The Innocents Abroad
situation and the circumstances created. It seemed strange--stranger
than I can tell--to think that the central figure in the cluster of men
and women, chatting here under the trees like the most ordinary
individual in the land, was a man who could open his lips and ships
would fly through the waves, locomotives would speed over the plains,
couriers would hurry from village to village, a hundred telegraphs would
flash the word to the four corners of an Empire that stretches its vast
proportions over a seventh part of the habitable globe, and a countless
multitude of men would spring to do his bidding. I had a sort of vague
desire to examine his hands and see if they were of flesh and blood,
like other men's. Here was a man who could do this wonderful thing, and
yet if I chose I could knock him down. The case was plain, but it
seemed preposterous, nevertheless--as preposterous as trying to knock
down a mountain or wipe out a continent. If this man sprained his
ankle, a million miles of telegraph would carry the news over mountains
--valleys--uninhabited deserts--under the trackless sea--and ten thousand
newspapers would prate of it; if he were grievously ill, all the nations
would know it before the sun rose again; if he dropped lifeless where he
stood, his fall might shake the thrones of half a world! If I could
have stolen his coat, I would have done it. When I meet a man like
that, I want something to remember him by.
As a general thing, we have been shown through palaces by some
plush-legged filagreed flunkey or other, who charged a franc for it; but
after talking with the company half an hour, the Emperor of Russia and
his family conducted us all through their mansion themselves. They made
no charge. They seemed to take a real pleasure in it.
We spent half an hour idling through the palace, admiring the cosy
apartments and the rich but eminently home-like appointments of the
place, and then the Imperial family bade our party a kind good-bye, and
proceeded to count the spoons.
An invitation was extended to us to visit the palace of the eldest son,
the Crown Prince of Russia, which was near at hand. The young man was
absent, but the Dukes and Countesses and Princes went over the premises
with us as leisurely as was the case at the Emperor's, and conversation
continued as lively as ever.
It was a little after one o'clock, now. We drove to the Grand Duke
Michael's, a mile away, in response to his invitation, previously given.
We arrived in twenty minutes from the Emperor's. It is a lovely place.
The beautiful palace nestles among the grand old groves of the park, the
park sits in the lap of the picturesque crags and hills, and both look
out upon the breezy ocean. In the park are rustic seats, here and there,
in secluded nooks that are dark with shade; there are rivulets of crystal
water; there are lakelets, with inviting, grassy banks; there are
glimpses of sparkling cascades through openings in the wilderness of
foliage; there are streams of clear water gushing from mimic knots on the
trunks of forest trees; there are miniature marble temples perched upon
gray old crags; there are airy lookouts whence one may gaze upon a broad
expanse of landscape and ocean. The palace is modeled after the choicest
forms of Grecian architecture, and its wide colonnades surround a central
court that is banked with rare flowers that fill the place with their
fragrance, and in their midst springs a fountain that cools the summer
air, and may possibly breed mosquitoes, but I do not think it does.
The Grand Duke and his Duchess came out, and the presentation ceremonies
were as simple as they had been at the Emperor's. In a few minutes,
conversation was under way, as before. The Empress appeared in the
verandah, and the little Grand Duchess came out into the crowd. They had
beaten us there. In a few minutes, the Emperor came himself on
horseback. It was very pleasant. You can appreciate it if you have ever
visited royalty and felt occasionally that possibly you might be wearing
out your welcome--though as a general thing, I believe, royalty is not
scrupulous about discharging you when it is done with you.
The Grand Duke is the third brother of the Emperor, is about thirty-seven
years old, perhaps, and is the princeliest figure in Russia. He is even
taller than the Czar, as straight as an Indian, and bears himself like
one of those gorgeous knights we read about in romances of the Crusades.
He looks like a great-hearted fellow who would pitch an enemy into the
river in a moment, and then jump in and risk his life fishing him out
again. The stories they tell of him show him to be of a brave and
generous nature. He must have been desirous of proving that Americans
were welcome guests in the imperial palaces of Russia, because he rode
all the way to Yalta and escorted our procession to the Emperor's
himself, and kept his aids scurrying about, clearing the road and
offering assistance wherever it could be needed. We were rather familiar
with him then, because we did not know who he was. We recognized him
now, and appreciated the friendly spirit that prompted him to do us a
favor that any other Grand Duke in the world would have doubtless
declined to do. He had plenty of servitors whom he could have sent, but
he chose to attend to the matter himself.
The Grand Duke was dressed in the handsome and showy uniform of a Cossack
officer. The Grand Duchess had on a white alpaca robe, with the seams
and gores trimmed with black barb lace, and a little gray hat with a
feather of the same color. She is young, rather pretty modest and
unpretending, and full of winning politeness.
Our party walked all through the house, and then the nobility escorted
them all over the grounds, and finally brought them back to the palace
about half-past two o'clock to breakfast. They called it breakfast, but
we would have called it luncheon. It consisted of two kinds of wine;
tea, bread, cheese, and cold meats, and was served on the centre-tables
in the reception room and the verandahs--anywhere that was convenient;
there was no ceremony. It was a sort of picnic. I had heard before that
we were to breakfast there, but Blucher said he believed Baker's boy had
suggested it to his Imperial Highness. I think not--though it would be
like him. Baker's boy is the famine-breeder of the ship. He is always
hungry. They say he goes about the state-rooms when the passengers are
out, and eats up all the soap. And they say he eats oakum. They say he
will eat any thing he can get between meals, but he prefers oakum. He
does not like oakum for dinner, but he likes it for a lunch, at odd
hours, or any thing that way. It makes him very disagreeable, because it
makes his breath bad, and keeps his teeth all stuck up with tar. Baker's
boy may have suggested the breakfast, but I hope he did not. It went off
well, anyhow. The illustrious host moved about from place to place, and
helped to destroy the provisions and keep the conversation lively, and
the Grand Duchess talked with the verandah parties and such as had
satisfied their appetites and straggled out from the reception room.
The Grand Duke's tea was delicious. They give one a lemon to squeeze
into it, or iced milk, if he prefers it. The former is best. This tea
is brought overland from China. It injures the article to transport it
by sea.
When it was time to go, we bade our distinguished hosts good-bye, and
they retired happy and contented to their apartments to count their
spoons.
We had spent the best part of half a day in the home of royalty, and had
been as cheerful and comfortable all the time as we could have been in
the ship. I would as soon have thought of being cheerful in Abraham's
bosom as in the palace of an Emperor. I supposed that Emperors were
terrible people. I thought they never did any thing but wear magnificent
crowns and red velvet dressing-gowns with dabs of wool sewed on them in
spots, and sit on thrones and scowl at the flunkies and the people in the
parquette, and order Dukes and Duchesses off to execution. I find,
however, that when one is so fortunate as to get behind the scenes and
see them at home and in the privacy of their firesides, they are
strangely like common mortals. They are pleasanter to look upon then
than they are in their theatrical aspect. It seems to come as natural to
them to dress and act like other people as it is to put a friend's cedar
pencil in your pocket when you are done using it. But I can never have
any confidence in the tinsel kings of the theatre after this. It will be
a great loss. I used to take such a thrilling pleasure in them. But,
hereafter, I will turn me sadly away and say;
“This does not answer--this isn't the style of king that I am acquainted
with.”
When they swagger around the stage in jeweled crowns and splendid robes,
I shall feel bound to observe that all the Emperors that ever I was
personally acquainted with wore the commonest sort of clothes, and did
not swagger. And when they come on the stage attended by a vast
body-guard of supes in helmets and tin breastplates, it will be my duty
as well as my pleasure to inform the ignorant that no crowned head of my
acquaintance has a soldier any where about his house or his person.
Possibly it may be thought that our party tarried too long, or did other
improper things, but such was not the case. The company felt that they
were occupying an unusually responsible position--they were representing
the people of America, not the Government--and therefore they were
careful to do their best to perform their high mission with credit.
On the other hand, the Imperial families, no doubt, considered that in
entertaining us they were more especially entertaining the people of
America than they could by showering attentions on a whole platoon of
ministers plenipotentiary and therefore they gave to the event its
fullest significance, as an expression of good will and friendly feeling
toward the entire country. We took the kindnesses we received as
attentions thus directed, of course, and not to ourselves as a party.
That we felt a personal pride in being received as the representatives of
a nation, we do not deny; that we felt a national pride in the warm
cordiality of that reception, can not be doubted.
Our poet has been rigidly suppressed, from the time we let go the anchor.
When it was announced that we were going to visit the Emperor of Russia,
the fountains of his great deep were broken up, and he rained ineffable
bosh for four-and-twenty hours. Our original anxiety as to what we were
going to do with ourselves, was suddenly transformed into anxiety about
what we were going to do with our poet. The problem was solved at last.
Two alternatives were offered him--he must either swear a dreadful oath
that he would not issue a line of his poetry while he was in the Czar's
dominions, or else remain under guard on board the ship until we were
safe at Constantinople again. He fought the dilemma long, but yielded at
last. It was a great deliverance. Perhaps the savage reader would like
a specimen of his style. I do not mean this term to be offensive. I
only use it because “the gentle reader” has been used so often that any
change from it can not but be refreshing:
“Save us and sanctify us, and finally, then,
See good provisions we enjoy while we journey to Jerusalem.
For so man proposes, which it is most true
And time will wait for none, nor for us too.”
The sea has been unusually rough all day. However, we have had a
lively time of it, anyhow. We have had quite a run of visitors. The
Governor-General came, and we received him with a salute of nine guns.