Kitabı oku: «Letters of a Diplomat's Wife, 1883-1900», sayfa 7
To H. L. K
Ambassade de France, Moscow,
Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska,Thursday, June 7th, 1883.
W. and I have had such a quiet conjugal day that we can hardly believe we are still "Ambassadeur Extraordinaire." We breakfasted tête-à-tête, as all the gentlemen have gone off to the Convent of St. Serge, which is one of the things to see here. They have a very fine trésor. The Emperor and Empress made retraite there before the sacre. After breakfast W. looked over his despatches, and I played a little some Russian music which Benckendorff had given me.
About three we started off for "les Moineaux," a hill near Moscow from which Napoleon had his first view of the city. There was no sun, which was a pity, as all the colour of Moscow makes it so original and different from everything else—however the city looked mysterious and poetical in a sort of pink brume. We met various colleagues going the same way—Nigra always in his "Troika" (Russian attelage) and the Hunts. Nigra came and joined us on the terrace, and we had tea together. They offered us a great many things, but we declined experiments, and kept on saying "Tchai" (which means tea), until they brought it. Nigra told W. he should taste the peculiar brandy of the country which all drink—prince and peasant—but I think W. did not like it much. Nigra was most agreeable. He is Italian Ambassador to Petersburg, and knows everybody. He says Russian Society is rather fermée, unless you take their ways and hours. All the ladies receive late, after the theatres, every evening. It is quite informal—a cup of tea, very often music, and really interesting talk. He says the women are remarkably intelligent and cultivated—en masse cleverer than the men. I wonder if he would go as far about them as Lord Lyons did about American women. When he came back from America he said he had never met a stupid American woman. We had a pleasant hour on the terrace, and then started home again.
We crossed the Empress driving with her brother, Prince Waldemar, in an ordinary open carriage (harnessed Russian fashion—the three horses) and with no escort nor apparent policemen of any kind. She looked very well and smiling, and so young. There was not much movement on the road—a few carriages and peasant's carts. As soon as we got into Moscow we fell at once into the same staring, quiet crowd; but I fancy many people have already gone. The streets were not nearly so full.
I had just time to dress, and dined alone with the gentlemen. W. and Général Pittié dined with the Nonce, Mgr. Vannutelli, and were to go to Countess Pahlen's reception afterwards. The expedition to the Convent seems to have been very successful, but long. They gave them breakfast in the refectory—a very frugal meal—and showed them all their treasures. I stayed a little while in the serre while they were smoking. Now they have all gone out and I am not sorry to finish my evening quietly in my little boudoir. I am getting quite accustomed to my little room, with its ugly green and gold silk furniture (quite hideous, such a bright, hard green). The chairs and sofa are so heavy it takes two of us to move them. There are quantities of tables and candles (40 or 50 at least, no lamps of any description), in branches, double candlesticks, etc. I have great difficulty in persuading the little Russian maid not to light them all, all the time; and when I have about 12 to dress by she evidently considers me in the dark absolutely. I think I have dressed sometimes with two, quite contented, in the old days.
Friday, June 8th.
I walked about a little with Corcelle this morning. We went into one fur shop where we found a woman who spoke French, but there was nothing very tempting. They all advise us to wait for our furs at Petersburg, all the best furs are sent there—however we bought a very good fur lining for a driving coat (each of us) and I a fur couverture—principally I think because the woman was nice, and it was a pleasure to talk ourselves and not through the little boy of the Consulate, of whom I am by no means sure.
At 10 o'clock W. had his farewell audience with the Emperor, but it wasn't particularly interesting—an insignificant conversation—might have been any emperor, or any ambassador, of any country.
After breakfast we went out again "en bande" with a new polyglot youth this time—a young Frenchman whom Lhermite had discovered. He took us to all sorts of places, small shops and bazaars, where we had never been. We bought a good many things, Circassian belts and buckles of wrought silver, some studded with turquoises, some enamelled—pretty work—Russian chains and crosses, small Madonnas in curious brass frames—always the black face on a gold ground, and several of those beautiful, light Orenburg shawls, so fine that they pass through a ring (we all tried) and yet fairly large and warm when one shakes them out to the full size. It was rather amusing going in and out of all the funny little shops. We left the carriage in one of the big streets and walked about.
Now we have come home. I have had my tea alone to-day. I must dress, as we dine early, 7 o'clock, on account of our reception afterwards. I went with Lhermite to see the flowers, fruit, bonbons, petits fours, etc., which arrived this morning from Paris. It is extraordinary how fresh they all look. There are dozens of boxes in the dining-room and office, and the men are putting the flowers all about the rooms, Lhermite superintending the whole thing. He is an enormous help—I don't know what we should have done without him.
I am going to wear my white and silver brocade to-night, the one I wore at the Palace gala dinner—my last full dress in Moscow. I am rather shaken by my outing this afternoon—the going in some of those crooked little old streets was something awful. The holes in the so-called pavement were appalling, and the paving-stones tapered off generally to a sharp point. I think nothing but a Russian carriage, driven by a Russian coachman could have got along. I must say it is a straggling, queer-looking town once you get out of the Kremlin and the main streets. The houses are very far apart, generally white and low, with large gardens, like a big overgrown village.
Well, Dear, our reception is over. It is ended early, as everything does here—and as I am wide awake I will write at once. People began to come about 9.30, and at 11.30 everyone had gone. The rooms looked well, quantities of lights and flowers, everyone noticed the flowers (there are so few here), which were heaped up everywhere on consoles, mantelpieces, wherever one could put them. We had a great many people—all our colleagues in full force, but not so many Russians as we expected. A good many were de service at the Palace, where there was a function of some kind for Russians only (the provinces), and I am sure many never received their invitations, as it is impossible to find out where anyone lives. I had a talk with General Richter and one or two others, and then some of the younger members of the party suggested dancing—of course we had no music, as dancing had not been contemplated, but various amateurs offered their services, and they had about half an hour of waltzes. At the end they danced a little the Russian mazurka, which I was very curious to see. It is quite different from our cotillon or the Sir Roger de Coverley. There are all sorts of steps and figures. The gentleman takes his partner by the hand, holding it rather high (as in the polonaise). They hold themselves very straight, heads well back, as in a minuet, and do various figures. The women have a quick, sliding step when they change partners, which is very effective. I should think none but Russians would dance it well—one must be born to it.
Prince Orloff stayed on a little after everyone had gone, and we talked over all the fêtes, and principally our own performances. He says he has heard plenty of talk and criticisms of everything, and is much pleased with the success of our Mission. I hope the people at home will be satisfied.
We had a dinner for all the French newspaper correspondents the other day—and they expressed themselves as quite gratified. They told us that one of the correspondents (I forget which paper) had accepted W.'s invitation, but the very day of the dinner there had been such a violent attack on W. in his paper that he didn't like to come, and sent an excuse. They say the Times' account is the best—the Figaro also very good (Wolff).
Saturday, June 9, 1883.
The court is most amusing this morning—all the gentlemen are trying their horses, superintending the saddling, etc., as most of them follow the Emperor to-day at the revue. The little Russian horses look very lively and never stand still an instant. W. and I go together in the d'Orsay, Corcelle preceding us in another carriage. Benckendorff rides with all the others. Général Pittié is rather bored, he hates riding, particularly on a horse he doesn't know, so he and Fayet will only mount at the Champ de Mars. They say the Emperor's suite will be enormous—over 100. I wore my écru batiste with the heavy white embroidery and the écru bonnet with the wreath of pink and red roses. It is almost white. (I wonder how I shall ever wear out all these garments.)
The day is beautiful. We started about 10, as we were invited for 11 to the Tribune Impériale. The road out was a sight—the middle alley had been kept for the swells and Court, and there were quantities of Imperial and Ambassadors' carriages, aides-de-camp, etc., dashing about. I didn't see any handsome private equipages. They told me the reason was that the swells were attached to the Court and went about always in Court carriages. Our gentlemen passed us riding—they had rendezvous in the court-yard of the Palace Petrofski, where the Emperor mounted. We went on to the Tribune. The cortége started fairly punctually. First came the Empress in a victoria with four white horses. The Arch Duchess Charles Louis was seated next to her, and on the box the Duchesse d'Edimbourg and the Grand Duchess Wladimir, I think—at any rate another Princess. There were 2 postilions, 2 mounted grooms, and a piqueur. Then came the Emperor riding on the right of the Empress's carriage, always on his little grey Cossack horse, the Grand Duke Héritier and the Duke of Edinburgh directly behind him, and then a long, glittering suite of foreign Princes and officers. The Grand Duke Wladimir commands the Gardes, and was on the field to receive his brother. It is the first time I have seen the Emperor without the Grand Duke Wladimir close behind him. It was striking to see the stern, watchful face always there. The Empress drove up and down the lines, the Emperor riding alongside. It was difficult to distinguish any uniforms, as they were rather far off, and there were clouds of dust. As soon as the Empress had passed her revue she came up to the Tribune and took up her position directly in front, standing almost all the time. The Emperor and his staff remained directly under the Tribune to see the défilé. That of course was long—but we had breakfast, also a sort of goûter always going on, and servants appearing at intervals carrying trays with tea, chocolate, orangeade, etc. All the Grand Duchesses (not the Empress) moved about and talked to us. The Duchesse d'Oldenburg sat down next me for some time and told me about some of the regiments (Crimean fame), named some of the generals, etc.
I had tea with the Duchess of Edinburgh. She is easy, clever, and was much interested in all that was going on, told me I must come to the front for the cavalry and Cossack charge, and that it would be soon. I followed her when she made the move—the infantry were just finishing—and in the distance one saw a movement and a flash of lances in the sun, which showed that the Cossacks were getting ready. They passed like a whirlwind—so fast, and in such clouds of dust that one saw nothing but the glint of the lances, neither colour of uniforms, horses, flags. All the troops, infantry as well as cavalry, saluted the Emperor as they passed—a sort of dull sound, more like a groan than a cheer—nothing like a ringing English hurrah.
That was the end, so I went to the Princess Kotchoubey, Grande Maîtresse, to ask her if I should go and take leave of the Empress, as she and the Emperor leave Moscow to-morrow. She said the Empress wished us all, Ambassadrices and femmes de chefs-de-Mission, to stand near the door, and she would say good-bye to us on her way out, so we moved down, and after waiting a little she came. She made her circle very prettily, shook hands with all, and talked a little, but she was evidently tired and anxious to get away. She was dressed in a curious dress, a sort of yellow cloth of gold, and gold bonnet with red flowers—always her splendid pearl necklace.
We had to wait some little time before our carriages could get up, so I went back to the front of the Tribune to see the troops disperse. It was a pretty sight as they all filed off in long columns, music playing and flags flying, and always little groups of Cossacks tearing all over the place. I had another cup of tea with a very good little cake while I was waiting. Lady Thornton was tired and wanted one, so we sat there quite quietly and had our tea. It was a lovely, bright, warm day, and we liked that better than waiting at the door in the crowd until our carriages came.
We got back to the Embassy for breakfast, but were not very hungry. We breakfasted alone with Corcelle, as the other gentlemen breakfasted with all the Emperor's suite at the Petrofski Palace. I am writing this by fits and starts, as you will perceive. I began at 9 this morning, and am finishing now at 10.30, after a pleasant dinner at the Jaurès—merely our two Embassies, everyone telling his experiences, amusing enough. The Jaurès are quite ready to go. He wants to go to sea again, and will command the Mediterranean Squadron, and she is tired of Russia. I have no idea who will succeed them, but as long as it isn't W. I don't much care.
Well, our fêtes are over. We shall have two days to see Moscow quietly, and then break up. It has certainly been most interesting, and now that it is over, and we all have still our heads on our shoulders, I am very glad we came, for I shall never see such a sight again.
Sunday, June 10th.
Richard and I made an ineffectual attempt to go to the English church this morning, but after driving half over Moscow and going to various wrong addresses, which had been given to us, we gave it up, and came home rather mortified and well jibed at by the whole Embassy. Just as we were going to breakfast Prince Ourousoff, one of the Chamberlains, appeared to say that two special trains would start for Petersburg on Monday and Wednesday to take back the Corps Diplomatique, and asked us which day would suit us best. W. preferred Wednesday. W. must have a day or two to send off horses, carriages, huissiers, cooks, etc., and also to see a little of Moscow, for he has scarcely seen anything. All his days were so taken up with the visits—those he made and those he received—and his despatches, that he did little but his morning ride on his funny little bay horse (which he liked very much and which carried him well).
This afternoon we have been sight-seeing with Benckendorff, first to the Kremlin to see the private apartments of the Emperor and Empress. The Court, with all the foreign Princes and their suites, left last night after the revue, and already one sees the difference in the streets. The crowd of peasants has disappeared, there are fewer carriages, flags and draperies are being removed from all the buildings, and the circulation is so easy that one can scarcely realize that only yesterday that brilliant throng was making its way with difficulty through the long, straight allée to the Champ de Mars. It is very warm, the sun blazing, and the white dust very trying; however we went about a good deal. We saw the Romanoff house, an ordinary boyar house, with low, dark rooms and a funny little winding staircase, but it had evidently been quite done up (in the style of the epoch of course), and I didn't find it very interesting.
We went into numerous churches and towers, and wound up with a visit to the Monastère Siminoff, from where there is a splendid view over the city. We saw the Director, who came out and showed us everything. We dined quietly at home with the Embassy only. After dinner, when smoking in the serre, the soldiers began talking, fighting their battles over again—all that horrible time between the Commune and Versailles, where one of our Embassy, Fayet, was wounded. It is always interesting when they talk seriously like that, but, Heavens, how they shot people at the end, it makes one shiver.
To-morrow will be a busy day, as all the packing must be done. One of the French couturières here will send a packer, and will come herself to help the maids. Lhermite, with his cooks, footmen, etc., start Wednesday morning early. They must cook us our last dinner Tuesday night. Hubert, too, with carriages, horses, etc.
To H. L. K
Ambassade de France à Moscow,
Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska,Monday, June 11th, 1883.
Well, Dear, this is my last letter from Moscow—you will certainly never again have any letter from Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska, and I suppose I shall never see Moscow again. The court is again most lively (it is certainly an unfailing interest to me, and I am always looking out of the window). Someone has come from one of the Grand Dukes, Michel, I think, to see the big horses. Hawes was very anxious we should sell them in Russia, if we could get a fair price. They have always excited much attention and admiration, but they are very big, and here the Russians are accustomed to a much smaller race, prefer three small ones to one larger pair. I don't know either if they could stand the climate. There seems to be a perfect army of helpers packing carriages, saddles, harness, and all the stable equipment. Mdme. Gille (my couturière) has arrived. She has made me a very nice little blue foulard shirt, I couldn't stand my cloth body these hot days, and yet must travel in that dress, as I have no other. When I think of the furs that have always remained at the bottom of one of the trunks—so many people told me that it would be impossible to be in Russia in May and June without furs. It is fair to say that Mdme. Jaurès told me it was freezing still the morning they left Petersburg—which seems incredible now. I send back all my big trunks and swell garments with the Huberts. I shall keep out only one or two dinner dresses for Petersburg. Poor Mdme. Hubert is rather sad at leaving me, and going back to France without having seen Petersburg, but of course I don't want two maids any longer.
This afternoon I went out with Richard for some last shopping. The city is completely changed—not a creature nor a carriage, nor servants in livery, nothing but a deserted city. We met the Austrian Ambassador walking about in a blue flannel vest and a pot hat. The courts of the Kremlin were méconnaissables, not a soul, hardly a soldier—one or two small detachments of Cossacks at the gates. It is an extraordinary change in such a short time. It has become a sleepy little provincial town.
We had two or three gentlemen to dinner, M. d'Orval, ancien officier de Chasseurs, just back from a tour in the Caucasus with the Duc de Chartres, and a Russian merchant for whom Richard had letters—the first person I have seen in Russia who was neither noble nor peasant. Both men were interesting enough. The Russian talked prudently, but fairly openly—said there must be a great change—things couldn't go on as they did now, there was a young generation to be reckoned with, active, educated, intelligent, and they must have their say—that when the uprising came there would be a Revolution such as Europe had never seen. I wonder.
After dinner we went to the Hermitage, the great public gardens. They are pretty enough, large, with trees and bosquets, and every variety of amusement—theatres, concerts, dancing, and even conjurors. Some shepherds from the Wladimir Government with long yellow cloaks and high hats were playing a sort of reed pipe, curious enough. At last I heard some of the Russian national songs—a quartette was singing them in one of the theatres. They are very pretty, monotonous, with an undercurrent of sadness. They sang very true, and the voices are rich, not at all the thin, high northern voice that one expected to hear. We stayed there so long, looking at the various things, that we didn't get home until 12.30—much the latest entertainment I have been to in Moscow, except the Palace ball, where the supper of course prolonged the festivities.
Monday, June 11th.
It was so warm to-day and I had so much to do with the trunks—separating the things—that I only went out after tea, and of course did a little more shopping. I wanted some photographs and also some music—however Benckendorff said he would see about that for me. We dined quite alone with the Embassy—a good dinner perfectly served, tho' Lhermite leaves to-morrow. He came up to get his last instructions from W. while we were having tea. His experiences are most amusing—he says he has learnt a great deal of the language and the Russian ways of doing business, and if ever he comes back he will know how to take care of himself. He became quite excited at remembering various occasions when he had been "roulé."
After dinner W. and I went for a last drive, to look at the Kremlin by moonlight—and beautiful it was—the sky was so blue one could almost see it like the Italian summer sky, and all the great white buildings and towers stood out gloriously. The great church of St. Basile was extraordinary. The colours, pink, green, red, yellow, all so vivid that even at night one quite made them out. It is a mass of towers, domes, and cupolas, every one different in shape, work, and colour. It was planned and executed by an Italian architect, and the story is that the Czar (of the epoch) was so pleased, and at the same time so afraid he might make another like it, that he had his eyes put out. It was curiously dark and quiet inside—scarcely any light; here and there a glimmer high up in one of the Palace rooms. We met two or three carriages with colleagues driving about in the moonlight like ourselves. The river, too, looked beautiful from the terrace—a broad silver band with moonlight full upon it. I took a last look at the black Madonna in the gateway, and the little guard of Cossacks. I shall often think of that last night in the Kremlin when I have returned to civilization and modern life.
I will send this off by to-morrow's courier. My next letter will be from Petersburg. My little boudoir still looks very nice. The little Russian maid is rather sad, and has been in and out 20 times, lighting candles, opening and shutting doors and windows, and keeping up a stream of conversation which I can't possibly understand, though the maids say they do. W. is deep in last despatches, and has departed to his own quarters. I haven't learnt any Russian, which I think is rather weak on my part. I thought I would have some lessons at first, but I don't think I could have learnt much in two weeks. Lagrené was discouraging—says he knows very little, and his mother is a Russian.
