Part 20 (1/2)
_Moscow. 2 December._--Hilda Wynne was rather feverish to-day, and lay in bed, so I had a solitary walk about the Kremlin, and saw a fine view from its splendid position. But, somehow, I am getting tired of solitude. I suppose the war gives us the feeling that we must hold together, and yet I have never been more alone than during this last eighteen months.
_To Miss Macnaughtan's Sisters._
CReDIT LYONNAIS, MOSCOW, _3 December._
MY DEARS,
I have just heard that there is a man going up to Petrograd to-night who will put our letters in the Emba.s.sy bag, so there is some hope of this reaching you. It is really my Christmas letter to you all, so may it be pa.s.sed round, please, although there won't be much in it.
We are now at Moscow, _en route_ for the Caucasus _via_ Tiflis, and our base will probably be Julfa. We have been chosen to go there by the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Cyril, but the reports about the roads are so conflicting that we are going to see for ourselves. When we get there it will be difficult to send letters home, but the banks will always be in communication with each other, so I shall get all you send to Credit Lyonnais, Petrograd.
So far we have been waiting for our cars all this time. They had to come by Archangel, and they left long before we did, but they have not arrived yet. There are six ambulance cars, on board three different s.h.i.+ps (for safety), and no news of any of them yet.
Now, at least, _we_ have got a move on, and, barring accidents, we shall be in Tiflis next week. It's rather a fearsome journey, as the train only takes us to the foot of the mountains in four days, and then we must ride or drive across the pa.s.ses, which they say are too cold for anything. You must imagine us like Napoleon in the ”Retreat from Moscow”
picture.
Petrograd is a singularly unpleasant town, where the sun never s.h.i.+nes, and it rains or snows every day. The river is full of ice, but it looks sullen and sad in the perpetual mist. There are a good many English people there; but one is supposed to know the Russians, which means speaking French all the time. Moscow is a far superior place, and is really most interesting and beautiful, and very Eastern, while Petrograd might be Liverpool. I filled up my time there in the hospital and soup-kitchen.
The price of everything gets worse, I do believe! Even a gla.s.s of filtered water costs one s.h.i.+lling and threepence! I have just left an hotel for which my bill was 3 for one night, and I was sick nearly all the time!
[Page Heading: ”WHEN WILL THE WAR END?”]
Now, my dears, I wish you all the best Christmas you can have this year.
I am just longing for news of you, but I never knew such a cut-off place as this for letters. Tell me about every one of the family. Write lengthy letters. When do people say the war will end?
Your loving SARAH BROOM.
_Tiflis. 12 December._--It is evening, and I have only just remembered it is Sunday, a thing I can't recollect ever having happened before. I have been ill in my room all day, which no doubt accounts for it.
We stayed at Moscow for a few days, and my recollection of it is of a great deal of snow and frequent shopping expeditions in cold little sleighs. I liked the place, and it was infinitely preferable to Petrograd. Mr. Cazalet took us to the theatre one night, and there was rather a good ballet. These poor dancers! They, like others, have lost their nearest and dearest in the war, but they still have to dance. Of course they call themselves ”The Allies,” and one saw rather a stale ballet-girl in very sketchy clothes dancing with a red, yellow, and black flag draped across her. Poor Belgium! It was such a travesty of her sufferings.
Mr. Cazalet came to see us off at the station, and we began our long journey to Tiflis, but we changed our minds, and took the local train from ---- to Vladikavkas, where we stayed one night rather enjoyably at a smelly hotel, and the following day we got a motor-car and started at 7 a.m. for the pa.s.s. The drive did us all good. The great snow peaks were so unlike Petrograd and gossip! I had been rather ill on the train, and I got worse at the hotel and during the drive, so I was quite a poor Sarah when I reached Tiflis. Still, the scenery had been lovely all the time, and we had funny little meals at rest houses.
When we got to Tiflis I went on being seedy for a while. I finished Stephen Graham's book on Russia which he gave me before I left home. It is charmingly written. The line he chooses is mine also, but his is a more important book than mine.
_Batoum. 22 December._--We have had a really delightful time since I last wrote up the old diary! (A dull book so far.) We saw a good many important people at Tiflis--Gorlebeff, the head of the Russian Red Cross, Prince Orloff, Prince Galitzin (a charming man), General Bernoff, etc., etc.
Mrs. Wynne's and Mr. Bevan's cars are definitely accepted for the Tehran district. My own plans are not yet settled, but I hope they may be soon.
People seem to think I look so delicate that they are a little bit afraid of giving me hard work, and yet I suppose there are not many women who get through more work than I do; but I believe I am looking rather a poor specimen, and my hair has fallen out. I think I am rather like those pictures on the covers of ”appeals”--pictures of small children, underneath which is written, ”This is Johnny Smith, or Eliza Jones, who was found in a cellar by one of our officers; weight--age--etc., etc.”
If I could have a small hospital north of Tehran it would be a good centre for the wounded, and it would also be a good place for the others to come to. Mr. Hills and Dr. Gordon (American missionaries) seem to think they would like me to join them in their work for the Armenians.
These unfortunate people have been nearly exterminated by ma.s.sacres, and it has been officially stated that 75 per cent. of the whole race has been put to the sword. This sounds awful enough, but when we consider that there is no refinement of torture that has not been practised upon them, then something within one gets up and shouts for revenge.
The photographs which General Bernoff has are proof of the devildom of the Turks, only that the devil could not have been so beastly, and a beast could not have been so devilish. The Kaiser has convinced the Turks that he is now converted from Christianity to Mahomedanism. In every mosque he is prayed for under the t.i.tle of ”Hajed Mahomet Wilhelm,” and photographs of burned and ruined cathedrals in France and Belgium are displayed to prove that he is now anti-Christian. Heaven knows it doesn't want much proving!
[Page Heading: RASPUTIN]