I must say I was very fortunate with my Thursday receptions in Russia. In the first place, my husband, who was not particularly fond of singing or playing, never opposed either. Diplomatists like Lord Napier, the English Ambassador at Petrograd, and the Turk, Khalil Pasha, Turkish Ambassador (but brought up in France and devoted to French theatres), also used to come and be as silent as mice if music was already going on. That poor Khalil had a very dramatic end. He returned to Constantinople, as he thought for a short time, but fell ill. His European doctors insisted on an immediate cure at Carlsbad, but his Sultan, for some reason unknown to me, opposed his leaving Turkey. The poor man died mysteriously, and his enormous wealth as mysteriously disappeared.
At one of my little receptions there happened a very disagreeable duel between Lord Napier and a lady-in-waiting belonging to the Court of the Grand Duchess Helen. She was the sister of an ambassador, with whom, however, she was not on very affectionate terms. Undoubtedly pretty, she was occasionally rude and almost ill-bred. On seeing him, Mademoiselle de —— exclaimed: "Lord Napier, I spent last evening at the Winter Palace with old Countess Bludoff. We talked of you and laughed very much."
I felt simply horrified at that speech, but Napier remained quite self-possessed.
"I know," said he, "you were asked there to be shown to my new secretary, Mitford." Here, fortunately, the dialogue was interrupted by Rubinstein, who started a sonata. A fortunate interruption!
Soon after that in came Madame Volnys, the celebrated French actress, who promised to give us some scenes of Molière's Tartuffe, which she did to perfection.
Madame Volnys was a remarkable woman, not only possessing great histrionic talent, but also very superior character. She lost her only child, whom she adored. This brought her into contact with our Empress Marie Alexandrovna (very particular in her choice of associates), the consort of our "Emperor Liberatas," who used to invite her to the Palace as her lecturer fairly often.
In the same year something quite unexpected happened to me. My husband's parents, very old people, but who had never been abroad, suddenly decided to go to Paris, and I was asked to join them later on. Off they went, after having paid us in Petrograd a visit of two or three weeks. They travelled in quite exceptional comfort. They had a lady travelling-companion, my mother-in-law had her maid, my father-in-law his valet, and to crown all there was a Russian cook, whom my mother-in-law declared to be far superior to any foreigner, including even the French. Whatever my mother-in-law declared was law to the whole family, not only to her docile husband and her two sons, but to her two daughters-in-law, and anybody coming to her house.
I remember one day my brother-in-law, who was already Ambassador at Vienna, and my husband, who at that time was a lieutenant-general attached to the Grand Duke Nicolas, father of the present head of our troops, were sitting and talking together. Their mother entered the room and they both got up and stood until she told them to sit down again.
My mother-in-law was an exceptional type. She was the daughter of Prince Vladimir Dolgorouki, the poet, and tremendously proud of her origin, but in Russia all the princes Dolgorouki descended from Rurick, who came to Russia in the ninth century, and having all the same origin are surely fairly equal. But such was not my mother-in-law's idea, and she once upbraided the governor-general of Moscow, having the same name as her own, for belonging to the younger branch. The poor man looked very much embarrassed.
Another pleasant memory is that of the Grand Duchess Helen. A woman who loses her youth, beauty and gaiety, and remains in possession only of her immortal soul, may naturally expect to be forgotten by her so-called "friends." But a Russian Grand Duchess enjoying an exceptionally high position, with palaces and a numerous court at her disposal, is a privileged person. No need for her to "request the favour" of So-and-so's company to tea, dinner or reception. She dictates her list, including the names of wits, artists or ministers, whose attendance she desires. The courier transmits her orders, and the guests arrive. Voilà tout!