DEPARTURE FOR THE CRIMEA—BALACLAVA—VISIT TO THE MONASTERY OF ST. GEORGE—SEVASTOPOL—THE IMPERIAL FLEET.
DEPARTURE FOR THE CRIMEA—BALACLAVA—VISIT TO THE MONASTERY OF ST. GEORGE—SEVASTOPOL—THE IMPERIAL FLEET.
After a winter spent in the pleasures of repose, we left Odessa at the end of April to visit the Crimea, on board theJulia, a handsome brig, owned and commanded by M. Taitbout de Marigny. Our departure was extremely brilliant. The two cannons of theJulia, and those of theLittle Mary, that was to sail in company with us, announced to the whole town that we were about to weigh anchor. Our passage could not fail to be agreeable under such a captain as ours. M. Taitbout de Marigny, consul of the Netherlands, joins to the varied acquirements of the man of science all the accomplishments of the artist and man of the world.
The voyage was very short, but full of chances and incidents; we had sea-sickness, squalls, clear moonlight nights, and a little of all the pains and pleasures of the sea. On the second morning, the sun shining brightly, we began to discern the coast of that land, surnamed inhospitable by the ancients, by reason of the horrible custom of its inhabitants to massacre every stranger whom chance or foul weather led thither. The woes of Orestes alone would suffice to render the Tauris celebrated. Who is there that has not been moved by that terrible and pathetic drama, of which the brother and sister were the hero and heroine on this desert shore! As soon as I could distinguish the line of rocks that vaguely marked the horizon, I began to look for Cape Parthenike, on which traditionplaces the temple of the goddess of whom Iphigenia was the priestess, and where she was near immolating her brother. With the captain's aid I at last descried on a point of rock at a great distance from us a solitary chapel, which I was informed was dedicated to the Virgin. What a contrast between the gentle worship of Mary and that of the sanguinary Taura, who exacted for offerings not the simple prayers andex votoof the mariner, but human victims! All this part of the coast is sterile and desert: a wall of rock extended before us, and seemed to shut us out from the peninsula so often conquered and ravaged by warlike and commercial nations. Richly endowed by nature, the Tauris, Chersonese, or Crimea, has always been coveted by the people of Europe and Asia. Pastoral nations have contended for possession of its mountains; commercial nations for its ports and its renowned Bosphorus; warlike peoples have pitched their tents amid its magnificent valleys; all have coveted a footing on that soil, to which Greek civilisation has attached such brilliant memories.
During a part of the day the wind was contrary, and obliged us to make short tacks in view of the rocky wall; but at four o'clock a change of wind allowed the brig to approach the coast. The sea was like a magnificent basin reflecting in its transparent waters the great calcareous masses that overhung it. It was a fine spectacle; but our captain's serious expression of countenance, and the intentness with which he watched the sails, and directed the manœuvres, plainly showed that our situation was one of difficulty, if not of danger. A boat was manned and sent off to explore the coast, and as its white sail gleamed at a distance in the sun, it looked like a seabird in search of its nest in the hollow of some rock. TheLittle Maryimitated all our evolutions, skimming over the waves like a sea swallow. She shortened her trip at every tack, and kept closer and closer to us; and our captain's face grew more and more grave, until all at once to our great surprise the rock opened before us like a scene in a theatre, and afforded us a passage which two vessels could not have entered abreast. Having got fairly through the channel, M. Taitbout was himself again. This entrance he told us is very dangerous in stormy weather, and often impracticable even when the wind is but moderately fresh. The scene, however, on which it opens is extremely beautiful. The port is surrounded with mountains, the highest of which still bear traces of the old Genoese dominion, and in front of the entrance is the pretty Greek town of Balaclava, with its balconied houses and trees rising in terraces one above the other. A ruined fortress overlooks the town: from that elevated point the Genoese, once masters of this whole coast, scanned the sea like birds of prey, and woe to the foreign vessels tempest driven within their range! Balaclava, with its Greek population, its girdle of rocks, and its mild climate, resembles those little towns of the Archipelago that are seen specking the horizon as one sails towards Constantinople.
While we remained on board waiting for the completion of the custom-house formalities, we were entertained with the most picturesque and animated scene imaginable. It was Sunday, and the whole population was scattered over the shore and the adjoining heights. Groups of sailors, Arnaouts, and girls as gracefully formed as those of the Grecian isles, were ascending the steep path to the fortress, or were dancing to the shrill music of a balalaika. All the balconies were filled with spectators, who were busy, no doubt, discussing the apparition of a brig in their port; for the trade of Balaclava, so flourishing under the Genoese, is now fallen to such a degree that the arrival of a single vessel is an event for the whole town.
Balaclava, the Cembalo of the Genoese, is now the humble capital of a little Greek colony founded in the reign of Catherine II., and now numbering several villages with 600 families. During her wars with the Porte, the empress thought of appealing to the national sentiments of the Greeks, and their hatred of the Turks. The result answered her expectations, and Russia soon had a large naval force that displayed the most signal bravery in all its encounters with the enemy. When the campaign against Turkey was ended, the Greek auxiliaries took part in the military operations in the Crimea; and after the conquest of the peninsula, they were employed in suppressing the revolts of the Tatars, and striking terror into them by the sanguinary cruelty of their expeditions. It was at that period the Mussulmans of the Crimea gave them the name of Arnaouts, which they have retained ever since.
The peninsula having been finally subjugated, the Greeks were formed into a regimental colony, with the town and territory of Balaclava for their residence. They now number 600 fighting men, who are only employed in guarding the coasts. The colonist is only liable to be called out for active service during four months in the year; the other eight he has at his own disposal for the cultivation of his lands. Each soldier has twenty-eight rubles yearly pay, and finds his own equipment.
The day after our arrival at Balaclava we made a boating excursion to examine the geology of the coast, and landed in a beautiful little cove lined with flowering trees and shrubs. On our return the boatmen made themselves coronals of hawthorn and blossoming apple sprays, and decorated the boat with garlands of the same, and in this festive style we made our entry into Balaclava. In our poetic enthusiasm as we looked on the lovely sky, the placid sea, and the Greek mariners, who thus retained on a foreign shore, and after the lapse of so many centuries, the cheerful customs of their ancestors, we could not help comparing ourselves to one of the numerous deputations that used every year to enter the Pyræus, with their vessels' prows festooned with flowers, to take part in the brilliant festivals of Athens.
We bade adieu that day to our excellent friend M. Taitbout de Marigny, who continued his cruise to Ialta, where we were again tomeet him. We set out for the convent of St. George, our minds filled with classical reminiscences, which fortified us to endure the horrible bumping of our pereclatnoi. This vehicle is a sort of low four-wheeled cart, so narrow as barely to accommodate two persons, who have nothing to sit on but boxes and packages laid on a great heap of hay. It is no easy matter to keep one's balance on such a seat, especially when the frail equipage is galloped along from post to post at the full speed of three stout horses. Yet this is the manner in which most Russians travel, and often for a week together, day and night.
The road from Balaclava to the monastery presents no striking features; it runs over a vast plateau, as barren as the steppes. A little before sunset we were quite close to the convent, but saw nothing indicative of its existence, and were, therefore, not a little surprised when the driver jumped down and told us to alight. We thought he was making game of us, when he led the way into an arched passage, but when we reached the further end a cry of admiration escaped our lips, as we beheld the monastery with its cells backed against the rock, its green-domed church, its terraces and blooming gardens, suspended several hundred feet above the sea. Long did we remain wrapt in contemplation of the magic effect produced by man's labour on a scene that looked in its savage and contorted aspect as if it had been destined only to be the domain of solitude.
The Russian and Greek monasteries are far from displaying the monumental appearance of the western convents. They consist only of a group of small houses of one story, built without symmetry, and with nothing about them denoting the austere habits of a religious community. Those poetic souls who find such food for meditation in the long galleries of the cloisters, could not easily be reconciled to such a disregard for form. The monks received us not like Christians, but like downright pagans. The bishop, for whom we had letters, happening to be absent, we fell into the hands of two or three surly-looking friars, whose dirty dress and red faces indicated habits any thing but monastic. They confined us in a disgustingly filthy hole, where a few crazy chairs, two or three rough planks on tressels, and a nasty candle stuck in a bottle, were all the accommodation we obtained from their munificence. Our dragoman could not even get coals to boil the kettle without paying for it double what it was worth. When we remonstrated with the monks their invariable answer was, that they were not bound to provide us with any thing but the bare furniture of the table. Such was their notion of the duties of hospitality.
With our bones aching from the pereclatnoi we were obliged to content ourselves with a few cups of tea by way of supper, and to lie down on the execrable planks they had the assurance to call a bed. Fortunately, the bishop returned next day, and we got a cleaner room, mattresses, pillows, plenty to eat, and more respectfultreatment on the part of the monks; but all this could not reconcile us to men who had such a curious way of practising the precepts of the gospel. The few days we spent among them were enough to enable us to judge of the degree of ignorance and moral degradation in which they live. Religion which, in default of instruction, ought at least to mould their souls to the Christian virtues, and to love of their neighbours, has no influence over them. They do not understand it, and their gross instincts find few impediments in the statutes of their order. Sloth, drunkenness, and fanaticism, stand them instead of faith, love, and charity.
The great steepness of this part of the coast renders the descent to the sea extremely difficult. We tried it, however, and with a good deal of hard work we scrambled down to the beach, which is here only a few yards wide. Magnificent volcanic rocks form in this place a natural colonnade, the base of which is constantly washed by the sea, whilst every craggy point is tenanted by marine birds, the only living creatures to be seen.
On our return to the convent we found it full of beggars who had come for the annual festival that was to be held on the day but one following. Cake and fruit-sellers, gipsies and Tatars, had set up their booths and tents on the plateau; every thing betokened that the solemnity would be very brilliant, but we had not the curiosity to wait for it. We set out that evening for Stavropol, glad to get away from a convent in which hospitality is not bestowed freely, but sold.
On leaving the monastery we proceeded first of all in the direction of Cape Khersonese, the most western point of this classic land, where flourished, for more than twelve centuries, the celebrated colony of Kherson, founded by the Heracleans 600 yearsB. C.At present the only remains of all its greatness are a few heaps of shapeless stones; and strange to relate, the people who put the last hand to the destruction of whatever had escaped the barbarian invasions and the Mussulman sway, was the same whose conversion to Christianity in the person of the Grand Duke Vladimir, was celebrated by Kherson in 988. When the Russians entered the Crimea some considerable architectural remains were still standing, among which were the principal gate of the town and its two towers, and a large portion of the walls; besides which there were shafts and capitals of columns, numerous inscriptions and three churches of the Lower Empire, half buried under the soil. But Muscovite vandalism quickly swept away all these remains. A quarantine establishment for the new port of Sevastopol was constructed on the site of the ancient Heraclean town, and all the existing vestiges of its monuments were rapidly demolished and carried away stone by stone; and but for the direct interference of the Emperor Alexander, who caused a few inscriptions to be deposited in the museum of Nicolaief, there would be nothing remaining in our day to attest the existence of one of the most opulent cities of the northern coasts of the Black Sea.
At a short distance from Cape Khersonese begins that succession of ports which render this point of the Crimea so important to Russia; one of them is Sevastopol, whence the imperial fleet commands the whole of the Black Sea, and incessantly threatens the existence of the sultan's empire. Between Cape Khersonese and the Sevastopol roads which comprise three important ports, there are six distinct bays running inland parallel to each other. First come the Double Bay (Dvoinaia) and the Bay of the Cossack (Cozatchaia), between which the Heracleans founded their first establishment, no trace of which now exists. Then comes the Round Bay (Kruglaia), that of the Butts (Strelezkaia), and that of the Sands (Pestchannaia). These five are all abandoned, and are only used by vessels driven by stress of weather to seek shelter in them. It was in the space between the Bay of the Sands and that more to the west where the quarantine is established, that the celebrated Kherson once stood.
A little beyond the quarantine cove, the traveller discovers Sevastopol, situated on the slope of a hill between Artillery and South bays, the first two ports on the right hand as you enter the main roads. The position of the town thus built in an amphitheatre, renders its whole plan discernible at one view, and gives it a very grand appearance from a distance. Its barracks and stores, the extensive buildings of the admiralty, the numerous churches, and vast ship-building docks and yards, attest the importation of this town, the creation of which dates only from the arrival of the Russians in the Crimea. The interior, though not quite corresponding to the brilliant panorama it presents from a distance, is yet worthy of the great naval station. The streets are large, the houses handsome, and the population, in consequence of an imperial ukase which excludes the Jews from its territory, is much less repulsive than that of Odessa, Kherson, Iekaterinoslav, &c.
The port of Sevastopol is unquestionably one of the most remarkable in Europe. It owes all its excellence to nature, which has here, without the aid of art, provided a magnificent roadstead with ramifications, forming so many basins admirably adapted for the requirements of a naval station. The whole of this noble harbour may be seen at once from the upper part of the town. The great roadstead first attracts attention. It lies east and west, stretching seven kilometres (four miles and three-quarters) inland, with a mean breadth of 1000 yards, and serves as a station for all the active part of the fleet. It forms the medium of communication between Sevastopol and the interior of the peninsula. The northern shore presents only a line of cliffs of no interest, but on the southern shore the eye is detained by the fine basins formed there by nature. To the east, at the very foot of the hill on which the town stands, is South Bay, in length upwards of 3000 mètres, and completely sheltered by high limestone cliffs. It is here the vessels are rigged and unrigged; and here, too, lies a long range of pontoons andvessels past service, some of which are converted into magazines, and others into lodgings for some thousand convicts who are employed in the works of the arsenal. Among these numerous veterans of a naval force that is almost always idle, the traveller beholds with astonishment the colossal ship, theParis, formerly mounting 120 guns, and which was, down to 1829, the finest vessel in the imperial fleet.
Beyond South Bay, and communicating with it, is the little creek in which the government is constructing the most considerable works of the port, and has been engaged for many years in forming an immense dock with five distinct basins, capable of accommodating three ships of the line and two frigates, while simultaneously undergoing repairs. The original plan for this great work was devised by M. Raucourt, a French engineer, who estimated the total cost at about 6,000,000 rubles. The magnitude of this sum alarmed the government, but at the instance of Count Voronzof, they accepted the proposals of an English engineer, who asked only 2,500,000, and promised to complete the whole within five years. The work was begun on the 17th of June, 1832; but when we visited Sevastopol, some years after the first stone had been laid, the job was not half finished, and the expenses already exceeded 9,000,000 rubles. The execution of the basins seems, however, to be very far from corresponding to the enormous expenses they have already occasioned, and it is strange, indeed, that a weak and friable limestone should have been employed in hydraulic constructions of such importance. The angles of the walls, it is true, are of granite or porphyry, but this odd association of heterogeneous materials conveys, in itself, the severest condemnation of the mode of construction which has been adopted.
Highly favoured as is the port of Sevastopol with regard to the form and the security of its bays, it yet labours under very serious inconveniences. The waters swarm with certain worms that attack the ships' bottoms, and often make them unserviceable in two or three years. To avoid this incurable evil, the government determined to fill the basins with fresh water, by changing the course of the little river, Tchernoi Retchka, which falls into the head of the main gulf. Three aqueducts and two tunnels, built like the rest of the works in chalk, and forming part of the artificial channel, were nearly completed in 1841; but about that period the engineers endured a very sad discomfiture, it being then demonstrated that the worms they wanted to get rid of were produced by nothing else than the muddy waters which the Tchernoi Retchka pours into the harbour.[67]
Artillery Bay, which bounds the town on the west, is used only by trading vessels. This and Careening Bay, the most eastern of all, are not inferior in natural advantages to the two others we havebeen speaking of; but we have nothing more particular to mention respecting them.
After discussing the harbours and the works belonging to them, we are naturally led to glance at the war-fleet, and the famous fortifications of which the Russians are so proud, and which they regard as a marvel of modern art. In 1831, when the July revolution was threatening to upset the wholestatus quoof Europe, a London journal stated in an article on the Black Sea and Southern Russia, that nothing could be easier than for a few well-appointed vessels to set fire to the imperial fleet in the port of Sevastopol. The article alarmed the emperor's council to the highest degree, and orders were immediately issued for the construction of immense defensive works.
Four new forts were constructed, making a total of eleven batteries. Forts Constantine and Alexander were erected for the defence of the great harbour, the one on the north, the other on the west side of Artillery Bay; and the Admiralty and the Paul batteries were to play on vessels attempting to enter South Bay, or Ships' Bay. These four forts, consisting each of three tiers of batteries, and each mounting from 250 to 300 pieces of artillery, constitute the chief defences of the place, and appear, at first sight, truly formidable. But here again, the reality does not correspond with the outer appearance, and we are of opinion that all these costly batteries are more fitted to astonish the vulgar in time of peace, than to awe the enemy in war. In the first place their position at some height above the level of the sea, and their three stories appear to us radically bad, and practical men will agree with us that a hostile squadron might make very light of the three tiers of guns which, when pointed horizontally, could, at most, only hit the rigging of the ships. The internal arrangements struck us as equally at variance with all the rules of military architecture: each story consists of a suite of rooms opening one upon the other, and communicating by a small door, with an outer gallery that runs the whole length of the building. All these rooms, in which the guns are worked, are so narrow, and the ventilation is so ill-contrived, that we are warranted by our own observation in asserting that a few discharges would make it extremely difficult for the artillerymen to do their duty. But a still more serious defect than those we have named, and one which endangers the whole existence of the works, consists in the general system adopted for their construction.
Here the improvidence of the government has been quite as great as with regard to the dock basins: for the imperial engineers have thought proper to employ small pieces of coarse limestone in the masonry of three-storied batteries, mounting from 250 to 300 guns. The works, too, have been constructed with so little care, and the dimensions of the walls and arches are so insufficient, that it is easy to see at a glance, that all these batteries must inevitably be shaken to pieces whenever their numerous artillery shall be brought into play. The trials that have been made in Fort Constantine, have alreadydemonstrated the correctness of this opinion, wide rents having been there occasioned in the walls by a few discharges.
Finally, all the forts labour under the disadvantage of being utterly defenceless on the land side. Thinking only of attacks by sea, the government has quite overlooked the great facility with which an enemy may land on any part of the coast of the Khersonese. So, besides that the batteries are totally destitute of artillery and ditches on the land side, the town itself is open on all points, and is not defended by a single redoubt. We know not what works have been planned or executed since 1841; but at the period of our visit a force of some thousand men, aided by a maritime demonstration, would have had no sort of difficulty in forcing their way into the interior of the place, and setting fire to the fleet and the arsenals.
We have now to speak of the offensive strength of the Port of Sevastopol, that famous fleet always in readiness to sail against Constantinople. The effective of the Black Sea fleet, in 1841, was as follows:—
Ships of the line13, 2 of 120 guns, the rest of 84Frigates6 mounting 60 gunsCorvettes6 mounting 20 gunsBrigs10 mounting 10 to 20 gunsSchooners5Cutters10Steamers5Tenders25
The largest tenders are of 750 tons' burden, the smallest thirty. The crews, making together fourteen battalions, ought to be 14,000 strong. But we know that in Russia official figures are always much higher than the reality. We think we cannot be far wrong in setting down the actual strength at 6000 or 8000 men.
Like every thing else in Russia, the ships of war look very imposing at first sight, but will not bear a very close scrutiny. After what we have stated respecting the venality of the administrative departments, it is easy to conceive the malversations that must abound in the naval arsenals. In vain may the government lavish its money and order the purchase of the needful materials; its intentions are sure to be baffled by the corruption and rapacity of its servants. The vessels are generally built of worthless materials, and there is no kind of peculation but is practised in their construction. We have mentioned theParisas an instance of the short duration of Russian ships: and all the vessels of the same period are in nearly as bad a plight. A single cruise has been enough to make them unserviceable. We must, however, admit that the naval boards are not alone to blame for this rapid destruction. According to the information we have received, it appears that the ships are built generally of pine or fir; but every one knows that these kinds of wood, produced in moist places and low bottoms, cannot possess the solidity required in naval architecture.
Before quitting Sevastopol we made an excursion to the head of the great bay, to visit the remains of a once celebrated town, of which nothing now remains but some ruins known under the name Inkermann. We explored with some interest a long suite of crypts, some of which seem to belong to the remotest antiquity, while others evidently date from the Lower Empire. Among the latter we particularly noticed a large chapel, excavated wholly in the rock, and presenting in its interior all the characteristics of the Byzantine churches. Above all these subterraneous edifices, on the highest part of the rocks, stand some fragments of walls, the sole remains of the castle and town that formerly crowned those heights. The ruins appear to occupy the site of the ancient Eupatorion of Strabo, which afterwards, under the name of Theodori, became the seat of a little Greek principality dependent on the Lower Empire. It was taken by the Turks in 1475, and soon afterwards totally destroyed.
[67]See notes at the end of the volume.
[67]See notes at the end of the volume.
BAGTCHE SERAI—HISTORICAL REVOLUTIONS OF THE CRIMEA—THE PALACE OF THE KHANS—COUNTESS POTOCKI.
BAGTCHE SERAI—HISTORICAL REVOLUTIONS OF THE CRIMEA—THE PALACE OF THE KHANS—COUNTESS POTOCKI.
After our excursion to Inkermann we left Sevastopol the same day, glad to quit the Russians and their naval capital for Bagtche Serai, that ancient city, which previously to the Muscovite conquest might still vie in power and opulence with the great cities of the East. Even now, though much decayed, Bagtche Serai is the most interesting town in the Crimea.
The road which leads to it runs parallel with a mountain chain, and commands very beautiful scenery, which we beheld in all the fresh luxuriance of May. The hills and valleys were clothed with forests of peach, almond, apple, and apricot trees in full blossom, and the south wind came to us loaded with their fragrance. We had many a flying glimpse of landscapes we would willingly have paused to admire in detail, but the pereclatnoi whirled us along, and towns, hillsides, winding brooks, farms, meadows, and Tatar villages shot past us with magic rapidity.
Notwithstanding a temperature of 25° Reaumer, the day appeared to us very short. Yet we were impatient to see Bagtche Serai, its palace and its fountains which have been sung by Pushkin, the Russian nightingale; and this impatience, which increased as we approached our journey's end, prevented us from visiting different spots which less hasty travellers would not have disdained. Every mountain, valley, or village has some peculiar interest of its own. There were aqueducts, old bridges, and half-ruined towers in everydirection to tell of an ancient civilisation; but all these interested us less, perhaps, than the modest dwelling in which Pallas long resided, and where he ended his days.
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, andtreacherous 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 exteriordisplays 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 carriedher 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 aman 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 Karaïmes or Karaïtes. 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 untilA.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 Karaïtes 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 Karaïtes 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 Karaïtes 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 ofoverhanging 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 Karaïtes 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 Karaïte 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 rockhave 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.