We dined very badly at a restaurant we had been told of on the sea, and took the 10 o'clock boat home. The return was enchanting—a beautiful starlight night, and fresh, soft breeze. I had a nice talk with Mdme. Jaurès, who told me a good deal of Russian ways and life. I think she is glad to go back to France, and "au fond" there are very few French women who care to live abroad altogether. After three or four years they get homesick for their own country. She asked me if I was never homesick for America—but I told her I had been so long away, and my life had been such a full one that I sometimes asked myself was I the same little girl that used to run wild in the country at home with a donkey cart and a big Newfoundland dog. Those years seem so long ago the memory is getting duller. Sometimes I shut my eyes and see quite well the big white house with the piazzas, and the climbing roses, the cherry trees, and the white gate with the sharp turn, and the ditch where we upset so often in the sleighs—all the children tumbling out into the snow drift, and nobody minding.
We got home at 11.30 and found letters, which we read quite easily at the window. It is a wonderful light—no one ever seems to think of going to bed.
This morning we have been again at the Hermitage to finish the pictures. Decidedly the Rembrandts are the gems of the collection. There was one old man in a sort of fur robe and cap, with a wrinkled yellow face, whose eyes seemed quite alive, and followed us all round the room. We left W. with his medals and a sort of clerk attached to the Cabinet des Médailles. It seems they never leave anybody alone in the room with the medals. W. is delighted, he has found some rare coins he had never seen, and he means to have a good day's work, will not come back to breakfast with us.
Our young man, Baron Leeven, is always with us, and meets us at the Winter Palace this afternoon to show us the rooms. Our Mission is dwindling; Fayet went off this morning, Pittié and Calmon go Monday. Richard remains to make the journey with us to Stockholm by sea. We have just come in from a pleasant dinner at the Jaurès'. The Embassy is small, but very well arranged, and we had a very good, handsome dinner. All the personnel of the Embassy, Vannutelli and his two auditeurs, and the French Consul and his wife. Admiral Jaurès was very hospitable and en train—all sailors are, I wonder why? The officers of high rank must have so many lonely hours, and are such swells on their ships, where no one can associate much with them, that one would think it would make them rather silent and reserved from long habit—but it is quite the contrary. In all nations sailors are generally cultivated, and good talkers.
We shall become quite intimate with Vannutelli. We met him at the Winter Palace this afternoon, and went all about together. I can't say I found it very interesting. The rooms are handsome—high, generally white, with quantities of pictures—the portraits, some very old ones, interesting—the large modern pictures of battles by sea and land less so. I like very much the pictures of Peter the Great. He has a keen, striking face, must have had splendid eyes, very intelligent, in some of the portraits almost inspired, hard, not cruel. They were very anxious to show us the rooms where the late Emperor died, but there had been some mistake, and the man who has charge of the room could not be found, nor the key either. I was very glad (not that I should have gone in), for they said it was a horrid sight—the camp-bed and even his clothes left as they were, thick with blood. He was carried there directly after the attentat, and died on the little camp-bed. What I liked best was the splendid view again of the Neva from the windows of the ballroom. It looked a beautiful blue sea, the waves dancing in the afternoon light, and all the white sails standing out well in the sun. The two young men who were with us were most amusing. They showed us all the pictures in detail except those concerning the Grande Armée and the disastrous retreat. We were hurried past them, "rien de très intéressant, Madame—pas la peine de s'arrêter——."
Sunday, June 17th.
This morning we went to the French Protestant Church—a large room with white walls, and benches. There were very few people, but they tell us it is fairly full in winter. There is a large French colony—shopkeepers, theatre people, etc., and a great many Protestants. The Pasteur preached a very fair, sensible sermon.
After breakfast we had some visitors—Sir Edward Thornton, who wants us to dine one night; and a nice man, a Russian (whose name I never knew), but who told us to come to this hotel in which he is interested, and who has offered to go shopping with us one day, and show us the best fur-shops. We went for a drive in the afternoon to the Park Catherine, where a sort of fête populaire was going on. There were a great many people, and a great many policemen (as there always are here), one would think they lived in perpetual fear of an émeute, and yet the people all looked so subdued and repressed—I haven't seen one fierce face. The quantity of moujiks in their red shirts made a good effect of colour, but the women are not attractive, nor pretty. All are wrapped up in shawls, with a handkerchief over their heads.
We had a pleasant dinner at the Hunts' (United States Legation), all their people, including of course George Wurts, whom I was very pleased to see again—Admiral Baldwin and his two Aides-de-camp Rogers and Paul, and M. et Mdme. de Struve. They are just going to America—he is named Minister there. They have been in Japan, and didn't seem very keen about America. I should think they would like it better than Japan, but I believe he hoped for some post in Europe. She was very amusing, and from her account life in Japan must still be very primitive.
We came away early—about 10.30—and have been poring over guide-books ever since, making out our journey, always at the window (11 o'clock at night, and with no lamps).