We anchored here at Yalta, Russia, two or three days ago. To me the
place was a vision of the Sierras. The tall, gray mountains that back
it, their sides bristling with pines--cloven with ravines--here and there
a hoary rock towering into view--long, straight streaks sweeping down
from the summit to the sea, marking the passage of some avalanche of
former times--all these were as like what one sees in the Sierras as if
the one were a portrait of the other. The little village of Yalta
nestles at the foot of an amphitheatre which slopes backward and upward
to the wall of hills, and looks as if it might have sunk quietly down to
its present position from a higher elevation. This depression is covered
with the great parks and gardens of noblemen, and through the mass of
green foliage the bright colors of their palaces bud out here and there
like flowers. It is a beautiful spot.
We had the United States Consul on board--the Odessa Consul. We
assembled in the cabin and commanded him to tell us what we must do to be
saved, and tell us quickly. He made a speech. The first thing he said
fell like a blight on every hopeful spirit: he had never seen a court
reception. (Three groans for the Consul.) But he said he had seen
receptions at the Governor General's in Odessa, and had often listened to
people's experiences of receptions at the Russian and other courts, and
believed he knew very well what sort of ordeal we were about to essay.
(Hope budded again.) He said we were many; the summer palace was small
--a mere mansion; doubtless we should be received in summer fashion--in the
garden; we would stand in a row, all the gentlemen in swallow-tail coats,
white kids, and white neck-ties, and the ladies in light-colored silks,
or something of that kind; at the proper moment--12 meridian--the
Emperor, attended by his suite arrayed in splendid uniforms, would appear
and walk slowly along the line, bowing to some, and saying two or three
words to others. At the moment his Majesty appeared, a universal,
delighted, enthusiastic smile ought to break out like a rash among the
passengers--a smile of love, of gratification, of admiration--and with
one accord, the party must begin to bow--not obsequiously, but
respectfully, and with dignity; at the end of fifteen minutes the Emperor
would go in the house, and we could run along home again. We felt
immensely relieved. It seemed, in a manner, easy. There was not a man
in the party but believed that with a little practice he could stand in a
row, especially if there were others along; there was not a man but
believed he could bow without tripping on his coat tail and breaking his
neck; in a word, we came to believe we were equal to any item in the
performance except that complicated smile. The Consul also said we ought
to draft a little address to the Emperor, and present it to one of his
aides-de-camp, who would forward it to him at the proper time.
Therefore, five gentlemen were appointed to prepare the document, and the
fifty others went sadly smiling about the ship--practicing. During the
next twelve hours we had the general appearance, somehow, of being at a
funeral, where every body was sorry the death had occurred, but glad it
was over--where every body was smiling, and yet broken-hearted.
A committee went ashore to wait on his Excellency the Governor-General,
and learn our fate. At the end of three hours of boding suspense, they
came back and said the Emperor would receive us at noon the next day
--would send carriages for us--would hear the address in person. The Grand
Duke Michael had sent to invite us to his palace also. Any man could see
that there was an intention here to show that Russia's friendship for
America was so genuine as to render even her private citizens objects
worthy of kindly attentions.
At the appointed hour we drove out three miles, and assembled in the
handsome garden in front of the Emperor's palace.
We formed a circle under the trees before the door, for there was no one
room in the house able to accommodate our three-score persons
comfortably, and in a few minutes the imperial family came out bowing and
smiling, and stood in our midst. A number of great dignitaries of the
Empire, in undress unit forms, came with them. With every bow, his
Majesty said a word of welcome. I copy these speeches. There is
character in them--Russian character--which is politeness itself, and the
genuine article. The French are polite, but it is often mere ceremonious
politeness. A Russian imbues his polite things with a heartiness, both
of phrase and expression, that compels belief in their sincerity. As I
was saying, the Czar punctuated his speeches with bows:
“Good morning--I am glad to see you--I am gratified--I am delighted--I am
happy to receive you!”
All took off their hats, and the Consul inflicted the address on him. He
bore it with unflinching fortitude; then took the rusty-looking document
and handed it to some great officer or other, to be filed away among the
archives of Russia--in the stove. He thanked us for the address, and
said he was very much pleased to see us, especially as such friendly
relations existed between Russia and the United States. The Empress said
the Americans were favorites in Russia, and she hoped the Russians were
similarly regarded in America. These were all the speeches that were
made, and I recommend them to parties who present policemen with gold
watches, as models of brevity and point. After this the Empress went and
talked sociably (for an Empress) with various ladies around the circle;
several gentlemen entered into a disjointed general conversation with the
Emperor; the Dukes and Princes, Admirals and Maids of Honor dropped into
free-and-easy chat with first one and then another of our party, and
whoever chose stepped forward and spoke with the modest little Grand
Duchess Marie, the Czar's daughter. She is fourteen years old,
light-haired, blue-eyed, unassuming and pretty. Every body talks
English.
The Emperor wore a cap, frock coat and pantaloons, all of some kind of
plain white drilling--cotton or linen and sported no jewelry or any
insignia whatever of rank. No costume could be less ostentatious. He is
very tall and spare, and a determined-looking man, though a very
pleasant-looking one nevertheless. It is easy to see that he is kind and
affectionate There is something very noble in his expression when his cap
is off. There is none of that cunning in his eye that all of us noticed
in Louis Napoleon's.
The Empress and the little Grand Duchess wore simple suits of foulard
(or foulard silk, I don't know which is proper,) with a small blue spot
in it; the dresses were trimmed with blue; both ladies wore broad blue
sashes about their waists; linen collars and clerical ties of muslin;
low-crowned straw-hats trimmed with blue velvet; parasols and
flesh-colored gloves. The Grand Duchess had no heels on her shoes. I
do not know this of my own knowledge, but one of our ladies told me so.
I was not looking at her shoes. I was glad to observe that she wore her
own hair, plaited in thick braids against the back of her head, instead
of the uncomely thing they call a waterfall, which is about as much like
a waterfall as a canvas-covered ham is like a cataract. Taking the kind
expression that is in the Emperor's face and the gentleness that is in
his young daughter's into consideration, I wondered if it would not tax
the Czar's firmness to the utmost to condemn a supplicating wretch to
misery in the wastes of Siberia if she pleaded for him. Every time
their eyes met, I saw more and more what a tremendous power that weak,
diffident school-girl could wield if she chose to do it. Many and many
a time she might rule the Autocrat of Russia, whose lightest word is law
to seventy millions of human beings! She was only a girl, and she
looked like a thousand others I have seen, but never a girl provoked
such a novel and peculiar interest in me before. A strange, new
sensation is a rare thing in this hum-drum life, and I had it here.
There was nothing stale or worn out about the thoughts and feelings the
situation and the circumstances created. It seemed strange--stranger
than I can tell--to think that the central figure in the cluster of men
and women, chatting here under the trees like the most ordinary
individual in the land, was a man who could open his lips and ships
would fly through the waves, locomotives would speed over the plains,
couriers would hurry from village to village, a hundred telegraphs would
flash the word to the four corners of an Empire that stretches its vast
proportions over a seventh part of the habitable globe, and a countless
multitude of men would spring to do his bidding. I had a sort of vague
desire to examine his hands and see if they were of flesh and blood,
like other men's. Here was a man who could do this wonderful thing, and
yet if I chose I could knock him down. The case was plain, but it
seemed preposterous, nevertheless--as preposterous as trying to knock
down a mountain or wipe out a continent. If this man sprained his
ankle, a million miles of telegraph would carry the news over mountains
--valleys--uninhabited deserts--under the trackless sea--and ten thousand
newspapers would prate of it; if he were grievously ill, all the nations
would know it before the sun rose again; if he dropped lifeless where he
stood, his fall might shake the thrones of half a world! If I could
have stolen his coat, I would have done it. When I meet a man like
that, I want something to remember him by.
As a general thing, we have been shown through palaces by some
plush-legged filagreed flunkey or other, who charged a franc for it; but
after talking with the company half an hour, the Emperor of Russia and
his family conducted us all through their mansion themselves. They made
no charge. They seemed to take a real pleasure in it.
We spent half an hour idling through the palace, admiring the cosy
apartments and the rich but eminently home-like appointments of the
place, and then the Imperial family bade our party a kind good-bye, and
proceeded to count the spoons.
An invitation was extended to us to visit the palace of the eldest son,
the Crown Prince of Russia, which was near at hand. The young man was
absent, but the Dukes and Countesses and Princes went over the premises
with us as leisurely as was the case at the Emperor's, and conversation
continued as lively as ever.
It was a little after one o'clock, now. We drove to the Grand Duke
Michael's, a mile away, in response to his invitation, previously given.
We arrived in twenty minutes from the Emperor's. It is a lovely place.
The beautiful palace nestles among the grand old groves of the park, the
park sits in the lap of the picturesque crags and hills, and both look
out upon the breezy ocean. In the park are rustic seats, here and there,
in secluded nooks that are dark with shade; there are rivulets of crystal
water; there are lakelets, with inviting, grassy banks; there are
glimpses of sparkling cascades through openings in the wilderness of
foliage; there are streams of clear water gushing from mimic knots on the
trunks of forest trees; there are miniature marble temples perched upon
gray old crags; there are airy lookouts whence one may gaze upon a broad
expanse of landscape and ocean. The palace is modeled after the choicest
forms of Grecian architecture, and its wide colonnades surround a central
court that is banked with rare flowers that fill the place with their
fragrance, and in their midst springs a fountain that cools the summer
air, and may possibly breed mosquitoes, but I do not think it does.
The Grand Duke and his Duchess came out, and the presentation ceremonies
were as simple as they had been at the Emperor's. In a few minutes,
conversation was under way, as before. The Empress appeared in the
verandah, and the little Grand Duchess came out into the crowd. They had
beaten us there. In a few minutes, the Emperor came himself on
horseback. It was very pleasant. You can appreciate it if you have ever
visited royalty and felt occasionally that possibly you might be wearing
out your welcome--though as a general thing, I believe, royalty is not
scrupulous about discharging you when it is done with you.
The Grand Duke is the third brother of the Emperor, is about thirty-seven
years old, perhaps, and is the princeliest figure in Russia. He is even
taller than the Czar, as straight as an Indian, and bears himself like
one of those gorgeous knights we read about in romances of the Crusades.
He looks like a great-hearted fellow who would pitch an enemy into the
river in a moment, and then jump in and risk his life fishing him out
again. The stories they tell of him show him to be of a brave and
generous nature. He must have been desirous of proving that Americans
were welcome guests in the imperial palaces of Russia, because he rode
all the way to Yalta and escorted our procession to the Emperor's
himself, and kept his aids scurrying about, clearing the road and
offering assistance wherever it could be needed. We were rather familiar
with him then, because we did not know who he was. We recognized him
now, and appreciated the friendly spirit that prompted him to do us a
favor that any other Grand Duke in the world would have doubtless
declined to do. He had plenty of servitors whom he could have sent, but
he chose to attend to the matter himself.
The Grand Duke was dressed in the handsome and showy uniform of a Cossack
officer. The Grand Duchess had on a white alpaca robe, with the seams
and gores trimmed with black barb lace, and a little gray hat with a
feather of the same color. She is young, rather pretty modest and
unpretending, and full of winning politeness.
Our party walked all through the house, and then the nobility escorted
them all over the grounds, and finally brought them back to the palace
about half-past two o'clock to breakfast. They called it breakfast, but
we would have called it luncheon. It consisted of two kinds of wine;
tea, bread, cheese, and cold meats, and was served on the centre-tables
in the reception room and the verandahs--anywhere that was convenient;
there was no ceremony. It was a sort of picnic. I had heard before that
we were to breakfast there, but Blucher said he believed Baker's boy had
suggested it to his Imperial Highness. I think not--though it would be
like him. Baker's boy is the famine-breeder of the ship. He is always
hungry. They say he goes about the state-rooms when the passengers are
out, and eats up all the soap. And they say he eats oakum. They say he
will eat any thing he can get between meals, but he prefers oakum. He
does not like oakum for dinner, but he likes it for a lunch, at odd
hours, or any thing that way. It makes him very disagreeable, because it
makes his breath bad, and keeps his teeth all stuck up with tar. Baker's
boy may have suggested the breakfast, but I hope he did not. It went off
well, anyhow. The illustrious host moved about from place to place, and
helped to destroy the provisions and keep the conversation lively, and
the Grand Duchess talked with the verandah parties and such as had
satisfied their appetites and straggled out from the reception room.
The Grand Duke's tea was delicious. They give one a lemon to squeeze
into it, or iced milk, if he prefers it. The former is best. This tea
is brought overland from China. It injures the article to transport it
by sea.
When it was time to go, we bade our distinguished hosts good-bye, and
they retired happy and contented to their apartments to count their
spoons.
We had spent the best part of half a day in the home of royalty, and had
been as cheerful and comfortable all the time as we could have been in
the ship. I would as soon have thought of being cheerful in Abraham's
bosom as in the palace of an Emperor. I supposed that Emperors were
terrible people. I thought they never did any thing but wear magnificent
crowns and red velvet dressing-gowns with dabs of wool sewed on them in
spots, and sit on thrones and scowl at the flunkies and the people in the
parquette, and order Dukes and Duchesses off to execution. I find,
however, that when one is so fortunate as to get behind the scenes and
see them at home and in the privacy of their firesides, they are
strangely like common mortals. They are pleasanter to look upon then
than they are in their theatrical aspect. It seems to come as natural to
them to dress and act like other people as it is to put a friend's cedar
pencil in your pocket when you are done using it. But I can never have
any confidence in the tinsel kings of the theatre after this. It will be
a great loss. I used to take such a thrilling pleasure in them. But,
hereafter, I will turn me sadly away and say;
“This does not answer--this isn't the style of king that I am acquainted
with.”
When they swagger around the stage in jeweled crowns and splendid robes,
I shall feel bound to observe that all the Emperors that ever I was
personally acquainted with wore the commonest sort of clothes, and did
not swagger. And when they come on the stage attended by a vast
body-guard of supes in helmets and tin breastplates, it will be my duty
as well as my pleasure to inform the ignorant that no crowned head of my
acquaintance has a soldier any where about his house or his person.
Possibly it may be thought that our party tarried too long, or did other
improper things, but such was not the case. The company felt that they
were occupying an unusually responsible position--they were representing
the people of America, not the Government--and therefore they were
careful to do their best to perform their high mission with credit.
On the other hand, the Imperial families, no doubt, considered that in
entertaining us they were more especially entertaining the people of
America than they could by showering attentions on a whole platoon of
ministers plenipotentiary and therefore they gave to the event its
fullest significance, as an expression of good will and friendly feeling
toward the entire country. We took the kindnesses we received as
attentions thus directed, of course, and not to ourselves as a party.
That we felt a personal pride in being received as the representatives of
a nation, we do not deny; that we felt a national pride in the warm
cordiality of that reception, can not be doubted.
Our poet has been rigidly suppressed, from the time we let go the anchor.
When it was announced that we were going to visit the Emperor of Russia,
the fountains of his great deep were broken up, and he rained ineffable
bosh for four-and-twenty hours. Our original anxiety as to what we were
going to do with ourselves, was suddenly transformed into anxiety about
what we were going to do with our poet. The problem was solved at last.
Two alternatives were offered him--he must either swear a dreadful oath
that he would not issue a line of his poetry while he was in the Czar's
dominions, or else remain under guard on board the ship until we were
safe at Constantinople again. He fought the dilemma long, but yielded at
last. It was a great deliverance. Perhaps the savage reader would like
a specimen of his style. I do not mean this term to be offensive. I
only use it because “the gentle reader” has been used so often that any
change from it can not but be refreshing:
“Save us and sanctify us, and finally, then,
See good provisions we enjoy while we journey to Jerusalem.
For so man proposes, which it is most true
And time will wait for none, nor for us too.”
The sea has been unusually rough all day. However, we have had a
lively time of it, anyhow. We have had quite a run of visitors. The
Governor-General came, and we received him with a salute of nine guns.
He brought his family with him. I observed that carpets were spread
from the pier-head to his carriage for him to walk on, though I have
seen him walk there without any carpet when he was not on business. I
thought may be he had what the accidental insurance people might call an
extra-hazardous polish (“policy” joke, but not above mediocrity,) on his
boots, and wished to protect them, but I examined and could not see that
they were blacked any better than usual. It may have been that he had
forgotten his carpet, before, but he did not have it with him, anyhow.
He was an exceedingly pleasant old gentleman; we all liked him,
especially Blucher. When he went away, Blucher invited him to come
again and fetch his carpet along.
Prince Dolgorouki and a Grand Admiral or two, whom we had seen yesterday
at the reception, came on board also. I was a little distant with these
parties, at first, because when I have been visiting Emperors I do not
like to be too familiar with people I only know by reputation, and whose
moral characters and standing in society I can not be thoroughly
acquainted with. I judged it best to be a little offish, at first. I
said to myself, Princes and Counts and Grand Admirals are very well, but
they are not Emperors, and one can not be too particular about who he
associates with.
Baron Wrangel came, also. He used to be Russian Ambassador at
Washington. I told him I had an uncle who fell down a shaft and broke
himself in two, as much as a year before that. That was a falsehood, but
then I was not going to let any man eclipse me on surprising adventures,
merely for the want of a little invention. The Baron is a fine man, and
is said to stand high in the Emperor's confidence and esteem.
Baron Ungern-Sternberg, a boisterous, whole-souled old nobleman, came
with the rest. He is a man of progress and enterprise--a representative
man of the age. He is the Chief Director of the railway system of
Russia--a sort of railroad king. In his line he is making things move
along in this country He has traveled extensively in America. He says he
has tried convict labor on his railroads, and with perfect success. He
says the convicts work well, and are quiet and peaceable. He observed
that he employs nearly ten thousand of them now.
This appeared to be another call on my resources. I was equal to the
emergency. I said we had eighty thousand convicts employed on the
railways in America--all of them under sentence of death for murder in
the first degree. That closed him out.
We had General Todtleben (the famous defender of Sebastopol, during the
siege,) and many inferior army and also navy officers, and a number of
unofficial Russian ladies and gentlemen. Naturally, a champagne luncheon
was in order, and was accomplished without loss of life. Toasts and
jokes were discharged freely, but no speeches were made save one thanking
the Emperor and the Grand Duke, through the Governor-General, for our
hospitable reception, and one by the Governor-General in reply, in which
he returned the Emperor's thanks for the speech, etc., etc.