Amidst such an atmosphere of political tension, in the early spring of 1905, Chakrabongse called at Madame Chrapovitzkaya on her ‘At Home’ day where, released from the formality of the Court and the rather enervating company of the sentimental young ladies with whom he danced and flirted at correct social evenings, he felt indeed more at home. For the people he met here had ideas and interests extending to wider horizons and their intelligent talk and banter refreshed and stimulated him.
It was here one day when, deep in conversation, he saw his hostess was greeting a late arrival – a young girl with glorious red-gold hair standing hesitantly on the threshold. He rose to his feet and bowed as Mme Chrapovitzkaya introduced her: Ekaterina Ivanovna Desnitskaya. The expression of her grey-blue eyes and her air of modest dignity and shy assurance inexplicably went straight to his heart. And now it seemed to him that the genial hum of talk and laughter receded, leaving him alone with her and, while they drank tea, he learned she was seventeen – an orphan – and that she and her brother had left Kiev, their birth place, for St Petersburg, where her brother was studying for the Diplomatic Service at university, while she had enrolled as a volunteer nurse at the Princess Marie Hospital and, upon qualification, immediately intended to leave for the Front.
Every intonation of her youthful voice, each fleeting glance of her candid eyes and movement of her small yet capable hands seemed inexpressibly important to Chakrabongse. His habitual reserve was crumbling, the restraints of rigid discipline in which his youth had been confided were breaking, so that he felt suddenly free as a madman – for if ever a man fell madly in love, it was Chakrabongse at this point in his life. In that instant of losing not only heart but head, the entire pattern of his future altered and, as Byron said: ‘The fates changed horses’.
The idea that, so soon after their first meeting, she would be gone, that young and unprotected as she was, she might be maimed or killed, filled him with utter dismay. While she remained in St Petersburg however, he called on her almost daily, driving to the hospital situated on the Fontanka canal in an emblazoned imperial carriage, causing great excitement among the other student-nurses. But there was no weakening in Ekaterina’s resolve to ignore her impetuous lover and continue steadfastly with her decision to go and nurse the Russian victims of the Russo-Japanese war.
III
Katya’s Family
Ivan Stepanovitch Desnitsky, Katya’s father.
Maria Mihailovna Desnitskaya, Katya’s mother.
Ekaterina Ivanova Desnitsky’s father had been Chief Justice of the Lutz Tribunal in the Ukraine, where her mother Maria Milhailovna Khijniakoff’s family owned several large estates. As both her father and mother had been married and widowed previously, Katya – as she was always called by her family – had seven half-brothers and sisters, but only one full brother, Ivan, two years older than herself.
According to family diaries, her mother was a considerable beauty whose first husband, Pyotr Vladimirovitch Verdi, a talented engineer, had matched her in his handsome demeanour and, romantic temperament. The two had been deeply in love. But in 1883, five years after his early death, although courted by many, she accepted the hand of Ivan Stepanovitch Desnitsky who apparently lacked both good looks and charm but made up for them by being ‘serious and practical’.
In Lutz they lived harmoniously together and it was there that Ivan and Katya were born in 1886 and 1888, respectively. Although an excellent mother to her step-children and children, whom she described collectively as ‘yours, mine and ours’, because her husband adored her, ‘he would have no burdens laid on her’. He therefore engaged and instructed the servants and ordered the meals, while ‘Maria read novels late into the night, rose at two and took no part in the running of the household.’ In fact, one afternoon, having just risen from bed, she sauntered through the courtyard and, upon seeing a women unknown to her, the following exchange took place:
‘What can I do for you, my dear?’
‘Please M’am, I’m your cook.’
‘Really, how nice; have you been here long?’
‘Well, it’s been about a month.’
Unfortunately for Maria, she was only too soon deprived of this carefree existence as, in 1888, after only five years of her second marriage, Ivan Stepanovitch died, leaving her once more a widow and this time badly off, as his death occurred before his full pension had been earned.
As Lutz now held only sad memories, Maria removed to an apartment in Kiev where she had relatives and friends, and it was in this beautiful university city with its superb cathedral and noble architecture that the little Katya, who had been only two months old when her father died, was brought up. Although circumstances were straightened, she had a happy childhood and retained a great affection for Kiev itself, for its wooded hill, shady streets and gardens overlooking the Dnieper river far below. There were also long delightful holidays when the whole band of children were taken to visit their mother’s relations on their various estates – Krasnaya Sloboda, Kaptievka, Zubuyanaye, Trotstianka and Yurov.
Katya aged 14.
Ivan, Katya’s brother.
Maria (Katya’s mother), Katya and Alla (Katya’s half sister).
Seriozha, Katya’s half brother.
In Katya’s letters to her brother, written when she left for Siberia as a nurse in 1905, she often mused nostalgically about the happy times they enjoyed together at the turn of the century. In addition, a fascinating memoir by one of Katya’s maternal aunts contains many insights into the lives of the large extended family and of pre-revolutionary Ukraine. One of Katya’s great-uncles writing of holidays in Yurov in the 1850s paints a picture which is typically Russian and had probably changed little by the time Katya was a girl.
‘As a boy, I always anticipated our departure with excitement and joy, and recall those blessed moments when the trap was loaded, the horses bridled and my brother, sister and I rode out of Kiev. We had to travel sixty versts along the old post track and, leaving in the morning, we reached Yurov just after sunset. Sometimes Grandmama came with us, spending most of the journey dozing in the trap. With pillows piled around her, she would mutter occasionally in her sleep and then drop off again.
In Yurov, warmly and joyfully greeted by Aunt Tatiana, Uncle Stepan and the whole family, we were led into the big wooden house at the back of a spacious courtyard. Behind the house was a park boasting an ancient alley way of limes, their branches meeting overhead, shady and fragrant on the hottest day.
Beyond the park was an orchard and an apiary. I sometimes used to spend the night sleeping in the old beekeeper’s hut. I would turn up early while he was still cooking his supper, and would sit by the fire where he was baking potatoes. I would offer him a little flask of vodka and demand a story of the old days. And he would tell me of the Dnieper Cossacks and of how he himself had been a soldier in 1812, and chased the enemy out of Russia.