ST. PETERSBURG SOCIETY AT THE PRESENT DAY
Any habitué of St. Petersburg Society during the two former reigns who,
after a long absence, returned to the capital of Russia would scarcely
know it again.
The change brought about in the Society of St. Petersburg since the
beginning of the present century is so enormous that it is a wonder how
it could have taken place in so short a time. The Society leaders of old
have either died or gone abroad, or have entirely retired from the
social world. Family gatherings, which used regularly to assemble on
certain days such as Christmas, New Year, or Easter, at the house of a
grandmother, aunt, or uncle, take place no longer. People prefer to go
to restaurants to hear a Roumanian orchestra, or some Bohemian singers,
rather than cluster round the family hearth. The constraint that
formerly characterised the attitude of the younger members of a family
to their elders has disappeared so entirely that one wonders how it
could ever have existed. St. Petersburg Society, which formerly could
boast of some circles entirely shut to outsiders, groups where money was
not sufficient to secure an entrance, where those who were admitted
within the precincts carefully observed certain rules of politeness, and
civility, has now become a kind of cabaret, where everyone thinks he has
the right to do what he likes, where good manners are unknown, where
even young girls are allowed to go everywhere, not only without
chaperons, but even in the company of young men whom they scarcely
know, and even go so far as to visit these same young men in their
flats, or barracks when they happen to be officers.
The decorum which formerly was carefully observed, and the somewhat
stiff but charming way in which women used to welcome even their most
intimate friends, has fled. At present politeness is unknown, formality
is no longer observed, and gossip has superseded the intellectual
conversations which were in past days one of the characteristics of that
portion of St. Petersburg Society which belonged to the upper ten
thousand.
Salons like those of the Princess Paschkievitch, of the Princess Lise
Volkhonsky, or of the Princess Hélène Kotchoubey have disappeared. Those
incomparable hostesses, whose judgments made or marred a social
reputation, whose smiles were accepted as a favour, and whose
invitations were more eagerly sought after than even Imperial ones, have
been replaced by women who have pushed themselves to the front, either
through their money or through their audacity; who gather round them
people to play bridge or to discuss the most trivial and commonplace
subjects, who have neither manners, nor charm, nor the prestige of a
high personal position independent of an official one.
Of former salons that of the Countess Kleinmichel alone is still
existent, and its mistress is as intriguing as ever, and a little less
slim, and with a little more “complexion.” Otherwise, she has not
altered, her dinners are not better; but her evening parties have still
kept their attraction for high officials and diplomats of all countries.
Bridge, however, has replaced conversation, and private theatricals the
balls of former days. As for flirting, this art, which was carried to
perfection in those old times of which I am thinking, is also extinct.
Why should one give oneself that trouble when it is so easy to obtain
all that one wants without practising it!
Small talk is a thing of the past also; now the only thing that one
hears is, “Have you been at the _concours hippique_?” or “Have you been
at the skating rink?” An ill-bred familiarity has replaced the courtesy
for which Russians of the higher classes were famous. Now no man dreams
of calling a lady, or even a young girl, by their family names; one says
“Mary” or “Kitty.” Young students address maids of eighteen or twenty by
their nicknames, and no one seems to wonder at this utter breach of good
manners.
Parties are dull and stiff, in spite of their utter want of decorum.
They are no longer a reunion of people belonging to the same circle, who
meet at the house of one of their number to drink a cup of tea and
discuss the events of the day. These intimate little gatherings are no
longer considered as being the right thing. They have been replaced by
dinners and parties in which hostesses try to outdo each other in the
luxury they display. That which indicates more than anything else the
emptiness of the minds of the smart set in St. Petersburg is the fact
that now no one likes to talk, and that in order to make a party
successful, one must have something to occupy those invited to it. No
longer are they able to amuse themselves by conversation. One must have
either bridge, or music, or some such attraction, else people will not
come. Formerly there were dozens of houses where you could go every
evening and take a cup of tea quietly, sometimes with two or three
people, sometimes with the hostess only, who knew how to entertain you
and to keep you talking till long past midnight. Now you will hardly
find a place where you can hope to be received without a special
invitation. Men and women are no longer sociable, though they are
dissipated, and when they meet it is to eat and to drink, though not
always to be merry.
One of the reasons for this state of things lies in the number of
outsiders who have obtained an entrance into Society. One Grand Duchess,
in particular, is largely responsible for this. Her own set is not only
fast, but vulgar, and, unfortunately, the admittance is easy. It is
sufficient to have money, to be rich enough to entertain her, to talk
slang, to go every year to Paris, and to give her money for all the
bazaars that she patronises. As her presence at a party makes it at once
a smart one, and confers an honour on her hostess, it is not to be
wondered that ladies who formerly would never have been admitted into
the cream of St. Petersburg Society have seized the opportunity that was
offered to them and consistently flattered the Grand Duchess. No one now
cares for the family antecedents of guests so long as they have an
abundance of money and can give good dinners.
Another reason why the moral and intellectual standard of St. Petersburg
Society has sunk so low lies in the fact that now no one controls its
decisions. Formerly the Court exercised a strong influence on manners
and habits. At a time when invitations to the Winter Palace decided as
to the social standing of a person, people had necessarily to be upon
their guard. Not to be invited to a ball where one had the right to be
admitted constituted a social degradation which was never removed. The
Emperor and Empress, going out into Society, and knowing its leading
members, were very well informed as to what they did, and knew how to
express their disapproval where there were reasons for so doing.
That is now a thing of the past. The Court keeps itself aloof from
Society. Balls at the Winter Palace are a thing of the past. Court
invitations belong to history; there is no one left to say who ought or
ought not to be received at places where admittance constitutes an
honour. People are left to their own inclinations, and inclinations
always take them where they are well fed, well cared for, where they
find luxury, truffles, oysters, and champagne, where there are
well-dressed women always willing to be admired, and where cards are
always laid out on the table ready for play.
There is one very remarkable thing which cannot help striking anyone who
knew St. Petersburg some twenty years ago; it is that the moral and
intellectual standard of Society has considerably fallen, while, on the
other hand, luxury has increased. Smartness is now general, whereas
formerly it was only an exception. Dowagers with caps, and high black
silk gowns, which they even wore at the balls and parties where they
chaperoned their daughters and granddaughters, have disappeared; grey
hair has become an exception; the love of dress has grown tremendously,
and the former simplicity which existed, even among very wealthy people,
has given place to arrogant display. At one time one was often invited
to dinner in a quiet way, when one sat at a table simply laid with some
fruit and bonbons, but without flowers, which were considered a great
luxury. Now you cannot be asked to eat a cutlet without large baskets of
roses being on the table; but, in nine cases out of ten, the food is a
great deal worse than when no one dreamed of such accessories. All is
for pomp and for show; the intimacy and privacy of life has gone; gone,
too, are the friends, who have been replaced by visitors--by no means
the same thing.
Another characteristic feature is the indifference which is professed in
so-called high spheres to all the moral, intellectual, and political
questions of the day. Under Alexander II. social reforms were the one
subject of interest and conversation in the salons of St. Petersburg, of
which there were many. Under Alexander III. also they were discussed,
but more among people who knew each other very well and saw each other
very often. Now, after a war and a revolution that should have awakened
anew the attention of the public as to these important problems of the
life of a nation, it has entirely left off thinking about them. The
middle classes, who look ahead towards the future and who discuss what
it will bring to them, now talk about these questions. Society, or what
goes by that name, gives all its thought to ill-natured gossip. They
read nothing except French novels of the worst kind; hardly glance at a
newspaper; and their ideas about a journey abroad are summed up in a
trip to Paris--where their whole interest centres in the music-halls and
other places of the same light character, or worse--or a journey to the
Riviera, where they gamble at Monte Carlo.
Where formerly were civilised customs, refinement of taste, chivalrous
manners, now exists an ignorance which makes one ashamed of being a
Russian. In times of old, families belonging to the aristocracy used to
pride themselves on the good education that they gave to their children.
Nothing was spared in that direction. Tutors and governesses were chosen
with the greatest care, and the familiarity of Russian men and women
with foreign languages, foreign literature, and scientific and artistic
subjects was always a matter of comment abroad. Now girls and boys are
sent to public schools and gymnasia, with the result that when they
finish their education they can hardly write without mistakes in
spelling in their own language, and they murder all other languages. But
of course this easy way of bringing up children saves the parents any
amount of trouble, and they are ready enough to find excuse for their
negligence.
In fact, Russia as it existed formerly is a thing of the past. New men,
new manners, new customs have superseded the traditions that made the
country great, and which had raised it above mere savagery. It is now
returning to its earlier state. Being an old man I can make comparisons,
and regret the passing away of the courtesy of our ancestors, the old
ladies in lace caps, sitting in rooms with bowls full of dried
rose-leaves dispensing fragrance all around; the thoughtful men who
seriously discussed important questions, and who really loved their
country, were devoted to its welfare, and lived and died according to
the old tradition, so beautifully embodied in those famous French
words:--
“_Mon âme à Dieu,
Mon bras au roi,
Mon cœur aux dames,
L’honneur à moi._”
Russian aristocracy no longer exists; there are men and women bearing
great names, but that is all. St. Petersburg Society has turned into a
kind of association of people eager only for enjoyment and pleasure,
seeking always new subjects of excitement, devoid of serious thought,
and hating serious pursuits. It does not see, or perhaps does not want
to see, the growing tide of revolution and anarchism that is gaining
ground every day and preparing itself for the struggle out of which it
knows it will emerge triumphant.
Attachment to the monarchy has been replaced in some by indifference, in
many by dislike, in a great number by hatred. Nations as well as women
like to see strength in the hands of those who rule, and unfortunately
the present monarch is deficient in that respect. His weakness is so
well known that apathy has seized hold of all those who by their
intelligence, their knowledge of men and things, their honesty, and
their devotion to their duty, might have been useful to the Throne as
well as to the country. They, as well as the greater mass of the public,
have come to the conclusion that there is little that can be done for
the welfare of the masses and of the nation. Every effort to raise its
moral level has failed, because the Government is unwilling to give its
support to those who would have been ready to work in that direction.
When the phantom of Constitution under which Russia is supposed to live
to-day was promulgated, some simple souls imagined that a great step was
taken towards solving many social problems, but I do not think that
there is at present in existence a single person who still fosters that
illusion. The last elections have proved that when a Government wants to
crush every manifestation of public opinion it can do so. The present,
the fourth, Duma is composed exclusively of supporters of the Cabinet;
at least, its majority is strong enough to prevent any measure proposed
by the Opposition passing through. The Government is forced by its own
fault to submit to a state of stagnation, which, perhaps, indeed it
desired to bring about, finding it easier to do no work at all. But the
Deputies are disgusted and discouraged, and, as one of them said
recently to a reporter of one of the daily papers of St. Petersburg, he
as well as other members of the Opposition seriously think of resigning
their seats, so convinced are they that they can do nothing useful as
things stand at present.
The same discouragement prevails everywhere; no one expects or hopes
anything; everyone grows indifferent, and gives his thoughts and
attention to frivolous subjects, waiting with apathy for the cataclysm
which is bound to come. The only thing that absorbs the public mind is
how to make money quickly. Financial enterprises spring into existence
quicker than mushrooms grow in the rain; for the most part they are
attended with success, and at no time has the thirst for money been so
great and so general. It is a kind of frenzy that has seized people on
every hand, and that frenzy perhaps, unknown even to those that are
attacked with it, may be the expression of a feverish haste to get the
most they can out of a state of things which they feel cannot last much
longer.
And whilst frivolous, stupid, indifferent, smart Society is gathering
its roses while it may, under its feet grows another force, earnest,
ambitious, cruel, like all those who want to conquer; savage in its
instincts and brutal in its actions, a society composed of men who want
to brush aside all the old prejudices, all the traditions of greatness
and love of country. To them belongs the future, and with them will come
confusion, disaster, ruin, the collapse of a nation and of a monarchy.