Bagtche Serai has completely retained its national character in

consequence of an ukase of Catherine II., empowering the Tatars to

retain exclusive possession of their own capital. You would fancy

yourself in the heart of the East, in walking through the narrow streets

of the town, the mosques, shops, and cemeteries of which so much

resemble those of the old quarters of Constantinople. But it is

especially in the courts, gardens, and kiosks of the harem of the old

palace, that the traveller may well believe himself transported into

some delicious abode of Aleppo or Bagdad.

It was in 1226, that the Mongol or Tatar hordes led by Batu Khan,

grandson of Genghis Khan, after invading Russia, Poland, and Hungary,

made their first appearance in the Crimea, and laid the foundations of

the Tatar kingdom, which was soon to attain a high degree of power. The

Genoese about the same time took possession of several important points

on the southern coast, and founded Caffa and other towns, which became

extremely flourishing seats of commerce. Their prosperity lasted until

1473, when the Turks, already masters of Constantinople, drove the

Genoese out of the Crimea, and took under their protection the Khans of

little Tatary, who became vassals of the Porte, whilst retaining their

absolute sway over the Crimea. From that time until the eighteenth

century, the history of the peninsula is but a long series of contests

between the Ottomans, the Tatars, and the Muscovites.

Russia, coveting this fine country, took advantage of its continual

revolutions, and sent a large army thither in 1771, for the purpose of

putting the young prince Saheb Guerai on the throne. By this stroke of

policy, she took the Crimea out of the hands of the Porte, and brought

it under her own sole protection. In return for the empress's good

offices, Saheb Guerai ceded to her the towns of Kertch, Yeni Kaleh, and

Kalbouroun, very advantageously situated on the Dniepr. In this way

Russia took the first steps towards the celebrated treaty of Kainardji

of 1774, which conceded to her the free navigation of all the seas

dependent on the Turkish dominions. But it was not until 1783, that her

sway was irrevocably established in the peninsula, and the Tatars

submitted to a yoke against which they had so often and so boldly

struggled.

During the brilliant period in which the khans reigned in the Crimea,

the seat of government alternated between Eski Krim and Tchoufout Kaleh,

until the beginning of the sixteenth century, when Bagtche Serai was

made the capital.

One would hardly recognise in the simple and orderly Tatars of the

present day, the descendants of those fierce Mongols who imposed their

sway on a part of western Europe. There is a great difference between

the Tatars of the coast and those of the mountains. The former have been

rendered covetous, knavish, and treacherous by their continual

intercourse with the Russians; whilst their mountain brethren have

retained the patriarchal manners that distinguish the Asiatic peoples.

Their hospitality is most generous. The Tatar's best room, and the best

which his house and his table can afford, are offered to his guest with

a cordial alacrity that forbids the very idea of a refusal; and he would

deem it an insult to be offered any other payment than a friendly grasp

of the hand.

The Tatar women, without being handsome, display a timid grace that

makes them singularly engaging. In public they wear a long white veil,

the two ends of which hang over their shoulders, and they are

particularly remarkable for their complete freedom from every appearance

of vulgarity. We saw none at Bagtche Serai, but those of the poorer

classes; the women of the mourzas (nobles), and beys (princes) live

quite retired and never show themselves in public.

But to return to the palace of Bagtche Serai. It is no easy task to

describe the charm of this mysterious and splendid abode, in which the

voluptuous khans forgot all the cares of life: it is not to be done, as

in the case of one of our palaces, by analysing the style, arrangement,

and details of the rich architecture, and reading the artist's thought

in the regularity, grace, and noble simplicity of the edifice: all this

is easy to understand and to describe: such beauties are more or less

appreciable by every one. But one must be something of a poet to

appreciate a Turkish palace; its charms must be sought, not in what one

sees, but in what one feels. I have heard persons speak very

contemptuously of Bagtche Serai. "How," said they, "can any one apply

the name of palace to that assemblage of wooden houses, daubed with

coarse paintings, and furnished only with divans and carpets?" And these

people were right in their way. The positive cast of their minds

disabling them from seeing beauty in any thing but rich materials,

well-defined forms and highly-finished workmanship, Bagtche Serai must

be to them only a group of shabby houses adorned with paltry ornaments,

and fit only for the habitation of miserable Tatars.

Situated in the centre of the town, in a valley enclosed between hills

of unequal heights, the palace (Serai) covers a considerable space, and

is enclosed within walls, and a small stream deeply entrenched. The

bridge which affords admission into the principal court is guarded by a

post of Russian veterans. The spacious court is planted with poplars and

lilacs, and adorned with a beautiful Turkish fountain, shaded by

willows; its melancholy murmur harmonises well with the loneliness of

the place. To the right as you enter are some buildings, one of which is

set apart for the use of those travellers who are fortunate enough to

gain admittance into the palace. To the left are the mosque, the

stables, and the trees of the cemetery, which is divided from the court

by a wall.

We first visited the palace properly so called. Its exterior displays

the usual irregularity of Eastern dwellings; but its want of symmetry is

more than compensated for by its wide galleries, its bright decorations,

its pavilions so lightly fashioned that they seem scarcely attached to

the body of the building, and by a profusion of large trees that shade

it on all sides. These all invest it with a charm, that in my opinion

greatly surpasses the systematic regularity of our princely abodes. The

interior is an embodied page out of the Arabian Nights. The first hall

we entered contains the celebrated Fountain of Tears, the theme of

Pushkin's beautiful verses. It derives its melancholy name from the

sweet sad murmur of its slender jets as they fall on the marble of the

basin. The sombre and mysterious aspect of the hall, further augments

the tendency of the spectator's mind to forget reality for the dreams of

the imagination. The foot falls noiselessly on fine Egyptian mats; the

walls are inscribed with sentences from the Koran, written in gold on a

black ground in those odd-looking Turkish characters, that seem more the

caprices of an idle fancy than vehicles of thought. From the hall we

entered a large reception-room with a double row of windows of stained

glass, representing all sorts of rural scenes. The ceiling and doors are

richly gilded, and the workmanship of the latter is very fine. Broad

divans covered with crimson velvet run all round the room. In the middle

there is a fountain playing in a large porphyry basin. Every thing is

magnificent in this room, except the whimsical manner in which the walls

are painted. All that the most fertile imagination could conceive in the

shape of isles, villages, harbours, fabulous castles, and so forth, is

huddled together promiscuously on the walls, without any more regard for

perspective than for geography. Nor is this all: there are niches over

the doors in which are collected all sorts of children's toys, such as

wooden houses a few inches high, fruit trees, models of ships, little

figures of men twisted into a thousand contortions, &c. These singular

curiosities are arranged on receding shelves for the greater facility of

inspection, and are carefully protected by glass cases. One of the last

khans, we were assured, used to shut himself up in this room every day

to admire these interesting objects. Such childishness, common among the

Orientals, would lead us to form a very unfavourable opinion of their

intelligence, if it was not redeemed by their instinctive love of

beauty, and the poetic feeling which they possess in a high degree. For

my part I heartily forgave the khans for having painted their walls so

queerly, in consideration of the charming fountain that plashed on the

marble, and the little garden filled with rare flowers adjoining the

saloon.

The hall of the divan is of royal magnificence; the mouldings of the

ceiling, in particular, are of exquisite delicacy. We passed through

other rooms adorned with fountains and glowing colours, but that which

most interested us was the apartment of the beautiful Countess Potocki.

It was her strange fortune to inspire with a violent passion one of the

last khans of the Crimea, who carried her off and made her absolute

mistress of his palace, in which she lived ten years, her heart divided

between her love for an infidel, and the remorse that brought her

prematurely to the grave. The thought of her romantic fate gave a magic

charm to every thing we beheld. The Russian officer who acted as our

cicerone pointed out to us a cross carved on the chimney of the

bed-room. The mystic symbol, placed above a crescent, eloquently

interpreted the emotions of a life of love and grief. What tears, what

inward struggles, and bitter recollections had it not witnessed!

We passed through I know not how many gardens and inner yards,

surrounded with high walls, to visit the various pavilions, kiosks, and

buildings of all sorts comprised within the limits of the palace. The

part occupied by the harem contains such a profusion of rose-trees and

fountains as to merit the pleasing name of The Little Valley of Roses.

Nothing can be more charming than this Tatar building, surrounded by

blossoming trees. I felt a secret pleasure in pressing the divans on

which had rested the fair forms of Mussulman beauties, as they breathed

the fresh air from the fountains in voluptuous repose. No sound from

without can reach this enchanted retreat, where nothing is heard but the

rippling of the waters, and the song of the nightingales. We counted

more than twenty fountains in the courts and gardens; they all derive

their supply from the mountains, and the water is of extreme coolness.

A tower of considerable height, with a terrace fronted with gratings

that can be raised or lowered at pleasure, overlooks the principal

court. It was erected to enable the khan's wives to witness, unseen, the

martial exercises practised in the court. The prospect from the terrace

is admirable; immediately below it you have a bird's-eye view of the

labyrinth of buildings, gardens, and other enclosures. Further on the

town of Bagtche Serai rises gradually on a sloping amphitheatre of

hills. The sounds of the whole town, concentrated and reverberated

within the narrow space, reach you distinctly. The panorama is

peculiarly pleasing at the close of the day, when the voices of the

muezzins, calling to prayer from the minarets, mingle with the bleating

of the flocks returning from pasture, and the cries of the shepherds.

After seeing the palace we repaired to the mosque and to the cemetery in

which are the tombs of all the khans who have reigned in the Crimea.

There as at Constantinople, I admired the wonderful art with which the

Orientals disguise the gloomy idea of death under fresh and gladsome

images. Who can yield to dismal thoughts as he breathes a perfumed air,

listens to the waters of a sparkling fountain, and follows the little

paths, edged with violets, that lead to lilac groves bending their

flagrant blossoms over tombs adorned with rich carpets and gorgeous

inscriptions?

The Tatar who has charge of this smiling abode of death, prompted by the

poetic feeling that is lodged in the bosom of every Oriental, brought

me a nosegay plucked from the tomb of a Georgian, the beloved wife of

the last khan. Was it not a touching thing to see this humble guardian

of the cemetery comprehend instinctively that flowers, associated with

the memory of a young woman, could not be indifferent to another of her

sex and age?

Some isolated pavilions contain the tombs of khans of most eminent

renown. They are much more ornate than the others, and the care with

which they are kept up testifies the pious veneration of the Tatars.

Carpets, cashmeres, lamps burning continually, and inscriptions in

letters of gold, combine to give grandeur to these monuments, which yet

are intended to commemorate only names almost forgotten.

Such is a brief sketch of this ancient abode of the khans, which was

carefully repaired by the Emperor Alexander. He found it in such a state

of disorder and neglect, that it was probable nothing would remain in a

few years of a dwelling with which is associated almost the whole past

history of the Crimea. But Alexander, whose temperament was so well

adapted to appreciate the melancholy beauty of the spot, immediately on

his return to St. Petersburg sent a very able man to Bagtche Serai, with

orders to restore the palace to the state in which it had been in the

time of the khans. Since then the imperial family has sometimes

exchanged the dreary magnificence of the St. Petersburg palaces for the

rosy bowers and sunny clime of the Tatar Serai.

In speaking of this Tatar town, I must not forget to mention a man known

throughout the Crimea for his eccentricity. It is about twelve years

since a Dutchman of the name of Vanderschbrug, a retired civil engineer

in the imperial service, arrived in the Tatar capital with the intention

of settling there. His motive for this act of misanthropy has never been

ascertained; all that is known is, that his resolution has remained

unshaken. Since his installation among the Tatars, Major Vanderschbrug

has never set his foot outside the town, though his family reside in

Simpheropol. His retiring pension, amounting to some hundred rubles,

allows him to lead a life, which to many persons would seem very

uninviting, but which is not devoid of a certain charm. The complete

independence he has secured for himself, makes up to him, in some sort,

for the void he must feel in the loss of family affection. He lives like

a philosopher in his little cottage, with his cow, his poultry, his

pencils, some books, and an old housekeeper. He speaks the language of

the Tatars like one of themselves, and his thorough knowledge of the

country, and the originality of his mind render his conversation very

agreeable. All over the country he is known only by the name of the

hermit of Bagtche Serai. The Tatars hold him in great respect, often

refer their disputes to his decision, and implicitly follow his advice.

We breakfasted with him, and seeing him apparently so contented with his

lot, we thought how little is sufficient to make a man happy when his

desires are limited. Major Vanderschbrug beguiles his solitude with

reading and the arts, for which he has preserved a taste. He showed us

some fine water-coloured drawings he had made, and an old volume of Jean

Jacques Rousseau, which he has kept for many years as a precious

treasure. To all the objections we raised against the strange exile to

which he condemned himself, he replied that ennui had not yet invaded

his humble dwelling.

Before bidding farewell to Bagtche Serai, we went in company with our

recluse to visit the Valley of Jehoshaphat and the famous mountain of

Tchoufout Kaleh,[68] which has been for several centuries the exclusive

property of certain Jews, known by the name of Karaimes or Karaites.

They are a sect who still adhere to the law of Moses, but who separated

from the general body, as some writers suppose, several centuries before

the Christian era. According to other authorities, the separation did

not occur until A.D. 750. There is a marked difference between

them and the other Jews. The simplicity of their manners, their probity

and industry give them a strong claim to the traveller's respect.

At six in the morning we mounted our little Tatar horses, and began to

ascend the steep road that winds through a vast cemetery, covering the

whole side of the mountain. The melancholy aspect of the tombs, covered

with Hebrew inscriptions, accords with the desolation of the scene. Of

the whole population, that during the lapse of ages have lived and died

on this rock, nothing remains but tombs, and a dozen families that

persist, from religious motives, in dwelling among ruins.

In the time of the khans, the Karaites of Tchoufout Kaleh were stoutly

confined to their rock, being only allowed to pass the business hours of

the day in the Tatar capital, returning every evening to their mountain.

When one of them arrived opposite the palace on horseback, he was bound

to alight and proceed on foot until he was out of sight. But since the

conquest by the Russians, the Karaites are free to reside in Bagtche

Serai, and they have gradually left the mountain, with the exception, as

I have stated, of a few families who regard it as a sacred duty to abide

on the spot where their forefathers dwelt.

Considering the almost inaccessible position of the town, its want of

water, the sterility of the soil, and the loneliness of the inhabitants,

we cannot fail to be struck by the thirst for freedom that made the

Karaites of yore choose such a site, and the constancy of the families

that still cling to it. Tchoufout Kaleh is built entirely on the bare

rock, and the mountain is so steep that in the only place where it

admits of access, it has been necessary to cut flights of steps several

hundred feet long. As you ascend, huge masses of overhanging rocks seem

to threaten you with destruction, and when you enter the ruined town,

the sepulchral silence and desolation of its dilapidated streets make a

painful impression on the mind. No inhabitant comes forth to greet the

stranger or direct him on his way. The only living beings we saw abroad

were famished dogs that howled most dismally.

Besides the interest we felt in this acropolis of the middle ages, we

had a still stronger motive for our journey to Tchoufout Kaleh; namely,

to see a poet who has resided from his youth upwards on that dreary

rock. We had heard a great deal about it from M. Taitbout de Marigny and

from Major Vanderschbrug; the first point, therefore, towards which we

bent our steps was the rabbi's dwelling, built like an eagle's nest on

the point of a rock. Being shown into a small room furnished with books

and maps, we found ourselves in presence of a little old man with a long

white beard who received us with the grave and easy dignity of the

Orientals. His features were of the most purely Jewish cast. With the

help of the major, who acted as our interpreter, we were enabled to

carry on a long conversation, and to admire the varied knowledge

possessed by a man so completely cut off from the world. Is it not

wonderful that a person in such a position, and so totally deprived of

all necessary appliances, should undertake the gigantic task of writing

the history of the Karaites from the time of Moses to our days? Yet thus

our rabbi has been employed for upward of twenty years, undismayed by

the difficulties of all kinds that lie in his way. It was not a little

moving to see a man of great intellect, vast erudition, and poetic

imagination, wearing out on a desolate rock the remains of a life which

would have been so fair and so productive if passed in more active

scenes. He showed us several sacred poems in manuscript written in his

youth. How much I regretted that I could not read the productions of

such a poet.

He lives like a patriarch surrounded by ten or a dozen children of all

ages who enliven and embellish his solitude. Several little rooms

communicating together by galleries form his dwelling. It is very

humble, but the rabbi's remarkable physiognomy, and the Oriental costume

of his wife and daughters, impart a charm even to so rude a tenement. He

escorted us to the synagogue, a small building, long left to solitude.

We saw, too, not without a lively interest, the grave of a khan's

daughter, who, in the time of the Genoese rule, forsook the Koran for

the law of the Christians, and died at the age of eighteen among those

who had converted her. Like every thing else about it, it was in a state

of neglect and decay.

All the lower part of the mountain, and also a deep narrow valley

stretching eastward of Tchoufout Kaleh are covered with tombs, to which

circumstance the situation owes its name of Valley of Jehoshaphat.

Opposite the Karaite town is the celebrated convent of the Assumption,

which is annually visited in the month of August by more than twenty

thousand pilgrims. Its cells excavated in the rock have a very curious

appearance from a distance. Some wooden flights of stairs on the outside

of the rock lead to the several stages of this singular convent

inhabited only by a few monks.

On our return to Bagtche Serai we noticed several crypts in the rock

which are the haunt of a large number of Tsiganes. Nowhere does this

vagrant people present a more disgusting aspect than in this locality.

Their horrible infirmities, distorted limbs, and indescribable

wretchedness make one almost doubt that they can belong to humanity.

We proceeded the next day to Simpheropol where we were to pass some

days.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] Tchoufout Kaleh, formerly called Kirkov, was for a long series of

years the residence of the khans, until Mengle Gherai quitted it for

Bagtche Serai, in 1475.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

SIMPHEROPOL--KAKOLEZ--VISIT TO PRINCESS ADEL BEY--EXCURSION

TO MANGOUP KALEH.

Under the Tatars Simpheropol was the second town of the Crimea, and the

residence of the Kalga Sultan, whose functions were nearly equivalent to

those of vice-khan. He exercised the regency of the country on the death

of the khan, until his successor was nominated by the Porte. The Kalga's

court was composed of the same functionaries as that of Bagtche Serai,

and his authority extended over all the regions north of the Crimea

mountains. Simpheropol was then adorned with palaces, mosques, and fine

gardens, few traces of which now remain. The tortuous streets, high

walls, and rose thickets of the old city, have given place to the cold

monotony of the Russian towns. It is the capital of the government of

the Crimea, with a population of about 8000 souls, of whom 1700 are

Russians, 5000 Tatars, 400 strangers, and 900 gipsies. Its plan is large

enough to comprise ten times as many houses as it possesses; but, at

least, it retains its Salghir, the banks of which are covered with the

finest orchards in the Crimea. But instead of building the new town in

the valley, it has been set at the top of a great plateau where its few

houses and its disproportionately wide streets present no kind of

character. It is with extreme pleasure, therefore, that after wandering

through the streets in which the sun's rays beat down without any thing

to break their force, one finds himself under the cool verdant shades

that fringe the Salghir, with the pretty country houses that peep out

from the orchards.

We made many excursions in the vicinity, and were above all pleased with

the beautiful landscapes in the valley of the Alma. In a ride on

horseback to visit some rocks of an interesting geological character, we

crossed the river eighteen times in the space of three hours: this may

afford an idea of the multitude of meanders it makes before continuing

its course to the Black Sea.

Bagtche Serai being on the road to Karolez, we could not resist the

pleasure of once more seeing its delightful palace. We passed the

evening in one of the large galleries, admiring the magic appearance of

the buildings and gardens by moonlight. The deep stillness of the place;

the mysterious aspect of the principal edifice, one part of which was

completely in the shade, whilst the other, with its coloured windows and

its open balconies, received the full rays of the moon; the masses of

foliage in the gardens, and the melancholy sounds of the fountain; all

this accompanied by the imaginative relations of our eccentric friend,

the major, made an indelible impression on our minds.

At Bagtche Serai we finally exchanged the pereclatnoi for Tatar horses,

the serviceable qualities of which had commended themselves to us in

many trials. Our cavalcade made a grotesque appearance as we rode out of

the palace. For my own part I looked oddly enough, perched on an

enormously high Tatar saddle in my Caspian costume, with my parasol in

my hand. Hommaire wore with Oriental gravity the Persian cap, the girdle

and the weapons, to which he had become accustomed in his long

wanderings. But the queerest figure of all was our dragoman.

Half-a-dozen leather bags containing provisions dangled at his horse's

flanks; my poor straw bonnet, which I had been obliged to abandon for a

round hat, hung at the pummel of his saddle, and in addition to all this

accoutrement he carried in his hand a large white canvass umbrella to

screen him from the sun. Two Tatar horsemen followed us, carrying

likewise their contingent of baggage.

After some hours' riding through a lovely country, intersected with

streams, valleys, and numerous orchards, we arrived in the evening at

Karolez, a Tatar village, lost among mountains, in the valley of the

same name, which is one of the most delightful spots in the beautiful

Crimea, so rich in picturesque scenes.

Though it does not belong to the southern coast, and consequently has no

maritime traffic, Karolez, nevertheless, possesses a romantic

attraction, which every year brings to it numerous visitors. This is

owing to its vicinity to Mangoup Kaleh, the abundance of its waters, the

mountains that encompass the valley with a line of battlemented walls,

as if Nature had been pleased in a sportive mood to imitate art, whilst

yet retaining her own more majestic proportions; and, lastly, the merit

of belonging to the Princess Adel Bey, whose beauty, though invisible

has inspired many a poet.

I had taken care before leaving Simpheropol to furnish myself with a

letter from the governor to the princess, in order to obtain an

interview which might enable me to judge whether the beauty of this

Tatar lady and her daughters was as great as fame reported. The question

had been often agitated since our arrival in the Crimea; it may,

therefore, be imagined how desirous I was to resolve it. But in spite

of my letter of introduction, my admission to the palace was still very

problematical. Many Russian ladies had tried in vain to enter it; for

the princess, while exercising the noblest hospitality, was seldom

disposed to satisfy the curiosity of her guests. Though the law of

Mahomet respecting the seclusion of women is less rigidly observed among

the Tatars of the Crimea than among the Turks of Constantinople, rich

ladies do not often pass the threshold of their own dwellings, and when

they do they are always closely veiled.

One of my friends from Simpheropol, who had proceeded the day before to

the princess's, having giving notice of our coming, we were received in

the most brilliant style. The guest house was prepared with the

ostentation which the Orientals are fond of displaying on all occasions.

A double line of servants of all ages was drawn up in the vestibule when

we dismounted; and one of the oldest and most richly dressed ushered us

into a saloon arranged in the fashion of the East, with gaily painted

walls and red silk divans that reminded us of the delightful rooms in

the palace of the khans. The princess's son, an engaging boy of twelve

years of age, who spoke Russian very well, attached himself to us,

obligingly translated our orders to the domestics, and took care that we

wanted for nothing. I gave him my letter, which he immediately carried

to his mother, and soon afterwards he came and told me, to my great

satisfaction, that she would receive me when she had finished her

toilette. In the eagerness of my curiosity I now counted every minute,

until an officer, followed by an old woman in a veil, came to introduce

me into the mysterious palace of which I had as yet seen only the lofty

outer wall.

My husband, as arranged between us beforehand, attempted to follow us,

and seeing that no impediment was offered, he stepped without ceremony

through the little door into the park, crossed the latter, boldly

ascended a terrace adjoining the palace, and, at last, found himself,

not without extreme surprise at his good fortune, in a little room that

seemed to belong to the princess's private apartments. Until then no

male stranger except Count Voronzof had ever entered the palace; the

flattering and unexpected exception which the princess made in favour of

my husband, might, therefore, lead us to hope that her complaisance

would not stop there. But we were soon undeceived. The officer who had

ushered us into the palace, after having treated us to iced water,

sweetmeats and pipes, took my husband by the hand, and led him out of

the room with very significant celerity. He had no sooner disappeared

than a curtain was raised at the end of the room, and a woman of

striking beauty entered, dressed in a rich costume. She advanced to me

with an air of remarkable dignity, took both my hands, kissed me on the

two cheeks, and sat down beside me, making me many demonstrations of

friendship. She wore a great deal of rouge; her eyelids were painted

black and met over the nose, giving her countenance a certain sternness,

that, nevertheless, did not destroy its pleasing effect. A furred velvet

vest fitted tight to her still elegant figure. Altogether her

appearance surpassed what I had conceived of her beauty. We spent a

quarter of an hour closely examining each other, and interchanging as

well as we could a few Russian words that very insufficiently conveyed

our thoughts. But in such cases, looks supply the deficiencies of

speech, and mine must have told the princess with what admiration I

beheld her. Hers, I must confess, in all humility, seemed to express

much more surprise than admiration at my travelling costume. What would

I not have given to know the result of her purely feminine analysis of

my appearance! I was even crossed in this _tete-a-tete_ by a serious

scruple of conscience for having presented myself before her in male

attire, which must have given her a strange notion of the fashions of

Europe.

Notwithstanding my desire to prolong my visit in hopes of seeing her

daughters, the fear of appearing intrusive prompted me to take my leave;

but checking me with a very graceful gesture, she said eagerly "_Pastoy,

Pastoy_" (stay, stay), and clapped her hands several times. A young girl

entered at the signal, and by her mistress's orders threw open a folding

door, and immediately I was struck dumb with surprise and admiration by

a most brilliant apparition. Imagine, reader, the most exquisite

sultanas of whom poetry and painting have ever tried to convey an idea,

and still your conception will fall far short of the enchanting models I

had then before me. There were three of them, all equally beautiful and

graceful. Two were clad in tunics of crimson brocade, adorned in front

with broad gold lace. The tunics were open and disclosed beneath them

cashmere robes, with very tight sleeves terminating in gold fringes. The

youngest wore a tunic of azure blue brocade, with silver ornaments: this

was the only difference between her dress and that of her sisters. All

three had magnificent black hair escaping in countless tresses from a

fez of silver filigree, set like a diadem over their ivory foreheads;

they wore gold embroidered slippers and wide trousers drawn close at the

ankle.

I had never beheld skins so dazzlingly fair, eyelashes so long, or so

delicate a bloom of youth. The calm repose that sat on the countenances

of these lovely creatures, had never been disturbed by any profane

glance. No look but their mother's had ever told them they were

beautiful; and this thought gave them an inexpressible charm in my eyes.

It is not in our Europe, where women, exposed to the gaze of crowds, so

soon addict themselves to coquetry, that the imagination could conceive

such a type of beauty. The features of our young girls are too soon

altered by the vivacity of their impressions, to allow the eye of the

artist to discover in them that divine charm of purity and ignorance

with which I was so struck in beholding my Tatar princesses. After

embracing me they retired to the end of the room where they remained

standing in those graceful Oriental attitudes which no woman in Europe

could imitate. A dozen attendants muffled in white muslin, were gathered

round the door, gazing with respectful curiosity. Their profiles, shown

in relief on a dark ground, added to the picturesque character of the

scene. This delightful vision lasted an hour. When the princess saw that

I was decided on going away, she signified to me by signs that I should

go and see the garden; but though grateful to her for this further mark

of attention, I preferred immediately rejoining my husband, being

impatient to relate to him all the details of this interview, with which

I was completely dazzled.

Next morning we set out on horseback for Mangoup Kaleh, a mountain

renowned throughout the country, and of which the inhabitants never

speak but with veneration. Goths, Turks, and Tatars have been by turns

its possessors. Owing to its almost impregnable position, it has played

an important part in all the revolutions of the Crimea. The town of

Mangoup, which appears to have been the residence of the Gothic princes,

was formerly a very considerable place. It had a bishop in 754. The

Turks took it and put a garrison in it in 1745. Twenty years afterwards

it was entirely burnt down. The khans of the Crimea next took possession

of it, and let it gradually fall into decay. At the close of the last

century, the population of this ancient town still consisted of some

Karaite families; at present there remains no other trace of their

existence than the tombs spread over the mountain side.

For three hours we ascended the mountain by scarcely marked bridle

roads, astonished at the confidence with which our horses walked up

those steep slopes where there seemed hardly any hold for their feet.

But the horses of the Crimea are wonderfully surefooted, and if they can

set down their feet anywhere, it is alike to them whether it is on a

smooth plain or on the verge of a precipice. Here, as at Tchoufout

Kaleh, the mountain was covered with tombs; but these bore inscriptions

in Tatar as well as Hebrew, showing that this deserted soil had formerly

been trodden by more than one people. The ascent ended at a broad

triangular plateau on the summit of the mountain, where the town once

stood. It is now a barren spot, strewed all over with ruins. Two sides

of the plateau are perpendicular; the third was defended by a fortress,

part of which is still standing.

Every thing on this mountain wears a grand and melancholy character.

Desolation has long taken it for its domain. Nothing meets the eye but

ruins, tombs, and a naked soil. And yet, notwithstanding the stern

aspect of the place, it does not fill the soul with the same feelings of

painful awe as Tchoufout Kaleh. This is because the ancient town of the

Karaites, all mutilated as it is by time and events, still retains a

semblance of existence, and this alliance between life and death

necessarily impresses the mind with a superstitious dread. At Mangoup

Kaleh all human traces have been too long effaced to awaken painful

thoughts. There one thinks not so much of men as of remote epochs, of

the great events and numerous revolutions of which this rock has been

the theatre.

The facade of the fortress has withstood the slow attacks of time,

though full of cracks, and the lofty walls appear still from a distance

to protect Mangoup Kaleh. Herds of Tatar horses graze in complete

freedom on the plateau, and drink from a large reservoir supplied by a

spring that never fails in any season. As we were exploring the interior

of what must have been the citadel, we came upon a clump of lilacs in

full bloom among the ruins. I cannot tell the impression made on me by

those flowers thus unfolding their sweets under the dew of Heaven far

from every human eye. Besides the fortress we found another edifice

partly spared by time. Its construction and the graves about it showed

it to be an old Christian church. The chancel was in tolerably good

preservation, and even the windows had not suffered much dilapidation.

The view from Mangoup Kaleh is very extensive and varied. On the one

side is the sea with its islands and capes, its vessels, and Sevastopol,

which can be distinctly perceived in clear weather. To the west,

magnificent orchards, vine-clad hills, and broad meadows, intersected

with streams, stretch away as far as the eye can reach in the direction

of Simpheropol; then, at the foot of the mountain, the valley of

Karolez, its forests, its rocky girdle, its Tatar village, and the

palace of the princess Adel Bey, disclosing its Moorish architecture

from behind a screen of poplars.

At the earnest recommendation of our guides, I ventured to explore some

grottoes hollowed in the rock, the descent to which is rather difficult

and dangerous. There are about a dozen of them opening one into the

other, and separated only by shapeless pillars. The Tatars could give us

no sort of explanation as to these subterraneous chambers. They seem

like those of Inkermann to belong to very remote antiquity, but their

origin and history are quite unknown.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

ROAD TO BAIDAR--THE SOUTHERN COAST; GRAND SCENERY--MISKHOR

AND ALOUPKA--PREDILECTION OF THE GREAT RUSSIAN NOBLES FOR

THE CRIMEA.

The country we passed over, next day, on our way to the southern coast,

had a wild sylvan appearance strikingly in contrast with what we had

hitherto seen. Between the valley of Karolez and that of Baidar near the

coast, lies a chain of mountains with deep gorges filled with forests.

Sometimes the road passed along the bottom of one of these gorges, where

we were constantly obstructed by watercourses and thickets; sometimes we

pursued a track barely discernible along the flank of the mountain, and

then the summits of the hills that had seemed so high when we looked up

to them from below, were hidden beneath us in dense vapours. At last,

by dint of ascending and descending, we reached the wide plain of

Baidar, with the village in its centre. Early next morning we were again

on horseback, and breathing with delight the wild odours exhaled by the

still dewy forest.

Our road ascended gently to the culminating point of the mountain, and

then we stood rooted for a while to the spot in admiration of the

magnificent sea view that burst upon us. But our thoughts were suddenly

called off in another direction by the music of a military band, and

looking down we were surprised to see several groups of soldiers posted

some hundred feet below the point where we stood. It was a whole

regiment employed in making a new road between Sevastopol and Ialta.

Some were blowing up rocks, and filling the air with something like the

din and smoke of battle; others were busy round a great fire preparing

the morning meal; the musicians were waking the mountain echoes with

their martial strains, and the officers were lounging in front of a tent

smoking their pipes.

When we had sufficiently indulged our admiration of the scene, we turned

with some dismay to contemplate the descent before us. The mountain

which we had found so gently sloping on the western side, here fell so

precipitously that I could not imagine how our horses were to make their

way down. For my part I thought it safest to alight and lead my horse.

The band of the regiment, as if they had guessed we were French, saluted

us with the overture of the _Fiancee_. After we had already reached the

seaside, we still heard that charming music, weakened by distance, but

kindling our recollections of home in the most unexpected manner.

We spent some days at Moukhalatka, the residence of Colonel Olive, a

Frenchman, formerly page to Louis XVIII., who entered the service of the

Grand-duke Constantine shortly after the return of the Bourbons to

France. Beyond Moukhalatka our way lay over mountains, the scenery of

which partly compensated for the incessant toil of climbing up broken

rocks, and passing through glens where we could only advance in single

file. But with the exception of these difficulties, the whole journey to

Aloupka was a continual enchantment. Talk of the isles of the

Archipelago with their naked rocks! Here a luxuriant vegetation descends

to the water's edge, and the coast everywhere presents an amphitheatre

of forests, gardens, villages, and country houses, over which the eye

wanders with delight. The almond, the cythesus, the wild chestnut, the

Judas-tree, the olive, and the cypress, and all the vegetation of a

southern clime, thrives there with a vigour that attests the potency of

the sun. On our left we had gigantic masses towering vertically, sombre

tints, and an inconceivable chaos of rocky fragments; on our right a

brilliant mosaic bordered by the sea. But the beauty of the scenery

about Aloupka is even still more striking. The eye takes in at once the

majestic Tchatir Dagh, Cape Aitodor, with its lighthouse, the Aiou

Dagh, the brow of which, by a curious freak of nature, seems crowned

with bastions and half-ruined towers, the Ai Petri, and the Megabi, with

its gilded dome surmounted by a cross which was erected by the

celebrated Princess Gallitzin, whose memory is still fresh in the

Crimea. All these objects are clothed in a rich and varied garb of light

such as belongs only to the warm atmosphere of southern lands.

Aristocracy has set its seal on this favoured portion of the coast. The

change in the appearance of the roads indicates the neighbourhood of

wealthy landowners. They have been made expressly for the dashing

four-horse equipages that are continually traversing it. We observed

that the limits of each estate were marked by a post bearing the

blazonry of the proprietor.

We were most agreeably surprised in the neighbourhood of Aloupka, where

we fell in on the road with our friend M. Marigny. In consequence of

this welcome encounter we put off our visit to Aloupka to the next day,

and proceeded with the consul to Mishkor, the estate of General

Narishkin, adjoining that of Count Voronzof.

We were greatly pleased with this fine property, on the maintenance of

which the general annually expends 100,000 francs. It comprises forests,

a park, a chateau, a church, and a great number of ornamental buildings,

that bespeak the exquisite taste of the proprietor. Mishkor has this

great advantage, that its costly artificial arrangements are so well

disguised under an appearance of rural simplicity, that one is almost

tempted to attribute its perfections to the hand of nature.

The reverse is the case at Aloupka where art reigns supreme. This almost

royal residence, which has excited the envy even of the Emperor

Nicholas, has already cost Count Voronzof between 4,000,000 and

5,000,000 of francs, although it is not yet finished. All epochs and all

styles are represented in its architecture and embellishments. Its lofty

walls, its massive square tower and belfry, its vaulted passages and the

mysterious aspect of its long galleries, give it a considerable

resemblance to a feudal manor; but the Oriental style is exhibited in

its small columns, its chimneys, and its profusion of pinnacles and

domes. To justify the construction of such a porphyry chateau, the count

should have been able to retrograde some centuries: in our own times

such a dwelling is an anachronism. What is the use of such walls when

there is no fear of being attacked by a neighbour? What is the use of

those vaulted passages without men-at-arms to fill them? An old castle

speaks to the imagination, recalling the chronicles, the fortunes and

events connected with it, but a modern construction like this is a thing

of no meaning. Its towers, battlements, and threatening walls seem a

parody on the past. What have they seen? of what combats, feuds, loves,

and revenges have they been witnesses?

In addition to this total want of fitness of character, the chateau has

besides the grievous defect of being very disadvantageously situated.

The coast is so narrow at this spot that there are but a few paces'

breadth between the facade of the building and the sea, so that, in

order to have a fair view of the whole, one must take a boat and put out

from the shore until the proper point of view is found. Now it is not

every one who will be disposed to take this trouble solely for the

purpose of appreciating the effect of a facade.

The park displays a charming labyrinth of broken rocks, and a variety of

natural picturesque and extraordinary features. Art has had nothing to

do but to make paths and alleys between the accumulated volcanic masses,

and to adorn the sides of the cascades with flowers. In the hollow of a

rock there is a deep grotto with a little babbling spring, inviting to

repose and meditation. At the eastern end of the chateau there is a

lofty cypress wood, which the countess calls her Scutari.

The general aspect of this magnificent abode is too grave to delight the

eye; we admire but do not covet it. The gigantic shadow of the Ai Petri,

which hangs like a veil over the whole domain, adds still more to its

sternness.

The reputation of the southern coast dates only from the arrival of

Count Voronzof in the Crimea, previously to which no one thought of

residing on it, except some speculators who were beginning to try the

cultivation of the vine there. The count, who is a man of much taste,

was at once struck with the beauty of the country, and soon became the

purchaser of several estates in it. His example was followed by numbers

of wealthy nobles whose eyes were immediately opened to the charms of

the landscapes when once the count had proclaimed their attractions.

Numerous villas were erected in the course of a few years along all the

coast from Balaclava to Theodosia. A fleet of steamers was established,

with the port of Ialta for their head quarters. The imperial family

itself gave into the fashion and purchased Oreanda, one of the most

beautiful sites on the coast; and many foreigners, infected by the

prevailing fever, turned all they had into money and settled in the

Crimea to cultivate the vine, a pursuit which Count Voronzof was then

encouraging to the utmost of his power. But this was the reverse of the

medal; most of them were ruined, and are now expiating in extreme

poverty the cupidity with which they plunged into foolish enterprises.

Throughout its whole extent the coast presents only a narrow strip,

seldom half a league wide, traversed by deep ravines, and backed by a

range of calcareous cliffs that shelter it from the north wind. It is

only on this _detritus_ that the handsomest domains are situated. Among

these are Koutchouk Lampat, belonging to General Borosdine; Parthenit,

where is still to be seen the great hazel under which the Prince de

Ligne wrote to Catherine II.; Kisil Tasch, the proprietor of which bears

a name famous in France, that of Poniatowski; Oudsouf, lying close under

the forest shades of Aiou Dagh; Arteck the estate of Prince Andrew

Gallitzin; Ai Daniel, the property of the late Duc de Richelieu;

Marsanda; Oreanda, an imperial domain; Mishkor and Nikita; Gaspra where

Madame de Krudener died in the arms of her daughter, Baroness Berckheim;

and Koreis where Princess Gallitzin, exiled from court, ended her days.

All these properties, adjoining each other, are, in the fine season, the

rendezvous of a numerous society eagerly intent on pleasure. Aloupka is

the great centre of amusement. Foreigners of distinction who are for the

moment at Odessa, are _ex officio_ the guests of Count Voronzof; but

many of them have on their return complained of paying somewhat too

dearly for the governor-general's hospitality. As the chateau,

notwithstanding its imposing appearance, can contain only a small number

of the select, the majority are compelled to find a lodging at the inn

of the Two Cypresses near Aloupka, the landlord of which, by way of

doing honour to his noble patron, practises unsparing extortion on all

who have need of his apartments.

On our way to Ialta, about a dozen versts from Mishkor we visited the

country houses best worth seeing, particularly Gaspra, which interested

us for Madame de Krudener's sake. Perhaps the reader will not be

unwilling to peruse the details I collected respecting the motives that

induced that celebrated woman to settle in the peninsula, and which

connected her name with that of two other women equally remarkable for

their strange fortunes.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THREE CELEBRATED WOMEN.

Every one is aware of the mystic influence which Madame de Krudener

exercised for many years over the enthusiastic temperament of the

Emperor Alexander. This lady who has so charmingly portrayed her own

character in _Valerie_, who was pre-eminently distinguished in the

aristocratic _salons_ of Paris by her beauty, her talents, and her

position as an ambassadress, who was by turns a woman of the world, a

heroine of romance, a remarkable writer, and a prophetess, will not soon

be forgotten in France. The lovers of mystic poetry will read _Valerie_,

that charming work, the appearance of which made so much noise,

notwithstanding the bulletins of the grand army (for it appeared in the

most brilliant period of the empire); those who delight in grace,

combined with beauty and mental endowments, will recall to mind that

young woman who won for herself so distinguished a place in French

society; and those whose glowing imaginations love to dwell on exalted

sentiments and religious fervour, united to the most lively faith,

cannot refuse their admiration to her who asked of the mighty of the

earth only the means of freely exercising charity, that evangelical

virtue, of which she was always one of the most ardent apostles.

The _Lettres de Mademoiselle Cochelet_ make known to us with what zeal

Madame de Krudener applied herself to seeking out and comforting the

afflicted. Her extreme goodness of heart was such that she was called,

in St. Petersburg, the Mother of the Poor. All the sums she received

from the emperor were immediately distributed to the wretched, and her

own fortune was applied in the same way, so that her house was besieged

from morning till night by mujiks and mothers of families, to whom she

gave food both for soul and body.

With so much will and power to do good, Madame de Krudener by and by

acquired so great an influence in St. Petersburg, that the government at

last became alarmed. She was accused of entertaining tendencies of too

liberal a cast, religious notions of no orthodox kind, extreme ambition

cloaked under the guise of charity, and therewith too much compassion

for those miserable mujiks of whom she was the unfailing friend. But the

chief cause of the displeasure of the court was the baroness's connexion

with two other ladies, whose religious sentiments were by all means

exceedingly questionable. They were the Princess Gallitzin and Countess

Guacher (we will give the real name of the latter by and by).

The publicity which these ladies affected in all their acts could not

but be injurious to the meek Christian enterprise of Madame de Krudener.

The princess was detested at court. Too superior to disguise her

opinions, and renowned for her beauty, her caustic wit, and her

philosophic notions, she had excited against her a host of enemies, who

were sure to take the first opportunity of injuring her with the

emperor. As for the Countess Guacher, the chief heroine of our tale, her

rather equivocal position at the court furnished a weapon against her,

when suddenly issuing from the extreme retirement in which she had

previously lived, she became one of Madame de Krudener's most

enthusiastic adepts. But before we proceed further it will be necessary

to give a brief account of her arrival in Russia.

Two years before the period I am speaking of, a lady of high rank

arrived in St. Petersburg, accompanied by a numerous retinue, and giving

herself out for one of the victims of the French revolution. In that

quality she was received with alacrity in the society of the capital,

and the Emperor Alexander himself was one of the foremost to notice her.

It appeared that she came last from England, where she had taken shelter

during the revolutionary troubles; but the motive which had induced her,

after so long a residence among the English, to quit their country for

Russia, remained an impenetrable secret. She always evinced an extreme

repugnance to meet the French emigrants, who resided in St. Petersburg,

and they on their part declared that the name she bore was entirely

unknown to them. It soon began to be whispered about, that the lady was,

perhaps, a personage of illustrious birth who desired to be _incognita_;

but what her real name was no one could tell, not even the emperor. The

wit of the courtiers was baffled by the lofty reserve of the countess,

who always affected a total silence whenever France was mentioned in

conversation. Alexander, always prompt to declare himself a champion of

dames, respected the fair stranger's _incognito_ with chivalric loyalty,

and declared that any attempt to penetrate the mystery would exceedingly

displease him. This was enough to cool the fever of curiosity that had

infected the courtiers since Madame Guacher's first appearance; her name

was thenceforth mentioned only with a circumspection that would have

seemed very curious to any one unacquainted with the Russians, and she

soon became a stranger to the court, where she appeared only on rare

occasions.

The emperor alone, stimulated no doubt by the mystery she observed

respecting her past history, and struck by her high-bred demeanour, kept

up an intercourse with her to which he seemed to attach much value.

There was nothing of ordinary gallantry in this, at least there never

was any thing to indicate that their intimacy had led to so commonplace

a result. The romantic spirit of Alexander, delighted to build all sorts

of hypotheses on a person whose noble presence and lofty airs exercised

a peculiar prestige upon his imagination.

When the Princess Gallitzin returned to St. Petersburg after a journey

to Italy, the emperor, who sincerely admired her, took upon himself to

make two ladies acquainted whom he thought so fitted to appreciate each

other. As he had foreseen, a close intimacy grew up between them, but to

the great mortification of the court, this intimacy was, through Madame

de Krudener's influence, the basis of an association which aimed at

nothing less than the conversion of the whole earth to the holy law of

Christ.

At first the scheme was met with derision, then alarm was felt, and at

last, by dint of intrigues, the emperor, whom these ladies had half made

a proselyte, was forced to banish them from court, and confine them for

the rest of their days to the territory of the Crimea. It is said that

this decision, so contrary to the kind nature of Alexander, was

occasioned by an article in an English newspaper, in which the female

trio and his imperial majesty were made the subjects of most biting

sarcasms. Enraged at being accused of being held in leading strings by

three half-crazed women, the emperor signed the warrant for their exile

to the great joy of the envious courtiers. The victims beheld in the

event only the manifestation of the divine will, that they should

propagate the faith among the followers of Mahomet. In a spirit of

Christian humility they declined receiving any other escort than that of

a non-commissioned officer, whose duty should be only to see to their

personal safety, and transmit their orders to the persons employed in

the journey. Their departure produced a great sensation in St.

Petersburg; and every one was eager to see the distinguished ladies in

their monastic costume. The court laughed, but the populace, always

sensitive where religion is concerned, and who, besides, were losing a

most generous protectress in Madame de Krudener, accompanied the

pilgrims with great demonstrations of respect and sorrow to the banks of

the Neva, where they embarked on the 6th of September, 1822.

Two months after that date, on a cold November morning, when the Sea of

Azof was already beginning to be covered near shore with a thin coat of

ice, there arrived in Taganrok one of those large boats called lodkas,

which ply on all the navigable rivers of the empire, and are used for

the transport of goods. This one seemed to have been fitted up for the

temporary accommodation of passengers. The practised eyes of the sailors

in the port soon noticed the peculiar arrangement of the deck, the care

with which the bales of merchandise were ranged along the gangways, and

above all, the great carpet that covered the whole quarter-deck. These

circumstances excited much curiosity in the port, especially as at that

advanced season arrivals were very rare; but conjecture was exerted in

vain, as to who might be the mysterious passengers, for the whole day

passed without one of them appearing. It was ascertained, indeed, that a

non-commissioned officer landed from the lodka, and waited on the

police-master and the English consul, and that those functionaries

repaired on board the lodka; but that was all, and the public remained

for ever in ignorance whence the lodka came, whither it was bound, and

who were the persons on board of it.

The same evening the English consul was waiting with some curiosity for

the visit of a foreigner, who, as he had been informed by the

non-commissioned officer of the lodka, would call on him at eight

o'clock; but her name and her business remained a mystery for him. At

the appointed time the door opened, and a person entered whose

appearance at first sight did not seem to justify the curiosity which

the consul had felt about her. Dressed in a long, loose, grey robe, and

a white hood with lappets falling on the bosom, she had all the

appearance of those Russian nuns who go about to rich houses and beg for

their convents. Taking her for one of these persons, Mr. Y---- was about

to give her a very expeditious answer, when to his surprise she accosted

him in excellent English. The appearance and manners of the visitor soon

convinced him she was a person of superior station. The conversation

turned at first on England. The unknown told him that having long

resided in that country, she had felt desirous of seeing its

representative in Taganrok; she then went on to discuss English society,

mentioning the most aristocratic names, and talking in such a manner as

to show that she must have been long familiar with the London world of

fashion. After this she proceeded to the main object of her visit, which

was to procure from the consul a podoroshni, to continue her journey by

land instead of by water as before.

All this while the consul was scrutinising his strange visitor with

increasing astonishment. She appeared to be about fifty years of age;

her features, which were still very well preserved, must have been once

very handsome. She had a Bourbon countenance, large blue eyes, grave

lineaments, and a somewhat haughty ease in her demeanour, that

altogether produced a singularly imposing effect. The conversation

gradually becoming more familiar, the lady confessed that having been

converted by the Baroness de Krudener and the Princess Gallitzin, she

had been exiled with those ladies to the Crimea, where she purposed to

preach the faith.

This unexpected communication of course increased the surprise of Mr.

Y----, and drew from him some observations on the nature of such a

project. After lauding the zeal of the fair missionary, he hinted a

doubt that she would find many proselytes among the Mahometans, and

asked her had she no family or friends who had a more direct claim on

her charity than strangers, who were too barbarous to appreciate her

motives. This question produced an extraordinary effect on the lady. She

grew pale and confused, and muttered indistinctly that all her earthly

ties were broken, and that the wrath of Heaven had long rested on her

head! A silence of some minutes followed that avowal. The consul

remained with his eyes fixed on the strange being before him, and in

spite of all his address and knowledge of the world, he was quite at a

loss how to behave or how to renew the conversation. His visitor,

however, relieved him by taking her leave, after repeating her request

that he would supply her with a podoroshni on the following morning.

It may easily be imagined that Mr. Y---- did not wait until the next day

to satisfy his curiosity respecting the ladies whose invincible spirit

of proselytism had sent them from the banks of the Neva to the shores of

the Black Sea, and soon after the departure of his visitor he was on his

way to the port. He had no difficulty in finding the lodka; the deck was

deserted, but a light shone through one of the skylights. Looking down

he saw three phantom-like females standing at a table covered with

papers, and reading out of large books. When their prayers were ended

they began to chant hymns in a slow measure. The solemn religious

harmony, suddenly breaking the deep silence, made so intense an

impression on the consul, that twenty years afterwards he still spoke of

it with enthusiasm.

Countess Guacher stood with her back towards him, but he had a full view

of the faces of the two other ladies. Madame de Krudener was small,

delicate, and fair haired; her inspired looks and the gentleness of her

countenance bespoke her boundless beneficence of soul. The Princess

Gallitzin, on the contrary, had an imposing countenance, the expression

of which presented a strange mixture of shrewdness, asceticism,

sternness, and raillery. For a long while the pilgrims continued

chanting Sclavonic psalms, the mysterious impart of which accorded with

the enthusiastic disposition of their souls. Before they had ended, the

sound of footsteps on the deck woke Mr. Y---- from his trance of wonder.

The new comer was the non-commissioned officer, and Mr. Y---- desired

the man to announce him, although he hardly expected to be admitted at

so late an hour. His visit was nevertheless accepted, and the ladies

received him with as much ease as if they had been doing the honours of

a drawing-room.

In spite of their religious enthusiasm, and the apostolic vocation which

they attributed to themselves, it may easily be imagined that these

three high-bred ladies, accustomed to all the refinements of luxury,

should now and then have had their tempers a little ruffled by the

hardships of their journey, and that their mutual harmony should have

suffered somewhat in consequence. Their wish, therefore, to separate on

their arrival at Taganrok was natural enough. Countess Guacher

especially, having made less progress than her companions in the path of

perfection, had often revolted against the austere habits imposed on

her; but these ebullitions of carnal temper were always brief and

transient; and on the day after her visit to the consul, when he

returned to the port to announce that the podoroshni was ready, the boat

and its passengers had disappeared, and no one could give any

information about them.

II.

The apparition of these ladies in the Crimea threw the whole peninsula

into commotion. Eager to make proselytes, they were seen toiling in

their _beguine_ costume, with the cross and the gospel in their hands,

over mountains and valleys, exploring Tatar villages, and even carrying

their enthusiasm to the strange length of preaching in the open air to

the amazed and puzzled Mussulmans. But as the English consul had

predicted, in spite of their mystic fervour, their persuasive voices,

and the originality of their enterprise, our heroines effected few

conversions. They only succeeded in making themselves thoroughly

ridiculous not only in the eyes of the Tatars, but in those also of the

Russian nobles of the vicinity, who instead of seconding their efforts,

or at least giving them credit for their good intentions, regarded them

only as feather-witted _illuminatae_, capable at most of catechising

little children. The police, too, always prompt to take alarm, and

having besides received special instructions respecting these ladies,

soon threw impediments in the way of all their efforts, so that two

months had scarcely elapsed before they were obliged to give up their

roving ways, their preachings, and all the fine dreams they had indulged

during their long and painful journey. It was a sore mortification for

them to renounce the hope of planting a new Thebaid in the mountains of

the Crimea. Madame de Krudener could not endure the loss of her

illusions; her health, already impaired by many years of an ascetic

life, declined rapidly, and within a year from the time of her arrival

in the peninsula, there remained no hope of saving her life. She died

in 1823, in the arms of her daughter, the Baroness Berckheim, who had

been for some years resident on the southern coast, and became possessed

of many documents on the latter part of a life so rich in romantic

events: but unfortunately these documents are not destined to see the

light.

Princess Gallitzin, whose religious sentiments were perhaps less

sincere, thought no more of making conversions after she had installed

herself in her delightful villa on the coast. Throwing off for ever the

coarse _beguine_ robe, she adopted a no less eccentric costume which she

retained until her death. It was an Amazonian petticoat, with a cloth

vest of a male cut. A Polish cap trimmed with fur completed her attire,

that accorded well with the original character of the princess. It is in

this dress she is represented in several portraits still to be seen in

her villa at Koreis.

The caustic wit that led to her disgrace at the court of St. Petersburg,

her stately manners, her name, her prodigious memory, and immense

fortune, quickly attracted round her all the notable persons in Southern

Russia. Distinguished foreigners eagerly coveted the honour of being

introduced to her, and she was soon at the head of a little court, over

which she presided like a real sovereign. But being by nature very

capricious, the freak sometimes seized her to shut herself up for whole

months in total solitude. Although she relapsed into philosophical and

Voltairian notions, the remembrance of Madame de Krudener inspired her

with occasional fits of devotion that oddly contrasted with her usual

habits. It was during one of these visitations that she erected a

colossal cross on one of the heights commanding Koreis. The cross being

gilded is visible to a great distance.

Her death in 1839 left a void in Russian society which will not easily

be filled. Reared in the school of the eighteenth century, well versed

in the literature and the arts of France, speaking the language with an

entire command of all that light, playful raillery that made it so

formidable of yore; having been a near observer of all the events and

all the eminent men of the empire; possessing moreover a power of

apprehension and discernment that gave equal variety and point to her

conversation; a man in mind and variety of knowledge, a woman in grace

and frivolity; the Princess Gallitzin belonged by her brilliant

qualities and her charming faults to a class that is day by day becoming

extinct.

Now that conversation is quite dethroned in France, and exists only in

some few salons of Europe, it is hard to conceive the influence formerly

exercised by women of talent. Those of our day, more ambitious of

obtaining celebrity through the press than of reigning over a social

circle, guard the treasures of their imagination and intellect with an

anxious reserve that cannot but prove a real detriment to society. To

write feuilletons, romances, and poetry, is all very well; but to

preside over a drawing-room, like the women of the eighteenth century,

has also its merit. But we must not blame the female sex alone for the

loss of that supremacy which once belonged to French society. The men of

the present day, more serious than their predecessors, more occupied

with positive, palpable interests, seem to look with cold disdain on

what but lately commanded their warmest admiration.

But we have lost sight of the Countess Guacher, who is not for all that

the least interesting of our heroines. Resigning herself with much more

equanimity than her companions to the necessity of leaving the Tatars

alone, she hired for herself, even before their complete separation, a

small house standing by itself on the sea shore; and there she took up

her abode with only one female attendant. Following the example of the

Princess Gallitzin, she threw off the _beguine_ robe and assumed a kind

of male attire. For some time her existence was almost unknown to her

neighbours; so retired were her habits. The only occasions when she was

visible was during her rides on horseback on the beach, and it was

noticed that she chose the most stormy weather for these excursions.

But her recluse habits did not long conceal her from curious inquiry. A

certain Colonel Ivanof, who had noticed the strange proceedings of the

pilgrims from their first arrival in the Crimea, set himself to watch

the countess, and at last took a house near her retreat; but in order

that his presence might not scare her, he contented himself for some

weeks with following her at a distance during her lonely promenades,

trusting to chance for an opportunity of becoming more intimately

acquainted with her. His perseverance was at last rewarded with full

success.

One evening, as the colonel stood at his window observing the tokens of

an approaching storm, he perceived a person on horseback galloping in

the direction of his house, evidently with the intention of seeking

shelter. Before this could be accomplished the storm broke out with

great fury, and just then the colonel was startled by the discovery that

the stranger was his mysterious neighbour. The sequel will be best told

in his own words:

"Full of surprise and curiosity I hastened to meet the countess, who

entered my doors without honouring me with a single look. She seemed in

very bad humour, and concentrated her whole attention upon a tortoise

she carried in her left hand. Without uttering a word or caring for the

water that streamed from her clothes, she sat down on the divan, and

remained for some moments apparently lost in thought. For my part, I

continued standing before her, waiting until she should address me, and

glad of the opportunity to scrutinise her appearance at my ease. She

wore an Amazonian petticoat, a green cloth vest, buttoned over the

bosom, a broad-brimmed felt hat, with a pair of pistols in her girdle,

and, as I have said, a tortoise in her hand. Her handsome, grave

countenance excited my admiration. Below her hat appeared some grey

locks, that seemed whitened not so much by years as by sorrow, of which

her visage bore the impress.

"Without taking off her hat, the flap of which half concealed her face,

she began to warm the tortoise with her breath, calling it by the pet

name _Dushinka_ (little soul), which duty being performed she deigned to

look up, and perceived me. Her first gesture bespoke extreme surprise.

Until then, supposing she was in a Tatar house, she had taken no notice

of the objects around her, but the sight of my drawing-room, my library,

my piano, and myself, struck her with stupefaction. 'Where am I?' she

exclaimed, in hurried alarm. 'Madam,' I replied, 'you are in the house

of a man who has long lived as a hermit--a man who like you loves

solitude, the sea, and meditation--who has renounced like you the

society of his kind to live after his own way in this wilderness.' These

words struck her forcibly. 'You, too,' she ejaculated, 'you, too, have

divorced yourself from the world, and why? Ay, why?' she repeated, as if

conversing with her own thoughts, 'why bury yourself alive here, without

friends, without relations, without a heart to respond to yours? Why die

this lingering death, when the world is open to you--the world with its

delights, its balls and spectacles, its passionate adorations, with the

fascinations of the court, the favour of a queen?' Imagine my

astonishment to hear her thus in a sort of hallucination, revealing her

secret thoughts and recollections. In these few words her whole life was

set forth, the life of a beautiful woman, rich, flattered, habituated to

the atmosphere of courts.

"After a pause of some duration she entered into conversation with me,

questioned me at great length on the way in which I passed my time, on

my tastes, the few resources I enjoyed for cultivating the arts, &c. We

chatted for more than an hour like old acquaintances, and she seemed

quite to have forgotten the strange words she had uttered in the

beginning of the interview. Being very much puzzled to know what

pleasure she took in carrying the tortoise about with her, I asked her

some questions on the subject; but with a solemnity that seemed to me

strangely disproportioned to the subject, she told me she had made a vow

never to separate from it. 'It is a present from the Emperor Alexander,'

she said, 'and as long as I have it near me I shall not utterly despair

of my destiny.' Availing myself of this opening I tried to make her talk

of the motives that had brought her to the peninsula, but she cut me

short by saying that since she had become acquainted with the character

of the Tatars she had given up all thought of making converts among

them. 'They are men of pure feelings and pure consciences,' she said,

impressively; 'why insist on their changing their creed, since they live

in accordance with the principles of morality and religion? After all it

matters little whether one adores Jesus Christ, Mahomet, or the Grand

Lama, if one is charitable, humble, and hospitable.'

"I laughed, and said she spoke rank heresy, and that if she preached

such doctrines, she ran great risk of having a bull of excommunication

fulminated against her. 'It is since I have given up preaching,' she

replied, 'that I have begun to think in this way; solitude makes one

regard things in quite a different aspect from that in which they are

seen by the world. Only three months ago I set Catholicism above all

religions, and now I meditate one still more perfect and sublime. Will

you be my first disciple?' she said, in a tone between jest and earnest,

that left me very uncertain whether she was serious or not. When she

left my house I escorted her to her own door, and promised I would call

on her the next day."

The second interview was not less curious than the first: the colonel

found his neighbour busily at work with a glass spinner's lamp and a

blowpipe, making glass beads. She did not allow her visitor's presence

to interrupt her operations, but finished before him enough to make a

necklace. She then showed him several boxes filled with beads of all

sorts, made by her own hands, and said very seriously, "If ever I return

to the world I will wear no other ornaments than such pearls as these.

It is a stupid thing to wear true ones. See how bright, clear, and large

these are! Would any one suppose they were not the produce of the Indian

Ocean? So it is with every thing else: what matters the substance if the

form is beautiful and pleasing to the eye?" The colonel was about to

enter into a grave discussion of this very questionable moral doctrine,

very common in the eighteenth century, when suddenly changing the

subject, the countess took down a sword that hung at the head of her bed

and laid it on his lap. "You see this weapon, colonel: it was given me

by a Vendean chief in admiration of my courage; for though a woman I

have fought for the good cause, and many a time smelt powder among the

bushes and heaths of Bretagne. You need not wonder at my partiality for

weapons and for male costume; it is a reminiscence of my youth. A

Vendean at heart, I long made part in the heroic bands that withstood

the republican armies, and the dangers, hardships, and fiery emotions of

partisan warfare are no secrets to me." "But," observed the colonel,

"how is it that thus devoted as you are to the royal cause you do not

return to your country, where monarchy is again triumphant?" "Hush!" she

answered, lowering her voice, "hush! let us say no more of the present

or the past. Would you ask the shrub broken by the storm why the breath

of spring does not reanimate its mutilated form? Let us leave things as

they are, and not strive to repair what is irreparable. Man's justice

has pronounced its decree; let us trust in that of God, merciful and

infinite, like all that is eternally just and good!"

It was in vain the colonel endeavoured by further questions to become

acquainted with that mysterious past to which she could not make any

allusion without extreme perturbation of mind; she remained silent, and

retired to another room without renewing the conversation.

After these two interviews, Colonel Ivanof had no other opportunity of

gathering any hints that could lead him towards a definite conclusion

respecting this extraordinary woman, although he saw her almost daily

for more than two months. She often talked to him of her residence in

London, her friendly relations with the Emperor of Russia, her travels,

and her fortune; but of France not a word. Not an expression of regret,

not a name or allusion of any sort, afforded the colonel reason to

suspect that his neighbour had left behind her in her native land any

objects on which her memory still dwelt. His brain was almost turned at

last by the romantic acquaintance he had made. His vanity was piqued,

and his desire to solve so difficult an enigma gave him no rest. He

diligently perused the history of the French Revolution, in hopes to

find in it a clue to his inquiry, but it was to no purpose. He felt

completely astray in such a labyrinth. Many great names successively

occurred to him as likely to belong to his mysterious neighbour, but

there were always some circumstances connected with them that refuted

such a supposition.

Perhaps a more matter-of-fact person would at last have discovered the

truth; but the colonel's lively imagination led him to embrace the

oddest hypothesis. It was his belief that the countess was the

illegitimate offspring of a royal amour. Setting out from this principle

he put aside all the names proscribed by the revolution, and stuck

obstinately to a myth. But tired at last of this pursuit of shadows, he

resolved to trust to that chance which had already been so favourable

for the clearing up of his uncertainty. Assiduously noting all the

lady's eccentricities, he knew not whether to pity or admire her, though

very certain that her wits wandered at times.

She frequently received despatches from St. Petersburg, and seemed,

notwithstanding her exile, to have retained a certain influence over the

mind of the tzar. One day she showed her neighbour a letter from a lady

of the court, who thanked her warmly for having obtained from the

emperor a regiment which that lady had long been ineffectually

soliciting for her son.

So absorbed was the Russian officer by the interest he took in the

countess, that he seemed to have forgotten all the world besides; but an

unexpected event suddenly put an end to his romantic loiterings, and

sent him back to the realities of life. A Frenchman, calling himself

Baron X--, arrived one fine morning from St. Petersburg, and established

himself without ceremony as the countess's factotum. From that moment

all intimacy was broken off between the latter and Colonel Ivanof. The

cold, astute behaviour of the baron, and his continual presence, obliged

the colonel to retire. It may seem strange that he surrendered the field

so quickly to an unknown person, but it was time for him to return to

his military duties, and besides, what could he do with a man whose

connexion with the countess seemed of old standing, and who watched her

with a jealous vigilance enough to discourage the most intrepid

curiosity? His departure was scarcely noticed by Madame Guacher, whose

habits had undergone an entire change since the arrival of the baron.

The incoherence of her mind became more and more visible; it was only at

long and uncertain intervals she rode out on horseback; the rest of her

time was spent in enduring all sorts of extraordinary mortifications.

Baron X--remained in the Crimea until the death of the countess, which

took place in 1823. Being fully acquainted with all her affairs he was

her sole heir, not legally, perhaps, but _de facto_. On leaving the

peninsula he proceeded to England, where a large part of our heroine's

property was invested, and he afterwards returned to Russia with a

considerable fortune.

A curious incident occurred after the death of the countess. As soon as

the emperor was informed of the event he despatched a courier to the

Crimea, with orders to bring him a casket, the form, size, and materials

of which were described with the most minute exactness. The messenger,

assisted by the chief of the police, at first made a fruitless search;

but at last, through the information of a waiting woman, the casket was

found sealed up, under the bed of the deceased lady. The courier took

possession of it and returned with the utmost speed. In ten days he was

in St. Petersburg.

The precious casket was delivered to the emperor in his private cabinet,

in the presence of two or three courtiers. Alexander was so impatient to

open it that he had the lock forced. But alas! what a sad

disappointment! The casket contained only--a pair of scissors. It surely

was not for the sake of a pair of scissors that Alexander had made one

of his Cossacks gallop 4000 versts in a fortnight. Be that as it may,

Baron X--was accused of having purloined papers of the highest

importance, and unfairly possessed himself of Madame Guacher's fortune.

But as he was then on his road to London, the emperor's anger was of no

avail.

At a subsequent period, the disclosures made by this man, and the

discovery of a curious correspondence, at last revealed the real name of

the countess; but the tardy information arrived when there was no longer

any one to be interested in it; the emperor was dead, and Colonel

Ivanhof was fighting in the Caucasus.

Interred in a corner of the garden belonging to her house, that

mysterious woman who had been the subject of so many contradictory

rumours, had not even a stone to cover her grave, and to mark to the

stranger the spot where rest the remains of the _Countess de Lamothe_,

who had been whipped and branded in the Place de Greve, as an accomplice

in the scandalous affair of the diamond necklace.[69]

FOOTNOTES:

[69] All the facts we have related respecting Madame de Lamothe are

positive and perfectly authentic: they were reported to us by persons

who had known that lady particularly, and who moreover possessed

substantial proofs of her identity. It is chiefly to Mademoiselle

Jacquemart, mentioned in "Marshal Marmont's Travels," that we are

indebted for the details we have given respecting the arrival of our

three heroines in the Crimea. We have ourselves seen in that lady's

possession the sword which the countess alleged she had used in the wars

of La Vendee, and sundry letters attesting the great influence she

exercised over the Emperor Alexander.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

IALTA--KOUTCHOUK LAMPAT--PARTHENIT--THE PRINCE DE LIGNE'S

HAZEL--OULOU OUZEN; A GARDEN CONVERTED INTO AN AVIARY--TATAR

YOUNG WOMEN--EXCURSION TO SOUDAGH--MADEMOISELLE JACQUEMART.

The proximity of Ialta to the most remarkable places on the coast, its

harbour, and its delightful situation, make it the rendezvous of all the

travellers who flock to the Crimea in the fine season. A packet-boat

from Odessa brings every week a large number of passengers, and the

harbour is further enlivened by a multitude of small vessels from all

parts of the coast. Nothing can be more charming than the sight of that

white Ialta, seated at the head of a bay like a beautiful sultana

bathing her feet in the sea, and sheltering her fair forehead from the

sun under rocks festooned with verdure. Elegant buildings, handsome

hotels, and a comfortable, cheerful population, indicate that opulence

and pleasure have taken the town under their patronage; its prosperity,

indeed, depends entirely on the travellers who fill its hotels for

several months of the year. When it belonged to the Greeks it was

counted among the most important towns on the coast; but the successive

revolutions of the Crimea were fatal to it, and for a long while it

remained only a wretched village. At present a custom-house and a

garrison complete its pretensions to the style and dignity of a grand

town. But nature has been so liberal to it, that instead of wondering at

its rapid rise one is rather disposed to think it much inferior to what

it might be.

We left Ialta in a tolerably large body, some on horseback, others in

carriages. Leaving behind us Aloupka, Mishkor, Koreis, and Oreanda, we

soon forgot their sumptuous displays of art for the inexhaustible

marvels of nature. Our road lay parallel to the coast, and the continual

variations of its admirable scenery made us think the way too short. A

storm of rain overtook us in the fine forest of Koutchouk Lampat, and

made us all run for shelter. The more advanced of the party easily

reached the house of General Borosdin the owner of the property; but

those in the rear, of whom I was one, were obliged to take refuge in a

pavilion. Whilst we were quietly waiting there until the storm should

blow over, the people of the house were seeking for us on all sides,

having been sent out by our companions. Several times we saw them

passing along at a distance armed with large umbrellas; but as there was

a billiard-table in the pavilion we never showed ourselves until we had

finished an interesting game. The chatelain of Koutchouk Lampat,

delighted to receive so numerous a party, entertained us with an

excellent collation, in which figured all the wines of France and Spain.

A few leagues from Koutchouk Lampat lies Parthenit, a village where, for

the first time, I received a mark of civility from Tatar females. As I

entered the place, keeping in the rear of the others according to my

usual custom, I passed in front of a house in the large balcony of which

there were three veiled women. Just as I passed beneath the balcony I

slackened my horse's pace and made some friendly signals to them,

whereupon, one of them, and I make no doubt the prettiest, repeatedly

kissed a large bouquet of lily of the valley she held, and threw it to

me so adroitly that it fell into my hand. Delighted with the present, I

hastened up to my companions and showed it to them; but they were all

malicious enough to assure me that the gift had been addressed not to

myself but to my clothes. The reader will remember that I travelled in

male costume.

At Parthenit we failed not to sit under the famous hazel-tree of the

Prince de Ligne. Its foliage is so thick and spreading that it

overshadows a whole _place_. The trunk is not less than eight yards in

circumference, and is surrounded by a large wooden divan, almost always

occupied by travellers, who use it as a tavern. The inhabitants of

Parthenit regard this tree with great affection, and beneath its shade

they discuss all the important affairs of the village. A limpid

fountain, the waters of which are distributed through several channels,

adds to the charm of the spot. Our whole cavalcade was completely

sheltered under the dome of the magnificent hazel. The Tatars brought us

sweetmeats, coffee, and fresh eggs, and obstinately refused to take

payment for them. Almost the whole population came to see us, but their

curiosity was not at all obtrusive. Such of them as had no immediate

business with us kept a respectful distance.

On leaving Parthenit we passed very close to some old fortifications

covering a whole hill with their imposing ruins. At evening we arrived

at the post station of Alouchta,[70] where our party was to break up.

Some of our companions returned to Ialta, others proceeded towards

Simpheropol; whilst we ourselves, accompanied by a single Tatar and our

dragoman, set out by the sea-coast for Oulou Ouzen. The distance was but

twelve versts, but we spent several hours upon it, in consequence of the

difficulty of the ground and the steepness of the cliffs which we were

often obliged to ascend. We met no one on the way; this part of the

coast is quite deserted and sterile.

Oulou Ouzen, our point of destination, is a narrow valley opening on the

sea, and belonging to Madame Lang, who has covered it with vineyards and

orchards. A week passed quickly away in the agreeable society of our

hostess, whose residence is one of the prettiest in the country. Being

very fond of birds, she has succeeded by a very simple process in

converting her garden into a great aviary. On the day we arrived we

were surprised to see her continually assailed by a flock of pretty

titmice that pecked at her hair and hands with extraordinary

familiarity. They were the progeny in the third and fourth generation of

a pair she had reared two years before, and had liberated in the

beginning of spring. Next year they returned with a young brood that

grew used by degrees to feed on the balcony, and at last to eat out of

her hands. These in their turn brought her their young ones; other birds

followed their example, and thus she has always a flock of gay dwellers

of the air perching and fluttering about her balcony, which is covered

with nets to protect them from birds of prey.

At Madame Lang's we met a very agreeable gentleman and a great admirer

of the Crimea, M. Montandon, who has written an excellent itinerary of

the country. We talked a great deal with him about a French lady,

Mademoiselle Jacquemart, whose acquaintance my husband had made some

months previously. She has resided for the last fifteen years in

Soudagh, a valley near Oulou Ouzen. The Duc de Raguse speaks at great

length of her in his _Excursion en Crimee_, and relates the tragic

adventure of which she was the heroine some years ago, but he assigns

for it a romantic cause which Mademoiselle Jacquemart has absolutely

contradicted.

Few ladies have passed through a more eccentric life than Mademoiselle

Jacquemart. In her young days, her beauty, her talents, and her wit

invested her with a celebrity, such as rarely falls to the lot of one in

the humble position of a governess. After having lived long in the great

world of St. Petersburg and of Vienna, she suddenly withdrew to the

Crimea, where, having like many others almost ruined herself by vintage

speculations, she purchased the little property in which she now

resides. Her history and her unusual energy of character led to a close

intimacy between her and the old Princess Gallitzin, who was herself

enough of an original character to like every thing uncommon, and

Mademoiselle Jacquemart was an habitual guest at Koreis.

Before we left Oulou Ouzen we went to spend a day with Madame Lang's

only neighbour, an old bachelor, who lives quite alone, not out of

misanthropy, but that he may devote himself without interruption to his

favourite pursuit of botany. A deep ravine between the two properties,

and a steep descent overlooking the sea, render the road so dangerous

that ladies can venture to traverse it only in a vehicle drawn by oxen.

It was in this strange equipage, guided by a Tatar armed with a long

goad, that we reached the house of M. Faviski, who was quite delighted,

but greatly puzzled to receive ladies. He did the honours of his

bachelor's dwelling, nevertheless, like a very well-bred gentleman.

While we were waiting for dinner, Madame Lang conceived the happy

thought of sending for all the Tatar beauties of the village that I

might see them. When they arrived, the gentlemen were obliged to leave

the room, which was immediately entered by a dozen of pretty bashful

young women, looking like a herd of scared gazelles. But after a few

words from Madame Lang, who speaks Tatar very well, they soon became

familiarised with our strange faces, and grew very merry. They took off

their veils and papouches at our request, and favoured us with an

Oriental dance. One of them quite astonished me by the magnificent

lineaments of her face, which reminded me of the head of an empress on

an ancient medal. They examined all the details of our toilette with

childlike curiosity, and exacted from us the same attentive notice of

the embroidery on their bodices and veils. Meanwhile, so amused were we

by this scene, that we had quite forgotten the gentlemen whom we had

turned out, and who now began to thump lustily at the door. The Tatar

women were now thrown into the most picturesque and comical disorder,

and ran about in all directions looking for their veils. In the midst of

the confusion I was wicked enough to hide the veil and slippers of the

young beauty, and then throw the door wide open. It was curious to see

the dismay of the poor blushing creature who knew not how to escape from

the bold admiration of several men. She had never in her life been in

such a situation before; so when I thought the gentlemen had

sufficiently indulged their curiosity, I hastened to relieve her by

returning her veil.

Next day, after a fatiguing journey, we reached Soudagh in the evening.

It was with no little interest I beheld the humble abode of a woman of

talent, who, through some unaccountable whim, had quitted the world

while still young, and retired to almost absolute solitude. She was glad

to receive the visit of compatriots, and talked frankly to us of the

hardships and discomforts of a life she had not the courage to abandon.

The extreme loneliness of her dwelling exposed her to frequent attacks

by night, and obliged her to have a brace of pistols always at the head

of her bed. People stole her fruit, her poultry, and even her vines; she

was kept continually on the alert, and had the fear before her of

repetition of the horrible attempt to which she was once near falling a

victim.

The account she herself gave us of that affair was as follows. Two days

before it happened, a Greek applied to her for work and food. Not having

any employment for him, she gave him some provisions, and advised him to

look elsewhere for work. The next day but one, as she was returning in

the evening from a geological excursion, carrying in her hand a small

hatchet she used for breaking pebbles, she perceived the same man

walking behind her in silence. Feeling some uneasiness, she turned round

to look in the Greek's face; but at that moment she felt herself grasped

round the waist, the hatchet was snatched out of her hand, and she

received several blows with it on the head that deprived her of all

consciousness. When her senses returned the assassin had disappeared.

How she reached home with her skull fractured, she never could explain.

For many months her life was in imminent danger, and her reason was

impaired. At the time we saw her she still suffered acutely from some

splinters of a comb that remained in her head. This is a much less

romantic story than that told by Marmont.

FOOTNOTES:

[70] About A.D. 465, the Khersonites invoked the protection of the

emperors of the East against the Huns. Justinian seized the opportunity

to erect the two fortresses of Alouchta and Oursouf, by means of which

he subsequently rendered the republic of Kherson tributary to the

empire. There still exist at Alouchta three large towers that formed

part of the imperial castle.

CHAPTER XL.

RUINS OF SOLDAYA--ROAD TO THEODOSIA--CAFFA--MUSCOVITE

VANDALISM--PENINSULA OF KERTCH--PANTICAPEA AND ITS TOMBS.

Leaving my wife to return with Mademoiselle Jacquemart to Oulou Ouzen, I

took my way by the lower part of the valley of Soudagh through a

labyrinth of vineyards and meadows covered with blossoming peach and

apricot trees. Passing the paltry village that has borrowed one of the

names of the celebrated Soldaya, we soon arrived at the sea beach at the

foot of the triple castle erected by the intrepid Genoese, in 1365, on

the site of a city they had just conquered, and which had flourished

under the successive dominion of the Greeks, the Komans, and the Tatars.

The origin of Soldaya, or Sougdai, belongs to the most remote periods of

Crimean history. In the eighth century it was a bishop's see, and though

then dependent on the Greek empire it boasted not the less of its own

sovereigns. Four centuries afterwards, in 1204, the Komans, an Asiatic

people, expelled from their own territories, and driven westward by the

hordes of Genghis Khan, entered the Crimea, where they were the

precursors of that terrible Mongol invasion that was soon to overwhelm

all the east of Europe. The arrivals of these fugitives was fatal to the

Greek settlements; the princes of Soldaya were exterminated, and the

victors took possession of their capital. But the Komans did not long

enjoy their conquests. Overtaken a second time by the rapid current of

the Mongol invasion, they were obliged to abandon the Crimea after

thirty years' possession, and seek an asylum in the most western regions

of Thrace.

Under the Mongol dominion the Greeks returned to Soldaya, which again

became a Christian town, and the most important port of the peninsula.

It was tributary, indeed, to the Tatars, but it had a bishop and its own

administration.

In the beginning of the fourteenth century, when the Tatars of the

Kaptchak adopted the religion of Mahomet, Mussulman fanaticism prevailed

for a while in the Crimea, the Christians were expelled from Soldaya and

their numerous churches were converted into mosques. But it is a

remarkable fact that the word of a pope, John XXII., was of such force

in 1323, that Ousbeck Khan allowed the exiles to resume possession of

their city with the enjoyment of their ancient privileges.

But twenty years had elapsed when a fresh revolution, occasioned by

intestine disorder and dissensions, finally extinguished all trace of

the Greek sway in Soldaya. The Genoese, who had for nearly a century

been masters of Caffa, incorporated the ancient capital of the Komans

with their own territory on the 18th of June, 1365.[71] Then it was that

in order to secure their possession of the fertile territory of Soudagh

and defend it against the Tatars, the enterprising merchant princes

erected, on the most inaccessible rock at the entrance of the valley,

that formidable fortress of three stories, crowned by the gigantic

Maiden Tower (_Kize Kouleh_) whence the warders could overlook the fort,

the sea, and the adjacent regions.

The Genoese remained in quiet possession of their castle for more than a

century; but after the taking of Constantinople by Mahomet II., and the

almost immediate destruction of Caffa, the capital of the Crimean

colonies, Soldaya, shared the same fate. The Turks laid siege to the

fortress in 1475. It made a long and obstinate resistance, and famine

alone overcame the valour of the garrison.[72]

With the Genoese sway, fell all that had constituted the glory and

prosperity of Soldaya during so many centuries; the population of the

town was driven out and scattered; the once animated harbour was

deserted, and grass grew in the streets trodden of yore by the elegant

Greeks of the Lower Empire, the victorious Komans and the proud citizens

of Genoa. A feeble Turkish garrison became the tenants of the place, and

for nearly three centuries continued the unmoved spectators of the decay

and desolation of one of the oldest and most remarkable cities of the

Pontus Euxinus.

The imperial eagle of the tzars floated over the towers of Soldaya in

1781, and from that time began for the monuments of the Genoese colony

that rapid destruction which everywhere characterises the Russian

conquests. All the beautiful public and private buildings which Pallas

so much admired in his first journey, disappeared, and out of their

precious remains, Muscovite vandalism erected great useless barracks,

the unmeaning ruins of which have, for many years, strewed the ground.

At present Soldaya, erased from the list of towns and fortresses, has

not even a watchman to guard its walls and its magnificent towers with

their proud inscriptions. Every year the sight is saddened by fresh

mutilations, and ere long there will remain nothing of those marble

tablets with their elegant arabesques that adorned every tower and

doorway, and recorded its origin and history. The only thing that could

save the Genoese castle from total destruction, would be to leave it

quite alone, and to remove far from it every body of Russian

authorities. Unfortunately, the government seems willing to take upon

itself the care of its preservation, and there can be no doubt that

demolition awaits the remains of Soldaya from the moment an _employe_,

without salary enough to live on, shall be invested with the right of

protecting them against the ravages of time and of men.[73]

On leaving Soldaya we proceeded towards Theodosia, the Caffa of the

Genoese. We will not weary the reader with a monotonous description of

our route. This part of the country is less diversified, less beautiful

and picturesque, and the population much more thinly spread than in the

other mountainous parts of the Crimea. The great calcareous chain

recedes considerably from the coast, and from its precipitous sides it

sends off blackish schistous offshoots, scarcely covered by a meagre

vegetation, enclosing between them in their course to the sea some

valleys in which the Tatars have established the only villages in the

country. Completely abandoned by the aristocracy, destitute of roads,

and unadorned by any of those elegant dwellings with which luxury and

fashion have embellished the hill sides of Ialta, the whole coast

between Alouchta and Theodosia is neglected by most tourists, and is

only visited at rare intervals by scientific travellers. But if the

Soudagh coasts are disdained by the Russian nobles, and display no

Italian villas or porphyry gothic manors, the traveller finds there the

most frank reception and truly Oriental hospitality. Far from all the

centres of the elegant and partly corrupt civilisation which the

Russians have imported into the Crimea within the last twenty years, the

Tatars of these regions retain unaltered their ancient usages, and the

prominent features of their primitive character. I could not easily

describe the kindly good-will with which I was received in all the

villages where I stopped. The fact that I was a Frenchman, who had

nothing to do with any branch of Russian administration, had a really

marvellous effect on the mountaineers. Wherever I went the best house,

the handsomest divan, cushions, and carpets were assigned for my use;

and in an instant I found myself sipping my coffee and smoking my

chibouk, surrounded with all those comforts the want of which is so

sorely felt by those who travel in certain parts of the East.

In Toklouk, Kooz, and Otouz, which we passed through successively, the

flat-roofed Tatar houses are, as everywhere else, backed against the

hills that flank the valley. By this means the inhabitants are enabled

to keep up a communication with each other by the terrace tops of their

houses, where they regularly carry on their work, and which are formed

of stout carpentry covered with a thick bed of clay. Nothing can be more

picturesque than the appearance, at evening, of all these terraces

rising in gradations one above the other. At that period of the day the

whole population of each village is on the alert; and quitting the dark

rooms in which they had sheltered from the heat of the day, men, women,

and children gather on the roofs; animation, mirth, and the din of

tongues, takes place of the silence of day, and the observer is never

weary of watching the picturesque scenes formed by the various groups

engaged in their household occupations.

At Koktebel, a little village on the sea shore, twenty-nine versts from

Soudagh, the sombre headland Kara Dagh terminates the bolder scenery of

the Crimea. Beyond that point the country presents no picturesque

features; vast plains gradually succeed the hills, and as the traveller

advances he is forewarned by various tokens of his approach to the

steppes, which form all the northern part of the peninsula, and extend

eastward of the old Genoese colony to the shores of the Cimmerian

Bosphorus. Along the whole line from Soudagh to Theodosia there is not

one point, not one monument or ruin to interest the historian or the

antiquarian. Indeed the nature of the coast, now abrupt, now formed of

great unsheltered flats, does not seem to favour the foundation of a

town or of a harbour, whether for war or commerce.

We are now arrived at Theodosia or Caffa, formerly the splendid

metropolis of the Genoese dominion in the Black Sea, now a Russian town,

stripped of all political and commercial importance. The genius of

barbarous destruction has wrought still more deplorable effects here

than at Soldaya or any other spot in the Crimea.

Theodosia was founded by the Milesians in the early times of their

expedition to the Pontus Euxinus, and long prospered as an independent

colony. It was afterwards incorporated into the kingdom of the

Bosphorus, and shared its destinies for many centuries. The Alans, a

barbarous people from the heart of Asia, appeared in the Crimea about

the middle of the first century of our era; Theodosia was sacked by

them, and sixty years afterwards Arrian speaks of it in his _Periplus of

the Black Sea_ as a town entirely deserted. The Huns subsequently

completed what the Alans had begun, and left not a vestige to indicate

the true position of the old Milesian colony.

Ten centuries after the destruction of Theodosia, other navigators not

less intelligent or enterprising than the Milesians, landed on the

Crimean coasts; and soon there arose on the site of the Greek city

another equally remarkable city, the annals of which form unquestionably

one of the finest chapters in the political and commercial history of

the Black Sea. It was in the middle of the thirteenth century, after the

conquest of the Crimea by the Mongols, when three potent republics were

contending for the empire of the seas, that the Genoese, entering the

bay of Theodosia, obtained from Prince Oran Timour the grant of a small

portion of ground on the coast. The colony of Caffa was regularly

founded in 1280, and so rapid was its rise, that in nine years from that

date it was able, without impairing its own means of defence, to send

nine galleys to the succour of Tripoli, then besieged by the

Saracens.[74]

The foundation of Caffa increased the rancorous strife between Genoa and

her potent rival of the Adriatic. The Crimean colony was surprised by

twenty Venetian galleys in the year 1292, and totally destroyed. In the

following year the Genoese again took possession of their territory;

Caffa quickly rose from its ruins, and twenty years afterwards Pope John

XXII. made it a bishop's see. War having broke out with the Tatars in

1343, Djanibeck Khan, sovereign of Kaptchak, laid siege to Caffa. The

Genoese came off victorious in this warfare, but the dangers to which

they were exposed made them feel the need of a strong system of

fortifications. The earthen ramparts and the palisades of the town were,

therefore, replaced by thick and lofty walls, flanked by towers, and

surrounded by a deep, wide ditch, faced with solid masonry. These

magnificent works, whose excellence and gigantic proportions may still

be admired by the traveller, were begun in 1353, and finished in 1386.

The most remarkable tower, that at the southern corner which commands

the whole town, was dedicated to the memory of Pope Clement VI., in an

inscription relating to the crusade preached by that pontiff at the time

when the Tatars were invading the colony.

From that period the prosperity of Caffa augmented incessantly; it

attracted to itself the trade of the most remote regions of Asia, and

according to the statement of its historians it soon equalled in extent

and population the capital of the Greek empire, which it surpassed in

industry and opulence. The Genoese colony had thus reached the apogee of

its glory and might in the middle of the fifteenth century, when the

taking of Constantinople by Mahomet II. cut it off from the metropolis,

and prepared its entire destruction.

On the 1st of June, 1475, a fleet of 482 vessels, commanded by the high

admiral Achmet Pacha, appeared before Caffa, which was immediately

bombarded by the formidable Ottoman artillery. The attack was of short

duration; large portions of the walls, erected at a period when the use

of cannons was unknown, were rapidly dismantled; breaches were made in

all directions, and the besieged were forced to surrender at discretion

on the 6th of June, 1475, after ineffectually attempting to obtain terms

of capitulation.

Achmet Pacha entered Caffa as an incensed victor and an enemy of the

Christian name. After taking possession of the consular palace, he

disarmed the population, imposed an enormous fine on the town, and then

seized half the property of the inhabitants, and all the slaves of both

sexes. The Latin Catholics were shipped on board the Turkish fleet and

carried to Constantinople, where the sultan, established them by force

in the suburbs of his new capital, after taking from them 1500 male

children to be brought up as members of his guard. Thus was annihilated

in the space of a few days, after 200 years of glorious existence, that

magnificent establishment which the genius of Europe had erected on

those remote shores, and which had shed such lustre on the commerce of

the Black Sea.

Caffa, the destruction of which was immediately followed by that of

Soldaya and Cembalo, was annexed to the Turkish dominions, and for

upwards of 550 years had no other importance than what it derived from

its Turkish garrison and its military position on the shore of a

Mussulman region, the absolute conquest of which never ceased to be an

object of the Porte's ambition. In the middle of the seventeenth

century, the old Genoese city awoke from its long trance, and in

consequence of the commercial and industrial movement which then took

place among the Tatars, it again became the great trading port of the

Black Sea. Chardin, on his journey to Persia in 1663, found more than

400 vessels in the bay of Caffa. The town, to which the Turks then gave

the name of Koutchouk Stamboul (Little Constantinople) contained 4000

houses, with a population exceeding 80,000 souls.

The new prosperity of Caffa was short lived. From the time of Peter the

Great Russia pursued her threatening advance towards the regions of the

Black Sea, and in 1783, in the reign of the Empress Catherine II., the

Crimea was finally incorporated with the Muscovite empire. Caffa now

accomplished the last stage of its destinies; it lost even officially

its time-honoured name, and under the pompous appellation of the Greek

Colony, bestowed on it by the Emperor Alexander, it became a paltry

district town, to which authentic documents assign at the present day

scarcely 4500 inhabitants. At Caffa, just as at Soldaya, the

construction of useless barracks occasioned the demolition of the

Genoese edifices. The facings of the ditches were first carried off, and

then, emboldened by the deplorable indifference of the government, the

destroyers laid hands on the walls themselves. The magnificent towers

that defended them were pulled down, and there now remain only three

fragments of walls belonging to the remarkable bastion erected in honour

of Pope Clement VI. When the Genoese fortifications had been destroyed,

the civil monuments next fell under the ruthless vandalism of the

authorities. At the time the Russians took possession, two imposing

edifices adorned the principal square of Caffa, the great Turkish baths,

an admirable model of Oriental architecture, and the ancient episcopal

church of the Genoese, built in the beginning of the fourteenth century,

and converted into a mosque after the Turkish conquest. It was decided

in the reign of Catherine II. that the mosque should be restored to the

Greek church, but unfortunately instead of preserving it unaltered, the

fatal project of adorning it with wretched doric porticoes was adopted.

The elegant domes that so gracefully encompassed the main building were,

therefore, demolished; but scarcely were the bases of the columns laid

when a trifling deficit occurred in the funds, as M. Dubois relates, and

thenceforth the government refused to make any further advances.

The beautiful mosque which had been quickly stripped of its lead, to be

sold, of course, for the benefit of the Russian officials, was thus

abandoned to the mutilations of time and of the population, and soon

became a mere ruin. In 1833, the ignorance of a civil governor,

Kasnatcheief, completed this afflicting work of destruction, which

extended at the same time to the great baths that still remained

untouched. A fortnight's work with the pickaxe and gunpowder razed to

the ground the two admirable monuments with which the Genoese and the

Turks had adorned the town. When I visited Theodosia in 1840, the great

square was still obstructed with their precious materials, which the

local administration was eager to dispose of at a low price to whoever

would buy them.

Of all the splendid edifices of the Genoese colony two churches alone

have escaped the destroyer; art owes their preservation to the Catholics

and the Armenians. For a very long time those two foreign communities

struggled against the indifference of the government, and strove to

obtain its aid for the repair of their edifices; but their applications

were all unsuccessful, and it was by great personal sacrifices that they

succeeded in recent times in themselves effecting the restoration of

their temples.

If we turn our attention from the interior of the town to its environs,

we are still afflicted by the same spectacle of destruction. All the

thriving fields and orchards that encompassed the town in the time of

the Tatars have disappeared. Two Muscovite regiments annihilated in a

single winter all trace of the rich cultivation that formerly clothed

the hills.

There is a museum in Theodosia, but except some Genoese inscriptions,

foremost among which is that of the famous tower of Clement VI., it

contains no remains belonging to the ancient Milesian colony. All the

antiquities it possesses come exclusively from Kertsch (Panticapea), and

were brought to Theodosia at a period when that town was still the chief

seat of the administration of the Crimea. Dr. Grapperon, a Frenchman, is

the director of the museum. He never fails to mystify the antiquaries

who pass through his town, by exhibiting to them a pretended female

torso, found in the heart of the Crimean mountains; but the cunning old

man knows very well that his chef-d'oeuvre is only a _lusus naturae_.

Notwithstanding all the depredations of the authorities, and the stupid

ignorance of a governor, Caffa has not been entirely metamorphosed into

a Russian town. Its chief edifices have been demolished, its walls

razed, its Tatar population expelled, and solitude has succeeded to its

former animation, yet the general appearance of the city, its various

private buildings, and its streets paved with large flags, all bespeak a

foreign origin and a foreign rule. Long may the town preserve this

picturesque aspect, which reminds the traveller of that of the little

Mediterranean seaports.

After three days spent in exploring the ruins of the Genoese colony,

days rendered doubly agreeable by the varied and instructive

conversation of my kind cicerone, M. Felix Lagorio,[75] I set out again

to continue my investigations as far as the most eastern point of the

Crimea. It is from the point where the last hills of the Crimean chain

subside at the foot of the walls of Theodosia that the celebrated

peninsula of Kertch begins, which extends between the Black Sea and the

Sea of Azof to the shores of the Cimmerian Bosphorus. As I traversed its

now deserted and arid plains, where nothing seems formed to arrest the

attention for a single moment, my mind went back with astonishment to

those glorious times when flourished the numerous opulent towns which

the colonising genius of the Milesians erected in these regions.

Theodosia, Nimphea, Mirmikione, and on the other side of the strait

Phanagoria, crowded the brilliant historic scene called up by my

recollections; but above them all stood Panticapea, the celebrated

capital of the kingdom of the Bosphorus, where Greek elegance and

civilisation reigned for so many ages, and where Mithridates died after

having for a while menaced the existence of the Roman empire. While my

imagination was thus reconstructing the splendid panorama which the

peninsula must have presented when the Bosphorians had covered it with

their rich establishments, the Russian pereclatnoi was carrying me along

through vast solitudes, where I sought in vain to discover some traces

of that ancient Greek dominion, the grandeur and prosperity of which

were extolled by Herodotus five centuries before the Christian era.

Towards evening only, as I approached the Bosphorus, my curiosity was

strongly excited by the singular indentations which the steppe exhibited

along the line of the horizon, and soon afterwards I found myself in the

midst of one of the chief necropolises of the ancient Milesian city.

Huge cones of earth rose around me, and numerous coral crags, mingled

with the mounds erected by the hands of men, enhanced the grandeur of

this singular cemetery. On reaching the extremity of the plateau, I

could overlook the whole extent of the Cimmerian Bosphorus. The last

rays of the setting sun were colouring the cliffs on the Asiatic side,

and the triangular sails of some fishing boats; the many tumuli of

Phanagoria stood in full relief against the blue sky, and whilst the

melancholy hue of evening was gradually stealing upon the smooth waters

of the channel, the deeply-marked shadow of Cape Akbouroun was already

spreading far over them. I had but a few seconds to admire these

magnificent effects of light and shade: the sun dipped below the

horizon, and twilight immediately invested the scene with its uniform

hues. Ten minutes afterwards I entered Kertch, a Russian town of

yesterday, stretching along the sea at the foot of the celebrated rock

which popular tradition has decked with the name of Mithridates' Chair.

It was on the side of this mountain, formerly crowned by an acropolis,

that the capital of the kingdom of the Bosphorus expanded like an

amphitheatre. A few mutilated fragments are all that now exist of

Panticapea; the hill on which it stood is parched, bare, and rent by

deep ravines, and modern archaeologists have had much difficulty in

positively determining the site of the most celebrated of the Milesian

colonies.