit to space, where everything is on a huge
scale--from the luxury of life in general to the immense size of all the
buildings and the great width of the noble Neva. Paris appeared to me a
squalid town and the Seine a mere brook--and not too clean a one
either--and altogether it struck me as being a very dismal place.
I only spent then a very short time at Petrograd as, at that period of
the year, every one begins to flit away to their country places for the
summer, so, after having become acquainted with a number of relations
and made several friends, I, like the rest, took my departure from the
capital, and accompanied my aunt to her beautiful home of Monrepos in
Finland.
CHAPTER II
The country from Petrograd to Viborg is for the most part like one
perpetual garden, the train passes between what is literally a long
series of villas and gardens in the midst of silver birch and
pine-trees, broken occasionally by an evident attempt to create a new
place; then succeeds again a planted solitude; and at last, after a
journey of four hours, Viborg--a town of 30,000 inhabitants--is reached.
That planted solitude has since those days become very much built over,
I expect, as Finland is a very sought-after summer resort.
Finland--the country of the thousand lakes, or rather one ought to say
of the five thousand lakes! My grandmother’s land won my heart at once.
Monrepos was for me a touching souvenir of her.
It is a well-known show place, with its lovely and hilly woodlands
reaching down to the Gulf of Finland, its gorgeous flower-beds and
standard orange-trees, where the coast is indented with its pink
coloured rocks and in the background are interminable forests of pine
and silver beech, where wolves come in winter. In one of the kiosks in
the park is a marble bust of the Empress Maria, given by her to my
great-grandfather to whom she was much attached. In the park there
stands also a column erected to the memory of two Princes de Broglie who
fell, fighting for the Allies, against Napoleon--these two princes were
brothers of my great-grandmother. Another column was presented to my
great-grandfather by the town of Viborg in recognition of a gift of land
and other bequests made by him. Every corner contains some souvenir;
every bench is named after a member of the family.
My aunt took me to visit the tomb of the Nicolays situated on one of the
prettiest islands in the park, named the Isle of Ludwinstein, all formed
of pink coloured rocks covered with lovely trees. To reach this poetic
spot where the dear dead rest so peacefully, one effects the crossing of
a narrow arm of the Gulf on a ferry bridge worked by ropes fastened at
either end, by means of which one is enabled to pull oneself over the
deeply-shaded waters of the beautiful Gulf of Finland. Ludwinstein
dominates its full immensity interspersed by thickly-wooded islands;
there the great northern sun bathes itself before setting in its
multi-coloured glory. Then is the time to steal quietly away to
think--and pray--on the island of Death and Life and Hope.
Finland is far more Swedish than Russian, having belonged to the Swedish
Crown for so long, and Viborg was very animated; we often went there.
The long drives into the country generally in the char-à-bancs were a
great joy to me. My aunt’s coachman, Kousma, besides
[Illustration: IN THE PARK OF MONREPOS, THE FERRY TO LUDWINSTEIN]
[Illustration: MONREPOS--“THE CHAR-À-BANCS”]
being a Tartar was also a Mussulman, and being a strict observer of the
Koran had a bath in his room in which he performed his numerous
obligatory ablutions. As Mussulmans are not allowed to drink any strong
liquor, this being contrary to their faith, they are in great request as
servants in Russia.
Another of my great amusements was to go for a sail in one or the other
of my aunt’s boats on the Gulf; and at times we used to row ourselves--a
form of exercise which has always appealed to me.
The Catholic Church at Viborg was very small; the congregation consisted
of about three to four hundred soldiers and a few peasant women,
picturesque with their bright coloured--generally red--handkerchiefs on
their heads. Whenever I entered the church these soldiers lined up on
either side of the aisle in my honour. I almost imagined I was the
Empress! But I never shall forget the smell of their top boots caused by
the fat used for cleaning them. It was almost unbearable.
There is always a night watchman round the house, who chimes the hours
all through the night and keeps a vigilant watch. Monrepos is entirely
built of wood, after the fashion of so many large houses in Russia, but
so strong and massive in construction that it is difficult to realize
the absence of stone.
The house--the houses, I ought to say, for there are two--is of enormous
dimensions and to give an illustration of this I may mention that the
large drawing-room is more than 150 feet in length and very lofty.
My aunt always lived with her three unmarried children, Paul and his two
sisters, Marie and Aline; it has always been my habit to call them
“uncle” and “aunt” on account of their being so much older than myself
and I thought it more respectful to do so. The first two are entirely
devoted to good works and before the war my uncle was absolutely
absorbed by the Œuvre des Étudiants, an international business, and as
this body held their annual meetings in different places each year he
was continually travelling, and thought no more of starting off to
America or Japan than he did of going to Petrograd.
My young Pahlen cousins, children of the married daughter of my aunt,
came to stay. I nicknamed them “Les Moustiques” as, all day long, they
clambered on to my knees and then smothered me with kisses! Their
father, Count de Pahlen, was then Governor of Vilna--now, alas, fallen
into the hands of the detestable Hun! They played the balalaika--a cross
between the mandoline and the guitar--very well.
Uncle de Pahlen, although a somewhat pronounced Protestant, was
large-minded enough to rescue the Roman Catholic Bishop of Vilna, by
concealing him in the bottom of his equipage, from the hands of the
revolutionaries the following winter. All the Nicolays are very low
church, with the exception of Uncle Paul who admires and venerates God
far more in nature than beneath the roof of any temple--so I was told.
The Finns’ one idea was and still is to obtain an autonomy of their
own--the Russian Governor of the Province was usually hated and I am
right in stating that during my visit several attempts on his life were
made.
When women received the right to vote in Finland, the accomplishment of
this achievement was the cause of a frenzy of delight.
We were always a large party at Monrepos, a perpetual coming and going
of friends. On the occasion of the visit of my French friends, Monsieur
and Madame de Saint-Pair, we had arranged together to visit Imatra, the
famous waterfalls of which are known the world over. The great fall is
superb--the foam reaching to an immense height--but I prefer the smaller
fall, although it is stiller but a good deal wider than the great fall.
It happened to be the feast of St John, in celebration of which huge
bonfires are lit all over the country. We did not actually see the
midnight sun, as we were not quite far enough north for that, but it was
11.30 p.m. before the afterglow entirely vanished. Then we went to see a
country dance undertaken amidst profound silence, the Finn takes his
pleasures quietly! I noticed that all the men of the dance wore small
daggers in their belts, no doubt to protect their belles, I concluded;
and the latter certainly were remarkable for the wonderful dazzling
brightness of their fair hair plaited in thick tresses of wonderful
richness.
On our return to the inn we were served with a whole ham cut in the form
of a duck, and radishes to represent flowers, while the butter took the
shape of sea anemones.
The following morning we drove 36 kilometres in a carriage which looked
more like a hearse than anything else, with no springs, and drawn by
three horses who took the bits between their mouths and galloped for all
they were worth along a road like a switchback, only worse, on account
of the innumerable deep ruts all over it, and in some places edged with
real precipices. Naturally the vehicle possessed no brake!
The country is very wild, full of woods and thick undergrowth on either
side of the road; then, wooded hills and a few cottages here and there;
pines and birch-trees everywhere.
Our hearse-shaped conveyance certainly possessed the semblance of a
roof, but the planks of wood composing it did not fit, with the result
that we were obliged to open our umbrellas inside to prevent ourselves
from being soaked by the heavy rain occasioned by a severe thunderstorm
which overtook us, on this never-to-be-forgotten excursion in the
wildest and most romantic parts of the country. The little boys on the
road blew us kisses, while the little girls offered us fruit, flowers,
eggs, and pretty coloured stones.
On arrival at Rättijärvi we took the steamer down the canal of Lake
Saima, thoroughly enjoying the lovely scenery by which we were
surrounded, as we passed on our way through many lakes.
The locks of Juustila are very interesting--our boat sunk deeper and
deeper, so deep indeed that I thought we would never reach the bottom!
We returned enchanted with our Finnish trip.
At Monrepos, we had some charming neighbours, amongst whom were the
Count and Countess de Stackelberg. The latter was before her marriage
Countess Shouvaloff, a niece of my aunt and the daughter of a former
Russian Ambassador at Berlin, while her husband, General Baron de
Stackelberg, was attached to the person of one of the Grand Dukes. I
have often met them in Paris since those days, and to my great regret I
heard lately that at the outbreak of the late revolution in March 1917
Count Stackelberg was arrested and was actually being led off to the
Bureau Central by a detachment of soldiers to be tried, when, while
still on his own staircase, a shot was fired--presumably by some
ill-advised person, at the top of the staircase--whereupon the soldiers,
who were on the ground-floor and far from the unfortunate General who
was unarmed, imagining that it was he who had fired at them, turned on
him with violence and finally shot him in cold blood.
Half an hour after this tragedy my uncle, Baron Paul de Nicolay, called
at the house, when he also was arrested by a young revolutionary who
left him in charge of two soldiers while he went off to fetch his
revolver. The soldiers’ attention being taken away by their leader’s
action, my uncle profited by their momentary distraction and most
fortunately was thus enabled to make good his escape, otherwise he would
most probably have shared the same fate as poor Stackelberg.
I have the greatest affection for Uncle Paul, from whom I often receive
long and most interesting letters, which help to remind me of the happy
days I am now attempting to describe--the golden memory of which will
ever remain impressed upon my heart.
It is to be hoped that Fate will spare Finland and the cradle of the
family from an invasion by the brutal Hun, and may the Angel of Peace
protect those blessed tombs from his sacrilegious and infamous hands.
I left Finland to go back to Petrograd with my aunt for a few days,
which I spent most gaily. Then I went to Peterhof with my aunt, Princess
Cherwachidze, and to Michaelovka with Aunt de Baranoff, going often from
one to the other.
CHAPTER III
The Court spent the summer at the Palace of Peterhof. My aunt, Princess
Cherwachidze, always rented a villa there on leaving her house at
Petrograd. Most of the Grand Dukes had their palaces there also. Being
only at a distance of about one hour by train from Petrograd, Peterhof
with its numerous palaces and villas, situated in their lovely gardens,
reminded me of the Riviera; by its brilliant society, both military and
civil, Peterhof was indeed a delightful place to live in. There was a
perpetual round of luncheons and dinners in the Court Circle which I
enjoyed very much, also the concerts and the theatre.
The place is charmingly pretty; the park magnificent, reaching right
down to the shores of the Baltic where many of its fine trees dip their
long branches into the sea. In the park we used to meet the Imperial
Children, Grand Duchess Olga, the eldest, and lately one of the leading
sister-disciples of Rasputin’s religion, was then a pretty little doll,
always very gracious and well-dressed. She used to say “Bonjour” aloud
when anyone bowed to her; policemen and others were delighted with the
salutation of their “little Empress!” Later on, their drives and rides
had to be discontinued as attempts on their lives were feared.
The second daughter, Grand Duchess Tatiana, was said to be the cleverest
of the family and her father’s favourite.
The playing of the fountains was a sight worth seeing, the Russians
never ceased asking me whether they did not outshine the “Grandes Eaux”
of Versailles.
The appearance of the exterior of the Palace inspired gaiety, whilst the
interior was the very acme of comfort.
The Russian Court was the most luxurious Court in the world, combining
as it did all the wealth and luxury of the East and the West. It was a
rule that all the numerous palaces of the Emperor should be kept up
during his absence just as though he were in residence--always ready to
receive him at any moment.
I often accompanied my aunt to the Palace of Peterhof to see my uncle,
Prince Cherwachidze, who was Grand Master of the Court of Russia,
specially attached to the person of the Empress-Dowager, being also
Grand Master of her Court; and he sometimes came to spend his evenings
with us.
My aunt continually lunched with the Empress-Dowager, who used to invite
her every year to spend long friendly visits with her at Gatchina; she
also lunched very often at the Palace. My aunt might have taken up her
abode in the Palace had she chosen, but always declared she preferred
her liberty to the perpetual glow and
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF MONREPOS FROM THE PARK]
[Illustration: PETERHOF, THE IMPERIAL CHILDREN]
fuss of the Court--in my view a somewhat injudicious step to have taken
considering all things.
Princess Cherwachidze, _née_ Baronne de Nicolay, my father’s first
cousin, is small and slender, very refined and fragile, so fragile
indeed that one is almost afraid of breaking her when embracing her, but
possessing in her heart an unfathomable depth of kindness and devotion.
My dear little aunt--Aunt Maka, as I called her--seemed to be in love,
so much in love with her husband that morning and night, especially when
at Petrograd, she rushed off as fast as she could cover the ground to
the telephone to converse with the object of her adoration, who was
always in waiting on his Imperial Mistress wherever she happened to
be--Gatchina, Peterhof, Tsarskoë-Celo or Petrograd, at the Anitschkoff
Palace. The conversation was always the same and in her soft emotional
voice she commenced:--
“Comment vas-tu?” The reply I never caught. “Allons tant mieux.” Idem.
“Tu vas venir aujourd’hui, n’est-ce pas?” I guessed the reply to be in
the negative. “Et demain?” Again in the negative. “Alors tu me diras. Au
revoir.” Then it was over. He was not often able to respond to these
summonses.
She seemed quite satisfied to know that her spouse was in good
health--there was no alternative--and then again would rush off across
the drawing-rooms back to her comfortable study where she always had a
vast correspondence to attend to, and to reply to in that beautiful
calligraphy of hers--everything she undertook to do was executed to
perfection. Every day she received several begging letters, some from
people desirous of obtaining employment, others seeking for Imperial
audiences for some protégé or other--and these latter simply poured in!
Again at night, she used to ring up my uncle on the telephone which,
alas, more often than not gave no reply; then my poor little aunt became
quite thoughtful and sadly consoled herself by saying, “Comme son
service est fatiguant!”
She had also a conversation on the telephone very often with Grand Duke
Nicholas Michaelovitch who had been a friend of hers for many years. His
Imperial Highness sometimes came to see us in the evening and we always
knew when he had entered the apartment by the tremendous clatter of his
scabbard on the parquet floor of the ante-room and the clinking of his
spurs as he walked. He was of a jovial disposition and spoke with a very
loud voice. He was besides _un gai causeur_ and extremely literary,
amongst his last publications was _La Famille des Strogonoff_.
Every morning, dressed as simply as possible, and wearing a little black
felt hat with a tiny little ruffled up feather and carrying a small
black leather bag, my aunt used to go out on missions of charity; the
felt was no longer very new, neither was the feather, but that mattered
not at all to my dear little aunt.
Ordinary--and extraordinary--confessor to all the troubled consciences
which chose to make her house their meeting place, nothing struck me as
being more strangely dissimilar than this immaculate soul--almost unique
beneath the snow-laden sky of this frozen country--to those who invaded
the blessed atmosphere of that drawing-room, pouring out all their
griefs and faults into her ever-sympathetic ears.
The Prince was less sentimental. Spoilt by a great fortune, occupying a
high post at Court, his presence at home became less and less until
there seemed no real reason to bind him to it at all, and yet, when he
did happen to come, he seemed so happy. But it was extremely difficult
for anyone to read exactly the innermost thoughts of my dear uncle, who
belongs to a very good old princely family of Georgia; he is a
Caucasian, and consequently portrays in his character all the mystery of
his race, to a greater degree even than the Slav. He has a somewhat
striking appearance with his large dark eyes. He is very gracious, when
he chooses, and unequalled in the art of finesse, morally speaking.
Although his thoughts were nearly always in the clouds, they
occasionally issued from their nebulous seclusion, but never for long.
This originality seemed to please his Sovereign Lady and some people
used to conceive this to be the cause of the high favour in which he
stood.
At official ceremonies my uncle, in his magnificent gold uniform all
covered with Ribbons and Orders, appeared to emerge from the midst of
those yards of shimmering velvet or silk which formed the train of the
Empress-Dowager and which seemed to take pleasure in rustling all the
more at his touch. He cut a superb figure as he sat in his Court
carriage, wearing his fine cocked hat surmounted with white plumes, and
on the box seat the men in Royal scarlet and gold liveries with their
gold-gallooned hats slightly tilted to one side--the whole being drawn
by a pair of high-stepping greys.
At Peterhof we often used to drive in this fine turn-out, and many were
the low obeisances bestowed on us by respectful functionaries as we
passed.
Tongues were very busy on the subject of my uncle and I could not but
feel a little sad for my aunt. It was with eyes closed and with her
heart brim-full of him that she used to visit a certain perfidious
beauty enjoying the liberty of grass widowhood--her husband being at the
war--and I felt sure that the lady knew more about my uncle during her
brief acquaintance with him than did my dear good credulous aunt during
the whole of her twenty-five years of legitimate married life. But
perhaps my youthful imagination ran riot and judging from what people
whispered you may think jealousy is as rampant in Russia as it is here.
Queen Alexandra arrived at Peterhof during my sojourn there to spend a
few days with her sister, the Empress-Dowager, and I remember so well
seeing her. A cordon of sentinels had been drawn only a few paces apart
all round the Park interspersed with mounted Cossacks. My uncle has a
profound admiration for the Rose Queen, who has held him in great esteem
for many years. In the old days, when the world was normal, he used to
meet Her Majesty at Copenhagen every year, where she always presented
him with the latest photograph of herself, signed by her Royal hand--and
at Petrograd he had a regular gallery of these.
My uncle is entirely devoted to the Empress and she will never let him
out of her sight for long, giving him her full confidence; but, as he is
a very bad sailor and dreads the long sea voyages, he always obtained
her Imperial sanction to travel by way of Germany; so as to avoid
sea-sickness as much as possible and for this purpose he wears a pair of
red glasses. May this be a hint in future to all those who suffer from
_mal de mer_!
He is still attached to the person of his Imperial Mistress, in the
Crimea, and now sharing her life in misfortune with as much devotion as
in former days. I feel sure he will never willingly consent to abandon
her as in all probability she has been forsaken by so many.
On one occasion, while at Copenhagen, a little scandal was spread about
in which the name of a certain very pretty maid of honour, who for the
fun of the thing mischievous people wished to compromise, and that of my
uncle, amongst others, were coupled. The papers, of course, got hold of
the story and naturally exaggerated the whole event.
The Empress was furious and outraged at the mere suggestion of such a
thing and in a loud voice protested, saying, “Le Prince n’y était pas,
le Prince était chez moi.” Now, the hour mentioned was one in which
Morpheus makes one forget the sad hours when he no longer holds
sway--and it was good of the Empress to champion her hero thus. People
smiled but held their peace!
As every one knows, the greatest love and affection exist between our
lovely Queen Alexandra and her sister. Since these Russian days I have
often been to see my uncle in London, both at Buckingham Palace and,
since King Edward’s death, at Marlborough House, during the Empress’s
visits to the Queen, which during King Edward’s lifetime usually took
place when he was abroad on his several diplomatic missions, causing him
to be recognized as Edward the Peacemaker. How richly he deserved that
appellation is to be shown in the great result he achieved in bringing
about the Entente Cordiale--as though he foresaw the present
cataclysm--thus laying the foundation of the great brotherhood in arms
which now exists between France and her old antagonist England in their
common determination to crush the loathsome beast--the abominable
Hun--in a life or death struggle. May time only strengthen this great
alliance, is the heartfelt desire of one amongst thousands of the
daughters of France.
At Buckingham Palace my uncle occupied a charming apartment just above
the Visitors’ Entrance, though at Marlborough House his installation
was naturally less sumptuous. There I was greeted at the top of the
stairs by two giant Cossacks, the Cossacks of the Empress.
As my uncle experiences a good deal of difficulty in speaking English,
the long sojourn in our midst used to get rather on his nerves,
especially after King Edward died, as it was so hard for Queen Alexandra
to reconcile herself to parting with her Imperial sister. Whenever the
Empress thought of departure, the Queen threw herself into the Empress’s
arms and begged her to remain--and remain she did. Neither did the
visits to Sandringham satisfy my uncle, who was only really happy in one
place and that place was Copenhagen--where he seemed to become young
again! quite young! I was told. My uncle took his place in the funeral
procession of the late King Edward as one of the Russian delegates on
that solemn occasion.
On his last visit to London, soon after my marriage, my husband and I
saw a great deal of my uncle, with whom we often used to lunch at
Buckingham Palace Hotel where he had a lovely suite of apartments on the
first floor, because, as he used to say, “I am freer here than at
Marlborough House.” And he seemed to revel in the idea of his own
_garçonnière_, although he had his room at Marlborough House as well.
That year the Empress remained in England until the last day of July,
and was travelling on her way back to Russia through Germany on the day
Russia actually declared war. On her arrival at Berlin the Imperial
bomb-proof train was not allowed to continue any further east, but was
ordered either to go back whence it came, namely to Calais, or else
proceed to Denmark, as German Authorities felt sure she was conveying
important messages from the King to his cousin the Tzar.
Her Imperial Majesty chose the latter route, thinking it would be the
best way home later on.
My uncle also showed us a very pretty miniature of the Empress-Dowager
given to him lately by Queen Alexandra, a charming thought for which he
seemed very grateful.
He had sent to Petrograd for an enormous box of delicious bonbons which
he gave us, they are so luscious there, and to ensure getting a good cup
of tea when he came to see us, I expect, he presented us with some
excellent green Russian tea.
CHAPTER IV
The first great important ceremony which I attended was the funeral of
General Obroutcheff, a great dignitary of the Empire.
The ceremony took place at La Laure, which is the ecclesiastical quarter
of Petrograd and is an enormous monastery surrounded by walls and
ditches full of water, a kind of fortified place--in fact, a town.
It contains a large cemetery, beautiful gardens and no less than seven
churches. The monks, of whom there are a great number, wear long and
very wide black cassocks with a sort of high hat widening toward the
top. All of them let their hair and often their beards grow long; with
some the hair reaches to the waist and is an object of great care. At
night, the monks stand one behind the other plaiting each other’s hair,
which is generally curled and waved.
The popes are the secular and parish priests, and are married. Popes are
in a certain degree a race of people apart; their children intermarry,
the sons often become popes themselves. They are not generally much
esteemed and the common saying is: “Pope, son of a dog!” As I have said,
a pope can enter the married state, but only once in a life-time.
The police cordon was drawn as tight as possible. Quite close to us was
the officer of the police with a sullen look and a livid complexion who
took note of every one.
Presently the remainder of the guests arrived and the funeral procession
itself appeared, the uniforms were superb and the _coup d’œil_ a
magnificent one.
All the Grand Dukes were there, amongst whom I recognized Alexis,
George, Oldenburg, and the Court dignitaries, including my uncle Prince
Cherwachidze, in full uniform, all covered with gold, the various
Ambassadors, wearing only Russian decorations on this occasion, but such
a profusion of them!
The Emperor and his brother--then the heir to the throne, for the
Tzarevitch was not born--with the Empress-Dowager entered the church,
after the celebration of Mass, for the committal service and took up
their positions quite close to me, to the right of the Sanctuary, so
close indeed that stretching out my hand I could have touched them.
On the arrival of the Emperor and Empress at the Church the whole
congregation bowed as the Imperial pair passed to their seats. There
they were duly incensed, the Tzar’s brother only receiving one incensing
and accordingly only gave one inclination.
The Emperor appeared very shy and nervous with a somewhat frightened
expression. The Empress-Dowager is short and dark, she has nothing of
the beauty of her sister, Queen Alexandra. The Tzar’s brother is tall
and fair with very blue eyes. He is a great sportsman and so strong that
he can lift Prince Cherwachidze up as easily as a feather. He was very
popular I believe.
The singing was wonderful, although unaccompanied by musical instruments
as is customary in the Russian Church. I was carried away by it. The
priests’ vestments were incomparably rich, all white and gold--no trace
of black anywhere. It is the custom of the Greek Church for even funeral
hearses to be gilded or silvered, but never black as with us. It is also
a rule that the corpse should be exposed in an open coffin during the
religious ceremony, but in the case of the defunct general, who had died
at his wife’s home in France--she being French--this form was dispensed
with.
That night, on our return to Peterhof I accompanied my Aunt Cherwachidze
to a dinner given at Michaelovka by Grand Duke Michael-Michaelovitch,
uncle of the Tzar. At this dinner were present Grand Duchess of
Mecklenburg-Schwerin, with her daughter Princess Cecilie, now Crown
Princess of Prussia, the Grand Duchess Xenia, sister of the Emperor, and
others.
The previous evening I had dined with my friends the Saint-Pairs at the
famous Ernest Restaurant on the Islands, the other guests including
Prince and Princess Kotchoubey, the Prince has a very Turkish appearance
and looks extremely flighty, while the Princess possesses a most
wonderful figure, but is very made up with her hair dyed gold; she has
fine eyes but they lack lustre; the Swedish Minister and Countess
Gyldenstolpe, who since then they have been to Paris many years in the
same capacity, where I have seen a good deal of them, Countess
Gyldenstolpe being a Miss Plunkett, a daughter of a former English
Ambassador, both very distinguished looking and charming. Monsieur
Lefèvre-Pontalis, Vicomte et Vicomtesse de Guichen and Vicomte de
Salignac-Fénelon, all of the French Embassy, made up the party, which
took place in a huge recess on the first floor overlooking the
restaurant and just opposite the Rumanian orchestra which was playing
gaily.
The table was beautifully decorated with pink roses and ilex and lighted
by a profusion of prettily-shaded candles and electric lamps.
This was my first large dinner-party in Petrograd, which was to be
followed so often by others. I enjoyed it thoroughly.
I returned to Petrograd a few days later with Princess Lise
Bagration-Moncransky--a great friend of my Aunt Cherwachidze--then
staying with us. After an excellent lunch at the Hôtel de l’Europe, then
the smartest in Petrograd, he went off to see a Red Cross train on the
point of leaving for Manchuria, everybody being interested at that time
in the poignant question of the Russo-Japanese war--especially so, as we
only received news from the war zone by way of Japan I was told.
Princess Obolensky did the honours of her hospital train, showing us
all the details, which were very complete.
The train was entirely painted in white with huge red crosses at
intervals. What a good target it would have been for the modern German
marksman!
It was immensely long, being able to accommodate 300 people, including
doctors, sisters of charity, and hospital attendants, and there was room
for twenty-five officers. The medical corps were most comfortably
installed, their study being so cosy--the writing-tables covered with
green baize--so suitably furnished; charming little holy images with
lamps burning in front of them were in every compartment.
The sisters of charity slept two in each room, their beds folded up as
in ordinary “sleepers”--simplicity was the order of the day in this
department. But the men were thoroughly spoilt, having a club room all
to themselves, a fact which often makes me exclaim: “On voit bien que le
Créateur était un homme.”
There were four carriages set aside for slightly wounded cases, and I
thought to myself the poor soldiers would suffer from being
overcrowded--the beds being so close together. On each bed were a pair
of leather slippers, a pair of socks and a grey woollen shirt. Crutches
were placed at intervals for the use of convalescents.
Then followed the quarters for the serious cases with very fine mosquito
nets in front of each window. The train was bomb proof, but I noticed
the absence of iron shutters or any shutters at all, which struck me as
being a great omission. These cases would enjoy more space and their
beds could be easily removed as they were only stretchers.
There were two stories to this part of the train--quite like a house on
wheels--icons and pious books were in great profusion. There were also a
pharmacy and an operating room well stocked with every modern appliance.
The officers’ beds were entirely covered with white mosquito nets and
there were also head nets. We were shown the place where the linen was
washed and disinfected. No money seemed to have been spared in the
installation of this luxurious train, and I cannot help wondering what
has been its destiny and how many poor suffering creatures it helped
towards the alleviation of their pains.
The Hun takes as much pleasure in destroying the Red Cross as he does in
finishing off the wounded on the battlefield; and I can only hope those
who fought and died in 1904 did not encounter the same barbarous
treatment at the hands of their enemies as those brave men who are in
deadly contest now with the disciples of Kultur.
I was seized with a great desire to accompany Madame Narischkine, a
friend of my Aunt de Nicolay, to Irkoutz, where she intended to go in
order to nurse convalescents after her cure at the Eaux-Bonnes in
France--Russians are always taking cures and they go across Europe as
easily as we do from London to Brighton. She was already a middle-aged
woman, but very refined-looking. There was only one thing about her
which rather spoilt her appearance, and that was that her fingers were
very much stained with tobacco, and her teeth, too, from smoking
cigarettes. In this she merely followed the example of the majority of
Russian ladies, amongst whom smoking often becomes a real passion.
I spent my summer therefore amongst the great ones of the earth.
One day we went to a big luncheon-party at the Palace in honour of the
birthday of the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria. It seems strange now
to think of having celebrated that event.
Grand Duchess Xenia and the Grand Duke, her husband, came to see my
aunt. I admired her charming simplicity, she took a snapshot of my aunt
with her son and myself and afterwards sent us each a copy accompanied
by a charming little note.
The Grand Duchesses were always dressed as simply as possible,
tailor-made dresses and small sailor-hats; so much so, that it really
seemed to be a uniform.
These sailor-hats appeared to me as being rather _rétrograde_ for the
sensible craze for these generally becoming hats had been for some time
no longer the fashion in France, and to wear one would have seemed very
_démodé_.
That summer Plehve, the Minister, was the victim of a bomb explosion
while crossing the bridge opposite the Warsaw station in his carriage,
on his way to Peterhof from Petrograd, where he was going to present his
usual report to the Tzar; and this, in spite of the tremendous speed at
which the horses were going, for his life was always in danger, as well
as that of every one in the government and about the Court at that time.
We were to have travelled by the same train and only changed our mind at
the last minute.
His death made a great impression, although he was thoroughly detested
by all parties, but the Tzar lost in him a strong pillar of autocratic
rule. The debris of his carriage were blown up as high as the fourth
floor of the neighbouring houses, and this explosion caused the death
of, at least, twenty other persons--the unfortunate Minister being
literally blown to atoms and the assassin himself injured.
A young and charming officer whom my aunt knew very well was killed; and
another friend of hers whilst driving in his carriage 100 yards away
from the scene of the outrage was dazed by the explosion, the coachman
falling on to his lap and the horse being thrown down. Another officer
became deaf, so terrific was the report of the bursting of the infernal
machine.
A few minutes later we passed the actual spot on our way to the station,
and saw the remains of the late Minister’s carriage strewn all over the
road.
Witte succeeded Plehve; he had the reputation of being clever and strong
but also of being utterly unscrupulous and untrustworthy. He was sent
to America to discuss the peace terms of the Russo-Japanese war. Nearly
every one thought he was not a man to fulfil such an important mission,
for he inspired very little confidence. However, on his return, he was
made a Count. He was a friend of the Kaiser and demonstrated this
feeling too well before his end.
On Sundays I sometimes went to Mass at Cronstadt, the great naval
fortress which should protect Petrograd from an attack by sea--may it
now make good its _raison d’être_! is my most humble prayer, October
26th, 1917--in a very fine steamer which only took half an hour to do
the crossing from the mainland, and was always crowded with people and
laden with horses and carriages.
Cronstadt is by no means a pretty town in spite of its wide streets, and
evidently the City Fathers were not a very energetic body as the walls
of the theatre which was completely gutted by fire thirty years
previously were still standing in their ruined state, while some of the
actual panes of glass were still to be seen in their broken window
frames, flapping in the wind.
The Catholic church is very large. I noticed how many of the shops bore
French and German names, and not merely German names but also a great
number of inscriptions, denoting particular wares, Cronstadt being a
very commercial city and probably seething with German spies.
The place has distinguished itself lately by establishing itself as a
separate Republic with the notorious Lenin as president--which state of
affairs, however, was short lived.
A somewhat curious feature in certain places is that the pavements,
instead of being composed of flags of stone or brick, are made of small
pierced iron squares. The great solemn masses of the men-of-war lying at
anchor in the harbour seemed to be sleeping on the still
waters--unconscious as yet of the fearful doom that awaited so many of
them in the Sea of Japan.
I was interested watching a young naval officer from a pinnace trying to
conceal from public view beneath his cloak a superb bouquet of bright
red flowers, evidently the symbol of the very ardent love he bore
ashore.
The sentinels apparently considered I was too long stationary in one
place, as they began to look me up and down with suspicion, which amused
me very much.
A lovely walk bordered by a number of weeping willows runs for a long
distance by the sea into which they dip their branches.
At that tune, there was living at Cronstadt an Orthodox priest, Father
John of Cronstadt. He possessed a great personality, and was very well
known in Russia. People, in some instances, positively worshipped him,
giving him a reputation for working miracles, also of being a very holy
man and even a prophet.
Once I ran after a war hero and pulled him by his sleeve, whereupon he
turned round and gave me such a saucy look! But, showing my photographic
apparatus, I made him understand that I only wanted to take his
photograph. He beamed all over and I placed next to him another hero.
They were both survivors of the glorious _Koreitz_ which not long before
perished in the fatal Sea of Japan.
Then, I was told of a church which was nearer to us; so one Sunday I
determined to go there, but, to my horror, I suddenly found myself in
the courtyard of some military barracks where there was a chapel--but
not mine!
There I was, I and my _coucouchka_ or little cab, surrounded by a double
row of soldier giants, but luckily being able to mutter a few words in
Russian a friendly policeman put me on the right road.
We flew along, passing woods, bridges, and a large palace which was used
for the Red Cross work.
I was told that the preceding winter, at The Hermitage, where the
Empress often came to work, she had a nigger who helped her to pull out
the bastings from her sewing.
At last I arrived at my destination and driving up to a charming little
church saw advancing towards me a smart-looking officer, a great friend
of Uncle Cherwachidze, Count Beckendorff, brother of the late Russian
Ambassador in London, and holding an important post at Court. He was
carrying an enormous prayerbook, almost as big as himself.
I went several times to the races at Crasnoë-Celo, which I will refrain
from giving a description of, as Count Tolstoi’s account in his
marvellous novel, _Anna Karenina_, gives one the best idea of this
exclusively military meeting.
CHAPTER V
Great preparations now began for the baptism of the Tzarevitch. I shall
never forget with what joy we heard the appointed number of guns fired
announcing the glad tidings that a son and heir had been born to the
Emperor and Empress.
This happy event--July 30th, 1904--coincided with the Silver Wedding day
of my uncle and aunt, my aunt being the recipient of many beautiful and
valuable gifts from the Empress-Dowager, Grand Duchess Xenia and many
others. My Uncle Cherwachidze presented me with a charming curbed chain
Faberge bangle made of the three golds, as the Russians say, namely of
white gold or platinum, red gold and green gold. It was a delicate
attention on his part and one, which needless to say, I greatly
appreciated.
Since the birth of his son, the Emperor appeared radiant.
I saw him shortly after the event at Crasnoë-Celo races distributing the
prizes amongst the winners from the Imperial stand, which resembles a
small villa with a balcony on the first floor--as is customary in
Russian houses.
Then I saw Grand Duke Cyril, just back from the war in Manchuria where
he had fallen into a hole; he was recuperating and declared that the
air of Petrograd was the only one that could improve his health!
He was at this time paying attention to his divorced cousin, whom he
eventually married in spite of the Tzar’s disapproval.
We went also to the Tzaria, the great national festival, and were
invited to the Imperial tent; the Empress-Dowager drove up in a carriage
with four horses and postilions. The Court uniforms were most brilliant.
My uncle appeared again all in gold lace. The scene was most beautiful
and impressive.
For the baptism of Grand Duke Alexis, heir to the throne, we first went
to the Countesses Koutousoff, two sisters, maids of honour to the
Empress-Dowager, where we found Countess Worontsoff and the others in
full Russian Court Dress, of dark green velvet, as she was mistress of
the Court of the Empress-Dowager, each Grand Duke’s Court having its own
particular colour.
There we met a number of friends, amongst whom were a Princess
Troubetzkoy and her husband, and Princess Yousoupoff, a great friend of
my aunt. The latter was absolutely charming, I thought, so pretty and so
simple. She possesses the largest fortune in Russia, and jewels--such as
one reads of in fairy tales.
Her second son was there, who notwithstanding a rather effeminate
appearance has distinguished himself lately by being implicated in the
murder of that arch-fiend and mock monk Rasputin.
Very soon after the baptism of Grand Duke Alexis, the eldest son was
killed in a duel; he had fallen head over ears in love with a well-known
girl in Russian Society, but his parents absolutely refused to sanction
this alliance. In consideration of their position and of their immense
fortune, they imagined that the only suitable wife for their son must be
the daughter of a Grand Duke.
Accordingly, the announcement of the young lady’s engagement to another
suitor was made public and the religious ceremony took place in Paris,
but that very night she gave her husband the slip and flew to the hotel
where her lover awaited her.
The result of this naturally was a duel in which the lover was killed by
the husband--his dead body being sent back to his home quite unattended
in his motor--and some time after his adversary became mad.
Petrograd society was dumbfounded by this drama and for many years the
young woman who was the cause of it was looked at askance, but now, I
have heard, she is being readmitted into the enchanted circle.
Prince and Princess Yousoupoff were quite overcome with sorrow and could
not reconcile themselves to the fact that they would never see their
adored son again. They had his body embalmed and laid in a glass coffin,
so that they could gaze upon his features, and made a point of conveying
the coffin with them wherever they went. This state of things went on
for over a year, until one day a friend broke it quietly to them that
it was high time to put the coffin out of sight; and this they finally
agreed to do.
The Yousoupoffs’ second and only remaining son has accomplished the feat
of marrying the beautiful sister of Grand Duke Dmitri, thus satisfying
his parents’ ambition, and should be universally applauded for having
helped to rid Russia and the whole world of that most evil genius of the
age, the mock monk Rasputin, who through his deplorable influence over
the pro-German Empress Alexandra Feodorovna has been the cause not only
of the fall of the House of Romanoff and of that supremely brilliant
Court but also, I fear, of the complete downfall of great Holy
Russia--at least for generations to come.
The Imperial _cortège_ was truly fairy-like: there were gilt coaches
surmounted at the four corners by white ostrich feathers, drawn by four
or eight white horses with white harness and white plumes on their
heads; the bridle of each horse being held by a footman dressed in white
and gold.
In one of the coaches was Princess Galitzine, Grand Mistress of the
Court, and in her arms the then precious infant, a very fine child, with
blue eyes and dark hair.
The religious ceremony in the Imperial Chapel was indescribably
beautiful. I fancied myself in Fairyland. My aunt was of course in full
Court dress and looked a real picture in her velvet dress with a lot of
her jewels on her _kakochnik_ or head-dress.
About this cradle surrounded as it was by so much love--and also by so
much hate, during these already troublous times--one could not help but
ask oneself, with anxious feelings at the bottom of one’s heart, as to
what the future held in store for this innocent babe, born in the
purple: the hope of the Romanoffs--the target of its enemies.
Prince Dolgorouky, who was Gold Stick in Waiting, drove past in a gilded
open state carriage looking the regular _grand seigneur_ with his air of
supreme distinction as he held his long wand of office in his right
hand. In spite of his already advanced age and of his silvery locks, he
was still a superb-looking man. One unwelcome shower having fallen
during the return journey rather damaged the splendour of his white
plumed hat and splendid uniform.
I knew all the members of his family very well, as they and the Nicolays
were on very intimate terms with one another. His sister, Madame
d’Albédinsky, had been a great friend of the Emperor Alexander III. She
was charming--most sympathetic.
A few days later we attended the parade of the Chevaliers-Gardes at
Peterhof; a magnificent spectacle, the troops wearing white uniforms
with silver helmets surmounted by a golden eagle with outspread wings.
On one side a carpet had been laid down and priests were offering up
prayer, for there is never any ceremony in Russia without a religious
side to it.
I often met Baron Fredericks--since then he has become Count--who had
been Grand Marshal of the Court for many years. He was to be seen here,
there, and everywhere and must have proved himself a most useful spy of
the Kaiser--as recent events have indicated.
On the outbreak of the late Revolution he was found in hiding and
promptly imprisoned in the Fortress of St Peter and St Paul; from which,
however, in consideration of his great age and for a big lump sum of
money he has been released.
Princess Lise Bagration-Moucransky, my aunt’s friend, was on intimate
terms with all the crowned heads and even the non-crowned ones of the
Imperial family. One day I went with her to see Grand Duke
Michael-Michaelovitch and his daughter, Grand Duchess of
Mecklenburg-Schwerin--of whom I shall have more to say later on.
I found the Princess quite charming; “elle avait dû avoir beaucoup de
‘chien,’” as we say in France, and still had a very merry twinkle in her
eye which caused me great amusement. Being a Bagration, she was
descended from the Royal House of Georgia, and her husband--who had been
dead some years--had held numerous high appointments.
One day I went with my aunt to see Grand Duchess of Oldenburg, sister of
the Tzar--who has since divorced the Grand Duke, to marry his
aide-de-camp--she lived quite near us; also Grand Duke and Duchess of
Leuchtenbergh. This corner of the world seemed to be peopled with
nothing but Royalties!
One of our frequent visitors was a very dignified and decided though
kind looking cousin of my uncle’s, also a Princess Cherwachidze, who was
maid of honour to Grand Duchess Eugénie of Oldenburg.
It pleased my uncle sometimes to be extremely gay and amusing, and I
remember what fun we had together singing “Viens, Poupoule, viens.” This
was then a favourite refrain of the Paris Boulevards, which the Russians
adored.
There were at Oranienbaum, near Peterhof, a great number of soldiers
getting ready to start for the theatre of war, wearing caps covered with
a sort of greenish grey cloth and blouses of the same shade, with khaki
coloured great-coats, which they always wore. The officers wore green
tunics and dark caps.
One evening at six o’clock we went to see them take their departure and
I never shall forget the beauty of the setting for that sad scene--the
Baltic seemed to have borrowed something of the deep warm tones of the
Mediterranean. Cronstadt stood out, in the distance across the water, as
clear against the radiantly blue sky as if it had been painted for some
stage scenery.
There they were, bands playing and flags waving in the breeze, all those
gallant fellows having mustered from many different parts of the Empire,
all ready to step into that long brick-red train with the Imperial Arms
emblazoned on it, which would convey them far, far away to other
Steppes, but desert ones these--and terrible.
How many restrained tears in those dark or blue eyes, to which pain and
suffering had given an almost terrible expression, and how many never to
be realized dreams were enclosed behind these broad foreheads. How
melancholy--sad, too--were the expressions on the fresh faces of the
young, as on the wrinkled ones of the old peasant women with their heads
almost entirely concealed beneath wide gaudy coloured handkerchiefs.
From time to time the stillness of this great pathetic scene was
disturbed by the shrill and joyous tones of a voice of a child too young
as yet to understand the true and awful significance of this--for
many--the last earthly farewell. How numerous they were--these poor
little innocents!
When the bell announcing the starting of the train rang for the third
tune, one last and long hurrah was raised by the entire sad-hearted
multitude; and it was terrible to think of the hardships those poor
fellows would be subjected to during that long journey to accomplish
across Siberia, forty of them in one truck, an open one very often!
Ammunition and guns were conveyed by the same train, which I was told
would take six weeks to reach its destination. Altogether a most
poignant spectacle, which greatly impressed me; but nowadays such an
event as the one I have attempted to describe has become, alas, a
common occurrence in almost every country of the world which is
traversing the most terrible agony of pain and sorrow of all time.
The Emperor had come and bid them farewell the night before.
As Oranienbaum is so near Cronstadt, it was a favourite place for the
wives of sailors with their, usually, large families to live in.
Amongst my aunt’s numerous men-servants there was one called Coucoulsky
who was the head butler--very fat and rotund, with the usual flat head
of the Pole, wearing enormous whiskers, with a pair of tiny sparkling
eyes always filled with astonishment. The poor man was no longer
young--il sue, il souffle, il est rendu--and to put him into this state
it was merely sufficient for him to offer to his little Princess on a
huge silver tray some wonderful _pièce montée_, which he held at such an
angle that one always expected to see the contents flung into her lap.
This he did with a most beatified expression on his broad smiling face.
He was for ever tripping up over imaginary obstacles, and always
appeared to be running, but somehow or other he never managed to be
there when required; this was inexplicable. And yet, in this fanciful
and fantastic being, there was a soul, an exquisite poetic soul.
In the summer on moonlight nights, afar off in the garden, alone amongst
the shrubs, his comical profile could be seen detaching itself against
the sky, his huge mouth wide open, his whiskers trembling and his
little eyes closed; while he sang languorously. Three fox terriers
disturbed in their slumbers by these nocturnal sounds always made a
combined attack on him, threatening to bite his calves to the bone. One
by one the windows of the house were closed, but all in vain--nothing
could distract him from this reverie of song!
One evening, on one of the rare occasions of a visit from Prince
Cherwachidze, Coucoulsky appeared with a radiant expression carrying a
_plat monté_, as my amorous little aunt was determined to welcome her
spouse by setting before him a regular feast.
Every one’s surprise was great on perceiving the faithful butler with a
napkin like a child’s immense bib tied beneath his chin, he in his
anxiety having forgotten to remove it and no one venturing to remind him
of its existence as neither my aunt, on account of her short
sightedness, nor my uncle, owing to his usual state of oblivion, had
noticed the grotesque appearance of the poor man, as he trotted and
scrambled round the table balancing the huge dish and threatening
everybody with a douche of its contents.
Later on, I found out that the reason for his wearing the bib was on
account of the desire to preserve the freshness of his highly-starched
collar when off duty--but on this celebrated occasion he had forgotten
to remove it.
Although the charms of poor Coucoulsky were many, my aunt failed to see
them in their true light and, after a few months, he with many tears of
regret was obliged to leave this hospitable interior where he was
considered both too old and too young. He left but too few regrets, only
the memory of him made many laugh.
He was quite unique, this good Coucoulsky. He returned to his wife who
was somewhat old, rather ugly and with only one eye, but to him she
appeared always full of charm and grace--she never was more beautiful
nor less blind--but they were young, both of them. Oh, the good old
time!
CHAPTER VI
Life at Michaelovka was very gay and delightful, in that beautiful
palace belonging to Grand Duke Michael-Michaelovitch on the shore of the
Baltic, and surrounded by every possible luxury amidst a gay and
numerous suite.
Michaelovka is situated at Strelna, quite near Peterhof. I stayed there
with my uncle, General de Baranoff, and my aunt. My uncle was Grand
Marshal of the Court of Grand Duke Michael-Michaelovitch, who always
spent a great part of each summer there.
The poor Grand Duke Michael-Michaelovitch was then very old and in
failing health and was not often visible--for years past he had spent
his winters at Cannes, where he owned the beautiful Villa Kasbeck.
My uncle and aunt made a perfect couple and ideal parents. It was a
genuine pleasure for one to see their two white heads approach one
another several times a day and join in an affectionate embrace. I had
met my uncle on the Riviera when at Cannes some years previously and
also General Tolstoi, both forming part of the suite of the Grand Duke.
General Tolstoi could be really witty at times, and once I remember he
amused us greatly when he came to see us with my uncle. Bowing and
bending himself with that grace and suppleness peculiar to the Russian
he pretended to efface himself while ushering in my uncle and said: “Je
vous présente un grand ravageur.” Of this particular side of my uncle’s
character I know nothing, but I can well believe he might have been the
cause of many a heart beat, and I for one should have heartily
congratulated each one of those hearts for the good taste they showed.
Very tall and thin, very intelligent beneath an impassive countenance,
kindness itself, General de Baranoff combines the acme of distinction
with the personification of honesty; very fond, like nearly all
Russians, of putting questions to foreigners but making a point of never
answering any--himself a past master in the art.
Grand Duke Michael-Michaelovitch, however, paid full justice to my
uncle’s great integrity and appreciated the advantage of having at his
side a man of his high character, for they were often surrounded by
sycophants of whom, however, one might say that they followed the
example of their august masters in that their needs were insatiable and
unsatisfied, certainly a thorn in the side of the Imperial crown; so
much so that one day while walking with one of my aunts in the palace
grounds, we were passed by a big motor-car, salutations were exchanged
and I asked my aunt who was the gorgeous occupant.
“C’est le Grand Duc,...” she said, “le ‘seul’ qui soit sérieux!”
Unlike the rest of the suite of Grand Duke Michael-Michaelovitch, my
uncle never took any advantage of his position and would never even take
at the Grand Duke’s expense a single trunk with him beyond what was
strictly necessary, though he accompanied him on all his
journeys--Cannes, Baden-Baden, etc. This was in vivid contrast to one of
the Grand Duke’s retinue, who never spent a penny except at his master’s
charge and even went so far as to get the Grand Duke to pay the tickets
of all his family and finally persuaded him to rent for them a Villa at
Cannes much to the disgust of my uncle. I never liked this person with a
German sounding name and a doubtful profile.
I often said to my aunt, “Do you know, I almost entertain a passion for
my uncle,” whereupon she used to smile that beautiful smile of hers
which I liked seeing so much.
My Aunt de Baranoff, _née_ de Bibikoff, was charming; she had beautiful
white hair and very pretty blue eyes, and in her youth must have been
very much admired.
She combined tremendous entrain with much affability, and in her own set
she was what might be called, in schoolboy language, a jolly good sort,
which pleased me--her reflections being always to the point, and time
spent with her never lagged. How we used to laugh over things together!
I shall always retain much affection for her. I believe her first
husband--whom she divorced--was a perfect brute to her.
By her marriage with my uncle she had two children; her daughter Olga
was married to Lieutenant de Zinovieff, in the Garde à Cheval quartered
at Petrograd, a late page of the Empress, but she was for the time being
at the Camp of Crasnoë-Celo, not far from us, and I spent a few
delightful days with her.
Russian soldiers always leave their barracks during the summer months
and camp out of doors--those of Petrograd going into the neighbourhood.
This healthy measure is never practised in France, which is a great
mistake I think; and I always admired these huge camps composed of
innumerable white tents, like parasols, erected in perfect symmetry,
looking from a distance like so many small white mushrooms instead of
being the improvised shelters of these giant-like soldiers. The Camp of
Crasnoë-Celo was, I think, the largest.
Her son Petia, the regular type of a true Russian, not without charm and
dark and good-looking, was at that time preparing at the Lycée to enter
the regiment of the Chevaliers-Gardes in which he held a distinguished
position before the war.
My poor aunt, fearing the wars, wanted him to choose a diplomatic
career, but nothing would induce him to change his mind. He is now in
the trenches--or was lately--and has been badly wounded once.
During the summer the heat is at times very intense in Russia--a kind
of damp heat like the mild hot vapours of a conservatory--and the nights
on the coast of the Baltic were very damp and a thick white steam rose
spirally from the ground in patches, like smoke, between the Palace and
the sea, which caused a most curious effect.
My aunt had one daughter, Lily, by her first marriage and she and I
became great friends. She also lived with her parents, as she had been
obliged to leave a brute of a husband who was an officer of the Lancers
of the Guard, of which my uncle was in command at the time of her
marriage at Peterhof. Not long after her marriage she had gone away for
a few days to visit a relation who was ill, and on her return she found
her own house occupied not only by her husband’s mistress but by the
children of that illicit union as well. The wretch then proposed to her
that she should remain on in the house and that they should all live
together, which proposition she naturally scorned and thereupon returned
to her old home.
She divorced the man in consequence, but not, like most people in
Russian society, in order to try her luck again, having already looked
out for number “two”--not at all, once having recovered her liberty she
took good care to preserve it.
Her library seemed to me to be literally filled with the works of
Anatole France and Pierre Loti, and my acquaintance with literature
owing to my strict French upbringing being more than limited--I had
scarcely ever read anything but fairy tales until then--I consequently
found it extremely difficult to talk to our friends with any clear
knowledge of those popular French authors about whom I was always being
questioned.
Lily seemed to take me somewhat under her wing and gave me--at least in
words--an insight into life; and with the passing of time I have often
thought how very much to the point her doctrine was.
Colonel Echappard du Breuil was frequently to be seen at my aunt’s
house, he claimed to be of French origin, his ancestors having
escaped--échappé--across the Pyrenées into France at the time of the
Moorish expulsion from Spain, during the reign of the “Catholic Kings,”
Ferdinand and Isabella--hence the origin of this somewhat curious name.
The Colonel was attached to the suite of Grand Duke George, and whenever
I asked him where he was going he always replied “To Christophky”--to
the grand café-concert, on the island of that name at The Islands--and
he never ceased expatiating on the charms of the fair and dark beauties
of that delectable spot. He was a jolly fellow with a fat round face
wreathed in smiles--he seemed to render the very atmosphere sunny.
And Lily behind the wings--_dans les coulisses_, as we say in
France--used to hum to salute his departure the following refrain, which
she had taught me and which we loved, this charming little refrain
about the three cocks:--
Cocorico oooo
Quand je veux, je peux.
(Le jeune coq.)
Cocorico oooo
Quand je peux, je veux.
(Coq d’âge moyen.)
Cocorico ooooo
Que vous êtes heureux.
(Le vieux coq.)
Oh, how we did pity you, poor old man! And we did not allow feathers to
grow in this hen coup, but, willy-nilly, spurs and uniform of some
_attaché de la suite_.
Another character was General Tolstoi, whom I have already mentioned. He
came very often to see us, especially when we were in Petrograd; he
frequently spoke Russian and recounted interminably long stories in that
language which I regret to say used to make me yawn, as I could not
always follow them, and just to tease me, at the most critical part of
the story, he rapidly changed from Russian into French so that my ears
should receive the full benefit of it all. _Quel toupet!_
One evening, he told us of how he had once climbed up a tree, and from
there had had an uninterrupted view over a high fence, behind which,
apparently believing themselves to be sheltered from inquisitive eyes,
some members of the fair sex were in the full enjoyment of a sun bath
cure! These descendants of Eve were walking about in their birthday
costumes, so that the marvellous effects of the luminous rays should
have full play. On this occasion his particular attention was drawn to a
certain Titianesque beauty.
I pictured him in this attitude looking like a hideous orang-outang
squatting on a branch of a tree--as he, poor fellow, was not endowed
with any personal beauty!
If I am not mistaken, I am afraid he has since come to a tragic end
attributed to debts.
At my Aunt de Baranoff’s all the suite of the Grand Duke came more or
less every day and Prince Orbeliani with them, always shuffling his feet
on the floor and making a terrible noise in doing so; this unfortunate
peculiarity, apart from being an illness from which nearly all the
members of his family suffer, was with him to some extent a pose--où
va-t-elle se nicher--la pose!--and a very disturbing one, too, as far as
I was concerned.
As luck would have it, the princely apartments were situated just over
my bedroom, so that every morning my peaceful slumbers were disturbed by
his Excellency’s shufflings, which he admitted he accentuated just to
tease me.
He was married to Countess Kleinmichel, the daughter of old Countess
Kleinmichel who entertained a good deal in Petrograd; the latter had the
reputation of being a spy for Germany, and was arrested at the outbreak
of the Revolution; she was also it appears a fervent sister disciple of
Rasputin’s new religion.
Princess Lobanoff was another frequent guest at my aunt’s, she was maid
of honour to Grand Duchess George, and was so imbued with the sense of
her own importance that she could not even cross the courtyard of the
palace on foot and always had her carriage ordered for the transit.
She finally married an American who lives in California. What must be
her impression of that democratic country, I wonder? But what would she
feel like being in Russia now! The sister of Princess Lobanoff had
married an Englishman, Sir Edwin Egerton, then Minister at Athens; he
was much older than his wife.
Grand Duchess George is a Greek princess, sister of the ex-King Tino.
She did not look very pleasant I thought. She was very fond of riding.
One day my Aunt de Baranoff and I were invited to tea by a friend, a
lieutenant of the Cossacks of the Guard--Cossacks of the Escort. This
was a very select corps, always in attendance on the Emperor, and a very
picked body of men they were, with their wild expressions and wasp-like
waists.
The Cossacks are extraordinarily active and supple, with their soft
leather boots which pull on like stockings and have no hard soles. Our
young host was a great favourite of the Grand Duchesses at Court Balls,
as he danced very well. He ordered his men to sing and dance
[Illustration: CRONSTADT--TWO SURVIVORS OF THE GLORIOUS KOREITZ]
[Illustration: THE BARRACKS AT PETERHOF, TWO COSSACKS OF THE ESCORT]
[Illustration: THE CROWN PRINCE OF GERMANY WITH PRINCESS CECILIE AS
FIANCÉS]
for us, which performance I greatly enjoyed, especially the sword dance.
Their horses seem to possess quite a special intelligence and to have
been circus trained. I took photographs of the company in their Peterhof
barracks and later sent a copy to each member.
Grand Duchess Anastasia of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, daughter of Grand Duke
Michael-Michaelovitch, was also spending her summer at Michaelovka. She
often invited my aunt to dinner, but these invitations to help to amuse
“Satanasia”--as she is nicknamed in Germany--were sometimes a doubtful
pleasure even to my aunt, as the task must have been a difficult one at
times.
Grand Duchess Anastasia was no longer what is called a “young” woman,
but she had a beautiful figure and was very striking-looking. She, too,
affected the wearing of sailor-hats--and thick white veils!
Princess Cecilie, her daughter, was very attached to my young cousin
Olga and often came to tea with us. The German Crown Prince and she had
met at the same house previously and had become almost secretly engaged,
as there were difficulties in the way of their union. The Kaiser was
against the marriage, but the young people met again the following
winter at Cannes--this, in spite of furious messages from the War Lord
recalling his son to Germany, but the Crown Prince paid no heed to them,
so it is related. It is also told by people who met the fiancés on the
Riviera that their eyes were sometimes swollen by tears shed because of
the Emperor’s resistance, which was caused by his dislike of Grand
Duchess Anastasia, whom he always refused to receive at Court since the
marriage.
Although Princess Cecilie is not as handsome as her mother, yet she is
tall and graceful and most attractive.
The vision of a throne must have had a great deal to do with her choice,
I fancy; and she was reputed to have said that she would only consent to
marry a “throne”!
At the Russian Court it was rather expected that she might have married
the Tzar’s brother, but he never paid her any attention, and she
declared to her lady-in-waiting that there were too many bombs in Russia
and that she no longer wished to remain there!
One of the favourite games of Grand Duke Michael-Alexandrovitch, the
Tzar’s brother and at that time his heir, was to place a potato in a
pail of water and then get his friends down on all fours to lean over
the pail and with their mouths try to extract the wretched
thing--usually with such results as might be imagined, some clumsy jaws
sinking so deep into the water as almost to cause their owner’s death by
drowning, while the potato seemed to take pleasure in their discomfiture
by rising and sinking at every touch to a most alarming degree.
Another visitor staying at the Palace was Prince Cristopher of Greece,
brother of ex-King Tino and of Grand Duchess George, who always came
with Princess Cecilie to see my aunt. He was a fat boy of about fourteen
at the time and full of every conceivable mischief. One of his greatest
jokes was to leap with both feet into the middle of a mud puddle so as
to splash the Princess and my cousin from head to foot!
My aunt remarked to him once in front of me that he seemed to be very
fond of his cousin--Princess Cecilie--upon which he blushed to the roots
of his hair and exclaimed “Moi, je n’aime personne!”
The following year Princess Cecilie married the German Crown Prince and
three weeks after she sent a telegram to my cousin Olga--they have
corresponded for years--saying: “Je suis très heureuse.” I wonder if she
is still of the same opinion!
Now, she has become the mother of a large family, and quite “German” I
am told.
She had been brought up very severely by her mother, as is so often the
way with parents who are not over-particular concerning their own mode
of living.
Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, seemingly unconscious of the charms
of his beautiful Villa Wenden at Cannes, of the perfume of the lovely
roses and all the other exquisite flowers of his garden, was perhaps
preoccupied in another direction of life, which must have been full of
heavy storm clouds for him, so heavy indeed that he felt unable to bear
them and one day threw himself over the parapet of the bridge in his
park which traverses the road--and there was found the dead body of the
Grand Duke.
Grand Duchess Anastasia, at Cannes as elsewhere, led a joyous life, and
a supposed attack of measles, with an unusual and far-reaching
result--not always experienced by those suffering from that
complaint--made the whole Riviera talk and most of it smile a little
maliciously perhaps.
Her men-servants were chosen for their good looks--and, if rumour said
truly, each one of those ran a good chance of promotion; though her
private secretary was always supposed to be the most favoured one.
Since I left Russia I have often seen her in Paris.
One day, in far distant Mecklenburg, an aeronaut fell from the heavens
into her park. Accidentally or not, he made no mistake and found on
terra firma his consolations--good nursing, for he was wounded on
descending, and care so tender and true that after several years he was
still there. Perhaps he may have accompanied his benefactress to Russia
as since the outbreak of war the Grand Duchess returned to her native
land, no longer wishing to have anything more to do with Germany and the
Kaiser--at least she says so--to whom she owes a great grudge for his
harshness.
Lily was again often requested to go to Mecklenburg, to resume her
previous occupation of lady-in-waiting to H.I.H.; but this situation was
no longer enviable or possible and she politely begged to be excused.
I have heard that Anastasia is in Cannes, on the French Riviera,
spending her winters there as before, though not amidst the same gaiety.
Last winter she often went to visit a certain military hospital, but was
asked to come no more. The Crown Princess actually paid a visit to her
mother there last winter, but not officially of course!
Numbers of the secret police invaded the Grand Duke’s park, and it
seemed to me that one was to be met with at every few yards; but as they
knew who I was they did not interfere with me. With their long coats
buttoned up at the neck, their dark blue ties, and each carrying a
walking stick, their appearance amused me rather in spite of the grave
functions imposed upon them.
CHAPTER VII
While I was at Michaelovka the Revolution was gaining ground every day.
Russia was going through a critical period of her history and one felt
as though one was living on a volcano--yet, in the end, an approximative
degree of order came out of what looked like being chaos.
An attempt against the Tzar’s life was really to be feared, and during a
certain time the railway line from Peterhof to Petrograd by which he
often travelled had a military guard, a close cordon of troops being
placed below the embankment on which the train passed, on both sides of
the track. A bomb there would have done important work as these trains
were always conveying Ministers and Grand Dukes.
After dinner we often went to listen to “La Musique Rouge,” the
Emperor’s private band; the musicians were dressed in red, each one of
them being an artist. They played in the park at Peterhof, to which we
drove in a large open landau and took our place in the long line of
carriages there to meet numbers of friends. These concerts, however,
were soon after discontinued on account of the growing troubles.
The Empress-Dowager often came over from Peterhof driving herself a low
carriage with a pair of black horses and wearing a black sailor-hat!
Another frequent visitor at Michaelovka was a young Count Toll, in the
Lancers of the Guard, cousin of my uncle Count Pahlen, and also related
by marriage to the late Russian Ambassador in Paris, Monsieur Isvoltzky;
and this recalls to my memory an interesting incident which was the
direct cause of the latter’s advancement.
The father of Madame Isvoltzky, _née_ Countess Toll, Russian Minister at
Copenhagen, was most anxious to get his daughter suitably married--which
seemed rather a difficult task--and informed the Emperor of the
situation, who despatched several couriers to Copenhagen with this idea.
At last Isvoltzky--whose chief recommendations perhaps were his
intelligence and the high favour in which he stood at Court--was sent.
On this errand of courtship he was successful, and the Emperor made a
career for him. All went well with poor Isvoltzky until the outbreak of
the Revolution, when naturally he was amongst the first to be recalled
and humbled.
I have often been to their receptions at the Russian Embassy in Paris.
He was very clever, but possessed neither the presence nor the exquisite
manners of his predecessor, Count de Nelidoff.
The celebration of my Aunt de Baranoff’s birthday was a great event: a
regular _défilé_ of celebrities both civil and military; every regiment
seemed to have been represented and the drawing-rooms were more than
ever filled with flowers--a regular avalanche in fact.
The dinner-party in the evening was of the gayest. I sat between Colonel
Echappard and the Russian Minister at Dresden and was anything but dull.
In Russia birthday anniversaries are always made a great deal of. The
heroine of the occasion is always dressed in white or pearl grey and no
one is allowed to wear black. Even if one is in mourning, one must
discard its outward signs for the day or else keep away from the fête
altogether.
I never shall forget the gaiety of those 1 a.m. teas at Michaelovka, the
tables being laden with the choicest fruits, melons, strawberries,
peaches in abundance, all that Nature could be persuaded to produce.
Those mountains of luscious fruit, set in the most tasteful style amidst
the richest of table decorations imaginable, would have made a perfect
subject for any great artist of still life to reproduce on canvas. These
midnight or early morning teas I thought a delightful custom. In Russia
the night is turned into day, which fascinated me.
People actually call on one another between 11 p.m. and midnight, and I
often accompanied my aunts on such visits; I wonder what sort of a
reception nocturnal visitors in hum-drum Western Europe would receive
should anyone venture to ring the front bell at that hour: a house
plunged in darkness and at every door a glimpse of pyjama or visions of
more diaphanous raiment and, above, angry, sleepy, maybe frightened
physiognomies, anxiously inquiring who the intruder was who dared to
come at such an hour; and Cerberus would either refuse to answer the
door or else give a month’s notice from to-morrow!
Then on retiring to my own room I sat down in the white light of the
white nights and took up my pen and wrote to far away France; and I am
sure the reader will understand what my feelings were on my return to my
pacific and unchangeable Normandy, when I had to rejoin Morpheus at 10
p.m.
From time to time Petia, whom I always called “the dear little cousin,”
used to take his sister Olga, who was often there, and me out in a
little Canadian canoe, which certainly looked a most fragile craft; and
one day, whilst contemplating the two birthday suits of nymphs who were
bathing not far away--this being the custom it appears in summer time--I
had visions which were almost realized of being upset into the water and
having to save ourselves by hanging on to a bunch of bulrushes. Olga and
I got off safely, however; but I decided never more to follow the
nymph-lover again on the still waters of the Gulf.
My attention was often drawn to a certain monk in the streets of
Peterhof, carrying a long iron staff in his hand. His hair--which he
wore very long--was of reddish colour, his eyes had a haggard expression
and his complexion was burnt and bronzed by continual exposure to the
sun and to that “vent de Russie” of which Pierre Loti always speaks in
his books. This striking and unusual figure was dressed in a rather
short white habit. I am almost certain I saw him once or twice again,
years after, in the Champs-Élysées in Paris. He belonged to a Greek
orthodox sect who walk from place to place the whole year round living
on charity, they are called _staretz_. He must doubtless have walked
there by slow stages right across Europe as the pilgrims of old were
wont to do.
Amongst the many people who came to see my aunt at Michaelovka I have
forgotten to mention an old Baron Winspear who was charming; although he
was a Neapolitan, he had made all his career at the Court of Grand Duke
Michael-Michaelovitch. Many young aides-de-camp came in relays to do
their wait from time to time, amongst them being one who was
extraordinarily good-looking.
My uncle used to tease me about him by saying “Il est beau, très beau,
Renée,” from the height of his impassible face--I use the word height
because he is so tall and so straight--and this was said not only once
but each time he left the room until it became really a perfect plague!
He certainly was very good-looking, especially when wearing all his
decorations, but I never lost my heart to Adonis, who is always so
impressed by his own importance that he makes one positively “pant” for
_plus de laideur_; and, besides, he could not speak a word of French.
On this subject I may say that the preceding generation spoke French
much better than my generation. French which had been for such a long
time the language used at Court, and resorted to in many families, had
lost ground and had of late years been dethroned by Russian;
consequently many young men spoke it badly.
English since the marriage of Nicholas II. had been much spoken in Court
circles. I really wonder why it was not German!
In drawing-rooms one frequently heard four languages spoken at the same
time, people passing from one to the other with the utmost facility.
The Russian certainly has the gift of languages; which is a real gift
and possesses great charm.
One day I was taken by my aunt to a large monastery situated not very
far from Michaelovka. The monks were very _typiques_ in their white
habits, but I thought to myself I would not care to meet one of them in
the dark!
The service was extremely beautiful, as is usually the case in the Greek
Church; these services always appeal to me, and it was ever my wont
during my travels to attend them as often as I could. That peculiar
Russian chant seems to carry one away into another world--a dream world
full of mystic ideals. It was on one of these occasions that I witnessed
for the first time little babies in their mothers’ or nurses’ arms
having the Blessed Sacrament administered to them; and what astonished
me so tremendously was the goodness of these little innocent creatures
as they unconsciously went through this great and solemn act. I found
this ceremony both touching and pretty; it is a pity the Catholic Church
has abandoned its usage.
The Saint-Pairs and I had then intended going to spend a week or two at
Stockholm and I was enchanted with the idea; but at the eleventh hour
Monsieur Pelletan, then the French Ministre de la Marine--one always
wondered the why and wherefore of that appointment, as I am sure, with
many others, he had never seen salt water any more than its fresh
substitute--refused to allow Monsieur de Saint-Pair on account of his
official position at the Embassy to leave his post, owing to the serious
political events that were occurring at that time. I was therefore
obliged to have my luggage brought back from Petrograd, where it was all
ready to be put on board the steamer, feeling rather dejected at having
to do so, as we were the bearers of so many charming introductions to
all the accredited Ministers and different Members of the Court Circle;
and it would have been a real delight to have seen the Venice of the
North under such agreeable conditions, while the crossing would only
have taken about eighteen hours.
Then I returned to Finland--back again to that enchanting Monrepos,
perhaps even more dreamlike than before beneath its exquisite autumn
tints. The pretty Isle of Ludwinstein seemed to me more poetic than ever
beneath the slow rain of its golden leaves--poignant and lifelike image
of the lives which had been but were no more, resting there so near in
the depths of the cold sepulchre. The dream of all this Northern Nature
enfolded me more closely now than before; in this country where the sun
sinks to rest in all the glory of its opalescent rays, in all this
translucency of nature which is not shared by us, but belongs entirely
to it and seemingly admits us a little way into the abstract world of
souls who are no more--but who watch--and everywhere I encountered the
shadow of my adored and adoring grandmother.
One Sunday morning on my return from Viborg I perceived some pretty
flags composed of bright colours floating in the wind in the clear
atmosphere of a most beautiful day. The primitive music had just ceased,
and an orator mounted on an upturned barrel was addressing in a loud
voice an audience composed of about fifty people. Then I clearly
understood, on perceiving the busy bee-like movements of the little
poked bonnets all around, the significance of this gathering: it was the
Salvation Army to whom my uncle had given permission to hold the meeting
in his park.
The effect of this assemblage was pretty beneath the thick dome of pine
branches, with long hanging cones through which the rich indigo sky was
accentuated in its depths.
We took up boating trips again on the Gulf, going thus very often to
Viborg. I envied the faithful Kousma who with my aunt’s horses always
did the journey to Petrograd from Finland on a ferry-boat, peacefully
gliding on the surface of the waves without a thought or care--his soul
was pure, he never missed any of the necessary ablutions prescribed by
the Prophet; he was a good servant, a true and tender husband--with this
enchanting panorama for his eyes to look upon, where the only missing
link to perfect bliss for him was the absence of his Mahomet.
At this visit I met my aunt’s sister, Countess Czapska. Her property was
in the neighbourhood of Cracow, where she also spent a part of the year.
When that part of the country came into the war zone, she sought refuge
at Monrepos--but returned to die. She was a charming character, very
well read, and combined good will with a great sense of humour.
In the household of my Aunt de Nicolay there was a most important
institution whom I ought to have mentioned before, so long had she been
there. Mademoiselle Stirry was her name. The usual charms of her sex she
lacked entirely. She was as flat as a pancake, all shrunken and crooked,
with a few spare hairs growing on her head drawn back with the utmost
difficulty on to the skull where they lay spread out; on her cheeks were
several beauty spots from which hairs grew in abundance, so large indeed
were they that they became hideous by force of their importance; her
small eyes were sharp as gimlets and took notice of every one and
everything, letting nothing escape them, as they gave animation to her
most hideous physiognomy with its livid and earthy complexion and, I
must not forget, rather important whiskers and beard. Two large square
sinewy hands with enormous knuckles, more like a labourer’s than the
hands of a woman, were attached to a pair of arms far too long for her
height and too short for any ordinarily proportioned person. This is a
true description of this most faithful and devoted creature of Aline:
she performed her duties of housekeeper to the utmost perfection.
She could be positively ferocious at times when anyone ventured to
criticize or attack the acts of her mistress; at others she could be
gentle and kind, and fortunately for me I only know her in this light,
but could not in spite of this find her beautiful. To be in her good
graces was absolutely necessary for every one in the house, otherwise
she would make their lives unbearable. Her influence and power were
great, and I often thought she sometimes usurped her rights in regard to
my aunt.
I am indebted to her, however, for my knowledge of Russian, as she used
to give me a lesson in that language every evening when I was in
Finland.
One day she announced with great excitement and most mysteriously her
intention of spending a few days in Petrograd in order to see a friend
of hers--a certain Armenian doctor who was passing through the capital.
Before I had caught sight of his dark bearded appearance, and he had
rather alarmed me. But love is sometimes blind, isn’t it?
We had much diversion over what we called “les écarts de Mademoiselle
Stirry.”
“I am sure she is a man in disguise,” my Aunt de Baranoff always said.
“Look how devotedly attached she is to Aline. Don’t you think she must
be?”
I answered laughing that I knew nothing of that and would not possibly
allow such an infamous idea to exist.
Aunt Aline possessed a marvellous gift for languages and spoke I don’t
know how many; amongst them were Swedish and Finnish, the latter a very
difficult language.
PART II
IN THE CAUCASUS
CHAPTER VIII
The following autumn proved a veritable time of enchantment for me. I
spent it in the Caucasus, at Tiflis, with my good and kind aunt,
Princess Cherwachidze, who owns a beautiful palace there. I specially
admired its large white marble staircase. She also had a beautiful
property near Soukhoum, called “Béthanie,” not very far from Tiflis, but
in consequence of the disturbances at that time we were unable to go
there.
Her father, Baron Alexandre de Nicolay, had been the most popular
Governor of the Caucasus, where he left behind him a remembrance only
equal to that of a dearly loved sovereign; besides this, my aunt is
closely allied to all the chief princely families of Georgia--many of
them of royal blood. Thus my visit was carried out under the most
favourable conditions.
We again met there old Princess Bagration Moucransky, a great
personality everywhere, and more especially at Tiflis. She had a
beautiful palace and I thought her drawing-rooms very French. She was
one of our frequent visitors and we dined at each other’s houses
constantly. At my aunt’s and also at Princess Moucransky’s I met--at
least four or five times a week--Prince Louis Napoléon, brother of
Prince Victor Napoléon, heir to the Imperial throne of France, and a
great friend of my aunt’s.
The Prince did not appear often in society, but made exceptions
sometimes. The reason for this aloofness was caused by the fixed idea of
many Princesses to marry him; one of whom had even gone so far as to be
on the point of divorcing her good, thorough-going husband with a view
to accomplishing this great feat--and the only missing point in the
situation was the consent of Prince Louis himself. So, to avenge
themselves on the Prince, the embittered females cried out from the
housetops the great news that he was already much married in Tiflis, in
a very different milieu to theirs and that he was the father of many
little “Bonapartes de la main gauche.”
He was in command of several Caucasian regiments and was quartered at
Tiflis. I greatly admired his military bearing. At that time he was in
despair at not having obtained a command in Manchuria, but it was said
that the French Government, fearing that he might gain his laurels
there, had petitioned the Russian Government not to send him as he was a
general in the Russian Army; Russia, being desirous of keeping on good
terms with her French Ally, naturally acquiesced in this request.
I quite understood what the bitterness of his innermost feelings must
have been. I often had long and interesting conversations with the
Prince which helped me on the banks of the Koura to remember distant
France.
One night I went to a Russian play at the theatre with my aunt; and the
Prince, who sat next to me, whispered in my ear its version in French.
Between the acts he escorted me on his arm to the foyer, when I asked
him:
“Monseigneur, et la France? N’y songez-vous donc jamais?”
He looked at me and smiled, then said:
“It would be necessary to change the whole of the Army and the whole of
the Navy.”
When I told him of the spark of light, still visible very often amongst
the Norman peasants of another generation, in the pupils of the old
men’s eyes, those who had fought the wars of the Empire and would have
willingly laid down their lives for their Emperor--whose children now
are fighting for France.
The Prince seemed pleased and surprised.
“En tous les cas,” me dit-il, “ce ne serait pas à moi mais à mon frère.”
As every one knows, his brother Prince Victor Napoléon lived in Brussels
and married Princess Clémentine, daughter of the late King of the
Belgians, after the death of the latter who for years had been opposed
to the marriage. The Prince and Princess have now a daughter and a son
and, perhaps, one recalls to memory the touching thought of Princess
Clémentine, who when hoping she was going to have a son had some earth
brought from France so that the infant, although in exile, might be born
on French soil.
He signed his name in my autograph book simply “Louis Napoléon.” I
should have liked him to have written more but he declined, saying: “It
would be commented upon,” and that was the reason for his refusal. He
told me he would be forty in a few days’ time.
He paid long visits to my aunt lasting often more than two hours; she
had known him for a long time and had made many things easier for him.
In Russia he enjoyed the privileges of a Grand Duke and was treated as
such at Court; but as he was not really a Grand Duke many of his brother
officers were madly jealous at seeing him already enjoying such an
important position and rank which would only be accorded to them when
their heads were bald and their joints stiffened by the service and toil
of years--if ever!
Luckily for us we had arrived in the Caucasus comparatively fresh after
four nights in the train; Russian trains are not so fast as ours and in
consequence not so tiring.
My introduction to Princess Orbeliani was, to say the least of it,
original in the extreme. I found my hostess with all the other ladies
in the room lying face downward on the floor, while the gentlemen of
the party stood contemplating with more or less knowledge the somewhat
uneven surfaces before them; the rotundity of the female sex is not rare
and is much admired in the Caucasus.
The beauty of the average Caucasian woman is by no means a negligible
quantity, the type being usually dark with large black eyes; but they
grow old prematurely, often becoming very fat. The men are usually tall
with wasp-like waists; their features are good, but their expression is
very often decidedly savage.
In the mountain districts there exists a fair ruddy type amongst some of
the tribes; the women are very pretty and are much admired.
It was subsequently explained to me that these ladies on the floor were
really practising a Russian dance and they were taking the parts which
should have been allotted to their male partners.
I often met Princess Murat, _née_ Princess de Mingrélie, and her
daughter Antoinette; her eldest son Lucien had married a daughter of my
cousin the late Duc de Rohan, to whom the lovely Castle of Jocelyn in
Brittany belongs, while her second son Napoléon, generally called Napo,
was fighting on the side of the Russians at the war.
Her daughter Antoinette was looking after her mother’s vast estates with
the knowledge of a man--and although not dressed in khaki could have
shown some of our present-day girls on the land what real hard work
means.
Some years previously the Duchesse de Rohan had, much to every one’s
surprise, married her daughter to Prince Murat, whose ancestors do not
date farther back than Napoléon, while the Rohans’ motto for generations
has been: “Roy ne puis, Prince ne daigne, Rohan suis.”
Amongst the three daughters of the Duchess were Princess
Talleyrand-Périgord, whose marriage was a failure, but who is dead now.
Princess Murat does not get on very well with her husband, so no one was
surprised when the third daughter, before selecting a fiancé, exclaimed:
“My eldest sister was married to a man who says, ‘Vive le Roi,’ my other
sister to one who says ‘Vive l’Empereur,’ I want a husband who says
‘Vive la Raison.’” She eventually married a Caraman-Chimay.
The various regiments from the basis of all social activity and I spent
delightful moments with Princesses Orbeliani, Ratieff, Melikoff,
Heristoff, etc. I saw much of the Princess de Georgia and the young
Troubetzkoy princes, Nikita and Petia, all more or less related to my
aunt; they gave delightful evening parties and I really think I did not
spend one evening at home.
The evening parties at Tiflis were of the gayest, and there was an
uninterrupted succession of them. One ended by knowing each other well,
as one was continually meeting the same people which I thought was
delightful. I saw not a few little glasses of vodka emptied by the
gentlemen, but without traces of injurious or disastrous results--“Honi
soit qui mal y pense”--with the exception, however, of an old general
whose nose was always like a lighthouse, and who I saw fall down three
times in the same evening, so tipsy was he; but he was set up again on
his legs the same number of times and there was no more to be said. I
always found in that liquid an awful smell of methylated spirit and took
good care not to get further acquainted with it.
When short of vodka the moujik easily drinks methylated spirit, it
appears, and gets drunk on it; this often happened during the last
Revolution. And to think that the “Little Father” suppressed the use of
it among his troops since the war! What a marvellous result of the so
much abused “autocratic” power.
We often began our evenings at the theatre. The Opera was very good; and
the house a very fine one; my aunt had her box, needless to say. It was
there that I saw performed “Mademoiselle Fifi,” that story of
Maupassant’s, episode of the war of 1870 and 1871 which would, alas, be
so life-like to-day. Then we went to visit some of our friends. I must
mention a charming party given by an attractive woman _à l’air gamin_
Madame Cheremetieff--Lise. The drawing-rooms represented a little
country inn and its garden, what the Italians would describe as an
“_osteria_.” It was full of local colour. Round the tables the women in
full toilette, most of the men officers in uniform--which the Russians
always wear. Many among them officers in the Cossacks and Tcherkesses,
wearing on their heads their high astrakhan caps either white or black.
Certainly in the soft veiled light it was a very pretty sight, and
created a most charming and picturesque effect.
Madame Z----, a rich Armenian, gave charming fêtes, to which my aunt and
I often went: excellent _buffet_, amidst every possible luxury. But the
story of this lady having been discovered in her own house a few days
before on the knees of a young officer, whose moustache she was lovingly
pulling, somewhat cooled my aunt’s feelings towards her and she begged
me not to go there without her in the future.
Anyone of importance passing through Tiflis always found a warm welcome
at my aunt’s house.
I remember meeting the Envoy Extraordinary of the Shah of Persia while
on his way to Petrograd to present the Empress with a magnificent
necklace of enormous pearls and the Tzarevitch with a portrait of the
Shah.
Two days after I met him again at a large dinner-party at the
Swetchines’--Mr Swetchine was governor of Tiflis.
My Uncle de Nicolay had known this Persian official, with his strangely
languorous brilliant eyes, when he was merely Persian Consul-General
during my uncle’s governorship, the cholera epidemic at that period
having brought the two together in their work of mercy.
This parvenu--he was nothing more nor less--has since become Highness,
Prince, Envoy and Ambassador-Extraordinary of the Shah, in spite of his
humble past; enough success to bring hope to the most despairing heart.
During the envoy’s youth he is reputed to have sold oranges; then he
became a valet; and subsequently married an English governess at Tiflis
whom he exchanged later on for a French girl.
Amongst the guests were several Turks and Persians wearing their fezes,
which seemed absolutely a part of themselves. The effect was extremely
picturesque. I must not forget the Emperor’s envoy whom he had sent from
Petrograd to greet this important personage.
Persia and Turkey went so far as to offer me mounts, but the idea of
being accompanied by fezes made me reflect and decline the offer with
many thanks.
Monsieur Swetchine was the nephew of the famous Madame Swetchine, well
known for her writings and, also, for her conversion to the Catholic
Faith, her death being mourned by many friends in Paris.
A well-known big game hunter, Monsieur Swetchine often took part in the
Grand Duke’s boar hunts, hunts which would make our Western sportsmen’s
mouths water. Those boars are real giants; he had then killed forty
without counting the pheasants, and jackals galore.
The French Consul, also, and his wife were most kind to me.
One day I was taken to St Mzchette, to which we drove in an old
tumble-down vehicle drawn by four horses, returning by moonlight across
those vast plains where cattle and sheep are bred and the cultivation of
wine carried out more and more every year. We followed la Route
Militaire--the Georgian Military Road--which winds across the mountains
of Caucasia 132 miles away; at intervals we obtained lovely views over
the plains and church of Didoubée, a place of pilgrimage, as we followed
the course of the Koura.
The Georgian Military Road was made by order of the Empress Catherine;
800 soldiers were employed on the work, and in 1783 Count Paul
Potiomkin--then in command of the Russian troops in the Caucasus--drove
to Tiflis behind eight horses, the first man to make a carriage journey
across the range. However, his first measure had been to build the fort
of Vladikavkaz. Till then, nothing but a rough bridle-path
[Illustration: SCENERY IN THE CAUCASUS]
[Illustration: IN THE MOUNTAINS OF THE CAUCASUS]
was to be found, this in spite of the ancient race migrations from Asia
into Europe and of the many military powers who had marched successively
against the Caucasus: Egyptian, Scythian, Greek, Persian, Arab, Mongol,
Tartar, Turk.
St Mzchette is the cradle as well as the burial place of the Kings of
Georgia, and we visited the tombs of Prince Bagration-Moucransky and of
Prince Grouzinsky of Georgia.
The cathedral is a fine building and contains splendid frescoes, alas,
mostly smothered with plaster.
We were shown a pulpit carved out of a tree which is supposed to contain
our Lord’s tunic. The passion of our Lord and the deaths of several of
the Apostles are represented by wooden sculptures dating from A.D. 329.
The church encloses the ancient miniature cathedral which was the
original edifice.
Many monks are buried there and the whole is surrounded by a high wall
with towers.
The beautiful Queen Thamar, a celebrated Queen of Georgia, whose palace
was within the precincts, could not have felt very happy there, one
would imagine. But who can tell!
We lunched at a most filthy inn, and subsequently visited a convent, the
tiny church of which contains the remains of the first King of Georgia
and of his wife; it was built by St Nina who is so greatly venerated in
the Caucasus. The tower of the church is very ancient and possesses
many architectural qualities. We were shown the nuns’ dormitory; their
beds consist of planks of wood merely covered with a carpet, each has a
single pillow but no bolster. I did pity those poor things!
CHAPTER IX
Tiflis is a town of 100,000 inhabitants, built, as it were, at the
bottom of a basin, surrounded by high mountains which in former days
were wooded, now, however, absolutely bare owing to a terrible
conflagration some years ago.
The view of the snow-capped Mount Kasbeck is one of the most beautiful
to be obtained in that superb range.
The streets of the town were paved with rough cobbles placed in upright
position making it almost impossible for pedestrians, so much so that
for their convenience little smooth crossings are made at intervals. The
horses of the country are as sure-footed as mules, and they go at full
tilt down the streets which to my unaccustomed mind seemed more like
precipices than anything else. But I never once saw any of these animals
stumble.
I could not help remarking the strange get-up of the police at night;
“night watchmen” as they are called, posted at various street corners
armed with huge clubs. I took them to be robbers before their calling
was explained to me.
Apart from the European quarter of Tiflis there is also the Mussulman
quarter, which is most interesting and its aspect most picturesque with
its curious looking cosmopolitan populace.
It is wiser for a woman not to venture alone into this quarter, in spite
of the amiable smiles and brilliant and inviting eyes of the Turks and
Persians, who try to attract you into their pretty little shops so full
of _cachet_. Many make carpets, some of which are very beautiful. The
Persian bakers’ shops are full of originality with their different
loaves, not resembling ours in the least, and their large and flat
pastry cakes which they hang on cords in their shop fronts, even several
layers of these cakes one on the top of another where the glass front of
the shops would be with us; glass does not exist with them.
In the houses of the Caucasians there is always a vast divan covered
with a sumptuous carpet; which makes a very comfortable seat on which
often five or six people crowd themselves, some sitting on the top after
the manner of tailors. In the study or little drawing-room there are
often besides great carpets hung on the wall which gives to the room a
warm, furnished and comfortable look. The silver-work in the Caucasus is
also very good, somewhat in the style of what you find in India. The
country silks are of a beautiful colouring and are of a solidity beyond
all question, even the taffeta, which is not the case with us.
This indeed is the East, the East beneath a sky perpetually blue and a
climate which would make our Riviera green with envy.
Merchandise in this district was conveyed for the most part by camels
and it was a common occurrence to see them in the streets of Tiflis.
[Illustration: TIFLIS--A PERSIAN BAKER’S SHOP]
[Illustration: TIFLIS--A PERSIAN SHOEMAKER’S SHOP]
From the windows of the train I was able to distinguish a caravan,
numbering about eighty camels all in Indian file, silhouetted against
the sky, on the edge of the Caspian, which the train skirts before it
bends round the end of the mountains near Bakou and threads the valleys
of Transcaucasia.
I have always admired those fine animals with their placid expression
and their grand, slow, soft movements, which nothing seems to disturb.
The mineral wealth of the Caucasus is worthy of _The Arabian Nights_,
but, unfortunately, owing to the non-existence of railways, it is next
to impossible to utilize the output from but very few places.
The oil wells at Bakou and other places are, as every one knows, one of
the great sources of the wealth of the country. Nothing is more terrible
to behold than one of these oil-wells when it catches fire, which
sometimes happens.
The Armenian church is interesting; the Armenians are known as the Jews
of the Caucasus, and there is a saying that one Armenian is equal to
five Jews!
There are two Catholic churches, one specially frequented by the Poles
and built in the Polish quarter; the other built almost entirely by one
of my grandmother’s brothers, and where I used to go.
This grand-uncle of mine, Baron Louis de Nicolay, became a celebrated
Russian General and conqueror of Shamyl, the famous Caucasian Chief held
to be invincible till then in his mountains. This uncle ended his days
as a monk at the Grande-Chartreuse, near Grenoble, in France, where he
was known to the last, even by the visitors who always asked to see him,
as “the old Russian General.” He charmed them all in spite of himself by
his brilliant intelligence and his charming gift of conversation; and
they wondered how so much genius, hidden beneath the humble fustian of
his frock, could adapt itself to the severe life of the cloister after
the rough and free existence of a soldier and the emotions of the
battle-field. The Superior allowed him a newspaper, a weak and solitary
link to bind him to that world which had awarded him so many honours,
but which he had left to be worthy of others more glorious.
A Protestant in his youth, he had been converted to the Catholic faith,
during one of his visits to France, after several conversations with the
well-known Monseigneur Dupanloup.
The monks of the Grande-Chartreuse made that delicious liqueur known
everywhere under the name of Chartreuse--white and green. Certainly it
is one of the best liqueurs procurable, and its good qualities are
derived from the great purity of the ingredients used in its
manufacture; the secret of its fine and strong flavour exists, they say,
in certain plants and flowers collected by the monks in the mountains.
The secret of its fabrication was only known to the Superior and in case
of his death to one of the Fathers. Since the separation of Church and
State in France the Carthusians have been expelled--an example of the
liberty of republics--and they have taken refuge in Spain, since when
they have made a liqueur called Tarragone, which is not equal to the
other, as, the flora not being the same, many of the first elements are
missing.
Many princes of the country don the Caucasian costume, which is similar
to the Cossack uniform; even the servants sometimes wear it and at first
it was at times hard for me to make a distinction! One day I accompanied
Lise Cheremetieff, Madame Arapoff, _née_ Princesse Galitzine, and
several other young women from the Dragoon and other regiments on a
bicycle picnic in the neighbourhood of Tiflis; there were also present a
few officers. We lunched gaily in the garden of a little country inn;
and all went well till our return, but then our luck changed. Madame
Arapoff fell and had the misfortune to sprain both her ankles. We had to
hoist her into one of the carriages which followed. Three officers also
found themselves unseated, and, as for me, I went over my handle bar,
right in the middle of a descent, and picked myself up off a bed of
pointed stones, which I found very hard in the Caucasus. I had as escort
“Romeo”--an officer so nicknamed--who was also thrown off; he sang,
danced and said a thousand foolish things. A little behind us followed a
_moucha_ or porter, a giant who carried my bicycle like a feather on one
of his shoulders. We caught up the others at the tobacco manufactory.
Then I got into the carriage with Madame Arapoff, when what was my
astonishment to see her take from her muff two little slippers, most
fascinating to behold, and put them on!
By what mystery were these two little slippers in her muff? That is a
question that I have not yet solved--but, after all, a mystery is always
insoluble or it ceases to be one any longer, and the mysterious has so
much charm.
In these smart regiments one found the greatest diversity of types--a
subject for interesting study--from the most refined from North Russia
to that of the Tartar prince, very powerful but also very savage, I
thought; the women were very elegant, many being dressed by Paquin.
We had the bad luck to miss at Tiflis Count Worontsoff-Dachkoff, the new
governor of the Caucasus, and a friend of my aunt’s, who was expected
shortly.
There in the depth of the Caucasus one did not notice the war as in the
north of Russia; indeed, one would hardly have realized it except for
the departure of Prince Petia Troubetzkoy and a few others, and the
visits we paid to Madame Cheremetieff--the Dowager--whom we always found
surrounded by cases for the Red Cross, which she painted white herself,
adding a big red Cross. She must certainly have flooded the Empire with
them. She was very nice looking, and very amiable and distinguished.
At the end of December my aunt and I retraced our steps to Petrograd, in
a direct route, having to renounce once again the Crimea and the Volga,
as on our coming, my aunt’s health not permitting the longer journey. I
regretted it, for it would have been delightful and full of interest.
We bore the journey very well in spite of the three days and four nights
in the train, during which time I found myself again much admiring three
things: the banks of the Don, the country of the Cossacks; the Caucasus
range; and the shores of the Caspian Sea, especially by moonlight.
The love of liberty, of war, of rapine are the chief characteristics of
the Cossacks. They are excellent warriors and believe themselves
superior to all other races. The power of Russia only makes itself felt
in their country by troops which are quartered there. They look upon
these soldiers as so many intruders, and despise the Russian peasant,
whom they consider coarse and savage.
The Cossack does not work at home; the young girl is allowed to do
nothing, but may amuse herself to her heart’s content; a married woman
must work very hard up to even the most advanced age. She must be
submissive and laborious, like the woman of the East.
Apparently resigned, the Cossack woman has nevertheless in her home more
real authority than the woman of the West.
The Cossack would not like to treat her familiarly in the presence of
strangers, but _tête-à-tête_ he acknowledges her supremacy and realizes
that it is to her that he owes all that goes towards making the home
comfortable. Thanks to this severe regime, the Cossack woman develops
both morally and physically; she possesses much good sense, and above
all great firmness of character; she is very superior to the men of her
race. Her beauty is a mixture of the women of northern Russia and the
Tcherkesse or mountaineer type. She wears their costume: Tartar
chemisette, with an embroidered jacket, Tartar shoes, and on the head
the coloured handkerchief that the Russian peasant also wears. She is
clean, and is careful about her dress.
The Cossack makes his own wine; and does not look upon drunkenness as a
vice, but as a custom to which he should strictly conform.
A terrible snowdrift blocked our progress during several hours in the
Russian Steppes. It seemed as though it would have been impossible to
advance. In England we have no idea what these snowstorms are like.
At Rostoff on the Don, as on our outward journey, we walked a little
way, taking this opportunity for a little air and exercise. At the
station library awaiting a purchaser, I saw some French novels for sale,
a choice which astonished me on account of their insignificance. I
should never have expected to find them so far away. Possibly as a last
resource!
On the other hand, at the Petrograd libraries one only sees the lightest
French literature well exposed in the front row in the windows, those
which we should refuse to read in France, the Russians pretending to
believe that all French books are of that description. This made me
furious; the falseness of the argument exasperated me, and I used to
answer that they must evidently have been chosen and written specially
for the Russian market, for in France one never heard them spoken of.
Moscow, the real capital of Russia, which one feels so well to be the
soul of this great people, and which had enchanted me in October during
the too short hours which I spent there, enchanted me again with its
Kremlin, its gilded cupolas, its Chinese town, its Red Square, old
cannons. The old cannon balls heaped around, which had been taken from
Napoleon, made my heart ache; but the city enchanted me more than ever,
seen thus beneath its snow mantle.
May Russia become the tomb of the barbarous Hun--and may that day be not
too long delayed. May the real Russia, the real great invincible Russia,
though dumb at this moment, speak behind those high walls of the
Kremlin, make herself heard, collect herself and understand her folly,
and refuse to be any more the plaything and the prey of an enemy as
detested as detestable, of an enemy who scoffs at her as it scoffed at
her former sovereigns.
The sleeping-carriages in this Caucasus train were comfortable, but much
in them was primitive. Thus each compartment was only lighted by one
solitary smoky candle, of bad quality, which guttered very much, fixed
in a sort of stand of the simplest kind, placed above the door leading
to the corridor. When it went out, there was nothing to do but gaze on
the darkness and call the attendant, who was often a long time in
coming. The heating also was of the most primitive kind, consisting of
a horrible little cheap stove placed at the end of every carriage, near
the corridor by the exit, and all stuffed with birch wood. A pipe ran
the length of the carriage, which was thus warmed.
When we arrived at Petrograd the thermometer was more than ten degrees
Réaumur below zero; so cold was it that, when opening one’s mouth to
speak, it seemed as though one had been stabbed to the heels by cold
steel.
The cold is doubly increased by the wind--and at Petrograd it nearly
always blows hard--tearing with violence along the canals which traverse
the town in all directions.
As at Tiflis many friends and relations had come to the station with
flowers and bonbons; it is a charming custom, I think. Among them was
Uncle Cherwachidze, who in spite of his wish to join us in the Caucasus,
which he adores, had been unable to do so on account of his important
duties at the Court. Some years before, the younger brother of the
Emperor, Grand Duke George, had come to the Caucasus on account of his
health, being consumptive, and one day, on his return from a motor drive
with my uncle, he died in the latter’s arms. It is since that time that
the Empress-Dowager has shown my uncle so great an attachment and
friendship that she cannot bear to be separated from him for long.
I brought back from the Caucasus a memory that was sunny and full of
gratitude for the charming welcome that I found there. My aunt often
gives me news from there and old friends still send me their
remembrances, and with all my heart I send them the same.
The Caucasian has the right to be proud of his beautiful country, with
its ever blue sky and its ever temperate climate which seems to give him
that wonderful _joie-de-vivre_ expression which appeals so deeply to the
stranger, who is always struck by that warm and unforgettable charm of
welcome which greets him at every turn.
PART III
AT PETROGRAD