Chapter VI: Introduction (1)

During my prolonged stay in the Far East, I promised to send home notes whenever I came across anything interesting, or whenever I had time to do so. This is how it happened that the story of my visits to the different cities of interest, of receptions graciously granted by the various Emperors of Eastern Asia, and the chief impressions received when crossing their empires, came to be jotted down.

Naturally in these pages, written often under considerable pressure and in spare moments, I was at the mercy of circumstances, and could not dwell on all the points at such length as I should have liked to do. In short, in these narratives, destined to be confided to couriers and post offices, I was compelled to leave out much that might have been more sensational.

Some of the papers have already appeared in periodicals, and the appreciation that has kindly been shown to them, and the favourable criticism they have received, have been due to the sincerity and the absolute lack of pretension with which I have tried to treat the different subjects.

My intention was simply to note what was striking at the moment and what impressed me most vividly. I have tried to be as objective as possible, and to deal with things as they are, not as I could have wished to find them. Even in the most attractive books that have dealt with these far-off countries, there has sometimes been a tendency to adopt the tone of a mentor and to judge everything from a superior standpoint, as if the complete difference between those remote lands and peoples and our own had been forgotten, and as if the Westerner wished to ignore a civilization which, though different from, is not less serious than his own; in short, as though this mysterious Far East, with its almost incomprehensible masses, did not possess anything at all of a higher nature and lacked a mind altogether.

Certainly it is difficult, almost impossible, for an alien to perceive their inner qualities and mental powers; at the same time we shall have opportunities in our everyday lives of noting explanatory manifestations. It is from living in the same atmosphere and from continual intercourse with all classes, high and low, that it will be given us to understand a little of what is called the soul of a land and its inhabitants.

Thus, while describing events in their simplicity, we may succeed in giving something of the local atmosphere too. This is the reason why we always read with pleasure memoirs of past generations or correspondences from far-away countries or of days gone by; and why all the best descriptions in books dealing with the Far East are those unassuming and faded letters from merchants or missionaries; and why the narrative of Marco Polo, with all its _naivete_, will remain for all ages a standard work.

Strange adventures, depicted in brilliant hues and by an exaggerated imagination, seldom help our general knowledge. Instead of adding to what we see and encumbering real facts with more or less imaginary occurrences, it is more useful to omit unnecessary details, just as the important thing in painting a landscape is to know what to leave out, so as to make the general character of the scenery clearer. This it is that constitutes the difference between the very best photograph or chromo-lithograph and a rough artistic study or water-colour sketch. In short, one ought to strive to treat this land as its painters do their sketches, always bearing in mind their design of giving in a masterly manner general impressions more than worthless details, so as to get hold of something more than can be seen--something of abstract value in the life they are endeavouring to render.

It was life with its everyday occupations that brought me into contact with all social phases, and rendered my journey and stay of interest, and made it possible for me to see the country and people in a stronger light than if I had been an ordinary traveller. I was investigating the civilizing, charitable, and spiritual work carried on by the Catholic Church under different conditions, amongst various races. These matters I have dealt with in another volume; but even the subjects that I treated of in those unassuming pages may have acquired a certain local colour, as having been seen by one who had interests and ties with the places he wrote from, and the people he lived amongst.

During the year I passed in the countries bordering on the Yellow Sea, I had an opportunity of making the acquaintance of the greater number of those eminent persons whose names have lately been so often in the mouths of all the world. It was most interesting to listen to them and to hear their views. Though there may have been great diversity in their opinions, they were none the less instructive for that.

My departure from St. Petersburg presented the first glimpse into Orientalism. The splendour of the Imperial City, and the patriarchal condition of the lower classes, gave it a different character from the usual European capitals, and the network of interests in the metropolis differs even more. I had to stay rather longer than I had expected, and this prolongation gave me the best chance of making the amplest preparations, and acquiring the necessary preliminary knowledge for my journey across the empire.

Moreover, since as an ecclesiastic I had to obtain special permission even to get to Russia, it was therefore natural that I should have expected to find the greatest difficulties and complications thrown in the way of the accomplishment of my future journey.

Thanks to the kindness of the Tsar himself, however, all possible obstacles were smoothed over. He was personally acquainted with the journey that awaited me, but with this difference, that he made it before the railway was completed, and travelled by post. It was interesting to listen to the narrative of the sovereign, giving his impressions of the remotest portions of his empire, where he could not but come into contact with all classes of his subjects, and where he was obliged to share the vicissitudes of "inflexible circumstance," as we so often read in official _ukases_.

His Majesty evidently took the liveliest interest in everything he saw, and gave charming accounts of his personal experiences. As in all royal tours, everything was naturally shown to him in as favourable a light as possible, and yet, apparently, the shadows had not altogether escaped his observation. Being heir to all this enormous territory, he probably traversed it full of hope of being able one day to ameliorate the general condition of his country, and to prove a true and loving "Little Father" to his folk. It is indeed a melancholy reflection that those who are generally supposed to be blindly obeyed, to have all their wishes accomplished, and whose will is imagined to be absolutely autocratic, are those who are most tied by the _force majeur_.

The little hermitage of Alexandrovsky, nestling in pine woods, with its home-like character, stands, like an oasis, in the midst of Peterhof, that town of palaces and splendour. The simplicity of the Imperial family is in striking contrast with the luxury of the so-called Court circle. All that one hears of the ostentation and extravagance of Russian Court life entirely disappears when one comes to know the home of the Tsar and Tsaritsa.

Elsewhere there is undoubtedly much pomp and glitter, for the luxury and lavishness of Russian officialism is too well known to need mention here. Indeed, there is hardly a country where things are done more elaborately, and the Exchequer seems to be inexhaustible. If the administration leaves much to be desired and cannot be criticized too severely, we must allow that the officials themselves are the most accomplished men we could wish to know. Whether an official be a minister of State, with all the polish of the old regime of the eighteenth century, or a simple _tchinovnik_, a tram conductor or a railway guard, it is equally pleasant to have dealings with him.

A stay of a few weeks in St. Petersburg, filled with receptions at the residences of the various members of the Imperial family, calls at the Embassies, official visits, sight-seeing, and business of all sorts, certainly gives one ample opportunity to gain a better insight into local matters than the study of whole volumes.

It was on the eve of the war that I was there. The atmosphere was full of gunpowder, and yet nobody seemed to believe that such a thing could happen; or, even if it really came to pass, that it could have greater consequences than the annihilation of that far-away island folk, of whom the Russian world seemed to know very little. For just as they are so well informed and interested in Western affairs, that one might fancy oneself in a suburb of Paris, so they are supremely indifferent to, and have very hazy ideas of what they call the "Barbarous East."

Such was public opinion and such the tone adopted by the newspapers. M. de Witte was the only man who seemed to be of another conviction. He was just then on his way back from Port Arthur and Dalny. He had been on the spot and realized the situation. He had planned and built Dalny with a view to having a great commercial stronghold to command the Far East, in opposition to his neighbour, Kuropatkin, who commanded the fortifications of Port Arthur. He believed that the best foundation for Russia's supremacy lay in industrial development; Kuropatkin trusted in the sword. Witte was dismissed--the rest we know.

Moscow, my next stoppage, revealed another side of the empire. The holy Moscow, the Mother of Cities, exhibited other features of interest illustrative of the mystical Slavonic soul. The Kremlin, with its gilt cupolas, is not only a monument unique of its kind, but also the expression of a nation's sentiment.

The history of the past, the aspirations of the future, are equally manifested. The glory of arms, of arts, of thought, is expressed in this Valhalla. It is the embodiment of the word "Muscovite," which means all that is characteristic of Russia. Light and shadow, brightness and gloom, virtues and vices, are equally perceptible in this marvellous city, and what is not visible is even more impressive.

All the transcendental tendencies, the shadowy mysticism, peculiar to this strange population, all that is abstract, finds new and unexpected expression within these venerable walls. Patriotism and anarchy, faith and superstition, walk side by side. Churches, shrines, and ikons are met at every corner, and before them all, large groups are on their knees, prostrated in devotion. In this same city the most terrible crimes are committed, and the same populace that seemed so repentant and contrite, perpetrates the most cruel and bloody outrages.

In fact, Moscow is an inexhaustible field of study, and not only for historical research, but also for a more certain knowledge of this paradoxical race, full as it is of inexplicable contrasts and incessant surprises.

Siberia was another mine of contrasts and surprises, and the longer I was there the more I began to comprehend the vast possibilities of this formidable stretch of country. It is a continent in itself, with all the natural advantages to enable it to become rich and prosperous. Her future development has the same chance as that of Canada, and her wealth is even larger. To say nothing of Siberia's inexhaustible mines, the land is better watered, and the timber-forests even more extensive.

The population is still slumbering in its cradle. The life they lead is archaic in the extreme. They dwell mostly in tents, lead a nomadic life, and provide their own clothing and food themselves.

They are uneducated, but not unintelligent. In fact, after having visited different camps, I was most struck with their open expression and self-reliance. But it must not be forgotten that, in contradistinction to the Slavs of Russia proper, the various tribes of the Ural-Altai race have never been serfs. They have always led a wandering, independent existence under their Hetmans.

The Baskirs and the Kirghiz are the most interesting, and are the finest specimens of Mid-Asiatic types. The Kalmuks and Ostiaks represent a more Mongolian stock. The farther we go to the East the more they resemble the Yellow race, and the Buriats and Tunguses of Trans-Baikalia are hardly to be distinguished from the Chinese.

What tremendous force is dormant in this world of Tartars! and what a shock their awakening will cause one day!

Towns like Tomsk, Omsk, Tobolsk, and particularly Irkutsk, show us the country from another side. Commercial enterprises, trade, and general progress, have taken root. They are so-called centres of civilization, but I fear that they might more fitly be called places of exploitation.

Certainly these growing towns are not wanting in praiseworthy attempts at culture, and I was especially struck by the philanthropic and charitable institutions. Unfortunately, the moral tone of this agglomerate population is deplorable, and money is spent in a reckless way.

Men, banished from their homes to such distant regions, allow themselves to be dragged down and brought to contempt, instead of trying to dominate the mass by superior character.

Manchuria was entirely under Russian rule in those days. The famous railway was in the hands of the Cossacks, although it ostensibly bore the name of the "Eastern Chinese Line," and barracks for Muscovite soldiers were dotted all over the country. The larger towns had quartered on them Russian officials under various designations, such as consuls, railway directors, bank managers, and so forth. Their influence and domination were uncontested, although apparently they were on the best of terms with the local officials. The Russo-Chinese Bank had branches everywhere, and evidently the least services rendered them were amply recompensed. This Asiatic method of colonization was not wanting in interest to the observer. Its demoralizing effect was very sad, and could not fail to bring retribution later on. For after all, political life, like that of individuals, has a moral code, by which any criminal actions are bound to find their punishment.

After crossing the Great Wall and staying in China proper, I still found the preponderating Muscovite influence. This was especially the case in Pekin, where the success of M. Lessar, Resident Minister, and M. Pocadiloff, Manager of the Russian Bank, was at its zenith. The influence of St. Petersburg, which had succeeded in gaining over Li Hung-Chang, was still in full swing, and Yung Lu was a not less useful partisan. He was the man of the moment, and knew how to secure, even to a greater extent than his predecessor, the sympathy and favour of the Empress Dowager.

The Court had only just returned from their flight. They had scarcely settled down again in that marvellous Palace which they had expected never to revisit. In fact, who could ever have imagined, after all the outrages against Christian Powers, that those Powers themselves should have brought back again the very people against whom they had fought only a few months before?

The diplomatic talent of the Dowager Empress must incontestably be of a high order. She was herself a foreigner--a simple Manchu girl. No less remarkable than her achievement in raising herself step by step to the highest pinnacle of power is the manner in which she maintains her position. The way in which she deals with her own provinces, and plays them off one against the other, is most skilful. It will therefore not be astonishing if she sometimes uses the same methods in foreign difficulties.

The victory of the Western Powers was complete, and yet, with the exception of Russia, they did not reap any apparent advantage from it. They could come to no agreement among themselves as to the partition of the spoil, and the disappointment of Japan at seeing the territory she had formerly conquered pass into the hands of her rivals, was only too justly founded.

The situation was most interesting, the general tension being extreme. At the same time it was just this atmosphere of excitement which rendered my stay so instructive and intercourse with leading men of such great interest. Every one gained in importance at this critical moment.

Men like Prince Ching, the Foreign Minister of China and a near relative of the Emperor; his interpreter, Mr. Lee, who has such thorough knowledge of European countries; Yan-Tsi-Kai, who represents the Chinese military spirit and believes in introducing Western methods; and Chang-Tsi-Tung, the great sage and strict disciple of Confucius--are fine specimens of the children of this vast and unknown empire.

After all, among so many interesting points in the Far East, the most interesting is man. Situations may change, war and peace, power and decadence, follow each other at intervals, but the essential characteristics of this population will remain in their main tendencies more or less the same as long as the race endures. The expressions of national sentiment that surround us, great and small, whether apparently superficial or really striking, are human documents which must be considered with earnestness and attention, for after all it is they, more than political treatises, diplomatic achievements, or victories of armies, which will direct the natural tendencies and the relentless march of progress in and development of nations in the future. It is when observing, in all its phases, the life that surrounds us, that we can gain an approximate idea of the possibilities of the Far East.

I arrived in the Land of the Morning Calm, which might more suitably be called the Land of Continual Upheaval, when a revolution was in progress. Y-yung-Ik, Minister of Finance, was being attacked by those who sympathized with Japan. The capital was divided into two camps. Skirmishes took place in the open street. Everybody was excited, and anarchy reigned supreme.

Y-yung-Ik, whose views were favoured at the Palace, and who, on the occasion of the last riots, had saved the Emperor's life, carrying him on his back to the Russian Legation, where he remained for over a year, was in concealment in the Palace, and the mob was raging vociferously before the Imperial abode. It was a typical situation, throwing a strong light on the condition of the country.

The nation was divided into two factions. There were pro-Russians and pro-Japanese, but no pro-Koreans. This fine country, instead of constituting a guarantee of the peace of the Far East, was a prey to rivalry. Once suzerain of China, then under Japanese influence, during my stay she seemed to be at the mercy of the Slav.

It seemed to be the last flicker of the candle of Russian preponderance in the Far East. Their hegemony was not only apparent at Court and in the Ministries, but even began to be established all over the country. As in Manchuria, so in Korea, Russian soldiers and sailors, who were billeted on the country for various reasons, made themselves quite at home.

Between the Russians and Koreans there did not appear to be the same difference which separates Europeans from Orientals. The uncultured children of the Steppes amalgamated naturally with the native population. It was striking, particularly in Manchuria, to notice how the so-called conquerors began to be conquered in their turn by the land they occupied, which, indeed, in the long run, has always absorbed those who dreamed of dominating her, whether Mongol, Tartar, or Manchu. Probably what happened to the descendants of the famous Genghis Khan would have happened to the victorious Muscovite.

Arms cannot solve problems of a higher order. In spite of their superiority of military equipment, the new invaders of the Eastern Asiatic continent, the new masters of Manchuria, did not seem to be conscious of their moral duty towards their lately acquired subjects.

Instead of attempting to raise the population among whom they had settled, to a higher degree of civilization, and to inculcate nobler ideals, they were on the point of slipping down to the level of the so-called conquered barbarians.

The life and the mode of thought of the camps were low, and the moral dangers of every kind that surrounded the soldiers and officials were too great for people who, in many cases, had only a veneer of culture themselves and very little practical experience of civilizing and ennobling work, to struggle against.

After all, a state has only the right to conquer when, instead of oppressing, they strengthen and educate those weaker and more primitive than themselves. Conquest can only bear ripe fruit when it is for the general welfare.

Nations, like individuals, have their moral codes, and vocations. Nemesis must always overtake evil of every kind, and to the virtuous alone is granted the palm of final victory.

EMPIRES AND EMPERORS

I

THE TSAR AND TSARINA AT THEIR HOME OF PETERHOF

It is half-past nine in the morning, as I start on my journey to Peterhof, having been honoured by the Tsar with an invitation thither. It is yet cold and chilly. The great metropolis is covered with a veil of fog. One would imagine that winter had already begun, and it is difficult to realize that according to the calendar it is the month of August. The street leading to the Baltic station, St. Petersburg, is still half deserted.

There Switzers begin to sweep the doorways, and detachments of soldiers hurry to take up their different posts. There are a few milk-carts that rattle to and fro, and one or two private vehicles occupied by people in full dress and uniforms covered with decorations, throwing into sharp contrast the dreary surroundings of the humble suburb. In fact, contrasts are the most striking feature of the capital of the vast Russian Empire--contrasts in light and shadow, splendour and humility, and I dare say contrasts in everything that is characteristic of the West and the East.

The railway station, where I arrive at last, is certainly one of the most interesting illustrations of what I have just pointed out--the very link and meeting-place of the West with the East. It is crowded with people: their countenances are so different, their dress so picturesque, their behaviour so unconventional, yet so characteristic, that I forget that I am on a railway platform, and imagine myself amidst the picturesqueness of a great caravanserai.

Perfect order is kept. The train is already at the platform, ready to start, and I am shown without delay into my compartment. There are a great many officials, all of them in striking uniforms. In fact, there are nearly as many railway employes as travellers, and together they form incoherent groups of Oriental brightness.

The train winds through colourless and uninteresting suburbs for some time. Here and there we have a glimpse of the white Neva, arched by beautiful bridges and skirted with magnificent palaces. We pass near many small villages full of summer-houses, all built of wood. Each house is painted in different colours, and has its own pretty garden. There are some red, some green, and some blue, making a polychromatic mosaic on the green fields. They are all summer residences of the official or semi-official world, who are obliged to pass the summer near town. Indeed, the great charm of St. Petersburg consists in its neighbourhood. These attractive retreats, or, as they are called, _Datshas_, are on the riverside or on the seashore, or hidden in a quiet neighbourhood like the magnificent Imperial residences, Tsarskoe Selo, Pavlovsk, and Gatschina.

But among them all, Peterhof is the most famous--the Versailles of the North. I think Peterhof undoubtedly deserves the first place. There is not only splendour, but there is real beauty too. Art and nature contribute to make it one of the loveliest spots on earth. There is, in fact, only one royal residence, I think, that can compare with it, and that is the castle of Pena on the high peaks overlooking the ocean near Lisbon.

To get an idea of Peterhof we must imagine a luxuriant forest overshadowing the blue waters of the Baltic. Buried in the woods are summer-houses, gardens, fountains, Greek temples, and triumphal arches. The palace itself stands on a hill that has been cut into terraces--terraces that are surrounded by balustrades and ornamented by statues and flower-vases. Then as a centre there is a magnificent cascade looking like a crystal staircase leading up to a golden palace; it spreads out its waters into a silver carpet covering the pathway and flowing in a broad canal to the sea, bordered by an avenue of rippling fountains.

And when we get tired of the golden palace, of its silver carpet and its dazzling brightness, we return to some of the smaller residences, of which there are many scattered about in the grounds. Some are little French chateaux, some others imitate Dutch farms or Roman villas. They are all different in style and taste, but they are all charming, and contain priceless collections of art. Each has interesting annals; each has some historical connexion and a past of romantic or tragic memory. Wars have been declared, treaties ratified, peace re-established in its lofty halls and gilded salons, every one the scene of important events. Peter the Great's many schemes were born within these walls; and from these groves Catharine II ruled with her iron sceptre.

The present Tsar selected for his home one of the smaller chateaux, called Alexandrovsky.

Alexandrovsky is indeed a modest house. It has no lofty cupolas, no magnificent gates, no stately _cour d'honneur_. It is a simple villa such as is seen in the neighbourhood of well-to-do commercial towns. It might be somewhere near Birmingham or Queenstown. It is built of bright red bricks, has some friendly bow windows, and is ornamented by some little turrets.

Its charm consists in its homeliness. Its beauty is its situation.

It stands in the centre of a green lawn on the border of the sea. It is surrounded by a little flower-garden, where, instead of magnificent fountains and marble statues, there are masses of bloom full of colour and scent; borders of lilies, hollyhocks, poppies, and sweet peas form a natural fence of many hues against the sombre background of the wood. It is a garden which you can realize is tended with affection.

The Empress herself takes an interest in it, and, surrounded by her daughters, passes in this charming retreat many quiet hours of the long summer afternoons. Undoubtedly, this must remind her of lovely Wolfsgarten, hidden in the Hessian forests, where she passed the merry days of her childhood, where she returns so faithfully nearly every year, and where she is so beloved by all the villagers.

Her Majesty is tall, has a fine presence, and is extremely graceful in all her movements. She is refined in the highest degree and very artistic in her disposition. Her leisure hours are mainly occupied in drawing, painting, and music. She is an ardent supporter of all the artistic societies in the capital, and gives a great impetus to literary training in all the different schools which are under her patronage. There are a large number of these schools in St. Petersburg, and she pays personal visits to them frequently.

Her greatest interest, however, is concentrated in her children, and she finds her chief happiness in her own home. Her domestic virtues are those which make her respected by the whole nation. Coming as she did from a far-away country, and being a foreigner, it must have been no easy matter to be at once understood. For refined and retiring natures it is specially difficult to become at once popular. It is only in time, and by having opportunities to show deeper qualities, that sympathy can be awakened. By kind actions, by benevolence towards those she came in contact with, and by unbounded charity, the love of the nation was secured. But how she won the hearts of all was by being an ideal mother.

The Empress is a devoted mother. She attends to her children, as much as possible, personally, and with the greatest care supervises the education of her four little daughters.

The nurseries are established entirely on the English system. There is great simplicity in the furniture, but plenty of fresh air and a good water supply.

The nursery governess is an English lady, and the rules of this little world are strictly observed and precisely carried out, Her Majesty herself having been brought up, as a grandchild of Queen Victoria, on the same principles. Method and punctuality are strictly observed, and the little Princesses must attend to their duties most scrupulously; lessons, recreation, exercises --everything is timed and planned in advance. There is a great deal to be done in the twenty-four hours, lessons and all sorts of small duties of many kinds.

The simplicity of everything might serve as a model to many households.

The food they partake of is of the plainest kind, healthy, but nothing elaborate, consisting mainly of porridge, bread and butter, milk and vegetables, and a little meat or fish. So it is with their attire; generally they are dressed in scrupulously neat white cotton, but it is devoid of all ornament. They pass many hours of the day on the seashore, and as they are running about, laughing, building castles in the sand, or clasping their beloved mother round the neck, they make a perfect picture of happiness.

I reach Peterhof at half-past ten by the special train which daily conveys the Tsar's guests and visitors. Officials, Court dignitaries, aides-de-camp, and others of those who are on duty, have hurried to the large platform, which, covered with red carpet, presents the appearance of a reception-hall. There is great animation at the Peterhof station all the time the Court is there, as the greater part of the suite live in town.

Before the station is a long row of carriages belonging to the Imperial household; peculiar-shaped victorias are there, horsed by enormous black Orloff stallions with great arching necks and flowing manes and tails, looking very much as if they had stepped from one of the pictures of Wouvermans or Velasquez. Lackeys, with three-cornered hats, gaiters, and heavy scarlet coats covered with gold lace, usher each guest to his vehicle, and each starts in a different direction to the many palaces and offices. Rattling over gravelled roadways, I first fully realize that in a few moments I shall be in the presence of the mighty Tsar of all the Russias, the ruler over the greater part of the enormous Asiatic continent, the autocratic head of millions of human beings.

My request is a very modest one--simply permission to get to my destination in the Far East through Siberia. There was some difficulty at the Russian frontier about my further journey, and I was advised to get the obstacles removed by His Majesty himself. He very likely knew that I am only interested in the spiritual and philanthropic institutions established in the Far East, my desire being to get through to my objective as soon as possible.

We drive for quite a quarter of an hour through woods, and here and there as we pass by different residences meet sentries marching up and down. We pass through several gates, all of them made of plain wooden bars--they might almost be in Leicestershire--each opened and closed by a Cossack. As we get nearer there are more sentries, and several times the password is given by the groom.

Alexandrovsky stands isolated in a quiet corner of the vast domain. Its home grounds are surrounded by walls and a kind of palisade. At last, having passed the last sentry and the last gate, the carriage stops at the private garden entrance.

I am received by an officer who shows me immediately into the palace--I ought to say villa. Villa indeed it is in every respect, and the entrance-hall is so small that it scarcely holds the few servants who are in attendance. The staircase is very narrow, too, and winds in exactly the same way as in small old-fashioned English houses.

The drawing-room gives the same impression of comfort and cheerfulness--the privileges of English homes. It is small, and with a rather low ceiling. The furniture is extremely plain. The few sofas and armchairs are covered with bright material, and the woodwork is lacquered white. The walls are covered with watercolours, sketches, and photographs. In one corner there stands a piano with music, and in the window a desk, apparently both much in use. The main feature of this room is the quantity of flowers. Tables, brackets, and furniture, are laden with jars, vases, and bowls filled with fresh-cut, sweet-smelling flowers.

But I have no time for further observations or to analyze more minutely this bright, homely abode in all its detail, giving as it does such a good insight into the private life of its owners. Simple, bright, unassuming, it is a sincere illustration of domestic happiness; and with its writing-desk littered with papers, its piano covered with music, and tiny jars and vases full of sweet-smelling blossoms, it is a human document in itself.

The door opens and an imposing A.D.C. enters and announces that His Majesty is ready to receive me. He is one of the Grand Dukes on duty at the palace for the day. He is a first cousin of the Emperor, an officer in the Russian army, and a most accomplished linguist. He narrated to me many interesting details of his yachting tour in far-distant seas. He had just returned from India, and seemed much impressed by the beauties of that wonderful land.

A bell begins to ring, a signal that the Emperor is ready to receive me. I am shown into the next room, which is even smaller and simpler than the one which I have just left. In its extreme modesty the furniture seems to be reduced to a few chairs, a lounge, and a large writing-table which occupies the greater part of the room.

This is His Majesty's study.

But if the interior is so very unassuming, the view out of the windows is simply magnificent; it looks straight on to the sea--a grey and shining mirror, crowned by the dark battlements of majestic Kronstadt. The famous citadel floats like a mirage in the blue haze of the distance, looking even finer than usual as I see it from one of the Tsar's windows.

The room is so small that there is no space to make the obligatory three bows. I have scarcely stepped into the room when His Majesty gets up and meets me himself with his well-known affability. Nicholas II wears the undress uniform of a Russian general--dark blue and green, with a very little gold lace, and a single medal on his breast--a modest garment, subdued in colouring, suited very well in every respect to its owner.

The portraits of the Emperor are well enough known to make it unnecessary for me to go into minute details. He is not tall, and of rather delicate frame, but healthy, and with a good complexion. What strikes one at the first moment is his open and kind-hearted expression. The two main features that impressed me at the first glance are the turquoise-blue colour of his eyes and their open gaze. Those eyes, which are the chief feature of his countenance, and seem to be a family inheritance, can hardly fail to arouse deep sympathy in the beholder. A very great likeness exists in this respect to the heir to the English throne.

His Majesty seemed to be much interested in my proposed journey across Siberia, and wanted to know how long I intended to stay in those regions. He spoke in an interesting way about his own experiences; he knows the whole length of the country in fact, as Tsarevitch he turned the first sod for the railway about twelve years ago in Vladivostok, and now the line runs from one end to the other, linking two continents. But he himself has travelled over the greater part of the route in the simple Russian _tarantas_.

He gave me with great vivacity many of his innumerable reminiscences and impressions. He was interested in every question, and tried to see everything as much as possible for himself. He stopped at each place of any importance and investigated the situation in detail. Besides his official engagements, he was keenly interested in the purely historical and scientific sides of these unknown regions. The knowledge he gathered during his journey is unique in value, and of the greatest importance to students of the Asiatic races, their origin, life, and future development. Undoubtedly there has been no other ruler of this enormous empire who ever before ventured to enter these remote districts.

He told me what never-failing interest it was to him to come across the different races in his Asiatic dominions, and to see the nomadic tribes there leading their own primitive life. It was a pleasure to listen, not only to his world-wide experiences, but to all his different impressions, gathered with the fresh conception of a young man, and to realize the keen interest which every sentence so eloquently expressed.

He spoke with such benevolence about his subjects, with such love about all those with whom he came in contact throughout his endless wanderings, that there should be no doubt that the Tsar of all the Russias really loves his subjects tenderly, and that their welfare is the highest aim of his life.

And he spoke further of his hopes of improving their condition, of witnessing their advancement, and of his earnest wish to have peace during his reign all over his territory. When he spoke about the great blessing of universal peace his voice vibrated with an emotion that carried the conviction, that so long as the fate of his vast empire depended entirely on his personal desire, there would be no cruel wars, but calm peace and prosperity over all his possessions. In replying I ventured to remark, "What could prevent the mighty Tsar of all the Russias carrying out his wishes?" He only answered, with a never-to-be-forgotten expression, "I see you are yet a new-comer in this country."

His Majesty showed the greatest care in making my journey through his vast empire, across Siberia, not only possible, but also in insuring that I should see as much as possible--that I should be able to observe and learn as much as would be useful to my endeavour.

His Majesty's permission was extended to embrace such hospitality as I would not have sought. I took the liberty of saying I would prefer to proceed as a humble missionary to my destination.

His Majesty kindly insisted:

"If you will not accept it for yourself, accept it for the satisfaction of your mother. She must be very anxious. I know from my own travels how hard it is for parents to be separated from their children by thousands of miles. I sent a telegram every day, but, even then, I knew what their sufferings were. It will give your mother some relief to know that while you are in this empire you are under my protection...."

* * * * *

Time seems to have flown. On my way back I write with difficulty in my solitary compartment, by the rays of a single light. My day at Peterhof has seemed to vanish as a moment, but it has been so full of interesting incidents that to look back upon it is as if a month had been crowded into a day. I have no time to go into details in my diary, so to be correct I limit myself to generalities, and if I cannot put down _in extenso_ all that was of interest--I might say of importance--I want to fix the main outlines of the picture.

II

TO THE FAR EAST BY THE TRANS-SIBERIAN RAILWAY

I

FROM PETERSBURG TO MANCHURIA

Is it really possible to get to the Far East by land? Is the Siberian Railway open to the public? Is it comfortable? Those were the universal questions that everybody without exception addressed to me on my arrival. As for the first: yes, it is possible. With reference to the second, we must make distinctions. It is well known that to get through Russia everybody must be provided with a passport signed by the local Russian consul. It is different for priests and other church dignitaries who do not belong to the Greek denomination; these require a special permission granted by the Tsar himself. About comfort! The express trains are not only comfortable, but luxurious. In my many travels I do not remember having seen anything better fitted up, or affording to the traveller greater facilities for forgetting the long strain of the journey. The Trans-Siberian Railway is undoubtedly a marvellous piece of engineering. It may have defects, and it may need several alterations, but as a whole it deserves full admiration. Besides its commercial and strategical importance, as a mere civilizing influence it might become incalculable.

Another question which is constantly addressed to me is: Is not the journey very monotonous? Is it not a most uninteresting and flat country? Are not the natives of a very low type? The answer to these questions depends entirely on what the wanderer is interested in. If he looks for variety and excitement, the journey may be to a certain extent uneventful. For those who are in search of Swiss scenery and Alpine grandeur, it may seem flat and colourless. As for social intercourse and pleasure, naturally, these cannot be expected. But to anybody who is interested in land and folk--I mean those whose emotions are awakened by the deeper characteristics of the different countries and their inhabitants--the journey across the Asiatic continent cannot fail to offer a series of continuous revelations. From a geographical point of view, I admit it is in part very flat, and sometimes for days the train pursues its way in an unbroken line through green pastures or the denseness of virgin forests. The people one meets at different hamlets are certainly rough-looking, children of the Steppes; but it is exactly the untouched state of those regions, and the originality of their inhabitants, that render it all of the greatest value to the student of history and folk-lore. The land may be hilly or flat; its greatest interests are not dependent upon its mere external features, and the attractive points of a race do not consist purely in the state of its advancement. They may still be very primitive, living in tents, wearing skins, leading nomadic lives, unaffected, and yet give us an insight into their characteristics and capabilities. When untouched and unaffected by outside influences, they afford even better material for psychological observation, and present us human documents of exceptional interest in regard to the possibilities of their future.

But what compensates largely for the lack of panoramic effects is the vastness of the scenery. Grand it is in every respect. Undulating steppes like the wave-beaten ocean; never-ending, densely wooded regions which seem to extend without limit. Its chief beauty--if beauty it may be called--is the sentiment. The charm of these northern regions of Asia vibrates in their atmosphere. Sentiment and atmosphere! These are the two features of that strange land which impressed me most during the endless hours I looked from the balcony of my railway car, or when I stopped at one or other of the various townships; or, again, when I was visiting some of the native encampments. Among all I noticed that was new and striking, the most surprising thing was undoubtedly the "unseen"--what one might call the moral or metaphysical sides; the impression of unseen strength, exuberant vitality, primeval power, which forces itself on the traveller indirectly again and again in endless forms and aspects. We see it in the soil and in the people. It is equally expressed in the inanimate and animate nature. We perceive it in the yet unploughed fields, and we feel it among the unawakened humanity. It is more an instinctive sensation than the absolute reality which gives us revelations as to the future of this part of the globe.

I proceeded slowly, stopping at every place of interest, and made a short halt wherever there was anything that appealed to me. And when my journey was ended, I regretted it had been so short, and I was sorry the time was too limited to permit me to penetrate deeper into the matter. But I did not fail to put down my impressions from day to day. I made a short note of everything that was interesting, new, or striking, just as it presented itself to me--just as I saw it at the moment.

At present, when the general interest towards the Far East is widening, and people seem to wish to know a little more about Asiatic nations and their different races, and when every year will see more travellers and students trying to make the link between West and East stronger, I hope a few extracts from my diary may strengthen their wish, and help them to realize and put their intentions into execution. There are great openings for activity, and scope for intelligence; and there is a great deal to be done from commercial, scientific, and humanitarian points of view, for the benefit of the whole civilized world and the greater glory of the Almighty.

II

FROM PETERSBURG TO MOSCOW

The Tsar very kindly consented to all the concessions necessary to traverse his extensive empire, and, after my leave-taking, an official brought me all the requisite papers, which had been signed by the Minister of Railways. What an interesting man Prince Chilkoff is! and such an enthusiast too! He lives literally in the midst of his locomotives, rails, and sleepers. I think his favourite abode is the extensive railway workshops of the metropolis. Looking at him, you would think he was born in Chicago; he speaks perfect English, but with a slight American intonation. He is American moreover in his keen sense of business and boundless energy. To hear him talk about the land, new tracks, almost impracticable tunnels, and steel bridges crossing the large rivers, is like a most descriptive geographical lecture; and when he starts on his favourite theories on locomotives, boilers, and pumps, one regrets not knowing more about the mysteries and fascinations of mechanics.

Prince Chilkoff[A] went through a very thorough mechanical training, and has been studying the matter in the United States for many years. He worked there himself, and got initiated into all the secrets of railway communication. He returned finally to his own country, where he hoped to devote his knowledge and qualifications to the benefit of his countrymen. But every post of any importance seemed to be occupied. I hear he was told there was only a subordinate vacancy in the mechanical department. "Give it to me," was his answer, and he is today Minister of all the Russian State Railways, and controller of nearly 25,000 miles of railway and other means of communication.

[A] It is needless to add that since this was written Prince Chilkoff
has earned a world-wide reputation by his management of the railway
transport during the Russo-Japanese war.

His study is a large room in the Ministry of Railways, which is a country-like residence, standing in extensive grounds. In the centre of his famous office are two large tables, covered, as are also the walls, with books, plans, and railway charts; and as he kindly explains the route I shall take, he gets up and points it out on a geographical map opposite his writing-table. What an enormous territory this Asiatic continent is! I look at it with a kind of amazement and a sort of fear. Shall I really get across it in a comfortable railway carriage, as you would go on a trip into the country? My host seems to divine my thoughts, and with a smile assures me that from one end to another the line is entirely under the same central management, and a telegraph apparatus from the head office brings him unbroken news throughout the entire length. "I quite understand it might seem strange and unusual to other countries, but you must not forget our tendencies and our force consist in centralization." He has made the Siberian journey again and again, and gives me most valuable information respecting what to see, and where to stop, and what is really of interest. It is a grand work, and, considering the space of time in which it was achieved, and its extent, it seems nearly incredible. Including the branch lines, the Siberian Railway is over ten thousand kilometres long, and its construction was begun only twelve years ago. Prince Chilkoff has, moreover, under his management, 10,400 post offices, and over 100,000 miles of telegraph line.

I leave his house charged with valuable hints and a packet of letters and recommendations; and Prince Chilkoff, with a cordial hand-shake, repeats, "Good luck! and don't forget to let me know if anything should prove unsatisfactory."

My last day at St. Petersburg is even more crowded than the rest of the week has been. Calls of farewell, final preparations, leaving cards and inscribing my name in visiting-books, occupy the greater part of it. But this going to and fro gives me opportunity of seeing it again from end to end in all its immensity before I leave. What an extraordinary idea to build a town in the midst of a marsh! to dig canals where one cannot build roads, and to be surrounded with a plain as flat as a table. Peter the Great must have been very much impressed by Amsterdam! There are corners in St. Petersburg drenched and misty as on the borders of the Zuyder Zee. But if it has reminiscences of quiet, home-like Holland, again there are brilliant thoroughfares like a Parisian boulevard. The Nevsky Prospect, in its bustle and traffic, full of colour and of life, is unique. Nevsky is the main artery of the capital--palaces belonging to the Imperial family and the grandees, public buildings, bazaars, workshops, and every edifice you can think of. And each is of different style, each of different height, and each is painted in a different hue of the rainbow. Its main feature--I dare say attraction--is its incoherence.

During this last week the Russian metropolis presented itself to me from a thousand different sides, and in how many different lights too! Trying to remember them all before I depart for good, I do so with preference for what was pleasant, instructive, and good. Besides, I do not come to criticize, I merely come to pass through, and so I prefer to put down in my diary what might prove instructive. I fully understand the great attraction which St. Petersburg always has for foreigners. I admit it also, though I should not choose it for my residence or for my sphere of labour. The polish is perfect, and of course, if one does not belong to a country, as a passing visitor one scarcely requires more. The conditions of life--at least, for the well-to-do--are most agreeable; manners all that can be desired; refinement exquisite. I do not think you can come in contact anywhere with better informed and more richly equipped people than here. Some of the scientific institutions, like the Naval Academy and the Public Library, are quite remarkable; and the new Polytechnic School--a regular town in itself, with its five faculties and its laboratories--stands alone. Then the museums and galleries contain the most celebrated art treasures. The famous Hermitage, large as it is, can scarcely hold them all. Antiques, gems, jewels, weapons, vases, engravings, and pictures, all of the first order; and I must say they appreciate what they do possess, and the arrangements of the museums are excellent. Unquestionably there is a highly intellectual current, or, if you would prefer to call it so, undercurrent, which comes to brilliant manifestations here and there; sometimes most unexpectedly, amid squalor and debris.

The huge electric globes cast a cold and glaring light over the gloomy square in front of the Moscow station. A dense crowd invades passages, halls, and waiting-rooms, and, like the swelling tide, groans, surges, and finally overflows the platforms. Travelling in Russia has a different meaning altogether from that which it possesses elsewhere--it really means a removal: a regular deplacement. Then, people seem to leave for ever: all their belongings appear to follow them, so enormous and so diverse is their kit. From simple boxes and knapsacks to kitchen utensils and even furniture, it embraces everything one could desire in one's own abode. And afterwards, when they take leave, their shaking of hands, embracing, and tears, give the impression that they never are to meet again. And this is only the local train, taking me as far as Moscow. What will it be there, at the Siberian terminus?

The journey lasts only one night, across the famous wheat-growing plains, and to-morrow, in the early hours of the morn, I hope to reach the ancient capital of the Tsars. I want to break my journey to see the ancient metropolis of the mighty rulers, to revisit all the famous scenes where so many important chapters of eastern history were once displayed to view. I want to see again the towering Kremlin, with its mosaic basilicas and treasure-houses, slumbering at present in quiet dreams of the past under their golden domes. And I want to get prepared and acclimatized to a certain extent for Siberia; for Moscow belongs altogether to the other continent; it is really the capital of Asia.

III