MOSCOW
JOURNEY TO MOSCOW -- A BAD SMELL AND ITS ORIGIN -- FIRST
IMPRESSIONS OF MOSCOW -- ANOTHER IMPRESSION, ORAL AND UNPLEASING
-- THE KREMLIN -- STEAM-AND-SNOW BATHING -- SOCIETY -- LUXURIOUS
PRINCE KURAKIN -- AN IMPOSSIBLE DUOLOGUE -- EXAMPLES OF RUSSIAN
CLEVERNESS -- DETERMINATION TO RETURN TO FRANCE.
No more dreadful fatigue can be imagined than that which awaited me in
the journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow. The roads I counted upon as
being frozen--as I had been led to believe--were not yet in that
condition. The roads, in fact, were terrible; the logs, which rendered
them almost impracticable in severe weather, not being as yet fixed by
the frost, rolled incessantly under the wheels, and produced the same
effect as waves of the sea. My carriage was half-covered with mud, and
gave us such terrible shocks that at every moment I expected to give
up the ghost. For the sake of some relief from this torture, I stopped
half-way at the inn of Novgorod, the only one on the route, where--so
I had been informed--I should be well fed and lodged. Being greatly in
want of rest, and faint with hunger, I asked for a room. Hardly was I
installed when I noticed a pestilential smell that made me sick. The
master of the inn, whom I begged to change my room, had no other to
give me, and I therefore resigned myself. But soon, seeming to observe
that the intolerable stench came from a glazed door in the room, I
called for a waiter, and questioned him as to the door. "Oh!" he
calmly replied, "there has been a dead man behind that door since
yesterday. That is probably what you smell." I waited for no further
particulars, got up, had my horses harnessed, and started, taking
nothing with me but a piece of bread to continue my journey to Moscow.
I had accomplished but half of the journey whose second part was to be
more fatiguing than the first. Not that there were any high hills, but
the road consisted of perpetual ups and downs--which I called torture.
The climax to my annoyance was that I could not amuse myself with a
view of the country through which I was travelling, since a thick fog
veiled the scene on all sides, and this always depresses me. If one
considers, besides these tribulations, the diet I was restricted to
after I had eaten my piece of bread, it will readily be conceived that
I must have found the road very long.
At length I arrived in the former immense capital of Russia. I seemed
to be entering Ispahan, of which place I had seen several drawings, so
much does the aspect of Moscow differ from everything else in Europe.
Nor will I attempt to describe the effect of those thousands of gilded
cupolas surmounted with huge gold crosses, those broad streets, those
superb palaces, for the most part situated so far asunder that
villages intervened. To obtain a right idea of Moscow, you must see
it.
I was driven to the mansion which M. Dimidoff had been kind enough to
lend me. This enormous building had in front of it a large courtyard
surrounded by very high railings. It was untenanted, and I promised
myself perfect peace. After all my fatigue and my forced diet, my
first concern, as soon as I had appeased my hunger, was, of course, to
sleep. But, bad luck to it! at five o'clock in the morning I was
awakened with a start by an infernal din. A large troop of those
Russian musicians who only blow one note each on their horns had
established themselves in the room next to mine to practise. Perhaps
the room was very spacious and the only one suitable for this kind of
rehearsal. I was careful to inquire of the porter if this music was
played every day. Upon his answer that, the palace being uninhabited,
the largest apartment had been devoted to this purpose, I resolved to
make no change in the customs of a house that was not my own, and to
look for another lodging.
In one of my first expeditions I called on the Countess Strogonoff,
the wife of my good old friend. I found her hoisted on the top of some
very high affair which did nothing but rock to and fro. I could not
imagine how she could endure this perpetual motion, but she wanted it
for her health, as she was unable to walk. But this did not prevent
her being agreeable to me. I spoke to her of the embarrassment I was
in on account of lodgings. She at once told me she had a pretty house
that was not occupied, and begged me to accept it, but because she
would hear nothing of my paying a rent, I positively declined the
offer. Seeing that her efforts were in vain, she sent for her
daughter, who was very pretty, and asked me to paint this young
person's portrait in payment of rent, to which I agreed with pleasure.
Thus, a few days later, I settled in a house where I hoped to find
quiet, since I was to live there alone.
So soon as I was established in my new dwelling, I visited the town as
often as the rigours of the season would permit. For during the five
months I spent at Moscow, the snow never melted; it deprived me of the
pleasure of seeing the environments, said to be admirable.
Moscow is at least ten miles round. The Moskva cuts through the town,
and is joined by two other small streams, and it is really an
astonishing sight--all those palaces, those finely sculptured public
monuments, those convents, those churches, all intermingled with
pretty landscapes and villages. This mixture of urban magnificence
and rural simplicity produces an extraordinary, fantastic effect,
which must please the traveller who is in search of something new. The
churches are so numerous in this city that a popular saying runs:
"Moscow with its forty times forty churches." Moscow is supposed to
contain 420,000 inhabitants, and commerce must be on a large scale,
because in a single quarter, whose name I have forgotten, there are
six thousand shops. In the quarter called the Kremlin there stands the
fortress of the same name, the old palace of the czars. This fortress
is as ancient as the town, said to have been built about the middle of
the twelfth century, and is situated on an elevation at the foot of
which flows the Moskva, but there is nothing remarkable in the style
excepting its antiquity. Close to this pile, whose walls are flanked
with towers, I was shown a bell of colossal dimensions half-embedded
in the ground, and I was told it had never been possible to raise it
in order to hang it in the palace chapel.
The cemeteries at Moscow are stupendous, and following the custom
prevailing all over Russia, several times a year, but especially on
the day that in Russia corresponds to our Death Day, the cemeteries
are filled with vast crowds. Men and women kneel at their family
tombs, and there give vent to loud lamentations, which may be heard a
long way off.
A habit as universal in Moscow as in St. Petersburg is the taking of
steam baths. There are some for women and some for men, only when the
men have taken their bath, coming out of it as red as scarlet, they go
out and roll in the snow in the most extreme cold. To this habit the
vigour and sound health of the Russians have been attributed. It is
very certain they know nothing of chest maladies or rheumatism.
A pleasant walk in Moscow is the market, which is always to be found
provisioned with the rarest and most excellent fruits. It is in the
middle of a garden, and is traversed by a broad avenue which renders
the place fascinating. It is quite proper for the greatest ladies to
go there and do their buying in person. In summer they repair thither
in carriages, and in winter in sledges.
I had observed that in St. Petersburg society formed, so to speak, a
single family, all the members of the nobility being cousins to one
another. At Moscow, where the population and the nobility are far more
numerous, society becomes almost the public. For instance, you will
find six thousand persons in the ballroom where the first families
meet. Around this room runs a colonnade on a platform a few feet above
the ground, where the persons who are not dancing can promenade, and
adjoining are various apartments in which people sup or play cards. I
went to one of these balls, and was surprised at the quantity of
pretty women I found assembled. I can say the same for a ball to which
Marshal Soltikoff invited me. The young women were nearly all of
remarkable beauty. They had imitated the antique costume I had
suggested to the Grand Duchess Elisabeth for Catherine II.'s ball.
They wore cashmere tunics edged with gold fringes; gorgeous jewels
held their short upturned sleeves in place; their Greek head-dresses
were for the most part tied with bands adorned with diamonds. Nothing
could have been more stylish or luxurious than these costumes; they
beautified even this class of lovely women, of whom no one was
prettier than the next. One I especially observed was a young person
soon after married to Prince Tufakin. Her face, whose features were
regular and delicate, wore an excessively melancholy expression. After
her marriage I began her portrait, but was only able to finish the
head in Moscow, so that I carried off the picture to finish it at St.
Petersburg, where, however, I before long heard of the death of that
charming young lady. She was scarcely more than seventeen years
old. I painted her as Iris, seated on some clouds, with a billowy
scarf about her.
[Illustration: MADAME VIGEE LEBRUN.]
Mme. Soltikoff kept one of the best houses in Moscow. I had paid her a
call upon arrival. She and her husband, who was then Governor of the
town, showed me great kindness. She asked me to paint the Marshal's
portrait, and her daughter's, who had married Count Gregory Orloff,
son of Count Vladimir. At this time I was doing a picture of Countess
Strogonoff's daughter, so that by the end of ten or twelve days I had
begun six portraits, without counting the likeness of the good and
genial Mme. Ducrest de Villeneuve, whom I was charmed to meet again in
Moscow, and who was so pretty that I insisted on painting her. An
accident that might have cost me my life deprived me of the use of my
studio and retarded the completion of all these works.
I was enjoying perfect peace in the house loaned me by Countess
Strogonoff, but, as it had not been inhabited for seven years, it was
horribly cold. I remedied the evil as far as possible by heating all
the stoves to the utmost. In spite of this measure, I was obliged to
leave the fire lit in my bedroom at night, and was so frozen in bed,
with the shutters hermetically closed, to say nothing of a small lamp
burning near me to moderate the air, that I tied my pillow all round
my head with a ribbon, at the risk of being stifled. One night, when I
had succeeded in going to sleep, I was awakened by suffocating smoke.
I barely had time to ring for my maid, who declared that she had put
out all the fires. I told her to open the passage door. Scarcely had
she obeyed when her candle went out, and my room and the whole
apartment was filled with thick, sickening smoke. We broke the windows
as fast as we could. Not knowing where this dreadful smoke came from,
it may well be imagined how anxious I was. I then sent for one of the
men who lit the fires, and he informed me that another man had
forgotten to open the cover capping the pipes, which is on the roof, I
think. Relieved from the alarm of having set Countess Strogonoff's
house on fire, I went to look at my rooms, all upset that I was. Near
the room where I gave my sittings was a large stove with two doors, in
front of which I had put Marshal Soltikoff's picture to dry. I found
this portrait so thoroughly scorched that I was obliged to do it over
again. But what gave me most pain in this night of trouble was my
inability to have removed at once a collection of pictures by various
great masters, sent me by my husband; they, of course, suffered very
much.
By five o'clock in the morning the smoke had only begun to disperse,
and as we had broken the windows the place was no longer tenable. But
what were we to do? where to go? I decided to send to good Mme.
Ducrest de Villeneuve. She rushed over at once, and took me off to her
house, where I remained a fortnight, during which the dear woman
showered attentions upon me which I shall never forget. When I had
concluded to go home, I first went with M. Ducrest de Villeneuve to
examine the premises. Although the windows had not yet been replaced,
the whole house was still so redolent with smoke that it was
impossible to think of living in it then. I was exceedingly put out at
this, when Count Gregory Orloff, with that courtesy which is the
natural heritage of the Russians, offered to lend me a vacant house
belonging to him. I accepted his offer, and immediately went to settle
in my new lodgings. Here, by the way, the rain poured in so hard that
Mme. Soltikoff, coming to see me and wishing to stay a few minutes in
the room where my pictures were exhibited, asked me for an umbrella.
But in spite of this new form of discomfort, I remained in the house
until my departure from Moscow.
The Russian nobles display as much luxury at Moscow as at St.
Petersburg. Moscow possesses a multitude of splendid palaces most
richly furnished. One of the most sumptuous belonged to Prince
Alexander Kurakin, whom I knew in St. Petersburg, where I had twice
painted his portrait. On learning that I was in Moscow, he came to see
me, and invited me to dinner with my friends, the Countess Ducrest de
Villeneuve and her husband. We found an immense palace, ornamented
externally with royal magnificence. Every room through which we passed
was more handsomely furnished than the one preceding, and in most of
them was a picture of the master of the house, either full or half
length. Before leading us to table Prince Kurakin showed us his
bedchamber, which surpassed all the rest in elegance. The bed,
standing on a raised platform laid with superb carpets, was encircled
by richly draped columns. Two statues and two vases with flowers stood
at the four corners of the platform; chairs of exquisite taste and
divans of great price rendered this room a habitation worthy of Venus.
To reach the dining-room we traversed broad corridors, both sides of
which were lined with liveried serfs holding torches, which made me
feel as though I was taking part in some grave and solemn ceremony.
During the dinner invisible musicians overhead diverted us with the
horn-playing I have already referred to. Prince Kurakin's large
fortune allowed him to maintain the establishment of a king. He was an
excellent man, politely obliging toward his equals, and not in the
least haughty to his inferiors.
I also dined with Prince Galitzin, universally sought after because of
his affable and friendly ways. Although he was too old to sit down to
table with his guests, forty in number, the luxurious and very
abundant dinner nevertheless lasted more than three hours, which tired
me inexpressibly, especially as I was placed opposite a tall window
through which came a blinding light. To me this banquet seemed
unendurable, but by way of compensation I had the pleasure, before
eating, of going through a fine gallery containing pictures by great
masters, mixed, it is true, with some that were rather mediocre.
Prince Galitzin, whom age and illness kept to his armchair, had
charged his nephew with doing me the honours. This young man, being
ignorant of painting, limited himself to explaining the subjects as
best he could, and I had difficulty in refraining from laughter when,
before a picture representing Psyche, being unable to pronounce the
name, he gave me the information, "That is Fiche."
This long meal at Prince Galitzin's reminds me of another, which
probably never ended at all. I had engaged to dine with a big, stout,
enormously wealthy banker of Moscow. We were eighteen at table; never
in my life did I see such a collection of ugly and insignificant
faces--typical faces of money-makers. When I had looked at them all
once I dared not raise my eyes again, for fear of meeting one of those
visages. There was no conversation; they might have been taken for
dummies if they had not eaten like ogres. Four hours went by in this
fashion, and I was bored to the verge of nausea. At last I made up my
mind, and feigning indisposition I left them sitting at the
table--where they perhaps still are.
It was an unlucky day, for that evening a rather comical episode
occurred, though it did not amuse me in the least. For some reason or
other I was obliged to make a call upon an Englishwoman. A lady of my
acquaintance took me there, and left me for some time, after promising
to come back for me. As ill-luck would have it, this Englishwoman knew
not a word of French, and myself not a word of English, and it may
readily be conceived how great was our mutual embarrassment. I still
see her before a little table, between two candles lighting up a face
as pale as death. She thought it her duty, from politeness, to keep
talking to me in a language I could not understand, and I reciprocated
by addressing her in French, which she understood no better. We
remained together more than an hour, which hour seemed to me a
century, and I imagine the poor Englishwoman must have found it just
as long.
At the period when I was in Moscow the wealthiest resident of the
town, and perhaps of all Russia, was Prince Bezborodko. He could have
raised, it is said, an army of 30,000 men on his estate, so many
peasants did he own, these people, as everybody knows, being
considered as part of the soil in Russia. On his different properties
he owned a large number of serfs, whom he treated with the greatest
kindness, and whom he caused to be instructed in various trades. When
I went to see him he showed me rooms full of furniture, bought in
Paris from the workshops of the famous upholsterer, Daguere. Most of
this furniture had been imitated by his serfs, and it was impossible
to distinguish between copy and original. It is this fine work which
leads me to assert that the Russian people are gifted with remarkable
intelligence; they understand everything, and seem endowed with the
talent of execution. Thus the Prince de Ligne wrote: "I see Russians
who are told to be sailors, huntsmen, musicians, engineers, painters,
actors, and who become all these things according to their masters'
wish. I see others sing and dance in the trenches, plunged in snow and
mud, in the midst of musket and cannon shots. And they are all alert,
attentive, obedient, and respectful."
Prince Bezborodko was a man of high ability. He was employed in the
reign of Catherine II. and of Paul, first as secretary to the cabinet,
and then, in 1780, as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. In his
desire to avoid the countless appeals by which he was besieged, he
made himself as inaccessible as possible. Women sometimes followed
him into his carriage. He would answer their demands with "I shall
forget," and if it was a case of a petition with "I shall lose it."
His greatest gift was a thorough and exact knowledge of the Russian
language. In addition to this he boasted a phenomenal memory and an
astonishing facility of putting his thoughts into words. I give a
well-known instance in proof thereof. On one occasion the Empress
ordered him to draw up a ukase, which, however, a great pressure of
business caused him to forget. The first time he saw the Empress
again, after conferring with him on several matters of administration,
she asked him for the ukase. Bezborodko, not the least bit in the
world dismayed, drew a sheet of paper out of his portfolio, and
without a moment's hesitation improvised the whole thing from
beginning to end. Catherine was so well pleased with this presentment
that she took the paper from him to look at it. Her surprise may be
imagined at the sight of a sheet that was quite blank! Bezborodko
began elaborate excuses, but she stopped him with compliments, and the
next day made him Privy Councillor.
Another Russian, whose memory was as marvellous as Prince
Bezborodko's, was Count Buturlin, whom I knew quite well at Moscow,
where, by the way, we lived so far apart that whenever I supped with
Countess Buturlin I was obliged to go two miles. The Count, through
his experience and his knowledge, is one of the most remarkable men I
have ever known. He speaks all the languages with extraordinary ease,
and his information on all sorts of subjects renders his conversation
infinitely fascinating. But his superiority over others never
prevented him from being very unaffected, nor from treating his
friends with good-nature and generosity. He owned a huge library in
Moscow, composed of the rarest and most valuable books in different
languages. His memory was such that when he was recounting a
historical or any other anecdote he could at once tell in what room
and on what shelf of his library the book was that he had just cited.
I was greatly amazed at this, yet a thing as fully astonishing was to
hear him talk of all the towns of Europe and their most conspicuous
features as if he had lived in them a long time, whereas he had never
once set foot outside of Russia. For my part, I know that he spoke to
me about Paris and its buildings, and everything curious to be seen
there, in such complete detail that I exclaimed, "It is impossible
that you have not been in Paris!"
The request made to me for portraits and my agreeable social circle
ought to have kept me longer in Moscow, where I stayed but five
months, of which I spent six weeks in my room. But I was melancholy
and ailing; I felt a need of rest, especially of breathing in a warmer
climate. I therefore resolved upon returning to St. Petersburg to see
my daughter and then quitting Russia. I was, however, held back for
some days by an unusually severe attack of my general indisposition.