order a _telyayga_ (cart) and start anew for Imatra Foss. Our vehicle
is simply a wooden tray on wheels, with a bag of hay in it, on which we
do our best to recline, while our driver perches himself on the edge of
the cart, thereby doubtless realizing vividly the sensation of rowing
hard in a pair of thin unmentionables. Thanks to the perpetual gaps in
the road formed by the great thaw two months ago (the Finnish winter
ending about the beginning of May), during the greater part of the ride
we play an animated though involuntary game of cup-and-ball, being
thrown up and caught again incessantly. At length a dull roar, growing
ever louder and louder, breaks the dreamy stillness of the forest, and
before long we come to a little chalet-like inn embosomed in trees,
where we alight, for this is the "Imatra Hotel."
Let us cast one glance out of the back window before sitting down to
supper (in a long, bare, chilly chamber like a third-class waiting
room), for such a view is not seen every day. We are on the very brink
of a deep narrow gorge, the upper part of which is so thickly clad with
pines as to resemble the crest of some gigantic helmet, but beneath
the naked granite stands out in all its grim barrenness, lashed by the
spray of the mighty torrent that roars between its projecting rocks.
Just below us, the river, forced back by a huge boulder in the centre
of its course, literally piles itself up into a kind of liquid mound,
foaming, flashing, and trembling incessantly, the ceaseless motion
and tremendous din of the rapids having an indescribably bewildering
effect....
But the lake itself is, if possible, even more picturesque than the
river. It is one of those long, straggling bodies of water so common
in the far North, resembling not so much one great lake as an endless
series of small ones. Just at the sortie of the river a succession of
rapids, scarcely less magnificent than those of the "Foss" itself,
rush between the wooded shores, their unresting whirl and fury
contrasting gloriously with the vast expanse of glassy water above,
crested with leafy islets and mirroring the green boughs that droop
over it along the shore. Here did we spend many a night fishing and
"spinning yarns," in both of which accomplishments the ex-chasseur
was pre-eminent; and strange enough it seemed, lying in the depths
of that northern forest, to listen to descriptions of the treeless
sands of Egypt and the burning wastes of the Sahara. Our midnight
camp, on a little promontory just above the rapids, was a study for
Rembrandt,--the slender pine-stems reddened by the blaze of our
camp-fire; the group of bearded faces coming and going as the light
waxed and waned; beyond the circle of light a gloom all the blacker
for the contrast; the ghostly white of the foam shimmering through the
leaves, and the clear moonlit sky overhanging all.
When a wet day came upon us the inexhaustible ex-chasseur (who, like
Frederick the Great, could "do everything but keep still") amused
himself and us with various experiments in cookery, of which art he
was a perfect master. His versatility in sauces might have aroused the
envy of Soyer himself, and the party having brought with them a large
stock of provisions, he was never at a loss for materials. Our ordinary
dinner consisted of trout sauced with red wine, mutton, veal, duck,
cheese, fresh strawberries, and coffee; after which every man took his
tumbler of tea, with a slice of lemon in it, from the stove, and the
evening began.
_The_ sight of the country, however, is undoubtedly the natives
themselves. Their tawny skins, rough yellow hair, and coarse flat faces
would look uninviting enough to those who have never seen a Kalmuck
or a Samoyede, but, despite their diet of dried fish and bread mixed
with sawdust both men and women are remarkably healthy and capable of
surprising feats of strength and endurance. They make great use of bark
for caps, shoes, plates, etc., in the making of which they are very
skilful. As to their dress, it baffles description, and the horror of
my friend the ex-chasseur at his first glimpse of it was as good as a
play....
But there needs only a short journey here to show the folly of further
annexations on the part of Russia while those already made are so
lamentably undeveloped. Finland, which, rightly handled, might be one
of the Czar's richest possessions, is now, after nearly seventy years'
occupation, as unprofitable as ever. Throughout the whole province
there are only three hundred and ninety-eight miles of railway. Post
roads, scarce enough in the South, are absolutely wanting in the North.
Steam navigation on the Gulf of Bothnia extends only to Uleaborg, and
is, so far as I can learn, actually non-existent on the great lakes,
except between Tanasthuus and Tammerfors. Such is the state of a land
containing boundless water-power, countless acres of fine timber,
countless ship-loads of splendid granite. But what can be expected of
an untaught population under two millions left to themselves in an
unreclaimed country nearly as large as France?
But better days are now dawning on the afflicted land. Roads and
railways are being pushed forward into the interior, and the ill-judged
attempts formerly made to Russianize the population have given place
to a more conciliatory policy. A Russian from Helsingfors tells me
that lectures are being delivered there, and extracts from native
works read, in the aboriginal tongue; that it is being treated with
special attention in the great schools of Southern Finland; that there
has even been some talk of dramatic representations in Finnish at the
Helsingfors theatre.
MOSCOW IN 1800.
EDWARD DANIEL CLARKE.
[Of the English travellers of the latter part of the last
century, none acquired greater distinction than Dr. Clarke. Born
in Sussex in 1769, in 1790 he made a tour of Great Britain, in
1792 visited France, Switzerland, and Italy, and in 1799 started
on a three-years' tour of Northern Europe, Turkey, Syria, Egypt,
etc., publishing, in 1810, "Travels in Various Parts of Europe,
Asia, and Africa," one of the most delightful and popular works of
travel ever issued, and which has given him a durable celebrity.
He died in 1822. We give below a portion of his animated
description of Moscow, which he visited in 1800, years before the
invasion of Napoleon and the burning of this celebrated Russian
capital.]
There is nothing more extraordinary in this country than the transition
of the seasons. The people of Moscow have no spring: winter _vanishes_,
and summer _is_. This is not the work of a week, or a day, but of one
instant, and the manner of it exceeds belief. We came from Petersburg
to Moscow on sledges. The next day snow was gone. On the 8th of April,
at mid-day, snow beat in at our carriage windows. On the same day, at
sunset, arriving in Moscow, we had difficulty in being dragged through
the mud to the commandant's. The next morning the streets were dry, the
double windows had been removed from the houses, the casements thrown
open, all the carriages were upon wheels, and the balconies filled with
spectators. Another day brought with it twenty-three degrees of heat of
Celsius, when the thermometer was placed in the shade at noon.
We arrived at the season of the year in which this city is most
interesting to strangers. Moscow is in everything extraordinary, as
well in disappointing expectation as in surpassing it; in causing
wonder and derision, pleasure and regret. Let me conduct the reader
back with me again to the gate by which we entered, and thence through
the streets. Numerous spires, glittering with gold, amidst burnished
domes and painted palaces, appear in the midst of an open plain for
several versts before you reach this gate. Having passed, you look
about, and wonder what has become of the city, or where you are, and
are ready to ask, once more, "How far is it to Moscow?" They will tell
you, "This is Moscow!" and you behold nothing but a wide and scattered
suburb,--houses, gardens, pigsties, brick walls, churches, dung-hills,
palaces, timber-yards, warehouses, and a refuse, as it were, of
materials, sufficient to stock an empire with miserable towns and
miserable villages.
One might imagine all the states of Europe and Asia had sent a
building, by way of representative, to Moscow, and, under this
impression, the eye is presented with deputies from all countries,
holding congress: timber huts from regions beyond the Arctic; plastered
palaces from Sweden and Denmark, not whitewashed since their arrival;
painted walls from the Tyrol; mosques from Constantinople; Tartar
temples from Bucharia; pagodas, pavilions, and verandas from China;
cabarets from Spain; dungeons, prisons, and public offices from France;
architectural ruins from Rome; terraces and trellises from Naples, and
warehouses from Wapping.
[Illustration: MOSCOW]
Having heard accounts of its immense population, you wander through
deserted streets. Passing suddenly towards the quarter where the shops
are situated, you might walk upon the heads of thousands. The daily
throng is there so immense that, unable to force a passage through it,
or assign any motive that might convene such a multitude, you ask the
cause, and are told that it is always the same. Nor is the costume
less various than the aspect of the buildings. Greeks, Turks, Tartars,
Cossacks, Chinese, Muscovites, English, French, Italians, Poles,
Germans, all parade in the habits of their respective countries.
We were in a Russian inn, a complete epitome of the city itself.
The next room to ours was filled by ambassadors from Persia. In a
chamber beyond the Persians lodged a party of Kirghisians, a people
yet unknown, and any one of whom might be exhibited in a cage as some
newly-discovered species. They had bald heads, covered by conical
embroidered caps, and wore sheep's hides. Beyond the Kirghisians lodged
a _nidus_ of Bucharians, wild as the asses of Numidia. All these were
ambassadors from their respective districts, extremely jealous of each
other, who had been to Petersburg to treat of commerce, peace, and war.
The doors of all our chambers opened into one gloomy passage, so that
sometimes we all encountered, and formed a curious masquerade. The
Kirghisians and Bucharians were best at arm's length; but the worthy
old Persian, whose name was Orazai, often exchanged visits with us.
He brought us presents, according to the custom of his country, and
was much pleased with an English pocketknife we had given him, with
which he said he should shave his head. At his devotions he stood
silent for an hour together, on two small carpets, barefooted, with his
face towards Mecca, holding, as he said, intellectual converse with
Mohammed....
Ambassadors of other more Oriental hordes drove into the court-yard of
the inn from Petersburg. The Emperor had presented each of them with a
barouche. Never was anything more ludicrous than their appearance. Out
of respect to the sovereign they had maintained a painful struggle to
preserve their seat, sitting cross-legged, like Turks. The snow having
melted, they had been jolted in this manner over the trunks of trees,
which form a timber causeway between Petersburg and Moscow; so that,
when taken from their fine new carriages, they could hardly crawl, and
made the most pitiable grimaces imaginable. A few days after coming to
Moscow they ordered all the carriages to be sold for whatever sum any
person would offer.
[Immediately after Mr. Clarke's arrival at Moscow the Easter
ceremonies were celebrated with great pomp and display. Of
these he gives an animated description, of which we select the
concluding portion.]
The third and most magnificent ceremony of all is celebrated two hours
after midnight, in the morning of Easter Sunday. It is called the
ceremony of the Resurrection, and certainly exceeded everything of the
kind celebrated at Rome, or anywhere else. I have not seen so splendid
a sight in any Roman Catholic country, not even that of the benediction
by the Pope during the Holy Week.
At midnight the great bell of the cathedral tolled. Its vibrations
seemed the rolling of distant thunder, and they were instantly
accompanied by the noise of all the bells in Moscow. Every inhabitant
was stirring, and the rattling of carriages in the streets was greater
than at noonday. The whole city was in a blaze, for lights were seen
in all the windows, and innumerable torches in the streets. The tower
of the cathedral was illuminated from its foundation to its cross.
The same ceremony takes place in all the churches; and, what is truly
surprising, considering their number, it is said they are all equally
crowded.
We hastened to the cathedral, which was filled with a prodigious
assembly of all ranks and sexes, bearing lighted wax tapers, to
be afterwards heaped as vows on the different shrines. The walls,
ceilings, and every part of this building are covered by the pictures
of saints and martyrs. In the moment of our arrival the doors were
shut, and on the outside appeared Reato, the archbishop, preceded by
banners and torches, and followed by all his train of priests, with
crucifixes and censers, who were making three times, in procession, the
tour of the cathedral, chanting with loud voices, and glittering in
sumptuous vestments, covered by gold, silver, and precious stones. The
snow had not melted so rapidly in the Kremlin as in the streets of the
city, and this magnificent procession was therefore constrained to move
upon planks over the deep mud which surrounded the cathedral.
After completing the third circuit they all halted opposite the great
doors, which were shut; and the archbishop, with a censer, scattered
incense against the doors and over the priests. Suddenly these doors
were opened, and the effect was beyond description great. The immense
throng of spectators within, bearing innumerable tapers, formed two
lines, through which the archbishop entered, advancing with his train
to a throne near the centre. The profusion of lights in all parts of
the cathedral, and, among others, of the enormous chandelier which
hung from the centre, the richness of the dresses, and the vastness
of the assembly, filled us with astonishment. Having joined the suite
of the archbishop, we accompanied the procession, and passed even
to the throne, on which the police officers permitted us to stand,
among the priests, near an embroidered stool of satin, placed for
the archbishop. The loud chorus which burst forth at the entrance to
the church continued as the procession moved towards the throne, and
after the archbishop had taken his seat, when my attention was for a
moment called off by seeing one of the Russians earnestly crossing
himself with his right hand, while his left was employed in picking my
companion's pocket of his handkerchief.
Soon after the archbishop descended, and went all round the cathedral,
first offering incense to the priests, and then to the people, as he
passed along. When he had returned to his seat the priests, two by two,
performed the same ceremony, beginning with the archbishop, who rose
and made obeisance with a lighted taper in his hand. From the moment
the church doors were opened the spectators had continued bowing their
heads and crossing themselves, insomuch that some of the people seemed
really exhausted by the constant motion of the head and hands.
I had now leisure to examine the dresses and figures of the priests,
which were certainly the most striking I ever saw. Their long dark
hair, without powder, fell down in ringlets, or straight and thick,
far over their rich robes and shoulders. Their dark thick beards,
also, entirely covered their breasts. On the heads of the archbishop
and bishops were high caps, covered with gems and adorned by miniature
paintings, set in jewels, of the crucifixion, the Virgin, and the
saints. Their robes of various-colored satin were of the most costly
embroidery, and even on these were miniature pictures set with precious
stones....
After two hours had been spent in various ceremonies, the archbishop
advanced, holding forth a cross, which all the people crowded to
embrace, squeezing each other nearly to suffocation. As soon, however,
as their eagerness had been somewhat satisfied, he retired to the
sacristy, where, putting on a plain purple robe, he again advanced,
exclaiming three times in a very loud voice, "Christ is risen!"
The most remarkable part of the solemnity now followed. The archbishop,
descending into the body of the church, concluded the whole ceremony
by crawling round the pavement on his hands and knees, kissing the
consecrated pictures, whether on the pillars, the walls, the altars,
or the tombs, the priests and all the people imitating his example.
Sepulchres were opened and all the mummied bodies of incorruptible
saints exhibited, all of which underwent the same general kissing.
Thus was Easter proclaimed, and riot and debauchery instantly broke
loose. The inn in which we lodged became a pandemonium. Drinking,
dancing, and singing continued through the night and day. But in the
midst of all these excesses quarrels hardly ever took place. The wild,
rude riot of a Russian populace is full of humanity. Few disputes are
heard; no blows are given; no lives endangered, but by drinking. No
meetings take place of any kind without repeating the expressions of
peace and joy, _Christos voscress!_ "Christ is risen!" to which the
answer always is the same, _Vo isteney voscress!_ "He is risen indeed!"
On Easter Monday begins the presentation of the paschal eggs: lovers to
their mistresses, relatives to each other, servants to their masters,
all bring ornamented eggs. Every offering at this season is called a
paschal egg. The meanest pauper in the street, presenting an egg, and
repeating the words, _Christos voscress_, may demand a salute, even of
the Empress. All business is laid aside; the upper ranks are engaged in
visiting, balls, dinners, suppers, and masquerades, while boors fill
the air with their songs or roll drunk about the streets. Servants
appear in new and tawdry liveries, and carriages in the most sumptuous
parade....
After London and Constantinople, Moscow is, doubtless, the most
remarkable city in Europe. A stranger, passing rapidly through, might
pronounce it the dullest, dirtiest, and most uninteresting city in
the world, while another, having resided there, would affirm that it
had rather the character of a great commercial and wealthy metropolis
of a vast and powerful empire. If the grandeur and riches of the
inhabitants are to be estimated by the number of equipages, and the
number of horses attached to each, Moscow would excel in splendor all
the cities of the globe. There is hardly an individual, above the rank
of plebeian, who would be seen without four horses to his carriage,
and the generality have six. But the manner in which this pomp is
displayed is a perfect burlesque upon stateliness. A couple of ragged
boys are placed as postilions, before a coachman in such sheep's hides
as are worn by the peasants in the woods, and behind the carriage are
stationed a couple of lackeys, more tawdry but not less ludicrous
than their drivers. To give all this greater effect, the traces of
the horses are so long that it requires considerable management to
preserve the horses from being entangled whenever they turn the corner
of a street or make a halt. Notwithstanding this, no stranger, however
he may deride its absurdity, will venture to visit the nobles, if
he wishes for their notice, without four horses to his chariot, a
ragged coachman and postilion, and a parade of equipage that must
excite his laughter in proportion as it insures their countenance and
approbation....
The numberless bells of Moscow continue to ring during the whole of
Easter week, tinkling and tolling without any kind of harmony or order.
The large bell near the cathedral is only used on important occasions,
and yields the finest and most solemn tone I ever heard. When it
sounds, a deep and hollow murmur vibrates all over Moscow, like the
fullest and lowest tones of a vast organ, or the rolling of distant
thunder. This bell is suspended in a tower called the Belfry of St.
Ivan, beneath others which, though of less size, are enormous. It is
forty feet nine inches in circumference, sixteen inches and a half
thick, and it weighs more than fifty-seven tons.
The Kremlin is, above all other places, most worthy a traveller's
notice. It was our evening walk, whenever we could escape the
engagements of society. The view it affords of the city surpasses every
other, both in singularity and splendor, especially from St. Ivan's
tower. This fortress is surrounded on all sides by walls, towers,
and ramparts, and stuffed full of domes and steeples. The appearance
differs in every point of view, on account of the strange irregularity
in the edifices it contains....
The great bell of Moscow, known to be the largest ever founded, is in
a deep pit in the midst of the Kremlin. The history of its fall is a
fable, and, as writers are accustomed to copy each other, the story
continues to be propagated. The fact is, the bell remains in the place
where it was originally cast. It never was suspended. The Russians
might as well attempt to suspend a first-rate line-of-battle ship with
all its guns and stores. A fire took place in the Kremlin, the flames
of which caught the building erected over the pit in which the bell
yet remained, in consequence of which the metal became hot, and water
thrown to extinguish the fire fell upon the bell, causing the fracture
which has taken place.
The entrance is by a trap-door placed even with the surface of the
earth. We found the steps very dangerous. Some of them were wanting,
and others broken, which occasioned me a severe fall down the whole
extent of the first flight and a narrow escape for my life in not being
dashed upon the bell. In consequence of this accident a sentinel was
stationed afterwards at the trap-door to prevent people from becoming
victims to their curiosity. He might have been as well employed in
mending the steps as in waiting all day to say that they were broken.
The bell is truly a mountain of metal. They relate that it contains
a very large proportion of gold and silver, for that, while it was
in fusion, the people cast in, as votive offerings, their plate and
money. It is permitted to doubt the truth of traditionary tales,
particularly in Russia, where people are much disposed to relate
what they have heard without once reflecting on its probability. I
endeavored in vain to assay a small part. The natives regard it with
superstitious veneration, and they would not allow even a grain to be
filed off; at the same time it may be said the compound has a white,
shining appearance, unlike bell-metal in general, and perhaps its
silvery appearance has strengthened, if not given rise to, a conjecture
respecting the richness of its materials.
[The bell, two feet above its lower part,--which was buried in
the earth,--measured in circumference sixty-seven feet four
inches; its height was twenty-one feet four and a half inches; in
its thickest part it measured twenty-three inches. The estimated
weight is four hundred and forty-three thousand seven hundred and
seventy-two pounds.]