On approaching Taganrok, one almost fancies the town before him is Odessa. Its position on the Sea of Azov, the character of the landscape, its churches, its great extent, and every feature of the place, even to the fortress commanding it, combine to favour the illusion.
Taganrok has thriven rapidly, as Peter the Great foresaw it would do, and has become one of the most commercial towns of Southern Russia. Its trade, however, has considerably diminished since the suppression of its lazaret, and the closure of the Sea of Azov, in consequence of a fifty days' quarantine established at Kertch. The town now contains 16,000 inhabitants.
Peter the Great's sojourn in Taganrok, is commemorated by an oak wood of his own planting. Such a memorial of a great prince is certainly better than a pompous monument; more durable, and more philanthropic, particularly in a country destitute of forests.
It was at Taganrok that the Emperor Alexander died, far away from the splendours of St. Petersburg. As we visited the modest dwelling that served him for his last abode, all the events of the great epoch in which he was one of the most illustrious actors crowded on our memories. The bed-room where he died has been converted into a chapelle ardente, but in every other respect the house has been preserved with religious care, just as he left it.
There was a fair in the town when we arrived. The suffocating heat, the clouds of dust, and the crowded state of all the hotels, at first made us look unfavourably on the place, but the diversions of the fair soon reconciled us to the inconveniences of our lodgings.
In Russia, fairs still retain an importance they scarcely any longer possess in our more civilised countries. Every town has its own, which is more or less frequented; that of Nijni Novgorod is reputed the most considerable on the European continent; all the nations of Europe and Asia, send their representatives to it. Next after it, the fair of Karkhof, is in high esteem among merchants for its rich furs. These fairs often last more than a month, and they are impatiently looked forward to by all the country nobles, whom they enable for a while to breathe as it were the odour of fashionable town life. Balls, theatres, shopping, music, horse races—what a world of pleasures in the compass of a few days! And every one sets about enjoying them with feverish ardour. Every thing else is interrupted; the fair to-day, all other concerns to-morrow. At some little distance from Taganrok, there are huge bazaars filled with oriental merchandise, and the covered alleys are crowded with fashionable loungers in the evening. A very curious spectacle indeed is this labyrinth of Persian cloths, slippers, furs, Parisian bonnets and caps, shawls from Kashmir, and a thousand other articles too numerous to detail. Every thing is arranged to the best advantage, and the eye is delighted with the picturesque and fantastic medley of colours and forms.
Europe and Asia are matched against each other, and exert all their arts of fascination to allure purchasers. In spite of all the elegance of the French fashions, it must be owned that our little bonnets and our scanty mantillas cut but a sorry figure beside the muslins interwoven with gold and silver, the rich termalamas and the furs that adorn the shops of the country. And yet all eyes, all desires, all purses turn towards the productions of France. Some faded ribands and trumpery bonnets attract a greater number of pretty customers than all the gorgeous wares of Asia.
During our stay at Taganrok, we were invited to a ball at the mansion of General Khersanof, son-in-law of the celebrated Hetman Platof. The general possesses the handsomest residence in the town, and keeps his state like a real prince, amidst the motley society of a commercial town. All his apartments are stuccoed and decorated with equal taste and magnificence. The windows consist of single panes of plate glass more than three yards high. The furniture, lustres, ceilings, and pictures, all display a feeling for the fine arts, and a sumptuosity governed by good taste, which may well surprise us in a Cossack.
In front of the mansion lies a handsome garden, which was lighted up with coloured lamps for the occasion. The whole front of the dwelling was brilliantly illuminated. It was a magic coup d'œil, particularly as it was aided by the transparent atmosphere of a beautiful summer night, that vied in purity with the clearest of those of the south.
On entering the first salon, we were met by the general, who immediately presented us to his two wives. But the reader will say, is bigamy allowed among the Cossacks? Not exactly so; but if the laws and public opinion are against it, still a man of high station may easily evade both; and General Khersanof has been living for many years in open, avowed bigamy, without finding that his salons are the less frequented on account of such a trifle. In Russia, wealth covers every thing with its glittering veil, and sanctions every kind of eccentricity, however opposed to the usages of the land, provided it redeem them by plenty of balls and entertainments. Public opinion, such as exists in France, is here altogether unknown. The majority leave scruples of conscience to timorous souls, without even so much as acknowledging their merit.
A man the slave of his word, and a woman of her reputation, could not be understood in a country where caprice reigns as absolute sovereign. A Russian lady, to whom I made some remarks on this subject, answered naïvely, that none but low people could be affected by scandal, inasmuch as censure can only proceed from superiors. She was perfectly right, for, situated as the nobility are, who would dare to criticise and condemn their faults? In order that public opinion should exist, there must be an independent class, capable of uttering its judgments without fearing the vengeance of those it calls before its bar; there must be a free country in which the acts of every individual may be impartially appreciated; in short, the words justice, honour, honesty, and delicacy of feeling must have a real meaning, instead of being the sport of an elegant and corrupt caste, that systematically makes a mock of every thing not subservient to its caprices and passions.
Notwithstanding their opulence, and the society that frequents their salons, Mesdames Khersanof retain a simplicity of manners and costume in curious contrast with every thing around them. An embarrassed air, vulgar features, an absence of all dignity in bearing and in conversation, and an ungainly style of dress—this was all that struck us as most remarkable about them. The younger wore a silk gown of a sombre colour, with a short body and straight sleeves, and so narrow that it might be taken for a bag. A silk kerchief covered her shoulders and part of her neck, and her little cap put me strongly in mind of the head-gear of our master-cooks. The whole costume was mean, awkward, and insipid. Except a few brilliants in her girdle and her cap, she showed no other trace of that Asiatic splendour which is still affected by many other women of this country.
It is said that the two co-wives live on the best possible terms with each other. The general seems quite at his ease with respect to them, and goes from the one to the other with the same marks of attention and affection. His first wife is very old, and might be taken for the mother of the second. We were assured that being greatly distressed at having no children, she had herself advised her husband to make a new choice. The general fixed on a very pretty young peasant working on his own property. In order to diminish the great disparity of rank between them, he married her to one of his officers, who, on coming out of church, received orders to depart instantly on a distant mission, from which he never returned. Some time afterwards the young woman was installed in the general's brilliant mansion, and presented to all his acquaintance as Madame Khersanof.
Two charming daughters are the fruit of this not very orthodox union. Dressed in seraphines of blue silk, they performed the Russian and the Cossack dances with exquisite grace, and enchanted us during the whole continuance of the ball. The Russian dance fascinates by its simplicity and poetry, and differs entirely from all other national dances: it consists not so much in the steps, as in a pensive, natural pantomime, in which northern calmness and gravity are tempered by a charming grace and timidity. Less impassioned than the dances of Spain, it affects the senses with a gentle langour which it is not easy to resist.
We met with a Frenchman at Taganrok, a real hero of romance. At eighteen