Russian Home

( Originally Published 1921 )

ON the frontier of my new home country I was keyed to the highest pitch of interest and curiosity. What was it which made every one say I would find both the land and life so different from the same things in the West, and why should I feel so far away, as I was told I would ?

At once, of course, I heard the unknown tongue, in which long sentences seemed to be spoken as if they were each one a single word. I saw strange square-built figures with broad, stolid faces, standing about. They said almost nothing, made no gestures, and answered agitated questions with patient, quiet voices. They were mujiki, wearing to me very odd costumes and white aprons, also caps of a queer shape. They carried our baggage adroitly and seemed very strong. Officials in various uniforms, fine-looking, heavy-built men, who wore their clothes smartly, were most busy examining passports and baggage. The travellers who were Russians had a lot to say, and seemed excited over their explanations. Those who were foreigners stood petrified by the difficulty of the language, but were perfectly cared for by the railroad people.

On the outskirts of this and every other station were little groups of people standing, sitting, or stretched out asleep, eternally waiting among their bundles. These were the peasants and the Jews, each in the dress of his caste. The first were generally silent, the last were al-most always talking, and their sharp, roving eyes spoke of discontent.

We were met at the frontier by a clever-looking old man who had been with my husband's grandfather, then with Cantacuzène's father, for years, and had become the majordomo, or house steward, since the death of my father-in-law. He took our tickets, baggage receipts, and passports, also all responsibility, and telling us to go and eat the dinner he had ordered for us in the restaurant, he marched off to care for everything.

After our meal we walked about among the picturesque groups, before old Auguste came to tell us our special car had been hooked to the train going south, and we must get into it. After twenty-four hours' more travelling we arrived at a tiny station which was then the nearest to the old château of Bouromka, and there, when we alighted, my husband's brother met us. He was a fourteen-year-old, charming, round-faced boy, with a cheerful smile, and with a keen sense of humor lurking in his handsome eyes. He had brought me a large bunch of violets, and while we chatted with him the contents of a big lunch-basket had been unpacked by the servants and laid out for our benefit. We ate with hearty appetites, for since the frontier had been crossed we had had only such food as old Auguste could prepare in our car. The home-made food seemed delicious, though some of the dishes, unknown to my Western palate, I thought I should like bet-ter with time. It seemed a funny way to travel, to have to take so many things and people along to be comfortable. Auguste had brought bed-linen and everything needed with him, and I learned this was really necessary, as soon as one left the main lines and the express-trains.

My brother-in-law had arranged to perfection our drive to Bouromka. Over the undulating steppes three relays of dapple-gray trotters, each set harnessed four abreast, dragged us in a huge, luxurious landau. An-other carriage followed with Auguste and the bags, and a third vehicle carried our trunks. At the frontier of the Bouromka estate a gala equipage, called traditionally the "golden carriage," which was used for all ceremonious family occasions, awaited us. Hung so high from the ground that a ladder of four steps was used to climb into it, this carriage had a platform out behind, where between the springs two footmen in Cossack dress stood holding to straps and looking very handsome in their blue, scarlet, and fur, with the family eagles fastened on their breasts. Cantacuzène and I sat on the main seat, and my brother-in-law on a small one at our feet, with his back to the high box which the coachman occupied.

All the men wished us health, happiness, and welcome to Bouromka. The superintendents of the estate met us with the traditional bread and salt on silver dishes, covered with towels which were embroidered by the women of the estate. They kissed my hands, while my husband embraced each of the old servitors heartily. They had seen him grow up and were his devoted friends, it seemed.

We were established in our lofty turnout. Its six horses were launched full tilt. Harnessed four in a row with another pair ahead, this relay, even with that heavy equipage, made excellent time. The horses were all white and were decorated with gay ribbons, as were the men and the carriage itself. I felt myself unworthy of all this grandeur; I ought to have had on something much fancier than a dark-blue tailored suit, for as we passed through each village the peasants looked at me with curiosity in their smiling faces. We pulled up in the midst of a crowd on each public square who offered us always the traditional bread and salt, and whose health Cantacuzène drank as he thanked that particular village for its welcome.

Some had made arches of straw and flowers, tied with bunting, for us to pass under. All the people seemed to me most sympathetic. The villages were as picturesque as were the costumes, and I felt I was going to like Russian life and all it seemed to mean of tradition, good feeling, and interesting duties.

The loaves of bread, the lumps of salt, with the platters and towels, were piling up under my brother-in-law's care in the bottom of the carriage. It grew dark and we were met by two more men in Cossack dress, who were on horseback and carried flaming torches to light us on our way. Soon after this we swung into the park, and, taking the main avenue at a gallop, we' reached the house entrance through a mass of brilliant figures in peasant national dress. As we pulled up, a brass band began to play on the lawn, the front doors were both thrown open, and ever so many people met my eyes—all apparently retainers of one kind or another—with Cantacuzène's mother, in a light gown, and the village priest, standing together as central figures.

We were fairly carried out of the carriage, and our outer coats were removed, I scarcely know how. Then we found ourselves pulled or shoved toward the princess. When our greetings were over we moved into the ball-room, which looked enormous. It ran two stories high and there was room in it for all the people. Here a welcoming thanksgiving service was celebrated by the village priest, or "pope," and during that, I had time to get my breath and look around. The service in Slavonic I could not understand at all, of course, but I knew it was in the nature of a Te Deum in honor of my husband's return to the old home with his bride, and I was aware that while they listened, as respectful devotees, to the words of the priest, most of the retainers kept their eyes fixed on me—from curiosity, doubtless, as to what the new member of the château family would represent in their lives. I was, on my side, deeply interested in their kindly faces, many of which had intelligent expressions. Their background also attracted me extremely.

The room's proportions were really imposing, and seemed the vaster because of the sftly shaded lamp-light and the rather scattered furniture. It had been a ballroom, but was now used as a general living-room, evidently, with big, soft chairs stretching out their arms invitingly, and many books, periodicals, and games scattered about. A billiard-table, a grand piano, a phonograph—all offered themselves in different corners, while screens of plants shut off spots where one might sit for cosey conversation or a card game. There were large glass cases with family souvenirs and relics, marble statues, attractive-looking paintings, and a great chimneypiece of carved wood.

Most of all, I was struck by the floor, in the great open space between us and the priest. It was inlaid in the most complicated designs; of oak foundation with white maple, red mahogany, and bits of mother-f-pearl, its surface brilliant with polish, rich with many coatings of pure beeswax—a work of art such as I had never seen in any other country. Afterward I learned this floor was hand-made, hand-laid, and hand-polished for generations by patient people, who showed by their care of de-tail a true love of beauty and their instinct for good taste. In its way it was as splendid as the high-panelled ceiling or the chanting of the choir, which carried out perfectly their share of our thanksgiving service.

On a table stood a collection of icons which were to be ours, and with which we were to be blessed. Some of these were ancient and rare, offered by the family or by friends; others in modern enamel or beaten bronze were donated by the house servants and the superintendents of the estates. Incense burned, voices rose in beautiful strains, and the whole scene was most touching, with a charm different from any I had ever experienced. It was a far cry from Newport, New York, and Paris to this new life just opening, and somehow, in spite of its strangeness, it attracted me more than I could express. I began at that first moment to feel a deep sympathy with the nation which created such a frame and lived in it, filling it so well.

The princess, my mother-in-law, was a Frenchwoman, and her looks, gestures, attitudes, and ways were different from those of the others present. She was very handsome, and was dressed in the latest fashion of Paris. She moved more quickly than did the Russians, and she wept from excitement. Her eyes roved about, alert to catch and correct any imperfection. She made an excel-lent effect and stood out in sharp contrast to the back-ground of Bouromka life, which she greatly appreciated.

The service over, we remained where we were, I standing between my mother-in-law and my husband, and from the old priest down to the youngest servant-maid, every one passed by us to be presented to me and to kiss my hand. Many of these faithful people were very old in the family's service. Two tottering old chaps had known Spéransky, who died in 1829 ! Many dated back to serfdom times, and practically all were born and brought up on the estate. My husband's old nurse waddled by, rolling in fat, with a new gold brooch on her ample breast, and when she kissed my hand, after hugging and kissing Cantacuzène, I thought her so motherly-looking I kissed her with enthusiasm on both her ruddy cheeks. She gave me a comfortable hug and a smile in return, and from then on I had in "Grandmother Ann-Wiadimir," as she was called, a stanch ally.

Soon all the servants and I were extremely friendly, and, through almost twenty years, I always saw only signs of their good-will and understanding devotion. It was the qualities of these simple, lowly country folk which first made me fond of my new home. Afterward, as I grew to know them and their compatriots better, the same traits made me admire all classes of Russians for their utterly simple dignity, their patience, and their courage, with so many other traits as rare and fine as these.

After our reception, followed a long dinner with all the bigwigs of the place at table. It seemed a dull ceremony, since I could not communicate with my neighbors, though I was fairly simmering inside with questions. I was very much pleased with all my new friends, but I was glad, nevertheless, when bedtime came, and the guests withdrew, leaving me to rest and to make the acquaintance of my new maid.

It took a little while to get used to the size of the old house and its complicated plan, and I was always getting lost and asking my way about. There was much I liked and much that was amusing at Bouromka. The average American housekeeper would have gone quite mad from the inconvenient arrangements. The pumping by hand of all water for that enormous establishment; the fetching and carrying necessary; the mere fact that two men spent their entire days cleaning, filling, and lighting kerosene lamps; that we all lived with doors and windows unbolted, even open—French windows standing wide on the terraces through summer nights; that all one's treasures lay about in complete safety for years, generations even; all this seemed amazing ! Yet it was true that we, with our possessions about us, lived thus always in old days in Russia. Confidence begat honesty and loyalty apparently, and the atmosphere was such as made one feel the world worth while.

Outside, the country was very beautiful, and I never could decide whether I loved the flat steppeland best, with its splendor of harvests waving and its chocolate-colored furrowed fields so full of promise, or whether the woods and meadow stretches were more admirable in their green peacefulness, with cattle feeding and streams flowing gently by. The number of our animals and the variety of work on the estate were as absorbing as the witchery of scene, and it seemed to my American mind interesting and amusing to think how self-sufficient we were, seventy versts away—about forty-six miles—from post, telegraph, railroad, and electricity. Yet life was entirely civilized and comfortable, and everything moved as if by well-oiled machinery.

After two or three days the princess departed for St. Petersburg to conduct my young brother-in-law to school, and we remained on for two weeks or so through the golden magnificence of the early autumn. My husband took me over the whole of the estate, and during that first stay in the Russian country place I grew to know much about the way of running it with its wheels within wheels. Originally it had consisted of thirty thousand déssiatines (of about two and two-thirds acres to a déssiatine). With the abolition of serfdom half of this had been given to the liberated peasants by the Emperor, and the government had paid a nominal sum to the landowner for the confiscation. Later, through three generations, various reasons led to further sacrifices of a small part of Bouromka's land, but thirteen or fourteen thousand déssiatines were still ours. Interweaving its borders with the peasant-commune lands it made a fair sight, and gave one the feeling that one was lord of a small kingdom, with all rights and responsibilities belonging to it.

The village outside our gates was very picturesque, but it gave me a heartache to see the wretchedness which reigned there, and the unhealthy looks of many of the people. Situated on the green, sloping banks of a tiny lake, it was ideally pretty and showed the Russian deep-rooted instinct both for the practical and the beautiful. Cattle and people both drank and bathed in the crystal water. Their homes, smothered in trees and gay flowers, were of a charming general effect from a distance. Close by it was different, for the thatched roofs all needed mending, were blown about terribly, and let in rain and snow. The houses themselves had usually crooked walls with tiny windows fixed in the plaster. One saw evidences of poverty, misery, filth, shiftlessness, overcrowding, and discomfort. To me it was deeply distressing to think the people who, when serving in our house or on the estate where conditions were better, showed us sunny faces and sang gaily over work, which they carried out with quick intelligence, in their natural state and their own village homes lived in such a sad, unhealthy way.

Alcoholism and the village usurer undermined our peasantry physically and morally, and they seemed too dulled to realize the situation or to help themselves.

My husband's father had been dead a long time; my mother-in-law, in the hands of her superintendents, during her children's minority, was exploited by these men almost as much as were the peasants, and, besides, she had been away from the country place a great deal. She had done much to better the château and other buildings on the estate, but she was facing large annual deficits caused by overexpenditure and underproduction. The people were not considered part of her responsibility. I do not know if this situation was the same all over Russia, but I was told Bouromka was a model of prosperity and the Little Russian peasants were happier and cleverer than those of the north.

For a long time it seemed difficult to understand why our people should suffer so much more than the inhabitants of other lands. By degrees I learned the influences which had been at work for centuries, and these Russians then made an even greater appeal, especially as through the years between 1900 and 1914 I was carefully watching their development.

I dug down into their history, which seemed to give the explanation of many traits I found in them. They had originally, in prehistoric days, drifted backward and forward over the great steppe-lands—essentially nomads, tending their flocks, living in tribes. Strains of Oriental blood influenced these early Slays' habits and minds. Then civilization in two forms reached them. A militant Viking group had come in from Scandinavia, while from the south merchants and travellers brought Byzantium's influence to bear. The nomads grouped themselves, settled down, founded towns, and learned what government was. A period of civilization extending over several centuries followed for these various prin cipalities—Kieff especially taking its place among the brilliant courts of the times—and Russians fought against Bulgarians, Hungarians, and Poles, making a reputation and carrying their conquests almost to Byzantium itself.

From out of the east then appeared the hordes of Genghis Khan, and, passing over the steppes, swept all opposing armies before them, capturing cities, sacking, burning, stealing Russia's rich possessions. The domination of the Tartars was long and cruel, since they exacted tribute so difficult to produce, it meant almost slavery to our people. During the conquerors' stay the peasants learned to toil as never before, and this developed the silent patience, which is still so marked a national trait.

Some of the nobility lingered about the Khan's court ; the rest, on the contrary, stood off and plotted against their foreign tyrants.

Thus a warlike spirit came to be born, and little by little the nobles gathered round the strongest of their number. Several efforts were ineffective, but finally Russia won, and emerged from her domination by the Tartars the stronger and the wiser for the yoke carried so long.

Several things had Russians learned—first, above all, the strength there was in fighting together as an organized whole; second, the advantage of centralization for constructive work.

After the enemy without was disposed of, the grand dukes of Moscow seized the reins of government, keeping the centralized power to themselves. In the midst of this autocracy there were, however, quaint paradoxes which made for more democracy than anything western Europe knew at that same epoch, and which neutralized much that was severe in the new régime.

The ruler chose his wife from among his subjects, for her beauty, virtue, and intelligence, and he called on his nobles for advice. So Moscow's court was nationalistic and patriotic, and the council of "boyars," or nobles, divided responsibility in a way with their ruler. Furthermore, at various times, when the succession gave rise to discussion, an open election was held on the palace place, where a new and generally a popular man was chosen to reign. The nobles had much influence and intrigued among themselves for more, as was the habit of that day at every court in Europe or in Asia, but they also did most of the fighting and all that was done to civilize the provinces.

Our peasants had been forgotten through centuries of history. Since they had first attached themselves to the land, they had remained on it, ploughing or harvesting, turn and turn about. Outside of this they prayed ac-cording to ancient ritual, while their only culture was in the music and poetry of their own souls. It broke out into legends, tales, and songs never written down by them, but religiously passed on by word of mouth from generation to generation. Now and again some genius emerged from their midst and made good in art or science, religion or statesmanship, and the high-born aristocrats readily gave way for an humbly born man, who, through his self-made success, took his place in their midst. Strange these contrasts, symbolic of all that is Russian !

With Peter the Great the period of Muscovite Czarism, national reserve, and Oriental coloring ended, and a new era was inaugurated. Conscious that his people were a century or two behind Western monarchies in their development, he decided to push them forward by his sheer strength and force them into position among the nations. Every one knows the history of his colossal effort—how with infinite imagination, talent, and enthusiasm he created a new Russia. His capital was moved to a fresh site and built with magnificent conception on European lines. His courtiers were taken from their gorgeous costumes of the Middle Ages and made to wear Versailles' styles. Education and art, a fleet and an army, industry and commerce, were all built up in one man's reign on plans brought from abroad; and a new machine for government—the bureaucracy, as it was afterward called—was created, to avoid the powers of the aristocrat and to get men better trained.

It was the middle of November when we went up to the capital from Bouromka. One felt a great change in the climate going north. In the government of Poltava the autumn was only fairly advanced. Heavy rains had set in which made our ploughed fields fertile but turned our roads to quagmires. Six horses harnessed to a great "berline " like a landau could scarcely drag it through the heavy mud which oozed over our hubs, and our spending the winter in that special spot on the road was apparently among the possibilities.

The long trip in old-fashioned trains with no conveniences, to me was an amusing adventure, for we had space and provisions and plenty of servants along. All this changed after some years, but I remember with interest those funny arrangements, the piles of hand bag-gage and the ready, helpful people, who through atavistic traits of a desire to please, doubtless, knew how to make us travel easily. I am sure our party resembled a modernized edition of the nomad prehistoric Russians I liked to read about.

It was easy to get used to the methods of my new life, since there was room and time for everything. As always in old Russia every one kept in excellent humor, so I remember the two-day trips as one would a novel kind of picnic, to me full of the unexpected.

We were to go to the home of my mother-in-law on arriving in the capital, and she had offered us a part of her large apartment for all winter, or till such time as we found one in which to settle ourselves. She was to send her carriage to meet us at the station, and we were to have the feeling of a home-coming, she had said with much enthusiasm.

It was a drizzling morning with dirty snow covering the streets thinly. Scarcely light as yet, the place looked dull, and a very raw, icy wind swept across one's face. The carriage, through mistake or neglect, was not there, so perforce we drove across the city in a queer vehicle called a " droshky," with a driver as odd as his turnout, conducting a horse which had a night's work already in his weary legs, I'm sure, from the slow way he moved.

That drive was my only bad experience in the magnificent city which I was to love so dearly as my home through many years, but it was horrid, and it seemed miles from the Warsaw station to the Fontanka, where the Princess lived.

When at last we were safely landed at her front door and made our way up the great staircase into her well-heated rooms, our spirits rose. The Princess received us with as much excitement as in Bouromka, but with less ceremony, and I was at once introduced to my husband's sister and her husband. The former had extraordinary distinction; small and fragile, she was the quintessence of fine breeding, with gentle hands, and eyes of great beauty. Her rare intelligence, wit, and sweetness were all her own. Shy as a rule and not a demonstrative, she was of those of whom the French genius spoke when he said: "The most attractive women never draw attention, but always hold it."

I found her very simple and winning, and we at once adopted each other as sisters. During twenty long years we have been that, and faithful friends besides.

Her husband, big, warm-hearted, charming, made him-self my kindly comrade immediately, and I found him also most sympathetic through a long relationship.

We liked our rooms, which the Princess had had arranged with some furniture my husband had sent from his bachelor quarters in Rome. Our American wedding-gifts soon arrived, also, and with a little living in them our quarters became cosey, in spite of cathedral-like pro-portions.

By degrees I realized the city's splendor, which thrilled me, and I even had a taste of its gay society life almost at once.

Taken all in all, though, I had a bad time at first, for, arriving in November, by Christmas I had already spent three weeks ill in bed, while at the end of January I went to bed again, to remain till Easter, with a grave case of typhoid. Then a slight relapse kept me ill or convalescent until the end of May.

When my brain was not more or less clouded, I felt deeply depressed by so much illness, but my young husband was a most excellent nurse, and he and his brother and sister were amiably ready to amuse me and cheer me through the slow hours of recovery.

In June we moved into our own new apartment on the banks of the Neva, and though it was much smaller than the Princess's home, we were enchanted to establish Ourselves. We both loved the great river, which was a constantly changing picture.

My mother had come to me during my illness in the winter, and in the summer she returned for six weeks, taking the long, fatiguing trip with much patience.

In July our first child was born, a splendid fat boy with Cantacuzène eyes of deep brown. He was lusty and healthy, and I was immensely proud of this new member of the family. As soon as he was old enough to travel, we took our son and heir to old Bouromka, so that he should meet the members of his family, from his grandmother to his young cousin, who had preceded him into the world by a very few months.

Again we spent a long southern autumn at the family country place. This time, returning to our establishment for the winter, I felt myself an old married woman, for whom St. Petersburg was really home. Great interest and happiness lay before me in the following years, where there was so much to tempt my enthusiasm and curiosity.

My husband had a sailor brother but fifteen months his junior, and the latter returned from the Orient about the time young Mike was born. Boris at once adopted me and the baby, of whom he greatly approved, and after meeting this member of my family-in-law, I felt I truly had every reason to congratulate myself on the lovable circle my husband had given me through our marriage.

With a pretty home to look after, full of things which we liked, with a fine son and an agreeable husband, I was taking a new start in Russian life. I felt well and strong after all the care connected with my various illnesses, and looked forward to seeing something of St. Peters-burg's court society, and to meeting the various people of world renown whom I knew largely composed it. It would be nice, I thought, to take part in court functions, for the Russian Emperor was considered at that time to be the most brilliantly surrounded sovereign in all Europe, and these fêtes were famous for their splendor. I had grown to love the magnificent buildings and broad streets, whose proportions seemed finer to me than in any other capital in Europe I had seen, where the rows of palaces, the great cathedrals, and the old fortress on the banks of the Neva made architecturally a sight at which all foreigners marvelled. Especially was it beautiful under the heavy snow of mid-winter, with the dull red northern sun, or during the white nights of mid-summer, when our capital clothed itself in mother-of-pearl tints. At such times, with sunlight or moonlight on the river, the buildings, silhouetted dark against the sky, gave one a picture never to be effaced from memory.

I listened to the many church-bells, and at Easter, especially, I loved to see the crowds of humble citizens moving toward their shrines in reverent groups. Russia at prayer was deeply sincere and appealing !