temporarily for the Emperor, who usually drives like a private citizen.
I have never been able to understand, however, what good such
reservation does, if undertaken as a protective measure (as hasty
travelers are fond of asserting), when a person can head off the
Emperor, reach the goal by a parallel street, and then walk into a
small, select imperial party unknown, uninvited, unhindered, as I
evidently 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 was
as unsuitable--as suspicious, if you like--as it well could be. I
had no business to drive up to a palace, in a common sledge hired on the
street, on such an occasion. I had no business to be riding alone in an
open sledge at night. Officers from the regiments of the Guards may,
from economy, use such public open sledges (there are no covered sledges
in town) to attend a reception at the Winter Palace, or a funeral mass
at a church where the Emperor and Empress are present. I have seen that
done. But they are careful to alight at a distance and approach the
august 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 had
either quickly or easily, besides being expensive.
Nevertheless, neither then nor at any other time did I ever encounter
the slightest disrespect from police, gendarmes, servants (those severe
and often impertinent judges of one's attire and equipage), nor from
their masters,--not even on this critical occasion when I so patently,
flagrantly transgressed all the proprieties, yet was not interfered with
by word or glance, but was permitted to discover my error for myself, or
plunge headlong, unwarned, into the Duchess's party, regardless of my
unsuitable costume.
On the following Wednesday, I drove to the palace again in the same
style of equipage, and the same gown, which proved to be perfectly
proper, as Mr. Y. P. had told me, and was greeted with a courteous and
amiable smile by the head Swiss, who had the air of taking me under his
special protection, as he conducted me in person, not by deputy, to the
quarters of the Circle.
I had another illustrative experience with closed streets. In February
come the two grand reviews of the Guards, stationed in Petersburg,
Peterhoff, and Tzarskoe Selo, on the Palace Place. They are fine
spectacles, but only for those who have access to a window overlooking
the scene, as all the streets leading to the Place are blockaded by the
gendarmerie, to obviate the disturbance of traffic. On one of these
occasions, I inadvertently selected the route which the Emperor was to
use. I was stopped by mounted gendarmes. I told them that it was too far
to walk, with my heavy furs and shoes, and they allowed me to proceed. A
block further on, officers of higher grade in the gendarmerie rode up to
me and again declared that it was impossible for me to go on; but they
yielded, as did still higher officers, at two or three advanced posts. I
believe that it was not intended that I should walk along that street
either; I certainly had it all to myself. I know now how royalty feels
when 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 sledge
and mounted his horse. At that time I was living in an extremely
fashionable quarter of the city, where every one was supposed to keep
his own carriage. The result was that the _izvostchiki_ never expected
custom from any one except the servants of the wealthy, and none but the
shabbiest sledges in town ever waited there for engagements.
Accordingly, my turnout was very shabby, and the gendarmes could not
have been impressed with respect by it. On the other hand, had I used
the best style of public equipage, the likatchi, the kind which consists
of 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 pass
at all. Ladies are not permitted, by etiquette, to patronize these
_likatchi_, alone, and no man will take his wife or a woman whom he
respects to drive in one. Had I foreseen that there would be any
occasion for inspiring respect by my equipage, I would have gone to the
trouble and expense of hiring a closed carriage, a thing which I did as
rarely as possible, because nothing could be seen through the frozen
window, because they seemed much colder than the open sledges, and had
no 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_) and
wrapped up my ears, by Russian advice as well as by inclination, until
late in May. But we were told that the summer heat would catch us
suddenly, and that St. Petersburg would become malodorous and unhealthy.
It was necessary, owing to circumstances, to find a healthy residence
for 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 Finland
adjacent to the city, Tzarskoe Selo presents the only dry locality. In
the Finnish summer colonies, one must, perforce, keep house, for lack of
hotels. In Tzarskoe, as in Peterhoff, villa life is the only variety
recognized by polite society; but there we had--or seemed to have--
the choice between that and hotels. We decided in favor of Tzarskoe, as
it is called in familiar conversation. As one approaches the imperial
village, it rises like a green oasis from the plain. It is hedged in,
like a true Russian village, but with trees and bushes well trained
instead of with a wattled fence.
During the reign of Alexander II., this inland village was the favorite
Court resort; not Peterhoff, on the Gulf of Finland, as at present. It
is situated sixteen miles from St. Petersburg, on the line of the first
railway built in Russia, which to this day extends only a couple of
miles beyond,--for lack of the necessity of farther extension, it is
just to add. It stands on land which is not perceptibly higher than St.
Petersburg, and it took a great deal of demonstration before an Empress
of the last century could be made to believe that it was, in reality, on
a level with the top of the lofty Admiralty spire, and that she must
continue her tiresome trips to and fro in her coach, in the
impossibility of constructing a canal which would enable her to sail in
comfort. Tzarskoe Selo, "Imperial Village:" well as the name fits the
place, it is thought to have been corrupted from _saari_, the Finnish
word for "farm," as a farm occupied the site when Peter the Great
pitched upon it for one of his numerous summer resorts. He first
enlarged the farmhouse, then built one of his simple wooden palaces, and
a greenhouse for Katherine I. Eventually he erected a small part of the
present Old Palace. It was at the dedication of the church here,
celebrated in floods of liquor (after a fashion not unfamiliar in the
annals of New England in earlier days), that Peter I. contracted the
illness which, aggravated by a similar drinking-bout elsewhere
immediately afterward, and a cold caused by a wetting while he was
engaged in rescuing some people from drowning, carried him to his grave
very promptly. His successors enlarged and beautified the place, which
first became famous during the reign of Katherine II. At the present
day, its broad macadamized streets are lighted by electricity; its
_Gostinny Dvor_ (bazaar) is like that of a provincial city; many of its
sidewalks, after the same provincial pattern, have made people prefer
the middle of the street for their promenades. Naturally, only the lower
classes were expected to walk when the Court resided there.
Before making acquaintance with the famous palaces and parks, we
undertook to settle ourselves for the time being, at least. It appeared
that "furnished" villas are so called in Tzarskoe, as elsewhere, because
they require to be almost completely furnished by the occupant on a
foundation of bare bones of furniture, consisting of a few bedsteads and
tables. This was not convenient for travelers; neither did we wish to
commit ourselves for the whole season to the cares of housekeeping, lest
a change of air should be ordered suddenly; so we determined to try to
live in another way.
Boarding-houses are as scarce here as in St. Petersburg, the whole town
boasting but one,--advertised as a wonderful rarity,--which was very
badly situated. There were plenty of _traktiri_, or low-class
eating-houses, some of which had "numbers for arrivers"--that is to
say, rooms for guests--added to their gaudy signs. These were not to
be thought of. But we had been told of an establishment which rejoiced
in the proud title of _gostinnitza_, "hotel," in city fashion. It looked
fairly good, and there we took up our abode, after due and inevitable
chaffering. This hotel was kept, over shops, on the first and part of
the second floor of a building which had originally been destined for
apartments. Its only recommendation was that it was situated near a very
desirable gate into the Imperial Park.
Our experience there was sufficient to slake all curiosity as to Russian
summer resort hotels, or country hotels in provincial towns, since that
was its character; though it had, besides, some hindrances which were
peculiar, I hope, to itself. The usual clean, large dining-room, with
the polished floor, table decorated with plants, and lace curtains, was
irresistibly attractive, especially to wedding parties of shopkeepers,
who danced twelve hours at a stretch, and to breakfast parties after
funerals, whose guests made rather more uproar on afternoons than did
those of the wedding balls in the evening, as they sang the customary
doleful chants, and then warmed up to the occasion with bottled
consolation. The establishment being shorthanded for waiters, these
entertainments interfered seriously with our meals, which we took in
private; and we were often forced to go hungry until long after the
hour, because there was so much to eat in the house!
Our first experience of the place was characteristic. The waiter, who
was also "boots," chambermaid, and clerk, on occasion, distributed two
sheets, two pillows, one blanket, and one "cold" (cotton) coverlet
between the two beds, and considered that ample, as no doubt it was
according to some lights and according to the almanac, though the
weather resembled November just then, and I saw snow a few days later.
Having succeeded in getting this rectified, after some discussion, I
asked for towels.
"There is one," answered Mikhei (Micah), with his most fascinating
smile.
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 too
fastidious. The washstand had a tank of water attached to the top, which
we 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. Some
other barbarian who had used that washstand before us must also have
differed from that commonly accepted Russian opinion: when we plugged up
the hole with a cork, and it disappeared, and we fished it out of the
still clogged pipe, we found that six others had preceded it. It took a
champagne cork and a cord to conquer the orifice.
Among our vulgar experiences at this place were--fleas. I remonstrated
with Mikhei, our typical waiter from the government of Yaroslavl, which
furnishes restaurant _garcons_ in hordes as a regular industry. Mikhei
replied airily:--
"_Nitchevo!_ It is nothing! You will soon learn to like them so much
that you cannot do without them."
I take the liberty of doubting whether even Russians ever reach that
last state of mind, in a lifetime of endurance. Two rooms beyond us, in
the same corridor, lodged a tall, thin, gray-haired Russian merchant,
who was nearly a typical Yankee in appearance. Every morning, at four
o'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 and
violently, the four pieces of his bedclothing into the corridor; not out
of the window, as he should have done. So much for the modern native
taste. It is recorded that the beauties of the last century, in St.
Petersburg, always wore on their bosoms silver "flea-catchers" attached
to a ribbon. These traps consisted of small tubes pierced with a great
number of tiny holes, closed at the bottom, open at the top, and each
containing a slender shaft smeared with honey or some other sticky
substance. So much for the ancient native taste.
Again, we had a disagreement with Mikhei on the subject of the roast
beef. More than once it was brought in having a peculiar
blackish-crimson hue and stringy grain, with a sweetish flavor, and an
odor which was singular but not tainted, and which required imperatively
that either we or it should vacate the room instantly. Mikhei stuck
firmly 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 Tatar
horse-butcher's shop--ornamented with the picture of a horse, as the
law requires--out of curiosity, to inquire prices. We recognized the
smell and other characteristics of our Tzarskoe Selo "roast ox" at a
glance and a sniff, and remained only long enough to learn that the best
cuts cost two and a half cents a pound. Afterward we went a block about
to avoid passing that shop. The explanation of the affair was simple
enough. In our hotel there was a _traktir_, run by our landlord, tucked
away in a rear corner of the ground floor, and opening on what Thackeray
would have called a "tight but elegant" little garden, for summer use.
It was thronged from morning till night with Tatar old-clothes men and
soldiers from the garrison, for whom it was the rendezvous. The horse
beef had been provided for the Tatars, who considered it a special
dainty, and had been palmed off upon us because it was cheap.
I may dismiss the subject of the genial Mikhei here, with the remark
that we met him the following summer at the Samson Inn, in Peterhoff,
where he served our breakfast with an affectionate solicitude which
somewhat alarmed us for his sobriety. He was very much injured in
appearance by long hair thrown back in artistic fashion, and a livid
gash which scored one side of his face down to his still unbrushed
teeth, and nearly to his unwashed shirt, narrowly missing one eye, and
suggested possibilities of fight in him which, luckily for our peace of
mind, we had not suspected the previous season.
Our chambermaid at first, at the Tzarskoe hostelry, was a lad fourteen
years of age, who dusted in the most wonderfully conscientious way
without being asked, like a veteran trained housekeeper. We supposed
that male chambermaids were the fashion, judging from the offices which
we had seen our St. Petersburg hotel "boots" perform, and we said
nothing. 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 a
maid who had been engaged "expressly for the service of our high
nobilities;" price, five rubles a month (two dollars and a half; she
chanced to live in the attic lodgings), which they did not pay her, and
which we gladly gave her. Her conversation alone was worth three times
the 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's
holiday in four years, when we made his acquaintance. I won his eternal
devotion by "placing a candle" vicariously to the Saviour for him on
Christmas Day, and added one for myself, to harmonize with the brotherly
spirit of the season.
Andrei, the boy, never wholly recovered from the grief and resentment
caused by being thus supplanted, and the imputation cast upon his powers
of caring for us. He got even with us on at least two occasions, for the
offense of which we were innocent. Once he told a fashionable visitor of
ours that we dined daily in the _traktir_, with the Tatar clothes
peddlers and the soldiers of the garrison, with the deliberate intention
of shocking her. I suppose it soothed his feelings for having to serve
our food in our own room. Again, being ordered to "place the _samovar_"
he withdrew to his chamber, the former kitchen of the apartment, and
went to sleep on the cold range, which was his bed, where he was
discovered after we had starved patiently for an hour and a half.
Andrei's supplanter was named Katiusha, but her angular charms
corresponded so precisely with those of the character in "The Mikado"
that we referred to her habitually as Katisha. She had been a serf, a
member of the serf aristocracy, which consisted of the house servants,
and had served always as maid or nurse. She was now struggling on as a
seamstress. Her sewing was wonderfully bad, and she found great
difficulty in bringing up her two children, who demanded fashionable
"European" clothing, and in eking out the starvation wages of her
husband, a superannuated restaurant waiter, also a former serf, and
belonging, like herself, to the class which received personal liberty,
but no land, at the emancipation. Her view of the emancipation was not
entirely favorable. In fact, all the ex-serfs with whom I talked
retained a soft spot in their hearts for the comforts and
irresponsibility of the good old days of serfdom.
Katiusha could neither read nor write, but her naturally acute powers of
observation, unconsciously trained by constant contact with her former
owners, were of very creditable quality. She possessed a genuine talent
for expressing herself neatly. For example, in describing a concert to
which she had been taken, she praised the soprano singer's voice with
much 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 and
fruit at the market, or in accompanying me to carry them home, when I
went myself to enjoy the scene and her methods. In her I was able to
study Russian bargaining tactics in their finest flower. She would
haggle for half an hour over a quarter of a cent on very small
purchases, and then would carry whatever she bought into one of the
neighboring shops to be reweighed. To my surprise, the good-natured
venders seemed never to take offense at this significant act; and she
never discovered any dishonesty. When wearied out by this sort of thing,
I took charge of the proceedings, that I might escape from her agonized
groans and grimaces at my extravagance. After choking down her emotion
in gulps all the way home, she would at last clasp her hands, and moan
in 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, as
you see. Twenty kopeks a pound for the strawberries, also of the first
quality."
* About one cent.
Then would follow a scene which never varied, even if my indiscretion
had been confined to raspberries at five cents a pound, or currants at a
cent less. She would wring her hands, long and fleshless as fan handles,
and, her great green eyes phosphorescent with distress above her hollow
cheeks and projecting bones, she would cry:--
"Oh, _barynya_, they have cheated you, cheated you shamefully! You must
let 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 their
business, you see. And they said '_madame_' instead of '_sudarynya_.'*
Was there any other title which they could have bestowed on me for the
money?"
*_Sudarynya_ is the genuine Russian word for "madam," but, like
_spasibo_, "thank you," it is used only by the lower classes. Many
merchants who know no French except _madame_ use it as a delicate
compliment to the patron's social position.
She confessed, with a pitying sigh, that there was not, but returned to
her plaint over the sinfully wasted kopeks. Once I offered her some
"tea-money" in the shape of a basket of raspberries, which she wished to
preserve and drink in her tea, with the privilege of purchasing them
herself. As an experiment to determine whether bargaining is the outcome
of thrift and economy alone, or a distinct pleasure in itself, it was a
success. I followed her from vender to vender, and waited with exemplary
patience while she scrutinized their wares and beat down prices with
feverish eagerness, despite the fact that she was not to pay the bill. I
put an end to the matter when she tried to persuade a pretty peasant
girl, who had walked eight miles, to accept less than four cents a pound
for superb berries. I think it really spoiled my gift to her that I
insisted on making the girl happy with five cents a pound. After that I
was not surprised to find Russian merchants catering to the taste of
their customers by refusing to adopt the one-price system.
It was vulgar to go to market, of course. Even the great mastiff who
acted as yard dog at the bazaar made me aware of that fact. He always
greeted me politely, like a host, when he met me in the court at market
hours. But nothing could induce him even to look at me when he met me
outside. I tried to explain to him that my motives were scientific, not
economical, and I introduced Katiusha to him as the family bargainer and
scapegoat for his scorn. He declined to relent. After that I understood
that there was nothing for it but to shoulder the responsibility myself,
and I never attempted to palliate my unpardonable conduct in the eyes of
the servants of my friends whom I occasionally encountered there.
The market was held in the inner courtyard of the _Gostinny Dvor_, near
the 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 inner
booths were all devoted to edibles. On the rubble pavement of the court
squatted peasants from the villages for many versts round about, both
Russian 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 I
was inexperienced, and went unprovided with receptacles for my
marketing. The market women looked up in surprise.
"What, have you no kerchief?" they asked, as though I were a peasant or
petty merchant's wife, and could remove the typical piece of gayly
colored cloth from my head or neck. When I objected to transporting eggs
and berries in my only resource, my handkerchief, they reluctantly
produced scraps of dirty newspaper, or of ledgers scrawled over with
queer accounts. I soon grew wise, and hoarded up the splint strawberry
baskets provided by the male venders, which are put to multifarious uses
in Russia.
After being asked for a kerchief in the markets, and a sheet when I went
to get my fur cloak from its summer storage at a fashionable city shop,
and after making divers notes on journeys, I was obliged to conclude
that the ancient merchant fashion in Russia had been to seize the
nearest fabric at hand,--the sheet from the bed, the cloth from the
table,--and use it as a traveling trunk.