[68]Tchoufout Kaleh, formerly called Kirkov, was for a long series of years the residence of the khans, until Mengle Gherai quitted it for Bagtche Serai, in 1475.
[68]Tchoufout Kaleh, formerly called Kirkov, was for a long series of years the residence of the khans, until Mengle Gherai quitted it for Bagtche Serai, in 1475.
SIMPHEROPOL—KAKOLEZ—VISIT TO PRINCESS ADEL BEY—EXCURSION TO MANGOUP KALEH.
SIMPHEROPOL—KAKOLEZ—VISIT TO PRINCESS ADEL BEY—EXCURSION TO MANGOUP KALEH.
Under the Tatars Simpheropol was the second town of the Crimea, and the residence of the Kalga Sultan, whose functions were nearly equivalent to those of vice-khan. He exercised the regency of the country on the death of the khan, until his successor was nominated by the Porte. The Kalga's court was composed of the same functionaries as that of Bagtche Serai, and his authority extended over all the regions north of the Crimea mountains. Simpheropol was then adorned with palaces, mosques, and fine gardens, few traces of which now remain. The tortuous streets, high walls, and rose thickets of the old city, have given place to the cold monotony of the Russian towns. It is the capital of the government of the Crimea, with a population of about 8000 souls, of whom 1700 are Russians, 5000 Tatars, 400 strangers, and 900 gipsies. Its plan is large enough to comprise ten times as many houses as it possesses; but, at least, it retains its Salghir, the banks of which are covered with the finest orchards in the Crimea. But instead of building the new town in the valley, it has been set at the top of a great plateau where its few houses and its disproportionately wide streets present no kind of character. It is with extreme pleasure, therefore, that after wandering through the streets in which the sun's rays beat down without any thing to break their force, one finds himself under the cool verdant shades that fringe the Salghir, with the pretty country houses that peep out from the orchards.
We made many excursions in the vicinity, and were above all pleased with the beautiful landscapes in the valley of the Alma. In a ride on horseback to visit some rocks of an interesting geological character, we crossed the river eighteen times in the space of threehours: this may afford an idea of the multitude of meanders it makes before continuing its course to the Black Sea.
Bagtche Serai being on the road to Karolez, we could not resist the pleasure of once more seeing its delightful palace. We passed the evening in one of the large galleries, admiring the magic appearance of the buildings and gardens by moonlight. The deep stillness of the place; the mysterious aspect of the principal edifice, one part of which was completely in the shade, whilst the other, with its coloured windows and its open balconies, received the full rays of the moon; the masses of foliage in the gardens, and the melancholy sounds of the fountain; all this accompanied by the imaginative relations of our eccentric friend, the major, made an indelible impression on our minds.
At Bagtche Serai we finally exchanged the pereclatnoi for Tatar horses, the serviceable qualities of which had commended themselves to us in many trials. Our cavalcade made a grotesque appearance as we rode out of the palace. For my own part I looked oddly enough, perched on an enormously high Tatar saddle in my Caspian costume, with my parasol in my hand. Hommaire wore with Oriental gravity the Persian cap, the girdle and the weapons, to which he had become accustomed in his long wanderings. But the queerest figure of all was our dragoman. Half-a-dozen leather bags containing provisions dangled at his horse's flanks; my poor straw bonnet, which I had been obliged to abandon for a round hat, hung at the pummel of his saddle, and in addition to all this accoutrement he carried in his hand a large white canvass umbrella to screen him from the sun. Two Tatar horsemen followed us, carrying likewise their contingent of baggage.
After some hours' riding through a lovely country, intersected with streams, valleys, and numerous orchards, we arrived in the evening at Karolez, a Tatar village, lost among mountains, in the valley of the same name, which is one of the most delightful spots in the beautiful Crimea, so rich in picturesque scenes.
Though it does not belong to the southern coast, and consequently has no maritime traffic, Karolez, nevertheless, possesses a romantic attraction, which every year brings to it numerous visitors. This is owing to its vicinity to Mangoup Kaleh, the abundance of its waters, the mountains that encompass the valley with a line of battlemented walls, as if Nature had been pleased in a sportive mood to imitate art, whilst yet retaining her own more majestic proportions; and, lastly, the merit of belonging to the Princess Adel Bey, whose beauty, though invisible has inspired many a poet.
I had taken care before leaving Simpheropol to furnish myself with a letter from the governor to the princess, in order to obtain an interview which might enable me to judge whether the beauty of this Tatar lady and her daughters was as great as fame reported. The question had been often agitated since our arrival in the Crimea; it may, therefore, be imagined how desirous I was to resolve it. But inspite of my letter of introduction, my admission to the palace was still very problematical. Many Russian ladies had tried in vain to enter it; for the princess, while exercising the noblest hospitality, was seldom disposed to satisfy the curiosity of her guests. Though the law of Mahomet respecting the seclusion of women is less rigidly observed among the Tatars of the Crimea than among the Turks of Constantinople, rich ladies do not often pass the threshold of their own dwellings, and when they do they are always closely veiled.
One of my friends from Simpheropol, who had proceeded the day before to the princess's, having giving notice of our coming, we were received in the most brilliant style. The guest house was prepared with the ostentation which the Orientals are fond of displaying on all occasions. A double line of servants of all ages was drawn up in the vestibule when we dismounted; and one of the oldest and most richly dressed ushered us into a saloon arranged in the fashion of the East, with gaily painted walls and red silk divans that reminded us of the delightful rooms in the palace of the khans. The princess's son, an engaging boy of twelve years of age, who spoke Russian very well, attached himself to us, obligingly translated our orders to the domestics, and took care that we wanted for nothing. I gave him my letter, which he immediately carried to his mother, and soon afterwards he came and told me, to my great satisfaction, that she would receive me when she had finished her toilette. In the eagerness of my curiosity I now counted every minute, until an officer, followed by an old woman in a veil, came to introduce me into the mysterious palace of which I had as yet seen only the lofty outer wall.
My husband, as arranged between us beforehand, attempted to follow us, and seeing that no impediment was offered, he stepped without ceremony through the little door into the park, crossed the latter, boldly ascended a terrace adjoining the palace, and, at last, found himself, not without extreme surprise at his good fortune, in a little room that seemed to belong to the princess's private apartments. Until then no male stranger except Count Voronzof had ever entered the palace; the flattering and unexpected exception which the princess made in favour of my husband, might, therefore, lead us to hope that her complaisance would not stop there. But we were soon undeceived. The officer who had ushered us into the palace, after having treated us to iced water, sweetmeats and pipes, took my husband by the hand, and led him out of the room with very significant celerity. He had no sooner disappeared than a curtain was raised at the end of the room, and a woman of striking beauty entered, dressed in a rich costume. She advanced to me with an air of remarkable dignity, took both my hands, kissed me on the two cheeks, and sat down beside me, making me many demonstrations of friendship. She wore a great deal of rouge; her eyelids were painted black and met over the nose, giving her countenance a certain sternness, that, nevertheless, did not destroy its pleasing effect. A furred velvet vest fitted tight to her still elegant figure.Altogether her appearance surpassed what I had conceived of her beauty. We spent a quarter of an hour closely examining each other, and interchanging as well as we could a few Russian words that very insufficiently conveyed our thoughts. But in such cases, looks supply the deficiencies of speech, and mine must have told the princess with what admiration I beheld her. Hers, I must confess, in all humility, seemed to express much more surprise than admiration at my travelling costume. What would I not have given to know the result of her purely feminine analysis of my appearance! I was even crossed in thistête-à-têteby a serious scruple of conscience for having presented myself before her in male attire, which must have given her a strange notion of the fashions of Europe.
Notwithstanding my desire to prolong my visit in hopes of seeing her daughters, the fear of appearing intrusive prompted me to take my leave; but checking me with a very graceful gesture, she said eagerly "Pastoy, Pastoy" (stay, stay), and clapped her hands several times. A young girl entered at the signal, and by her mistress's orders threw open a folding door, and immediately I was struck dumb with surprise and admiration by a most brilliant apparition. Imagine, reader, the most exquisite sultanas of whom poetry and painting have ever tried to convey an idea, and still your conception will fall far short of the enchanting models I had then before me. There were three of them, all equally beautiful and graceful. Two were clad in tunics of crimson brocade, adorned in front with broad gold lace. The tunics were open and disclosed beneath them cashmere robes, with very tight sleeves terminating in gold fringes. The youngest wore a tunic of azure blue brocade, with silver ornaments: this was the only difference between her dress and that of her sisters. All three had magnificent black hair escaping in countless tresses from a fez of silver filigree, set like a diadem over their ivory foreheads; they wore gold embroidered slippers and wide trousers drawn close at the ankle.
I had never beheld skins so dazzlingly fair, eyelashes so long, or so delicate a bloom of youth. The calm repose that sat on the countenances of these lovely creatures, had never been disturbed by any profane glance. No look but their mother's had ever told them they were beautiful; and this thought gave them an inexpressible charm in my eyes. It is not in our Europe, where women, exposed to the gaze of crowds, so soon addict themselves to coquetry, that the imagination could conceive such a type of beauty. The features of our young girls are too soon altered by the vivacity of their impressions, to allow the eye of the artist to discover in them that divine charm of purity and ignorance with which I was so struck in beholding my Tatar princesses. After embracing me they retired to the end of the room where they remained standing in those graceful Oriental attitudes which no woman in Europe could imitate. A dozen attendants muffled in white muslin, were gathered round thedoor, gazing with respectful curiosity. Their profiles, shown in relief on a dark ground, added to the picturesque character of the scene. This delightful vision lasted an hour. When the princess saw that I was decided on going away, she signified to me by signs that I should go and see the garden; but though grateful to her for this further mark of attention, I preferred immediately rejoining my husband, being impatient to relate to him all the details of this interview, with which I was completely dazzled.
Next morning we set out on horseback for Mangoup Kaleh, a mountain renowned throughout the country, and of which the inhabitants never speak but with veneration. Goths, Turks, and Tatars have been by turns its possessors. Owing to its almost impregnable position, it has played an important part in all the revolutions of the Crimea. The town of Mangoup, which appears to have been the residence of the Gothic princes, was formerly a very considerable place. It had a bishop in 754. The Turks took it and put a garrison in it in 1745. Twenty years afterwards it was entirely burnt down. The khans of the Crimea next took possession of it, and let it gradually fall into decay. At the close of the last century, the population of this ancient town still consisted of some Karaïte families; at present there remains no other trace of their existence than the tombs spread over the mountain side.
For three hours we ascended the mountain by scarcely marked bridle roads, astonished at the confidence with which our horses walked up those steep slopes where there seemed hardly any hold for their feet. But the horses of the Crimea are wonderfully surefooted, and if they can set down their feet anywhere, it is alike to them whether it is on a smooth plain or on the verge of a precipice. Here, as at Tchoufout Kaleh, the mountain was covered with tombs; but these bore inscriptions in Tatar as well as Hebrew, showing that this deserted soil had formerly been trodden by more than one people. The ascent ended at a broad triangular plateau on the summit of the mountain, where the town once stood. It is now a barren spot, strewed all over with ruins. Two sides of the plateau are perpendicular; the third was defended by a fortress, part of which is still standing.
Every thing on this mountain wears a grand and melancholy character. Desolation has long taken it for its domain. Nothing meets the eye but ruins, tombs, and a naked soil. And yet, notwithstanding the stern aspect of the place, it does not fill the soul with the same feelings of painful awe as Tchoufout Kaleh. This is because the ancient town of the Karaïtes, all mutilated as it is by time and events, still retains a semblance of existence, and this alliance between life and death necessarily impresses the mind with a superstitious dread. At Mangoup Kaleh all human traces have been too long effaced to awaken painful thoughts. There one thinks not so much of men as of remote epochs, of the great events and numerous revolutions of which this rock has been the theatre.
The façade of the fortress has withstood the slow attacks of time, though full of cracks, and the lofty walls appear still from a distance to protect Mangoup Kaleh. Herds of Tatar horses graze in complete freedom on the plateau, and drink from a large reservoir supplied by a spring that never fails in any season. As we were exploring the interior of what must have been the citadel, we came upon a clump of lilacs in full bloom among the ruins. I cannot tell the impression made on me by those flowers thus unfolding their sweets under the dew of Heaven far from every human eye. Besides the fortress we found another edifice partly spared by time. Its construction and the graves about it showed it to be an old Christian church. The chancel was in tolerably good preservation, and even the windows had not suffered much dilapidation.
The view from Mangoup Kaleh is very extensive and varied. On the one side is the sea with its islands and capes, its vessels, and Sevastopol, which can be distinctly perceived in clear weather. To the west, magnificent orchards, vine-clad hills, and broad meadows, intersected with streams, stretch away as far as the eye can reach in the direction of Simpheropol; then, at the foot of the mountain, the valley of Karolez, its forests, its rocky girdle, its Tatar village, and the palace of the princess Adel Bey, disclosing its Moorish architecture from behind a screen of poplars.
At the earnest recommendation of our guides, I ventured to explore some grottoes hollowed in the rock, the descent to which is rather difficult and dangerous. There are about a dozen of them opening one into the other, and separated only by shapeless pillars. The Tatars could give us no sort of explanation as to these subterraneous chambers. They seem like those of Inkermann to belong to very remote antiquity, but their origin and history are quite unknown.
ROAD TO BAIDAR—THE SOUTHERN COAST; GRAND SCENERY—MISKHOR AND ALOUPKA—PREDILECTION OF THE GREAT RUSSIAN NOBLES FOR THE CRIMEA.
ROAD TO BAIDAR—THE SOUTHERN COAST; GRAND SCENERY—MISKHOR AND ALOUPKA—PREDILECTION OF THE GREAT RUSSIAN NOBLES FOR THE CRIMEA.
The country we passed over, next day, on our way to the southern coast, had a wild sylvan appearance strikingly in contrast with what we had hitherto seen. Between the valley of Karolez and that of Baidar near the coast, lies a chain of mountains with deep gorges filled with forests. Sometimes the road passed along the bottom of one of these gorges, where we were constantly obstructed by watercourses and thickets; sometimes we pursued a track barely discernible along the flank of the mountain, and then the summits of the hills that had seemed so high when we looked up tothem from below, were hidden beneath us in dense vapours. At last, by dint of ascending and descending, we reached the wide plain of Baidar, with the village in its centre. Early next morning we were again on horseback, and breathing with delight the wild odours exhaled by the still dewy forest.
Our road ascended gently to the culminating point of the mountain, and then we stood rooted for a while to the spot in admiration of the magnificent sea view that burst upon us. But our thoughts were suddenly called off in another direction by the music of a military band, and looking down we were surprised to see several groups of soldiers posted some hundred feet below the point where we stood. It was a whole regiment employed in making a new road between Sevastopol and Ialta. Some were blowing up rocks, and filling the air with something like the din and smoke of battle; others were busy round a great fire preparing the morning meal; the musicians were waking the mountain echoes with their martial strains, and the officers were lounging in front of a tent smoking their pipes.
When we had sufficiently indulged our admiration of the scene, we turned with some dismay to contemplate the descent before us. The mountain which we had found so gently sloping on the western side, here fell so precipitously that I could not imagine how our horses were to make their way down. For my part I thought it safest to alight and lead my horse. The band of the regiment, as if they had guessed we were French, saluted us with the overture of theFiancée. After we had already reached the seaside, we still heard that charming music, weakened by distance, but kindling our recollections of home in the most unexpected manner.
We spent some days at Moukhalatka, the residence of Colonel Olive, a Frenchman, formerly page to Louis XVIII., who entered the service of the Grand-duke Constantine shortly after the return of the Bourbons to France. Beyond Moukhalatka our way lay over mountains, the scenery of which partly compensated for the incessant toil of climbing up broken rocks, and passing through glens where we could only advance in single file. But with the exception of these difficulties, the whole journey to Aloupka was a continual enchantment. Talk of the isles of the Archipelago with their naked rocks! Here a luxuriant vegetation descends to the water's edge, and the coast everywhere presents an amphitheatre of forests, gardens, villages, and country houses, over which the eye wanders with delight. The almond, the cythesus, the wild chestnut, the Judas-tree, the olive, and the cypress, and all the vegetation of a southern clime, thrives there with a vigour that attests the potency of the sun. On our left we had gigantic masses towering vertically, sombre tints, and an inconceivable chaos of rocky fragments; on our right a brilliant mosaic bordered by the sea. But the beauty of the scenery about Aloupka is even still more striking. The eye takes in at once the majestic Tchatir Dagh, Cape Aïtodor,with its lighthouse, the Aiou Dagh, the brow of which, by a curious freak of nature, seems crowned with bastions and half-ruined towers, the Ai Petri, and the Megabi, with its gilded dome surmounted by a cross which was erected by the celebrated Princess Gallitzin, whose memory is still fresh in the Crimea. All these objects are clothed in a rich and varied garb of light such as belongs only to the warm atmosphere of southern lands.
Aristocracy has set its seal on this favoured portion of the coast. The change in the appearance of the roads indicates the neighbourhood of wealthy landowners. They have been made expressly for the dashing four-horse equipages that are continually traversing it. We observed that the limits of each estate were marked by a post bearing the blazonry of the proprietor.
We were most agreeably surprised in the neighbourhood of Aloupka, where we fell in on the road with our friend M. Marigny. In consequence of this welcome encounter we put off our visit to Aloupka to the next day, and proceeded with the consul to Mishkor, the estate of General Narishkin, adjoining that of Count Voronzof.
We were greatly pleased with this fine property, on the maintenance of which the general annually expends 100,000 francs. It comprises forests, a park, a château, a church, and a great number of ornamental buildings, that bespeak the exquisite taste of the proprietor. Mishkor has this great advantage, that its costly artificial arrangements are so well disguised under an appearance of rural simplicity, that one is almost tempted to attribute its perfections to the hand of nature.
The reverse is the case at Aloupka where art reigns supreme. This almost royal residence, which has excited the envy even of the Emperor Nicholas, has already cost Count Voronzof between 4,000,000 and 5,000,000 of francs, although it is not yet finished. All epochs and all styles are represented in its architecture and embellishments. Its lofty walls, its massive square tower and belfry, its vaulted passages and the mysterious aspect of its long galleries, give it a considerable resemblance to a feudal manor; but the Oriental style is exhibited in its small columns, its chimneys, and its profusion of pinnacles and domes. To justify the construction of such a porphyry château, the count should have been able to retrograde some centuries: in our own times such a dwelling is an anachronism. What is the use of such walls when there is no fear of being attacked by a neighbour? What is the use of those vaulted passages without men-at-arms to fill them? An old castle speaks to the imagination, recalling the chronicles, the fortunes and events connected with it, but a modern construction like this is a thing of no meaning. Its towers, battlements, and threatening walls seem a parody on the past. What have they seen? of what combats, feuds, loves, and revenges have they been witnesses?
In addition to this total want of fitness of character, the château has besides the grievous defect of being very disadvantageouslysituated. The coast is so narrow at this spot that there are but a few paces' breadth between the façade of the building and the sea, so that, in order to have a fair view of the whole, one must take a boat and put out from the shore until the proper point of view is found. Now it is not every one who will be disposed to take this trouble solely for the purpose of appreciating the effect of a façade.
The park displays a charming labyrinth of broken rocks, and a variety of natural picturesque and extraordinary features. Art has had nothing to do but to make paths and alleys between the accumulated volcanic masses, and to adorn the sides of the cascades with flowers. In the hollow of a rock there is a deep grotto with a little babbling spring, inviting to repose and meditation. At the eastern end of the château there is a lofty cypress wood, which the countess calls her Scutari.
The general aspect of this magnificent abode is too grave to delight the eye; we admire but do not covet it. The gigantic shadow of the Ai Petri, which hangs like a veil over the whole domain, adds still more to its sternness.
The reputation of the southern coast dates only from the arrival of Count Voronzof in the Crimea, previously to which no one thought of residing on it, except some speculators who were beginning to try the cultivation of the vine there. The count, who is a man of much taste, was at once struck with the beauty of the country, and soon became the purchaser of several estates in it. His example was followed by numbers of wealthy nobles whose eyes were immediately opened to the charms of the landscapes when once the count had proclaimed their attractions. Numerous villas were erected in the course of a few years along all the coast from Balaclava to Theodosia. A fleet of steamers was established, with the port of Ialta for their head quarters. The imperial family itself gave into the fashion and purchased Oreanda, one of the most beautiful sites on the coast; and many foreigners, infected by the prevailing fever, turned all they had into money and settled in the Crimea to cultivate the vine, a pursuit which Count Voronzof was then encouraging to the utmost of his power. But this was the reverse of the medal; most of them were ruined, and are now expiating in extreme poverty the cupidity with which they plunged into foolish enterprises.
Throughout its whole extent the coast presents only a narrow strip, seldom half a league wide, traversed by deep ravines, and backed by a range of calcareous cliffs that shelter it from the north wind. It is only on thisdetritusthat the handsomest domains are situated. Among these are Koutchouk Lampat, belonging to General Borosdine; Parthenit, where is still to be seen the great hazel under which the Prince de Ligne wrote to Catherine II.; Kisil Tasch, the proprietor of which bears a name famous in France, that of Poniatowski; Oudsouf, lying close under the forest shades of Aiou Dagh; Arteck the estate of Prince Andrew Gallitzin; AiDaniel, the property of the late Duc de Richelieu; Marsanda; Oreanda, an imperial domain; Mishkor and Nikita; Gaspra where Madame de Krudener died in the arms of her daughter, Baroness Berckheim; and Koreis where Princess Gallitzin, exiled from court, ended her days.
All these properties, adjoining each other, are, in the fine season, the rendezvous of a numerous society eagerly intent on pleasure. Aloupka is the great centre of amusement. Foreigners of distinction who are for the moment at Odessa, areex officiothe guests of Count Voronzof; but many of them have on their return complained of paying somewhat too dearly for the governor-general's hospitality. As the château, notwithstanding its imposing appearance, can contain only a small number of the select, the majority are compelled to find a lodging at the inn of the Two Cypresses near Aloupka, the landlord of which, by way of doing honour to his noble patron, practises unsparing extortion on all who have need of his apartments.
On our way to Ialta, about a dozen versts from Mishkor we visited the country houses best worth seeing, particularly Gaspra, which interested us for Madame de Krudener's sake. Perhaps the reader will not be unwilling to peruse the details I collected respecting the motives that induced that celebrated woman to settle in the peninsula, and which connected her name with that of two other women equally remarkable for their strange fortunes.
THREE CELEBRATED WOMEN.
THREE CELEBRATED WOMEN.
Every one is aware of the mystic influence which Madame de Krudener exercised for many years over the enthusiastic temperament of the Emperor Alexander. This lady who has so charmingly portrayed her own character inValérie, who was pre-eminently distinguished in the aristocraticsalonsof Paris by her beauty, her talents, and her position as an ambassadress, who was by turns a woman of the world, a heroine of romance, a remarkable writer, and a prophetess, will not soon be forgotten in France. The lovers of mystic poetry will readValérie, that charming work, the appearance of which made so much noise, notwithstanding the bulletins of the grand army (for it appeared in the most brilliant period of the empire); those who delight in grace, combined with beauty and mental endowments, will recall to mind that young woman who won for herself so distinguished a place in French society; and those whose glowing imaginations love to dwell on exalted sentiments andreligious fervour, united to the most lively faith, cannot refuse their admiration to her who asked of the mighty of the earth only the means of freely exercising charity, that evangelical virtue, of which she was always one of the most ardent apostles.
TheLettres de Mademoiselle Cocheletmake known to us with what zeal Madame de Krudener applied herself to seeking out and comforting the afflicted. Her extreme goodness of heart was such that she was called, in St. Petersburg, the Mother of the Poor. All the sums she received from the emperor were immediately distributed to the wretched, and her own fortune was applied in the same way, so that her house was besieged from morning till night by mujiks and mothers of families, to whom she gave food both for soul and body.
With so much will and power to do good, Madame de Krudener by and by acquired so great an influence in St. Petersburg, that the government at last became alarmed. She was accused of entertaining tendencies of too liberal a cast, religious notions of no orthodox kind, extreme ambition cloaked under the guise of charity, and therewith too much compassion for those miserable mujiks of whom she was the unfailing friend. But the chief cause of the displeasure of the court was the baroness's connexion with two other ladies, whose religious sentiments were by all means exceedingly questionable. They were the Princess Gallitzin and Countess Guacher (we will give the real name of the latter by and by).
The publicity which these ladies affected in all their acts could not but be injurious to the meek Christian enterprise of Madame de Krudener. The princess was detested at court. Too superior to disguise her opinions, and renowned for her beauty, her caustic wit, and her philosophic notions, she had excited against her a host of enemies, who were sure to take the first opportunity of injuring her with the emperor. As for the Countess Guacher, the chief heroine of our tale, her rather equivocal position at the court furnished a weapon against her, when suddenly issuing from the extreme retirement in which she had previously lived, she became one of Madame de Krudener's most enthusiastic adepts. But before we proceed further it will be necessary to give a brief account of her arrival in Russia.
Two years before the period I am speaking of, a lady of high rank arrived in St. Petersburg, accompanied by a numerous retinue, and giving herself out for one of the victims of the French revolution. In that quality she was received with alacrity in the society of the capital, and the Emperor Alexander himself was one of the foremost to notice her. It appeared that she came last from England, where she had taken shelter during the revolutionary troubles; but the motive which had induced her, after so long a residence among the English, to quit their country for Russia, remained an impenetrable secret. She always evinced an extreme repugnance to meet the French emigrants, who resided in St.Petersburg, and they on their part declared that the name she bore was entirely unknown to them. It soon began to be whispered about, that the lady was, perhaps, a personage of illustrious birth who desired to beincognita; but what her real name was no one could tell, not even the emperor. The wit of the courtiers was baffled by the lofty reserve of the countess, who always affected a total silence whenever France was mentioned in conversation. Alexander, always prompt to declare himself a champion of dames, respected the fair stranger'sincognitowith chivalric loyalty, and declared that any attempt to penetrate the mystery would exceedingly displease him. This was enough to cool the fever of curiosity that had infected the courtiers since Madame Guacher's first appearance; her name was thenceforth mentioned only with a circumspection that would have seemed very curious to any one unacquainted with the Russians, and she soon became a stranger to the court, where she appeared only on rare occasions.
The emperor alone, stimulated no doubt by the mystery she observed respecting her past history, and struck by her high-bred demeanour, kept up an intercourse with her to which he seemed to attach much value. There was nothing of ordinary gallantry in this, at least there never was any thing to indicate that their intimacy had led to so commonplace a result. The romantic spirit of Alexander, delighted to build all sorts of hypotheses on a person whose noble presence and lofty airs exercised a peculiar prestige upon his imagination.
When the Princess Gallitzin returned to St. Petersburg after a journey to Italy, the emperor, who sincerely admired her, took upon himself to make two ladies acquainted whom he thought so fitted to appreciate each other. As he had foreseen, a close intimacy grew up between them, but to the great mortification of the court, this intimacy was, through Madame de Krudener's influence, the basis of an association which aimed at nothing less than the conversion of the whole earth to the holy law of Christ.
At first the scheme was met with derision, then alarm was felt, and at last, by dint of intrigues, the emperor, whom these ladies had half made a proselyte, was forced to banish them from court, and confine them for the rest of their days to the territory of the Crimea. It is said that this decision, so contrary to the kind nature of Alexander, was occasioned by an article in an English newspaper, in which the female trio and his imperial majesty were made the subjects of most biting sarcasms. Enraged at being accused of being held in leading strings by three half-crazed women, the emperor signed the warrant for their exile to the great joy of the envious courtiers. The victims beheld in the event only the manifestation of the divine will, that they should propagate the faith among the followers of Mahomet. In a spirit of Christian humility they declined receiving any other escort than that of a non-commissioned officer, whose duty should be only to see to their personalsafety, and transmit their orders to the persons employed in the journey. Their departure produced a great sensation in St. Petersburg; and every one was eager to see the distinguished ladies in their monastic costume. The court laughed, but the populace, always sensitive where religion is concerned, and who, besides, were losing a most generous protectress in Madame de Krudener, accompanied the pilgrims with great demonstrations of respect and sorrow to the banks of the Neva, where they embarked on the 6th of September, 1822.
Two months after that date, on a cold November morning, when the Sea of Azof was already beginning to be covered near shore with a thin coat of ice, there arrived in Taganrok one of those large boats called lodkas, which ply on all the navigable rivers of the empire, and are used for the transport of goods. This one seemed to have been fitted up for the temporary accommodation of passengers. The practised eyes of the sailors in the port soon noticed the peculiar arrangement of the deck, the care with which the bales of merchandise were ranged along the gangways, and above all, the great carpet that covered the whole quarter-deck. These circumstances excited much curiosity in the port, especially as at that advanced season arrivals were very rare; but conjecture was exerted in vain, as to who might be the mysterious passengers, for the whole day passed without one of them appearing. It was ascertained, indeed, that a non-commissioned officer landed from the lodka, and waited on the police-master and the English consul, and that those functionaries repaired on board the lodka; but that was all, and the public remained for ever in ignorance whence the lodka came, whither it was bound, and who were the persons on board of it.
The same evening the English consul was waiting with some curiosity for the visit of a foreigner, who, as he had been informed by the non-commissioned officer of the lodka, would call on him at eight o'clock; but her name and her business remained a mystery for him. At the appointed time the door opened, and a person entered whose appearance at first sight did not seem to justify the curiosity which the consul had felt about her. Dressed in a long, loose, grey robe, and a white hood with lappets falling on the bosom, she had all the appearance of those Russian nuns who go about to rich houses and beg for their convents. Taking her for one of these persons, Mr. Y—— was about to give her a very expeditious answer, when to his surprise she accosted him in excellent English. The appearance and manners of the visitor soon convinced him she was a person of superior station. The conversation turned at first on England. The unknown told him that having long resided in that country, she had felt desirous of seeing its representative in Taganrok; she then went on to discuss English society, mentioning the most aristocratic names, and talking in such a manner as to show that she must have been long familiar with the London world of fashion. After this she proceeded to the main object of her visit, which was toprocure from the consul a podoroshni, to continue her journey by land instead of by water as before.
All this while the consul was scrutinising his strange visitor with increasing astonishment. She appeared to be about fifty years of age; her features, which were still very well preserved, must have been once very handsome. She had a Bourbon countenance, large blue eyes, grave lineaments, and a somewhat haughty ease in her demeanour, that altogether produced a singularly imposing effect. The conversation gradually becoming more familiar, the lady confessed that having been converted by the Baroness de Krudener and the Princess Gallitzin, she had been exiled with those ladies to the Crimea, where she purposed to preach the faith.
This unexpected communication of course increased the surprise of Mr. Y——, and drew from him some observations on the nature of such a project. After lauding the zeal of the fair missionary, he hinted a doubt that she would find many proselytes among the Mahometans, and asked her had she no family or friends who had a more direct claim on her charity than strangers, who were too barbarous to appreciate her motives. This question produced an extraordinary effect on the lady. She grew pale and confused, and muttered indistinctly that all her earthly ties were broken, and that the wrath of Heaven had long rested on her head! A silence of some minutes followed that avowal. The consul remained with his eyes fixed on the strange being before him, and in spite of all his address and knowledge of the world, he was quite at a loss how to behave or how to renew the conversation. His visitor, however, relieved him by taking her leave, after repeating her request that he would supply her with a podoroshni on the following morning.
It may easily be imagined that Mr. Y—— did not wait until the next day to satisfy his curiosity respecting the ladies whose invincible spirit of proselytism had sent them from the banks of the Neva to the shores of the Black Sea, and soon after the departure of his visitor he was on his way to the port. He had no difficulty in finding the lodka; the deck was deserted, but a light shone through one of the skylights. Looking down he saw three phantom-like females standing at a table covered with papers, and reading out of large books. When their prayers were ended they began to chant hymns in a slow measure. The solemn religious harmony, suddenly breaking the deep silence, made so intense an impression on the consul, that twenty years afterwards he still spoke of it with enthusiasm.
Countess Guacher stood with her back towards him, but he had a full view of the faces of the two other ladies. Madame de Krudener was small, delicate, and fair haired; her inspired looks and the gentleness of her countenance bespoke her boundless beneficence of soul. The Princess Gallitzin, on the contrary, had an imposing countenance, the expression of which presented a strange mixture of shrewdness, asceticism, sternness, and raillery. For a long while the pilgrims continued chanting Sclavonic psalms, the mysteriousimpart of which accorded with the enthusiastic disposition of their souls. Before they had ended, the sound of footsteps on the deck woke Mr. Y—— from his trance of wonder. The new comer was the non-commissioned officer, and Mr. Y—— desired the man to announce him, although he hardly expected to be admitted at so late an hour. His visit was nevertheless accepted, and the ladies received him with as much ease as if they had been doing the honours of a drawing-room.
In spite of their religious enthusiasm, and the apostolic vocation which they attributed to themselves, it may easily be imagined that these three high-bred ladies, accustomed to all the refinements of luxury, should now and then have had their tempers a little ruffled by the hardships of their journey, and that their mutual harmony should have suffered somewhat in consequence. Their wish, therefore, to separate on their arrival at Taganrok was natural enough. Countess Guacher especially, having made less progress than her companions in the path of perfection, had often revolted against the austere habits imposed on her; but these ebullitions of carnal temper were always brief and transient; and on the day after her visit to the consul, when he returned to the port to announce that the podoroshni was ready, the boat and its passengers had disappeared, and no one could give any information about them.
II.
The apparition of these ladies in the Crimea threw the whole peninsula into commotion. Eager to make proselytes, they were seen toiling in theirbéguinecostume, with the cross and the gospel in their hands, over mountains and valleys, exploring Tatar villages, and even carrying their enthusiasm to the strange length of preaching in the open air to the amazed and puzzled Mussulmans. But as the English consul had predicted, in spite of their mystic fervour, their persuasive voices, and the originality of their enterprise, our heroines effected few conversions. They only succeeded in making themselves thoroughly ridiculous not only in the eyes of the Tatars, but in those also of the Russian nobles of the vicinity, who instead of seconding their efforts, or at least giving them credit for their good intentions, regarded them only as feather-wittedilluminatæ, capable at most of catechising little children. The police, too, always prompt to take alarm, and having besides received special instructions respecting these ladies, soon threw impediments in the way of all their efforts, so that two months had scarcely elapsed before they were obliged to give up their roving ways, their preachings, and all the fine dreams they had indulged during their long and painful journey. It was a sore mortification for them to renounce the hope of planting a new Thebaid in the mountains of the Crimea. Madame de Krudener could not endure the loss of her illusions; her health, already impaired by many years of an ascetic life, declined rapidly, and within a year from the time of her arrival in the peninsula, there remained no hope of saving her life. She died in1823, in the arms of her daughter, the Baroness Berckheim, who had been for some years resident on the southern coast, and became possessed of many documents on the latter part of a life so rich in romantic events: but unfortunately these documents are not destined to see the light.
Princess Gallitzin, whose religious sentiments were perhaps less sincere, thought no more of making conversions after she had installed herself in her delightful villa on the coast. Throwing off for ever the coarsebéguinerobe, she adopted a no less eccentric costume which she retained until her death. It was an Amazonian petticoat, with a cloth vest of a male cut. A Polish cap trimmed with fur completed her attire, that accorded well with the original character of the princess. It is in this dress she is represented in several portraits still to be seen in her villa at Koreis.
The caustic wit that led to her disgrace at the court of St. Petersburg, her stately manners, her name, her prodigious memory, and immense fortune, quickly attracted round her all the notable persons in Southern Russia. Distinguished foreigners eagerly coveted the honour of being introduced to her, and she was soon at the head of a little court, over which she presided like a real sovereign. But being by nature very capricious, the freak sometimes seized her to shut herself up for whole months in total solitude. Although she relapsed into philosophical and Voltairian notions, the remembrance of Madame de Krudener inspired her with occasional fits of devotion that oddly contrasted with her usual habits. It was during one of these visitations that she erected a colossal cross on one of the heights commanding Koreis. The cross being gilded is visible to a great distance.
Her death in 1839 left a void in Russian society which will not easily be filled. Reared in the school of the eighteenth century, well versed in the literature and the arts of France, speaking the language with an entire command of all that light, playful raillery that made it so formidable of yore; having been a near observer of all the events and all the eminent men of the empire; possessing moreover a power of apprehension and discernment that gave equal variety and point to her conversation; a man in mind and variety of knowledge, a woman in grace and frivolity; the Princess Gallitzin belonged by her brilliant qualities and her charming faults to a class that is day by day becoming extinct.
Now that conversation is quite dethroned in France, and exists only in some few salons of Europe, it is hard to conceive the influence formerly exercised by women of talent. Those of our day, more ambitious of obtaining celebrity through the press than of reigning over a social circle, guard the treasures of their imagination and intellect with an anxious reserve that cannot but prove a real detriment to society. To write feuilletons, romances, and poetry, is all very well; but to preside over a drawing-room, like the women of the eighteenth century, has also its merit. But we must not blamethe female sex alone for the loss of that supremacy which once belonged to French society. The men of the present day, more serious than their predecessors, more occupied with positive, palpable interests, seem to look with cold disdain on what but lately commanded their warmest admiration.
But we have lost sight of the Countess Guacher, who is not for all that the least interesting of our heroines. Resigning herself with much more equanimity than her companions to the necessity of leaving the Tatars alone, she hired for herself, even before their complete separation, a small house standing by itself on the sea shore; and there she took up her abode with only one female attendant. Following the example of the Princess Gallitzin, she threw off thebéguinerobe and assumed a kind of male attire. For some time her existence was almost unknown to her neighbours; so retired were her habits. The only occasions when she was visible was during her rides on horseback on the beach, and it was noticed that she chose the most stormy weather for these excursions.
But her recluse habits did not long conceal her from curious inquiry. A certain Colonel Ivanof, who had noticed the strange proceedings of the pilgrims from their first arrival in the Crimea, set himself to watch the countess, and at last took a house near her retreat; but in order that his presence might not scare her, he contented himself for some weeks with following her at a distance during her lonely promenades, trusting to chance for an opportunity of becoming more intimately acquainted with her. His perseverance was at last rewarded with full success.
One evening, as the colonel stood at his window observing the tokens of an approaching storm, he perceived a person on horseback galloping in the direction of his house, evidently with the intention of seeking shelter. Before this could be accomplished the storm broke out with great fury, and just then the colonel was startled by the discovery that the stranger was his mysterious neighbour. The sequel will be best told in his own words:
"Full of surprise and curiosity I hastened to meet the countess, who entered my doors without honouring me with a single look. She seemed in very bad humour, and concentrated her whole attention upon a tortoise she carried in her left hand. Without uttering a word or caring for the water that streamed from her clothes, she sat down on the divan, and remained for some moments apparently lost in thought. For my part, I continued standing before her, waiting until she should address me, and glad of the opportunity to scrutinise her appearance at my ease. She wore an Amazonian petticoat, a green cloth vest, buttoned over the bosom, a broad-brimmed felt hat, with a pair of pistols in her girdle, and, as I have said, a tortoise in her hand. Her handsome, grave countenance excited my admiration. Below her hat appeared some grey locks, that seemed whitened not so much by years as by sorrow, of which her visage bore the impress.
"Without taking off her hat, the flap of which half concealed herface, she began to warm the tortoise with her breath, calling it by the pet nameDushinka(little soul), which duty being performed she deigned to look up, and perceived me. Her first gesture bespoke extreme surprise. Until then, supposing she was in a Tatar house, she had taken no notice of the objects around her, but the sight of my drawing-room, my library, my piano, and myself, struck her with stupefaction. 'Where am I?' she exclaimed, in hurried alarm. 'Madam,' I replied, 'you are in the house of a man who has long lived as a hermit—a man who like you loves solitude, the sea, and meditation—who has renounced like you the society of his kind to live after his own way in this wilderness.' These words struck her forcibly. 'You, too,' she ejaculated, 'you, too, have divorced yourself from the world, and why? Ay, why?' she repeated, as if conversing with her own thoughts, 'why bury yourself alive here, without friends, without relations, without a heart to respond to yours? Why die this lingering death, when the world is open to you—the world with its delights, its balls and spectacles, its passionate adorations, with the fascinations of the court, the favour of a queen?' Imagine my astonishment to hear her thus in a sort of hallucination, revealing her secret thoughts and recollections. In these few words her whole life was set forth, the life of a beautiful woman, rich, flattered, habituated to the atmosphere of courts.
"After a pause of some duration she entered into conversation with me, questioned me at great length on the way in which I passed my time, on my tastes, the few resources I enjoyed for cultivating the arts, &c. We chatted for more than an hour like old acquaintances, and she seemed quite to have forgotten the strange words she had uttered in the beginning of the interview. Being very much puzzled to know what pleasure she took in carrying the tortoise about with her, I asked her some questions on the subject; but with a solemnity that seemed to me strangely disproportioned to the subject, she told me she had made a vow never to separate from it. 'It is a present from the Emperor Alexander,' she said, 'and as long as I have it near me I shall not utterly despair of my destiny.' Availing myself of this opening I tried to make her talk of the motives that had brought her to the peninsula, but she cut me short by saying that since she had become acquainted with the character of the Tatars she had given up all thought of making converts among them. 'They are men of pure feelings and pure consciences,' she said, impressively; 'why insist on their changing their creed, since they live in accordance with the principles of morality and religion? After all it matters little whether one adores Jesus Christ, Mahomet, or the Grand Lama, if one is charitable, humble, and hospitable.'
"I laughed, and said she spoke rank heresy, and that if she preached such doctrines, she ran great risk of having a bull of excommunication fulminated against her. 'It is since I have given up preaching,' she replied, 'that I have begun to think in this way; solitude makes one regard things in quite a different aspect from that in which theyare seen by the world. Only three months ago I set Catholicism above all religions, and now I meditate one still more perfect and sublime. Will you be my first disciple?' she said, in a tone between jest and earnest, that left me very uncertain whether she was serious or not. When she left my house I escorted her to her own door, and promised I would call on her the next day."
The second interview was not less curious than the first: the colonel found his neighbour busily at work with a glass spinner's lamp and a blowpipe, making glass beads. She did not allow her visitor's presence to interrupt her operations, but finished before him enough to make a necklace. She then showed him several boxes filled with beads of all sorts, made by her own hands, and said very seriously, "If ever I return to the world I will wear no other ornaments than such pearls as these. It is a stupid thing to wear true ones. See how bright, clear, and large these are! Would any one suppose they were not the produce of the Indian Ocean? So it is with every thing else: what matters the substance if the form is beautiful and pleasing to the eye?" The colonel was about to enter into a grave discussion of this very questionable moral doctrine, very common in the eighteenth century, when suddenly changing the subject, the countess took down a sword that hung at the head of her bed and laid it on his lap. "You see this weapon, colonel: it was given me by a Vendean chief in admiration of my courage; for though a woman I have fought for the good cause, and many a time smelt powder among the bushes and heaths of Bretagne. You need not wonder at my partiality for weapons and for male costume; it is a reminiscence of my youth. A Vendean at heart, I long made part in the heroic bands that withstood the republican armies, and the dangers, hardships, and fiery emotions of partisan warfare are no secrets to me." "But," observed the colonel, "how is it that thus devoted as you are to the royal cause you do not return to your country, where monarchy is again triumphant?" "Hush!" she answered, lowering her voice, "hush! let us say no more of the present or the past. Would you ask the shrub broken by the storm why the breath of spring does not reanimate its mutilated form? Let us leave things as they are, and not strive to repair what is irreparable. Man's justice has pronounced its decree; let us trust in that of God, merciful and infinite, like all that is eternally just and good!"
It was in vain the colonel endeavoured by further questions to become acquainted with that mysterious past to which she could not make any allusion without extreme perturbation of mind; she remained silent, and retired to another room without renewing the conversation.
After these two interviews, Colonel Ivanof had no other opportunity of gathering any hints that could lead him towards a definite conclusion respecting this extraordinary woman, although he saw her almost daily for more than two months. She often talked to him of her residence in London, her friendly relations with theEmperor of Russia, her travels, and her fortune; but of France not a word. Not an expression of regret, not a name or allusion of any sort, afforded the colonel reason to suspect that his neighbour had left behind her in her native land any objects on which her memory still dwelt. His brain was almost turned at last by the romantic acquaintance he had made. His vanity was piqued, and his desire to solve so difficult an enigma gave him no rest. He diligently perused the history of the French Revolution, in hopes to find in it a clue to his inquiry, but it was to no purpose. He felt completely astray in such a labyrinth. Many great names successively occurred to him as likely to belong to his mysterious neighbour, but there were always some circumstances connected with them that refuted such a supposition.
Perhaps a more matter-of-fact person would at last have discovered the truth; but the colonel's lively imagination led him to embrace the oddest hypothesis. It was his belief that the countess was the illegitimate offspring of a royal amour. Setting out from this principle he put aside all the names proscribed by the revolution, and stuck obstinately to a myth. But tired at last of this pursuit of shadows, he resolved to trust to that chance which had already been so favourable for the clearing up of his uncertainty. Assiduously noting all the lady's eccentricities, he knew not whether to pity or admire her, though very certain that her wits wandered at times.
She frequently received despatches from St. Petersburg, and seemed, notwithstanding her exile, to have retained a certain influence over the mind of the tzar. One day she showed her neighbour a letter from a lady of the court, who thanked her warmly for having obtained from the emperor a regiment which that lady had long been ineffectually soliciting for her son.
So absorbed was the Russian officer by the interest he took in the countess, that he seemed to have forgotten all the world besides; but an unexpected event suddenly put an end to his romantic loiterings, and sent him back to the realities of life. A Frenchman, calling himself Baron X—, arrived one fine morning from St. Petersburg, and established himself without ceremony as the countess's factotum. From that moment all intimacy was broken off between the latter and Colonel Ivanof. The cold, astute behaviour of the baron, and his continual presence, obliged the colonel to retire. It may seem strange that he surrendered the field so quickly to an unknown person, but it was time for him to return to his military duties, and besides, what could he do with a man whose connexion with the countess seemed of old standing, and who watched her with a jealous vigilance enough to discourage the most intrepid curiosity? His departure was scarcely noticed by Madame Guacher, whose habits had undergone an entire change since the arrival of the baron. The incoherence of her mind became more and more visible; it was only at long and uncertain intervals she rode out on horseback; the rest of her time was spent in enduring all sorts of extraordinary mortifications.
Baron X—remained in the Crimea until the death of the countess, which took place in 1823. Being fully acquainted with all her affairs he was her sole heir, not legally, perhaps, butde facto. On leaving the peninsula he proceeded to England, where a large part of our heroine's property was invested, and he afterwards returned to Russia with a considerable fortune.
A curious incident occurred after the death of the countess. As soon as the emperor was informed of the event he despatched a courier to the Crimea, with orders to bring him a casket, the form, size, and materials of which were described with the most minute exactness. The messenger, assisted by the chief of the police, at first made a fruitless search; but at last, through the information of a waiting woman, the casket was found sealed up, under the bed of the deceased lady. The courier took possession of it and returned with the utmost speed. In ten days he was in St. Petersburg.
The precious casket was delivered to the emperor in his private cabinet, in the presence of two or three courtiers. Alexander was so impatient to open it that he had the lock forced. But alas! what a sad disappointment! The casket contained only—a pair of scissors. It surely was not for the sake of a pair of scissors that Alexander had made one of his Cossacks gallop 4000 versts in a fortnight. Be that as it may, Baron X—was accused of having purloined papers of the highest importance, and unfairly possessed himself of Madame Guacher's fortune. But as he was then on his road to London, the emperor's anger was of no avail.
At a subsequent period, the disclosures made by this man, and the discovery of a curious correspondence, at last revealed the real name of the countess; but the tardy information arrived when there was no longer any one to be interested in it; the emperor was dead, and Colonel Ivanhof was fighting in the Caucasus.
Interred in a corner of the garden belonging to her house, that mysterious woman who had been the subject of so many contradictory rumours, had not even a stone to cover her grave, and to mark to the stranger the spot where rest the remains of theCountess de Lamothe, who had been whipped and branded in the Place de Grève, as an accomplice in the scandalous affair of the diamond necklace.[69]