What I really saw was the Imperial Russian Court in miniature. The lady who introduced me was the wife of the Tsar's High Chamberlain, Madame Lubinoff. Her husband, at the commencement of the war, was Civil Governor of Warsaw. Her home was a palace, which is now occupied by Poland's peasant Prime Minister. Today her husband is her secretary at the soup-kitchen which she conducts for the Russian Red Cross; her home is as humble4 as an artisan's; the people to whom she ministers are princes and princesses in burst out boots and tatters.
I had been told of the wonderful work which Madame Lubinoff has done for her exiled compatriots. I had also been told that her work was soon to be abandoned; that she had sold almost the last of her jewels and that the funds with which the Russian Red Cross at Paris had provided her had given out.
We departed in search of her soup-kitchen at about twelve o'clock—the worst hour you can choose if you wish to get quickly from point to point in Warsaw, for midday is consecrated5 to funerals. There are so many of them that they form almost a continuous procession. They are of all kinds, from the two-horse hearse, attended by mourning-carriages, to the lonely man and woman, plodding6 hopelessly through the mud, carrying a little child's coffin7 between them. In spite of delays we arrived at last at a gateway8, leading off a narrow street in one of the least prosperous quarters of the city. The squalid courtyard beyond the gateway was crowded with wolfish men and women. They were a strange collection, brow-beaten and famished9. The women wore shawls over their heads; they looked typical slum-dwellers. Many of the men were in tattered10 uniforms; all of them were unshaven and cringing11 as pedlars. We had to force our way up the narrow stairs to Madame Lubinoff's office, into which we were ushered12 by a grave-faced servant who turned out to be her husband. The Bolshevists arrested him in Petrograd and imprisoned13 him for ten months in the dreaded14 fortress15 of St. Peter and St. Paul—which goes far to account for his crushed demeanour. It was his wife who rescued him, by risking her own life and bribing16 his gaolers, which has nothing to do with the present story.
Madame Lubinoff is a gay and beautiful woman, who hovers17 always between tears and laughter. The tears are real, but the laughter is forced. One marvels18 at the courage of her tremendous acting19. It all started, this work that she is conducting, she told us, with the sale of a ring. When she discovered how many lives one ring could save, she sold more. She had been luckier than most of her Russian friends who, when the Bolshevist regime set in, had lost everything; whereas she, inasmuch as Warsaw was Polish, had managed to preserve many of her personal belongings20, though of course her Russian estates were confiscated21. The present building in which she has established her soup-kitchen had been a Russian Church. She gained permission from the priest to use it by means of flattery; she kissed his hand, which is an honour paid only to a bishop22. She laughed. For the money with which to run it she sold her jewels and kept on selling them, till the Russian Red Cross in Paris got to hear about her. For a time they helped with contributions, but last October they notified her that they could help no longer. Then the American Relief had come to the rescue with a donation from the fund left by Mr. Harkness to be expended23 on the Intelligencia of Europe. And now that was exhausted24. What was she going to do next? Ah, that was the question! If she did not do something the seven thousand men, women and children whom she was feeding would play leading r鬺es in the daily funerals. She laughed and blinked the tears out of her eyes. They did things better in the French Revolution; the guillotine was so very much quicker. Perhaps we would like her to show us round.
Outside the door, doing clerking at a ricketty table, a grubby yet distinguished25 man was sitting. She introduced him as Prince Ouhtomsky. He shook our hands with a manner of extreme courtliness; when we were out of earshot, she revealed his story. When Warsaw was a part of Russian Poland he had been one of the richest men in the country. He had belonged to the hereditary26 land-owning class, his grants having been made directly to his family by the Tsar. He was now working for his dinner and two dollars and a half a week. When she found him, he and his princess had been living in a room which they shared with other people. He had been trying to keep the wolf from the door by manufacturing cigarettes. They were not good cigarettes—cigarette making was not his profession. Besides, it was illegal in Poland; it was a Government monopoly. So she had rescued him and given him the job of sealing; envelopes. By allowing him to believe that he was earning his keep, she prevented him from being too unhappy.
As we passed out through the crowd of be-shawled women, various of them tried to attract Madame Lubinoff's attention. Some she embraced, addressing them as "My dear Princess," "My dear Baroness," "My dear Countess." Despite their sodden28 appearance, their display of etiquette29 was magnificent and exacting30. They drew themselves up with a flash of haughtiness31 as though their Cinderella appearance of poverty were no more than fancy-dress. One was reminded that they had once belonged to the most polished caste of Europe. The effect was pitiful and fantastic. Eight years ago it would have been madness to have proposed that they could ever have sunk to this depth. We no longer wondered that Madame Lubinoff wept while she laughed.
At the top of the stairs she pointed32 out a haggard fellow, attired33 in what was left of a uniform. He had been one of the smartest officers in the crack regiment34 of the Russian Guards. He had come to Warsaw a beggar. She had been puzzled by a familiar resemblance. Then she had remembered—she had been his partner, when things were in their heyday35, at an Imperial Ball.
As we crossed the courtyard to the dining-room we were accosted—at every step we were accosted—by a bullet-headed old soldier who wore the highest military decoration that the Tsar could bestow36. It was pinned against his greasy37 collar. He was General Rogovich. His request was humble. He was hungry; he would like to split kindling38 in exchange for food. "My General, it is very unfortunate," our hostess told him, "but I have more than enough kindling split already." He kissed her hand, submitting to her authority and yet, like an unwanted dog, he followed.
In a booth, at the entrance to the room where meals were served, the most brilliant comedy actor of the old Petrograd was collecting tickets. Inside wilted39 women of exalted40 nobility were pouring soup and piling dishes for a pittance41 as waitresses.
The curious point was that they no longer looked noble; they looked their part. The utensils42 were mostly make-shift; the cups were condensed-milk cans, with ragged43 metal edges which had been presented when empty by the American Relief Administration. At the tables sat a large part of what Mr. Gorlof, the Russian attach?, calls "the spiritual wealth of Russia." They were professors, musicians, actors, writers, financiers, doctors, engineers—the kind of people whose brain value never figures in a budget, but who constitute the realest asset of any nation. These were the few who were left from the great mass who had been tortured and shot.
At this point an old white-bearded man came up to us; he was General Prigorowsky, who had been one of the most brilliant of strategists when Russia was fighting on the side of the Allies. His face was intensely sad and his eyes were deep with unfathomable melancholy44. At sixty years of age he was alone in the world, unloved, unprotected and almost unloveable. He had no idea what had become of his wife or children. For a time he and one son had been imprisoned together. Every day they had been led out and told they would be shot. One day only his son had been taken; after that he had remained alone in his cell. Having escaped, here he was, penniless in a foreign land which would rather be without him.
From the eating-room we were conducted to the kitchen. Again we were invited to shake hands with students, army officers and princesses. I had never realized that there were so many princesses in the world. In a miserable45 outhouse four women, who were professors' wives and resembled rag-pickers, huddled46 on a bench peeling beets47 into a basket.
We had climbed a stair and were pausing on a landing, when I happened to look out of the window. Shambling aimlessly round a wood-pile in the yard below was a forlorn little figure. He wore a dingy48 velvet49 hat—a girl's—made like a tam-o'-shanter, a girl's coat which trailed about his ankles, and hoots50 which were a mere51 pretence52. Upon enquiry I was informed that he was the Baron27 Hael Von Holdstein. His father had been a millionaire. His mother was the daughter of a Lord Mayor of Petrograd and was working in the soup-kitchen as a waitress. The little Baron, having nowhere else to go, came with her in the early morning and waited all day for her.
Beyond the door one heard the sound of sewing-machines revolving53. We were admitted by a woman who had been the wife of the Tsar's coachman. Her husband had insisted on accompanying the Tsar into exile, so of course she was a widow. In closely packed rows, resembling a sweat-shop, women of all ages were stitching shirts. There were two princesses of the same family. One was the Princess Meschersky, who had been wife of the Consul54 General at Shanghai; the other was an orphan55, a child of fifteen, who had recently escaped via Finland. Most of them have no homes and sleep beneath the machines where they work. In fact, Madame Lubinoff told me, the wretched building is as crowded by night as by day. Even the desk in her office is slept on.
"And now you have seen for yourselves," she laughed, "how all these people are dependent on me. And they are not lazy. They have forgotten that they were princes and have learnt to be cobblers, and carpenters, and tailors. If I had the means to start workshops, I already have the contracts. But I have not even the means to feed them. I simply dare not tell them. I shall have to run away."
"And shall you run away?" we asked.
Her eyes became defiant56. "Never."
"Then where are the funds to come from?"
She paused. "From God, perhaps. Yes, I think from God."
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1
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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2
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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3
poignantly
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4
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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5
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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6
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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8
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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9
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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12
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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15
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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16
bribing
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| 贿赂 | |
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hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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18
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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21
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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23
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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24
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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25
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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26
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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28
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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29
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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30
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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32
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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33
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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35
heyday
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| n.全盛时期，青春期 | |
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36
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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37
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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38
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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39
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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41
pittance
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| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
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42
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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43
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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44
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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45
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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46
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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47
beets
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| 甜菜( beet的名词复数 )； 甜菜根； （因愤怒、难堪或觉得热而）脸红 | |
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48
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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49
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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50
hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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51
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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52
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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53
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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54
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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55
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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56
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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