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.
To H. L. K.
Hotel Demouth, Petersburg,
Jeudi, 14 Juin, 1883.
We arrived here last night at 12.30. The journey was comfortable enough, but long—the Russian trains do not go a terrifying pace. We left Moscow at 9.30, and the Maison Klein a little before 9. The départ was quite imposing—all the personnel drawn up at the foot of the stairs, Lhermite and the three coachmen outside at the door, and a regiment of understrappers of all kinds. The little Russian maid was weeping and kissing my skirts. The faithful Benckendorff accompanied us to the station and saw us safely deposited in our wagon-salon—each Ambassador had one and a smaller one for the suite. Two Chamberlains, not attired in velvet and gold lace this time,—I felt rather aggrieved at having ordinary mortals in plain clothes to look after us—were waiting at the station to see that everything was well done, and they went with us to Petersburg. There was a Mongole at the door of our wagon who appeared at intervals with tea, oranges, and much information of all kinds (in Russian). We had all our meals en route—breakfast at 11, dinner at 4.30, a nondescript sort of meal, half goûter, half supper, with cold fish, fowl, mayonnaise, etc., at 8—and a very pretty little tea at 10.30. We all partook of every meal—how we managed to eat chicken and mayonnaise at 8, having dined at 4.30, seems a mystery, but we did.
It was very hot at starting—the sun pouring down on the plains that are around Moscow—not an atom of shade, but there was a sharp shower about 2 which cooled the air. They tell us Petersburg too is very hot. The day passed quickly enough. Many of our colleagues came and paid us visits. The Nuncio sat a long time. He is most interesting, with that delightful, simple, easy Italian manner. He asked us a great deal about the religious ceremony the day of the Coronation. He had only arrived after that. He is very clever and sympathetic, ready to talk about anything, and so moderate in his views. I think he would have a great success in Paris, where people love to discuss and analyze everything.
Our Spanish colleague also came and sat with us. It seems he wanted W. to come to his carriage and drink champagne and play cards (very high play too), but it was conveyed to him that these were not exactly M. Waddington's tastes. Rumour says he was naively surprised, and said, "Comment, il ne joue pas!—le pauvre homme!" They were certainly a very merry party—we heard roars of laughter every time the train stopped. If anyone was losing heavily he took it most cheerfully.
Our last little tea at 10.30 was really very pretty—several round tables very well arranged with flowers, tea, orangeade, and other drinks—cakes, petits fours, etc. (but no more solid food). W. struck and wouldn't get out, but Richard and I and the rest of the men were quite ready to see what was going on. Do you remember how I always loved getting out at all the buffets at no matter what time of night, when we used to go down to Italy every year? I think the buffet at Bologna with its "fricandeau de veau" is one of my most interesting souvenirs of travel (not from an artistic point of view).
The arrival at Petersburg was curious. It was quite light, and there were as many people at the station and in the streets as if it were 12 o'clock in the day. We read distinctly the names and numbers of the streets and the signs of the shops, and yet it wasn't altogether daylight—more like a late summer afternoon. We found very comfortable rooms here—a large salon with large bedrooms on either side, and a room next to me for Adelaïde. I was quite ready to go to bed—the heat and dust were trying, and yet it seemed funny to go to bed by daylight. They brought tea of course, but we really couldn't do any more, so I departed to my own room. There I quite lost the impression of daylight, as there were double, even triple curtains to all the windows.
This morning we slept late and breakfasted at 12.30, then W., Richard, and I went off in a carriage to the Hermitage (the great Museum). W. sent in his card to the Director of the Museum and also to the head of the Cabinet des Médailles, as he wants a week's work at the medals. It seems there is a splendid collection here. The gentlemen were very civil, and we made rendezvous for to-morrow, W. for the medals and Richard and I for the pictures. The Hermitage is an immense museum. We shall only be able to have an idea of what is in it. We walked through some of the rooms—Peter the Great's gallery, which is full of course of souvenirs—his clothes, arms, tools, furniture, horse stuffed, etc., and in another there were quantities of bibelots of all kinds, and presents given to Peter and Catherine II—a collection of snuff boxes, crystal flagons, and goblets (some with precious stones encrusted in the glass), jewelled belts and caps—most interesting.