From the Memoirs of Princess Olga Paley Sad Christmas of 1917 Once again Christmas was coming round. A modest little Christmas-tree, placed in the rotunda, contrasted strangely with the magnificent one of the previous year. The presents also were very modest, for the Grand Dukes means had been substantially diminished. Nevertheless, we did not deprive the children of this family joy. Alas! this was to be the last Christmas-tree for my husband and my son. That evening we expected the whole family. Nobody could come, for the trains were few and working irregularly. One had to wait for hours and to have resort to all kinds of strate gems to get into a compartment. That day the trains were not working at all, so the five of us drew close together round this little tree, whose radiance lit up our sombre melancholy and whose warmth kindled our heavy hearts. . . Four days later, in honour of Vladimirs twenty-first birthday, his coming of age, we lit up the tree again and put back the presents on it. The little girls and he had a charming surprise for us, a piece of verse of his composition, entitled lAssiette de Delft. Irene and Nathalie, coached by my son, played it to perfection. Our friend, Count Armand de Saint-Sauveur, had been coming to see us frequently, especially since our misfortune. He dined with us that evening and shared our enthusiasm for the melodious rhymes which delighted our ears. . .. Thus, from time to time, we had our days of respite, like oases in the terrible desert in which our feet were sinking at every step. My son Alexander, marked down by the Bolsheviks on account of his ardent and militant devotion to the Emperor Nicholas II, had to take sudden flight, via Finland, for Sweden during these last days of December. The Bolsheviks had discovered his English uniform subterfuge and also an anti-Bolshevik plot in which he had taken a hand. Then came the night of New Years Eve when, in accordance with Russian usage, we held festival at midnight and exchanged good wishes. A modest supper then followed, to which my husband and I, and Vladimir and Colonel Petrokow sat down. . I linger over these recollections, these last gleams of happiness - for 1918 was to be a dreadful calvary. Twilight -Prince Vladimir Paley (Petrograd, February 1917) The gloaming has already deepened, But in the sky, above the weary earth, The crimson gleam of sunlight glitters, Reflected on the golden domes; And summoning to dreams and prayer All those who orphaned are and poor, The crosses on the high bell towers Continue shining here and there, As though the sun’s delay in resting On every church’s golden dome Strives to remind us of the One Who promised us the resurrection… *Our Lady of Sorrows by Antoine Auguste Ernest Herbert https://youtube/watch?v=CN5aJuZgegE
Posted on: Tue, 23 Dec 2014 00:18:53 +0000
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