On crossing the Russian border I burst into tears. I wanted to retrace my journey, and I vowed I would come back to those who had for so long heaped tokens of friendship and devotion upon me, and whose memory is ever in my heart. But one must believe in fate, for I never again saw the country which I still look upon as a second motherland.
A MOTHER AND HER DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XIV
Homeward Bound
FIRST STATION, NARVA — THE CATARACT — RIGA — HARDSHIPS OF TRAVEL A HUNDRED YEARS AGO — OBDURATE CUSTOM-HOUSE OFFICIALS — A SUMMONS TO POTSDAM — THE LOVELIEST AND SWEETEST OF QUEENS — HER UGLY CHILDREN — AN AMBITIOUS COOK — THE JOURNEY CONTINUED — "REMEMBER YOUR JEWEL-CASE" — MODELLING IN DIRT FOR A PASTIME — LIKEWISE SEWING — HOME AGAIN.
I left St. Petersburg sad, sick and alone in my carriage, having been unable to keep my Russian maid. I had nobody but a very old man who wanted to go to Prussia, and whom I had given a servant's place through pity, which I had cause to regret, because he got so drunk at every stage that he had to be carried back to the box. M. de Rivière, escorting me in his calash, was of no great assistance to me, especially after crossing the Russian frontier and entering the sandy district, for his postilions, from whom he did not know how to exact obedience, were continually taking side roads, while I followed the main road.
My first stop I made at Narva, a well-fortified but ugly, ill-paved little town. The road leading there is entrancing; it is edged with pretty houses and English gardens; in the distance is the sea, covered with ships, which makes this route extremely picturesque. The women of Narva wear the dress of ancient times. They are good-looking, for the people of Livonia in general are splendid. Nearly all the heads of the old men reminded me of Raphael's heads of Christ, and the young men, their long hair falling on their shoulders, might have been models to that great painter.
The day after my arrival I went to visit a magnificent cataract at some distance from the town. A huge mass of water—you cannot tell where it comes from—forms a torrent so rapid and powerful that in its course it runs up enormous rocks, from which it tumbles noisily down to rush up other rocks. The multitudinous cascades thus shooting after each other in succession, and swallowing each other up, produce a terrifying din. While I was occupied in sketching this beautiful horror some of the inhabitants of Narva who were watching me told me of a dreadful thing they had witnessed. The waters of the cataract, swollen by great rains, had carried away some of the bank, and with it a house that was the home of a family. The cries of distress of the unfortunates were heard, and their frightful plight was seen, but no aid could be given them, since it was impossible to steer a boat in the torrent. The heartrending spectacle was finally followed by one far more shocking, when the house and the unhappy family were engulfed, and disappeared before the eyes of those who were now narrating the catastrophe, and who were still quite affected by it.
Arriving at Riga, I found that this town, like Narva, was neither handsome nor well-paved, but it is known to be a great commercial place and has a fine harbour. Most of the men are habited like Turks or Poles, and all women not of the populace put a gauze veil over their heads when they go out. I scarcely had time to make other observations, as I was hastening to reach Mittau, where I still hoped to find the royal family. But to my annoyance I arrived too late and did not meet them, so that I made but a short stay in this town, where I had only gone for the sake of seeing our Princes.