Читать книгу The Tsar's Window - Lucy Hamilton Hooper - Страница 8

Table of Contents

DORRIS'S JOURNAL.

December 15.

I HAVE always thought it a most foolish thing to keep a journal,—a habit worthy only of a school-girl; yet here I am writing as busily in mine as though it were an act of remarkable wisdom. One thing I can say in its favor,—it is a wonderful safeguard. Having confided thoughts and feelings to this faithful friend, I long for no other confidant, and my most insane ideas are safe from discovery so long as the lock of my book remains good. It seems to me that in the future I shall be very glad to refresh my memory by reading over these pages, and perhaps to entertain my friends with extracts. I am writing with a view to that. All things considered, I must confess that my prejudice against diaries was a foolish one; I dare say I have others quite as foolish, but if time only cures me of them as effectually as it has of this, I shall be satisfied.

Many things have happened since I wrote last. Most important of all is Judith's arrival. Finding that she was to start last Monday with some friends, Alice proposed that Judith should stay at her house until we could decide upon an apartment and get settled. So Alice, ​Tom, and Nicolas met her at the station, while Grace and I waited impatiently in Alice's library, where the lamp with its crimson shade made us both look flushed and anxious.

"I am almost sorry we promised to stay and dine," said Grace. "Judith will probably be tired; I am sure we were when we got here. How badly this dress wears!" stroking her silk sleeve thoughtfully.

I was engrossed in imagining what my cousin would be like, and whether she would be a pleasant addition to our party or otherwise.

"Tom tells me," Grace went on after a pause, "that he has found at last an apartment which will exactly suit us."

"Did he look at it himself?" I asked. "You know he thought the palace, with three drawing-rooms, library, dining-room, breakfast-room, banqueting-hall, ball-room, and two kitchens, was just the thing for us."

We both laughed, and Grace responded. "Yes, and such bedrooms that none of us would have consented to sleep in them! I wonder why all the houses we have examined have such miserable bedrooms. They don't look as if they had been built for sleeping-rooms at all, but are simply used for that purpose because one must sleep somewhere."

"Those were old houses. Alice says there are comfortable bedrooms in the modern ones."

"I wish we could find a modern one then," sighed Grace. "It is such a stupid way they have of pasting up a bit of blank white paper in the window, when ​rooms are to be let. I know we don't discover half the vacant ones that are to be had. Why don't they advertise in large letters, as we do at home? And this fashion of living on the second floor is very uncomfortable: it is tiresome to go up stairs so often. I am sure," she went on, without awaiting a response from me, "that the servants will cheat us abominably when we begin housekeeping."

"Grace! Grace!" I cried, "don't paint everything in such dark colors."

She smiled faintly, and left me to my own thoughts for a few minutes. Then I heard a carriage stop, heard the Suisse (I wonder why he is called the Suisse when he is always a Russian) run out, open the front door, and ring the bell which summons the servant to the door of Alice's apartment. Presently they were in the room, and Grace and I were kissing Judith, and declaring she had changed so that we should not have recognized her.

She is changed, but for the better in every respect. I had plenty of time to observe her at dinner, and I think she is the loveliest girl that I ever saw. I wonder what it is that constitutes her charm. Her figure is round and graceful, but not remarkable; her head is well shaped, but the masses of yellow hair are too heavy for it; her eyes are dark-blue, but not particularly large or brilliant; her black lashes are neither long nor curling; and her nose certainly turns up. The only undeniable beauties she has are her teeth and her complexion, which is more like a rose-leaf than any skin I ever saw. Perhaps ​fascinating would express her more correctly than beautiful. When she laughs she is irresistible. I fell in love with her that first evening, and could do nothing but sit and look at her.

In the morning Grace and I insisted upon taking a drive in one of the peculiar sledges which are always standing about the hotel entrance. The sleigh, like all Russian sleighs, was very low,—the seat nearly on the ground, and extremely narrow, so that when a lady and gentleman drive together the latter is expected to put his arm round his companion to keep her from falling out. The driver is crowded into a tiny seat in front, and one of his feet, enveloped in a long white felt boot, swings gracefully outside, whether to serve as a brake, or because there is not room for it inside, I have been unable to discover. These drivers all have the traditional long beard and hair. They wear dark-blue coats, plaited into the waist, lined with sheepskin, and buttoned up on one side. Besides the sheepskin lining, many of the pelisses are wadded; this gives, even to the thinnest of the wearers, a rotund appearance. They also wear large round caps, pulled down on the back of their neck, covering the ears, and trimmed with bands of fur. The light felt boots, of which I have spoken, complete the costume of the istvostchik.

The morning was crisp and cold, and the sunlight rather pale. We crowded behind our fat old istvostchik, and were fastened in by the robe, which was buckled to the back of the seat. The seats have no sides; and, while the obliging hotel porter was buckling us in, and ​giving directions to our driver, Grace began to exclaim, "I cannot go! I shall fall out!" The hotel clerk, the porter, Tom, and two or three waiters stood there, trying to reassure her; and the horse, impatient to start, kept giving little jumps, at each repetition of which she renewed her outcries.

The seat was very narrow: I was not without certain misgivings myself. At last our fears were somewhat calmed; and, with many injunctions from us to the porter, and from him to the driver, to go slowly and be careful of the corners, we started, having learned the Russian for "Go home."

It seemed a perilous situation when we reached the Nevsky Prospect, where sledges were flying past us in all directions. Grace hung tightly to the driver's belt, calling out at intervals, "Prenez garde!" which, as the fellow understood no language but his own, caused him to grin, shake his head, and continue. He was very careful, and did not remonstrate with Grace, though I thought she would end by stopping his breath altogether, she clutched his belt so wildly.

We turned into the Quay, which is the street where Alice lives. It was bitterly cold; the corners were icy, and we slipped about uncomfortably. Our sledge was so low that the horses' mouths behind us were unpleasantly near our ears; but, fortunately, the Russian animals are kind, and the horses seldom bite.

I should not have been surprised to have been struck in the back with a pole, at any time. I saw that most of the people who were riding in sledges exercised their ​hands continually,—now catching the pole of another equipage and turning it aside, now pushing away the face of a too familiar horse. Tears of laughter were in our eyes when we reached the hotel once more, and dismissed our istvostchik. "I prefer to have the whole sledge to myself next time," said Grace.

December 18.

I was sitting with Judith and Alice over their late breakfast this morning, when Grace came in, full of excitement, and begged us to come at once and look at the apartment which Tom had almost decided to take.

"I have ordered the sledge at two," said Alice, consulting her watch. "It is now twelve. You can wait very well until then."

"I suppose so," assented Grace reluctantly.

So we went into the library, where there was a cheerful wood-fire.

"What a pretty room this is!" said Judith. "I like that screen so much," pointing to one of carved wood, with ivy and other vines planted beneath, and running over it. "What a quantity of screens you have in this house!"

"It is a Russian fashion," responded Alice. "I don't believe there is a bed in Russia that has not a screen round it."

A servant appeared at the door, and announced something, which proved to be a visitor.

"Oh, Mr. Thurber!" exclaimed Alice, as a tall, very erect Englishman entered the room. "You have come ​at exactly the right moment. I want you to know my sisters."

He bowed stiffly in response to her introduction. He was slightly bald, and made use of one eye-glass. I have discovered that he is younger than he looks; that he rarely laughs, and when he does there is a peculiar wrinkle in his nose, which I have learned to watch for with fresh interest every time anything amusing is said. He talks well, and seems to be quite unprejudiced,—for an Englishman. Either he knows a great deal about most subjects, or he makes a good show of a small amount of knowledge. I have seen people who did that. Certainly, I have not heard Mr. Thurber confess his ignorance on any subject. He was talking to me about pictures, when Judith quietly seated herself in a window, and looked out, leaving us to admire the smooth coils of yellow hair on the back of her head.

Mr. Thurber looked at her several times, as if he meant to speak to her. Finally he said, "I fear you will take cold in that window."

Judith smiled at him sweetly over her shoulder, while she answered, "I never take cold."

He pursued the subject as if she had said nothing. "The Russians never sit near a window. Will you take this chair?" drawing forward an arm-chair as he spoke.

Judith changed her seat with apparent reluctance. "Let us go somewhere," she said. "You and Dorris have certainly discussed Ruysdaal's sky to your hearts' ​content. Let us go on an excursion. I have seen so few of the sights of the city."

"You forget," Grace suggested, "that we have to go to the new apartment when the sledge comes."

"Why don't you take Mr. Thurber there with you?" asked Alice. "He knows a vast deal about apartments," laughing. "He helped us to select this one, four years ago. Then he will take you to the American store, which you really ought to see. Won't you, Mr. Thurber?"

Our new acquaintance professed himself ready to be made useful or agreeable in any way, and we, in return, uttered all the polite speeches which were necessary.

"But why should we go to the American shop?" I remonstrated. "We did not come to Russia to see American things."

"It will remind you so pleasantly of your own country," Mr. Thurber exclaimed, with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eye.

"I don't know that I care to be reminded of my own country."

My objections were unheeded, however; and the sledge being announced soon after, Grace and I took the back seat, Judith and our English friend placed themselves opposite, the footman jumped up on the step behind, and we started.

It took us but a few minutes to reach the house on the Nevsky Prospect, where we found Tom looking proudly around him, as though he already owned the property.

​It seemed odd to discuss domestic affairs before an entire stranger like Mr. Thurber, but it certainly made us quickly acquainted. Tom treated him as if they had been intimate friends for years. We went slowly through the apartment, discovering many advantages over other houses which we had seen. I was particularly pleased with two tall porcelain stoves, like Chinese pagodas, in the drawing-room.

When we returned to the ante-room, Tom pointed out with triumph a little winding staircase, which was concealed from view by a curtain. "You would never have discovered that, would you?"

"Not unless we had looked behind the curtain," I replied.

We ascended the stairs, and found two large, low rooms.

"These bedrooms will do for us," said Tom.

"I never will sleep up in this lonely spot," Grace cried, with a shiver.

I added my protest. "I prefer the room down stairs, which opens out of the butler's pantry."

Judith, however, declared that nothing would please her more than to occupy one of these.

Tom looked despondent for a moment; then his face brightened. He made us all follow him to the ball-room down stairs. "The old lady who lived here used this for her bedroom," he said, looking at Grace doubtfully. The room is forty feet long, and contains a balcony for the orchestra, with some ghostly white statues in it. Grace and I exchanged a glance of amusement.

​Tom appealed to Mr. Thurber, showing him how, by the aid of screens and curtains, one could make quite a pretty series of rooms out of it. The latter assented, and even made some suggestions himself; and Grace finally said, in a resigned voice,—

"As we cannot do any better, I am willing to endure some discomforts; but I warn you, Tom, that you will have to search that balcony every night, for I am sure burglars could conceal themselves there."

"One never hears of burglars here," Mr. Thurber remarked consolingly.

"What is this?" I suddenly exclaimed, examining a small iron door in the wall. "A safe, perhaps." They all crowded about me, and gazed at the mysterious door.

"Have n't you seen those stoves before?" our English friend inquired. "If you search you will discover them all through the houses here. They impart warmth to the walls, and in that way keep the temperature even. The system of heating in Russia is the most perfect in the world. The double windows are put in and sealed in October, and fires are lighted early in that month, and are kept burning all winter."

"I see that you can tell me exactly what I want to know," said Tom, taking our new friend aside and talking to him in a confidential way, while Judith tried the piano, which was standing in the large drawing-room, and Grace blew the dust off some alabaster vases.

"Do you suppose," said she, tapping a table with a lapis-lazuli top, "that all these ornaments go with the furniture?"

​"Tom said so."

"Well," drawing a long breath, "I wish we could find a furnished house to rent in New York with such beautiful things in it, and so reasonable in price."

"If we are going anywhere else," I ventured meekly, "we had better start at once, or it will be dark."

Tom refused to be torn away; but the rest of us got into the sledge again, and were driven rapidly off.

"How fat the coachmen all look," exclaimed Judith; "and how pretty it is to see them hold the bright-colored reins at arm's length, as if it required their whole strength to keep the horses from running away!"

"It is a singular fact," said Mr. Thurber, "that, although they drive at such a break-neck pace, they seldom use a whip."

"That is true," I cried. "I have never seen a whip used since I have been here."

Judith was looking over my head, far down the Nevsky. "This must be a troika!" she exclaimed, and we all turned to look at the curious vehicle which was approaching us.

There were three horses abreast, and the middle one was trotting briskly, while the others galloped. The harness had bells hanging to it, and was nearly covered with silver. The driver wore a light-blue velvet cap, three-cornered and silver-trimmed; and his pelisse was dark-blue, with silver ornaments. He had on a sky-blue belt, and the reins were of the same color. The sleigh, when it passed us, appeared very broad; in fact, there were three people sitting comfortably together on the back seat.

​"Oh, how pretty, and how comfortable it looks!"

"You would be surprised to see how fast those horses go when they get into the country," said Mr. Thurber. "This is a troika belonging to a gentleman here in the city, as you may know by the livery. The public troikas are driven by men in the regular istvostchik's dress."

"What do you call this?" I inquired, as we turned out of the Nevsky, and met a pair of horses coming by with a free, airy swing, which was particularly appropriate to the scene.

"That is pristiaka," said our new friend. One horse was trotting, with his head proudly raised, as if he felt that the eyes of the world were upon him; the other was attached by a single rein at the side, and cantered along, with his neck arched and his head turned out. One looked proud and conscious, the other playful and independent. Over the dasher and the horses' backs was spread a colored silk netting, the heavy tassels at the corners dragging in the snow, as we see them on all the private sledges here.

By this time we had reached the Neva, which looked like a great field of snow. We crossed on the ice to Vasili Ostrof, and drew up at the Yankee store. It was well worth a visit, we decided, if only to mark the contrast between the Tsar's capital and a New England village. One side of the room was filled with clocks, which were ticking as only American clocks can tick. These clocks, with lead pencils and canned goods, seemed to be the chief stock in trade. Mr. Thurber ​asked the proprietor, in his stiffest manner, if these were all "Yankee notions."

"American inventions, sir,—yes, certainly!" was the reply; and our English friend subsided.

We took our departure, promising to call again when we began housekeeping.

During the day we had the most glorious sunshine I ever saw; the sky was as blue as an Italian sky. As we crossed the river on our return, all the trees in the Summer Garden were glistening like diamonds; each branch, covered with ice, stood out distinctly against the blue. What are diamonds and turquoises, after such a sight as that? In the west the sun was setting in a flaming glory of orange and red, and opposite the moon was rising in calm beauty. We held our breath while we looked. It lasted only a few minutes: then the sun dropped below the horizon; and shortly after the scene became so gray and cold that we shivered, and buried our chins in the capacious fur collars about our necks. The collars, caps, and beards of the istvostchiks whom we met were white with frost, and all the horses looked gray. St. Isaac's golden dome was the only warm spot in the view.

The bells began to ring for vespers, as we drew near home. They are so wonderfully soft and sweet that one could imagine they were ringing in heaven.

St. Isaac's was covered with frost, except the dome. It looked smaller to me than it is by actual measurement.

"It is the most beautiful church in the world," ​murmured Mr. Thurber, as we stopped at one corner of the great square which surrounds it, and enjoyed the full effect of the building, shining with its many-colored marbles, its bronzes, its golden dome and crosses, and its monoliths of smooth Finland granite. These great columns at each entrance, fifty-two feet high, impress me more than any other part of the church.

"Have you been inside?" asked our English friend; and when we answered in the negative, he proposed taking a look at it.

We ascended the lofty steps, passed the massive carved bronze doors, and I found myself in a large, bare space, dimly lighted by a few candles. My disappointment was almost painful. I made no remark; and, as my eyes grew more accustomed to the obscurity, I became conscious of various prostrate figures about me, and some women holding up little children to kiss a holy picture.

"That, I suppose, is an icon," whispered Judith, pointing to a picture of the Virgin and Child, the head and hands painted, the dress simulated by means of layers of gold. Flaming jewels were hung about it, and the whole was covered with glass and enclosed in a frame.

"Nearly all the saints in the calendar are represented here by icons," remarked Mr. Thurber. "These candles are kept burning before them always, to typify the soul, which never dies. Have you not seen icons in the houses?"

Judith shook her head. "I have been in no house, except Alice's."

​"You will find them in every peasant's hut," he continued; "and any one who enters salutes the icon before any member of the family. The jewels in some of these are magnificent,"—moving nearer to one as he spoke.

"What a pity it is," I exclaimed, "that the church is not better lighted, so that the beauty and richness of it might strike the observer at once, instead of his being obliged to search for them."

For, little by little, new glories had revealed themselves to me. I stood under the great, dusky dome, and looked up at the masses of gold, bronze, and painting, which at first were merely vague shadows, but gradually made themselves visible, though the painting in the top, by Bruloff, was lost in the distance.

A man in uniform came up to us, and began to tell us in French to observe the iconastase at the east end. If there is any object in this world which is odious, it is a commissionnaire. He rattled off his lesson, telling us that the bread and wine were kept behind that screen; and when we would have made our way round to the back of it, he stopped us politely, saying that women were not allowed to penetrate into that sanctum sanctorum. So we had to be contented with a survey from the front. Doors of silver-gilt arabesque, in open-work, with mosaic pictures, and columns of malachite and lapis-lazuli compose the lower part. Above there is a mass of jasper, agate, porphyry, bronze, malachite, and painting.

"It is gorgeously beautiful," I sighed, "but if we could only have seen the back of it!"

​My companions laughed, and we strolled out of the church. The moonlight lent to the exterior a new and gentler beauty.

Mr. Thurber bade us farewell, saying he preferred to walk home. He disappeared into the shadow, and we returned to our hotel.