Part of Ufa was inhabited by Bashkirs, but now there were very many foreigners who were purchasing grain from the government, exchanging precious stones and platinum for the food sold or given them by the Bolshevik leaders, while the Russian people were not able to purchase their own products.
Here we stayed well into the afternoon, when my host surprised me by saying, “We are lucky that the train is leaving on this day. We will take the train from Ufa.”
We remembered that the depot was on the other side of the town, but when we reached it, we found no train there. We were told that the train had stopped farther down the track. We followed the track for a distance until we found the train standing. There were many peasants but the foreigners with their loot were boarding it first; some of the peasants even got up on the roofs of the cars. We finally managed to get into the doorway, but had to stand up all night. There were facilities on the train, but the rest rooms were packed with people.
We were afraid to get off the train for fear of not being able to get back on again. Our next stop was a small town named Bugulma. Here we changed to another train to go on to Simbirsk (since renamed Ulianov, after that heinous Tsederbaum-Ulianov-Lenin). We saw the Volga River at one of its most beautiful spots, the picturesque city of Simbirsk lying high on the bank, its many church steeples spread out before us. Suddenly I remembered what Miss Rita Khitrovo, former lady in waiting, had said of her ancestors, who had founded Simbirsk, and how we had hoped to make a trip to this historic city when the war was over. Palisades had been constructed here by the Boyar Khitrovo in the seventeenth century to defend the city from the Tartars.
Every Russian knew the song “Stenka Razin” about the famous Volga River robber, and that the many legends about him originated here. We saw the monument dedicated to the Russian historian, Karamzin. At Nicholas Garden, Alexander pointed out to me the Club of the Noblesse.
Seeing all this I felt a great pain in my chest. We passed the Convent of the Redeemer. I begged Alexander to let me enter it, since no one would know my identity. Alexander refused to listen to me, saying that many priests and nuns had already been driven out of convents, and many had been killed. It was no time to remain in Russia. It was dangerous; it might betray our whereabouts. So I had to be content with a prayer every time we passed a church. The sight of those holy sanctuaries lifted my spirits and calmed my nerves.
Alexander seemed to know this city, for without hesitation we walked some distance from the station to a wooden gate leading to a small house. He knocked on the door and an attractive lady of some forty years opened the door. Her name was Alexandra. They were happy to see each other.
“You look tired,” were her words of greetings.
“I am,” he said, “my side is troubling me.”
“You need a rest, I will have tea ready in a minute.” She invited us to sit down.