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MIZORA:
A PROPHECY.
A MSS. FOUND AMONG THE PRIVATE PAPERS OF THE
PRINCESS VERA ZAROVITCH;
_Being a true and faithful account of her Journey to the Interior of the
Earth, with a careful description of the Country and its Inhabitants,
their Customs, Manners and Government._
WRITTEN BY HERSELF.
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
NEW YORK:
_G. W. Dillingham, Publisher_,
Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co.
MDCCCXC.
_All Rights Reserved._
Copyright, 1889
by
Mary E. Bradley.
PREFACE.
The narrative of Vera Zarovitch, published in the _Cincinnati
Commercial_ in 1880 and 1881, attracted a great deal of attention. It
commanded a wide circle of readers, and there was much more said about
it than is usual when works of fiction run through a newspaper in weekly
installments. Quite a number of persons who are unaccustomed to
bestowing consideration upon works of fiction spoke of it, and grew
greatly interested in it.
I received many messages about it, and letters of inquiry, and some
ladies and gentlemen desired to know the particulars about the
production of the story in book form; and were inquisitive about it and
the author who kept herself in concealment so closely that even her
husband did not know that she was the writer who was making this stir in
our limited literary world.
I was myself so much interested in it that it occurred to me to make the
suggestion that the story ought to have an extensive sale in book form,
and to write to a publisher; but the lady who wrote the work seemed
herself a shade indifferent on the subject, and it passed out of my
hands and out of my mind.
It is safe to say that it made an impression that was remarkable, and
with a larger audience I do not doubt that it would make its mark as an
original production wrought out with thoughtful care and literary skill,
and take high rank.
Yours very truly,
Murat Halstead.
_Nov. 14th, 1889._
PART FIRST
CHAPTER I.
Having little knowledge of rhetorical art, and possessing but a limited
imagination, it is only a strong sense of the duty I owe to Science and
the progressive minds of the age, that induces me to come before the
public in the character of an author. True, I have only a simple
narration of facts to deal with, and am, therefore, not expected to
present artistic effects, and poetical imagery, nor any of those flights
of imagination that are the trial and test of genius.
Yet my task is not a light one. I may fail to satisfy my own mind that
the true merits of the wonderful and mysterious people I discovered,
have been justly described. I may fail to interest the public; which is
the one difficulty most likely to occur, and most to be regretted--not
for my own sake, but theirs. It is so hard to get human nature out of
the ruts it has moved in for ages. To tear away their present faith, is
like undermining their existence. Yet others who come after me will be
more aggressive than I. I have this consolation: whatever reception may
be given my narrative by the public, I know that it has been written
solely for its good. That wonderful civilization I met with in Mizora, I
may not be able to more than faintly shadow forth here, yet from it, the
present age may form some idea of that grand, that ideal life that is
possible for our remote posterity. Again and again has religious
enthusiasm pictured a life to be eliminated from the grossness and
imperfections of our material existence. The Spirit--the Mind--that
mental gift, by or through which we think, reason, and suffer, is by one
tragic and awful struggle to free itself from temporal blemishes and
difficulties, and become spiritual and perfect. Yet, who, sweeping the
limitless fields of space with a telescope, glancing at myriads of
worlds that a lifetime could not count, or gazing through a microscope
at a tiny world in a drop of water, has dreamed that patient Science
and practice could evolve for the living human race, the ideal life of
exalted knowledge: the life that I found in Mizora; that Science had
made real and practicable. The duty that I owe to truth compels me to
acknowledge that I have not been solicited to write this narrative by my
friends; nor has it been the pastime of my leisure hours; nor written to
amuse an invalid; nor, in fact, for any of those reasons which have
prompted so many men and women to write a book. It is, on the contrary,
the result of hours of laborious work, undertaken for the sole purpose
of benefiting Science and giving encouragement to those progressive
minds who have already added their mite of knowledge to the coming
future of the race. "We owe a duty to posterity," says Junius in his
famous letter to the king. A declaration that ought to be a motto for
every schoolroom, and graven above every legislative hall in the world.
It should be taught to the child as soon as reason has begun to dawn,
and be its guide until age has become its master.
It is my desire not to make this story a personal matter; and for that
unavoidable prominence which is given one's own identity in relating
personal experiences, an indulgence is craved from whomsoever may peruse
these pages.
In order to explain how and why I came to venture upon a journey no
other of my sex has ever attempted, I am compelled to make a slight
mention of my family and nationality.
I am a Russian: born to a family of nobility, wealth, and political
power. Had the natural expectations for my birth and condition been
fulfilled, I should have lived, loved, married and died a Russian
aristocrat, and been unknown to the next generation--and this narrative
would not have been written.
There are some people who seem to have been born for the sole purpose of
becoming the playthings of Fate--who are tossed from one condition of
life to another without wish or will of their own. Of this class I am an
illustration. Had I started out with a resolve to discover the North
Pole, I should never have succeeded. But all my hopes, affections,
thoughts, and desires were centered in another direction, hence--but my
narrative will explain the rest.
The tongue of woman has long been celebrated as an unruly member, and
perhaps, in some of the domestic affairs of life, it has been
unnecessarily active; yet no one who gives this narrative a perusal, can
justly deny that it was the primal cause of the grandest discovery of
the age.
I was educated in Paris, where my vacations were frequently spent with
an American family who resided there, and with whom my father had formed
an intimate friendship. Their house, being in a fashionable quarter of
the city and patriotically hospitable, was the frequent resort of many
of their countrymen. I unconsciously acquired a knowledge and admiration
for their form of government, and some revolutionary opinions in regard
to my own.
Had I been guided by policy, I should have kept the latter a secret, but
on returning home, at the expiration of my school days, I imprudently
gave expression to them in connection with some of the political
movements of the Russian Government--and secured its suspicion at once,
which, like the virus of some fatal disease, once in the system, would
lose its vitality only with my destruction.
While at school, I had become attached to a young and lovely Polish
orphan, whose father had been killed at the battle of Grochow when she
was an infant in her mother's arms. My love for my friend, and sympathy
for her oppressed people, finally drew me into serious trouble and
caused my exile from my native land.
I married at the age of twenty the son of my father's dearest friend.
Alexis and I were truly attached to each other, and when I gave to my
infant the name of my father and witnessed his pride and delight, I
thought to my cup of earthly happiness, not one more drop could be
added.
A desire to feel the cheering air of a milder climate induced me to pay
my Polish friend a visit. During my sojourn with her occurred the
anniversary of the tragedy of Grochow, when, according to custom, all
who had lost friends in the two dreadful battles that had been fought
there, met to offer prayers for their souls. At her request, I
accompanied my friend to witness the ceremonies. To me, a silent and
sympathizing spectator, they were impressive and solemn in the extreme.
Not less than thirty thousand people were there, weeping and praying on
ground hallowed by patriot blood. After the prayers were said, the voice
of the multitude rose in a mournful and pathetic chant. It was rudely
broken by the appearance of the Russian soldiers.
A scene ensued which memory refuses to forget, and justice forbids me to
deny. I saw my friend, with the song of sorrow still trembling on her
innocent lips, fall bleeding, dying from the bayonet thrust of a Russian
soldier. I clasped the lifeless body in my arms, and in my grief and
excitement, poured forth upbraidings against the government of my
country which it would never forgive nor condone. I was arrested, tried,
and condemned to the mines of Siberia for life.
My father's ancient and princely lineage, my husband's rank, the wealth
of both families, all were unavailing in procuring a commutation of my
sentence to some less severe punishment. Through bribery, however, the
co-operation of one of my jailors was secured, and I escaped in disguise
to the frontier.
It was my husband's desire that I proceed immediately to France, where
he would soon join me. But we were compelled to accept whatever means
chance offered for my escape, and a whaling vessel bound for the
Northern Seas was the only thing I could secure passage upon with
safety. The captain promised to transfer me to the first southward bound
vessel we should meet.
But none came. The slow, monotonous days found me gliding farther and
farther from home and love. In the seclusion of my little cabin, my fate
was more endurable than the horrors of Siberia could have been, but it
was inexpressibly lonesome. On shipboard I sustained the character of a
youth, exiled for a political offense, and of a delicate constitution.
It is not necessary to the interest of this narrative to enter into the
details of shipwreck and disaster, which befel us in the Northern Seas.
Our vessel was caught between ice floes, and we were compelled to
abandon her. The small boats were converted into sleds, but in such
shape as would make it easy to re-convert them into boats again, should
it ever become necessary. We took our march for the nearest Esquimaux
settlement, where we were kindly received and tendered the hospitality
of their miserable huts. The captain, who had been ill for some time,
grew rapidly worse, and in a few days expired. As soon as the approach
of death became apparent, he called the crew about him, and requested
them to make their way south as soon as possible, and to do all in their
power for my health and comfort. He had, he said, been guaranteed a sum
of money for my safe conduct to France, sufficient to place his family
in independent circumstances, and he desired that his crew should do all
in their power to secure it for them.
The next morning I awoke to find myself deserted, the crew having
decamped with nearly everything brought from the ship.
Being blessed with strong nerves, I stared my situation bravely in the
face, and resolved to make the best of it. I believed it could be only a
matter of time when some European or American whaling vessel should
rescue me: and I had the resolution to endure, while hope fed the flame.
I at once proceeded to inure myself to the life of the Esquimaux. I
habited myself in a suit of reindeer fur, and ate, with compulsory
appetite, the raw flesh and fat that form their principal food.
Acclimated by birth to the coldest region of the temperate zone, and
naturally of a hardy constitution, I found it not so difficult to endure
the rigors of the Arctic temperature as I had supposed.
I soon discovered the necessity of being an assistance to my new friends
in procuring food, as their hospitality depends largely upon the state
of their larder. A compass and a small trunk of instruments belonging to
the Captain had been either over-looked or rejected by the crew in their
flight. I secured the esteem of the Esquimaux by using the compass to
conduct a hunting party in the right direction when a sudden snow-storm
had obscured the landmarks by which they guide their course. I
cheerfully assumed a share of their hardships, for with these poor
children of the North life is a continual struggle with cold and
starvation. The long, rough journeys which we frequently took over ice
and ridges of snow in quest of animal food, I found monotonously
destitute of everything I had experienced in former traveling, except
fatigue. The wail of the winds, and the desolate landscape of ice and
snow, never varied. The coruscations of the Aurora Borealis sometimes
lighted up the dreary waste around us, and the myriad eyes of the
firmament shone out with a brighter lustre, as twilight shrank before
the gloom of the long Arctic night.
A description of the winter I spent with the Esquimaux can be of little
interest to the readers of this narrative. Language cannot convey to
those who have dwelt always in comfort the feeling of isolation, the
struggle with despair, that was constantly mine. We were often confined
to our ice huts for days while the blinding fury of the wind driven snow
without made the earth look like chaos. Sometimes I crept to the narrow
entrance and looked toward the South with a feeling of homesickness too
intense to describe. Away, over leagues of perilous travel, lay
everything that was dear or congenial; and how many dreary months,
perhaps years, must pass before I could obtain release from associations
more dreadful than solitude. It required all the courage I could command
to endure it.
The whale-fishing opens about the first week in August, and continues
throughout September. As it drew near, the settlement prepared to move
farther north, to a locality where they claimed whales could be found
in abundance. I cheerfully assisted in the preparations, for to meet
some whaling vessel was my only hope of rescue from surroundings that
made existence a living death.
The dogs were harnessed to sleds heavily laden with the equipments of an
Esquimaux hut. The woman, as well as the men, were burdened with immense
packs; and our journey begun. We halted only to rest and sleep. A few
hours work furnished us a new house out of the ever present ice. We
feasted on raw meat--sometimes a freshly killed deer; after which our
journey was resumed.
As near as I could determine, it was close to the 85 deg. north latitude,
where we halted on the shore of an open sea. Wild ducks and game were
abundant, also fish of an excellent quality. Here, for the first time in
many months, I felt the kindly greeting of a mild breeze as it hailed me
from the bosom of the water. Vegetation was not profuse nor brilliant,
but to my long famished eyes, its dingy hue was delightfully refreshing.
Across this sea I instantly felt a strong desire to sail. I believed it
must contain an island of richer vegetation than the shore we occupied.
But no one encouraged me or would agree to be my companion. On the
contrary, they intimated that I should never return. I believed that
they were trying to frighten me into remaining with them, and declared
my intention to go alone. Perhaps I might meet in that milder climate
some of my own race. My friend smiled, and pointing to the South, said,
as he designated an imaginary boundary:
"Across _that_ no white man's foot has ever stepped."
So I was alone. My resolution, however, was not shaken. A boat was
constructed, and bidding adieu to my humble companions, I launched into
an unknown sea.