KHABAROVSK
Our life went on much as usual. I have just come back, and the longing
for St. Petersburg overcame me already. The weather is horrid. The rain
beats against the window-panes. Pressing my face against the glass, I
looked at the Amour, black and tempestuous, and my nerves began to give
way. Oh, I do want to go back to Russia so badly!
There has been a great inundation at Nikolaievsk, caused by the diluvian
rains which had filled the Amour to overflowing. The streets were
transformed into torrents, and many houses are completely ruined by the
flood. The corn in the fields, the wood for fuel—all has been carried
away by the water.
Tigers have appeared in the neighbourhood of Khabarovsk. They come at
night, travelling long distances from inland to drink; their roar is
heard some miles around. Quite recently a man-eating tiger had devoured
a soldier who was washing his linen on the banks of the Amour. Only his
head and a few bones were found. A hunt has been organised, and several
tigers were shot near Khabarovsk.
Tifountai, the rich Chinese merchant, introduced his new wife to me. He
had brought her recently from Shanghai. She advanced slowly towards me on
her deformed little feet, supported by her husband, gorgeously dressed in
brocade silks and covered with jewels. She had a quantity of paint put on
her face, which bore an expression of idleness and ennui.
The brother of the late Queen of Corea, who had been murdered by her
subjects, passed through Khabarovsk on his way to St. Petersburg, where
he went to ask the Emperor to take under his protection and ensure the
safety of the King of Corea, who was hiding at the Russian mission at
Seoul, the capital of Corea. We gave a grand dinner to this important
personage.
I began to learn the English concertina. Sergy has ordered one from
London for me. I took a great liking to this melodious instrument, on
which all the musical literature written for the violin can be produced.
I now play the mandolin only in my spare moments.
In April Sergy went on a tour through Siberia; he visited Kamtchatka
and the island of Saghalien, to which the Russian government transports
convicts. He will be away a month at least, and I shall miss him
terribly. A month is such a long time to wait. In his absence I remained
in complete seclusion, refusing myself to callers.
On the 6th May, the Emperor’s namesday, Sergy landed at Petropavlovsk,
the capital of Kamtchatka, with only 400 inhabitants in it. There was
still snow on the ground in this polar region, and the breaking of ice
had not yet commenced. Visitors are quite unknown in this desolate place,
and Sergy’s arrival created the greatest excitement, nothing like it
had been known for years. There, in far off Kamtchatka, the inhabitants
don’t hear much of what happens in the world. All the town was upside
down. That same day the population of Petropavlovsk celebrated the
second centenary of the occupation of the territory of Kamtchatka by
the Russians. After stepping on shore, Sergy and his suite were driven
to the cathedral to hear mass, in sleighs drawn by a team of dogs, who
barked and made a terrible noise during the service. Before the arrival
of my husband the inhabitants of that dreary, God-forsaken place were
as if cut off from everything, and had no communication whatever with
the outer world for several months. Whilst the authorities of the town
were presented to my husband, they asked in the first place what day it
was—they had confounded the dates—and then inquired if the Empress had
not given birth to an heir to the throne. When Sergy told the magistrates
that it was high time to join Petropavlovsk by telegraphic cable with the
other parts of the world, they replied that they had done perfectly well
without any telegraph, and would continue to do without it. Some time
before, an officer had been sent by my husband to teach the inhabitants
of Petropavlovsk target-shooting. In the first place they asked their
teacher if he could hit the eye of a sable at three hundred paces with
his gun, and the officer replied that he couldn’t. “Then we have nothing
to learn from you,” exclaimed his unsubmissive pupils, “for we never miss
our aim even with our old-fashioned guns!”
From Kamtchatka Sergy went to the Commander Islands, where a number of
seals were caught in his presence. It is the only spot in the world where
seals gather in masses in summer; in winter they emigrate to the South
Pole.
On his way back Sergy was overtaken by a terrible storm in the Sea of
Okhotsk. His steamer arrived at Vladivostock covered with ice.
In August my husband made a second long voyage beyond the Baikal Lake.
Since his departure I have not known an hour of peace. I followed him
in my thoughts through the washed-away roads by a recent flood. The
streams had become rivers, bridges had been carried far away by the rush
of the waters; the horses harnessed to Sergy’s carriage had to ford
the river with water up to their knees. For a fortnight I had no news
of my husband; the telegraph didn’t work and the postal communications
were interrupted. One afternoon that I was especially out of sorts, I
had a telegram from Antoine Kontski, asking if he might come with his
wife and spend a few days with us on their return journey to Europe.
Though I didn’t feel able in the present to enjoy anybody’s society, I
proposed to them, nevertheless, to stop at our house. I never left my
bedroom during their stay pleading indisposition. Mrs. Kontski came up
to keep me company; as to her husband I only saw him on the day of his
departure, when he came to bid me good-bye. Before leaving he played for
me his famous _Réveil du Lion_. I had all the doors opened, and I could
hear the piano plainly. It was refreshing to hear good music after having
been deprived of it so long. Kontski gave three concerts during his stay
at Khabarovsk, with immense success. When his evenings were unoccupied
the old mæstro was deeply engrossed in a game of chess with his wife, or
played patience.
The chief of the Japanese army, Viscount Kawakami, who belonged to the
small number of Japs well disposed to Russia, came to Khabarovsk during
Sergy’s absence and dropped a card for me.
Oh, joy! At last my husband announced his arrival by wire. He was to
arrive on board the _Ataman_, on the 23rd August, towards six o’clock in
the evening. I sat on the window-sill watching for the longed-for ship,
and looked at the clock every three minutes, but it did not make it go
any faster, nor would sitting at the window make Sergy arrive the sooner.
The dinner hour came, and still there was no sign of my husband. I began
to be seriously anxious; perhaps something might have happened to him!
Eleven, twelve o’clock struck, but Sergy did not come. I wandered about
the room unable to rest, and went from one window to the other, imitating
a wild beast in his cage. At last, after seven mortal hours of watch, I
saw a bright spot advancing on the “Amour.” It was the _Ataman_ bringing
back my husband! A slight damage to the boat was the cause of her long
delay. And thus, Sergy has gone all over the vast territory of the Amour,
from the Commander Islands to the Lake Baikal, having travelled about
eight thousand miles.
A great event occurred, the completion of the new railway-line between
Khabarovsk and Vladivostock. My husband went by an express-train, about
eight miles beyond Khabarovsk, to the station “Doukhovskaia,” named thus
in our honour. Another train arrived at the same time, bringing among
other authorities Count Permodan, the French military agent at Pekin.
Several hundred workmen were hurrying to join both lines. The last bolt
was driven in by my husband and both trains advanced simultaneously,
joining each other in the dead of night, to the dim lights of some
lanterns taken from the engines. Thus, the first train which united the
Pacific Ocean to the Amour, arrived at Khabarovsk on the 1st September,
1897. Over the portal of the railway-station an inscription bears: “9,877
verstes from St. Petersburg.” How far away we are from the world!