John Boit and Sam P. Blagden, Thirty Thousand Miles in "The Wanderer", 1903

In 1901, two New Yorkers, John Boit and Sam P. Blagden, embarked on a remarkable journey that will take them to Georgia and back. They sailed in "The Wanderer", a beautiful 480 tons yacht that built in 1897 by Ramage and Ferguson in Scotland. The yacht had excellent accommodations, with "two rooms on deck, a large dining-saloon below, nine state-rooms and four baths." The two men departed from New York on 11 December 1901 and first sailed to Florida. After exploring the Caribbean, they sailed to Europe, stopping at the Canaries and Morocco. They explored the Mediterranean Sea, passed through the Straits into the Black Sea and, in April 1902, reached the shores of Batumi.

Tuesday, April 8 [1902]

Our night's run to Batoum [Batumi] was delightfully smooth. We reached there about 6 A.M. and found many ships, for the most part oil-carriers, anchored around us; and inside of the big mole we could see dozens of large vessels.

After we had sent our passports ashore we tried to land, but were sent back to await the visit of the Custom officers, who arrived about 10 A.M., accompanied by the Chief of Customs for the District— a Russian General. After a little champagne they proved amenable to suggestions, and gave us much valuable advice as to our trip over the Georgian Military Road. Until now it had been impossible to get accurate information, and we were very glad to find that it was not too early to take the drive.

Then all ashore for luncheon, and to call on the Consul, Mr. Chambers, who was most hospitable, and who took us to the station where we engaged accommodations for the trip to-night. The town is very new and unattractive, not unlike a modern oil town in America. The Consul told us that, with the exception of the "Namouna," the "Wanderer" is the first yacht that has visited Batoum in seventeen years.

We went ashore about 10.30 P.M., and took the 11.15 P.M. train for Tiflis. Mr. Chambers was down to see us off, and he instructed the Russian porter how to take care of us. We found the Russian sleeping carriages very comfortable. Travelers must, however, themselves provide bedding and towels.

Wednesday, April 9

[We] were called about daylight to see the scenery, which is certainly wonderful. Reached Tiflis about 11.30 A.M., after many stops for "tchai," or tea. Drove to the hotel which Mr. Chambers had recommended, and were told that there were no rooms. We asked about other hotels, and were informed there were no rooms to be had in the entire city. Luckily, however, the Commodore asked if these rooms were engaged for the German steamer, adding that we expected to leave before its arrival. The hotel people then said we could have all the rooms we desired.

Although Tiflis is an attractive place, it is in many ways disappointing, as the greater part is but eighty years old, and what remains of the ancient city is across the river. The hotel was remarkably pleasant. On one side it looks out on a quaint street with a handsome plaza, and the view from the rear takes in the swift running river. After a delicious luncheon we started out to visit the bazaars. Tiflis is famous for its Persian population, and the furs and enameled work that they bring. We all purchased large quantities of furs.

In the afternoon we arranged about taking the drive over the Dariel Pass to Vladikafkaz, and we engaged Rustum, as dragoman, who apparently has been the guide and friend of every one from Norman down. We find it is better to split up the party, as the accommodations would not be good for a large party.

Thursday, April 10

All hands wandering around the town buying furs and silverware. We lunch at 12 o'clock, as Mrs. Robinson and the Commodore are to start at 1 P.M. over the Georgian Road, and the rest of the party leave at daylight to-morrow morning. At 12.30 we started with four horses abreast, a la Russe. After a little time spent in packing the luggage the driver arranges himself on the box in his many robes, and with the cracking of whips and cheers from the rest of the party, we begin our drive. The horses are fresh, and soon we swing out of the street on to the winding road, which runs along by farms and villages, with here and there an orchard in full bloom. We meet many farm wagons coming up to town with their products, and men and women on their way to work. It is hot, and the glare is disagreeable. But we can see the mountains ahead of us, and know that as soon as we begin the ascent we shall be more comfortable.

We cross the railroad track as we draw near Mtzkhete [Mtskheta], and see it no more until our journey's end. There is an old church here which dates back many centuries to the time when Tiflis was the capital of Georgia. We do the first stage in an hour and fifteen minutes, covering twenty and a half versts, equal to about fourteen miles. After a stop of about five minutes to change horses and have a cup of tea, we are off again, our next stop being Tsilkane, which we reach in an hour and ten minutes; having gone on this stretch fourteen and a half versts and being now eighteen hundred feet above the sea.

Then on again, speedily putting versts behind us, we arrive at Douchete [Dusheti] in an hour and twenty-five minutes, having traveled seventeen versts and three quarters, and are now twenty-nine hundred feet high. We again have tea, and shortly after are off for Ananour [Ananuri], which we reach after a very quick run, wholly down hill, with only two horses.

It seems more due to Providence than to our driver that we keep to the road, as we swing down and around corners on the drive to Ananour, which is twenty-three hundred feet above the sea, and where we are to spend the night. The faithful Vincent, our dragoman, sees that we get a very fair dinner and that our beds are comfortable. Shortly after dinner it began to rain, and there was a wonderful thunderstorm.

Friday, April 11

We start at 8 A.M. on a beautiful clear, sunny day. The scenery has been very much like that of the earlier stages of the drive—beautiful, picturesque, and cultivated. But when we leave Ananour and begin our climb to the next stop at Pasananour [Pasanauri], which is three thousand six hundred feet above the sea, the blossoms of flowers give place to hardier shrubs, while the mountain-walls close in, and here and there we see patches of snow high up on the rocky peaks.

As we climb up and up to Mlet [Mleta] the country grows wilder and wilder; and from the shelving rock, along one side of which we ascended, we see the river like a silver band far below us at the bottom of the rocky gorge. The snow, too, which at first lay only near the mountain-tops, was now spread far down the sides of the cliffs.

When we reached Mlet we found ourselves really in the snow-land, for it was all about the houses, the roadside, etc. Here we had a light lunch and changed horses again, and soon were off. The road is marvelous, with a moderate grade, and its general condition and character well worthy of being copied by an American park.

We now started on a sharp ascent. The road climbs some three thousand feet between here and the next station, Gaudaour [Gudauri]. The sun was bright, and although we passed several huge snow-drifts towering far above us, we did not find the cold as severe as we had expected. Many gangs of men were at work clearing the road, and digging the snow at the sides where it rose in places over fifty feet in height, the road winding like a narrow strip of black between two sheer white walls. The road had been open for the season only during three days.

At Gaudaour we changed horses, and then on, climbing for a short time longer until at last we topped the ridge and saw the cross high above us on a cliff. The cross was put there to mark the confines of Holy Russia; and here we passed from Asia into Europe. We had taken an extra man on the carriage from Gaudaour, and the two outside horses were here uncoupled to be taken back by him, while we started down the steep descent with only a pair. The descent was at a rattling pace, and one did not care to think what would happen if one of the horses fell as we swung around the corner of one of the many zigzags. From time to time, as we galloped along, we dashed from the brilliant sunshine blazing on the snow into the damp darkness of a tunnel or snowshed. One of these, the longest, is over a mile in length, and was lighted by lamps from the roof.

At Kobi, which we reached very quickly, we changed horses again, and then started for Kasbek, where we are to spend the night. The road was not quite so much of an incline, and we had four horses again, which were so harnessed as to be well-nigh uncontrollable by the driver. We reached Kasbek shortly before dark, and spent the night there. The view of the mountain from the hotel is superb. It was hard to realize that this mountain, which seemed so near, is three thousand feet higher than Mount Blanc. 

Saturday, April 12

We had a comfortable night, and at 8 A.M. started on what is really the grandest and most impressive part of the ride. We had gradually left the snow on the way from Kasbek, and for some time before reaching Lars had been winding down the side of the gorge of the Terek, which one hears rushing and roaring over its rocky bed far below. The mountains, dull brown and black, soon rose towering immediately overhead, rent with great gashes and gorges, nearly all of which show traces of land-slides. Some years ago a land-slide tore away parts of the road itself, rendering it impassable for ten years.

These walls and serrated cliffs shut us in as far as Lars, closing in from time to time until all we could see was the blue of the sky, stretching like a ribbon far above us. This is the celebrated Pass of Dariel. At one place where the defile was specially narrow we passed a small fortress, at which is stationed a post of Cossacks. Behind this fort, aloft on a pinnacle of rock, are the ruins of an old castle, which is said to have been built by Tamara, once the Queen of these parts. The legend says that she tempted travelers to visit her by tales of her great beauty, only to hurl them from the cliffs to the river below when they had served her purpose.

At Lars we changed horses again. We were in the same gorge for some time after leaving, and the sun being overhead changes the lines and shades of the scene. [...] It was [...] a never-to-be-forgotten and awe-inspiring sight. But one breathed freer as the valley opened out a little on nearing Balta. Here we changed horses again, and, instead of the two that we had from Lars to Balta, we put to four and started on our last stage.

The bare rocky walls gave place now to great rolling hills with shrubs and trees; and as they opened out wide, we saw in the soft light fields and farms with their cattle, and soon the houses of Vladikafkaz came in sight, and in about a quarter of an hour we rattled over the pavements. We found a good hotel and had an excellent luncheon, leaving about 4 P.m. by train for Novorossisk. We had to change cars several times, and were much disturbed, as we did not have too much confidence in the Russian of our dragoman. We found the sleeping carriage most comfortable, and the journey a very pleasant one....

[The travelers continued their journey to Crimea where they got back onto their yacht and resumed their journey.]

William Tecumseh Sherman - Journey through the Russian Empire (extracts from diary) - 1872

William Tecumseh Sherman (1820 – 1891) was an American soldier and writer. During the American Civil War (1861–65), he served as a general in the Union Army, earning fame for both outstanding command of military strategy and the harshness of the "scorched earth" policies he implemented against the Confederate States. In 1872, Sherman - accompanied by his aide Colonel Joseph Audenreid and Lieutenant Frederick Grant, son of President Ulysses Grant - went on a tour of Russia and briefly visited Georgia.  

SEBASTOPOL, Wednesday, April 24, 1872. 

The town of Sebastopol, which before the siege contained eighty thousand people, is in ruins, and now contains barely eight thousand. A few houses have been rebuilt, but Sebastopol probably will never regain its lost grandeur. The ground occupied by the English and the French during the siege was high, and completely overlooked the town, so that their shots from the first must have done great damage to the buildings: but the Russian fleet lay comparatively sheltered until the " approaches " came close. On the fall of the Malakoff, the place necessarily fell, but Todleben, the engineer, had gained a reputation almost as great as if he had succeeded in holding the place. It was at Sebastopol that it was first demonstrated- that earth is the best material for resisting heavy shot. All masonry within reach of the heavy artillery of the English and French crumbled under the effects of their shot, whereas earth was invulnerable, and each night was repaired the damage done during the daytime.

There is little to be seen here that we have not already seen—only to study more in detail the old works, now in ruins and decay, that were used in the great siege of Sebastopol. The weather is very fine, sun warm, and atmosphere like that in New Mexico.

TIFLIS, In The Caucasus, Sunday, May 5. 

On Friday morning, April 26, Mr. Curtin, Audenried, and I, accompanied by a Major Rochekoff, started early in a post-carriage by land from Sebastopol for Yalta. Fred Grant and young Mr. Curtin remained behind to follow in the steamer. A colonel, Prince Dolgoruki, and Mr. McGahan of the New York "Herald," who had come from Odessa, accompanied us in another carriage. We drove out by the Balaklava road, across the battle-field of Balaklava, following the course of the Tchernaya to the Baidar Pass. From Alupka we continued by the splendid turnpike road to Yalta, meeting several carriages, in one of which rode the Empress of Russia and her daughter, a young lady about nineteen. We did not recognize the imperial party soon enough to form an opinion of any one.

The next morning, Saturday, April 27, there was a heavy fog, and we had begun to fear for our steamer when she gradually loomed up out of the mist and was moored to a buoy... 

Friday, at 4 A. M., we started, and entered the river Rion at the town of Poti, reaching the wharf about 8:30 am. The train was to start toward Tiflis at eleven; so the mayor, a regular Yankee, took me in hand and drove me all over the town, which is of modern origin and looks exactly like one of our Western Edens. The site is absolutely flat and subject to overflow. Everybody has the fever and ague, yet it is the point selected as the place of departure for the railroad now in progress from the Black to the Caspian Sea. Prince Dolgoruki was still with us, also another officer, who came to us at Poti from Count Levisoff [Levashov] the general commanding at Kutais. It was by Levisoff's invitation, almost by his command, that we stopped over at Kutais. At the depot we found carriages and drove up to Kutais, which is a large town. After dinner Mr. Curtin and I called on the governor, also his wife, who spoke English well, and of them we gathered much information of value to us. I was informed that the orders of the Grand Duke Michael were that we were to be shown everything we wished to see, but not to be oppressed with civilities that could not but be unwelcome. The count said the railroad toward Tiflis was in a state of rapid progress, but still so unfinished that he advised us to trust to carriages and post-horses beyond a station about thirty versts above Kutais. As the ordinary carriages were unfit for use, some had been sent down from Tiflis for us; but he was sorry that there were places only for four, and he would send forward one of his own carriages. Mr. Curtin proposed then that I should go on, and he and his son could follow one day behind us. Accordingly, yesterday morning at eight Count Levisoff drove me down to the railroad, and Audenried, Fred Grant, Prince Dolgoruki, and McGahan followed. A special train was in waiting. On leaving Kutais, the count asked me to stop and look at a company of native militia in service. I found them drawn up in line, armed with old-fashioned percussion muskets, and each man clothed in the habiliments of his country—a kind of hood made of cloth wound about the head as a turban, a closefitting wadded silk jacket, and a voluminous sash of variegated colors in which were inserted a sort of bowie-knife, and a flint-lock pistol, both highly ornamented with silver. The trousers were close-fitting, ending in shoes. All were fine-looking young fellows, some swarthy, and others with fair hair and blue eyes.

The company was filed out into the road and acted as our escort. We moved at a trot, and the men kept up for a time, but we gradually drew ahead. Our road was macadamized and had a wide turn; these men followed at a sort of trot, and we reached the depot—seven versts, equal to four and a half miles— in forty minutes. Two of the men had reached it before us, and all the rest came tumbling in, so that within fifty minutes of starting all were in their places. This was to demonstrate their ability to travel fast. They were not much blown, and made four and a half miles at about the rate of five and a half per hour, and seemed to regard it as good fun. They were good-natured young fellows, perfectly tractable and easy of discipline, but utterly careless and thoughtless. They clung to their knives and flint-lock pistols, though it was plain they were simply an encumbrance. The Circassians [Georgians] all wear their cartridges in a row across the breast, high up; but I examined a good many, and the cartridges were represented by an empty reed joint. I asked if the habit of carrying knives and pistols did not result in disorder and violence, but was answered no; on the contrary, such a thing as the use of knife or pistol was rare, so that, though every Circassian seems armed like a guerrilla, it has long ceased to have any meaning, but is simply a fashion to which the natives cling as all that is left to them since the influx of the Goths of the North, namely, the Russians.

I understand that the Russians have one hundred and twenty thousand soldiers in the Caucasus, but thus far I do not notice more on the roads or in the towns than we saw in France or Italy.

Our special train left the station at Kutais about 9 am and we ran rapidly up the valley of the Rion for about forty versts, where there is a break caused by a land-slide, which is now being converted into a tunnel. We found there a close carriage and a calash waiting for us; but Mr. Preston, an Englishman engaged in building this railroad, had prepared a locomotive and a car just beyond the break, and insisted upon our riding on his road some forty versts farther, and letting our carriages follow. This we did, the road ascending rapidly and by sharp curves through a narrow valley, a ravine of picturesque beauty, till we came to a stop at the end of the rails. Here we partook of a lunch we had brought along, and waited for our carriages, which came in very soon. Our baggage was put in a springless wagon, drawn by four horses abreast, and to each of our carriages were hitched four horses abreast, and off we started.

The road was very good, ascending to a summit, and then descending, and we changed horses every eighteen or twenty versts, equal to about twelve or fourteen miles. At the second station we again encountered a finished railroad, but it so happened that there was no engine, and though Mr. Reed, the superintendent, wanted us to wait a couple of hours, when he would send us to within twenty miles of Tiflis by rail, I preferred the road, and we pushed on two more stations to Gori, which carried us a couple of hours into the night. Gori is on the north side of the valley of the Kur, and the stage-station is on the south side, and as the keeper of the station could give us supper and some hay for a bed, we concluded to spend the night there and make an early start. We got a fair supper and slept on hay on the floor, covering ourselves with coats, the night being cold. 

We rose at 4 am, got some coffee, and made a start at five. Thence we drove down the valley of the Kur, the country becoming more dry and arid, save in the valley, till we reached Tiflis at 11:30 am. These fellows drive like Jehus [reckless drivers]; I think we made the last twenty versts in one hour, all the way over a fine macadamized road, at a full run. Indeed, we found all the road from Kutais here a good one; but as the railroad will be finished in July, the road will be neglected and fall into disuse. The houses and villages by the way are generally very poor, and the amount of cultivated land is small. The mountains crossed yesterday are the dividing-line between the waters of the Black Sea and the Caspian, and are well wooded with oak, beech, and many familiar trees and bushes; but on descending toward the Caspian the country loses its vegetation and assumes more and more a rugged, barren type. Yesterday and to-day, though good weather for traveling, the high mountains to the north and the south were hidden from view, though occasionally we caught glimpses of snow. The air was chilly, especially after dark last night.

We entered Tiflis about noon to-day, Sunday, and we soon perceived that it was generally recognized as a holy day, for all the stores were closed, and well-dressed people were seemingly coming from church. There are many large and handsome houses, and we are now at the Hotel d'Europa, which seems much like similar establishments in Europe. We got as good a breakfast as we could have got in Italy, but all speak Russian, certainly the most incomprehensible language possible. In all other languages, such as French, Spanish, Italian, I can make out at least what a servant wants to say, but in Russian I can make no head or tail; I cannot possibly remember the name of a person, town, river, or anything else for five minutes. Fortunately for us, the Prince Dolgoruki was with us andt did our talking and bargaining by the way!

The building of the railway from Poti up, the wooden houses and embryo town of Poti, the character of the trees and trains of carts by the way, all remind me of our country and the Pacific Railroad, though the difference is very marked. The proximity of the Caucasus range, the narrowness of the valleys, the excellence of the turnpike road, the rapidity of driving, and other like things, are very different, though I cannot but liken the natives of this country to our Indians or New Mexicans.

While we were at breakfast, the aide of the Grand Duke Michael called to present the compliments of his Imperial Highness and to know if he could do anything for us. I explained that we had just arrived, and were tired, but would like to call and be presented to-morrow. He mentioned that the grand duke intended to hunt for ortolans to-morrow, but would be back by 2 p. M., by which time he would notify me.

At this moment, 5 pm, all my party is asleep, but a company of Russian officers with a band of music are having a good time in the salle a manger, the same in which we had our breakfast. By the character of the music I infer that they are having toasts, speeches, etc.

May 6. Mr. Curtin and his son arrived about 10 am to-day, so that our party is together again, and we are discussing the time of starting and the route of our progress. We find travel by Petrovsk, the Caspian, Astrakhan, and the Volga subject to so many chances of delay that we now incline to taking carriages for Taganrog, on the Sea of Azov, where we come to the railroad which connects with Moscow. The distance, according to my map, is five hundred and twenty-two miles, and we think the journey can be made in five days, or six at the most. The Russian language is simply incomprehensible. It has thirty-six letters, and some of them, though like ours, differ in meaning.

May 8. Yesterday at half-past twelve we called in full uniform on the Grand Duke Michael at the palace. We were received at the main entrance by a kind of chamberlain in rich uniform or livery, who showed us up the grand stairway into a waiting-room. There we waited a few minutes, and then passed into a hall, round the sides of which were arranged all the general and staff officers of the grand duke, in full uniform. Soon Mr. Curtin and I were ushered into an inner room, a sort of office, where the Grand Duke Michael met us. He was in full uniform, frock-coat of dark green, with many military orders displayed on his breast and neck. He seemed much younger than I had supposed, and is a fine-looking man about thirty-six years old, six feet two inches in height, and rather slim. He spoke English well, and his manner was friendly and good. He asked me if I would see the troops, to which I consented; nine this morning was appointed for the hour, and our visit closed with an invitation to dinner at half-past five to-day.

After the review we visited the military academy and a school for the instruction of soldiers, somewhat like our artillery school; but the arrangements for physical instruction, sword exercise, and climbing surpassed anything we have in our country.

After this we visited the staff corps, where we saw some handsome maps in process of execution. About a hundred officers seemed to be detached for this purpose, and are employed in reconnoitering and making maps, and I noticed that their explorations extended in the direction of the Persian Gulf. I should not be surprised, after all, if the Russians reach for the Persian Gulf rather than for India, as is generally supposed from their reaching out for Bokhara. I much doubt, however, if Russia gains actual strength by spreading herself over these Asiatic lands. Her expenditures of men and money must tax Russia proper, and in case of a European war she could not withdraw these forces, as the natives would surely rise. That the Caucasus is benefited by Russian annexation seems to me plain, for all roads and houses here are modern and good, and are the result of Russian labor. Then, Russia has consolidated into one state what formerly was composed of about a dozen small principalities, all more or less hostile to one another.

The expenses of travel are heavy, made the more so by telegraphing ahead, without our knowledge or consent, for special carriages and accommodations. We had intended to go by post to Petrovsk or Baku, on the Caspian, thence by steamer to Astrakhan, and up the Volga to Nijni-Novgorod; but we find so many difficulties and delays that we have resolved to turn for Moscow by way of Taganrog, and Audenried is now making the arrangements. We propose to start at 8 A. M. to-morrow, and will cross the Caucasus range by the highroad at the Dari«l Pass. We dine this afternoon with the grand duke, and then prepare for the journey. The weather is fine, somewhat like our own at this season, and I recognize almost every tree here as being like ours in Ohio, namely, cherry, apple, peach, apricot, poplar, horse-chestnut, walnut, alder, ash, maple. The fruit-trees are in bloom, and the deciduous trees in full leaf. I see but few pines or cedars.

TAGANROG, Sea Of Azov, May 15. 

We left Tiflis on the 9th, at 8 A. M., by post. Our party consisted of Mr. Curtin and his son, Colonel Audenried, Fred Grant, and myself, Mr. McGahan, and Prince Dolgoruki. We had a carriage with seats for two behind and one with the driver, drawn by four horses abreast; another carriage that held four besides the driver, and a spring-wagon for the baggage, the two latter drawn by six horses, four abreast at the wheel and two leaders, the off-horse leader ridden by a postilion. The day was fine, and we got a good start, provided with a lunch and an order for post-horses as far as Rostoff, on the Don, a distance of nine hundred versts, or six hundred miles.

Our route ascended the Kur for twenty versts, and then up a branch of it straight from the Dariel Pass of the Caucasus range. There was a good, well-constructed, macadamized road, with post-stations in every twenty versts. The first day we reached the summit of the mountain, and slept on straw at a station. The night was cold; snow covered the mountains all about us, and even lay unmelted in the shady parts about the station. The second morning was very bright and clear, affording us a splendid view of the

Kazbek Mountain, which is over fifteen thousand feet high, and next to Elbruz in height, belonging to the Caucasus range. All along the road were castles and garrisoned stations for the protection of passing travelers, though at this time there is not a particle of danger.

The second day of our journey was down a steep mountain valley, opening more and more till we reached Vladikavkaz, really a pretty town, growing up under Russian occupation to guard the pass. We were met by an escort of Cossacks some twenty miles above the town, and escorted all the way in, and in the heat and dust it was suffocating. About ten miles before we reached Vladikavkaz a company of mounted Cossacks met us and escorted us to the town, charging forward on both sides of the roadway and performing their usual tactics and feats of horsemanship. Their horses were small, but hardy; the bridle is nothing but a common, light, single-reined snaffle, and the saddle something like the McClellan tree, with a pad on top. The Cossacks wore the usual hat or cap, with a long coat, full trousers, and shoes. About the waist was a gailycolored sash, inside which they carried a knife and a flint-lock pistol; slung behind their back was a cover for their singlebarreled flint-lock shot-gun.

Thus armed and equipped, they would dash forward, load their guns, and fire; the same with pistols. They would hang down so as to pick up a cap on the ground, rise almost to their feet in the saddle, and perform a number of feats more curious than useful. They reminded me of the Californians in the days of 1847, and their riding resembles that of our Comanche Indians. Indeed, in many respects the Cossacks resemble our Indians, and I doubt whether they would equal the Indians as enemies. They seem slow to adopt approved arms, for their pistols and guns are antiquated and very inferior, though handsomely ornamented.

Thus attended, we entered Vladikavkaz at a furious run and covered with dust....

Theodore Dreiser, Russian Diary (1927-1928)

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. 

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.