My Aunt de Baranoff received on Wednesdays, my friends also came to see me that day, and round the welcoming samovar we made our cheerful plans.
Aunt Olga—as I always called her—received in the largest of the drawing-rooms, the ballroom, where there had often been much dancing before her daughter’s marriage. In every fine suite of rooms in Russia there is always a ballroom. Round this very large salon, lighted during the day by numerous large windows, at night by great chandeliers, were ranged gilded chairs; and great mirrors in panels gave a final note of cheerfulness. The prettiest flowers were always to be found there in profusion, the Court florist coming to change them twice a week, and it was always a real pleasure to see their pretty petals in such bright hues, reminding one of spring and the warm sun, and contrasting so deliciously with the big snowflakes, which in their soft and silent fall, gently drifting against the panes, reminded one of the cold and of the ice from which that frail barrier of glass alone protected one.
Among my aunt’s servants there was an old Court man-servant, with a face as cunning as that of an old fox. He was called Grakoff, and moved about without truce or respite in his gold braided gaiters. Unluckily one evening he took it into his head to drink certain pharmaceutical “drops” which my Uncle Peter used to take. Finding them no doubt to his taste, he administered to himself the whole contents of the bottle, so that poor Grakoff was found on the ground more dead than alive, and there was much difficulty in setting him again on his thin old legs—always rather shaky.
On another occasion, I do not exactly know what had passed between him and my dear young cousin, Petia, but the fact remains that Petia came to announce to me with a triumphant smile that he had thrown that old fox of a Grakoff in full dress, with all his gold lace, into his bath, from whence the poor old thing escaped with his head hanging down like a wet poodle. I found this proceeding very Russian—I must admit that it enchanted me—and at the end of the corridor I saw a form dripping from all parts disappearing with all possible speed.
Petia was not entirely without mischief. Mon Dieu, he was young and I absolve him. He liked to come home at the latest possible hours, a matter more desired than easy of accomplishment, as my aunt before going to bed used to go and see if the doors were safely bolted. Upon this he asked me to reopen them—later. I refused to do such a thing, and said: “Do what you like; that is not my business. I promise you I will be discreet, but I will not be your accomplice. Why not ask your old âme damnée of a Grakoff?” But since the unseasonable bath the old âme damnée may well have had a pressing desire for vengeance. Petia invited me sometimes to come into his study to smoke one of those delicious scented Russian cigarettes. There were generally some of his friends there, and all set themselves to talk French, with sometimes amusing results.
My aunt continued often to amuse me. One day, having noticed that a certain friend of the family’s and I had talked much together, she teased me on the subject. “Oh, aunt,” I replied, “that doesn’t count, you know quite well he is married.” “But, my dear,” she said to me, with her kind smile—ce sourire qui savait la vie—“they are the easiest to catch.” And she seemed to say, “How naïve you are my poor child!” This answer, in fact, upset all my ideas of life, all the pious doctrines upon which I had been nourished till then.
I thought this power of reasoning quite delightful and typically Russian, disclosing the quantum of moral sense existing out there.
It must be said that divorce is of frequent occurrence in Russia. It is, however, practised by the wealthier classes; as, although the Holy Synod is easy to approach, it knows how to charge!
Couples often so easily disunited, after meeting one another continually in society—for Russian society being very exclusive, is in consequence limited—reconsider their first step and decide to resume their former matrimonial state; therefore, if one has lost touch with one’s Russian friends during any length of time, one is obliged to be extremely circumspect on returning to their midst when informing oneself from one member of a family of the rest of his belongings; and it is best to be on the safe side by seeking outside information in the first instance.
Apart from this, however, the other extreme is often to be found, which might be termed of Slavic origin, at least in its outward demonstrations.