The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1888-04-13

THE NOI6Q H1USlCAo4A AClAo INV aOhOAy
and Melancholy is the Home of
Russia's Ruler-The Art Gallery and
Museum-A Magnificent Yet Simple
Throne Room.
From the NeW York World.
SAN DIEGO, April 2.-Far from the mad
ding crowd, in lonely, isolated place, lies
.nbedded in a pine forest the Palace of
C,atchina. the abode of the Car of all the
Russias. My thoughts take singular turn
as attempt description of my visit and
,.ocantion at the famous old structure.
After a ride from st. Petersburg of several
hours we reached the village of CATCHING,
where the Emperor's carriage was in wait
;ug in which we were driven over rugged
hills and through the great park into the
snacious court yard of the palace. The
;n1agination, when this is entered, is in a
state of conflicting emotions What an air
of profound and imperial mystery
shrouds everything; what an atmosphere
of Elusive thought envelopes the expectant
mind as the tramping of the horses feet
breaks the deathlike stiffness and awakes
fbe contrast of isolation and activity that
mites the ideal with the real! | know of
nothing comparable to this place unless it
be the great pyramid. What the pyramid
is to Egypt, this abode is to the snowy
rsins of Russia. 1t is so far north for
royalty to dwell, so utterly desolate and I'M
approachable, so singularly unlike all else
Of its kind 1t seemed as if we had at last
come to the regions of perpetual meian-
choly, where ambition may brood over ma
tions won and lost, and every action is one
of deS0late unrest. As we arose from a
sumptuous table laden with every delicacv
the palate could wish or culinary talent in
vent, | could not help thinking of some of
Shakespeare'S banquet scenes and wonder
ing where the ghosts and the daggers WERE
The parqueted floors, the frescoed ceilings,
arabesque walls and oddly shaped windows,
by some unexplainable reason. made my
thoughts revert to the distant and sombre
reg ons of Siberia, whose very name is
suggestive IF Arctic dreariness and eternal
farewells | can liken it to nothing so much
as a sirocco of ambition raging across a
frozen sea, for this palace reflects the init
mate tastes and habits of those who built it,
as well as those who have since sought
more exclusive life within its walls away
from the fashionable restrictions and
etiquette of society at st. Petersburg
As night came on a feeling of loneliness
became more and more marked, but it was
not until near midnight that etiquette per-
mitted me to retire. Up quaint passages,
over steps of solid granite, through wind
ing corridors, at last we came TO the apart
ment where | was expected to find repose
during the night. The Grand Marshal
now opened the door AID let in the flicker
ing light ii a wax taper, which reflected
on a quaint old painting of an ancient war;
riOr hung high on the wall, which in turn
added d mystic Charm to the tout ensemble,
and prepared one for other scenes and por-
traits in keeping with the peculiar charac-
ter of the place. l found little rest that
ght; scenes from Macbeth" fitted be-
fore the minds eye, and l seemed to hear
the ominous colloquy: "Didst thou not
hear a noise" and the answer, 81
heard the owl scream and the crickets
cry,n for these and other disturb
ing noises could be heard outside in the pine
forest with the moaning north wind and
the rustling of branches. Old portraits
look down from sombre walls with express
sions of pompous pride and cynical inquist-
tiveness, as much as to say: "You, sir,
have come from the modern world, what do
you want hereT Faces that reminded me
of Senta and the Flying Dutchman peered
from brackets of black marble or brass.
while an indefinable sadness w impressed
on every bust in the apartment Yet none
of these faces invited compassion. A spir-
itual coat of mail developed each one that
defied the sympathies of the visitor, how
ever much one felt disposed to approach
their personal history with feelings akin to
kindliness.
The following day was devoted to viewing
the unique collections of artistic and his
torical objects in the art gallery, the orien-
tai museum and other salons devoted to i'm
perial treasures. On the way to the apart
ments of state my distinguished escort,
Prince Bariatinsky, stopped, and running
his finger across a mahogany panel, said:
You see there is no dust here; 1t makes no
difference whether the Emperor is absent
or,at home, it is always. the same" Every
room, of which there are several hundred
is kept in rigorous cleanliness. In the art
G ,llery the individuality of the Gar Nicho-
las was the most striking feature; a superb
life-size portrait here. a marble bust there,
bronze statue yonder, gave good idea
of the handsomest man of his day
A veritable Apollo of physical perfection,
with a callous face expressive of autocratic
pride and affected humility, the face of a
typical Romanoff, who could, if necessary,
like Peter the Great, drink bumpers of wine
with one hand and decapitate with the
other. 1t was the likeness of type l had
never seen in life, and only from the
hands of antique sculptors had | witnessed
it in the form of chiselled marble Passing
into the museum Prince Bariatinsky sud
denly made the sign of the cross, knelt by a
small iron bed and muttered short prayer
in Russian
This, said he, 'is the bed used by my
beloved master"
A maze of paradoxical surprises seemed
to envelop me on all sides. An ancient
quaintness mingled with modern forms,
while olden memories harmoniZed with re-
cent impressions
All at once we entered the throne room.
A solemn silence reigned. The throne
simple, classical supremacy regal-stood on
floor of magnificent mosaic. A cathedral
window behind it let in flood of mellow
light, with rays Of gold streaming across
the purple canopy, forming q picture at
once poetic and Elusive. 1t was the throne
room of Catherine the Great, but the dais
was vacant, the place was void. The illu-
sion of light and shade, silence and isola-
- ton, made the heart heavy and filed the
mind with feeling akin to moral frenzy.
The sound of footsteps seemed discordant
Talking aloud was like rude noise in the
charmed precincts of a haunted chamber.
1t was the place for pantomine and
whispers, and, as we approached
the throne, the imagination, now
wrought up to a sense Of vivid
realism, could picture the imperious
gaze Of Catherine or Nicholac, who, with
sweep of the hand might consign us to
the terrible bastians Of Petropoulovsk or
the fatal mines of Kara. The impression
obtained here was not of India, or Of Tur-
key, or of Spain; nothing purely medieval
or modern, but all of these combined, in