Читать книгу One Year at the Russian Court: 1904-1905 - Renée Gaudin de Villaine Maud - Страница 7

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THE first great important ceremony which I attended was the funeral of General Obroutcheff, a great dignitary of the Empire.

The ceremony took place at La Laure, which is the ecclesiastical quarter of Petrograd and is an enormous monastery surrounded by walls and ditches full of water, a kind of fortified place—in fact, a town.

It contains a large cemetery, beautiful gardens and no less than seven churches. The monks, of whom there are a great number, wear long and very wide black cassocks with a sort of high hat widening toward the top. All of them let their hair and often their beards grow long; with some the hair reaches to the waist and is an object of great care. At night, the monks stand one behind the other plaiting each other’s hair, which is generally curled and waved.

The popes are the secular and parish priests, and are married. Popes are in a certain degree a race of people apart; their children intermarry, the sons often become popes themselves. They are not generally much esteemed and the common saying is: “Pope, son of a dog!” As I have said, a pope can enter the married state, but only once in a life-time.

The police cordon was drawn as tight as possible. Quite close to us was the officer of the police with a sullen look and a livid complexion who took note of every one.

Presently the remainder of the guests arrived and the funeral procession itself appeared, the uniforms were superb and the coup d’œil a magnificent one.

All the Grand Dukes were there, amongst whom I recognized Alexis, George, Oldenburg, and the Court dignitaries, including my uncle Prince Cherwachidze, in full uniform, all covered with gold, the various Ambassadors, wearing only Russian decorations on this occasion, but such a profusion of them!

The Emperor and his brother—then the heir to the throne, for the Tzarevitch was not born—with the Empress-Dowager entered the church, after the celebration of Mass, for the committal service and took up their positions quite close to me, to the right of the Sanctuary, so close indeed that stretching out my hand I could have touched them.

On the arrival of the Emperor and Empress at the Church the whole congregation bowed as the Imperial pair passed to their seats. There they were duly incensed, the Tzar’s brother only receiving one incensing and accordingly only gave one inclination.

The Emperor appeared very shy and nervous with a somewhat frightened expression. The Empress-Dowager is short and dark, she has nothing of the beauty of her sister, Queen Alexandra. The Tzar’s brother is tall and fair with very blue eyes. He is a great sportsman and so strong that he can lift Prince Cherwachidze up as easily as a feather. He was very popular I believe.

The singing was wonderful, although unaccompanied by musical instruments as is customary in the Russian Church. I was carried away by it. The priests’ vestments were incomparably rich, all white and gold—no trace of black anywhere. It is the custom of the Greek Church for even funeral hearses to be gilded or silvered, but never black as with us. It is also a rule that the corpse should be exposed in an open coffin during the religious ceremony, but in the case of the defunct general, who had died at his wife’s home in France—she being French—this form was dispensed with.

That night, on our return to Peterhof I accompanied my Aunt Cherwachidze to a dinner given at Michaelovka by Grand Duke Michael-Michaelovitch, uncle of the Tzar. At this dinner were present Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, with her daughter Princess Cecilie, now Crown Princess of Prussia, the Grand Duchess Xenia, sister of the Emperor, and others.

The previous evening I had dined with my friends the Saint-Pairs at the famous Ernest Restaurant on the Islands, the other guests including Prince and Princess Kotchoubey, the Prince has a very Turkish appearance and looks extremely flighty, while the Princess possesses a most wonderful figure, but is very made up with her hair dyed gold; she has fine eyes but they lack lustre; the Swedish Minister and Countess Gyldenstolpe, who since then they have been to Paris many years in the same capacity, where I have seen a good deal of them, Countess Gyldenstolpe being a Miss Plunkett, a daughter of a former English Ambassador, both very distinguished looking and charming. Monsieur Lefèvre-Pontalis, Vicomte et Vicomtesse de Guichen and Vicomte de Salignac-Fénelon, all of the French Embassy, made up the party, which took place in a huge recess on the first floor overlooking the restaurant and just opposite the Rumanian orchestra which was playing gaily.

The table was beautifully decorated with pink roses and ilex and lighted by a profusion of prettily-shaded candles and electric lamps.

This was my first large dinner-party in Petrograd, which was to be followed so often by others. I enjoyed it thoroughly.

I returned to Petrograd a few days later with Princess Lise Bagration-Moncransky—a great friend of my Aunt Cherwachidze—then staying with us. After an excellent lunch at the Hôtel de l’Europe, then the smartest in Petrograd, he went off to see a Red Cross train on the point of leaving for Manchuria, everybody being interested at that time in the poignant question of the Russo-Japanese war—especially so, as we only received news from the war zone by way of Japan I was told. Princess Obolensky did the honours of her hospital train, showing us all the details, which were very complete.

The train was entirely painted in white with huge red crosses at intervals. What a good target it would have been for the modern German marksman!

It was immensely long, being able to accommodate 300 people, including doctors, sisters of charity, and hospital attendants, and there was room for twenty-five officers. The medical corps were most comfortably installed, their study being so cosy—the writing-tables covered with green baize—so suitably furnished; charming little holy images with lamps burning in front of them were in every compartment.

The sisters of charity slept two in each room, their beds folded up as in ordinary “sleepers”—simplicity was the order of the day in this department. But the men were thoroughly spoilt, having a club room all to themselves, a fact which often makes me exclaim: “On voit bien que le Créateur était un homme.”

There were four carriages set aside for slightly wounded cases, and I thought to myself the poor soldiers would suffer from being overcrowded—the beds being so close together. On each bed were a pair of leather slippers, a pair of socks and a grey woollen shirt. Crutches were placed at intervals for the use of convalescents.

Then followed the quarters for the serious cases with very fine mosquito nets in front of each window. The train was bomb proof, but I noticed the absence of iron shutters or any shutters at all, which struck me as being a great omission. These cases would enjoy more space and their beds could be easily removed as they were only stretchers.

There were two stories to this part of the train—quite like a house on wheels—icons and pious books were in great profusion. There were also a pharmacy and an operating room well stocked with every modern appliance.

The officers’ beds were entirely covered with white mosquito nets and there were also head nets. We were shown the place where the linen was washed and disinfected. No money seemed to have been spared in the installation of this luxurious train, and I cannot help wondering what has been its destiny and how many poor suffering creatures it helped towards the alleviation of their pains.

The Hun takes as much pleasure in destroying the Red Cross as he does in finishing off the wounded on the battlefield; and I can only hope those who fought and died in 1904 did not encounter the same barbarous treatment at the hands of their enemies as those brave men who are in deadly contest now with the disciples of Kultur.

I was seized with a great desire to accompany Madame Narischkine, a friend of my Aunt de Nicolay, to Irkoutz, where she intended to go in order to nurse convalescents after her cure at the Eaux-Bonnes in France—Russians are always taking cures and they go across Europe as easily as we do from London to Brighton. She was already a middle-aged woman, but very refined-looking. There was only one thing about her which rather spoilt her appearance, and that was that her fingers were very much stained with tobacco, and her teeth, too, from smoking cigarettes. In this she merely followed the example of the majority of Russian ladies, amongst whom smoking often becomes a real passion.

I spent my summer therefore amongst the great ones of the earth.

One day we went to a big luncheon-party at the Palace in honour of the birthday of the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria. It seems strange now to think of having celebrated that event.

Grand Duchess Xenia and the Grand Duke, her husband, came to see my aunt. I admired her charming simplicity, she took a snapshot of my aunt with her son and myself and afterwards sent us each a copy accompanied by a charming little note.

The Grand Duchesses were always dressed as simply as possible, tailor-made dresses and small sailor-hats; so much so, that it really seemed to be a uniform.

These sailor-hats appeared to me as being rather rétrograde for the sensible craze for these generally becoming hats had been for some time no longer the fashion in France, and to wear one would have seemed very démodé.

That summer Plehve, the Minister, was the victim of a bomb explosion while crossing the bridge opposite the Warsaw station in his carriage, on his way to Peterhof from Petrograd, where he was going to present his usual report to the Tzar; and this, in spite of the tremendous speed at which the horses were going, for his life was always in danger, as well as that of every one in the government and about the Court at that time. We were to have travelled by the same train and only changed our mind at the last minute.

His death made a great impression, although he was thoroughly detested by all parties, but the Tzar lost in him a strong pillar of autocratic rule. The debris of his carriage were blown up as high as the fourth floor of the neighbouring houses, and this explosion caused the death of, at least, twenty other persons—the unfortunate Minister being literally blown to atoms and the assassin himself injured.

A young and charming officer whom my aunt knew very well was killed; and another friend of hers whilst driving in his carriage 100 yards away from the scene of the outrage was dazed by the explosion, the coachman falling on to his lap and the horse being thrown down. Another officer became deaf, so terrific was the report of the bursting of the infernal machine.

A few minutes later we passed the actual spot on our way to the station, and saw the remains of the late Minister’s carriage strewn all over the road.

Witte succeeded Plehve; he had the reputation of being clever and strong but also of being utterly unscrupulous and untrustworthy. He was sent to America to discuss the peace terms of the Russo-Japanese war. Nearly every one thought he was not a man to fulfil such an important mission, for he inspired very little confidence. However, on his return, he was made a Count. He was a friend of the Kaiser and demonstrated this feeling too well before his end.

On Sundays I sometimes went to Mass at Cronstadt, the great naval fortress which should protect Petrograd from an attack by sea—may it now make good its raison d’être! is my most humble prayer, October 26th, 1917—in a very fine steamer which only took half an hour to do the crossing from the mainland, and was always crowded with people and laden with horses and carriages.

Cronstadt is by no means a pretty town in spite of its wide streets, and evidently the City Fathers were not a very energetic body as the walls of the theatre which was completely gutted by fire thirty years previously were still standing in their ruined state, while some of the actual panes of glass were still to be seen in their broken window frames, flapping in the wind.

The Catholic church is very large. I noticed how many of the shops bore French and German names, and not merely German names but also a great number of inscriptions, denoting particular wares, Cronstadt being a very commercial city and probably seething with German spies.

The place has distinguished itself lately by establishing itself as a separate Republic with the notorious Lenin as president—which state of affairs, however, was short lived.

A somewhat curious feature in certain places is that the pavements, instead of being composed of flags of stone or brick, are made of small pierced iron squares. The great solemn masses of the men-of-war lying at anchor in the harbour seemed to be sleeping on the still waters—unconscious as yet of the fearful doom that awaited so many of them in the Sea of Japan.

I was interested watching a young naval officer from a pinnace trying to conceal from public view beneath his cloak a superb bouquet of bright red flowers, evidently the symbol of the very ardent love he bore ashore.

The sentinels apparently considered I was too long stationary in one place, as they began to look me up and down with suspicion, which amused me very much.

A lovely walk bordered by a number of weeping willows runs for a long distance by the sea into which they dip their branches.

At that tune, there was living at Cronstadt an Orthodox priest, Father John of Cronstadt. He possessed a great personality, and was very well known in Russia. People, in some instances, positively worshipped him, giving him a reputation for working miracles, also of being a very holy man and even a prophet.

Once I ran after a war hero and pulled him by his sleeve, whereupon he turned round and gave me such a saucy look! But, showing my photographic apparatus, I made him understand that I only wanted to take his photograph. He beamed all over and I placed next to him another hero. They were both survivors of the glorious Koreitz which not long before perished in the fatal Sea of Japan.

Then, I was told of a church which was nearer to us; so one Sunday I determined to go there, but, to my horror, I suddenly found myself in the courtyard of some military barracks where there was a chapel—but not mine!

There I was, I and my coucouchka or little cab, surrounded by a double row of soldier giants, but luckily being able to mutter a few words in Russian a friendly policeman put me on the right road.

We flew along, passing woods, bridges, and a large palace which was used for the Red Cross work.

I was told that the preceding winter, at The Hermitage, where the Empress often came to work, she had a nigger who helped her to pull out the bastings from her sewing.

At last I arrived at my destination and driving up to a charming little church saw advancing towards me a smart-looking officer, a great friend of Uncle Cherwachidze, Count Beckendorff, brother of the late Russian Ambassador in London, and holding an important post at Court. He was carrying an enormous prayerbook, almost as big as himself.

I went several times to the races at Crasnoë-Celo, which I will refrain from giving a description of, as Count Tolstoi’s account in his marvellous novel, Anna Karenina, gives one the best idea of this exclusively military meeting.