killed today, they will be taken to the horse-butcher tomorrow. Good
horses would not only be too expensive, but they would also refuse to
await the attack of the bull without shying or offering resistance,
even if their right eyes were bandaged. The more horses the bull has
killed and the more dangerous to the men he has become, the louder is
the applause. One bull persistently refused to attack the _picadores_.
He ran up and down the arena, trembling with fear, while the crowd
shrieked curses and imprecations. At last they yelled: _Los perros_!
(the dogs!) When the dogs arrived in the arena they could hardly be
restrained. Madly they rushed upon the bull, who at once gored one of
them and tossed him high in the air. The others, however, fastened on
him, one of them seizing his tongue so firmly that he was swung high
up in the air and down again. You could have torn him to pieces before
he would have let go. Finally four dogs had the bull in a position
where he could not free himself, and the matador struck him down.
While this butchery was at its height, the young queen with the
Infanta entered, accompanied by Don Francesco, her husband, and the
Duke of Montpensier. Aumale had arrived earlier. The queen looked very
happy and is by no means so ugly as the papers say. She is blonde,
rather stout, and not at all plain. The Infanta is small, extremely
dark and thin. The queen was greeted by the _matador_ just as her
mother had been, but by the spectators with much enthusiasm. When the
eighth bull was killed, it began to grow dark, but all the people
yelled "_un otro toro_," and the ninth bull was hunted down almost in
darkness--which is very dangerous for the _matador_.
This, then, is the spectacle which the Spaniards love better than
anything else, which is watched by the tenderest of women, and which
brought a smile to the face of the Infanta, a recent bride. So far as
I am concerned, one bullfight was quite enough for me, and its
description, I fancy, will be enough for you.
DESCRIPTION OF MOSCOW[38] (1856)
TRANSLATED BY GRACE BIGELOW
Thursday, August 28th
The City of Moscow takes it for granted that the Emperor has not yet
arrived. A few assert that he has been since yesterday at the Castle
Petrofskoy, an hour's ride from here, where he is holding court and
reviewing a hundred thousand Guards; but that is his incognito;
officially, he is not yet here.
The Holy City is preparing for the reception that is to take place
tomorrow. They are hammering and pounding in all the streets and on
all the squares. Most of the houses here stand alone, in the centre of
a garden or court. Large tribunes for spectators have been erected in
these spaces. In several of these I counted three thousand numbered
seats. Before the houses themselves, moreover, small platforms with
chairs have been erected, protected by linen awnings, decorated with
tapestries, carpets and flowers. There must be at least several
hundred thousand seats, so that there can be no crowd. Only those who
cannot pay the few kopecks,[39] the Tschornoi Narod, or "the black
brood of the people," will form the movable mass, and the police will
have to restrain them.
All palaces and churches have laths nailed on their architectonic
lines, upon which the lamps for the festive illuminations are to be
fastened. The Giant Ivan, which will speak from the mouths of
twenty-five large bells, bears upon its golden dome a crown formed of
lamps, surmounted by the great glittering cross, which the French
pulled down with immense toil and danger, and which the Russians
victoriously reinstated. As an atonement for the offense, they laid
one thousand guns of the godless enemy at the feet of Ivan, where
Count Morny can see them to this day.
Half of the population of the city are in the streets, looking about,
and they are allowed to go everywhere, even in the Kremlin.
Every day six-and eight-horse teams, mostly dark gray and black, which
are going to convey the state coaches of the Empress and the
Grand-Duchesses, are going to and fro from the Kremlin to Petrofskoy.
Strangely enough, the outriders sit on the right front horses. An
equerry of the Guards walks by each horse and leads it by the bridle.
Yesterday their Excellencies carried a fearfully heavy canopy,
supported by thick gold posts, through the salons and over the stairs
of the palace. The aides-de-camp walk by the side of it, and balance
it by golden cords.
The state coaches, most wonderful products of former centuries, have
been drawn out of their semi-obscurity in the Arsenal, where they have
rested twenty-eight years. The oldest are entirely without springs,
are suspended by leather straps six feet long over a tongue twenty
feet long and correspondingly thick, which is so bent that the coach
almost reaches the ground. Those of the Empresses are ornamented with
diamonds and jewels. It will hardly be possible to use the oldest.
There is, further, a kind of house on wheels, made of gold, velvet,
and crystal, which Peter the Great received as a present from England,
and compared to which a thirty-six pounder is but a child's toy. In
short, everything is life and activity here, in expectation of the
volleys of cannon which will announce tomorrow from the old gate
towers of the Kremlin the solemn entrance of the Czar.
Yesterday the Emperor wished to ride through the camp of the Guards,
whom he has not seen since he ascended the throne, because, in
consequence of the war, they had been removed to Lithuania and Poland,
and are now encamped at an hour's distance on a vast plain. A solemn
mass, at which the Empress was also present, preceded this. We drove
out in complete gala dress through thick clouds of dust. The Emperor
rode with his suite. He looked very well on horseback. At this moment
it began to rain, and poured uninterruptedly. Fortunately we found
shelter under the open tent in which the altar was, and in which the
mass was said, or, rather, sung. All further inspection was
countermanded, and we returned home.
In the evening I drove to Petrofskoy. It lies in the midst of a wood,
and has a very odd appearance. The castle proper is a three-storied
quadrangle with a green cupola. The entrances are supported by the
most singular bottle-shaped bulging columns, and the whole is
surrounded by a turreted wall, with battlements and loopholes. This
red-and white-painted fortress, the light of which radiates from the
high windows through the dark forest, recalls a fable of the _Arabian
Nights_. All monasteries and castles here are fortified. They were the
only points capable of holding out when the Golden Tribe rushed upon
them with twenty or thirty thousand horses, and devastated all that
flat country. Long after their yoke was broken, the Khans of Tartary
in the Crimea were formidable enemies. The watchmen from the highest
battlements of the Kremlin were continually observing the wide expanse
toward the south; and when the dust-clouds rose thence, and the great
bell (kolokol) of Ivan Welicki rang the alarm, every one fled behind
the walls of the Czar's palace or to the monasteries, upon whose walls
the infuriated horsemen struck and dashed in vain. The Christianity,
science, and culture of the Russian nation sought shelter in the
cloisters, and from them started afterward Russia's deliverance from
the domination of the Mongolians and Poles.
Today there was again mass in the open air, and five battalions
received new flags, which in addition were blessed by the priests;
then the Metropolitan Archbishop walked the length of the front and
sprinkled the troops thoroughly with holy water; some of the men were
practically soaked to the skin. The Emperor and both Empresses not
only kissed the cross, but the archbishop's hand. Then the Emperor
passed the front of every battalion, and, with a true military
attitude, spoke a few words to the men, which were received with
endless applause. He was an excellent rider, and rode a well-trained
horse. Then he inspected the front of the whole camp--one and a half
German miles. There were seventy-four battalions, with eight hundred
men apiece--about sixty thousand men in all. They stood unarmed and in
caps, all of them old, bearded, and dark-faced.
I care nothing for the deafening hurrahs that lasted two hours; but
these old, mustached men show how glad they are to see their Czar.
The Emperor spoke to some of them. They answered their Batuschka
(little father) without embarrassment. In Russia the family is the
microcosm of the State. All power rests with the father. All theories
of representative government in Russia are pure nonsense. "How can
human statutes circumscribe the divine right of a father?" asks the
Russian. So that the unlimited power in the hands of the Emperor is
necessary and beneficial in a land where nothing is done that is not
ordered from above.
Whoever should gaze, as I have done, on a warm, sunny day, upon the
city of Moscow for the first time from the height of the Kremlin would
certainly not think that he was in the same latitude in which the
reindeer graze in Siberia, and the dogs drag the sleighs over the ice
in Kamtchatka. Moscow reminds one of the South, but of something
strange never seen before. One seems to be transported to Ispahan,
Bagdad, or some other place--to the scene of the story of the
Sultaness Scheherezade.
Although Moscow does not count more than three hundred thousand
inhabitants, it covers two square miles with its houses, gardens,
churches, and monasteries. In this flat region one can hardly see
beyond the extreme suburbs, and houses and trees extend to the
horizon.
No city in the world, with the exception of Rome, has so many
churches as the holy Stolitza of Russia. It is affirmed that Moscow
boasts of forty times forty churches. Each one has at least five, and
several even sixteen, cupolas that are brilliantly painted, and
covered with colored glazed bricks, or richly silvered and gilded,
glittering in the blue atmosphere like the sun when it is half above
the horizon. Even the graceful towers, rising sometimes to
considerable heights from the immense mass of houses and gardens, are
similarly ornamented, and neither do the larger ones among the palaces
lack the addition of a cupola.
The dwelling houses are almost always in gardens, and are distinctly
outlined against the dark background of trees by their white walls and
flat iron roofs painted light green or red. The oldest part alone,
close to the Kremlin--the Kitai-Gorod, or the Chinese quarter--forms a
city according to our notions, where the houses touch each other, and
are carefully enclosed by a beautiful turreted wall, here, of course,
painted white. All the rest seems to be a large collection of country
houses, between which the Moskwa winds its way.
The Kremlin contains (besides the palaces of the Czars and the
Patriarchs) the Arsenal and the treasures of the church. Here are
concentrated the highest civil and religious powers. The cloisters,
mostly at the extremities of the city, are fortresses in themselves.
It was in the Kitai-Gorod that the commercial guild established
itself, needing for its wares, imported from China, Bucharia,
Byzantium, and Novgorod, the protection of walls. The rest, and by far
the larger part of Moscow, was built by the nobility for themselves;
and long after the first Emperor had raised a new capital upon the
enemy's ground it was looked upon with contempt by the grandees of the
Empire, still faithfully clinging to the customs of their fathers.
The venerable city of Moscow, with its ancient, sacred relics and
historical reminiscences, still remains an object of veneration and
love to every Russian; and, often coming from a distance of hundreds
of miles, when getting a glimpse of the golden cross on the Church of
Ivan Welicki, he falls on his knees in reverence and patriotic
fervor. St. Petersburg is his pride, but Moscow is nearer to his
heart. And, in truth, Moscow has no resemblance to St. Petersburg.
There is no Neva here, no sea, no steamers; nowhere a straight street,
a large square, or a wooded island. But Moscow has as little
resemblance to any other city. The cupolas, the flat roofs and the
trees remind one of the East; but there the cupolas are more curved,
covered with gray lead, and surmounted by delicate minarets; the
houses show no windows toward the street; and the gardens are enclosed
by high, dead, monotonous walls. Moscow has a character of its own;
and if one wishes to compare it with anything, it must be called
Byzantine-Moresque. Russia received her Christianity and first
civilization from Byzantium. Until of late years she remained
completely shut off from the East, and what culture she once adopted
became rapidly nationalized. The heavy scourge of the Mongolian and
Tartar domination, which burdened this country for nearly three
centuries, prevented for a long time any further progress. All culture
was confined to the monasteries, and to these they afterward owed
their deliverance. The Khans of Tartary never required their
submission to Islam; they satisfied themselves with the tribute. In
order to raise this, they had recourse to native authority. They
supported the power of the Grand Dukes and of the priesthood; and the
despotism of the Golden Tribe, much as it circumscribed further
improvement, strengthened the oppressed in their faith in their
religion, fidelity to their rulers, and love to their mutual
fatherland.
These are still the characteristics of the people; and when
one reflects that the embryo of this nation, the Great
Russians--thirty-six million people of one root, one faith, and one
language--forms the greatest homogeneous mass of people in the world,
no one will doubt that Russia has a great future before her.
It has been said that with an increase of population this boundless
empire must fall to pieces. But no part of it can exist without the
other--the woody North without the fertile South, the industrial
centre without both, the interior without the coast, nor without the
common joint stream, navigable for four hundred miles--the Volga. But,
more than all this, the national spirit unites the most distant
portions.
Moscow is now the national centre not only of the European Empire, but
of the ancient and holy kingdom of the Czars, from which the
historical reminiscences of the people spring, which, perhaps, is big
with the destinies of the future empire in spite of a deviation of two
centuries.
The foreign civilization which was forced upon them has never
penetrated the mass of the people. The national peculiarity has
remained complete in language, manners, and customs, in a highly
remarkable municipal constitution, the freest and most independent
existing anywhere; and, finally, in their architecture. The last can,
of course, only be applied to the churches. In Russia nearly
everything is new. What is older than a hundred years is looked upon
as an antiquity. The Russian dwelling-house is of wood, and therefore
never reaches that age, unless, like the one of Peter the Great, it be
encased by a stone one. Even the palaces of the Emperor are new, and
only here in Moscow can be found a ruin of the old Dworez of the
Czars. There are churches in existence of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries (a great age for Russia), and the strictly conservative
spirit of the priesthood has been instrumental in retaining the same
style of architecture in the later buildings.
The St. Sophia, in Constantinople, is the model upon which all Russian
churches are built. It was imitated everywhere, but never equalled,
not even by St. Mark's in Venice. There was lack both of material and
skill to build an arch with a span of one hundred and twenty-six feet.
What could not be accomplished in width was attempted in height. The
domes became narrow and tall, like towers. The rough stone, handled
without art, rendered clumsy pillars and thick walls necessary, in
which the windows, like embrasures, are cut narrow and deep. The
brightest light falls through the windows in the thinner wall which
supports the cupolas. Nearly all churches are higher than they are
long and wide. The clumsy tetragonal pillars contract the already
narrow space. One has nowhere a free view, and a mystic twilight
reigns everywhere. The most famous Russian churches can only
accommodate as many hundreds as a Gothic cathedral can thousands. It
is true most of them were built by Italian masters; but the latter
were obliged to conform to the rules and forms already in use.
Since the architectonic conditions were unfavorable to the creation of
a magnificent whole, an attempt was made to ornament the individual
parts with brilliancy and magnificence. Not contented to gild the
churches inside and out, the floors were paved with half-precious
stones, and the pictures (of no artistic value) were covered with
jewels, diamonds, and pearls. Only the faces and hands are painted;
the garments, crown, and all else are plated with silver, gold, and
jewels.
Sculpture is entirely prohibited, as far as representing the human
form is concerned; but they do not hesitate to represent God himself
on canvas. The gilt background is of itself disadvantageous for the
carnation of the pictures, and added to this are the long-drawn
outlines of the Byzantine and old German schools, without the genuine
feeling of the latter. Gigantic scarecrows gaze down from the cupolas,
meant to represent the Virgin Mary, Christ, St. John, or God the
Father. A Russian buys no holy picture that is not quite black or
faded out. A lovely Madonna of Raphael, or a fine Sebastian of
Correggio, does not seem to him expressive. His creed needs the
obscurity of his church--the clouds of incense which at every mass
veil the mysterious movements of the priests.
The Byzantine element in the Russian architecture is then historically
easy to explain. The Moresque originated with the necessity of
decorating the individual parts, and relates only to these.
The railings of the Ikonostase are interlaced with vines, garlands,
and animal forms. The flat walls, principally where they are not gilt,
are decorated with leafwork, rosettes, and twining vines. Where
this could not be cut in stone it was painted, and the deficiency in
drawing was supplied by a variety of the most glaring colors. Of
course, they remained far behind the tasteful, artistic arabesques of
the Alhambra and the Alcazar.
The craziest thing in the way of architecture is the Church of Ivan
Blajennoj, on the Red Square before the Kremlin. It cannot be
described. This building stands on uneven ground, although the fine
level Place is before it. It crouches on the edge of the hill, and
leaves one leg hanging down. There is no trace of any symmetry. It has
no central point, and no one part is like another. One cupola looks
like an onion, another like a pineapple, an artichoke, a melon, or a
Turkish turban. It contains nine different churches, each having its
own altar, Ikonostase, and sanctuary. You enter several of these on
the ground floor. To reach others, you ascend a few steps. Between
these is a labyrinth of passages so narrow that two people can with
difficulty pass each other. Of course, all these churches are very
narrow. The one in the main tower can scarcely contain more than
twenty or thirty persons, and yet its vaulted roof reaches into the
tower at a height of over a hundred feet. This church is painted with
all the colors of the rainbow, inside and out, and plated with silver
and gold. The cupolas shine with red, green, and blue glazed bricks,
and even the masonry has been colored by the artist.
This monstrosity emanated from the brain of Ivan Hrosnoj, "the
Terrible John." When he saw the architect's work complete he was
delighted, loaded him with praise, embraced him, and then ordered his
eyes to be put out, that no such second masterpiece should be
attributed to him.
But, with all its singularity, this church does not produce a
disagreeable impression. It cannot be denied that it is at least
original.
Everything, on the contrary, left from the old Dworez (palace) is
really beautiful. There is a strange four-story building narrowing
toward the top. There is a balcony formed by each receding story,
from which there is a fine view. The second story contains, besides
the rich but small chapel, a banquet-hall, like the Kanter's,[40] in
Marienburg, only that there the entire vaulted roof is borne by a
slender column, and here by a thick pillar. The entrance is in one
corner; the throne stands diagonally opposite in the other. At
present, the walls are covered with splendid tapestries, and the great
throne draped with _drap d'or,_ lined with real ermine. This drapery
cost forty thousand rubles. The small but exquisite rooms in the third
story are charming. The fourth story is only one large room. It was
the Terima, or dwelling of the women--the room in which Peter I. grew
up.
At the parole delivery all the regiments were represented, the cavalry
mounted. It was beautiful to see specimens of all these dazzling
uniforms: the Cuirassiers, with the Byzantine double eagle upon their
helmets, something like our Garde du Corps, but with lances; the
Uhlans, almost exactly like ours; the Hussars, in white dolmans with
golden cords; the line Cossacks, with fur caps and red caftans; the
Tschernamorskish Cossacks, in dark blue coats with red jackets over
them; and the Ural ones with light blue--all with lances, on little
horses and high saddles. The Tartars are nearly all heathen or Moslem.
The Circassians appeared in scaly coats of mail and helmets. They
showed off their equestrian accomplishments, fired from the horse with
their long guns, shielded themselves from their pursuers by their
kantschu,[41] concealed themselves by throwing their bodies on one
side so that they touched the ground with their hands; others stood
upright in the saddle--all done at full gallop and amidst fearful
noise.
A regiment of Drushins,[42] an Imperial militia levied on the
Imperial apanage estates, pleased me well. They wore a cap with
the cross of St. Andrew, bare neck; the native caftan, only
shorter and without a button; very wide trousers, the shirt over
them (as with all common Russians), and the end of their trousers
tucked into their high boots. Such is the uniformed Mujik
(peasant). This dress is national, becoming and useful. The men
can wear their furs (which are here indispensable) underneath;
and I will venture to say that the entire Russian infantry will
adopt a similar costume. "_Les proverbes sont l'esprit des
peuples_," and the national dress is the result of the experience
of centuries in regard to what is becoming and appropriate.
The Austrian uniform is white in Moravia and brown in the Banat,
because the sheep there are of that color. The Spaniard wears the
tabarra, as he receives the material from the goat. The Arabian is
white from head to foot, because the heat of his climate requires it;
and the Mujik does not wear his caftan from caprice, but because it
suits him best.
The Emperor's cortège is truly imposing--about five hundred horses.
If I only had a better memory for persons and names! I have made the
acquaintance of a number of interesting men; that is, I have been
presented to them: Prince Gortschakoff, Lueders, Berg, and
Osten-Sacken, who commanded in the last war; Orloff, Mentschikoff,
Alderberg, Liewen, the Governor of Siberia, and the commandant of the
Caucasus; then a lot of aides-de-camp, the foreign princes, and their
suites.