RUSSIAN RAMBLES

BY

ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

AUTHOR OF "THE EPIC SONGS OF RUSSIA"

BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 1895

TO RUSSIA AND MY RUSSIAN FRIENDS

I DEDICATE THESE NOTES OF MY SOJOURN WITH THEM. THEY MAY REST ASSUREDTHAT, THOUGH MANY OF MY MOST CHERISHED EXPERIENCES ARE NOT RECORDED INTHESE PAGES, THEY REMAIN UNFORGOTTEN, DEEPLY IMPRINTED ON MY HEART. 

PREFACE. 

The innumerable questions which have been put to me since my return toAmerica have called to my attention the fact that, in spite of all thathas been written about Russia, the common incidents of everyday life arenot known, or are known so imperfectly that any statement of them is atravesty. I may cite, as an example, a book published within the pasttwo years, and much praised in America by the indiscriminating as atruthful picture of life. The whole story hung upon the great musicaltalent of the youthful hero. The hero skated to church through thestreets, gazed down the long aisle where the worshipers were assembled(presumably in pews), ascended to the organ gallery, sang an impromptusolo with trills and embellishments, was taken in hand by the enrapturedorganist who had played there for thirty years, and developed into agreat composer. Omitting a mass of other absurdities scattered throughthe book, I will criticise this crucial point. There are no organs ororganists in Russia; there are no pews, or aisles, or galleries for thechoir, and there are never any trills or embellishments in the churchmusic. A boy could skate to church in New York more readily than inMoscow, where such a thing was never seen, and where they are noteducated up to roller skates. Lastly, as the church specified, St. Vasily, consists of a nest of small churches connected by narrow, labyrinthine corridors, and is approached from the street up two flightsof low-ceiled stairs, it is an impossibility that the boy should haveviewed the "aisle" and assembled congregation from his skates at thedoor. That is a fair specimen of the distortions of facts which I amconstantly encountering. 

It has seemed to me that there is room for a book which shall impart anidea of a few of the ordinary conditions of life and of the charactersof the inhabitants, illustrated by apposite anecdotes from my personalexperience. For this purpose, a collection of detached pictures isbetter than a continuous narrative of travel. 

I am told that I must abuse Russia, if I wish to be popular in America. Why, is more than I or my Russian friends can understand. Perhaps itarises from the peculiar fact that people find it more interesting tohear bad things of their neighbors than good, and the person whofurnishes startling tales is considered better company than the humdrumtruth-teller or the charitably disposed. 

The truth is, that people too frequently go to Russia with thedeliberate expectation and intention of seeing queer things. That theydo frequently contrive to see queer things, I admit. Countess X. Z. , whoin appearance and command of the language could not have beendistinguished from an Englishwoman, related to me a pertinent anecdotewhen we were discussing this subject. She chanced to travel from St. Petersburg to Moscow in a compartment of the railway carriage with twoAmericans. The latter told her that they had been much shocked to meet apeasant on the Nevsky Prospekt, holding in his hand a live chicken, fromwhich he was taking occasional bites, feathers and all. That they sawnothing of the sort is positive; but what they did see which could havebeen so ingeniously distorted was more than the combined powers of thecountess and myself were equal to guessing. 

The general idea of foreign visitors seems to be that they shall findthe Russia of the seventeenth century. I am sure that the Russia of Ivanthe Terrible's time, a century earlier, would precisely meet theirviews. They find the reality decidedly tame in comparison, and feelbound to supply the missing spice. A trip to the heart of Africa would, I am convinced, approach much nearer to the ideal of "adventure"generally cherished. The traveler to Africa and to Russia is equallybound to narrate marvels of his "experiences" and of the customs of thenatives. 

But, in order to do justice to any foreign country, the traveler mustsee people and customs not with the eyes of his body only, but with theeyes of his heart, if he would really understand them. Above all things, he must not deliberately buckle on blinders. Of no country is this axiommore true than of Russia. A man who would see Russia clearly must striphimself of all preconceived prejudices of religion, race, and language, and study the people from their own point of view. If he goes aboutrepeating Napoleon I. 's famous saying, "Scratch a Russian and you willfind a Tatar, " he will simply betray his own ignorance of history andfacts. 

In order to understand matters, a knowledge of the language isindispensable in any country. Naturally, very few possess this knowledgein Russia, where it is most indispensable of all. There are guides, butthey are a lottery at best: Russians who know very little English, English who know very little Russian, or Germans who are impartiallyignorant of both, and earn their fees by relating fables about theimperial family and things in general, when they are not candidlysaying, "I don't know. " I saw more or less of that in the case of otherpeople's guides; I had none of my own, though they came to me and beggedthe privilege of taking me about gratuitously if I would recommend them. I heard of it from Russians. An ideal cicerone, one of the attendants inthe Moscow Historical Museum, complained to me on this subject, andrewarded me for sparing him the infliction by getting permission to takeus to rooms which were not open to the public, where the directorhimself did the honors for us. Sometimes travelers dispense with theguides, as well as with a knowledge of the language, but if they have atalent for pronouncing what are called, I believe, "snap judgments, "that does not prevent their fulfilling, on their return home, theirtacitly implied duty of uttering in print a final verdict on everythingfrom soup to government. 

If the traveler be unusually lucky, he may make acquaintance on asteamer with a Russian who can talk English, and who can and will givehim authentic information. These three conditions are not always unitedin one person. Moreover, a stranger cannot judge whether his Russian isa representative man or not, what is his position in the socialhierarchy, and what are his opportunities for knowing whereof he speaks. "Do you suppose that God, who knows all things, does not know our tableof ranks?" asks an arrogant General in one of the old Russian comedies. I have no doubt that the Lord does know that remarkable Jacob's ladderwhich conducts to the heaven of high public place and the good things oflife, and whose every rung is labeled with some appetizing title andprivilege. But a newly arrived foreigner cannot know it, or thetraditions of the three greater, distinct classes into which the peopleare divided. 

Russians have become so used to hearing and reading remarkablestatements about themselves that they only smile indulgently at eachfresh specimen of ill-will or ignorance. They keep themselves posted onwhat is said of them, and frequently quote choice passages for theamusement of foreigners who know better, but never when they would beforced to condescend to explanation. Alexander Dumas, Senior, once wrotea book on Russia, which is a fruitful source of hilarity in that countryyet, and a fair sample of such performances. To quote but oneillustration, --he described halting to rest under the shade of a great_kliukva_ tree. The _kliukva_ is the tiny Russian cranberry, and grows accordingly. Another French author quite recently contributedan item of information which Russians have adopted as a characteristicbit of ignorance and erected into a standard jest. He asserted thatevery village in Russia has its own gallows, on which it hangs its owncriminals off-hand. As the death penalty is practically abolished inRussia, except for high treason, which is not tried in villages, theRussians are at a loss to explain what the writer can have mistaken fora gallows. There are two "guesses" current as to his meaning: the twouprights and cross-beam of the village swing; or the upright, surmountedby a cross-board, on which is inscribed the number of inhabitants in thevillage. Most people favor the former theory, but consider it a pitythat he has not distinctly pointed to the latter by stating that thefigures there inscribed represent the number of persons hanged. Thatwould have rendered the tale bloodthirsty, interesting, absolutelyperfect, --from a foreign point of view. 

I have not attempted to analyze the "complicated" national character. Indeed, I am not sure that it is complicated. Russians of all classes, from the peasant up, possess a naturally simple, sympathetic dispositionand manner, as a rule, tinged with a friendly warmth whose influence isfelt as soon as one crosses the frontier. Shall I be believed if I saythat I found it in custom-house officers and gendarmes? For the rest, characters vary quite as much as they do elsewhere. It is a question ofindividuals, in character and morals, and it is dangerous to indulge ingeneralizations. My one generalization is that they are, as a nation, too long-suffering and lenient in certain directions, that they allowtoo much personal independence in certain things. 

If I succeed in dispelling some of the absurd ideas which are nowcurrent about Russia, I shall be content. If I win a littlecomprehension and kindly sympathy for them, I shall be more thancontent. 

ISABEL F. HAPGOOD. New York, January 1, 1895. 

CONTENTS

I. PASSPORTS, POLICE, AND POST-OFFICE IN RUSSIA. 

II. THE NEVSKY PROSPEKT

III. MY EXPERIENCE WITH THE RUSSIAN CENSOR

IV. BARGAINING IN RUSSIA

V. EXPERIENCES

VI. A RUSSIAN SUMMER RESORT

VII. A STROLL IN MOSCOW WITH COUNT TOLSTOY

VIII. COUNT TOLSTOY AT HOME

IX. A RUSSIAN HOLY CITY

X. A JOURNEY ON THE VOLGA

XI. THE RUSSIAN KUMYS CURE

XII. MOSCOW MEMORIES

XIII. THE NIZHNI-NOVGOROD FAIR AND THE VOLGA

RUSSIAN RAMBLES. 

I. 

PASSPORTS, POLICE, AND POST-OFFICE IN RUSSIA. 

We imported into Russia, untaxed, undiscovered by the custom-houseofficials, a goodly stock of misadvice, misinformation, apprehensions, and prejudices, like most foreigners, albeit we were unusually wellinformed, and confident that we were correctly posted on the grandoutlines of Russian life, at least. We were forced to begin verypromptly the involuntary process of getting rid of them. Our anxietybegan in Berlin. We visited the Russian consul-general there to get ourpassports _vised_. He said, "You should have got the signature of theAmerican consul. Do that, and return here. "

At that moment, the door leading from his office to his drawing-roomopened, and his wife made her appearance on the threshold, with theemphatic query, "_When_ are you coming?"

"Immediately, my dear, " he replied. "Just wait a moment, until I get ridof these Americans. "

Then he decided to rid himself of us for good. "I will assume theresponsibility for you, " he said, affixed his signature on the spot, tospare himself a second visit, and, collecting his fees, bowed us out. Isuppose he argued that we should have known the ropes and attended toall details accurately, in order to ward off suspicion, had we beensuspicious characters. How could he know that the Americans understoodRussian, and that this plain act of "getting rid" of us would weigh onour minds all the way to the Russian frontier?

At Wirballen the police evoked a throb of gratitude from our relievedhearts. No one seemed to suspect that the American government owned aconsul in Berlin who could write his name on our huge parchments, whichcontrasted so strongly with the compact little documents from otherlands. 

"Which are your passports?" asked the tall gendarme who guarded the doorof the restaurant, as we passed out to take our seats in the Russiantrain. 

"The biggest, " I replied, without mentioning names, and he handed themover with a grin. No fuss over passports or custom-house, though we hadcarefully provided cause! This was beginning badly, and we weredisappointed at our tame experience. 

On our arrival in St. Petersburg, we were not even asked for ourpassports. Curiosity became restless within us. Was there some sinistermotive in this neglect, after the harrowing tales we had heard from awoman lecturer, and read in books which had actually got themselvesprinted, about gendarmes forcing themselves into people's rooms whilethey were dressing, demanding their passports, and setting a guard attheir doors; after which, gendarmes in disguises (which they were cleverenough to penetrate) followed them all over the country? Why was it thuswith them, and not with us? The _why_ ripened gradually. We inquired ifthe passports were not wanted. 

"No; if you intend to remain only a few days, it is not worth while toregister them, " was the startling reply; and those wretched, unwieldyparchments remained in our possession, even after we had announced thatwe did not meditate departing for some time. I hesitate to set down thewhole truth about the anxiety they cost us for a while. How manyinnocent officers, in crack regiments (as we discovered when we learnedthe uniforms), in search of a breakfast or a dinner, did we not take forthe police upon our tracks, in search of those concealed documents! Ourexcitement was ministered to by the Tatar waiters, who, not havingknowledge of our nationality, mistook us for English people, and wreckedour nerves by making our tea as strong and black as beer, with a view tolarge "tea-money" for this delicate attention to our insular tastes. 

If no one wanted those documents, what were _we_ to do with them? Wearthem as breastplates (folded), or as garments (full size)? No pocket ofany sex would tolerate them, and we had been given to understand byveracious (?) travelers that it was as much as our lives were worth tobe separated from them for a single moment. At the end of a week weforced the hotel to take charge of them. They were registered, andimmediately thrown back on our hands. Then we built lean-tos on ourpetticoats to hold them, and carried them about until they looked agedand crumpled and almost frayed, like ancestral parchments. We even sleptwith them under our pillows. At last we also were nearly worn out, andwe tossed those Sindbad passports into a drawer, then into a trunk. There they remained for three months; and when they were demanded, wehad to undertake a serious search, so completely had their existence andwhereabouts been lost to our lightened spirits. In the mean time we hadgrasped the elementary fact that they would be required only on a changeof domicile. By dint of experience we learned various other facts, whichI may as well summarize at once. 

The legal price of registration is twenty kopeks (about ten cents), thevalue of the stamp. But hotel and lodging-house keepers never set itdown in one's bill at less than double that amount. It often rises tofour or five times the legal charge, according to the elegance of therooms which one occupies, and also according to the daring of thelandlord. In one house in Moscow, they even tried to make us pay againon leaving. We refused, and as we already had possession of thepassports, which, they pretended, required a second registry, they coulddo nothing. This abuse of overcharging for passport registration on thepart of landlords seems to have been general. It became so serious thatthe Argus-eyed prefect of St. Petersburg, General Gresser (nowdeceased), issued an order that no more than the law allowed should beexacted from lodgers. I presume, however, that all persons who could notread Russian, or who did not chance to notice this regulation, continuedto contribute to the pockets of landlords, since human nature is verymuch alike everywhere, in certain professions. I had no occasion to testthe point personally, as the law was issued just previous to mydeparture from the country. 

The passport law seems to be interpreted by each man for himself inother respects, also. In some places, we found that we could stayovernight quite informally; at others, our passports were required. Oncewe spent an entire month incognito. At Kazan, our balcony commanded afull view of the police department of registry, directly opposite. Thelandlord sniffed disdainfully at the mention of our passports, and I amsure that we should not have been asked for them at all, had not one ofthe officials, who chanced to be less wilted by the intense heat thanhis fellows, --they had been gazing lazily at us, singly and inbattalions, in the intervals of their rigorous idleness, for the lastfour and twenty hours, --suddenly taken a languid interest in us aboutone hour before our departure. The landlord said he was "simplyridiculous. " On another occasion, a waiter in a hotel recognized theRussians who were with us as neighbors of his former master in the daysof serfdom. He suggested that he would arrange not to have our passportscalled for at all, since they might be kept overtime, and our departurewould thus be delayed, and we be incommoded. Only one of our friends hadeven taken the trouble to bring a "document;" but the whole party spentthree days under the protection of this ex-serf. Of course, we bespokehis attendance for ourselves, and remembered that little circumstance inhis "tea-money. " This practice of detaining passports arbitrarily, fromwhich the ex-serf was protecting us, prevails in some localities, judging from the uproar about it in the Russian newspapers. It iscontrary to the law, and can be resisted by travelers who have time, courage, and determination. It appears to be a device of the landlordsat watering places and summer resorts generally, who desire to detainguests. I doubt whether the police have anything to do with it. What wepaid the ex-serf for was, practically, protection against his employer. 

Our one experience of this device was coupled with a good deal ofamusement, and initiated us into some of the laws of the Russianpost-office as well. To begin my story intelligibly, I must premise thatno Russian could ever pronounce or spell our name correctly unaided. Aworse name to put on a Russian official document, with its _H_ and itsdouble _o_, never was invented! There is no letter _h_ in the Russianalphabet, and it is customary to supply the deficiency with the letter_g_, leaving the utterer to his fate as to which of the two legitimatesounds--the foreign or the native--he is to produce. It affords atest of cultivation parallel to that involved in giving a man a knifeand fork with a piece of pie, and observing which he uses. That is theAmerican shibboleth. Lomonosoff, the famous founder of Russian literarylanguage in the last century, wrote a long rhymed strophe, containing amass of words in which the _g_ occurs legitimately and illegitimately, and wound up by wailing out the query, "Who can emerge from the crucialtest of pronouncing all these correctly, unimpeached?" That is theRussian shibboleth. 

As a result of this peculiarity, our passports came back from each tripto the police office indorsed with a brand-new version of our name. Wefigured under Gepgud, Gapgod, Gabgot, and a number of other disguises, all because they persisted in spelling by the eye, and would not acceptmy perfect phonetic version. The same process applied to the Englishname Wylie has resulted in the manufacture of Villie. And the pleasantjest of it all was that we never troubled ourselves to sort ourpassports, because, although there existed not the slightest familyresemblance even between my mother and myself, we looked exactly alikein those veracious mirrors. This explained to our dull comprehension howthe stories of people using stolen passports could be true. However, theRussians were not to blame for this particular absurdity. It was thefault of the officials in America. 

On the occasion to which I refer, we had gone out of St. Petersburg, andhad left a written order for the post-office authorities to forward ourmail to our new address. The bank officials, who should certainly haveknown better, had said that this would be sufficient, and had evenprepared the form, on their stamped paper, for our signature. Ten dayselapsed; no letters came. Then the form was returned, with orders to getour signatures certified to by the chief of police or the police captainof our district! When we recovered from our momentary vexation, weperceived that this was an excellent safeguard. I set out for the houseof the chief of police. 

His orderly said he was not at home, but would be there at eleveno'clock. I took a little look into the church, --my infallible receiptfor employing spare moments profitably, which has taught me many things. At eleven o'clock the chief was still "not at home. " I decided that thiswas in an "official" sense only, when I caught sight of a womansurveying me cautiously through the crack of the opposite door to theantechamber. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that a woman callingupon a chief of police was regarded as a suspicious character; andrightly, after various shooting incidents in St. Petersburg. Mysuspicions were confirmed by my memory of the fact that I had been toldthat the prefect of St. Petersburg was "not at home" in business hours, though his gray lambskin cap--the only one in town--was lying beforeme at the time. But I also recollected that when I had made use of thatcap as a desk, on which to write my request, to the horror of theorderly, and had gone home, the prefect had sent a gendarme to do what Iwanted. Accordingly, I told this orderly my business in a loud, clearvoice. The crack of the door widened as I proceeded, and at my last wordI was invited into the chief's study by the orderly, who had beensignaled to. 

The chief turned out to be a polished and amiable baron, with a Germanname, who was eager to render any service, but who had never come intocollision with that post-office regulation before. I remarked that Iregretted not being able to certify to ourselves with our passports, asthey had not been returned to us. He declared that the passports werequite unnecessary as a means of identification; my word was sufficient. But he flew into a rage over the detention of the passports. Thatsomething decidedly vigorous took place over those papers, and that thelandlord of our hotel was to blame, it was easy enough to gather fromthe meek air and the apologies with which they were handed to us, acouple of hours later. The chief dispatched his orderly on the spot withmy post-office petition. During the man's absence, the chief brought inand introduced to me his wife, his children, and his dogs, and showed meover his house and garden. We were on very good terms by the time theorderly returned with the signature of the prefect (who had never seenus) certifying to our signatures, on faith. The baron sealed thepetition for me with his biggest coat of arms, and posted it, and theletters came promptly and regularly. Thereafter, for the space of ourfour months' stay in the place, the baron and I saluted when we met. Weeven exchanged "shakehands, " as foreigners call the operation, and thecompliments of the day, in church, when the baron escorted royalty. Ithink he was a Lutheran, and went to that church when etiquette did notrequire his presence at the Russian services, where I was always to befound. 

As, during those four months, I obtained several very special privilegeswhich required the prefect's signature, --as foreigners were by nomeans common residents there, --and as I had become so well known bysight to most of the police force of the town that they saluted me whenI passed, and their dogs wagged their tails at me and begged for acaress, I imagined that I was properly introduced to the authorities, and that they could lay hands upon me at any moment when the necessityfor so doing should become apparent. Nevertheless, one friend, havingapplied to the police for my address, spent two whole days in findingme, at haphazard. After a residence of three months, other friendsappealed in vain to the police; then obtained from the prefect, who hadcertified to us, the information that no such persons lived in the town, the only foreigners there being two sisters named Genrut! With thislucid clue our friends cleverly found us. Those who understand Russianscript will be able to unravel the process by which we were thusdisguised and lost. We had been lost before that in St. Petersburg, andwe recognized the situation, with variations, at a glance. There is nosuch thing as a real practical directory in Russian cities. When one'spassport is _vised_ by the police, the name and information therein setforth are copied on a large sheet of paper, and this document takes itsplace among many thousand others, on the thick wire files of the AddressOffice. I went there once. That was enough in every way. It lingers inmy mind as the darkest, dirtiest, worst-ventilated, most depressingplace I saw in Russia. 

If one wishes to obtain the address of any person, he goes or sends tothis Address Office, fills out a blank, for which he pays a couple ofkopeks, and, after patient waiting for the over-busy officials to searchthe big files, he receives a written reply, with which he must contenthimself. The difficulty, in general, about this system lies here: onemust know the exact Christian name, patronymic, and surname of theperson wanted, and how to spell them correctly (according to policelights). One must also know the exact occupation of the person, if he benot a noble living on his income, without business or official position. Otherwise, the attempt to find any one is a harder task than finding theproverbial needle in a haystack. A person who had been asked to callupon us, and who afterward became a valued friend, tried three times invain to find us by this means, and was informed that we did not exist. This was owing to some eccentricity in the official spelling of ourname. An application to the American Legation, as a desperate finalresort, served the purpose at last. The same thing happened when thetelegraph messenger tried to find us, to deliver an important cablegram. Still, in spite of this experience, I always regarded my passport as animportant means of protection. In case of accident, one could be tracedby it. A traveler's passport once registered at the police office, thelandlord or lodging-house keeper is responsible for the life of hisguest. If the landlord have any bandit propensities, this serves as acheck upon them, since he is bound to produce the person, or to say whathas become of him. In the same way, when one is traveling by imperialpost carriage, the postilion must deliver his passenger safe and soundat the next post station, or be promptly arrested. The passport serveshere as a sort of waybill for the human freight. When a foreigner'spassport is registered for the first time, he receives permission toremain six months in the country. At the expiration of that period, onformal application, a fresh permit is issued, which must be paid for, and which covers one year. This takes the form of a special document, attached to the foreign passport with cord and sealing-wax; and attachedto it, in turn, is a penalty for cutting the cord or tampering with theofficial seal. These acts must be done by the proper officials. Ithought it might be interesting to attend to securing this specialpermit myself instead of sending the _dvornik_ (the yard porter), whoseduties comprise as many odds and ends as those of the prime minister ofan empire. 

At the office I was questioned concerning my religion and my occupation, which had not been inquired into previously. The question about religionwas a mere formality, as they care nothing for one's creed. I stated, inreply to the last question, that I was merely "a traveler. "

"Don't say that; it's too expensive, " returned the official, in afriendly way. 

"To whom? How?" I asked. 

"To you, of course. A traveler, as a person of leisure, pays a hugetax. "

"Call me a literary person, then, if you like. "

"That's not an occupation!" (Observe the delicate, unconscious sarcasmof this rejoinder! As a matter of fact, the Russian idea of literary menis that they all hold some government or other appointment, on thecommittee of censorship, for example, --some ratable position. Uponthis they can depend for a livelihood, aside from the product of theirbrains; which is practical, and affords a firm foundation upon which toexecute caprices. )

He suggested various things which I was not, and I declined to accepthis suggestions. We got it settled at last, though he shook his headover my extravagant obstinacy in paying two dollars, when I might havegot off with half the sum and a lie. He imparted a good deal of amusinginformation as to the manner in which people deliberately evade thepassport tax with false statements; for example, governesses, who wouldscorn to be treated as nurses, get themselves described as _bonnes_ tosave money. I have no doubt that the authorities amiably assist them byfriendly suggestions, as in my own case; only I decline to sail underfalse colors, by the authority of my own government or any other; so hisamiability was wasted so far as I was concerned. 

It would seem to the ordinary reader that the police would be able tolay hands on a man, when he was wanted, with tolerable promptness andaccuracy, after all the details which the law requires in these "addresstickets, " as the local passports are called, had been duly furnished. But I remember one case among several which impressed me as instructiveand amusing. The newspapers told the tale, which ran somewhat asfollows: A wealthy woman of position, residing in one of the bestquarters of St. Petersburg, hired a prepossessing young lackey as one ofher large staff of domestics. Shortly after his advent, many articles ofvalue began to disappear. Finally, suspicion having turned on thislackey, he also disappeared, and the police undertook to find him. Itthen became apparent that the fellow had used a false passport andaddress, and was not to be found where he was inscribed. He caused anexciting chase. This ended in the discovery of a regular robbers' nest, where a large number of false passports were captured, the prepossessinglackey and his friends having abandoned them in their attempt to escape. The papers were also constantly remarking on the use made by peasant menof their passports. The wife is inscribed on the husband's "document, "separate passports for wives being, as a rule, difficult of attainmentin the lower classes. The peasants are thus able, and often willing, tocontrol their wives' places of residence and movements, and preserveentire liberty of action for themselves, since their consent is requiredfor the separate passport, or for the wives' movements on the commonpassport. In such cases the passport does become an instrument ofoppression, from either the Occidental or the Oriental point of view. 

As for the stories told by travelers of officious meddling by the policeon their arrival in Russia, and of their footsteps being dogged, I haverecently been favored with some light on that subject. I believe thetales, with reservations, since some perfectly innocent and truthfulfriends of mine related to me their own similar experience. A man, whoseemed to their inexperienced eyes to be a police officer, told themthat the authorities thought three weeks, one in Petersburg and twoelsewhere, would be amply sufficient for their travels in Russia. Theyhad a high-priced French courier, who pretended to know a littleRussian. Perhaps he did know enough for his own purposes. He told themthat they were watched constantly, and translated for the officer. Buthe did not tell them that they already had permission to remain in thecountry for the customary six months. I made them get out theirpassports, and showed them the official stamp and signature to thateffect. This clever courier afterward stole from them, in Warsaw, aquantity of diamonds which he had helped them to purchase in Moscow, andof whose existence and whereabouts in their trunks no one but himselfwas aware. This helped me to an explanation. It is invariably thecouriers or guides, I find, who tell travelers these alarming tales, andneglect to inform them of their rights. It certainly looks very much asif some confederate of theirs impersonates a police official, and as ifthey misinterpret. The stories of spies forever in attendance seem to bemanufactured for the purpose of extorting handsome gratuities from theirvictims for their "protection, " and for the purpose of frightening thelatter out of the country before their own ignorance is discovered. As Inever employed the guides, I never had any trouble with the police, either genuine or manufactured. I visited the police stations whenever Icould make an excuse; and when I wished to know when and where theEmperor was to be seen, I asked a policeman or a gendarme. He alwaystold me the exact truth unhesitatingly, and pointed out the bestposition. It was refreshing after the German police, who put one throughthe Inquisition as to one's self and one's ancestors as soon as onearrives, and who prove themselves lineal descendants of Ananias or BaronMunchausen when a traveler asks for information. 

When we wished to leave the country, I again usurped the _dvornik's_duties, and paid another visit to the passport office, to inspect itsworkings. Our Russian passports were clipped out, and little books weregiven us, which constituted our permission to leave Russia at any timewithin the next three months, by any route we pleased, without furtherceremony. These booklets contained information relating to the taximposed on Russians for absenting themselves from their country forvarious periods, the custom-house regulations which forbid the entry, duty free, of more than one fur cloak, cap, and muff to each person, etc. , since these books form return passports for Russians, though wesurrendered ours at the frontier. As the hotel clerk or porter attendsto all passport details, few foreigners see the inside of the office, orhear the catechisms which are conducted there, as I did. It is vulgar, it smacks of commercial life, to go one's self. Apathy and lack ofinterest can always be relied upon to brand one as aristocratic. In thiscase, however, as in many others, I considered myself repaid forfollowing Poor Richard's advice: "If you want a thing done, do ityourself; if not, send!"

To sum up the passport question: If his passport is in order, thetraveler need never entertain the slightest apprehension for a singlemoment, despite sensational tales to the contrary, and it will serve asa safeguard. If, for any good reason, his passport cannot be put inorder, the traveler will do well to keep out of Russia, or any othercountry which requires such documents. In truth, although we do notrequire them in this country, America would be better off if all peoplewho cannot undergo a passport scrutiny, and a German, not a Russian, passport examination, were excluded from it. 

I have mentioned the post-office in connection with our passports. Subsequently, I had several entertaining interviews with the police andothers on that point. One Sunday afternoon, in Moscow, we went to thepolice station of our quarter to get our change-of-address petition tothe post-office authorities signed. There was nothing of interest aboutthe shabby building or the rooms, on this occasion. The single officeron duty informed us that he was empowered to attend only to cases ofdrunkenness, breaches of the peace, and the like. We must return onMonday, he declared. 

"No, " said I. "Why make us waste all that time in beautiful Moscow? Hereare our passports to identify us. Will you please to tell the captain, as soon as he arrives to-morrow morning, that we are genuine, andrequest him to sign this petition and post it?"

The officer courteously declined to look at the passports, said that myword was sufficient, and accepted my commission. Then, rising, drawinghimself up, with the heels of his high wrinkled boots in regulationcontact, and the scarlet pipings of his baggy green trousers and tightcoat bristling with martial etiquette, he made me a profound bow, handon heart, and said: "Madam, accept the thanks of Russia for the highhonor you have done her in learning her difficult language!"

I accepted Russia's thanks with due pomp, and hastened into the street. That small, low-roofed station house seemed to be getting too contractedto contain all of us and etiquette. 

Again, upon another occasion, also in Moscow, it struck us that it wouldbe a happy idea and a clever economy of time to get ourselves certifiedto before our departure, instead of after our arrival in St. Petersburg. Accordingly, we betook ourselves, in a violent snowstorm, to the policestation inside the walls of the old city, as we had changed our hotel, and that was now our quarter. 

A vision of cells; of unconfined prisoners tranquilly executing hastyrepairs on their clothing, with twine or something similar, in theanteroom; of a complete police hierarchy, running through all thegradations of pattern in gold and silver embroidery to the plain uniformof the roundsman, gladdened our sight while we waited. A gorgeoussilver-laced official finally certified our identity, as usual withoutother proof than our statement, and, clapping a five-kopek stamp on ourpaper, bowed us out. I had never seen a stamp on such a document before, and had never been asked to pay anything; but I restrained my naturaleagerness to reimburse the government and ask questions, with the ideathat it might have been a purely mechanical action on the part of theofficer, and in the hope of developments. They came. A couple of hourslater, a messenger entered our room at the hotel, without knocking, inRussian lower-class style, and demanded thirty kopeks for the signature. I offered to pay for the stamp on the spot, and supply the remainingtwenty-five kopeks when furnished with an adequate reason therefor. 

"Is the captain's signature worth so much?" I asked. 

"That is very little, " was the answer. 

"So it is. Is the captain's signature worth so little? Tell me why. "

He could not, or would not. 

I made him wait while I wrote a petition to the police. The burden of itwas: "Why? I was born an American and curious; not too curious, but justcurious enough to be interested in the ethnographical and psychologicalproblems of foreign lands. Why the twenty-five kopeks? It is plainly toolittle or too much. Why?"

The messenger accepted the five kopeks for the stamp, and set out todeliver the document. But he returned after a moment, and said that hewould intrust the five kopeks to my safe-keeping until he brought theanswer to my document, --which he had had just sufficient time to read, by the way. That was the last I ever heard of him or of it, and I wasforced to conclude that some thirsty soul had been in quest of"tea-money" for _vodka_. I am still in debt to the Russian governmentfor five kopeks. 

The last time I arrived in Petersburg, I tried a new plan. Instead ofmaking a trip of a couple of miles to get the signature of our policecaptain, or sending the petition at the languid convenience of theoverworked _dvornik_, I went to the general post-office, which was closeby, and made a personal request that my mail matter be delivered at mynew address. The proper official, whom I found after a search throughmost of the building, during which I observed their methods, declaredthat my request was illegal, and ordered me to go for the customarysignature. But by this time I had learned that the mere threat to makeRussian officials inspect my passport was productive of much the sameeffect as drawing a pistol on them would have had. It was not in theleast necessary to have the document with me; going through the motionswas easier, and quite as good. Every man of them flushed up, andrepelled the suggestion as a sort of personal insult; but theyinvariably came to terms on the spot. Accordingly, I tried it here. 

This particular man, when I pretended to draw my "open sesame" spellfrom my pocket, instantly dropped his official air, asked me to write myname, with quite a human, friendly manner, and then remarked, with avery every-day laugh, "That is sufficient. I have seen so much of it onyour previous petitions that I can swear to it myself much better thanthe police captain could. "

As an offset to my anecdotes about our being lost through inability toriddle out our name on the part of the police, I must relate an instancewhere the post-office displayed remarkable powers of divination. One dayI received an official notification from the post-office that there wasa misdirected parcel for me from Moscow, lying in the proper office, --would I please to call for it? I called. The address on the parcel was"Madame Argot, " I was informed, but I must get myself certified tobefore I could receive it. 

"But how am I to do that? I am not Madame Argot. Are you sure the parcelis for me?"

"Perfectly. It's your affair to get the certificate. "

I went to the police station, one which I had not visited before, andstated the case. 

"Go home and send the _dvornik_, as is proper, " replied the captainloftily. 

I argued the matter, after my usual fashion, and at last he affixed hissignature to my document, with the encouraging remark: "Well, even withthis you won't get that parcel, because the name is not yours. "

"Trust me for that, " I retorted. "As they are clever enough to know thatit is for me, they will be clever enough to give it to me, or I willpersuade them that they are. "

Back I went to the post-office. I had never been in that departmentpreviously, I may mention. Then I was shown a box, and asked if Iexpected it, and from whom it came. I asserted utter ignorance; but, asI took it in my hand, I heard a rattling, and it suddenly flashed acrossmy mind that it might be the proofs of some photographs which the Moscowartist had "hurried" through in one month. The amiable post-office"blindman, " who had riddled out the address, was quite willing to giveme the parcel without further ado, but I said:--

"Open it, and you will soon see whether it really belongs to me. "

After much protestation he did so, and then we exchanged lavishcompliments, --he on the capital likenesses and the skill of theartist; I on the stupidity of the man who could evolve Argot out of mylegibly engraved visiting-card, and on the cleverness of the man whocould translate that name back into its original form. 

The most prominent instance of minute thoughtfulness and care on thepart of the post-office officials which came under my notice occurred inthe depths of the country. I sent a letter with a ten-kopek stamp on itto the post town, twelve versts distant. Foreign postage had been raisedfrom seven to ten kopeks, and stamps, in a new design, of the latterdenomination (hitherto non-existent) had been in use for about fourmonths. The country postmaster, who had seen nothing but the old issues, carefully removed my stamp and sent it back to me, replacing it with aseven-kopek stamp and a three-kopek stamp. I felt, for a moment, asthough I had been both highly complimented and gently rebuked for myremarkable skill in counterfeiting!

As a parallel case, I may add that there were plenty of intelligentpeople in New York city and elsewhere who were not aware that the UnitedStates still issued three-cent stamps, or who could tell the color ofthem, until the Columbian set appeared to attract their attention. 

II. 

THE NEVSKY PROSPEKT. 

The Nevsky Prospekt!

From the time when, as children, we first encounter the words, ingeographical compilations disguised as books of travel, what visions dothey not summon up! Visions of the realm of the Frost King and of hisRegent, the White Tzar, as fantastic as any of those narrated of tropicclimes by Scheherezade, and with which we are far more familiar than weare with the history of our native land. 

When we attain to the reality of our visions, in point of locality atleast, we find a definite starting-point ready to our hand, whereveracious legend and more veracious history are satisfactorily blended. It is at the eastern extremity of the famous broad avenue, --which isthe meaning of Prospekt. Here, on the bank of the Neva, traditionalleges that Alexander, Prince of Novgorod, won his great battle--and, incidentally, his surname of Nevsky and his post of patron saint ofRussia--over the united forces of the Swedes and oppressive Knights ofthe Teutonic Order, in the year 1240. 

Nearly five hundred years later, the spot was occupied by Rhitiowa, oneof the forty Finnish villages scattered over the present site of St. Petersburg, as designated by the maps of the Swedes, whom Peter theGreat--practically Russia's second patron saint--expelled anew whenhe captured their thriving commercial town, on the shore of the Neva, directly opposite, now known as Malaya Okhta, possessed of extensiveforeign trade, and of a church older than the capital, which recentlycelebrated its two-hundredth anniversary. 

It was in 1710 that Peter I. Named the place "Victory, " in honor ofPrince-Saint Alexander Nevsky's conquest, and commanded the erection ofa Lavra, or first-class monastery, the seat of a Metropolitan and of atheological seminary. By 1716 the monastery was completed, in wood, asengravings of that day show us, but in a very different form from thecomplex of stone buildings of the present day. Its principal facade, with extensive, stiffly arranged gardens, faced upon the river, --theonly means of communication in that town, planted on a bog, threadedwith marshy streams, being by boat. In fact, for a long time horses wereso scarce in the infant capital, where reindeer were used in sledgeseven as late as the end of the last century, that no one was permittedto come to Court, during Peter the Great's reign, otherwise than bywater. Necessity and the enforced cultivation of aquatic habits in hisinland subjects, which the enterprising Emperor had so much at heart, combined to counsel this regulation. 

The bones of Prince Alexander were brought to St. Petersburg, from theirresting-place in the Vladimir Government, in 1724, Peter the Greatoccupying his favorite post as pilot and steersman in the saint's statebarge, and they now repose in the monastery cathedral, under a canopy, and in a tomb of silver, 3600 pounds in weight, given by Peter'sdaughter, the devout Empress Elizabeth. In the cemetery surrounding thecathedral, under the fragrant firs and birches, with the blue Nevarippling far below, lie many of the men who have contributed to theadvancement of their country in literature, art, and science, during thelast two centuries. 

Of all the historical memories connected with this monastery none ismore curious than that relating to the second funeral of Peter III. Hehad been buried by his wife, in 1762, with much simplicity, in one ofthe many churches of the Lavra, which contains the family tombs andmonuments not only of members of the imperial family, but of the noblefamilies most illustrious in the eighteenth century. When Paul I. Cameto the throne, in 1796, his first care was to give his long-deceasedfather a more fitting burial. The body was exhumed. Surrounded by hiscourt, Pavel Petrovitch took the imperial crown from the altar, placedit on his own head, then laid it reverently on his father's coffin. WhenPeter III. Was transferred immediately afterward, with magnificentceremonial, to the Winter Palace, there to lie in state by the side ofhis wife, Katherine II. , and to accompany her to his properresting-place among the sovereigns of Russia, in the cathedral of thePeter-Paul fortress, Count Alexei Grigorevitch Orloff was appointed, with fine irony, to carry the crown before his former master, whom hehad betrayed, and in the necessity for whose first funeral he had playedthe part of Fate. It was with considerable difficulty that he was huntedup, while Emperor and pageant waited, in the obscure corner where he wassobbing and weeping; and with still greater difficulty was he finallypersuaded to perform the task assigned to him in the procession. 

Outside the vast monastery, which, like most Russian monasteries, resembles a fortress, though, unlike most of them, it has never servedas such, the scene is almost rural. Pigeons, those symbols of the HolyGhost, inviolable in Russia, attack with impunity the grain bags in theacres of storehouses opposite, pick holes, and eat their fillundisturbed. 

From this spot to the slight curve in the Prospekt, at the ZnamenskayaSquare, a distance of about a mile, where the Moscow railway station issituated, and where the train of steam tram-cars is superseded by lessterrifying horse-cars, the whole aspect of the avenue is that of aprovincial town, in the character of the people and the buildings, evento the favorite crushed strawberry and azure washes, and green ironroofs on the countrified shops. Here and there, not very far away, alog-house may even be espied. 

During the next three quarters of a mile the houses and shops are morecity-like, and, being newer than those beyond, are more ornamented as tothe stucco of their windows and doors. Here, as elsewhere in thisstoneless land, with rare exceptions, the buildings are of brick orrubble, stuccoed and washed, generally in light yellow, with walls threefeet or more apart, warmly filled in, and ventilated through thehermetically sealed windows by ample panes in the centre of the sashes, or by apertures in the string-courses between stories, which open intoeach room. Shops below, apartments above, this is the nearly invariablerule. 

It is only when we reach the Anitchkoff Bridge, with its gracefulrailing of sea-horses, adorned with four colossal bronze groups ofhorse-tamers, from the hand of the Russian sculptor, Baron Klodt, thatthe really characteristic part of the Nevsky begins. 

It is difficult to believe that fifty years ago this spot was the end ofthe Petersburg world. But at that epoch the Nevsky was decorated withrows of fine large trees, which have now disappeared to the last twig. The Fontanka River, or canal, over which we stand, offers the best ofthe many illustrations of the manner in which Peter the Great, with hisardent love of water and Dutch ways, and his worthy successors haveturned natural disadvantages into advantages and objects of beauty. TheFontanka was the largest of the numerous marshy rivers in that Arcticbog selected by Peter I. For his new capital, which have been deepened, widened, faced with cut granite walls, and utilized as means of cheapcommunication between distant parts of the city, and as relief channelsfor the inundating waves of the Gulf of Finland, which rise, more orless, every year, from August to November, at the behest of thesouthwest gale. That this last precaution is not superfluous is shown bythe iron flood-mark set into the wall of the Anitchkoff Palace, on thesouthern shore of the Fontanka, as on so many other public buildings inthe city, with "1824" appended, --the date of one celebrated anddisastrous inundation which attained in some places the height ofthirteen feet and seven inches. This particular river derived its namefrom the fact that it was trained to carry water and feed the fountainsin Peter the Great's favorite Summer Garden, of which only one nowremains. 

At the close of the last century, and even later, persons out of favorat Court, or nobles who had committed misdemeanors, were banished to thesouthern shores of the Fontanka, as to a foreign land. Among theamusements at the _datchas_, --the wooden country houses, --in thewilder recesses of the vast parks which studded both shores, the chaseafter wild animals, and from bandits, played a prominent part. 

The stretch which we have traversed on our way from the monastery, andwhich is punctuated at the corner of the canal and the Prospekt by thepleasing brick and granite palace of the Emperor's brother, Grand DukeSergiei Alexandrovitch, which formerly belonged to PrinceByeloselsky-Byelozersky, was the suburb belonging to Lieutenant-ColonelAnitchkoff, who built the first bridge, of wood, in 1715. As late as thereign of Alexander I. , all persons entering the town were required toinscribe their names in the register kept at the barrier placed at thisbridge. Some roguish fellows having conspired to cast ridicule on thiscustom, by writing absurd names, the guards were instructed to make anexample of the next jester whose name should strike them as suspicious. Fate willed that the imperial comptroller, Baltazar BaltazarovitchKampenhausen, with his Russianized German name, should fall a victim tothis order, and he was detained until his fantastic cognomen, so harshto Slavic ears, could be investigated. 

By day or by night, in winter or summer, it is a pure delight to standon the Anitchkoff Bridge and survey the scene on either hand. If we gazeto the north toward what is one of the oldest parts settled on therivulet-riddled so-called "mainland, " in this Northern Venice, we seethe long, plain facade of the Katherine Institute for the education ofthe daughters of officers, originally built by Peter the Great for hisdaughter Anna, as the "Italian Palace, " but used only for the palaceservants, until it was built over and converted to its present purpose. Beyond, we catch a glimpse of the yellow wings of Count Scheremetieff'sancient house and its great iron railing, behind which, in a spaciouscourtyard, after the Moscow fashion so rare in thrifty Petersburg, themain building lies invisible to us. If we look to the south, we find thelong ochre mass of the Anitchkoff Palace, facing on the Nevsky, upon theright shore; on the left, beyond the palace of Sergiei Alexandrovitch, the branch of the Alexander Nevsky Monastery, in old Russian style, withhighly colored saints and heads of seraphim on the outer walls; and aperspective of light, stuccoed building, --dwellings, markets, churches, --until the eye halts with pleasure on the distant blue domeof the Troitzky cathedral, studded with golden stars. Indeed, it isdifficult to discover a vista in St. Petersburg which does not charm uswith a glimpse of one or more of these cross-crowned domes, floating, bubble-like, in the pale azure of the sky. Though they are far frombeing as beautiful in form or coloring as those of Moscow, they satisfyus at the moment. 

If it is on a winter night that we take up our stand here, we may catcha distant glimpse of the numerous "skating-gardens, " laid out upon theice cleared on the snowy surface of the canal. The ice-hills will beblack with forms flitting swiftly down the shining roads on sledges orskates, illuminated by the electric light; a band will be brayingblithely, regardless of the piercing cold, and the skaters will danceon, in their fancy-dress ball or prize races, or otherwise, clad sothinly as to amaze the shivering foreigner as he hugs his furs. 

By day the teamsters stand upon the quay, with rough aprons over theirballet-skirted sheepskin coats, waiting for a job. If we hire one ofthem, we shall find that they all belong to the ancient Russian Artel, or Labor Union, which prevents competition beyond a certain point. Whenthe price has been fixed, after due and inevitable chaffering, one_lomovoi_ grasps his shapeless cap by its worn edge of fur, bites akopek, and drops it in. Each of the other men contributes a markedcopper likewise, and we are invited to draw lots, in full view, todetermine which of them shall have the job. The master of the Artel seesto it that there is fair play on both sides. If an unruly memberpresumes to intervene with a lower bid, with the object of monopolizingthe job out of turn, he is promptly squelched, and, though his bid maybe allowed to stand, the man whose kopek we have drawn must do the work. The winner chee-ee-eeps to his little horse, whose shaggy mane has beentangled by the loving hand of the _domovoi_ (house-sprite) and hangs tohis knees. The patient beast, which, like all Russian horses, is nevercovered, no matter how severe the weather may be, or how hot he may befrom exercise, rouses himself from his real or simulated slumber, andtakes up the burden of life again, handicapped by the huge wooden arch, gayly painted in flowers and initials, which joins his shafts, and doesstout service despite his sorry aspect. 

But the early summer is the season when the Fontanka is to be seen inits most characteristic state. The brilliant blue water sparkles underthe hot sun, or adds one more tint to the exquisite hues which make ofthe sky one vast, gleaming fire-opal on those marvelous "white nights"when darkness never descends to a depth beyond the point where it leavesall objects with natural forms and colors, and only spiritualizes themwith the gentle vagueness of a translucent veil. Small steamers, mannedby wooden-faced, blond Finns, connect the unfashionable suburbanquarters, lying near the canal's entrance into the Neva on the west, with the fashionable Court quarter on the northern quays at its otherentrance into the Neva, seven versts away. They dart about likesea-gulls, picking their path, not unfraught with serious danger, amongthe obstructions. The obstructions are many: washing-house boats (it isa good old unexploded theory in Petersburg that clothes are clean onlywhen rinsed in running water, even though our eyes and noses inform us, unaided by chart, where the drainage goes); little flotillas of dingyflat-boats, anchored around the "Fish-Gardens, " and containing thelatter's stock in trade, where persons of taste pick their seconddinner-course out of the flopping inmates of a temporary scoop-net;huge, unwieldy, wood barks, put together with wooden pegs, and steeredwith long, clumsy rudders, which the poor peasants have painfully poled--tramp, tramp, tramp, along the sides--through four hundred miles oftortuous waterways from that province of the former haughty republic, "Lord Novgorod the Great, " where Prince Rurik ruled and laid thefoundations of the present imperial empire, and whence came Prince-SaintAlexander, to win his surname of Nevsky, as we have seen, at the spotwhere his monastery stands, a couple of miles, at most, away. 

The boatmen, who have trundled all day long their quaint little barrowsover the narrow iron rails into the spacious inner courtyards of thehouses on the quay, and have piled up their wood for winter fuel, orloaded it into the carts for less accessible buildings, now sit on thestern of their barks, over their coarse food, --sour black bread, boiled buckwheat groats, and salted cucumbers, --doffing their hats andcrossing themselves reverently before and after their simple meal, andchatting until the red glow of sunset in the north flickers up to thezenith in waves of sea-green, lilac, and amber, and descends again inthe north, at the pearl pink of dawn. Sleep is a lost art with thesemen, as with all classes of people, during those nerve-destroying "whitenights. " When all the silvery satin of the birch logs has been removedfrom their capacious holds, these primitive barks will be unpegged, andthe cheap "bark-wood, " riddled with holes as by a _mitrailleuse_, willbe used for poor structures on the outskirts of the town. 

On the upper shore of this river, second only to the Neva in itsperennial fascination, and facing on the Prospekt, stands the AnitchkoffPalace, on the site of a former lumber-yard, which was purchased by theEmpress Elizabeth, when she commissioned her favorite architect, Rastrelli, to erect for Count Razumovsky a palace in that rococo stylewhich he used in so many palaces and churches during her reign and thatof Katherine II. , --the rococo style being, by the way, quite the mostunsuited discoverable for Russian churches. 

Count Alexei Grigorevitch Razumovsky was the Empress Elizabeth'shusband, the uneducated but handsome son of a plain Kazak from LittleRussia, who attracted the attention of Elizaveta Petrovna as his sweetvoice rang out in the imperial choir, at mass, in her palace church. When the palace was completed, in 1757, it did not differ materiallyfrom its present appearance, as a painting in the Winter Palace shows, except that its colonnade, now inclosed for the Imperial Chancellery andoffices, then abutted directly on the Fontanka. It has had a very variedownership, with some curious features in that connection which remindone of a gigantic game of ball between Katherine II. And PrincePotemkin. Count Razumovsky did not live in it until after the EmpressElizabeth's death, in 1762. After his own death, his brother sold it tothe state, and Katherine II. Presented it to Prince Potemkin, whopromptly resold it to a wealthy merchant-contractor in the commissariatdepartment of the army, who in turn sold it to Katherine II. , who gaveit once more to Potemkin. The prince never lived here, but gavesumptuous garden parties in the vast park, which is now in great partbuilt over, and sold it back to the state again in 1794. It was firstoccupied by royalty in 1809, when the Emperor Alexander I. Settled hissister here, with her first husband, --that Prince of Oldenburg whoseterritory in Germany Napoleon I. So summarily annexed a few years later, thereby converting the Oldenburgs permanently into Russian princes. 

The Grand Duke Heir Nicholas used it from 1819 until he ascended thethrone, in 1825, and since that time it has been considered the palaceof the heir to the throne. But the present Emperor has continued tooccupy it since his accession, preferring its simplicity to themagnificence of the Winter Palace. 

The high walls, of that reddish-yellow hue, like the palace itself, which is usually devoted to government buildings in Russia, continue theline of offices along the Prospekt, and surround wooded gardens, wherethe Emperor and his family coast, skate, and enjoy their winterpleasures, invisible to the eyes of passers-by. 

These woods and walls also form the eastern boundary of the AlexandraSquare, in whose centre rises Mikeshin and Opekushin's fine colossalbronze statue of Katherine II. , crowned, sceptred, in imperial robes, and with the men who made her reign illustrious grouped about her feet. Among these representatives of the army, navy, literature, science, art, there is one woman, --that dashing Princess Elizaveta RomanovnaDashkoff, who helped Katherine to her throne. As Empress, Katherineappointed her to be first president of the newly founded Academy ofSciences, but afterward withdrew her favor, and condemned her to bothpolite and impolite exile, --because of her services, the princesshints, in her celebrated and very lively "Memoirs. "

In the Alexandra Theatre, for Russian and German drama, which rears itsnew (1828) Corinthian peristyle and its bronze quadriga behind the greatEmpress, forming the background of the Square, two of the Empress'sdramas still hold the stage, on occasion. For this busy and energeticwoman not only edited and published a newspaper, the greater part ofwhich she wrote with her own hand, but composed numerous comedies andcomic operas, where the moral, though sufficiently obvious all the waythrough, one would have thought, in the good old style is neatly labeledat the end. These were acted first in the private theatres of thevarious palaces, by the dames and cavaliers of the Court, after whichprofessional actors presented them to the public in the ordinarytheatres. 

It is in vain that we scrutinize the chubby-cheeked countenance of thebronze Prince Potemkin, at Katherine II. 's feet, to discover the secretof the charm which made the imperial lady who towers above him forceupon him so often the ground upon which they both now stand. He staresstolidly at the Prospekt, ignoring not only the Theatre, but the vaststructures containing the Direction of Theatres and Prisons, theCensor's Office, Theatrical School, and other government offices in thebackground; the new building for shops and apartments, where ancientRussian forms have been adapted to modern street purposes; and even thewonderfully rich Imperial Public Library, begun in 1794, to contain thebooks brought from Warsaw, with its Corinthian peristyle interspersedwith bronze statues of ancient sages, on the garden side, --all ofwhich stand upon the scene of his former garden parties, as the name ofthe avenue beyond the plain end of the Library on the Prospekt--GreatGarden Street--reminds us. Not far away is the site of the tunnel dugunder the Prospekt by the revolutionists, which, however, wasfortunately discovered in time to prevent the destruction of one of thefairest parts of the city, and its most valuable buildings. With thenext block we enter upon the liveliest, the most characteristic portionof the Nevsky Prospekt, in that scant fraction over a mile which is leftto us above the Anitchkoff Bridge. 

Here stands the vast bazaar known as the _Gostinny Dvor_, --"Guests'Court, "--a name which dates from the epoch when a wealthy merchantengaged in foreign trade, and owning his own ships, was distinguishedfrom the lesser sort by the title of "Guest, " which we find in theancient epic songs of Russia. Its frontage of seven hundred feet on theProspekt, and one thousand and fifty on Great Garden and the nextparallel street, prepare us to believe that it may really contain morethan five hundred shops in the two stories, the lower surrounded by avaulted arcade supporting an open gallery, which is invaluable fordecorative purposes at Easter and on imperial festival days. Erected in1735, very much in its present shape, the one common throughout thecountry, on what had been an impassable morass a short time before, andwhere the ground still quakes at dawn, it may not contain the largestand best shops in town, and its merchants certainly are not "guests" inthe ancient acceptation of the word; but we may claim, nevertheless, that it presents a compendium of most purchasable articles extant, from_samovari_, furs, and military goods, to books, sacred images, andMoscow imitations of Parisian novelties at remarkably low prices, aswell as the originals. 

The nooks and spaces of the arcade, especially at the corners andcentre, are occupied by booths of cheap wares. The sacred image, indispensable to a Russian shop, is painted on the vaulted ceiling; theshrine lamp flickers in the open air, thus serving many aproned, homespun and sheepskin clad dealers. The throng of promenaders here isalways varied and interesting. The practiced eye distinguishes infiniteshades of difference in wealth, social standing, and other conditions. The lady in the velvet _shuba_, lined with sable or black fox, her softvelvet cap edged with costly otter, her head wrapped in a fleecy knittedshawl of goat's-down from the steppes of Orenburg, or pointed hood--the _bashlyk_--of woven goat's-down from the Caucasus, has drivenhither in her sledge or carriage, and has alighted to gratify thecuriosity of her sons. We know at a glance whether the lads belong inthe aristocratic Pages' Corps, on Great Garden Street, hard by, in theUniversity, the Law School, the Lyceum, or the Gymnasium, and we canmake a shrewd guess at their future professions by their faces as wellas by their uniforms. The lady who comes to meet us in sleeved pelisse, wadded with eider-down, and the one in a short jacket have arrived, andmust return, on foot; they could not drive far in the open air, sothinly clad. 

At Christmas-tide there is a great augmentation in the queer "Vyazemsky"and other cakes, the peasant laces, sweet Vyborg cracknels, fruitpastils, and other popular goods, on which these petty open-air dealersappear to thrive, both in health and purse. The spacious area betweenthe bazaar and the sidewalk of the Nevsky is filled withChristmas-trees, beautifully unadorned, or ruined with misplacedgaudiness, brought in, in the majority of cases, by Finns from thesurrounding country. Again, in the week preceding Palm Sunday, the_Verbnaya Yarmaraka_, or Pussy Willow Fair, takes place here. Nominally, it is held for the purpose of providing the public with twigs of thataesthetic plant (the only one which shows a vestige of life at thatseason), which are used as palms, from the Emperor's palace to thepoorest church in the land. In reality, it is a most amusing fair fortoys and cheap goods suitable for Easter eggs; gay paper roses, wherewith to adorn the Easter cake; and that combination of sour andsweet cream and other forbidden delicacies, the _paskha_, with which thelong, severe fast is to be broken, after midnight matins on Easter. Hereare plump little red Finland parrots, green and red finches, and othersong-birds, which kindly people buy and set free, after a pretty custom. The board and canvas booths, the sites for which are drawn by lot bysoldiers' widows, and sold or used as suits their convenience, arelocked at night by dropping the canvas flap, and are never guarded;while the hint that thefts may be committed, or that watching isnecessary, is repelled with indignation by the stall-keepers. 

There is always a popular toy of the hour. One year it consisted ofhighly colored, beautifully made bottle-imps, which were loudly cried as_Amerikanskiya zhiteli_, --inhabitants of America. We inquired thereason for their name. 

"They are made in the exact image of the Americans, " explained thepeasant vendor, offering a pale blue imp, with a long, red tongue and aphenomenal tail, for our admiration. 

"We are inhabitants of America. Is the likeness very strong?" we asked. 

The crowd tittered softly; the man looked frightened; but finding thatno dire fate threatened, he was soon vociferating again, with a roguishgrin:--

"_Kupiti, kupi-i-iti! Prevoskhodniya Amerikanskiya zhiteli! Sa-a-miyanastoyashtschiya!_"--Buy, buy, splendid natives of America! the mostgenuine sort!

Far behind this Gostinny Dvor extends a complex mass of other curious"courts" and markets, all worthy of a visit for the popular types whichthey afford of the lower classes. Among them all none is more steadilyand diversely interesting, at all seasons of the year, than the_Syennaya Ploshtschad_, --the Haymarket, --so called from its use indays long gone by. Here, in the Fish Market, is the great repository forthe frozen food which is so necessary in a land where the church exactsa sum total of over four months' fasting out of the twelve. Here thefish lie piled like cordwood, or overflow from casks, for economicalbuyers. Merchants' wives, with heads enveloped in colored kerchiefs, inthe olden style, well tucked in at the neck of their _salopi_, orsleeved fur coats, prowl in search of bargains. Here sit the fishermenfrom the distant Murman coast, from Arkhangel, with weather-beaten butintelligent faces, in their quaint skull-caps of reindeer hide, andbaggy, shapeless garments of mysterious skins, presiding over the wareswhich they have risked their lives to catch in the stormy Arctic seas, during the long days of the brief summer-time; codfish dried and curledinto gray unrecognizableness; yellow caviar which resists the teeth liketiny balls of gutta-percha, --not the delicious gray "pearl" caviar ofthe sturgeon, --and other marine food which is never seen on the richman's table. 

But we must return to the Nevsky Prospekt. Nestling at the foot of theCity Hall, at the entrance of the broad street between it and theGostinny Dvor, on the Nevsky, stands a tiny chapel, which is as thrivingas the bazaar, in its own way, and as striking a compendium of somefeatures in Russian architecture and life. Outside hangs a large imageof the "Saviour-not-made-with-hands, "--the Russian name for the sacredimprint on St. Veronica's handkerchief, --which is the most popular ofall the representations of Christ in _ikoni_. Before it burns the usual"unquenchable lamp, " filled with the obligatory pure olive-oil. Beneathit stands a table bearing a large bowl of consecrated water. On hotsummer days the thirsty wayfarer takes a sip, using the ancient Russian_kovsh_, or short-handled ladle, which lies beside it, crosses himself, and drops a small offering on the dish piled with copper coins near by, making change for himself if he has not the exact sum which he wishes togive. 

Inside, many _ikoni_ decorate the walls. The pale flames of theirshrine-lamps are supplemented by masses of candles in the huge standingcandlesticks of silver. A black-robed monk from the monastery isengaged, almost without cessation, in intoning prayers of various sorts, before one or another of the images. The little chapel is thronged;there is barely room for respectfully flourished crosses, such as thepeasant loves, often only for the more circumscribed sign current amongthe upper classes, and none at all for the favorite "ground reverences. "The approach to the door is lined with two files of monks and nuns:monks in high _klobuki_, like rimless chimney-pot hats, draped withblack woolen veils, which are always becoming; _tchernitzi_, or laysisters, from distant convents, in similar headgear, in caps flat orpointed like the small end of a watermelon, and with ears protected byblack woolen shawls ungracefully pinned. Serviceable man's boots do morethan peep out from beneath the short, rusty-black skirts. Each monk andnun holds a small pad of threadbare black velvet, whereon a cross oftarnished gold braid, and a stray copper or two, by way of bait, explainthe eleemosynary significance of the bearers' "broad" crosses, dizzy"reverences to the girdle, " and muttered entreaty, of which we catchonly: "_Khristi Radi_"--For Christ's sake. 

People of all classes turn in here for a moment of prayer, to "place acandle" to some saint, for the health, in body or soul, of friend orrelative: the workman, his tools on his back in a coarse linen kit; thebearded _muzhik_ from the country, clad in his sheepskin _tulup_, woolinward, the soiled yellow leather outside set off by a gay sash; ladies, officers, civilians, --the stream never ceases. 

The only striking feature about the next building of importance, the_Gradskaya Duma_, or City Hall, is the lofty tower, upon whose balcony, high in air, guards pace incessantly, on the watch for fires. By daythey telegraph the locality of disaster to the fire department by meansof black balls and white boards, in fixed combinations; by night, withcolored lanterns. Each section of the city has a signal-tower of thissort, and the engine-house is close at hand. Gradskaya Duma means, literally, city thought, and the profundity of the meditations sometimesindulged in in this building, otherwise not remarkable, may be inferredfrom the fact discovered a few years ago, that many honored members ofthe Duma (which also signifies the Council of City Fathers), whose namesstill stood on the roll, were dead, though they continued to vote andexercise their other civic functions with exemplary regularity!

Naturally, in a city which lies on a level with the southern point ofGreenland, the most characteristic season to select for our observationsof the life is winter. 

The Prospekt wakes late. It has been up nearly all night, and there isbut little inducement to early rising when the sun itself sets such afashion as nine o'clock for its appearance on the horizon, like a pewterdisk, with a well-defined hard rim, when he makes his appearance at all. If we take the Prospekt at different hours, we may gain a fairlycomprehensive view of many Russian ways and people, cosmopolitan as thecity is. 

At half-past seven in the morning, the horse-cars, which have beenresting since ten o'clock in the evening, make a start, running alwaysin groups of three, stopping only at turnouts. The _dvorniki_ retirefrom the entrance to the courtyards, where they have been sleeping allnight with one eye open, wrapped in their sheepskin coats. A few shabby_izvostchiks_ make their appearance somewhat later, in company withsmall schoolboys, in their soldierly uniforms, knapsacks of books onback, and convoyed by servants. Earliest of all are the closed carriagesof officials, evidently the most lofty in grade, since it was decided, two or three years ago, by one of this class, that his subordinatescould not reasonably be expected to arrive at business before ten oreleven o'clock after they had sat up until daylight over theirindispensable club _vint_--which is Russian whist. 

Boots (_muzhiki_) in scarlet cotton blouses, and full trousers of blackvelveteen, tucked into tall wrinkled boots, dart about to bakery anddairy shop, preparing for their masters' morning "tea. " Venders ofnewspapers congregate at certain spots, and charge for their wares ininverse ratio to the experience of their customers; for regularsubscribers receive their papers through the post-office, and, if we arein such unseemly haste as to care for the news before the ten o'clockdelivery--or the eleven o'clock, if the postman has not found itconvenient otherwise--we must buy on the street, though we live buthalf a block from the newspaper office, which opens at ten. By noon, every one is awake. The restaurants are full of breakfasters, andDominique's, which chances to stand on the most crowded stretch of thestreet, on the sunny north side beloved of promenaders, is dense withofficers, cigarette smoke, and characteristic national viandsjudiciously mingled with those of foreign lands. 

Mass is over, and a funeral passes down the Nevsky Prospekt, on its wayto the fashionable Alexander Nevsky monastery or Novo-Dyevitche conventcemeteries. The deceased may have been a minister of state, or a greatofficer of the Court, or a military man who is accompanied by warlikepageant. The choir chants a dirge. The priests, clad in vestments ofblack velvet and silver, seem to find their long thick hair sufficientprotection to their bare heads. The professional mutes, with theirsilver-trimmed black baldrics and cocked hats, appear to have plucked upthe street lanterns by their roots to serve as candles, out of respectto the deceased's greatness, and to illustrate how the city has beencast into darkness by the withdrawal of the light of his countenance. The dead man's orders and decorations are borne in imposing state, onvelvet cushions, before the gorgeous funeral car, where the pall, ofcloth of gold, which will be made into a priest's vestment once thefuneral is over, droops low among artistic wreaths and palms, of naturalflowers, or beautifully executed in silver. Behind come the mourners onfoot, a few women, many men, a Grand Duke or two among them, it may be;the carriages follow; the devout of the lower classes, catching sight ofthe train, cross themselves broadly, mutter a prayer, and find time toturn from their own affairs and follow for a little way, out of respectto the stranger corpse. More touching are the funerals which pass up theProspekt on their way to the unfashionable cemetery across the Neva, onVasily Ostroff; a tiny pink coffin resting on the knees of the bereavedparents in a sledge, or borne by a couple of bareheaded men, with one ortwo mourners walking slowly behind. 

From noon onward, the scene on the Prospekt increases constantly invivacity. The sidewalks are crowded, especially on Sundays and holidays, with a dense and varied throng, of so many nationalities and types thatit is a valuable lesson in ethnography to sort them, and that a secretuttered is absolutely safe in no tongue, --unless, possibly, it be thatof Patagonia. But the universal language of the eye conquers alldifficulties, even for the remarkably fair Tatar women, whose nationalgarb includes only the baldest and gauziest apology for the obligatoryveil. 

The plain facades of the older buildings on this part of the Prospekt, which are but three or four stories in height, --elevators are rareluxuries in Petersburg, and few buildings exceed five stories, --areadorned, here and there, with gayly-colored pictorial representations ofthe wares for sale within. But little variety in architecture isfurnished by the inconspicuous Armenian, and the uncharacteristic DutchReformed and Lutheran churches which break the severe line of this"Tolerance Street, " as it has been called. Most fascinating of all theshops are those of the furriers and goldsmiths, with their surprises andfresh lessons for foreigners; the treasures of Caucasian and Asian artin the Eastern bazaars; the "Colonial wares" establishments, with theirdelicious game cheeses, and odd _studena_ (fishes in jelly), theirpineapples at five and ten dollars, their tiny oysters from the BlackSea at twelve and a half cents apiece. 

Enthralling as are the shop windows, the crowd on the sidewalk is moreenthralling still. There are Kazaks, dragoons, cadets of the militaryschools, students, so varied, though their gay uniforms are hidden bytheir coats, that their heads resemble a bed of verbenas in the sun. There are officers of every sort: officers with rough gray overcoats andround lambskin caps; officers in large, flat, peaked caps, andsmooth-surfaced voluminous cape-coats, wadded with eider-down and linedwith gray silk, which trail on their spurs, and with collars of costlybeaver or striped American raccoon, and long sleeves forever danglingunused. A snippet of orange and black ribbon worn in the buttonholeshows us that the wearer belongs to the much-coveted military Order ofSt. George. There are civilians in black cape-coats of the militarypattern, topped off with cold, uncomfortable, but fashionable chimneypothats, or, more sensibly, with high caps of beaver. 

It is curious to observe how many opinions exist as to the weather. Theofficers leave their ears unprotected; a passing troop of soldiers--fine, large, hardy fellows--wear the strip of black woolen over theirears, but leave their _bashlyks_ hanging unused on their backs, withtabs tacked neatly under shoulder-straps and belts, for use on theBalkans or some other really cold spot. Most of the ladies, on foot orin sledges, wear bashlyks or Orenburg shawls, over wadded fur caps, wellpulled down to the brows. We may be sure that the pretty woman whotrusts to her bonnet only has also neglected to put on the necessarywarm galoshes, and that when she reaches home, sympathizing friends willrub her vain little ears, feet, and brow with spirits of wine, to rescueher from the results of her folly. Only officers and soldiers possessthe secret of going about in simple leather boots, or protected merelyby a pair of stiff, slapping leather galoshes, accommodated to thespurs. 

For some mysterious reason, the picturesque nurses, with theirpearl-embroidered, diadem-shaped caps, like the _kokoshniki_ of theEmpress and Court ladies, their silver-trimmed petticoats and jacketspatterned after the ancient Russian "soul-warmers, " and made of pink orblue cashmere, never have any children in their charge in winter. Indeed, if we were to go by the evidence offered by the Nevsky Prospekt, especially in cold weather, we should assert that there are no childrenin the city, and that the nurses are used as "sheep-dogs" by ladies longpast the dangerous bloom of youth and beauty. 

The more fashionable people are driving, however, and that portion ofthe one hundred and fourteen feet of the Prospekt's width which isdevoted to the roadway is, if possible, even more varied andentertaining in its kaleidoscopic features than the sidewalks. It isadmirably kept at all seasons. With the exception of the cobblestoneroadbed for the tramway in the centre, it is laid with hexagonal woodenblocks, well spiked together and tarred, resting upon tarred beams andplanks, and forming a pavement which is both elastic and fairlyresistant to the volcanic action of the frost. The snow is maintained atsuch a level that, while sledging is perfect, the closed carriages whichare used for evening entertainments, calls, and shopping are neverincommoded. Street sweepers, in red cotton blouses and clean white linenaprons, sweep on calmly in the icy chill. The police, with their_bashlyks_ wrapped round their heads in a manner peculiar to themselves, stand always in the middle of the street and regulate the traffic. 

We will hire an _izvostchik_ and join the throng. The process is simple;it consists in setting ourselves up at auction on the curbstone, amongthe numerous cabbies waiting for a job, and knocking ourselves down tothe lowest bidder. If our Vanka (Johnny, the generic name for cabby)drives too slowly, obviously with the object of loitering away ourmoney, a policeman will give him a hint to whip up, or we may effect thedesired result by threatening to speak to the next guardian of thepeace. If Vanka attempts to intrude upon the privileges of the privatecarriages, for whom is reserved the space next the tramway track and therow of high, silvered posts which bear aloft the electric lights, asharp "_Beregis!_" (Look out for yourself!) will be heard from the firstfashionable coachman who is impeded in his swift career, and he will becalled to order promptly by the police. Ladies may not, unfortunately, drive in the smartest of the public carriages, but must contentthemselves with something more modest and more shabby. But Vanka isusually good-natured, patient, and quite unconscious of his shabbiness, at least in the light of a grievance or as affecting his dignity. It wasone of these shabby, but democratic and self-possessed fellows whofurnished us with a fine illustration of the peasant qualities. Weencountered one of the Emperor's cousins on his way to his regimentalbarracks; the Grand Duke mistook us for acquaintances, and saluted. Our_izvostchik_ returned the greeting. 

"Was that Vasily Dmitrich?" we asked in Russian form. 

"Yes, madam. "

"Whom was he saluting?"

"Us, " replied the man, with imperturbable gravity. Very different fromour poor fellow, who remembers his duties to the saints and churches, and salutes Kazan Cathedral, as we pass, with cross and bared head, isthe fashionable coachman, who sees nothing but his horses. Our man'scylindrical cap of imitation fur is old, his summer _armyak_ of bluecloth fits, as best it may, over his lean form and his sheepskin_tulup_, and is girt with a cheap cotton sash. 

The head of the fashionable coachman is crowned with a becominggold-laced cap, in the shape of the ace of diamonds, well stuffed withdown, and made of scarlet, sky-blue, sea-green, or other hue of velvet. His fur-lined armyak, reaching to his feet, --through whose silverbuttons under the left arm he is bursting, with pads for fashion or withgood living, --is secured about his portly waist by a silken girdleglowing with roses and butterflies. His legs are too fat to enter thesledge, --that is to say, if his master truly respects his own dignity, --and his feet are accommodated in iron stirrups outside. He leans wellback, with arms outstretched to accord with the racing speed at which hedrives. In the tiny sledge--the smaller it is, the more stylish, ininverse ratio to the coachman, who is expected to be as broad as it is--sits a lady hugging her crimson velvet _shuba_ lined with curledwhite Thibetan goat, or feathery black fox fur, close about her ears. Anofficer holds her firmly with one arm around the waist, a very necessaryprecaution at all seasons, with the fast driving, where drozhkies andsledges are utterly devoid of back or side rail. The spans of hugeOrloff stallions, black or dappled gray, display their full beauty ofform in the harnesses of slender straps and silver chains; theirbeautiful eyes are unconcealed by blinders. They are covered with acoarse-meshed woolen net fastened to the winged dashboard, black, crimson, purple, or blue, which trails in the snow in company with theirtails and the heavy tassels of the fur-edged cloth robe. The horses, thewide-spreading reddish beard of the coachman, parted in the middle likea well-worn whisk broom, the hair, eyelashes, and furs of the occupantsof the sledge, all are frosted with rime until each filament seems tohave been turned into silver wire. 

There is an alarm of fire somewhere. A section of the fire departmentpasses, that imposing but amusing procession of hand-engine, threewater-barrels, pennons, and fine horses trained in the _haute ecole_, which does splendid work with apparently inadequate means. An officer ingray lambskin cap flashes by, drawn by a pair of fine trotters. "_Vot onsam!_" mutters our _izvostchik_, --There he is himself! It is GeneralGresser*, the prefect of the capital, who maintains perfect order, anddemonstrates the possibilities of keeping streets always clean in animpossible climate. The pounding of those huge trotters' hoofs is soabsolutely distinctive--as distinctive as the unique gray cap--thatwe can recognize it as they pass, cry like the _izvostchik_, "_Vot onsam!_" and fly to the window with the certainty that it will be "hehimself. "

* Since the above was written, this able officer and very efficientprefect has died. 

Court carriages with lackeys in crimson and gold, ambassadors' sledgeswith cock-plumed chasseurs and cockaded coachmen, the latter wearingtheir chevrons on their backs; rude wooden sledges, whose sides are madeof knotted ropes, filled with superfluous snow; grand ducal _troikas_with clinking harnesses studded with metal plaques and flying tassels, the outer horses coquetting, as usual, beside the staid trot of theshaft-horse, --all mingle in the endless procession which flows on upthe Nevsky Prospekt through the Bolshaya Morskaya, --Great SeaStreet, --and out upon the Neva quays, and back again, to see and beseen, until long after the sun has set on the short days, at six minutesto three. A plain sledge approaches. The officer who occupies it isdressed like an ordinary general, and there are thousands of generals!As he drives quietly along, police and sentries give him the salute ofthe ordinary general; so do those who recognize him by his face or hisKazak orderly. It is the Emperor out for his afternoon exercise. If wemeet him near the gate of the Anitchkoff Palace, we may find him sittingplacidly beside us, while our sledge and other sledges in the line arestopped for a moment to allow him to enter. 

Here is another sledge, also differing in no respect from the equipagesof other people, save that the lackey on the low knife-board behindwears a peculiar livery of dark green, pale blue, and gold (or withwhite in place of the green at Easter-tide). The lady whose large darkeyes are visible between her sable cap and the superb black fox shawl ofher crimson velvet cloak is the Empress. The lady beside her is one ofher ladies-in-waiting. Attendants, guards, are absolutely lacking, as inthe case of the Emperor. 

Here, indeed, is the place to enjoy winter. The dry, feathery snowdescends, but no one heeds it. We turn up our coat collars and drive on. Umbrellas are unknown abominations. The permanent marquises, of lightiron-work, which are attached to most of the entrances, are serviceableonly to those who use closed carriages, and in the rainy autumn. 

Just opposite the centre of this thronged promenade, well set back fromthe street, stands the Cathedral of the Kazan Virgin. Outside, on thequay of the tortuous Katherine Canal, made a navigable water-way underthe second Katherine, but lacking, through its narrowness, thepicturesque features of the Fontanka, flocks of pigeons are fed dailyfrom the adjoining grain shops. In the curve of the great colonnade, copied, like the exterior of the church itself, from that of St. Peterat Rome, bronze statues, heroic in size, of generals Kutuzoff andBarclay de Tolly, by the Russian sculptor Orlovsky, stand on guard. 

Hither the Emperor and Empress come "to salute the Virgin, " on theirsafe return from a journey. Hither are brought imperial brides ingorgeous state procession--when they are of the Greek faith--ontheir way to the altar in the Winter Palace. We can never step into thistemple without finding some deeply interesting and characteristicallyRussian event in progress. After we have run the inevitable gauntlet ofmonks, nuns, and other beggars at the entrance, we may happen upon abaptism, just beyond, the naked, new-born infant sputtering gently afterhis thrice-repeated dip in the candle-decked font, with the priest'shand covering his eyes, ears, mouth, and nostrils, and now undergoingthe ceremony of anointment or confirmation. Or we may come upon a bridalcouple, in front of the solid silver balustrade; or the exquisiteliturgy, exquisitely chanted by the fine choir in their vestments ofscarlet, blue, and silver, with the seraphic wings upon their shoulders, and intoned, with a finish of art unknown in other lands, by priestsrobed in rich brocade. Or it may be that a popular sermon by awell-known orator has attracted a throng of listeners among the loftypillars of gray Finland granite, hung with battle-flags and the keys ofconquered towns. What we shall assuredly find is votaries ascending thesteps to salute with devotion the benignant brown-faced Byzantine Virginand Christ-Child, incrusted with superb jewels, or kneeling in "groundreverences, " with brow laid to the marble pavement, before the_ikonostas_, or rood-screen, of solid silver. Our Lady of Kazan has beenthe most popular of wonder-working Virgins ever since she was broughtfrom Kazan to Moscow, in 1579, and transported to Petersburg, in 1721(although her present cathedral dates only from 1811), and the scenehere on Easter-night is second only to that at St. Isaac's when theporticoes are thronged by the lower classes waiting to have their flowerand candle decked cakes and cream blessed at the close of the Eastermatins. 

One of the few individual dwelling-houses which linger on the NevskyProspekt, and which presents us with a fine specimen of the rococo stylewhich Rastrelli so persistently served up at the close of the eighteenthcentury, is that of the Counts Stroganoff, at the lower quay of theMoika. The Moika (literally, Washing) River is the last of thesemicircular, concentric canals which intersect the Nevsky and its tworadiating companion Prospekts, and impart to that portion of the citywhich is situated on the (comparative) mainland a resemblance to anoutspread fan, whose palm-piece is formed by the Admiralty on the Nevaquay. 

The stately pile, and the pompous air of the big, gold-laced Swisslounging at the entrance on the Nevsky, remind us that the Stroganofffamily has been a power in Russian history since the middle of thesixteenth century. 

It was a mere handful of their Kazaks, led by Yermak Timofeevitch, whoconquered Siberia, in 1581, under Ivan the Terrible, while engaged inrepelling the incursions of the Tatars and wild Siberian tribes on thefortified towns which the Stroganoffs had been authorized to erect onthe vast territory at the western foot of the Ural Mountains, conveyedto them by the ancient Tzars. Later on, when Alexei Mikhailovitch, thefather of Peter the Great, established a new code, grading punishmentsand fines by classes, the highest money tax assessed for insult andinjury was fifty rubles; but the Stroganoffs were empowered to exact onehundred rubles. 

Opposite the Stroganoff house, on the upper Moika quay, rises the large, reddish-yellow Club of the Nobility, representing still another fashionin architecture, which was very popular during the last century forpalaces and grand mansions, --the Corinthian peristyle upon a solid, lofty basement. It is not an old building, but was probably copied fromthe palace of the Empress Elizabeth, which stood on this spot. ElizavetaPetrovna, though she used this palace a great deal, had a habit ofsleeping in a different place each night, the precise spot being neverknown beforehand. This practice is attributed, by some Russianhistorians, to her custom of turning night into day. She went to thetheatre, for example, at eleven o'clock, and any courtier who failed toattend her was fined fifty rubles. It was here that the populaceassembled to hurrah for Elizaveta Petrovna, on December 6, 1741, whenshe returned with little Ivan VI. In her arms from the Winter Palace, where she had made captive his father and his mother, the regent AnnaLeopoldina. It may have been the recollection of the ease with which shehad surprised indolent Anna Leopoldina in her bed-chamber which causedher to be so uncertain in her own movements, in view of the fact thatthere were persons so ill-advised as to wish the restoration of theslothful German regent and her infant son, disastrous as that would havebeen to the country. 

We must do the Russians who occupy the building at the present day thejustice to state that they uphold religiously the nocturnal traditionthus established by Elizaveta Petrovna, and even improve upon it. Fromsix o'clock in the evening onward, the long windows of the club, on the_bel etage_, blaze with light. The occasional temporary obscurationsproduced by the steam from relays of _samovari_ do not interferematerially with the neighbors' view of the card-parties and the finalexchange of big bundles of bank-bills, which takes place at five o'clockor later the next morning. Even if players and bills were duly shieldedfrom observation, the _mauvais quart d'heure_ would be accuratelyrevealed by the sudden rush for the sledges, which have been hanging ina swarm about the door, according to the usual convenient custom ofVanka, wherever lighted windows suggest possible patrons. Poor, hard-worked Vanka slumbers all night on his box, with one eye open, orfalls prone in death-like exhaustion over the dashboard upon hissleeping horse, while his cap lies on the snow, and his shaggy head isbared to the bitter blasts. 

Later on, the chief of police lived here, and the adjoining bridge, which had hitherto been known as the Green Bridge, had its name changedto the Police Bridge, which rather puzzling appellation it still bears. 

A couple of blocks beyond this corner of the Nevsky, the Moika and theGrand Morskaya, the Nevsky Prospekt ends at the Alexander Garden, backedby the Admiralty and the Neva, after having passed in its course throughall grades of society, from the monks at the extreme limit, peasanthuts, --or something very like them, on the outskirts, --artistic andliterary circles in the Peski quarter (the Sands), well-to-do merchantsand nobles, officials and wealthy courtiers, until now we have reachedthe culminating point, where the Admiralty, Imperial Palace, and WarOffice complete the national group begun at the church. 

When, in 1704, Peter the Great founded his beloved Admiralty, as thefirst building on the mainland then designed for such purposes as this, and not for residence, it was simply a shipyard, open to the Neva, andinclosed on three sides by low wooden structures, surrounded bystone-faced earthworks, moats, and palisades. Hither Peter was wont tocome of a morning, after having routed his ministers out of bed to holdprivy council at three and four o'clock, to superintend the work and tolend a hand himself. The first stone buildings were erected in 1726, after his death. In the early years of the present century, Alexander I. Rebuilt this stately and graceful edifice, after the plans of theRussian architect Zakharoff, who created the beautiful tower adornedwith Russian sculptures, crowned by a golden spire, in the centre of theimmense facade, fourteen hundred feet long, which forms a featureinseparable from the vista of the Prospekt for the greater part of itslength, to the turn at the Znamenskaya Square. On this spire, at thepresent day, flags and lanterns warn the inhabitants of low-lyingdistricts in the capital of the rate at which the water is rising duringinundations. In case of serious danger, the flags are reinforced bysignal guns from the fortress. But in Peter I. 's day, these flags andguns bore exactly the opposite meaning to the unhappy nobles whom theenergetic Emperor was trying to train into rough-weather sailors. Totheir trembling imaginations these signal orders to assemble for apractice sail signified, "Come out and be drowned!" since they wereobliged to embark in the crafts too generously given to them by Peter, and cruise about until their leader (who delighted in a storm) saw fitto return. There is a story of one unhappy wight, who was honored by thepresence aboard his craft of a very distinguished and very seasickPersian, making his first acquaintance with the pleasures of yachting, and who spent three days without food, tacking between Petersburg andKronstadt, in the vain endeavor to effect a landing during roughweather. 

When the present Admiralty was built, a broad and shady boulevard wasorganized on the site of the old glacis and covered way, and laterstill, when the break in the quay was filled in, and the shipbuildingtransferred to the New Admiralty a little farther down the river, theboulevard was enlarged into the New Alexander Garden, one of the finestsquares in Europe. It soon became the fashionable promenade, and thecentre of popular life as well, by virtue of the merry-makings whichtook place. Here, during the Carnival of 1836, the temporary cheaptheatre of boards was burned, at the cost of one hundred and twenty-sixlives and many injured persons, which resulted in these dangerous_balagani_ and other holiday amusements being removed to the spaciousparade-ground known as the Empress's Meadow. 

If we pass round the Admiralty to the Neva, we shall find its frozensurface teeming with life. Sledge roads have been laid out on it, markedwith evergreen bushes, over which a _yamtschik_ will drive us with his_troika_ fleet as the wind, to Kronstadt, twenty miles away. Plankwalks, fringed with street lanterns, have been prepared for pedestrians. Broad ice paths have been cleared, whereon the winter ferry-boats ply, --green garden-chairs, holding one or more persons, furnished with warmlap-robes, and propelled by stout _muzhiks_ on skates, who willtransport us from shore to shore for the absurdly small sum of less thana cent apiece, though a ride with the reindeer (now a strange sight inthe capital), at the Laplanders' encampment, costs much more. 

It is hard to tear ourselves from the charms of the river, with itsfishing, ice-cutting, and many other interesting sights always inprogress. But of all the scenes, that which we may witness on EpiphanyDay--the "Jordan, " or Blessing of the Waters, in commemoration ofChrist's baptism in the Jordan--is the most curious and typicallyRussian. 

After mass, celebrated by the Metropolitan, in the cathedral of theWinter Palace, whose enormous reddish-ochre mass we perceive risingabove the frost-jeweled trees of the Alexander Garden, to our right aswe stand at the head of the Nevsky Prospekt, the Emperor, his heir, hisbrothers, uncles, and other great personages emerge in procession uponthe quay. Opposite the Jordan door of the palace a scarlet, gold, andblue pavilion, also called the "Jordan, " has been erected over the ice. Thither the procession moves, headed by the Metropolitan and the richlyvestured clergy, their mitres gleaming with gems, bearing crosses andchurch banners, and the imperial choir, clad in crimson and gold, chanting as they go. The Empress and her ladies, clad in full Courtcostume at midday, look on from the palace windows. After brief prayersin the pavilion, all standing with bared heads, the Metropolitan dipsthe great gold cross in the rushing waters of the Neva, through a holeprepared in the thick, opalescent, green ice, and the guns on theopposite shore thunder out a salute. The pontoon Palace Bridge, thequays on both sides of the river, all the streets and squares for a longdistance round about, are densely thronged; and, as the guns announcethe consecration, every head is bared, every right hand in the mass, thousands strong, is raised to execute repeated signs of the cross onbrow and breast. 

From our post at the head of the Prospekt we behold not the ceremonyitself but the framework of a great national picture, the great PalaceSquare, whereon twenty thousand troops can manoeuvre, and in whosecentre rises the greatest monolith of modern times, the shaft of redFinland granite, eighty-four feet in height, crowned with across-bearing angel, the monument to Alexander I. There stand theGuards' Corps, and the huge building of the General Staff, containingthe Ministries of Finance and of Foreign Affairs, and many thingsbesides, originally erected by Katherine II. To mask the rears of thehouses at the end of the Nevsky, and rebuilt under Nicholas I. , sweepingin a magnificent semicircle opposite the Winter Palace. Regimentsrestrain the zeal of the crowd to obtain the few posts of vantage fromwhich the consecration of the waters is visible, and keep open a lanefor the carriages of royalty, diplomats, and invited guests. They formpart of the pageant, like the Empress's cream-colored carriage and thewhite horses and scarlet liveries of the Metropolitan. The crowd isdevout and silent, as Russian crowds always are, except when they seethe Emperor after he has escaped a danger, when they become vociferouswith an animation which is far more significant than it is in more noisylands. The ceremony over, the throngs melt away rapidly and silently;pedestrians, Finnish ice-sledges, traffic in general, resume theirrights on the palace sidewalks and the square, and after a statebreakfast the Emperor drives quietly home, unguarded, to his AnitchkoffPalace. 

If we glance to our left, and slightly to our rear, as we stand thusfacing the Neva and the Admiralty, we see the Prefecture and theMinistry of War, the latter once the mansion of a grandee in the lastcentury; and, rising above the latter, we catch a glimpse of the uppergallery, and great gold-plated, un-Russian dome, of St. Isaac'sCathedral, which is visible for twenty miles down the Gulf of Finland. The granite pillars glow in the frosty air with the bloom of a Delawaregrape. We forgive St. Isaac for the non-Russian character of the modernecclesiastical glories of which it is the exponent, as we listen eagerlyto the soft, rich, boom-boom-bo-o-om of the great bourdon, embroideredwith silver melody by the multitude of smaller bells chiming nearly allday long with a truly orthodox sweetness unknown to the Western world, and which, to-day, are more elaborately beautiful than usual, in honorof the great festival. We appreciate to the full the wailing cry of theprisoner, in the ancient epic songs of the land: "He was cut off fromthe light of the fair, red sun, from the sound of sweet church-bells. "

On the great Palace Square another characteristic sight is to be seen onthe nights of Court balls, which follow the Jordan, when the blaze ofelectric light from the rock-crystal chandeliers, big as haystacks, within the state apartments, is supplemented by the fires in the heaterand on the snow outside, round which the waiting coachmen warmthemselves, with Rembrandtesque effects of _chiaro-oscuro_ second onlyto the picturesqueness of _dvorniki_ in their nondescript caps andshaggy coats, who cluster round blazing fagots in less aristocraticquarters when the thermometer descends below zero. 

When spring comes with the magical suddenness which characterizesNorthern lands, the gardens, quays, and the Nevsky Prospekt stillpreserve their charms for a space, and are thronged far into the nightwith promenaders, who gaze at the imperial crowns, stars, monograms, andother devices temporarily applied to the street lanterns, and the fairyflames on the low curb-posts (whereat no horse, though unblinded, evershies), with which man attempts, on the numerous royal festival days ofearly summer, to rival the illumination of the indescribably beautifultints of river and sky. But the peasant-_izvostchik_ goes off to thecountry to till his little patch of land, aided by the shaggy littlefarm-horse, which has been consorting on the Prospekt with thoroughbredtrotters all winter, and helping him to eke out his cash income, scantyat the best of times; or he emigrates to a summer resort, scorning ourinsinuation that he is so unfashionable as to remain in town. Thedeserted Prospekt is torn up for repairs. The merchants, especially thegoldsmiths, complain that it would be true economy for them to closetheir shops. The annual troops of foreign travelers arrive, view thelovely islands of the Neva delta, catch a glimpse of the summer citiesin the vicinity, and dream, ah, vain dream! that they have also reallybeheld the Nevsky Prospekt, the great avenue of the realm of the FrostKing and the White Tzar!*

* From _Scribner's Magazine_, by permission. 

III. 

MY EXPERIENCE WITH THE RUSSIAN CENSOR. 

In spite of the advantage which I enjoyed in a preliminary knowledge ofthe Russian language and literature, I was imbued with various falseideas, the origin of which it is not necessary to trace on thisoccasion. I freed myself from some of them; among others, from my theoryas to the working of the censorship in the case of foreign literature. My theory was the one commonly held by Americans, and, as I found to mysurprise, by not a few Russians, viz. , that books and periodicals whichhave been wholly or in part condemned by the censor are to be procuredonly in a mutilated condition, or by surreptitious means, or not at all. That this is not the case I acquired ample proof through my personalexperience. 

The first thing that an American does on his arrival in St. Petersburgis to scan the foreign newspapers in the hotels eagerly for traces ofthe censor's blot, --_le masque noir_, "caviare, "--his idea beingthat at least one half of the page will be thus veiled from sight. Butspecimens are not always, or even very often, to be procured with ease. In fact, the demand exceeds the supply sometimes, if I may judge from myown observations and from the pressing applications for thesecuriosities which I received from disappointed seekers. The finest ofthese black diamonds may generally be found in the inventive newscolumns of the London dailies and in the flippant paragraphs of "Punch. "

Like the rest of the world, I was on the lookout for the censor's workfrom the day of my arrival, but it was a long time before my search wasrewarded by anything except a caricature of the censor himself in"Kladderadatsch. " That it was left unmasked was my first proof that thatgentleman, individually and collectively, was not deficient in a senseof humor. The sketch represented a disheveled scribe seated threequarters submerged in a bottle of ink, from the half-open cover of whichhis quill pen projected like a signal of distress. This was accompaniedby an inscription to the effect that as the Russian censor had blackedso many other people, he might now sit in the black for a while himself. Perhaps the censor thought that remarks of that sort came with peculiargrace from martinet-ruled Berlin. About this time I received a copy ofthe "Century, " containing--or rather, not containing--the firstarticle in the prohibited series by Mr. Kennan. I made no remonstrance, but mentioned the fact, as an item of interest, to the sender, whoforthwith dispatched the article in an envelope. The envelope beingsmall, the plump package had the appearance of containing a couple ofpairs of gloves, or other dutiable merchandise. Probably that was thereason why the authorities cut open one end. Finding that it was merelyinnocent printed matter, they gave it to me on the very day of itsarrival in St. Petersburg, and thirteen days from the date of posting inNew York. I know that it was my duty to get excited over this incident, as did a foreign (that is, a non-Russian) acquaintance of mine, when hereceived an envelope of similar plump aspect containing a bulkyChristmas card, which was delivered decorated with five very frank andhuge official seals, after having been opened for contraband goods. Idid not feel aggrieved, however, and, being deficient in that Mother Evequality which attributes vast importance to whatever is forbidden, Isuggested that nothing more which was obnoxious to the Russiangovernment should be sent to me. 

But when a foreigner offered the magazine to me regularly, unmutilated, I did not refuse it. When a Russian volunteered to furnish me with it, later on, I read it. When I saw summaries of the prohibited articles inthe Russian press, I looked them over to see whether they were welldone. When I saw another copy of the "Century, " with other Americanmagazines, at the house of a second Russian, I did not shut my eyes tothe fact, neither did I close my ears when I was told that diversinstructors of youth in Petersburg, Moscow, and elsewhere were inregular receipt of it, on the principle which is said to govern good menaway from home, viz. , that in order to preach effectively against evilone must make personal acquaintance with it. I was also told at theEnglish Bookstore that they had seven or eight copies of the magazine, which had been subscribed for through them, lying at the censor's officeawaiting proper action on the part of the subscribers. What that actionwas I did not ask at the time, in my embarrassment of riches. It will beperceived that when we add the copies received by officials, and thosegiven to the members of the Diplomatic Corps who desired it, there wasno real dearth of the "Century" at any time. 

About this time, also, I had occasion to hunt up a package ofmiscellaneous newspapers, which had lingered as such parcels are apt tolinger in all post-offices. In pursuance of my preconceived notions, Ijumped to the conclusion that the censor had them, regardless of thecontingency that they might have been lost out of Russia. I called toask for the papers. The official whom I found explained, with nativeRussian courtesy, that I had come to the wrong place, that office beingdevoted to foreign matter in book form; but that, in all probability, the papers had become separated from their wrapper in the newspaperdepartment (which was heedless) when they had been opened forexamination, and hence it had been impossible to deliver them. Still, they might have been detained for some good reason, and he wouldendeavor to find some record of them. 

While he was gone, my eyes fell upon his account-book, which lay openbefore me. It constituted a sort of literary book-keeping. The entriesshowed what books had been received, what had been forbidden, what wasto be erased, whose property had been manipulated, and, most interestingof all, which forbidden books had been issued by permission, and towhom. Among these I read the titles of works by Stepniak, and of variousworks on Nihilism, all of which must certainly have come within thecategory of utterly proscribed literature, and not of that which ispromptly forwarded to its address after a more or less liberalsprinkling of "caviare. " As I am not in the habit of reading privaterecords on the sly, even when thus tempted, I informed the official onhis return of my action, and asked a question or two. 

"Do you really let people have these forbidden books?" "Certainly, " washis half-surprised, half-indignant reply. "And what can one have?""Anything, " said he, "only we must, of course, have some knowledge ofthe person. What would you like?"

I could only express my regret that I felt no craving for any prohibitedliterature at that moment, but I told him that I would endeavor tocultivate a taste in that direction to oblige him; and I suggested that, as his knowledge of me was confined to the last ten minutes, I did notquite understand how he could pass judgment as to what mental and moralfood was suited to my constitution, and as to the use I might make ofit. He laughed amiably, and said: "_Nitchevo_, --that's all right; youmay have whatever you please. " I never had occasion to avail myself ofthe offer, but I know that Russians who are well posted do so, althoughI also know that many Russians are not aware of their privileges in thisdirection. It is customary to require from Russians who receiveliterature of this sort a promise that they will let no other person seeit, --an engagement which is as religiously observed as might beexpected, as the authorities are doubtless aware. 

I did not pursue my search for the missing papers. I had allowed so muchtime to elapse that I perceived the uselessness of further action; theywere evidently lost, and it mattered little as to the manner. Shortlyafterwards I received the first of my only two specimens of censorial"caviare. " It was on a political cartoon in a New York comic paper. Isent it back to America for identification of the picture, and it waslost between New York and Boston; which reconciled me to the possiblecarelessness of the Russian post-office in the case of the newspapersjust cited. 

My next experience was with Count Lyeff N. Tolstoy's work entitled"Life. " This was not allowed to be printed in book form, although nearlythe whole of it subsequently appeared in installments, as "extracts, " ina weekly journal. I received the manuscript as a registered mail packet. The author was anxious that my translation should be submitted in theproof-sheets to a philosophical friend of his in Petersburg, who readEnglish, in order that the latter might see if I had caught the sense ofthe somewhat abstract and complicated propositions. It became a problemhow those proof-sheets were to reach me safely and promptly. The problemwas solved by having them directed outright to the censor's office, whence they were delivered to me; and, as there proved to be nothing toalter, they speedily returned to America as a registered parcel. My ownopinion now is that they would not have reached me a whit less safely orpromptly had they been addressed straight to me. The bound volumes of mytranslation were so addressed later on, and I do not think that theywere even opened at the office, the law to the contrary notwithstanding. All this time I had been receiving a New York weekly paper with verylittle delay and no mutilation. But at this juncture an amiable friendsubscribed in my name for the "Century, " and I determined to make apersonal trial of the workings of the censorship in as strong a case asI could have found had I deliberately desired to invent a test case. Imay as well remark here that "the censor" is not the hard-worked, omnivorous reader of mountains of print and manuscript which the wordsrepresent to the mind of the ordinary foreigner. The work of auditingliterature, so to speak, is subdivided among such a host of men thatoffice hours are brief, much of the foreign reading, at least, is doneat home, and the lucky members of the committee keep themselvesagreeably posted upon matters in general while enjoying the fruits ofoffice. 

The censor's waiting-room was well patronized on my arrival. An officialwho was holding a consultation with one of the visitors inquired mybusiness. I stated it briefly, and shortly afterwards he retired into anadjoining room, which formed the beginning of a vista of apartments andofficials. While I waited, a couple of men were attended to so near methat I heard their business. It consisted in obtaining officialpermission to print the bills and programmes of a musical and varietyentertainment. To this end they had brought not only the list ofperformers and proposed selections, but also the pictures foradvertisement, and the music which was to be given. As the rare travelerwho can read Russian is already aware, the programme of every publicperformance bears the printed authorization of the censor, as a matterof course, quite as much as does a book. It is an easy way ofcontrolling the character of assemblages, the value of which can hardlybe disputed even by those prejudiced persons who insist upon seeing inthis Russian proceeding something more arbitrary than the ordinary citylicense which is required for performances elsewhere, or the LordChancellor's license which is required in England. In Russia, aselsewhere, an ounce of prevention is worth fully a pound of cure. This, by the way, is the only form in which a foreigner is likely to come incontact with the domestic censure in Russia, unless he should wish toinsert an advertisement in a newspaper, or issue printed invitations toa gathering at his house, or send news telegrams. In these cases he maybe obliged to submit to delay in the appearance of his advertisement, orrequested to go to the elegance and expense of engraved invitations, orto detain his telegram for a day or two. Such things are not unknown inGermany. 

Just as these gentlemen had paid their fee, and resigned their documentsto the official who had charge of their case, another official issuedfrom the inner room, approached me, requested me to sign my name in ahuge ledger, and, that being done, thrust into my hands a bulkymanuscript and departed. The manuscript had a taking title, but I didnot pause to examine it. Penetrating the inner sanctum, I brought outthe official and endeavored to return the packet. He refused to take it, --it was legally mine. This contest lasted for several minutes, until Isaw a literary-looking man enter from the anteroom and look ratherwildly at us. Evidently this was the owner, and, elevating themanuscript, I inquired if it were his. He hastened to my assistance andproved his rights. But as erasures do not look well in account-books, and as my name already occupied the space allotted to that particularparcel, he was not requested to sign for it, and I believe that I amstill legally qualified to read, perform, or publish--whatever it was--that talented production. 

A dapper little gentleman, with a dry, authoritative air, then emergedand assumed charge of me. I explained my desire to receive, uncensured, a journal which was prohibited. 

"Certainly, " said he, without inquiring how I knew the facts. "Justwrite down your application and sign it. "

"I don't know the form, " I answered. 

He seemed surprised at my ignorance of such an every-day detail, butfetched paper and dictated a petition, which I wrote down and signed. When we reached the point where the name of the publication was to beinserted, he paused to ask: "How many would you like?"

"How many copies of the 'Century'? Only one, " said I. 

"No, no; how many periodical publications would you like?"

"How many can I have on this petition?" I retorted in Yankee fashion. 

"As many as you please. Do you want four--six--eight? Write in thenames legibly. "

I gasped, but told him that I was not grasping; I preferred to devote mytime to Russian publications while in Russia, and that I would only addthe name of the weekly which I was already receiving, merely with theobject of expediting its delivery a little. The document was thenfurnished with the regulation eighty-kopek stamp (worth at that timeabout thirty-seven cents), and the business was concluded. As I was insummer quarters out of town, and it was not convenient for me to call inperson and inquire whether permission had been granted, another stampwas added to insure the answer being sent to me. The license arrived ina few days, and the magazine began to come promptly, unopened. I was noteven asked not to show it to other people. I may state here that, whileI never circulated any of the numerous prohibited books and manuscriptswhich came into my possession during my stay in Russia, I neverconcealed them. I showed the "Century" occasionally to personal friendsof the class who could have had it themselves had they taken anypermanent interest in the matter; but it is certain that they kept theirown counsel and mine in all respects. 

Everything proceeded satisfactorily until I went to Moscow to stay for atime. It did not occur to me to inform the censor of my move, and theresult was that the first number of the magazine which I received therewas as fine a "specimen" as heart could desire. The line on thetitle-page which referred to the obnoxious article had been scratchedout; the body of the article had been cut out; the small concludingportion at the top of a page had been artistically "caviared. " Ofcourse, the article ending upon the back of the first page extracted hadbeen spoiled. On this occasion I was angry, not at the mutilation assuch, but at the breach of faith. I sat down, while my wrath was stillhot, and indited a letter to the head censor in Petersburg. I do notrecollect the exact terms of that letter, but I know I told him that hehad no right to cut the book after granting me leave to receive itintact, without first sending me word that he had changed his mind, andgiving valid reasons therefor; that the course he had adopted wasinjudicious in the extreme, since it was calculated to arouse curiosityinstead of allaying it, and that it would be much better policy toignore the matter. I concluded by requesting him to restore the missingarticle, if he had preserved it, and if he had not, to send at once toLondon (that being nearer than New York) and order me a fresh copy ofthe magazine at his expense. 

A month elapsed, no answer came; but at the end of the month anothermutilated "Century" arrived. This time I waited two or three days in thehope of inventing an epistle which should be more forcible--if such athing were possible--than my last, and yet calm. The letter was halfwritten when an official envelope made its appearance from Petersburg, containing cut pages and an apologetic explanation to the effect thatthe Moscow censor, through an oversight, had not been duly instructed inhis duty toward me. A single glance showed me that the inclosed sheetsbelonged to the number just received, not to the preceding number. Idrove immediately to the Moscow office and demanded the censor. "You cantell me what you want with him, " said the ante-room Cerberus. "Send methe censor, " said I. After further repetition, he retired and sent in aman who requested me to state my business. "You are not the censor, " Isaid, after a glance at him. "Send him out, or I will go to him. " Thenthey decided that I was a connoisseur in censors, and the properofficial made his appearance, accompanied by an interpreter, on thestrength of the foreign name upon my card. Convinced that the latterwould not understand English well, like many Russians who can talk thelanguage fluently enough, I declined his services, produced my documentsfrom the Petersburg censor, and demanded restitution of the otherconfiscated article. I obtained it, being allowed my pick from a neatlylabeled package of contraband goods. That scratched, cut, caviaredmagazine is now in my possession, with the restored sheets and thecensor's apology appended. It is my proof to unbelievers that theRussian censor is not so black as he is painted. 

As we shook hands with this Moscow official, after a friendly chat, Iasked him if he would be a little obtuse arithmetically as to the oldand new style of reckoning, and let me have my January "Century" if itarrived before my departure for Petersburg, as my license expiredJanuary 1. He smilingly agreed to do so. I also called on the Moscowbook censor, to find some books. The courtesy and readiness to oblige meon the part of the officials had been so great, that I felt aggrievedupon this occasion when this censor requested me to return on theregular business day, and declined to overhaul his whole department forme on the spot. I did return on the proper day, and watched operationswhile due search was being made for my missing property. It reached me afew days later, unopened, the delay having occurred at my banker's, notin the post-office or censor's department. 

On my return to Petersburg, my first visit was to the censor's office, where I copied my original petition, signed it, and dismissed the matterfrom my mind until my February "Century" reached me with one articlemissing and two articles spoiled. I paid another visit to the office, and was informed that my petition for a renewal of permission had notbeen granted. 

"Why didn't you send me word earlier?" I asked. 

"We were not bound to do so without the extra stamp, " replied my dapperofficial. 

"But why has my application been refused?"

"Too many people are seeing that journal; some one must be refused. "

"Nonsense, " said I. "And if it is really so, _I_ am not the properperson to be rejected. It will hurt some of these Russian subscribersmore than it will me, because it is only a question of _when_ I shallread it, not of whether I shall read it at all. I wonder that so manydemoralizing things do not affect the officials. However, that is notthe point; pray keep for your own use anything which you regard asdeleterious to me. I am obliged to you for your consideration. But youhave no right to spoil three or four articles; and by a proper use ofscissors and caviare that can easily be avoided. In any case, it will bemuch better to give me the book unmutilated. "

The official and the occupants of the reception-room seemed to find myview very humorous; but he declared that he had no power in the matter. 

"Very well, " said I, taking a seat. "I will see the censor. 

"I am the censor, " he replied. 

"Oh, no. I happen to be aware that the head censor is expected in a fewminutes, and I will wait. "

My (apparently) intimate knowledge of the ways of censors again won theday. The chief actually was expected, and I was granted the firstaudience. I explained matters and repeated my arguments. He sent for theassistant. 

"Why was not this application granted?" he asked impressively. 

"We don't know, your Excellency, " was the meek and not very consistentreply. 

"You may go, " said his Excellency. Then he turned graciously to me. "Youwill receive it. "

"Uncut?"

"Yes. "

"But will they let me have it?"

"Will--they--let--you--have--it--when--I--say--so?" heretorted with tremendous dignity. 

Then I knew that I should have no further trouble, and I was right. Ireceived no written permission, but the magazine was never interferedwith again. Thus it will be seen that one practically registersperiodicals wholesale, at a wonderfully favorable discount. 

During the whole of my stay in Russia I received many books unread, apparently even unopened to see whether they belonged on the free list. In one case, at least, volumes which were posted before the officialdate of publication reached me by the next city delivery after theletter announcing their dispatch. Books which were addressed to me atthe Legation, to assure delivery when my exact address was unknown orwhen my movements were uncertain, were, in every case but one, sent tome direct from the post-office. I have no reason to suppose that I wasunusually favored in any way. I used no "influence, " I mentioned noinfluential names, though I had the right to do so. 

An incident which procured for me the pleasure of an interview with thechief censor for newspapers and so forth will illustrate some of theerroneous ideas entertained by strangers. I desired to send to somefriends in Russia a year's subscription each of a certain Americanmagazine, which sometimes justly receives a sprinkling of caviare forits folly, but which is not on the black list, and is fairly well knownin Petersburg. After some delay I heard from home that the publishershad consulted the United States postal officials, and had been informedthat "_no_ periodical literature could be sent to Russia, this beingstrictly prohibited. " I took the letter to the newspaper censor, whofound it amusingly and amazingly stupid. He explained that the onlything which is absolutely prohibited is Russian text printed outside ofRussia, which would never be delivered. He did not explain the reason, but I knew that he referred to the socialistic, nihilistic, and otherproscribed works which are published in Geneva or Leipzig. Daily foreignnewspapers can be received regularly only by persons who are dulyauthorized. Permission cannot be granted to receive occasional packagesof miscellaneous contents, the reason for this regulation being veryclear. And _all_ books must be examined if new, or treated according tothe place assigned them on the lists if they have already had a verdictpronounced upon them. I may add, in this connection, that I had themagazines I wished subscribed for under another name, to avoid theindelicacy of contradicting my fellow-countrymen. They were thenforwarded direct to the Russian addresses, where they were duly andregularly received. Whether they were mutilated, I do not know. Theycertainly need not have been, had the recipients taken the trouble toobtain permission as I did, if they were aware of the possibility. It isprobable that I could have obtained permission for them, had I not beenpressed for time. 

I once asked a member of the censorship committee on foreign books onwhat principle of selection he proceeded. He said that disrespect to theEmperor and the Greek Church was officially prohibited; that he admittedeverything which did not err too grossly in that direction, and, infact, _everything_ except French novels of the modern realistic school. He drew the line at these, as pernicious to both men and women. He askedme if I had read a certain new book which was on the proscribed list. Isaid that I had, and in the course of the discussion which ensued, Irose to fetch the volume in question from the table behind him to verifya passage. (This occurred during a friendly call. ) I recollected, however, that that copy had not entered the country by post, and that, consequently, the name of the owner therein inscribed would not be foundon the list of authorized readers any more than my own. I am sure, however, that nothing would have happened if he had seen it, and he musthave understood my movement. My business dealings were wholly withstrangers. 

It seems to be necessary, although it ought not to be so, to remindAmerican readers that Russia is not the only land where the censorshipexists, to a greater or less extent. Even in the United States, which ispopularly regarded as the land of unlicensed license in a literarysense, --even in the Boston Public Library, which is admitted to be amodel of good sense and wide liberality, --all books are not bought orissued indiscriminately to all readers, irrespective of age and soforth. The necessity for making special application may, in some cases, whet curiosity, but it also, undoubtedly, acts as a check upon unhealthytastes, even when the book may be publicly purchased. I have heardRussians who did not wholly agree with their own censorship assert, nevertheless, that a strict censure was better than the total absence ofit, apparently, in America, the utterances of whose press are regardedby foreigners in general as decidedly startling. *

* From _The Nation_

IV. 

BARGAINING IN RUSSIA. 

In Russia one is expected to bargain and haggle over the price ofeverything, beginning with hotel accommodations, no matter howobtrusively large may be the type of the sign "_Prix Fixe_" or howstrenuous may be the assertions that the bottom price is that firstnamed. If one's nerves be too weak to play at this game of continentalpoker, he will probably share our fate, of which we were politelyapprised by a word at our departure from a hotel where we had lived forthree months--after due bargaining--at their price. "If you comeback, you may have the corresponding apartments on the floor below [the_bel etage_] for the same price. " In view of the fact that there was noelevator, it will be perceived that we had been paying from one third toone half too much, which was reassuring as to the prospect for thefuture, when we should decide to return!

If there be a detestable relic of barbarism, it is this custom ofbargaining over every breath one draws in life. It creates a sort ofincessant internal seething, which is very wearing to the temper anddestructive of pleasure in traveling. One feels that he must chafferdesperately in the dark, or pay the sum demanded and be regarded as agoose fit for further plucking. So he forces himself to chaffer, triesto conceal his abhorrence of the practice and his inexperience, andends, generally, by being cheated and considered a grass-green idiotinto the bargain, which is not soothing to the spirit of the averageman. When I mention it in this connection I do not mean to be understoodas confining my remarks exclusively to Russia; the opportunities forbeing shorn to the quick are unsurpassed all over the continent, and"one price" America's house is too vitreous to permit of her throwingmany stones at foreign lands. Only, in America, the custom is nowhappily so obsolete in the ordinary transactions of daily life that oneis astonished when he hears, occasionally, a woman from the country aska clerk in a city shop, "Is that the least you'll take? I'll give you somuch for these goods. " In Russia, the surprise would be on the otherside. 

The next time I had occasion to hire quarters in a hotel for a sojournof any length I resorted to stratagem, by way of giving myself an objectlesson. I looked at the rooms, haggled them down, on principle, to whatseemed to me really the very lowest notch of price; I was utterly wornout before this was accomplished. I even flattered myself that I haddone nearly as well as a native could have done, and was satisfied. ButI sternly carried out my experiment. I did not close the bargain. Iasked Princess----to try her experienced hand. Result, she secured thebest accommodations in the house for less than half the rate at which Ihad been so proud of obtaining inferior quarters! When we moved in, thelandlord was surprised, but he grasped the point of the transaction, andseemed to regard it as a pleasant jest against him, and to respect usthe more for having outwitted him. The Princess apologized for havingmade such bad terms for us, and meant it! I suspect that that was a veryfair sample of the comparative terms obtained by natives and outsidersin all bargains. 

It is one of those things at which one smiles or fumes, according to theforce of the instinct for justice with which he has been blessed--orcursed--by nature. Nothing, unless it be a healthy, athleticconscience, is so wofully destructive of all happiness and comfort inthis life as a keen sense of justice!

There are, it is true, persons in Russia who scorn to bargain as much asdid the girl of the merchant class in one of Ostrovsky's famouscomedies, who was so generous as to blush with shame for the people whomshe heard trying to beat down exorbitant prices in the shops, or whomshe saw taking their change. The merchant's motto is, "A thing is worthall that can be got for it. " Consequently, it never occurs to him thateven competition is a reason for being rational. One striking case ofthis in my own experience was provided by a hardware merchant, in whoseshop I sought a spirit lamp. The lamps he showed me were not of the sortI wished, and the price struck me as exorbitant, although I was notinformed as to that particular subject. I offered these suggestions tothe fat merchant in a mild manner, and added that I would look elsewherebefore deciding upon his wares. 

"You will find none elsewhere, " roared the merchant--previously softspoken as the proverbial sucking dove--through his bushy beard, in avoice which would have done credit to the proto-deacon of a cathedral. "And not one kopek will I abate of my just price, _yay Bogu!_ [God is mywitness!] They cost me that sum; I am actually making you a present ofthem out of my profound respect for you, _sudarynya!_ [He had called meMadame before that, but now he lowered my social rank to that of amerchant's wife, out of revenge. ] And you will be pleased not to comeback if you don't find a lamp to suit your peculiar taste, for I willnot sell to you. I won't have people coming here and looking at thingsand then not buying!"

It was obviously my turn to retort, but I let the merchant have the lastword--temporarily. In ten minutes another shopkeeper offered me lampsof identical quality and pattern at one half his price, and I purchasedone, such as I wished, of a different design for a small sum extra. Imay have been cheated, but, under the circumstances, I was satisfied. 

Will it be believed? Bushybeard was lying in wait for me at the door, ready to receive me, wreathed in smiles which I can describe only by thedetestable adjective "affable, " as I took pains to pass hisestablishment on my way back. Then the spirit of mischief entered intome. I reciprocated his smiles and said: "Ivan Baburin, at shop No. 8, round the corner, has dozens of lamps such as you deal in, for half theprice of yours. You might be able to get them even cheaper, if you knowhow to haggle well. But I'm afraid you don't, for you seem to have beenhorribly cheated in your last trade, when you bought your present stockat the price you mentioned. How could any one have the conscience to roban honest, innocent man like you so dreadfully?"

He looked dazed, and the last time I cast a furtive glance behind me hehad not recovered sufficiently to dash after me and overwhelm me withprotestations of his uprightness, _yay Bogu!_ and other lingualcascades. 

From the zest with which I have beheld a shopman and a customer wastehalf an hour chaffering an article up and down five kopeks (two and ahalf cents or less), I am convinced that they enjoy the excitement ofit, and that time is cheap enough with them to allow them to indulge inthis exhilarating practice. 

What is the remedy for this state of things? How are foreigners, whopride themselves on never giving more than the value of an article, toprotect themselves? There is no remedy, I should say. One must haggle, haggle, haggle, and submit. Guides are useless and worse, as theyprobably share in the shopkeeper's profit, and so raise prices. Recommendations of shops from guides or hotels are to be disregarded. Not that they are worthless, --quite the reverse; only their value doesnot accrue to the stranger, but to the other parties. It may well be, asveteran travelers affirm, that one is compelled to contribute to thismutual benefit association in any case; but there is a sort ofsatisfaction after all in imagining that one is a free and independentbeing, and going to destruction in his own way, unguided, while he getsa little amusement out of his own shearing. 

Any one who really likes bargaining will get his fill in Russia, everytime he sets foot out of doors, if he wishes merely to take a ride. There are days, it is true, when all the cabmen in town seem to haveentered into a league and agreed to demand a ruble for a drive of half adozen blocks; and again, though rarely, they will offer to carry onemiles for one fifth of that sum, which is equally unreasonable in theother direction. In either case one has his bargaining sport, at one endof the journey or the other. I find among my notes an illustration ofthis operation, which, however, falls far short of a conversation whichI once overheard between a lower-class official and an _izvostchik_, whocould not come to terms. It ended in the uniformed official exclaiming:"You ask too much. I'll use my own horses, " raising a large foot, andwaving it gently at the cabmen. 

"Home-made!" (literally, "self-grown") retorted one _izvostchik_. Therival bidders for custom shrieked with laughter at his wit, the officialfled, and I tried in vain--wonderful to relate--to get the attentionof the group and offer them a fresh opportunity for discussion by tryingto hire one of them. 

My note-book furnishes the following: "If anybody wants a merry_izvostchik_, with a stylish flourishing red beard, I can supply him. Ido not own the man at present, but he has announced his firm intentionof accompanying me to America. I asked him how he would get alongwithout knowing the language?

"'I'd serve you forever!' said he. 

 "'How could I send you on an errand?' said I. 

"'I'd serve you forever!' said he. 

"That was the answer to every objection on my part. He and ablack-haired _izvostchik_ have a fight for my custom nearly every time Igo out. Fighting for custom--in words--is the regular thing, but theway these men do it convulses with laughter everybody within hearing, which is at least half a block. It is the fashion here to take aninterest in chafferings with cabmen and in other street scenes. 

"'She's to ride with me!' shouts one. '_Barynya_, I drove you to VasilyIsland one day, you remember!' 'She's going with me; you get out!' yellsthe other. 'She drove on the Nevsky with me long before she ever sawyou; didn't you, _barynya_? and the Liteinaya, ' and so on till he hasenumerated more streets than I have ever heard of. 'And we're old, oldfriends, aren't we, barynya? And look at my be-e-autiful horse!'

"'Your horse looks like a soiled and faded glove, ' I retort, 'and Iwon't have you fight over me. Settle it between yourselves, ' and I walkoff or take another man, neither proceeding being favorably regarded. Ifany one will rid me of Redbeard I will sell him for his passage-money toAmerica. I am also open to offers for Blackbeard, as he has announcedhis intention of lying in wait for me at the door every day, as a catsits before a mouse's hole. " Vanka (the generic name for all_izvostchiki_) gets about four dollars or four dollars and a half amonth from his employer, when he does not own his equipage. In return heis obliged to hand in about a dollar and a quarter a day on ordinaryoccasions, a dollar and a half on the days preceding great festivals, and two dollars and a half on festival days. If he does not contrive toextract the necessary amount from his fares, his employer extracts itfrom his wages, in the shape of a fine. The men told me this. As thereare no fixed rates in the great cities, a bargain must be struck everytime, which begins by the man demanding twice or thrice the properprice, and ends in your paying it if you are not familiar with acceptedstandards and distances, and in selling yourself at open-air auction tothe lowest bidder, acting as your own auctioneer, in case you areconversant with matters in general. 

Foreigners can also study the bargaining process at its best--or worst--in the purchase of furs. The Neva freezes over, as a rule, about themiddle of November, and snow comes to stay, after occasional lightflurries in September and October, a little later. Sometimes, however, the river closes as early as the end of September, or as late as withina few days of Christmas. Or the rain, which begins in October, continuesat intervals into the month of January. The price of food goes up, frozen provisions for the poorer classes spoil, and more suffering andillness ensue than when the normal Arctic winter prevails. In spite ofthe cold, one is far more comfortable than in warmer climes. The "stone"houses are built with double walls, three or four feet apart, of brickor rubble covered with mastic. The space between the walls is filled in, and, in the newer buildings, apertures with ventilators near theceilings take the place of movable panes in the double windows. Thespace between the windows is filled with a deep layer of sand, in whichare set small tubes of salt to keep the glass clear, and a layer ofsnowy cotton wadding on top makes a warm and appropriate finish. Thelower classes like to decorate their wadding with dried grasses, coloredpaper, and brilliant odds and ends, in a sort of toy-garden arrangement. The cracks of the windows are filled with putty or some other solidcomposition, over which are pasted broad strips of coarse white linen. The India rubber and other plants which seem so inappropriately placed, in view of the brief and scant winter light, in reality serve twopurposes--that of decoration and that of keeping people at arespectful distance from the windows, because the cold and wind passthrough the glass in dangerous volume. 

Carpets are rare. Inlaid wooden floors, with or without rugs, are therule. Birch wood is, practically, the exclusive material for heating. Coal from South Russia is too expensive in St. Petersburg; and importedcoal is of the lignite order, and far from satisfactory even for use inthe open grates, which are often used for beauty and to supplement thestoves. 

In the olden times, the beautifully colored and ornamented tile stoveswere built with a "stove bench, " also of tiles, near the floor, on whichpeople could sleep. Nowadays, only peasants sleep on the stove, and theyliterally sleep on top of the huge, mud-plastered stone oven, close tothe ceiling. In dwellings other than peasant huts, what is known as the"German stove" is in use. Each stove is built through the wall to heattwo rooms, or a room and corridor. The yard porter brings up ten ortwelve birch logs, of moderate girth, peels off a little bark to use askindling, and in ten minutes there is a roaring fire. The door is leftopen, and the two draught covers from the flues--which resemble thecovers of a range in shape and size--are taken out until the wood isreduced to glowing coals, which no longer emit blue flames. Then thedoor is closed, the flue plates are replaced, and the stove radiatesheat for twenty-four hours, forty-eight hours, or longer, according tothe weather and the taste of the persons concerned, --Russian rooms notbeing kept nearly so hot as American rooms. 

In this soft, delightful, and healthy heat, heavy underclothing is amisery. Very few Russians wear anything but linen, and foreigners whohave been used to wear flannels generally are forced to abandon them inRussia. Hence the necessity for wrapping up warmly when one goes out. 

Whatever the caprices of the weather, during the winter, according tothe almanac, furs are required, especially by foreigners, from themiddle of October or earlier until May. People who come from Southernclimes, with the memory of the warm sun still lingering in their veins, endure their first Russian winter better than the winters which follow, provided their rashness, especially during the treacherous spring orautumn, does not kill them off promptly. Therefore, the wise foreignerwho arrives in autumn sallies forth at once in quest of furs. He willget plenty of bargaining and experience thrown in. 

First of all, he finds that he must reconstruct his ideas about furs. Ifhe be an American, his first discovery is that his favorite sealskin isout of the race entirely. No Russian would pay the price which is givenfor sealskin in return for such a "cold fur, " nor would he wear it onthe outside for display, while it would be too tender to use as alining. Sealskin is good only for a short jacket between seasons forwalking, and if one sets out on foot in that garb she must return onfoot; she would be running a serious risk if she took a carriage orsledge. All furs are used for linings; in short, by thus reversingnature's arrangement, one obtains the natural effect, and wears the furnext his skin, as the original owner of the pelt did. Squirrel is a"cold, " cheap fur, used by laundresses and the like, while mink, alsoreckoned as a "cold" fur, though more expensive, is used by men only, asis the pretty mottled skin obtained by piecing together sable paws. Thecheapest of the "downy" furs, which are the proper sort for the climate, is the brown goat, that constantly reminds its owner of the economypracticed, by its weight and characteristic strong smell, though it hasthe merit of being very warm. Next come the various grades of red foxfur, --those abundantly furnished with hair, --where the red is paleand small in area, and the gray patches are large and dark, being thebest. The _kuni_, which was the unit of currency in olden days, and wasused by royalty, is the next in value, and is costly if dark, and with atough, light-weight skin, which is an essential item of considerationfor the necessary large cloaks. Sables, rich and dark, are worn, likethe _kuni_, by any one who can afford them, --court dames, cavaliers, archbishops, and merchants, or their wives and daughters, --while theclimax of beauty and luxury is attained in the black fox fur, soft anddelicate as feathers, warm as a July day. The silky, curly white Tibetangoat, and the thick, straight white fur of the _psetz_, make beautifulevening wraps for women, under velvets of delicate hues, and are used byday also, though they are attended by the inconvenience of requiringfrequent cleaning. Cloth or velvet is the proper covering for all furs, and the colors worn for driving are often gay or light. A layer ofwadding between the fur and the covering adds warmth, and makes thecircular mantle called a _rotonda_ set properly. These sleevelesscircular cloaks are not fit for anything but driving, however, althoughthey are lapped across the breast and held firmly in place by thecrossed arms, --a weary task, since they fall open at every breezewhen the wearer is on foot, --but they possess the advantage over acloak with sleeves that they can be held high around the ears and headat will. The most inveterate "shopper" would be satisfied with theamount of running about and bargaining which can be got out of buying afur cloak and a cap!

The national cap has a soft velvet crown, surrounded by a broad band ofsable or otter, is always in fashion, and lasts forever. People who likevariety buy each year a new cap, made of black Persian lambskin, whichresembles in shape that worn by the Kazaks, though the shape is modifiedevery year by the thrifty shopkeepers. 

The possibilities for self delusion, and delusion from the otherquarter, as to price and quality of these fur articles, is simplyenormous. I remember the amusing tags fastened to every cloak in theshop of a certain fashionable furrier in Moscow, where "asking price"and "selling price" were plainly indicated. By dint of inquiry I foundthat "paying price" was considerably below "selling price. " Moscow isthe place, by the way, to see the coats intended for "really coldweather" journeys, made of bear skin and of reindeer skin, impervious tocold, lined with downy Siberian rat or other skins, which one does notsee in Petersburg shops. 

The furs and the Russians' sensible manner of dressing in general, whichI have described, have much to do with their comfort and freedom fromcolds. No Russian enters a room, theatre, or public hall at any seasonof the year with his cloak and overshoes, and no well-trained servantwould allow an ignorant foreigner to trifle with his health by so doing. Even the foreign churches are provided with cloak-rooms and attendants. And the Russian churches? On grand occasions, when space is railed offfor officials or favored guests, cloak-racks and attendants are providednear the door for the privileged ones, who must display their uniformsand gowns as a matter of state etiquette. The women find the light shawl--which they wear under their fur to preserve the gown from hairs, toshield the chest, and for precisely such emergencies--sufficientprotection. On ordinary occasions, people who do not keep a lackey tohold their cloaks just inside the entrance have an opportunity topractice Russian endurance, and unless the crowd is very dense, thelarge and lofty space renders it quite possible, though the churches areheated, to retain the fur cloak; but it is not healthy, and not alwayscomfortable. It would not be possible to provide cloak-rooms andattendants for the thousands upon thousands who attend church service onSundays and holidays. With the foreign churches, whose attendance islimited comparatively, it is a different matter. 

One difficulty about foreigners visiting Russia in winter is, that thosewho come for a short visit are rarely willing to go to the expense ofthe requisite furs. In general, they are so reckless of their health asto inspire horror in any one who is acquainted with the treacherousclimate. I remember a couple of Americans, who resisted allremonstrances because they were on their way to a warmer clime, and wentabout when the thermometer was twenty-five to thirty degrees below zeroReaumur, in light, unwadded mantles, reaching only to the waist line, and with loose sleeves. A Russian remarked of them: "They might haveshown some respect for the climate, and have put on flannel compresses, or a mustard plaster at least!" Naturally, an illness was the result. Ifsuch people would try to bargain for the very handsome and stylishcoffins which they would consider in keeping with their dignity, theywould come to the conclusion that furs would prove cheaper and lesstroublesome. But furs or coffins, necessaries or luxuries, everythingmust be bargained for in Holy Russia, and with the American affectionfor the national game of poker, that should not constitute an objectionto the country. Only non-card-players will mind such a trifle as bluff. *

* Reprinted, in part, from _Lippincott's Magazine_. 

V. 

EXPERIENCES. 

So much has been said about the habits of the late Emperor AlexanderIII. In his capital, that a brief statement of them will not be out ofplace, especially as I had one or two experiences, in addition to theordinary opportunities afforded by a long visit and knowledge of thelanguage and manners of the people. 

When the Emperor was in St. Petersburg, he drove about freely every daylike a private person. He was never escorted or attended by guards. Inplace of a lackey a Kazak orderly sat beside the coachman. The orderliesof no other military men wore the Kazak uniform. Any one acquainted withthis fact, or with the Emperor's face, could recognize him as he passed. There was no other sign; even the soldiers, policemen, and gendarmesgave him the same salute which they gave to every general. At Peterhoff, in summer, he often drove, equally unescorted, to listen to the music inthe palace park, which was open to all the public. 

On occasions of state or ceremony, such as a royal wedding or thearrival of the Shah of Persia, troops lined the route of the procession, as part of the show, and to keep the quiet but vigorously surging massesof spectators in order; just as the police keep order on St. Patrick'sDay in New York, or as the militia kept order and made part of the showduring the land naval parade at the Columbian festivities in New York. On such occasions the practice as to allowing spectators on balconies, windows, and roofs varied. For example, during the Emperor's recentfuneral procession in Moscow, roofs, balconies, open windows, and everypoint of vantage were occupied by spectators. In St. Petersburg, thepublic was forbidden to occupy roofs, balconies, lamp-posts, orrailings, and it was ordered that all windows should be shut, though, asusual, no restriction was placed on benches, stools, and other aids to aview. A few days later, when the Emperor Nicholas II. Drove from hiswedding in the Winter Palace to the Anitchkoff Palace, roofs, balconies, and open windows were crowded with spectators. I saw the EmperorAlexander III. From an open balcony, and behind closed windows. 

On the regular festivals and festivities, such as St. George's Day, NewYear's Day, the Epiphany (the "Jordan, " or Blessing of the Neva), thestate balls, Easter, and so forth, every one knew where to look for theEmperor, and at what hour. The official notifications in the morningpapers, informing members of the Court at what hour and place to presentthemselves, furnished a good guide to the Emperor's movements for anyone who did not already know. On such days the approaches to the WinterPalace were kept open for the guests as they arrived; the crowd wasalways enormous, especially at the "Jordan. " But as soon as royaltiesand guests had arrived, and, on the "Jordan" day, as soon as the Nevahad been blessed, ordinary traffic was resumed on sidewalks of theWinter Palace (those of the Anitchkoff Palace, where the Emperor lived, were never cut off from public use), on streets, and Palace Square. Royalties and guests departed quietly at their pleasure. 

I was driving down the Nevsky Prospekt on the afternoon of New Year'sDay, 1889, when, just at the gate of the Anitchkoff Palace, a policemanraised his hand, and my sledge and the whole line behind me halted. Ilooked round to see the reason, and beheld the Emperor and Empresssitting beside me in the semi-state cream-colored carriage, painted witha big coat of arms, its black hood studded with golden doubleheadedeagles, which the present Emperor used on his wedding day. A coachman, postilion, and footman constituted the sole "guard, " while the lateprefect, General Gresser, in an open calash a quarter of a mile behind, constituted the "armed escort. " They were on the roadway next to thehorse-car track, which is reserved for private equipages, and had tocross the lines of public sledges next to the sidewalk. On otheroccasions, such as launches of ironclad war vessels, the expectedpresence of the Emperor and Empress was announced in the newspapers. Itwas easy enough to calculate the route and the hour, if one wished tosee them. I frequently made such calculations, in town and country, and, stranger though I was, I never made a mistake. When cabinet ministers orhigh functionaries of the Court died, the Emperor and Empress attendedone of the services before the funeral, and the funeral. Thousands ofpeople calculated the hour, and the best spot to see them with absoluteaccuracy. At one such funeral, just after rumors of a fresh "plot" hadbeen rife, I saw the great crowd surge up with a cheer towards theEmperor's carriage, though the Russians are very quiet in public. Thepolice who were guarding the route of the procession stood still andsmiled approvingly. 

But sometimes the streets through which the Emperor Alexander III. Wasto pass were temporarily forbidden to the public; such as the annualmass and parade of the regiments of the Guards in their greatriding-schools, and a few more. I know just how that device worked, because I put it to the proof twice, with amusing results. 

The first time it was in this wise: There exists in St. Petersburg aLadies' Artistic Circle, which meets once a week all winter, to drawfrom models. Social standing as well as artistic talent is requisite inmembers of this society, to which two or three Grand Duchesses havebelonged, or do belong. The product of their weekly work, added to giftsfrom each member, is exhibited, sold, and raffled for each spring, theproceeds being devoted to helping needy artists by purchasing for themcanvas, paints, and so forth, to clothing and educating their children, or aiding them in a dozen different ways, such as paying house-rent, doctor's bills, pensions, and so forth, to the amount of a great manythousand dollars every year. When I was in Petersburg, the exhibitionstook place in the ballroom and drawing-room of one grand ducal palace, while the home and weekly meetings were in the palace of the GrandDuchess Ekaterina Mikhailovna, now dead. An amiable poet, YakoffPetrovitch, invited me to attend one of these meetings, --a number ofmen being honorary members, though the women manage everythingthemselves, --but illness prevented my accompanying him on the eveningappointed for our visit. He told me, therefore, to keep my invitationcard. Three months elapsed before circumstances permitted me to use it. 

One evening, on my way from an informal call of farewell on a friend whowas about to set out for the Crimea, I ordered my _izvostchik_ to driveme to the Michael Palace. We were still at some distance from the palacewhen a policeman spoke to the _izvostchik_, who drove on instead ofturning that corner, as he had been on the point of doing. 

"Why don't you go on up that street?" I asked. 

"Impossible! Probably the _Hosudar_ [Emperor] is coming, " answeredcabby. 

"Whither is he going?"

"We don't know, " replied cabby, in true Russian style. 

"But I mean to go to that palace, all the same, " said I. 

"Of course, " said cabby tranquilly, turning up the next parallel street, which brought us out on the square close to the palace. 

As we drove into the courtyard I was surprised to see that it was filledwith carriages, that the plumed chasseurs of ambassadors and footmen incourt liveries were flitting to and fro, and that the great flight ofsteps leading to the grand entrance was dotted thickly with officers andgendarmes, exactly as though an imperial birthday _Te Deum_ at St. Isaac's Cathedral were in progress, and twenty or twenty-five thousandpeople must be kept in order. 

"Well!" I said to myself, "this appears to be a very elegant sort ofsketch-club, with evening dress and all the society appurtenances. Whatdid Yakoff Petrovitch mean by telling me that a plain street gown wasthe proper thing to wear? This enforced 'simplification' is rathertrying to the feminine nerves; but I will not beat a retreat!"

I paid and dismissed my _izvostchik_, --a poor, shabby fellow, such asFate invariably allotted to me, --walked in, gave my furs and galoshesto the handsome, big head Swiss in imperial scarlet and gold livery, andstarted past the throng of servants, to the grand staircase, whichascended invitingly at the other side of the vast hall. Unfortunately, that instinct with whose possession women are sometimes reproachedprompted me to turn back, just as I had reached the first step, andquestion the Swiss. 

"In what room shall I find the Ladies' Artistic Circle?"

"It does not meet to-night, madame, " he answered. "Her Imperial Highnesshas guests. "

"But I thought the Circle met every Wednesday night from November toMay. "

"It does, usually, madame; to-night is an exception. You will find theladies here next week. "

"Then please to give me my _shuba_ and galoshes, and call a sledge. "

The Swiss gave the order for a sledge to one of the palace servantsstanding by, and put on my galoshes and cloak. But the big square wasdeserted, the ubiquitous _izvostchik_ was absent, for once, it appeared, and after waiting a few minutes at the grand entrance, I repeated myrequest to an officer of gendarmes. He touched his cap, said:"_Slushaiu's_" (I obey, madame), and set in action a series of shouts of"_Izvostchik! izvo-o-o-o-stchik!_" It ended in the dispatch of amessenger to a neighboring street, and--at last--the appearance of asledge, visibly shabby of course, even in the dark, --my luck had notdeserted me. 

I could have walked home, as it was very close at hand, in much lesstime than it took to get the sledge, be placed therein, and buttonedfast under the robe by the gendarme officer: but my heart had quailed alittle, I confess, when it looked for a while as if I should becompelled to do it and pass that array of carriages and lackeys afoot. Iwas glad enough to be able to spend double fare on the man (because Ihad not bargained in advance), in the support of my little dignity andfalse pride. 

As I drove out of one gate, a kind of quiet tumult arose at the other. On comparing notes, two days later, as to the hour, with a friend whohad been at the palace that night (by invitation, not in my way), Ifound that the Emperor and Empress had driven up to attend these Lenten_Tableaux Vivants_, in which several members of the imperial familyfigured, just as I had got out of the way. 

This was one of the very few occasions when I found any street reservedtemporarily for the Emperor, who usually drives like a private citizen. I have never been able to understand, however, what good suchreservation does, if undertaken as a protective measure (as hastytravelers are fond of asserting), when a person can head off theEmperor, reach the goal by a parallel street, and then walk into asmall, select imperial party unknown, uninvited, unhindered, as Ievidently could have done and almost did, woolen gown, bonnet, and all, barred solely by my own question to the Swiss at the last moment. 

That the full significance of my semi-adventure may be comprehended, with all its irregularity, let me explain that my manner of arrival wasas unsuitable--as suspicious, if you like--as it well could be. Ihad no business to drive up to a palace, in a common sledge hired on thestreet, on such an occasion. I had no business to be riding alone in anopen sledge at night. Officers from the regiments of the Guards may, from economy, use such public open sledges (there are no covered sledgesin town) to attend a reception at the Winter Palace, or a funeral massat a church where the Emperor and Empress are present. I have seen thatdone. But they are careful to alight at a distance and approach theaugust edifice on their own noble, uniformed legs. But a woman--without a uniform to consecrate her daring--!

However, closed carriages do not stand at random on the street in St. Petersburg, any more than they do elsewhere, and cannot often be hadeither quickly or easily, besides being expensive. 

Nevertheless, neither then nor at any other time did I ever encounterthe slightest disrespect from police, gendarmes, servants (those severeand often impertinent judges of one's attire and equipage), nor fromtheir masters, --not even on this critical occasion when I so patently, flagrantly transgressed all the proprieties, yet was not interfered withby word or glance, but was permitted to discover my error for myself, orplunge headlong, unwarned, into the Duchess's party, regardless of myunsuitable costume. 

On the following Wednesday, I drove to the palace again in the samestyle of equipage, and the same gown, which proved to be perfectlyproper, as Mr. Y. P. Had told me, and was greeted with a courteous andamiable smile by the head Swiss, who had the air of taking me under hisspecial protection, as he conducted me in person, not by deputy, to thequarters of the Circle. 

I had another illustrative experience with closed streets. In Februarycome the two grand reviews of the Guards, stationed in Petersburg, Peterhoff, and Tzarskoe Selo, on the Palace Place. They are finespectacles, but only for those who have access to a window overlookingthe scene, as all the streets leading to the Place are blockaded by thegendarmerie, to obviate the disturbance of traffic. On one of theseoccasions, I inadvertently selected the route which the Emperor was touse. I was stopped by mounted gendarmes. I told them that it was too farto walk, with my heavy furs and shoes, and they allowed me to proceed. Ablock further on, officers of higher grade in the gendarmerie rode up tome and again declared that it was impossible for me to go on; but theyyielded, as did still higher officers, at two or three advanced posts. Ibelieve that it was not intended that I should walk along that streeteither; I certainly had it all to myself. I know now how royalty feelswhen carefully coddled, and prefer to have my fellow-creatures about me. I alighted, at last, with the polite assistance of a gendarme officer, at the very spot where the Emperor afterward alighted from his sledgeand mounted his horse. At that time I was living in an extremelyfashionable quarter of the city, where every one was supposed to keephis own carriage. The result was that the _izvostchiki_ never expectedcustom from any one except the servants of the wealthy, and none but theshabbiest sledges in town ever waited there for engagements. Accordingly, my turnout was very shabby, and the gendarmes could nothave been impressed with respect by it. On the other hand, had I usedthe best style of public equipage, the likatchi, the kind which consistsof an elegant little sledge, a fine horse, and a spruce, well-fed, well-dressed driver, it is probable that they would not have let me passat all. Ladies are not permitted, by etiquette, to patronize these_likatchi_, alone, and no man will take his wife or a woman whom herespects to drive in one. Had I foreseen that there would be anyoccasion for inspiring respect by my equipage, I would have gone to thetrouble and expense of hiring a closed carriage, a thing which I did asrarely as possible, because nothing could be seen through the frozenwindow, because they seemed much colder than the open sledges, and hadno advantage except style, and that of protecting one from the wind, which I did not mind. 

VI. 

A RUSSIAN SUMMER RESORT. 

The spring was late and cold. I wore my fur-lined cloak (_shuba_) andwrapped up my ears, by Russian advice as well as by inclination, untillate in May. But we were told that the summer heat would catch ussuddenly, and that St. Petersburg would become malodorous and unhealthy. It was necessary, owing to circumstances, to find a healthy residencefor the summer, which should not be too far removed from the capital. With a few exceptions, all the environs of St. Petersburg are damp. Unless one goes as far as Gatschina, or into the part of Finlandadjacent to the city, Tzarskoe Selo presents the only dry locality. Inthe Finnish summer colonies, one must, perforce, keep house, for lack ofhotels. In Tzarskoe, as in Peterhoff, villa life is the only varietyrecognized by polite society; but there we had--or seemed to have--the choice between that and hotels. We decided in favor of Tzarskoe, asit is called in familiar conversation. As one approaches the imperialvillage, it rises like a green oasis from the plain. It is hedged in, like a true Russian village, but with trees and bushes well trainedinstead of with a wattled fence. 

During the reign of Alexander II. , this inland village was the favoriteCourt resort; not Peterhoff, on the Gulf of Finland, as at present. Itis situated sixteen miles from St. Petersburg, on the line of the firstrailway built in Russia, which to this day extends only a couple ofmiles beyond, --for lack of the necessity of farther extension, it isjust to add. It stands on land which is not perceptibly higher than St. Petersburg, and it took a great deal of demonstration before an Empressof the last century could be made to believe that it was, in reality, ona level with the top of the lofty Admiralty spire, and that she mustcontinue her tiresome trips to and fro in her coach, in theimpossibility of constructing a canal which would enable her to sail incomfort. Tzarskoe Selo, "Imperial Village:" well as the name fits theplace, it is thought to have been corrupted from _saari_, the Finnishword for "farm, " as a farm occupied the site when Peter the Greatpitched upon it for one of his numerous summer resorts. He firstenlarged the farmhouse, then built one of his simple wooden palaces, anda greenhouse for Katherine I. Eventually he erected a small part of thepresent Old Palace. It was at the dedication of the church here, celebrated in floods of liquor (after a fashion not unfamiliar in theannals of New England in earlier days), that Peter I. Contracted theillness which, aggravated by a similar drinking-bout elsewhereimmediately afterward, and a cold caused by a wetting while he wasengaged in rescuing some people from drowning, carried him to his gravevery promptly. His successors enlarged and beautified the place, whichfirst became famous during the reign of Katherine II. At the presentday, its broad macadamized streets are lighted by electricity; its_Gostinny Dvor_ (bazaar) is like that of a provincial city; many of itssidewalks, after the same provincial pattern, have made people preferthe middle of the street for their promenades. Naturally, only the lowerclasses were expected to walk when the Court resided there. 

Before making acquaintance with the famous palaces and parks, weundertook to settle ourselves for the time being, at least. It appearedthat "furnished" villas are so called in Tzarskoe, as elsewhere, becausethey require to be almost completely furnished by the occupant on afoundation of bare bones of furniture, consisting of a few bedsteads andtables. This was not convenient for travelers; neither did we wish tocommit ourselves for the whole season to the cares of housekeeping, lesta change of air should be ordered suddenly; so we determined to try tolive in another way. 

Boarding-houses are as scarce here as in St. Petersburg, the whole townboasting but one, --advertised as a wonderful rarity, --which was verybadly situated. There were plenty of _traktiri_, or low-classeating-houses, some of which had "numbers for arrivers"--that is tosay, rooms for guests--added to their gaudy signs. These were not tobe thought of. But we had been told of an establishment which rejoicedin the proud title of _gostinnitza_, "hotel, " in city fashion. It lookedfairly good, and there we took up our abode, after due and inevitablechaffering. This hotel was kept, over shops, on the first and part ofthe second floor of a building which had originally been destined forapartments. Its only recommendation was that it was situated near a verydesirable gate into the Imperial Park. 

Our experience there was sufficient to slake all curiosity as to Russiansummer resort hotels, or country hotels in provincial towns, since thatwas its character; though it had, besides, some hindrances which werepeculiar, I hope, to itself. The usual clean, large dining-room, withthe polished floor, table decorated with plants, and lace curtains, wasirresistibly attractive, especially to wedding parties of shopkeepers, who danced twelve hours at a stretch, and to breakfast parties afterfunerals, whose guests made rather more uproar on afternoons than didthose of the wedding balls in the evening, as they sang the customarydoleful chants, and then warmed up to the occasion with bottledconsolation. The establishment being shorthanded for waiters, theseentertainments interfered seriously with our meals, which we took inprivate; and we were often forced to go hungry until long after thehour, because there was so much to eat in the house!

Our first experience of the place was characteristic. The waiter, whowas also "boots, " chambermaid, and clerk, on occasion, distributed twosheets, two pillows, one blanket, and one "cold" (cotton) coverletbetween the two beds, and considered that ample, as no doubt it wasaccording to some lights and according to the almanac, though theweather resembled November just then, and I saw snow a few days later. Having succeeded in getting this rectified, after some discussion, Iasked for towels. 

"There is one, " answered Mikhei (Micah), with his most fascinatingsmile. 

The towel was very small, and was intended to serve for two persons!Eventually it did not; and we earned the name of being altogether toofastidious. The washstand had a tank of water attached to the top, whichwe pumped into the basin with a foot-treadle, after we became skillful, holding our hands under the stream the while. The basin had no stopper. "Running water is cleaner to wash in, " was the serious explanation. Someother barbarian who had used that washstand before us must also havediffered from that commonly accepted Russian opinion: when we plugged upthe hole with a cork, and it disappeared, and we fished it out of thestill clogged pipe, we found that six others had preceded it. It took achampagne cork and a cord to conquer the orifice. 

Among our vulgar experiences at this place were--fleas. I remonstratedwith Mikhei, our typical waiter from the government of Yaroslavl, whichfurnishes restaurant _garcons_ in hordes as a regular industry. Mikheireplied airily:--

"_Nitchevo!_ It is nothing! You will soon learn to like them so muchthat you cannot do without them. "

I take the liberty of doubting whether even Russians ever reach thatlast state of mind, in a lifetime of endurance. Two rooms beyond us, inthe same corridor, lodged a tall, thin, gray-haired Russian merchant, who was nearly a typical Yankee in appearance. Every morning, at fouro'clock, when the fleas were at their worst and roused us regularly (the"close season" for mortals, in Russia, is between five and six A. M. ), we heard this man emerge from his room, and shake, separately andviolently, the four pieces of his bedclothing into the corridor; not outof the window, as he should have done. So much for the modern nativetaste. It is recorded that the beauties of the last century, in St. Petersburg, always wore on their bosoms silver "flea-catchers" attachedto a ribbon. These traps consisted of small tubes pierced with a greatnumber of tiny holes, closed at the bottom, open at the top, and eachcontaining a slender shaft smeared with honey or some other stickysubstance. So much for the ancient native taste. 

Again, we had a disagreement with Mikhei on the subject of the roastbeef. More than once it was brought in having a peculiarblackish-crimson hue and stringy grain, with a sweetish flavor, and anodor which was singular but not tainted, and which required imperativelythat either we or it should vacate the room instantly. Mikhei stuckfirmly to his assertion that it was a prime cut from a first-class ox. We discovered the truth later on, in Moscow, when we entered a Tatarhorse-butcher's shop--ornamented with the picture of a horse, as thelaw requires--out of curiosity, to inquire prices. We recognized thesmell and other characteristics of our Tzarskoe Selo "roast ox" at aglance and a sniff, and remained only long enough to learn that the bestcuts cost two and a half cents a pound. Afterward we went a block aboutto avoid passing that shop. The explanation of the affair was simpleenough. In our hotel there was a _traktir_, run by our landlord, tuckedaway in a rear corner of the ground floor, and opening on what Thackeraywould have called a "tight but elegant" little garden, for summer use. It was thronged from morning till night with Tatar old-clothes men andsoldiers from the garrison, for whom it was the rendezvous. The horsebeef had been provided for the Tatars, who considered it a specialdainty, and had been palmed off upon us because it was cheap. 

I may dismiss the subject of the genial Mikhei here, with the remarkthat we met him the following summer at the Samson Inn, in Peterhoff, where he served our breakfast with an affectionate solicitude whichsomewhat alarmed us for his sobriety. He was very much injured inappearance by long hair thrown back in artistic fashion, and a lividgash which scored one side of his face down to his still unbrushedteeth, and nearly to his unwashed shirt, narrowly missing one eye, andsuggested possibilities of fight in him which, luckily for our peace ofmind, we had not suspected the previous season. 

Our chambermaid at first, at the Tzarskoe hostelry, was a lad fourteenyears of age, who dusted in the most wonderfully conscientious waywithout being asked, like a veteran trained housekeeper. We supposedthat male chambermaids were the fashion, judging from the offices whichwe had seen our St. Petersburg hotel "boots" perform, and we saidnothing. A Russian friend who came to call on us, however, was shocked, and, without our knowledge, gave the landlord a lecture on the subject, the first intimation of which was conveyed to us by the appearance of amaid who had been engaged "expressly for the service of our highnobilities;" price, five rubles a month (two dollars and a half; shechanced to live in the attic lodgings), which they did not pay her, andwhich we gladly gave her. Her conversation alone was worth three timesthe money. Our "boots" in St. Petersburg got but four rubles a month, out of which he was obliged to clothe himself, and furnish the brushes, wax, and blacking for the boots; and he had not had a single day'sholiday in four years, when we made his acquaintance. I won his eternaldevotion by "placing a candle" vicariously to the Saviour for him onChristmas Day, and added one for myself, to harmonize with the brotherlyspirit of the season. 

Andrei, the boy, never wholly recovered from the grief and resentmentcaused by being thus supplanted, and the imputation cast upon his powersof caring for us. He got even with us on at least two occasions, for theoffense of which we were innocent. Once he told a fashionable visitor ofours that we dined daily in the _traktir_, with the Tatar clothespeddlers and the soldiers of the garrison, with the deliberate intentionof shocking her. I suppose it soothed his feelings for having to serveour food in our own room. Again, being ordered to "place the _samovar_"he withdrew to his chamber, the former kitchen of the apartment, andwent to sleep on the cold range, which was his bed, where he wasdiscovered after we had starved patiently for an hour and a half. 

Andrei's supplanter was named Katiusha, but her angular charmscorresponded so precisely with those of the character in "The Mikado"that we referred to her habitually as Katisha. She had been a serf, amember of the serf aristocracy, which consisted of the house servants, and had served always as maid or nurse. She was now struggling on as aseamstress. Her sewing was wonderfully bad, and she found greatdifficulty in bringing up her two children, who demanded fashionable"European" clothing, and in eking out the starvation wages of herhusband, a superannuated restaurant waiter, also a former serf, andbelonging, like herself, to the class which received personal liberty, but no land, at the emancipation. Her view of the emancipation was notentirely favorable. In fact, all the ex-serfs with whom I talkedretained a soft spot in their hearts for the comforts andirresponsibility of the good old days of serfdom. 

Katiusha could neither read nor write, but her naturally acute powers ofobservation, unconsciously trained by constant contact with her formerowners, were of very creditable quality. She possessed a genuine talentfor expressing herself neatly. For example, in describing a concert towhich she had been taken, she praised the soprano singer's voice withmuch discrimination, winding up with, "It was--how shall I say it?--round--as round--as round as--a cartwheel!"

Her great delight consisted in being sent by me to purchase eggs andfruit at the market, or in accompanying me to carry them home, when Iwent myself to enjoy the scene and her methods. In her I was able tostudy Russian bargaining tactics in their finest flower. She wouldhaggle for half an hour over a quarter of a cent on very smallpurchases, and then would carry whatever she bought into one of theneighboring shops to be reweighed. To my surprise, the good-naturedvenders seemed never to take offense at this significant act; and shenever discovered any dishonesty. When wearied out by this sort of thing, I took charge of the proceedings, that I might escape from her agonizedgroans and grimaces at my extravagance. After choking down her emotionin gulps all the way home, she would at last clasp her hands, and moanin a wheedling voice:--

"Please, _barynya_, * how much did you pay that robber?"

* Mistress. 

"Two kopeks* apiece for the eggs. They are fine, large, and fresh, asyou see. Twenty kopeks a pound for the strawberries, also of the firstquality. "

* About one cent. 

Then would follow a scene which never varied, even if my indiscretionhad been confined to raspberries at five cents a pound, or currants at acent less. She would wring her hands, long and fleshless as fan handles, and, her great green eyes phosphorescent with distress above her hollowcheeks and projecting bones, she would cry:--

"Oh, _barynya_, they have cheated you, cheated you shamefully! You mustlet me protect you. "

"Come, don't you think it is worth a few kopeks to be called 'a pearl, ''a diamond, ' 'an emerald'?"

"Is _that_ all they called you?" she inquired, with a disdainful sniff. 

"No; they said that I was 'a real general-ess. ' They knew theirbusiness, you see. And they said '_madame_' instead of '_sudarynya_. '*Was there any other title which they could have bestowed on me for themoney?"

*_Sudarynya_ is the genuine Russian word for "madam, " but, like_spasibo_, "thank you, " it is used only by the lower classes. Manymerchants who know no French except _madame_ use it as a delicatecompliment to the patron's social position. 

She confessed, with a pitying sigh, that there was not, but returned toher plaint over the sinfully wasted kopeks. Once I offered her some"tea-money" in the shape of a basket of raspberries, which she wished topreserve and drink in her tea, with the privilege of purchasing themherself. As an experiment to determine whether bargaining is the outcomeof thrift and economy alone, or a distinct pleasure in itself, it was asuccess. I followed her from vender to vender, and waited with exemplarypatience while she scrutinized their wares and beat down prices withfeverish eagerness, despite the fact that she was not to pay the bill. Iput an end to the matter when she tried to persuade a pretty peasantgirl, who had walked eight miles, to accept less than four cents a poundfor superb berries. I think it really spoiled my gift to her that Iinsisted on making the girl happy with five cents a pound. After that Iwas not surprised to find Russian merchants catering to the taste oftheir customers by refusing to adopt the one-price system. 

It was vulgar to go to market, of course. Even the great mastiff whoacted as yard dog at the bazaar made me aware of that fact. He alwaysgreeted me politely, like a host, when he met me in the court at markethours. But nothing could induce him even to look at me when he met meoutside. I tried to explain to him that my motives were scientific, noteconomical, and I introduced Katiusha to him as the family bargainer andscapegoat for his scorn. He declined to relent. After that I understoodthat there was nothing for it but to shoulder the responsibility myself, and I never attempted to palliate my unpardonable conduct in the eyes ofthe servants of my friends whom I occasionally encountered there. 

The market was held in the inner courtyard of the _Gostinny Dvor_, nearthe chapel, which always occupies a conspicuous position in such places. While the shops under the arcade, facing on the street, sold everything, from "gallantry wares" (dry goods and small wares) to nails, the innerbooths were all devoted to edibles. On the rubble pavement of the courtsquatted peasants from the villages for many versts round about, bothRussian and Finnish, hedged in by their wares, vegetables, flowers, fruit, and live poultry. The Russians exhibited no beautiful costumes;their proximity to the capital had done away with all that. At first Iwas inexperienced, and went unprovided with receptacles for mymarketing. The market women looked up in surprise. 

"What, have you no kerchief?" they asked, as though I were a peasant orpetty merchant's wife, and could remove the typical piece of gaylycolored cloth from my head or neck. When I objected to transporting eggsand berries in my only resource, my handkerchief, they reluctantlyproduced scraps of dirty newspaper, or of ledgers scrawled over withqueer accounts. I soon grew wise, and hoarded up the splint strawberrybaskets provided by the male venders, which are put to multifarious usesin Russia. 

After being asked for a kerchief in the markets, and a sheet when I wentto get my fur cloak from its summer storage at a fashionable city shop, and after making divers notes on journeys, I was obliged to concludethat the ancient merchant fashion in Russia had been to seize thenearest fabric at hand, --the sheet from the bed, the cloth from thetable, --and use it as a traveling trunk. 

The Finns at the market were not to be mistaken for Russians. Theirfeatures were wooden; their expression was far less intelligent thanthat of the Russians. The women were addicted to wonderful patterns inaprons and silver ornaments, and wore, under a white head kerchief, astiff glazed white circlet which seemed to wear away their blond hair. These women arrived regularly every morning, before five o'clock, at theshops of the baker and the grocer opposite our windows. The shops openedat that hour, after having kept open until eleven o'clock at night, orlater. After refreshing themselves with a roll and a bunch of youngonions, of which the green tops appeared to be the most relished, thewomen made their town toilet by lowering the very much reefed skirt oftheir single garment, drawing on footless stockings, and donning shoes. At ten o'clock, or even earlier, they came back to fill the sacks ofcoarse white linen, borne over their shoulders, with necessaries fortheir households, purchased with the proceeds of their sales, and toreverse their toilet operations, preparatory to the long tramp homeward. I sometimes caught them buying articles which seemed extravagantluxuries, all things considered, such as raisins. One of theirspecialties was the sale of lilies of the valley, which grow wild in theRussian forests. Their peculiar little trot-trot, and the indescribablesemi-tones and quarter-tones in which they cried, "_Land-dy-y-y-shee!_"were unmistakably Finnish at any distance. 

The scene at the market was always entertaining. Tzarskoe is surroundedby market gardens, where vegetables and fruits are raised in highlymanured and excessively hilled-up beds. It sends tons of its products tothe capital as well as to the local market. Everything was cheap anddelicious. Eggs were dear when they reached a cent and a half apiece. Strawberries, huge and luscious, were dear at ten cents a pound, sincein warm seasons they cost but five. Another berry, sister to thestrawberry, but differing from it utterly in taste, was the _klubnika_, of which there were two varieties, the white and the bluish-red, bothdelicious in their peculiar flavor, but less decorative in size andaspect than the strawberry. 

The native cherries, small and sour, make excellent preserves, with aspicy flavor, which are much liked by Russians in their tea. The onlyobjection to this use of them is that both tea and cherries are spoiled. Raspberries, plums, gooseberries, and currants were plentiful and cheap. A vegetable delicacy of high order, according to Katiusha, whointroduced it to my notice, was a sort of radish with an extremely fine, hard grain, and biting qualities much developed, which attains enormoussize, and is eaten in thin slices, salted and buttered. I presented thesolitary specimen which I bought, a ninepin in proportions, to thegrateful Katiusha. It was beyond my appreciation. 

Pears do not thrive so far north, but in good years apples of fine sortsare raised, to a certain extent, in the vicinity of St. Petersburg. Really good specimens, however, come from Poland, the lower Volga, Little Russia, and other distant points, which renders them alwaysrather dear. We saw few in our village that were worth buying, as theseason was phenomenally cold, and a month or three weeks late, so thatwe got our strawberries in August, and our linden blossoms in September. Apples, plums, grapes, and honey are not eaten--in theory--until afterthey have been blessed at the feast of the Transfiguration, on August 18(N. S. ), --a very good scheme for giving them time to ripen fully forhealth. Before that day, however, hucksters bearing trays of honey ontheir heads are eagerly welcomed, and the peasant's special dainty--fresh cucumbers thickly coated with honey--is indulged in unblessed. Honey is not so plentiful that one can afford to fling away a prematurechance!

When the mushroom season came in, the market assumed an aspect ofhalf-subdued brilliancy with the many sombre and high-colored varietiesof that fungus. The poorer people indulge in numerous kinds which therich do not eat, and they furnish precious sustenance during fasts, whenso many viands are forbidden by the Russian Church and by poverty. Oneof the really odd sights, during the fast of Saints Peter and Paul (thefirst half of July), was that of people walking along the streets withbunches of pea-vines, from which they were plucking the peas, and eatingthem, pods and all, quite raw. It seemed a very summary and wasteful wayof gathering them. This fashion of eating vegetables raw was imported, along with the liturgy, from the hot lands where the Eastern Churchfirst flourished, and where raw food was suitable. These traditions, andprobably also the economy of fuel, cause it to be still persisted in, ina climate to which it is wholly unsuited. Near Tzarskoe I found onevariety of pea growing to the altitude of nearly seven feet, andproducing pods seven inches long and three wide. The stalks of thedouble poppies in the same garden were six and seven feet high, and theflowers were the size of peonies, while the pods of the single poppieswere nine inches in circumference. 

One of the great festivals of the Russian Church is Whitsunday, theseventh Sunday after Easter; but it is called Trinity Sunday, and thenext day is "the Day of Spirits, " or Pentecost. On this Pentecost Day acurious sight was formerly to be seen in St. Petersburg. Mothersbelonging to the merchant class arrayed their marriageable daughters intheir best attire; hung about their necks not only all the jewels whichformed a part of their dowries, but also, it is said, the silver ladles, forks, and spoons; and took them to the Summer Garden, to be inspectedand proposed for by the young men. 

But the place where this spectacle can be seen in the most charming wayis Tzarskoe Selo. We were favored with superb weather on both the festaldays. On Sunday morning every one went to church, as usual. The smallchurch behind the Lyceum, where Pushkin was educated, with itsun-Russian spire, ranks as a Court church; that in the Old Palace acrossthe way being opened only on special occasions, now that the Court isnot in residence. Outside, the choir sat under the golden rain of acaciablossoms and the hedge of fragrant lilacs until the last moment, thesunshine throwing into relief their gold-laced black cloth vestments andcrimson belts. They were singers from one of the regiments stationed intown, and crimson was the regimental color. The church is accessible toall classes, and it was crowded. As at Easter, every one was clad inwhite or light colors, even those who were in mourning having donned thebluish-gray which serves them for festive garb. In place of the Eastercandle, each held a bouquet of flowers. In the corners of the churchstood young birch-trees, with their satin bark and feathery foliage, andboughs of the same decked the walls. There is a law now which forbidsthis annual destruction of young trees at Pentecost, but the practicecontinues, and the tradition is that one must shed as many tears for hissins as there are dewdrops on the birch bough which he carries, if hehas no flowers. Peasant women in clean cotton gowns elbowed members ofthe Court in silks; fat merchants, with well-greased, odorous hair andboots, in hot, long-skirted blue cloth coats, stood side by side withshabby invalid soldiers or smartly uniformed officers. Tiny peasantchildren seated themselves on the floor when their little legs refusedfurther service, and imitated diligently all the low reverences andsigns of the cross made by their parents. Those of larger growth stoodwith the preternatural repose and dignity of the adult Russian peasant, and followed the liturgy independently. One little girl of seven, self-possessed and serenely unconscious, slipped through the crowd tothe large image of the Virgin near the altar, grasped the breast-highguard-rail, and kissed the holy picture in the middle of her agilevault. When some members of the imperial family arrived, the crowdpressed together still more closely, to make a narrow passage to thesmall space reserved for them opposite the choir. After the everbeautiful liturgy, finely expressed special prayers were offered, duringwhich the priest also carried flowers. 

Another church service on the following day--a day when public officesare closed and business ceases--completed the religious duties of thefestival. In the afternoon, the whole town began to flock to theImperial Park surrounding the Old Palace, --people of the upper circlesincluded, --the latter from motives of curiosity, of course. Threebands of the Guards furnished the music. On the great terrace, shaded byoak-trees hardly beyond the bronze-pink stage of their leafage, playedthe hussars. Near the breakfast gallery, with its bronze statues ofHercules and Flora, which the common people call "Adam and Eve" (theAriadne on Naxos, in a neighboring grotto, is popularly believed to be"a girl of seven years, who was bitten by a snake while roaming theRussian primeval forest, and died"), were the cuirassiers. The_stryelki_ (sharpshooters) were stationed near the lake, the centralpoint for meetings and promenades during the lovely "white nights;"where boats of every sort, from a sail-boat or a Chinese sampan to anAstrakhan fishing-boat or a snowshoe skiff, are furnished gratis allsummer, with a sailor of the Guard to row them, if desired. Round andround and round, unweariedly, paced the girls. They were bareheaded andin slippered feet, as usual, but had abandoned the favorite ulster, which too often accompanies extremities thus unclad, to display theirgayest gowns. The young men gazed with intense interest. Here and therea young fellow in "European clothes" was to be seen conversing with themore conservative young merchants, who retained the wrinkled bootsconfining full trousers, the shirt worn outside the trousers, the clothvest, and the blue cloth long coat of traditional cut. 

It was like a scene from the theatre. Across the lake, dotted withboating parties, stretched lawns planted with trees chosen for theirvariety of foliage, from the silver willow to the darkest evergreens, while the banks were diversified with a boat-house, a terraced grotto, aTurkish kiosk with a bath, bridges, and so on. Of the immense palacewhich stood so near at hand the graceful breakfast gallery alone wasvisible, while high above the waving crests of the trees the fivecupolas of the palace church, in the shape of imperial crowns, seemed tofloat in the clear blue sky like golden bubbles. The lawns within theacacia-hedged compartments were dazzling with campanulas, harebells, rose campions, and crimson and yellow columbine, or gleamed with thepale turquoise of forget-me-nots. We had only to enter the adjoiningpark surrounding the Alexander Palace, built for Alexander I. By hisgrandmother, Katherine II. , to find the Field of the Cloth of Goldrealized by acres of tall double Siberian buttercups, as large and asfragrant as yellow roses. 

Soldiers of the garrison strolled about quietly, as usual. The pet ofthe hussars was in great form, and his escort of admiring comrades waslarger than ever. They thrust upon him half of their tidbits andsunflower seeds, --what masses of sunflower seeds and handbillcigarettes were consumed that day, not to mention squash seeds, by themore opulent!--and waited eagerly for his dimpled smile as theirreward. When the bands were weary, the regimental singers rangedthemselves in a circle, and struck up songs of love, of battle, and ofmirth, amid the applause and laughter of the crowd. Now and then asoldier would step into the middle of the circle and dance. The slight, agile, square-capped _stryelki_ spun round until their full-plaitedblack tunics stood out from their tightly belted waists like the skirtsof ballet dancers. The slender, graceful hussars, with theiryellow-laced scarlet jackets and tight blue trousers, flitted to and frolike gay birds. The best performer of all was a cuirassier, a big blondfellow, with ruddy cheeks and dazzling teeth. Planting his peaklesswhite cloth cap with its yellow band firmly on his head, he steppedforward, grasping in each hand a serried pyramid of brass bells, whichchimed merrily as he squatted, leaped, and executed eccentric steps withhis feet, while his arms beat time and his fine voice rolled out thesolo of a rollicking ballad, to which the rest of the company furnishedthe chorus as well as their laughter and delighted applause of hisefforts permitted. His tightly fitting dark green trousers, tall boots, and jacket of white cloth trimmed with yellow set off his muscular formto great advantage. A comrade stood by, shaking the _buntchuk_, anornamental combination of brass half-moons, gay horsetails, and bells, --the Turkish staff of command, which is carried as a special privilegeby several Russian cavalry regiments. There is nothing that a company ofRussians likes better than a spirited performance of their nationaldances, whether it be high-class Russians at a Russian opera in theImperial Theatre, or the masses on informal occasions like the present. This soldier, who danced with joy in every fibre, was quite willing tooblige them indefinitely, and seemed to be made of steel springs. Hestopped with great reluctance, and that only when his company wasordered peremptorily to march off to barracks at the appointed hour. 

How many weddings resulted from that day's dress parade I know not. ButI presume the traditional "match-makers" did their duty, if the youngmen were sufficiently impressed by the girls' outfits to commissionthese professional proposers to lay their hearts and hands at the feetof the parents on the following day. They certainly could not have beenhopelessly bewitched by any beauty which was on show. The presence ofthe soldiers, the singing, music, and dancing, framed in that exquisitepark, combined to create a scene the impression of which is far beyondcomparison with that of the same parade in the Summer Garden at St. Petersburg. 

This grand terrace of the Old Palace is a favorite resort for mothersand children, especially when the different bands of the Guards'regiments stationed in the town furnish music. But not far away, in theless stately, more natural park surrounding the Alexander Palace, theproperty of the Crown Prince, lies the real paradise of the children ofall classes. There is the playground, provided with gymnastic apparatus, laid out at the foot of a picturesque tower, one of the line of signaltowers, now mostly demolished, which, before the introduction of thetelegraph, flashed news from Warsaw to St. Petersburg in the thenphenomenally short space of twenty-four hours. The children's favoriteamusement is the "net. " Sailors of the guard set up a full-rigged ship'smast, surrounded, about two feet from the ground, by a wide sweep ofclose-meshed rope netting well tarred. Boys and girls of ambition climbthe rigging, swing, and drop into the net. The little ones never wearyof dancing about on its yielding surface. A stalwart, gentle giant of asailor watches over the safety of the merrymakers, and warns, teaches, or helps them, if they wish it. 

Their nurses, with pendent bosoms and fat shoulders peeping through thetransparent muslin of their chemises, make a bouquet of colors, withtheir gay _sarafani_, their many-hued cashmere caps attached topearl-embroidered, coronet-shaped _kokoshniki_, and terminating inribbons which descend to their heels, and are outshone in color only bythe motley assemblage of beads on their throats. 

Here, round the gymnastic apparatus and the net, one is able for thefirst time to believe solidly in the existence of Russian children. Intown, in the winter, one has doubted it, despite occasional coveys ofboys in military greatcoats, book-knapsacks of sealskin strapped totheir shoulders to keep their backs straight, and officer-like caps. Thesummer garb of the lads from the gymnasia and other institutes consistsof thin, dark woolen material or of coarse gray linen, made in theblouse or Russian shirt form, which portraits of Count LyeffNikolaevitch Tolstoy, the author, have rendered familiar to foreigners. It must not be argued from this fact that Count Tolstoy set the fashion;far from it. It is the ordinary and sensible garment in common use, which he has adopted from others, not they from him. It can be seen onolder students any day, even in winter, in the reading-room of theImperial Public Library in St. Petersburg, on the imperial choir in theWinter Palace as undress uniform for week-day services, and elsewhere. 

Some indulgent mothers make silk blouses for their sons, and embroiderthem with cross-stitch patterns in colored floss, as was the fashion anumber of years ago, when a patriotic outburst of sentiment wasexpressed by the adoption of the "national costume, " for house wear, byadults of both sexes. From this period dates also, no doubt, that styleof "peasant dress" which can be seen occasionally, in unfashionablesummer resorts, on girls not of the highest class by any means, andwhich the city shops furnish in abundance as genuine to misguidedforeigners. Every one is familiar with these fantastic combinations ofcolored lace insertion with bands of blue cotton worked in high colors, and fashioned into blouses and aprons such as no peasant maid ever woreor beheld. 

What strikes one very forcibly about Russian children, when one seesthem at play in the parks, is their quiet, self-possessed manners andtheir lack of boisterousness. If they were inclined to scream, to flingthemselves about wildly and be rude, they would assuredly be checkedpromptly and effectually, since the rights of grown people to peace, respect, and the pursuit of happiness are still recognized in that land. But, from my observation of the same qualities in untutored peasantchildren, I am inclined to think that Russian children are born moreagreeable than Western children; yet they seem to be as cheerful andlively as is necessary, and in no way restricted. Whistling, howling, stamping, and kindred muscular exercises begin just over the Westernfrontier, and increase in violence as one proceeds westward, until Japanis reached, or possibly the Sandwich Islands, by which time, I am told, one enters the Orient and the realm of peace once more. 

What noise we heard in Tzarskoe came from quite another quarter. As wewere strolling in the park one afternoon, we heard sounds of uproariousmirth proceeding from the little island in the private imperial garden, where the Duchess of Edinburgh, in her girlhood, had a pretty Russiancottage, cow-stalls, and so forth, with flower and potato beds. She andher brothers were in the habit of planting their pussy willows, receivedon Palm Sunday, on the bank of the stream, and these, duly labeled, havenow grown into a hedge of trees. The screen is not perfect, however, andglimpses of the playground are open to the public across the narrowstream. On this summer afternoon, there was a party of royalties on theisland, swinging on the Giant Steps. The Giant Steps, I must explain, consist of a tall, stout mast firmly planted in the earth, bound withiron at the top, and upholding a thick iron ring to which are attachedheavy cables which touch the ground. The game consists of a number ofpersons seizing hold of these cables, running round the mast untilsufficient impetus is acquired, and then swinging through the air in acircle. The Tzarevitch* who had driven over from the great camp atKrasnoe Selo, and whom I had seen in the church of the Old Palace thatmorning at a special mass, with the angelic imperial choir and thepriests from the Winter Palace sent down from Petersburg for theoccasion, was now sailing through the air high up toward the apex of themast. One of his imperial aunts, clad in a fleecy white gown, occupied asimilar position on another cable. It was plain that they could not havedone their own running to gain impetus, and that the gardeners must havetowed them by the ends of the ropes. The other grand dukes and duchesseswere managing their own cables in the usual manner. The party includedthe king and queen of Greece and other royal spectators. What interestedme most was to hear them all shrieking and conversing in Russian, withonly occasional lapses into French, instead of the reverse. 

* The present Emperor, Nicholas II. 

But everything is not royal in the vicinity of these summer parks andpalaces. For example, just outside of Tzarskoe Selo, on the Petersburghighway, lies a Russian village called Kuzmino, whose inhabitants are asgenuine, unmodified peasants as if they lived a hundred miles from anyprovincial town. Here in the north, where timber is plentiful, cottagesare raised from the ground by a half-story, without windows, whichserves as a storeroom for carts, sledges, and farming implements. Theentrance is through a door beside the large courtyard gate, which rearsits heavy frame on the street line, adjoining the house, in Russianfashion. A rough staircase leads to the dwelling-rooms over the shedstoreroom. Three tiny windows on the street front, with solid woodenshutters, are the ordinary allowance for light. In Kuzmino, many of thewindows had delicate, clean white curtains, and all were filled withblooming plants. A single window, for symmetry, and a carved balconyfill in the sharp gable end of such houses, but open into nothing, andthe window is not even glazed. Carved horses' heads, rude butrecognizable, tuft the peak, and lacelike wood carving droops from theeaves. The roofs also are of wood. 

This was the style of the cottages in Kuzmino. The name of the owner wasinscribed on the corner of each house; and there appeared to be but twosurnames, at most three, in the whole village. One new but unfinishedhouse seemed to have been built from the ridgepole downward, instead ofin the usual order. There were no doorways or stairs or apertures forcommunication between the stories, which were two in number. It was anarchitectural riddle. 

As a stroll to the village had consumed an unexpected amount of time, wefound ourselves, at the breakfast hour, miles away from our hotel. Weinstituted a search for milk, and were directed at random, it seemed, until a withered little old peasant, who was evidently given totippling, enlisted himself as our guide. He took us to the house of awoman who carried milk and cream to town twice a week, and introduced uswith a comical flourish. 

The family consisted of an old woman, as dried and colorless as aRussian codfish from Arkhangel, but very clean and active; her son, abig, fresh-colored fellow, with a mop of dark brown curls, well set offby his scarlet cotton blouse; his wife, a slender, red-cheeked brunette, with delicate, pretty features; and their baby girl. They treated uslike friends come to make a call; refused to accept money for theircream; begged us to allow them to prepare the _samovar_, as a favor tothem, and send for white rolls, as they were sure we could not eat theirsour black bread; and expressed deep regret that their berries were allgone, as the season was past. They showed us over their house in theprettiest, simplest way, and introduced us to the dark storeroom wheretheir spare clothing and stores of food for the winter, such as saltedcucumbers in casks, and other property, were packed away; to a narrowslip of a room on the front, where the meals for the family wereprepared with remarkably few pots and no pans; to the living-room, withits whitewashed stone-and-mud oven in one corner, for both cooking andheating, a bench running round the walls on three sides, and a cleanpine table in the corner of honor, where hung the holy images. They hada fine collection of these images, which were a sign of prosperity aswell as of devotion. The existence of another tiny room also borewitness to easy circumstances. In this room they slept; and the baby, who was taking her noonday nap, was exhibited to us by the proud papa. Her cradle consisted of a splint market basket suspended from theceiling by a stout wire spring, like the spring of a bird-cage, androcked gently. The baby gazed at us with bright, bird-like eyes andsmiled quietly when she woke, as though she had inherited her parents'gentle ways. We believed them when they said that she never cried; wehad already discovered that this was the rule with Russian children ofall classes. 

They were much interested to learn from what country we came. I wasprepared to find them unacquainted with the situation of America, afterhaving been asked by an old soldier in the park, "In what district ofRussia is America?" and after having been told by an _izvostchik_ thatthe late Empress had come from my country, since "Germany" meant for himall the world which was not Russia, just as the adjective "German"signifies anything foreign and not wholly approved. 

"Is America near Berlin?" asked our peasant hosts. 

"Farther than that, " I replied. 

They laughed, and gave up the riddle after a few more equally wildguesses. 

"It is on the other side of the world, " I said. 

"Then you must be nearer God than we are!" they exclaimed, with a sortof reverence for people who came from the suburbs of heaven. 

"Surely, " I said, "you do not think that the earth is flat, and that welive on the upper side, and you on the lower?"

But that was precisely what they did think, in their modesty, and, as itseemed a hopeless task to demonstrate to them the sphericity of theglobe, I left them in that flattering delusion. 

I asked the old woman to explain her holy pictures to me, as I alwaysenjoyed the quaint expressions and elucidations of the peasants, andinquired whether she thought the _ikona_ of the Virgin was the Virginherself. I had heard it asserted very often by over-wise foreigners thatthis was the idea entertained by all Russians, without regard to class, and especially by the peasants. 

"No, " she replied, "but it shows the Virgin Mother to me, just as yourpicture would show you to me when you were on the other side of theworld, and remind me of you. Only--how shall I say it?--there ismore power in a wonder-working _ikona_ like this. "

She handed me one which depicted the Virgin completely surrounded by ahalo of starlike points shaded in red and yellow flames. It is called"the Virgin-of-the-Bush-that-burned-but-was-not-consumed, " evidently areminiscence of Moses. She attached particular value to it because ofthe aid rendered on the occasion which had demonstrated its"wonder-working" (miraculous) powers. It appeared that a dangerous firehad broken out in the neighborhood, and was rapidly consuming theclose-set wooden village, as such fires generally do without remedy. Asthe fire had been started by the lightning, on St. Ilya's Day (St. Elijah's), no earthly power could quench it but the milk from ajet-black cow, which no one chanced to have on hand. Seeing the flamesapproach, my old woman, Domna Nikolaevna T. , seized the holy image, ranout, and held it facing the conflagration, uttering the proper prayerthe while. Immediately a strong wind arose and drove the flames off in asafe direction, and the village was rescued. She had a thanksgivingservice celebrated in the church, and placed I know not how many candlesto the Virgin's honor, as did the other villagers. Thus they had learnedthat there was divine power in this _ikona_, although it was not, strictly speaking, "wonder-working, " since it had not been officiallyrecognized as such by the ecclesiastical authorities. 

These people seemed happy and contented with their lot. Not one of themcould read or write much, the old woman not at all. They cultivatedberries for market as well as carried on the milk business; and when werose to go, they entreated us to come out on their plot of land and seewhether some could not be found. To their grief, only a few smallcherries were to be discovered, --it was September, --and these theyforced upon us. As we had hurt their feelings by leaving money on thetable to pay for the cream, we accepted the cherries by way ofcompromise. The old woman chatted freely in her garden. She had been aserf, and, in her opinion, things were not much changed for the better, except in one respect. All the people in this village had been crownserfs, it seemed. The lot of the crown serfs was easier in every waythan that of the ordinary private serfs, so that the emancipation onlyput a definite name to the practical freedom which they already enjoyed, and added a few minor privileges, with the ownership of a somewhatlarger allotment of land than the serfs of the nobility received. I knewthis: she was hardly capable of giving me so complete a summary of theircondition. But--it was the usual _but_, I found--they had to workmuch harder now than before, in order to live. The only real improvementwhich she could think of, on the inspiration of the moment, was, that acertain irascible crown official, who had had charge of them in theolden days, and whose name she mentioned, who had been in the habit ofdistributing beatings with a lavish hand whenever the serfs displeasedhim or obeyed reluctantly, had been obliged to restrain his temper afterthe emancipation. 

"Nowadays, there is no one to order us about like that, or to thrashus, " she remarked. 

We found our fuddled old peasant guide hanging about for "tea-money, "when we bade farewell to my friend Domna, who, with her family, offeredus her hand at parting. He was not too thoroughly soaked with "tea"already not to be able to draw the inference that our long stay with themilkwoman indicated pleasure, and he intimated that the introduction feeought to be in proportion to our enjoyment. We responded so cheerfullyto this demand that he immediately discovered the existence of a dozenhistorical monuments and points of interest in the tiny village, allinvented on the spot; and when we dismissed him peremptorily, he tookgreat care to impress his name and the position of his hut on ourmemories, for future use. 

We had already seen the only object of any interest, the large churchfar away down the mile-long street. We had found a festival mass inprogress, as it happened to be one of the noted holidays of the year. Aswe stood a little to one side, listening to the sweet butunsophisticated chanting of the village lads, who had had no trainingbeyond that given in the village school, a woman approached us with atiny coffin tucked under one arm. Trestles were brought; she set it downon them, beside us. It was very plain in form, made of the commonestwood, and stained a bright yellow with a kind of thin wash, instead ofthe vivid pink which seems to be the favorite hue for children's coffinsin town. The baby's father removed the lid, which comprised exactly halfthe depth, the mother smoothed out the draperies, and they took theirstand near by. Several strips of the coarsest pink tarlatan were drapedacross the little waxen brow and along the edges of the coffin. On theselay such poor flowers as the lateness of the season and the poverty ofthe parents could afford, --small, half-withered or frost-bittendahlias, poppies, and one stray corn-flower. The parents looked gentlyresigned, patient, sorrowful, but tearless, as is the Russian manner. After the liturgy and special prayers for the day, the funeral servicewas begun; but we went out into the graveyard surrounding the church, and ran the gauntlet of the beggars at the door, --beggars in the midstof poverty, to whom the poor gave their mites with gentle sympathy. 

Russian graveyards are not, as a rule, like the sunny, cheerful homes ofthe dead to which we are accustomed. This one was especially melancholy, with its narrow, tortuous paths, uncared-for plots, and crosses ofunpainted wood blackened by the weather. The most elaborate monumentsdid not rise above tin crosses painted to simulate birch boughs. It wasstrictly a peasant cemetery, utterly lacking in graves of the higherclasses, or even of the well to do. 

On its outskirts, where the flat, treeless plain began again, we found apeasant sexton engaged in digging a grave. His conversation wasdepressing, not because he dwelt unduly upon death and kindred subjects, but because his views of life were so pessimistic. Why, for example, didit enter his brain to warn me that the Finnish women of the neighboringvillages, --all the country round about is the old FinnishIngermannland, --in company with the women of his own village, were inthe habit of buying stale eggs at the Tzarskoe Selo shops to mix withtheir fresh eggs, which they sold in the market, the same with intent todeceive? A stale egg explains itself as promptly and as thoroughly asanything I am acquainted with, not excepting Limburger cheese, andKatiusha and I had had no severe experiences with the women whom he thusunflatteringly described. He seemed a thoroughly disillusioned man, andwe left him at last, with an involuntary burden of misanthropic ideas, though he addressed me persistently as _galubtchik_, --"dear littledove, " literally translated. 

If I were to undertake to chronicle the inner life of Tzarskoe, thecharacteristics of the inhabitants from whom I received favors and kinddeeds without number, information, and whatever else they could think ofto bestow or I could ask, I should never have done. But there is muchthat is instructive in all ranks of life to be gathered from a prolongedsojourn in this "Imperial Village, " where world-famed palaces have theirechoes aroused at seven in the morning by a gentle shepherd like theshepherd of the remotest provincial hamlets, a strapping peasant in ascarlet cotton blouse and blue homespun linen trousers tucked into tallwrinkled boots, and armed with a fish-horn, which he toots at theintersection of the macadamized streets to assemble the village cattle;where the strawberry peddler, recognizable by the red cloth spread overthe tray borne upon his head, and the herring vender, and rivalice-cream dealers deafen one with their cries, in true city fashion;where the fire department alarms one by setting fire to the baker'schimneys opposite, and then playing upon them, by way of cleaning them;where Tatars, soldiers, goats, cows, pet herons, rude peasant carts, policemen, and inhabitants share the middle of the road with theliveried equipages of royalty and courtiers; where the crows and pigeonsassert rights equal to those of man, except that they go to roost ateight o'clock on the nightless "white nights;" and where one never knowswhether one will encounter the Emperor of all the Russias or abarefooted Finn when one turns a corner. 

VII. 

A STROLL IN MOSCOW WITH COUNT TOLSTOY. 

"Have you ever visited a church of the Old Believers?" Count Tolstoyasked me one evening. We were sitting round the supper-table at CountTolstoy's house in Moscow. I was just experimenting on some pickledmushrooms from Yasnaya Polyana, --the daintiest little mushrooms whichI encountered in that mushroom-eating land. The mushrooms and questionfurnished a diversion which was needed. The baby and younger childrenwere in bed. The elders of the family, some relatives, and ourselves hadbeen engaged in a lively discussion; or, rather, I had been discussingmatters with the count, while the others joined in from time to time. Itbegan with the Moscow beggars. 

"I understand them now, and what you wrote of them, " I said. "I haveneither the purse of Fortunatus nor a heart of flint. If I refuse theirprayers, I feel wicked; if I give them five kopeks, I feel mean. Itseems too little to help them to anything but _vodka_; and if I give tenkopeks, they hold it out at arm's length, look at it and mesuspiciously; and then I feel so provoked that I give not a copper toany one for days. It seems to do no good. "

"No, " said Count Tolstoy with a troubled look; "it does no good. Givingmoney to any one who asks is not doing good; it is a mere civility. If abeggar asks me for five kopeks, or five rubles, or five hundred rubles, I must give it to him as a politeness, nothing more, provided I have itabout me. It probably always goes for _vodka_. "

"But what is one to do? I have sometimes thought that I would buy my mansome bread and see that he ate it when he specifies what the money isfor. But, by a singular coincidence, they never ask for bread-moneywithin eye-shot of a bakery. I suppose that it would be better for me totake the trouble to hunt one up and give the bread. "

"No; for you only buy the bread. It costs you no personal labor. "

"But suppose I had made the bread?--I can make capital bread, only Icannot make it here where I have no conveniences; so I give the moneyinstead. "

"If you had made the bread, still you would not have raised the grain, --plowed, sowed, reaped, threshed, and ground it. It would not be yourlabor. "

"If that is the case, then I have just done a very evil thing. I havemade some caps for the Siberian exiles in the Forwarding Prison. Itwould have been better to let their shaved heads freeze. "

"Why? You gave your labor, your time. In that time you could probablyhave done something that would have pleased you better. "

"Certainly. But if one is to dig up the roots of one's deeds andmotives, mine might be put thus: The caps were manufactured fromremnants of wool which were of no use to me and only encumbered mytrunk. I refused to go and deliver them myself. They were put with a lotof other caps made from scraps on equally vicious principles. And, moreover, I neither plowed the land, sowed the grass, fed the sheep, sheared him, cleansed and spun the wool, and so on; neither did Imanufacture the needle for the work. "

The count retreated to his former argument, --that one's personal laboris the only righteous thing which can be given to one's fellow-man; andthat the labor must be given unquestioningly when asked for. 

"But it cannot always be right to work unquestioningly. There are alwaysplenty of people who are glad to get their work done for them. That ishuman nature. "

"We have nothing to do with that, " he answered. "If a man asks me tobuild his house or plow his field, I am bound to do it, just as I ambound to give the beggar whatever he asks for, if I have it. It is nobusiness of mine _why_ he asks me to do it. "

"But suppose the man is lazy, or wants to get his work done while he isidling, enjoying himself, or earning money elsewhere for _vodka_ or whatnot? I do not object to helping the weak, or those who do not attempt toshirk. One must use discrimination. "

But Count Tolstoy persisted that the reason for the request was nobusiness of the man anxious to do his duty by aiding his fellow-men, although his sensible wife came to my assistance by saying that shealways looked into the matter before giving help, on the grounds which Ihad stated. So I attacked from another quarter. 

"Ought not every person to do as much as possible for himself, and notcall upon others unless compelled to do so?"

"Certainly. "

"Very good. I am strong, well, perfectly capable of waiting on myself. But I detest putting on my heavy Russian galoshes, and my big cloak; andI never do either when I can possibly avoid it. I have no right to askyou to put on my galoshes, supposing that there were no lackey at hand. But suppose I were to ask it?"

"I would do it with pleasure, " replied the count, his earnest facerelaxing into a smile. "I will mend your boots, also, if you wish. "

I thanked him, with regret that my boots were whole, and pursued mypoint. "But you _ought_ to _refuse_. It would be your duty to teach memy duty of waiting on myself. You would have no right to encourage me inmy evil ways. "

We argued the matter on these lines. He started from the conviction thatone should follow the example of Christ, who healed and helped allwithout questioning their motives or deserts; I taking the ground that, while Christ "knew the heart of man, " man could not know the heart ofhis brother-man, ---at least not always on first sight, thoughafterward he could make a tolerably shrewd guess as to whether he wasbeing used as a cat's-paw for the encouragement of the shiftless. But hestuck firmly to his "resist not evil" doctrine; while I maintained thatthe very doctrine admitted that it was "evil" by making use of the wordat all, hence a thing to be preached and practiced against. PerhapsCount Tolstoy had never been so unfortunate as to meet certain specimensof the human race which it has been my ill-luck to observe; so we bothstill held our positions, after a long skirmish, and silence reigned fora few moments. Then the count asked, with that winning air of good-willand interest which is peculiar to him:--

"Have you ever visited a church of the Old Believers?"

"No. They told me that there was one in Petersburg, but that I shouldnot be admitted because I wore a bonnet instead of a kerchief, and didnot know how to cross myself and bow properly. "

"I'll take you, if you like, " he said. "We will go as guests of thepriest. He is a friend of mine. " Then he told us about it. Many yearsago, a band of Kazaks and their priests migrated across the frontierinto Turkey because they were "Old Believers;" that is to say, theybelonged to the sect which refused to accept the reforms of errors(which had crept into the service-books and ritual through thecarelessness of copyists and ignorance of the proper forms) institutedby the Patriarch Nikon in the time of Peter the Great's father, afterconsulting the Greek Patriarchs and books. In earlier times, these OldBelievers burned themselves by the thousand. In the present century, this band of Kazaks simply emigrated. Then came the Crimean war. TheKazaks set out for the wars, the priest blessed them for the campaign, and prayed for victory against Russia. Moreover, they went to battlewith their flock, and were captured. Prisoners of war, traitors to bothchurch and state, these three priests were condemned to residence in amonastery in Suzdal. "I was in the army then, " said Count Tolstoy, "andheard of the matter at the time. Then I forgot all about it; so dideverybody else, apparently. Long afterward, an Old Believer, a merchantin Tula, spoke to me about it, and I found that the three priests werestill alive and in the monastery. I managed to get them released, and webecame friends. One died; one of the others is here in Moscow, a veryold man now. We will go and see him, but I must find out the hour of theevening service. You will see the ritual as it was three hundred yearsago. "

"You must not utter a word, or smile, " said one of the company. "Theywill think that you are ridiculing them, and will turn you out. "

"Oh, no, " said the count. "Still, it is better not to speak. "

"I have had some experience, " I remarked. "Last Sunday, at the SaviourCathedral, I asked my mother if I should hold her heavy fur coat forher; and she smiled slightly as she said, 'No, thank you. ' A peasantheard our foreign tongue, saw the smile, and really alarmed us by thefierce way in which he glared at us. We only appeased his wrath bybowing low when the priest came out with the incense. "

So that plan was made, and some others. 

When we were descending the stairs, Count Tolstoy came out upon theupper landing, which is decorated with the skin of the big bear whichfigures in one of his stories, and called after us:--

"Shall you be ashamed of my dress when I come to the hotel for you?"

"I am ashamed that you should ask such a question, " I answered; and helaughed and retreated. I allowed the lackey to put on my galoshes andcoat, as usual, by the way. 

The next afternoon there came a series of remarkable knocks upon ourdoor, like a volley of artillery, which carried me across the room inone bound. Servants, messengers, and the like, so rarely knock in Russiathat one gets into the way of expecting to see the door open withoutwarning at any moment, when it is not locked, and rather forgets what todo with a knock when a caller comes directly to one's room and announceshimself in the ordinary way. There stood Count Tolstoy. He wore apeasant's sheepskin coat (_tulup_). The _tulup_, I will explain, is agarment consisting of a fitted body and a full, ballet skirt, gatheredon the waist line and reaching to the knees. The wool is worn on theinside. The tanned leather exterior varies, when new, from snow white togray, pale or deep yellow, or black, according to taste. A littlecolored chain-stitching in patterns on the breast and round the neckgives firmness where required. In this case the _tulup_ was of a deepyellow hue; over it streamed his gray beard; peasant boots of gray felt, reaching to the knee, and a gray wool cap of domestic manufacturecompleted his costume. 

"It is too cold for our expedition, and I am afraid that I started alittle late also, " he said, as he divested himself of his sheepskin. "Iwill find out the exact hour of service, and we will go on ChristmasEve. "

It was only 15 to 20 degrees below zero Fahrenheit, and I felt inclinedto remonstrate. But it is useless to argue with a Russian about thethermometer; and, moreover, I discovered that the count had come all thelong way on foot, and was probably afraid of freezing us. I politely butnot quite truthfully agreed that Christmas Eve was a better time. 

Presently he proposed to go to the shop where books for popular readingare published by the million at from one and a half to five kopeks. Hehad business there in connection with some popular editions of themasterpieces of all ages and literatures. 

The temperature of our room was 65 degrees, but the count's felt bootsand a cardigan jacket, worn over his ordinary costume of dark bluetrousers and strap-belted blouse, made him uncomfortable, and he soughtcoolness in the hall while we donned our outdoor garments. The onlyconcession in the way of costume which I could make to suit the occasionwas to use a wool instead of a fur cap. 

This was not sufficient to prevent us from being a remarkable trio inthe eyes of all beholders, beginning with the real _muzhik_ ("boots")and the waiter, who were peering round corners in disapproval. Ourappearance at the door effected a miracle. I could not believe my ears, but not one of the numerous cabbies standing in front of the hotelopened his lips to offer his services. Ordinarily, we had to run thegauntlet of offers. On this occasion the men simply ranged themselves ina silent, gaping row, and let us pass in peace. I had not supposed thatanything could quell a Russian cabby's tongue. Did they recognize thecount? I doubt it. I had been told that every one in Moscow knew him andhis costume; but diligent inquiry of my cabbies always elicited anegative. In one single instance the man added: "But the count's a goodgentleman and a very intimate friend of a chum of mine!"

"Are you a good walker?" asked the count, as he plied his thick stick, evidently recently cut in the grove adjoining his house. "I walkeverywhere myself. I never ride; I can't, for I never have any money. "

I announced myself as a crack pedestrian, --but not when burdened withRussian coat and galoshes. And I added: "I hope that you do not expectus to walk all those versts to church, because we must stand through thewhole service afterward; they would be too strict to allow us chairs. "

"We will go in the horse-cars, then, " he replied. "But this constant useof horses is a relic of barbarism. As we are growing more civilized, inten years from now horses will have gone out of use entirely. But I amsure that, in enlightened America, you do not ride so much as we dohere. "

Familiar as I am with Count Tolstoy's theories, this was a brand-new oneto me. I thought of several answers. Bicycles I rejected as asuggestion, because the physical labor seems to be counterbalanced bythe cost of the steel steed. I also restrained myself from saying thatwe were coming to look upon horses as a rather antiquated, slow, andunreliable mode of locomotion. I did not care to destroy the count'sadmiration for American ways too suddenly and ruthlessly, so I said:--

"I think that people ride more and more, with us, every year. If they donot ride even more than they do, it is because we have not thesethousands of delightful and cheap carriages and sledges. And how arepeople to get about, how are burdens to be carried, how is the day longenough, if one goes everywhere on foot? Are the horses to be left topeople the earth, along with the animals which we now eat and which wemust give up eating?"

"That will regulate itself. It is only those who have nothing to do whohave no time to do it in, and must be carried, in all haste, from placeto place. Busy people always have time for everything. " And the countproceeded to develop this argument. The foundation, of course, was thesame as for his other doctrines, --the dependence on one's self, freeing others from bondage to his wants and whims. The principle isexcellent; but it would be easier for most of us to resist thetemptation to do otherwise on a desert island, than to lead such aRobinson Crusoe and physical encyclopedic existence in a city of today. This is almost the only argument which I felt capable of offering inopposition. 

Thus we discussed, as we walked along the streets of China Town. Whenthe sidewalk was narrow, the count took to the gutter. And so we came tothe old wall and the place where there is a perennial market, whichbears various names, --the Pushing Market, the Louse Market, and so on, --and which is said to be the resort of thieves and receivers of stolengoods. Strangers always hit upon it the first thing. We had venturedinto its borders alone, had chatted with a cobbler, inspected thecomplete workshop on the sidewalk, priced the work, --"real, artistic, high-priced jobs were worth thirty to forty kopeks, "--had promised tofetch our boots to be repaired with tacks and whipcord, --"when theyneeded it, "--and had received an unblushing appeal for a bottle of_vodka_ in which to drink the health of ourselves and the cobblers. Withtrue feminine faith in the efficacy of a man's presence, we now enjoyedthe prospect of going through the middle of it, for its entire length. Irelated the cobbler episode to explain why I did not give the count ajob, and the count seemed to find no little difficulty in not laughingoutright. 

Imagine a very broad street, extending for several blocks, flanked onone side by respectable buildings, on the other by the old, battlementedcity wall, crowned with straggling bushes, into which are built tinyhouses with a frontage of two or three windows, and the two stories solow that one fancies that he could easily touch their roofs. These lastare the real old Moscow merchant houses of two or three hundred yearsago. They still serve as shops and residences, the lower floor beingcrammed with cheap goods and old clothes of wondrous hues and patterns, which overflow upon the very curbstone. The signs of the fur stores, with their odd pictures of peasant coats and fashionable mantles, add anadvertisement of black sheepskins which precisely resemble rudelypainted turtles. In the broad, place-like street surged a motley, butsilent and respectful crowd. A Russian crowd always is a marvel ofquietness, --as far down as the elbows, no farther! Along the middle ofthe place stood rows of rough tables, boxes, and all sorts ofreceptacles, containing every variety of bread and indescribable meatsand sausages. Men strolled about with huge brass teapots of _sbiten_ (adrink of honey, laurel leaves, spices, etc. ), steaming hot. Men withtrays suspended by straps from their necks offered "delicious" snacks, meat patties kept hot in hot-water boxes, served in a gaudy saucer andflooded with hot bouillon from a brass flask attached to their girdlesbehind; or sandwiches made from a roll, split, buttered, and clappedupon a slice of very red, raw-looking sausage, fresh from the water-box. But we did not feel hungry just then, or thirsty. 

"There are but two genuine Russian titles, " said the count, as we walkedamong the merchants, where the women were dressed like the men insheepskin coats, and distinguished only by a brief scrap of gaypetticoat, and a gay kerchief instead of a cap on the head, while someof the dealers in clothing indulged in overcoats and flat caps withvisors, of dark blue cloth. "Now, if I address one of these men, he willcall me _batiushka_, and he will call you _matushka_. "*

* A respectfully affectionate diminutive, equivalent to _dear littlefather, dear little mother_. 

We began to price shoes, new and old, and so forth, with the resultwhich the count had predicted. 

"You can get very good clothing here, " the count remarked, as a manpassed us, his arm passed through the armholes of a pile of new vests. "These mittens, " exhibiting the coarse, white-fingered mittens which hewore, piles of the same and stockings to match being beside us, "arevery stout and warm. They cost only thirty kopeks. And the other day, Ibought a capital shirt here, for a man, at fifty kopeks" (abouttwenty-five cents). 

I magnanimously refrained from applying to that shirt the argument whichhad been used against my suggestion in regard to giving bread. Thismarket goes on every day in the year, hot or cold, rain, sun, or shine. It is a model of neatness. Roofs improvised from scraps of canvasprotect the delicate (?) eatables during inclement weather. In verysevere weather the throng is smaller, the first to beat a retreat being, apparently, the Tatars in their odd _kaftans_ "cut goring, " as old womensay, who deal in old clothes, lambskins, and "beggars' lace. " Otherwise, it is always the same. 

Our publisher's shop proved to be closed, in accordance with the law, which permits trading--in buildings--only between twelve and threeo'clock on Sundays. On our way home the count expressed his regret atthe rapid decline of the republican idea in America, and the surprisinggrowth of the baneful "aristocratic"--not to say snobbish--sense. His deductions were drawn from articles in various recent periodicalpublications, and from the general tone of the American works which hadcome under his observation. I have heard a good deal from other Russiansabout the snobbishness of Americans; but they generally speak of it withaversion, not, as did Count Tolstoy, with regret at a splendidopportunity missed by a whole nation. 

I am sorry to say that we never got our expedition to the Old Believers'Church, or the others that were planned. Two days later, the count wastaken with an attack of liver complaint, dyspepsia, --caused, I amsure, by too much pedestrian exercise on a vegetable diet, which doesnot agree with him, --and a bad cold. We attended Christmas Eve servicein the magnificent new Cathedral of the Saviour, and left Moscow beforethe count was able to go out-of-doors again, though not without seeinghim once more. 

I am aware that it has become customary of late to call Count Tolstoy"crazy, " or "not quite right in the head, " etc. The inevitableconclusion of any one who talks much with him is that he is nothing ofthe sort; but simply a man with a hobby, or an idea. His idea happens tobe one which, granting that it ought to be adopted by everybody, isstill one which is very difficult of adoption by anybody, --peculiarlydifficult in his own case. And it is an uncomfortable theory ofself-denial which very few people like to have preached to them in anyform. Add to this that his philosophical expositions of his theory lackthe clearness which generally--not always--results from a course ofstrict preparatory training, and we have more than sufficient foundationfor the reports of his mental aberration. On personal acquaintance heproves to be a remarkably earnest, thoroughly convinced, and winningman, although he does not deliberately do or say anything to attractone. His very earnestness is provocative of argument. *

* From _The Independent_. 

VIII. 

COUNT TOLSTOY AT HOME. 

On one winter's day in Moscow, the Countess Tolstoy said to us: "Youmust come and visit us at Yasnaya Polyana next summer. You should seeRussian country life, and you will see it with us. Our house is notelegant, but you will find it plain, clean, and comfortable. "

Such an invitation was not to be resisted. When summer came, the familywrote to say that they would meet us at the nearest station, where nocarriages were to be had by casual travelers, if we would notify them ofour arrival. But the weather had been too bad for country visits, and wewere afraid to give Fate a hint of our intentions by announcing ourmovements; moreover, all the trains seemed to reach that station at avery late hour of the night. We decided to make our appearance fromanother quarter, in our own conveyance, on a fair day, and long beforeany meal. If it should prove inconvenient for the family to receive us, they would not be occasioned even momentary awkwardness, and our retreatwould be secured. We had seen enough of the charmingly easy Russianhospitality to feel sure of our ground otherwise. 

Accordingly, we set out for Tula on a June day that was dazzling withsunshine and heat, after the autumnal chill of the recent rains. As weprogressed southward from Moscow the country was more varied than northof it, with ever-changing vistas of gently sloping hills and verdantvalleys, well cultivated, and dotted with thatched cottages which stoodflatter on the ground here than where wood is more plentiful. 

The train was besieged at every station, during the long halts customaryon Russian railways, by hordes of peasant children with bottles of richcream and dishes of fragrant wild strawberries. The strawberries costfrom three to four cents a pound, --not enough to pay for picking, --and the cream from three to five cents a bottle. 

Halfway to Tula the train crosses the river Oka, which makes so fine ashow when it enters the Volga at Nizhni Novgorod, and which even here isimposing in breadth and busy with steamers. It was not far from herethat an acquaintance of mine one day overtook a wayfarer. He wasweather-beaten and travel-stained, dressed like a peasant, and carriedhis boots slung over his shoulder. But there was something about himwhich, to her woman's eye, seemed out of keeping with his garb. Sheinvited him to take advantage of her carriage. He accepted gladly, andconversed agreeably. It appeared that it was Count Tolstoy making thejourney between his estate and Moscow. His utterances produced such aneffect upon her young son that the lad insisted upon making his nextjourney on foot also. 

We reached Tula late in the evening. The guidebook says, in that amusingGerman fashion on which a chapter might be written, that "the town liesfifteen minutes distant from the station. " Ordinarily, that would meantwice or thrice fifteen minutes. But we had a touch of our usual luck inan eccentric cabman. Vanka--that is, Johnny--set out almost beforewe had taken our seats; we clutched his belt for support, and away weflew through the inky darkness and fathomless dust, outstrippingeverything on the road. We came to a bridge; one wheel skimmed alonghigh on the side rail, the loose boards rattled ominously beneath theother. There are no regulations for slow driving on Russian bridgesbeyond those contained in admonitory proverbs and popular legends. One'seyes usually supply sufficient warning by day. But Vanka was wedded tothe true Russian principle, and proceeded in his headlong course _naavos_ (on chance). In vain I cried, "This is not an obstacle race!" Hereplied cheerfully, "It is the horse!"

We were forced to conclude that we had stumbled upon the hero of CountTolstoy's story, Kholstomir, in that gaunt old horse, racing thus byinspiration, and looking not unlike the portrait of Kholstomir in hissad old age, from the hand of the finest animal-painter in Russia, which, with its companion piece, Kholstomir in his proud youth, hangs onthe wall in the count's Moscow house. 

Our mad career ended at what Vanka declared to be the best hotel; theone recommended by the guidebook had been closed for years, he said. I, who had not found the guide-book infallible, believed him, until helanded us at one which looked well enough, but whose chief furnishingwas smells of such potency that I fled, handkerchief clapped to nose, while the limp waiter, with his jaw bound up like a figure from a Germanpicture-book, called after me that "perhaps the drains _were_ a littleout of order. " Thrifty Vanka, in hopes of a commission, or bent uponpaying off a grudge, still obstinately refused to take us to the hotelrecommended; but a hint of application to the police decided him todeposit us at another door. This proved to be really the best house intown, though it does not grace the printed list. It was on the usualplan of inns in Russian country towns. There was the large, airydining-room, with clean lace curtains, polished floor, and table setwith foliage plants in fancy pots; the bedrooms, with single iron beds, reservoir washstands, and no bed linen or towels without extra charge. 

The next morning we devoted to the few sights of the town. The Kremlin, on flat ground and not of imposing size, makes very little impressionafter the Moscow Kremlin; but its churches exhibit some charming newfancies in onion-shaped cupolas which we had not noticed elsewhere, andits cathedral contains frescoes of a novel sort. In subject they arepretty equally divided between the Song of Solomon and the EcumenicalCouncils, with a certain number of saints, of course, though these arefewer than usual. The artist was evidently a man who enjoyed rich stuffsof flowered patterns, and beautiful women. 

The Imperial Firearms Factory we did not see. We had omitted to obtainfrom the Minister of War that permission without which no foreigner ofeither sex can enter, though Russians may do so freely, and we did notcare enough about it to await the reply to a telegram. We contentedourselves with assuring the officer in charge that we were uttersimpletons in the matter of firearms, afraid of guns even when they werenot loaded, --I presume he did not understand that allusion, --andthat it was pure curiosity of travelers which had led us to invade hisoffice. 

However, there was no dearth of shops where we could inspect all thewares in metal for which this Russian Birmingham has been celebratedever since the industry was founded by men from Holland, in thesixteenth century. In the matter of _samovars_, especially, there is awide range of choice in this cradle of "the portable domestic hearth, "although there are only two or three among the myriad manufacturerswhose goods are famed for that solidity of brass and tin which insuresagainst dents, fractures, and poisoning. 

During the morning we ordered round a _troika_ from the posting-house. It did not arrive. Probably it was asleep, like most other things onthat warm day. It was too far off to invite investigation, and sallyingforth after breakfast to hire an _izvostchik_, I became a blessedwindfall to a couple of bored policemen, who waked up a cabman for meand took a kindly interest in the inevitable bargaining which ensued. While this was in progress, up came two dusty and tattered"pilgrims, "--"religious tramps" will designate their character withperfect accuracy, --who were sufficiently wide awake to beg. Ipositively had not a kopek in change; but not even a Russian beggarwould believe that. I parried the attack. 

"I'm not an Orthodox Christian, my good men. I am sure that you do notwant money from a heretic. "

"Never mind; I'm a bachelor, " replied one of them bravely andconsolingly. 

When we had all somewhat recovered from this, the policemen, catchingthe spirit of the occasion, explained to the men that I and my moneywere extremely dangerous to the Orthodox, both families and bachelors, especially to pious pilgrims to the shrines, such as they were, and theygently but firmly compelled the men to move on, despite their vehementprotestations that they were willing to run the risk and accept thelargest sort of change from the heretic. But I was obdurate. I knew fromexperience that for five kopeks, or less, I should receive thanks, reverences to the waist or even to the ground; but that the gift of morethan five kopeks would result in a thankless, suspicious stare, whichwould make me feel guilty of some enormous undefined crime. This wasCount Tolstoy's experience also. We devoted ourselves to cabby oncemore. 

Such a winning fellow as that Vanka was, from the very start! After Ihad concluded the bargain for an extra horse and an apron which hiscarriage lacked, he persuaded me that one horse was enough--at theprice of two. To save time I yielded, deducting twenty-five cents onlyfrom the sum agreed on, lest I should appear too easily cheated. Thatsense of being ridiculed as an inexperienced simpleton, when I hadmerely paid my interlocutor the compliment of trusting him, never ceasedto be a pain and a terror to me. 

The friendly policemen smiled impartially upon Vanka and us, as theyhelped to pack us in the drosky. 

Tula as we saw it on our way out, and as we had seen it during ourmorning stroll, did not look like a town of sixty-four thousandinhabitants, or an interesting place of residence. It was a good type ofthe provincial Russian town. There were the broad unpaved, or badlypaved, dusty streets. There were the stone official buildings, glaringwhite in the sun, interspersed with wooden houses, ranging from thepretentious dwelling to the humble shelter of logs. 

For fifteen versts (ten miles) after we had left all these behind us, wedrove through a lovely rolling country, on a fine macadamized highwayleading to the south and to Kieff. The views were wide, fresh, and fair. Hayfields, plowed fields, fields of green oats, yellowing rye, blue-flowered flax, with birch and leaf trees in small groves near athand, and forests in the distance, varied the scene. Evergreens wererarer here, and oak-trees more plentiful, than north of Moscow. Thegrass by the roadside was sown thickly with wild flowers: Canterburybells, campanulas, yarrow pink and white, willow-weed (good toadulterate tea), yellow daisies, spiraea, pinks, corn-flowers, melilot, honey-sweet galium, yellow everlasting, huge deep-crimson crane's-bill, and hosts of others. 

Throughout this sweet drive my merry _izvostchik_ delighted me with hisdiscourse. It began thus. I asked, "Did he know Count Tolstoy?"

"Did he know Count Tolstoy? Everybody knew him. He was the firstgentleman in the empire [!]. There was not another such man in all theland. "

"Could he read? Had he read the count's 'Tales'?"

"Yes. He had read every one of the count's books that he could lay hishands on. Did I mean the little books with the colored covers and thepictures on the outside?" (He alluded to the little peasant "Tales" intheir original cheap form, costing two or three cents apiece. )"Unfortunately they were forbidden, or not to be had at the Tula shops, and though there were libraries which had them, they were not for suchas he. "*

* At this time, in Moscow, the sidewalk bookstalls, such as this manwould have been likely to patronize, could not furnish a full set of the_Tales_ in the cheap form. The venders said that they were "forbidden;"but since they openly displayed and sold such as they had, and since anynumber of complete sets could be obtained at the publishers' hard by, the prohibition evidently extended only to the issue of a fresh edition. Meanwhile, the _Tales_ complete in one volume were not forbidden. Thisvolume, one of the set of the author's works published by his wife, costfifty kopeks (about twenty-five cents), not materially more than theother sort. As there was a profit to the family on this edition, andnone on the cheap edition, the withdrawal of the latter may have beenmerely a private business arrangement, to be expected under thecircumstances, and the cry of "prohibition" may have been employed as asatisfactory and unanswerable tradesman's excuse for not being suppliedwith the goods desired. 

"How had they affected him? Why, he had learned to love all the worldbetter. He knew that if he had a bit of bread he must share it with hisneighbor, even if he did find it hard work to support his wife and foursmall children. Had such a need arisen? Yes; and he had given hischildren's bread to others. " (He pretended not to hear when I inquiredwhy he had not given his own share of the bread. ) "Was he a more honestman than before? Oh, yes, yes, indeed! He would not take a kopek fromany one unless he were justly entitled to it. "

"And Count Tolstoy! A fine man, that! The Emperor had conferred upon himthe right to release prisoners from the jail, --had I noticed the bigjail, on the left hand as we drove out of town?" (I took the liberty todoubt this legend, in strict privacy. ) "Tula was a very bad place; therewere many prisoners. Men went to the bad there from the lack ofsomething to do. " (This man was a philosopher, it seemed. )

So he ran on enthusiastically, twisting round in his seat, letting hishorse do as it would, and talking in that soft, gentle, charming way towhich a dozen adjectives would fail to do justice, and which appears tobe the heritage of almost every Russian, high or low. It was anuncomfortable attitude for us, because it left us nowhere to put oursmiles, and we would not for the world have had him suspect that heamused us. 

But the gem of his discourse dropped from his lips when I asked himwhat, in his opinion, would be the result if Count Tolstoy couldreconstruct the world on his plan. 

"Why, naturally, " he replied, "if all men were equal, I should not bedriving you, for example. I should have my own horse and cow andproperty, and I should do no work!"

I must say that, on reflection, I was not surprised that he should havereached this rather astonishing conclusion. I have no doubt that all ofhis kind--and it is not a stupid kind, by any means--think the same. I tried to tell him about America, where we were all equals in theory (Iomitted "theory"), and yet where some of us still "drive other people, "figuratively speaking. But he only laughed and shook his head, and saidhe did not believe that all men were equal in such a land any more thanthey were in Russia. That was the sort of wall against which I wasalways being brought up, with a more or less painful bump, when Iattempted to elucidate the institutions of this land of liberty. Heseemed to have it firmly fixed in his brain that, although Count Tolstoyworked in the fields "like one of us poor brethren, " he really did nowork whatever. 

Thus did I obtain a foretaste of the views held by the peasant classupon the subject of Count Tolstoy's scheme of reformation, since thisman was a peasant himself from one of the neighboring villages, and anaverage representative of their modes of thought. 

At last we reached the stone gateposts which mark the entrance to thepark of Yasnaya Polyana (Clearfield), and drove up the formerly splendidand still beautiful avenue of huge white birch-trees, from whose ranksmany had fallen or been felled. The avenue terminated near the house inhedges of lilacs and acacias. 

Most of the family were away in the fields, or bathing in the river. Butwe were cordially received, assured that our visit was well timed andthat there were no guests, and were installed in the room of the count'seldest son, who was at his business in St. Petersburg. 

Then I paid and dismissed the beaming Vanka, whose name chanced to beAlexei, adding liberal "tea-money" for his charming manners andconversation. My sympathy with the hardship of being unable to procurebooks had moved me so deeply that I had already asked the man for hisaddress, and had promised to send him a complete set of the count's"Tales" from Moscow. 

We parted with the highest opinion of each other. Alas! a day or twolater one of the count's daughters happened to inquire how much I hadpaid for the carriage, probably in consequence of former experiences, and informed me that I had given just twice as much as any cabman inTula would have been glad to take. (The boredom of those policemen musthave been relieved by another smile--behind our backs. ) Then I repeatedmy conversation with that delicately conscientious _izvostchik_, nurtured on the "Tales, " and mentioned my promise. Even the grave countwas forced to laugh, and I declared that I should be afraid to send theset of books, for fear of the consequences. 

When we were ready, being unfamiliar with the house, we asked the maidto conduct us to the countess. She took this in its literal sense, andushered us into the bedroom where the countess was dressing, anintroduction to country life which was certainly informal enough. 

We dined at a long table under the trees at a little distance from thehouse. The breeze sifted the tiny papery birch seeds into our soup andwater. Clouds rolled up, and at every threat of the sky we grasped ourplates, prepared to make a dash for the house. 

The count, who had been mowing, appeared at dinner in a grayish blouseand trousers, and a soft white linen cap. He looked even moreweather-beaten in complexion than he had in Moscow during the winter, ifthat were possible. His broad shoulders seemed to preserve in theirenhanced stoop a memory of recent toil. His manner, a combination ofgentle simplicity, awkward half-conquered consciousness, andhalf-discarded polish, was as cordial as ever. His piercinggray-green-blue eyes had lost none of their almost saturnine and withalmelancholy expression. His sons were clad in the pretty blouse suits ofcoarse gray linen which are so common in Russia in the summer, and whitelinen caps. 

After dinner, on that first evening, the countess invited us to go tothe fields and see her husband at work. He had not observed the good oldrecipe, "After dinner, rest awhile, " but had set off again immediately, and we had been eager to follow him. We hunted for him through severalmeadows, and finally came upon him in a sloping orchard lot, seatedunder the trees, in a violent perspiration. He had wasted no time, evidently. He was resting, and chatting with half a dozen peasants ofassorted ages. It appeared that he had made a toilet for dinner, sincehe now wore a blue blouse faded with frequent washing, and ornamentedwith new dark blue patches on the shoulders. It was the same blouse withwhich Repin's portrait of him engaged in plowing had already made usfamiliar. 

We talked with the peasants. They remained seated, and gave no greeting. I do not think they would have done so on any other estate in Russia. Itis not that the count has inspired his humble neighbors with a higherpersonal sense of independence and the equality of man; all Russianpeasants are pretty well advanced along that path already, and theypossess a natural dignity which prevents their asserting themselves inan unpleasant manner except in rare cases. When they rise or salute, itis out of politeness, and with no more servility than the same actimplies in an officer of the Guards in presence of a Court dame. Theomission on this occasion interested me as significant. 

The conversation turned upon the marriage of one of the younger men, which was to come off in a neighboring village two days later, at theconclusion of the fast of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. A middle-agedpeasant took up the subject in a rather unpleasant and not veryrespectful manner, saying that he saw no use for priests, who hadeverything provided for them (_na gatovayu ruku_), and charged so highfor baptizing and marrying. 

"They demand seven rubles for marrying this fellow, " said he. "I'll doit for a ruble, and be glad to. "

"If it is so easy, go pass your examinations and become a priest atonce, " replied the countess. 

"I don't know enough for that. "

"Then go hire yourself out as a clown. You are always making bad jokes. "

The man was subdued. The count took no part in this conversation, andlooked somewhat disturbed when the other men joined disagreeably in thelaugh against their comrade. He turned the subject. 

"Look at the oldest of these men, " he said to us in English. "He haslost the first joint of all the fingers on one hand from frost. "

He was a weak-looking, withered little man, but when they began to mowagain, at the count's suggestion, he grasped his scythe as well as anyof them. The scythes were short, thick, straight, looked very heavy, andwere set on very long, straight handles, so that it was not necessary tostoop in mowing. 

We watched the party for a while. The count made good progress over theuneven ground and thin grass, as though he were used to the work whichhe has described so inimitably in "Anna Karenin. " (Another reminder ofthis book is the old nurse of Levin, who still lives on the place, hascharge of the dogs because she is fond of animals, and carries her maniato the extent of feeding and petting the black beetles. The grave ofKarl Ivanovitch, the tutor in "Childhood, Boyhood, Youth, " which lies inthe cemetery a mile or two distant, is another memento of his writings. )As we strolled back to the house, we paused to look at the long whitestables, the thatched granary with walls of wattled tree boughs, andother farm buildings. In the space between the house and thedining-table we found the children, with their cousins, the Frenchtutor, and the English governess, engaged in a game of ball called_wapta_, which involves much running and some skill. 

To this table the _samovar_ was brought about half past seven, and theearly tea, the children's tea, was served at twilight in the open airheavy with the perfume of the linden-trees. Late tea was always servedin the house, in the large hall, accompanied by various viands, and bywild strawberries fetched by the peasant children. 

That evening the count talked to me chiefly about the pamphlets on theHopedale community and the peace doctrines advocated by Adin Ballou, which had been sent to him shortly before from America. He had thenlearned for the first time that his principles in that direction hadbeen anticipated, and he seemed to be genuinely gratified to know thatthis was the case. He prophesied that this movement in favor ofnon-resistance would attract much more attention in the future than ithas attracted in the past. The fate of Mr. Ballou's community did notseem to shake his faith. 

Naturally, the house was the first point which engaged our attention. In1860, Count Tolstoy, being then thirty-two years of age, made up hismind unalterably that he would never marry. All the world knows thatwhen the count has irrevocably determined upon anything he immediatelyfurnishes substantial proof of his convictions. On this occasion hisdemonstration took the form of selling the manor house, which was takendown and set up again on another estate in the same government by thepurchaser. The wings of the former house alone remained, detachedbuildings, such as were used in the olden days to accommodate theembroiderers, weavers, peasant musicians and actors of the privatetroupes kept by wealthy grandees, as a theatre, or as extra apartments. The count occupied one of these wings. 

Two years later, he changed his mind and married. He brought hisbeautiful bride of half his age to this tiny wing, --it chanced to betiny in this case, --and there she lived for seventeen years. Thehorrible loneliness of it, especially in winter, with not a neighbor formiles, unless one reckon the village at the park gate, which could nothave furnished anything but human beings, and never a congenialcompanion for her! Needless to say that she never had on a low-bodiedgown, never went to the theatre or a ball, in all her fair young life;and to the loneliness of the country must be added the absoluteloneliness during the absences of the count, who had much reading to doin Moscow for the historical portions of his great war drama. When hegot tired of his village school, of his experiments upon the infantpeasant mind, of things in general, he could and did go away for rest. The countess did not. Decidedly, the Countess Sophia Tolstoy is one ofthose truly feminine heroines who are cast into shadow by a brilliantlight close to them, but a heroine none the less in more ways than needbe mentioned. Her self-denial and courage gave to the world "War andPeace" and "Anna Karenin;" and she declares that were it to do overagain she would not hesitate a moment. The public owes the count's wifea great debt of gratitude, and not of reproaches, for bravely opposinghis fatal desire to live in every detail the life of a peasant laborer. Can any one blessed with the faintest particle of imagination fail toperceive how great a task it has been to withstand him thus for his owngood; to rear nine healthy, handsome, well-bred children out of the muchlarger family which they have had; to bear the entire responsibility ofthe household and the business?

She remarked, one day, that there was no crying need for the Russiannobility to follow her husband's teachings and give away all their goodsin order to be on a level with the peasants. Plenty of them would soonattain that blissful state of poverty in the natural course of things, since they were not only growing poorer every year, but the distributionof inheritances among the numerous children was completing the work, andvery many would be reduced to laboring with their hands for a living. This is perfectly true. There is no law of primogeniture in Russia. Theone established by Peter the Great having produced divers and grievousevils, besides being out of harmony with the Russian character, it waswithdrawn. All the male children share equally in the father's estate asin title. The female children receive by law only an extremely smallportion of the inheritance, but their dowry is not limited. 

Among the count's most ardent followers is one of his daughters. Shedoes everything for herself, according to his teachings, in a mannerwhich American girls, in even moderately well-to-do families, wouldnever dream of. She works for the peasants in various ways, and carriesout her father's ideas in other matters as far as possible. Her Spartan(or Tolstoyan) treatment of herself may be of value in character-building, as mortification of the flesh is supposed to be ingeneral. Practically, I think the relations between peasants and noblesrender her sacrifices unavailing. For example: one of the peasant womenhaving been taken ill, --there was a good deal of sickness in thevillage, --she went to the hayfield to do the woman's work and preventthe forfeit of fifteen or twenty cents, the price of the day's labor. Westrolled out to find her. The thermometer must have stood at 100 degreesF. , and although the dry inland heat can be better borne than the sameamount of damp heat, it was far from being comfortable weather even forindolent persons. We found her under a tree, resting and drinking coldtea, while she awaited the return, from some errand of their devising, of the peasant women who had been at work with her. She lookedwretchedly ill, and we tried to prevail on her to go back to the housewith us. But the count (who was not well enough to work) happened along, and as he said nothing she decided to stay and to resume labor at once, since the women seemed to have been detained. 

As we beat a retreat homeward under that burning sun, we discovered thenature of the peasant women's urgent business. They were engaged instripping the count's bushes of their fruit and devouring it by thehandful. We could not persuade him to interfere. "They want it, or theywould not take it, " he said. It was none of our business, to be sure, but those strong, muscular women offered such a contrast, in physiqueand conduct, to the fair, delicate young girl whom we had just left thatwe felt indignant enough to attack them ourselves, if it would have doneany good. The next day his daughter was more seriously ill than thepeasant woman whose place she had taken. I should not have felt unhappyto learn that those women had been uncomfortably ill in consequence oftheir greediness. 

The count has no longer a school for the peasant children, by the way. The necessity for that is past. But he must have been an originalprofessor. A friend of mine in St. Petersburg, who was interested, during the sixties, in the secular Sunday-schools for workingmen whocould not attend on week days, repeated to me the count's method asimparted to her by himself while visiting the capital. He objected tothe rules which compelled the men to be regular in attendance, on theground that learning must not be acquired thus mechanically, undercompulsion, but when the scholar feels an inward impulse. He would notlisten to the suggestion that this method would hardly answer when studymust be prosecuted on specified days under penalty of eternal ignorance. He said that when he found his peasant pupils indisposed to learn hedismissed the school, went home, and occupied himself in his ownaffairs. After an interval, more or less long, a scuffling of feet and arapping would become audible at the door, and small voices would plead:"Please, Lyeff Nikola'itch, we want to study. Please, come and teachus. " He went, and they made rapid progress because all was purelyvoluntary. 

One of the whitened stone wings of the old manor house stands unchanged. It is occupied in summer by the countess's sister and her family. She isa handsome and clever woman, who translates, and who has written somestrong short stories. The wing used by the count has been enlarged tomeet the requirements of the large family, and yet it is not a great orimposing house. At one end a stone addition, like the original building, contains, on the ground floor, the count's two rooms, which open on anuncovered stone terrace facing the hedge-inclosed lawn, with beds ofbright flowers bordering it, and the stately lindens of the grandavenues waving their crests beyond in the direction of the ponds. Overthese rooms and the vestibule is the hall, indispensable as adining-room and a play-room for the small children in wet weather and inwinter. A wooden addition at the other end furnishes half a dozen roomsfor members of the family, the tutor and the maids. Near by standseveral log cottages, --the bakehouse, the servants' dining-room, andother necessary offices. 

The count's study is very plain. The walls are in part lined withbookcases; in part they are covered with portraits of relatives and ofdistinguished persons whom he admires. There are more bookcases in thevestibule, for people are constantly sending him books of everyconceivable sort. I imagine that the first copies of every book, pamphlet, and journal on any hobby or "ism, " especially from America, find their way to the address of Count Tolstoy. He showed me some verywild products of the human brain. The hall upstairs has a polished woodfloor, as is usual with such rooms, and a set of very simple wickerfurniture. Portraits of ancestors, some of whom figure in "War andPeace, " hang upon the walls. A piano, on which the count sometimesplays, and a large table complete the furniture. Everything in the houseis severely simple. If I take the liberty of going into these details, it is in the interest of justice. The house has been described in print--from imagination, it would seem--as "a castle luxuriouslyfurnished, " and the count has been reproached with it. Cheap as thefurniture is, he grumbled at it when it was purchased; he grumbles at itstill, and to me spoke of it as "sinful luxury. " But then he cannot beregarded a fair judge of what constitutes luxury. 

The whole house, outside and in, is modest in the extreme. The park withits avenues of lindens, which were in full bloom during our visit, theponds and lawns and forest, must have been superb in the time of hisgrandfather, and even of his mother, from whom he inherited it. A groveand thicket now occupy the site of the former manor, and screen the viewof each wing from the other. Vegetable gardens and berry patches lienear at hand, and beds of brilliant but not rare flowers enliven theimmediate vicinity of the house. 

The estate is large and fertile, though it does not lie in the famous"black-earth zone. " This begins a few miles south of it. 

Plain wholesome food, simple dress, an open-air life without fixedprogramme, were what we found. In the morning, after drinking tea orcoffee, with bread and butter, in the hall, we usually strolled throughthe lovely forest, filled with flowers and perfumes, to the little riverabout a mile distant, for a bath. The unpainted board bath-house hadseats running along the walls, and steps leading down into the water. Aframework supporting thick screens of golden rye straw extended far outover the stream. A door upstream swung open at will for ambitiousswimmers. It was a solitary spot. The peasant girls pitching hay in themeadows beyond with three-pronged boughs stripped of their leaves werethe only persons we ever saw. Clad in their best scarlet cotton_sarafani_ and head kerchiefs, they added greatly to the beauty of thelandscape. Haying is such easy work compared to the rest of the summerlabors, that the best gowns are donned as for a festival. 

If the boys got ahead of us on those hot mornings, when we had dispensedwith every article of clothing not absolutely necessary, we lay in theshadow of the fragrant birches at the top of the hill on the soft, shortsward, which seems in Russia to grow as thick in dense forests as inopen glades, and waited until they could tear themselves from the coolembrace of the stream. Then we went in, great and small, but with nobathing-dress. The use of such a garment on such an occasion would beregarded as a sign that one was afflicted with some bodily defect whichone was anxious to conceal. By the time we had refreshed ourselves andrambled back, searching for early mushrooms through the forest or thegreat plantation of birches set out by the count's own hands a quarterof a century before, and grown now to stout and serviceable giants, thetwelve o'clock breakfast was ready under the trees. At this informalmeal every one sat where he pleased, and helped himself. At dinner, onthe contrary, my place was always at the count's left hand. We sat onwhatever offered itself. Sometimes I had a wooden chair, sometimes a bitof the long bench like a plasterer's horse. Once, when some one rosesuddenly from the other end of this, I tumbled over on the count andnarrowly escaped wrecking his dinner. 

At no meal did the count ever eat a mouthful of meat, despite urgentpersuasion. Boiled buckwheat groats, salted cucumbers, black bread, eggswith spinach, tea and coffee, sour _kvas_ (beer made from black bread), and cabbage soup formed the staple of his diet, even when ill, and whenmost people would have avoided the cucumbers and _kvas_, at least. 

The family generally met as a whole for the first time at breakfast. Thecount had been busy at work in the fields, in writing or reading in hisstudy; the boys with their tutor; the countess copying her husband'smanuscript and ordering the household. After breakfast every one didwhat he pleased until dinner. There was riding, driving, --anything thatthe heat permitted. A second bath, late in the afternoon, was indulgedin when it was very hot. The afternoon bathing party generally drovedown in a _lineika_, a sort of long jaunting-car with a central bench, not too wide, on which the passengers sit back to back, their feetresting on a narrow footboard which curves over the wheels as a shield. This _lineika_ had also cross-seats at each end, and with judiciouspacking could be made to hold sixteen persons. As it was upholstered inleather and had no springs, there was some art in keeping one's seatwhen the three horses were going at full speed over the uneven forestroad. 

After breakfast I sometimes sat under the trees with the countess, andhelped her sew on baby Ivan's clothes, for the pleasure of herconversation. Nothing could be more fascinating. This beautiful womanhas not rusted during her long residence in the country. There are fewbetter informed women than she, few better women of business, few womenwho are so clever and practical. 

One day, as I was sitting, armed with thimble and needle, waiting forher, the count discovered a hole in his pocket, and asked his niece tomend it for him. She had not her implements. I volunteered, --to do themending, not to lend the wherewithal. The pocket was of black silk, mythread of white cotton, but that was of no consequence. I seated myselfcomfortably on the sand, and speedily discovered not one hole, but a rowof holes such as wear along the seams of pockets. The count was greatlyannoyed at the trouble he was giving me, protested as I began on eachnew hole, and was very restless. I was finally obliged to speak. 

"Lyeff Nikola'itch, " I said, "do me the favor to sit still. Yourreputation as well as mine is involved in this work. It must be donethoroughly and neatly quite as much for your sake as for mine. "

"How so?" he asked in surprise. 

"My woman's reputation for neat mending trembles in the balance; and donot you advocate the theory that we should help our fellow-men? You havehelped others; it is your turn now to be experimented on. And besides, if the fellow-man obstinately refuses to be helped by others, how are weto do our duty by him? How could you work for others, if they persistedin following out the other half of your doctrine and doing everythingfor themselves? 'Tis plain that you understand how to render servicesfar better than to receive them. Reform. Submit. "

The count laughed, with a sort of grim bewilderment in his eye, andbehaved in an exemplary manner for the few remaining moments. I mentallythanked Fate for providing me with an opportunity for suggesting anobject lesson on a point which had puzzled me not a little, and which Ihad been pining to attack in some form. He did not explain away mydifficulties, it is true, but I was satisfied with having presented theother side of the shield to his attention. 

On another occasion, as we sat under the trees, a peasant came, scytheon shoulder, to complain to the countess of his wrongs. No one ever wentto the count, knowing that his wife had full management. Peasants whocame in a deputation to parley about hiring or buying extra land, and soon, applied directly to her. The comrades of this Vasily Alexei'itch hadgot two buckets of _vodka_, and had forced him, who detested liquor, todrink of it. Then they had become quarrelsome (he was peaceable), andthey had torn his shirt--so! Hereupon he flung back his coat, worn inRussian fashion with the sleeves hanging, and let his faded red cottonshirt fall from his muscular shoulders, leaving him nude to the waist, save for the cheap little baptismal cross suspended round his neck by acord. The small boys set up a shout of laughter at his story and hisaction. The countess rebuked him sharply for such conduct before thechildren, and refused to interfere in the quarrel. The man pulled historn shirt over his body and slouched off. That evening, after tea, thecount happened to hit upon a couple of Mr. Rider Haggard's books fordiscussion, and, for the benefit of those in the company who had notread it, gave the chief points of "She" in particularly lively style, which kept us all in laughter. In describing the heroine, he said that"she was clothed in an airy garment, like Vasily Alexei'itch;" and againthat "she dropped her garment, and stood like Vasily Alexei'itch. " Hepronounced "She" and other works of Haggard "the lowest type ofliterature, " and said that "it was astonishing how so many Englishpeople could go wild over them. " He seemed to read everything, good andbad, and to possess not only an omnivorous literary appetite, but awonderful memory for books, even in small details. 

Among the innumerable things which he read were Mormon publications, sent him regularly from headquarters. I cannot explain the object of theMormons in making him the point of attack. He thought very highly of thedoctrines of the Mormons as set forth by themselves, and could notunderstand why they were "persecuted" in America. No one had ever senthim documents on the other side of the question, and he seemed asignorant of it as I was of the Mormon arguments. In answer to hisqueries, I told him that the problems involved were too numerous, serious, and complicated for me to enter upon; that the best way, undersuch circumstances, was for him to read statements set down in black andwhite by recognized authorities on the subject; and that I would causebooks on the matter to be forwarded to him, which I did. But hepersisted that our government is in the wrong. 

"It is a shame, " said he, "that in a great and free country like Americaa community of people should be so oppressed, and not allowed thatliberty of which you boast. "

"You know your Dickens well, " I answered. "Have you any recollection ofMartin Chuzzlewit? You will remember that when Martin was in Americawith Mark Tapley he saw a slave being sold. Mark Tapley observed that'the Americans were so fond of Liberty that they took liberties withher. ' That is, in brief, what ails the Mormons. The only argument infavor of them which can possibly be made is that their practice, nottheir preaching, offers the only solution of your own theory that allwomen should be married. But that theory has never been advanced inextenuation of their behavior. I offer it to you brand new, as a slightillustration of a very unpleasant subject. "

One day, during a chat in his study, he had praised Dickens. 

"There are three requisites which go to make a perfect writer, " heremarked. "First, he must have something worth saying. Second, he musthave a proper way of saying it. Third, he must have sincerity. Dickenshad all three of these qualities. Thackeray had not much to say; he hada great deal of art in saying it; but he had not enough sincerity. Dostoevsky possessed all three requisites. Nekrasoff knew well how toexpress himself, but he did not possess the first quality; he forcedhimself to say something, whatever would catch the public at the moment, of which he was a very keen judge. As he wrote to suit the populartaste, believing not at all in what he said, he had none of the thirdrequisite. " He declared that America had not as yet produced anyfirst-class woman writer, like George Eliot and George Sand. 

Count Tolstoy's latest book at that time was "What to Do?" It was muchdiscussed, though not very new. It will be remembered that in the finalchapter of that work he argues that woman's whole duty consists inmarrying and having as large a family as possible. But, in speaking ofMr. Howells's "The Undiscovered Country, " which he had just discovered, --it was odd to think he had never heard of Mr. Howells before, --heremarked, in connection with the Shakers, that "it was a good thing thatthey did not marry. "

He said this more than once and at some length. I did not like to enteron the subject lest he should go too far, in his earnestness, before theassembled company. Therefore I seized an opportunity to ask his wife howhe reconciled that remark with his creed that all women should marry. 

She answered that it certainly was not consistent, but that her husbandchanged his opinion every two years; and, to my consternation, sheinstantly appealed to him. He did not go into details, however. Hepulled out a letter which he had received from a Russian woman, astranger to him. The writer said: "While acknowledging the justice ofyour views, I must remark that marriage is a fate which is not possibleto every woman. What, then, in your opinion, should a woman who hasmissed that fate do?"

I was interested in his reply, because six months earlier he had advisedme to marry. I inquired what answer he intended to send, --that is, ifhe meant to reply at all. He said that he considered the letter ofsufficient importance to merit an answer, and that he should tell herthat "every woman who had not married, whatever the reason, ought toimpose upon herself the hardest cross which she could devise, and bearit. "

"And so punish herself for the fault of others, perhaps?" I asked. "No. If your correspondent is a woman of sufficient spirit to impose thatcross, she will also have sufficient spirit to retort that very few ofus choose our own crosses; and that women's crosses imposed by Fate, Providence, or whatever one pleases to call it, are generally heavier, more cruel, than any which they could imagine for themselves in themaddest ecstasy of pain-worship. Are the Shaker women, of whom youapprove, also to invent crosses? And how about the Shaker men? What istheir duty in the matter of invoking suffering?"

He made no reply, except that "non-marriage was the ideal state, " andthen relapsed into silence, as was his habit when he did not intend torelinquish his idea. Nevertheless I am convinced he is always open tothe influence--quite unconsciously, of course--of argument from anyquarter. His changes of belief prove it. 

These remarks anent the Shakers seemed to indicate that another changewas imminent; and as the history of his progress through the links ofhis chain of reasoning was a subject of the greatest interest to me, Iasked his wife for it. It cannot be called anything but a linkedprogress, since the germs--nay, the nearly full-fledged idea--of hispresent moral and religious attitude can be found in almost all of hiswritings from the very beginning. 

When the count married, he had attained to that familiar stage in thespiritual life where men have forgotten, or outgrown, or thoroughlyneglected for a long time the religious instruction inculcated upon themin their childhood. There is no doubt that the count had been wellgrounded in religious tenets and ceremonies; the Russian church isparticular on this point, and examinations in "the law of God" form partof the conditions for entrance to the state schools. But, having reachedthe point where religion has no longer any solid grasp upon a man, hedid not like to see other people observe even the forms. 

Later on he began a novel, to be called "The Decembrists. " TheDecembrists is the name given to the participants in the disorders of1825, on the accession of the Emperor Nicholas I. To the throne. Amongthe preparations which he made for this work were excursions taken withthe object of acquainting himself with the divers dialects andpeculiarities of expression current in the different parts of theempire. These he collected from pilgrims on the highways and byways. 

"A pilgrim, " said the witty countess, "is a man who has grown tired ofthe jars and the cares and responsibilities of the household; out ofpatience with the family in general. He feels the necessity, inborn inevery Russian, for roaming, for getting far away from people, into thecountry and the forests. So he makes a pilgrimage to some distantshrine. I should like to be a pilgrim myself, but the family ties medown. I feel the need of freshening up my ideas. "

In these excursions the count came to see how great a part religionplays in the life of the lower classes; and he argued that, in order toget into sympathy with them, one must share their ideas as to religion. Accordingly he plunged into it with his customary ardor, --"he has apassionate nature, "--and for several years he attended every churchservice, observed every rite, kept every fast, and so on. He thought ithorrible if those about him did not do the same, --if they neglected asingle form. I think it quite probable that he initiated the troublewith his stomach by these fasts. They are nothing to a person who hasalways been used to them; but when we consider that the longer fastscover about four solid months, --not to mention the usual abstinence onWednesdays and Fridays and the special abstinences, --and that milk, eggs, cheese, and butter are prohibited, as well as other customaryarticles of food, it is not difficult to imagine the effect of suddenand strict observance upon a man accustomed during the greater part ofhis life to a meat diet. The vegetable diet in which he now persistsonly aggravates the evil in one who is afflicted with liver trouble, andwho is too old to train his vital economy in fresh paths. 

His religious ardor lasted until he went to church one day, during thelast Russo-Turkish war, when prayers were offered for the success of theRussian army. It suddenly struck him that it was inconsistent with "Loveyour enemies, " "Love one another, " "Do not kill, " that prayers should beoffered for the death of enemies. From that day forth he ceased to go tochurch, as he had also perceived that the practice of religious formsdid not, in reality, bring him much nearer to the peasants, and that onemust live among them, work among them, to appreciate their point ofview. 

The only surprising thing about this is that he should never havenoticed that the army is prayed for, essentially in the same sense, atevery church service. After the petitions for the Emperor and theimperial family, the liturgy proceeds, "And we pray for the army, thatThou wilt assist Them [that is, the Imperial family and its army], andsubdue all foes and enemies under Their feet. " Perhaps these familiarwords came home to him with special force on that particular day, asfamiliar words sometimes do. Possibly it was a special prayer. In anycase, the prayer was strictly logical. If you have an army, pray for it;and the only prayer that can be offered is, obviously, not for itsdefeat. That would be tantamount to praying for the enemy; which mightbe Scriptural, in one way, but would be neither natural, popular, norfurther removed from objections of murder than the other. 

But Count Tolstoy was logical, also, in another way. Once started onthis train of thought, most worldly institutions of the present day, beginning with the army, appeared to him opposed to the teaching ofChrist, on which point no rational man will differ from him. As to thepossibility of living the life of Christ, or even the advisability oftrying it, at this period of the world, that is quite another matter. 

It is not necessary for me to recapitulate here that which all the worldknows already, --the minute details of his belief in personal property, labor, the renunciation of art and science, and so forth. We discussedthem. But I neglected my opportunities to worry him with demands for hiscatechism, which his visitors delight in grinding out of him as thoughfrom a machine, when the reading public must be sufficiently informed onthat score already. I have endeavored to set down only the specialillustrations of his doctrines, out of the rich mass of hisconversation. 

Those who have perused attentively his earlier works will have perceivedthat there is really very little that is absolutely new in thesedoctrines. They are so strictly the development of ideas which are anintegral part of him, through heredity, environment, and personal bias, that the only surprise would be that he should not have ended in thisway. Community of goods, mutual help, and kindred doctrines are thenational birthright of every Russian, often bartered, it is true. Butlong residence in the country among the peasants who do not preach thesedoctrines, but simply practice them, naturally affected the thoughtfulstudent of humanity though he was of a different rank. He began toannounce his theories to the world, and found followers, as teachers ofthese views generally do, --a proof that they satisfy an instinct inthe human breast. Solitary country life anywhere is productive of suchviews. 

Disciples, or "adepts, " began to make pilgrimages to the prophet. Thereis a characteristic, a highly characteristic history of one such whocame and established himself in the village at the count's park gate. 

"This F. Was a Jew, who did not finish his studies, got led astray bysocialists, and joined a community where, like the other members, helived out of marriage with a young girl student. At last he came acrossa treatise of Lyeff Nikolaevitch, and decided that he was wrong andLyeff Nikolaevitch right. He removed to Yasnaya Polyana, married hisformer mistress, and began to live and work among the peasants. " (Hefirst joined the Russian church, and one of the count's daughters stoodgodmother for him. ) "His wife worked also; but, with delicate health andtwo small children to care for, she could do little, through weaknessand lack of skill. The peasants laughed at him and at LyeffNikola'itch. "

Mrs. F. Came to the countess with her griefs, and the latter helped herwith food, clothing, and in other ways. "One day nothing remained in thehouse to eat but a single crust. F. Was ill. His wife, who was also illand feeble, went off to work. On her return she found no bread. Some onehad come along begging '_Khristi radi_' [for Christ's sake], and F. Hadgiven him the crust, --with absolute consistency, it must be confessed. This was the end. There was a scene. The wife went back to her friends. F. Also gave up, went off to Ekaterinoslaff, learned the tailor's trade, and married again!" How he managed this second marriage withoutcommitting bigamy, in view of the laws of Russia on that point, I am ata loss to understand. 

"All my husband's disciples, " said the countess, "are small, blond, sickly, and homely; all as like one to another as a pair of old boots. You have seen them. X. Z. --you know him--had a very pretty talentfor verses; but he has ruined it and his mind, and made himself quite anidiot, by following my husband's teachings. "

The count provided a complement to these remarks in a conversation onRussian writers. He said of a certain author; "That man has never beenduly appreciated, has never received the recognition which his geniusdeserves. Yet you know how superbly he writes, --or rather, did write. He has spoiled himself now by imitating me. It is a pity. "

This ingenuous comment is rescued from any tinge of conceit or egotismby its absolute simplicity and truth. The imitation referred to is ofthe moral "Tales" for popular reading of the lower classes, which mycabman had studied. The pity of it is, when so many of the contemporarywriters of Russia owe their inspiration, their very existence, toTurgeneff and Tolstoy having preceded them, that a man who possessespersonal talent and a delightful individual style should sacrifice them. In his case it is unnecessary. Count Tolstoy's recognition of this factis characteristic. 

The countess's description of the "adepts" was as clever as the rest ofher remarks, and absolutely accurate. One of them was at the house for aday or two. (I had seen them elsewhere as well. ) He had evidently gothimself a new blouse for the visit. It was of coarse blue and whitecloth, checked, and so stiff with newness that, having a long slit andonly one button, at the neck, I could see the whole of his hairy breastevery time I looked at him from the left side. I sympathized with PrinceK. , who being next him at table turned his back on him and ignored himconversationally; which embarrassed the young man extremely. Apropos ofhis shirt, I never saw any one but the count himself wear a shirt that areal peasant would have worn; and I do not believe that even he had oneof the characteristic red cotton garments which are the peasant's pride. 

I found this adept interesting when he sat opposite me, and he incitedthe count to vivacity. He contributed a very good anecdote illustrativeof the count's followers. 

A man in one of the southern governments--which one is immaterial here--sent a quantity of lithographed copies of five or ten forbidden books(Tolstoy's and others) to a disciple of Tolstoy in one of the northerngovernments. In the village of this disciple, some young women studentsin the higher or university courses for women, and followers of Tolstoy, were living for the summer in peasant fashion, and working in thefields, "_to the scornful pity of the peasants_" (I italicize thisphrase as remarkable on the lips of an adept. ) These young women, havingheard of the dispatch by post of the books, and being in the town, thought to do the count's disciple a favor by asking if they hadarrived. Had they refrained, nothing would have happened and the bookswould have been delivered without a question. As it was, attention wasattracted to the parcel by the inquiry of these girls of eccentricbehavior. The fifty or sixty copies were confiscated; the girls'passports were taken from them. The disciple appealed to a relative inhigh official position in their behalf. The girls were informed, inconsequence, that they might hire themselves out to work for thisdisciple of gentle birth as much as they liked; but they were forbiddento work for or among the peasants. The adventure was not ended when thisstory was told. Whether the students were satisfied with the permissionto work I do not know. Probably not; their fellow-disciple would nothave scorned them as the peasants did, and contradiction, that spice oflife to enthusiastic worshipers of impracticable ideas, would have beenlacking. In my opinion, the authorities committed an error in judgment. They should have shown more faith in the peasants, the toil, and thegirls' unhardened frames. All three elements combined could have beentrusted to effect a permanent cure of those disciples by the end of theharvest, had they been gently encouraged not only to work with thepeasants but to prove that they were capable of toiling and enduring inprecisely the same manner and measure. 

Still the authorities very naturally looked upon the action of the girlsas a case of _idti v narod_ (going to the people), in the senseunderstood by the revolutionary propagandists. Their prohibition wasbased on this ground. 

In some way we got upon the subject of English things and ways. Thecount's eyes flashed. 

"The English are the most brutal nation on earth!" he exclaimed. "Alongwith the Zulus, that is to say. Both go naked: the Zulus all day long, the Englishwomen as soon as dinner is served. The English worship theirmuscle; they think of it, talk of it. If I had time, I should like towrite a book on their ways. And then their executions, which they go tosee as a pleasure!"

I asked which nation was a model, in his opinion. 

"The French, " he answered, which seemed to me inconsistent, when he toldof the execution which he had witnessed in Paris, where a father hadlifted up his little child that it might have a good view of the horrorsof the guillotine. 

"Defective as is Russian civilization in many respects, " he said, "youwill never find the Russian peasant like that. He abhors deliberatemurder, like an execution. "

"Yet he will himself commit murder, " I objected. "There has been aperfect flood of murders reported in the newspapers this very spring. Those perpetrated in town were all by men of the peasant class; and mostof them were by lads under twenty years of age. "

He insisted that I must have misread the papers. So I proceeded toinquire, "What will a peasant do in case of an execution?"

"He will murder, but without premeditation. What he will do in case ofan execution I can illustrate for you by something which occurred inthis very neighborhood some years ago. 

"The regimental secretary of a regiment stationed at Z. Was persecutedby one of his officers, who found fault with him continually, and evenplaced him under arrest for days at a time, when the man had only obeyedhis own orders. At last the secretary's patience failed him, and one dayhe struck the officer. A court-martial followed. I was chosen to defendhim. He was sentenced to death. I appealed to the Emperor through MadameA. , --you know her. For some reason she spoke to one of the ministers. 'You have not stated the number of his regiment; that is indispensable, 'was the reply. Evidently this was a subterfuge, that time might beconsumed in correspondence, and the pardon might arrive too late. Thereason for this was, in all probability, that just at this time asoldier had struck an officer in Moscow and had been condemned. If onewere pardoned, in justice the other must be also. Otherwise disciplinewould suffer. This coincidence was awkward for the secretary, strong ashis case was, and he was shot. 

"The adjutant's hands trembled so with emotion that he could not applythe bandage to the prisoner's eyes. Others tried and gave it up. Well, as soon as that man was buried his grave was covered with flowers, crosses, and all sorts of things by the peasants, who came many verstsfrom all directions, as to the grave of a martyr. Masses for the deadwere ordered there, in uninterrupted succession, by these poor peasants. The feeling was so great and appeared to be spreading to such an extentthat the authorities were forced not only to prohibit access to thegrave, but even to level it off so that it could not be found. But anEnglishman! If he were told to cut the throat of his own father and eathim, he would do it. "

"Still, in spite of your very striking illustration, and your doubts asto my having read the papers correctly, " I remarked, "I am sure that theRussian peasant does, occasionally, murder with premeditation. He is afine-tempered, much-enduring, admirable fellow, I admit, but he ishuman. He cannot be so different in this respect from all other races ofmen. Moreover, I have the testimony of a celebrated Russian author on myside. "

"What author? What testimony?"

"Have you ever read The 'Power of Darkness'? The amount of deliberation, of premeditation, in any murder is often a matter of opinion; but themurder of the child in the last act of that comedy is surely deliberateenough to admit of no difference of judgment. Don't you think that theauthor supports me?"

He gasped at my audacity in quoting his own writings against him, andretreated into the silence which was his resource when he could not orwould not answer. Put him in a corner and he would refuse to come out. 

Beggars used to come while we were eating out-of-doors; some calledthemselves "pilgrims. " The count would give them a little money, andthey would tramp off again. One day, when the birthday of an absentmember of the family was being celebrated, and we were drinking healthsin _voditchka_ (a sort of effervescent water flavored with fruitjuices), we had a distinguished visitor, "Prince Romanoff. " This was thecrazy Balakhin mentioned in "What to Do?" as having had his brain turnedby the sight of the luxury in the lives of others. His rags and patches, or rather his conglomeration of patches, surpassed anything we had seenin that line. One of the lads jumped up and gave him a glass ofraspberry _voditchka_, telling him that it was rare old wine. The mansipped it, looked through it, and pretended (I am sure that it was merepretense) to believe that it was wine. He promised us all large estateswhen the Emperor should give him back his own, now wrongfully withheldfrom him. 

Balakhin stayed about the place, making himself at home with theservants, for twenty-four hours or more. I believe that he strays aboutamong the landed proprietors of the district as a profession. In spiteof his willingness to call himself "Prince Romanoff" as often as any onechose to incite him thereto, this did not impress me as a proof that hewas too deranged to earn his own living, with his healthy frame, if hesaw fit. I had observed the mania for titles in other persons (not allRussians, by any means) who would vigorously resent the imputation thatthey should be in a lunatic asylum. Moreover, this imperial "PrinceRomanoff" never forgot his "manners. " He invariably rose when hissuperiors (or his inferiors, perhaps I should say) approached, like anyother peasant, and he looked far more crafty than crazy. 

As the peasants were all busy haying, we postponed our visit to thevillage until the afternoon of Peter and Paul's day, in the hope that weshould then find some of them at home. The butler's family were drinkingtea on the porch of their neat new log house with a tinned roof, at theend of the village near the park gate. They rose and invited us to honorthem with our company and share their meal. We declined, for lack oftime. 

One of the count's daughters had told me of a curious differenceexisting between the cut of the aprons of maidens and of those ofmarried women. I had been incredulous, and she suggested that I put thematter to the test by asking the first married woman whom we should see. We found a pretty woman, with beautiful brown eyes and exquisite teeth(whose whiteness and soundness are said to be the result of the sourblack bread which the peasants eat exclusively), standing at the door ofher cottage. 

"Here's your chance!"

"Show me your window, please, " I said. 

She laughed, and turned her back to me. There was the "window, " sureenough. The peasant apron, which is fastened under the armpits, ispretty evenly distributed as to fullness all the way round, and in thecase of a maiden falls in straight lines in the back. But the marriedwoman makes hers with a semicircular opening a few inches below theband. The points of the opening are connected by a loop of fringe, acouple of cords not always tied, or anything that comes handy, apparently for ornament. Now, when the husband feels moved todemonstrate his affection for his spouse by administering a beating, heis not obliged to fumble and grope among those straight folds for theawkward triangular little opening, quite unsuited to accommodate hisfist. He can grasp her promptly by the neck of her chemise and thiscomfortable semicircle, and not force her to doubt his love by delay andhesitation in expression. I asked the pretty woman if her husband foundit very useful. "Sometimes, " she answered nonchalantly. The Russianpeasant theory is: "No beating, no jealousy; no jealousy, no love. "

She offered to sell us a new petticoat similar to the one which shewore. It was of homespun, hard-twisted wool _etamine_ very durable, of asort which is made, with slight variations, in several governments. Ordinarily, in this district, it is of a bright scarlet plaided off withlines of white and yellow. A breadth of dark blue cotton is alwaysinserted in the left side. When a woman is in mourning, the same plaidon a dark blue foundation is used. Married women wear coarse chemisesand aprons of homespun linen; and their braided hair coiled on top ofthe head imparts a coronet shape to the gay cotton kerchief which isfolded across the brow and knotted at the nape of the neck. 

Young girls wear cotton chemises and aprons and print dresses, allpurchased, not home made. It is considered that if a girl performs herdue share of the house and field work she will not have time to weavemore than enough linen for her wedding outfit, and the purchase of whatis needed before that unhappy event is regarded as a certificate ofindustry. I call it an unhappy event because from the moment of herbetrothal the prospective bride wears mourning garments. Black beads forthe neck are the height of fashion here. 

The girl's gown, called a _sarafan_, is plaited straight and full into anarrow band, and suspended just below the armpits by cross-bands overthe shoulders. She prefers for it plain scarlet cotton (_kumatch_), orscarlet printed in designs of yellow, white, and green. Her headkerchief matches in style. Her betrothal gown and kerchief have a darkblue or black ground with colored figures. 

The bargain for the petticoat was closed at two rubles, its real worth, subject to "sister's approbation, "--an afterthought on the part of thepretty woman. When she brought it to us at the house, a couple of hourslater, modestly concealed under her apron, and with sister's blessing, she demanded half a ruble more, because we had not beaten her down, andperhaps also as an equivalent for sister's consent. 

She showed us her cottage, which was luxurious, since it had a brickhalf for winter use, exactly corresponding to the summer half of logs. Behind, in a wattled inclosure, were the animals and farming implements. It was not a cheerful dwelling, with its tiny windows, wall benches toserve as seats and beds, pine table, images in the corner, greatwhitewashed oven, in which the cooking was done, and on which, near theceiling, they could sleep, and sheepskin coats as well as other garmentslying about. 

Practically, a small Russian village consists of one street, since thosepeasants who live on the occasional parallel or side lanes are "noaccount folks, " and not in fashion. It seemed inconsistent that ranksand degrees should exist in peasant villages; but human nature is muchthe same in the country as in capitals, even in the village of the manwho advocates absolute equality of poverty, and despite the views of mymerry _izvostchik_ Alexei. 

The aged mother of the woman to whom the count's daughter was carrying agift of a new kerchief was at home, and bestowed some smacking kisses inthanks. The old woman even ran after us to discharge another volley ofgratitude on the young countess's pretty cheeks. 

In the evening we set out once more for the village, to see the choraldances and hear the songs with which the peasants celebrate theirholidays. A dozen or so of small peasant girls, pupils of the count'sdaughter, who had invited themselves to swing on the Giant Steps on thelawn opposite the count's study windows, abandoned their amusement andaccompanied us down the avenue, fairly howling an endless song in shrillvoices that went through one's nerves. 

As we emerged from the shadows of the avenue and proceeded up the broad, grassy village street to the place of assembly, the children dispersed. A crowd was collected at a fairly level spot ready for the dancing. Allwore their gayest clothes. The full moon, with brilliant Jupiter closebeside her, furnished an ideally picturesque light, and displayed thescene to the greatest advantage. Low gray cottages framed the whole. 

It was a grand occasion. One of the count's sons had brought his violin, his cousin had a _balalaika_, a triangular peasant guitar, and one ofthe lackeys had his harmonica, to play for the dancing. The young mensat on a rough improvised bench; the servant stood beside them. Thepeasants seemed shy. They hesitated and argued a good deal overbeginning each song. Finally they joined hands and circled slowly to thetones of the generally monotonous airs. Some of the melodies were livelyand pleasing, but the Great Russian peasant woman's voice is undeniablyshrill. The dancing, when some bold peasant ventured to enter thecircle, after much urging and pushing, was far tamer and more unvaryingthan I had seen elsewhere. We felt very grateful to our maid, Tatiana, for stepping forward with spirit and giving us a touch of the genuinething. 

Alas! the fruits of Tatiana's civilization were but too visible in hergown of yellow print flounced to the waist and with a tight-fittingbodice. The peasant costume suits the dance far better. Her partner wasunworthy of her, and did not perform the squat-and-leap step in properform. She needed Fomitch, the butler, who had been obliged to stay athome and serve tea; to his regret, no doubt, since we were informed that"he danced as though he had ten devils in his body. " As we saw noprospect of any devils at all, --and they are very necessary for theproper dash in Russian dancing, --we strolled home, past the pond wherethe women were wont to wash their clothes, and up the dark avenue. Perhaps the requisite demons arrived after our departure. It was acharacteristic scene, and one not readily to be forgotten. 

One of the most enjoyable incidents of the evening was the rehearsal ofthe maid's coquettish steps and graces given by one of our younghostesses for the benefit of those members of the family who had notbeen present. It reminded us of the scene in "War and Peace" after thehunt, when charming young Countess Natalya Ilinitchna astonishes her oldrelative by her artistic performance of the Russian dance, which shemust have inherited with the traditions of her native land, since shehad never learned it. 

Balalaika duets were one of the joys of our evenings under the trees, after dinner. The young men played extremely well, and the popular airswere fascinating. Our favorite was the "_Barynya-Sudarynya_, " whichinvariably brings out volleys of laughter and plaudits when it is sungon the stage. Even a person who hears it played for the first time andis ignorant of the words is constrained to laughter by the merry air. Inthe evenings there were also hare-and-hounds hunts through the meadowsand forests, bonfires over which the younger members of the familyjumped in peasant fashion, and other amusements. 

In consequence of vegetarian indiscretions and of trifling with hishealth in other ways during the exceptionally hot weather thenprevailing, the count fell ill. When he got about a little he delightedto talk of death. He said he felt that he was not going to live long, and was glad of it. He asked what we thought of death and the otherworld, declaring that the future life must be far better than this, though in what it consisted he could not feel any certainty. Naturallyhe did not agree with our view, that for the lucky ones this worldprovides a very fair idea of heaven, because his ideal was not happinessfor all, but misery for all. He will be forced to revise this ideal ifhe ever really comes to believe in heaven. 

During this illness I persuaded him to read "Looking Backward, " which Ihad received as I was leaving Moscow. When I presented it to him, hepromised to examine it "some time;" but when I give books I like to hearthe opinion of the recipient in detail, and I had had experience when Igave him "Robert Elsmere. " Especially in this case was I anxious todiscuss the work. 

At first he was very favorably impressed, and said that he wouldtranslate the book into Russian. He believed that this was the true way:that people should have, literally, all things in common, and so on. Ireplied that matters would never arrive at the state described unlessthis planet were visited by another deluge, and neither Noah nor anyother animal endowed with the present human attributes saved to continuethis selfish species. I declared that nothing short of a new planet, Utopia, and a newly created, selected, and combined race of Utopianangels, would ever get as far as the personages in that book, not tospeak of remaining in equilibrium on that dizzy point when it shouldhave been once attained. He disagreed with me, and an argument royalensued. In the course of it he said that his only objection lay in thedegree of luxury in which the characters of the new perfection lived. 

"What harm is there in comfort and luxury to any extent, " I asked, "provided that all enjoy it?"

"Luxury is all wrong, " he answered severely. "You perceive the sinfulluxury in which I live, " waving his hand toward the excessively plainfurniture, and animadverting with special bitterness on the silver forksand spoons. "It is all a fallacy that we can raise those below us byremaining above them. We must descend to their level in habits, intelligence, and life; then all will rise together. "

"Even bread must have yeast; and if we all make ourselves exactly alike, who is to act as yeast? Are we to adopt all vices of the lower classes?That would be the speediest way of putting ourselves on a completeequality with them. But if some of us do not remain yeast, we shall allturn out the flattest sort of dough. "

"We certainly cannot change the position of a thing unless we go closeenough to grasp it, unless we are on the same plane with it. "

"Perhaps not; but being on the same plane does not always answer. Didyou ever see an acrobat try that trick? He puts one leg on the table, then tries to lift his whole body by grasping the other leg and puttingit on a level to begin with. Logically, it ought to succeed and carrythe body with it, if your theory is correct. However, it remains merelya curious and amusing experiment, likely to result in a broken neck toany one not skilled in gymnastics, and certain to end in a tumble evenfor the one who is thus skilled. "

He reiterated his arguments. I retorted that human beings were not moralkangaroos, who could proceed by leaps, and that even the kangaroo isobliged to allow the tip of his tail to follow his paws. I said that inthe moral as well as in the physical world it is simply a choice betweenstanding still and putting one foot before the other; that one cannotget upstairs by remaining on the bottom step; one member of the bodymust rise first. 

We were obliged to agree to disagree, as usual, but I fancy that he mayhave changed to my opinion of the book and the subject by this time. Ihave already noted that he is open to influence. 

One evening, as we sat on the steps of the uncovered terrace outside hisstudy, the conversation fell on the book which he was then engaged upon, and which the countess had shown us that she was copying for the fourthtime. He had been busy on it for two years. Neither of them went intodetails nor mentioned the plot, but I had heard on my arrival in Russia, twenty months previously, that it related to the murder of a woman byher husband, and had a railway scene in it. I did not interrogate them, and when the count said that he hoped I would translate the book when itshould be finished I accepted the proposal with alacrity. I inquiredwhether I was to read it then. 

"You may if you wish, " was the reply, "but I shall probably make somechanges, and I should prefer that you would wait; but that shall be asyou please. "

His wife said that he might suddenly take a fancy to view the subjectfrom an entirely different point, and write the book all over. 

I declined to anticipate my future pleasure by even glancing at it, andI asked no questions. Neither did I ask to see "The Fruits ofCivilization, " which was already written and named, I was not there toexploit their hospitality. 

The count and his wife differed as to what ought to be the fate of thecoming volume. He wished to give it to the world (that is, to somepublisher) for nothing. She argued that some one, the publisher atleast, would make money out of it; then why not let his own family havethe profit, as was just? He insisted that it was wrong, inconsistent, inthe same strain as he discusses the subject of his writings in "What toDo?" But she urged him, in case he would not consent to justice, toleave the manuscript with her, unpublished, so that the family could useit after his death. (When the book was ready it was named "The KreutzerSonata. ")

I think that every one must side with the countess in her view of thismatter and in her management of the family. It is owing solely to herthat the younger members of the family are receiving that education tofit them for their struggle with life which her husband bestowed uponthe elder members voluntarily. It is due to her alone, also, that herhusband is still alive. It is not an easy task to protect the countagainst himself. One adds to one's admiration for the count's literarygenius an admiration for the countess's talent and good sense by anextended acquaintance with this family. 

More than one community has been organized for the express purpose ofcarrying out the life of toil which Count Tolstoy has advocated attimes. One of these communities, of which I had direct information, purchased an estate of a landed proprietor, including the manor house, and began to work. This acquisition of an estate by them, while thecount would like to give away his as sinful to retain, does not strikeone as a good beginning. However, they did not use the manor house, butlived in one small peasant hut. "They all slept on the floor andbenches, men and women, " said a Russian to me. A wealthy man had soldhis property to join this community against the wishes of his wife, whoaccompanied him, nevertheless. When her baby came, they allowed her tooccupy a room in the mansion and required no work from her, since shehad the care of the child. "They never swept or scrubbed anything, andthey propagated every insect known to man, and probably a few new ones. "But the count has never preached this doctrine, or that an indefinitenumber of persons should occupy a single cottage. Thus do his tooenthusiastic disciples discredit him by running into excesses. 

So far as he is concerned, there is not the slightest doubt that hewould gladly attempt the life which he advocates. But if he were to takeup his residence in a peasant's cottage, and try to support himself onwhat his labors brought in exclusively, he would be dead in less than amonth. He suffers from liver disease; he has not been used to hard laborfrom early youth; he cannot, at his age, accustom himself to it any morethan he can compel his stomach to accept a purely vegetable diet inplace of the meat diet on which he has been brought up. He strivesconscientiously to do it. Even the fits of illness caused by his severetreatment of himself do not break his spirit. He exercises not theslightest calculation or forethought in the care of his health, eitherbefore it breaks down or afterwards. For example: about five years agohe bruised his leg seriously against the wheel of a peasant cart. Instead of resting it, he persisted in working. Erysipelas developed. The Tula doctor paid him numerous visits, at fifteen rubles a visit. Then gangrene threatened, and a doctor was sent for from Moscow. He wasa celebrity; price three hundred and fifty rubles. This was penny wiseand pound foolish, of course. But in all probability the count feels theresponsibility of exerting his will in this matter of labor all the morebecause it does not come easy to him, and he attributes to weakness ofwill power what a peasant would recognize as simple physical exhaustion. The peasant would not hesitate to climb to the top of his oven and staythere until his illness was over, with not a thought whether the workwere done or not; and yet the peasant would work far beyond the boundsof what one would suppose that a man could endure. But Count Tolstoyoverrates his powers of endurance, and, having exhausted his forces inone desperate spurt, he is naturally obliged to spend more than acorresponding amount of time in recuperating, even if no seriouscomplication intervenes; and this gives rise to the accusation oflaziness and insincerity from those who chance to see him in one ofthese intervals of rest. 

Another point which is too often lost sight of by people who disapproveof his labor theories is that, while he advocates living in all respectslike a peasant, descending to that level in mind as well as in body, which doctrine seems to include the incessant toil of the masses, he hasalso announced his theory that men should divide their time each daybetween (1) hard labor unto perspiration and callosities; (2) theexercise of some useful handicraft; (3) exercise of the brain in writingand reading; (4) social intercourse; sixteen hours in all. This is not aprogramme which a peasant could follow out. In summer, during the"suffering" season, the peasant toils in the fields for nearly the wholeof the twenty-four hours instead of the four thus allotted. In winter, when no field labor is possible, he is likely to spend much more thanfour hours at whatever remunerative handicraft he may be acquaintedwith, or in intercourse with his fellow-men (detrimental as likely asnot), and a good deal less in reading at any season of the year, forlack of instruction, interest, or books. On the other hand, thisreasonable _regime_ is not practicable for many men of other thanpeasant rank. It happens to be perfectly practicable for Count Tolstoywhen his health permits. But as he has also said much about doingeverything for one's self, earning in some form of common labor all thatone spends, those who remember this only, and who know how little can beearned by a whole day's toil in Russia, not to mention toil dividedbetween two branches, which agriculture does not permit, are notaltogether to blame for jumping to the conclusion that the count makesno effort to practice what he preaches. He does what he can. He isreproached with having made over his property to his wife and withliving as before. It is really difficult to see what other course isopen to him. An unmarried man, under obligations to no one but himself, may reasonably be blamed for not carrying out the doctrine which hevolunteers to teach the world. A married man can only be blamed forvolunteering the doctrine. No blame can possibly attach to the wife whodefends the interest of the family to the extent of working havoc withhis doctrines. 

Even if Count Tolstoy were able to support himself, he certainly couldnot support a wife and the nine living children out of sixteen which hehas had. There is no justice in expecting the adult members of thefamily to accept and practice his doctrines. They do not compel him toaccept theirs, though they are in the majority. The little ones couldnot feed themselves, even were they ideal peasant children. It would benearer the truth to say that the countess has taken possession of theproperty; she administers it wisely and economically, for the good ofthe family and her husband. She issued, about five years ago, a cheaperedition of her husband's works, the only edition available hithertohaving been very expensive. The wisdom of her step was proved by thelarge profits derived from it in the course of three years, --fiftythousand dollars, --all of which was applied to the needs of thefamily. 

The count is not the only one at Yasnaya Polyana to deny himself. Forthe past two winters the whole family have remained on the estate, andhave not gone to Moscow, with the exception of one who is in business atthe capital, one member who is at his studies, and one who is marriedand resides on another estate. This is because the income did not amountto a certain sum, a very moderate sum in American eyes, without which astay in town would have been imprudent. 

The question naturally follows: If the countess holds the property, andthe count continues to get the good of it, in a modest way; if the countdoes not do everything for himself, and earn his daily bread by manualtoil, is not he mentally unbalanced to proclaim his theories to theworld, and to change his mind so often on other points?

The answer is: No. Undoubtedly the count, when he attained to hisconvictions on the subject of poverty and labor, hoped to carry hisfamily with him. The countess, like a brave woman, like a devoted wifeand mother, refused to adopt his views. She is willing to shoulder theresponsibility of her refusal, and her conduct is an honor to her. Asfor his changes of doctrine, we are all very much like him in the matterof inconsistency. Only, as very few of us enjoy the renown or theauthority of Count Tolstoy, it rarely occurs to us to proclaim ourprogressive opinions to the world; at most, one or two experiences cureus of that weakness, even if any one thinks it worth while to noticethem in the slightest degree. Very few of us are so deeply rooted in ourconvictions, or so impressed with their importance to the world asprinciples, that we will raise a finger to defend them. We alternatelyknow that we shall never change them again, and suspect that we may seesomething better at any moment; and we refrain from committing ourselvesunnecessarily in any form which can be brought up against us hereafter. 

The case is precisely the reverse with Count Tolstoy. He is so full ofthe missionary spirit, so persuaded of the truth and value of hisbeliefs, that he rushes into print with them instantly. There they are, all ready for those who do not sympathize with him to use as missileswhen he gets a new inspiration. Change of opinion is generally progress. Continuity, an absolute lack of change, means stagnation and death inthe mental as well as in the physical world. As the count is impressibleand reads much, his reading and meditation are fruitful of novelties, which he bravely submits to the judgment of the world without pausing toconsider whether they coincide with his other utterances or not. That hedoes not always express his abstract ideas clearly is the inevitableresult of the lack of philosophical training. 

But enthusiastic souls who grieve over the imperfections in the presentorganization of society are always waiting for some one of warmer zealto lead them. Such persons perceive the ideal side of every argument, interpret doctrines with their hearts, not with their heads, and arefired by the newest conception of social relations. As one of the mostmarked characteristics of Count Tolstoy lies in infusing his ownpersonality into every word he writes, it is only natural that thesepeople should adopt him as their guide. It is not the fault of any onein particular that he has abandoned a doctrine by the time others havemastered it. The only refuge is in the cry of Hamlet:--

"The time is out of joint; O cursed spite! That ever I was born to setit right. "

Thus much I think I may say of the home life of the famous Russianwriter without sinning against the duties imposed by the frank andcordial hospitality for which we are indebted to the family. It hasseemed time to enter a protest against various misrepresentations andmisconceptions in regard to them which are current. In conclusion, I begleave to explain that my spelling of the name is that used by themselveswhen writing in English, and in print upon their French cards. 

IX. 

A RUSSIAN HOLY CITY. 

It was close on midnight when we left Yasnaya Polyana. A large and merryparty of Count Tolstoy's children and relatives escorted us: some in thebaggage cart, perched on our luggage; some in the jaunting-car-like_lineika_ with us, on our moonlight drive to the little station where wewere to join the train and continue our journey southward. 

We should have preferred to travel by daylight, as we were possessed ofthe genuine tourist greed for seeing "everything;" but in this case, asin many others in Russia, the trains were not arranged so that we couldmanage it. 

There is very little variety along the road through central Russia, butthe monotony is of a different character from that of the harsh soil andthe birch and pine forests of the north. The vast plains of this_tchernozyom_--the celebrated "black earth zone"--swell in long, lowbillows of herbage and grain, diversified only at distant intervals bytracts of woodland. But the wood is too scarce to meet the demands forfuel, and the manure of the cattle, well dried, serves to eke it out, atraveling native in our compartment told us, instead of being used, asit should be, to enrich the land, which is growing poor. Now and then, substantial brick cottages shone out amidst the gray and yellow of thethatched log huts in the hamlets. We heard of one landed proprietor whoencouraged his peasant neighbors to avoid the scourge of frequentconflagrations by building with brick, and he offered a prize to everyindividual who should comply with the conditions. The prize consisted ofa horse from the proprietor's stables, and of the proprietor's presence, in full uniform and all his orders, at the house-warming. The advantagesof brick soon became so apparent to the peasants that they continued toemploy it, even after their patron had been forced to abolish thereward, lest his horses and his time should be utterly exhausted. 

Minor incidents were not lacking to enliven our long journey. In thecourse of one of the usual long halts at a county town, a beggar came tothe window of our carriage. He was a tall, slender young fellow, aboutseven-and-twenty years of age. Though he used the customary forms, --"Give me something, _sudarynya_* if only a few kopeks, _Khristiradi!_"** there was something about him, despite his rags, there was anelegance of accent in his language, to which I was not accustomed in the"poor brethren" generally. 

* Madam. ** For Christ's sake. 

I pretended ignorance of Russian and the sign language, but watched himas I continued my conversation in English. Thereupon my man repeated hisdemands in excellent French, with a good accent. I turned on him. 

"This is unusual, " I said in Russian, by way of hinting that I belongedto the category of the willfully deaf. "Accept my compliments on yourknowledge of French and of Russian. But be so good as to explain to methis mystery before I contribute. "

"Madam, " he retorted, "I'd have you know that I am a gentleman, --agentleman of education. "

"Then pray solve the other mystery, --why you, strong, young, healthy, handsome, are a professional beggar. "

He stalked off in a huff. Evidently he was one of that class of "decayednobles" of whom I had heard many curious tales in Moscow; only he haddecayed at a rather earlier age than the average. 

As we proceeded southward, pretty Little Russian girls took the place ofthe plainer-featured Great Russian maidens. Familiar plants caught oureyes. Mulleins--"imperial sceptre" is the pretty Russian name--beganto do sentinel duty along the roadside; sumach appeared in the thicketsof the forests, where the graceful cut-leaved birch of the north wasrare. The Lombardy poplar, the favorite of the Little Russian poets, reared its dark columns in solitary state. At last, Kieff, the HolyCity, loomed before us in the distance. 

I know no town in Russia which makes so picturesque and characteristican impression on the traveler as Kieff. From the boundless plain overwhich we were speeding, we gazed up at wooded heights crowned and dottedwith churches. At the foot of the slope, where golden domes and crosses, snowy white monasteries and battlemented walls, gleamed among masses offoliage punctuated with poplars, swept the broad Dnyepr. It did not seemdifficult then to enter into the feelings of Prince Oleg when he reachedthe infant town, on his expedition from unfertile Novgorod the Great, ofthe north, against Byzantium, and, coveting its rich beauty, slew itsrulers and entered into possession, saying, "This shall be the Mother ofall Russian Cities. " We could understand the sentiments of the pilgrimswho flock to the Holy City by the million. 

The agreeable sensation of approach being over, our expectations, whichhad been waxing as the train threaded its way through a ravine to thestation, received a shock. It was the shock to which we were continuallybeing subjected whenever we made pious pilgrimages to places of historicrenown. On each occasion of this sort we were moved to reflect deeply onthe proverbial blessings of ignorance. It makes a vast difference inone's mental comfort, I find, whether he accepts the presentunquestioningly, with enthusiasm, and reconstructs the historic past asan agreeable duty, or whether he already bears the past, in its variousaspects, in his mind, in involuntary but irrational expectation ofmeeting it, and is forced to accept the present as a painful task! Whichof these courses to pursue in the future was the subject of mydisappointed meditations, as we drove through the too Europeanizedstreets, and landed at a hotel of the same pattern. It is easy toforgive St. Petersburg, in its giddy youth of one hundred andseventy-five winters, for its Western features and comforts; but thatKieff, in its venerable maturity of a thousand summers, should be sospick and span with newness and reformation seemed at first utterlyunpardonable. The inhabitants think otherwise, no doubt, and deplore themediaeval hygienic conditions which render the town the most unhealthyin Europe, in the matter of the death-rate from infectious diseases. 

Our comfortable hotel possessed not a single characteristic feature, except a line on the printed placard of regulations posted in each room. The line said, "The price of this room is four rubles [or whatever itwas] a day, except in Contract Time. " "Contract Time, " I found, meantthe Annual Fair, in February, when the normal population of about onehundred and sixty-six thousand is swelled by "arrivers"--as travelersare commonly designated on the signboards of the lower-class hotels--from all the country round about. When, prompted by this remarkablewarning, I inquired the prices during the fair, the clerk repliedsweetly, --no other word will do justice to his manner, --"All we canget!" Such frankness is what the French call "brutal. "

The principal street of the town, the Krestchatik, formerly the bed of astream, in front of our windows, was in the throes of sewer-building. More civilization! Sewage from the higher land had lodged there intemporary pools. The weather was very hot. The fine large yellow bricks, furnished by the local clay-beds, of which the buildings and sidewalkswere made, were dazzling with heat. It is only when one leaves thelow-lying new town, and ascends the hills, on which the old dwellerswisely built, or reaches the suburbs, that one begins thoroughly tocomprehend the enthusiastic praises of many Russians who regard Kieff asthe most beautiful town in the empire. 

The glare of the yellow brick melts softly into the verdure of theresidence quarter, and is tempered into inoffensiveness in the Old Townby the admixture of older and plainer structures, which refresh the eye. But the chief charm, unfailing, inexhaustible as the sight of the ocean, is the view from the cliffs. Beyond the silver sweep of the river attheir feet, animated with steamers and small boats, stretches theillimitable steppe, where the purple and emerald shadows of the seadepths and shallows are enriched with hues of golden or velvet brown andmisty blue. The steppe is no longer an unbroken expanse of wavingplume-grass and flowers, wherein riders and horses are lost to sight as, in Gogol's celebrated tale, were Taras Bulba and his sons, fresh fromthe famous Academy of Kieff, which lies at our feet, below the cliffs. Increasing population has converted this virgin soil into vastgrainfields, less picturesque near at hand than the wild growth, butstill deserving, from afar, of Gogol's enraptured apostrophe: "Deviltake you, steppe, how beautiful you are!"

Naturally, our first pilgrimage was to the famous Kievo-PetcherskayaLavra, that is, the First-Class Monastery of the Kieff Catacombs, thechief monastic institution and goal of pilgrims in all the country, ofwhich we had caught a glimpse from the opposite shore of the river, aswe approached the town. Buildings have not extended so densely in thisdirection but that a semblance of ascetic retirement is still preserved. Between the monastery and the city lies the city park, which is not muchpatronized by the citizens, and for good reasons. To the rich wildnessof nature is added the wildness of man. Hordes of desperadoes, "thebarefoot brigade, " the dregs of the local population, have taken uptheir residence there every spring, of late years, in the ravines andthe caves which they have excavated, in humble imitation of the holy menof the monastery of old. From time to time the police make a skirmishthere, but an unpleasant element of danger is still connected with avisit to this section of the city's heart, which deters most people frommaking the attempt. 

Beyond this lie the heights, on which stand the fortress and theCatacombs Monastery. Opposite the arsenal opens the "Holy Gate;" allRussian monasteries seem to have a holy gate. "The wall, fourteen feetin height, and more in some places, surrounding the principal court, wasbuilt by Hetman Mazeppa, " says the local guide-book. Thus promptly didwe come upon traces of that dashing Kazak chieftain, who would seem, judging from the solid silver tombs for saints, the churches, academy, and many other offerings of that nature in Kieff alone, to have spentthe intervals between his deeds of outrageous treachery and immoralityin acts of ostentatious piety. In fact, his piety had an object, aspiety of that rampant variety usually has. He meditated betraying LittleRussia into the power of Poland; and knowing well how heartily theLittle Russians detested the Poles because of the submission to the Popeof Rome in those Greek churches designated as Uniates, he sought tosoothe their suspicions and allay their fears by this display ofattachment to the national church. His vaingloriousness was shown by hishabit of having his coat of arms placed on bells, _ikonostasi_, * andwindows of the churches he built. In one case, he caused his portrait tobe inserted in the holy door of the _ikonostas_, --a very improperprocedure, --where it remained until the middle of the last century. Highly colored frescoes of the special monastery saints and ofhistorical incidents adorned the wall outside the holy gate. Inside, wefound a monk presiding over a table, on which stood the image of thesaint of the day, a platter covered with a cross-adorned cloth, forofferings, and various objects of piety for sale. 

* Image screens. 

The first thing which struck us, as we entered the great court, was thepeculiar South Russian taste for filling in the line of roof between thenumerous domes with curving pediments and tapering turned-wood spireletssurmounted by golden stars and winged seraphs' heads surrounded by rays. The effect of so many points of gold against the white of the walls, combined with the gold of the crosses, the high tints of the externalfrescoes, and the gold of the cupolas, is very brilliant, no doubt; butit is confusing, and constitutes what, for want of a better word, I mustcall a Byzantine-rococo style of architecture. The domes, under Westerninfluence, during the many centuries when Kieff was divorced fromRussia, under Polish and Lithuanian rule, assumed forms which lack thepurity and grace of those in Russia proper. Octagonal cupolas supportedon thick, sloping bases involuntarily remind one of the cup-and-ballgame. Not content with this degenerate beginning, they pursue theirerrors heavenward. Instead of terminating directly in a cross, they aresurmounted by a lantern frescoed with saints, a second octagonal dome, aball, and a cross. These octagons constitute a feature in all SouthRussian churches. 

Along the sides of the court leading to the great Assumption Cathedralstood long, plain one and two story buildings, the cells of the monks. Rugs of fine coloring and design were airing on the railings in front ofthem. I examined their texture, found it thick and silky, but could notclass it with any manufacture of my acquaintance. I looked about forsome one to question. A monk was approaching. His long, abundant hairflowed in waves from beneath the black veil which hung from his tall, cylindrical _klobuk_, resembling a rimless silk hat. His artisticallycut black robe fell in graceful folds. I should describe him asdandified, did I dare apply such an adjective to an ecclesiasticalrecluse. I asked him where such rugs were to be found. He answered thatthey were of peasant manufacture, and that I could probably find them inPodol, the market below the cliffs. These specimens had been presentedto the monastery by "zealous benefactors. "

Then he took his turn at questioning. I presume that my accent was notperfect, or that I had omitted some point of etiquette in which anOrthodox Russian would have been drilled, such as asking his blessingand kissing his hand in gratitude, by way of saying "good-morning, " orsomething of that sort. His manner was that of a man of the world, artistically tinged with monastic conventionality, and I wonderedwhether he were not an ex-officer of the Guards who had wearied of Courtand gayeties. He offered to show us about, and took us to theprinting-house, founded in the sixteenth century. It is still one of thebest and most extensive in the country, with a department ofchromo-lithography attached for the preparation of cheap pictures ofsaints. One of the finest views in town is from the balcony at the rearof this building, and the monk explained all the points to us. 

There was an air of authority about our impromptu guide, and theprofound reverences bestowed upon him and upon us by the workmen in theprinting-house, as well as by all the monks whom we met, prompted me toinquire, as we parted from him, to whom we were indebted for suchinteresting guidance and explanations. 

"I am _otetz kaznatchei_, " he replied, with a smile, as he not onlyoffered his hand, but grasped mine and shook it, with an expression ofhis cordial good wishes, instead of bestowing upon me a mechanical crossin the air, and permitting me to kiss his plump little fingers inreturn, as he would undoubtedly have done had I been a Russian. Iunderstood the respect paid, and our reflected importance, when Idiscovered that the "Father Treasurer" occupies the highest rank next tothe permanent head of the monastery officially, and the most importantpost of all practically. 

Shortly after, the question fever having attacked me again, I accostedanother monk, equal in stateliness of aspect to the Father Treasurer. Heinformed me that from seven hundred to one thousand persons lived in themonastery. Not all of them were monks, some being only lay brethren. Each monk, however, had his own apartments, with a little gardenattached, and the beautiful rugs which I had seen formed part of thefurnishings of their cells. A man cannot enter the monastery withoutmoney, but fifty rubles (about twenty-five dollars) are sufficient togain him admittance. Some men leave the monastery after a brief trial, without receiving the habit. "In such a throng one comes to know manyfaces, " he said, "but not all persons. "

I inquired whether it were not a monotonous, tiresome life. 

"It seems so to you!" he replied, when he had recovered from hisamazement; and when I mentioned the liturgy which is peculiar to themonastery cathedral, and famed throughout Russia as "the Kieff-Catacombssinging, " all he found to say was, "It is very long. "

He took advantage of the chance presented by a trip to his cell to getus some water, to remove his tall _klobuk_. He must have read in ourglances admiration of his beauty mingled with a doubt as to whether itwere not partly due to this becoming cowl and veil, and determined toconvince us that it was nature, not adventitious circumstances, in hiscase. I think he must have been content with the expression of ourfaces, as he showed us the way to the most ancient of all the churchesin Kieff, --in Russia, in fact, --built by Prince-Saint Vladimirimmediately after his return from the crusade in search of baptism. 

The church door was locked. The wife of the deacon in charge waspaddling about barefooted, in pursuit of her fowls, in the long grass ofthe dooryard. She abandoned the chickens and hunted up her husband, whotook a peep at us, and then kept us waiting while he donned his bestcassock before escorting us. 

It is a very small, very plain church which adjoined Prince Vladimir'ssummer palace, long since destroyed, and still preserves its gallery forwomen and servants, and a box for the ladies of the household. Everything about it is nine hundred years old, except the roof and theupper portion of the walls. The archaic frescoes of angels in thechancel, which date from the same period, and are the best in Kieff, were the only objects which the deacon could find to expound, to enhancethe "tea-money" value of his services in putting on his best gown andunlocking the door, and he performed his duty meekly, but firmly. We didours by him, and betook ourselves to the principal church, the Cathedralof the Assumption, where less is left to the imagination. 

There, very few of the frescoes are more than a hundred and sixty yearsold, the majority dating back less than sixty years, and being in astyle to suit the rococo gilt carving, and the silver-gilt Imperial Gateto the altar. In the _papert_, or corridor-vestibule, a monk who waspresiding over a Book of Eternal Remembrance invited us to enter oursubscriptions for general prayers to be said on our behalf, or forspecial prayers to be said before the "wonder-working image" of theAssumption so long as the monastery shall exist. 

"We are not _pravoslavny_" (Orthodox Christians), I said. But, insteadof being depressed by this tacit refusal, he brightened up and plied uswith a series of questions, until he really seemed to take a temporaryinterest in life, in place of his permanent official interest in deathalone, or chiefly. 

Service was in progress, in accordance with the canons of the Studieffmonastery, adopted by St. Fedosy in the eleventh century. The singers, placed in an unusual position, in the centre of the church, were asremarkable for their hair as for their voices and execution. Therusset-brown and golden locks of some of them fell in heavy waves totheir waists. In fact, long, waving hair seemed to be a specialty withthe monks of this monastery, and they wore it in braids when off duty. Ihad seen priests in St. Petersburg who so utterly beyond a doubt frizzedtheir scanty hair on days of grand festivals, that the three tuftspertaining to the three too slender hair pins on which they had beendone up stood out in painfully isolated disagreement. What would theynot have given for such splendid manes as these Kieff singers possessed!

We ascended to the gallery, to obtain a better view of the scene. Peasant men in sheepskins (_tulupi_), --the temperature verged on 100degrees Fahrenheit, --in coats of dark brown homespun wool girt withsashes which had once been bright; female pilgrims in wadded coats girtinto shapelessness over cotton gowns of brilliant hues, knelt in prayerall about the not very spacious floor. Their traveling-sacks on theirbacks, the tin tea-kettles and cooking paraphernalia at their belts, swayed into perilous positions as they rocked back and forth, strikingthe floor devoutly with their brows, rising only to throw back theirlong hair, cross themselves rapidly, and resume the "groundsalutations, " until we were fairly dizzy at the sight. Some of themplaced red, yellow, or green tapers--the first instance of such a tastein colors which we had observed--on the sharp points of the silvercandelabra standing before the holy pictures in the _ikonostas_, alreadyovercrowded. A monk was incessantly engaged in removing the tapers whenonly half consumed, to make way for the ever-swelling flood of freshtapers. Another monk was as incessantly engaged in receiving the_prosfori_. A _prosfora_ is leavened bread in the shape of a tiny doubleloaf, which is sold at the doors of churches, and bears on its uppersurface certain symbolic signs, as a rule. The Communion is preparedfrom similar loaves by the priest, who removes certain portions with aspear-shaped knife, and places them in the wine of the chalice. The wineand bread are administered with a spoon to communicants. From the loavesbought at the door pieces are cut in memory of dead friends, whose soulsare to be prayed for, or of living friends, whose health is prayed forby the priest at a certain point of the service, in accordance with theindications sent up to the altar with the loaves on slips of paper, suchas "For the soul of Ivan Vasilievitch, " "For the health of TatianaPavlovna. " Thus is preserved the memory of early Christian times, whenthe Christians brought wine and oil and bread for their worship; and thebest having been selected for sacred use, portions were taken from theremainder in memory of those who sent or brought them, after the restwas used to refresh the congregation during a pause in the all-nightservice between vespers and matins. After the service, in our moderntimes, the _prosfori_ are given back to the owners, who cross themselvesand eat the bread reverently on the spot or elsewhere, as blessed butnot sacramental. At this monastery, the _prosfori_ prepared for memorialuse had a group of the local saints stamped on top, instead of the usualcross and characters. It is considered a delicate attention on the partof a person who has been on a pilgrimage to any of the holy places tobring back a _prosfora_ for a friend. It is very good when sliced andeaten with tea, omitting the bottom crust, which may have been dated inink by the pilgrim. Some of the peasants at this monastery church sentin to be blessed huge packages of _prosfori_ tied up in gay cottonkerchiefs. 

The service ended, and the chief treasure of the monastery, themiraculous image of the Assumption of the Virgin, --the Falling Asleepof the Virgin is the Russian name, --was let slowly down on its silkencords from above the Imperial Gate, where a twelve-fold silver lamp, with glass cups of different colors, has burned unquenched since 1812, in commemoration of Russia's deliverance from "the twelve tribes, " asthe French invasion is termed. The congregation pressed forward eagerlyto salute the venerated image. Tradition asserts that it was broughtfrom Constantinople to Kieff in the year 1073, with the Virgin's specialblessing for the monastery. By reason of age and the smoke fromconflagrations in which the monastery has suffered, the image is sodarkened that one is cast back upon one's imagination and the copies forcomprehension of this treasure's outlines. What is perfectlycomprehensible, however, is the galaxy of diamonds, brilliants, and gemsthickly set in the golden garments which cover all but the hands andfeet of the personages in the picture, and illuminate it with flashes ofmany-hued light. After a few minutes, the image was drawn up again toits place, --a most unusual position for a valued holy image, thoughcertainly safe, and one not occupied, so far as I am aware, by any otherin the country. 

It occurred to us that it might prove an interesting experiment to trythe monastery inn for breakfast, and even to sojourn there for a day ortwo, and abandon the open sewers and other traces of advancedcivilization in the town. Our way thither led past the free lodgings forpoor pilgrims, which were swarming with the devout of both sexes, although it was not the busiest season for shrine-visiting. That comesin the spring, before the harvest, at all monasteries, and, in thisparticular monastery, on the feast of the Assumption, August 15 (Russianstyle), 27 (European style). But there was a sufficient contingent ofthe annual one million pilgrims present to give us a very fair idea ofthe reverence in which this, the chief of all Russian monasteries, isheld, and of the throngs which it attracts. But, as usual in Russia, sight alone convinced us of their existence; they were chatting quietly, sitting and lying about with enviable calmness, or eating the sour blackbread and boiled buckwheat groats provided by the monastery. I talkedwith several of them, and found them quite unconscious that they werenot comfortably, even luxuriously, housed and fed. 

The inn for travelers of means was a large, plain, airy building, withno lodgers, apparently. The monks seemed frightened at the sight of us. That was a novelty. But they escorted us over the house in procession. We looked at a very clean, very plain room, containing four beds. Itappeared, from their explanations, that pilgrims have gregarious tastes, and that this was their nearest approach to a single room. I inquiredthe price. "According to your zeal, " was the reply. How much moreeffective than "What you please" in luring the silver from lukewarmpockets! The good monks never found out how warm our zeal was, afterall, for the reason that their table was never furnished with anythingbut fish and "fasting food, " they said, though there was no fast inprogress. The reason why, I could not discover; but we knew our ownminds thoroughly on the subject of "fasting food, " from mushroom soup, fish fried in sunflower oil, and coffee without milk to that mostinsipid of dessert dishes, _kisel_, made of potato flour, sweetened, andslightly soured with fruit juice. They told us that we might have meatsent out from town, if we wished; but as the town lay several verstsdistant, that did not seem a very practical way of coquetting with theEvil One under their roof. Accordingly, we withdrew; to their relief, Iam sure. As we had already lived in a monastery inn, it had not occurredto us that there could be any impropriety in doing so, but that musthave been the cause of their looks of alarm. I believe that one canremain for a fortnight at this inn without payment, unless conscienceinterferes; and people who had stayed there told me that meat had beenserved to them from the monastery kitchen; so that puzzle still remainsa puzzle to me. 

We went to see the brethren dine in the refectory, an ancient, vaultedbuilding of stone, near the cathedral. Under a white stone slab near theentrance lie the bodies of Kotchubey and Iskra, who were unjustlyexecuted by Peter the Great for their loyal denunciation of Mazeppa'smeditated treachery. Within, the walls of the antechamber were decoratedwith dizzy perspective views of Jerusalem, the saints, and pious eldersof the monastery. At the end of the long dining-hall, beyond an_ikonostas_, was a church, as is customary in these refectories. Judgingfrom the number of servitors whom we had met hurrying towards the cellswith sets of porcelain dinner-trays, not many monks intended to join thecommon table, and it did not chance to be one of the four days in theyear when the Metropolitan of Kieff and other dignitaries dine there infull vestments. 

At last, a score of monks entered, chanted a prayer at a signal from asmall bell, and seated themselves on benches affixed to the wall whichran round three sides of the room. The napkins on the tables which stoodbefore the benches consisted of long towels, each of which lay acrossfour or five of the pewter platters from which they ate, as the tablewas set in preparation. If it had been a festal day, there would havebeen several courses, with beer, mead, and even wine to wash them down. As it was, the monks ate their black bread and boiled buckwheat groats, served in huge dishes, with their wooden spoons, and drank _kvas_, brewed from sour black bread, at a signal from the bell, after the firstdish only, as the rule requires. While they ate, a monk, stationed at adesk near by, read aloud the extracts from the Lives of the Saintsappointed for the day. This was one of the "sights, " but we found itcurious and melancholy to see strong, healthy men turned into monks andcontent with that meagre fare. Frugality and dominion over the flesh aregood, of course, but minds from west of the Atlantic Ocean never seemquite to get into sympathy with the monastic idea; and we always felt, when we met monks, as though they ought all to be off at work somewhere, --I will not say "earning money, " for they do that as it is in suchgreat monasteries as that of Kieff, but lightening the burden of thepeasants, impossible as that is under present conditions, or makingthemselves of some commonplace, practical use in the world. 

The strongest point of the Lavra, even equal to the ancient andvenerated _ikona_ of the Assumption in the great cathedral, is thecatacombs, from which the convent takes its name. 

In the days of the early princes of Kieff, the heights now occupied bythe Lavra were covered with a dense growth of birch forest, and entirelyuninhabited. Later on, one of the hills was occupied by the village ofBerostovo, and a palace was built adjoining the tiny ancient "Church ofthe Saviour in the Birch Forest, " which I have already mentioned. It wasthe favorite residence of Prince-Saint Vladimir, and of his son, PrinceYaroslaff, after him. During the reign of the latter, early in theeleventh century, the priest of this little church, named Ilarion, excavated for himself a tiny cave, and there passed his time in devoutmeditation and solitary prayer. He abandoned his cave to becomeMetropolitan of Kieff. In the year 1051, the monk Antony, a native ofthe neighboring government of Tchernigoff, came to Kieff from MountAthos, being dissatisfied with the life led in the then existingmonasteries. After long wanderings over the hills of Kieff, he tookpossession of Ilarion's cave, and spent his days and nights in piousexercises. The fame of his devout life soon spread abroad, and attractedto him, for his blessing, not only the common people, but persons ofdistinction. Monks and worldlings flocked thither to join him in hislife of prayer. Among the first of these to arrive was a youth of theneighborhood, named Fedosy. Antony hesitated, but at last accepted theenthusiastic recruit. 

The dimensions of holy Antony's cave were gradually enlarged; new cells, and even a tiny church, were constructed near it. Then Antony, whodisliked communal life, retreated to the height opposite, separated fromhis first residence by a deep ravine, and dug himself another cave, where no one interfered with him. This was the origin of the caves ofFedosy, known at the present day as the "far catacombs, " and of thecaves of Antony, called the "near catacombs. " The number of the monkscontinued to increase, and they soon erected a small wooden churchaboveground, in the name of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, aswell as cells for those who could not be contained in the caverns. Atthe request of holy Antony, the prince gave the whole of the heightswhere the catacombs are situated to the brethren, and in 1062 a largenew monastery, surrounded by a stockade, was erected on the spot wherethe Cathedral of the Assumption now stands. Thus was monastic lifeintroduced into Russia. 

The venerated monastery shared all the vicissitudes of the "Mother ofall Russian Cities" in the wars of the Grand Princes and the incursionsof external enemies, such as Poles and Tatars. But after each disasterit waxed greater and more flourishing. Restored, after a disastrous firein 1718, by the zeal of Peter the Great and his successors, enriched bythe gifts of all classes, the Lavra now consists of six monasteries, --like a university of colleges, --four situated within the inclosure, while two are at a distance of several versts, and serve as retreats andas places of burial for the brethren. The catacombs, abandoned asresidences on the construction of the cells above ground, have notescaped disasters by caving in. Drains to carry off the percolatingwater, and stone arches to support the soil, have been constructed, anda flourishing orchard has been planted above them to aid in holding thesoil together. Earthquakes in the thirteenth and sixteenth centuriespermanently closed many of them, and when the Tatars attacked the town, in the thirteenth century, the monks boarded up all the niches andfilled in the entrances with earth. Some of these boards were removedabout a hundred years ago; some are still in place. The original extentof the caves cannot now be determined. 

The entrance to the near catacombs of St. Antony is through a longwooden gallery supported on stone posts, at a sharp slope, as they aresituated twenty-four fathoms below the level of the cathedral, andtwenty-two fathoms above the level of the Dnyepr. 

A fat merchant, with glowing black eyes and flowing, crisp, black beard, his tall, wrinkled boots barely visible beneath his long, full-skirtedcoat of dark blue cloth, hooked closely across his breast, descended thegallery with us. Roused to curiosity, probably, by our foreign tongue, he inquired, on the chance of our understanding Russian, whence we came. 

I had already arrived at the conclusion that the people at Kieff, especially the monks and any one who breathed the atmosphere withintheir walls, were of an enterprising, inquisitive disposition. My lastencounter had been with the brother detailed, for his good looks andfascinating manners, to preside over the chief image shop of themonastery. 

"Where do you come from?" he had opened fire, with his most bewitchingglance. 

"From the best country on earth. "

"Is it Germany?"

The general idea among the untraveled classes in Russia is, that all ofthe earth which does not belong to their own Emperor belongs to Germany, just as _nyemetzky_ means "German" or "foreign, " indifferently. 

"No; guess again, " I said. 

"France?"

"No; further away. "

"England, then?"

"No. "

"Hungary?"

Evidently that man's geography was somewhat mixed, so I told him. 

"America!" he exclaimed, with great vivacity. "Yes, indeed, it is thebest land of all. It is the richest!"

So that is the monastic as well as the secular standard of worth! Thisexperience, repeated frequently and nearly word for word, had begun toweary me. Consequently I led the fat merchant a verbal chase, andbaffled him until he capitulated with, "Excuse me. Take no offense, Ibeg, _sudarynya_. I only asked so by chance. " Then I told him with thesame result. 

This was not the last time, by many, that I was put through my nationalcatechism in Kieff. Every Kievlyanin to whom I spoke quizzed me. Ofcourse I was on a grand quizzing tour myself, but that was different, insome way. 

Over the entrance to these catacombs stands a church. The walls of thevestibule where my mother, the merchant, and I waited for a sufficientparty to assemble, were covered with frescoes representing the passageof the soul through the various stages of purgatory. Beginning with thedeath scene (which greatly resembled the _ikona_ of the Assumption inthe cathedral) in the lower left-hand corner, the white-robed soul, escorted by two angels, passed through all the halting-places for thevarious sins, each represented by the appointed devil, duly labeled. Butthe artist's fancy had not been very fruitful on this fascinating theme. The devils were so exactly alike that the only moral one could draw was, that he might as well commit the biggest and most profitable sin on thelist, and make something out of it in this life, as to confine himselfto the petty peccadilloes which profit not here, and get well punishedhereafter. The series ended with the presentation of the soul before thejudgment seat, on the fortieth day after death. Round the corner, Lazarus reclining in Abraham's bosom and the rich man in the flames wereconversing, their remarks crossing each other in mid-air, in a novelfashion. 

When the guide was ready, each of us bought a taper, and the processionset out through the iron grating, down a narrow, winding stair, fromwhich low, dark passages opened out at various angles. On each side ofthese narrow passages, along which we were led, reposed the"incorruptible" bodies of St. Antony and his comrades, in open coffinslacquered or covered with sheets of silver. The bodies seemed verysmall, and all of one size, and they were wrapped in hideous prints orplaid silks. At the head of each saint flickered a tiny shrine-lamp, before a holy picture (_ikona_) of the occupant of the coffin. It was asurprise to find the giant Ilya of Murom, who figures as the chief ofthe _bogatyri_ (heroes) in the Russian epic songs, ensconced here amongthe saints, and no larger than they. Next to the silk-enveloped head ofSt. John the Great Sufferer, which still projects as in life, when heburied himself to the neck in the earth, --as though he were notsufficiently underground already, --in order to preserve his purity, the most gruesome sight which we beheld in those dim catacombs was agroup of chrism-exuding skulls of unknown saints, under glass bells. 

On emerging from this gloomy retreat, we postponed meditating upon thespecial pleasure which the Lord was supposed to have taken in seeingbeings made to live aboveground turning into troglodytes, and set outfor the Fedosy, or far catacombs, in the hope that they might assist usin solving that problem. 

We chose the most difficult way, descending into the intervening ravineby innumerable steps to view the two sacred wells, only to have ourraging thirst and our curiosity effectually quenched by the sight of apilgrim thrusting his head, covered with long, matted hair, into one ofthem. The ascent of more innumerable steps brought us to the cradle ofthe monastery, Ilarion's caverns. 

In the antechamber we found a phenomenally stupid monk presiding overthe sale of the indispensable tapers, and the offerings which the devoutare expected to deposit, on emerging, as a memento of their visit. Theseofferings lay like mountains of copper before him. The guide had takenhimself off somewhere, and the monk ordered us, and the five Russianswho were also waiting, to go in alone and "call to the monk in thecave. " We flatly declined to take his word that there was any monk, orto venture into the dangerous labyrinth alone, and we demanded that heshould accompany us. 

"No guide--no candles, no coppers, " we said. 

That seemed to him a valid argument. Loath to leave his money at themercy of chance comers, he climbed up and closed the iron shutters ofthe grated window, --the cliff descended, sheer, one hundred and two feetto the Dnyepr at that point, --double-locked the great iron doors, andthere we were in a bank vault, with all possible customers excluded. Luckily, the saints in these caverns, which differed very little fromthose in the former, were labeled in plain letters, since the monk wastoo dull-witted to understand the simplest questions from any of us. Atintervals we were permitted a hasty glimpse of a cell, about seven feetsquare, furnished only with a stone bench, and a holy picture, with ashrine-lamp suspended before it. Ugh! There were several sets ofchrism-dripping saintly skulls in these catacombs, also, --fifteen ofthe ghastly things in one group. I braced my stomach to the task, andscrutinized them all attentively; but not a single one of them winked ornodded at me in approval, as a nun from Kolomna, whom I had met inMoscow, asserted that they had at her. I really wished to see how aneyeless skull could manage a wink, and hoped I might be favored. 

After traversing long distances of this subterranean maze, and peeringinto the "cradle of the monastery, " St. Antony's cell, the processioncame to a halt in a tiny church. There stood a monk, actually, though wemight have wandered all day and come out on the banks of the Dnyeprwithout finding him, had we gone in without a guide. Beside him, denudedof its glass bell, stood one of the miraculous skulls. The first Russianapproached, knelt, crossed himself devoutly, and received from thepriest the sign of the cross on his brow, administered with a soft, small brush dipped in the oil from the skull. Then he kissed thepriest's hand, crossed himself again, and kissed the skull. When webeheld this, we modestly stood aside, and allowed our companions, theother four Russian men, to receive anointment in like manner, and passon after the monk, who was in haste to return to his bank vault. As Iapproached the priest, he raised his brush. 

"We are not Orthodox Christians, _batiushka_, "* I said. "But pray giveus your blessing. "

* Little father. 

He smiled, and, dropping his brush, made the sign of the cross over us. I was perfectly willing to kiss his pretty, plump hand, --I had becomevery skillful at that sort of thing, --but I confess that I shrank fromthe obligatory salute to the skull, and from that special chrism. Nevertheless, I wished the Russians to think that I had gone throughwith the whole ceremony, if they should chance to look back. I felt surethat I could trust the priest to be liberal, but I was not so certainthat our lay companions, who were petty traders and peasants, might notbe sufficiently fanatical to construe our refusal into disrespect fortheir church, and resent it in some way. 

Though we returned to the monastery more than once after that, we werenever attracted to the catacombs again, not even to witness the mass atseven o'clock in the morning in that subterranean church. The beautifulservices in the cathedral, the stately monks, the picturesque pilgrims, with their gentle manners, ingenuous questions, and simple tales oftheir journeys and beliefs, furnished us with abundant interest in thecheerful sunlight aboveground. 

Next to the Catacombs Monastery, the other most famous and interestingsight of Kieff is the Cathedral of St. Sophia. Built on the highestpoint of the ancient city, with nine apses turned to the east, crownedby one large dome and fourteen smaller domes, --all gilded, someterminating in crosses, some in sunbursts, --surrounded by turf andtrees within a white wall, with entrance under a lofty belfry, itproduces an imposing but reposeful effect. The ancient walls, datingfrom the year 1020, are of red brick intermixed with stone, stuccoed andwashed with white. It has undergone changes, external and internal, since that day, and its domes and spires are of the usual degenerateSouth Russian type, without a doubt of comparatively recentconstruction. So many of its windows have been blocked up by additions, and so cut up is its space by large frescoed pillars, into sixteensections, that one steps from brilliant sunshine into deep twilight whenhe enters the cathedral. It is a sort of church which possesses in ahigh degree that indefinable charm of sacred atmosphere that tempts oneto linger on and on indefinitely within its precincts. Not that it is somagnificent; many churches in the two capitals and elsewhere in Russiaare far richer. It is simply one of those indescribable buildings whichconsole one for disappointments in historical places, as a rule, bymaking one believe, through sensations unconsciously influenced, notthrough any effort of the reason, that ancient deeds and memories do, intruth, linger about their birthplace. 

Ancient frescoes, discovered about forty years ago, some remaining intheir original state, others touched up with more or less skill andknowledge, mingle harmoniously with those of more recent date. Verysingular are the best preserved, representing hunting parties andbanquets of the Grand Princes, and scenes from the earthly life ofChrist. But they are on the staircase leading to the old-fashionedgallery, and do not disturb the devotional character of the decorationin the church itself. 

From the wall of the apse behind the chief of the ten altars gazes downthe striking image of the Virgin, executed in ancient mosaic, with herhands raised in prayer, whom the people reverently call "TheIndestructible Wall. " This, with other mosaics and the frescoes on thestaircase, dates from the eleventh century. 

I stood among the pillars, a little removed from the principal aisle, one afternoon near sunset, listening to the melodious intoning of thepriest, and the soft chanting of the small week-day choir at vespers, and wondering, for the thousandth time, why Protestants who wish tointone do not take lessons from those incomparable masters in the art, the Russian deacons, and wherein lies the secret of the Russianecclesiastical music. That simple music, so perfectly fitted for churchuse, will bring the most callous into a devotional mood long before theend of the service. Rendered as it invariably is by male voices, withsuperb basses in place of the non-existent organ, it spoils one's tasteforever for the elaborate, operatic church music of the West performedby choirs which are usually engaged in vocal steeplechases with theorgan for the enhancement of the evil effects. My meditations wereinterrupted by the approach of a young man, who asked me to be hisgodmother! He explained that he was a Jew from Minsk, who had neverstudied "his own religion, " and was now come to Kieff for the expresspurpose of getting himself baptized by the name of Vladimir, the tenthcentury prince and patron saint of the town. As he had no acquaintancesin the place, he was in a strait for god-parents, who wereindispensable. 

"I cannot be your godmother, " I answered. "I am neither _pravoslavnaya_nor Russian. Cannot the priest find sponsors for you?"

"That is not the priest's place. His business is merely to baptize. Butperhaps he might be persuaded to manage that also, if I had betterclothes. "

He wore a light print shirt, tolerably clean, belted outside his darktrousers, and his shoes and cap were respectable enough. 

I recalled instances which I had heard from the best authority--apriest--of priests finding sponsors for Jews, and receiving medals ororders in reward for their conversion. I recalled an instance related tome by a Russian friend who had acted, at the priest's request, asgodmother to a Jewess so fat that she stuck fast in the receptacle usedfor the baptism by immersion; and I questioned the man a little. He saidthat he had a sister living in New York, and gave me her name andaddress in a manner which convinced me that he knew what he was saying. He had no complaint to make of his treatment by either Russians or Jews;and when I asked him why he did not join his sister in America, hereplied, "Why should I? I am well enough off here. "

Perhaps I ought to state that he was a plumber by trade. On the otherhand, justice demands the explanation that Russian plumbing in generalis not of a very complicated character, and in Minsk it must be of avery simple kind, I think. 

He intended to return to Minsk as soon as he was baptized. How heexpected to attend the Russian Church in Minsk when he had found itinexpedient to be baptized there was one of the points which he omittedto explain. 

I was at last obliged to bid him a decisive "good-day, " and leave thechurch. He followed, and passed me in the garden, his cap cockedjauntily over his tight bronze curls, and his hips swaying from side toside in harmony. Under the long arch of the belfry-tower gate hung apicture, adapted to use as an _ikona_, which set forth how a mother hadaccidentally dropped her baby overboard from a boat on the Dnyepr, andcoming, disconsolate, to pray before the image of St. Nicholas, thepatron of travelers, she had found her child lying there safe and sound;whence this holy picture is known by the name of St. Nicholas the Wet. 

Before this _ikona_ my Jew pulled off his cap, and crossed himselfrapidly and repeatedly, watching me out of the corner of his eye, meanwhile, to see how his piety impressed me. It produced no particulareffect upon me, except to make me engage a smart-looking cabby to takeme to my hotel, close by, by a roundabout route. Whether this Jewreturned to Minsk as Vladimir or as Isaac I do not know; but I made apoint of mentioning the incident to several Russian friends, including apriest, and learned, to my surprise, that, though I was not a member ofa Russian Church, I could legally have stood godmother to a man, thoughI could not have done so to a woman; and that a godmother could havebeen dispensed with. Men who are not members of the Russian Church can, in like manner, stand as godfathers to women, but not to men. Moreover, every one seemed to doubt the probability of a Jew quitting his ownreligion in earnest, and they thought that his object had been to obtainfrom me a suit of clothes, practical gifts to the godchild being thecustom in such cases. I had been too dull to take the hint!

A few months later, a St. Petersburg newspaper related a notoriousinstance of a Jew who had been sufficiently clever to get himselfbaptized a number of times, securing on each occasion wealthy andgenerous sponsors. Why the man from Minsk should have selected me, in myplain serge traveling gown, I cannot tell, unless it was because he sawthat I did not wear the garb of the Russian merchant class, or look likethem, and observation or report had taught him that the aristocraticclasses above the merchants are most susceptible to the pleasure ofpatronizing converts; though to do them justice, Russians make noattempt at converting people to their church. I have been assured by aRussian Jew that his co-religionists never do, really, change theirfaith. Indeed, it is difficult to understand how they can even besupposed to do so, in the face of their strong traditions, in which theyare so thoroughly drilled. Therefore, if Russians stand sponsors toJews, while expressing skepticism as to conversion in general, theycannot complain if unscrupulous persons take advantage of theirinconsistency. I should probably have refused to act as godmother, evenhad I known that I was legally entitled to do so. 

Our searches in the lower town, Podol, for rugs like those in themonastery resulted in nothing but amusement. Those rugs had been made inthe old days of serfdom, on private estates, and are not to be bought. 

By dint of loitering about in the churches, monasteries, catacombs, markets, listening to that Little Russian dialect which is so sweet onthe lips of the natives, though it looks so uncouth when one sees theirballads in print, and by gazing out over the ever beautiful river andsteppe, I came at last to pardon Kieff for its progress. I got myhistorical and mythological bearings. I felt the spirit of the EpicSongs stealing over me. I settled in my own mind the site of Fair-SunPrince Vladimir's palace of white stone, the scene of great feasts, where he and his mighty heroes quaffed the green wine by the bucketful, and made their great brags, which resulted so tragically or soludicrously. I was sure I recognized the church where Diuk Stepanovitch"did not so much pray as gaze about, " and indulged in mental commentsupon clothes and manners at the Easter mass, after a fashion which isnot yet obsolete. I imagined that I descried in the blue dusk of thedistant steppe Ilya of Murom approaching on his good steed Cloudfall, armed with a damp oak uprooted from Damp Mother Earth, and dragging athis saddle-bow fierce, hissing Nightingale the Robber, with one eyestill fixed on Kieff, one on Tchernigoff, after his special and puzzlinghabit, and whom Little Russian tradition declares was chopped up intopoppy seeds, whence spring the sweet-voiced nightingales of the presentday. 

The "atmosphere" of the cradle of the Epic Songs and of the cradle ofPravoslavnaya Russia laid its spell upon me on those heights, and eventhe sight of the cobweb suspension bridge in all its modernness did notdisturb me, since with it is connected one of the most charming moderntraditions, a classic in the language, which only a perfect artist couldhave planned and executed. 

The thermometer stood at 120 degrees Fahrenheit when we took our lastlook at Kieff, the Holy City. 

X. 

A JOURNEY ON THE VOLGA. 

I. 

We had seen the Russian haying on the estate of Count Tolstoy. We wereto be initiated into the remaining processes of the agricultural seasonin that famous "black earth zone" which has been the granary of Europefrom time immemorial, but which is also, alas! periodically the seat ofdire famine. 

It was July when we reached Nizhni Novgorod, on our way to an estate onthe Volga, in this "black earth" grainfield, vast as the whole ofFrance; but the flag of opening would not be run up for some time tocome. The Fair quarter of the town was still in its state of ten months'hibernation, under padlock and key, and the normal town, effective as itwas, with its white Kremlin crowning the turfed and terraced heights, possessed few charms to detain us. We embarked for Kazan. 

If Kazan is an article in the creed of all Russians, whether they haveever seen it or not, Matushka Volga (dear Mother Volga) is a completesystem of faith. Certainly her services in building up and bindingtogether the empire merit it, though the section thus usually referredto comprises only the stretch between Nizhni Novgorod and Astrakhan, despite its historical and commercial importance above the former town. 

But Kazan! A stay there of a day and a half served to dispel ourillusions. We were deceived in our expectations as to the once mightycapital of the imperial Tatar khans. The recommendations of our Russianfriends, the glamour of history which had bewitched us, the hope of theWestern for something Oriental, --all these elements had combined toraise our expectations in a way against which our sober senses andprevious experience should have warned us. It seemed to us merely aflourishing and animated Russian provincial town, whose Kremlin waseclipsed by that of Moscow, and whose university had instructed, but notgraduated, Count Tolstoy, the novelist. The bazaar under arcades, thepopular market in the open square, the public garden, the shops, --allwere but a repetition of similar features in other towns, somewhatmagnified to the proportions befitting the dignity of the home port ofthe Ural Mountains and Siberia. 

The Tatar quarter alone seemed to possess the requisite mystery and"local color. " Here whole streets of tiny shops, ablaze withrainbow-hued leather goods, were presided over by taciturn, olive-skinned brothers of the Turks, who appeared almost handsome whenseen thus in masses, with opportunities for comparison. Hitherto we hadthought of the Tatars only as the old-clothes dealers, peddlers, horse-butchers, and waiters of St. Petersburg and Moscow. Here thedignity of the prosperous merchants, gravely recommending their reallywell-dressed, well-sewed leather wares, bespoke our admiration. 

The Tatar women, less easily seen, glided along the uneven pavements nowand then, smoothly, but still in a manner to permit a glimpse of short, square feet incased in boots flowered with gay hues upon a green orrose-colored ground, and reaching to the knee. They might have beenhouris of beauty, but it was difficult to classify them, veiled as theywere, and screened as to head and shoulders by striped green _kaftans_of silk, whose long sleeves depended from the region of their ears, andwhose collar rested on the brow. What we could discern was that theirblack eyes wandered like the eyes of unveiled women, and that they werecoquettishly conscious of our glances, though we were of their own sex. 

We found nothing especially striking among the churches, unless onemight reckon the Tatar mosques in the list; and, casting a last glanceat Sumbeka's curious and graceful tower, we hired a cabman to take us tothe river, seven versts away. 

We turned our backs upon Kazan without regret, in the fervid heat ofthat midsummer morning. We did not shake its dust from our feet. Whendust is ankle-deep that is not very feasible. It rose in clouds, as wemet the long lines of Tatar carters, transporting flour and othermerchandise to and from the wharves across the "dam" which connects thetown, in summer low water, with Mother Volga. In spring floods MatushkaVolga threatens to wash away the very walls of the Kremlin, and ourpresent path is under water. 

Fate had favored us with a clever cabman. His shaggy little horse was asdusty in hue as his own coat, --a most unusual color for coat of eitherRussian horse or _izvostchik_. The man's _armyak_ was bursting at everyseam, not with plenty, but, since extremes meet, with hard times, whichare the chronic complaint of Kazan, so he affirmed. He was gentle andsympathetic, like most Russian cabmen, and he beguiled our long drivewith shrewd comments on the Russian and Tatar inhabitants and theirrespective qualities. 

"The Tatars are good people, " he said; "very clean, --cleaner thanRussians; very quiet and peaceable citizens. There was a time when theywere not quiet. That was ten years ago, during the war with Turkey. Theywere disturbed. The Russians said that it was a holy war; the Tatarssaid so, too, and wished to fight for their brethren of the Moslemfaith. But the governor was not a man to take fright at that. Hesummoned the chief men among them before him. 'See here, ' says he. 'Withme you can be peaceable with better conscience. If you permit yourpeople to be turbulent, I will pave the dam with the heads of Tatars. The dam is long. Allah is my witness. Enough. Go!' And it came tonothing, of course. No; it was only a threat, though they knew that hewas a strong man in rule. Why should he wish to do that, really, even ifthey were not Orthodox? A man is born with his religion as with hisskin. The Orthodox live at peace with the Tatars. And the Tatars aresuperior to the Russians in this, also, that they all stick by eachother; whereas a Russian, _Hospodi pomilui!_ [Lord have mercy] thinks ofhimself alone, which is a disadvantage, " said my humble philosopher. 

We found that we had underrated the power of our man's little horse, andhad arrived at the river an hour and a half before the steamer wasappointed to sail. It should be there lading, however, and we decided togo directly on board and wait in comfort. We gave patient Vanka liberal"tea-money. " Hard times were evidently no fiction so far as he wasconcerned, and we asked if he meant to spend it on _vodka_, whichelicited fervent asseverations of teetotalism, as he thrust his buckskinpouch into his breast. 

Descending in the deep dust, with a sense of gratitude that it was notmixed with rain, we ran the gauntlet of the assorted peddlers stationedon both sides of the long descent with stocks of food, soap, white feltboots, gay sashes, coarse leather slippers too large for human wear, andother goods, and reached the covered wharf. The steamer was not there, but we took it calmly, and asked no questions--for a space. 

We whiled away the time by chaffering with the persistent Tatar vendersfor things which we did not want, and came into amazed possession ofsome of them. This was a tribute to our powers of bargaining which hadrarely been paid even when we had been in earnest. We contrived to avoidthe bars of yellow "egg soap" by inquiring for one of the marvels ofKazan, --soap made from mare's milk. An amused apothecary had alreadyassured us that it was a product of the too fertile brain of Baedeker, not of the local soap factories. May Baedeker himself, some day, reap asimilar harvest of mirth and astonishment from the sedate Tatars, whocan put mare's milk to much better use as a beverage!

In the hope of obtaining a conversation-lesson in Tatar, we bought aRusso-Tatar grammar, warranted to deliver over all the secrets of thatgracefully curved language in the usual scant array of pages. But thepeddler immediately professed as profound ignorance of Tatar as he hadof Russian a few moments before, when requested to abate his exorbitantdemands for the pamphlet. 

By the time we had exhausted these resources one o'clock had arrived. The steamer had not. The office clerk replied to all inquiries with thelanguid national "_saytchas_" which the dictionary defines as meaning"immediately, " but which experience proves to signify, "Be easy; anytime this side of eternity, --if perfectly convenient!" Under thepressure of increasingly vivacious attacks, prompted by hunger, hefinally condescended to explain that the big mail steamer, finding toolittle water in the channel, had "sat down on a sand-bank, " and that twoother steamers were trying to pull her off. "She might be along at threeo'clock, or later, --or some time. " It began to be apparent to us whythe success of the Fair depends, in great measure, on the amount ofwater in the river. 

Our first meal of bread and tea had been eaten at seven o'clock, and wehad counted upon breakfasting on the steamer, where some of the bestpublic cooking in the country, especially in the matter of fish, is tobe found. It was now two o'clock. The town was distant. The memory ofthe ducks, the size of a plover, and other things in proportion, inwhich our strenuous efforts had there resulted, did not tempt us toreturn. Russians have a way of slaying chickens and other poultry almostin the shell, to serve as game. 

Accordingly, we organized a search expedition among the peddlers, and inthe colony of rainbow-hued shops planted in a long street across theheads of the wharves, and filled chiefly with Tatars and coarse Tatarwares. For the equivalent of seventeen cents we secured a quart of richcream, half a dozen hard-boiled eggs, a couple of pounds of fineraspberries, and a large fresh wheaten roll. These we ate in courses, aswe perched on soap-boxes and other unconventional seats, surrounded bysmoked fish, casks of salted cucumbers, festoons of dried mushrooms, "cartwheels" of sour black bread, and other favorite edibles, in theopen-fronted booths. A delicious banquet it was, --one of those whichrecur to the memory unbidden when more elaborate meals have beenforgotten. 

Returning to the wharf with a fresh stock of patience, we watched theriver traffic and steamers of rival lines, which had avoided sand-banks, as they took in their fuel supplies of refuse petroleum from the scowsanchored in mid-stream, and proceeded on their voyage to Astrakhan. Somewheelbarrow steamers, bearing familiar names, "Niagara" and the like, pirouetted about in awkward and apparently aimless fashion. 

Passengers who seemed to be better informed than we as to the ways ofsteamers began to make their appearance. A handsome officer depositedhis red-cotton-covered traveling-pillow and luggage on the dock andstrolled off, certain that no one would unlock his trunk or make waywith his goods. The trunk, not unusual in style, consisted of ared-and-white tea-cloth, whose knotted corners did not wholly repressthe exuberance of linen and other effects through the bulging edges. 

A young Tatar, endowed with india-rubber capabilities in the way ofattitudes, and with a volubility surely unrivaled in all taciturn Kazan, chatted interminably with a young Russian woman, evidently the wife of apetty shopkeeper. They bore the intense heat with equal equanimity, buttheir equanimity was clad in oddly contrasting attire. The woman lookedcool and indifferent buttoned up in a long wadded pelisse, with a hotcotton kerchief tied close over ears, under chin, and tucked in at theneck. The Tatar squatted on his haunches, folded in three nearly equalparts. A spirally ribbed flat fez of dark blue velvet, topped with ablack silk tassel, adorned his cleanly shaven head. His shirt, of thecoarsest linen, was artistically embroidered in black, yellow, and redsilks and green linen thread in Turanian designs, and ornamented withstripes and diamonds of scarlet cotton bestowed unevenly in unexpectedplaces. It lay open on his dusky breast, and fell unconfined over fulltrousers of home-made dark blue linen striped with red, like the gussetsunder the arms of his white shirt. The trousers were tucked into highboots, slightly wrinkled at the instep, with an inset of pebbledhorsehide, frosted green in hue, at the heels. This green leather was apart of their religion, the Tatars told me, but what part they would notreveal. As the soles were soft, like socks, he wore over his boots apair of stiff leather slippers, which could be easily discarded onentering the mosque, in compliance with the Moslem law requiring theremoval of foot-gear. 

Several peasants stood about silently, patiently, wrapped in theirsheepskin coats. Apparently they found this easier than carrying them, and they were ready to encounter the chill night air in the open woodenbunks of the third-class, or on the floor of the fourth-class cabin. Thesoiled yellow leather was hooked close across their breasts, as inwinter. An occasional movement displayed the woolly interior of the_tulup's_ short, full ballet skirt attached to the tight-fitting body. The peasants who thus tranquilly endured the heat of fur on a midsummernoon would, did circumstances require it, bear the piercing cold ofwinter with equal calmness clad in cotton shirts, or freeze to death onsentry duty without a murmur. They were probably on their way to findwork during the harvest and earn a few kopeks, and very likely wouldreturn to their struggling families as poor as they went. As we watchedthis imperturbable crowd, we became infected with their spirit ofunconcern, and entered into sympathy with the national _saytchas_--acase of atmospheric influence. 

At last the steamer arrived, none the worse for its encounter with thebar. Usually, the mail steamers halt three hours--half-merchandisesteamers four hours--at Kazan and other important towns on the Volga, affording hasty travelers an opportunity to make a swift survey in adrosky; but on this occasion one hour was made to suffice, and at lastwe were really off on our way to the estate down the river where we wereto pay our long-promised visit. 

We were still at a reach of the river where the big steamer might sitdown on another reef, and the men were kept on guard at the bow, withhardly an intermission, gauging the depth of the water with theirstriped poles, to guide the helmsman by their monotonous calls:"_Vosim!_" "_Schest-s-polovino-o-o-iu!_" "_Sim!_" (Eight! Six and ahalf! Seven!) They had a little peculiarity of pronunciation which wasvery pleasing. And we soon discovered that into shallower water thanfive and a half quarters we might not venture. 

The river was extremely animated above the mouth of the Kama, the greatwaterway from the mines and forests of the Ural and Siberia. Now andthen, the men on a float heavily laden with iron bars, which was beingtowed to the Fair at Nizhni Novgorod, would shout a request that wewould slacken speed, lest they be swamped with our swell. Huge rafts offine timber were abundant, many with small chapel-like structures onthem, which were not chapels, however. Cattle steamers passed, theunconfined beasts staring placidly over the low guards of the threedecks, and uttering no sound. We had already learned that the animalsare as quiet as the people, in Russia, the Great Silent Land. Very briefwere our halts at the small landings. The villagers, who had come downwith baskets of fresh rolls and berries and bottles of cream, to supplyhungry passengers whose means or inclination prevented their eating thesteamer food, had but scant opportunity to dispose of their perishablewares. 

As the evening breeze freshened, the perfume of the hayfields was waftedfrom the distant shores in almost overpowering force. The high rightbank, called the Hills, and the low left shore, known as the Forests, sank into half-transparent vagueness, which veiled the gray log-builtvillages with their tiny windows, and threw into relief against theevening sky only the green roofs and blue domes of the churches, surmounted by golden crosses, which gleamed last of all in the vanishingrays of sunset. A boatload of peasants rowing close in shore; ared-shirted solitary figure straying along the water's edge; tinysea-gulls darting and dipping in the waves around the steamer; a vistaup some wide-mouthed affluent; and a great peaceful stillness broodingover all, --such were the happenings, too small for incidents, whichaccorded perfectly with the character of the Volga. For the Volga cannotbe compared with the Rhine or the Hudson in castles or scenery. It has, instead, a grand, placid charm of its own, imperial, indefinable, andsweet. One yields to it, and subscribes to the Russian faith in thegrand river. 

No one seemed to know how much of the lost time would be made up. Wereit spring, when Mother Volga runs from fifty to a hundred and fiftymiles wide, taking the adjoining country into her broad embrace, andsteamers steer a bee-line course to their landings, the officers mighthave been able to say at what hour we should reach our destination. Asit was, they merely reiterated the characteristic "_Ne znaem_" (We don'tknow), which possesses plural powers of irritation when uttered in theconventional half-drawl. Perhaps they really did not know. Owing to arecent decree in the imperial navy, officers who have served a certainnumber of years without having accomplished a stipulated amount of seaservice are retired. Since the Russian war vessels are not many, whilethe Naval Academy continues to turn out a large batch of young officersevery year, the opportunities for effecting the requisite sea serviceare limited. The officers who are retired, in consequence, seekpositions on the Volga steamers, which are sometimes commanded by arear-admiral, in the imperial uniform, which he is allowed to retain, inaddition to receiving a grade. But if one chances upon them during theirfirst season on the river, their information is not equal to their fineappearance, since Mother Volga must be studied in her caprices, andnavigation is open only, on the average, between the 12th of April andthe 24th of November. Useless to interrogate the old river dogs amongthe subordinates. The "We don't know" is even more inveterate with them, and it is reinforced with the just comment, "We are not the masters. "

Knowing nothing, in the general uncertainty, except that we must landsome time during the night, we were afraid to make ourselves comfortableeven to the extent of unpacking sheets to cool off the velvet divans, which filled two sides of our luxurious cabin. When we unbolted themovable panels from the slatted door and front wall, to establish adraft of fresh air from the window, a counter-draft was set up ofelectric lights, supper clatter, cigarette smoke, and chatter, renewedat every landing with the fresh arrivals. We resolved to avoid theseelegant mail steamers in the future, and patronize the half-merchandiseboats of the same line, which are not much slower, and possess theadvantage of staterooms opening on a corridor, not on the saloon, andare fitted with skylights, so that one can have fresh air and quietsleep. 

At four o'clock in the morning we landed. The local policeman, whoseduty it is to meet steamers, gazed at us with interest. The secret ofhis meditations we learned later. He thought of offering us hisservices. "They looked like strangers, but talked Russian, " he said. Thecombination was too much for him, and, seeing that we were progressingwell in our bargain for a conveyance, he withdrew, and probably solvedthe riddle with the aid of the postboy. 

The estate for which we were bound lay thirty-five versts distant; butfearing that we might reach it too early if we were to start at once, Iordered an equipage for six o'clock. I was under the impression that theman from the posting-house had settled it for us that we required a pairof horses, attached to whatever he thought fit, and that I had acceptedhis dictation. The next thing to do, evidently, was to adopt the Russianstop-gap of tea. 

The wharfinger, who occupied a tiny tenement on one end of the dock, supplied us with a bubbling _samovar_, sugar, and china, since we werenot traveling in strictly Russian style, with a fragile-nosed teapot andglasses. We got out our tea, steeped and sipped it, nibbling at a bit ofbread, in that indifferent manner which one unconsciously acquires inRussia. It is only by such experience that one comes to understand thefull--or rather scanty--significance of that puzzling andoft-recurring phrase in Russian novels, "drinking tea. "

As we were thus occupied in one of the cells, furnished with a table andtwo hard stuffed benches, to accommodate waiting passengers, our postboythrust his head in at the door and began the subject of the carriage allover again. I repeated my orders. He said, "_Kharasho_" (Good), anddisappeared. We dallied over our tea. We watched the wharfinger's boystrying to drown themselves in a cranky boat, like the young male animalsof all lands; we listened to their shrill little songs; we counted theducks, gazed at the peasants assembled on the brow of the steep hillabove us, on which the town was situated, and speculated about theimmediate future, until the time fixed and three quarters of an hourmore had elapsed. The wharfinger's reply to my impatient questions wasan unvarying apathetic "We don't know, " and, spurred to action by this, I set out to find the posting-house. 

It was not far away, but my repeated and vigorous knocks upon the doorof the _izba_ (cottage), ornamented with the imperial eagle and thestriped pole, received no response. I pushed open the big gate of thecourtyard alongside, and entered. Half the court was roofed over withthatch. In the far corner, divorced wagon bodies, running-gear, andharnesses lay heaped on the earth. A horse, which was hitched tosomething unsubstantial among those fragments, came forward to welcomeme. A short row of wagon members which had escaped divorce, and wereunited in wheeling order, stood along the high board fence. In one ofthem, a rough wooden cart, shaped somewhat like a barrel sawed in twolengthwise, pillowed on straw, but with his legs hanging down in anuncomfortable attitude, lay my faithless postboy (he was about fortyyears of age) fast asleep. The neighboring vehicle, which I divined tobe the one intended for us, was in possession of chickens. A new-laidegg bore witness to their wakefulness and industry. 

While I was engaged in an endeavor to rouse my should-be coachman, bytugging at his sleeve and pushing his boots in the most painful manner Icould devise, a good-looking peasant woman made her tardy appearance atthe side door of the adjoining _izba_, and seemed to enjoy the situationin an impartial, impersonal way. The horse thrust his muzzle gently intohis master's face and roused him for me, and, in return, was drivenaway. 

I demanded an explanation. Extracted by bits in conversational spirals, it proved to be that he had decided that the carriage needed threehorses, which he had known all along; and, chiefly, that he had desiredto sleep upon a little scheme for exploiting the strangers. How long hehad intended to pursue his slumberous meditations it is impossible tosay. 

He dragged me through all the mazes of that bargain once more. Evidently, bargaining was of even stricter etiquette than my extensiveprevious acquaintance had led me to suspect; and I had committed thecapital mistake of not complying with this ancestral custom in thebeginning. I agreed to three horses, and stipulated, on my side, thatfresh straw should replace the chickens' nest, and that we should setout at once, --not _saytchas_ but sooner, "this very minute. "

I turned to go. A fresh difficulty arose. He would not go unless I wouldpay for three relays. He brought out the government regulations andamendments, --all that had been issued during the century, I shouldthink. He stood over me while I read them, and convinced myself that his"_Yay Bogu_" (God is my witness) was accurately placed. The price ofrelays was, in reality, fixed by law; but though over-affirmation hadnow aroused my suspicions, in my ignorance of the situation I could notespy the loophole of trickery in which I was to be noosed, and I agreedonce more. More quibbling. He would not stir unless he were allowed todrive the same horses the whole distance, though paid for three relays, because all the horses would be away harvesting, and so forth and so on. Goaded to assert myself in some manner, to put an end to theseinterminable hagglings, I asserted what I did not know. 

"Prince X. Never pays for these relays, " I declared boldly. 

"Oh, no, he does n't, " replied the man, with cheerful frankness. "Butyou must, or I'll not go. "

That settled it; I capitulated once more. 

We had omitted to telegraph to our friends, partly in order to save themthe trouble of sending a carriage, partly because we were thirsting for"experiences. " It began to look as though our thirst was to be quenchedin some degree, since we were in this man's power as to a vehicle, andit might be true that we should not be able to obtain any other in thetown, or any horses in the villages, if indeed there were any villages. Fortified by another volley of "_Yay Bogu_" of triumphant fervor, wesurvived a second wait. At last, near nine o'clock, we were able to packourselves and our luggage. 

The body of our _tarantas_, made, for the sake of lightness, of wovenelm withes, and varnished dark brown, was shaped not unlike a babycarriage. Such a wagon body costs about eight dollars in Kazan, wheregreat numbers of them are made. It was set upon stout, unpaintedrunning-gear, guiltless of springs, in cat's-cradle fashion. The stepwas a slender iron stirrup, which revolved in its ring with tantalizingease. It was called a _pletuschka, _ and the process of entering itresembled vaulting on horseback. 

Our larger luggage was tied on behind with ropes, in precarious fashion. The rest we took inside and deposited at our feet. As there was no seat, we flattened ourselves out on the clean hay, and practiced Delsarteanattitudes of languor. Our three horses were harnessed abreast. The reinswere made in part of rope; so were the traces. Our _yamtschik_ haddonned his regulation coat over his red shirt, and sat unblenchinglythrough the heat. All preliminaries seemed to be settled at last. Ibreathed a sigh of relief, as we halted at the posting-house to pay ourdues in advance, and I received several pounds of copper coin in change, presumably that I might pay the non-existent relays. 

The _troika_ set off with spirit, and we flattered ourselves that weshould not be long on the road. This being a county town, there weresome stone official buildings in addition to the cathedral, of which wecaught a glimpse in the distance. But our road lay through a suburb oflog cabins, through a large gate in the wattled town fence, and out uponthe plain. 

For nearly five hours we drove through birch forests, over rollingdowns, through a boundless ocean of golden rye, diversified by smallpatches of buckwheat, oats, millet, and wheat. But wheat thrives betterin the adjoining government, and many peasants, we are told, run awayfrom pressing work and good wages at hand to harvest where they will getwhite bread to eat, and return penniless. 

Here and there, the small, weather-beaten image of some saint, its faceoften indistinguishable through stress of storms, and shielded by arough triangular penthouse, was elevated upon a pole, indicating thespot where prayers are said for the success of the harvest. Corn-flowers, larkspur, convolvulus, and many other flowers grewprofusely enough among the grain to come under the head of weeds. 

The transparent air allowed us vast vistas of distant blue hills andnearer green valleys, in which nestled villages under caps of thatch, encircled by red-brown fences cleverly wattled of long boughs. In onehollow we passed through a village of the Tchuvashi, a Turkish orFinnish tribe, which was stranded all along the middle Volga inunrecorded antiquity, during some of the race migrations from theteeming plateaux of Asia. The village seemed deserted. Only a few smallchildren and grannies had been left at home by the harvesters, and theygazed curiously at us, aroused to interest by the jingling harness withits metal disks, and the bells clanging merrily from the apex of thewooden arch which rose above the neck of our middle horse. 

The grain closed in upon us. We plucked some ears as we passed, andfound them ripe and well filled. The plain seemed as trackless as aforest, and our postboy suspected, from time to time, that he had losthis way among the narrow roads. A few peasant men whom we encountered atclose quarters took off their hats, but without servility, and wegreeted them with the customary good wishes for a plentiful harvest, "_Bog v pomozh_" (God help), or with a bow. The peasant women whom wemet rarely took other notice of us than to stare, and still more rarelydid they salute first. They gazed with instinctive distrust, as women ofhigher rank are wont to do at a stranger of their own sex. 

Although the grain was planted in what seemed to be a single vast field, belonging to one estate, it was in reality the property of manydifferent peasants, as well as of some proprietors. Each peasant hadmarked his plot with a cipher furrow when he plowed, and the outlineshad been preserved by the growing grain. The rich black soil of thefallow land, and strips of turf separating sections, relieved themonotony of this waving sea of gold. 

The heat was intense. In our prone position, we found it extremelyfatiguing to hold umbrellas. We had recourse, therefore, to the devicepracticed by the mountaineers of the Caucasus, who, in common with theSpaniards, believe that what will keep out cold will also keep out heat. We donned our heavy wadded pelisses. The experiment was a success. Wearrived cool and tranquil, in the fierce heat, at the estate of ourfriends, and were greeted with fiery reproaches for not having allowedthem to send one of their fifteen or twenty carriages for us. But we didnot repent, since our conduct had secured for us that novel ride and atouch of our coveted "experience, " in spite of the strain of our thirtyhours' vigil and the jolts of the springless vehicle. 

Then we discovered the exact extent of our _yamtschik's_ trick. He hadlet us off on fairly easy terms, getting not quite half more than hisdue. By the regular route, we might really have had three relays andmade better time, had we been permitted. By the short cut which our wilyfriend had selected, but one change was possible. This left the price oftwo changes to be credited to his financial ability (in addition to thetea-money of gratitude, which came in at the end, all the same), and theprice of the one which he would not make. And, as I was so thoughtlessas not to hire him to carry away those pounds of "relay" copper, Icontinued to be burdened with it until I contrived to expend it onpeasant manufactures. The postboy bore the reputation of being a veryhonest fellow, I learned, --something after the pattern of the charmingcabby who drove us to Count Tolstoy's estate. 

The village, like most Russian villages, was situated on a small river, in a valley. It consisted of two streets: one running parallel with theriver, the other at right angles to it, on the opposite bank. Theconnecting bridge had several large holes in it, on the day of ourarrival, which were mended, a few days later, with layers of straw andmanure mixed with earth. We continued, during the whole period of ourstay, to cross the bridge, instead of going round it, as we had beenadvised to do with Russian bridges, by Russians, in the certainty that, if we came near drowning through its fault, it would surely furnish uswith an abundance of straws to catch at. 

In one corner of the settlement, a petty bourgeois, --there is no otherword to define him, --the son of a former serf, and himself born aserf, had made a mill-pond and erected cloth-mills. His "European"clothes (long trousers, sack coat, Derby hat) suited him as ill as hiswife's gaudy silk gown, and Sunday bonnet in place of the kerchief usualwith the lower classes, suited her face and bearing. He was a quiet, unassuming man, but he was making over for himself a handsome house, formerly the residence of a noble. Probably the money wherewith he hadset up in business had been wrung out of his fellow-peasants in theprofession of a _kulak_, or "fist, " as the people expressively termpeasant usurers. 

On the other side of the river stood the church, white-walled, green-roofed, with golden cross, like the average country church, withsome weather stains, and here and there a paling missing from the fence. Near at hand was the new schoolhouse, with accommodations for themaster, recently erected by our host. Beyond this began the inclosuresurrounding the manor house, and including the cottages of the coachmenand the steward with their hemp and garden plots, the stables andcarriage houses, the rickyard with its steam threshing machine anddriers, and a vast abandoned garden, as well as the gardens in use. Thelarge brick mansion, with projecting wings, had its drawing-rooms at theback, where a spacious veranda opened upon a flower-bordered lawn, terminating in shady acacia walks, and a grove which screened from sightthe peasant cottages on the opposite bank of the river. A hedgeconcealed the vegetable garden, where the village urchins were in thehabit of pilfering their beloved cucumbers with perfect impunity, sincea wholesome spanking, even though administered by the Elder of theCommune, might result in the spanker's exile to Siberia. Anotherinstance of the manner in which the peasants are protected by the law, in their wrongs as well as their rights, may be illustrated by the caseof a load of hay belonging to the owner of the estate, which, enteringthe village in goodly proportions, is reduced to a few petty armfuls bythe time it reaches the barn, because of the handfuls snatched inpassing by every man, woman, and child in the place. 

No sound of the village reached us in our retreat except the choralsongs of the maidens on holiday evenings. We tempted them to the lawnone night, and overcame their bashfulness by money for nuts and apples. The airs which they sang were charming, but their voices were undeniablyshrill and nasal, and not always in harmony. We found them as reluctantto dance as had been the peasants at Count Tolstoy's village. Here weestablished ourselves for the harvest-tide. 

II. 

Our life at Prince X. 's estate on the Volga flowed on in asemi-monotonous, wholly delightful state of lotus-eating idleness, though it assuredly was not a case which came under the wittydescription once launched by Turgeneff broadside at his countrymen: "TheRussian country proprietor comes to revel and simmer in his ennui like amushroom frying in sour cream. " Ennui shunned that happy valley. Wepassed the hot mornings at work on the veranda or in the well-filledlibrary, varying them by drives to neighboring estates and villages, orby trips to the fields to watch the progress of the harvest, now in fullswing. Such a visit we paid when all the able-bodied men and women inthe village were ranged across the landscape in interminable lines, armed with their reaping-hooks, and forming a brilliant picture incontrast with the yellow grain, in their blue and scarlet raiment. Theywere fulfilling the contract which bound them to three days' labor fortheir landlord, in return for the pasturage furnished by him for theircattle. A gay kerchief and a single clinging garment, generally made ofred and blue in equal portions, constituted the costume of the women. The scanty garments were faded and worn, for harvesting is terribly hardwork, and they cannot use their good clothes, as at the haying, which ismere sport in comparison. Most of the men had their heads protected onlyby their long hair, whose sunburnt outer layer fell over their faces, asthey stooped and reaped the grain artistically close to the ground. Their shirts were of faded red cotton; their full trousers, ofblue-and-red-striped home-made linen, were confined by a strip of coarsecrash swathed around the feet and legs to the knee, and cross-garteredwith ropes. The feet of men and women alike were shod with low shoes ofplaited linden bark over these cloths. 

They smiled indulgently at our attempts to reap and make girdles for thesheaves, --the sickles seemed to grow dull and back-handed at ourtouch, --chatting with the dignified ease which characterizes theRussian peasant. The small children had been left behind in the village, in charge of the grandams and the women unfit for field labor. Baby hadbeen brought to the scene of action, and installed in luxury. Thecradle, a cloth distended by poles, like that of Peter the Great, whichis preserved in the museum of the Kremlin at Moscow, was suspended fromthe upturned shafts of a _telyega_ by a stiff spiral spring of iron, similar to the springs used on bird-cages. The curtain was made of themother's spare gown, her _sarafan_. Baby's milk-bottle consisted of acow's horn, over the tip of which a cow's teat was fastened. I hadalready seen these dried teats for sale in pairs, in the popularmarkets, but had declined to place implicit faith in the venders' solemnstatements as to their use. 

It was the season which the peasants call by the expressive title_strada_ (suffering). Nearly all the summer work must be done together, and, with their primitive appliances, suffering is the inevitableresult. They set out for the fields before sunrise, and return atindefinite hours, but never early. Sometimes they pass the night in thefields, under the shelter of a cart or of the grain sheaves. Men andwomen work equally and unweariedly; and the women receive less pay thanthe men for the same work, in the bad old fashion which is, unhappily, not yet unknown in other lands and ranks of life. Eating and sleepingjoin the number of the lost arts. The poor, brave people have but littleto eat in any case, --not enough to induce thought or anxiety to returnhome. Last year's store has, in all probability, been nearly exhausted. They must wait until the grain which they are reaping has been threshedand ground before they can have their fill. 

One holiday they observe, partly perforce, partly from choice, though itis not one of the great festivals of the church calendar, --St. Ilya'sDay. St. Ilya is the Christian representative of the old Slavic god ofThunder, Perun, as well as of the prophet Elijah. On or near his nameday, July 20 (Old Style), he never fails to dash wildly athwart the skyin his chariot of fire; in other words, there is a terrificthunderstorm. Such is the belief; such, in my experience, is the fact, also. 

Sundays were kept so far as the field work permitted, and the church wasthronged. Even our choir of ill-trained village youths and boys couldnot spoil the ever-exquisite music. There were usually two or threewomen who expected to become mothers before the week was out, and whocame forward to take the communion for the last time, after the newbornbabes and tiny children had been taken up by their mothers to receiveit. 

Every one was quiet, clean, reverent. The cloth-mill girls haddiscovered our (happily) obsolete magenta, and made themselves hideousin flounced petticoats and sacks of that dreadful hue. The sister of ourLukerya, the maid who had been assigned to us, thus attired, feltdistinctly superior. Lukerya would have had the bad taste to follow herexample, had she been permitted, so fast are evil fashions destroyingthe beautiful and practical national costumes. Little did Lukerya dreamthat she, in her peasant garb, with her thick nose and rather unformedface, was a hundred times prettier than Annushka, with far finerfeatures and "fashionable" dress. 

Independent and "fashionable" as many of these villagers were, they wereready enough to appeal to their former owners in case of illness orneed; and they were always welcomed. Like most Russian women who spendany time on their estates, our hostess knew a good deal about medicine, which was necessitated by the circumstance that the district doctorlived eight miles away, and had such a wide circuit assigned to him thathe could not be called in except for serious cases. Many of the remediesavailable or approved by the peasants were primitive, not to say heroic. For example, one man, who had exhausted all other remedies forrheumatism, was advised to go to the forest, thrust the ailing foot andleg into one of the huge ant-hills which abounded there, and allow theants to sting him as long as he could bear the pain, for the sake of theformic acid which would thus be injected into the suffering limb. Iconfess that I should have liked to be present at this bit of--surgery, shall I call it? It would have been an opportunity forobserving the Russian peasant's stoicism and love of suffering as athing good in itself. 

The peasants came on other errands, also. One morning we were startled, at our morning coffee, by the violent irruption into the dining-room, onhis knees, of a man with clasped hands uplifted, rolling eyes, and hairwildly tossing, as he knocked his head on the floor, kissed ourhostess's gown, and uttered heart-rending appeals to her, to Heaven, andto all the saints. "_Barynya!_ dear mistress!" he wailed. "Forgive! _YayBogu_, it was not my fault. The Virgin herself knows that the carpenterforced me to it. I'll never do it again, never. God is my witness!_Barynya! Ba-a-rynya! Ba-a-a-a-a-a-rynya!_" in an indescribable, subduedhowl. He was one of her former serfs, the keeper of the dramshop; andthe carpenter, that indispensable functionary on an isolated estate, had"drunk up" all his tools (which did not belong to him, but to ourhostess) at this man's establishment. The sly publican did not offer toreturn them, and he would not have so much as condescended to promisesfor the misty future, had he not been aware that the law permits theclosing of pothouses on the complaint of proprietors in just suchpredicaments as this, as well as on the vote of the peasant Commune. Having won temporary respite by his well-acted anguish, he was ready toproceed again on the national plan of _avos_ which may be vulgarlyrendered into English by "running for luck. "

But even more attractive than these house diversions and the villagewere the other external features of that sweet country life. Themushroom season was beginning. Equipped with baskets of ambitious size, we roamed the forests, which are carpeted in spring with lilies of thevalley, and all summer long, even under the densest shadow, with richgrass. We learned the home and habits of the shrimp-pink mushroom, whichis generally eaten salted; of the fat white and birch mushrooms, withtheir chocolate caps, to be eaten fresh; of the brown and green buttermushroom, most delicious of all to our taste, and beloved of the blackbeetle, whom we surprised at his feast. However, the mushrooms were onlyan excuse for dreaming away the afternoons amid the sweet glints of thefragrant snowy birch-trees and the green-gold flickerings of the pines, in the "black forest, " which is a forest composed of evergreens anddeciduous trees. Now and then, in our rambles, we met and skirted greatpits dug in the grassy roads to prevent the peasants from convenientlyperpetrating thefts of wood. Once we came upon a party of timber-thieves(it was Sunday afternoon), who espied us in time to rattle off in theirrude _telyega_ with their prize, a great tree, at a rate which wouldhave reduced ordinary flesh and bones to a jelly; leaving us to starehelplessly at the freshly hewn stump. Tawny hares tripped across ourpath, or gazed at us from the green twilight of the bushes, as we lay onthe turf and discussed all things in the modern heaven and earth, fromtheosophy and Keely's motor to--the other extreme. 

When the peasants had not forestalled us, we returned home with massesof mushrooms, flower-like in hue, --bronze, pink, snow-white, green, and yellow; and Osip cooked them delicately, in sour cream, to accompanythe juicy young blackcock and other game of our host's shooting. Osipwas a _cordon bleu_, and taxed his ingenuity to initiate us into all themysteries of Russian cooking, which, under his tuition, we founddelicious. The only national dish which we never really learned to likewas one in which he had no hand, --fresh cucumbers sliced lengthwiseand spread thick with new honey, which is supposed to be eaten after thehoney has been blessed, with the fruits, on the feast of theTransfiguration, but which in practice is devoured whenever found, asthe village priest was probably aware. The priest was himself anenthusiastic keeper of bees in odd, primitive hives. It was reallyamazing to note the difference between the good, simple-mannered old manin his humble home, where he received us in socks and a faded cassock, and nearly suffocated us with vivaciously repetitious hospitality, tea, and preserves, and the priest, with his truly majestic and inspiredmien, as he served the altar. 

Among the wild creatures in our host's great forests were hares, wolves, moose, and bears. The moose had retreated, for the hot weather, to thelakes on the Crown lands adjacent, to escape the maddening attacks ofthe gadflies. Though it was not the hungry height of the season with thewolves, there was always an exciting possibility of encountering a strayspecimen during our strolls, and we found the skull and bones of a horsewhich they had killed the past winter. From early autumn these grayterrors roam the scene of our mushroom-parties, in packs, and killcattle in ill-protected farmyards and children in the villages. 

It was too early for hare-coursing or wolf-hunting, but feathered gamewas plentiful. Great was the rivalry in "bags" between our host and thebutler, a jealously keen sportsman. His dog, Modistka (the littlemilliner), had taught the clever pointer Milton terribly bad tricks ofhunting alone, and was even initiating her puppies into the same evilways. When "Monsieur, Madame, and Bebe;" returned triumphantly from theforest with their booty, and presented it to their indignant masters, there were fine scenes! Bebe and his brothers of the litter were soexactly alike in every detail that they could not be distinguished onefrom the other. Hence they had been dubbed _tchinovniki_ (theofficials), a bit of innocent malice which every Russian can appreciate. 

Of the existence of bears we had one convincing glimpse. We drove off, one morning, in a drizzling rain, to picnic on a distant estate of ourhost, in a "red" or "beautiful" forest (the two adjectives aresynonymous in Russian), which is composed entirely of pines. During ourlong tramp through a superb growth of pines, every one of which wouldhave furnished a mainmast for the largest old-fashioned ship, a bearstepped out as we passed through a narrow defile, and showed aninclination to join our party. The armed Russian and Mordvinianforesters, our guides and protectors, were in the vanguard; and as Mishaseemed peaceably disposed we relinquished all designs on his pelt, consoling ourselves with the reflection that it would not be good atthis season of the year. We camped out on the crest of the hill, upon ahuge rug, soft and thick, the work of serfs in former days, representingan art now well-nigh lost, and feasted on nut-sweet crayfish from theVolga, new potatoes cooked in our gypsy kettle, curds, sour black bread, and other more conventional delicacies. The rain pattered softly on us, --we disdained umbrellas, --and on the pine needles, rising inhillocks, here and there, over snowy great mushrooms, of a sort to besalted and eaten during fasts. The wife of the priest, who is condemnedto so much fasting, had a wonderfully keen instinct for these particularmushrooms, and had explained to us all their merits, which seemedobscure to our non-fasting souls. Our Russian forester regaled us withforest lore, as we lay on our backs to look at the tops of the trees. But, to my amazement, he had never heard of the _Leshi_ and the_Vodyanoi_, the wood-king and water-king of the folk-tales. At allevents, he had never seen them, nor heard their weird frolics in theboughs and waves. The Mordvinian contributed to the entertainment bytelling us of his people's costumes and habits, and gave us a lesson inhis language, which was of the Tatar-Finnish variety. Like the Tchuvashiand other tribes here on the Volga, the Mordvinians furnish pleasurableexcitement and bewilderment to ethnographists and students of religions. 

These simple amusements came to an end all too soon, despite the rain. We were seized with a fancy to try the peasant _telyega_ for thedescent, and packed ourselves in with the rug and utensils. OurMordvinian, swarthy and gray-eyed, walked beside us, casting glances ofinquiry at us, as the shaggy little horse plunged along, to ascertainour degrees of satisfaction with the experiment. He thrust the drippingboughs from our faces with graceful, natural courtesy; and when wealighted, breathless and shaken to a pulp, at the forester's hut, whereour carriages awaited us, he picked up the hairpins and gave them to usgravely, one by one, as needed. We were so entirely content with our_telyega_ experience that we were in no undue haste to repeat it. Wedrove home in the persistent rain, which had affected neither our bodiesnor our spirits, bearing a trophy of unfringed gentians to add to ourcollection of goldenrod, harebells, rose-colored fringed pinks, andother familiar wild flowers which reminded us of the western hemisphere. 

The days were too brief for our delights. In the afternoons andevenings, we took breezy gallops through the forests, along the boundarysward of the fields, across the rich black soil of that third of theland which, in the "three-field" system of cultivation, is allowed tolie fallow after it has borne a crop of winter grain, rye, and one ofsummer grain, oats. We watched the peasants plowing or scattering theseed-corn, or returning, mounted side-saddle fashion on their horses, with their primitive plows reversed. Only such rich land could toleratethese Adam-like earth-scratchers. As we met the cows on their way homefrom pasture, we took observations, to verify the whimsical barometer ofthe peasants; and we found that if a light-hued cow headed theprocession the next day really was pretty sure to be fair, while a darkcow brought foul weather. As the twilight deepened, the quail pipedunder the very hoofs of our horses; the moon rose over the forest, whichwould soon ring with the howl of wolves; the fresh breath of the rivercame to us laden with peculiar scents, through which penetrated theheavy odor of the green-black hemp. 

One day the horses were ordered, as usual. They did not appear. Thecavalryman who had been hired expressly to train them had not onlyneglected his duty, but had run away, without warning, to reap his ownlittle field, in parts unknown. He had carefully observed silence as toits existence, when he was engaged. This was item number one. Itemnumber two was that there was something the matter with all the horses, except Little Boy, Little Bird, and the small white Bashkir horse fromthe steppes, whose ear had been slit to subdue his wildness. The truthwas, the steward's young son had been practicing high jumping, bareback, in a circus costume of pink calico shirt and trousers, topped by histow-colored hair. We had seen this surreptitious performance, butconsidered it best to betray nothing, as the lad had done so well in thevillage school that our hosts were about to send him to town, tocontinue his studies at their expense. 

The overseer, another soldier, was ordered to don his uniform andaccompany us. He rebelled. "He had just got his hair grown to the squarestate which suited his peasant garb, and it would not go with hisdragoon's uniform in the least. Why, he would look like a Kazak!Impossible, utterly!" He was sternly commanded not to consider his hair;this was not the city, with spectators. When he finally appeared, infull array, we saw that he had applied the shears to his locks, in ahasty effort to compromise between war and peace without losing the cut. The effect was peculiar; it would strike his commanding officer dumbwith mirth and horror. He blushed in a deprecating manner whenever weglanced at him. 

There was a bath-house beside the river. But a greater luxury was thehot bath, presided over by old Alexandra. Alexandra, born a serf on theestate, was now like a humble member of the family, the relations nothaving changed, perceptibly, since the emancipation, to the old woman'ssatisfaction. She believed firmly in the _Domovoi_ (the house sprite), and told wonderful tales of her experiences with him. Skepticism on thatpoint did not please her. When the horses were brought round with mattedmanes, a sign of an affectionate visit from the _Domovoi_, which mustnot be removed, under penalty of his displeasure, it was useless to tellAlexandra that a weasel had been caught in the act, and that her spritewas no other. She clung to her belief in her dreaded friend. 

The bath was a small log house, situated a short distance from themanor. It was divided into anteroom, dressing-room, and the bath proper. When we were ready, Alexandra, a famous bath-woman, took boiling waterfrom the tank in the corner oven, which had been heating for hours, madea strong lather, and scrubbed us soundly with a wad of linden bastshredded into fibres. Her wad was of the choicest sort; not that whichis sold in the popular markets, but that which is procured by strippinginto rather coarse filaments the strands of an old mat-sack, such as isused for everything in Russia, from wrappers for sheet iron to bags forcarrying a pound of cherries. After a final douche with boiling water, we mounted the high shelf, with its wooden pillow, and the artistic partof the operation began. As we lay there in the suffocating steam, Alexandra whipped us thoroughly with a small besom of birch twigs, rendered pliable and secure of their tender leaves by a preliminaryplunge in boiling water. When we gasped for breath, she interpreted itas a symptom of speechless delight, and flew to the oven and dashed abucket of cold water on the red-hot stones placed there for the purpose. The steam poured forth in intolerable clouds; but we submitted, powerless to protest. Alexandra, with all her clothes on, seemed not tofeel the heat. She administered a merciless yet gentle massage to everylimb with her birch rods, --what would it have been like if she hadused nettles, the peasants' delight?--and rescued us from uttercollapse just in time by a douche of ice-cold water. We huddled on allthe warm clothing we owned, were driven home, plied with boiling tea, and put to bed for two hours. At the end of that time we felt made over, physically, and ready to beg for another birching. But we were warnednot to expose ourselves to cold for at least twenty-four hours, althoughwe had often seen peasants, fresh from their bath, birch besom in hand, in the wintry streets of the two capitals. 

We visited the peasants in their cottages, and found them very reluctantto sell anything except towel crash. All other linen which they wovethey needed for themselves, and it looked as even and strong as iron. Here in the south the rope-and-moss-plugged log house stood flat on theground, and was thatched with straw, which was secured by a ladder-likearrangement of poles along the gable ends. Three tiny windows, withtinier panes, relieved the street front of the house. The entrance wason the side, from the small farmyard, littered with farming implements, chickens, and manure, and inclosed with the usual fence of wattledbranches. From the small ante-room designed to keep out the winter cold, the store-room opened at the rear, and the living-room at the front. Theleft hand corner of the living-room, as one entered, was occupied by theoven, made of stones and clay, and whitewashed. In it the cooking wasdone by placing the pots among the glowing wood coals. The bread wasbaked when the coals had been raked out. Later still, when desired, theowners took their steam bath, more resembling a roasting, inside it, andthe old people kept their aged bones warm by sleeping on top of it, close to the low ceiling. Round three sides of the room ran a broadbench, which served for furniture and beds. In the right-hand corner, opposite the door, --the "great corner" of honor, --was the case ofimages, in front of which stood the rough table whereon meals wereeaten. This was convenient, since the images were saluted, at thebeginning and end of meals, with the sign of the cross and a murmuredprayer. The case contained the sacred picture wherewith the young couplewere blessed by their parents on their marriage, and any others whichthey might have acquired, with possibly a branch of their Palm Sundaypussy willows. A narrow room, monopolizing one of the windows, openedfrom the living-room, beyond the oven, and served as pantry and kitchen. A wooden trough, like a chopping-tray, was the washtub. The ironing ormangling apparatus consisted of a rolling-pin, round which the articleof clothing was wrapped, and a curved paddle of hard wood, itsunder-surface carved in pretty geometrical designs, with which it wassmoothed. This paddle served also to beat the clothes upon the stones, when the washing was done in the river, in warm weather. A few woodenbowls and spoons and earthen pots, including the variety which keepsmilk cool without either ice or running water, completed the householdutensils. Add a loom for weaving crash, the blue linen for the men'strousers and the women's scant _sarafans_, and the white for theiraprons and chemises, and the cloth for coats, and the furnishing wasdone. 

The village granaries, with wattled walls and thatched roofs, are placedapart, to lessen the danger from fire, near the large gates which giveadmission to the village, through the wattled fence encircling it. Thesegates, closed at night, are guarded by peasants who are unfitted, through age or infirmities, for field labor. They employ themselves, intheir tiny wattled lean-tos, in plaiting the low shoes of linden bark, used by both men and women, in making carts, or in some other simpleoccupation. An axe--a whole armory of tools to the Russian peasant--and an iron bolt are their sole implements. 

We were cut off from intercourse with one of the neighboring estates bythe appearance there of the Siberian cattle plague, and were told that, should it spread, arrivals from that quarter would be admitted to thevillage only after passing through the disinfecting fumes of dung firesburning at the gate. 

Incendiaries and horse-thieves are the scourges of village life inRussia. Such men can be banished to Siberia, by a vote of the Commune ofpeasant householders. But as the Commune must bear the expense, andpeople are afraid that the evil-doer will revenge himself by setting thevillage on fire, if he discovers their plan, this privilege is exercisedwith comparative rarity. The man who steals the peasant's horse condemnshim to starvation and ruin. Such a man there had been in our friends'village, and for long years they had borne with him patiently. He wascrafty and had "influence" in some mysterious fashion, which made him adangerous customer to deal with. But at last he was sent off. Now, during our visit, the village was trembling over a rumor that he was onhis way back to wreak vengeance on his former neighbors. I presume theywere obliged to have him banished again, by administrative order fromthe Minister of the Interior, --the only remedy when one of this classof exiles has served out his term, --before they could sleeptranquilly. 

When seen in his village home, it is impossible not to admire thehard-working, intelligent, patient, gentle, and sympathetic _muzhik_, inspite of all his faults. We made acquaintance with some of hisdemocratic manners during a truly unique picnic, arranged by ourcharming hosts expressly to convince us that the famous sterlet meritedits reputation. We had tried it in first-class hotels and at their owntable, as well as at other private tables, and we maintained that it wasmerely a sweet, fine-grained, insipid fish. 

"Wait until we show you _zhiryokha_ [sterlet grilled in its own fat] and_ukha_ [soup] as prepared by the fishermen of the Volga. The Petersburgand Moscow people cannot even tell you the meaning of the word'_zhiryokha_'" was the reply. "As for the famous 'amber' soup, you haveseen that even Osip's efforts do not deserve the epithet. "

Accordingly, we assembled one morning at seven o'clock, to the sound ofthe hunting-horn, to set out for a point on the Volga twelve milesdistant. We found Milton, the Milliner, and the whole litter ofofficials in possession of the carriage, and the coachman's dignityrelaxed into a grin at their antics, evoked by a suspicion that we weregoing hunting. Our vehicle, on this occasion, as on all our expeditionsto field and forest, was a stoutly built, springless carriage, called a_lineika_, or little line, which is better adapted than any other tocountry roads, and is much used. In Kazan, by some curious confusion ofideas, it is called a "guitar. " Another nickname for it is "thelieutenant's coach, " which was bestowed upon it by the Emperor Nicholas. The Tzar came to visit one of the Volga provinces, and found a _lineika_awaiting him at the landing, for the reason that nothing more elegant, and with springs, could scale the ascent to the town, over the roughroads. The landed proprietors of that government were noted for theirdislike for the service of the state, which led them to shirk it, regardless of the dignity and titles to be thus acquired. They were inthe habit of retiring to their beloved country homes when they hadattained the lowest permissible rung of that wonderful Jacob's ladderleading to the heaven of officialdom, established by Peter the Great, and dubbed the Table of Ranks. This grade was lieutenant in the army ornavy, and the corresponding counselor in the civil service. The storyruns that Nicholas stretched himself out at full length on it for amoment, and gave it its name. Naturally, such men accepted the Emperor'sjest as a compliment, and perpetuated its memory. 

This style of carriage, which I have already described in my account ofour visit to Count Tolstoy, is a development of the Russian racing-gig, which is also used for rough driving in the country, by landedproprietors. In the latter case it is merely a short board, bare orupholstered, on which the occupant sits astride, with his feet restingon the forward axle. Old engravings represent this uncomfortable modelas the public carriage of St. Petersburg at the close of the lastcentury. 

Our _troika_ of horses was caparisoned in blue and red leather, lavishlydecorated with large metal plaques and with chains which musicallyreplaced portions of the leather straps. Over the neck of the middlehorse, who trotted, rose an ornamented arch of wood. The side horses, loosely attached by leather thongs, galloped with much freedom andgrace, their heads bent downward and outward, so that we could watchtheir beautiful eyes and crimson nostrils. Our coachman's long _armyak_of dark blue cloth, confined by a gay girdle, was topped by a closeturban hat of black felt, stuck all the way round with a row of eyesfrom a peacock's tail. He observed all the correct rules of Russiandriving, dashing up ascents at full speed, and holding his armsoutstretched as though engaged in a race, which our pace suggested. 

Our road to the Volga lay, at first, through a vast grainfield, dottedwith peasants at the harvest. Miles of sunflowers followed. They provideoil for the poorer classes to use in cooking during the numerous fasts, when butter is forbidden, and seeds to chew in place of the unattainablepeanut. Our goal was a village situated beneath lofty chalk hills, dazzling white in the sun. A large portion of the village, which hadbeen burned a short time before, was already nearly rebuilt, thanks tothe ready-made houses supplied by the novel wood-yards of Samara. 

The butler had been dispatched on the previous evening, with awagon-load of provisions and comforts, and with orders to make thenecessary arrangements for a boat and crew with fisherman Piotr. But, for reasons which seemed too voluble and complicated for adequateexpression, Piotr had been as slow of movement as my bumptious_yamtschik_ of the posting-station, and nothing was ready. Piotr, likemany elderly peasants, might sit for the portrait of his apostolicnamesake. But he approved of more wine "for the stomach's sake" than anyapostle ever ventured to recommend, and he had ingenious methods ofsecuring it. For example, when he brought crayfish to the house, heimproved the opportunity. The fishermen scorn these dainties, and throwthem out of the nets. The fact that they were specially ordered wassufficient hint to Piotr. He habitually concealed them in the steward'shemp patch or some other handy nook, and presented himself to our hostwith the announcement that he would produce them when he was paid his"tea-money" in advance, in the shape of a glass of _vodka_. The swapalways took place. 

In spite of this weakness, Piotr was a very well-to-do peasant. Weinspected his establishment and tasted his cream, while he wasexhausting his stock of language. His house was like all others of thatregion in plan, and everything was clean and orderly. It had an airabout it as if no one ever ate or really did any work there, which wasdecidedly deceptive, and his living-room contained the nearest approachto a bed and bedding which we had seen: a platform supported by two legsand the wall, and spread with a small piece of heavy gray and blackfelt. 

Finding that Piotr's eloquence had received lengthy inspiration, we borehim off, in the middle of his peroration, to the river, where we tookpossession of a boat with a chronic leak, and a prow the exact shape ofa sterlet's nose reversed. But Piotr swore that it was the stanchestcraft between Astrakhan and Rybinsk, and intrepidly took command, steering with a long paddle, while four alert young peasants plied theoars. Piotr's costume consisted of a cotton shirt and brief trousers. The others added caps, which, however, they wore only spasmodically. 

A picnic without singing was not to be thought of, and we requested themen to favor us with some folk-songs. No bashful schoolgirls could haveresisted our entreaties with more tortuous graces than did thoseuntutored peasants. One of them was such an exact blond copy of a prettybrunette American, whom we had always regarded as the most affected ofher sex, that we fairly stared him out of countenance, in our amazement;and we made mental apologies to the American on the spot. 

"Please sing 'Adown dear Mother Volga, '" the conversation ran. 

"We can't sing. " "We don't know it. " "You sing it and show us how, andwe will join in. "

The Affected One capped the climax with "It's not in the mo-o-o-ode now, that song!" with a delicate assumption of languor which made hiscomrades explode in suppressed convulsions of mirth. Finally theysupplied the key, but not the keynote. 

"Give us some _vodka_, and we may, perhaps, remember something. "

Promises of _vodka_ at the end of the voyage, when the danger was over, were rejected without hesitation. We reached our breakfast-ground inprofound silence. 

Fortunately, the catch of sterlet at this stand had been good. Thefishermen grilled some "in their own fat, " by salting them and spittingthem alive on peeled willow wands, which they thrust into the ground, ina slanting position, over a bed of glowing coals. Anything moredelicious it would be difficult to imagine; and we began to revise ouropinion of the sterlet. In the mean time our boatmen had discovered somesmall, sour ground blackberries, which they gallantly presented to us intheir caps. Their feelings were so deeply wounded by our attempts torefuse this delicacy that we accepted and actually ate them, to thegreat satisfaction of the songless rogues who stood over us. 

Our own fishing with a line resulted in nothing but the sport andsunburn. We bought a quantity of sterlet, lest the fishermen at the campwhere we had planned to dine should have been unlucky, placed them in anet such as is used in towns for carrying fish from market, and trailedthem in the water behind our boat. 

We were destined to experience all possible aspects of a Volgaexcursion, that day, short of absolute shipwreck. As we floated down themighty stream, a violent thunderstorm broke over our heads with thesuddenness characteristic of the country. We were wet to the skin beforewe could get at the rain-cloaks on which we were sitting, but ourboatmen remained as dry as ever, to our mystification. In the middle ofthe storm, our unworthy vessel sprung a fresh leak, the water poured in, and we were forced to run aground on a sand-bank for repairs. These werespeedily effected, with a wad of paper, by Piotr, who, with a towel castabout his head and shoulders, looked more like an apostle than ever. 

It appeared that our fishing-camp had moved away; but we found it, atlast, several miles downstream, on a sand-spit backed with willowbushes. It was temporarily deserted, save for a man who was repairing anet, and who assured us that his comrades would soon return from theirtrip, for supplies, to the small town which we could discern on theslope of the hillshore opposite. There was nothing to explore on oursand-reef except the fishermen's primitive shelter, composed of a bit ofsail-cloth and a few boards, furnished with simple cooking utensils, andsuperintended by a couple of frolicsome kittens, who took an unfelinedelight in wading along in the edge of the water. So we spread ourselvesout to dry on the clean sand, in the rays of the now glowing sun, andwatched the merchandise, chiefly fish, stacked like cord wood, beingtowed up from Astrakhan in great barges. 

At last our fisher hosts arrived, and greeted us with grave courtesy andlack of surprise. They began their preparations by scouring out theirbig camp kettle with beach sand, and building a fire at the water's edgeto facilitate the cleaning of the fish. We followed their proceedingswith deep interest, being curious to learn the secret of the genuine"amber sterlet soup. " This was what we discovered. 

The fish must be alive. They remain so after the slight preliminaries, and are plunged into the simmering water, heads and all, the heads andthe parts adjacent being esteemed a delicacy. No other fish arenecessary, no spices or ingredients except a little salt, thecookery-books to the contrary notwithstanding. The sterlet is expensivein regions where the cook-book flourishes, and the other fish are merelya cheat of town economy. The scum is not removed, --this is the capitalpoint, --but stirred in as fast as it rises. If the _ukha_ be skimmed, after the manner of professional cooks, the whole flavor and richnessare lost. 

While the soup was boiling and more sterlet were being grilled in theirown fat, as a second course, our men pitched our tent and ran up ourflag, and the butler set the table on our big rug. It was lucky that wehad purchased fish at our breakfast-place, as no sterlet had been caughtat this camp. When the soup made its appearance, we comprehended theepithet "amber" and its fame. Of a deep gold, almost orange color, withthe rich fat, and clear as a topaz, it was utterly unlike anything wehad ever tasted. We understood the despair of Parisian gourmets andcooks, and we confirmed the verdict, provisionally announced atbreakfast, that the sterlet is the king of all fish. As it isindescribable, I may be excused for not attempting to do justice to itin words. 

While we feasted, the fishermen cooked themselves a kettle of lessdainty fish, as a treat from us, since the fish belong to the contractorwho farms the ground, not to the men. Their meal ended, the regulationcross and prayer executed, they amiably consented to anticipate theusual hour for casting their net, in order that we might see theoperation. The net, two hundred and fifty fathoms in length, wasmanoeuvred down the long beach well out in the stream by one man in aboat, and by five men on shore, who harnessed themselves to a long cableby halters woven from the soft inner bark of the linden-tree. We graspedthe rope and helped them pull. We might not have been of much realassistance, but we learned, at least, how heavy is this toil, repeatedmany times a day, even when the pouch reveals so slender a catch as inthe present instance. There was nothing very valuable in it, thoughthere was variety enough, and we were deceived, for a moment, by severalfalse sterlet. 

The small _samovar_ which we had brought gave us a steaming welcome, onour return to camp. Perched on the fishermen's seatless chair and stool, and on boxes, we drank our tea and began our preparations for departure, bestowing a reward on the men, who had acted their parts as impromptuhosts to perfection. It was late; but our men burst into song, whentheir oars dipped in the waves, as spontaneously as the nightingaleswhich people these shores in springtime, --inspired probably by the fullmoon, which they melodiously apostrophized as "the size of atwenty-kopek bit. " They sang of Stenka Razin, the bandit chief, who keptthe Volga and the Caspian Sea in a state of terror during the reign ofPeter the Great's father; of his "poor people, good youths, fugitives, who were no thieves nor brigands, but only Stenka Razin's workmen. " Theydeclared, in all seriousness, that he had been wont to navigate upon afelt rug, like the one we had seen in Piotr's cottage; and they disputedover the exact shade of meaning contained in the words which he was inthe habit of using when he summoned a rich merchant vessel to surrenderas his prize. Evidently, Stenka was no semi-epic, mythical hero to them, but a living reality. 

"Adown dear Mother Volga, Adown her mighty sweep, "

they sang; and suddenly ran the boat aground, and fled up the steepslope like deer, carrying with them their tall winter boots of grayfelt, which had lain under the thwarts all day. We waited, shivering inthe keen night air, and wondering whether we were deserted on thislonely reach of the river at midnight. If the apostle Peter understoodthe manoeuvre, he was loyal and kept their counsel. He gave no comfortbeyond the oracular _saytchas_, which we were intended to construe asmeaning that they would be back in no time. 

When they did return, after a long absence, their feet were as bare asthey had been all day. Their boots were borne tenderly in their arms, and were distended to their utmost capacity with apples! In answer toour remonstrances, they replied cheerfully that the night was very warm, and that the apples came from "their garden, over yonder on the bank. "On further questioning, their village being miles distant, theyretorted, with a laugh, that they had gardens all along the river; andthey offered to share their plunder with us. The Affected One tossed anapple past my head, with the cry, "Catch, Sasha!" to our host, of whosefamiliar name he had taken note during the day. After this and otherexperiences, we were prepared to credit an anecdote which had beenrelated to us of a peasant in that neighborhood, to illustrate thedemocratic notions of his class which prevailed even during the days ofserfdom. One of the provincial assemblies, to which nobles and peasantshave been equally eligible for election since the emancipation, met forthe first time, thus newly constituted. One of the nobles, desirous ofmaking the peasants feel at home, rose and began:--

"We bid you welcome, our younger brothers, to this "--

"We are nobody's inferiors or younger brothers any more, " interrupted apeasant member, "and we will not allow you to call us so. "

The nobles took the hint, and made no further unnecessary advances. Yes, these Volga peasants certainly possess as strong a sense of democraticequality as any one could wish. But the soft ingenuousness of theirmanners and their tact disarm wrath at the rare little liberties whichthey take. Even their way of addressing their former masters by thefamiliar "thou" betokens respectful affection, not impertinence. 

Our men soon wearied of pulling against the powerful current, dodgingthe steamers and the tug-boats with their strings of barks signaled byconstellations of colored lanterns high in air. Perhaps they would haveborne up better had we been able to obtain some Astrakhan watermelonsfrom the steamer wharves, which we besieged in turn as we passed. Theyproposed to tow us. On Piotr's assurance that it would be a far swiftermode of locomotion, and that they would pay no more visits to "theirgardens, " we consented. They set up a mast through an opening in one ofthe thwarts, passed through a hole in its top a cord the size of acod-line, fastened this to the stern of the boat, and leaped ashore withthe free end. Off they darted, galloping like horses along the oldtow-path, and singing vigorously. Piotr remained on board to steer. Aswe dashed rapidly through the water, we gained practical knowledge ofthe manner in which every pound of merchandise was hauled to the greatFair from Astrakhan, fourteen hundred and forty miles, before theintroduction of steamers, except in the comparatively rare cases whereoxen were made to wind windlasses on the deck of a bark. It would haverequired hours of hard rowing to reach our goal; but by this means wewere soon walking across the yielding sands to Piotr's cottage. Ourcunning rogues of boatmen took advantage of our scattered march toobtain from us separately such installments of tea-money as must, in theaggregate, have rendered them hilarious for days to come, if they paidthemselves for their minstrelsy in the coin which they had suggested tous before breakfast. 

Piotr's smiling wife, who was small, like most Russian peasant women, had baked us some half-rye, half-wheat bread, to our order; she made itremarkably well, much better than Osip. We secured a more lastingmemento of her handiwork in the form of some towel ends, which she hadspun, woven, drawn, and worked very prettily. Some long-haired headswere thrust over the oven-top to inspect us, but the bodies did notfollow. They were better engaged in enjoying the heat left from thebaking. 

It was two o'clock in the morning when we drove through the villageflock of sheep, that lay asleep on the grassy street. With hand onpistol, to guard against a possible stray wolf, we dashed past theshadowy chalk hills; past the nodding sunflowers, whose sleepy eyes werestill turned to the east: past the grainfields, transmuted from gold tosilver by the moonlight; past the newly plowed land, which looked likevelvet billows in its depths of brown, as the moon sank lower and lowerbeyond in a mantle of flame. 

By this time practice had rendered us expert in retaining our seats inthe low, springless _lineika_; fortunately, for we were all threequarters asleep at intervals, with excess of fresh air. Even when themoon had gone down, and a space of darkness intervened before the day, our headlong pace was not slackened for a moment. As we drove up to thedoor, in the pearl-pink dawn, Tulip, the huge yellow mastiff with tawnyeyes, the guardian of the courtyard, received us with his usualceremony, through which pierced a petition for a caress. We heeded himnot. By six o'clock we were fast asleep. Not even a packet of lettersfrom home could keep our eyes open after that four-and-twenty hours'picnic, which had been unmarred by a single fault, but which hadcontained all the "experiences" and "local color" which we could havedesired. 

How can I present a picture of all the variations in those sweet, busy-idle days? They vanished all too swiftly. But now the rick-yard washeaped high with golden sheaves; the carts came in steady lines, creaking under endless loads, from those fields which, two years later, lay scorched with drought, and over which famine brooded. The peasantgirls tossed the grain, with forked boughs, to the threshing-machine, tended by other girls. The village boys had a fine frolic dragging thestraw away in bundles laid artfully on the ends of two long polesfastened shaft-wise to the horse's flanks. We had seen the harvesting, the plowing with the primitive wooden plow, the harrowing with equallysimple contrivances, and the new grain was beginning to clothe the soilwith a delicate veil of green. It was time for us to go. During ourwhole visit, not a moment had hung heavy on our hands, here in thedepths of the country, where visitors were comparatively few andneighbors distant, such had been the unwearied attention and kindness ofour hosts. 

We set out for the river once more. This time we had a landau, and acart for our luggage. As we halted to drink milk in the Tchuvashvillage, the inhabitants who chanced to be at home thronged about ourcarriage. We espied several women arrayed in their native costume, whichhas been almost entirely abandoned for the Russian dress, and is fastbecoming a precious rarity. The men have already discarded their dresscompletely for the Russian. We sent one of the women home to fetch herSunday gown, and purchased it on the spot. Such a wonderful piece ofwork! The woman had spun, woven, and sewed it; she had embroidered it inbeautiful Turanian, not Russian, patterns, with silks, --dull red, palegreen, relieved by touches of dark blue; she had striped it lengthwisewith bands of red cotton and embroidery, and crosswise with fancyribbons and gay calicoes; she had made a mosaic of the back which musthave delighted her rear neighbors in church; and she had used the gownwith such care that, although it had never been washed, it was not badlysoiled. One piece for the body, two for the head, a sham pocket, --thatwas all. The footgear consisted of crash bands, bast slippers, ropecross-garters. The artists to whom I showed the costume, later on, pronounced it an ethnographical prize. 

These Tchuvashi are a small, gray-eyed, olive-skinned race, withcheek-bones and other features like the Tatars, but less well preservedthan with the latter, in spite of their always marrying amongthemselves. There must have been dilution of the race at some time, ifthe characteristics were as strongly marked as with the Tatars, in theiroriginal ancestors from Asia. Most of them are baptized into the Russianfaith, and their villages have Russian churches. Nevertheless, alongwith their native tongue they are believed to retain many of theirancient pagan customs and superstitions, although baptism is in no sensecompulsory. The priest in our friends' village, who had lived amongthem, had told us that such is the case. But he had also declared thatthey possess many estimable traits of character, and that their familylife is deserving of imitation in more than one particular. This villageof theirs looked prosperous and clean. The men, being brought more intocontact with outsiders than the women, speak Russian better than thelatter, and more generally. It is not exactly a case which proveswoman's conservative tendencies. 

On reaching the river, and finding that no steamer was likely to arrivefor several hours, we put up at the cottage of a prosperous peasant, which was patronized by many of the neighboring nobles, in preference tothe wretched inns of that suburb of the wharves. The "best room" had acitified air, with its white curtains, leaf plants, pretty china teaservice, and photographs of the family on the wall. These last seemed tous in keeping with the sewing-machine which we had seen a peasant womanoperating in a shop of the little posting-town inland. They denotedprogress, since many peasants cherish religious scruples orsuperstitions about having their portraits taken in any form. 

The athletic sons, clad only in shirts and trousers of sprigged print, with fine chestnut hair, which compensated for their bare feet, vacatedthe room for our use. They and the house were as clean as possible. Outside, near the entrance door, hung the family washstand, adouble-spouted teapot of bronze suspended by chains. But it was plainthat they did not pin their faith wholly to it, and that they took theweekly steam bath which is customary with the peasants. Not everythingwas citified in the matter of sanitary arrangements. But these peopleseemed to thrive, as our ancestors all did, and probably regarded us asover-particular. 

To fill in the interval of waiting, we made an excursion to the heart ofthe town, and visited the pretty public garden overhanging the river, and noteworthy for its superb dahlias. As we observed the types of youngpeople who were strolling there, we recognized them, with slightalterations only, which the lapse of time explained, from the typeswhich we had seen on the stage in Ostrovsky's famous play "TheThunderstorm. " The scene of that play is laid on the banks of the Volga, in just such a garden; why should it not have been on this spot?

All peasant _izbui_ are so bewilderingly alike that we found our specialcottage again with some difficulty, by the light of the young moon. Bythis time "the oldest inhabitant" had hazarded a guess as to the linewhose steamer would arrive first. Accordingly, we gathered up our smallluggage and our Tchuvash costume, and fairly rolled down the steep, pathless declivity of slippery turf, groping our way to the right wharf. How the luggage cart got down was a puzzle. Here we ordered in the_samovar_, and feasted until far into the night on the country daintieswhich we had brought with us, supplemented by one of the firstwatermelons from Astrakhan, which we had purchased from a belated dealerin the deserted town market. The boat was late, as a matter of course;but we understood the situation now, and asked no questions. When itarrived, we and our charming hosts, whose society we were to enjoy for afew days longer, embarked for Samara, to visit the famous kumysestablishments on the steppes. 

Russian harvest-tide was over for us, leaving behind a store of memoriesas golden as the grain, fitly framed on either hand by Mother Volga. 

XI. 

THE RUSSIAN KUMYS CURE. 

It is not many years since every pound of freight, every human being, bound to Astrakhan from the interior of Russia simply floated down theriver Volga with the current. The return journey was made slowly andpainfully, in tow of those human beasts of burden, the _burlaki_. Thetraces of their towpath along the shores may still be seen, and thesystem itself may even be observed at times, when light barks have to beforced upstream for short distances. 

Then some enterprising individual set up a line of steamers, in the faceof the usual predictions from the wiseacres that he would ruin himselfand all his kin. The undertaking proved so fabulously successful andprofitable that a wild rush of competition ensued. But the competitionseems to have consisted chiefly in the establishment of rival lines ofsteamers, and there are some peculiarities of river travel which stillexist in consequence. One of these curious features is that eachnavigation company appears to have adopted a certain type of steamer atthe outset, and not to have improved on that original idea to any markeddegree. There are some honorable exceptions, it is true, and I certainlyhave a very definite opinion concerning the line which I would patronizeon a second trip. Another idea, to which they have clung with equalobstinacy, though it is far from making amends for the other, is that ajourney is worth a certain fixed sum per verst, utterly regardless ofthe vast difference in the accommodations offered. 

Possibly it is a natural consequence of having been born in America, andof having heard the American boast of independence and progress and theforeign boast of conservatism contrasted ever since I learned myalphabet, not to exaggerate unduly, that I should take particular noticeof all illustrations of these conflicting systems. Generally speaking, Iadvocate a judicious mixture of the two, in varying proportions to suitmy taste on each special occasion. But there are times when I distinctlyfavor the broadest independence and progress. These Volga steamers hadafforded me a subject for meditations on this point, at a distance, evenbefore I was obliged to undergo personal experience of the defects ofconservatism. Before I had sailed four and twenty hours on the broadbosom of Matushka Volga, I was able to pick out the steamers of all therival lines at sight with the accuracy of a veteran river pilot. Therewas no great cleverness in that, I hasten to add; anybody but a blindman could have done as much; but that only makes my point the moreforcible. It was when we set out for Samara that we realized most keenlythe beauties of enterprise in this direction. 

We had, nominally, a wide latitude of choice, as all the lines made astop at our landing. But when we got tired of waiting for the steamer ofour preference, --the boats of all the lines being long overdue, asusual, owing to low water in the river, --and took the first whichpresented itself, we found that the latitude in choice, so far asaccommodations were concerned, was even greater than had been apparentat first sight. 

Fate allotted us one of the smaller steamers, the more commodious boatshaving probably "sat down on a sand-bar, " as the local expression goes. The one on which we embarked had only a small dining-room and saloon, one first-class cabin for men and one for women, all nearly on a levelwith the water, instead of high aloft, as in the steamers which we hadhitherto patronized, and devoid of deck-room for promenading. Thethird-class cabin was on the forward deck. The second-class cabin wasdown a pair of steep, narrow stairs, whose existence we did not discoverwhen we went on board at midnight, and which did not tempt us toinvestigation even when we arose the next morning. Fortunately, therewere no candidates except ourselves and a Russian friend for the six redvelvet divans ranged round the walls of the tiny "ladies' cabin, " andthe adjoining toilet-room, and the man of the party enjoyed completeseclusion in the men's cabin. In the large boats, for the same price, weshould have had separate staterooms, each accommodating two persons. However, everything was beautifully clean, as usual on Russian steamersso far as my experience goes, and it made no difference for one night. The experience was merely of interest as a warning. 

The city of Samara, as it presented itself to our eyes the next morning, was the liveliest place on the river Volga next to Nizhni Novgorod. While it really is of importance commercially, owing to its position onthe Volga and on the railway from central Russia, as a depot for thegreat Siberian trade through Orenburg, the impression of alertness whichit produces is undoubtedly due to the fact that it presents itself tofull view in the foreground, instead of lying at a distance from thewharves, or entirely concealed. An American, who is accustomed to seerailways and steamers run through the very heart of the cities whichthey serve, never gets thoroughly inured to the Russian trick of takingimportant towns on faith, because it has happened to be convenient toplace the stations out of sight and hearing, sometimes miles out of thecity. Another striking point about Samara is the abundance of red brickbuildings, which is very unusual, not to say unprecedented, in most ofthe older Russian towns, which revel in stucco washed with white, blue, and yellow. 

But the immediate foreground was occupied with something more attractivethan this. The wharves, the space between them, and all the ground roundabout were fairly heaped with fruit: apples in bewildering variety, ranging from the pink-and-whiteskinned "golden seeds" through the wholegamut of apple hues; round striped watermelons and oval cantaloupes withperfumed orange-colored flesh, from Astrakhan; plums and grapes. Afterwrestling with these fascinations and with the merry _izvostchiki_, weset out on a little voyage of discovery, preparatory to driving out tothe famous kumys establishments, where we had decided to stay instead ofin the town itself. 

Much of Samara is too new in its architecture, and too closely resemblesthe simple, thrifty builders' designs of a mushroom American settlement, to require special description. Although it is said to have been foundedat the close of the sixteenth century, to protect the Russians from theincursions of the Kalmucks, Bashkirs, and Nogai Tatars, four disastrousconflagrations within the last forty-five years have made way for"improvements" and entailed the loss of characteristic features, whileits rank as one of the chief marts for the great Siberian trade hascaused a rapid increase in population, which now numbers betweenseventy-five and eighty thousand. 

One modern feature fully compensates, however, by its originality, for agood many commonplace antiquities. Near the wharves, on our way out ofthe town, we passed a lumber-yard, which dealt wholly in ready-made loghouses. There stood a large assortment of cottages, in the brilliantyellow of the barked logs, of all sizes and at all prices, from fifteento one hundred dollars, forming a small suburb of samples. The lumber isfloated down the Volga and her tributaries from the great forests ofUfa, and made up in Samara. The peasant purchaser disjoints his house, floats it to a point near his village, drags it piecemeal to its propersite, sets it up, roofs it, builds an oven and a chimney of stones, clay, and whitewash, plugs the interstices with rope or moss, smearsthem with clay if he feels inclined, and his house is ready foroccupancy. Although such houses are cheap and warm, it would be a greatimprovement if the people could afford to build with brick, so immenseis the annual loss by fire in the villages. Brick buildings are, however, far beyond the means of most peasants, let them have the bestwill in the world, and the ready-made cottages are a blessing, thoughevery peasant is capable of constructing one for himself on very briefnotice, if he has access to a forest. But forests are not so commonnowadays along the Volga, and, as the advertisements say, this novellumber-yard "meets a real want. " When the Samarcand railway was opened, a number of these cottages, in the one-room size, were placed onplatform cars, and to each guest invited to the ceremony was assignedone of these unique drawing-room-car coupes. 

About four miles from the town proper, on the steppe, lie two notedkumys establishments; one of them being the first resort of that kindever set up, at a time when the only other choice for invalids whowished to take the cure was to share the hardships, dirt, bad food, andcarelessly prepared kumys of the tented nomads of the steppes. Thegrounds of the one which we had elected to patronize extended to thevery brink of the Volga. In accordance with the admonitions of thespecialist physicians to avoid many-storied, ill-ventilated buildingswith long corridors, the hotel consists of numerous wooden structures, of moderate size, chiefly in Moorish style, and painted in light colors, scattered about a great inclosure which comprises groves of pines anddeciduous trees, --"red forest" and "black forest, " as Russians wouldexpress it, --lawns, arbors, shady walks, flower-beds, and other thingspleasing to the eye, and conducive to comfort and very mild amusement. One of the buildings even contains a hall, where dancing, concerts, andtheatricals can be and are indulged in, in the height of the season, although such violent and crowded affairs as balls are, in theory, discountenanced by the physicians. All these points we took in at onecurious glance, as we were being conducted to the different buildings toinspect rooms. I am afraid that we pretended to be very difficult toplease, in order to gain a more extensive insight into the arrangements. As the height of the season (which is May and June) was past, we had agreat choice offered us, and I suppose that this made a difference inthe price, also. It certainly was not unreasonable. We selected somerooms which opened on a small private corridor. The furniture consistedof the usual narrow iron bedstead (with linen and pillows thrown ingratis, for a wonder), a tiny table which disagreeably recalled Americanideas as to that article, an apology for a bureau, two armchairs, and nowashstand. The chairs were in their primitive stuffing-and-burlap state, loose gray linen covers being added when the rooms were prepared for us. Any one who has ever struggled with his temper and the slack-fittingshift of a tufted armchair will require no explanation as to what tookplace between me and my share of those untufted receptacles before Ideposited its garment under my bed, and announced that burlap and tackswere luxurious enough for me. That one item contained enough irritationand excitement to ruin any "cure. "

The washstand problem was even more complicated. A small, tapering brasstank, holding about two quarts of water, with a faucet which drippedinto a diminutive cup with an unstoppered waste-pipe, was screwed to thewall in our little corridor. We asked for a washstand, and thisarrangement was introduced to our notice, the chambermaid beingevidently surprised at the ignorance of barbarians who had never seen awashstand before. We objected that a mixed party of men and women couldnot use that decently, even if two quarts of water were sufficient forthree women and a man. After much argument and insistence, we obtained, piecemeal: item, one low stool; item, one basin; item, one pitcher. There were no fastenings on the doors, except a hasp and staple to thedoor of the corridor, to which, after due entreaty, we secured an oblongpadlock. 

The next morning, the chambermaid came to the door of our room openingon the private corridor while we were dressing, and demanded the basinand pitcher. "Some one else wants them!" she shouted through the door. We had discovered her to be a person of so much decision of character, in the course of our dealings with her on the preceding day, that wewere too wary to admit her, lest she should simply capture the utensilsand march off with them. As I was the heaviest of the party, it fell tomy lot to brace myself against the unfastened door and parley with her. Three times that woman returned to the attack; thrice we refused tosurrender our hard-won trophies, and asked her pointedly, "What do youdo for materials when the house is full, pray?" Afterwards, while wewere drinking our coffee on the delightful half-covered veranda below, which had stuffed seats running round the walls, and a flower-crownedcircular divan in the centre, a lively testimony to the dryness of theatmosphere, we learned that the person who had wanted the basin andpitcher was the man of our party. He begged us not to inquire into themysteries of his toilet, and refused to help us solve the riddle of theguests' cleanliness when the hotel was full. I assume, on reflection, however, that they were expected to take Russian or plain baths everytwo or three days, to rid themselves of the odor of the kumys, whichexudes copiously through the pores of the skin and scents the garments. On other days a "lick and a promise" were supposed to suffice, so thattheir journals must have resembled that of the man who wrote: "Monday, washed myself. Tuesday, washed hands and face. Wednesday, washed handsonly. " That explanation is not wholly satisfactory, either, because theRussians are clean people. 

As coffee is one of the articles of food which are forbidden to kumyspatients, though they may drink tea without lemon or milk, we haddifficulty in getting it at all. It was long in coming; bad andhigh-priced when it did make its appearance. As we were waiting, aninvalid lady and the novice nun who was in attendance upon her began tosing in a room near by. They had no instrument. What it was that theysang, I do not know. It was gentle as a breath, melting as a sigh, softand slow like a conventional chant, and sweet as the songs of theRussian Church or of the angels. There are not many strains in thisworld upon which one hangs entranced, in breathless eagerness, and thememory of which haunts one ever after. But this song was one of thatsort, and it lingers in my memory as a pure delight; in company withcertain other fragments of church music heard in that land, as among themost beautiful upon earth. 

I may as well tell at once the whole story of the food, so far as weexplored its intricate mysteries. We were asked if we wished to take the_table d'hote_ breakfast in the establishment. We said "yes, " andpresented ourselves promptly. We were served with beefsteak, in small, round, thick pieces. 

"What queer beefsteak!" said one of our Russian friends. "Is there noother meat?"

"No, madam. "

We all looked at it for several minutes. We said it was natural, wheninvalids drank from three to five bottles of the nourishing kumys a day, that they should not require much extra food, and that the managementprovided what variety was healthy and advisable, no doubt; only we wouldhave liked a choice; and--what queer steak!

The first sniff, the first glance at that steak, of peculiar grain anddark red hue, had revealed the truth to _us_. But we saw that ourRussian friends were not initiated, and we knew that their stomachs weredelicate. We exchanged signals, took a mouthful, declared it excellent, and ate bravely through our portions. The Russians followed our example. Well--it was much tenderer and better than the last horseflesh towhich we had been treated surreptitiously; but I do not crave horsefleshas a regular diet. It really was not surprising at a kumysestablishment, where the horse is worshiped, alive or dead, apparently, in Tatar fashion. 

That afternoon we made it convenient to take our dinner in town, on theveranda of a restaurant which overlooked the busy Volga, with its mobilemoods of sunset and thunderstorm, where we compensated ourselves for ourunsatisfactory breakfast by a characteristically Russian dinner, ofwhich I will omit details, except as regards the soup. This soup was_botvinya_. A Russian once obligingly furnished me with a description ofa foreigner's probable views on this national delicacy: "a slimy poolwith a rock in the middle, and creatures floating round about. " The rockis a lump of ice (_botvinya_ being a cold soup) in the tureen ofstrained _kvas_ or sour cabbage. _Kvas_ is the sour, fermented liquormade from black bread. In this liquid portion of the soup, which iscolored with strained spinach, floated small cubes of fresh cucumber andbits of the green tops from young onions. The solid part of the soup, served on a platter, so that each person might mix the ingredientsaccording to his taste, consisted of cold boiled sterlet, raw ham, morecubes of cucumber, more bits of green onion tops, lettuce, crayfish, grated horseradish, and granulated sugar. The first time I encounteredthis really delectable dish, it was served with salmon, the pale, insipid northern salmon. I supposed that the lazy waiter had brought thesoup and fish courses together, to save himself trouble, and I ate themseparately, while I meditated a rebuke to the waiter and a strongdescription of the weak soup. The tables were turned on me, however, when Mikhei appeared and grinned, as broadly as his not overstrict senseof propriety permitted, at my unparalleled ignorance, while he gave me alesson in the composition of _botvinya_. That _botvinya_ was not good, but this edition of it on the banks of the Volga, with sterlet, wasdelicious. 

We shirked our meals at the establishment with great regularity, withthe exception of morning coffee, which was unavoidable, but we didjustice to its kumys, which was superb. Theoretically, the mares shouldhave had the advantage of better pasturage, at a greater distance fromtown; but, as they cannot be driven far to milk without detriment, thatplan involves making the kumys at a distance, and transporting it to the"cure. " There is another famous establishment, situated a mile beyondours, where this plan is pursued. Ten miles away the mares pasture, andthe kumys is made at a subsidiary cure, where cheap quarters areprovided for poorer patients. But, either on account of thetransportation under the hot sun, or because the professional "taster"is lacking in delicacy of perception, we found the kumys at this rivalestablishment coarse in both flavor and smell, in comparison with thatat our hostelry. 

Our mares, on the contrary, were kept close by, and the kumys wasprepared on the spot. It is the first article of faith in the creed ofthe kumys expert that no one can prepare this milk wine properly exceptTatars. Hence, when any one wishes to drink it at home, a Tatar is sentfor, the necessary mares are set aside for him, and he makes what isrequired. But the second article of faith is that kumys is much betterwhen made in large quantities. The third is that a kumys specialist, ordoctor, is as indispensable for the regulation of the cure as he is atmineral springs. The fourth article in the creed is that mares grazingon the rich plume-grass of the steppe produce milk which is particularlyrich in sugar, very poor in fat, and similar to woman's milk in itsproportion of albumen, though better furnished: all which facts combineto give kumys whose chemical proportions differ greatly from those ofkumys prepared elsewhere. Moreover, on private estates it is not alwayspossible to observe all the conditions regarding the choice and care ofthe mares. 

At our establishment there were several Tatars to milk the mares andmake the kumys. The wife of one of them, a Tatar beauty, was theprofessional taster, who issued her orders like an autocrat on thatdelicate point. She never condescended to work, and it was our opinionthat she ought to devote herself to dress, in her many leisure hours, instead of lounging about in ugly calico sacks and petticoats, ashideous as though they had originated in a backwoods farm in NewEngland. She explained, however, that she was in a sort of mourning. Herhusband was absent, and she could not make herself beautiful for any oneuntil his return, which she was expecting every moment. She spent mostof her time in gazing, from a balcony on the cliff, up the river, towardthe bend backed by beautiful hills, to espy her husband on the steamer. As he did not come, we persuaded her, by arguments couched in silverspeech, to adorn herself on the sly for us. Then she was afraid that themissing treasure might make his appearance too soon, and she made suchundue haste that she faithlessly omitted the finishing touch, --blacking her pretty teeth. I gathered from her remarks that somethingparticularly awful would result should she be caught with those pearlsobscured in the presence of any other man when her husband was notpresent; but she may have been using a little diplomacy to soothe us. Though she was not a beauty in the ordinary sense of the Occident, shecertainly was when dressed in her national garb, as I had found to bethe case with the Russian peasant girls. Her loose sack, of a medium butbrilliant blue woolen material, fell low over a petticoat of the sameterminating in a single flounce. Her long black hair was carefullybraided, and fell from beneath an embroidered cap of crimson velvet witha rounded end which hung on one side in a coquettish way. Her neck wascompletely covered with a necklace which descended to her waist like abreast-plate, and consisted of gold coins, some of them very ancient andvaluable, medals, red beads, and a variety of brilliant objectsharmoniously combined. Her heavy gold bracelets had been made to orderin Kazan after a pure Tatar model, and her soft-soled boots of rose-pinkleather, with conventional designs in many-colored moroccos, sewedtogether with rainbow-hued silks, reached nearly to her knees. Hercomplexion was fresh and not very sallow, her nose rather less like abutton than is usual; her high cheek-bones were well covered, and hersmall dark eyes made up by their brilliancy for the slight upward slantof their outer corners. 

Tatar girls, who made no pretensions to beauty in dress or features, didthe milking, and were aided in that and the other real work connectedwith kumys-making by Tatar men. According to the official programme, themares might be milked six or eight times a day, and the yield was from ahalf to a whole bottle apiece each time. Milk is always reckoned by thebottle in Russia. I presume the custom arose from the habit of sendingthe _muzhik_ ("Boots") to the dairy-shop with an empty wine-bottle tofetch the milk and cream for "tea, " which sometimes means coffee in themorning. The mare's milk has a sweetish, almond-like flavor, and is verythin and bluish in hue. 

At three o'clock in the morning, the mares are taken from the colts andshut up in a long shed which is not especially weather-proof. In fact, there is not much "weather" except wind to be guarded against on thesteppe. In about two hours, when the milk has collected, the coltsfollow them voluntarily, and are admitted and allowed to suck for a fewseconds. Halters are then thrown about their necks, and they are ledforward where the mothers can nose them over and lick them. Themilkmaid's second assistant then puts a halter on the neck of a mare andholds her, or ties up one leg if she be restive. In the mean time thefoolish creature continues to let down milk for her foal. The milkmaidkneels on one knee and holds her pail on the other, after having washedher hands carefully and wiped off the teats with a clean, damp cloth. Ifthe mare resists at first, the milk obtained must not be used for kumys, as her agitation affects the milk unfavorably. Roan, gray, and chestnutmares are preferred, and in order to obtain the best milk great caremust be exercised in the choice of pasture and the management of thehorses, as well as in all the minor details of preparation. 

The milking-pails are of tin or of oak wood, and, like the oaken kumyschurn, have been boiled in strong lye to extract the acid, and welldried and aired. In addition to the daily washing they are well smokedwith rotten birch trunks, in order to destroy all particles of kumyswhich may cling to them. 

The next step after the milk is obtained is to ferment it. The ferment, or yeast, is obtained by collecting the sediment of the kumys which hasalready germinated, and washing it off thoroughly with milk or water. Itis then pressed and dried in the sun, the result being a reddish-brownmass composed of the micro-organisms contained in kumys ferment, casein, and a small quantity of fat. Twenty grains of this yeast are ground upin a small quantity of freshly drawn milk in a clean porcelain mortar, and shaken in a quart bottle with one pound of fresh milk, --all mare'smilk, naturally, --after which it is lightly corked with a bit ofwadding and set away in a temperature of +22 degrees to +26 degreesReaumur. In about twenty-four hours small bubbles begin to make theirappearance, accompanied by the sour odor of kumys. The bottle is thenshaken from time to time, and the air admitted, until it is in acondition to be used as a ferment with fresh milk. Sometimes thisferment fails, in which case an artificial ferment is prepared. 

One pint of ferment is allowed to every five pints of fresh milk in thecask or churn, and the whole is beaten with the dasher for about anhour, when it is set aside in a temperature of +18 degrees to +26degrees Reaumur. When, at the expiration of a few hours, the milk turnssour and begins to ferment vigorously, it is beaten again several timesfor about fifteen minutes, with intervals, with a dasher whichterminates in a perforated disk, after which it is left undisturbed forseveral hours at the same temperature as before, until the liquid beginsto exhale an odor of spirits of wine. The delicate offices of our Tatarbeauty, the taster, come in at this point to determine how much freshlydrawn and cooled milk is to be added in order rightly to temper the sourtaste. After standing over night it is ready for use, and is put up inseltzer or champagne bottles, and kept at a temperature of +8 degrees to+12 degrees Reaumur. At a lower temperature vinegar fermentation sets inand spoils the kumys, while too high a temperature brings about equallydisastrous results of another sort. Kumys has a different chemicalcomposition according to whether it has stood only a few hours orseveral days, and consequently its action differs, also. 

The weak kumys is ready for use at the expiration of six hours afterfermentation has been excited in the mare's milk, and must be put intothe strongest bottles. The medium quality is obtained after from twelveto fourteen hours of fermentation, and, if well corked, will keep two orthree days in a cool atmosphere. The third and strongest quality is theproduct of diligent daily churning during twenty-four to thirty-sixhours, and is thinner than the medium quality, even watery. Whenbottled, it soon separates into three layers, with the fatty particleson top, the whey in the middle, and the casein at the bottom. Strongkumys can be kept for a very long time, but it must be shaken before itis used. It is very easy for a person unaccustomed to kumys to becomeintoxicated on this strong quality of milk wine. 

The nourishing effects of this spirituous beverage are argued, primarily, from the example of the Bashkirs and the Kirghiz, who aregaunt and worn by the hunger and cold of winter, but who blossom intorounded outlines and freshness of complexion three or four days afterthe spring pasturage for their mares begins. Some persons argue thatlife with these Bashkirs and an exclusive diet of kumys will effect aspeedy cure of their ailments. Hence they join one of the nomad hordes. This course, however, not only deprives them of medical advice and thecomforts to which they have been accustomed, but often gives them kumyswhich is difficult to take because of its rank taste and smell, due tothe lack of that scrupulous cleanliness which its proper preparationdemands. 

There are establishments near St. Petersburg and Moscow where kumys maybe obtained by those who do not care to make the long journey to thesteppe; but the quality and chemical constituents are very differentfrom those of the steppe kumys, especially at the best period, May andJune, when the plumegrass and wild strawberry are at their finestdevelopment for food, and before the excessive heats of midsummer havebegun. 

As I have said, when people wish to make the cure on their own estates, the indispensable Tatar is sent for, and the requisite number ofmiddle-aged mares, of which no work is required, are set aside for thepurpose. But from all I have heard, I am inclined to think that benefitis rarely derived from these private cures, and this for severalreasons. Not only is the kumys said to be inferior when prepared in suchsmall quantities, but no specialist or any other doctor can beconstantly on hand to regulate the functional disorders which this dietfrequently occasions. Moreover, the air of the steppe plays an importantpart in the cure. When a person drinks from five to fifteen or morebottles a day, and sometimes adds the proper amount of fatty, starchy, and saccharine elements, some other means than the stomach areindispensable for disposing of the refuse. As a matter of fact, in thehot, dry, even temperature of the steppe, where patients are encouragedto remain out-of-doors all day and drink slowly, they perspire kumys. When the system becomes thoroughly saturated with this food-drink, catarrh often makes its appearance, but disappears at the close of thecure. Colic, constipation, diarrhoea, nose-bleed, and bleeding from thelungs are also present at times, as well as sleeplessness, toothache, and other disorders. The effects of kumys are considered of especialvalue in cases of weak lungs, anaemia, general debility caused by anywasting illness, ailments of the digestive organs, and scurvy, for whichit is taken by many naval officers. 

In short, although it is not a cure for all earthly ills, it is of valuein many which proceed from imperfect nutrition producing exhaustion ofthe patient. There are some conditions of the lungs in which it cannotbe used, as well as in organic diseases of the brain and heart, epilepsy, certain disorders of the liver, and when gallstones arepresent. It is drunk at the temperature of the air which surrounds thepatient, but must be warmed with hot water, not in the sun, and sippedslowly, with pauses, not drunk down in haste; and generally exercisemust be taken. Turn where we would in those kumys establishments, weencountered a patient engaged in assiduous promenading, with a bottle ofkumys suspended from his arm and a glassful in his hand. 

Coffee, chocolate, and wine are some of the luxuries which must berenounced during a kumys cure, and though black tea (occasionally withlemon) is allowed, no milk or cream can be permitted to contend with theaction of the mare's milk unless by express permission of the physician. "Cream kumys, " which is advertised as a delicacy in America, is acontradiction in terms, it will be seen, as it is made of cow's milk, and cream would be contrary to the nature of kumys, even if the mare'smilk produced anything which could rightly pass as such. Fish and fruitsare also forbidden, with the exception of _klubniki_, which accord wellwith kumys. _Klubnika_ is a berry similar to the strawberry inappearance, but with an entirely different taste. Patients who violatethese dietary rules are said to suffer for it, --in which case theremust have been a good deal of agony inside the tall fence of ourestablishment, judging by the thriving trade in fruits driven by the oldwomen, who did not confine themselves to the outside of the gate, as therules required, but slipped past the porter and guardians to the houseitself. 

We found the kumys a very agreeable beverage, and could readily perceivethat the patients might come to have a very strong taste for it. We evensympathized with the thorough-going patient of whom we were told that heset oft regularly every morning to lose himself for the day on thesteppe, armed with an umbrella against possible cooling breezes, andwith a basket containing sixteen bottles of kumys, his allowance of foodand medicine until sundown. The programme consisted of a walk in thesun, a drink, a walk, a drink, with umbrella interludes, until darknessdrove him home to bed and to his base of supplies. 

We did not remain long enough, or drink enough kumys, to observe anyparticular effects on our own persons. As I have said, we ate in town, chiefly, after that breakfast of kumys-mare beefsteak and potatoes ofthe size and consistency of bullets. During our food and shoppingexcursions we found that Samara was a decidedly wide-awake and drivingtown, though it seemed to possess no specialties in buildings, curiosities, or manufactures, and the statue to Alexander II. , which nowadorns one of its squares, was then swathed in canvas awaiting itsunveiling. It is merely a sort of grand junction, through which othercities and provinces sift their products. In kumys alone does Samarapossess a characteristic unique throughout Russia. Consequently, it isfor kumys that multitudes of Russians flock thither every spring. 

The soil of the steppe, on which grows the nutritious plume-grassrequisite for the food of the kumys mares, is very fertile, and immensecrops of rye, wheat, buckwheat, oats, and so forth are raised wheneverthe rainfall is not too meagre. Unfortunately, the rainfall isfrequently insufficient, and the province of Samara often comes to theattention of Russia, or even of the world, as during the dearth in 1891, because of scarcity of food, or even famine, which is no novelty in thegovernment. In a district where the average of rain is twenty inches, there is not much margin of superfluity which can be spared withoutperil. Wheat grows here better than in the government just north of it, and many peasants are attracted from the "black-bread governments" toSamara by the white bread which is there given them as rations when theyhire out for the harvest. 

But such a singular combination of conditions prevails there, aselsewhere in Russia, that an abundant harvest is often more disastrousthan a scanty harvest. The price of grain falls so low that the cost ofgathering it is greater than the market value, and it is often left tofall unreaped in the fields. When the price falls very low, complaintsarise that there is no place to send it, since, when the ruble standshigh, as it invariably does at the prospect of large crops, the demandfrom abroad is stopped. The result is that those people who are situatednear a market sell as much grain and leave as little at home as possiblein order to meet their bills. The price rises; the unreaped surplus ofthe districts lying far from markets cannot fill the ensuing demand. Theincome from estates falls, and the discouraged owners who have nothingto live on resolve to plant a smaller area thereafter. Estates aremortgaged and sold by auction; prices are very low, and often there areno buyers. 

The immediate result of an over-abundant harvest in far-off Samara isthat the peasants who have come hither to earn a little money at reapingreturn home penniless, or worse, to their suffering families. Some ofthem are legitimate seekers after work; that is to say, they have nograin of their own to attend to, or they reap their own a little earlieror a little later, and go away to earn the ready money to meet taxes andindispensable expenditures of the household, such as oil, and so on. "_Pri khlyeby bez khlyeby_" is their own way of expressing thesituation, which we may translate freely as "starvation in the midst ofplenty. " Thus the extremes of famine-harvest and the harvest which is anembarrassment of riches are equally disastrous to the poor peasant. 

Samara offers a curious illustration of several agricultural problems, and a proof of some peculiar paradoxes. The peasants of the neighboringgovernments, which are not populated to a particularly dense degree, --twenty male inhabitants to a square verst (two thirds of a mile), andnot all engaged in agriculture, --have long been accustomed to lookupon Samara as a sort of promised land. They still regard it in thatlight, and endeavor to emigrate thither, for the sake of obtaininggrants of state land, and certain immunities and privileges which areaccorded to colonists. This action is the result of the paradox thatoverproduction exists hand in hand with too small a parcel of land foreach peasant!

Volumes have been written, and more volumes might still be written, onthis subject. But I must content myself here with saying that I believethere is no province which illustrates so thoroughly all the distressingfeatures of these manifold and complicated problems of colonization, ofpermanent settlements, with the old evils of both landlords and peasantscropping up afresh, abundant and scanty harvests equally associated withfamine, and all the troubles which follow in their train, as Samara. Hence it is that I can never recall the kumys, which is so intimatelyconnected with the name of Samara, without also recalling the famine, which is, alas, almost as intimately bound up with it. 

XII. 

MOSCOW MEMORIES. 

St. Petersburg is handsome, grand, impressive. Moscow is beautiful, poetic, sympathetic, and pervaded by an atmosphere of ancient Russia, which is indescribable, though it penetrates to the marrow of one'sbones if he tarry long within her walls. Emperor Peter's new capitalwill not bear comparison, for originality, individuality, andpicturesqueness with Tzar Peter's Heart of Holy Russia, to which theheart of one who loves her must, perforce, often return with longing inafter days, --"white-stoned golden-domed, Holy Mother Moscow. "

But a volume of guide-book details, highly colored impressionistsketches, and dainty miniature painting combined would not do justice toMoscow. Therefore, I shall confine myself to a few random reminiscenceswhich may serve to illustrate habits or traits in the character of thecity or the people. 

"'Eography, " says Mrs. Booby, in one of the famous old Russian comedieswhich we were so fortunate as to witness on the Moscow stage: "Ah! goodheavens! And what are cabmen for, then? That's their business. It's nota genteel branch of learning. A gentleman merely says: 'Take me to suchor such a place, ' and the cabman drives him wherever he pleases. "

Nowadays, it is advisable to be vulgar and know the geography of Moscow, if one is really enjoying it independently. It is a trifle lesscomplicated than the geography of the Balkan Principalities, and, unlikethat of the Balkan Principalities, it has its humorous side, whichaffords alleviation. The Moscow cabby has now, as in the time of Mrs. Booby, the reputation of being a very hard customer to deal with. He isnot often so ingenuous, even in appearance, as the man who drove closeto the sidewalk and entreated our custom by warbling, sweetly: "We musthave work or we can't have bread. " He is only to be dreaded, however, ifone be genteelly ignorant, after Mrs. Booby's plan. I cannot say that Iever had any difficulty in finding any place I wanted, either with theaid (or hindrance) of an _izvostchik_, or on foot, in Moscow or otherRussian towns. But for this and other similar reasons I acquired anickname among the natives, --_molodyetz_, that is to say, a dashing, enterprising young fellow, the feminine form of the word beingnonexistent. A Russian view of the matter is amusing, however. 

"I never saw such a town in which to hunt up any one, " said a St. Petersburg man in Moscow to me. "They give you an address: 'Such andsuch a street, such a house. ' For instance, 'Green Street, house of Mr. Black. ' You go. First you get hold of the street in general, anddiscover that the special name applies only to one block or so, two orthree versts away from the part where you chance to have landed. Moscowis even more a city of magnificent distances, you know, than St. Petersburg. Next you discover that there is no 'house of Mr. Black. ' Mr. Black died, respected and beloved, God be with him! a hundred years agoor less, and the house has changed owners three times since. So far, itis tolerably plain sailing. Then it appears that the house you are insearch of is not in the street at all, but tucked in behind it, on aparallel lane, round several corners and elbows. " (I will explain, inparenthesis, that the old system of designating a house by the name ofthe owner, which prevailed before the introduction of numbers, stillsurvives extensively, even in Petersburg. )

"The next time you set out on a search expedition, " continued myinformant, after a cup of tea and a cigarette to subdue his emotions, "you insist on having the number of the house. Do you get it? Oh yes!and with a safeguard added, 'Inquire of the laundress. ' [This was aparody on, "Inquire of the Swiss, " or "of the yard-porter. "] You startoff in high feather; number and guide are provided, only a fool couldfail to find it, and you know that you are a person who is consideredrather above the average in cleverness. But that is in Petersburg, and Imay as well tell you at once that clever Petersburgers are foolscompared to the Moscow men, in a good many points, such as driving ahard bargain. Well, suppose that the house you want is No. 29. You findNo. 27 or No. 28, and begin to crow over your cleverness. But the nexthouse on one side is No. 319, and the house on the other side is No. 15;the one opposite is No. 211, or No. 7, or something idiotic like that, and all because the city authorities permit people to retain the olddistrict number of the house, to affix the new street number, or to postup both at their own sweet will! As you cannot find the laundress toquestion, under the circumstances, you interview every Swiss[hall-porter], yard-porter, policeman, and peasant for a verst roundabout; and all the satisfaction you get is, 'In whose house? That is Mr. Green's and this is Mr. Bareboaster's, and yonder are Count Thingumbob'sand Prince Whatyoumaycall's. ' So you retreat once more, baffled. "Fortifying himself with more tea and cigarettes, the victim of Moscowwent on:--

"But there is still another plan. [A groan. ] The favorite way to give anaddress is, 'In the parish of Saint So-and-So. ' It does n't pin you downto any special house, street, or number, which is, of course, a decidedadvantage when you are hunting for a needle in a haystack. And theMoscow saints and parishes have such names!" Here the narrator'sfeelings overcame him, and when I asked for some of the parochial titleshe was too limp to reply. I had already noticed the peculiardesignations of many churches, and had begun to suspect myself ofstupidity or my cabman and other informants of malicious jesting. Now, however, I investigated the subject, and made a collection of specimens. These extraordinary names are all derived--with one or two exceptionsfor which I can find no explanation--from the peculiarities of thesoil in the parish, the former use to which the site of the church wasput, or the avocations of the inhabitants of its neighborhood in theolden times, when most of the space outside of the Kremlin and ChinaTown was devoted to the purveyors and servants of the Tzars of Muscovy. 

St. Nicholas, a very popular saint, heads the list, as usual. "St. Nicholas on Chips" occupies the spot where a woodyard stood. "St. Nicholas on the Well, " "St. Nicholas Fine Chime, " are easily understood. "St. Nicholas White-Collar" is in the ancient district of the courtlaundresses. "St. Nicholas in the Bell-Ringers" is comprehensible; but"St. Nicholas the Blockhead" is so called because in this quarter dweltthe imperial hatmakers, who prepared "blockheads" for shaping theirwares. "St. Nicholas Louse's Misery" is, probably, a corruption of twosomewhat similar words meaning Muddy Hill. "St. Nicholas on Chickens'Legs" belonged to the poulterers, and was so named because it was raisedfrom the ground on supports resembling stilts. "St. Nicholas of theInterpreters" is in the quarter where the Court interpreters lived, andwhere the Tatar mosque now stands. Then we have: "The Life-GivingTrinity in the Mud, " "St. John the Warrior" and "St. John the Theologianin the Armory, " "The Birth of Christ on Broadswords, " "St. George theMartyr in the Old Jails, " "The Nine Holy Martyrs on Cabbage-Stalks, " onthe site of a former market garden, and the inexplicable "Church of theResurrection on the Marmot, " besides many others, some of which, I wastold, bear quite unrepeatable names, probably perverted, like the lastand like "St. Nicholas Louse's Misery, " from words having originallysome slight resemblance in sound, but which are now unrecognizable. 

Great stress is laid, in hasty books of travel, on the contrastspresented by the Moscow streets, the "palace of a prince standing by theside of the squalid log hut of a peasant, " and so forth. That may, perhaps, have been true of the Moscow of twenty or thirty years ago. Invery few quarters is there even a semblance of truth in that descriptionat the present day. The clusters of Irish hovels in upper New York amongthe towering new buildings are much more picturesque and noticeable. Themost characteristic part of the town, as to domestic architecture, thepart to which the old statements are most applicable, lies between thetwo lines of boulevards, which are, in themselves, good places to studysome Russian tastes. For example, a line of open horse-cars is run allwinter on the outer boulevard, and appreciated. Another line has thecentre of its cars inclosed, and uninclosed seats at the ends. Thelatter are the most popular, at the same price, and as for heating astreet-car, the idea could never be got into a Russian brain. A certainsection of the inner boulevard, which forms a sort of slightly elevatedgarden, is not only a favorite resort in summer, but is thronged everywinter afternoon with people promenading or sitting under thesnow-powdered trees in an arctic fairyland, while the mercury in thethermometer is at a very low ebb indeed. It is fashionable in Russia togrumble at the cold, but unfashionable to convert the grumbling intoaction. On the contrary, they really enjoy sitting for five hours at astretch, in a temperature of 25 degrees below zero, to watch thefascinating horse races on the ice. 

In the districts between the boulevards, one can get an idea of the townas it used to be. In this "Earth Town" typical streets are still to befound, but the chances are greatly against a traveler finding them. Theyare alleys in width and irregularity, paved with cobblestones which seemto have been selected for their angles, and with intermittent sidewalksconsisting of narrow, carelessly joined flagstones. The front steps ofthe more pretentious houses must be skirted or mounted, the street mustbe crossed when the family carriage stands at the door, like the mostcharacteristic streets in Nantucket. Some of the doorplates--which arelarge squares of tin fastened over the _porte cochere_, or on the gateof the courtyard--bear titles. Next door, perhaps, stands a log house, flush with the sidewalk, its moss calking plainly visible between thehuge ribs, its steeply sloping roof rising, almost within reach, above asingle story; and its serpent-mouthed eave-spouts ingeniously arrangedto pour a stream of water over the vulgar pedestrian. The windows, on alevel with the eyes of the passer-by, are draped with cheap lacecurtains. The broad expanse of cotton wadding between the double windowsis decorated, in middle-class taste, with tufts of dyed grasses, coloredpaper, and other execrable ornaments. Here, as everywhere else inMoscow, one can never get out of eye-shot of several churches; whitewith brilliant external frescoes, or the favorite mixture of crushedstrawberry and white, all with green roofs and surmounted with domes ofever-varying and original forms and colors, crowned with golden crossesof elaborate and beautiful designs. Ask a resident, whether prince orpeasant, "How many churches are there in 'Holy Moscow town'?" The answerinvariably is, "Who knows? A forty of forties, " which is the oldequivalent, in the Epic Songs, of incalculable numbers. After a whileone really begins to feel that sixteen hundred is not an exaggeratedestimate. 

Very few of the streets in any part of the town are broad; all of themseem like lanes to a Petersburger, and "they are forever going up anddown, " as a Petersburg cabman described the Moscow hills to me, inserious disapproval. He had found the ground too excitingly uneven andthe inhabitants too evenly dull to live with for more than a fortnight, he confessed to me. Many of the old mansions in the centre of the townhave been converted into shops, offices, and lodgings; and huge, modernbusiness buildings have taken the places formerly occupied, I presume, by the picturesque "hovels" of the travelers' tales. 

One of the most interesting places in the White Town to me was the hugefoundling asylum, established by Katherine II. , immediately after heraccession to the throne. There are other institutions connected with it, such as a school for orphan girls. But the hospital for the babies isthe centre of interest. There are about six hundred nurses always onhand. Very few of them have more than one nursling to care for, and anumber of babies who enter life below par, so to speak, are accommodatedwith incubators. The nurses stand in battalions in the various largehalls, all clad alike, with the exception of the woolen _kokoshnik_, --the coronet-shaped headdress with its cap for the hair, --which is of adifferent color in each room. It requires cords of "cartwheels"--thebig round loaves of black bread--to feed this army of nurses. If theyare not fed on their ordinary peasant food, cabbage soup and sour blackbread, they fall ill and the babies suffer, as no bottles are used. 

The fact that the babies are washed every day was impressed on my mindby the behavior of the little creatures while undergoing the operation. They protested a little in gentle squeaks when the water touched them, but quieted down instantly when they were wiped. It is my belief thatRussian children never cry except during their bath. I heard noinfantile wailing except in this asylum, and very little there. ManyRussian mothers of all ranks still tie up their babies tightly inswaddling clothes, on the old-fashioned theory that it makes their limbsstraight. But these foundlings are not swaddled. After its bath, thebaby is laid on a fresh, warm, linen cloth, which is then wrapped aroundit in a particular manner, so that it is securely fastened without theuse of a single pin. Two other cloths, similarly wrapped, complete thesimple, comfortable toilet. This and another Russian habit, that ofallowing a baby to kick about in its crib clad only in its birthdaysuit, I commend to the consideration of American mothers. 

The last thing in the asylum which is shown to visitors is the manner inwhich the babies are received, washed, weighed, and numbered. It wasearly in December when I was there, but the numbers on the ivory diskssuspended from the new arrivals' necks were a good many hundred aboveseventeen thousand. As they begin each year with No. 1, I think thewhole number of foundlings for that particular year must have beenbetween eighteen and nineteen thousand. The children are put out toboard, after a short stay at the asylum, in peasant families, whichreceive a small sum per month for taking care of them. When the boysgrow up they count as members of the family in a question of armyservice, and the sons of the family can escape their turn, I was told, if matters are rightly managed. The girls become uniformed servants inthe government institutions for the education of girls of the higherclasses, or marry peasants. 

The most famous of the gates which lead from the White Town through thewhite, machicolated walls into China Town* is the Iversky, or gate ofthe Iberian Virgin. The gate has two entrances, and between thesetower-crowned openings stands a chapel of malachite and marble, gildedbronze and painting. The Iversky Virgin who inhabits the chapel, though"wonder-working, " is only a copy of one in the monastery on Mount Athos. She was brought to Russia in 1666, and this particular chapel was builtfor her by Katherine II. Her garment and crown of gold weigh betweentwenty-seven and twenty-eight pounds, and are studded with splendidjewels. But the Virgin whom one sees in the chapel is not even thiscopy, but a copy of the copy. The original Virgin, as we may call thefirst copy for convenience, is in such great demand for visits toconvents and monasteries, to private houses and the shops of wealthy anddevout merchants, that she is never at home from early morn till late atnight, and the second copy represents her to the thousands of prayerfulpeople of all classes, literally, who stop to place a candle or utter apetition. The original Virgin travels about the town, meanwhile, in ablue coach adorned with her special device, like a coat of arms, anddrawn by six horses; and the persons whom she honors with a visit offerliberal gifts. The heads of her coachman, postilions, and footman aresupposed to be respectfully bared in all weathers, but when it is verycold these men wind woolen shawls, of the nondescript, dirt color, whichcharacterizes the hair of most peasants, adroitly round their heads, allowing the fringe to hang and simulate long locks. The large image ofthe Virgin, in its massive frame, occupies the seat of honor. A priestand a deacon, clad in crimson velvet and gold vestments, their headsunprotected, even in the most severe weather, by anything but their ownthick hair, sit respectfully with their backs to the horses. When theVirgin drives along, passers-by pause, salute, and cross themselves. Evidently, under these circumstances, it is difficult for a foreigner toget a view of the original Virgin. We were fortunate, however. Our firstinvitation in Moscow was from the Abbess of an important convent to bepresent at one of the services which I have mentioned, --a sort ofinvocation of the Virgin's blessing, --in her cell, and at theconclusion of the service we were asked if we would not like to "salutethe Virgin" and take a sip of the holy water "for health. " Of course wedid both, as courtesy demanded. Some time after that, as we were drivingalong the principal street of China Town, I saw an imposing equipageapproaching, and remarked, "Here comes the Iversky Virgin. "

* Ancient Moscow, lying in a walled semicircle just outside the walls ofthe Kremlin. All the trading was done on the "Red Square, " where theGostinny Dvor now stands, and all Oriental merchants were known by thecommon designation of "Chinese. " At the present day "Chinese" has beenreplaced by "German, " to designate foreigners in general. 

"Excuse me, madam, " said my cabman, --I had not addressed him, but as Ihad spoken involuntarily in Russian he thought I had, --"it is not theVirgin, it is only the Saviour. Don't you see that there are only fourhorses?"

"Very true; and St. Sergius drives with three, and St. Pantaleimon withtwo, --do they not? Tell me, which of them all would you ask to visityou, if you wished a blessing?"

"St. Pantaleimon is a good, all-round saint, who helps well in mostcases, " he replied thoughtfully. This seemed a good opportunity to get apopular explanation of a point which had puzzled me. 

"Which, " I asked, "is the real miraculous Iversky Virgin?--the one inthe chapel, the one who rides in the carriage, or the original on MountAthos?"

"It is plain that you don't understand in the least, " answered my_izvostchik_, turning round in his seat and imperiling our lives by hisdriving, while he plunged into the subject with profound earnestness. "None of them is the Virgin, and all of them are the Virgin. All thedifferent Virgins are merely different manifestations of the Virgin tomen. The Virgin herself is in heaven, and communicates her power whereshe wills. It is like the Life-giving Trinity. " Assuming that as aforeigner, and consequently a heretic, I did not understand the doctrineof the Trinity, he proceeded to expound it, and did it extremely well. Ilent half an ear in amazement to him, and half an ear I reserved for theobjurgations of the drivers who were so good as to spare our lives inthat crowded thoroughfare while my theological lesson was in progress. 

While I am speaking of this unusual cabman, I may mention some unusualprivate coachmen in Moscow who use their masters' sledges and carriagesfor public conveyances while their owners are safely engaged in theatreor restaurant. I do not think that trick could be played in Petersburg. I found it out by receiving an amazingly reasonable offer from a verywell-dressed man with a superb gray horse and a fine sledge. As wedashed along at lightning speed, I asked the man whether he owned thatfine turnout or worked on wages. "I own it myself, " he said curtly. Therefore, when I alighted, I slipped round behind the sledge andscrutinized it thoroughly under the gaslight. The back was decoratedwith a monogram and a count's coronet in silver! After that I neverasked questions, but I always knew what had happened when I picked upvery comfortable equipages at very reasonable rates in places which werebetween gas lanterns and near theatres and so forth. 

I should not be doing my duty by a very important factor in Russian lifeif I omitted an illustration of the all-pervading influence of"official" rank, and the prestige which acquaintance with officialdomlends even to modest travelers like ourselves. It was, mostappropriately, in the Kremlin, the heart of Russia, that we were favoredwith the most amusing of the many manifestations of it which came withinour experience. We were looking at the objects of interest in theTreasury, when I noticed a large, handsomely bound book, flanked by penand ink, on a side table. I opened the book, but before I could read aword an attendant pounced upon me. 

"Don't touch that, " he said peremptorily. 

"Why not? If you do not wish people to look at this collection ofancient documents, --I suppose that is what it is, --you should lockit up, or label it 'Hands off!'"

"It is n't ancient documents, and you are not to touch it, " he said, taking the book out of my hands. "It is strictly reserved for thesignatures of _distinguished_ visitors, --crowned heads, royal princes, ambassadors, and the like. "

"Then it does not interest me in the least, and if you would label it tothat effect, no one would care to disturb it, " I said. 

Very soon afterwards we were joined by one of the powerful officials ofthe Kremlin. He had made an appointment to show us about, but wasdetained for a few moments, and we had come on alone and were waitingfor him. As we went about with him the attendants hovered respectfullyin the rear, evidently much impressed with the friendly, unofficial toneof the conversation. When we had made the round with much deliberation, we excused our official friend to his duties, saying that we wished totake another look at several objects. 

No sooner was he gone than the guardian of the autograph album pouncedupon us again, and invited us to add our "illustrious" names to thelist. I refused; he entreated and argued. It ended in his fairlydragging us to the table and standing guard over us while we signed thesacred book. I did not condescend to examine the book, though I shouldhave been permitted then; but--I know which three royal princesimmediately preceded us. 

As I am very much attached to the Russian Church, anything connectedwith it always interested me deeply. One of the prominent features ofMoscow is the number of monasteries and convents. The Russian idea ofmonastic life is prayer and contemplation, not activity in good works. The ideal of devout secular life is much the same. To meet the wants inthat direction of people who do not care to join the community, many ofthe convents have small houses within their inclosures, which they letout to applicants, of whom there is always an abundance. The occupantsof these houses are under no restrictions whatever, except as toobserving the hours of entry and exit fixed by the opening and closingof the convent gates; but, naturally, it is rather expected of them thatthey will attend more church services than the busy people of "theworld. " The sight of these little houses always oppressed me with asense of my inferiority in the matter of devoutness. I could not imaginemyself living in one of them, until I came across a group of theiroccupants engaged in discussing some racy gossip with the nuns on one ofthe doorsteps. Gossip is not my besetting weakness, but I felt relieved. Convents are not aristocratic institutions in Russia as they are inRoman Catholic countries, and very few ladies by birth and educationenter them. Those who do are apt to rise to the post of abbess, influential connections not being superfluous in any calling in Russiaany more than in other countries. 

If I were a nun I should prefer activity. I think that contemplation, except in small doses, is calculated to produce stupidity. Illustration:I was passing along a street in Moscow when my eye fell upon an elderlynun seated at the gate of a convent, with a little table whereon stood alighted taper. Beside the taper, on a threadbare piece of black velvet, decorated with the customary cross in gold braid, lay a few copper coinsbefore a dark and ancient _ikona_. Evidently, the public was solicitedto contribute in the name of the saint there portrayed, though I couldnot recollect that the day was devoted to a saint of sufficientimportance to warrant the intrusion of that table on the narrowsidewalk. I halted and asked the nun what day it was, and who was thesaint depicted in the image. She said she did not know. This seemedincredible, and I persisted in my inquiry. She called a policeman fromthe middle of the street, where he was regulating traffic as usual, andasked him about the _ikona_ and the day, with the air of a helplesschild. Church and State set to work guessing with great heartiness andgood-will, but so awkwardly that it was the easiest thing in the worldfor me to refute each successive guess. When we tired of that, I gavethe nun a kopek for the entertainment she had unconsciously afforded, and thanked the policeman, after which the policeman and I left the goodnun sitting stolidly at the receipt of custom. 

Quite at the opposite pole was my experience one hot summer day in theCathedral of the Assumption, where the emperors have been crowned forcenturies; or, to speak more accurately, the two poles met and embracedin that church, the heart of the heart of Holy Russia. The earlyPatriarchs and Metropolitans are buried in this cathedral in superbsilver-gilt coffins. Of these, the tomb and shrine of Metropolitan Jonaseems to be the goal of the most numerous pilgrimages. I stood near it, in the rear corner of the church, one Sunday morning, while mass was inprogress. An unbroken stream of people, probably all of them pilgrims tothe Holy City, her saints and shrines, passed me, crossed themselves, knelt in a "ground reverence, " kissed the saint's coffin, then the handof the priest, who stood by to preserve order and bless each person ashe or she turned away. To my surprise, I heard many of them inquire thename of the shrine's occupant _after_ they had finished their prayers. After the service and a little chat with this priest, who seemed a verysensible man, we went forward to take another look at the VladimirVirgin, the most famous and historical in all Russia, in her goldencase. A gray-haired old army colonel, who wore the Vladimir cross, perceiving from our speech that we were foreigners, politely began toexplain to us the noteworthy points about the church and the Virgin. Itsoon appeared, however, that we were far more familiar with them allthan he was, and we fell into conversation. 

"I am stationed in Poland, " he said, "and I have never been in Moscowbefore. I am come on a pilgrimage to the Holy City, but everything is sodear here that I must deny myself the pleasure of visiting many of theshrines in the neighborhood. It is a great happiness to me to be presentthus at the mass in my own _pravoslavny_ church, and in Moscow. "

"But there are Orthodox churches in Poland, surely, " I said. 

"Yes, " he replied, "there are a few; and I go whenever I get a chance. "

"What do you do when you have not the chance?"

"I go to whatever church there is, --the Roman Catholic, the Lutheran, the Synagogue. "

"Is that allowed?" I asked. I knew very well that Russians attend RomanCatholic and Protestant churches when abroad, as a matter of course, though I had not before heard of the Synagogue in the list, and I wishedto hear what the earnest old colonel would say. 

"Why not? why should n't I?" he replied. "We all go to church to worshipGod and to pray to Him. Does it matter about the form or the language? Aman has as much as he can do to be a Christian and an honest man, --which are two very different things nowadays, apparently, --withouttroubling himself about those petty details. "

It is almost superfluous to say that we swore friendship with thecolonel on the spot, on those foundations. Our acquaintance ended withour long talk there in the cathedral, since we could not well stop inPoland to accept the delightful old officer's invitation to visit himand his wife. But the friendship remains, I hope. 

When he left us, a young fellow about seventeen years of age, who hadbeen standing near us and listening to the last part of our conversationwith an air of profound and respectful interest which obviated all traceof impertinence, stepped up and said:--

"May I have the pleasure of showing you about the cathedral? You seem toappreciate our Russian ways and thoughts. I have taken a good deal ofinterest in studying the history and antiquities of my native city, andI may be able to point out a few things to you here. "

He was a pleasant-faced young fellow, with modest, engaging manners; astudent in one of the government institutions, it appeared. He lookedvery cool and comfortable in a suit of coarse gray linen. He proved tobe an admirable cicerone, and we let him escort us about for thepleasure of listening, though we had seen everything many times already. I commented on his knowledge, and on the evident pride which he took inhis country, and especially in his church, remarking that he seemed tobe very well informed on many points concerning the latter, and able toexplain the reasons for things in an unusual way. 

"Yes, " he answered, "I am proud and fond of my country and my church. We Russians do not study them as we should, I am ashamed to say. There, for instance, is my cousin, Princess----, who is considered a verywell-informed young woman on all necessary points. She was to make hercommunion, and so some one brought her to the church while the Hourswere being read, as is proper, though she usually comes very much later. She had not been there ten minutes before she began to ask: 'When doesthe Sacrament come? Is n't it pretty soon?' and she kept that up atshort intervals, despite all I could do to stop her. I am quite sure, "he added, "that I need not explain to you, though you are a foreigner, where the Hours and the Sacrament come in the service?"

"No: the Hours precede the Liturgy, and the administration of theSacrament comes very nearly at the end of all. "

"Exactly. You understand what a disgrace such ignorance was on mycousin's part. "

He was charming, amusingly frank on many points which I had supposed tobe rather delicate with members of the "Orthodox" (as I must call it forthe lack of a possible English equivalent for _pravoslavny_) RussianChurch, but so well-bred and intelligent, withal, that we were sincerelysorry to say good-by to him at the door of our hotel. 

XIII. 

THE NIZHNI NOVGOROD FAIR AND THE VOLGA. 

The most picturesque and appropriate way of reaching Nizhni Novgorod isby the Volga, with which its life is so intimately connected, and themost characteristic time to see the Volga steamers is on the wayupstream during the Fair. 

What an assortment of people we had on board! To begin with, our boatwas commanded by a Vice-Admiral in full uniform. His family was withhim, spending the summer on board sailing up and down the river betweenNizhni Novgorod and Astrakhan. 

The passengers over whom the vice-admiral ruled were delightfullyvaried. There were Russians from every quarter of the empire, and of asmany races, including Armenians. One of the latter, an old man with aphysiognomy not to be distinguished, even by our Russian friends whowere traveling with us, from that of a Jew, seemed to take no interestin anything except in telling over a short rosary of amber beads, andstanding guard at all stopping-places over his cabin, which he wasdetermined to occupy alone, though he had paid but one fare. After hehad done this successfully at several landing-places and had consignedseveral men to the second cabin, an energetic man appealed to theadmiral. It required some vigorous language and a threat to break openthe door if the key were not forthcoming, before the admiral couldovercome the resistance of the obstinate old Armenian, who protested, invery bad Russian, that he was very ill indeed, and should certainly dieif any one entered his cabin. He was still alive when we reached the endof our voyage, and had cleverly made his cabin-mate pay for all hisfood. 

Among the second-class passengers was a party of students returning tothe University of Kazan. They exhibited all degrees of shabbiness, butthis was only the modest plumage of the nightingale, apparently. Forhours they sang songs, all beautiful, all strange to us, and we listenedentranced until tea, cigarettes, and songs came to an end in time topermit them a few hours of sleep before we reached their landing. Thethird-class passengers, who were also lodged on the upper deck, aft, included Tatars and other Mohammedans from the Orient, who spread theirprayer-rugs at sundown and went through their complicated devotions withan air of being quite oblivious to spectators. Several got permissionfrom the admiral to ascend to the hurricane deck. But this, whileunnecessary as a precaution against crowding or interference from theirnumerous Russian fellow-passengers, rendered them more conspicuous; andeven this was not sufficient to make the instinctively courteousRussians stare at or notice them. 

The fourth-class passengers were on the lower deck. Among them was acompany of soldiers in very shabby uniforms, who had been far down theriver earning a little money by working in the harvest fields, wherehands are always too few, and who were returning to garrison at Kazan. Some enterprising passengers from Astrakhan had laid in a large stock ofthe delicious round watermelons and luscious cantaloupe melons. By thetime we reached Kazan, there were not many melons left in thatimprovised shop on the lower deck, Russians are as fond of watermelonsas are the American negroes. 

At Samara we had seen enormous bales of camel's-hair, weighing upwardsof eight hundred pounds, in picturesque mats of red, yellow, and brown, taken on board for the Fair. The porters seemed to find it easy to carrythem on their backs, aided only by a sort of small chair-back, with anarrow, seat-like projection at the lower end, which was fastened bystraps passing over the shoulders and under the arms. When we leftKazan, I noticed that a huge open barge was being towed upstreamalongside us, that it was being filled with these bales, to lighten thesteamer for the sand-bars and shallows of the upper river, and that amonotonous but very musical cadence was being repeated at intervals, inmuffled tones, somewhere on board. I went down to the cargo departmentof the lower deck and found the singers, --the herculean porters. Oneafter another they bent their backs, and two mates hoisted the hugebales, chanting a refrain which enabled them to move and lift in unison. The words were to the following effect: "If all don't grasp together, wecannot lift the weight. " The music was sad, but irresistibly sweet andfascinating, and I stood listening and watching until the great bargewas filled and dropped behind, for the company's tug to pick up and towto Nizhni with a string of other barges. 

It is probably a vulgar detail, but I must chronicle the fact that thecooking on these Volga steamers--on the line we patronized, at least--is among the very best to be found in Russia, in my experience. Onthe voyage upstream, when they are well supplied with sterlet and otherfish, all alive, from Astrakhan, the dinners are treats for which onemay sigh in vain in the capitals of St. Petersburg and Moscow, withtheir mongrel German-French-Russian cookery. The dishes are veryRussian, but they are very good. 

I remember one particularly delicious concoction was composed of freshsterlet and sour cabbage, with white grapes on top, baked to a browncrispness. 

We arrived at our wharf on the Volga front of the old town of NizhniNovgorod about five o'clock in the afternoon. Above us rose the steepgreen hills on whose crest stood the Kremlin, containing several ancientchurches, the governor's house, and so forth. On a lower terrace, toright and left, stood monasteries and churches intermingled with shopsand mediocre dwellings. The only noteworthy church was that in front ofus, with its picturesque but un-Russian rococo plaster decoration on redbrick, crowned by genuine Russian domes and crosses of elaboratelybeautiful patterns. 

But we did not pause long to admire this part of the view, which wasalready familiar to us. What a change had come over the scene since wehad bidden it farewell on our way downstream! Then everything was dead, or slumbering, except the old town, the city proper; and that had notseemed to be any too much awake or alive. The Fair town, situated on thesand-spit between the Volga and the mouth of the Oka, stood locked upand deserted, as it had stood since the close of last year's Fair. Now, as we gazed over the prow of the steamer, we could see the bridge acrossthe Oka black with the swarming masses of pedestrians and equipages. 

The steamer company allows its patrons to sleep (but not to eat) onboard the night after arrival and the night before starting, and weavailed ourselves of the privilege, having heard that it was often noeasy matter to secure accommodations in the Fair, and having nointention of returning to our former hotel, miles from all the fun, inthe upper town, if we could help it. 

The only vacant rooms in the Fair seemed to be at the "best hotel, " towhich we had been recommended, with a smile of amusement which hadpuzzled us, by a Moscow friend, an officer in the army. Prices were veryhigh at this hotel, which, like American summer hotels, is forced tomake its hay for the year during the season of six weeks, after which itis locked up. Our room was small; the floor, of rough boards, was bare;the beds were not comfortable. For the same price, in Petersburg orMoscow, we should have had a spacious room on the _bel etage_, handsomely furnished, with rugs on an inlaid floor. 

Across one corner of the dining-room was built a low platform, on whichstood a piano. We soon discovered its use. Coming in about nine o'clockin the evening, we ordered our _samovar_ for tea in the dining-room, --a most unusual place. The proper place was our own room. But we hadfound a peculiar code of etiquette prevailing here, governed byexcessive modesty and propriety, no doubt, but an obstructionistetiquette, nevertheless. The hall-waiter, whose business it is to servethe _samovar_ and coffee, was not allowed to enter our room, though hisfellows had served us throughout the country, after the fashion of theland. Here we were compelled to wait upon the leisure of thechambermaid, a busy and capricious person, who would certainly not be onhand in the evening if she was not in the morning. Accordingly, weordered our tea in the dining-room, as I have said. Presently, a chorusof girls, dressed all alike, mounted the platform, and sang three songsto an accompaniment banged upon the piano by a man. Being violentlyapplauded by a long table-full of young merchants who sat near, at whomthey had been singing and staring, without any attempt at disguise, andwith whom they had even been exchanging remarks, they sang two songsmore. They were followed by another set of girls, also in a sort ofuniform costume, who sang five songs at the young merchants. It appearedthat one party was called "Russian singers, " and the other "Germansingers. " We found out afterwards, by watching operations on anotherevening, that these five songs formed the extent of their respectiverepertories. 

A woman about forty-five years of age accompanied them into the room, then planted herself with her back against the wall near us, which wasas far away from her charges as space permitted. She was the"sheep-dog, " and we soon saw that, while discreetly oblivious of thesmiles, glances, and behavior of her lambs, --as all well-trainedsociety sheep-dogs are, --she kept darting sharp looks at us as thoughwe were doing something quite out of the way and improper. By that timewe had begun to suspect, for various reasons, that the Nizhni Fair isintended for men, not for--ladies. But we were determined quietly toconvince ourselves of the state of affairs, so we stood our ground, dallied with our tea, drank an enormous quantity of it, and kept oureyes diligently in the direction where those of the sheep-dog shouldhave been, but never were. 

Their very bad singing over, the lambs disappeared to the adjoiningveranda. The young merchants slipped out, one by one. The waiters beganto carry great dishes of peaches, and other dainty fruits, --all worththeir weight in gold in Russia, and especially at Nizhni, --togetherwith bottles of champagne, out to the veranda. When we were satisfied, we went to bed, but not to sleep. The peaches kept that party on theveranda and in the rooms below exhilarated until nearly daylight. Isuppose the duenna did her duty and sat out the revel in the distantsecurity of the dining-room. Several of her charges added a number ofpoints to our store of information the next day, at the noon breakfasthour, when the duenna was not present. 

We began to think that we understood our Moscow friend's enigmaticsmile, and to regret that we had not met him and his wife at the Fair, as we had originally arranged to do. 

The far-famed Fair of Nizhni Novgorod--"Makary, " the Russians call it, from the town and monastery of St. Makary, sixty miles farther down theVolga, where it was held from 1624 until the present location wasadopted in 1824--was a disappointment to us. There is no denying that. Until railways and steamers were introduced into these parts, andfacilitated the distribution of goods, and of commonplaceness andmonotony, it probably merited all the extravagant praises of itspicturesqueness and variety which have been lavished upon it. Thetraveler arrives there with indefinite but vast expectations. A fancydress ball on an enormous scale, combined with an InternationalExposition, would seem to be the nearest approach possible to adescription of his confused anticipations. That is, in a measure, whatone sees; and, on the other hand, it is exactly the reverse of what hesees. I must confess that I think our disappointment was partly our ownfault. Had we, like most travelers who have written extravagantly aboutthe Fair, come to it fresh from a stay of (at most) three weeks in St. Petersburg and Moscow only, we should have been much impressed by thevariety of types and goods, I have no doubt. But we had spent nearly twoyears in the land, and were familiar with the types and goods of thecapitals and of other places, so that there was little that was new tous. Consequently, though we found the Fair very interesting, we were notable to excite ourselves to any extravagant degree of amazement orrapture. 

The Fair proper consists of a mass of two-story "stone" (brick andcement) buildings, inclosed on three sides by a canal in the shape of ahorseshoe. Through the centre runs a broad boulevard planted with trees, ending at the open point of the horseshoe in the residence occupied bythe governor during the Fair (he usually lives in the Kremlin of theUpper Town), the post-office, and other public buildings. Across theother end of the boulevard and "rows" of the Gostinny Dvor, with theirarcades full of benches occupied by fat merchants or indolent visitors, and serving as a chord to the arc of the horseshoe, run the "Chineserows, " which derive their name from the style of their curving ironroofs and their ornaments, not from the nationality of the merchants, orof the goods sold there. It is, probably, a mere accident that thewholesale shops for overland tea are situated in the Chinese rows. It isa good place to see the great bales of "Kiakhta tea, " still in theirwrappings of rawhides, with the hair inside and the hieroglyphicaladdresses, weights, and so forth, cut into the skins, instead of beingpainted on them, just as they have been brought overland from Kiakhta onthe Chinese border of Siberia. Here, also, rises the great MakaryCathedral, which towers conspicuously above the low-roofed town. Insidethe boundary formed by this Belt Canal, no smoking is allowed in thestreets, under penalty of twenty-five rubles for each offense. Thedrainage system is flushed from the river every night; and from theventilation towers, which are placed at short intervals, the blue smokeof purifying fires curls reassuringly. Great care is necessary in thisdepartment, and the sanitary conditions, though as good as possible, arenever very secure. The whole low sandspit is often submerged during thespring floods, and the retreating waters leave a deposit of slime anddebris behind them, which must be cleared away, besides doing muchdamage to the buildings. 

The peculiarity of this Makary Fair is that nothing is sold by sample, in modern fashion; the whole stock of goods is on hand, and is deliveredat once to purchasers. The taciturn, easy-going merchants in thoseinsignificant-looking shops of the Gostinny Dvor "rows, " and, to a smallextent, in the supplementary town which has sprung up outside the canal, set the prices for tea and goods of all sorts all over Russia andSiberia for the ensuing year. Contracts for the future are dated, andlast year's bills fall due, at "Makary. " It is hard to realize. 

All the firms with whose shops we had been familiar in Petersburg andMoscow had establishments here, and, at first, it seemed not worth whileto inspect their stocks, with which we felt perfectly acquainted. But wesoon discovered that our previous familiarity enabled us to distinguishcertain articles which are manufactured for the "Fair" tradeexclusively, and which are never even shown in the capitals. Forexample, the great porcelain houses of St. Petersburg manufacture largepipe-bowls, ewers (with basins to match) of the Oriental shape familiarto the world in silver and brass, and other things, all decorated with adeep crimson bordering on magenta, and with gold. The great silk housesof Moscow prepare very rich and very costly brocades of this same deepcrimson hue, besprinkled with gold and with tiny bouquets of brightflowers, or in which the crimson is prominent. They even copy the large, elaborate patterns from the robes of ancient Doges of Venice. All these, like the pipes and ewers, are made to suit the taste of customers inBokhara and other Eastern countries, where a man's rank is, to a certaindegree, to be recognized by the number and richness of the _khalati_which he can afford to wear at one time. This is one of the points inwhich the civilization of the East coincides very nearly with thecivilization of the West. The _khalat_ is a sort of dressing-gown, withwide sleeves, which is girt about the waist with a handsome shawl; butit would strike a European that eight or ten of these, worn one on topof the other, might conduce to the preservation of vanity, but not tocomfort, in the hot countries where the custom prevails. The Bokhariotsbring to the Fair _khalati_ of their own thin, strong silk, in hues moregaudy than those of the rainbow and the peacock combined, which arealways lined with pretty green and white chintz, and can be bought for avery reasonable price in the Oriental shops, together with jeweled armsand ornaments, rugs, and a great variety of fascinating wares. 

The choicest "overland" tea--the true name is "Kiakhta tea"--can behad only by wholesale, alas! and it is the same with very many things. There are shops full of rolls of _sarpinka_, a fine, changeable ginghamin pink and blue, green and yellow, and a score of other combinations, which washes perfectly, and is made by the peasants far down the Volga, in the season when agricultural labor is impossible. There are furs ofmore sorts than the foreign visitor is likely ever to have seen before;iron from the Ural mines by the ton, on a detached sand-spit in the OkaRiver; dried and salted fish by the cord, in a distant, too odorousspot; goldsmiths' shops; old-clothes shops, where quaint and beautifulold costumes of Russia abound; Tatar shops, filled with fine, multi-colored leather work and other Tatar goods, presided over by thestately Tatars from whom we had bought at Kazan; shops piled with everyvariety of dried fruit, where prime Sultana raisins cost forty cents fora box of one hundred and twenty pounds. Altogether, it is a varied andinstructive medley. 

We learned several trade tricks. For example, we came upon the agency ofa Moscow factory, which makes a woolen imitation of an Oriental silkenfabric, known as _termalama_. The agent acknowledged that it was animitation, and said that the price by the piece was twenty-five cents ayard. In the Moscow Oriental shops the dealers sell it for eight timesthat price, and swear that it is genuine from the East. A Russian friendof ours had been cheated in this way, and the dealers attempted to cheatus also, --in vain, after our Nizhni investigations. 

Every one seemed to be absorbed in business, to the exclusion of everyother thought. But sometimes, as we wandered along the boulevard, andamong the rows, we found the ground of the Gostinny Dvor strewn withfresh sprays of fragrant fir, which we took at first to be a token thata funeral had occurred among some of the merchants' clerks who livedover the shops. However, it appeared that a holy picture had beencarried along the rows, and into the shops of those who desired itsblessing on their trade, and a short service had been held. The "zeal"of these numerous devout persons must have enriched the church where the_ikona_ dwelt, judging from the number, of times during our five days'stay that we came upon these freshly strewn paths. 

The part of the Fair which is most interesting to foreigners in general, I think, is the great glass gallery filled with retail booths, whereRussians sell embroidery and laces and the handiwork of the peasants ingeneral; where Caucasians deal in the beautiful gold and silver work oftheir native mountains; where swarthy Bokhariots sit cross-legged, withimperturbable dignity, among their gay wares, while the band plays, andthe motley crowd bargains and gazes even in the evening when all theother shops are closed. 

I learned here an extra lesson in the small value attached by Russiansto titles in themselves. It was at the Ekaterinburg booth, whereprecious and semi-precious stones from the Ural and Siberia, in greatvariety and beauty, were for sale. A Russian of the higher classes, and, evidently, not poor, inquired the price of a rosary of amethysts, with across of assorted gems fit for a bishop. The attendant mentioned theprice. It did not seem excessive, but the bargainer exclaimed, in abantering tone, --

"Come now, prince, that's the fancy price. Tell me the real price. "

But the "prince" would not make any reduction, and his customer walkedaway. I thought I would try the effect of the title on the Caucasiansand Bokhariots. I had already dropped into the habit of addressingTatars as "prince, " except in the case of hotel waiters, --and I mightas well have included them. I found to my amusement that, instead ofresenting it as an impertinence, they reduced the price of the articlefor which I was bargaining by five kopeks (about two and a half cents)every time I used the title, though no sign of gratification disturbedthe serene gravity of their countenances any more than if they had beenAmericans and I had addressed them as "colonel" or "judge, " athaphazard. Truly, human nature varies little under different skies! ButI know now, authoritatively, that the market value of the title of"prince" is exactly two and a half cents. 

One evening we drove across the bridge to take tea at a garden on the"Atkos, " or slope, --the crest of the green hill on which stands theKremlin. In this Atkos quarter of the town there are some really finehouses of wealthy merchants, mingled with the curious old dwellings ofthe merely well-to-do and the poor. In the garden the tea was not verygood, and the weedy-looking chorus of women, the inevitable adjunct toevery eating establishment at the Fair, as we had learned, sangwretchedly, and were rewarded accordingly when one of their number cameround to take up a collection. But the view! Far below, at our feet, swept broad "Matushka Volga. " The wharves were crowded with vessels. Steamers and great barges lay anchored in the stream in battalions. Though the activity of the day was practically over, tugs and smallboats were darting about and lending life to the scene. We were on the"Hills" side of the river. Far away, in dreamy dimness, lay the flat, blue-green line of the "Forests" shore. On our left was the mouth of theOka, and the Fair beyond, which seemed to be swarming with ants, layflat on the water level. The setting sun tinged the scene with pale roseand amber in a mild glow for a while, and then the myriad lights shoneout from the city and river with even more charming effect. 

Our next visit to the old town was in search of a writer who hadpublished a couple of volumes of agreeable sketches. It was raininghard, so we engaged an _izvostchik_ who was the fortunate possessor ofan antiquated covered carriage, with a queer little drapery of scarletcotton curtains hanging from the front of the hood, as though to screenthe modesty of "the young person" from the manners, customs, and sightsof the Fair, --about which, to tell the truth, the less that is said indetail the better. Certainly, more queer, old-fashioned carriages andcabmen's costumes are to be seen at the Fair than anywhere else in thecountry. As we were about to enter our antique conveyance, my mother'sfoot caught in the braid on the bottom of her dress, and a long stripgave way. 

"I must go upstairs and sew this on before we start, " said she, reentering the hotel. 

The _izvostchik_ ran after us. "Let me sew it on, Your High Well-born, "he cried. Seeing our surprise, he added, "God is my witness, --_yayBogu!_ I am a tailor by trade. "

His rent and faded coat did not seem to indicate anything of the sort, but I thought I would try him, as I happened to have a needleful of silkand a thimble in my pocket. I gave them to him accordingly. He kneltdown and sewed on the braid very neatly and strongly in no time. Hissimple, friendly manner was irresistibly charming. I cannot imagineaccepting such an offer from a New York cabby, --or his offering to dosuch a job. 

When we reached the old town, I asked a policeman where to find myauthor. I thought he might be able to tell me at once, as the town isnot densely populated, especially with authors;--and for otherreasons. He did not know. 

"Then where is the police office or the address office?" I asked. (Thereis no such thing as a directory in Russian cities, even in St. Petersburg. But there is an address office where the names andresidences on passports are filed, and where one can obtain the addresswanted by paying a small fee, and filling out a form. But he must knowthe baptismal name and the patronymic as well as the surname, and, ifthe person wanted be not "noble, " his profession or trade in addition!)

"There is no address office, " he answered, "and the police office isclosed. It is after four o'clock. Besides, if it were open, you couldnot find out there. We keep no record here, except of soldiers andstrangers. "

I thought the man was jesting, but after questioning him further, I wasforced to conclude that it might be true, thought it certainly wasamazing. As the author in question had been sent to Siberia once ortwice, on the charge of complicity in some revolutionary proceedings, itdid seem as though the police ought to be able to give his address, ifRussia meant to live up to the reputation for strict surveillance ofevery soul within her borders which foreigners have kindly bestowed uponher. 

As a house-to-house visitation was impossible, I abandoned the quest, and drove to a photographer's to buy some views of the town. Thephotographer proved to be a chatty, vivacious man, and full ofinformation. I mentioned my dilemma to him. He said that the policemanhad told the exact truth, but that my author, to his positive knowledge, was in the Crimea, "looking up material. " Then he questioned me as towhat we had seen at the Fair, mentioning one or two places of eveningentertainment. I replied that we had not been to those places. I hadunderstood that they were not likely to suit my taste. Had I beenrightly informed, or ought I to have gone to them in spite of warning?

"No, " he replied frankly, after a momentary hesitation, "you ought notto see them. But all the American women do go to them. There was a partyhere last year. O-o-o-oh, how they went on! They were told, as you havebeen, that they ought not to go to certain places; so of course theywent, and took the men in the party with them, --which was just aswell. I'd have given something to see their faces at the time, or evenafterwards! An Englishman, who had traveled everywhere, and had seeneverything, told me that nowhere, even in India, had he seen the like ofthe doings at this Fair; and he was greatly shocked. " He added that anofficer could not appear at these places in uniform. 

I begged the photographer to remember in future that there were severalsorts of American women, and that not all of them worked by the law ofcontraries. In my own mind I wondered what those particular women haddone, and wished, for the hundredth time, that American women abroadwould behave themselves properly, and not earn such a reputation fortheir country-people. 

On Sunday we went to the Armenian church, to see the service and to meetsome Armenian acquaintances. We found the service both like and unlikethe Russian, in many points approaching more nearly to the Greek form. The music was astonishing. An undercurrent of sound, alternating betweena few notes, was kept up throughout the service, almost without a break. At times, this undercurrent harmonized with the main current of intoningand chanting, but quite as often the discord was positively distressing. Perceiving that we were strangers, the Armenians showed theirhospitality in an original way. First, when one of the congregation wentforward to the chancel railing and received from the priest the triplekiss of peace, which he then proceeded to communicate to another person, who passed it on in dumb show, and so on through the whole assembly, neither men nor women would run the risk of offending us by offering thesimulated kiss. Secondly, and more peculiar, besides throwing light ontheir motives in omitting the kiss, they deliberately passed us by whenthey brought round the plate for the collection! This was decidedlynovel! A visit to the Armenian church in St. Petersburg convinced usthat the discordant music was not an accident due to bad training, butdeliberate and habitual. I noticed also that the men and women, thoughthey stood on opposite sides of the church, as with the Russian OldRitualists, with the women on the left, --in the State Church, atCourt, the women stand on the right, --they crossed themselves fromleft to right, like Roman Catholics, instead of the other way about, asdo the Russians. 

As we were exploring the Tatar shops at noon, we heard the muezzincalling to prayer from the minaret of the mosque close by, and we setoff to attend the service. If we had only happened to have on ourgaloshes, we might have complied with etiquette by removing them, Isuppose, and could have entered in our shoes. At least, the Russianpoliceman said so, and that is very nearly what the Tatars did. Theykicked off the stiff leather slippers in which they scuff about, andentered in their tall boots, with the inset of frosted green pebbledhorsehide in the heel, and soft soles, like socks. As it was, we did notcare to try the experiment of removing our shoes, and so we were obligedto stand in the vestibule, and look on from the threshold. Each Tatar, as he entered, pulled out the end of his turban, and let it float downhis back. Where the turban came from for the prayers, I do not know. None of the Tatars had worn a turban in the shops from which they hadjust come in large numbers, abandoning the pressing engagements of thebusy noontide. Several individuals arrived very late, and decided not toenter. All of these late comers, one after the other, beckoned memysteriously out of sight of the congregation and the _mollah_, andwhispered eagerly:--

"How do you like it?"

"_Very_ much, " I answered emphatically; whereupon they exhibited signsof delight which were surprising in such grave people, and even made amotion to kiss my hand. 

At least, that is what the motion would have meant from a Russian. Nextto the magnificent ceremonial of the Russian Church, the oppositeextreme, this simplicity of the congregational Mussulman worship is themost impressive I have ever seen. 

The manner of our departure from Nizhni Novgorod was characteristicallyRussian, --but not by our own choice. We decided to go on up the Volgaby steamer, see the river and a few of the towns, and return from somepoint, by rail, to Moscow. 

The boat was advertised to start from the wharf, in the old town, at sixo'clock in the evening. We went aboard in good season, and discoveredthat there were but three first-class staterooms, the best of which (theonly good one, as it afterwards appeared) had been captured by somefriends of the captain. We installed ourselves in the best we could get, and congratulated each other when the steamer started on time. We hadhardly finished the congratulations when it drew up at another wharf andmade fast. Then it was explained to us that it was to load at thiswharf, at the "Siberian Landing, " a point on the Volga shore of the Fairsand-spit, miles nearer our hotel than the one to which we had driventhrough torrents of rain. We were to make our real start at ten o'clockthat night! The cold was piercing. We wrapped ourselves up in our waddedcloaks and in a big down quilt which we had with us, and tried to sleep, amid the deliberate bang-bang-bang of loading. When the cargo was in weslept. When we woke in the morning we began to exchange remarks, beingstill in that half comatose condition which follows heavy slumber. 

"What a delightfully easy boat!" "Who would have expected suchsmoothness of motion from such an inferior-looking old craft?" "It mustbe very swift to have no motion at all perceptible. Whereabouts are we, and how much have we missed?"

I rose and raised the blind. The low shore opposite and far away, thesandy islet near at hand, the river, --all looked suspiciously likewhat our eyes had rested upon when we went to bed the night before. Wewould not believe it at first, but it was true, that we had not moved afoot, but were still tied up at the Siberian Landing. Thence we returnedto the town wharf, no apologies or explanations being forthcoming or tobe extracted, whence we made a final start at about nine o'clock, onlyfifteen hours late! And the company professed to be "American"!

Progress up the river was slow. The cold rain and wind prevented ouravailing ourselves of the tiny deck. The little saloon had no outlook, being placed in the middle of the boat. The shores and villages were notof striking interest, after our acquaintance with the lower Volga. Forhours all the other passengers (chiefly second-class) were abed, apparently. I returned to my cabin to kill time with reading, andpresently found the divan and even the floor and partition wallsbecoming intolerably hot, and exhaling a disagreeable smell of charredwood. I set out on a tour of investigation. In the next compartment tous, which had the outward appearance of a stateroom, but was inclosed onthe outside only by a lattice-work, was the smoke-pipe. The whistle wasjust over our heads, and the pipe almost touched the partition wall ofour cabin. That partly explained the deadly chill of the night before, and the present suffocating heat. I descended to the lower deck. Therestood the engine, almost as rudimentary as a parlor stove, in full sightand directly under our cabin; also close to the woodwork. It burnedwood, and at every station the men brought a supply on board; thesticks, laid across two poles in primitive but adequate fashion, beingdeposited by the simple process of widening the space between the poles, and letting the wood fall on the deck with a noise like thunder. Thehalts and "wooding up" seemed especially frequent at night, and therewas not much opportunity for sleep between them. Our fear of beingburned alive also deprived us of the desire to sleep. We were nearlyroasted, as it was, and had to go out on the deck in the wind and rainat short intervals, to cool off. 

There was nothing especially worthy of note at any of the landings, beyond the peculiar windmills, except at Gorodetz, which is renowned forthe manufacture of spice-cakes, so the guide-book said. I watchedanxiously for Gorodetz, went ashore, and bought the biggest "spice-cake"I could find from an old woman on the wharf. All the other passengerslanded for the same purpose, and the old woman did a rushing business. After taking a couple of mouthfuls, I decided that I was unable toappreciate the merits of my cake, as I had been, after repeated efforts, to appreciate those of a somewhat similar concoction known under thename of "Vyazemsky. " So I gave the cake to the grateful stewardess, andwent out on deck to look at a ray of sunlight. 

"Where's your cake?" asked a stern voice at my elbow. The speaker was aman with long hair and beard, dressed like a peasant, in a conical furcap and a sheepskin coat, though his voice, manner, and generalappearance showed that he belonged to the higher classes. Perhaps he wasan "adept" of Count Tolstoy, and was merely masquerading in thatcostume, which was very comfortable, though it was only September. 

"I gave it to the stewardess, " I answered meekly, being taken bysurprise. 

"What! Didn't you eat it? Don't you know, madam, that these spice-cakesare renowned for their qualities all over Russia, and are even carriedto the remotest parts of Siberia and of China, also, I believe, in greatquantities? [He had got ahead of the guide-book in that lastparticular!] _Why_ didn't you eat it?"

"It did not taste good; and besides, I was afraid of indigestion. Itseemed never to have been cooked, unless by exposure to the sun, and itwas soggy and heavy as lead. You know there has been a great deal ofrain lately, and what sun we have even now is very pale and weak, hardlyadapted to baking purposes. "

This seemed to enrage my hairy mentor, and he poured out a volume ofindignant criticism, reproach, and ejaculations, all tangled up withfragments of cookery receipts, though evidently not the receipt for theGorodetz cakes, which is a secret. The other passengers listened inamazement and delight. When he paused for breath, I remarked:--

"Well, I don't see any harm in having bestowed such a delicate luxury onthe poor stewardess. Did any of you think to buy a cake for her? And whynot? I denied myself to give her pleasure. Look at it in that light fora while, sir, if my bad taste offends you. And, in the mean while, tellme what has inspired you with the taste to dress like a peasant?"

That settled him, and he retreated. That evening he and the friend withwhom he seemed to be traveling talked most entertainingly in the littlesaloon, after supper. The friend, a round, rosy, jolly man, dressed inordinary European clothes, was evidently proud of his flow of language, and liked to hear himself talk. Actors, actresses, and theatres inRussia, from the middle of the last century down to the present day, were his favorite topic, on which he declaimed with appropriate gesturesand very noticeable management of several dimples in his cheeks. As amatter of course, he considered the present day degenerate, and laudedthe old times and dead actors and actresses only. It seemed that thelonger they had been dead, the higher were their merits. He talked verywell, also, about books and social conditions. 

The progress of the weak-kneed steamer against wind and current was veryslow and uncertain, and we never knew when we should reach any givenpoint. Even the mouths of the rivers were not so exciting or importantin nature as they used to look to me when I studied geography. Iimparted to the captain my opinion that his engine was no better than a_samovar_. He tried hard to be angry, but a glance at that ridiculousmachine convinced him of the justice of my comparison, and he broke intoa laugh. 

We left the steamer at Yaroslavl (it was bound for Rybinsk), two hundredand forty-one miles above Nizhni-Novgorod, and got our first view of thetown at daybreak. It stands on the high west bank of the river, but isnot so picturesque as Nizhni. Access to the town is had only throughhalf a dozen cuts and ravines, as at Nizhni; and what a singular town itis! With only a little over thirty thousand inhabitants, it hasseventy-seven churches, besides monasteries and other ecclesiasticalbuildings. There are streets which seem to be made up chiefly ofchurches, --churches of all sizes and colors, crowned with beautifuland fantastic domes, which, in turn, are surmounted by crosses of themost charming and original designs. 

Yaroslavl, founded in 1030, claims the honor of having had the firstRussian theatre, and to have sheltered Biron, the favorite of theEmpress Anna Ioannovna (a doubtful honor this), with his family, duringnineteen years of exile. But its architectural hints and revelations ofancient fashions, forms, and customs, are its chief glory, not to beobscured even by its modern renown for linen woven by hand and bymachinery. For a person who really understands Russian architecture, --not the architecture of St. Petersburg, which is chiefly the inventionof foreigners, --Yaroslavl and other places on the northern Volga inthis neighborhood, widely construed, are mines of information anddelight. However, as there are no books wherewith a foreigner can informhimself on this subject, any attempt at details would not only seempedantic, but would be incomprehensible without tiresome explanationsand many illustrations, which are not possible here. I may remark, however, that Viollet-le-Duc and Fergusson do not understand the subjectof Russian architecture, and that their few observations on the matterare nearly all as erroneous as they well can be. I believe that very fewRussians even know much scientifically about the development of theirnational architecture from the Byzantine style. Yaroslavl is a goodplace to study it, and has given its name to one epoch of thatdevelopment. 

With the exception of the churches, Yaroslavl has not much to show tothe visitor; but the bazaar was a delight to us, with its queer pottery, its baskets for moulding bread, its bread-trays for washtubs, and adozen other things in demand by the peasants as to which we had to askexplanations. 

Breezy, picturesque Yaroslavl, with its dainty, independent cabbies, whoobject to the mud which must have been their portion all their lives, and reject rare customers rather than drive through it; with itschurches never to be forgotten; its view of the Volga, and its typicalRussian features! It was a fitting end to our Volga trip, and fullyrepaid us for our hot-cold voyage with the _samovar_ steamer against thestream, though I had not believed, during the voyage, that anythingcould make up for the tedium. If I were to visit it again, I wouldapproach it from the railway side and leave it to descend the river. ButI would not advise any foreigner to tackle it at all, unless he be aswell prepared as we were to appreciate its remarkable merits in certaindirections. 

A night's journey landed us in Moscow. But even the glories of Moscowcannot make us forget the city of Yaroslaff the Great and NizhniNovgorod.