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HOW TO SURVIVE AND THRIVE IN A COMPLEX AND TURBULENT WORLD

IAN SNAPE | MIKE WEEKS

STRESS IS A
GLOBAL EPIDEMIC
As part of its 2019 Global Emotions Report, Gallup
asked 151,000 people in 143 countries about their
stress levels.
The day before the polling was carried out, 35% of
people globally said they experienced “a lot of stress.”
The highest reported stress by country was Greece at
59%, with the US ranking in the top 10 at 55%, with
Uganda also at 55%.
Clearly, there is much more to being stressed than
geography, poverty, or war.
Copyright © 2022 by Frontline Mind, LLC. completeness of the contents of this book and Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
All rights reserved. specifically disclaim any implied warranties of
merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. Names: Snape, Ian, 1968- author. | Weeks, Mike
Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, No warranty may be created or extended by sales (Trainer), author.
New Jersey. representatives or written sales materials. The advice Title: Resilience by design : how to survive and thrive
and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for in a complex and turbulent world / Ian Snape, Mike
Published simultaneously in Canada. Weeks.
your situation. You should consult with a professional
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored where appropriate. Neither the publisher nor author Description: Hoboken, New Jersey : Wiley, [2022] |
in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other Includes index.
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, commercial damages, including but not limited to Identifiers: LCCN 2021033032 (print) | LCCN
recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted special, incidental, consequential, or other damages. 2021033033 (ebook) | ISBN 9781119794936
under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States (paperback) | ISBN 9781119794981 (adobe pdf) |
Copyright Act, without either the prior written For general information on our other products and ISBN 9781119795063 (epub)
permission of the Publisher, or authorization through services or for technical support, please contact our Subjects: LCSH: Resilience (Personality trait) | Stress
payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Customer Care Department within the United States (Psychology) | Job stress.
Copyright Clearance Center, Inc., 222 Rosewood Drive, at (800) 762-2974, outside the United States at (317) Classification: LCC BF698.35.R47 S629 2022 (print) |
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or on the Web at www.copyright.com. Requests to LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021033032
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the Publisher for permission should be addressed to formats and by print-on-demand. Some material
the Permissions Department, John Wiley & Sons, Inc., gov/2021033033
included with standard print versions of this book may
111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030, not be included in e-books or in print-on-demand. If Cover Design: Bel Ramos
(201) 748-6011, fax (201) 748-6008, or online at this book refers to media such as a CD or DVD that is Cover Illustrations: Tim Ulewicz
http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions. not included in the version you purchased, you may
Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the download this material at http://booksupport.wiley.
publisher and author have used their best efforts in com. For more information about Wiley products,
preparing this book, they make no representations visit www.wiley.com.
or warranties with respect to the accuracy or
If stress is the global epidemic of the twenty-first
century, then resilience is the cure.
Resilience is the ability to prepare for, respond to,
and adapt to incremental changes; challenging,
difficult, and disruptive situations; and major
upheaval or catastrophes.
Resilient people make sense of their external world
in ways that are highly resourceful, both for themselves
and for others.
CONTENTS
Chapter —

resilience p. 

Chapter —

SENSEMAKING p. 

Chapter —

THINKING p. 

Chapter —

STATE p. 

Chapter —

perspectives p. 

Chapter —

CONTEXT p. 
 Chapter —

p.  SIGNALS
Chapter —

p.  INTENTIONS
Chapter —

p.  REFRAMING
Chapter —

p.  FLOW
Chapter —

p.  rest
Chapter —

p.  lifestyle
 DEDICATED TO
Lizzie, Atticus, and Aurelius
&
Bean, Iggy, and Obe

Without question, our resilience is grounded

in the loving support of our families.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS

IAN SNAPE MIKE WEEKS In 2014, Ian and Mike were introduced
by their shared friend and mentor John
Dr. Ian Snape is former research leader Mike Weeks is a former free solo climber
Grinder. Realizing their parallel interests
and executive at the Australian Antarctic and adventurer. He began coaching in
and experience in training frontline
Division. He has led teams on 14 polar 2004, famously working on screen with
professionals, they formed Frontline
expeditions to both polar regions. Jack Osbourne in the globally broadcast
Mind. Mike focused on developing the
Jack Osbourne: Adrenaline Junkie.
A fan of the Harry Potter books, he’s company’s creative and media arm, and
the real-life Professor Snape, previously After a brief flirtation with celebrity, Mike Ian focused on science, leadership, and
holding Professorial Fellowships at the began training and coaching elite athletes, program design.
University of Melbourne and Macquarie members of the UK special forces, and
University. He is the author of more than frontline workers, including medics OUR MISSION:
100 academic papers across a wide range responding to humanitarian disasters.
“To enable individuals, teams, and
of scientific disciplines. In 2010, he was placed in charge of
organizations to survive and thrive in a
developing a mental health clinic and
In a parallel life, just like Snape from complex, turbulent world.”
program for Sean Penn’s JPHRO, which
Hogwarts, he’s a master in defense against
supported over 50,000 displaced Haitians To do this, we created a state-of-the-art
the dark arts, holding black belts in
following the catastrophic earthquake. online learning platform. We aimed for a
Taekwondo and Hapkido. He is also a flow
He’s also provided resilience and recovery fusion of science, art, and effective learning
junkie, a passionate ski mountaineer, a
training across the USA, in Peru, the design. This book mirrors that program.
climber, and a competitive sailor.
Philippines, and Ukraine.
Though we live in different countries, we
Using the techniques in this book, he
Mike currently leads sovereign- continue to train teams together, seeking
coaches and trains CEOs, olympic athletes,
security resilience initiatives with the new opportunities to learn and challenge
and frontline professionals.
Indonesian government, to combat each other. Our relationship goes beyond
illegal fishing and trafficking, as well as business. We are like brothers; our families
clean energy transition. have become one, and we regularly
adventure together in the outdoors.

ix
ABOUT THIS BOOK
As humans, it can sometimes seem that we’re flawed We’ve given talks to, trained, and coached thousands of
by quirks of evolution, each seemingly destined to people around the world, including during humanitarian
experience a lifelong rollercoaster of ups and downs, joys disasters, in the extremes of Antarctica, and in the jungles
and sorrows, gains and losses, health and disease, stress of the Amazon. We’ve helped people develop resilience
and resilience. everywhere from the slums of Haiti to the polished board
rooms of major corporations.
One popular Eastern philosophy goes as far as saying:
Across these varied domains, we’ve modeled, studied,
“All life is suffering.”
and interviewed individuals who stand out. We call these
We disagree! people the resilient elite. They range from mountain
guides and Olympians, special-forces soldiers, mental
Suffering may be the experience for some people,
health nurses, correctional officers and first responders,
sometimes, but our view, backed by scientific evidence, is
to entrepreneurs and scientists. The resilient elite are also
that we can create a better life and become more resilient
hidden in plain sight. They are the single mums and dads
to life’s ups and downs. We are not predestined to suffer,
bringing up disabled children with very little external
or in fact predestined for anything. We each have agency,
support, or the elder-care workers who deal with grief and
and we can craft and shape our continually evolving sense
loss on a daily basis and somehow manage to leave this
of identity, lifestyle, and the contexts we inhabit.
behind when they step through their front door.
We agree that people are experiencing unprecedented
One fact we discovered again and again:
pressure to respond to rapid change, increasing
resource demands, and uncertainty. Reported cases of There is no such thing as a stressful situation.
stress, burnout, anxiety, depression, and a multitude
How well we survive and thrive is entirely down to how we
of connected illnesses are on a steady rise in most
perceive ourselves and the world around us. Our resilience
of the modern world. However, as we will reveal, we
depends on our ability to access the behavioral patterns
always have a choice in how we respond to pressures,
that have enabled our species to sense, respond, adapt,
demands, and uncertainty.
and thrive through both feast and famine, calm and chaos.
For millions of people, learning how to be resilient isn’t
Resilience by Design is the world’s most detailed and
just a benefit for the constantly shifting demands of their
evidence-based how-to manual for resilience. It bridges
work. Resilience can improve every element of their lives.
the gap between neuroscience theory and practical
With the world changing so quickly around us, this is no
techniques that can be used every day. We wrote it for
longer just nice to have. It’s absolutely essential if we are
the people we care about, the people we love, and the
to survive and thrive in a complex, turbulent world.
people we have yet to meet who want to change their
lives for the better. We wrote it because, right now, more

x
than ever, millions of people are living in uncertainty and neurolinguistics, cognitive science, and philosophy,
need a guide for the unknown paths ahead. Whether where these fields help to make sense or explain what
you’re a formal leader in an organization or community, or practitioners actually do. Rather than leading with
an informal one in a family or social setting, you can use theory, we lead with practical advice. This is a conscious
the techniques we cover in this book to simultaneously choice. We believe that much of the published theory on
develop resilience for yourself and to help those around resilience is disconnected from real-world application.
you. Every input into the complex system that is our world
Evidence-based. The techniques we present are tried
affects all of the connected parts, often in unpredictable
and tested, and we have tracked evidence for efficacy
ways. You’ll find that, by developing personal resilience,
in individuals, teams, and organizations.
you’ll become a catalyst for positive change in all
the contexts in which you play a small or a large part. By using the techniques we’ll cover in this book for as little
By becoming resilient, we can positively influence as five minutes per day, you’ll be able to develop entirely
our families, friends, work colleagues, and even new new thinking skills. By practicing these skills, you’ll find that
acquaintances, to become more resilient as well. they will arise reflexively in situations that you might have
previously responded to with a stress response, or with
As you read these pages, you’ll learn how to perceive
anxiety, or confusion.
the world differently, how to think and act differently at
work and across other situations. If you want to bring No matter where you presently are between stress and
resilience to a challenging home life, or if you want to resilience, it’s our intention to inspire you and the people
excel in whatever field you choose, this book will help. you are connected with to take personal responsibility
This book can be read from end to end, or you can thumb for your life and your choices. It is only when we take
through the book, dipping in here and there for a story responsibility that we can begin working toward living our
that catches your eye, exploring some of our research, best life, which is adaptable to all circumstances.
or experimenting with an activity, or adopting time-
We invite you to take a deep breath, forget everything you
tested techniques.
think you know about stress, switch to a state of curiosity,
and allow us to show you how to develop your own elite
OUR APPROACH IS:
level resilience — by design.
Practitioner-led. Our priorities, program design, and the
structure of this book reflect what resilient practitioners FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT
actually do when operating under pressure or in a crisis. RESILIENCE TRAINING:
Theory-backed. We present the scientific findings [email protected]
from neuroscience, psychology, complexity theory, frontlinemind.com

xi
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would never have been written if not for the Nassim Nicholas Taleb (The Black Swan, Antifragile,
influence, teachings, and insights of our shared friends and and Skin in the Game); Norman Doidge (The Brain That
mentors, John Grinder and Carmen Bostic St. Clair. Both of Changes Itself and The Brain’s Way of Healing); and Gerd
us have shared experiences rock climbing and adventuring Gigerenzer (Gut Feelings and Risk Savvy).
with John, and we acknowledge him as the catalyst in both
A special thanks to Gary Kuehn and a number of other
of our careers as coaches and trainers. Carmen and John’s
mountain guides, some sadly no longer with us. He was
work forms the backbone of this book.
the first person Ian modeled to unpack tacit decision-
We also found that the resilient elite operate adaptively making and leadership in complex, high-risk domains. For
in response to context in a way that is well described by three years, Gary allowed Ian to literally follow in his ski
the Cynefin framework, developed by Dave Snowden. tracks through crevasse fields, dodging avalanche-prone
We gratefully acknowledge Dave, Sonja Blignaut, Zhen terrain to the ends of civilization into a war zone in the
Goh, and Michael Cheveldave at Cognitive Edge for Middle East chasing first descents. And to John Grinder
generously sharing their ideas, for challenging and again, for giving Ian the skills to know when to model and
mentoring us, and then partnering with us to co-create when to hold back enough to stay alive, avert disaster, or
online training resources. rescue others when things went bad.
John Grinder and Dave Snowden both draw heavily Thanks to Scott Coleman for discussions, research, and
on original ideas from the late anthropologist Gregory editing; Bailey Murzecki-Hince for a brilliant job in research
Bateson. Possibly more than any academic of his and bibliography. The book has benefited immensely
generation, or the generation before him, Bateson from discussions, editorial and technical reviews by many
understood the nature of mind, systems, complexity, people: Bryan Szabo, Robert Holmes, Sonja Blignaut, Zhen
and the importance of relationships in our place on earth. Goh, Catherine Viney, Chet Richards, Robert Kirk, Penny
His writings underpin their work and ours. Tompkins, Mike Radburn, Prof. Siobhan Harpur, Dr. Greg
Swartz, and Dr. Lizzie Elliott. Greg Hince, Dorian Broomhall,
Penny Tompkins and James Lawley have mentored
Jared Dubey, Nick Mitchell, and Mel Murzecki-Hince
and supported Ian to develop a deep appreciation of
provided essential background support in our adjacent
metaphor through their original work and David Grove’s
ventures and kept the light on in our business ventures.
Clean Language. Their artistry is beyond words.
Thanks to our agent, Roger Freet at Folio Literary
In a world of reductionist thinking, those experts who can
Management, for his endless good cheer, business
grasp the complexity of life stand out. Our writing, training,
acumen, and guidance. Finally, this publication would
and choices in life have been greatly impacted and
not be possible without the support and trust from our
improved by workshops and publications by the following
brilliant team at Wiley Publishing, namely Shannon Vargo,
authors: Ian McGilchrist (The Master and His Emissary);
Deborah Schindlar, and Sally Baker.

xii
TIM AND BEL SOURCE ATTRIBUTION
Tim Ulewicz and Bel Ramos have been central to the We have taken every effort to reference our sources.
development of our brand. They have also been central in We cited 462 scientific papers, 94 books, and 84
the creation of this book. miscellaneous publications to both respect other people’s
ideas and in the hope that our book acts as a conduit
Tim is a full-time illustrator at Frontline Mind. Based in
to further learning. Where we have discovered an idea
Bristol, England, he is a top-level break dancer and graffiti
presented in a book that is coherent with our synthesis
artist. He adds the “cool” to our company and this book.
and is itself derived from earlier work, we have tracked
Bel is a graphic designer based in Hobart and has been down the original research and cross-checked the primary
responsible for the design and the overall feel of this book. evidence. Where practical, we have referenced both
primary and secondary sources. If we have missed an
original source, we apologise. Please send us a correction
and we will clean-up our referencing in the 2nd edition.

DISCLAIMER
The ideas and activities presented in this book are
designed to create more choices for you. This includes
the choice to continue doing whatever you would have
done without reading this book. The choices you make
are entirely your own, and we take no responsibility for any
outcome, adverse consequences, distress, or injury that
may result from the application of the patterns of resilience
presented here.

xiii
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 CHAPTER XCII
PARIS

November 19th.—We arrived at Paris in the afternoon and stopped

as usual at the Hôtel de Calais. It was very cold in our apartment
and we had a fire all day.
After dinner we went to the opera to see “Tannhauser.” I felt tired
and asked Sergy what was the time every minute. After the second
act, he took me out on to the boulevard to eat ices.
November 21st.—We had to get up very early in the morning to
catch the express. It was six o’clock when we drove to the Gare du
Nord. There were few people about. We only saw the milk-carts on
their morning rounds, and the street-sweepers at work.
Our long journey is nearing its end. In another two days we shall
be back in Russia.
 CHAPTER XCIII
ST. PETERSBURG
CORONATION OF NICOLAS II

We went round all the world and returned more satisfied than
ever with our capital. I feel like an escaped prisoner.
A few days after our arrival, my husband presented to the
Emperor a deputation composed of representatives of different
tribes inhabiting Oriental Siberia, who offered to His Majesty,
according to custom, a silver dish with “Bread and Salt” and
beautiful sable-skins. The corridors in the Grand Hôtel, where we
had taken an apartment, were crowded with people wanting to get a
glimpse of the deputies. One of them, Tifountai, one of the richest
Chinese merchants of Khabarovsk, who had prominent oriental ideas
about women when passing through Paris, led a dissipated life in the
Great Babylon, that went on for a week, and did not arrive in time
for the presentation. The representatives of different countries
began to arrive at St. Petersburg on their way to Moscow, where the
Coronation of Nicolas II. was to take place. One of the first arrivals
was the Ambassador of the Chinese Emperor, the famous Li Hung
Chang who had been treacherously wounded in Japan.
Notwithstanding his eighty-two years, he looks very alert and
vigilant. My husband had an interview with the old diplomatist, after
which he presented his suite to him. According to Chinese etiquette
the mandarin addressed to everyone two stereotype questions
translated by his dragoman into French: “What is your name,” and
“How old are you?” Henritzi, the youngest of Sergy’s aide-de-camps,
who was of German origin and spoke his national tongue better than
French, when answering to the last questions, said that he was
twenty-four years old, German-fashion: “Quatre-vingt,” vier und
zwanzig, which means eighty-four in French. The dragoman casting
an astonished glance at the young octogenarian, translated his
answer to the letter. The old mandarin never winced, and rising from
his seat, bowed low to the “Ninon de l’Encles” of the unfair sex. (I
beg your pardon, gentlemen!) In China old age is greatly venerated.
If you wish to make a Chinaman perfectly happy, all you need to say
is “How old you look!” When the reception was over, Li Hung Chang
remitted to my husband the Chinese order of the “Double Dragon,”
bearing the imprinted inscription “Before this the lion will grow pale
and the tiger mute.”
Little by little, St. Petersburg was getting empty. The railway-line
to Moscow, notwithstanding its twenty-four trains a day, could hardly
supply all the passengers proceeding to the old capital; they had to
book their places a month beforehand.
A great many crowned heads had gathered in Moscow. Amongst
the European guests there were several exotic personages who had
come from Siam, Japan and other distant countries.
In the beginning of May Sergy went to Moscow to be present at
the Coronation, which was to take place on the 15th May. That day
at ten o’clock in the morning all the church-bells in St. Petersburg
began ringing, and at noon volleys of artillery announced the
beginning of the ceremony in the Kremlin, and at the end of the
ceremony the Coronation was made known by a salute and one-
hundred-and-one cannon shots.
I learned from the papers that during the festivals there occurred
a terrible accident at Moscow, which claimed some thousand victims,
and darkened the Coronation of Nicolas II. On the 19th May, a
colossal festival was organised for the populace on the Khodinka-
Field. Long tables with all sorts of refreshment were laid on the brink
of an enormous ditch. Towards two o’clock in the afternoon about
6000 persons hurried to the spot where free dinners were
distributed. Tumultuous crowds continued to arrive unceasingly. The
first arrivals couldn’t resist the great pressure of the oncomers, and
fell headlong into the ditch. The catastrophe took place in twenty
times less than it takes to describe it.
The moment of our departure for Khabarovsk approached. It was
decided at first that Sergy would go alone. He promised to come
back to St. Petersburg in six months’ time. I dreaded the moment of
his departure, and the moment was not far off. No! I could not bear
to part with Sergy. I always yielded to impulse under any
circumstances. I told him that nothing should induce me to stay
away, and that I would follow him a second time to the end of the
world. But Sergy absolutely refused to hear of it. His opposition
made me only the more distinctly determined to have my own way. I
simply didn’t know what “No” meant, and Sergy consented after a
good deal of coaxing to take me with him.
The Serebriakoffs could not accompany us. The Colonel was
promoted to the grade of general, and had received a new
appointment at Moscow. I was awfully sorry to part with Mrs.
Serebriakoff with whom I had gone through many hardships during
our first tour around the world.
We have engaged a young lady to hold the position of companion,
Maria Michaelovna Titoff by name. She is a very gay and lively girl,
who will help to make my life at Khabarovsk a little more cheery. Mr.
Shaniavski, Mr. Scherbina and Henritzi accompany us on our journey.
 CHAPTER XCIV
OUR WAY BACK TO KHABAROVSK VIA ODESSA

We left St. Petersburg on the 17th June, and are on our way for a
second tour around the world. This time we sail from Odessa on the
Orel a boat belonging to the Volunteer Fleet, which will take us
straight to Vladivostock.
June 19th.—Towards noon we arrived at Odessa where I was
happy to find my mother, who had come from Moscow to see us off.
We put up together at the Hôtel de Londres.
June 20th.—This morning Sergy reviewed the recruits who are to
sail with us on the Orel.
June 21st.—At three o’clock in the afternoon we went on board
the Orel our new dwelling for many days. I took the best place I
could find at the side of the ship to see the last of Russia and
mother, with whom I parted shedding abundant tears. After the last
embraces we separated, our boat gave the third whistle, and slowly
we moved away from the dense crowd that covered the wharf. I
sent my good-byes to mother, waving wildly my handkerchief to her.
I saw the shore separating us, and knew that we couldn’t meet for a
very long time.
We are in the open sea, the wind is favourable, the sails are up,
and our boat advances rapidly.
The Orel had on board 1300 recruits and 280 first-class
passengers, Russian officers for the most part, going out to serve in
Siberia, accompanied by their families. We occupy one of the largest
state-cabins, with mirrors, carpets, electric light, and electric
ventilators, which make, it is true, more noise than ventilation.
 We sit down to meals four times a day. At nine o’clock breakfast,
at one—tiffin, at four—tea, at seven—dinner. The food is good, but a
trifle heavy for the tropics. To-day after dinner, the officer upon duty
came up to Sergy to show him the log-book in which all the
incidents of the day are noted. At nine o’clock precisely the sailors
sang the evening prayers, after which all the passengers went to
bed.
June 22nd.—We are on the Black Sea, between sky and water,
with no land in view. The weather is beautiful, but the ship rolls
dreadfully all the same. I try to brave sea-sickness, and do
needlework, whilst Maria Michaelovna reads aloud to me.
June 23rd.—At ten o’clock in the morning we enter the Bosporus
and anchor in the Golden Horn. Sergy with all his companions and
almost all the passengers had landed in order to stroll about
Constantinople. I was tired of sight-seeing and lessons of history,
and was the only one of our party who remained on board. At eight
o’clock in the evening the Orel weighed anchor. To-day is Saturday,
and our ship’s priest performed vespers on the lower deck.
June 24th.—To-day we passed the Dardanelles and entered the
Archipelago, and found ourselves near the point where ancient Troy
stood.
June 25th.—It is getting hotter and hotter. My hair is out of curl,
but never mind; this awful heat takes away all attempt at coquetry.
A tent has been spread on deck, under which we take our repasts,
protected from the rays of the scorching sun. We have given to this
tent the poetical name of “Villa Borghese.” During our dinner the
recruits danced a wild jig on the deck, to the accompaniment of five
violins, a tambourine and a blow-pipe. One of the men began to
whistle artistically, imitating the nightingale, whilst another recruit
gambolled and turned somersaults, representing a trained monkey.
It is pleasant to see the good relations between the recruits and the
chief of their battalion, surnamed by his men “Captain Tempest,” on
account of his fiery temper. He raged and stormed a great deal, but
was adored by the recruits, notwithstanding his rough tongue.
 CHAPTER XCV
PORT SAÏD

June 26th.—At dawn the African coast, scorched by the sun, came
into view. We enter the port and stop opposite the Russian
Consulate. Our boat will enter the Suez Canal only at night, and we
shall have time to make a short trip to Cairo. When we arrived at the
railway station we saw the tail end of the Cairo express passing
before our noses. As the next train left only at six o’clock, we had to
put off Egypt, and were glad to find shelter in a cool little bar
surrounded by a tiny garden, where we sat in the shade and sipped
iced drinks, after which we returned on board. Our boat was loading
coal, and all the portholes had to be closed in order not to get black.
I ventured on deck and was instantly transformed into a negress.
At ten o’clock in the evening we entered the Suez Canal. On our
right, spread as far as the eye could see, Lake Monzaleh. The railway
runs along the shore, separated from the canal by a narrow
embankment. We only make five knots an hour, nevertheless we get
before a French warship, from which they shouted to us, “Vive la
Russie!” Our captain gave order to hoist the French flag, whilst our
recruits shouted loud hurrahs. Here comes another steamer with the
flag of Britain above it; her funnels are covered with salt. The ship
has surely been a good deal tossed about in the Indian Ocean. It
does not promise us a smooth passage.
June 27th.—We are on Lake Timsah. The railway runs along the
shore as far as Ismailia, to continue its way to Cairo. Flocks of odd
white birds swim on the surface of the lake and chase the fish. On
the coast, a little Arab, completely nude, raced us for a short
distance, begging baksheesh. The recruits, having nothing better,
throw him crusts of black bread. On the opposite bank we see
pilgrims going to Mecca, and a caravan of camels off to Suez across
the desert, resting under the shade of a gigantic fig-tree. Egyptian
policemen, on camel-back, keep watch on the banks of the canal
here and there. This morning, whilst we took our breakfast, Sergy
was informed that a vessel, bearing the Italian flag, was approaching
us. The ship is returning from Masowah, bringing back to Europe
hollow-cheeked and worn-out looking soldiers, mere shadows of
human beings, covered with parchment skin.
 CHAPTER XCVI
SUEZ

At eleven o’clock we entered the port of Suez. On the African

coast rises the chain of the Dakhi Mountains; opposite, on the
Arabian coast, we see the high peak of Mount Sinai, and an oasis of
palm trees surnamed the “Fountain of Moses.” The ship was going to
stay here for two or three hours only; it was not worth while going
on shore.
Towards five o’clock we have got over the 64 kilometres of the
maritime canal, and are in the stifling heat of the Red Sea.
During night the wind arose. I was wakened by the horrid rolling
of the ship. Piercing whistles were blown and the sailors climbed
hurriedly up the masts in pitch darkness, trying to catch the end of
the sails which the storm was tearing into pieces.
June 28th.—We are in the tropics. The air is like fire and the
temperature of the water is very high. The stewardess advised me to
lie down on the floor under the open porthole over which she spread
a sheet. I had a nice little nap, thanks to this improvised punkah.
June 29th.—There is not the slightest breeze; we live in a furnace.
The sky, always blue, gives me the nostalgia of the cloud. This
afternoon we crossed the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb.
June 30th.—I could not sleep the whole night. I tried to lie down
on the floor under the improvised punkah, but it didn’t help a bit. I
was quite worn out and had a good cry. Maria Michaelovna and my
maid Feoktista came to keep me company. The moon was beginning
to pale when Sergy took me on the deck, where mattresses had
been laid down for us on the floor. Whilst we passed along the lower
deck we had to step over the recruits who lay on the deck one
beside the other.
July 1st.—This morning we came into the narrow channels of the
fortified Perim Islands, a bare rock with a few houses on it, without
any traces of vegetation. And to think that it was political conditions
which forced unfortunate British officers to pass a part of their lives
in such an infernal hole!
 CHAPTER XCVII
ADEN

July 2nd.—Early in the morning we came in view of Aden. Our

boat sets off at six o’clock in the evening, and we had plenty of time
to visit the town. We landed at Steamer Point and found ourselves in
a territory over which the British flag flies. We took a carriage with a
negro coachman, and drove to see the cisterns, following a
beautifully kept road. At a steep turning we met a long caravan of
camels. To jump out of the carriage was the affair of a minute for
me. I continued the ascent trudging under a broiling sun, spoiling
my complexion, foot-sore and ill-tempered. A most unpleasant walk
it was; the trees were too thin to give any shade, the ground was
parched and cracked and scorching hot, one could easily bake an
egg in it.
When we were back at Aden, we had lunch at the Hotel d’ Europe.
After our meal I went out to rest on the verandah, whilst Sergy
visited the English Hospital, to which one of our recruits, who had
fallen ill during the voyage, had been removed.
Towards five o’clock we were back on board, and left Aden at six.
Before starting, one of our ship-officers standing on the deck got
sunstroke.
The monsoon rages at this season in these parts. When we came
into the open sea the long swell began to lift and toss the steamer
like a cork. The passengers became immediately sea-sick and sought
their berths. One of the cows on board broke her leg during the
horrid rocking and had to be killed. I rolled my deck-chair into the
corridor under a ventilator broken through the ceiling, which allowed
me to overhear all the conversation which took place on the upper
deck; the rolling was less here. Maria Michaelovna brought me some
tea and a lot of nice things with it. Over my head, through the pipe
of the ventilator, I heard the recruits conversing. Two men began to
pick a quarrel, and nearly came to blows. Both of them were put
under arrest. Whilst they were being led away, one of the quarrellers
complained to the officer on duty that his antagonist, in an access of
fury, had pricked him with a pin, and the other one defended
himself, advancing that he had been pricked the first with a crust of
bread!
The rolling of the ship drove my chair in all directions about the
corridor. I was obliged to return to my cabin.
In the night the wind increased, and the anchor ran out with a
rattle and a roar of cable. It was stifling in my cabin; I imprudently
opened the porthole and an avalanche of water rushed in,
threatening to drown me.
July 3rd.—The sea is the colour of ink, and I am ill, ill! ... Towards
noon great black clouds came upon us rapidly and very soon the
whole sky was covered, it was almost as dark as night; a heavy
storm was coming on. The recruits are put down in the hold. The
long menacing waves were advancing upon our ship like big
mountains. Sounds of broken crockery are heard; two beautiful
Chinese vases, standing on the side-board in the saloon, were
thrown out on the floor and went to pieces.
Though we have six cows on board they cannot be milked for the
rolling of the ship, and I had to drink my coffee without cream; it
tasted like medicine to me.
July 4th.—A terrible night had followed. The ship rolled over fifty
degrees from the perpendicular on each side. The situation was
becoming more and more perilous. The shouts of the watch-officer
mingled with the whistle of the quartermaster, and the shrieks of the
siren were something awful. Hearing a commotion above, shouting
and rushing footsteps, I thought we were going to sink. I dressed in
a hurry and rushed to the staircase, where I met Sergy, who
persuaded me to return to my cabin and lie down, but I felt it was
quite useless to try to sleep.
July 5th.—I passed again the whole of the night in the corridor;
Maria Michaelovna followed my example and came up with her
pillow and coverlet, and slipped into the narrow space between me
and my maid. Towards noon the direction of the wind changed, we
are out of the cyclone centre.
July 6th, 7th.—The temperature all these days is something awful.
We are dying of thirst and all our provision of ice on board has
melted.
A bird which followed our boat all the way from Aden, rested this
night on the main mast and was captured by the sailors who want to
tame it.
 CHAPTER XCVIII
COLOMBO

July 8th.—We enter the harbour of Colombo and moor pretty far
away from the coast, to the great disappointment of the recruits.
Scores of sampans with Singhalese rowers came to bring us ashore.
We stopped again at the Grand Hôtel. I had tea in a nice shady
corner of the verandah, which runs round the two sides of the hotel.
The first half of it is lined with tables and easy-chairs and the other
is nothing but a succession of shops, where Hindoo merchants are
installed. We could see from here all that was going on in the street,
and observe all passers to and fro. The feminine-looking Singhalese
walk bareheaded, their long hair saturated in cocoa-oil, gathered in
a knot chignon-fashion, and fastened by a huge tortoise-shell circle-
comb. The Singhalese women wear only a short skirt and a short
waist bodice between which several inches of brown skin are visible.
After luncheon we set off in six rikshas to explore the city of
Colombo. Our men-horses trotted off at full speed, regardless of my
protestations. The principal streets are planted with great
overhanging trees and bordered with beautiful several-storied
houses. Opposite the shipping office, in the heart of the European
section, lay Gordon Gardens, a park full of flowers and grateful
shade, the rendezvous of the elite of the city, white and brown. We
went down the smooth red road that lies almost level with the sea,
with emerald, velvety grass and cool shady bungalows. In the
distance towered the Queen’s House, Governor Black’s residence, set
well back from the broad highway in a grove of palms, a spacious,
imposing edifice, where large entertainments are given. The
governor, for the moment, was away on tour to some distant district
of the island. We met on our way covered waggons drawn by two
little hump-necked, strangely tattooed bullocks, and elegant dog-
carts driven by English women. Dark came on suddenly and our
riksha-men stopped to light their paper-lanterns, and hurried us
back to the hotel. The second dinner-bell sounded as we entered the
dining-room, as big as a cathedral and ventilated by twelve punkahs.
July 9th.—Our boat does not leave for another ten days; we will
profit by it and go on a trip to Kandy, the ancient city of the
sovereigns of Ceylon, situated in the hills some 2,000 feet above the
level of the sea, which can boast of a climate in many respects
superior to that of Colombo.
A Singhalese boy brought in my coffee very early in the morning,
and tried to explain to me that the train for Kandy left at 8 o’clock. It
took some time for both of us to make ourselves understood, for I
addressed the boy in English and he replied in Malay language;
however, with a good deal of pantomime, we got along somehow.
It is a three hours’ ride from Colombo to Kandy. Ceylon wears
rightly the title of the “Switzerland of the Tropics;” only fairy islands
can surpass the scenery. I could but gaze and gaze, and felt what
poor things words had suddenly become. A riot of luxuriant tropical
vegetation spread out on every hand, and aromas of strong smelling
flowers scented the air. A series of moving pictures glided past us.
We are rolling through fields of lotuses, sugar-cane plantations and
vast plots of ground planted with coffee-trees, with shining leaves
like porcelain, cut small to facilitate the gathering of the fruit. Cocoa
and date-palms and bread-fruit are at your service, all you have to
do is to pick the fruit—and luncheon is ready. The train is speeding
along thick bamboo-clumps, through which peered the red-tiled
roofs of bungalows and negro villages with palm-thatched huts
shaded by immense banana-trees. We are in the harvest season. In
the fields men and women were at work, occupied in gathering in
the coffee. Natives sitting in ox-waggons drive slowly along the road.
Here is an enormous elephant covered over with a rich carpet,
carrying four natives on his back. The huge animal’s offspring, a
baby-elephant as big as a bull, is running clumsily alongside. The
railway stations are hidden amid cocoa-palms. On the platforms
water-carriers and fruit-sellers briskly plied their trades. At one of
the stoppages a Hindoo in white skirts came up to offer us bananas
and cocoa-nuts full of milk, and red juicy fruit which I found very
tasty; but I was awfully disgusted when I learned that it was the
fruit of the castor-oil plant. Our train was moving away when a
negro boy thrust into my lap, through the window, a small serpent of
tender green colour, which I took at first for a blade of grass.
Though these reptiles are quite inoffensive, I didn’t like the present.
The ascent began. We climbed on steadily into the cooler regions.
The steamy atmosphere was left behind, we were welcomed now by
draughts of delicious air. We are crossing a thick-set wood, and are
in the mysterious primitive jungle which the foot of man has seldom
penetrated, and where elephants and tigers wander about. The train
continues to wind its way upwards to the mountains, plunging
through numerous tunnels. Coming out of them we see the road
which we had just crossed just beneath us now. The place is rightly
named “Sensational Rock”—it is a succession of precipices and
torrents. We are rolling along ledges cut in the rock, twisting and
turning above sheer abysses.
When we arrived at Kandy, we ran on the platform in pursuit of
our luggage, which a swarm of vociferous natives had confiscated
and carried off. Having overtaken them, we climbed into an omnibus
which brought us to Queen’s Hotel, situated on the shore of a
miniature lake.
After lunch we went to see the Pyradenia Gardens, about six miles
from Kandy, situated on the right bank of the river Manhavilla-
Ganga. These gardens are renowned for their splendid flowers.
There are trees as high as ship-masts and strange plants with large
blossoms monstrous of shape and gorgeous in colour. Most things
are highly coloured as in Java: birds, butterflies and luxuriant
vegetation. I am not sent easily into fits of ecstasy, nevertheless I
admired everything until my vocabulary of exclamations was
exhausted and my head whirled.
 We were back for dinner at the table d’hôte. We had just finished
our meal under the cooling caresses of the punkah and were going
up to our room to take a siesta, when a boy announced to us that
Hindoo snake-charmers were going to give a performance on the
veranda. We were amazed by their startling experiments. They
played the flute to their reptiles, who crawled out of a basket and
rolled round their bodies, and they juggled with them as with balls.
After that the jugglers performed the astonishing feat of producing
spontaneous vegetation. They made a tree grow from seed to
foliage before our eyes; they dug a fruit-stone into a little heap of
sand, making cabalistic signs with their wand, and the stone grew
visible and soon became a shrub covered with branches and leaves!
July 10th.—Directly after breakfast Sergy went into the mountains
to see the sacred elephants. He was shown a pair of huge savage
animals recently caught in these parts.
When my husband returned, we went to visit the famous Hindoo
temple where the Tooth of Buddha is preserved, braving the
scorching tropical sun, whose rays fell just over our heads, so that I
didn’t see my shadow, but only the circle of my umbrella. Tradition
says, there was found in Burma one of the teeth of Gautama
(Buddha). An embassy from the King of Burma bore the relic to
Ceylon, and over it was erected the celebrated Temple of the Tooth.
Kandy is a holy city; Buddhists not merely of Ceylon, but of India
and the equatorial islands, make pilgrimages to the ancient shrine,
which is an object of veneration for the four hundred million of
Buddhists inhabiting Asia. The Kings of Siam and Burma contribute
to the keeping up of the temple, in sending rich gifts to the priests
every year.
The streets were alive with crowds on their way to the temple, a
structure of grey stone with a red roof, set in a lotus grove on the
shores of a lake. A large avenue leads to the courtyard of the
temple, the ground all strewn with white sweet-smelling jasmine
flowers, which deadened the sound of our steps. Within the gates,
under the vaulted archways, crowds of people gathered around a
dozen of Singhalese, devoted to the sale of candles, the white
sacred flowers to be laid in the lap of the statue of Buddha. Flaming
torches burnt at the entrance of the temple. The whole spectacle
was fantastical, just like a decoration of Lakmĕ. Under the portico of
the temple, a band of native musicians beat loudly the tom-tom and
buck-skinned calabashes. On the top of the broad steps leading into
the interior of the temple, we removed our shoes and were taken
over the temple by apathetic saffron-robed bonzes (Buddhist priests)
with shaven heads, and arms and feet bare. They led us by way of
many tile-paved corridors lit by lamps suspended from roofs of
arabesque cedar-wood, and strongly incensed candles. The temple is
of marvellous richness; the altar and the doors are of carved ivory,
large frescoes cover the walls representing hell with flames, devils
and so on. In every nook and corner we saw the effigies of Buddha.
There was an important service in the temple just now. A group of
bonzes, after having washed their heads and their feet, advanced
towards the sacred relic, suspended in a tabernacle over a symbolic
lotus flower with golden petals studded with precious stones. The
chief priest fell on his knees, muttering a prayer, and then drew from
the tabernacle a gold casket, from it he took a second then a third, a
fourth, and a fifth. With the opening of every box the priests
repeated their genuflexions. There appeared at last the innermost,
and soon the receptacle, set with diamonds and rubies. Then the
priests carefully opened and discovered to view an enormous tooth
yellow with age, which assuredly never grew in any human mouth.
During the whole time the tom-toms and other barbarian
instruments made a horrible noise. Two simple rules govern the
production of native music—First: make as much noise as possible
all the time; and, second, to heighten the effect, make more. There
was a heavy perfume of flowers and incense—very enervating—
inside the temple, which made us hurry away. Buddhist priestesses,
with shaved heads like the priests, dressed in long yellow robes,
accompanied us to the door, throwing at us sacred flowers, jasmine
and lotuses. Crowds of Brahmin beggars, demanding money, were
gathered in the porch.
 After dinner we took the train back, and were shown into a
compartment occupied by a honeymooning Anglo-Indian couple of
planters, whose wedding day was only twenty days old. They didn’t
seem pleased to be disturbed, especially the young bride, who
vented her ill-humour upon her husband, and was decidedly inclined
to be disagreeable to him. The evil temper of his consort forced the
young planter to take refuge in the corridor.
On arriving at Colombo we went straight on board the Orel and
weighed anchor in the night.
July 11th.—As soon as we entered the gulf of Bengal, the rocking
of the ship became so unpleasant, that I shut myself up in my cabin
for the whole day.
July 12th.—The sea continues to be very rough. Towards night,
when we approached the lighthouse at the entrance of the Bay of
Malacca, the rolling of the boat ceased suddenly.
July 15th.—We approach Sumatra. The bay is strewn with
treacherous coral-shelves. This morning, whilst I was dressing, the
alarm bell sounded. I heard voices shouting “Help, help, man
overboard!” It was a manœuvre of false alarm, which nearly came to
end by a veritable catastrophe. Whilst dropping a life-boat one of the
sailors fell himself into the sea, but help, fortunately, came in time.
 CHAPTER XCIX
SINGAPORE

July 16th.—We arrived at Singapore this morning and put up at

the Hôtel d’Europe. Before dinner we went for a drive out of town,
passing through a Malay village perched on piles in cocoa
plantations. The hillocks are strewn with villas, like the outskirts of
London. On our way back we crossed the Square, the centre of
European commerce, with large bazaars and markets.
Singapore, according to its population, is a veritable Tower of
Babel. We are amidst natives of every variety of shade, from sepia to
chocolate: Majestic Arabs, arrayed in long flowing robes, Hindoos in
white tunics and bright red turbans, Malays, Chinamen, Persians,
etc. The Malay women are very black, with the fewest clothes that it
was possible to wear and nose-rings and beads hanging everywhere.
They carry on their backs black babies with woolly hair and white
eyes like nice Newfoundland puppies. Ambulant cooks walk amongst
the crowd; they carry two round chests, containing a small stove, on
which they fry nasty-smelling roasts; in another box, on wooden
trays, are placed bowls containing minced meats of all kinds; a
whole lot of little horrors, which the natives snap up with the aid of
long chopsticks, sitting on their heels on the ground and turning
their backs to the passers-by. Black policemen, dressed European
fashion, with a white stick in their hand, keep order in the streets.
 CHAPTER C
FROM SINGAPORE TO NAGASAKI

July 18th.—To-day we returned to our ship. A Portuguese cruiser,

which had just arrived at Singapore, has sent out one of her officers
to salute my husband on board. I sat on deck and looked about me.
A troop of jugglers, who begged leave to give a performance,
swallowed swords, transformed sand into rice, and showed us how a
tree may spring up from seed they had just sown. They produced a
paper from their pockets, filled with earth, which they strew out into
a pot, and when it was full, they set a seed in it and covered it over
with a handkerchief. We saw a movement beneath that
handkerchief, it fluttered, and was lifted higher and higher. Finally
the magicians whisked it off, and there was a shrub, leaf and stem—
all complete. This was really marvellous! A little Hindoo girl, aged
five, performed the Danse du ventre, after which she settled herself
on the knees of our Portuguese guest, and pulled very
unceremoniously at his moustache, demanding “baksheesh.” Around
us glided, backwards and forwards, small boats filled with half-naked
natives, who dived into the water for coins, and came on the surface
smiling, with cheeks puffed up like a well-filled purse.
July 19th, 20th.—Great was the desire of all the passengers to
visit the celebrated cigar-manufactory of Manilla, but our captain
opposed our landing on the Philippine Islands, because cholera had
broken out in the town, and thus Manilla was black-balled.
July 21st.—We are in the sphere of a cyclone, and battle with the
swell of the ocean. We mount, descend, and roll from right to left.
Enormous billows throw clouds of foam as high as a mountain on
the deck, and two liquid walls meet to swallow us up. A terrible gust
of wind tore the great sail, shredding it to pieces, and its tatters
floated like old banners on the top of the mast. I passed the night
on the floor in the corridor, and woke up after three hours of poor
sleep, feeling something tickling my nose. It was the tail of a rat the
size of a kitten, which was promenading over my face.
July 22nd.—Daybreak came at last to put an end to my torments.
The tempest began to abate. To-day is the namesday of our
Empress Dowager, and the boat has assumed a holiday aspect. At
dinner Sergy regaled us with champagne, and offered up libations to
the recruits and the crew. He raised his glass to the health of Her
Majesty; the sailors shouted loud hurrahs and got up a dance on the
deck.
July 23rd.—Early in the morning we perceived in the distance the
coasts of Formosa. We have to go to-day through dangerous parts
filled with coral banks, and sadly famed for numerous shipwrecks.
July 24th, 25th.—The weather is very fine, the sea—a polished
mirror. A favourable wind sends us forward, all the sails are up, and
the Orel is running at the rate of fifteen miles an hour.
 CHAPTER CI
NAGASAKI

July 26th.—This morning at ten o’clock we arrived at Nagasaki,

and anchored alongside the Voronege, a Russian boat, bringing back
to Russia a thousand soldiers. These men, who had just finished
their military service in Siberia, and our recruits, who had not begun
it, exchanged frenzied hurrahs.
We stepped on shore and walked to the Hôtel Belle-Vue. After
lunch we took rikshas and wandered about the town. Our riksha-
men stopped of their own accord before a tea-house, muttering
laconically, “Something to see!” But there was only a big picture on
the wall to be seen, representing a sea-battle between the Japs and
the Chinese, where all the Chinese boats went down to the bottom.
July 27th.—This morning my husband went with a party of recruits
to be present at a funeral service in the Christian cemetery of
Nagasaki, where a great number of our sailors are buried.
July 28th.—We left Nagasaki in the afternoon, and were soon out
of sight of the Japanese Islands.
July 29th.—I was wakened in the middle of the night by the
piercing shrieking of the siren. We had entered a dense fog and
were advancing slowly, the horns blowing all the time.
July 30th.—Since dawn our sailors were preparing to land at
Possiet. A steam-launch came up to us with the chief of the brigade
quartered there. At noon we dropped anchor in the middle of the
bay.
Possiet is marked as a town on the map, but it looks more like a
large village. We saw from afar a triumphal arch erected on the
quay. The crowd on the pier cheered us loudly. Nine big barges
approached our steamer and the disembarking of our soldiers
began. Sergy went on shore to visit the camp, situated twenty-eight
miles from Possiet. As to me, I installed myself with my book on
deck, awaiting his return. A fresh breeze succeeded to the stifling
atmosphere. How nice it was!
Sergy returned on board towards night, accompanied by a whole
flotilla of boats carrying a number of officers with their families and a
military band. The quay was decorated with different coloured
lanterns. We had an impromptu dance on board, and weighed
anchor after midnight.
 CHAPTER CII
VLADIVOSTOCK

July 31st.—Towards midday the harbour of Vladivostock came to

view. We have reached the end of our long voyage. I am so happy
to get away from the Orel where we have been cooped up for forty-
one days.
Before landing, a Te Deum of thanksgiving, for having reached
Vladivostock in safety, was sung on the deck. On the red-carpeted
pier a roar of cheering went up as we passed. The faces all seemed
familiar. I hastened to distribute greetings and nods among a
number of the crowd. The daughter of the agent of the Volunteer
Fleet presented me with an enormous bouquet, tied with a broad
pink ribbon, bearing the inscription, “Welcome!”
We walked to the military club, where apartments were prepared
for us. To-morrow we leave for Khabarovsk. At night the town and
the ships in the harbour were beautifully illuminated.
August 1st.—We left Vladivostock by an express train on a
moonless night. Two rows of Chinese coolies, each holding a
Japanese lantern over his head, lined our way from the military club
to the railway station. Many officers and engineers accompanied us
as far as Iman, where we shall take the boat to Khabarovsk.
August 2nd.—The rain is falling all the time, transforming the
roads into liquid mud. We met with an accident this morning. The
last car of our train ran off the track, and we had to stop in the
middle of a field, and it was two hours before we could continue our
journey. Everybody had to descend. Chinese coolies, who were
working on the railway line, brought a long narrow plank on which
we crossed to the other side of the road, balancing like dancers on
the cord. Two engineers supported me, picking their way among the
rain-pools. At last all was repaired, and our train set forward piano-
pianissimo; it could beat the world’s record for its slowness, it simply
crawled, and we arrived at Iman only at nightfall, and took the boat
to Khabarovsk.
August 3rd.—At six o’clock in the evening we moored at
Khabarovsk. Our arrival was announced as usual by cannon-shots. I
saw a crowd of friendly faces on the quay, and shook hands all
around. Khabarovsk looked very bright. Troops lined all the way to
our house.
 CHAPTER CIII
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.