“Settlement
Ross” 1841 by Ilya Gavrilovich Voznesensky
California’s vibrant history reflects a multitude of invasive ethnic groups long past the emigration of First Peoples coming down through Canada or other far horizons. Among the most intriguing adventurers were members of the Russian-American Company who ventured south out of Alaska to seek trade and agricultural venues. The fur trade was diminishing in early 19th Century waters off the Pacific coast. Harsh conditions in the far north meant scarcity of foods for increasing population growth. Exploration moved south as early as 1803 and by 1812 Fortress Ross was established on what is now the Sonoma County coastline.
Fort Ross State Park Russian Orthodox Chapel,
Frank Schulinburg
The colony lasted until 1842 when John Sutter of Gold Rush fame bought the settlement; it passed to ranchers and farmers until bought by the state in 1903. The site deteriorated over the years due to fires, the 1906 earthquake, road building across it and abandoned ruins. The wooden structures were reconstructed over the years. The park is listed on various state and national registries.
What follows is a piece I wrote more than 30 years ago while living at the Russian (or Slavyanka) River. Princess Helena, her husband Alexie and M. du Mofras are real historical characters in 1841.
SPRING
RETREAT
“But Alexie, we have made a good life here. What is there
for us back in Russia other than ostracism by my family? They’ll never forgive
us for eloping and father will block your advancement every way he can. You can
do better here or in Sitka.” It wasn’t the first time Helena made the plea to
her husband.
“My dear, I know better in these matters and you really
must let me do what I think right.” He planted a brief kiss on her forehead.
“Hadn’t you best see to Monsieur de Mofras’ entertainment? The Captain and I will tend to the provisions
going on board the ship for the Alaskan settlements. He already has my letter
requesting my transfer and will send it on its way to St. Petersburg “ Having
said his piece, Alexander Rotchev,
commandant of Russia’s southermmost possession on the North American
continent, made an about face and left the room and his frustrated wife.
With a sigh that might have been of sadness, Princess
Helena of the house of Gargarin, watched their guest make his way from the rose
garden. He was with the French legation in Mexico City and touring the coastal
area. Alexie thought the man’s motives were innocent given his skills in the
sciences but Helena had her doubts. She had grown up in the midst of household
and political intrigue and was suspicious.
Dinner last night went nicely enough when she delighted
in serving her best Bordeaux. The Frenchman was genuinely surprised to see and
hear her play from an original Mozart score. The distraction of an interesting
guest would be more enjoyable is only Alexie would be more reasonable.
“Ah, Madame, I am not disturbing you?” Eugene Duflot de Mofras entered the house with
the barest of knocks on the half-open door.
“Please,
Monsieur, won’t you join me for tea? The samovar is always at our call.” She enjoyed using her best Parisian French.
“Perhaps you know the story of our settlement?” Last night’s conversation was
all about recent events abroad.
“Wasn’t
it Captain Ruskov who founded the Ross Colony?”
“Yes,
he came from Sitka to establish gardens for the Alaskan communities.” She
offered him tea in a delicate China cup and showed him to a seat at the window.
“He went as far south as the bay the Spanish call Bodega, but he found this
area more to his liking.”
Shifting
his cup from one hand to the other, de Mofras said, “I suspect he found the
soil and climate better for crops.”
“I’m
sure you are right. He became a folk hero, traversing the wilds with one good
leg and opening up new territories. He found the native Kashsaya Pomo to be
friendly.”
“And
did they freely give over their land?”
“He
got a very good bargain for three blankets, three pair of britches, three
horses, two axes and some beads. I am afraid it wasn’t any more honorable a
price than the Dutch paid for Manhattan.”
De
Mofras chuckled and added, “Perhaps those items were worth more thirty years ago!”
An
hour later, a mounted party left the Fort: two Russian soldiers led Helena and
her guest, the woman’s Kashaya maid, and another servant burdened with a picnic
hamper and blankets. The soldiers and the Frenchman were armed against the
occasional bear or wild boar known to roam the coastal mountains. The ride
passed quickly and, deep into the hills, the party stopped to eat. At
Helena’s
suggestion, one of the soldiers and Monsieur continued on, leaving Helena with
her guard and her private worries. Resting against a young redwood tree near a
bed of bright white trillium, she looked down on the fort, its surrounding
orchards and grazing lands, out to the sea.
“Oh, Alexie, can’t you see the
wealth, the beauty and the potential here! Thirty years is nothing in the march
of history. We devoured the seals and the otters. Leave them be and they’ll be
back. Let their Highnesses wear rabbit! The orchards are flourishing; we only
need to plant more. The sea and the fog may not be right for grain, but what of
the cattle and sheep that flourish. We can be a self-sufficient colony. There
is little we cannot grow or build. And, we’ve only begun to explore the
Slavyanka and her primal forest.”
The
heady wine, the warm sun and her feelings overcame Helena. In her dream, she
saw the history of Russia, past and future. Blood ran, flags and crowns passed.
Through the violence, the laughter and tears, she saw one face clearly and it
was Alexie’s. Her dream tried to awaken her. A gentle petting of her shoulder
brought her to consciousness
“Darling,
I’m here. Have you lost our guest?” teased Alexie.
Trembling
and reaching for him, Helena spoke. “I was in St. Petersburg, and there was
much trouble and danger but we were together. Alexie, I am so afraid.”
“Nonsense,
Helena. It was nothing more than a bad afternoon’s dream. You will see. All
your friends and family long for your return. I’m sure your father will forgive
our elopement. You are too precious to him for us to remain in exile forever.”
Helena
gave up her efforts to win him over. She missed her family and there was always
the music and ballet. Perhaps he was right. She would return with him, but they
must find a way to share their thoughts and feelings. She would insist.
The
exuberant M. de Mofras and his guide returned to find the Rochevs restored to
each other’s good graces. The party followed the sun’s path, reaching the fort
just as the sun took its plunge into the reflecting mirror that was the sea.
EPILOGUE
Sometime after their return to Russia, the Rotchevs’
marriage ended in divorce. De Mofras published a book about his travels in Alta
California and Oregon with reference to the couple and the Mozart score..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I write about strong women of the Old West whom I research deeply and whose territory I travel. I find the courage, perseverance, and strength of the characters in my work inspire me to continue on the difficult path to publication.Originally an east coaster, I live in Northern California, an area rich in beauty and history. There are many stories yet to be written here but my fascination is with the American Southwest and the Rockies. Find out more about me and my books at www.arlettadawdy.com.
Arletta, your posts are tremendously interesting. Thanks for your hard work.
ReplyDeleteFascinating info here. I did not realize the Russians had become so prominent in California. We have a large population of immigrants from Russia here in North Carolina in recent years.
ReplyDeletePrincess Helena should have listened to her intuition and the dream.
A very interesting post, Arletta. I wish you all the best.
Thanks, Arletta for your post. Interesting to find out about Russian immigrants who settled in California, another good history lesson and I enjoyed reading your portrayal of Princess Helena and her husband.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Cheri. Russian influence is found in place names as well as more recent immigrant families. When we lived along the Russian River, an elderly couple near us told tales of revolutionary Russia and their escape from Stalin. Good friends pared their Russian name down to an Anglicized version. The influence continues.
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