rival bidders for custom shrieked with laughter at his wit, the official
fled, and I tried in vain--wonderful to relate--to get the attention
of the group and offer them a fresh opportunity for discussion by trying
to 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. I
do not own the man at present, but he has announced his firm intention
of accompanying me to America. I asked him how he would get along
without 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 a
black-haired _izvostchik_ have a fight for my custom nearly every time I
go out. Fighting for custom--in words--is the regular thing, but the
way these men do it convulses with laughter everybody within hearing,
which is at least half a block. It is the fashion here to take an
interest in chafferings with cabmen and in other street scenes.
"'She's to ride with me!' shouts one. '_Barynya_, I drove you to Vasily
Island one day, you remember!' 'She's going with me; you get out!' yells
the other. 'She drove on the Nevsky with me long before she ever saw
you; didn't you, _barynya_? and the Liteinaya,' and so on till he has
enumerated more streets than I have ever heard of. 'And we're old, old
friends, aren't we, barynya? And look at my be-e-autiful horse!'
"'Your horse looks like a soiled and faded glove,' I retort, 'and I
won't have you fight over me. Settle it between yourselves,' and I walk
off or take another man, neither proceeding being favorably regarded. If
any one will rid me of Redbeard I will sell him for his passage-money to
America. I am also open to offers for Blackbeard, as he has announced
his intention of lying in wait for me at the door every day, as a cat
sits before a mouse's hole." Vanka (the generic name for all
_izvostchiki_) gets about four dollars or four dollars and a half a
month from his employer, when he does not own his equipage. In return he
is obliged to hand in about a dollar and a quarter a day on ordinary
occasions, 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 to
extract the necessary amount from his fares, his employer extracts it
from his wages, in the shape of a fine. The men told me this. As there
are no fixed rates in the great cities, a bargain must be struck every
time, which begins by the man demanding twice or thrice the proper
price, and ends in your paying it if you are not familiar with accepted
standards and distances, and in selling yourself at open-air auction to
the lowest bidder, acting as your own auctioneer, in case you are
conversant 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 the
middle of November, and snow comes to stay, after occasional light
flurries in September and October, a little later. Sometimes, however,
the river closes as early as the end of September, or as late as within
a few days of Christmas. Or the rain, which begins in October, continues
at intervals into the month of January. The price of food goes up,
frozen provisions for the poorer classes spoil, and more suffering and
illness ensue than when the normal Arctic winter prevails. In spite of
the cold, one is far more comfortable than in warmer climes. The "stone"
houses are built with double walls, three or four feet apart, of brick
or rubble covered with mastic. The space between the walls is filled in,
and, in the newer buildings, apertures with ventilators near the
ceilings take the place of movable panes in the double windows. The
space between the windows is filled with a deep layer of sand, in which
are set small tubes of salt to keep the glass clear, and a layer of
snowy cotton wadding on top makes a warm and appropriate finish. The
lower classes like to decorate their wadding with dried grasses, colored
paper, and brilliant odds and ends, in a sort of toy-garden arrangement.
The cracks of the windows are filled with putty or some other solid
composition, 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 two
purposes--that of decoration and that of keeping people at a
respectful distance from the windows, because the cold and wind pass
through the glass in dangerous volume.
Carpets are rare. Inlaid wooden floors, with or without rugs, are the
rule. Birch wood is, practically, the exclusive material for heating.
Coal from South Russia is too expensive in St. Petersburg; and imported
coal is of the lignite order, and far from satisfactory even for use in
the open grates, which are often used for beauty and to supplement the
stoves.
In the olden times, the beautifully colored and ornamented tile stoves
were built with a "stove bench," also of tiles, near the floor, on which
people could sleep. Nowadays, only peasants sleep on the stove, and they
literally sleep on top of the huge, mud-plastered stone oven, close to
the 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 heat
two rooms, or a room and corridor. The yard porter brings up ten or
twelve birch logs, of moderate girth, peels off a little bark to use as
kindling, and in ten minutes there is a roaring fire. The door is left
open, and the two draught covers from the flues--which resemble the
covers of a range in shape and size--are taken out until the wood is
reduced to glowing coals, which no longer emit blue flames. Then the
door is closed, the flue plates are replaced, and the stove radiates
heat for twenty-four hours, forty-eight hours, or longer, according to
the weather and the taste of the persons concerned,--Russian rooms not
being kept nearly so hot as American rooms.
In this soft, delightful, and healthy heat, heavy underclothing is a
misery. Very few Russians wear anything but linen, and foreigners who
have been used to wear flannels generally are forced to abandon them in
Russia. Hence the necessity for wrapping up warmly when one goes out.
Whatever the caprices of the weather, during the winter, according to
the almanac, furs are required, especially by foreigners, from the
middle of October or earlier until May. People who come from Southern
climes, 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 or
autumn, does not kill them off promptly. Therefore, the wise foreigner
who arrives in autumn sallies forth at once in quest of furs. He will
get plenty of bargaining and experience thrown in.
First of all, he finds that he must reconstruct his ideas about furs. If
he be an American, his first discovery is that his favorite sealskin is
out of the race entirely. No Russian would pay the price which is given
for sealskin in return for such a "cold fur," nor would he wear it on
the outside for display, while it would be too tender to use as a
lining. Sealskin is good only for a short jacket between seasons for
walking, and if one sets out on foot in that garb she must return on
foot; she would be running a serious risk if she took a carriage or
sledge. All furs are used for linings; in short, by thus reversing
nature's arrangement, one obtains the natural effect, and wears the fur
next his skin, as the original owner of the pelt did. Squirrel is a
"cold," cheap fur, used by laundresses and the like, while mink, also
reckoned as a "cold" fur, though more expensive, is used by men only, as
is the pretty mottled skin obtained by piecing together sable paws. The
cheapest of the "downy" furs, which are the proper sort for the climate,
is the brown goat, that constantly reminds its owner of the economy
practiced, by its weight and characteristic strong smell, though it has
the merit of being very warm. Next come the various grades of red fox
fur,--those abundantly furnished with hair,--where the red is pale
and small in area, and the gray patches are large and dark, being the
best. The _kuni_, which was the unit of currency in olden days, and was
used by royalty, is the next in value, and is costly if dark, and with a
tough, light-weight skin, which is an essential item of consideration
for the necessary large cloaks. Sables, rich and dark, are worn, like
the _kuni_, by any one who can afford them,--court dames, cavaliers,
archbishops, and merchants, or their wives and daughters,--while the
climax of beauty and luxury is attained in the black fox fur, soft and
delicate as feathers, warm as a July day. The silky, curly white Tibetan
goat, and the thick, straight white fur of the _psetz_, make beautiful
evening wraps for women, under velvets of delicate hues, and are used by
day also, though they are attended by the inconvenience of requiring
frequent cleaning. Cloth or velvet is the proper covering for all furs,
and the colors worn for driving are often gay or light. A layer of
wadding between the fur and the covering adds warmth, and makes the
circular mantle called a _rotonda_ set properly. These sleeveless
circular cloaks are not fit for anything but driving, however, although
they are lapped across the breast and held firmly in place by the
crossed arms,--a weary task, since they fall open at every breeze
when the wearer is on foot,--but they possess the advantage over a
cloak with sleeves that they can be held high around the ears and head
at will. The most inveterate "shopper" would be satisfied with the
amount of running about and bargaining which can be got out of buying a
fur cloak and a cap!
The national cap has a soft velvet crown, surrounded by a broad band of
sable or otter, is always in fashion, and lasts forever. People who like
variety buy each year a new cap, made of black Persian lambskin, which
resembles in shape that worn by the Kazaks, though the shape is modified
every year by the thrifty shopkeepers.
The possibilities for self delusion, and delusion from the other
quarter, as to price and quality of these fur articles, is simply
enormous. I remember the amusing tags fastened to every cloak in the
shop of a certain fashionable furrier in Moscow, where "asking price"
and "selling price" were plainly indicated. By dint of inquiry I found
that "paying price" was considerably below "selling price." Moscow is
the place, by the way, to see the coats intended for "really cold
weather" journeys, made of bear skin and of reindeer skin, impervious to
cold, lined with downy Siberian rat or other skins, which one does not
see in Petersburg shops.
The furs and the Russians' sensible manner of dressing in general, which
I have described, have much to do with their comfort and freedom from
colds. No Russian enters a room, theatre, or public hall at any season
of the year with his cloak and overshoes, and no well-trained servant
would 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 off
for officials or favored guests, cloak-racks and attendants are provided
near the door for the privileged ones, who must display their uniforms
and 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, to
shield the chest, and for precisely such emergencies--sufficient
protection. On ordinary occasions, people who do not keep a lackey to
hold their cloaks just inside the entrance have an opportunity to
practice Russian endurance, and unless the crowd is very dense, the
large and lofty space renders it quite possible, though the churches are
heated, to retain the fur cloak; but it is not healthy, and not always
comfortable. It would not be possible to provide cloak-rooms and
attendants for the thousands upon thousands who attend church service on
Sundays and holidays. With the foreign churches, whose attendance is
limited comparatively, it is a different matter.
One difficulty about foreigners visiting Russia in winter is, that those
who come for a short visit are rarely willing to go to the expense of
the requisite furs. In general, they are so reckless of their health as
to inspire horror in any one who is acquainted with the treacherous
climate. I remember a couple of Americans, who resisted all
remonstrances because they were on their way to a warmer clime, and went
about when the thermometer was twenty-five to thirty degrees below zero
Reaumur, in light, unwadded mantles, reaching only to the waist line,
and with loose sleeves. A Russian remarked of them: "They might have
shown some respect for the climate, and have put on flannel compresses,
or a mustard plaster at least!" Naturally, an illness was the result. If
such people would try to bargain for the very handsome and stylish
coffins which they would consider in keeping with their dignity, they
would come to the conclusion that furs would prove cheaper and less
troublesome. But furs or coffins, necessaries or luxuries, everything
must be bargained for in Holy Russia, and with the American affection
for the national game of poker, that should not constitute an objection
to 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 Alexander
III. in his capital, that a brief statement of them will not be out of
place, especially as I had one or two experiences, in addition to the
ordinary opportunities afforded by a long visit and knowledge of the
language and manners of the people.
When the Emperor was in St. Petersburg, he drove about freely every day
like a private person. He was never escorted or attended by guards. In
place of a lackey a Kazak orderly sat beside the coachman. The orderlies
of no other military men wore the Kazak uniform. Any one acquainted with
this fact, or with the Emperor's face, could recognize him as he passed.
There was no other sign; even the soldiers, policemen, and gendarmes
gave him the same salute which they gave to every general. At Peterhoff,
in summer, he often drove, equally unescorted, to listen to the music in
the palace park, which was open to all the public.
On occasions of state or ceremony, such as a royal wedding or the
arrival 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 masses
of spectators in order; just as the police keep order on St. Patrick's
Day in New York, or as the militia kept order and made part of the show
during 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 recent
funeral procession in Moscow, roofs, balconies, open windows, and every
point of vantage were occupied by spectators. In St. Petersburg, the
public was forbidden to occupy roofs, balconies, lamp-posts, or
railings, and it was ordered that all windows should be shut, though, as
usual, no restriction was placed on benches, stools, and other aids to a
view. A few days later, when the Emperor Nicholas II. drove from his
wedding in the Winter Palace to the Anitchkoff Palace, roofs, balconies,
and open windows were crowded with spectators. I saw the Emperor
Alexander III. from an open balcony, and behind closed windows.
On the regular festivals and festivities, such as St. George's Day, New
Year's Day, the Epiphany (the "Jordan," or Blessing of the Neva), the
state balls, Easter, and so forth, every one knew where to look for the
Emperor, and at what hour. The official notifications in the morning
papers, informing members of the Court at what hour and place to present
themselves, furnished a good guide to the Emperor's movements for any
one who did not already know. On such days the approaches to the Winter
Palace were kept open for the guests as they arrived; the crowd was
always enormous, especially at the "Jordan." But as soon as royalties
and guests had arrived, and, on the "Jordan" day, as soon as the Neva
had been blessed, ordinary traffic was resumed on sidewalks of the
Winter 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's
Day, 1889, when, just at the gate of the Anitchkoff Palace, a policeman
raised his hand, and my sledge and the whole line behind me halted. I
looked round to see the reason, and beheld the Emperor and Empress
sitting beside me in the semi-state cream-colored carriage, painted with
a big coat of arms, its black hood studded with golden doubleheaded
eagles, which the present Emperor used on his wedding day. A coachman,
postilion, and footman constituted the sole "guard," while the late
prefect, General Gresser, in an open calash a quarter of a mile behind,
constituted the "armed escort." They were on the roadway next to the
horse-car track, which is reserved for private equipages, and had to
cross the lines of public sledges next to the sidewalk. On other
occasions, such as launches of ironclad war vessels, the expected
presence of the Emperor and Empress was announced in the newspapers. It
was easy enough to calculate the route and the hour, if one wished to
see them. I frequently made such calculations, in town and country, and,
stranger though I was, I never made a mistake. When cabinet ministers or
high functionaries of the Court died, the Emperor and Empress attended
one of the services before the funeral, and the funeral. Thousands of
people calculated the hour, and the best spot to see them with absolute
accuracy. At one such funeral, just after rumors of a fresh "plot" had
been rife, I saw the great crowd surge up with a cheer towards the
Emperor's carriage, though the Russians are very quiet in public. The
police who were guarding the route of the procession stood still and
smiled approvingly.
But sometimes the streets through which the Emperor Alexander III. was
to pass were temporarily forbidden to the public; such as the annual
mass and parade of the regiments of the Guards in their great
riding-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 a
Ladies' Artistic Circle, which meets once a week all winter, to draw
from models. Social standing as well as artistic talent is requisite in
members of this society, to which two or three Grand Duchesses have
belonged, or do belong. The product of their weekly work, added to gifts
from each member, is exhibited, sold, and raffled for each spring, the
proceeds being devoted to helping needy artists by purchasing for them
canvas, 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 many
thousand dollars every year. When I was in Petersburg, the exhibitions
took place in the ballroom and drawing-room of one grand ducal palace,
while the home and weekly meetings were in the palace of the Grand
Duchess Ekaterina Mikhailovna, now dead. An amiable poet, Yakoff
Petrovitch, invited me to attend one of these meetings,--a number of
men being honorary members, though the women manage everything
themselves,--but illness prevented my accompanying him on the evening
appointed for our visit. He told me, therefore, to keep my invitation
card. Three months elapsed before circumstances permitted me to use it.
One evening, on my way from an informal call of farewell on a friend who
was about to set out for the Crimea, I ordered my _izvostchik_ to drive
me to the Michael Palace. We were still at some distance from the palace
when a policeman spoke to the _izvostchik_, who drove on instead of
turning 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," answered
cabby.
"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 filled
with carriages, that the plumed chasseurs of ambassadors and footmen in
court liveries were flitting to and fro, and that the great flight of
steps leading to the grand entrance was dotted thickly with officers and
gendarmes, exactly as though an imperial birthday _Te Deum_ at St.
Isaac's Cathedral were in progress, and twenty or twenty-five thousand
people must be kept in order.
"Well!" I said to myself, "this appears to be a very elegant sort of
sketch-club, with evening dress and all the society appurtenances. What
did Yakoff Petrovitch mean by telling me that a plain street gown was
the proper thing to wear? This enforced 'simplification' is rather
trying to the feminine nerves; but I will not beat a retreat!"
I paid and dismissed my _izvostchik_,--a poor, shabby fellow, such as
Fate invariably allotted to me,--walked in, gave my furs and galoshes
to the handsome, big head Swiss in imperial scarlet and gold livery, and
started past the throng of servants, to the grand staircase, which
ascended invitingly at the other side of the vast hall. Unfortunately,
that instinct with whose possession women are sometimes reproached
prompted me to turn back, just as I had reached the first step, and
question the Swiss.
"In what room shall I find the Ladies' Artistic Circle?"
"It does not meet to-night, madame," he answered. "Her Imperial Highness
has guests."
"But I thought the Circle met every Wednesday night from November to
May."
"It does, usually, madame; to-night is an exception. You will find the
ladies 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 servants
standing by, and put on my galoshes and cloak. But the big square was
deserted, the ubiquitous _izvostchik_ was absent, for once, it appeared,
and after waiting a few minutes at the grand entrance, I repeated my
request 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 a
messenger to a neighboring street, and--at last--the appearance of a
sledge, visibly shabby of course, even in the dark,--my luck had not
deserted me.
I could have walked home, as it was very close at hand, in much less
time than it took to get the sledge, be placed therein, and buttoned
fast under the robe by the gendarme officer: but my heart had quailed a
little, I confess, when it looked for a while as if I should be
compelled to do it and pass that array of carriages and lackeys afoot. I
was glad enough to be able to spend double fare on the man (because I
had not bargained in advance), in the support of my little dignity and
false 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 who
had been at the palace that night (by invitation, not in my way), I
found that the Emperor and Empress had driven up to attend these Lenten
_Tableaux Vivants_, in which several members of the imperial family
figured, just as I had got out of the way.