STORIES FOR ALL MOODS.

Dunstan Times, Issue 3379, 20 June 1927, Page 7

STORIES FOR ALL MOODS.

The stories which Baron Wrangel tells in the earlier passages of his “Memoirs” dealing with life in Russia under the Ozar are in striking contrast to those in the later pages when he describes the terroristic rule of the Bolsheviks. The blot on the Czarist regime was serfdom. It is difficult for people of to-day to visualise its horrors. The serf was a chattel that could be dealt with by the owner just as ho pleased. Baron Wrangel tells how his father “made a present of a woman who had belonged to my mother to one of our aunts. The -woman’s son, a lad of about ten, stayed with us. Some time afterwards my aunt asked my father to take his present back. “ ‘Why don’t you want her any more?’ he asked. “ ‘The poor creature is wretched at being separated from her child.’ “ ‘flow dare she? . . . I’ve never really gone into these things ... it’s quite possible, after all, that these people have a soul just like ourselves. Keep the woman—l’ll give you her son.’ ”

The Baron became a volunteer, a special rank in the Czar’s army whose members were treated variously as mere privates or as commissioned officers according to a bewildering number of decrees which the Government was continually making about them. At one time when the author, by one of these Government whims, had been reelneed to the private rank and was compelled to stand to attention whenever an officer was present, lie was paying a visit to a couiitess. “As we were sitting there in the drawing-room an old general with a face like a bulldog came in. I got up and stood at attention. The bulldog, without paying the slightest attention to his subordinate, sat down in an armchair.

“ ‘But, General,’ said the Countess, ‘you ought to give the Baron permission to sit down.’ “ ‘He can wait.’ a “The Countess rose and took my arm. Then, smiling amiably at the old beast, she said, ‘Excuse me, General, I shall be back in a few moments. I have got something important to say to this gentleman and I don’t like standing up when I am talking.’ “We went into the next room and the general was left alone. “Fifteen minutes went by and we waited, curious to see what he would do. Eventually he went away. The Countess rang the bell. “ ‘Please tell the concierge that I am never at home to the General.’ ”

His military duties brought the author into contact with the Grand Duke Vladimir, who, it was notorious, had, not the manners of a polished aristocrat,’ ho was intelligent hut ill-man-nered. “One day a lady who was talking to him addressed him as Monsieur instead of Monseigneur as was customary. “ ‘My dear lady, I am generally addressed as Monseigneur.’ “‘Oh! I beg your pardon, Monseigncur,’ said the lady. ‘I had entirely forgotten that you were not a monsieur.’ Prince Gorchakov was at one time Vice-Chancellor and Minister of Foreign Affairs in the Czar’s Government. His principal secretary was Baron Meyendorf, his own nephew, who was in his uncle’s service against his wishes. He therefore employed every means in his power to get himself dismissed. “One day. they were dining with the beautiful Mine. Yakuntchikov. The Prince asked' Meyendorf, who was leaving for Paris, wnether he meant to see anyone when ne was there. “‘Certainly, Prince; I have several friends in the diplomatic service. Have you any orders for me?’ “ ‘No,’ said he, shortly. .‘No, hut s| v that you have seen the lion in his den and that he is seeing to the preservation of the balance of power in Europe.’ “‘Certainly, your Highness; 1 shall not forget to tell them thai| I have seen the brute in his don.’ ”

Some light is thrown upon the almost child-like mentality of the Russians hy some of Baron Wrangel’s stories. The “Russification” of Roland was carried to great lengths. Natives must speak nothing, but Russian and join the Orthodox Church if that could le managed. General Potapov was once driving on a visit of inspection through one of these “Russified” districts. Suddenly his carriage upset. “Potapov was unhurt, but his coachman was a pitiful sight. He completely lost his head. Probably thinking that he would be hanged, he cried. ‘.Mercy! Mercy' Spare my life,’ “ ‘There, there, don’t get excited,’ said the general; ‘nobody wants to hurt Mill.’

“ ‘But,’ the coachman went on. ‘I am Orthodox. J am a cook and not a coachman. Yes, a cook I am, and I’ve never driven a horse.’

“ ‘Pool devil,’ said Potapov, ‘he has gone olf his head. He thinks he is a cook now '

“ ‘As a matter of fact, your Excellency ’ said Koropotkin, ‘he is a cook.’ “ ‘I beg your pardon, Prince, what did yon say?’ “ ‘T said, your Excellency’, that lie is in fact not a coachman but a cook.’ “ M am more at a loss than ever.’ “ ‘He is Orthodox,’

“ ' [ don’t see how that prevents him from being a coachman and forces him to be a. cook.’

“ ‘Tlie fact is, your Excellency, that it was impossible to find an Orthodox coachman to drive you in the whole town; there were only’Polish Catholics. and naturally they were impossible.’ “ ‘Now J see what you are driving at. You naturally thought it better that I should break my neck through an Orthodox cook than that I should be properly driven by a Catholic coachman.’ ”

A certain Jew at a banquet at which the Baron was a gnc.st once defined happiness. A guest had remarked that there was no such thing as unalloyed happiness. “ ‘My experience does not confirm that,’ said Rothstcin. ‘When I was 13, and an office-boy, I lived in an animated attic and I only had a wretched blanket that was too short for me. If I covered my feet my body froze, and if I pulled it up my feet froze. I was dead tired, and could not sleep; I suffered in a way which you, who have been born rich, cannot understand. Then one day I bad a blanket to suit my size. My happiness was unqualified. T have never known such happiness since.’ ”

So firmly has the cross-word puzzle rage fixed England in its grip limit demands have arisen to tax these competitions. and it is said that a Bill will be introduced in Parliament for that purpose. The Postmaster-General announced in the House of Commons lately that the estimated number of letters concerning cross-word puzzle competitions passing through London post offices in January was 13.000.000. Thousands of pounds are offered in prizes every week in the newspapers and more thousands are coming in to the promoters in the shape of sixpenny or shilling entrance fees.