One day I received a letter from Skobeleff, asking permission to call on me. He came and talked, which he did to perfection. And I--listened: the only thing _I_ do to perfection! My heart was throbbing all the time, to a point that made me wonder whether it would not burst, as he kept on talking of his determination to go to Egypt, or anywhere, for some fighting, no matter in what capacity, be it even as a humble private. "Are you not ashamed of yourself," I exclaimed, "to risk a life so precious to Russia? Stay at home, exercise your influence on our foreign policy--that is also a noble work." "Oh," he answered, "as to that I am convinced that death will find me, not on the battlefield, but at home, in Russia. Every day I receive scores of anonymous letters, predicting the nearness of my end." On leaving me, he asked if I would accept his photograph, which he afterwards sent me, with charmingly encouraging inscription: "To Mme. Olga Novikoff from an enthusiastic admirer of her patriotic work." I may add that this fine portrait is now in Moscow in the Roumiantzoff Museum. Two weeks later he was no more. Verestchagin described to me some of the horrors of the Bulgarian war. I would willingly have closed my ears to them, but there is a strange and grim fascination in horror, especially when described by a man of Verestchagin's personality. He saw the Turkish prisoners being driven northward {87} to Russia and the agonies they suffered. To add to the frightfulness an early frost set in and the poor fellows, worn out through the long siege, dropped by the wayside and were frozen to death. These scenes enabled him to paint Napoleon's "Retreat from Moscow." It is of peculiar interest now to recall the Kaiser's comments when he saw Verestchagin's picture exhibited at Berlin. He looked long and earnestly at the canvas, in particular at the figure of Napoleon tramping through the snow. He is said to have remarked that such pictures were our safest guarantees against war. "Yet," he added, "in spite of that there will still be men who want to govern the world, but they will all end the same." Was this a prophecy, or merely a remark uttered with the object of blinding his contemporaries to his real purpose? It is certainly very interesting to note that the Kaiser would not allow the students of the military schools to see the "Retreat from Moscow." People must draw from that their own conclusions. Verestchagin came to London on the occasion of his Exhibition, when I saw a good deal of him. Suddenly he was called back to Russia, and he came to me and announced his intention of returning immediately. "But," I said, "you cannot leave your pictures." "There are my two servants," he replied. "They will look after them." "But," expostulated I, "they can speak only Russian, and that will not be of much assistance to them in London. How can they look after your {88} affairs when they cannot speak either English or French?"