The high road from Tiflis to Vladicaucasus is called the “Military Georgian Road.” The scenery is magnificent but dreadfully wild, and I was awfully frightened to see that we were within a yard of the brinks of horrible precipices. As we got higher up in the mountains the air became so rarified that it was difficult to breathe. Our sledge, drawn by two horses, one in front of the other, dragged on slowly, rising. The blocks of snow that bordered our way formed a prison wall between the road and the world outside. Everything was a sort of wild, white sleepy stillness; no sound arose but the clink of the harness. A large wooden cross rose on the highest point of the road; a flock of black crows flew across the leaden sky, and wheeled about it, croaking piercingly. Everything looked so grey and cold; we found ourselves as in a bewitched icy kingdom in a fairy tale. There was something very awe-inspiring about it all.

It was night when we arrived at Vladicaucasus, where we took the train to Kharkoff.

CHAPTER XI
MARRIAGE

I longed for the winter to be over; the days passed slowly, very slowly. I was in very low spirits and wanted Sergy most awfully, my one desire was to see him; I thought of him morning, noon, and night. He had grown so dear to me that I could not do without him. We corresponded regularly and I only lived from letter to letter. Every morning my father entered my room, sat down on the edge of my bed and dropped a letter into my lap. Sergy wrote such delightful epistles which I devoured greedily.

In order to cheer me up my parents proposed to take me to Kharkoff, where the governor of the town was to give a couple of grand balls, but I refused outright; what pleasure could I derive from them without Sergy! I no longer knew myself, I was a new creature; Sergy certainly had worked wonders; my craze for pleasure, for excitement, my vanity and coquetry, well, all this was over and done with.

For a whole week I had no news from Sergy and was beginning to get very anxious. One rainy afternoon, as I was sitting in the drawing-room, hemming towels for our future household, I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel. Oh! there is the door bell! It is some intrusive country-neighbour that had burst upon us for sure. This irony of fate exasperated me beyond measure; suppose that instead of that boring visitor it was my welcome bridegroom who had come! But no, that was not possible, I was stupid to think about it, it was just as well to desire the moon. As I could not possibly see any strangers now, I gathered up my needlework and fled into my room. Soon after I was called by mamma, and directed my steps adagio towards the drawing-room. But lo! what was that? the clinking of spurs? I opened the door, my heart beating wildly, and stood dazed and unable to believe my own eyes. There, on the threshold, was Sergy, my beloved Sergy! It was no dream and the next instant his arms were thrown eagerly round me. Sergy had contrived to obtain a few days leave, on the most urgent private affairs, and run over to Dolgik, crossing the Black Sea, so stormy at this time of year, in order to spend a week with me. It was so very sweet of him to come all that long way, that horrid November month, to see me! So that was the reason of his long silence.

I was beside myself with joy, it was simply glorious to have Sergy here, but his flying visit only sharpened my desire to have him always near me. The days that followed his departure were long and dismal; I was literally pining for him and counted the weeks and days like a schoolgirl.

So time went on. As the day of our marriage approached, my spirits rose. Sergy announced by wire his definite arrival for the first day of Easter. I was in a terrible state of nervous excitement on that happy day, and felt so impatient to see him that I could hardly sit still! Hark! There’s a carriage rumbling round the porch. Oh rapture, oh joy! It is he, my bridegroom, whom I have wanted so greedily! I have him now for good and all; except death there is no power on earth which can divide us!

April 11th, 1876, our wedding day, was a red-letter day for me. Our house was full of guests and relations assembled to see me married. The marriage ceremony was to take place at ten o’clock in the evening in our village church. Before starting for church my father and mother gave me their blessing and cried a good deal. My bridegroom came forward to meet me on the threshold of the church and led me to the altar. We stood before the old priest who was to unite us, a little pale but quite self-possessed. He pronounced the words of the Sacrament that had been said over to so many millions of human beings: “Until death us do part!” and we became man and wife. The priest had concluded his marriage benediction, and after the usual congratulations, Sergy offered me his arm and we passed out of church, going together into a new life. We proceeded to our chateau, where my parents gave us and our numerous guests a sumptuous supper, enlivened by a military band that they sent for from Kharkoff. Whilst my health was drunk Sergy pressed a kiss on my lips, then followed a clinking of glasses and wild cheers of felicitations and blessings without end. Amidst this hurly-burly I saw a spider that crept up my nuptial gown. That was a cheerful omen for our wedding. A French proverb says: Araignée du soir grand espoir. God grant it to be so!