The Tsar's Window/Chapter 03
CHAPTER III.
DORRIS'S JOURNAL.
SITTING on the floor in a low, smoky Russian car, with a flickering candle over my head, I am trying to write a short account of our journey. We entered the land of the Tsar about three hours ago, after travelling twenty-four hours from Berlin. Tom says that ours is the most competent courier who ever took charge of a party, so of course it must be so. He is tall and dark, and looks like a bandit. He is known as Gustave, but we don't often dare to address him by name. He makes profound bows whenever he enters our presence, and is continually giving us titles such as "Excellency," "My Lady," "Your Grace," and then correcting himself, as though he had always served the nobility, and found it difficult to descend to common mortals.
He is not travelling with us; we are travelling with him. We do whatever he tells us,—eat, drink, walk, and sleep when he thinks best. I fancy that he makes a good profit on everything, even on the suspicious-looking apples which he brings us; but such is the awe with which he inspires me that I dare not remonstrate.
We left Berlin at seven o'clock last night. When I awoke this morning, my first movement was to peep out of the window. A flat, snowy country met my eyes, and a gray sky. The day has been monotonous. Tom has spent his time poring over a Russian Grammar. He knit his brows, made various notes in a new memorandum-book, and appeared to be studying intently; but when, towards night, I catechised him, I could not discover that his knowledge went beyond the fact that "Da" meant "Yes," and "Nyett" was Russian for "No."
It was five o'clock this afternoon when we reached the Russian frontier. Our advent had been telegraphed from Berlin by some one whom Tom knows there, and we received every attention. A polite official conducted us to the restaurant, where we had supper. The excellent French which he spoke did not surprise me. I have always had a vague idea that Russians used their own language very little, and that one could travel throughout the country simply with a knowledge of French.
The waiter, however, did not understand my French orders, and Gustave's powers as interpreter were called into play. Our travelling companions wore long, dark cloaks, and fur hats. That was as it should be. But the mild air was all wrong, and the thermometer was wrong too. It should be colder in Russia.
Grace and I uttered an exclamation of horror when we entered the compartment which had been reserved for us in the Russian train; for, in spite of the mild temperature outside, the little stove was nearly bursting with wood, and was burning fiercely. We struggled vainly to open the double window; at last we were obliged to call the guard, who remonstrated earnestly with us, in his unintelligible language, before he could be induced to comply with our request. When the room had become somewhat cooler, Grace lay down on one of the hard seats, with a travelling-bag for a pillow, and, covered with her fur cloak, was soon sound asleep. I made some attempts to look out of the window, but finding the night dark and the landscape invisible, I give my attention to my journal. The candle shows signs of going out altogether, so I will follow Grace's example and try to sleep.
The rest of that night journey was inexpressibly weird. Being fond of novelty, I was pleased with it, though my bones ached sadly from my hard bed. We lumbered on slowly and painfully. I felt sorry for the engine, it seemed to labor so. Every now and then we stopped to rest. A mysterious, funereal bell tinkled every five seconds during the stoppage, and strange voices kept up a continual jabber in an unknown tongue under the window. Then on we plodded through the darkness, and it seemed as if daylight would never come.
I had fallen into a light doze, when our door was unceremoniously opened, and a face framed in a long, dark beard was thrust in. The hair was parted in the middle and fell on the shoulders, and the head was surmounted by a round cap, ornamented about the rim with the eyes of peacock-feathers. I gazed at this curious figure inquiringly, and he ejaculated something which sounded like "Day." Grace plied him with questions in German, and then in French; but he continued to make unintelligible sounds, and finally retreated for a moment, returning with some tumblers filled with steaming tea, and some delicious bread. We blessed the intruder in all the languages at our command; and never was anything so refreshing to me as that tea! Surely, one must come to Russia to have tea served in the middle of the night.
We were so delighted with our midnight meal that whenever the tinkling of that goblin bell awoke us during the night, we put our heads out of the window and ordered tea in every language which we knew; but as Russian was not included in our repertory, we sometimes got cigarettes, or more wood for the stove, instead of the article we asked for.
The long night dragged itself away at last, and I opened my eyes upon the most desolate tract of country I have ever beheld. Flat and uncultivated, marshy in many parts, no trees except stunted pines and birches, and not a hill or a mountain. Far as the eye could reach, on either side, the same dreary expanse. Snow everywhere, of course, even in the air,—not coming down in great flakes, as in dear old New England, but sifting through the air like a mist, and falling almost imperceptibly.
We passed few villages, and no great cities. I caught some glimpses of peasants, in long sheepskin coats, high felt boots, and fur caps. This seems to be their out-of-door costume. In some poor little huts with no visible windows appeared startled figures in bright-colored shirts belted in over the trousers, which were full, and tucked into high boots. They all had long beards, and hair parted in the middle.
All day there were endless stoppages at stations where there seemed to be no passengers to get on or off, and always that melancholy bell-ringing.
It was after dark when a forest of lights in the distance proclaimed the end of our journey to be near. I was half-dazed when I tumbled out of the cars and into the arms of Nicolas, who was waiting to welcome us. He received us most cordially, kissing Tom on both cheeks, which so embarrassed the poor fellow that he looked uncomfortable for some time after. My Russian brother-in-law is a very handsome man. In the six years which have elapsed since he carried Alice away with him, I have had time to forget how good-looking he was. I was surprised to find Alice changed so little. She has grown somewhat stouter and a trifle more self-conscious, but beyond that she is the same happy little woman as of old.
We found her at the Hotel de l'Europe when we got there, after what seemed a very long drive through streets filled with clumsy horse-cars and funny little sleighs.
Our tongues ran busily during dinner; and when Alice and her husband took their departure, I was glad to go to bed.