home grounds are surrounded by walls and a kind of palisade. At last,
having passed the last sentry and the last gate, the carriage stops at
the private garden entrance.
I am received by an officer who shows me immediately into the palace--I
ought to say villa. Villa indeed it is in every respect, and the
entrance-hall is so small that it scarcely holds the few servants who
are in attendance. The staircase is very narrow, too, and winds in
exactly the same way as in small old-fashioned English houses.
The drawing-room gives the same impression of comfort and
cheerfulness--the privileges of English homes. It is small, and with a
rather low ceiling. The furniture is extremely plain. The few sofas and
armchairs are covered with bright material, and the woodwork is
lacquered white. The walls are covered with watercolours, sketches, and
photographs. In one corner there stands a piano with music, and in the
window a desk, apparently both much in use. The main feature of this
room is the quantity of flowers. Tables, brackets, and furniture, are
laden with jars, vases, and bowls filled with fresh-cut, sweet-smelling
flowers.
But I have no time for further observations or to analyze more minutely
this bright, homely abode in all its detail, giving as it does such a
good insight into the private life of its owners. Simple, bright,
unassuming, it is a sincere illustration of domestic happiness; and with
its writing-desk littered with papers, its piano covered with music, and
tiny jars and vases full of sweet-smelling blossoms, it is a human
document in itself.
The door opens and an imposing A.D.C. enters and announces that His
Majesty is ready to receive me. He is one of the Grand Dukes on duty at
the palace for the day. He is a first cousin of the Emperor, an officer
in the Russian army, and a most accomplished linguist. He narrated to me
many interesting details of his yachting tour in far-distant seas. He
had just returned from India, and seemed much impressed by the beauties
of that wonderful land.
A bell begins to ring, a signal that the Emperor is ready to receive me.
I am shown into the next room, which is even smaller and simpler than
the one which I have just left. In its extreme modesty the furniture
seems to be reduced to a few chairs, a lounge, and a large writing-table
which occupies the greater part of the room.
This is His Majesty's study.
But if the interior is so very unassuming, the view out of the windows
is simply magnificent; it looks straight on to the sea--a grey and
shining mirror, crowned by the dark battlements of majestic Kronstadt.
The famous citadel floats like a mirage in the blue haze of the
distance, looking even finer than usual as I see it from one of the
Tsar's windows.
The room is so small that there is no space to make the obligatory three
bows. I have scarcely stepped into the room when His Majesty gets up and
meets me himself with his well-known affability. Nicholas II wears the
undress uniform of a Russian general--dark blue and green, with a very
little gold lace, and a single medal on his breast--a modest garment,
subdued in colouring, suited very well in every respect to its owner.
The portraits of the Emperor are well enough known to make it
unnecessary for me to go into minute details. He is not tall, and of
rather delicate frame, but healthy, and with a good complexion. What
strikes one at the first moment is his open and kind-hearted expression.
The two main features that impressed me at the first glance are the
turquoise-blue colour of his eyes and their open gaze. Those eyes, which
are the chief feature of his countenance, and seem to be a family
inheritance, can hardly fail to arouse deep sympathy in the beholder. A
very great likeness exists in this respect to the heir to the English
throne.
[Illustration: _Photo, Levitsky_ _Copyright, Nops Ltd._ H.I.M. NICHOLAS
II, EMPEROR OF RUSSIA To face page 12]
His Majesty seemed to be much interested in my proposed journey across
Siberia, and wanted to know how long I intended to stay in those
regions. He spoke in an interesting way about his own experiences; he
knows the whole length of the country in fact, as Tsarevitch he turned
the first sod for the railway about twelve years ago in Vladivostok, and
now the line runs from one end to the other, linking two continents. But
he himself has travelled over the greater part of the route in the
simple Russian _tarantas_.
He gave me with great vivacity many of his innumerable reminiscences and
impressions. He was interested in every question, and tried to see
everything as much as possible for himself. He stopped at each place of
any importance and investigated the situation in detail. Besides his
official engagements, he was keenly interested in the purely historical
and scientific sides of these unknown regions. The knowledge he gathered
during his journey is unique in value, and of the greatest importance to
students of the Asiatic races, their origin, life, and future
development. Undoubtedly there has been no other ruler of this
enormous empire who ever before ventured to enter these remote
districts.
He told me what never-failing interest it was to him to come across the
different races in his Asiatic dominions, and to see the nomadic tribes
there leading their own primitive life. It was a pleasure to listen, not
only to his world-wide experiences, but to all his different
impressions, gathered with the fresh conception of a young man, and to
realize the keen interest which every sentence so eloquently expressed.
He spoke with such benevolence about his subjects, with such love about
all those with whom he came in contact throughout his endless
wanderings, that there should be no doubt that the Tsar of all the
Russias really loves his subjects tenderly, and that their welfare is
the highest aim of his life.
And he spoke further of his hopes of improving their condition, of
witnessing their advancement, and of his earnest wish to have peace
during his reign all over his territory. When he spoke about the great
blessing of universal peace his voice vibrated with an emotion that
carried the conviction, that so long as the fate of his vast empire
depended entirely on his personal desire, there would be no cruel wars,
but calm peace and prosperity over all his possessions. In replying I
ventured to remark, "What could prevent the mighty Tsar of all the
Russias carrying out his wishes?" He only answered, with a
never-to-be-forgotten expression, "I see you are yet a new-comer in this
country."
His Majesty showed the greatest care in making my journey through his
vast empire, across Siberia, not only possible, but also in insuring
that I should see as much as possible--that I should be able to observe
and learn as much as would be useful to my endeavour.
His Majesty's permission was extended to embrace such hospitality as I
would not have sought. I took the liberty of saying I would prefer to
proceed as a humble missionary to my destination.
His Majesty kindly insisted:
"If you will not accept it for yourself, accept it for the satisfaction
of your mother. She must be very anxious. I know from my own travels how
hard it is for parents to be separated from their children by thousands
of miles. I sent a telegram every day, but, even then, I knew what their
sufferings were. It will give your mother some relief to know that while
you are in this empire you are under my protection...."
* * * * *
Time seems to have flown. On my way back I write with difficulty in my
solitary compartment, by the rays of a single light. My day at Peterhof
has seemed to vanish as a moment, but it has been so full of interesting
incidents that to look back upon it is as if a month had been crowded
into a day. I have no time to go into details in my diary, so to be
correct I limit myself to generalities, and if I cannot put down _in
extenso_ all that was of interest--I might say of importance--I want to
fix the main outlines of the picture.
II
TO THE FAR EAST BY THE TRANS-SIBERIAN RAILWAY
I
FROM PETERSBURG TO MANCHURIA
Is it really possible to get to the Far East by land? Is the Siberian
Railway open to the public? Is it comfortable? Those were the universal
questions that everybody without exception addressed to me on my
arrival. As for the first: yes, it is possible. With reference to the
second, we must make distinctions. It is well known that to get through
Russia everybody must be provided with a passport signed by the local
Russian consul. It is different for priests and other church dignitaries
who do not belong to the Greek denomination; these require a special
permission granted by the Tsar himself. About comfort! The express
trains are not only comfortable, but luxurious. In my many travels I do
not remember having seen anything better fitted up, or affording to the
traveller greater facilities for forgetting the long strain of the
journey. The Trans-Siberian Railway is undoubtedly a marvellous piece
of engineering. It may have defects, and it may need several
alterations, but as a whole it deserves full admiration. Besides its
commercial and strategical importance, as a mere civilizing influence it
might become incalculable.
Another question which is constantly addressed to me is: Is not the
journey very monotonous? Is it not a most uninteresting and flat
country? Are not the natives of a very low type? The answer to these
questions depends entirely on what the wanderer is interested in. If he
looks for variety and excitement, the journey may be to a certain extent
uneventful. For those who are in search of Swiss scenery and Alpine
grandeur, it may seem flat and colourless. As for social intercourse and
pleasure, naturally, these cannot be expected. But to anybody who is
interested in land and folk--I mean those whose emotions are awakened by
the deeper characteristics of the different countries and their
inhabitants--the journey across the Asiatic continent cannot fail to
offer a series of continuous revelations. From a geographical point of
view, I admit it is in part very flat, and sometimes for days the train
pursues its way in an unbroken line through green pastures or the
denseness of virgin forests. The people one meets at different hamlets
are certainly rough-looking, children of the Steppes; but it is exactly
the untouched state of those regions, and the originality of their
inhabitants, that render it all of the greatest value to the student of
history and folk-lore. The land may be hilly or flat; its greatest
interests are not dependent upon its mere external features, and the
attractive points of a race do not consist purely in the state of its
advancement. They may still be very primitive, living in tents, wearing
skins, leading nomadic lives, unaffected, and yet give us an insight
into their characteristics and capabilities. When untouched and
unaffected by outside influences, they afford even better material for
psychological observation, and present us human documents of exceptional
interest in regard to the possibilities of their future.
But what compensates largely for the lack of panoramic effects is the
vastness of the scenery. Grand it is in every respect. Undulating
steppes like the wave-beaten ocean; never-ending, densely wooded regions
which seem to extend without limit. Its chief beauty--if beauty it may
be called--is the sentiment. The charm of these northern regions of Asia
vibrates in their atmosphere. Sentiment and atmosphere! These are the
two features of that strange land which impressed me most during the
endless hours I looked from the balcony of my railway car, or when I
stopped at one or other of the various townships; or, again, when I was
visiting some of the native encampments. Among all I noticed that was
new and striking, the most surprising thing was undoubtedly the
"unseen"--what one might call the moral or metaphysical sides; the
impression of unseen strength, exuberant vitality, primeval power, which
forces itself on the traveller indirectly again and again in endless
forms and aspects. We see it in the soil and in the people. It is
equally expressed in the inanimate and animate nature. We perceive it in
the yet unploughed fields, and we feel it among the unawakened humanity.
It is more an instinctive sensation than the absolute reality which
gives us revelations as to the future of this part of the globe.
I proceeded slowly, stopping at every place of interest, and made a
short halt wherever there was anything that appealed to me. And when my
journey was ended, I regretted it had been so short, and I was sorry the
time was too limited to permit me to penetrate deeper into the matter.
But I did not fail to put down my impressions from day to day. I made a
short note of everything that was interesting, new, or striking, just as
it presented itself to me--just as I saw it at the moment.
At present, when the general interest towards the Far East is widening,
and people seem to wish to know a little more about Asiatic nations and
their different races, and when every year will see more travellers and
students trying to make the link between West and East stronger, I hope
a few extracts from my diary may strengthen their wish, and help them to
realize and put their intentions into execution. There are great
openings for activity, and scope for intelligence; and there is a great
deal to be done from commercial, scientific, and humanitarian points of
view, for the benefit of the whole civilized world and the greater glory
of the Almighty.
II
FROM PETERSBURG TO MOSCOW
The Tsar very kindly consented to all the concessions necessary to
traverse his extensive empire, and, after my leave-taking, an official
brought me all the requisite papers, which had been signed by the
Minister of Railways. What an interesting man Prince Chilkoff is! and
such an enthusiast too! He lives literally in the midst of his
locomotives, rails, and sleepers. I think his favourite abode is the
extensive railway workshops of the metropolis. Looking at him, you would
think he was born in Chicago; he speaks perfect English, but with a
slight American intonation. He is American moreover in his keen sense of
business and boundless energy. To hear him talk about the land, new
tracks, almost impracticable tunnels, and steel bridges crossing the
large rivers, is like a most descriptive geographical lecture; and when
he starts on his favourite theories on locomotives, boilers, and pumps,
one regrets not knowing more about the mysteries and fascinations of
mechanics.
Prince Chilkoff[A] went through a very thorough mechanical training, and
has been studying the matter in the United States for many years. He
worked there himself, and got initiated into all the secrets of railway
communication. He returned finally to his own country, where he hoped to
devote his knowledge and qualifications to the benefit of his
countrymen. But every post of any importance seemed to be occupied. I
hear he was told there was only a subordinate vacancy in the mechanical
department. "Give it to me," was his answer, and he is today Minister of
all the Russian State Railways, and controller of nearly 25,000 miles of
railway and other means of communication.
[A] It is needless to add that since this was written Prince Chilkoff
has earned a world-wide reputation by his management of the railway
transport during the Russo-Japanese war.
His study is a large room in the Ministry of Railways, which is a
country-like residence, standing in extensive grounds. In the centre of
his famous office are two large tables, covered, as are also the walls,
with books, plans, and railway charts; and as he kindly explains the
route I shall take, he gets up and points it out on a geographical map
opposite his writing-table. What an enormous territory this Asiatic
continent is! I look at it with a kind of amazement and a sort of fear.
Shall I really get across it in a comfortable railway carriage, as you
would go on a trip into the country? My host seems to divine my
thoughts, and with a smile assures me that from one end to another the
line is entirely under the same central management, and a telegraph
apparatus from the head office brings him unbroken news throughout the
entire length. "I quite understand it might seem strange and unusual to
other countries, but you must not forget our tendencies and our force
consist in centralization." He has made the Siberian journey again and
again, and gives me most valuable information respecting what to see,
and where to stop, and what is really of interest. It is a grand work,
and, considering the space of time in which it was achieved, and its
extent, it seems nearly incredible. Including the branch lines, the
Siberian Railway is over ten thousand kilometres long, and its
construction was begun only twelve years ago. Prince Chilkoff has,
moreover, under his management, 10,400 post offices, and over 100,000
miles of telegraph line.
I leave his house charged with valuable hints and a packet of letters
and recommendations; and Prince Chilkoff, with a cordial hand-shake,
repeats, "Good luck! and don't forget to let me know if anything should
prove unsatisfactory."
My last day at St. Petersburg is even more crowded than the rest of the
week has been. Calls of farewell, final preparations, leaving cards and
inscribing my name in visiting-books, occupy the greater part of it. But
this going to and fro gives me opportunity of seeing it again from end
to end in all its immensity before I leave. What an extraordinary idea
to build a town in the midst of a marsh! to dig canals where one cannot
build roads, and to be surrounded with a plain as flat as a table. Peter
the Great must have been very much impressed by Amsterdam! There are
corners in St. Petersburg drenched and misty as on the borders of the
Zuyder Zee. But if it has reminiscences of quiet, home-like Holland,
again there are brilliant thoroughfares like a Parisian boulevard. The
Nevsky Prospect, in its bustle and traffic, full of colour and of life,
is unique. Nevsky is the main artery of the capital--palaces belonging
to the Imperial family and the grandees, public buildings, bazaars,
workshops, and every edifice you can think of. And each is of different
style, each of different height, and each is painted in a different hue
of the rainbow. Its main feature--I dare say attraction--is its
incoherence.
During this last week the Russian metropolis presented itself to me from
a thousand different sides, and in how many different lights too! Trying
to remember them all before I depart for good, I do so with preference
for what was pleasant, instructive, and good. Besides, I do not come to
criticize, I merely come to pass through, and so I prefer to put down in
my diary what might prove instructive. I fully understand the great
attraction which St. Petersburg always has for foreigners. I admit it
also, though I should not choose it for my residence or for my sphere of
labour. The polish is perfect, and of course, if one does not belong to
a country, as a passing visitor one scarcely requires more. The
conditions of life--at least, for the well-to-do--are most agreeable;
manners all that can be desired; refinement exquisite. I do not think
you can come in contact anywhere with better informed and more richly
equipped people than here. Some of the scientific institutions, like the
Naval Academy and the Public Library, are quite remarkable; and the new
Polytechnic School--a regular town in itself, with its five faculties
and its laboratories--stands alone. Then the museums and galleries
contain the most celebrated art treasures. The famous Hermitage, large
as it is, can scarcely hold them all. Antiques, gems, jewels, weapons,
vases, engravings, and pictures, all of the first order; and I must say
they appreciate what they do possess, and the arrangements of the
museums are excellent. Unquestionably there is a highly intellectual
current, or, if you would prefer to call it so, undercurrent, which
comes to brilliant manifestations here and there; sometimes most
unexpectedly, amid squalor and debris.
The huge electric globes cast a cold and glaring light over the gloomy
square in front of the Moscow station. A dense crowd invades passages,
halls, and waiting-rooms, and, like the swelling tide, groans, surges,
and finally overflows the platforms. Travelling in Russia has a
different meaning altogether from that which it possesses elsewhere--it
really means a removal: a regular deplacement. Then, people seem to
leave for ever: all their belongings appear to follow them, so enormous
and so diverse is their kit. From simple boxes and knapsacks to kitchen
utensils and even furniture, it embraces everything one could desire in
one's own abode. And afterwards, when they take leave, their shaking of
hands, embracing, and tears, give the impression that they never are to
meet again. And this is only the local train, taking me as far as
Moscow. What will it be there, at the Siberian terminus?
The journey lasts only one night, across the famous wheat-growing
plains, and to-morrow, in the early hours of the morn, I hope to reach
the ancient capital of the Tsars. I want to break my journey to see the
ancient metropolis of the mighty rulers, to revisit all the famous
scenes where so many important chapters of eastern history were once
displayed to view. I want to see again the towering Kremlin, with its
mosaic basilicas and treasure-houses, slumbering at present in quiet
dreams of the past under their golden domes. And I want to get prepared
and acclimatized to a certain extent for Siberia; for Moscow belongs
altogether to the other continent; it is really the capital of Asia.
III
THROUGH EUROPEAN RUSSIA
The fading disc of the sinking sun disappears slowly beneath the horizon
of the waving corn-fields. The first day of the journey is over. It was
uneventful, calm, but it has not lacked interest. We have ploughed
through endless fields of rich land, with a peaceful agricultural
aspect. Here and there a few scattered villages of dark mud huts, and
large white churches. Sometimes there is a country seat of some landed
gentleman, buildings which remind me very much of an Indian bungalow.
They are very long and of only one storey high, half hidden by ancient
trees. On the high roads peasants are just returning in endless streams,
with carts and kettles, from their daily work. However far off they may
have been working, they always return home for the night, for Russian
peasants seldom live on their farms. The whole picture speaks of such
perfect peace: the slowly moving and singing workmen, and the little
villages bathed in the afterglow, express such simple happiness, that I
can scarcely realize that some of those very districts have been the
scene of violence and cruel outrages. It is indeed difficult to believe
the reports of the latest troubles and dissatisfaction which have burst
forth in the midst of the quietest of mujiks. How difficult it is to
understand the inner feelings of these quaint folk! Sleepy as they may
look, uncultured, and a couple of centuries behind the rest of the
world, they can yet occasionally awaken; and when they awake, their
passions burst out like as a stream of lava without restraint.