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:—
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:—