May 21st.—The banks of the Volga are low and sandy in these parts; the sky has become grey, the water has taken a dull colour, and the rain is beginning to fall heavily.
In the afternoon we arrived at Astrakhan and were immediately surrounded by a noisy crowd of Kalmucks, Tartars and Persians. We had a jolly dinner on deck. My husband’s aide-de-camps and attachés were so amusing and merry. They ordered champagne and drank my health. Mr. Baumgarten, one of the attachés, the soul of the company, when raising his glass to me, made a most charming speech; he said that my presence embellished their journey and that they regretted awfully that our arrival at Tashkend would put an end to the pleasure of having a good deal of my company, for we only met at meals.
Dinner over, we had music in the saloon. After my solo on the concertina, Mr. Baumgarten, who had been inspired by my performance, and was by nature somewhat of a poet, improvised a piece of poetry of the most tender nature, with the following dedication: “To Mrs. Barbara Doukhovskoy, in remembrance of a never-to-be-forgotten night on the Volga.” It is spoken there of love, moon and the rest. The poetry ended with the words, “Oh, enchanting night on the Volga, can I ever forget thee?” How sweetly poetical! Who could have believed fat Mr. Baumgarten to be so gifted!
May 22nd.—The Volga is so broad that the shores disappear; only a narrow yellow line of bank is to be seen. At dawn we changed our steamer for a larger one—the Equator. We had to part from the Volga here; our boat stole out towards the open sea.
The neighbourhood of Astrakhan plays a great part in the life of the Transcaspian provinces; all sorts of wares and products are imported there in great quantity. This time our steamer is loaded with barrels of beer.
The wind raises great waves, which sweep our deck. We shall have a good tossing about on the treacherous Caspian Sea, no doubt.
May 23rd.—I have slept very badly the whole night, because of the intense heat and the horrid rolling of the ship; every hour I heard the change of watch ringing. At last I saw the morning twilight entering by the porthole. A brown-coloured lamb, brought by our sailors from Persia, squeezed himself through the half-open door of my cabin; he was on friendly terms with my little pug-nosed Chinese dog, Mokho, and both animals began to chase each other, making an awful noise.
May 24th.—Horrible night! A heavy gale blowing all the time. The sailors couldn’t hear the words of command; we rolled unmercifully.
We arrived in the morning at Krasnovodsk and walked to the train which was waiting for us near the pier. During the short walk I had to fight against the wind, which did its utmost to carry off my hat, and blew my umbrella into a sail.
Before starting we were shown the railway-carriage which had just been presented to the Emir by our Emperor; it impressed me by its splendour. This carriage, painted blue and ornamented with golden stars, will be very useful to the Emir when the Orenbourg railway-line is terminated, for he goes for a cure to the Caucasus every year.