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.