One day Tiger was more than ever demonstrative and nearly upset me with his rough gambols, jumping to my face in fierce joy and putting a cool nose against my cheek. Just at that moment we met an old woman carrying a full pitcher of milk, much to my quadruped’s pleasure, and Tiger, his big mouth wide open and his pink tongue hungerly out, bounded towards her with loud barks of delight. The poor woman, frightened to death by Tiger’s formidable aspect, gave a violent start and dropped her jug, spilling her milk all over the pavement; Tiger licked it up with grunts of satisfaction. After having quenched his thirst, my agreeably animated dog bounced around the terrified granny, frolicking round her with an uncouth dance and yapping at her in ecstasy; he put his huge paws over her breast and insisted upon licking her face, wagging his tail conciliatingly. When visitors entered our saloon and we were not there, Tiger usually stretched himself full length across the threshold so that our visitors could not leave the room without striding over him; Tiger did not deign to budge and allow them to pass, but set up a most ominous growl like distant thunder, and when he was approached, he just opened his eyes and continued to growl until we came in and liberated the affrightened prisoners.
In the spring the unveiling of the newly built monument of Poushkine, our great poet, took place; it was an event of considerable importance. A requiem in honour of the dead poet was sung on the square before the monument, covered all over with a white wrapper. It was a curious sight; a great crowd was assembled there. Amongst many deputations a group of young maidens arrayed in Russian national costumes, holding garlands of roses, especially attracted my attention. After the service ended, the military band struck up and the statue was unveiled amongst enthusiastic cheers. The mayor of the town invited me that same day to a grand banquet given in honour of the son of Poushkine, who had just been promoted to the grade of general, telling me that as an authoress I had to take part at the festival, but I refused, giving a plausible reason. Next day I went to a meeting of a literary committee treating on the works of Poushkine, held in the hall of the Assembly. On the big estrade well-known writers, and professors of the different universities gave speeches. When Tourgeneff, our famous old writer appeared, great cheers rose from the audience.
In May we moved to Petrovski Palace, and on the last days of June Sergy went to review the troops at Yaroslaw. During his absence, I was invited by my aunt, Princess Leon Galitzine, to spend a week with her at Doubrovo, her splendid estate situated in the government of Kalouga. I welcomed the opportunity that was offered to me and accepted my aunt’s invitation with pleasure. Another aunt of mine, Princess Safira Galitzine, was also going to Doubrovo and proposed to chaperon me. On our way there, great was my surprise to meet at one of the railway stations, Stenger, one of my old admirers of whom I had not heard for years. We both gave a violent start, and I uttered an exclamation of surprise: “Where on earth did you fall from?” I asked.
My appearance nearly deprived Stenger of speech, then he took my hand and devoured it with kisses, much to the indignation of my aunt who was of the opinion that a married woman shares the dignity of her husband and, like Cæsar’s wife, should be above suspicion of even the slightest flirtation. Whilst we paced up and down the platform, a pretty flood of eloquence rose to Stenger’s lips, and I was aware that the constancy of his heart was as great as ever, and that he was still my devoted servant. He said with a quiver in his voice, looking me full in the face and nervously tormenting his very slight moustache, that after my marriage he had been moved to the desperate resolution to marry also; but it did not help him to forget me, and that all these years he did his best to tear the thought of me out of his heart and could not. But I didn’t love him, all the difference was there. I only shrugged indifferent shoulders and responded to his passionate eloquence with six degrees of frost. “Fiddle-de-dee! old times are better left alone,” I replied, looking upon his dismayed countenance with a cheerfulness which rather hurt his feelings.
“Why do you treat me like this?” asked poor Stenger, looking very miserable and crestfallen. Really I am afraid I’ve been rather rude, to hurt anybody was quite contrary to my nature; I called myself a monster of ingratitude and tried to be more friendly towards him. I ought to be grateful indeed for he was a faithful being! Wishing, nevertheless, to get away from my impetuous lover, I hastened into my car. In bidding good-bye, Stenger captured my hands and squeezed them so horribly that he left the print of my rings on my fingers. He stood in a drooping attitude under my window, staring at me with eyes objectionably mournful and looking the very picture of despair. The train moved on and Stenger’s pale face was lost to sight; life had separated us for the second time! He was completely brushed away from my memory, and the whole episode fell away from my mind like breath from a mirror.
The journey to Doubrovo proved to be a tedious business. We had to leave the railway behind; a coach drive of some fifty miles awaited us. We drove along a flat and somewhat desolate country road. The sun grew hot and so did I. Clouds of dust pursued us, and swarms of big flies attacked us; we chased them away with branches cut from the trees. A drive of four hours under such conditions is a prostrating experience!
I spent a splendid time in Doubrovo with my cousin, Nelly Galitzine, and was sorry to leave her.
When I got back home, Sergy suggested a trip on the Volga, which I accepted with enthusiasm. We went by train to Nijni-Novgorod, where we had to take the steamer. We arrived at Nijni at about seven o’clock in the morning. I hid myself in my coupé from the military authorities who had come to greet my husband on the platform, but was dragged from my retreat by an officer, who insisted upon my following him into the state apartments of the station opened for us. I was half inclined to crawl under the seat, but there was no escape possible, and, conquering my impulse to flee, with tangled hair and unwashed face, horribly ashamed of myself, I had to walk with such dignity as my disordered condition would permit between two rows of brilliant sons of Mars. General Korevo, the chief of the division stationed at Nijni and its outskirts, offered me his arm and led me to his carriage to drive to the pier.
We took passage on a small steamer belonging to the company of “Caucasus and Mercury,” and steamed down the Volga from Nijni to Kazan. In the beginning of our voyage, where the Oka flows into the Volga, the river is in many places half a mile broad. We glided between sandy and sterile banks. Towards evening we arrived at Simbrisk, where we were to pass the night. A rickety old cab drove us to the hotel creeping up the ill-paved hill of an old and dirty street. A shabby waiter showed us into a small room with one bed and a greasy sofa. There was a tournament of self-denial between Sergy and me about the bed, and as neither would give in we decided that we should toss a coin: heads, the bed—tails, the sofa. It came tails, and the sofa fell to my lot! It was not at all a bed of roses, and when I lay down I soon discovered that the repulsive sofa was the property of certain highly disreputable and painfully disagreeable insects. I tossed on my couch of torture until morning.
At eight o’clock we took the “Colorado,” an immense three-storied vessel, replete with every luxury and convenience. The first-class cabins opened on a spacious dining-room. There were many passengers on board, a doleful trio amongst them, a young sad-faced woman in the last degree of consumption travelling with her husband and baby. The poor invalid looked wretchedly ill and extremely nervous, her eyes were constantly filling with tears. Her husband was full of little cares and attentions about her. Another passenger, a lady of unpleasing appearance, more than fifty, but dressed like a young girl, with an artificial complexion and dyed hair, strummed all day long on the piano, which was much out of tune. She fell upon the defenceless instrument, dashing out marches and abominable polkas, making two false notes in every five. At last it was decided that an appeal ad misericordiam would be made to the noisy virtuose, and it was the captain who saved the whole company from the much dreaded musical entertainment and undertook to keep that peace-disturber away from the tempting instrument. He made her understand that her performance was not approved of by his passengers and that she had better give the piano a little rest.