W. and I went two or three times to the Cercle des Patineurs at the Bois
de Boulogne, and had a good skate. The women didn't skate as well then
as they do now, but they looked very pretty in their costumes of velvet
and sables. It was funny to see them stumbling over the ice with a man
supporting them on each side. However, they enjoyed it very much. It was
beautiful winter weather, very cold but no wind, and it was very good
exercise. All the world was there, and the afternoons passed quickly
enough. I had not skated for years, having spent all my winters in
Italy, but on the principle that you never forget anything that you know
well, I thought I would try, and will say that the first half-hour was
absolute suffering. It was in the old days when one still wore a strap
over the instep, which naturally was drawn very tight. My feet were like
lumps of ice, as heavy as lead, and I didn't seem able to lift them from
the ground. I went back to the dressing-room to take my skates off for a
few minutes, and when the blood began to circulate again, I could have
cried with the pain. A friend of mine, a beginner, who was sitting near
waiting to have her skates put on, was rather discouraged, and said to
me: "You don't look as if you were enjoying yourself.
Pages:
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266