n T*fJ **«*•« t Class Book Copyright^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. HONEYMOONING IN RUSSIA An Idyl of Little Russia HONEYMOONING IN RUSSIA BY RUTH KEDZIE WOOD With Numerous Illustrations NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1911 Copyright, 1911, By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY Published, October, 1911 'CU297113 To Philip CONTENTS CHAPTER I An Impromptu Wedding Journey II St. Izaak's and the Kazan III At the Tomb of the Tsars IV A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy V A Chapter of Outings .... VI The Penalty of a Snap-Shot VII A House-Party at Peterhov VIII A Morning in the Royal Nurseries IX A Day with Marie X Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod XI Yarmark Adventures .... XII Moscow and a Letter of Introduction XIII The Chatelaine of Shulov XIV For the Good of the Empire . XV The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers XVI Comrades of a Revolutionist XVII Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales page 1 13 24 36 50 65 88 99 116 135 161 180 205 227 242 292 320 ILLUSTRATIONS An Idyl of Little Russia Frontispiece S FACING PAGE Paul, the First 8 V Peter, the Great 16 Cathedral erected in St. Petersburgh in memory of Alexander II 26 V A Chamberlain to the Tsar 32 v^ Winter Palace, St. Petersburgh 40 v Tsarevitch Alexis 46 v Reproduction of an Izba, made by a Volga peasant . . 54 " The Peasant Lovers," by Bekemichev 60 *■" " The Conquerors," by Vereschagin 70 u Our host at Cronstadt 78 «■ Selling homespun linen at a village fair 84 ^ Peterhov Palace . 90 ^ Where the Tsar feasts after the Coronation .... 96 L/ Arrival of the Tsar within the gates of Sampsonievsky Church, Poltava 104 The Arab Captain 112 Marie 120 Market day at Vologda . 128 " A Steamer on the Volga 138 v Russian Farmers 146 i Nizhni Novgorod in Winter 154 ; A Tartar Pedlar 164 The Chapel of the Iversky Virgin 172 Birthplace of Gogol, near Janovstina 182 Illustrations FACING PAGE Tsar Alexis Michaelovitch and Nikon at Tomb of St. Philip in the Cathedral of The Assumption, Moscow 190 The Red Square, Church of St. Basil and Redeemer Gate, Moscow 200 The Chateau at Shulov 210 Liuba, in peasant dress 220 Museum, Sevastopol 232 Yalta 240 The Widow Kirsanov and the batushka's daughter . . 248 Darlings of the Tsar 258 Villas overhanging the shore 268 Medical School Buildings, University of New Russia, Odessa 278 Kiev, Capital of the Cossack Kingdom 286 Pechorskaia Monastery, Kiev 298 The Theatre Square, Warsaw 306 l Hotel Bristol, Warsaw 316 Lazienki Palace, Warsaw 328 Memorial to Copernicus, St. John's Cathedral, Thorn . 338 Cg3 - Cg3 $J o Chapter I AN IMPROMPTU WEDDING JOURNEY 'NE day in June the library telephone summoned me. " Please pin on your hat and come down quick in a taxi," pleaded Philip. " I have a package of news to de- liver. Will you meet me at twelve? I am ordering lunch- eon for two at Carlin's.' , Of course I promised and ran upstairs to put on some- thing white and crisp. Of course, also, I prinked a mo- ment. Two more moments sped in gathering up gloves and sunshade and in leaving word for the mater. As my tardy cab approached Carlin's familiar glass portals I saw Philip glance at his time-piece. He held it up for me to see, but I was too wary to be thus convicted of feminine dilatoriness. " The news, the news," I cried. " Scold me after- wards ! " I could see by his face it was something I couldn't wait to know; but we were tucked into our fa- vourite corner and Gustav, the Sleek, had gone for our order of crab-meat canape and potatoes O'Brien before my curiosity was satisfied. " Well ? " I urged impatiently. Philip leaned towards me on his folded arms. His eyes shone with happy excitement. " You are going to be married to-day. That is half my news." "No?" I scoffed. "And to whom?" " To me," brazenly. 2 Honeymooning in Russia I tilted my chin, though my heart thumped. " May I have the details? " " You may, my dear, for they comprise the other half of my news." His eyes brimmed with a look familiar enough of late. " And when I am done, please be a little kind." When he used that tone he was hard to resist. u I can't guarantee my mood. Begin." " Then be it known that I have just been appointed to the post of European manager of the Consolidated Steel and Wire, and that I do not propose to undertake my new duties alone. This is your pre-nuptial repast, my very dear. At dinner you may invite your family to meet Mr. and Mrs. Philip D. Houghton, who sail in the morning for Liverpool." " So you have turned pirate? " I parried. " Your methods are at least debut de siecle. You lure by tele- phone and bait with crab-meat canape." Phil's now serious eyes quelled my frivolity. I was only pretending anyway. " Is it permitted the captured maiden to have a few more particulars ? " I murmured, suddenly meek. The word " captured " seemed to encourage the dear bandit, and his face was happy again as he enlightened me. The cor- poration's manager abroad had cabled his resignation fol- lowing a disagreement over certain business transactions. " In recognition of proven faithfulness and ability " Philip, late sales manager, had been advised of his promo- tion. . . . This afternoon we were to be married. . . . To-morrow we sailed! In vain I implored a few days* respite. There was a vital matter awaiting adjust- ment at the London office and the first express steamer would take us to England none too soon. And so I agreed to end forever the sweet uncertainty An Impromptu Wedding Journey 3 of the game we had played all winter. By telephone we summoned a few friends and a parent and sister apiece. A hastily procured licence, a short drive in a hansom, a few quiet words — and I had exchanged my own name for one far dearer. The Consolidated's president motored down to the dock early the next morning to speed us on our voyage. Mr. Houghton's presence would be required at the London office only long enough to attend to one matter of business, he assured us. Under the rather unusual circumstances attending his departure it was the company's wish that their European manager should feel free to assume his duties at his convenience. The great man threw me a smile. I sent one back. " He is an old dear, isn't he, Philip ? " " He is," assented my husband. Farewells were said — some teary, some merry. A last wave of my handkerchief signalled those fluttering on the pier. Less than twenty-four hours after our betrothal we had set sail upon our honeymoon. Two weeks later found us in London with the momentous business arranged and only the further plans for our wedding journey still unsettled. A desultory scanning of the Telegraph's shipping news suddenly decided us. " From London to St. Petersburgh by the Kiel Canal " was the magic sentence productive of much future interest and pleasure. We went to Fenchurch Street to engage our stateroom. We attended to our passport at the United States Embassy on Victoria Street, and had it vised at the Russian Consulate on Great Winchester Street. Only one passport was necessary for us both. All whom it might concern were adjured to " allow Philip 4 Honeymooning in Russia Houghton and wife to freely pass," and then followed a detailed description of said Philip's features, age, and stature . . . grey eyes . . . black hair . . . straight nose . . . smooth- shaven . . . thirty- three . . . five feet eleven inches. We bought Baedeker's Russia in French, none being published in English. One or two cablegrams and a score of post-cards went to America with the announce- ment : " Sailing for Russia on honeymoon," which we congratulated ourselves sounded delightfully unique. Al- together, the excitement of doing the unusual added spice to the pleasurable preparation. We sailed down the Thames on July second, sole pas- sengers on the baby ship Zara, with a dear fat captain at the helm. (Phil says captains don't stand at the helm now-a-days, but the nauticality of the phrase appeals to me.) We crossed the North Sea and knocked at the gate of the Emperor William or Kiel Canal. German hands swung open the bars for our ingress, and German meadows drew away as we intruded upon their green peace. At Kiel, Germany's Hampton Roads, monstrous grey battle-ships glowered from the harbour. We stayed on the bridge till midnight to see the sun's afterglow fade in the west as the moon came up the sky in the east. The last gleam of sun-gold fell behind a cloud at exactly eleven-ten. We spent the following day in a ghostly mist. A light-house bell warned of the too-close shore and the cap- tain ordered the ship out to the open. At Riga we learned that a collier had gone down near us that night with all hands. Such tales are told with tragic frequency in Baltic ports. An Impromptu Wedding Journey 5 Five days out we saw Finland's gloomy heights mar- shalled at the entrance of the bay which is St. Peters- burgh's front door-yard. From an island on our right Kronstadt's guns leered from gaping port-holes. Up the companionway bounded kodaking Philip, in- spired by novel opportunities for picture-making. The captain signalled frantically, motioning him back. " My dear young man, you are in Russian waters now. Put that box away until the police of Petersburgh give you permission to bring it out again." The captain had been running to Russian ports for thirty years and we did not delay in taking his advice, though we opined that a jaunt through Russia might have its drawbacks. Off Kronstadt the Zara's anchor rattled down and we, a little awed and slightly nervous, beheld a green and red line of officials ascend the gang-plank from a revenue cut- ter. Their dingy clothing belied the bravery of gilt trap- pings and silver badges. Pomp of official authority but scantily hid poorness of body and spirit. The captain spoke some Russian unintelligibles to a bearded Slav, who glanced at us and nodded. We were just two Americans come to see Russia, no baggage to speak of, perfectly harmless — the captain had evidently explained. Our passport was demanded and presented; our baggage opened and searched; the ship's hold ex- plored, and the hatches sealed. Then for an hour, about the long table in the dining salon, the Tsar's minions fumbled documents and mumbled reports. Philip began to fidget as, moment after moment, the men in bottle- green and scarlet discussed mysteriously in suppressed gutturals. The air was weighty with unasked questions. 6 Honeymooning in Russia Was something amiss with our passport? Had we neg- lected a vital vise, or aroused suspicion by act or com- ment ? The captain smoking on the bridge had an air of un- communicativeness which chilled us. " Philip," I gasped, as I drew him around a cor- ner of the deck, " do you suppose they could deport us?" " I don't know, but that isn't the worst they could do." We sat down in our steamer chairs and waited, " as if for a summons," Phil recounted later, with a laugh. We searched our memories for some incriminating, though innocent, act of ours which might be the cause of the con- clave within. A tall man in visored cap and wrinkly boots came to the door and looked out. Others appeared behind him. Philip's hand stole over to mine on the chair arm. The captain was signalled and descended. The steely-eyed procession crossed the deck. More Russian conversation followed. Suddenly, papers being exchanged, hands were raised in precise salute and the whole lot clattered off to the gangway, leaving an aroma of leather, called Rus- sian, though often tanned in Leipzig. The skipper smiled and beckoned to us. I am sure he noticed my half-scared face. Phil took off his cap and brushed his hair free of his forehead with a gesture of re- lief. " Will you kindly tell us the object of this funereal performance, Captain Grant? " " Willingly, if I could. This is the Land of Lots of Time. The Russian's nitchevo rivals the Spaniard's An Impromptu Wedding Journey 7 "And there is no other explanation for this racking delay?" " No, they go through the same farce every time we come to port. It is due partly to the Slavic love of form and official importance. That's Peterhov there on the right, where the Tsarevitch was born. You must go out to see the fountains play." But somehow the keen edge of our holiday enjoyment had been dulled. Neither of us confessed it in so many words, but a faint dread of the Unknown had usurped excited anticipation of the Unusual. Philip was staring through his field-glasses. Suddenly he gripped my arm and thrust them toward me. " There — to the left — those gorgeous domes ! That must be Petersburgh." A bright blue something caught my eyes, a glare of gold and a flash of Oriental red. Towers and crosses, spires and turreted domes reflected the noon sun. "It is Constantinople!" I ejaculated, "not St. Peters- burgh." And this, my first impression, was later con- firmed by the filigreed cornices, turquoise cupolas, and glittering lacy spires of the Orient which everywhere rose to Russian skies. Orientalism had also impregnated the street-cleaning department, we remarked as the Zara moved towards the docks and we descended to the filth and unevenness of a cobblestoned roadway. A dozen isvostchiks made a bid for our patronage. We chose the least decrepit vehicle in which to deposit ourselves and our luggage, and exercised our ship-learned Russian to direct the cabby to a hotel. As the drosky started forward, Philip poked me delightedly with his 8 Honeymooning in Russia elbow, with unnecessary vigour, however, as I had already discovered the cause of his glee. Clucking Russian fashion to his small fast horse, guid- ing the backless little vehicle over jouncing stones, our Jehu loomed large before us. His back and hips meas- ured the width of the seat, spreading in obese volume to the very side-rails. On his head sat a squat hat. His hair and beard flowed in plethoric abandon to his shoul- ders and chest. Never had we gazed on so ample a figure, nor upon one so ludicrous. At that moment another drosky lurched by. Upon the box, shouting to another galloping horse, sat the twin of the creature before us. We scarcely saw the sights flying past, so intent were we thereafter upon the parade of our cabman's replicas. The hugeness of each one exceeded that of his predeces- sor, only to be surpassed by the next hirsute horseman. Meanwhile we grasped firmly whatever our hands touched for support, devoutly hoping for a somewhat safe arrival. A wheel grazed another whirling by. The small horse ran faster. A corner was safely manoeuvred, then an- other. At last a syllable and a jerk of the reins brought our steed to a sedate standstill at the porte cochere. A dvornik in bright red trousers and brighter blue tunic came out to take our bags. Philip recompensed the shaggy driver over-well, with tea-money added. As the porter had gone ahead and announced our nationality as other than Russian, a frock-coated courier immediately appeared, greeting us as Americans and speaking English the moment he observed the cut of our coats and boots. Our room on the bel etage, luxuriously furnished and pier-glassed, pleased us immediately. French windows opened upon a court where doves, symbols to the Russian Paul, the First An Impromptu Wedding Journey 9 of the Holy Ghost, pecked at scattered grain. A stocky maiden brought brass jugs of hot water, and we made our toilet preparatory to a visit to the Chief of Police regard- ing our treasured camera. In the midst of our ablutions, a house-boy knocked and asked in German for our pass- port. Philip was loth to give up the precious document, but I had read my guide-book and knew what was re- quired of us. Until our departure from the city the im- posing parchment must remain with the police. - Another obese cabby piloted us to the door of Police Headquarters. A soldier, standing on duty at the en- trance, led us to a room where an officer was writing at a long table. Rising at our approach, he bowed, heels clicking formally. In German and some French we made known our errand. Thereupon he called an orderly and directed him to escort us up a half flight of stairs to a larger apartment. Here we waited while officials passed and repassed, glancing curiously at the two foreigners with the kodak. A brass-studded door opened to permit the egress of a magnificent individual in a silver-embroid- ered military coat. We saw behind him a roomful of men whose manner breathed importance and secrecy. An officer closed the door and came towards us. Philip stood up and repeated his story. I wanted to laugh; it was all so serious, and we had come merely to ask permission to photograph ordinary street sights \ Again we were con- ducted up a stairway and through a door. Explaining our mission to a subordinate, our guide in red-piped green, excused himself formally. Again we waited, to be addressed finally by one in civilian's clothes, slender, tall, brun, superb, who came from an inner room. Again we stumbled in French while Philip fingered the camera. 10 Honeymooning in Russia Ah, he understood. It was to make the pictures, yes? We were tourists perhaps? The French of Paris, the voice of Italy, the manner of the Russian autocrat! We answered in awkward phrase. Then our interrogator smiled, hesitated, and said in idiomatic English : " Pos- sibly, Monsieur and Madame would find it more conven- ient to use their own language ? " After that it went more easily. Our names were taken, our business in- quired, our address given. Of course we expected to pay a ruble as fee and take our permit with us. " In two days, Monsieur and Madame, if you will call in person you shall receive the document." He smiled in- gratiatingly and held open the door. We made our good- byes and walked solemnly down the bare stairways. At the main door, a shackled boy was struggling and crying hysterically, as two officers stoically dragged him forward. Stories of Russian police methods came back to me, as we stood aside to let the three pass, and heard a door close upon the tragedy. Our cheery room seemed doubly bright after the glimpse of dreary walls and silent lips at Police Headquarters. I sat down on the edge of one of the silk-covered beds. " What do you suppose they were doing with that poor boy? He looked more like a student than a criminal." " Perhaps he was a student. Do you remember some of the tales Captain Grant told us? I thought my blood would never grow warm again. Remember that one of the bank clerk who was reported as having been seen to pick up a revolutionary pamphlet in the street? And how the police came at two o'clock in the morning and pounded on the house door until the man, who wasn't a revolutionist at all, had to go down and let them in? An Impromptu Wedding Journey 11 They told him to put on his clothes and come, and he did, his wife and children crying all the time and begging the officers to let him stay till morning with them. The captain said three weeks later the man came into the bank and no one knew him; his face was like death; his voice cracked and old; his legs tottery. When, finally, he made them understand who he was, they asked him where he had been and what they had done to him. But he shook his head and closed his lips, and they knew he didn't dare tell them." I got up and began to dress for dinner, while Phil went down to change some British gold into kopeks and rubles. When he came back he was laughing. " Well, I've solved the problem of the fat cabmen." " You have? " " Yes, the son of Babel below (he meant the courier who spoke thirteen languages, including Dutch and Arabic) says it is good form for all coachmen in Russia to wear padded clothes. The richer the employer, the thicker the padding. What we marvelled at was not flesh, but cotton batting." " Well, in that case I should choose to be a poor Russ when I drove out, so that I might occasionally see beyond the mountain range on the box." We went down to dinner at seven. Vaguely we had imagined that we should subsist in Russia upon black bread, caviar, and tea a la Russe. Certainly we were not prepared for the rarely delicious dishes which succeeded each other throughout the seven or eight courses. A soup containing whole soft-boiled plover's eggs, fol- lowed spiced and salted hors d'ceuvres. Fresh sterlet came on with whipped sour cream. A roast of tenderest 12 Honeymooning in Russia veal was trundled to us on an English joint table. Golden apricots with alisander salad were served after young broiled tree partridges. Then as a single course, new peas stewed in mint appeared in individual silver dishes. I was helping myself, rather liberally, to a pasty of wild strawberries, when I felt impelled to meet the gaze of a white-haired man, who with a lady perfectly gowned, sat at a near-by table. His eyes were turned our way with embarrassing intentness. I glanced at my husband, but doing in Russia as Russians do, he was sipping amber chai from a thin glass and had observed nothing. Our French-speaking waiter offered me some oddly wrapped sweets, which I munched, reflectively. My lord chose in silence one of those delightful Russian cigarettes. " How many miles are we from Carlin's, Philip? " " You are homesick ! " " Not with you here," I equivocated. Outside, the twi- light hovered still. " Shall we drive awhile before we go to bed? " " Let's," I assented. Once more I caught a glance from steel-grey eyes as we immersed finger-tips in fragrant water. Suspicion of my own innocence gripped me as on the ship when we waited. I recalled the captain's enigma of a smile when we had enthused over prospective Russian experiences. " Oh, there's lots to see, but you'll be glad enough to put foot across the frontier and breathe again ! " I be- gan to take a little stock in his prophecy. But why? And " why " it remained during several subsequent days in Mother Russia. & & Chapter II ST. IZAAK'S AND THE KAZAN J HE river Neva, twisting through the capital, offers an excuse for several bridges, most of which are of wood and are taken down in winter to be set up again in the spring. Little use for bridges when the Neva makes of itself a white highway for trams, sledges and pedestrians ! On its banks are Government buildings, palaces and in- stitutions, varying in interest from the Senate to the Foundling Asylum. The squares, adorned with commemorative statuary, were gay with band music as we drove over the Alexander bridge to the Islands of the Neva delta. We drove in a maze of light green woods, wide-porticoed homes, and restaurant gardens to the Point where the boats of the Yacht Club lifted gently on the rising tide. Returning along the arched allee of this aristocratic summer quarter we drew from imagination a probable winter scene among these merry islands. We heard crisp crunching of snow, quick trot of long-maned horses, light tinkling of troika bells, lilt of blithe voices. The cool air of summer twilight acquired for us the twinge of winter cold, and we conceived pelts of fox and sable shielding soft bodies. Eyes, glistening, answered other eyes; life throbbed and cheeks grew scarlet-tinged as the St. Petersburgh of Snowtime flashed by. " What hour of night do you suppose it is ? " I held up my blue watch. 13 14 Honeymooning in Russia " Ten o'clock ! I can't believe it." " I call it delightfully accommodating of Old Sol, this generous extension of sight-seeing hours, don't you?" Emboldened by Russian example, a tweed arm slipped from the back of the low seat to my waist. So we had seen dozens of grey-overcoated officers speeding through the dusk with the maidens of their summer choice. How- ever, I made a stand for the proprieties as we left the woodsy drives and crossed the river to the city streets. At the statue of Great Peter, which many think the finest of all equestrian bronzes, we almost ran down a ragged specimen, very drunk and singing joyously, doubtless in praise of the former contents of the bottle which he waved aloft. " Just a patriot assisting his Government to build a new battle-ship or buy rations for the army," remarked Philip, recalling the captain's statement that the Govern- ment supported its defenders almost entirely from the proceeds of its vodka monopoly. Doves courting brazenly on the window-sill awakened us at three o'clock: doves and glints of sapphire dawn. At four, breakfast sounds began to climb from the court. Someone was whistling — probably the air of a folk- song, I dreamily surmised. So interesting . . . na- tive music always characteristic of national temperament once read that most Russian tunes were minor. . A syncopated measure shrilled gaily from below. I sat up. Phil opened his eyes. " Do you hear what that fellow is whistling ! " we exclaimed simultaneously, and then laughed aloud as we recognised the too-long familiar tune. Someone was fluting entreaties to one St Izaak's and the Kazan 15 William Bailey to return with expedition to his former habitation. I slipped from my bed to the casement and, peering down through the half-light, got a glimpse of the de- stroyer of sleep and illusions. It was Piotr shelling peas at the scullery door. Blue mists of daybreak faded to grey, and, in the pallid light, St. Izaak's gold dome shone gently luminous. As the sky grew saffron and rose, chiming cathedral bells melodised the cool air. Over the half-sleeping city breathed the Young Day. And it was the Sabbath! I asked Phil if he remembered, but got no response. Mor- pheus reigned again. Noiselessly I dressed, and left on the pillow a note : " I am gone, Lazy One, to say a prayer for you and me in the Cathedral of Gorgeousness near by. I shall return seichas." It was barely six as I merged into the stream flowing towards the great church. The portals, sentinelled by mammoth pillars of Finland granite, received the early worshippers as bells rang from the quartet of towers overhead. Within the edifice many hundreds were al- ready at their devotions, making ground reverences, touching their heads to the stone floor after the manner of the devout Russian. Shafts of malachite and lapis lazuli separated aisle from aisle and guarded the chancel steps. On swinging doors leading into saints' chapels and ante-rooms were religious paintings framed in silver. A thousand tremulous tapers glimmered from silver can- delabra, man-high. Before ikons blazing with brilliants and precious metals, more candles burned, some great, some small. From one hand to another these candles 16 Honeymooning in Russia were passed through the dense crowd, with a whispered name of a saint and a request to place it before the proper ikon. Many times the original petitioner was lost in the kneeling, praying, crossing throng at the rear. The merchandising of candles at Russian shrine doors is a not inconsiderable source of revenue to the Greek Orthodox Church. It is a regrettable commentary upon the teach- ings of the church that many worshippers offer a candle and a prayer for assistance to an end of questionable righteousness. A thief or a tyrant seeks saintly inter- cession for the furtherance of his aims with a faith equal to that of a child or a madonna. As I stood by a pillar watching faces and attitudes, a man entered whose evening clothes showed under his over- coat. He purchased a good-sized taper and, crossing himself, gave it to the one just ahead, who passed it on its way. Perhaps, I thought, he has been playing all night and has come to ask heavenly aid in winning back at the cards he will play all day. He had been drinking ; his face was streaked with dissipation, but he went through the litany none the less devoutly, sparing no genuflection nor sign of the cross. Near him a workman prayed upon his knees, bending repeatedly to touch his head to the floor and muttering over and over one reso- nant phrase. White-uniformed soldiers, hairy isvostchiks, maids in high-crowned caps with heel-length ribbons rubbed elbows with shopkeepers and housewives. A choir of boys and men began to intone in voices liquid and vibrant. The people and deacons chorused antiphonally in stately chant. Through the Royal Doors in the centre of the ikonastas, or screen separating chancel from sanc- tuary, the celebrant was seen, moving amid a haze of in- Peter, the Great St. Izaak's and the Kazan 17 cense. A white priest, with long soft-curling hair, passed among the congregation swinging his censer before the holy pictures. His robes were embroidered with verses in Old Slavonic, the language of the church, and out- lined with gems. Priests, choir, deacons chanted in turn the prayers, epistles and psalms of the Sunday service. A wave of tonal glory surged to the crest of the dome where a symbolic dove swayed from a cord. My aesthetic ego exulted in the beauty of the ritual and the splendour of the setting. . . . The priests vigor- ously chanted the benediction. . . . The music ceased. . . . The multitude arose, turned in one great mass to the doors, and passed through them to the sunny street. No religious exaltation illumined their countenances. . . . Stolid and apparently unmoved, they had risen from their knees. Through an alley of begging hands I went down the cathedral steps. My husband awaited me at the door of the hotel. It was just quarter past seven. " Either your sense of time or knowledge of Russian is at fault, Mrs. Houghton. Seichas is the term you em- ployed: ' I shall return seichas.' I looked it up right away in that List of Familiar Words and Phrases that boat fellow wrote out for us. Is this returning * im- mediately ' ? I've been up for hours." I ignored the exaggeration and led the way to the breakfast-room, suppressing my superior knowledge until we had ordered pots of caravan tea and brown rolls. " I am surprised at your ignorance, Philip. Trans- lated literally, seichas means ' within the hour,' and al- most within the hour I return. In this Land of Never Hurry they synonymise the two terms s immediately ' and 18 Honeymooning in Russia 6 within the hour.' Deliriously characteristic, it appears to me." " Did you keep your other promise ? " " Which? " " The one about praying." " Praying? " I echoed. Throughout that gorgeous ceremonial, how utterly I had forgotten to pray! We spent the long day hopping in and out of a drosky r visiting superb half -pagan temples, and marvel- ling at their eastern splendour. We were wandering through the Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan, a feeble though far from ineffective copy of St. Peter's at Rome, when a young monk in a black wool robe ap- proached us. " If it is permitted, the pleasure would be mine to show the cathedral treasures to Monsieur and Madame." His manner was winningly childlike, and he was so evidently eager to do us a courtesy that we quickly accepted his offer and followed him to an alcove chapel, puzzled that he should address us in our own tongue. In the chapel, a railing of solid silver defended the al- tar. The golden garments of a life-sized image of the Virgin and Child were thickly overlaid with seed pearls. Protected by glass, an ikon of the Holy Mother was mounted on a low pedestal, and heaped with rings, brooches and pendants set with diamonds, pearls, rubies, emeralds and sapphires. These were offerings made by devotees on church days sacred to the Christ Mother, ex- plained the soft-voiced guide. " This Christ ikon has a story — one for which every true-hearted Russian blushes." And he began to tell us the story in his quaintly accented English, hesitating oc- St. Izaak's and the Kazan 19 casionally for an elusive word, or appealing to us shyly when his memory failed him. A young prince who in other days had lived profli- gately forsook his ways and appeared every day at this shrine to kneel for long hours, kissing the jewel encrusted ikon of the Saviour. The devout mother of him gave thanks to God and the saints for the reclamation of her son's soul. For days his zeal did not abate. One even- ing, a verger, coming softly to place fresh flowers on the altar, found the prince kneeling at the foot of this ikon. He bent nearer to observe more closely his behaviour. Suddenly, a candle flaring, he saw what he was doing and understood why he had for weeks continued to pray with so great ardour. With his teeth, the prince had been loosening little by little a rare sapphire in the golden draperies of the holy picture. Even as the verger looked, the stone rolled from its setting into the mouth of the thief. When he rose to go to his waiting troika, the ver- ger had already called a gendarme standing in the cathe- dral porch, who arrested the perfidious one and took him, protesting, to Police Headquarters. In the office of the Chief, the jewel was found in his mouth, where he had thought it safely hidden." "And then?" we chorused, as the brother finished his uncanny story. " They cast him into the Fortress of Schlusselburgh, Monsieur and Madame. There may he languish forever in penance for his blasphemy ! " He crossed himself, and his lips moved, doubtless in prayer to be himself deliv- ered from temptation in time of trial. " I may take Monsieur to the robing-room, if Madame will permit us to withdraw," he hesitated. I gave prompt 20 Honeymooning in Russia consent and they passed out to a room where, to quote a discourteous Russian phrase, " neither women nor dogs might enter." Standing by the silver chancel rail, I watched the multitude come and go. A quiet figure in mourning clothes came to pray and leave fresh candles in the tallow-dripped sconces on the altar. A cuirassier swaggered by in a yellow-trimmed white coat worn over dark green trousers. He knelt on the tiled floor of the immense church to pray, open-eyed. Andrei, come from the country in tulup and red sash, with blue baggy trou- sers tucked into tall boots, walked with his hand in Katiusha's. She was dressed in a Sunday cap of stiffly laundered linen and a short embroidered skirt and jacket. Her features were broad and plain, but comely with the consciousness of love. They wandered from ikon to ikon, making the sign of the cross with the thumb and first two fingers, the third and fourth being drawn into the palm. Middle-class mothers in thick commonplace gowns piloted proper little Vasilis and Domnas through the crowd assembling for vespers. A fat officer from the Baltic provinces moved ponder- ously toward the door, his features too Teutonically in- clined to admit of a mistaken guess as to his forebears. In the porch he joined a pretty Russian demoiselle, and they went off together, his grey overcoat striking against his shiny heels. The evening service had begun before My Dear returned with his monk. In his eyes I saw the reflection of the glittering treasures he had seen. I smiled at his enthusiasm. " There were vestments literally hemmed with gems, the kind Rajahs wear to the photographer's," he eluci- St. Izaak's and the Kazan 21 dated. " And chalice cups of hand-worked silver, and mitres of fur and enamel steep with jewels, and staffs, and censers, spears and spoons, patens, penagias and pectoral crosses, heavy with gold and diamonds. A ' white priest * unlocked a case and showed me a Bible with gold covers thickly set with rubies — pigeon-bloods. . . . But I only half enjoyed it all," he flattered, " with you not there." He squeezed my hand under the very eyes of a painted saint on the wall. If it had been the presentment of a " pope " I should not have been so embarrassed, since, of that branch of the church, marriage is not only not forbidden, but required. The Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan is named for a holy picture of the Virgin which escaped miraculously a devastating fire in Kazan, and was brought to Peters- burgh. The ikon itself, framed in pearls and other gems valued at $75,000, is set into the ikonastas, with the name of Jehovah in flaming stones above. The screen, or ikon- astas itself, is of silver, made from the precious plunder carried away from Moscow by Napoleon's marauders. It was later recovered by avenging Cossacks and offered to Our Lady of Kazan. This church, the seat of the Metropolitan of St. Petersburgh, is the new capital's thank-offering for the defeat of Napoleon. Here the Imperial Family come to give thanks for any special providence. Keys and banners of Turkish and Persian wars are hung upon the pillars. It is, next to St. Izaak's, the most magnificent church in Petersburgh. Under the pergola which half circles the plaza, we stopped to say good-bye to our guide. His modesty and kindness had won us both, though we had been taught not to think overwell of the typical Russian " blacks." 22 Honeymooning in Russia " Won't you tell us where you learned our language ? " I ventured. " Here in Russia? " " No, Sudarynya." Memory misted his placid eyes. " Not in Russia, but in New York, where for three years of happiness I was permitted to serve the Bishop, when the Orthodox church was on Second Avenue." " Second Avenue ! " The name was ludicrous with the Nevsky at our elbow. " So you know America ! " Philip exclaimed. " What did you find there to admire?" The black priest's eyes still held a shadow of Other Days. " To admire, Monsieur? Ah, the things I remember best of America are not to admire alone, but to love, to love ! " His voice was tenderly reminiscent. Then his eyes and voice awoke. He glanced quickly about the portico and leaned a little towards us, speaking with hushed earnestness. " I found my people free to live, to learn ; free from suspicion, superstition and slaughter; free to live less like beasts in their stalls, more as live other creatures of God. Ah, my poor people of Russia ! " he breathed. " My gasping, struggling, bleeding Russia ! What shall the end be ? For what may we hope ? " A long-haired priest, hatless and white-robed, came along the almost deserted archway and looked curiously at us. The Brother started as if someone had called, and became again the unimpassioned soul of gentleness. I was near to tears. Philip put out his hands and, half timidly, the monk gave him his. " I have said rash words perhaps, Monsieur. In this land one may not speak his soul. When I remember the St IzaaVs and the Kazan 23 America for which I am always yearning, I forget the Law of Silence." He stood under the portal looking quietly after us as we crossed the square to the teeming Nevsky. The same thought possessed us both. What were the bonds which held these people, if to this man of God the hordes of New York's east side seemed, in comparison, creatures of for- tune and happiness ! ® Chapter III AT THE TOMB OF THE TSARS A^HILIP, the resourceful, had invented a mode of com- municating with the droskymen which worked admirably, and which I herewith recommend to subsequent sight- seers who are as unfamiliar with the speech of the coun- try as were we. From dozens of post-cards illustrating Petersburgh's attractions, we selected a goodly number with the advice of a genial shopkeeper. Before enter- ing a drosky, we would display to Vanka certain cards and demonstrate our desire to be driven to the objects of interest thereon depicted. The interrogation, " Skolko ? " (How much?) would result in perhaps three raised fin- gers, indicating a like number of rubles, or fifty-cent pieces. According to honoured custom, the tariff then would be discussed, and finally gesticulating that it was exorbitant, we, having learned our lesson from the courier, would show ourselves ready to receive the offers of the ever-present assemblage of rival horsemen. At this junc- ture Philip would proclaim with almost profane empha- sis, " Ya belshoi needam ! " a phrase of which he was very fond, though its meaning was innocent enough, " I will not give more." Seeing the threatened possibility of losing a fare to a brother driver, our disputant would instantly pursue, im- ploring, " Isvolti, pajaluista " (Come back, if you please), with an expression so effective that we rarely failed to be moved, and in the end we would usually embark flushed 24 At the Tomb of the Tsars 25 with a victory of a finger and a half. I found the hag- gling always amusing. Not an isvostchik in Muscovy expects his original asking-price. He intends eventually to carry you for half or a third the sum which he asserts in the beginning to be preposterously cheap and immov- ably fixed. " Yay-ee-bo-goo ! " (God is my witness!) he swears, " No man could do it for less." This with the air of one whose decision, attained only after just con- sideration, is unalterable. At first, the stolidity of his position almost convinces. Then you recall the strain of Orientalism in each true Russian, and the (expected) bargaining begins. Finally, you win, apparently. In reality, your cocher has agreed to drive you for the fare settled in his own mind when the question " Skolko ? " was first propounded. The tariff for a Petersburgh public cab is thirty cents an hour. I feel justified in asserting that the horse of flesh will, in that hour, cover more ground than would an average iron horse of the Imperial Russian Railways in the same length of time. Vanka's horse is strong, swift and sure. He drives himself, nosing his way through complications of traffic confusing to a head less wise. His forebears were bred from Dutch and Arabian stock, his sponsor being Orlov, the count whose interest in re- deeming the puny native breed has resulted in the pro- duction of the fastest and hardiest of all cab horses. Heedless that his " fare " is often paying " by time," though sometimes " by the course," unlearned in the otherwise universal ruse of restraining his steed accord- ingly, the Russian cabman spreads wide the worsted reins wrapped about his wrists, and shouts with vigour to the willing animal, which bounds over the cobblestones, and 26 Honeymooning in Russia tears around corners until the drosky's startled occu- pants poke the formidable back, and gesticulate, " Less speed, if mercy dwells within you ! " This, in the case of foreigners. For the Russian, the faster the better. Aside from endangering our necks, our desire to lose nothing of the street sights was frustrated by these mad dashes along the Nevsky, or the Znamenskaia, or the Bol- shaia Morskaia. " We drove out to observe life, not to establish a record for cab horses," as Philip remonstrated. Following a generous prod in the back of his ample blue armyak, Johnny (English for the generic " Vanka") would screw half way around with a questioning stare. These for- eigners were curious folk, but he would be indulgent if their wants were not too preposterous. Philip's panto- mime of slow-walking fingers usually conveyed the idea. "Da, da," the good-natured fellow would affirm, and for a few minutes the gait would be less strenuous until the horse took things into his own hands again. During an hour's drive this pantomime would be repeated perhaps a dozen times. Then we discovered the word tishe (drive slowly) and substituted that for the sign language. But no matter what the method we employed, rarely did we drive slowly enough in Russia to suit our sight-seeing tastes. The day was gloriously warm and sunny, and we were about to make a pilgrimage to the shrines of Peter the Great. We had lunched early, since we had breakfasted not at all. To the appetising zakuska of raw fish, smoked goose, and onion; to the iced soup; the broiled grouse and salty cucumbers, we had done flattering jus- tice. Nor had we slighted the fresh mushrooms and Cathedral Erected in St. Petersburgh in Memory of Alexander II At the Tomb of the Tsars 27 the pineapple morojennoye. Over glasses of lampopo we had planned the excursion to scenes associated with the life and death of the Enterprising Tsar. The curb was hemmed with a line of droskies, and Philip, hailing the head of the cab-rank, produced a post-card and stammered, " Petropaulovski Sobor " ; but the inquiry "Skolko?" was scarcely put when the cabman addressed was signalled and beckoned away by a smart-looking in- dividual in uniform who leaned indolently against a pil- lar of the porte cochere. The interference was so un- doubtedly intentional that we stared at the intruder in astonished indignation. Ignoring us, however, the officer proceeded to his bargaining, and we were left to the sec- ond in line, a big Jehu with an eye too shrewd for an everyday isvostchik. He perceived our wishes with re- markable celerity, and we were on our way with fewer pre- liminaries than usual. Philip looked annoyed, and I slipped a hand within the bend of his elbow. " Nitchevo," I whispered. " Let's forget it." But I knew the crux of his vexation lay in the fact that ignorance of the Rus- sian tongue had cheated him of satisfactorily expressing himself to the impudent officer in the showy uniform. As I whispered, I saw an ear turn ever so slightly my way. But how could a shock-headed cabby understand any syllables spoken in a foreign tongue? We were quite silent as we drove up the Nevsky Prospekt. Blue, orange, terra cotta, and salmon-pink buildings stretched for three miles along the great avenue, which is 114 feet wide, almost equalling in breadth the main streets of Salt Lake City. Imposing banks and bazaars neighboured smaller establishments on either side of the street, which was filled with traders, promenaders, Slavs, and Tatars; 28 Honeymooning in Russia merchants and muzhiks ; clerks and officers, civil or mili- tary, though all in uniform; messengers, maids and sol- diers. In a general's carriage a black man well-accoutred consorted jovially with his military brother. To us bred in the United States, it was an odd sight, but one not un- familiar to frequenters of London or Paris or The Hague. The traffic, which was considerable even though it was the heart of summer, was capably handled by the politsia who were stationed at each crossing. They were invari- ably fine-figured men, immaculately groomed from the top of their smart caps to the toes of their tall shiny boots. More like field marshals than policemen, we thought them, especially when we espied the numerous medals pinned across the breasts of many. Occasionally, a lady, come in from her summer estate for a day's shopping, would emerge from the lafka of a bowing merchant, followed by an attendant with bundles which were placed upon the luxurious seat of her kareta. Since the thickness of his padding exceeded that of the public cabmen, her Tatar coachman was called a kutscher, and drove his long-tailed horses with proportionate eclat. Up the avenue, black balls dropped into place upon a fire watch-tower, and the resulting clatter of carts and engine sent ordinary vehicles scurrying to the side of the road. With more expedition than we should have prophesied for a Russian Fire Department, the apparatus came swing- ing across the avenue and down towards the Neva, leav- ing the wake of excitement beloved of small boys the world over. The tall small boy at my side was for following immediately, but the peroulok, or side street, was already guarded. However, we saw the fire from the Troi'tska bridge, and thought the blaze was scarcely worthy the At the Tomb of the Tsars 29 bustle. Firemen scrambled to the roof and shouted or- ders and reorders with no apparent decision as to the necessary course of procedure. The pompous chief seemed to be little regarded by his flustered assistants, and on the whole we thought it a fair example of Russian in- competence in time of stress. We caught a glimpse of penates being thrust upon the sidewalk, and of the owner's excited gesturing. But soon the neighbours be- gan to move the furniture all back again; the lusty fire- fighters climbed to earth, and the comedy was done. The Petropaulovski Krepost, or Fortress of Sts. Peter and Paul, is used as a state prison. As we drove along the river-bank, we conjectured as to which of the barred windows had been that of Peter the First's son, the murdered Alexis ; which the Decembrists' ; which Sophia Perovskaia's ; which Stoessel's. Out of crumbling ports, cannon noses pointed down the river, the enemy of whose inundating approach they are now used to warn the marshy city. Within the Peter-Paul Cathedral, the walls are over- laid with keys and banners of captured cities and regi- ments ; and scores of silver wreaths commemorate those who fell in the service of a Peter, a Catherine, a Nicholas, or an Alexander. While our isvostchik waited, we made the rounds of the royal tombs and counted one for each Gosiidar since Alexis, except the Second Peter, who, smitten with smallpox in Moscow, died and was buried in the old capital. A gold wreath, a double eagle, and an ever-burning light distinguish the tomb marking the rest- ing-place of each Emperor and his Empress, whose bodies lie beneath the cathedral floor. Near the chancel, a throne hung in embroidered crimson indicated the seat 30 Honeymooning in Russia of the imperial pair at services for the dead. Recently they had sat under the brilliant canopy at the funeral of a Grand Duke. All we knew of those who had ruled and misruled Russia during the past two centuries came back to us as we stood within the Russian Pantheon. Here, beside the First Peter, lay the plain-faced but congenial Martha Sav- ronskaia, former domestic in the house of a Lutheran minister of the Baltic provinces, whom Peter married when she was still the wife of a dragoon and his own wife was imprisoned in a convenient convent. Vice the former empress, he set her upon the throne beside him and called her Catherine the First. She did not oppose his am- bitions and thereby proved herself more politic than the mother of Peter's son Alexis, and more so than Alexis him- self, whose anti-western obstinacy cost him his life at the instigation of his father, who had no more conscience in this respect than had Ivan the Terrible. Anne and Elizabeth inherited some of their uncle's and father's energetic qualities and all of his pernicious ones. Their irregular lives would have horrified a less immoral court. Elizabeth, who wanted the throne which rightly belonged to the infant Ivan VI, imprisoned him and his parents. He was a forgotten prisoner at Schliissel- burgh, taught to read by a warder, ill-fed and half an imbecile. Peter III was so unfortunate as to have had for his wife Catherine the Monster, called Catherine the Great. She had ambitions also, and because of his scandalous habits she came to hate him and was happy in finding at her hand lovers who were not squeamish about staining their hands with blood. So Peter was strangled and At the Tomb of the Tsars 31 buried in the Alexander Monastery cemetery. Later, the Emperor Paul I, who was known as his son, ordered the body disinterred and laid in the Peter-Paul Cathedral. Catherine was crowned Empress. She wrote plays, corresponded with Voltaire, instituted theatres and schools and patronised the arts. But she was not too busy to plan the murder of the inoffensive Ivan VI, whom her dead husband had been inclined to befriend, nor to interfere with the happy domestic life of her son Paul and his lovely wife, Natalia. By Peter III she had never had a child, but before his death she became the mother of Paul I, whose father was a courtier named Salytov. Catherine was a German duchess, Paul's father, a Russian com- moner. There was not a drop of Romanov blood in his veins nor in those of Peter III, his pseudo-father. The Romanov dynasty ended with Peter the Great's grandson, the youth who died in Moscow. Nicholas II is the great, great, great grandson of Cath- erine II and her lover. To claim Michael Romanov as an ancestor of the present Tsar is a perversion of genealog- ical facts. Paul initiated his reign with some good re- forms, but certain erratic tendencies grew into madness. His subjects were often amused as well as terrorised. " Did you ever read," said Philip as he traced the Sla- vonic characters which denoted Paul's tomb, " that funny story about the regiment which had displeased him? He commanded them to appear before him, and when he had reviewed them, he gave the order : ' March ! — to Siberia ! ' And so they all started on the long trek. But before they had gone many versts a messenger from the repent- ant Emperor recalled them." Paul was named " the Prohibitive," because he was so 32 Honeymooning in Russia insanely fond of forbidding. The court and the people finally lost all patience with his feeble-minded vagaries. Three midnight assassins made an end of him in his bed- chamber, where he made a hopeless struggle for his life. He had refused to sign away his right to the throne in favour of his conniving son, Alexander I. Alexander's life was tainted with melancholy, possibly the fruit of remorse. He dreamed of great deeds but he accomplished little. Toward the end of his rule his crown grew very heavy. He spoke of making his brother Tsar in his place, so that he might dream unmolested. He was in a town some distance from Petersburgh when his death was announced. There is a tomb in the Peter- Paul church marked with his name; but many believe that it is not he, the Emperor Alexander himself, who lies there. In far-off Tomsk the occasional visitor is shown the house and grave of a hermit, who came mysteriously to the Siberian town and who lived there unattended and unvisited until he died. When the young man who is now Tsar, made an eastern journey before he was crowned, he went out of his way to see the home and burial-place of Fomich. The supporters of the theory that the hermit was the wearied Tsar have an array of corroboration almost convincing. " If it's true," said Philip, " his good sense was com- mendable. He accomplished nothing worth while as a Tsar. I should like to think that he was blessed by be- ing permitted to spend his last years as a plain man." His brother, Nicholas I, inaugurated his heartless reign with the barbarous massacre of the Decembrists in the Senate Square. About the camp-fires of the defending army during the war with Napoleon many sons of Russia A Chamberlain to the Tsar At the Tomb of the Tsars 33 had discussed the vital topic of her ailments and possible cure. The organisation later known as the United Slavs grew out of these earnest discussions, and its membership included the noblest, worthiest names in the land. When the death of Alexander was announced and there was a delay in proclaiming the new Tsar, the opportunity seemed ripe for the revolt against absolutism, long planned and hoped for. But the golden moment passed in inaction, indecision, incompetence. Before the bayonets and guns of Nich- olas, whose imperial rights they had assembled to con- test, the Decembrists were mowed down like grain. Those who escaped immediate death were exiled, or hanged, or tortured later. Forty-two went mad within the prison walls of the Peter-Paul fortress. Blood flowed for the next few years as it flowed during the rule of the Ivans and Peter the Great. Benkendorf established the Third Section, the Secret Police of Russia, who recognise no law, who may arrest, convict, condemn without proof and without trial. There is good reason to believe that Nicholas, like his brother, wearied of his existence, and that he poisoned himself. His son, the Second Alexander, released groaning Rus- sia from many of the bonds with which Nicholas had weighted her. Perhaps out of motives of self-preserva- tion, certainly with some notion of doing tardy justice to the twenty million slaves who had worn their chains since the days of Boris Goudonov, he became their emancipa- tor. The war with England, France and Turkey in the Crimea had ended badly for Russia. Her debt was enor- mous. It was imperative that she borrow money. For- 34 Honeymooning in Russia eign nations, horrified at her treatment of the serfs, were disinclined to lend any financial aid until conditions were bettered. Therefore, some say, Alexander gave the serfs their freedom. It would be pleasanter to believe he did it because he was moved by human, natural motives, too rare in Russian imperial characters. At any rate he did safeguard their land provision. One hastens to record the smallest good deed of a Muscovy Tsar. Because the conditions under which they were living, and under which many generations of their ancestors had lived, had finally grown to be insupportable, the youths of the land began to protest, frequently with bombs in their hands. Alexander's life was attempted seven times before the March day in 1881 (it was the thirteenth!) when Sophia Perovskaia let her handkerchief fall at the approach of the Emperor's carriage, with fatal results. As the Tsar fell in the snow, mutilated and bleeding, he spoke only a sentence, " Is the Tsarevitch unhurt? " Re- assured, he died uncomplaining. During Alexander Third's life the spirit of revenge for wrongs, centuries old, continued to sweep the high places, and many great ones fell. Alexander, in hourly terror, hid himself behind a barrier of police and soldiers. But he could not live without eating, and in order to dine cooks were necessary. Travelling home from the south by royal train, the lunch hour arrived. Suddenly a pas- try cook fell ill. There was no doctor aboard. The train was graciously stopped and the man was put off at a station where he could be treated. The engine had scarcely gotten under way, when a master specimen of cake-making blew up, and with it, very nearly, the Im- perial Family. Inside the cake, a well-timed bomb had At the Tomb of the Tsars 35 been substituted for sugar and flour. The ailing cook was the maker. Though the Tsar was not killed, he never recovered from the experience, and his death a few years later was undoubtedly hastened by it. From the time of Catherine II, three Tsars were mur- dered; one is said to have poisoned himself, and one died from the shock of attempted assassination. Of six Em- perors, only one, Alexander I, may be said to have died a natural death. Not agreeable history for Nicholas II to contemplate. Russia has lived its centuries in the shadow of a royal family tree whose diseased roots and blighted sap have borne their natural fruit. " And the tree has not ceased bearing," added Phil as we made our way to the door. Cg3 £J3 * Chapter IV A PALACE OF TREASURE AND TRAGEDY 1 the little wooden church, near the fortress, which was consecrated by Peter the Great in 1710, it is the favourite custom of the Orthodox to repair to offer their petitions for a safe journey. To St. Izaak's they go for comfort; to the Kazan to ask a blessing upon business undertakings; to the Preobraj ensky to pray for the sick; to the Peter-Paul Sobor to be joined in matrimony. As we entered the insignificant frame building, called Peter's church, we thought it had been most appropriately chosen as the shrine of travellers, for where in Russian chron- icles will one find a more inveterate wanderer than Peter himself? To Holland, to England, to France and to Germany, to Archangel, to the Crimea, and back to Petersburgh — his journeyings were the despair of his less energetic attendants. Within the chapel we pictured him, enormously tall and fierce-featured, reading the service as was his custom upon each anniversary of the battle of Poltava. A man of monstrous contradictions — utterly regardless of his moral obligations, but never-failing in his observance of church form, and rites ! In the three-roomed cottage which served as the first Imperial Residence in the new capital we saw the cele- brated boat which Peter modelled and tooled. From this seed sprouted the Russian navy. " Such as it is and has been," commented my husband. 36 A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 37 " But Russia's new ships, Philip — isn't it true that they are to be splendidly modern in construction and armament? I look upon you as a dependable authority on such matters." " Your confidence is flattering, my dear. It is a — " I did not hear the end of the sentence, for I had discov- ered our Vanka kneeling just behind us. To all appear- ances he was praying to a wonder-working ikon, and yet, I fancied he was not entirely engrossed by his devotions. That absurd suspicion again! How could our casual conversation interest a grimy isvostchik, even if it were intelligible to him? " This light is just right for an exposure," remarked Philip as we came out of the ex-palace. He stepped back a dozen yards and stared into the finder. The cabman, emerged from his prayers, sat down on the step of the drosky. " How many feet should you call it to the fortress? " consulted my spouse. " Now, Philip, you know I can't guess distance." " Well, I'll set it at a hundred." He had adjusted the focus and his hand was hovering over the bulb, when he looked up with a frown and closed the camera with an exclamation of impatience. " What do you suppose I've done ? " he propounded. I guessed, and guessed correctly. He had come off with- out loading the kodak, so that it was, for the time, a use- less appendage. We had already lost three days wait- ing for our permit, and I am afraid I said something cross about " thoughtlessness " and " wasted opportuni- ties." Anyway, Phil looked hurt, and I was sorry in a minute, and said so. Little did we know how unpleas- 38 Honeymooning in Russia ant an experience his f orgetf ulness had postponed for us ! Down the quay we drove towards the Hermitage and the Winter Palace, still bent upon our pilgrimage to the shrines of Peter. " Lucky we!" I remarked. " According to our cal- endar, the galleries are closed for the summer; but by Russia's ' old style ' reckoning we have two days of grace. We shall need those two days and more to see its treas- ures." " It's a good thing we were advised in time about se- curing our embassy permit to enter the palace." I turned and stared sharply at my husband. " Philip Houghton, you haven't by any chance — ?" "Forgotten said permit? No, my love. It resteth with other hieroglyphic documents granting us official privilege to eat, to sleep, to get up, and to lie down again." Out of his pockets he brought various papers, and we tried to decipher them. But the S's seemed to be C's, the V's invariably F's, the H's all G's. As the alphabet contains no letter H, our name degenerated into Gouggton, and Gouggton we were usually called by our chance Russian acquaintances. I had learned a few words of the language under the tutelage of the Russian cabin-boy on the Zara, but its abcedary mazes were still far beyond my ken. I quoted from my note-book: Thirty-six letters in alphabet Eleven vowels Three semi-vowels Twenty-one consonants Derivation Hebrew Armenian Greek A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 39 f St. Methodius "] • L , _ Originators < g ., Y Ninth Century Russian language Dialect of the Slavonian Complex grammar Contains no articles f Regular 1 Have endings determining modes of L Irregular J action Nouns - r Two numbers Three genders Seven cases - Declined as in Latin Philip made a weak joke about declining the nouns in any language, which I ignored; whereat he possessed him- self familiarly of my right hand and stubbornly resisted my efforts to withdraw it as we came up to an erect goro- dovoy at a street crossing. The policeman hid an em- barrassed smile behind a white cotton hand. " There, you've given it away to the Police Depart- ment ! " " Given what away? " " You know." "No I don't. What?" " Why, that we are honeymooners in Russia." I fear travel has not taught me that fine scorn of tour- ists' " sights " affected by some. Palaces, cathedrals, museums, parks, " quarters " — all hold an interest for me quite amazing. I like, and Philip likes, to " do " what there is to be " done " with all the thoroughness of the maligned tourist. If in subsequent newspaper reading, I see that the authenticity of the portrait of Lady D. has been questioned, it is agreeable to remember that self- 40 Honeymooning in Russia same picture as it hung on the wall to the right of a gallery entrance. If a steamer is wrecked off Valdez, Alaska, there is a morbid satisfaction in being able to re- call just how the coast appeared to those who suffered shipwreck. If there has been a ball in Cairo, an earth- quake in Chile, a fire in New Orleans, or a scourge in Brisbane, each newspaper account flashes a vivid remem- brance before me. Likewise, I am sufficiently republican in birth and upbringing to enjoy a glimpse of despised royalty. The German Emperor reviewing the Berlin Garrison or speeding through the Thiergarten in a white motor-car; the King of Spain driving at midnight with Loubet on the Avenue de l'Opera half a minute before a bomb splintered his carriage ; a Shah at his prayers ; Queen Wilhelmina receiving at The Hague ; the King of Norway leaving a Danish castle when still a modest Prince of Denmark — I thank Fortune for having had the opportunity to see these personages, for their names mean history, and the sight of them a more vital interest in that history. Despite our sight-seeing ardour, however, the Winter Palace and the Hermitage presented an array of objects of art and historical interest quite discouraging. When we had paid off our curious cabby at the great door on the Neva side of the palace, an impressive lackey ad- mitted us, together with the guide already engaged and waiting. We went up a marble stairway to the apartments and galleries of the most spacious palace in Europe, if not the most splendid. I suppose Philip is as fond of art as most Americans of his sex, but I am sure he found the historical paintings of less interest than the display of iJXHIk < A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 41 gold and enamel plates which hung rim to rim about many of the enormous rooms. Our guide, who was of indeter- minate nationality, spoke English with so puzzling an ac- cent and insistent a volubility that we wished it had been possible to wander through the Imperial Residence with no conductor but our silent red Baedeker. We did learn from him, however, that the wall-plates were gifts to the Royal Family upon wedding or birth or feast days. " They look jolly like jewelled soup-plates to me," said disrespectful Philip. " How should you like a dozen of those in your china cabinet, Jena? " Jena, pronounced with a y, is Russian for wife, and I was " Jena Gouggton " to my husband throughout our Russian tour. A marvellous table presented to a former emperor by an Italian king showed a spring-time picture done in fin- est mosaic. It was inconceivable that mere hands and fingers could have sorted and placed such infinitesimal bits of coloured stone. Not in Italy itself had we seen mosaic equally fine. In the white and silver salon, I re- called a description of a court ball which I once heard from the lips of a young attache. The guests enter the palace by the great doors on the Neva, and ascend by the Ambassadors' Stairway to the white ballroom. In the square outside the coachmen tramp to and fro in the snow and warm themselves at the charcoal fires lighted on these occasions under tem- porary sheds. Young beauties, doyennes, diplomats, of- ficers; chiffons, jewels, court uniforms, gleaming helmets and swords, cartridge-cases and spurs form the enchant- ing picture within. Under the sparkling chandeliers, with a background of palms, over a glistening floor, the dancers move to the measure of mazurka and waltz, 42 Honeymooning in Russia quadrille and promenade. A maid of honour, distin- guished by the shoulder knot of blue caught with the dia- mond monogram of her Empress, dances with a Lancer in a crimson coat; a grand Duchess honours a court cham- berlain whose back bears an embroidered key; a Hussar, whose sable and gilt-trimmed coat hangs from his shoul- ders, responds with adoring eyes to the piquant glances of an Ambassador's daughter; a ruffle catches upon a spur, and an aide-de-camp stoops at the feet of a Princess. Apart from the press of the frivolous, the " Most High " himself, and his consort graciously converse with war-seasoned generals, ministers, and dowagers of the court, whose costumes blaze with gems, orders, and price- less lace. Tender nothings, alluring gossip, hints of graver affairs, are drowned beneath the accent of the music. No ballroom in the world of kings offers so sumptuous a picture. Through the windows facing the square, we gained a better idea of the height of the Alexander I Column than is possible from the street. It is the tallest modern monolith, but it loses impressiveness through the waste of cobblestones about it. I wanted to sit upon the throne of Peter the Great, but Philip disapproved so emphatically that I gave up the idea, and contented myself trying to imagine the figure of the gaunt reformer, seated here in state accepting the scant homage of cavilling courtiers. We knocked at the door of a room at the south end of the great red stucco palace. An aged attendant turned a key within, and we entered a sanctuary — the private room of the murdered Alexander II. A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 43 Here they brought his bleeding body, and laid him upon the single cot which is shielded by a curtain. From his pockets they removed the trivial possessions he had taken with him when he went that morning to the review of the guards in the riding-school on the Michael Square. They lie now on his desk — a few kopeks, the equivalent of thirty cents, an old knife, and some cigarettes. Upon his unpretentious dressing-table, his brushes remain un- disturbed, not brushes of gold and ivory, monogrammed and surmounted by an Emperor's crown, but brushes half -worn and shabby. In order to thwart frequent attempts to kill him, he had forsaken his regal apartments in another part of the palace to write and read and sleep in this room, un- known to all but his most trusted attendants. There is to me something almost sacrilegious about entering as a curiosity-seeker these undisturbed rooms of the dead. In life we should not have been welcome. Intrusion after death is presumption. We stole quietly from the pitiful apartment, where a dying Gosudar had ended in agony his life's tragedy. The Crown Jewels, safeguarded in the Sokrovnik, or Treasury, were especially interesting because of the presence among them of the immense diamond which points the Imperial sceptre. Count Orlov, another of Catherine the Second's favourites, presented the jewel to her, and she rewarded him by giving it his name. It weighs almost two hundred carats, but is not so perfect as the Koh-i-noor nor so beautiful as the Pitt diamond, owned by France. The crown of Russia is a dome of stones, gorgeously variegated as to size and colour, but possessing in common a princely value. To my feminine 44 Honeymooning in Russia taste, the coronet of the Empress appeared more lovely, for it is all of diamonds, and as exquisitely conceived an ornament as it is possible to imagine. We tried to count the gems, but the glittering mass so dazzled our eyes that we stopped at the two hundred and twenty-fifth. In long glass cases there were royal gifts, each stone of which stood for a fortune. There were historic gems, jewelled orders, buttons, buckles, rosettes, bows, girdles, aigrettes, plumes, fans, armlets, diadems. " Come away," commanded my practical husband ; " if we look any longer we shall lose all sense of val- ues." I shall always remember one jewel which we saw in the private chapel of the Tsar. It lay as an offering to a gold-shrouded ikon, a great pear-shaped sapphire, royally blue, regal, superb. The adjacent Hermitage, Catherine's retreat from the restlessness of court life, is a treasure-house of foreign and Russian paintings. Tintoretto, Titian, Guido Reni, and Dolci are represented in the Italian Galleries ; Franz Hals, Jan Steen, Cuyp, Dow, Hondekoter, Matsys, Ru- bens, Van Dyck, uphold the glory of the Flemish and Dutch schools. Two of Van Dyck's portraits were pur- chased from the English Houghton collection, to which we were not at all loth to claim relationship. The wealth of the Spanish gallery detained us when we returned the next day to complete our tour of the palace. It is called the finest collection of Spanish masterpieces out of Spain, and numbers a score of Murillos and a half-dozen by Velasquez. In other rooms there are pictures by Le Brun, Lorraine, Del Sarto, Vos, Reynolds, Greuze, Raphael; likewise a fair representation of native art. A 'Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 45 Orlovsky's horses, Briilow's Last Day of Pompeii, and Neff's Nymphs are well-known. But the glory of the Hermitage Gallery is its un- rivalled number of Rembrandt's paintings. The Louvre and the Berlin Galleries together contain less than a score of his works. The Ryks at Amsterdam has, of course, two of his greatest achievements. In all Holland, how- ever, there are not so many examples of his genius as there are within the walls of the Hermitage, which is dis- tinguished by the possession of forty-one pictures by the Master of Light and Shadow, varying from his earliest to his latest manner and extending over a period of thirty years. The sixty paintings by Rubens, the thirty-four Van Dycks, the forty examples each of Teniers, Ruysdael, and Wouvermans also offer exceptional opportunities for studying Dutch and Flemish art. It was during Peter the Great's tours in Holland that very many of the Dutch pictures were purchased; up to that time Russia knew almost nothing of foreign paintings, and had developed few artists of her own. No gallery in Europe of its size and worth is so little known and appreciated as this one at St. Petersburgh. Probably no other has so few vis- itors, for not many tourists come this way, and the com- moners of Russia, who form ninety per cent, of her pop- ulation, are not freely admitted to her few institutions of art. We forsook masterpieces for curios when we en- tered the Peter I Museum, which we had intended to see the previous day. Stuffed dogs and horses, books and tools, swords and chariots interested us less than the many portraits and statues of the monarch's face and figure. I had had no real conception of his great height until 46 Honeymooning in Russia I saw it indicated at nearly seven feet upon a wooden measure. Gigantically tall, with raven hair, protruding cheek- and jaw-bones, and prominent eyes; actuated by passionate impulses and a conquering will, intemperate, murderous, versatile, ingenious, faithful to the interests of his country as he perceived them — what a barbaric picture, what a tangle of contradictions and complexities his memory presents! His father was the mild and good Alexis; his mother, the modest and beautiful ward of Alexis' favourite minister. While dining at his house in- formally, Alexis saw the girl, and became interested in her matrimonial future. Many men loved her, but none would marry a dowerless maiden, so one day Alexis an- nounced to her guardian that a man had been found who would take her, dowered only with a sweet face and womanly virtues. And this man was the Emperor of Russia. And thus Peter the Great's mother became an Empress. His father had already introduced Dutch ship-build- ers and their craft, so Peter came naturally by his obses- sion for all things relating to a navy. He went to Western Europe first as Peter Mikhailov, an attache, and when he became a dock-yard labourer he was called Peter Baas, or Master Peter. In England he met our William Penn, whose proposed visit to Russia in later years was discouraged by Catherine the Great. Despite the opposition of the entire nation, which ab- horred the rest of Europe, he crowded innovations and reforms upon Russia in his consuming desire to place his empire on a civilised footing. Some of his ukases related to affairs hardly worthy the attention of a monarch. He forbade the wearing of beards, and made an excep- Tsarevitch Alexis A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy &% tion of only those who paid a special tax. These favoured ones received a brass medal as a receipt, and some of these relics we saw in the museum. He slew thousands of his subjects, and tortured many thousands more, breaking them on a wheel, or hanging them up to die with a hook about a rib. And yet, when he saw fellow- beings struggling in the Neva and about to drown, he threw himself into the cold waters, thereby contracting an illness from which he died. A monstrous problem ! " Peter the Great — Scoundrel, someone called him, you remember," said Philip, as we looked at a ring set with the Tsar's portrait beneath a pink diamond. Through a rosy crystal most historians have seen him and por- trayed his life accordingly. It is a question whether his chief claim to fame does not lie in the fact that he was inordinately persevering, and extravagantly vain. Un- biassed study of his story does not disclose him as a phi- lanthropist seeking only his country's good, but as a despot breaking the will of a nation upon the wheel of his own conceit. A hundred years before the Russo-Japanese fiasco, a Mikado, with more contempt for Russia than regard for the feelings of her Emperor, Alexander I, sent back a pair of ivory vases, now shown in the museum, " since he could not accept gifts from an inferior." That would constitute a casus belli now-a-days, and yet gigantic Russia ignored it a century ago. In the presence of the beautiful Unattainable it amuses me to select for my own the one object I find most desir- able. Here in the Hermitage Musee, I chose a wonder- ful goblet of gold, and Russian enamel which is used at the marriage of imperial lovers. But Philip wanted 48 Honeymooning in Russia most an inch-high parrot cut from a single emerald, a gift from a long-ago king to his Savoy bride. We smiled, my king and I, as we detected the sentimental in each other's choice. We sauntered back through the long galleries loth to leave a jewel unseen or a relic un- discovered. There was an array of brushes, boxes and mirrors in gold filigree which Phil thought I should have for my London dressing-table. Not to be outdone in generosity, I selected for future imaginative promenades, a walking-stick with a handle of jasper smothered in dia- monds. Supported by monster carvings, the Hermitage porch looks across the Bolshaia, or Great, Neva to the Peter- Paul Fortress with its gilt spire as thin as a sapling pine ; to the University, founded in 1736 ; to the Stock Exchange with a chapel attached where members pray before going on 'change at four in the afternoon ; to the Academy of Arts and Sciences, and to the Russian equiv- alent for our Annapolis Naval Academy. Down the English Quay to the left, the Admiralty and Senate buildings flank the equestrian memorial to the city's namesake, erected by Catherine II. In the dis- tance lie " the Islands " — Yelagin, Kammenoi, Krestov- ski; and the shallow waters of the Gulf of Finland. On the river we saw barges which had come all the way from the cities of the Volga with cargoes of lumber and grain. The long voyage had so wracked their joints that they would probably be broken up, like so many of their fellows, and sold for firewood to the citizens of Petersburgh, or Piterburgh, as Peter liked to call it in honour of the Dutch. As our hotel was near by, we walked across the Palace A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 49 Square and past the little park where on a certain tragic January day the sabres of the Cossacks were drawn against a company of overworked and underpaid ar- tisans who had assembled under the windows of the Little Father to ask his counsel. I remembered how in Paris I had read to my mother the wording of their petition, and how we had both wept over the simplicity of its expres- sion and the brutality of its reply. c£J & Chapter V A CHAPTER OF OUTINGS €t f 1 x^AN'T we be a little gay to-night? " my husband in- quired, as we made as extensive a dinner toilet as the paucity of our baggage allowed. I was for going to bed early in preparation for the water excursion planned for the morrow, but got no encouragement from my energetic Tsar. So after an uncommonly good dinner we were off to the Zoological Garden, relying upon the courier's statement that there was sure to be music and a crowd if nothing else. Outside the wooden gate we saw a young non-commis- sioned officer marched off for smoking in the street. If he had worn even a lieutenant's chevrons he might have enjoyed his cigarette undisturbed. We sat down at a table near the casino and ordered the inevitable tea, while a military band boomed and fluted a fascinating air from Chaikovsky's " Pique Dame." The crowd seemed as merry as the tune, promenading before the animal cages, making Russian jokes, and smok- ing incessantly. Sentimental officers in the now-familiar long army coat, sauntered with their inamoratas down paths none too shady, since the sun had not yet set. Fathers surrounded by a numerous family turned over the pages of the day's Novosti or Rech, and occasionally in- terrupted the tea-sipping to share a newsy paragraph with the wife — usually fat, rarely fair. German influence cannot be said to lend pictur- 50 A Chapter of Outings 51 esqueness to the female garb in this part of Russia. A tight-breasted bodice trimmed down the centre with a row of buttons, a skirt with as little style as usually marks one that is " made in Germany," an unbecoming hat set upon a plain coiffure above a sallow face: this is an hon- est picture of an every-day mother in North Russia. The men were far more impressive in manner and appear- ance. As Philip put it, " They had an air," accentuated by dapper clothes and scrupulously-trained moustaches. Waiters frequently passed among the tables refilling samovars with water. An average Russian family's ca- pacity for " yellow chai " is limitless, and they drink until the original strength of the tea is exhausted, the company resolving itself into a hot water- rather than a tea- party. When the sun had gone down, the open-air theatre at- tracted the promenaders. We took a seat near the rear expecting to see a programme characteristic of Russia. " At least we shall have some Russian dances," I prophe- sied. But the programme, translated into French, foretold little of native individuality. Coarse German comedy and knock-about turns were interlarded with songs by Hungarian and Italian soubrettes in knee-length satins. For the anticipated Kamarinsky, a quartette of dancers substituted a Slavonic interpretation of the cake-walk. The audience was immensely amused — and so were we! The hour was close to midnight. The " spectacle " for which we waited was billed after the intermission, and Part I was far from completion. Philip, weary of a hard seat and an arid programme, suggested a stroll. In the aisle we found an usher. 52 Honeymooning in Russia " Ask him when the Chino- Japanese war comes off," I urged. "Ask him? None of these fellows knows anything but Russian. You ask him ! " This with a grin which aroused a determination to exhibit what Russian I had lately acquired. So I began: " Pajaluista, katory chas?" at the same time indica- ting a number on the programme designated as FIRE-WORKS AND BALLET CHINO- JAPANESE WAR To my gratification and Philip's confusion, the good man understood me perfectly, for he courteously replied, " Tepper tri chasa, Sudarynya," courteously, but un- intelligibly, for my acquaintance with the language did not as yet extend to the numerals. In the end, Philip relieved the situation by pointing first to the programme number and then to his watch dial. A stubby finger indicated the figure 3, giving us to understand that the piece de resistance would not be enacted until day- break ! Later visits to resorts and theatres accustomed us to the all-night habit of the Russians, but this, our first ex- perience, was a bit staggering. We both agreed that a third-rate replica of Paine's Fireworks was scarcely worth a three-hour wait, and on the stroke of twelve we drove back to bed. At seven I was awakened by an ejaculation, " There ! I was afraid we would." " Are you talking in your sleep, Philip? " A Chapter of Outings 53 " No, I'm not. What do you suppose we forgot to see in the Winter Palace ? " "Nothing, I should say. What?" " The hand of John the Baptist!" "No!" " Yes ! And I anticipated that most of all." " Never mind," I consoled, " you shall see an urn con- taining drops of his ' veritable blood ' when we reach Moscow." I began to discuss our lunch basket for the boat trip to Schliisselburgh, and by degrees he forgot his disap- pointment. We went marketing directly we had finished breakfast. A shop not far away yielded rye bread and a spicy Russian cheese, which we voted out-Gruyered Gruyere. A four-ruble jar of pearl ikra was Philip's extravagance. The salty black sturgeon roe known to epicures outside Russia, he scorned, demanding the un- salted grey caviar freshly imported from the Caspian. A comb of honey, a raw cucumber, some unsalted butter, a lemon and a pinch of tea were tucked into corners of the willow basket of peasant make. Likewise a bottle of raspberry kvas. At the hotel, we added a wee samovar and a cold roast grouse. On the way to the landing we bought for me a box of Krepov caramels, and for Philip a pack of Russian cigarettes, which he had come to think the finest rolled. The small steamer which carried us the forty miles to the Neva's source was patterned after American excur- sion boats, as is the case on many European waters. With our precious hamper between us, we sat by the railing and watched great factories slip by on the bank 54 Honeymooning in Russia of the yellow river. Colonies of workmen's houses stood in the background. One large building housed the Porcelain Works of which we had read. The indefati- gable Catherine encouraged here the creation of exquisite ceramics which are always stamped with the crowned initial of the reigning Tsar. The sight of extensive cotton and iron mills gave us quite a notion of St. Petersburgh's manufacturing inter- ests, though they are far less important than those of Moscow. The English who once controlled and superin- tended most of the large manufactories in North Russia have, in many cases, been forced out by the jealous ag- gression of the Russians themselves, who have served their apprenticeship, and are now ambitious to be mas- ters of their own commerce. There are many factories, however, which retain an Englishman as manager, for the executive ability of the average Russian is not usually a well-developed characteristic, though the workmen have clever fingers and are exceedingly apt in imitation. After we passed the Neva Rapids we saw the forest slopes of old estates and the ruins of once splendid homes. " A sort of Rhino-Hudsonian effect," according to Philip. At Schlusselburgh we disembarked after a four-hour struggle against the current. We ignored the drosky- men and trudged along the streets of the sizable city in true picnic fashion. Somewhere on the banks of Lake Ladoga, largest inland body of water in all Europe, we were sure of finding a reposeful spot under a tree. When we finally emerged upon a country road, our long tramp was rewarded by the discovery of an idyllic lakeside picnic ground just large enough for two. As it was well past one o'clock, we immediately delved into A Chapter of Outings 55 the basket and began to set forth upon the impromptu table-cloth the appetising edibles. Philip was wrestling with a cork, and I was equally engaged attempting, with a jack-knife, to slice the bread to a tasty thinness, when a dust-raising telega rumbled by. A drunken roar from the bottom of the wagon indicated the location of the muzhik driver. Scarcely a minute later, the noise of a collision and a groan brought us to our feet and sent Philip down the road. I covered over the luncheon and followed, trying to recall certain rules of " First Aid." Beneath a broken bicycle we found a tall young fellow of perhaps twenty-four. Pie lay in the road face down, and was apparently unconscious. Aroused by the crash, the farmer was peering over the waggon-side, his eyes bleary with vodka. Philip raised the wrecked bicycle and lifted the boy's head out of the dust. His face was chalk- white and streaked with blood from a wound beneath his blond hair. " Here, you drunken rascal, get down out of there and help me carry this man ! " called Philip. The muzhik stared and smiled. Philip waved his free arm and pointed to the limp figure, but the besotted Ivan Ivanovitch merely continued to smile and stare. Consigning his charge to me, Phil made a dash for the telega wheel, laid hold of the muzhik's ragged shoulder and pulled him bodily over the side. To my surprise, the cause of our predicament kept his balance, and in a few moments more was able to assist in carrying the wounded boy to the shade under our picnic tree. I got out Phil's flask and thanked Providence that the samovar was already boiling. For ten minutes we did all we knew to bring life to that half-dead face, so strangely un-Russian, 56 Honeymooning in Russia Ivan, now more his sober self, brought his horse and tied him to a tree, and then went to fetch cupfuls of cool water from the lake, with which I bathed the white tem- ples. As we waited for some encouraging sign of re- turning consciousness, Philip hunted the bicyclist's pock- ets through for some hint of his identity. A few letters addressed in Russian were all we found until I came upon a carte de visite photograph signed, " Your Cicely." It had been taken in Philadelphia. Then I understood who it was we had found here by Lake Ladoga, wounded through the carelessness of an intoxicated muzhik. Too amazed for speech, I had not recovered myself sufficiently to explain to Phil before our patient's eyelids trembled and he drew a deep sigh. Then he opened his eyes and tried to raise his head. " Where am I ? " he said in Eng- lish. " With some friends of Cicely's," I replied. He smiled and turned his head dreamily, while my husband stared at us each in turn. In explanation I held out the little photograph. " By Gee ! You don't suppose — ? " " I suppose nothing. This is Jerry Drake, Cicely Haz- ard's fiance. If we hadn't picnicked to-day in this very place, he might have died under the hoofs of a Russian farm-horse. Don't you remember Cicely's writing me last year that he had been sent off after he graduated at Princeton to help manage some of his father's Russian business interests ? " " Well, of all the coincidences — ! " " It's too wonderful ! " I exclaimed, my voice trembling with excitement. " What is ? " said young Drake, opening his eyes again. A Chapter of Outings 57 Then: " What are you two doing here talking English? " At that he caught sight of Ivan standing by his cart, and began to swear Slavonic oaths. Evidently, the memory of the collision had come back to him. His words ap- parently gave to the peasant the first clue he had gained as to his share in the accident. His contrition was really affecting. He ran with his cap off and knelt to kiss Drake's hand, which was quickly withdrawn. " Get up, you! It's all right, but why don't you give up this vile potato brandy ? How's your horse — good for a drive in to Schliisselburgh? " This half in English, half in Russian. The farmer nodded his head and, going back to his springless waggon, began to arrange some straw in the bottom and to fold a sheepskin coat for a pillow. Philip carved the grouse and I made the tea. We did not speak, for young Jerry Drake lay very quiet, to all appearances asleep. After five minutes, with no sound but the gentle laving of the waters, he pulled himself upright, and inquired, " Now will you be so good as to repeat what you said when I first asked where I was ? " " With some friends of Cicely's," said I, and took up the picture which lay at my hand. He reached for it and devoured it with his young brown eyes. " Of Cicely's? " he repeated. " Yes, of Cicely Hazard's, my dear school room-mate. I am Phil Houghton's wife. Did she write you? " " Then you are, or were, Joyce Langdon? " " None other," I assured him, " and very happy to have been at your service in far-off Russland." It was all explained finally — how he had come out from Peters- burgh for a day*s run on his wheel, had seen the muzhik's 58 Honeymooning in Russia galloping horse, how he had turned out to safety, as he supposed, and in the end had found himself propped against a tree with luncheon ready to serve. We drank to his sweetheart in raspberry kvas, not forgetting to offer the contrite Ivan a glass. We made away with cheese and caviar, the honey and the fowl. By the time the basket was empty, our young knight of the wrecked wheel declared himself equal to the drive into Schhissel- burgh. We made an odd party, Jerry Drake reclining against the peasant's soiled coat, the peasant himself sit- ting up in front and driving sedately enough now, and we two American picnickers. We left the bicycle by the roadside, w a monument to King Vodka," Jerry called it. Our invalid rested at an inn while we took a drosky around by the canal locks which, through Peter's enter- prise, make navigation possible between the Baltic and the Caspian, by way of the Volga. The sight of the in- famous fortress of Schlusselburgh aroused memories of historic dramas played within its battlements. The two Tsars murdered at the will of Catherine II were impris- oned here at the same time, and one of them, Ivan VI, found his grave in the moat, buried in a sheepskin coat, though by birth entitled to a tomb in the Peter-Paul mausoleum. Here, another of Catherine's victims, her husband's cousin, was imprisoned and done to death. Because Catherine feared her as a possible rival for the throne, she detailed one of her lovers, Count Georg Orlov, brother to the one who had given her the famous diamond and by whom she had also had a child, to go to Italy and make love to the young Princess Tarakhenov. Count Georg, whose own hands had helped to strangle Peter III, had no scruples about luring a young girl to A Chapter of Outings 59 torture and death. He persuaded her, with the arts of a lover, to marry him. Believing herself honestly wooed, she consented to become his countess, and quite innocent of the trap, went with her pseudo-husband aboard a ship then at Leghorn and set sail for Russia. Her foot had scarcely touched the deck when she was thrown into chains and a temporary prison. She was released only to be shut up within the blood-stained walls of Schlussel- burgh, eventually her tomb. The island upon which the present prison stands has been the site of a similar struc- ture for nearly six hundred years. Swedes and Slavs fought over it until Peter the Great definitely settled the contest by seizing the territory about it. Thousands of " politicals " have been sentenced to im- prisonment beneath its towers — men and women whose only crime was a desire and an effort to redeem their be- nighted country from barbaric oppression more than eight hundred years old. By seven o'clock we were back at the St. Petersburgh landing opposite the Summer Gardens. Jerry, still a little pale, could not be persuaded to dine with us, so we took him to the train for Strelna, and parted, with promises for an early renewal of our wayside friendship. " Good-bye," he called from the door of the car. " I shall write Cicely to-night all about the life-saving station on the shores of Lake Ladoga ! " We had dinner in our room and went early to bed, rather played out by the exciting termination of our rural excursion. Nearly all the next day was spent in the Imperial Li- brary and in the Museum of Carriages. The Library is rich in the possession of manuscripts centuries old. In 60 Honeymooning in Russia antiquity many of these parchments surpass any owned elsewhere in the world. The British Museum cannot be- gin to boast of so interesting or valuable a collection of religious manuscripts, many of which are inscribed in almost forgotten tongues and are illuminated with gold and silver. The Ostromir manuscript is the oldest known in the Slavonian language, and is dated 1056. We found very interesting the cases filled with copies of the Bible translated into nearly every existing tongue, memorials to the zeal of linguistic missionaries. In the newspaper room were journals from all the world. As I turned the first page of the Manchester Guardian I discovered a half column of reading-matter effectually blotted out by the application of something which resembled black sand. When I called Philip's at- tention to it, he assumed a patronising air and expressed himself as chagrined at his wife's ignorance. " That is the censor's work. You must know that no newspaper may be delivered to an ordinary subscriber having no special privileges, until it is examined. If mat- ter derogatory to Russia or relating to the Tsar is found it is ' killed ' by ' passing it into caviar.' " " Thank you," I replied. " Do you suppose that is why the customs' officers looked so critically through the London Times wrapped around the overshoes in my bag? " For an hour we amused ourselves going through Eng- lish and American papers searching for news, and for more examples of the censor's industry. In the New York Herald of June ninth we came upon the notice of our own wedding, and of our sudden departure " for the groom's new field of labour." At which we laughed, for A Chapter of Outings 61 the " field of labour " was miles and weeks away and our faces were turned from London towards Moscow and Nizhni, Yalta and Odessa, Kiev and Warsaw for a long honeymoon. We lunched at Dominique's and later walked to Stable Street to see the imperial carriages — carriages painted by Watteau and decorated by Gravelot, gilded and jew- elled and crowned; carriages trimmed with lace and in- crusted with pearl; sledges, broughams, phaetons, two- wheeled carts. Peter's sledge, which he himself constructed from shaves to runners, is shown beneath a glass case. The windows are made of mica. Quite like a modern touring- car, the sledge is fitted with a " week-end trunk " rack to accommodate the Emperor's travelling outfit. A hun- dred-year-old drosky has a feature also used on modern vehicles — a primitive cyclometer to record time and dis- tance, with the additional advantage that an automatic music-box is operated by the revolution of the wheels. Philip, " lover of horses," had taken the precaution to secure a permit to see the imperial stables where hun- dreds of horses are kept in winter, though most of them are distributed in summer among the Emperor's various residences. Those intended for the Tsar's personal use are pure white and of the long-tailed and gentle Orlov breed. Five thousand dollars a month is expended in horse-feed for the inmates of the royal stalls. Jerry came in one evening to invite us to go with him to hear the music at a summer garden on one of the Islands. The chief attraction was the singing of a fasci- nating Russian whose hold upon the male population of the capital was a matter of gossip. She was of a type 62 Honeymooning in Russia much admired by the Russian — chic, blond and indif- ferent, quite the antithesis of the beauty we accredit to the Russian women. Though the voice itself was not remarkable for power or sweetness, the magnetism of the diva's singing was ex- traordinary, arousing her adoring audience to extrava- gant expressions of delight. A fetching popular air brought a rain of gold pieces about her, and cries of " Bis ! Bis ! " echoed under the trees. With a slight gesture for the orchestra conductor, she took up the melody again, languorous, enticing, disdainful. Her long eyes half closed as she swung into the flippant chorus, and her supple body swayed like a lily. As she reached the final measure, a tall man sprang down the grassy aisle and leapt up the steps from the orchestra to the stage. She gave a cry at sight of the figure in the Hus- sar's uniform, clasping her bare jewelled fingers to her cheeks. Her eyes were startled and full of fear. Half the men in the audience rose to their feet, the other half had recognised the man as her husband and sat still. With a moan the singer sank to her knees, and stretching her arms above her head cried over and over, " Non, Sacha, non ! " The man stood over her speaking rapidly in Russian and apparently commanding her to get up. In a moment, she stumbled to her feet and followed him off the stage, her laces trailing over the coins which she had scorned to pick up. The orchestra began to play something diverting. The audience settled back in their chairs and resumed the tea and wine drinking. " What is it ? " I said to Jerry as he lighted a ciga- rette. " The climax of a romance. This woman, ' the Sorcer- A Chapter of Outings 63 ess ' they call her, was a child in the Foundling Asylum when she was adopted by an ironworker's family at Alex- androvski. She was singing one day in the little yard at the rear of the cottage when this fellow, the Hussar, passed on his horse and looked over the fence. He spoke to her. She replied. Finally he asked her if she would like an education and training for her voice. Of course she said yes, and so he arranged with her foster-parents to send her to a convent and to pay her expenses. " I believe she remained there five years, or until she was nineteen. Then he took her out and married her, se- cluding her jealously on his estate south of Petersburgh. He had to be in the Caucasus with his regiment. She was beautiful, talented and — lonely. Somehow she got to Petersburgh and found an opportunity to sing in a theatre. Instantly she was the rage. Everyone went wild about her. She took apartments on the Millionaia, and lived sumptuously, singing every night and entertain- ing Grand Dukes and Princes. All this time no one knew who she was, nor where she came from. But one day the husband came back and found her gone from his place near Chudova. When he discovered her here, sing- ing, and the sensation of the midnight restaurants, he was insane with jealousy and anger. He closed up her apartment and took her back to the country, swearing to kill her if she ever returned. For some time they lived on the estate and people almost forgot the enchantress. Finally the husband was ordered away again, and he went off happy in her promise to remain at their home away from old associations. But, like many Russian women, deceitful, idle, and pleasure-loving, she came back and of course had no difficulty securing engagements. You 64 Honeymooning in Russia saw how mad they were about her, and the fact that she was here despite her husband's threat only added a dash of romance. Evidently he has returned unexpectedly soon. Did you see her eyes ? " " But he won't kill her? " " No, probably not, though he may beat her, for that is an undisputed prerogative of Russian husbands. The wife has no protection by law from her lord's hands, and does not dream of resenting violence whether deserved or not." " Well, there's no doubt about the husband's justifica- tion in this case, at any rate," from Philip. The fate of our siren interested me so keenly that after several days I inquired of the courier whether there had been a tragedy reported in the late journals. " No, Madame," he replied, looking curious. I ex- plained. " Ah, Madame — murder — that is something not much known here. A beating — yes, but a husband does not often find it necessary to kill his wife to punish her." Which we thought a humane and unique attitude. Cg3 $ Chapter VI THE PENALTY OF A SNAP-SHOT 1 0-DAY," I said as we sat at our tea and rolls, " let us do something entirely unplanned. Let us give no orders, but drive where the coachie takes us. Eh? " Philip agreed, and accordingly we approached a cab with no recourse to picture-card and halting Russian. We made the bargain by the hour, signifying our indif- ference as to route and destination, and started down the Nevsky with a familiar jerk. " Our old friend with the ears," I murmured under cover of the rattle, and nodded towards the bulky kaftan. " Oh, well, it can't be anything but a coincidence," re- turned my husband. " Why should we be under the eternal suspicion of the Third Section ? " " Aha ! " I whispered back. " So you have come to think so too? I thought you scoffed at my theory con- cerning the white-haired man who seems always to be just around the corner. Of course we haven't done anything to merit watching. Haven't we refrained from saying even nice things about the Emperor? I am sure I never tried so hard not to talk about things I wanted to talk about. Did you see those men last night at Donon's? They spoke in French. One of them quite casually men- tioned His Imperial Majesty, and instantly everyone arose and left the table." " Afraid the waiter was a Secret Service agent, I sup- pose." 66 Honeymooning in Russia " Yes, but how could they have implicated themselves by listening to their dinner companion's remark about the proposed cruise of the Tsar? " " I give it up." " Oh, see that lovely dressing-gown Tatar selling shoe- strings and things ! " I exclaimed, suddenly aware of a half -turned ear. " Let's photograph him," said Philip, and called " Stoi " to the driver, who immediately pulled in his horse. The descendant of former rulers of Muscovy obligingly posed, grinning in a most engaging manner. Afterwards he peered into the lens and said something which doubtless meant, " Now show me the picture." Since we could not do that we bought some of his wares before we left him on the curb, still smiling. We drove out the avenue, across the Bolshaia Mor- skaia, which runs into the Nevsky at right angles and seconds it in importance; over the Catherine Canal, up which we saw the memorial church newly erected to the martyred Alexander; past the City Hall; the fire tow- ers ; the Bazaars, across the fashionable Fontanka Canal ; past the Moscow station and so to the end of the three- mile Perspective. We wound around a cobblestoned roadway which twisted and curved to the gate of what we judged to be merely a cemetery. " Probably someone famous is buried here," I sur- mised, and correctly, as it turned out. On our left was a white ecclesiastical building, cloistered and severe. Winding walks and shrubbery gave the appearance of a park. A richly dressed lady led a little boy from the side of a new grave and entered her waiting linega. Then The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 67 we saw a monk turn a corner, and I knew where we were. " This is the Alexander Monastery, third holiest shrine in Russia, seat of a Metropolitan, burial place of Alex- ander Nevsky, and of the composers Glinka, Rubinstein and Chaikowsky ! " I had read about it only the night before while Phil and Jerry were dining at the Yacht Club with an attache of the British Embassy. The re- ward of my lonely evening was at hand, and I forthwith displayed all the knowledge I possessed about the famous monastery. Peter the Inevitable founded the monas- tery or lavra in commemoration of the sainted warrior Alexander of the Nevsky, and Catherine built the mag- nificent cathedral. Within its doors we saw their por- traits mounted upon great pillars. There were excel- lent copies of Rubens and Perugino, and the usual superb display of jewels, precious metals, and historic relics. The splendid tomb of the lavra's namesake, St. Alex- ander, is of pure silver, sculptured in bas-relief and crowned by a trio of life-sized angels. In prosaic figures, over half a ton of silver was used in casting this noble shrine. Philip, almost six feet tall, could reach but half way up the side of the tomb alone, and a man on a twenty- foot ladder could barely have touched the top of the angels' heads. The choral singing of men and boys in the monastery chapel is particularly notable upon the days when the imperial family is accustomed to attend at the celebra- tion of a " perfect mass," which, being unabridged, lasts almost four hours. The singers are trained in the Im- perial Choir, an organisation of great distinction in Petersburgh, where youths with promising talents are 68 Honeymooning in Russia educated for ecclesiastical singing, are lodged, and, in the end, pensioned by the Government. A family which produces an exceptional soprano or bass voice is regarded as the favourite of fortune, the parents having no need to plan for the son's future. Only members of the court are permitted to hear these rare voices except upon the annual occasion when the entire choral number of ninety- three boys and thirty-eight men unite in rendering for the hospitals a work by Mozart or Palestrina. A cer- tain quality of voice is often the prized heritage of one family, son succeeding father, so that bass and tenor dynasties exist and are recognised by the deacons who select the choruses for the Orthodox Church. Fabulous sums are paid to the lavra for the privilege of burying the dead in its sacred soil. The monastery is also possessed of an income from taxes, contributions, perquisites and bequests. In the holy enclosure we found the flower-strewn graves of Russia's three most illustrious composers. Glinka, born a century ago, fathered the school of na- tional music, and is especially beloved by his countrymen for the patriotic opera, " A Life for the Tsar." Anton Rubinstein associated Glinka with Beethoven, Bach, Schubert, and Chopin as the great architects of modern music. Aside from his genius as a composer and execu- tant, Rubinstein figures large in the musical annals of the capital because of his connexion with the conserva- tory of which he was the founder and first director. This conservatory is the dean of all Russian institutions for musical learning and numbers upon its roll of re- nowned teachers and composers, Henselt, Wieniawski, Jjeschetizky, Chaikowsky, Davidov, Arensky, and Gabrilo- The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 69 vitsch. About thirteen hundred pupils attend the con- servatory, though the professors complain that even the most talented rarely attain their proper measure of fame because of their native dislike for studious application and sustained effort. Russia's master musician did not go for his inspira- tion to the heart of the people as did Glinka, though much of his work is built upon the minor foundation character- istic of Slavonic composition. Chaikowsky was born in East Russia, and died in Petersburgh from the effects of drinking a glass of iced Neva water and thereby con- tracting cholera. We left the burying ground and turned a gravelled walk. A " black priest," of whom there are over ten thousand in Russia, stood talking with a ragged beggar- woman. The cloistered monastery constituted a pic- turesque background for a photograph, the monk in his tall klobuki, and flowing hair, an equally picturesque sub- ject. The sight of the camera sent the old crone hob- bling down the path, making a poklon, or cross-sign, and muttering incantations discouraging to evil spirits. The Brother of St. Basil smiled with us at her terror. His soft eyes and gentle bearing recalled the monk in the Kazan. " May we take your picture ? " I asked, first in French, then in German — to no avail. The monk looked regret- ful, I perplexed. But Philip, ever fluent in the language of signs, successfully pantomimed our wishes. The brother's face brightened as he nodded. He arranged his hair over each shoulder and folded his plump hands over his gown. But hold! He must first assume gar- ments worthy of so unusual an occasion. He beckoned 70 Honeymooning in Russia towards the monastery, and we followed him through the porch and down a long hallway, a trifle uncertain as to the propriety of our entering there. At the door of his " cell" the brother motioned us* in. The room was small but undeniably cosey. On a mantel-piece were photo- graphs of the occupant's family, and some trivial orna- ments. The door of a diminutive bed-chamber stood open. A patchwork quilt across the foot of the bed gave a homely air. Instead of the whitewashed cell of the Roman Catholic brotherhoods, here were quarters not to be despised by a layman. When he had seated us with the manner of a child trying to play the host, our monk searched for an illustrated book and laid it on the table before us. Then he opened the windows to admit the breeze, and excused himself courteously before van- ishing into the toy bedroom. "Do you suppose this is proper?" I inquired. "Are women permitted to enter the cells of Russian brother- hoods? I shouldn't be a particle surprised to have the Metropolitan come and put me out." " Oh, the monk probably knows what he is about. I hope he isn't going to take as long as a woman to dress, just because he wears skirts and long hair. I know he curls it." In ten minutes he appeared, his face shiny with soap, his gown changed to one of velvet, his wavy hair moistly combed, and crowned by a Sunday klobuki draped with a black veil. We went out to the shady porch. " Just the place for a picture if the light were better," said the photographer, motioning his model back to a spot where the sun came through an archway. I "The Conquerors," by Vereschagin The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 71 perched on the balustrade. Philip calculated and ad- justed. When we looked up, the monk was gone I We went to find him. Around the corner he stood, as self- effacing as a shy girl, disappointed and meekly puzzled. Evidently he had mistaken the signal to stand farther back, and had thought himself dismissed before the bulb was pressed. So Philip led him back to the spot of sun- shine on the stone floor, and then he understood and smiled, happy again. He posed half a dozen times within the cloister and out on the green campus. When we parted, Philip took out his own card and signified his de- sire to have the monk's so we could send him the prints. In a moment he had gone to his room and returned again, bringing proudly a crude square of pasteboard printed in Russian. As each studied the other's card, the brother, who knew the Latin alphabet, spelled out the words: PHILIP DEAN HOUGHTON University Club New York. " New York ? " he said. " Amerikanets ? " " Yes," Philip replied bravely. " Ya Amerikanets . . . puteshestvennik (traveller) and," indicating me, " sudarynya my j ena." " Da, da," assented the monk, shaking his head wisely, " nova jena," at which we all laughed. I think he offered his felicitations, though unfortunately we could not un- derstand them. At any rate we parted cordially, with English promises to post the photographs and Russian expressions of gratitude. 72 Honeymooning in Russia At the gate, the droskyman slept on his box, his thick- brown beard sweeping to his belt. He roused as we stepped into the cab. " Chai," directed Philip, " soup, butterbrod." Where- upon we jogged out the entrance and made for a lunch- ing place. We paid Vanka and added " na chai " (tea money, more often vodka money!), but when we came out again his now familiar countenance greeted us. " Such devotion as this is its own reward," declared Phil, moving towards the cab, and again motioning " any- where " as our destination. " I don't know that I quite like it," I expostulated under my breath, " but I presume it is all right." Down the Liteinoi Prospekt, along the Quay, over a bridge, our little mare sped like the wind. A pedlar of singing-birds stepped unconcernedly from under her very hoofs. "Beregissa!" (Take care!) shouted the driver to the careless vender of melody, and " Yukh ! Yukh ! " to his horse as we dashed on again. We came in view of wharves and masts. A small steamer from Christiania was loading with tallow; an- other from Helsingfors was deck-high with staves. At a distance we caught sight of the Zara's sister steaming up for her return to the Thames via Riga and Reval and Kiel. But on the whole it was not a point of extraor- dinary interest, and we were wondering why our guide had brought us hither when we saw across the inlet some great vessels on the ways. Their freshly-painted coning- towers proclaimed their kind. " It's the navy yard ! " exclaimed Philip, " and those are the new ships we were talking about. I suppose The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 73 there is no use applying for a permit to see them at closer range." " No, the mere asking would mark us for suspicion*'* " Well, at least I can take a photograph, though it won't be very satisfactory at such a distance." He re- filled the camera, thrusting the half dozen films of the monk into a side pocket. The isvostchik was looking down the river, inattentive and indifferent, so I thought. But a gorodovoy came our way and stood a few feet off regarding us. " Philip," I whispered as I pretended to look into the finder, " there is a policeman watching. Are you sure it is not forbidden to take that picture? " " Why this one, my dear girl? The permit is in my inside pocket. Take it out if you want to and see if that has any effect upon your friend the gendarme." I made a pretence of looking over the little document printed in Russian script, made out to Gospodin Goug- gton, and signed by Petersburgh's chief of police. Still the policeman watched, while Vanka faced him and stared down the river. As Philip finished loading the kodak the sun peered over the edge of a cloud. " That's better \ Now I can make a snap-shot of it." With the click of the shutter I saw the cabby's hand go up, and then before my unbelieving eyes, one hand of the law fell upon the camera, the other upon Phil's shoul- der. He looked around impatiently and tried to shake off the gorodovoy's fingers. " What in thunder — ! " he began. I flourished the permit, feeling vaguely that that might help, but the gendarme ignored me and it, and spoke quickly to the droskyman. I thought the reply sounded as though the frowsy isvostchik gave an order 74 Honeymooning in Russia instead of receiving one. The Quay was almost empty of people. Only a few dock-hands stood staring dumbly at the two foreigners about to be taken off to gaol. A scream for help expired in my throat. I looked at my husband. He was smiling. " It's alright, dear. We'll drive to the Embassy and have this fixed up in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Climb in!" I obeyed, crouch- ing on the little third seat of the cab while the police- man sat beside Phil. We crossed the bridge over which we had driven so gaily only a half hour before. It was Saturday afternoon and crowds of the " black people " from the mills were swarming by to the vapour baths. Suddenly I realised that, being Saturday, the Embassy staff would probably be out at some datcha or other for the week-end. We should be confined over Sunday, sep- arated probably, overrun with vermin and stifled with hot smells. Of course I intended to go with Philip if our week-end villa was to be the city prison. I spoke to him about the closed Embassy, whereupon the gorodovoy said something imperative which silenced me. I could see the idea of our being actually imprisoned had begun to worry my big dear. I put a hand on his knee and kept it there, despite the suspicious eyes of our captor, who seemed to fear that I might spell out a secret message with my finger tips. As we clattered through the warm July streets, all I had suspected of the omnipresent cabman and the grey-haired man came back to me. That we had actually been under the surveillance of the Secret Service ever since, perhaps before our arrival, I did not doubt; but why we two tourists had aroused their interest was as great a mystery as ever. Philip sat silent, with stern mouth and blazing eyes. We turned The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 75 down by the Admiralty and past St. Izaak's square. They were taking us to Police Headquarters. The po- liceman's hand was upon Phil's arm as he paid the dros- kyman and we entered the doorway, passing the very soldier who had stood there the day we came to get our permit. Of the next ten minutes I have but a jumbled recollec- tion of curious eyes, stumbling stairways and reiterated questionings. Finally we stood before the superb crea- ture who had charmed us on that first day. Now he was impersonal, calm, chilling. We were the American tourists who came here for the permission to photograph. Yes, he remembered us dis- tinctly — in reply to Philip's appeal. Assuredly we might communicate with our Ambassador if we could find him or his assistants. This was the heated term: doubt- less they were out of the city. Our questions as to the reason for the arrest were ignored until our names, ages and occupation were recorded. Then the suave one said coldly, " You apparently have not read your permit, Mr. Houghton." Philip smiled. " Unfortunately I do not know your language as well as you know mine. I pre- sumed a permit signed by your excellency was sufficient to protect us from such experiences as this." " You pretend that you do not know you are expressly forbidden to photograph fortresses, navy yards and bridges ? " " I affirm that this is the first intimation of the fact that I have received." " You photographed this afternoon some vessels build- ing in the navy yard on the Neva. A week ago you would have taken a picture of the Petropaulovski Krepost 76 Honeymooning in Russia had you not forgotten to supply yourself with necessary films." " May I ask if this is why ray wife and I are dragged here like a pair of criminals ? " " Of that we will advise you later, Mr. Houghton. In the meantime, is there someone to whom you would like to send a message? It is customary to allow this priv- ilege under such circumstances." " Jerry," I whispered, and Phil nodded. " I have an American friend at Strelna. If he is home he will come, but I am not sure that he has returned from Finland, where he has been on business. At any rate, I know no one else." An orderly pushed a pad of telegraph blanks and a pencil towards Philip, and he wrote : " Come to me if you can, old man. In trouble at Peters- burgh police headquarters. Joyce here with me. P. D. H." He put a ruble and the folded message into a mes- senger's hand. " Now, Mr. Houghton, if you will kindly let me have the keys to your luggage, we will make you as comfort- able as possible until your friend arrives, or you can furnish proof that your visit to Russia has no motive inimical to the Government." " Inimical to the Gov — I I am afraid I do not un- derstand. Madame and I are the merest tourists. If we have violated police laws by photographing some war- ships across the river, we are profoundly sorry. Any fine you suggest I will gladly pay to substantiate my re- gret, but as to any secret motive back of either the pho- tographing or our visit, why — I don't know what you The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 77 are talking about ! " Philip's urbanity was beginning to wane. " I regret, Monsieur, that certain information received before your arrival compels me to doubt your statement. I trust before many days you may be able to clear your- self, however. It is unfortunate that in Russia one is presumed to be guilty until proven innocent." " Before many days — ! " I echoed, now half-faint with the growing terror of our position. The chief turned a calm eye upon me. "You will return to your hotel, if you please, Ma- dame. An officer will accompany you to search your luggage. You may bid your husband adieu." " But I don't want to say good-bye ! I am going to prison with him. Don't you know it is impossible for me to stay in a hotel and know my husband is here in gaol, in a Russian gaol, and we on our honeymoon, and I all alone, and — and — Philip," I sobbed, with my arms suddenly about his neck, " don't let them do it 1 There must be some other way. I can't go back alone to that room where we have been happy together, and leave you here. It is impossible — you must — Oh ! — " Hysterical women were no novelty to Petersburgh's po- lice chief. He smiled indulgently as Philip put me in a chair and tried tenderly to assist me to composure. " It's all right, dearest. Jerry will come. He'll know someone who will help us out of this. I'll be back with you to-night. Be a good girl. The hotel is not far away. If you go quietly they may be less hard on me." He kissed me despite the chief's cynical eyes. I got out of my chair, and said, " I am ready, your excellency." 78 Honeymooning in Russia The orderly opened the door for me, but before I had crossed the threshold I turned back, woman-like. "You won't put him underground, Monsieur?" " No, Madame, I promise you. Until our suspicions are confirmed your husband shall experience no incon- venience." Phil's dear eyes looked after me as the door closed, and I preceded the officer down the well-remem- bered stairs. At the entrance, a memory flashed upon me: the picture of the youth struggling and crying be- tween the two unemotional policemen. Only the courier and the dvornik saw me enter the hotel with my escort. I tried to say something to the former, but a sob conquered the words. He was a kind- hearted soul and came to me instantly with an offer of help. So we three went upstairs. I sat by the window while the mild-mannered policeman turned out the con- tents of the steamer trunks and looked into pockets and table drawers. He took away a letter from the New York office written to Phil while we were in London. I thanked Fate that the word Russia did not enter there, for distortion is one of the main stocks in trade of the Third Section. " Spassibo, Sudarynya," he said politely as he put his heels together and made a deep bow. Then he turned the knob and left us. When I had poured my story into his sympathising ear, the courier also departed. I don't know what time it was that a knock interrupted my crying. I only remember I was so exhausted that I staggered a little as I crossed to the door, where I found a boy with his hands full of letters — letters from home, forwarded from London to the Credit Lyonnais, or sent directly here. They were the first we had had since our arrival, and as a hungry man eyes a feast, I scanned each w o The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 79 post-mark as I stood in the doorway. When I glanced up, a gendarme was tramping the corridor and looking inquisitively at my precious packet. I stepped back hastily, shut tight the door, turned the key, and slipped the bolt. ... If they came for my blue and white and grey letters — they should find me prepared to re- sist ! With a lapf ul of missives I turned page after page, full of love and congratulations upon our marriage — and my husband in Petersburgh gaoll At that I fell to crying again. And so I read and cried and cried and read until a dinner arrived, ordered by the thoughtful interpreter below. But I could not eat, and sent the trays away to the disappointment of Dmitri, who looked at me with compassionate eyes. When he went out I heard him speak inquiringly to the gorodovoy in the hall. It was almost nine and I was pacing the room in lonely dismay when a quick tap sounded at the door. A wave of weakness swept me from crown to sole as I steadied myself by the table. "Who are you?" I cried, breath- less with fear. But it was Jerry who answered. I flew to the knob and dragged him in. " Have you seen him? Is there any hope? Will he be sent away? Oh, Jerry, Jerry, I am so frightened — why don't you answer? I know what they do in Russian prisons ; they torture and blind for less cause than we have given them. I have read all about it. Those students at Riga, don't you remember? And that countess who talked indiscreetly? There was nothing, really nothing, criminal against them, but a street-flogging and Siberia was what they got. What will they do to my poor boy? I shall go to the mines, or wherever they send him. Wives are allowed to follow their husbands into exile, aren't they? They 80 Honeymooning in Russia can't discriminate against foreigners. . . . I'll ap- peal to the State Department ! " In my hysteria I saw Jerry go to the windows and close them. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and silenced me. " Steady there, little girl ! You shall go to Siberia if you want to, but not as the guest of the Government, unless I mistake the situation. It's going to be all right. You see if it isn't. Here's a note for you properly cen- sored (it ought to be fumigated as well!) I must go right back. I've sent off a dozen telegrams which are sure to catch someone who has enough influence to set the wheels going. Can you be brave a little longer? " By the time I was alone again I was quiet. Jerry's con- fidence of success and Phil's little note left me lighter- hearted. (I didn't know till later that he had been con- fined with thieves and drunken muzhiks in a cell alive with insects.) I bathed my eyes, trying not to see the dear masculine belongings on the lavatory; next I tidied my hair and put on a fresh blouse and skirt. If Phil came back, the reception committee must not be too forlornly rumpled. Once dressed, there was nothing more to do. I peeked out at my guard. If he had spoken English, or I Russian, I should have taken a chair into the hall and found comfort in his company. He wore a half -apolo- getic expression which I took for commiseration. Per- haps he had no evil intentions about my letters after all. I could not imagine him terrorising suspects, and, as a matter of fact, it is not this branch of the police which makes the midnight domiciliary searches, and hounds un- fortunates, but the Third Section of the army. I left the door open. A maid went by with a water jug. She glanced in at me, kindly, but even kindness hurt. A soli- The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 81 tary traveller passed by to his room, ignorant of the tragedy in number 57. I heard a young man and his wife laughing in an adjacent apartment, and sprang up to close the door. Their light-heartedness smote me like a knell. This time last evening, Phil and I had been laughing together; to-night he was in the toils of the Russian police, and I was alone, alone waiting for and fearful of the news which might come any minute. I had hours ago discarded the idea of cabling home. Until we had made every effort here mothers and sisters and fathers and brothers must be spared anxiety, if possible. Then I wondered if it would be in the New Y°rk evening papers : " St. Petersburgh, Russia — Philip Houghton, Euro- pean manager of a well-known corporation, was arrested here with his wife this afternoon. His friends are hope- ful of freeing him immediately, but he is now in the Central Office Gaol and — " A hail from Jerry inter- rupted my morbid fancies. It was just quarter of twelve. " He's coming," he gasped, " as soon as he finishes signing something. He says you are not to touch him until he has changed his clothes, and please will you order a bath." He was off again. I ran to the wall handle and set the bell jangling, then began excitedly to over- haul drawers for clean undergarments. Domna's broad face presented itself in answer to the bell. " Pajaluista, vanna for Gospodin Houghton seichas," I stammered in joyful confusion. " Da, da," she replied, standing still, " vanna ? " " Yes, yes, yes," impatiently, " and hurry ! A bath, a hot bath for the returned convict. And towels. Do you 82 Honeymooning in Russia understand? " I indicated the bathroom and pushed her down the hall. Fifteen minutes later he came, but he put out his hands to ward me off. " Don't, darling ! " he begged. " Don't come near me, please don't. I am not fit for you to touch." In vain I protested that fleas and odours had no terrors ; he was determined, and I had to content myself just hovering in the distance with a leaping heart and full eyes. " Enter, Salvator Magnus ! " declaimed Philip, as Jerry knocked. " Have you ordered the supper? I dined on sour bread and cucumbers and my appetite grows apace." " Haste thee to the bania, my lord. The feast waits upon thy laving." " Vale ! " sang out the togaed gentleman from the threshold, with a change of linen under his arm. " I shall return 6 within the hour.' " Jerry, who had looked into the loathsome cell, thought an hour's scrubbing might not be excessive. " But you should have seen him, Joyce, touching el- bows with the rakings of the street without the lift of an eyebrow. He's a thoroughbred ! " "Only an American would have taken it that way," I said proudly, fussing over the table already laid by our delighted Dmitri. " In the same situation can't you imagine a Teuton exploding with indignation ? " " Or a Frenchman challenging the whole service? " " Or a Spaniard apoplectic with ire? " " Or an Englishman defying the Russian Government and contemplating a letter to The Times? " I besieged him with questions. He had returned to Strelna from Viborg at half-past seven and had found The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 83 Phil's message waiting. He reached the police station in less than an hour and he had seen the chief immedi- ately. Finally, a wire to a friend in the Department of Ways and Communications had brought that important personage at nine-forty-five, and with him the chief had gone into a prolonged sitting ; Philip being sent for, he had been questioned mysteriously as to his knowledge of steel processes and armour-plate. " Of course," said Jerry, " Phil easily explained that, but not, I was surprised to see, to his excellency's satis- faction. • He sent for a " detective. Phil swears it was your inquisitive cabman, minus a false beard. For at least ten minutes they jabbered in Russian, while Phil and Prince K. talked horses as unconcernedly as if they were at a club. Finally the chief turned to the Prince, an awfully good fellow, and asked in French if he would be sponsor for Phil's behaviour dur- ing the rest of your stay, to which he got an emphatic response from His Princeship. I had told him before he saw the chief that the whole affair was preposterous, that your visit to Petersburgh had a far more interesting ani- mus than spying upon the Russians, and that there was no more question of your innocence than there was of my own. As a proof of his belief in you he invited us all, right before the chief, to join a house-party at his villa near Peterhof , and to remain as his guests until you left for Moscow. That seemed to impress his excellency, and the upshot of it was Phil was practically paroled in care of Prince K. He is to send in for us to-morrow afternoon, and now you'll have a rattling good chance to prove what I have told you, that the good-class Russian is the most hospitable creature on earth." 84 Honeymooning in Russia " Oh, but a Prince, Jerry ! And we've got no clothes." " He understands all about it. You are merely trip- ping it, and came, like seasoned travellers, with as little baggage as possible. You never met a nicer fellow. You'll feel at home in a minute." Of course I knew the title of a Muscovy Prince did not carry with it the prestige borne by the same title in Eng- land or Germany. Still the idea of a Russian Prince as host was romantic enough and, because I was a woman, I fell to planning immediately just how I was to amplify my lean wardrobe. Dmitri arrayed the tempting zakuska on a side-table. He brought chicken cutlets a la Tor j ok under their sil- ver cover; he dressed the salad, and uncorked a bottle of Massandra. Then, as the minutes passed and the hero of the feast did not return, the painstaking chelovek grew worried. " The wine had been chilled to just the right degree — and the sauce for the cutlets — Madame \ Ah-h ! " as Philip appeared. At the second entrance of the tragedy's chief actor his arms went about me in a long embrace. As I cried a little on his shoulder, I felt exactly like one of Repin's pictures, " The Return of the Exile." Dmitri coughed and began to rearrange the table, while Jerry almost succeeded in slipping noiselessly through the door. Phil caught at a coat-tail and drew him back. " Just a moment ! I have something to say to you, you great tawny-headed trump. Do you realise that I should still be hobnobbing with that prison rabble if you had not turned the trick for me? How do you think I am ever going to thank you ? " Their handgrasp was good to see. H i— i P 03 o w g The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 85 " Who played the Samaritan to me, I'd like to know? " demanded Jerry. " To think," he added as at last we seated ourselves, " to think that we should never have met here, that I might have expired in the road and could not have done you this service, if you had not gone just that day to Lake Ladoga ! " " At which I am reminded of a letter post-marked Philadelphia in that pile on the stand. Do you think you can find it? " In a moment Cicely's sweetheart was eagerly going through the packet. " Here it is ! The same grey paper and dashy writing." " Why don't you kiss it? " teased Philip, spearing a mouthful of cutlet. " Better than that, I'll read it, with your permission, Joyce?" which he proceeded to do while we ate hungrily ■ — I with my left hand ! Finally Phil demanded a share, so Jerry began : ' If you are really going to Russia, as your card suggests, how I shall envy you. Of course you have not forgotten who is there, near Petersburgh? The address is Gerard Drake, Esq., at the tenth verst stone (whatever that may mean) on the Strelna Road, Petersburgh. Be sure to send him word the minute you receive this, or have Phil look him up at the Yacht Club. How strange it seems to be giving you these directions ! Sometimes I think I simply cannot wait another week to see him. He is the dear — ' Oh, I say, I can't go on with this part," faltered Jerry. " Well, read it to yourself then," rallied Philip. " We know already what she and we think of you, don't we, jena? " He slipped an arm about my shoulders and drew my cheek to his. " Did it want to go straight to gaol with its husband? " he cajoled. 86 Honeymooning in Russia " Yes, or to Siberia or the Turcoman Steppes. The muzhik wife does not desert her exiled husband, why should I? " " Silly ! Did you really contemplate for one moment the dire chance that I should be deported? What's the use of being a United States citizen? We might have been given twenty-four hours to leave the country, but — " Jerry leaped from his chair. " Oh, do listen to this ! Did you know it all these hours, Joyce Houghton, and keep it from me? " He was again devouring the page before him. "Know what?" we both implored. " Know what ? " he shouted hilariously. " Do you want to know what? Cicely and her mother are coming abroad in August, and I am to meet them in Poland. You were not to tell, as ' they were just going to wire me to come to the Hotel Bristol in Warsaw to meet friends.' " " Oh, Jerry, and I let you read the letter, and now it's all spoiled ! " " I think from Jerry's face he does not agree with you," said Philip, as he ignited his cigarette at Dmitri's match-flame. " I disapprove of these feminine surprises. Anticipation is half the pleasure. Serves Cicely right." I looked at him and smiled. " O man, thy name is inconsistency. Hast forgotten a June day at Carlin's ? " Jerry looked up beseechingly. " May I take this with me ? I am going to get a room here for the night. You shall have it again in the morn- ing." He took out his watch. It was three o'clock. People were beginning to come back from the gardens. Dawn was peeking around the edge of the curtain. " I don't know whether to say ' Good-night ' or 4 Good- The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 87 morning,' but at any rate I must be off." We followed him to the door. The policeman was gone, and with him, the spectre of the day's drama. The sun was high before we went to sleep. There were so many questions to be asked and answered, so much vain guessing as to the real reason of the arrest. We were not to hear until several weeks later the true inter- pretation of the chief's cryptic utterances. cgj & Chapter VII A HOUSE-PARTY AT PETERHOV kJF course we had planned from the first to see Peter- hov and the gardens, going down by boat and making a day of it. As we drove in Prince K.'s carriage out the coast road to the Petersburgh suburbs, we indulged in comparisons altogether favourable to our present mode of transportation. The villa at which we were to be guests was near the palace park. Its windows and bal- conies, curtained with flowers and vines, glimpsed the Gulf of Finland. Jerry had already explained that the Princess K. was in Switzerland with a sick baby, and that for the time, her place as hostess and chaperone was filled by the wife of an English correspondent. At the door we were so graciously welcomed that I understood at once Jerry's liking for our impromptu host. He was a man of perhaps forty, with a charming smile and an ingenuous manner which gave him the air of a fresh- hearted boy. " Ah, Mrs. Houghton, it was good of you to accept this so unconventional invitation. If my wife had been at home — but I am sure Mr. Drake has explained," turn- ing from me to Philip and to Jerry with both hands ex- tended in frank cordiality. " We shall be quite informal. We Russians dislike ceremony at our datchas." I tried to say something of his great kindness to Philip and me 88 A House-Party at Peterhov 89 on the previous evening, but he protested that he had done nothing. " My regret was for you, Madame, as well as for your husband. It was an accident, a misunderstanding. I will try to make you forget it," he said simply. Servants had appeared to take our hand baggage and to show us our sweet airy rooms overlooking the Gulf. Mrs. Jordan, our hostess pro tempore, was waiting for me as I followed Philip down the stairs. " You are Mrs. Houghton," she said brightly, holding out her hand. " We are all so sorry about last night. If my husband had only been in town he would have been so glad to have been of assistance, but you could hardly have had anyone more capable of unravelling the tangle than our host. Isn't he delightful? I am sure you think so already." She was one of those cheery little souls, with always more to say than there was time for. In a moment we were friends. We crossed the lawn to join the other guests, who were having tea in a small birch grove. Phil and the Prince came to meet us, bring- ing with them a very blond young Lieutenant Kizovsky: so we five made a tea-party of our own, munching pas- ties, drinking chai and finding much to say about the brilliant weather, the warships in the Gulf, and the pleas- ures already planned for the week. At dinner I sat at the right of the Prince. Philip took in the wife of a naval captain. As the latter sat facing me, I found myself romancing about him every time I glanced at his swart, high-bred face. While our host conversed with the extremely pretty wife of the captain, and Phil talked aeronautics and motors with a French miniaturist, my neighbour, the lieutenant, told me the 90 Honeymooning in Russia story of Sheikh-Ahary, the romantic captain. Born a Beduin, he had been reared in Damascus, and had been sent later to the Naval School at Petersburgh because of his love for the sea. When he lost his heart to an ad- miral's daughter, their affair was vastly disapproved un- til her relations had seen him, a handsome youth in an ensign's uniform. Then they understood their kins- woman's love for her Beduin sweetheart, and did not re- fuse their consent to an early marriage. This first wife had died, and not long since he had married again, also a Russian lady. Meanwhile, his foster country had vied with other nations in heaping medals, orders and titles upon him. During the late war he had performed not- able service for Russia, and at all times his rare spirit and loyalty had endeared him to the country to which he had given allegiance. As an hereditary Sheikh, or Duke, of a Beduin tribe, he was venerated in his native land, to which he frequently travelled to visit his mother, who still lived upon the family estate in Arabia. Thousands of orange and olive trees brought him yearly wealth. "Do you not find him handsome? " asked my narrator. " Very," I enthused, regarding his attractive features and fine brown hands. " So gentle and so strong." The lieutenant turned to the frail girl who sat at his right. " You will like to hear these things of your father, is it not so, Liubka? " Then I remembered that this was the lieutenant's betrothed, and that she had been introduced as Mademoiselle Ahary. Her eyes were remarkable, un- fathomably sweet and melancholy. Through her veins flowed the blood of a splendid race, cultured, haughty, and fine-grained. Ages ago they gave science, poetry and geography to the world. Their fame for true hos- O 5 > o H A House-Party at Peterhov 91 pitality has established a metaphor : " As hospitable as an Arab." Temperate, sentimental, strong-hearted, they possess a fascination individual and unexcelled. And this young daughter of the race — I could well under- stand the adoration in the Rucsian's eyes and in the eyes of her father as he regarded her across the table. She was the sort men of her own tribe would set upon a horse and follow into battle, heartened by her war songs or condoled by her tears. But she and Mrs. Jordan were prosaically discussing a shopping-tour for Monday, while Jerry leaned back in his chair and smiled with masculine indulgence at mention of arshins of lace and the best place for gloves. " Would you go with us, Mrs. Houghton ? " said Mile. Ahary. " We are planning to go in early and return after luncheon in time to rest before the sail to Cron- stadt." I accepted with alacrity, realising the oppor- tunity this would afford me to make additions to my wardrobe. The morning found the men off for a swim in the Baltic before we feminines had taken tea. Mile. Lecrey, the portraitist, had a sitting with a Grand Duchess and we put her down at a palace door on our way to the station. Arrived at the Gostinny Dvor, we strolled from one ar- caded stall to another, and up the Perspective to still more modish silver and embroidery shops. I found a darling lapis cravat pin for Philip and a steel-studded Circassian belt for myself. But my search for blouses and dresses was not so satisfactory, though we canvassed modistes' and shops until noon. After much bargaining I selected an embroidered linen and a thin blouse or so, and a dinner gown trimmed with Vologda lace. Then 92 Honeymooning in Russia we went to luncheon at the Hotel de France, where the foreign correspondents gather every day for the noon meal to discuss the newest news. We were hardly seated at a window table when a man, unmistakably American, came over to speak to Mrs. Jordan. She introduced him as Mr. Colton. " I supposed you had gone south with your husband on that Pall Mall assignment," he said as he pulled out a chair. " You are such an indefatigable correspondent- ess." " Oh, I should have wilted down in Malo Russie this time of year. And the dust, and the unthinkable hotels? How are the chicks ? " " As lusty as usual." "And the wife?" " Not so lusty as usual. The heat fags her and the baby is teething." " Here," said Mrs. Jordan, addressing me, " you see the father of six, born severally in America, Germany and Russia, and speaking almost as many languages as there are children." " How entertaining they must be ! " " Their parents find them so," the father added mod- estly. " When may we come to see them and the Madame? " asked Mrs. Jordan, as he arose. " We are all at Prince K.'s villa. Mrs. Houghton and her husband are com- patriots of yours." " So I guessed. In fact, Jerry Drake's a friend of ours, and he spoke of you when I met him at the Ad- miralty the other day. If you'll do us the pleasure to have tea and muffins with us some afternoon, I'll promise A House-Party at Peterhov 93 you a sight of all the little Coltons and a rare view of the Gulf." Mrs. Jordan set a day then and there. " And that precious baby," she called after him, " tell her not to smash any more Grand Ducal hearts ! " Made- moiselle and I expressed our curiosity. " I thought it was too cunning. The sixth little Col- ton, aged three, was out with her nurse a few days ago, walking through the palace park at Strelna. Down one of the paths came the Grand Duke Constantine and the Crown Princess of Greece. The baby, she's the sweetest gold-headed sprite, was careering up and down the walk and laughing like a lark. His Highness stopped and spoke to her in Russian and she lisped back something about her little fistful of posies, and held one up to him. The maid, who recognised the Tsar's uncle, was simply overcome with awe, but not so Miss Colton. In Russian, she and the Duke continued an animated conversation which ended in his kissing her, and accepting a wilted flower from her moist little hand. Wasn't it cunning? " " Too cunning ! " we agreed. " Will you please tell me," I said as we walked up the Nevsky to finish our shopping, " why so many Russian maidens go about with their faces tied up in a handker- chief? Is it mumps or toothache?" " Toothache," replied Mademoiselle Ahary. " It is a Russian malady. " I think it is because we have so cold winters and so hot summers, and few good dentists. The poorer people pray to a special saint about it." " A touch of misery makes all akin," I exclaimed. " I once saw a little swollen-faced Japanese girl tying a prayer at the roadside shrine of a toothache god." "Ah, you have been in Japan! And is it so very 94 Honeymooning in Russia beautiful? I do not like to think so, because they are our enemies," she confessed naively. " If the country is beautiful, the people are not. I found them dishonourable, avaricious and hypocritical — brave, of course, and awfully clean, but I don't like them." " Yes, unfortunately, very brave and very, very wise. My father has told me much." " Do you ever go to Arabia? " I asked, as Mrs. Jordan left us to examine some linens. " Oh, many times. My grandmother is in Damascus. She sends often for me. You would love our Arabia, and I should like you to see my father riding with his Bed- uins." " And yet he loves Russia? " " Yes, it is in Russia that he has made his career, and it is here that he married my mother." " And now you are to marry a Russian too ? " Her olive cheeks flushed prettily and she dropped her lids. " In two months. We shall have our lune de miel under my grandmother's olive trees." She raised her eyes and touched my sleeve. " I hope we may be as happy as you." " And why not ? Russians make good husbands, and your fiance adores you." Mrs. Jordan proved herself so expert a bargainer that we were soon on our way back to the Peter hov station. " There is one thing I do miss dreadfully in Russia," I said, as we jolted through the glaring streets. " Do you know what three American women shoppers would con- sider absolutely necessary to a trip like this ? " "Tea?" they both ventured. A House-Party at Peterhov 95 " No, ice cream soda." " Oh, I've heard of that. At Fuller's in London they mix it," from Mrs. Jordan. " At Fuller's they do indeed mix it. They also attempt it at a shop in Paris, where they put a dab of creme glace in a glass of salty mineral water." " How should it be done? " queried Mademoiselle. " Well, the hand-maiden at Huyler's or Allegretti's would first pour into a thin glass a syrup of fruit or chocolate or coffee. Then she would spoon from a freezer a portion of ice cream, and froth it all over with sizzly soda water from a frosty fountain. And that's our na- tional drink. Don't you like the sound of it? " " Like it? I am parched for want of it!" wailed Mrs. Jordan. As our cab paused in the press of the traffic, a street-seller, mocking our thirst, thrust a bucket of salt cucumbers under our noses. " Agurtzia, Sudarynya ? " he wheedled. " Begone with your pickles, you wretched man," pro- tested Mrs. Jordan, putting up her hands. " Yes, begone to Amerique and bring us an ice cream soda ! " echoed Mademoiselle. As they belaboured him in English the pedlar stared bewildered, unable to fathom their vehemence. His crest-fallen expression as he turned away, sent us all diving into our hand-bags for kopeks, which he scrambled to catch as they rolled between the cobblestones and under the horses' feet. " Oh, poor man ! " sighed the little Ahary. " See how happy he now looks over his ten kopeks." " Nearly as much as he would earn all day selling his tiresome cucumbers. Either he will work no more this afternoon or the surplus will go into vodka." 96 Honeymooning in Russia " Mrs. Jordan the pessimist ! " " No, just Mrs. Jordan the truth-say er. The laziness and intemperance of her muzhiks are the brakes upon Russia's progress." "But they are paid so little when they do work," de- fended Mademoiselle. " How much do you suppose this isvostchik receives each month from his employer?" " Oh, not more than eight rubles, I daresay." " Not a kopek more, and he must drive, drive all day and much of the night to earn that. Russia cannot hope to become like the rest of Europe until things are made better between her labourers and the ones who hire them." " Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jordan briskly, as we stepped out of the drosky, " you are half Russian and ought to know better than I, but what little I have learned of batrak and muzhik has destroyed what sympathy I had for them when we came here." The little Arabian shook her head sadly. " Ah, I am afraid there are others to blame for his bad habits besides the poor workman himself." The mild discussion ended as we sought seats in the drawling Peterhov train. A sun-burned Philip saluted us at the station. " The Prince said you were sure to come on this train, so I drove in with the linega." "Oh, Philip!" I remonstrated, "that jaunting-car af- fair? Don't you think the Petersburgh pavements are sufficient aids to digestion ? " I climbed up beside him and disposed my boxes at our feet, while Mrs. Jordan and Mademoiselle sat back to back in the rear. " Why were you so long? " complained my husband. " Did you miss me ? " A House-Party at Peterhov 97j " I don't believe you missed me! " " Well, I felt as though just half of me were there, if that's missing you. There was an endless number of things I wanted you to see. Will you go in with me some day before we go, to see the provision stalls and bazaars ? " " To-morrow, if you say so." " No, not to-morrow. It's Tsarskoe Selo to-morrow and Pavlovsk in the evening. Oh," as I caught a glimpse of a speeding boat, " do you suppose that is the Tsar's courier? " " Yes," said Mrs. Jordan with her back to the Gulf, " if the craft is painted black and is going like the wind." " Then the Emperor must be at Peterhov." " The Journal de Petersbourg announced that he was back from Poltava and was leaving immediately for Cowes." We saw the royal yacht Standart as we steamed in our host's Viuga (Snow-storm) towards Cronstadt, where we were to dine with a nephew of the Prince. At the landing he met us, the drollest little fat lieutenant. In the garden of one of the military clubs he had ordered a repast over which, with music and good fellowship, we lingered until nearly eleven. Repeatedly his uncle, Prince K., protested that we had a long sail before us, but there was always a new joke to be recounted or a choice wine still untasted. " Madame," lamented the lieutenant, seeing my full glass, " you do not find it to your palate. Aha ! I re- member, there is a lighter vintage in the cellar. Garcon, vite ! " despite my protest. Or, " Will it be the almonds next, Mademoiselle?" or, "Another cigarette, Monsieur 98 Honeymooning in Russia le Capitain? " The limit of his purse does not bound the hospitality of the average Russian. All he has, and un- fortunately sometimes more than he has, is at the disposal of his guest. A whim is a command; a preference, how- ever slightly expressed, is sufficient to move armies. " Oh," expostulated the lieutenant, pained at the refusal of the men to join him in another glass, " you should see how great thirst had His Highness, Prince Henry of Prussia, whom I had the honour to attend when the Rus- sian officers entertained the German squadron at Vladi- vostok. Champagne, champagne, champagne — all morn- ing, all night ! I, — I do not like champagne. It is overrated insipidness. But I must be courteous. When His Highness desire champagne, so must I drink with him. Ah, but I had a sickness when that week was past ! " placing a plump hand on his forehead, " a sick- ness here which for days made me to drink, will you be- lieve it, mon oncle, nothing, nothing but milk? " He was inexpressibly amusing with his protruding cheeks, and twinkly little brown eyes, his round short figure and his unquenchable joviality. I haven't a doubt that at tins moment he is making someone laugh. " If you will but do me the happiness to say that you and Monsieur will come again," he exclaimed as I ex- pressed my enjoyment and said good-night, " then I shall believe you did not find yourself too wearied ! " The great forts on Kettle Island and the city of Cron- stadt loomed still and black as we put off for Peterhov. In the bow, Philip and I watched the star-shine in the water, and were not sorry that, through apparent mis- fortune, we had come under the " protection " of a Rus- sian Prince. C£J Cg3 C£J Chapter VIII A MORNING IN THE ROYAL NURSERIES J. HE park at Tsarskoe Selo maintains its fame as the best-kept park in existence through the labours of over six hundred men. As we motored through the immacu- late grounds we saw the gardeners literally picking up petals as they fell; rearranging pebbles in the paths; clipping spears of bordering grass invisibly higher than their neighbours. " Don't you think," said Philip, who was driving, " that this prim beauty calls for eau de cologne in the tank, in- stead of petrol? I'm sure the Tsar won't like our smell- ing up his park this way." The merest quip met a ready laugh, for we were a very frivolous septette — an Englishwoman, a French made- moiselle, an Arabian, a Russian lieutenant, a Bavarian mine-owner, and two Americans. The villa's host had excused himself for a day's business in town, and Jerry had gone complaining into Esthonia. At a pavilion on a picture-pond were mourning swans which were years ago substituted for the white ones once fed by the long-dead hand of a king's daughter. As we glided around the curves of the perfect roads, Turkish kiosks, Swiss dairy barns, Chinese pillars, doll-houses for royal babies, a bijou theatre, bridges, cascades, rockeries formed suc- cessive pictures. The imperial residence, especially be- loved by the reigning family, extends along a terrace overlooking the park. Its interior is gilded and carved, 99 100 Honeymooning in Russia though we did not tarry long enough to see half its beau- ties. Guards were watching at every corner, so photo- graphing was out of the question, though we had brought with us the adventuresome camera, which Prince K.'s in- fluence had saved from Government ownership. There were vistas in that princely park which I should like to have imprinted upon a film. One of Russia's renowned pianists, whom I had heard in New York, was billed to play a Chaikovsky concerto with the Pavlovsk orchestra that evening. This was enough to lure us thither, though we Houghtons were warned that the swarms of Russians we should see would not be of the " upper class." It was interesting to ob- serve the appreciative attention given to the serious pro- gramme by the audience, which was plainly " commercial " in its aspect. Bearded and booted shopkeepers took turns holding the babies while their stout wives drank tea and applauded with enthusiasm. At the finale of the concerto, tea and babies were both forgotten in the tumult of ap- probation which arose. " Imagine Chaikovsky at Coney Island ! " I whispered to Phil. A morning or so later, the household puppy and I were playing an exciting game of tag upon the lawn when Mile. Lecrey came down the steps with a tin box under her arm. In her pretty French way she said : " Is it perhaps that you would find pleasure to walk with me? I go to the park." I assented quickly enough and ran in to tell Phil, eating a lazy breakfast, that I should be back before long. " And what am I to do in the meantime? " A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 101 " You are to go on draining the samovar and crunch- ing toast until your American breakfast appetite is sat- isfied; then you may walk in the direction of the palace park, find your wife and bring her home through the birches. In about an hour? " " In an hour or so." " Well, don't fail to find me. It will be divine in the sun-spotted birch-wood this lovely morning. Good-bye." " Good-bye, and have a good time." " Yes, thank you. Good-bye." Mademoiselle and I sauntered along a broad shady road, revelling in the clear air, looking out to the tran- quil shining Gulf, picking some wild flowers, chatting congenially. She was expressive and interesting, and extraordinarily gifted in miniature painting. I knew that she numbered the Grand Duchess Elizabeth, widow of Sergius, among her patrons, and that her vogue at court was undisputed. " Are you going to sketch? " I asked as we came upon a pretty forest road. " This would make a perfect water- colour." " You are right, Madame. These woods make me think of the landscapes about Cernay near my Paris." " Cernay-la-ville? I have coached through there. Do you know the little Hotel Avril on the little village square? " " Ah, well, Madame ! And its stone walls within cov- ered with paintings by artist guests ? " " And the arbour at the rear, where one eats fat chicken and tender salad? And the wee shop across the way where the old lady sells sugar almonds in cornu- copias ? " 102 Honeymooning in Russia " Yes, yes, and the road to Chevreuse and Dampierre, and the spawning ponds of M. le Baron Rothschild, and the so quaint keeper with the turkey feather in his hat? Many days I have sketched in those woods." " Where shall you sketch to-day? " We had passed the vista of road and trees, and not far ahead were the yellow walls of Peterhof. " To-day I shall not sketch trees but four flower-faces. You shall see ! " she said, smiling enigmatically. Once inside the park gates, we turned down a walk to the left. Through the trees, palace roofs showed green or gold. We crossed small streams and passed summer houses of Dutch and French design. As we appoached the private grounds of the imperial residence, Mademoiselle looked at her watch. " We have still twelve minutes," she said, sitting down beside a carp pond. " Should you much like to know where we are going and whom we shall see ? " " Immensely." " I feared you might not come if I told you before. The Grand Duchess Elizabeth is here with her sister, the Tsaritsa. I have made of her several miniatures, and al- ways she has desired Her Imperial Highness to sit to me. But the Empress is shy. She will not consent to be painted. The Grand Duchess Serge despairs. One day I remark the resemblance between Her Highness and the Tsaritsa. The features are almost the same. It is only the expression which differs. And then the Grand Duchess Elizabeth say to me, clapping her hands quickly, ' I know what we shall do. When next I go to stay with my sister, you shall come to see me. I will ask her to let me present you. You shall closely regard her A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 103 expression, the difference between us, and then you shall make a miniature of her by changing one of mine 1 ' You see? So I have been sent for to do this for my good patroness. A servant brought a message last night when we were dining. I tell your husband at dejeuner when you had gone out. He beg me to bring you. And now you shall see the Tsaritsa." I wore no hat and had on a tailored linen. "But I can't see royalty in this — I can't ! I'll wait here for you. And you knew all the time, and Phil ! " " Ah, Madame, you will come ? I have used the tele- phone before leaving to ask of Madame la Grande Duch- esse the privilege to bring you. She has sent back word by her maid-in- waiting that she will be happy to receive you. It will not be etiquette now to refuse, and wait out- side the palace." " You ingenuous little plotter ! You might at least have told me to put on a hat and gloves. And that naive husband of mine ! Well, Empresses and Grand Duchesses are human. Perhaps they won't mind my ' court cos- tume.' Am I tidy? Is my hair all blowy? I'm as ex- cited as can be." Mademoiselle pulled at my cravat and gave my hair a pat. " You look — charmante — tidy, if you like. Shall we go on? " As we entered the private grounds I reminded the little artist of what she had said about the flower-faces. " They are those of the four daughters of the Emperor and the Empress. Their aunt wishes me to pose them for a miniature. It will not take long to line in the grouping." 104 Honeymooning in Russia In the red-panelled room where we waited for Mile. Lecrey's patroness, there were pots of blooming begonias, photographs framed in silver and wood, tabourets and hassocks, wide wicker chairs, and a chintz-covered couch riotous with pink and white and red pillows. On one of them lay a furry ball, an imperial kitten! When the Grand Duchess Elizabeth entered, she gave her protegee a kiss on either cheek, and, at a word of introduction, held out a slim hand to me. She was informality itself, a gra- cious figure in black. Her face was marked with trouble, but was nevertheless winning and almost beautiful. For quite fifteen minutes we conversed about the bright morn- ing, the cholera's increase, the grey kitten. She men- tioned our host, who, as chamberlain to the Tsar, was much in favour with the imperial family. " Perhaps you knew that he commanded the automobile flotilla during the late war? There are some photographs here somewhere." With Mademoiselle's help she searched among a pile of books on a table shelf, and found an album marked " Photographien." Then the sister of the Empress of Russia came and sat beside me on the couch and turned over the pages of amateur prints. There was the auto- mobile flotilla with Prince K. driving a big " six," small Grand Duchesses on their donkeys, the Tsarevitch on a velocipede, a laughing soldier, a view of the fountains playing — some cloudy prints, some light-struck, some out of focus. " My sister took many of these, and here is one of herself taken by my brother-in-law." At that moment " herself " opened the door and came in. We stood up as she crossed the room to offer us her hand in acknowledgment of her sister's introductions. She was dressed plainly, even unbecomingly, in a striped shirt- o X u w H o A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 105 waist, with a broad German belt and a dark skirt. She wore a small sailor hat with a blue band, and white canvas shoes. Her manner gave every evidence of shyness, almost of embarrassment, as she talked with Mademoiselle about the proposed miniature of her four young daughters. " It is Anastasie who will give you trouble," she said, laughing and looking over at her sister. " Isn't it so? " " Yes," answered Her Highness, " but placid little Marie will make up for her restlessness, and Olga will delight in the posing." " They have all been walking with me, but I think you will find them in the nursery by this time. You have your sketch-box? Perhaps you would like then to go up at once. I will come when I have seen my secretary, who is waiting." The Tsaritsa graciously included me in the invitation to ascend to the playroom and I was de- lighted to have an opportunity to see so informally the imperial youngsters whose photographs are familiar to everyone. As we went down a corridor, sounds of laughter and running feet came from a room at the end. " My nieces are in high spirits to-day," said the Grand Duchess. " They have some little cousins coming to spend the afternoon, and their father has promised to go with them for a sail. That is their greatest happi- ness — to be with their father," she added simply. When she opened the playroom door ten feet made a rush for her, and ten hands dragged her down. She was welcomed with shouts of joy, for she had arrived only the evening before and this was the children's first sight of their favourite aunt. When she had given them a kiss and a hug apiece, and bestowed an extra caress upon the curly- haired little boy, Her Highness presented them to Mile. 106 Honeymooning in Russia Lecrey and to me, and they became at once well-behaved little ladies. The Tsarevitch, a stocky little figure in a white belted smock and baggy trouserlets, bashfully hung to his eldest sister's skirts and could not be induced to give us his hand, despite her cajoling. His locks almost shrouded his eyes as he shook his head and put out his lips — a dear, plump, pouty baby — heir to the Woe of Russia ! The room was spacious and cheery and con- tained a multitude of toys and mechanical playthings. A big toboggan slide was evidently the favourite, for it was sadly scuffed and worn. Miss Eagar, the stout, kindly governess, helped to arrange her charges according to Mademoiselle's suggestions. The Heir Apparent, regain- ing his spirits, galloped boisterously about the great room on a stick with a horse's head, and created such a distract- ing commotion that he had to be suppressed. At the feet of the Grand Duchess and myself he set to playing with a train of cars which imperilled our toes. When his four sisters were posed and Mademoiselle was busy with her pencil, he climbed up on his aunt's lap and watched in silence the unusual doings. We smiled at his baby won- derment. " I am going to ask Mile. Lecrey to do one of him quite alone. Don't you think just his head and cherub shoulders would be pretty? " " Adorable," I acquiesced. " How lovely the second little girl is." " Tatiana? She is considered the beauty of the quar- tette. It is Olga the Clever, Tatiana the Fair, Marie the Good, and Anastasie the Terror. But they are all inter- esting in their own way. You should see some of Olga's drawings, and they dance beautifully." A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 107 "And speak as many languages as most educated young Russians? " " Four, but I think they like English best. In fact, it is English which has almost become the court language. His Imperial Highness and my sister speak English to- gether, and are quite devoted to their London papers which they receive every day." The Empress entered unobtrusively and stood by the door while the artist continued to sketch. Occasionally, the mother found it necessary to chide the active Anas- tasie or to warn another small model not to lose the pose. I recalled pictures of her taken about the time she mar- ried the Emperor of All the Russias, slim and lovely, if a little melancholy in expression. Now she showed not only the rack of the years and the added melancholy they have brought, but also a matronly stoutness. " A sweet- faced German hausfrau " was my mental comment as she stood leaning against the opposite wall. Mademoiselle finished her drawing and began to put up her pencils. At a nod from their mother the little girls danced off to play in the open, their long hair flying and their cheeks pink with health. " We go so soon on our cruise to England," the Tsar- itsa was saying, " I am afraid there will not be time for another sitting until our return. Shall you be able to come again in about two weeks ? " She and Mademoiselle arranged a date, and we rose to leave. " Thank you very much for an opportunity to see your daughters and little son, Imperial Highness," I said. " Perhaps when he is older, your baby will come across the Atlantic as his great-uncle did when he was Heir Ap- parent." 108 Honeymooning in Russia " King Edward? I have heard him relate stories of his American journey. Yes, possibly my little Alexis may go too, some day. But he is only a five-year-old baby now." She patted his soft hair and drew him to her side. " Just a five-year-old baby," she repeated, sadly, I thought.. Knowing his heritage, how she must yearn to keep him a baby ! In the road outside the palace grounds, Philip was walking up and down. He looked at Mademoiselle and smiled. " Did she prove tractable ? " " Yes," I answered for her, " a tractable dupe for your intrigues. But I'm not sorry. It was delightful, and a lesson in simplicity which I shall never forget. I wish you had come, too." " I ? Never ! I should have been sure to bump into something walking out of the room backwards." " Oh, but they make one forget to do that," said Mademoiselle, " do they not, Mrs. Houghton? " " Absolutely. It would be impossible to find less os- tentation in an average American household." " And not so little in many," added Mile. Lecrey, who, had painted at Newport, and knew. In the afternoon we went to drink tea with the Coltons at Strelna, where they had hired a modest datcha for the summer. Young voices hailed Mrs. Jordan from the tree limbs as we entered the yard. " That family of mine ! " exclaimed the mother from the door. " Couldn't you guess their ancestry? " " Simian ? " suggested Mrs. Jordan impudently as the two saluted, and I was welcomed as a countrywoman of the energetic, quick-speaking little hostess. A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 109 " Possibly, but American also. Whoever saw any but American youngsters with such a lust for climbing? I keep a roll of bandages and a bottle of arnica on every shelf, and I've memorised the telephone number of every doctor in the neighbourhood." " But they rarely fall." " I know it. The Russian children playing primly about, stare with mouths agape at the antics of our six. Their mothers are convinced that I haven't the first in- stincts of a natural parent." " And yet they wonder why your offspring are rugged as young oxen, and their own are pale as lilies and thin as reeds. I am often sorry for the sad little things; they don't know what it means to romp like normal children. Even when they grow up and go to the University the only athletics they know are ' lorteeneece,' croquet, and * cup and ball.' Of course they skate beautifully, and toboggan in ' Butter Week.' " "Butter Week?" " The week before Easter when all Russia makes a holiday. Of course during Lent they may not eat any food produced by an animal, so even butter and milk are prohibited. Before they fast, they consume all the butter their purses will afford." "And what do they use for frying? Sunflower oil, possibly." " Nothing else. And the seeds, you know, they eat those as we Americans eat peanuts or candy. I have seen the hulls inch-deep on the station platforms," said Mrs. Colton, as her hands moved briskly among the tea- things. A robust maid set the samovar before her, and went out". 110 Honeymooning in Russia " What a delightfully quaint * self -boiler ' ! " com- mented Mrs. Jordan. " I picked it up in the Apraxin Bazaar one day. I am not at all sure that I am not risking the charge of receiving stolen goods." " That is one of the fascinations of buying there, don't you think? " " I am afraid so. i A legalised fence,' Mr. Colton calls it." " It sounds too interesting to miss," I said. " May I know where it is? " " Back of the Gostinny Dvor, where we shopped the other day," replied Mrs. Jordan. " But wait until you reach Moscow and you will find even a wickeder one. You mustn't miss it." " I shall inquire for it the first thing. I have de- manded of my husband a wedding-present in the shape of a samovar, and my heart shall henceforth be set upon discovering one which gives evidence of having been stolen!" " Did you know," said Mrs. Jordan, " that you are this afternoon giving a cup of tea to a young person who this morning was received at Peterhov ? " "No? Delightful! Was it an awesome experience? I have never been." " It was the antithesis of awesome," I replied, laughing. " I felt as though I had run in to make a neighbour a morning call. Is the Tsar so informal upon such oc- casions, do you suppose?" 66 They say so. I know a little story about him you will like to hear. A lady of my acquaintance, an Eng- lishwoman, by the way, Mrs. Jordan, went into a shoe A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 111 shop with her little boy one day, and while she sat try- ing on boots, a gentleman entered by a door leading from an alley-way. He had on a great coat, and a fur cap pulled well over his forehead, but as he came forward he pushed back the cap and unloosened the coat. Immediately her small boy exclaimed, none too quietly, * Oh, mother, doesn't he look like our Prince of Wales ! ' His mother, seated with her back to the man, only re- proved the boy for speaking so loud, and did not glance around. But the little fellow was not to be suppressed. ' It must be the Prince of Wales, mother. He is exactly like that picture we have at home.' So she turned about, and there was the gentleman standing quite near and smiling at her son. Of course the moment she looked she knew who it was, but she did not have time to call the child to her before the gentleman spoke to him. ' Shall you think it strange that I look like the Prince of Wales, if I say that he is my cousin ? ' ' Your cousin ? ' the little boy echoed. ' Then — why then you must be His Im- perial Highness, and that can't be ! ' At that the man laughed and called the boy to him, while the mother sat like ' my son John, with one shoe off and one shoe on,' praying that her small child would not commit some ter- rible faux pas, for this was his first audience with royalty. The Tsar put his hand on the little fellow's shoulder and looked down gravely into his flushed face. ' And are you so interested to see the Emperor of Russia? ' he said. 'Why?* 'Why — why — because you are the Em- peror,' he stammered truthfully. 6 And not because I am I, at all. Yes, that is the way it must always be, I pre- sume. I wish sometimes,' he said, looking about quickly and finding no one listening (the salesman had been off \ 112 Honeymooning in Russia hunting for a certain size for my friend all this time), 6 1 sometimes wish I wasn't the Emperor at all. Sometimes I am so tired of being an Emperor that I would give all I have to be — well, just you, for instance. You won't tell, will you? ' he said whimsically, patting the small boy^s cheek. And then he went to the front of the shop and asked to be waited on. The proprietor hadn't guessed until that minute who his customer was, and had allowed him to wait while he fitted a house-maid to a pair of goloshes. My friend heard afterward that it was not unusual for the Tsar to slip out and go shopping unat- tended, half -disguised by his collar and big fur cap. But I don't think he does it now." " I should think not," said Mrs. Jordan briskly. " The Reactionaries see to that now-a-days." " If one can believe reports, the Tsar is rather the com- manded than the commander. Is it so that he is a tool merely, and knows little of his kingdom's affairs ? " " Not true at all. He is the patron of the Black Hundred and the provoker of Jewish outrages. He is not brilliant, but, on the other hand, he is not the fool he is often painted. I think he is a bad man, an oppressor to the same degree that Nicholas First and some of his other illustrious ancestors were. Look what he has done to the ^inlanders. And he has fooled the people about their Duma until even the muzhiks have begun to un- derstand that their loyalty to the throne has been mis- placed. He ought to be black-balled by other nations and their rulers, instead of being received with the honours which attend his appearance in foreign waters." " Apropos of the English visit? " inquired Mrs. Col- ton, smiling at her guest's vehemence. The Arab Captain A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 113 " Yes, and of the one to France, and to Germany, and to Italy. So long as Europe wears a smiling face to- wards him and his atrocious performances Russia will not go free. I think it is nothing less than criminal — the apathy of foreign countries in the face of the horri- ble suffering of this country. Europe could stop it in a moment, if it wished to. But instead, it goes on lend- ing money to help the bankrupt Government keep the whip over the people's heads. Without money to main- tain her Cossacks and other soldiers, the Tsar would be helpless, for it is only the army which frightens the muz- hiks. I hope I shall live to see the arms of the Gov- ernment tied and the hands of the peasants at its throat." " Good ! " cried Mr. Colton, who had been standing un- seen at the outer door. " You're right, Lady Jordan. It's the thought I've been harping on in my recent de- spatches. When Europe puts its hand behind its back, instead of holding it out in fellowship, a new day will break for starving Russia." " I declare," exclaimed Mrs. Colton, " you have heated me up so that I have let my tea go cold 1 And yours, Mrs. Houghton? Let me brew you another cup." " If you will let the babes come in and drink a cup with us. We were promised an introduction to them, you remember, Mr. Colton ? " " Well, call them, Richard, but I know their faces are as dirty as their pinafores and trousers. And their drawing-room manners are nil. There, didn't I say so? " as the youngsters flew up the steps and embraced their father hilariously. " David, come here. Say, ' How do you do ' to Mrs. Houghton and Mrs. Jordan. They have asked to see you." A straight little figure in brown 114 Honeymooning in Russia velveteen responded. A shock of yellowest hair topped a wise small face lit by a pair of very brown eyes. He put out a tree-stained fist, and said something unintelli- gible, at which the others laughed. " Why, David Col- ton, you know these ladies are not Russian. Speak to them properly." So the four-year-old tried it again, this time in German, which I could understand. But his mother was not pleased with him. " David, you remem- ber I told you Mrs. Jordan was bringing an American lady with her. Why do you not address her in Eng- lish?" Which he promptly did. I drew him onto my lap and gave him the kiss which his cunning ways had earned and which I think he would have willingly for- gone, for he was very much of a boy. " I nearly tried French," he said, looking up into my face and laughing at the joke. ' The other children, profiting by their small brother's chiding, made their bows in best English, and after that there were no more linguistic tangles. On his mother's knee the baby drank her tiny cupful of tea with the rest. " Are you shocked? " said Mrs. Colton. " A little," I confessed. " Cambric tea was my bever- age at that age." " But this is weaker than the tea drunk in America or England, and it doesn't seem to do them any harm. Any- way, they love it, so I haven't the character to refuse them." "I shouldn't have either," I conceded, looking about at the small satisfied faces up to the eyes in tea-cups. When Phil came for us in the motor-car it was almost six o'clock. " We have stayed so long we are in positively bad A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 115 form," apologised Mrs. Jordan. " But it is your own fault — brew poor tea and be less entertaining if you would preserve yourself from future invasions." " I am only sorry we shan't remain long enough near Petersburgh to come again," I lamented, as Philip cranked the car and we climbed in. The six little Coltons stood on the doorstep below their father and mother and waved their hands as we moved off. Except for the mounted Cossacks coming down the road, I could have imagined them just a wholesome American family bidding us adieu in miles-away America. Chapter IX A DAY WITH MARIE K^/OME in, Madame," said Prince K., rising with his newspaper in his hand as I appeared at the door of the morning-room. I took the lounging chair which he pulled into a stream of sunlight, and accepted a cushion. " I am sorry I cannot offer you an English journal." " But you can translate me the news. I am steeped in ignorance of the world's doings. What about the cholera? Is it better?" " Appallingly worse. Even the precautions which our farcical Health Board does take are useless. Some of the ' black people ' believe that the cholera is poured into the Neva by mischievous boys, or is the result of a powder sifted into the waters by the Evil One. But they are all of one mind as to what to do, or rather what not to do about it. ' We are in God's hands,' they say. ' If it is His will that we should die, we shall die.' And mean- while the city's death record is increasing every day." " Do you suppose we are in danger from it ourselves ? " " Not if you avoid the Neva water and take care as to the cleanliness of your food wherever you go. It is a dis- ease of filth." " So I have heard. What paper do you read? " " Officially, the Novo'e Vremya, the New Times. 9 ' " We see that quoted in America more than any other Russian newspaper." " It is the mouthpiece of the Reactionaries. One can- 116 A Day with Marie 117 not depend upon it for it distorts the news to suit the mind of the court." " And what do you read from preference ? " " The Rech, or in your language, the Speech. It is the organ of the Constitutional Democrats. I am a member of the Most High's entourage. But my heart is not with those who flog the people. They have souls, they are human, though the Grand Ducal party would make us believe that they are but beasts born to pro- duce taxes." " The Grand Ducal party? " " It is led by the uncles and cousins of the Emperor, and by his mother, the Dowager Empress Marie." " Sister to Queen Alexandra." " Yes. I could wish that her influence in Russia had been as salutary as has Alexandra's in England." It amazed me to hear a Russian of his position speak so freely, and I was bold enough to say so. " It is true, Madame, that for plain-speaking hundreds of thousands of my compatriots have suffered penalties the most se- vere. In public I could not say what I say to you here. No one will deny, however, that among the officials of the Government, as well as in the Army and Navy, there are many who mutely sympathise with the Constitutional- ists, and even with the Progressists. Unfortunately, mere sympathy works no reforms." " I presume it would be indiscreet to ask you a frank opinion of the Tsar? I heard Mrs. Jordan express her- self forcibly a day or so ago." The Prince looked grave. " I wish I might reply with enthusiasm for His Im- perial Majesty's qualities. One must not forget that 118 Honeymooning in Russia he is the progeny of a race of alcoholics and epileptics. I cannot say otherwise, though I hope I am as loyal a Russian as most. If Nicholas II is vacillating, moody, possessed at one moment by an abnormal estimate of his own importance, and at the next by a fatal lack of self- confidence, if he is more often cruel than kind, we can- not censure too bitterly. Not one male ancestor for generations back has been normal in mind or body. Certainly few have given him an estimable example as a ruler. Now his poor little son also bears the blight of his grandfathers. It is known that he is a victim of epi- lepsy, as is his imperial father." "That darling little boy we saw at Peterhov? How shocking ! " Mademoiselle Ahary had come in quietly and seated herself on the wide window-ledge. Her big eyes widened with interest as we discussed further. " It is all a question of imperial greed," she said at last. " The Grand Dukes are Russia's worst enemies. They know their incomes will cease if monarchy ceases. So the extraordinary influence they hold over the Em- peror and in the Departments is used to silence the voices that cry for liberty." " I wonder if it is true that the Tsar has a hundred palaces." " Yes, Mrs. Houghton, over a hundred and thirty pal- aces, and half his subjects are existing upon not more than twenty kopeks a day." " Ten of our cents ! How can they find anything to eat with but ten cents a day ? " " Not to eat only," said our host, " but with twenty kopeks or less, they must find fire, shelter and clothes A Day with Marie 119 also. Half the peasants never know satisfied hun- ger." " Are you ready, dear? n said Philip from the door. Then catching sight of our faces: "What is it? Bad news? You all look so solemn." "Yes, Monsieur, bad news of Russia," replied the Prince, motioning him to a chair and opening a fresh box of cigarettes. " Are you taking your wife away ? " " We were going into Petersburgh for a last look. We must go on to Moscow in a day or so." " Oh, not yet ! " protested our host hospitably. " Your stay has just begun." " We wish it had, don't we, Philip? It has been a per- fect two weeks." " Delightful, more delightful than we can express. But the days are slipping by and we should be back in London in September." " Well, it would be selfish to restrain you, for Mother Russia has many things to show you." " How do you plan to go ? " asked Mademoiselle Marie from the window-seat. " To Moscow by night express and then to Nizhni Novgorod. I must see Nizhni. I can recall geography descriptions of it which always fascinated my young mind. Do you suppose all the romance is gone from the Fair now that railroads have superseded caravans? " " Not all the interest, at any rate," answered His Highness. " The Fair will be at its height in about a week — the middle of August. Why do you not accom- pany me as far as Vologda, go from there to Yaroslav by rail and thence by water to Nizhni? You can see Moscow as well upon your return." 120 Honeymooning in Russia " I haven't the faintest notion of Vologda's place on the map, but that sounds enticing enough to consider." Philip was unfolding his pocket-guide to Russia. " Just east of us, Mr. Houghton. V-o-l-o-g-d-a — do you find it? " " Yes, and Yaroslav is south, and — oh, this will be j oily ! — it's the Volga, Joyce, which winds from Yaro- slav to Nizhni." " That decides it ! To voyage down the Volga will consummate another dream of my school days." " Then I may have the pleasure of having you as guests in my car. I am going to inspect the compara- tively new line from Petersburgh to Vologda. If Marie will come, and Lieutenant Kizovsky, and Mrs. Jordan and as many more as you will care to ask — Mr. Drake too, — we shall have a house-party en route. Is it ' yes,' Mademoiselle? " " I regret, Monsieur. It would be charming, but I have promised elsewhere. And Lieutenant Kizovsky — he is ordered to his ship." " Ah, pauvre enfant I " " Yes, I am melancholy. I will not deny it." " Then perhaps you will come with us for the day in Petersburgh ? Do come ! " " Yes, do ! " urged Philip. We had grown very fond of her during our two weeks daily, almost hourly, com- panionship. " I should not be in the way? " " We should miss you if you did not come." " Then I go instantly to find my hat." His Highness put the limousine at our service, and in half an hour we were off on the highroad to Petersburgh. A Day with Marie 121 When the chauffeur asked for instructions, we scarcely knew what to tell him. " Let us just drive about the city and have Mademoi- selle play guide." " We'll have to buy her a megaphone, then," teased Phil. " And why? " she questioned. " Because that is what all the guides on the Seeing- the-Sights automobiles are equipped with." As she con- tinued to look puzzled, I explained. " Oh, it is a custom of America, then? " " Yes, a new, noisy, and profitable one." " Very well then, I am the guide. Here," she began, speaking like a guide, and making us laugh, "here you see the statue of Nicholas I. Upon his horse he gallops furiously. We say, ' The fool is chasing the wise one, but St. Izaak stands between.' " " And who is the ' wise one ' ? " " Why, Peter the Great, who sits upon another horse that rears on a rock beyond the cathedral of St. Izaak." " Then the Russians are not always afraid to speak their minds about their Emperors ? " " No, they have many rhymes and proverbs. Some of them are — one could not repeat them." Philip thought this was hardly complimentary to the rulers' morals. We came to the statue of Catherine the Great, facing the Riding-school, with the palace in which she lived upon one side, the imperial library on the other, and the Alex- ander theatre behind. " There is a saying about this statue also. I will translate it if I can. ' Before her is Sport ; to her right hand, Lust; to her left, in the shadow, Learning; at the 122 Honeymooning in Russia rear, Temperament.' It was these qualities which made up her nature." " These, and worse," I added, remembering her cruel exercise of power for evil. The people in the streets in- terested us and our cicerone commented upon them: " That is a Jewish rabbi, and that equipage belongs to an ambassador. Do you see the embroidered triangle on the back of the hat, and the colours of the envoy's country in front? That fine gentleman driving there — I know him. He is the French chef of Madame la Contesse M. The family are staying at Gatchina and he comes to mar- ket. There are not many meat stores in Petersburgh. Everyone goes to the markets. Should you like to see them? " She spoke to the chauffeur and he turned off the Nevsky into Garden Street. We got out and strolled among the stalls. Grayling, sterlet, sturgeon, sig and soodak were displayed in the fish market, and further on, there were piles of cucumbers, melons, mushrooms, gourds and chicory, from the famous truck gardens of Rostov-not-on-the-Don, but southeast of Petersburgh. Black-cock, grouse, duck and capercailzie were hanging stiffly from hooks above the game booths. " They are frozen," I said, feeling a neck. " Yes, and so are most of the meats you see in those other stalls. Some may have been frozen for months. These are rabchik, tree partridges. They are caught in the trees and sold by the cartload to Russian house- wives." " By the cart ? " I repeated, incredulous. " Yes, in the winter they are stored like coal in the cellars." "But they can't be good?" A Bay with Marie 123 66 They are — ravishing. You ate them one night at Prince K.'s. Many families have them every day, al- most every meal." " I thought those we had the other evening might be snipe," said Phil, " except that the flesh was white. As I heard a black steward on a Mississippi steamboat say of a Mallard whose wing he had just finished, ' It cer- tainly was a tendah bird ! ' " After luncheon we visited shops, haughty ones on the north side of the Nevsky, humble ones at the rear of the Gostinny Dvor, or Great Bazaar. I quelled my husband's ambition to fill his pockets with trinkets of brass and gold, hand-hammered and inlaid, which fascinated him in the second-hand stores. " Don't forget Nizhni and Moscow are to come," I warned. But he could not be restrained entirely. He made us each, Mademoiselle Marie and me, a present of a gold-washed buckle formed of twin imperial eagles, and, to complete the gift, bought us each a belt length of mili- tary gilt braid. Mademoiselle loyally selected the insignia of a lieutenant and I chose the design sacred to a general. At the Fontanka Canal we left the car to see the mar- vellous new church recently erected upon the spot where Alexander II met his death. There were brilliantly col- oured paintings upon the outer walls. The interior was sumptuous with gems, gold and silver, mosaics, paint- ings and priceless marbles. "What must it have cost? " I murmured, as we came out. " Ten millions of your dollars," replied our guide, " and every ruble was given by the Empire's subjects. Do you know what became of the amount they put into the treasury? Grand Duke Vladimir was chief of the committee, as the son of his murdered father. He stole 124 Honeymooning in Russia the twenty million rubles for his own purposes. The workmen began to complain that they had not been paid. They were patient a long time. Finally they complained louder. An investigation was made. The money was nearly all gone ! " "What happened then?" " The secretary pretended he had stolen it." "Why?" " Because someone had to be blamed, and the Grand Duke Vladimir was uncle of the people's Emperor. By law the imperial family cannot be prosecuted no matter what their crime. So the secretary, for pay, went to prison for a while. When he was released he was sent to the United States with a life income of five thousand rubles a year. The Government refunded the twenty million rubles for the building of the church." " And the Tsar's own uncle was the thief ! " " Most of the Tsar's uncles are thieves ; but the dead Vladimir was a knave without a conscience. During the war our soldiers went barefoot, cold, and hungry many times because Vladimir, Serge, and Alexis put in their pockets the funds appropriated to buy stores." " And why does Russia stand it ? " " She will not always. But now the Cossack's lash snaps over the heads of the people. When they revolt, they suffer its stripes. It takes courage." "Have the Revolutionists helped the country?" in- quired Philip. " We try, Monsieur." Then she paled. "I — what have I said? " " We will forget, if you wish it, my dear." A Day with Marie 125 " My father and my fiance — I cannot grieve them, and yet it is impossible to stop my ears to the cries which come from the dark." " And which the young men and women answer." " Yes, the students, and I — " she looked searchingly into our faces, " I can say to you, I am one of them. It would kill my father and Stefan to know. They have pledged their lives to their Emperor's service. It is my great sorrow that I cannot confide to them what lies so close to my heart." "Why should it be treason to teach the ignorant?" " Because the Government forbids it. Even the own- ers of estates may not open schools for their peasantry. Count Tolstoi's daughter was ordered to close the class she held for the muzhik children from her father's vil- lage. Every summer the students from the Universities go among the villages and harvest fields, and tell the peas- ants what they have a right to know. Sometimes they dress as harvest-hands and labourers. Always they must go in secret and often, even then, they are sus- pected and arrested." "And then?" " Exiled or imprisoned — or perhaps hung, according to the mood of the District police." We were whirling along the boulevards among the islands. As we passed a pretentious villa, a carriage swept out of the gateway and passed close to us. A pompous individual raised his hat, in response to Mademoiselle's bow. " It is General B.," she explained. " He is father to my great friend Natalia. It is with her I go into the country this week to visit at her cousin's estate near 126 Honeymooning in Russia Vitebsk. From there we shall go disguised as field hands and talk with the women as we cut grain by their side." I glanced at the small hand within mine. " It looks scarcely large enough to wield a scythe," I said smiling. " Often last summer my back ached sorely, but it is the only way we can reach the muzhiks unsuspected." " So it was for this that you declined the Prince's in- vitation? " said Philip admiringly. " You remember what I said to you, Phil, our first even- ing at Peterhov? " " You said, ' That little Ahary would ride into bat- tle on a charger for a righteous cause.' " " As Arabian women do," she added simply. " And as Russian women are doing — risking freedom and life, and something more sacred, to help right the muzhiks' wrongs." " I wonder," as we turned at " the Point " and started back to the city, " whether you would do for me a very great service. You are going to Moscow. I want to send a letter there and some money to one of our party. She is in communication with exiles who have gone to Siberia. I cannot write her direct for she is watched." " You would give us her address ? " " Oh, yes, but you would be sure not to allow anyone to know that you had a letter from me to her? It might mean exile to us both." " We should regard it as a sacred mission," I said, thrilling with the idea. " Before you go I will tell you where to find her and what to say when you meet her so she will understand." " Shall we by any chance be a link in the Underground A Day with Marie 127 Railway I have read about? " Philip's eyes sparkled with interest. " Yes. It is called so because the Revolutionists communicate by word of mouth and from hand to hand messages and supplies which it would be unsafe to send otherwise to unfortunates." " Who are the ' unfortunates ' ? " " Convicts, usually those sent into exile." We drew near the entrance of the Summer Garden, and Mademoiselle directed the driver to turn in there. " Have you seen the statue here to old 6 Grandpa Kry- lov ' ? " " The fable-maker? We saw his grave in the Alex- ander Monastery cemetery." " This is one of the very few monuments erected in Russia to other than Emperors or officers. Literary geniuses are not often honoured in this country." " More often exiled, I should think," said Philip. " Krylov wrote a fable about that. I will say it to you. We all know Krylov by heart." We had alighted before the statue of the Russian iEsop. So we sat down on an iron bench, and listened as our little friend stood before us and began in her low voice to say the fable of " The Cat and the Nightingale " : " * A cat which had caught a nightingale, stuck its claws into the poor bird, and pressing it lovingly said, " Dear nightingale, my soul ! I hear you are everywhere renowned for song, and that you are considered equal to the finest singers. My gossip, the fox, tells me that your voice is so sonorous and wonderful that at the sound of your entrancing songs, all the shepherds and 128 Honeymooning in Russia shepherdesses go out of their wits. I have greatly de- sired to hear you — don't tremble so, and don't be obsti- nate, my dear: never fear; I haven't the least wish to eat you. Only sing me something ; then I will give you your liberty and release you to wander through the woods and forests. I don't yield to you in love for music. I often purr myself to sleep." Meanwhile our poor nightingale scarcely breathed under the cat's claws. " Well, why don't you begin? " continued the cat. " Sing away dear, however little it may be." But our songster didn't sing; only uttered a shrill cry. "What! Is it with that you have entranced the forest ? " mockingly asked the cat. " Where is the clearness, the strength, of which everyone talks incessantly? Such a squeaking I am tired of hear- ing from my kittens. No. I see that you haven't the least skill in song. Let's see how you will taste between my teeth." And it ate up the singer, bones and all.' 5: " The Government is of course the cat, and the night- ingale is Puschkin or Lermontov, Gogol or Dostoievsky," Philip remarked as she finished. " Tell us another," I begged. " What do those bas reliefs mean about the base? " " They illustrate some of the favourite fables. ' For- tune and the Beggar ' is one, ■ The Muzhik and the Fish- soup ' another. There is one which applies to the pres- ent condition of party politics in our country to-day, only the Nationalists, the Cadets, the Progressists, the Octobrists, the Reactionaries do not work in even so much harmony as the creatures of the fable." She stood with Krylov looking down upon her, as she traced the fantas- tic figures circling the pedestal. 51^^ ■