In spite of all this sad state of affairs the winter passed for me like a dream.
My friends Monsieur et Madame de Saint-Pair, a charming distinguished couple, were kindness itself to me, and it was not long before I got to know all the corps diplomatique. I was invited on their reception days and to their parties, and of course those of a great number of Russians.
On Mondays I dined and spent the evening at the French Embassy. Tuesdays the German Embassy received in the evenings. Thursdays it was Belgium’s turn, and so on; added to which there were afternoon receptions and luncheons and dinners—not a single day passed without my being engaged from morning till morning again.
I got dreadfully spoilt.
I was often taken to the Russian Opera at the Théâtre Marie; the performance was very good, and Madame Litvinne one of the great attractions. Even in those days she was very stout, but less vast than when last I saw her in Paris. The lady seemed to realize that she displayed herself to better advantage by maintaining a front towards the audience than by exhibiting herself in profile.
She had married a Polish Count.
Those who respected themselves, and there were many whose desire it was to do so, had their stall at the ballet.
The Russian ballet, which had become so popular a feature of the last few pre-war Covent Garden seasons, has always been one of the most fashionable meeting-places of Petrograd society. I often went to the ballet and thoroughly enjoyed those evenings, being extremely amused always in contemplating the varied expressions on the physiognomies of both my young and old bachelor friends, with their eyes lost in rapt admiration—absolutely embedded in their opera-glasses. Certainly, the dancing was marvellous and the luxurious setting beyond description, exhibiting the most perfect and artistic taste imaginable.
The school of the ballet was an Imperial institution, entirely financed by the Crown. The stars were in receipt of enormous salaries, and those who were destined to make their career in the ballet started to learn their steps at the early age of three years.
All the very smartest and best-known people in society made a point of going to the ballet once or twice a week. Afterwards we went to supper at a restaurant—my weakness was for “l’Ours,” then very much the fashion. The Théâtre Michel, where French plays were given, was also a great rendezvous, and during the intervals our box was always packed with visitors.