A RUSSIAN INTERIOR.
Leaving Sevastopol one afternoon, a favourable breeze carried us
rapidly back to the Alma, and being now provided with the necessary
permit, we could land without danger of being impaled by our enemy,
the Cossack. We had also brought a letter of introduction to Count
B----, a neighbouring proprietor, and, having sent it to the village,
we landed, and strolled along the beach, looking at the heights the
Zouaves had climbed.
Count B---- speedily arrived, kindly answering the letter in person,
and bringing his carriage with him; so in a few minutes we found
ourselves seated behind two spirited little Tartar horses, and away we
went across the plain, perfectly regardless of the absence of road. We
passed several large stack-yards, full of substantial ricks of hay and
corn, where wild-looking Tartars were thrashing out the grain--a simple
process, accomplished by fastening heavy blocks of wood to Tartar
ponies, who were driven at full gallop round and round the enclosure.
The women wore their long hair in innumerable plaits, hanging below
their fez caps, and showed their Mohammedan tendencies by partly
veiling their faces as we passed. Feminine curiosity made them peep
at us from sheltered corners, though they seldom ventured to show
themselves completely.
We turned into one of these farmyards, and found ourselves in front
of a little one-storied house, standing near a mass of blackened
ruins. Here we were most kindly received by Madame B---- and a
large family party, consisting of an aunt, Mademoiselle M----,
a sister-in-law, two young ladies, several children, and three
gentlemen. Most of the party talked French, and we were welcomed with
charming kindness.
Soon after our arrival tea was proposed, which, thanks to the
universal samovar, is almost always good in Russia. This time the
pleasant meal seemed doubly excellent, for, besides grapes and water
melons, there was a great bowl of cream, a luxury we had not seen
for a long time. Milk, as well as butter, is almost unattainable in
Sevastopol. The evening, though pleasant, was very warm, so we were
delighted to see that, instead of being prepared in the little house,
the hospitable tea-table was spread in the farmyard, and there we sat,
surrounded by cows, chickens, turkeys, and dogs, in quite a patriarchal
fashion, and enjoying ourselves greatly, for the charming family with
whom we were had the rare art of viewing everything en rose, and while
bearing their reverses with dignified simplicity, yet took whatever
little pleasure came in their way with hearty and unaffected delight.
Milking was going on, and noticing the beauty of the cows, of which
there were about twenty, we asked our hostess how much milk they gave
a day. She did not know, nor did any one, she said, keep an account,
for there is a superstition in the Crimea that should the milk be
measured the cows immediately become dry.
We were kindly pressed to remain the night, but we wished to return to
the children, who had been left on board the yacht. Besides, the house
seemed so very small, compared with the party already assembled, that
we could scarcely believe in the "possibility" of our being taken in,
whatever good-will there might be. We looked around, thinking there
must be some other house besides the very little one before us, but
no, nothing was to be seen but some Tartar huts, a few cow-hovels,
and the blackened ruins. So, with many thanks, we adhered to our
original intention, and then the greater part of the party proposed
to accompany us to the sea-shore.
A large, powerful horse--a fine creature, but of a fiery and impetuous
nature--was with some difficulty harnessed to a lofty gig, or "heavenly
chariot," into which I was invited to mount. I did so, though, it must
be confessed, with some inward trepidation. In another moment our
hostess was by my side, and the fiery steed stood on his hind legs,
as if he meant to "pose" for ever as a statue for a "horse rampant."
The young ladies, without any preparation, jumped on two Tartar ponies;
the rest of the party got into the other carriage. Our energetic animal
condescended to come down on his forelegs, and, with a bound that
almost took away my breath, off we set--"over brook, over byre"--going
across country in the dark in the most astonishing fashion. To the
very last moment that fiery steed acted well up to his character;
snorting, plunging, and exerting himself most unnecessarily when any
obstruction came in his way. However, the fair charioteer, twisting
the reins twice round her hands, seemed fully equal to her task,
and so away we went, with glorious indifference to holes, mounds,
or other little impediments.
The young ladies rode admirably. It could have been no easy matter,
and needed no little courage, to sit so steadily, galloping at
such a headlong pace, on a dark night, over rough ground full of
holes. However, we all arrived quite safely at the sea-shore, and
found our kind friends had brought us a supply of vegetables, fruit,
butter, and cream that made us rich for many days.
When we rejoined our hospitable entertainers the following morning the
mystery of the sleeping accommodation was explained. The little house
only possessed two rooms divided by a passage. All the men slept in
one room, the ladies had the other; the governess being the best off,
as she had a shelf to herself in the passage. These kind people had
really intended to share their house with us, and proposed to give
us one room and the passage, taking the little governess into their
already crowded room, and sending the luckless men to find shelter
where they could.
The "Heavenly Chariot" was again made ready, the mighty steed being
more frisky than ever, as he felt the cheerful influence of the
fresh morning air, and after breakfast we all, some in carriages,
some on horseback, went to visit the field of the battle of the Alma.
Standing immediately beneath the Heights they appear exceedingly
steep, and difficult to climb, especially one would think when exposed
to a galling fire, but this very steepness proved the salvation of
the Zouaves.
Once arrived at the foot of the cliffs, they were within the range
of the Russian guns, and these active fellows, who climb like cats,
were speedily at the top, and engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with
their foe.
Our host, who had been on Prince Menschikoff's staff, said that the
Russians committed two fatal mistakes early in the day.
In his opinion the Russian guns should have opened fire when the
allies were crossing the river, and when their line consequently was
somewhat broken and disorganised. Unhappily, there was difference of
opinion and dissension amongst the Russian generals, and therefore,
marvellous to relate, no very precise orders were issued on the
important morning, so the favourable moment was lost.
Deeming, also, their position impregnable, the Russians were probably
paralysed by the suddenness and vigour of the attack.
Another almost equally fatal error was committed later in the
day. Several Russian regiments, instead of waiting to receive the
enemy on the commanding position they occupied on the Heights, rashly
descended to a sort of second terrace, a few feet below the summit of
the cliff; a most disastrous move on their part, for when the Zouaves
and light infantry swarmed up the rocks the miserable Russians were
bayoneted and cut down without a chance of retreat.
In fact most accounts tend to show that want of organization, and the
want of supreme military power on the spot, contributed quite as much
as the vigour of the attack to the loss of the battle of the Alma,
and the subsequent fall of Sevastopol.
The Russians do full justice to the dauntless courage and brilliant
military talents of their foes, but the destruction of Sevastopol
lies heavy on their hearts, for the higher classes think her fall was
as much brought about by faults at home as by the intrepid valour of
the besiegers.
In the early part of the war, intrigues, it is said, were rife at the
Russian Court, and the plans of the Crimean generals were constantly
interfered with and made of no effect by contradictory orders from
St. Petersburg. It was believed by the Emperor that the garrison
in Sevastopol was so immense that in itself it formed a large and
efficient army. It was believed that stores and all other requisites
were there in such abundance that the town was capable of sustaining
unassisted a protracted siege of even years, whereas so great had
been the venality practised that many regiments, supposed to be fully
manned, barely existed but in name.
So far from being able to support a long siege, the vast store-houses
were more than half empty, and with respect even to ammunition and
arms the supply was lamentably inadequate. It is said also that some
of the cannon and shells were made of wood.
When all the present generation has passed away, and when the history
of the Crimean war will only be classed among the histories of the
past, many who read the story will feel a deep compassion for the
mighty Emperor whose heart broke when he at length knew the fatal
truth. His cherished town--his impregnable fortress--the pride of
Russia--the key-stone, as it were, to all his ambitious projects,
must fall into the hands of the enemy for want of troops, food,
ammunition--for want of the very things with which he supposed it
had been so well supplied. Supplies were sent, troops were sent, but
in what condition could they arrive after having traversed a country
the width of Europe, in the depth of winter, without railways, and
nearly without towns?
The Russians are essentially a brave and noble people; it is impossible
to live amongst them and not admire and like them. They love their
sovereign with a personal devotion almost beyond bounds, and they can
and have fought for their country to the death, but they know their
system of government is very faulty.
Late events especially have led them to see how the present system
tends to much oppression and venality, and that though the Emperor
really labours earnestly and unweariedly for the welfare of his
subjects, yet it is impossible any one man can sufficiently superintend
and legislate for so vast an empire.
On the gentle slope of a pretty grass hill, where a flock of sheep
were peacefully grazing, is the simple stone erected to the memory of
the noble 23rd Welsh Fusileers, and a few feet from it are a number
of long, narrow trenches, the edges roughly marked by stones, the
graves of their gallant enemies.
Many hundred Russians lie here, but neither cross nor monument records
their names. In a few more years the stones will be all dispersed,
and nothing will then mark the spot where so frightful an amount of
human life was sacrificed.
We again descended the valley to visit the tomb of Captain Horace
Cust. It is owing to the kind care of our hostess that it is still in
existence. When the family returned to Burlinck after the war, Madame
B---- found the stone thrown down, defaced, and half buried in the
earth, but she had it repaired and by a curious accident Captain Cust's
brother arrived in Sevastopol and came to see the little monument only
the day after it had been replaced. But for Madame B----'s kindness
few of the graves would have been respected, for the Tartars are very
destructive, and carry off everything that they think has any value.
Count B---- has been a great sufferer from the war. His property
near the Alma was worth about twenty thousand roubles a year. Now
it barely yields enough to supply the family with more than simple
necessaries. Formerly they spent the winter in the old Russian capital,
Moscow, now they go for a few months to Simpheropol, and live here
as simple farmers during the rest of the year, and a farm-life in
the Crimea does not imply the comforts that are to be found on most
English homesteads.
Though our host has lost so much--for besides his house several
farms were burnt, the cattle seized, and the vineyards and woods
destroyed--there are very many others who have been still more
unfortunate. For instance, his aunt, Mlle. M----, before the war began
was the owner of a fine property with a large house in the valley
of Tchernaia, but long ere the siege was over she found herself
absolutely ruined.
It seems wonderful that the landing of large bodies of foreign troops
should have caused so little alarm amongst the inhabitants of the
Crimea, but far from fearing danger for themselves, the prevailing
feeling was apparently astonishment that any army should be so rash
as thus to court its own destruction. Sevastopol was believed to be
so safe that it is said some adventurous female spirits wished to
proceed there, to witness in person the discomfiture and defeat of
the allied forces.
When the allies landed, Mlle. M----, being in bad health, was unwilling
to leave home. Sevastopol was so near that there seemed but little or
no danger that a retreat into the town could be cut off. The Heights
of the Alma also were supposed to present a formidable if not an
insurmountable obstacle to the advance of the enemy, so Mlle. M----
and her household remained at Tchernaia.
"One evening," said Mlle. M----, "we were sitting round the card-table
playing loto, but I was a little uneasy that a messenger I had sent
to one of my nephews in Sevastopol had not yet returned. A sudden
noise was heard in the hall; and my niece was hurrying to the door
of the saloon, when it was hastily thrown open by the messenger,
accompanied by several of the servants, who with scared faces and
in breathless accents announced that a party of foreign cavalry had
been seen to enter a wood only a few versts from the house, and that
if we meant to escape there was not a moment to lose.
"In the hurry and alarm of such a departure it was not possible to
take away with us more than mere necessaries, and though most of
the valuables, such as silver and pictures, had happily been sent to
Simpheropol many weeks previously, still," said poor Mlle. M----, with
a deep sigh, "I left my dear home full of every comfort and luxury. I
dare not lament," said the kind old lady, as a few tears ran slowly
down her cheeks, "over my poor furniture and little treasures when
I remember the dreadful sorrows that came to us afterwards, but it
gives a bitter pang to an old woman like myself, on returning to a
once dear and happy home, to find only a heap of blackened ruins,"
She did not mention what we knew, namely, that all the remains of her
little fortune had gone to help the sick and wounded, for when she
retreated into Sevastopol she joined the devoted band of the Sisters
of Mercy, and eventually became one of the lady-superintendents of
hospitals. In spite of feeble health, in spite of the constant danger
to which she was exposed, this good woman remained steadily at her
post until the troops withdrew to the north side.
We did not like to ask many questions, for, like all who shared in
those terrible duties, the scenes they then saw seem to have been
too dreadful to bear being dwelt on, and the kind creature could
not relate without tears some of the sad incidents that had come
under her notice. Some of her patients were poor little fellows,
whose manhood all deserted them under the pain of their wounds,
and these she held in her motherly arms till their cries ceased,
and death mercifully took them from their sufferings.
Like Androvna R----, Mlle. M---- said that all sense of personal danger
became so soon merged in higher anxieties, that even the narrow escapes
of many of the nurses ceased to excite much interest. The trial was
to hear cries for the help that could not be given--to see terrible
sufferings without the possibility of affording relief. In spite of
heroic courage, nature would occasionally give way at the sight of
wounds and mutilations of unusual horror, but still the devoted band
of women never slackened their efforts, and laboured unweariedly at
their divine and holy task.
The Russian soldier seems to be as patient in the hospital as he is
obedient and brave on the battle-field. The poor fellows, unless very
young, bore their sufferings with great fortitude, and Mlle. M----
said it was most touching to see their unselfishness and consideration
for others. From her account there was an excellent staff of surgeons,
though scarcely numerous enough for the requirements of such vast
numbers of wounded. There appears also to have been a good supply
of medicine, but there was a considerable deficiency of linen and
bandages. The main cause of the great suffering arose from the very
limited amount of accommodation.
The hospitals were frightfully crowded, and consequently the air
became so impure that the wounds could not heal, and gangrene and
disease carried off as many Russians as the guns of the enemy.
Mlle. M---- was the unconscious heroine of a little story that went
the round of most English and French journals. It was reported that
Prince Menschikoff's carriage had fallen into the hands of the allies,
and many were the jokes that were made respecting a certain pretty
pink satin bonnet, and other articles appertaining to a lady's toilet,
that had been found packed therein. Unfortunately for the lovers of
romance, both carriage and bonnet belonged to our friend Mlle. M----,
who, though both charming and good-looking for her age, is no longer a
young woman, being between sixty and seventy. The carriage in question
had been packed to go to Simpheropol, but when the hurried flight
became necessary it was found too heavy for such a rapid journey,
and it had to be abandoned to its fate.
Mlle. M---- wishes to sell her estate at Tchernaia, but landed
property in the neighbourhood of Sevastopol has so deteriorated in
value that she has not yet succeeded in finding a purchaser, and
it may be some years before she will be able to do so. It is almost
equally impossible to let it. One farm is now in cultivation, and a
few grass fields are let for grazing sheep, but the greater portion
of the land has been left untilled and useless.
It was at first expected that the Government would have paid five
per cent. on all property destroyed, but the expenses of the war
have been so infinitely greater than was originally supposed, that
the unfortunate proprietors say now they shall think themselves well
off if they succeed in obtaining one per cent. of indemnification. It
will be many years before the country will be able to recover the
effects of so violent a blow.
We left the Alma, with a storm muttering in the distance, and every
probability of wind, but soon after passing Sevastopol the breeze
dropped and it fell dead calm. Not a puff filled the sails, which
flapped idly against the masts; but somehow or other we drifted on, and
the coast scenery was so fine that we did not regret the slow progress.
Magnificent cliffs, valleys wooded nearly to the water's edge,
and pretty villages made quite a panorama of beautiful views, whose
general aspect reminded us much of the Undercliff of the Isle of Wight,
only on a far grander scale.
Aloupka, Prince Woronzoff's place, is most lovely. The house is
built of grey granite, and seemed to us exceedingly picturesque,
though architects and connoisseurs would probably shake their heads
dismally over it, as a specimen of bad taste.
The architecture, it must be admitted, is certainly "very mixed,"
being partly Gothic, partly Moorish, and altogether modern; but the
numerous pinnacles and towers, and the long façade of buildings rising
above the magnificent woods, have a remarkably good effect. A series
of broad terraces descend from the house half way down to the sea;
beautiful gardens, full of rare shrubs and flowers, lie on each side
of the house, and the woods and park stretch away for miles along
the cliffs.
General Malthoff has a very fine place, more in-land; and a few miles
beyond Yalta is Orianda, the Empress's villa.
Yalta itself is a tiny village, lying close to the sea, and surrounded
by, almost buried in, a magnificent amphitheatre of mountains. The
village contains about fifty houses, all nestling round a little wooded
hill, on the top of which stands the church, its bright green cupolas
and gilded pinnacles looking resplendent in the brilliant sunshine.
The villas, however, are the glory of Yalta. On every slope, peeping
through openings in the dark green woods, are the pretty white
houses. Almost all are half covered with creepers, and standing in
gardens now gay with flowers, have an air of comfort and Heimlichkeit,
or homeishness (if such a word can be permitted), to which we have
long been strangers.
The lovely woods--the green grass--the fresh mountain air make Yalta
quite a little paradise. We had the additional pleasure, also, of
finding friends here--Prince and Princess B----, who came on board
immediately, and whose affectionate welcome, and cheery talk of old
times and old friends, made this distant place feel quite like home.
We had also another visitor, an American, who, seeing the English flag,
came on board to borrow some money. He was one of the unfavourable
specimens of Yankeyism who do so much discredit to their country,
and whose principle is to ask for a gate when they want a bit of
wood. The modest request was for £25, which Mr. Harvey declined to
lend, but I suppose his heart being touched by seeing a foreigner
so far from home, and in distress, he gave him enough to take him
to Sevastopol, with a note to an American there, who would help him
if necessary. Our friend then said, however, that he heard we were
going on to Circassia, and as it was very difficult to get there,
he thought he might as well take "a spell" with us, as he could fix
himself down in the yacht very well. As he spoke, the sensible little
craft made a sudden roll and a lurch, that caused such an internal
convulsion in our would-be companion that he threw himself into the
boat and departed, happily for us to return no more.
The next day we went with the B----s and a large party to Orianda. Our
conveyance was an immense char-à-banc, that could hold quite a dozen
people. There were scarcely any springs to speak of, but luckily the
roads were excellent.
The drive from Yalta to Orianda is one of the most beautiful I have
ever seen. Sometimes the road wound up and down hills, and then we
could look over the steep banks of woods or vines upon the intensely
blue sea below. Sometimes it passed between great overhanging rocks
that almost met overhead; then, again, it would cross sunny bits of
rough common, or wind down narrow deep lanes where the damp coolness
was delicious, and where the high banks seemed hung with ferns,
and woodbines, and other plants that love the warm moist shade.
We passed a charming house of Count Potocki's. The broad verandah was
quite festooned with passion flowers, roses, and the bright lilac
blossom of the Clematis Jackmanni. The gardens and grounds were as
well kept as any English home could be. The neat hedges, gravel walks,
and smooth lawns made us think we must be in England again.
We left the carriage at the lodge gates and walked down the beautiful
road to Orianda, sometimes passing under trellises of vines, where
the purple grapes were hanging in delicious profusion, then going
through woods and avenues of fine trees.
The rays of the setting sun were now streaming through every opening,
making the old Scotch firs look all aflame in the glorious light.
The villa is a large, white Grecian building, not handsome enough for
a palace nor pretty enough for a country house. There are some fine
rooms, rather grand and very gloomy. The pleasantest sitting-room was
a hall, painted and decorated like a Pompeian court, with a fountain
in the centre, surrounded by flowers and ferns.
The gardens and terraces make the delight of the place. Vines, myrtles,
and magnolia-trees are trained over arches, and under their fragrant
shade, the air cooled by innumerable fountains, how pleasantly must
the summer days pass! What an enchanting change from hot, dusty
St. Petersburg!
The present Empress has not yet paid this pretty place a visit, but
the Grand-Duchess Constantine came for several months one summer. Her
Imperial Highness seems to have made herself universally popular;
her parties enlivened the whole neighbourhood, and she is spoken of
by all classes with the heartiest affection.
Within an hour after sunset the wind became bitterly cold, and
every cloak and shawl was called into requisition during the drive
home. This sudden change of temperature is the only drawback to
Yalta, and invalids who come here for health must carefully avoid
exposing themselves to the night-air. The dew also falls very heavily;
therefore here, as in Italy, the hour after sunset is a dangerous
period. Later in the night, for those who are strong, the fresh wind
is very invigorating.
Yalta is so favourite a spot that people come even from Petersburg to
spend the summer here. It gives one some idea of the enormous extent
of Russia to know that it is a fortnight's journey, travelling night
and day, to get from Yalta to St. Petersburg.
Thanks to our kind friends, the B----s, we have seen all the prettiest
villas in the neighbourhood. Count Narisckine has a very lovely
estate. There are also some beautiful places now unhappily shut up
and uninhabited, the owners having been ruined by the war. Land and
houses can now be bought very cheap, but unfortunately Yalta is too
far from England to make it available as a summer residence.
Prince Woronzoff has a very fine property at Aloupka, and a nearer
approach made it even more beautiful than we had thought it from the
yacht. The house stands in a magnificent position on a narrow ridge
of table-land between the cliffs and the sea. Great dark woods stretch
around it for miles, and the rock scenery is quite superb. Our Russian
friends did not, however, share our enthusiasm, and thought the more
cultivated, smiling scenery round Yalta infinitely more beautiful.
On arriving at Aloupka we drove through a fine gateway into a
courtyard, on one side of which was the house, on the other were
the offices and stables. Immediately within the portico was seen the
hospitable "Salve," set in large letters in the mosaic pavement. A
glass door opened into the hall, a moderate-sized room, panelled with
oak and hung round with family portraits. Amongst them was a picture
of the late Lady Pembroke. Princess Woronzoff's boudoir and a few
other small rooms were on one side of the entrance; on the other was
the great dining-hall, a large and lofty room with three recesses: two
of these were occupied by fireplaces, the other had a small fountain,
an agreeable addition to a dining-room on a hot day.
Another glass door led to a very pretty room--half saloon, half
conservatory. Climbing plants were trained up the columns and over
the frames of the looking-glasses. Masses of flowers were arranged in
groups upon the marble floor, while thick Persian carpets and every
sort of comfortable lounge and easy chair made the apartment the very
perfection of a summer sitting-room.
Russians have quite a talent for decorating their rooms with flowers
and shrubs, and should nothing better be forthcoming, branches of
trees make a background for the little cluster of plants that are
placed in every corner. Dwarf palms or tree-ferns have a charming
effect when crowning a group of flowering shrubs.
On the storey below were the salons and library. The latter was a
large and comfortable room, well filled with books, the tables being
covered with the newest French and English publications.
Prince and Princess Woronzoff were away, so we soon finished our
inspection of the house. Though thoroughly comfortable, it is much
smaller in reality than its appearance from the sea would lead one
to expect. Seen from a distance the long, imposing façade makes it
look quite like a palace.
The grounds, however, gained in beauty from a nearer view. Great
flights of steps lead to broad terraces, on which are the most
delicious gardens and lawns that imagination can picture. Every
flower to be found in England and Italy grows here in perfection,
revelling in an admirable climate and in an admirable soil.
In front of the house was a stone colonnade, up every pillar of which
were trained climbing plants of unusual beauty. One in particular was
especially lovely, a species of Mandevillia superba. There must have
been many hundreds of the snowy white fragrant flowers, shining like
stars from the mass of glossy dark foliage.
In the centre of the colonnade was a portico as high as the house
itself, having a roof fretted and gilt after the fashion of the Moorish
courts in the Alhambra. Light balconies, supported by clusters of
columns, projected on either side, and comfortable sofas were arranged
amongst the little wood of orange and citron trees below.
It was a day and a scene when life alone seemed a delicious
blessing. The soft breeze barely whispered amongst the leaves, a few
doves were tenderly cooing in the garden below, the very fountains
seemed unwilling to disturb the magic quiet, and their waters fell
soothingly into the marble basins, as if they were also hushing nature
to rest. Every now and then the sweet south wind sighed gently over
the wide expanse of sea, and then came upon the ear the trickle,
trickle of the little waves, as they rippled back amongst the pebbles
of the beach, and as the wind softly touched the trees overhead,
down came a fragrant rain of the snowy leaves of the orange-flowers,
making the ground white with the lovely blossoms.
Talking of old times and old scenes, hours passed like minutes in
this enchanting and enchanted spot, and we had forgotten how long we
had been enjoying a feeling of divine repose that one longed might
last for ever, when the sun sank below the horizon. For a few minutes
there was a great blaze and glory of light, and then a grey damp gloom
stole over the landscape that warned us to be gone. Perhaps, even then,
we should have lingered longer than was warranted by strict prudence,
but we were all engaged to have supper with the T----s, and knew the
sportsmen, who had gone out quail shooting, would have returned with
clamorous appetites. The rattling wheels of our char-à-banc were no
sooner heard in the village than out flew all the hungry party to
know what had detained us; but the roasted quails were so good, and
so were the little newly-baked sponge-cakes, that every one rejoiced
in being hungry, and a merry evening finished our pleasant day.