The Diary of
a Russian Lady

yours faithfully

Barbara Doukhovskoy

THE DIARY OF A
RUSSIAN LADY

REMINISCENCES OF
BARBARA DOUKHOVSKOY
(née Princesse Galitzine)

“Lived through but not forgotten”

WITH TWO PORTRAITS

LONDON
JOHN LONG, LIMITED
12, 13 & 14 NORRIS STREET, HAYMARKET
MCMXVII

Preface

This book was not intended to be published, and it is to accident that we owe its appearance.

The author, from her childhood, followed affectionate advices and good examples, and noted every day her impressions of everything she saw and heard about her. She puts in these pages all the freshness and sincerity of her woman’s heart.

Circumstances placed the author in the centre of remarkable events. Remaining faithful to the principle of not interfering with her husband’s business, she becomes, however, unwillingly, the spectatrix of particularly interesting facts: the outside of war, of different centres of Russian society, of exotic life in foreign colonies and on our remote frontiers, including the regions of the river Amour in Eastern Siberia.

Our author does not pretend to give a thorough and complete study of political events and society customs. But here we have vivid pictures of different impressions which, linked together, give us a living picture of places, events, and persons; real life in fact is delineated in this book, which has thus become a considerable work.

The author’s innate talent, her education, her faculty of observation, and her deep study of the best Russian and foreign writers, are the cause of the vivid impression produced by her light and clear style. Some portions of these studies entitled “Fragments of the Diary of a Russian woman in Erzeroum,” were printed in one of the most famous Russian periodicals. The welcome they received showed the author to what use she could turn her book for her works of charity, and it is her desire to assist the poor which gave to Barbara Doukhovskoy the idea of publishing her “Memories,” though the great realism of them did not permit of their publication as a whole.

Profiting by the right of having been a friend and a playmate of the author’s husband, I insisted on the necessity of publishing this work.

Not only by the truth and the spontaneity of her impressions, but by the profoundness of her observations and the artistic conception of the whole, the author of this book now embellishes our literature by a work of an exceptional and original character.

C. Sloutchevsky

Constantin Sloutchevsky, Russian poet, one of the most famous of the end of the nineteenth century.

Contents

The Diary of a Russian Lady

BOOK I

CHAPTER I
EARLY RECOLLECTIONS

My father, Prince Theodore Galitzine, married my mother being a widower with five children, three of whom died before my birth. My earliest vivid recollections begin when I was two years old. I distinctly remember feeling a terrible pain in parting with my wet-nurse, to whom I was passionately attached. I got hold of her skirt and wouldn’t let her go, weeping wildly. It was my first bitter affliction. I could not put up with the new nurse, whom I hated from the depths of my little heart, and I would not call her otherwise than Wild Cat, with baby petulance, having already at that early age pronounced likes and dislikes. We were in perpetual state of warfare. When I was about three years old that nurse was succeeded by a pretty Belgian girl named Melle. Henriette. The tutor of my two step-brothers, Mr. Liziar, made love to her and finished by marrying her some time after. He seemed somewhat half-witted; by night he went to chime the bells at the belfry of our village church in Dolgik, a fine estate belonging to my father, in the government of Kharkoff, and also amused himself by breaking, in the conservatory, the panes of glass with big stones. One day he frightened his sweetheart nearly to death by throwing a snake under her feet. After all these pranks it is no way astonishing that Mr. Liziar finished his days in a lunatic asylum. The tutor who succeeded him, asked my parents to bring his wife with him. He hastened to pocket the hundred roubles taken beforehand on account of his salary, and departed suddenly to Kharkoff to fetch her. Meanwhile my father received a letter from this tutor’s legitimate wife dated from St. Petersburg, in which she entreated papa to send her the half of her husband’s monthly salary, telling him he spent all his money on his mistress, whilst his wife and children had not a morsel of bread to put into their mouths. Of course, this too Don Juanesque tutor was instantly dismissed.

My parents at that time kept an open house. On great occasions my smart nurse would appear in the dining-room carrying me in her arms, attired like a little fairy, all ribbons and lace, to be admired by our guests. She put me down on the table, and I promenaded quite at my ease between the flowers and fruits.

I was born under fortunate auspices, there could not be a happier little girl; good things were thrown down upon me: presents, petting, admiration. At an early age I chose as my motto: “Fais ce que voudras.” Whatever I wished for, I very certainly had, and I didn’t see how anybody could want to refuse me in anything.

I was often sent down to the drawing-room to be admired by the afternoon callers, and mamma ordered me to let myself be kissed by unkissable grown-ups, who paid me those compliments shown to children, who are precious to their parents, and which made me intolerably conceited. I stood in great danger of being completely spoilt, and mamma, who was afraid that I received a good deal more flattery than she thought good for me, ordered me to answer what I was told: “Comme Vava[1] est jolie!”—“Vava n’est pas jolie, elle est seulement gentille.” But, nevertheless, I knew that I was pretty, my glass told me so.

[1] Vava: diminutive of Barbara.

At the age of four I could read and write fairly well, and chatted freely in French. I was immensely proud when my nurse ended putting me to bed in the daytime, and when I was old enough to sit at table, able to handle my knife and fork properly. My greatest delight was to ride on my brothers’ backs and to be swung by them in a sheet, that they held by the four corners and lifted me as high as they could, whilst I crowed gleefully, my bare legs waving happily in the air. Mamma hastened with my nurse to my rescue, and carried me off, paying but little attention to the wild shrieks with which I requested to be tossed higher and higher. There was a speedy end to all this fun; destiny itself interfered to stop these aerial gymnastics: I had a bad fall one day, tumbling out of the sheet, and my infatuation for this sport disappeared completely.

It was a source of infinite delight to me to creep on the knees of Mr Vremeff, an intimate friend of my parents, a charming old gentleman with snowy white hair, and hear him relate entrancing fairy tales for which I had an insatiable appetite. As soon as he had finished one story, I asked for another and another.

At that time my father was marshal of nobility of the district of Kharkoff. One day he was suddenly called to St. Petersburg, and, during his absence, we received the news that he was appointed chamberlain to His Majesty the Emperor. I wept bitterly when I was told that papa must wear the chamberlain’s key, persuaded that he would be obliged to adorn even his robe de chambre with that ugly ornament, which must completely transform my dear old dad.

Princess Vava Galitzine

Aged 4 years.

My parents, going to St. Petersburg, generally paid flying visits to my aunt Galitzine, who lived in Moscow. I made my first journey with them at the mature age of four. If the faults of children develop as they grow older, I was to become a pickpocket, for I had the bad habit of hiding in my pockets all sorts of broken toys belonging to the Karamzins,—two little pupils of my aunt! When I went to bed my nurse emptied my pockets, crying out at the enormity of my dreadful conduct.

My birthday was a great day for festivities. I received lots of lovely presents and sweets. On the eve of my birthday I went to bed with expectations of a pleasant awaking, and the first thing when I woke up in the morning was to put my hand under my pillow and pull out the presents, laid there by my parents during my sleep.

On my seventh birthday my grandmother presented me with a beautiful watch with diamond settings. From the very first moment I harboured a guilty determination to get the diamonds out, just as I broke my dolls’ heads in order to see what there was in them, a resolve, alas! very soon put into practice. Mamma entering my nursery one day saw me perched on the top of my high stool, occupied in drawing out the diamonds with a long pin. Moral: “It is superfluous to give such rich presents to small persons of my age.”

The object of my first love was a simple servant-girl who lived in the next house. Every day I watched for her, and rushing to the window I flattened my tiny nose against the glass, and devoured her with eager eyes.

We used to live in Kharkoff in winter and passed the summer months in Doljik, our beautiful estate which claims to be counted amongst the stately homes of Russia, situated forty miles distance from town. Our removal to Doljik was a regular treat for us children, our joy and the servants’ nuisance, for when they began to pack up, we were only in their way, under pretence of help, poking about among the straw, scattered in the yard, throwing it over one another whilst playing hide-and-seek.

Doljik is a delightful place. The castle, a stately white mansion of commanding appearance, is very grand with its suite of lofty rooms; portraits of ancestors, the former Galitzines, very good-looking all of them, adorn the walls. The park is beautiful, with long alleys of elm and oak and vast lawns with skilfully sorted flower-borders, I had a doll’s house in the park, furnished with every convenience, with a garden of my own in which I spent happy hours gardening eagerly, weeding and watering, I also bestowed a great part of my affection on pet animals: dogs, cats, squirrels and tame rabbits. My brothers and I were fond of all kinds of fun; early in the morning we used to start for the meadows with baskets to gather mushrooms for our breakfast, and went for rambles in the woods. We also did a lot of fishing and bathing. My parents presented me with a prefect dream of a pony. How proud I felt when I was lifted on my “Scotchy’s” back for my first ride!

Dolls took no leading part in my childhood, and I had often wished I had been a boy. I climbed trees and tore my frocks and engaged in all sorts of wild pranks.

There was much excitement on my father’s birthday. The house was full of guests, and an orchestra came down from town. At dinner when papa’s health was drunk, two large cannons, placed at the principal entrance, were fired, which made me crawl on my hands and knees, shamefully, under the table. We had in the evening grand illuminations in the park, with fireworks which did not enrapture me, for at every burst of rockets I had to put my hands over my ears.

On the day of our village festival there was a fair on the square opposite the church. I threw sugar-candy and handfuls of pennies to the peasant children.

I had now passed my eighth year and the time for lessons had come. I was given over to the care of a French governess, Melle. Rose, who was very badly named, for she was a horrid lemon-coloured old creature, wearing a hideous curled wig, and always looking as though she had just swallowed a spoonful of vinegar. I hated plain people about me and could not bare the sight of Melle. Rose, disliking her from the first. What a life I led her! Plaguing her was a charmingly pretty sport for me. My governess was always scolding and faultfinding; she forced me to make her every morning and evening a low curtsey, which made me long to kick her. Melle. Rose held up as an example to me a little friend of mine, the Princess Mimi Troubetzkoy, who was a well-behaved child, doing credit to her governess’s bringing up, and never giving her any trouble. But I despised sheep-like docility and was weary of hearing of all the beautiful things Mimi did and said.

Being deprived of the bump of respect, I did exactly what my governess told me not to do, refusing to be put into harness. When the fighting-blood stirred in me and made me too horribly naughty, I was sent for punishment to bed, but I would rather be cut to pieces before I would deign to apologise to Melle. Rose. That disagreeable person was succeeded by Melle. Allamand, a French lady educated in England, the most delightful of old maids, whom I loved fondly, for she was never cross, and since she came to me, I began to understand that it was possible for a governess to be nice, and that the term is not necessarily synonymous to frighten and bore.

We got on very well for Melle. Allamand bore with my caprices, which were many, I must confess. But though she was always in a good temper we had little quarrels sometimes, which we soon made up. I studied my piano with Melle. Allamand and learned English, which soon became a second mother-tongue to me. When we went out walking, my governess’s soft heart was full of pity for the poor starving homeless dogs which she picked up in the streets and brought home to be fed; the ugliest and shabbiest had her tenderest care. Melle. Allamand was called back to England and my parents had to get another governess. An English young lady was engaged, named Miss Emily Puddan. My brothers made her rage awfully in calling her Miss Pudding. She had no authority over me whatever, being in fact rather silly, but she was a very pleasant companion—so well up in all games. We were enthusiastic croquet-players and had sometimes desperate quarrels, being very near scratching each other’s eyes out. “I tell you I hit your ball!”—“You didn’t!”—“I did!” etc., our arguments becoming very hot and uncivil; soon we dropped our mallets and ran and complained to mamma, both governess and pupil.

When I was past my twelfth year I grew very fond of reading the books of the “Bibliothèque Rose.” I pitied mamma because she read deadly uninteresting English Tauchnitz novels, when there existed such enrapturing books as Les petites filles modéles, les malheurs de Sophie, etc. But this childish literature did not hinder me from flirtation. I used to long for adventures; and here I was having one, notwithstanding that I had only just grown out of pinafores. My parents took me sometimes to the Italian opera and I conceived a romantic admiration for the tenor of the troop, who was, as I thought adorable beyond words. I raved about him. When out walking with my governess, I dragged her in the direction I knew the tenor would take, in the hope of meeting him. I began to knit a prosaic cache-nez for the object of my dreams, which mamma confiscated, happily, in time.

From my earliest years I had a great love for acting; we gave, from time to time, little theatrical entertainments; we dressed up and played fragments of Shakespeare’s dramas, and I was the leading-lady in these rehearsals. When I took up the high tragic part of “Desdemona,” Nicolas, the brother of my little friend Sophy Annenkoff, was the personator of “Othello,” he sacrificed his appearance so far as to blacken his face. During the murder scene, when the situation grew particularly tragic, Nicolas displayed such a realism of the Shakespearian meaning, that I began to fear being choked in reality.

I was a half-grown girl now, arrived at the age of fourteen, envied awfully my friends, the countess Sievers and Mary Podgoritchany who were grown-ups and wore long frocks. Some day, I said, it will be my turn to be introduced to society. I looked forward to the day when I should reach the age of seventeen and appear at my first ball with a long train, and be able to flirt to my heart’s content.

I felt now that I had enough of governesses. My last one, Melle. Annaguy, bored me awfully, being extremely particular about my manners; it was preach, preach all day long. Melle. Anna gave me continually a string of instructions consisting chiefly of “don’ts,” which I listened to impatiently. I couldn’t go here, I couldn’t go there, I couldn’t eat this, I couldn’t eat that! My governess was indeed too exasperating, and I had a furious inclination to consign her to very warm quarters. Melle. Anna was besides intensely devout; being very anxious about the welfare of my soul, she crammed me with pious lectures, but books of this sort were not in my line, and I read everything I could lay hand on. Papa’s library was full of interesting books, and I spent whole nights greedily devouring in bed works written by Paul de Kock, a jolly author, but rather improper. In the morning I hid these books under my mattress. My childhood days had passed by. Poor “Bibliothèque Rose,” thy time was well and duly over!

CHAPTER II
MY FIRST TRIP ABROAD

When I was fifteen, mamma decided to take me abroad to be “finished.” Stuttgart was chosen for our winter residence; we were to get there towards the end of October, after having visited Paris and made a water-cure at Spa.

I was intensely interested in all my surroundings; it was all new to me. We spent a fortnight in Paris, visiting the curiosities of that splendid city from morning till night.

I delighted to walk on the boulevards. Though a minx of fifteen I had already an insatiable thirst for admiration, and loved to attract attention, I did not look a “bread and butter Miss” and men stared at me in the streets. One day a passer-by, giving me a glance of approval, said to his companion: “Look at this little girl, she promises much!” I need not say that I was much flattered and laughed outright, but mamma didn’t.

From Paris we went to Spa, a bright watering place, lying in a high valley of the Belgian Ardennes, three hours by rail from Brussels.

We took an apartment in the house of a coach-maker; his daughter waited on us. Insignificant in her work-a-day clothes, she looked quite a lady on Sundays, dressed in her smartest frock; but her work was badly done that day.

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.

Though I was still in short frocks, I was already a dreadful flirt and had all sorts of love affairs, but all the stock of my affection was exclusively bestowed upon Robert Jeffrey, a pupil of the English school in Cannstadt, a small town in the neighbourhood of Stuttgart. He was a Scotch lad of eighteen summers, blue-eyed, brown-haired and white-toothed. I was drawn to him from the beginning, for Bobbie was a real darling, and I considered him the sweetest boy in the world. I had other admirers, but Jeffrey was by far the handsomest and the dearest; I was quite silly about him and had eyes and ears only for him alone. He was my “Prince Charming;” my imagination adorned him with the attributes of all possible and impossible heroes. It was my first serious affair, the first love of my girlhood. The passion was reciprocal and Jeffrey said I was the first girl who had yet disturbed his peace. Mamma went to Paris for a few days, leaving me under the care of the Baroness Vietinghoff. She hoped that Mary, who considered herself a sort of guardian of mine, would prevent me doing anything rash while she was away. Part of her duty was to keep off boys, (other boys, not Jeffrey.) Mary promised mamma to play a mother’s part to me; she wouldn’t let me commit any eccentricity. But I did an enormous one. Jeffrey was a somewhat green and inexperienced youth, too timid for my taste, and wanted a little go and rousing up. Wishing to sharpen his wits I sent him a wild letter, telling him that he was all the world to me. I did not expect that he would answer personally, that same day, my foolish billet-doux, and when Mary announced that my youthful sweetheart was waiting for me in the drawing-room, I sat down on my trunk, declaring that nothing in the world would force me to move from my place. I don’t believe I am weak in the way of shyness, but I didn’t find strength at the moment to think of facing Jeffrey. Mary went to fetch him and left the room, feeling herself an uncomfortable third. I continued to stick to my box, my chin upon my folded hands. At first we did not utter a single word, as silent as two stones. Some minutes later we were quite ourselves again, and Jeffrey from that day proved extremely teachable, and soon lost his shyness; I had trained him thoroughly.

This foolish “boy and girl love” lasted during all our stay in Stuttgart. We arranged clandestine meetings at the Rydes. Ettie was a staunch friend, full of sympathy, and we poured into her willing ears the story of our love, having found a comfortable ally in her. We used to have great fun together. One evening we were in the wildest spirits, playing charades, and Jeffrey was just going to accomplish one of his forfeits: he had to kneel down beside the prettiest girl of all the company and kiss the one he loved best. He had chosen me for both manifestations. In the midst of the fun mamma appeared. Tableau! She didn’t approve of kissing, mamma—and soon put a stop to the delightful game.

Mamma kept me very strictly, and did a good deal of weeding in the selection of my friends. She did not consider, alas! the Rydes the best of companions for a girl of my temperament, who was always on the look out for wickedness, fearing that they stuffed my head with all sorts of silly nonsense. On holidays she caught me flat-nosed, with my face glued to the window, looking out for the Rydes.

I went with Mary Vietinghoff to Dr. Roth’s gymnastic class, and enjoyed meeting there girls of different social classes. Forgetting that our stations in life were widely apart, it amused me to shake hands with daughters of shopkeepers as well as ladies by birth, without distinction. Dr. Roth made us march up and down the hall with our hands clasped behind our backs. At each step we made he repeated like a pendulum, “Kopf, Rücken, Kopf, Rücken!” and I mimicked him in the ante-room where we put on our hats, throwing my audience into convulsions of giggling. My foolish tricks drove Dr. Roth to despair. When his back was turned I dashed on to the window, raised up a corner of the blind which was generally let down during our exercises, and stared at the passers-by.

As we lived within two minutes’ walk of Dr. Roth’s dwelling, I begged mamma to allow me to go unaccompanied to his class. Mamma objected at first, for she said she could not have me running alone in the streets, but I soon overcame her prejudice and profited by my liberty for paying flying visits to the Rydes on my way home from Dr. Roth’s. Being such a romp I wanted a lot of looking after and gave much trouble to poor mamma, who never knew what I would do next. My apparent frivolity deeply wounded her, but remonstrance always led to scenes. One night, coming home from a dancing-party, where my conduct had been more disgraceful than usual, after a miserable scene that we had had together, mamma fell into hysterics. It drove me nearly mad to see her in such a state, and I dashed into the street and raced headlong, hatless, my hair loose, flying wildly about my shoulders and waving in the wind. Whilst I fled in terror across the street I heard two well-known voices calling: “Vava! Vava!” screamed mamma, “Fräulein Princess!” roared our cook, running after me in pursuit. This only increased my speed, and I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. A group of students, wearing coloured caps and followed by huge dogs, who were coming out of a restaurant before which I was galloping at that moment, were soon at my heels. I never stopped running till I found myself breathless at the door of the Vietinghoffs, having taken that way by instinct, and I flung myself panting into their apartment, where I felt safe at last.

On Sundays we went to the Russian chapel. It amused me enormously to watch the secretary of the queen, a gentleman looking excessively pleased with himself, who made the sign of the cross only when the priest pronounced the names of the queen or the Grand Duchess Vera.

My health began to alarm Mamma; I was growing thin and pale. Our doctor believed I was overstraining myself with lessons, and instead of prescribing me a lot of horrid drugs, he had the capital idea of sending us to sun ourselves for a week or two on the Riviera. We followed willingly his agreeable prescription and set off speedily to Nice.

Mere child as I was, I already indulged in a decided taste for adventures, and experienced one on the road. During the night, we were pushed into a railway carriage full of passengers; one of them, a very good-looking young man, made room for us and went to find for himself another place. The next morning, whilst we were breakfasting at the Station of Marseilles, a waiter brought me a beautiful bouquet, followed by our amiable fellow-passenger of the previous night, who proved to be a Mexican fresh from South America. He opened the conversation by telling us that his name was Gallardo Alvarez, and hinted that he was an unmarried millionaire, making his first pleasure tour in Europe. Studying him stealthily I decided that he would do.

We stopped at the same hotel with Señor Alvarez, who soon began to show me that he was deeply interested in me. In fact I won him entirely. He was a man of volcanic passions and inflammable as gun-cotton, his eyes said even more than his words. Unfortunately the liking was not mutual, he did not make my heart beat. Though I was a girl to change her passions in a hurry, I was so taken up with Jeffrey, that I had no thought for any one else, just then; my Mexican conquest was rather amusing and kept me from yawning, that’s all, but nevertheless I gave him a fair amount of encouragement. I suppose I am a flirt, but I cannot help being nice to men. My Transatlantic adorer followed me about like my shadow; go where I would, he was ever at my heels and at last it became quite wearisome. I was awfully bored and did the utmost to show it to him by being uncivil and not nice, and he only received hard words from me. Oh! I can easily snub anyone if I wish! I told him one day, he needn’t stick to me so, but no, in spite of my rebuffs, he wouldn’t stir from my side; he only exclaimed piteously: “Princess Vava, why are you so awfully hard on me?” He was a persevering wooer that Don Alvarez, telling me that he had already fallen a victim to my blue eyes in the sleeping-car, and that he thought of me all day and dreamt of me all night since, then and a lot more idiotic bosh. He often bothered me with compliments that I affected not to hear. He likened me to Venus and told me that I was his goddess and the wonder of the world, a being created to be fallen in love with, and that I would remain as a gem set in his mind for evermore. But I only made fun of his high-flown sentiments. One night at the Opera, whilst Faust was “cooing” his romance to Margaret, Señor Alvarez asked me suddenly: “Tell me, who is the prettiest person in this house!” I raised my opera glasses and looked about me at the audience, but he told me it was useless work, for there was no looking-glass near me.

I went out shopping with my Mexican friend one afternoon. In a shop-window, with a variety of nick-nacks offered for sale, I saw a small box of powder in the form of an ivory apple, a perfect darling, which took particularly my fancy. I had a craving to possess it, but as I had only a few coppers left in my purse, I could not purchase it, and looked at the tempting apple with longing eyes; but crushed by the scorn of the stylish person behind the counter, I left the shop dismissing it from my mind. On the same night, going to bed, I noticed a parcel lying upon my toilet table, which contained the apple that I had resisted, bought by my Mexican Paris for his Russian Helena.

We left Stuttgart in winter, and there we were in full blooming-time of violets and roses. We made several excursions and went as far as the wicked little principality of Monaco. Mamma gained large sums of money at the roulette tables of Monte-Carlo. I was also longing to try my luck, but roulette was prohibited, alas for youngsters like me.

We were invited to a ball given on an American man-of-war, the “Franklin,” which anchored in the harbour of Villefranche. The ball was too delightful; I highly enjoyed myself and nearly danced my shoes off. There never was anything to equal the amiability of the officers of the frigate; their commander, Captain Folger, was awfully charming to us and hoisted the Russian flag in our honour.

We had such a delightful fortnight in Nice. The days went like lightning and the hour of our departure approached. I detested the idea of going back to dull Stuttgart to pursue my studies, but I had a compensation in the person of my darling Bobbie.

Señor Alvarez pined with grief at being obliged to part with me. He accompanied us as far as Marseilles and delivered to me, whilst travelling with us, a Spanish poem, of his composition, dedicated to me, speaking of delirious passion, broken heart and other fiddlesticks. One of our fellow-passengers, a handsome Canadian girl begged him to dedicate at least three lines to her. Alvarez at once pulled a note-book out of his pocket and scribbled down three words only: Adieu pour toujours. Not very amiable on his part! Bidding me good-bye, Alvarez took hold of my hands, squeezing them as if they had been shut in a door, and looking at me with an expression of entreaty, he requested my permission to pay us a visit in Russia. By the manner I answered him, I would not in his place have undertaken such a long journey.

Here I was again in Stuttgart, carried back to lessons. In January, on the occasion of my sixteenth birthday, mamma gave me a coming-out dance. I considered myself fully grown now, having put up my golden mane and let down my frock for the first time that night. I was awfully unhappy to leave Stuttgart in April, for I left my heart behind. It was such a sore trial to part with Jeffrey. He was unwell on the day of our departure and could not see us off. I was in despair at not being able to bid him farewell and sobbed desperately at the thought that I should never see his darling face again. At that moment he was more indispensable to me than air and light. Being ashamed that mamma should see me cry, I swallowed my tears and tried to look cheerful, but when the train began to move, I crept into a corner of the railway-carriage and sobbed my heart out in childish grief, little fool that I was.

Before returning to Russia we made a trip to Italy and travelled as far as Naples in the company of the Italian Consul of Manchester, Signor Raphaello Giordano, middle-aged and perfectly gentleman-like. He promised to be our cicerone in Naples, where we arrived at night, rather disconcerted by the hubbub of the clamorous Neapolitans. When we found ourselves on the crowded platform, noisy fachini (porters) besieged us and snatched away our bags. Signor Giordano had to desert us on the quay, whilst we went to get our luggage through the Customs promising to be back soon. In his absence a young man began to hang about in front of us, staring at me all the time with frankest impertinence. He came close to me and managed to whisper in my ear: “What hotel are you going to? Do stop at the hotel where I am staying.” Impudent fellow! I was greatly astonished at his audacity. Fortunately Signor Giordano strolled in at the right moment and rescued me. Both men were standing nervously facing each other and Giordano exclaimed in arrogant tones, his eyes blazing with wrath: “What right have you to speak to that young lady?” “And you, how do you dare to speak to me?” was the impertinent answer. A squabble sprang up between them; it was so hateful to have a scandal! Giordano went to seek a policeman and we remained alone, dreading to move in fear of losing sight of our protector, and our boxes were so long in coming. At last we decided to be bold and wait no longer. We hailed a carriage and rode off to Victoria Hotel, recommended by Giordano, and were very glad when he made his appearance an hour after.

Early next morning I opened the shutters and was fascinated by the splendid panorama of the bay of Naples and Vesuvius with its cone rising against the azure sky. How glorious it all was!

We spent three weeks in Naples making excursions and visiting all the curiosities in the neighbourhood. Pompeii produced a very painful impression on me by its atmosphere of death and disaster. We were present at the digging up of vases, bracelets and other curious relics of by-gone days.

Wishing to give a surprise to my father, mamma had my portrait made by a horrible little hunch-backed painter of modest pretensions. After my very first sitting we did not appreciate this Quasimodo’s manner of painting. Mamma took great pains in pointing out to him his mistakes, but instead of repairing them, the little fright contemplated that abominable painting with his ugly head first on this side and then on that, as if lost in admiration, repeating all the time: “Bellissimo, grazioso!” The portrait was, as we expected, a great failure, but we had to take, nevertheless, that spoilt canvas, unworthy of preservation, paying for it the sum of 200 francs.

One day, having to change some Russian coins, we entered an American bank, where I made, as it appears, a great impression upon one of the clerks, a very good-looking chap, with light hair and brilliant black eyes. He found a pretext to come and see us at the hotel next morning. After that, we saw him nearly every day; he spent all his spare time with me. This youth, named Alphonso Shildecker, was of cosmopolitan origin, born in America of a German father and an Italian mother. Though only a banker’s clerk, Shildecker was nevertheless very well educated and spoke several languages fluently. He had an agreeable tenor voice and taught me some popular Neapolitan songs. This poor youth was getting seriously in love with me, which was perfectly ridiculous. I liked him pretty well in the beginning, and rather encouraged his hopes and accepted his advances in a friendly spirit, but if he thought I was serious, he was making a great mistake. It had all gone much deeper with him than with me. To me he was only a new toy; I was delighted with any one who could amuse me and was simply playing with him out of girlish perversity.

An American boy, Floyd Reynolds, a student of the University of Bonn, who lived in our hotel, was burning with impatience to be presented to me. One day he sent me up an enormous bouquet with his card pinned on it. Shildecker took it into his head to be detestably jealous of Floyd. Giordano was not dangerous to him being no longer young and not particularly good-looking, but he was wild at my flirting with Floyd, in who’s company he did not show to advantage. He soon became very tedious, never leaving us alone and coming in our way when we wanted to be free and quiet; he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in interrupting our conversation. I considered two a better number than three, and as for Shildecker I would have liked to have kicked him round the room. He followed me everywhere, but I turned my back and devoted myself to Floyd, and left him out in the cold. He caught me in all the available corners, when we visited churches and museums, and made love to me, telling me that he adored me to madness, and that he was going to cut his throat, or hang himself, or I know not what, unless I gave him hope. That sounded very tragical indeed! It may be all stuff and nonsense, but, nevertheless, I undoubtedly played with fire and was in a constant fear that he might do something wild and desperate; I am sure it’s enough to make any girl nervous! But I was not going to let him spoil our trip, and tried to keep away from him, thereby driving him into a more feverish condition than ever. He grew perfectly ill with jealousy. How black he looked that love-sick boy! He suffered and I enjoyed myself; that is the way of the world! The day we left Naples, Shildecker wanted to go with us to the train, but I determined he should not have the chance, and indicated to him a wrong train. I was awfully vexed when I saw him at the station, looking down the platform with anxiety. Despite all my precautions he had tracked me. When he asked permission to write to me, I looked at him as though suddenly remembering his presence, and answered with an air of royal condescension: “You may do as you like!”

We spent three days in Rome, roaming through the splendid museums and churches, and had the chance of seeing the Pope officiate in St. Peter’s Cathedral, which was a very imposing spectacle.

On the eve of our departure I received a letter from Shildecker, who wrote to me that he had taken leave of absence for a fortnight and was coming to rejoin us in Rome; but it did not detain us, to be sure, and the next morning we started for Florence without leaving our address at the hotel. I had had such an awful dose of Shildecker at Naples that it was quite enough! But “La Donna è mobile,” I found myself at intervals thinking about him, and strangely enough, I missed him now not a little that he was altogether lost and done with, and felt tenderly towards him. Such is the consistency of human nature! Being a girl of prompt action, I wrote to him, not foreboding the consequences, to come speedily to Florence. Two days later a waiter came to tell me that a young gentleman was at the door and wished particularly to speak to me. It was Shildecker in person, who rushed forward, took my hands in his and kissed them passionately, looking happy and proud beyond words, but I did not let him make too much display of his flow of tenderness and, wrenching my hands from his grasp, I told him to follow me. We entered the drawing-room together, and I blushed up to the roots of my hair when I saw mamma’s bewilderment at the unexpected appearance of Shildecker, who, without preamble, solicited my hand. Mamma with ideal composure told him that we were far too young, both of us, to talk of marriage, and that my father would certainly never give his consent. Shildecker’s face lengthened visibly, but this check did not, however, abate his hope of taking possession of me one day.

I had again enough of Shildecker, but it was no such easy matter this time to get rid of him; having gone so far, he was not to be turned back, he meant to follow us to Venice. (He would have followed me to the end of the world if I had let him!)

For some time past I had noticed that my wooer was altered, not the same fellow at all, looking like a phantom of his former self, a wreck of the handsome Shildecker of former days. I knew it was all my doing, but asked him impishly what was the matter with him and if he could ever manage to stop looking as if he were in a dentist’s chair. He told me that my coolness gave him innumerable sleepless nights, and that I ruined his life.

We arrived at Venice in the night. That aquatic town seemed very beautiful to me with its magnificent palaces reflected in the water, and poetic gondolas, but I found Venice less interesting when seen in disenchanting day; the beautiful palaces appeared ancient and decayed, and the poetic gondolas, resembling coffins, gave rise to lugubrious thoughts. How insufferably dull it would be to dwell here! To live a day, buried in that monotonous silence, is quite enough, I thought.

We parted with Shildecker in Venice. He accompanied us to the boat sailing for Trieste, and was sadly broken down, poor boy. When he bade me a dramatic farewell, his face was pale and his eyes had a world of grief in them, and he told me in a voice which trembled, that even if years were to pass, and continents and oceans divided us, I had only to say come, and he’d come. His last words were that he would ever be true to me, and always keep me in his heart, and though always is rather a tremendous word, still, to judge by his dejected aspect, he looked likely to fulfil it. When our boat swerved slowly from the shore, my poor worshipper stood forlorn, contemplating our ship with tortured eyes, and then I vanished out of his life for ever.

On my return home my father and brothers found that I looked quite grown-up with my long dress and new style of coiffure.

Though far away, I could not forget Jeffrey, and was very happy to receive a long passionate missive from him, enclosed in Mary Vietinghoff’s letter. I devoured the pages with eager joy. Jeffrey wrote that he was broken-hearted since his darling Vava went away, and that he smothered her sweet face with thousands of passionate kisses. My poor, dear, bonny lad! I too was hungering for the sight of him, but half Europe, alas, divided us!

For some time I kept up a correspondence with Ettie Ryde, and inspired her with the following poem, in well turned rhymes:—

From this large, bustling city

My friend has gone. Oh, what a pity!

With her I laughed and sang and danced,

Since she left me my love is much enhanced

She was merry, she was very, very wild,

My friend was a naughty, disobedient child.

She fell in love with handsome men and boys,

And broke their hearts, as children break their toys.

She first loved a Greek, of colour dark and sallow,

“I always thought him like a candle made of tallow.”

But she much admired that dark-eyed Greek;

She used to sit by him and softly stroke his cheek.

(White lies.)

At length of this Greek youth she grew quite tired,

And her heart with love to a young Scotchman was fired.

He was young, just turned nineteen,

Hair brown, eyes blue, by nature somewhat green.

Oh, I can’t tell of that long, long tale of love!

He thought her constant, sweet, gentle as a dove.

She believed him mild, kind-hearted, very true.

Can you tell the names of this young couple, can you?

Well, she was no other than Vava, the young princess,

She ought to have had more sense, you must confess.

He was Jeffrey, the youth from Glasgow town.

If they read these verses how they both would frown!

Oh, I should like to see dear Vava again!

She gave me pleasure, never a moment’s pain.

Now, my sweet girl, this poetry I must end,

Don’t, oh don’t forget your fond Scotch friend!

Henrietta Ryde.

I was delighted with her poetry, which incited me to write the verses that I venture to give here, written in the slang style that I had picked from my Stuttgart English friends. The lines ran thus:—

Dear Ettie, spare some minutes few,

To read this poetry, will you?

It’s awful, stupid balderdash,

And nothing better than mere trash,

But be indulgent, damsel sweet,

And mind, you puggie, be discreet,

Don’t show this rubbish to your beaus,

Nor to your friends, nor to your foes,

For I’m afraid to be laughed at,

And to be called a stupid brat.

Do you remember, darling child,

How I was fast, and oh, so wild?

But I’m not changed as yet the least,

Now, am I not a horrid beast?

Oh what a booby, dear, I was,

To care for so many fellows.

But the real object of my flame,

I truly should not know—to name.

(Ungrateful being.)

I liked Jeffrey pretty well,

Because he was such a swell,

I liked Skinner very much too,

Somebody else did, don’t you know who?

Oh, Ettie, you were an awful flirt,

The idea of my being so pert!

But it’s the truth, dear, isn’t it, dove,

You must confess it as a love.

Poor old girl, how you must feel forlorn,

Now that sweet Teddie Thomson’s gone!

He was a darling little man,

But as dark as a frying pan.

(My revenge for the comparison of my Greek
adorer to a candle made of tallow.)

Just remember, at Mary’s party,

You nearly fainted, my hearty,

Then Teddie with a haggard face,

Bustled near you with a great deal of grace.

He ran for water, for Eau-de-Cologne,

And went right smartly through his besogne

Now, old girlie, I must bid you good-bye,

Really, duckie, ’tis not without a sigh!

Vava Galitzine.

CHAPTER III
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN SOCIETY

I was to be taken out in St. Petersburg for my first season, and presented at Court. How my heart palpitated at the idea of my first dance! I made my appearance in public in Kharkoff, at a ball given by the Count Sievers, the governor of the town. I am not afflicted with shyness, nevertheless I was seized with a sudden access of bashfulness on entering the ball-room, and feeling horribly uncomfortable with the big bouquet that my brother had given to me, I flung it on the floor in the ante-room. It was not long, however, before I was quite at my ease again, enjoying the ball enormously, and dancing to my heart’s content all through the evening.

I came to St. Petersburg full of happy hopes and expectations, and an eager desire to spread my wings in the wide world. It would be a delightful existence—every hour filled with enjoyment.

I plunged at once into all the gaieties of St. Petersburg society. Everything was so new and delightful to me! My first social appearance was at a great Court ball. I was brought out by my aunt, the Princess Kourakine, a lady of honour to the Empress. I had such a ravishing ball dress with a very long train. One of mamma’s friends had lent me a carved ivory fan of great value, which I dropped in the snow stepping out of the carriage. The fan lost some of its lustre, but what a dazzling lustre presented itself to my eyes when I entered the palace and mounted the splendid staircase lined with powdered footmen in gorgeous liveries. Everything was magnificent and I enjoyed the ball madly. I was not acquainted with a single soul in the place, nevertheless I became instantly surrounded by a circle of partners. I never amused myself so much before. The first dance over, my cavalier, a brilliant officer of the guards, piloted me through the ranks of dancers to the refreshment-room to get an ice. As we passed by the Emperor, who was engaged in a conversation with my Aunt Kourakine, His Majesty gazed at me fixedly and asked who I was. My aunt came over and led me to the Emperor and formally introduced me. His Majesty began by questioning me about myself, my home and my parents. I forgot to be frightened and answered without the slightest flutter of embarrassment, and we soon fell into a comfortable talk. The Emperor asked me if it was my first grown-up dance. “Oh, no, Sir, it’s my second one,” I announced proudly. The Emperor smiled and expressed his desire to see me henceforth at the Court balls. Perceiving my partner, who was trying to conceal himself behind a column, the Emperor asked me if it was my cavalier. “Oh, yes, Sir, and I am keeping him waiting such a long, long time,” I blurted out in one breath. It was indeed a dreadful breach of court etiquette, but I was so inexperienced in the ways of society that a transgression against Court laws appeared of little importance to me. The Emperor seemed much amused by my outspoken manner and said: “Well, go on dancing, I will not deprive you any longer of that pleasure.”

I returned home enchanted, and went to bed in a delirium, but I had had too exciting a night to find it easy to fall asleep.

Some days later, at a musical party, given by my uncle, the Prince Prosorowski-Galitzine, the master of the house said to me significantly, “Well, Vava, I congratulate you!” But he did not conclude his phrase, for mamma, who tried to preserve me from the intoxication of overpraise, made haste to change the subject of conversation. I was tortured with curiosity and got the whole story out of my cousins, the Prosorowskis, who told me that the Emperor at the fox-hunt had asked their father all about me and said a lot of flattering things, congratulating him on having such a niece.

The gaiety and the bustle of St. Petersburg life bewildered me. I went out a great deal, fluttering from amusement to amusement: balls, dinners, theatres, concerts, etc., etc. Unfortunately I couldn’t be in two places at the same time.

Papa took me to another Court ball, where I distinguished myself, making such a stupid blunder. Overheated by dancing, I was dying of thirst, and rushing up to a smart-looking individual, clad in bright red, I told him to bring me some iced lemonade, taking him for a Court official. He returned in about five minutes, closely followed by another personage arrayed likewise in red, who carried a tray, and making me a most refined bow, he named himself “Senator K⸺.” In an instant I had guessed the whole odious situation. I had made an awful mistake, having confounded a red-livered lackey with a senator. How could I have been so clumsy? It was a horribly awkward moment, and I thought I should die of shame. It was really very difficult to find something to say. Covered with confusion I blushed all over my face and muttered hastily some excuses, wanting the floor to open and swallow me up.

There was to be a grand fancy-dress ball at Court, in which I was invited to participate. It was to be one of the best things of the season, one of the eight marvels of the world. The Grand Duke Waldemar, representing the sun, was to open the cortège sitting in a triumphal car drawn by pages and surrounded by twelve sunbeams. I was designed to represent one of them. We were to follow the car in a semi-circle, the tall ones (I being one of the number) in the middle. I had the most bewitching costume that heart of girl could desire. It consisted of a Greek tunic in rose satin, draped on the shoulders with golden gauze; a small sun-dial on the top of my coiffure, powdered with golden powder, was to indicate the hour (mine pointed out six o’clock.) My costume was quite ready, and I gazed at myself in the looking-glass with rapture, arrayed in it. I was a good deal excited about this ball, and could think of nothing else, when suddenly came the tidings of the death of a prince belonging to the Prussian Imperial family, and the ball was put off. I was awfully disappointed and nearly cried my eyes out. I had looked forward to it so!

A love affair sprang up between me and the Prince of Montenegro, brother of the reigning prince of that country. We met for the first time at a ball at the French Embassy. The prince was astonishingly handsome, quite a show creature, looking very picturesque in his native costume, consisting of a white woollen skirt and a jacket with golden embroidery. There was an air of Veni, vidi, vici, about him. The prince was made much of in society; never was a man so run after. I was surrounded by a flood of partners when the prince came up, claiming a dance, but I had to refuse him, being already engaged. He was by no means discouraged, and established himself on the other side of my chair, and thus I found myself sitting between two devoted cavaliers. The prince danced divinely, and I waltzed with him pretty nearly all the evening. As the ball went on mamma, who found that my partners were becoming alarmingly enterprising, wanted to carry me off home at once, but a chorus of protestations arose from them, and I, too, began to implore mamma not to be obliged to leave the ball just when the fun was at its height. The prince added his entreaties to mine and gained the victory, taking me to supper. I never had a more entertaining neighbour. The prince had lived a great many years in Paris and spoke French perfectly. He was so clever, full of spirits and daring; in short he was a number of charming things, and I lost my heart a bit. The temptation to play with fire had seized me and I desired to prove my power to charm him. The prince lost no time in letting me see the impression I had made on him, and though he had the reputation of preferring the society of married women to that of young girls, I saw that he was inclined to enter into a flirtation with me. The champagne had warmed him up and he became very audacious. He slipped his hand under the table-cloth and our fingers touched and communicated fire. Meanwhile, a not very attractive damsel, deeply impressed by the prince’s good looks, was gazing at him with eyes of passionate adoration across the table. I noticed it to the prince, but he replied that as for himself, he had no eyes for anyone but me. And he had indeed very expressive eyes, the prince, and knew how to use them! I tried to keep a cool head during the siege of my admirer, but though I had been an iceberg, it was impossible for me not to thaw in his presence. My pulses quickened and I felt an odd little thrill of emotion, while my tell-tale eyes betrayed the truth and looked pleased. After the cotillon mamma took me reluctantly away. Whilst we were putting on our cloaks in the ante-room the prince appeared and came out in the cold to help us into our carriage, and pressing my hand to his lips, he begged permission to call on us the next day.

I was playing the piano frantically, absorbed in my performance of one of Chopin’s nocturnes, when the prince was announced, but mamma being out, I gave orders to tell him that there was nobody at home. The prince was a good deal nettled, and when I met him at a ball a few days afterwards, he greeted me somewhat chillingly, but I soon smoothed him down and we were good friends again.

The prince’s marked attention to me soon became the topic of much gossip. He was hit, I knew he was, and I, too, was not very far from being in love with him. At the end of the season the prince’s white skirt began to be slightly grizzly, and as I had remarkably sharp eyes and a tongue to match, I looked him over critically and declared that I would not dance with him until he had changed his skirt for a new one. Brazen girl that I was to say such shameless things!

We left St. Petersburg in February and came to Moscow for a few days to my grandmother Galitzine. I caught a bad cold on the way, and a doctor was hastily summoned: a fat little old man with a face like a wrinkled apple. He was so funny that I had an attack of laughter at the sight of him which he took for delirium. I had been allowed on that day to have my friend Mary Grekoff with me for an hour or two. She sat on the edge of my bed and we were both soon engaged in eating pounds of chocolate, which did not improve the state of my health, to be sure. Small wonder then that I got worse with every minute; my temperature rose alarmingly and I began to be delirious. My illness declared itself plainly, typhoid fever was the verdict pronounced by the doctor. The case was going to be an anxious one, and the chances were two to one against my recovery. The doctor said it would be well that mamma, who was almost distracted with anxiety and grief, should be prepared for the worst. I passed many sleepless nights tossing in my bed in a restless manner; at daybreak, when the windows were beginning to whiten, I listened with envy to the joyous “coquerico” of neighbouring cocks, who woke up gay and brisk after a good sleep, whilst I, poor thing, had not closed my eyes for many nights.

I sat up in bed, propped with pillows, and sobbed bitterly, moved to pity for myself. I was so unused to illness. Mamma, who slept in my room, came and sat by me and we had our cry together.

Feeling my end drawing nigh, I sent for a priest and received the Holy Sacrament. Soon after came the crisis. I suffered tortures that day, one could hear my shrieks two streets off. Gasping for breath I tried to bounce out of bed and had to be kept there by main force. Happily complications did not arise, my constitution triumphed, and by the mercy of heaven, life conquered death, and I was pronounced out of danger.

My convalescence was slow; I was laid up for six long weeks, coming round from my illness day by day, and nursed with much tenderness. As soon as all danger was over, the doctor permitted me to be transferred to Dolgik, though I was still weaker than a new-born babe—a mere shadow of my former self.

The wholesome country air put me quite on my legs again, my health was entirely restored, and I recovered my good looks and my spirits, but I had such a shock when I found all my hair had to come off; I was obliged to have it shaved after my illness. It did not hinder me, however from having three or four admirers here, waiting on my very words. One of my chief victims was Aksenoff, a chum of my brother’s, who was completing his studies at the University of Kharkoff that year. Aksenoff was not a bit the hero of my girlish dreams and had no chance whatever of attracting me; he was a clumsy, athletic-looking lad, with feet like fiddle-cases. Rough on the outside, but the best fellow in the world, he improved on close acquaintance. One could easily see that he was falling seriously in love with me in spite of my shaven head, covered, it is true, with a coquettish cap which suited me wonderfully. I seemed to him a pearl beyond price, and he spent all his time in gazing up at me as a unattainable star. He was my devoted slave in everything, following me about with a sort of dog-like fidelity. I could twist that giant round my little finger; he was as wax in my hands and would go through fire and water for my sake, but I was a very cruel girl, I delighted to torment my admirers and I only made a laughing-stock of Aksenoff, and began to order him about mercilessly. Enjoying to impress my sweet will upon the poor boy, I teased and tormented him atrociously. Had I not had plenty of victims already? Why should I want that poor boy to be tortured? But my desire for conquest was insatiable, I couldn’t leave a man alone.

We had a continual succession of guests in our house. In the middle of May there was a large party staying at Dolgik-castle, and Aksenoff was kept by me as usual in the background; he accompanied us in our excursions, carrying cloaks and umbrellas. I used him barbarously and abused my power over him. I was pitiless, making the most use possible of my willing slave, and invented many nasty tricks to annoy him. When we arranged dances in the evenings I sent him to gather roses in the garden, promising him, with my most winning smile, a waltz in recompense, whilst another partner carried me off in his arms from under his nose, leaving him standing there in great dismay. My simple-hearted lover had no suspicion that I was only fooling him, he went and picked the roses, and when he returned with an armful of flowers, I started him out again on the same errand, and the much-enduring Aksenoff went off crestfallen, with a face a yard long. One must allow, poor boy, that just then he happened to be supremely unattractive. When he came back this time, I flung off his roses and said with my most princess-like air, dropping into an armchair, that I was too tired to dance with him now. Seeing the look of suffering in his face, I thought that I had teased him enough for that evening, and coaxed him with some sweet words. Poor Aksenoff only heaved a sigh like a March-gale and looked at me with kind, forgiving eyes. He told me one day that the lines of his hand predicted him a short life, and his prediction was realised; soon after we heard of his death in Kharkoff, of smallpox.

CHAPTER IV
MY SECOND TRIP ABROAD

In order to recover entirely from the effects of my illness, the physicians sent me to Biarritz. I was taken abroad by mamma. Towards the latter end of July, travelling from Berlin there was a nice German lady with her niece in our compartment, and I was delighted with my new acquaintance, a girl of about my own age, ever ready for frolic and fun. As soon as the whistle of our train announced an approaching station, we hung our heads out of the window and exchanged glances with groups of German students, in red caps who promenaded on the platform, shouting to them: “Rothkapchen!” But as soon as they approached, our heads were hurriedly withdrawn.

We established ourselves in Biarritz at the delightful Hôtel d’Angleterre, full of English tourists. The outlook from our windows was splendid; in the distance came the incessant wash of the ocean, and at night, the murmur of the waves was a sweet lullaby soothing me to sleep.

On the first day of our arrival, at table-d’hôte, my eyes travelled round the table and noticed an attractive-looking English trio sitting opposite to us: Mr Delbruck, his son Alfred and his nephew Walter Heape, a fine, fresh-looking boy, with whom I made a nice little bit of flirtation during our stay in Biarritz. He was very much drawn towards me; I also entertained tender feelings towards him. (And what of the prince of Montenegro?) But, never mind the prince, he was far enough away, just then, anyhow!

In Biarritz you are next door to Spain and I longed to snatch a glimpse of that poetic country of fans, mantillas and serenades. The Delbrucks agreed to go with us to San-Sebastiano, a Spanish town near the frontier. We could easily go there and be back by dinner-time. We started at an early hour, half asleep all of us, but were soon cheered up as we came out into the freshness and crispness of the early morning.

As we passed the frontier, I was very much disappointed to see that the Spanish officials, walking on the platform, looked just the same as the French ones,—not a bit like opera Toreadors or Tradiavolos!

After a speedy breakfast at the London Hotel we loitered about the town of San-Sebastiano in a labyrinth of narrow streets, and mounted to the top of the citadel. The climb proved to be a long, hot and fatiguing one. Half way up we saw the monument of a German merchant who, after having become bankrupt, had thrown himself into the ocean from that spot. When we reached the citadel we went groping along silent passage-ways; the semi-darkness within began to provoke a disagreeable impression on me, especially when I perceived a ghastly face peep in at us through the bars of a dungeon window. The prisoner was beckoning to us, trying to explain by an expressive pantomime, that he was going to have his head cut off. I regarded him with eyes of terror and alarm and remarking my fright, the prisoner amused himself to increase it by shouting to me: “Señorita, escucha Vd!” (Listen to me Miss!) which I certainly declined to do, and hid myself behind the backs of my cavaliers.

We returned to the hotel thoroughly done up. After dinner, as we took our seats in the train carrying us back to Biarritz, an elderly Spaniard came in, cigar in mouth. He sat down and sent a dense cloud of horrid smoke right into our faces, making mamma feel faint. Noticing that, Mr. Delbruck requested our unpleasant fellow-traveller to stop smoking, but he only sneered, puffing away at his cigar.

The next day the Delbrucks proposed another expedition to the convent of the “Bernardines,” where the nuns took vows of perpetual silence. When we came within the enclosure of that monastery, situated near Bayonne, there was an ominous deep stillness around us. In passing through the garden we saw a group of nuns sitting in pairs under the trees, with their backs turned to each other reading their bréviaires. These poor cloistered women were draped in long white robes with a black cross embroidered on the back; an enormous hood covered their faces entirely.

Mamma, having enough of hotel life, began to look for a private villa, and I triumphed inwardly each time she did not come to a right understanding with the proprietors, for it did not suit me a bit to be separated from Walter Heape. But mamma made her choice at last, and before long we were installed in a pretty cottage called “Maison Monheau.” Happily the day of our removal coincided with the day of the departure of my English friends. Mr. Delbruck gave us a pressing invitation to come and have a grape-cure on his property, situated in the neighbourhood of Bordeaux. This suggestion was seized upon by the boys with enthusiasm; they promised me a warm reception and said they would do anything they could to make my visit a pleasant one, and painted me entrancing pictures of the good times they would give me; they could offer me fishing, a pony for me to ride, and other enticing things. For my part I thought it would be splendid fun, and the invitation was so tempting that I was ready to embrace Mr. Delbruck, but mamma declined it to my intense disappointment.

Towards the end of September we started on our homeward journey.

CHAPTER V
MY SECOND SEASON IN ST. PETERSBURG

I had again my heart’s desire. I was invited by my aunt, Swetchine, mamma’s sister, to spend the winter with her in St. Petersburg; I was in the seventh heaven of delight, nothing could please me better.

How pleasant it was to be in St. Petersburg again; I felt so self-dependent in it! It was my first taste of liberty; I was my own mistress at last, and I should have plenty of opportunity to spread my wings and see the world, of which I knew nothing, but expected everything. I had a chamber of my own and felt that I had never lived till now, it was simply a foretaste of Paradise.

I got on admirably with my cousin, Kate Swetchine, the most good-natured girl in the world; her sister, Sophy was much too serious for me. I had all my days free to do what I desired. Music became an actual passion to me; I practised the piano a good deal; Liszt being one of my favourite composers, I played his rhapsodies stormingly. I began also to study singing, and in spare moments wrote stupid verses, which all my admirers thought beautiful. That winter I raved about officers belonging to the horse-guard regiment, and dedicated to them an atrocious poem that I sang on the motive of L’Amour, the fashionable chansonette of the season.

A young engineer occupied an apartment in the house where we lived; our rooms communicated. My neighbour possessed a loud baritone voice and sang very improper songs for a young lady to hear. Though unacquainted, we chorused sometimes to each other, and when I sang my horse-guard chansonette, from my neighbour’s room came the most sonorous second.

A gentleman of quite different style, who was acutely sensitive to noise, lived side by side with our drawing-room; a stern, frozen-up human being, grey and wrinkled. When we were not behaving too quietly, he sent the maid to request us to moderate our gambols, but we were not in the habit of being silenced.

My singing mistress procured us tickets for the distribution of prizes in the St. Petersburg conservatory, where I attracted the attention of one of the professors, Mme. Everardi, who gave me an appreciative glance and said, pointing me out, “Look at this young lady, she is destined for the stage.”

I was enjoying the many pleasures St. Petersburg could offer, and was bombarded with invitations of every kind; people were asking me to dinners, dances and all sorts of delicious things. We came home at most eccentric hours, turning night into day. I liked the admiration I excited. As soon as I entered a ball-room, I became surrounded by a circle of partners, quarrelling with each other for the privilege of a dance with me. My ball-programme was soon scrawled all over; I mixed up my dancers and began to wonder how I could possibly manage six youths at once. They drew lots for the right of dancing with me, and as neither seemed inclined to give way, they would end by half tearing me to pieces between them. I danced nearly every dance with two partners, and how I danced, with all my soul in it, for I never did things by halves. Hot but indefatigable, I flew round the room, dancing as though I would never tire. My partners wanted to flirt with me in the intervals but I never gave them the time, keeping them whirling me round till they had not much breath left for talking. Towards the end of the evening my hair became untidy and my train torn to pieces, every scrap of trimming on it destroyed.

My admirers were of all ages, from mere boys to wrinkled greybeards. I received their attentions as a matter of course, and though I flirted with many men, I never really lost my heart to any of them.

A young officer appeared at last on my horizon, with whom I almost convinced myself that I was in love. He carried my photograph in a locket on his watch-chain, and brought me flowers and bonbons, and spoilt my appetite, making me eat lots of sweets before dinner. One day I scratched my finger with a pin; it was nothing but a simple scratch, but a drop of blood appeared and my chivalrous admirer tore his handkerchief instantly to pieces and bound up my wound. He preserved that rag, stained with my precious blood, as a sweet remembrance. Very touching indeed!

A general with lumbago, full of years and honours, who was looking about him for a wife, began to lay siege on me. I saw a great deal more of him than I wished to, and as I didn’t like to have that tiresome old man bothering after me, I often pretended to have a bad headache and went to my room. His company was too odious for words, he was dull as ditch water. This general got me alone one day, and proposed to me, saying that his hand, his heart and his purse were freely at my command. The idea of that old scarecrow indulging in matrimonial schemes! A husband of that sort would never do for me, and I gave him a brilliant rebuke. Distressed by my unreachableness, he disappeared from our horizon. I was so happy to be rid of him!

I took a walk between two and three every afternoon up the “Nevski Prospect,” a place of rendezvous with a number of my admirers. I came back one day from my walk with a terrible headache and throwing myself on my bed, I burst into a loud fit of hysterical laughter and weeping which terrified my cousins who stood beside me wringing their hands, and wanted to send the maid after the doctor, but my aunt, who came home at that moment, did something more practical: she stamped her foot and ordered me to stop instantly all that nonsense, otherwise she would countermand the dancing-party that was to take place that evening. My hysterical fit passed as if by magic; I recovered my self-control, and bounding to my feet in the liveliest manner, I began to prepare the dessert for our soirée.

The young men about me were very incendiary, a tiny spark thrown among them set them on fire. Stenger, one of my most ardent partners, a youth of about nineteen years of age, took a desperate fancy to me; when we danced together he held me in his arms so tightly I could hardly breathe, and as we swung round he murmured soft things into my willing ears. That boy managed to make his way into our house and found means to see me almost daily.

One beautiful frosty night we went out sledging to the Islands in the outskirts of St. Petersburg; we drove in troikas, wide sleighs drawn by three horses. It was very cold; I was quite frozen and rubbed my fingers, and Stenger, who sat opposite to me, slipped his hand into my muff, and under pretence of warming my hands, pressed them, almost crushing them in his grasp, but my aunt soon put a stop to this massage, saying that my muff would do the business much better. Stenger’s adoration was too bothering, and as I did not happen to be consumed with passion myself, I grew weary of it and lavished my attention upon Ofrossimoff, a very good-looking boy, a scholar of the Lyceum. Naturally, Stenger was full of bitter envy towards his successor, and strongly disapproved of him. I tried to pacify his jealousy, but it was not to be subdued and I made his eyes look angry very often. Stenger grew altogether impossible, and his fits of jealousy became disagreeably frequent of late. I scarcely had a moment alone with Ofrossimoff, Stenger resolutely determined not to let us sit together, and was always in our way and came and spoilt our talk. Wherever we went he turned up unexpectedly and looked upon us with suspicious eyes. I have never felt so watched, and mentally sent him to the antipodes, for I was always the same, with no idea of constancy; I simply tossed aside my admirers as an old glove, as soon as anybody more attractive turned up. For me that tiresome Stenger was already a broken toy; I did not wish to spend my time looking at him when I could spend it looking at Ofrossimoff.

Wanting to be rid of him at last, I made him understand, very clearly, that he was a bore, telling him, naughtily, there was no room for him here, and making him feel that three is an awkward number and that he was one too many; then Stenger fell upon me with reproaches, saying that I take all and give nothing, winning all hearts just because I myself had none, and that I was a monster in a woman’s shape to torture him so, a sort of vampire who sucked every drop of happiness out of him. He concluded by telling me that he had given away his heart to one who was utterly unworthy of it. I did not suspect that I was treading on such dangerous ground, but my aunt felt that we were going to have trouble with this too ardent youth; she was sure there was going to be a row. Had I pushed my game too far after all? I had never taken Stenger very seriously and began to feel uncomfortable.

One day when I was shamelessly flirting with Ofrossimoff, absorbed in each other we had forgotten the presence of Stenger, who came to us in a storming rage, his face a thunder cloud, and told Ofrossimoff he wouldn’t play second fiddle, nor submit any longer to a cat-and-mouse game, and also would not permit any other man to usurp his place, especially to such a baby not yet out of the school-room. (Ofrossimoff at that time was a moustachless youth and Stenger had already a slight shadow on his upper lip, of which he was immensely proud.) My aunt was right: there was a frantic personal affair between these two boys, and Ofrossimoff flaming angrily at Stenger’s insult, challenged him to a duel. That was a nice piece of work indeed! The two rivals were going to fight and all through me; they had already invited seconds. Happily the duel did not come off, Stenger was forced to apologise, but nevertheless I was now feeling myself to be a heroine, as for Ofrossimoff, he seemed to me to be as bold as a young lion, and went up twenty-five per cent in my estimation. I had a good scolding, nevertheless, from my aunt, who said I was a fearful little flirt, playing merry games with the affections of men. She accused me also of having given Stenger every encouragement, and said that I must do everything now to cure him of his infatuation and stop all this nonsense. Following her advice, I tried to be as frigid as a whole iceberg to poor Stenger, and told him he was a fool to break his heart for me, and that he must try and find another object for his affections. I hope now I had been unfriendly enough and had brought him to his senses; but it came to nothing, and his parents decided that the best thing was to get him out of my way and send him away from St. Petersburg; so they accompanied their “Benjamine” to the train, and after having installed him in the railway carriage, they returned home peacefully, far from the thought that in spite of his appearance of filial obedience, Stenger had conceived, beforehand, the audacious project of running away, and great was the amazement of the old couple, when their son reappeared that same day, declaring that decidedly he would not be separated from me.

Time went on with the most extraordinary rapidity; winter was over and my happy time at St. Petersburg came to an end all but too soon. I adored the place and a great many people in it, and having seen a little of the world and tasted of its pleasures and temptations, I was awfully sorry to leave this delightful life behind me, and to lose my independence. I wrote home entreating permission to prolong my stay; I would have given ten years of my life for a month more of St. Petersburg, but the answer had just come, and mamma said, “No.” I was delivered soon after to the care of my aunt Leon Galitzine, who volunteered to see me safe to Moscow; mamma would come and fetch me from there in a few days.

Before my departure I had a long conversation with Ofrossimoff; that silly boy actually proposed to me. In an amazingly sudden way he blurted out, with a voice which was eloquent of many things, how madly he loved me, and asked me if I’d marry him. I tried to turn all he said into a joke, and told him to put that ridiculous idea out of his head, for I couldn’t quite take him seriously, like a regular grown-up man. He was so disastrously young in fact, just turned nineteen. “Ah, that will remedy itself soon enough!” exclaimed my suitor, adding that he would wait for ten years if he were sure of getting me at last; and when I told him that love did not grow with waiting, he said that, as far as he was concerned, he promised me the devotion of a lifetime and a lot of other nonsense. Upon this we decided that we should wait for three or four years, and concluded a compact of eternal friendship. We parted with a lingering hand-shake and tender glances. There was a tear in the corner of my eye, for I did care for him in a way. But “out of sight, out of mind!” His face haunted me for some days, and in a week’s time I had forgotten the poor boy’s existence.

Mr. Swinine, a friend of my aunt Galitzine’s, greeted us cordially in Moscow, and offered us the hospitality of his splendid home, where everything spoke of wealth. The house was a veritable museum; all the rooms, of great height and good proportion, were furnished with every luxury, and filled with pictures of old masters and bronzes and antiquities of immense value. There was a painting of the utmost impropriety but it was covered with a veil during our stay.

Mr. Swinine was a very charming and courteous old gentleman, a real Grand Seigneur of the past generation, and a wonderful man for his age, light of step and young of spirit; there was nothing decrepit or infirm about him. The old beau, in spite of his eighty years, was a delightful host, and treated me with an old-world gallantry. His heart was not altogether withered, and in extraordinary circumstances he could even be moved. He felt a new sense of renewed youth in my presence, which heated his old blood; he told me that I seemed to have a talisman about me, and that he had never met a woman who could quicken his pulse like me. His face had the expression of a satyr and his little eyes twinkled merrily when he related to me a number of his feats and love-affairs of “auld lang syne.” He preserved, among other remote remembrances of by-gone days, a beautiful Indian shawl with which I was not a little surprised to see my bed covered; in his opinion I only was worthy of such an honour.

At the end of the week mamma rejoined us and carried me off.

CHAPTER VI
DOLGIK

During the summer manœuvres a squadron was quartered in our village. The chief, a provincial “lady killer,” with a face upon which high-thinking had never been expressed, was the possessor of a very inflammable heart; he fell a victim to my blue eyes, and it wouldn’t have been me if I hadn’t tried to get up a flirtation with him, though he was ridiculous to the highest degree, and saluted me so funnily, bringing his heels together with a snap. He used every means in his power to conquer me and made the most wonderful eyes at me; (when mamma was not looking of course). He began to be immensely sentimental and sang to me to a guitar accompaniment, old love songs, something very pleading and lamentable, with a burden of “I love thee so!” turning up his eyes a good deal as if he was in pain. He was not gifted with much perception of time and tune, my Troubadour, and I could hardly keep serious when he looked so doleful, with his hand pressed to his breast and his eyes devouring me with a passionate gaze.

I used to ride on horseback a great deal, accompanied by my sentimental officer. One day, whilst my white mare was galloping wildly across the open moors, my saddle unbuckled and I felt it turning with me; I slipt out of it and found myself sitting on the grass, unhurt, and was on my legs all right in a moment, having luckily disengaged my foot from the stirrup.

A few days afterwards I escaped from another danger. We were to take a drive in the woods that evening; Mr. K., a friend of my brothers, asked me to take him with me in my dog-cart. As I didn’t care particularly for his company, I contrived to put off our drive for some time and suggested a game of croquet. In the middle of our game Mr. K. uttered a piercing scream and fell down in a violent fit of epilepsy. I was dreadfully frightened and scrambled, without ceremony, over the fence of the croquet-ground. None of us had before suspected Mr. K. to be epileptic, and if I hadn’t delayed our drive, this attack would have happened in my dog-cart and the consequences might have been terribly disastrous. It makes me shudder when I think of it!

I went out driving one day with a dashing young officer, Count Podgoritchany, his sister Mary and my dolorous Troubadour. I was in a mood just then to do something foolish, and it struck me that it would be charming fun to take a ride astride on the horse which drove us, and thus, becoming deaf to Mary’s frantic remonstrance and casting dignity to the winds, I perched myself on our steed, who broke into a gallop, whilst my cavaliers ran by my side holding me steadily. That was certainly very unladylike and shocking of me!

We were near neighbours with the Podgoritchany’s, their estate is within a few miles from Dolgik. The young count was always devoted to me; he believed that we were destined for one another, and it was the hope of his life to make me his wife, but my heart was still entirely at my own disposal and I never gave him more than a passing thought, being hard to catch as a sunbeam. It wasn’t very fair, however, to keep him dangling after me like that if I didn’t mean that it should come to anything. One day, as I was practising one my favourite Chopin’s Etudes, the count came in and leant on the piano, his eyes dwelling upon me with a passionate expression; suddenly he seized my right hand and kissed it, whilst I played accords with my left one. I knew quite well what he was going to say. He implored me to marry him, but I had not yet made up my mind to part with my liberty and said “No” point blank, telling him he would have to get on as best he could without me. His face fell and he looked very miserable, my rejected lover, his matrimonial hopes being rudely shattered.

A wealthy country squire, the possessor of a fine adjoining estate, who had the reputation of being a very good catch, came to pay us a visit. I made no attempt whatever to show off my best points and made up my mind, on the contrary, to make a guy of myself, putting on my most unbecoming gown and dressing my hair unfashionably, so that he might see me at my worst. Our guest was all sentiment and poetry, his language was “music spoken,” and I responded by the most crude prose. He asked me at luncheon: “Mademoiselle aime les fleurs.” “Oh, non, monsieur, je préfère le jambon!” I answered, helping myself to a second portion of ham. Mamma looked very annoyed indeed at this unromantic turn of conversation.

I surely had not the vocation of a domestic paragon; when I poured out tea it was done the reverse of neatly, and the spotless teacloth was spotless no longer, for I poured more water on to it than into the cups, and mamma regretfully decided that I hadn’t got the right turn for housekeeping. My culinary efforts were also not to meet approval, and the cakes that I amused myself in baking, one day, were recognised, I am aggrieved to say, as not being fit to eat.

CHAPTER VII
IN ST. PETERSBURG AGAIN

My thoughts flew back constantly to St. Petersburg. Being a girl who had already tasted city life, it did not please me in the least to bury myself in the country, and I longed to mix with the gay world again. One day, an invitation came from my aunt Leon Galitzine, asking me to spend two or three months with them. That was indeed a piece of good fortune! What could be more exciting, more delicious! Visions of balls floated before my eyes and I simply danced with joy, meaning to amuse myself tremendously.

Mamma brought me to St. Petersburg and left me in charge of my aunt, who did all she could to make my stay pleasant. The vanities of the world took complete hold of me; I had a very gay season, being out nearly every night and dancing to my heart’s content with my band of last year’s admirers. Stenger continued to care for me as he did at first, and was more than ever my slave. Everywhere I went he would find out and go too, for he had a true heart, poor boy. I had such a thirst for pleasure that my evenings at home appeared awfully long; I found it dreadfully dreary and yawned in the most distressing fashion, sitting half-dozing in an armchair beside the fire, and constantly asking what time it was, having a most natural desire to go to bed.

I met many nice fellows of the corps des pages in the house of a great friend of mine, the countess Aline Hendrikoff, all chums of her brother’s. The boys were charming fellows and I flirted shamelessly with them. My more sedate admirers began to tease me about the way I caught mere babes into my net, they said that a chap of twenty was too old already to attract my attention. We really did have great fun at the Hendrikoffs and gave way to wild mirth, such a noise, such laughter! We played hide-and-seek and climbed on the top of cupboards, and when we girls were found, before tumbling down into the arms of the pages, we commanded them to turn their heads the other way and to shut their eyes tight, very tight. One evening we got up some tableaux-vivants in which I exhibited myself as Cleopatra the Egyptian queen, stretched at full length on a tiger skin and holding in my hand the fatal asp, artfully composed of green paper. I had to be just stung by it, but instead of simulating the agonies of death, I burst out laughing, to the scandal of the spectators. In the next tableau we represented a flock of woolly lambs, spread on all fours on the carpet, and wrapped up in our pelisses turned inside out.

By the end of April mamma came to take me home. I reluctantly left St. Petersburg and took a long farewell of my freedom.

CHAPTER VIII
THE CRIMEA

A totally unexpected stroke of luck was in store for me. My aunt, Zoe Zaroudny, who was going to spend a month in the Crimea with her two little daughters, offered to take me with her, promising mamma that I should be well looked after.

We travelled from Sebastopol to Jalta in a mail-coach. It was such a beautiful drive, but seemed all too short. I am not given to sentimental rhapsodies over the beauties of nature, nevertheless, I was very much impressed by the divinely lovely scenery. I had no end of a good time at Jalta and danced a great deal at the military club, making conquests by the dozen. Time flew rapidly and the date fixed for our departure drew near; it was a great misfortune for me that our stay was so short.

On the eve of our departure, I amused myself more than ever at the military club. At supper my cavaliers entreated me to arrange somehow or other not to leave Jalta next day. Mrs. S., a jolly middle-aged lady whose acquaintance I had just made that evening, offered to take charge of me and proposed to go instantly and persuade my aunt to let me stay with her a few weeks longer. I said “yes” on the impulse of the moment to Mrs. S., not stopping to think that I ought first to ask permission of my parents by telegraph. We set forth at once to our hotel under the escort of my partners. Daylight was beginning to break, and the ship which was to carry me away in a few hours had been brought up alongside of the pier, and our trunks were already buckled and sent off to the steamer.

Mrs. S. came up to my aunt’s bed, my cavaliers waiting at a respectful distance behind the door, and expressed her desire. My heart was beating wildly, I wondered what my aunt would say, would she let me stay, and I uttered a prayer inwardly for the happy issue of our request; poor aunt Zoe, who was sleeping soundly, awoke with a start and gazed perplexedly at Mrs. S., who pledged herself to mind me as her own bairn during my stay in Jalta, and promised to bring me back to Kharkoff in the autumn. Mrs. S. came out victorious and remained slumbering in an armchair till daylight, lest my aunt should alter her mind when wide awake, as for me I was too excited to go to bed at all. As soon as Mrs. S. went away, my aunt who seemed to have little faith in my power to look after myself, decided that she could not trust me out of her sight and leave me under the guardianship of an unknown chaperon, and went to ask another aunt of mine, a Princess Galitzine, who possessed a beautiful villa in Jalta, to look after me; but the Princess refused downright, unwilling to be responsible for my extravagances; she strongly disapproved of me, I believe, and said that I was just the sort of girl to make trouble. I did not want anyone to worry about me, I could take care of myself and get along all right, I should think, and wanted to be treated like a rational human being; I was eighteen after all, and a person of eighteen isn’t a child and doesn’t need a nurse. My aunt and cousins did all in their power to persuade me to return home with them, but I and reason had never marched together, and I remained firm in my intention to stay in Jalta.

I accompanied my aunt to the ship. After the first whistle she called to mind the old proverb saying: “Better late than never,” and unheeding the protests of the captain, she jumped into a boat wishing to carry me off, willing or unwilling; but the piercing shrill of the second whistle forced her to turn back speedily. My fate trembled in the balance as long as I was within my aunt’s reach, and I felt myself in utter security only when I lost sight of the ship completely.

It was done. I got my liberty and Mrs. S. was left sole guardian over me. I was so happy to go about alone, free as the mountain air. I might flirt with what men I pleased, and meant to make the most of my independence and to enjoy my free life thoroughly.

Mrs. S. was the most convenient of chaperons, very complying indeed. I danced and rode and picnicked to my heart’s content. It was all rather dangerous for a girl of my age and temperament, and with all that, I was absolutely without knowledge or experience of the world, exposed to all the temptations of a modern sea-bathing place. One began to gossip on my account and to say nasty things of me, but it did not affect me in the least. I was doing no harm and was happy—why couldn’t people leave me alone?

I had a great number of admirers, an old admiral over seventy years old among them. My charms had captivated his elderly fancy, and his old heart caught fire. This “Methuselah” was an old silly about me and spent his time in making love to me as any “Romeo” of twenty. My company had for him the fascination of the forbidden fruit, but I was not at all ready to play “May” to his “January,” and was afraid even to shake hands with that ancient Marionette, for fear he’d fall to pieces.

The Princess Troubetzkoy invited me one day to come and dine with her in her beautiful villa, situated a few miles from Jalta. My old admiral offered to take me in his brougham, but being a trifle afraid of him I would not consent at first, remembering his atrocious behaviour, when he arranged to see me home and drove me one night from the military club. I suddenly felt an arm steal about my waist in the dark, and that old wretch lent close over me and wanted to embrace me. “May I give you a kiss, just only one?” said that disgusting old man, looking at me as if he would like to eat me, and licking his lips in the anticipation of that pleasure. “Certainly not!” I shrieked emphatically, wrenching myself free and ordering him to keep his hands off. But he reiterated his demand saying that it could not matter, for he was so old and his kiss wouldn’t leave any trace on me, as for him, it would transport him into “Paradise.” Horrible old man! And, notwithstanding all that I accepted the admiral’s offer, hoping that he would conduct himself better in daylight; nevertheless I stepped into his carriage with a vague feeling of uneasiness. It was the most horrid ride I had ever had. At first we conversed by fits and starts, for my cavalier was as deaf as a door-post, and I had to scream very loud into his ear; it had its good points, for I could make my reflections aloud and call him a lot of bad names. Unfortunately that day the admiral was in an alarmingly amiable frame of mind and more inflammable than ever. I found his manner anything but reassuring, and began to be vaguely uneasy at the sight of the nasty face he turned towards me, looking at me with eyes that made me wish myself well out of his carriage. He sat inconveniently close beside me, and I got as far from him as the carriage allowed.

As soon as we were out of town, his quick small eyes roved in all directions, and having satisfied himself that there was no one to see us, he became enterprising, and grew every minute more and more amorous. His sentiments were rather thinly veiled, and I knew what he was driving at. All at once, before I had time to do so much as think of resistance, he pushed back my sleeve and ran up my arm with his horrid old lips as far as he could reach, whispering in a hissing voice that I was a tempting morsel, and that he adored me. I was absolutely disgusted, but what could I do then but turn upon him with flashing eyes, trying to make him ashamed before his coachman, but the fact was that he too was as deaf as his master. It was a most unfair advantage, and I told him so, adding that he was a brute and that I hated him, and that if he didn’t leave me alone at once, I should jump out of his carriage. I was a fiery girl, and had at that moment a ferocious desire to box his ears, but happily by that time the brougham was stopping before the Villa Troubetzkoy. I gave a great sigh of relief. Thank heaven we had arrived! It had the effect of chilling my “Methuselah’s” emotions, and making him recover himself quickly. In parting with my old cavalier I treated him with the contempt he deserved, dropping his outstretched hand like a hot coal, and declaring to him, with my chin in the air, that I was not going to have anything more to do with him, and that henceforth I would not permit him even to kiss the tips of my fingers. After that I ran away, feeling like a nymph flying from a satyr. I certainly didn’t want to trust myself alone with that admiral again; he never forgave me for it, and I looked the other way when I used to meet him.

We continued to lead a very gay life. Dances, picnics, rides, were in full swing. In the midst of most delightful people and amusement I was quite happy, and far from imagining that my horizon was not clear, and that my happy time at Jalta was coming to an end all but too soon. One fine morning we were all assembled on the pier to watch the mail boat coming in, chatting away gaily, when suddenly I heard a sharp voice calling me by my name. I turned round, and was amazed to behold amongst the passengers my mother’s sour-faced maid, Mary—a terrible creature who had lived with us ever since I was a baby. She announced that my parents would not have me staying in Jalta by myself any longer, and had sent her to fetch me, insisting on my immediate return. I was never so overwhelmed in my life, and quite furious at being packed back home in disgrace. My wings were clipped, my freedom lost! When I got into my room I locked myself in and spent an hour weeping passionately.

Of course, I had to obey my duenna, and the following day started homewards with her.

Well, it was a pretty home-coming! I had expected a scolding under the paternal roof, and got a sound one.

CHAPTER IX
WINTER IN ST. PETERSBURG

To my great delight mamma decided to pass the winter in St. Petersburg. I was enchanted to meet my pages again. We contrived to encounter everywhere. One evening I went to the circus accompanied by my aunt, the Princess Koudasheff, as chaperon. Entering the circus I looked round for my young cavaliers who waited for me at the appointed place of meeting. On our right was an empty box; I signalled to them, and they stepped into it, appropriating it in spite of the energetic protestations of the circus grooms. I enjoyed my pages neighbourhood immensely; we were all of us in buoyant spirits and became wildly gay. I declared suddenly that I should like something to drink, and my worthy aunt, who was propriety incarnate, looked horribly shocked when the pages began to uncork a bottle of lemonade, apprehending that the spectators would take my innocent beverage for champagne.

Princess Mimi Troubetzkoy, a jolly playmate of my childhood, came to pass Christmas in St. Petersburg. We were both glad to be together again, having known one another from infancy, we had many interests and tastes in common. Mimi was such a dear, delightful girl, and we had an uncommonly good time together. In our daily walks we used to meet a handsome, blustering officer, who managed to give us a good stare each time we passed him in the street. We decided one day, Mimi and I, to fling a pelot-balloon in order to know which of us attracted his attention, and crossed to the other side of the street. Mimi went on the left and I on the right side, and oh, triumph!—our follower came after me. I was very flattered, and rejoiced at my victory over Mimi. Her companion, a charming old lady who had once been governess to her, seeing that the affair was taking a serious turn, hurried us off home. That officer had been extremely useful to me one frosty day; he picked me up when I stretched myself at full length on the slippery pavement, and profiting by the opportunity, he murmured sotto voce compliments into my willing ear.

A young official, Mr. Ladigenski, occupied an apartment adjoining our drawing-room. One evening, recalling with Mimi the old school-room days, we played hide and seek, and profiting by the absence of our neighbour, I hid myself in his bedchamber; Mimi having found me, we began to examine with much curiosity the frivolous pictures that adorned the walls of his bachelor apartment, which was indeed very improper in us. What would Ladigenski have thought of us if he had caught us in his room? He paid us a visit a few days afterwards, and I decided at the first sight that our neighbour was not nice at all; I could even by no stretch of imagination find him passable. He looked moth-eaten, and was quite too old for my taste—thirty at least. He came nearly every day to see us, entering our drawing-room, a bouquet in one hand and a box of bonbons in the other. It was evident that he took more than an ordinary interest in me, but I took none in him, however. Nevertheless, in a very short time he became a nearly acknowledged suitor, forgetting that in questions of marriage there are two people to be considered. Ladigenski was looked upon as an exceedingly promising young man, and was spoken of by indefatigable matchmakers as a suitable marriage for me; they said I would be an idiot if I refused him. Horrid, meddling old cats! As a simple acquaintance he was well enough, but could I accept the love of such a one? I didn’t want to marry him, I didn’t want to marry anyone! The time for that sort of thing had not come, and the right man hadn’t yet arrived. I should surely have to marry one day, but the later the better, for I hadn’t got the solid domestic virtues which one wants in a wife, besides I was in no hurry to give up my freedom.

Most people think that marriage is the sole aim of a girl’s life, but I chose to differ from them, for I despised a girl who sold herself for gold, and as for me, I was not to be appropriated against my will, certainly. I began to hate Ladigenski with some intensity, and had made up my mind I shouldn’t marry him even if we two happened to be shipwrecked on a desert island.

I was always alarmed when my love affairs seemed to be approaching matrimonial engagements, and hated all the men who were in the mood for marriage. I knew just when to draw the line when they wanted to propose to me, and managed to keep my suitors sufficiently at a distance to prevent any of them from making an offer. It was now the case with poor Ladigenski; his chances were very small indeed, the warmer his manner became, the more I froze. If he had eyes in his head he ought to have seen how I detested him, but he was not a man to take a hint, and the deprecating glances I threw in his direction met with no visible acknowledgment, and he could hardly be made to understand that his company was an intrusion. I grew deadly sick of my unwelcome suitor, who was becoming the nightmare of my life. The sight of his face acted on me as an ice-cold shower bath, but he continued to force his hateful attentions upon me, and was not easy to break with.

The moment for decisive action had arrived; I felt that I must put an end to all this business once for all and take measures to suppress him. As my rebuffs had not the slightest effect upon him I planned an experiment to cure him of his passion swiftly. I knew that he could hear every word pronounced in our drawing-room, and I addressed myself to an imaginary interlocutor, making disastrous revelation of my sentiments towards our neighbour. “I find Ladigenski perfectly horrid,” I said in a very loud voice, with a very strong accent on horrid, and put on the crowning touch in saying that his whole aspect was disgusting, a positive eye-torture. It was candid at any rate. This little manœuvre proved perfectly successful, and my purpose was attained. For several days after that we saw nothing of Ladigenski, and I rejoiced in his absence. But soon things took another turn. Money had become scarce of late, and my parents found their pecuniary difficulties increasing. I had to make up my mind to a quieter life, so I decided to marry the first decently marriageable man who should come my way, and after mature reflections I came to the conclusion that Ladigenski was to be called back again, and that I must make it right with him. I had been too hot-headed for a dowerless girl like me, and was determined to mend matters roughly.

The important thing just then was that I should recover ground with Ladigenski, which I had evidently lost. I would have given worlds to have undone what I had done. Ladigenski had not actually said anything that I could take as an offer of marriage, but he had gone very near it, and being on the point of proposing to me, if he was to speak now it would be something definite, and so I decided to give him hope and encouragement. I sat down and wrote a letter in which I expressed regret in being deprived of his society and told him that he was to forget the stupid proceedings of my monologue, invented to tease him, and made him understand that I was ready now to accept his offer. I enclosed my note in a book that Ladigenski had lent me and sent it with our maid Olga. I waited in a fever of impatience for his answer, desperately afraid lest my letter had not safely reached its destination. Suppose mamma should catch Olga in the corridor and discover my letter! At last Olga came back with the answer. With fingers trembling I broke open the envelope and read the following phrase: “It does not suit me to be trifled with any longer, so please forget all about me.” Oh, the shame, the humiliation experienced by me! And just at that moment, to my horror, I heard mamma asking Ladigenski, through the wall of our room, to come and dine with us at the restaurant.

How on earth could I face him? My only hope was that he would refuse, but he answered that he would be delighted to come. What was I to do? I could not plead a sudden indisposition, mamma wouldn’t believe it, for I was so distressingly healthy in appearance. Small wonder then that my heart sank within me when Ladigenski came walking into the restaurant, clean-shaven, a white gardenia in his buttonhole. I was in the most awfully awkward position, and felt upon thorns all through dinner. Ladigenski settled himself beside me, perfectly at his ease; his voice was as usual cool and quiet, but I could not pluck up courage to look at him, and steadily refused to meet his eyes, assuming a wooden expression, and remained tongue-tied, giving my whole attention to the contents of my plate, with a longing to crawl under the table.

After dinner Ladigenski invited himself to come and take tea with us, but I received him very ungraciously, being in a very beastly humour, and did not attempt to conceal my vexation in having to endure his presence. I made myself as disagreeable as possible, and answered him in monosyllables, glancing nervously from time to time at the clock on the mantlepiece, but he showed no inclination to rise, and would not leave my side. I sent him mentally to Lucifer, that little abomination! Mamma, rather surprised at my want of courtesy, was engaged all through the evening in the serious business of keeping our guest in a good temper. Losing my patience at last I went to bed demonstratively, leaving Ladigenski alone with mamma. I was sure that I had shown him clearly enough that I did not want to have anything more to do with him. It was the last time I saw his face. He went away the next day, bag and baggage, without even saying good-bye. So much the better; I did not miss my departed admirer, he might have gone to Jericho for all I cared.

We came back to Dolgik at Easter but for a short while, for my Aunt Staritzki, mamma’s sister, who lived in Tiflis, the capital of the Caucasus, invited us to come and spend some time with her.

CHAPTER X
THE CAUCASUS

We went to Tiflis towards the middle of May. On the way I made the acquaintance of two cadets of the corps des pages, grandsons of the Shah of Persia. The youngest prince, Rouknadine-Mirza, a charming chap with exquisite oriental eyes, took particularly my fancy. He had already fallen a little under my spell, and I looked upon him as a kind of blessed invention for my entertainment on this trip. As for his eldest brother, he seemed to be of rather a quiet disposition, and I did not care a rap for him.

It was almost dark when we reached Tiflis. The Staritzkis received us in the friendliest way. We were also kindly greeted by my aunt, Nathalie Roerberg, the wife of the Chief of the Military Engineers of the Caucasus. She wanted me to come and see her just as often as I could. I can’t say how good and kind she was, we got on admirably.

It became my favourite pastime to watch through the iron-barred gate of the Roerbergs’ garden, opening on the summer-theatre, the endless string of people promenading between the acts. My guilty curiosity was noticed by an elegant swell, whom I saw staring and making eyes at me. I met him a few days afterwards at a dancing party in the casino. He was quick to seize the chance of talking to me and exclaimed, “How happy I am to meet you! I have desired it so tremendously!” Impudent fellow! As I was not a bit disposed to be gracious to him I stopped his effusions, turning my back pointedly. When I met that brazen-faced individual after that in the streets, he raised his hat in vain to me; I pretended not to perceive him.

I found a jolly companion in the person of my cousin Nathaly Staritzki. One evening we went to see La Traviata sung in Armenian, which rather disagreed with Italian music. Nathaly was, like me, easily moved to laughter. As the opera proceeded we became more and more hilarious, and our behaviour was such that caused many disapproving glances to be cast in our direction. At the most pathetic moment, when the prima-donna breathed her last breath, we ran out of our box, putting our handkerchiefs to our mouths and overturning the chairs on our passage.

I used to see a great deal of the Persian princes; Rouknadine-Mirza was rapidly losing his heart to me. One day we went out riding together, and whilst our horses were galloping at full speed, the idea came to me to make my page gather a wild flower growing in the grass. He managed to do it, but during that acrobatic exercise his casque rolled off, and instead of treating him commiseratingly I only snubbed him for his pains.

Horsemanship was my ruling passion. I easily found partners to accompany me in my rides, and careered through the streets of Tiflis, followed by my cavaliers, enjoying to overtake them like a cyclone. I cantered home in high spirits, with a heated face and my hair coming down, most of it outside my cap, not in it. I frequently brought my cavaliers home to tea, and if they didn’t happen to be particularly interesting, I proceeded straight to bed, and the Staritzkis had to sit with my guests and entertain them as best they could, whilst I slept the sleep of the just.

One day, in turning over an album, I came upon a photograph the sight of which made me exclaim: “Oh, who is that good-looking officer?” “That is Serge Michailovitch Doukhovskoy, a young general attached to the person of the Grand-Duke Michael, commander-in-chief of the army of the Caucasus,” said my aunt Roerberg. She told me that he was the youngest general in the Russian army, being only six-and-thirty years old, that he had a splendid career before him, and was in short everything desirable; she added that now I had a capital opportunity of making a brilliant match, and that I must spread my net to catch that big fish and set immediately to work to captivate him. That was enough to set me against the general; there was something very distasteful in the idea of such a marriage, and I was not at all willing to sacrifice my youth to the advantage of rank and money.

When first General Doukhovskoy was introduced to me I was slightly disappointed; he was so reserved in manner and did not condescend to take much notice of me, a method of treatment to which I was not accustomed, being brought up with the idea that I was to be petted and bowed down to by men; I had been adored all my young life and this indifference stung my vanity. I was far from the idea of falling in love with General Doukhovskoy, nevertheless I was annoyed by the coolness with which he regarded me; admiration was my daily bread, he failed to offer it to me and that instantly aroused in me an intention of making him display some interest in me. Serge Michailovitch was quite unlike all the men I had ever met before, he was immovable as a stone, and didn’t look like the sort of man whose head could be easily turned, and would surely never become a girl’s plaything. Nevertheless there was something which drew me towards him, and day by day he got hold of me and I meant to win his heart if it only could be done. All my passing fancies only kindled the spark that was to burn for another man’s benefit. But why, oh why, was this iceberg of a human being incapable of understanding? He was so queer; I did not know how to manage him; it was impossible to draw him into the mildest flirtation, we were on the polite conversation footing, nothing else.

In mid-June I was left all of a sudden on my aunt Roerberg’s hands. Mamma started off for Russia for a few weeks, and the Staritzkis went to Beloy-Kloutch, their summer residence, and as I did not like to leave Serge Michailovitch behind, I preferred to remain in Tiflis. Day by day the general’s visits grew more frequent. One evening he got up a picnic in his garden to which he invited us. Whilst we had tea laid under the trees, I remarked that a change was coming over our host; he seemed in a boyish mood, and altogether forgetful of his usual careful correctness, and put aside all his reserve; he lay at my feet and tickled my cheek with a blade of grass. This was the hour of my triumph! I caught his eyes and they said quite plainly “I like you.” Could he be catching fire at last? I saw now that I was not wholly indifferent to him; he was looking at me with new eyes, the eyes of an awakened sleeper. Was it the awakening germ of some deeper feeling, perhaps? In parting he squeezed my hand and held it in his for a few seconds longer than the conventions allowed. Every day drew me closer to Serge Michailovitch; the more I saw him, the more my affection deepened, and I soon found that he was for me the dearest of created beings.

The heat in Tiflis was very trying, there was scarcely air enough to breathe, and my aunt decided to go to Borjom, the summer residence of the Grand-Duke Michael, a delightful watering-place buried in verdure and surrounded by mountains covered with thick forests. Serge Michailovitch came round occasionally to see how we got on. I looked forward eagerly to his visits; his society became very dear to me for he succeeded in winning my love; my heart had spoken at last and I was sensible of the tremendous power he exercised over me. I was beginning to know that I too, had a little power over him. Serge Michailovitch appeared so pleased when he saw me; his hand trembled when it touched mine. His affection seemed to rise with extraordinary rapidity from zero to boiling point, and it was whispered that General Doukhovskoy had serious views towards me; my aunt with her all-seeing eyes had perceived for some time already the turn events had taken.

In July the general had to go to Russia for a short time; On the eve of his departure he came to Borjom. That evening altered the course of my life. He managed to get me away from the others on the terrace; we were so happy to be left alone and drew closer to each other, watching the glow-worms’ fairy lamps amidst the shrubs below. For some time there was no conversation between us, but there was no need for words, we looked into each other’s eyes and found that one can kiss even with looks. Suddenly Serge Michailovitch bent over me, his face drawn with emotion, and asked me if I cared for him a little bit? The moment was decisive; my head dropped on my arms on the table and tears were my only answer. I felt assured of one thing now, that he loved me; yet, what had he said to me? Nothing and yet everything!

On the next day, when Serge Michailovitch came to bid us good-bye, he seemed quite altered; he was changed altogether, exceedingly cool and formal in his manner to me, his greeting was gravely courteous, that was all. What was this sudden change in him, in voice and eyes? His entirely incomprehensible attitude made me horribly unhappy; had he changed his mind at the last moment? All through his visit he maintained his air of frigid reserve; he was so cold that he froze me. An icy feeling crept over me and I suddenly had the sensation of being a great way off from him. I could not help feeling hurt and wounded and struggled hard to keep the tears from my eyes; not for worlds would I have appeared disappointed. Serge Michailovitch went away saying good-bye frigidly, and we parted upon very cold terms. When he had gone, I missed him more than I could have imagined possible; his face haunted my dreams and my waking, and I thought of him the first thing in the morning, the last thing at night. I see now that I didn’t know what love meant until I met Serge Michailovitch. How I longed for his first letter, but the days slipped away without a word or sign from him. I was so horribly disappointed and tortured with doubt. Had he forgotten then all about me? I began to feel extremely uncomfortable, seeing him slipping away from me and wished I had not let him go.

I could bear it no longer and wrote a volume to him, telling him I wanted him to cheer me up, and that I was looking forward impatiently to seeing him soon. Day by day I waited for his answer; at last the post brought me a letter from him. I tore the envelope open, with trembling hands and scarlet cheeks, but there was nothing in it to gladden my longing eyes or to fill my empty heart. His letter was short and scrappy, with no words of endearment; it might have been written to a sister. He told me so little about himself, and hardly anything at all about myself, and addressed me in such a formal way, ending his letter with sincere regards to me. (I hated sincere regards)!

I continued to be quite in the dark as to his plans for the future and didn’t like at all to be fed upon chance scraps, I wanted a whole bone. I don’t know when in all my life I had been more vexed and had shed such hot passionate tears; but pride arose, forbidding my heart to ache for the loss of his love. What was the use of crying my eyes out? I was determined to forget Serge Michailovitch, putting him as much as possible out of my thoughts and passing a sponge over our love affair. To keep my spirits up, I rushed into all sorts of adventures, exposing myself to ill-natured comments. People began to say nasty things of me, and my aunt Roerberg implored me to put a stop to my disgraceful flirtations, warning me that the talk would reach the ears of Serge Michailovitch. She tried to excuse his conduct in my eyes and said that, as his experiences were much wider than mine, he was more cool-headed, and knew what he was about, therefore he could not act inconsiderately in such a serious matter as marriage. Yes, but as for me, being prompt and vivacious I hated delays, and could not possibly just take time and think things over like him, I can’t. I can’t stop and wait!

I continued to wear a steel armour over my heart, and I now spent much of my time out of doors, riding. Serge Michailovitch had permitted me, during his absence, to mount his lovely arab, a young and spirited horse who proved sufficiently troublesome the first time I mounted him. I had to spring hastily into my saddle, the horse gave a bound when the groom left his head, and set off galloping like the wind. My hand was nearly dislocated with the strain of holding him; I succeeded in managing my fiery steed and brought him to a stand-still before a villa inhabited by Mrs. Blicks, a charming lady whom I knew only by sight. She happened to be on her balcony just then, and invited me to dismount, in order to recover myself from my fright. My wrist was aching a good deal and had begun to swell. After Mrs. Blicks had bound it up, I remounted my arab who behaved perfectly well on our way home. After my first break-neck ride I succeeded to be mistress of my horse; he went like a lamb now, and I felt as much at home on his back as in a rocking-chair.

I liked Mrs. Blicks and her two daughters very much, and often dropped in for a chat. I met in their house two school-boys, a prince and a simple mortal. I kept the prince in the background and displayed a marked preference for the simple mortal, welcoming him as a relief to threatened monotony. There was nothing particularly entrancing in him, but he was still better than no lover at all, and I began to flirt with him until he was half mad. We wandered away from the others on every available occasion, and sauntered together into the park; he drew my arm within his and pressed it tenderly to his heart, whilst our eyes met, speaking volumes. In that moment we seemed very much in love with one another, and wanted to put off as long as possible getting back home. I took a fancy, one day, on visiting Mrs. Blicks, to stimulate a fainting-fit. I lay at full length on a low sofa, wrapped up in a loose white dressing-gown belonging to Mrs. Blicks, whilst my affrighted school-boys made a great fuss over me; they bathed my temples with eau-de-cologne and put a bottle of sal-volatile under my nose. I took delight in prolonging that mystification as long as I could, surveying them out of the corners of my half-closed eyes.

Though it was only September, the weather suddenly turned cold and wet; the sky was low and grey, a gusty wind was driving the fallen leaves across the park. We decided to return to Tiflis; mamma was back already from Russia, and soon after I heard that Serge Michailovitch had come also.