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.