showed us his choicest treasures: turquoises, bits of wonderful blue
heavenly forget-me-nots; a jacinth, burning like a live coal, in scarlet
light; and lastly, a perfect ruby, which no sum less than twenty-five
hundred dollars could purchase. From him we learned the curious
fluctuations of fashion in regard to jewels. Turquoises were just then
in the ascendant; and one of the proper tint, the size of a
parsnip-seed, could not be had for a hundred dollars, the full value of
a diamond of equal size. Amethysts of a deep plum-color, though less
beautiful than the next paler shade, command very high prices; while
jacinth, beryl, and aqua-marine--stones of exquisite hue and lustre--are
cheap. But then, in this department, as in all others, Fashion and
Beauty are not convertible terms.
In the next booth there were two Persians, who unfolded before our eyes
some of those marvellous shawls, where you forget the barbaric pattern
in the exquisite fineness of the material and the triumphant harmony of
the colors. Scarlet with palm-leaf border,--blue clasped by golden
bronze, picked out with red,--browns, greens, and crimsons struggling
for the mastery in a war of tints,--how should we choose between them?
Alas! we were not able to choose: they were a thousand dollars apiece!
But the Persians still went on unfolding, taking our admiration in pay
for their trouble, and seeming even, by their pleasant smiles, to
consider themselves well paid. When we came to the booths of European
merchants, we were swiftly impressed with the fact that civilization, in
following the sun westward, loses its grace in proportion as it
advances. The gentle dignity, the serene patience, the soft, fraternal,
affectionate demeanor of our Asiatic brethren vanished utterly when we
encountered French and German salesmen; and yet these latter would have
seemed gracious and courteous, had there been a few Yankee dealers
beyond them. The fourth or fifth century, which still exists in Central
Asia, was undoubtedly, in this particular, superior to the nineteenth.
No gentleman, since his time, I suspect, has equalled Adam.
Among these Asiatics Mr. Buckle would have some difficulty in
maintaining his favorite postulate, that tolerance is the result of
progressive intelligence. It is also the result of courtesy, as we may
occasionally see in well-bred persons of limited intellect. Such,
undoubtedly, is the basis of that tolerance which no one who has had
much personal intercourse with the Semitic races can have failed to
experience. The days of the sword and fagot are past; but it was
reserved for Christians to employ them in the name of religion _alone_.
Local or political jealousies are at the bottom of those troubles which
still occur from time to time in Turkey: the traveller hears no
insulting epithet, and the green-turbaned Imam will receive him as
kindly and courteously as the sceptical Bey educated in Paris. I have
never been so aggressively assailed, on religious grounds, as at
home,--never so coarsely and insultingly treated, on account of a
_presumed_ difference of opinion, as by those who claim descent from the
Cavaliers. The bitter fierceness of some of our leading reformers is
overlooked by their followers, because it springs from "earnest
conviction"; but in the Orient intensest faith coexists with the most
gracious and gentle manners.
Be not impatient, beloved reader; for this digression brings me
naturally to the next thing we saw at Novgorod. As we issued from the
bazaar, the sunlit minaret greeted us through whirling dust and rising
vapor, and I fancied I could hear the muezzin's musical cry. It was
about time for the _asser_ prayer. Droshkies were found, and we rode
slowly through the long, low warehouses of "caravan tea" and Mongolian
wool to the mound near the Tartar encampment. The mosque was a plain,
white, octagonal building, conspicuous only through its position. The
turbaned faithful were already gathering; and we entered, and walked up
the steps among them, without encountering an unfriendly glance. At the
door stood two Cossack soldiers, specially placed there to prevent the
worshippers from being insulted by curious Christians. (Those who have
witnessed the wanton profanation of mosques in India by the English
officers will please notice this fact.) If we had not put off our shoes
before entering the hall of worship, the Cossacks would have performed
that operation for us.
I am happy to say that none of our party lacked a proper reverence for
devotion, though it was offered through the channels of an alien creed.
The ladies left their gaiters beside our boots, and we all stood in our
stockings on the matting, a little in the rear of the kneeling crowd.
The priest occupied a low dais in front, but he simply led the prayer,
which was uttered by all. The windows were open, and the sun poured a
golden flood into the room. Yonder gleamed the Kremlin of Novgorod,
yonder rolled the Volga, all around were the dark forests of the
North,--yet their faces were turned, and their thoughts went southward,
to where Mecca sits among the burning hills, in the feathery shade of
her palm-trees. And the tongue of Mecca came from their lips, _"Allah!"
"Allah akhbar!"_ as the knee bent and the forehead touched the floor.
At the second repetition of the prayers we quietly withdrew; and good
Monsieur D., forgetful of nothing, suggested that preparations had been
made for a dinner in the great cosmopolitan restaurant. So we drove back
again through the Chinese street, with its red horned houses, the roofs
terminating in gilded dragons' tails, and, after pressing through a
dense multitude enveloped in tobacco-smoke and the steam of tea-urns,
found ourselves at last in a low room with a shaky floor and muslin
ceiling. It was an exact copy of the dining-room of a California hotel.
If we looked blank a moment, Monsieur D.'s smile reassured us. He had
given all the necessary orders, he said, and would step out and secure a
box in the theatre before the _zakouski_ was served. During his absence,
we looked out of the window on either side upon surging, whirling,
humming pictures of the Great Fair, all vanishing in perspectives of
dust and mist.
In half an hour our friend returned, and with him entered the zakouski.
I cannot remember half the appetizing ingredients of which it was
composed: anchovies, sardines, herrings, capers, cheese, caviare, _pate
de foie_, pickles, cherries, oranges, and olives, were among them.
Instead of being a prelude to dinner, it was almost a dinner in itself.
Then, after a Russian soup, which always contains as much solid
nutriment as meat-biscuit or Arctic pemmican, came the glory of the
repast, a mighty _sterlet_, which was swimming in Volga water when we
took our seats at the table. This fish, the exclusive property of
Russia, is, in times of scarcity, worth its weight in silver. Its
unapproachable flavor is supposed to be as evanescent as the hues of a
dying dolphin. Frequently, at grand dinner-parties, it is carried around
the table in a little tank, and exhibited, _alive_, to the guests, when
their soup is served, that its freshness, ten minutes afterwards, may be
put beyond suspicion. The fish has the appearance of a small, lean
sturgeon; but its flesh resembles the melting pulp of a fruit rather
than the fibre of its watery brethren. It sinks into juice upon the
tongue, like a perfectly ripe peach. In this quality no other fish in
the world can approach it; yet I do not think the flavor quite so fine
as that of a brook-trout. Our sterlet was nearly two feet long, and may
have cost twenty or thirty dollars.
With it appeared an astonishing salad, composed of watermelons,
cantaloupes, pickled cherries, cucumbers, and certain spicy herbs. Its
color and odor were enticing, and we had all applied the test of taste
most satisfactorily before we detected the curious mixture of
ingredients. After the second course,--a ragout of beef, accompanied
with a rich, elaborate sauce,--three heavy tankards of chased silver,
holding two quarts apiece, were placed upon the table. The first of
these contained _kvass_, the second _kislischi_, and the third hydromel.
Each one of these national drinks, when properly brewed, is very
palatable and refreshing. I found the kislischi nearly identical with
the ancient Scandinavian mead: no doubt it dates from the Varangian rule
in Russia. The old custom of passing the tankards around the table, from
mouth to mouth, is still observed, and will not be found objectionable,
even in these days of excessive delicacy, when ladies and gentlemen are
seated alternately at the banquet.
The Russian element of the dinner here terminated. Cutlets and roast
fowls made their appearance, with bottles of Ruedesheimer and Lafitte,
followed by a dessert of superb Persian melons, from the southern shore
of the Caspian Sea.
By this time night had fallen, and Monsieur D. suggested an immediate
adjournment to the theatre. What should be the entertainment? Dances of
_almehs_, songs of gypsies, or Chinese jugglers? One of the Ivans
brought a programme. It was not difficult to decipher the word
"[Russian: MACBETH]," and to recognize, further, in the name of "Ira
Aldridge" a distinguished mulatto tragedian, to whom Maryland has given
birth (if I am rightly informed) and Europe fame. We had often heard of
him, yea, seen his portrait in Germany, decorated with the orders
conferred by half a dozen sovereigns; and his presence here, between
Europe and Asia, was not the least characteristic feature of the Fair. A
mulatto Macbeth, in a Russian theatre, with a Persian and Tartar
audience!
On arriving, we were ushered into two whitewashed boxes, which had been
reserved for our party. The manager, having been informed of the envoy's
presence in Nijni-Novgorod, had delayed the performance half an hour,
but the audience bore this infliction patiently. The building was deep
and narrow, with space for about eight hundred persons, and was filled
from top to bottom. The first act was drawing to a close as we entered.
King Duncan, with two or three shabby attendants, stood in the
court-yard of the castle,--the latter represented by a handsome French
door on the left, with a bit of Tartar wall beyond,--and made his
observations on the "pleasant seat" of Macbeth's mansion. He spoke
Russian, of course. Lady Macbeth now appeared, in a silk dress of the
latest fashion, expanded by the amplest of crinolines. She was passably
handsome, and nothing could be gentler than her face and voice. She
received the royal party like a well-bred lady, and they all entered the
French door together.
There was no change of scene. With slow step and folded arms, Ira
Macbeth entered and commenced the soliloquy, "If it were done," etc., to
our astonishment, in English! He was a dark, strongly built mulatto, of
about fifty, in a fancy tunic, and light stockings over Forrestian
calves. His voice was deep and powerful; and it was very evident that
Edmund Kean, once his master, was also the model which he carefully
followed in the part. There were the same deliberate, over-distinct
enunciation, the same prolonged pauses and gradually performed gestures,
as I remember in imitations of Kean's manner. Except that the copy was a
little too apparent, Mr. Aldridge's acting was really very fine. The
Russians were enthusiastic in their applause, though very few of them,
probably, understood the language of the part. The Oriental auditors
were perfectly impassive, and it was impossible to guess how they
regarded the performance.
The second act was in some respects the most amusing thing I ever saw
upon the stage. In the dagger-scene, Ira was, to my mind, quite equal to
Forrest; it was impossible to deny him unusual dramatic talent; but his
complexion, continually suggesting Othello, quite confounded me. The
amiable Russian Lady Macbeth was much better adapted to the part of
Desdemona: all softness and gentleness, she smiled as she lifted her
languishing eyes, and murmured in the tenderest accents, "Infirm of
purpose! give me the dagger!" At least, I took it for granted that these
were her words, for Macbeth had just said, "Look on 't again I dare
not." Afterwards, six Russian soldiers, in tan-colored shirts, loose
trousers, and high boots, filed in, followed by Macduff and Malcolm, in
the costume of Wallenstein's troopers. The dialogue--one voice English,
and all the others Russian--proceeded smoothly enough, but the effect
was like nothing which our stage can produce. Nevertheless, the audience
was delighted, and when the curtain fell there were vociferous cries of
"_Aira! Aira! Aldreetch! Aldreetch!_" until the swarthy hero made his
appearance before the foot-lights.
Monsieur D. conducted our friend P. into the green-room, where he was
received by Macbeth in costume. He found the latter to be a dignified,
imposing personage, who carried his tragic chest-tones into ordinary
conversation. On being informed by P. that the American minister was
present, he asked,--
"Of what persuasion?"
P. hastened to set him right, and Ira then remarked, in his gravest
tone,--"I shall have the honor of waiting upon him to-morrow morning";
which, however, he failed to do.
This son of the South, no doubt, came legitimately (or, at least,
naturally) by his dignity. His career, for a man of his blood and
antecedents, has been wonderfully successful, and is justly due, I am
convinced, since I have seen him, to his histrionic talents. Both black
and yellow skins are sufficiently rare in Europe to excite a particular
interest in those who wear them; and I had surmised, up to this time,
that much of his popularity might be owing to his color. But he
certainly deserves an honorable place among tragedians of the second
rank.
We left the theatre at the close of the third act, and crossed the river
to our quarters on the hill. A chill mist hung over the Fair, but the
lamps still burned, the streets were thronged, and the Don Cossacks kept
patient guard at every corner. The night went by like one unconscious
minute, in beds unmolested by bug or flea; and when I arose, thoroughly
refreshed, I involuntarily called to mind a frightful chapter in De
Custine's "Russia," describing the prevalence of an insect which he
calls the _persica_, on the banks of the Volga. He was obliged to sleep
on a table, the legs whereof were placed in basins of water, to escape
their attacks. I made many inquiries about these terrible _persicas_,
and finally discovered that they were neither more nor less
than--cockroaches!--called _Prossaki_ (Prussians) by the Russians, as
they are sometimes called _Schwaben_ (Suabians) by the Germans. Possibly
they may be found in the huts of the serfs, but they are rare in decent
houses.
We devoted the first sunny hours of the morning to a visit to the
citadel and a walk around the crest of the hill. On the highest point,
just over the junction of the two rivers, there is a commemorative
column to Minim, the patriotic butcher of Novgorod, but for whose
eloquence, in the year 1610, the Russian might possibly now be the
Polish Empire. Vladislas, son of Sigismund of Poland, had been called to
the throne by the boyards, and already reigned in Moscow, when Minim
appealed to the national spirit, persuaded General Pojarski to head an
anti-Polish movement, which was successful, and thus cleared the way for
the election of Michael Romanoff, the first sovereign of the present
dynasty. Minim is therefore one of the historic names of Russia.
When I stood beside his monument, and the finest landscape of European
Russia was suddenly unrolled before my eyes, I could believe the
tradition of his eloquence, for here was its inspiration. Thirty or
forty miles away stretched the rolling swells of forest and grain-land,
fading into dimmest blue to the westward and northward, dotted with
villages and sparkling domes, and divided by shining reaches of the
Volga. It was truly a superb and imposing view, changing with each spur
of the hill as we made the circuit of the citadel. Eastward, the country
rose into dark, wooded hills, between which the river forced its way in
a narrower and swifter channel, until it disappeared behind a purple
headland, hastening southward to find a warmer home in the unfrozen
Caspian. By embarking on the steamers anchored below us, we might have
reached Perm, among the Ural Mountains, or Astrachan, in less than a
week; while a trip of ten days would have taken us past the Caucasus,
even to the base of Ararat or Demavend. Such are the splendid
possibilities of travel in these days.
The envoy, who visited Europe for the first time, declared that this
panorama from the hill of Novgorod was one of the finest things he had
seen. There could, truly, be no better preparation to enjoy it than
fifteen hundred miles of nearly unbroken level, after leaving the
Russian frontier; but I think it would be a "show" landscape anywhere.
Why it is not more widely celebrated I cannot guess. The only person in
Russia whom I heard speak of it with genuine enthusiasm was Alexander
II.
Two hours upon the breezy parapet, beside the old Tartar walls, were all
too little; but the droshkies waited in the river-street a quarter of a
mile below us, our return to Moscow was ordered for the afternoon, there
were amethysts and Persian silks yet to be bought, and so we sighed
farewell to an enjoyment rare in Russia, and descended the steep
footpath.
P. and I left the rest of the party at the booth of the handsome
Bashkir, and set out upon a special mission to the Tartar camp. I had
ascertained that the national beverage of Central Asia might be found
there,--the genuine _koumiss_, or fermented milk of the mares of the
Uralian steppes. Having drunk palm-wine in India, _sam-shoo_ China,
_saki_ in Japan, _pulque_ in Mexico, _bouza_ in Egypt, mead in
Scandinavia, ale in England, _bock-bier_ in Germany, _mastic_ in Greece,
_calabogus_ in Newfoundland, and--soda-water in the United States, I
desired to complete the bibulous cosmos, in which _koumiss_ was still
lacking. My friend did not share my curiosity, but was ready for an
adventure, which our search for mare's milk seemed to promise.
Beyond the mosques we found the Uzbeks and Kirghiz,--some in tents, some
in rough shanties of boards. But they were without koumiss: they had had
it, and showed us some empty kegs, in evidence of the fact. I fancied a
gleam of diversion stole over their grave, swarthy faces, as they
listened to our eager inquiries in broken Russian. Finally we came into
an extemporized village, where some women, unveiled and ugly, advised us
to apply to the traders in the khan, or caravansera. This was a great
barn-like building, two stories high, with broken staircases and
creaking floors. A corridor ran the whole length of the second floor,
with some twenty or thirty doors opening into it from the separate rooms
of the traders. We accosted the first Tartar whom we met; and he
promised, with great readiness, to procure us what we wanted. He ushered
us into his room, cleared away a pile of bags, saddles, camel-trappings,
and other tokens of a nomadic life, and revealed a low divan covered
with a ragged carpet. On a sack of barley sat his father, a blind
graybeard, nearly eighty years old. On our way through the camp I had
noticed that the Tartars saluted each other with the Arabic, "_Salaam
aleikoom_!" and I therefore greeted the old man with the familiar
words. He lifted his head: his face brightened, and he immediately
answered, "_Aleikoom salaam_, my son!"
"Do you speak Arabic?" I asked.
"A little; I have forgotten it," said he. "But thine is a new voice. Of
what tribe art thou?"
"A tribe far away, beyond Bagdad and Syria," I answered.
"It is the tribe of Damascus. I know it now, my son. I have heard the
voice, many, many years ago."
The withered old face looked so bright, as some pleasant memory shone
through it, that I did not undeceive the man. His son came in with a
glass, pulled a keg from under a pile of coarse caftans, and drew out
the wooden peg. A gray liquid, with an odor at once sour and pungent,
spirted into the glass, which he presently handed to me, filled to the
brim. In such cases no hesitation is permitted. I thought of home and
family, set the glass to my lips, and emptied it before the flavor made
itself clearly manifest to my palate.
"Well, what is it like?" asked my friend, who curiously awaited the
result of the experiment.
"Peculiar," I answered, with preternatural calmness,--"peculiar, but not
unpleasant."
The glass was filled a second time; and P., not to be behindhand,
emptied it at a draught. Then he turned to me with tears (not of
delight) in his eyes, swallowed nothing very hard two or three times,
suppressed a convulsive shudder, and finally remarked, with the air of a
martyr, "Very curious, indeed!"
"Will your Excellencies have some more?" said the friendly Tartar.
"Not before breakfast, if you please," I answered; "your koumiss is
excellent, however, and we will take a bottle with us,"--which we did,
in order to satisfy the possible curiosity of the ladies. I may here
declare that the bottle was never emptied.
The taste was that of aged buttermilk mixed with ammonia. We could
detect no flavor of alcohol, yet were conscious of a light exhilaration
from the small quantity we drank. The beverage is said, indeed, to be
very intoxicating. Some German physician has established a
"koumiss-cure" at Piatigorsk, at the northern base of the Caucasus, and
invites invalids of certain kinds to come and be healed by its agency. I
do not expect to be one of the number.
There still remained a peculiar feature of the Fair, which I had not yet
seen. This is the subterranean network of sewerage, which reproduces, in
massive masonry, the streets on the surface. Without it, the annual city
of two months would become uninhabitable. The peninsula between the two
rivers being low and marshy,--frequently overflowed during the spring
freshets,--pestilence would soon be bred from the immense concourse of
people: hence a system of _cloacae_, almost rivalling those of ancient
Rome. At each street-corner there are wells containing spiral
staircases, by which one can descend to the spacious subterranean
passages, and there walk for miles under arches of hewn stone, lighted
and aired by shafts at regular intervals. In St. Petersburg you are told
that more than half the cost of the city is under the surface of the
earth; at Nijni-Novgorod the statement is certainly true. Peter the
Great at one time designed establishing his capital here. Could he have
foreseen the existence of railroads, he would certainly have done so.
Nijni-Novgorod is now nearer to Berlin than the Russian frontier was
fifty years ago. St. Petersburg is an accidental city; Nature and the
destiny of the empire are both opposed to its existence; and a time will
come when its long lines of palaces shall be deserted for some new
capital, in a locality at once more southern and more central.