I cared for the Foreign Office even less than for Diplomacy; and the only incident of interest I remember was one day when one of those toy snakes that you squeeze and shut up in a box, and which expand when released to an enormous size, and hurtle through the air with a scream, was circulated in the Office in a red box. Every department was taken in, in turn; and when it reached my department, I sent it up to the typists’ department, where it was opened by the head lady typist, a severe lady, who was so overcome that she at once applied for and received three weeks’ leave, as well as a letter of abject apology from myself.
I made up my mind to abandon Diplomacy and the Foreign Office as a career, to go to Russia, to study Russian thoroughly, and then to make the most of my knowledge later, and to use it as a means for doing something in literature; but before doing this, I applied to be put en disponibilité for six months, and I went back to Russia just after Christmas in 1904.
Count Benckendorff had been appointed Ambassador to London and had taken up his duties in January, 1903. All through the autumn of 1903, the political situation in the Far East had given rise to anxiety. Russia and Japan seemed to be drifting into war. The Russian Government apparently did not want to go to war, but nobody in it had a definite policy; and the strings were being pulled by various incompetent adventurers in the Far East. The Japanese took advantage of this and brought matters to a head.
Before I went to Russia, I saw Lord Currie and Lady Currie for the last time in London. Lord Currie had given up Diplomacy. He did not believe there would be war, nor did many people at the Foreign Office, but they based their belief on what they thought were the wishes of the Russian Government. They knew nothing of the more definite intentions of the Japanese, nor of the irresponsible factors among the Russians in the Far East.
I arrived at St. Petersburg just after Christmas.
CHAPTER XIV
RUSSIA AND MANCHURIA
When I arrived at St. Petersburg, the situation was regarded as grave, but people still did not believe in war. Sir Charles Scott, our Ambassador, had just left, or was just leaving; and Cecil Spring Rice was in charge at the Embassy. The large Court functions which were held at the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg, just after Christmas, were to take place: the Court concert and the State ball. The concert was held, and Chaliapine sang at it, but the State ball was put off. And never again was a State ball given in St. Petersburg. I had never seen St. Petersburg before. I was staying in the Fontanka, at Countess Shuvaloff’s house, and I was delighted by the crystal atmosphere, and the drives in open carriages; there was a little snow on the ground, but not enough for sledging.
People said there would be no war, and then we woke up one morning and heard the Japanese had attacked the Russian fleet at Port Arthur, and torpedoed the Retvizan. Constantine Benckendorff, Count Benckendorff’s eldest son, was on board the Retvizan when this happened; and I was told afterwards, that no orders had been given by the port authorities, that is to say, by Alexeieff, the Viceroy, to put out torpedo-nets, or to take any precautions, although the Viceroy had been warned that day of the probability of an attack. The morning we heard that war had been declared I remember seeing a cabman driving by himself down the quays and nodding his head and repeating to himself: “War! war!” (“Voinà! voinà!”). It was like, on a smaller scale, the days of August 1914. The crowds in the street were enthusiastic. Officers were carried in triumph in the streets by the students, the same officers that a year later were hooted and stoned in the same streets.