the diplomatists from their long summer vacation, and the Imperial Court
from Moscow, and the previous social desolation of the capital came
speedily to an end. There were dinners and routs in abundance, but the
season of balls was not fairly inaugurated until invitations had been
issued for the first at the Winter Palace. This is usually a grand
affair, the guests numbering from fifteen hundred to two thousand. We
were agreeably surprised at finding half-past nine fixed as the hour of
arrival, and took pains to be punctual; but there were already a hundred
yards of carriages in advance. The toilet, of course, must be made at
home, and the huge pelisses of fur so adjusted as not to disarrange
head-dresses, lace, crinoline, or uniform: the footmen must be prompt,
on reaching the covered portal, to promote speedy alighting and
unwrapping, which being accomplished, each sits guard for the night over
his own special pile of pelisses and furred boots.
When the dresses are shaken out and the gloves smoothed, at the foot of
the grand staircase, an usher, in a short, bedizened red tunic and white
knee-breeches, with a cap surmounted by three colossal white plumes upon
his head, steps before you and leads the way onward through the spacious
halls, ablaze with light from thousands of wax candles. I always admired
the silent gravity of these ushers, and their slow, majestic, almost
mysterious march,--until one morning, at home, when I was visited by
four common-looking Russians, in blue caftans, who bowed nearly to the
floor and muttered congratulations. It was a deputation of the ushers,
making their rounds for New-Year's gifts!
Although the streets of St. Petersburg are lighted with gas, the palaces
and private residences are still illuminated only with wax candles. Gas
is considered plebeian, but it has probably also been found to be
disagreeable in the close air of the hermetically sealed apartments.
Candles are used in such profusion that I am told thirty thousand are
required to light up an Imperial ball. The quadruple rows of columns
which support the Hall of St. George are spirally entwined with garlands
of wax-lights, and immense chandeliers are suspended from the ceiling.
The wicks of each column are connected with threads dipped in some
inflammable mixture, and each thread, being kindled at the bottom at the
same instant, the light is carried in a few seconds to every candle in
the hall. This instantaneous kindling of so many thousand wicks has a
magical effect.
At the door of the great hall the usher steps aside, bows gravely, and
returns, and one of the deputy masters of ceremonies receives you. These
gentlemen are chosen from among the most distinguished families of
Russia, and are, without exception, so remarkable for tact, kindness,
and discretion, that the multitude falls, almost unconsciously, into the
necessary observances; and the perfection of ceremony, which hides its
own external indications, is attained. Violations of etiquette are most
rare, yet no court in the world appears more simple and unconstrained in
its forms.
In less than fifteen minutes after the appointed time, the hall is
filled, and a blast from the orchestra announces the entrance of the
Imperial family. The ministers and chief personages of the court are
already in their proper places, and the representatives of foreign
nations stand on one side of the doorway, in their established order of
precedence, (determined by length of residence near the court,) with the
ladies of their body on the opposite side. The Duke de Montebello and
Lord Napier, being the only ambassadors, head the ranks, the ministers
plenipotentiary succeeding.
Alexander II. is much brighter and more cheerful than during the past
summer. His care-worn, preoccupied air is gone: the dangers which then
encompassed him have subsided; the nobility, although still chafing
fiercely against the decree of emancipation, are slowly coming to the
conclusion that its consummation is inevitable; and the Emperor begins
to feel that his great work will be safely accomplished. His dark-green
uniform well becomes his stately figure and clearly chiselled,
symmetrical head. He is Nicholas recast in a softer mould, wherein
tenacity of purpose is substituted for rigid, inflexible will, and the
development of the nation at home supplants the ambition for predominant
political influence abroad. This difference is expressed, despite the
strong personal resemblance to his father, in the more frank and gentle
eye, the fuller and more sensitive mouth, and the rounder lines of jaw
and forehead. A frank, natural directness of manner and speech is his
principal characteristic. He wears easily, almost playfully, the yoke of
court ceremonial, temporarily casting it aside when troublesome. In two
respects he differs from most of the other European rulers whom I have
seen: he looks the sovereign, and he unbends as gracefully and
unostentatiously as a man risen from the ranks of the people. There is
evidently better stuff than kings are generally made of in the Romanoff
line.
Grace and refinement, rather than beauty, distinguish the Empress,
though her eyes and hair deserve the latter epithet. She is an invalid,
and appears pale and somewhat worn; but there is no finer group of
children in Europe than those to whom she has given birth. Six sons and
one daughter are her jewels; and of these, the third son, Vladimir, is
almost ideally handsome. Her dress was at once simple and superb,--a
cloud of snowy _tulle_, with a scarf of pale-blue velvet, twisted with a
chain of the largest diamonds and tied with a knot and tassel of pearls,
resting halfway down the skirt, as if it had slipped from her waist. On
another occasion, I remember her wearing a crown of five stars, the
centres of which were single enormous rubies and the rays of diamonds,
so set on invisible wires that they burned in the air over her head. The
splendor which was a part of her _role_ was always made subordinate to
rigid taste, and herein prominently distinguished her from many of the
Russian ladies, who carried great fortunes upon their heads, necks, and
bosoms. I had several opportunities of conversing with her, generally
upon Art and Literature, and was glad to find that she had both read and
thought, as well as seen. You may tell the honored author of
"Evangeline" that he numbers her among his appreciative readers.
After their Majesties have made the circle of the diplomatic corps, the
_Polonaise_, which always opens a Court ball, commences. The Grand-Dukes
Nicholas and Michael, (brothers of the Emperor,) and the younger members
of the Imperial family, take part in it, the latter evidently impatient
for the succeeding quadrilles and waltzes. When this is finished, all
palpable, obtrusive ceremony is at an end. Dancing, conversation, cards,
strolls through the sumptuous halls, fill the hours. The Emperor wanders
freely through the crowd, saluting here and there a friend, exchanging
badinage with the wittiest ladies, (which they all seem at liberty to
give back, without the least embarrassment,) or seeking out the scarred
and gray-haired officers who have come hither from all parts of the vast
empire. He does not scrutinize whether or not your back is turned
towards him as he passes. Once, on entering a door rather hastily, I
came within an ace of a personal collision; whereupon he laughed
good-humoredly, caught me by the hands, and saying, "It would have been
a shock, _n'est ce pas_?" hurried on.
To me the most delightful part of the Winter Palace was the garden. It
forms one of the suite of thirty halls, some of them three hundred feet
long, on the second story. In this garden, which is perhaps a hundred
feet square by forty in height, rise clumps of Italian cypress and
laurel from beds of emerald turf and blooming hyacinths. In the centre a
fountain showers over fern-covered rocks, and the gravel-walks around
the border are shaded by tall camellia-trees in white and crimson bloom.
Lamps of frosted glass hang among the foliage, and diffuse a mellow
golden moonlight over the enchanted ground. The corridor adjoining the
garden resembles a bosky alley, so completely are the walls hidden by
flowering shrubbery.
Leaving the Imperial family, and the kindred houses of Leuchtenberg,
Oldenburg, and Mecklenburg, all of which are represented, let us devote
a little attention to the ladies, and the crowd of distinguished, though
unroyal personages. The former are all _decolletees_, of course,--even
the Countess ----, who, I am positively assured, is ninety-five years
old; but I do not notice much uniformity of taste, except in the matter
of head-dresses. "Waterfalls" have not yet made their appearance, but
there are huge coils and sweeps of hair,--a mane-like munificence, so
disposed as to reveal the art and conceal the artifice. The ornaments
are chiefly flowers, though here and there I see jewels, coral, mossy
sticks, dead leaves, birds, and birds'-nests. From the blonde locks of
yonder princess hang bunches of green brook-grass, and a fringe of the
same trails from her bosom and skirt: she resembles a fished-up and
restored Ophelia. Here passes a maiden with a picket-fence of rose coral
as a _berthe_, and she seems to have another around the bottom of her
dress; but, as the mist of tulle is brushed aside in passing, we can
detect that the latter is a clever _chenille_ imitation. There is
another with small moss-covered twigs (the real article) arranged in the
same way; and yet another with fifty black-lace butterflies, of all
sizes, clinging to her yellow satin skirt. All this swimming and
intermingling mass of color is dotted over with sparkles of jewel-light;
and even the grand hall, with its gilded columns and thousands of
tapers, seems but a sober frame for so gorgeous a picture.
I can only pick out a few of the notable men present, because there is
no space to give biographies as well as portraits. That man of sixty, in
rich, civil uniform, who entered with the Emperor, and who at once
reminds an American of Edward Everett both in face and in the polished
grace and suavity of his manner, is at present the first statesman of
Europe,--Prince Alexander Gortchakoff. Of medium height and robust
frame, with a keen, alert eye, a broad, thoughtful forehead, and a
wonderfully sagacious mouth, the upper lip slightly covering the under
one at the corners, he at once arrests your attention, and your eye
unconsciously follows him as he makes his way through the crowd, with a
friendly word for this man and an elegant rapier-thrust for that. His
predominant mood, however, is a cheerful good-nature; his wit and irony
belong rather to the diplomatist than to the man. There is no sounder or
more prudent head in Russia.
But who is this son of Anak, approaching from the corridor? Towering a
full head above the throng, a figure of superb strength and perfect
symmetry, we give him that hearty admiration which is due to a man who
illustrates and embellishes manhood. In this case we can give it freely:
for that finely balanced head holds a clear, vigorous brain,--those
large blue eyes look from the depths of a frank, noble nature,--and in
that broad breast beats a heart warm with love for his country, and
good-will for his fellow-men, whether high or low. It is Prince
Suvoroff, the Military Governor of St. Petersburg. If I were to spell
his name "Suwarrow," you would know who his grandfather was, and what
place in Russian history he fills. In a double sense the present Prince
is cast in an heroic mould. It speaks well for Russia that his qualities
are so truly appreciated. He is beloved by the people, and trusted by
the Imperial Government: for, while firm in his administration of
affairs, he is humane,--while cautious, energetic,--and while shrewd and
skilful, frank and honest. A noble man, whose like I wish were oftener
to be found in the world.
Here are two officers, engaged in earnest conversation. The little old
man, with white hair, and thin, weather-beaten, wrinkled face, is
Admiral Baron Wrangel, whose Arctic explorations on the northern coast
of Siberia are known to all geographers. Having read of them as a boy,
and then as things of the past, I was greatly delighted at finding the
brave old Admiral still alive, and at the privilege of taking his hand
and hearing him talk in English as fluent as my own. The young officer,
with rosy face, brown moustache, and a profile strikingly like that of
General McClellan, has already made his mark. He is General Ignatieff,
the most prominent young man of the empire. Although scarcely
thirty-five, he has already filled special missions to Bukhara and
Peking, and took a leading part in the Treaty of Tien-tsin. He is now
Deputy-Minister of Foreign Affairs and Chief of the Asiatic Department.
He is, moreover, a good friend of the United States, and was among the
first to see the feasibility of the Russian-American telegraph scheme.
I might mention Count Bludoff, the venerable President of the Academy of
Sciences; General Todleben; Admiral Luettke; and the distinguished
members of the Galitzin, Narischkin, Apraxin, Dolgorouky, and
Scheremetieff families, who are present,--but by this time the
interminable mazourka is drawing to a close, and a master of ceremonies
suggests that we shall step into an adjoining hall to await the signal
for supper. The refreshments previously furnished consisted simply of
tea, orgeat, and cooling drinks made of cranberries, Arctic raspberries,
and other fruits; it is two hours past midnight, and we may frankly
confess hunger.
While certain other guests are being gathered together, I will mention
another decoration of the halls, peculiar to St. Petersburg. On either
side of all the doors of communication in the long range of halls,
stands a negro in rich Oriental costume, reminding one of the mute
palace-guards in the Arabian tales. Happening to meet one of these men
in the Summer Garden, I addressed him in Arabic; but he knew only enough
of the language to inform me that he was born in Dar-Fur. I presume,
therefore, they were obtained in Constantinople. In the large halls,
which are illustrated with paintings of battles, in all the Russian
campaigns from Pultowa to Sebastopol, are posted companies of soldiers
at the farther end,--a different regiment to each hall. For six hours
these men and their officers stand motionless as statues. Not a
movement, except now and then of the eyelid, can be detected: even their
respiration seems to be suspended. There is something weird and uncanny
in such a preternatural silence and apparent death-in-life. I became
impressed with the idea that some form of catalepsy had seized and bound
them in strong trance. The eyeballs were fixed: they stared at me and
saw me not: the hands were glued to the weapons, and the feet to the
floor. I suspect there must have been some stolen relief when no guest
happened to be present, yet, come when I might, I found them, unchanged.
When I reflected that the men were undoubtedly very proud of the
distinction they enjoyed, and that their case demanded no sympathy, I
could inspect and admire them with an easy mind.
The Grand Chamberlain now advances, followed by the Imperial family,
behind which, in a certain order of precedence, the guests fall into
place, and we presently reach a supper-hall, gleaming with silver and
crystal. There are five others, I am told, and each of the two thousand
guests has his chair and plate. In the centre stands the Imperial table,
on a low platform: between wonderful _epergnes_ of gold spreads a bed of
hyacinths and crocuses. Hundreds of other _epergnes_, of massive silver,
flash from the tables around. The forks and spoons are gold, the
decanters of frosted crystal, covered with silver vine-leaves; even the
salt-cellars are works of Art. It is quite proper that the supper should
be substantial; and as one such entertainment is a pattern for all that
succeed, I may be allowed to mention the principal dishes: _creme de
l'orge_, _pate de foie gras_, cutlets of fowl, game, asparagus, and
salad, followed by fruits, ices, and bonbons, and moistened with claret,
Sauterne, and Champagne. I confess, however, that the superb silver
chasing, and the balmy hyacinths which almost leaved over my plate,
feasted my senses quite as much as the delicate viands.
After supper, the company returns to the Hall of St. George, a quadrille
or two is danced to promote digestion, and the members of the Imperial
family, bowing first to the diplomatic corps, and then to the other
guests, retire to the private apartments of the palace. Now we are at
liberty to leave,--not sooner,--and rapidly, yet not with undignified
haste, seek the main staircase. Cloaking and booting (Ivan being on
hand, with eyes like a lynx) are performed without regard to head-dress
or uniform, and we wait while the carriages are being called, until the
proper _pozlannik_ turns up. If we envied those who got off sooner, we
are now envied by those who still must wait, bulky in black satin or
cloth, in sable or raccoon skin. It is half-past three when we reach
home, and there are still six hours until sunrise.
The succeeding balls, whether given by the Grand Dukes, the principal
members of the Russian nobility, or the heads of foreign legations, were
conducted on the same plan, except that, in the latter instances, the
guests were not so punctual in arriving. The pleasantest of the season
was one given by the Emperor in the Hermitage Palace. The guests, only
two hundred in number, were bidden to come in ordinary evening-dress,
and their Imperial Majesties moved about among them as simply and
unostentatiously as any well-bred American host and hostess. On a
staircase at one side of the Moorish Hall sat a distinguished Hungarian
artist, sketching the scene, with its principal figures, for a picture.
I was surprised to find how much true social culture exists in St.
Petersburg. Aristocratic manners, in their perfection, are simply
democratic: but this is a truth which is scarcely recognized by the
nobility of Germany, and only partially by that of England. The habits
of refined society are very much the same everywhere. The man or woman
of real culture recognizes certain forms as necessary, that social
intercourse may be _ordered_ instead of being arbitrary and chaotic; but
these forms must not be allowed to limit the free, expansive contact of
mind with mind and character with character, which is the charm and
blessing of society. Those who meet within the same walls meet upon an
equal footing, and all accidental distinctions cease for the time. I
found these principles acted upon to quite as full an extent as (perhaps
even more so than) they are at home. One of the members of the Imperial
family, even, expressed to me the intense weariness occasioned by the
observance of the necessary forms of court life, and the wish that they
might be made as simple as possible.
I was interested in extending my acquaintance among the Russian
nobility, as they, to a certain extent, represent the national culture.
So far as my observations reached, I found that the women were better
read, and had more general knowledge of Art, literature, and even
politics, than the men. My most instructive intercourse was with the
former. It seemed that most men (here I am not speaking of the members
of the Imperial Government) had each his specialty, beyond which he
showed but a limited interest. There was one distinguished circle,
however, where the intellectual level of the conversation was as high as
I have ever found it anywhere, and where the only title to admission
prescribed by the noble host was the capacity to take part in it. In
that circle I heard not only the Polish Question discussed, but the
Unity or Diversity of Races, Modern and Classic Art, Strauss, Emerson,
and Victor Hugo, the ladies contributing their share. At a _soiree_
given by the Princess Lvoff, I met Richard Wagner, the composer,
Rubinstein, the pianist, and a number of artists and literary men.
A society the head of which is a court, and where externals, of
necessity, must be first considered, is not the place to seek for true
and lasting intimacies; but one may find what is next best, in a social
sense,--cheerful and cordial intercourse. The circle of agreeable and
friendly acquaintance continually enlarged; and I learned to know _one_
friend (and perhaps one should hardly expect more than that in any year)
whom I shall not forget, nor he me, though we never meet again. The
Russians have been unjustly accused of a lack of that steady, tender,
faithful depth of character upon which friendship must rest. Let us not
forget that one of Washington Irving's dearest friends was Prince
Dolgorouki.
Nevertheless, the constant succession of entertainments, agreeable as
they were, became in the end fatiguing to quiet persons like ourselves.
The routs and _soirees_, it is true, were more informal and
unceremonious: one was not obliged to spend more than an hour at each,
but then one was not expected to arrive before eleven o'clock. We fell,
perforce, into the habits of the place,--of sleeping two or three hours
after dinner, then rising, and, after a cup of strong tea, dressing for
the evening. After Carnival, the balls ceased; but there were still
frequent routs, until Easter Week closed the season.
I was indebted to Admiral Luettke, President of the Imperial Geographical
Society, for an invitation to attend its sessions, some of which were of
the most interesting character. My great regret was, that a very
imperfect knowledge of the language prevented me from understanding much
of the proceedings. On one occasion, while a paper on the survey of the
Caspian Sea was being read, a tall, stately gentleman, sitting at the
table beside me, obligingly translated all the principal facts into
French, as they were stated. I afterwards found that he was Count Panin,
Minister of Justice. In the Transactions of the various literary and
scientific societies the Russian language has now entirely supplanted
the French, although the latter keeps its place in the _salons_, chiefly
on account of the foreign element. The Empress has weekly
_conversazioni_, at which only Russian is spoken, and to which no
foreigners are admitted. It is becoming fashionable to have
visiting-cards in both languages.
Of all the ceremonies which occurred during the winter, that of
New-Year's Day (January 13th, N. S.) was most interesting. After the
members of the different legations had called in a body to pay their
respects to the Emperor and Empress, the latter received the ladies of
the Court, who, on this occasion, wore the national costume, in the
grand hall. We were permitted to witness the spectacle, which is unique
of its kind and wonderfully beautiful. The Empress, having taken her
place alone near one end of the hall, with the Emperor and his family at
a little distance on her right, the doors at the other end--three
hundred feet distant--were thrown open, and a gorgeous procession
approached, sweeping past the gilded columns, and growing with every
step in color and splendor. The ladies walked in single file, about
eight feet apart, each holding the train of the one preceding her. The
costume consists of a high, crescent-shaped head-dress of velvet covered
with jewels; a short, embroidered corsage of silk or velvet, with open
sleeves; a full skirt and sweeping train of velvet or satin or _moire_,
with a deep border of point-lace. As the first lady approached the
Empress, her successor dropped the train, spreading it, by a dexterous
movement, to its full breadth on the polished floor. The lady, thus
released, bent her knee, and took the Empress's hand to kiss it, which
the latter prevented by gracefully lifting her and saluting her on the
forehead. After a few words of congratulation, she passed across the
hall, making a profound obeisance to the Emperor on the way.