Theodore Herman Albert Dreiser (1871 – 1945) was one of the great American writers of the 20th century. Novelist and journalist of the naturalist school, he best remembered for his novels Sister Carrie (1900) and An American Tragedy (1925). In 1927, Dreiser was invited to Moscow for a week-long observance of the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution. He then asked, and was granted, permission to make an extended tour of the country and spent over a year traveling across the Soviet Union. Throughout his tour Dreiser maintained an interesting diary (first published by University opf Pennsylvania Press in 1996) that has an interesting section on Georgia which he had visited in December 1927-January 1928.
29-30 December
On the road to Tiflis the railroad followed the Caspian Sea to the south a few miles. On the other side of the tracks was a brown waste, with low brown hills near at hand. All along were herds of sheep and herdsmen's villages of dugouts. 'I'm afraid there's no Lenin corner here', said RK [Ruth Kennell, Dreiser's secretary]. Now we were coming to wider and more desolate stretches, camels were grazing, or caravans were moving across the plains, with faded striped coverings, and packs on their backs. Now we had left the sea behind and the railroad veered slightly to the north in the direction of Tiflis, through level grazing country, and villages somewhat less primitive—new clay houses with thatched roofs, a red tiled roofed building in the center which might be the local Soviet! Against a background of clay houses a woman's figure stood motionless, watching the train—a gray veil enveloped her form and face so that she might have been a symbolic figure on a stage. Further on, a woman in bright red garments is walking carrying a tall earthen jug. The houses were built on high poles. Near the track a caravan of oxen drawing wagons moved along. One caught a flying glimpse of a tractor in the field. The aspect of the country gradually became more prosperous and civilized. There was much new building in the towns, a new bridge across the river and a new railroad track under construction.
We arrived in Tiflis, the capital of Georgia, at 11 p.m. This station struck one also as a bit wild. Our porter had no number and raced like mad out into the street. The air was certainly not balmy, but there was no snow, at any rate. Conveyances were at a premium at this hour. Our porter found a wretched old automobile, the fat driver started the engine and we had to bargain with him above the deafening clatter. He asked five roubles to the Hotel Orient. We had to accept and rattled along the streets to the hotel. When it came to paying him he asked 7, saying that he charged two roubles for the baggage. We refused to pay it. He bellowed, although the engine was not going. We referred the case to the hotel man, and finally he accepted the fee five roubles. The hotel was quite attractive looking, with a charming Turkish hall, but our rooms were not very good. However, this proved to be at least a 2-sheet hotel.
31 December
The window of my room looked out on the main street. In the morning, I was astonished at the beautiful view. Directly across the stood a great stone church, in cream and brown, the brown stone running like stripes around the walls. It had a large central dome and four smaller domes, the whole a perfect and compact symmetrical structure looming up against a background of mountains gardens and streets lined with tall cypress trees. On top of the mountain stood a white building and there was a railway running straight up to it. Automobiles were spinning by, the street swarmed with well dressed people; Tiflis seemed to be a modern and prosperous city. Wet snow was falling, and when we went out we found the streets slushy, the air damp and chill.
We went to the post office, and found only a package of Soviet charts from Serge. When we returned to the hotel, Davi was waiting with a program from the local Soviet. The museums were near at hand—a collection of old Georgian paintings, copies of mural decorations in churches, etc. and some new pictures, then a natural history museum with beautiful settings of wild animal life in Georgia and the surrounding Caucasus: wolves, wild cats, birds, flamingoes, a great tiger killed near Tiflis, wild boars, mountain goats; a collection of lovely butterflies and bugs. We walked through the mire down the main shopping streets. It was the day before a holiday and the stores were crowded. We bought a couple of pieces of Caucasian silk just before the shops closed at three o'clock.
When we returned to the hotel, I felt very miserable; evidently the damp and fog had a bad effect on my chest. We had tickets to the opera, and I got up and went. The opera house was a fine looking building inside and out. The corridors and halls were far more beautiful than the interior of the theater itself. The walls were decorated in quaint designs like the old palace in the Moscow Kremlin. The piece was a new comic opera, 'Life and Joy', written by a Georgian, and was in the Georgian language. The music was good, the costumes quite colorful, but the plot was old: a gay young fellow is given a sleeping potion and when he awakes finds himself in royal clothes and being crowned czar. He falls in love with a charming lady but finds that a frightful looking czarina goes with the throne and runs away. It was a short performance over at 10:30.
It
was interesting to watch the people, for the Georgians have very strong
characteristics: an energetic, virile, capable people, the men tall, handsome
and dashing (Tiflis seemed to me a city of Stalins) and the women well dressed
in silk gowns and with quite an air about them, although the dark heavy features
which make for masculine beauty are too hard in a woman.
Tiflis was meeting the New Year in cafes and in our hotel restaurant. When we went up to my room, the Armenian Communist whom we had met on the train to Baku came; he had been telephoning the hotel and asking for us for the last two days. Davi had blown herself on a bottle of wine; I went to bed and she and RK took the young fellow to the other room, where they must have had a gay time as RK's head was still turning from at least two glasses of wine the next morning.
1 January 1928
When I rose New Year's morning, the city was beautiful in the bright sunshine, and the snow covered mountains were shining in the sun light. At quite an early hour for a native, our Armenian friend appeared to take us out. We went to the cafe Germania, a little German confectionery, again for breakfast.
We had already given our orders when a policeman came and told the proprietor he must close his shop because it was a holiday. However we were permitted to finish our breakfast, although the whole police force seemed to be patrolling the shop to be sure no other customers got in, and the harrassed looking German proprietor went out several times to reassure them.
We went into the grounds of the headquarters of the Sovnarkom (Soviet of People's Commissars of Tiflis). The garden was charming, formal beds of plants, cypress trees, old vines climbing over the buildings, red earth on the paths. Here many soldiers from the barracks nearby were strolling. There was a pond with one lone swan in it.
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| Cathedral of St. Alexander of Neva |
Adjoining stood the church [Cathedral of St. Alexander of Neva] which I like so much. Our guide said it was now a Pioneer Club. In the courtyard are sport grounds, and when I remarked on the incongruity of such a use of this noble edifice, our Armenian said there had been a project to tear the church down and erect a new building on the site. I said I thought a better use would be to turn the church into a mausoleum for the country's distinguished dead.
We had now come to the government garage and were given a car to drive about the city. We drove first to the old section of the city; above on the hills stood an ancient fortress, only a wall and tower remaining. Here was the old Tartar section, many old buildings, narrower streets, markets. We crossed one of the eight bridges which span the River Kara. The churches were numerous but added nothing to the beauty of the city, for the Georgian style of church is ugly—a rectangular dome or three domes painted silver or made of inlaid silver, severe and plain in outline and of a dirty gray stone.
We began to climb the mountain road and at each higher curve the view became more wonderful. Tiflis lies in a valley and on all sides rise mountains. We climbed to a considerable height and looked down on the city. I could make out my church, there was a very large hospital, a macaroni factory of red brick, red roofed houses, gardens. Above, at a height of 1,500 m. was a colony of cottages for children who are delicate or tubercular. It is called the 'children's city'.
Descending we stopped at a pretty central park and went into the picture gallery. Here was a fine small collection of Georgian paintings. Two large paintings of streets in Samarkand, in Asia, pleased me. Here were the street bazaars being held in the shadow of beautiful ruined mosques whose domes and towers reminded me of the blue mosaic work of the mosque in Leningrad. The artist was Gigo.
We had no dinner as all restaurants were closed. Our train was to leave at 10:40 p.m. for Batum. Our Armenian friend saw us off. There was only one 'mya[g]ki vagon' (soft car) on this train and it seemed from the crowds that about a thousand people were trying to get places. We had some arguments about our places, as someone else claimed one of them. However, the G.P.U. man who is always on the job at stations intervened and we settled down in a four place coupe with a young Red commander who tried to be very helpful to us. This was the worst car I have traveled in yet, with the exception of the Maxim Gorki.
2 January 1928
In the morning, a real winter scene met our eyes—a landscape simply buried in snow, and a little stream running swiftly through the snowy banks; thick snowflakes were falling. RK in the berth above had taken out our guide book and was reading the description of Batum. As we rode along the snow gradually disappeared, and a heavy fog or drizzle took its place. In another two hours no snow at all, but rain, marshes, strange foliage, crops hung on trees to preserve them from the damp, thus giving a very queer shape to trees, houses built on piles, fresh green grass.
The custom of the country seemed to be turbans on the heads of the men. The villages were primitive looking, and the better houses were on brick piers evidently to raise them from the marshes. In the background were low mountains.
I asked the Red commander some questions about the army. There are 450 men in his regiment. In battle, the commanders are at the very front; in private life they sleep and eat with the men. The eight hour day applies to soldiers also; in fact, they often work less than eight hours. Much of the time is given over to education. Before, under the czar, the soldier was very much restricted and abused. There were signs on the boulevards and street cars, 'Soldiers and dogs not allowed'. The soldier gets a month's vacation every year and everything is free to him. With his higher officers he claimed he was socially on equal terms, but on duty of course subordinate. The officers cannot discipline the men harshly, never scold or yell at them, discipline is attained more through instruction and training than through punishments which are now abolished. Before punishments were terribly severe. Illiteracy is being abolished through the army. He claimed that the living conditions of the soldiers are very good and they do not complain. If a relative comes to visit a soldier, he is given a room, and at all times relatives can come to entertainments in the camps of the army.
Our train was already three hours late, now we heard that there had been a wreck ahead, and we had to stand still one hour at a desolate station, waiting for a train to come back from Batum and take us on. Our train then moved on slowly for a few miles and stopped in a wild place. We got out, and as no one was allowed to pass along the tracks where the wreck lay, we had to make a circle about, along muddy roads with heavy baggage to the train...
What wretched looking natives! Clad in ragged clothing, with cloths tied about their heads, turban fashion, they followed us begging for a job of carrying our baggage. We hired two of them and a girl besides. A couple of carts drawn by oxen (a very pretty girl with black curls under yellow kerchief driving) also carried some of the baggage. After wading for about a mile through the mud, we came to our train and got on. The wreck lay all over the tracks, overturned oil cars, a freak accident—the brakeman had slipped in the mud, his lantern had struck against an oil car and broken and the oil had caught fire. He was completely burned up. The chief conductor further back, seeing what had happened, uncoupled the other cars and saved 26 of them. The guard who related the story to us claimed that the conductor, who had black hair, had turned white with fright. The train was now traveling close to the Black Sea, black sand, tangled undergrowth along shore and mountain woods on other side of tracks. We passed the large botanical gardens outside Batum.
We arrived in Batum about five o'clock in gray, chilly weather. It seemed a provincial town. We took an izvozchik to the pier, and learned in the waiting room of the Sovtorgflot (Soviet Trading Fleet) that we could buy tickets only at nine o'clock, steamer leaving at midnight. So Davi went into town to get some money from the bank, while we sat and waited in the buffet. There was a wretched collection of humanity sitting about the metal stove. When Davi returned we went into town, first to the telegraph office, but no telegram from Serge. Then to the restaurant nearby. A cheerless dinner which cost 4.80. RK inquired about the possibility of getting her typewriter repaired. The waiter led us about trying to find the residence of the mechanic who runs a typewriter repair shop in town. He kept saying, just a little bit further and kept leading us on and on down lonely streets, around corners, asking occasionally for information. At last we tracked him down, the mechanic agreed to repair the machine and bring it to us at the steamer. Hours more waiting in the buffet, I felt very sick, my chest was paining. Crowds stood about in the room. At 11 we went on the steamer.
3 January 1928
At about 3 in the morning of the 3rd, our steamer of the Soviet Trading Company, 'Pestel', named after a Decembrist admiral on the Black Sea, left Batum. I was so glad to be on the last lap, but my stateroom was a shabby affair with five beds. If this were summer I would have to room with four other men!
The women's and men's cabins are entirely separate, the former being above and altogether more comfortable. This is a one sheet boat, no bath, and only a blanket if requested. No water except the usual small bowl with two gallon tank attached. I resigned myself to a week of face washing. The sea was very rough. The boat rolled and pitched and the waves dashed over my porthole.
At seven in the morning we reached a small port called Poti. This was a small dreary shipping station inside an artificial harbor. Snow, rain, a cold raw wind. I think only of Constantinople and the south.
Eggs with wretched coffee and watered condensed milk in the dining room, which was a comfortable type of ship dining room. The Baku officer whom we met on the train talked with me. He was on his way to Sochi. I made the best of the morning playing solitaire and looking out at the loading. It was a slow process.
We did not get off before 1 p.m. By then the clouds were breaking to the north, revealing as we went west the line of mountains that edges the north shore of the Black Sea! The clouds of gulls as we go out—they flew high looking like silver specks in the golden light to the north. The sea was rough but obviously calming. I was interested by the group of sailors who are on their way to Sebastopol to attend naval school—their gayety in their heavy clothes. One of them, a tall, ungainly fellow with a typical fair Slavonic face, followed me about with his eyes, and asked RK for my books. A bookstand on the boat displayed 'Sister Carrie' and a volume of short stories called 'An Unusual History'!
In the evening we arrived at Sukhumi, but remained some distance from the shore. It looked a very attractive place in the darkness with lights shining on the water. It was cloudy with a cool breeze but the air was mild.
4 January 1928
The sea was calmer this morning and I walked on deck and watched the dolphins and sturgeons leaping out of the water as we steamed west. The sun broke through and lit the sea to the north. To the south and east it is somber and bleak. Wild ducks by the hundreds, also mud hens, and northern loons—I never saw more. It has grown warmer and still. At 12 noon we came to Gagra, considered the most beautiful of the Caucasian resorts. It has the mountains behind it and consists of many large fine buildings, most of which no doubt are sanitariums, hotels and bath houses. We did not dock and the unloading took place in small boats. I noted the second and third class passengers, as Asiatic and dreadful as ever. The huddled masses of them gave me a sense of nausea.
Russia is permanently spoiled for me by the cold and dirt. Bukharin talked of building a paradise. But when? In fifty or a hundred years. I will seek mine while I am still alive. Further down the coast lies the town of Adler, where the railway line which follows the sea shore to Tuapse begins.
Today it is quite calm and sunny. We were still cruising at the base of these great mountains, which as we neared Sochi became higher, in the background rising two or three very high snow covered peaks. All along the shore were scattered houses, some of them very large and beautiful, evidently sanitariums; near Sochi are the famous sulphur baths 'Matsesta'.
As our boat came into Sochi, it was already four o'clock and the sun was setting. Behind the front ranges of lower mountains rose the snowy summits of the higher peaks, turned rosy by the reflected glow from the sunset, their profiles purely cut like pink cameos. One did not know on which side to look for loveliness: on the shore side the beautiful city with its fine buildings and bath houses against the mountains and on the other the sun setting in streaks of red gold on the sea. But in a few minutes the radiance had all passed, the mountain peaks turned a cold pure white, and at once the moon, already for some time palely visible above the mountains, began to shine on the water.
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