NEW YORK
Towards midnight the American coast showed itself to view. In the
distance appeared a great multitude of twinkling lights. Our ship fired
rockets and burnt Bengal fires. Alike in steerage and first-class saloon,
pulses beat fast with joyous anticipation. On the after-deck stood the
emigrants full of hope and expectation; they sang hymns and patriotic
songs. I couldn’t help thinking of the day when they will wake up to the
unpleasant realities of Yankee life. The poor wretches will not find the
streets paved with gold.
Bedland Island showed itself afar off with its towering figure of
Liberty, the most wonderful statue I ever saw, a majestic giantess
holding a torch up to light the world. We saw the statue getting bigger
and bigger, and soon New York appeared as bright as day with electricity:
one mass of wonderful lights.
A new pilot came on board to take us into port. We advanced cautiously
amongst floating lighthouses and dropped anchor in Hudson Bay near the
quarantine office, in order to land in the morning.
22nd June.—Sergy woke me at six o’clock and took me up on deck to admire
the grand sight of Hudson Bay, with picturesque villas strewn along the
banks, and menacing fortresses rising on green hillocks. In the middle of
the immense bay, battleships, merchant vessels and yachts are anchored. A
big ship, carrying only fishermen, passes by going out into the open sea.
At seven o’clock sanitary and custom officers came on board and stood on
guard before the cabins. In this Land of Liberty there were formalities
without number to be gone through. Under the fire of cross-examination we
had to give our age, name and business, and to explain how long we are
going to stay and what was our object in coming; and this is the Land of
the Free!
Towards nine o’clock our steamer touched New York quay. We were a long
time in getting in and came at last to the broad embankment. Not until
eleven were we given permission to land on American ground. A crowd was
massed on the dock to welcome the _Bourgogne_ and her passengers. There
was a wild waving of hands and handkerchiefs on board. The moment had
come to bid the ship good-bye. Our fellow-passengers hurried to and fro,
carrying off their parcels. When all was in order, passengers’ papers
looked through and all the formalities over, the bustle of disembarkment
began. Friends are meeting each other, kisses, hearty greetings are
exchanged.
A row of all the letters of the alphabet are printed very large and black
on the wooden wall of the dock. When stepping from the ship we were taken
to the stall bearing our own letter “D.” The “D’s” men were busy with our
luggage, also dumped down under the letter “D.”
There was much shouting and general tumult. We were jolted hither and
thither by hordes of passengers with their bundles, baskets, children
and pet animals. I felt a little lost amid all this bustle. Our Russian
consul, Mr. Olarowski, was on the quay to meet us. Thanks to him, a
gallant official of the custom quickly marked crosses on our luggage
without opening it.
Everything was new to us in America. We saw a nurse holding in her arms a
baby in long clothes, about a year old, adorned with rings and bracelets,
who was placidly sucking his thumb and kicking his feet with delight.
Mr. Shaniawski has been before in America, and his knowledge of
American customs was very useful to us. He took upon himself the task
of finding us a lodging. We went to an hotel called the Clarendon, a
sort of boarding-house, situated in the 18th street, where big and
small apartments are the same price, three dollars and a half for each,
including breakfast, lunch and dinner; there is a bathroom to each
room. The head waiter led us up the handsomely carpeted stairs to our
apartment. The room was pleasant and cool, with pictures on the walls and
a thick carpet.
We were just in time for an early lunch when we arrived at the hotel.
Fruit was served to us before the meal, which ended with iced-tea. The
American custom is having a vast number of small dishes, each counting
separately.
All the men in America are clean-shaven and have the appearance of
actors, and it seemed strange to me that one of the waiters who served
at table-d’hôte, wore a big moustache. A law had just been promulgated
forbidding the waiters in the restaurants to wear moustaches, but they
all declared that they would obey only if their wages were increased.
Having announced that ultimatum they left their patrons, and had thus
their own way. The servants in this country are very highly paid, the
waiters in our hotel received eighty dollars a month. They believe in the
social equality of all human beings but do not seem to mind admitting
that there is a class above their’s. They just condescend to wait upon
us, and think they can demonstrate their equality by being as rude as
possible. Dr. Pokrovski asked a waiter to close the window during dinner,
and that uncivil man answered coolly: “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
The day of our arrival happened to be on a Sunday, and the servants here
are very scrupulous about keeping the Sabbath. Mrs. Serebriakoff called
the chambermaid to take away a broken glass, and the girl, resenting the
advent of visitors on a Sunday, replied impertinently that she did not
work on Sundays. It was also impossible to have our boots cleaned at the
hotel, and we had to go into the street for that operation.
Our consul came to call upon us with his wife, a smart young Californian
with yellow locks, who looked like a pretty wax figure in a show-window.
She doesn’t speak a word of Russian, though her little daughter, aged
six, has had a Russian nurse since her very birth. The Olarowskis took us
to a music hall on the top of a ten-storied house, lighted with different
coloured lamps, from which you have a bird’s-eye view of the great city.
The lift carried us to the roof of the big house, transformed into a
garden. We entered a vast hall with a glass roof. It was most interesting
and quite without the feeling that you might fall off.
Nearly all the houses in New York are twelve-storeyed, with terrace
roofs which serve sometimes as play-grounds for school children. In the
working quarters the municipality has organised Roof-Gardens, where the
poor people can breathe a purer air than in their hovels. In Madison
Square, one of the richest quarters of New York, a sculptor has arranged
a study on his roof, and in the next house a sportsman has organised, at
the height of ninety yards above the pavement, a big dog-kennel where he
breeds bull-dogs. In Eighth’s Avenue a Protestant church with a belfry
is perched on the roof of an immense building. The houses here are all
divided into flats. In Broadway, the main street of New York, they are
all built in different styles and architecture, and in the next street,
on the contrary, the houses are all alike.
Next day we went to call on the Hollands, our Cairo friends, who live at
Windsor Hotel. We started down Fifth Avenue, a street lined with solemn
stately buildings with pillared porticoes, all of the self-same pattern.
The height of the houses amazed me, some of them being from twenty to
twenty-five stories high. The streets are mostly numbered and run in
rows. The life in the streets is tremendous. There was an appalling
thunder of trains rushing every minute above our heads.
Finally we got to the Windsor Hotel which, like all the big hotels, has
its own telegraph and telephone offices, its milliner, hairdresser, etc.
We were told at the office that the Hollands had gone the day before to
Lake Mohawk. We sent a wire to tell them that we were here, and started
back to our hotel by the “Elevated,” an electric suspended railway built
upon iron struts above the houses, which cuts through New York in all
directions. It made abrupt turnings, and rushed at a reckless pace over
the roofs of the houses, or raced through tunnels beneath them. It is
great fun looking through other people’s windows, and getting a peep into
comedies and tragedies sometimes. The train suddenly stops short with a
jerk that sends the passengers into a conglomerate struggling mass, and
throws them into each other’s arms. The train brought us to the hotel
with a flourish that precipitated me on the knees of my vis-a-vis, an
odious man with a red nose.
The Hollands had wired that they were coming over by the night train, and
early next morning they sent me a bandbox full of beautiful red roses—so
enormous, they looked like peonies—with a note to ask us when we would
receive them. The Hollands came to call on us in the afternoon. To meet
their kind faces again was charming; the greetings between us were warm.
I thought dear Mrs. Holland would never leave off kissing me.
The Hollands offered to drive us in their landau through Central Park.
The beautiful weather had brought out all New York, driving, riding,
walking. We returned by a lovely place called the Riverside Drive, a long
road running along the banks of the Hudson, with charming houses looking
straight out on the river, and bordered by trees on each side that spread
their branches over us and made the roadway shady. Between the trees the
river glistened like a silver ribbon.
On the 4th July, the day of the Anniversary of the Independence of
America, we were wakened in the morning by crackers and rockets. In
the afternoon the Hollands took us to Coney Island, a fashionable
watering-place situated a few miles out of town. We took the tram to
reach the port, and drove through streets bedecked with flags. We took
places on board the _Taurus_, a pleasure steamer black with people going
out for a boating picnic. The boat had a holiday air about it. The
passengers were all workmen with their families, gay, noisy people all of
them. On the stern a troupe of Neapolitans danced the tarantella. Leaning
on the railing we admired the immense bay of New York, swarming with
ships of different nationalities, amidst which we saw our _Bourgogne_ on
the point of leaving for Europe. From afar we heard the cannons saluting
our Russian cruiser, the _Admiral Nakhimoff_, which was entering the
port just then. The wind rose suddenly, and it took more than two hours
before we could land at Manhattan Beach. At last we succeeded in dropping
anchor. The boat was overcrowded, and all the people on the deck made a
rush towards the stern, making the ship incline on one side, and I had to
cling fast to Sergy’s arm not to be swept overboard.
On landing we took the Elevated, which brought us in a few minutes to
Brighton Beach, a sea-side resort, the meeting-place for members of
fashionable high life. We walked along the sea-shore and met ladies and
gentlemen in bathing suits, and bare-legged children with toy spades,
playing merrily with sand and bright sea-washed shells. We found
ourselves soon in the midst of a large fair with all sorts of show-tents
of various shapes, displaying brilliant banners, and queer little booths
where you could get your fortune told. The feast was in full swing. We
looked at the many merry-go-rounds, flying wooden horses, donkey races,
etc. We mounted, for fun, the flying horses, and had a good gallop. We
walked for nearly half-an-hour, exposed to the rays of the pitiless sun,
in search of a restaurant; we had eaten nothing since our breakfast
and were horribly hungry. Mr. Holland, who was completely ruled by his
imperious spouse, at times had rebellious fits; he wanted to dine in
one place, his wife in another, which made them both cross. He wrangled
for about a quarter-of-an-hour; I was a good deal flushed and so weary
that I could scarcely drag myself along. I wasn’t able to bear the heat
and the fatigue any longer and begged Mr. Holland, who led the party,
to take pity on us and pause to draw breath, but he paid no attention
whatever to my entreaties and pushed on stubbornly, both hands in his
pockets, panting like an engine and mopping his forehead from time to
time. There was nothing to do but walk on with a sigh of submission.
Mrs. Holland got her way in the end, and announced, in a tone which
didn’t suffer contradiction, that she would enter the first hotel on
our way. We stopped before the porch of the Oriental Hotel, and were
told by the porter that there was a table d’hôte at the hotel, at which
the lodgers only could partake. We were ready to retreat, famished and
awfully disappointed, but Mrs. Holland, flying into a violent temper,
forced herself in, declaring authoritatively, “Here we are, and here we
remain!” and made her entrance into the hotel with the step and mien of a
woman perfectly determined to have her dinner. Whilst she went to speak
to the manager, we came into a large entrance hall, where a long row of
negro boys were ranged along the walls, armed with cleaning brushes. They
rushed at us and began to dust our clothes. Mrs. Holland must have had a
very persuasive way with the head-waiter, for she returned triumphant. We
had a very good dinner to which we did ample honour, and were in no way
bashful about our appetites. Fortified by our meal, we soon recovered our
good spirits, and went by train to Brooklyn. We crossed East River to New
York on a ferry full of passengers, horses and carriages. The ferry was
sumptuous, the walls of the state cabin entirely of looking-glass.
When we returned to our hotel we found the captain and two ship officers
of our cruiser the _Admiral Nakhimoff_ who had come to invite us, as well
as all our companions, including the Hollands, to come and take a cup of
tea on board that night. Being awfully tired, I was not fit for visitors
just then, and as our guests settled themselves into a comfortable
position in their chairs, making no attempt to go away, I went to my room
under the pretext of a bad headache.
Oh! that “Nakhimoff!” I shall never forget the trouble that cruiser gave
us. All the way to the port I felt more dead than alive. The streets
were transformed into a veritable battle-field, crackers were exploded
under our horses’ feet, rockets were let off and guns fired in the
air for joy. The horses, taking fright, began to fidget and prance.
I heaved a sigh of relief when we reached the port. The “Nakhimoff”
had sent a boat rowed by fourteen sailors to fetch us. We had already
pushed off, when Mrs. Holland suggested that it was dangerous to go on
the water to-day, because the captains of the numerous excursion boats
must surely be drunk and would sink us in no time. She frightened me
out of my wits. I was desperately afraid that our boat would be upset,
especially when Mrs. Holland, with a very red face, and an expression
of desperate determination, declared that she would jump overboard if
we were not rowed back to the shore immediately. “Tell them to go back!
I shall go back!” shouted the rebellious lady at the top of her voice.
Our husbands tried to persuade us that there was no danger whatever, but
they couldn’t bring us to reason. They landed us on the beach under the
charge of Mr. Shaniawski and were rowed back to the “Nakhimoff.” A crowd
of spectators, chiefly women, gathered round us and laughed openly at
us, bestowing various uncomplimentary remarks on our cowardice. Awfully
confused on being the laughing stock of the place, we decided to cross
to the “Nakhimoff” at any price, and were so pleased to see the row-boat
coming back to fetch us, in case we had changed our minds, with two
ship-officers this time. When we stepped into the boat I became aware
that the officer at the rudder, who was intrusted to bring us safely on
board, wore two pairs of spectacles. He must surely be short-sighted! But
come what may! We pushed off and got to the “Nakhimoff” in ten minutes’
time, somewhat confused, but awfully pleased to rejoin our husbands. The
cruiser had hoisted the Russian flag which made me feel all I don’t know
how, to look at it hanging there so far from home.
We were taking our tea in the mess-cabin when we heard the sounds of
a band striking up our anthem, and shouts of “Hip, hip, hurrah!” We
hastened upon the deck, and glancing eagerly in the direction from where
the welcome music came we saw an American man-of-war passing before the
“Nakhimoff” and saluting us thus gallantly, which roused me to a high
pitch of patriotic exaltation. Night coming on, we had to hasten back on
shore. The crew of the “Nakhimoff” cheered us as we left her deck and the
officers assisted us down the ship’s ladder. We reached the coast all
right. All is well that ends well!
The next day the papers said that there were about 200 persons killed in
the streets of New York and more than 2,000 wounded during the national
festivities, and that the rockets had set on fire a great number of
houses. We have had a narrow escape, I must say!
New York is full of Russian anarchists. Quite recently a Russian general,
Seliverstoff, has been assassinated by one of them. They managed to
lay hands on his murderer, whose beard and moustaches are kept by Mr.
Olarowski. Oh, the horror!
On the very morning when we read our names in the list of the arrivals at
the “Clarendon,” Sergy gave audience to a suspicious-looking compatriot
of ours, who had come expressly to ask my husband’s opinion upon the
treaty between Russia and America, concerning the terms on which both
countries had to deliver up their respective criminals.
The newspapers were full of us. Our hotel was besieged by reporters
waiting in the ante-room for hours to have a word from us. The _Harper’s
Magazine_ asks for our photographs, and a type-writing machine office
proposes to issue 250 correspondences concerning my husband. We received
a lot of letters from autograph-hunters. Mrs. Vanderbilt, one of the
richest women in America, wrote to Sergy requesting his autograph in
order that she might add it to her collection of celebrities.
Glancing this morning over an illustrated paper, in the middle of the
column I saw our faces, but couldn’t believe they were really there,
in an American paper. I began to think I wasn’t awake yet. I am sure
it is the Hollands who have given our photos to the papers, for we are
carried about as a show by them. Under our pictures the magazine has
printed our biography, with a number of ridiculous stories concerning us.
There was a whole sheet with dark hints as to our private lives, every
syllable false. My husband, according to the press, was an oppressor of
the people, little better than “Nero,” and Colonel Serebriakoff, who was
not able to hurt a fly, is also said to be noted for his cruelty. How do
such revolting things get into papers? It is too ridiculous, but I didn’t
laugh, I was too angry. The imaginative reporters described me as a
Princess with Imperial blood in her veins, endowed with no end of beauty
and money, and Mr. Shaniawski as a world-known traveller and explorer.
Stupid fellows!
The Hollands are living all the year round at the “Windsor,” where they
keep a splendid apartment, like a great number of Americans, who live in
hotels to avoid the bother of servants and housekeeping. The Hollands
had us to dinner at the “Windsor,” and Mrs. Holland wanted me to look my
best in order to make the conquest of the paper-reporters, who take their
meals at the “Windsor.” She insisted that I should wear my prettiest
dress, but I didn’t take any pains to impress the journalists, and put on
my walking costume. I wish the Hollands wouldn’t put me forward always!
Dinner was at half-past seven. Mr. Holland took me down to the
dining-room, a large hall brilliantly illuminated and filled with
gentlemen in full dress and bare-shouldered ladies. We made our way to
the prettily spread table reserved for us, decorated with bunches of
roses. Both Mrs. Holland and Mrs. Olarowski had put on their finest
dresses. Of all those present I was the only one to appear in a wrong
toilet. My modest frock seemed rather out of place amidst the gorgeous
plumes of the other ladies, and Mrs. Holland’s eyes swept over me
disapprovingly. Nevertheless, I was a great deal stared at and much
annoyed, for I felt I was being made a show of, and exhibited as one
would exhibit a giant or a dwarf.
We meant to spend a fortnight in New York, but had to leave the city
much sooner. When I came down to breakfast one morning, I perceived
immediately that something unpleasant had happened. All my companions
seemed very preoccupied and gloomy, and ate their breakfasts in silence.
After our meal I began turning over the leaves of a daily paper which
happened to be on the table close to my hand, and saw an article which
made my blood run cold. It ran thus: “_Siberia’s Governor-General on a
visit here—in imminent danger!_” And then I was told that the manager of
our hotel had thought fit to warn my husband of the danger to which we
were exposed. He had received an anonymous letter that morning, signed _A
Victim of Siberia_, in which he was threatened that his hotel would be
blown up for having sheltered us. Further on the letter ran thus: _There
is now stopping at your hotel a man who is the sworn enemy of thousands
of persecuted men and women in far distant Siberia. He has very recently
been appointed to the governor-generalship of that accursed spot, but he
is a marked man by men of my belief in this country, the Mecca of all,
the land of the free. I write this to warn you of a plot to destroy
Doukhovskoy, who will now go to rule over the victims of the Tzar in
Siberia. But I feel it my duty to warn you to be on your guard against
certain members of an organisation of which I am a member._ This letter
was sent to the superintendent of the police and he has no doubt made
preparations to prevent any attempt at assassination, or at any rate
to arrest the assassin, which may not be much comfort to us if there
really be a plot. Sergy, however, was not to be frightened easily, but of
course I was horribly frightened. What woman would not have been? Another
morning paper announced: _General Doukhovskoy will be assassinated with
his wife and suite. In any case he wouldn’t be allowed to reach Siberia,
where he is appointed general-governor to martyrise the people._ And
though the _New York Herald_ had printed in big black letters a headline
six inches tall: _General Doukhovskoy is safe_, we felt ourselves
condemned to death.
The first thing to be done was to get away from New York and take the
afternoon train to Chicago. I packed in haste and spent a frantic
half-hour in thrusting my things in my trunk. The Hollands had invited us
to share their box with them at the opera that night, and had announced
it in the papers. We telephoned to them that we were obliged to leave
New York quite unexpectedly, having been called to Khabarovsk by wire.
We also telegraphed to an American lady, who had invited us to visit at
her house in Philadelphia, that we were leaving for Boston, in order that
they couldn’t get on our track.
My husband acceded to my entreaties that for the rest of our journey
through America we would not be “The Governor-General and his wife,”
but a plain party of tourists. After my fright I will enjoy it all,
particularly because I could see everything I wanted to see, and that
I could not have done if we were pointed out here and there as “The
Governor-General and his wife.” And thus Sergy changed his name and sent
away his luggage; we will travel across the Continent incognito.
We got hastily into a tram to be driven to the railway station, but we
were not destined to go off unobserved. A very unprepossessing-looking
individual, with long hair and spectacles, sprang on the steps of
the tram and asked Mr. Shaniavski, in very bad English, if General
Doukhovskoy was leaving New York for good, Mr. Shaniavski stopping
him from entering the car, answered that he knew nothing about
General Doukhovskoy. At that very moment the tramway started and we
were delivered from the obtrusive spy. At the railway-station Mrs.
Serebriakoff and I didn’t permit our husbands to leave our sides, and
struggled hard to seem unconcerned, mistrusting all the passengers.