Their initial goal was to write “a short blog post about Joseph Crawshaw”, who was killed in 1895 by workers at Karetnikov’s mill in Teykovo, Russia, where he worked as a manager.

We exchanged several messages and discoveries, and one thing led to another, and, as a result, we recorded a whole podcast last May!

The episode just been released, and here’s THE LINK! I love how they use Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy at the beginning and at the end of each podcast - one of my favourite pieces of music.

Since it’s just an audio, a couple of photographs might be helpful.

So, here are Eli and Ellen Crawshaw who came to Russia in 1858, and who, as we found out, were illiterate - they couldn’t sign their names and put crosses instead of signatures!

Their children, however, received good education, thanks to the money that Eli had made while working in Russia. These are their six sons and a grandson:

Top row: David, John and Fred (Henry’s son, we mention him in the podcast)
Bottom row: James, William, Henry and Joseph (the one who was killed).

I found a photograph of the house where Joseph Crawshaw lived in Teykovo. The photograph was taken in May 1895 right after his assassination, with soldiers guarding his house.

I hope you enjoy listening to the podcast!

One name among these pioneering professors stands out: Boris Egorovich Ramsey. Firstly, because during his time as a professor, a momentous event took place: the installation of a new organ in the Grand Hall of the Moscow Conservatory – the organ that still stands there today, built by the French master Aristide Cavaillé-Coll and bearing the proud inscription «Даръ С.П. фон Дервиза» (“Gift of S.P. von Derwiese”).

Secondly, because it is impossible to find anything about him. One source after another repeats the same basic facts:

1. his name was Boris Egorovich Ramsey;

2. he headed the organ class of the Moscow Conservatory from 1900 to 1903;

3. he was also the organist of the Anglican Church in Moscow;

4. he was the teacher of Boris Sabaneev, the next head of the organ class at the Moscow Conservatory, and of Maria Guben, the first woman-organist;

5. he played the brand-new Cavaillé-Coll organ at the opening of the Grand Hall of the Moscow Conservatory on April 7, 1901.

The 1902-1904 Moscow Address books offer some additional information. They list his address as the Anglican Church building, and his employers as the Moscow Conservatory and Nadezhda Kovalenskaya’s Music School.

The music school is actually interesting. Nadezhda Fyodorovna Kovalenskaya, a graduate of Moscow Conservatory, offered in her school the full conservatory curriculum in piano. Sofia Rubinstein, the sister of Anton and Nikolai Rubinstein – the founders of conservatories in St. Petersburg (Anton) and Moscow (Nikolai) – taught singing there. Choral singing was taught by Frederick Speyer (see my post about him) – the former organist of St. Andrew’s Anglican Church! These two organists of St. Andrew’s clearly knew each other. However, it remains unclear whether there was any other organist at St. Andrew’s between them, or Ramsey directly succeeded Speyer.

Another document related to Boris Ramsey can be found on the site of the State Catalogue of Museum Fund of the Russian Federation: Ramsey’s letter dated March 26, 1902, addressed to Vasily Safonov, pianist, conductor and composer, who at the time was director of the Moscow Conservatory and would later serve as music director of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra (1906-1909). In the letter, Ramsey offers to give a concert on April 20, 1902 – an organ recital – and submits a proposed programme. It is interesting that he wrote the letter in English. Sadly, the other side of the paper is not available on the site, and the programme will remain a mystery to us.

So, who was this Boris Egorovich Ramsey?

St. Andrew’s Minute Book mentions him several times in connection with improvements made in 1902 to the Brindley & Foster organ, which the church had had since its construction in 1884, as well as in connection with his resignation in 1903 and the appointment of Peter Betton Done as his successor. From these entries we find out his real English, non-Russified name: Bernard. We also learn about Bernard’s duties at St. Andrew’s and some of his personal qualities.

Bernard Ramsey lived in the “organist’s lodging” – a flat on the ground floor of the church consisting of five rooms, a hall and a kitchen – 122 square metres in total. In addition to serving as an organist, Ramsey was also the church librarian and clerk –duties at which he appears to have been less successful than at organ playing.

This became evident in the summer of 1903, when both the chaplain and the organist were on vacation in England. Here’s what we read in the minutes of the 1903 Annual meeting:

“During the absence of Mr Wybergh and Mr Ramsey, it was found that the condition of things, with regard to the servants, and general so called household affairs of the church, had lapsed into a state bordering on anarchy. There was no order in any way, or thing, and it was absolutely necessary to change the state of things and appoint some person responsible to the wardens for the goods and chattels belonging to the church. Mr Ramsey was supposed to have looked after these things, but his knowledge of anything at all about matters regarding our Church property, not solely comprised in his duties as organist, was primitive in the extreme; and anything like a little discipline among the servants was quite non-existent. Therefore, when the appointment of organist, with which the post of Librarian, and Church clerk had been hitherto combined, became vacant on Mr Ramsey’s resignation, the wardens decided to use this favourable opportunity to divide the hitherto combined duties of organist, librarian, and church clerk…”

The duties were separated because the next organist, Peter Done, refused to combine them outright, which is quite understandable. In fact, this was a condition of his acceptance of the post of the organist. It is likely that Frederick Speyer had been the first to combine these roles. However, Speyer was born in Russia, spoke Russian well and definitely had no difficulty communicating with the Russian servants, whereas it would have been very difficult for both Bernard Ramsey and Peter Done – especially during their absence!

Knowing Bernard Ramsey’s real name significantly increased the chances of finding more information about him. However, the name was still too common. I don’t think I would have been able to learn anything else about him, had it not been for the postcards that he wrote to his father, while living in Moscow, which were shared with me by my fellow researcher of the British Community in Moscow, Michael Welch.

The first postcard was stamped in Moscow on Jan 12, 1899, and begins with a rather formal address: “My dear Pater.” It appears that Bernard had arrived in Moscow not long before, as he explains to his father how to write his address in block letters in Russian for the letters to get to him sooner. He makes a grammar mistake in the gender of the adjective ‘English’. He also signs the card “Your loving СЫНЪ Bernard”, writing the word ‘son’ in Russian in block letters – he must have just started learning the language!

There is another word written in Russian on the address side of the postcard – АНГЛIА – in the same block letters. By the time he wrote the two later postcards, Bernard had already learnt Russian cursive and declensions, and the form changes to “В Англiю”. Most important for solving the puzzle, however, was the name of the addressee – Bernard’s father’s name was B. Mansell Ramsey. This name was very easy to find. There is a short Wikipedia article about him, as well as several musical sites that include his photograph and what looks like a computer-generated reconstruction based on it:

According to the Wikipedia article, Benjamin Mansell Ramsey (1849-1923) –

“was an English organist and amateur composer, best remembered for the 1919 hymn tune “Camacha”, set as “Teach Me Thy Way, O Lord” 1920. A music teacher at Bournemouth Grammar School, and secretary of the Bournemouth Musical Association, conductor of the amateur orchestra in the 1880s and involved with the establishment of Bournemouth Municipal Orchestra in 1893. His works for children included “Robinson Crusoe: A Cantata or Operetta for Boys” (1896) and “Clouds and Sunshine: A Fairy Play”. His daughter was the writer L.F. Ramsey”.

“Teach Me Thy Way, O Lord” remains a well-known church hymn, still performed today both in the UK and the USA. B. Mansell Ramsey wrote both its music and text.

The Wikipedia article is brief but informative. No mention of a son named Bernard, but it suggests that his daughter was better known. So I decided to look for her first.

This research led me to a wonderful article called A Tribute to Mrs Paddick – the L.F. Ramsey Story, written by Shaun Cooper, a Sussex-based writer interested in local history and folklore. The article concerns Lilian Fairbrother Ramsey and her whole family and was published in The Petworth Society Magazine, no. 177, September 2019 – quite recently! Petworth is a small town with the population of about three thousand people in the Chichester District of West Sussex, England.

It turned out that for many years – beginning with 1936 and continuing into the early 1970s, when she was already well into her nineties – Lilian Fairbrother Ramsey contributed a series of articles to the West Sussex Gazette. These took the form of dialogues with a semi-fictional local woman, Mrs Paddick, written under the penname “A Sussex Woman”. The goal of the series was to record the peculiarities of local West Sussex speech – dialect words and expressions that, as Lilian Ramsey was right to fear, were doomed to disappear with the radio becoming more popular.

In addition to these articles, she wrote children’s serialised fiction for various newspapers and periodicals, as well as several musicals together with her father: he wrote the music, she wrote the lyrics. The one that is still remembered is Peach Blossom, written in 1907. Together, they also founded the West Wittering and District Choral Society.

In addition to Lilian (b.1877) and Bernard (b.1874), there were four more sons in the family – Percy (b.1875), Harold (b.1880), Wilfred (b.1885) and Lawrence (b.1886). Bernard was the oldest. According to the 1891 census, the family also included their paternal grandfather – Benjamin Mansell’s father George, a retired coach-maker – and their maternal grandmother. The choice of patronymic used by Bernard in Russia becomes clear in the family context. Bernard must have decided to derive it from his grandfather’s name instead of his father’s – it was much easier to “Russify” it. This is where ‘Egorovich’ must have come from.

In his article, Shaun Cooper notes that Percy and Harold also became organists, while Wilfred became a band conductor, as well as an artist and an amateur actor. The whole family were very musical and creative!

Further internet search provided me with another interesting link: a mention of both Bernard and Lilian in “An Elgarian Who’s Who”, compiled by Martin Bird – also a recent publication:

According to this book, in 1903 Bernard Ramsey wrote a letter to the English composer Edward Elgar. Sadly, I don’t know what the letter was about. Half of 1903 Bernard spent in Russia. The book also mentions that not only did Lilian found the West Wittering Choral Society together with her father but also served as its conductor! Not a big surprise, really, in this musical family.

What else is there to add?

When Bernard first arrived in Moscow, he was approximately 25-26 years old, and he left around the age of 30. He was a very young professor at the Moscow Conservatory!

He was also an amateur photographer. In the second postcard to his father, written in June/July 1902, he mentions that he is going to Stockholm (perhaps en route back to England for the summer holidays?) and adds a line that only becomes clear in context: “Am taking 5 dozen plates with me so hope to get some interesting photos”. Of course, back in 1902 one had to bring glass plates rather than film to take photos! At that time he hadn’t met Peter Done yet – manager of Kodak branch in Moscow and his future successor as St. Andrew’s organist. But the two would meet later that year in December.

The last postcard dates from September 1903, less than a month before Bernard left Russia for good. No hint why he decided to go back to England, apart from the following remark:

“I rather wish I could have waited till the end of the year when there would have been time to get together some of the needful. As it is, the season for lessons has only just begun, and of course it is not likely that new pupils will flock to have three weeks lessons.”

Combined with the information recorded in the minutes of St. Andrew’s Annual Meeting – that Bernard was on holiday in England from June 19 to August 23, and that on August 29 he informed the wardens of his intention to resign and vacate his post on October 1 – this suggests that something might have happened in the week after his return to Moscow from holiday that didn’t allow him to stay. Or, perhaps, this was a decision made during his holiday.

What is particularly striking is how little of Bernard Ramsey’s personality and background survived in either tradition. The Russian sources know nothing about his English musical roots – not even his real English name – while the English sources make no mention of his professional life in Russia.

I will conclude with a bit more about his father – Benjamin Mansell Ramsey. In addition to hymns and children’s musicals, he also composed some secular 4-part music. I was able to find two songs in which he set poems of Reginald Heber to music. Today, Reginald Heber (1783-1826) is remembered primarily as an English Anglican bishop and hymn writer. During his years at the University of Oxford, however, he was also well-known as a poet. The poems set by B.M. Ramsey appear to belong to that earlier period of his life. After graduating from Oxford, Heber travelled extensively in Europe, including Russia. Although this journey took place almost exactly a century before Bernard’s years in Moscow, it provides yet another small and unexpected Russian connection in the history of the Ramsey family.

In April 1900, just one month after the opening of its branch in St. Petersburg, Kodak established its Moscow branch in Petrovka Street. In August 1900, its first manager, Mr. H. A. Titius, was replaced by John Kinna, an avid amateur photographer, who after two years decided to leave this post and become a partner in the lumber business. In December 1902, Kodak appointed a new manager to its Moscow branch – a young man from Shropshire, England, named Peter Betton Done.

Whether Peter B. Done enjoyed photography just as much as Mr. Kinna before him or Mr. Hopwood, who replaced him in 1918, I do not know. What I do know is that he had two other – passions? hobbies? Perhaps, both. He played football and the organ, and it appears he played both very well.

It is ironic that the only reason I have Peter B. Done’s photograph – and not a very good one! – is not because he was a manager at Kodak. It is because he was a very active member of the British Sports Club (Британский клуб спорта or БКС), founded in Moscow in 1905. At one point he was even elected to its committee. It appears that he played as a defender in the famous 1909 football match in Moscow, when the British Sports Club defeated the team from St. Petersburg by 8-00.

Around 1909, the British Sports Club built a football pitch – the second in Moscow – on the grounds of the Nevsky Stearine Works. It must have been there that Peter Betton Done met his future wife, Elizabeth Maria Slama, whose father, Victor Slama, was manager of the Technical Department at the Nevsky Stearine Works. The family were Austrian subjects of Moravian origin. Baptized Roman Catholic in infancy, Elizabeth Maria was received into the Anglican Church in Moscow in December 1910, a month before her and Peter’s wedding.

In January 1912, Peter and Elizabeth Maria became the happy parents of a daughter, Vlasta Eileen, but sadly, their family happiness was short-lived. Elizabeth Maria died in September 1914 of internal hemorrhage. She was only twenty-eight years old. Vlasta Eileen was two and a half. It doesn’t look like Peter B. Done remarried.

I do not know whether Peter B. Done sent Vlasta Eileen to his parents in Shropshire or Elizabeth Maria’s parents helped him raise her in Moscow. Perhaps, he hired a governess. He certainly had a large enough flat to raise a child – it had five rooms, a corridor, a hall and a kitchen, eight windows and a separate entrance. Its total area was 122 square metres, and it had both lighting and heating.

How do I know all this? Because his flat – aka “quarters of organist Done” – was located on the ground floor of St. Andrew’s Anglican Church in Moscow. This is how it is described in the official 1913 appraisal of the church’s property, a document that can still be found in the Central Historical Archive of Moscow.

Peter B. Done, having arrived in Moscow in December 1902, must have immediately joined St. Andrew’s choir and informed the then organist, Mr. Ramsay, that he could also play the organ. I do not know where or when Peter B. Done learnt to play the organ – his father was a baker and confectioner, so probably, not from his family, but who knows?

In the summer of 1903, during Mr. Ramsay’s holiday in England, which eventually ended in his resignation, Peter B. Done served as his substitute. As we read in the minutes of St. Andrew’s Annual Meeting, upon receiving Mr. Ramsay’s letter of resignation on 29 August 1903, and after much consideration, the church committee resolved to “request Mr Peter Betton Done, a gentleman of considerable musical ability, here in Moscow, … to undertake the duties of organist…”.

Peter B. Done, however, “declined the appointment, as he was unable to accept the conditions mentioned in the wardens’ letter, but agreed to deputise until the services of a professional organist could be obtained”. Mr. Ramsay had combined the duties of an organist, librarian and clerk in the church. I suspect that these were the conditions Peter B. Done could not accept, simultaneously managing the Kodak Moscow branch.

It was decided to separate these duties, and “after some personal communication, Mr Done agreed to deputise as long as he can”. For his services he was to receive a monthly salary of 50 rubles, an additional 10 rubles for every special organ service at marriages or funerals and “to have free use of the organist’s lodging, with heating lighting, etc, as enjoyed by previous organists.”

As everybody knows, nothing is more permanent than a temporary arrangement. Mr. Peter B. Done “deputised” for fifteen years – until 1918.

Peter Betton Done died in Shropshire, England, in 1943. His daughter Vlasta Eileen was married to David Bonner-Smith, historian of the Royal Navy and Admiralty Librarian from 1932 till 1950.

At the same time, there are many unanswered questions about him. And the very first one begins with his name – Speyer. Even though he was baptised in the English Chapel in Moscow and several official documents refer to him as an Anglican and a British subject, in Russian he was known as either Фридрих (Friedrich) or Фёдор Филиппович Шпейер (Fedor Philippovich [Sh]peyer), with the typically German pronunciation of the surname. In 1886, when he decided to become a Russian subject, he signed the document as “British subject Friedrich Speyer”. Was his family of Hanoverian origin? Did he fashion his name to the German style to better fit into Russian society, where the German community was so large that German names were very common? It’s hard to say. He also studied at the Vienna Conservatory, which, of course, doesn’t prove anything except that he must have been fluent in German.

The main source of information about him is a book published in 1905 by the Alexandrovsky Military College, containing biographies of its most distinguished students and teachers. Frederick Speyer taught choir singing at the college from 1891 to 1895 and again from 1898 to 1901. In 1905, when the volume was compiled, Speyer was 58 years of age, and the two photographs that survive were most likely taken for this publication.

Frederick Speyer was the eleventh of twelve children born to Philip Speyer and his wife Anna, née Zamen. An archival document from 1848 states that Philip Speyer was a British subject and a merchant. Another, dated 1855, records that he became a Russian subject and was admitted to Moscow’s 3^rdMerchant Guild.

Frederick’s ten younger siblings were baptised in the English Chapel in Moscow almost all at once over the course of two years: 1845 and 1846. The eldest child, Jane, was 15 years old at the time of her baptism. Then, in 1848, their mother was baptised there as well. She was 43 years old. I don’t know how to interpret these facts.

Frederick was born in 1847, and by the time he was 10, both his parents had died, one after the other. According to his biography from the Alexandrovsky Military College, he went to a Catholic church school, where the local organist, Rudolf Slavik, noticed his musical talent and taught him singing, music theory and organ playing. By the age of 12, Frederick Speyer was able to substitute for his teacher when he was ill, serving both as organist and choirmaster.

In 1864, with the sponsorship of Arkady Alfonsky, the head of Moscow University, and several others, Frederick Speyer was able to go to the Vienna Conservatory to study singing, composition and organ performance. It was upon his return to Moscow from Vienna in 1867 that he became the organist of the Anglican church. There’s no information on how long he held this position.

In 1878 he was invited to become the organist of the Moscow Imperial Theatres (the Bolshoi Theatre). Whether this means that he gave up his position at the Anglican church is unclear. At least one article states that he played the organ in the newly erected St. Andrew’s Anglican Church – this would have to be at least late 1884 if not early 1885. So, there is a possibility that he worked at both. It looks like Frederick Speyer was able to work in many different places at the same time. From the late 19^th century up to the 1917 Revolution he taught at several institutions, including:

Spiess’s School for Girls

Mansbach’s School for Girls

Pussel’s School for Girls

Usachevsko-Cherniavskoe College for Girls

Bess’s School for Girls

Nikolai I Orphan Institute.

In addition to teaching, Frederick Speyer authored several textbooks for singing and edited choral works for publication. He also directed the Russian Choir Society, the Moscow University Students’ Choir, the Pharmaceutical Society Choir and the Merchant Clerks’ Choir. He was in correspondence with the Russian composer Sergey Taneev.

The last time that we see Frederick Speyer’s name in Moscow Address books is in its 1917 issue. No information can be found of his death or burial. He had no children, but descendants of his siblings have been trying to find out where and when he died. So far, without success.

I cannot provide a comprehensive list of all the organists of the English church in Moscow, whether of the British Chapel that stood in Bolshoi Chernyshevsky Lane from 1829 to 1882, or of St. Andrew’s Anglican Church that replaced it in 1884. Still, there are four names that need to be mentioned. This post is about one of them.

Matthew Camidge

Matthew Camidge, holder of a Master of Arts degree from Queens’ College, Cambridge, was chaplain at the English Church in Moscow for sixteen and a half years – from 1829 to 1847. 1829 was an important year for the Anglican community in Moscow – this was the first time in over a century that they finally acquired their own church building. When the Russian capital was moved to St. Petersburg in the early 1700s, the majority of the British merchants moved there as well, leaving just a few behind, who could no longer afford a church of their own. The Anglicans then united with the Dutch Reformed church and shared the same building until 1812, when, during Napoleon’s invasion, the building was destroyed by the Great Fire of Moscow. It was only in 1825 that the Anglican services resumed – temporarily, in the house of Princess Prozorovsky, not far from where St. Andrew’s stands today. The first chaplain in many years, Charles Burlton, led the congregation during this transitional period. When Matthew Camidge arrived, the building of the British Chapel had already been bought but not used yet. The first service took place on December 1, 1829 (old style, Julian calendar), exactly one month after his arrival. So, what does he have to do with music?

Matthew Camidge came from a very musical family. His grandfather, John Camidge (1735-1803), was an organist of York Minster from 1756 to 1799 – for over 40 years.

His father, also Matthew Camidge (1764-1844), was both a composer and the organist of York Minster from 1799 to 1842, succeeding his father, John Camidge.

His brother, John Camidge (1790-1859), likewise became a composer and organist of York Minster, serving from 1842 to 1858, and succeeding their father.

It looks like the Camidges kept the organ of York Cathedral steady in their family hands for over a century! Of the three generations, Matthew Camidge Sr. appears to be the most well-known and accomplished musician. He wrote hymns and psalms, as well as sonatas and concertos for the organ and piano. Besides being an excellent organist and pianist, he also played the violin and was famous for brilliant organ improvisations. As a violinist, he led the orchestra of the York Musical Society which still exists today. He also organized large music festivals at York in 1823, 1825 and later years. It is hard to imagine that his son Matthew would be entirely without a musical talent or deprived of musical instruction, even though he was not known as a musician.

Little is known about Matthew Camidge of Moscow. However, there is an interesting, if somewhat subjective, account of him – which, actually, makes it even more interesting and lively – written by the famous English diarist Anne Lister (1791-1840) during her stay in Moscow in the winter of 1839-1840. She described him on October 30, 1839, as a “nice respectable good sort of man”. However, her first impression of the chapel and its chaplain on Sunday, October 20, 1839, was a bit harsher, which is typical of her style of writing:

“Leopold being engaged at his church, Gross went with the carriage this morning to church – There at 11 – Waited 25 minutes before the clergyman, Mr. Cammidge, brother of Dr. C-[Cammidge] of York organist at the Cathedral, came – did all the duty – led the singers in the 1st verse of each of the 2 psalms (syllabizing time-wise very disagreeably tho’ like a singing master) and preached ½ hour from psalm XL. vv.[verses] 1,2,3,4. Talked of our ‘negociations’ and ‘conversations’ with God, and of God’s turnnig our minds as as ‘a porter determines his vessels’ – Yorkshire pronunciation – Wide difference between the clergyman of the ‘British Chapel Moscow’ and the ‘British Factory St. Petersburg’ books here as well as at St. P-[Petersburg] lettered on the back as above and lying in sufficient no.[number] on the desk of each pew –

The chapel very neat and spacious and commodious – A very respectable looking congregation gentlemen and ladies = about 42 or 43 including us all – I think our own carriage and 4 and 2 drivers (Gross and Leopold behind) made the 5th and there were about 5 carriages with a pair of horses! All waiting the spacious courtyard of the chapel home at 1 25/’’ for a few minutes…”

According to Lisa Timb’s article “Anne Lister’s Musical Education,” Anne Lister was a talented musician herself and knew Matthew Camidge’s father, who, in addition to being an organist of York Cathedral, was Music Master at the Manor School, where Anne was sent at the age of fourteen.

So, disagreeably or not, Rev. Matthew Camidge did lead his choir in Moscow, at least in the psalms, and did that professionally.

Firstly, there is a “List of Russian and foreign teachers who resided in the Arbat part of Moscow after 1812, compiled by the police”. In it, Florio is described as a native of London who gave private singing lessons and lived in a house belonging to Elizabeth Mara, a foreigner. The document also notes that he held no degree from any academic institution.

The second document is Florio’s will of 1817, written two and a half years before his death. In it, he struggles to decide whether to leave a substantial sum of money to his niece and nephew or to his own children born out of wedlock: “Upon reflection”, he writes at the end, “my children should be provided for before my relations”.

The third document is Florio’s petition to the Russian government for financial aid after Napoleon’s invasion of Moscow. Judging by all these documents, Florio’s life was not easy, or perhaps, it went downhill after the war of 1812. Yet before 1812, he seems to have been much better off and even owned his own house in the Arbat part of Moscow – a building of “stone and wood” that was worth 25 thousand rubles.

Arbat Street and its surrounding area were as central and prestigious in the early 19^th century as they are today, with many noble families living there. This is where Natasha Rostova in Tolstoy’s War and Peace stays at her aunt’s house during one of her visits to Moscow. It is also where Pierre Bezukhov, from the same novel, wanders in frustration as Napoleon’s army first enters the city. The Arbat is actually the continuation of the road that brought Napoleon’s army to Moscow. So, it is hardly surprising that Florio’s house was plundered and burned – few houses in that area survived Napoleon’s invasion and the great fire of Moscow.

In the petition, Florio gives a detailed account of what he lost to the fire in addition to his house valued at 25,000 rubles and the furniture in it, worth 5,000 rubles:

The next most expensive items were his carriage – “English, almost new” – valued at 2,000 rubles; and four other vehicles of the day: three more carriages (1,000 rubles) and one drozhki, a two-seated open carriage (1,200 rubles).

After that comes wine (1,700 rubles) and a ‘Clementi’s fortepiano’ (1,500rubles), which brings us to the second name worth mentioning.

Muzio Clementi (1752-1832) was a renowned British musician, also of Italian origin. In addition to being a composer, concert pianist and piano teacher, he owned a music publishing house and made pianos – a revolutionary instrument for his time, which, unlike the harpsichord, could produce soft and loud sounds.

In today’s world, it is hard to imagine how people transported such big items in the pre-railway era. And yet, Clementi’s pianos became extremely popular in Russia, opening the market for other manufacturers of the newly invented instrument as well, especially after his visit to St. Petersburg in 1802-1803. This was part of a European commercial tour during which he gave concerts and marketed his pianos.

On this tour, he was accompanied by his young student and colleague John Field, who had also helped him market his pianos in London. While Clementi continued his European tour, returning briefly to Russia in 1806, John Field stayed behind and lived the rest of his life in St. Petersburg and Moscow.

John Field (1782-1837) was born in Dublin, Ireland, but moved with his family to London at the age of ten or eleven. With a grandfather who was an organist and a father who was a violinist, John Field was exposed to music from an early age. By the time he arrived in London, he had learned to play the piano well enough to continue his education with Muzio Clementi – a relationship that was probably more like an apprenticeship, since John Field also helped him make and sell pianos.

Clementi and Field spent a whole year together in St. Petersburg, from summer 1802 to June 1803. After securing a highly paid teaching position for his student, Clementi left Russia. John Field was 20 years of age at that time and spent the next 35 years until his death in 1837 in Russia, living between St. Petersburg and Moscow.

While in Russia, John Field continued teaching and performing, as well as composing music and creating the genre of the nocturne. He married a French pianist Adelaide Percheron, and their son Adrien also became a pianist. Field also had an illegitimate son, Leon, by a French singer named Charpentier. Leon studied music with his father and later became a well-known tenor.

Although Irish, John Field’s family belonged to the Church of Ireland, therefore, they were Anglican. However, I haven’t managed to find any entries with his name either in the registers of the Anglican churches in St. Petersburg or Moscow, with the exception of the entry of his death:

John Field’s tomb at Vvedenskoe Cemetery in Moscow is easy to find. It is often adorned with flowers. This is a video from my visit in 2021:

Most Russian and English-language sources about John Field cite different versions of his supposed deathbed conversation with either friends or a Russian Orthodox priest regarding his religion. Field reportedly kept answering “no” to a series of questions: Was he Russian Orthodox? – or perhaps Catholic? – or Lutheran? It was only when asked if he was a Calvinist, that Field smiled and finally said, “I’m a Claveciniste”, a term that is both Russian and French for a harpsichordist.

I was curious where this story originated. The earliest mention I have found appears in the memoir of Vladimir Osipovich Sherwood (1832-1897), a famous Russian architect of English descent who designed, among many other buildings and monuments, the Historical Museum on Red Square. His grandfather, William Sherwood, was a mechanic from Kent who came to Russia in 1800 at the invitation of Emperor Pavel I. This is what Vladimir Sherwood writes about John Field while talking about his aunt, William Sherwood’s daughter Elizabeth:

“Elizaveta Vasilyevna (Elizabeth) received a good education in her youth, according to the standards of the time, of course; she knew English and French well and took music lessons from Field who was then famous.

Field often visited Vasily Yakovlevich’s (William’s) family and brought his pupil Dubuc with him. I remember the style of that school: calm, gentle and very pleasant. Field himself was extremely interesting, according to my aunt’s stories. She would play us his waltz, in which the composer personified his quarrel with his wife.

Field was very much loved in Moscow. During my stay in England, I liked to tease the English that their only remarkable musician, Field, lived and died in Moscow. He remained an eccentric until the very last moment of his life. When the Russians surrounding his deathbed were concerned about his last rites but did not know exactly which church he belonged to, they asked the dying man about it. When they asked, ‘Perhaps you are a Catholic?’ he shook his head. ‘Perhaps a Lutheran?’ - the same negative sign. ‘Are you a Calvinist, then?’ - ‘Oh, yes! I am a Clavecinist.’”

I could only find the first chapter of this wonderful memoir, but it’s fascinating reading – more than worthy of a separate post. Besides, I discovered an interesting detail about the McGill and Hopper families in the introduction. So, in the future, I should probably interrupt the music theme and focus on this family of architects for a while.

Now, finally, back to music!

It always amazes me how quickly an unfamiliar name in my database of British people who lived in 19^th-century Moscow can turn into a story – a story that doesn’t even require much digging! It’s often been there on the surface all along, just waiting to be opened and read.

I rarely decide in advance which name to research next. The most remarkable thing about this project is that over the years it has been unfolding before my eyes almost of its own accord, while I’ve been frantically trying to keep up. The most usual scenario is when a descendant contacts me, and we begin uncovering their family’s past together.

This time, however, was different. While writing a post about Nora Gibson McGill and her music teacher – a professor at the Moscow Conservatory – I checked to see if Nora herself had been a student there. She hadn’t. While doing so, I looked at other British-sounding names and checked if any of the unfamiliar ones were already in my database. Several surnames were (and I plan to research them later), but not the individuals themselves.

With one exception – Elizabeth Worledge.

I didn’t have much on her – just a marriage register entry from her wedding in 1908. She was 26 years old and married a Russian man – Nikolai Sergeevich Ivachev. The register noted that her father, George Henry Wollaston Worledge, had been deceased by that time. Among the witnesses were George Charles Worledge and Sarah Worledge. (And yes, the “Von Meck“ signature is also extremely fascinating!)

A Mrs. Worledge was also listed in the 1902 St. Andrew’s List of Subscribers to the General Fund. Her contribution was 6 rubles out of a total of 7,190 rubles collected. This was clearly not Elizabeth – perhaps it was her mother? Perhaps, the same Sarah Worledge who was a witness at her marriage?

A ‘Sara Romanovna’ Worledge appears in the 1902 Moscow Address Book as the owner of a blacksmith’s shop in Palikha Street. In the “1914 Memorial Book on Moscow Region” we read that “The English Farrier Factory of the British subject Sara Romanovna Worledge is a supplier to the Court of Her Majesty Grand Princess Elisaveta Fiodorvna”.

A quick google search of the name Worledge in Russian brought a stunning result: on the old archived portal of Moscow Conservatory there is a whole family history written by Elizabeth Worledge’s daughter – complete with photographs and historical documents!

So, let’s take a look at it.

The story begins with George Henry Wollaston Worledge, who was born in 1856 in Portsmouth to the family of a shipwright. At the age of 16 he was apprenticed to a smith and farrier for six years. The family preserved the original Indenture of Apprenticeship signed in 1872, according to which the poor lad had to give up all the fun in life for 6 long years! He wasn’t allowed to “play at cards or dice tables or any other unlawful games”, go to a “tavern or playhouse”, “commit fornication or contract matrimony”.

After 6 years of apprenticeship he became a specialist in thin, light horseshoes for racing horses and decided to join an English firm that was planning to expand its business to St. Petersburg, Russia. Just before his departure, he married 18-year-old Sarah Jane – whose last name, judging by the documents I found on FamilySearch, was likely Bargent.

In St. Petersburg, George Henry Wollaston became known as Egor Egorovitch Worledge. The family had two children: Lizzie, born in 1881, and Jessie, born in 1883. Jessie died at the age of five from scarlet fever.

In 1894, the company where George Worledge worked moved from St. Petersburg to Moscow. By that time Lizzie had already been studying music for several years. She began at the age of 6, when her father bought himself an accordion and learnt to play it. Little Lizzie soon followed his lead, playing by ear all the songs that she knew.

One of their neighbours heard her playing the accordion and told her parents that she had a real gift. From then until the family’s move to Moscow, Lizzie took piano lessons with Professor N. Krivoshein, a graduate of the St. Petersburg Conservatory.

In Moscow, Lizzie continued studying piano and in 1898 entered the Moscow Conservatory. That same year her father died of consumption. For some reason, his death is not recorded in the St. Andrew’s register, but it can be indirectly confirmed by consulting the Moscow Address Books – in 1897, the business was still listed under George’s name, while in 1898 it had already been transferred to Sarah Jane.

With her father’s death, Lizzie’s life changed, and now she had to help support her family. She started giving music and English lessons. In 1903, she graduated from the Moscow Conservatory with a Gold Medal.

Back in those days, the names of all Moscow Conservatory gold medallists were carved in stone and can still be seen on the wall near the Small Hall. There is another suspiciously British-looking name next to Elizabeth Worledge’s – Agda MacReady, which I will research later.

Elizabeth Worledge was not only a pianist – she was also a composer. In 1903-1904, she went on a concert tour to St. Petersburg and then to London. A compilation of her piano pieces was published in London, and later – after her marriage and under her new name, Ivacheva – a second edition was published for violin, cello and piano.

Her husband Nikolai Sergeevich Ivachev was a mathematician. Upon marrying him, Elizabeth became a Russian subject and, in addition to performing, taught music at several schools.

Sadly, the marriage was not a success and ended in a divorce. It was then that Elizabeth began taking singing lessons and giving concerts where she would play the piano in one part and sing arias from operas in the other. Her first singing teacher was Maria Dulova – her colleague from one of the music schools. In her younger years, Maria Dulova sang at Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg and was rather well-known. She was married to Prince Dulov, a violinist and professor at the Moscow Conservatory. Elizabeth’s family preserved Maria Dulova’s photograph with an inscription on the back: “To highly esteemed Elizaveta Georgievna, in memory of our good beginning. January 19, 1912”:

When I was reading this memoir, I immediately recognized the photograph – I had seen it before. Maria Dulova had given another copy to young Essie Bowe – the daughter of Allan Bowe, Carl Fabergé’s partner and a prominent figure in the British colony in Moscow. That photo has a different inscription on the back, “To my lovely pupil M-lle Bowe from her strict and evil teacher, Princess M.Dulova”. It’s amazing how everything is interconnected.

From 1924 to1938 Elizabeth Worledge worked as an accompanist in the Opera Studio led by Konstantine Stanislavsky, who highly valued her talent. During the Studio’s first season – before it had its own orchestra – the entire opera “Eugene Onegin” was performed by the Studio singers with Elizabeth Worledge playing the piano.

Later she met a colleague – another opera singer, Konstantine Poltevsky – whom she married and lived with till the end of her life.

Elizabeth Worledge died in Moscow in 1944 at the age of 60.

So, this is the story that I read. It answers almost all the questions – but some remain. Who was George Charles Worledge, the second witness at Elizabeth’s first marriage? He could have been Elizabeth’s brother, but the memoir doesn’t mention any other siblings.

I found some information about his baptism on FamilySearch, according to which he was baptized in St. Petersburg on April 26, 1892, and his parents were Isaac John Bacon Worledge and Elizabeth Helen Worledge:

Further research revealed that Isaac John Bacon was George Henry Wollaston’s younger brother. He was 10 years younger that George Henry Wollaston and lived in St. Petersburg at least from 1890 to 1892. The brothers also had two sisters – Emily Mary and Florence Theresa. But they never left England.

In the Russian archives, I found a 1915 entry in the marriage register of one of Moscow Russian Orthodox churches. It records the wedding of the British subject George Charles Worledge and a Russian Subject Olga Karlovna Thiel, the daughter of a wealthy merchant of Austrian origin. Her mother was a cousin of the Sherwoods – the renowned family of Russian architects of British descent.

Unlike his cousin Elizabeth, who stayed in Russia after the 1917 Revolution, George Charles Worledge must have returned to England: it looks like his son George Worledge visited Russia in June 1997 – a visit that was covered by the newspaper Vecherniaia Moskva. I wonder if he met with Elizabeth’s descendants?

So, before I continue with the fascinating topic of Music in the Life of the British Colony in Moscow, which is so dear to my heart, I will jot down a couple of observations I have just made.

Not long ago, one of the descendants (by which I mean a descendant of the people I’m researching, not my own) sent me photos of the British church registers kept at the Russian State Historical Archive in St. Petersburg. From the very beginning of my research, I had decided to limit myself to the British Colony in Moscow – partly because the colony in St. Petersburg has already been quite well studied and documented, and partly because I have to be realistic about how much I can study and hold in my head. The colony in St. Petersburg was huge. However, in the photos that I received, a few pages were about Moscow – covering the years 1706 to 1723.

These are the pre-St. Petersburg years of the British Colony in Moscow – much earlier than the period I have been studying so far. Trying to delve into them only adds to the questions I’ve already been struggling with when defining the scope of my research: “Who are the British?” and “What is Moscow?”. In the context of my project, these two seemingly easy questions are a lot more complicated than one might think!

Should I include the Russian spouses of the British subjects? What about the British who became Russian subjects? I have the registers of the Anglican church – but what about the British Catholics? Where do I even find those? Should I include the Irish? (Of course, I did – otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to talk about John Field, the great Irish composer buried in Moscow!) Should I include the British who lived far away from Moscow – even in Siberia – but registered their weddings and baptisms in Moscow?

And now this: should I add the names from the 1706-1723 register into my database? Most of them almost certainly moved to St. Petersburg in 1723.

I decided I should. What if somebody is looking for them? I will mark the new surnames with an asterisk (*) in the general list on my website to show that they only appear in the 1706-1723 registers.

So, let’s take a look at this treasure!

It begins in 1706 with a beautiful title:

And ends with an equally beautiful ending in 1723 (I think, from now on, I’ll start saying “I’m obliged to repair thither” when I have to go somewhere):

I have no idea where the earlier or later Moscow registers are. In this particular register, once the move to St. Petersburg takes place, the records begin to reflect the life of the newly established British Colony in St. Petersburg.

But surely, some of the British stayed behind in Moscow? Did they have to travel to St.Petersburg to register baptisms, weddings and burials?

In “The British Church of St. Andrew, Moscow: Handbook for the Members of the Congregation”, published in 1912, the year 1723 is not mentioned at all. Instead, we read:

“… in consequence of the removal of the Court and foreign factories to St. Petersburg, the few English and Dutch merchants who remained in Moscow, finding that they were unable to support separate churches, united in the maintenance of one, which became known as the English and Reformed Church.

From about 1557 then, to 1629 the English residents had service in a room of the English Factory or in the house of the ambassador; from 1629 to 1714 they worshipped as an independent congregation; and from 1714 until the great fire of 1812, they no longer had a separate church, but in common with the Dutch…”

The year 1714 must be a mistake in the Handbook, I’m afraid. It should be 1723.

But let’s look further.

The second page contains the list of the English Congregation in Moscow and begins with three important names:

• Charles Whitworth Esq., Envoy Extraordinary from Her Majesty of Great Britain;

• Charles Goodfellow, Her Majesty’s Consul;

• Dr. Areskin, chief Physician to the Emperor of Russia.

Of the three, I found Dr. Areskin (also spelt as Erskine) the most interesting. The two Wikipedia articles about him – one in Russian, the other in English – complement each other and together create a vivid image of this extraordinary Scotsman.

The page continues with the list of other members of the English Congregation in Moscow in 1706 – first 40 men, then 10 married women, one of them – “with a daughter”. On the next page there’s an addition of 17 new members as of 1709: 13 men and 4 women. The minister forgets to include himself in the list and only writes his name at the very end to sign and certify it.

So, from 1706 to 1709 we have a total of 72 people. With the exception of one “daughter” (who might have been an adult), the list contains no children.

After the list, the register proper follows: 80 entries in total, the last one dated March 10, 1723.

Some statistics drawn from these entries:

• 88 surnames

• 140 people, including infants who later died

• 26 baptisms

  • 24 infants were baptized

  • 2 baptisms of adults (one of them “Peter Hanbury the Tartar”. Being three-quarters Tartar myself, I think I have the right to exclaim here - Peter Hanbury?! What an extraordinary name for an 18th-century Tartar!)

    

• 14 weddings

  • in 10 of them the bride was a widow

• 44 burials

  • 12 were Infants

  • of those infants, 11 died within their first year of life; one was over 2 years old

I don’t believe the British community moved to St. Petersburg all at once in 1723. There must be some truth behind the words of the 1912 Handbook. It must have been happening gradually, beginning with 1713, when St. Petersburg became the official Russian capital. And looking at the register, there is a considerable decrease in entries if you compare 1712 and the following years:

1706 - 6 entries

1707 - 3 entries

1708 - 7 entries

1709 - 6 entries

1710 - 14 entries

1711 - 7 entries

1712 - 11 entries

1713 - 6 entries

1714 - 1 entry

1715 - 2 entries

1716, 1717 - no entries

1718 - 3 entries

1720 - 4 entries

1721 - 4 entries

1722 - 6 entries

1723 - 3 entries

Other observations:

This is not the original register.

Entry 67 includes a note: [The rest of this article and part of that which follows are cut out from the original Register book.]

And, finally, these pages give us the names of two ministers who served as chaplains in the British church in Moscow between 1706 and 1723:

· Charles Thirlby, who died on November 8, 1715

· Thomas Consett, who became chaplain after Thirlby’s death and who, from June 1723, continued as Chaplain to the British Factory in Russia in St. Petersburg.

There’s more information on Charles Thirlby in this wonderful online database, which I might draw ideas from as I (hopefully!) begin to build my own internet-based database of the British in Moscow next academic year. Sadly (and surprisingly) Thomas Consett is not included there.

However, when googled, his name brings up a lot of information! He wrote at least two books, including “The Present State and Regulations of the Church of Russia” (published in England in 1729) and “For God and Peter the Great: The Works of Thomas Consett, 1723-1729”, edited by James Cracraft – or perhaps, one is a part of the other. There is also his sermon delivered at the English Church in St. Petersburg following the death of Peter the Great and “A Journal of Meteorological Observations at Petersburgh”!

Now, this information will go directly onto my website – to the list of chaplains of the British church in Moscow!

It begins with a guest book that bears an intriguing title – “Liebe Gäste in Nashdom”:

The first 2 pages are equally as interesting:

What’s so unusual about them? First of all, you can see three languages at play:

German – “Liebe Gäste” (“Dear guests”),

English – or rather, mock-Old English used playfully – “Ye Familie”,

and Russian – disguised as English with a typical English suffix -dom, as in kingdom, boredom, etc. – “Nashdom”.

However, the disguise doesn’t fool all the guests in this book. Most write it as two words: “Nash dom”, which in Russian simply means “Our home” or “Our house” – “Наш дом”:

Secondly, as the first page suggests, the book (and the house) belonged to the family of Eleanora, H.A.Haldane, Kathleen, George C. Piggott and Joan McGill. They began the guest book on January 2, 1910, but the first guests arrived only in April – three and a half months later. None of this is surprising to me, since I know this family very well.

Eleanora McGill, née Gibson, was one of the twelve children of Charles John Gibson (I have a post about a poem on his tomb at the Vvedenskoe cemetery), director of the Nevsky Stearin Factory in Moscow. She married Albert McGill, a member of another extremely wealthy and influential British family in Moscow.

Albert and Eleanora McGill decided to leave Russia sometime around 1907 – not long after the first Russian Revolution (1905) – and settled in Potsdam, Germany. Albert died in Berlin in October 1909, was cremated in Hamburg, and his ashes were interred at the Vvedenskoe cemetery in Moscow in March 1910.

This was probably the reason why Eleanora and their children – H. A. Haldane, Kathleen, George C. Piggott and Joan – didn’t have any guests in early 1910 in their home in Potsdam: they had travelled to Moscow to bury the ashes.

But the little story that intrigued me evolves from a comment on page 6. The page begins with a short piece of music – a sequence of simple chords that, when played, sounds like fanfares. Four lines in German follow, then the date: May 28, 1910. Beneath that are two signatures – Karl and Henrietta Klindworth.

The German text reads:

„ In dankbarer Erinnerung gewährter Gunst, glückliche Tage im gemütlichen, schönen Heim meiner verehrten, einst lieben Schülerin Nora McGill zu verbleiben “

It translates into English roughly as:

“In grateful memory of granted kindness, happy days to remain in the cosy, beautiful home of my esteemed, once dear student Nora McGill. I remain … “

So – Eleanora McGill was once Karl Klindworth’s student. She was born in 1864 in Moscow and lived there until she moved to Germany in 1907.

Who was Karl Klindworth and what could he have taught her?

Surprisingly, a quick research reveals that Karl Klindworth was a rather well-known German musician – a pupil of Liszt and a friend of Wagner. At the invitation of Nikolai Rubinstein, Klindworth came to Moscow in 1868 and accepted a position of professor of pianoforte at the Moscow Conservatory, which had opened only 2 years earlier. He remained there until 1881.

An early admirer of Wagner’s talent, Klindworth passed on his enthusiasm for Wagner’s music to his colleague Pyotr Tchaikovsky.

Together with his wife Henrietta, née Karop, Karl Klindworth raised her orphaned distant relative from Britain – Winifred Marjorie Williams – who later married Richard Wagner’s son Siegfried.

At the time of Karl and Henrietta’s visit to Nashdom, Winifred would have been about 13 years old. We do not know whether she accompanied her adoptive parents on the visit or not.

According to the Wikipedia article, in 1910, Karl Klindworth was living in Potsdam and giving private music lessons. However, his use of “einst” – German for “once” – in the phrase “once dear student Nora McGill” most likely refers to much earlier times: his years in Moscow and Eleanora’s youth.

It’s not surprising that Eleanora Gibson would have studied music. Judging by the Gibson family photo albums preserved in the archive of St. Andrew’s Anglican Church in Moscow, the Gibson children loved all kinds of creative entertainment – from putting on plays and musicals to staging photographs with comic or dramatic scenes:

So, this guest book entry turned out to be yet another example of the many musical connections within the British Colony in Moscow. I have written before that I know of at least two other families – the Parkinson-Worswicks and the Dislin/Colleys – whose members studied at Moscow Conservatory. Naturally, I checked whether Eleanora Gibson studied there too. The Conservatory’s website lists all its graduates – she is not among them.

However, while browsing the names of graduates with British-sounding names, I came across someone who absolutely deserves a separate post here – Elizabeth Worledge. How could I not have known about her earlier?

A satirical Soviet fantasy with two intertweaving plotlines – one about Satan and his retinue visiting Moscow in the mid-1930s, causing havoc in the Soviet capital; and the other about the inner turmoil of Yeshua and Pontius Pilate during their brief interaction two thousand years ago, as well as what happened before and after – the book is rich in symbolism and hidden meanings. Among them is Bulgakov’s fanciful naming of both main and secondary characters.

For instance, three characters are named after famous composers – Berlioz, Stravinsky and Rimsky. Some characters have recognizable prototypes from real life. One of them is Archibald Archibaldovich, a relatively minor but highly memorable figure: the manager of the restaurant at the writer’s house – “Griboedov’s House”. Bulgakov described him as looking like a pirate.

Writers who were Bulgakov’s contemporaries easily recognized the prototype of Archibald Archibaldovich: Yakov Danilovich Rosenthal (1893-1966), nicknamed “The Beard”, who was indeed the manager of the restaurant at the real-life writer’s house – “Herzen House”:

This is what you will read in most papers written on the topic. None of the papers, however, give an explanation for the strangest name that the restaurant manager has – Archibald Archibaldovich. According to Russian tradition, everyone has a given name and a patronymic – a name derived from one’s father’s given name. In the case of Archibald Archibaldovich, the name simply means that the character’s father was also named Archibald.

Archibald is not a Russian name, and together with this patronymic, it sounds both ridiculous and quite a mouthful. How did Bulgakov even come up with this idea? Some papers suggest it may be an allusion to Edward Edwardovich – a character from Andrey Bely’s novel.

The funniest thing is that no one even thinks to look at the real Archibald Archibaldovich who actually lived in Moscow until 1910 and was extremely well-known – although his russified British name wasn’t nearly as striking – Arkhip Arkhipovich. All British people in Russia had russified names:

William=Vassily

George=Egor

Jane=Evgenia

John=Ivan

Matthew=Matvei

Theodore-Fiodor

Walter=Vladimir

James=Yakov

Samuel=Samoilo

and Archibald=Arkhip!

Archibald (Arkhip Arkhipovich=Archibald Archibaldovich) Mirrielees (1850-1915) was one of the directors of the iconic Muir&Mirrielees department store in Moscow. He was the second son of the company’s founder, Archibald Mirrielees Sr. (1797-1877), who arrived in St. Petersburg in 1822 and lived there until his retirement in 1857, when he returned to Britain

The Moscow branch, which initially operated as a wholesale business – just like the original company in St. Petersburg – was run by several family members, including Andrew Muir (Archibald Sr.’s brother-in-law), Walter Philip (Andrew Muir’s stepson) and Archibald Jr. – that is, Archibald Archibaldovich’.

By the mid-1880s they had already shifted to retail and opened the first department store in Moscow, modeled after Bon Marché in Paris or Whitley’s in London. The story of the family and the department store is quite fascinating and a delight to read in Harvey Pitcher’s book Muir&Mirrielees: the Scottish Partnership that became a Household Name in Russia.

So, is the name a coincidence – or could Mikhail Bulgakov have known about Archibald Mirrielees Jr.? Now, that’s something for the philologists to find out. Bulgakov first came to Moscow for a short visit in 1917 – two years after Archibald Jr.’s death and 7 years after his retirement and return to Britain. In 1921, Bulgakov settled in Moscow.

Iterestingly, on January 14, 1922, he published an article titled Trade Renaissance, where he describes the early results of the New Economic Policy (NEP) – a sort of a step back that the Bolshevik government had to take in order to revive the economy ruined first by WWI, then the Civil War and finally, by their own decisions. As soon as private enterprise was allowed again, trade resumed and shops quickly filled with goods. That’s exactly what Bulgakov is describing.

In this article he mentions two shops that had once belonged to the British – Shanks’ shop and Muir&Mirrielees:

“…в бывшем магазине Шанкса, из огромных витрин тучей глядят дамские шляпы, чулки, ботинки, меха. Это один из универсальных магазинов. Моск. потр. общ. Оно открыло восемь таких магазинов по всей Москве.”

“…in the former Shanks‘ shop, ladies’ hats, stockings, boots, and furs stare out from the huge windows. This is one of the department stores of the Moscow Consumer Society. It has opened eight such shops all over Moscow.”

“Громада «Мюр и Мерилиза» еще безмолвно и пусто чернеет своими громадными стеклами, но уже в нижнем этаже исчезли из витрины гигантские раскрашенные карикатуры на Нуланса и По, а из дверей выметают сор. И Москва знает уже, что в феврале здесь откроют универсальный магазин Мосторга с 25 отделениями и прежние директора Мюра войдут в его правление.”

“The “Muir and Mirrielees” building still looms silently, its massive windows dark and empty, but already on the ground floor, the giant painted caricatures of Nolans and Poe have disappeared from the display, and litter is being swept out of the doors. Moscow already knows that in February, a department store run by Mostorg with 25 departments will open here, and the former directors of Muir will join its board.”

So, the puzzle remains – but I have a feeling there’s a pretty good chance that the idea for such an absurd name didn’t just pop into Bulgakov’s head by itself!

The other feeling was surprise – I recognised many of the names on it. I had seen some of them on tombstones and others in print, but here they were real signatures of real people – the names were coming alive!

One of the signatures had a year embroidered next to it: 1905. That gave us an exact date for when the tablecloth was embroidered!

At church, we all marvelled at this incredible artefact. Who made it? How long did it take to embroider over all those signatures? Why did they do it? Was it common to make such tablecloths?

Some time later, Mike Gibson, a friend from church, told me excitedly that he had seen a similar tablecloth at the Leo Tolstoy Museum! I rushed there. On the ground floor, in Tatiana’s room (Tatiana was one of Tolstoy’s daughters), there was indeed a similar tablecloth!

The lovely ladies working at the museum told me that Tatiana had embroidered it herself, and that the signatures belonged to the family members and friends who visited the Tolstoys as guests. But they didn’t know anything more. So, I decided to write to the keepers of the museum and received a prompt reply. They wrote that their tablecloth had 70 signatures and that they knew of several other similar tablecloths:

1. At the Abramtsevo Museum not far from Moscow. Abramtsevo was the estate of Savva Mamontov, a Russian industrialist who loved art. Around 1870, he began welcoming Russian artists who would come and work on their paintings as well as applied art pieces. Mamontov’s guests were the founders of the Neo-Russian Style which, much like the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and Arts and Crafts movement in England, contributed to the later development of Art Nouveau. The tablecloth at Abramtsevo was embroidered by Savva Mamontov’s wife and daughter and has 120 signatures. I found its photos on the Internet:

2. A similar tablecloth was embroidered in St. Petersburg by the wife of the famous Russian chemist and creator of the Periodic table, Dmitry Mendeleev.

3. There was another one in Hurzuf (a town on the Black Sea in the Crimea) in the house of Knipper-Chekhova, the wife of the famous writer Anton Chekhov.

4. A smaller ‘napkin’ with embroidered signatures of friends and family can also be found in the same Tolstoy’s Museum where the larger tablecloth is displayed.

I also found a photograph of a tablecloth with wishes and signatures that belonged to the famous singer Fedor Shaliapin. It was kept at his dacha in Kislovodsk in the North Caucasus:

And, as it often happens, when you are thinking about something, you suddenly stumble upon it in a place you’ve been before – but never noticed it. I was rereading John Steinbeck’s “Russian Journal” – the book about the trip he took to the Soviet Union with photographer Robert Capa in 1947, when, to my utter amazement, I came across the following paragraph about their visit to Stalingrad – a passage that contains a sentence I had never paid any attention to before:

“While we were in the architect’s office an official came in and asked whether we would like to see the gifts to the city of Stalingrad from the people of the rest of the world. And we, although we were museum-happy, thought we had to see them. <…> These were the gifts to the people of Stalingrad. There was a red velvet shield, covered with a lace of gold filigree from the King of Ethiopia. There was a parchment scroll of high-blown words from the United States government, signed by Franklin D. Roosevelt. There was a metal plaque from Charles de Gaulle, and the sword of Stalingrad, sent by the English King to the city of Stalingrad. There was a tablecloth with the embroidered names of fifteen hundred women in a small British town. The men brought the things to our room because there is no museum yet in Stalingrad. We had to look at the giant portfolios, wherein were written in the windiest of language greetings to the citizens of Stalingrad from governments, and prime ministers, and presidents.”

Fifteen hundred embroidered signatures sounds like a hyperbole – but who knows! I counted the signatures on our tablecloth at St. Andrew’s: a little over 150. A magnificent testimony to the British Colony in 19^th-century Moscow!

Some of these photographs are incredibly high in resolution, which can make you spend hours studying them – like this 1901 photograph of what is now known as Pushkin Square in Moscow, where Tverskoy Boulevard intersects with Tverskaya Street.

Half a century later, this place would look completely different. The monument to Alexander Pushkin would be moved across the street – in fact, to the very spot from which the old photograph was taken. The church on the left would be demolished and a modern apartment block would be erected in its place. The skyline would lose one iconic structure – the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour – and gain two others – two of the “Seven Sisters” skyscrapers – Moscow State University and the Ministry of Foreign affairs:

But this is not why we are looking at these pictures. Let’s go back to the first one and zoom in. With so few tall buildings around, St. Andrew’s Anglican church with its spiky turrets on the tower stands out clearly. Just behind it and stretching to the right is the large building of the Moscow Conservatory, with its elevated Grand Hall at the back – a new addition at the time. To the left of St. Andrew’s, and slightly farther away, is Christ the Saviour, the dominant feature of Moscow skyline in those days. Even farther to the left, one of the towers of the Moscow Kremlin can be seen. The photograph slightly distorts distances: in reality, the Kremlin is much closer to St. Andrew’s than the cathedral, while the Moscow Conservatory is practically next door - just a two-minute walk away.

In this lower-resolution 1902 photograph St. Andrew’s tower is still quite visible.

There are also some closer photographs of St. Andrew’s. This is what it looked like when it was newly built in 1884. The fence is still old – it must have remained from the earlier British Chapel. This photo shows why St. Andrew’s stands out so clearly in the panoramic photographs – there were no other tall structures around it at the time. With its distinctly English architecture, so different from all the surrounding buildings, it must have looked quite spectacular!

This one is a later photo, with a parsonage built next to the church and a new fence in place:

About five years ago, I tried to take a picture from the same angle – a sort of “find 10 differences” comparison:

By that time, the city of Moscow had installed stylized lamp posts in the centre of the city, which makes the comparison even more interesting. The main difference, of course, is the tall apartment block built in the 1930s behind the church. It has been looming over St. Andrew’s ever since, making it less visible and its Gothic Revival architecture a little less conspicuous.

There’s nothing surprising in finding this optimistic phrase on a tombstone. After all, for thousands of years it has expressed a universal human hope, whatever the religion. However, when I first saw it on two adjacent British graves at the Vvedenskoe Cemetery in Moscow – the cemetery where all the non-Orthodox Christians were buried before the 1917 Revolution – this phrase was a standalone on just one of the tombs. On the other one, there was a whole poem that followed it:

Where did this poem come from and who was its author? A quick Internet search yielded only three results – all with four verses, rather than just two engraved on the tombstone:

1. In January 1908, this poem, entitled “Continuity”, was published in Volume XL of The British Journal of Nursing with no author mentioned but a note – “From the Russian”:

2. In January 1906, it was published under the same title in No.1,305 – Vol. XXVI of Light: A Journal of Psychical, Occult, and Mystical Research – a British weekly periodical created by The Spiritual Alliance where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle also published many of his articles and letters. Here, however, after the poem we see two initials: H.F. and a note: “‘The Westminster Gazette,’ in quoting the above, says: – ‘It is an open secret that this poem, which in the original appears over the initials C.R. (Constantine Romanoff), is by the Imperial Russian Grand Duke Constantine.’”

3. The third result was more recent and came from the Digital Repository of Duke University: on April 17, 1960, this whole poem was cited by Roland H. Bainton, a British-born American Protestant church historian, in his Easter sermon at Duke University Chapel. There is an audiofile of his sermon and its transcription. Before reciting the poem, Roland H. Bainton states, “Count Romanoff, the Imperial Grand Duke of Russia, wrote these lines.”

Two very different sources named the same person as the author of the poem - Grand Duke Constantine. Let’s see who he was.

Constantine Constantinovich (alternative spelling closer to the Russian language – Konstantin Konstantinovich) was indeed Grand Duke of Russia and cousin of Nicholas II – Russia’s last Tsar. This is how they were related:

From his youth, Constantine wrote poems, many of which were set to music by some of the best Russian composers like Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov and Cui. Several collections of his poems were published in Russia between 1879 and 1901 under the penname K.R. (Konstantin Romanov). In addition to writing poetry, the Grand Duke was known for his translations from Schiller, Goethe and Shakespeare. His three-volume annotated translation of Hamlet was first published in 1899, and several later editions followed.

Finding the original of “There is no death…” proved to be a little quest. No poem written by K.R. begins with these words. However, there is a poem “Death” written in Florence on April 25 (the year remains a mystery) that has similar words in the last 4 lines:

The fourth line from the bottom (see the red arrow) literally translates as “There is no death for spirit! nor decay!” However, the rest of the poem is quite different from the English version. So, I decided to take the line of least resistance and rather than looking for possible Russian equivalents of “There is no death”, searched for the words that would be unique to the original poem – Raphael, Mozart and Shakespeare – which appear in verse 3. This was the right approach. I found it!

The closest translation of this poem into English under the title “Immortality“ appears in the March 1916 Issue of Volume 1 of The Russian Review – a journal published in New York. The author of this translation is Constance Purdy. Most likely, she is this American actress, who, according to Wikipedia, supposedly sang for Tsar Nicholas II, as well as translated traditional Russian songs.

The existence of this 1916 authorized translation, though, poses another question – whose translation is the one on the tombstone and in the journals? We do not know when the poem was engraved on the tombstones, but perhaps not later than the latest burial in 1909. And the journals are from 1906 and 1908. So, this translation was obviously first.

I was looking through the proceedings of the Anglo-Russian Literary Society while trying to find an article written by Fanny Toulmin Smith (sister of Arthur Toulmin Smith from my previous post), which she delivered in July 1899 to the Anglo-Russian Literary Society, when I stumbled upon an 1898 article written about Constantine Romanoff by H. Havelock, Lecturer in English at Warsaw University:

According to the article, the Grand Duke was an Honorary Member of the Anglo-Russian Literary Society. In 1898 he presented the Society with two small volumes of his poems that H. Havelock analyzed in the article. There is translation of one of the poems into English. It is hard to tell whether it is H. Havelock’s translation or somebody else’s – the translator is not mentioned. Havelock’s initials – both are Hs – could correspond to the first initial (H.F.) in the Light: A Journal of Psychical, Occult, and Mystical Research. But then – what does the second initial, F., stand for?

To sum it all up, here is what I’ve managed to find out about “There is no Death” – the English translation of the Grand Duke’s poem:

1. It was made before 1906.

2. It was known to the British community in Moscow (and used on the tombstones).

3. It was published before 1906 by The Westminster Gazette (a liberal newspaper published in London in 1893-1928).

4. It may have been translated into English by somebody at the Anglo-Russian Literary Society – possibly H. Havelock.

Or… considering that the Grand Duke translated Shakespeare from English into Russian and clearly knew English well – could he have translated it himself? That might explain why the English version incorporates elements of two of his poems. A translator would have hardly taken such a liberty, but the author certainly could.

In any case, even though I have found the author and the original, the puzzle remains.

Although only 4 and a half months in, this year has already been extremely fruitful, with three books published by the descendants of three British families who lived in Moscow over 100 years ago!

Who Was Sasha by Alexander Worswick

The first book is about the Parkinson-Worswick family. Interestingly, this was one of the first names I stumbled upon at the Vvedenskoe Cemetery in Moscow – the place where non-Russian Orthodox Christians found their final resting place before the 1917 Revolution. It was also surprising that their last name - Worswick – survived, which is not a very common occurrence in my experience. So, about 8 years after my first cemetery findings, I received a message from the present-day Worswicks! I always get extremely excited when things like that happen – when old tombstones come to life and turn into people and stories of their lives.

The family still has a lot of old correspondence (a lot of it in Russian!) as well as other documents that shed light on what the Worswicks were doing in Moscow in the 19^th century. A bit of online research in the Moscow archives yielded more birth, marriage and burial certificates from the Russian churches in addition to the information that I have from the registers of the Anglican Church in Moscow. This helped with the family tree, which still holds some secrets and puzzles.

Another exciting discovery was that two members of the family studied at the Moscow Conservatory! I should write a special post about the British connection with the Russian musical world in Moscow.

It Started With a Photo – Discovering Lisuscha’s Story by Natasha Davies

The second book is the story of a long search into the history of a family that incorporated several British, German and French names from the 19^thcentury: Colley and Oulton (British), Engels (German) and Dislin (French) – all of them active members of the British Colony in Moscow.

Very wealthy and well-known Moscow merchants at first, the later generations of this extended family also included engineers, wool-spinning mill managers, Moscow University professors and doctors at Moscow hospitals, as well as well-known architects. Just like the Worswicks, one of the members of this family also studied at the Moscow Conservatory, which is probably not a coincidence. All three were young women, and music was probably one of the very few options for girls to get a higher education. It seems that the Moscow Conservatory had no prejudice against women.

Both of these two books were written primarily for family use. However, the author of this one is considering making a digital version available on Amazon.

Arthur Toulmin Smith: A British Engineer in 19^th Century Russia by Bessie White

The third book has just been published. It focuses on the family of Arthur Toulmin Smith, who had a fascinating career: first working for Siemens in the Caucasus, installing the Indo-European telegraph line in this mountainous region, and then opening his own business in Moscow specializing in weights, plumbing and fire safety equipment.

The book is a collection of annotated letters that Arthur Toulmin Smith wrote to his sister, an Oxford librarian. In addition to family matters, the letters reflect on important events in Russian history from the unique perspective of an Englishman in late 19^th-early 20^th-century Moscow. These include, for example, the celebration of poet Alexander Pushkin’s 100^th birthday in 1899 or the consecration of the newly built St. Andrew’s Anglican Church in 1885.

More information on Arthur Toulmin Smith and his family can be found on my website. Here I will just add that some of the manhole covers produced at the factory that Arthur Toulmin Smith co-owned in Moscow can still be found in Moscow streets. I have personally seen three of them – here are the photos!

Unlike the other two books, this book can be ordered from the publisher and is also available in electronic format on Amazon.

It's quite telling that the title of the second book and the very first sentence of the third are practically identical: It Started with a Photo vs It started with a photograph. So many family stories of the British in Moscow opened up to their descendants with an old photo or an old Russian artifact.

There are many small towns around Moscow and beyond where you will see the same landscape repeated again and again: a picturesque little river or lake overgrown with bullrushes, with a dam over it; a tall industrial chimney; a red-brick factory - sometimes in ruins, sometimes turned into a modern stylish loft facility; and not uncommonly, a tall clock tower.

These are the pre-revolutionary textile centers - most often cotton-spinning, though occasionally flax mills and textile factories. The vast majority of these factories were built according to British designs for the Russian industrialists and equipped with the state-of-the-art machinery from Lancashire. They were also managed by British directors, foremen and other specialists.

These British people often came to Russia from the textile centers around Manchester, such as Bolton, Rochdale or Oldham. They brought their families with them and stayed for years. Sometimes, after several years of work, their children took over as managers of the same factories. Since the nearest Anglican church was in Moscow, all their marriages, baptisms and burials were registered there. In cases where the priest recorded their occupation and residence, it is possible to trace which factories employed British specialists. This is how I was able to create the following map of Russian textile factories, along with lists of British people who worked in them.

The Map of Factories around Moscow where British specialists worked

What can you expect here?

• The British Colony in Moscow: I’ll dive into the lives of British people in Moscow—how they lived, what they did for work, and how they interacted with Russian society. Expect stories about British industrialists, merchants, artists, and other fascinating figures who left their mark on the city.

• Notable British Families: Many of the British families who lived in Moscow left behind fascinating legacies. I will focus on some of the most prominent families, their stories, and the places they lived.

• Historical Research and Discoveries: I’ll share my latest research, including findings from books, archives, special collections, and travels.

• Events and Presentations: I’ll share insights from conferences, lectures, and other events I attend, where I present my findings and connect with other scholars interested in this fascinating subject.

Feel free to leave comments, share your thoughts, or ask questions about the topics that interest you—especially if you’re a descendant of one of the Brits who lived in pre-revolutionary Moscow or a scholar researching this fascinating subject!

And, of course, don’t forget to subscribe to stay up-to-date with new posts and discoveries.

I look forward to sharing this historical journey with you!