The Court left Petrograd for Tsarskoë-Celo in January 1905, not to
return again for two years.
The Empress lived in constant dread of some misfortune befalling the
Emperor or the Tzarevitch, and had to endure the most cruel tortures in
consequence. Not a day passed without there being some plot discovered,
and once, even, an infernal machine was found connected by wires to the
infant’s bed when he was but a few months old!
The Empress, tall and still a beautiful woman, had, however, no longer
the delicate beauty which I believe she possessed at the time of her
marriage. She was very cold in appearance and manner--perhaps due to
shyness as some affirm--and in conversation never seemed to have the
courage to start a subject, possibly finding nothing to say.
The notion that this limitation is necessary to a Sovereign-Lady is
negatived by the conversational powers of the Queen of Italy, for
instance, who expatiates upon the doings of the King, of herself and her
children from the time of their rising--very early, as I was informed by
Her Majesty, and from which I decided that it is not worth while to be
a Queen--till they go to bed: a flowing stream of information.
In spite of all this sad state of affairs the winter passed for me like
a dream.
My friends Monsieur et Madame de Saint-Pair, a charming distinguished
couple, were kindness itself to me, and it was not long before I got to
know all the _corps diplomatique_. I was invited on their reception days
and to their parties, and of course those of a great number of Russians.
On Mondays I dined and spent the evening at the French Embassy. Tuesdays
the German Embassy received in the evenings. Thursdays it was Belgium’s
turn, and so on; added to which there were afternoon receptions and
luncheons and dinners--not a single day passed without my being engaged
from morning till morning again.
I got dreadfully spoilt.
I was often taken to the Russian Opera at the Théâtre Marie; the
performance was very good, and Madame Litvinne one of the great
attractions. Even in those days she was very stout, but less vast than
when last I saw her in Paris. The lady seemed to realize that she
displayed herself to better advantage by maintaining a front towards the
audience than by exhibiting herself in profile.
She had married a Polish Count.
Those who respected themselves, and there were many whose desire it was
to do so, had their stall at the ballet.
The Russian ballet, which had become so popular a feature of the last
few pre-war Covent Garden seasons, has always been one of the most
fashionable meeting-places of Petrograd society. I often went to the
ballet and thoroughly enjoyed those evenings, being extremely amused
always in contemplating the varied expressions on the physiognomies of
both my young and old bachelor friends, with their eyes lost in rapt
admiration--absolutely embedded in their opera-glasses. Certainly, the
dancing was marvellous and the luxurious setting beyond description,
exhibiting the most perfect and artistic taste imaginable.
The school of the ballet was an Imperial institution, entirely financed
by the Crown. The stars were in receipt of enormous salaries, and those
who were destined to make their career in the ballet started to learn
their steps at the early age of three years.
All the very smartest and best-known people in society made a point of
going to the ballet once or twice a week. Afterwards we went to supper
at a restaurant--my weakness was for “l’Ours,” then very much the
fashion. The Théâtre Michel, where French plays were given, was also a
great rendezvous, and during the intervals our box was always packed
with visitors.
In summer, after an evening party or the theatre, we sometimes drove to
the Islands--the Hyde Park of Petrograd. It was a delightful thing to do
by the light of those white nights, and it filled one with joy. The
streets and the bridges were sometimes so animated that the night seemed
like day.
La Baletta--a pretty actress and a Jewess--was then in great favour and
had attracted the attention of the Grand Duke Alexis.
Tongues were soon busy with this affair, and the Grand Duke was accused
of having spent on her the funds intended for the fleet to buy her
splendid jewels. To contradict this report she appeared on the stage
without a single jewel.
The Grand Duke Alexis Alexandrovitch, brother of the late Emperor
Alexander III., and son of Alexander II., the Tzar Liberator, had never
ceased to mourn the death of his morganatic wife to whom he had been
deeply attached. So greatly did he feel his loss that he was gradually
pining away, and this sad state perturbed the whole of the Imperial
family, who were in despair concerning the fate of poor Alexis, until
one of their members, seeing La Baletta acting at the theatre, and being
struck by her resemblance to the late “Grand Duchess,” had the brilliant
inspiration of bringing about a meeting between the disconsolate Grand
Duke and the actress, with the result that “Xesis” fell head over ears
in love with the lady, and immediately forgot all about his late wife.
They lived together for many years in Paris, after the disgrace into
which the Grand Duke had fallen following on his scandalous
sequestration of funds intended for naval purposes during his tenure of
the post of Grand Admiral of the Fleet when the war with Japan was on,
spending their winters in Pau and Biarritz, where they were always to be
seen at the gambling tables of the Casino.
The Grand Duke died in exile in Paris about nine years ago, remaining
faithful to La Baletta to the end; but rumour has it that she was left
no money and, consequently, she was obliged to sell one by one her many
beautiful jewels, until she was reduced to penury, dying a few years ago
neglected and forgotten.
Many amusing tales were told about this couple and the people they met,
but one of the drollest was that of a very vulgar rich American woman,
who spent her time running after royalties during the latter’s
_villeggiatúra_ at Biarritz, where she entertained them lavishly.
Mrs X... had often met the Grand Duke Alexis at the tables, but not
being satisfied merely with a bowing acquaintance, one day approached
H.I.H. and in a most drawling voice said: “Monseigneur, je vous prie de
me présenter à Madame la grande-duchesse.” To this remark Alexis at
first paid no attention, but, on the request being repeated, he acceded
to her wish; and she, all smiles and bows before La Baletta, drawled out
again, “Très honorée, madame la grande-duchesse.”
On another occasion my husband was standing beside the Grand Duke and
his companion at the tables when he overheard the Grand Duke remonstrate
with La Baletta for not staking a certain winning horse, to which she
replied: “Je l’aurais bien fait, monseigneur, si je possédais les
coffres-forts de Votre Altesse.”
Before the season for the Isles commenced, the quays at Petrograd were
the favourite rendezvous, where one was sure to meet a number of
friends, carriages being occupied for the most part by ladies wearing
magnificent furs.
A party of about twenty of us used to meet every morning out skating--a
very cosmopolitan lot composed of diplomats from all over Europe.
The daughters of Monsieur Mouravieff, then Minister for Foreign Affairs,
and afterwards Russian Ambassador in Rome, where he died, used to join
our party every day; Countess Berchthold came very often; also Mrs
Napier, with her husband Colonel Napier, then Military Attaché to the
British Embassy; and many others.
The skating rinks in Russia are very safe, as notwithstanding the great
thickness of the ice they submerge large flat boats placed side by side
up to a few inches below the water before it has frozen, so that if the
ice breaks there is no danger of disappearing under the floes.
Nothing was more amusing once one had on one’s skates than to let
oneself be pushed by the wind, at a pace which sometimes reached a
giddy speed.
My trembling steps made their debut between “Belgium” and “Holland,”
whose patience I admired, while little wooden seats--very heavy, too
heavy to be upset--gave a precious help to the beginner.
Ski-ing was also much in favour, and one of my friends used to ski from
Petrograd to Cronstadt in two hours. It must have been delightful to
carve out a road for oneself through that immense, glittering whiteness;
an excursion full of poetry and dreams, it seemed to me, in all the
sadness of Nature at this season, which sleeps for many months under its
thick white shroud--sleeps “as in a death.”
The _troika_ charmed me, especially for making long excursions,
enveloped in warm furs, to the sound of pretty bells; one felt quite
Russified. On one’s veil the breath froze in the icy air and formed real
stalactites.
The Russians recommend veils of white wool, made like light shawls, for
this sort of expedition. I thought them dreadful, so unbecoming, a quite
barbarous invention, but the only efficacious one against the cold.
As for the _Montagnes-russes_, or toboggan runs, and really “ice
mountains” in Russian practice, nothing could be more heating, the
descent being more than swift, so swift and so narrow that on each side
there are planks forming walls to prevent a serious fall; but the
emotion warms one up, and that is exactly what one needs in that country
of ice and snow. This _Montagnes-russe_ Club was charming and is
situated on the island of Christophky, on the Islands.
These “mountains” consist, in fact, of a very high block of ice, as high
as a house. One gains the summit by climbing a staircase of wood, which
is behind. Arrived at the top, the cavalier places himself flat on his
chest on a little flat steel sleigh; this steel is so slippery on the
ice, and the beginning of the descent so near and so sudden, that it
seems as if one would disappear into the abyss before the appointed
time.
At the start of the sleigh the cavalier’s head is over the abyss, and
therefore much lower than his feet, and he guides the sleigh with his
arms, which he stretches more or less on one side or another as he feels
it necessary. I mounted behind him on another little sleigh of the same
kind, but I knelt on it and sat on my heels, and there was only just
room, the sleigh being very narrow; then I had to seize my cavalier’s
two legs, placing his two feet, shod with thick boots, one under each of
my arms, holding tight and not letting go whatever happened. These two
legs were one’s only chance of ensuring a safe descent.
Once I felt my sleigh leave me and made the descent on my knees. The
descent is so abrupt that, for the rest, one only has a very feeble
notion of what is going on. One sees the light of “36 chandelles,”
which are certainly not really there!
This slope is succeeded by a flat stretch of ground where the sleigh
slackens its pace little by little, losing the acquired speed and so on
until it comes to a complete stop. Then one starts all over again.
Once we all--six of us--seated ourselves on a straw mat at the top of
the slope. It seemed to whirl round several times on itself during the
descent, shedding us to right and left, and finally deposited us lower
down pell-mell in the soft white snow.
My cavalier had a costume designed _ad hoc_--_à la Nansen tout-à-fait_.
This party ended up by a tea at the Club; and I truly believe that no
more warming sport exists.
Every afternoon I spent several hours at the Winter Palace or at the
French Embassy, where we worked with energy for the Red Cross, for those
unfortunate soldiers who were fighting so far away and also for their
families and all they held dear--so far away indeed that one was apt to
forget that they were fighting in the same country at all--on the
borders of Manchuria. My aunt had presented me at Court, and I was given
the privilege--this being a very special favour--of attending, with a
number of young girls in society, the daily work parties which were held
at the Palace, in the pharmaceutical section, for dispatching parcels to
the front.
On my way to the room where we worked I always encountered Princess
Orbeliani--Prince Orbeliani’s sister--in her invalid chair; she had
entirely lost the use of her feet. She was the favourite maid-of-honour
of the Empress, and guarded this favour jealously--as maybe a faithful
dog would--but, nevertheless, she was a great nuisance, always watching
and scanning the comings and goings of others.
In all the churches on Easter Eve, Midnight Mass is celebrated; and the
ceremony is especially beautiful. I was to have attended the service at
St Isaac’s Cathedral, and had a seat given me amongst those reserved for
the Diplomatic Corps, but it was expected that a bomb outrage would be
committed, so instead of going there I was persuaded to accompany my
aunt to the chapel of the Winter Palace.
The services of the Greek Church are extremely fatiguing, as there are
no chairs except for invalids; and the heat on this occasion was so
great that the small candles we held melted and bent themselves double.
It is a custom at this Mass to kiss one’s neighbour.
In the street, on Easter Sunday, I noticed all the moujiks, country
people, and the populace salute one another in the most solemn manner
and embracing each other, while uttering the words “Christ is Risen.”
There is in Russia a custom which I think quite charming; it consists in
the ladies shaking hands with their hostess, while the men and children
kiss her hand after luncheon and dinner. A lady does not require much
encouragement to kiss the forehead of a gentleman who happens to be on
friendly terms with her.
The Catholic churches at Petrograd are always fearfully overcrowded, but
soon I gave up going to them, as once at St Catherine’s, on the Newsky
Prospect, I was literally carried off my feet by the crowd swaying
backwards and forwards; and there were very few benches. So in future I
preferred going to the Chapel of the Corps des Pages, a college reserved
entirely for the young men of the best families destined for a military
career, where there was also a Catholic chapel, in which I had been
offered a seat, by my Ambassadress, on the benches reserved for the
_corps diplomatique_, which was very comfortable.
But, before this, I went there once and settled myself in one of the
benches belonging to the general public. I knelt devoutly for an
instant, but on resuming my seat I realized that I was doing so on some
one’s knees and not on the hard plank of wood that I expected to find. I
turned round to explore the horizon, and what did I find? A stout Polish
woman had slipped in behind me while I was at my orisons, and had
altogether possessed herself of my seat. I can still see her fat, round
face, her heavy, massive figure. One could not dream of using force to
dispossess her, and her big victorious eyes gazed at me above their
spectacles and the old prayer book, with its pages yellowed by age and
its enormous print.
I felt like choking with fury at the sight of all my poor plans for
comfort destroyed, and I gave vent to a formidable “Dourak,” the only
abusive expression in my repertory; a great insult in Russian, and not a
very appropriate one, as it means “Imbecile” or even more, and she had
not been in the least “imbecile.” I ought at any rate to have said
“Doura,” which is the feminine, but my knowledge of the Russian language
was not yet so advanced. It seemed to me that the intruder looked
horrified, but sank more than ever into her seat with the air of saying,
“J’y suis: j’y reste.” It only remained for me to yield her the ground.
It was a real defeat.
One of the most interesting ceremonies of Holy Week in this chapel was
the procession on Maundy Thursday of the Blessed Sacrament being carried
to the tomb, when the four Catholic Ambassadors--France, Italy, Spain
and Austria--in full-dress uniform, hold the dais, followed by the
Catholic personnel of the various Embassies, also in full dress.
The Austrian Ambassador was the late Count Aerenthal, who has since
played such an important political rôle in Austria, and specially during
the last few years of his life; it was he who united Bosnia and
Herzegovina to the Austrian Crown.
The Italian Ambassador was Count Tornielli, a small man with a
good-looking, amiable face; the French Ambassador was Monsieur M.
Bompard, who played a rôle on this occasion that he would not have dared
to play in France!
I often met Prince Hohenlohe, at that time Military Attaché to the
German Embassy in Petrograd, and a cousin of the Kaiser’s, as well as
the chief of His Majesty’s spy bureau in Switzerland. It has since been
proved that he was a very dangerous one, and had received enormous sums
at Paris--where he had also subsequently become Military Attaché--which
he distributed to numerous “Bolos”; as for so many people “L’argent n’a
pas d’odeur”! He was also present that day, wearing a green plume in the
style of a feather brush in his officer’s shako.
The works of Leon Tolstoy enchanted me; but for all that I did not like
the man who had traced those talented lines. A humbug of the first
water, a great Socialist for every one but himself--like most people of
his class--Tolstoy had managed to instil his false doctrines into the
minds of the students, those thousands of “fish out of water” who are a
thorn in the side of Russia, doctrines which caused them to take so
energetic a part in the first Revolution also.
May his ashes be agitated in his tomb and suffer at the sight of all the
blood spilt, for it is not to be denied that his writings are greatly
responsible for the Revolutions which have succeeded each other in
Russia; but I fear they rejoice at it!
Possessor of a great fortune, he lived in the greatest luxury, though he
posed for poverty and simple tastes, having himself photographed writing
his works in a poor cottage for propaganda on post cards, or working
himself behind a plough in a field.
Even his death was a final pose. To leave his home to go and die in a
railway station, so that he should be talked about to the last! flying
from his family and his devoted wife who had helped him so much in his
work, and had copied, it is said, eight times the whole of _War and
Peace_; which act certainly denotes the greatest devotion!