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.