Our programme was as follows: we rose at six, swallowed hastily a glass of mineral water and went to take a walk on the broad avenue named Allée de sept heures. In the afternoon we listened to the band playing in the principal square bearing the name of Pierre le Grand. (Spa’s iron waters had saved the life of our Tzar, Peter the Great, nearly two hundred years before).
Profiting by the occasion of being in the neighbourhood of Brussels, we went to visit the famous lace factory. I remarked that the poor workwomen all had sore, inflamed eyes.
On our return to Spa, we took a wrong train and arriving at the humble little station of Pepinster, which stood in the open country, we were very much disconcerted on being told to get out, for our train took an opposite direction to Spa, and there was no other train that day. And thus we had the cheery prospect of spending the night in this solitary station with no dwelling in sight. It was too bad! We quitted the train rather out of sorts, and looked round about in helpless bewilderment. The station consisted of a bare hall only, giving one the impression of being all windows, with a telegraphic office at one end. As there was no lock on the outer door, the porter advised us to barricade it with a large table. But we were not left alone, however, someone put his long nose through the small ticket-window, which troubled us somewhat; nevertheless we laid ourselves down on the hard benches to sleep, which was easier said than done, for we had just begun to doze, when the table, which being weak on its legs performed very badly the function of safety-lock, gave way with a bang and six tipsy porters, arrayed in blue cotton blouses, precipitated themselves in the hall, disposed to pass the night in our company. What was to be done to turn them out of doors? The situation was becoming critical, but mamma did not lose her presence of mind, and spreading a shawl over me, she whispered into my ear not to give the slightest sign that I was awake, and approaching bravely these rascals, she ordered them out, telling them that the station-master had promised that no one should disturb us. After many debates five men went out, but the sixth declared that he had the settled resolution to sleep there. My poor mamma half dead with fright, sat down on the bench by my side, and holding up a warning finger, she entreated the man, in an anxious whisper, not to wake her poor invalid child. Feigning sleep, I had much ado to stifle the laughter which bubbled in my throat. Then our night-mate drew nearer to mamma and said: “I see, madam, that you are not a bit sleepy, nor am I either, so let us chat together.” To cut him short mamma began to tell him all sorts of fibs; she announced that she was the wife of the Russian Ambassador in Brussels, and invited him to come and pay her a visit at Spa, giving him a false address. Flattered and stunned by all this magnificence, her interlocutor removed to the opposite end of the hall, and very soon we heard him snoring in Wagnerian volume; and in the morning how astonished he was to see the wonderful transformation of the poor invalid child into a tall, rosy-cheeked maiden, looking the very picture of health. As I was getting into the train I heard the porters saying, pointing me out: “Tiens, la petite moribonde d’hier, est-elle tout plein gentille!”
From Spa the doctor sent us to Boulogne-sur-mer. From the top of the belfry of the cathedral of “Notre Dame de Boulogne,” one discerns the shores of England in fine weather. I burned with impatience to cross the channel, and one bright morning my desire was accomplished; we embarked on a ship going to Dover. It was the first experience I ever had of the sea, and nevertheless I proved a very good sailor, though the passage of the “Pas-de-Calais” was not at all pleasant; there was a heavy swell and the sea-breeze was so sharp, that I had to hold my hat all the time. There was a curate on board with his son, an Eton boy, who fell in love with me on the spot, but I did not take much notice of him, for he looked such a baby that one would be positively ashamed to bother with him.
When we reached Dover we caught the special train waiting to take us to London. When it drew up at Charing-Cross station, a porter took possession of us and our luggage, and conveyed us across to the Charing-Cross Hotel. I was somewhat abashed when we were invited to enter a small cage, which shut upon us with a vicious snap and then tossed us up, and before I had time to do more than gasp, we were on the sixth storey. It was my first acquaintance with the lift, a means of conveyance which substitutes so advantageously the legs of fatigued travellers. A new surprise awaited us: when we rang for the maid, ordering her to bring us some sandwiches, she whispered something into a pipe-tube in the wall, and in a moment a shutter was set open and the sandwiches, appeared like magic, served automatically on a tray.
I was delighted with London. In this great city life is full and stirring; but the English Sunday is rather a trying affair, for there are no theatres, no entertainments whatever. We wanted to explore the British Museum that day, and it was with great difficulty that we caught a drowsy porter who turned on his heel and went away after having declared, very rudely, that we were troubling him in vain, the Museum being closed, considering that the day of Sabbath was for rest and peace, and that all good Christians kept it holy. We turned sorrowfully away and went to our Russian church. When the service was over our priest, a charming old gentleman, invited us for a cup of tea. My patriotic sentiment was agreeably flattered when I saw the works of Tourgeneff, our great writer, translated into English, in his drawing-room.
From London we went straight to Stuttgart, where we settled down to a peaceful winter. We looked about for furnished apartments and took one in König-Strasse, the principal street.
Mamma devoted herself to give me the best finish in her power. Our Grand-Duchess, Olga Nikolaevna, queen of Würtenberg, was at that time educating her niece, the Grand-Duchess Vera, and I had the benefit of her masters. I worked terribly hard, remaining at my studies till dinner-time. Trying to stimulate my zeal, mamma resolved to give me two marks for my weekly reports if they were all fives, permitting me to spend my pocket-money on theatre tickets.
A singing mistress was sought for me, who rejoiced in the poetical name of “Fräulein Rosa.” When I was presented to her I gave way to a fit of most indecent laughter, for this Rose looked such a guy—a veritable old caricature. Outraged she left the room and never after returned. I was very glad to be rid of that fright, and clapped my hands in naughty glee.
I took a great liking to a young compatriot of mine, Mary Vietinghoff, who lived abroad with her mother, by reason of her delicate health. She was one year younger that I, but for good senses she was ten years my senior. I used also to see a great deal of the Rydes. Mrs. Ryde was the widow of a Scotch curate and the mother of twelve children. I liked the Ryde family tutti quanti, especially Ettie, a girl of my own age, a most jolly lassie. Her brother, Willie, a youngster of fourteen, took a fancy to me. This shrewd young Scot glided one day on tiptoe behind me and stroked my cheek, exclaiming: “How smooth it is.” He wanted to repeat this manipulation with his lips, but received a smart slap across the face in recompense; a very rude demonstration, indeed, but I was an awfully quick-tempered young lady and hated to be touched. The Rydes were astonished at what they termed my “colossal good English,” which I had got from my childhood. To complete my education, Willie offered to teach me some of his best slang.