Work Text:
Washington, D. C. , June X, 1864.
My dearest friend,
I do not wish to write too much of war, though I suppose I must. Doubtless the dire photographs of Spotsylvania are littering your papers as they are mine, leaving a bad taste over the breakfast table - though I can hardly taste anything but sulfur these dreadful days.
As of my writing this, Grant has a capable man with the name of Maj. Gen. David Hunter lead an advance into Virginia, where we hope to make it impossible for the Confederates to keep their supply lines intact. The campaign has made good headway and already there is news of first victories. With the situation in Richmond nearing a boiling point, we are optimistic - desperately so - that this war shall soon come to an end.
However! I do not wish to wallow in misery this entire paper, for both of our time is too precious to waste on nothing but melancholy. It has to be voiced, and given its place, but done is done - so, if you permit my inquiry, would you tell me about summer in your land? It is slowly growing warmer even here, and I find myself watching the clear skies at night, when it is almost quiet.
I am also quite ecstatic about the passing of the proposal of my man Collins, who seems to have a good head on his shoulders - he is the fellow looking to construct a telegraph line from the southernmost point of the Russian Americas to your mainland, a right good idea considering the repeated failures of the Atlantic cable. It would be an immense relief to have your ear at my fingertips, so to speak, instead of having to slave away over a piece of parchment.
As always, I do hope this letter finds you in good health and of sound mind,
and that you will excuse my hand graciously and the length of my correspondence just the same - as you are well aware, there are not many I would want to write to, and less to accept the same, and so the temptation is great to bring any unusual observation, no matter how insignificant, to the pages to be sent to you.
They say there is an art to letter writing, but it appears it evades me rather persistently.
Your sincere friend,
Alfred F. Jones.
September X, 1864
Tsarskoye Selo, Russia
уважа́емый друг,
It pleases me greatly to hear from you, dear Alfredka. It's such a shame that it has taken so long to hear from you - while your letter spoke of warming weather, mine can speak only of the oncoming chill in the air, and not just from the approach of winter.
I summered as I usually do, at the Alexander Palace with the tsar and his family. The summers are wonderful here, full of fishing, swimming, outdoor games, and, of course, parties. I believe Sasha was jealous of me yesterday, when I caught the biggest game while out hunting.
Summers in Russia are quite enjoyable! I would implore you experience one for yourself if you did not already possess the most enviable of climates, with fields and fields of sunflowers for your very own. I would have to travel far south, to lands only mine through treaties of man to encounter such fields.To have them on your own property! But it is already nearly autumn, and soon I will be departing back to St. Petersburg with my family and friends, back to dull work, quelling rebellions and stopping wars. I am glad to be going back home to my family, but I'm sure they haven't missed me as much as I've missed them.
I have indeed heard of your wars, just as you surely have heard of my recent accomplishments. I do find it amusing that we are so similar: my Sasha has freed the serfs just as your Lincoln freed the slaves. And now we are giving a voice to the peasants, just as you say your people can decide their fates, regardless of status!
I hope this Collins does indeed succeed in his endeavors, as it would be a relief to speak with you far quicker than is currently possible. I can hardly imagine the progress being made in the west: allowing a message to travel continents in minutes! It is too amazing to comprehend, and I'm not sure I ever will.
Dearest Alfredka, it is always a pleasure to hear from you. I do not get many personal letters, I'm sure you're aware. My letters sent are never answered, nor are they returned. I suspect my recipients burn them or otherwise dispose of my writings, simply because they are not written in the fairest of hand. I admit, my prose cannot compare to Pushkin, but it's more honest than my demeanor, I'm told.
There is an art to everything, and we cannot excel at them all. Nevertheless, I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Respectfully yours,
Ivan Braginsky
Washington, D. C., November X, 1864
Dearest friend,
I would have liked to press a flower in this envelope, but I fear there would be little left of it by the time it reaches you. I thank you for recounting your summer - it sounds rather a great one, especially compared to mine. Everything felt a harsh grind, considering. Perhaps - soon! - when I have dealt with the trouble at my house - and we shall, soon, in confidence have dealt with it - I shall take you up on your unoffered invitation and see your summers for myself. As of my writing, we’re preparing for the first snow, hoping for a mild winter.
Do not sorrow yourself too much about family; I have found it is not often what it pretends to be. It seems to me you are doing rather the right thing, keeping the rest of your continent at arm’s length - Europe is caught in squabbles of centuries long past, still, and refuses to admit progress wherever it dares show itself. They are too afraid of what we can be - of what we are - to the world. I have to look no further than Mexico, my very own borders, for proof.
Yes - ! I received news of your very own emancipation proclamation with the greatest of enthusiasms. It has long been time to abolish antiquated systems - they are nothing but a plight on the people! I am excited to observe how the situation in your house develops. It is more than common sense and fate that we should be allies in these times, pursuing a mutual goal - more than the one!
I’m pleased to tell you that the first expedition of the Russian-American telegraph line is scheduled to depart rather soon, before the cold of winter freezes the seas and makes supply impossible - they will be the last of the trail-blazers, the true pioneers.
It seems we are both in dire need of steadfast friendship; how fortunate we have found it in each other! The tone of my letter reads bitter, now that I have let it sit for a day, but know that yours has brought a smile to my face time and again, Pushkin or not. Regretfully, I’ve had little time to waste on reading these past years - but what little I have, I’ll gladly give to you.
Awaiting your swift response,
your sincere friend,
Alfred F. Jones
P.S.: You must teach me your letters one of these days; for a second upon opening the envelope, I’d thought myself cross-eyed!
January X, 1865
St. Petersburg
Dearest Alfredka,
I have taken your suggestion to heart and enclosed a book, with translation, for learning your letters. Please take care, as it belonged to my tsar’s sons. He did not see me take it, and I cannot imagine anyone would mind - it was in storage, not used in a decade at least. If you worry someone will want it back you may return it, but there is no need.
How has you winter gone? Is the weather agreeable? The weather here seldom is, though it does look beautiful in the winter. For a short time, at least.
You say family is not quite worth the trouble it brings, but you don’t have to live with them, for the most part. I’m sure your family does not accuse you on the daily of ignoring their needs and of wanting only their conformity. I am sure your family would understand that you want only what is best for them.
I apologize, I don’t mean to rant. Things are not going as smoothly as we had hoped. The peasants are unhappy, the tsar has failed to give specifications on the zemstva, and tensions are high everywhere. Christmas was wonderful at the Winter Palace, but I was certain Polska would try to stab me on the way to my own home.
Enough of my troubles. I am sorry to hear of your own. We will indeed persevere and be forces to reckon with Europe. Then they will see who is a “backwater country”!
It is good to hear that our communication line is under way, at least! Russian America is such a large, useless expanse of land, it will be good to give it some purpose.
Regards,
Ivan Braginsky
Richmond-Petersburg, VA, March X, 1865
Ivan!
It pains me not to have taken the time to write in so long, but alas - it is what it is, and in these times it is all we get. I can hardly shut out the noise and the rancid odor from the trenches long enough to concentrate on composing this response to my dear friend, but I know he will forgive me if my words don’t altogether make much sense.
The tension running through my body is close to snapping me in half, I fear, and everyday it worsens as our victory only becomes clearer. At least scorched earth heals, if slowly, but here, now, they just die and die and die
How much longer will they die for?
What a ghastly thing to write, but I feel - you know. You understand. All that is left of triumphal fanfares is a gruesome ringing in my ears.
Your encouragement, among few, helps keep my spirits high in direst circumstance. Please, if need be, confide in me as I have in you. I shall help you as much I can - do hope, in fact, that our correspondence has been as much a solace as it has been for me.
I thank you deeply for your gift! It arrived a little worse for wear but nevertheless it has proven a useful distraction.
Next time I write, I will bring good news.
Your exhausted friend,
with the greatest affection and the best wishes,
Alfred F. Jones
Washington, D. C. , April X, 1865
Dearest Ivan,
It’s over! We won, and it’s over. No bloodshed on my soil no more, no death, no trenches! The Confederacy is dead, and gone, and over - over - over! I can breathe again; it’s done!
Ivan, I must come see your summers. I must! I am filled with deepest conviction, so do not try and deter me - unless you are forced to by higher authorities - to ship myself to your borders as soon as possible. I will bring flowers, and books, and whatever else you want! I want to see your palace, and your cities and your own endless wilderness and I must see them now before stifling responsibilities of normalcy make it impossible.
How have things developed in your house? Surely well, and great! You remain in difficult positions but are more than capable of resolving them with grace, my friend. Ashes, I’ve learnt, make for fertile soil.
I am all around exuberant. The trouble is over, the trail through British Columbia is progressing as fast as we’d hoped - the companies are making good way, dealing with the natives and having them cut poles and trading - the Mexican problem will soon be solved and we can start rebuilding, and reintegrating, and pressing forward.
As always, I hope this letter finds you in good health and of sound mind,
(and I am writing this grinning, awaiting your response)
with utmost affection,
your friend,
Alfred F. Jones
St. Petersburg
June X, 1865
Поздравляю!
I am glad to hear of your victory, dear Alfredka. I knew that you would prevail, no matter how long the war lasted. You have an admirable spirit, and the strength to withstand anything. I do indeed know what it is like to throw your men at an enemy in hopes that it weakens them, to burn your own land so they have nothing to claim in victory. It is worth it in the end, though, when you come out on the winning side.
And you have! Again and again, many congratulations are in order! I would love for you to come stay for the season - summer is the best season, especially for celebrations! We could go to our dacha, and celebrate Ivan Kupala day - which is soon! I’m sure you could jump quite high over the fire, but it is something I have never been able to accomplish gracefully. You would love exploring the vast wildernesses. You may find my palaces too ornate and extravagant for your egalitarian ways, however. But you would certainly find the history behind them interesting, at least.
Things have, unfortunately, not gone as well in my part of the world. The now-freed serfs have been free long enough to recover from the joy of being free, long enough to suffer, and suffer they are. If things were bad before, they are worse now. The land they once collectively worked has been split so each family has their own plot, but it is not enough to sustain themselves. They cannot pay their taxes, they cannot grow enough to both sell and feed themselves - I worry about what is to come. The nobles complain that Sasha’s decree was too liberal, the peasants claim it was not liberal enough, and on all sides enough guidance was not given. At the very least, the zemstva seem to be working for now, even if they are for the most part run by nobles. The peasants at least have a chance to rule for themselves and decide what they need.
I’m glad things are progressing so smoothly with the line! I am sending a man with a team of yours to explore the route on Kamchatka soon. They should be meeting up with another team. It would be nice if we, too, could meet up.
I’ve heard the news of your President. Please accept my deepest condolences, I know how much he meant to you. He was a great man and did not deserve to go that way.
With much sincerity,
Ivan Braginsky
Washington, D. C. August X, 1865
Ivan, my dearest friend!
Barely have my feet felt the comforting solidity of familiar ground before I found myself reaching for ink and pen, eager to let spill the words I found myself mulling over on the journey back from my adventurous stay in your care. I believe there is no need to write at length about how much I enjoyed my trip and your company - but I shall, if you will let me, express my joy in short: Yes! Yes a thousand times to the time we spent together. I have always felt confident that you were not a lying man, and I have yet to be proven wrong: Your country was a delight to see with my own eyes, as was your home, your vast forests, the thrilling quiet at the edge of civilization of a country peopled by many - and yet! - so many places never seen before remain.
I am left fascinated, still, by you; as I have been.
It has been a long time since I have had conversations as invigorating as the cool nights we spent talking under a vast expanse of stars. Too many cannot make up their mind whether to treat me like a spoiled child bereft of manners or a dangerous shift of their ancient, dusty paradigms... and at times, simply opt for both, whatever position will suit them best. But with you… if we can ever know one another - truly -... and I have said it before; I believe we come closest to understanding each other. Loneliness is a poor man’s sorrow. I’d rather all the wars of the world than miss your friendship.
News, as it goes, is thankfully scarce for the first time in months, in years in my house. The new man, Johnson, is moving swiftly to reconstruct as much as possible and is banging heads with the senate - I imagine old conflicts will simmer out over the years. Seward remains Secretary of State, finalizing an agreement with France, so I am positive our relations will only improve, not diminish, this century - and for ever after! We have seen off your ships with the highest of honors and no doubt will remain forever thankful for your gesture of friendship.
I am preparing to travel south myself, to lend a hand - against ill advice - with the reconstruction efforts and take toll of the damages myself. I have packed the books you have lent me for company - it is dire time I brush up on my Pushkin, it seems.
How is your Tsar faring? I have grown quite fond of him, I must admit. He is a man of great vision, and nothing less would be admissible for the country he attempts to steer.
Respond soon as you are able for I find myself missing your voice,
in deepest affection,
your friend
Alfred F. Jones
P.S.: Упражнялся в кириллицей; не стесняйтесь оказать мне похвалы.
St. Petersburg
November X, 1865
My friend,
It cheers me to learn just how much you enjoyed your tour of my country. You said it many times in your visit, of course, but even our memories fade with time. To have it written out in your hand means I can look at it again and again, I can hear your voice echoing through my head as I read and remember our time together. It really was a joyous occasion and I hope to see you again soon. Perhaps next time we will meet in Russian America, and we can follow the North American line through your home, so I can tour yours as you have mine.
Oh, Fedya, your words make me blush. You are the fascinating one: you have grown so much in such a short time, and despite all your troubles are still as cheerful and happy as ever! I am jealous and must know how you do it. I wish we could spend more time together: you see me as an equal, not as a poor barbarian or monster to be feared, as many others do.
It pleases me to hear that things are relatively peaceful there. The day-to-day has settled here as well, for the most part. I still worry, of course, as I can feel the unrest of my people bubbling beneath the surface, but as of yet there have been no cracks. I, too, am quite proud of my Sasha. I know he is doing what he thinks is best, I know he wants me to prosper, but I fear there are those who disagree.
But! There is nothing I can do to stop it, so we must keep pushing forward!
You don't need to beg for my praise, Fedya. I would have given it anyway, would have reiterated the commendation I gave when you visited (you have learned so much, quickly!) but now I won't. You'll just have to wait until we meet again.
Hoping it is sooner rather than later,
Ivan Braginsky