Dreams of My Russian Summers Read Online Free PDF

waters; the sun shone, and at once we heard the still distant cry of the imperial train. This sequence of events seemed just as legitimate to us as the appearance of Proust among the peasants of Neuilly.
    Charlotte’s narrow balcony hovered in the aromatic breeze of the plain, at the outer limit of a sleeping town, cut off from the world by the eternal silence of the steppes. Each evening resembled an alchemist’s legendary vessel, in which an astonishing transmutation of the past took place. To us the elements of this magic were no less mysterious than the components of the philosophers’ stone. Charlotte unfolded an old newspaper, brought it close to her lamp with its turquoise shade, and proclaimed for us the menu for the banquet given in honor of the Russian sovereigns when they arrived at Cherbourg:
    Soup
    Bisque of shrimps
    Cassolettes Pompadour
    Loire trout braised in Sauternes
    Fillet of salt lamb with cèpes
    Vine quails à la Lucullus
    Poulardes du Mans Cambacérès
    Sorbets in Muscat de Lunel
    Punch à la romaine
    Roast bartavels and ortolans, garnished with truffles
    Pâté de foie gras of Nancy
    Salad
    Asparagus spears with sauce mousseline
    Ice cream “Success”
    Dessert
    How could we decipher these cabbalistic formulae? “Bartavels and ortolans!” “Vine quails à la Lucullus”! Our grandmother, understandingly, tried to find equivalents, citing the very rudimentary produce that was still to be found in Saranza’s shops. Enthralled, we savored these imaginary dishes, enhanced by the misty chill of the ocean (Cherbourg!), but already it was time to set off again in pursuit of the tsar.
    Like him, entering the Elysée Palace, we were startled by the spectacle of all the black suits that fell motionless at his approach — just think, more than two hundred senators and three hundreddeputies! (Who, according to our own chronology, had only a few days previously been traveling to their session by boat… .) Our grandmother’s voice, which was always calm and a little dreamy, became tinged at that moment with a slight dramatic tremor: “You see, two worlds found themselves face to face. (Look at this photo. It’s a pity the newspaper has been folded for so long… .) Yes, the tsar, an absolute monarch, and the representatives of the French people! The representatives of democracy …”
    The profound import of the confrontation was lost on us. But we could now make out, among five hundred pairs of eyes focused on the tsar, those who, without outward hostility, held back from the general enthusiasm. And who felt free to do so just because of this mysterious “democracy.” This casual attitude filled us with consternation. We inspected the ranks of the black suits to discover potential troublemakers. The president should have identified them and expelled them by pushing them off the steps of Elysée!
    The following evening our grandmother’s lamp was lit on the balcony once more. In her hands we saw some newspaper pages she had just extracted from the Siberian suitcase. She spoke. The balcony slowly detached itself from the wall and hovered, plunging into the scented shadows of the steppe.
    â€¦ Nicholas was seated at the table of honor, which was trimmed with magnificent garlands of medeola. At one moment he was listening now to some gracious remark from Madame Faure, seated on his right, at the next to the velvety baritone of the president, speaking to the empress. The reflections from the glasses and the glittering array of silver dazzled the guests… . At the dessert the president stood up, raised his glass, and declared, “The presence of Your Majesty among us, acclaimed by a whole people, has sealed the bonds that unite our two countries in harmonious endeavor and in a mutual confidence in their destinies. The union between a powerful empire and an industrious republic … Fortified by a proven fidelity