ST. PETERSBURG. THE NEVA. NOVGOROD. POLAND.
“We look into each other’s eyes, And see a friendly peace which says, While on the snowy Cossack flies, ‘Rave ye without, here Quiet stays.’
This silent, unexpressed delight Glows brighter so severely set: Heart-warm against the stormy white, The Rose of Joy burns warmer yet.” —_Thomas Gold Appleton_ _A Snow Storm_, Jan. 17, 1867.
THE BLESSING OF THE NEVA.
St. Petersburg, Jan’y 20, 1867.
My dear Mama.
Here we are back at the capital, where we were most enthusiastically received by our hostess Madame Octavie, who expressed great joy at seeing her “little Americans” safely returned, and installed us into our old apartments.
Your letters came the next day, with accounts of Christmas festivities at home, and the prospective party for New Year.
I am so glad that the portrait _à la militaire_ has been accomplished enough to show what it is, and that the likeness is good, and the whole thing gives pleasure. I rather pride myself upon it, for the idea of the composition and pose was quite my own, and the secrecy with which it has all been done is commendable.
Driving down the Nevski from the Moscow station St. Petersburg looked _so_ funny, not in the least like a Russian city, but a great, sprawling capital, and they tell us it is not gay here at all, especially after Moscow. No balls at Court as yet, as the government is not very rich just now, and after the tremendous expenses of entertaining our fleet last summer, and later all the gorgeous display connected with the wedding of the Tsarevitch, they are really trying to economize a bit. This is good theoretically, but not for us individually, and I hope we shall see one big ball at the Winter Palace.
The morning after our return was the day of the ceremony of the baptism of the Neva, which the Emperor attends. We received invitations to the Palace to go with the Diplomatic Corps, and although we could not see much of the performance outside,—and how the poor fellows, Tsar, priests, and “strikers” have to suffer with uncovered heads in the bitter cold,—we got a very good idea of the male portion of the Russian court in the Palace, and afterwards enjoyed an excellent breakfast. It was quite striking to see us, the only two civilians in the big throng of officers, courtiers and diplomats, and it was a pleasant feeling that the grandeur of America does not go in for outside display.
We dined yesterday at the English Club with Curtin, the best one in the city, and English only in name, and later played Russian nine-pins with a party of officers.
I skated, also, on the Neva Club grounds, which have been carefully arranged during our absence, and it was very jolly there, with music and all the swells of the city. The costumes are very effective, and add much to the brilliancy of the scene, those of the gentlemen being quite as elaborate as of the ladies, velvet jackets and tight fitting tunics trimmed with fur and slashed _à la Polenaise_, with Knickerbockers and leggings. It is strange that if a gentleman with us should attempt to wear such a costume, elegant, comfortable, and appropriate for the ice, he would be set down as a snob. The democratic principle of every one always wearing the same style of raiment on all occasions may, perhaps, be good, but it certainly takes away much from the beauty of any assemblage of human beings.
The ladies were much as in New York or Jamaica Pond, with the addition of the omnipresent _basilisk_ or hood, made of different colored cloth, and trimmed with gold or silver braid. We mean to bring several of them home, as there is nothing prettier or more genuinely Russian here to take away, and for a lady to wear sleigh-riding they are perfect. I hope to see some of my own on the Brighton road next winter.
Today was held the first race of the season on the river, but it was so very cold that it was not particularly amusing to witness. The horses look fine, parading about covered with Persian blankets. Monday morning. Very early! We start in a few minutes on an excursion of two or three days to Novgorod the Great, once the capital of Russia, and I have just time to seal this up without finishing it.
Therefore in haste, Nathan.
FOX’S MISSION TO RUSSIA.
The reference in my letter to our fleet and its presence in Russia is to Fox’s mission. On the 16th of May, 1866, the President of the United States, Andrew Johnson, signed a joint resolution passed by Congress, congratulating the twenty million serfs upon the providential escape from assassination of the Emperor Alexander II., by the hand of an enemy of emancipation, and in order to give additional significance to the act, Congress selected the Hon. Gustavus Vasa Fox, assistant secretary of the navy during the entire period of the war for the Preservation of the Union, to perform the delicate mission of carrying this resolution to the Emperor of Russia. He was sent in the two turreted monitor _Miantonomoh_, a class of vessel which had never before crossed the Atlantic, and the _Augusta_ and _Ashuelot_, two wooden men-of-war, accompanied the _Miantonomoh_.
August 6 (July 23) 1866, the fleet arrived in the harbor of Cronstadt, on the 17th the Tsar sent the address acknowledging the visit of Mr. Fox, and on Saturday, September 15 (3d) Mr. Fox left Saint Petersburg, after a farewell breakfast given on the Russian yacht _Rurik_ at which Lieutenant General Greig said in a speech while presenting a medal struck in memory of the enfranchisement of the peasants:—
“He will see on it the likeness of our blessed sovereign, and the effigy of a nobleman and of a peasant.”
A narrative of this mission to Russia from the Journal and Notes of J. F. Loubat (Duc deLoubat) was published in 1873, and presented to me in New York, by the author, September 28th of the same year.
THE CEREMONY OF BLESSING THE WATERS.
In some notes made in February, 1879, and printed in the Boston _Advertiser_ under the title “_Outre Mer_,” I referred to the occasion of the annual benediction of the Neva, a rite of the Orthodox Church commemorative of the baptism of the Saviour, when the Tsar takes his position in an open chapel built out on the quay, and the ice below having been broken the Metropolitan blesses the waters and the cross is dipped therein three times:—
“It takes place just opposite the Winter Palace, and all the guests witness it comfortably from the windows of one of the large rooms of the palace, while the Tsar and the priests and those who actually participate in it have to go out with bare heads in the cold and take some of the water from the frozen Neva, which they can only get through a hole made in the ice. It is principally a religious service, with rites performed upon a handsome platform, with a canopy above, erected for it between the palace and the water. It does not last long, and in this instance the Emperor and his suite might well have been glad to get out of the intense cold when it was over.
We had some difficulty that day, my companion and myself, in getting up to the door of the Winter Palace. We had our cards of invitation all correct, indicating where we should go, and we supposed that our _invostchik_, or the driver of the sleigh we used every day, understood it perfectly. But it seems he did not, and we were stopped by a mounted soldier to whom we could not talk a word, while we brandished the card before him. But this did not work, and we had to turn back. We were at our wits’ ends, determined if possible not to miss the sight, and I suggested that we should drive at once to the United States Minister’s residence, General Clay, to see if we could not find his servant, or some one who would act as pilot. On the road we met our commissionaire whom we had dismissed at the hotel, thinking we should not need him, and took him in front with the driver.
“A FRIEND AT COURT.”
As it was then rather late we drove up to the nearest door of the palace, but not the one designated for us to enter on the card. There we met one of the young officers of the imperial household whose acquaintance we had made at our regular presentation to the Tsar some weeks before, and, explaining to him our dilemma he said it was all right, and put us in charge of a _chasseur_, who was to conduct us to our proper places. He was a gorgeously dressed fellow, with a very tall plume in his hat, and slowly took us along through the endless _salons_ of the building, which were filled with people,—ladies in the galleries,—and at length reached the room set apart for the Diplomatic Corps and distinguished strangers who happened to be in St. Petersburg, where we had a view of the ceremonies.”
A COUSINLY VIEW. FROM MY COUSIN AT MOSCOW TO MY MOTHER.
Moscow, January 22, 1867.
My dear Cousin.
About a month ago, as I was standing at the window, I saw two gentlemen stop at our door, with very English faces as I thought. I was surprised, for I expected no visitors from abroad, but how much greater was my surprise when the two gentlemen were introduced as Mr. Appleton and Mr. Longfellow.
You may well imagine my joy at seeing some of my American relations at last. Their stay in Moscow was for me a perfect enjoyment. I had such pleasure in seeing them, and saw them as often as was possible, for they had so many invitations from all sides that they could hardly find time to answer them all: they went very much among the nobility.
Nathan admired the Russian ladies much and teased me all the time by saying he would marry a Russian Princess or a Polish countess. I said I would not acknowledge him after that, he must remain constant to the American beauties. He left Moscow, however, with the firm intention of falling desperately in love with the first fairy princess he met in St. Petersburg. I trust, however, that the 30 degrees of frost we have at the present moment will freeze his heart so as not to admit any warmer feeling into it, and prevent melting away those he brought with him from America.
You may well think, dear cousin, how much Nathan and Charles had to tell us about you all, and it seems as if since I know them the ocean has disappeared between us, and we are brought nearer to each other. How much I should like to see you and know you all, and always will regret not to have gone over to Boston during the three months I stayed in Ostend, some twelve years ago. I should have then seen our dear Grandmamma, let me call her thus, dear cousin, for she was to me more than ever an aunt could be.
How much I value the beautiful pin you sent me is needless to say. Receive my warmest and sincerest thanks for this kind attention, and believe me, dear cousin, that I shall always wear the pin, so dear to me, in remembrance of our dear Grandmamma and of yourself.
How do you like Nathan’s and Charles’s photograph in their furs? (See frontispiece.) We admire it much, and I claimed one for my album.
Kiss the dear baby for me. I sent him a pair of little red Russian boots, which I hope he will be able to wear by the time they reach him.
Good bye, dear cousin, write to me sometimes, and tell me something about our travellers that interest me much. My husband begs to be kindly remembered to you and your dear family.
Most affectionately, Eliza Carnatz.
NOVGOROD. TO MY MOTHER.
Saint Petersburg, January 28, 1867.
_Ma chère Maman._
Our little trip to Novgorod was most successful. We went down the railroad about 70 miles, to Tchudova, and there took the _troikas_ and the funniest vehicle imaginable, in which you lie down on the hay and are covered up with felt and skins. We made our forty-five miles in a few hours, arriving at the town in time for supper and bed.
The next morning we set about seeing the sights of the place, which are very few, the old church of St. Sophia and the modern monument celebrating the 1000th anniversary of Russia.
What a quaint old place, with its Kremlin, and its white yellow churches, and everything so Russian!
THE MIDNIGHT DRIVE. ]
I found a fascinating antiquary, who would have driven Billy crazy, in his gown and skull cap. He had a book store in his house, with curiosities and minerals, and I bought a Russian missal of the 14th century (I afterwards gave it to the Boston Public Library.) and a few coins and odds and ends.
SKATING IN THE YOUSOUPOFF GARDEN. ]
THE MIDNIGHT DRIVE.
We made the journey home by night, with the mercury near zero, and cold enough it was. I had two pairs of gloves on, and mittens over them, and was just comfortable. We rattled along over the snow, with a bright moon, and clear, cold stars, stopping now and then at wayside inns to drink tea and warm up.
Nothing have we done more Russ than our midnight drive from Novgorod.
Yesterday we dined with the Count Besborodko, the one who owns the “swell” palace I mentioned in a previous letter. The dinner was good, the company gay, the Countess charming, and never in my life was I so _en train_ to speak French easily. I surprised myself. We came home early, changed our dress, and went for a little while to the fête of the Yacht Club Skating ground, which was brilliantly illuminated with lanterns, grottoes of ice with Bengal lights thrown upon them, stuffed bears, pretty toilettes, etc. etc.—music.
ISLA.
But even this was not enough for the evening, so off we go to Isla, a café, theatre, skating ground combined, a few miles into the country, where there are life size statues made of ice in the garden.
Shall we go to the _bal masqué_ at the Opera House? No, it will hardly pay to put on our funereals twice the same evening, so go to bed quietly, and good night!
Since my last return here I have been making many purchases preparatory to leaving the place.
Your beautiful sables have been selected, paid for and packed up, and I hope they will come home in safety.
MY CIRCASSIAN UNIFORM.
“‘Brave in battle,’ ‘eloquent in assembly,’ are great titles in Circassia. But he who is the ‘most hospitable’ wears the brightest crown of all.... A Circassian is always a Circassian.”
—_Colonel Richard Henry Savage._
“A land of the sword and spear, of the chase and mighty woodcraft—Circassia.”
—_R. H. S._ 1876.
LETTER TO MY MOTHER CONTINUED.
I have got Master Will a Circassian overcoat for winter, and myself a Circassian uniform, for fancy balls at home, very handsome and effective it is too. Charlie has had a Russian dress made for the same object. I have picked up in the Bazaar some nice things in the way of arms,—pistols, daggers and swords, and am looking for some chain armor. Today I bought all the malachite I want, a few pretty pieces only. My Russian harness has come, and very nice it is, so light and graceful. Look out for me on the avenue next summer crying “_berages_,” Russian for “Look out!” “Take care!”
I have bought you a lovely Persian table cloth and myself a cover for an easy chair for smoking.
CIRCASSIAN UNIFORM. ]
We went the other evening to see the Davenport Brothers, who are here now, and as luck would have it I was drawn by lot to tie one of them in the box. Funny that way out in Russia they should be tied up by a fellow countryman. There was quite a party of us Americans there, and we chatted with them after the performance. It was very good and just what I have often seen.
29th. Morning:—I have just received a big packet of letters; among them one from Georgie Shattuck. He gives me a very good idea of just what is going on in Boston.
Last eve we were again at the Opera, in the Pierces’ box. The Barber of Seville—I have often heard it—with an ugly prima-donna. Tonight we go first to a ballet, “Meteora,” and after to a ball at Lady Buchanan’s the English ambassadress, and, perhaps, at two o’clock, to a costume ball at one of the Clubs. Saturday next is my birthday, and I am to give a gentlemen’s dinner to Russians and Americans.
I have many things here which are not completed, and I want all my purchases well packed up and directed, before I leave the place, and, try as hard as you please, it is difficult to accomplish much each day.
We made the acquaintance a few days past of the Souworoff family, the descendants of the great old fighter whose sabre rang all over Europe. The young princess was very nice and jolly, and did not like it that her mother would not let her skate and flirt. The old party was eminently proper and conservative in all her ideas, and reminded me of several ladies in Boston I might perhaps mention.
We passed one evening last week quietly with Mr. Prince, as he was very desirous we should. What are you going to do this summer? Will quiet Lynn content you, or is it Niagara, Saratoga, or Newport? Go in for a house there, and I will come home by the first of August, in time for the season. I hear the Americans are cutting great rigs in Paris. Thank Mr. Burgess for me for the arrival of the package. Breakfast being ready, 12 m., I will say in the last words of many French comedies, “à table”.
Nate.
THE COSTUME BALL AT DELMONICO’S.
“Send me a dream tonight, A dream of the boy-time days, Stop for me the shuttle of Time That ever so swiftly plays— A dream of the other days, When the sky was ever bright— Unravel the warp and woof of years— Send me a dream tonight.” —_Baltimore American_, April, 1900.
From a journal of a visit to New York and Philadelphia, made in March and April, 1875, I extract the following written in my den, 788 Broadway, Room 16, New York, April 11th:—
“Since I left Boston, nearly three weeks ago, I have been through some such interesting experiences that I must certainly record them in my diary. But it is no easy thing to catch them as they go by, so rapid a life do we lead in the great cities and so full of movement is the time, still, I will try.”
The event of the season among the few hundred persons who make up the fashionables of New York society, was the _Bal Costumé_ given at Delmonico’s by thirty gentlemen on Easter Monday, March 29, 1875.
I was invited to take part in the Oriental Quadrille gotten up by Miss Minnie Stevens (Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Paran Stevens, and afterwards wife of Arthur Henry Fitzroy Paget.) as I had a fine Circassian officer’s dress, which I had had made years ago in Saint Petersburg, just for occasions of the kind.
The Sunday before the ball I dined at Mr. S. L. M. Barlow’s, No. 1 Madison Avenue, as my partner in the quadrille was to be Miss Barlow, and it was a kind attention on their part to invite me to dinner.
The other guests were Mr. Manton Marble and Mr. Hurlburt of the New York _World_, one of the organs of the Democratic party. These gentlemen, with Messrs. Barlow, Belmont and others, were very intimate, and all leading spirits of the Manhattan Club.
After dessert, I took occasion to say, in a conversation in which some of the leaders were being discussed, that the Democratic party to succeed must get rid of many of its old planks, which would not support any one today; that there were plenty of young fellows like myself and others, who had been in the war, and were now growing up to take part in public matters, who could not, and would not, place confidence in the men whose record had been such as that of the leaders of the Northern Democrats, the last fifteen years.
But how I have departed from the ball!
Instead of describing it particularly I insert here a drawing and notice of it from Frank Leslie’s paper, also the card of invitation, etc. (The illustration represented the ball room with the ball in progress, showing many of the finest costumes.)
The invitation was for a _Bal Costumé—costume de rigueur_,—signed by H. S. Fearing, secretary, and the time was nine o’clock. The reverse of the card bore the names of twenty-eight gentlemen; among them August Belmont, W. W. Astor, and A. Thorndike Rice.
The representative of _Frank Leslie’s_ said in his report:—
“All that bright flowers, perfumed air, sweet music, flashing diamonds, manly beauty, female loveliness, elegant costumes, and grace and refinement could contribute to such a scene, were found there.... One of the features of the evening was an Eastern quadrille of which Miss Stevens of Fifth Avenue was queen. The costumes of the eight forming the set were superb!”
The note from Miss Minnie Stevens to me with regard to the ball, was as follows:—
“I write you some time ahead to know if it is possible for you to be in New York a week from Monday, that is to say, the Monday before the ball. We have arranged to dance the quadrille at our place on that evening, for you have no idea how little any one knows about dancing it, and, as the audience will be large, it would be very mortifying to make several mistakes. As there is to be a procession formed, we have also to know our partners and our places. I hope you will be able to get here for the rehearsal on Monday the 22d as I would like all the sixteen to come together. I am in despair about my dress, it is so difficult to get up. Hoping soon to have the pleasure of seeing you,
I am sincerely yours, Minnie Stevens.”
This was the handsomest ball of the kind I ever saw, as nearly all the costumes were remarkable for richness, and few or none of them had a cheap or tawdry look. The march in of all of us who took part in the opening quadrille, was a brilliant sight.
Before going to it I went to show myself off in costume at the Appletons’, 3 Madison Avenue, and also at the Beckwiths’ on Fifth Avenue and 18th Street, whence I escorted Miss Helen Beckwith (Now Mrs. Dudley Leigh.) in the dress of a Circassian slave across the street to the Belmonts’, where there was a large reception, for those in costume particularly, for the benefit of the invalid daughter who could not go to the ball, but naturally wanted to see the people and the dresses. I was glad to have the chance of paying a call at the house. Mrs. Belmont looked remarkably well, and her other daughter (Now Mrs. Samuel S. Howland.) too, as pretty as possible in Pompadour costume.
At the ball I sat at a supper table with Mrs. Strong,—née Ruggles,—chatting and looking at the different persons as they passed by; also, with Mrs. General Barlow née Shaw. This was a quiet and comfortable way of enjoying the fête. Then I danced the “_cotillon_” with Mrs. Kemys—the cotillon which was led by Jimmy Otis with all the animation of twenty years before.
Strolling to my den through 14th street and Broadway, just as the day was dawning, I got into bed, well tired, a little before six o’clock.
FROM MISS STEVENS ON RECEIPT OF THE PHOTOGRAPH, 1877.
“So many thanks for the charming photograph just received. It was very kind of you to have remembered me, and so justly divined my wish.
The ‘Circassian’ shall join its companions in the album of the oriental quadrille. We are going to England some time this spring, but I hope only to return for the summer at dear old Newport, which we all must acknowledge has no rivals.”
THE LOOM OF THE EAST.
I wore my Circassian costume again at my brother’s house, 10 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, at the meeting of the Bric-a-Brac Club, January 17th, 1877, when I read his paper on “The Loom of the East” (Fifth chapter of “Windfalls” by Thomas Gold Appleton, author of “A Sheaf of Papers,” “A Nile Journal,” “Syrian Sunshine” etc.) my brother suffering from a fall at the time.
MY TWENTY-FOURTH BIRTHDAY. FROM MY MOTHER IN BOSTON, SUNDAY, FEB. 3, 1867.
“Your birthday (February 2d) was not forgotten, and as I sat at my lonely meal, I could only wish you, my boy, many years of happiness,—not the giddy enjoyment of the present hour, but solid days of reality, when the heart shall be satisfied, and all this fascination of travel and society shall have lost some of its freshness, and you will not care for a ‘spike’ team, or a ‘four-in-hand’.”
THE LAST LETTER FROM RUSSIA IN ’67.
St. Petersburg, February 3, 1867.
Yes, Mamma, it is here. We are off tomorrow for Warsaw. We leave this delightful place, with its cold climate and its warm hearts. Willingly would I linger here a week or two more, but Charles is resolute, and has been saying for the last few days that he _will_ go tomorrow, and can’t be stopped.
Our boxes are packed, our bills paid, and as it would be quite impossible to find a time when we would not like to stay longer, perhaps it is as well to go now as ever.
“20 AND 30 BELOW.”
It is mild today, but the four days before have been such cold as I never experienced; the mercury being all the time between twenty and thirty below the zero of Fahrenheit. In fact the people here say they have not had such a snap for years. We were fortunate not to get frozen, for our _isvoschik_ was in a continued state of freeze,—which he did not seem to mind,—notwithstanding the neckkerchief and mittens we gave him.
The intense cold interferes little with your life, and wrapped up in our _shubes_ we spend the day calling or shopping, or by night go from ballet to ball till late in the morning. They have huge fires built in front of the Opera House, and the Winter Palace, for the coachmen to keep warm.
RUSSIAN FOOTMEN.
The life of a footman here is odd enough. Their principal duty is to look after the cloaks and overshoes of their masters and mistresses, and they follow them about all day and night, sitting and sleeping in the entries of private houses during a visit and the duration of a ball, and in the foyer of the theatre for the entire performance of the opera or play.
The carriages, too, are always drawn up in line at the theatre or ball, and stay there all night instead of going home and returning at a certain hour. What would the tender coachmen and hackmen of Boston say to that, who do not like to wait half an hour?
This is strange, when it is so cold, especially for the horses, but they are never clipped, and the men are very thickly dressed.
At all the “swell” houses they have an impressive flunkey in the entry, with a huge knobbed stick like a drum major or beadle, dressed in gorgeous livery, a red sash a foot wide and covered with embroidered black, double-headed eagles. All he does is to open and shut the front door. In fact, at all houses, shops, and hotels, they have a porter, generally an old soldier covered with medals, to take off and put on overcoats and boots and goloshes.
Every house in Russia is double windowed and treble doored, and between the two panes of the windows there are artificial flowers.
The houses are too hot, and the air bad, so that they use incense everywhere in the country.
LADY BUCHANAN’S BALL.
The ball at the British embassy was very good, and we were introduced to the prettiest girl in the city, the little Countess Apraxine. We met, also, a charming young lady, the Princess Ourousoff, a cousin of my friend at Newport last summer.
Today we have been lunching at the Prince Galitzine’s, with a crowd of jolly young dogs; among them the son of the celebrated Gortschakoff.
TSARSKOË SELO.
We passed one day last week at Tsarskoë Selo, visiting the palace, a summer residence of the Emperor; also, the arsenal with splendid armor, and the imperial dairy, where we ate cheese and drank imperial milk. We afterwards dined with Gen. Gogol, the commander of the department, who was very strong on the _entente cordiale_ between us, with a most healthy detestation of England. He was another good specimen of that well-known type of humanity, the Russian general.
SLEDGE DRAWN BY REINDEER. ]
The Palace was the best I ever saw, they being generally cold, cheerless, all alike, and a bore, but this looked like a habitable place, with a blue and silver boudoir, a room entirely made of Japan wood, with panels, pictures, furniture, all Japanese; one room papered with amber, and at last a Persian smoking room, small and cozy, filled with bits of armor and pipes, divans, and a tiny fountain sunk in the middle of the room.
I have been doing up sights rapidly, preparatory to leaving; for instance, the Admiralty, where an officer showed us all the models, interesting to Charles, especially the Yankee cutters; the Academy of Fine Arts from which, however, the best paintings have already been sent to Paris. (For the Exposition.) I wanted to get a fair idea of the Russian school, as it is now very little known out of the country, but headed by Zitchy, a genius. I have photographs which will give you an idea of his talent.
The Imperial Library one day I slaughtered, well repaying a visit, but finally, today, we gave a hurried half-hour to a last, lingering gaze at the treasures in the Hermitage.
A DRIVE WITH REINDEER.
Yesterday, in all the cold, we took a five minute drive in a sledge drawn by three reindeer on the Neva, just to say we had done it.
Midnight and after:—I take up my festive quill for the last time in Petersburg, to finish a family epistle.
We have been to see our last ballet tonight, and then out to Tivoli, a restaurant in the suburbs of the city, with a “swell” skating pond under glass. We have been meaning to see the place for a long while, but have not accomplished it before our last eve.
We have our government permission to leave the country, and nothing now remains for us to do but gracefully take off our hats and give a parting kiss to Russia.
Nate.
Please see that all my military traps are safely returned from the studio of Staigg,—sword, bridle, jacket, belt, etc. Ask T. G. A. to write me his opinion of the picture.
GAS-LIGHTING IN MOSCOW. FROM MY MOTHER IN BOSTON, FEB. 10, 1867.
“Did you witness the lighting of Moscow with gas? It must have been a great occasion from the newspaper accounts. It seems strange it should not have been done before this.
GIFTS TO THE SOUTH.
Mr. George Peabody has made a munificent gift to the country of $1,500,000 for educational purposes in the South, so that I am sure the North may feel relieved of all responsibility.
I read in this evening’s _Transcript_, that the largest room in the world is in St. Petersburg, did you see it? Twenty thousand wax tapers are required to light it properly.
DROSKY. ]
It is simply ridiculous the way people are to be off, there will be eight or nine vacant houses at Nahant.”
Later, in a letter dated March 31, 1867, my mother mentioned the gift of 100,000 volumes of school books, which the New York Appleton firm had added to the educational gift of Mr. Peabody.
“POOR POLAND.”
“Good Kosciusko! thy great name alone Is a full harvest whence to reap high feeling; It comes upon us like the glorious pealing Of the wide spheres—an everlasting tone.” —_John Keats._ _To Kosciusko._
LETTER TO MY MOTHER.
Vienna, Feb. 12, 1867.
From Saint Petersburg to here, a long pull, is it not? and what a change in temperature from the icy zero of the Neva to that which seems almost like summer! We saw the snow disappear on our way, and wheels gradually take the place of runners, and now that I am far away, and in a city, which like most European ones, is an attempted copy of Paris, how brilliantly indeed do the peculiarities of Russia stand forth.
We left St. P. one morning and the evening of the next day were in Warsaw. Returning to our hotel late from a ball, we were accosted and stopped by a policeman of whom I asked the way, and he very politely took us all (Mr. W. F. Nisbet, an American gentleman who came with us from Russia, C. A. L. and myself.) to the station house. It seems no one in Warsaw is allowed to be out after midnight without a “pass,” and we had neglected to get them.
We coolly entered and sat down and burst out laughing, and at length I explained in my bad German, to an official who talked an equally bad lingo, our situation, impressing him with the fact of the greatness of the Amerikanski alliance, and we were soon escorted home.
The next day we rambled about the town, saw the palaces and the pretty ladies, and were attended to by some young Russian swells to whom we had letters from St. Petersburg. In the theatre we saw the Mazourka most gorgeously danced in true Polish national costume, which was not allowed here a few years ago.
Poor old Poland! What is left of her former greatness? Alas, nothing but the mazourka. As can be aptly said, how like to Byron’s Greece:—
We have the Polish dance as yet, Where is the Polish phalanx gone?
Better this than nothing, as it helps keep up still the nationality of the people.
The next morning Charles and I were off to Cracow, the old capital of Poland, and one of the most interesting and quaint old towns I had ever seen, with its Square and Schloss, and the church where all the kings of Poland have been crowned and buried, and we mysteriously descended the vault, and saw the tombs of Jagellon, Paniatowski, and our good friend Kosciusko.
This is an Austrian territory, where the rule is much less rigid, and we saw many old Poles in faded frogged coats and square caps, and the antique equipages and livery of families once the greatest in Europe.
I was never so impressed before with the hard fate of Poland, a great nation actually annihilated, and I got up my sympathy more on my journey by reading a most interesting history of Poland by Mickiewicz.
There happens to be a big salt mine near Cracow, and as we had never seen anything of the sort before, we descended with Bengal lights and what not, and did the whole thing: illuminated chambers, ferried across the Styx, crystal dance halls, and all, hundreds of feet below ground.
PARTING COMPANY.
The next morning we were up early for the train, and Charles and I, after two and more most agreeable months together, parted company; he for Dresden and then Paris, and I for Vienna.