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Title: The diary of a Russian lady
Author: Barbara Doukhovskoy
Release date: June 30, 2024 [eBook #73953]
Language: English
Original publication: United Kingdom: John Long, Limited, 1917
Credits: Peter Becker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A RUSSIAN LADY ***
The Diary of a Russian Lady
[Illustration: _yours faithfully_
_Barbara Doukhovskoy_]
THE DIARY OF A
RUSSIAN LADY
_REMINISCENCES OF_
BARBARA DOUKHOVSKOY
(_née_ PRINCESSE GALITZINE)
“Lived through but not forgotten”
[Illustration]
WITH TWO PORTRAITS
LONDON
JOHN LONG, LIMITED
12, 13 & 14 NORRIS STREET, HAYMARKET
MCMXVII
Preface
This book was not intended to be published, and it is to accident that we
owe its appearance.
The author, from her childhood, followed affectionate advices and good
examples, and noted every day her impressions of everything she saw and
heard about her. She puts in these pages all the freshness and sincerity
of her woman’s heart.
Circumstances placed the author in the centre of remarkable events.
Remaining faithful to the principle of not interfering with her
husband’s business, she becomes, however, unwillingly, the spectatrix of
particularly interesting facts: the outside of war, of different centres
of Russian society, of exotic life in foreign colonies and on our remote
frontiers, including the regions of the river Amour in Eastern Siberia.
Our author does not pretend to give a thorough and complete study of
political events and society customs. But here we have vivid pictures of
different impressions which, linked together, give us a living picture
of places, events, and persons; real life in fact is delineated in this
book, which has thus become a considerable work.
The author’s innate talent, her education, her faculty of observation,
and her deep study of the best Russian and foreign writers, are the cause
of the vivid impression produced by her light and clear style. Some
portions of these studies entitled “Fragments of the Diary of a Russian
woman in Erzeroum,” were printed in one of the most famous Russian
periodicals. The welcome they received showed the author to what use she
could turn her book for her works of charity, and it is her desire to
assist the poor which gave to Barbara Doukhovskoy the idea of publishing
her “Memories,” though the great realism of them did not permit of their
publication as a whole.
Profiting by the right of having been a friend and a playmate of the
author’s husband, I insisted on the necessity of publishing this work.
Not only by the truth and the spontaneity of her impressions, but by
the profoundness of her observations and the artistic conception of the
whole, the author of this book now embellishes our literature by a work
of an exceptional and original character.
C. SLOUTCHEVSKY
Constantin Sloutchevsky, Russian poet, one of the most famous
of the end of the nineteenth century.
Contents
CHAP. PAGE
I. Early Recollections 13
II. My First Trip Abroad 19
III. My First Appearance in Society 33
IV. My Second Trip Abroad 39
V. My Second Season in St. Petersburg 42
VI. Dolgik 48
VII. In St. Petersburg Again 50
VIII. The Crimea 52
IX. Winter in St. Petersburg 56
X. The Caucasus 60
XI. Marriage 69
XII. Tiflis 73
XIII. Alexandropol 76
XIV. The Turco-Russian War 79
XV. Kars 90
XVI. On my way to Erzeroum 94
XVII. Erzeroum 98
XVIII. St. Petersburg 133
XIX. Moscow 135
XX. Our Journey Abroad 156
XXI. Boulogne-sur-mer 159
XXII. London 161
XXIII. Paris 167
XXIV. On our way to Lucerne 171
XXV. Lucerne 172
XXVI. Interlaken 179
XXVII. Montreux 182
XXVIII. Geneva 189
XXIX. Milan 192
XXX. Villa D’Este 196
XXXI. Cernobbio 199
XXXII. Venice 215
XXXIII. Florence 217
XXXIV. Rome 221
XXXV. Naples 224
XXXVI. Peissenberg 232
XXXVII. On the Rhine 236
XXXVIII. Rotterdam 238
XXXIX. London 240
XL. Moscow 248
XLI. Biarritz 250
XLII. Madrid 255
XLIII. Saragossa 257
XLIV. Barcelona 263
XLV. San Remo 265
XLVI. Paris 267
XLVII. Moscow 268
XLVIII. Copenhagen 271
XLIX. Moscow 274
L. Paris 277
LI. Trouville 282
LII. Moscow 284
LIII. A Trip to Egypt 290
LIV. Constantinople 291
LV. Athens 298
LVI. In Pharaoh Land 299
LVII. Our way Back to Russia 309
LVIII. Promotion of my Husband to the Post of
Governor-General of the Amour Province
in Siberia 313
LIX. Across the Atlantic 316
LX. New York 320
LXI. Niagara Falls 329
LXII. Chicago 332
LXIII. San Francisco 338
LXIV. Across the Pacific 340
LXV. Yokohama 347
LXVI. Tokio 352
LXVII. Kobe 356
LXVIII. Across the Inland Sea 357
LXIX. Nagasaki 359
LXX. Across the Japanese Sea 361
LXXI. Siberia—Vladivostock 362
LXXII. Our Journey to Khabarovsk 363
LXXIII. Khabarovsk 375
LXXIV. Our Voyage around the World 393
LXXV. On our way to Japan 397
LXXVI. Nagasaki 399
LXXVII. From Nagasaki to Shanghai 400
LXXVIII. Shanghai 401
LXXIX. Hong-Kong 405
LXXX. Saigon 410
LXXXI. Singapore 413
LXXXII. Java Batavia 416
LXXXIII. Singapore 421
LXXXIV. Colombo 423
LXXXV. Aden 425
LXXXVI. Suez 428
LXXXVII. Port Saïd 429
LXXXVIII. On the Mediterranean 430
LXXXIX. Marseilles 431
XC. Monte Carlo 432
XCI. Nice 433
XCII. Paris 434
XCIII. St. Petersburg—Coronation of Nicolas II 435
XCIV. Our way Back to Khabarovsk _via_ Odessa 438
XCV. Port Saïd 440
XCVI. Suez 441
XCVII. Aden 442
XCVIII. Colombo 444
XCIX. Singapore 449
C. From Singapore to Nagasaki 450
CI. Nagasaki 452
CII. Vladivostock 453
CIII. Khabarovsk 454
CIV. Back to Russia 458
CV. Vladivostock 459
CVI. Nagasaki 460
CVII. Shanghai 462
CVIII. Hong Kong 463
CIX. Canton 465
CX. Macao 468
CXI. Hong Kong 472
CXII. Saigon 474
CXIII. Singapore 475
CXIV. From Singapore to Suez 478
CXV. Suez 482
CXVI. Cairo 482
CXVII. Port Saïd 485
CXVIII. St. Petersburg 487
CXIX. Our Journey to Tashkend 489
CXX. Tashkend 495
CXXI. St. Petersburg 505
CXXII. A Short Peep at St. Petersburg and Back to
Tashkend 518
CXXIII. Paris World’s Fair 524
CXXIV. Kissingen 532
CXXV. Back to Tashkend 535
CXXVI. Definite Departure for St. Petersburg 537
Index 539
The Diary of a Russian Lady
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
EARLY RECOLLECTIONS
My father, Prince Theodore Galitzine, married my mother being a widower
with five children, three of whom died before my birth. My earliest vivid
recollections begin when I was two years old. I distinctly remember
feeling a terrible pain in parting with my wet-nurse, to whom I was
passionately attached. I got hold of her skirt and wouldn’t let her go,
weeping wildly. It was my first bitter affliction. I could not put up
with the new nurse, whom I hated from the depths of my little heart, and
I would not call her otherwise than _Wild Cat_, with baby petulance,
having already at that early age pronounced likes and dislikes. We were
in perpetual state of warfare. When I was about three years old that
nurse was succeeded by a pretty Belgian girl named Melle. Henriette. The
tutor of my two step-brothers, Mr. Liziar, made love to her and finished
by marrying her some time after. He seemed somewhat half-witted; by night
he went to chime the bells at the belfry of our village church in Dolgik,
a fine estate belonging to my father, in the government of Kharkoff,
and also amused himself by breaking, in the conservatory, the panes of
glass with big stones. One day he frightened his sweetheart nearly to
death by throwing a snake under her feet. After all these pranks it
is no way astonishing that Mr. Liziar finished his days in a lunatic
asylum. The tutor who succeeded him, asked my parents to bring his wife
with him. He hastened to pocket the hundred roubles taken beforehand on
account of his salary, and departed suddenly to Kharkoff to fetch her.
Meanwhile my father received a letter from this tutor’s legitimate wife
dated from St. Petersburg, in which she entreated papa to send her the
half of her husband’s monthly salary, telling him he spent all his money
on his mistress, whilst his wife and children had not a morsel of bread
to put into their mouths. Of course, this too _Don Juanesque_ tutor was
instantly dismissed.
My parents at that time kept an open house. On great occasions my smart
nurse would appear in the dining-room carrying me in her arms, attired
like a little fairy, all ribbons and lace, to be admired by our guests.
She put me down on the table, and I promenaded quite at my ease between
the flowers and fruits.
I was born under fortunate auspices, there could not be a happier
little girl; good things were thrown down upon me: presents, petting,
admiration. At an early age I chose as my motto: “_Fais ce que voudras._”
Whatever I wished for, I very certainly had, and I didn’t see how anybody
could want to refuse me in anything.
I was often sent down to the drawing-room to be admired by the afternoon
callers, and mamma ordered me to let myself be kissed by unkissable
grown-ups, who paid me those compliments shown to children, who are
precious to their parents, and which made me intolerably conceited.
I stood in great danger of being completely spoilt, and mamma, who
was afraid that I received a good deal more flattery than she thought
good for me, ordered me to answer what I was told: “_Comme Vava[1] est
jolie!_”—“_Vava n’est pas jolie, elle est seulement gentille._” But,
nevertheless, I knew that I was pretty, my glass told me so.
[1] Vava: diminutive of Barbara.
At the age of four I could read and write fairly well, and chatted freely
in French. I was immensely proud when my nurse ended putting me to bed in
the daytime, and when I was old enough to sit at table, able to handle my
knife and fork properly. My greatest delight was to ride on my brothers’
backs and to be swung by them in a sheet, that they held by the four
corners and lifted me as high as they could, whilst I crowed gleefully,
my bare legs waving happily in the air. Mamma hastened with my nurse to
my rescue, and carried me off, paying but little attention to the wild
shrieks with which I requested to be tossed higher and higher. There was
a speedy end to all this fun; destiny itself interfered to stop these
aerial gymnastics: I had a bad fall one day, tumbling out of the sheet,
and my infatuation for this sport disappeared completely.
It was a source of infinite delight to me to creep on the knees of Mr
Vremeff, an intimate friend of my parents, a charming old gentleman with
snowy white hair, and hear him relate entrancing fairy tales for which I
had an insatiable appetite. As soon as he had finished one story, I asked
for another and another.
At that time my father was marshal of nobility of the district of
Kharkoff. One day he was suddenly called to St. Petersburg, and, during
his absence, we received the news that he was appointed chamberlain to
His Majesty the Emperor. I wept bitterly when I was told that papa must
wear the chamberlain’s key, persuaded that he would be obliged to adorn
even his _robe de chambre_ with that ugly ornament, which must completely
transform my dear old dad.
[Illustration: _Princess Vava Galitzine_
_Aged 4 years._]
My parents, going to St. Petersburg, generally paid flying visits to my
aunt Galitzine, who lived in Moscow. I made my first journey with them at
the mature age of four. If the faults of children develop as they grow
older, I was to become a pickpocket, for I had the bad habit of hiding
in my pockets all sorts of broken toys belonging to the Karamzins,—two
little pupils of my aunt! When I went to bed my nurse emptied my pockets,
crying out at the enormity of my dreadful conduct.
My birthday was a great day for festivities. I received lots of lovely
presents and sweets. On the eve of my birthday I went to bed with
expectations of a pleasant awaking, and the first thing when I woke up in
the morning was to put my hand under my pillow and pull out the presents,
laid there by my parents during my sleep.
On my seventh birthday my grandmother presented me with a beautiful watch
with diamond settings. From the very first moment I harboured a guilty
determination to get the diamonds out, just as I broke my dolls’ heads in
order to see what there was in them, a resolve, alas! very soon put into
practice. Mamma entering my nursery one day saw me perched on the top
of my high stool, occupied in drawing out the diamonds with a long pin.
Moral: “It is superfluous to give such rich presents to small persons of
my age.”
The object of my first love was a simple servant-girl who lived in the
next house. Every day I watched for her, and rushing to the window I
flattened my tiny nose against the glass, and devoured her with eager
eyes.
We used to live in Kharkoff in winter and passed the summer months in
Doljik, our beautiful estate which claims to be counted amongst the
stately homes of Russia, situated forty miles distance from town. Our
removal to Doljik was a regular treat for us children, our joy and the
servants’ nuisance, for when they began to pack up, we were only in their
way, under pretence of help, poking about among the straw, scattered in
the yard, throwing it over one another whilst playing hide-and-seek.
Doljik is a delightful place. The castle, a stately white mansion of
commanding appearance, is very grand with its suite of lofty rooms;
portraits of ancestors, the former Galitzines, very good-looking all of
them, adorn the walls. The park is beautiful, with long alleys of elm
and oak and vast lawns with skilfully sorted flower-borders, I had a
doll’s house in the park, furnished with every convenience, with a garden
of my own in which I spent happy hours gardening eagerly, weeding and
watering, I also bestowed a great part of my affection on pet animals:
dogs, cats, squirrels and tame rabbits. My brothers and I were fond of
all kinds of fun; early in the morning we used to start for the meadows
with baskets to gather mushrooms for our breakfast, and went for rambles
in the woods. We also did a lot of fishing and bathing. My parents
presented me with a prefect dream of a pony. How proud I felt when I was
lifted on my “Scotchy’s” back for my first ride!
Dolls took no leading part in my childhood, and I had often wished I had
been a boy. I climbed trees and tore my frocks and engaged in all sorts
of wild pranks.
There was much excitement on my father’s birthday. The house was full
of guests, and an orchestra came down from town. At dinner when papa’s
health was drunk, two large cannons, placed at the principal entrance,
were fired, which made me crawl on my hands and knees, shamefully, under
the table. We had in the evening grand illuminations in the park, with
fireworks which did not enrapture me, for at every burst of rockets I had
to put my hands over my ears.
On the day of our village festival there was a fair on the square
opposite the church. I threw sugar-candy and handfuls of pennies to the
peasant children.
I had now passed my eighth year and the time for lessons had come. I was
given over to the care of a French governess, Melle. Rose, who was very
badly named, for she was a horrid lemon-coloured old creature, wearing a
hideous curled wig, and always looking as though she had just swallowed
a spoonful of vinegar. I hated plain people about me and could not bare
the sight of Melle. Rose, disliking her from the first. What a life I
led her! Plaguing her was a charmingly pretty sport for me. My governess
was always scolding and faultfinding; she forced me to make her every
morning and evening a low curtsey, which made me long to kick her. Melle.
Rose held up as an example to me a little friend of mine, the Princess
Mimi Troubetzkoy, who was a well-behaved child, doing credit to her
governess’s bringing up, and never giving her any trouble. But I despised
sheep-like docility and was weary of hearing of all the beautiful things
Mimi did and said.
Being deprived of the bump of respect, I did exactly what my governess
told me not to do, refusing to be put into harness. When the
fighting-blood stirred in me and made me too horribly naughty, I was
sent for punishment to bed, but I would rather be cut to pieces before
I would deign to apologise to Melle. Rose. That disagreeable person was
succeeded by Melle. Allamand, a French lady educated in England, the most
delightful of old maids, whom I loved fondly, for she was never cross,
and since she came to me, I began to understand that it was possible for
a governess to be nice, and that the term is not necessarily synonymous
to frighten and bore.
We got on very well for Melle. Allamand bore with my caprices, which
were many, I must confess. But though she was always in a good temper we
had little quarrels sometimes, which we soon made up. I studied my piano
with Melle. Allamand and learned English, which soon became a second
mother-tongue to me. When we went out walking, my governess’s soft heart
was full of pity for the poor starving homeless dogs which she picked up
in the streets and brought home to be fed; the ugliest and shabbiest had
her tenderest care. Melle. Allamand was called back to England and my
parents had to get another governess. An English young lady was engaged,
named Miss Emily Puddan. My brothers made her rage awfully in calling her
Miss Pudding. She had no authority over me whatever, being in fact rather
silly, but she was a very pleasant companion—so well up in all games. We
were enthusiastic croquet-players and had sometimes desperate quarrels,
being very near scratching each other’s eyes out. “I tell you I hit your
ball!”—“You didn’t!”—“I did!” etc., our arguments becoming very hot and
uncivil; soon we dropped our mallets and ran and complained to mamma,
both governess and pupil.
When I was past my twelfth year I grew very fond of reading the books
of the “Bibliothèque Rose.” I pitied mamma because she read deadly
uninteresting English Tauchnitz novels, when there existed such
enrapturing books as _Les petites filles modéles_, _les malheurs de
Sophie_, etc. But this childish literature did not hinder me from
flirtation. I used to long for adventures; and here I was having one,
notwithstanding that I had only just grown out of pinafores. My parents
took me sometimes to the Italian opera and I conceived a romantic
admiration for the tenor of the troop, who was, as I thought adorable
beyond words. I raved about him. When out walking with my governess, I
dragged her in the direction I knew the tenor would take, in the hope of
meeting him. I began to knit a prosaic cache-nez for the object of my
dreams, which mamma confiscated, happily, in time.
From my earliest years I had a great love for acting; we gave, from time
to time, little theatrical entertainments; we dressed up and played
fragments of Shakespeare’s dramas, and I was the leading-lady in these
rehearsals. When I took up the high tragic part of “Desdemona,” Nicolas,
the brother of my little friend Sophy Annenkoff, was the personator of
“Othello,” he sacrificed his appearance so far as to blacken his face.
During the murder scene, when the situation grew particularly tragic,
Nicolas displayed such a realism of the Shakespearian meaning, that I
began to fear being choked in reality.
I was a half-grown girl now, arrived at the age of fourteen, envied
awfully my friends, the countess Sievers and Mary Podgoritchany who were
grown-ups and wore long frocks. Some day, I said, it will be my turn to
be introduced to society. I looked forward to the day when I should reach
the age of seventeen and appear at my first ball with a long train, and
be able to flirt to my heart’s content.
I felt now that I had enough of governesses. My last one, Melle. Annaguy,
bored me awfully, being extremely particular about my manners; it was
preach, preach all day long. Melle. Anna gave me continually a string
of instructions consisting chiefly of “don’ts,” which I listened to
impatiently. I couldn’t go here, I couldn’t go there, I couldn’t eat
this, I couldn’t eat that! My governess was indeed too exasperating, and
I had a furious inclination to consign her to very warm quarters. Melle.
Anna was besides intensely devout; being very anxious about the welfare
of my soul, she crammed me with pious lectures, but books of this sort
were not in my line, and I read everything I could lay hand on. Papa’s
library was full of interesting books, and I spent whole nights greedily
devouring in bed works written by Paul de Kock, a jolly author, but
rather improper. In the morning I hid these books under my mattress. My
childhood days had passed by. Poor “Bibliothèque Rose,” thy time was well
and duly over!
CHAPTER II
MY FIRST TRIP ABROAD
When I was fifteen, mamma decided to take me abroad to be “finished.”
Stuttgart was chosen for our winter residence; we were to get there
towards the end of October, after having visited Paris and made a
water-cure at Spa.
I was intensely interested in all my surroundings; it was all new to me.
We spent a fortnight in Paris, visiting the curiosities of that splendid
city from morning till night.
I delighted to walk on the boulevards. Though a minx of fifteen I had
already an insatiable thirst for admiration, and loved to attract
attention, I did not look a “bread and butter Miss” and men stared at me
in the streets. One day a passer-by, giving me a glance of approval, said
to his companion: “Look at this little girl, she promises much!” I need
not say that I was much flattered and laughed outright, but mamma didn’t.
From Paris we went to Spa, a bright watering place, lying in a high
valley of the Belgian Ardennes, three hours by rail from Brussels.
We took an apartment in the house of a coach-maker; his daughter waited
on us. Insignificant in her work-a-day clothes, she looked quite a lady
on Sundays, dressed in her smartest frock; but her work was badly done
that day.
Our programme was as follows: we rose at six, swallowed hastily a glass
of mineral water and went to take a walk on the broad avenue named
_Allée de sept heures_. In the afternoon we listened to the band playing
in the principal square bearing the name of _Pierre le Grand_. (Spa’s
iron waters had saved the life of our Tzar, Peter the Great, nearly two
hundred years before).
Profiting by the occasion of being in the neighbourhood of Brussels, we
went to visit the famous lace factory. I remarked that the poor workwomen
all had sore, inflamed eyes.
On our return to Spa, we took a wrong train and arriving at the humble
little station of Pepinster, which stood in the open country, we were
very much disconcerted on being told to get out, for our train took an
opposite direction to Spa, and there was no other train that day. And
thus we had the cheery prospect of spending the night in this solitary
station with no dwelling in sight. It was too bad! We quitted the train
rather out of sorts, and looked round about in helpless bewilderment.
The station consisted of a bare hall only, giving one the impression of
being all windows, with a telegraphic office at one end. As there was
no lock on the outer door, the porter advised us to barricade it with
a large table. But we were not left alone, however, someone put his
long nose through the small ticket-window, which troubled us somewhat;
nevertheless we laid ourselves down on the hard benches to sleep, which
was easier said than done, for we had just begun to doze, when the
table, which being weak on its legs performed very badly the function of
safety-lock, gave way with a bang and six tipsy porters, arrayed in blue
cotton blouses, precipitated themselves in the hall, disposed to pass
the night in our company. What was to be done to turn them out of doors?
The situation was becoming critical, but mamma did not lose her presence
of mind, and spreading a shawl over me, she whispered into my ear not to
give the slightest sign that I was awake, and approaching bravely these
rascals, she ordered them out, telling them that the station-master had
promised that no one should disturb us. After many debates five men went
out, but the sixth declared that he had the settled resolution to sleep
there. My poor mamma half dead with fright, sat down on the bench by
my side, and holding up a warning finger, she entreated the man, in an
anxious whisper, not to wake her poor invalid child. Feigning sleep, I
had much ado to stifle the laughter which bubbled in my throat. Then our
night-mate drew nearer to mamma and said: “I see, madam, that you are not
a bit sleepy, nor am I either, so let us chat together.” To cut him short
mamma began to tell him all sorts of fibs; she announced that she was the
wife of the Russian Ambassador in Brussels, and invited him to come and
pay her a visit at Spa, giving him a false address. Flattered and stunned
by all this magnificence, her interlocutor removed to the opposite end of
the hall, and very soon we heard him snoring in Wagnerian volume; and in
the morning how astonished he was to see the wonderful transformation of
the poor invalid child into a tall, rosy-cheeked maiden, looking the very
picture of health. As I was getting into the train I heard the porters
saying, pointing me out: “_Tiens, la petite moribonde d’hier, est-elle
tout plein gentille!_”
From Spa the doctor sent us to Boulogne-sur-mer. From the top of the
belfry of the cathedral of “Notre Dame de Boulogne,” one discerns the
shores of England in fine weather. I burned with impatience to cross the
channel, and one bright morning my desire was accomplished; we embarked
on a ship going to Dover. It was the first experience I ever had of the
sea, and nevertheless I proved a very good sailor, though the passage
of the “Pas-de-Calais” was not at all pleasant; there was a heavy swell
and the sea-breeze was so sharp, that I had to hold my hat all the time.
There was a curate on board with his son, an Eton boy, who fell in love
with me on the spot, but I did not take much notice of him, for he looked
such a baby that one would be positively ashamed to bother with him.
When we reached Dover we caught the special train waiting to take
us to London. When it drew up at Charing-Cross station, a porter
took possession of us and our luggage, and conveyed us across to the
Charing-Cross Hotel. I was somewhat abashed when we were invited to enter
a small cage, which shut upon us with a vicious snap and then tossed us
up, and before I had time to do more than gasp, we were on the sixth
storey. It was my first acquaintance with the lift, a means of conveyance
which substitutes so advantageously the legs of fatigued travellers. A
new surprise awaited us: when we rang for the maid, ordering her to bring
us some sandwiches, she whispered something into a pipe-tube in the wall,
and in a moment a shutter was set open and the sandwiches, appeared like
magic, served automatically on a tray.
I was delighted with London. In this great city life is full and
stirring; but the English Sunday is rather a trying affair, for there are
no theatres, no entertainments whatever. We wanted to explore the British
Museum that day, and it was with great difficulty that we caught a drowsy
porter who turned on his heel and went away after having declared, very
rudely, that we were troubling him in vain, the Museum being closed,
considering that the day of Sabbath was for rest and peace, and that
all good Christians kept it holy. We turned sorrowfully away and went
to our Russian church. When the service was over our priest, a charming
old gentleman, invited us for a cup of tea. My patriotic sentiment was
agreeably flattered when I saw the works of Tourgeneff, our great writer,
translated into English, in his drawing-room.
From London we went straight to Stuttgart, where we settled down to a
peaceful winter. We looked about for furnished apartments and took one in
König-Strasse, the principal street.
Mamma devoted herself to give me the best finish in her power. Our
Grand-Duchess, Olga Nikolaevna, queen of Würtenberg, was at that time
educating her niece, the Grand-Duchess Vera, and I had the benefit
of her masters. I worked terribly hard, remaining at my studies till
dinner-time. Trying to stimulate my zeal, mamma resolved to give me two
marks for my weekly reports if they were all fives, permitting me to
spend my pocket-money on theatre tickets.
A singing mistress was sought for me, who rejoiced in the poetical name
of “Fräulein Rosa.” When I was presented to her I gave way to a fit of
most indecent laughter, for this Rose looked such a guy—a veritable old
caricature. Outraged she left the room and never after returned. I was
very glad to be rid of that fright, and clapped my hands in naughty glee.
I took a great liking to a young compatriot of mine, Mary Vietinghoff,
who lived abroad with her mother, by reason of her delicate health. She
was one year younger that I, but for good senses she was ten years my
senior. I used also to see a great deal of the Rydes. Mrs. Ryde was the
widow of a Scotch curate and the mother of twelve children. I liked the
Ryde family _tutti quanti_, especially Ettie, a girl of my own age, a
most jolly lassie. Her brother, Willie, a youngster of fourteen, took
a fancy to me. This shrewd young Scot glided one day on tiptoe behind
me and stroked my cheek, exclaiming: “How smooth it is.” He wanted to
repeat this manipulation with his lips, but received a smart slap across
the face in recompense; a very rude demonstration, indeed, but I was an
awfully quick-tempered young lady and hated to be touched. The Rydes were
astonished at what they termed my “colossal good English,” which I had
got from my childhood. To complete my education, Willie offered to teach
me some of his best slang.
Though I was still in short frocks, I was already a dreadful flirt
and had all sorts of love affairs, but all the stock of my affection
was exclusively bestowed upon Robert Jeffrey, a pupil of the English
school in Cannstadt, a small town in the neighbourhood of Stuttgart.
He was a Scotch lad of eighteen summers, blue-eyed, brown-haired and
white-toothed. I was drawn to him from the beginning, for Bobbie was a
real darling, and I considered him the sweetest boy in the world. I had
other admirers, but Jeffrey was by far the handsomest and the dearest; I
was quite silly about him and had eyes and ears only for him alone. He
was my “Prince Charming;” my imagination adorned him with the attributes
of all possible and impossible heroes. It was my first serious affair,
the first love of my girlhood. The passion was reciprocal and Jeffrey
said I was the first girl who had yet disturbed his peace. Mamma went
to Paris for a few days, leaving me under the care of the Baroness
Vietinghoff. She hoped that Mary, who considered herself a sort of
guardian of mine, would prevent me doing anything rash while she was
away. Part of her duty was to keep off boys, (other boys, not Jeffrey.)
Mary promised mamma to play a mother’s part to me; she wouldn’t let
me commit any eccentricity. But I did an enormous one. Jeffrey was a
somewhat green and inexperienced youth, too timid for my taste, and
wanted a little go and rousing up. Wishing to sharpen his wits I sent
him a wild letter, telling him that he was all the world to me. I did
not expect that he would answer personally, that same day, my foolish
_billet-doux_, and when Mary announced that my youthful sweetheart was
waiting for me in the drawing-room, I sat down on my trunk, declaring
that nothing in the world would force me to move from my place. I don’t
believe I am weak in the way of shyness, but I didn’t find strength at
the moment to think of facing Jeffrey. Mary went to fetch him and left
the room, feeling herself an uncomfortable third. I continued to stick to
my box, my chin upon my folded hands. At first we did not utter a single
word, as silent as two stones. Some minutes later we were quite ourselves
again, and Jeffrey from that day proved extremely teachable, and soon
lost his shyness; I had trained him thoroughly.
This foolish “boy and girl love” lasted during all our stay in Stuttgart.
We arranged clandestine meetings at the Rydes. Ettie was a staunch
friend, full of sympathy, and we poured into her willing ears the story
of our love, having found a comfortable ally in her. We used to have
great fun together. One evening we were in the wildest spirits, playing
charades, and Jeffrey was just going to accomplish one of his forfeits:
he had to kneel down beside the prettiest girl of all the company and
kiss the one he loved best. He had chosen me for both manifestations. In
the midst of the fun mamma appeared. _Tableau!_ She didn’t approve of
kissing, mamma—and soon put a stop to the delightful game.
Mamma kept me very strictly, and did a good deal of weeding in the
selection of my friends. She did not consider, alas! the Rydes the best
of companions for a girl of my temperament, who was always on the look
out for wickedness, fearing that they stuffed my head with all sorts of
silly nonsense. On holidays she caught me flat-nosed, with my face glued
to the window, looking out for the Rydes.
I went with Mary Vietinghoff to Dr. Roth’s gymnastic class, and enjoyed
meeting there girls of different social classes. Forgetting that our
stations in life were widely apart, it amused me to shake hands with
daughters of shopkeepers as well as ladies by birth, without distinction.
Dr. Roth made us march up and down the hall with our hands clasped behind
our backs. At each step we made he repeated like a pendulum, “_Kopf,
Rücken, Kopf, Rücken!_” and I mimicked him in the ante-room where we
put on our hats, throwing my audience into convulsions of giggling.
My foolish tricks drove Dr. Roth to despair. When his back was turned
I dashed on to the window, raised up a corner of the blind which was
generally let down during our exercises, and stared at the passers-by.
As we lived within two minutes’ walk of Dr. Roth’s dwelling, I begged
mamma to allow me to go unaccompanied to his class. Mamma objected at
first, for she said she could not have me running alone in the streets,
but I soon overcame her prejudice and profited by my liberty for paying
flying visits to the Rydes on my way home from Dr. Roth’s. Being such
a romp I wanted a lot of looking after and gave much trouble to poor
mamma, who never knew what I would do next. My apparent frivolity deeply
wounded her, but remonstrance always led to scenes. One night, coming
home from a dancing-party, where my conduct had been more disgraceful
than usual, after a miserable scene that we had had together, mamma fell
into hysterics. It drove me nearly mad to see her in such a state, and I
dashed into the street and raced headlong, hatless, my hair loose, flying
wildly about my shoulders and waving in the wind. Whilst I fled in terror
across the street I heard two well-known voices calling: “Vava! Vava!”
screamed mamma, “Fräulein Princess!” roared our cook, running after me in
pursuit. This only increased my speed, and I ran as fast as my legs would
carry me. A group of students, wearing coloured caps and followed by huge
dogs, who were coming out of a restaurant before which I was galloping at
that moment, were soon at my heels. I never stopped running till I found
myself breathless at the door of the Vietinghoffs, having taken that way
by instinct, and I flung myself panting into their apartment, where I
felt safe at last.
On Sundays we went to the Russian chapel. It amused me enormously to
watch the secretary of the queen, a gentleman looking excessively pleased
with himself, who made the sign of the cross only when the priest
pronounced the names of the queen or the Grand Duchess Vera.
My health began to alarm Mamma; I was growing thin and pale. Our
doctor believed I was overstraining myself with lessons, and instead
of prescribing me a lot of horrid drugs, he had the capital idea of
sending us to sun ourselves for a week or two on the Riviera. We followed
willingly his agreeable prescription and set off speedily to Nice.
Mere child as I was, I already indulged in a decided taste for
adventures, and experienced one on the road. During the night, we were
pushed into a railway carriage full of passengers; one of them, a very
good-looking young man, made room for us and went to find for himself
another place. The next morning, whilst we were breakfasting at the
Station of Marseilles, a waiter brought me a beautiful bouquet, followed
by our amiable fellow-passenger of the previous night, who proved to be
a Mexican fresh from South America. He opened the conversation by telling
us that his name was _Gallardo Alvarez_, and hinted that he was an
unmarried millionaire, making his first pleasure tour in Europe. Studying
him stealthily I decided that he would do.
We stopped at the same hotel with Señor Alvarez, who soon began to show
me that he was deeply interested in me. In fact I won him entirely. He
was a man of volcanic passions and inflammable as gun-cotton, his eyes
said even more than his words. Unfortunately the liking was not mutual,
he did not make my heart beat. Though I was a girl to change her passions
in a hurry, I was so taken up with Jeffrey, that I had no thought for any
one else, just then; my Mexican conquest was rather amusing and kept me
from yawning, that’s all, but nevertheless I gave him a fair amount of
encouragement. I suppose I am a flirt, but I cannot help being nice to
men. My Transatlantic adorer followed me about like my shadow; go where I
would, he was ever at my heels and at last it became quite wearisome. I
was awfully bored and did the utmost to show it to him by being uncivil
and not nice, and he only received hard words from me. Oh! I can easily
snub anyone if I wish! I told him one day, he needn’t stick to me so,
but no, in spite of my rebuffs, he wouldn’t stir from my side; he only
exclaimed piteously: “Princess Vava, why are you so awfully hard on me?”
He was a persevering wooer that Don Alvarez, telling me that he had
already fallen a victim to my blue eyes in the sleeping-car, and that he
thought of me all day and dreamt of me all night since, then and a lot
more idiotic bosh. He often bothered me with compliments that I affected
not to hear. He likened me to Venus and told me that I was his goddess
and the wonder of the world, a being created to be fallen in love with,
and that I would remain as a gem set in his mind for evermore. But I
only made fun of his high-flown sentiments. One night at the Opera,
whilst Faust was “cooing” his romance to Margaret, Señor Alvarez asked me
suddenly: “Tell me, who is the prettiest person in this house!” I raised
my opera glasses and looked about me at the audience, but he told me it
was useless work, for there was no looking-glass near me.
I went out shopping with my Mexican friend one afternoon. In a
shop-window, with a variety of nick-nacks offered for sale, I saw a small
box of powder in the form of an ivory apple, a perfect darling, which
took particularly my fancy. I had a craving to possess it, but as I had
only a few coppers left in my purse, I could not purchase it, and looked
at the tempting apple with longing eyes; but crushed by the scorn of the
stylish person behind the counter, I left the shop dismissing it from my
mind. On the same night, going to bed, I noticed a parcel lying upon my
toilet table, which contained the apple that I had resisted, bought by my
Mexican Paris for his Russian Helena.
We left Stuttgart in winter, and there we were in full blooming-time of
violets and roses. We made several excursions and went as far as the
wicked little principality of Monaco. Mamma gained large sums of money at
the roulette tables of Monte-Carlo. I was also longing to try my luck,
but roulette was prohibited, alas for youngsters like me.
We were invited to a ball given on an American man-of-war, the
“Franklin,” which anchored in the harbour of Villefranche. The ball was
too delightful; I highly enjoyed myself and nearly danced my shoes off.
There never was anything to equal the amiability of the officers of the
frigate; their commander, Captain Folger, was awfully charming to us and
hoisted the Russian flag in our honour.
We had such a delightful fortnight in Nice. The days went like lightning
and the hour of our departure approached. I detested the idea of going
back to dull Stuttgart to pursue my studies, but I had a compensation in
the person of my darling Bobbie.
Señor Alvarez pined with grief at being obliged to part with me.
He accompanied us as far as Marseilles and delivered to me, whilst
travelling with us, a Spanish poem, of his composition, dedicated to me,
speaking of delirious passion, broken heart and other fiddlesticks. One
of our fellow-passengers, a handsome Canadian girl begged him to dedicate
at least three lines to her. Alvarez at once pulled a note-book out of
his pocket and scribbled down three words only: _Adieu pour toujours_.
Not very amiable on his part! Bidding me good-bye, Alvarez took hold of
my hands, squeezing them as if they had been shut in a door, and looking
at me with an expression of entreaty, he requested my permission to pay
us a visit in Russia. By the manner I answered him, I would not in his
place have undertaken such a long journey.
Here I was again in Stuttgart, carried back to lessons. In January, on
the occasion of my sixteenth birthday, mamma gave me a coming-out dance.
I considered myself fully grown now, having put up my golden mane and let
down my frock for the first time that night. I was awfully unhappy to
leave Stuttgart in April, for I left my heart behind. It was such a sore
trial to part with Jeffrey. He was unwell on the day of our departure
and could not see us off. I was in despair at not being able to bid him
farewell and sobbed desperately at the thought that I should never see
his darling face again. At that moment he was more indispensable to
me than air and light. Being ashamed that mamma should see me cry, I
swallowed my tears and tried to look cheerful, but when the train began
to move, I crept into a corner of the railway-carriage and sobbed my
heart out in childish grief, little fool that I was.
Before returning to Russia we made a trip to Italy and travelled as
far as Naples in the company of the Italian Consul of Manchester,
Signor Raphaello Giordano, middle-aged and perfectly gentleman-like. He
promised to be our cicerone in Naples, where we arrived at night, rather
disconcerted by the hubbub of the clamorous Neapolitans. When we found
ourselves on the crowded platform, noisy _fachini_ (porters) besieged
us and snatched away our bags. Signor Giordano had to desert us on the
quay, whilst we went to get our luggage through the Customs promising to
be back soon. In his absence a young man began to hang about in front of
us, staring at me all the time with frankest impertinence. He came close
to me and managed to whisper in my ear: “What hotel are you going to? Do
stop at the hotel where I am staying.” Impudent fellow! I was greatly
astonished at his audacity. Fortunately Signor Giordano strolled in at
the right moment and rescued me. Both men were standing nervously facing
each other and Giordano exclaimed in arrogant tones, his eyes blazing
with wrath: “What right have you to speak to that young lady?” “And you,
how do you dare to speak to me?” was the impertinent answer. A squabble
sprang up between them; it was so hateful to have a scandal! Giordano
went to seek a policeman and we remained alone, dreading to move in fear
of losing sight of our protector, and our boxes were so long in coming.
At last we decided to be bold and wait no longer. We hailed a carriage
and rode off to Victoria Hotel, recommended by Giordano, and were very
glad when he made his appearance an hour after.
Early next morning I opened the shutters and was fascinated by the
splendid panorama of the bay of Naples and Vesuvius with its cone rising
against the azure sky. How glorious it all was!
We spent three weeks in Naples making excursions and visiting all the
curiosities in the neighbourhood. Pompeii produced a very painful
impression on me by its atmosphere of death and disaster. We were present
at the digging up of vases, bracelets and other curious relics of by-gone
days.
Wishing to give a surprise to my father, mamma had my portrait made by
a horrible little hunch-backed painter of modest pretensions. After my
very first sitting we did not appreciate this Quasimodo’s manner of
painting. Mamma took great pains in pointing out to him his mistakes, but
instead of repairing them, the little fright contemplated that abominable
painting with his ugly head first on this side and then on that, as if
lost in admiration, repeating all the time: “_Bellissimo, grazioso!_”
The portrait was, as we expected, a great failure, but we had to take,
nevertheless, that spoilt canvas, unworthy of preservation, paying for it
the sum of 200 francs.
One day, having to change some Russian coins, we entered an American
bank, where I made, as it appears, a great impression upon one of the
clerks, a very good-looking chap, with light hair and brilliant black
eyes. He found a pretext to come and see us at the hotel next morning.
After that, we saw him nearly every day; he spent all his spare time with
me. This youth, named Alphonso Shildecker, was of cosmopolitan origin,
born in America of a German father and an Italian mother. Though only a
banker’s clerk, Shildecker was nevertheless very well educated and spoke
several languages fluently. He had an agreeable tenor voice and taught me
some popular Neapolitan songs. This poor youth was getting seriously in
love with me, which was perfectly ridiculous. I liked him pretty well in
the beginning, and rather encouraged his hopes and accepted his advances
in a friendly spirit, but if he thought I was serious, he was making a
great mistake. It had all gone much deeper with him than with me. To me
he was only a new toy; I was delighted with any one who could amuse me
and was simply playing with him out of girlish perversity.
An American boy, Floyd Reynolds, a student of the University of Bonn,
who lived in our hotel, was burning with impatience to be presented
to me. One day he sent me up an enormous bouquet with his card pinned
on it. Shildecker took it into his head to be detestably jealous of
Floyd. Giordano was not dangerous to him being no longer young and not
particularly good-looking, but he was wild at my flirting with Floyd,
in who’s company he did not show to advantage. He soon became very
tedious, never leaving us alone and coming in our way when we wanted to
be free and quiet; he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in interrupting
our conversation. I considered two a better number than three, and as
for Shildecker I would have liked to have kicked him round the room.
He followed me everywhere, but I turned my back and devoted myself to
Floyd, and left him out in the cold. He caught me in all the available
corners, when we visited churches and museums, and made love to me,
telling me that he adored me to madness, and that he was going to cut
his throat, or hang himself, or I know not what, unless I gave him hope.
That sounded very tragical indeed! It may be all stuff and nonsense, but,
nevertheless, I undoubtedly played with fire and was in a constant fear
that he might do something wild and desperate; I am sure it’s enough to
make any girl nervous! But I was not going to let him spoil our trip, and
tried to keep away from him, thereby driving him into a more feverish
condition than ever. He grew perfectly ill with jealousy. How black he
looked that love-sick boy! He suffered and I enjoyed myself; that is
the way of the world! The day we left Naples, Shildecker wanted to go
with us to the train, but I determined he should not have the chance,
and indicated to him a wrong train. I was awfully vexed when I saw him
at the station, looking down the platform with anxiety. Despite all my
precautions he had tracked me. When he asked permission to write to me, I
looked at him as though suddenly remembering his presence, and answered
with an air of royal condescension: “You may do as you like!”
We spent three days in Rome, roaming through the splendid museums and
churches, and had the chance of seeing the Pope officiate in St. Peter’s
Cathedral, which was a very imposing spectacle.
On the eve of our departure I received a letter from Shildecker, who
wrote to me that he had taken leave of absence for a fortnight and was
coming to rejoin us in Rome; but it did not detain us, to be sure, and
the next morning we started for Florence without leaving our address at
the hotel. I had had such an awful dose of Shildecker at Naples that it
was quite enough! But “La Donna è mobile,” I found myself at intervals
thinking about him, and strangely enough, I missed him now not a little
that he was altogether lost and done with, and felt tenderly towards him.
Such is the consistency of human nature! Being a girl of prompt action,
I wrote to him, not foreboding the consequences, to come speedily to
Florence. Two days later a waiter came to tell me that a young gentleman
was at the door and wished particularly to speak to me. It was Shildecker
in person, who rushed forward, took my hands in his and kissed them
passionately, looking happy and proud beyond words, but I did not let him
make too much display of his flow of tenderness and, wrenching my hands
from his grasp, I told him to follow me. We entered the drawing-room
together, and I blushed up to the roots of my hair when I saw mamma’s
bewilderment at the unexpected appearance of Shildecker, who, without
preamble, solicited my hand. Mamma with ideal composure told him that we
were far too young, both of us, to talk of marriage, and that my father
would certainly never give his consent. Shildecker’s face lengthened
visibly, but this check did not, however, abate his hope of taking
possession of me one day.
I had again enough of Shildecker, but it was no such easy matter this
time to get rid of him; having gone so far, he was not to be turned back,
he meant to follow us to Venice. (He would have followed me to the end of
the world if I had let him!)
For some time past I had noticed that my wooer was altered, not the same
fellow at all, looking like a phantom of his former self, a wreck of the
handsome Shildecker of former days. I knew it was all my doing, but asked
him impishly what was the matter with him and if he could ever manage
to stop looking as if he were in a dentist’s chair. He told me that my
coolness gave him innumerable sleepless nights, and that I ruined his
life.
We arrived at Venice in the night. That aquatic town seemed very
beautiful to me with its magnificent palaces reflected in the water,
and poetic gondolas, but I found Venice less interesting when seen in
disenchanting day; the beautiful palaces appeared ancient and decayed,
and the poetic gondolas, resembling coffins, gave rise to lugubrious
thoughts. How insufferably dull it would be to dwell here! To live a day,
buried in that monotonous silence, is quite enough, I thought.
We parted with Shildecker in Venice. He accompanied us to the boat
sailing for Trieste, and was sadly broken down, poor boy. When he bade
me a dramatic farewell, his face was pale and his eyes had a world of
grief in them, and he told me in a voice which trembled, that even if
years were to pass, and continents and oceans divided us, I had only
to say come, and he’d come. His last words were that he would ever be
true to me, and always keep me in his heart, and though always is rather
a tremendous word, still, to judge by his dejected aspect, he looked
likely to fulfil it. When our boat swerved slowly from the shore, my poor
worshipper stood forlorn, contemplating our ship with tortured eyes, and
then I vanished out of his life for ever.
On my return home my father and brothers found that I looked quite
grown-up with my long dress and new style of coiffure.
Though far away, I could not forget Jeffrey, and was very happy
to receive a long passionate missive from him, enclosed in Mary
Vietinghoff’s letter. I devoured the pages with eager joy. Jeffrey wrote
that he was broken-hearted since his darling Vava went away, and that he
smothered her sweet face with thousands of passionate kisses. My poor,
dear, bonny lad! I too was hungering for the sight of him, but half
Europe, alas, divided us!
For some time I kept up a correspondence with Ettie Ryde, and inspired
her with the following poem, in well turned rhymes:—
From this large, bustling city
My friend has gone. Oh, what a pity!
With her I laughed and sang and danced,
Since she left me my love is much enhanced
She was merry, she was very, very wild,
My friend was a naughty, disobedient child.
She fell in love with handsome men and boys,
And broke their hearts, as children break their toys.
She first loved a Greek, of colour dark and sallow,
“I always thought him like a candle made of tallow.”
But she much admired that dark-eyed Greek;
She used to sit by him and softly stroke his cheek.
(_White lies._)
At length of this Greek youth she grew quite tired,
And her heart with love to a young Scotchman was fired.
He was young, just turned nineteen,
Hair brown, eyes blue, by nature somewhat green.
Oh, I can’t tell of that long, long tale of love!
He thought her constant, sweet, gentle as a dove.
She believed him mild, kind-hearted, very true.
Can you tell the names of this young couple, can you?
Well, she was no other than Vava, the young princess,
She ought to have had more sense, you must confess.
He was Jeffrey, the youth from Glasgow town.
If they read these verses how they both would frown!
Oh, I should like to see dear Vava again!
She gave me pleasure, never a moment’s pain.
Now, my sweet girl, this poetry I must end,
Don’t, oh don’t forget your fond Scotch friend!
HENRIETTA RYDE.
I was delighted with her poetry, which incited me to write the verses
that I venture to give here, written in the slang style that I had picked
from my Stuttgart English friends. The lines ran thus:—
Dear Ettie, spare some minutes few,
To read this poetry, will you?
It’s awful, stupid balderdash,
And nothing better than mere trash,
But be indulgent, damsel sweet,
And mind, you puggie, be discreet,
Don’t show this rubbish to your beaus,
Nor to your friends, nor to your foes,
For I’m afraid to be laughed at,
And to be called a stupid brat.
Do you remember, darling child,
How I was fast, and oh, so wild?
But I’m not changed as yet the least,
Now, am I not a horrid beast?
Oh what a booby, dear, I was,
To care for so many fellows.
But the real object of my flame,
I truly should not know—to name.
(_Ungrateful being._)
I liked Jeffrey pretty well,
Because he was such a swell,
I liked Skinner very much too,
Somebody else did, don’t you know who?
Oh, Ettie, you were an awful flirt,
The idea of my being so pert!
But it’s the truth, dear, isn’t it, dove,
You must confess it as a love.
Poor old girl, how you must feel forlorn,
Now that sweet Teddie Thomson’s gone!
He was a darling little man,
But as dark as a frying pan.
(_My revenge for the comparison of my Greek
adorer to a candle made of tallow._)
Just remember, at Mary’s party,
You nearly fainted, my hearty,
Then Teddie with a haggard face,
Bustled near you with a great deal of grace.
He ran for water, for Eau-de-Cologne,
And went right smartly through his _besogne_
Now, old girlie, I must bid you good-bye,
Really, duckie, ’tis not without a sigh!
VAVA GALITZINE.
CHAPTER III
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN SOCIETY
I was to be taken out in St. Petersburg for my first season, and
presented at Court. How my heart palpitated at the idea of my first
dance! I made my appearance in public in Kharkoff, at a ball given by
the Count Sievers, the governor of the town. I am not afflicted with
shyness, nevertheless I was seized with a sudden access of bashfulness
on entering the ball-room, and feeling horribly uncomfortable with the
big bouquet that my brother had given to me, I flung it on the floor in
the ante-room. It was not long, however, before I was quite at my ease
again, enjoying the ball enormously, and dancing to my heart’s content
all through the evening.
I came to St. Petersburg full of happy hopes and expectations, and
an eager desire to spread my wings in the wide world. It would be a
delightful existence—every hour filled with enjoyment.
I plunged at once into all the gaieties of St. Petersburg society.
Everything was so new and delightful to me! My first social appearance
was at a great Court ball. I was brought out by my aunt, the Princess
Kourakine, a lady of honour to the Empress. I had such a ravishing
ball dress with a very long train. One of mamma’s friends had lent
me a carved ivory fan of great value, which I dropped in the snow
stepping out of the carriage. The fan lost some of its lustre, but
what a dazzling lustre presented itself to my eyes when I entered the
palace and mounted the splendid staircase lined with powdered footmen
in gorgeous liveries. Everything was magnificent and I enjoyed the ball
madly. I was not acquainted with a single soul in the place, nevertheless
I became instantly surrounded by a circle of partners. I never amused
myself so much before. The first dance over, my cavalier, a brilliant
officer of the guards, piloted me through the ranks of dancers to the
refreshment-room to get an ice. As we passed by the Emperor, who was
engaged in a conversation with my Aunt Kourakine, His Majesty gazed at me
fixedly and asked who I was. My aunt came over and led me to the Emperor
and formally introduced me. His Majesty began by questioning me about
myself, my home and my parents. I forgot to be frightened and answered
without the slightest flutter of embarrassment, and we soon fell into
a comfortable talk. The Emperor asked me if it was my first grown-up
dance. “Oh, no, Sir, it’s my second one,” I announced proudly. The
Emperor smiled and expressed his desire to see me henceforth at the Court
balls. Perceiving my partner, who was trying to conceal himself behind a
column, the Emperor asked me if it was my cavalier. “Oh, yes, Sir, and
I am keeping him waiting such a long, long time,” I blurted out in one
breath. It was indeed a dreadful breach of court etiquette, but I was so
inexperienced in the ways of society that a transgression against Court
laws appeared of little importance to me. The Emperor seemed much amused
by my outspoken manner and said: “Well, go on dancing, I will not deprive
you any longer of that pleasure.”
I returned home enchanted, and went to bed in a delirium, but I had had
too exciting a night to find it easy to fall asleep.
Some days later, at a musical party, given by my uncle, the Prince
Prosorowski-Galitzine, the master of the house said to me significantly,
“Well, Vava, I congratulate you!” But he did not conclude his phrase,
for mamma, who tried to preserve me from the intoxication of overpraise,
made haste to change the subject of conversation. I was tortured with
curiosity and got the whole story out of my cousins, the Prosorowskis,
who told me that the Emperor at the fox-hunt had asked their father all
about me and said a lot of flattering things, congratulating him on
having such a niece.
The gaiety and the bustle of St. Petersburg life bewildered me. I went
out a great deal, fluttering from amusement to amusement: balls, dinners,
theatres, concerts, etc., etc. Unfortunately I couldn’t be in two places
at the same time.
Papa took me to another Court ball, where I distinguished myself, making
such a stupid blunder. Overheated by dancing, I was dying of thirst, and
rushing up to a smart-looking individual, clad in bright red, I told
him to bring me some iced lemonade, taking him for a Court official. He
returned in about five minutes, closely followed by another personage
arrayed likewise in red, who carried a tray, and making me a most refined
bow, he named himself “Senator K⸺.” In an instant I had guessed the
whole odious situation. I had made an awful mistake, having confounded
a red-livered lackey with a senator. How could I have been so clumsy?
It was a horribly awkward moment, and I thought I should die of shame.
It was really very difficult to find something to say. Covered with
confusion I blushed all over my face and muttered hastily some excuses,
wanting the floor to open and swallow me up.
There was to be a grand fancy-dress ball at Court, in which I was invited
to participate. It was to be one of the best things of the season, one
of the eight marvels of the world. The Grand Duke Waldemar, representing
the sun, was to open the cortège sitting in a triumphal car drawn by
pages and surrounded by twelve sunbeams. I was designed to represent one
of them. We were to follow the car in a semi-circle, the tall ones (I
being one of the number) in the middle. I had the most bewitching costume
that heart of girl could desire. It consisted of a Greek tunic in rose
satin, draped on the shoulders with golden gauze; a small sun-dial on
the top of my coiffure, powdered with golden powder, was to indicate the
hour (mine pointed out six o’clock.) My costume was quite ready, and I
gazed at myself in the looking-glass with rapture, arrayed in it. I was
a good deal excited about this ball, and could think of nothing else,
when suddenly came the tidings of the death of a prince belonging to
the Prussian Imperial family, and the ball was put off. I was awfully
disappointed and nearly cried my eyes out. I had looked forward to it so!
A love affair sprang up between me and the Prince of Montenegro, brother
of the reigning prince of that country. We met for the first time at
a ball at the French Embassy. The prince was astonishingly handsome,
quite a show creature, looking very picturesque in his native costume,
consisting of a white woollen skirt and a jacket with golden embroidery.
There was an air of _Veni, vidi, vici_, about him. The prince was made
much of in society; never was a man so run after. I was surrounded by a
flood of partners when the prince came up, claiming a dance, but I had
to refuse him, being already engaged. He was by no means discouraged,
and established himself on the other side of my chair, and thus I found
myself sitting between two devoted cavaliers. The prince danced divinely,
and I waltzed with him pretty nearly all the evening. As the ball went on
mamma, who found that my partners were becoming alarmingly enterprising,
wanted to carry me off home at once, but a chorus of protestations
arose from them, and I, too, began to implore mamma not to be obliged
to leave the ball just when the fun was at its height. The prince added
his entreaties to mine and gained the victory, taking me to supper. I
never had a more entertaining neighbour. The prince had lived a great
many years in Paris and spoke French perfectly. He was so clever, full
of spirits and daring; in short he was a number of charming things, and
I lost my heart a bit. The temptation to play with fire had seized me
and I desired to prove my power to charm him. The prince lost no time in
letting me see the impression I had made on him, and though he had the
reputation of preferring the society of married women to that of young
girls, I saw that he was inclined to enter into a flirtation with me.
The champagne had warmed him up and he became very audacious. He slipped
his hand under the table-cloth and our fingers touched and communicated
fire. Meanwhile, a not very attractive damsel, deeply impressed by the
prince’s good looks, was gazing at him with eyes of passionate adoration
across the table. I noticed it to the prince, but he replied that as
for himself, he had no eyes for anyone but me. And he had indeed very
expressive eyes, the prince, and knew how to use them! I tried to keep
a cool head during the siege of my admirer, but though I had been an
iceberg, it was impossible for me not to thaw in his presence. My pulses
quickened and I felt an odd little thrill of emotion, while my tell-tale
eyes betrayed the truth and looked pleased. After the cotillon mamma
took me reluctantly away. Whilst we were putting on our cloaks in the
ante-room the prince appeared and came out in the cold to help us into
our carriage, and pressing my hand to his lips, he begged permission to
call on us the next day.
I was playing the piano frantically, absorbed in my performance of one of
Chopin’s nocturnes, when the prince was announced, but mamma being out, I
gave orders to tell him that there was nobody at home. The prince was a
good deal nettled, and when I met him at a ball a few days afterwards, he
greeted me somewhat chillingly, but I soon smoothed him down and we were
good friends again.
The prince’s marked attention to me soon became the topic of much gossip.
He was hit, I knew he was, and I, too, was not very far from being in
love with him. At the end of the season the prince’s white skirt began to
be slightly grizzly, and as I had remarkably sharp eyes and a tongue to
match, I looked him over critically and declared that I would not dance
with him until he had changed his skirt for a new one. Brazen girl that I
was to say such shameless things!
We left St. Petersburg in February and came to Moscow for a few days to
my grandmother Galitzine. I caught a bad cold on the way, and a doctor
was hastily summoned: a fat little old man with a face like a wrinkled
apple. He was so funny that I had an attack of laughter at the sight of
him which he took for delirium. I had been allowed on that day to have
my friend Mary Grekoff with me for an hour or two. She sat on the edge
of my bed and we were both soon engaged in eating pounds of chocolate,
which did not improve the state of my health, to be sure. Small wonder
then that I got worse with every minute; my temperature rose alarmingly
and I began to be delirious. My illness declared itself plainly, typhoid
fever was the verdict pronounced by the doctor. The case was going to
be an anxious one, and the chances were two to one against my recovery.
The doctor said it would be well that mamma, who was almost distracted
with anxiety and grief, should be prepared for the worst. I passed many
sleepless nights tossing in my bed in a restless manner; at daybreak,
when the windows were beginning to whiten, I listened with envy to the
joyous “coquerico” of neighbouring cocks, who woke up gay and brisk after
a good sleep, whilst I, poor thing, had not closed my eyes for many
nights.
I sat up in bed, propped with pillows, and sobbed bitterly, moved to pity
for myself. I was so unused to illness. Mamma, who slept in my room, came
and sat by me and we had our cry together.
Feeling my end drawing nigh, I sent for a priest and received the Holy
Sacrament. Soon after came the crisis. I suffered tortures that day,
one could hear my shrieks two streets off. Gasping for breath I tried
to bounce out of bed and had to be kept there by main force. Happily
complications did not arise, my constitution triumphed, and by the mercy
of heaven, life conquered death, and I was pronounced out of danger.
My convalescence was slow; I was laid up for six long weeks, coming round
from my illness day by day, and nursed with much tenderness. As soon as
all danger was over, the doctor permitted me to be transferred to Dolgik,
though I was still weaker than a new-born babe—a mere shadow of my former
self.
The wholesome country air put me quite on my legs again, my health was
entirely restored, and I recovered my good looks and my spirits, but I
had such a shock when I found all my hair had to come off; I was obliged
to have it shaved after my illness. It did not hinder me, however from
having three or four admirers here, waiting on my very words. One of my
chief victims was Aksenoff, a chum of my brother’s, who was completing
his studies at the University of Kharkoff that year. Aksenoff was not
a bit the hero of my girlish dreams and had no chance whatever of
attracting me; he was a clumsy, athletic-looking lad, with feet like
fiddle-cases. Rough on the outside, but the best fellow in the world, he
improved on close acquaintance. One could easily see that he was falling
seriously in love with me in spite of my shaven head, covered, it is
true, with a coquettish cap which suited me wonderfully. I seemed to him
a pearl beyond price, and he spent all his time in gazing up at me as a
unattainable star. He was my devoted slave in everything, following me
about with a sort of dog-like fidelity. I could twist that giant round my
little finger; he was as wax in my hands and would go through fire and
water for my sake, but I was a very cruel girl, I delighted to torment
my admirers and I only made a laughing-stock of Aksenoff, and began to
order him about mercilessly. Enjoying to impress my sweet will upon the
poor boy, I teased and tormented him atrociously. Had I not had plenty of
victims already? Why should I want that poor boy to be tortured? But my
desire for conquest was insatiable, I couldn’t leave a man alone.
We had a continual succession of guests in our house. In the middle
of May there was a large party staying at Dolgik-castle, and Aksenoff
was kept by me as usual in the background; he accompanied us in our
excursions, carrying cloaks and umbrellas. I used him barbarously and
abused my power over him. I was pitiless, making the most use possible
of my willing slave, and invented many nasty tricks to annoy him. When
we arranged dances in the evenings I sent him to gather roses in the
garden, promising him, with my most winning smile, a waltz in recompense,
whilst another partner carried me off in his arms from under his nose,
leaving him standing there in great dismay. My simple-hearted lover had
no suspicion that I was only fooling him, he went and picked the roses,
and when he returned with an armful of flowers, I started him out again
on the same errand, and the much-enduring Aksenoff went off crestfallen,
with a face a yard long. One must allow, poor boy, that just then he
happened to be supremely unattractive. When he came back this time, I
flung off his roses and said with my most princess-like air, dropping
into an armchair, that I was too tired to dance with him now. Seeing the
look of suffering in his face, I thought that I had teased him enough for
that evening, and coaxed him with some sweet words. Poor Aksenoff only
heaved a sigh like a March-gale and looked at me with kind, forgiving
eyes. He told me one day that the lines of his hand predicted him a short
life, and his prediction was realised; soon after we heard of his death
in Kharkoff, of smallpox.
CHAPTER IV
MY SECOND TRIP ABROAD
In order to recover entirely from the effects of my illness, the
physicians sent me to Biarritz. I was taken abroad by mamma. Towards
the latter end of July, travelling from Berlin there was a nice German
lady with her niece in our compartment, and I was delighted with my new
acquaintance, a girl of about my own age, ever ready for frolic and fun.
As soon as the whistle of our train announced an approaching station, we
hung our heads out of the window and exchanged glances with groups of
German students, in red caps who promenaded on the platform, shouting to
them: “_Rothkapchen!_” But as soon as they approached, our heads were
hurriedly withdrawn.
We established ourselves in Biarritz at the delightful Hôtel
d’Angleterre, full of English tourists. The outlook from our windows was
splendid; in the distance came the incessant wash of the ocean, and at
night, the murmur of the waves was a sweet lullaby soothing me to sleep.
On the first day of our arrival, at table-d’hôte, my eyes travelled round
the table and noticed an attractive-looking English trio sitting opposite
to us: Mr Delbruck, his son Alfred and his nephew Walter Heape, a fine,
fresh-looking boy, with whom I made a nice little bit of flirtation
during our stay in Biarritz. He was very much drawn towards me; I also
entertained tender feelings towards him. (And what of the prince of
Montenegro?) But, never mind the prince, he was far enough away, just
then, anyhow!
In Biarritz you are next door to Spain and I longed to snatch a glimpse
of that poetic country of fans, mantillas and serenades. The Delbrucks
agreed to go with us to San-Sebastiano, a Spanish town near the frontier.
We could easily go there and be back by dinner-time. We started at an
early hour, half asleep all of us, but were soon cheered up as we came
out into the freshness and crispness of the early morning.
As we passed the frontier, I was very much disappointed to see that the
Spanish officials, walking on the platform, looked just the same as the
French ones,—not a bit like opera _Toreadors_ or _Tradiavolos_!
After a speedy breakfast at the London Hotel we loitered about the town
of San-Sebastiano in a labyrinth of narrow streets, and mounted to the
top of the citadel. The climb proved to be a long, hot and fatiguing one.
Half way up we saw the monument of a German merchant who, after having
become bankrupt, had thrown himself into the ocean from that spot. When
we reached the citadel we went groping along silent passage-ways; the
semi-darkness within began to provoke a disagreeable impression on me,
especially when I perceived a ghastly face peep in at us through the bars
of a dungeon window. The prisoner was beckoning to us, trying to explain
by an expressive pantomime, that he was going to have his head cut off.
I regarded him with eyes of terror and alarm and remarking my fright,
the prisoner amused himself to increase it by shouting to me: “Señorita,
_escucha Vd!_” (Listen to me Miss!) which I certainly declined to do, and
hid myself behind the backs of my cavaliers.
We returned to the hotel thoroughly done up. After dinner, as we took
our seats in the train carrying us back to Biarritz, an elderly Spaniard
came in, cigar in mouth. He sat down and sent a dense cloud of horrid
smoke right into our faces, making mamma feel faint. Noticing that, Mr.
Delbruck requested our unpleasant fellow-traveller to stop smoking, but
he only sneered, puffing away at his cigar.
The next day the Delbrucks proposed another expedition to the convent of
the “Bernardines,” where the nuns took vows of perpetual silence. When we
came within the enclosure of that monastery, situated near Bayonne, there
was an ominous deep stillness around us. In passing through the garden we
saw a group of nuns sitting in pairs under the trees, with their backs
turned to each other reading their _bréviaires_. These poor cloistered
women were draped in long white robes with a black cross embroidered on
the back; an enormous hood covered their faces entirely.
Mamma, having enough of hotel life, began to look for a private
villa, and I triumphed inwardly each time she did not come to a right
understanding with the proprietors, for it did not suit me a bit to
be separated from Walter Heape. But mamma made her choice at last,
and before long we were installed in a pretty cottage called “Maison
Monheau.” Happily the day of our removal coincided with the day of
the departure of my English friends. Mr. Delbruck gave us a pressing
invitation to come and have a grape-cure on his property, situated in the
neighbourhood of Bordeaux. This suggestion was seized upon by the boys
with enthusiasm; they promised me a warm reception and said they would
do anything they could to make my visit a pleasant one, and painted me
entrancing pictures of the good times they would give me; they could
offer me fishing, a pony for me to ride, and other enticing things. For
my part I thought it would be splendid fun, and the invitation was so
tempting that I was ready to embrace Mr. Delbruck, but mamma declined it
to my intense disappointment.
Towards the end of September we started on our homeward journey.
CHAPTER V
MY SECOND SEASON IN ST. PETERSBURG
I had again my heart’s desire. I was invited by my aunt, Swetchine,
mamma’s sister, to spend the winter with her in St. Petersburg; I was in
the seventh heaven of delight, nothing could please me better.
How pleasant it was to be in St. Petersburg again; I felt so
self-dependent in it! It was my first taste of liberty; I was my own
mistress at last, and I should have plenty of opportunity to spread
my wings and see the world, of which I knew nothing, but expected
everything. I had a chamber of my own and felt that I had never lived
till now, it was simply a foretaste of Paradise.
I got on admirably with my cousin, Kate Swetchine, the most good-natured
girl in the world; her sister, Sophy was much too serious for me. I had
all my days free to do what I desired. Music became an actual passion to
me; I practised the piano a good deal; Liszt being one of my favourite
composers, I played his rhapsodies stormingly. I began also to study
singing, and in spare moments wrote stupid verses, which all my admirers
thought beautiful. That winter I raved about officers belonging to the
horse-guard regiment, and dedicated to them an atrocious poem that I sang
on the motive of _L’Amour_, the fashionable chansonette of the season.
A young engineer occupied an apartment in the house where we lived; our
rooms communicated. My neighbour possessed a loud baritone voice and
sang very improper songs for a young lady to hear. Though unacquainted,
we chorused sometimes to each other, and when I sang my horse-guard
chansonette, from my neighbour’s room came the most sonorous second.
A gentleman of quite different style, who was acutely sensitive to noise,
lived side by side with our drawing-room; a stern, frozen-up human being,
grey and wrinkled. When we were not behaving too quietly, he sent the
maid to request us to moderate our gambols, but we were not in the habit
of being silenced.
My singing mistress procured us tickets for the distribution of prizes in
the St. Petersburg conservatory, where I attracted the attention of one
of the professors, Mme. Everardi, who gave me an appreciative glance and
said, pointing me out, “Look at this young lady, she is destined for the
stage.”
I was enjoying the many pleasures St. Petersburg could offer, and was
bombarded with invitations of every kind; people were asking me to
dinners, dances and all sorts of delicious things. We came home at
most eccentric hours, turning night into day. I liked the admiration
I excited. As soon as I entered a ball-room, I became surrounded by a
circle of partners, quarrelling with each other for the privilege of a
dance with me. My ball-programme was soon scrawled all over; I mixed up
my dancers and began to wonder how I could possibly manage six youths at
once. They drew lots for the right of dancing with me, and as neither
seemed inclined to give way, they would end by half tearing me to pieces
between them. I danced nearly every dance with two partners, and how I
danced, with all my soul in it, for I never did things by halves. Hot
but indefatigable, I flew round the room, dancing as though I would
never tire. My partners wanted to flirt with me in the intervals but I
never gave them the time, keeping them whirling me round till they had
not much breath left for talking. Towards the end of the evening my hair
became untidy and my train torn to pieces, every scrap of trimming on it
destroyed.
My admirers were of all ages, from mere boys to wrinkled greybeards. I
received their attentions as a matter of course, and though I flirted
with many men, I never really lost my heart to any of them.
A young officer appeared at last on my horizon, with whom I almost
convinced myself that I was in love. He carried my photograph in a locket
on his watch-chain, and brought me flowers and bonbons, and spoilt my
appetite, making me eat lots of sweets before dinner. One day I scratched
my finger with a pin; it was nothing but a simple scratch, but a drop of
blood appeared and my chivalrous admirer tore his handkerchief instantly
to pieces and bound up my wound. He preserved that rag, stained with my
precious blood, as a sweet remembrance. Very touching indeed!
A general with lumbago, full of years and honours, who was looking about
him for a wife, began to lay siege on me. I saw a great deal more of him
than I wished to, and as I didn’t like to have that tiresome old man
bothering after me, I often pretended to have a bad headache and went
to my room. His company was too odious for words, he was dull as ditch
water. This general got me alone one day, and proposed to me, saying
that his hand, his heart and his purse were freely at my command. The
idea of that old scarecrow indulging in matrimonial schemes! A husband
of that sort would never do for me, and I gave him a brilliant rebuke.
Distressed by my unreachableness, he disappeared from our horizon. I was
so happy to be rid of him!
I took a walk between two and three every afternoon up the “Nevski
Prospect,” a place of _rendezvous_ with a number of my admirers. I came
back one day from my walk with a terrible headache and throwing myself on
my bed, I burst into a loud fit of hysterical laughter and weeping which
terrified my cousins who stood beside me wringing their hands, and wanted
to send the maid after the doctor, but my aunt, who came home at that
moment, did something more practical: she stamped her foot and ordered
me to stop instantly all that nonsense, otherwise she would countermand
the dancing-party that was to take place that evening. My hysterical
fit passed as if by magic; I recovered my self-control, and bounding to
my feet in the liveliest manner, I began to prepare the dessert for our
_soirée_.
The young men about me were very incendiary, a tiny spark thrown among
them set them on fire. Stenger, one of my most ardent partners, a youth
of about nineteen years of age, took a desperate fancy to me; when we
danced together he held me in his arms so tightly I could hardly breathe,
and as we swung round he murmured soft things into my willing ears. That
boy managed to make his way into our house and found means to see me
almost daily.
One beautiful frosty night we went out sledging to the Islands in the
outskirts of St. Petersburg; we drove in troikas, wide sleighs drawn by
three horses. It was very cold; I was quite frozen and rubbed my fingers,
and Stenger, who sat opposite to me, slipped his hand into my muff, and
under pretence of warming my hands, pressed them, almost crushing them
in his grasp, but my aunt soon put a stop to this massage, saying that
my muff would do the business much better. Stenger’s adoration was too
bothering, and as I did not happen to be consumed with passion myself,
I grew weary of it and lavished my attention upon Ofrossimoff, a very
good-looking boy, a scholar of the Lyceum. Naturally, Stenger was full
of bitter envy towards his successor, and strongly disapproved of him.
I tried to pacify his jealousy, but it was not to be subdued and I made
his eyes look angry very often. Stenger grew altogether impossible, and
his fits of jealousy became disagreeably frequent of late. I scarcely had
a moment alone with Ofrossimoff, Stenger resolutely determined not to
let us sit together, and was always in our way and came and spoilt our
talk. Wherever we went he turned up unexpectedly and looked upon us with
suspicious eyes. I have never felt so watched, and mentally sent him to
the antipodes, for I was always the same, with no idea of constancy; I
simply tossed aside my admirers as an old glove, as soon as anybody more
attractive turned up. For me that tiresome Stenger was already a broken
toy; I did not wish to spend my time looking at him when I could spend it
looking at Ofrossimoff.
Wanting to be rid of him at last, I made him understand, very clearly,
that he was a bore, telling him, naughtily, there was no room for him
here, and making him feel that three is an awkward number and that he
was one too many; then Stenger fell upon me with reproaches, saying that
I take all and give nothing, winning all hearts just because I myself
had none, and that I was a monster in a woman’s shape to torture him
so, a sort of vampire who sucked every drop of happiness out of him. He
concluded by telling me that he had given away his heart to one who was
utterly unworthy of it. I did not suspect that I was treading on such
dangerous ground, but my aunt felt that we were going to have trouble
with this too ardent youth; she was sure there was going to be a row.
Had I pushed my game too far after all? I had never taken Stenger very
seriously and began to feel uncomfortable.
One day when I was shamelessly flirting with Ofrossimoff, absorbed in
each other we had forgotten the presence of Stenger, who came to us in a
storming rage, his face a thunder cloud, and told Ofrossimoff he wouldn’t
play second fiddle, nor submit any longer to a cat-and-mouse game, and
also would not permit any other man to usurp his place, especially to
such a baby not yet out of the school-room. (Ofrossimoff at that time was
a moustachless youth and Stenger had already a slight shadow on his upper
lip, of which he was immensely proud.) My aunt was right: there was a
frantic personal affair between these two boys, and Ofrossimoff flaming
angrily at Stenger’s insult, challenged him to a duel. That was a nice
piece of work indeed! The two rivals were going to fight and all through
me; they had already invited seconds. Happily the duel did not come off,
Stenger was forced to apologise, but nevertheless I was now feeling
myself to be a heroine, as for Ofrossimoff, he seemed to me to be as
bold as a young lion, and went up twenty-five per cent in my estimation.
I had a good scolding, nevertheless, from my aunt, who said I was a
fearful little flirt, playing merry games with the affections of men. She
accused me also of having given Stenger every encouragement, and said
that I must do everything now to cure him of his infatuation and stop all
this nonsense. Following her advice, I tried to be as frigid as a whole
iceberg to poor Stenger, and told him he was a fool to break his heart
for me, and that he must try and find another object for his affections.
I hope now I had been unfriendly enough and had brought him to his
senses; but it came to nothing, and his parents decided that the best
thing was to get him out of my way and send him away from St. Petersburg;
so they accompanied their “Benjamine” to the train, and after having
installed him in the railway carriage, they returned home peacefully, far
from the thought that in spite of his appearance of filial obedience,
Stenger had conceived, beforehand, the audacious project of running away,
and great was the amazement of the old couple, when their son reappeared
that same day, declaring that decidedly he would not be separated from me.
Time went on with the most extraordinary rapidity; winter was over and my
happy time at St. Petersburg came to an end all but too soon. I adored
the place and a great many people in it, and having seen a little of the
world and tasted of its pleasures and temptations, I was awfully sorry
to leave this delightful life behind me, and to lose my independence. I
wrote home entreating permission to prolong my stay; I would have given
ten years of my life for a month more of St. Petersburg, but the answer
had just come, and mamma said, “No.” I was delivered soon after to the
care of my aunt Leon Galitzine, who volunteered to see me safe to Moscow;
mamma would come and fetch me from there in a few days.
Before my departure I had a long conversation with Ofrossimoff; that
silly boy actually proposed to me. In an amazingly sudden way he blurted
out, with a voice which was eloquent of many things, how madly he loved
me, and asked me if I’d marry him. I tried to turn all he said into a
joke, and told him to put that ridiculous idea out of his head, for I
couldn’t quite take him seriously, like a regular grown-up man. He was so
disastrously young in fact, just turned nineteen. “Ah, that will remedy
itself soon enough!” exclaimed my suitor, adding that he would wait for
ten years if he were sure of getting me at last; and when I told him that
love did not grow with waiting, he said that, as far as he was concerned,
he promised me the devotion of a lifetime and a lot of other nonsense.
Upon this we decided that we should wait for three or four years, and
concluded a compact of eternal friendship. We parted with a lingering
hand-shake and tender glances. There was a tear in the corner of my eye,
for I did care for him in a way. But “out of sight, out of mind!” His
face haunted me for some days, and in a week’s time I had forgotten the
poor boy’s existence.
Mr. Swinine, a friend of my aunt Galitzine’s, greeted us cordially in
Moscow, and offered us the hospitality of his splendid home, where
everything spoke of wealth. The house was a veritable museum; all
the rooms, of great height and good proportion, were furnished with
every luxury, and filled with pictures of old masters and bronzes and
antiquities of immense value. There was a painting of the utmost
impropriety but it was covered with a veil during our stay.
Mr. Swinine was a very charming and courteous old gentleman, a real
_Grand Seigneur_ of the past generation, and a wonderful man for his age,
light of step and young of spirit; there was nothing decrepit or infirm
about him. The old beau, in spite of his eighty years, was a delightful
host, and treated me with an old-world gallantry. His heart was not
altogether withered, and in extraordinary circumstances he could even be
moved. He felt a new sense of renewed youth in my presence, which heated
his old blood; he told me that I seemed to have a talisman about me, and
that he had never met a woman who could quicken his pulse like me. His
face had the expression of a satyr and his little eyes twinkled merrily
when he related to me a number of his feats and love-affairs of “auld
lang syne.” He preserved, among other remote remembrances of by-gone
days, a beautiful Indian shawl with which I was not a little surprised to
see my bed covered; in his opinion I only was worthy of such an honour.
At the end of the week mamma rejoined us and carried me off.
CHAPTER VI
DOLGIK
During the summer manœuvres a squadron was quartered in our village. The
chief, a provincial “lady killer,” with a face upon which high-thinking
had never been expressed, was the possessor of a very inflammable heart;
he fell a victim to my blue eyes, and it wouldn’t have been me if I
hadn’t tried to get up a flirtation with him, though he was ridiculous
to the highest degree, and saluted me so funnily, bringing his heels
together with a snap. He used every means in his power to conquer me
and made the most wonderful eyes at me; (when mamma was not looking of
course). He began to be immensely sentimental and sang to me to a guitar
accompaniment, old love songs, something very pleading and lamentable,
with a burden of “I love thee so!” turning up his eyes a good deal as if
he was in pain. He was not gifted with much perception of time and tune,
my Troubadour, and I could hardly keep serious when he looked so doleful,
with his hand pressed to his breast and his eyes devouring me with a
passionate gaze.
I used to ride on horseback a great deal, accompanied by my sentimental
officer. One day, whilst my white mare was galloping wildly across the
open moors, my saddle unbuckled and I felt it turning with me; I slipt
out of it and found myself sitting on the grass, unhurt, and was on my
legs all right in a moment, having luckily disengaged my foot from the
stirrup.
A few days afterwards I escaped from another danger. We were to take a
drive in the woods that evening; Mr. K., a friend of my brothers, asked
me to take him with me in my dog-cart. As I didn’t care particularly for
his company, I contrived to put off our drive for some time and suggested
a game of croquet. In the middle of our game Mr. K. uttered a piercing
scream and fell down in a violent fit of epilepsy. I was dreadfully
frightened and scrambled, without ceremony, over the fence of the
croquet-ground. None of us had before suspected Mr. K. to be epileptic,
and if I hadn’t delayed our drive, this attack would have happened in my
dog-cart and the consequences might have been terribly disastrous. It
makes me shudder when I think of it!
I went out driving one day with a dashing young officer, Count
Podgoritchany, his sister Mary and my dolorous Troubadour. I was in a
mood just then to do something foolish, and it struck me that it would
be charming fun to take a ride astride on the horse which drove us, and
thus, becoming deaf to Mary’s frantic remonstrance and casting dignity to
the winds, I perched myself on our steed, who broke into a gallop, whilst
my cavaliers ran by my side holding me steadily. That was certainly very
unladylike and shocking of me!
We were near neighbours with the Podgoritchany’s, their estate is within
a few miles from Dolgik. The young count was always devoted to me; he
believed that we were destined for one another, and it was the hope of
his life to make me his wife, but my heart was still entirely at my own
disposal and I never gave him more than a passing thought, being hard to
catch as a sunbeam. It wasn’t very fair, however, to keep him dangling
after me like that if I didn’t mean that it should come to anything. One
day, as I was practising one my favourite Chopin’s Etudes, the count came
in and leant on the piano, his eyes dwelling upon me with a passionate
expression; suddenly he seized my right hand and kissed it, whilst I
played accords with my left one. I knew quite well what he was going to
say. He implored me to marry him, but I had not yet made up my mind to
part with my liberty and said “No” point blank, telling him he would
have to get on as best he could without me. His face fell and he looked
very miserable, my rejected lover, his matrimonial hopes being rudely
shattered.
A wealthy country squire, the possessor of a fine adjoining estate, who
had the reputation of being a very good catch, came to pay us a visit.
I made no attempt whatever to show off my best points and made up my
mind, on the contrary, to make a guy of myself, putting on my most
unbecoming gown and dressing my hair unfashionably, so that he might see
me at my worst. Our guest was all sentiment and poetry, his language
was “music spoken,” and I responded by the most crude prose. He asked
me at luncheon: “_Mademoiselle aime les fleurs._” “_Oh, non, monsieur,
je préfère le jambon!_” I answered, helping myself to a second portion
of ham. Mamma looked very annoyed indeed at this unromantic turn of
conversation.
I surely had not the vocation of a domestic paragon; when I poured out
tea it was done the reverse of neatly, and the spotless teacloth was
spotless no longer, for I poured more water on to it than into the cups,
and mamma regretfully decided that I hadn’t got the right turn for
housekeeping. My culinary efforts were also not to meet approval, and
the cakes that I amused myself in baking, one day, were recognised, I am
aggrieved to say, as not being fit to eat.
CHAPTER VII
IN ST. PETERSBURG AGAIN
My thoughts flew back constantly to St. Petersburg. Being a girl who
had already tasted city life, it did not please me in the least to bury
myself in the country, and I longed to mix with the gay world again. One
day, an invitation came from my aunt Leon Galitzine, asking me to spend
two or three months with them. That was indeed a piece of good fortune!
What could be more exciting, more delicious! Visions of balls floated
before my eyes and I simply danced with joy, meaning to amuse myself
tremendously.
Mamma brought me to St. Petersburg and left me in charge of my aunt, who
did all she could to make my stay pleasant. The vanities of the world
took complete hold of me; I had a very gay season, being out nearly every
night and dancing to my heart’s content with my band of last year’s
admirers. Stenger continued to care for me as he did at first, and was
more than ever my slave. Everywhere I went he would find out and go too,
for he had a true heart, poor boy. I had such a thirst for pleasure that
my evenings at home appeared awfully long; I found it dreadfully dreary
and yawned in the most distressing fashion, sitting half-dozing in an
armchair beside the fire, and constantly asking what time it was, having
a most natural desire to go to bed.
I met many nice fellows of the _corps des pages_ in the house of a
great friend of mine, the countess Aline Hendrikoff, all chums of her
brother’s. The boys were charming fellows and I flirted shamelessly with
them. My more sedate admirers began to tease me about the way I caught
mere babes into my net, they said that a chap of twenty was too old
already to attract my attention. We really did have great fun at the
Hendrikoffs and gave way to wild mirth, such a noise, such laughter! We
played hide-and-seek and climbed on the top of cupboards, and when we
girls were found, before tumbling down into the arms of the pages, we
commanded them to turn their heads the other way and to shut their eyes
tight, very tight. One evening we got up some _tableaux-vivants_ in which
I exhibited myself as Cleopatra the Egyptian queen, stretched at full
length on a tiger skin and holding in my hand the fatal asp, artfully
composed of green paper. I had to be just stung by it, but instead of
simulating the agonies of death, I burst out laughing, to the scandal of
the spectators. In the next _tableau_ we represented a flock of woolly
lambs, spread on all fours on the carpet, and wrapped up in our pelisses
turned inside out.
By the end of April mamma came to take me home. I reluctantly left St.
Petersburg and took a long farewell of my freedom.
CHAPTER VIII
THE CRIMEA
A totally unexpected stroke of luck was in store for me. My aunt, Zoe
Zaroudny, who was going to spend a month in the Crimea with her two
little daughters, offered to take me with her, promising mamma that I
should be well looked after.
We travelled from Sebastopol to Jalta in a mail-coach. It was such a
beautiful drive, but seemed all too short. I am not given to sentimental
rhapsodies over the beauties of nature, nevertheless, I was very much
impressed by the divinely lovely scenery. I had no end of a good time at
Jalta and danced a great deal at the military club, making conquests by
the dozen. Time flew rapidly and the date fixed for our departure drew
near; it was a great misfortune for me that our stay was so short.
On the eve of our departure, I amused myself more than ever at the
military club. At supper my cavaliers entreated me to arrange somehow
or other not to leave Jalta next day. Mrs. S., a jolly middle-aged lady
whose acquaintance I had just made that evening, offered to take charge
of me and proposed to go instantly and persuade my aunt to let me stay
with her a few weeks longer. I said “yes” on the impulse of the moment to
Mrs. S., not stopping to think that I ought first to ask permission of my
parents by telegraph. We set forth at once to our hotel under the escort
of my partners. Daylight was beginning to break, and the ship which was
to carry me away in a few hours had been brought up alongside of the
pier, and our trunks were already buckled and sent off to the steamer.
Mrs. S. came up to my aunt’s bed, my cavaliers waiting at a respectful
distance behind the door, and expressed her desire. My heart was beating
wildly, I wondered what my aunt would say, would she let me stay, and I
uttered a prayer inwardly for the happy issue of our request; poor aunt
Zoe, who was sleeping soundly, awoke with a start and gazed perplexedly
at Mrs. S., who pledged herself to mind me as her own bairn during my
stay in Jalta, and promised to bring me back to Kharkoff in the autumn.
Mrs. S. came out victorious and remained slumbering in an armchair till
daylight, lest my aunt should alter her mind when wide awake, as for me
I was too excited to go to bed at all. As soon as Mrs. S. went away, my
aunt who seemed to have little faith in my power to look after myself,
decided that she could not trust me out of her sight and leave me under
the guardianship of an unknown chaperon, and went to ask another aunt of
mine, a Princess Galitzine, who possessed a beautiful villa in Jalta,
to look after me; but the Princess refused downright, unwilling to be
responsible for my extravagances; she strongly disapproved of me, I
believe, and said that I was just the sort of girl to make trouble. I did
not want anyone to worry about me, I could take care of myself and get
along all right, I should think, and wanted to be treated like a rational
human being; I was eighteen after all, and a person of eighteen isn’t
a child and doesn’t need a nurse. My aunt and cousins did all in their
power to persuade me to return home with them, but I and reason had never
marched together, and I remained firm in my intention to stay in Jalta.
I accompanied my aunt to the ship. After the first whistle she called
to mind the old proverb saying: “Better late than never,” and unheeding
the protests of the captain, she jumped into a boat wishing to carry me
off, willing or unwilling; but the piercing shrill of the second whistle
forced her to turn back speedily. My fate trembled in the balance as long
as I was within my aunt’s reach, and I felt myself in utter security only
when I lost sight of the ship completely.
It was done. I got my liberty and Mrs. S. was left sole guardian over me.
I was so happy to go about alone, free as the mountain air. I might flirt
with what men I pleased, and meant to make the most of my independence
and to enjoy my free life thoroughly.
Mrs. S. was the most convenient of chaperons, very complying indeed. I
danced and rode and picnicked to my heart’s content. It was all rather
dangerous for a girl of my age and temperament, and with all that, I was
absolutely without knowledge or experience of the world, exposed to all
the temptations of a modern sea-bathing place. One began to gossip on my
account and to say nasty things of me, but it did not affect me in the
least. I was doing no harm and was happy—why couldn’t people leave me
alone?
I had a great number of admirers, an old admiral over seventy years old
among them. My charms had captivated his elderly fancy, and his old heart
caught fire. This “Methuselah” was an old silly about me and spent his
time in making love to me as any “Romeo” of twenty. My company had for
him the fascination of the forbidden fruit, but I was not at all ready
to play “May” to his “January,” and was afraid even to shake hands with
that ancient Marionette, for fear he’d fall to pieces.
The Princess Troubetzkoy invited me one day to come and dine with her
in her beautiful villa, situated a few miles from Jalta. My old admiral
offered to take me in his brougham, but being a trifle afraid of him I
would not consent at first, remembering his atrocious behaviour, when he
arranged to see me home and drove me one night from the military club.
I suddenly felt an arm steal about my waist in the dark, and that old
wretch lent close over me and wanted to embrace me. “May I give you a
kiss, just only one?” said that disgusting old man, looking at me as
if he would like to eat me, and licking his lips in the anticipation
of that pleasure. “Certainly not!” I shrieked emphatically, wrenching
myself free and ordering him to keep his hands off. But he reiterated his
demand saying that it could not matter, for he was so old and his kiss
wouldn’t leave any trace on me, as for him, it would transport him into
“Paradise.” Horrible old man! And, notwithstanding all that I accepted
the admiral’s offer, hoping that he would conduct himself better in
daylight; nevertheless I stepped into his carriage with a vague feeling
of uneasiness. It was the most horrid ride I had ever had. At first we
conversed by fits and starts, for my cavalier was as deaf as a door-post,
and I had to scream very loud into his ear; it had its good points,
for I could make my reflections aloud and call him a lot of bad names.
Unfortunately that day the admiral was in an alarmingly amiable frame
of mind and more inflammable than ever. I found his manner anything but
reassuring, and began to be vaguely uneasy at the sight of the nasty face
he turned towards me, looking at me with eyes that made me wish myself
well out of his carriage. He sat inconveniently close beside me, and I
got as far from him as the carriage allowed.
As soon as we were out of town, his quick small eyes roved in all
directions, and having satisfied himself that there was no one to see us,
he became enterprising, and grew every minute more and more amorous. His
sentiments were rather thinly veiled, and I knew what he was driving at.
All at once, before I had time to do so much as think of resistance, he
pushed back my sleeve and ran up my arm with his horrid old lips as far
as he could reach, whispering in a hissing voice that I was a tempting
morsel, and that he adored me. I was absolutely disgusted, but what
could I do then but turn upon him with flashing eyes, trying to make him
ashamed before his coachman, but the fact was that he too was as deaf as
his master. It was a most unfair advantage, and I told him so, adding
that he was a brute and that I hated him, and that if he didn’t leave me
alone at once, I should jump out of his carriage. I was a fiery girl,
and had at that moment a ferocious desire to box his ears, but happily
by that time the brougham was stopping before the Villa Troubetzkoy. I
gave a great sigh of relief. Thank heaven we had arrived! It had the
effect of chilling my “Methuselah’s” emotions, and making him recover
himself quickly. In parting with my old cavalier I treated him with the
contempt he deserved, dropping his outstretched hand like a hot coal,
and declaring to him, with my chin in the air, that I was not going to
have anything more to do with him, and that henceforth I would not permit
him even to kiss the tips of my fingers. After that I ran away, feeling
like a nymph flying from a satyr. I certainly didn’t want to trust myself
alone with that admiral again; he never forgave me for it, and I looked
the other way when I used to meet him.
We continued to lead a very gay life. Dances, picnics, rides, were in
full swing. In the midst of most delightful people and amusement I was
quite happy, and far from imagining that my horizon was not clear, and
that my happy time at Jalta was coming to an end all but too soon. One
fine morning we were all assembled on the pier to watch the mail boat
coming in, chatting away gaily, when suddenly I heard a sharp voice
calling me by my name. I turned round, and was amazed to behold amongst
the passengers my mother’s sour-faced maid, Mary—a terrible creature who
had lived with us ever since I was a baby. She announced that my parents
would not have me staying in Jalta by myself any longer, and had sent her
to fetch me, insisting on my immediate return. I was never so overwhelmed
in my life, and quite furious at being packed back home in disgrace. My
wings were clipped, my freedom lost! When I got into my room I locked
myself in and spent an hour weeping passionately.
Of course, I had to obey my duenna, and the following day started
homewards with her.
Well, it was a pretty home-coming! I had expected a scolding under the
paternal roof, and got a sound one.
CHAPTER IX
WINTER IN ST. PETERSBURG
To my great delight mamma decided to pass the winter in St. Petersburg.
I was enchanted to meet my pages again. We contrived to encounter
everywhere. One evening I went to the circus accompanied by my aunt, the
Princess Koudasheff, as chaperon. Entering the circus I looked round for
my young cavaliers who waited for me at the appointed place of meeting.
On our right was an empty box; I signalled to them, and they stepped
into it, appropriating it in spite of the energetic protestations of the
circus grooms. I enjoyed my pages neighbourhood immensely; we were all
of us in buoyant spirits and became wildly gay. I declared suddenly that
I should like something to drink, and my worthy aunt, who was propriety
incarnate, looked horribly shocked when the pages began to uncork a
bottle of lemonade, apprehending that the spectators would take my
innocent beverage for champagne.
Princess Mimi Troubetzkoy, a jolly playmate of my childhood, came to
pass Christmas in St. Petersburg. We were both glad to be together
again, having known one another from infancy, we had many interests and
tastes in common. Mimi was such a dear, delightful girl, and we had
an uncommonly good time together. In our daily walks we used to meet
a handsome, blustering officer, who managed to give us a good stare
each time we passed him in the street. We decided one day, Mimi and I,
to fling a pelot-balloon in order to know which of us attracted his
attention, and crossed to the other side of the street. Mimi went on
the left and I on the right side, and oh, triumph!—our follower came
after me. I was very flattered, and rejoiced at my victory over Mimi.
Her companion, a charming old lady who had once been governess to her,
seeing that the affair was taking a serious turn, hurried us off home.
That officer had been extremely useful to me one frosty day; he picked me
up when I stretched myself at full length on the slippery pavement, and
profiting by the opportunity, he murmured _sotto voce_ compliments into
my willing ear.
A young official, Mr. Ladigenski, occupied an apartment adjoining our
drawing-room. One evening, recalling with Mimi the old school-room days,
we played hide and seek, and profiting by the absence of our neighbour, I
hid myself in his bedchamber; Mimi having found me, we began to examine
with much curiosity the frivolous pictures that adorned the walls of his
bachelor apartment, which was indeed very improper in us. What would
Ladigenski have thought of us if he had caught us in his room? He paid us
a visit a few days afterwards, and I decided at the first sight that our
neighbour was not nice at all; I could even by no stretch of imagination
find him passable. He looked moth-eaten, and was quite too old for my
taste—thirty at least. He came nearly every day to see us, entering our
drawing-room, a bouquet in one hand and a box of bonbons in the other.
It was evident that he took more than an ordinary interest in me, but I
took none in him, however. Nevertheless, in a very short time he became
a nearly acknowledged suitor, forgetting that in questions of marriage
there are two people to be considered. Ladigenski was looked upon as
an exceedingly promising young man, and was spoken of by indefatigable
matchmakers as a suitable marriage for me; they said I would be an idiot
if I refused him. Horrid, meddling old cats! As a simple acquaintance
he was well enough, but could I accept the love of such a one? I didn’t
want to marry him, I didn’t want to marry anyone! The time for that sort
of thing had not come, and the right man hadn’t yet arrived. I should
surely have to marry one day, but the later the better, for I hadn’t got
the solid domestic virtues which one wants in a wife, besides I was in no
hurry to give up my freedom.
Most people think that marriage is the sole aim of a girl’s life, but
I chose to differ from them, for I despised a girl who sold herself
for gold, and as for me, I was not to be appropriated against my will,
certainly. I began to hate Ladigenski with some intensity, and had
made up my mind I shouldn’t marry him even if we two happened to be
shipwrecked on a desert island.
I was always alarmed when my love affairs seemed to be approaching
matrimonial engagements, and hated all the men who were in the mood
for marriage. I knew just when to draw the line when they wanted to
propose to me, and managed to keep my suitors sufficiently at a distance
to prevent any of them from making an offer. It was now the case with
poor Ladigenski; his chances were very small indeed, the warmer his
manner became, the more I froze. If he had eyes in his head he ought to
have seen how I detested him, but he was not a man to take a hint, and
the deprecating glances I threw in his direction met with no visible
acknowledgment, and he could hardly be made to understand that his
company was an intrusion. I grew deadly sick of my unwelcome suitor,
who was becoming the nightmare of my life. The sight of his face acted
on me as an ice-cold shower bath, but he continued to force his hateful
attentions upon me, and was not easy to break with.
The moment for decisive action had arrived; I felt that I must put an end
to all this business once for all and take measures to suppress him. As
my rebuffs had not the slightest effect upon him I planned an experiment
to cure him of his passion swiftly. I knew that he could hear every word
pronounced in our drawing-room, and I addressed myself to an imaginary
interlocutor, making disastrous revelation of my sentiments towards our
neighbour. “I find Ladigenski perfectly horrid,” I said in a very loud
voice, with a very strong accent on horrid, and put on the crowning touch
in saying that his whole aspect was disgusting, a positive eye-torture.
It was candid at any rate. This little manœuvre proved perfectly
successful, and my purpose was attained. For several days after that we
saw nothing of Ladigenski, and I rejoiced in his absence. But soon things
took another turn. Money had become scarce of late, and my parents found
their pecuniary difficulties increasing. I had to make up my mind to
a quieter life, so I decided to marry the first decently marriageable
man who should come my way, and after mature reflections I came to the
conclusion that Ladigenski was to be called back again, and that I must
make it right with him. I had been too hot-headed for a dowerless girl
like me, and was determined to mend matters roughly.
The important thing just then was that I should recover ground with
Ladigenski, which I had evidently lost. I would have given worlds to
have undone what I had done. Ladigenski had not actually said anything
that I could take as an offer of marriage, but he had gone very near
it, and being on the point of proposing to me, if he was to speak now
it would be something definite, and so I decided to give him hope and
encouragement. I sat down and wrote a letter in which I expressed regret
in being deprived of his society and told him that he was to forget the
stupid proceedings of my monologue, invented to tease him, and made him
understand that I was ready now to accept his offer. I enclosed my note
in a book that Ladigenski had lent me and sent it with our maid Olga. I
waited in a fever of impatience for his answer, desperately afraid lest
my letter had not safely reached its destination. Suppose mamma should
catch Olga in the corridor and discover my letter! At last Olga came back
with the answer. With fingers trembling I broke open the envelope and
read the following phrase: “It does not suit me to be trifled with any
longer, so please forget all about me.” Oh, the shame, the humiliation
experienced by me! And just at that moment, to my horror, I heard mamma
asking Ladigenski, through the wall of our room, to come and dine with us
at the restaurant.
How on earth could I face him? My only hope was that he would refuse, but
he answered that he would be delighted to come. What was I to do? I could
not plead a sudden indisposition, mamma wouldn’t believe it, for I was so
distressingly healthy in appearance. Small wonder then that my heart sank
within me when Ladigenski came walking into the restaurant, clean-shaven,
a white gardenia in his buttonhole. I was in the most awfully awkward
position, and felt upon thorns all through dinner. Ladigenski settled
himself beside me, perfectly at his ease; his voice was as usual cool
and quiet, but I could not pluck up courage to look at him, and steadily
refused to meet his eyes, assuming a wooden expression, and remained
tongue-tied, giving my whole attention to the contents of my plate, with
a longing to crawl under the table.
After dinner Ladigenski invited himself to come and take tea with us,
but I received him very ungraciously, being in a very beastly humour,
and did not attempt to conceal my vexation in having to endure his
presence. I made myself as disagreeable as possible, and answered him
in monosyllables, glancing nervously from time to time at the clock on
the mantlepiece, but he showed no inclination to rise, and would not
leave my side. I sent him mentally to Lucifer, that little abomination!
Mamma, rather surprised at my want of courtesy, was engaged all through
the evening in the serious business of keeping our guest in a good
temper. Losing my patience at last I went to bed demonstratively, leaving
Ladigenski alone with mamma. I was sure that I had shown him clearly
enough that I did not want to have anything more to do with him. It was
the last time I saw his face. He went away the next day, bag and baggage,
without even saying good-bye. So much the better; I did not miss my
departed admirer, he might have gone to Jericho for all I cared.
We came back to Dolgik at Easter but for a short while, for my Aunt
Staritzki, mamma’s sister, who lived in Tiflis, the capital of the
Caucasus, invited us to come and spend some time with her.
CHAPTER X
THE CAUCASUS
We went to Tiflis towards the middle of May. On the way I made the
acquaintance of two cadets of the _corps des pages_, grandsons of the
Shah of Persia. The youngest prince, Rouknadine-Mirza, a charming chap
with exquisite oriental eyes, took particularly my fancy. He had already
fallen a little under my spell, and I looked upon him as a kind of
blessed invention for my entertainment on this trip. As for his eldest
brother, he seemed to be of rather a quiet disposition, and I did not
care a rap for him.
It was almost dark when we reached Tiflis. The Staritzkis received us in
the friendliest way. We were also kindly greeted by my aunt, Nathalie
Roerberg, the wife of the Chief of the Military Engineers of the
Caucasus. She wanted me to come and see her just as often as I could. I
can’t say how good and kind she was, we got on admirably.
It became my favourite pastime to watch through the iron-barred gate of
the Roerbergs’ garden, opening on the summer-theatre, the endless string
of people promenading between the acts. My guilty curiosity was noticed
by an elegant swell, whom I saw staring and making eyes at me. I met him
a few days afterwards at a dancing party in the casino. He was quick to
seize the chance of talking to me and exclaimed, “How happy I am to meet
you! I have desired it so tremendously!” Impudent fellow! As I was not a
bit disposed to be gracious to him I stopped his effusions, turning my
back pointedly. When I met that brazen-faced individual after that in the
streets, he raised his hat in vain to me; I pretended not to perceive him.
I found a jolly companion in the person of my cousin Nathaly Staritzki.
One evening we went to see _La Traviata_ sung in Armenian, which rather
disagreed with Italian music. Nathaly was, like me, easily moved to
laughter. As the opera proceeded we became more and more hilarious,
and our behaviour was such that caused many disapproving glances
to be cast in our direction. At the most pathetic moment, when the
prima-donna breathed her last breath, we ran out of our box, putting our
handkerchiefs to our mouths and overturning the chairs on our passage.
I used to see a great deal of the Persian princes; Rouknadine-Mirza was
rapidly losing his heart to me. One day we went out riding together, and
whilst our horses were galloping at full speed, the idea came to me to
make my page gather a wild flower growing in the grass. He managed to
do it, but during that acrobatic exercise his _casque_ rolled off, and
instead of treating him commiseratingly I only snubbed him for his pains.
Horsemanship was my ruling passion. I easily found partners to accompany
me in my rides, and careered through the streets of Tiflis, followed by
my cavaliers, enjoying to overtake them like a cyclone. I cantered home
in high spirits, with a heated face and my hair coming down, most of it
outside my cap, not in it. I frequently brought my cavaliers home to tea,
and if they didn’t happen to be particularly interesting, I proceeded
straight to bed, and the Staritzkis had to sit with my guests and
entertain them as best they could, whilst I slept the sleep of the just.
One day, in turning over an album, I came upon a photograph the sight
of which made me exclaim: “Oh, who is that good-looking officer?” “That
is Serge Michailovitch Doukhovskoy, a young general attached to the
person of the Grand-Duke Michael, commander-in-chief of the army of the
Caucasus,” said my aunt Roerberg. She told me that he was the youngest
general in the Russian army, being only six-and-thirty years old, that he
had a splendid career before him, and was in short everything desirable;
she added that now I had a capital opportunity of making a brilliant
match, and that I must spread my net to catch that big fish and set
immediately to work to captivate him. That was enough to set me against
the general; there was something very distasteful in the idea of such
a marriage, and I was not at all willing to sacrifice my youth to the
advantage of rank and money.
When first General Doukhovskoy was introduced to me I was slightly
disappointed; he was so reserved in manner and did not condescend to take
much notice of me, a method of treatment to which I was not accustomed,
being brought up with the idea that I was to be petted and bowed down
to by men; I had been adored all my young life and this indifference
stung my vanity. I was far from the idea of falling in love with General
Doukhovskoy, nevertheless I was annoyed by the coolness with which he
regarded me; admiration was my daily bread, he failed to offer it to me
and that instantly aroused in me an intention of making him display some
interest in me. Serge Michailovitch was quite unlike all the men I had
ever met before, he was immovable as a stone, and didn’t look like the
sort of man whose head could be easily turned, and would surely never
become a girl’s plaything. Nevertheless there was something which drew
me towards him, and day by day he got hold of me and I meant to win his
heart if it only could be done. All my passing fancies only kindled the
spark that was to burn for another man’s benefit. But why, oh why, was
this iceberg of a human being incapable of understanding? He was so
queer; I did not know how to manage him; it was impossible to draw him
into the mildest flirtation, we were on the polite conversation footing,
nothing else.
In mid-June I was left all of a sudden on my aunt Roerberg’s hands.
Mamma started off for Russia for a few weeks, and the Staritzkis went to
Beloy-Kloutch, their summer residence, and as I did not like to leave
Serge Michailovitch behind, I preferred to remain in Tiflis. Day by day
the general’s visits grew more frequent. One evening he got up a picnic
in his garden to which he invited us. Whilst we had tea laid under the
trees, I remarked that a change was coming over our host; he seemed in a
boyish mood, and altogether forgetful of his usual careful correctness,
and put aside all his reserve; he lay at my feet and tickled my cheek
with a blade of grass. This was the hour of my triumph! I caught his
eyes and they said quite plainly “I like you.” Could he be catching fire
at last? I saw now that I was not wholly indifferent to him; he was
looking at me with new eyes, the eyes of an awakened sleeper. Was it the
awakening germ of some deeper feeling, perhaps? In parting he squeezed
my hand and held it in his for a few seconds longer than the conventions
allowed. Every day drew me closer to Serge Michailovitch; the more I saw
him, the more my affection deepened, and I soon found that he was for me
the dearest of created beings.
The heat in Tiflis was very trying, there was scarcely air enough to
breathe, and my aunt decided to go to Borjom, the summer residence of the
Grand-Duke Michael, a delightful watering-place buried in verdure and
surrounded by mountains covered with thick forests. Serge Michailovitch
came round occasionally to see how we got on. I looked forward eagerly
to his visits; his society became very dear to me for he succeeded in
winning my love; my heart had spoken at last and I was sensible of the
tremendous power he exercised over me. I was beginning to know that I
too, had a little power over him. Serge Michailovitch appeared so pleased
when he saw me; his hand trembled when it touched mine. His affection
seemed to rise with extraordinary rapidity from zero to boiling point,
and it was whispered that General Doukhovskoy had serious views towards
me; my aunt with her all-seeing eyes had perceived for some time already
the turn events had taken.
In July the general had to go to Russia for a short time; On the eve of
his departure he came to Borjom. That evening altered the course of my
life. He managed to get me away from the others on the terrace; we were
so happy to be left alone and drew closer to each other, watching the
glow-worms’ fairy lamps amidst the shrubs below. For some time there was
no conversation between us, but there was no need for words, we looked
into each other’s eyes and found that one can kiss even with looks.
Suddenly Serge Michailovitch bent over me, his face drawn with emotion,
and asked me if I cared for him a little bit? The moment was decisive;
my head dropped on my arms on the table and tears were my only answer. I
felt assured of one thing now, that he loved me; yet, what had he said to
me? Nothing and yet everything!
On the next day, when Serge Michailovitch came to bid us good-bye, he
seemed quite altered; he was changed altogether, exceedingly cool and
formal in his manner to me, his greeting was gravely courteous, that was
all. What was this sudden change in him, in voice and eyes? His entirely
incomprehensible attitude made me horribly unhappy; had he changed his
mind at the last moment? All through his visit he maintained his air
of frigid reserve; he was so cold that he froze me. An icy feeling
crept over me and I suddenly had the sensation of being a great way off
from him. I could not help feeling hurt and wounded and struggled hard
to keep the tears from my eyes; not for worlds would I have appeared
disappointed. Serge Michailovitch went away saying good-bye frigidly, and
we parted upon very cold terms. When he had gone, I missed him more than
I could have imagined possible; his face haunted my dreams and my waking,
and I thought of him the first thing in the morning, the last thing at
night. I see now that I didn’t know what love meant until I met Serge
Michailovitch. How I longed for his first letter, but the days slipped
away without a word or sign from him. I was so horribly disappointed and
tortured with doubt. Had he forgotten then all about me? I began to feel
extremely uncomfortable, seeing him slipping away from me and wished I
had not let him go.
I could bear it no longer and wrote a volume to him, telling him I wanted
him to cheer me up, and that I was looking forward impatiently to seeing
him soon. Day by day I waited for his answer; at last the post brought
me a letter from him. I tore the envelope open, with trembling hands and
scarlet cheeks, but there was nothing in it to gladden my longing eyes
or to fill my empty heart. His letter was short and scrappy, with no
words of endearment; it might have been written to a sister. He told me
so little about himself, and hardly anything at all about myself, and
addressed me in such a formal way, ending his letter with sincere regards
to me. (I hated sincere regards)!
I continued to be quite in the dark as to his plans for the future and
didn’t like at all to be fed upon chance scraps, I wanted a whole bone.
I don’t know when in all my life I had been more vexed and had shed
such hot passionate tears; but pride arose, forbidding my heart to ache
for the loss of his love. What was the use of crying my eyes out? I was
determined to forget Serge Michailovitch, putting him as much as possible
out of my thoughts and passing a sponge over our love affair. To keep
my spirits up, I rushed into all sorts of adventures, exposing myself
to ill-natured comments. People began to say nasty things of me, and my
aunt Roerberg implored me to put a stop to my disgraceful flirtations,
warning me that the talk would reach the ears of Serge Michailovitch. She
tried to excuse his conduct in my eyes and said that, as his experiences
were much wider than mine, he was more cool-headed, and knew what he
was about, therefore he could not act inconsiderately in such a serious
matter as marriage. Yes, but as for me, being prompt and vivacious I
hated delays, and could not possibly just take time and think things over
like him, I can’t. I can’t stop and wait!
I continued to wear a steel armour over my heart, and I now spent much
of my time out of doors, riding. Serge Michailovitch had permitted me,
during his absence, to mount his lovely arab, a young and spirited horse
who proved sufficiently troublesome the first time I mounted him. I had
to spring hastily into my saddle, the horse gave a bound when the groom
left his head, and set off galloping like the wind. My hand was nearly
dislocated with the strain of holding him; I succeeded in managing my
fiery steed and brought him to a stand-still before a villa inhabited
by Mrs. Blicks, a charming lady whom I knew only by sight. She happened
to be on her balcony just then, and invited me to dismount, in order to
recover myself from my fright. My wrist was aching a good deal and had
begun to swell. After Mrs. Blicks had bound it up, I remounted my arab
who behaved perfectly well on our way home. After my first break-neck
ride I succeeded to be mistress of my horse; he went like a lamb now, and
I felt as much at home on his back as in a rocking-chair.
I liked Mrs. Blicks and her two daughters very much, and often dropped
in for a chat. I met in their house two school-boys, a prince and a
simple mortal. I kept the prince in the background and displayed a marked
preference for the simple mortal, welcoming him as a relief to threatened
monotony. There was nothing particularly entrancing in him, but he was
still better than no lover at all, and I began to flirt with him until
he was half mad. We wandered away from the others on every available
occasion, and sauntered together into the park; he drew my arm within
his and pressed it tenderly to his heart, whilst our eyes met, speaking
volumes. In that moment we seemed very much in love with one another, and
wanted to put off as long as possible getting back home. I took a fancy,
one day, on visiting Mrs. Blicks, to stimulate a fainting-fit. I lay at
full length on a low sofa, wrapped up in a loose white dressing-gown
belonging to Mrs. Blicks, whilst my affrighted school-boys made a great
fuss over me; they bathed my temples with eau-de-cologne and put a
bottle of sal-volatile under my nose. I took delight in prolonging that
mystification as long as I could, surveying them out of the corners of my
half-closed eyes.
Though it was only September, the weather suddenly turned cold and wet;
the sky was low and grey, a gusty wind was driving the fallen leaves
across the park. We decided to return to Tiflis; mamma was back already
from Russia, and soon after I heard that Serge Michailovitch had come
also.
We met at a dinner-party a few days after his arrival. At the sight of
him my heart began to beat very quickly. Do what I would to banish him
from my thoughts, I never ceased to love him; but he looked so frigid
when he came up to me that I was cut to the quick. Surely he might look
a little more pleased at seeing me! Was he doing it to provoke me? I
felt that something had broken between us and that we should never be
the same to each other after that night. My anger rose against him and I
tried to look stolidly indifferent, and if possible, to be more frigid
than he was. I ignored Serge Michailovitch the whole evening and behaved
shockingly, talking a lot of stupid nonsense; I did not know myself what
I was saying and mamma looked disapprovingly at me across the table. I
own that my behaviour was shameful and that I deserved to have lost the
best husband that ever a woman desired. When I got home the evil spirit
went out of me and I felt awfully remorseful. I would not lose Serge
Michailovitch for anyone or anything in this world. I was not going to
run away from my happiness, and at any price I had to see him again and
make it up with him; whatever happened, I must not let him go. I resolved
therefore upon the desperate step of writing to him, and it had to be
done at once or my courage would fail me. I sat down and scribbled a
few lines telling him that I wanted to apologise for my extremely silly
conduct. His answer contained an appointment for the following afternoon
at four o’clock; he asked me to come out for a ride with him. I passed
a restless night glowing with impatience at the next day’s rendezvous.
I wanted to see him so much, yet I dreaded the ordeal. How could I meet
him? How could I look into his face again?
I got up nervous and excited. The whole morning I had been in a fever;
my hands were as cold as ice and my cheeks burned like fire. How slowly
the hours did pass! When Serge Michailovitch was announced I went hot
all over, and my emotion was so uncontrollable that I fled into my room,
in which I felt more safe. My cousin Nathaly dragged me out by force
and the next minute we came face to face, Serge Michailovitch and I.
The first step was made, we mounted our horses and set off at a trot;
soon after we walked them slowly, riding side by side. For some time
we did not exchange a word, then suddenly Serge Michailovitch put his
arm round me and drew me towards him till our lips met; he told me then
that he loved me and asked me if I cared enough for him to become his
wife. I only answered with my eyes, which spoke the plainest “yes,” and
thus, under the open sky, we pledged our troth, for a minute forgetting
everything but our two selves. I gave him with happiness the gift of
myself. Nothing could shake my faith in him now. For me that day marked
the red-letter day of my calendar. I rode back to Tiflis an engaged girl,
and announced our betrothal to mamma; I longed to inform the world at
large of it. Our betrothal was made known the next day, and hearty were
the congratulations addressed to us. I wrote to my father to ask for his
consent and blessing, which he gave with pleasure.
Our wedding was to take place at Dolgik in the beginning of April. Serge
Michailovitch, Sergy as I called him now, spent a good deal of his time
with me; we used to pass all our evenings together in the library, where
we contrived a sort of recess, furnished with a sofa, in which we could
talk in peace. Nothing will ever make me forget the hours we passed
together, hours which were all but too brief for us; we forgot that
clocks existed. Dear days! so long ago, yet so vivid to me! We sat on
the sofa with our heads very close together, pretending to read out of a
book that lay on my lap face downwards. One evening as I sat thus, side
by side with Sergy, my hand imprisoned in his, developing our plans for
our future happiness, the footsteps of my uncle Staritzki recalled us to
reality. Seeing that I held my book upside down, uncle went to fetch a
venerable calf-bound volume containing the code of laws, and gave it to
me saying laughingly that, perhaps we should be more interested with that
sort of literature.
I was the happiest girl on earth; it was so good to feel that Sergy
cared for me! He became my world, my all. I was no longer the same girl
I had been, my time of playing with the sentiments of men was over;
surely there were two _Vava Galitzines_: one that had been blessed with
the happy faculty of dismissing one love from her mind the moment that
she began to occupy herself with another, and one who, in spite of her
frivolous outside, loved only one man in the world—her Sergy!
Now and then I had little fits of ill-temper, days when I was out of
sorts with myself and everyone else. My griefs did not last long, but
while they lasted they were very strong. Sometimes, after short quarrels
between us, I would lock myself up in my room and flinging myself across
my bed, burst into stormy tears, my hair all dishevelled and hanging
loose like a repentant “Magdalena.” These sudden outbursts of passion
cleared off quickly, and I soon made it up with Sergy.
Nearly a month had passed since our engagement, and our visit was near
drawing to a close; it was time to start on our homeward journey. I left
Tiflis with heart-breaking regret; I hated to leave Sergy behind, he had
grown into my heart and I could not bear the idea of being separated
from him. I didn’t know how I was going to get along till April without
a sight of him; deprived of his company my life would be lonely beyond
words. Five months were such an awfully long time to wait! We promised to
write to each other every day, but that was a poor consolation.
We travelled to Russia _via_ Poti. Early the following morning our boat
was to leave that town and we had to pass the night at a hotel. I was
tired and depressed; directly after dinner I got into bed and cried
myself to sleep. When I woke up in the morning the wind moaned outside
and the rain poured down in torrents. I went to the window and looked at
the unquiet sea; great waves were tumbling over the pier; it was a very
unpleasant day indeed for a sail, therefore, we decided to travel back to
Tiflis, and afterwards take the carriage road that leads to Vladicaucasus.
We reached Tiflis in the evening and gave Sergy a pleasant surprise. Oh!
there was no mistake about his being glad to see me!
Much to my egotistical delight, the roads were encumbered by falls of
great masses of snow, and we were to have a whole week of each other’s
company until they were cleared away. In my secret heart I was cherishing
a wild hope that new avalanches would fall and that we should be the
longer together, but, alas, the roads were getting all right and the
dreaded day of our second separation rapidly approached. I grumbled a
good deal at having to leave Tiflis again; I had never been so sorry to
quit any place before.
The high road from Tiflis to Vladicaucasus is called the “Military
Georgian Road.” The scenery is magnificent but dreadfully wild, and I was
awfully frightened to see that we were within a yard of the brinks of
horrible precipices. As we got higher up in the mountains the air became
so rarified that it was difficult to breathe. Our sledge, drawn by two
horses, one in front of the other, dragged on slowly, rising. The blocks
of snow that bordered our way formed a prison wall between the road and
the world outside. Everything was a sort of wild, white sleepy stillness;
no sound arose but the clink of the harness. A large wooden cross rose
on the highest point of the road; a flock of black crows flew across the
leaden sky, and wheeled about it, croaking piercingly. Everything looked
so grey and cold; we found ourselves as in a bewitched icy kingdom in a
fairy tale. There was something very awe-inspiring about it all.
It was night when we arrived at Vladicaucasus, where we took the train to
Kharkoff.
CHAPTER XI
MARRIAGE
I longed for the winter to be over; the days passed slowly, very slowly.
I was in very low spirits and wanted Sergy most awfully, my one desire
was to see him; I thought of him morning, noon, and night. He had grown
so dear to me that I could not do without him. We corresponded regularly
and I only lived from letter to letter. Every morning my father entered
my room, sat down on the edge of my bed and dropped a letter into my lap.
Sergy wrote such delightful epistles which I devoured greedily.
In order to cheer me up my parents proposed to take me to Kharkoff, where
the governor of the town was to give a couple of grand balls, but I
refused outright; what pleasure could I derive from them without Sergy! I
no longer knew myself, I was a new creature; Sergy certainly had worked
wonders; my craze for pleasure, for excitement, my vanity and coquetry,
well, all this was over and done with.
For a whole week I had no news from Sergy and was beginning to get very
anxious. One rainy afternoon, as I was sitting in the drawing-room,
hemming towels for our future household, I heard the sound of wheels
on the gravel. Oh! there is the door bell! It is some intrusive
country-neighbour that had burst upon us for sure. This irony of fate
exasperated me beyond measure; suppose that instead of that boring
visitor it was my welcome bridegroom who had come! But no, that was not
possible, I was stupid to think about it, it was just as well to desire
the moon. As I could not possibly see any strangers now, I gathered up
my needlework and fled into my room. Soon after I was called by mamma,
and directed my steps _adagio_ towards the drawing-room. But lo! what
was that? the clinking of spurs? I opened the door, my heart beating
wildly, and stood dazed and unable to believe my own eyes. There, on the
threshold, was Sergy, my beloved Sergy! It was no dream and the next
instant his arms were thrown eagerly round me. Sergy had contrived to
obtain a few days leave, on the most urgent private affairs, and run over
to Dolgik, crossing the Black Sea, so stormy at this time of year, in
order to spend a week with me. It was so very sweet of him to come all
that long way, that horrid November month, to see me! So that was the
reason of his long silence.
I was beside myself with joy, it was simply glorious to have Sergy here,
but his flying visit only sharpened my desire to have him always near
me. The days that followed his departure were long and dismal; I was
literally pining for him and counted the weeks and days like a schoolgirl.
So time went on. As the day of our marriage approached, my spirits rose.
Sergy announced by wire his definite arrival for the first day of Easter.
I was in a terrible state of nervous excitement on that happy day, and
felt so impatient to see him that I could hardly sit still! Hark! There’s
a carriage rumbling round the porch. Oh rapture, oh joy! It is he, my
bridegroom, whom I have wanted so greedily! I have him now for good and
all; except death there is no power on earth which can divide us!
April 11th, 1876, our wedding day, was a red-letter day for me. Our
house was full of guests and relations assembled to see me married.
The marriage ceremony was to take place at ten o’clock in the evening
in our village church. Before starting for church my father and mother
gave me their blessing and cried a good deal. My bridegroom came forward
to meet me on the threshold of the church and led me to the altar. We
stood before the old priest who was to unite us, a little pale but
quite self-possessed. He pronounced the words of the Sacrament that
had been said over to so many millions of human beings: “Until death
us do part!” and we became man and wife. The priest had concluded
his marriage benediction, and after the usual congratulations, Sergy
offered me his arm and we passed out of church, going together into a
new life. We proceeded to our chateau, where my parents gave us and our
numerous guests a sumptuous supper, enlivened by a military band that
they sent for from Kharkoff. Whilst my health was drunk Sergy pressed a
kiss on my lips, then followed a clinking of glasses and wild cheers of
felicitations and blessings without end. Amidst this hurly-burly I saw a
spider that crept up my nuptial gown. That was a cheerful omen for our
wedding. A French proverb says: _Araignée du soir grand espoir._ God
grant it to be so!
When the meal was over I went speedily to put on my travelling dress, for
it was nearly daylight and we had to drive a long way to Mertchik, a fine
estate belonging to Sergy’s elder brother, situated at about fifty miles
from Dolgik, where we were to spend our honeymoon.
Before leaving the home that had sheltered my happy girlhood for ever,
I went to bid my last farewell to the room of my girlish days. I knelt
down at the side of my forlorn bed, and with my head on my folded arms I
prayed. Then I parted from my parents, shedding copious tears. Good-bye
Dolgik, good-bye my dear old life!
I stepped with my husband into the handsome victoria, given to me by my
brother for a wedding present, and we rode away, driven by four spirited
horses. On crossing a bridge one of our steeds slipped and went down; the
carriage passed over him, throwing the coachman and the footman off their
box-seat. The frightened animals, feeling themselves at liberty, tore
away down the road at a frightful pace. We were sitting terror-struck,
seeing ourselves shut up in the carriage. Sergy made an attempt to
squeeze himself through the pane of glass on the box, in order to catch
hold of the reins and stop the horses. I divined his crazy purpose and
clutched at him with all my force. Luckily at that moment the reins
entangled themselves between the wheels, bringing the maddened animals to
a stand-still within two steps of the river.
We had all miraculously escaped from death, and weren’t hurt at all, only
scared. When we sprang down, I shook with nervousness, and began to sob
convulsively. It is easy to conceive the fright of Sergy’s brothers who
were following us behind. They made us mount into their brougham and soon
after we arrived safely at Mertchik. My favourite dog, a beautiful St.
Bernard, who had been sent to Mertchik the day before, stood wagging his
tail to welcome us on the doorstep.
My parents with some friends came to visit us the next day. I put on for
that occasion a dressing-gown with a long train and felt very proud to be
called Madame and said “my husband” on every available opportunity.
I had won the great draw in the matrimonial lottery, for Sergy was the
best of husbands. I had found true happiness and felt that I had just
begun to live. We were all in all to each other; how I had existed so
long without Sergy, passes my comprehension. I couldn’t believe that any
man could have such a power over me; my whole heart belonged to him.
There seemed no disparity in our ages, for Sergy was so full of the joy
of life. He fondled me and fulfilled all my wishes, giving me everything
I could wish for before even I asked; he literally read my thoughts.
Sergy was, in short, a darling, and I have only the old story to tell:
I love you and you love me,
And oh! how happy we shall be!
But our honeymoon was short, alas; the clouds came on all but too soon.
We had been married about twenty days, and my cup of happiness was full,
when matters took a turn for the bad. There came a telegram calling my
husband back to Tiflis on account of the preparations for war with
Turkey. This unexpected turn of events fairly stunned me. What awaited
us, I wondered?
I was heart-broken at parting with my parents, who accompanied us to the
railway station with a great number of friends. Parting is so horrid; I
always hated good-byes. I gave kisses and shake-hands to right and left,
and cried a good deal, crushing unmercifully my pocket handkerchief, a
dainty thing not made for woe. It was time to enter our compartment; I
stood at the window to say a last farewell. The engine whistled and the
long train groaned and moved away, carrying me away speedily to my new
home.
At one of the big stations a young officer came up to me, a tall,
good-looking fellow, in whom I recognised one of the victims of my St.
Petersburg doings, a former page who had been enamoured with me once upon
a time. He was greatly altered, having attained the age of adolescence;
a slight trace of a moustache was visible. His face was aglow with the
pleasure at seeing me. He took my hands in his and said in a low aside to
me that he continued to adore me, and a lot more things that were enough
to move a stone. But all this seemed exceedingly foolish to me, and I
was a little uncertain whether I ought to be flattered or affronted, but
he looked so doleful that I had not the heart to snub him and treated
him with a soft graciousness which raised him to the seventh heaven and
induced him to devour my hands with kisses. One more good-bye and then
farewell; we had gone away! My ex-page stood staring ruefully after
the departing train, which stole me away, whilst I lent on the window
squeezing tightly Sergy’s hand and nodding him adieu. How ridiculous
seemed to me all the passing fancies of by-gone days. I see now that I
never loved anyone until I met Sergy; he was absolutely and indisputably
sole master of my heart. All the others served only as a pastime.
CHAPTER XII
TIFLIS
The carriage road that leads from Vladicaucasus to Tiflis is equally
dangerous in winter as in summer, for instead of snow avalanches there
are falls of stones. I shuddered when I passed under these treacherous
rocks, dreading every time we passed them to be smashed to pieces. I was
startlingly impressed by the scenery; it was a wild, primeval landscape,
great old mountains all around. Sharp turns were to be made and we had
often to stop the carriage to let omnibuses and camels pass, a process
for which there was scarcely enough room.
We reached Tiflis in the evening and established ourselves very
comfortable in Sergy’s spacious apartments. It was the prettiest home
that could be imagined; my pink boudoir was lovely, a real bonbon box.
I had all the world before me and everything to make me happy. Wearing
rose-coloured glasses through which one looks at the outside world, I
felt in particular good-humour with life in general and with my husband
above all. But all joys have an end. These two delicious months passed
over only too swiftly; storm-clouds rose quite unexpectedly upon our
horizon and a shadow of trouble hung over us. A few years before, an
insurrection broke out in Herzegovine; later on the Bulgarians made an
attempt to throw off the Turkish yoke, but the Osmanlies made short and
terrible work of the unfortunate Bulgarians, and Serbia and Montenegro
maddened by the spectacle of horror, declared war. We were expecting
with dread lest Russia should meddle in that sad affair, when all of a
sudden rumours of war spread abroad. Whatever I thought will now become
of me, should I have to part with Sergy, who had crept into my life as a
necessity? It did not seem possible; sooner might I lie down and die!
About this time general Loris-Melikoff was appointed commander of the
army of the Caucasus, and my husband chief of his staff. Towards the
middle of June Sergy was ordered to “Manglis” to inspect our artillery,
a part of which quartered there. He offered to take me with him and I
accepted gladly, for the heat in Tiflis was excessive and everybody was
out of town at this season.
It was very late at night before we were able to reach the village of
“Beloy-Kloutch,” for though we had a beautiful moon to help us on our
way, we advanced very slowly, thanks to the bad state of the roads.
I was very much frightened to hear that “Manglis” was dangerous on
account of the brigands, and scarcely closed my eyes the whole night,
as the windows of the room that we occupied at the small hotel were
nearly level with the garden walls, and it seemed to me all the time that
someone was climbing up through the window.
The next morning at six o’clock we started on horseback to “Manglis.” The
road was steep and very fatiguing, but my brave little Cossack horse went
an excellent pace; he seldom stumbled and was thoroughly intelligent in
dangerous places. We plodded on steadily till midday, when we reached a
big wood, and feeling horribly hungry, we dismounted, sat on the grass in
the shade of a big tree, and had luncheon.
It was about six o’clock when we arrived at “Manglis.” We stopped at
the house of Colonel Gourtchine, a friend of my husband’s. I was so
dead-tired that I went to bed immediately and slept soundly.
On the following day the regiment of Erivan, who held his quarters in
“Manglis,” was on the march to Alexandropol, a small town situated on the
frontier of Russia and Asiatic Turkey. The troops stood in lines for a
review in the Public Square, where a Te-Deum was sung. The spectacle was
most imposing and my whole heart rose up in pity for our poor soldiers,
who prayed so fervently, at the thought that in case of war a great
number of them would never see their native land again.
We travelled back to Tiflis on that same day. A week later, in order to
escape the intolerable heat, we set off to Borjom.
A few days after our arrival, I had to be presented to the Grand Duchess
Olga Fedorovna. Whilst waiting to be received by Her Imperial Highness
I was shown into a big library; I sat down and began to turn over some
illustrated magazines when the Grand Duke came in and shook hands with
me with his usual graciousness. His Highness drew my arm through his,
telling me that he wanted to present me himself to his spouse. Whilst we
proceeded to the Grand Duchess’s private apartments, the Grand Duke asked
me, all of a sudden, if I hadn’t had enough of my husband yet. I wonder
what put such a poor idea of my constancy into his head! At all events it
was a little too soon to ask that question.
The Grand Duchess got up to receive me in a most cordial manner, at once
setting me at my ease. I didn’t feel shy at all in her presence, and
returned home enchanted with my visit.
Towards the end of September we came back to Tiflis; a week later general
Loris-Melikoff was called away for a few days to Alexandropol to inspect
our troops and Sergy had to accompany him. I accepted philosophically
that short separation, for just then I had the joy to see mamma arrive.
Soon after my husband returned, and mamma went back to Russia.
It was sweet to have Sergy home again, but he soon announced to me that
it was necessary for him to return to Alexandropol for the whole winter,
perhaps, on account of the hostile attitude of the Turks. That was a
source of great affliction to me. Less than ever I was able to spare him,
and told him that nothing could induce me to remain alone in Tiflis and
that I was determined to follow him to the Turkish frontier. For his sake
I would gladly travel to the end of the world! After many discussions
Sergy yielded.
CHAPTER XIII
ALEXANDROPOL
We drove the hundred miles to Alexandropol in a post-chaise, bringing
over with us my old maid Helena, who was both a faithful friend and
servant.
We installed ourselves at Alexandropol in the house of a rich Armenian
merchant. It was a dreary home, my new one, with its cross-barred
windows, and suggested to my mind being in prison. I suffered a great
deal from the cold, for our apartments were very badly heated, and we
were obliged to put up an iron stove in the drawing-room.
Alexandropol is surrounded by high mountains; one of the summits named
“Alagöse” is always covered with snow. The town with its low houses and
flat roofs, uniformly built of grey stone, reminds one of Pompeii. The
costume of the native women is as gloomy as everything else in this town.
Enveloped in a yashmak, a piece of white muslin leaving only the eyes
exposed, they looked exactly like ghosts.
We lived in a very unpretending style. General Loris-Melikoff, who tried
his best to cheer our Russian colony, pursued me with invitations, which
I generally managed to evade.
One of our favourite diversions was to visit the citadel, a miniature
fortified town, situated at about a mile’s distance from Alexandropol.
General Kobsieff, the commander of the citadel, was awfully nice to me;
he lent me books and sent me flowers.
One of our most frequent guests, General S⸺ was so old that I was afraid
all the time he’d go to pieces. He showed a distinct preference for my
society and looked at me as if I were something good to eat. This old
general gave me to understand that I had captured his venerable heart and
that he was deeply enamoured with me, which sounded somewhat ridiculous
from that aged warrior, and though he was far too ancient for my taste, I
let him make love to me, for what harm could come of it? My old admirer
was dying to show me the renewal of his vigour, lost in the night of
time; an occasion soon presented itself. One rainy day I went out for a
walk accompanied by two cavaliers, my out-of-date adorer and a sprightly
young officer. Whilst I held my nose up in the air looking at the state
of the sky, a gust of wind tore away my umbrella and the old warrior,
trying to get it before the young one, ran as fast as his old legs could
carry him towards the rolling parasol, and brought it back triumphantly
to me, like a perfect knight. Gallant old creature!
A score of “djigites” belonging to General Loris-Melikoff’s escort,
consisting of different Asiatic tribes, gave circus performances on the
square, where a military band played every afternoon on the roof-platform
of the house opposite our abode. Below, a band of Armenian street urchins
went through all sorts of military evolutions, under the command of a
little chief, decorated with Russian paper-stars and crosses.
I had a great desire to cross the Arpatchai, a small frontier river
between Alexandropol and Asia Minor, in order to be able to say that I
had actually stepped upon Asiatic ground. The Arpatchai was frozen at
this time of year. As soon as I found myself with Mrs. Zezemann, one of
our military ladies, on the other side of the river, a group of Cossacks
who guarded our frontier cried out to us to go back, apprehending,
surely, that we had the intention of running away to Kars, where the
Turkish army was concentrated. The Turkish sentinels, in their turn,
regarded us with suspicion. Finding ourselves thus between two fires we
had to retreat speedily, to my great disappointment, for we had nearly
reached a small cottage inhabited by a Turkish major, with a dozen of
soldiers. But “well begun is half done,” I made a fresh attempt at my
exciting expedition, accompanied this time by Sergy and his interpreter.
My heart beat quickly as we went under the roof of our future enemies,
encircled by a group of red-fezzed soldiers who stared very hard at us.
When the usual greetings had been exchanged, our courteous host, who
seemed quite willing to be friendly, offered us black coffee, served in
tiny cups. Fearing that the beverage was poisoned, I entreated Sergy not
to taste it, but, notwithstanding, he drank a whole cupful and I hastened
to follow his example, for if the coffee had been poisoned, we should
undergo the same fate, both of us. In bidding good-bye to our host I
expressed my intense desire to possess a white Persian cat with silky
long wool, and the Turkish major promised to send me a beautiful specimen
of that feline race. It was very charming of him, but though we had been
treated first rate, I must say I was glad when we were safely home again.
Meanwhile the political horizon grew very dark, and the shadow of evil
hung over us. A great number of the heroes of the last Russo-Turkish war
are buried in Alexandropol in the “Dale of Honour,” and when I thought
that a new war was very near to bursting out, I had a ferocious desire to
fling myself into the Arpatchai. I tried to keep up my spirits as best
I could, deluding myself with vain hopes that in a short time we should
return safe and sound to Tiflis; but the menace of coming war became more
evident every day, it was no use deceiving myself. “Is war inevitable
then?” I asked Sergy a hundred times a day, and he could give me but
little comfort. How could I live then with this sword of Damocles hanging
over me?
CHAPTER XIV
THE TURCO-RUSSIAN WAR
There were new complications and things began to look more and more
serious. Every day when I awoke a fear came over me that the news would
be brought: “we are to march.”
From time to time disguised Turkish officers, spies for certain, began
to appear in Alexandropol. There were some skirmishes in the town,
unfriendly demonstrations between the Christians and the Mussulmans. A
great activity was noticeable in Alexandropol, and I listened to the
sounds of drums and the rumble of the big guns through the streets with
increasing uneasiness.
On Easter night we went to the citadel church for divine service; a
score of Cossacks lighted our way with torches. The next day we had a
great number of congratulators who came in to embrace us, according
to our Orthodox practice, in commemoration of Christ’s Resurrection.
It was curious to see amongst them “devil-worshippers,” belonging to
Loris-Melikoff’s escort.
Events were advancing faster than I anticipated; the storm-cloud which
had been gathering had burst at last, and the time of trial had come.
A telegram informed Loris-Melikoff that the Ambassador of Russia had
received the order to quit Constantinople; a second despatch followed
saying: “if Turkey did not consent to sign the conditions that Russia
exacted, war would be declared in the lapse of two days.” And Turkey did
not consent.
On the 11th of April, the first anniversary of our wedded life, we
invited some friends to dine with us. Just when our health was going
to be drunk, my husband was hastily summoned by Loris-Melikoff whom he
found reading a cyphered telegram which announced the declaration of war
against Turkey.
Having agreed not to divulge these alarming tidings, Sergy tried to look
cheery when he returned home, but I saw at a glance that he was very pale
and nervous, and guessed at once that he had brought bad news; when I
heard him give orders to have his horse ready at any time of the night,
I understood all. He had to go! Oh, to think of it! Oh, to think of it!
For some minutes I could not collect my faculties, everything swam before
my eyes, it was altogether such a terrible blow! The first shock of
horrible surprise over, I resolved to show myself as self-possessed as I
could. Time enough for tears and grief when Sergy would be gone!
The order was given to our cavalry to attack the twenty Turkish posts
who guarded the frontier at nightfall; only three of them defended
themselves, all the others were taken unawares; being plunged into deep
sleep, they were taken captives. It was the first act of open hostility.
Oh, the terrible night! Of sleep there was no question whatever! Before
the stepping out of our troops, in the cold grey light of a rainy dawn,
a Te-Deum was performed in the square in front of the cathedral. The
soldiers, after having concluded their fervent prayers, took a pinch of
earth, kissed the dear ground and laid it in their knapsacks. Many eyes
filled with tears at this touching spectacle.
Until this moment no one in town had suspected that war had been
declared. All Alexandropol was in a great state of excitement; the
Armenians, especially, were awfully frightened and depressed.
At seven in the morning our troops left Alexandropol. The heart-breaking
hour had come, the sad word “farewell” was to be said. I cried out,
“Good-bye my all, good-bye!” and pressed my wet cheek to Sergy’s
tear-stained one, like my own. After a short prayer, we held each other
in a close embrace; I couldn’t believe that he was really going. At last
I mastered myself with an effort, and disengaged my clinging arms with a
last kiss. It was the worst moment I had ever had in my life. There was
an instant of unconsciousness, and when I recovered myself he was gone!
I hadn’t the strength to accompany Sergy to the front door, and flinging
myself upon my bed, face downwards, I sobbed as I had never sobbed
before. Oh! now I was alone, alone, alone! Suddenly I sprang up and
stretched out my hands to the blank distance, cried aloud: “Come back,
Sergy, come back, my sweetheart, I cannot let you go!” But he was already
gone past recall. I shall certainly never forget that day. It seemed as
if my life had ended. Oh, my God, if I could only die!
I sent Housnadine, our Tartar servant, to the Russian frontier with the
orders to return only after my husband had crossed to the other side of
the Arpatchai. After two hours of agony, Housnadine brought me a few
hasty words, scribbled by Sergy, while the pontoons were laying a bridge
across the river for our artillery to pass over. Sergy entreated me to be
brave, and promised to send me news as often as he could. Whilst he was
writing that note, a notice came from head-quarters that the enemy had
appeared. It was only a false alarm; a detachment of Turkish irregulars
belonging to a tribe named “Karapapaki,” who had promised to serve the
Russian cause if war would be declared, came now to join our army, with a
banner and in full battle array.
A long, miserable night followed. Oh, what I was suffering! What agonies,
what tortures! Worn out with tears, I fell asleep, but was suddenly
awakened by a loud voice pronouncing my husband’s name. A moment later
I was out of bed and rushed to the window, seized with a sudden dread
that some misfortune had happened to Sergy. It was an express messenger
covered with dust, who had brought a letter from my husband. He wrote
from the first halting place of our army, a Turkish village situated
about ten miles distance from Alexandropol. I read that epistle till the
pages were blotted with tears. Short as it was, there was enough love
in it to make the letter doubly dear. I kissed the paper over and over
again; then I kissed the “My own darling” with which the letter began,
kissed the “Your loving husband” with which it ended.
Early next morning I rose from my bed to look out upon a world suddenly
become empty. It was like an awful nightmare from which I couldn’t wake
up.
The succeeding days were the most trying I had ever known; I was so
miserable, so wretched, and needed comfort so badly, and here I was
left alone to wither away! It was altogether too cruel! I was so young,
and my trouble was so great! For twenty years I had lived and had never
been acquainted with adverse circumstances, and the troubles which had
been averted were now beginning to come thickly upon me, and I could
not possibly endure it patiently, my heart overflowed with self-pity.
I will not deny that I displayed a pitiful lack of moral courage, but
I was neither a philosopher nor a stoic, alas! It is a fact that I had
always lived on the sunny side of life, and was born to be petted and
made much of. Fairies had brought their offerings at my birth, and I took
the rose-leaf pathway as my due; and now my eyes began to open to the
realities of life!
Oh, how I did pine for Sergy! I wanted him now as I had never wanted him
before; I wanted the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand. Oh that
he may soon come back to me! He was in my mind and in my heart day and
night; in every dream I saw him: I stretched my arms out to him, but I
awoke with sobs and in torment, for he was not there!
One can easily imagine what an anxious time I passed through, living in a
constant state of alarm. Sergy’s telegrams brought me the assurance that
he was still alive and unwounded, but what might be in an hour—to-morrow?
The minute just past might have made me a widow!
I lived a mechanical existence; at ten o’clock I got out of bed, at
twelve I went back to it again. One day was the same to me as another; I
would not take interest in anything, and was only thirsting for news from
the seat of war. Our military ladies, who were not depressed like me,
though their husbands were also at the war, visited me frequently, being
prompted by kindly wishes to raise me from my apathy. They succeeded
somewhat to break the monotony of my life, bringing in the freshness of
the outer world.
Mrs. Zezemann, dropping in one day to cheer me up, succeeded in forcing
me to come out of my shell. She took me to the citadel to see a
detachment of Turkish prisoners; I perceived among them the major who had
promised me a cat. He gave me a broad grin of recognition, and when I
recalled his promise to his mind, he assured me that he would fulfil it
without fail as soon as he was set at liberty by the Russians.
The list of killed had already brought the names of several officers
I had known personally. Naturally I became very anxious concerning my
husband’s safety. The thought that he might meet the same fate drove me
to madness. What the newspapers had to tell about the war was not of a
nature to set my mind at ease. I began to dread the arrival of the post,
lest it should bring me the news of Sergy’s death; I fancied ten millions
of accidents. My old Helena, who served me with loving fidelity, tried
her best to comfort me, and said it was no good imagining horrors, but I
would not be comforted, and continued to be in an agony of terror.
I preferred to remain in complete seclusion, and shut my door to all
callers, but one evening Helena acted against my orders, and let Mrs. R.,
one of our military ladies in, a person with whom I had never succeeded
in making friends. She came and sat by my bed in spite of my desire for
solitude. As I presented an unresponsive cheek to her lips, she inquired
suavely if I had read the papers that day, and though she saw that this
talk was most distasteful to me, she gave herself great trouble to make
it quite clear to me that the day before, in a great clash, Sergy had
been exposed to sharp artillery fire. Being on the brink of an outburst
of hysterical sobbing, I exclaimed: “Don’t, it hurts me!” But that
vixen of a woman, who, if she could say bitter things never lost an
opportunity of doing so, continued her horrible descriptions. The aims
of my tormentor were attained; I flew into a passion, and turning upon
her warlike eyes blazing through a flood of tears, I told her that it was
cruel and shameless to come and frighten me like that Mrs. R. sailed away
very much offended, and thus ended that pleasant visit. In fact, what
right had that disagreeable lady to disturb me like that? I had never
known anything but love, and expected it from everything and everybody,
but my eyes commenced to open now to the reality and bitterness of life,
and I began to experience things which astonished and disgusted me. I had
found out at last that the world was hard.
Meanwhile good tidings came from the seat of war; a conference, which
assembled in Paris, occasioned a suspension of hostilities. It must
surely be the presage of peace, and I clung with all my might to my hope
that war would soon be over, and that all my anxieties, my worries, would
be at an end. Cheered and strengthened, I so far recovered my spirits
as to be able to receive Colonel K., but that gentleman proved to be
very unsympathetic and disappointing, for instead of confirming my happy
expectations, he prophecied dreadful things, and when I said I hoped
better days were in store for me, he replied that it was easy to hope,
that hope’s cheap, but nevertheless any possibility of peace was held to
be out of the question, and that war would go on for a long time yet But
I refused to face that picture. “It won’t, it won’t,” I screamed out,
but it was only to make myself believe it wasn’t true. At that moment my
anger had risen so high that I struggled against an impulse to fling him
out of the room. At last, no longer able to contain myself, I lost all
self-control. “I hate you!” I cried out vehemently, and darted past him
into Helena’s room and locked myself in. It was certainly very rude of
me to give way to such an undignified outburst of passion, but I was so
furious with my visitor that I could not be polite to him at that moment,
to save my life.
One of my St. Petersburg ex-pages, B⸺, a newly promoted officer,
was passing through Alexandropol to the seat of war, and paid me an
unexpected visit, but I was in a mood which makes one long to mope in
solitude, and could not endure callers, so he was turned from my door
greatly disappointed. That officer, as well as all the rest of the unfair
sex, (I beg your pardon, gentlemen!) was naught to me; my husband being
the one man in the world for me, my heart being true as steel to him, I
wanted him alone and no one else.
By this time there were little reconnoitrings of cavalry. Musket shots
were exchanged, with great damage on both sides. The news of more
fighting, more bloodshed, had just reached me; a great battle was being
fought near Alexandropol; we could plainly see the fire and hear the roar
of the cannons from the citadel. The Turks were threatening Alexandropol
now, and we were in immediate danger of seeing our homes invaded by the
hostile army. Fantastical reports circulated that Moussa-Pasha, the
commander-in-chief of the Turkish army, had informed Loris-Melikoff that
he would dine on the following day at Alexandropol. The _mouchir’s_
visit hung over our town as a nightmare, and a panic arose which drove
our military ladies to distraction. They all persuaded me in vain to flee
with them, and Helena, who easily lost her head, implored me in her turn
to start immediately for Tiflis; but I was not afraid of anything, I felt
I did not care what became of me, and declared that I should certainly
not stir from Alexandropol. On that same evening our soldiers turned the
Turks back, and our ladies grew calm again.
The idea came to me to become Sister of Mercy in order to have the
possibility of following our troops. Here again I was destined to meet
with disappointment. General Tolstoi, a member of the society of the Red
Cross, had refused to take me seriously, saying that I was far too young
and inexperienced for such hard work. How perfectly horrid of him!
Oh, what agonies I endured during the hours of fighting! I fancied the
raging battle going on in which Sergy might at any moment be killed. One
whole night I sat at the window-seat waiting nervously for news; the
stillness was broken only by the measured tramp of the sentinel who paced
to and fro under my window, and also by the mewing of marauding cats on
the terrace roofs. At dawn I received a reassuring telegram from Sergy.
At the end of April my husband came home to spend a whole day with me.
Oh, the joy of being together after those two horrid weeks of separation
and suspense! Those few hours of calm, of quiet, put life into me again,
and roused me from my lethargy. Everything changed when Sergy was here
with me; I felt no fear whatever, but I knew that very soon Sergy would
have to go back to that dreadful war, and I should be left all alone,
lonelier than ever. That short visit only increased the bitter pain of
renewed parting. “How shall I ever let you go away again,” I murmured,
embracing Sergy tearfully. But I had to do it, and my sorrows came back,
and the house seemed blank again.
Meanwhile the Russian army continued to advance boldly. The telegraphic
despatches gave the description of a fiery battle between our Cossacks
and the Turkish pickets. In May the siege of Ardagan took place; Sergy
entered the town at the head of a big detachment of soldiers, and
notwithstanding the energetic resistance of the Turks, the citadel of
Ardagan was obliged to capitulate. The battle was hot, and the Turks
who had fought desperately for eighteen hours, sustained great losses.
The streets were literally filled with dead and wounded; the corpses
were crowded in heaps, one upon the other, and it took three whole days
to clear them away. It was frosty weather fortunately, otherwise one
couldn’t have breathed for the dreadful smell.
On the 13th of May (evil day) a great battle was fought near Zevine.
On the same day the Turks blockaded our fortress of Baiazette. A small
number of soldiers shut up in that citadel showed great steadiness under
fire, and rained shells upon the enemy, defending themselves desperately.
Their situation was very critical indeed. They were short of water, and
had to leave their shelter to draw water from a source running under
the rocks, whilst the Turks opened a terrible fire upon them. It was
certainly a very perilous undertaking. The Russians held the town ten
days until a reinforcement arrived which put the Turks to flight and
delivered the Russian garrison.
The Grand Duke Michael had proceeded to the seat of war whilst the Grand
Duchess, his spouse, established herself for an indefinite period in the
citadel of Alexandropol. Miss Ozeroff, one of her maids-in-waiting, came
to see me, and hinted to me that the Grand Duchess expected a visit from
me. My first impulse was to decline this honour and say, “No,” but Miss
Ozeroff, catching me like a fish in her net, invited me one afternoon for
a cup of tea. As it was one of my good days, for I had just received a
telegram from Sergy, I accepted her invitation, and picking myself up,
I put on my plainest walking-dress and a broad-brimmed garden hat and
set off for the citadel. I gave my card to a tall lackey in glittering
livery, and ordered him to conduct me upstairs to Miss Ozeroff’s private
apartments. My cunning hostess, in spite of my protestations, insisted
on carrying me off to the Grand Duchess. I was quite unprepared for that
and very much upset. The Grand Duchess, however, most kindly rose to
embrace me and placed me on the sofa by her side. She began directly to
talk of the war operations and related to me that during the siege of
Ardagan, for which Sergy had received the Cross of St. George, he had
been in great danger, his horse having been shot from under him. When I
heard this I turned very pale and burst into a storm of tears. The Grand
Duchess tried vainly to sooth me, telling me that perhaps it might not be
true that Sergy had been in such mortal danger, but I continued to sob
hysterically, for I was not altogether a Spartan, I must confess.
I continued to display an obstinate preference for seclusion, and
refused myself to callers. I might as well be shut away in prison. I
had, moreover, imposed on myself the vow never to set foot out of my
room until Sergy’s definite return. This life was telling upon my nerves
and I fell into a condition of dreadful mental apathy. I had no wish for
anything and fretted myself into a kind of low fever. I had lost my
sleep and hated the sight of food, and became thinner and more wretched
every day, until at last I was a shadow of myself. I nearly drove my poor
Helena mad with my pale face and tear-sodden eyes. At length she became
so uneasy about me that she wrote the most alarming reports of my health
to my mother, who started immediately for Alexandropol with my cousin,
Kate Swetchine, to help me bear my grief and soothe my sorrows. They were
certainly a dear comfort, both of them, but I wanted Sergy, and continued
to send him daily laconic despatches with one word only, “Come.”
My condition was so alarming that my husband decided to beg for a leave
of absence as soon as he could, in order to take me abroad for a short
time. Meanwhile a suspension of arms had been agreed upon, and our troops
remained in inaction before the fortress of Kars. Profiting by that short
calm, Sergy had obtained a leave of absence on the plea of urgent private
affairs. It was a very great surprise to me, almost too good to be true.
Happy days were yet in store for me!
It was decided that we should spend a week in Paris; the project was a
delightful one. With what impatience I awaited Sergy’s arrival! Though
for a short while, I said still I’ll have him all to myself now!
On the day of my husband’s proposed arrival I sat at the open window in
joyous excitement and expectation, listening intensely, with every nerve
tingling, to the sounds in the street outside. What a day it had been—a
hundred hours in it! The clock-hands seemed to crawl on purpose. Seeing
my agitation, Helena mounted on our roof, but as Sister Anne on her
watch-tower, she didn’t perceive my knight. Suddenly I heard a rolling of
wheels under my window and a carriage drove up to the door. Mamma flew
out to greet Sergy, but instead of him, rushed into the arms of a total
stranger. She had got hold of the wrong man and found herself confronted
by an officer who brought a letter from Sergy, explaining his unexpected
delay. And I had been just withering up with impatience to see him!
Two days later a telegram announced my husband’s definite arrival. On
the eve of that happy day I went to bed very early and awakened the next
morning with the pleasant sense of anticipation of the coming journey.
Hurrah! My husband had arrived at last! I should have gone mad if he
hadn’t come that time. With what joy I ran forward and hugged him! He was
given back to me, thank God! I put my arms round his neck and cried over
him for happiness.
So it was decided at last, and we were to start for Paris in a few days.
I was now all impatience to be off. The first thing we did after Sergy’s
arrival was to order a _Te Deum_ of thanksgiving. What a joy I felt when
I went out of doors for the first time after my voluntary days of jail.
I was very tired after my long imprisonment, and found myself coming to
life again. The next day we were on our way to Tiflis. My nerves being
tiresomely on edge just then, I was in a horrible fright all the way,
and before approaching a steep hill that we had to ascend, I jumped out
of the carriage and sat down in the middle of the road, and folding my
arms I declared that I would not proceed further. My cousin Kate followed
my example and established herself on the _chaussée_ beside me, saying
that she wouldn’t move either. As we could not take up our quarters on
the highway for ever, I gathered up my somewhat scattered courage and
remounted the carriage.
From Tiflis we went straight on to Paris, and mamma returned to Russia
with my cousin.
Our stay abroad was not altogether a very agreeable one, for Sergy was
all the time very nervous and careworn, dreading to arrive too late for
the siege of Kars. As to me, this trip brought the roses back to my
cheeks, but as the time for my husband’s return to the war drew near, my
face grew sadder. I dreaded going back, having the painful knowledge that
we must return to all the horrors of war again.
We came back to Alexandropol before my husband’s holidays expired. To his
great disappointment, and to my immense delight, General Komaroff had
already taken possession of Kars, which was thought to be impregnable.
After my installation in the house of an Armenian, an old dismissed
officer, I had the horrible pain of seeing my husband depart to the
campaign. We had again to endure separation which might end in death.
The room which I was to occupy was low-ceilinged and bare-looking, with
a bit of looking-glass nailed to the wall; a table, three chairs and a
sofa, which had evidently attained the dignity of old age, composed all
the furniture. I had to sleep on that hard sofa, from which nearly all
the horse-hair and springs had gone.
Things had returned to their usual state; I was again in terror and
suspicion through an eternity of days. My hosts showed me the greatest
hospitality. The master of the house had served about twenty years
before in the escort of our Emperor in St. Petersburg, where he had been
renowned for his martial air and ferocious black moustache, which was now
painted blue-black and was still startling. My host was a good old chap;
under his strong outside, he had a heart as soft as a pincushion. He was
always very desirous to please me and did all my commissions with the
greatest pleasure. I was thirsting for information from the seat of war
and sent him on exploring expeditions every morning. His wife was a fat,
double-chinned matron who looked good-natured enough but possessed the
very slowest of brains; I had no patience with a person of such indolent
temperament, for I had more life in my little finger than she had in her
whole voluminous body. She conceived a prompt affection for me, but it
was dull work sitting all day with that gossiping, childish woman, who
was not an exhilarating companion, to be sure; her attempts to cheer me
up were not brilliant and failed to bring the faintest smile to my lips.
All day long my hostess did nothing, and ate everything; anyone would be
fat leading such a life. Her sole occupation was to string pearls for
her head attire; lazy, unoccupied, she shuffled about in her slippers,
or sat twiddling her thumbs. Her favourite pastime was bathing; she went
to the bath-establishment with female friends, supplied with provisions;
these daughters of the East remained there nearly all day long, babbling
and chatting like magpies. It took a long time for me to get used to
my hostess, but I ended by liking her quite well. I was so miserable
and felt so utterly alone, that any friendly, seeming companionship was
welcome, and it was a balm to feel the good woman’s sympathy.
I was living like an anchorite and had no one to talk to but my hosts,
a very poor resource indeed. When the weather was fine I sat on an old
bench near our gate and watched the native women who came to draw water
from a fountain just opposite; they carried it on their shoulders in
large clay jugs just as in the times of Rebecca. In November the weather
was bitterly cold. Sometimes, in moments of supreme depression, I would
go out and stand at the gate hoping to catch a bad cold. My poor Helena,
terror-stricken, raised her hands up in horror and drew me indoors by
force. Often, after our meagre dinner, when it grew dark, I sat on the
hearth-rug, drawing my shawl close about me, and shivering looked with
dreary eyes into the dying fire, big tears rolling down my cheeks.
A message suddenly arrived from Sergy, an astounding piece of good news;
he was coming to spend Christmas with me. I was delirious with joy at the
thought of seeing him, and eagerly awaited his arrival; it filled my days
with hope and excitement. I was sick and weary and hungry for the sight
of his face and the sound of his voice. I counted the days and planned
how we should spend Christmas together.
On Christmas Eve I went to bed immediately after dinner, in order to
shorten the hours, and dreamt all night of bliss and joyous meeting.
Early in the morning Helena came to announce that an officer had arrived
from the seat of war and wished to see me. He brought awful news; Sergy
wrote to me that he had just been ordered with a detachment of soldiers
to Kniss-Kala, a place very far away at the very bottom of the Kurdistan,
where a strong epidemic of typhus-fever was raging. It was a terrible
disappointment and grief. What a sad Christmas it would be for me now!
The shock was almost more than I could bear; I speedily sent a telegram
to Sergy beseeching him not to accept that mission. Very unsoldierlike it
was of me and not sufficiently heroic; my husband certainly paid no heed
to my entreaty and started off for Kniss-Kala.
Ten months were already passed since war had been declared, and I was
still at Alexandropol, when one happy morning my host brought me news
that peace had been signed. I was beside myself with joy, and feeling
the necessity to share my happiness with some one, I ran off to Mrs.
Odnossoumoff, one of the few military ladies whom I could tolerate; but
she clouded my perfect happiness in telling me that it was an armistice
only, which had been signed, and that war would soon break out again. I
went home awfully sad at heart, and back to my room, flinging myself on
my bed, I wept passionately; worn out I sobbed myself to sleep. With what
bliss I would have slept for ever!
The armistice was announced at Kniss-Kala on the same day that the Turks
were to attack the detachment commanded by my husband. What a terrible
misfortune there might have been for me, had the announcement not come in
time, and what a narrow escape Sergy had. I shudder when I think of it.
CHAPTER XV
KARS
A new post was offered to my husband. He had recently been nominated
President of the Commission of Demarcation, and was obliged to start for
Erzeroum, the capital of Anatolia. I felt a burning desire to see Sergy
before his departure, and acting upon the impulse of the moment, for I am
a person of prompt action, I rushed off to Kars at once, without stopping
to think of the state of the roads or anything else; determined to brave
all dangers, I felt adventurous enough to undertake this voyage through
Asia.
It was five o’clock in the morning when I started on my journey in a
hired carriage, accompanied by my faithful Helena. All the way was
strewed with corpses of horses and camels. We encountered on our road
bands of wandering Asiatic tribes very fierce-looking and armed from head
to foot.
We reached Kars without any adventure whatever towards night. A crowd of
red-fezzed Turks surrounded our carriage as soon as we arrived at the
market-place, and stared at us in a rather hostile manner. We tried in
vain to make ourselves understood and looked helplessly about us, when I
suddenly perceived in the crowd Mr. Danilevski, a Russian officer whom
I had known at Alexandropol. I greeted him with a radiant smile, for if
he was not the rose, he had been near the rose. My heart was inclined to
fail me when I asked for Sergy, and my discouragement was profound when
Mr. Danilevski told me that my husband had already started for Erzeroum.
Fate treated me with exasperating asperity, and his departure left me
inconsolable; I wondered what on earth I should do with myself in Kars;
fortunately Sergy had kept his lodging, and Mr. Danilevski proposed to
escort us thither.
Our carriage stopped before a shabby little house, and we made our way
up a dark and tortuous stairs to a room which had a dreary deserted
appearance. A rickety table and two lame chairs formed almost all the
furniture. The proprietor, an old Turk wearing an enormous white turban
on his head, came in and welcomed me graciously, putting his hand to his
heart and to his forehead. He offered me a little refreshment, which one
of his wives brought in to me on a tray laden with all sorts of sweets;
but what I wished for most at that moment was that my host would go away,
for I was very weary and exhausted after the journey. When the old Turk
had paid me all his oriental civilities and I had got rid of him, I lay
down upon a mattress which had been spread on the floor, for there was
no bed in the room, but nevertheless I was asleep almost before my head
touched the pillow.
I woke up the next morning feeling very miserable, very desolate. Here I
was alone in a land I knew not, among people whose language I could not
speak.
How dark those days were! I wanted my husband so badly! oh, so very
badly, and he was so desperately far away! In every letter Sergy
announced his speedy return, and I was looking forward to the happy time
that would unite us again. But he failed to arrive, and I felt myself
the most forsaken and miserable of women. I was here within four walls,
leading such a weary, grey life. I had nothing to fill up my time with
and didn’t know what to do with myself all day, and was in such a state
of melancholy that I wished myself dead a thousand times. And in these
moments of wretchedness, except Helena, I had not a human being to speak
to; I was all alone in my misery! The few Russian ladies staying at
Kars saw everything through black spectacles, which irritated me, and I
preferred to shut myself up in my room in order to escape from the great
trial of their sympathy and condolences; I felt myself far better alone.
The ticking of the clock and the wind in the chimney were the only sounds
that broke the silence around me. I hadn’t talked for so long that I
felt myself growing dumb. My life was made of nothing but privations; I
reduced my own personal requirements to the strictest minimum: a plate of
soup and gruel, that was our usual fare. Luckily a sort of torpor came
over me which made me indifferent to my surroundings.
A long, heavy winter was drawing near. I felt the cold terribly; my
broken window was stuffed up with paper instead of panes, of glass and
the stove smoked atrociously, it was impossible to heat it on windy days.
Thus went day after day. At length a telegram came from Sergy. I was sure
it was announcing his arrival and burst it open with a smile of triumph,
but this smile very soon disappeared, for the telegram was an awful
surprise, and shocked me dreadfully, saying that my husband was appointed
governor-general of Erzeroum. For three weeks I had already lived this
loathsome life and I had still many more weary weeks to pass before Sergy
could return to me! What would I not give only to be able to go to him!
Once the idea entered my mind, I communicated my wish to join him to
Sergy, who treated the subject as an insane one, apprehending the state
of the roads, quite impracticable in that season.
The epidemic of typhus that seemed softened down, broke out again,
sweeping away whole villages. The death-list of my husband’s companions
of arms swelled. I was present at the funeral service officiated over by
General Goubski, a good friend of ours, and was very painfully impressed
by it; all who stood by were dry-eyed, his servant only seemed somewhat
afflicted. I returned home in a most depressed state of mind. As I
entered my room I perceived on the flat roof of the house opposite my
lodgings an unusual animation; there was a table in the middle surrounded
by officers and soldiers; I was told that it was a public sale of all
the articles that had belonged to an inhabitant of that house, a Cossack
colonel who had just been carried away by the typhus. On the other
side of the roof the clothes of the deceased officer were burnt on a
wood-pile. At the sight of that my nerves utterly gave way, and I was
seized more than ever with a strong desire to rejoin my husband. I was
so awfully anxious knowing him to be in Erzeroum, where the disease was
at its height, that I could endure the separation, the uncertainty, the
suspense no longer. My pillow that night was all moistened with tears. I
lay in the dark, save for the ghastly light of the smouldering fire on
the opposite roof, with my pessimistic thoughts to keep me company; I
turned my face to the wall and sobbed hot, miserable sobs until I fell
into an uneasy slumber.
The next morning my mind was made up and I despatched a telegram to my
husband, telling him that, come what might, I would start for Erzeroum.
It was all to no purpose again; Sergy showed himself the most inexorable
of husbands and wrote to me that I must listen to reason and wait
patiently until his return after the ratification of the armistice. But
I was not in a humour to listen to reason. “Wait patiently,” I cried out
with unusual heat in myself, “Patience be hanged! I’ll go crazy if I
don’t go to Sergy; I cannot possibly sit still and wait!”
An officer who had just arrived from Erzeroum came on purpose to try to
dissuade me from undertaking such a long and dangerous journey. He told
me that even for him it had been awfully fatiguing; the roads were so
horrible that the committee of the Red-Cross could not find it possible
to send even one Sister of Mercy to Erzeroum. These descriptions of the
state of the roads were certainly not encouraging, but nothing could
shake my determination, I felt heroic and was prepared to brave all
dangers and risk anything for Sergy’s sake, and no human powers should
prevent me from starting at the first opportunity.
Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! A telegram had just been brought to me in which my
husband announced that the preliminary discussions were settled, and that
peace was definitely signed. It seemed almost too good to be true. I was
happier than words can tell. This piece of good news spread through the
town like wild fire. The cannons began to thunder, and the church-bells
pealed merrily all day.
Soon after, a messenger from Erzeroum brought me an urgent letter from
Sergy, telling me that he must remain in Erzeroum until the evacuation
of our troops. He advised me to return to Tiflis until then, but instead
of that I was determined to start for Erzeroum and rejoin my husband.
I implored Mr. Danilevski to send me there with the first military
conveyance, but better fortune awaited me: Mr. Danilevski was sent
himself as a courier to Erzeroum, and having taken compassion on me, he
proposed to take me with him in his post-cart, warning me that I must be
ready to start at any moment. As there was but small chance that I would
find a better occasion, I accepted gladly and began hastily to prepare
for our journey. There was only one drawback, I couldn’t take Helena
with me, there was no room for her in the post-cart. But I could not let
such a chance slip, and was willing even to sacrifice Helena. The poor
old woman entreated me with tears not to undertake this mad journey, but
it was no time to show weakness, my courage seemed to have developed
itself rapidly, for adversity is a great teacher; distance was nothing
to me. I trusted my star and laughed at the most gigantic obstacles, and
Helena had to submit to the painful necessity of letting me go. I did
not allow myself to sleep that night lest I should not be awake when the
hour came for starting. The next morning I received a note from General
Kousminski; that gentleman, whom I had never known before, the chief of
the military communications, extended a helping hand to me and proposed
to take me with Helena in his comfortable travelling-coach. This was
awfully generous of him and I hastened to accept his offer thanking him
profusely. I was so happy I would have kissed everybody, but there was
only Helena, so I kissed her. Dreading that long voyage for Helena I told
her that I could very well do without her and proposed she should return
to Tiflis, but the dear old woman protested hotly and said she was quite
decided to follow me anywhere. It was all settled, we were to start next
day at dawn. I went to bed radiously happy at the thought that on the
morrow I should be far away from Kars, and closing my eyes, I departed to
sweet dreamland, seeing myself already in my husband’s loving arms.
CHAPTER XVI
ON MY WAY TO ERZEROUM
At seven o’clock in the morning General Kousminski was at my door, and
I started bravely for Erzeroum, full of happy hopes and expectations. A
crowd of Turks gathered round our carriage, wishing us Godspeed.
For the first mile or two all went well, but soon there was an accident;
the road was heavy and one of our horses slipped and fell down. It
was not a good beginning, but we still had the worst before us, and a
long way to go. We only made a hundred miles that day, the roads being
shockingly bad, all covered with big stones over which we rumbled down,
our carriage bouncing like a roasted chestnut. I tried to console myself
with the thought that the way which led to “Paradise” was also covered
with stones and strewed with pebbles. We stopped for the night in a small
Turkish hamlet and continued our journey at dawn; the worst bit of it now
began. The road which led to the next station was a terribly bad one; we
had to abandon our comfortable coach and take a sledge. The road grew
steeper with every mile; it was a succession of hills, one after the
other. Up and down we went all the time, but I felt a wonderful access of
courage at the thought that each mile drew me nearer to Sergy. I could
already feel myself flying into his arms. In descending a terribly steep
hill our sledge was upset and bang—there we were in a deep ditch! Happily
we had come to no harm, and after having assured ourselves that we had no
broken limbs, we remounted into our sledge and travelled on till sunset
Dreading to be overtaken by darkness in the mountains, we made a halt in
a village under the hospitable roof of Mr. Iliashenko, a Russian officer
who took up his quarters there with some dozen soldiers. I was pretty
well fagged out and hurried off to my room. It was so nice to sleep
again like respectable people, between sheets, on our second night’s
resting-place.
A most dreadful surprise awaited me in the morning. I was roused by
Helena coming to tell me that General Kousminski was summoned back to
Kars at once. The prospects of so long a journey without my protector was
the most distressing thing that could befall me. The worst of all was
that we were in danger of dying of starvation, for we were not supplied
with provisions. The next stage was known to be a very risky one, and
I had to make all the way on horseback. Helena had set out before in a
peasant’s cart with an old military doctor who was also proceeding to
Erzeroum, and to whose care General Kousminski had entrusted me. It was
not nice at all to be left behind! Our horses were led up, but I couldn’t
manage to climb into the saddle which one of the soldiers had lent me;
the clumsily tied arch would not hold and I slipped down continually.
I was growing quite desperate, when it occurred to Mr. Iliashenko to
propose for me his transport-van, an enormous vehicle with a team of six
horses. I climbed into it tremblingly, and off we went.
After crossing a bridge thrown over the “Arax,” we began to mount the
slopes of the opposite bank, creeping along the high shelf roughly
bedecked with fallen stones. Here we met a long caravan of camels; our
horses took fright at them and drew back till we were almost on the
very brink of a precipice, perhaps three hundred feet deep. Though Mr.
Iliashenko made an attempt to hold me in I jumped out of the van and
scrambled up the steep hill dabbling in the greasy mud flushed and
breathless. Suddenly a happy idea struck Mr. Iliashenko, he proposed to
me to mount his horse, saddled with a wide Cossack saddle. I settled
myself down comfortably in it and went valiantly onwards. My anxious
Helena awaited me at the next station. I was already beginning to
feel General Kousminski’s absence, and now learned what it was to be
desperately hungry. I was as a ravenous wolf, seeking what I might
devour, but we had only a meagre luncheon of bread and cheese. Here I
had to bid good-bye to Mr. Iliashenko, who proposed for me to keep his
horse as far as Erzeroum, thinking he might be useful to me in dangerous
places, too bad for carriages; he gave me, besides, a Cossack.
After many difficulties, we succeeded in reaching the next station. We
were obliged to advance very slowly; it took nearly seven hours to get
there, although the distance was only sixteen miles, for there was no
road as the Europeans generally understand it. Our horses plunged in the
snow up to their necks. We met on the road groups of soldiers returning
to Kars, who seemed greatly astonished to meet a woman in these dull
parts. It was almost dark when we reached a tiny village, where we
stopped for the night in a dirty dairy-hut, and slept in the company of
my brave little horse who shared all my mishaps. I had to lie down on
a mat stretched upon the floor, and being tired out, I slept the sleep
of the just, when at dawn an enormous tongue, trying to find my face,
woke me. I soon realised that the tongue was my horse’s, who had freed
himself from his bridle and came to bid me good-morning. When I got up
I saw the snow falling heavily. We weren’t able to start before the
following day until the snow-storm had passed away. A young officer on
his way to Kars took shelter under the same roof with us, which helped me
to while away the weary hours of waiting-time.
We started at cock-crow, and soon discovered that we were in no path at
all. There was no road, not even a track; our driver was compelled to
clear a way for himself _à la grace de Dieu_, as best he could over heaps
of snow. We came near falling into a hut through a big hole in the roof,
which, instead of a chimney, gave passage to smoke. In comparison with
the enormous heaps of snow on our untrodden road this hut presented but a
mere mound. We were now in the most dangerous parts and followed a track
winding round precipitous ravines. On the narrowest part of the cliff,
just over a deep precipice scarcely three inches between the wheels and
the brink, we met a field-battery and there was hardly room for our
sledge to pass.
We intended to reach the village of Yus-Veran that day, which we
succeeded in doing, though not without considerable difficulties, pinched
with cold and very miserable. For the night we stopped at a wayside
farm-house, a dingy, uninviting place. I was immediately surrounded by
a group of native women, whose noses were adorned with metal rings.
After they had lavished on me their _selamaleks_, Helena made me up an
impromptu bed upon the bare boards covered with straw. To my disgust the
room was invaded by sheep, pigs and goats, nevertheless I slept soundly.
After freeing my hair and clothing of the straw and chaff, we set off at
sunrise. When we passed the village of Kepri-Kay, a pestilence-stricken
Russian camp, I had to put my handkerchief up to my nose for the horrible
smell which hung in the air.
From Kepri-Kay I made all the way on horseback, the roads being too
rough for carriages. I felt tired, so very tired, and oh, so cold!
The wind began to blow harder every minute, and made me nearly lose
my equilibrium. On the top of a steep mountain we encountered General
Avinoff, who was returning to Kars. Seeing me so lightly clad he made me
put on his big fur boots, which had to be held up by bits of rope tied on
by my Cossack attendants.
In the middle of the passage of Deve-Boynou we perceived, all of
a sudden, a cloud of dust and saw a group of ferocious-looking
horsemen, armed from head to foot, who came galloping up, shouting
and gesticulating vehemently. I was horribly frightened, taking these
individuals for highwaymen. The seeming brigands proved to be peaceful
Turks sent by my husband with shawls and furs to bid me welcome. And I
had expected my arrival would be such a surprise to Sergy! It was the
young officer with whom I had passed the night under the same roof during
the snow-storm who had betrayed my secret and announced my arrival to
Sergy by wire.
It was nearly night when we perceived the tops of numerous minarets. My
long journey had come to an end; Erzeroum was reached at last.
As soon as we stopped before the house inhabited by my husband, I jumped
out and bounded upstairs three steps at a time, and rushed into Sergy’s
study, my heart beating wildly. The next instant I was in my husband’s
strong arms, listening with rapture to his voice. “My wife, my love,” he
repeated constantly and smothered my face with kisses. It was no dream,
I was resting on Sergy’s breast and felt plainly that one can become mad
with joy. What ages we had been apart, and now my darling husband was
wholly given back to me. I nestled against him and the world seemed to me
a pleasant place again and I forgot that I had ever been wet and cold and
lonely. I have him now for good and all and always. The day of suffering
was over!
CHAPTER XVII
ERZEROUM
It is all cheery, home-like and delightful out here after my lonely
life in Alexandropol and Kars. I began to take an interest in all my
surroundings once more. When I waked up next morning my first thought
was, “Can it be true, or is it only a dream that I have my husband to
myself?” and I almost cried for joy when I was quite sure it was true.
March 16th.—Life in Erzeroum is an Elysium after my lonely life in
Alexandropol and Kars. I am in such a radiant mood that I think
everything I see is perfect. I have nothing left to wish for and am able
to allow myself the luxury of a piano, a lovely saddle-horse, and all
sorts of nice things. Our house is one of the biggest in Erzeroum; it
looks palatial after my lodgings in Alexandropol and Kars. From the top
of our terrace-roof one can see the whole town from a bird’s eye view,
with its sixty-six minarets rising to the sky, its imposing citadels
and floating flags over different Consulates. In the far distance there
is the encircling chain of the Palantek mountains, with glittering
snow-peaks. The houses are low, with balustrades round them like those
in Biblical pictures. There are about 15,000 inhabitants in Erzeroum;
the majority are Turks, then come Greeks and Armenians. After sunset the
town looks gloomy, only soldiers can be seen in the streets. As for the
population, it is represented only by a multitude of errant dogs, the
usual street-sweepers of Turkish towns. I hear every evening the voices
of the muezzins (Turkish priests) calling to prayer: “_Alla huac bar,
Alla huac bar!_” (God is great.)
I had a nightmare last night, and with a loud scream I woke up. I dreamt
that Sergy was ordered to the war and clung to him, fearing to be parted
again. Sergy held me close to him and kissed away my tears, assuring me
that nothing and nobody could part us now, and that I shall be with him
always, night and day. He succeeded at length in calming my fears. I felt
safe again under his wing and fell peacefully asleep.
March 17th.—My arrival caused the greatest excitement among the Christian
inhabitants of Erzeroum. They are all singing my praises for having come
out here by those shocking roads, and they say that I certainly deserve
a medal as a reward for my bravery.
Was it curiosity to see a European woman, or was it a desire to show
devotedness to the Russians? Perhaps both reasons together made visitors
overflow our drawing-room. All the big wigs of the town came to pay
their respects to me. To-day, for instance, I received the family of
George Effendi, one of the richest Greek merchants of Erzeroum. His wife
wore a splendid silk dress interwoven with gold and silver, and a small
velvet cap adorned with gold spangles and tassels. Her daughter-in-law,
a woman of fourteen, of childish stature and appearance, was obliged to
keep the most absolute silence in her presence, whilst her own daughter
chatted in very bad French all the while. After them came the family of
Antoine-Effendi Schabanian, the most noted Armenian inhabitant of the
town, who had come to present his respects to me the day before.
The native Christian women, being under the dominion of Turkish rule,
find themselves here in such a state of degradation, that their husbands
consider it unsuitable to appear with them anywhere. Antoine Effendi
speaks very good English for a foreigner; he has been a correspondent
of the _Times_ during the Russo-Turkish war. Other guests came in quick
succession, amongst them the French Consul, M. Gilbert, with his wife,
a charming young woman, so bright and winsome. Mme. Gilbert seems very
friendly; she has put her books and music at my disposal. We propose
to see each other often, and to take long walks together. During the
Gilbert’s visit an old Pasha came in. That ancient fanatic, more than
eighty years of age, didn’t venture to look into my face, but kept his
eyes fixed chastely on the carpet, murmuring _sotto voce_ something I
didn’t understand. Mme. Gilbert, who speaks Turkish, explained that the
aged mussulman was making oriental compliments to me. Just before dinner
an Australian doctor came in, holding a stick and a Scotch cap in his
hand. That young physician is summoned away to Constantinople and has
come to ask Sergy for a passport. He is the son of a rich cattle-breeder
residing in Melbourne. I saw on his arm a white band with a red crescent
and the letters S.H.S. on it, indicating that he belonged to the
“Stafford House Society.” There is a great number of European doctors
attending the Turks in Erzeroum; nearly all the nations have sent their
contingents of medical men. These Christians in the Turkish service
produce rather a painful impression on me.
A telegraphic office is just opened. No telegram can be sent without
my husband’s permission as censor. Heaps of telegraphic despatches
are brought to him every day. The first telegram was sent by Sergy to
Ismail-Pasha, the former governor of Erzeroum, in which he congratulated
the Turkish warrior on the inauguration of the telegraph.
March 18th.—To-day my husband gave a grand dinner in honour of a dozen
officers belonging to the Turkish army who happen to be staying here at
present. A military band announced the arrival of our Turkish guests
by a loud march. The dinner was a very gay and long one, consisting of
twelve courses. Our guests, not being fanatics, did ample honour to the
champagne. I sat opposite Sergy, between Houssein-Pasha and Daniel-Bek,
a smart young officer of the Turkish staff, _aide-de-camp_ to the
celebrated Moukhtar-Pasha. This young Turk wore his fez jauntily on one
side, and looked quite European, having been educated in Paris. He has
been military attaché at the Turkish Embassy at St. Petersburg for three
years and speaks perfect French and Russian. Daniel-Bek surveyed me with
appraising eyes and set himself to be charming to me all through the
meal. I found him most amusing, and was soon chatting away to him as if I
had known him for years. Houssein-Pasha teased me all through dinner by
insinuating that his subordinate was paying court to me too openly.
March 19th.—It is Sunday to-day. We have attended mass at the Greek
Cathedral. Though it is situated far away from the centre of the town,
we proceeded thither on foot, escorted by Hamid-Bey, an officer attached
to the person of my husband, a dragoman, a Turkish zaptieh, and about a
dozen Cossacks. The attitude of the Armenian inhabitants that we met on
our way was most cordial and sympathetic towards us, but the Mussulmans
showed open hostility by the glances full of hatred that they cast upon
us. By these glances it was easy to distinguish the Turks from the
Armenians, notwithstanding the similitude of their garments.
The Greek Cathedral was erected in honour of St. George the Conqueror.
There is a throne in the middle for the Archbishop who said mass, arrayed
in his sacerdotal vestments; he wore on his head an immense mitre adorned
with the Byzantine Eagle. The prayers were sung in Greek with a very
nasal sound. Our Russian officers have made a present to this church of
the image of St. George with the following dedication: “In commemoration
of the sojourn of the Russian army in Erzeroum in the year 1878.”
We didn’t remain till the end of the service, for on that same morning a
requiem was sung in the Armenian Cathedral for the repose of the soul of
General Shelkovnikoff, my husband’s predecessor. I aroused much curiosity
and attention at church, where an enormous congregation had gathered. The
Cathedral appeared very imposing with all the wax lights and chandeliers
ablaze, and the Metropolitan looked magnificent, clad in a robe that
was stiff with gold embroideries. About a hundred chanters, in black and
red surplices, sang melodious hymns; from time to time choristers shook
big silver disks with much noise. The loud voice of the Metropolitan
was suddenly drowned by a deafening uproar above in the choirs. A
loud squabble arose among the Armenian women, who protested loudly at
seeing me down in the nave of the church where they were not allowed to
penetrate. As soon as the service was over the Metropolitan delivered
a long sermon of which we couldn’t make out a word. It proved to be an
ovation in favour of the Russians, as well as a demonstration against the
Turks. I fear that he will have to pay dearly for his eloquence as soon
as we leave Erzeroum. After service the Metropolitan invited us to have
a cup of tea. During our visit Sergy asked him the reason of the women’s
screams in the choirs, and he explained to us that it was quite natural
that the liberty given to European women had created an animosity between
these recluses, who protested against it in that noisy way.
We have spent the afternoon in paying calls in a victoria belonging to
General Heimann, the only carriage in all Erzeroum. After our visit to
Mme. Gilbert, we went to George Effendi, where we were received with
effusive cordiality. As soon as we were seated on a low divan, Turkish
coffee without sugar, and different sorts of preserves were served to us.
Oriental politeness required us to take a very small quantity of jam and
to drink a whole glass of water after it. When we got up to say good-bye,
George Effendi threw upon my shoulder a shawl of great price that I had
just admired, and his daughter undid her beautiful necklace of heavy
coins and clasped it round my neck. Of course I refused both presents
outright, but I was told afterwards that it was an Oriental custom to
offer as a present the object just praised. I will certainly abstain from
admiring anything in the future, because the natives say directly: “It is
yours, take it!” and that is very embarrassing.
When we got home we found an old Turk at our door who held a paper in
his hand. He was robbed the previous night and came to complain to my
husband. I had hardly time to take off my hat when three French sisters
of mercy were announced. After that came the Persian Consul, accompanied
by his interpreter. The Consul is a honey-tongued personage, who made
graceful speeches to me; flattering phrases came so readily to his lips,
and I did not particularly like him.
March 20th.—My riding habit of dark-blue cloth and a jacket made after
the style of a Turkish uniform, have just been brought to me. When I
appeared for the first time in that costume, Hamid-Bey saluted me in
military fashion because the sleeves of my habit were made with gold
embroideries like those of a pasha.
I spend much of my time in the saddle, accompanied by my husband
and a large suite. Such freedom given to the young “giaour,” is
incomprehensible to the inhabitants of Erzeroum, who find it very
improper. I have stirred up a stormy discussion in many Christian
families; newly married women begin to protest against the ancient order
of things, and the old ones, on the contrary, faithful to the ancient
traditions, show themselves indignant against European, liberal customs.
The Persian Consul has sent me this morning a large basket of fresh
oranges and lemons, which came from Trebizond, and Erzeroum is still
buried in snow. I had another present to-day, a splendid roasted
turkey-cock sent to me by the wife of the President of the Turkish
Municipal Council, who warned me of her visit, so as to be quite certain
of meeting no man in our house.
This evening about twenty doctors of Russian, English and Turkish
nationalities came to debate upon the indifferent sanitary conditions
of the town. During this winter about 1500 Russian soldiers have been
buried here; their graves were of such small depth that when the melting
of the snows had begun, many tombs were exposed to view and it was
necessary to fill them up once more. Doctor Remmert, the chief physician
of the army of the Caucasus, sent up to Erzeroum in order to inspect the
military hospitals, was agreeably surprised to see the town so clean
and so well arranged. The innumerable canals have been cleaned out and
the slaughter-houses banished from the town. The heaps of snow, of more
than three metres in height, that encumbered the streets, are completely
cleared away. The inhabitants, seeing the Russian workmen occupied with
the improvements of the general state of health of their own town say:
“How funny these Russians are to spend so much money for an affair that a
month later nature would do for nothing!”
In returning from our ride this morning we saw a group of mollahs
assembled before our house. They had come to complain against the Russian
police that had arrived to take an inventory of all their goods, and had
begun to make an account of their wives and cattle, it proved to be the
Sanitary Commission who were obtaining necessary information. My husband
took immediate measures to calm the population.
The Armenian-Catholic Archbishop, Melchisedec, called before dinner.
Though he is suavity itself, there is something about him which gives me
a feeling of distrust. He pretends to be very happy that the Russians
still occupy Erzeroum, and dreads our departure, fearing cruel treatment
from the Turks towards the Christian population.
March 21st.—My husband introduced an American clergyman to me this
morning, who is working as a missionary in Erzeroum. He has come to ask
Sergy to give him a large supply of bread and money, but Sergy said that
he could give him but a small sum. The Russian government has, in fact,
assigned a monthly subsidy for the poor population of Erzeroum, not only
for the Protestants, but for all the indigent, independent of their
religion or nationality.
Later on came Ibrahim Bey, one of the dignitaries of the town of Khnyss,
who had to proceed further on to Ernzindjane, the head-quarters of Ismail
Pasha. This Turk kissed the lappets of my husband’s coat slavishly, and
drew backwards towards the door, putting his hand to his forehead and
heart. As an example of Turkish barbarism I shall note an exploit that he
related to Sergy and of which he boasted, a truly disgusting story. At
Khnyss some Kurdes dug up the corpse of a Russian soldier and stripped
him of his clothes and boots. As a punishment for their sacrilegious
misdeed, Ibrahim Pasha obliged the Kurdes to eat these boots, chopped up
into small bits.
March 25th.—On account of ill-health, General Loris-Melikoff, by his own
request, was released from the command of the main army, which was given
over to General Heimann.
The contents of the political telegrams received to-day are rather
alarming; England decidedly plots a war afresh, and a rumour of the
approaching breaking of peace has spread in the town. We must be prepared
that the Turks will assail us at any moment.
This morning a soldier of the light infantry, belonging to the Malakani
sect, desiring to embrace the Orthodox religion, came to beg me to stand
Godmother to him. This soldier made a vow to be baptised if he escaped
war safely; he has been in all the fights without having received the
slightest wound, and thinks it proper now to fulfil his promise, I of
course consented willingly.
March 26th.—The baptism of the Malakan soldier took place to-day in the
Armenian cathedral, which was so crowded that the “cavasses” had to clear
a way for us to pass. The Metropolitan officiated in Greek and addressed
himself continually to me in that language. As I couldn’t understand a
word, I didn’t know how to answer and what to do, and was very comic, I
am sure, in repeating aloud the Greek phrases that he dictated to me.
Mr. Popoff, an officer of the light-infantry, acted as Godfather. Our
Godson had to be completely undressed, which took place behind a screen,
and then brought in to us covered only with a white sheet. I didn’t know
where to cast my eyes whilst he was being dipped in the font, which was
no other than the big soup-boiler of the brigade to which our Godson
belonged. I did not dare to glance at Sergy and pressed my lips together,
trying not to shake with laughter, and drew a breath of profound relief,
when I realised that the ceremony of baptism was over.
From church we went to visit the bride of Egueshi, our Armenian
interpreter. The walls of her sitting-room were all hung up with her
drawings, amongst which we saw the portrait of our Emperor painted
by our hostess in the space of two days, during the time when the
Christian inhabitants of Erzeroum expected their town to be invaded by
the Russians. Dreading to see our soldiers enter their homes by force,
in order to plunder them, they put out big wooden crosses before their
houses in the hope of mollifying the hearts of our soldiers, trusting to
escape thus from the general fate. Our hostess told us candidly that she
concealed that picture when the Turkish officials visited her house, but
during our visit the portrait of His Majesty occupied the place of honour.
To-day my husband has ordered Shefket Bey, one of the oldest members of
the Ottoman officers left in Erzeroum, to fire a cannon from the citadel
at twelve o’clock precisely, employing for that purpose a Turkish gun and
Turkish powder. Ten of our soldiers have been appointed for that special
service by Sergy. Shefket Bey was obliged to submit, swallowing his
wrath. He took it with outward meekness, whilst his eyes gave a flash,
and answered humbly, “_Pek-ei._” (I’ll obey you.)
Amongst the Turkish telegrams that my husband received this morning
there was one to Ismail Pasha with a complaint against Sergy for having
forbidden the Ottoman flag to be hoisted over the tower of the principal
citadel of Erzeroum. In answer to this telegram Ismail Pasha gave orders
that every command given by the Russian authorities should be strictly
executed.
Among the representatives of the different churches here it is only the
Mussulman “moufti” who has not presented himself to my husband. Yesterday
evening a group of Turkish inhabitants came to ask permission to hoist
their flag on Fridays, but Sergy told them that they interfered with
things that didn’t concern them, and that it was their “moufti” who had
to solicit this permission. The “moufti” arrived to-day accompanied by
a great number of white-bearded and white-turbaned “imams” (Mahometan
priests) dressed in long furred robes. This time my husband has given
them the permission to hoist their standard on Fridays, and has been
warmly thanked for it.
We had two interesting guests at dinner to-day, a young Persian prince,
nephew of the Shah, who serves as dragoon officer in the Russian army,
and is attached to the policemaster of Erzeroum for the present, and
Daniel Effendi, a Turkish bureaucrat, who was sent to Constantinople
last year as member of the new Turkish Parliament. After dinner, as we
sipped our coffee on the roof-terrace, Egueshi, with a rather scattered
expression, came up to Sergy and led him away, whispering something into
his ear. Later on I was informed that there had just been an earthquake,
and as the second shock is generally stronger than the first one, Egueshi
came to advise my husband to make us all come out into the street. Some
years before there had been such a terrible earthquake in Erzeroum that
the inhabitants were forced to camp out in the open air for a whole
month. After to-day’s earthquake one of the walls in the citadel has
partly fallen down, and a great number of houses have cracked. It’s very
strange that I haven’t felt anything at all, not the slightest shock. In
order to prevent accidents in Erzeroum, where earthquakes are frequent,
big beams are put into the masonries of nearly all the buildings. Two
great shocks and some slight ones have succeeded each other during
the night, and this time I felt them. It’s my first experience of an
earthquake, and my last one, I hope.
March 28th.—The weather being comparatively fine, we have taken a long
walk this afternoon in the direction of the Tap-Dagh, a beautiful valley
situated at the foot of a high mountain from whence one discovers the
source of the Euphrates, the famous Biblical river. Behind the Tap-Dagh,
according to Armenian traditions, Adam’s Paradise was situated, with
the two rivers mentioned in the descriptions of Elysium. This is where
fate has brought me. The scenery is said to be exquisite, the vegetation
luxurious.
The future is already brightened. The terms of the treaty of peace
have finally been signed at San-Sebastiano on the 1st of February.
This glorious piece of news has reached us only to-day in this
out-of-the-world place.
April 1st.—Mr. Kamsarakan, our Prefect of the Police, is a very jolly
fellow, fond of playing jokes on his friends. To-day, for instance, he
has invited to dinner all his acquaintances belonging to the Russian
colony whom he met in the street, promising them a splendid Russian
cabbage-pie. His guests rejoiced beforehand at the thought of partaking
of that famous national dish, but as they began to arrive, there was no
sign whatever of any preparations for dinner, and Kamsarakan’s servant
announced that his master was out and would probably not dine at home
to-day. The guests’ countenances expressed the blankest dismay; being
far from their fatherland no one had remembered that the first of April
was the day of traditional mystifications. As for Kamsarakan, he went
at the same time to Mr. Eritzeff’s, one of his invited guests, and asked
the servant to give him something to eat. He devoured all the supper, and
when poor Eritzeff returned home dismissed from Kamsarakan’s house, he
found himself deprived both of his dinner and his supper.
April 2nd.—The Catholics celebrate to-day their Palm-Sunday. We went
to their cathedral where Capuchin monks, in brown garments, wearing a
cord instead of a girdle, officiated. After mass we visited the school
directed by the French Sisters of Mercy. The Turks had shown themselves
very uncivil to these Sisters when they arrived at Erzeroum, but they got
accustomed to them afterwards, and begin now to esteem the good sisters
for their attendance on the sick and wounded.
April 4th.—Our Tartar servant Housnadine has arrived from Kars. He has
made that journey in sixteen days, being upset several times. Housnadine
has brought me different indispensable articles. Until now my wardrobe
was in a shocking condition; a small portmanteau contained all my
belongings.
We walked down to the ramparts this afternoon with the Gilberts, and
rambled over the old fort, surrounded by high massive walls through the
embrasures of which cannons are to be seen. During all these eight years
of their sojourn in Erzeroum the Gilberts are entering this citadel for
the first time, it had been _terra prohibita_ to all strangers up till
now. Pushing forward we climbed up a high tower by a narrow winding
staircase; my long habit was dreadfully in the way and I stumbled over it
continually. The citadel is now occupied by the Russian regiment of Bakou
and three or four scores of Turkish soldiers entrusted to watch over the
warehouse, who presented arms to my husband. There is a great bond of
sympathy between these Osmanlies and our soldiers; though not one of them
can speak a word of Turkish, they explained themselves quite easily in
a highly fantastic language of their own. Maksoud Effendi, the chief of
this small Turkish detachment bewitched us by his amiability and led us
to admire the edifice of _Chifket-Minaret_, a beautiful Arabian building
of the ninth century, with two formidable pillars of the Byzantine style
at the entrance. According to what the Armenians say a saint of their
nationality reposes in that minaret, but the Mussulmans pretend that it
is the burial place of one of their most celebrated “imams.” For the
moment this mausoleum, as well as the innermost recesses of that edifice,
are encumbered with guns, bombs, shells and other objects of but little
religious character.
April 6th.—The officers of the rifle battalion invited us to come and
take tea in their camp. At our approach a military band struck up
a march. The musicians were surrounded by a red-fezzed mob, and the
natives, generally lank and thin, looked contemptible little pieces of
humanity beside our tall portly soldiers. We were invited to dismount
and entered a great tent where we sat down at a long table. Our hosts
who were awfully nice to us, proposed a little refreshment and drank our
health.
April 7th.—Our landlord, an Italian chemist named Ricci, has transformed
himself into a famous physician here, his daughters go to the French
school and wear “tchartchaffs,” when they start out of doors. Eleonora,
the eldest Signorina Ricci, came in this afternoon to announce to me the
visit of the wife of the President of the Town Council; I ran to the
window and saw an _araba_ (a Turkish chariot,) covered inside with red
cloth approaching our house. The araba was drawn by a pair of beautiful
white bullocks, a red-fezzed boy of about twelve was following behind
mounted on a tiny pony, and two male servants were running on each side
of the vehicle. When the carriage stopped at our door, three women,
wrapped up in black veils, stepped out of the chariot and entered our
drawing-room. The President’s wife, an outrageously painted young
woman, was followed by her little son and two female slaves, a white
one and a negress; Turkish ladies of fashion never go out without their
attendants. The negress in her scarlet vestment with large printed black
flowers reminded me of “_Asucena_” the _Troubadour’s_ mother. She has
been brought over from Stamboul where her mother still resides in the
Sultan’s harem. This black Venus was bought by the President’s wife for
the sum of a thousand francs. Through Eleonora as interpreter, I was able
to carry on a conversation with my Turkish guests, in which harem life
was the only topic. The Mussulman women are incapable of seeing anything
beyond it, their souls are asleep, they are dull and unimaginative,
without any keen interests, and deplorably ignorant; most of them never
turn the leaves of a book or trace a word upon paper. The President’s
wife told me that she was surnamed “Blue Hanum” on account of her blue
eyes. She paid me a lot of compliments and appeared very astonished that
my husband allowed me to associate with men and that he permitted me to
appear before them unveiled. She plagued me with childish questions about
my sentiments towards my husband, and in her turn she related to me the
sensations that she experienced at the time when her husband had two
wives; both consorts cried bitterly each night when their Pasha gave his
preference to the rival spouse. She told me with a smile of satisfaction
that her rival died a few years ago, leaving her an undivided sovereignty
over her husband. Harem slavery begins at the age of twelve, till then
Turkish girls are as free as European children, but on her twelfth
birthday the girl becomes a woman, she adopts the “tchartchaff” and is
condemned to see the world darkly through a veil. Henceforth she is a
prisoner in the harem.
The negress slave proposed a nigger-boy to me, when suddenly the idea
struck her that I should wish to appropriate her little son, and she
hastened to warn me that he was a mulatto and not a thoroughbred nigger;
she told me that I could order one from Diarbekir, and that he wouldn’t
cost more than five hundred francs, and added that I could also procure
for myself from that same place a splendid young negress who could speak
several languages, but she warned me charitably that these learned
negresses were often unprincipled, and dangerous to keep, on account of
their propensity to seduce the master of the house! I replied laughingly
that in that case I should certainly prefer to buy a nigger boy. When
coffee was brought in, the negress and the slave sat down on their heels
upon the floor to sip it, they daren’t do it otherwise in the presence
of their mistress. After a while the negress asked permission to go and
smoke in the corridor; it was only a pretext to have a peep at Sergy
and his aide-de-camp, who were just then in the next room. In leaving
our house the President’s wife, who had severely remonstrated with the
negress for her improper curiosity revealed to her by her little son,
could not resist the temptation of stealing a glance at the imprisoned
gentlemen through the chink of the door. She invited me to come and see
her soon, promising to show me the best dancing girls (bayadères) in
Erzeroum.
Now, to turn to the other side of the medal, I must say that during
our stay at Erzeroum our roses weren’t entirely without thorns. The
typhus-fever continued to rage, and mowed down whole ranks of our
soldiers. Every day there were new victims. The Russian cemetery is quite
full now, and we are obliged to bury our soldiers in a common grave.
Nearly every morning I see sinister waggons carrying away the unfortunate
victims of this dreadful epidemic to their last dwelling-place. I shudder
when I think of it!
We are warned that a fanatic society under the name of “Avengers”
(Christian haters) is newly organised, and that we run great risks during
our rides through the bazaars and Turkish quarters.
April 8th.—To-day we revisited the camp of the light-infantry, desiring
to see my godson, the newly converted _Melakani_ soldier, who by the way,
is several years older than his godmother. I was horrified to hear that
he had just been sent to the hospital. Presently, amongst our soldiers,
the comparatively healthy ones are only those who have recovered already
from the typhus-fever; it is pitiful to see their pale and meagre faces.
Mr. Popoff told me that the sight of a Russian woman would help them to
forget, for a moment at least, that they find themselves in a strange and
hostile land, so far away from their native country.
April 12th.—To-day is Maundy-Thursday. The Catholic Archbishop has
invited us to assist at the ceremony of the washing of the feet of
twelve little boys belonging to the best Armenian families of Erzeroum.
These children dressed in long white garments and wearing crowns of
flowers on their heads, had taken their seats on a long bench, covered
with red cloth. After having each one bared the right foot, one of the
priests poured some water into a golden dish and the Archbishop, in rich
sacerdotal vestments, knelt before each of them on one knee, took the
bared foot, washed it and dried it with a towel. After this he offered
each child a lighted wax-taper and a box of bonbons tied with a green
ribbon.
In the evening a service was held in the dwelling of General Heimann, who
was in Kars at the present moment, dangerously ill. The reading aloud of
the twelve Evangelists by our Russian priest, in this foreign land, to
a mass of Russian officers each holding a wax-light, produced a great
impression upon me. After the second Evangelist an officer came into the
room, a telegram in his hand, and gave it over to my husband who perused
the despatch with an air of consternation, and whilst it passed from hand
to hand, I noticed the troubled expression of the faces about me. This
telegram announced the decease of General Heimann, carried off in five
days by the typhus. Is then the prediction of one of our friends going
to be realised? He said that we should all die here, and that none of us
should see his native land again; the turn of each one is the only thing
unknown to us. After the reading of the twelve Evangelists, a requiem was
sung for the peace of the soul of General Heimann.
April 13th.—The Russian colony at Erzeroum decided to celebrate the
Easter-night ceremony with great pomp; a rather difficult thing to do in
this Mussulman country. An attempt was made to illuminate the streets
leading to the Greek cathedral, but the inhabitants hadn’t the slightest
idea how to do it, and it was our house only which was lighted with
lanterns taken from “mosques.” When my husband had put on his uniform and
red ribbon, we proceeded to church on horseback, in complete obscurity,
with a dozen Cossacks and zaptiehs to protect us. It is very sad to feel
oneself in a Mussulman country on this great Christian feast. Nothing
recalls to mind the customary animation of that holy night; the streets
are so dark and silent! On approaching the cathedral we saw a detachment
of Russian soldiers standing under arms. The church was illuminated _a
giorno_ and filled with officers, soldiers and Christian inhabitants,
the latter take off their fezzes now in church, which they didn’t dare
to do before the entry of the Russians into Erzeroum. In a corner of
the cathedral lay heaps of painted eggs and Easter-cakes brought by
our soldiers to be blessed. Cannons were fired; the first shot was at
midnight precisely. After mass, my husband invited all the Russian colony
to supper. Our guests left us only at five o’clock in the morning.
April 14th.—On waking this morning I heard men’s voices singing in
chorus “Christ is risen!” It was a group of Cossacks who had come to
congratulate us with Easter-Sunday. Later on, from ten o’clock, visitors
of different nationalities continued to arrive until dinner-time.
It is reported that the Turks circulate exaggerated rumours about the
pitiful state of our troops and say that the moment for revenge against
the Christians has come. What troublesome times we are living through,
good God!
The Mussulmans had the custom of firing guns through the whole night
during the eclipses of the moon, but my husband has forbidden this now,
in order not to frighten the Christians.
April 17th.—It is the birthday of our Emperor to-day. After a Te Deum
in the Greek cathedral, there was a great review of our troops on the
square; four military bands executed our national hymn, whilst our
soldiers acclaimed their sovereign enthusiastically. The square was
crowded with lookers-on. Egueshi caught the drift of a dialogue between
an Armenian and a Turk; the Turk announced, pointing to the citadel from
whence discharges were heard: “The Russians are unable,” said he, “to
frighten us with their cannon-shots, one sees directly that these cannons
are not Turkish ones for they make too little noise.”
“You are much mistaken,” broke in the Armenian. “They are precisely
Turkish cannons, and it is Maksoud Effendi who has procured the
gunpowder.”
“Ah! now I see the reason why we are able to hear these cannon-shots,
for if they were Russian guns, they would not be heard at all from the
citadel,” concluded the Osmanlie, not a bit disconcerted.
In the afternoon the members of the Town Council came in to congratulate
my husband on the occasion of to-day’s solemnity; their President,
Mehamet-Ali-Bey was accompanied by a group of white-turbaned “mollahs.”
Sergy made a long speech to them, translated by Egueshi. He thanked them
for their activity, for the order that they maintained in the town, and
promised them to express to Ismail-Pasha his gratitude for having chosen
such worthy members for the municipal council; he ended his speech by
telling them that the Russians occupied Erzeroum by the will of God, and
that it was the duty of all the inhabitants to submit to their destiny
and to strictly obey our authorities. My husband made a rich present
to Ali-Effendi in the name of the Russian government; he gave him a
beautiful gold snuff-box, adorned with diamonds which cost 4000 francs.
I didn’t go out to-day, having to superintend the preparations for the
official dinner that Sergy gave to the Russian and Turkish authorities.
The table was richly decorated with flowers and fruits brought from
Tartoum, where they are admirably preserved; last year’s pears are
still quite fresh. At about six o’clock the musicians mounted on to the
roof of the opposite house by a ladder against the wall one after the
other; street-lads climbed up after them in such numbers that one was
obliged to turn them out for fear of the roof falling in. Another band
was placed in the street just under our balcony. From my window I saw
the Persian Consul approaching on his beautiful white Arab; in a few
moments our drawing-room was full of guests. My husband placed himself
at the centre of the table, having on one side the Metropolitan and on
the other the Armenian Archbishop; I was sitting opposite. The dinner
was very animated, much champagne was drunk. Maksoud-Effendi consumed
this stimulating beverage more than anyone; he embraced his neighbour,
Prince Tchavtchavadze, and exclaimed in a transport of tenderness: “If
war had continued, I would have killed you, perhaps, but now I kiss you
with all my heart!” My husband gave the first toast and drank to the
health of our Emperor; everybody stood up crying out “Hurra!” After that
Sergy exclaimed: “I drink to the duration of peace between Russia and the
friendly powers, France, Turkey and Persia, as well as to the health of
their representatives here present!”
The Metropolitan pronounced a long discourse in Armenian that Egueshi
translated to us; he said that the Emperor of Russia had always been
regarded with deep love and respect by the whole Christian population of
Asia, and that he, consequently, proposed a toast to the health of our
Monarch in the name of all the Armenians. Ali-Effendi, taking offence,
proposed to drink the health of our Emperor in the name of all the
Asiatic nationalities, without distinction of religion, as he could not
admit any difference between them. The Metropolitan, wishing to expiate
his awkwardness, held up his glass to Ali-Effendi, but the offended
Osmanlie feigned not to notice it, and removed his glass. Never will the
Koran and the Gospel, evidently, live in peace in Asia! Mons. Gilbert,
in his turn, after having spoken of the sympathy that existed between
France and Russia, exclaimed, “Long live Russia!” and my husband replied
immediately, “Long live France!” The Catholic Archbishop said something
very eloquent but rather incomprehensible. The last toast was drunk by
Sergy to the prosperity of Erzeroum, whatever fate should befall it.
After dinner we went out on the balcony and listened to the different
_potpourris_ on Russian national airs executed by our military bands. At
our appearance hundreds of voices exclaimed, “Long live the Emperor of
Russia!” It was night when the musicians returned to their camp, playing
marches all the time. They were followed by a throng of street boys who
carried their cymbals and their rolls of music.
April 18th.—On waking this morning I saw the street covered with snow,
which continued to fall in big flakes, and it is spring in Russia now!
Country, people, climate, everything is so gloomy out here!
In the afternoon I went on horseback to return my visit to the wife of
the President of the Town Council. Mme. Gilbert followed with Helena
in a cart procured by our ambulance people. Eleonora had entreated her
father to allow her to accompany us, but he refused outright, saying that
if the question was of visiting an Armenian or Greek family, he would
have willingly given his consent, but he would certainly never allow his
daughter to enter a Turkish harem.
The President’s wife met us at the entrance door and led us into her
private apartments, furnished in Turkish style with low sofas all round
the walls, on which sat, cross-legged, five Bayadères dressed in green
and pink robes; their faces were painted white and red, and their nails
dyed with henna juice. After a slight collation, which consisted of
coffee and different sorts of preserves served in silver vases, the
Bayadères began to dance, clinking castanettes. Four music-girls sat on
the floor and played the daira, a sort of cithern. Brandy and champagne
was offered to the Bayadères to put them into still more depraved
spirits, and they began to dance unlike anything I had ever seen. The
master of the house who sat in the next room with a score of male friends
left his door ajar, and the sight of these men inflamed the dancing-girls
still more, and they took such liberties that I didn’t dare to raise
my eyes from the carpet. When the Bayadères approached Helena, making
indecent gestures, my poor old nurse pushed them back, her eyes flashing
indignantly. Her speechless horror amused me enormously, and it was a
mercy that from the place where I sat I hadn’t Mme. Gilbert to exchange
glances with, or I couldn’t have remained serious. Our hostess seemed
astonished at Helena’s repulse and asked why she did it, and if it was
contrary to her religion? Anyone who reads this will suppose that I am
describing a house of ill fame, but, on the contrary, it is one of the
most respectable houses in Erzeroum, and all these enormities are of the
exigencies of harem life. The little son of our hostess, aged twelve, an
awfully vicious brat, was incapable of concealing the ardour with which
he was gazing upon the contortions of the Bayadères; he hardly heard when
he was spoken to.
Dinner was served _à la franca_, but there were knives and forks for
us only, our hosts did very well without them, helping themselves with
their fingers. The meal consisted of a score of meat and sweet dishes
intermingled. I did not know what I was eating, but was compelled to
taste everything, to refuse would be a great offence to our hostess, and
I resigned myself to swallow all sorts of nasty things. Our hostess,
according to the custom of the country, tasted every dish before it was
served to her guests, in order to prove that it wasn’t poisoned. During
the meal the son of our hostess behaved abominably. He tyrannised over
the poor little mulatto, the son of the negress slave, and was awfully
rude to his mother, daring to call her in our presence _kiopek_, which
means dog in Turkish. After dinner a large copper basin was brought in
to wash our hands, after which the dances were renewed. The face of one
of the Bayadères was completely veiled. I was told that this woman had
formerly been a prostitute. She is married now, but all the same she is
obliged to cover her face in remembrance of her bad life. When the time
came to bid good-bye to our hostess, I wanted to give a _bakshish_ (a
tip) to the dancing-girls, but she objected to this and told me that I
had far better invite them to come and dance in our house. I promised to
do it one of these days. I could not possibly imagine that our hostess’s
son, the perverse little despot, could show himself such a gallant
cavalier towards me. In parting he wanted absolutely to kiss me, and
declared that at first he had detested the Russians, but now he had seen
me, he liked me so much that his most ardent wish was that the Russians
would remain for ever in Erzeroum.
April 23rd.—To-day is the feast of the sapper battalion. Their chief,
Prince Toumanoff, begged me to assist at the Te Deum performed on their
camp, telling me that my presence would be a great treat to his officers
and soldiers. I couldn’t refuse his friendly invitation, and proceeded on
horseback to the camp. When prayers were over, the officers invited me
to partake of their repast served in a big tent. After Prince Toumanoff
had drunk my health, I took my courage in both hands and gave a toast to
the hospitality of our amiable hosts. An awful uproar arose, the officers
called for three cheers for me and the soldiers cried “Hurra,” throwing
their caps in the air. A small bazaar was just opposite the tent, with
nuts, plums, apples and different sweetmeats; Sergy bought the whole
contents and dealt them out to the soldiers.
At seven o’clock the sappers gave a banquet in the apartments of the
deceased General Heimann. I begged for Mme. Gilbert to be invited to that
dinner, so as not to be the only woman at that festival. Again numerous
toasts were given. Doctor Reitlinger, a thorough Dorpat student, stood
on a chair and gave a long discourse in praise of Erzeroum. When he had
ended, Prince Toumanoff exclaimed that he had forgotten to mention in
his panegyrics the most important point of all, namely, that Paradise
happened to be only a few miles off from here. Everybody laughed, for the
neighbourhood of Paradise was not perceptible in Erzeroum as we dabbled
in mud and snow close by this Paradise, whilst it was already spring-time
in Russia.
When we got home I went directly to bed, and was just falling asleep when
the sounds of a march playing under our windows awakened me. It proved
to be a group of sapper officers who had come to serenade me for having
taken part at their festival.
April 30th.—I have been unwell all these days and was obliged to remain
in bed. Yesterday I felt well enough to leave my room, and Mme. Gilbert
hastened to call on me. She threw her arms round my neck and nearly
strangled me with kisses, having been awfully anxious about me, for when
one falls ill in this blessed country, one is sent beforehand _ad patres_.
April 31st.—I called to-day on Signora Lavini, a curious specimen of a
Turkified European woman. She is the wife of an Italian druggist, who
has lived here for many years. Their daughter was born and educated
in Erzeroum, of which one is easily aware by her moral development.
Nevertheless her parents seem very proud of their offspring; they called
her up to exhibit her musical accomplishments before us. The young
_virtuose_ betook herself to the piano, and first played some scales on
the elderly instrument shockingly out of tune, toiling up and down the
piano, and giving her wrist and arm a tremendous jerk every time it was
her thumbs turn to go under. She ended her musical performance by the
traditional _Cloches du Monastère_.
Profiting by the improvement of the roads, a great number of Turkish
officers hasten to Erzeroum to see their families.
As soon as the pasture grounds were covered with grass, bands of
brigands, belonging to the Kurdish tribe, began to appear. The Ottoman
administration has tolerated the exploits of these highwaymen till now,
especially the deeds of a well known bandit named Mirza-Bek, who carried
in his expeditions his favourite wife, a young Circassian dressed in
masculine clothes; but we cannot maintain the same indifference to be
sure! Last night there was a robbery connected with murder in a village
near Erzeroum; the villains were immediately found and arrested. I saw
them this morning brought up to my husband, under a great escort. Oh,
how awful-looking they were! All in rags, with dark vicious faces and
rapacious glances resembling those of the hyena who dreads daylight
and human beings. We have been warned that a band of Kurds are going
to assault the cloister of “Kermirvank”; my husband has sent a dozen
Cossacks there and the would-be brave highwaymen hastened to run away. It
seems that the Kurds venture upon robbery-expeditions only when they are
sure of their grounds.
May 1st.—Our policemaster Kamsarakan organises all sorts of amusements
for me; to-day, for instance, in honour of the 1st of May, he arranged a
picnic out on the side of the Tap-Dagh. The Cossacks made a great fire
and we roasted potatoes and boiled water for our tea, after which we sat
down on carpets and did full justice to the contents of our luncheon
baskets. Crowds of people from the surrounding villages had gathered
around, and a mob of Armenian peasants organised a village-dance. We
followed their example, trying our feet in a waltz on the uneven ground,
the train of my long habit being very much in my way. A functionary of
the intendance, an enormous giant, looked so comic waltzing with a tiny
officer, who was scarcely up to his shoulder; it seemed all the time as
if he wanted to swallow up his undersized partner, or to jump over his
head. A group of Armenian urchins, armed with sticks instead of guns,
appeared under the command of a little chief, wearing a Russian cap on
his head and paper epaulettes; they looked like small lead-warriors taken
out of a toy box. These boys executed all sorts of military evolutions,
mimicking the training of our soldiers.
On our way home we visited a Turkish Coffee house. We entered a paved
courtyard with a fountain basin in the middle, surrounded by big yellow
flowers. The customers were sitting around the basin on low cushions;
some of them were sipping their coffee and others smoked their narghile,
passing it by turns from neighbour to neighbour. Thus occupied, the
Turkish smokers pondered meditatively, whilst the Greeks and the
Armenians argued about their commercial affairs. This coffee-house
consists of several lofty rooms. In one of them the proprietor was
sitting proudly behind his bar; a quantity of narghiles of all
dimensions, richly adorned with gold and silver ornaments, lay in rows on
the shelves fixed all around the wall. In the next room a barber worked,
shaving a greater number of skulls than beards.
May 5th.—A Russian employer has been insulted this morning by an
individual serving in the Persian Consulate, who called him a lot of
bad names. The man came to complain to my husband just when the Persian
Consul was announced. The culpable Persian was speedily sent for and
brought in under the escort of a Russian gendarme and a Turkish kavass.
The interview was not pleasant. Sergy told the Persian that it was only
out of regard to his Consul that a severe punishment was not imposed
upon him by the Russian authorities; he was handed over entirely to the
discretion of his Consul.
May 8th.—Yesterday we went to a ball given at the Casino, the building of
the ancient “seraglio,” where all the festivities were organised before,
being now transformed into a hospital for the Turkish wounded soldiers.
This ball was to be a grand affair, the arrangements were splendid; the
ball-room was fitted up as a big Turkish tent, decorated with plants
and flowers. I had to sign a large packet of invitations for that ball,
printed on gilt-edged paper, which indicated a long sojourn in the
shop by its yellowish colour. This ball sowed discord in many Armenian
families; the fair sex wanted to assist at it but the unfair protested
energetically. Bulerian, one of the richest Armenians of Erzeroum, had
proclaimed publicly that his compatriots who dared to conduct their
families to that ball would have to pay dearly for it when Erzeroum
was given back to the Turks. Bulerian was responsible for his reckless
speech; after having been smartly lectured for it, he has undergone the
most infamous Asiatic punishment, which was, being forbidden to mount his
horse for a whole month.
The ball was a great success, and the whole entertainment went off
admirably. Many Christian inhabitants brought their families to this
ball; elderly Armenians and Greek matrons, gorgeously dressed, sat
against the wall, and watched our dancing. Supper was served for two
hundred persons, and continued till very late. We returned home at
dawn, escorted by a military band. We had two Turks at dinner to-day,
Ismael-Bey and Maksoud-Effendi. I could hardly keep from laughing in
looking at the desperate efforts that they made in serving themselves
with their knives and forks; how gladly they would have thrown away these
instruments of torture to be able to tear their meat with their fingers!
May 30th.—This afternoon we made an excursion to the banks of the
Euphrates. After having made about five miles on horseback, we arrived
at a sort of paved dike, which seemed to have been built by giants;
the stones are so enormous that it is quite incomprehensible how human
beings could handle them. For many centuries whole generations have
gone over this ancient dike without its being necessary to mend it. The
Euphrates is very broad in this part, and in full rise just now. Frogs
were croaking around us, and whole flocks of wild geese dived about ten
steps from us; their tranquillity, as it seems, is rarely troubled by
musket-shots. On the middle of the river a boatman was rowing his yawl,
cut out of the trunk of an enormous tree, with a long perch.
On our way home we stopped at “Kian,” a small village where we created
a great sensation, and were stared at as if we were beings from another
world. The women crowded around; one of them determined to examine me
closely grasped my arm exclaiming, “I have touched her, she is alive!”
(Did she suppose that I was a wax-doll?)
May 11th.—This morning a Turkish woman, holding a small boy dressed
in the uniform of a pasha by the hand, has come with a petition to my
husband. She began to relate different exploits of her ancestors, and
concluded her long narrative by requesting Sergy to procure her means to
return to Constantinople, her native town. Sergy tried to explain to her
that the services rendered by her forefathers had nothing to do with the
Russian government, but she continued to beg, and having received the
sum that she requested, she whispered something to her little son, who
came up to our interpreter and announced to him that he too, wanted a
_bakshish_.
We went to visit the Christian schools in the afternoon. In the Catholic
school one directly sees the active intervention of the clergy. The
Archbishop Melchisedec takes a great part in the education of the
children; the director and the tutors are all priests. The best scholars
are sent to Rome and Venice to finish their studies. The pupils repeated
compliments of welcome to us in French, and expressed their gratitude to
our Emperor for the protection that His Majesty accorded to the Christian
inhabitants of Erzeroum. The Greek school is also considered as a part of
the church, but the priests do not assist in the teaching. The director
of this school showed us his establishment in detail. It contains two
hundred scholars of both sexes. Till the age of twelve boys and girls
study together; they are taught both Greek and Turkish. This school being
of the Orthodox creed, received a monthly subsidy of fifteen francs
before the beginning of the war, now my husband has offered the sum of
four thousand francs yearly as a support to the school. In the evening
the Greek deputy came to thank Sergy for this rich offering; they told
him that the remembrance of his generosity would remain for ever in their
hearts as also in the hearts of their children.
May 14th.—My husband has received an important despatch from
Constantinople, a circular of orders from the “Grand Vizir” to the high
Turkish functionaries. Sergy thus acts the part of an Ottoman Pasha,
which amuses me greatly.
After dinner we rode over to Abdurakman-Kazi, an antique mosque
containing the mausoleum of a renowned Turkish saint and also a score of
rooms for pilgrims. This monastery, on the mountain side looks splendid.
May 15th.—Yesterday on our way home from the cloister of Abdurakman-Kazi,
we saw on our way some bomb shells. This morning, a little shepherd
turned over one of these shells, which exploded and tore the poor lad to
pieces.
May 17th.—Striving to invent all sorts of distractions in order to
raise the drooping spirits of our Russian colony, horribly depressed
by the epidemic of typhus-fever, we have organised races on a track
of three miles. To-day a large crowd of inhabitants surrounded the
racing-place. There were seven concurrent events—five Cossack and two
native. When they started I followed them attentively, fearing to see
our Cossacks outridden by the Turks. To my great joy a young Cossack
gained the first prize, the sum of four hundred francs. He mounted a tiny
insignificant-looking horse that he had bought at Khiva for forty francs.
The Cossack was accompanied up to town in triumph by a big crowd, and two
military bands.
May 21st.—The benediction of the common tomb of the soldiers of the
regiment of Bakou, killed during the assault of the fort Azizie, took
place this morning. A year has glided away, the fate of Erzeroum has
changed, and this same regiment of Bakou holds garrison now in this fort.
Egueshi related to us the cruelties committed by the Mussulmans during
that siege. He pointed out a Turkish woman who had cut the throats of
many wounded Russian soldiers, thus avenging herself for the death of
her husband on the battle field. The enormous tomb has been done up with
stones, and a big wooden cross is fixed in the middle.
During the Requiem, at which I assisted on horseback, all the soldiers
knelt down and prayed fervently for their comrades, the brave warriors
who are sleeping their eternal sleep in this Mussulman ground.
After dinner we arranged an expedition to the monastery of
Loussavoritch-Vank, situated about six miles outside the town. This
monastery, built on the top of a high mountain and surrounded by a
stone-wall, resembles a castle of the middle-ages. Three sides of this
cloister are perpendicular and the fourth one, by which one mounts, is
planted with a row of fine trees, an agreeable contrast to the rocky
scenery all around. Two monks composed the whole establishment; one of
them, at our approach, began to toll a bell, whilst his companion came
out to meet us, holding a big silver cross in his hand. He led us into
the church, where he performed a Te Deum and made us descend afterwards
into a dark dungeon where, according to a legend, Saint-Gregory, the
propagator of Christianity, had taken refuge during the persecution of
the Christians. We also visited an antique underground church, making
our way to it by narrow dark passages. I drew a long breath when I found
myself in the open air once more. On our way home we were overtaken by
a terrible thunderstorm, which didn’t last long, but was followed by a
dreadful shower of rain. We put on mackintoshes with caps, which made us
look like highwaymen, but we all got a thorough drenching, nevertheless.
May 27th.—The snow in the mountains transforms itself when thawing into
big clouds, and it pours with rain nearly every day. The top of the
“Palantek” is a capital weather-prophet; when there are no clouds on the
summit, even if the sky is heavy all around, it will not rain that day,
and vice versa. From our sitting-room one can watch the mountains, and
this barometer is of great use to us during our rides.
There was an awful storm last night; the wind shook our house to its very
foundation, it seemed as though it must be caught up and hurled headlong.
I’ve never seen such dazzling flashes of lightning before, nor heard
such formidable thunderbolts reverberating loudly with an echo in the
mountains. I was in a terrible fright all the time lest the flag-staff,
put on the top of our roof, would be struck by lightning. The rain came
in through the ceilings; I can well imagine what was taking place in the
other houses in Erzeroum which had no clay roofs like ours.
May 28th.—A very disagreeable incident occurred last night, a
musket-ball whizzed close past the sentry on duty near the guard-house.
Investigations were made and the inhabitants handed over a Turkish
solider this morning, who said that in jumping over a wall he had
awkwardly let fall his gun, which fired itself. The culprit is arrested.
During our evening ride along the line of the fortifications, a bullet
flew past me and made my horse start. The misunderstanding explained
itself. The Cossacks of our escort were ready to retaliate, when it
proved to be simply a Russian officer who, shooting at a target, did not
perceive that his bullets passed over the ramparts. All the same it is
evident that I stood in imminent danger of being shot through the body,
and feel myself trained up in war now, having experienced the baptism of
fire, which is a very peculiar feeling, indeed!
May 29th.—Troubles have arisen again. There has been a fresh underhand
musket-shot which took place in town this morning. This time the
ball lodged itself in the wall of a house inhabited by one of our
functionaries. A group of “imams” from different parts of Erzeroum were
gathered, and the order was given to them to find out the culprit, under
the threat of making the whole Mussulman quarter responsible for his
misdeed, and to deliver him immediately into the hands of the Russian
authorities, as also all the fire-arms that the Turkish government
had dealt out to the inhabitants during the blockade of Erzeroum. The
“imams” listened woefully to the proclamation of that severe decree, and
presented, a few hours later as culprit, the single Christian inhabitant
of their quarter; it is quite evident that they accuse him wrongfully.
There came a telegram to-day which announced that a ratification of peace
was going to be opened in Berlin on the 12th of June. That’s a new gleam
of hope that we shall soon leave Erzeroum.
I have often heard military bands playing in the streets of Erzeroum,
but they generally executed funeral marches, whilst platoons of soldiers
accompanied their chiefs, victims of the terrible epidemic, to their last
dwelling-place, and one can easily conceive my joy when I perceived from
my window the first detachment destined to reinforce our army, entering
Erzeroum this morning, preceded by a military band. The Mussulmans must
be very much annoyed to see our troops increasing, as up till now the
number of our soldiers diminished every day.
May 30th.—The Persian Consul presented Sergy with the portrait of the
Shah and a piece of poetry which states that this portrait is given to
the Russian governor of Erzeroum in token of gratitude for his kindness
to the Persian inhabitants.
Though the sky was perfectly clear this evening, Egueshi warned us,
pointing to the “Palantek,” that there would be a shower before long,
but we, all the same, started on our habitual ride, but had not gone
half a mile when there came the rumble of thunder from afar; a flash of
lightning shot across the sky and the rain came down in torrents. We
galloped at full speed towards the village of Shakk, not far off, and
took refuge under the roof of an old Armenian priest. On the walls of
his parlour hung a whole gallery of pictures cut from French illustrated
papers, representing chiefly heroes of the Russo-Turkish war, a present
left for our host by a Russian officer who had put up at his house for a
time. I wonder if the originals of these portraits will ever know that
their visages adorn the walls of a humble cottage situated in one of the
remotest parts of Asia Minor. On our way home we admired the beautiful
growth of the wheat; the plain of Erzeroum being abundantly irrigated,
the harvests are usually splendid, everything looks so green and fresh.
May 31st.—Storm clouds gathered again on the heights of the “Palantek”
this evening. We had scarcely reached the camp when large drops began to
fall and the storm came down in rolling thunder and lashing rain. Sergy
hurried me into a great coat but nevertheless I got wet through. In an
instant the whole camp, situated on a declivity, was furrowed by the
impetuous torrents, and the water rushed in streams over the ground. When
we reached the riflemen’s camp, we dismounted and ran into Mr. Popoff’s
tent for shelter until the storm should clear away. In returning we had
to go over gutters, which was difficult on account of their being full
of foaming water. We saw a drove of cattle returning from the pasture
grounds which found itself in great trouble before a usually dry ditch
transformed for the moment into a torrent. The shepherds, mounted on
donkeys, tried by gestures and voice to force the cattle to enter the
water, in order to reach the other bank, but it was no easy matter; the
cows ended by obeying, but the donkeys resisted energetically and nothing
could be done with them.
The proprietor of the house inhabited by Eritzeff, a Persian who was
noted for his vanity, stinginess, and cowardice, was determined to obtain
a Russian decoration. He was a fearful bore to his tenant, repeating to
him at every favourable moment his desire to be useful to the Russian
government. Eritzeff lost his patience at last and determined to play him
a trick; he announced confidently to him that he was sent on a serious
mission to Bagdad and offered him to be his interpreter; Eritzeff also
warned him that he was to fit himself suitably for that long journey.
The Persian was delighted and replied that the expenses of equipment
would not be a drawback, and in fact he delivered himself, in spite of
his stinginess, to mad prodigalities; he bought a horse, a new saddle, a
white mackintosh and a pair of yellow jack-boots. His family could not
understand whither he was starting, but submitted to Providence, and when
the day of departure arrived, they all kissed and cried over him.
A dinner for the sham-parting was given to Eritzeff in the Mussulman
monastery of Abdurakman-Kazi, after which our would-be travellers were to
start. During the meal a Cossack was to appear and hand over to Eritzeff
a counter-order of departure. Unluckily someone had the awkwardness of
revealing that plot before the repast began, nevertheless the guests were
immensely amused. In fact, the poor Persian was such a picture to look
at, equipped in his great mantle, his seven-leagued boots, furnished
with gigantic spurs that reached well up to his calves, and armed up
to the tip-top, sword and pistols in his sash; he was literally the
personification of “Don Quixote.” The poor creature looked as if he
wasn’t quite sure at first whether he was standing on his head or on his
heels, but he soon controlled himself and bore his disappointment with
serene resignation. Trying to put a good face on the matter, he regaled
everyone with the big oranges that he had crammed into his pockets to
quench his thirst during his long journey, and calling to mind a Persian
song named, “I went in three days to Bagdad,” he said good-humouredly. As
to me I have made the trip much quicker!
This Persian was the hero of a new pleasant adventure. Last night,
returning home, he perceived at the corner of his house someone smoking
behind the fountain; only the tip of a lighted cigarette could be seen.
“Hello! who goes there?” he challenged the mysterious smoker loudly, but
got no answer. “What are you doing there behind that fountain?” Complete
silence again. “Brigands for sure!” vociferated the valiant Persian, and
dashing into his house he returned reinforced by his servant, provided
with a pistol which he pointed at the would-be malefactor, who continued
to smoke peacefully. The fact is that there was no brigand whatever;
it proved to be simply the tip of a lighted cigarette laid down on the
border of the fountain by some nocturnal passer-by.
June 1st.—General Lazareff has come to Erzeroum to replace General
Heimann. The Armenian inhabitants awaited him with impatience, very
proud that he was the second commander of the main army of their own
nationality. From early morning the whole town was put into a fluster;
the native women established themselves upon their roofs at daybreak,
wishing to see the new Russian mouchir enter Erzeroum. As I also wished
to be present, I accepted readily the Gilberts’ invitation to come on
their balcony which looked out into the square where the Guards of
Honour, and a great number of officers in grand uniform, had assembled.
Towards ten o’clock we heard the clamour of hurras and soon perceived a
crowd of inhabitants coming up, followed by two hundred Cossacks with big
banners; behind them rode General Lazareff, accompanied by a numerous
suite.
June 5th.—Kirkor-Effendi Schabanian gave an evening-party to-day.
We remained in his fantastic garden, illuminated with many coloured
lanterns, till late, admiring the gorgeous costumes of his Asiatic guests
who promenaded round a marble fountain full of goldfish. It was all like
a scene from the Arabian nights.
June 9th.—This morning we have visited the mill of Kireh-Bulak, the
prettiest spot in the neighbourhood, situated in a narrow pass about
eight miles from town. We brought our luncheon with us, hard boiled eggs,
biscuits and salt in an envelope, and ate it with great appetite in this
nice, cool resting-place. Large trees grow all around and a rapid torrent
falls from high cliffs in a roaring cascade white with foam; the noise of
the mill at work sounded close by.
June 10th.—To-day a gala banquet was given at the Casino by Ali-Effendi.
The most cordial union seemed to reign between the Russians and
Mussulmans, but was it all very sincere? At the end of the repast,
when the champagne had loosened the tongues and quickened the spirits,
Maksoud-Effendi came up to the Persian Consul, glass in hand, and
proposed to drink to his health, but the Persian, a water-drinker, like
every good Mussulman, refused the toast, at which Maksoud-Effendi took
offence, and flying into a passion, dashed the contents of his glass into
the face of the astounded Persian and vociferated with furious eyes and
face aflame: “Ah, you wouldn’t drink to my health by mere politeness,
well, do it now by mere force!” The Consul started up wiping his face and
his clothes, muttering a prayer to be purified from the stains of wine.
June 12th.—To-day passing before the Casino, M. Gilbert witnessed a
completely unusual event. He saw a mounted Cossack officer climbing up
the steep wooden staircase leading into the Casino; after having made
a tour through all the apartments that officer returned the same way,
without having run against anyone or anything. This equestrian prank
made a strong impression upon a group of Turks who were standing in the
street, they said that only a Cossack officer was capable of such a wild
deed, because in their opinion all the Cossacks were possessed by the
_schaitan_ (the devil).
A fancy took me to drive with Mme. Gilbert to the monastery of
Abdurakman-Kazi in an _araba_, a cart drawn by a pair of oxen, for
thousands of years the unchanged mode of conveyance in Turkey, a mode of
locomotion more comfortable than dignified, to be sure. The _araba_ was
furnished with carpets and cushions, and the oxen adorned with flowers
and ribbons. I undertook to perform the part of driver, and succeeded to
put my phlegmatic bullocks into a sharp trot.
June 20th.—Last night we visited the village of Laouk, inhabited by
Christians and Mussulmans. My husband asked a white-bearded “imam” if the
Armenians and the Turks lived on good terms with each other, and that old
Osmanlie for answer, in order to prove his affection, tenderly embraced
an Armenian priest who stood by. I wonder if these individuals will kiss
each other when the Turks have re-entered Erzeroum!
June 22nd.—About a hundred fierce-looking men, who had formerly belonged
to the brigand band of the famous Mechrali, assembled before our house
after dinner with their chief, Temir-Aga, who is seventy years old but
still as brisk and nimble as a young man. He had previously been chief
of a band of highwaymen who had spread terror through all Anatolia about
twenty years before. The Turkish Government could find no other means
to subdue him than to appoint him chief of one of the districts in the
province of Erzeroum. Temir-Aga profited by every available occasion to
assure my husband of his entire devotedness. Sergy sent for these men to
ascertain that they had received their soldiers’ pay regularly. They were
not pleasant men to meet in a dark lane, and are to be watched closely
all the time, in order to prevent them from troubling the peace of the
citizens.
July 4th.—There has been a conflict between a band of Kurds and Turks
about twenty miles from Erzeroum; about a dozen Kurds were wounded
and the rest of them made prisoners. Temir-Aga, who captured these
highwaymen, brought them over to my husband this morning. I saw them
advancing slowly towards our house, between a body-guard of Turkish
soldiers, with their hands fastened behind their backs, having awfully
ferocious expressions.
July 6th.—This morning we heard the welcome tidings that a private
agreement had been decided upon between Russia, England and Prussia. God
grant war won’t begin anew!
To-day, in spite of the peaceful issue of the Congress in Berlin,
a violent fighting broke out in Erzeroum between the Christian and
Mussulman street-boys. The Armenians fought energetically and knocked
down their adversaries, shouting, “Long live the Emperor of Russia!”
Time is going on and we are still in Erzeroum, and though the certitude
that war won’t begin anew tranquillises me, still the ignorance in which
we find ourselves about the time of our departure is very hard to bear.
The Catholic Archbishop invited us to assist at the distribution of
prizes at his school. After we were seated at the head of a long table,
the Sisters of Mercy presented to us the pupils deserving prizes, and I
had to adorn them with crowns of flowers. After that the pupils played
on the piano to us and recited French and Armenian poetry; then the
Archbishop led us into his library which contains rare and curious books,
amidst which we saw a manuscript of the Lord’s prayer written in fifty
different languages.
July 10th.—The influence which the Russians exercise on the outward life
of the Christian population is so great that the Armenian inhabitants
have decided to organise a theatre in Erzeroum, an ignored luxury at the
time of the sovereignty of the Turks. A stage with a score of boxes has
been built in a spacious cart-house; the curtain represents an allegory
of Armenia amidst a heap of ruins. In these amateur performances all the
women’s parts are played by men.
August 1st.—According to a Turkish legend, the eclipse of the moon
proceeds from a “Flying Dragon” attempting to swallow up that planet.
In order to prevent the monster from realising his sinister project,
the native women climb on to their roofs and make a dreadful noise with
different brass instruments to frighten the “Dragon” away, whilst the men
discharge a number of musket-shots. Yesterday, for instance, there was an
eclipse, but this time the inhabitants were strictly forbidden to shoot.
To-day an organ-grinder arrived from “San Stefano” and played the whole
evening under our windows; he was surrounded by a throng of street-boys,
who examined his instrument, completely unknown to them, with much
curiosity.
August 9th.—This afternoon we took a trip along the right shore of the
Euphrates. We came to an ancient grotto close to a basin of mineral
water, about half a mile from the best quarries of the country. The
stones drawn out of them are of various colours and serve for the
construction of houses. The echo in these crypts, which served in former
times as shelter to hermits, is remarkably sonorous. At present the
natives who go on a pilgrimage to the Mussulman monastery of Hatcha-Vank,
usually make a halt here. We sat down on a carpet spread under an immense
tree and rested in dreamy quiet within its shade, near a big trench for
irrigation filled with foaming water. The Cossacks of our escort made a
fire and roasted potatoes in that sheltered nook, and the inhabitants of
the neighbouring village brought jugs of excellent milk, new-laid eggs
and salmon-trout that they had just caught close by. We returned home
only at nightfall.
August 15th.—A Turkish kavass came this morning to complain that
an Armenian zaptieh had insulted him and torn off his galoons. The
Armenians, dazed by their momentary success after the arrival of General
Lazareff, are very rude towards the Turkish inhabitants. As to the sly
Greeks, they assume an entirely different behaviour, making themselves
agreeable both to the Christians and Mussulmans.
A telegram has just arrived announcing that the Russians are to leave
Erzeroum directly after the surrender of Batoum. Parleys with Turkish
authorities are going to be immediately entered upon. Oh, what joy, joy,
joy! It is almost too good to be true!
August 24th.—From to-day the Mussulmans are beginning to feast their
“Ramadan,” when they are obliged to fast till night-time. At nine o’clock
precisely, as soon as a cannon-shot has announced the termination of
fasting, which lasts again from dawn till the new sunset, the Turks revel
frantically, eating, drinking and smoking to their heart’s content.
Hamid-Bek, who is possessed with a ravenous appetite, spends his
afternoons in contemplating the citadel, and as soon as he perceives a
little smoke arise, foretelling the cannon-shot, he rushes into his house
to devour his supper, in the company of his wives who are as famishing as
himself.
The Gilberts have left Erzeroum for good this morning. I got up very
early to bid them good-bye, and saw two enormous vans standing before
their house-porch. One of these vans was to serve as a carriage, for
there are no post-chaises to be had in Erzeroum, and the other vehicle
was assigned for the luggage. When everything was ready for starting,
the Gilberts clambered into their waggon which began to move, jolting
heavily on the rough pavement, and soon disappeared out of sight round
the corner of the street. I was awfully sad to lose the Gilberts, but the
thought that we should soon follow their example, consoled me.
August 28th.—A telegraphic message has just arrived announcing the
surrender of Batoum. The official orders of the giving up of that town to
the Turks will come to-morrow. Now we shall be able to get away soon; I
am wildly, madly happy!
I have been awakened this morning by the sounds of a loud conversation
under our windows. An Armenian merchant came to complain that a score of
Turks had forced themselves into his house last night, and after having
bound him up with strong cords, they wanted to carry away his wife, a
mere child of fifteen. This incident gave rise to a great commotion
among the Armenians; our approaching departure terrifies them. We have
not left Erzeroum yet and the Turks have already begun to fulfil their
threats. The whole town is in excitement, all the shops are closed.
I hear the toll of the alarm-bell chiming for the assembling of the
Christian inhabitants. Just before lunch my husband was told that several
thousands of Armenians who had gathered before the dwelling of their
Metropolitan, were now advancing towards our house and we already heard
the ominous sound of treading feet and clamorous voices in the distance.
In a second I was on the balcony and the first thing I saw was the
figure of the Metropolitan making his way through a tumultuous throng
of people, closely followed by all the members of the Town Council, in
about two minutes there was a crowd of several hundred people about
our house. I heard the roaring voices of an excited mob from below;
wherever I looked I saw a sea of anxious faces and gesticulating arms and
hands. The confusion became greater with every moment. Notwithstanding
my entreaties, Sergy came out on the balcony with the Metropolitan and
policemaster, who explained to me that this noisy crowd had come to
entreat my husband to permit them to emigrate to Russia. The Armenians,
who completely lost their heads and thought that their end was drawing
nigh, wanted to follow us to Russia and declared they would not stir
from the spot until they got a favourable answer from my husband. I was
terrified beyond words when I saw an individual drawing a pistol out
of his pocket and pointing it at us exclaiming: “In mercy kill me, I
prefer to perish from your hands rather than be left to the mercy of
the Turks!” The policemaster, escorted by his agents, went down into
the street in order to exhort the mob to disperse, but the infuriated
Armenians continued to roar under our balcony; then Sergy addressed
the crowd, persuading them to be quiet and promising that he would not
leave Erzeroum before the Turkish army arrived, and that order would
be maintained in the town till then. These words were greeted with a
wild yell of exultation from the crowding masses, and the noise of the
multitude gradually decreased. Oh! it was a scene and an experience I
shall certainly never forget! My husband ordered the number of patrols in
the streets to be increased, and after dinner we rode through the Turkish
bazaars in order to tranquillise the affrighted Christian inhabitants.
August 29th.—Order in town is reinstated. The merchants are beginning
to open their shops, but before luncheon a new mob has gathered outside
our house. This time the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages have
assembled to beg for permission to emigrate to Russia, preferring rather
to risk the uncertain future than to suffer the yoke of the Turks; but
Sergy had to tell them that there was no convenient ground in our country
to give them.
A rumour has spread that “Mechrali,” the famous brigand whose daring was
boundless, hearing of the Turkish occupation of Erzeroum, hastened to
come here, and is now promenading in the streets without fear.
September 1st.—During our ride this evening I was very happy to see
our camp diminishing; the regiment of Elizabethpol has left Erzeroum
to-day, and the rest of our troops will depart in a few days. The
Greek and Armenians that we met in the streets appeared to me greatly
discouraged and very much depressed, but I remarked that they changed
their countenances instantly and looked quite cheerful the moment they
perceived a Turkish officer.
September 5th.—Hadji-Houssein-Pasha, my husband’s successor, has
arrived this morning with his policemaster and a squadron of “souvaris”
(dragoons;) he has got orders to assist at the surrender of the
town. Ismail-Pasha has sent an express command to the “mollahs” and
other Mussulman representatives to maintain strict order in town.
Houssein-Pasha paid us an official visit in the afternoon. He is an old
man with a long white beard and rather an inexpressive face. Out of my
window I saw him approach our house mounted on a beautiful Arab steed
whose saddle sparkled with gildings and glittered blindingly in the sun.
September 6th.—A great many Christian and Mussulman inhabitants, who held
different posts in the Russian administration of Erzeroum, have been
gratified with presents and decorated with medals, therefore various
deputations have come to take leave of us, assuring my husband of their
deep gratitude and sympathy.
September 7th.—Great animation in town to-day on account of the arrival
of Moussa-Pasha, the chief of the Turkish army in Asia-Minor. The Russian
commander of the citadel with a squadron of dragoons and a military band
has gone out to meet him as far as the Postern of Kars. At about ten
o’clock in the morning a Guard of Honour was placed before the house of
the Mouchir. We mounted on the roof of the Turkish military school, from
whence we could see the road leading to Trebizond. We waited a long time;
at last sounds of music were heard from afar, a cloud of dust arose, and
we discerned long files of cavalry. Our dragoons rode ahead, bringing
in the Turkish commander mounted on a splendid horse and surrounded by
a numerous suite. The Turkish troops brought up the rear. As soon as
Moussa-Pasha perceived my husband he waved his hand to him exclaiming
in perfect Russian: “Your Excellency, how happy I am to see you!”
Moussa-Pasha is an aborigine of the Caucasus; he has been educated in St.
Petersburg in the _Corps des Pages_, and has served a long time in the
Russian army. It is only since he rose to the rank of general, that he
turned traitor and went back to the Turkish government.
Moussa-Pasha dismounted and came up on to our roof to give my husband a
warm greeting, holding out both hands. Then, in sight of the whole crowd
of bewildered Turks, he kissed my hand gallantly. After having seated
himself between us, the Mouchir ordered his troops to continue their
march through the town, meanwhile being awfully nice to me; he expressed
his satisfaction that I hadn’t left Erzeroum before his arrival and told
me that the rumours of my stay in Erzeroum had reached Constantinople,
and that my bravery was held up as an example to the Turkish officers
and soldiers. He also related to me that prude, Ismail-Pasha, was
highly displeased that I rode through the streets of Erzeroum in the
company of men and with my face uncovered, pretending that it thoroughly
offended the notion of propriety in the Turkish and Armenian families.
When the infantry had passed, Moussa-Pasha took leave of us and rode
off whilst his troops continued to defile. Each battalion was preceded
by sappers, each carrying a hatchet. The Turkish soldiers had a fine
deportment and marched in good order, but their officers looked oldish
and round-shouldered. The batteries began to defile now, followed by a
regiment of “souvaris” (dragoons) in brilliant uniforms, laid all over
with red and yellow galoons. Closed arabas, occupied by the families
of the Turkish army, filed off now amidst luggage-vans. The occupants
of these harem conveyances were invisible; one of the women having the
curiosity to peep out was brutally pushed back by a soldier. A band
of dervishes, bearing the standard of the Prophet, came galloping up,
brandishing glittering swords; behind them advanced files of Osmanlies
striking up a clamorous flourish of trumpets, beating the war-drums and
blowing the war-horns. The Mussulman schools brought up the rear carrying
banners with inscriptions out of the “Koran.” The scholars chanted verses
and sung in chorus “Lah illah, illah lah!” in high-pitched voices. They
were surrounded by a crowd of street-boys shouting them words of welcome.
These urchins who had been very much annoyed in hearing their Armenian
little comrades vociferate at every available occasion the Russian
“hurra” had their revenge now.
It was decided that our sentinels should immediately be replaced by
Turkish soldiers. I looked at that ceremony from the balcony of General
Lazareff’s dwelling, commanding a view of the guard-house and the public
square where crowds were gathering. A Turkish patrol soon appeared, about
a dozen soldiers with an under-officer swinging a long branch that he had
just broken from a tree; but the chief of our patrol declared that he
would certainly not give up the guard-house to such singular substitutes.
The new commander of the citadel with a detachment of soldiers arrived
shortly afterwards, and this time our soldiers presented arms to their
former enemies and resigned the place to the Turks. From henceforth
Erzeroum has become again a Turkish town!
Our last dinner in Erzeroum was interrupted by the arrival of
Houssein-Pasha, who came in full uniform to bid us good-bye, accompanied
by his policemaster. After their departure we speedily finished our
meal and started on horseback for the camp. Now, at last, all was over
with Erzeroum! We had tea in our tent, which was pitched on the slope
of a hill, and at seven o’clock we remounted our horses and returned
to Erzeroum, as guests this time; Ali-Effendi invited us to a grand
dinner that he gave in our honour. When we approached his house, it was
illuminated, and a Turkish band began to play. Ali-Effendi came out to
meet us, and offering me his arm, he led me to the dining-room where all
the Russian and Turkish authorities were already assembled. I sat on
the right of Houssein-Pasha, who lavished compliments on me the whole
time. Our host was also most charmingly courteous and proposed to drink
my health with enthusiasm. The dinner consisted of fifteen courses and
lasted it seemed a whole eternity. We returned to our camp late in the
night, accompanied by an escort of Turkish dragoons who carried lighted
torches.
September 8th.—A tent is a poor place to spend the night in, nevertheless
I slept soundly in my narrow camp-bed. At daybreak I was roused by the
sound of trumpets and the beating of drums; the soldiers began to stir,
in great excitement, and less than a quarter of an hour later the whole
camp was broken up. Our soldiers having burned all their useless rags
by the fire, hundreds of the indigent inhabitants of Erzeroum hurried
down like birds of prey upon the place recently occupied by our camp and
searched for the remains in the dense smoke. Meanwhile our troops drew
up in a line while their commanders took a survey of their ranks and
congratulated the men on the occasion of their return to their homes.
After that public prayers were sung; during the Te Deum the sounds of the
trumpet resounded to signal our departure.
We mounted on horseback and left Erzeroum with our troops, with music
playing and banners waving in the air. To-day is the birthday of the
Grand-Duchess Olga Fedorovna, therefore twenty-one cannon-shots have
been fired. We were already approaching the Postern of Kars when, in
the middle of a cloud of dust, a cavalcade came into view. It was
Moukhtar-Pasha who had come with a numerous suite to see us off. Suddenly
we heard the sounds of a march, and saw a Turkish military band preceding
a battalion of Turkish soldiers, marching also in the direction of the
Postern of Kars in order to escort the departing Russian troops; they
drew up in a line on each side of the road. I was greatly impressed to
see the enemy troops, who a short time ago fought ferociously with us,
now presenting arms to the Russian commanders. There was a great crowd
of Turks round about, but the Armenian inhabitants restrained from
appearing. The Postern is left behind, the Russian and Turkish commanders
have made their adieus, and we are marching off to Kars. Our cavalcade
was very gay; we were trotting fast and soon overtook our troops. In
the afternoon we arrived at the spot where we were to lunch in a tent
pitched on the banks of a river. After sunset, we came to Hassan-kala
where we passed the night under the roof of the chief of the district. An
impromptu bed was made up for me far too short, alas, for my long legs.
September 9th.—We continued our journey at daybreak. The chief of the
district of Kharoussan came to meet my husband on horseback, accompanied
by an escort of Kurdes. The chief of their tribe, wishing to be agreeable
to Sergy, told him how glad he was when the new frontier was made, that
his land became joined to the Russian territory, when the land of his
brothers was joined to that of Turkey.
September 10th.—After having made a long halt at Zevine, we overtook a
large detachment of emigrants going to Kars on their way to America.
On the passage of the Saganlough we rejoined the rifle battalion. The
officers invited us to dismount and sit down to lunch on the grass
with them. When we came to Karagalis, a tiny hamlet composed of a few
cottages, the hut in which we were to pass the night appeared so dirty
and miserable to us that we preferred to sleep in the open air, stretched
on mats on the grass outside.
September 11th.—Rising early we remounted our horses. Amongst the crowd
of villagers who surrounded us we saw a great many Armenians wearing
fezzes on their heads. When one of our fellow-travellers asked an old
Armenian the reason why he wore this Turkish head-gear instead of a cap,
he replied candidly that he wasn’t quite sure yet to what territory he
was to belong, and said that if he belonged to the Turks he would have to
pay dearly for the change of his head-covering.
We reached Kars in safety some little time before sunset, after having
been in the saddle three days, riding at the rate of 50 miles a day, and
intended to put up at the London Hotel for rest, but General Franchini,
the governor of Kars, took us off to his house. I was tired out and
unable to do anything but rest and wanted a good sleep after our long
journey. I hurried up to my room and stretched my tired limbs in the
comfort of my bed.
Kars has changed considerably since my departure to Erzeroum; sign-boards
written in Russian are to be seen everywhere, and our language chiefly is
heard in the streets.
September 18th.—From Kars to Alexandropol we travelled in a post-chaise.
General Franchini and his colleagues expressed a desire to accompany
us to the first station on horseback. On approaching it, we were very
much surprised to hear the sounds of a military band and to see a large
tent in which a farewell banquet was served. A greater surprise still
awaited us; Sergy found an address under his table-napkin a printed order
proceeding from General Lazareff, in which he referred to my husband’s
first-rate administration of the country which had just been restored to
the Turks. During the repast we all remembered the painful moments that
we had passed during these two years of war. Thank God it’s happily over
now; all this nightmare of war done with and gone!
The first thing we did on our arrival at Alexandropol was to hire a
carriage and go and pray on the tombs of our departed friends, victims of
that terrible war. Quick! let us get out of this land of mourning, grief
and sorrow! Let us come out of the darkness and gloom into the light
again!
September 20th.—After a journey of two days we are comfortably
reinstalled in Tiflis. How delighted I am to live again in our cosy
nest, with all the luxury of civilisation round us. I do hope that the
wandering existence that we have lived since our marriage has come to an
end. My gaiety has come back to me and the world is beautiful again, and
I am just going to live and forget the privations and dangers of the past
months. All the horrors of war have vanished like a bad dream.
November 30th.—Our stay in Tiflis, alas, did not last long. The Grand
Duke Michael, setting out to St. Petersburg, has charged Sergy to work
out projects in case of a new war with Turkey, (Oh! horror!) and has
ordered him to bring them personally to St. Petersburg. We are leaving
Tiflis in the beginning of December.
CHAPTER XVIII
ST. PETERSBURG
We have put up at the Grand Hôtel where we feel very comfortable. This
winter I mean to lead a quiet, homely life, being wonderfully changed
after my marriage. Out of a frivolous society girl, I have developed,
thanks to Sergy, into a very domestic sort of person. I have seen enough
of the world to understand how flippant it is, how empty—a vanity of
vanities! Marriage has given me a new view of the world altogether, I
have taken off my rose-coloured spectacles to look at life as it is, and
have learned many things which I did not know.
Russia continues to outlive troublesome times; after the war it is the
anarchist conspirators who organise inquisitions, condemn to death, and
hold themselves the office of executioners. A rumour has spread in town
that on Easter Eve there will be a repetition of St. Bartholomew’s night,
and that all the wealthy inhabitants of the city will be massacred.
The life of our Emperor is in constant danger. An attempt to murder him
was made whilst he was taking his usual afternoon walk. Luckily the
malefactor’s bullet missed the Tzar. Petersburg is all in a flutter
through that attempt. Te Deums are sung in all the churches and the town
is decorated all over with flags. The day of the attempt, during the
performance of the opera “Life for the Tzar,” a large audience packed the
house from floor to ceiling. When the Emperor appeared in his box, the
hymn “God save the Tzar,” resounded through the hall; the whole audience
rose to their feet, and deafening cheers were heard. Our monarch bowed
graciously in response.
Though the Neva thawed very late this year, larks were singing, and the
sky was blue, and the whole air was full of the spring promise. It gave
me a wild desire to go abroad and fly over hill and dale. Sergy wanted to
take a two months’ leave of absence, but the doctor that he had summoned
to certify the absolute necessity of a cure, after having given his
diagnosis, said that Sergy was blessed with excellent health. As it was
absolutely necessary to find an ailment of some kind, I had recourse to
artfulness. Before the doctor took leave, I put my head through the door
and made faces behind his back, grimacing so wildly that Sergy had to
struggle with suppressed laughter; the muscles of his face moved and his
lips twitched. “Oh, I don’t like that at all!” cried out the mystified
Æsculapius. “I see now what is the matter with you! your overstrained
nervous system calls for energetic treatment, and a month’s holidays, at
least, is the sort of physic you want. Your ailment is overwork, pure and
simple!” When the doctor left I burst into wild laughter, and thought
him the nicest physician in the world. My scheme was thus successful,
and Sergy, being ordered abroad by the doctor to take a long rest, had
obtained a six weeks’ leave of absence.
I was tremendously pleased to visit foreign countries, and looked forward
to it with great anticipation. Quantities of pleasant things were
planned. But, alas! it had only been a sweet dream! I soon awoke to grim
reality. Quite unexpectedly Sergy was appointed chief of the staff of the
circuit of Moscow. I was greatly disappointed that we had to give up our
cherished trip abroad. It was all so sudden, so totally unexpected, and I
cried that night when I went to bed. But it means a very brilliant future
for my husband, and it would be madness to refuse it. We have to start
without delay.
CHAPTER XIX
MOSCOW
We arrived at Moscow in the beginning of May, and settled down for the
summer months in a wing of the Petrovski Palace, situated in a beautiful
park two miles out, to wait for our apartments to be got ready in town.
This palace is a majestic building flanked with four red-brick turrets,
looking like a mediæval castle.
The summer passed quickly. It was autumn now, and yellow leaves were
falling thickly on the paths outside. The last week of September we took
up our winter quarters in town. It was great pleasure to settle in our
new home. We have bought a pair of carriage-horses, beautiful steppers,
and a pair of lovely ponies to drive myself, sweet little pets they are.
We are leading a very happy life. Sergy keeps from me all knowledge of
the world’s misery and wrongs. I have really drawn the great prize in
life’s lottery, and am one of fortune’s favourites. There never was a
tenderer husband in the world. His one idea is to keep every cloud out of
my life. He smooths my path and clears away all the thorns and briars.
He is my protector, my guardian and my guide. If there were more men
like Sergy there would be fewer miserable women. Sergy surrounded me
with comforts and gave me everything my heart could desire, guessing my
wishes before I knew them myself. There was nothing under the sun which
he wouldn’t do for me; I had only to reach my hand out for anything I
wanted. I was really born with the traditional silver spoon in my mouth,
and I think myself the most fortunate of human beings to have such a
husband.
For social distraction I have now but little taste, and delight in
staying at home with Sergy. My time is well filled up and my hours are
regulated as clock-work. My daily life begins early in the morning. I
usually rise at seven o’clock and am never for a moment idle, working,
reading, playing the piano and trying to keep the house in order. I am
rather new to housekeeping, it is true, but am determined to begin it in
a thorough fashion. It is not a small affair to make myself respected by
our servants. The management of that unmanageable creature, the cook, is
especially difficult; I have had many struggles with him, and often see
a sneer on his lips, but nevertheless I have never allowed him to fleece
us too much. Sometimes I had a terrible turn for cleaning, and visitors
often caught me perched upon a chair with my sleeves rolled well above my
elbows, and my dress shielded by an apron, with a sponge in my hand, busy
washing the plants in our drawing-room.
We had to mix a little in society, and Sergy took me out occasionally
to pay formal calls, a task I particularly disliked. There seemed to
be no end of card-leaving and card-receiving. It is such a bore going
out visiting or holding a drawing-room—and this was my only crumpled
rose-leaf. I had got thoroughly tired of the vapid folly and hypocrisy
of social life, which is a daily lie, and mentally consigned all
dinner-parties and deadly “At-Homes” to perdition. Nothing is more
horrible than these “At-Home” days; it is such a nuisance to have to be
nice to people whom in the bottom of your heart you despise, and who
devote their ample leisure to passing criticisms of no tender character
on their friends behind their backs. All these _Grandes Dames_ of the
so-called Best World are more like mechanical dolls moving on wires, than
living, feeling women. Their lives are framed uniformly on a fixed set of
rules, and their gossip is perfectly intolerable to me. They talk either
platitudes about chiffons, or make remarks about the weather; they murmur
mechanically hospitable phrases, and then tear their guests to pieces and
mock the weak points of the very people whose hands they had just pressed.
I have the courage to order my life independently of the conventions
which govern the existence of most women of my position, and I want
to keep myself apart from the Great World. I am no longer fond of the
pleasures and the admiration of society, finding no interest whatever
in balls, which are insipid without a little bit of flirtation, for I
can’t enjoy the actual exercise of dancing quite irrespective of whom I
dance with; and now that I am married, I certainly will not admit any
more courting. People wonder how I manage to kill my time, hiding myself
from the world in a monastic seclusion. I am being talked about. “Mrs.
This” and “Mrs. That” disapprove of my manner of life which gives rise to
comment, but I am hopeless, and they have quite given up trying to reform
me. They boycott me now when they meet me and cut me dead, giving me only
the tips of their fingers. I pay them back in the same coin, even more,
by giving them the ends of my nails. I do not care at all about what
people say or think. Why should others busy themselves with my affairs?
I am perfectly well able to act for myself and intend to do so now, and
to always brave public opinion. It is difficult to imagine my ranging
myself among the slaves, and certainly I am not going to permit my life
to be interfered with. If my husband is satisfied with me, it’s all right
then; only we two—the rest of the world does not count.
Sergy is occupied all day with his business, but in the evenings I have
him to myself. He is the only man for me, the rest of the people are
mere furniture. We understand each other perfectly; Sergy never plays
the domestic tyrant over me, and is ready to do anything to please me,
yielding in many respects for the sake of peace, but he knows how to
manage me, nevertheless, and is a rock of resolution when serious things
are concerned, and keeps his ultimatum for the great occasions. He has
completely changed me from what I had been, and made me what I was to be.
However, as I have a very inflammable temper, I often make shipwrecks
in a tea-cup tempest, during which Sergy always acts like a tonic on my
temperament.
Prince Dolgorouki, the Governor General of Moscow, gave great receptions
on Sundays after mass held in his private chapel, where the fashionable
world met to stare at each other and criticise each other. After service,
the Prince invited everybody to take tea and chocolate in his apartments
adjoining the chapel. During the reception I noticed that the over-ripe
damsels, fearing to be classed as old maids, kept apart from the married
matrons. It was very comical to see them planted stiffly on the edge of a
sofa in their virginal nook, trying to look young and waiting for future
husbands who did not come.
A new and desperate plot was hatched to assassinate the whole Imperial
Family. The winter palace has nearly been blown up by dynamite which was
to explode at a quarter past seven, during dinner, but luckily the Court
was awaiting that day the arrival of a foreign prince, whose train was
half-an-hour late, and this delay saved the Tzar and his family.
Sergy began to be anxious for my health; finding that I was looking
rather pale, he wisely decided that I must have more exercise and made
me go out for a walk every day. Hating to do things by halves, and
wanting to prove to Sergy that I was a first-rate walker, the idea came
to me one day, whilst taking my afternoon walk, to pay a visit to my
aunt Galitzine, who lived about three miles away. I returned home dead
tired and awoke next morning with a bad cold. I had to lie in bed with
bronchitis for at least a week to be restored to health. For company’s
sake I always took Tiger, my big Danish dog, with me in my walks, whereat
he rejoiced exceedingly, wagging his tail with violence. I had no need to
elbow the passers-by with such a companion, every one cleared the way for
us. There was much fuss with Tiger, he had to be led by a chain at which
he tore with all his might, nearly choking himself with his collar in his
desperate struggle to get free; I had to do my best to keep his spirits
within decent bounds. Sometimes he would stretch himself full length on
the pavement, and it was hard work to make him get up without threatening
him with his whip, at which he would stumble close against my skirt,
doing the penitent, with the peculiar aspect of conscious wrong.
One day Tiger was more than ever demonstrative and nearly upset me with
his rough gambols, jumping to my face in fierce joy and putting a cool
nose against my cheek. Just at that moment we met an old woman carrying
a full pitcher of milk, much to my quadruped’s pleasure, and Tiger, his
big mouth wide open and his pink tongue hungerly out, bounded towards
her with loud barks of delight. The poor woman, frightened to death
by Tiger’s formidable aspect, gave a violent start and dropped her
jug, spilling her milk all over the pavement; Tiger licked it up with
grunts of satisfaction. After having quenched his thirst, my agreeably
animated dog bounced around the terrified granny, frolicking round her
with an uncouth dance and yapping at her in ecstasy; he put his huge
paws over her breast and insisted upon licking her face, wagging his
tail conciliatingly. When visitors entered our saloon and we were not
there, Tiger usually stretched himself full length across the threshold
so that our visitors could not leave the room without striding over him;
Tiger did not deign to budge and allow them to pass, but set up a most
ominous growl like distant thunder, and when he was approached, he just
opened his eyes and continued to growl until we came in and liberated the
affrightened prisoners.
In the spring the unveiling of the newly built monument of Poushkine,
our great poet, took place; it was an event of considerable importance.
A requiem in honour of the dead poet was sung on the square before
the monument, covered all over with a white wrapper. It was a curious
sight; a great crowd was assembled there. Amongst many deputations a
group of young maidens arrayed in Russian national costumes, holding
garlands of roses, especially attracted my attention. After the service
ended, the military band struck up and the statue was unveiled amongst
enthusiastic cheers. The mayor of the town invited me that same day to a
grand banquet given in honour of the son of Poushkine, who had just been
promoted to the grade of general, telling me that as an authoress I had
to take part at the festival, but I refused, giving a plausible reason.
Next day I went to a meeting of a literary committee treating on the
works of Poushkine, held in the hall of the Assembly. On the big estrade
well-known writers, and professors of the different universities gave
speeches. When Tourgeneff, our famous old writer appeared, great cheers
rose from the audience.
In May we moved to Petrovski Palace, and on the last days of June
Sergy went to review the troops at Yaroslaw. During his absence, I was
invited by my aunt, Princess Leon Galitzine, to spend a week with her
at Doubrovo, her splendid estate situated in the government of Kalouga.
I welcomed the opportunity that was offered to me and accepted my
aunt’s invitation with pleasure. Another aunt of mine, Princess Safira
Galitzine, was also going to Doubrovo and proposed to chaperon me. On our
way there, great was my surprise to meet at one of the railway stations,
Stenger, one of my old admirers of whom I had not heard for years. We
both gave a violent start, and I uttered an exclamation of surprise:
“Where on earth did you fall from?” I asked.
My appearance nearly deprived Stenger of speech, then he took my hand
and devoured it with kisses, much to the indignation of my aunt who was
of the opinion that a married woman shares the dignity of her husband
and, like Cæsar’s wife, should be above suspicion of even the slightest
flirtation. Whilst we paced up and down the platform, a pretty flood of
eloquence rose to Stenger’s lips, and I was aware that the constancy of
his heart was as great as ever, and that he was still my devoted servant.
He said with a quiver in his voice, looking me full in the face and
nervously tormenting his very slight moustache, that after my marriage
he had been moved to the desperate resolution to marry also; but it did
not help him to forget me, and that all these years he did his best to
tear the thought of me out of his heart and could not. But I didn’t love
him, all the difference was there. I only shrugged indifferent shoulders
and responded to his passionate eloquence with six degrees of frost.
“Fiddle-de-dee! old times are better left alone,” I replied, looking
upon his dismayed countenance with a cheerfulness which rather hurt his
feelings.
“Why do you treat me like this?” asked poor Stenger, looking very
miserable and crestfallen. Really I am afraid I’ve been rather rude, to
hurt anybody was quite contrary to my nature; I called myself a monster
of ingratitude and tried to be more friendly towards him. I ought to be
grateful indeed for he was a faithful being! Wishing, nevertheless, to
get away from my impetuous lover, I hastened into my car. In bidding
good-bye, Stenger captured my hands and squeezed them so horribly that
he left the print of my rings on my fingers. He stood in a drooping
attitude under my window, staring at me with eyes objectionably mournful
and looking the very picture of despair. The train moved on and Stenger’s
pale face was lost to sight; life had separated us for the second time!
He was completely brushed away from my memory, and the whole episode fell
away from my mind like breath from a mirror.
The journey to Doubrovo proved to be a tedious business. We had to leave
the railway behind; a coach drive of some fifty miles awaited us. We
drove along a flat and somewhat desolate country road. The sun grew hot
and so did I. Clouds of dust pursued us, and swarms of big flies attacked
us; we chased them away with branches cut from the trees. A drive of four
hours under such conditions is a prostrating experience!
I spent a splendid time in Doubrovo with my cousin, Nelly Galitzine, and
was sorry to leave her.
When I got back home, Sergy suggested a trip on the Volga, which I
accepted with enthusiasm. We went by train to Nijni-Novgorod, where we
had to take the steamer. We arrived at Nijni at about seven o’clock in
the morning. I hid myself in my coupé from the military authorities who
had come to greet my husband on the platform, but was dragged from my
retreat by an officer, who insisted upon my following him into the state
apartments of the station opened for us. I was half inclined to crawl
under the seat, but there was no escape possible, and, conquering my
impulse to flee, with tangled hair and unwashed face, horribly ashamed of
myself, I had to walk with such dignity as my disordered condition would
permit between two rows of brilliant sons of Mars. General Korevo, the
chief of the division stationed at Nijni and its outskirts, offered me
his arm and led me to his carriage to drive to the pier.
We took passage on a small steamer belonging to the company of “Caucasus
and Mercury,” and steamed down the Volga from Nijni to Kazan. In the
beginning of our voyage, where the Oka flows into the Volga, the river
is in many places half a mile broad. We glided between sandy and sterile
banks. Towards evening we arrived at Simbrisk, where we were to pass
the night. A rickety old cab drove us to the hotel creeping up the
ill-paved hill of an old and dirty street. A shabby waiter showed us into
a small room with one bed and a greasy sofa. There was a tournament of
self-denial between Sergy and me about the bed, and as neither would give
in we decided that we should toss a coin: heads, the bed—tails, the sofa.
It came tails, and the sofa fell to my lot! It was not at all a bed of
roses, and when I lay down I soon discovered that the repulsive sofa was
the property of certain highly disreputable and painfully disagreeable
insects. I tossed on my couch of torture until morning.
At eight o’clock we took the “Colorado,” an immense three-storied vessel,
replete with every luxury and convenience. The first-class cabins
opened on a spacious dining-room. There were many passengers on board, a
doleful trio amongst them, a young sad-faced woman in the last degree of
consumption travelling with her husband and baby. The poor invalid looked
wretchedly ill and extremely nervous, her eyes were constantly filling
with tears. Her husband was full of little cares and attentions about
her. Another passenger, a lady of unpleasing appearance, more than fifty,
but dressed like a young girl, with an artificial complexion and dyed
hair, strummed all day long on the piano, which was much out of tune. She
fell upon the defenceless instrument, dashing out marches and abominable
polkas, making two false notes in every five. At last it was decided that
an appeal _ad misericordiam_ would be made to the noisy virtuose, and it
was the captain who saved the whole company from the much dreaded musical
entertainment and undertook to keep that peace-disturber away from the
tempting instrument. He made her understand that her performance was not
approved of by his passengers and that she had better give the piano a
little rest.
After sight seeing in the town of Kazan, we were back at Nijni the next
day. In the morning Sergy went out to the camp, after which we had dinner
on board with champagne and speeches, and were back at Moscow on the
following day.
In September my husband was appointed military representative at the
celebration of the twelve hundredth anniversary of the famous battle
on the “Koulikovo Field.” We had to be separated for more than a week.
I profited by the occasion to visit my parents at Dolgik, my dear old
home. It had been arranged between us that as soon as the festivals at
Koulikovo were over, Sergy would come and join me at Dolgik. We travelled
together as far as Toula, where we separated to go each our different
ways. I found myself for the first time in my life travelling alone, but
managed, however, to get to Dolgik without any adventure. I established
myself in the train with pleasant books and papers to amuse me on the
way, and never emerged from my compartment till the last station, which
stands a few miles only from Dolgik, where I was met on the platform by
my brother, who had come to fetch me in his carriage.
I spent such a happy week in my old country home! What a lot of sweet
reminiscences! I was in my dear little room again, in which I recalled
the old days. I saw myself as a child, a half grown-up girl and a happy
bride. The old village people hadn’t forgotten me and seemed glad to see
me; as to my parents, one can easily imagine how happy they were to have
me with them again.
Fedia, the youngest of my nephews, is such a darling, with a smile
which says, “Please love me!” One morning as he was just emerging from a
battle-royal with his nurse whilst she was coaxing him into his clothes,
she began to threaten him that if he continued to be naughty he would be
devoured by all the animals mentioned in his favourite story-book, by
the lions, tigers and wolves. Fedia, totally unabashed, his mischievous
little face peeping from under the coverlet, burst out suddenly: “And the
hippopotamus, you forget him!”
Sergy came to meet me as it had been arranged and brought me back to
Moscow.
The director of the “Foundling Hospital” invited us to visit this
interesting establishment, one of the largest in the world, founded
by the Empress Catherine II. That huge asylum takes charge yearly of
fourteen thousand babes. Many rows of cradles fill up the vast halls.
About fifty little ones are brought here every day. The wet-nurses,
chosen with the greatest care, carry them away to their villages
afterwards, and continue to take care of them until they are grown up.
These women receive three roubles per month for each child, who, on
attaining the age of twenty, remains as workman in the family that has
given him shelter. We saw a respectable matron who had been serving in
the “Foundling Hospital” for forty years, and whose sole duty is to give
the newly-arrived babes their first bath. The poor little things will
never see their mothers again, for as soon as they are washed they are
carried away to be mixed with thousands of other babies.
A terrible crime has just been committed at St. Petersburg. On the
first of March our beloved Emperor, Alexander II., was murdered by the
anarchists. This noblest of men has been killed by a bomb in the streets
whilst returning from a visit to the Duchess of Oldenbourg. That day
we went to a concert given by Marcella Sembrich, the celebrated opera
singer. In the middle of the performance an officer came up to say that
the Governor-General of Moscow, Prince Dolgorouki, wished to see my
husband at once. Something serious must have happened, otherwise the
Prince would not have disturbed Sergy who promised to be back soon.
But I returned home immediately and would not go to bed before Sergy’s
return. I became very anxious at his prolonged absence and couldn’t
imagine what was keeping him so long. Eleven o’clock arrived and he had
not yet returned. I could not help being very much alarmed, and as the
minutes passed, I listened more and more anxiously for the sound of hoofs
on the pavement, but still there was no sign of my husband. It was long
past midnight when he came home in a great state of excitement, bringing
the awful news of the murder of our Tzar. A bomb had been flung at his
carriage, the back of which was torn away. His Majesty, luckily, was
not hurt, but two Cossacks of his escort, and a boy who was passing in
the street at that moment, were severely injured. The Tzar insisted upon
seeing the wounded and approached the victims, when a second bomb was
flung at him which tore off one of his legs and shattered the other.
General Grösser, the Prefect of the Police, who always accompanied
the Emperor wherever he went, had him lifted up into his sledge and
transported His Majesty in that desperate state to the Winter Palace,
where he passed away some minutes after.
The tragic death of Alexander II. filled the world with horror. The
inhabitants of Moscow were thrilled by the news of that terrible event;
the streets are black with people in mourning, the bells in all the
churches are tolling all day long.
The murderers of our Tzar were caught and brought to trial; they were
all sentenced to death. The sole executioner existing in Russia had been
sent for from Moscow to execute them. Sophia Perovski, the daughter of a
high Russian functionary, who had participated in the conspiracy plot,
fled to Switzerland and for some time eluded her pursuer, a political spy
who had been sent to trace her. The detective craftfully succeeded in
making her fall in love with him and follow him to the frontier, where
she was arrested and brought for trial to St. Petersburg. Not a very
handsome proceeding on his part I must say! When Sophia Perovski appeared
before the tribunal, she was told that she would be hanged if she did not
denounce all her accomplices; but she absolutely refused to divulge their
names, and exclaimed with splendid indifference, “I do not dread your
gibbet, I only dread the misfortunes which befall my beloved brethren!”
However, when the choice was given to her to be hanged or delivered over
to the mercy of her beloved brethren, she threw herself at the Attorney’s
feet, imploring him to condemn her to the crudest punishment, but only
not to give her up to the mob.
We are living through very troublesome times. Our new Emperor, Alexander
III., receives anonymous letters with threats that he too, will be
murdered and his son, the heir to the throne, stolen and taken away!
A secret notice was given to the police that the anarchists were
preparing to blow up the Winter Palace, which is looking now like a
fortress encircled with a rope; even generals are not permitted to enter
its enclosure.
It is an awful time altogether! Alarming rumours continue to circulate.
There is said to be a great deal of agitation in the country, especially
in the south, where there is a special hatred against the Jews; their
houses are ransacked and plundered. The peasants begin to rebel and
refuse to take oath to their new Tzar, stating that his father’s
murderers had been bribed by the Russian nobility, which was now avenging
itself for the emancipation of the peasants, effected by Alexander II.
Troops were obliged to be sent there to settle order amongst the rebels.
Kobzeff, one of the most important anarchists, a very stylish young man
who hadn’t at all the dynamite-look on his face, gained admittance under
a false name into the most fashionable drawing-rooms of St. Petersburg.
He went afterwards to Moscow and even forced his way into Prince
Dolgorouki’s palace on pretext that he was an engineer who had found out
a new system of gas-light for the town.
The police had been informed that a quantity of dynamite has just been
transported to one of Moscow’s railway stations. But, when they wanted
to confiscate it, the cunning anarchists disguised as policemen, took
possession in full daylight of the murderous baggage under the very nose
of the real police agents who arrived at the station a few minutes later
and found all the dynamite gone.
The irritation against the anarchists is growing from day to day; there
are often scuffles in the streets. A masculine-looking girl, with short
hair and glasses, was taken for a socialist by the wild mob, which
stamped upon her reducing her nearly to the condition of a pancake. She
had to be sent to the hospital with a bloody nose and black eyes. About
the same time a French manicurist bought a paper from a news boy, in
which the Emperor’s funeral was described. Finding that the vendor had
charged too high a price for his paper, the Frenchman asked him, in very
bad Russian, why “he took so dear for such stuff,” meaning the sheet of
paper, but unfortunately he was understood in quite a different manner,
and knocked down and beaten so severely that he died the next day.
In the middle of June the Tzar came to Moscow to review the troops on
the “Khodinka Field.” A warning had come from abroad telling the police
to take great care of bomb-throwers during that review, and especially
to mistrust the men wearing top-hats, which could hold engines of
destruction in them. Though great precautions had been taken, I felt
awfully nervous whilst the review was going on. Count Brevern opened
the parade on horseback, surrounded by my husband and a brilliant staff
of splendidly uniformed officers who took up their position behind the
Emperor. My fear of the anarchists did not hinder me from admiring the
beautiful appearance of our soldiers. The artillery and infantry in
compact rows, and the cavalry galloping very fast, produced an imposing
spectacle. The regiments were splendid, they all came up and passed:
cavalry, infantry, artillery, ambulance, doctors and all, with much
music.
After the review the Emperor invited the chief-commanders to a lunch at
Petrovski Palace. Some of the officers of the Emperor’s suite came to pay
us a visit in the afternoon, General Skobeleff, a brilliant celebrity,
amongst them. Though he was supposed to be a woman-hater, he gallantly
kissed my hand, at which an enthusiastic lady-visitor, who happened to
be present, began to examine my hand to see if a star had not incrusted
itself on it after the kiss of such a man, every inch a hero.
A week afterwards the Grand Duke Michael arrived to be present at the
grand manœuvres. I was on the Kodinka Field driving my pair of ponies
when the order was given to the cavalry to attack the Petrovski Palace.
Fearing to be trampled down by the charge of the cavalry, I jumped out of
the pony-chase, leaving the ponies to the care of the groom, and started
running home by the shortest cut, jumping over pits and ditches. The
next day I drove to the spot where the mock-battle was to take place.
The sound of the trumpets resounded from everywhere and the cannons kept
up such a continual firing that the ground actually shook under us. The
cavalry was prancing round. I soon perceived the Grand Duke and would
have turned tail and fled, but I was not permitted to make my escape. I
alighted and tried to hide myself behind my ponies, but for the first
time I was dissatisfied with the diminutive stature of these little
fellows; there was no concealment even for a rabbit. My position was
awfully critical; I have never felt such a longing to sink into the earth
and disappear from human sight. The Grand Duke, who had discovered me,
laughed a great deal—I didn’t!
We often spent our evenings at the Hermitage, a large music-hall, the
entrance of which was strictly forbidden to collegians and cadets. One of
them got in nevertheless, dressed in woman’s clothes, a fair, effeminate
youth. With his smooth girlish face he easily passed for what he
pretended to be and played his part to perfection. He was soon surrounded
by a crowd of admirers. But the poor boy got severely punished for his
trick, and had to endure three days of arrest.
By the end of September we returned to town. Our new home was ready to
welcome us: our house is said to be haunted, and the first thing we did
was to order a Te Deum to be sung in our apartments. Now I hope we won’t
come across visitants from the other world!
We have been very busy settling into our new quarters. When all was
arranged, we began to lead a gay life, and went to the best concerts and
theatricals of the season. Sarah Bernhardt, an actress of world-wide
renown, the greatest tragedian of the age, having conquered New York,
achieved her next success in Moscow, which she took by storm. I was
deeply interested to see her in _La Dame aux Camelias_, where she is at
her best. Sarah, who is already well up in years, is a delicate-looking
woman with a waist of painful slenderness. Her acting is simply
wonderful. She was a glorious incarnation of _Violetta_, in the death
scene, though I am not readily moved to the tears, I wiped from my eyes
“_Una furtiva lagrime_” as Donizetti’s song has it. The audience, which
packed the house from floor to ceiling, was enthusiastic and applauded
her much.
Sarah’s name was on everybody’s lips. The best milliners and dressmakers
of Moscow went to her performances to copy her costumes, and the
confectioners promised her portrait for every pound of bonbons. On our
“At-home days,” when I found myself searching for a suitable topic of
conversation, the name of the great artist came to my aid, and I had
every reason to be grateful to her without her being aware of it, for
having helped me to entertain my guests. In comparison with Sarah the
rest of her troop was very insignificant. The actor performing the
leading part of lover, a gentleman by birth, had fallen under the spell
of the enchantress and lost his heart to her. For her sake he became an
actor and always accompanied her on her tours, following her wherever
she went like the traditional lamb. The love-sick _Jeune Premier_ looked
extremely foolish when making love to Sarah on the stage, casting sheep’s
eyes at her. My goodness, what ridiculous creatures men are!
Anthony Rubinstein, the king of the piano, was giving his last
public concert in Moscow. The whole town came in to be present at
the leave-taking. When the great pianist appeared on the estrade, he
was met by a roar of applause; the wild enthusiasm of the house was
indescribable. Rubinstein was a real treat, and bewildered me by his
marvellous execution. This incomparable artist gave an interpretation of
Chopin which sent a thrill through me. His _touché_ and his _technique_
were wonderful and perfect, he made the instrument positively sob and
sing. I was in an ecstasy of delight and listened entranced, having never
heard anything so beautiful before. Rubinstein looks something like
Beethoven, clean-shaven, with a powerful face; his long locks, shaggy and
picturesque, waved in sympathy with his excitement. When he had ceased,
there was a moment of entire silence, that finest homage due to beautiful
playing.
During Rubinstein’s stay in Moscow he was bothered by a crowd of artists
“in embryo,” who all wanted to sing for “opera” without having the
remotest idea how to sing, coming to ask him if he would try their voices
and tell them if they had talent enough to follow the artistic career.
A friend of ours happened to come on a visit to Rubinstein just at the
moment when a fat, neckless lady of about fifty summers was making her
rehearsal. She sang like an old cat; her one idea was to be heard and
she howled all her top notes so hard as to make all the dogs bark in the
street. Dumfounded and horrified, our friend stopped his ears and took to
his heels, running away as fast as his legs could carry him.
One day we went to see a bird Exhibition at the Manège and were present
at a horrible cock-fight—a most disgusting sight! White and red cocks
were taken out of their narrow cages and settled on a small estrade
covered with sand and surrounded by a railing. The combat began, the
winged champions struck against one another, with bristled feathers which
flew about on all sides, croaking piercingly all the time. By refinement
of cruelty they had steel spurs fastened on their legs. The enraged birds
picked off each others’ skins by morsels, and long streams of blood
spread on the sand. The white cock soon became purple-coloured; his red
antagonist after having plucked out both his eyes, won the battle. I
was boiling all over with indignation, but the cruel audience exhausted
itself in frantic applause, admiring this miserable sport. The ganders’
fight was not a less sickening spectacle. The males with wings outspread,
prepared to battle, but only in the presence of their better-halves, who
ran after their “pachas” gabbling loudly.
I regretted still more to have accepted an invitation to be present at
a wolf hunting on the race ground. The poor animals were brought on the
arena in big wooden boxes. Exposed to the light of day and scared by the
crowds of noisy spectators, the unfortunate wolves had scarcely the time
to make two or three limping steps, both their hind legs being tied fast
together, when a pack of starving hounds rushed upon them and tore them
to pieces. It was a shame, a crying shame! Oh, how barbarous mankind is,
I thought.
The Terrorists are continuing their work. It’s getting positively
dreadful, everyone’s nerves are set on edge. Many rumours are circulating
in St. Petersburg. The story goes now that the late Tzar Alexander
II., proceeds slowly every night from the Winter Palace to the Kazan
Cathedral, where he appears to the people. One of the chief rioters
profited by this report, and one evening, during vespers, the Emperor’s
ghost made its usual appearance, pronouncing in a loud voice the
following words: “Warn my son that I am waiting for him.” But hardly had
the admirably disguised sham-Emperor finished his public address, when
the police laid hands upon him.
Moscow is now the rallying place of the anarchists. A band of malefactors
had just been caught setting themselves upon undermining one of the
theatres which was being built in the enclosure of the future French
Exhibition on the “Khodinka Field,” a few paces from the Imperial
pavilion which will be inaugurated in the month of May. By a lucky chance
a factory where imitation oranges stuffed with dynamite were being made,
was also discovered. The terrorists disguised as errand boys were to
throw this murderous fruit into the midst of assemblages in order to
produce a panic. I am greatly alarmed by all this!
Towards the beginning of May, in consequence of a sudden burst of hot
weather, we left the town and betook ourselves to Petrovski Palace, the
French Exhibition was just opposite the Palace. It was a grand affair;
lots of people were flocking in to see the splendid show. Punctually at
ten o’clock in the morning we heard the whistle announcing the opening of
the Exhibition. Every time I visited it I felt myself as if transported
by magic from Moscow to Paris. All the sections are very interesting and
instructive. My cousin, Prince Leon Galitzine, one of the richest wine
makers in the Crimea, had a splendid stand where he regaled everybody
gratis with his wines. I dreaded to pass close by, because my cousin
always forced me to taste the different sorts of wines, which made
my cheeks, already burning like fire because of the great heat, pass
gradually from red to crimson, and it was most unbecoming.
I had some accidental meetings with old friends at the Exhibition. One
day, in the whirl of the crowd, I found myself suddenly face to face
with Mr. O., my old love, for whom I had had a strong liking in my
girlhood days. It was an age since I had heard anything of him and he
was the last person I ever expected to see there. I had quite rubbed him
out of my mind and there he was now. I could scarcely believe my eyes.
My heart gave a little jump and I don’t mind confessing, I was rather
pleased to see him, although I thought I had long since given him up for
ever. The sight of Mr. O. gave me an odd mixture of sensation, I was
startled, I was disturbed, I was pleased. Time had made but few changes
in his appearance, he had grown a trifle stouter, that was all, and I
recognised him immediately. For the first moment agitation deprived us
both of speech. On overcoming his constraint, Mr. O. began to talk of
different things, he chaffed and laughed and told funny stories as of
yore. Presently we discovered a comfortable seat and sat down near where
the band was playing. Suddenly Mr. O. became serious and began assuring
me of his love, of his fidelity. Oh, the things he said to me! I wanted
to put a stop to his passionate outburst, and felt very angry with my
paralysed tongue. All the same I could not remain entirely unmoved, and
to my extreme disgust I felt myself turning very red, and for the sake of
doing something, I began drawing circles with my umbrella on the sand,
looking anywhere but into his face. When recovering my composure I felt
it my duty to lead the conversation into other channels and though my
colour was beyond my control, my voice was steady, and with eyes which
still declined to meet his, I told him he should leave off talking such
nonsense, doing my best to make light of the matter. But he gazed at
my downcast countenance and said, “I love you Vava!” to my very face,
as if he had the right to call me by my Christian name. When we got up
and passed through the section of toys, he asked abruptly if I had any
children, and without waiting for my reply, he disappeared and returned
soon after, holding a small india-rubber monkey by a long string. He
thrust this little horror into my hand whispering, “That’s for your
baby.” As it appeared Mr. O., who had married soon after me, had neither
any babies of his own, and thus this nasty little monkey was of no good
to either of us.
In September the Grand Duke Nicholas came to witness the grand manœuvres
and stopped at Petrovski Palace. We lived in one of the wings of the
palace, and wanting to see the Grand Duke’s arrival, I had to mount a
narrow cork-screw staircase, with shattered steps leading up one of the
turrets. The walls were mouldy and hung with cobwebs which tumbled down
upon my head. The view of Moscow and its surroundings, on reaching the
top of the turret, was a thorough compensation for my disagreeable climb.
The next day I was invited to a dancing-party given in honour of the
Grand Duke at the military summer club on the Khodinka Field. The
Grand Duke was very affable towards me and contrived to put me at my
ease at once. His Highness asked me to take tea with him. He seemed in
capital spirits and talked in the most friendly way. He told me that
he remembered me when I was quite a little thing and wore socks and
pinafore, and said that passing through the town of Kharkoff he came
to visit my parents and made me jump upon his knee. We sat round the
tea-table for a long time. In bidding good-bye the Grand Duke proposed to
me to come on the manœuvre-ground the following morning.
Getting up at break of day I hurried to our rendezvous and saw the Grand
Duke in the distance standing upon a hillock amongst a group of generals
and officers surveying the sham-fight with a field glass at his eye.
On perceiving me the Grand Duke nodded and waved his hand, and when
I approached His Highness, he inquired after the state of my health,
fearing I had taken a cold in remaining out in the club-garden so long
the night before.
A few days later a sham-alarm was raised in the camp. I was out before
five o’clock in the morning and directed my steps towards the camp half
asleep and yawning widely. There was still moonlight outside, and the
breeze that ran before daybreak was making me shiver a little. Suddenly
cannon-shots were heard and in less than two minutes the whole camp was
astir. The soldiers rushed out of their tents and arranged themselves in
battle-columns, whilst trumpet signals rent the air.
No sooner had the Grand Duke Nicholas departed than his brother the
Grand Duke Michael arrived to inspect the artillery. During his stay
the artillery officers gave a lunch at the military club. I was invited
to it, but was about to refuse, being very unwilling to go there alone,
as Sergy was not quite well. But there was no escaping from it, and
I had to accept the invitation. Countess Brevern, the wife of the
commander-in-chief, who was also going with her two daughters to that
lunch, offered to take me under her wing. When I was being presented
to the Grand Duke he did not recognise me at first, and taking me for
one of the young countesses he asked their mother which number I was.
“Your Highness does not recognise me!” I exclaimed indignantly. When the
countess named me, the Grand Duke pressed my hand warmly and said that I
looked so absurdly young, that there was nothing surprising at all that
he did not recognise in me such a respectable person as the wife of the
chief of the staff.
Lunch passed off gaily, and I was glad after all that I went to it. The
Grand Duke was charming to me and not at all ceremonious; I soon felt
quite at my ease with him, and entirely free from shyness. Altogether I
enjoyed myself thoroughly, although I had been dragged there by force
and considered myself a victim, feeling like a lamb about to be led to
slaughter, and compared that lunch to a disagreeable pill which had to be
swallowed.
In November Sergy had to go to St. Petersburg and took me with him.
Whilst there, I had the chance to be present at a banquet given in the
Hall of the Assembly on the day of the jubilee of the Academy of the
General Staff. With difficulty I got a place in the gallery, from where
I could see very well. As I was ascending the stairs, someone called me
by my name, I looked round and saw the Grand Duke Michael hastening up to
me. Putting out a welcoming hand His Highness exclaimed,
“You can’t say now that I did not recognise you and it will atone for my
former mistake, I hope!” to which I answered that the Grand Duke would
only be completely forgiven when I receive his photograph from him. The
very next day he sent me his portrait with his autograph.
Spring came with galloping speed. The date of the Coronation was fixed
for the 15th May. I went to see the Court Regalias exposed to view in
the Kremlin Palace. The crown and the sceptre, studded with precious
stones as big as nuts, amazed me by their incredible richness. On the
walls hung Gobelin tapestries and pictures taken from the Bible. Just
opposite the Metropolitan’s seat I saw a painting illustrating the story
of Potipher’s wife dragging Joseph by his legendary mantle. These heroes
of the Ancient Testament being very lightly clad, the police censor
had found it necessary to dress them in a more decent manner for the
Coronation, leaving at the same time, just next to that picture, a large
canvas representing a group of the “Happy Just” enjoying Paradise in a
completely nude state. I also went to see a fine assortment of State
carriages and the beautiful horses which were to drag them, pure white
Hanoverians all of them.
In Moscow wonderful preparations have been made in the way of
decorations. Our capital is in a state of extraordinary excitement.
Triumphal arches and large tribunes are built on the principal squares.
A great number of houses have their fronts decorated with carpets and
flowers.
Our old capital is crowded to its utmost. People come from all parts of
the world to see the ceremony of crowning. Every place in the trains was
booked weeks in advance. The troops of the Guard Regiments continue to
arrive from St. Petersburg. Along the streets move cavalry and guns. At
our entrance door a placard says, “Staff of all the troops quartered in
Moscow during the Coronation festivals.”
My husband’s eldest brother has arrived to be present at the Coronation.
He had to take part in the equestrian procession of the Russian nobility.
I went to see the rehearsal of it, and nearly choked with laughter at the
sight of the timorous expression painted on the faces of some of these
brave knights, who sat on their horses all of a huddle, and were wrapped
up in observation of their own movements. The nobility certainly did not
shine in the saddle. My brother-in-law’s neighbour, a stout and rosy
country gentleman, clutched at his horse’s mane and asked him anxiously
if his horse would not bite his heels, and confessed that he did not at
all feel safe, being quite out of practice now, not having been for some
twenty years on horseback.
The Emperor arrived at Moscow on the 8th May and drove straight to
Petrovski Palace. There is much to be dreaded during the Coronation
festivities, for the anarchists are not slumbering, and agents of the
secret police had to be placed on the whole way. The triumphal entry
of the Tzar into the town of Moscow took place two days afterwards. A
great crowd had assembled in the streets through which the procession
was to proceed to see the Emperor’s entry. I and my sister-in-law had
the privilege of being given good places on one of the tribunes built
on the square just opposite the Kremlin. It was at the risk of our limbs
and lives that we got there, being nearly crushed to death. We found
ourselves in a dense crowd and marched boldly through the throng, our
dresses leaving a good deal of themselves behind. We ventured within the
rope drawn to keep back the crowd, and nearly reached our places when
a new encumbrance arose, a row of soldiers refused to let us pass, but
their chief took pity on us and cut our way through his men. At last we
got inside the Kremlin with a deep sigh of relief.
We had to wait for the procession from early morning till two o’clock
in the afternoon. The day was grey, the sky looked threatening, it was
undoubtedly going to pour soon, and we risked being drenched as our
tribune was uncovered and our umbrellas had been taken away from us at
the entrance. But I was not made of sugar or salt, and preferred to have
my dress ruined and to be drenched to the bone rather than be deprived
of the beautiful sight which awaited us. To crown all, I was awfully
hungry, not having had time to breakfast before starting, and it had
been strictly forbidden to bring anything in one’s pockets for fear of
concealed explosions blowing everyone up. A lady sitting next to me had
a squabble with a policeman through an inoffensive orange which she
had taken out of her pocket. She was not allowed to eat it even in his
presence.
Outside the rope there was an indescribable squeeze. The crowd swayed
with a wavelike motion and made a rush besieging the barrier. The human
waves were kept back by several lines of soldiers and a double row of
policemen. Such a crowd was almost beyond imagination.
At two o’clock precisely the guns began to fire and the bells to ring a
full peal, announcing that the Tzar had left Petrovski Palace and was on
his way to the Kremlin. Soon the procession appeared in sight and the
crowd began to acclaim their Sovereign by loud cheers; all the heads were
bare. As I am a creature of strong emotions I, too, screamed to make
myself hoarse. The procession advanced in the following order: First
came a golden coach drawn by a team of splendid white horses in which
sat the Empress and the Grand Duchesses. The Emperor rode behind with
the Tzarevitch at his side, on a lovely pony. The Grand Dukes and the
officers of the guard regiments brought up the rear. The spectacle was
most imposing.
For three days the Heralds in heraldic costumes rode about the town
announcing by sound of trumpet that the ceremony of the Coronation would
take place on the 15th May.
The great day arrived. Long before six o’clock in the morning the streets
were black with excited crowds. I rose when it was only beginning to be
daylight and at seven o’clock we were already driving to the Kremlin;
it was printed on our tickets that after eight o’clock nobody would
be allowed to enter its enclosure, and that was the reason we had to
start so early. The large square was covered all over with red cloth.
Ministers of the State and officers in full uniform began to assemble.
The tribune on the opposite side was occupied by foreign Royalties and
representatives of the different Oriental countries in gala costumes
studded all over with precious stones. The Khan of Khiva was glittering
like the sun. The Grand Duke Waldemar, accompanied by a numerous suite,
came out of the palace and proceeded to the Cathedral of Assumption
where the Tzars are crowned, followed by all the members of the Imperial
Family, the ladies of the Court wearing the national dress of the richest
style, the Court officials resplendent in their gorgeous uniforms, the
Ambassadors of foreign countries with their spouses, the personages of
the first two classes and all the authorities of the town with my husband
amongst them. The bewildering variety of the many different uniforms,
both military and diplomatic, was striking. Our troops standing in long
rows, with the standard of every regiment, were an imposing sight. The
Metropolitan, with a mitre on his head, in magnificent vestments thick
with gold embroideries, followed by his Archbishops, came out of the
Cathedral to meet Their Majesties who were slowly descending the steps
of the wide marble staircase of the palace, coming out of the private
apartments to proceed to the Cathedral. The Tzar gave his arm to the
Tzarin, whose train was carried by four pages, behind came a long file
of ladies-in-waiting and maids-of-honour. A company of the regiment of
the Chevalier Guards walked ahead, behind them came forty-eight pages,
and a second platoon of Chevalier Guards brought up the rear. The day was
grey and wet, it soon began to rain, but it was indeed remarkable that
at the moment Their Majesties appeared, the heavy clouds broke away and
out burst sunshine, whilst a flock of white doves circled around them. At
the foot of the staircase sixteen generals aide-de-camps to the Emperor
supported a magnificent baldachin under which Their Majesties passed on
to the Cathedral to be crowned, whilst guns were repeatedly firing. At
the end of the ceremony there was a clamour of joy bells and the military
bands began to play our National Anthem. It was a thrilling moment and my
excitement was intense.
That evening Moscow was beautifully illuminated; the belfries of
the numerous cathedrals and the towers of the Kremlin glittered
with different-coloured lights. From all parts gushed out fountains
illuminated by Bengal-lights. I felt myself transported into dreamland.
The following days were a whirl of festivities. There were many
entertainments given to which I was bidden, but it was difficult to
get me to go anywhere. At the risk of being treated as a Vandal, I had
arranged my existence nicely without going outside to look for amusement.
I hate balls now, finding that dancing without a bit of flirtation is
only a ridiculous jumping about, and loving my husband as I do, I am not
the woman to be flirted with. I was told that the Grand Duke Michael
repeatedly alluded to my absence at the Court balls. He hinted to Sergy
that he was a Blue-Beard and kept me under lock and key inside a tower,
like a tyrant knight of the middle-ages. Mrs. Grundy is ever on the
war-path and people won’t let me alone for having cut myself from the
world. I wonder why they take so much interest in me when I do not take
the faintest interest in them. I do not care a fig for any one, having
the courage of my own acts and opinions, and care only to please my
husband.
It is difficult to understand me at times. I am not quite like other
people, being a thing of nerves and moods. One evening, when my
sister-in-law had driven away to a Court ball, I felt myself somewhat
like Cinderella, and as I couldn’t stand being left altogether out in
the cold, I seized the opportunity for a few frantic tears in private.
I daresay it was silly of me, but I couldn’t help it. Only fancy, my
sister-in-law is going to enjoy herself whilst I must pine away at home!
But the odd thing was that even if I had been persuaded ever so much to
go to that ball, I should not have gone.
A great festivity was given on the Khodinka Field for the people. On
both sides of the Imperial pavilion large tribunes were built for the
higher dignitaries of our town and the guests, and just opposite an
immense stage was set up for the mob. I sat surrounded by all the great
ones of the earth. As soon as Their Majesties appeared, surrounded by
a glittering court, the performances in the different shows broke off
and hurrahs were heard from all sides, whilst hats and bonnets flew up
in the air. After the patriotic enthusiasm got appeased, an allegorical
cavalcade in fancy dress defiled before us, after which baskets full of
fruit and sweets were dealt out to the populace. We had to dine in a
restaurant in the park, all our servants having a holiday that day.
The town-council organised a banquet for three thousand soldiers
belonging to the Preobrajenski guard regiment within a few miles of
Moscow, in a village bearing the name of that regiment. Our Emperor was
present at the festival; he walked round the refreshment tables set up
near the Imperial pavilion, and lifting up his glass, His Majesty drank
to the health of his soldiers who threw up their caps in the air and
shouted with all their might.
Many crowned heads had come to Moscow to see the Coronation, Prince
Amédée d’Aoste amongst them. He is said to have the Evil-Eye, and as I
am somewhat superstitious, I provided myself with a “Getattore,” a tiny
coral hand with two extended fingers. This Prince has really brought many
misfortunes during his life with him; one day the part of the tribune on
which he stood smashed and fell, another time a part of the ship on which
he was sailing was blown up.
By that time much of the excitement had calmed down and Moscow relapsed
into its former quiet. At the end of May our troops began to leave
Moscow. The regiment of the Chevalier Guards, with their band marching
in front of them, defiled before our windows on their way to the railway
station. At this sight, without knowing why, I burst into tears like
a silly that I was. I suppose it was due to the state of my nerves,
irritated by the unusual mode of life I was leading during the Coronation.
A great number of rewards have been distributed on account of the
Coronation. My husband having already got all the rewards due to the
rank of major-general, received as a present from the Tzar a rich gold
snuff-box set all over with big diamonds—a custom dating from the times
of the Empress Catherine II.
September came, bringing in premature cold weather, the rain fell
continually. These showers had their good side in laying the phenomenal
dust in the streets of our venerable old city.
CHAPTER XX
OUR JOURNEY ABROAD
An event occurred which overwhelmed me with joy. My husband was quite
unexpectedly sent to Italy to be present at the Grandes Manœuvres at
Milan. What a splendid surprise it was! We packed up and started on our
journey in the first days of June. As the manœuvres begin only in July,
we shall have plenty of time to wander about sight-seeing. First we are
going to the sea-side, and have decided upon proceeding straight on to
Boulogne-sur-mer. That will be a treat indeed!
The country between St. Petersburg and the Prussian frontier is very
uninteresting, nothing but flat corn-fields, woods and wide expanses of
pasture-land stretching on both sides of the railway.
When we arrived at the frontier some Prussian officials rushed into our
compartment, and having taken possession of our passports, they declared,
to our profound stupefaction, that we had to go out and began to fling
our hand-bags out of the window. We had scarcely time to jump out when
the train began to move, carrying away our heavy baggage which had been
more lucky than we were, and we were left to our own devices. It appeared
that our passports had not been signed by the German Consul in Moscow,
and although it was stated in my husband’s passport that he was going to
Italy on a special mission, these horrid Germans tumbled us out of the
train, finding sufficient ground for detaining us until permission be
received by wire from their Consul in Moscow to let us proceed further.
We stood for some time on the platform a picture of forlorn discomfort,
looking at each other helplessly, and trying to collect our scattered
wits. How perfectly dreadful it was! Our position can be better imagined
than described. We had positively no notion where to go and what to do
with ourselves. The day was closing rapidly, it would soon be night. What
were we to do? Sleep in the open air perhaps, for except the station,
there was not a house within sight, and to return to our frontier was
impossible, there being no other train that night. Clutching our bags we
mournfully entered a vast “Warte-Saal” where a party of bearded Teutons
were loading themselves with beer out of huge pint-mugs, and were all
talking at once amid clouds of tobacco smoke. The atmosphere making me
feel faint and dizzy, we hastened back to the platform in search of
the station-master to beg him to give us somewhere to lay our heads.
He came up to us, a fiercely moustached man, awfully stiff and puffed
up, and asked us what we wanted. We begged him, expressing ourselves
somewhat lamely in German, to give us shelter for the night. He led us
to his quarters and ushered us into a little slip of a room, low-roofed
and white-washed, furnished with two huge feather-beds with eider-down
quilts, where we felt ourselves as prisoners put under arrest. A bad
night is soon passed after all! The first thing I did was to remove, with
all haste, the obnoxious coverlet and lie down, but I could not sleep for
the stifling air in the room; I tossed and turned in bed till morning.
We started back to Alexandrovo with the first train without taking any
breakfast, not wishing to have anything to do with these detestable
Prussians. On arriving at the station, whilst taking coffee, we received
the longed-for telegram, and as we had to wait till evening for the North
Express, we decided to drive to Tzekhotzinsk, a small Polish watering
place, which is only a few miles distant from Alexandrovo. The journey
was extremely trying on account of the excessive heat, and the flies
which were pertinacious. We proceeded along a sandy road under a broiling
sun. At last we arrived. The Casino, a red-brick house hidden among the
trees, suggested repose and comfort. After having appeased our hunger
and quenched our thirst in the restaurant, we took a room and locked
ourselves up to have a good rest. After a refreshing nap, Sergy went to
explore the place. He returned after his stroll rather dissatisfied with
Tzekhotzinsk, and we decided to return to Alexandrovo at once. We were
surely taken here for a pair of unlawful conjugators of the verb “to
love,” for we merely came to perch like a bird for a couple of hours,
then to fly away.
When the North Express drew up at Alexandrovo we went to have a try for
a carriage to ourselves and had to give a good tip to the conductor who
ushered us into an empty compartment, assuring us that we should have
it to ourselves as far as Berlin; but at the first stopping another
guard came to announce that we had been placed here by mistake, this car
being bound for another direction. He proposed for us a compartment in
the neighbouring carriage; but if he imagined that he was going to be
as liberally recompensed as his cheat of a companion, he was very much
mistaken, for he did not receive even one kreutzer. We got thoroughly
punished for it, however, for when the train was going to start and we
had just composed ourselves for deep slumber, a lady and gentleman were
ushered into our compartment, an elderly Englishman on the wrong side
of fifty, particularly nasty-looking, and his spouse, a young person of
about nineteen, very nice to look at. Her husband called her “Baby,” and
bestowed caresses upon her all the way; but she didn’t seem to care a
cent about him and responded very phlegmatically to his advances. Well,
to have married such an individual she must have had great courage, with
not so much as a pair of tongs would I have touched him, and couldn’t
have married him if he was the only man in the whole world.
CHAPTER XXI
BOULOGNE-SUR-MER
Here we are at Boulogne, comfortably settled at the Hôtel du Pavilion
Impérial. From the window I can see the broad Atlantic and the sea-shore
which is so extensive that in 1855 Napoleon III. made the review of an
army of 40,000 men on it. The tides are very strong at Boulogne, the sea
is very high in the afternoon, the water rising rapidly with a great
splashing of waves, and towards evening it is quite low again. Bathing
is allowed only after the arrival of the life-boats at their station. In
bad weather, when the signals of stormy weather are hung out, bathing
is forbidden. We spent most of our time out of doors, taking long walks
by the sea-shore or wandering up and down the winding, sleepy, streets
of old “Haute-Ville,” and climbing up the ramparts with their pleasant
outlook on fields and ocean.
One day we visited the fish-market. The fisherwomen with their short
skirts and large white flapping caps, holding their arms akimbo, reminded
me of the traditional “Madame Angot.” We crossed over in a canoe to a
small beach where the fishermen anchor their boats at spring-tide. We
returned to Boulogne with a grey-haired boatman wearing a silver ear-ring
in one ear. He was a desperate Royalist, as it appears, and fumed all the
time during our crossing against the French Republic, thanks to which,
to his belief, morals had visibly decayed at Boulogne. He said that we
had no idea of the extent of corruption in this unhappy country, and how
disloyal the population was to their household traditions which they had
cherished for centuries. Wanting to prove to us that he had remained a
good Christian, he began to search in the pockets of his jersey for a
small silver cross, forgetting to row in the meanwhile; and just at that
moment whilst I was going hot and cold all over, a steamer came towards
us full speed and we narrowly escaped being upset.
On clear days the coasts of England are discernable; it gave us the
desire to cross the Channel. We never remained long in one place,
possessed with an insatiable appetite for novelty, and always wanted to
be somewhere where we were not; and now also we thought of remaining
here three weeks, but at the end of three days we decided to turn our
backs on Boulogne. I suggested that we should leave for London without
delay, with the mail-boat which started for Folkestone in the morning.
All the boats leave Boulogne when the tide is at its highest and not
at set hours. We packed up our things at once and asked for our hotel
bill, which proved to be a very long-tailed comet, quite three feet in
length. It took us some time to settle it, as we were short of change,
having only Russian money which was not accepted at the hotel, and as it
was Sunday all the exchange offices were shut. Our situation was very
embarrassing. At length the hotel manager took pity on us and accepted
our Russian coins.
We were just in time for the Channel-boat, but our first impression when
we stepped on board was not very favourable, thanks to a battery of
basins placed under the sofas of the saloon; I began to feel sick on the
spot and hurried up on deck where the air felt cool and delicious after
the close atmosphere of the saloon. Leaning on the rail, I looked out
at the fast disappearing French coast. There was no wind and the ocean
was as smooth as a lake. We had a first-rate passage and it only took us
three-quarters of an hour to get to Folkestone. We soon perceived the
white cliffs of England.
At Folkestone we took the express to London; the train rushed across the
pleasant English landscape. All around lay pasture of green velvet with
flocks of sheep grazing on the meadows. Soon tall chimneys rose against
the sky. Here was London! its suburbs look like one immense building with
an endless line of similar houses with boxes of red geraniums on the
window-sills, surmounted by numerous chimney-pots smoking in the misty
air.
CHAPTER XXII
LONDON
When the train drew up at Charing Cross platform, we hastened to collect
our belongings for there was nobody to help us down with our luggage,
and we had to find our way alone to Charing Cross Hotel loaded with our
hand-bags. We were accosted on our way by a little hunch-backed man
who pushed up to us on the crowded platform, a real ant’s nest, and
offered in very good Russian his services as guide, proposing to show
us the principal sights of London. He must know foreigners by heart to
have guessed our nationality at first sight. We turned deaf ears to
his importunities, fearing that miserable Æsop to be a pickpocket, but
he continued to trot steadily behind us and repeated: “Can I be of any
assistance.”
“Thank you,” we replied, “None is needed,” and we entered the hotel. The
porter handed over the number of our room to us which proved to be No.
575, then we found ourselves in the lift en route for the fifth floor.
As soon as we had repaired somehow, the ravages of sea and train, we
went out to saunter through London. When we emerged from the gates of
the hotel we again met Mr. Punch, our humpbacked pursuer, and this time
we yielded to his assertions that without his aid we should be lost in
the immense Metropolis, which he had at his finger ends, and arranged
a meeting for the next day at the “Café Gatti” for ten o’clock in the
morning. It appears that our guide is a Pole by birth, who had to leave
Russia for political reasons after the rising in Poland, and has been
settled in London for the last thirty years. This exile must be very
trying in his old age. An intense compassion sprang up in my heart for
the lonely old Pole, dismissed abroad to end his days, a friendless
stranger in a foreign land.
Next morning our guide awaited us at our rendezvous at the appointed
hour. We explored London thoroughly, crossing it from beginning to end
with the underground railway and other conveyances. It was mid-summer,
the season for London; in the streets it is all haste and crowding,
thousands and thousands of people all hurrying to some place or other.
Especially the crossing of the London Bridge, ploughed in all directions
by omnibuses, cabs and private carriages, all tearing this way and that,
made my head swim. We both drove and walked a good deal. The streets are
very dangerous to cross; our old guide went before us, bent in two, one
hand behind his back holding a stick. He was not very reassuring and said
that in London, according to statistics, about a dozen persons were run
over in the streets by carriages every day. In the City, the business
part of the town, the heavy market waggons drawn by great powerful
cart-horses especially attracted my attention.
We did a great deal of sight-seeing that day. We began with the
Kensington Museum where we saw, amongst the many treasures which the
museum contains, the first engine constructed by Stephenson, named by
him “The Rocket.” On leaving the museum we were privileged to see one
of the most interesting sights of London, the Houses of Parliament, on
the roof of which a lamp, the symbol of watchfulness and vigilance, is
burning continually. On our way from there to Madame Tussaud’s wax-figure
show, we passed the noseless statue of Queen Anne. This damage was done
by a hooligan who, profiting by the fog, climbed up the statue with the
intention of mutilating it, but he had only time to cut off the nose when
the fog cleared away suddenly and the miscreant was laid hold of.
In the main hall of Madame Tussaud’s Museum an orchestra was playing.
Amongst the many wax-figures we saw groups of Royalties in the robes
and jewels of other times. We were in the company of all the remarkable
old Kings and Queens of England and France. We stopped before William
the Conqueror, asking Matilda of Flanders to sit down, and Richard Cœur
de Lion in domestic argument with sweet Berengaria, whom Madame Tussaud
describes in the catalogue as a “Fair flower of Navarre.” Feeling thirsty
we entered a bar-room, where we took a sherbet. The waitresses who served
there were negligently dressed, with their fringes kept in curling-pins.
Their reign only begins at night, when they put on their best attire and
try to make themselves irresistible to their customers.
Still indefatigable, we went to visit Westminster Abbey, and saw the
hall in the Temple where Shakespeare played before Queen Elizabeth.
After that we had a stand up sixpenny lunch in a small and rather shabby
establishment, which consisted of one room only, where a white-aproned
cook fried mutton-chops served to us on a marble table on which
table-cloth and serviettes were conspicuous by their absence.
After lunch we went again strolling about and left ourselves just time
for a turn in Hyde Park before dinner. I begged for a four-wheeler
instead of taking a hansom to drive there, dreading that sort of
conveyance.
We were desperately hungry by this time and certainly we earned our
dinner that day, which we took at “Monico’s,” a famous restaurant not
only for the quality of the menu, but also for that of the guests. We
ended our evening in a music-hall, and came back to the hotel after
midnight to enjoy a well earned rest.
The following morning we ran down by train to the Crystal Palace where a
great festival was given by the Temperance Society. This palace is used
now for popular meetings, concerts, theatres, flower-shows, bazaars,
etc. We entered a hall of enormous proportions where we found a monster
musical gathering of some five thousand singers. A room was shown to
us especially assigned for strayed children who had lost themselves in
the crowd. In our presence a policeman brought there a small boy who
was shouting desperately, “I want mother!” There was great animation in
the extensive grounds all round. A dinner _gratis_ was offered to the
visitors, who belonged for the most part to the middle classes. They ate
their meal under the trees, and the grass was all strewn with egg-shells
and scraps of paper. As drink only beer was allowed. Two military
schools, with their bands at the head, defiled before us.
The pleasure-train which brought us back to London was taken by assault.
We ran from end to end of the long train in search of seats nowhere to be
found, until at last we were literally hurled into a crowded compartment
in which I squeezed myself between two fat ladies, taking up as little
room as I could. Though we were returning from a temperance festival,
there was a tipsy woman drunk with beer in the next car, who was leaning
out of the window shouting bacchanal songs in a voice thick with drink.
We left London on the following morning. Our old Pole exhorted us to
prolong our stay for another day, but we had no more time, and he saw us
off at Victoria station. The mail train that was taking us back to France
conveyed us swiftly to Newhaven from where we crossed by the ordinary
steamer to Dieppe.
The train stopped close to the landing-place. The sea looked horrible
from the pier, the wind was blowing strongly and black clouds hung over
the sea. The prospect of crossing the channel in such weather was not
enticing, and we were inclined to turn back to London, but it would be a
shame to be so chicken-hearted, and braving sea-sickness we decided to go
on.
We had hardly left the harbour when the steamer began to bounce and to
pick its way from one wave to another, giving us the impression of a
swing. I proved to be a miserable sailor and went below at once and put
myself into the hands of the stewardess, who quickly placed a basin under
my very nose. I lay prostrate on a sofa in the ladies’ saloon; my head
was very bad and everything went round. What miserable creatures all my
cabin companions were! woefully sick all of them. Sergy, much less liable
to sea-sickness, remained on deck all the time. He came to see how I was
and said I had better come up on deck, but I was too deadly ill even to
answer him.
It took us six hours to get to Dieppe. We looked ghostly when we landed
on the pier, where a large crowd had assembled to see the passengers
fresh from a rough channel passage. I was so happy to be on dry land. I
would rather die than endure another half hour of sickness. We saw on the
pier Mme. Kethoudoff, one of our Moscow friends, a French lady married
to an Armenian. That couple was compelled to strictly fulfil the French
proverb, _La parole est d’argent et le silence est d’or_, (speech is
silver and silence is gold) as Mr. Kethoudoff does not speak a word of
French, and his spouse completely ignores the Armenian language. Mme.
Kethoudoff had settled at Dieppe for good. She received us with open arms
when we stepped on shore, and carried us away to her own house, situated
on the “Quai des Écluses.”
I had not yet recovered from our rough passage and felt all the time
as if the ground tottered under me. I tried not to think about the
treacherous sea but couldn’t, for the ocean was there, just in front of
our windows, in all its vastness.
Mme. Kethoudoff had at dinner that day the _Vicaire du Pollet_, a rosy
and plump curate. This gossip-loving priest was a great favourite among
his lady parishioners, to whom he was very fond of confiding little bits
of scandal.
We took our after-dinner coffee on the balcony and saw the swing bridge
giving passage to a Spanish vessel which was leaving the harbour. At
nine o’clock in the evening a retreat was sounded from the neighbouring
barracks. At the first beat of the drum the soldiers hastened up to their
quarters from all parts of the town.
In spite of Mme. Kethoudoff’s hospitality, we moved that same night to
the Hôtel des Étrangers, where we shall feel ourselves more at home and
independent.
I lay in bed late next morning. After breakfast we went for a walk on
the beach; the weather was rainy and the sea uniformly grey, nothing but
furious waves around us. The monotony of this sea-shore unnerved me. We
shall probably not make a long stay here. Neither is the bathing very
agreeable at Dieppe; it only takes place at the hours of low water, and
the bottom of the sea is so rough and stony that the bathers are obliged
to put on sandals with very thick soles.
The rain having stopped in the afternoon, we drove to “Puits,” a small
place consisting of lovely villas. Our driver, who was very talkative,
gave us the pedigree of all of them. The prettiest villa belongs to
Alexandre Dumas Fils, who is residing here at the present moment.
The next day was the eve of the National Festival of the French Republic.
There was a “Retraite aux Flambeaux” (a torch retreat) in the evening.
The soldiers began to beat the tattoo and marched through the crowded
streets holding lighted torches in their hands. They were preceded by
a military band and a body of fire-men. The whole town had a holiday
air about it. The carriages being stopped that day, the middle of the
streets was occupied by groups of women wearing their best clothes, who
promenaded to and fro, coquetting with their young men arrayed in blue
blouses.
Very early next morning the maid came to knock at our door begging us not
to shut our windows as the cannon was going to be fired. It appears that
the proprietor of the hotel was afraid our windows would fly to pieces,
although the cannon had been placed at a great distance and there could
be no danger whatever that such a thing should happen. Guns must surely
be very rarely fired at Dieppe to procure such a panic.
The greater part of the inhabitants of Dieppe are anti-republicans, and
the Mayor of the Town had to go himself to the “Vicaire du Pollet” to beg
him to hoist the Republican flag over his house.
At nine o’clock there was a review of all the troops quartered at Dieppe,
consisting mainly of a battery of infantry, on the large square before
the hotel. I threw on my morning-wrapper, and in slippers, my hair
hanging loose, I made my way to the next room which was free at that
moment, and the windows of which looked out into the square. I was busy
critically observing the military evolutions when suddenly there was a
sound of footsteps, the door opened behind me and an elegant couple was
ushered into the room by the manager, who was going to let it to them.
The pair surveyed me quizzically whilst I fled hastily, ashamed to be
caught thus.
After lunch we went to see the games and all sorts of public amusements
on the square: rocking-horses, targets, foot-runs and what not! A slight
railing divided the fashionable world from the world that works, only the
local aristocracy, ultra-provincial I must say, was admitted within the
enclosure. The prizes for the most part consisted of different foods.
The crowd gathered around the chief attraction, a climbing post with
a gigantic leg of mutton at the top of it. The native lads could not
succeed in reaching it; taking toss after toss they slipped from the pole
to the ecstatic joy of the onlookers. At last a young fellow had nearly
attained the tempting prize, but he could not keep up on the pole and
fell to the ground weakened by the strain of his position, without his
leg of mutton. We stopped before a stall with brass medals bearing the
inscription _Vive la France!_ When I asked if there were any medals with
_Vive la République_ the woman who sold them answered in a voice full of
indignation that she did not keep such horrors.
For some days the bad weather kept us indoors, it came on to rain as if
it never meant to stop. Warmly wrapped up in a shawl I passed many dull
hours lolling rather disconsolately in an easy chair, listening to the
monotonous song of the wind in the chimney—a lively way to pass the time!
We were growing very weary of Dieppe; I am absolutely sick of the place,
and the best thing we can do is to pack up and go. As there was nothing
to keep us here we decided, one wet, gloomy afternoon, to fling Dieppe to
the winds and start for Paris, thence to travel right out to Switzerland.
CHAPTER XXIII
PARIS
When our train stopped at the Gare St. Lazarre, we got a fiacre and drove
to the Hôtel de la Paix, a large, ponderous edifice, one of the most
stylish hotels in Paris. I waited in the cab whilst my husband went with
inquiries for an apartment, hoping all the time that Sergy would not find
one to his taste, for I hate these stiff and grand hotels. It turned
out as I wanted, there was no room to our disposal, and so we betook
ourselves to the Hôtel de Calais, an unpretending house situated in one
of the most elegant quarters.
We spent a whole fortnight in Paris, which is a lively and beautiful
city, the jolliest place in the universe. I was quite in raptures with
the French Metropolis and the numberless attractions it offers. I woke
the next morning in high spirits, pleased with the idea of being in
Paris. The street-vendors and news-boys awoke me early, shouting each
their wares. Here goes a woman wearing a hat with the inscription “I
shave dogs,” who is leading a beautifully shaven poodle by the chain.
The poor animal seems quite worn out, and lies down on the pavement at
every two steps. I was overcome with pity for that unfortunate living
advertisement and felt still more sorry for a young woman turning a
barrel-organ with one hand, and rocking her baby, laid down in a sort of
cradle, with the other one.
Though we are of a roving disposition and seldom remain long in one
place, being always between two trains, in Paris we never thought of
being dull, rushing about to theatres, concerts, etc. The weather was
faultless; after the London fogs and damps the sky appeared to be
especially blue. In the afternoons I was out on shopping expeditions. The
“Grands Magasins du Louvre,” so well described by Zola in his novel _Au
Bonheur des Dames_, especially attracted me. Before their huge stalls one
might idle away many pleasant hours. There are such wonderful “Occasions”
to be got, such lovely costumes, which fitted me like a glove but cost
a tremendous lot; I devoured them with greedy eyes. Sergy is awfully
generous in money matters, there is nothing in the way of dress, jewels,
luxury that I couldn’t have if I wanted them; the instant I admired
a dress, or a hat, he would say, “You shall have it.” Sergy is such a
delightful husband! he is so good that I look on his shoulders every day
for wings. One afternoon between two fittings in one of the numerous
dressing-rooms in the “Louvre,” not much larger than a cupboard, I felt
dreadfully fagged and entered the “Salon de Lecture” to rest a little.
Turning over some French papers I came upon a paragraph entitled “Asia,”
and was awfully indignant to see that it contained recent news from St.
Petersburg. Shall we ever be considered as Europeans, I wonder?
Walking one day on the Boulevards our eyes fell upon an inscription in
large gilded letters “Korestchenko Magasin Russe.” In one of its windows
we saw a manifesto of the recent Coronation of our Tzar, and were told
that a Russian traveller had left that paper to be sold for 40fr. The
address of a Russian restaurant was given to us in that shop, to which
we immediately proceeded, wanting to enjoy the different dishes of our
national cookery, the foretaste of which was delicious to me. But a
great deception awaited us. We didn’t perceive any Russian element round
about; the proprietor and the waiters were all French. Noticing our
disappointment we were told that the cook was a Russian, and that was
some comfort. We sat down at a table with a cloth that was not too clean,
took up the menu-card and studied it through. It appeared very copious
and made my mouth water. But alas! all the dishes that were served to us,
beginning by the famous _stchi_, our national cabbage-soup, with scanty
bits of over mature mutton, were horrid, and so was all the rest. We only
lunched on a herring and a glass of milk. Hungry and cross we directed
our steps to a neighbouring French restaurant, where this time the tasty
menu did not deceive us.
We then went to the “Jardin des Plantes,” visiting in the first place
the part of the gardens where the useful plants of the whole world are
exposed; amongst them we saw our native sunflowers, at the sight of which
a sudden pang of home-sickness came over me. I was beginning to pine
already for my dear old country, for my motto is and always will be:
“There’s no place like home.” Life is so much more open and free in our
Alma Mater! It is true that every piece of ground is cultivated abroad,
but one feels restraint in everything here, everywhere one meets with
peremptory orders to keep off the grass, and with placards saying, “Do
not walk here, do not touch that.” This restraint is especially felt
by myself who am so fond of freedom and space. We just ran through the
mineralogical museum, close to which grows a gum-tree planted in 1636,
and then entered the Monkey Pavilion where the Fathers and Mothers of
mankind (according to Darwin) performed all sorts of tricks and gambols,
obtaining a great amount of laughter. Amongst other curiosities of the
“Jardin des Plantes” we saw a white sheep with two black heads and a
calf with five legs. In a separate Pavilion is shown the skeleton of an
enormous whale caught in the waters of the Seine in 1847. I had a ride on
the elephant and felt rather frightened to be perched so high up on the
back of the great beast. I had also a ride in a car drawn by an ostrich;
before starting I asked the conductor laughingly if his bird would not
fly away up in the air with me. It was tremendous great fun!
We returned to our hotel for dinner and then went out for a drive in
the “Bois,” full of carriages, horsemen and pedestrians. In one of the
remotest parts of the park a merry band of collegians were playing
football whilst their tutors, black-robed curés, rested under the trees.
On our way we passed the “École de Médecine,” on the front of which there
is an inscription saying, “Liberté, Fraternité, Égalité,” and just below
some passer-by had written with a bit of coal, “Vive Henri V.,” (the
Duke of Chambord), meaning quite the reverse of these three words, and
propagating Monarchy.
The next day being Sunday, we went to hear mass at the Russian church.
The singing was beautiful, but our priest, with his hair cut short, did
not at all harmonise with the rest of the Orthodox surroundings. After
lunch, we had a nice trip by boat to St. Cloud. We had lunch there at a
small inn over the entrance door of which we read with eager eyes, “Lait
Frais,” (Fresh Milk). A simpering red-armed and rosy-cheeked servant girl
in a pink print dress, appeared wiping her hands with her blue apron; she
spread a brown cloth upon a table standing in a green harbour under a big
walnut tree, and served us a frugal repast, consisting of milk and eggs.
A few steps from us stood a pair of scales with a placard saying, “Come
and see how much you weigh before and after dinner,” serving, surely,
as a catchword to this inn, as over the door there was a painted hand
pointing to the scales. After our cosy meal, we walked gaily through the
grounds of St. Cloud, enjoying our walk as two big school children out
for a holiday.
On our return to Paris we were not yet too tired to go to the “Musée
Grévin,” where we made a long halt before a group of wax figures
representing the Coronation of our Emperor. All the personages were
unrecognisable, the cadets of the “Corps de Pages” were arrayed in
costumes dating from the time of Louis XV. Another group also represented
a Russian scene, the capture of a band of anarchists at work in a secret
printing office, in which it was the police agents who looked like
villains, and the anarchists like innocent victims. It interested me
greatly to listen to the opinions of the passers-by upon this group,
they made such funny comments! Not wanting to disclose my nationality,
the idea came to me to give myself out for an Englishwoman, and I asked
Sergy, who didn’t speak English fluently, to answer only in the negative
or the affirmative to all I should say, and catching his eye I passed
the signal, making him understand when he was to say “yes” or “no.” He
acted his part fairly well, and two French ladies were taken in. They
endeavoured to make me understand the meaning of the criminal printing
office, and one of them said to me in the very worst English, “This scene
takes place in Russia, here is the Russian God,” (pointing out to an Ikon
of St. Nicholas hung in one corner of the printing office). Then, this
well-informed person, wanting to flatter my national pride, added, that
this Museum could not be compared to Madame Tussaud’s wax-work-figures in
London.
Our stay in Paris was drawing to a close. It was with much regret that
we had to bring our delightful visit to an end. As we had plenty of time
to spare before the beginning of the Italian manœuvres, it was settled
we were to go first to Switzerland. The number of our trunks having
considerably increased during our stay in Paris, we decided to cut down
our luggage to the minimum, and left our big boxes to go straight on to
Moscow through a transport-office. The chief of this office, a fat little
jew, put himself quite at my disposal and proposed to forward to me in
the future, all the _Nouveautés_ appearing in the Paris shops for all the
seasons, through his office.
CHAPTER XXIV
ON OUR WAY TO LUCERNE
We started on our tour through Switzerland and went full speed in an
express train to Lucerne. The scenery around us was lovely. Passing
through the province “La Champagne,” so rich in vineyards, we perceived
small white cottages with the vines in front. On the mountain slopes
bunches of newly-mown herbs were scattered; men and women were helping
to heap the grass into heavily laden carts. I was in ecstasies over the
marvellous landscape that met our eyes immediately after leaving Liège.
The delightful panorama reminded me of the Caucasus, only it was more
pacific and thickly populated. Our train ran through countless tunnels
and went twining in and out through patches of pasturage, so green,
smooth and rich; big fat cows grazed lazily thereon. The road zigzags
all the time, the sun appearing alternatively on our right or our left.
The steep hills are covered with dense forests through which cascades
are pouring down. We were winding higher and higher with every mile. The
cars are very comfortable, with a long corridor along the side, where
one can walk up and down. Feeling cramped with sitting, I went out there
to stretch my legs, and saw a young man undeniably good-looking, whose
appearance spoke the last word of fashion and who resembled a tailor’s
model from a Paris shop-window. He twisted his moustache and stared so
hard at me that I hurried back to my place, but this hunter of petticoats
followed me and sat down on the vacant seat opposite to me. I settled
myself far back into my corner and tried to hide myself behind my book,
but every time I raised my eyes I met his stare. A draught of air blew
in from the corridor “Shall I shut the door?” suddenly ejaculated the
passenger by way of opening conversation. I said “no,” the “no” of a
woman who was not to be drawn into a talk. Disregarding my cold tone,
he insisted on lending me his rug, tucking it round my knees and under
my feet, but I disencumbered myself hastily from his coverlet, which
was very efficacious in lowering his enterprising spirits, and put that
brazen-faced swell quickly into his place. It was a good blow to his
self-conceit, he evidently took offence and left me alone.
CHAPTER XXV
LUCERNE
Here are the Alps towering in all their glory, their immense contours
sharp and clear. A few minutes more and our train stops at Lucerne. We
were warned that the principal hotels at Lucerne were always full during
the season, and that we had better order rooms beforehand by telegram,
so we wired for an apartment at the “Hôtel Schweizerhof,” but it led to
nothing, and when the omnibus pulled up at this hotel we learned, to our
disgust, it was quite full. A superior-looking gentleman at the desk
announced that he had no single room disengaged at present. We were told
to come next morning and there might then be an apartment free in the
meanwhile. Thanks to our telegram a room had been provided for us in a
private house just opposite. We followed a waiter who showed us the way
there, and mounted to our room in anything but a sweet temper. It proved
to be small but bright and perfectly neat and had nice beds disappearing
completely under huge eider-downs, with linen smelling of lavender.
The furniture was simple, the walls hung all over with framed portrait
groups of antiquated photography; amateur pictures of our landlady’s
parents stared down at us over the mantlepiece; on one side of them hung
a flaming heart made of red paper and on the other a small crooked mirror
in which we could see only half of our faces reflected in it; I have seen
nature insulted but never to such an extent. On the mantlepiece enclosed
in a glass case stood a clock which didn’t mark the hour. Our landlady, a
stout, comely-looking woman, proposed coffee and was altogether nice to
us.
The next day we went for the promised room at the “Schweizerhof,” but the
manager, with his hands in both his pockets, announced curtly that there
was no room free until evening. There remained nothing else to do but
to walk away in quest of another apartment. After a pretty hot chase we
succeeded in finding a comfortable room at the “Hôtel National,” on the
second floor, with a good view on the lake, looking big as a sea, and the
majestic Mount Pilatus, from where Pontius Pilatus is said to have thrown
himself into the lake after the crucifixion. The legend goes that he fled
from Jerusalem and wandered about the earth with a troubled conscience,
and put an end to his misery on the heights of Mount Pilatus by drowning
himself. From our windows we could also see the port where the steamers,
black with people, were coming and going all the time, carrying away
crowds of passengers in different directions of the beautiful lake.
We are going to be here a week and make trips round about. I am prepared
to be delighted with everybody and everything.
Next morning we took our luncheon on our little railed balcony in cool
comfort. The weather was clear and we had a very good view of the distant
ranges of mountains and the snow-hooded Alpine peaks.
There are charming drives round about. After breakfast we took a carriage
and drove out of town along a well kept road. We were out in the lovely
undulating countryland amid vineyards and orchards. I feasted my eyes on
the beautiful country-scene, and inhaled with delight the sweet smell of
the perfumed meadows and fields, where the grain was tall and golden.
We saw a tourist camping in the fields under an improvised tent made by
means of his cloak suspended on his stick, making water-colour sketches
of the lovely landscape. Our driver wanting to give a rest to his horse,
stopped before the “Jardin des Glaciers,” where an old guardian was
explaining the museum belonging to this garden, to a little group of
anxious sight-seers, in monotonous tones. An immense plan worked in
relief of all the Swiss cantons especially attracted our attention. Close
by the “Jardin des Glaciers,” the “Lion de Lucerne,” is carved out of the
rock of the cliff. His size is colossal; the great beast’s protecting
paw rests upon the “Lilies of France.” This gigantic thing serves as a
monument to the memory of the Monarchists killed in France during the
horrors of the Terror. (A singular mausoleum for a Republican country!)
On our way back to the hotel, we crossed a long covered wooden bridge
which contains about three hundred pictures by old Swiss masters. We got
back to the hotel just in time for lunch. I generally avoid being on show
at tables-d’hôtes and was very displeased with Sergy for insisting on
my going down. My eyes wandered rapidly about the table and it did not
improve my appetite, for everybody was so unattractive! Just opposite
me sat a fat bejewelled matron, who had made her appearance on this
planet some seventy years ago at least, and who at a prehistorical period
could have been rather nice; but she did look such a guy now, dressed
ridiculously for her age and outrageously painted, with black circles
about her eyes which made them look like goggles, and a permanent blush
palpably not due to nature. Her old face and youthful clothes presented
an alarming contrast, but she considered herself still irresistible
and affected little moues and attitudes that sat incongruously upon her
elderly looks. She rolled her eyes like a love-smitten cat, showing off
her rings and bracelets, and coquetted with her neighbours showing her
false teeth in a hideous grimace. This old crony was a laughing-stock to
everybody; she saw these mocking glances, but being completely satisfied
with herself, she evidently attributed them to envy. She stared about
her with a long-handled lorgnette and turned it rudely on me, eyeing
me disagreeably. I returned her stare with a look of defiance. Already
put into a nervous state by the cross-fire of masculine and feminine
glances, I could not eat my lunch, and as soon as the horrid table-d’hôte
was at an end, I hurried up into my room and indulged in a good cry. By
dinner-time I was still in the same mood and would not go down, declaring
that I had no appetite. I was much too disfigured by weeping to dine even
at a separate table.
Next morning when Sergy went to take his bath in the Réus river, his
bather, an old retired Swiss soldier, asked him if it was true that our
Russian soldiers served under arms the whole year. In Switzerland, as
it appears, the soldiers are only assembled during eight weeks; every
two years they assemble again for the grand manœuvres, and this is all
the service the Swiss warriors go through. It is true that they have
not at all a martial air, arrayed in long coats that touch the ground
and tangle about their legs. After lunch we went for a sail on the
“Lac des Quatre Cantons,” and had a delightful trip to Fluelen; with a
gentle breeze we steamed off on the smooth waters. All the passengers,
English for the most part, wearing leather gaiters and green Tyrolese
felt hats with a feather in them, were laden with Alpenstocks with a
bunch of Edelweiss on the top, and with cameras and knapsacks strapped
upon their backs. We had dinner on board, whilst a troop of Tyrolese
singers danced on the deck. On the blue and limpid lake fishermen were
spreading their nets and preparing their tackle for the day’s labour.
Here is a steamer coming towards us; the waiters on it are waving their
napkins, instead of handkerchiefs, saluting their comrades on our boat.
We are passing now the tiny chalet of “Wilhelm Tell,” situated on the
shore of the lake. A little further on we saw a large monument erected
on the rock to the memory of Schiller. We glided for some time side by
side with a railway train which made off in the direction of St. Gothard,
appearing and disappearing in numerous tunnels. Roaring water-falls and
picturesque cascades leap from the heights of high and steep hills. We
are now approaching the village of Fluelen, the nearest spot to the snow
mountains, whose white peaks were dazzling on the blue sky.
On approaching the small town of Viznau, from where one mounts by a
funicular line on the summit of the Rigi-Kulm, a vast hill mounting
to the sky, we saw an engine inclined almost perpendicularly, pushing
one car up the steep mountain. From the peak, tumultuous torrents
formed by the melting of the snow fell down. The road up the Rigi is an
extraordinary piece of engineering, and how the funicular manages to
climb it, is a matter of surprise. The weather was so clear that we could
actually see the people walking about on the top of the mountain, and it
gave us the desire to follow their example the next day.
We were back at Lucerne towards evening, and after taking tea, we sat for
a short time in wicker-chairs under the chestnuts on the quay and went
to end our evening to the theatre to see a new play. I felt thoroughly
fatigued and dozed off during the performance. The play appeared awfully
dull and I thought the acting was atrocious, so did everyone, for the
curtain dropped and nobody applauded.
The next morning we started from Lucerne to make the ascent of the
Rigi-Kulm. We went down the lake on a steamboat and got ashore at Viznau.
I was eyeing the ascent above me with great awe. It was not an easy
affair. We had to climb a road leading skyward, like an interminable
staircase, by the funicular railway. It was incredible that the
locomotive, standing on his hind legs so to speak, should creep up the
mountain; I thought no one but a goat could surmount it. The funicular
contains two cars, roofed but open from the sides, the seats are tilted
back, which enables the passengers to sit level while going up the steep
incline. Whether going up or down, the engine is always at the lower end
of the train. The passengers sit backwards going up, and face forward
going down. Our engine began to climb laboriously the steep mountain
which is 6,000 feet high, grappling slowly step by step to the toothed
rails, having on each side gigantic precipices clothed with pines. Loud
cataracts roared below unseen. The road lay between high granite walls.
Through a gap in the rocks unfathomable depths disclosed themselves
below us, chilling my blood and making me dizzy. I gripped Sergy’s arm
pinching him very hard, but Sergy, whose nerves were stronger than mine
and who didn’t see any danger at all, said laughingly to me that it was
quite unnecessary to give him the blues, but I only grabbed his arm the
tighter. The view grew fairer and fairer as we mounted. From here one
could see the four lakes in the shape of a cross, on which the water
appeared a smooth sapphire floor sparkling with sails no bigger than
pin-heads, and the far stretching large and fertile valley. Now we began
to climb up a narrow bridge thrown over a precipice at the bottom of
which a rapid torrent rolled. I will not pretend I was not frightened,
I was very. Footpaths are traced for pedestrians here and there. We
saw a tourist resting against a huge stone in the crevice of a rock.
We crawled higher and higher till we met the clouds that rested on the
mountain sides. We are in the clouds now. The sun is shining above us and
underneath the whole space is covered with thick clouds forming a milky
ocean, and screening our way completely.
When the clouds dispersed, we discovered wonders in the immense Alpine
landscape, and made out in the distance a group of cows with huge bells
on their necks, lying phlegmatically amongst the clouds. All at once
there was a full stop, it happened to be a drowsy black cow, immovable
and contemplative, lying placidly on the rails, which we had nearly
run over. The air grew quite chilly; though warmly wrapped up I was
shivering with cold and Sergy drew his cloak close round me. Our fellow
travellers had their collars turned up to their ears, I could only see
the tops of their glowing noses; my neighbour, a thin, poorly looking
individual wearing a chauffeur’s cap, had tied his handkerchief over it.
The wind was very strong and I was nearly thrown off my seat and clung
terror-struck to the sides of the car, wishing that I had never consented
to this aerial drive. We had left below us every vestige of vegetation.
A flight of rooks are screaming overhead. At every stoppage our ears
begin to tingle. At last we have reached the final bit of ascent to the
summit of the “Rigi,” and have to quit our car. We can hardly see two
steps before us. Suddenly out of the fog came the sound of a bell: it was
a sign given from the “Rigi Hotel” in order to aid us to find our way to
it in the thick mist which enclosed us. We walked slowly one behind the
other, following the direction the sound came from, and shivering with
cold.
On reaching the Hotel, perched on the top of the mountain, we entered a
large dining-room filled with a cosmopolitan crowd of tourists, sitting
at a long table-d’hôte, who have assembled here to survey the sunset
from the mountain top. It was delightful to get into the hall with
the thick fragrant warmth of a fire of monster logs burning in a huge
chimney-piece, reaching half way to the ceiling, which could easily
contain a whole tree. We sat down at table and were soon thoroughly
warmed by the steaming soup. There was a loud animated talk, in a curious
mixture of languages; you might hear every tongue of Europe: there were
Americans, Germans, Englishmen and a large number of countrymen of
ours. Directly after dinner, the whole company climbed up the last bit
of rough land which led to the top of the summit of the “Rigi-Kulm.”
I found it tiresome work ploughing our way slowly towards it, but the
view from there was more than a compensation; we seemed to look into
fairy-land, and though I was by no means a sentimental person, I uttered
a cry of delight in looking forth on the wide expanse of hill, forest and
plain that lay beneath us. Suddenly a cloud rolled by beneath our feet,
completely obliterating the landscape. Sometimes the mists would part
and disclose glorious views, then again they would form an impenetrable
curtain. The keen mountain air was very fresh on the windy summit, and
everyone was shivering and jumping about to keep warm. After having
admired this spectacle, we returned back to the station in order to make
the ascent of another peak of the “Rigi,” the “Schneideck.” We plunged
again into an ocean of clouds, nearly at hand’s reach.
When the clouds cleared away, we mistook forests for patches of green
grass, and mighty trees for thorn shrubs. It was as if we gazed down from
a balloon. An odd sensation, I had never experienced it before! When we
reached the _Kaltbad_ station, a group of yellow-haired children brought
us bunches of Edelweiss, a small white flower which grows on the top of
high mountains. _Kaltbad_ is famous by its splendid and spacious hotel,
full of bustle and movement. The vestibule was filled with English and
American tourists, walking about and talking. They all seemed to know
one another. The hotel has a splendid situation about two thousand feet
above the sea-level, and offers every possible comfort to its guests.
Notwithstanding its great altitude, it has every modern improvement,
even gas-works. We were far above the clouds, whilst we took our coffee
on the verandah. A storm broke out beneath us suddenly, peals of thunder
resounded and the rain began to fall in torrents, whilst above us the sky
was perfectly blue and the sun shone brightly.
On our way back to Lucerne, at the sight of the descent we had to make,
terror seized me. It looked the most break-neck thing in the world, and
it made me quite giddy to look down into the valley which is about nine
hundred feet below. The hill was so steep that you felt as if you were
going to pitch head first down it when you began to descend.
We got back to our hotel just in time for our well-earned dinner. The
next day, having put our heavy luggage in deposit at the warehouse, we
proceeded on our journey, and went to rove about Switzerland. In the
first place we are going to Interlaken. We have reached Alpnacht by
steamboat, and had great difficulties in getting seats in the brakes that
run to Interlaken, the passengers had to take them by assault. We waited
for our turn with a surprisingly long delay; the huge conveyances, with
six powerful horses put to them, were filling fast, and there were still
no places assigned to us. At last we were provided with a supplement in
the shape of a landau. There was room for four in our carriage, two
seats were already occupied by a very cross German lady and her daughter,
who looked at us as if they wished to order our instant execution. They
were most peevish companions and grumbled all the way that _der Papa_
had been placed into another supplementary conveyance. We made sustained
efforts at conversation, but only received rebuffs. Really, I quite
expected them to bite us.
We proceeded at a brisk pace, changing horses only once. At twelve
o’clock we stopped half-way in a little hamlet where luncheon had been
prepared for us in an inn named _Au Lion d’Or_, whilst our horses were
being changed. The table-d’hôte was served by pretty apple-cheeked
waitresses dressed in the quaint costume of the Swiss peasant. They
wore red skirts and black velvet bodices edged with little buttons
of sparkling steel, with a flowered silk kerchief crossed over their
breasts, and a golden cross on their necks.
It was time for us to move on. When we returned to our carriage we found
it had another occupant, the cross lady’s husband, _der Papa_, a little
man with a big red moustache, who declared in a very rough tone that the
seat belonged to him. It appears that it really was his place, and that
his wife had exchanged seats of her own free will with two other German
travellers. One of them immediately on starting, leisurely took off his
coat, putting himself at his ease, and sat all the rest of the journey in
his shirt-sleeves. The carriage went slowly winding up a long ascent. The
road crept on between mountain slopes; close at hand the great form of
the Jungfrau rose white to the sky. The ascent was difficult enough and
when a specially steep bit was coming, the coachmen descended from their
boxes to ease the horses up the rough track, walking by them and pulling
vigorously at their long clay pipes.
CHAPTER XXVI
INTERLAKEN
Close to Interlaken we took the train for about ten minutes. Interlaken
is situated in a narrow pass encircled by a range of sparkling white
mountains, behind which rises the majestic _Jungfrau_. This coquettish
little town seems to be specially built for tourists, there are almost
nothing but hotels in the place. The room which we occupied at the _Hôtel
des Alpes_ was furnished Swiss style, with a cuckoo-clock and cupboards
in the walls; there were antimacassars everywhere, and two blue vases on
the mantlepiece with everlasting flowers; on a small table lay a bible
and a hymn-book.
Next morning when I looked out of our windows I saw a wonderful sight,
the snow-capped _Jungfrau_ emerged from a mantle of clouds, a glittering
dazzling mass with a background of shimmering snow-clad mountains. It is
most fortunate that the summit unveiled to-day, as it is only seen on
rare occasions.
Our excursion to the Glaciers was arranged for eight o’clock, and the
conveyance that we had ordered the day before stood at the door of our
hotel, a mountain chariot with horses jingling with bells. We set off
in the gayest of spirits. Our driver cracked his whip, and away rolled
the carriage. Soon we were hurrying along the valley road, and passed
meadows strewn with wild flowers. We took three hours to mount to the
Hotel Eiger. On our way we met peasant girls with loaded baskets on
their heads. On the slopes villagers in large straw hats were cutting
down the grass, and women in bright-coloured skirts were working in the
potato-fields. Here comes a procession of carts laden with blocks of
ice procured from the Glaciers, dragged by patient sad-eyed oxen. In
the distance the echo of an alpine horn and the cries of some peasants
resounded. We overtook a peasant woman jolted like a basket on the
back of her mule. After a mile or two the road began to mount, and our
tender-hearted driver climbed down from the seat and walked at the
horses’ heads, driving off the troublesome flies which stuck to his
steeds. We crossed a tidy little village consisting of but one straggling
street. The roofs of the houses are covered with lathings, with big
stones laid over them, in order that the wind should not scatter them
about. Behind the rusty gates flaxen-haired children stared at us. On
the front of a tavern we saw the picture of a bear with the pleasant
inscription, “_Lait Frais_,” written underneath. Close by, on the front
of an hostelry, we read, “_Les voyageurs qui descendent chez nous seront
contents_”—(The tourists who put up at our house will be contented.) A
year ago there was fearful damage done in the valley we were driving
through, a huge block of rock fell down from the cliffs and hurled itself
into the valley, destroying a house which was taken clear away. We had to
pass that square stone that looked like a monument in the middle of the
road. We wanted to stop before a wicket with a finger-post pointing to
it with the inscription “_La Chute Noire, 25 centimes par personne_” but
our driver said it was not worth while as we could see this same Chine at
free cost a few paces off.
The road was interrupted here and there by gates which were opened by the
village children, who received coppers for it. Before a wooden bridge
in the form of a Swiss Chalet, we were met by a party of barefooted,
yellow-haired brats, provided with long branches to chase off the flies,
and square stones to put under the wheels on steep ascents. They followed
us during a whole hour, waving their branches and singing Tyrolese songs.
We plodded on steadily for three hours. Having reached the Hôtel Eiger
we ordered saddle-horses, and went to the glaciers by a narrow way, with
the rock-wall at one elbow and perpendicular precipices at the other.
The rough path was so narrow that we had to ride one below the other,
treading a road where a man would have scarcely room enough to pass.
The cleverness of our horses bewildered me, one false step would have
thrown us headlong into the gap. We could ride no further and had to
dismount at the foot of the glacier where we took a special glacier guide
to take us up, and sent our horses to wait for us on the highway. Here
the snow mountains rose close on us. Green pasturages had disappeared
and all appearance of summer gradually faded into a perfect winter; the
snow began to fall in masses, all presented a Lapland scene, nothing but
snow and ice. The guide after having provided us with alpenstocks and
blue spectacles, made us pass through a damp cavern the soil of which was
mouldy with dew and drippings from the roof.
Two shrivelled old women, wrapped up in shawls, with lilac cheeks and
noses, were singing Tyrolese songs, with tremulous voices, in that
grotto, accompanying themselves on the cithern, blowing their purple
fingers in the intervals. When we came out of the cavern we saw a group
of working-men occupied in sawing enormous blocks of ice which they
dropped down the mountain on rails. Now we began to climb to the Glacier
which was no childish play. The guide after pinning up my skirt led the
way. We advanced very slowly, climbing higher and higher, pricking the
sharp ends of our alpenstocks into the ice, running the risk of tumbling
down into the deep ravines and leaving no trace behind. We had masses
of snow to climb over and large abysses to leap over; soon greater
difficulties awaited us. We had to climb a staircase simply propped
up by a snow block; there was no path at all now, only crevices and
precipices—it was chaos in short. The guide who had a sure foot, chopped
steps with his ice-axe in the ice, and we were hoisted by him from a
foothold to a foothold. He exclaimed at the courage I showed and said I
was a capital hill-climber and called me “Sehr Brav.” In the distance we
heard the crash of a downfall of snow. Half-way up we sat down and took
a brief rest, our backs against a rock and our heels dangling over a
bottomless abyss. The guide insisted upon my swallowing a drop of brandy
from a tumbler slung by a strap over his shoulder.
It was worth while to overcome all these difficulties to attain the “Mer
de Glace” a fairy-like icy-kingdom. I was amazed by the vast and lonely
beauty of these interminable uplands of ice; we were well repaid for our
climb by this scenery of wildest beauty. On our way back we left the road
and descended by the rough track to the lower route leading to the Hotel
Eiger by a short cut, where we expected to find our saddle-horses, but
when we had gained the road they were nowhere to be seen and we had to
walk the entire remaining distance to the Hotel Eiger with the sun right
over our heads. We got to the hotel red-faced, breathless and foot-sore.
Our tempers suffered as well as our legs and we were so displeased with
the manager for having given us such careless guides, that we wouldn’t
take any refreshment at the hotel and hastened back to Interlaken. On
arriving there we had dinner brought into our room and then went straight
to bed. It was an unspeakable comfort to stretch my weary limbs between
the cool sheets.
CHAPTER XXVII
MONTREUX
On the next afternoon we started for Montreux intending to remain there
about three days. We put up at the Hôtel du Cygne. Our windows opened on
Lake Leman bordered by high snow-clad mountains, which lay like a mirror
before us. Far away, the jagged summit of La Dent du Midi revealed itself
in a dazzling and lovely garb; on the opposite side of the wide lake
appeared the shores of France.
The next morning we rode to Chillon where we visited the mediæval
castle, historically old and famous. The Château de Chillon stands on a
small island which is reached by a bridge. An old guardian produced a
large bunch of keys and took us all over the castle, down a labyrinth
of mysterious echoing passages with many hidden nooks. It is a place
full of thrilling historical associations; to hear the guide talk of
the massacres that took place here, made my blood run cold. Down steep,
winding steps we followed our guide into the secret chambers where the
victims were kept. He brought us into a dungeon where Bonnivard, the
famous “Prisoner of Chillon,” endured his weary captivity, chained up to
a post three hundred years ago. It has tall columns carved apparently
from the rock, inscribed all over with a thousand names beginning
with Byron and Victor Hugo. The torture-chamber was also shown to us,
where the prisoners, after hideous martyrdom on the bed of tortures,
were sentenced to death. We saw the huge stone upon which the victims
condemned to death spent their last night. After long tortures to some
of them it was announced that they were free, and believing that they
were going into liberty, they joyfully descended the three steps which
led into a deep pit and fell down upon sharp-pointed daggers. A shiver
ran through me when I passed the open square where the gibbet stood, and
saw the windows from which the corpses of the executed were thrown right
down into the lake. Now we were entering the apartments of the duchesses
which opened on the lake, whereat those of their husbands looked into the
courtyard. As it appears in olden times also the first place was given to
the ladies. Then pushing open a heavy oak door we entered a great vaulted
hall paved with stone quarries and adorned with figures of knights in
armour, with a monumental granite fire-place at one end. We went out
of the gloomy castle as fast as we could, and were glad to be back at
peaceful and modern Montreux.
The next day we went out on donkeys for an excursion up in the mountains.
We were up very early, drank our tea in a gulp, and were ready to start
by seven o’clock. Our long-eared steeds were already at the gates of the
hotel, waiting for us; we mounted them and rode towards the mountain
called Les Avants. My donkey’s name was La Grise and Sergy’s bore the
valiant name of Garibaldi. Though the guide boasted of his donkeys being
_bien gentils_, nevertheless, they had to be harpooned with a pointed
stick all the way to make them advance. We were warned that Garibaldi,
being a stallion, must not be allowed to walk behind La Grise, who
pressed herself amorously to her companion, and stopped at every moment
to clip the grass, stooping so low that many a time I nearly came to
tumbling over her head. Still my donkey could be stirred up to a gallop,
urged by our guide’s stick; but Garibaldi was not true to his name, being
very lazy, and every few steps he would stop short, and the guide had to
walk at his side so as to keep him on his legs. Sergy, fearing to remain
behind, was tugging at the recalcitrant quadruped, but this stubborn
little ass was in one of his sulky moods and absolutely would not gallop.
As we strolled along, gigantic flies pricked the poor animals, and La
Grise strove to kick them off with her hind leg. One can easily imagine
how comfortable I felt in my seat. We took three hours to mount to the
summit of the mountain; the road was heavy and the heat overwhelming. We
made a halt half-way and sat on the grass under the shelter of a great
oak and ate the excellent lunch we had brought with us. A brook ran clear
and shallow at our feet. The view from here spread on the whole valley
of the Rhone, girt out with snow-capped mountains, Lake Leman, Vevey and
Clarence. From where we sat we saw the lake on our left through a frame
of foliage, and green mountains on our right where sheep were quietly
browsing. During our _siesta_ our donkeys were placidly cropping tufts of
grass, whilst Garibaldi, being at war with the flies, slapped my umbrella
with his tail all the time. We descended to Montreux by a cross-road,
following a steep path in the hollow of the rocks.
Next day we started to Chamonix. On reaching Martigny we had to quit
the train which was going to Simplon. The journey from here has to be
accomplished in a wretched carriage, over precipitous roads and rough
ground. A peasant, wearing a blue blouse, offered his _patache_ to us, a
battered, shabby-looking vehicle with a prodigious rattling framework,
drawn by two sorry-horses. We jolted in our shaky, springless car,
bounding over big uneven stones; the sky was laden with black clouds
running before the wind, and soon rain began to fall. Whilst we were
crossing a village where a group of women were washing their linen in a
pond, one of the women, an acquaintance of our charioteer, offered him
her blue cotton umbrella, big enough to protect a whole family from the
downpour. The road narrowed and became rougher and rougher, the foot
passengers even had to scramble on the rocks to give us passage. We began
to climb a path lined with precipices winding and twisting through the
mountain-passes, and here we met an old grey-haired curate mounted on a
donkey, who called out to us saying that there was not much room for us
to pass each other, and, in fact, the road was the worst to be met with
in a civilized country. When we arrived at the summit of the ascent, we
saw a big wooden crucifix standing against the sky and near it stood a
pole with a placard stuck to it saying, that one-horse conveyance only
could pass in this place; and so one of our horses had to be taken out
and attached behind to the carriage.
Towards evening we arrived at Brientz, an Alpine village buried among the
hills, at a few minutes’ distance from the very summit of a huge mountain
clad with perpetual snow. As it was getting dark and we had still a long
way before getting to Chamonix, our charioteer pulled up his horses at
the door of a cosy hostelry where we put up for the night. The inn proved
to be old-fashioned and clean. We were shown by the inn-keeper into a
clean, white-washed room, where supper was offered to us, consisting of
cold chicken and eggs. A robust maiden with blooming country cheeks and
rather staring eyes, came in and laid the cloth. Directly after supper, I
returned to my room and was already in bed when Sergy brought me a glass
of fresh foaming milk. The rain had ceased by this time and we breathed
the good scent on the pasture grounds coming through the open window.
A stream, tumbling its way busily over the rocks, made a never ceasing
music of its own, and a jingle of bells came down from the village
church ringing for vespers. The nights are chilly at the height of five
thousand feet, and this time we were glad to have eider-downs to keep us
warm. There was a great storm in the night; it is well our charioteer
advised us to stop here. We were out of bed at break of day to resume
our journey. The weather promised to be fine, the sun shone brightly.
We saw on the verge of a forest a withered old granny bending under the
weight of a bundle of twigs and fallen branches that she was bringing
home for fuel. As we drove along, whilst our horses were climbing slowly
up a steep hill, we encountered a band of children with knapsacks on
their backs, climbing up the hill on their way to school. The girls had
quill-pens sticking from under their hoods. Sergy spoke to the children
and made them a little examination in geography. Their answers were
satisfactory, they pointed out on their maps the place where Russia
stands and received some coins in recompense. Soon before our eyes,
amongst the glittering peaks of the Alps, rose the majestic “Mont Blanc.”
Not long after, Chamonix was reached.
We put up at the Hôtel de la Croix-Blanche, facing the chain of the Alps,
with “Mont Blanc” showing its snowy cone. On the public square, just
opposite the hotel, stands an immense telescope. We took a look through
it and saw the top of “Mont Blanc,” brilliant with sunshine. With the
naked eye we could dimly make out a house standing by the side of the
great glacier and with the telescope we could see a caravan of eleven
persons making the great ascent, surrounded by the eternal snows. I had
a great wish to follow their example and go up the “Mont Blanc” to enjoy
one of the most famous views in the Alps. The weather is most favourable
for the ascent just now, and we decided to start on our “Mont Blanc”
expedition on the following day. We got up early and equipped ourselves
for the expedition, putting on proper mountaineering large nailed boots
with heavy soles. Before starting we went through a hurried breakfast in
the dining-room, in the company of a French traveller and an individual
wearing a blue blouse, very dirty-looking and with a flavour of the
stable about him. He appeared to be the charioteer who had brought that
traveller from Martigny, and who had his driver at the same table with
him. It was horrible to see how that creature half swallowed his knife
when he ate. He was very familiar with his passenger and conversed
with him as with an equal. Oh, republic! It was time to start on our
thrilling mountain expedition. Our mules were led up. As our guide swung
me awkwardly into the saddle, my mule “Nini” made a sudden start and I
went sprawling full length on the ground. It was an excellent beginning!
We followed a narrow track leading to the mountain “Montauvert.” The road
now threatened to dwindle into a goat-path. There were only a few inches
to spare on each side of the road-shelf. We were surrounded by hideous
desolation; a more wild spot it would have been difficult to discover.
Everywhere towered the great cliffs, destitute of tree and herbage. The
cold increased the higher we got. By and by we seemed to have passed
beyond the inhabited zone. The beautiful snows of the Alps towered in all
their glory in front of us. An eagle was flying low overhead. Presently
we came to the path in the hills which must be ascended on foot. We
retained here a special guide with an alpenstock in his hand, an ice-axe
in his belt and a coil of rope over one shoulder, and proceeded to the
“Mer de Glace.” We passed before a group of huge dogs lying beside a
cannon which was fired as usual when the passage of the “Mont Blanc” is
about to be undertaken. The sound of the gun resounded a long time like a
echo in the mountains. The climb was excessively fatiguing. We were roped
to our guide and moved in single file; the guide, nimble as a goat, went
in front, I next and Sergy behind. We drove our alpenstocks in the snow,
in order to support ourselves; the guide cut steps with his ice-axe with
one hand and held me with the other, and as fast as he took his foot out
of one of these holes, our feet occupied it. After a quarter-of-an-hour’s
climb in the snow desert, we arrived at the “Mer de Glace” and were
filled with speechless admiration at the splendid panorama which spread
before our eyes. We found ourselves in snow fairy-land. Oh, how high in
the air I felt! The large continent of gleaming snow was a spectacle
of silent majesty and infinite grandeur. Around us lay vast plains of
untouched snow, a wonderful white world! The desert of ice that stretched
far and wide about was like a sea whose deep waves had frozen solid.
I have never before seen anything so impressive. Though very weary I
climbed conscientiously, dragged up by the guide. The waves of ice were
slippery and difficult to climb. We took our way across yawning and
terrific crevices, up to our waist in snow, running the risk of being
precipitated into the abyss. This mode of ascent must surely cool the
ardour of the most enthusiastic Alpine climbers. All of a sudden we
heard, not far off, the cracking of the ice, and suddenly an avalanche
fell a few steps from us with a noise of rolling thunder. We had a near
escape, thank God! Rapid torrents produced by the melting of the snows
tossed all around us in cascades. I suffered from the so-called mountain
sickness, and becoming exhausted with thirst, I stopped kneeling to drink
greedily at a crevice from an icy stream; the water was deliciously cold
and refreshing, but it was enough to make me catch my death of cold.
Overcoming almost unsurmountable difficulties we arrived at the “Mauvais
Pas,” the most dangerous part of the ascent, a break-neck path around
the face of a precipice of fifty feet. We here had to plant our feet on
a piece of rock as large as a cricket ball, on the very edge of a deep
precipice and to creep insect-like. This infernal passage well deserves
its name, it is really a veritable _Dante’s Hell_. The road is a mere
shelf projecting along bottomless precipices. How to proceed became a
puzzle. There was hardly room to stand upon our feet and nothing to hang
on by but a thin iron rod to keep one’s equilibrium. I felt a nervous
shudder come over me and the guide did not soothe my fears by the cool
observation that a false step would send us headlong. I recommend
that passage to persons searching for strong emotions. We reached the
end of the dangerous passage safely; one last effort and the “Mauvais
Pas” was got over. It took more than five hours to overcome all these
difficulties. One minute more and I shouldn’t have been able to make
another step. At last we reached the “Chapeau,” a sort of inn with a bar,
serving as a shelter to Alpine climbers in case of bad weather. We found
there a company of old fogies, wearing hideous hats with green veils and
blue goggles. They appeared to be awful screws; finding that the milk
offered to them was too expensive for their purses, they went themselves
to draw water from a spring near-by. Now we began our descent and reached
the high road by a short cut, where our guides were waiting for us with
our mules. We descended by the valley and had another two hours’ ride
before arriving at Chamonix. I was so done up that I could hardly sit
in my saddle, and envied our guides, who walked briskly alongside. They
invited us to repeat the great ascent on “Mont Blanc” next year, and
said that the mountain-sickness which I had felt was just the same as
sea-sickness, one gets accustomed to it by repeated practice. Just now
there are about 300 guides at Chamonix. They obtain their rank as Alpine
guides when they reach the age of twenty-three, and only after having
escorted a caravan of tourists, right to the top of “Mont Blanc;” before
that they have to undergo a medical inspection, just like recruits.
We had left Chamonix at ten o’clock this morning and it was close upon
eight when we were back to the hotel, simply expiring with fatigue and
tanned red with the sun. When I looked into the glass I scarcely knew
myself. I had no want, no desire except to stretch myself full length in
a horizontal line. I stumbled into my bed and was asleep almost before my
weary head touched the pillow.
After a night’s rest, we rose refreshed and invigorated; all the
hardships of the ascent of the day before were forgotten, and I felt
ready to recommence our Alpine exploits and go again mountaineering, but
time pressing, we had to go on to Geneva. Our sojourn in the mountains is
at an end.
After luncheon we packed ourselves into the huge two-storied diligence
named _La berline du Mont Blanc_, which was to convey us to Geneva.
Intrepidly I began the ascent of the steep ladder, of twelve steps,
placed against the side of the omnibus. This giant coach, driven by three
pairs of horses, contains twenty-five places. The postillon sounded his
horn, the driver flourished his long whip, and we started off full speed
surrounded by a cloud of dust. We sat higher than the passengers on the
top of London ’buses, and I had the feeling as if we were looking out of
a window from a house three stories high. We drove for some time along
the picturesque sides of the river “Arve,” which twisted like a silver
ribbon through the smooth green pastures. The road led up and down a
continual succession of hills. The coach soon turned into a woodland. My
neighbour, an old lady who indulged in a sweet dose, her drooping head
giving abrupt nods back and forward, gave little gasps and woke abruptly
when we passed high trees, having to take care of the treacherous
topmost branches which scratched our faces. The jolting of the omnibus
made me also feel drowsy, but I was soon wakened up by the shouts of
little peasant boys and girls who ran behind the diligence barefoot and
bareheaded, and importuned us to buy the bouquets of wild flowers which
they offered for sale, and fruit laid in baskets fixed to long poles.
They continued to run and insisted until they lost breath. At the last
station fiery, fretful horses were put to our carriage; before starting
they pawed the ground impatiently, tossed their heads and were disposed,
in general, to give a great deal of trouble. When we started off at a
rattling rate, I heard our coach-driver say to his neighbour that his
horses weren’t to be trusted; of course it did not help me to feel safe,
especially when we had to drive alongside the railway line, where a
passing engine scared our steeds, who bolted and plunged wildly, nearly
upsetting our coach. We made a smart entry into Geneva, at full gallop,
with a loud jingle of harness-bells.
CHAPTER XXVIII
GENEVA
We put up at the “Hôtel des Bergues.” From the great bay windows of our
sitting-room we could see far out over Lake Leman and the distant chain
of mountains cut sharply against the deep blue sky. After having taken
off the dust of the road, we went for a drive through the town, though I
was awfully tired and felt the jolting of the omnibus still. Our driver
having guessed our nationality, drove us straight to the Russian church.
A party of English tourists were doing it with red Baedeckers in their
hands. A guide, who was giving explanations to them, found it necessary
to explain to us, pointing out the image of Alexander Nevski, one of
our most venerated saints, that he had been “Un grand personnage de la
Russie” (a notable Russian personage).
In passing the Public Gardens, we saw a coloured placard glued to
the wall, announcing that a tribe of “Samoyedes,” brought out from
Russia, from the government of Archangel, were exhibited in the
gardens-enclosure. As it was a little corner of our Fatherland we went in
and were greatly disgusted to see these Samoyedes devouring huge chops
of raw meat, dipped in warm blood. Ugh!... the horror!... The Esquimos,
after having ended their nasty meal, rode all around the gardens in small
cars, driven by reindeers. There are only four of these animals left now,
the rest have been devoured by the savages!
It is time for us to leave the land of William Tell, and to push on to
the Italian lakes and to Milan. I am glad to leave this country, for the
rarified mountain air does not suit me at all.
From Lucerne to Goeshenen the road is very wild and hilly. Our train
plunged in and out through numerous tunnels and rushed round curves in
deep cuttings. After having crossed a bridge thrown over a bottomless
abyss, we arrived at Goeshenen, where we stopped to pass the night in a
homely little inn, pompously called Hotel, with green shutters to the
windows and a bit of flower garden in front. The inn looked very cosy
and inviting. After having lunched upon a cup of tea, we took a carriage
with a pair of horses, with brass harness and bells, to make the ascent
of the famous St. Gothard road. The driver cracked his whip and off
we went. The road mounted up and up, all over rocks and precipices and
the wheels were perilously near the edge all the time. We wound through
a narrow gorge, the river Reuss roared in the depths. Long lines of
mountains were sharply defined against the profound blue sky, their
summits veiled in clouds. Snow lay in dark hollows which the sun could
never reach, and water-falls poured down the hills. The higher the
carriage rose, the more thrilling was the savage landscape. We approached
now the famous _Pont du Diable_ (Devil’s Bridge) and saw on the polished
surface of a rock an enormous coloured reproduction of Beelzebub, with a
long tail and a red tongue hanging out of his huge mouth, holding in one
hand a trident and a flaming torch in the other. Nothing remains now of
the ancient “Devil’s Bridge,” which our field-marshal Prince Souvoroff
had crossed with his army, going to fight against Napoleon Bonaparte.
We passed over a modern bridge leading to the other side of the gorge.
The spray from the Reuss; which here drops a full hundred feet into the
abyss, lashed our faces as whips. The foam of the river was splashing
over it. We dashed now through a vaulted gallery where we found ourselves
out of the reach of falling stones. It was very damp inside, the ceiling
and walls are always dripping; stalactites dangled heavy diamond fringes
low over the roof. We drove against the wind and great clouds of dust
swept across the road. We ran now into a zone of ice-cold air, there
is no vegetation at all in these high altitudes, only the sides of the
mountains are covered with thickets and bushes, where flocks of sheep and
goats were grazing, under the guardianship of wild-looking shepherd boys.
The great silence is only interrupted by a far-off ringing of bells from
an Alpine village belfry, far below us. As we got higher up, the road
was deep in snow, which continued to fall heavily. We ascended further
and further and finally emerged upon a plain with a mountain lake formed
by the melting of the snows, and came to the top of the ascent, having
reached the height of over 23,000 feet. Suddenly after a steep ascent,
we saw before us a tall lonely mass of grey stones, built upon a rock.
It was the “Hospice” a sort of hotel, which used to be a monastery. Two
big dogs of the St. Bernard breed welcomed us with joyous barkings. We
ordered a dish of macaroni and a flask of _chianti_, and started back to
Goeshenen. The atmosphere was chilly and the harsh, bleak wind made me
shiver. Our driver taking pity on me, put his rug around my shoulders,
but, alas, it appeared that it had many holes.
Our train left early in the morning, and we had to be up before six. We
hastened to the railway station and took seats in the last car, in order
to see the entrance of the great St. Gothard tunnel. The guide cried out
“_Partenza!_” the train moved, and we went with a rush into the black
unknown for more than twenty minutes. A wavering light glowed here and
there at long intervals. When the train flashed out of the tunnel, we
entered the Canton of Tessino. Our train slid down zigzags through narrow
passes, from valley to valley. After Chiosso—the Italian frontier—the
railway line ran through comparatively flat country. At about nine in the
evening we arrived at Milan.
CHAPTER XXIX
MILAN
We have a vast and splendid apartment at the Hôtel de la Ville with a
lovely ceiling, mostly angels and smiling cherubs floating about in the
clouds, and a floor paved with marble. We passed a restless night; it was
so hot, and the mosquitoes were such a nuisance! The roar of the street
came to us, and till sunrise belated passers-by sang jolly songs at the
top of their voices. The next day we took another room which looked into
a quieter street. Even during the night the heat is intolerable, and I
have to fan myself vehemently instead of falling asleep. We remained
indoors the whole afternoon. From within came the sound of a piano. In
this artistic city the air seems full of music, which is here as common
as speech. There is nothing but singing from morning till night. We went
down to dinner at table d’hôte. A queer company was dining at the next
table: two extra-smart Brazilians and a young person of small virtue,
with a thick paint on her face and a very loud voice. She seemed on easy
terms with her cavaliers, who were on close attendance on her. They
all looked as pleased as possible with each other and exchanged loving
glances quite openly. The Brazilians made known to their lady-love, who
was a Frenchwoman, in broken French, that they had been hunting all over
the town for her, and as her address was unknown to them, they had to
apply even to the police!
Immediately after dinner we went out for a drive. Milan is a very
fine city. Our guide pointed out all the places of interest. The
cathedral attracted our especial attention; it is a perfect lace-work
of carving, all in white marble, marked, alas, by merciless age. We saw
the _Castelli_, an immense open circus, which can hold thirty thousand
spectators. Reviews of troops and public entertainments take place in it.
In about half-an-hour the _Castelli_ can be filled with water; it serves
in winter as a skating rink, and in summer nautical fetes are organised
there. We walked through the _Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele_, the largest
arcade in the world, which has the form of a Latin cross, and contains a
great number of shops, restaurants and cafés, with little tables all over
it, and people sitting at them eating, drinking. The arcade is roofed
over with glass, and illuminated by two thousand gas-jets, which can be
lighted in one moment by the aid of small automatic engines. At nightfall
the streets of Milan are filled with flirting couples, sitting in dark
corners, the women’s heads on their gallants’ shoulders; what they say
to each other was not hard to guess. The masculine population is not to
be pitied here, for the women, for the greater part, are very pretty
creatures, wearing on their heads black lace mantillas like Spanish
ladies. They don’t look as if they felt the awful heat at all, the lucky
creatures, whilst I am painfully hot and red. At every crossing we saw
policemen dressed in long black coats and top-hats, holding great sticks
and looking like funeral attendants. On our way back to the hotel we
heard a funeral chant, and next moment appeared a procession of monks,
their faces covered and only their eyes seen, and their hands hidden in
their full sleeves, walking two and two.
The following day at dinner we saw again the French _cocotte_ and her
bronzed cavaliers, who this time appeared insensible to her charms, their
temperature having fallen to below zero. Her fickle lovers had only
monosyllables at her disposal. They took no notice of her and ate their
dinner.
The principal theatres of Milan are closed in summer, except the “Dal
Verme,” where we went to see a new play. The theatre is awfully dirty,
the curtain all in holes and the chair-backs wear the trace of the
spectators’ feet. The performers were all second-rate and the play rather
boring.
This night again we were roasted alive. It is impossible to remain longer
in this furnace, and we decided to go on to the Italian Lakes to look
out for a comfortable boarding-house where I could put up during the
manœuvres. The morning, as if on purpose, was comparatively fresh, the
sky overclouded and the rain coming on; still we did not put off our
journey and took the first train to Como. This town, with its Gothic
cathedral, is very pretty. It is situated on Lake Como and surrounded
by verdant mountains. Immediately on arriving, we took a carriage
to Cernobbio, a little place where you take the boat to Bellaggio.
The trip only occupies twenty minutes. Our driver pulled up at the
entrance door of “Villa D’Este,” a beautiful old palace transformed
into a large palatial hotel, standing in a garden of orange and lemon
trees. The house had once been the residence of Napoleon Bonaparte.
The dining-room is decorated with rich tapestries incrusted with the
letter “N” in gold, surmounted by the Imperial crown. In the library
we saw a large veiled figure, the statue of “Love and Psychè,” covered
with gauze in order not to shock the prude spinster ladies of blameless
morals dwelling in the hotel. After a hasty luncheon, we came out upon
the beach, and I sat down to wait for the boat. I was that day in one
of my nasty moods, in the humour to pick a quarrel with anyone, and
Sergy’s imperturbable good-temper was a source of greater irritation
to me. Poking an inoffensive pebble viciously with my umbrella, I said
some detestable things to Sergy and was altogether horrid. Fearing lest
I should say too much, I made myself the solemn vow not to pronounce
one single word until I went to bed that night. And there we sat, side
by side, with faces apart, in gloomy silence, when suddenly the idea
struck Sergy to establish me at Cernobbio, whilst he would attend the
manœuvres. He sat thinking for a while, then rose and strolled down by
himself, investigating the neighbourhood to try and find some hotel where
he wanted me to spend about three weeks. He soon came back to tell me
that he had found out a nice boarding-house kept by a German lady, Frau
Weidemann, just opposite the landing place. Being tongue-tied I could
only nod approval, meaning “Yes, it suits me exactly.” In the meanwhile
our boat approached and took us to Bellaggio, where we had dinner at
the Hôtel Grande Bretagne. It was a depressing meal, during which I
maintained an absolute silence. After a stroll in the splendid park,
which surrounded the hotel, the boat took us to Lecco, where we arrived
too late to catch the evening train for Milan, and had to put up for the
night at the modest little hotel bearing the name of “Zwei Thore.” The
hostess ushered us into a room with a pointed ceiling and an enormously
high bedstead. How pleasant it was to get rid of my vow of silence, which
was becoming unbearable; for a whole day I had kept my lips sealed,
although my anger had sensibly evaporated. When the hostess left us we
became reconciled upon the spot, and all was right again.
Next morning we were back at Milan, and went to visit the “Campo Santo.”
This vast cemetery is a veritable museum. We wandered about, looking
at the tombstones, reading names and epitaphs. I noticed a great many
beautiful monuments, including those of some fearless people who gave
themselves monuments and erected shrines during their lifetime. We
admired the mausoleum of Mario, the celebrated tenor, which is surmounted
by his bust, with his favourite “cavatina” incrusted on a metal plate.
The poor folk are buried in a remote corner of the cemetery; their tombs
are all level, with black crosses and the number of the tomb painted on
white labels. After the lapse of ten years all the bones are gathered
together in heaps, in large boxes, and placed in the charnel-house. When
we approached the Crematory Temple, we saw smoke coming out from the
chimneys, and were told that the corpse of an Austrian engineer was being
consumed at that moment. This dismal procedure generally takes about an
hour-and-a-half, and costs fifty francs. When we entered the Crematory I
felt somewhat frightened, and the odour was so sickening that I thought I
must faint, and felt sorely in want of smelling-salts, but the guardian’s
pretty daughter seemed to feel quite at her ease in that ghastly kitchen,
and ate her luncheon with great appetite. I hadn’t the courage to peep
into the Crematory furnace, but Sergy perceived the corner of the huge
frying-pan upon which broiled the corpse of the Austrian engineer. His
wife and children, who were present at this awful ceremony, didn’t
appear much impressed by it, and chattered on gaily all the time. It had
been too much for my nerves, and when we were back at the hotel I went
straight to bed and had a good cry.
CHAPTER XXX
VILLA D’ESTE
On the following day we started for Cernobbio to spend a week at the
Villa d’Este. Our apartment was large and airy; the marble floor and
white-washed walls looked agreeably cool, with windows and balcony
looking out on the lake, and the hotel terrace with flights of white
marble steps descending to the water’s edge. A boat belonging to the
hotel was anchored near it.
I went early to bed that night, and just as I was going to fall asleep,
I heard a chorus of men’s voices singing to a guitar accompaniment. I
jumped out of bed and saw a boat moored to the terrace, in which a dozen
men, gifted with fresh, strong voices, were giving us a serenade. The
moon came up at that moment, silvering the lake and lighting up the
scene. I leant out of the window to throw some coins in the direction of
the singers, who were making the round of the group of visitors who had
gathered on the terrace. I was very much disenchanted when I was told
that these minstrels were, all of them, citizens of Como, who, having
their day’s work done, floated on the lake and sang ballads.
Time passed slowly, one day like another. The heat obliged us to stay
indoors all the afternoon, and I was glad to rest in our cool room.
After dinner, we took long walks in the park surrounding the hotel, with
mediæval castles, turrets, fountains and water-falls. On the top of a
hillock stands a pavilion named Il Bello Sguardo, from which you have a
full view of the lake. One morning we went for a row on the lake. I was
at the wheel, and Sergy, taking off his coat, rowed on for an hour or
more. Our light skiff flew like a bird on the beautiful lake, which is
fifty miles long. The shores are lovely, surrounded by hills covered with
fig-trees, olive-trees, pine-trees, like big open umbrellas, and rich
vineyards. The edges of the lake are strewn with pretty villas of the
nobility of Milan, with splendid gardens stretching down to the water.
The wonderful southern vegetation amazed us; orange and lemon trees,
laden with fruit, grow in groves in the open air. As there is no road,
there is no approach but by water to the villas; nearly all of them have
a small separate embankment. One of the prettiest villas belongs to
Taglioni, the renowned ballet dancer, who in long past days delighted
our grandfathers. A little further on we saw the villa belonging to Mme.
Pasta, the celebrated French actress. On its frescoed fronts different
musical instruments are painted. Bellini once upon a time had been on
a visit to Mme. Pasta, and the piano on which the great composer had
improvised his music, is kept there as a relic.
We went another day by steamer to Menaggio. The hills that encircled
these shores are covered by poor vegetation, only dull olive trees here
and there. We were startled by the formidable report of the dynamite
blowing up the rocks which are to serve for the building of houses; the
hills all around caught up the sound and echoed it from one to the other.
From Menaggio to Porlezza we continued our trip in a carriage, and took
the boat again to Lugano. The Swiss frontier begins on the middle of the
lake, and thus, for a short time, we found ourselves on Helvetic waters.
Towards night we returned to Como by the railway.
Baron Rosen, the Russian military attaché at Rome, came to spend two or
three days at the Villa d’Este. We saw a great deal of him; he devoted
his whole attention to me, and offered me his escort for moonlight
promenades, but I preferred to regain prosaically my bed rather than
stroll with him about the moonlit park. He called me obstinate and
matter-of-fact, and said that I had warm water instead of blood, and
that, like the “Sleeping Beauty in the Woods,” I was asleep to the whole
of life’s pleasures, leading the existence of a nun; but his agreeable
task to wake me up did not succeed.
The heat continued to be overpowering, then one morning, after many days
of waiting, the rain fell, but in the afternoon, the sun was ablaze, and
again there was no breath of air in the overheated atmosphere.
During dinner that same day, I saw by the expression of Sergy’s face that
he was preparing a surprise for me. And, in fact, he made me awfully
happy by announcing that instead of establishing me at Frau Weidemann’s
boarding-house, he would take me with him to Piacenza, a small town in
the neighbourhood of which the manœuvres would take place. And thus it
was settled that we should start on the following day for the Baromees
Islands on Lake Maggiore, and go straight from there to Piacenza.
We left the train at Verona and took the boat, coasting along Lake
Maggiore. We passed Isola Madre and moored at Isola Bella, the residence
of the Counts Barromée, who dwell here only in autumn, but the beautiful
feudal castle and gardens are open to the public. A smart footman showed
us all over the place, after which we took a row-boat and crossed over
to Isola Peschia, a fishing village with only nets all along the shore
hanging out to dry, and a fishy smell over it all. On the water edge
small boats were moored and a group of fishermen were sitting on the
shore, mending their nets and counting their day’s catch. Suddenly I
heard someone calling “Romeo!” I turned round and beheld a fisher-lad,
bare-legged, with clothes in tatters, and a dirty fish-basket over his
arm, looking most unromantic, and bearing very little resemblance to the
Shakesperian hero.
On our return to Isola Bella, we took the train to Milan, where we
arrived at sunset. Before we went to bed, it was settled that we should
go next morning to Piacenza. When I awoke, Sergy made me understand
that it would be far more convenient for him to go first by himself
to Piacenza, in order to look out for a lodging for me. I was foolish
enough to feel horribly hurt, and to take it into my head that my husband
wanted to get rid of me. “Oh! very well, be it so!” I said to myself,
and made the vow to await the end of the manœuvres at Cernobbio at Frau
Weidemann’s boarding-house; and, acting on blind impulse, with quick
tears rising to my eyes, I told Sergy I did not want him to be bothered
with me and intended to start with the first train to Como. Having said
my say I began instantly to throw my things into my trunk in petulant
haste, drying my tears with quick, impatient dashes. Sergy tried to talk
some common sense into me, but to reason with me at that moment was
impossible; what I once made up my mind to do, I would do, no matter how
hard it was. Sergy insisted upon accompanying me to Cernobbio. We had
to be at the station by eight o’clock, but with all these parleys we
missed the train, and Sergy, knowing my tempers to be of short duration,
was very glad of it, thinking that it was just as well that I should be
allowed a little time to recover my good-humour. But I made out that
there was another train about nine. When we had secured a compartment
to ourselves, I drew myself far into my corner and pulled down my veil
to hide my tears, feeling as if I was going off to prison. We rolled on
towards Como in gloomy spirits; the journey was a very silent one. How
stupid of me to have made that vow, but it was too late to alter matters
now, and pride, holding me back, I had to stand firm. Nevertheless I
blamed myself bitterly. All the pleasure of our trip was at an end.
CHAPTER XXXI
CERNOBBIO
Frau Weidemann, a comely, grey-haired woman, in a frilled cap and white
apron, came out to receive us and wish us welcome. She had taken us for
a honeymoon couple, and thought that we started forth on our wedding
trip. Her boarding-house is a quiet family sort of establishment, but the
whole effect of my apartment was rather cheerless, and the boarding-house
surroundings were distasteful to me. The furniture was old and shabby,
with faded curtains and threadbare carpet in the middle of the room. Frau
Weidemann’s prices are very moderate, I pay eight francs per day for
board with a room. I have arranged to have breakfast and lunch in my own
room, but must go down to dinner at table-d’hôte, which I do not like at
all.
My windows look out on the lake and bit of garden belonging to our
boarding-house. Just before dinner I looked out of the window and
discovered our hostess sitting in the garden, holding a bit of crotchet
in her fingers. I found that she had altered in a most surprising way,
and was utterly metamorphosed and unrecognisable, transformed into a
portly lady, wearing a black silk dress, with hair beautifully dressed.
When we entered the dining-room we saw Frau Weidemann presiding at
the dinner table, looking very prim and dignified. All her boarders
were present: A Russian lady—Mme. N⸺ and her daughter, Melle. Nadine,
future opera-singer, studying singing with Professor Lamperti, the
first singing master of the day. Then came Fräulein Weltmann, a maiden
lady of ripe years, an ex-prima donna still dreaming of her successes,
which she alone remembers, and who must have been once upon a time very
good-looking, but it was a thing of the past, alas. All through dinner
we had to listen to the endless stories of the brilliant days of her
conquests in her vanished youth. I remarked that in speaking of herself
she generally dropped dates. Last came an American lady, Mrs. G⸺, with
her two children, a boy and girl aged eight and ten, called Hermann and
Danys. Mrs. G⸺ is what one might call miscellaneous, she has an American
father, a Spanish mother and a German husband. Little Danys is a Roman
Catholic, and her brother is a Lutheran. Mrs. G⸺ crossed the ocean,
coming all the way from New Orleans to Cernobbio, to prepare herself
for professional work with Professor Lamperti, who inhabits Milan in
winter and comes to Cernobbio in summer. The old mæstro has the custom to
nick-name his pupils, thus Mrs. G⸺ is called “Norma” because of her two
children, though they are not twins. Danys is a very clever little girl,
and unusually sharp for her years. This small damsel, who sat next to
Sergy at table, made shrewd observations and questions, not unfrequently
astonishing her elders. Finding it her duty to entertain her neighbour,
like a grown up person, she at once entered into conversation: “My name’s
Danys, what’s yours? Have you got any children and how many? You are old
enough to have a lot, though your wife looks so young!” cried out the
ingenuous child in a breath, and when she was told by Frau Weidemann
that little girls must not pass remarks, the bold little maid, turning
scarlet, exclaimed: “One always asks how many children have you got when
one meets for the first time!”
Sergy returned to Milan with the evening boat, and left me a grass
widow in charge of Frau Weidemann. I suddenly felt utterly alone and so
miserable, so desolate, with no one to care about my comings and goings!
Our ladies took pity on me and said that they would try to make me feel
at home with them. As soon as Sergy left the house, I shut myself in my
room, and then my nerves failed me altogether. I sat down on my lonely
bed and cried. Then I lay down and fell asleep and woke unhappy. Marie,
the Swiss maid-of-all-work, in very creaking boots, brought in a telegram
from Sergy with my breakfast. The day began well!
When I went down to luncheon I was taken by storm by Danys, who had felt
one of these sudden fancies to me, which children sometimes do form for
their elders. She rushed up to me, and flinging her arms tempestuously
around my neck kissed me so rapturously that I was afraid of being
smothered.
“Melle. Vava, you’re a darling! I’m so glad you came down. I love you
so much I should like to eat you up!” cried out Danys. I am called here
by everyone Madame Vava, but Danys insisted in calling me Melle. Vava,
saying that it didn’t suit me to be called Madame because I didn’t look
at all like a married lady. Both children wanted to sit next me at table,
“Oh! sit by me!” pleaded Danys, rubbing her cheek against my hand, “No,
by me, please!” said Hermann, and I good-naturedly placed myself between
them both.
For the first few days I got on pretty well with Frau Weidemann’s
boarders, who were all showing themselves very amiable and kind to me.
One night they asked me to go to the theatre, where a travelling troop
was giving a performance. And such a theatre! We found ourselves in a
long room with a small stage at one end, lighted by three petroleum
lamps suspended from the ceiling, which smoked horribly and were very
dim; in fact they gave more smell than light. The grey holland curtain
came up by the aid of two cords drawn through an iron ring. The band was
supplied by local talent, all the musicians being labourers and workmen
from Cernobbio, our gardener in the number, who received 20 centimes per
evening. As to the performers they were all more or less bad. It was the
benefit night of the leading actress, who was to be a mother in three
months, and you could see it at a glance. Our seats in the first row cost
only one franc. The audience consisted chiefly of Lamperti’s pupils.
Lamperti has produced many divas, Marcella Sembrich in the number. The
mæstro was present at the play. He carries very lightly his eighty years,
and has just taken, for second wife, one of his favourite pupils, a very
pretty young creature.
I am having a very dull time, and my spirits are down to zero. I do want
Sergy so badly, so very badly! Oh! if I had only not come to that horrid
Cernobbio! I am spending my days stretched in an easy-chair, yawning
over a book. Melle. Nadine’s room is next to mine, and I can hear her
singing or chatting with her intimate friend, Baroness B⸺ a tall, rather
ungainly girl, with red hands and very bad manners. Her mother is a
very troublesome, bad-tempered old lady, embellished by a horrid black
wig. She is vulgarity itself, and resembles a cook trying to play the
lady. That detestable woman generally makes her appearance with a horrid
pug-dog tucked under one arm, which snarls at you, and flies out of her
arms trying to bite your toes.
Melle. Nadine and her friend carried on a flirtation with a young Italian
tenor, and ran after him in a most barefaced fashion, contriving both to
catch him. Melle. Nadine, who was determined to keep him for herself,
took him in hand and totally eclipsed the young Baroness, which led to a
succession of stormy scenes. I perceived that the atmosphere was highly
charged with electricity, and that there will be a row presently. One
day they had a fearful dispute about the hero of their romance, after
which the young Baroness did not appear for a week. Her mother, wishing
to reconcile the rivals, brought over her daughter to make up her quarrel
with Melle. Nadine, but the interview was not pleasant. Melle. Nadine
refused to see her friend’s outstretched hand, at which the old Baroness
flew into a rage and fell on Melle. Nadine with fiery reproaches. “What!”
screamed the old lady at the top of her voice and rolling infuriated
eyes, “My daughter wants to make up with you and this is the way you
treat her. You base, ungrateful girl! I will never allow her after that
to set foot in your house!” Having said her say, the old Baroness sank
into an armchair, holding strong smelling-salts to her nose, and throwing
back her head, she waited for a fit of hysterics which would not come,
and two minutes after she made her exit, banging the door after her. If I
were in the place of Melle. Nadine I should have nothing more to do with
the Baroness and her daughter, but half-an-hour afterwards I saw both
young ladies seated close together on a bank in the garden, hand in hand,
mingling their tears together, after having made each other the vow of
eternal friendship.
Melle. Nadine had another admirer in the person of Doctor Bianchi, a
forty-year old cherub, who worshipped the very ground that she trod on,
and cooed his romance into her ears like a real troubadour. But he is
far from being the ideal Lohengrin, with his bald head and prominent
abdomen. He wouldn’t have been my hero even with more hair on his head,
being rather a fool and very ignorant, especially of geography. To him
Russia represented only snow, bears, and tallow candles. “May I ask you
if you are English?” he inquired when being presented to me.—“Russian?”
he exclaimed in blank astonishment. “Oh! I can’t believe it, you look
quite European.” Stupid fellow! I detested him after that, for I am
exceedingly tenacious in questions of patriotic pride. Doctor Bianchi had
made several times the offer of his hand and heart to Melle. Nadine, but
she refused him flatly over and over again. She treats him very harshly
and hates the very sight of him. When Doctor Bianchi enters one door she
goes out by the other. But the long-suffering physician makes an ass
of himself and continues to persecute his lady-love with his tenacious
wooing and poor Melle. Nadine doesn’t know how to get rid of him. As for
me I would have known how to knock the calf-love out of him soon enough.
What awful idiots men make themselves when they are in love.
Our landlord, Signor Bonsignore, is a magnificent old beau, awfully stuck
up and prim, belonging to the ancient school, and suited rather to the
eighteenth century than to our modern era. He affected an antiquated
style of dress, his chin resting within the points of a high collar,
which reached to his ears. One day he came to keep me company whilst
I had my lunch in my room, and remained quite a long time paying me
old-fashioned compliments. He said that he regretted that he had not met
my second-self in his young days, and that it was the reason why he is
still single. Signor Bonsignore is an awful old screw, one could see it
by the motto carved over the door of our dining-room saying: “One never
repents of having eaten too little.” Frau Weidemann follows the motto
to the letter in respect of her boarders, practising rigorous economy,
rarely varying her scanty menus and making mental photographs of the
joints before they are removed. My frugal breakfast, day after day, has
been coffee, one egg and insufficient bread and butter. My lunch is
brought in to me on a tray; the limited menu is unvariably composed of
cold meat, green beans and a dessert of two biscuits and half an apple.
Marie, the household treasure, whilst clearing away my scanty repasts,
always asks as if in derision: “_Madame a bien mangé?_” which made me
groan inwardly.
Mrs. G⸺ and Melle. Nadine came in hopelessly late to table, and sometimes
didn’t appear until after eight, keeping dinner waiting. One day when I
descended to the dining-room, a smart young man, in the barber’s block
style, wearing very yellow gloves and yellow boots, walked in. He had a
white gardenia in his buttonhole and an eyeglass, which made him squint.
Frau Weidemann introduced him to me as Signor Gorgolli, the son of her
close friend. He shook hands with me raising his elbow to his ear, and
bowed his head as politely as the exigencies of his high collar would
allow. Mrs G⸺, who lighted up when men were present, but languished if
there were only ladies in the room, had taken extraordinary pains with
her toilette for Signor Gorgolli, and came down to dinner having put
on her most becoming gown. She was displaying her best graces to him,
and laid herself out to be irresistible, and encouraged the young snob,
which I regretted, because you could see at once that he wasn’t the
kind who needs encouragement, being thoroughly pleased with himself and
seeming to think that every woman must fall in love with him. Edging his
chair closer to where Mrs. G⸺ was sitting, he picked out a rose from a
bowl of flowers that stood on the dinner-table, and pinned it into her
low bodice. That coxcomb talked of himself all through the course of
the meal, and didn’t want to hear what you say, only to tell you about
himself. The letter “I” was the backbone of his conversation. He said
“I this” and “I that” every time he opened his mouth; a more conceited
ass I never set eyes upon. His manner struck me as peculiarly odious.
He was trying all the time to impress the company with the idea that he
belongs to a circle in society in which he certainly never set foot,
and confessed barefacedly that his finances, being at low ebb, he was
on the look-out for a rich heiress to pay off his debts, but that in
the meanwhile he was disposed to get all the fun he could out of life,
feeling far too young to settle into a sober family man.
Signor Gorgolli came back the next day and the day after. He tried to get
up a flirtation with me and was always hanging about me, twisting up the
ends of his moustache and prepared for conquest. He paid me compliments
upon my looks and said that he came to Cernobbio only on my account, at
which I assumed an expression of extreme innocence, and pretended not to
understand what he was driving at. He was certainly a very compromising
young man, and I tried to avoid every occasion of meeting him, but he was
such a fool, and would imagine anything except that he is not wanted.
Presuming young idiot!
One afternoon I sat with a book on the veranda whilst our ladies were
out shopping, and Signor Gorgolli, who was quick to take advantage of
it, came to keep me company. I grasped the fact that he intended to stay
with me, and began to wish the ladies would come back. In the street a
hand-organ was reeling out a waltz, and I was reckless enough to give
Signor Gorgolli a dance. He put his arm round me and held me very tight.
I had done wrong in allowing my hand to stay in his a second or two
longer than necessary. Dating from that afternoon he became bolder than
ever, and ventured even to press my hand under the table-cloth during
dinner. I never heard of such impudence! The matter was going a bit too
far, and I began to crush him with my scorn, and soon put him back to
his proper place in throwing his photograph, which he had just given me,
into the waste-paper basket, whilst he pulled his moustache and looked
silly. He left the room feeling terribly snubbed. A week went by and I
saw nothing of him. I was awfully glad to be free from his detestable
society. He might go to Jericho for what I cared.
The evenings were getting longer, and dragged like an eternity. To
shorten them somehow we played society games and puzzles, which bored me
to death and made me yawn.
One night after I had gone to bed, a terrible storm arose; ceaseless
lightning harrowed the sky, and the rain came pouring down. Suddenly
one of my windows was blown open. I jumped out of bed and went to shut
it, and was nearly carried away by a gust of wind. After having wedged
the frames with matches I crept back to bed, when bang! bang!! went the
windows, and I had to get up again, and the match work had to be done
all over once more. When I awoke next morning I opened the window and
breathed the fresh pure air with delight. The mist was hanging like a
grey curtain across the lake and the swallows were flying low over the
water. From afar I heard the church bells ringing the _Ave Maria_. As a
contrast to this peaceful scene, I saw under my window our cook chasing
the hens, innocently awaiting their hasty doom in the patch of garden
which was the resort of Frau Weidemann’s fowls. The _pacha_ of these poor
victims, a little crested cock, didn’t seem to remark the diminution of
his harem, and continued to fling out his shrill _Koukarikou_ joyously.
The little Americans are quite their own masters. They are running about
all day without no one to look after them, and spend most of their time
in quarrelling, flying at each other’s faces, pulling each other by the
hair, and pinching, and scratching. I hear Danys’s shrill little voice
coming from the garden, shouting orders to her brother, “Hermann, go in
the shade!” but he would not obey and paid no heed to her repeated calls
to be quiet.
Hermann’s sole idea of pleasure was making others miserable. He was full
of mischief, and took delight in provoking his sister, and teased her
constantly. One day he glued the hair of Danys’s favourite doll, and she
broke, in revenge, the legs of all the animals in his Noah’s ark.
Another day Danys entered into a loud detail of grievances of which her
brother was the cause. She had to keep strict watch on him; but he did
everything that he was told not to do, and gave her a world of trouble.
When he got ideas into his head, there was never peace till he had
what he wanted. He was mamma’s own pet, and could get almost anything
he liked out of her, and led her by the nose. Whatever Hermann did,
whatever Hermann said, was always right, and Danys was always in the
wrong, and had undeserved punishment even when she was behaving in the
most exemplary manner. She was Hermann’s scapegoat and accustomed to hear
herself roughly spoken to by her mother, and always roared at. “I wish I
were as small as a needle and Hermann as big as an elephant, perhaps I
wouldn’t have always to bear the blame then!” said poor Danys, her eyes
filling with tears.
“It is perfectly true,” shouted Hermann, giving Danys a vicious little
pinch, “I can thump her as much as I like, and she doesn’t dare to touch
me even with her little finger!”
But Danys, who was in a rebellious mood just then, turned upon him in a
rage, and a resounding slap came before we could interfere, thereupon
Hermann belaboured her with his little fists, straining to get his teeth
into her hands.
Hermann was a very wicked little boy, and took delight in torturing
animals and insects. What pleased him more than anything was to help
the cook to wring the chickens’ and hens’ necks and then to boast of it
afterwards, showing us his blood-stained hands. Horrid little creature!
There never was such a child for mischief; he enjoyed playing all sorts
of tricks on Frau Weidemann. That imp of a boy stole behind her chair
when she was knitting in the garden, and took a malicious pleasure in
tangling her skeins of wool. At dinner Hermann loved annoying Danys; the
little pig dropped hair into her soup and gave her furtive little kicks
under the table. Frau Weidemann did all she could to train him a little.
One day, just as we were sitting down to table, Hermann brought me a
radish, fresh from its bed of mould, and the hand that held it out was
evidently the spade that had dug it therefrom, and in sore need of soap.
Frau Weidemann told him that he must always be washed and brushed before
he went down to the dining-room, and ordered him to go and wash his hands
immediately, but Hermann, who had no acquaintance with the word _must_,
set his mouth in a hard curve and didn’t move; he looked so obstinate
that I was strongly tempted to shake him. A more wilful boy I never saw:
he’d try the temper of a saint. But this time Frau Weidemann had her own
way, and ordered him out of the room. Hermann reluctantly obeyed, with
rage in his little heart, and dashed from the room, banging the door with
a shock that made the room rattle. Hermann ran straight to his mother,
who didn’t come down to dinner that day, to complain of Frau Weidemann,
and instead of giving him a good scolding, Mrs. G. rewarded him with
chocolates and kisses.
That night when I went to bed, passing through the dark corridor, I
suddenly felt a tight grip on my wrist, it was Hermann, who giving an
emphatic tug at my skirts, said in a husky whisper, “That’s you who must
have clean hands, because you are a young lady, and as to me, I may have
them dirty as much as I like. I cannot be always washing myself and
always thinking of my nails, like grown ups!”
Both children had got bad manners at table; they fidgeted on their
chairs, kicked their legs right and left, and were eating noisily,
rattling vigorously their knives and forks. They spilt their soup all
over their napkin and spattered jam all over themselves. They also made a
point of overeating themselves, transferring the largest and best pieces
to their plates; they had several helps of pudding and wanted to have all
the cake.
One morning Frau Weidemann caught Hermann throwing stones at passers-by
over the hedge of our garden. “What are you doing, horrid little boy?”
cried out our hostess.
“I am chasing these people away, I don’t want them to stare at me!”
declared Hermann vehemently.
“You are a bad, undutiful child!” exclaimed Frau Weidemann, “go away, go
away at once!”
But Hermann, who meant to go on being obstinate, jerking his shoulders,
retorted rudely, “Mamma told me that I am not bound to obey Frau
Weidemann, and I’ll do as I please, do you understand, as I please, as I
please!” shouted that delightful boy stamping viciously his little foot.
Frau Weidemann losing patience, said she would have him punished for
daring to be so rude, and wouldn’t take him with his sister for their
habitual walk next morning.
Danys, with tears coursing down her cheeks, implored Hermann to ask
forgiveness, but tears and prayers were of no avail; he stuck firmly to
his chair, his nose in his picture book, dangling his feet backwards and
forwards, and would not apologise.
“I don’t propose to ask Frau Weidemann’s pardon anyhow, that’s flat. When
I am in a rage, I remain in a rage one week, two months, a whole year!”
declared Hermann, doggedly, and remained sternly unapproachable.
When I came down to dinner that day I saw poor Danys, her eyes all
swollen, her nose red, huddled up in a chair—a picture of misery. “We
don’t go for our walk to-morrow!” she said sobbing loudly.
The next day I was writing in my room upstairs, with the windows wide
open, when suddenly I heard in the garden below my name called in a
ringing voice, “Hullo! Madame Vava, look out of the window.” It was
Hermann, success written in his sunny little countenance, accompanied
by Danys and Frau Weidemann, who having fallen into a melting mood, was
taking out the children for their usual walk, and Hermann, radiant with
triumph, wanted to prove to me that he had it all his own way. It was
Hermann who had forced Danys to ask his forgiveness, and she had coaxed
Frau Weidemann, with kisses and pleading words, to go out for a walk with
them. She is a weak person, Frau Weidemann; I should have kept my word in
her place.
Danys also was not quite easy to manage, and was liable sometimes to
storms of temper. One afternoon all the company, except myself, went out
for a sail on the lake. Frau Weidemann, who had forgotten to prepare a
sauce for the trout we were to have at dinner, returned home before the
others with Danys, in a small row-boat. Danys was in a fury to come back
so early, and made an awful scene with Frau Weidemann, rocking herself
to and fro in a paroxysm of grief; she fretted, foamed and turned nasty,
shouting out all her bad words, for when she loses her temper she does
not measure her language. She called down curses on Frau Weidemann and
sent her to Mephistopheles, and wished her at the bottom of the lake, and
eaten up by the mermaids. As soon as they reached home the door of my
room was dashed open and Danys flew in looking like a fury. “That’s Frau
Weidemann who insisted on coming back so early for that horrid old sauce.
I hate it and shall never eat it as long as I live! I wish there were
no sauces at all in the world, that I do!” cried out Danys. That same
day at dinner Danys was tiresome with awkward questions: “why this,” and
“why that,” and Frau Weidemann found it necessary to stop her. “Eat your
soup,” she said, “and remember that polite little girls never interrupt
people’s speeches.” “But I say,” exclaimed Danys, turning to her with
blazing eyes and face aflame, “polite little girls can want to know what
they do not know, can’t they?” At which her mother administered a good
scolding to her and told her that if she said one word more, she would
give her a damned slap. “It isn’t me that mamma curses, it is the slap!”
said the bold little girl unabashed.
I hadn’t got any news from Sergy for several days, and wrote to him six
pages full of reproaches. I was expecting the postman’s knock every
moment, but nothing came. One morning I was sitting at my solitary
breakfast, when at last a long letter from Sergy was brought to me. I
devoured its contents. He wrote in high spirits and gave me all the
details of his life at Piacenza, and glowing accounts of the manœuvres
and all he was seeing. Two big rooms were reserved to him at the Hotel
San Marco. After lunch, on the day of his arrival, he put on his uniform
and went to present himself to the Commandant of Piacenza, in whose
drawing-room a group of foreign officers, in the most varied uniforms,
were gathered. Such a lot of strangers was quite an event for the little
town of Piacenza, which was dressed all over with flags; a band played
in the Square. When Sergy returned to the hotel he found on his table
an envelope containing different instructions concerning the manœuvres,
with maps and programmes for every day. The military representatives
received a compliment in verse with the following inscription: _Dedica
agli eccellentissimi signori, rappresentarano le nazioni, in occasione
della lora venuta a Piacenza_. The representatives were entertained
with much festivity; rich banquets were given in their honour. Twenty
officers of different armies sat down to table every day: four Austrians,
one Bavarian, three Germans, two Belgians, two Swedes, two Englishmen
and three Russians. Sergy’s neighbour was a Swedish general, an old
trooper belonging to the school of “Gustav Vasa,” who probably would
never have stirred the world with any striking discovery, being rather
narrow-minded. He said to Sergy that whilst travelling in Italy he was
very much astonished that all the railway stations were named “Uscita”
(which means exit), and was quite bewildered that in this country even
children were able to surmount the difficulties of the language, and
chatted Italian quite as a matter of course to each other! The manœuvres
of one division against the other began on the 18th August. My husband
with his brother-officers got up at daybreak and started by a special
train to “Castello Giovanni,” where a hillock, surrounded by vineyards,
was chosen as point of observation. The Marchese Cambroso gave them a
lunch in his splendid mansion that day, with champagne in abundance; a
military band played during the repast. On the following morning the
valiant sons of Mars went to Voghera, where they put up in private
houses, as there was no hotel in that small place. Their proprietors
hoisted up the flags of the different nationalities who sheltered under
their roofs. Over the house where Sergy stopped, with two members of
the Russian mission, a flag with a double eagle floated, and in their
sitting-room stood a _samovar_ (a Russian tea-kettle) deprived of its
tap. It was Count Bellisione who regaled the missions that day in his
superb feudal castle.
My husband seemed to be quite happy while I am pining away at Cernobbio,
and I positively could not admit that he was enjoying himself apparently
while I was gloomily brooding here alone and miserable. How I long to
go away from that hateful Cernobbio! I am quite out of place with my
surroundings and feel like a fish out of water, thoroughly out of my
element and out of tune with the whole atmosphere, which is a very
different one from that to which I was accustomed. The relations between
Frau Weidemann’s lady boarders were not so warm as they had promised
to be at first. I wanted to be very good friends here with everybody,
but our way of life is so different and our natures are diametrically
opposite; we seemed to be as far apart as the poles. The only topic of
conversation of our lady-boarders was vocal matters, solfeggias and
exercises. I tried to keep out of their way and remained in my room
as long as I could. Frau Weidemann was far more sympathetic than her
boarders; I liked her kind, motherly ways. She tried to cheer me up and
took the greatest pains to amuse me, but I refused all propositions of
amusement and didn’t care to join their out-of-door parties. For two
weeks I had been controlling myself, but it gets worse every day. Our
lady-boarders turn up their noses at me and cut me dead. We scarcely
notice each other and only meet at table. What dismal meals we had! It is
Mrs. G— who has especially taken a dislike to me. If wishes could have
killed, I should have been dead long ago. She detested me, I could read
it in her eyes. We were at daggers drawn. I, too, was in entire readiness
to show fight, for I like people who like me and hate those who don’t
like me; it is unchristian, but I can’t help it! I am not a quiet, woolly
lamb, and if Mrs. G— wanted to bite, I knew how to show my teeth too, and
could take revenge on her, for to be silent and let others have all their
say is not my nature.
Without the least intention of playing the eavesdropper I chanced to
overhear a word or two spoken plainly on my account by Mrs. G—, which
hadn’t been intended to reach my ears. I had not the temperament to
turn “the other cheek” at any insult; I could take revenge, too. I tried
to hold my tongue when I sat next to Mrs. G— at table, and had to close
my lips tight—tight, or else a bad word would jump out, but the day
would surely come when we should have a regular fight. We were both in
a mood when the merest spark would cause explosion, and the spark came!
At dinner one day Mrs. G—, in the presence of her children, boasted
shamelessly that she could do very well without her husband, who, luckily
for her, was retained by business in America, whilst she was enjoying
herself across the ocean. Her vicious morality was so different from my
own that I found it necessary to give her to understand that she was a
heartless and undutiful woman, and losing all control over myself at
such cynicism, I gave her a bit of my mind, and was obliged to tell her
some truths which did not please her, after which Mrs. G—, who has a
cutting tongue, made spiteful allusions concerning Signor Gorgolli, and
asked if I ever practised what I preached, and added that I had better be
careful of myself. But I was not a bit baffled by the sharp prick of her
poisonous arrow, and not a bit afraid of her back-handed little stabs.
I knew how to answer her and hold my ground, and got the better of her
after all, having taught her not to interfere with me.
Our hen-coop is in commotion by the advent of a cock of very nasty
plumage, it is true. The new-comer is an American chanter, who has come
from Chicago to study singing with Professor Lamperti. At dinner I gazed
with some curiosity at the Yankee, and found him helplessly shy and
utterly unattractive, with sandy-coloured hair and features all wildly
wrong; his kindest friend could not have called him anything but ugly.
His clothes had the air of having been bought ready-made at a cheap shop
and wanted brushing badly; he wore a turned-over collar which showed his
neck far down, and a white tie, tied a good deal on one side. Our new
lodger was painfully conscious of his physical shortcomings, and if ever
a man wanted taming he did. At dinner he made all sorts of blunders, kept
his eyes on his plate all the time and hardly spoke at all. The advent of
a man of that kind was not dangerous and far better for the peace of mind
of our lady-boarders, for the new arrival was assuredly not of the type
who seek adventure; having nothing of the hero about him he would not
play the Don Juan like Signor Gorgolli.
The Regattas had attracted a great number of spectators on the shore of
Cernobbio. Eighteen row-boats, adorned with wreaths of flowers, bearing
each its number and denomination, were lining the coast like race-horses
ready to start. At a signal given by a cannon shot the boats spun
along rapidly in the direction of Como. I didn’t take any interest at
all in these Regattas, my thoughts being miles away, for the manœuvres
being over, I was leaving Cernobbio on the following day. To think that
to-morrow at this time I shall be with Sergy again! I was getting so
excited I didn’t know how to wait till next morning, and went to bed as
early as possible in order to reduce the evening to its very shortest
proportions. It was my last night in that nasty place, and to-morrow I
would shake the dust off my feet!
When I awoke in the morning I felt a great happiness. I dressed quickly
and went to the window to look out for the carriage that was to take me
to the railway station. To my great pleasure all our ladies, except Frau
Weidemann, were asleep. I shall probably never set eyes on them again. If
I ever see them, it will be only in my nightmares. I wanted to get away
from here without the delay of a minute, and was leaving the house at
a quarter to seven. I set out of Cernobbio deliciously light of heart,
and hope I shall never return to this inhospitable place again. I had a
first-class compartment to myself and felt like a schoolgirl off on her
holiday. At every turn of the wheels my heart gave a glad throb at the
thought that soon I would meet my husband, who was to arrive at Milan
a few hours after me. I have left all my sorrows at Cernobbio: all the
little bothers that were my lot were left behind. All that was done with
now, and I’ll make up for lost time, that I will!
On arriving at Milan I went straight to the Hôtel de la Ville. The
manager came up to me and made me welcome, and told me that my husband
was expected in the afternoon. I was shown into the same apartments we
had before, which made me feel quite at home. I grew awfully impatient
waiting; I could not keep still and began to walk restlessly up and
down the room, counting the minutes when Sergy would arrive, and every
little while looking at the clock. At last I heard hurried steps in the
corridor, and in an instant Sergy held me in his arms.
After luncheon, I drove with my husband in a smart landau with a pair
of fine bays, put at our disposal by the Government, to the Hôtel
Continental where all the members of the foreign missions had put up.
Sergy wore his full uniform, on which shone many decorations, and
created a great sensation; people stopped and turned their heads when
we passed through the street. In the long gallery of the hotel we saw
groups of foreign representatives walking about. Sergy proceeded to
introduce all the officers to me. Captain Sawyer, the aide-de-camp of
General Freemantle, the English representative, was the best looking
of them all. A Spanish colonel, Señor Achcaragua, came up by himself
and begged for an introduction. His ardent eyes fixed on mine rather
frightened me. One of his brother officers told Sergy that the colonel’s
brains were slightly touched, thanks to his somewhat stormy youth, during
which he had spent himself too much physically, being not insensible to
the Southern temperament of the Spanish ladies. During this edifying
colloquy, General Fabre, the French representative, came up to Sergy and
told him that he had just been appointed by King Humbert “Cavaliere” of
the Order of the Corona d’Italia.
“It is the arrival of my wife at Milan, which has brought me that luck!”
Sergy put in gallantly. We have invited the members of the Russian
mission to dine with us at the National that night. Just as we were
sitting down at table, an Italian officer brought the Order and ribbon
granted to Sergy by the King, and I received in the same time a printed
invitation from the Syndic of the town to assist at the grand review of
troops which was to take place on the following day.
After dinner we removed to the Hôtel de la Ville, where an apartment was
appointed to my husband. His name was on the door “Maggiore General de
Doukhovskoy,” in big white letters. I had scarcely time to take off my
hat, when General Freemantle asked for permission to present himself to
me. He was accompanied by Captain Sawyer, a very fair specimen of the
English officer; he was considerably over six feet and looked very smart
and upright in his red uniform. That charming son of Albion paid me
much attention and was extremely entertaining, he was astonished at my
English, a language with which, from my childhood, I had been familiar.
We didn’t have five minutes’ talk before Captain Sawyer defined my
character. He called me whirlwind, and nicknamed me “Quicksilver.” I must
confess I liked Captain Sawyer, he was quite my type of man.
When the members of the English mission left us, three officers of the
German army came in, bowing with great clinking and much ceremony. They
were martial-looking individuals, with fiercely twisted moustaches.
The Teuton trio solemnly kissed my hand, sat down for two minutes, and
stiffly bowed themselves off.
Italian orderlies, speaking the language of the members of the foreign
missions, have been put to their service. The soldier allotted to my
husband, Giovanni Varallo by name, a very handsome chap, spoke Russian
very well, being born in Moscow where his parents have a little shop.
Varallo is a funny sort of type. From the very beginning he made
all sorts of blunders; he disengaged himself of his knapsack in the
drawing-room, and put his cap on the middle of the table!
At eight o’clock the following morning we were awakened by Varallo, who
rapped sharply at our door and said that it was time to get up. I dressed
quickly, and on entering our sitting-room I saw that Varallo had arranged
it according to his idea of a lady’s requirements. To complete all he
was holding my hat at the moment and insisted on brushing it with the
blacking brush!
Mme. Favre, the wife of the French General, asked me to drive with her
to the parade ground, our husbands having started together some minutes
before us. We went first to the railway station to see the arrival of
the King and Queen from Monzo, the Royal summer residence. On stepping
out of the train King Humbert, mounted on horseback, and Queen Margareta
took her place in a victoria, bowing graciously on right and left. The
Italians do not cheer their sovereigns as we do in Russia, they applaud
and shout “bravo,” which seemed rather strange to me.
At the review we had seats in the Queen’s stand. Queen Margareta sat a
few paces from us, looking splendid in a beautiful gown embroidered with
golden flowers. The King soon appeared, followed by his suit, my husband
in the number. The throng was so great that the policemen had to use main
force to procure free passage to the King. A crowd of lookers-on stood
behind the double range of soldiers shouting bravo and clapping their
hands to the King. In an open space of ground both infantry and cavalry
were assembled. After all the regiments had defiled before the King,
we went to the Continental where the representatives of the different
nations were invited to a banquet given to them by the government. They
came out afterwards into the courtyard to have their group taken. The
photographer grouped the party according to his idea. Sergy and General
Freemantle in the centre, while the others clustered round them. Many
failures issued, as all these warriors, feeling themselves returned to
boyhood, wouldn’t sit still and laughed when they had to keep serious.
The patience of the photographer was something wonderful. I looked at
that comic scene out of the gallery facing the courtyard. Captain Sawyer
came up to me and said that he had fixed me all the time whilst they were
being photographed in order to have a pleasant expression and to look
nice.
On that same day the missions were invited to dinner at Monzo. I remained
alone at the hotel and sat in the deep window-seat to witness their
departure. Varallo found it his duty to entertain me during my husband’s
absence and brought up an album with coloured views of Milan, which he
began to explain to me.
Sergy returned enchanted with the warm reception of the Royal family. At
dinner he sat next to the beautiful Countess Barromée. All the ladies
wore a daisy pinned on their bodices, in honour of Queen Margaret. When
the guests were leaving Monzo, the King, speaking in Russian, bade Sergy
adieu, saying _Do svidania_, which means “good-bye,” and asked Sergy to
transmit his best regards to our Emperor.
CHAPTER XXXII
VENICE
On the following day we took the Venice express at nine o’clock in the
morning. Two Belgian members of the foreign missions travelled to Venice
with us. Colonel Theuniss and Major Havard proved very entertaining
companions, only their knowledge of Russia was sadly deficient. They
believed that wolves prowled in the streets of St. Petersburg in broad
daylight.
At eight o’clock in the evening we reached Venice and rolled slowly along
a narrow pier. At the railway-station a group of gondoliers rushed up to
us, offering their gondolas, just like cabmen. We stepped down into a
gondola lighted up by lanterns on bow and poop. The gondolier pushed off
from the steps and we silently glided along the Great Canal, surrounded
by side canals crossed by small private bridges. Venice is built on
piles, and stands upon many islands linked by bridges. At each crossing
of the aquatic streets our strong-lunged gondolier shouted _Gia-e!_ to
escape collision. He brought us to the Hotel Danielli where we passed a
sleepless night, not having followed the wise advice of the chambermaid,
who told us not to raise the mosquito-nets. We were thoroughly punished
for it, having been devoured by mosquitoes.
Lunch over, we went out for a walk along narrow little pathways leading
to the Piazza San Marco. After a stroll in the arcades of the Square, we
took a gondola for a sail on the Canale Grande. We glided smoothly on
the silent waves of the Adriatic, passing before grim old buildings. The
palaces in which Byron, Schiller and Lucrezia Borgia have dwelt are now
transformed into hotels. Venice, the town of legends and dreams, has very
unpleasant odours, and nearly all the windows are hung with a flutter of
drying sheets and towels, flapping in the air like old tattered flags.
On the following day we took the boat to Lido, a fashionable
sea-bathing-place, and returned to Venice just in time for the table
d’hôte. There was a great festival at night on the Canale Grande; all the
gondolas of Venice were on the water, lighted with coloured lanterns.
On the broadest part of the Canal they were tied one to the other thus
forming a large floating bridge, on the middle of which a group of
street-singers were giving a serenade. Our gondolier, at our request,
shouted out in a stentorian voice: _Funiculi, funicula_, and the singers
performed with great emphasis that popular song, after which they crossed
over from one gondola to the other, holding out their hats which were
soon amply filled. We gave all the change we had in our pockets.
We only remained two days at Venice, having had quite enough of that
aquatic town which does not suit my vivacious temperament.
CHAPTER XXXIII
FLORENCE
Leaving Venice at ten o’clock in the morning, we arrived towards night at
Florence, and took an apartment at the Hotel de Russie, with a ceiling
ornamented with flying nymphs in a blue sky all over, and an enormous
bedstead on the top of which was placed a gigantic wreath of laurel. In
my opinion, to sleep under it is an honour which few people deserve on
earth.
The next day we went to the Pitti Galleries, to see the Exhibition of
old Masters. This museum was formerly maintained by the monks, and the
pictures were taken in preference from Scripture subjects, but at present
the nude mythological element predominates. In the sculpture section we
met a group of curates who were all in a state of sanctimonious adoration
before the marble Venus. I could hardly keep from laughing at the sight
of these tonsured admirers of art, whose expression of the face, for the
moment, could easily serve for a picture representing the temptation of
St. Antony. At the entrance of the Medici Chapel, an old curate impeded
the passage of the turnstile, searching for his hat, which was hanging by
the elastic on his back. Surely the venerable pater had also contemplated
rather too much of the marble goddess.
After the Pitti Galleries, we were shown the Palace, maintained by the
town, in which King Humbert is received in great ceremony, as a guest,
when he comes to Florence. A carriage road leads to each floor separately
replacing the elevator. The King was expected in a few days, and a legion
of servants were cleaning the hangings and polishing the furniture whilst
we went through the Palace.
On our way back we were driven in the “cascine,” landaus, victorias, and
open cabs of every variety, all filled with animated people, streamed
along the wide road. We met in the park the famous American millionaire
perched high upon the seat of his phaeton, who drives every afternoon in
the “Cascine” a team of twelve horses, one pair in front of the other.
My old friends the Levdics have taken their abode in Italy having been
expatriated by the doctors on account of their health. They spend the
winter months in Florence and the summer at Viareggio, a little sea-side
resort beyond Florence. We went to see them at Viareggio, and as we
knew nothing of their address, we had to go to the post-office for
information. Their home is a very pretty one, and the outlook from their
terrace on the Mediterranean and the neighbouring mountains is wonderful.
Next day we visited the “Certosa,” a convent situated on a high mountain
in the outskirts of Florence. The cloister opens hospitable doors to
strangers. We were gallantly received by the monks, who live here a
luxurious life. Each monk occupies an apartment of several rooms, with
a patch of garden. A tall, stout monk, in flowing white robes, served
as guide to us. He conducted us, clacking his sandals on the stone
flags, along white bare corridors paved with marble, which echoed to our
footsteps. We were taken into a large refectory resembling much more an
elegant Parisian restaurant. Then we went to the dormitory where the
monks sleep. When our guide ushered us into his bedroom, I stealthily
touched his bed and found it far too soft for a recluse. Before leaving
the cloister we bought a few bottles of the “certosa liqueur” fabricated
by the monks, for which we had to pay a considerable tax before entering
Florence. Feeling awfully hungry, we stopped half-way at an “Osteria”
when passing through the little town of Galuppi. It was very cool and
pleasant here after the dusty road, but our dinner had been uneatable:
we had a dish of macaroni swimming in oil, and a fish fried also in oil.
Ugh—the horror! Night was approaching and icy cold rain began to fall.
We returned to Florence famished and chilled to the very bone. And our
room at the hotel was so cold! You feel the cold much more abroad than in
Russia, where the houses are much better heated. How I long for our warm
Russian stoves!
Profiting by our stay in Florence, Sergy wanted me to be immortalised by
brushes and chisels, on canvas and on marble. He ordered my portrait to
be taken by Parrini, a well-known painter, and my bust by Romanelli, the
famous sculptor, who took us to his “studio,” full of nymphs and cupids
and limbs; a moving platform for the model occupied the middle of the
room. I had to sit from nine o’clock in the morning until six in the
evening, which was rather fatiguing. Whilst Parrini painted my portrait,
his wife, Signora Adelgunda, a buxom, pleasant-faced lady, stood behind
and generally approved, nodded her head and murmured, caressing her
husband’s cheek, “_Bene, bene, caro, Beppé_.” Signora Adelgunda was also
a painter, and had exhibited several times. She has watched for eight
years the right to obtain the first place to copy Rafaele’s Madonna at
the Pitti Galleries. Her picture had found its way into the Museum
and was sold for the sum of two thousand francs. Parrini, during the
sittings, told me little humorous things he could think of, trying to
keep me amused. I laughed very much when he related to me that he had
just received from America the photographs of a gentleman and his wife
who wanted to have their portraits painted conformably to these photos,
only the gentleman wished to be reproduced with less hair on his head
and ten years more on his shoulders, whilst his spouse, on the contrary,
wanted him to drop ten years of her age. Parrini related to me that when
Mme. Lebrun, the celebrated lady-painter, in her old age, visited the
Pitti Galleries and saw an oil painting of her, reproducing her young and
beautiful, the poor woman had a fit of hysterics and nearly fainted away.
Yes, certainly, it must not be pleasant to grow old, especially when one
has been gifted by good looks. I felt very flattered when Parrini told
me in his artistic language, that like Mme. Lebrun my face had warm and
cold touches. Shall I ever fall into a swoon, if I ever reach old age,
when looking at my portrait painted by Parrini, I wonder? The Parrinis
have got a little son named Mario, a premature painter, who puts paint
on the doors, walls and statues which adorn his father’s “studio.” He is
a very lively and noisy little boy, who gives trouble and puts things
out of place. His last exploit was to daub with red paint the statue of
the daughter of Niobe, and to adorn her beautiful face with long black
moustaches. Romanelli is over seventy years old but carries them lightly
on his shoulders. He wears a red scarf round his throat, carpet slippers,
and a black velvet “calotte” pushed off on the back of his bald head.
At my first sitting I felt rather shy when the sculptor placed me in
a seat standing on the turning pedestal, but at the second sitting it
went off all right, I mounted bravely on my elevated throne. The bust
of a young woman, made in clay, stood on my right hand and Romanelli
modelled it here and there, according to my features, diminishing or
adding small bits of clay. Sitting for my bust made me sleepy, and I
waited impatiently when Romanelli, who was careful not to overtire me,
would tell me to have a rest. Then I rose and went out into the garden,
stiff with long sitting. I yawned and stretched my arms wearily and five
minutes after I resumed my place on the “dais.” When the turn came for
my neck to be modelled, Romanelli told me to unbutton the upper part of
my bodice, which made me burn with shame. The old sculptor laughed and
said that he had lost the number of all the necks, a great deal more
low-bodied than mine, which had served for models to him during his long
artistic life. My bust advanced rapidly and the likeness was perfect, but
Sergy, who had only too flattering an opinion of me in every way, and
was very hard to please according to what concerned my precious person,
found that the head was not well put on, and the back not sufficiently
straight, and when Romanelli agreeably to his demands, began to take off
layers of clay from my bust’s back, Sergy turned away shuddering: it
seemed to him as if I was being carved alive. Romanelli declared finally
that the head had to be separated from the bust in order to place it more
backwards; my husband would not consent to be present at this bloodless
operation and carried me away promptly, when we returned an hour later,
we found the head in its proper place again. My bust in clay was now
completed and Romanelli promised to send to Moscow for Christmas my bust
made in marble. The lump of clay representing the bust of a young woman,
which Romanelli manipulated according to my features, is transformed now,
for another sitting, into a bust of a wrinkled old man. My portrait will
be ready for Christmas also.
CHAPTER XXXIV
ROME
We spent a week in visiting the city of the Cæsars, running through
churches, art-galleries and other regulation sights, according to
Baedecker, from morning till night. We followed our guide with
uncomplaining stoicism from one Museum to another. I was not feeling
altogether at my ease when visiting the catacombs, and wished myself
anywhere else all the time. We had to come down slowly through dark stone
passages with our folding lantern in which a reluctant wax-taper went
out at regular intervals. We saw caverns containing skeletons which fell
to dust when you touched them, and petrified corpses in coffins under
a glass cover. Truly it was a ghastly sight! There are often crumbling
stones too in the Catacombs, and you can easily find your death under
them.
In the church of “Santa Croce” we saw the staircase (Scala Pia) brought
forward from Jerusalem, reputed to have belonged to Pilate’s Palace,
where they were trodden by Christ at the time of his trial. Pilgrims are
permitted to ascend the steps on their knees only. Two smart ladies were
toiling slowly up the long ladder, stopping at every step to arrange the
folds of their skirts. Some peasant women, who had begun their ascent
much later, soon overtook them. I am sure that they have more chance of
getting to the Kingdom of Heaven.
The Pantheon, where the remains of King Vittorio Emmanuele repose, is
the only ancient edifice in Rome, which is conserved perfectly intact.
It has no ceiling, and the Roman sun and the Roman moon shine through
the open roof. The sepulchre in which the body of Vittorio Emmanuele is
laid is covered all over with garlands of flowers and is guarded by three
veterans of the Italian army, who watch over a big book in which all
those who wish to honour the memory of the “King Galantuomo” sign their
names.
We had to cross the Tiber to arrive at the Vatican, where we found
ourselves on Papal territory, which has a particular clerical aspect. The
population is very poor here, a great part of their existence is spent
in the open. There was a crowd of women, ragged and unkempt creatures,
sitting in front of their houses in a bath of sunshine, bearing the pure
classical Roman type. They were surrounded by a swarm of children with
unwiped noses, who stared at us with their fingers in their mouths. I
can’t make out how these matrons had the time to bring such a lot of
children into the world. We met a number of prelates in the streets, and
ladies in black dresses and long black veils, prescribed by etiquette
for ladies going to an audience with the Pope, and wearing mourning in
the memory of the abolished clerical potency. The Pope, deploring his
decay, has shut himself up in the Vatican, vowing never to leave it until
the King abdicates the throne. The doors of the Vatican are closed to
all persons belonging to the Court of Italy, Baron Rosen, the Russian
attaché, in the number.
There was much to see in the Vatican Palace. We went from room to room
admiring the immortal masterpieces. In the “Sixtine Chapel” we saw the
famous picture of the “Last Judgment” painted by Michael Angelo. We could
hardly get away from the place. Then we stepped into a long gallery all
lined with pictures on Scripture subjects, arranged like a museum and
leading to the private apartments of the Pope. Groups of Papal guards,
the last remains of the Papal power, in their picturesque uniforms, with
striped yellow and black legs, were walking to and fro with a rifle on
their shoulder. After leaving the Palace we strayed down the wide stairs
into the beautifully kept gardens which surrounded it, and saw wild deer
and pheasants walking about freely. The Pope feeds them himself every
morning during the voluntary prisoner’s drive in the alleys of the Park.
On leaving the Vatican Gardens the head-gardener presented me with a
splendid bouquet.
On the great Square before the bronze gates of the Vatican, in front of
St. Peter’s Cathedral, we saw the black statue of St. Peter, sitting in
his stone chair under a golden baldaquin, holding in his hand the “Keys
of Paradise.” Through the continual contact of worshippers lips, one of
the Saint’s toes was almost completely worn out. After having admired
the rich monuments of all the interred Popes, and the shrine containing
St. Peter’s relics, we drove along the ancient “Latin Road” to Monte
Palanchino, one of the most interesting reminiscences of past ages. A
whole army of workmen, under the superintendence of a group of engineers
and archeologists, continue to excavate making splendid discoveries. A
whole street intact has recently been dug out. The pavements and houses
with their mosaic floors are marvellously preserved. We stood on the
roof of one of the newly excavated houses watching the workmen who were
destroying—on the mountain side over us—a splendid villa which had
belonged to Napoleon the Third, in order to continue to dig out the
street under its foundation.
On the eve of our departure from Rome we went to see the Coliseum, a ruin
of former glory where gladiators have fought, the largest amphitheatre in
the world, which could hold about ten thousand spectators. Before turning
to the hotel we took a drive in Monte Pincio, the Hyde Park of Rome. The
large alleys are filled with riders, drivers and pedestrians. On both
sides of the drive stand white marble statues of gods and goddesses. In
the very beginning is erected the statue of Vittorio Emmanuele, in the
memory of the taking of Rome by his armies. In front of the round tower
of the summer-house, sheltered by magnificent magnolia and orange trees,
there is a high terrace. We mounted on it, and Rome lay below us like a
city from a balloon. It was very still and peaceful, the noise of the
street did not penetrate to this place. Suddenly the evening bells began
to ring all over Rome. On our way back, when passing before the “Trevi
Fountains,” we called to mind the popular saying that if you want to
return to Rome once more, you must drink some water out of this fountain,
and we swallowed two glasses of the miraculous water which we purchased
at a little shop near by.
After having seen all the sights of the Eternal City we started for
Naples. We had quite enough of all these churches and museums, and were
tired out by too much admiration. The tenants of our railway carriage
were but three, but they had managed things so nicely that not a square
inch of spare room was visible, engrossed by a fabulous number of bags,
baskets, etc., etc. “Partenza!” shouted the railway officials, bang-bang
went the doors, and our train left the station and began to wind round
the low hills of the “Campagna.”
CHAPTER XXXV
NAPLES
When we arrived at Naples a whole legion of porters assailed us. We
took an apartment at the Grand Hôtel, situated on the New Quay. We had
a disagreeable surprise when we awoke next morning; a grey mist veiled
Mount Vesuvius, the sky and sea were of leaden hue, and rain began to
fall, which is very rare in this place. We braved the elements, and went
in the afternoon to try and find out what has become of Schildecker,
one of my most devoted lovers in the blessed days of my girlhood. We
had exhausted every means in our power to discover his whereabouts and
have been all over Naples to find him, but nobody could tell us anything
about him. We called at the Transatlantic Bank where Schildecker had
been employed, but there also nothing had been heard of him for nearly
ten years. We got, however, the address of one of Schildecker’s friends,
who perhaps could say where he was. But Sergy felt tired, and said that
we could make far better use of our time than spending it in search
of Schildecker. I despaired of finding him again, but did not insist,
fearing to displease my husband.
After dinner, we drove to the Circus in a cab drawn by a queer-tempered
horse, who at first would not move, and stood planted with rigid
forelegs, tucked-in tail and ears laid back. Our driver made a great
fuss with the reins and the whip, but his horse would not advance an
inch. Suddenly the stubborn animal changed his mind, swerved aside, and
commenced to rear, plunging rather wildly, and seemed to be in a fair
way to kick himself free of everything. Perceiving the danger, I jumped
out of the carriage, to Sergy’s great horror, and went straight to the
horse’s head and snatched at the bridle, after which the nasty vicious
brute became more manageable and consented to carry us to our destination.
Next morning, while still in bed, I could see the sunrise over Vesuvius,
lighting the smoke which rose from the crater. After a hasty breakfast,
we went for a drive in the outskirts of Naples passing through the
“Pausilippe Grotto,” which is about a mile long; it is supported by
columns and lighted at long intervals by lanterns. The road leading to
Virgil’s tomb passes over the Grotto. We visited also the “Sulfre Grotto”
with sulphur smoke coming out of the Vesuvius and evaporating through
crevices in the Grotto. The “Dog’s Grotto” is full of sulphuric acid.
A dog, serving for experiments, loses consciousness when kept inside
one second, and breathes his last in the lapse of one minute. One of
the ugly little mongrels, upon whom experiments are made, ran before us
wagging his tail, but when the guide wanted to take him in his arms,
the poor little brute began to whine pitifully. We would not have him
tortured on our account, and the guide finding it necessary to show us
another experiment, filled an earthen pot with gas, into which he dipped
a burning torch which was immediately extinguished. We were back at
Naples just in time for dinner. Before going to sleep we had an agreeable
surprise. A troup of wandering singers gave us a serenade beneath our
windows, and sung Russian folk-songs. I was so pleased I could have
kissed them all. Next morning Sergy went out by himself to make inquiries
about Schildecker, and started off to the address of his friend given in
the Bank, and was told that Schildecker had died of consumption ten years
ago. Poor fellow! His death affected me, and I dropped a tear for him.
We devoted the whole of the next day to Pompeii, the long-buried city
at the foot of the great destroyer. Nothing but desolation and silence
around! Walking amid the wrecks, the mystery of the past took possession
of us and the busy lives which animated formerly the deserted town,
rose before us. The cinder-choked streets have preserved their ancient
denominations. The buildings remind me of those of Erzeroum, with a
fountain in the middle of the inner court. The frescoed walls have kept
their original colour, and the sign-boards over the houses and the
indecent bas-reliefs (reminiscences of not over pure-minded antiquity)
are perfectly intact. Here is the grand _Basilique_ the symbol of an
ancient disappeared civilisation and the pagan temples of Venus, Mercury
and Jupiter. A little further, in the quarter of the Gladiators, is the
_Forum_ with the immense tribune in which the people assembled for all
sorts of meetings. In a separate museum curious remains of past ages are
gathered: artistically worked jewels, mosaics and petrified corpses in
almost as fine condition as 1800 years ago in 79 A.D. There is a young
woman lying prostrate on the marble floor; the position of the hands
indicate that she had instinctively tried to protect her face from the
hot ashes when the death-storm broke and Vesuvius blotted out Pompeii.
We saw objects just dug up: coins, vases and pottery. We passed before
bars which looked as if they had just been freshly painted, where wine
had been sold. Here are loaves of bread lying on the counter of a baker’s
shop, transformed into stone and looking as if they had just come out
of the oven. Before the shop, a petrified dog, curled up, seems to be
sleeping.
Our old cicerone, who had lived all his life at the foot of the great
mountain, had worked as guide to Pompeii for fifty-five years. He told us
that there were presently forty guides at Pompeii. When we asked if it
wasn’t dangerous for him to live so near to the volcano, the old guide
replied, with pride, that they were all of them sons of Vesuvius, and had
no need, therefore, to dread it.
We had to pass through the vestibule of the modern Hôtel Diomède to enter
the domains of the past, and on our way back we had dinner there. I was
glad to be out of the circle of the dead centuries and back into the
world of living men. I had just read a French novel written by Georges
de Peyrebrune in which the author described the wonderful beauty of
Signorina Sofia Prospezi the daughter of the proprietor of Hôtel Diomède,
and wanted to see if the reputation of her beauty was not exaggerated. It
appeared to be quite true. Signorina Prospezi was beyond question endowed
with great beauty: she was tall, slender, with a pure oval face, finely
chiselled features and luminous velvety, brown eyes, shaded by curling
black lashes. I asked her to give me her photograph, and she begged for
mine in return. Her father was wonderfully amiable and attentive towards
us. Instead of regaling us with diluted wine, which was usually served
to his customers, he ordered the oldest and best wine in his cellars
to be brought to us. Our host evidently meant to be complimentary, and
said that he thought me very much like his wife—who appeared to be a
compatriot of ours—when she was young and beautiful.
On the following day we drove to Castellamare; a succession of villages
lined the way. The tramway took up half the breath of the road,
encumbered with huge waggons drawn by great powerful horses; I felt
rather frightened. On approaching Sorrento we ran against a car drawn
by a horse, a cow and a donkey as well! There was a local feast of
Saint-somebody, I didn’t know who, at Sorrento, and flags were suspended
from house to house across the narrow streets. We passed before the
house which had been inhabited by Torquato Tasso transformed now into
an hotel. Just in front of it stands the statue of the great poet. The
distant sound of low chanting attracted our attention; it grew louder,
and presently, far up the street, we saw a religious procession come
in sight. At the head came a pilgrim holding a high crucifix. Behind
followed a group of curates in white surplices, bearing a large grotto
in which stood the statue of a saint dressed as a Franciscan monk,
surrounded by a number of statuettes representing worshippers kneeling to
him. A number of little girls, arrayed in white, with crowns of roses on
their heads, carried an altar decorated with vases full of paper-flowers,
in the middle of which stood the statue of the Virgin, clad in a rich
brocade dress and a long blue mantle embroidered with silver stars; the
Madonna’s long hair fell in ringlets on her shoulders. A large crowd of
pilgrims came behind. We begged a constable to clear a passage for us
through the throng and gained the high road by a back street. From afar
we saw the lava running down Vesuvius. Our _vetturino_, turning round,
said, “That’s my home,” pointing with his whip to a little village
sheltered beneath the treacherous mountain.
On arriving at Castellamare we were just in time to catch the train
with which we were to return to Naples. We got into the first railway
carriage occupied by an ill-assorted Italian pair, a fat middle-aged lady
and a good-looking young man resembling an opera tenor, and at least a
quarter of a century younger than his companion, who made beside him,
the sharpest contrast, looking very thick and clumsy. She gazed at her
interesting cavalier with an admiration and tenderness in her old eyes,
which was quite ridiculous. The evening being fresh, I closed the window,
to the great displeasure of my voluminous neighbour, who began to grumble
and said to her companion that she was on the point of being suffocated.
“She must certainly feel hot, the fatty!” I exclaimed in Russian very
imprudently, for after I had just made this flattering statement, the
young Italian said to Sergy, in a most natural tone, that his wife, as
it appears, is a compatriot of ours. I felt pretty bad at that moment,
I confess, having got into a terrible scrape. I could have bitten off
my tongue! Unfortunately I always speak first and think afterwards! But
apparently the fat lady didn’t hear my complimentary adverb, as she
amiably entered into conversation, and in a few minutes we felt as if we
had known her for ages. She became very confidential, and by the time the
train reached Naples we were in possession of the entire history of her
life. She told us, with a coquettish glance at her husband, which would
have been very effective thirty years ago, that she had been married five
years, and was feeling perfectly happy, only rather home-sick for Moscow,
her native town. How in the world did she manage to catch that handsome
fellow—who, for his part, certainly didn’t seem to adore his caricature
spouse.
Our great desire was to make the ascent by the Funicular Railway of
Mount Vesuvius, whilst it was in eruption. Our wish was fulfilled on
the following day. It took us three hours to drive in a carriage to the
aerial railway-station. We passed a great number of macaroni factories,
and saw rows of macaroni hanging on strings to dry. The road was most
picturesque, having the blue Mediterranean strewn with white sails on
one side and Vesuvius on the other. At length we reached the foot of
the mountain, its head wrapped in a gloomy wreath of smoke and cloud.
The volcano was in full activity at that moment, and a large torrent
of lava was running down the right slope of the Vesuvius. We saw the
Funicular Railway crawling up the steepest part of the cone. We began
to climb a very steep ascent leading to the aerial station, paved
with different-coloured tiles of petrified lava. On each side of our
way rose mountains of black lava. A group of street-singers followed
our carriage singing Neapolitan folk-songs. When we arrived at the
railway-station, standing near the observatory and the carbiniers’
lodge, the carriage-road ended. After having secured our tickets at the
booking-office, we had lunch in the restaurant, and saw from the open
window a funicular car crawling down the mountain. The Funicular Railway
has only two cars, attached to an endless cable, named “Vesuvius” and
“Etna,” one at the top and one at the bottom of the mountain; the one
that comes down pulls the other one up.
After lunch, when we made our way to the Funicular, we were accosted by
a crowd of tattered boys, who proposed to clean our boots, and begged
plaintively for some coins “_Per mangiare macaroni._” We descended into
a sort of dark cave and entered an open railway-carriage in sloping
position, holding only ten passengers sitting in pairs opposite each
other, the back seats on a level with their heads. Two carbiniers
escorted our car. I shuddered when we began the ascent, for it was not
at all comforting to be aware that lava only served as foundation to the
Funicular Railway and might be falling to pieces at any moment. The mount
which only takes a few minutes, seemed a whole century to me. Vesuvius
was throwing great balls of fire all the time, and the smoke coming out
of the volcano spread around us. We had arrived at the highest point
that the waggon could reach and had to leave the Funicular and climb to
the summit of Vesuvius on foot. We walked on very rough ground, steaming
with sulphurous springs. A score of ragged fellows proposed to serve as
guides to us, and said that we must absolutely take two men, each of us,
to push and pull us up, but I announced proudly that I could perfectly
do with one guide only. I hadn’t made the ascent of Mont Blanc for
nothing, I suppose! We walked on a moving soil, consisting of ashes and
pumice-stone, sulphur smoke passed off in vapour from crevices beneath
us; the soil burnt our feet and our shoes filled with lava. The smell
of sulphur nearly choked me. I could not breathe without coughing or
gasping. Our mount became more and more difficult: there was no longer
any path, it was merely like going up a very steep cinder heap; with
each step we sank in it to knee-depth. It was very fatiguing and I had
to seek the aid of three guides; one guide took me by the right arm,
another took me by the left one, and the third pushed vigorously behind.
By the time we arrived at the top my dress was in rags. At last, after
an hour’s toil, we succeeded in reaching the summit of the cone and were
approaching the lip of the crater. At the same time we heard a long
low rumbling, like the sound of the sea when the tide is breaking on a
distant beach. Right below us yawned an enormous pit, whose sides were
gnarled and twisted by the action of terrible heat; we saw the burning
liquid issue from the crater. I managed to get so near that the ashes
fell on my dress. It was a wonderful sight and needs the pen of Dante to
describe the awful impression received when I stood on the brink of the
crater and gazed into the depths of an inferno. The head-guide requested
me not to approach too near its fiery mouth, but I felt it draw me like
a magnet. We could hear the roar of the fire beneath us. We stood there
fascinated when a loud report shook the ground and a shower of hot
cinders fell around us. We felt like being under a war-fire. I never was
in such a fright in all my life and thought our last moment had come. “We
are lost,” I said to myself trembling all over.
Following the command of our guides we fell flat on our faces, at once.
All this happened in the space of a second. A smell of burning wool
spread around us. It was my dress which had caught fire. Next moment we
got up hurriedly and fled in terror to the other end of the cone, as
the direction these rivulets of liquid fire take, depends entirely on
the wind. By some miracle nobody was hurt. We have had evidently a very
narrow escape of our lives. We were now on our way back to the Funicular
Railway. Oh! that descent! We slid down as on skates and reached the
Funicular Station in shoes almost entirely without soles.
The next day we went to visit the “Certosa,” an ancient grey abbey
perched on a high rock, a veritable eagle’s nest. Only six monks are left
now in the monastery, to make the famous “Certosa liqueur.” They gather
the herbs in the mountains and keep the recipe of their liqueur as a
great secret. The convent is now converted into a Museum. Among other
curiosities we were shown a shallop in which Charles the Tenth had landed
in Spain. Looking out from the terrace the whole city of Naples lay
revealed; only the distant splashing of the sea below was heard.
A terrible calamity has befallen the Island of Ischia. The little town of
Casamicciola, destroyed by a recent tremendous earthquake, is nothing but
a heap of deplorable ruins. Through the awful cataclysm the inhabitants
are deprived of home and bread. In pursuit of strong sensations we wanted
to visit these ruins and embarked on a small steamer which plied from
the Bay of Naples to Ischia. It takes only two hours to cross. There was
not a breath of air and the sea looked like a polished mirror. Whilst we
gazed at the frolics of the dolphins from deck, we passed a man-of-war
that had cast anchor in the Bay, and did not remark that it was a Russian
cruiser. A young chap who sold photographs on board, offered to show
us the ruins of Casamicciola. He could murder enough French to be our
interpreter and we accepted his offer. He told us that he had lost both
his parents and all his belongings in the recent earthquake; the only
object he had found amongst the ruins was his watch. The poor boy had
remained several hours unconscious under the ruins and was just out of
hospital. On approaching Ischia, we stopped before what had formerly
been Casamicciola, a desolate black desert now. The earthquake had in a
few moments changed the prosperous little town into a ruin. Hundreds and
hundreds of homes had entirely gone. Many people were buried beneath the
fallen houses. About two hundred corpses remained under the ruins and
a terrible smell came forth. In fear of infection the inhabitants are
forbidden to dig out the corpses. Another slight earthquake took place
the other day: a rock tumbled down, destroying the remaining houses, and
large crevices have been formed in the mountains all around. The whole
population is in terrible distress. The only inhabitants who escaped
death are those who were working out in the fields at the moment of the
catastrophe, and had fled panic-stricken to the mountains for refuge. We
were told that a Russian couple, living at the Hôtel des Étrangers, had
been saved through their children who were having a fight in the park
belonging to the hotel. Their parents had just come down to set them
apart, when the earth shook, and the whole hotel came down, falling to
pieces. Looking at this bright place and its luxurious vegetation, it
seems to be a perfect paradise on earth, but this beautiful soil opens
treacherously under your feet, transforming everything into a “vale
of tears.” Oh! the irony of the things of this world! And still men
will build up new dwellings again and will not think of the danger of
a repetition of the past catastrophe! An old cab, with a skeleton of a
horse between the shafts, drove us through the demolished streets heaped
up with stones, trunks of trees and plaster, but soon there was no road
at all, and we had to walk amidst a mass of broken stones and woodwork.
We saw women seeking forgotten objects on the threshold of their crumbled
houses, a wreck of broken stones and fallen walls. A young girl sat with
her head buried in her hands, rocking her body to and fro, and kept
wailing “Why, oh, why was I saved!” It was a sorrowful spectacle and my
heart bled for her. Workmen had been sent in haste to build barracks
for the victims of the catastrophe, and huts have been erected in the
vicinity of the ill-fated town. We visited that sordid encampment where
the poor wretches slept on the hard ground, pêle-mêle, like Bohemians. A
troup of carbiniers have just arrived to keep order. We were surrounded
by hundreds of poor starving creatures. Sad-faced women, with tragic
eyes, stood in groups with children of all ages holding to their skirts.
They spread out their hands in a gesture of despair and burst into
lamentations, begging for bread. Sergy gave away nearly all the contents
of his purse. The poor wretches murmured their thanks, pressing kisses
on my hands, against my inclination. In token of gratitude, an old,
toothless granny, wrinkled like a crumpled apple, her hooked nose nearly
in contact with her chin, patted me on the back; being very much afraid
that she meant to kiss my reluctant cheek, I went prudently behind my
husband. My one desire was to get back to Naples, and I breathed freely
when our boat left the shores of Ischia. A group of Neapolitan women,
with red handkerchiefs on their heads, had come out from third class on
our deck to dance the _Tarantella_, to the accompaniment of a band of
strolling musicians. One of the women had been hurt by the earthquake,
and this was her first day out of the hospital.
On approaching Naples, I was delighted to see on the quay a group of
Russian sailors belonging to the man-of-war which had cast anchor in the
bay. I hastened to land, in order to boast of my countrymen before our
fellow passengers. But, O horror! it appeared that the sailors were all
desperately drunk, and looked awful. With bleeding faces, their clothes
all in tatters, they made a disgusting spectacle of themselves. We were
told that they had just had a fight with some Italian sailors who had
cheated them in a tavern where they had been drinking together. Our
compromising compatriots were shouting in Russian, “Give back our money
or we’ll throw you into the water!” It was not a very edifying scene and
made me blush for my country. On our way to the hotel we met another
group of Russian sailors walking in a friendly way—arm-in-arm—with their
Italian comrades, also tolerably drunk and zig-zagging somewhat, their
two feet being hopelessly at variance. There will be a fight between them
ere long, I am sure. Passing by a coral shop, we entered to purchase a
necklace, and made out that the owner of the shop was a fellow-countryman
of ours, living in Naples for the last thirty years. He had been sexton
at the Russian church, and having married the daughter of an Italian
merchant, he had settled down for good in this country. His eldest son
can just speak a few words in Russian, but the younger ones cannot speak
a word of our mother-tongue.
The next day we started back to Russia. I left _La bella Napoli_ with
regret.
CHAPTER XXXVI
PEISSENBERG
Once back in Moscow, we resumed our usual mode of life. My husband is
working very hard, and I see him only during our meals. Our doctor finds
repose and change of air necessary for us both, and sends us to make a
cure in the sanatorium of the famous Wunderfrau Ottilie Hohenmeister, at
Peissenberg, in the Bavarian mountains. Our journey occupied three days.
I grew rather excited as we neared our destination, and when the train
steamed into the station of Peissenberg, I felt downcast and nervous at
the thought that we should have to undergo a serious cure here. We drove
in a carriage sent by Frau Hohenmeister to her sanatorium—beautifully
situated on the slope of a hill—and followed her head-manager into a
parlour where a fire was burning brightly. After having put our names
down in the register-book, we climbed to the top-floor by a creaking
staircase of seventy steep steps which led to our apartment, consisting
of two rooms high up in the attic. Our turret bedroom was close under
the roof, and our eyes were above the tree-tops. It had a window in its
sloping ceiling through which stars might be studied at night. And we
are first-class boarders at the sanatorium! How are the second-class
tenants lodged, I wonder? In return we have a beautiful view from our
sitting-room window, looking on to the vast forest and on snowy hill-tops
in the background.
After having ordered a fire to be lit in our room, we went to present
ourselves to the Wunderfrau, who lives in a private house close to the
sanatorium. A number of people, coming from all parts of the world, sat
about waiting in the drawing-room. Frau Hohenmeister has wide-world
fame and works wonders. The doctoress welcomed us affably and gave me a
friendly pat, calling me all the time, “_Mein Kind, mein Schatz_.” She is
a short and fat woman, with a round face and round black eyes—in short,
she is round everywhere. My German being very elementary, I called to my
help all the German words I knew to answer the Wunderfrau’s questions.
That night, before going to bed, we devoured a whole box of caviare which
we had brought from Moscow, as we were to be put on diet the following
day.
Our cure began at six o’clock in the morning. First came a little wizen
old woman, badly named “Greti” (diminutive of Margaret), who brought us
a nasty drug which we swallowed with a grimace. At half-past six we had
to undergo a massage performed by Fräulein Zenzi, Frau Hohenmeister’s
pretty niece; at seven came the knock of the bathman (Herr Bademeister)
announcing that our baths were ready. The water in the bath was dark, and
smelt just like Grete’s mixture. We had to lie down in bed for twenty
minutes after our bath, and at eight o’clock Fräulein Zenzi reappeared
bringing a bottle bearing the inscription “Medicine,” and we had to
swallow a tablespoonful of that horrid physic every two hours. It was
only at ten o’clock that I got a cup of beef-tea, whilst Sergy (lucky
man) was allowed a cup of coffee. At eleven o’clock repetition of the
same broth with an egg, and a small roll in addition. At seven we went
down to dinner after the table-d’hôte, and returned to our attic feeling
very hungry, for the soup had been uneatable and the following dishes
quite tasteless, as our doctoress strictly forbids seasoning of any kind.
At nine o’clock we were obliged to go to bed, and at ten the gas was
turned out all over the house.
Sergy was not a very docile patient, and felt rebellious to the authority
of a person of the feeble sex, but I did all that the Wunderfrau ordered
me to do without protest.
The village of Peissenberg—set upon a hill—is very picturesque. It is
inhabited mostly by mine-workers. In the daytime the male population
lives underground. When we went out for our every-day walk, the women
on their doorsteps dropped us a curtsey with a muttered “_Grüss
Gott_.” Sergy goes out on excursions sometimes. One afternoon he went
to Steinberg, where he took the boat plying on the Lake Wurm. He met
on board a very pretty and stylish woman, the Countess Dürkheim née
Princess Bobrinsky, a compatriot of ours, who had married an aide-de-camp
of the King of Bavaria. The Countess expressed her desire to make my
acquaintance and wrote a note to me asking us to dine on the following
day at Rothenbuch, the Dürkheims’ beautiful estate at two hours’ drive
from Peissenberg. I scribbled off a line to say that I regretted I was
unable to accept her amiable invitation, not being very well, but if she
would come to see me, I should be very pleased. And the Countess came the
next day. At the end of the week, we drove down to Rothenbuch to return
her call. On approaching their estate, there came a sound of music from
the forest surrounding the fine old mansion. The Countess and her husband
came to meet us on the verge of the forest, and led us over a velvet
lawn to a nook under a group of old trees where there was tea and cakes
and all sorts of things laid on a long table, at which sat numerous
guests, including the priest of the parish and the schoolmaster. The
whole company went afterwards to shoot at targets near the brewery, where
we saw a huge barrel filled with beer. The pencil drawings on the walls
of the brew-house, of life-sized faces, depict every drunken emotion
that the human face is capable of expressing, and represent red-nosed
drunkards belonging to all classes of society, with a constable and a
monk in the number. The young Count in shooting get-up, with his gun
on the shoulder, looked very sportsmanlike. He is the best shot in the
country, and now he carried off the first prize—a good fat goose. Then
our hosts led us to inspect their magnificent property. The “Schloss” is
a formidable square building with rounded towers at the four corners,
full of mediæval reminiscences. The grounds around are beautifully kept.
As we were driven back to Peissenberg, we were overtaken by a terrible
storm; the thunder rolled, preceded by dazzling lightning, and rain began
to fall heavily. We came home drenched to the skin; my dress had the
heavy soapy look that bathing-suits have, and my hat looked a sad object
with its plume hanging lamentably, and rivulets of water falling from its
brim.
Every year on her birthday the Wunderfrau gives a village entertainment
followed by a rural ball. She invited us to a grand dinner during which
a military band, imported from Munich, played marches and lively airs.
After the repast we went to see the country-dance on the common. The
merry-go-round was in all activity. The Wunderfrau, surrounded by her
guests, was sitting on the grass, dowdily dressed and loaded with false
jewellery; her black silk dress was fastened at the throat by a brooch
the size of a saucer, which contained the effigy of her late husband.
There was a long file of tables laid out with dishes and bottles.
Village youths and maidens had come from all around, dressed in their
Sunday best. The lads, their vests hanging on one shoulder and their
large-brimmed hats cocked on one ear, sat before large bocks, filling
themselves steadily with beer and flirting with their sweethearts,
talking and laughing uproariously. When it began to get dark there
were dances in the big barn. Our cook and laundress opened the ball,
swinging round the three-step waltz to the music of _Ach mein lieber
Augustin_ played by rural musicians. After them the whole company began
whirling and twirling with shrill shrieks of merriment. We were very
much amused by the gambols of these rustics. The lads in their thick
boots and country clothes, carrying their partners clasped to their
bosom like packets, were careering round, stamping the floor loudly with
their nailed heels. We were much surprised to see among the dancers our
doctoress, red and panting, turning round like a weather-cock, embraced
by a ruddy-faced youth. All of a sudden the boys, brisked up by some
glasses of wine, separated from the girls and began to turn somersaults,
tapping themselves noisily on the thighs, at which Countess Platen, a
Swedish lady who lived in our Sanatorium and gave tone to everything,
gathered up her skirts majestically and swept out queen-like, bearing
her head high and stepping as though she was mistress of the whole fair
earth, followed by her satellites.
The days passed with despairing monotony. With admirable patience we
were persevering in our cure, and took our medicine, our bath, our
massage with great resignation. We shall finish our treatment in about a
fortnight and have decided to go and take sea-baths at the Isle of Wight.
The day of our departure arrived at last. When taking leave of us the
doctoress presented me with an enormous bouquet. Our train was crammed,
and we were closely packed in our compartment, when the door was flung
open and a breathless, panting lady of colossal dimensions, pushing
parcels before her, clambered in, walking on everybody’s toes. That fat
creature had undergone a cure in our Sanatorium, and was also provided
with a bouquet, only of much smaller dimensions than mine, because she
had been a second-class boarder.
We made a short halt at Munich, just in time to make a round of the
museums and to climb a dark staircase, lighted by a few oil-lamps, up to
the gigantic statue of Bavaria, in the head of which two big iron sofas
find place, and whose eyes serve as windows. We had a splendid bird’s-eye
view of the whole town out of them.
CHAPTER XXXVII
ON THE RHINE
We arrived at Manheim at three o’clock in the morning and drove to the
“Deutscher Hof.” The entrance door was locked, and our driver had to ring
vigorously several times before a dishevelled, drowsy waiter let us in.
On the following day we travelled up the Rhine on our way to Holland on
the “Elizabeth,” a small merchant steamer, the only one starting that
day for Coblentz. As there was no private cabin on the boat, we had to
remain on deck all day. The “Elizabeth” was a shabby little vessel, very
unclean, the uncovered deck was piled with boxes and barrels. Towards
evening we approached Eltville, a small place where our boat moored
for the night. We slept at a small hotel and had to be up at dawn, as
the “Elizabeth” continued her way early in the morning. We got up long
before light, and at four o’clock were already on board. The banks of
the Rhine became more and more picturesque. The Rheinland seemed to be
saturated with the life of the past. We saw ruined old castles perched
high on the cliffs; one feels that they must have been the stage where
many dramas of human life have been enacted. Here is the legend “Lorelei
Felsen,” so romantic and so mysterious. At every stoppage our boat took
a cargo, which made us miss the Coblentz boat and we had to proceed
further on by rail. Our road ran side by side with the river. The train
was rapidly gaining headway, and at the second station we had overtaken
the “Elizabeth” which had left Coblentz half-an-hour before us. We made a
short halt at Bonn in order to pay a visit to Bonnegasse, the street in
which Beethoven was born. The house No. 515 is commemorated by a tablet
with his name and date of birth. At the last German station I saw, to
my great fright, that we were descending straight to the Rhine, with no
vestige of a bridge over it. When we arrived at the very edge of the
river our train divided in two parts. Three cars, ours in the number,
were placed on a large ferry and worked across the water by a wheel and
a rope, to be hooked after to a Dutch train. It was a curious experience
floating on a wide river without oars or any visible means of transport.
As soon as we entered Holland, the landscape changed at once. We rolled
across flat expanses: all was level land. Vast fields of red and white
tulips spread before us. Black and white cows, with huge bells on their
necks, dozed in the high grass. The verdant prairies are variegated with
bad-smelling canals filled with water, on a level with the ground. Quaint
little houses with green and white shutters, that have sat themselves
close to the water edge, border the road. In the distance windmills
were turning slowly in the evening breeze, pointing their wings in all
directions and filling the air with a ceaseless whir.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
ROTTERDAM
We arrived towards night at Rotterdam, one of the most considerable
sea-ports in Holland. How helpless we felt in this strange country! We
had the greatest difficulty to make ourselves understood by the porters;
our knowledge of Dutch being nil, we addressed them in German and
English, and they answered in Dutch, which did not help us. We hailed a
cab and tried to explain to the driver that we wanted to be driven to
New Bath Hotel, and doubted somewhat whether we were understood, but
our driver replied reassuringly, making our luggage a resting-place for
his boots, and clambered into his seat. We arrived, in fact, at the
designated hotel, situated on the quay of the river Maas.
Next morning Sergy went to secure tickets for the first boat leaving for
London; there was one starting on the following day. When Sergy returned
we drove to the Zoological Gardens, the best in Europe. Rotterdam does
not inspire me; the houses are built on piles and look as if they were
all on one side, and the canals, like those of Venice, are dirty and
stinking. After the Zoological Gardens we visited an exhibition of Dutch
painters, and saw posthumous pictures said to be painted by Rembrandt.
Before returning to the hotel we drove through the park by a broad
avenue bordered with elegant villas belonging, for the most part, to
rich merchants. Dying of thirst, we drew up at a café and ordered tea. A
waiter brought a teapot with boiling water and two cups and nothing else,
and told us that the visitors had to supply their own tea and sugar in
this singular restaurant!
When we were back at the hotel I sat a long time by the window looking at
what was going on in the street, where the tram-cars, the carriages and
heavy carts intermingled unceasingly. Muzzled dogs drew large waggonettes
led by buxom peasant-women in stiffly starched gowns, who were faithful
to their ancient costume and wore red bodices, brown skirts and a strange
form of head-gear with heavy gold ornaments over flowing white caps. I
was very much interested with the life and traffic in the port, on to a
corner of which our windows looked. Large cargo-boats, exporting fruit
and vegetables to England, were moored in the port, and numerous barges
toiled steadily by, on their way to market, loaded to the water edge. A
big American steamer was leaving for New York on the next day, carrying
two thousand emigrants.
We spent our evening in a music-hall. The performance was very bad
indeed. First came a French “chanteuse” in a short skirt and still
shorter bodice, who rattled away indecent songs, then came the so-called
tenor, who cooed a sentimental romance both out of tune and time, then
a “basso profundo,” who bellowed Mephistopheles’ Serenade, made his
appearance. The whole performance was accompanied by dead silence. The
Dutch, in general, are a reserved people. All the faces are grave. I
never saw a Dutchman smile. We were obliged to return on foot to the
hotel and would have given anything for a carriage, but none was to be
had and all the trams were overcrowded. So we walked, trying to find our
way, which was not an easy thing to do, stopping at every corner to read
the name of the street under a lamp-post.
On the following morning we embarked for London on a Dutch steamer named
_Fjenoord_. The lower deck was closely packed with calves and sheep for
sale. As soon as we were out in the open sea, we began to feel a slight
rocking. It was too windy to remain on deck, and in our cabin the air
was so close and stifling! We asked the stewardess to wake us before
entering the Thames. I was up before six, dressed quickly and mounted
on deck. It had been raining in the night and the wet wool of the sheep
smelt very badly, whilst passing the English lighthouse, the syren on
our ship whistled loudly, calling out the pilot, who came alongside on a
small skiff; a rope-ladder was dropped, and the pilot clambered on board.
At half-past six we landed at Blackwall. After having passed through
the customs on a floating raft, we then took the train to London. We
regretted that we couldn’t enter London by the docks, but it was Sunday,
and the boats going that way had a holiday.
CHAPTER XXXIX
LONDON
We put up at Charing-Cross Hotel. After a good wash and brush-up, we
went to find out the Rydes, my old Stuttgart friends who had settled in
London for some years. I did not hear from Ettie Ryde, with whom I used
to have great fun, since our school-days. What a chance to meet again!
It was some little time before we found out the Rydes. We were received
by Ettie’s sisters, who had just returned from church. I was very much
disappointed when I was told that Ettie was out of town at the present
moment, but the Rydes are going to spend most of the summer at Blackgang,
in the Isle of Wight, and I hope to see a great deal of Ettie.
It was Sunday that day, which reduced us to inactivity, and we had
nothing else to do than to return to our hotel. There was a great
demonstration in the streets, and we met on our way a procession of the
“Westminster Democratic Society,” composed of a deputy of cabmen and
wine-merchants and other corporations, who were shouting and waving
flags. They marched with their bands at the head, without disturbing the
order in the streets. Three ragamuffins opened the march, mounted on
decrepit old hacks, holding large banners. The police gazed upon this
demonstration with the phlegm of an elephant whom a fly would like to
sting.
The next day we visited the Health Exhibition in Kensington Palace. The
trains left every five minutes and stopped with great jerks; we were
thrown out of our places so violently that I found myself sitting on
the knees of my neighbour opposite. There were many interesting things
to see at the Exhibition, but the Russian section was rather poorly
represented—furs and stuffed animals predominated. We had a good laugh
when we stopped before a manikin representing a Russian soldier, a
frightful guy, more like a bear than a human being, with a beard right up
to the eyes. The “quarter of old London,” attracted us the most. Whilst
walking the narrow dark streets lined with houses and shops, and crowded
with people dressed in the costumes belonging to the fifteenth century,
we had a vivid sensation of the past ages.
We returned to Charing-Cross Hotel longing to have a good rest, but on
entering our apartment we found our beds upset, the sheets and blankets
lying on the floor in a heap. It was the sour-faced chambermaid who
thought that we were leaving that same day, and was making ready the beds
for new visitors. When we told her that we were going to remain another
night in London, she picked up the sheets, flung them on the beds and
carried away the clean linen. I could have smacked her!
We left London at ten the next morning, having taken our tickets
straight to Ryde, the principal port of the Isle of Wight. On arriving
at Portsmouth we embarked on a small steamer which corresponded with the
train leaving for Shanklin, a sea-bathing place where we intended to
spend about three weeks. The crossing, though short, was rather rough.
It took ten minutes by train from Ryde to Shanklin station, where we got
into an omnibus and drove to Hollier’s Hotel.
Shanklin is a clean and pleasant village built on a cliff with trees
planted along its streets, detached houses standing back amid gardens
and a grey church reminiscent of rural England, with a spire rising from
among the trees. We have taken an apartment of two rooms for two guineas
a week. Hollier’s Hotel is a white house overgrown with honeysuckle
and sheltered by two enormous linden trees. Boxes of red geraniums
hang out of the windows. There was a most charming air of home-like
comfort about the whole house. Our sitting-room was prettily furnished,
full of nick-nacks, with chintz covers, muslin curtains and vases of
fresh flowers on the mantlepiece, and landscapes on the walls. Three
bay-windows look on the front at the entrance and at the back into a
railed-in garden with a broad, well-kept lawn like a green velvet carpet,
shaded by cedars a century old. Before the entrance door stands the hotel
omnibus, which is in ceaseless demand the whole day, bringing passengers
from and taking them to the station. The driver, perched on his high
seat, is dozing in the shade, with his nose on his paper.
On the following day of our arrival we were awakened by the sound of the
rain beating against the window-panes. It did not hinder Sergy to go and
take his first bath. It was low tide and the bathers were taken out into
the sea in a small cabin drawn by a horse.
We have arranged to have our meals served in our apartment. At five
o’clock a waiter brought in a neatly arrayed tray with nice tea,
delicious cream and fresh-baked rolls.
In the afternoon the sun came out, and we went for a stroll to the Chine,
a picturesque narrow pass which descends to the sea-edge. The Chine is,
for its own sake, well worth a visit to Shanklin; the admittance is only
twopence each. We sat down to rest on a crooked arm of a fallen tree, and
listened to the music of a small water-fall down below.
After dinner Sergy went to Mew’s post-office to hire a dog-cart for a
drive to Sandown, a neighbouring watering-place. We have run the risk
of breaking our necks during the promenade. I drove a restless horse
who pranced and kicked all the time, taking fright at a passing train
he jerked to one side, bolted and sprang into a furious gallop nearly
dragging my hands off. I frantically tugged at the reins and managed
to pull up the frightened animal some way down the road, driving him
into a heap of stones. The season had not yet begun at Sandown, and the
houses with their locked doors and closed shutters looked as if in sleep.
Everywhere placards were to be seen bearing the inscription, “Apartments
to Let,” and announcements that pieces of ground were to be let. There
was land to be sold for 999 years.
Having learned that the Rydes were living already at Blackgang, not far
away from Shanklin, I hurried to let them know of our arrival, looking
forward to seeing a great deal of Ettie. Although years had separated
us, I was not one to forget old friends and had been simple enough to
believe that Ettie, also, was burning with impatience to meet me. But one
always believes what one desires, it is the weak point of human nature!
Several days went by and it was queer that Ettie did not send any word
of her coming. This meeting so hotly desired by me came at last, but
in a fashion altogether different from that which I had pictured. One
morning a knock came at the door, and the parlour-maid ushered in Ettie
in person. I must say she was sadly altered, and I scarcely recognised
her; time passing over her had modified her as it does everything in this
world, nothing was left of the pretty Scotch lassie of by-gone days. She
was altered morally too; she looked so stiff, so unlike her old self.
Ettie reminded me, nevertheless, of my youthful days, and memories which
had slumbered for years awoke now in me. Stirring the cinders of our
reminiscences we spoke of the dear old days gone by when we were both
sixteen. We kept Ettie for dinner; when she went back in the evening her
farewell seemed stiff and formal to me, she gave me a cold kiss on my
cheek, and we were parting for no one knows how many years, for good and
all, perhaps, for the Rydes were leaving Blackgang in a few days. I am a
terrible creature for taking things to heart, and felt at the moment as
if I had been drenched with cold water. She is a cold-hearted creature,
Ettie, and I do not want to be friends with her any more. I should like
to be cold-hearted too, and not to care for any one. When Ettie had gone,
I remained for some time wrapped in thoughts the reverse of agreeable,
and was not able to put Ettie out of my mind. Sergy, who has a wonderful
soothing influence over me, set to work to comfort me, but he did not
succeed, and this time I was not to be comforted.
There are delightful walks and drives in all directions of the Isle
of Wight. We undertook to make excursions through the neighbouring
country in a huge pleasant-tour coach named “Old Times.” This coach can
hold twenty people inside and is driven by four powerful horses gaily
decorated with ribbons. We began our tour by Bembridge, and scrambled
into the back seat of the immense car by a ladder of ten steps. The
postilion frantically blew his horn, the coachman cracked his whip
over the head of his horses, and the coach rattled full speed along
beautifully kept roads. The drive proved long and interesting. We made
three halts without changing horses. Our fellow-passengers were not
very elegant-looking. I took Sergy’s neighbour, a tall, bearded man,
who was chewing a stinking cigar, for a German colonist, and he proved
to be a German Royal Prince. Towards noon we drew up before the veranda
of Bembridge Hotel standing on the beach, and had lunch on the spacious
terrace, enjoying the sea-breeze. At the same time a pleasure-boat had
brought a crowd of tourists to the hotel. We were back to Shanklin for
dinner, having taken another road through the woods and corn-fields.
Before us there was a lovely stretch of country with the gold of ripening
grain and the scarlet glint of poppies smelling like honey; full blown
blossoms of clover white and pink, scented the air. The Isle of Wight,
so green and fresh, is well named “The Garden of England,” really it is
quite the nicest bit of England. Trees and grass are of a wonderful vivid
green peculiar to this island. The climate is so mild that figs, laurel,
and myrtle trees grow in the open air. Intense heat is quite unknown here.
The next day we had gone coaching again. This time I had the front
seat of the coach. My neighbour was an elegant young man who had the
manner and the bearing of a Prince of the blood Royal. Having taken the
day before a Royal Prince for a colonist, Sergy this time promoted my
neighbour to the post of State Minister at least, and I felt sure he
was no less a person than a Royalty travelling incognito. At a stoppage
one of the horses had cast a shoe, and one can easily imagine how we
felt when my aristocratic neighbour began to shoe the horse—he was a
blacksmith! Our driver put into good spirits by frequent sips taken
at the stoppages, seemed to have completely forgotten his business.
He drove recklessly, taking the corners in a way that made me gasp; I
had to hold fast to the seat not to be thrown out of the omnibus at
every turn. I couldn’t bear it any longer and begged our driver to go
slower, but it only made him rush down the inclines at the speed of
an express train, turning in the same time his back to the horses and
chatting with the passengers. He boasted of how well he could manage
his long whip, and waving it right and left, he caught the rake of a
villager who was passing on the road. Luckily the idea didn’t come to
our driver to lift the man like a spilikin in the air. Half-way on we
stopped at Ventnor, a resort for consumptive patients, to give a rest
to the horses. We saw numerous invalids drawn through the streets in
their bath-chairs. We continued our way by an avenue of trees bending
over and forming a roof, and towards four o’clock we rattled into the
quiet village of Carisbrooke, and tore like a hurricane through the
narrow streets, scattering the crowd of dogs and hens before us. The
village with its white cottages and grass growing liberally out of the
broken pavement, looked very cosy. We saw a group of women all down on
their knees cheerfully doing their washing in the stream, laughing and
chatting together, and village children who were playing at soldiers
near a puddle where the ducks were quacking. The foaming horses came to
a stop before the Red Lion Inn, and everyone descended. We had dinner
at the inn, consisting of soup tasting like dish-water, and slices of
mutton not thicker than a sheet of paper, and they charged us five
shillings for the meagre repast! A two hours’ halt gave us time to visit
the picturesque ruins of old Carisbrooke Castle, after which we flung
ourselves with satisfaction upon the grass under a stack of hay, and
had for company an ancient white cart-horse who chewed his bunch of hay
under an old ash tree. We felt quite bucolic, it was so cool and nice
here, and the new-mown hay smelt so sweetly. Meanwhile our coachman had
put out his horses and gone to lie down. When we returned to the inn we
found him stretched full length on the grass under the shade of a big
tree, his face covered with his hat, sleeping the sleep of the just. The
postilion put him on his legs with some difficulty, for the brave man had
fortified himself still more with plentiful libations at the bar of the
inn. The horses were put to with the aid of the postilion, and we drove
back to Shanklin at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The photographer
who had taken a photograph of our group in the morning, just before we
had started for our tour, was waiting on the high-road and handed to each
passenger a copy of it.
The next day we went to Cowes, the summer residence of Queen Victoria. We
were speeding along level roads bordered by green woods—all soft grass
and splendid trees—and rolled through fields golden with buttercups. The
road now wound through bright green pastures where big fat cows dozed,
lying in the shade of apple-trees. We passed neat little white cottages
embowered in green, and a big farm-house belonging to the Prince of
Wales. We drew now through an avenue sheltered by stately elm-trees and
descended a steep hill leading to the river Medina, which we crossed on a
ferry, and arrived at Cowes. Our coach drew up before a big hotel where
we were to have dinner. The view from the terrace was one of exquisite
beauty, the surroundings of Cowes being amongst the most splendid in
England. We went and sat down on a bench beside the pier, waiting for the
bell to call us to table-d’hôte. Two big yachts belonging to the Queen,
the “Neptune” and “Man-of-War,” were moored in front of us. Side by side
with us on the bench sat an old man, with a face framed in a grey fringe
of beard, wearing a cotton bonnet drawn over his ears, who held a short
pipe in his toothless mouth. We fell into conversation with him and were
very much surprised when he told us that in all his long life he had only
been once to London.
Another day we went by rail to Ryde, the most frequented beach of the
Isle of Wight. The esplanade with its elm-groves, different-coloured
flower-beds, and well raked lawns, is magnificent.
The day after we went and spent the whole afternoon in the neighbouring
town of Newport, to visit the Exhibition of Agriculture. There was only
one passenger in our compartment, a stiff, solemn-looking lady, who
plunged her nose in her book all the way without uttering one word. On
arriving at Newport our silent companion dropped on my lap a small bunch
of flowers and a leaflet describing the way to get to Heaven. It flashed
upon me that, perhaps, that lady was some kind of missionary who wanted
to snatch me from the grip of the Evil One, and rescue my soul from
destruction.
The Exhibition, decorated with flags and banners, occupied a large space.
In the first place we were taken to see the section of work-horses,
cows, sheep and pigs in their stalls. All these animals, enormous in
size, were well worth looking at, especially the pigs, long and low,
with no legs to speak of, interested me much. The prize-animals had
placards hanging round their necks, bearing the inscription: _First
Prize_, _Highly Commended_, and simply _Commended_. On a big square we
watched the show of the carriage, saddle and cart-horses, their manes
plaited and interwoven with wild flowers and ears of corn, and their
tails jauntily braided with red cords. Then came the jumping competition
in which the first riders were to prove what they and their horses could
do in clearing hedges, hurdles, water-jumps and other obstacles. Special
experts were observing the print of the horses-hoofs on the sand, in
order to see which one had made the longest leap. One of the horses
bolted before a water-ditch and all the brave experts took to their
heels, carrying off their chairs with them. There was suddenly a stir
on the ring and stifled shrieks. It was a swarm of bees, which, leaving
their hive, had settled on the head of a poor lady. Luckily a doctor who
was present, rushed to her aid and began to scrape off with his pen-knife
the bees from their victim’s face, which had become all at once one
blistered mass. We had dinner in a big refreshment tent, during which a
red-coated military band played the best pieces from their repertoire.
Towards evening it began to rain, and we hurried back to Shanklin.
One afternoon we saw a carriage stop at our entrance door, it held King
Oscar of Sweden and his suite, who had come to take lunch at our hotel.
After their meal the whole company withdrew to the lawn in front of our
window. The Swedes threw themselves down on the grass, and the eldest
member of the party, who was lying on his back in idle contentment,
began to sing at the top of his voice a Swedish song with the burden of
_O Matilde_, coming over and over again. Another Swede, forgetting his
dignity, pirouetted and executed somersaults like a veritable clown, his
legs making frequent excursions towards the sky, to the great indignation
of one of the hotel tenants, a prudish maiden-lady of some fifty years,
who was knitting in the garden. She rose suddenly, gathered up her work
in dignified displeasure, and walked back to the hotel with an air of
offended maidenhood, like a startled virgin whose virtue was being put
to the test. King Oscar was travelling in strictly incognito under the
name of _Count Haga_. When my husband asked our waiter, who had just
brought in our tea, if the gentleman who sang _O Matilde_, was the King,
he responded stoutly that it was not at all the King, but his first
minister. Some time afterwards, during our stay in Paris, we saw the
portrait of the Swedish King exposed in the window of a picture shop, and
the fact appeared undeniable—that the singer was precisely King Oscar.
In Shanklin, like everywhere else in England, Sunday is a dull day; the
village is asleep, the shopkeepers put up their shutters and retire to
the bosom of their families. Over the door of a thatched-roofed cottage
just opposite Hollier’s Hotel, the sign-board Library in big white
letters, is taken off and the mistress of the shop does not sweep the
steps on her threshold, as she does every week-day. The baths, even, are
open only until eight o’clock in the morning. There are very few people
in the streets, only at eleven o’clock a.m., and at eight p.m. you can
see the inhabitants with their prayer-books, going off to Chapel.
We had quite enough of the Isle of Wight. Shanklin is such a dull and
sleepy place! It has only one advantage, you can’t spend money there.
The worst of the place is that there is nothing to do in the evenings;
at nine o’clock all the houses close their shutters, and one can only go
to bed. My pleasure-loving temperament revolted against this life, and I
was very pleased when the day of our departure arrived. We went by train
to Cowes, where we took the boat to Southampton. Before leaving British
soil, we entered a druggist’s shop and bought some homeopathic medicine
against sea-sickness, for each crossing makes me horribly ill.
We arrived at Havre the next morning at sunrise. The fog was so thick
that we could not see two paces ahead of us, and had to signal our
approach by shrill sounds of the fog-horn. We took the express train at
Havre and arrived the same evening at Paris, where we made a three days’
halt, and then started back to Russia.
CHAPTER XL
MOSCOW
We are home at last! No more horrid hotels, no more travelling! We
remained a few days in town and removed to the camp on the Khodinka
Field, where a large barrack, consisting of a score of rooms, was
assigned to us. I fully enjoyed our camp life. The trumpet exercises and
the singing in chorus of the soldiers resounded from early morning until
night.
One day we made an expedition to New Jerusalem, a large monastery
standing in the neighbourhood of Moscow. It is a vast stone building
surrounded by a high wall, one mile in circumference. There are forty-two
altars in the church, which can hold up about ten thousand people. Every
Sunday the Bishop, surrounded by a group of priests dressed in white
sacerdotal vestments, performs the Easter mass before the Holy Sepulchre,
the exact copy of the Sepulchre in Jerusalem. There is an hospice near
the church where pilgrims find shelter and board for three days at the
expense of the monastery.
Another day we drove to the Cloister of Simeon, where men and women
possessed by the devil assemble for the expulsion of the Evil Spirit.
When we entered the church we saw about a dozen women stretched flat on
the floor before the Altar, in a fit of epilepsy. All at once they jumped
up and began to shout: “There he is, there he is, he is entering into me,
go away, go away, Demon!” But as soon as the priest called up the women
by their names, they grew calm at once and began to drink a spoonful of
oil taken from an image-lamp.
The rainy season coming on earlier than usual, we returned to town in the
beginning of September. Moscow was very gay this winter; many celebrated
artists visited our city. The appearance of Maria Van-Zandt, a lovely
American Opera singer, was the great attraction of the season. I went
to see her in “Lakme,” Delibe’s latest opera, and she gave me exquisite
pleasure, being delightful to look upon and to be listened to. She was
bewitchingly pretty, just like a dainty bit of Dresden china; her voice
was clear as silver and she trilled like a bird.
Prince Dolgorouki, the governor-general of Moscow, arranged theatricals
in his palace, in the presence of the Emperor and Empress, who visited in
January our old capital. After a French one act comedy, came a tableau
representing a banquet of Russian boyards in the ninth century; the
Prince invited me to take part in the tableau. My costume, pink and
gold, was very pretty; Sylvain the coiffeur of the Imperial Theatres,
came to arrange my hair and make me up. At nine o’clock I set off to the
Prince’s Palace. The performers in the tableau had to wait till midnight
in a close dressing-room before appearing. The temperature in our little
dungeon became unbearable; my head-gear was awfully heavy and I was
beside myself from heat and fatigue. Our tableau was a great success, and
the curtain fell amidst a thunder of applause. When the performance was
over, we came into the reception rooms, where we were presented to the
Empress. We had supper afterwards, served on small separate tables.
In the first fine days of May we removed to the camp, where we remained
until September, when my husband was to go to Brest, to take part in the
grand manœuvres. It was settled that I was to join him in a few days,
in order to proceed further on together to Biarritz, to take sea-baths.
During Sergy’s absence a telegram was received addressed to “General
Lieutenant Doukhovskoi,” and I hastened to be the first to congratulate
my husband, by wire, on his new promotion.
CHAPTER XLI
BIARRITZ
I left Moscow on the 10th of September and arrived at Brest on the
following day. It was the first time in my life that I travelled alone,
and it frightened me somewhat. I never left my compartment until Brest,
and allayed my hunger by cramming myself with bonbons. My husband was
waiting for me at the station and we continued our journey together.
We took a day’s rest at Verona. It was the anniversary of the occupation
of Rome by the Italian troops, and the town was dressed all over with
flags. On our way to the hotel we passed the house which had belonged
to the Capulet family, and saw the balcony on which Juliet appeared to
Romeo and listened to his serenades. After dinner we visited the splendid
“Giusti Gardens,” where we were shown a marble statue worth a fortune,
resounding like bronze when you touched it, and for which an American
collector of works of art had offered the sum of forty thousand francs.
Next afternoon we beheld Genoa, at the foot of the Apennines and the
Mediterranean spreading far and wide, where we stopped a whole day. An
old guide, aged seventy-five, took us through the town. That old man had
been a brave soldier in his day, one of the 1,200 warriors who had fought
and landed with Garibaldi in Sicily. He took us to his private dwelling
to show us his Garibaldian costume, a piece of Garibaldi’s famous red
shirt, and the tip of a cigar which had been smoked by Garibaldi,
which he kept as relics. On our way back to the hotel we passed before
the monuments of Christopher Columbus, Garibaldi and Verdi. On the
front of Garibaldi’s house the Free Masons have carved a garland of
flowers surrounded by hieroglyphics. After dinner we drove to the Villa
Pallavicini. At the entrance into the park stand white marble statues
of Leda, Pomona, Hebe, and Flora. We walked through alleys of lemon,
laurel, cypress and myrtle trees in full bloom. We passed a lake in which
salmon-trout swam, and mounted on the top of a castle of the Middle-Ages.
We entered then a stalactite grotto, with an artificial lake in the
middle, where a mysterious Carcarollo invited us to take a row in his
boat, carrying the arms of the Dukes of Pallavicini. Further on we saw
a pavilion bearing the tempting inscription _tête-à-tête amoureux_, and
wanted to enter it, but our guide said that we had better keep outside,
for as soon as you open the door a tub of water pours over your head,
cooling instantly your amorous ardour.
On the following morning we started for Nice by the Corniche Railway. The
road runs all the time by the sea-shore; here and there it is barricaded
with stones, in order to prevent the railway line from being washed away
by the waves which broke against our carriage wheels.
We put up at Nice at the Hôtel des Étrangers. On entering the apartment
that we were to occupy, we saw a placard stuck to the wall begging the
visitors to turn the key in the lock when going to bed. This warning made
me spend a restless night. I could not sleep, fearing that someone would
come and strangle me; it seemed to me all the time as if a hand fumbled
at the door. The mosquitoes were also awfully troublesome; I began to
chase these little vampires and execute them on the spot, I who could
never hurt a fly! Next morning directly after breakfast, we went to the
Villa Bermont in which the Grand Duke Nicholas, our heir to the throne,
had expired. A chapel has been built on the place where his bedroom
stood. This villa is surrounded by a plantation of 10,000 orange trees.
On our way back we visited the Russian Church; the altar is constructed
of oak brought from Russia, and a big silver cross is made of different
objects taken away by our Cossacks from the French in 1812.
We continued our journey on the following day and arrived at sunset at
Toulon, where we had to wait patiently for the train, which left for
Biarritz at four o’clock in the morning, in a bare room at the station,
where we had the privilege of dozing on hard horse-hair chairs given
us. Our travelling companions lay curled up in uncomfortable armchairs,
nevertheless their noses very soon emitted trumpet-sounds. I drowsed
also, all in a lump on my chair and was chilled to the bone.
When we arrived at Lourdes on the following afternoon, we saw the
platform crowded with pilgrims, crippled and impotent, who come here from
all parts of the world in the hope of a miraculous cure.
The road from Lourdes to Bayonne has a desolate look, without any
vegetation whatever, only groups of trees here and there. We saw
labourers in the fields tilling the ground with oxen harnessed to
ploughs, just as we do in Russia. During the twenty minutes’ run from
Bayonne to Biarritz two very prim, stately old ladies entered our
compartment. They looked extremely haughty and unapproachable, and gave
no outward signs of wishing to enter into conversation. But their manner
changed instantly, when they found out that we were Russians; they became
amiability itself, and expressed their great sympathy for our country.
We put up at Biarritz at the Hôtel d’Angleterre, and had to be satisfied
with a small room at the very top. Our windows looked seawards and showed
the wide expanse of the Atlantic and the agglomeration of rocks of the
most fantastic forms named The Chaos. From below we heard the thunder of
mighty waves dashing on the cliffs with a sound like the booming of many
guns.
In the night the noise of the ocean hindered our sleep, and we decided
to move to the Villa Gaston, a comfortable boarding-house, where we paid
five francs a day for an apartment of two rooms.
Above our heads two pupils of the Conservatory of Moscow played and sang
all day long, practising their scales and vocal exercises not less than
fifty times in succession. It was enough to make you hate music.
Biarritz is built on a rock. Over trenches excavated by the ocean
picturesque bridges are thrown. The top part of the town consists of
splendid hotels and lovely villas which stretch towards Bayonne and the
road to Spain. It is from Biarritz that Christopher Columbus sailed
to discover America. This queen of southern strands is very gay and
fashionable. There are three beaches: La Grande Plage has a splendid
casino; Port-Vieux, incased between rocks and is well sheltered against
the assault of the big billows, where children and invalids bathe in
preference. Above Port-Vieux a tunnel is cut through the rock for
pedestrians, and on the summit of the rock rises the statue of the
Virgin, held in great veneration by the seamen; near it stands a big
cross and a pole with an alarm-bell to signal shipwrecks. A bridge is
thrown over the dyke under which the ocean roars furiously producing
sounds like continual cannon-shots. It is on the third beach, La côte
des Basques, that the waves are the strongest. On Sundays the villagers
from round about assemble here, dressed in their half Spanish costumes,
to dance sprightly mouchachas and the fandangos, with the accompaniment
of castanets and tambourines. Having danced to their hearts’ content,
they undress completely, and enter the water in a long file, holding each
other by the hand, men and women pêle-mêle; after the waves have drenched
them thoroughly, they come out and bake themselves on the sand for a
while.
We took our bath every morning on the “Grande Plage,” where the waves
reached only to the knees, but they were so monstrously long that they
splashed us from head to foot, and pushed us far away from the shore.
One morning whilst my husband was taking his bath and I was merely
present in the character of looker-on, someone called him in Russian
by his name. Sergy turned round and saw Colonel Scalon, an aide-de-camp
of the Grand Duke Michael. “What an unexpected surprise! How do you
do, Colonel?” he exclaimed. “Thank you, I⸺” but at that same moment a
gigantic billow had flung them apart without giving time to the Colonel
to end his phrase.
Bathing hours are very gay on the beach. A crowd of people from all
parts of the world are to be met there. Amongst the lady-bathers an
American actress, wearing a white tight-fitting bathing costume, is the
main attraction for the moment. I ordered myself a similar costume,
which led to a very unpleasant incident. One morning after my bath, I
was returning to my cabin with my soaked bathing-costume, clinging to
my body. The bathing establishment was especially crowded that day, and
the woman on service, who happened to be on my way, handed me the key of
my cabin and led me through the throng, whilst two young ladies, seeing
this favouritism, swelled with resentment at having to wait their turn
longer than I. “Well,” said one of them to her companion in Russian,
throwing a murderous glance at me, “It is known that such creatures as
this eccentric girl are always served the first; courtesans certainly
know how to take care of themselves!” I had great trouble in controlling
myself not to give her a good shaking. It appeared that these unpleasant
compatriots of mine, who had so badly guessed my social position, were
the noisy musical tenants of the Villa Gaston, who exasperated me daily
with their scales and exercises. I shall have my revenge the first
time I meet them. This occurred on the following day. The young ladies
recognised me when I was going out to take my bath, and desirous to
repair their silly mistake, they saluted me obsequiously, colouring to
their hair, but I pretended not to see them and didn’t recognise their
bow.
One afternoon we went by train to Bayonne. There is nothing of much note
in that town. The streets are narrow and encumbered with heavy carts and
chariots. There was a crowd gathered before a small travelling-circus,
where a self-named Hercules, in very dirty tights, lifted up weights of a
hundred kilos, to the loud applause of his enthusiastic audience.
Another day we arranged to visit the “Couvent des Bernardines.” This cold
grey building is situated some miles off from Biarritz and seems to be
shut away from all sounds of the world. From afar the dull sound of a
bell was heard, denoting every half-hour the change of the nun on duty.
Over the entrance door we saw a plate with the inscription to speak in
a low voice when entering the cloister. We saw the nuns walking about
two and two, shadowy white-robed women with black hoods that hid their
downcast faces. There are many young girls belonging to the best French
and Spanish families amongst them. Poor recluses who have taken their
vows for eternal silence which would separate them from earthly love
for ever. A defiance to natural laws I call it! The “Bernardines” are
permitted to converse with their parents for half-an-hour once a year
only. I wonder how they could preserve the gift of speech being deprived
of it such a long time! A sad-faced lay sister ushered us into a large
parlour with long windows and a polished floor. On the walls hung framed
texts and coloured prints of the Virgin and Saints. We were shown all
over the monastery and saw over the doors of the cells placards bearing
the inscription, “God alone!” It was a very hard life in that Order, and
silence was everywhere in this house of silence. In church even the nuns
are hidden behind a curtain.
A pine wood separates the cloister from the convent of the “Servantes
de Marie,” where the nuns lead quite a different sort of life, working
with their tongues just as well as with their hands. They are very
industrious, do carpentry and photography and cultivate their flower
gardens.
The rainy season was coming on. It was time to leave Biarritz and proceed
to the country of “Carmen.” From Biarritz the distance to the Spanish
frontier is short. At Irun, the first Spanish station, we saw policemen
wearing short black mantles and triangular hats, walking up and down
the platform. After San Sebastiano, a picturesque town surrounded by
fortifications, our train rolled along a curving road winding at the
foot of the Pyrenees, vividly outlined on the deep blue sky. Just as we
were preparing to arrange ourselves comfortably for our night’s rest,
travellers charged with parcels entered our compartment. A miserable
child, who was cutting his first tooth, made us pass a bad night. Luckily
I was not a bit sleepy, and leaning on the window I enjoyed the beautiful
night, the moon and stars shining out gloriously.
CHAPTER XLII
MADRID
We took seats in the omnibus belonging to the Hôtel de Paris, drawn by
three richly harnessed grey mules with half-shaven tails like poodles.
After lunch we went out for a stroll round the town, which does not
differ greatly from other European cities. There is a continual
thoroughfare in the streets of Madrid. We made our way with difficulty
through a crowd of lookers-on surrounding a mountebank who was selling
an elixir against toothache of his own concoction. He was standing on a
chariot, dressed up in a swallow-tail and silk hat, and uttered in a loud
voice the panegyric of his remedy. When passing the Royal Palace we saw
a squadron of Blue Hussars, a company of infantry and two cannon drawn
by mules, who came to relieve the guard. This ceremony takes place every
day, and always gathers a great crowd, kept back by a line of soldiers.
Before returning to the hotel we went through the Museum where we
admired the marvels of art painted by Murillo, Velasquez, Michael Angelo
and other celebrities. Murillo’s “Madonna Anunziata” and Tintoretto’s
“Paradise,” an immense picture in which appears, between the chorus of
angels, the lovely face of the painter’s wife, attracted particularly our
attention. A party of negroes, very up-to-date, were walking about the
Museum and seemed very interested with all they saw.
After dinner we went to see the “Arenas” where barbarous bull-fights,
the favourite spectacle of the Spaniards, take place. The bull-ring is a
large round building which can hold up to 16,000 spectators. We entered
a chapel where Toreadors, Matadors as they are called here, say prayers
before starting for the bull-fight. In the next room we saw six beds
prepared for the wounded Matadors. We were also shown the stalls where
stood thirty horses doomed for the next courses. The poor animals didn’t
get any food or drink, “It wasn’t worth while,” said one of the grooms,
as they would all be embowelled on the following day! The bulls travel by
train to Madrid in a box put on wheels hardly big enough to hold them.
On arriving at Madrid mules are harnessed to these boxes, and the bulls
are brought behind the bull-ring where they are being kept in some dark
place, and just before the beginning of the “Corrida” they are pushed
into the arena, with long sharp iron rods, through a door which is opened
from the top galleries by a cord on a pulley.
We drove back to the hotel through two beautiful parks, “Del Retiro”
and “Reservado.” After dinner we went to the Apollo to see a modern
play “La Grande Via,” about which the town was raving. The theatre was
packed to the very ceiling. I perceived in one of the boxes a very ugly
Matador who did not at all resemble Carmen’s Toreador. After the second
act I began to yawn, for the play was rather a bore, and the actors’
appearance very unattractive. Sergy proposed to go and spend the rest
of the evening in a Music Hall where painted women were sitting in a
circle, singing and shrieking in oriental fashion, accompanied on guitars
by suspicious-looking individuals. The audience consisted of rather
ferocious-looking Spaniards with hair which seemed to have never been
touched by the comb and eyes blazing under their wide black sombreros,
who had the air of demanding “Your money or your life!”
The next morning we were again present at the ceremony of the change
of watch, and saw General Pavia, the commandant of the town, enter
the Palace, directing his steps to Queen Maria Christina’s private
apartments, with his report in his hand. To-day it was the Red Hussars,
mounted on white horses, and a detachment of infantry, who relieved the
guard. When the big Palace clock struck half-past eleven, a piercing horn
gave the signal for the beginning of the ceremony which lasted about an
hour, whilst a military band played selections from “Faust” on the Square
before the Palace. Fair women are in favour on the other side of the
Pyrenees, as it appears; I was the only blonde person in the place and
most of the officers were paying attention to me, especially one of them,
a very good-looking chap who was throwing fiery glances at me all the
time, but I pretended not to notice him and he got nothing for his pains.
After luncheon, we left Madrid for Saragossa, where we arrived in the
middle of the night.
CHAPTER XLIII
SARAGOSSA
There happened to be a local feast of the “Madonna del Pilar,” the
patroness of the town, just now, and every hotel was crammed to the roof.
The trains were bringing constantly new guests and the hotel proprietors
profited by it in fleecing their tenants abominably. We had great
difficulty in finding a shelter and were dragged in a crammed omnibus
from one hotel to the other. We succeeded at last in installing ourselves
at the “Hotel Universo.” The entrance door was locked when we drove to it
and our coachman had to give a vigorous pull at the bell; at length it
brought a sleepy porter who told us that there was only the drawing-room,
which had just been furnished with four beds, available for the moment.
We hastened to occupy it, whilst the three Spanish travellers, burdened
with their hand-bags, who had alighted from the omnibus together with us,
went to seek a shelter elsewhere, muttering angrily “_Que diablo!_” We
found ourselves in a spacious bare room which in the way of conveniences
left much to be desired. Long cherished visions of cheering meals and
soft couches vanished, and I felt so woefully tired that I was ready to
weep.
The “Corridas” generally take place during Saint’s days feasts, all the
profit out of them is assigned to charity. The Spanish benevolence is of
a very blood-thirsty nature as it appears, a queer pretence of religious
feeling with barbarous cruelty. The excitement of the forthcoming
bull-fight had invaded the town. The Matadors have just arrived from
Madrid, accompanied by their “Quadrillas,” and have put up at our hotel.
They are travelling all the year round from one town to another. After
Saragossa they are going to take part in the bull-fights of Sevilla. One
of the waiters of the hotel procured tickets for us for the “Corrida,”
which was to take place on the following day, on the “shady side,” which
costs twice as much as those on the “sunny side.” After lunch we sallied
forth to the arenas, and had to walk all the way as there was no vehicle
to be had. On the day of a “Corrida” the streets are alive with streaming
crowds of people, in their gayest dress and mood, on their way to the
“Plaza de Toros.” The houses are adorned with flowers and banners;
pretty women hung over the gaily-dressed balconies. When we approached
the arenas a compact throng stood round the entrance door, and my heart
gave a quick throb. Twelve thousand people could be accommodated in
the great bull-ring, which resembles an enormous circus. Above was the
clear blue sky. In the centre is a sanded place for the bull-fight,
encircled by a wooden barrier, six feet high, over which the “Toreros”
jump to escape the bull in wild pursuit. The bull-fight was to commence
at two o’clock and we had more than an hour to wait yet. The tribunes
were lined already with rows of gaily clad spectators. Some of them had
brought baskets filled with empty bottles which they intended to throw at
the head of the Matadors who happened to be clumsy in killing the bull.
Soldiers were stationed everywhere; not unfrequently their services are
called into requisition, for nothing excites a Spaniard more than his
national bloody game, and disturbances often occur. We sat amid a haze of
cigar smoke which made me quite giddy. Amongst a group of ragamuffins a
quarrel arose which nearly ended in a fight. An army of grooms dressed in
scarlet blouses and wearing yellow caps (the national colours) began to
water the arena. The entrance of the President of the Bull-Fight was the
signal for the band to strike up, and it continued to play at intervals
during the horrible performance.
The door opposite the President opened wide and the procession began.
First of all the “Alguazil” (herald) entered the ring, mounted on a
beautiful bay horse adorned with a red velvet saddle. He himself was clad
as if he had just stepped out of a “Velasquez” painting. He wore a black
velvet suit and a large black hat ornamented with scarlet plumes. After
having pranced round the ring he stopped beneath the President’s box,
and, taking off his plumed hat, begged to know if the performance might
begin. Assent being given, the huge golden key of the door, behind which
the six bulls who were to be killed that day were shut up, was thrown
down and gracefully caught by the “Alguazil” in his hat, after which he
pranced to fetch his “Quadrilla.” The gates on the opposite side of the
arena were flung open, and a team of six superb grey mules, who were
intended to drag out the dead bulls and horses, rushed in, decorated
with yellow and scarlet ribbons, with pyramids of plumes and bells upon
their heads, harnessed into shafts at the end of which a long iron hook
was dragging. After having pranced noisily round the arena, the mules
disappeared by the same door. Then the “Quadrilla” appeared on the ring
and a roar of applause went up. First came Legartijo and Frascuello,
the two most celebrated Matadors of Spain, who were to act that day,
clad in spangled, coloured jackets, tight-fitting knee breeches, white
stockings and leather slippers, wearing like “Figaro” a black wig with
a short pig-tail and a three-cornered hat. Behind came the “Picadores”
mounted on their poor decrepit horses. They were dressed in leather
suits, their legs covered with armour to save them from the horns of
the bull, and wore broad black sombreros. The Picadores blindfold their
miserable steeds, tying a cloth round their right eye, and take them into
the ring to be gored by an infuriated bull. The horses are slashed and
spurred forward to a certain death on the pointed horns of the maddened
formidable animal. At each “Corrida” there are about a dozen horses
killed. Sometimes, when all the horses are exterminated, the insatiable
audience claims new victims, shouting “_Mas caballos!_” (Bring on other
horses!) The Picadores were followed by the “Capadores,” the men who wave
their scarlet cloaks in front of the bull to excite him, or to distract
his attention as he rushes wildly after some one. They were dressed in
beautiful costumes of varied colours with gold embroideries. Last came
the Banderillos, holding a dart a couple of feet long and gaily decorated
with ribbons in each hand. After waiting for the bull to charge, they
rush right up to him and plant the dart into his shoulder, deftly jumping
aside. The butcher, with his merciful knife, completed the “Quadrilla.”
The signal for the beginning of the Bull-Fight was given. A man
dressed in black, as if he had already donned mourning for the death
of the bulls, went to the door exactly opposite to us and unlocked it
carefully, concealing himself behind the door, and out rushed bull No.
I., a magnificent black animal, with a rosette fixed on his shoulder
representing the “hacienda” (torril) from which he came. The huge wild
beast galloped into the middle of the ring and then stood still, as
though bewildered by the noise and sudden transition from darkness to
brilliant sunlight. A “Capador,” running swiftly and waving a red shawl,
darted before the bull and retreated rapidly backward, leaping over
the barrier. The animal dashed at the shawl with a resounding bellow,
and lunged with his sharp horns at the cloth. A Banderillo approached
him now, holding in his hand his long darts, the ends of which were
shod with little barbs that once firmly planted in the flesh, hold on
tightly. He awaited the bull, like the spider watches for the fly, in
order to plant his banderillas into him. If the bull is not sensitive
enough, to complete the cruelty, the banderillas are charged with
crackers (fuegos) which burst in his flesh. A slight stream of blood
appeared trickling down the bull’s shoulder; he made a mad rush and
stood now facing the Banderillero, strictly on the defensive, legs
apart, head down, back humped, and tail lashing the air—a picture
of power. The ferocious-looking animal with blood-shot eyes, his red
nostrils quivering, pawed great lumps of sand and dug furiously with
his mighty horns at the banks of the arena, giving thus the time for
the Banderillero to jump over the barrier. We were told that at one of
the preceding “Corridas” an infuriated bull, following the example of
the fleeing Banderillero, jumped after him and found himself in the
stalls amidst the audience. That did not sound very promising! Soon the
whole body of the bull became one bloody mass. The people shouted in the
stalls. Both men and women became unconscious monsters excited by the
horrible spectacle. It was too hideously cruel! I burned with indignation
and applied bad epithets to the Spaniards, calling them as many bad
names as I could in Russian. The Picadores now pushed their horses on
the bull, trying to prick him with their lances. The poor animal, with a
loud snort, lowered his head, and with tail arched wickedly, he charged
furiously upon one of the Picadores and plunged his horns into the
horse’s side, rolling him over. I covered my eyes with my hands to keep
off the dreadful sight. Looking up accidentally, I nearly had a nervous
attack, and started back with a cry of horror. A horse was there before
me, his four hoofs up in the air, disembowelled, with two streams of
blood pouring down its gored sides, rolling in convulsions in mortal
agony. I shall never forget the sight of this quivering, dying creature!
The executioner, dressed in a red blouse, ran up to the horse and, with
a butcher’s knife, he deftly cut the poor animal’s throat, giving him
the touch of mercy. After fifty minutes of this horrid sport the bugle
sounded for the final act, the putting to death of the bull. It was
Legartijo’s turn to kill the first bull. Wrapped up in his “capa” he
strode out into the ring with a firm step and approached the President’s
box, whom he saluted with a theatrical flourish of his hat, after which
he extended his “mulata” (sword) and made his announcement to present the
bull to the President. Then he threw his hat to the audience, to be kept
until his return, and advanced slowly, with an almost devilish expression
of cruelty on his face, his sword hidden in the folds of his “capa,”
to his victim, and began his “passadas” (passes), whilst the bull, who
was by now one bleeding lump, stood motionless and trembled all over,
his eyes out of their sockets and tongue hanging out. For the space of
half-a-minute both man and beast stood as if turned to stone, then with a
quick movement Legartijo stuck his sword up to the hilt into the neck of
the bull, nothing but the handle remaining visible. The tortured animal
tottered to his knees, bowed his head in the dust, rolled over and died.
It was a master-stroke, and the air resounded with deafening applause;
flowers and cigars (the highest token of Spanish approval) were thrown
into the arena at the Torero’s feet. More bugles, and at the same moment
a door was flung open and in galloped the team of mules; the bleeding
corpses of the martyred animals were hooked to their yoke by the hind
legs, and off they went full speed round the arena, dragging the corpses
on the sand. It was unworthy of mankind; my nerves could not stand it
any longer, and I had but one desire—to flee from the spot. We struggled
with all our might but couldn’t pass, being encompassed on all sides by a
dense crowd, and we had to return to our seats.
Hardly was the ring cleared before the second bull rushed in and the
programme was repeated. The new bull looked quite peaceful, and, instead
of rushing into battle, he walked from right to left, looking for a
loophole to escape, but nevertheless he was made to go through all the
traditional tortures. It was Frascuello’s turn to march on the bull. The
Matador didn’t show any pluck. With the first passes of the “mulata” he
had missed his bull and only injured the animal without killing him,
at which shouts of encouragement to the bull were raised on all sides,
“_Viva el toro!_” they cried. The arena resounded with whistles and
invectives to the Matador, and the populace fiercely threw orange-peels
and empty bottles at him. Frascuello paled with suppressed rage, and
had to strike several times before putting his victim to death. The
Matador ventures to face the bull when the last spirit had been beaten
out of him, and I find there is much less danger for them than for the
Russian peasant going to hunt bears, armed only with a spear, whereas the
Matadors charge on an unfortunate animal driven into a circle whence he
could not escape.
After the second bull we pushed resolutely through the crowd, we had to
fight our way as best we could by a series of manœuvres, and managed this
time to decamp. I had my first, and I am sure of it, my last experience
of a bull-fight, the one thing that makes Spain hateful to me. Outside
the bull-ring we saw the carcasses of the martyred bulls, whose meat was
sold at low prices to the lower classes.
We returned to the hotel in a cab. When we asked our driver if his horse
was also doomed for the bull-fight, he answered that for some years yet
his animal would escape the bull’s horns.
My blood being still hot from the remembrance of what I had seen, I
locked myself up in my room heart-sick, whilst Sergy went to make a tour
in Saragossa. He crossed a bridge and found himself on the other side of
the river Ebro. It happened to be a market day and there was a horse-fair
on a large square, where more than ten thousand horses and mules were
brought for sale.
I heard a carriage stop before our hotel, and thinking that it was
my husband who was returning home, I went out on the balcony and saw
Legartijo, the hero of the day, stepping out of a smart phaeton. A rich
marquis had begged, as an honour, to drive him up to his hotel in his
four-in-hand. Behind the phaeton came the Picadores on their poor nags,
who had been spared to-day, to be disembowelled to-morrow perhaps.
There was great animation in the street, carriages drove by containing
gaily dressed ladies, wrapped in soft lace mantillas, returning from
the bull-fight. Newspaper boys were shouting the triumph of Legartijo,
and announced the issue of the bull-fight. It appears that after our
departure two Banderillos had been severely wounded.
Sergy took me after dinner to see the dances of the “Gitanas” in a
more than dubious-looking tavern, where the male audience consisted of
individuals belonging to the “Fra Diavolo type,” whom one would not
care to meet at night turning the corner of a street. Four Andalusian
gitanas and two guitarists, with red kerchiefs wrapped round their
heads, and the _navaja_ (knife) stuck in their belt, composed the troop.
The gitanas, arrayed in scarlet frocks and different coloured shawls,
with the traditional red flower stuck just over the ear, and huge gold
ear-rings, bounced about to the sound of the guitars and the clinking
of castanets, occasionally indulging in a sudden shrill shout, whilst
the audience clapped their hands in tune. After that the gitanas went
round for collections and came and sat at the guest’s tables to be
regaled with molluscs and snails, which they swallowed uncooked. A fat
and rather unattractive terpsichore seated herself at the table next
to ours, and cast alluring glances on the male audience, but lost her
time in vain, for nobody paid attention to her. My neighbour, who with
his savage-looking beard resembled a highwayman, offered me a cigarette
and wanted me to taste some of those horrid molluscs, and was extremely
astonished at my refusal.
CHAPTER XLIV
BARCELONA
The following morning we took the train back to France, and shared our
compartment with a pretty young woman from Seville and her two children,
a fat-cheeked baby, who filled our car with its waitings, and a little
girl holding a big doll in her arms, whom her mother stuffed with cakes
to make her keep quiet. Both delightful children responded to her
coaxings with piercing shrieks. Such a journey was not one to put you
into good spirits!
We arrived towards evening at Barcelona and put up for the night at
the “Hôtel des quatre Nations,” situated on the “Rambla,” the finest
and gayest street of Barcelona. This town can easily rival Madrid. The
streets are broad and beautifully lighted with electricity and the shops
are splendid.
Feeling too tired to appear at table-d’hôte, I went immediately to bed,
whilst Sergy made gastronomic purchases at the nearest grocery-shop. He
came home laden with parcels, having converted himself into a temporary
hanging-stand; from every part of him suspended a loose parcel containing
butter, cheese, sausages, etc., and under his arm he brought bravely a
bottle of Malaga wine, which he added to his stock in order not to be
taken by the shopman for a famished wretch.
Early in the morning we continued our journey to Nice. The country is not
picturesque, and the roads are very rough and badly kept. Towards sunset
we approached the French frontier _Portou-Cerbère_ and soon perceived a
corner of the Mediterranean, lighted by a silver moon. It was very cold
in our compartment, and the foot-warmers had to be changed several times
during the night. We did not stop at Marseilles and went straight on to
Nice, having decided to spend a few days on the Riviera. There were two
Frenchmen in our compartment going to gamble at Monte Carlo, who studied
systems on a little roulette board. One of them descended at a station to
buy a newspaper, whilst his friend slept on peacefully, nodding his head,
in a corner of the carriage, and didn’t come back when the train had
started. I was watching wickedly the awakening of our fellow-passenger,
to see the expression of his face when he would find out that his friend
was not there. Suddenly waking out of his nap he opened his eyes very
wide and fixed them upon us suspiciously. Did he think perhaps that we
had pitched his companion out of the window? At the next stoppage both
friends were reunited. The belated passenger, as it appears, had just
time to jump in the next carriage when the train was moving.
CHAPTER XLV
SAN REMO
We only remained ten days at Nice, for we were at the end of October,
the season of gusty winds and showers. The weather was abominable, and
we had to remain indoors all day. So we started for San Remo, where my
husband’s brother had settled with his family for the whole winter. The
“Villa Maria,” which they were to inhabit, was not ready yet to receive
them, and they had to put up in the meanwhile at the “Quisisana,” a
boarding-house kept by an old German lady. The society offered by the few
tenants of the “Quisisana” was not of a specially enlivening description.
There was an English spinster lady on whom wooers had turned their backs
long ago, dried up in celibacy, who never was kissed, I am sure, for
with such a thin body you might get a bruise in coming in contact with
her. She was a blue-stocking in the bargain, and read Homer in Greek; a
crushingly superior person who made other people feel ignorant. I was
becoming intolerably tired of her superior culture and stopped her every
time she began any long sentences. There was another British lady, who
was a very different sort of person, her tongue being the only sharp
thing in her whole stout person. What she lacked in height was amply made
up in width: whichever way you put her down she’d roll. After dinner she
regaled us with songs which she cooed raising her eyes to the ceiling, at
which I had to make the greatest effort to keep serious. She was awfully
sentimental, and when she turned her eyes upon me with so melting an
expression that I thought she was going to kiss me, I precipitately fled.
The third boarder was a consumptive German student, frightfully pale and
thin, who, notwithstanding his malady, manifested an immoderate love for
the flute, and practised it assiduously to the great annoyance of his
neighbours.
San Remo is not very gay. The only distraction you get is to walk around
a music-kiosque in the public garden, in the company of nursery maids
wheeling perambulators in front of them. At nine o’clock of the evening
the music stops, the shops are closed, and everybody goes to bed.
One morning we took a carriage and went over to Monte Carlo, situated
at some hours’ distance from San Remo. We followed all the time the
beautiful _Corniche_ road, cut out in the rock. Our driver, who made
the journey for the first time, did not know that he had to take a pass,
and was not allowed to go further. It is lucky that we found a carriage
on the Italian side of the frontier, at Ventimiglia, which brought us to
Mentone, where we took the train to Monaco. Here a new disappointment
awaited us! We were too late for the train and had to wait hours for the
next one. To shorten the time, we went for a stroll through Mentone, and
entered the first hotel to have lunch, but it was not mealtime at the
hotel, and we returned fagged out and ravenous to the railway station.
All Monte Carlo seemed composed of gardens, with the big, white building
of the Casino in the midst, the whole ringed in by high grey mountains.
We went straight to the Casino and looked in at the gambling-rooms.
The tables were surrounded by anxious players with a preponderance of
courtesans of high and low degree, with painted faces and rings down
to their nails, who followed the game with breathless interest. An old
woman, dressed in dyed silks and a home-made hat, was losing heavily, and
staked her last francs with despair written on her face. Many players
come to Monaco with their pockets full, and have nothing to pay their
return journey. Suicides often take place here. I tried my luck, and lost
something like ten francs.
The Principality of Monaco is quite a small one. It would take half an
hour to walk over the island, from one end to the other. The reigning
Prince has a diminutive army of sixty regular soldiers, two officers and
three constables, and that’s all! Sergy asked one of the constables who
was on duty at the railway station, how their army could manage without
any cavalry, and he answered that they wouldn’t have known what to do
with it, for it would take more time to saddle a horse than to walk
around their whole territory!
Another day we went for an excursion to the monastery of _Notre Dame de
la Garde_, where the church is decorated with little cardboard boats that
the sailors’ wives offer, with their prayers, to the Madonna, when their
husbands are at sea.
We removed at last to the Villa Maria, where we felt the cold very much.
The rooms were badly heated, and the draughts in the corridor were strong
enough to work a windmill, and they gave me a horrid cold. In the night
the noise of the passing trains and the roar of the sea hindered our
sleep. We hastened our departure and started for Paris, where we intended
to spend a few days before returning to Russia. Towards night three young
Corsicans entered our compartment, and we were doomed to pass a sleepless
night, for we couldn’t stretch our legs, and felt very uncomfortable.
Our fellow-travellers were the very image of Napoleon Bonaparte, and
resembled each other like three peas.
CHAPTER XLVI
PARIS
Mary Vietinghoff, my old Stuttgart friend, who had married a Frenchman,
Count Soligoux de Fougères, was in Paris for the moment. She used to be
a dear girl, and so fond of me! We had not met for nearly ten years, but
the friendship which had subsisted between us in the days of our girlhood
had suffered no diminuation through absence. How good it was to see her
again. Mary smothered me with kisses and made me feel how her heart
throbbed with joy at out meeting. She invited us to dine on the following
day. There was a French minister among the guests, who began a political
discussion with Sergy, which lasted during the whole repast. I must
confess that political affairs rather bore me, and was very glad when
Mary took me up to her room, leaving the gentlemen to sip their coffee.
We sat and chatted happily together. We had not forgotten the old days,
and had a thousand confidences to exchange. Mary told me that she had
quitted the fold of our Church, and had turned Roman Catholic. She was
afraid that my religious views would be hurt, and that her renouncement
of our faith would stand as a barrier to our former friendship, but I
assured her of my everlasting love. Mary’s husband does not like our
country, as it appears, and when his little daughter, called Baby, is
capricious, he threatens her saying that if she continued to be naughty
he would send her to Russia. How nasty of him!
Last winter a French Colonel, Baron Rothvillers, passing through Moscow,
paid us a visit, and invited us to come and see him in Paris and make
the acquaintance of his wife, which we now did with pleasure. Baroness
Rothvillers is a fine horsewoman and her stables are renowned in Paris.
She invited me to drive with her in the _Bois de Boulogne_. I sat on the
high driving-seat and trotted her handsome pair of browns round the Park.
The horses were pulling and became somewhat restive, but I kept them well
in hand, surveyed by the groom, immovable as a wooden image, with rigidly
folded arms, seated on the back seat.
Though sorry to leave Paris, I was glad when the North Express carried us
back to Russia.
CHAPTER XLVII
MOSCOW
On returning to Moscow we found among our numerous correspondence
a number of the Parisian paper _L’Evenement_, sent to us by the
Rothvillers, with my biography and expressions of regret that the sojourn
of the blonde young lady who had made a brief appearance in the “Bois,”
handling so surely a pair of restive horses, was of so short duration. It
appears that when I entered a café to drink a cup of chocolate, during
my drive in the Park with the Baroness Rothvillers, a reporter of the
_Evenement_ had asked our groom the address of the hotel where I had put
up, and learnt from our hotel-keeper, who had known me a good many years,
all sorts of things concerning my life. It is thus that my biography
appeared in the French paper.
A Japanese Imperial Prince, who was returning from a long tour in Europe
to his country through Russia, with his spouse and a numerous suite,
stopped for a few days in Moscow. I went to see these Japs at the
_Manège_, where a great festival was given in their honour. The Prince
and Princess wore European costumes which did not suit them at all;
they would have been much better-looking in their own national costume.
The Princess, into the bargain, had golden teeth (the sign of Imperial
blood), which did not really embellish her.
In November my father came to pass the winter with my aunt Galitzine in
Moscow. He had been ailing for some years, and I was painfully struck
to see the change that had come over him. His illness took a dangerous
turn, and soon after his arrival he departed this life. Father’s death
gave me a great shock. It was weeks before I got over it. I wouldn’t see
anyone, or take interest in anything. My health broke down completely
and the doctors ordered me away from Moscow for some time. We decided
to make a tour in Sweden and Denmark. So, at the end of June we started
off to Stockholm, taking from St. Petersburg the Finnish boat “Döbbeln.”
The captain, a consummate patriot, had with extreme suddenness forgotten
every word of Russian, and we had to talk German to him, though we
knew, of course, that he spoke and understood Russian perfectly well.
That detestable man made disparaging remarks about Russia to our
fellow-passengers, foreigners for the most part, and prided himself
that his steamer was named “Döbbeln” after a famous Finnish hero, who
had distinguished himself in the war of Sweden against Russia. When we
approached Kronstadt, I heard him say that this fortress had only two
strong forts, and that the rest of them were good-for-nothing, and could
be easily blown to pieces by one bomb. My patriotic pride was awfully
wounded, and I did all in my power to resist the temptation to give the
captain a bit of my mind.
On the right side of the bay of Kronstadt our cruisers stood in a long
line, and huge German men-of-war were anchored on the left one. Numerous
steam-launches were plying all the time from one fleet to another. On one
of our vessels a band was playing on the deck; it was our marine officers
who were feasting their German comrades.
The weather was very fine and the sea had scarcely a ripple. Towards six
o’clock dinner was spread on deck in Swedish fashion on a long table
covered with appetising dishes, and you were asked to help yourself. That
is a good way, because you have the opportunity of selecting what you
prefer and of taking as much as you like.
At five o’clock in the morning we landed at Helsingfors and had only one
hour to survey this pretty town. When we returned to our boat a fresh
breeze arose and our ship began to pitch and rock. This disagreeable
tossing of the waves made me feel sick and giddy. I hastened to my cabin
and lay down. Early in the morning I was up and hastened on deck. The
shores of Sweden had appeared at last, and soon we entered the port of
Stockholm, the Venice of the North. The town, built upon islands, is
very picturesque. As a rule, the Swedes are exceedingly courteous to
strangers, nevertheless at the Custom House the officials burrowed into
our trunks and opened all our bags, making a mess of everything. One of
the men picked out a little folding looking-glass and turned it about in
his clumsy fingers trying to find out what it was, till Sergy, at the end
of his patience, opened the looking-glass and thrust it under the man’s
ugly face, after which he left us in peace.
We put up at the Grand Hôtel, just opposite the Royal Palace. After
having taken a little rest we went for a stroll in the town and crossed
in a small steamer to Djurgarden, a beautiful park on the other side of
the bay, where we had dinner at a small restaurant. A waiter, napkin upon
arm, came up to us, but as we couldn’t speak a word of Swedish, we found
it difficult to make him understand what we wanted, and had to converse
by gestures to illustrate our meaning. But our attempts to describe a
chicken being useless, the idea came to me to cry out cou-ca-ri-cou,
and I came out of the difficulty. We ended our evening at “Tivoli,” a
fashionable music-hall, where we met several fellow-passengers of our
boat. The performance took place in the open. The actresses who sang and
danced were more or less bad, very short-petticoated and very generously
décolleté.
The next day we visited Drottningholm Palace, situated out of town, the
summer residence of the King, who was for the moment in Norway, where he
is obliged to live a part of the year. After dinner we started for Malmö,
where we arrived early in the morning on the following day, and then took
the train to Copenhagen.
CHAPTER XLVIII
COPENHAGEN
Thanks to the Exhibition in Copenhagen, all the hotels and
boarding-houses were full, and it was with great difficulty that we
succeeded in finding a shelter in a private house. By a winding staircase
we were ushered into a dark, low room, looking into a grim back-yard, and
scantily furnished with two beds, a few cane, inhospitable-looking chairs
and a sofa losing its horse-hair through wide gaping wounds. Feeling very
tired and sleepy, I lay down to rest a bit, but sprang up hastily, for
the bed was abominable, the mattress as hard as stone and the pillows so
thin that they could easily be folded in two. To crown all, behind the
wall our landlady’s children were shrieking with all their might. It was
impossible to go to sleep, and we decided to go and take the train to
Tivoli and explore the Exhibition, with its chief attraction, an enormous
elevator representing a huge bottle of beer with a magnificent bird’s-eye
view of Copenhagen. We had dinner in a restaurant on board a ship of
the middle-ages, and were brought in a barge with a three-storied poop
to this curious establishment. The waiters were dressed in the costume
of sailors belonging to that long past epoch, wearing broad-brimmed
Rembrandt hats.
On the next morning an old friend of ours, Mr. Stcherbatcheff, the first
Secretary of the Russian Embassy, came to see us. He was begged to wait
for me in a small tobacco-shop belonging to our hostess, in the next
house, while I finished dressing. Mr. Stcherbatcheff was horrified when
he saw our lodging, and said that he had an apartment ready for us in the
house where he dwelt, and we resolved to remove immediately to our new
apartment, looking out into the most fashionable and animated quarter
of the town, and furnished in showy fashion. It seemed palatial in
comparison with our miserable room.
During our stay in Copenhagen the anniversary of the ninth century of
the institution of Christianity in Russia was celebrated. Sergy went
to the Russian church to be present at the official Te Deum, and was
invited afterwards by our priest to take a cup of tea. On that same
afternoon we visited the Museum where we saw prodigious sculptures, the
work of Thorwaldsen, the famous Danish sculptor. After dinner we went by
train, in an open car, to Klampenberg, about an hour’s drive. A peasant
woman, returning from market sat opposite to us with a basket on her
knees, which contents appeared to be stinking fish. Our road ran along
the sea-coast and was sheltered by roses and creepers. A strong odour
of seaweed came over to us. When we arrived at Klampenberg we took a
carriage to drive within the precincts of the beautiful park, and chose
a coachman who could speak German. His comrades jeered at him and called
his horse _Eine alte Katze_, out of spite, of course.
We hadn’t time to have dinner that day, and we went to bed famished. I
roamed about the room looking for something to eat, opening drawers and
exploring them, but there was nothing, not even the skin of a sausage.
On the following morning we went out shopping and saw my picture painted
in the Greenaway style on a cardboard plate exposed in a bookseller’s
shop window. When we entered the shop one of the clerks, who had noticed
the resemblance at once, asked me if I had sat for that picture. It
really bore a striking likeness to me and we bought it as a souvenir.
On the 16th of July we saw the arrival of Kaiser Wilhelm II. It was his
first visit to Denmark after the taking of Schleswig by the Prussians.
Our Ambassador, Count Toll, offered a window to us at the Russian
Embassy, but we preferred to stand near the Royal Pavilion, erected on
the landing-place for the reception of the Kaiser, so as to have the
best view of the proceedings. Towards ten o’clock in the morning Mr.
Stcherbatcheff, arrayed in full diplomatic uniform, covered all over with
golden embroideries, came to fetch us in his carriage. Driving through
the streets took a long time, the crowd was so great. When we approached
the Royal Palace, we heard cannon reports. A stir among the throng
heralded the coming of the King of Denmark, followed by his brothers and
the Heir to the throne of Greece. Soon after appeared in a coach driven
by a team of white horses the old Queen, aged seventy-two, but still very
alert, accompanied by the Duchess of Orleans. Then a murmur arose among
the crowd, and we saw a steam-launch, with the German flag flying at the
prow, moored to the Danish shore, and Kaiser Wilhelm, his blond moustache
curled upwards, stepped out upon the elegantly decorated pier, followed
by a numerous suite. The King came up to him and embraced him. After a
long exchange of amiabilities the Kaiser approached the Queen and kissed
her hand, whilst the soldiers, standing in lines, presented arms to him.
Only a few hurrahs were heard here and there. We were told that strong
measures had been taken by the police to avoid demonstrations in the
streets against the Kaiser. A squadron of hussars was given to him as
an escort, and all the way to the Palace infantry regiments formed long
lines. The Danish soldiers did not look very imposing, being mostly of
small stature. The circulation of carriages and trams was stopped during
the passing of the troops, and we had to walk home, running the risk of
being crushed by the crowd.
Having passed a fortnight at Copenhagen we returned to St. Petersburg
by the same way, taking at Stockholm the “Constantin,” another Finnish
boat. There were many passengers on board. During dinner I sat next
to a young Mexican, Señor Lopez, who was very sarcastic, and found
plenty to criticise. (The task is so easy!) He actually tore all our
fellow-passengers to pieces. That snob thought himself very sharp-witted
and was rather put out that I did not think him so. Opposite me sat
an old Frenchman, M. Prévost-Rousseau and his pretty daughter Melle.
Camille, who had been touring in Norway and were now on their way back to
Paris, passing through St. Petersburg. Melle. Camille was an accomplished
linguist, speaking English, German and Italian equally well. I discovered
that we had a great deal in common, and an instinctive comradeship sprang
up between us. I am not much given to making new friends, but I had a
liking to Melle. Camille the moment I saw her, for I generally like or
dislike a person at once.
We had a bad crossing; the sea was rough and the ship rolled very
unpleasantly. Towards morning the wind having changed, calm came on,
and I hurried on deck to rejoin Melle. Camille, my new-found friend. We
established ourselves comfortably in a secluded spot on the prow of the
vessel; scrambling over a pile of boxes we found a seat on a barrel of
oil, and had a nice chat. Señor Lopez, who was in the mood of making
the most open court to me, and followed me everywhere like a shadow,
discovered our hiding place, but we packed him off very soon, and he had
to withdraw, ruffled, and out of sorts.
We anchored at Helsingfors in the evening and went on shore to stretch
our legs. I wanted to boast of the first Russian town before our
fellow-passengers, who were visiting our country for the first time,
but failed, alas, for the boulevards were full of half-drunken Russian
sailors, loafing about, elbowing us and using bad language. Fearing a
skirmish, we hurried back on board. At St. Petersburg we parted, with
regret with our French friends, who invited us to pay them a visit, some
day in Paris.
CHAPTER XLIX
MOSCOW
This winter we had to give tiresome “At Homes” every Sunday from four to
six. I was so pleased when those tedious two hours were over.
Every morning I went out for a ride with Sergy and had a gallop round
the Park on my beautiful horse named “Sailor,” black as jet, with a coat
shining like satin, which Sergy had just presented to me. In bad weather
I went to a riding-school. I met there one day a stout lady perched on a
pacific-looking horse, who was rolling like a barrel on her saddle. She
wanted to try “Sailor,” and I seated myself good-naturedly on her old
hack. We had scarcely made two or three tours, when the “fatty” tumbled
off my horse and lay sprawling on the sand, whilst “Sailor,” feeling
himself free from his heavy burden, went gambolling round the track,
rearing and prancing after me with sheer joy of life, and trying to catch
my habit with his long teeth. Loosing my head, I cried out shrilly,
“Help! help!” and a gentleman who had come to the manège as a looker-on,
sprang forward and was just in time to catch me in his arms as I fell
from the saddle. He profited by the opportunity in coming to our “At
Homes” the very next Sunday, and the Sunday after, and many other Sundays
besides.
We frequented regularly the concerts of the “Philharmonic Society,” where
the audience, for the most part, was far more interested in themselves
than in the music to which they were supposed to listen. I often met at
these concerts an elegant young man, whose gaze followed me persistently;
turning my head I always found his eyes upon me. One night he came up
with a friend of ours and asked to be presented to me. When the concert
was over, he followed us to the cloak-room, and helped me on with my
pelisse, drawing it over my shoulders with lingering tenderness of
touch, and squeezed my hand in a manner that spoke volumes. According
to my permission, he came to call next afternoon, which happened to be
a Sunday, and took advantage of every possible occasion to visit us.
Wherever I was going he would find out and go too. I do not deny that
I flirted a little with him, for I love to be loved, but it was really
a shame of me to put ideas into his head. He flamed up one day, and
looking admiringly into my eyes, burst into the most fiery declaration,
telling me he had loved me since the first time he had met me, that
the fever of love consumed him night and day, and all sort of other
sentimental rubbish. But my temperature, as far as he was concerned, was
unvariably under zero, his great love left me unmoved, and his eloquence
was all in vain. He was extremely jealous into the bargain; he was even
angry with my parrot when the bird had too much of my attention. I soon
became thoroughly tired of him; he exasperated me with his suppressed
sighs and melancholy and I wished I hadn’t made him so fond of me. I
did all in my power to discourage him and heartlessly asked him to put
himself out of my way, but he would not obey me, and regardless of
the weather, it might rain, snow, or storm, he was always to be seen
standing before my windows on the opposite side of the street, looking up
through opera glasses trying to see what I was doing inside, and looking
profoundly miserable, just like a stock figure weeping on a tombstone. To
arrive nearer my heart my suitor loaded me with flowers and bonbons, and
bored me with passionate letters in prose and in verse, but I tossed his
epistles half-read into the waste-paper basket. Everything wears out with
time; his broken heart began to mend; he was seen no more and disappeared
completely from my horizon.
CHAPTER L
PARIS
Towards the end of June we went to Paris to see the World’s Fair. We put
up as usual at the Hôtel de Calais, a pleasant, quiet house. After having
washed off the dust of our journey we started to visit the Exhibition.
The passage of carriages was forbidden on the Pont d’Terra, and only
foot-passengers provided with entrance tickets could cross that bridge.
On entering the enclosure of the “Grand Fair,” we took the Decauville, a
toy-train, which carried us round the whole place. Every now and then our
eyes were arrested by vivid printed notices on the walls, advertisements
about cocoa and soap, and placards put everywhere, warning the passengers
not to thrust out their hands or heads out of the window, written in all
the European languages except in German. The Parisians, as it seems,
have nothing to say against the Teutonic visitors of the Exhibition
being deprived of heads or hands! In all directions small two-wheeled
waggonettes called “puss-puss,” circulated, pushed by yellow-faced
Tonqinoise aborigines.
There was much to see at the Exhibition; it just made my head swim. We
unweariedly enjoyed all the sights of the Champ de Mars, the gayest
part of the Exhibition, crowded with visitors from all the parts of the
earth and moved with the throng, being pushed to-and-fro. The Eiffel
Tower was the chief attraction of the Exhibition. It is by far the
highest structure in the world, being 984 feet high, and took two years
to build. There were five big restaurants on the first platform, where
the charges were perfectly monstrous. We had lunch at the Restaurant de
Russe, and paid ten francs for a roasted chicken. We waited more than
half-an-hour our turn to enter the lift, which raised us to the third
platform. Whilst we were mounting gently to the very sky, we saw through
the barred windows the landscape gradually diminishing; the whole horizon
was disclosed and the people down below, walking about the Exhibition,
appeared not bigger than flies. On each platform commemorative medals
made of brass, bronze and silver were sold. The Tower had its own
printing office where a newspaper, named “Le Figaro de la Tour,” was
printed every day.
Night festivals were given three times a week at the Trocadero, when the
Eiffel Tower was illuminated with thousands of electric lights of all the
brightest colours of the rainbow, as well as the beautiful “Fontaines
Lumineuses,” lighted up in a wonderful way.
We went almost every day to the Exhibition and sacrificed a whole
afternoon to the French colonies: Tunis, Algiers, Dahomey and other
transmarine countries, all clustered together near the Trocadero. In
front of them were the cafés belonging to them. Here you could listen
to the different national airs, see the different national types and
costumes, and eat the different national foods.
The section named “Habillement des deux Sexes” is marvellous, with
Paquin’s and Worth’s most divine combinations. I did not know how our
purses were going to hold out. There was a dress I had been dying for,
and Sergy, dear man, made me a present of it immediately.
The “Palais des Machines,” a monstrous gallery full of machines, with
glass walls and roof, was very fatiguing to go through. Sergy took
great interest in all sorts of engines, and our guide bothered me with
his technical explanations of which I understood nothing. On the top
galleries a moving electric bridge, full of people, advanced towards us
from the opposite side of the gallery, moving very slowly in order to
permit the visitors to see all the machines at work. We were dying of
thirst, and entered the English Dairy to drink a glass of milk, after
which we visited the Cow-House, exhibiting superb animals, who stood in
comfortable stalls with new clean straw under their feet. Whilst I petted
a beautiful fat cow named “Every Inch a Queen,” a milkmaid appeared with
a stool and a pail and began to extract what the cow chose to give her.
Directly opposite the “Palais des Machines” is the “Vieux Paris.” To
visit it is to step back into the past. In the street La Huchette,
the houses, the shops, the citizens, everything, transports you to
the seventeenth century; the anachronism was ourselves in our modern
clothes, which did not harmonise with the picture. Soldiers with their
bands at the head, wearing white wigs, marched in the streets. On a
raised platform the Mandolinists of the Duc de Guise played pretty
gavottes and minuets. A few steps further the so-called “Sans-Chagrins”
(street singers), standing on a table, sang popular airs. Through an
open window we saw a dainty “Marquise” singing old-time love-ditties, to
the accompaniment of a smart “Marquis” wearing a white wig and buckled
shoes, who played a harpsichord. The illusion was complete, we had gone
back a hundred years to Louis XVI. time. In the Rue Sainte Antoine we
saw the exact copy of the church Sainte Marie, with a museum inside,
where you could see the atrocities of the French Revolution, represented
with horrid realism, and calculated to give even a strong man the
creeps. Soldiers wearing pig-tailed wigs bellowed: “Come and see the
execution of the Royal Family!” In dark alcoves different scenes of the
French Revolution were represented. We saw the wax figure of Robespierre
presiding at the Jacobin Club; of Charlotte Corday in the act of
murdering Marat, etc., etc.
A fortune-teller, standing at the door of her dwelling, invited the
passers-by to come in to hear their fortunes told. On the threshold of
a house just opposite, a quarrelsome female, arms akimbo, was shouting
and shaking her fist at her bourgeois; the discussion waxed hot, and a
constable, dressed in the costume of the period, came running to separate
them; the scene was only a sham. We entered a theatre on the Place du
Guesclin, where we saw the escape of a prisoner from the dungeon of La
Bastille. There was a great push at the entrance, and we got to our
places with difficulty. The curtain rose showing the prisoner preparing
to clamber out of the window, and falling down whilst he was dropping
a cord exclaiming: “How dark the night is!” And, indeed, night came on
when the spectators emerged into the square where stood the reproduction
of the Bastille with its towers and raised bridges, to see the man, who
appeared to be a skilful acrobat, making his escape from the prison. His
flight was noticed by a group of soldiers, dressed in red uniforms, and
wearing white wigs, who fired at him and began to climb over the walls
in hurried pursuit, and seized the escaping prisoner, who was hissed
by the crowd on the square. After that the taking of the Bastille, was
reproduced. We could imagine all this taking place. A throng of 500
men, wearing Jacobin caps with tri-coloured cockades and armed with
muskets and swords, began to climb up the Bastille by the aid of ropes
and ladders, making a terrible noise. Suddenly a detachment of soldiers,
dressed in the costume of the period, appeared, and a white-wigged
colonel began to read instructions to the men, under a smoking lamp-post,
urging them to serve their King faithfully and defeat the Sans-Culottes.
Then began the charge of cannons and muskets, which soon made the huge
building flame on all sides.
After the taking of La Bastille, we went to seek for something to eat
and drink at the hostelry of the Lion d’Or, and ended our evening at
the Palais des Enfants, a rather badly named theatre at the Exhibition,
where we saw the La Belle Fatima, the renowned Eastern beauty, encircled
by unattractive _houris_ who set her off still more. La Belle Fatima
looked amongst them, like some vivid brilliant flower surrounded by faded
leaves.
We assisted one day at the representation of the Fakirs, a Hindustan
religious sect given over to the mortification of the flesh. It was an
impressive spectacle. The Fakirs, arrayed in white flowing garments of
doubtful cleanness, were sitting in a semi-circle on the floor, holding
banners and singing religious chants. Their “mollah,” wearing an enormous
turban, sat in the centre. Suddenly the tom-toms rolled like thunder and
the experiments began. The Fakirs did amazing things. One of them, clad
in a sort of white sack with five openings through which passed his head,
legs and arms, began to light the sacred fire to the accompaniment of a
flute and tambourine, bending over the burning coals into which he threw
some essence in order to get dizzy. The barbaric music, struck up faster
and a long convulsive shudder shook the Fakir’s limbs. Then he took a
heated spade and applied it to his arms and face and put his fingers into
the brazier, making disorderly jumps, after which he fell on the floor
with foam in the corners of his mouth. But it was only a prelude to more
horrors. The Fakir who came next terrified me still more by his shouts
and wild gestures. He pricked his tongue, lips, cheeks and ears with a
long iron spear, and stepped barefooted on the sharp sides of a sword,
after which, in a state of wild excitement, he stabbed himself with a
poniard, and the blood ran down in abundance. The third Fakir twisted a
large serpent round his body and ate a part of it, and then swallowed a
scorpion, which the manager had previously shown to the audience. Now
came the turn of the last Fakir, who grilled his skin with red hot irons,
and made his eyes bulge out of its sockets with the end of a dagger and
slowly rolled the eye back into its ordinary position again. Professor
Charcot, the celebrated psychologist, who had controlled the experiment,
was convinced that it was not a fraud.
Sergy essayed a trip in the “Ballon Captif,” which lifted ten persons
at a time a hundred metres higher than the Eiffel Tower. From below I
breathlessly watched the ascent. Sergy was presented with a medal bearing
the inscription: “_Souvenir de mon ascension_.”
Another day we went to see “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West,” where a troup of
“Red Skins” attacked a caravan of travellers, after which they scalped
them and showed dramatically all the horrors described by Mayne Reid.
Suddenly the Cowboys, with pistols bulging from their belts, came
galloping on and drove away the Red Indians.
On July 14th, the day of the Fête Nationale, the usual review of the
troops took place at Longchamps. I was ill in bed that day and could not
accompany my husband to the review. Military bands played in the streets
which were full of noise, and from everywhere shouts of “Vive Boulanger!”
were heard. Tables were set in the streets and squares, laid out with
dishes for the populace. I saw from my window an Alsacian procession
pass by. All the members, dressed in black, were directing their steps
towards the Statue of “Strasbourg,” in order to adorn it with mourning
wreaths. We witnessed on the Place de la Concorde the arrival of the Shah
of Persia. Soldiers formed a long line on his way. The Shah drove in a
victoria with President Carnot sitting by his side, and was escorted
by a squadron of cuirassiers. The General Saussier followed galloping
alongside the victoria, and twelve carriages with the suite of the Shah
and newspaper correspondents followed. That night there was a great rush
to the Exhibition to see the Shah, who was to make his appearance on the
balcony of the “Dome Central.” We were carried ahead with the rush, with
more than one escape of being crushed to atoms. We raced for chairs, and
Sergy got one for me to stand on. A row of red velvet fautueils were
placed for the Shah and his suite on the balcony, upon which the Shah
appeared arrayed in a beautiful costume all worked with gold and bedecked
with diamonds, accompanied by President Carnot with his spouse and a
numerous suite. From the exhibition the Shah was driven to the Eiffel
Tower. He had gone up only as far as the first floor, and there was no
persuading him to ascend higher up. We have been braver than the Shah, as
it appears!
M. Prévost-Rousseau and Melle. Camille, having heard of our arrival at
Paris, came to see us at the hotel and invited us to come and spend
a whole day at Champigny, where they have some property. The very
next morning they came up again in their brougham to take us to their
Château. It was a two hours’ drive, and a very pleasant one, going
through Joinville and the Bois de Vincennes. Mme. Prévost came forward
to greet us, holding out both hands, and led us to the salon, where we
found a group of guests assembled. Our host proposed to all the company
to make a tour in the park, which descended in an easy slope to the
banks of the Marne. M. Prévost took us for a pull on the river, and
showed us afterwards his well kept grounds. The weather had changed for
the worse by this time, and M. Prévost thought we ought to be starting
home. I lifted up my nose to the clouds from which big drops of rain
began to fall. Suddenly a storm burst out, and a shower came down upon
us in torrents, accompanied by lightning and peals of thunder, which
necessitated a hasty retreat, and we started running back to the Château.
Mme. Camille carried me up to her own room to remove my hat and arrange
my hair, dishevelled by the wind. After dinner there was to be a little
entertainment in the salon, music and recitation, and towards midnight M.
Prévost drove us to the railway station in his dog-cart.
Baroness Rothvillers had left Paris when we arrived, nevertheless we went
to see her husband, who gave us a warm and kindly welcome. He invited
us to dinner on the following day and took us afterwards to the “Cirque
d’Eté.”
We met at the Exhibition Mme. Diane Bibikoff, a French lady, married to
a Russian dignitary, living in Moscow, a very pretty young woman, full
of spirits, and Parisienne to her finger tips. One day whilst visiting
the Exhibition together, I suggested entering a barrack on the Champs de
Mars bearing the inscription, “_On the waves of the sea_.” It appeared
to be a carousal with boats rolling over cardboard waves. Mme. Diane
stepped into one of these boats, but as I did not like to be sea-sick at
shore, I could in no way be persuaded to follow her example, and left
poor Mme. Diane to her fate. After the first going round she began to
beg for mercy and entreated them to stop the machine, but she had to
make the regulation circuits, and stepped out of the boat more dead than
alive. The situation was too much for my gravity, and I was seized with
a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Mme. Diane will not want to repeat the
experience.
CHAPTER LI
TROUVILLE
We had to leave Paris for the sea-shore and proceeded to Dieppe, where
we took a room in a private house, intending to remain there a fortnight
at least, but after our first bath we decided to leave on the morrow to
another bathing resort, for the water wasn’t pleasant and the landscape
discouragingly rain-blotted. It was to Trouville we gave the preference,
and went quietly out of the house with our dressing-bags in rather
guilty haste at daybreak, before our landlord was up, to catch the first
train to Trouville, feeling like fugitives from justice. We walked on
quickly towards the railway station, as there were no cabs about at that
early hour. Sergy had to come back again to fetch our boxes and pay our
account; he told our bewildered landlord that we were suddenly summoned
to Paris on business, but it did not prevent, I am sure, the old man from
taking us for a pair of unlawful lovers, who had come stealthily to spend
a clandestine night at his house.
I found Trouville a most amusing place: no chance of being dull here!
It was the height of the season, and the place was full of people who
had come to see the races at Dauville, a pretty Norman coast town on the
other side of the river La Touque, possessing a splendid hippodrome,
where during one week important races take place. Crowds of people came
by special trains from Paris, and omnibuses kept constantly arriving with
passengers. Our hotel was crammed to the garrets, and it was difficult
to get a seat at any of the tables during our meals. Our landlady, a
moustached virago, was almost out of her wits to satisfy all the demands.
Pretty Parisiennes came to Trouville to show off their beautiful
toilettes, which they changed three times a day. In the afternoon they
sat on the beach under big brown holland umbrellas, chatting and flirting
with their cavaliers, whilst their bare-legged babies, armed with tin
pails, made sand cakes and paddled in the sea.
We went to Dauville on a raft to see the races, although I do not
particularly like that sport, and take the view of the late Shah of
Persia, who explained why he would not go to the Derby, during his stay
in London, by saying that he had always known that one horse could run
faster than another, but that it was a matter of perfect indifference
to him which that one horse might be. The hippodrome was filled with a
gay and fashionable crowd, who followed the races eagerly. The prize of
10,000 francs was won by the famous “Volcano,” whose lucky proprietor was
loudly applauded. Rain began to fall and we got wet through because the
people behind us wouldn’t let us open our umbrellas: my pretty dress was
quite spoilt. Whilst we lingered at Dauville the tide had run away, so
we had to take an oddly-shaped carriage, with a white awning on it, and
drive back to Trouville, being obliged to cross a pontoon bridge, as with
low water the little river La Touque becomes almost dry, and the tide
retreats so far that fishing-boats were lying upon the banks of sand.
We went one night to the “Eden Concert.” Between the acts Sergy left his
seat for a few moments to bring me bonbons, and all at once a handsome
woman, in showy dark style, who had been staring at me through her
lorgnette in such a nasty way that I became quite uncomfortable, came up
and sat by me and gave me her address, entreating me to call upon her the
next day. At that very moment my husband returned to his place, very much
astonished to see it occupied by that strange person, who gave up her
seat very unwillingly, and continued to throw approving glances at me.
Funny sort of type that woman!
Another night we went to the theatre to see “Serge Panine,” the comedy in
vogue. I liked the play, but the spectators did not seem to understand
it, and giggled in the most pathetic places. We were very much amused
when a dog, who was promenading between the chairs, mounted on the stage
and stretched himself comfortably before the prompter’s box.
At the end of August we left Trouville and started on our homeward
journey.
CHAPTER LII
MOSCOW
Many renowned artistes visited our old capital this winter, among them
Tamagno, the celebrated tenor, whose fame was just then ringing all the
world over. After a concert-tour in America he came to Moscow to collect
a new harvest of laurels. But I didn’t admire particularly his thundering
voice, a veritable Jericho trumpet! Ferni-Germano, the ideal “Carmen,”
for whom Bizet had composed his opera, made a clamorous appearance after
Tamagno. She came to see us with a letter of recommendation given to her
by one of our friends living in St. Petersburg, but didn’t find us at
home. I wanted to see her close and went to the hotel where she had put
up to pay her a visit. The “diva” didn’t gain on close acquaintance; she
couldn’t stand the ordeal of pitiless sunshine, and sat with her back
to the light in discreet semi-obscurity. I saw, nevertheless, that she
hadn’t had time to rub off the powder which lay an inch thick on her
nose. Eleonora Duse, the great Italian tragédienne, had come to Moscow
to give a few performances. I saw her in “La Dame aux Camelias,” and
was immensely pleased with her acting. In all my life I had never seen
anything so perfectly beautiful. She seemed to have absolutely converted
herself into “Violetta,” whom she represented, and put all her soul in
her part; most of the women in the audience were in tears. I was also
in rapture with Marcella Sembrich, who sang at the Imperial Opera; her
beautiful well-trained voice was something marvellous. I had also the
opportunity of seeing the famous ballet-dancer, Virginia Zucchi, in
“Esmeralda,” and Nikita, a rising young star, recently out of her teens,
with whom Europe and America had been enraptured, and who looked like a
delicate piece of Dresden china, and was entirely bewitching with her
long locks hanging loosely over her shoulders. I enjoyed her singing very
much, her voice went straight to the heart of her listeners, and her high
notes were as clear as a bird’s. Nikita had a brilliant future before
her. She was born in America, and sang in public for the first time at
the age of six.
There was a gala performance at the Opera-House in honour of
Nasr-ed-Ding, Shah of Persia, who appeared in his box wearing his tall
Astrakhan cap and literally ablaze with diamonds. He seemed to have a
special appetite for the ladies of the ballet and stared at them fixedly
through his opera-glasses, all the time regretting, doubtless, that
he could not carry them away to his harem. I was perfectly dazzled by
the aspect of the audience in the brilliantly lighted theatre, which
presented a most magnificent sight; the gentlemen in brilliant uniforms
and the ladies in beautiful toilets and superb jewels, showed to their
greatest advantage.
The Countess Keller, one of the lady patronesses of Moscow, was getting
up a charity affair in the hall of the Assembly, an amateur play and
“Tableaux.” She called upon me to beg me to take part in these Tableaux,
and would hear of no refusal. I asked for a day’s consideration, for
Sergy rather disapproved of the whole thing, but the Countess sent me a
note that same evening, imploring me to say “Yes” directly, and Sergy,
who was always willing to accede to any wish I expressed, and had not the
heart to refuse me anything, gave in.
Our Tableau named “Serenade” in the programme, represented a scene of
Venetian life in the sixteenth century. A large gondola was to be moored
to the side of a lagoon, with a lady dressed as the wife of a Doge of
Venice in it, surrounded by the ladies of her suite, two gondoliers,
and a street dancing girl, standing in the middle of the gondola. I was
to appear as the dancing girl, in a lovely costume, the exact copy of
a well known picture. According to the looking-glass it suited me very
well, with my hair hanging down, adorned with a gold net intermingled
with pearls. I had been given the choice between a harp, a lyre and a
mandoline. The latter I selected for my instrument. We had two rehearsals
and everything went smoothly, except that I made several bitter enemies.
The next Tableau was to represent the exit of a troup of masqueraders
with their masks off, from a fancy-dress ball. One of my would-be friends
took part in that Tableau, she had a tongue as sharp as a sword, and
if she could say a bitter thing to wound someone, she never lost the
opportunity of doing it. She told me a good many things concerning our
Tableau, most of which were more or less disagreeable. Notwithstanding
her “darling Vava” here, and “darling Vava” there, she tried to sting
me and to spoil my pleasure as thoroughly as possible, in hinting that
our gondola was in great danger of being sunk, having such a lot of
occupants. As my temper was not of the sweetest that day, I warmed up and
paid her back in her own coin by suggesting, that the staircase on which
she was to stand during the Tableau representing the exit from a masked
ball, was in far greater danger of giving way, because our Tableau had
only ten performers in it whereas a crowd of forty figures appeared in
hers. This was a stab which didn’t please the young lady; she drew in her
claws and bit her lips in vexation that she had been using her weapons in
a wrong direction, and that her aim to sting me was not attained. I was
mistress of the situation and amply avenged.
Our Tableau was a great success. The curtain fell amid loud applause and
went up several times to the sound of an orchestra playing Moschkowsky’s
“Mandolinata.” It was with a sigh of relief that I found myself home. I
removed the grease paint off my face and got out of my costume as quickly
as I could.
Though we led a quiet life, I had plenty of occupation. I took singing
lessons of Mme. Kogan, a delightful teacher, and had some lessons on
the cithern, which didn’t hold me for long. My participation in the
Tableau in which I appeared with a mandoline, suggested to me the idea
to study that instrument. Signorina Ciarloni, a soloist on the harp at
the Imperial Opera, who played also the mandoline, was invited to give
me lessons. Mr. P⸺, one of the most assiduous frequenters of our “At
Homes,” a snobbish young man bursting with conceit and thinking a lot of
his appearance, proposed to accompany me on the guitar, but our duets
came to nothing, for it appeared that my partner could only play Bohemian
songs, throwing himself into a sentimental attitude and studying his own
reflection, with complacent eyes, in the mirror on the wall beside me,
which reflected his proceedings.
Mme. Schwarzenberg, a great friend of ours, who was a splendid pianist
and an artist to the finger-tips, asked me to sing at a musical party at
her house. I sang there in public for the first time and it amused me
very much to be treated as a professional singer. I should be wanting
in modesty if I repeated all the compliments I received that night.
Somehow or other I felt that I had a call for the stage and had missed
my vocation and mistaken my profession of an opera-singer: the vision of
treading the stage-boards stood before me night and day.
At Christmas we got up a concert for the benefit of Professor Albrecht,
an old violincellist, whose pecuniary circumstances were not very
flourishing just then. My husband’s aide-de-camps took the arrangement
upon themselves. A raised platform had been put at the end of our hall,
and chairs were placed in rows. We invited artists and _dilettanti_
to take part in our concert. I had a duet and solo to go through and
showed much courage at the rehearsal of the concert. It was poor Sergy
who seemed much more excited and nervous, looking forward to that
concert with excitement. At last the day of the great event arrived. I
hardly knew how to get through it and spent that day like a professional
prima-donna, reclining in a long chair and waiting for my triumphs.
People began to arrive towards eight o’clock. There were a great many
pupils of the Music Academy and the Philharmonic School among the
audience. Every seat in the hall was rapidly filled up. We artists
gathered behind a screen hidden from view by big plants. The agitation I
felt over my _début_, before a select audience of musical critics, may
easily be imagined. I had never sung in a concert before and was going
to enjoy an entirely novel and exciting experience. Just before the
beginning of the performance, whilst I sucked vigorously a pastille to
clear my throat, a waiter brought us a bottle of champagne to keep up our
courage, to the great alarm of Sergy, who thought that I had been taken
by a sudden access of timidity and needed the help of that stimulating
drink to hearten me. Before making my appearance on the platform I had
an attack of stage-fright, but I soon recovered my self-possession, and
after the first note I lost my fear entirely. Taking care not to look at
the audience I directed my glances above their heads, trying to persuade
myself that all the audience was merely furniture. My first aria was
Gounod’s “Ave Maria,” to the accompaniment of Professor Albrecht on the
cello. A storm of applause arose, and I was recalled several times.
“Bis, bis,” ran round the room and I had to sing again and again. I
don’t wish to boast, but my triumph was complete. Mr. Schostakowsky, the
director of the Philharmonic Society, who was critical to the extreme,
approved, nodding his head, and when the first part of the concert was
over, he came up to me and complimented me upon my singing. There was
a quarter-of-an-hour interval for gossip and refreshment, during which
Count Kergaradec, the French Consul, thanked me for the pleasure my
singing had given him, telling me that I was equally pleasing to the
ear and to the eye. I was very flattered, very excited, very happy, and
realised that the stage was my proper sphere. There! I am on the point
of failing in modesty, and stop! When the performance was at an end, and
the audience filed out, we invited some friends to supper. I was too
excited to go to bed until dawn. Every one agreed that our concert was
a wonderful success. Our desire to raise as much money as we could was
fulfilled, the collection mounted to over eighty pounds, which we handed
over triumphantly to Professor Albrecht. We did not expect so large a
profit.
Our Governor-General, Prince Dolgorouki, underwent the same fate as Count
Brevern de-la-Gardie, my husband’s chief; he was made to understand that
it was time for him to give up his post. The uncle of our Emperor, the
Grand-Duke Sergius, who was married to Elizaveta Fedorovna, Grand-Duchess
of Hessen-Darmstadt, the granddaughter of Queen Victoria and sister of
our Empress, was named Governor-General of Moscow in his place. I had
to go and meet the Royal pair at the railway station, my name being put
in the list with all the ladies, who were to present the image of the
Virgin to the Grand Duchess. All the so-called “high-life” of Moscow had
assembled at the station. When the train was signalled we went on to the
platform covered with red cloth. The Grand-Duke, giving his arm to his
spouse, advanced towards the Mayor of the town, who presented them with
a silver plate and on it the traditional “Bread and Salt,” an ancient
Russian custom. On the next day I was presented to the Grand-Duchess,
and found myself amidst a lot of ladies standing in a semi-circle in one
of the large halls of the palace. The Grand-Duchess was going round,
speaking a word of welcome to everyone of us. I was curious to watch the
expression of the ladies waiting for the honour of being addressed by Her
Imperial Highness; some of them dropped profound courtesies till they
almost disappeared.
In May the French Exhibition on the Khodinka Field was inaugurated under
the presidence of M. Ditz-Monin, a Senator of the French Republic.
There were many interesting things to be seen at the Exhibition. The
sections of jewellery and costumes were admirable; beautiful costumes
were exhibited by Redfern and Paquin, but the prices were exorbitant: a
splendid ball-dress cost neither more nor less than 10,000 francs.
Admiral Gervais visited Kronstadt with the French squadron of ships,
and came with all his officers to visit our old city. A banquet was
given in their honour at the Exhibition, in the Imperial Pavilion, where
everything was done grandly. Caviare was served in a big barrel, and
ice-cream was made in the shape of the Eiffel tower with tiny French
and Russian flags stuck into the top, which the naval officers pinned
in their button-holes as souvenirs. One of the young marine officers
exchanged visiting-cards with his neighbour at table, the Vice-Governor
of Moscow, who, on returning home, showed it to his wife, and to her
great amazement she read on the wrong side of the card the addresses and
prices of the most popular courtesans of Moscow, pencilled on it, with
the officer’s personal valuation of them. I can well imagine how the
young mariner felt when he found out his mistake!
The French officers were present at a night retreat on the Khodinka
Field, after which a great supper was given in their honour at the
Military Club, illuminated _a giorno_. I stood amongst the crowd
of lookers-on when the mariners were proceeding to the dining-room.
There arose on their passage a mighty shout: “Long live France!” and
the French officers shouted: “Long live Russia!” Innumerable toasts
were drunk to the prosperity of France and Russia during the repast.
My husband pronounced a long discourse in French, after which Admiral
Gervais addressed himself to General Malahof, the oldest Russian military
commander present, and said that as he hadn’t the opportunity to shake
hands with all the Russian officers sitting at table, he asked permission
to kiss the old General for them all. The champagne had loosened the
tongues of the guests, and one of them, having suggested the wish that
France and Russia should fight together against Prussia some day, a
voice cried: “We’ll enter Berlin together!” after which the subject of
conversation was diplomatically changed. Next day the French mariners
returned to St. Petersburg on their way to Portsmouth, where Queen
Victoria was to meet them.
CHAPTER LIII
A TRIP TO EGYPT
The microbe of globetrotting having entered us, my husband took a month’s
leave and at the end of September we started on a trip to the East.
I was so pleased I could kiss the whole world! We travelled by train
to Sebastopol, where an omnibus, drawn by six horses, stood ready for
us. There were so many passengers that I hadn’t much room for my legs
and felt pins and needles in them, and a horrible disjointed feeling,
as though my limbs didn’t belong to me. The road leading to Yalta was
beautiful but very wild, composed of zigzags and terrifying angles; high
cliffs towered on each side of the road. Half way on we drew up at a post
house where we had dinner, and arrived at Yalta towards night. We found
there my cousin Zoe Zaroudny, who was to travel with us to Constantinople.
The next day we took the “Oleg,” a Russian boat going straight
to the shores of the Bosphorus. Except ourselves there were only
three passengers on board: Mme. Lebedeff, an orientalised European,
wearing a scarlet fez, who was returning to Constantinople, and two
inhabitants of Alexandria, father and son, whom we took for Greeks, very
taciturn-looking both of them. Our crossing was not agreeable, the sea
being very rough. I was roused in the night by a terrible squall, which
subsided only towards morning.
CHAPTER LIV
CONSTANTINOPLE
Towards midday, when we entered the “Golden Horn,” we were plentifully
rewarded for our bad passage by the enchanting view of the bay, the
harbour of Constantinople being one of the most beautiful in the world.
We passed the Citadel and the “Dolman-Baghtcha Palace,” where Mourad, the
deposed Sultan, is kept prisoner; all around the castle stood sentinels.
We glided now along the verdant shores of “Boyouk-Dere,” the summer
residence of the Ambassadors, and dropped anchor at Constantinople.
The town scrambles up and spreads itself over three sharp-sided hills. It
is divided into three quarters: Scutari, on the Asiatic shore, inhabited
mostly by Mahometans; Stamboul; and Pera-Galata, on the European side of
the “Golden Horn,” joined by a long bridge to the Asiatic shore, where
all the Embassies, banks and hotels are concentrated.
As soon as we were moored to the shore, a fleet of caïques surrounded
us, and a crowd of sallow-faced guides invaded the deck, offering their
services. We stepped into a canoe which took us to the Custom-House.
After having got our baggage speedily chalked, we called a carriage and
drove to the Hôtel de Londres, by narrow and badly paved streets, where
appalling beggars and cripples of every description exposed to the eye
their sores and insisted upon thrusting their distorted limbs into our
faces. It was sickening to look at them!
The streets in Constantinople are awfully dirty, all the refuse is
carried out and spilt into the middle of them, and the homeless dogs,
who serve here as sweeps, lick them up greedily. Each street has its own
band of dogs, who bark and howl throughout the whole night. The carriages
and horsemen don’t abstain running over them, and the greater part of
these poor mongrels are lacking, here a paw, and there a tail. We saw fat
Greeks chatting in groups, coffee drinking and smoking before their open
shops. The Imams, in white turbans and flowing robes, sat dreaming on the
threshold of their dwellings. They are also free to engage in trade, and
it is not uncommon to discover that an Imam owns a melon-shop, or proves
to be a milkman. Long white veils conceal the form of the Turkish women
from head to foot, whenever she leaves her house. I remarked that the
old women, to whom age and ugliness permitted their faces to be revealed
without offending the Mussulman’s ideas of propriety, were particularly
well wrapped in their _chadras_, leaving only their eyes exposed, but the
young and good-looking ones are not averse to show a little more.
The Hôtel de Londres being quite full, we were led into a large saloon,
which was hastily converted into a bedroom. It was all windows on
one side, and seemed horribly uncomfortable. Looking about me with
dissatisfied eyes, my face began to lengthen. I suppose it was very
silly, but I felt so tired and out of sorts that I could have cried.
On the day following our arrival we explored the outskirts of
Constantinople. The Sultan had the amiability to send his aide-de-camp to
go about with us to all the places of interest we should like to visit,
and put at our disposal, as often as we pleased to use it, one of his
row-boats with ten men. This Turkish officer, a very stylish young man,
was the son of Jakir Pacha, ex-Ambassador of Turkey at St. Petersburg,
where he has been educated in the Corps-des-Pages. He speaks Russian
and French to perfection. He told me that he had a tedious time at
Constantinople and was pining for St. Petersburg. In the first place he
took us to Dolma-Bachtche Palace, and the Museum of Eski-Sarai, where we
saw a throne inlaid with precious stones, dating from the 16th century.
We went afterwards to the Cathedral of St. Sofia, transformed now into a
Mosque. All the Christian paintings on the walls are scraped out, except
a big image of Christ, which the Mussulmans could not manage to rub off.
Then we were rowed over to Scutari, on the opposite shore, in a rich
yawl with scarlet velvet cushions belonging to the Sultan. Its crew, ten
bronzed-skinned men of athletic build, showing bare, muscular brown hands
and legs, rowed vigorously bending to the oars. We moored before Belerbey
Palace, and entered an immense hall with a marble floor, mirrored walls,
and a fountain in the middle, looking out upon the Bosphorus. Before
leaving the palace, we visited the sumptuous apartments of the chief of
the eunuchs.
The next day we went for a sail in a steam-launch belonging to the
Russian Embassy, the swiftest vessel on the Bosphorus. After having
moored at Boyouk-Dere we took a long walk in the gardens of the Russian
and French Embassies; the dead autumn leaves covered the paths with
a yellow carpet, and were crushed under our feet. On our way back to
Constantinople the moon showed above the hills, lighting the Bosphorus.
I repeatedly expressed the desire to be shown the interior of a Mussulman
home, jealously kept hidden from the eyes of the curious, in order to
see the domestic side of Turkish life. Mme. Lebedeff got the permission
for my cousin Zoe and me to visit the harem of one of the Sultan’s
aide-de-camps, who, like all the modern Turks belonging to the upper
classes, had only one wife. After having crossed the Stamboul Bridge,
we took a small steamboat which brought us to Scutari. The master of
the harem met us on the quay, and, touching his forehead to us, led us
to his home, built round a courtyard. We were shown into a large hall,
furnished chiefly with sofas draped in different coloured silks along
the walls, with lots of cushions and oriental rugs; cigarettes were
lavishly strewn on low tables before them. We were cordially welcomed by
the Sultaness of the harem, a pretty plump woman saturated with perfume,
her cheeks painted red and white, her lips of an unnatural crimson.
She wore a fantastic apple-green dress with a broad silver belt which
drew attention to the amplitude of her waist, and a small red velvet
cap richly embroidered. Our hostess spoke very good French, and seemed
very gay, though in the higher ranks of life harem ladies live a dull
existence. It is a curious thing that, though they are never seen in
public, they take an engrossing interest in their personal appearance,
and dress and jewels absorb most of their time and attention. Rouge and
other cosmetics are common in harems, and the examination of garments
and ornaments is the first and almost the sole form of entertainment
when visiting or receiving female friends. Our hostess was surrounded by
pretty slave-girls, Circassians for the most part. We were asked to be
seated, and soon an enormous old woman, bursting with fat—our hostess’s
mother-in-law—came in. She wore a dress of crying colours, and a bonnet
trimmed with crotcheted flowers. This hippopotamus was treated with great
deference. At her appearance everybody rose. She was followed by her
daughter with her two little girls, in European dress, and her son, a
fine boy of twelve, with fair curly hair, a pretty piece of diminutive
manhood dressed like a grown-up, in the last Parisian fashion, his tie
fastened with a large emerald pin; a very independent-looking little
fellow, who was addressed reverentially as “Bey.” Soon after, a slave
appeared, a large bundle of keys hanging at her girdle, carrying a large
tray covered with a green velvet napkin embroidered in gold, heaped with
cakes and preserves flavoured with attar of roses, nauseously sweet,
presented with a glass of water to wash them down. A negress followed,
handing round coffee, served a la Turca, in tiny little cups like little
egg-shells supported in filigree silver, and behind came a mulatto
girl holding a silver censer. I felt as if I were at the opera, and
the curtain had just gone up on a brilliant act of “Aida.” Presently
we were invited into the dining-room, where a dinner of about twelve
courses was served, all cooked in olive oil. The dishes were handed to
our hostess first, and when she had served herself, the slaves served the
guests. We ate our soup with spoons whose bowl was of tortoise-shell,
and the handle of ivory tipped with coral. During the repast a band of
musician-girls were seated cross-legged on the floor, playing noisily on
their weird, strange-looking instruments, and making what they seemed to
think was music. One of the slaves began to sing in a falsetto-voice,
when suddenly there came a tap at the door and a few words in Turkish,
that caused the slave-girls to jump hurriedly to their feet, drawing
their veils over their faces. The door was flung open and the master of
the house came in, followed by his father-in-law—an ex-Vizier. As a rule
no male, except the woman’s husband, father-in-law and brother-in-law,
ever pass the threshold of the privacy of a harem. At the end of the
dinner a slave-girl poured rose-water over our fingers from a copper
jug, wiping them with a napkin of damask, after which our hostess threw
on a blue cloak and led us into the garden, laid down in terraces, with
lemon and orange trees bending under the weight of their fruit. In a
large pond gold fish swam, and close by was a large cage filled with
canaries. We sat on a hillock, admiring the beautiful birds’ eye view of
Constantinople and the Bosphorus, whilst the “Bey,” the little man-child,
picked flowers for Zoe and me. Night was drawing on; it was time to bid
farewell to our amiable hosts and return to the hotel.
My curiosity concerning harem life was not entirely satisfied. I wanted
to visit a harem containing several wives. The interpreter of our hotel,
a Circassian named Michael, who spoke twelve languages, proposed to show
us a harem whose Pasha kept a dozen wives. Sergy did not approve of
the expedition, but I had my own way and started off with Zoe and her
lady-companion in an open carriage. We drove through narrow, winding
streets. While we were slowly mounting a steep slope, we saw two women,
wrapped in blue veils, descending almost perpendicular flights of
street-steps cut in the rock, making signs to our driver to stop. After
a hurried colloquy with Michael, who sat on the box, he had the carriage
stopped to take them up, and explained to us that these women were going
to serve as interpreters for us in the harem, where he could not be
admitted. One of them was a Servian and could jabber a little Russian,
and her companion spoke English.
We clambered down a steep bank to which a boat was moored to cross
over to the other shore, and dismissed our carriage, having decided to
return by steamer. We picked our way through a dingy side-street paved
with pointed stones, between which weeds grew, and came up to a house
of dubious appearance, with narrow iron-barred windows like those of a
prison. At the sound of our bell the door was opened by an eunuch, who
took us into a large room with an enormous bedstead, hung with green
and gold brocade, standing in the middle. An odour of attar of roses
filled the apartment. My curiosity was awfully excited; I expected to see
beautiful “houris,” but was greatly disappointed. First of all appeared
the Pasha’s favourite wife, looking rather pretty, with a flower in
her jet-black hair, her fingers stained with henna, and saturated with
perfume so strong as to make you sneeze. Behind came the second wife,
an insignificant little thing, followed by the third would-be “houri,”
a wrinkled old guy. For a quarter-of-an hour we stared speechlessly at
each other, then losing patience, I asked our interpreter when the other
nine wives would make their appearance, and she replied they were all
out walking but would soon be back, but I was sure it was all a fib and
that they were nothing but a myth. After a while the wife No. 1 began to
talk to our interpreters in a low voice, after which they came up and
told us that we had to be presented to the master of the house. Here was
something that didn’t enter our programme, but we had to undergo the
ordeal which seems to be the custom here. We were taken into a big room
and ushered into the presence of the Pasha, a white-bearded patriarch,
wearing an enormous white turban, who was sitting on a low divan upon a
pile of cushions, with his legs tucked under him. A little nigger boy,
one of his numerous offsprings, was playing at his feet with a wooden
horse. The Pasha signalled for us to be seated, and fixed Zoe and me with
a long stare over his spectacles, seeming to approve of us. He called
one of our interpreters and asked if Zoe and I were sisters, and ordered
her to tell us that he wanted to keep us both in his harem. Finding the
proceeding of too oriental a fashion, we hurried away under the pretext
that my husband was waiting for us outside. The old Satyr appeared very
much displeased that we slipped out of his grasp, and when taking leave
of us he gripped my hand and squeezed my fingers to make me cry out. Who
could have thought of that old man being so inflammable! We ran down
the stairs and rushed out, happy to have got off so cheaply from this
mouse-trap. Being too late for the steamer, we took a ferry-boat. It was
nearly night when we were back at the hotel, and marched in to dinner,
which was half over.
The day of the “Selamlic,” the birthday of Mahomed, when the Sultan
leaves his palace in great pomp and goes to the neighbouring “Hamidieh
Mosque” to public prayers, fell that year on a Friday, the Mahomedan
Sabbath. Thanks to Mme. Lebedeff, we had the opportunity to see the
ceremonial of the “Selamlic,” and the Sultan’s State visit to the
mosque. She had got cards of admission for us to the terrace of one of
the wings of the palace, where places were reserved for the members of
the diplomatic corps with their wives and daughters. Mme. Lebedeff came
to fetch Zoe and me in her phaeton, in a grand toilet, with a Turkish
Order glittering on her breast, which made her look very pompous and
very patronising. Great animation reigned in the town; people crowded in
the streets so that our carriage could scarcely move. The windows and
house-tops were full of spectators, and the native women seemed to be all
out of doors, walking about in groups, wrapped up in long white veils
which covered them from head to foot. In a narrow street we had got into
the stream of carriages, and nearly ran into a cab. In a moment I was
out of the phaeton, just when a platoon of soldiers was advancing on me.
Seeing my critical position, a young Turk, who occupied the cab we got
into, asked me to get into his carriage, but Mme. Lebedeff drew me back
hastily. At length, after many struggles, we arrived at our destination
and mounted on the terrace, where Constantinople’s high society had
gathered in a brilliant throng around us. On the square under our feet
were guards of honour and massed troops: twelve battalions, fifteen
squadrons and eight military bands, were ranged. We found ourselves just
over the bayonets of a regiment of Tunis Zouaves, very good-looking,
dark-skinned men. The Muezzin in the minaret began to call to prayers,
and there soon appeared a smart coach containing the recluses of the
Sultan’s harem, preceded by the Grand-master of the eunuchs, and two
negro and two white footmen. The numerous sons of the Sultan, armed with
spears, came behind cantering on magnificent steeds. An infinite number
of Pashas, Beys and Effendies brought up the rear, with a great number
of German officers, who had come to Constantinople to teach the military
art to the Turkish army; and then, to the desperate and wild sounds of
the Turkish bands, the Sultan appeared, reclining in a victoria with a
coachman in Albanian costume. The Padishah was acclaimed with enthusiasm
by the populace, and the troops saluted him putting their hand on the
breast and forehead. As soon as the Sultan had entered the Mosque,
religious chants were heard. On Friday the service lasts twenty minutes
usually, but this time it was prolonged more than an hour through the
reading aloud of the Prophet’s biography. The Sultan returned to the
palace mounted on a fine long-tailed Arab; the horse’s trappings and
saddle were covered with precious stones. The Sultan stood at his window
whilst the troops defiled before him. After the review paper-bags full
of sweets were distributed to the soldiers. I had, as it appeared,
conquered the heart of one of the Zouave soldiers, standing just under
me, who stared at me with persistence when his officer was away. I looked
down upon him and nodded to him to throw me a bonbon and he replied, by
gesture, that he was afraid of his officer, who was now watching our
little manœuvre. Just then bonbons and cool drinks were being handed
on trays to the guests on the terrace, and this time it was my warrior
who asked me to throw him a bonbon. An over ripened lady, meagre as a
gutter-cat, who stood by me, understood the signal as being addressed
to her, and thrusting a coquettish glance at the Zouave, she threw him
a chocolate, which he kicked away contemptuously with his boot. As I
couldn’t help smiling, the affronted lady looked daggers at me, but I
didn’t mind it a bit and recompensed my bronze-faced admirer by throwing
to him a sugar-candy. He stooped down and picked it up, then he raised
his hand high, so that I could see that he had the candy in it, and
looking up with a smile, he kissed the bonbon and threw it into the
pocket of his vest. When the Zouave regiment was leaving the place, and
marched away, my soldier took a last look at me and went off, every now
and then pausing to look back, and almost broke his neck with efforts to
catch a last glimpse of me.
Constantinople did not offer a great deal in the way of distraction; in
the evenings, especially, we were at a loss for amusements. We had quite
enough of Turkey and took the “Tzar,” a Russian boat bound for Egypt.
On our way to the embarkment we entered a Greek church, where a big
chandelier bearing the form of a ship, hung from the ceiling, to assure
us a safe passage, and get the blessing of St. Nicholas, the patron of
the navigators.
Our steamer was a veritable floating hotel, reuniting all the advantages
of modern comfort. In the hold were packed 1,800 sheep, a drove of
cattle, a large cage full of fowls and three pairs of splendid Russian
steppers, who were to be sold at Cairo; each pair of horses cost 4000
roubles (about four hundred pounds.)
In the night we crossed the Marble Sea, and early the next morning we
perceived the Dardanelles, and heard the beat of the drum on the opposite
shore. Towards evening we entered the Archipelago, strewn with rocky
islands, and passed before Lesbos, with shores scorched by the sun,
without a tree or a blade of grass.
CHAPTER LV
ATHENS
We waited for daybreak to enter the narrow port of Piræus. The Russian
military agent, Baron Traubenberg, came to meet us in a launch belonging
to a Russian man-of-war, in which we went over to the landing-stage, and
then up to Athens by train. The journey was a short one, we got there in
twenty minutes. The country is unattractive, deprived of vegetation and
looking fearfully burnt up; the prevalent colour is sandy-yellow.
We had but little time for sight-seeing at Athens, the “Tzar” remaining
at anchor only till night. The dusty streets, the want of water and the
poverty of the population left a disagreeable impression upon me, and the
heat was intense. We were nearly roasted alive by the scorching sun. When
passing before the Royal Palace, we were amazed by the simplicity of the
railing surrounding it. In the absence of the Royal family the people are
allowed to go into the palace, and a lackey offered to escort us over it.
The state apartments are worth showing, but the upper suits of rooms are
of Spartan simplicity. After having visited the Temple of Theseus, we
drove up a long steep hill fringed with spiky cactus plants, leading to
the Acropolis, the citadel of ancient Athens, which dominates the whole
town.
When we returned to our ship we found new passengers: Lady Denmore, the
wife of a high British dignitary, whom she was going to rejoin in India,
and a pleasant American pair—Mr. and Mrs. Holland—elderly, childless
people, talking with a strong American accent. They were going to Cairo.
In the night the sea grew rough, and we were tossed about during two
days. On the third day we entered the African waters and perceived a
yellow band of sand; birds, forerunners of land, were flying over our
ship, and soon the outlines of the port and the mosques of Alexandria
came in view.
CHAPTER LVI
IN PHARAOH LAND
Here we are on the threshold of the Great Desert! As soon as the “Tzar”
dropped anchor, stopping alongside a Russian cruiser, the “Nakhimoff,”
our vessel was invaded by a crowd of natives who precipitated
themselves on our luggage. They were all speaking at once, shouting and
gesticulating; the scene reminded me of the attack of savages in “Aida.”
We looked about us for the right sort of person to accompany us in the
capacity of guide to Cairo, and finally hired for the service a dusky
Arab named Mahmoud, on whose jersey was embroidered in big white letters:
“I speak Russian.”
Everybody went on shore, but we decided to pass the night on board
and start in the morning to Cairo. We passed a very bad night, the
Egyptian sun having turned our cabin into an oven and we could not open
the porthole through the close proximity of the cruiser “Nakhimoff,”
alongside which we were anchored. At six o’clock we took a carriage to
drive us to the railway station through the broad streets of Alexandria.
The inhabitants we met on our way were for the most part negroes of
different shades, and blue-robed, dark-skinned Fellahs. The native women,
black-shrouded and veiled, wear a piece of black lustring wrapped round
their bodies, making of them formless lumps, and giving them a ghastly
aspect; a black veil is suspended on a metal cylinder, which is placed
between the eyes with texts out of the Koran inscribed inside.
Before taking the train to Cairo, we had to pass through the
preliminaries of the Customs. Thanks to our guide, Mahmoud, we have
obtained, by special favour, the permission for our boxes not to be
opened. It took three hours to get from Alexandria to Cairo; every few
minutes the train halted at a bustling station. At the stoppings the
Arabs dusted our cars with long brooms made of ostrich feathers. The
journey would have been perfect but for the heat and the dust; eyes,
nose, mouth, were choked with it, and by the time we reached Cairo, our
hair was quite grey. All through our desert journey I had felt as if I
had wandered into a dream of the Old Testament. Egyptian villages, with
huts of dry mud of the same colour as the soil, with a maze of dust,
of children, of animals and flies, emerged here and there from between
the date-palms laden with fruit hanging in big bunches. On the road
we saw great brown buffaloes going wearily round and round, turning
the irrigating mills. Strings of burdened camels marched slowly along
the road. Here is a Bedouin leaning forward upon the neck of his quick
stepping horse, outriding a fat Fellah trotting on a small donkey with
a woman sitting astride behind him, holding him round the waist. We now
passed across the fertile delta of the Nile, through cotton plantations
with their white flocks, and fields of ripening grain standing
waist-high. In Egypt the land is so fertile that the harvest is got in
three times a year. We are speeding along canals on which sailing-boats
are gliding; bands of natives and buffaloes are bathing in them. Here is
the Nile, which is very high at this season, all the land between the
Biblical river and the sands being hidden beneath the waters. We are
approaching the Metropolis of Africa. The windows of every compartment of
our train are framed with eager, longing faces, straining for the first
glimpse of the Pyramids. There they are, looking quite close in the clear
atmosphere. The first view of these colossal piles rather disappointed
me: they did not appear on the horizon as big as I thought they would be.
We crossed the Nile by a long bridge and arrived at Cairo, halting in a
vast domed station. Then we took a carriage and went to the New Hotel,
situated in the Esbekieh district, the European quarter of Cairo.
The season had not yet opened, and the hotel was comparatively empty,
there being more servants than guests for the moment, but they were
expecting a great number of visitors and great preparations were made:
carpets were laid down, curtains were put up, and the sights and sounds
of these preparations pursued us everywhere.
Everything around seemed so strange to me. There were no chamber-maids in
the hotel, and barefooted Nubians, wearing a flowing white cotton gown
from neck straight to heel, served us.
On the day of our arrival we sat up late on the terrace of our hotel,
looking out on the Esbekieh Gardens, where the Arab band is playing
every night. I was astonished to hear Russian popular airs among their
repertoire. Smart British officers, quartered in Cairo, in tight-fitting
uniforms, strolled leisurely about the streets. Dignified Arabs,
mysterious long-robed figures, appeared to float rather than walk,
their white bournouses blowing behind them, native nurses wheeled
perambulators, the negresses wrapped up in white veils and the Arab
nurses in blue covers. A band of tourists, riding spirited little
donkeys, passed along. Egyptian donkeys are fine little animals, holding
their heads high like thoroughbreds; they are white for the greater part
and shaved in designs. The best donkeys are brought out from Mecca, and
valued higher than horses.
Oh, how hot it is in Cairo! It never rains here; sometimes clouds are
to be seen on the horizon, but over the town the sky is permanently of
azure blue. In the daytime we are bothered by a swarm of flies, and are
devoured at night by greedy mosquitoes—a veritable Egyptian plague!
Our apartment is next to the Hollands, our new American friends, who
travelled with us on board the “Tzar,” from Piræus to Alexandria. Mrs.
Holland is a charming lady, but rather despotic; she could twist her
husband round her little finger. He was very mild and fond of peace.
Mr. Koyander, the Russian consul, placed himself at our disposal and gave
us a great deal of interesting information. It is now the “Ramadan,” one
of the biggest Mussulman feasts, and the Arab quarter of the town is
especially animated. We drove with Mr. Koyander through narrow and dirty
streets and arrived at a great open place. I was extremely interested by
the panorama of the East which passed before our eyes. We met the most
varied types: magnificent Arabs; Syrians in red mantles; Copts—Christians
of the Greek faith—wearing black turbans; blue-clad figures of Fellahs in
a garb that recalled the ill-omened coat of Joseph; and other specimens
of the brown children of the Nile. The Egyptian women have painted chins
and a ring stuck through their noses. The eyes of their babies were stuck
round with flies, the poor mites being too apathetic to drive them away.
This oriental throng, in turbans, stared at us unbenevolently, except a
young negress, carrying a naked baby astride on her shoulder, who offered
me a piece of sugar-cane, smiling and showing beautiful, glittering white
teeth. We passed with some difficulty through the crowd and manœuvred
between the tables, laid out with refreshments, set in the middle of the
streets, and entered an Arab café to see the dances of the “bayadères,”
or Egyptian dancing-girls. At the entry hung a dark curtain, covering the
open doorway, which was lifted for us to pass, and we found ourselves in
a small hall where three “bayadères” sat upon a raised platform; they
were covered with gauze, with reddened lips and palms, wearing massive
golden ear-rings, their hair twisted into innumerable thin ringlets at
the end of which hung golden coins, with silver bracelets jingling on
their bare ankles and their arms. We waited for their dances in vain,
these daughters of the East absolutely refused to exhibit themselves
before “Giaours” (Christians), and passed their time in throwing alluring
glances at a group of good-looking young “hadjis” (men who had made the
pilgrimage to Mecca or Medina), sitting in the first row.
The next day we visited the mosque of “Amrou.” Before entering it, we
were told to tie on straw slippers upon our shoes. In the shadow of the
mosque it was nice and cool. A palm had grown in the second court near a
cistern where pilgrims performed their ablutions. The mosque is a large
square building containing a whole forest of miraculous columns—“Proof
Columns,” as they are called—standing very near each other, and giving
passage to the “Just” and keeping back the “Perverted.” The proof can’t
be precisely right, for according to it, it is only slim individuals who
are ascertained to be the “Just,” while those inclined to be fat, always
appear to be “Perverse.” A “muezzin” was chanting the Koran, in the
middle of the mosque, to a throng of pilgrims prostrating themselves in
prayer before the tomb of Caliph Amrou, who was buried on the spot where
he had been killed during a great slaughter, which took place in the
altar during the fight of the Arabs and the Mamelukes.
We mounted on the citadel that same afternoon. Before reaching the old
fortress built on the spur of the Mokattam hills, we passed threatening
British cannon, which kept watch over the town of Cairo, and passed
through the iron-clamped gates to the wide courtyard where stands the
mosque of Mohammed-Ali, now converted into barracks. When we returned
to the hotel our way was barred by a funeral procession, escorted by a
group of dervishes bearing ragged banners and chanting the Koran to the
accompaniment of drums, and hired women-mourners, who beat their breasts
and scratched their faces wailing lamentably all the time. Behind them
the favourite donkey of the deceased was led. Some steps further we were
brought to a stand-still by a wedding procession. A rich palankeen,
bearing the newly married couple appeared, placed on two shafts, to
which two splendid dromedaries were harnessed, one behind and one in the
front, covered with bright scarlet nets and decorated with tufts of white
ostrich feathers and little silver bells. Camels heavily laden with the
wedding gifts brought up the rear.
The mighty Pyramids seem to stand quite near to Cairo, and still it
takes an hour and a half to drive to them by a long avenue of great
trees with meeting branches, stately leafy veterans, whose thick tops,
forming a cool vault, prevented the sun from scorching us when we drove
on the Ismail Road that leads from Cairo to the Pyramids. We crossed an
iron bridge over the Nile, which, though at its fullest now, is not very
deep; a drove of buffaloes were crossing it easily. We passed through
the mud-built village of Sakhara, a small encampment with a cluster of
nomad tents, and saw a circle of Arab-Bedouins, cloaked and white hooded
forms, belonging to a nomad tribe, crouching over a fire and cooking
their dinner in the plain, under the scanty shade of palm-trees. Their
Sheikh, a very tall and dignified Arab, offered us a camel and a donkey
to go and see the Sphinx. Sergy mounted the camel and I had to condescend
to the donkey. We were followed by a band of Bedouins who offered us
their services as guides to the Pyramids. Our escort increased as we went
on; half-naked children ran after us begging baksheesh. Directly after
leaving the village we were in the Sahara, with no tree or habitation,
only the naked desert with rippling sandbanks. The landscape fatigued
the eye by its sand uniformly yellow and its sky uniformly blue. The
Pyramids, the greatest of all human monuments, bewildered us by their
size when we drove up to them, especially the Pyramid of Cheops, which
took a hundred thousand masons twenty-five years to build. The Pyramids
are of extreme antiquity, a thousand years before the Christian era. At
the time when Abraham undertook his journey to Egypt, the Pyramids had
already existed for several centuries back. As soon as a Pharaoh began
to reign, in the first place he had his mausoleum built in the form of
a Pyramid. Inside, rooms with alabaster walls are shown, and long high
galleries containing the huge granite sarcophaguses. We made the tour
of the great Pyramid of Cheops. Its blocks consist of a series of steep
stone steps. To go up these steps is like walking up a wall. The hard
African sun was shining fiercely and it was too hot to undertake the
ascent of the Pyramid; we were contented to contemplate its wonders
from the base. A young Bedouin proposed to show us a wonderful feat—his
ascent and descent of the Pyramid in nineteen minutes, but we refused to
witness that acrobatic performance and rode over the hot yellow sand of
the desert to the Sphinx. All around us the great plain extended to the
horizon. I was oppressed by the immense solitude. In the desert, in the
midst of the sand-ocean, the monstrous Sphinx, the colossus of the past
ages, keeps watch on the sands from nearly four thousand years before
the birth of Christ, sleeping his eternal and enigmatic sleep. How many
centuries have past, and this giant continues contemplating, with a
mysterious and condescending smile, the nothingness and instability of
the world. Hundreds of years after I am dead the Sphinx would be probably
as it is now—silent, grave, crouching there under the scorching sun, its
eyes of stone gazing beyond the world of men, and seeming for ever to
be smiling ironically on the folly of human vanities and aspirations. I
looked at the wonderful beast that lay gazing westward, with mocking,
calm and fathomless eyes of everlasting mystery, and was conscious of
a sudden sense of smallness. If it hadn’t been so hot I should have
meditated on the fragility of human greatness. A legend says that Mary,
Joseph, and the Holy Child halted here on their long journey, when they
fled to the land of Egypt to escape the fury of King Herod, and that the
Virgin laid the tired Christ between the paws of the Sphinx to sleep. We
had brought a small kodak with us, and Mahmoud immortalised me installed
on the back of my peaceable courser, and my husband perched on his high
quadruped, both of us surrounded by a multitude of dusky sons of the
Sahara. When we got to our carriage we amply recompensed the services of
our Bedouin followers, who continued to run after our carriage demanding
more tips and shouting “Baksheesh, Sahib, baksheesh!” Mahmoud put out
of himself by their effrontery, rose in his seat looking remarkably
ferocious, and began to throw stones at them, at which the whole crowd
took to their heels. We had to return full speed to Cairo, before the
drawbridge was raised for the ships to pass; we tore through the bridge
which is a mile long, scattering the foot-passengers who happened to be
in our way to right and left.
The next day we went on donkeys to see the “whirling dervishes,” an
extraordinary and rather terrific sight. We entered a mosque consisting
of a square hall, with sheep-skins laid down in the middle, on which
a score of dervishes, in long white skirts, were ranged in a wide
half-circle. Their Sheikh, an old man with a long white beard, stood
between them holding the Prophet’s banner. The dervishes, their long
hair falling to their shoulders, swayed their bodies from side to side,
uttering ominous sounds like that of angry lions. I glanced around with
an involuntary shiver, and went and sat at the back of the hall, near a
group of officers of the Egyptian army, feeling a sense of security in
their proximity. Suddenly the Sheikh gave vent to an odd sort of growl
which I didn’t like at all, it made me think of wolves. The dervishes
tried to imitate him and so horribly that I turned cold and measured the
distance to the door, wanting frantically to get away. At each howl the
dervishes’ heads went backward and forward and then from right to left,
to the sound of cymbals and blow-pipes, their long hair covering their
faces, falling gradually into frantic convulsions, their eyes out of
their sockets. One of them entered into such a frenzy that he continued
for more than five minutes wagging his head, not being able to stop it by
inert force. The long human chain holding each other by the hand, began
bending to the ground to the increasing shouts of “Allah, Allah!” At last
they fell on the floor inanimate, with foam on their lips. Having gone
through all this programme, the dervishes, quietening down, came up to
their Sheikh and kissed him.
When we went out of the mosque we had to pass before a sacred goat,
a very wicked one, who tried to butt all the passers-by with his
horns. We remounted our donkeys and our little cavalcade started off
on the long white road. My frisky, little ass trotted swiftly, moving
gaily his long ears, and Sergy had great difficulty to keep up to me,
being obliged to struggle with his stubborn donkey which was vicious
and kicked frantically all the time. We came up to a little desolate
village inhabited by Copts, native Christians belonging to the Orthodox
faith, and visited in the first place the Coptic church, built on the
place where the Virgin Mary, Joseph and the Holy Child are said to have
stayed when they fled to Egypt. We stood on the very spot where the Holy
Family had rested. The water stood inches deep upon the floor from the
overflowing of the Nile. When we went out of the church we saw on the
perch a crowd of Coptic beggars who whined in English, “A penny for the
love of Christ!”
On our way back we met a carriage preceded by musicians, and thought
that it was a wedding, but instead of a newly-married couple we saw a
little boy sitting between two natives, and were told that it was the
circumcision of the little Egyptian which was being celebrated, by
driving him in triumph around the streets of the quarter of the town
where his parents lived.
We visited on the same day the enormous Mosque of “Amrou,” which will
contain about ten thousand people. Upon the floor were stretched hundreds
of small bright-red carpets upon which the followers of the Prophet
bent, muttering their prayers and went on with the monotonous chanting
of “La-illah, illah-llah!” There is an Arabic academy, the “Medressah
School” for the education of “softas,” (theological students) attached to
the mosque. This academy is a grand edifice supported by 180 columns and
lighted by a thousand lamps, has accommodation for 11,000 students and
325 professors. When we entered one of the immense halls of the academy,
we saw a white-bearded professor, wearing a green turban that means he
is a “hadji,” and has been to Mecca, sitting on the floor and reading
a lecture to a solid mass of white-robed youths, who sat cross-legged
before their teacher, bowing and swaying towards him. We were told that
before a student becomes an “imam” he must study for fifteen years in
order to be admitted formally to the clergy.
Next day Mr. Koyander, who was well acquainted with Egyptian antiquities
and could decipher indecipherable inscriptions, took us to see the Ghiseh
Museum, where in large glass cases lay Egyptian mummies, which had been
human beings of flesh and blood three thousand years ago. The bowels of
the mummies are put in a box and laid at the feet of their sarcophagus.
We saw the mummy of Sette I., the Pharaoh whose daughter had found
out baby-Moses on the banks of the Nile, and that of Rameses II., the
father of _one hundred and seventy children_! Both mummies are admirably
preserved, as well as that of Amanit, the great priestess. She lies upon
her back, her mouth open, showing all her teeth; her long black hair is
still attached to the scalp, and the skin to the bones.
We made some excursions out of town. We went one day in the direction of
Mataryeh, about five miles from Cairo, to see the Virgin’s sycamore-tree,
under which the Holy Family took rest. The way leading there gives
you the impression of old Bible-times. The vegetation is magnificent,
cactuses, bamboos and date-palms everywhere. The grass on the lawns is
more than five feet high. We went along shady avenues and crossed lotus,
maize, and sugar-cane fields. The Virgin’s sycamore is enclosed by a wall
which measures about a mile in length. The railing surrounding the tree
is locked up. We had it opened and saw a great number of names, to which
we added ours, engraved on the mighty trunk of the sycamore, all ragged
by lapse of time and intertwined with branches. An ancient legend says
that the Holy Family on their flight to Egypt remained two years absent,
and lived at the little village of Mataryeh. About fifteen minutes’ walk
from the spot was the celebrated town of Iliopel, which is mentioned in
the Bible. Very few fragments remain of the town, except a high obelisk,
which is supposed to be the oldest in Egypt; it is of granite, and the
height is over sixty-five feet. It is there that Moses had been a priest.
We continued our way to the ostrich farm built on the moving sands
of the Great Desert. It is kept by a French company, but the men who
are occupied with the rearing of the huge birds are all Bedouins. At
the entrance there is an inscription in French “_Parc aux auturches_”
(Ostrich Park.) It contains about a thousand winged creatures, perched
high on their long legs. The males are covered with black curling
feathers, only the tail is cream-coloured, and the females are all
grey-feathered. The heads of the giant birds reach far above the grating
surrounding the farm. The gathering of the feathers, which takes place
once a year in May, requires great precautions. The ostriches gathered
into an enclosure are pushed one by one into a kind of box placed on
four posts. Closed between the four boards, the bird is unable to fling
out his terrible kicks, which could easily smash the operator’s legs and
arms. Eight men must hold the ostrich during the operation. The section
of artificial brooding is very interesting; it is often practised, as
the ostriches, sitting during forty-three days on their eggs, frequently
perish. Each ostrich gives yearly about a thousand francs of profit.
Before leaving the farm we bought a dozen beautiful feathers and a pair
of enormous ostrich eggs. On our way back to Cairo we saw in the distance
in the desert a vast English camp.
On the Isle of Rhoda, the broadest arm of the Nile, there is a Nilometer
dating from the time of the Pharaohs. We went to see it, and crossed on
the other side of the island in a caïque, in the company of barefooted
Arabs. We moored to the spot where the daughter of the Pharaoh found
Moses. The Nile being now in overflow, the Nilometer was submerged in the
water to the very top. The native women, with bronze arms, were drawing
water from the Nile in stone pitchers, and carried it away, balancing
their picturesque burdens, gracefully poised on head and shoulder,
recalling the Biblical times.
Every Friday in the “Gisheh,” the Hyde Park of Cairo, about sundown, the
aristocracy of the city take their drive. We went for a stroll in the
park through a wide avenue bordered by thickly planted trees. In the
large park-alleys broughams passed containing harem ladies with faces
closely veiled with muslin, accompanied by their favourite slaves. A
native of high degree came driving in an open carriage, with sandalled,
gorgeously-clad syces (carriage runners), with white wing-like sleeves
embroidered with gold, running before his carriage and clearing the way
for their master. After our drive we had tea at a little inn on the bank
of the Nile, where we found a nice sheltered place close to the river.
Just in front was moored a _dahabiah_, a large sailing vessel cruising
up the Nile as far as the Cataracts. We were immediately surrounded by a
crowd of natives; one of them was offering “good bananas,” in English,
and another one wanted absolutely to clean our shoes.
Our arrival at Cairo had been advertised in the papers. The local
authorities were warned and English reporters came to ask Mr. Koyander
the reason of our visit to the Metropolis of Africa. They may be
perfectly tranquillised, for we certainly have nothing to do with
politics, Sergy and I!
It had been our intention to travel in Palestine after our tour in Egypt,
but cholera was raging at Mecca, which, much to our disappointment,
prevented us from going there.
I was sorry to say good-bye to Mrs. Holland. We parted with mutual
regret and promises of letters. Kissing me fondly she said: “I love you
awfully, darling; I have never met a more lovely little thing than you!”
A few more kisses and we separated to follow our diverse destinies. Mrs.
Holland stood on the doorway to see us off and waved her hand in friendly
farewell, whilst the omnibus slowly carried us away.
We have learnt through Mr. Koyander that Mr. Abaza, a very old friend
of my family, who had known me at home as a little girl when I was still
in short frocks, and whom I had lost sight of for a great many years,
had settled in Alexandria. We let him know the day and hour of our
arrival, and when we reached Alexandria, as we stepped out of the train,
a gentleman came forward with both hands extended, saying, “A hearty
welcome to you, Princess Vava!” My amazement can well be understood, when
Mr. Abaza proved to be the silent fellow-passenger who had crossed with
us from Sebastopol to Constantinople, whom we had taken for a taciturn
Greek. How extraordinary that we should meet like that! Queer what a
little place the world is! It is so nice to have an old friend turn up in
a far country!
We put up at Alexandria at the Hotel Abbat, where our guide Mahmoud
served as dragoman. On the following afternoon we went on a visit
to Mouchtar Pasha, the ex-commander of the Turkish army during the
Russo-Turkish war, who had removed to Egypt, an old general overcharged
with years and decorations. Our ancient foe came up with his hand out,
welcoming us heartily. We had no need of an interpreter, the Pasha
speaking very good French. Our host proposed a little refreshment; and
the next moment a turbaned servant came in with tea and stole out of the
room silently, walking backwards.
Next day we went to see Mr. Abaza in Ramle, a little place situated at
an hour-and-a-half’s journey from Alexandria, where he owned a house of
his own. We passed the hippodrome, a broad racing-ground, and a large
plain utilised for purposes of recreation by cricketers and lawn-tennis
players, arranged by the English colony of Alexandria. We now rolled
through an arid and deserted country, swarming with all sorts of vermin,
serpents, scorpions, bats, etc. As we approached Ramle the scene changed
as if by magic, and we found ourselves in an ocean of verdure. Mr. Abaza
came to meet us at the station, and led us to his pretty villa buried
among the trees. He regaled us with a Lucullus lunch, with champagne
in profusion. The meal was served by Arab servants clad in white, very
well groomed and trained. Directly after lunch Sergy had to return to
Alexandria to be received in private audience by the Khedive, and I
remained at Ramle until night, Mr. Abaza having proposed to see me back
safely to Alexandria.
I found my husband enchanted with his visit to the Khedive, who had been
charming to him. We sat together with Mr. Abaza on the terrace of our
hotel till late, and had a comfortable chat over old times.
CHAPTER LVII
OUR WAY BACK TO RUSSIA
Next morning, supplied with tickets from Cook’s agency, we sailed for
Italy on the “Amphitrite,” a splendid steamer belonging to the Austrian
Lloyd Company, a veritable floating town filled with every possible
requirement. The third bell announcing our departure rung and the boat
moved out to sea. Soon Egyptian land disappeared from view. The Adriatic,
which is particularly treacherous, promised a stormy passage. There
were big black clouds on the horizon and the wind was very strong; we
were in for rough weather! The whole night our ship tossed about like
a cockle-shell, and foaming waves broke against the portholes of our
cabin. I couldn’t go to sleep till daybreak. When the liner swung into
the familiar waters of the Mediterranean, it was calm as a lake. After
the intense heat of Egypt it seemed very cold, but one is never satisfied
with the temperature one has!
After six days at sea we arrived at Brindisi, where the formalities of
landing are very strict. A pilot-boat came to meet us with a sanitary
officer, who had a long conference with our ship’s doctor. The pilot, at
length, having ascertained himself that everything on board was right,
hoisted the sanitary flag and piloted us to the Custom House, after which
we took the train to Bari. Two American ladies, mother and daughter,
occupied our compartment, and soon conversation began between us. The
younger one told us that they came from the new world to the old one to
have her trousseau made at Worth’s. What a shame to leave her bridegroom
for six months for her frivolities. This flighty bride said that in
return she bought her sweetheart a collection of neckties in every
capital of Europe.
We arrived in the afternoon at Bari, which seems very dull and poor,
and took an antediluvian coach drawn by a drowsy nag, sent by the Hôtel
Continental to the station. This hotel, the best one in Bari, proved
anything but comfortable. A dirty, sleepy waiter showed us into a bare,
cold room, and soon after an old witch, who had only one tooth in her
mouth and wore enormous copper ear-rings, came to make our beds. After a
spare lunch composed of a burnt chicken and a dish of macaroni, we went
to visit the famous church where the relics of St. Nicholas repose. The
temple swarmed with pilgrims. Two nuns were on their knees before the
mausoleum of the Saint, waiting their turn to creep into the narrow nook
where the holy remains are laid. We saw them crawling flat on the floor,
and the attendant on duty began to drag them out by their legs to give
up the place to other pilgrims. Before we left the church the pater put
under our noses a big book in which generous travellers, leaving various
sums of money as a gift to the church, put their names down. He tried
to draw our attention on the signature of a Russian merchant who had
bestowed the sum of a hundred roubles, but we did not take the hint, and
he had to be satisfied with less than that sum.
When we went back to the hotel, dinner was served in our apartment. We
went to bed directly after our meal. The room was like ice. We had to
cover ourselves with all the shawls and rugs that we had brought with
us, and still we couldn’t get warm; in spite of the cold, voracious
mosquitoes ill-treated us the whole night. We got up very early,
swallowed hastily a cup of nasty coffee and left for Naples. At the
stations our train stopped as long as the guards wanted it. “_Partenza!_”
they cried out, but the train did not move. A lady, who travelled in our
compartment, said that there were smugglers on the line, and told us
some horrors which fairly made my hair stand on end. While she was going
on with stories of smugglers, our train, which was going full speed,
stopped suddenly the moment we entered a tunnel; we were for long minutes
in complete darkness and heard voices calling noisily and the sound of
smashed glass. Good Heavens! what could be the matter? My imagination
being awfully excited, I nearly died of fright. It appeared that our
guards had forgotten to provide us with candles for the tunnel, and were
doing so now, in the dark, breaking to pieces the lantern. I heaved a
sigh of relief when we came out of the tunnel into the light again.
On the platform of Naples we were attacked by a swarm of facchini, who
took our luggage by force and installed us in a cab, which brought us
to the Grand Hôtel on the Chiaia. The traffic in the noisy streets of
Naples was bewildering; we had to proceed cautiously between carriages,
heavy cars and laden donkeys. The horses in Naples are not bridled,
and therefore very difficult to manage when they happen to be of an
independent character. The horse who drew us was of amorous temperament
and watched for an opportunity to flirt and bite his rivals all the way,
and many a time I was on the point of jumping out of the carriage.
We took an apartment which looked out on to the Piazza Vittorio, where
the Municipal band played in the afternoon. The weather was cold and raw,
it rained steadily and we were forced to remain indoors.
Naples is not a cheerful place in wet weather and we were ready to turn
our back to it and return to Russia, but the weather having cleared up
on the third day of our sojourn, we decided to prolong our stay for a
fortnight. We wrapped ourselves up warmly and took the tram to make a
tour round the town. When passing the Emigrant’s Office we saw a long
line of pale-faced emigrants, with babies and bundles clasped in their
arms, who were going to America, sitting on the ground and waiting their
turn to subscribe themselves for expatriation. After our drive, the guide
took us through the Royal Palace, where we admired the beautiful Concert
Hall, constructed by the Bourbons, with the marble statues of the nine
muses standing along the walls.
Profiting by our stay in Naples, I wanted to take a few lessons on the
mandoline, and Sergy bought me a costly pearl-inlaid instrument at
Vinacio’s, the best mandoline-maker. A lady-teacher, recommended by our
hotel-keeper, was engaged to instruct me in the difficulties of the
“tremolo” on the strings, but she proved to be a very mediocre teacher
and taught me the “tremolo” with her gloves on. I did not repeat my
lesson and Professor D’Ambrosio, a well-known musician and composer, was
invited in her place. I spent hours studying my mandoline, playing scales
and exercises.
During the summer and autumn months, the San-Carlo, one of the biggest
theatres in the world, is closed, and we went to see “Faust” at a small
theatre, where the performance began very early, at six o’clock in the
evening. The chairs in the first row cost only two francs. The conductor
of the orchestra seemed little more than a boy and could not be over
twenty, and the performance didn’t please me: Faust was too fat and
Mephistopheles not diabolical enough; Siebel had a fine mezzo-soprano,
but boy’s clothes did not suit the outlines of her stout figure, and
Margaret had nothing of the woman but the skirt, and struggled against
the almost impossible task of the mature woman impersonating a girl of
seventeen, and was listening with all the coyness of forty years and six
children at home, to the love-making of Faust. At eight o’clock a new
performance of “Don Giovanni” was about to begin, but our eyes closed
with sleep and we did not purchase any more tickets.
On the 12th November we took the train to Rome. I became suddenly aware
that one of our fellow passengers, a dandy-looking young Italian, was
staring at me over his newspaper. He wore an eyeglass which made him
squint a little and through which he couldn’t see, I am sure, but his
sight, evidently, was so excellent that he could well afford to sacrifice
the vision of one eye, now and then, for the sake of effect. He faced me
with a gaze that made me long to box his ears. Feeling awfully disturbed
I looked anywhere but in his direction, and throwing myself back in my
corner, I opened a magazine and pretended to be deeply engrossed in its
pages. I slowly turned leaf after leaf; I turned so many that he became
impatient and tried, in altering his position by moving up opposite to
me, to take a better view of me and catch my eye, but my eye refused to
be attracted. Then the persevering man tried to enter into conversation
with me in asking permission to smoke. I bent my head in careless assent
and pretended to become violently interested in the landscape. “What a
splendid scene!” he exclaimed suddenly, but I continued to gaze out of
the window and made no reply, laughing inwardly at this little manœuvre
and regretting that I had no eyes behind my back to look on the other
side and see his discomfiture. When we reached Rome we seized our bags
and descended on the platform. We had to cross the railway line, running
to catch the Florence train. Whilst my pursuer was calling a facchini
to look after his luggage, he lost sight of us in the hurry of changing
trains, rather to my regret, I must confess, for like Faust’s “Margaret”
“_Je voulais bien savoir quel etait ce jeune homme et comment il se
nomme_,” I was so sorry that I didn’t know who he was and where he came
from. We entered an empty car, and Sergy promised the guard a good tip if
he would leave us to be sole occupants of the compartment. All at once we
saw my “Faust” running about the platform and peeping anxiously into all
the cars. He started when he saw me at the window, and prepared to step
in, when the guard slammed the carriage door in his face, and I never saw
him any more!
When we arrived at Wirballen, the sight of our frontier, the Russian
voices, the Russian train, the Russian porters were a joy to me. How nice
it is to be home again! We found Moscow in full winter: all the streets
were white.
CHAPTER LVIII
PROMOTION OF MY HUSBAND TO THE POST OF GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF THE AMOUR
PROVINCES IN EASTERN SIBERIA
There was much talk about my husband’s appointment to the post of
Governor-General of the district of the Amour, including the provinces
along the valley of the Amour river and the entire Eastern section of
Siberia, instead of Baron Korff, whose health was beginning to fail.
About this time my husband was frequently called to St. Petersburg on
business. One morning an urgent telegram arrived; the Minister of War
summoned my husband without delay to St. Petersburg. Sergy promised
to send me a wire containing two words: “Great News,” if the question
concerned his nomination. I was in a state of great excitement until the
telegram arrived. The next evening brought a wire from Sergy, it ran:
“Great news!” I had expected it, and yet, it was a shock. But I resigned
myself to my lot. I loved Sergy far too well to injure his prospects and
I would follow him to the world’s end resignedly.
When Sergy returned to Moscow he told me that Baron Korff was not leaving
his post at present, but that a temporary function, that of adjunct to
the Governor-General of the far east of Siberia, had been proposed to my
husband.
It is too serious a resolution to be taken in a hurry, and Sergy went
once more to St. Petersburg and took me with him. In the first place we
called on Baroness Korff. A hundred questions were burning on my lips,
but our visit was rather disappointing. The Baroness described Khabarovsk
to us under awfully gloomy aspects, and left us under no illusion about
our new abode, which seems as far as the moon to me, describing it as a
place where no luxuries of civilisation can be procured, and said that we
must be prepared to encounter terrible hardships and great privations.
Really, it was not too enthusiastic a description, and did not sound
promising at all. I had heard very much the same thing before, but not so
emphatically stated. Our fine resolutions flew to the winds, and Sergy
decided to refuse his appointment as adjunct to Baron Korff. I could sing
victory!
A cloud came soon over our bright sky. An event took place which
completely modified our lives. One morning there come to us a startling
and most appalling piece of news, informing us that Baron Korff had
departed this life. My husband was summoned by telegram to return
instantly to St. Petersburg, where he was told that he was named
General-Governor of the Amour province.
My thoughts were in a state of chaos. I was glad to know at least what to
expect. That painful uncertainty tortured me; for days I had been almost
without sleep, feeling the sword of Damocles suspended over me.
Sergy wanted me at first to remain in St. Petersburg with my mother,
promising to come and fetch me in the middle of the winter; but the
thought that I should be separated from him for so long a time, and that
seas should roll between us, was a veritable torture to me. Where he
goes, I am bound to go too. I can’t let him go alone to that impossible
land, I can’t and I won’t! My only wish is for Sergy’s happiness. I am
ready to sacrifice anything for him and to brave a lot of discomforts. I
am determined to follow my husband. At least we won’t have half the globe
between us.
It is very hard, however, to part with our home and to remove to another
quarter of the globe. But what is to be, will be. I must submit to the
inevitable and look to the future with a firm face.
My husband received the order to start for Siberia within a month. We
were making ready to depart and began preparations for our long journey
to Khabarovsk, which is a serious undertaking. I had a great deal to
think about. Our apartments were turned upside down; the whole house was
topsy-turvy. Packing cases encumbered the floor and professional packers
came to pack our trunks. The sight of the empty, denuded rooms depressed
me. Our home was broken up! Our heavy luggage had been consigned to the
“Nijni-Novgorod,” a merchant vessel belonging to the Volunteer Fleet.
Colonel Serebriakoff, an officer attached to my husband’s personal
service, and his wife accompanied us on our journey to Khabarovsk, so
did Mr. Shaniawski and Mr. Koulomsine, Sergy’s private secretaries. Dr.
Pokrovski, a surgeon in the Russian army, a dispenser of drugs, was
necessary also on our hazardous voyage, and Mme. Beurgier, a former
governess of Princess Mimi Troubetzkoy, one of my childhood’s greatest
friends, made up the party in the capacity of companion. I had sore need
of a friend, and it is a great comfort to have dear Mme. Beurgier with me.
The nearer the time approached for our setting out, the more nervous I
grew. The hour of our departure was in the papers, and arriving at the
railway station we saw a crowd of friends to see us off, with plenty of
hand-shakes, kisses and embraces. I was presented with five enormous
bouquets, which were distributed in no time by people asking for flowers
as souvenirs.
The signal was given for departure and hands and handkerchiefs waved
frantically as the train glided out. I felt a lump in my throat on
leaving dear old Moscow for good.
On arriving at St. Petersburg, my husband was welcomed on the platform
by all the persons composing his staff, except Mr. Shaniawski, who, as
an experienced traveller, had been sent out to Paris to arrange for
our passage and secure berths for us on the Transatlantic s.s. “La
Bourgogne,” on which we had to cross the ocean to New York.
My husband received numerous visits of congratulation, and telegrams with
testimonies of good-will reached him from many parts.
We shall now have the Japs and the Chinese for close neighbours. The
Ambassadors of both these yellow-faced nations try to get into our good
graces. The Ambassador of China came to pay us a call of ceremony,
accompanied by his first secretary, Mr. Li, who understands and speaks
Russian quite well. This son of the Celestial Empire was our frequent
guest and chose to fancy himself in love with me. He accompanied me
nearly every night to a concert or a music-hall, under the chaperonship
of Mme. Beurgier. He made himself very useful in fetching lemonade and
cups of tea, and overloading me with flowers and bonbons.
The moment had arrived when we could delay our departure no longer.
Before leaving, I was bidden to Gatchina, the summer residence of the
Empress Dowager, which is an hour by train from St. Petersburg. On
arriving at Gatchina I found a carriage from the Imperial stables waiting
for me, which took me to the Palace. I was ushered through a long suite
of rooms into the one where the Empress sat. Her Majesty came up to me
and was most gracious and charming. She said kindly words of welcome and
wished me a happy voyage.
CHAPTER LIX
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC
In the beginning of June we started to Khabarovsk taking the shortest
way—_via_ America—in order to visit the grand Exhibition that was being
held that year at Chicago.
We were met at Paris by Mr. Shaniawski, who had prepared rooms for us at
the Hôtel de Calais.
Paris was out of season and looked rather bare. We made a turn in the
Bois de Boulogne, which proved a desert. We only met a middle-class
wedding-party taking their traditional drive through the park, and nurses
in white butterfly-like caps with flowing ribbons, wheeling perambulators
and flirting with red-trousered soldiers.
On the following day we took the train to Havre, where we take passage
on the “Bourgogne,” a Transatlantic liner which is one of the largest,
fastest steamers plying between Europe and America. The ship is equipped
with baths, electric light and all modern necessaries. We had one of
the best cabins situated in the prow, containing two berths, one above
the other. I was to have the upper berth and climbed into its narrow
proportions by a ladder. In an adjoining cabin I hear the Serebriakoffs
stirring, and can chat with them whilst lying in my berth above my
husband, through tiny holes cut in the wall for ventilation. The great
difficulty that night was to get anything to eat. There was no such
thing as a piece of bread to be had in the boat before starting, and we
went supperless to bed, having been obliged to wait a long time for the
sanitary doctor, as no one is allowed to land in New York without a bill
of health.
12th June.—At six o’clock in the morning the steamer gave a long whistle,
announcing that the moment for starting had come. I dressed rapidly,
and hurried on deck. The ship was all alive and full of the bustle of
departure. Good-byes were said in haste, people clung, wept and kissed.
The gangway is lifted up, and we begin slowly to move away. I watched
the harbour of Havre grow smaller and smaller, until it faded away in
the horizon. Swinging in a deck-chair I began to examine our travelling
companions in whose company we are going to live for ten days. More than
half the first-class passengers on our ship were Americans coming home;
a great many seemed to know each other. I studied the passenger list, and
saw that there were two Russians among them: an artillery Colonel, who is
sent on business to America, and an old man, aged eighty-one, going to
America to take part in a Volapuk Congress. We were taking a great number
of emigrants for America. They thronged the foredeck, and crouched on the
deck with their heads supported on bundles. Women stood in groups with
children in their arms, or clinging to their hands and skirts. Things
didn’t go well with the emigrants in their old country. They crossed the
ocean in search of luck and fortune on the other side of the water, but
what was the life to which they were going forth on the steamer, taking
them to an unknown fate in an unknown land?
In the afternoon we passed Trouville and towards evening we perceived the
Isle of Wight with its two lighthouses pointing on the horizon. The coast
soon melted away in the distance. It was our last good-bye to dear old
Europe—and _en route_ for the New World!
13th June.—I awoke in tears, having dreamt that I was saying good-bye to
the nearest and dearest that I had left in Russia. I am miserable and
home-sick, which is even more than being sea-sick. I lay flat on my back
staring at the ceiling in blank despair. If I had wings I should have
flown back to St. Petersburg!
The routine of steamer-life was eating, sleeping, resting in deck-chairs
and promenading on the deck. We are fed on board like cattle destined
for the slaughter-house. In the morning from nine to ten, breakfast,
consisting of broth, tea, coffee or chocolate, and porridge—the first
course at every breakfast; at one o’clock lunch, at six dinner, and
at nine tea. A waiter runs through the corridors, ringing a huge bell
before each repast. We had a separate table reserved for us. The waiters
on board, rigid and dignified, have the manners of a secretary of an
embassy; the waiter who serves at our table looks less Olympian.
The barometer stood high all the time, nevertheless the ocean tosses us
pitilessly. Our steamer was rising and falling upon the long Atlantic
waves, and now came my first real experience of ocean travelling. I was
obliged to leave the table during dinner.
14th June.—Dr. Pokrovski made me go on deck this morning for a little
fresh air, and installed me comfortably in my deck chair, tucking me up
in my rug. When I came to look at my chair I saw that it had, painted
across the top my name in full. The temperature has lowered considerably;
white foam covers the surface of the ocean. There is nothing in sight
but a sail or two in the far distance. Suddenly we heard the shriek
of a siren and soon perceived a ship coming towards us; it was a
transatlantic vessel homeward bound. Lucky beggar!
15th June.—We had unfavourable winds and stood anchored the whole night,
beaten by a boisterous sea. My head rolled on the pillow, and I had to
hold fast to the edge of my berth not to be thrown out. Of course sleep
was out of the question.
The deck to-day offers a lamentable spectacle. Sea-sickness, which had
spared the greater part of the passengers, took its revenge now; nearly
everybody was ill.
16th June.—The morning is grey and foggy. The siren had been croaking at
regular intervals all day. It is Sunday to-day. On the upper-deck the
emigrants sang prayers, after which the first-class passengers tossed
coins to their offspring. Down poured a shower of small silver and
copper, and little boys and girls scrambled to pick it up.
In the afternoon the rolling of the ship increased, the wind blowing
steadily across the Atlantic, raised majestic swells. Our steamer pitched
and rolled like a walnut. The passengers stumbled and slipped from their
chairs and sprawled on all fours without any dignity. I passed the
greater part of the day in our cabin, and climbed on deck just before
dinner to call Sergy. We executed a _pas-de-deux_ in our common effort to
meet; my feet suddenly went back, while my body was travelling forward.
I got my feet together at last, and clung to the rail not to be swept
overboard.
17th June.—We are surrounded again by a thick fog. The syren was blowing
all the time. We are in the season of icebergs floating from the Arctic
Ocean. About six o’clock in the morning the cabin-steward rapped sharply
at the door of our cabin, warning us that there were icebergs in view.
I hastened on deck, but the fog was so dense that I couldn’t see two
steps before me. Besides icebergs there are sandbanks to be avoided in
these parts, and the steersman’s eye, accustomed to pierce sea-fogs,
searched in the darkness; he signalled an iceberg, but I strained my eyes
uselessly, when suddenly a gust of wind broke the mist, and we saw a huge
mass floating quite close to us.
Towards evening a passing ship signalled to us that there was a great
number of icebergs on the way. We were passing now a place called
“Devil’s Hole,” where all the winds meet. The sea was very high and the
_Bourgogne_ shook and cracked as if it was going to fall to pieces.
18th June.—Again the whole night the syren never ceased blowing. At dawn
I was wakened by a formidable noise. I heard footsteps of men running
down the deck and the captain’s voice roaring out orders to the crew.
It appeared that we were in imminent danger, having nearly run into an
iceberg three times the size of our ship. If our captain had not been on
the bridge at that moment, we should all have perished.
The provisions on board are nearly out, the milk is watered to an
atrocious degree, and at breakfast I swallowed, with a grimace, a cup of
weak broth instead of tea or coffee. We are fed now on mutton—mutton at
luncheon, mutton at dinner. However good the mutton is, one feels towards
the end of the week that a change should be welcome.
Every day we put our watches fifty minutes back, the time therefore seems
to wile away still longer.
19th June.—Seven pilots have left New York yesterday in fishing-smacks
to meet the _Bourgogne_. The pilot who would climb on board first was
to receive the sum of 200 dollars. The passengers held wagers, and
sweepstakes at five dollars each, had been started among the first-class
passengers. One of them gained the sum of 120 dollars on the pilot No. 5,
whom we had picked up first. Other pilots appeared after him, but they
were told by signals that their services were not required.
20th June.—The sea is very calm to-day, not a breath of air ripples the
surface of the ocean. Every morning the passengers look over the map on
which our route is marked by small flags. This morning I was awfully
happy to see that there was but a short distance left to New York.
After lunch a slight breeze arose, swelling out the sails and making
us advance at the rate of twelve knots an hour. To-night the musical
talents of the passengers manifested themselves for the first time on
board. The _commissaire_ played the flute and the second officer sang
love ditties. I remained till late on deck, admiring the sea lighted by a
magnificent moonshine. Suddenly I heard a shrill scream, and one of the
lady-passengers ran up to me in her night-gown, shouting for help. It
appeared that an enormous rat had been promenading over her during her
sleep.
21st June.—To-day the dinner was excellent; we had awfully good things to
eat and champagne _gratis_. The chef had surpassed himself in tarts and
all sorts of dainties in honour of our last night on board.
CHAPTER LX
NEW YORK
Towards midnight the American coast showed itself to view. In the
distance appeared a great multitude of twinkling lights. Our ship fired
rockets and burnt Bengal fires. Alike in steerage and first-class saloon,
pulses beat fast with joyous anticipation. On the after-deck stood the
emigrants full of hope and expectation; they sang hymns and patriotic
songs. I couldn’t help thinking of the day when they will wake up to the
unpleasant realities of Yankee life. The poor wretches will not find the
streets paved with gold.
Bedland Island showed itself afar off with its towering figure of
Liberty, the most wonderful statue I ever saw, a majestic giantess
holding a torch up to light the world. We saw the statue getting bigger
and bigger, and soon New York appeared as bright as day with electricity:
one mass of wonderful lights.
A new pilot came on board to take us into port. We advanced cautiously
amongst floating lighthouses and dropped anchor in Hudson Bay near the
quarantine office, in order to land in the morning.
22nd June.—Sergy woke me at six o’clock and took me up on deck to admire
the grand sight of Hudson Bay, with picturesque villas strewn along the
banks, and menacing fortresses rising on green hillocks. In the middle of
the immense bay, battleships, merchant vessels and yachts are anchored. A
big ship, carrying only fishermen, passes by going out into the open sea.
At seven o’clock sanitary and custom officers came on board and stood on
guard before the cabins. In this Land of Liberty there were formalities
without number to be gone through. Under the fire of cross-examination we
had to give our age, name and business, and to explain how long we are
going to stay and what was our object in coming; and this is the Land of
the Free!
Towards nine o’clock our steamer touched New York quay. We were a long
time in getting in and came at last to the broad embankment. Not until
eleven were we given permission to land on American ground. A crowd was
massed on the dock to welcome the _Bourgogne_ and her passengers. There
was a wild waving of hands and handkerchiefs on board. The moment had
come to bid the ship good-bye. Our fellow-passengers hurried to and fro,
carrying off their parcels. When all was in order, passengers’ papers
looked through and all the formalities over, the bustle of disembarkment
began. Friends are meeting each other, kisses, hearty greetings are
exchanged.
A row of all the letters of the alphabet are printed very large and black
on the wooden wall of the dock. When stepping from the ship we were taken
to the stall bearing our own letter “D.” The “D’s” men were busy with our
luggage, also dumped down under the letter “D.”
There was much shouting and general tumult. We were jolted hither and
thither by hordes of passengers with their bundles, baskets, children
and pet animals. I felt a little lost amid all this bustle. Our Russian
consul, Mr. Olarowski, was on the quay to meet us. Thanks to him, a
gallant official of the custom quickly marked crosses on our luggage
without opening it.
Everything was new to us in America. We saw a nurse holding in her arms a
baby in long clothes, about a year old, adorned with rings and bracelets,
who was placidly sucking his thumb and kicking his feet with delight.
Mr. Shaniawski has been before in America, and his knowledge of
American customs was very useful to us. He took upon himself the task
of finding us a lodging. We went to an hotel called the Clarendon, a
sort of boarding-house, situated in the 18th street, where big and
small apartments are the same price, three dollars and a half for each,
including breakfast, lunch and dinner; there is a bathroom to each
room. The head waiter led us up the handsomely carpeted stairs to our
apartment. The room was pleasant and cool, with pictures on the walls and
a thick carpet.
We were just in time for an early lunch when we arrived at the hotel.
Fruit was served to us before the meal, which ended with iced-tea. The
American custom is having a vast number of small dishes, each counting
separately.
All the men in America are clean-shaven and have the appearance of
actors, and it seemed strange to me that one of the waiters who served
at table-d’hôte, wore a big moustache. A law had just been promulgated
forbidding the waiters in the restaurants to wear moustaches, but they
all declared that they would obey only if their wages were increased.
Having announced that ultimatum they left their patrons, and had thus
their own way. The servants in this country are very highly paid, the
waiters in our hotel received eighty dollars a month. They believe in the
social equality of all human beings but do not seem to mind admitting
that there is a class above their’s. They just condescend to wait upon
us, and think they can demonstrate their equality by being as rude as
possible. Dr. Pokrovski asked a waiter to close the window during dinner,
and that uncivil man answered coolly: “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
The day of our arrival happened to be on a Sunday, and the servants here
are very scrupulous about keeping the Sabbath. Mrs. Serebriakoff called
the chambermaid to take away a broken glass, and the girl, resenting the
advent of visitors on a Sunday, replied impertinently that she did not
work on Sundays. It was also impossible to have our boots cleaned at the
hotel, and we had to go into the street for that operation.
Our consul came to call upon us with his wife, a smart young Californian
with yellow locks, who looked like a pretty wax figure in a show-window.
She doesn’t speak a word of Russian, though her little daughter, aged
six, has had a Russian nurse since her very birth. The Olarowskis took us
to a music hall on the top of a ten-storied house, lighted with different
coloured lamps, from which you have a bird’s-eye view of the great city.
The lift carried us to the roof of the big house, transformed into a
garden. We entered a vast hall with a glass roof. It was most interesting
and quite without the feeling that you might fall off.
Nearly all the houses in New York are twelve-storeyed, with terrace
roofs which serve sometimes as play-grounds for school children. In the
working quarters the municipality has organised Roof-Gardens, where the
poor people can breathe a purer air than in their hovels. In Madison
Square, one of the richest quarters of New York, a sculptor has arranged
a study on his roof, and in the next house a sportsman has organised, at
the height of ninety yards above the pavement, a big dog-kennel where he
breeds bull-dogs. In Eighth’s Avenue a Protestant church with a belfry
is perched on the roof of an immense building. The houses here are all
divided into flats. In Broadway, the main street of New York, they are
all built in different styles and architecture, and in the next street,
on the contrary, the houses are all alike.
Next day we went to call on the Hollands, our Cairo friends, who live at
Windsor Hotel. We started down Fifth Avenue, a street lined with solemn
stately buildings with pillared porticoes, all of the self-same pattern.
The height of the houses amazed me, some of them being from twenty to
twenty-five stories high. The streets are mostly numbered and run in
rows. The life in the streets is tremendous. There was an appalling
thunder of trains rushing every minute above our heads.
Finally we got to the Windsor Hotel which, like all the big hotels, has
its own telegraph and telephone offices, its milliner, hairdresser, etc.
We were told at the office that the Hollands had gone the day before to
Lake Mohawk. We sent a wire to tell them that we were here, and started
back to our hotel by the “Elevated,” an electric suspended railway built
upon iron struts above the houses, which cuts through New York in all
directions. It made abrupt turnings, and rushed at a reckless pace over
the roofs of the houses, or raced through tunnels beneath them. It is
great fun looking through other people’s windows, and getting a peep into
comedies and tragedies sometimes. The train suddenly stops short with a
jerk that sends the passengers into a conglomerate struggling mass, and
throws them into each other’s arms. The train brought us to the hotel
with a flourish that precipitated me on the knees of my vis-a-vis, an
odious man with a red nose.
The Hollands had wired that they were coming over by the night train, and
early next morning they sent me a bandbox full of beautiful red roses—so
enormous, they looked like peonies—with a note to ask us when we would
receive them. The Hollands came to call on us in the afternoon. To meet
their kind faces again was charming; the greetings between us were warm.
I thought dear Mrs. Holland would never leave off kissing me.
The Hollands offered to drive us in their landau through Central Park.
The beautiful weather had brought out all New York, driving, riding,
walking. We returned by a lovely place called the Riverside Drive, a long
road running along the banks of the Hudson, with charming houses looking
straight out on the river, and bordered by trees on each side that spread
their branches over us and made the roadway shady. Between the trees the
river glistened like a silver ribbon.
On the 4th July, the day of the Anniversary of the Independence of
America, we were wakened in the morning by crackers and rockets. In
the afternoon the Hollands took us to Coney Island, a fashionable
watering-place situated a few miles out of town. We took the tram to
reach the port, and drove through streets bedecked with flags. We took
places on board the _Taurus_, a pleasure steamer black with people going
out for a boating picnic. The boat had a holiday air about it. The
passengers were all workmen with their families, gay, noisy people all of
them. On the stern a troupe of Neapolitans danced the tarantella. Leaning
on the railing we admired the immense bay of New York, swarming with
ships of different nationalities, amidst which we saw our _Bourgogne_ on
the point of leaving for Europe. From afar we heard the cannons saluting
our Russian cruiser, the _Admiral Nakhimoff_, which was entering the
port just then. The wind rose suddenly, and it took more than two hours
before we could land at Manhattan Beach. At last we succeeded in dropping
anchor. The boat was overcrowded, and all the people on the deck made a
rush towards the stern, making the ship incline on one side, and I had to
cling fast to Sergy’s arm not to be swept overboard.
On landing we took the Elevated, which brought us in a few minutes to
Brighton Beach, a sea-side resort, the meeting-place for members of
fashionable high life. We walked along the sea-shore and met ladies and
gentlemen in bathing suits, and bare-legged children with toy spades,
playing merrily with sand and bright sea-washed shells. We found
ourselves soon in the midst of a large fair with all sorts of show-tents
of various shapes, displaying brilliant banners, and queer little booths
where you could get your fortune told. The feast was in full swing. We
looked at the many merry-go-rounds, flying wooden horses, donkey races,
etc. We mounted, for fun, the flying horses, and had a good gallop. We
walked for nearly half-an-hour, exposed to the rays of the pitiless sun,
in search of a restaurant; we had eaten nothing since our breakfast
and were horribly hungry. Mr. Holland, who was completely ruled by his
imperious spouse, at times had rebellious fits; he wanted to dine in
one place, his wife in another, which made them both cross. He wrangled
for about a quarter-of-an-hour; I was a good deal flushed and so weary
that I could scarcely drag myself along. I wasn’t able to bear the heat
and the fatigue any longer and begged Mr. Holland, who led the party,
to take pity on us and pause to draw breath, but he paid no attention
whatever to my entreaties and pushed on stubbornly, both hands in his
pockets, panting like an engine and mopping his forehead from time to
time. There was nothing to do but walk on with a sigh of submission.
Mrs. Holland got her way in the end, and announced, in a tone which
didn’t suffer contradiction, that she would enter the first hotel on
our way. We stopped before the porch of the Oriental Hotel, and were
told by the porter that there was a table d’hôte at the hotel, at which
the lodgers only could partake. We were ready to retreat, famished and
awfully disappointed, but Mrs. Holland, flying into a violent temper,
forced herself in, declaring authoritatively, “Here we are, and here we
remain!” and made her entrance into the hotel with the step and mien of a
woman perfectly determined to have her dinner. Whilst she went to speak
to the manager, we came into a large entrance hall, where a long row of
negro boys were ranged along the walls, armed with cleaning brushes. They
rushed at us and began to dust our clothes. Mrs. Holland must have had a
very persuasive way with the head-waiter, for she returned triumphant. We
had a very good dinner to which we did ample honour, and were in no way
bashful about our appetites. Fortified by our meal, we soon recovered our
good spirits, and went by train to Brooklyn. We crossed East River to New
York on a ferry full of passengers, horses and carriages. The ferry was
sumptuous, the walls of the state cabin entirely of looking-glass.
When we returned to our hotel we found the captain and two ship officers
of our cruiser the _Admiral Nakhimoff_ who had come to invite us, as well
as all our companions, including the Hollands, to come and take a cup of
tea on board that night. Being awfully tired, I was not fit for visitors
just then, and as our guests settled themselves into a comfortable
position in their chairs, making no attempt to go away, I went to my room
under the pretext of a bad headache.
Oh! that “Nakhimoff!” I shall never forget the trouble that cruiser gave
us. All the way to the port I felt more dead than alive. The streets
were transformed into a veritable battle-field, crackers were exploded
under our horses’ feet, rockets were let off and guns fired in the
air for joy. The horses, taking fright, began to fidget and prance.
I heaved a sigh of relief when we reached the port. The “Nakhimoff”
had sent a boat rowed by fourteen sailors to fetch us. We had already
pushed off, when Mrs. Holland suggested that it was dangerous to go on
the water to-day, because the captains of the numerous excursion boats
must surely be drunk and would sink us in no time. She frightened me
out of my wits. I was desperately afraid that our boat would be upset,
especially when Mrs. Holland, with a very red face, and an expression
of desperate determination, declared that she would jump overboard if
we were not rowed back to the shore immediately. “Tell them to go back!
I shall go back!” shouted the rebellious lady at the top of her voice.
Our husbands tried to persuade us that there was no danger whatever, but
they couldn’t bring us to reason. They landed us on the beach under the
charge of Mr. Shaniawski and were rowed back to the “Nakhimoff.” A crowd
of spectators, chiefly women, gathered round us and laughed openly at
us, bestowing various uncomplimentary remarks on our cowardice. Awfully
confused on being the laughing stock of the place, we decided to cross
to the “Nakhimoff” at any price, and were so pleased to see the row-boat
coming back to fetch us, in case we had changed our minds, with two
ship-officers this time. When we stepped into the boat I became aware
that the officer at the rudder, who was intrusted to bring us safely on
board, wore two pairs of spectacles. He must surely be short-sighted! But
come what may! We pushed off and got to the “Nakhimoff” in ten minutes’
time, somewhat confused, but awfully pleased to rejoin our husbands. The
cruiser had hoisted the Russian flag which made me feel all I don’t know
how, to look at it hanging there so far from home.
We were taking our tea in the mess-cabin when we heard the sounds of
a band striking up our anthem, and shouts of “Hip, hip, hurrah!” We
hastened upon the deck, and glancing eagerly in the direction from where
the welcome music came we saw an American man-of-war passing before the
“Nakhimoff” and saluting us thus gallantly, which roused me to a high
pitch of patriotic exaltation. Night coming on, we had to hasten back on
shore. The crew of the “Nakhimoff” cheered us as we left her deck and the
officers assisted us down the ship’s ladder. We reached the coast all
right. All is well that ends well!
The next day the papers said that there were about 200 persons killed in
the streets of New York and more than 2,000 wounded during the national
festivities, and that the rockets had set on fire a great number of
houses. We have had a narrow escape, I must say!
New York is full of Russian anarchists. Quite recently a Russian general,
Seliverstoff, has been assassinated by one of them. They managed to
lay hands on his murderer, whose beard and moustaches are kept by Mr.
Olarowski. Oh, the horror!
On the very morning when we read our names in the list of the arrivals at
the “Clarendon,” Sergy gave audience to a suspicious-looking compatriot
of ours, who had come expressly to ask my husband’s opinion upon the
treaty between Russia and America, concerning the terms on which both
countries had to deliver up their respective criminals.
The newspapers were full of us. Our hotel was besieged by reporters
waiting in the ante-room for hours to have a word from us. The _Harper’s
Magazine_ asks for our photographs, and a type-writing machine office
proposes to issue 250 correspondences concerning my husband. We received
a lot of letters from autograph-hunters. Mrs. Vanderbilt, one of the
richest women in America, wrote to Sergy requesting his autograph in
order that she might add it to her collection of celebrities.
Glancing this morning over an illustrated paper, in the middle of the
column I saw our faces, but couldn’t believe they were really there,
in an American paper. I began to think I wasn’t awake yet. I am sure
it is the Hollands who have given our photos to the papers, for we are
carried about as a show by them. Under our pictures the magazine has
printed our biography, with a number of ridiculous stories concerning us.
There was a whole sheet with dark hints as to our private lives, every
syllable false. My husband, according to the press, was an oppressor of
the people, little better than “Nero,” and Colonel Serebriakoff, who was
not able to hurt a fly, is also said to be noted for his cruelty. How do
such revolting things get into papers? It is too ridiculous, but I didn’t
laugh, I was too angry. The imaginative reporters described me as a
Princess with Imperial blood in her veins, endowed with no end of beauty
and money, and Mr. Shaniawski as a world-known traveller and explorer.
Stupid fellows!
The Hollands are living all the year round at the “Windsor,” where they
keep a splendid apartment, like a great number of Americans, who live in
hotels to avoid the bother of servants and housekeeping. The Hollands
had us to dinner at the “Windsor,” and Mrs. Holland wanted me to look my
best in order to make the conquest of the paper-reporters, who take their
meals at the “Windsor.” She insisted that I should wear my prettiest
dress, but I didn’t take any pains to impress the journalists, and put on
my walking costume. I wish the Hollands wouldn’t put me forward always!
Dinner was at half-past seven. Mr. Holland took me down to the
dining-room, a large hall brilliantly illuminated and filled with
gentlemen in full dress and bare-shouldered ladies. We made our way to
the prettily spread table reserved for us, decorated with bunches of
roses. Both Mrs. Holland and Mrs. Olarowski had put on their finest
dresses. Of all those present I was the only one to appear in a wrong
toilet. My modest frock seemed rather out of place amidst the gorgeous
plumes of the other ladies, and Mrs. Holland’s eyes swept over me
disapprovingly. Nevertheless, I was a great deal stared at and much
annoyed, for I felt I was being made a show of, and exhibited as one
would exhibit a giant or a dwarf.
We meant to spend a fortnight in New York, but had to leave the city
much sooner. When I came down to breakfast one morning, I perceived
immediately that something unpleasant had happened. All my companions
seemed very preoccupied and gloomy, and ate their breakfasts in silence.
After our meal I began turning over the leaves of a daily paper which
happened to be on the table close to my hand, and saw an article which
made my blood run cold. It ran thus: “_Siberia’s Governor-General on a
visit here—in imminent danger!_” And then I was told that the manager of
our hotel had thought fit to warn my husband of the danger to which we
were exposed. He had received an anonymous letter that morning, signed _A
Victim of Siberia_, in which he was threatened that his hotel would be
blown up for having sheltered us. Further on the letter ran thus: _There
is now stopping at your hotel a man who is the sworn enemy of thousands
of persecuted men and women in far distant Siberia. He has very recently
been appointed to the governor-generalship of that accursed spot, but he
is a marked man by men of my belief in this country, the Mecca of all,
the land of the free. I write this to warn you of a plot to destroy
Doukhovskoy, who will now go to rule over the victims of the Tzar in
Siberia. But I feel it my duty to warn you to be on your guard against
certain members of an organisation of which I am a member._ This letter
was sent to the superintendent of the police and he has no doubt made
preparations to prevent any attempt at assassination, or at any rate
to arrest the assassin, which may not be much comfort to us if there
really be a plot. Sergy, however, was not to be frightened easily, but of
course I was horribly frightened. What woman would not have been? Another
morning paper announced: _General Doukhovskoy will be assassinated with
his wife and suite. In any case he wouldn’t be allowed to reach Siberia,
where he is appointed general-governor to martyrise the people._ And
though the _New York Herald_ had printed in big black letters a headline
six inches tall: _General Doukhovskoy is safe_, we felt ourselves
condemned to death.
The first thing to be done was to get away from New York and take the
afternoon train to Chicago. I packed in haste and spent a frantic
half-hour in thrusting my things in my trunk. The Hollands had invited us
to share their box with them at the opera that night, and had announced
it in the papers. We telephoned to them that we were obliged to leave
New York quite unexpectedly, having been called to Khabarovsk by wire.
We also telegraphed to an American lady, who had invited us to visit at
her house in Philadelphia, that we were leaving for Boston, in order that
they couldn’t get on our track.
My husband acceded to my entreaties that for the rest of our journey
through America we would not be “The Governor-General and his wife,”
but a plain party of tourists. After my fright I will enjoy it all,
particularly because I could see everything I wanted to see, and that
I could not have done if we were pointed out here and there as “The
Governor-General and his wife.” And thus Sergy changed his name and sent
away his luggage; we will travel across the Continent incognito.
We got hastily into a tram to be driven to the railway station, but we
were not destined to go off unobserved. A very unprepossessing-looking
individual, with long hair and spectacles, sprang on the steps of
the tram and asked Mr. Shaniavski, in very bad English, if General
Doukhovskoy was leaving New York for good, Mr. Shaniavski stopping
him from entering the car, answered that he knew nothing about
General Doukhovskoy. At that very moment the tramway started and we
were delivered from the obtrusive spy. At the railway-station Mrs.
Serebriakoff and I didn’t permit our husbands to leave our sides, and
struggled hard to seem unconcerned, mistrusting all the passengers.
CHAPTER LXI
NIAGARA FALLS
The way is long from New York to San Francisco. We have to pass the
Continent from East to West, making about 5000 miles. It took thirty-five
days to make that journey before the railway was built. We will touch
Niagara on our way to Chicago, and will continue the journey the same day
by a later train. To leave America without seeing the Falls of Niagara
was impossible.
The train rattled out of New York and crossed the Harlem. We skirted
that pretty little river and ran over the prairies. We travel in a
splendid “Wagner Express,” a rival to “Pullman’s Express.” All the cars
are first-class; it is only the so-named “Colonist trains” which are
second-class. Our saloon-car had no compartments in it, there was just
one wide corridor with velvet armchairs dotted about. In front of our
engine a kind of giant spade is fastened to clear the line from droves of
cattle and other encumbrances. A huge bell keeps ringing all the time for
the same purpose.
Towards night we removed to the sleeping-car, fitted up with a long
double file of two-storeyed bunks, the rows separated by a green calico
partition. The railway conductors are shiny black negroes, surnamed
“Johnny,” all of them. Our Johnny, a most jolly-looking nigger, in white
livery, was very talkative, his tongue went like an express train.
He plied us with questions and cross-examined us about where we came
from, where we were going to. Wasn’t he also a spy? At all events we
did not reveal our destination. We pretended we were going no further
than Niagara. In the night Mme. Beurgier went to drink a glass of
water, and when she crawled in, in the dark, she couldn’t find out her
sleeping-berth, and got into Johnny’s couch. When her hands touched the
darkie’s slippery face, she thought she had touched a frog, and throwing
herself back, she bumped her face against the boards, at which her
forehead instantly developed a bump of many colours.
The jingle of the breakfast bell and Johnny’s piercing voice shouting
“First call for breakfast,” awakened me in the morning. I had to crouch
up and dress on my berth, and succeeded in putting on my frock in a
series of contortions. The Americans are very unceremonious people;
peeping through the curtain of my division, I saw unattractive-looking
bare legs underneath. All the passengers assembled in the saloon to drink
coffee, which was brought in by Johnny and tasted very nasty.
We pass the towns of Rochester and Albion, and are speeding along the
wooded banks of Niagara River. The opposite bank is Canada, a territory
belonging to England. Johnny began cleaning manipulations over our
clothes, proceeding with bold strikes of his brush, as if he were
grooming a horse. Then he took off Sergy’s hat unceremoniously, gave a
vigorously brushing to it, and clapped it upon his head again. After that
he made a dash at my hat, but without success, I having jumped back in
time.
Here we are at “Niagara Village,” an agglomeration of splendid hotels.
The next train left at 9-15, and we had plenty of time to spare. We made
our way to “Hôtel National,” as we had no porters to carry our things, we
had to do it ourselves. We passed before a negro boy perched on a high
seat, motionless like a black statue, sticking out both feet adorned with
boots shining like twin stars. We were told that the black statue was a
boot-boy serving as advertisement to a patent shoe cream.
At the entrance hall of the “National” we found negroes with brushes who
made dusting attacks at our clothes.
We are just in time for luncheon. The big hall was filled with tourists
who had come to see the Falls, the great wonder of the world. We were
served by a staff of waiters, negroes of blackest ebony, the head
waiter wore a flower in his buttonhole, and looked awfully smart.
During luncheon a pianist played to the accompaniment of an orchestra.
After lunch we stretched ourselves comfortably in rocking-chairs on the
veranda, looking out into a shady park, and after a good rest, we took a
carriage and drove to Goat Island to see the Falls.
Niagara, in the Indian language, means “Thundering Waters,” and in fact,
from afar the thunder of the Niagara filled the air. We wandered away in
the direction of the huge roar. As we advanced the sound became sharper
and we had to shout to make ourselves heard above the noise of the
cataract. At length we came face to face with the Falls. The sight of the
foaming rapids fringed by splendid trees, was awfully grand. Rainbows are
reflected in the water. The tumult of the Falls which attained the height
of seventy yards, broke in clouds of spray against the rocks. It was well
worth travelling all the way to see. Here and there we saw inscriptions:
“_Don’t venture in dangerous places!_” Leaning over the Falls, I felt
very small and strangely attracted by its foaming wonderful sheet of
water, just the same as I did whilst standing on Mount Vesuvius, on the
very brink of the crater. In a part of the park called “The Cape of the
Winds,” where the Falls have the form of a horse-shoe, we met a party of
audacious tourists, enveloped in yellow mackintoshes, who were slowly
groping their way along a narrow bridge thrown across the cataract;
underneath, the Niagara rolled gigantic and majestic in a vast flood.
After having rested for a little while on the grass, discoursing about
the beauty of the wonderful water-fall, we returned to the hotel just
in time for dinner. After the repast, all my companions went out for a
sail on the Niagara River; as for me, I had quite enough of thrilling
sensations for that day and pleaded a headache as an excuse for remaining
within. They went underneath the Falls in oilskin coats and caps,
supplied by the hotel, after which they descended in a lift, and then
walked along passages scooped out of the rock, until they were underneath
the Falls, which poured over in front of them like a curtain, and then
reached a steamboat called “The Maid of the Mist.”
When my indefatigable companions returned, we walked across the park
to Canada “abroad,” as they call it here, and crossed the river by a
suspended bridge joining Canada to the United States. We had to pay 25
cents each to cross the Suspension Bridge, which seemed to hang over the
water. This bridge had recently collapsed and was now built again.
Whilst our companions explored Canada, I entered with Mrs. Serebriakoff,
a white farm-house with green shutters, entirely covered with creeping
plants, which announced in large white letters “New Milk,” where we
regaled ourselves with strawberries and cream.
We were back to the hotel towards sunset and walked to the station laden
with our bags and umbrellas, where we arrived just as the train was about
to start.
This time our sleeping berths were still more uncomfortable, arranged
behind the partition for two persons on one bunk. This is all very well
for married couples but is it not particularly cosy for strangers of
different sexes to lie down all night side by side. This lot befell Mme.
Beurgier; her berth-mate turned out to be Mr. Koulomsine, who after long
parleys succeeded in finding a sleeping berth in the next car.
I slept badly that night and got up very early. We had luncheon in the
restaurant-car about a quarter of a mile away from us in the train.
Pretty girls waited on us while in continual chorus came from them:
“Steaks, chops, ham and eggs, pie or pudding!” After the repast the
waitresses distributed small bouquets to the lady passengers, and
dining-car advertisements to the gentlemen.
CHAPTER LXII
CHICAGO
Towards five o’clock Michigan Lake came into view and spread before us
as broad as the sea, with tides coming in and going out, and steamships
gliding on the blue water. At the last station before Chicago a boy came
into the car piled up to his head with advertisements, which he scattered
over us; he was followed by a man with a metal placard on his chest, who
thrust into our hands a card setting forth the virtues of Savoie Hotel,
and promised to occupy himself with our luggage. Most of the passengers
left the train at Hyde Park, the first stoppage at Chicago, but we
pushed on to Central Station. Over the city hung a sky laden with smoke;
everywhere black chimneys rose in the air.
Savoie Hotel is situated on the European place, the liveliest quarter of
Chicago. We took an apartment in the second storey, for 2 dollars ahead,
with board and lodging.
Desirous to keep the strictest incognito, we registered our names in the
hotel-book, “Mr. and Mrs. Sergius,” for fear of spies. Dr. Pokrovski took
the name of “Castorio,” which suited his profession admirably.
Our four days’ stay at Chicago seemed very short to me. Every morning
we went to visit Chicago’s World Fair. The exhibition commemorated the
fourth century of the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus. The
day was Sunday. A holiday crowd pushed and elbowed about the various
attractions, middle-class people for the most part, and negro beauties
and dandies. We walked through the sections of the Exhibition, where
nearly all the exhibited objects are provided with the curt warning:
“Hands off!” The Americans in general, do not shine for their politeness!
Whilst standing before a show-window, a policeman approached us and asked
what nation we belonged to. We said we were a company of French tourists
who had come to see the World’s Fair.
Midway Pleasance is the most animated part of the Exhibition. We entered
a theatre where a Japanese play was going on. The actors’ faces were
covered with terrifying masks, and they were all making atrocious
grimaces. After the play a troup of native musicians, sitting on the
floor, played “Yankee Doodle” and “God save the Queen” on their national
instruments. The spectators in the first row took off their coats and
remained in their shirt sleeves without ceremony. Close to the Japanese
theatre the Esquimaux performed marvels in the way of throwing lances
through rings. They invited the passers-by to enter their enclosure and
compete with them in a curious sport, consisting in breaking big sticks
into small bits by the means of a long whip. The Esquimaux came from
Greenland; they are American subjects but do not speak English, they can
say only: “Give money!”
On the quay where stands the monument of Christopher Columbus, the
largest elevator in the whole world brought us in the space of one
minute, on the roof of the “Liberal Arts,” where we visited a beautiful
picture gallery containing the works of the most renowned painters
of different countries. The Russian pictures occupy the first place,
but our manufactory section is very poorly represented. In one of the
pavilions of the United States we saw vegetables and fruit piled about
in profusion. The fruit of California is three times larger than in
any other country; tempting-looking apples and pears, coming from Los
Angeles, were enormous in proportion, but quite tasteless.
Foreign artists are greatly appreciated in America, and very highly paid.
When walking through the musical section we were agreeably surprised to
hear a first-class artiste play one of Chopin’s nocturnes in a masterly
manner, with a faultless technique and a perfect phrasing.
“Beauties” brought over from all parts of the world black, white and
yellow, are exposed in a large hall, in stalls behind a railing, just
like wild beasts. One of the prettiest girls, dressed in our Russian
national costume, appeared to be a Polish Jewess, who had taken the first
prize in a recent “Beauty Competition.”
A picture of “Nana,” the heroine of Zola’s last novel, painted by
Soukharowski (a Russian painter), is exhibited in Chicago, and much is
made of that canvas.
We went to see a Museum of wax-figures, and saw among other curiosities,
a big giant and a negress dwarf with no arms, who played the drum with
her toes, and wrote her autograph holding a pen between her toes. Next
to her a pretty white-skinned dwarf resembling a pretty wax-doll,
attired in a beautiful evening dress, was exhibited, who looked with
disdain, mixed with jealousy, at her dusky companion who attracted more
attention than her dainty little person. In the adjoining room a gipsy
fortune-teller told people’s future through examination of the palms of
their hands. I wanted my hand read and asked Mr. Shaniavski to accompany
me to her booth. From the very beginning the old gipsy woman made
formidable mistakes, taking Mr. Shaniavski for my husband. Nevertheless
she predicted a lot of charming things to me, and I left her booth with a
smiling face. After dinner we went to a Venetian Feast organised on the
central basin of Michigan Lake, which was transformed into a Venetian
canal. Gondolas floated on the lake, lit up by Chinese lanterns.
Chicago is a dirty, noisy commercial town, and looks a tremendously busy
place. The smoke of the factories blacken the sky; the soot stains the
sparrows, making them look quite black. We walked through the broad,
straight streets of the Great Grey City, stopping before the shop
windows. We saw a shop bearing the inscription “Food and dog’s medicine.”
In a hair-dressing shop a woman was sitting on a high seat with her back
to the window with wonderfully splendid hair falling down to the ground.
We entered the shop to see if the woman’s face corresponded to her
beautiful golden hair, but, alas, she appeared to be very unattractive.
Her hair served as advertisement for a patent elixir to make the hair
grow. How people have sometimes to earn their bread and butter.
The heat is intense. Everybody grumbled at the weather being so hot. The
head-porter of our hotel, who is a grand personage, too languid to talk,
in order not to be obliged to answer a hundred times a day to the same
complaint of the visitors about the heat, “Awfully hot, isn’t it?” stuck
a placard over the entrance door saying, “Yes, it is very warm to-day!”
Mme. Beurgier couldn’t sleep for the heat, and went one night for a
stroll on the outskirts of Michigan Common. She saw heaps of rags here
and there on the grass; she touched one of them with her foot, and oh,
what a jump she gave when from the rags strange and somewhat terrifying
sounds proceeded, that indicated a drunken sleep. It appeared that the
whole place swarmed with houseless vagrants, evidently prepared to camp
out-of-doors till morning.
During our four days’ stay at Chicago there had been three awful
accidents at the Exhibition. First: A collision between two steamboats
on the lake. We were crossing the bridge at that moment and saw a man
extracted from the water with broken legs. Second: A terrible fire had
broken out in the very centre of the Exhibition. An immense building
was burnt to the ground. Dr. Pokrovski saw people jumping down from the
eighteenth storey and killed on the spot. Third: A captive-balloon had
burst, causing the death of all the passengers.
2nd July.—We left Chicago this morning. Our train rolls rapidly towards
San Francisco. We have six days of railway. The temperature being very
hot, everyone put himself at his ease; my travelling-companions also
took off their coats—American fashion. We drink iced-water the whole day
to refresh ourselves. Our “Johnny” lay full stretched on the sofa in
the private saloon; Mme. Beurgier tried to make him take a more correct
attitude, but to make remarks to the darkie was as fruitless as to sponge
his nigger face white. He paid no attention whatever to her reproofs and
continued his _dolce far niente_, munching an apple with beautiful white
teeth.
Our train rolls on full speed. We are tossed about as on the sea.
“Johnny” came to make our beds early in the evening. We had to lie down
directly, for when the beds were made, there was no place to sit down.
3rd July.—The railway line is uninteresting and monotonous and the
heat something dreadful. At five o’clock dinner was served in the
restaurant-car, consisting of broth and roast beef surrounded by slices
of oranges.
4th July.—We crossed the Mississippi in the night, and are rolling
through fields of Indian wheat and beetroot. The heat has still increased
and our car is like an overheated stove; the dust entering through the
windows transformed us into chimney-sweeps.
We cross now the States of Nebraska and Wyoming. The villages and
towns are all illuminated with electricity. We read now and then the
word “Saloon” gambling house written on the front of the houses. I
have remarked that at the railway-stations nearly all the doors bear
the inscription “Entrance forbidden.” It is curious how many things
are forbidden in this “Free Country!” It is also very odd that the
carriage-roads are not closed before the passage of trains; there is only
an inscription on wooden poles “Look out for the cars!”
5th July.—I woke up in the night shivering with cold. The train was
rolling through the states of Utah, across the Great American Desert. The
country is bare and dull, and very poorly peopled; not a tree or a blade
of grass is to be seen. The great want in the place is water. A chain
of snow peaks appeared on the horizon. We are crossing the Cordilleras
mountains and find ourselves at eight thousand feet above the level of
the sea. Soon after lunch the Valley of Salt Lake spread before us. Our
train runs amid green pastures. We pass little hamlets and orchards,
which seem very green and beautiful to me after the long weary stretches
of the desert we had just left. Thatched ranches (farms) and bungalows
peeped from beneath the trees. We are in the legendary “Far West.” Here
is a long haired Red Indian, from Cooper’s Books, galloping on the road
on a small lean pony, followed by a cow-boy wearing a broad-brimmed hat.
It only wants “Buffalo-Bill” in person to complete the picture. Whilst
stopping at a station we saw a young Indian “squaw” (woman), sitting
cross-legged on the platform, wrapped up in a red blanket, carrying on
her back her papoos (baby), lashed up in its hammock. American travellers
ought to be accustomed to Red-Indians, nevertheless they surveyed with
great interest the young savage female, who showed her nursling to them
for the sum of 15 cents. She refused outright to show her “papoos” to a
passenger who offered only five cents to her. The local colour begins
to disappear in the “Far West,” the Red-Indians throw off their plumes
and deer-skins for a flannel shirt and a felt hat. They were plentiful
enough about here some years ago, but the railroad, with its settlements
has swept them back. The railway-line was being built during five years,
the Red-Indians destroying it continually. In the olden days, a touch
of adventure was lent to the journey by the fear of an attack from
hostile Indians. We are told that even now there is danger on the line
from Indian bandits. Our train passes with illuminated “Pullmans” in the
centre of the plains, and my imagination getting the better of me, I seem
to see our train on that lone prairie, surrounded by Red Indians. When I
went to sleep, visions of fighting savages woke me up with a suppressed
scream, as I fancied I was being scalped, and I find that it is only the
shriek of the locomotive, and the war-whoop of the Indians are only the
outcries of our pacific “Johnny” announcing that we were approaching
Salt Lake City. The capital of the Mormons’ State is surrounded by an
amphitheatre of hills, over which the Mormons’ Hierarchy still dominates.
In 1890, Welford Woodruff, the President of the Mormon Church, received,
it is said, a revelation from God, commanding that all Mormons should
give up their plural wives, and they are satisfied now with one consort.
We are in a long, narrow pass: above us hang abrupt rocks and below flows
a serpentine river. Our train makes right angle turns, and it seems as if
we were turning all the time on the same spot. Towards night we entered
the States of Sierra Nevada; we are now at only a day’s journey from
Mexico. The towns, rivers and mountains have Mexican names. A Mexican
pedlar selling curios and silver filigree jewellery, entered our car.
Sergy bought me a finely worked brooch in the form of a mandoline.
We enter a narrow wooden tunnel built to protect the line from stone
avalanches, which took a whole hour to go through.
6th July.—At dawn we speeded through the ranches of California, and soon
approached the town of Sacramento. Our train dashes now on its way to
the Pacific. We felt already the sea breeze, and soon appeared the Gulf
of San Francisco and the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Our train was
pushed by workmen along an artificial dike to the station of Bonifacio,
after which we rolled towards Oakland, where our train after having been
divided in three parts, was put on a ferry. When we touched the other
shore the train was made up again, and took us straight to San Francisco.
CHAPTER LXIII
SAN FRANCISCO
We were surrounded at the railway station by a crowd of Negroes, Japs
and Chinamen. We drove to the Lyndhurst, a small hotel in Geary Street,
where Mr. Shaniavski had secured apartments for us. Nothing was said to
the hotel management concerning us, beyond the fact that we were foreign
tourists who did not care to go to a large hotel. Our rooms were engaged
for a week and paid for in advance.
San Francisco, the Queen of the Pacific, and the glory of the Eastern
coast, is a rich and populous city about one hundred years old. After
lunch we went out to explore the place. There are but few cabs in the
streets, everyone takes the tram or the cable road; the way in which
it climbs the steepest hills is wonderful. We took the cable road to
Golden Gate Park, which is very beautiful indeed. Buffaloes graze on the
green lawns and strange birds flash among the boughs. I thought that a
beetle had settled upon my hat and when I blew it off, it appeared to
be a butterfly of fantastical appearance, the size of a bird. In the
part of the park called the Children’s Garden, all kinds of games and
amusements are organised. We saw saddle-horses not bigger than foundland
dogs, and baby-coaches drawn by white sheep. We had tea in the Children’s
Restaurant, where gentlemen are admitted only when accompanied by their
families.
On leaving the park we rode out to the Presidio, a military ground with
big cannon pointing menacingly on to the Pacific Ocean. We stood with the
rest of the crowd to see the President of the United States, who had come
down from San Raphaelo, a fashionable sea-bathing place, to review four
batteries of artillery, two light-batteries of field pieces and a troop
of cavalry. After which the gentlemen of our party went for a stroll
through the Chinese part of the town to Cliff House where seals are
reared; these animals come in hundreds to bask in the sun at a few steps
only from the cliffs. We ladies preferred to go out shopping. We lingered
before the windows of entrancing shops, and listened to an orchestra
playing in a music-shop to attract purchasers.
The climate here is perfect, one doesn’t suffer at all from the heat, in
summer and winter the temperature is nearly always the same. I was very
much astonished, however, to see ladies enveloped in furs in July.
We managed to keep up our incognito at the Lyndhurst, and attracted no
special attention until after the publication in the _Examiner_ of a
statement, that “General Doukhovskoy was supposed to have reached San
Francisco travelling incognito.” After that it was noticed that “The
middle-aged gentleman who appeared to be the leader of the party, but
whose name was registered in the books of the hotel as ‘Mr. Sergius,’
didn’t go out as frequently as at first.” Another San Francisco paper
reproduced our portraits, after which Sergy told me to wear my hat when
I went down to the dining-room, in order not to be easily recognised by
my portrait, copied in different newspapers in which I was reproduced
without my hat.
Our first care in the morning was to peruse the earliest editions of
the papers to see if we were found out. The reporters were on our track
again. A journalist who had been tracking down Mr. Shaniavski all along,
step by step, discovered him out at the Lyndhurst, and wanted to have all
sorts of information about General Doukhovskoy, and again Mr. Shaniavski
told him that he knew nothing about the General.
Sarah, the chambermaid, tried to penetrate our incognito and to learn who
and what I was. More than once, while doing up my room, she expressed the
desire to see a real Russian General. Looking at my hands she said: “I
daresay you have never known what work means, look at your hands, they
are much too white!”
It was Mme. Beurgier who had lifted up the veil of our incognito by
buying a sewing-machine for me. She had ordered it to be sent to
Vladivostock, and the order for the machine gave the information about
our party. Happily we were leaving San Francisco on the following day.
I was greatly amused by the idea that it was a sewing-machine that had
revealed our secret.
CHAPTER LXIV
ACROSS THE PACIFIC
On the eve of our departure from San Francisco we went to inspect our
cabins on the mail-ship, _Peru_, on which we are to cross the Pacific. We
are undertaking a long and dangerous voyage. It is not a small affair to
settle on board for eighteen days! On our way to the quay we encountered
a queer moving house, set on rollers, and being pulled along by a team of
horses. The _Peru_, lying on the quay, was getting ready for the sea. The
whole of the crew are Chinamen, who are noted to be admirable sailormen.
They were taking leave just then of their sweethearts, and offering paper
flowers to them as a souvenir.
11th July.—We had to start early in the morning. We hurried over our
breakfast and walked rapidly towards the pier and saw the _Peru_ getting
up steam, impatient to snatch us away. A great crowd was on the quay. Mr.
Artsimovitch, the Russian Consul-General at this part, had come to see
us off, accompanied by Mr. Haram-Pratt, Vice-Consul, a gallant young man
with a large bouquet of the most beautiful pink flowers, called “American
Beauties,” for me in his hand. I had my flowers put immediately in water,
wearing a few of them. The chief of the police was pacing the after-deck
followed by two burly private detectives who were appointed to watch
over our safety; they lounged around on each side of our party, close
enough to see and hear all that was going on, and kept a close eye upon
us. This guard was kept until the _Peru_ started on her voyage. Tiresome
reporters, sent by the papers to get something from us, dogged our steps
pencil in hand. My husband had a long chat with a representative of
the _New York Herald_. Sergy begged of him not to look upon him as a
Governor-General, for he was meanwhile a simple Russian tourist, who had
been on a visit to the World’s Fair, and is now proceeding on his journey.
“_Vous cherchez un gouverneur-general, il n’y est pas. Vous voulez voir
Mr. Doukhovskoy, le voici!_” said my husband to the reporter. Just at
that moment I appeared on the deck and Sergy motioned me to approach.
“And here,” said he, “is the cause of my travelling incognito. It was
for her sake that our visit to San Francisco was kept secret.” We were
interrupted by a deafening blast from the ship’s horn, the first warning
for all not passengers to go ashore. There was a tremendous lot of
leave-taking, crying, kisses and hand-shaking. Presently the bell clanged
violently, and a sailor called out, “All visitors to the shore!”
At last the farewells were over. Groups collected on the wharf and tried
to say still more last words and good wishes to their friends crowding
against the rail. The _Peru_ whistled a prolonged note, the gangway was
hauled up, the moorings were cast off, and the steamer glided quietly
away from her stopping-place, carrying us to Asiatic shores and an
unknown future. Sergy waved his hand cordially to Mr. Artsimovitch and
the Vice-Consul. I stood beside him all smiles. A tugboat towed us with
some difficulty among the numerous boats surrounding us, and we sailed
through the narrow entrance of San Francisco, known as the Golden Gate.
We are hopelessly off from _terra firma_ for eighteen days.
The _Peru_ is a small vessel little fitted to do battle with such waves
as we encountered. The ship is plying ordinarily between America and
Panama, and it is quite accidentally that she is bound now to Japan. On
her last voyage the _Peru_ touched Honolulu.
On board the _Peru_ we occupy the cabins 37, 39, 40, known as the cabin
state rooms, on the starboard side on the upper deck.
The real names of our party appear upon the ship’s list. There was no
need of secrecy after we had left America behind us.
Deplorable were the first impressions of our voyage across the ill-named
Pacific Ocean. The Pacific had been anything but pacific and peaceful.
As soon as we were out of the Gulf of San Francisco the vessel began to
roll. At half past eight the gong called us to dinner; after the second
dish I returned to my cabin and lay down. I shut my eyes but sleep would
not come to me. At dawn, with the aid of Mrs. Berger, the stewardess, I
removed to another cabin situated on the lower deck, where the rolling
was less felt. I remained in bed the whole day, feeling horribly ill. And
we have still seventeen days to live on board!
Mrs. Berger is a really kind-hearted stewardess, and nurses me devotedly.
She enters my cabin on tiptoe, bringing a soothing cup of tea with a drop
of brandy, when I feel too ill to go down to lunch. But no persuasion of
the motherly stewardess could get me out of my cabin, until she called in
the ship’s doctor, who forced me to go on deck for a little fresh air.
The head-butler, a solemn and majestic-looking mulatto, told me that
there were only twenty-five first-class passengers on board. The
third-class is full of Japs and Chinamen, who spend their time in
playing dominoes. The Celestials are a pest to the ship, their special
odour pursues us everywhere. All the boys (in the Far East all the
men-servants are called boys, regardless of their age), are Chinamen,
who speak a mixture of English, French and German, rather difficult to
understand; they call all the passengers, ladies and gentlemen likewise,
Sir. The boys are excellent servants, wonderfully deft and handy. They
absolutely watch the passengers, and study their tastes carefully when
serving at table; once let them know your wishes, and everything will
be arranged to suit them. What a difference with the rough American
servants! For dinner the boys put on long white sleeves over their blue
clothing and stick the ends of their long tresses into their pockets,
in order that they should not dangle between their legs. When cleaning
the cabins, they roll them round their head. Mme. Beurgier orders the
stewards and the boys as if the boat belonged to her. She is a person not
lightly to be disobeyed and would have been an excellent Prime Minister.
She made friends with all her fellow-travellers and rushed over the
entire ship conversing with everyone.
At five o’clock in the morning the sailors begin to clean the boat.
The inspection takes place three times daily. At half-past eleven the
captain, the ship’s doctor and the head-steward walk round the cabins
examining minutely if everything is in order; their commanding eyes swept
to-and-fro for the smallest speck of dust discovered in the remotest
corner, the delinquent boy is placed for punishment at the wheel on
deck for four hours. The boys stand in terrible fear of that rigorous
triumvirate. They moved about the cabin flicking off an imperceptible
touch of dust here, and straightening a piece of furniture there.
Involuntarily I glanced round the carpet for threads, but it was all
fearfully tidy, not a speck of dust, not a cobweb anywhere. The duties of
inspection over, the boys faces beamed with contentment. With nightfall
comes the third inspection; the triumvirate enters the cabins without
ceremony, even when the passengers are in bed.
We do nothing but sleep, eat and drink. At ten o’clock came tiffin
(luncheon), consisting of soup, chops, fruit and pancakes; at
four—dinner; at eight—supper. The days on board are awfully long and
tedious. I generally stayed in my cabin between tiffin and dinner,
wiling away the weary hours by scribbling my memoirs, and practising on
my mandoline. My performances threw our boy Hassan, into ecstasies; he
sat on the floor before my door repeating “Veri nice, veri nice!” After
dinner the music loving passengers assembled in the music-room. Mr.
Shaniavski, a very good pianist, is especially appreciated.
There is a whole army of cockroaches in our cabins. Before going to bed,
I chase these nasty insects, and wrapping them up in a bit of paper, I
throw them into the corridor.
We are now at the extreme end of the world, and have the feeling of
standing upside down; and, in fact, if the globe was being pierced
through, we should have found ourselves in that uncomfortable posture
conformably to the inhabitants of St. Petersburg. When it is midnight in
that city it is midday here.
Severe rules and regulations hang on the wall in my cabin. First
rule: The striking of matches forbidden. Second rule: The rush to the
life-boats before receiving permission, forbidden. Third rule: Not to
take fright when the false alarm of fire was rung. This false alarm takes
place once a week for the practice of the crew. Dear me, what a noise
they were making! The alarm began by the piercing sound of a whistle, and
loud shouts of Fire, Fire! After which the sailors rush on deck to open
the fire-pumps, and pour out the water into the ocean, laughing loudly
all the time.
Travelling on the same boat with us was a company of Teutonic travellers,
with Baron Korff, a German General. One of the youngest members sang
German lullabies and love-songs to me, tapping ruefully over the region
of his heart and rolling his eyes as if in mute appeal to heaven. His
favourite song was _Mit einer Rose in der hand bist Du geboren_. (With a
rose in the hand you are born.) The captain of a Mexican sailing vessel,
a cadaverous-looking man like Don Quixote, with very black teeth and
little hair, fell to my lot as companion at table. An American missionary
of grave aspect sat on the other side of me. He was bound to Japan with
his wife, a thin and sickly-looking lady, and a whole band of children.
The youngest, a baby in arms, was born in America during the missionary’s
holiday. The children ran wild in the corridor, fighting and quarrelling
the whole day, and are as noisy and troublesome as they can be. The boys
no sooner heard me go out of my cabin than they were upon me like an
avalanche. I could not read or work in the saloon, my attention being
constantly disturbed by the children. They were as wild as young colts.
One little boy believed himself to be a steam-engine and raced round the
saloon driving a tandem of chairs, and his little brother, getting the
maximum of sound out of a trumpet, executed a sort of war-dance round
me, yelling like a wild Indian. The eldest of the family, a boy of six,
was especially ungovernable. The heartless little wretch amused himself
in tormenting Mrs. Beurgier’s kitten, and I flew to its rescue as soon
as I heard the piteous mewing of the poor little animal, which gave me a
furious desire to box the little wretch’s ears.
On Sunday morning, when I entered the saloon, I saw a notice stuck up on
the mirror, announcing that the missionary was going to hold a service in
the lower saloon at ten o’clock. At the appointed hour a boy sounded a
gong, at which all the passengers assembled in the saloon and joined in
the singing of hymns. The servants, baptised Chinamen, stood in a row as
near the door as they could get.
July 17th.—Oh, what a night that was! I wonder my hair didn’t turn white.
We all thought we were going to the bottom. The ship was rolling and
pitching violently, every board cracked and quivered, and enormous waves
dashed over the deck; vases in the saloon went down with a fearful crash,
and all my things were scattered about my cabin. The captain kept watch
on the bridge the whole night. I heard him shouting orders to the crew to
take down the sails.
The sentimental German passenger did not coo his romances to me now. He
suffered from liver complications and sea-sickness, and lay stretched on
a bench on the deck, looking dreadfully green in the face.
July 18th.—The wind abated somewhat towards dawn, nevertheless the
rolling continued and I lay in my berth the whole day. My head, finding
no support, rolled from right to left on my pillow.
In the afternoon I ventured upon deck. Heavy black clouds hung over us;
a fresh air blew into my face. We are to-day at the extreme point of our
voyage, quite near to the Aleutian Islands and Kamtchatka. A lark settled
on our mast, and Baron Korff came to congratulate me with this first
winged messenger from the distant country which was to be our new home.
From San Francisco a pair of big albatrosses followed our ship, resting
during night on the masts.
A whole week has past, and we have been on the sea seeing nothing but the
sky and the water. The least incident takes the proportions of a whole
event in the dreary, tedious life on board. To-day for the first time we
perceived in the distance a boat with swelling sails. It was surely a
pirate boat going out seal-hunting.
July 19th.—We are half-way over the ocean to-day, and had champagne at
dinner for this occasion.
We were near the end of our provisions and starvation stared us in the
face. We found at dinner, oysters, ever oysters, which I abhor: oyster
soup, oyster vol-au-vent, and so on. I will try and bear all these
privations stoically.
July 20th.—The fury of the ocean has increased. Our boat tossed, dipped
and shook as a mere plaything. It was a difficult matter to stand
upright. Everyone was more or less ill and cross. Dr. Pokrovski was the
only one of our company to venture on deck in such weather. A rough
movement of the ship threw him rolling out of his chair, and made him
turn somersaults. Mme. Beurgier saw our poor Esculapius creep back to his
cabin, looking a veritable wreck of humanity, yellow as a marigold, and
his necktie all crooked.
July 21st.—To-day we pass the 18th meridian, and have lost a whole day.
This is Monday, 21st July, and to-morrow we shall be at Wednesday, 23rd
July. We have to put our watches back a whole hour every day.
July 23rd.—I passed again a sleepless night. The ship was rolling a good
deal, and the howling of the wind in the rigging was something dreadful.
I couldn’t remain alone any longer, and stole into Sergy’s cabin for
company. He persuaded me to go and lie down again, but it was useless to
think of sleeping, and I gave up the attempt.
July 24th.—A grey dawn is rising; white vapours surround us. Our boat,
pushed by a favourable wind, makes twelve knots an hour, in spite of the
fog. If our captain does not arrive in time at Yokohama, he will have to
pay the sum of 500 dollars as penalty.
July 25th.—The colour of the ocean has changed from dark grey to a very
bright blue. After dull grey days the sky has suddenly brightened up, and
a glittering sun has succeeded the dense haze which enveloped the sea
this morning. After ten days of wind, tossing and tempest, all at once an
absolute calm. Flying fishes are gamboling all around our ship and two
fountains are spouted by whales close by.
July 26th.—To-day is our last Sunday on board. The missionary read
prayers in the saloon. He gave out a hymn and all the passengers sang it
together. He prayed for the President of the United States, for Queen
Victoria and our Emperor, and preached a capital sermon. He said that the
passengers, coming from different parts of the world, had gathered here
to join together in fervent prayer. In a few days, probably, we shall all
have to part for evermore, but in the sight of God we shall always be
united.
July 27th.—The weather is quite warm, one feels that we are nearing
Japan. Half-naked Japs and Chinamen lay stretched on mats in the hold,
fanning themselves lazily, whilst their spouses are occupied in dressing
their hair. They grease it with an ointment which makes it stick
together, and mould it into a solid mass. This marvellous structure is
left without being taken down for a week at a time. These voluntary
martyrs sleep with their necks resting on a sort of wooden footstool
placed under a thin bolster, which supports the neck, not the head,
so that not one hair should be put out of place. They are evidently
acquainted with the French proverb which says, _Pour être belle il faut
souffrir_.
I was told that an old Chinaman, who had died on board on the third day
of our voyage, had been embalmed on the boat. I remember now that the
smell of aromas had spread all over the ship that day. Ancestor worship
is a striking feature of China. All Chinamen insist on being buried in
their native land, and when death overtakes one of them in a foreign
country, his remains are always transported to China to be interred
there, after the Buddhist rites.
CHAPTER LXV
YOKOHAMA
Towards eight o’clock in the morning we saw a dark outline on the
horizon, and made such a fuss over the first lump of sand, as if we were
discovering the North Pole. The Island of Goto, precipitous and craggy,
was the first sight of Japan; as it fades into greyness behind, there
rises far away the high, jagged coast-line of Japan, with mountains in
the far distance. Above the eternal snow-line appeared the cone of the
sacred mountain Fuji-Yama, with its crown of snow. The peak was visible
for a few moments only, retiring again behind the clouds. The Fuji-Yama
is an ancient extinct volcano which sprang up in the year 862 before
Christ. At the present moment there are four active volcanoes in Japan,
which are the cause of frequent earthquakes in this country.
We are surrounded by fishing-smacks, with bronzed fishermen, who wore
nothing above the waist-line and not much below it, their whole costume
consisting only of a narrow belt. We passed two formidable-looking
British cruisers before entering the port of Yokohama, which is rather
a difficult undertaking among all this multitude of vessels encumbering
the harbour of Yokohama. Sampans, in which stood policemen in snow-white
uniform and Japanese quarantine officers scurried towards us. They came
to see if we had any ailing passengers on board.
The _Peru_ comes to anchor at Yokohama Beach. What joy to touch land
after 18 days at sea!
We are met on the quay by the Russian consul, Prince Lobanoff-Rostovski,
accompanied by Mr. Vassilieff, attached to the Russian mission at
Yokohama, and Mr. Omaio, secretary of the Japanese Embassy at St.
Petersburg, who was at home on leave. The Governor of the town has sent
five servants to take care of our luggage, and three carriages were put
at our disposal. We took our places in a victoria drawn by a pair of
ponies, and drove to the Grand Hôtel, through the European quarter of
the city with big brick houses and gay cafés and shops. I was very much
astonished to see little two-wheeled vehicles called rikshas, drawn by
men who trotted between the shafts. They wear a short blue wide-sleeved
jacket, close-fitting blue drawers reaching to the ankles, straw sandals
and a white mushroom-shaped hat, bearing their name and number; a blue
rag hangs on their shoulder to wipe their perspiration.
We occupied an apartment of two rooms with a balcony at the Grand Hôtel
for four Mexican dollars ahead = two American dollars. It is peculiar
that the Mexican dollar, though much larger, and containing therefore
more silver than the American dollar, is worth only the half. Why is it
so? A mystery of the Exchange Office, I suppose.
The damp heat of Yokohama is very trying. It is well that there are no
glasses in the windows; in the frames and above half of the door are
blinds, which let in the soft tropical air and produce an agreeable
draught.
We are besieged by tiresomely polite Japanese and Chinese furnishers,
tailors, shoe-makers and other purveyors with names almost impossible to
pronounce for European tongues. They all bowed a great deal, and thrust
their advertisements in our hands. I could not resist the temptation of
purchasing a gorgeously embroidered pink satin thing with long, wide
sleeves, which can serve as a wonderful tea-dress. I did not recognise
myself when I passed before the mirror arrayed in that costume.
We went down to dinner at table-d’hôte and entered a large hall, full
of smartly-dressed ladies in low gowns and gentlemen in evening dress.
We were served by Japanese boys dressed in kimonos, who spoke very good
English. The head-butler is a Chinaman who had his pig-tail cut off. He
told us that he could never put his foot in China again, because he would
be beheaded for having changed his national head-gear. Human life seems
to be regarded rather lightly in the Celestial Empire!
After dinner we went out on the verandah for a breath of fresh air. The
verandah, covered with straw mats and furnished with bamboo chairs, was
full of loungers, Englishmen mostly, reclining upon their seats with
their feet rather higher than their heads, their legs stretched wide
apart and resting upon the arms of their rocking-chairs, in order to feel
cooler.
28th July.—I woke up in the middle of the night with a suppressed scream
and jumped up in my bed. I had been dreaming I was at sea, and the
engines of the _Peru_ had come to a sudden stand-still. “Why are the
engines not working?” I asked Sergy in an alarmed tone. After he had
comforted me and I had pinched myself to be sure I was not dreaming, I
fell fast asleep again.
It was an agreeable surprise to wake up and find land all around me.
To-day is the birthday of His Majesty the Emperor of Japan. At daybreak
I heard the beat of the drum from an English cruiser lying on the Quay,
a warship bound to Siam where a mutiny has recently broken out. Two
American cruisers deafened us with artillery discharges. Their admiral,
who has put up at our hotel, has sent a military band to play during
tiffin. In the afternoon Sergy went to visit a military Japanese school
where the officers are taught to inculcate, by suggestion, bravery to
their soldiers, and how to vanquish, at the same time, their enemies.
I sat by the window awaiting my husband’s return, and looked through
the chinks of a blind, whence I could see without being seen. Life over
here is all new and strange to me. Everything seems elfish—men, trees,
houses. Flat-faced aborigines patter along noisily upon wooden clogs,
dressed in the garments of old Japan. They seem all alike; when you’ve
seen one, you’ve seen all. The women are clad in gaily flowered kimonos,
girded by a wide sash tied into a gigantic bow, their hair beautifully
dressed with mock-flowers and combs and pins, their feet placed on small
planes with two little pieces of white wood, in front and behind, just
like small stilts. The married women are recognised by their shaved
eyebrows and blackened teeth with oxide of iron. They indulge in this
fearful custom in the view of alienating all masculine admiration, and
remaining faithful to their husbands. But do their husbands remain
faithful to their wives, their virtue being so unattractive? That is
the question! The Japanese girls grow fast under the Southern sun, and
many of them, at the age when little girls in Europe play at dolls,
are married materfamilias. I see philosophical-looking babies, with a
button of hair at the top of their head, strapped on their mother’s back
by a scarf, their bald heads falling backwards as though they would
drop off. I am unable to recall any single occasion on which I saw a
Japanese baby smile. Little children straddle astride on the hip of
bigger children, who run after the passers-by with unencumbered hand
outstretched. Artisans and tradesmen in blue cotton tunics, with the
description of their trades printed in white on their backs, were setting
their wares on the pavement, where they thought themselves most sure of
attention. Vendors of green cocoa-nuts, slices of melon and sweetmeats,
and victual merchants expose for sale in the streets along the walls,
on planks, grasshoppers fried in oil and other nasty things. Just in
front of our windows is the stand of the rikshas. I see a porter, his
face hidden under an immense straw hat, advance towards the riksha-men,
stooping under the burden of two cases, at the bottom of which very hot
cinders keep the dishes hot. The portions, put into small saucers, are
microscopic. The riksha-men, sitting on their heels on the ground, thrust
their food into their mouth by the aid of two little sticks.
After lunch we got into rikshas and went for a ride through the streets
of Yokohama. The first sensation of having a human being for a horse
is not agreeable, but one soon gets accustomed to it. There was a place
for one person only in each riksha. Our riksha-men moved briskly in
files towards the native quarters of the town, through narrow and dark
streets. On each hand was a row of toy-houses mostly unpainted, with the
first storeys all open to the street, each standing in a little square
of a toy-like garden. We hurried on between two long lines of painted
paper lanterns, a festoon of blazing rubies in the intense darkness that
surrounds them, suspended before low-thatched shops, constructed chiefly
of bamboo, the front wall all doorway with hanging draperies, blue and
white, covered with Japanese lettering, before which stood platforms
heaped high with tropical fruit. The air was full of that sweet and
subtle odour which one has long learned to associate with things imported
from Japan. My runner trotted as fast as a horse; I was rather frightened
at first and tried in fantastical language to moderate his ardour. Our
riksha-men stopped before a fountain surrounded by dwarf-trees, and
after having quenched their thirst, my man-horse began to run with such
a frenzy that I began to cry out for help, fearing to be upset. After
a quarter of an hour of such mad driving, we arrived at the door of a
native theatre lit up with pink and yellow lamps. Our drivers set the
shafts of their vehicles on the ground and mopped their faces with a blue
towel; their clothing was drenched with perspiration. We entered a long
narrow corridor, and came into a hall lighted by a few oil lamps. The
audience consisted of whole families: grand-parents, parents and children
of all ages, sitting on the floor on mats. All had their dinners with
them, laid on little trays. Each place is separated by a bamboo stick
that must be stepped over. A boy rang the bell which was to announce the
signal for the beginning of the performance. The musicians began to play
upon strange instruments, which made uncanny noises of a sort to make
one’s flesh creep. We seated ourselves on the floor of our so-called
box. The whole representation consisted of a troupe of acrobats who went
energetically through their performance and rolled about the stage upon
big india-rubber balls.
In a theatre on the opposite side of the street, a parody was played on
the ancient Japanese sovereigns. The theatre had no walls; it was simply
supported by columns, and all around was a large crowd struggling to see
what took place without paying for the sight. The walls were covered with
pictures representing different war scenes between Japs and Chinamen, in
which the Chinese were running away and the Japs triumphed all along the
line. In Japan the plays have usually fourteen, fifteen acts, and last
sometimes two days. The men assume all the female parts.
We ended our nocturnal rambles in rather a fickle manner. We were trotted
briskly up to a tea-house, where we were received with many bows by
pretty musumés (waiting-girls). After having removed our shoes at the
entrance hall, we were conducted up a steep and creaking staircase to
the room where the “geishas” dance, and where mats and carpets were
the only furniture. We seated ourselves with our feet tucked under us
on cushions that the musumés had set in a half circle on the mats, and
waited patiently for the appearance of the geishas—dancing girls—who were
occupied elsewhere just then. Presently a musumé slipped in, bearing
a tray with all sorts of eatables, and set it before us. There were
lobsters and raw-fish, and evil-looking vegetables, and nasty sweetmeats,
and green tea in microscopic cups, and unspeakable horror, very strong
and salt. The little musumés waited upon us silently and swiftly. The tea
that one of them handed me made me feel sick, and after one disgusting
mouthful, when I felt myself unobserved, I poured the contents of my cup
outside the window on the neighbouring roof. I had cramps, being obliged
to sit so long cross-legged, like the rest of the company, expecting the
geishas. It was getting late, and having no more patience to wait for
them we returned to our hotel.
The next morning Sergy went with the first train to Tokio, the metropolis
of Japan, which is three-quarters of an hour’s drive by railway from
Yokohama, to call upon Mr. Khitrovo, the Russian Ambassador to Japan.
Three days later we left for Tokio, where my husband went to pay his
respects to the Emperor of Japan. We called for rikshas and drove off
full gallop to the railway station. In the waiting-room we saw a placard
stuck up on one side of the wall, bearing the inscription in English
“First-Class,” and on the opposite wall was written “Second-Class,”
without any partition at all. All the passengers were Japs, sitting
shoeless on their heels on the sofas in monkey-poses.
We took seats in a large car of American pattern, with wooden benches
around and a door at each end, and tore through the country with few
pauses. The road from Yokohama to Tokio is very picturesque, the shrubs
are very green and dense, and the mimosa in full bloom. It is not for
nothing that Japan is called “The Garden of Asia.” But everything is
Lilliputian. We see on our right tiny groves and dwarfed trees. We roll
now through maize and rice plantations. Cottages with rush-cane roofs
peep out from between the rich vegetation.
CHAPTER LXVI
TOKIO
On arriving at Tokio we drove in a splendid landau sent to meet us by the
Japanese minister of Foreign Affairs, to the Oriental Hotel, where we
took an apartment of several rooms. We had barely time to take a little
rest, when we received the visit of our Ambassador and the Japanese Naval
Minister.
After dinner we sat on the verandah. The city lay in utter darkness
before us; the streets were only lighted here and there with paper
lanterns carried by the passers-by.
Our Ambassador invited us to his beautiful house close to Tokio, to show
us geishas, whose dancing was held to have no equal in Japan. We drove
in rikshas through a lovely avenue of cherry trees. When we arrived at
the Ambassador’s residence we were shown into a large hall hung with many
rows of weapons of every description, rifles, revolvers, yataghans, etc.,
etc. Against the walls stood suits of armour. After having admired the
beautiful collection, we entered another hall where four geishas awaited
us. They were bare-legged, bare-armed, and with very much painted faces,
dressed in bright-coloured kimonos. These little bits of womanhood looked
as if they wanted to play at dolls; the eldest of the geishas was barely
fifteen. Three musician-girls, arrayed in dark-blue kimonos, were seated
cross-legged on the matting. They began to sing melodies resembling
the mewing of enamoured cats on the roofs, to the accompaniment of the
samissen, a kind of guitar of three strings. The dancing-girls had no
more space than an ordinary square rug to dance upon. They were sitting
in a circle; one of them rose, and saluting us to the ground, crossed
her arms across her chest and began to act a mimic of a blind girl. Her
performance could scarcely be called a dance, groping about the matting
with her eyes closed. I found her companion’s dances rather disappointing
also. Their arms twisted and they glided without their body making any
movement; a few shuffling steps to-and-fro, a wave of shapely olive
bangled arms, all to the nasal twangling of a hideous accompaniment. I
began to yawn behind my hand and looked longingly at the clock, and did
all I could to keep awake. I should have dropped off to sleep certainly
if tea and cakes hadn’t come to my rescue. The geishas gathered in a
group round us and sat at our feet. They looked at Mrs. Serebriakoff and
me as at some object of extraordinary interest. Opening wide their little
eyes they examined and tried on bracelets and rings, uttering funny
little cries. It was nearly daylight when we returned to Tokio.
The next day my husband, in full military uniform, drove to the Imperial
Palace, accompanied by his suite, to be presented to the Emperor of
Japan. He returned delighted with his visit to the Taushi-Sama, the Son
of Heaven. The word Mikado, by which the Emperor is known in Europe, is
never used in Japan. Mikado is an ancient designation which has passed
out of date in remote antiquity. The Emperor wore a uniform of European
cut, with a Russian order on it, and the Empress was resplendent in a
dress that she had ordered from Paris, with the Russian order of St.
Catherine worn across her shoulder. The Imperial couple presented my
husband with their portraits and their autographs.
On the following day my husband was invited to lunch with the Emperor’s
uncle, Prince Arissougava. In the afternoon we went to visit the Buddhist
Temple of Shiba, to see the tombs of the “shioguns,” the ancient Emperors
of Japan. Two bonzes (Buddhist priests), enveloped in black gauze,
followed by a big dog, served as guides to us. The Temple is surrounded
by a magnificent shady park of camphor and other aromatic trees. We
inhaled with delight the perfume of myrtle and orange blossoms. We found
our way into a courtyard open to the sky, where a fountain played over
a marble basin. Beyond is a long, low building, the sides are simple
wooden screens. It is the Temple. Men and women kneel and pray before
the entrance of the Temple. On each side stand two monster figures,
demoniac, with eyes of fury, the guardians of holy things. The custom of
offerings is very peculiar in Japan; pilgrims cast their offerings in a
box destined for the purpose, placed before the threshold, consisting
of sheets of gilt paper or small coloured incensed tapers. The very
poorest throw only a handful of rice into the box. I saw piles of straw
sandals thrown at the feet of a huge marble Buddha, seated cross-legged
on a bronze pedestal, and was told that it was the modest offering of
riksha-men, begging Buddha to grant them strong legs. At the door of the
Temple we slipped off our shoes and put on a pair of sandals, for in
Japan one may not enter the House of God with shoes on. A white-robed
priest with a shaven head appeared and motioned us, with a bow, to
enter. The screens slide open and an immense hall is before us, full
of unfamiliar sweet smell of Japanese incense, produced by strings of
incensed paper which pilgrims burn before their idols. We pass through a
great red gateway of the sacred enclosure and enter the mortuary shrines
of Setsugu, one of the Shioguns, full of bronze lanterns, which are
offerings to the dead from their royal relatives.
About an hour from Tokio stands an Orthodox Cathedral built on a hill.
The archbishop, who was by birth Prince Kassatkin Rostovski before he
turned monk, has for thirty years already propagated Christianity in
this country. He has converted a great number of Japs and has built
many schools. In one of these schools Japanese girls are taught the
art of painting Russian ikons (holy images). We went to vespers to the
cathedral, and all got into rikshas, each with two men, one to pull and
the other to push. The road rises steeply to the church porch and our
riksha-men had a very fatiguing ascent, perspiration was pouring down
their faces. From afar we heard church bells ringing. When we entered the
large cathedral, we saw a great number of natives; the men stood grouped
on the right side and the women on the left. The priest, a converted
Jap, in orthodox clerical attire, officiated in Japanese language. The
scholars of the Orthodox school sang in chorus; I could make out only one
word, “Amen.” When the service was over the archbishop asked us to come
and have a cup of tea in his drawing-room.
Next day was Sunday, we went again to the cathedral to hear mass. It was
the archbishop who officiated this time and also in Japanese. During the
Holy Sacrament he said a few words in Russian to us. The baptised natives
were sitting on the floor on their heels. I saw women suckling their
babies, and was very much astonished when a little Jap came running to
his mother, and springing suddenly on her lap, began to suck her with
great appetite. We invited the archbishop to dine with us at the hotel.
He was not a bit a bigot, he ate meat and listened with pleasure to the
sounds of a waltz played by an orchestra during dinner-time.
Mr. Vassilieff put himself at our disposal during our stay at Tokio.
He had been present at the attempt on the life of our Emperor during
his voyage to Japan when he was heir to the throne. He was driving in a
riksha with the Prince of Greece and a numerous suite in the outskirts
of Kioto. Mr. Vassilieff, who was of the party, saw a native policeman
rush sword in hand towards the Grand-Duke, at which his riksha-man gave
him a kick behind, and the next moment the ruffian was sprawling on the
ground. The Prince of Greece fell on him with his stick and struck him
full and square on the head. The man died in prison a year after, and the
riksha-man who had defended the Grand-Duke has received a medal and a
life annuity of a thousand roubles from the Russian Government.
On the day that my husband and his companions had gone to Nikko, we
ladies went out shopping. We stared into the shop windows, being in
search of curios, and bought right and left with reckless extravagance.
The merchants greeted us with a number of quick, jerky little bows. We
returned laden with parcels, and the result of our struggle in the curio
shops were strewn all over our saloon. Sergy, on returning from Nikko,
had to pay great quantities of bills. The merchants, having received
their money, bowed so low that it seemed as though they were crawling on
all fours.
We were beginning to be tired of Tokio, and on the 5th August we started
to Kobe. The weather was grey and dull, the crows croaked over us
foretelling rain. The road to Kobe reminded me of the Caucasus by its
grand and wild landscape. We entered continually into tunnels. From afar
we heard the splashing of the ocean, and in a short time our train ran
along the shore. Suddenly we were caught in a terrible storm; the ocean
beat violently against the beach. We were told that the typhoon, that
terror of seamen, had just passed over. When a ship is caught in the
centre of the furious whirlwind, she is lost for ever. Our train fought
courageously with the hurricane. The wind rattled the windows and seemed
to threaten to overturn our car. It won’t be agreeable on sea to-morrow!
There was nothing to be got to eat at the stations during the whole run.
At one of the stoppages we bought from an ambulant vendor an earthen cup
and a teapot with hot water, the whole for one cent. At every stoppage we
thought it was Kobe and that we had to get out.
CHAPTER LXVII
KOBE
The train ran into a station illuminated by electricity; it was Kobe at
last! The Russian Consul’s interpreter came to meet us at the railway
station, but we didn’t hear the words through the noise of the gale. The
only thing we made out was that we couldn’t start for Nagasaki to-morrow
on account of the weather. We’ll have to wait here until the sea gets
calmer. A French ship which had left Kobe in the morning had to return,
being unable to continue her voyage.
We drove in rikshas to the Oriental Hotel through dark and empty streets.
Captain Andreieff, the commander of the “Mandchour,” a gunboat put at our
disposal as far as Vladivostock, came to call upon us; we kept him for
luncheon. It was awfully hot during the meal and a boy pulled a “punkah,”
a gigantic linen fan running the whole length of the dining-room, hanging
from the ceiling and moved by a cord.
In the afternoon we again visited the curio shops, where we saw a lot of
pretty things, whilst half-naked boys, enveloped only in yellow gauze,
were fanning us with wide palm fans, and flourished a feather-duster
to keep the mosquitoes off. The master of one of the shops, stout and
phlegmatic, sat perched on a high seat, his hands hidden in the long
sleeves of his kimono. He rose when we entered, bowing and muttering
something we didn’t understand. He ordered a pretty Japanese woman to
bring us cooling drinks. When Mme. Beurgier asked him, through the
interpreter, if the pretty creature was his wife, the fatty replied
curtly: “She is my mistress.”
After having finished our hunt for curios we returned to the hotel just
in time for dinner, and went to bed early, having to start at break of
day. About the middle of the night the alarm-bell rang. I quickly got out
of bed and ran out on to the gallery where I found myself face to face
with a scared English lady in a scanty night attire, who told me that a
fire had broken out in the neighbouring house. It was soon extinguished
and we returned tranquillised to our beds.
CHAPTER LXVIII
ACROSS THE INLAND SEA
August 6th.—After coffee, we drove to the pier where a steam-launch,
with an officer and ten sailors sent by the “Mandchour,” carried us off
to the ship. We were received by the commander and all the officers in
full dress assembled upon the quarter-deck. One hundred and sixty sailors
were ranged along the deck, on which stood fourteen cannons. After the
commander had presented all his officers to my husband, we were shown
to our cabins. A tent made of flags belonging to different nations was
set up aft in which we were to have dinner, but the weather changing
suddenly, a black cloud appeared on the horizon, and soon a violent storm
burst out. The sailors put on their water-proofs and began to execute
all kind of manœuvres with the masts and riggings. We left Kobe only at
two o’clock of the morning. Just at the starting there had been a rather
bad moment. Suddenly there was a shrill whistle followed by a tremendous
crash. Mercy on me! What can it be? There was a moment of panic, and
everybody rushed on deck. It appeared to be the steersman who did not
make out the desperate shouts of the commander of the ship giving him
the signal to back, and so he continued to advance, knocking against a
Japanese cruiser, on which they had already began to beat the alarm.
It was a nice beginning for the voyage! Happily our boat had not been
seriously injured, and after the slight damage was repaired, we entered
the Inland Sea.
August 7th.—I occupy with Mrs. Serebriakoff the commander’s cabin. Early
in the morning the officer on service had to come in to consult the
chronometer. After breakfast we took a look over the ship. The commander
ordered the sailors to show us how they hung their hammocks, for the
night. During that operation a big dog, belonging to the crew, who had an
aversion to the officers of the ship, cunningly contrived to bite their
legs. On the lower deck we saw a group of runaway convicts who were being
transported back to Siberia to the Island of Saghalien. They belonged
to the Asiatic tribe of “Kurds” (fire worshippers). They were chained
together two and two, and guarded by two sentinels. The “Kurds” seemed to
be taking their imprisonment with amazing apathy. The presence on the
boat of these evil-looking men, with dark, ferocious faces, will not give
me a calm night.
August 8th.—After tea I mounted on deck and stretched myself in a
rocking-chair. At midday the officer on duty came to report to my husband
the distance we had run since yesterday. We dined on deck under the
tent with the commander and two officers who had been invited to the
commander’s table. It was a custom on board for a certain number of
officers each night to be invited to dinner. Towards nine o’clock a bell
called to evening prayers, after which we went to bed.
August 9th.—At ten o’clock in the morning on the centre-deck, before the
image of St. Nicholas, the patron of the mariners, the sailors gathered
for prayers, and sang hymns in chorus. After lunch a sailor photographed
our group surrounded by all the ship’s officers, after which the officers
invited me to take part in a game consisting in throwing rope-rings on to
ciphers drawn in chalk on the deck’s floor, I proved very clumsy, making
my first ring fly overboard.
CHAPTER LXIX
NAGASAKI
August 10th.—Towards five o’clock in the morning our vessel glided into
the verdure-framed harbour of Nagasaki, a dream of loveliness. High
on the three sides rose steep green hills, clothed with forests of
palm-trees. On our left the port stretched out, covered with a multitude
of junks. Here is the home of Madame Chrysanthemum!
The town of Nagasaki glitters in the sunshine in the distance, buried in
verdure. We exchange the habitual salutes with the Japanese men-of-war.
One of them had hoisted the Russian flag. I sought refuge on the
commander’s bridge, where the cannonade was less deafening.
A Japanese officer in full uniform, came in a canoe to welcome and bring
us on shore. On the quay the Russian consul, Mr. Kostileff, was expecting
us. We climbed up to the Hôtel Belle-Vue by narrow stone steps cut in
the rock. The landlady, a respectable Frenchwoman of about forty, came
hastening to receive the guests the steamer had brought her.
The hotel is surrounded by galleries on which all the bedrooms open. Our
windows look out on the gulf, studded with a multitude of ships. Two
British steamers are leaving for America to-night. I do not envy them!
A boy, speaking a few words of Russian, brought in tea with excellent
cream and cakes. At Nagasaki the close neighbourhood of Russia is felt, a
great number of natives speak our language.
I took refuge in my room from tailors, dressmakers and merchants of every
kind, who besieged us the whole day smiling and curtseying at every
step and eyeing each other mistrustfully. Here is a thick man entering
our apartment with cat-like step, who with much drawing of breath,
and bowing as low as his obesity permitted him, introduces himself
laconically “Tortoise-shell man,” which means that he dealt in wares
made of tortoise-shell. When he bowed himself off, another Jap, selling
post-cards and pictures, comes in announcing himself “Photograph-man,”
and so on.
We asked our Consul to dine with us. We were disturbed during the meal by
the announcement that two sailors from the “Mandchour” were missed at
the evening roll-call. Mr. Kostileff had to get up and make inquiries in
the town.
We continue to have no news of the _Nijni-Novgorod_, the ship on which my
husband’s aide-de-camp had embarked with all our household. We asked the
consul to cable to Singapore and got the same reply: “No news.” We begin
to get very anxious.
August 11th.—The rain falls in torrents, and the state of the sky does
not promise improvement of the weather for the moment. The tempest-flag
is hoisted in the port. Impossible to go out to sea to-morrow!
August 12th.—The sea is much calmer and we sail from Nagasaki to-night.
Before embarking we went for a drive in rikshas and met nearly all the
officers from the “Mandchour.” By night as we approached our ship in a
canoe, our rower shouted out the password “An officer,” to the question,
“Who rows?” of the sailor on duty.
The deck was lighted with different coloured lanterns in our honour. I
escaped to my cabin whilst my husband was being greeted by the ship’s
officers.
CHAPTER LXX
ACROSS THE JAPANESE SEA
August 13th.—We were anchored in the bay the whole night waiting for
the break of day, and left Nagasaki at six in the morning. The day is
very fine. I lay comfortably stretched in my chair on the deck, covered
all over with an awning to ameliorate the ardour of the sun. The crew
was exercising on the upper deck. I hear the command of “Fire!” (powder
charges). A second “False alarm” was rung, “Man overboard!” someone
cried, and in the space of three minutes a life-boat was equipped and
lowered, manned by two sailors who brought up triumphantly to the officer
on duty the huge club, which represented the shipwrecked man.
August 14th.—The barometer has fallen. The wind is blowing very hard,
and the sea is swelling rapidly. I remained shut up in my cabin all day
stretched inertia in my narrow berth; I see the ceiling rise and descend.
A very disagreeable feeling indeed!
August 15th.—The sea is something frightful. The wind moans and our ship
pitches and groans as if she was going to fall in pieces.
CHAPTER LXXI
SIBERIA
VLADIVOSTOCK
August 17th.—To-day is our last day on board. We pass before the bays of
Ulysses, Diomedes, Patrocles, and Ajax. Sergy came to wake me at dawn;
the coasts of Siberia were in sight, and the lighthouse on the Island
of Askold came to view. After we had seen nothing but waves for so many
days, it was exciting to see land again. We advanced slowly in order not
to arrive before the appointed hour, nine o’clock to Vladivostock. My
husband’s standard is hoisted on the _Mandchour_. The commander comes to
take leave of me and offers me as a souvenir of our voyage, a beautiful
bouquet tied with a broad blue ribbon bearing in big gilded letters:
Kobe, Nagasaki, Vladivostock,—the three ports we had touched on the
_Mandchour_.
My husband went to put on his uniform. When I mounted on the commander’s
bridge I saw him looking at the coast with his field-glasses. The
commander and all his officers were also wearing full uniform.
The town of Vladivostock, built in a semi-circle, is bordered by a chain
of mountains. We are entering the port. Salvoes of artillery are fired
from the men-of-war; military bands played on these cruisers until
we were out of hearing distance. The Japanese men-of-war saluted us,
while a band played our anthem. We stopped the engines to drift by them
slowly. We pass now between the Russian and Japanese fleets, ranged at
the entrance of the port. The citadel furnished with 190 guns, saluted
us with 21 cannon-shots; the _Mandchour_ responded with deafening
discharges. On all the cruisers the men stood in rows along the yards. We
cross the “Bosphorus,” and drop anchor in the “Golden Horn,” recalling
Constantinople’s “Golden Horn.” Admiral Engelm, the chief of the port
arrived on board in a steam-launch, accompanied by a numerous suite. We
saw another canoe approaching, carrying Admiral Tirtoff the chief of
the Russian fleet cruising at Vladivostock, with a Japanese Admiral.
As soon as the welcomes were over, we got into a steam-launch with the
General-Governor’s flag hoisted on it, which took us to the shore.
My husband was received on the pier, carpeted with a red cloth, by all
the military and civil authorities of the town. We were bowing to right
and left as we proceeded between a living hedge of officers and smart
ladies. The soldiers of the garrison saluted Sergy with loud hurrahs.
The Mayor of the town came up and presented my husband, according to the
Russian custom, with “Bread and Salt” on a beautiful silver dish, and
pronounced a long welcoming discourse. Chinese and Corean deputations
also presented “Bread and Salt.” I received a whole lot of bouquets tied
with ribbons bearing welcoming inscriptions.
After my husband had thanked the authorities for their warm welcome,
a “troika” (a carriage with three horses) was brought up. The horses
were rather troublesome and I was quite foolishly terrified to drive
in the carriage; having a nervous dread of horses, after the accident
on the day of our marriage, when our horses took fright and bolted,
and nearly did away with us. I entreated Sergy to proceed on foot to
General Unterberger’s house (the governor of the town). We were escorted
through the streets in triumph. Vladivostock had put itself into
festival array; flags hung from the house-tops, in the town and from
the masts in the harbour. The troops formed a wall from the pier to the
governor’s house. We advanced to the sound of marches between two rows
of soldiers, amidst peals of loud hurrahs. I was somewhat dazzled by all
these manifestations. We marched now between rows of scholars belonging
to different schools of Khabarovsk. The pupils of the young ladies’
gymnasium curtseyed to me as we passed. One of the smallest girls came up
to me and presented me with an enormous bouquet, tied with a pink ribbon,
whilst the head-mistress delivered a little speech to me. I stood there
at a loss what to say and blushed perfectly scarlet, which was very silly
of me. I could not maintain my dignity at all, and felt for the moment
tongue-tied.
On our way we entered the cathedral full of people. The Bishop in a few
hearty words bade us welcome to Vladivostock. Many curious glances were
turned on us and it was a veritable torture to me to be stared at like
that.
At last we arrived at the Governor’s house. Mrs. Unterberger welcomed me
with a bouquet in her hand, and took me to my apartment. Six rooms had
been allotted to the rest of our company at the house of Mr. Langeletti,
a rich merchant from Hamburg.
I hadn’t time to rest and was called down to the dining-room to be
present at a Te Deum of thanksgiving for the happy termination of our
voyage across the treacherous Japanese sea. There were many people in
the room and no end of presentations and exchanging of greetings, after
which my husband went to pay his official call on the admirals, who
received him with cannon-shots when he stepped on board. At night the
town was beautifully illuminated in our honour.
I awoke in the middle of the night with a heavy heart; feeling myself
expatriated and shut up in a golden cage: I cried bitterly. What would I
have not given to be back at St. Petersburg again!
The next day a grand dinner was given by General Unterberger. About sixty
guests sat at a long table richly decorated with flowers and silver;
a band of the Siberian navy played during the repast. The dinner was
very gay; numerous toasts were drunk. General Unterberger raising his
glass drank to my health and the whole company rose to touch my glass.
The Japanese Admiral addressed in flowery native language a long speech
to me, translated rather badly by his interpreter. I was crimson with
the effort to control my laughter and bit my lips to blood. I did not
venture to look at Mrs. Serebriakoff who was also assailed with a fit of
giggling, and kept my eyes on my plate.
I got an invitation to a ball given on the cruiser _Admiral Nakhimoff_,
but found a plausible pretext not to accept it, preferring to slumber in
my bed, lulled to sleep and wafted into the land of dreams by the soft
music of a military band played on the cruiser, which floated faintly
from afar through the night air; there came to me through the window the
faint strains of a waltz which personified to me just then the sense of
my favourite waltz “Loin du Bal.”
The next day I visited the young ladies’ gymnasium of which I am Honorary
President. I was welcomed at the entrance by Mrs. Unterberger and the
Vice-Governor of Vladivostock. The directress of the gymnasium presented
to me all the members of her administration. After which the pupils
presented me with a beautiful embroidered serviette of their own work.
August 22nd.—To-day Sergy started for Nikolskoe, a large military
settlement above 150 miles away from Vladivostock to review the troops
and be present, at the same time, at the inauguration of the railway-line
which is to join Vladivostock and Khabarovsk. Nikolskoe is inhabited by
Russian colonists, who live well, each family possessing above 100 acres
of land. The troops quartering in the surroundings of Nikolskoe consist
of three batteries of artillery, a brigade of riflemen, five batteries
containing a thousand men each, and a brigade of cavalry. I was also
expected at Nikolskoe and the officers of the garrison begged Sergy to
transmit to me a beautiful bouquet.
All day long streams of visitors came; I felt a stranger among them, and
so lonely without Sergy! One soon grows old here. One of the visitors, a
colonel with a very wrinkled face, was only forty years of age but would
have passed for seventy easily. I do hope we won’t make a long stay here,
not only because of home-sickness but also from coquetry.
We had to pay some calls, driving in a beautiful “troika,” belonging
to General Unterberger. We made a great sensation in the streets. Our
cortège was triumphal; the Prefect of the Police drove before us and a
numerous escort of Cossacks galloped behind our carriage. We were cheered
by the crowd on our way; hats and caps flew in the air. My neck was
nearly dislocated, having to bow right and left all the time.
The town of Vladivostock is scattered about on hillocks; up one street
we went and down another. Half the shops of the town are Chinese; they
are in constant competition with the Russian shops, taking away all their
customers. A Russian tailor came to ask my husband to remove into another
place his Chinese neighbour, who was a dangerous rival to him on account
of his low prices. Certainly Sergy did not accede to his request.
The climate of Vladivostock is extremely damp; the perpetual fogs act
perniciously upon the nerves; the percentage of suicide is high and
cases of madness are very frequent here. I am very happy that my desire
to help the afflicted poor is beginning to be fulfilled. At my request
the mayor of the town has collected five thousand roubles in the space
of a few days to build an asylum for lunatics. One bed has already been
established bearing my name.
The service of the post leaves very much to be desired. We have received
a letter from Russia dated six months ago; the missive had arrived first
at Khabarovsk, but as at that time there was no communication between
these two towns, on account of the bad state of the roads, this letter
had returned to Russia to be sent back again to Vladivostock via Japan.
The admirals and the commander of the _Nakhimoff_ came to ask me to fix
a day for the ball that they wanted to give at the marine club in my
honour. In order to make it more attractive to me the marine officers
have decided to open it by a concert. I was received like a queen at the
ball. Admiral Engelm gave me his arm, leading me across the brilliantly
illuminated ball-room. I was loaded with two enormous bouquets, rather
heavy to carry. When I entered the crowded hall all eyes were turned on
me, and I struggled with an overwhelming inclination towards instant
flight. As soon as we got to our places in the first row, the concert
began. It lasted about two hours, after which I mounted on an estrade,
and glued to my chair, decided to remain as looker-on at the ball, when
I saw Admiral Engelm coming up to me as a spokesman from the marine
officers, to ask if I might accord them a dance, but I declined the
invitation, with thanks, and passed my time in looking at the dancers,
eating bonbons. It was near daylight when we returned home.
Bad news has been received regarding the ship _Nijni-Novgorod_. A
telegram came from Mascat from the captain of the ship saying that they
had encountered a terrible storm which had driven them out of their
course. They had been forced to take refuge in an Arabian port, and thus
the ship can’t be due at Vladivostock before October, when the roads are
blocked for weeks, and all communication stopped between Vladivostock and
Khabarovsk.
Mrs. Unterberger is awfully nice to me, and full of kind attentions.
She proposes drives and boat-parties, but it was only Mme. Beurgier who
profited by them. She went one day to lay a wreath of flowers on the tomb
of a young officer of the French navy, who had been murdered recently in
the outskirts of Vladivostock by a convict, who profited by his uniform
to run away.
Sergy went in a steam-launch along the Gulf to visit the villages
inhabited by Russian colonists. I had made myself quite ill by this time
with the thought that we could not expect our household and things before
Christmas. I felt awfully discouraged thinking of all the privations
we should have to endure. The path of a General Governor’s wife is not
always strewn with roses. How many thorns there are for a few flowers!
I can never reconcile myself with the life in this wretched land. I
suffered miseries of home-sickness, and had the desire of a caged bird to
fly. I dream only of going back to St. Petersburg, but it is foolish of
me, I may as well ask for the moon. I, who from my very infancy had only
to stretch my hand to gather all the joys of life, was I going to doubt
my lucky star now?
A doctor who had the reputation of making a good diagnosis had to be
summoned to me. After having tapped me here and there, he said I was a
bundle of nerves and prescribed a gayer mode of life for me, nothing more.
The day after Sergy’s departure there was a tremendous storm at sea,
destroying innumerable fishing-boats. I passed an anxious night listening
to the roar of the wind outside, threatening to overturn the house. The
windows rattled in their frames, and doors were burst open. Mme. Beurgier
came in the morning with terrible stories of damage done by the storm.
Boats were torn from their moorings and blown on to the land, and a great
number of Chinese junks were tossed on the shore. A score of soldiers,
who were crossing the bay on a raft to bring hay from the opposite shore,
were obliged to drop anchor not far from the coast, in order to await
for the tempest to abate. They were caught by the storm and their raft
was torn away and shattered to pieces against the rocks. At dawn, eight
soldiers only succeeded in landing, after having swum on the wrecks for
many miles; all the rest had perished. And my husband was out at sea at
that moment! I was beside myself with anxiety.
I didn’t expect Sergy before three days, and taking up a piece of
needlework, sat in a restless mood talking with Mrs. Unterberger, when
suddenly I heard the report of a gun, followed by a second report. It was
my husband who was returning to Vladivostock sooner than we expected.
On the 30th August, our Emperor’s namesday, my husband reviewed the
troops on the Square, surrounded by a crowd of officers of all ranks. The
soldiers passed before our windows with an even step. After the review
Sergy gave a lunch to all the military and civil authorities of the town.
In the evening we went to a garden-party given in the Admiralty Grounds,
with all sorts of games, and so on.
CHAPTER LXXII
OUR JOURNEY TO KHABAROVSK
September 2nd.—We leave Vladivostock with its mists and fogs to-day.
I, for my part, shall be heartily glad when we can be comfortably by
ourselves at Khabarovsk.
A great number of officers accompanied us as far as the boat on the
Soungatcha river. We had a brilliant leave-taking. I received so
many bouquets that I almost disappeared amongst the flowers. The
railway-station was decked out with flags. A great crowd had assembled
on the platform which was covered with red cloth; a special train, with
a dinner-car attached to it, was awaiting us. Two sentinels were placed
before our saloon-carriage. Whistles are given to signal our departure.
The train steamed out of the station amid the ringing cheers of the
crowd. Standing at the window we answer the salutes and hand-wavings. Our
train crept along at the pace of a snail, making only twenty miles an
hour. Our way leads along the sea-shore for some time, and then we enter
a wide plain, disturbing the tiger with the locomotive.
At the first stoppage we are received in pomp. A triumphal arch has been
raised, bearing our initials. A deputation of inhabitants came up to my
husband and presented him with “Bread and Salt,” and the workmen of the
railway-line handed me a bouquet almost too big to carry.
We move very cautiously and slowly, because yesterday the train which had
been run on trial, went off the rails in this place. We see a number of
mansas, Chinese workmen, repairing the line.
At five o’clock we arrived at the point at which the railway ended and
stopped at Nikolskoe, a large military station. We were four hours late.
Dr. Pokrovski and Mr. Koulomsine take from here the boat on the lake
Khanka. They will await our arrival at a place called the “Third Post.”
We chose to go by way of the carriage road, which will prolong our
journey for at least a day or two.
My husband was received on the platform by General Kopanski, the
commander of the troops, who drove us to his abode, situated about eight
miles distant from the railway station. A group of peasants were awaiting
my husband on the square before the church to offer up their petitions,
very queer ones some of them. An old woman went on her knees holding her
request on the top of her head, in which she asked Sergy to indicate to
her the shortest way to Jerusalem! Our drive through the village caused a
great sensation. The inhabitants stood on their thresholds and stared at
us. I saw some peer at us from the windows, through opera-glasses. Before
General Kopanski’s house a guard of honour presented arms to my husband,
and a platoon of Cossacks defiled before him.
We are here for three days. Our host, though an old bachelor, knew how to
make us as comfortable as possible.
September 3rd.—General Kopanski gave a grand dinner to-day in our honour.
During the repast a military band played selections from “Faust.” The
music led me to a far-away place; I had closed my eyes and saw St.
Petersburg in vision. I kept back my tears with difficulty.
September 4th.—I did not leave my room until dinner-time, reading a heap
of newspapers which had been forwarded from Khabarovsk; but the news
was two months old. One is obliged to live behind date in this far-away
country.
After dinner we went to the camp to assist at the evening retreat. The
big camp, situated about five miles from Nikolskoe, was decorated with
flags and lanterns of different colours. The soldiers received us with
shouts and cheers. When prayers were ended, the drums beat the salute and
a salvo of twenty-six cannons was fired, after which the spouse of the
chief of the brigade offered us tea in a big tent.
September 5th.—To-day we are undertaking the most difficult part of our
journey, and shall have to endure the misery of atrocious roads. At six
o’clock in the morning our tarantass, a rattling post-chaise, was at the
door. An escort of two hundred Cossacks on horseback is trotting close
behind our carriage and on both sides of it, until our first stoppage
where we have to change horses. A third hundred of Cossacks was sent on
before, to be divided into parties of six men to escort us all the way.
Our cortège consists of seven carriages. Whilst we traverse the camp the
soldiers forming a line on each side of us cheer us loudly; military
bands play marches as we drive along. We plodded on steadily the whole
morning and were shaken a good deal on the badly-made roads. The two
first stations were kept by the post department, but at the third
stopping-place a team of three horses, belonging to different Russian
colonists, harnessed together with utter disregard to size, breed, and
disposition, were awaiting us. The harness was rusty and mended with
strings. The driver was with great difficulty inspired to action, and
totally incapable of transmitting such inspiration to his animals, by
coaxing words or whip. At last the poor hacks moved on, one pulling to
the right, the other to the left. The road was completely deserted; we
didn’t meet a living creature on our way. I was told that these spots
were frequented by tigers, and when I asked a Cossack of our escort if we
had no risk of meeting one, the man answered coolly that it might happen
very easily. Not much comfort from that Cossack.
The roads were very bad, very hilly and rough. We climbed with difficulty
the steep ascents, and descended with still greater difficulty. Our
driver, a peasant boy of about sixteen, drove atrociously, cutting
corners and racing down steep hills. At a descent, which he took at a
tremendous pace, a part of the harness gave way and the horses became
uncontrollable. I was on the act of jumping out of the carriage when the
Cossack, who sat on the box, succeeded in holding in the horses.
At each stage the colonists welcomed us with “Bread and Salt.” My husband
received a great number of petitions from the emigrants, for the greater
part complaints from the new settlers against the colonists, who demanded
one hundred roubles for the right of settling down with them, and
oppressed them in every way.
Towards evening we reached a large village, and passed under a triumphal
arch bearing the inscription “Welcome!” We had an hour’s stop at the
village-inn, where we pulled up for dinner. We did honour to the frugal
repast, consisting of cabbage-soup and roasted chicken, served by pretty
village girls arrayed in their Sunday best.
After a drive of less than an hour, we came to a village where we stopped
to rest for the night at the house of the Commissary of Rural Police.
September 6th.—We went in the morning to hear mass in the village chapel.
The peasant girls were in their national dress, their long tresses
interlaced with gay-coloured ribbons. After church, we continued our
journey. We have yet many miles before us. At the next station we found
a relay of four powerful horses belonging to the Prison Department. The
Inspector of the Prisons, Mr. Komorski, was at the station to meet us.
Our escort was increased by two Cossack officers. The horses fretted at
standing, and I found them a bit over fresh; they started at a brisk
pace. Our driver is a convict transported for life to Siberia, who had
just terminated his ten years of penal servitude, and will be made a
colonist in a short time. On the way we stopped at the house of a young
engineer who is taking part in the construction of the railway-line
beyond the Lake Baikal, after the Caspian Sea and the Sea of Aral, the
largest lake in Asia. As soon as the horses were sufficiently rested,
we proceeded on a road which had been growing from bad to worse. It is
constructed on marshy ground and is full of ruts and holes in which we
jolted and tossed about. The shocking roads aren’t like roads at all,
more like ploughed fields, inches deep in mud, and so rough that our
vehicle seemed to be propelled by a succession of earthquakes wallowing
in mud half-way deep. Our horses had hard work, sinking almost to their
shoulders at every step. Our Heir to the throne on his tour to the
Orient, when passing this way, had to be drawn by oxen.
At last we reached the convict settlement where Mr. Kopanski resides,
superintending the work on the railway-line of the convicts sentenced
to hard labour. At the present moment he has under his command three
thousand convicts, and one thousand soldiers to guard them.
Mr. Komorski’s house stands on a small eminence surrounded by barracks
inhabited by convicts, dressed in long grey coats; the greater part are
in chains. A long line of prisoners had half of their heads shaved, they
were runaway convicts, who were brought back again to these parts. They
cheered my husband gaily. A monk stood on the threshold of the chapel,
where a Te Deum was sung by the convicts.
Mr. Komorski showed us a great deal of hospitality. He has contrived to
give our apartment quite an air of cosiness. On my dressing-table I saw
a bottle of scent bearing the name of “Bouquet d’Amour” quite a fitting
denomination, for we are now in the provinces of the “Amour.”
All the servants in the house are convicts, who fulfil their duty
perfectly well, nevertheless these surroundings made me feel so nervous
and miserable, that I did not want to be present at dinner and went to
bed immediately after our arrival, under the pretext of a bad headache.
Oh! how horrid it was to hear the sounds of a gay waltz played by an
orchestra of convicts during the repast! I buried my head in my pillow
and had a good cry. I hated our host ferociously at that moment.
September 7th.—Early in the morning Sergy visited the prisons, and
at eight o’clock we proceeded on our journey. The road had recently
been laid out specially to transport provisions from the boat to Mr.
Komorski’s abode. After a drive of two hours we arrived at a spot where
a copious lunch awaited us in a pavilion set up near the railway-line.
We suddenly came upon a gang of chained convicts breaking stones on
the road, who worked under the eager eyes of guards with ever-ready
revolvers. Whistles were heard giving the signal to these wretched men to
take off their caps at our approach. I was told that work was assigned to
them for twelve hours of labour. Their food is good, the daily rations
consisting of a plate of soup with 250 grams of meat and a kilogram of
bread. In a group of convicts we saw the son of a General we had known at
St. Petersburg. That unfortunate young man had belonged to one of the
brilliant Guard regiments, and had been sent to the galleys and put to
hard labour for life, for having shot one of his comrades, (_Cherchez la
femme!_) His pale, haggard face was so painful to behold.
The last miles leading to the boat were as bad as bad could be. We were
tumbled about like nuts in a bag. We reached towards four p.m. the Third
Post on the banks of the “Soungatcha,” with aching bones and stiffened
limbs. There were our fellow-travellers on the quay awaiting us, and whom
should I see among them but Mr. Li, the _attaché_ of the Chinese Embassy
at St. Petersburg, my summer cavalier of Music Halls. I must say I was
surprised! And I thought I should never see him again. The world’s small!
Mr. Li passed through Vladivostock on his way to China, on a holiday.
When we met our companions on Lake Khanka, he decided to come all this
long way to see us. He will return to Lake Khanka to-morrow morning. The
director of the Navigation Company on the Amour-river was also on the
quay to meet us. He presented my husband “Bread and Salt” on a beautiful
silver dish, and I received an enormous bouquet.
We are going to travel now by water as far as Khabarovsk. A handsome
steam-yacht named “Ingoda” was lying alongside the quay, ordered for our
use—a vessel gaily tricked out with flags, with my husband’s standard
floating on the overdeck. The yacht was apparently quite new, all
white and gold, with steam-heating and electricity. We were to travel
luxuriously on that dainty thing. I have a charming cabin with real
windows and bed, not a hard shelf, but quite a wide, springy bed, and
blue silk tapestries on the walls; the covering of the furniture and the
curtains are of the same stuff. I have a toilet-table adorned with white
muslin curtains tied with blue ribbon. The cookery on board is excellent;
the head-cook is a Chinaman. The captain provided soft-moving Chinese
waiters and a Russian maid for me.
We shall weigh anchor only to-morrow morning, because it is dangerous
to sail on the “Soungatcha” by night, the river being very narrow and
winding. After supper the sailors lighted up the boat with Bengal fires,
and barrels of burning tar were placed along the banks of the river. I
sat up half the night on deck, stretched in a basket-chair chatting with
Mr. Li about St. Petersburg, and awakening so many far-off memories.
Sept. 8th.—We started at 8 o’clock in the morning. Our boat glided down
the swift river advancing very slowly. Our way wound in cork-screw
curves, and the raftsman had to do some clever piloting to make the
turns. On the left side of the “Soungatcha” was China. Here and there
appeared to sight Chinese thatched huts. Natives, with long tresses,
floated in junks on the river. On our side there is no vestige of
habitation; all around the silence was profound; we seemed to have the
world to ourselves. Now we steam on along lovely green banks fringed with
tall trees bending their branches low over the water and reflected in it
as in a mirror. Wild ducks swept over us, and long-legged herons came
quite near to the edge of the water.
By the time the moon rose we had come to the first halt, a Cossack
settlement situated in the hollow of a valley, where we cast anchor
for the night. Smoke rose over the thatched roofs of the village;
church-bells were ringing for vespers. Two “atamans” (Cossack delegates)
are standing on the quay, holding their huge staffs of command. A
deputation of Cossacks presented “Bread and Salt” on a glass dish to my
husband, and I received as a gift a wild kid. We saw two men advancing,
carrying between them, across their shoulders, a long pole upon which
hung an enormous sturgeon. There was scarcely room enough on board for
the gigantic fish.
We took a stroll through the village, where we visited the home of a rich
Cossack inhabitant. My husband signed himself as godfather to his little
son, who lay shrieking in his cot. The wee Cossack was still unbaptised,
as there was no priest in the neighbourhood.
Sept. 9th.—The captain waited for the sun to rise to weigh anchor.
Towards ten o’clock we enter the river “Oussouri,” which is considerably
broader than the “Soungatcha.” An eagle is ascending high up in the
skies. The air is so transparent that mountains which are scores of
miles away are distinctly visible. The freshness of the vegetation is
surprising. The furze attains the height of three yards. We slide along
rich verdant valleys strewn with sweet-smelling flowers. The fresh breeze
brings us a penetrating perfume of new-mown hay.
The next stopping-place was Krasnoyarsk, a big Cossack settlement. The
inhabitants presented us wine in bottles entwined with branches of
grapes. I remained on deck till midnight, admiring the large river on
which the full moon reflected its opal glimmer.
Sept. 10th.—The wind that had risen in the night brought rain. We
intended pushing on to Khabarovsk for the night, but the fog being very
dense, we dropped anchor before Kasakevitchi, a large village scattered
on a hillock.
Sept. 11th.—We are passing the most shallow part of the “Oussouri.” The
water is so shallow that we advance with great difficulty. We dropped
anchor five miles off Khabarovsk. Two barges with sails were sent to
meet us with an officer and thirty rowers, in case we could not advance
further on our boat, and it came out that it was the barges that had to
be helped, for during the night a squall arose, followed by a shower,
which nearly submerged the barges. The officer and soldiers had to be
taken on board.
Sept. 12th.—We are at our journey’s end. Our next station will be
Khabarovsk. We advance very slowly in order not to arrive at Khabarovsk
before the appointed hour—nine o’clock in the morning.
CHAPTER LXXIII
KHABAROVSK
We approach Khabarovsk, which, like ancient Rome, is built on seven
slopes divided by deep ravines. Each slope has its own principal street,
cut by transversal lanes which descend to the ravines. Khabarovsk stands
at the joining of two grand rivers, the “Amour” and the “Oussouri.” In
about ten minutes a large building came to view. It was the so-called
“Castle,” our future residence, an imposing red-brick house with the
General-Governor’s flag waving from the roof.
We were received at Khabarovsk with much display of military pomp,
and cheered by the entire population, which was on the pier to see us
land. The quay was spread out with red cloth and decorated with flags.
All Khabarovsk appeared to turn out: men, women, and children. There
was a salute of one hundred and one cannon-shots from the batteries to
welcome us. My husband was received on the quay by the authorities and
the Municipality of the town. After a speech of welcome, they presented
him with “Bread and Salt” on a silver salver. The Mayor of the town, an
exiled Pole, addressed a few flattering words to me, saying that great
things were expected from me. I was very much embarrassed, and stood
there with burning cheeks.
I entreated Sergy, just the same as at Vladivostock, to walk on to the
“Castle.” We made quite an imposing procession. The town was dressed all
over with flags and the balconies ornamented with draperies. The streets
were lined with people all the way down to the “Castle.” The windows of
the houses were full of faces gazing at us. A double row of soldiers
were placed on each side of the road. All along the way we were loudly
greeted by the people, and showers of flowers fell at my feet when we
passed through the streets. On our way we entered the cathedral. The
church was crowded. The bishop, in full sacerdotal costume, waited to
receive us and to officiate a solemn mass. Baron Korff, my husband’s
predecessor, is buried inside the cathedral. Sergy laid upon his tomb a
large silver wreath which he had brought up from Moscow. The schools of
Khabarovsk stood in a line from the cathedral right up to our house. The
school girls strewed roses in my path. Then we went into the “Castle.”
The first arrival in my new home was not encouraging, thanks to the
awkwardness of one of my husband’s secretaries, who gave me a very
unpleasant piece of information, breaking to me the news that the boat
_Nijni-Novgorod_ with all our household, had been wrecked on the coast
of Aden. I could scarcely keep from bursting into tears. I departed to
the privacy of my room and fell into a chair without taking off my hat. I
sat and wondered how I would take to this life. Here I was in a foreign
land, a fearful distance from home! I felt utterly desolate in this great
strange house and looked a picture of forlorn misery. I could control
myself no longer, and burying my face in my hands, I wept and sobbed
unrestrainedly. But I must put a good face upon things before Sergy. I
must and I will!
In the evening there was a display of fireworks which we admired from
our verandah. In front of the entrance blazed an immense shield with
“Welcome” in transparencies, and the initials “B. S.” (Barbara, Sergius)
on it. A military band was playing in the pavilion of the assembly
just opposite us. The idea came to me to go for a stroll incognito as
far as the monument of Count Mouravieff-Amourski, the conqueror of the
Provinces of the Amour. The statue stands in front of the river on a huge
pedestal dominating the whole plain of the “Amour.” My incognito was
soon discovered, and people made way to us as we walked past the row of
curious eyes, on the boulevard all flaming with garlands of fire. I hate
nothing so much as exhibiting myself. It was very creepy to be stared at
like that!
On the next day Sergy sent a telegram to Vladivostock to the agent of the
Volunteer Fleet with inquiries about the fate of the _Nijni-Novgorod_ and
received on the same night a reassuring answer that the boat was safe and
sound, and had just left Colombo.
Our house is so large that we can easily be lost in it. One of the
immense halls is decorated with life-size portraits of our Emperor and
the Heir to the throne, under which, on a silver plate, was engraved that
His Imperial Highness had stopped in the house during his recent visit to
the Orient. From my windows I could look at the “Amour,” flowing along
deep and broad. I enjoyed seeing the ships crowded with tourists go past.
The first days at Khabarovsk were hard to me. I thought nothing could
make me like the country; nothing except duty would make one come here!
My new home put me in mind of a gilt cage. For everybody I was the wife
of the Governor-General, and treated, therefore with a deference which
I abhor. A new life began for me. I had duties to perform: official
dinners, official receptions—a duty which was not particularly enjoyable
to me. I had to follow my husband everywhere with outward pleasure and
inward rebellion—a martyr to politeness.
In my quality of President of the Committee of Benevolent Ladies, I had
to send invitations to all the members asking them to attend a meeting
in our house. It was for the first time in my life that I had assisted
at a committee, and being new to my work, I began to get awfully shy,
and stupidly got very red. The flush on my cheek was scarlet when I was
called upon to make a little speech. I felt so shy that I seemed entirely
to have lost the use of my tongue, and forgot all the words I had learnt
by heart. It is terrible that feeling when people are expecting you to do
something and you are sure to disappoint them. The committee lasted three
hours at least. Colonel Alexandroff, the secretary of the Benevolent
Society, began by reading aloud the account of the previous month. It is
concerts, theatricals, and lotteries which form the essential income of
the Society. The lady-patronesses were long in dividing the poor of the
town by districts between themselves; differences of opinion arising, and
the sitting lasted three hours at least. At the second one I was over my
first fit of shyness, and even gave a short discourse when opening the
meeting. I was chosen President of the “musical and dramatic circles”
that day.
My husband works very hard from morning till night; he rarely had a
moment he could call his own, and hadn’t a second for me, except at
meal-times, and then there was always somebody present.
With what impatience we are awaiting the _Nijni-Novgorod_ with all our
household. In the meantime we are served by convicts who, at the end of
their penal servitude in the Isle of Sakhalin, had been transferred to
Khabarovsk, their place of exile. The head-gardener, who was sent to
the galleys for having drowned his sweetheart, lives here as man and
wife with our laundress, who has poisoned her husband (a pretty couple
indeed!) The principal barber of the town, when shaving my husband one
day, tried to raise his pity, calling himself a poor orphan bereaved of
father and mother, and it turned out that it was the poor orphan who had
sent both parents _ad patres_. The locksmith who had been called to mend
my trunk, appeared to have been with Sergy at the military school. The
man was deported to Siberia for having strangled his wife.
My husband happening to visit a prison, saw a man who had stolen a
sturgeon. The law-suit had been going on for three years, and it is
only now that he was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. During
this long lapse of time his wife had died, leaving him as legacy four
little children who were wearing away in the close atmosphere of the
gloomy prison cell, which they shared with their father, having no other
shelter. In one of the sittings of the “Benevolent Society” we found
means to give the poor brats a more comfortable home.
My husband has promulgated a new regulation. The soldiers who were sent
here to serve terms of three years, have the right—after having ended
their terms, to remain at Khabarovsk for another three years engaged
in diverse works—to be sent, after the lapse of this time, to Russia,
on account of the Government. By these means the convicts and Chinese
servants can easily be supplanted.
The richest shop at Khabarovsk, situated in a street called “Straight,”
which isn’t straight at all, belongs to a rich Chinese merchant named
Tifountai, where you can buy everything necessary and desirable,
beginning with clothes down to furniture, and all sort of provisions
which are of a fabulous price here, milk products especially: a pint of
cream costs two roubles (four shillings.) We had to buy three cows and
grow vegetables ourselves in hot-houses, and have thus vegetables all the
year round.
Settlers who went out to seek fortune in the Far East, were beginning
to arrive at Khabarovsk. Thirty families of emigrants, coming from the
south of Russia, are quartered in barracks a few miles from the town.
My husband wants to stock with inhabitants the outskirts of Khabarovsk,
flattering himself with the hope that they will supply the town with
provisions. In spring portions of ground will be distributed to them. In
Russia the peasants receive one acre of land and in this country they
will get forty acres of good land.
There is a good dress-maker in Khabarovsk, the widow of an officer, who
after the death of her husband was left absolutely destitute, and to
support herself took in sewing, making dresses for Khabarovsk belles.
I lead a regular life: music and books fill up my time. In the evening
I played duets with Mr. Shaniavski, who is an accomplished musician. A
young officer of the garrison, playing the violin, comes frequently to
make up a trio. Our performance lasted sometimes till after midnight, and
Sergy assured me that my partners, thoroughly tired out, were visibly
growing thinner and thinner, and became real spectres at the end of the
performance. Mr. Shaniavski offered to teach me Italian and Spanish; he
is a fine linguist, speaking fluently several languages. I need music and
work to drive away my blue devils, and have decided to keep friends with
Mr. Shaniavski without paying attention to evil tongues. People are so
interested in what I do, that a hundred-eyed Argus would not be enough
to look after me. Wicked things will be said of me, I am sure, but the
calumnies of the world do not trouble me a bit. What are they really
worth?
News from Russia arrives only three times a week. As soon as the
mail-post is perceived from the belfry, one flag is hoisted to signal
the mail from Vladivostock (_via_ America), two flags the post coming
from Blagovestchensk (_via_ Siberia) and three flags the courier from
Nikolskoe (the small local mail). It took long for letters to come; by
the time you get an answer to the questions you made, you may forget
what you were asking about. In October I got mother’s letter written in
July. Only far echoes come of what is going on in the world outside.
I hadn’t got the patience to read the belated accounts that arrive by
post weeks after the events. Here is an example of how long it takes for
news from the civilised world to reach Khabarovsk. Captain Olsoufieff,
Baron Korff’s _aide-de-camp_, had been sent by the Baron on business
to a remote part of Siberia, and has learnt only now, on returning
to Khabarovsk, that Baron Korff is dead, and that my husband was his
successor! In October the rivers began to freeze, and the mails were
delayed for some weeks. We got our correspondence by land across the
snow-covered mountains by means of pack-horses, and in what a state can
well be imagined. Our letters were all torn and wet, and it was difficult
to decipher the contents.
Sergy received one day a curious letter from Hackenberg, a small town in
Prussia, from an individual named Wilhelm Doukhow, who informed Sergy
that his grandfather had entered the Russian military service in 1812,
during the retreat of Napoleon, and had disappeared without vestige.
Having learnt by the papers that the family name of the newly appointed
General-Governor of the Amour provinces was Doukhovskoy, he begged my
husband to inform him if he was not a descendant of his ancestor.
The agents of the Volunteer Fleet gave us constant news of the
_Nijni-Novgorod_. The last news were rather alarming. The boat had left
Hong-Kong on the 28th September and hadn’t arrived at Nagasaki at the
end of October. Days rolled on and nothing further was heard of the
missing ship. At last we had a satisfactory telegram from Vladivostock,
announcing that our household and trunks had arrived in safety. The
unloading of the boat was done at once, and our servants took the train
to Nikolskoe. A boat named the _Khanka_ was waiting for them on the
“Oussouri” river. Our servants must hurry as fast as possible in order
to arrive at Khabarovsk before the “Amour” was frozen. In the beginning
of November our trunks had not yet reached Krasnoyarsk, and the “Amour”
was beginning to get covered with ice; in a short time all communication
with this Cossack settlement, which is three hundred miles away from
Khabarovsk, will be interrupted. Sergy wired to the captain of the
_Khanka_ offering the sum of one hundred roubles to his crew, if they
managed to arrive at “Novo-Michailovsk” before the river was altogether
frozen, but the captain did not manage it however, and we got news that
the _Khanka_ with its thirty-five passengers, was caught by the ice
within a few miles of a small village called Kroutoberejnaia, where the
boat will be obliged to winter. Some of the passengers, a travelling
dramatic company going to act at Khabarovsk among them, managed to make
their way to that village. The passengers could find only one cottage to
shelter them all. My parrot, who travelled with our household, helped to
keep everybody in good temper, repeating his favourite cry “stuff and
nonsense!” And thus, thanks to “Polly” good-humour was re-established,
but not for very long, for no supplies could be got in the surroundings
of Kroutoberejnaia, and the provisions on the boat coming to an end,
the passengers had the prospect of starvation, as well as the danger of
being attacked by “hounhouses” (Chinese bandits.) My husband sent a dozen
Cossacks to protect them. It was with great difficulty that these men got
to the village where the passengers of the _Khanka_ were sequestered, the
roads being almost impracticable. However my husband succeeded in sending
a hundred carts to bring over our luggage. The first transport had
arrived at last, but instead of our pelisses, for which we waited with
such impatience, the trunks contained only our summer things, and in what
a lamentable state! The band-boxes containing my hats were completely
turned into pancakes. On the 29th November the last transport arrived
with 120 big cases. All day long the unpacking was going on, the work of
convicts, while joiners and upholsterers were busy mending our furniture.
Many valuable things were completely ruined.
Every year in October, during the full moon, the Chinese aborigines of
Khabarovsk feasted that planet. They thrust into the “Amour,” from the
top of a mountain, lanterns of all the colours of the rainbow. Bands of
Chinamen walked about the streets perched on high stilts, shouting and
gamboling, to the great joy of the populace.
Every Sunday I go to church, where I try to hide myself behind one of
the pillars, having the uncomfortable sensation of being stared at. The
deacon of the cathedral is a legendary personage. He was born in America
from a Russian colonist and a negress. In his early youth he embarked
as ship-boy on board an American vessel which was wrecked on the shores
of Vladivostock. One day, as the boy sat on the beach-seat overlooking
the sea, forming plans for his future, dressed in rags and famished, he
attracted the attention of a rich Austrian merchant, who took him to his
house and employed him as aid to his cook. But the castaway, hearing the
silent call of the sea, ran away to America, where he became a sailor
and ultimately an officer. His second escape from shipwreck was still
more romantic. The current sent him with two comrades on a block of ice
on which they passed eight days. Being famished, they began by eating
their boots, and then decided that one of them should be sacrificed to
be devoured by his companion, they drew lots and that terrible fate fell
upon the poor castaway who offered up a prayer for preservation, and
vowed that if this miracle was vouchsafed, he would become a priest. He
had given himself up for lost and was about to blow out his brains, when
they perceived, quite close, a black mass. It was an enormous seal which
they killed on the spot, and which served as a sumptuous feeding-ground
until they were rescued by a passing ship. The future deacon, in
gratitude, carried out his promise.
One Sunday morning, before Mass, a group of strange wild people,
belonging to the “Golde” tribe, dressed in seal-skins presented my
husband with a stag’s head. These “Goldes” are a curious tribe—pagans to
the bottom of their hearts. They are baptised twice sometimes, because
it is the custom to give them a shirt and a small sum of money when they
pass through the ritual of Christianity. The priests, therefore, have
to make minute inquiries to be quite sure that the new candidate had
not been baptised before. The “Goldes” have prominent cheek-bones, a
broad nose, and very coarse and straight hair. Their faces long remain
hairless, a scanty beard grows only in their old age. They are dirty
people like all nomads, and smell awfully bad; the atmosphere in our
apartments was filled with the perfume of their persons. These malodorous
men examined everything with great curiosity; the parquet-floors,
especially, attracted their attention. We offered tea to the “Goldes,”
who carried away the remains of the bread and sugar; it is lucky they
didn’t take away the tea-things. I saw from my window two pairs of dogs,
harnessed to sledges, being driven at full gallop across the ice to the
other side of the Amour. It will be a difficult task for my husband to
tame these savages, who camp in winter in the woods, and live on what
they hunt, killing the animal with their arrows. As the “Goldes” have no
ready-money in their commerce they pay with sable-furs instead of coins.
On the following day the “Goldes” were celebrating their “Feast of the
Bear.” They bring up all the year round a young bear and devour it on
that day. After lunch a “Golde” brought his two wives to be presented to
me. They offered me a model of their national costume, richly embroidered.
Mme. Beurgier has invented a new pastime. Having become a strong adept
of spiritualism, she occupies herself with table-turning, and is always
discovering some new occult genius, who promises to show her some
wonderful manifestations from spirit land. At night she frightens out
of her wits poor Mrs. Serebriakoff, whose apartment was next to hers,
by conversing with the spirits of the defuncts, who guide her in every
smallest action of her life. She had been very sulky and cross for some
time past, and said that the spirits advised her to leave Khabarovsk
as fast as possible. I did not try to detain her, most certainly. Her
luggage was already sent to the railway station, when she came up to bid
me good-bye, and when I asked her if she would write to me from time
to time, she replied “No,” curtly. And that was her last word to me.
Nevertheless I rushed after her, racing downstairs and kissed her warmly,
which softened the poor old lady. She began to weep and went to announce
to Sergy that it was beyond her power to leave me. She left us for good,
however, a week afterwards.
We have now been three months at Khabarovsk. I can’t get accustomed to
this life. If I could but follow the example of Mme. Beurgier and fly
away from here! All my brightness has gone and my nerves are put out of
order. I don’t know what is the matter with me at all; for no reason on
earth I suddenly burst into tears and cry for hours. Sergy tried to rouse
me from the apathy into which I was falling deeper and deeper every day.
I shook myself at last, and am getting back my spirits and my colour. I
certainly was not going to let myself grow into a moping misanthrope.
The winter is splendid at Khabarovsk; the sky always clear of clouds
and no wind whatever, and for that reason one does not feel the cold so
much, though the thermometer shows over twenty degrees of frost every
day. The snow falls only once, in the beginning of winter, and keeps
white until spring. But the weather has no effect whatever upon me, and
very often when the sky is of azure blue, black thoughts overwhelm me;
and vice versa. The air in the apartments is excessively dry. I am often
awakened at night by the creaking of the furniture. We have to suspend
wet blankets in our bedroom as it is impossible to sleep otherwise.
We have learned by a newspaper-telegram from St. Petersburg that an
earthquake, preceded by a formidable underground noise, had shaken
Khabarovsk. It is very strange that nobody had felt it here. It comes
out that it is from a writing in a local paper, describing an earthquake
at the distance of 800 miles from Khabarovsk, but the correspondent of
St. Petersburg had omitted the 800 miles, and it is thus that the false
report spread out.
Every Sunday we give a grand dinner with a military band playing during
the meal. Our head-gardener is a veritable artist in the arrangement of
the dinner-table. There were always pretty bunches of flowers before each
plate. At the sound of a drum the gentlemen offered their arms to their
respective ladies and marched to the dining-room. One Sunday my cavalier
was a Chinese General, who had just arrived from Pekin. He watched the
way his neighbours were eating but made, nevertheless, fearful blunders,
and did everything wrong with his knife and fork. The French proverb
that “Nul n’est prophete dans son pays,” has no hold over that important
personage of the Celestial Empire, who is reckoned as an oracle in Pekin.
He has learnt thoroughly the mystic sciences from Indian fakirs. When
drinking my health he congratulated me, through his interpreter, at the
forthcoming birth of a son. He said he could read it in my eyes. Foolish
man! The mandarin gave me his visiting-card printed on a piece of red
paper on which was stated, in Chinese hieroglyphics, that he was the
bravest man in the army, and his wife, the most important lady in the
land. He was not very modest, the maggot.
Another day we had to dinner Mr. De Windt, an English writer, who
came for a few days to Khabarovsk, after having visited the Island of
Saghalien. In remembrance of our short acquaintance, he sent me his last
work from London, a very interesting novel.
A great Charity Bazaar was planned for Christmas. The biggest prizes were
to be a horse, a cow, a baby-bear, twelve suckling pigs and a couple
of rabbits. We made a great deal of money at the bazaar. I was doing
splendidly, and in about an hour or two there were no more tickets in my
wheel.
On the third day of the Christmas week, the Goldes organised dogs’ races
on the ice. Five pairs of dogs dragged the sledges. The fancy took me to
experience that mode of polar locomotion. I established myself sideways
on the shaft with my legs projecting over the sledge, and was afraid all
the time of the dogs who ran behind me biting at my heels; they really
looked as if they contemplated making their lunch off my legs.
I have been starved of music for long, and was enchanted when Kostia
Doumtcheff, a boy violinist, gave a concert at Khabarovsk. He is only
thirteen years old and has already toured the world as a “Wunderkind.”
His execution is quite extraordinary for so young a performer.
With the Chinese every month begins with the new moon. This year the
14th January was their New Year’s day. The Chinese quarter of the town
was brilliantly illuminated, and a procession of monsters made of
paste-board, marched through the streets. An enormous dragon made of
paper, a nightmare beast, was carried by Chinamen hidden from view,
giving the complete illusion that it was creeping along. The monster is
so long that a score of men is required to carry it. Behind the dragon
came Chinamen oddly arrayed, carrying garlands of coloured paper-flowers
and chains of fantastical form hanging on long poles, bearing huge
banners with different religious devices. All this was accompanied by a
loud flourish of trumpets, and the gongs made all the time an infernal
noise.
Towards the middle of April, when the weather became milder, a military
band played three times a week in the square. I listened to it lying back
on a rocking-chair on the veranda, feeling quite safe from observation.
We have a veritable menagerie in our garden. General Kopanski sent me a
pair of beautiful white swans from Nikolskoe; Tifountai presented me with
a deer; and a Golde brought me two sables, very wicked little animals,
who watched for every opportunity to snap at the legs of the passers-by
through the bars of the cage.
At the end of the month of May, Mrs. Kohan, my singing mistress, arrived
from Moscow with her two little daughters. Her husband has recently been
appointed military doctor at Khabarovsk.
In June Sergy went to inspect the troops beyond the Baikal mountains.
He will be away about two or three weeks. I dreaded to let him go so
far away, and decided to rejoin him on his way back at Sretensk, a town
situated at 2,500 miles from Khabarovsk.
10th July.—Except Mrs. Serebriakoff, who accompanied me on my voyage
to Sretensk, there were only two passengers on our steamer; one of the
directors of the Navigation Companies on the Amour, and a German pastor
from Vladivostock. We started at noon. A brilliant welcome was given me
at our first stopping place, a rich Cossack settlement; but I didn’t
leave my cabin, for I hate to share my husband’s honours when I am
travelling with him, and hate it still more when I am alone. Directly the
darkness came, we dropped anchor before another settlement, awaiting the
rising of the sun.
July 11th.—We started at dawn. The banks are very picturesque. We are
passing the green mountains of Hingan, which are clearly outlined on the
blue sky. Beyond these mountains one comes upon rich gold mines.
July 12th.—Towards night we dropped anchor on the coast of a Chinese
village on the left bank of the river.
13th July.—Early in the morning we passed Argon, a dirty Chinese town
with big pools of water here and there; one would need stilts to walk
across the unpaved streets full of children, pigs and evil smells.
Towards noon, we arrived at Blagovestchensk, a large and populous town.
Declining the honours the authorities of Blagovestchensk wished to
bestow on me, I telegraphed to General Arsenieff, the governor of the
town, that I could receive no one on board, having decided to play the
invalid, and was disagreeably surprised to see that a great crowd awaited
me on the quay. Mrs. Arsenieff forced my cabin door open and transmitted
to me three big bouquets tied with broad ribbons, sent by her husband,
the chief of the Cossack regiment quartered at Blagovestchensk, and the
Prefect of the Police.
July 15th.—The weather is lovely. We glide rapidly on the calm water. The
banks are deprived of life. I have the impression of travelling in the
land of the “Sleeping Beauty,” not a sound around us.
July 16th.—We stopped at midday before a Cossack settlement. The steps
leading to the quay were covered with red cloth and strewn with flowers;
a triumphal arch was erected, bearing at the top my monogram. Under the
arch stood two “atamans.” A group of young girls, dressed in their best,
came to offer me flowers.
July 17th.—This morning we met a steam-launch carrying on board the
Archbishop of Blagovestchensk, going to inspect his diocese. Towards
night, we saw a raft, twice as large as our boat, transporting emigrants.
A wooden fire was burning in the middle of the raft, around which horses
and peasant-carts were piled. We came to grief at night, running on the
bank in the dark, and had to drop anchor on the Chinese shore before a
small town, having broken the screw. Navigation is difficult in these
parts because of the strong current.
July 18th.—At dawn my maid came to wake me. She told me that a Chinese
General, the Governor of the town before which we were anchored, was
standing on the quay, sword in hand, waiting to be presented to me. But
our interview didn’t take place. We sent a rocket by way of compliment
to the warrior of the Celestial Empire, and glided past him. After
dinner, we came alongside a large Cossack village where we were to halt.
A number of girls with their school-mistress and a platoon of Cossacks
were standing on the quay. The chief of the platoon sent up a loud cheer
for me, and his men threw up their caps in the air and shouted themselves
hoarse.
July 19th.—We are passing the whole day before the stations named “The
Seven Capital Sins.” Towards night we stopped before the “Fourth Sin.”
These stations have been fitly named: their aspect takes away every
desire to sin. I never saw such God-forsaken places!
July 20th.—We glide through districts completely submerged by the recent
overflowing of the rivers. Whole villages disappeared under the waters.
There was great distress and great poverty everywhere; my heart ached
for the poor inhabitants. Steadily the waters ascended and the raging
torrent tore off the trees, breaking them away. It was a scene of
desolation like the deluge. The houses, the cattle, the fields, all were
destroyed. Now a window, now a door tore past; chimneys, slates, tiles,
whirled about like so much paper.
July 21st.—We passed this morning before a Cossack settlement without
stopping. On the quay a platoon of Cossacks was ranged. The men started
running after our boat along the bank, shouting hurrahs to me as to a
queen. Indifferent to all their honours, I only counted the hours which
separated me from my husband.
Towards midday we approached Sretensk. Sergy was waiting for me on the
quay, surrounded by a large suite and a group of ladies, who came up to
greet me. I immediately went over to Sergy’s boat on which I received
many visitors. During dinner we suddenly heard loud shouts of alarm. It
was a big raft full of emigrants which had broken loose from the shore
and was drifted straight on to us. It had been rather a bad moment. In
less time than it takes to write, I had jumped out on the quay, and just
in time, for a collision took place; the raft struck against our boat and
was carried away further by the torrent. A steam-launch was sent after
it, which brought it back safe and sound to the port. In the evening
there were fireworks on the quay.
July 22nd.—A Te Deum has been performed this morning on the square before
the church, after which my husband reviewed the troops. Before leaving
Blagovestchensk, Sergy gave a grand lunch to all the military chiefs on
board.
We started back to Khabarovsk in the afternoon. A large company of ladies
and officers accompanied us in a steam-launch to the first stoppage. We
landed and walked through the village and visited a Cossack one hundred
years old.
July 23rd.—We are going swiftly down the “Amour.” Towards evening
we landed at Mokho, a large Chinese town, where we were invited to
dinner by a Chinese General, the chief of the district. We saw him
advancing towards our boat with measured steps, accompanied by his
suite. He greeted us with great dignity, and when the usual ceremonies
were terminated, after much bowing and scraping, according to Chinese
fashion, the Mandarin conducted us to his abode, a small cottage with
a dilapidated-looking roof. Before the cottage my husband was received
by a Chinese guard of honour, who after having presented arms, threw
themselves face downwards on the ground. At the sound of an enormous
drum they stood up, shouting piercingly, and raising up their halberds
in the air, whilst all around rifles were being fired. Chinese soldiers
were standing in groups, carrying signs of their rank on their back
and chest, written on disks of white stuff. We entered a square room
and took our place at long table set with Asiatic dishes, amongst
which a sucking-pig occupied the first place. I sat on the right of
our host, who was very attentive to my wants; he piled my plate high
by means of small ivory sticks. The table was spread with all sorts of
curious looking foods. This wonderful dinner did not come in courses,
but the whole of it was placed on the table at once—a Gargantuan meal:
soft-shell crabs, sausages of mouse-meat, little fried animals looking
like spiders and other horrid things stood in a long procession. Every
dish was unfamiliar; I didn’t know at all what I was eating. Having at
last discovered a dish to my taste, I helped myself with a fresh portion
of it, and oh, horror! it appeared to be dog’s meat. The Chinese General
clinked his empty goblet with my glass full to the brim, which signified
that I had to drink the whole contents of it. Our host never cuts his
nails as it seems, for they were of phenomenal length, veritable claws. I
was told afterwards that the length of the nails of a Chinaman are a sign
of aristocracy: it means he never works. Through the half-opened door we
saw a crowd of Chinese soldiers straining their necks to peep over each
other’s heads and satisfy their curiosity. At parting, our host bade us a
courteous farewell, and presented me with several pieces of silk.
24th July.—We travelled to-day from sunrise to sunset without stopping.
25th July.—We arrived at Blagovestchensk in the afternoon, and will leave
to-morrow at dawn. The Governor and his family came to dine on board.
26th July.—It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when we arrived at
Khabarovsk. A great crowd was on the quay to greet us. I was glad to find
old friends and bowed and smiled from right to left, shaking hands with
people as we passed. I received a whole harvest of flowers.
The railway between Khabarovsk and Vladivostock is opened. Vladivostock
can be reached now in four days.
In September Sergy had to go up to Vladivostock, where he had some
business to attend to. He sent me news regularly. On the 11th September,
the anniversary of our sojourn at Khabarovsk, Sergy thanked me by wire
for having shared his exile during a whole year.
The inauguration of the gymnasium for young ladies took place on the
30th August. The head-mistress and the architect who constructed the
gymnasium, met us at the door at our arrival, followed by one of the
youngest pupils, a pretty little girl, who recited an ode composed in
favour of my husband, with a little complimentary address to me, after
which the bishop performed a Te Deum before the image of St. Barbara, my
Patroness, which was painted from my portrait.
There is a museum at Khabarovsk in which, amongst other local
curiosities, I saw horrid busts of different murderers who had died at
Khabarovsk during their penal servitude. The most repulsive bust is that
of a convict who had killed and devoured his comrade. I could not have
believed it possible to put such a thoroughly ferocious creature into wax.
A steamer has just come in, towing a large barge with about one hundred
women sentenced to penal servitude, who are to be taken to the Island of
Saghalien, where women are in a minority, in order to cohabit with the
male convicts.
We were dreadfully struck and grieved to hear of my brother’s death,
and soon after came a telegram from St. Petersburg announcing that our
Emperor had departed this life. His Majesty fell dangerously ill during
his stay in the Crimea, and died in October. The oath of loyalty to
Nicholas II., who succeeded to the throne, was given in the cathedral
by all the military and civil functionaries serving in Khabarovsk. The
town is in mourning; there is not a yard of crape left in the shops. In
November the betrothal of Nicolas II. with Princess Alice of Hessen, the
granddaughter of Queen Victoria, took place.
The “hounhouses” (Chinese bandits) cause a great panic amongst the
officials serving on the railway line. Quite recently the brigands
attacked a railway station, and murdered the station-master and his
family. It was found out that the bandits were Chinese soldiers, by a
standard that they had dropped at the station.
On Christmas Eve the village children came up from the nearest villages
to sing their carols under our windows. On Christmas night a giant
Christmas-tree was set up in our hall for the school children. It was
sparkling from top to foot with decorations of fringed and coloured paper
and glittering glass-balls; the dark green boughs were hung with gilded
apples, pears, walnuts, etc. On the table round the Christmas-tree lay
the gifts to the children, who walked into the hall by twos and twos. I
handed out the presents to the girls, and Sergy to the boys. Every girl
received a present adapted to her wants and her wishes. On Christmas
Eve the head-mistress of the gymnasium had disguised her porter into
Santa Claus, the children’s friend, who looked a real Father Christmas
with a large white beard. The girls had to write a letter to the good
saint, and to explain in it what they wanted Santa Claus to send them
for their Christmas present. The pupils of the small classes asked for
dolls, except one little girl, a premature coquette, who had chosen a
looking-glass for her Christmas gift.
On Easter night a group of emigrants, who were returning home after
midnight service, whilst crossing the cemetery, heard a voice screaming
pitifully for help. The cry was repeated at short intervals. They stared
at one another perplexedly. “What’s that?” they called out loudly. “It’s
I!” said someone close at hand. It was a vagabond who had fallen into
a newly-dug grave, together with a goat which he had just stolen. The
emigrants knotted their sashes and slipped down the improvised cord,
ordering the man to recite the Lord’s prayer to be convinced that it
was not the evil spirit who was playing tricks with them. The vagabond
had the unhappy thought to tie his goat first to the rope, and when the
emigrants perceived a long beard and a pair of horns, they took to their
heels and ran away, leaving the vagabond to his sad fate, persuaded that
they had seen the devil. It was only at daybreak that the vagabond was
hoisted up, in a very pitiful state.
At last we are going to have some good music. A travelling opera-troup,
making a tour in Siberia, has just arrived at Khabarovsk to give a series
of performances. The lady who substituted the orchestra and accompanied
the artists on the piano, came to invite us to assist at their first
performance, given in the Social Club. She told us how she despaired
because she was unable to find black tights for Siebel, which had been
torn on the way. No such thing was to be procured in Khabarovsk. We went
to hear “Faust.” Sitting in a corner of our box I listened to Gounod’s
divine music, and the thought of my pleasant life at Moscow came upon
me with a sharp pang. I was on the point of bursting into tears. The
performers were all second-rate artists. Faust had no great voice,
Margaret looked rather clumsy, Mephistopheles was always in danger of
degenerating into a buffoon, and Siebel, in darned tights, had a fine
mezzo-soprano, but was too fat. (There is nearly always something too
much or too little with everybody.)
The baritone of the opera-troup was at the same time a piano-tuner, and
came to tune our “Erard.” It was only once a year that a professional
tuner came from Blagovestchensk to repair pianos for 25 roubles per
instrument. We have an amateur tuner at Khabarovsk, a colonel, who
repairs the pianos for three roubles only, for the benefit of the
Benevolent Society, but it is true that in his tuning there is more
benevolence than skill.
I was not in very good health for the present time and had fits of
depression and apathy at the thought of all the dear ones left in Russia.
Sergy, who was terribly worried about me, decided that I needed daily
exercise, and made me walk up and down our large hall, counting all the
time I went round, to make one mile. But I didn’t become rosier for all
that, because it is not exercise I wanted, but cheering up.
Rumours of strained relations between China and Japan spread about.
A colonel of the general staff, sent by my husband to Tokio, gave us
alarming news. Complications burst out between the two countries and
soon war broke out. At the first combat of the outposts the Japs put
to defeat the sons of the Celestial Empire. It was a headlong flight;
twenty thousand Chinese soldiers went over to the enemy, abandoning
their rifles. The Japs have sunk several Chinese cruisers, and have
invaded Manchuria, where everything is put to fire and sword. There
was an armistice of three weeks between China and Japan, during which
Likhoundjan, the viceroy of China, was sent to Japan as Ambassador
for negotiations of peace. He was wounded by a pistol-shot by a Jap.
Fearing to be poisoned by the enemies of his country, he refused to be
treated by Japanese doctors, and a German physician had to be sent to
him from Berlin. For some time uncertain news arrived from the seat of
war. At last we were informed that peace had been signed, when a second
despatch was received, telling us that the Emperor of Japan had refused
to ratify peace. Russia, together with France and Germany, insisted that
the Japanese troops quit Manchuria, but the Japs insist on remaining and
become more and more arrogant.
They say that Russia is going to occupy Manchuria, but they say such a
lot of things! Sergy has received a cipher telegram from St. Petersburg,
from the chief-commissary, asking him what is the quantity of provender
necessary for the Siberian army, in case of war. Sergy is very much
disturbed; the feeling of his responsibility weighs upon him. If our
troops are sent out to Manchuria we shall remain quite helpless and
unprotected here!
Japan having taken a menacing attitude towards Russia, my husband has
received the order to prepare his troops to be ready for battle. The
mobilisation must be completed in the month of April. At the thought that
war was about to be proclaimed, my courage failed me. When I called to
mind all the hardships I had to endure during the Russo-Turkish war, I
could do away with myself.
A subsidy has been given to the officers in order they might supply
themselves with saddle-horses. We have organised a committee of Sisters
of Mercy. The three Governors subordinated to my husband are now at
Khabarovsk. Every night they deliberate in our house on different
preparations for war, together with a great number of generals and
officers.
As soon as the misunderstanding with Japan began, a great number of
functionaries sent out their families to Russia, by land; one couldn’t
travel by sea for the moment, because Japanese men-of-war swarmed in the
neighbourhood of Vladivostock. Sergy wanted to follow their example, and
send me away, but I would not part with him now, and announced positively
that I should not move from here.
The Chinese inhabitants of Khabarovsk, fearing the invasion of the Japs,
sell their houses, their furniture, their shops. The Bishop performed a
Te Deum on the square before the cathedral to the troops quartered at
Khabarovsk. When the service was over, my husband said a few words to
the soldiers concerning the war that was going to break out. Our brave
warriors shouted in chorus “We are ready to fight to the last drop of our
blood!”
Our fleet started for Tchifou, to cut all communications with the
Japanese army, in case the Japs would not consent to our proposals for
giving up Manchuria to China. We are waiting for the decisive answer to
Japan concerning the ratification of peace. God grant that it may be
satisfactory!
Hurrah! On the 20th of April the Minister of War sent a telegram to my
husband announcing that Japan had consented to our terms. I could jump
for joy!
Though peace was signed, the Embassies and Consulates continue to be
guarded by the troops in Japan.
At last we are completely tranquillised. My husband has received orders
to clear away all the mines from the Japanese Sea.
A false report has been spread at St. Petersburg, that Sergy had ordered
all the Japs to leave the Provinces of the Amour. He hastened to inform
the Minister of War that, on the contrary, six hundred Japanese workmen
had just arrived to construct the Manchur railway-line.
Hot weather has set in. Swarms of mosquitos and midges fill the air.
When sitting after dinner on our terrace, we hear the drums beating for
the evening retreat. At nine o’clock punctual, three rockets are fired;
a military band begins to play and march, and the musicians walk all
round the Public Gardens; on returning to the music-kiosque they sing
the Lord’s Prayer and our anthem. One night a retreat on the water was
organised. The musicians were placed in a large barge towed by a steamer.
The Amour, lighted by the full moon, and the barge decorated with
different-coloured lanterns, gliding smoothly on the water, producing a
fairy-like scene.
Two Frenchmen, who were passing through Khabarovsk on their way from
Japan, were invited to dinner by Sergy: Mr. Lallo, a correspondent of the
“Illustration,” and the Vicomte de Labry, the military agent of Tokio,
who was resplendent in his uniform of the “Chasseurs d’Afrique.”
An Italian yacht, the “Christopher Columbus,” bearing the Prince of the
Abruzzes, the nephew of King Humbert, has arrived at Vladivostock, but
the Prince didn’t proceed further on to Khabarovsk.
A body of a thousand soldiers, was sent back to Russia, _via_ India
and Odessa, on a ship belonging to the Volunteer Fleet. It is for the
first time that they have been sent by water; they had to travel before
through the whole continent of Oriental Siberia. At the moment when the
boat was to start, one of the soldiers was arrested. His crime had just
been discovered: he had poisoned his wife, wanting to return solo to his
native land. He was already shouting hurrah in chorus with his comrades,
when he was seized and conducted to prison.
There came an urgent telegram calling my husband to St. Petersburg on
business. It was too good to be true! I felt like an escaped prisoner,
and counted the hours when we should start to Russia.
On my last reception-day, Colonel Alexandroff, the secretary of the
Benevolent Society, addressed a panegyric to me, and presented an album
with the photographic group of all the members of the Benevolent Society
with their signatures.
CHAPTER LXXIV
OUR VOYAGE AROUND THE WORLD
August 24th.—The day for leaving Khabarovsk came at last. We started
this afternoon for the Land of Desire, to St. Petersburg, darling place.
Colonel Serebriakoff, his wife and Mr. Shaniavski, accompanied us on our
long voyage.
There was a great crowd on the quay to see us off and wish us a pleasant
journey. We embarked on the ship _Neptune_ to Iman, from where we
take the train to Vladivostock. We hasten to say our good-byes. The
flying-bridge is taken off, the last whistle is blown, and we are off to
Europe.
It was growing dark when we weighed anchor at Kasakevitchi, a Cossack
settlement, where a Te Deum was sung in the village chapel for our safe
journey. Log-fires burnt along the shore, and the Cossacks cheered us
enthusiastically.
August 26th.—It was about seven in the morning when we arrived at Iman
and made our way to the special train which was waiting for us. It was
composed of three saloon-cars. We advance slowly, with great precautions,
going twenty miles an hour only, because the ballast is not firmly set
yet. Just about a year ago we drove in these parts in an antediluvian
carriage, by impossible roads covered with untrodden forests, and now we
proceed by train, with all the comfort of modern communication. It took
formerly a whole week to reach Vladivostock, and now the journey is made
in three days! Scores of “manzas,” Chinese workmen, are completing the
railway-line. Their heads are enveloped in a rag, to protect them from
the bites of the mosquitoes, which abound here. We do not stop at the
stations because of the cholera raging in these parts.
August 27th.—We arrived at Nikolskoe two hours late, and put up again
at the house of General Kopanski. We’ll stay a few days here, for Sergy
wants to assist at the manœuvres.
August 28th.—I accompanied my husband to the camp this morning. The
soldiers cheered loudly as we passed. After the manœuvres my husband
invited to dinner all the commanders of the troops.
August 30th.—The weather is heavy and stormy; it has been raining for the
last twenty-four hours. I remained all day indoors.
August 31st.—We left Nikolskoe this morning. A platoon of Cossacks
escorted us to the railway station, where a great crowd had gathered
to see us off. Sergy stood at the window of his car answering the loud
cheers of the population.
We passed in the afternoon a sandy slope called “Gliding Hill,” which
approaches progressively the railway line, and soon perceived the sea
in the distance. Towards midday we arrived at Vladivostock where the
reception was enthusiastic.
The house of the Military Club is put at our disposal. Our windows look
on the “Golden Horn.” Russian and foreign cruisers are anchored in the
vast bay. Every day a new steamer arrives. Here is a trading vessel
carrying the Dutch flag, advancing towards the pier. I see numerous
fishing-smacks plying towards the open sea.
Official visits have been exchanged between my husband and the admirals.
Sergy went over to the cruisers in a steam-launch carrying his standard.
He called first on Admiral Tirtoff, the chief of the Russian fleet, on
his man-of-war _Pamiat Azova_, on which our Emperor made his voyage
around the world when he was heir to the throne. According to naval
etiquette, every time my husband left a vessel cannons were fired.
September 1st.—This morning we were awakened by a loud cannonade; it
was the cruisers who were saluting each other as they usually do every
morning. To-day we are giving a dinner to a hundred guests. All the
admirals and commanders of the troops are invited with their families.
September 5th.—This afternoon twenty-five naval officers came to be
presented to me; they were sent by their commanders, who wanted to
entertain me on their cruisers.
September 6th.—There came an invitation to dinner to-day from Admiral
Tirtoff, which I wanted to decline because Sergy was unwell, but I had
to go all the same. I started off at seven o’clock in a steam-launch,
accompanied by Colonel and Mrs. Serebriakoff, Mr. Shaniavski, and one
of Sergy’s aide-de-camps. Before boarding the cruiser we had to undergo
an examination. On seeing our approach the officer on duty shouted out:
“Who are you?” and the lieutenant who commanded our launch gave him the
password: “Officer.” The cruiser was illuminated in our honour by lamps
of different colours. The officers helped me along the foot-bridge, and
Admiral Tirtoff advanced to meet us. He offered me his arm and took me
to the brilliantly illuminated dining-room flooded with electric light
and full of guests. The Admiral put me at his right hand. I was made
much of; the officers were charming to me. Everyone seemed in the best
of spirits and everything was unceremonious and cosy. I enjoyed myself
tremendously. Here I was in the midst of life once more; formalities
were quickly forgotten, and my modesty was not a bit shocked by the
complimentary speeches of our amiable hosts. I also was in one of my most
reckless and vivacious moods, and threw all my reserves to the winds.
It was delightful to be treated without any manner of deference by our
hosts, and I had rather be admired than esteemed. I am not made of wood
altogether! Directly after dinner the pet of the crew was presented to
me: a baby-bear. The animal was very clever, he performed many tricks,
and amused us with his antics; he drank champagne at a gulp, straight
from the bottle, and got drunk. I was suddenly aware that it was getting
late, but it was in vain that Mrs. Serebriakoff tried to hurry me home;
our hosts would not let me go, and I, on my part, had no wish to leave
the ship, just when the fun was at its height. It was not often I got a
chance of amusing myself like that! It was past midnight when we said
good-bye to the gallant mariners. The second officer escorted us back to
the shore. An enormous electric search-light showed us our way. During
our short crossing the officer found time to tell me that I did not look
at all like a hermit, and was not made for dull existence; he pitied me
that my social position hindered me from profiting of the joys of life,
and advised me to shake myself up a bit. Wicked Mephistopheles!
September 7th.—Sergy went to the camp to inspect the troops, together
with the representatives of the civil, military and naval forces. Before
they left the camp, reciprocal hurrahs cheered our Emperor, the army and
the navy.
September 10th.—Our stay at Vladivostock was a long round of gaiety and
pleasure. I lived in a whirl of excitement. To-day we were invited to
dine on the flagship “Nicholas II.” As we approached the cruiser we heard
the sounds of a band striking up a march. The officer gave us a warm
reception and the Admiral offered me a big bouquet tied with a lovely
piece of Japanese silk, embroidered with fantastical arabesques. I saw
in the dining-room amongst other guests a young opera singer, Señorita
Estrella Bellinfanti, a pupil of Tosti, who had arrived from Japan for a
few days. The young diva is going on to America on a tournée, escorted
by a lady-companion. After a long illness that she has gone through, the
poor señorita begins to lose her sight. She told me that in the space of
another year she would be quite blind, which will oblige her to abandon
the artistic career, which she adores. Seeing her so gay and bright,
nobody could dream of the tragedy awaiting the poor girl. After dinner
we had an improvised concert. One of the officers sat down at the piano
to accompany Señorita Estrella, who sang in a sweet mezzo-soprano voice
lovely Spanish songs, after which the officers sang in chorus Russian
songs, in very good time and rhythm, to the accompaniment of guitars. I
was asked to play on the mandolin; the officers were so insistent that
it was not easy to refuse, and finally I yielded to their entreaties,
but I couldn’t be induced to sing. The officers, thinking that it was my
husband’s presence which kept me back, proposed to detain him on deck
during my performance, but it was all in vain, I would not sing. We
returned on shore very late and went to bed with the evening star.
September 11th.—We have visited the young ladies’ gymnasium this
afternoon. The pupils presented me with a richly embroidered table-cloth
of their own work.
September 12th.—Sergy has gone to Possiette, to the extreme point of
Oriental Siberia on the frontier of Corea, to review the troops. The
Admirals accompanied him on their cruisers.
September 14th.—My husband has returned to-day from his voyage. How long
the time has seemed to me in his absence!
A steamer has just arrived, bringing a battalion of sappers. The boat
had nearly perished on its way, having been caught by a tempest near
Singapore. When the boat moored to the quay a band struck up a march to
the sappers, with a flourish of trumpets, whilst the soldiers stood in
ranks on the deck and shouted hurrah.
September 15th.—To-day the naval officers arranged a concert for me at
the Naval Club. The entertainment was quite a success. Señorita Estrella
took part in it; sitting on the floor, she sang Spanish songs charmingly,
to her own accompaniment on the guitar. She was much applauded and sang
song after song. The audience crowded around the platform and threw
flowers to her. The marine officers sang in chorus Russian folk songs,
and shared Señorita Estrella’s success, sending the audience wild. One
of the officers played a solo on the balalaika. He is a virtuoso of that
Russian national instrument; it was marvellous how he could draw such
rich sounds from that primitive three-corded thing.
CHAPTER LXXV
ON OUR WAY TO JAPAN
September 17th.—I am quite worn out with all this dissipation, and very
pleased to leave Vladivostock and see regions unknown to me.
This morning we took our passage on the _Khabarovsk_, a steamer of the
volunteer fleet specially built for the voyages of the Governor-General
of the Amour provinces. We go straight to Shanghai. Notwithstanding the
early hour a great crowd assembled on the quay, and a row of officers and
ladies stood on deck to wish us a happy passage. I gave many shake-hands
and smiled to right and left. The Bishop performed a Te Deum on board,
after which it was time to weigh anchor. Three loud whistles pierced the
air, and our steamer left her moorings amidst artillery salutes and loud
cheers. After the last exchange of salutes with a Japanese man-of-war,
on which the sailors, ranged in rows, rendered military honours to my
husband, who was standing on the captain’s bridge, we left the bay on our
way to the Japanese Sea. The troops lined the shore for several miles. We
began to put on steam, and Vladivostock soon disappeared from view.
The _Khabarovsk_ was built in England. It is lighted all over with
electricity. We are the only passengers on board, except two American
travellers to whom Sergy gave permission to take passage with us. They
had to go in all haste to Japan, and the regular boat was only to sail
next week.
September 18th.—The day is gloomy, with a low, leaden sky. The rain
is falling in torrents since morning. The sea begins to foam and our
boat tosses, tosses! I lie in my cabin inert, suffering greatly from
sea-sickness, and powerless to lift a finger. It was such a fearful
night! We were nearly caught in a cyclone. The tempest raged awfully; the
body of the vessel cracked in an alarming manner, and all the objects
in my cabin danced a mad jig. In the middle of the night I heard shouts
of voices bellowing out commands overhead. What could be the matter? I
sprang out of my berth and opening the door called Sergy who occupied the
cabin just opposite mine. But it was not easy to make oneself heard; I
made myself hoarse in vain, Sergy could not hear me. I wanted to rush
to the staircase and began to dress quickly, but I was so agitated I
could not get my arms into my sleeves. In that critical moment the
captain, clad in a dripping yellow oilskin coat, knocked at my door; he
came to comfort me, assuring me that there was nothing to be afraid of.
Foreseeing a strong gale he had given the order to go out into open sea
fearing to split on a rock. He said that in a few hours we might run out
of bad weather. Somewhat tranquillised I lay down, to start off my sleep
again, being nearly thrown out of my berth. The awful wind bent our boat
on to her side, the screw was quite out of the water. We were obliged to
drop anchor and to be pitilessly tossed by furious billows until morning.
I thought that daylight would never come.
September 19th.—Little by little morning appeared through the portholes.
The wind continued to blow a hurricane. Towards seven o’clock we moved
forward. The coasts of Japan were outlined in the distance. It is the
deserted island of Dalegetta, surrounded by mountains 4,800 feet high.
Towards midday the wind abated, we were off the cyclone circle. The
weather has become beautiful. Large white birds hover over us. After
dinner I sat on deck in the moonlight, breathing with delight the fresh
night air.
September 20th.—The ocean is quite calm. We are going along the coasts
of Corea. Our first stoppage was Fusan, a rocky Corean spot, which will
play, one day, a big part in the history of the far Orient. That port
being in close proximity with Japan, is of great strategic importance for
the Japs, who have occupied it during the war with China. We have been
perceived from the shore, rousing the suspicion of the Japs, who looked
with no kindly eyes upon our intrusion. We saw a vessel coming towards
us with two Japan officials, who asked who we were and whence we came.
Our captain told them that we had to stop at this port to repair damage
caused by the storm to the rudder. After the captain had given them the
desired information, we were allowed to move on.
September 21st.—The crossing from Fusan to Nagasaki is not a very long
one. At seven o’clock in the evening we moored to the quay of that lovely
Japanese town.
CHAPTER LXXVI
NAGASAKI
If Ireland is called “Erin,” (Green Island), this name would suit Japan
still better. After the bare coasts of Siberia and Corea, the eye rests
with delight on the beautiful verdure of the Japanese Islands.
The Bay of Nagasaki is very animated for the moment. After the end of
the war all the fleet of the Pacific Ocean has assembled here: English,
French, Russian and American cruisers, and monster ironclads, filled the
harbour with their menace.
We went on to land in a steam-launch put at our disposal by Mr.
Guinzburg, a German merchant who has grown awfully rich by being the
official supplier of the Russian fleet. Our Consul, Mr. Kostileff, was
on the pier to meet us, and walked with us to the Grand Hotel, where we
decided to take a few hours of rest. Out flew our hostess all smiles and
a hearty welcome, highly pleased to see us return to her hotel.
A printed placard, hanging up outside the bureau, announced that a big
English steamer, the _Empress of China_ belonging to the Canadian Line,
starts to-morrow for Vancouver _via_ Shanghai. The idea came to us to
continue our voyage on that boat for a change, but we were told that
there was no place on board.
After tiffin, we took five rikshas and went to call upon the Consul’s
wife, but didn’t find her at home. After having made a round of the curio
shops, we drove through broad streets full of drinking dens, with Russian
and English sign-boards. On the threshold stood girls with very much
painted faces, clad in European dress, who—as a bait—surveyed the sailors
of different nations, who swung along arm in arm and came here to take
a bite at their fishing-line, after their long and virtuous crossing.
These girls are for the most part Russian Jewesses, to be found in nearly
all the ports of the far East. After dinner we returned on board the
_Khabarovsk_.
September 23rd.—I was wakened very early by the sound of military bands
playing the Russian and English anthems, and the Marseillaise, on
different cruisers. In the afternoon we left for Shanghai.
CHAPTER LXXVII
FROM NAGASAKI TO SHANGHAI
September 24th.—We cross the treacherous Japanese Sea, on which the
monsoons, disagreeable north-east winds, are raging in this season. We
went on deck for a breath of fresh air and had a chat with the captain.
He told us of the danger we were running during our stay at Nagasaki,
because of the hatred of the Japs towards Russians. Every time we left
the hotel we were followed by two detectives to protect us. The captain,
as it appears, always carried a loaded pistol in his pocket when he
accompanied us in the streets.
We saw a black spot advancing rapidly towards us; we are going to have
a storm. Soon wind began to blow furiously, and the ship staggered and
pitched. The captain promised better weather for to-morrow; yes, but it
is to-day that we have to go through!
September 25th.—Yellow spots appear on the water, it means that we are
going to enter the great Yang-tse-kiang, the sacred Blue River; a false
nomenclature, as the river is not blue but yellow; just the same as the
Blue Danube, which nobody has ever seen of azure colour. We anchored at
the mouth of the Woosung, nine miles off Shanghai and have to wait till
morning, the water being very low.
September 27th.—I was up and dressed at dawn and mounted half asleep
on deck. The rising tide was beginning to put all the anchored vessels
afloat. The entrance into the harbour of Shanghai being rather dangerous,
we put out signs calling the pilot, and soon perceived his fragile skiff,
which the waves seemed to swallow up at every moment. Our sailors had to
pull the pilot up by means of a rope, after which we went up the Woosung
river, of dirty dark brown colour. The banks are low and scattered all
over with habitations. The pilot brought us into the port, filled with
cruisers of all nationalities.
CHAPTER LXXVIII
SHANGHAI
After having said a hearty farewell to our captain and his officers, we
mounted a canoe steered with one oar, and went ashore. Mr. Redding, our
Consul, was on the quay to meet us. He proposed for us to put up at his
house, but the invitation was declined with thanks. We preferred to stop
at the Hôtel des Colonies, situated in the French Concession, to which we
drove in Mr. Redding’s carriage. The French Concession is a real French
corner with its own law court, municipality, police, etc.
The city rather disappointed me with its modern appearance, and wide
crowded streets bearing French names, lined with houses of European
architecture and brilliant shops. Shanghai is the city of great
international commerce in the extreme Orient. The French, English
and Americans possess concessions which they rent from the Chinese
Government. Each concession has its own Consul.
All the first storey of our hotel is put to our disposal, each apartment
has its own bathroom. I had to lock myself in to avoid the native
merchants, who enter without knocking at the door, all smiles and making
funny little bows.
In the afternoon we started in a litter, carried on the shoulders of
four porters, to inspect the curiosities of the native town. It was a
new mode of locomotion to us. The streets for the most part are two or
three yards broad, and full of local colour. I looked out at everything
with wondering eyes, it’s all so strange! The houses of the rich are
built of stone, and those of the poor, with lumps of earth mixed with
chopped straw. Nearly every house has a small courtyard surrounded by a
high wall, a low door is cut in this wall giving access to the street. We
see a fat Chinese merchant dressed in a blue silk robe, sitting in front
of one of these doors, fanning himself in a melancholy manner. At the
next door a barber is shaving his client in the open air. We are carried
now through a street full of shops; their fronts disappear completely
behind gilded planks hung up vertically, bearing hieroglyphic signs.
The shopkeeper sits on the floor of his shop, surrounded by his various
goods. He never rises to customers, for everything is within reach of his
hand. Women never meddle with trade, which is solely in the hands of the
men. “Ladies first,” we say in the west; in the east it is “ladies last”;
their sphere is the back-room. The whole duty of a woman is to worship
and wait upon her husband, who is lord and master in its most exacting
sense.
The streets are full of life and movement. Chinese women, enveloped in
long blue shirts, plod on their deformed feet. Fat, grotesque-looking
Chinese maggots sprawl in splendid victorias. Curious one-wheeled
vehicles are pushed by a vigorous coolie, bearing one passenger only,
sitting at one end of a plank put on the top of the enormous wheel,
making balance to his goods and chattels placed on the other end of the
plank. As “time is not money” in the Orient, the fare of a run which
lasts sometimes half-a-day, with many halts, is only one farthing! We met
a “towkee,” or mandarin, arrayed in a marvellous costume embroidered with
silk and gold, who was conveyed in a rich palanquin, surrounded by many
attendants who beat the drum all the way. Further on our carriers stopped
to make way for a funeral procession, preceded by Chinamen sounding
the horn and beating the drum. The deceased is carried in a large box
ornamented with a metal dragon. Behind came the hired women mourners,
with their plaintive wail. The whole procession is arrayed in white, the
mourning colour in China. On our way back we passed along the Bund, in
the English section, a pleasant little park to which no Chinaman, be he
a coolie or a mandarin, was admitted, and traversed the broad, grassy
Maidan, the European rendezvous, where Englishmen and Americans, in
spotless flannels, played cricket or football. On the pier we saw a flag
signalling a tempest coming on. How annoying! We shall have to wait here
until the typhoon passes away. In different places placards announced
the arrival of Antoine Kontski, the celebrated pianist, Beethoven’s last
disciple.
September 28th.—My husband was invited by the French authorities to visit
Zi-ka-wai, a small colony established by the Jesuits, two miles from
Shanghai. The reverend fathers on leaving France take an oath never to
return to their native land. On arriving in this far-away country, they
put on the Chinese costume, and, cross in hand—their only weapon—they go
about fearlessly, preaching Christianity in the very centre of fanaticism
and hatred of the white race. Sergy saw a group of monks sitting under
the palms, watching their long-tressed pupils who played tennis.
September 29th.—To-day our Consul gave a dinner-party at which Kontski
was present. The old mæstro is 82 years old, but does not appear more
than 60. He has much humour in him, and kept the attention of the whole
table with his amusing anecdotes.
September 30th.—We took passage to-day on the _Melbourne_ one of the
finest steamers of the Méssageries Maritimes. We slipped down the Woosung
on board the _Chenan_ a small steamboat which transported the passengers
from Shanghai to the big ocean vessels, which could not enter the mouth
of the Woosung.
When we stepped on board the _Melbourne_ the captain met us in full naval
uniform with big epaulettes and a three-cornered hat. The commander of
a Russian cruiser moored in the harbour, and the chief admiral of the
French fleet came also to pay their respects to my husband.
We started in the afternoon on our way to the equatorial regions. Whilst
we passed before the _Khabarovsk_, the sailors waved their caps and
cheered us loudly.
There are about fifty first-class passengers on the _Melbourne_. Kontski
and his wife have also taken passage on that boat. The celebrated Polish
pianist proved a most cheery and entertaining companion. Though the aged
mæstro has passed his eightieth birthday, his spring-like vigour and
abounding vitality are surprising; he defies the march of time. Kontski
speaks five languages with equal facility. His wit is sparkling. During
five o’clock tea he told us a number of rather risky anecdotes which
kept his neighbours in fits of laughter. When I handed the old mæstro
his cup of tea, asking him if he had sugar enough, he said, “Everything
proceeding from the hands of Your Excellence can’t be otherwise than
excellent!” Gallant old man!
Between the hours of five and seven the passengers take their siesta
on deck, sitting down in canvas chairs and fading slowly into a deep
slumber, conscious of the rhythmic throbbing of the engine and of the
beat of warm air on their cheek.
At eight o’clock the gong sounded for dinner. The captain would have me
placed next him; at my left hand sat the Director of the French Post, a
Corsican bearing the high-sounding name of Casanova. That compatriot of
Bonaparte leads, as it seems to me, the depraved life that his famous
namesake did before him. He said gallant things to me, and related
scandalous stories about his amorous exploits.
After dinner we expected that Kontski would play the piano, but he said
he would do it, for my sole benefit, at Hong-Kong.
October 1st.—I had little sleep last night, for the ship was rolling a
good deal. I climbed on deck at sunrise. Sergy tucked me up in my chair
and I soon fell into a deep slumber. When I woke the rolling had ceased
and the sea was quite calm. I was so comfortable I didn’t want to get out
of my rug, and took my breakfast on deck.
October 2nd.—This morning, whilst we took our coffee, a weird procession
of gentlemen, in extremely impromptu costume, with towels over their
arms, passed by on their way to the bath-cabin. After luncheon the
captain led us over the inner mysteries of the ship. We went down the
deck ladder into the engine-room, where he, who would taste purgatory,
had but to find employment there. The stokers are all niggers, who
support better that stifling atmosphere than their white brethren.
After dinner we sat on deck, seeking in vain for a breath of fresh air.
It was fire that we inhaled. We are now in the straits of Formosa and
have reached the tropics.
After tea we had music in the salon. I sat down at the piano and played
four hands with Mr. Shaniavski. Our fellow passengers, crowding round,
applauded, and begged us to play on. Kontski turned over the leaves and
approved of our performance. In recompense he improvised, on the spot, a
song which he dedicated to me, and entitled “Mes Adieux.”
CHAPTER LXXIX
HONG-KONG
October 3rd.—At dawn the island of Hong-Kong appeared to view. We slipped
into the horse-shoe harbour of Victoria Town, the most beautiful and
picturesque place I have ever seen. The shores of the splendid bay are
crowned with long rows of tropical villas. Victoria Town is a handsome,
well-built city. One can see we are in a British colony; English flags
float everywhere. We got into a small boat to go ashore, and walked
to the Hotel Hong-Kong, having to pass over a long bridge. The Hotel
Hong-Kong is a large seven-storied building, surrounded on all sides by
a gallery with about a dozen shops. I shut myself up in my room with all
the blinds closed; the semi-darkness gave me a sense of coolness, but
when I opened the window such a stifling breath of air flew into the room
that I had to shut it hurriedly. After the hour of siesta had passed, we
went up the steep funicular railway to Victoria Peak, a perpendicular
mountain 1,850 feet high. The funicular creeps straight up the side of
the hill; while one car creeps up the mountain, the other crawls down. In
about three minutes time we found ourselves on the Esplanade, where we
had palanquins to take us to the cool summit where a big hotel is built.
Many travellers come here to look down from the height of the Peak upon
the great harbour of Hong-Kong. A flag floated at the top of the Peak,
announcing the mail-boat from Japan. The big steamer seemed from there
but a black spot. Picnic parties often come to the Peak, and the hotel is
always full, thanks to the temperature, which is several degrees lower
than in town. We had dinner at the hotel where the food is considered
very good for the English palates, but far too spiced for ours. It was
long before I recovered from my first mouthful of chicken plentifully
seasoned with coarse red-pepper.
We took a bright green palanquin with three men at the foot of the hill,
and went at a swinging pace through the outskirts of Victoria-Town. I had
all the blinds pulled up whilst we were carried through the “Happy-alley”
to the cathedral. There was a long file of pretty, dark-haired señoritas
marching soberly to church, holding their prayer-books devoutly in their
hands, attended by black-gowned, sharp-eyed duennas. The congregation
consists of diverse nationalities, and the priest is obliged to preach
in four languages—in English, Portuguese, Malay and Malabar. Macaites
(aborigines of Macas) abound in Hong-Kong: they are a mixture of
Portuguese and Chinese. Though wearing the European costume, these
half-castes remain inwardly Chinese. It is a race of degenerates, whereas
cross-breeding between English and French Creoles with the Chinese, form
a splendid race.
The dinner at table-d’hôte was announced for seven o’clock. We entered
the large dining-room full of grand gentlemen and smart ladies in evening
dress. Dinner was served at small separate tables; it consisted of
oyster soup, followed by a dish of frogs, strongly spiced _cari_, served
with hot rice, and tropical fruit for dessert, unknown in Europe: the
jack-fruit, of the size and appearance of a water-melon, and a sort of
great orange four times its natural size, named grape-fruit; you have
it on your plate cut in two halves with ice on each, and you scoop the
inside out of a lot of tiny pockets with a tea-spoon. I was glad of the
coolness of the big hall; a punkah-boy on the verandah pulled drowsily
at the cords that moved the great fan. The usual language spoken here
between Europeans and natives is called “pigeon-English”—a mixture
of English, French, and German. It was difficult to make ourselves
understood by the boys. We had to explain ourselves mostly by signs.
Directly after dinner we went out in palanquins. The fare is only one
dollar for the whole day. We were carried swiftly up broad streets
bordered by palm trees and bamboos covered with mould because of the
damp, tepid air. Queen’s Road, the principal street, is a large avenue
bordered with beautiful English shops, and reminds one of London, only
instead of commonplace constables, it is Punjabs—Hindoos—in big red
turbans who keep order in the streets. On our way to the Botanic Gardens
we saw English soldiers exercising in a large square. We admired—in
the beautiful Gardens, amongst the innumerable wonders of tropical
vegetation—a large basin with lotuses in full bloom. We returned to the
hotel through the native quarter of the town, lined with straw huts
between hedges of banana and cocoa-nut trees.
After dinner we stayed out on the veranda till nearly midnight, with
Kontski and his wife, who are also stopping at Hotel Hong-Kong. An
intoxicating perfume of flowers came from the garden below; only the
tinkle of a fountain and the ceaseless chanting of myriads of insects
tempered the stillness of the beautiful tropical night. The old mæstro
is a most interesting and brilliant talker, with an unending store
of anecdote and reminiscence; you could listen to him for hours. He
recalled the days of his youth, and told us that at the age of four he
played the piano. When he was twelve years old it was decided that he
was to enter the musical profession. His father brought him to Vienna to
be introduced so Beethoven, who was already half-deaf at that time. He
listened to his performance with ear-trumpets to his ears, and accepted
Kontski as a pupil. One day, during the lesson, a card bearing the name
of Beethoven’s brother, with whom he was not on the best of terms, was
brought to him. _Beethoven, Rittergut-Besitzer_ (possessor of a feudal
estate) was printed on it. The great composer greeted it with a growl. He
took his note-book from his pocket, tore out a leaf and hastily scribbled
on it: _Beethoven, Gehirn-Besitzer_ (possessor of brains), and, handing
it to his servant, he said: “There, give him that and tell him that I am
occupied and cannot receive him.” After having studied four years with
Beethoven, Kontski returned to Warsaw, where his father taught French
in a college in which he ended his education, together with Chopin. The
friendship between them lasted unclouded until Chopin’s death broke it.
We talked a lot of music with Kontski, who had known many celebrated
artists, and had been on the best of terms with Rachel. During his stay
in Paris in 1836, Kontski had been invited to a dinner-party given by
Rothschild, at which many celebrities were present, famous people in the
world of music: Chopin, Rossini, Liszt, Thalberg, and a host of others.
After dinner the great musicians were asked to play. Thalberg complied
readily, but Chopin refused point blank, saying that he had grown too
heavy after the copious repast. Liszt followed his example and would
not play. Then Rothschild, addressing himself to Rossini, who owed the
nick-name of “Papa Rossini,” thanks to his fat and round figure, asked
him to persuade Liszt to play something to them. But there was little
sympathy between these two geniuses, and Rossini exclaimed perfidiously:
“Liszt, mon ami, play us one of your admirable compositions which you
give out ordinarily as an improvisation.” Liszt, furious to be turned
into ridicule, sat down ragingly at the piano, bending his face over the
keys, and began to play one of his most brilliant rhapsodies, with high
technique and rare poetic insight. His performance enchanted everyone in
the room except Rossini, who had not succeeded in ridiculing Liszt.
October 4th.—This morning we accompanied Kontski to a music-shop, where
he went to choose a piano for his forthcoming concert. There was only
a cracked old “Pleyel” for the choice. The old mæstro kept his promise
and played most enchantingly some selections of “Faust” of his own
transposition. I cannot understand how he could manage to get such
lovely notes out of such a decrepit old instrument; by his magic touch he
persuaded it to give forth delicious music. I could have listened all day
long.
On our way back to the hotel, we entered a farm bearing a placard with
the alluring inscription: “New Milk.” The hostess, a fat negress with an
orange kerchief tied round her head, ran up to us, smiling and shewing
two rows of very white teeth in a very black face. She offered tea with
excellent cream and bread and butter.
We dined in haste at the hotel and walked to the quay, where we took the
steam-launch belonging to the hotel to be transported to the _Melbourne_.
I felt at home when I stepped over her familiar side. Some of the old
faces were among the crew, and the head steward was the same.
At four o’clock in the afternoon we were on our way to Saigon. The
steward told me that amongst the passengers on board we had Theo,
the well-known French actress, accompanied by her maid, a pretty
mulatto-girl, dressed in a yellow and red striped cotton frock, with a
silk kerchief on her head. The dark charms of this dusky maiden conquered
the hearts of a great number of the crew. European fashions reach these
remote parts. Sergy’s neighbour at table, a Japanese young lady, very
tall for her Liliputian race, had discarded the kimono and wears the
white woman’s tailor-made dress. Many of the men in Japan get their
clothes from London, as their wives do from Paris. What a pity! Soon
there will be no special customs or dress left. We shall all be exactly
alike.
October 5th.—The atmosphere in my cabin being unbearable, I settled
down on deck, seeking refuge under an awning, with books and work, and
stretched myself comfortably in my own bamboo-chair that I had bought
at Hong-Kong. By my side a Portuguese girl read aloud Psalms to a group
of nuns wearing white caps floating in the air, whilst her friend, a
Chinese girl, did needlework. The Good Sisters had recruited both girls
into their Order. They sat telling their rosaries, their lips reverently
framing words of prayer; I could hear the click of their beads. The
opposite side of the deck was occupied by a Chinese school, a class of
about thirty little boys, their long tresses entwined with pink ribbon.
The teacher stood at one end of the rank and sang a single line of his
lessons, and all the children sang it after him. Then came the second
line, and they repeated it.
October 6th.—The coasts of Annam are outlined on the horizon. Dark grey
clouds, precursors of rain, sweep rapidly, driven by the wind which had
risen suddenly, and one of these tempests of the equinox came to fall
upon us. The squall lasted only a few minutes, but we couldn’t go on the
deck, which was drenched by the deluge.
October 7th.—I couldn’t sleep the whole night for the heat. The
temperature continues to rise; as soon as the sun gets up it is already
scorching. The tropics are making themselves strongly felt. We are only
600 miles from the equator.
Towards midnight the steward knocked at my door, begging me to close the
portholes in order to give room to the rope-ladder for the pilot. We are
at the mouth of the river Saigon. The tide was already too low for us to
enter the harbour, and we anchored outside.
October 8th.—We are moving on at last, making great windings on the river
which is very narrow in these parts. All the passengers were on deck. The
banks are flat, planted with high palms. Insolent black-faced monkeys
gambol on the tree-tops and chat vivaciously as they scamper from branch
to branch, making grimaces at us. Birds of all the colour of the rainbow
are perched on the branches. One of the passengers assured me that he had
perceived a crocodile, but strain my eyes as I might, I could not see the
monster.
CHAPTER LXXX
SAIGON
The smell of earth reached us already, as well as the perfume of amber
and tropical flowers. We are in Cochin-China, in fairy-like decorations.
I thought myself in dreamland and had to pinch myself to be sure I was
awake.
The town of Saigon, buried in banyan and palm trees, is a city of
splendid wonders. The French colours floated everywhere. Small omnibuses
harnessed with a Malay pony were waiting under the banyan trees on the
quay. An aide-de-camp of the Governor-General of Cochin-China invited
us, in the name of his chief, to put up at his house, but we preferred
to drive independently to the Grand Hôtel, and mounted an omnibus drawn
by a Liliputian pony, with a native coachman on the box, dressed in
white linen with a red turban. We drove through streets that tried to
be French, and boulevards surrounded by mimosas and laurel trees. All
Saigon sleeps between the hours of two and five. The houses of commerce
are closed and every business stops. Most of the window-shades were down,
and there was no sign of life in the streets; we only saw a man sleeping
in an angle of a wall, flies above his head. It seemed a very long drive
to the Grand Hôtel. The coachman, to whom we had explained ourselves in a
language of signs, didn’t understand where we wanted to go, and instead
of driving us to the Grand Hôtel he brought us to the Botanic Gardens,
through long alleys of red sand. Once we were at the door of the gardens,
we decided to visit them, though it wasn’t at all an afternoon pastime in
such awful heat. In this tropical land, one of the hottest on the globe,
there are often cases of sunstroke amongst the Europeans. As to the
natives, they are accustomed to receive the caresses of the hot rays of
the sun, which is at its zenith in these parts.
On our way back to the hotel we saw the statue of Gambetta on the square.
The fancy of the sculptor has attired the great man in a fur-lined coat,
which looks rather queer in this country, where everyone would prefer to
be completely deprived of clothes.
A spacious gallery with hermetically closed shutters stretches the whole
length of our hotel. Directly after tiffin we went up to our apartment
and indulged in a pleasant siesta. I was awfully thirsty, taking up a
decanter to pour out a glass of water, what was my horror to find a
drowned scorpion at the bottom of it. It was enough to disgust you of the
Tropics for ever! I rang the bell and my summons were quickly answered
by a barefooted Annamite boy, with nothing but a bit of stuff wrapped
round his loins. I pointed out to him, with an indignant gesture, the
contents of the decanter, trying by an expressive gesture to let him
see all my disgust, but the boy didn’t appear shocked, he only grinned,
showing his shining teeth from ear to ear. When going to bed I looked in
and underneath the bed for relatives of the drowned scorpion and have
discovered an enormous tarantula on my mosquito-net. The whole night
swarms of noisy lizards crawled round the walls and on the ceiling,
making a very disagreeable concert. I was expecting them to come down
upon my head all the time. The lizards are generally quite inoffensive,
except a dangerous species called “to-que,” according to the sound they
produce. Before putting on our boots in the morning we looked inside,
lest a scorpion may be lying in ambush.
My husband was invited to dinner by the General-Governor, Mr. Prévost,
together with the Resident of Kambodge. The Palace is closed nearly
all the year round, because Mr. Prévost inhabits Hanoi-in-Tonkin. He
is passing now through Saigon on his way to Europe, on a holiday. I
dined comfortably with Mrs. Serebriakoff at a private table by an open
window. After the repast, we settled ourselves at a little table on the
boulevard, reminding one of the Paris boulevards, with well-dressed white
men sitting at small tables, smoking, drinking syrups and eating ices;
only instead of white-aproned Parisian waiters, it is Chinese boys,
resembling women with their long white robes and tresses hanging down
their backs, who serve the customers. We sat contemplating the movements
of the crowd on the boulevard, full of Europeanised negro swells, Hindoos
with a cast-mark on their forehead, and officers of the French army. Two
French regiments and two Annamite battalions are quartered at Saigon. The
Annamite soldiers are barefooted and wear straw hats of conical form.
There is no cavalry in Cochin-China, because horses, except Annamite
ponies, cannot stand the climate.
Mr. Prévost had invited my husband and his suite to share his box at the
opera, which was “Faust.” We saw their carriage stop before the theatre
just in front of the boulevard. We could hear the sound of our Anthem and
the Marseillaise, played by a military band in the garden belonging to
the theatre, and the clapping of hands and bravoes. Between the acts the
little tables on the boulevard were taken by storm by the audience, and
rapidly abandoned at the moment when an Annamite boy began to run up and
down the boulevard ringing the bell, which was to be the signal for the
beginning of the following act.
A guard of honour was placed this morning at the entrance-door of our
hotel, in honour of my husband. The French soldiers were replaced in the
afternoon by Annamite warriors, who grasped their guns and saluted Sergy
as he passed them and presented arms. After tiffin Mr. Rousseau called
upon us with his son. They are going to sail with us as far as Singapore.
Before dinner Sergy went to visit the barracks with General Corona, the
chief of the troops. The soldiers, locked up for punishment, were set
free to commemorate my husband’s inspection of the barracks.
At nightfall we went on board the _Melbourne_, and saw on the upper deck
a great number of French officers who had come to wish Mr. Rousseau a
happy voyage.
October 12th.—The heat is something dreadful, and I had to converse with
Mr. Rousseau. After tiffin I shut myself up, having decided to keep to my
cabin for the remainder of the voyage, until we reached Singapore.
Towards evening we approached the great Hindoo-Chinese city. We are now
in the neighbourhood of the equator, at the distance of half a degree
only. We have the pilot on board, because this port is dangerous, many
vessels having perished here. We entered the bay with some difficulty,
and passed before the wreck of a ship. We dropped anchor amongst a number
of steamers of different nationalities. The harbour is beautiful and
traversed in all directions by canoes mounted by natives, whose want of
dress amused me: it was a mere fig-leaf of coloured rag.
CHAPTER LXXXI
SINGAPORE
Our captain had sent a boat ashore to warn the authorities of our
arrival. We were afraid we should be in quarantine owing to the plague
raging at the time in India. We had to undergo a sanitary inspection and
waited a long time for the doctor. At last, a boat flying a yellow flag,
bearing the inscription: “Health Officer,” came off to us. It contained
the port-doctor. It is dreadful if we have to perform a quarantine!
It’s all right. The native passengers only passed the ordeal of medical
examination. They showed their tongues and their eyelids to the doctor,
and after he had examined the state of their health, we were permitted
to land. We were instantly surrounded by a whole fleet of junks full
of howling natives, who attacked our boat offering their different
wares insistingly in funny English: “You bye laidee, veree nice, you
bye!” Naked bronze-coloured boys, screaming out “A la mer!” dived into
the water after the coins dropped overboard by passengers, and came to
the surface smiling, holding the coins between their teeth. They won’t
trouble themselves to search for coppers, and discover them in the deep
with their lynx eyes.
We were in a dense crowd of Hindoos, Negroes and half-castes, when we
stepped on shore. Enterprising natives attacked us, each of them seeming
determined to carry some portion of us away with them. They were not
ruffians demanding our money or our lives, as they seemed doing, but
were simply peaceable porters and guides, hoping to earn an honest
penny. An elegant victoria drawn by a pair of fine horses, with a native
coachman—wearing a red fez—on the box, was placed at our disposal by
a rich rajah, but I preferred to drive to the Hôtel d’Europe in a
carriage belonging to our Consul,—Mr. Kleimenoff,—drawn by a pacific
pony. The Consul’s “Kawass,” a negro of the blackest black, wearing on
his shoulder a belt with the Russian arms—the double eagle—embroidered
on it, was sitting on the box. We are again on British territory. The
names of the streets and all the sign-boards are written in English.
Every nationality seemed to be represented in the streets: all shades of
black, brown and yellow—Chinese, Malays, Hindoos and Europeans from all
countries. The Hindoos are slender and handsome men, with firm polished
bodies like bronze statuettes. The negroes are also splendid specimens
of manhood, robust and square-built; they wear round their necks, arms
and legs silver bands ornamented with coral beads. Both sexes walk
about in the streets in the primitive simplicity of nature, naked and
unashamed. The women with silver rings in their nostrils and clinking
bangles round their arms and ankles, wear nothing above the waist and
not much below. They grow old very early, and at the age of twenty look
forty at least. Little black children, resembling each other as two drops
of ink, are playing in the tropical sunlight in the dust. Good-looking
English soldiers promenade, stick in hand, and English officials drive
importantly in victorias.
The Hôtel d’Europe is composed of several separate pavilions, with high
ceilinged bare rooms, with white-washed walls and mat-covered floors. The
hotel is draughty and perfectly adapted to the tropics. The doors do not
touch the floor and the ceilings and the walls between each room are also
open at the top, leaving an interval for the air to circulate freely;
every sound, therefore, is heard in the next apartment.
October 13th.—After tiffin, we went to the Botanic Gardens, the most
wonderful in the world, a vision of loveliness. I had not eyes enough to
admire it properly. On our way back we passed the race-courses and saw a
line of smart carriages standing on the road. The race days in Singapore
resemble Sunday in London, nothing can be got in the city, all the shops
and banks are closed.
October 14th.—Our Consul gave us to-day a first rate dinner. His house
is very stylish: all his servants are christened Chinamen, who have come
from Pekin, where they form a large colony. Their ancestors were Cossacks
taken prisoners by the Chinese in the seventeenth century.
October 15th.—To-day, we start for Java, in the Dutch East Indies, on the
_Godavéri_ a steamboat of the Méssageries Maritimes. The ship makes the
trip in thirty-six hours. What a chance to see the most beautiful country
in the world! The voyage will not be a pleasant one however, because we
are sure to be roasted alive, our cabin being on the sunny side. The
captain, fat and jovial, is a weather-beaten experienced old seaman, who
has had long practice in these far away waters; it is twenty-five years
already that he has plied between Singapore and Java, fighting with
the waves. The gallant old mariner has hoisted the Russian flag in our
honour. The passengers for the greater part are Dutchmen, and half-castes
(a cross-breed between Dutch colonists and Japanese.)
October 16th.—To-day we are upon the equator and enter the south
hemisphere. We cross the great meridian—the 180th degree of longitude,
and are close to the centre of the globe. We drop out a day of our
lives; yesterday it was October 15th (Sunday), to-day it is October 17th
(Tuesday). We did not celebrate the passage of the line, and had no
foolish ceremonies, no fantastics, no ducking at sea, which consisted in
sprinkling with salt-water the neophyte who crossed the equator for the
first time. All that sort of thing has gone out. One of the passengers
exclaimed for fun that he saw the equator and a naive lady-passenger took
up her opera-glasses and began to stare round about, which made everybody
laugh. We remained long on deck, enjoying the beautiful tropical night.
The sky was sown with stars. Good-by the “Old Bear,” and welcome the
“Southern Cross.” It is not particularly large nor strikingly bright,
but it does, after a fashion, suggest a cross not carefully shaped,
consisting of four large stars and a little one. We saw also the black
patch of the sky which the sailors call the “soot-bag.” We had music on
deck, where the piano was carried out. I played duets together with Mr.
Shaniavski, and the commissaire scraped on the mandoline. I have remarked
that it is always the commissaires who constitute the musical element on
French steamers.
CHAPTER LXXXII
JAVA—BATAVIA
October 16th.—We see an island on our right. It is Java, the Garden of
the East, one of the most splendid spots in the world, to which nature
has been prodigal with beauties and wonders. In the distance we perceive
the port of Batavia, the capital of Netherland India, with Dutch flags
flying. It was a strange land to come to. I seemed to be in a dream all
the time, and felt as if transported into another planet. It was like
being in a theatre where all the scenery was real and the curtain never
came down.
Our Consul—Mr. Bakounine—was on the quay. It was nice meeting someone
from the part of the world I was born in. The warm and damp climate
of Java had not suited our Consul; he looked very thin and white. Mr.
Bakounine was extremely kind and gave all his time to us.
On the quay exemplary order reigned. The natives are treated by the Dutch
as pariahs, and ruled with a hand of iron. They are not allowed to speak
Dutch, and as we were not acquainted with the native language, we had the
universal language, that of the signs, left to us. The Dutch also evince
great contempt for the Chinese, and treat them as if they were dirt.
Coolies are not permitted to ride in tramways with white-faced Europeans;
only high-caste Parsees may ride with sahibs in second-class compartments.
Batavia is the reunion of three separate towns: Weltewredeu, the new
town, buried in luxuriant vegetation, with low-built white houses,
surrounded by verandas, groves of palm and cocoa-nut, gives one the
impression of a series of villas built in a large park; the Pettah,
(old town) is an agglomeration of bamboo-huts forming narrow streets,
inhabited by the natives, and separated from the European quarter by a
cricket-ground; the so-called Chinese Town is inhabited only by Chinamen.
We took the train, which brought us in twenty minutes to Batavia. Whilst
we crossed a beautiful cocoa and palm-wood, Mr. Bakounine said that he
would have exchanged willingly one single birch-tree of far-away Russia
for all the palms in the world. How I understand him! I also would have
gladly exchanged all this luxurious tropical vegetation and blue sky for
the grey skies of dear old Petersburg.
When we arrived at Batavia, we were driven in a cab, with a native
coachman on the box, to the Hôtel de Java. I had got hold of some
Japanese words and kept repeating to him: “Plan, plan,” which means “go
slowly.” The inhabitants were probably taking their “siesta,” during the
sweltering heat of midday: troops, natives, animals, were all asleep.
Batavia seemed deserted, all the houses had dropped their blinds. We only
saw lizards in the streets, warming themselves in the sun.
The Hôtel de Java is a square, one storied building with an open
courtyard in the middle and a veranda supported by pillars on the
whole length of the front. The rooms are barely furnished, the floors
covered with mats; there are wire nettings in the doors and windows to
keep away the midges, who weren’t even honourable enough to wait until
sunset before attacking you. There are no bells in the hotel and I grew
hoarse calling the Malay “boy” for some information I wanted. With many
gesticulations he began to gabble in an unknown tongue to me, and I was
obliged to write down my requests on a bit of paper which the “boy”
carried to the office. One may well imagine how promptly my demands were
satisfied.
The veranda was full of creole ladies seeking relief from the sunshine
outside and whiling away the dreary midday hours reclining in hammocks
and cane-lounges, clad in loose transparent night-jackets, stockingless,
with their hair in curling-pins, their discarded shoes lying on the
floor. The climate makes them indolent. They enjoyed their “siesta”
smoking cigarettes and drinking iced lemonade.
We had tiffin in the dining-room. The Dutch cooking does not please
me. Tiffin always begins with the traditional “reistafel,” a dish of
chipped meat and rice, without any seasoning to it. The meat is lean
and unsavoury, and the dairy products are very bad. The cattle in Java
are very small, looking more like goats than cows. The natives are not
exacting in this country, cocoa-nuts serve them both as food and drink;
they eat the pulp and drink the milk.
Towards evening, the town became animated; the streets were full of
bustle. Europeans go out in the streets bareheaded, and seem to have
forgotten their hats.
We drove in a tram through the three towns. Batavia is a city of many
canals; it reminded me of Rotterdam. We saw lots of natives bathing in
the Grand Canal. When passing the Portuguese Gate, we were shown a big
cannon which is the object of a queer sort of pilgrimage for barren Malay
women, who bring offering to the cannon in order not to remain childless
in their wedded life.
October 17th.—I passed a wretched night, tossing and turning in my bed,
half smothered with mosquito-curtains, which effectually keep off any
little breath of air there is. In that awful heat sleep was out of the
question. As soon as I lay down I felt myself devoured by quantities of
famished creatures who greedily awaited their prey, and with which I
fought a desperate battle, persevering in the chase with a fine sporting
spirit until morning.
Batavia does not enchant me. The heat is tremendous. We have determined
to-day to go and seek freshness on the wooded slopes of Buitenzorg,
the summer resort of the Dutch Resident, situated a few hours out of
Batavia. The railway-line from Batavia to Buitenzorg is one of the most
picturesque in the world. Marvellous landscapes spread out before our
admiring eyes. What vegetation! There are thick mighty palms, bananas
and dense tropical jungle. The road is very steep and we ascended
slowly along wide precipices, stopping only twice at neat little
railway-stations. The higher we mounted the fresher the air became. We
rolled now between sugar-cane, vanilla and cotton plantations, with
trees covered with white flakes, and passed picturesque villas with tall
cocoa-nut palms casting cool shadows on the low flat roofs. The tropical
sun made the train like a furnace. After three hours’ drive we saw a
settlement of low dwellings, at the foot of blue hills, half hidden in an
eucalyptus forest and gigantic mimosas. It was Buitenzorg!
When we left the train, an aide-de-camp of the Resident came up to my
husband and offered his carriage to drive us to the Hôtel du Chemin de
Fer. The hotel is kept by a Frenchman. We entered a courtyard surrounded
by several low buildings. Our apartment disappointed me by the doubtful
cleanliness of its beds denuded of coverlets and sheets. Lizards were
running about the ceiling and the walls. A barefooted “boy” arrayed in a
white loose jacket, armed with a feather-brush and a duster, came to tidy
our bedroom. He first swept the petroleum lamp (there are no candles to
be had in this corner of the globe) and then began to dust our beds with
the same brush. It won’t be an easy task to civilise him!
Our windows looked out into the garden. Green coffee-trees covered with
white flowers and ripe fruit, peeped into our room, and a sweet musky
aromatic odour pervaded the air.
The year, in all tropical countries, is divided into two seasons, summer
and winter. Summer begins towards October to end in May, which is
winter-time here. The wet season has set in, the season of ceaseless,
abundant rain and suffocating heat. In these abominable regions, when
summer ends and the intense heat of January has passed, tepid rain begins
to fall every day from four to six o’clock with astonishing persistency.
The air is clear and yet full of moisture; everything grows musty. If
a pair of boots have not been cleaned for two days, they get covered
with green mould. Leaves and branches grow now and then on the telegraph
posts, transforming them into trees, which obliges the railway companies,
sometimes, to use iron instead of wooden posts. Watches and all metal
objects when exposed to the air become covered with rust.
October 18th.—Foreigners come rarely to Java and, except our company,
there are only two Dutch families in our hotel, who arrived a few days
ago from Borneo.
Snakes, centipedes and all sorts of filthy vermin abound here. One must
look out for poisonous serpents hidden in the grass; they often creep
into the houses. Quite recently an enormous boa, measuring over three
yards, penetrated into the Resident’s courtyard, and after having regaled
himself with a fowl, that he snapped up on his way, the formidable
reptile crept into the Palace and coiled himself into a comfortable
position under the Resident’s writing-table. One of the Dutch ladies
stopping at the hotel went down into the drawing-room this afternoon to
play the piano and perceived a huge cobra-capella, a serpent of the most
dangerous species, taking his nap under the instrument.
I heard a dog barking under my window. It appeared to be a little
subterranean animal called “Earth dog,” who barks loudly each time anyone
passes before his hole.
Before dinner Sergy went to pay a visit to the Resident, who had sent
his carriage for him, drawn by a team of four horses, with a Javanese
coachman on the box and two barefooted footmen in splendid livery,
wearing helmets.
The Resident is absolute sovereign in these parts; his surroundings
transport one at the end of the nineteenth century to the epoch of
feudalism. During the reception barefooted servants presented trays
charged with wine and champagne, in humble attitudes, bending the knee
before their master, and retreated backwards bowing very low.
The Resident invited Sergy for a drive in his carriage. They crossed
large fields allotted to the culture of tobacco, cacao, pepper, indigo
and coffee. A long street of small huts, with roofs that may be opened,
all of the same shape and size, spreads in the coffee plantations,
serving for the drying of the grains. As soon as the sun appears, the
roofs are opened and the coffee grains are spread on the floor to be
dried. From thence Sergy was driven to the Piradenia Gardens, containing
a rich collection of queer tropical plants, trees of the rarest species,
and beautiful flower-beds. To see the gardens took hours. Sergy was
dazzled by the beauty of all he saw. On his way back to the hotel, a
storm broke out; it was one of those formidable equatorial rains of such
violence, that it seemed as if the sky was emptying itself upon the
earth.
As soon as dinner was over, we went for a walk round Buitenzorg. After
the shower there was a delicious perfume of plants and damp earth. We
strolled through broad streets lined with huts built of bamboo and
thatched with cocoa-nut leaves, hidden in the dense foliage.
October 19th.—To-day the Resident gave a grand dinner to my husband, a
Lucullus-like feast. Sergy was entertained in great state by his host,
who did things royally. The marble steps of the wide staircase were
decorated with barefooted lackeys in showy livery and powdered wigs,
standing all the way up at equal distances. The brilliantly lighted
reception-rooms of the Palace were full of elegantly dressed gentlemen
and ladies in low dresses, showing all their jewellery and shoulders. The
table was beautifully laid; before each stool stood a native servant.
Champagne flowed abundantly, but Sergy was too hot to enjoy the meal, for
there are no punkahs in Java, because the Dutch find that these huge fans
tend to induce bald heads.
I find it a bit dull here. There is positively nothing to do in the
evening but to sit on the veranda and admire the beautiful tropical
night, which falls suddenly without twilight. Everything is queer in
these equatorial regions. The moon is right over our heads, the sickle
pointing upwards, and the shade caused by the planet spreads right under
our feet.
October 22nd.—We took the train back to Batavia this morning, and put
up this time at the Hôtel Niderlander, a cool white building with
deep pillared verandas, carpeted with cocoa-nut mattings and strewn
with tables and easy cane chairs. We sat on the veranda after dinner,
listening to the band playing in Waterloo-Square, just opposite.
Strolling merchants bothered us, offering their wares; we sent them off
by saying “piggie,” meaning in Javanese “get off with you,” at which they
beat a hasty retreat.
October 24th.—We are leaving Java to-day without regret. The hideous
climate is depressing, the hot, steamy atmosphere awfully enervating. The
head-manager came to knock at our door at four o’clock in the morning to
inform us that it was time to go to the railway station. Mr. Bakounine
and the agent of the Méssageries Maritimes rode down with us to the port,
a veritable inferno, full of mosquitoes and pestered by malarial fever,
in which deadly miasmas seem to evaporate from the unwholesome soil.
The _Godavéri_ set sail at ten o’clock in the morning. Adieu, Java!
We are about twenty passengers on board. There is a young half-caste
among them, the proprietor of a rich tea-estate, sent back for his health
to Europe.
CHAPTER LXXXIII
SINGAPORE
October 25th.—At dawn we approached Singapore. We put up at the Hôtel
d’Europe. After tiffin, we visited the cisterns which supply the
inhabitants with potable water. There are no wells in Singapore, the
natives must be satisfied with the water produced by the rains, which
is gathered and kept in large ponds. On our way we met natives driving
in chariots drawn by small bisons, who have not the lazy drag of their
western brethren, but trot briskly as horses. The aborigines, clad with
a band of stuff round their thighs, held burning torches in their hands,
and beat the tom-tom with all their might to chase away the spirits of
darkness, because evil spirits, according to their belief, shun daylight.
October 26th.—We spent the whole afternoon on the veranda bargaining with
natives who carried trays of precious stones. One has to be very careful
with these vendors, who frequently sell worthless stones for precious
ones. Sergy bought me a beautiful moonstone necklace.
Before dinner, Sergy called upon the Governor-General of Singapore, who
had governed the Fiji Islands for a long time.
October 27th.—At 8 o’clock in the evening we took our passage on the
_Océanien_, a steamer bound to Marseilles. If the temperature permitted,
I would jump for joy at the thought that it was our boat to Europe.
It was night when we left the port. Amongst the passengers we have on
board the wife of the Japanese Ambassador in London, who was going to
join her husband. She was accompanied by her sister and a lady companion,
with whom she practised English and took lessons in geography on deck.
Both Japanese ladies are dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, and it
is only their small turned-up eyes and high-boned cheeks, which betray
their nationality.
October 28th.—The children of a native couple bound to the Isles de la
Réunion, romp in the corridor making a terrible row. They are awfully
ill-bred and boil over with perversity, and pass their time in fighting
and playing tricks and putting their tongues out to their “ayah” (nurse),
an old negress wearing a yellow kerchief on her head, the ends of which
passed through her large straw hat. She endeavoured to teach the naughty
brats better manners, but it was all in vain; they continued to behave
shockingly. I was sorely tempted to give them a sound shaking when they
shrieked when taken to bed at night.
October 29th, 30th, 31st.—All these days there was no land in view,
nothing but the endless blue of the sky and the endless waters of the
Indian Ocean.
November 1st.—The sea is quite smooth and still our ship rocks very
unpleasantly. We are approaching the verdant island of Ceylon, the most
marvellous meridional point of India. The air is so pure that we perceive
the Peak of Adam, at thirty miles off from Ceylon, the legendary site of
Adam’s burial ground.
CHAPTER LXXXIV
COLOMBO
Towards night we arrived at Colombo and moored two miles off the low
coast, bordered with cocoa-nut trees crowned with green palms. A long
greystone breakwater with a round-topped tower at the end ran out into
the sea, and over it in the distance Colombo with its red-tiled houses
lay half hidden in deep green vegetation. Canoes brought on board
Singhalese merchants with stuffs and other products of the land. We see
everywhere British flags flying. We are on English ground under the
tropic sun of Ceylon. From afar we perceive Adam’s Peak, the region
where Paradise was. On the summit of the Peak there is the impress of
a gigantic foot, the first footstep of Adam out of Paradise, according
to the Christian legends, of Siva for the Brahmins, of Buddha for the
Buddhists.
The _Océanien_ is going to stop here twenty-four hours to discharge coal.
I saw Singhalese porters, with sacks on their heads, mounting on deck and
plunging down into the hold to come out again bent in two under their
loads. We walked to the Great Oriental Hotel, which stands on the quay,
quite near to the port, a large building surrounded on all sides by the
broad veranda. There are colonnades underneath the hotel with shops.
The heat and damp of Ceylon are just as terrible as in Java. I passed a
wretched night. I went to bed but not to sleep—oh, dear, no! for I just
began to doze when swarms of mosquitoes recalled me to reality very soon.
November 2nd.—I was glad to return to the _Océanien_ early in the
morning. I stood on deck until we unmoored, watching a band of bronzed
natives, in a state of almost Adamic nudity, beautifully shaped men
unconscious of immodesty, their wardrobe reduced to a rag replacing
the traditional fig-leaf swinging to and fro in a canoe and singing
“Tarra-Boumbia” at the top of their voices, with a great supply of
gesticulations and grimaces, slapping themselves energetically on the
hips at the same time.
The _Océanien_ has weighed anchor. The Isle of Ceylon decreases more and
more in the distance. The ocean is as smooth as a lake, and as blue as
the sky over us.
November 3rd.—Between Ceylon and Aden the voyage is long and tedious. The
_Océanien_ makes the trip in seven days. I had a very bad headache and
went on deck for a breath of fresh air. The ship’s doctor, a physician
without patients just now, as all the passengers are in perfect health,
appropriated the empty chair next my own and stared at me fixedly as if
he wanted to know me by heart, and then made notes in his copy-book. He
was writing a novel, in which I was to take the principal part, as it
appeared, because I had a very strong resemblance to his first love. This
doctor has kept his heart of seventeen through thrice seventeen summers.
Wherever I went, there he was, and a little manœuvring was always
necessary to prevent him from sitting near me and paying me compliments,
whilst his bulging eyes stared at me as if he had the intention to devour
me. He was ridiculous with his gallantry, having scarcely any hair on
his head. He was stout, jolly-looking and effusive, and seemed to have
stepped out of a comic opera.
Nearly everyone on board has a flirtation going on. At nightfall in nice
flirting corners, on the part of the deck far away and out of the sphere
of electricity, couples sat hand in hand deeply immersed in their eager
whispers, out of the lights of the ship’s lanterns.
November 4th.—When I mounted on deck this morning, my fat Esculapius came
up to me, and crushed my fingers in his grasp; I gave a little squeak,
for he had forgotten my rings. He had a drooping appearance, and looked
profoundly miserable and martyrlike because yesterday I avoided him and
looked the other way when he drew near. Nevertheless he took a chair in
a way that told me distinctly of his intention not to desert me, and as
I felt at the moment that I would have given anything to be deserted, I
pretended to be absorbed in a thrilling novel. A long drawn sigh which
escaped him failed to produce the intended effect. He said now in low,
mournful accents, that I made fun of him, and doubted whether I had any
heart at all.
November 5th.—We pass near the African coast, and the peninsula of
Socotra. These parts were formerly the terror of the navigators; many
ships have gone to pieces in this treacherous place, where strong
hurricanes prevail. The Portuguese sailormen have named that cape
Guardafui, which means “Be on your guard.” But the great boats of our
days laugh at the danger, though a terrible rolling and tossing is always
felt in these parts.
Sea-sickness is a very good remedy for cooling down love. My fat doctor
has become indifferent and mute. He lay stretched in his deck-chair,
looking dreadfully green in the face.
CHAPTER LXXXV
ADEN
November 7th.—At the first break of day we reached the sun-baked city
of Aden, a British possession on the southern coast of Arabia, lying on
the Red Sea trade route between Europe and the East. The multiplicity
of rocks, and the absence of trees, are the two most striking features
of the landscape. Not a blade of grass is to be seen anywhere, and all
around there is desolation. Aden looked rather a dreary spot: just a
little cluster of white buildings lying at the feet of slate-coloured
rocks. The burning sand, the sun, and the flies render the town quite
unbearable. Opposite the port of Aden is Sirah, where the Arabs pretend
that Cain, after the murder of Abel, came to take refuge. The town has
but little local colouring. It was founded specially as a maritime
station; it gives shelter to traders and about a dozen hotel-managers.
The town looked baking hot. The want of water is cruelly felt. Stone
reservoirs have been constructed to catch rain-water, as there is no
other natural supply whatever. The only difficulty is that it practically
never rains, so the reservoirs stand empty. It is nearly three years
since it rained in these parts. The water is distilled now from the sea,
and an immense manufactory to fabricate artificial ice has been built,
changing completely the condition of local life. The inhabitants have
now plenty of water, and can refresh themselves with iced drinks _ad
libitum_. They are even undertaking to arrange a square with verdure and
trees out of a sand plot. Every morning hundreds of camels bring the
necessary provisions for the daily use of the inhabitants, from the oases
of the interior.
The water not being deep enough for landing, we had to moor some miles
from the coast, at “Steamer point.” The passengers are obliged to take
a small Arab boat to get on shore. Sergy and his companions went to
visit Aden, but the town was so little interesting that I preferred
to remain on board with Mrs. Serebriakoff. We watched from the deck a
band of negro boys with only a belt round their waist, with the words
“Diving Boy,” written in English. The harbour is infected with sharks,
the monsters of the deep, and tragedies have happened more than once.
Quite recently a shark made swift work of the life of a “diving boy,”
who was crushed up by the jaws of the monster in the presence of many
passengers. Nevertheless his comrades were not afraid of sharks, they
dived very deep under our boat and came out on the other side, holding
between their teeth the coins that the passengers threw into the water,
and scrambled again on board their boats. The local negroes belong to the
“Somali” tribe; they are very ugly, with perfectly flat noses, immense
teeth and woolly, crisp hair dyed a rich brick-red. It was too hot to
remain long on deck, and I went to lie down in my cabin until the return
of my husband. The order was given to close the port holes because of
the loading of coal. I was scarcely to be recognised, being quickly
transformed into a negress, my garments covered with oily soot.
Directly after dinner we weighed anchor and left Aden.
November 8th.—We are on the waters of the Red Sea, which is rightly
considered one of the hottest parts of the globe. We suffer terribly from
the heat; the ventilators give but a faint illusion of fresh air.
Towards evening the breeze seemed to rise, the surface of the sea began
to ripple, and soon a veritable squall arose. During our dinner a big
wave dashed into the dining-room through the portholes. After dinner,
when we mounted on deck to look at the boisterous sea, a spray of water
splashed right into my face. I gazed deeply impressed at the elements
in fury. How small is man in the presence of such a struggle! It was
difficult to keep one’s equilibrium on the rocking deck, and I tumbled
out of my chair rolling with it to the other end of the deck. One of the
passengers laid hold of me by my dress and hauled me out of danger, just
in time, for without his aid I should have slipped overboard.
November 9th.—We go full speed between the two parts of the world. On
our left—the grand African Desert, and on our right—the Desert of Asia.
We have over us the scorching sun, and below—the almost boiling water,
and are suffering the tortures of hell. The captain promises that in the
course of three days we shall feel the first touches of the north breeze.
It is etiquette on all the boats of the Méssageries Maritimes that
before eight o’clock one may wander on the decks in the _négligê_ of
early morning in the tropics, but on the stroke of eight bells, one must
disappear very promptly to array oneself for breakfast. This morning
amongst the passengers scattered here and there on the deck, in various
stages of undress, I saw my fat admirer curiously arrayed, muffled into
a sort of poplin of very light material, which gave him a most comical
appearance and set off rather too well every curve of his anatomy.
November 10th.—The temperature is supportable. In the afternoon a breeze
arose which revived us somewhat. After dinner, there was music, and I
was asked to sing, but objected, saying that my music was packed up. The
captain told me that as soon as we get to Suez, he would write to Port
Saïd for my favourite parts of “Margaret” and “Rosina.”
November 11th.—We are coasting along Egypt and glide quite near the Sinai
Mountains, on the top of which Moses wrote the Ten Commandments. Already
the liner had left the rocky perils of the treacherous Red Sea, studded
with hidden shelves, which are not marked on the charts.
CHAPTER LXXXVI
SUEZ
The heroic statue of Ferdinand de Lesseps, who has given to the world the
Suez Canal, standing for ever at the gateway he opened to the East, was
plainly visible before we caught the first glimpse of land. We dropped
anchor at a small distance from Suez, having to wait for the canal to
be free. Our binoculars showed us a row of white houses with trees and
a railway-line. That was the town of Suez. I stood on deck watching the
animation on the canal. Hundreds of small boats hovered near, filled with
eager vendors of curios and ostrich feathers. A great homeward-bound
troop-ship filled with French soldiers, who were returning from the
expedition to Madagascar, had just arrived. The climate didn’t agree with
the soldiers, they were all in a wretched condition, knocked up with
malarial fever. Here is a sanitary “sampan,” carrying a flag with the
inscription, _Santé_, coming alongside our rope-ladder. The pilot allowed
us at last to enter the Suez Canal, which is considerably narrower
than the Thames. It’s queer to know that but for the narrow passage in
which the vessel moves, you are on dry land. Our way is marked out with
floating red barrels. The moving sands of the Sahara border the banks
of the canal; the sky above the yellow sand looked extremely blue. From
time to time tall palms with bushy tops appear. All around is an immense
stillness. There is a caravan of camels marching slowly with rhythmical
gait, on the sands of the desert, conveyed by Arabs in billowy white
bournouses. On the opposite shore a flock of large white birds with long
red legs stand contemplative each on a single leg. A crowd of half-naked
little Arabs are running along the edge of the bank. They follow us
laughing and begging as gaily as if begging were a game, catching the
pennies thrown by the passengers.
We have very little breeze and sunshine in profusion until the stifling
afternoon had passed. It is evening now; the sun has set and the
freshness of the desert night is delightful. Our ship is steaming at half
speed through the placid canal. An immense electric light shows us our
way. A big vessel comes to meet us. Our sailors having taken the ship for
a Russian cruiser, began to shout, “_Vive la Russie!_” but it appeared to
be a Spanish mail-boat.
CHAPTER LXXXVII
PORT SAÏD
November 12th.—We reached the end of the Suez Canal about eight o’clock
in the morning, and caught the first glimpse of land, a narrow stretch of
reddish desert land beyond Port Saïd, a town standing on the threshold
of Europe, at the Mediterranean entrance of the Suez Canal. This is
almost home! As soon as we had disembarked we were assailed by a throng
of natives who offered to serve as guides to us. We gave ourselves up to
the care of a gigantic negro, Mustapha by name, clad in a red jersey with
the words, _Mustapha molodetz_, which means in Russian “clever fellow,”
worked in yellow worsted on it.
We had just time enough to run over the town in a tram-car drawn by a
pair of sad-looking mules. There are only two or three streets properly
paved, everywhere else you sink up to the ankle in the sand. The streets
lined with little shops are a mass of moving colour in which swarm a
variety of Arabs, Egyptians, Negros, East-Indians and a few Europeans,
generally in white. We passed small taverns from which floated stray
snatches of music either awfully barbaric or quite modern. Our guide
brought us to the “Eldorado,” a large establishment with a roulette, a
sort of bar. We were ushered into a courtyard pompously named “garden,”
with two or three ricketty trees growing in it, and then entered a
large hall with an estrade on which played a small orchestra composed
of a dozen European girls with painted faces. Thanks to the overheated
temperature, the black paint of their eyes was running down their cheeks.
We tried our luck at the “roulette,” and took part in games where you are
sure to be cheated. I lost two francs and Mr. Shaniawski, who was in a
run of good luck, gained a louis d’or, which afterwards appeared to be a
false coin.
The sharp sound of the syren from the _Océanien_ warned us that it was
time to return to the boat. Towards two o’clock in the afternoon our ship
finished loading coal, and we left Port Saïd on our way to Marseilles.
CHAPTER LXXXVIII
ON THE MEDITERRANEAN
November 11th.—The crossing from Suez to Marseilles does not take more
than three or four days. The weather grew perceptibly colder. We entered
the Mediterranean in the afternoon and found it very disagreeable in this
season. Great billows are rising on the water and the steamer begins to
rock.
November 12th.—The night has been abominable, the sirocco was blowing
very hard all day.
November 13th.—The snow-covered summit of Mount Etna appears on the
horizon. We have been assailed by a terrible tempest when passing the
coasts of Calabria. All the passengers are prostrated with sea-sickness.
November 14th.—A grey sky, grey rocks, and a grey sea! The wind has gone
down and everybody is on deck. On a placid sea we sped westward, sighting
the mountain ranges of Corsica and Sardinia.
CHAPTER LXXXIX
MARSEILLES
November 15th.—In the middle of the night the stopping of the screw woke
me. The white cliffs of France had come to sight at last. I heaved a sign
of relief when the _Océanien_ dropped anchor at Marseilles, and only
thought of a comfortable bed and a good fire. It was a day of “mistral,”
and whilst we drove to the Hôtel de Noailles, I had to protect myself
with my umbrella against the terrible gusts of wind which played havoc
with my hat and hair.
November 16th.—I have enjoyed my first night on _terra-firma_, snug and
warm in my soft, immovable bed, and forgot all the miseries we have
passed through during our long voyage. The sky is slate-coloured, a cold
wind blows in the street; nevertheless I decided to go to Monte-Carlo
with the Serebriakoffs and Mr. Shaniawski. Sergy had to remain at
Marseilles in order to confer with some French officials about the
traffic carried on between Marseilles and Oriental Siberia. I sent
traffic to the deuce.
CHAPTER XC
MONTE-CARLO
We put up for the night at the Hôtel de Paris, where the prices are
exorbitant. We had dinner at a small hotel which boasted of a table
d’hôte at 2 francs 25 centimes per head. Sixty boarders sat down at
table, inveterate roulette-players all of them. The game was the sole
conversation during the meal. After dinner we went to the Casino to
see the fireworks and listen to the splendid orchestra playing in the
concert-hall. I tried my luck at the gambling-tables and lost about
ten francs, but Sergy gained heaps of money. The run of bad luck had
completely emptied the purse of an old lady sitting on my right—she
looked so wretched, the poor old thing!
CHAPTER XCI
NICE
November 17th.—We started with the first train for Nice, where we stopped
at the Hôtel Julien, hidden among lemon trees. Directly after lunch I
went out for a walk. Whilst I stood gazing into a jewellery-shop, an old
gentleman came up, and touching my arm, began to whisper compliments into
my ear. I cast an indignant glance at the old satyr and hastened back to
the hotel, walking very fast, and it was by an effort that my pursuer
kept me in sight, for my legs were long and his were not.
Before dinner we sat on the boulevard at a small table. We ordered
coffee, and listened to exciting Hungarian _czardas_ that Tziganes were
playing at a neighbouring restaurant on our left. On our right a troup of
Neapolitan singers sang national songs in chorus.
The whole night I shivered with cold in my bed under two quilts scented
with lavender. Notwithstanding the chilly atmosphere, persecuting
mosquitoes strove to cover us with their stings.
November 18th.—We came back to Marseilles to-day. I was half out of the
window of our car, watching for Sergy who was waiting for us on the
platform, his face beaming with pleasure. We had some dinner at the
station and took the train for Paris.
CHAPTER XCII
PARIS
November 19th.—We arrived at Paris in the afternoon and stopped as usual
at the Hôtel de Calais. It was very cold in our apartment and we had a
fire all day.
After dinner we went to the opera to see “Tannhauser.” I felt tired and
asked Sergy what was the time every minute. After the second act, he took
me out on to the boulevard to eat ices.
November 21st.—We had to get up very early in the morning to catch the
express. It was six o’clock when we drove to the Gare du Nord. There were
few people about. We only saw the milk-carts on their morning rounds, and
the street-sweepers at work.
Our long journey is nearing its end. In another two days we shall be back
in Russia.
CHAPTER XCIII
ST. PETERSBURG
CORONATION OF NICOLAS II
We went round all the world and returned more satisfied than ever with
our capital. I feel like an escaped prisoner.
A few days after our arrival, my husband presented to the Emperor a
deputation composed of representatives of different tribes inhabiting
Oriental Siberia, who offered to His Majesty, according to custom,
a silver dish with “Bread and Salt” and beautiful sable-skins. The
corridors in the Grand Hôtel, where we had taken an apartment, were
crowded with people wanting to get a glimpse of the deputies. One of
them, Tifountai, one of the richest Chinese merchants of Khabarovsk, who
had prominent oriental ideas about women when passing through Paris, led
a dissipated life in the Great Babylon, that went on for a week, and did
not arrive in time for the presentation. The representatives of different
countries began to arrive at St. Petersburg on their way to Moscow,
where the Coronation of Nicolas II. was to take place. One of the first
arrivals was the Ambassador of the Chinese Emperor, the famous Li Hung
Chang who had been treacherously wounded in Japan. Notwithstanding his
eighty-two years, he looks very alert and vigilant. My husband had an
interview with the old diplomatist, after which he presented his suite to
him. According to Chinese etiquette the mandarin addressed to everyone
two stereotype questions translated by his dragoman into French: “What
is your name,” and “How old are you?” Henritzi, the youngest of Sergy’s
_aide-de-camps_, who was of German origin and spoke his national tongue
better than French, when answering to the last questions, said that he
was twenty-four years old, German-fashion: “_Quatre-vingt_,” _vier und
zwanzig_, which means eighty-four in French. The dragoman casting an
astonished glance at the young octogenarian, translated his answer to the
letter. The old mandarin never winced, and rising from his seat, bowed
low to the “_Ninon de l’Encles_” of the unfair sex. (I beg your pardon,
gentlemen!) In China old age is greatly venerated. If you wish to make
a Chinaman perfectly happy, all you need to say is “How old you look!”
When the reception was over, Li Hung Chang remitted to my husband the
Chinese order of the “Double Dragon,” bearing the imprinted inscription
“Before this the lion will grow pale and the tiger mute.”
Little by little, St. Petersburg was getting empty. The railway-line to
Moscow, notwithstanding its twenty-four trains a day, could hardly supply
all the passengers proceeding to the old capital; they had to book their
places a month beforehand.
A great many crowned heads had gathered in Moscow. Amongst the European
guests there were several exotic personages who had come from Siam, Japan
and other distant countries.
In the beginning of May Sergy went to Moscow to be present at the
Coronation, which was to take place on the 15th May. That day at ten
o’clock in the morning all the church-bells in St. Petersburg began
ringing, and at noon volleys of artillery announced the beginning of the
ceremony in the Kremlin, and at the end of the ceremony the Coronation
was made known by a salute and one-hundred-and-one cannon shots.
I learned from the papers that during the festivals there occurred a
terrible accident at Moscow, which claimed some thousand victims, and
darkened the Coronation of Nicolas II. On the 19th May, a colossal
festival was organised for the populace on the Khodinka-Field. Long
tables with all sorts of refreshment were laid on the brink of an
enormous ditch. Towards two o’clock in the afternoon about 6000 persons
hurried to the spot where free dinners were distributed. Tumultuous
crowds continued to arrive unceasingly. The first arrivals couldn’t
resist the great pressure of the oncomers, and fell headlong into the
ditch. The catastrophe took place in twenty times less than it takes to
describe it.
The moment of our departure for Khabarovsk approached. It was decided
at first that Sergy would go alone. He promised to come back to St.
Petersburg in six months’ time. I dreaded the moment of his departure,
and the moment was not far off. No! I could not bear to part with Sergy.
I always yielded to impulse under any circumstances. I told him that
nothing should induce me to stay away, and that I would follow him a
second time to the end of the world. But Sergy absolutely refused to hear
of it. His opposition made me only the more distinctly determined to have
my own way. I simply didn’t know what “No” meant, and Sergy consented
after a good deal of coaxing to take me with him.
The Serebriakoffs could not accompany us. The Colonel was promoted to the
grade of general, and had received a new appointment at Moscow. I was
awfully sorry to part with Mrs. Serebriakoff with whom I had gone through
many hardships during our first tour around the world.
We have engaged a young lady to hold the position of companion, Maria
Michaelovna Titoff by name. She is a very gay and lively girl, who will
help to make my life at Khabarovsk a little more cheery. Mr. Shaniavski,
Mr. Scherbina and Henritzi accompany us on our journey.
CHAPTER XCIV
OUR WAY BACK TO KHABAROVSK VIA ODESSA
We left St. Petersburg on the 17th June, and are on our way for a second
tour around the world. This time we sail from Odessa on the _Orel_ a
boat belonging to the Volunteer Fleet, which will take us straight to
Vladivostock.
June 19th.—Towards noon we arrived at Odessa where I was happy to find my
mother, who had come from Moscow to see us off. We put up together at the
Hôtel de Londres.
June 20th.—This morning Sergy reviewed the recruits who are to sail with
us on the _Orel_.
June 21st.—At three o’clock in the afternoon we went on board the _Orel_
our new dwelling for many days. I took the best place I could find at the
side of the ship to see the last of Russia and mother, with whom I parted
shedding abundant tears. After the last embraces we separated, our boat
gave the third whistle, and slowly we moved away from the dense crowd
that covered the wharf. I sent my good-byes to mother, waving wildly my
handkerchief to her. I saw the shore separating us, and knew that we
couldn’t meet for a very long time.
We are in the open sea, the wind is favourable, the sails are up, and our
boat advances rapidly.
The _Orel_ had on board 1300 recruits and 280 first-class passengers,
Russian officers for the most part, going out to serve in Siberia,
accompanied by their families. We occupy one of the largest state-cabins,
with mirrors, carpets, electric light, and electric ventilators, which
make, it is true, more noise than ventilation.
We sit down to meals four times a day. At nine o’clock breakfast, at
one—tiffin, at four—tea, at seven—dinner. The food is good, but a trifle
heavy for the tropics. To-day after dinner, the officer upon duty came
up to Sergy to show him the log-book in which all the incidents of the
day are noted. At nine o’clock precisely the sailors sang the evening
prayers, after which all the passengers went to bed.
June 22nd.—We are on the Black Sea, between sky and water, with no land
in view. The weather is beautiful, but the ship rolls dreadfully all
the same. I try to brave sea-sickness, and do needlework, whilst Maria
Michaelovna reads aloud to me.
June 23rd.—At ten o’clock in the morning we enter the Bosporus and anchor
in the Golden Horn. Sergy with all his companions and almost all the
passengers had landed in order to stroll about Constantinople. I was
tired of sight-seeing and lessons of history, and was the only one of our
party who remained on board. At eight o’clock in the evening the _Orel_
weighed anchor. To-day is Saturday, and our ship’s priest performed
vespers on the lower deck.
June 24th.—To-day we passed the Dardanelles and entered the Archipelago,
and found ourselves near the point where ancient Troy stood.
June 25th.—It is getting hotter and hotter. My hair is out of curl, but
never mind; this awful heat takes away all attempt at coquetry. A tent
has been spread on deck, under which we take our repasts, protected from
the rays of the scorching sun. We have given to this tent the poetical
name of “Villa Borghese.” During our dinner the recruits danced a wild
jig on the deck, to the accompaniment of five violins, a tambourine and
a blow-pipe. One of the men began to whistle artistically, imitating the
nightingale, whilst another recruit gambolled and turned somersaults,
representing a trained monkey. It is pleasant to see the good relations
between the recruits and the chief of their battalion, surnamed by his
men “Captain Tempest,” on account of his fiery temper. He raged and
stormed a great deal, but was adored by the recruits, notwithstanding his
rough tongue.
CHAPTER XCV
PORT SAÏD
June 26th.—At dawn the African coast, scorched by the sun, came into
view. We enter the port and stop opposite the Russian Consulate. Our boat
will enter the Suez Canal only at night, and we shall have time to make
a short trip to Cairo. When we arrived at the railway station we saw the
tail end of the Cairo express passing before our noses. As the next train
left only at six o’clock, we had to put off Egypt, and were glad to find
shelter in a cool little bar surrounded by a tiny garden, where we sat in
the shade and sipped iced drinks, after which we returned on board. Our
boat was loading coal, and all the portholes had to be closed in order
not to get black. I ventured on deck and was instantly transformed into a
negress.
At ten o’clock in the evening we entered the Suez Canal. On our right,
spread as far as the eye could see, Lake Monzaleh. The railway runs along
the shore, separated from the canal by a narrow embankment. We only make
five knots an hour, nevertheless we get before a French warship, from
which they shouted to us, “_Vive la Russie!_” Our captain gave order to
hoist the French flag, whilst our recruits shouted loud hurrahs. Here
comes another steamer with the flag of Britain above it; her funnels are
covered with salt. The ship has surely been a good deal tossed about in
the Indian Ocean. It does not promise us a smooth passage.
June 27th.—We are on Lake Timsah. The railway runs along the shore as
far as Ismailia, to continue its way to Cairo. Flocks of odd white birds
swim on the surface of the lake and chase the fish. On the coast, a
little Arab, completely nude, raced us for a short distance, begging
_baksheesh_. The recruits, having nothing better, throw him crusts of
black bread. On the opposite bank we see pilgrims going to Mecca, and a
caravan of camels off to Suez across the desert, resting under the shade
of a gigantic fig-tree. Egyptian policemen, on camel-back, keep watch on
the banks of the canal here and there. This morning, whilst we took our
breakfast, Sergy was informed that a vessel, bearing the Italian flag,
was approaching us. The ship is returning from Masowah, bringing back
to Europe hollow-cheeked and worn-out looking soldiers, mere shadows of
human beings, covered with parchment skin.
CHAPTER XCVI
SUEZ
At eleven o’clock we entered the port of Suez. On the African coast rises
the chain of the Dakhi Mountains; opposite, on the Arabian coast, we see
the high peak of Mount Sinai, and an oasis of palm trees surnamed the
“Fountain of Moses.” The ship was going to stay here for two or three
hours only; it was not worth while going on shore.
Towards five o’clock we have got over the 64 kilometres of the maritime
canal, and are in the stifling heat of the Red Sea.
During night the wind arose. I was wakened by the horrid rolling of the
ship. Piercing whistles were blown and the sailors climbed hurriedly up
the masts in pitch darkness, trying to catch the end of the sails which
the storm was tearing into pieces.
June 28th.—We are in the tropics. The air is like fire and the
temperature of the water is very high. The stewardess advised me to lie
down on the floor under the open porthole over which she spread a sheet.
I had a nice little nap, thanks to this improvised punkah.
June 29th.—There is not the slightest breeze; we live in a furnace. The
sky, always blue, gives me the nostalgia of the cloud. This afternoon we
crossed the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb.
June 30th.—I could not sleep the whole night. I tried to lie down on the
floor under the improvised punkah, but it didn’t help a bit. I was quite
worn out and had a good cry. Maria Michaelovna and my maid Feoktista came
to keep me company. The moon was beginning to pale when Sergy took me on
the deck, where mattresses had been laid down for us on the floor. Whilst
we passed along the lower deck we had to step over the recruits who lay
on the deck one beside the other.
July 1st.—This morning we came into the narrow channels of the fortified
Perim Islands, a bare rock with a few houses on it, without any traces of
vegetation. And to think that it was political conditions which forced
unfortunate British officers to pass a part of their lives in such an
infernal hole!
CHAPTER XCVII
ADEN
July 2nd.—Early in the morning we came in view of Aden. Our boat sets
off at six o’clock in the evening, and we had plenty of time to visit
the town. We landed at Steamer Point and found ourselves in a territory
over which the British flag flies. We took a carriage with a negro
coachman, and drove to see the cisterns, following a beautifully kept
road. At a steep turning we met a long caravan of camels. To jump out of
the carriage was the affair of a minute for me. I continued the ascent
trudging under a broiling sun, spoiling my complexion, foot-sore and
ill-tempered. A most unpleasant walk it was; the trees were too thin to
give any shade, the ground was parched and cracked and scorching hot, one
could easily bake an egg in it.
When we were back at Aden, we had lunch at the Hotel d’ Europe. After our
meal I went out to rest on the verandah, whilst Sergy visited the English
Hospital, to which one of our recruits, who had fallen ill during the
voyage, had been removed.
Towards five o’clock we were back on board, and left Aden at six. Before
starting, one of our ship-officers standing on the deck got sunstroke.
The monsoon rages at this season in these parts. When we came into the
open sea the long swell began to lift and toss the steamer like a cork.
The passengers became immediately sea-sick and sought their berths. One
of the cows on board broke her leg during the horrid rocking and had to
be killed. I rolled my deck-chair into the corridor under a ventilator
broken through the ceiling, which allowed me to overhear all the
conversation which took place on the upper deck; the rolling was less
here. Maria Michaelovna brought me some tea and a lot of nice things
with it. Over my head, through the pipe of the ventilator, I heard the
recruits conversing. Two men began to pick a quarrel, and nearly came to
blows. Both of them were put under arrest. Whilst they were being led
away, one of the quarrellers complained to the officer on duty that his
antagonist, in an access of fury, had pricked him with a pin, and the
other one defended himself, advancing that he had been pricked the first
with a crust of bread!
The rolling of the ship drove my chair in all directions about the
corridor. I was obliged to return to my cabin.
In the night the wind increased, and the anchor ran out with a rattle and
a roar of cable. It was stifling in my cabin; I imprudently opened the
porthole and an avalanche of water rushed in, threatening to drown me.
July 3rd.—The sea is the colour of ink, and I am ill, ill! ... Towards
noon great black clouds came upon us rapidly and very soon the whole sky
was covered, it was almost as dark as night; a heavy storm was coming
on. The recruits are put down in the hold. The long menacing waves were
advancing upon our ship like big mountains. Sounds of broken crockery are
heard; two beautiful Chinese vases, standing on the side-board in the
saloon, were thrown out on the floor and went to pieces.
Though we have six cows on board they cannot be milked for the rolling
of the ship, and I had to drink my coffee without cream; it tasted like
medicine to me.
July 4th.—A terrible night had followed. The ship rolled over fifty
degrees from the perpendicular on each side. The situation was becoming
more and more perilous. The shouts of the watch-officer mingled with the
whistle of the quartermaster, and the shrieks of the siren were something
awful. Hearing a commotion above, shouting and rushing footsteps, I
thought we were going to sink. I dressed in a hurry and rushed to the
staircase, where I met Sergy, who persuaded me to return to my cabin and
lie down, but I felt it was quite useless to try to sleep.
July 5th.—I passed again the whole of the night in the corridor; Maria
Michaelovna followed my example and came up with her pillow and coverlet,
and slipped into the narrow space between me and my maid. Towards noon
the direction of the wind changed, we are out of the cyclone centre.
July 6th, 7th.—The temperature all these days is something awful. We are
dying of thirst and all our provision of ice on board has melted.
A bird which followed our boat all the way from Aden, rested this night
on the main mast and was captured by the sailors who want to tame it.
CHAPTER XCVIII
COLOMBO
July 8th.—We enter the harbour of Colombo and moor pretty far away from
the coast, to the great disappointment of the recruits. Scores of sampans
with Singhalese rowers came to bring us ashore. We stopped again at the
Grand Hôtel. I had tea in a nice shady corner of the verandah, which
runs round the two sides of the hotel. The first half of it is lined
with tables and easy-chairs and the other is nothing but a succession of
shops, where Hindoo merchants are installed. We could see from here all
that was going on in the street, and observe all passers to and fro. The
feminine-looking Singhalese walk bareheaded, their long hair saturated
in cocoa-oil, gathered in a knot chignon-fashion, and fastened by a huge
tortoise-shell circle-comb. The Singhalese women wear only a short skirt
and a short waist bodice between which several inches of brown skin are
visible.
After luncheon we set off in six rikshas to explore the city of Colombo.
Our men-horses trotted off at full speed, regardless of my protestations.
The principal streets are planted with great overhanging trees and
bordered with beautiful several-storied houses. Opposite the shipping
office, in the heart of the European section, lay Gordon Gardens, a
park full of flowers and grateful shade, the rendezvous of the elite of
the city, white and brown. We went down the smooth red road that lies
almost level with the sea, with emerald, velvety grass and cool shady
bungalows. In the distance towered the Queen’s House, Governor Black’s
residence, set well back from the broad highway in a grove of palms, a
spacious, imposing edifice, where large entertainments are given. The
governor, for the moment, was away on tour to some distant district
of the island. We met on our way covered waggons drawn by two little
hump-necked, strangely tattooed bullocks, and elegant dog-carts driven
by English women. Dark came on suddenly and our riksha-men stopped to
light their paper-lanterns, and hurried us back to the hotel. The second
dinner-bell sounded as we entered the dining-room, as big as a cathedral
and ventilated by twelve punkahs.
July 9th.—Our boat does not leave for another ten days; we will profit
by it and go on a trip to Kandy, the ancient city of the sovereigns of
Ceylon, situated in the hills some 2,000 feet above the level of the sea,
which can boast of a climate in many respects superior to that of Colombo.
A Singhalese boy brought in my coffee very early in the morning, and
tried to explain to me that the train for Kandy left at 8 o’clock.
It took some time for both of us to make ourselves understood, for I
addressed the boy in English and he replied in Malay language; however,
with a good deal of pantomime, we got along somehow.
It is a three hours’ ride from Colombo to Kandy. Ceylon wears rightly the
title of the “Switzerland of the Tropics;” only fairy islands can surpass
the scenery. I could but gaze and gaze, and felt what poor things words
had suddenly become. A riot of luxuriant tropical vegetation spread out
on every hand, and aromas of strong smelling flowers scented the air. A
series of moving pictures glided past us. We are rolling through fields
of lotuses, sugar-cane plantations and vast plots of ground planted with
coffee-trees, with shining leaves like porcelain, cut small to facilitate
the gathering of the fruit. Cocoa and date-palms and bread-fruit are
at your service, all you have to do is to pick the fruit—and luncheon
is ready. The train is speeding along thick bamboo-clumps, through
which peered the red-tiled roofs of bungalows and negro villages with
palm-thatched huts shaded by immense banana-trees. We are in the harvest
season. In the fields men and women were at work, occupied in gathering
in the coffee. Natives sitting in ox-waggons drive slowly along the road.
Here is an enormous elephant covered over with a rich carpet, carrying
four natives on his back. The huge animal’s offspring, a baby-elephant
as big as a bull, is running clumsily alongside. The railway stations
are hidden amid cocoa-palms. On the platforms water-carriers and
fruit-sellers briskly plied their trades. At one of the stoppages a
Hindoo in white skirts came up to offer us bananas and cocoa-nuts full
of milk, and red juicy fruit which I found very tasty; but I was awfully
disgusted when I learned that it was the fruit of the castor-oil plant.
Our train was moving away when a negro boy thrust into my lap, through
the window, a small serpent of tender green colour, which I took at
first for a blade of grass. Though these reptiles are quite inoffensive,
I didn’t like the present. The ascent began. We climbed on steadily
into the cooler regions. The steamy atmosphere was left behind, we were
welcomed now by draughts of delicious air. We are crossing a thick-set
wood, and are in the mysterious primitive jungle which the foot of man
has seldom penetrated, and where elephants and tigers wander about.
The train continues to wind its way upwards to the mountains, plunging
through numerous tunnels. Coming out of them we see the road which
we had just crossed just beneath us now. The place is rightly named
“Sensational Rock”—it is a succession of precipices and torrents. We are
rolling along ledges cut in the rock, twisting and turning above sheer
abysses.
When we arrived at Kandy, we ran on the platform in pursuit of our
luggage, which a swarm of vociferous natives had confiscated and carried
off. Having overtaken them, we climbed into an omnibus which brought us
to Queen’s Hotel, situated on the shore of a miniature lake.
After lunch we went to see the Pyradenia Gardens, about six miles from
Kandy, situated on the right bank of the river Manhavilla-Ganga. These
gardens are renowned for their splendid flowers. There are trees as high
as ship-masts and strange plants with large blossoms monstrous of shape
and gorgeous in colour. Most things are highly coloured as in Java:
birds, butterflies and luxuriant vegetation. I am not sent easily into
fits of ecstasy, nevertheless I admired everything until my vocabulary of
exclamations was exhausted and my head whirled.
We were back for dinner at the table d’hôte. We had just finished
our meal under the cooling caresses of the punkah and were going up
to our room to take a siesta, when a boy announced to us that Hindoo
snake-charmers were going to give a performance on the veranda. We were
amazed by their startling experiments. They played the flute to their
reptiles, who crawled out of a basket and rolled round their bodies, and
they juggled with them as with balls. After that the jugglers performed
the astonishing feat of producing spontaneous vegetation. They made a
tree grow from seed to foliage before our eyes; they dug a fruit-stone
into a little heap of sand, making cabalistic signs with their wand, and
the stone grew visible and soon became a shrub covered with branches and
leaves!
July 10th.—Directly after breakfast Sergy went into the mountains to see
the sacred elephants. He was shown a pair of huge savage animals recently
caught in these parts.
When my husband returned, we went to visit the famous Hindoo temple where
the Tooth of Buddha is preserved, braving the scorching tropical sun,
whose rays fell just over our heads, so that I didn’t see my shadow, but
only the circle of my umbrella. Tradition says, there was found in Burma
one of the teeth of Gautama (Buddha). An embassy from the King of Burma
bore the relic to Ceylon, and over it was erected the celebrated Temple
of the Tooth. Kandy is a holy city; Buddhists not merely of Ceylon, but
of India and the equatorial islands, make pilgrimages to the ancient
shrine, which is an object of veneration for the four hundred million of
Buddhists inhabiting Asia. The Kings of Siam and Burma contribute to the
keeping up of the temple, in sending rich gifts to the priests every year.
The streets were alive with crowds on their way to the temple, a
structure of grey stone with a red roof, set in a lotus grove on the
shores of a lake. A large avenue leads to the courtyard of the temple,
the ground all strewn with white sweet-smelling jasmine flowers, which
deadened the sound of our steps. Within the gates, under the vaulted
archways, crowds of people gathered around a dozen of Singhalese, devoted
to the sale of candles, the white sacred flowers to be laid in the lap
of the statue of Buddha. Flaming torches burnt at the entrance of the
temple. The whole spectacle was fantastical, just like a decoration of
Lakmĕ. Under the portico of the temple, a band of native musicians beat
loudly the tom-tom and buck-skinned calabashes. On the top of the broad
steps leading into the interior of the temple, we removed our shoes and
were taken over the temple by apathetic saffron-robed bonzes (Buddhist
priests) with shaven heads, and arms and feet bare. They led us by way of
many tile-paved corridors lit by lamps suspended from roofs of arabesque
cedar-wood, and strongly incensed candles. The temple is of marvellous
richness; the altar and the doors are of carved ivory, large frescoes
cover the walls representing hell with flames, devils and so on. In every
nook and corner we saw the effigies of Buddha. There was an important
service in the temple just now. A group of bonzes, after having washed
their heads and their feet, advanced towards the sacred relic, suspended
in a tabernacle over a symbolic lotus flower with golden petals studded
with precious stones. The chief priest fell on his knees, muttering a
prayer, and then drew from the tabernacle a gold casket, from it he took
a second then a third, a fourth, and a fifth. With the opening of every
box the priests repeated their genuflexions. There appeared at last
the innermost, and soon the receptacle, set with diamonds and rubies.
Then the priests carefully opened and discovered to view an enormous
tooth yellow with age, which assuredly never grew in any human mouth.
During the whole time the tom-toms and other barbarian instruments made
a horrible noise. Two simple rules govern the production of native
music—First: make as much noise as possible all the time; and, second,
to heighten the effect, make more. There was a heavy perfume of flowers
and incense—very enervating—inside the temple, which made us hurry away.
Buddhist priestesses, with shaved heads like the priests, dressed in long
yellow robes, accompanied us to the door, throwing at us sacred flowers,
jasmine and lotuses. Crowds of Brahmin beggars, demanding money, were
gathered in the porch.
After dinner we took the train back, and were shown into a compartment
occupied by a honeymooning Anglo-Indian couple of planters, whose wedding
day was only twenty days old. They didn’t seem pleased to be disturbed,
especially the young bride, who vented her ill-humour upon her husband,
and was decidedly inclined to be disagreeable to him. The evil temper of
his consort forced the young planter to take refuge in the corridor.
On arriving at Colombo we went straight on board the _Orel_ and weighed
anchor in the night.
July 11th.—As soon as we entered the gulf of Bengal, the rocking of the
ship became so unpleasant, that I shut myself up in my cabin for the
whole day.
July 12th.—The sea continues to be very rough. Towards night, when we
approached the lighthouse at the entrance of the Bay of Malacca, the
rolling of the boat ceased suddenly.
July 15th.—We approach Sumatra. The bay is strewn with treacherous
coral-shelves. This morning, whilst I was dressing, the alarm bell
sounded. I heard voices shouting “Help, help, man overboard!” It was
a manœuvre of false alarm, which nearly came to end by a veritable
catastrophe. Whilst dropping a life-boat one of the sailors fell himself
into the sea, but help, fortunately, came in time.
CHAPTER XCIX
SINGAPORE
July 16th.—We arrived at Singapore this morning and put up at the Hôtel
d’Europe. Before dinner we went for a drive out of town, passing through
a Malay village perched on piles in cocoa plantations. The hillocks are
strewn with villas, like the outskirts of London. On our way back we
crossed the Square, the centre of European commerce, with large bazaars
and markets.
Singapore, according to its population, is a veritable Tower of Babel. We
are amidst natives of every variety of shade, from sepia to chocolate:
Majestic Arabs, arrayed in long flowing robes, Hindoos in white tunics
and bright red turbans, Malays, Chinamen, Persians, etc. The Malay women
are very black, with the fewest clothes that it was possible to wear and
nose-rings and beads hanging everywhere. They carry on their backs black
babies with woolly hair and white eyes like nice Newfoundland puppies.
Ambulant cooks walk amongst the crowd; they carry two round chests,
containing a small stove, on which they fry nasty-smelling roasts; in
another box, on wooden trays, are placed bowls containing minced meats
of all kinds; a whole lot of little horrors, which the natives snap up
with the aid of long chopsticks, sitting on their heels on the ground and
turning their backs to the passers-by. Black policemen, dressed European
fashion, with a white stick in their hand, keep order in the streets.
CHAPTER C
FROM SINGAPORE TO NAGASAKI
July 18th.—To-day we returned to our ship. A Portuguese cruiser, which
had just arrived at Singapore, has sent out one of her officers to
salute my husband on board. I sat on deck and looked about me. A troop
of jugglers, who begged leave to give a performance, swallowed swords,
transformed sand into rice, and showed us how a tree may spring up from
seed they had just sown. They produced a paper from their pockets,
filled with earth, which they strew out into a pot, and when it was
full, they set a seed in it and covered it over with a handkerchief. We
saw a movement beneath that handkerchief, it fluttered, and was lifted
higher and higher. Finally the magicians whisked it off, and there was a
shrub, leaf and stem—all complete. This was really marvellous! A little
Hindoo girl, aged five, performed the _Danse du ventre_, after which
she settled herself on the knees of our Portuguese guest, and pulled
very unceremoniously at his moustache, demanding “baksheesh.” Around
us glided, backwards and forwards, small boats filled with half-naked
natives, who dived into the water for coins, and came on the surface
smiling, with cheeks puffed up like a well-filled purse.
July 19th, 20th.—Great was the desire of all the passengers to visit the
celebrated cigar-manufactory of Manilla, but our captain opposed our
landing on the Philippine Islands, because cholera had broken out in the
town, and thus Manilla was black-balled.
July 21st.—We are in the sphere of a cyclone, and battle with the swell
of the ocean. We mount, descend, and roll from right to left. Enormous
billows throw clouds of foam as high as a mountain on the deck, and two
liquid walls meet to swallow us up. A terrible gust of wind tore the
great sail, shredding it to pieces, and its tatters floated like old
banners on the top of the mast. I passed the night on the floor in the
corridor, and woke up after three hours of poor sleep, feeling something
tickling my nose. It was the tail of a rat the size of a kitten, which
was promenading over my face.
July 22nd.—Daybreak came at last to put an end to my torments. The
tempest began to abate. To-day is the namesday of our Empress Dowager,
and the boat has assumed a holiday aspect. At dinner Sergy regaled us
with champagne, and offered up libations to the recruits and the crew. He
raised his glass to the health of Her Majesty; the sailors shouted loud
hurrahs and got up a dance on the deck.
July 23rd.—Early in the morning we perceived in the distance the coasts
of Formosa. We have to go to-day through dangerous parts filled with
coral banks, and sadly famed for numerous shipwrecks.
July 24th, 25th.—The weather is very fine, the sea—a polished mirror. A
favourable wind sends us forward, all the sails are up, and the _Orel_ is
running at the rate of fifteen miles an hour.
CHAPTER CI
NAGASAKI
July 26th.—This morning at ten o’clock we arrived at Nagasaki, and
anchored alongside the _Voronege_, a Russian boat, bringing back to
Russia a thousand soldiers. These men, who had just finished their
military service in Siberia, and our recruits, who had not begun it,
exchanged frenzied hurrahs.
We stepped on shore and walked to the Hôtel Belle-Vue. After lunch we
took rikshas and wandered about the town. Our riksha-men stopped of their
own accord before a tea-house, muttering laconically, “Something to see!”
But there was only a big picture on the wall to be seen, representing a
sea-battle between the Japs and the Chinese, where all the Chinese boats
went down to the bottom.
July 27th.—This morning my husband went with a party of recruits to be
present at a funeral service in the Christian cemetery of Nagasaki, where
a great number of our sailors are buried.
July 28th.—We left Nagasaki in the afternoon, and were soon out of sight
of the Japanese Islands.
July 29th.—I was wakened in the middle of the night by the piercing
shrieking of the siren. We had entered a dense fog and were advancing
slowly, the horns blowing all the time.
July 30th.—Since dawn our sailors were preparing to land at Possiet. A
steam-launch came up to us with the chief of the brigade quartered there.
At noon we dropped anchor in the middle of the bay.
Possiet is marked as a town on the map, but it looks more like a large
village. We saw from afar a triumphal arch erected on the quay. The crowd
on the pier cheered us loudly. Nine big barges approached our steamer and
the disembarking of our soldiers began. Sergy went on shore to visit the
camp, situated twenty-eight miles from Possiet. As to me, I installed
myself with my book on deck, awaiting his return. A fresh breeze
succeeded to the stifling atmosphere. How nice it was!
Sergy returned on board towards night, accompanied by a whole flotilla of
boats carrying a number of officers with their families and a military
band. The quay was decorated with different coloured lanterns. We had an
impromptu dance on board, and weighed anchor after midnight.
CHAPTER CII
VLADIVOSTOCK
July 31st.—Towards midday the harbour of Vladivostock came to view. We
have reached the end of our long voyage. I am so happy to get away from
the _Orel_ where we have been cooped up for forty-one days.
Before landing, a Te Deum of thanksgiving, for having reached
Vladivostock in safety, was sung on the deck. On the red-carpeted pier a
roar of cheering went up as we passed. The faces all seemed familiar. I
hastened to distribute greetings and nods among a number of the crowd.
The daughter of the agent of the Volunteer Fleet presented me with an
enormous bouquet, tied with a broad pink ribbon, bearing the inscription,
“Welcome!”
We walked to the military club, where apartments were prepared for us.
To-morrow we leave for Khabarovsk. At night the town and the ships in the
harbour were beautifully illuminated.
August 1st.—We left Vladivostock by an express train on a moonless night.
Two rows of Chinese coolies, each holding a Japanese lantern over his
head, lined our way from the military club to the railway station. Many
officers and engineers accompanied us as far as Iman, where we shall take
the boat to Khabarovsk.
August 2nd.—The rain is falling all the time, transforming the roads into
liquid mud. We met with an accident this morning. The last car of our
train ran off the track, and we had to stop in the middle of a field, and
it was two hours before we could continue our journey. Everybody had to
descend. Chinese coolies, who were working on the railway line, brought
a long narrow plank on which we crossed to the other side of the road,
balancing like dancers on the cord. Two engineers supported me, picking
their way among the rain-pools. At last all was repaired, and our train
set forward _piano-pianissimo_; it could beat the world’s record for its
slowness, it simply crawled, and we arrived at Iman only at nightfall,
and took the boat to Khabarovsk.
August 3rd.—At six o’clock in the evening we moored at Khabarovsk. Our
arrival was announced as usual by cannon-shots. I saw a crowd of friendly
faces on the quay, and shook hands all around. Khabarovsk looked very
bright. Troops lined all the way to our house.
CHAPTER CIII
KHABAROVSK
Our life went on much as usual. I have just come back, and the longing
for St. Petersburg overcame me already. The weather is horrid. The rain
beats against the window-panes. Pressing my face against the glass, I
looked at the Amour, black and tempestuous, and my nerves began to give
way. Oh, I do want to go back to Russia so badly!
There has been a great inundation at Nikolaievsk, caused by the diluvian
rains which had filled the Amour to overflowing. The streets were
transformed into torrents, and many houses are completely ruined by the
flood. The corn in the fields, the wood for fuel—all has been carried
away by the water.
Tigers have appeared in the neighbourhood of Khabarovsk. They come at
night, travelling long distances from inland to drink; their roar is
heard some miles around. Quite recently a man-eating tiger had devoured
a soldier who was washing his linen on the banks of the Amour. Only his
head and a few bones were found. A hunt has been organised, and several
tigers were shot near Khabarovsk.
Tifountai, the rich Chinese merchant, introduced his new wife to me. He
had brought her recently from Shanghai. She advanced slowly towards me on
her deformed little feet, supported by her husband, gorgeously dressed in
brocade silks and covered with jewels. She had a quantity of paint put on
her face, which bore an expression of idleness and ennui.
The brother of the late Queen of Corea, who had been murdered by her
subjects, passed through Khabarovsk on his way to St. Petersburg, where
he went to ask the Emperor to take under his protection and ensure the
safety of the King of Corea, who was hiding at the Russian mission at
Seoul, the capital of Corea. We gave a grand dinner to this important
personage.
I began to learn the English concertina. Sergy has ordered one from
London for me. I took a great liking to this melodious instrument, on
which all the musical literature written for the violin can be produced.
I now play the mandolin only in my spare moments.
In April Sergy went on a tour through Siberia; he visited Kamtchatka
and the island of Saghalien, to which the Russian government transports
convicts. He will be away a month at least, and I shall miss him
terribly. A month is such a long time to wait. In his absence I remained
in complete seclusion, refusing myself to callers.
On the 6th May, the Emperor’s namesday, Sergy landed at Petropavlovsk,
the capital of Kamtchatka, with only 400 inhabitants in it. There was
still snow on the ground in this polar region, and the breaking of ice
had not yet commenced. Visitors are quite unknown in this desolate place,
and Sergy’s arrival created the greatest excitement, nothing like it
had been known for years. There, in far off Kamtchatka, the inhabitants
don’t hear much of what happens in the world. All the town was upside
down. That same day the population of Petropavlovsk celebrated the
second centenary of the occupation of the territory of Kamtchatka by
the Russians. After stepping on shore, Sergy and his suite were driven
to the cathedral to hear mass, in sleighs drawn by a team of dogs, who
barked and made a terrible noise during the service. Before the arrival
of my husband the inhabitants of that dreary, God-forsaken place were
as if cut off from everything, and had no communication whatever with
the outer world for several months. Whilst the authorities of the town
were presented to my husband, they asked in the first place what day it
was—they had confounded the dates—and then inquired if the Empress had
not given birth to an heir to the throne. When Sergy told the magistrates
that it was high time to join Petropavlovsk by telegraphic cable with the
other parts of the world, they replied that they had done perfectly well
without any telegraph, and would continue to do without it. Some time
before, an officer had been sent by my husband to teach the inhabitants
of Petropavlovsk target-shooting. In the first place they asked their
teacher if he could hit the eye of a sable at three hundred paces with
his gun, and the officer replied that he couldn’t. “Then we have nothing
to learn from you,” exclaimed his unsubmissive pupils, “for we never miss
our aim even with our old-fashioned guns!”
From Kamtchatka Sergy went to the Commander Islands, where a number of
seals were caught in his presence. It is the only spot in the world where
seals gather in masses in summer; in winter they emigrate to the South
Pole.
On his way back Sergy was overtaken by a terrible storm in the Sea of
Okhotsk. His steamer arrived at Vladivostock covered with ice.
In August my husband made a second long voyage beyond the Baikal Lake.
Since his departure I have not known an hour of peace. I followed him
in my thoughts through the washed-away roads by a recent flood. The
streams had become rivers, bridges had been carried far away by the rush
of the waters; the horses harnessed to Sergy’s carriage had to ford
the river with water up to their knees. For a fortnight I had no news
of my husband; the telegraph didn’t work and the postal communications
were interrupted. One afternoon that I was especially out of sorts, I
had a telegram from Antoine Kontski, asking if he might come with his
wife and spend a few days with us on their return journey to Europe.
Though I didn’t feel able in the present to enjoy anybody’s society, I
proposed to them, nevertheless, to stop at our house. I never left my
bedroom during their stay pleading indisposition. Mrs. Kontski came up
to keep me company; as to her husband I only saw him on the day of his
departure, when he came to bid me good-bye. Before leaving he played for
me his famous _Réveil du Lion_. I had all the doors opened, and I could
hear the piano plainly. It was refreshing to hear good music after having
been deprived of it so long. Kontski gave three concerts during his stay
at Khabarovsk, with immense success. When his evenings were unoccupied
the old mæstro was deeply engrossed in a game of chess with his wife, or
played patience.
The chief of the Japanese army, Viscount Kawakami, who belonged to the
small number of Japs well disposed to Russia, came to Khabarovsk during
Sergy’s absence and dropped a card for me.
Oh, joy! At last my husband announced his arrival by wire. He was to
arrive on board the _Ataman_, on the 23rd August, towards six o’clock in
the evening. I sat on the window-sill watching for the longed-for ship,
and looked at the clock every three minutes, but it did not make it go
any faster, nor would sitting at the window make Sergy arrive the sooner.
The dinner hour came, and still there was no sign of my husband. I began
to be seriously anxious; perhaps something might have happened to him!
Eleven, twelve o’clock struck, but Sergy did not come. I wandered about
the room unable to rest, and went from one window to the other, imitating
a wild beast in his cage. At last, after seven mortal hours of watch, I
saw a bright spot advancing on the “Amour.” It was the _Ataman_ bringing
back my husband! A slight damage to the boat was the cause of her long
delay. And thus, Sergy has gone all over the vast territory of the Amour,
from the Commander Islands to the Lake Baikal, having travelled about
eight thousand miles.
A great event occurred, the completion of the new railway-line between
Khabarovsk and Vladivostock. My husband went by an express-train, about
eight miles beyond Khabarovsk, to the station “Doukhovskaia,” named thus
in our honour. Another train arrived at the same time, bringing among
other authorities Count Permodan, the French military agent at Pekin.
Several hundred workmen were hurrying to join both lines. The last bolt
was driven in by my husband and both trains advanced simultaneously,
joining each other in the dead of night, to the dim lights of some
lanterns taken from the engines. Thus, the first train which united the
Pacific Ocean to the Amour, arrived at Khabarovsk on the 1st September,
1897. Over the portal of the railway-station an inscription bears: “9,877
verstes from St. Petersburg.” How far away we are from the world!
CHAPTER CIV
BACK TO RUSSIA
It’s such great news that Sergy was bringing to me! He has received a
leave of eight months. We are going to spend the winter at St. Petersburg
and make a trip abroad in the summer. I felt nearly crazy with joy! I am
so happy to cast off the trammels of a Governor General’s wife and live
for some time as a simple mortal. I should have liked to say good-bye to
Khabarovsk for ever!
December 19th.—We took this morning a special train to Vladivostock and
are on our way for a third voyage round the world. About three hundred
persons were assembled at the station to wish us a happy and safe
journey. The train slowly moved away, followed by loud cheers. Leaning
out of the window I sent my smiles to everyone.
There is a terrible frost outside, but our carriage is well heated and
we do not feel the cold at all. There is a silver plate on the door
of my saloon, engraved with large letters with the announcement that
the Oussouri railway was founded by His Imperial Highness the Heir to
the Throne on the 19th May, 1891, and underneath was the following
inscription: “His Excellence General Doukhovskoy, Governor-General of the
Amour Provinces, has opened, on the 27th August, 1897, the railway-line
between Khabarovsk and Vladivostock.”
At the station a deputation of Cossacks offered “Bread and Salt” to my
husband on a napkin on which was embroidered: “God save thee on the
seas.”
CHAPTER CV
VLADIVOSTOCK
December 20th.—We arrived at Vladivostock in the morning, and were met on
the platform by all the military and civil authorities of the town. We
embark to-morrow on the _Khabarovsk_ which the Volunteer Fleet puts at
our disposal as far as Shanghai.
December 21st.—At seven o’clock in the morning the command of the captain
resounded, and the engines began to throb, but the boat, held by the ice,
did not move, and hope had been abandoned of starting to-day. It will be
a polar cruise that we shall have to undertake, as it appears.
December 22nd.—We were obliged to have recourse to an ice-breaker, which
came to our rescue. We are moving at last. The boat had to saw her way
through the ice, which came breaking against her sides. We are in the
open sea which is greeting us with a terrible gust of wind. We are going
to have a fine dance on the water.
December 23rd.—The squall has confined nearly all the passengers to
their cabins. Although accustomed to many sails across the ocean, I was
beginning to feel a slight dizziness and had to lie down. The ship’s
doctor, trying to recover me from an attack of sea-sickness which had
prostrated me, made me swallow a tablet of antipyrine.
December 24th.—The rolling continues, the wind roars, great waves splash
overdeck. I am dreadfully ill and keep my bed. Okaia, the Japanese
stewardess, crouches upon the floor at the foot of my bed, watching me
with the eyes of a faithful dog.
December 25th.—To-day is Christmas day. Two French tradesmen, Kahn by
name, to whom Sergy gave permission to sail with us as far as Shanghai,
have sent me a large box filled with fruit. The barometer begins to rise
and shows one degree above zero.
December 26th.—The weather is very mild, and there are already twelve
degrees of warmth. After having suffered from the cold, we are going to
experience now the torture of tropical heat. The one is worth the other.
CHAPTER CVI
NAGASAKI
It is very calm to-day. We are going full speed, making about 16 knots
an hour. At eight o’clock in the morning we perceived a vague shadow
without outlines—it is land! We soon enter the port of Nagasaki and pass
before an American cruiser in gala attire on the occasion of Christmas.
Pine branches, holly and mistletoe hung in festoons about the masts. We
stopped alongside a Russian man-of-war, which welcomed us by the sound
of a march. A steam-launch belonging to the Russian marine squadron,
stationed for the moment at Nagasaki under the command of Admiral
Doubassoff, was sent to bring us on shore.
We put up again at the Hôtel Belle-Vue, and again the hostess stood on
the steps with a smiling welcome. On the entrance door a board bore the
inscription in English: “A happy Christmas and New Year!”
Scarcely had I time to take off my hat when a boy brought me a harvest of
beautiful roses forming quite a large tray. It is the Kahns who have sent
me this odoriferous Christmas offering.
In the afternoon, whilst we were sunning ourselves on the terrace,
Admiral Doubassoff called upon us with his wife, whom he is sending back
to Russia to-morrow. The order of the day prescribed that all Russian
subjects should leave the country in forty-eight hours. Clouds are
gathering on the political horizon. There are rumours of war between
Russia and Japan, and things are working up for an excursion to Manchuria.
December 27th.—It is awfully cold in our apartment. I had to get up in
the night and make up the fire which had gone out.
We returned on board after dinner, and shall weigh anchor early to-morrow
morning. The Kahns have to hurry to Shanghai and are taking a Japanese
steamer to-night. Before leaving they have sent a beautiful bouquet in a
“cloisonné” vase to me, with a card bearing their name, and underneath
stood “_Pour remplacer avantageusement._”
An English liner, which had entered the harbour at night, warned us that
a north-east wind was blowing hard out at sea. We have to wait again
until to-morrow.
December 29th.—After ten this morning we weighed anchor. Whilst passing
before our cruisers, the officers stood in rows on the deck, and the
sailors ranged along the sail-yards shouted loud hurras, Admiral
Doubassoff was standing on the bridge, making the military salute.
The weather is grey and the sea is swelling. We were scarcely out of
harbour when our boat began to be roughly tossed about.
December 30th.—The hurricane is pitiless, the anchor rolls out with a
rattle and roar of cable; our steamer leans first on one side then on the
other, and piercing whistles are heard on the upper deck all the time.
The captain shouts order to tack. We change direction and turn back, and
thus all the nightmare night was lost in vain. The portholes were closed
and I was almost faint with the want of air. Staggering under the rolling
of the sea, I crept into the saloon and stretched myself on the sofa. We
enter the mouth of the Voosung, but the pilot refuses to lead us further
because of the fog. We have to cast anchor until to-morrow.
January 1st.—The siren was shrieking the whole night. I was in a terrible
fright all the time lest a boat should run against us in the dark.
CHAPTER CVII
SHANGHAI
We weighed anchor early in the morning, and soon entered the harbour of
Shanghai. A little steamer, belonging to the Russian-Chinese Bank, came
to take us on land, and moored opposite the French Consulate. We found
the Russian Consul waiting for us in his carriage, in which we drove to
the Hôtel des Colonies, where we arrived just in time for tiffin. During
the meal a large bouquet of heliotrope, surrounded by white lillies, was
sent to me by the director of the Russian-Chinese Bank. In the afternoon
the Governor of the town, accompanied by other Chinese authorities, came
to congratulate my husband on the occasion of New Year’s Day.
January 2nd.—We took our passage on the _Salasie_, one of the swiftest
boats of the Méssageries Maritimes, bound for Hong-Kong. We leave
Shanghai in splendid weather; the sea is beautiful, the sky of an azure
blue.
We have about two hundred passengers on board. Every one chooses his
company according to one’s taste. I have remarked that people on board
ship impart their affairs to utter strangers after a fashion that would
seem impossible on land. Soon we all became known to one another.
At six o’clock the gong called us to dinner. I was placed just opposite
the captain, an experienced mariner who had sailed for the last
twenty-eight years in these parts. After dinner there was music in the
saloon. The _commissaire_, who had a magnificent baritone voice, with
looks of anticipated success, cleared his voice and began to sing love
ditties. His assistant was induced to exhibit his skill on the mandoline,
after which the Attorney-General of Tonkin, a creole, born at the
Assumption Islands, sang opera airs, all the soprano, tenor and baritone
parts, in his _basso profundo_ voice.
January 3rd.—The _Salasie_ is like a splendid hotel on treacherous
waters. After lunch we went over the steamer and admired it greatly. The
crew is composed of 180 sailors—Chinamen all of them. At six o’clock
in the morning they begin to clean the boat, polishing brass things so
beautifully that they can easily be used as mirrors.
CHAPTER CVIII
HONG-KONG
January 6th.—In the afternoon we entered the calm harbour of Hong-Kong,
and moored at New Harbour, where the boats come in to take coal. When
we stepped on shore, chocolate-coloured natives, speaking all at once,
fought for our luggage and snatched our bags out of our hands. We hailed
a carriage which brought us to Windsor Hotel, where we took a suite of
several rooms.
After dinner we were carried in palanquins about Victoria Town. Our
porters panted like short-breathed horses whilst ascending the steep
streets, which wasn’t pleasant at all.
January 7th.—It is Christmas in Russia to-day. Hard luck to spend
Christmas in these far away parts, when one wants to have one’s dear
people about one! It makes me feel horribly home-sick. It is a dull day,
chill and cloudy; long gusts of wind come down the street. We have a fire
burning in the grate; fine tropics indeed! The Chinese inhabitants walk
about muffled up in big coats lined with sheep-skins. In the extreme
Orient it is the yellow race who predominates. I have had quite enough of
the Chinese, who resemble each other as two ears of corn.
January 9th.—We will make a flying visit to Canton to-day, going up
the Si-Kiang, or Pearl River, in a large English steamer bearing the
Chinese name of _Fat-Chan_. The Si-Kiang is so broad that one can’t see
across from bank to bank. The crossing takes only eight hours, and is
comfortably made in large floating palaces, plying between Hong-Kong
and the towns of the inner country. Except ourselves there are only two
first-class passengers. I caught sight in the saloon of stacks of rifles,
swords and revolvers, with printed instructions to the passengers to use
them if necessary, the river-steamers having been known to be attacked
by pirates, who rove in junks about the river and assail passing ships.
Last year a band of pirates boarded the _Fat-Chan_ as passengers. As
soon as Hong-Kong was out of view, the brigands, after having bound with
cords the captain and his crew, cut the throats of all the passengers
and threw their bodies overboard. Soldiers now accompany every steamer,
and the third-class passengers are locked up for the night in the hold
behind an iron rail, at the entrance to which stand sentinels. We have
three hundred Chinamen as third-class passengers, and it did not make me
feel safe at all. The captain took us down into the hold after tiffin to
show us the human ant’s nest. We saw the Chinese passengers heaped up
pell-mell, men, women and children. The men were smoking opium or playing
dice, and looked quite peaceful.
CHAPTER CIX
CANTON
From afar appeared the numerous pagodas of Canton, with their domes
adorned with little gold bells. Our boat nosed her way into the crowded
river, traversed by a perpetual scurry of launches, and we were at once
surrounded by a flotilla of numerous sampans ornamented with golden
devices. We were deafened by the screams and the dreadful noise. Canton
is a veritable town of amphibians. There is not room enough on land for
the two million inhabitants, who spend all their lives on the water in
floating huts. There are families who have never stepped on shore. Their
floating houses have platforms on each end, on which their babes pass a
part of their lives until the age of three, tied with a long cord to a
post. Canoes propelled by strong Chinese women, clad in broad trousers,
come alongside our ship; some of them carry a baby tied on their backs.
The women pile up the luggage and transport passengers on shore, together
with long cases of opium, which compose the principal cargo of the
_Fat-Chan_.
On landing we crossed the French Bridge leading to the Isle of Shamin,
and entered the cantonment and the European sections. The Isle of
Shamin is a community which consists of a gathering of buildings and
gardens forming a kind of European village. Concessions of ground-plots
are granted by the Chinese government to England, France, America
and Germany. On these diverse pieces of ground the Consulates of the
different countries are established; over each Consulate the national
flag is hoisted. The Chinese bear no good-will towards Europeans, whom
they have surnamed “Devils of the Western countries.” One of these days
they threw stones at a party of travellers who were crossing the bridge.
Chinese sentinels are placed on both ends of the bridge to keep order,
but these warriors of the Celestial Empire inspire but little confidence
and I felt safe only when we stepped into Shamin. It is only the Chinese
inhabitants of Shamin who are allowed to cross the French and English
bridges leading to the small island; for the natives living in Canton it
is _terra prohibita_.
We put up at the Victoria Hotel. Our room is large and desolate-looking;
it has but little furniture: two uncomfortable little iron bedsteads,
shrouded with mosquito-nets, a table and three chairs. The floor is
stone; on the white-washed walls hangs the portrait of Queen Victoria
sitting side by side with our Empress-Dowager, holding on her knee
her first-born, Nicolas II. From our window I perceive a corner of the
quay of Canton, from where resounded an appalling noise of tom-toms and
cymbals.
The French Consul came to pay his respects to my husband in the
afternoon, accompanied by Mr. Emelianoff, a young compatriot of ours
who teaches Russian in one of the schools in Canton. We kept them for
dinner. The cooking is abominable. Among other unappetising dishes we had
an underdone beefsteak surrounded with slices of oranges. But the milk
products are good; a Dutch settler has brought out of Australia a score
of beautiful cows, and has established an excellent dairy-farm at Shamin.
The town of Canton is surrounded by a thick wall. Every street in the
city has a gate which is locked at eight every night, the heavy iron
doors are bolted and no one is allowed to enter or go out of Canton. All
the junks and sampans stand in a line along the bank and are strictly
forbidden to come alongside Shamin at night. At nine o’clock in the
evening the guards on the bridges beat the retreat, making a terrible
noise with drums, maddening tom-toms and pipes several yards long.
Thousands of crackers are let off. To crown all the retreat ends by loud
gun-shots.
We went to bed in the dark, our sole light consisted of a piece of
candle stuck on a tea-saucer. We passed a troublesome, sleepless night,
trembling with cold. The dampness mounted from the river by an aperture
broken through the ceiling for ventilation. The deafening sound of gongs
seemed to rend the air at equal intervals, making noise enough to wake
the “Sleeping Beauty.” Every quarter of an hour the sound of tom-toms
resounded, and immediately after, the sentinels sent up their watch-cry
accompanied by the beating of drums and the ringing of bells. The Chinese
make all this noise through superstition to chase away the evil spirit!
January 10th.—In spite of our fireless, chilly room, we did not escape
the bites of vicious mosquitos and were half devoured by swarms of
wretched insects.
At six o’clock in the morning a boy naked down to the waist, his long
plait rolled round his head, brought us our coffee. It is Sunday to-day.
Being too late for Mass, both in the Cathedral and the Protestant church,
we went for a walk round Shamin, which took us altogether half an hour.
Before the “English Settlement,” joining the “French Concession,” there
spreads a large tennis-ground.
After tiffin six palanquins were at the door to carry us through the town
of Canton. Our guide advised us to dress quietly so as not to attract
too much attention. Our palanquin-carriers, thin, emaciated creatures,
started at a small trot. As soon as we had crossed the French Bridge
and entered Canton, I began to feel seriously uneasy. We were carried
through the labyrinth of narrow, muddy evil-smelling streets crowded with
humanity; pigs and rooks are their only cleaners. Our carriers advanced
with difficulty through the crowd, elbowing the people. There is no
foot-way, and at the corners our porters shouted “ho-ho, hi-ha!” to make
the people avoid the path, scattering them to right and left. The streets
are full of shops, banners, Chinese lanterns, bizarre sign-boards hang
down to the ground. On the portico of the houses we saw hideous faced
idols, guardians of the thresholds, to whom the Chinese burn red candles
with painted flowers and little incense “Joss-sticks” (Joss is a god)
to propitiate the demons. A Chinese “Punch and Judy” were acting on a
little stage in a street. We saw legions of lepers at each corner, and
were accosted by sordid beings exposing terrible sores. I had a creepy
sensation as we passed groups of evil-looking natives eyeing us with
evident malevolent curiosity, which threatened to become hostile. Angry
murmurs rose behind us. We heard strong epithets used on our behalf;
they shouted after us “Fan-Quai,” which meant “Dogs of the West,” and
made menacing gestures. It was old women and children who were the most
aggressive; a little boy pulled a tongue a yard long to me. I felt
suddenly a hand grasping my arm, and a brutal-looking young Chinaman gave
me such a stare that I felt quite uncomfortable. I endeavoured to look
unconcerned, but did not know what to do all the same, whether to smile
or to maintain a stern countenance. I heaved a sigh of relief when our
carriers stopped before the “Pagoda of the five hundred geniuses,” which
contains life-sized statues made of gilded wood, one more grotesque than
the other, placed on granite pedestals, an idol with six eyes and ears
down to the neck, poured down from four pairs of hands his blessings;
another with three faces held a sort of mandoline in his hands. A statue
with European features and clothes, wearing a Rembrandt hat, personified
“Marco Polo” the renowned Venetian explorer of the sixteenth century, the
first European who penetrated into China. I wonder how that personage had
come to attain the rank of a god. We were carried afterwards to the Roman
Catholic cathedral, where Christian natives, in Chinese dress, knelt near
the altar listening to the litanies sung in Chinese language by a priest
wearing the Chinese costume. We went slowly round the cathedral and
admired the beautiful stained glass-windows, in which figures of saints
stood, and paintings representing diverse subjects from the Bible adapted
to Chinese life. The figure of Christ blessing a Chinese woman with
children clinging to her skirts, especially attracted our attention.
I was delighted when we were brought back to Shamin.
CHAPTER CX
MACAO
January 11th.—This morning we took our passage to Macao on an English
steamer named _The White Cloud_. I turned my back to Canton with great
pleasure. I think China is a frightful country and wish I had never set
foot in it.
After eight hours of crossing, the Portuguese peninsula came to view.
We saw about a hundred cannons on the high forts, protecting Macao from
the side of the sea. Two hundred years have gone by since the shores of
Macao, the oldest European Colony in the Orient, were first visited by
Europeans; in 1720 the Portuguese landed and took possession of it in the
name of their Sovereign. The front of the town bears the inscription in
Portuguese: _Cita de nome de Dios, não ha outra mas leal._ (City in the
name of God, there does not exist a more loyal one.)
On the quay men besieged us with their cards and prospectuses, each
of them trying to lead us into the hotel that they were charged to
represent. We took a Chinese interpreter called Fun, who spoke a few
words of English, and promised to show us all the sights of Macao. He
took us to the Hotel Hing-Kee, standing on the marine esplanade called
“Praia-Grande,” where a military band plays every evening. The hotel is
built Portuguese fashion, with a gallery running around the four sides
of the “patio” leading into the various rooms. The gallery is divided
in several parts by wooden partitions communicating by doors which we
opened, appropriating thus the whole gallery. Outside the air is mild,
but it is very cold indoors; we were obliged to have a fire. In front of
our hotel a boat, belonging to the Portuguese Customs, is moored; the
opposite shore belongs to China.
January 13th.—We went about all day in palanquins, seeing the sights of
Macao. Nearly all the streets bear clerical names: “Rua Padre Antonio,”
“Callada de bon Jesus,” “Traversa de San Agosto.” Macao is a very pretty
town. The houses are generally not more than one storey high, most of
them painted blue, pink, or yellow, with green shutters, and terraces
instead of roofs, all having overhanging balconies reaching out to one
another in friendly wise across the narrow streets, which swarm with
Chinamen, who, contrary to their fellow-countrymen in Canton, look very
peaceful. One of the particular features of the streets of Macao is the
abundance of Portuguese priests, wearing long black beards, and women
enveloped from head to foot in black mantillas. The natives of Macao are
not attractive-looking. They are a race of half-castes—Portuguese father
and Chinese mother, resembling orang-outangs, with their prominent jaws.
Fun suggested that we should visit a silk manufactory, where about
six-hundred Chinese women were employed. Their Superintendent, a fat
Portuguese dame, with a cigarette between her lips, forbad our gentlemen
to pass before the rows of workwomen. After showing us through a dozen
rooms, Fun brought us into a large hall where numbers of Chinese coolies,
in Adam-like dress except the rag-vine-leaf, were occupied in boiling
silk cocoons.
We were carried from the manufactory to the frontier of Macao and China.
Our porters clambered up the stony ladder-staircases bearing the name of
streets, which are all two yards broad, veritable corridors paved with
sharp stones, with grass growing between them. We passed through the
Chinese quarters of the town, where all the fronts of the houses have
recesses containing grotesque-looking idols with twisted legs, the gods
of prosperity, before which incenses are burnt.
Here we are on the frontier called “Porta Portuguese”. Chinese soldiers
guard the boundary. After having set foot on Chinese ground, we were
carried back to Macao by a winding staircase-like path, and passed
before the grotto of Luis Camoens, the celebrated Portuguese poet of the
sixteenth century, exiled in the year 1556 for his daring liberal ideas.
The great poet, who had been shipwrecked in these inhospitable seas,
gained the shore of this newly-founded Portuguese colony, and took refuge
in a grotto situated in a chaotic assemblage of rocks, in the hollow of
a dale, where a monument has been erected to his memory. The site is
desolate and wild, looking upon the Chinese Empire and the ocean, where
there is no land before the icy polar regions. Camoens lamented here his
life of exile, and glorified his country in verse. By the side of the
monument, on a large stone, a book is sculptured in the rock, bearing the
names of all the works of the great poet.
Before returning to the hotel, we went to a Chinese photographer to have
our group taken in palanquins. Our carriers were quite amusingly afraid
of the apparatus, it being against the teaching of their religion to have
their pictures taken, especially together with white-faced men. They
paused, undecided what to do, to fly or to remain, and the next moment
they suddenly disappeared; look where we would, we could in no manner
discover them, and had our group taken sitting in palanquins placed on
the ground.
Macao is a sort of Monte-Carlo of the East, where the principal industry
is play. All the numerous gambling saloons are kept by Chinamen. After
dinner Fun took us to one of these play-houses, where a risky game named
“fonton” goes on. We sat over the gambling tables on the top of a gallery
where the game is carried on also. Our gambling neighbours put their
stakes into a basket which was dropped down into the hall by the means
of a long cord. We saw a venerable white-bearded Chinese croupier take a
handful of counters which he placed on the middle of the table and began
to count them with a long rod. I also tried my fortune and lost a dollar.
Things are done here very unceremoniously; our croupier feeling hot,
undressed and remained almost without clothes!
I wanted very much to see opium-smokers, and Fun led us by a queer old
back-street to a bamboo barrack where a score of half-naked Chinamen
lay on the floor in different stages of intoxication produced by the
effect of opium, with ghastly smiles, their faces expressing the ecstatic
delight of extraordinary bliss; the “haschish” carrying them away into
paradisaical dreams. Beside each smoker a small cocoa-oil lamp was
burning, to light their long pipes saturated with opium. After two or
three puffs, the smokers fell into ecstacies, and swoon away showing the
white of the eyes and looking altogether horrible. The smoke in the room
blinded me and my head swam from the nasty smell of the opium.
January 14th.—To-day we visited the seminary of San Paula, built by the
Jesuits. When we entered the cathedral, a young Irish monk, in the brown
habit of the Franciscan order, girded with a thick cord, came towards us,
breviary in hand, clinking his sandals on the flag-stones. He took my
husband and his companions to show them over the seminary; he said that
ladies are not admitted within the walls of the seminary, and I had to
remain in the cathedral with Maria Michaelovna. We went over the church
and read all the inscriptions, after which we became a little bored and
were pleased when our gentlemen came back, accompanied this time by the
prior of the seminary, a grey-bearded Portuguese padre, round-faced and
benevolent, who happened to be less Puritan than his young colleague, and
invited me to come and drink a glass of Malaga in the refectory, but I
refused point-blank this time.
We were back at the hotel just in time for the table d’hôte. After dinner
we went to the pier, where we admired the phosphorescence of the sea,
produced by the myriads of animalcules with which the ocean is infested
at certain periods. The evening was fine and the air very mild. When we
passed before the Governor’s abode, a sort of pavilion surrounded by a
small garden named “Villa Flora,” we seated ourselves on a broad stone
parapet and listened to the band playing in the “patio” of the villa.
How jolly it was to throw etiquette to the winds, and feel like simple
mortals!
January 15th.—This afternoon my husband called upon the Governor, who
returned his visit an hour later; as to me, I exchanged visiting-cards
with his wife.
January 16th.—This morning we left for Hong-Kong on the boat _Scha_. Our
steamer tugged a barge loaded with cases of opium, for the sum of forty
thousand Mexican dollars. The cargo will be transhipped afterwards on
to another boat bound for the Sandwich Islands and San Francisco. Our
steamer is escorted by a detachment of Portuguese soldiers. After three
hours’ sail we arrived at Hong-Kong.
CHAPTER CXI
HONG-KONG
January 17th.—The weather is very bad, the rain is falling in torrents.
This morning a boy brought me, instead of tea, a tepid undrinkable potion
as black as ink. When I told him to add some water to my tea, he found
nothing better but to mix it with water that he had taken from the top of
our bath, and then, wanting to convince himself that my tea was not too
hot, he put his dirty finger into my cup.
It is Sunday to-day. After breakfast we were carried in palanquins to St.
John’s Cathedral, where English ladies sang prayers in chorus.
Maria Michaelovna made us laugh at tiffin; each time when the boy
handed her the menu to point out the extras, she repeated mechanically
in Russian “_Vot eto_,” which means, “Give me that,” and the boy,
confounding the sound of _vot eto_ with potato, served her with each
course a perpetual supply of potatoes, even with ice cream.
At four o’clock in the afternoon we attended the evening service at the
cathedral. This time the chorus consisted of Chinamen. A young Mexican
padre mounted a pulpit and began preaching a long sermon in Portuguese
language. As we did not understand what he said, we returned to the
hotel, where we found visiting-cards left for us by General Wilson Black,
the Commander of the English troops at Hong-Kong, who had called upon us
with his wife and daughter.
The _Salasie_ has arrived this morning, and to-morrow we sail on that
ship for Saigon.
January 18th.—We went on board directly after lunch. All the passengers
were still on land, except a buxom Russian nurse, who was rocking in her
arms a squalling baby. There are nine families of Russian marine officers
on board. My husband was invited to dinner, with his suite, at General
Wilson Black’s, but I refused the invitation and locked myself up in my
cabin until Sergy’s return. In the saloon next to my cabin I heard the
officers, who had returned on board by this time, flirting with Melle.
Jeanne Mougin, a pretty French girl, full of animation and merriment,
with a face all laughter and dimples, with whom I made acquaintance on
deck in the evening. Sergy described to me in detail the dinner party
at the Wilson Black’s. Everything was done in grand style; the table,
set out with silver-plate and crystal, was beautifully decorated with
flowers. After dinner Miss Lilie, the General’s daughter, sang English
songs, accompanying herself on the guitar.
January 19th.—We weighed anchor at noon. The sea is very rough, and I
remained in bed all day, preparing myself for a bad crossing.
January 20th.—It begins to get hot. The double doors of the dining-room
are taken off, and the piano is brought out on the deck. The passengers
have put on their white clothes for dinner. We are approaching the
equator zone, and pass the Strait of Tonkin by moonlight.
January 21st.—The heat is intense. Towards midday we enter the Saigon
River.
CHAPTER CXII
SAIGON
At four o’clock we are at Saigon. We put up at the Hôtel Continental,
the top flat of which is occupied by the “Cercle Colonial.” We dined at
table d’hôte. The dining-room was thronged with officers of the Colonial
Infantry, dressed all in white, who quartered in the garrison. They were
very gay and talked all at once. After dinner we went to the opera. The
performance was _La Fille du Régiment_, and the singers very good. The
theatre looked very elegant, the men all in white, the ladies in low
gowns. Between the acts we went to eat ices on the boulevard. Hindoos,
draped in white, with the blue tattoo mark on their forehead, promenaded
before us. Towards midnight we were back on board.
January 22nd.—We left the harbour of Saigon at seven in the morning, when
the tide was in. We passed before huge English and German cargo-ships
anchored in a line along the banks of the river. It is terribly hot, we
are all at roasting point.
January 23rd.—Full calm. Intolerable heat.
CHAPTER CXIII
SINGAPORE
January 24th.—It was night when the _Salasie_ came in sight of Singapore.
We are going to stop here about a fortnight, waiting for the _Laos_, a
French boat, bound to Colombo and Marseilles. We put up again at the
Hôtel d’Europe.
January 25th.—An English officer and his family occupy the apartment
next door to ours. The children are shamefully spoilt by their mother,
who never reproves them. They can’t keep quiet one minute and get into
everybody’s way, getting hideous sounds out of two combs, and beating
the drum into our ears. When they were attacked by a fit of bad humour,
nobody could approach them in safety. They lay down on the floor and
kicked and howled. Their manners at table d’hôte were of the worst, for
they made as much noise as they could with their spoons and knives. I
found this morning the youngest of the family, the best-loved child, an
extremely troublesome little Saxon, beating his _ayah_ (nurse) with the
leg of his rocking-horse, which had come off. That insupportable brat has
been instantly dispatched to bed by his father. The room opposite to us
is occupied by a Dutch opera-singer, who is going on a tour to Siam. I
heard her practising her exercises the whole morning.
January 26th.—Our Consul, Mr. Kleimenoff, is awfully nice to me. To-day
he sent to me a bottle of milk, a rarity in these parts.
January 28th.—It is dreadfully hot. The tropical rain, which falls
from time to time, does not refresh the air. Sergy intended to make an
excursion to Bankok, but the signals of tempest are hoisted in the port,
and I am wickedly pleased, for Sergy will remain at home.
January 29th.—The young Sultan of Johore paid an unexpected call to us
in the afternoon, a fabulous creature, all covered with diamonds. This
Hindoo prince is enormously rich, the greatest part of Malacca belonging
to him.
Opposite our windows spreads a spacious lawn and pleasure grounds, where
Englishmen, who carry their habits with them in all parts of the world,
give themselves up to every kind of outdoor sport: golf, cricket,
tennis, etc. The players look very nice in their white flannels and blue
caps.
In Singapore it is the Chinese who possess the largest fortunes; the
whole commerce of the place is in their hands. Every evening the Chinese
merchants, after having ended their business in the city, drive round
the Esplanade in smart carriages, drawn by big Australian horses, with a
white groom on the back seat.
February 5th.—It is my birthday to-day. Our Consul gave me for my
birthday gift a large basket with enormous cocoa-nuts filled with milk.
This native beverage is very cool and refreshing.
The Hindoo colony of Singapore invited us to be present at a great annual
festivity in honour of Siva, the god of good and evil. The whole town
rushed to the famous heathen temple from which the procession was to
proceed. We saw an enormous chariot of carved silver advancing, drawn
by two sacred white bulls covered with rich clothes, shining with gold
embroideries and spangles, their legs and horns decorated with bracelets.
We were told that the chariot cost eighty thousand dollars. It held
the statue of the Hindoo Trinity—Brahma, Vishnu and Siva—crowned with
flowers. A great throng of natives, their faces and hands daubed with
ashes, in the simplest of costumes—a mere white linen band, five fingers
wide, passing round the hips, escorted the chariot, holding lighted
torches. We left our shoes in charge of a turbaned man, and proceeded
to the temple to which many thousands of people came from all parts to
pay their vows. Thousands of pilgrims crowded through the gates, all
straining towards the enclosure of the temple. About sixty men, dressed
in white, beat tom-toms and howled in a piercing voice. We were deafened
by the hideous music. We entered a magnificent hall, full of enormous
columns, lit by Arabian lamps with glass panes framed in carved copper.
On the floor stood a big copper incense-burner, loading the atmosphere
with perfume. The interior of the temple is a veritable bazaar. A
fantastic crowd surrounded us; they beat the drums, they sang, they
danced. A group of bonzes (priests), naked to the waist, girded with a
thick cord, came up to pour strong perfume on our hands, and offered us
armfuls of fragrant jasmine, which spread a violent odour all over the
temple. I was somewhat scared by all this noise, and giddy with the scent
of crushed flowers heaped on the floor.
February 6th.—To-day my husband went with his suite to visit the Rajah of
Johore in his dominions on the coast of Malacca. It took them two hours
to reach his States. They crossed the strait that divides Singapore from
Johore in a steamboat, and made the rest of the journey in rikshas.
The Rajah wasn’t at home; my husband, nevertheless, was shown over the
Palace, which had nothing remarkable about it. Numbers of articles,
without any artistic value, were heaped up in the apartments. Sergy
lunched at the Johore Club, from which he sent me a letter with a Johore
post stamp for my collection.
February 7th.—I was awakened this morning by a voice, proceeding from
the corridor, wildly vociferating, “My money! I want my money!” It was
an American traveller who had been robbed at the hotel of the sum of
eleven thousand dollars. He had gone down for breakfast, and when he
returned some minutes later, he found the drawer forced and his money
gone. The police was summoned, and his apartment turned upside down. The
portfolio was found out under the mattress, and one of the boys, serving
at the hotel, confessed to the robbery, and was marched off to gaol. I
saw a constable dragging the culprit by his long tail, whilst the whole
household regaled him with blows and kicks.
CHAPTER CXIV
FROM SINGAPORE TO SUEZ
February 9th.—To-day we take our passage on the _Laos_. A Prussian
officer, with an unpronounceable name, who was stopping with us at
the hotel, came on board to see us off. He had just returned from a
tour in Sumatra, where cannibalism still exists, and narrated to us,
with Teutonical phlegm, his experiences among man-eaters. In that
barbarian country the tribes engaged in war eat their prisoners. Those
who slaughter them are also risking their life, for if one single drop
of blood falls upon the executioner, he is devoured in his turn. This
officer brought back from Sumatra the head and the hands of a man who had
been eaten in his presence. Ugh—the horror!
The _Laos_ is a veritable floating palace. There are about one hundred
first-class passengers on board. I found some old acquaintances from
the _Salasie_, Melle. Jeanne Mougin amongst them, merry and pleasant as
ever. She threw herself stormingly upon my neck; I was very pleased, in
my turn, to have such a gay companion during our crossing. The steamer
included among its passengers a nuncio of the Pope, a Pole, Zalessky by
name, a high personage of the Church, who will soon be appointed to the
rank of Cardinal. He inhabits Kandy and is now making the round of his
diocese. _Monseigneur_, as he is called on board, wears a broad violet
waistband over his black cassock. He is awfully nice, without a particle
of bigotry. He told me, as we paced up and down the long deck, that he
had been very fond of society in the days of his youth, and that it had
been extremely hard for him to take final vows and to part with his
moustache.
February 12th.—After dinner everyone who had pretensions to music played
or sang in the salon. The wife of a French officer, who was returning to
Toulon after having ended his military service in Cochin-China, favoured
the company with arias and cavatinas. The lady is very smart and elegant,
but her warbling does not suit her plumage, her musical gifts not being
of an extraordinary order. At first she was somewhat nervous and, in
her agitation, dropped all her notes. Another would-be prima donna, an
old hen that imagined that she could crow, and whose singing would make
the dogs howl, with many simpers began to squeak love songs as high as
she could reach, with a voice particularly discordant with tune. She
accompanied herself on the piano, and thumped the poor instrument enough
to destroy the keys. Her performance put my teeth on edge, and I cast her
no tender glances; but my neighbour, a meagre exalted German lady, went
into raptures, showing the whites of her eyes and repeating, “_Famos,
colossal!_” A pretentious and bad pianist took her place, and massacred,
with the greatest assurance, one of Chopin’s most beautiful compositions.
After the pianist a young girl sat down at the piano, whose musical gift
didn’t go further than “_La prière d’une vierge_.” After two hours of
such anti-musical performance, the salon emptied little by little, and
her solo was executed, so to speak, to empty seats.
February 13th.—We arrived at Colombo this morning, and immediately
took passage on the _Armand Behic_ an ocean liner sailing to Suez from
Australia. We have abandoned the _Laos_ to avoid the quarantine at
Bombay, where the ship was to stop. Nearly all her passengers passed
over on the _Armand Behic_. There were many Australians and Japs on
board and some French officers who are returning from Tonkin, very pale
and suffering, whilst the Australians are all blooming with health.
There were different sets, of course, among a throng of four hundred
passengers. There was the “gay set,” who got up plays and dances on
board, the “cultured set,” the “musical set,” etc., etc.
A concert with tombola is being got up on board for the benefit of the
families of the sailors who have perished at sea. A subscription has been
started amongst the first-class passengers. I consented to take part in
the concert and to play a solo on the concertina. Active preparations
are made. The piano of the salon has been screwed down to the floor,
the piano of the second-class was carried out on the deck, which is
transformed into a veritable concert-hall.
February 14th.—In the afternoon we all went to draw the lottery. A jolly
French colonel took upon himself to be auctioneer at the tombola. He
presided with extraordinary gravity, hammer in hand, and kept the whole
company alive by puffing his wares unblushingly. The programmes of our
concert, painted by one of the Australian lady-passengers, were sold by
auction, 12 francs each; the bids rose finally to 40 francs. Our concert
yielded about 1,500 francs. The evening wound up with a ball. Between
the dances tea and all sorts of refreshments were being carried round by
sailors. I had no notion of the hour and found it was three o’clock when
I got to bed.
February 15th.—The Chinese element has disappeared on board, but in
return, the number of Hindoos, Malays and Arabs have increased. They are
all on the fore and aft of the ship, piled up on heaps of luggage.
Our boat has brought a parcel bearing my address at St. Petersburg,
postmarked Sydney. The message over the seas was a book written by
O’Ryan, an Australian doctor who had served in the Turkish army during
the Russian-Turkish war, whom I had met many years ago at Erzeroum. The
book is entitled, “Under the Red Crescent.” It is mentioned in it that
the author had fallen in love with me at first sight, and could not
forget me till now. It was a strange coincidence that the book travelled
in the same mail-bag, going to the same country, and it was very queer
this unexpected discovery of an Australian adorer of long vanished times.
February 16th.—Our list of acquaintances has increased on board. There
is among the passengers a Creole family bound to Marseilles, Crémazy by
name. Mr. Crémazy has occupied for a long time the post of President
of the Court of Justice at Saigon. His pretty daughters, Melles. Paule
and Blanche, were born in the Colonies and represent the real Creole
type. They are very pleasant girls, and in a few days we had become fast
friends.
Another French girl, Melle. Louise Martel, is an invalid; she lay back in
her deck-chair all day amidst a pile of pillows, carefully wrapped in a
thick shawl, though exposed to the rays of a tropical sun. She is dying
of consumption and looks very ill and sad, her face drawn and sharpened
by suffering. The poor young creature is cold and indifferent to every
one. She took a fancy to me nevertheless, and to-day, when I came up to
bid her good-morning, her face lit up with a poor, sickly, little smile.
As a contrast to the young invalid, we have a jolly opera-singer on
board, who flirts and appropriates all the passengers of the unfair
sex. She especially set her cap at Mr. Schaniavski, and bored him with
requests to accompany her vicious little songs.
There is a particularly nice young man on board, an Australian, according
to the information of the head steward. He didn’t stare at me during the
meals, he was too well-bred, but when I looked the other way, he looked
at me. He sketched caricatures wickedly well, and I asked him to make a
drawing of me, but it wasn’t a caricature at all, too flattering I should
say. To-day the young man made a rush for a seat near me at table. I
had noticed that he had put on a becoming tie adorned with a pin with
a beautiful opal set in it, which I had imprudently admired, and which
had cost a considerable sum of money. After dinner he came up to me and
laid in my lap a little vellum box, in it was the famous opal pin, which
he tried to make me accept as a souvenir, but of course I refused his
offering, telling him that in Russia the opal is considered an unlucky
stone. He was awfully vexed and sulked the whole evening, following me
with eyes of gloomy disappointment. The Australian endeavoured to throw
himself in my way everywhere; he passed beside the windows of my cabin
when he couldn’t catch me elsewhere. I was not quite indifferent to the
adventure, for he was very attractive that young Australian. But it
appears that I was playing with fire. He placed himself close to me on
deck this evening and taking my hand, which he retained in his grasp,
his eyes speaking a number of things to me, he began to talk of love,
murmuring a torrent of passionate words. He told me of the sleepless
nights he spent in thinking of me, and said I had cast a kind of spell
upon him, and that since the hour he had seen me, he had thought only
of how he might see me again. His attentions became so pressing that I
found it time to put a stop to them. “I think, if you don’t mind,” I said
to him heartlessly whilst he was talking of his flame to me, “that I’d
rather speak of the weather.” He didn’t look pleased, the poor boy, I
must say.
February 20th.—We are crossing to-day the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, (the
Gate of Tears.) The mariners try to pass this dangerous place by daylight.
There has been a deal of cricket-playing this afternoon on board. It
seems a queer game for a ship, but the promenade-deck has nettings to
keep the balls from flying overboard.
For dinner the Australians dressed as if for a ball, the ladies in low
dresses, the gentlemen in smokings. The _cuisine_ is very good on board;
all the provisions are brought from Australia. The Australian passengers
monopolised the salon after dinner, sitting there as if the whole place
belonged to them. Someone played the piano and they all sang Australian
songs in chorus.
February 21st.—The air is cool and fresh, and the Japanese passengers
begin to freeze. In Australia it is summer in November, December, January
and February, and thus our Australian passengers, going out to Europe for
twelve months will enjoy summer the whole year round.
February 22nd.—The monotony of our crossing had begun to weary every one.
The passengers saw far too much of each other, and the good-understanding
between them was cooling down. They began to pick quarrels with each
other and lived in strife for the remainder of the voyage.
CHAPTER CXV
SUEZ
We were obliged to take leave of our pleasant steamer friends at Suez.
I was very sorry to part with the Crémazy, who hoped we might meet
again and promised to write to me from time to time. When it came to
saying good-bye to my Australian admirer, he hurt my hand squeezing it
and pressing my fingers made me cry, whilst he expressed his despair at
parting from me.
We lowered a boat that carried us on shore. When we entered it, my
Australian waved his farewell tome and shouted from the deck, “I am so
sorry to lose you!”
We had the intention on arriving at Suez to make an excursion along
the banks of the Nile, and then to catch the _Laos_ at Port Saïd. When
we set foot on African soil, the train for Cairo had already started,
and we were obliged to wait patiently until the next day. We set out
_piano pianissimo_ through the intense heat to seek rooms at the Hôtel
Continental. Suez is in the full Carnival; masked groups walk about the
streets. A man dressed like a cook, holding an immense sauce-pan, in
which he was stirring with a big spoon a sort of gruel, sprinkled with
this nasty mixture all the passers-by, shouting, “_Vive la France!_”
Knowing that he was at our heels, we hastened to the hotel.
CHAPTER CXVI
CAIRO
February 24th.—We started for Cairo with the first train, and followed
for a long time the Suez Canal. We are rolling now by the side of the
Nile. The passengers, their faces at the windows, are looking out for the
Pyramids. We came in sight of one Pyramid, and ten minutes afterwards, we
enter Cairo station.
The winter season at Cairo was in full swing; the city was full of
tourists and it was difficult to find a shelter. We made a tour of the
hotels, but not a single room was to be had: “full up,” came the curt
reply. We went to Shepherd’s Hotel, and the next hotel, and the next to
that, and received the same answer everywhere. At last we found shelter
at the Hôtel Bristol, but for two days only, as all the apartments were
already let to a number of American tourists who were to arrive with the
next boat from Alexandria.
February 25th.—The chances were that we should remain at Cairo for
some days to come. We had just been informed that we must wait a whole
week to catch the _Laos_ at Port Saïd. Directly after breakfast we set
to work to find lodgings, which was not an easy thing to do. At last
we got apartments, consisting of a bedroom and a sitting-room, in the
second floor of a private house, where we were made as comfortable as
circumstances would allow. We’ll pay five shillings a day for our board
and lodging. Our travelling companions have found rooms in the same house.
February 26th.—I am laid up with a bad cold and look hideous with my nose
twice its size and my eyes half theirs. I wonder if my Australian admirer
would keep faithful to me if he saw me just now? Sergy wanted absolutely
to send for the doctor, but I said that it was quite unnecessary and had
my own way.
Sergy, with all our travelling companions, went to the Pyramids this
afternoon, and I felt very lonely all by myself at home. I listened to
the chant of the “muezzin” calling for prayers from many a minaret, and
at the same time from the Esbekieh Gardens came the music of the native
military band playing Arabian airs.
February 28th.—When the morning came I was burning with fever and could
not raise my head from the pillow, but the _Laos_ had arrived at Port
Saïd, and we must leave Cairo to-day absolutely. It will not suit my cold
to be sure! Before leaving I swallowed a large dose of quinine.
The railway-line leading to Port Saïd is very narrow and looks more
like a tramway-line. The road ran close along the Suez Canal. A steamer
crawled by close at hand as our train wheezed on from Ismailia to
the coast; we soon left the ship behind us. Our way lay now through
sugar-cane and cotton-fields. I felt very unwell all the time and lay
stretched on my narrow bench, feeling very miserable. Notwithstanding the
large dose of quinine my temperature was up, and I was shivering with
fever. I hope I shall not fall seriously ill!
CHAPTER CXVII
PORT SAÏD
We were at Port Saïd at six o’clock in the evening. As soon as we arrived
at the hotel I got to bed at once.
February 29th.—I kept my bed the whole day. It is Carnival-time and
the streets are full of laughing crowds dressed in fantastic costumes,
who showered confetti on each other. I could see from my bed all that
was going on in Lesseps Square. Sergy went out for a walk and returned
accompanied by an Italian youth with a performing monkey arrayed in a red
jacket and fez, perched upon his shoulder. The ugly little animal, whilst
turning somersaults, was watching slyly the opportunity to jump upon my
bed.
March 1st.—We had to go on board the _Laos_ in the middle of the night.
I did not at all like to be turned out of my warm bed, and felt so
miserably weak that I could hardly stand on my feet.
We rocked on the waves in a small rowing-boat for more than an hour,
awaiting permission to step on board the _Laos_ at the appointed hour.
A little fleet of barges loaded with coal, surrounded us; their close
neighbourhood made us look like chimney-sweeps. When we mounted the
_Laos_ we were as black as negroes.
March 2nd.—The gradual lowering of the temperature is very sensible.
Since yesterday the punkahs in the salon had ceased to work and the light
dresses and straw hats on board have been replaced by warm coats and
woollens of all kinds. The wind is getting fresher and the sea begins to
ripple. It is the “mistral” coming on; we are rolling terribly on the
Mediterranean. It is not at all jolly, especially with the perspective of
quarantine at Marseilles.
During the stay of the _Laos_ at Bombay many new passengers boarded the
ship, amongst them a rich Indian nabob with a face like a wicked monkey,
who is going to London to be presented to the Queen. He is dressed in
European garb, which doesn’t suit him at all and makes him look more like
an ape than a human being. But the Hindoo was thoroughly unconscious of
his own deficiencies. He sat next to Mr. Shaniavski at dinner and found
fault with all the passengers during the repast; especially with those
belonging to the yellow race, and said that the Chinese and the Japs
were all monkey-faced creatures. And he himself—whom does he look like, I
should like to know?
March 5th.—Thank God we are close to Marseilles. At seven o’clock in the
morning the washing of the deck was already over and the boat had put on
her best toilet. At ten the French coasts were in sight. Shall we be able
to come into the harbour or shall we be confined to quarantine? That is
the question which preoccupies us all.
Hurrah! the sanitary state of our boat is declared satisfactory and we
are permitted to land.
We decided to rest one day at Marseilles at the Hôtel de Noailles. I
could think of nothing else but bed and the bliss of laying my ailing
body down to rest between clean sheets that smelt of lavender.
March 7th.—We are on our way to Paris. I am so happy to see the miles
added to miles, and the distance separating me from darling St.
Petersburg decreasing visibly. The whole country is covered with a deep
mantle of snow. I wanted snow so badly in the tropics, and must be
satisfied now!
CHAPTER CXVIII
ST. PETERSBURG
We are back from our exile; home in Russia! At last our wanderings have
come to an end. We have crossed the globe almost in all directions by
land and sea, but I know of no place as dear as St. Petersburg.
We are staying at the Grand Hôtel, and have had such a good time since
we came here, and no end of a better one in prospect. I feel myself free
of all constraint and etiquette; all my words and acts are not taken up
and discussed as at Khabarovsk. We were full of lovely plans for spending
the summer abroad, but man proposes and circumstances master him. We
have just been at St. Petersburg for a week, when an event occurred
which upset all our plans. My husband was offered, quite unexpectedly,
the brilliant post of Governor-General of Turkestan, a territory in
Central Asia, between Siberia and Afghanistan. He accepted the post. I
was awfully taken by the rapidity of the events—it gave me quite a shock!
All my little castles in the air have been shattered at one blow, and my
day-dreams have come to nothing. It was such a sorrow for me to leave St.
Petersburg, and a great sacrifice to give up going abroad. I am so tired
of being a bird of passage, hunting about from place to place, until I
could scream for rest, leading a life of constant travel in overheated
trains and on rolling seas. And we are obliged now to undertake another
long journey! A new existence is in store for us at the other extremity
of our spacious native country. A new home, a new life! What will it be
like? But the die is cast; there is nothing to do but submit. I must be
reasonable and look the matter fairly in the face and endeavour to take a
philosophic view of what can’t be helped.
It is said in a Persian sacred book, the “Zend-Avesta,” written two
hundred years before Christ, that Turkestan is one of the most ancient
cradles of humanity. Tashkend, our new home, is a city a thousand years
old. It was captured in 1865 by General Tsherniaeff. That country is as
big as France and England put together, and has a population of eight
millions.
The Emir of Bokhara, Saïd-Abdul-ul-Akhad-Khan, announced to my husband
by wire his forthcoming arrival at St. Petersburg. He came to call on
us, accompanied by his ministers, speechless with awe and veneration
in his presence. The Sovereign of Bokhara was very magnificently clad
in a superb khalat of brocade, a long robe cut straight, girded with a
silver sash, wearing on his head a turban studded with precious stones,
his breast adorned with decorations. When the official compliments were
exchanged, it was my turn to entertain the Emir with the aid of an
interpreter. Somewhat at a loss to open the conversation, I was trying
to think of something to say that was suitable for the situation, and
nearly began to make unnecessary announcements about the weather. In
taking leave the Emir bestowed on my husband the Bokharian Order studded
with big diamonds, and that same day there came a package for me from the
Emir, a golden case containing a beautiful necklace of massive gold of
the finest Oriental work, inlaid with precious stones.
It is impossible to postpone our journey to Tashkend any longer, my
husband being called to his new post of duty because of the disturbances
taking place in Andidjan, the capital of Fergan, a district of Turkestan.
During the night from the 17th to 18th May, a revolt burst out. A
band of Mussulmans, about 1,000 men, under the command of their ishan
Mahomet-Ali-Halif, attacked the camp of our garrison from the side of the
village Don Kishlak, adjoining the camp. The natives crept stealthily
to the first barrack in which our soldiers were sleeping peacefully,
and began to cut their throats. Starting up out of their sleep, the
men of the neighbouring barracks drove their assailants back with the
points of their bayonets. All the camp was soon astir and the Mussulmans
retreated, carrying away their wounded. The “imam,” a pilgrim from
Mecca, was one of the first to be killed, whilst he was reading the
Koran to the rioters, who, in attacking our garrison, had planned the
extermination of the whole Russian population, and putting everything to
fire and sword, after having taken possession of our camp. The agitation
in the country is settled down and active measures are taken against the
rebels. The “ishan” is sentenced to death, together with the principal
mutineers, whilst 500 natives will be exported to penal servitude to the
Isle of Saghalien. I do pity these poor fanatics! Legends are told about
this ishan; the story goes that some time before the last rebellion, a
message from the Sultan had delivered to him a venerable relic, the hair
and beard of the prophet, with the permission to commence a sacred war
against the infidels. The population of Fergan, recently submitted to
Russia, had attempted several times to raise a general rebellion against
the Russians, nourishing towards them an implacable hatred. My husband
will have to take strong measures to avoid a new outburst.
CHAPTER CXIX
OUR JOURNEY TO TASHKEND
May 26.—We started for Tashkend to-day. I will return to St. Petersburg
in September to confer about the publishing of my “Memories,” which I
issue for the benefit of the gymnasium of young ladies at Tashkend.
It is a long and tedious journey from St. Petersburg to Tashkend; we have
to cover 4,600 miles to reach our new far-away abode.
A crowd of people had come to see us off and stood before the car which
was put at our disposal as far as Petrovsk, one of the largest ports of
the Caucasus. The next car was reserved for my husband’s suite.
The hour for departure approached. The train is moving and carrying us
away on our long journey. I left St. Petersburg in a flood of tears.
May 30th.—We arrived at Petrovsk at eight o’clock in the morning, and
took passage on the _Alexis_ a boat bound to Krasnovodsk, the chief
port of the Transcaspian provinces. We weighed anchor at 10 o’clock.
Our voyage began under favourable auspices; the weather is very mild,
not the slightest breeze ruffles the smooth surface of the water, but
unfortunately, in even the most splendid weather, the rolling is felt in
the Caspian Sea.
May 31st.—Nine o’clock in the morning. In the distance the coasts of the
Caucasus rise with snow-clad mountains. We soon reach Baku, the town of
petroleum. A noisy crowd of Persians, Tartars and Armenians throng on the
quay; the hubbub of voices was almost deafening. My husband profited by
the stoppage of our ship to visit the town. He was shown the famous Black
Town, where the naphtha is exported. According to the most recent theory,
the substance of naphtha is the produce of the petrification of animals
and marine plants. It is not easy to make a fountain of naphtha spout
out, sometimes it is only after two years of boring, the layer of ground
penetrated being sometimes twenty metres thick.
June 1st.—The weather has taken a turn for the worse. The sky is
overclouded, the wind is rising and the ship rolls horribly. We have shut
ourselves in our cabins.
June 2nd.—The sun was not yet up when the coasts of Asia appeared on the
horizon in long white lines. Towards seven o’clock in the morning we
entered Krasnovodsk. Flags flutter on the quay, and a triumphal arch is
erected with our initials and “Welcome” written in large letters. All the
administrative officials of the town have come to present themselves to
my husband, who is greeted with the greatest enthusiasm. We come on land
and walk between two lines of lookers-on. Prince Toumanoff, the chief of
the Transcaspian provinces, came up to me with a large bouquet, whilst a
military band was playing a march.
A special train was waiting on the quay. All the cars are painted white.
I have my private car provided with every possible comfort and luxury.
At one end is the sitting-room containing sofas, armchairs, a large
writing-table, shelves, etc. The furniture is covered with red silk
brocade to match the window curtains. At the other end a suite consisting
of a bedroom with a bed with splendid springs, a bath and dining-room.
Whilst Sergy was visiting the town, my car was taken to the railway
station, a large white building of oriental design and ornamentation.
Elegantly dressed ladies and officers in full uniform were waiting
my husband on the platform. I leant far back, to conceal myself from
view, in nervous horror of being stared at. To amuse me a musical band
executed the best pieces of their repertoire, in turns with another band
composed of wandering minstrels. An old white-bearded man began to sing
in a broken voice a bizarre melody to the accompaniment of a zourna, a
national instrument. My heart went out to the poor old troubadour with
infinite pity.
As soon as my husband arrived, the train steamed away amidst loud cheers.
From Krasnovodsk to Tashkend, we have to make 1,800 kilometres by
rail. Prince Toumanoff and a group of engineers accompany us as far as
Samarkand. We have invited the whole company to lunch with us.
It was awfully stifling in my car and I was too hot to talk, I was too
exhausted to eat, but devoured with thirst. As soon as lunch was over, I
hastened to get into my dressing-gown and stretched myself on the sofa.
Our road lay for a long time along the Caspian. The moist, warm air that
blew through the carriage windows brought a salt taste from the sea.
The stretch of country through which we are now passing is flat and
uninteresting. Along the roadway the dust rose in clouds which poured in
through the curtains; to crown all we are devoured by flies. I am furious
with the nasty insects, with the heat, with the dust, with everything!
At all the stations the military and civil dignitaries meet my husband;
enthusiastic receptions are made: speeches, music, etc., etc. Crowds of
natives welcome us with Eastern greetings of hands to lips and forehead.
June 3rd.—I didn’t close my eyes during the whole night; I turned and
turned in my bed, but sleep would not come.
The barometer continues to rise, it shows already 32 degrees over zero.
Such a tedious journey, and we had a long, long way to go still! I lay
motionless on my sofa—hot as a grill, and began to heave sighs hard
enough to split a rock, but it did not trouble my travelling companions
at all, quite on the contrary: if I had ceased to moan, they would
have come to see what was the matter with me, because they had grown
accustomed to my groans and complaints.
We enter now the arid steppes of Central Asia. We are in the open
desert, desolate and immense. As far as the eye could see on each side,
the plain spreads before us, nothing but unlimited sand all round, and
great monstrous yellow waves come closing in from all sides, threatening
to engulf us. Such a wild, solitary landscape! Anything more dreary is
impossible to imagine; there was neither water, tree, nor vegetation
of any kind, nothing but glaring sun. It seemed as if we had been
transported into a forlorn land. We were the only living things in a
dead world; no sign of man or beast, not even a wandering bird was to be
seen. The monotonous click of the engine was the only sound that broke
the silence. The stations appear at great intervals in the midst of the
desert. Life mustn’t be sweet here!
As we drew near Kizil-Arvat the landscape changed in character; verdure
begins to appear. We are crossing an oasis. In the distance we see a
caravan of camels advancing slowly. At sundown we approach Geok-Tepe,
and our train stops before the tombs of our soldiers killed during the
assault of the town, whilst a requiem was chanted for the repose of their
souls. Much blood has been spilt here! We passed before the ruins of the
fortress made famous by the heroic defence of the natives during a whole
month. The walls of the fortress stretch for several kilometres.
Towards evening we arrived at Askhabad. In spite of the want of water,
the vegetation is luxuriant in these parts. My uncle, General Roerberg,
was the founder of the town. After the conquest of Akhal-Teke by General
Skobeleff in 1881, the Grand Duke Michael, commander in chief of the
army of the Caucasus, proposed to my uncle who was at that time General
of Division, to occupy the post of chief of the Transcaspian provinces.
He was ordered to Askhabad which was but a small village inhabited
by wandering tribes. My uncle established peace and tranquillised
the country which he began to rule as the Khan (Asiatic despot). In
the first place he had to organise the distribution of ground-plots
among the natives, the army and the Russian inhabitants, and plan out
the town. A few years ago my uncle visited Askhabad and found it in a
flourishing state. It has at present 47,000 inhabitants exclusive of the
nomad population, (a tribe bearing the name of Tekintzi,) and has two
gymnasiums for boys and girls, three municipal schools, and other public
establishments.
June 4th.—The night was so fresh that I had to take out my warm blanket.
Early in the morning we arrived at Merv. Repetition of yesterday’s
greetings with the offering of “Bread and Salt” on a silver dish besides.
A few minutes from Merv is Mourgab, a beautiful estate belonging to
the Emperor, extending to the very frontier of Persia. At the station
of Amou-Daria a wagon was put at the rear of the train, an observation
car; all the back was in glass to view the country. We had to cross the
Amou-Daria, one of the greatest rivers of the world, on a temporary
slender wooden bridge, which swung and quivered under us. An iron bridge
about three kilometres long, is in construction, a masterpiece of
engineering skill, which will cost a large sum to build. I was awfully
uneasy whilst we traversed the bridge, and turned to my husband with a
frightened face, but Sergy who had strong nerves, was looking provokingly
calm, and laughed at my fears, and nothing was so aggravating as calmness
for me at that moment. At the other side of the river we came into a
land of beauty and fertility, and rolled through maize and tobacco
plantations. I looked around with admiring eyes. Here again was life! The
bushes were full of warbling birds.
The sun had set when we arrived at Kermineh in the domains of the Emir
of Bokhara. The railway station is situated at ten kilometres from the
capital of Bokhara bearing the same name. I was told that the customs
in that barbarian country reminded one of prehistoric times. The prison
at Kermineh consists of three deep pits in which swarm pell-mell women,
men, and children. On approaching the station we saw fires lighted in
tar-barrels, showing two battalions of Bokhara soldiers ranged along the
railway-line. In the semi-darkness we could have easily taken these men
dressed in Russian-cut uniforms, for Russian soldiers, especially whilst
they shouted in chorus loud hurras when my husband appeared at the door
of his car.
The Emir, who was in Moscow at the time, was represented by three high
dignitaries. A large tent had been erected just opposite the station,
in which was prepared an abundant _dastarkhan_ (native dainties of all
kinds.) The long table covered with a white table-cloth reminded one
of European customs, but the throng of natives in long khalats and
turbans, the bizarre sounds of the native music and all this Oriental
_mise-en-scène_, testified that we were very far from Europe, in the
centre of Mohametanism, on a visit to an Asiatic sovereign. I was peeping
through the blinds of the window and watched the crowd on the platform.
I saw the glare of the torches, carried by the natives, on the faces and
the moving forms. The whole Russian colony was assembled on the platform.
A deputation of Bokharans came up to present “Bread and Salt” to my
husband. Before leaving Kermineh Sergy sent a telegram to the Emir to
thank him for the friendly reception which had been made to him by his
representatives.
June 5th.—The train crosses fresh green valleys; the soil is rich and
easy to irrigate. The burning sun gives two harvests a year. It is
chiefly cotton-shrubs which are cultivated here. Turcomen, wearing
enormous fur caps, are working in the fields. We see a group of wandering
Kirghees sitting on the ground before their tents. The men of this tribe
breed cattle and horses, and fabricate a fermented drink made of mare’s
milk, called _koumiss_.
We approach Samarkand station; the city of Samarkand is some miles
distant. It represents a bushy forest in the middle of which low-roofed
houses, towers and minarets are scattered. It was annexed to Russia in
1868, after the taking of Bokhara. Samarkand has been one of the most
famous cities of the Mussulman world, and had only the town of Pekin
as rival in Asia; its princes were equal to the Emperors of China. The
glory of Samarkand is departed; alone and desolate stand the ruins, the
remnants of ancient splendour. Samarkand has seen fine old doings. My
thoughts wandered back to the time when it had echoed to the tramp of
the Greek legions, as they thundered forth on their way to India, under
the command of Alexander the Great, King of Macedonia, who had rested
here during his triumphal march. It is here that the sun of the power
of Timur or Tamerlane, the greatest King of the country, who reigned in
the fourteenth century, rose and set. Ruins and sandy plains replace now
Tamerlane’s beautiful palaces and magnificent gardens. On what does human
greatness hang! These ruins of ancient splendour surpass the ruins of
Rome and Greece by their magnificence, and can be compared only with the
ruins of Egypt. Unfortunately, these vestiges of vanished civilisation
are destroyed, little by little, by frequent earthquakes, and still more
by the inhabitants who continue to pull them unmercifully to pieces for
their new buildings. In one of the streets of Samarkand a house was
pointed out to my husband whose whole front had been taken from the ruins
of one of the most beautiful minarets of the town.
On the platform of the railway station, adorned with flags and wreaths
of flowers, the Governor of Samarkand presented to Sergy a deputation of
Sartes, one of the richest tribes of Turkestan. Behind the station all
the soldiers of the garrison of Samarkand, ranged in lines, cheered my
husband by loud hurrahs, which produced a great effect upon the natives.
I was not in a condition to respond to civilities just now, looking very
hot, dusty and unbrushed, and presented altogether a very disreputable
appearance. I would not be seen in such a state, and as it was too late
to pay tribute to vanity, I feigned a bad headache in order not to take
part at the dinner which had been prepared for us in the state rooms of
the stations, transformed into beautifully arrayed saloons.
The railway-line from Samarkand to Tashkend is not yet inaugurated
officially, and the whole way is guarded by patrols to prevent the damage
frequently caused to the line by hostile natives.
June 6th.—We have crossed this night the so-named Starving Plain. This
waste land is well worthy of its denomination. There was nothing but
plain, endless plain, always the same dull colour. The soil is arid, and
the want of water seemed more pronounced as we went on. The Grand Duke
Nicolas Constantinovitch, uncle to our Emperor, who inhabited Turkestan
for more than seventeen years, spent the greatest part of his life in
this desert, occupying himself with irrigation works in the plain, a part
of which he has furrowed with canals. The Grand Duke has spent more than
a million roubles already for the digging of these canals, which are to
transform the barren soil of the Starving Plain into fertile fields some
day. It is a splendid plan, but how is one to get the quantity of water
necessary for this purpose?
CHAPTER CXX
TASHKEND
At ten o’clock in the morning the train stopped at Tashkend station,
where we met a royal reception. A great crowd was on the platform and
all around the station. The courtyard was full of carriages and natives
curious to see us. I think all the inhabitants were gathered there
to stare. We mounted into our carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid
long-tailed horses which my husband had bought from the widow of the late
Governor-General. A hundred Cossacks, and a great number of natives on
horseback, escorted us from the station to our house, called a palace.
The horses flew along the streets full of people; enthusiastic cheers
resounded as we passed. We nodded to right and left. Great preparations
were made to greet us; the streets were all dressed with flags, the
windows and balconies hung with carpets and wreaths of flowers. The
photographers made the best of their opportunities and prepared their
kodaks for action. We drove fast and soon reached the cathedral, where
a Te Deum was sung in our honour. The Bishop in a few hearty words
bade us welcome to Tashkend, and pointed out to Sergy that it was the
third Asiatic country already which had been confided to him—Erzeroum,
Khabarovsk and Tashkend.
From the cathedral we walked to the palace; a very large crowd, which was
waiting outside the church, followed us.
The excitement of the day had utterly exhausted me. I had gone to rest,
and slept the sleep of the weary and the just, when the Grand Duke called
upon my husband and asked him to give me a beautiful bouquet of roses,
freshly cut by the Grand Duke from the garden of his palace, bound with
a sand-coloured ribbon, the emblem of the Starving Plain, which was also
welcoming me.
On the next day after our arrival, Sergy, surrounded by a brilliant
escort of generals and officers, gave audience, as representative of
His Imperial Majesty Nicolas II., to the members of Municipal Council,
wearing voluminous turbans, who presented to him different deputations.
First came a deputation of native notables who delivered to my husband
the sum of four thousand roubles, all in gold, offered by the natives
for the benefit of the bereaved families of the soldiers killed during
the mutiny in Andidjan. They asked Sergy to transmit many expressions of
loyalty to the Tzar, as well as their profound indignation on account of
the murder of our soldiers. Sergy promised to carry out their wishes,
but when the deputies began to comb their beards with their fingers,
expressing their satisfaction by sounds reminding one of the howls of
wild beasts, my husband, who knew that they were not to be trusted
for all their promises and soft speeches, told them, by the aid of an
interpreter, that he would take great care that they should keep their
word to the very letter. He said besides that the Tzar had more than one
hundred and fifty million subjects, and such numbers of soldiers that, in
case of a new rebellion, a whole battalion could easily be quartered in
every village of Turkestan. The deputies’ faces showed disappointment,
and fell several degrees. Whence came the representatives of a deputation
from the Hindoo colony established at Tashkend, fire-worshippers and
traders most of them, bizarre-looking individuals dressed in a sort
of long frock-coat, with black velvet caps on their heads? After the
presentation was over, Sergy visited the Mussulman quarters of the town
and gave his portrait to some of the most notable natives. One of the
“imams,” who could express himself in Russian pretty well, said to my
husband that up to the present the inhabitants of Tashkend celebrated
yearly two great feasts—the _Ramadan_ and the _Bairam_—but henceforth,
after Sergy’s appearance amongst them, they would celebrate a third
one—his visit to them. For flattering words the Oriental people have not
their equal.
Our house is furnished with every luxury one can imagine. There is a fine
suite of state rooms with beautiful tapestry and pictures. A sitting-room
is coloured mosaic, the ball-room of immense size, with full-length
portraits of our Imperial Family hung on the walls, is capable of
accommodating about three hundred persons. In the library long tables are
covered with illustrated magazines and papers. The centre of the house is
topped with a dome of glass; under it is a large winter garden full of
beautiful palms and flourishing plants. In the middle of it a fountain
bubbled up in a basin of white marble. The house is surrounded by
extensive grounds with long shady alleys; it is cool under them even in
the most intense heat. Kiosques, grottos and rustic bridges are scattered
here and there. A water-fall, three metres high, rushes into a reservoir
just opposite my bedroom windows. The gardens are overloaded with fruit,
peaches, grapes, apricots, melons, ripening on every side. In Turkestan,
fruit of all kind abounds; peaches and apricots are here a common food
for pigs. White and black swans swim in the broad arik (canal) winding
like a river in the park. A troop of deer walk about freely on the
meadows; they come up and examine us fearlessly. About a dozen foxes live
at the end of the park, in a large den formerly occupied by a family of
bears. In a big cage walk peacocks who wake me every morning by their
piercing shrieks.
Our park is a veritable labyrinth; it is surrounded by a wall twenty feet
high. Sergy lost himself when he went out riding in the park for the
first time.
Our numerous household is cosmopolitan; it consists of Sartes, Tartars,
Poles, Cossacks and Germans. At twelve o’clock punctually, when the
cannon is fired from the citadel, the head-butler, a very solemn
personage, comes to announce that luncheon is on the table. He wears a
Bokharian decoration and looks very important with his star. A smart
waiter arrayed in a magnific “khalat” attends behind my husband’s chair.
The aide-de-camps and functionaries on duty are invited to lunch and
dinner every day.
The balcony of my bedroom looks out into the park. I used to lounge there
for hours in a rocking-chair after dinner. The steps of the sentinel,
walking to-and-fro with his gun on his shoulder, were sharply audible. I
did not move, I was so cosy here, listening to the monotonous splash of
the fountain and the gentle rustling of the wind amongst the branches of
the trees. The light breeze brought me the perfume of flowers; from the
garden came the scent of heliotropes from a bed beneath the balcony. My
thoughts flew away—far, very far, to darling St Petersburg.
For two days the rain never ceased pouring; there are mud-pools of water
everywhere. When the sun had sufficiently dried the streets, we went for
a drive through the town, escorted by a platoon of Cossacks. We drove
through wide, tree-shaded streets. The flat-topped houses, generally not
more than a storey high, are covered with verdure. It is dangerous to
build high edifices in the country because of the frequent earthquakes.
We were in the hottest part of the day and saw but few people in the
streets. From noon to four o’clock the inhabitants of Tashkend take
their siesta. When the heat decreases, the native quarters begin to
fill with life and local colour. We drove along arcaded streets like
narrow corridors towards the bazaar, passing by numerous “tschai-khans”
(tea-houses), and were saluted on our passage by profound salaams; the
natives pass their hands over their faces and beards, a gesture which
signifies that their sentiments towards us are as clear as a well-washed
face. Steady-handed barbers are shaving customers on the threshold
of their shops. Vociferating sellers sit on low tables behind piles
of fruit and vegetables. Imperturbable and passive Sartes, sitting
cross-legged on rugs, smoke their kalyans and appear to be plunged in
profound meditation. Here is a group of “douvanas” (Mecca pilgrims)
wearing sharp-pointed caps; they are listening to a “maddah” (street
story-teller). The Sarte women leave their houses hidden beneath their
“farandja,” a dark mantle which covers them from head to foot, and makes
them look like guys. They follow more strictly than any other daughters
of the Orient the principles of the Mussulman religion, and cover their
faces with black horse-hair nets. I have seen veiled Turkish women at
Constantinople, but in such a transparent manner, that they differed
but little from our European ladies wearing slight veils over their
hats. At Cairo the veils are thicker, but for that, the Egyptian women
leave their eyes uncovered. The Mussulman women in India go out in the
streets unveiled, just the same as our Kirghis women. The natives are
very fond of music; in every tent of the nomad tribes, in every “khaoul”
(house) one can see a two-stringed instrument called “doutarra,” a
sort of guitar. The Sarte makes even of his “arba,” a massive cart, an
instrument of barbaric music, putting a stick into the wheels, so that
the stick catching the spokes, reproduces the sound of the drum, which
resounds through the streets of Tashkend, to the accompaniment of the
monotonous singing of the proprietor of the “arba,” a wailing, winding
chant which, as it had no end, may well have had no beginning. The Sarte
sings always in a high-pitched voice, for to sing in a basso voice is
considered unbecoming. The “arba” is put upon two enormous wooden wheels
and driven by one horse, on whose back sits astride the carter, his legs
stretched on the shafts. The Sartes never grease their “arbas,” and the
noise produced by these screeching wheels compose a terrible discord,
accompanied by the piercing cry of the camels, and the howling of vagrant
dogs.
The Sartes are perfectly indifferent to the change of temperature;
neither heat nor cold affects them in any way. They have no stoves in
their houses; a hole in the floor is the family cooking place, and an
opening is broken through the roof for the emission of smoke.
The streets are watered several times a day, which lays the dust,
but contributes also to increase pernicious fevers. The climate is
very unwholesome in Turkestan; immediately after sunset it becomes so
damp that it is dangerous to remain out of doors. In June the heat is
intolerable.
I held a reception once a week; between two and five about a hundred
persons would pass through our saloons. The day I held my first
reception, the large drawing-room was crowded with guests. I had to take
up the subject of politics and be amiable to everyone. I was so tired
with having had to talk all the time that my tongue, having refused to
obey me, I said good-bye instead of good-afternoon to a belated visitor.
The Grand-Duke was amongst our guests and gained my sympathy at once. He
is not a bit haughty and altogether charming, and I felt perfectly at
ease with him. He is such a nice-looking man, towering nearly a head over
everyone. When taking leave the Duke asked me to come and drink a cup of
chocolate the next day. He was awfully amiable to me, and took me all
over his palace—a veritable museum. Amongst other curiosities he showed
me a watch made by Briguet, which goes without being wound up. It is
put into the pocket, and after you have taken a few steps, the watch is
already set going for twenty-four hours. There exists only two examples
of such watches; Briguet valued them at ten thousand francs each.
Alexander II. possessed the first one. Being free from all household
management, I feel myself on a visit here. The first days of my arrival,
I did not know how to while away the time, wishing for even the mildest
adventure, something that would put a little spice into the insipidity
of our lives. I would like a row now and then just to enliven things a
little. For distraction I tried to pick a quarrel with Sergy, making
tragedies of pure nonsense, but it takes two to make a quarrel, and
Sergy is a man of peace and is a desperately calm person, and finds it
necessary for the sake of domestic quiet to put up with all my tempers;
nothing could put him out of patience.
Every day I grew more and more home-sick. I often was in tears, not
taking interest in anything. The awful climate was injurious to my
health. I have no appetite, no sleep. The pink has gone out of my cheeks.
Someone had cast an evil eye upon me to be sure. I’ve got so thin and
pale that I am afraid to look at myself in the glass. Sergy, who reads my
face, which is a mirror of all passive emotions, like a familiar book,
grew alarmed and called in a doctor, but no doctor’s prescriptions were
any good for my complaint. Mephistopheles whispered into my ear that
instead of making me swallow horrid mixtures, the best remedy for me
would be to fly back to Petersburg, but I have decided not to let myself
be tempted by the enemy of mankind. At the end of a month I began to feel
myself at home.
I work hard at my book and give much time to my English concertina. This
melodious instrument leads to the transmission of the most difficult
violin literature. I am passionately fond of music; having inherited that
passion from my father who had the true artistic temperament and was a
gifted musician and a splendid pianist.
The life that I had to lead was entirely out of my line. I hate state
receptions, state manners; grandeurs weigh heavily upon me, and etiquette
to the laws of which I must submit. I have got a court like a little
queen, everyone is charming to me, but I, ungrateful being, should have
liked warm friendship far better than respectful homage. I had hundreds
of acquaintances, and not a single intimate friend, and I was badly in
need of one. I hated my reception days when callers flocked in on us,
and I had to talk to people, only for the sake of talking, pretending to
be pleased when all the time I want to say “Oh, do go away!” One of the
disadvantages of being the wife of a Governor-General was the necessity
of suffering bores gladly. As soon as the clock struck six, and the last
guest had departed, I hastened to step down from my pedestal and put on
with delight my dressing-gown and stretch myself in an easy chair. How
I long to get away from all these ties of public life, to stay at St.
Petersburg and live the life of a simple mortal, independent, and apart
from the so-called world, and be free of all pomp. But there is no use my
thinking about it. It’s silly to want the moon.
I am selected for President of the Benevolent Society of the city of
Tashkend. The meetings of the committee are held in our house. I presided
at a long table covered with green cloth. At the first assembly I felt
timid and embarrassed for many eyes were on me, and for the moment I
almost forgot how to get on with the formal little speech I had learned
so carefully. I was grateful when Sergy, who sat opposite to me, came to
my relief and did all the talking for me. All at once my courage returned
to me, and I took an animated part in the project to found an asylum
for old men and women. It was decided to organise for that purpose a
great charity feast with theatricals, bazaar, tombola, and what not! I
issued about 700 invitations, with an indirect allusion to the subject of
offerings which I claimed for the forthcoming lottery.
The opening of the new asylum was celebrated with great pomp. The
Directress of the establishment hurried forward to meet us and led us
straight to the chapel where a Te Deum was sung, after which we were
shown through the asylum, containing 600 old people of both sexes. It
gave also shelter to an officer’s daughter who was not quite right in
her mind. Her bridegroom had been mixed up in some political affair and
sent to the galleys and she had gone mad from the shock. The poor insane
woman is barely thirty years old, but looks fifty at least, arrayed in
a costume which our grandmothers wore in their youth. She leads a very
secluded life, and never speaks to anyone. We saw her walking in the
garden her eyes fixed on the ground, pretending not to see us.
On that same day we visited an asylum for the lunatics. The whole staff
of doctors came up to meet us. We walked first to the women’s section.
The patients were wandering in the park in groups. One of them came up
to my husband to entreat him to release her, asserting that she was in
perfect health, but would certainly go raving mad if she was forced to
spend one more night in such company. That woman had come a few days ago
to ask Sergy to permit her to embrace the Mussulman religion. She told
him also that in hatred of one of the high dignitaries of the city, she
had written to him, that she cursed him and all his family. It appeared
she bought a revolver with the intention of shooting him. She was seized
in time, luckily, and brought into this lunatic asylum to test her
sanity. Another insane creature, grinning idiotically, approached me and
stared at me from head to foot. She became very fierce all at once, and
began to abuse me, calling me all sorts of bad names, and accused me
of having stolen her best frock. When we approached the section of the
raving lunatics, roars and shouts reached our ears. Though trembling with
fear I would not be led away and kept tight hold of Sergy’s arm, clinging
fast to him. Behind an iron-barred window we saw a horrible moustached
creature, standing with her arms folded across her chest, glaring
ferociously at us with an expression so malignant, that Satan would
have been jealous of her. She believes herself to be a man and becomes
terribly agitated when she sees a woman. She beckoned to me suddenly
making dreadful gestures and demoniac grimaces. Sergy hurried me away. We
made but a short visit to the men’s section. We saw a man mad with love
for the Empress. The poor maniac writes long letters every day to his
lady-love, but receiving no answer, he guesses that everybody plays him
false and that his letters are not sent. He was lying on his bed when we
approached him and turned suddenly his face to the wall and his back to
us. I heaved a sigh of relief when we left these sad quarters.
In July great festivals were arranged to celebrate the twenty-third
anniversary of the taking of Tashkend. There was a parade of troops on
the square before the palace, after which my husband proceeded to the
tomb of our soldiers killed during the siege of the town and laid a
wreath on their grave.
We gave a grand dinner that same day for about one hundred guests. An
amusing incident occurred during this meal. Among the guests there
were some important natives who had come from the end of the country.
One of these men, who had never tasted European cooking, took a pot of
mustard for a separate dish, and swallowed a whole spoonful of it. He
naturally gasped, choked, whilst tears ran in rivulets down his cheeks.
His neighbour at table, who had not noticed the proceeding with the
mustard, asked him the cause of his grief. The native, heaving a deep
sigh, answered that he had just called to mind his deceased father, and
that to-day was the anniversary of his death; he had been drowned in
the Amou-Daria, whilst sailing on the river in a small boat. Meanwhile
his left hand neighbour, a compatriot of his, had followed his example,
having also regaled himself with mustard, and with the same consequences,
of course. The son of the drowned man was wickedly rejoiced at his
blunder, and asked in his most velvety tone, “Why does my brother cry?”
“Because I regret that thou did’st not disappear beyond the mysterious
regions of the Amou-Daria together with thy father!” was the cunning
reply. Everybody laughed when the interpreter translated this dialogue
between the two natives.
Our life had many dark moments. There had been a great excitement these
last few days; bad news had arrived, a new rebellion was apprehended. We
stood on a volcano that might explode at any moment; the only thing to
ask ourselves was when will it begin to pour out its flames. Anonymous
letters, splashed with blood, announced to my husband that on the night
of the 30th July, a holy war would break out. What troublesome times we
are living through!
One side of our park is joined to the native quarters of the town, and a
little shiver ran down my back each time the clear voice of the muezzin
chanted from the minaret of the neighbouring mosque, calling the faithful
to prayer: “_Allah il Allah_.” (There is no God but God.)
Though things had looked serious for some time, they seemed to have
quieted down again. Thanks to energetic means, the agitation in the
country was soon calmed down.
When Autumn arrived, I started for St. Petersburg. It was arranged that
my husband was to rejoin me in a few weeks’ time, and that we should
return together to Tashkend in the Spring. I hated to part from Sergy; I
shall want him horribly, but I must see to the publishing of the first
part of my book and end the last part; absolute quiet is essential for
rapid work. Our separation would not be a very prolonged one, and Sergy
was to write every day.
August 9th.—My husband had to go on business to Bokhara and Andidjan, the
place of the recently appeased mutiny. I will profit by it by making a
part of the journey with him.
We started to-day at ten o’clock in the morning. The station was quite
full. All the military and civil authorities of the town, and all the
members of the committee of the Benevolence Society, came to wish me a
happy journey and safe return. I had to shake hands with such a lot of
people that my glove burst in several places, and I received such a lot
of bouquets that they were hard to hold; the supply of beautiful flowers
in my car made it look like a flower-shop.
August 11th.—This morning I had to part with Sergy and we went each our
several ways. My car was coupled to the express, and when the time for
parting with my husband came, I cried so awfully that I had to borrow
Sergy’s pocket-handkerchief. It was a very painful moment and I found it
hard to tear myself away; it seemed as if we could never finish saying
good-bye. The guide gave the signal and the train moved off. Soon Sergy’s
face was out of sight and I was left to my thoughts and to my loneliness.
The knowledge that the train was bearing me further and further from
Sergy, and that every moment was increasing the distance between us, made
me wild. I threw myself back in the corner of the carriage and had a good
cry.
I am well taken care of. Sergy had given me into the charge of one of his
aide-de-camps who was going to Krasnovodsk, and asked him to take me to
the steamer.
August 12th.—The same scenery is repeated with fatiguing uniformity; the
desolate sun-baked desert spread out, and the yellow steppes joined with
the horizon. The journey seems to last ages.
August 13th.—The heat is not so intense to-day. The sky is grey and big
drops of rain begin to fall. At 8 o’clock in the morning we arrived at
Krasnovodsk, where I was received by the agent of the steamboat company,
an old admiral retired from the service. The _Tropic_, a boat built in
England, was reserved for my crossing. I have the best cabin; a placard
placed over the door bears the following inscription in English: “To
accommodate four seamen,” but one could easily place a dozen of men in
it. It proves to what an extent the English consider the comfort of their
sailors.
I went to my lonely bed in rather a depressed frame of mind. Sleep would
not come. I was seized with an ungovernable longing to see Sergy, to hear
his voice, and my mind was filled with only one thought I must go back!
It was too late to turn back now. The captain came at the door to wish me
good-night, but it was rather a mockery, under the circumstances, for I
never closed my eyes, thanks to my blue devils and the horrid rolling of
the boat.
August 14th.—We had very rough weather in the night and were dancing
all the time on formidable waves; our boat was creaking in every joint.
I heard the sailors running on the upper-deck and the watch-officer
shouting orders in a voice of thunder. What did all this uproar mean? In
a terrible fright I jumped out of bed and dressing speedily hurried on
deck. It was our boat changing its course and going out into the open sea
instead of following the shore to avoid the breakers. The captain came
to tell me that I had nothing to be afraid of and could go to sleep in
security. He promised for to-morrow a sea as calm as a lake.
The captain is awfully nice to me, and performs an endless series
of little attentions, looking to my comfort. He has, as it appears,
the intention to fatten me up like the cattle destined for the
slaughter-house, but sea-sickness takes away all my appetite.
August 15th.—The distant coasts of the Caucasus appear like a grey
outline. Towards ten o’clock in the morning the _Tropic_ landed us at
Petrovsk five hours behind time. The captain insisted upon my passage
being free, which cost me a great deal more in tips for the crew. He
accompanied me with his officers to the railway-station.
CHAPTER CXXI
ST. PETERSBURG
August 18th.—It was pouring with rain this morning when we arrived at St.
Petersburg. My mother was at the station to meet me, and took me to the
new house my husband had bought in one of the most fashionable quarters
of the city.
I had a letter four pages long from Sergy, full of interesting detail
about his interview with the Emir at Kermineh, and of his journey to
Andidjan, where the recent mutiny had taken place. A crowd of prostrated
figures, their faces against the ground, were awaiting his arrival. After
a Te Deum sung on the square before the cathedral, my husband distributed
to the wounded soldiers a whole lot of crosses of the order of St.
George, whilst cannons were fired. From Andidjan Sergy travelled on to
Asch, a town situated near the frontier of the Pamir, in a mountainous
region named The Roof of the World. An old Kirghise woman, called The
Queen of the Alai, aged 87, came up to my husband supported by her two
sons, white-bearded old men. This Asiatic Princess reminded one of the
antique “Mother of the Gracchi.” A few days after his return to Tashkend
Sergy received the visit of the heir to the throne of Khiva.
I saw no visitors and went nowhere, working hard at my book till late
in the night, keeping awake with black coffee. At the end of the week I
found solitude intolerable and began to feel awfully dull. Every day was
the same, the hours seemed years. It was so hard to be alone here! I had
seldom experienced much of my own society and was sick of my own company.
Sergy being absent, the world seemed one great blank. I never had him out
of my thoughts for one minute. Sometimes I had the impulse to take the
first train and fly back to Tashkend.
October had passed and Sergy did not come. I bombarded him with desperate
letters full of exclamation points, always putting the stereotyped
question when he would arrive.
I read in the papers that the plague had broken out near Samarkand,
carrying away every day a great many victims, and that the Prince of
Oldenbourg was going there with a medical expedition. I was getting
awfully anxious about Sergy and felt tempted to throw up everything
and rush back to him. I had the most awful dreams and imagined all
sorts of calamities and spoiled my eyes with tears, having only one
thought, to rejoin my husband. I could endure my suspense no longer
and telegraphed to Sergy, imploring him to let me come to Tashkend. I
waited with feverish impatience for his permission to start instantly,
but my husband, who never refused me in trifles, did not give in when
it concerned serious matters. He would not hear of this; he firmly
opposed my arrival, and wired to me to be reasonable and have patience;
but patience, alas, was contrary to my temperament. My hundred and one
wishes were always fulfilled until now, and when it has come to the
hundred and second wish—stop? Oh on! Sergy’s opposition made me only
the more obstinately determined to have my own way. I despatched him a
long letter, an ultimatum in fact. I wrote that if he did not arrive at
St Petersburg in the course of a fortnight, I should start to Tashkend
without awaiting his permission. I worried Sergy till I finally got him
to consent to my going over to rejoin him. My maid brought me a telegram
from my husband with my tea one morning. I opened it, and read one word.
“Come!” I wanted to leave at once in spite of mother and some friends who
tried to make me understand the danger I was running in going to meet the
plague; but I am a fatalist and fear nothing. All their persuasions fell
on stony ground. If they think that they will stop me, they are very much
mistaken; no consideration of wisdom will ever induce me not to do what
I want to do. I would not hear reason and was in a hurry to go back to
Tashkend. With me to think has always been to act. The sooner I start the
better.
October 17th.—I am off to Tashkend to-day, with Maria Michaelovna and
my maid Mina. All the cars of our train are occupied by the members of
the medical expedition sent to Tashkend to fight against the plague. It
consists of forty doctors and ten sisters of mercy. The rain is coming
down in torrents, but when I felt happy I was not in the least aware that
the sun was not shining, and I am so happy now to rejoin Sergy! Our train
is an express and rushes past nearly all the stations. We hadn’t time for
dinner and snatched a sandwich at a railway buffet, that had probably
been waiting more than a week for travellers to arrive.
October 21st.—We are at Petrovsk at ten o’clock in the morning. I saw the
_Tzarevitch_, a great ship ready for sea, with steam up, making ready to
cast off and be gone; the gang way was just about to be withdrawn when we
got on board.
I am again on the hateful element. The sea is covered with foam, the wind
blows impetuously, rising in enormous billows. We have to struggle both
with the hurricane and the swift current which does not permit us to
approach the coasts of Derbent where we had to put in. I suffer a great
deal from sea-sickness, although I have made three voyages round the
world. All the passengers look green and miserable.
October 22nd.—At eleven o’clock we arrived at Baku, where a very
disagreeable surprise awaited us. We have to leave the boat and go over
to the _Prince Bariatinsky_, a poor little thing, little more than a
yacht. The _Tzarevitch_ is retained for the Prince of Oldenbourg.
We made ourselves as comfortable as we could in our stuffy little cabin.
Towards evening we entered a dense fog, and could not see four paces
ahead. The captain does not leave the poop, and every five minutes the
fog-horn throws piercing shrieks into the black night.
October 23rd.—At daybreak the fog cleared away. The sea is quite smooth.
We are going full speed, making fifteen knots an hour.
At ten o’clock we entered the port of Krasnovodsk. My car was attached to
the express of the Prince of Oldenbourg, who arrived in the afternoon on
the _Tzarevitch_. Before starting the Prince sent his aide-de-camp to ask
if I could receive him. I replied that I felt very tired for the moment
but hoped that I should be able to see His Highness during our long
railway journey.
October 25th.—I found a telegram from Sergy waiting for me at Kermineh,
telling me by what train he would meet me at the station of Kata-Kourgan.
I am happy, happy, happy!
We had a long time to wait at Kermineh because the Emir had come to see
the Prince of Oldenbourg, and our train was not due to start for two
mortal hours. I must just have patience and wait, but as patience is an
unknown word in my vocabulary, I grumbled awfully at the delay. This time
I travelled incognito and was left in peace; my blinds were scrupulously
drawn down. Trying to shorten the hours that separated me from my
husband, I went to bed directly after dinner. Oh, I wish it was to-morrow!
October 26th.—It was only in the middle of the night that we arrived at
Kata-Kourgan, where Sergy’s waggon was joined to our train. I can’t find
words to express my joy!
It was about eleven o’clock when we stopped at the station of Samarkand.
Everywhere was the smell of pungent disinfectant. We are going to remain
two days here. Sergy put up at the house of General Fedoroff, Governor of
Samarkand. The town is ten miles from the station, but I prefer to remain
in my car, standing alone in a side-track of the line. The road leading
to the station was illuminated at night with different coloured lanterns
hanging from the trees.
October 27th.—The chief of the station, who took care of my sleep, and
was afraid that I should be aroused by the shrieks of the manœuvring
engines, gave order to the engine-drivers to moderate their transports
when blowing their whistles.
The Medical Expedition has arrived this morning. Four lady-physicians,
accompanied by twelve sisters of mercy, called upon me in the afternoon.
They told me that a part of the expedition had been sent to Anzob, a
pestilence-stricken village, and got there with great difficulty. There
was no carriage-road and they had to make their way by precipitous paths
in the mountains.
My husband proposed to the Medical Expedition to organise an ocular
ambulatory inspection during their stay at Samarkand which was especially
necessary in this country, where eye-diseases predominate, thanks to the
rare and superficial connection of the natives with water. Their famous
religious ablutions consist in the submersion of their hands in a vase
filled with water of doubtful cleanliness, in which they wash away their
sins; and after that they dash the water over their faces, and it happens
sometimes that a whole crowd of natives have already performed their
ablutions in that basin of water! One can easily imagine the hygiene of
this ceremony.
October 28th.—This morning a group of Asiatic princes were presented
to my husband in his railway-car; amongst them there was the pretender
to the throne of Afghanistan Isaac-Khan—leading his little son by the
hand. Before that Prince several pretenders to the throne of Afghanistan
had chosen Samarkand for their residence, amongst them the famous
Abdurakham, who, after having been raised to the throne, had shown his
gratitude to the friendliness of the Russians, by playing false. Under
pain of death, the entrance of Russian subjects into his territory
was forbidden. Isaac-Khan is poor as a rat; he is living on a petty
allowance of the Russian government, and though he has very little hope
of succeeding to the throne of Afghanistan, he brings up his son as if
the throne would belong to him one day or other. When the boy is asked
who he is, he answers with an air of great importance: “I am Grand
Sirdar” (General-in-Chief), but for the moment his army consists only
of half a dozen ragged servants. I took an instinctive dislike to his
father, and saw “Borgia” written all over him. In fact I believe the
prince a man capable of anything, and though honied words come readily
to his lips, his eyes flash an evil look, and hardly ever meet those of
the person with whom he talks. There was something in his appearance
which distinctly alarmed me. He would have made a perfect villain in a
melodrama, with a beard growing almost reaching his eyes. It was not a
face that one would care to meet when alone in the dark. Amongst the
exotic princes I saw the suzerain of a small principality, who after
having become a Russian subject, received as recompense the grade of
major. He wears a “khalat” with Russian epaulettes, girded with a
green sash, a sign that he is a descendant of the Prophet. When the
presentations ended, my husband distributed medals and “khalats” to the
native notables who came up to him preparing their most engaging smiles.
After having received their gift, they retired backwards murmuring
profuse thanks and touching their forehead, mouth and heart, contriving
to stimulate on their faces sentiments of profound gratitude, though
nourishing a profound hatred towards the Russians. From these treacherous
people one can expect anything; it is an eternal armed-peace with them.
October 30th.—At ten o’clock precisely we arrived at Tashkend-station. My
unexpected arrival was welcomed with joy and cordiality. I distributed my
nods and smiles on each hand; the back of my neck was sore with bowing.
Energetic measures are being taken to check the progress of the epidemic.
The plague is daily decreasing, and the Emperor charged the Prince of
Oldenbourg to thank my husband for the energetic measures he had taken to
battle with it.
The first leaves begin to fall and the park looks very dismal. The
weather is horrible, the sky leaden-grey. I hear the monotonous wail of
the wind and the rain beating against the window-panes.
This time my stay at Tashkend was but a very short one. At the end of a
fortnight I was on my way back to St. Petersburg.
November 12th.—When I arrived at Samarkand, a telegram from the Emir
was brought to me. The Asiatic Sovereign asked to be warned in advance,
so that I could be received with fitting ceremony at Kermineh where he
wanted to meet me, but I refused and begged him by wire not to trouble
himself, because we passed Kermineh by night.
November 14th.—The Amou-Daria is very low at this season. The big river
in several places forms wide sandbanks, and this time I was not a bit
afraid to cross the bridge.
November 16th.—We arrived this morning at Krasnovodsk, where I took my
passage on the _Korniloff_. The weather is bright and clear; the sea is
shining in the sun, promising us a favourable crossing.
November 17th.—The wind has changed during the night, bringing bad
weather. After dinner the captain came to ask how I was and told me that
the lights of Petrovsk had been sighted, and that another half-hour will
find us on shore. We had four hours to wait before the train started.
November 21st.—I arrived safe and sound at St. Petersburg, having had
quite enough of railway and sea.
Our capital was very animated this season: soirées, dinners, concerts,
the whirl went on, but I shut myself within four walls and scarcely saw
anyone, I can’t enjoy anything when Sergy is not there. I am reckoned as
being eccentric in leading the life of a nun in her cell—a very spacious
one, it is true—but I have a sublime indifference to public opinion,
having my own way of looking at things, and am not, as a rule, meddling
with other people’s business; why do they meddle with mine? I am free
of my own actions, and can do as I like, I suppose! Goethe says: “The
happiest of mortals is he who finds his happiness in his own home.” I
can, therefore, be placed among the happy ones.
It is music which is my passion. In my spare moments I had some lessons
on the guitar, but I soon put an end to them, the cords of the instrument
hurting my fingers. Then I bought a cithern, the cords of which hurt me
still more, and resolved to give myself up, as before, to the concertina.
At last I decided to come out of my shell and went sometimes to theatres
and concerts. Volodia Rougitzki, a gifted boy-pianist of thirteen,
enchanted me by his performance of the works of Chopin, Liszt and
Rubinstein. I wonder if this “Wunderkind” will ever become a “Wundermann!”
Antonine Kontski came to St. Petersburg to give a concert. He had a
tremendous success; the audience was enthusiastic and the applause was
deafening. I enjoyed his concert a great deal and applauded so much that
I split my gloves. For the last encore the audience demanded “Le Réveil
du Lion,” one of Kontski’s masterpieces. Then the old mæstro returned and
bowed to the wildly excited people and said: “My Lion is weary, he is
going to bed, but next week I’ll bring out my wild animal, if you still
desire to hear his roaring.”
My husband is promoted to the rank of General-in-Chief. He was
Brigadier-General when I married him, and it is now the third and last
rank that I enjoy with him.
In the middle of December Sergy sent me a telegram to say that he had
taken a six months’ leave. We decided to spend Christmas in Mertchik, the
beautiful estate belonging to my husband’s elder brother, situated in
the government of Kharkoff. I started for Mertchik to meet Sergy in the
highest of spirits. A week later, we were both back to St. Petersburg.
When Spring came on, I began to learn to ride the bicycle. After some
inevitable tumbles, I soon surmounted the difficulties of this sport.
May 17th.—The day of our departure for Tashkend has come. This time we
decided to steam down the Volga from Nijni-Novgorod to Astrakhan. When we
arrived at Nijni-Novgorod we went straight to the boat. Numerous porters
with heavy loads on their backs invaded the deck; they are able to bear
extraordinary burdens. We saw a man carrying a piano, coming up a narrow
plank on to our steamer, just as easily as a world-famed athlete would
have performed it.
Our boat has weighed anchor. The weather is beautiful. After dinner
we lay stretched on our rocking-chairs on deck, inhaling with delight
the fresh evening breeze; sea-gulls followed us. An obliging sailor,
a good-looking sun-tanned young fellow, brought me big lumps of black
bread to feed them. We ply between two low and flat banks, only reeds
round about and fishing men’s huts here and there. I must say, though
it is not very patriotic of me, that the Volga is not to be compared to
the romantic Rhine, which, in its turn, is not to be compared to the
lovely shores of the Amour, one of the most beautiful rivers in the
world. During our numerous voyages we had seen the Mississippi, the
Yan-tze-Kiang, the river of Saint Lawrence and many other big rivers, and
I find that the Amour surpasses them all by the beauty of its banks.
May 18th.—This morning we arrived at Kazan. Large barges come up to
unload our cargo of coal. We remained here till six o’clock and Sergy
went to see the Governor of the city, having to discuss different
questions concerning the Mussulmans, who compose the ninth part of the
population of Russia. The principal centre of their domicile is the
Caucasus, Crimea, Turkestan and the Government of Kazan. At first sight
it seems that the Mussulmans of Turkestan and those of Kazan differ
widely in conditions and characteristics. They have different histories,
and last but not least, quite different modes of life, but in reality it
is not so, the dream of the splendour and glory of their Prophet unites
them all. That refers not only to the Mussulmans inhabiting Russia, but
just as much to the millions of believers peopling India, Turkey and
other Mussulman countries. The task of administering equal justice to
Moslems and Christians is a difficult one. The Mussulmans are all clever
diplomatists from their youth. Talleyrand said that the tongue was given
to the man to hide his thoughts, and the Mussulmans, who have understood
it long before him, profit largely by this principle. I was present at
an interesting interview which took place between my husband and some
Buriate syndics during our travel through the Transbaikalia provinces;
they were Buddhists all of them. The interview took place soon after
the nomad Buriates were placed on a level with the Russian population,
perhaps not quite to the satisfaction of the Buriates. When Sergy asked
them if they were satisfied with the change of their social position,
the syndics replied frankly that they were but tolerably pleased. With
these people one could come to an understanding somehow, but it is quite
different with the Mussulmans. This is a discourse that my husband held
with a group of Moslem syndics who were presented to him in one of his
voyages in the provinces of Turkestan, all standing with sweeping salaams
from floor to forehead, their turbaned heads bent low. Sergy’s words were
translated into their native tongue by an interpreter: “Do you remember
the everlasting wars you had in the time when you were under the dominion
of your khans, when nobody knew that, leading a peaceful and easy-going
life to-day, your blood would not be shed to-morrow? Do you not feel
happier now, when the labourer can gather in his harvest quietly, and
the merchant sell his wares in safety?” And all the syndics, smoothing
their long white beards, replied in chorus: “_Hosch, Taksir!_” (It is
true, master) “Do you remember that not long ago spears were driven into
you and that you were condemned to death without any judgment? Are you
punished now without any plausible cause?” “_Hosch, Taksir!_” asserted
the syndics bowing very low. “Did your administrators ever build schools,
hospitals, nicely-paved roadways? Did they give you an impartial court of
justice, and incorruptible functionaries?” At these last words a swift
change swept over their faces, with a malicious smile they exchanged a
look, and their countenances again remained expressionless, as if carved
in wood, and the same stereotype answer was heard: “_Hosch, Taksir!_” And
only accidentally, you could learn from the junior natives, that their
elders remembered with veneration the time when they were not sure of
the following day and when they were pierced through with spears. They
weren’t in want of any innovation either, provided that their “Crescent”
should be glorified everywhere. In such conditions, when the population
does not come to meet the enterprises of the administration, all the
measures concerning the Mussulmans, scattered about Russia, must be taken
by the administrators. It is precisely on this subject that my husband
had conferred with the Governor of Kazan, whilst I pined alone in my
stuffy cabin.
As soon as Sergy returned on board, we continued our way. The smell of
naphtha pursues us. The surface of the water is covered with large spots
of naphtha all the colours of the rainbow. It is pretty to look at, but
this substance is injurious to the fish; the best species of which have
disappeared from the Volga.
The night is splendid, the sky is all studded with stars, and I have no
wish to go to bed.
May 20th.—The weather has changed, and the Volga is stirred into little
rippling waves by the passing of the wind.
We are at Samarkand in the afternoon. A large company of young ladies,
pupils of the Institute of Orenbourg and scholars of the corps of cadets,
came on board our steamer; they are bound for Turkestan to spend their
summer holidays. An elderly grandmother of one of the cadets had charge
of the young people. The officers and functionaries serving in Tashkend
have the right to send their children to be educated in Orenbourg on the
government’s account.
From Samara to Saratov the Volga is more like a lake than a river. We
pass under an immense iron bridge, the building of which cost seven
million roubles. I remained all the time on deck, admiring the beautiful
banks along which rise forest-clothed hills.
Towards four o’clock in the afternoon we arrived at Saratov. A company
of Cossacks took passage on our boat. The men came from Orenbourg and
are going to serve their time in Turkestan for three years. After dinner
the Cossacks sang in chorus and danced wild jigs on the deck, whilst, on
the other hand, a man with a green turban, which indicated that he was a
Mecca pilgrim, went through the necessary forms of prayer on the rug at
his feet, with his face to the East, first standing, then kneeling, then
prostrating himself.
May 21st.—The banks of the Volga are low and sandy in these parts; the
sky has become grey, the water has taken a dull colour, and the rain is
beginning to fall heavily.
In the afternoon we arrived at Astrakhan and were immediately surrounded
by a noisy crowd of Kalmucks, Tartars and Persians. We had a jolly dinner
on deck. My husband’s aide-de-camps and attachés were so amusing and
merry. They ordered champagne and drank my health. Mr. Baumgarten, one
of the attachés, the soul of the company, when raising his glass to me,
made a most charming speech; he said that my presence embellished their
journey and that they regretted awfully that our arrival at Tashkend
would put an end to the pleasure of having a good deal of my company, for
we only met at meals.
Dinner over, we had music in the saloon. After my solo on the concertina,
Mr. Baumgarten, who had been inspired by my performance, and was
by nature somewhat of a poet, improvised a piece of poetry of the
most tender nature, with the following dedication: “To Mrs. Barbara
Doukhovskoy, in remembrance of a never-to-be-forgotten night on the
Volga.” It is spoken there of love, moon and the rest. The poetry ended
with the words, “Oh, enchanting night on the Volga, can I ever forget
thee?” How sweetly poetical! Who could have believed fat Mr. Baumgarten
to be so gifted!
May 22nd.—The Volga is so broad that the shores disappear; only a narrow
yellow line of bank is to be seen. At dawn we changed our steamer for a
larger one—the _Equator_. We had to part from the Volga here; our boat
stole out towards the open sea.
The neighbourhood of Astrakhan plays a great part in the life of the
Transcaspian provinces; all sorts of wares and products are imported
there in great quantity. This time our steamer is loaded with barrels of
beer.
The wind raises great waves, which sweep our deck. We shall have a good
tossing about on the treacherous Caspian Sea, no doubt.
May 23rd.—I have slept very badly the whole night, because of the intense
heat and the horrid rolling of the ship; every hour I heard the change
of watch ringing. At last I saw the morning twilight entering by the
porthole. A brown-coloured lamb, brought by our sailors from Persia,
squeezed himself through the half-open door of my cabin; he was on
friendly terms with my little pug-nosed Chinese dog, Mokho, and both
animals began to chase each other, making an awful noise.
May 24th.—Horrible night! A heavy gale blowing all the time. The sailors
couldn’t hear the words of command; we rolled unmercifully.
We arrived in the morning at Krasnovodsk and walked to the train which
was waiting for us near the pier. During the short walk I had to fight
against the wind, which did its utmost to carry off my hat, and blew my
umbrella into a sail.
Before starting we were shown the railway-carriage which had just been
presented to the Emir by our Emperor; it impressed me by its splendour.
This carriage, painted blue and ornamented with golden stars, will be
very useful to the Emir when the Orenbourg railway-line is terminated,
for he goes for a cure to the Caucasus every year.
May 25th.—What a heat! The roof of my car is covered with a thick layer
of earth to protect it from the rays of the burning sun, but it is of no
use, we are roasted alive all the same.
This morning we nearly ran over a camel. The encounter with these
quadrupeds is very disagreeable, for it is only by repeated loud whistles
that our engine-driver can make them leave the rails; they kept running
before the train all the time.
May 26th.—It is Sunday to-day. When we approached the station of Merv,
church-bells began to toll. It was a church-car which was waiting to be
hooked on to our train, and thus we had Mass whilst crossing the vast
desert.
May 27th.—At seven o’clock in the morning we are at Kermineh, where the
Emir had come to welcome us. Opposite the platform was erected a large
tent in which a copious lunch was prepared; but I did not leave my car,
feigning a bad headache. A band of native musicians came to divert me
with their weird music, which made me grind my teeth. A beautiful bouquet
was brought to me from the Emir, together with a rich casket containing a
pair of ear-rings with diamonds as large as hazel nuts.
The Emir invited my husband and his suite to dine at his summer
residence, eight miles from the station. In their absence the soldiers
of the Bokharian watch-guard were lying stretched out full length in the
shade, under the trees, indulging in a _dolce far niente_.
My husband returned late in the night and we continued on our way. To
Sergy the palace of the Emir proved a disappointment. It is an ugly
building of no particular kind of architecture; the apartments are
decorated with pictures, statues and ornaments of every sort, stuck
up anyhow and everywhere. The Emir regaled my husband with a Lucullus
repast, with champagne in profusion, but the Emir drank only lemonade,
fermented drinks being forbidden by the Koran.
May 28th.—At last we are nearing Tashkend. Towards noon our train stopped
at the railway-station, full of people. After having gone through the
proceedings of hasty greetings with all present, we went to our carriage.
On our passage native musicians blew with all their might into pipes of
enormous length, raising them to the skies. They performed such beastly
sounds that I feared our horses would take fright and bolt.
A few days after our arrival, three foreign tourists paid an unexpected
visit to Tashkend: Sven-Hedin, the renowned Swedish Pamir and Thibet
explorer, who had written a book about these countries; MacSwinee, an
English colonel going out to India to command a Bengal regiment; and
Mr. Herbert Powell, an English traveller going to try the shortest way
leading from London to India, the future railway-line. For the present
the English make this journey, _via_ Brindisi and the Suez Canal, in
three weeks’ time, but as soon as the Russian and British railroad join,
the trip will take but eight days. Only five hundred miles are wanting
for the line to be completed, but political combinations are hindering
the work. Mr. Powell had passed one month in Moscow to study the Russian
language, so difficult for strangers. Nevertheless, many English officers
serving in India speak our language, and it is a great pity that the
same cannot be said of the Russian officers who serve in Turkestan.
Notwithstanding their long sojourn in that country, they do not speak the
native language. It is quite recently that a school was organised where
the Hindustani language is taught. We had also a visit from a French
Academician, Mr. St. Yves, a member of the French Academy, who was going
to Thibet to explore the lake Koukou-Nor, and of an English engineer, Mr.
Wilson, who had come to Tashkend to study the system of local irrigation.
The greater part of the soil of Turkestan, as that of India, would have
presented long ere this a veritable earthly paradise if it were not
for the want of water. The Government and the inhabitants are doing
everything in their power to overcome this difficulty. They profit by the
proximity of every river, and if there is no river, they dig artesian
wells.
The English, in general, are very much interested in everything
concerning Turkestan. I read an article about my husband which came
out in the _Daily Chronicle_. I quote the following from the London
newspaper:—“Every English officer, who understands the problem
of Oriental politics, must know of what great importance is the
centralisation of Russian powers in Asia. For the moment sixty thousand
men are united under the command of General Doukhovskoy, one of the
most able officers of the Russian army.” We gave a great dinner to the
foreign travellers. After the end of the repast, we went into the park,
illuminated with coloured lanterns to let them see the dances of the
“batchas” (native boys arrayed in woman’s dress). The women in the Orient
are not allowed to participate at public performances, and their parts
are always taken by men. The courts of the suzerains of Central Asia
and India boast of their troops of “batchas,” effeminate boys with long
plaited hair, arrayed in sumptuous silk robes. In Tashkend the “batchas”
are quite different. It was grown-up youths who were brought up to us,
wearing white calico shirts and heavy boots which had not seen any polish
for a long time. A band of native musicians, sitting on their heels on
a carpet spread upon the grass, began to beat the cords of a kind of
cithern, and the would-be “batchas” started turning around, whilst the
musicians accelerated their time. The performance could scarcely be
called a dance; it was rather a swift walk within a circle. Suddenly
wild shrieks were heard, and the “batchas” began turning round like
a spinning-top, whilst the musicians accelerated their time, and the
“batchas” made rather clumsy jumps.
Our menagerie is enlarged. A native inhabitant of Tashkend presented me
with a wild horse caught in the mountains, striped like a zebra, with
long donkey ears. The animal was placed in the same enclosure with the
reindeers, and a she-donkey was given to him as a spouse, which helped
to tame the wild horse. Donkeys are very cheap in Turkestan. One can get
a splendid specimen for the sum of twelve roubles, and a working ass for
five roubles.
A few miles from Tashkend there is a Leper Settlement. When my husband
visited it, he saw only ten lepers. He made inquiries, and was told that
all the rest were begging in the streets of Tashkend. Sergy ordered them
to be packed off immediately to their own dwelling. A collection, for
the benefit of these poor wretches, is now in the press. I take part in
it, and publish our crossing of the Pacific Ocean from San Francisco to
Yokohama.
CHAPTER CXXII
A SHORT PEEP AT ST. PETERSBURG AND BACK TO TASHKEND
August 10th.—To-day I started for St. Petersburg, where I am going
to spend two months. There were many people to see me off. The Grand
Duke was at the station. He handed me a big bouquet and a beautiful
rose-coloured satin box of bonbons. I received so many bouquets that my
husband’s aide-de-camps had not arms enough to hold them. One of the lady
members of our collective book for the benefit of the lepers, presented
me with an enormous bouquet, bound with a white ribbon with a swallow
perched on a telegraphic wire painted on it, and underneath “_Revenez_”
was imprinted in golden letters, with the signature of all the writers
concerned in the book. Before the train started the Grand Duke told me he
was very pleased that I entered my car holding his bouquet, without any
rivals to it.
August 12th.—I saw a mirage to-day: a lake with some trees around
appeared on the horizon. In the desert in fine weather, mirages are often
to be seen, but they always appear in the form of water.
August 13th.—I arrived this morning at Krasnovodsk where I had to wait
for the steamboat until to-morrow. My car was rolled on to the pier and
two sentinels were placed at its door. There is stillness all around, I
only heard the wash of the waves on the shore, some steps distant. It
made me feel drowsy, and I soon fell asleep, lulled by the whispering
ripple of the sea.
August 14th.—I woke at dawn. The morning dew spread around in a white
mist. Somewhere in the distance a cock crowed and another answered the
challenge. At seven o’clock I took passage on the steamer _Tzarevitch_.
The weather is splendid, the sea like a mirror. A slight breeze enters my
cabin, flapping the muslin curtains. After dinner I went upon deck. On
the sky bright stars were shining, and the fresh breeze swept my face.
August 15th.—The weather has changed for the worse; heavy black clouds
hang over the billowy sea. The wind is getting stronger; we are awfully
tossed about. I have really no chance on the sea; as soon as I step on
board, Neptune never fails to be very disagreeable.
We arrived at Petrovsk far behind time. My car was attached to our train
as far as St. Petersburg.
I only spent three weeks on the banks of the Neva. I was miserable
without Sergy, and my solitude becoming unbearable, I returned with my
mother to Tashkend.
We have borne the voyage capitally and had a good crossing this time.
The weather was fine, the sun shone brightly on a very calm sea; we had
no rolling at all. We accomplished also our journey by rail without any
accident.
My sudden and unexpected appearance at Tashkend created quite a commotion
in the town. My mother was very much impressed by all our surroundings.
To amuse her we arranged, every night, card-parties. There appeared to
be a great number of whist-players in Tashkend; partners were never
wanting. Mother’s partners presented her with a green cloth with all
their autographs embroidered on it. They tried to entice me into their
play, but I was no card-player, and at my first essay, my face openly
expressed: “I am bored to death.” I thrust furtive glances at the clock
all the time, watching for the hands to show the hour of my deliverance.
I did not repeat my experiment.
Tashkend is thrown into wild agitation by the arrival of General
Toutolmine, the aide of the Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevitch. This General
had been in the same military school with my husband; he was accompanied
by several smart officers in the guards, Prince Jaime de Bourbon, the
son of Don Carlos, among them. The Prince is a legitimist claimant of
the Spanish throne, serving in the Russian army in the regiment of the
Hussars. He is a dashing, showy, cavalry officer, of the type that finds
favour with women; like Cæsar he came, saw, and conquered. The Prince is
accustomed to win all hearts and does not believe it possible for any
creature of the fair sex to do so much as look at him without falling in
love with him. I found him very entertaining, but did not lose my heart.
He sat beside me at dinner and was very bright and witty. He told me
that a gipsy had foretold him three things: a great gain, a wound and a
crown. The first of the predictions came true, he has won at a lottery
the sum of 2000 roubles; will the other two prophecies come true? “Qui
vivra verra!” After dinner I mounted my bicycle, accompanied by Prince
Jaime and his comrades. We made a long run, I rode fast, going at a pace
almost equal to that of an express train; my cavaliers were completely
exhausted, trying to keep up with me.
The Emir has sent a delegation to my husband with numerous rich presents.
The delegates wore beautiful khalats and white turbans made of very thin
stuff, twisted round their shaved heads. These turbans cost scores of
pounds; it was India which supplied them, but now they are fabricated in
Moscow much cheaper. After the deputies had been presented to Sergy, they
were ushered into my sitting-room. The most talkative of the party was
Astanakul-Divan-Begui, the first minister of the Emir; his companions sat
down on the edge of their chairs, smoothing their knees with their hands,
scarcely lifting their eyes from the carpet, and would only say “yes” and
“no.” After a copious “dastarkhan,” (lunch) served in the winter-garden,
the deputies presented us with numerous gifts sent by their Sovereign,
which lay piled about the long terrace. Six Bokharian attendants stood
like ancient slaves before this amassed wealth: superb carpets, muskets,
pistols, daggers set with precious stones, gilt caskets with splendid
jewellery, a dream from the “Thousand and One Arabian Nights.”
We gave a grand dinner for two hundred persons in honour of the
delegates. An invisible band placed in the park played during the repast.
Champagne flowed in abundance and numerous toasts were drunk, accompanied
by a flourish of trumpets. I sat between two laconic deputies, who
answered with low sounding monosyllables to all the questions I put to
them with seraphic patience. I felt glad when dinner was over.
That same night I took part in a concert got up by the Benevolence
Society in our house. The hall was brilliantly lighted; every seat
was taken. The Bokharian deputies were present at the concert and I
wore in their honour the heavy golden necklace presented to me by the
Emir. It is fortunate that I had to play instead of singing, because
for the great weight of the necklace I could not have drawn one single
note out of my throat. I was seized with an access of shyness, before
mounting the platform, and had to swallow soothing drops to quiet my
nerves; nevertheless I thought I should die of fright when I appeared
before the audience and was conscious of an inclination to run away, but
giving a swift glance to the public confronting me, I soon recovered my
self-possession entirely, and performed my solo on the concertina with
great success, gathering frenzied bravos, and I had to play no fewer than
five encores. All the same I had too good sense not to understand that
my success was due especially to the position I held, much more than to
my talent; it was only green paper laurels that I got, and I should have
liked to win real ones and play in other surroundings, with veritable
artists and amongst a less partial audience. The concert brought a large
profit, more than one hundred pounds. All the ladies who took part in it
received a bouquet bound with white ribbons bearing the Red Cross.
On the next day the delegates were present at a children’s feast arranged
on the square opposite our house. The entertainment was given especially
to attract the little natives; we wanted to tame these little savages
and show them that the Russians were not so terrible as they are made to
believe. The whole population, except a small part of civilised natives
bring up their children inculcating in them the fear of the Russians.
The entertainment began about three o’clock and went on till quite late
in the evening. There were about two thousand children. It amused me to
watch their enjoyment and see the expression of mistrust, stamped on
their small faces, change suddenly into one of keen delight when sweets
and toys were being distributed to them. It is to be hoped that the
little Sartes returned to their homes carrying sentiments of friendship
to the Russians in their small hearts.
The opening of the Agricultural Exhibition took place whilst the deputies
were at Tashkend. All the productions of Turkestan were gathered there:
fruit, flowers, seeds, preserved vegetables, bonbons, domestic animals,
etc. A great number of venomous insects, which abound in the Famished
Steppe, were also exhibited; scorpions, phalanxes, and spiders of every
kind. A mollusk, which is to be found in all the bathing establishments
of Tashkend, is particularly disgusting; that little monster is scarcely
perceptible in the water, being half transparent, like jelly. Ugh, the
horror!
Summer passed quickly. Autumn came on. The dead leaves fell silently and
covered the alleys of our park with a yellow carpet. In November, snow
fell in abundance and the trees bent under the heavy flakes. The trains
are obliged to stop for several days, the line being encumbered with snow.
On Christmas night a group of maskers, wrapped up in red dominoes, with
little round bells hanging all around, appeared unexpectedly, followed
by a band of music. After having performed a kind of ballet, they took
off their dominoes and we saw before us a fantastical crowd of people
in fancy dress. There were clowns daubed with chalk among them, and
pirates, monks, pierrots, Columbines, etc. One of the aide-de-camps
proved a tremendous success; he represented a gigantic doll dressed all
in red, and walking on stilts right up to the ceiling. In one of the
corners of the big hall suddenly a small booth appeared, in which an old
wizard began selling curious advertisements. He offered, for instance,
ten thousand roubles for a faithful woman. (And for the fidelity of a
man it is ten millions that he ought to offer, shouldn’t he?) The people
who approached this booth were caught by the hook of this old man,
who sprinkled them all over with scent out of an invisible sprinkler.
Everybody seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly. The floor was strewn
with confetti. I did not at all like to have bits of paper poured down
my back. The ball-room presented a very gay appearance with its merry
couples swinging to-and-fro to the music of one of Tashkend’s best
bands. I had not danced for years, not since I was married, and enjoyed
it greatly, I must confess. We did not stop dancing till late. When the
last people went away it was broad daylight.
The winter this year was a particularly severe one. The thermometer has
gone down very low. Our apartments though supposed to be thoroughly
heated, are very chilly. The wind whistles down the chimney its
monotonous song, and I am so dull, so dull! Oh, how I long to leave
Tashkend for good and all!
My wish was realised sooner than I expected. In the middle of January
my husband was called away to St. Petersburg on business. It seemed too
good to be true! St. Petersburg was to me the summit of earthly bliss. I
longed for the life, the beauty, the movement of the Great City.
January 6th.—We started to-day for St. Petersburg. Our train advances
very slowly because of the snow which covers the line. We have recourse
to means used in America: a sort of brush is fastened to our engine to
clear the way and sweep away the snow.
January 9th.—The weather is horrible. A snow-storm arose. The wind
whistles and howls in the plain; flakes of snow adhere to the glass and
it is impossible to see anything outside.
January 10th.—The cold keeps increasing. It is difficult to believe that
it was a hot inferno I had to endure in these places not very long ago.
January 11th.—The cold keeps increasing; though well wrapped up with
furs, I sat shivering in the train. The pale rays of the sun appear from
time to time, piercing the sky clouds, and the road covered with a heavy
carpet of snow shines like diamonds.
Early in the morning we arrived at Kizil-Arvat, having to stop here for
twenty-four hours: the train could not move for the heaps of snow on the
line and soldiers were sent out to clear the way for us. The principal
offices of the railroad are stationed here. There is a working-men’s club
with a bar, but without alcoholic drinks, a library and a large hall
where concerts and theatricals are held. It would have been desirable to
increase the number of such clubs, for it is not only by tedious, boring
preaching that the workmen are kept away from drunkenness, and if you
made them happy and comfortable they would not want to go off in the
evening to public ale-houses.
January 12th.—We continued our journey at daybreak. When I awoke I
found the snow had completely disappeared. Towards noon we arrived at
Krasnovodsk and took our passage on the _Tropic_.
We are once more convinced that the geographers are often mistaken. The
Caspian Sea, which never freezes according to them, appears to be frozen
for forty miles out. It is not an agreeable prospect to have to cut
through the ice, but we have a compensation—we shall not be tossed about.
January 13th.—At dawn we weighed anchor. It gives one the shivers to hear
the ice grating against the thin body of our ship. As the Caspian never
freezes the ships are not equipped for polar-crossing, and the _Tropic_
does not resemble in the least the ice breaker, which was of such use to
us during our crossing from Vladivostock to Nagasaki in the winter.
January 14th.—During the whole night we found ourselves in the position
of Nansen. It is only towards morning that the sea was free from the
ice. The barometer mounts visibly; the proximity of the Caucasus is
perceptible.
Towards night we arrived at Baku, where we have a special train placed
at our disposal. The railway between Baku and Petrovsk is not open
officially, and we had to advance at a snail’s pace. I thought we should
never get to Petrovsk if we crawled like that.
January 15th.—We have passed the night in the open field because the
trains do not run yet in the dark. Early in the morning we began to
advance at the rate of four miles an hour; in risky places the guards
walked on in front to examine the line.
January 16th.—We arrived at Petrovsk in the afternoon. We are in Europe
here, and although we have got a three days’ railway journey before us,
St. Petersburg seems quite near.
CHAPTER CXXIII
PARIS WORLD’S FAIR
My husband’s health had failed a good deal of late, and the doctors have
ordered him an absolute change and rest. Sergy was overworked and a good
holiday will set him right. He wants to take a long leave and go abroad
for some time. Kissingen was recommended by the doctors, but we meant
to have a jolly good time and went first to Paris to visit the World’s
Fair. Mr. Shaniavski was nominated as representative of the Turkestan
section and was sent before us to Paris. He met us at the Gare du Nord,
accompanied by four Bokharians and a Turkoman, sent to the Exhibition to
look after the rich objects exposed by the Emir, and to serve also as a
vivid decoration in the Asiatic section, where the place of honour was
assigned to Turkestan. These decorative personages, when passing through
St. Petersburg, attracted much curiosity by their magnificent costumes,
it is not astonishing therefore that they produced a great sensation in
Paris. When our train came to stop at the platform, we saw a crowd of
eager spectators waiting to see the arrival of the exotic personages whom
the Orientals had come to meet, expecting to see no less a person than a
Rajah. People stood on chairs to get a peep at us, and great was their
disappointment, when simple mortals clad in European dress, stepped out
of the train.
We took a carriage and went to Passy, a western suburb of Paris, where a
villa, overgrown with lilacs, bearing the name of Villa des Lilas, was
secured for us by Mr. Shaniavski, in the quietest part of Paris, in the
neighbourhood of the Exhibition.
Mr. Shaniavski had put up with his Bokharians in a house in the Passage
des Eaux, described by Zola in his novel _Une page d’Amour_. The small
Asiatic colony consists of a Bokharian colonel, a captain, a merchant
who speaks a few words of French and serves as interpreter, and four
servants. The Bokharians, arrayed in rich “khalats,” walk about the
streets quite indifferent to the stare of wondering Parisians. When they
go out shopping, they are taken for princes, and are made to pay princely
prices. One day, when visiting the Grands Magasins du Louvre, they
were received at the entrance door by the directeur, surrounded by his
assistants, who proposed to the princes to show them through the house,
expecting to fleece the Bokharians, who asked the prices of everything
they saw without any views as to purchasing them. After having visited
in detail the section of jewellery, tapestry and other fancy goods, they
made the insignificant purchase of half a dozen crockery plates, after
which the splendid directeur, and his satellites, disappeared as by
magic, forsaking the stingy Bokharians.
Though the Exhibition has been opened a whole month, the section of
Central Asia is not quite ready yet; it is only the section of Turkestan
which came to an end, thanks to the energy of our delegate. Next to it
are the sections of the Caucasus and Siberia. A crowd of Russian workmen,
wearing red shirts, put the finishing stroke to them.
The best place at the Exhibition is assigned to Central Asia, called
“Russie des Indes,” quite near the Trocadero. This section, which is a
duplicate in miniature of the Kremlin, in Moscow, is surrounded by a
high crenelated wall with a row of turrets ornamented with the Russian
Double Eagle. When you enter it, the Russian architecture gives place
to an Arabian style. An immense panorama represents a large square in
Samarkand, with a lively crowd of natives; only when seen quite close,
one perceives that it is but a picture, not a reality. Our section is
striking by its vivid and bright colouring. A fountain plays in the
middle of an immense hall, decorated with beautiful Asiatic carpets and
armour, and filled with all kinds of products of our possessions in
Central Asia. The best appreciators of a remarkable collection of plants
and seeds, appeared to be a legion of mice; these gnawing little animals
arranged for themselves, in broad daylight, Lucullus-like repasts,
without being disturbed in the least by the crowd of visitors. The grains
disappeared visibly, and poison was put in every attractive place, but
the cunning mice, preferring the tasty grains, carried their victory on
to the battle-field.
Next to our Asiatic section stands the pavilion of Polar Russia. The
morose Siberian nature is such a contrast with our bright Turkestan. The
panels on the walls represent a seal-chase; all sorts of stuffed polar
animals fill the big halls, as well as an ethnographic collection of
manikins, which represents in a very life-like manner, different types
of the inhabitants of Siberia. The model of a sledge, harnessed with a
team of dogs, reminded me vividly of our drive on the frozen Amour during
carnival-week at Khabarovsk. On long tables, in the middle of the hall,
lay all sorts of furs: beautiful sables, blue fox, beaver, etc. It is
curious that according to official information, only 7-8 beavers are
killed yearly in Kamtchatka. How can we explain then that hundreds of
real beaver skins are sold in Russia. (It is the fur-traders only who can
unriddle the thing).
The Caucasus section is just opposite. In a large separate building a
panorama represents the new Siberian railway-line. The Sleeping-car
Company has exposed the model of a Transcaspian train, composed of an
engine and three cars belonging to the International Company, in which
one experiences the illusion of a journey through Siberia. The guard
whistles, the train seems to move, but in reality it is only the panorama
on the walls which is put into motion by a special mechanism. The
travellers perceive through the windows the whole way leading from Moscow
right to the terminus station—Pekin. When you pass through all the cars,
to the other end of the hall, you are in the Chinese section, where the
front gate represents a part of the walls of the city of Pekin.
The next day after our arrival at Paris, the section of Central Asia was
inaugurated. To get there we had to elbow our way through a throng. A
Te Deum was sung by the singers of the Russian Church, whilst all the
Kremlin bells were ringing a full peal at which my Russian heart bounded
with joy. That day we spent six hours at the Exhibition, and did not
sit down for one minute. I was awfully hungry, having eaten only one
_croissant_ since morning, and Sergy carried me off to the Trocadero to
have dinner in one of the best restaurants. The hall was full of guests.
Two very disreputable-looking creatures sat at the table next our own;
they were painted with cheap cosmetics, and the heat took off their
paint, which came out in the wrong places, and very soon the powder on
their faces was becoming paste, and the red on their cheeks and the black
of their eyebrows began to run down in streaks, metamorphosing them into
tattooed papouses, which didn’t hinder them in the least from casting
coquettish glances around. They tried to make eyes at my cavaliers, but
it was all in vain; their charms left them quite unmoved. We were too
tired to walk home and got into a cab whose driver, with folded arms
and bowed head, was nodding on his seat, his nose buried in an open
newspaper. Both coachman and horse were dozing the whole way, and it
is only a miracle that we got to our villa without running into other
carriages.
Next day President Loubet visited our section, where he was presented
with a map of France worked “in relievo,” in a frame of jasper; the seas
were made of marble, the rivers of silver and the towns of precious
stones, got from the Ural mountains. The huge emerald representing the
city of Marseilles cost eight thousand roubles. President Loubet is a
very different sort of person from what I had expected the ruler of
France to be; he is an insignificant-looking little old man, saluting
cordially from right to left. A Russian lady, who heard us speaking our
mother-tongue, mingled into our conversation. Before leaving our section
she favoured me with a condescending nod and a limp hand-shake, but when
she heard our interpreter addressing me by my rank, she rushed back and
squeezed my fingers effusively. Nasty woman!
We visited that day the Algerian village in the Trocadero Gardens. Superb
natives, arrayed in rich costumes, sat on the threshold of their open
booths, shrieking out the virtues of their wares. Close to the village
stands the Dahomey pavilion, with its straw-thatched roof. Black natives
stood on watch, perched on the top of a high tower. In the Singhalese
village I patted the small brown babies, calling to mind my sojourn in
Colombo. We entered a barrack close by, from which resounded the frantic
strains of weird native music. Inside, women clad in Oriental costumes,
gleaming with golden coins on their waists and wrists, performed the
_Danse du Ventre_ to the accompaniment of clapping hands. One of the
beautiful “odalisques” stepped down from the estrade and passed round
with a plate into which people dropped money. One glance was enough to
show that this would-be Daughter of the Desert was a typical “Parisienne”
from the “quartier des Batignolles.”
The pavilions of the different States are picturesquely scattered
along the banks of the Seine. All these magnificent buildings, made
of plaster, will be in three months’ time reduced to the level of the
“Champ de Mars.” One can’t believe that these enormous palaces are only
temporary visitors, like the people, and will be destroyed in a few
months, after the closing of the Exhibition. It is only the “Palais des
Beaux Arts,” built of brick and mortar, which will not be thrown down.
A most beautiful and interesting collection of old masters is exhibited
in this building. We became so fascinated with some of these wonders,
that we could hardly get away from the place. It amused me to see how
insufficiently cloaked statues upset the decorum of a pair of prim old
maids in large turned-down hats surrounded by green gauze veils, unlovely
and unloved creatures, belonging to that sort of Puritans who do not
admit kisses because no one ever kissed them. This part of the Exhibition
is situated near the principal entry on the side of the Place de la
Concorde, with the famous “Parisienne” made of stone and perched very
high on the top of a triumphal arch. It is queer to see the reproduction
of a fashionable lady dressed up-to-date, posted in such a dangerous and
uncomfortable place; we are accustomed to see symbolic figures in that
risky position, defying in posture to the laws of equilibrium.
There was a great crowd walking about the Exhibition, a constant going
to-and-fro of people who had come from all quarters of the globe. The
human whirlpool made me quite giddy. Several bands play in different
parts of the grounds near the “Pont Alexandre III.,” which illustrates in
stone and bronze the famous Russian Czar. We listened to the music of an
American orchestra led by Sousa, the king of marches, in like manner as
Strauss and Waldteufel had been the kings of the waltz in times of yore.
Our walks through the Exhibition lightened visibly our pockets. The
prices of all the objects exposed for sale are exorbitant, money melted
like snow and we came home utterly penniless.
There are different means of locomotion through the great extent of
the Exhibition, beginning by the Tonqinoise “puss-puss,” to the last
technical invention—the “trottoir roulant,” moving sidewalks, three rows
of which run along without stopping. The first row moves very slowly, and
it is easy to jump on it; the second row moves faster, and the third one
races with the swiftness of an express train. Great agility is needed to
pass from one trottoir to the other, and it happens sometimes that the
backs of clumsy pedestrians rest on one trottoir, whilst his legs are
being dragged on the neighbouring one.
In the Rue de Paris, near the Eiffel Tower, different attractions
are to be found: bearded women, mermaids, and other marvels of past,
present, and future life. In a miorama we crossed from Marseilles to
Constantinople without leaving Paris. Another panorama gives the illusion
of a sea-voyage round the world. In the Palais des Optiques we went down
under the sea, and were introduced to horrid monsters. We came upon a
gigantic telescope showing the moon at the distance of sixty kilometres.
A huge wheel 177 metres high, with thirty-two waggons, wheels round
intrepid passengers. The Palais de la Femme contains amazing toilettes of
past and ultra modern times. I fell in love with a costume of the last
note of modernity, which Sergy wanted to purchase, but I was reasonable
enough to refuse the present, for the price was unheard of. The Panorama
du Mont Blanc shows a group of excursionists climbing up the Alps, which
reminded me of our ascent on the Mont Blanc.
To come into the Vieux Paris representing the Paris of past centuries,
we had to cross a drawbridge and enter through a tower-gate guarded
by sentinels of the middle ages, holding long lances, into the Rue
des Remparts, a corner of a street in the fourteenth century, with
dwellings filled with mediæval attributes. On the front of the houses,
instead of numbers, the pictures of different birds are reproduced. In
the narrow, tortuous streets we found ourselves surrounded by people
dressed according to the fashion of ancient times; knights in armour
and ladies of the middle-ages walked to-and-fro. My imagination
travelled, transporting me to the days of long ago, and I felt as if the
clock had been put back several centuries. When we passed the Tour du
Châtelet, the fourteenth century had vanished by magic into the time of
the Tudors, making a jump through the space of over two hundred years.
Chants resounded from the church of St. Julien, which belonged formerly
to the “Minstrels Brotherhood.” On the Square we saw the gibbet watched
over by mousquetaires armed with muskets and wearing three-cornered
hats. In the Rue des Vieilles Écoles, the house inhabited by Molière is
exactly reproduced. Ladies in paniers and powdered perukes promenaded,
escorted by their cavaliers dressed as marquesses. Different processions
circulated. Here is a band of clerks directing their steps towards the
Court of Justice, with inkstands adjusted to their girdles, carrying in
their hands burning torches. In the Criminal Hall, instead of law suits,
Mysteries are represented.
Not far from the Vieux Paris is the Andalousie du temps des Maures.
The entry represents the exact copy of the Alcazar in Seville; on
the Plaza de Toros, instead of horrid bull-fights, pretty Andalusian
gitanas (Spanish gypsies) with a rose placed above the left ear in their
jet-black hair, dance seguedillas and habaneras. It was fire which ran in
their veins. I was very much astonished to see our Turkoman promenading
amongst the audience. We were told that the impressario had invited him
to come every night gratis to his establishment, as a living decoration.
I cannot conceive what can be in common between an inhabitant from
Central Asia and Spanish life.
Opposite Andalousia an Alpine village has spread itself ungeographically,
with its cattle, shepherds, watchmaker-shops and wooden toy-makers.
Amidst natural glaciers and water-falls, an animated crowd dressed in the
costumes of all the Swiss cantons, walk about. We saw the house where
Bonaparte passed the night on his march with his army of 30,000 men
across the St. Gothard pass, with all the furniture just as it was then.
There was the armchair by the hearth in which the great man sat, gazing
into the glowing coals. What pictures did he see in the flames? Did his
thoughts wander back to Josephine, or to new laurels and glory?
The Exhibition opened at ten. We went there as soon as the gates were
thrown open and left it only when we found ourselves almost too tired to
stand. We met there many friends from Russia, Mr. Radde amongst them,
director of the Museum in Tiflis, an eminent biologist versed in all the
antiquities and questions of the past. He is awfully abstruse-minded, and
always looking as if he just descended from the clouds. One day, when Mr.
Radde called upon us at the Villa des Lilas, he made the acquaintance of
our landlord, who had nothing of the Adonis about him, with his round
moon face, and a tiny baby nose disappearing between his fat cheeks. In
a fit of absent-mindedness he began to pity the cherub-faced gentleman
for having such a terrible inflammation, and on both sides of the face
all the more. Our landlord thanked him for his compassion, but said
that happily, he never suffered from toothache, and was not afflicted
therefore, with inflammation of any kind. I had to make a desperate
effort to be serious when witnessing this comic scene.
We knew our Paris well, and had a jolly good time at night, enjoying
theatres and café-chantants. I did feel gay going to naughty places in
the quartier Montmartre without caring whether it was proper or not.
At the Chat Noir the programme was very varied, exhibiting celebrities
dressed in a costume remarkable for its lack of stuff, and famed for
the height to which they could raise one leg and knock their own noses
with it while standing upon the other. We visited the Cabaret du Ciel
and the Cabaret de l’Enfer, two rather disreputable establishments with
quaint representations of bliss in heaven and tortures in hell. In the
first cabaret the customers are received by a bevy of white-winged,
long-haired masculine beings, and in the second one, an establishment
where the lights blaze red, the attendants, attired as devils, greet
the visitors making demoniac grimaces. The Cabaret Alexandre Bruyant
is very amusing; the proprietor of this establishment well merits his
surname of Bruyant—(noisy.) He meets his guests shouting in a voice of
thunder, and making mocking jeers. When an old lady with orange-coloured
hair and a very powdered face came in, he exclaimed, “_Oh, la belle
brune, n’a-t-elle pas un teint eclatant?_” (Oh, the dark beauty, hasn’t
she got a dazzling complexion?) A general laugh arose. Then he came up
to me and patting my shoulder roared, “_Pauvre petite créature, comme
elle a l’air maladif!_” (“Poor little thing, how ailing and sickly she
looks!”) The newcomers, feeling rather scared at being addressed in
such a rough manner, and displeased at being made to appear ridiculous,
wanted to get away, but when they saw that this queer reception was one
of the peculiarities of the house, they settled themselves comfortably at
separate little tables, and laughed in their turn good-humouredly at the
reception of new arrivals.
The distribution of prizes at the Exhibition took place a few days before
we left Paris. My husband received for our Turkestan section the Great
Cross of the Légion d’Honneur. The Russian Commissaire, when packing up
different objects, found it difficult to bring back to Tashkend a huge
“arba” (a two-wheeled cart) and it was decided to leave it here and
present it to some collector of curiosities. But no one wanted such a
gift, and the commissaires had recourse to another means of getting rid
of this encumbering “arba,” they asked a carter, promising him a good
tip, to harness his horse to the cart and take it along as far as the
highway leading to Versailles, and then leave it there to its own fate.
CHAPTER CXXIV
KISSINGEN
Every day in Paris was too short for me, and I left the Great Babylon
with immense regret. Sergy went to Kissingen to begin his cure, and I
returned to St. Petersburg to publish my book.
About a week after my arrival I was on my way to Kissingen. Sergy wrote
to me entreating me to come, as he couldn’t do without me, and had been
very miserable since we parted. He said that he would give up his cure
and start for St. Petersburg if I would not rejoin him. I telegraphed
back that I was starting off immediately.
Spoilt by the comforts of my travels in Turkestan, I felt very
uncomfortable in a train full of passengers. We were crowded together
like herrings in a barrel. I squeezed myself into my place in the corner
of the carriage, pressing close my elbows. My fellow-passengers were
going straight to Berlin and I couldn’t stretch my legs the whole night
to get the cramp out of them. We looked at one another with no great love
in our eyes. I was placed by the side of a well preserved lady of about
fifty years of age, trying to pass off for thirty, who had still the
remains of what she had been in her young days and did not like to part
with them. I caught her practising her fascinations in the mirror. She
was accompanied by her daughter, a grown-up girl of about eighteen, clad
in a short frock, with her hair down her back in a plait. When I heard
them say “I reckon,” I knew they were Americans. My neighbour opened her
basket and offered a part of her supper to me. She was most communicative
respecting her own concerns, and chatted away like a magpie. She told
me that they were going to do Paris, and spoke all the time of her
conquests, stating to me that she had got all the men at her feet. I
scarcely listened to her prattle, but she chatted on, accustomed to do
without answers. Opposite me, sat a full contrast to that chatter-box, a
placid materfamilias endowed with three babies aged respectively five,
four and two, who kept singing praises to the many charms and wondrous
perfection of her offsprings. The children were petted and fondled by
their mother, who crammed them all the way with bonbons and cake in
profusion. Her little girl hugging in her arms an immense doll, began
quarreling with her brother, an ugly and anything but well-behaved brat,
with nose and mouth blackened with chocolate; they kicked and screamed
until they were both black in the face. I only just stopped short of
throwing my book at their heads. The baby, the pet of the family, was
cutting a tooth and kept roaring the whole night.
We arrived early in the morning at the frontier of Prussia. At the
Customs my trunks were unmercifully turned topsy-turvy, the horrid
officials stirring them up as I used to do with my nursery pudding when
all the plums had sunk to the bottom.
When we approached Kissingen, I thrust my head out of the
railway-carriage, with my body half out of the window, to catch the first
sight of my husband’s face. As we drew up at the station I perceived
him on the platform, beaming with delight. I jumped out of the train
joyfully, and the next moment I was in Sergy’s arms.
Kissingen is surrounded by mountains and buried in verdure. It is the
favourite meeting-place for aristocratic Europe. There is a great rush of
ailing humanity towards these healing waters.
I found Sergy comfortably established in a villa belonging to Doctor
Sautier, by whom he was treated. The next day I accompanied my husband
when he made his visit to the doctor. The drawing-room was crowded with
patients who had arrived from all parts of the world. They perused
magazines, and plunged their heads into large books of photographs,
awaiting their turn to appear before the esculapius.
Early in the morning, as soon as I heard the postilion sounding his horn,
I hastened to jump out of bed, and accompanied Sergy to the Kurhaus,
where he took his waters. A beautiful string-orchestra entertained the
Kurhaus guests from six to eight. The sick, undergoing a cure, walk in
the broad alley, carrying their glasses with them. They stroll from
one spring to another, sipping the water on the way. We saw invalids
in wheeled chairs, basking in the sun with a shawl over their legs,
discussing and comparing their various diseases.
The outskirts of Kissingen are beautiful. We made long walks every
afternoon; exercise gave me a ravenous appetite, and I was far from being
satisfied with our meagre dinner when we returned home, being put on low
diet like my husband, for company’s sake. We were kept with a discipline
that was worse than that of a convent, and were all put to bed at nine
o’clock, in accordance with the doctor’s order. I didn’t like at all
to be under hospital rules, and began to revolt against this tedious
discipline. At the end of three days I longed for change of air and
surroundings, and wanted much to run away. I am sick to death of seeing
the same faces every day and of hearing the same sort of talk of people
drinking disgusting waters and occupied only with the engrossing pastime
of taking care of one’s health. We have also become imaginary sufferers,
and very often came upon Maria Michaelovna looking at her tongue in the
glass.
The weather is bad again, it is raining all the time. The sick are
promenading sulky and morose under their umbrellas, emptying their
glasses in a melancholy way.
Sergy has accomplished his cure at Kissingen; the treatment had
proved successful and his health was now gradually returning. I felt
reassured for the moment. But Sergy, instead of seeking a spot for an
after-treatment, hastened back to Tashkend, where he at once resumed
his work, which had become more complicated than ever, thanks to the
Boxer’s rising in China. The foreign diplomatists living in Pekin, are
besieged by a hostile crowd of natives. The Boxers have attacked the
newly-built Manchuria railway. When my husband was Governor-General of
the Amour Provinces, and there was no sign whatever of a misunderstanding
between China and European countries, he formed the project of building a
railway-line along the Amour banks, being against the construction of the
Manchuria railway on a foreign land, but he was not listened to, and we
see now the deplorable consequences.
CHAPTER CXXV
BACK TO TASHKEND FOR THE LAST TIME
Meanwhile I had a very tedious time at St. Petersburg, where I was to
remain until autumn. It is odd that Sergy had not written to me for quite
ten days. I was tortured by the fear that something had happened to him.
I got at last a letter in which he told me that his health had changed
again for the worse, and that he pined for me to such an extent as to
lose his appetite and sleep, and that his lips had forgotten to smile. I
must come back and cheer him a bit. Such a longing for Sergy came over me
that I decided to leave for Tashkend on the following day.
I was in a fever to reach the end of my journey, and it seemed to me
that the train was creeping at a snail’s pace. At one of the stations I
received a telegram from Mr. Shaniavski, informing me that my husband
was unwell and that the doctors had ordered him to remain in bed. I was
awfully upset by that telegram, and my spirits sank lower and lower. I
was haunted in the night by a nightmare of frightful reality; I stood
before the cathedral in Tashkend, surrounded by a crowd of soldiers;
suddenly an officer came out of the church and announced in a loud voice,
“General Doukhovskoy has just passed away.” Oh! the horror of it! I woke
in tears with a start, full of agony.
The more the time drew near for my arrival at Tashkend, the more nervous
I became. My impatience increased from minute to minute. One can well
imagine my amazement when, stopping at the station nearest to Tashkend, I
saw my husband on the platform. He had left his bed to come and meet me.
Sergy met me open-armed, whilst my heart beat so violently that I feared
he would hear it. He had altered a good deal, and I was awfully shocked
by the drawn look of his features. There was a large lump in my throat
and I could not speak for the risk of tears, but I made a strong effort,
and, trying to conceal my anxiety, I forced a poor smile, and did my
utmost to look composed and cheerful.
As soon as we arrived at Tashkend, Sergy went to bed again, but was
all right on the following morning. The sight of my face was the best
medicine he could have.
The clouds thickened on the political horizon, and questions concerning
China began to occupy the public mind. The European powers, feeling
alarmed, marched conjointly on Pekin; there were thirty thousand troops
assembled there. They say that Russia is going to take an active part,
and we have to apprehend a catastrophe any moment on the frontier of
Turkestan. Our Russian consul, who did not feel safe at Kuldja—a Chinese
town near our frontier—asked my husband to send a platoon of Cossacks to
protect him.
My husband’s governorship was not a bed of roses. It is a difficult
career, requiring much patience, perseverance and delicate handling.
Sergy did not know fatigue, working from early morning till late at
night, and even when he went to bed, he tried to remember the things he
had done and the things he had to do, instead of falling off to sleep. He
was a man who had never seemed to flinch from duty, either for himself or
others, and he required the same from his subordinates, but didn’t find
the necessary support in them he ought to have had in such troublesome
times. He looks awfully careworn and worn-out. The doctors spoke again
of rest and change, and Sergy applied for leave. He thought of resigning
altogether, to my greatest joy.
CHAPTER CXXVI
DEFINITE DEPARTURE FOR ST. PETERSBURG
I counted the last hours of my stay at Tashkend. At last the happy day
of our departure arrived. Swarms of people came to see us start and wish
a happy journey and a safe and speedy return to them. The leave-taking
was very warm. How happy I should have been to say good-bye to Tashkend
for ever! “_Au revoir_,” said my lips, and “_adieu_” whispered to me the
presentiment that we shall never meet again.
The train began to move amidst loud cheers. I stood at the window of my
car, with my arms full of flowers, exchanging smiles and nods.
We are back at St. Petersburg. I am so happy to push etiquette aside and
live the life of a simple mortal. But the sword of Damocles was hanging
over my head all the time. My husband’s illness had taken a sudden turn
for the worse; he became thinner and paler every day, and the doctors
ordered him a complete rest. This put an end to Sergy’s hesitations, and
he begged the Emperor to permit him to resign his post in Turkestan.
On New Year’s Day my husband was named member of the State Council. Oh,
how blessed it was to have done with Tashkend and all! Our wandering
life was over now, the thing I had longed for year after year. I lulled
myself with such sweet dreams for the future. But my joy was a short
one. I soon saw sinister black clouds darkening my bright sky. Sergy
was sinking fast, and was confined to his bed. I hated to see him in
pain, and would have given all my blood to save him, but the Almighty
predetermined it otherwise. On March 1, my beloved husband passed away.
The awful circumstances of my dream, during my railway-journey to
Tashkend, were realised, and the world suddenly took a cold and dismal
aspect; everything around and within me grew dark and chill. Ever since I
was born, good fortune had marked me her own; there were many fairies at
my cradle. Life had been too smooth for me, and so it took vengeance now
for all my felicity of by-gone years!
The Emperor was present at a Requiem-Mass sung in our house. His Majesty
said kind words of condolence to me, but I scarcely heard them.
Happiness, peace, all that was scattered to the ground like a house built
on sand, nothing remained of it!
There are griefs that are too deep to speak of, and too secret for pen
and ink. I end my remembrances by these sad words:—
“_Sic transit gloria mundi._”
THE END
JOHN LONG, LTD., PUBLISHERS, LONDON. 1917
INDEX
A
Abruzzi, Prince of, 391
Aden, 425, 442
Admirers, _see_ Love affairs
Adriatic, storm in, 309
Afghan Pretender, 508
Alexandria, 299, 308
America, journey across, 329-35
Americans—manners, etc., 199, 200, 205-208, 217, 309, 321-2, 332, 343
Amou-Daria river, 492, 509
Amour Provinces, _refer to_ Siberia
Amour river, 511
Anarchists in Russia, 144, 147
—New York, 320
Andidjan disturbances, 488, 496, 505
Aoste, Prince Amédée de, 155
Armenians in Erzeroum, _see_ Erzeroum
Astrakhan, 513, 514
Athens, 298
Atlantic voyage, 316-320
B
Baku, 489
Balkan troubles, 73
Barcelona, 263
Batavia, 416-20
“Batchas,” 516
Batoum, 126
Beethoven—Birthplace, 236
—Anecdote, 407
Bellinfanti, Señorita Estrella, 395, 396
Berlin Congress, 120, 125
Bernardines, Convent of, 253
Bernhardt, Sarah, 145-6
Betrothal, 66
Biarritz, 39, 252
—Bathing incident, 253
Bicycling, 510, 519
Bobrinsky, Princess (Countess Dürkheim), 233
Bokhara, 487, 492, 514-15
Bonn, 236
Boulogne-sur-mer, 159
Bourbon, Prince Jaime de, 519
Brest, 249
Brindisi, 309
Brussels, 19
Bull-fights, 255, 257-61
Buriates, 511
C
Cairo, 299, 302, 307, 483
Canton, 465-7
Carisbrooke, 244
Casamicciola earthquake, 229
Caspian, Ice in, 523
Castellamare, 226
Caucasus, 60
Cernobbio, 193, 199, 210
Certosa Convent, 218, 229
Ceylon, 423, 444-7
Chamonix, 185
Channel crossings, 21, 160, 163-4
Chicago World’s Fair, 322-34
Childhood and education, 13-21
Chillon, 182
China and the Chinese, 346, 380, 383, 387
Boxer Rising, etc., 534, 536
“Boys,” 342
Women, 345, 401-2
_See also_ names of places
Chino-Japanese War, 390-1
Cock-fighting and wolf-hunting, 147
Commander Islands, 455
Como, 193, 196
Constantinople, 291
Copenhagen Exhibition, 270
Coptic village, 305
Corea, 398, 453
Corniche Railway, 251
Coronation Ceremonies
Alexander III, 151-5
Nicholas II, 435-6
Cowes, 244
Crimea, 52
Czar, _see_ Tzar
D
Dauville Races, 282
Début in Society, 33
Denmore, Lady, 298
Dieppe, 164, 282
Dolgorouki, Prince, 249, 287
Dolgik, 15, 48, 141
Domestic life, 135
Doumtcheff, Kostia, violinist, 383
Doukhovskoy, General, _see_ Sergy
Doukhow, Wilhelm, 379
Dürkheim, Countess (_neé_ Princess Bobrinsky), 233
Duse, Eleonora, 284
E
Egypt, 299-308
Emperor of Russia, _see_ Tzar
Empress Dowager, 315
England, 21, 161-3, 240-6
Erzeroum, 98-130
Armenians, 99, 100, 102, 103, 109, 116, 124
Armenians and Turks, 123, 125, 126
Christian Schools, 117, 124
Earthquake, 105
Russians, feeling towards, 104, 120
Sanitation, 102
Tribute to Sergy’s administration, 131
Typhus, 108, 118
Euphrates, 116, 125
Evil Eye, 155
F
Ferni-Germano, 284
Flirtations, _see_ Love affairs
Florence, 217, 218
France
National Festival, 165
_See also_ names of places
Fuji-Yama, 347
G
Galitzine, Prince Theodore, 13, 14
Death, 268
Galitzine, Princess (Mamma), 14, 19, 20, 75, 86, 519
Geneva, 187, 189
Genoa, 250
German frontier experience, 156
Gervais, Admiral, 288
Golde Tribe, 381, 383
Grand Duchess Olga Fedorovna, 74, 85
Grand Dukes
Michael, 150, 154
Nicholas, 149
Nicolas Constantinovitch, 494, 495, 499, 518
Sergius, 288
H
Harems and Harem life, 107, 112, 293, 295
Health exhibition, 240
Helsingfors, 273
Holland, 237
Holland, Mr. and Mrs., 298, _et seq._
Hong Kong, 405-7, 463, 472
Horses, Adventures with, 48, 64, 71, 224, 267, 268, 274
I
Illnesses, 36, 137
Interlaken, 179-81
Ischia, 229-31
Italy, King Humbert and Queen Margareta of, 213, 214, 217
J
Jalta, 52
Japan, 347-60, 399
Chino-Japanese War, 390-1
Russia, feeling against, war rumours, etc., 400, 460
_See also_ names of places
Japanese Sea, 357, 361, 397
Java—Batavia, 416-20
Jews in Russia, 143
Johore, Sultan of, 475, 476
K
Kahns, 459, 460
Kaiser Wilhelm II., visit to Denmark, 272
Kamtchatka, 455
Kars, 90, 91, 131
Kars to Erzeroum, 94-7
Kassatkin-Rostovski, Prince, 354
Kazan, 511
Khabarovsk, 368-84, 387-92, 453
Tigers, 454
Railway to Vladivostock, 387, 456
Khodinka Field, 144, 248, 288
Kirghees, 493
Kissingen, 533
Kobe, 355, 356
Komaroff, General, 87
Kontski, Antoine, 402, 403, 404, 406, 456, 510
Kopanski, General, 368, 369, 384, 393
Korea, _see_ Corea
Korff, Baron, 313, 314, 343, 344, 375
“Koulikovo Field” Anniversary, 141
Kourakine, Princess, 33
Kremlin, 151
Kronstadt, 269
Kurds, 114-5, 124, 357
L
Latin Road, 222
Lebrun, Mme., Anecdote of, 219
Li Hung Chang, 435
Liszt, 407
Lobanoff-Rostovski, Prince, 347
London, 21, 161-3, 240
Longchamps, 279
Loubet, President, 526
Lourdes, 251
Loussavoritch-Vank, Monastery of, 118
Love Affairs, Flirtations and Admirers, 17, 21, 22, 24, 27, 28, 35,
37, 39, 43, 44, 45, 48, 50, 53, 56, 57-9, 60, 72, 74, 76, 139,
148, 171, 197, 311, 315, 343, 424, 480, 482
Lucerne, 171, 172
M
Macao, 468-71
Madrid—Bull-fights, etc., 255-61
Malmö, 270
Marriage with General Doukhovskoy, 70, 133
Marseilles, 431
Masowah, Italian Soldiers from, 440
Mediterranean Voyage, 430
Mechrali, Brigand, 123, 127
Melikoff, General Loris, 73, 76, 103
Menaggio, 197
Merv, 492
Milan, 192, 194, 211-13
Monaco, 266
Monsoon, 442
Mont Blanc Excursion, 185
Monte Carlo, 266, 432
Montenegro, Prince of, 35
Montreux, 182-3
Moscow—Gaieties, Society doings, etc., 135, 137, 142, 148, 248, 268,
274, 284, 286, 313
Mouravieff-Amourski, Count, 376
Munich, 235
Music, Love of—Music lessons and musical triumphs, 42, 286-7, 311,
404, 454, 479, 499, 510, 513, 520
Musicians, _see_ their names
Mussulmans of the Russian Empire, 511-12
N
Nagasaki, 359, 399, 452, 460
Nagasaki to Shanghai, 400
Naples, 27, 224-5, 231, 310
“Natives and Mustard,” 501
Nerves and Moods, 154, 174, 194, 198, 366, 499
New York, 320-6
Plot to assassinate Sergy, 327-8
Newport, 245
Niagara, 330
Nice, 26, 251, 265
O
Oldenbourg, Prince of, 505, 507, 509
Oussouri River, 373
P
Pacific Voyage, 340-6
Paris, 19, 87, 167-70, 316, 434
Exhibitions, 276-81, 524-31
Peissenberg Sanatorium, 232-5
Perim Islands, 441
Persia, Shah of, 280, 282, 285
Persian Princes, 60, 61
Petrograd, _see_ St. Petersburg
Plague, 505-8
Pompeii, 225
Port Saïd, 429, 440, 485
Portraits of the Authoress, 27, 218, 220
Prospezi, Signorina Sofia, of the Hôtel Diomède, 226
R
Red Sea, 426, 428
Rhine Voyage, 236-7
Rigi, Ascent of, 175-7
Roerberg, Aunt Nathalie, 60
Roerberg, General, 491
Romanelli, 219
Rome, 221
Rosen, Baron, 197, 222
Rothschild’s dinner—Musician-guests, 407
Rotterdam, 238
Rougitzki, Volodia, Boy-Pianist, 510
Rubinstein in Moscow, 146
Ryde Family, 22-32, 240, 242
Ryde, I.O.W., 241, 245
S
Saigon, 409, 410-12, 474
St. Gothard, 190-1
St. Petersburg—Gaieties, Society doings, etc., 33, 42, 50, 56, 133,
487, 505, 510, 518, 537
St. Petersburg to Tashkend, 489-94
Samarkand, 493
Samoyedes at Geneva, 189
San Francisco, 338-9
San Remo, 265
San Sebastian, 39-40, 254
Sandown, 242
Saragossa—A Bull-fight, 257-61
Seliverstoff, General—Assassination, 326
Sergy (General Doukhovskoy), 61-66, 69
Appointments, distinctions, &c.
Amour Provinces, Governor of, 313, 314
Ardagan Exploit—Cross of St. George, 85
Caucasus, Army of—Chief of Staff, 73
Chinese Order, 436
Coronation gift from the Tzar, 155
Demarcation Commission, President of, 90
Erzeroum, Governor-General of, 91
General-Lieutenant, 249
General-in-Chief, 510
Italian Order, 212
Légion d’Honneur, Grand Cross, 530
Moscow Circuit—Chief of Staff, 134
Siberian Deputation, presentation to Tzar, 435
State Council, Member of, 537
Turco-Russian War, 80
Turkestan, Governor-General of, 487
Resignation, 537
Cure at Kissingen, 533-4
Devotion as husband, 135, 167-8
Failure of Health, 524, 535, 537—Death, 537
Shah of Persia, 280, 282, 285
Shanghai, 400, 401-2, 462
Shanklin, 241, 243, 246
Siberia—Sergy as Governor-General of the Amour Provinces, 362
Colonists and Emigrants, 370, 378
Convict Labour, 371, 377
Cossack Settlements, 373, 385
Official duties, 376-7
Postal Arrangements, 379
Roads, 371, 372
_see also_ Khabarovsk
Sick Leave by Stratagem, 133
Singapore, 413-14, 421, 449, 475-6
Singapore to Suez, 478
Skobeleff, General, 145
Sledging with dogs, 383
Socotra, 424
Sorrento, 226
Soungatcha, travelling on, 372
Spa, 17
Starving Plain, 495
Steppes of Central Asia, 491
Stockholm, 269
Stuttgart, 21-26
Suez, 428, 441, 482
Suez Canal, 440
Sumatra, Cannibalism in, 478
Sunday in England, 21, 246
Sven-Hedin, 515
Sweden, King Oscar of, 246
Swetchine, Aunt and Cousins, 42, 86, 87
T
Tashkend, 495-502, 515-7, 519-22, 535-7
Tashkend to St. Petersburg, 489, 502-4, 522
Tiflis, 60, 65, 73, 131
Tiflis to Vladicaucasus, 67, 73
Tifountai, 384, 435, 454
“Tiger,” 137
Tokio, 352-55
Toumanoff, Prince, 113, 490
Toutolmine, General, 519
Trouville, 282
Turco-Russian War, 73, 75, 79-93
Turkish Barbarism, 103, 118
Turks in Erzeroum, 123, 125, 126
Turkestan, 487, 516
_see also_ names of places
Typhoon, 355
Typhus fever in Kurdistan, 89, 92
Tzars
Alexander II., 33, 133, 137
Assassination, 142
Ghost, 147
Alexander III.
Attempt on, during voyage to Japan, 354
Coronation, 151-5
Death, 388
Nicholas II.
Betrothal, 388
Coronation, 435-6
V
Vanderbilt, Mrs., 326
Vatican, 221-2
Venice, 30, 215
Ventnor, 244
Verona, 250
Vesuvius, 224, 227-9
Vladivostock, 362-7, 394-6, 453, 459
Volga, voyages on, 140-1, 510-14
W
Weidemann, Frau, and her boarders, 199-210
Wight, Isle of, 241-6
Windt, Mr. de, 383
Y
Yang-tse-kiang river, 400
Yokohama, 347-51
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