features were wooden; their expression was far less intelligent than
that of the Russians. The women were addicted to wonderful patterns in
aprons and silver ornaments, and wore, under a white head kerchief, a
stiff glazed white circlet which seemed to wear away their blond hair.
These women arrived regularly every morning, before five o'clock, at the
shops of the baker and the grocer opposite our windows. The shops opened
at that hour, after having kept open until eleven o'clock at night, or
later. After refreshing themselves with a roll and a bunch of young
onions, of which the green tops appeared to be the most relished, the
women made their town toilet by lowering the very much reefed skirt of
their single garment, drawing on footless stockings, and donning shoes.
At ten o'clock, or even earlier, they came back to fill the sacks of
coarse white linen, borne over their shoulders, with necessaries for
their households, purchased with the proceeds of their sales, and to
reverse their toilet operations, preparatory to the long tramp homeward.
I sometimes caught them buying articles which seemed extravagant
luxuries, all things considered, such as raisins. One of their
specialties was the sale of lilies of the valley, which grow wild in the
Russian forests. Their peculiar little trot-trot, and the indescribable
semi-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 surrounded
by market gardens, where vegetables and fruits are raised in highly
manured and excessively hilled-up beds. It sends tons of its products to
the capital as well as to the local market. Everything was cheap and
delicious. Eggs were dear when they reached a cent and a half apiece.
Strawberries, huge and luscious, were dear at ten cents a pound, since
in warm seasons they cost but five. Another berry, sister to the
strawberry, but differing from it utterly in taste, was the _klubnika_,
of which there were two varieties, the white and the bluish-red, both
delicious in their peculiar flavor, but less decorative in size and
aspect than the strawberry.
The native cherries, small and sour, make excellent preserves, with a
spicy flavor, which are much liked by Russians in their tea. The only
objection 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, who
introduced it to my notice, was a sort of radish with an extremely fine,
hard grain, and biting qualities much developed, which attains enormous
size, and is eaten in thin slices, salted and buttered. I presented the
solitary specimen which I bought, a ninepin in proportions, to the
grateful Katiusha. It was beyond my appreciation.
Pears do not thrive so far north, but in good years apples of fine sorts
are 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 always
rather dear. We saw few in our village that were worth buying, as the
season was phenomenally cold, and a month or three weeks late, so that
we got our strawberries in August, and our linden blossoms in September.
Apples, plums, grapes, and honey are not eaten--in theory--until after
they 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 for
health. Before that day, however, hucksters bearing trays of honey on
their 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 premature
chance!
When the mushroom season came in, the market assumed an aspect of
half-subdued brilliancy with the many sombre and high-colored varieties
of that fungus. The poorer people indulge in numerous kinds which the
rich do not eat, and they furnish precious sustenance during fasts, when
so many viands are forbidden by the Russian Church and by poverty. One
of the really odd sights, during the fast of Saints Peter and Paul (the
first half of July), was that of people walking along the streets with
bunches of pea-vines, from which they were plucking the peas, and eating
them, pods and all, quite raw. It seemed a very summary and wasteful way
of gathering them. This fashion of eating vegetables raw was imported,
along with the liturgy, from the hot lands where the Eastern Church
first flourished, and where raw food was suitable. These traditions, and
probably also the economy of fuel, cause it to be still persisted in, in
a climate to which it is wholly unsuited. Near Tzarskoe I found one
variety of pea growing to the altitude of nearly seven feet, and
producing pods seven inches long and three wide. The stalks of the
double poppies in the same garden were six and seven feet high, and the
flowers were the size of peonies, while the pods of the single poppies
were nine inches in circumference.
One of the great festivals of the Russian Church is Whitsunday, the
seventh Sunday after Easter; but it is called Trinity Sunday, and the
next day is "the Day of Spirits," or Pentecost. On this Pentecost Day a
curious sight was formerly to be seen in St. Petersburg. Mothers
belonging to the merchant class arrayed their marriageable daughters in
their best attire; hung about their necks not only all the jewels which
formed 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 inspected
and proposed for by the young men.
But the place where this spectacle can be seen in the most charming way
is Tzarskoe Selo. We were favored with superb weather on both the festal
days. On Sunday morning every one went to church, as usual. The small
church behind the Lyceum, where Pushkin was educated, with its
un-Russian spire, ranks as a Court church; that in the Old Palace across
the way being opened only on special occasions, now that the Court is
not in residence. Outside, the choir sat under the golden rain of acacia
blossoms and the hedge of fragrant lilacs until the last moment, the
sunshine throwing into relief their gold-laced black cloth vestments and
crimson belts. They were singers from one of the regiments stationed in
town, and crimson was the regimental color. The church is accessible to
all classes, and it was crowded. As at Easter, every one was clad in
white or light colors, even those who were in mourning having donned the
bluish-gray which serves them for festive garb. In place of the Easter
candle, each held a bouquet of flowers. In the corners of the church
stood young birch-trees, with their satin bark and feathery foliage, and
boughs of the same decked the walls. There is a law now which forbids
this annual destruction of young trees at Pentecost, but the practice
continues, and the tradition is that one must shed as many tears for his
sins as there are dewdrops on the birch bough which he carries, if he
has no flowers. Peasant women in clean cotton gowns elbowed members of
the Court in silks; fat merchants, with well-greased, odorous hair and
boots, in hot, long-skirted blue cloth coats, stood side by side with
shabby invalid soldiers or smartly uniformed officers. Tiny peasant
children seated themselves on the floor when their little legs refused
further service, and imitated diligently all the low reverences and
signs of the cross made by their parents. Those of larger growth stood
with 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 to
the large image of the Virgin near the altar, grasped the breast-high
guard-rail, and kissed the holy picture in the middle of her agile
vault. When some members of the imperial family arrived, the crowd
pressed together still more closely, to make a narrow passage to the
small space reserved for them opposite the choir. After the ever
beautiful liturgy, finely expressed special prayers were offered, during
which the priest also carried flowers.
Another church service on the following day--a day when public offices
are closed and business ceases--completed the religious duties of the
festival. In the afternoon, the whole town began to flock to the
Imperial Park surrounding the Old Palace,--people of the upper circles
included,--the latter from motives of curiosity, of course. Three
bands of the Guards furnished the music. On the great terrace, shaded by
oak-trees hardly beyond the bronze-pink stage of their leafage, played
the hussars. Near the breakfast gallery, with its bronze statues of
Hercules and Flora, which the common people call "Adam and Eve" (the
Ariadne on Naxos, in a neighboring grotto, is popularly believed to be
"a girl of seven years, who was bitten by a snake while roaming the
Russian primeval forest, and died"), were the cuirassiers. The
_stryelki_ (sharpshooters) were stationed near the lake, the central
point for meetings and promenades during the lovely "white nights;"
where boats of every sort, from a sail-boat or a Chinese sampan to an
Astrakhan fishing-boat or a snowshoe skiff, are furnished gratis all
summer, with a sailor of the Guard to row them, if desired. Round and
round and round, unweariedly, paced the girls. They were bareheaded and
in slippered feet, as usual, but had abandoned the favorite ulster,
which too often accompanies extremities thus unclad, to display their
gayest gowns. The young men gazed with intense interest. Here and there
a young fellow in "European clothes" was to be seen conversing with the
more conservative young merchants, who retained the wrinkled boots
confining full trousers, the shirt worn outside the trousers, the cloth
vest, and the blue cloth long coat of traditional cut.
It was like a scene from the theatre. Across the lake, dotted with
boating parties, stretched lawns planted with trees chosen for their
variety of foliage, from the silver willow to the darkest evergreens,
while the banks were diversified with a boat-house, a terraced grotto, a
Turkish kiosk with a bath, bridges, and so on. Of the immense palace
which stood so near at hand the graceful breakfast gallery alone was
visible, while high above the waving crests of the trees the five
cupolas of the palace church, in the shape of imperial crowns, seemed to
float in the clear blue sky like golden bubbles. The lawns within the
acacia-hedged compartments were dazzling with campanulas, harebells,
rose campions, and crimson and yellow columbine, or gleamed with the
pale turquoise of forget-me-nots. We had only to enter the adjoining
park surrounding the Alexander Palace, built for Alexander I. by his
grandmother, Katherine II., to find the Field of the Cloth of Gold
realized by acres of tall double Siberian buttercups, as large and as
fragrant as yellow roses.
Soldiers of the garrison strolled about quietly, as usual. The pet of
the hussars was in great form, and his escort of admiring comrades was
larger than ever. They thrust upon him half of their tidbits and
sunflower seeds,--what masses of sunflower seeds and handbill
cigarettes were consumed that day, not to mention squash seeds, by the
more opulent!--and waited eagerly for his dimpled smile as their
reward. When the bands were weary, the regimental singers ranged
themselves in a circle, and struck up songs of love, of battle, and of
mirth, amid the applause and laughter of the crowd. Now and then a
soldier would step into the middle of the circle and dance. The slight,
agile, square-capped _stryelki_ spun round until their full-plaited
black tunics stood out from their tightly belted waists like the skirts
of ballet dancers. The slender, graceful hussars, with their
yellow-laced scarlet jackets and tight blue trousers, flitted to and fro
like gay birds. The best performer of all was a cuirassier, a big blond
fellow, with ruddy cheeks and dazzling teeth. Planting his peakless
white cloth cap with its yellow band firmly on his head, he stepped
forward, grasping in each hand a serried pyramid of brass bells, which
chimed merrily as he squatted, leaped, and executed eccentric steps with
his feet, while his arms beat time and his fine voice rolled out the
solo of a rollicking ballad, to which the rest of the company furnished
the chorus as well as their laughter and delighted applause of his
efforts permitted. His tightly fitting dark green trousers, tall boots,
and jacket of white cloth trimmed with yellow set off his muscular form
to great advantage. A comrade stood by, shaking the _buntchuk_, an
ornamental combination of brass half-moons, gay horsetails, and bells,
--the Turkish staff of command, which is carried as a special privilege
by several Russian cavalry regiments. There is nothing that a company of
Russians likes better than a spirited performance of their national
dances, whether it be high-class Russians at a Russian opera in the
Imperial Theatre, or the masses on informal occasions like the present.
This soldier, who danced with joy in every fibre, was quite willing to
oblige them indefinitely, and seemed to be made of steel springs. He
stopped with great reluctance, and that only when his company was
ordered peremptorily to march off to barracks at the appointed hour.
How many weddings resulted from that day's dress parade I know not. But
I presume the traditional "match-makers" did their duty, if the young
men were sufficiently impressed by the girls' outfits to commission
these professional proposers to lay their hearts and hands at the feet
of the parents on the following day. They certainly could not have been
hopelessly bewitched by any beauty which was on show. The presence of
the soldiers, the singing, music, and dancing, framed in that exquisite
park, combined to create a scene the impression of which is far beyond
comparison 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 mothers
and children, especially when the different bands of the Guards'
regiments stationed in the town furnish music. But not far away, in the
less stately, more natural park surrounding the Alexander Palace, the
property of the Crown Prince, lies the real paradise of the children of
all classes. There is the playground, provided with gymnastic apparatus,
laid out at the foot of a picturesque tower, one of the line of signal
towers, now mostly demolished, which, before the introduction of the
telegraph, flashed news from Warsaw to St. Petersburg in the then
phenomenally short space of twenty-four hours. The children's favorite
amusement is the "net." Sailors of the guard set up a full-rigged ship's
mast, surrounded, about two feet from the ground, by a wide sweep of
close-meshed rope netting well tarred. Boys and girls of ambition climb
the rigging, swing, and drop into the net. The little ones never weary
of dancing about on its yielding surface. A stalwart, gentle giant of a
sailor 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 the
transparent muslin of their chemises, make a bouquet of colors, with
their gay _sarafani_, their many-hued cashmere caps attached to
pearl-embroidered, coronet-shaped _kokoshniki_, and terminating in
ribbons which descend to their heels, and are outshone in color only by
the motley assemblage of beads on their throats.
Here, round the gymnastic apparatus and the net, one is able for the
first time to believe solidly in the existence of Russian children. In
town, in the winter, one has doubted it, despite occasional coveys of
boys in military greatcoats, book-knapsacks of sealskin strapped to
their shoulders to keep their backs straight, and officer-like caps. The
summer garb of the lads from the gymnasia and other institutes consists
of thin, dark woolen material or of coarse gray linen, made in the
blouse or Russian shirt form, which portraits of Count Lyeff
Nikolaevitch 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 on
older students any day, even in winter, in the reading-room of the
Imperial Public Library in St. Petersburg, on the imperial choir in the
Winter Palace as undress uniform for week-day services, and elsewhere.
Some indulgent mothers make silk blouses for their sons, and embroider
them with cross-stitch patterns in colored floss, as was the fashion a
number of years ago, when a patriotic outburst of sentiment was
expressed by the adoption of the "national costume," for house wear, by
adults of both sexes. From this period dates also, no doubt, that style
of "peasant dress" which can be seen occasionally, in unfashionable
summer resorts, on girls not of the highest class by any means, and
which the city shops furnish in abundance as genuine to misguided
foreigners. Every one is familiar with these fantastic combinations of
colored lace insertion with bands of blue cotton worked in high colors,
and fashioned into blouses and aprons such as no peasant maid ever wore
or beheld.
What strikes one very forcibly about Russian children, when one sees
them at play in the parks, is their quiet, self-possessed manners and
their lack of boisterousness. If they were inclined to scream, to fling
themselves about wildly and be rude, they would assuredly be checked
promptly 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 peasant
children, I am inclined to think that Russian children are born more
agreeable than Western children; yet they seem to be as cheerful and
lively as is necessary, and in no way restricted. Whistling, howling,
stamping, and kindred muscular exercises begin just over the Western
frontier, and increase in violence as one proceeds westward, until Japan
is 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 we
were strolling in the park one afternoon, we heard sounds of uproarious
mirth proceeding from the little island in the private imperial garden,
where the Duchess of Edinburgh, in her girlhood, had a pretty Russian
cottage, cow-stalls, and so forth, with flower and potato beds. She and
her brothers were in the habit of planting their pussy willows, received
on Palm Sunday, on the bank of the stream, and these, duly labeled, have
now grown into a hedge of trees. The screen is not perfect, however, and
glimpses of the playground are open to the public across the narrow
stream. On this summer afternoon, there was a party of royalties on the
island, swinging on the Giant Steps. The Giant Steps, I must explain,
consist of a tall, stout mast firmly planted in the earth, bound with
iron at the top, and upholding a thick iron ring to which are attached
heavy cables which touch the ground. The game consists of a number of
persons seizing hold of these cables, running round the mast until
sufficient impetus is acquired, and then swinging through the air in a
circle. The Tzarevitch* who had driven over from the great camp at
Krasnoe Selo, and whom I had seen in the church of the Old Palace that
morning at a special mass, with the angelic imperial choir and the
priests from the Winter Palace sent down from Petersburg for the
occasion, was now sailing through the air high up toward the apex of the
mast. One of his imperial aunts, clad in a fleecy white gown, occupied a
similar position on another cable. It was plain that they could not have
done their own running to gain impetus, and that the gardeners must have
towed them by the ends of the ropes. The other grand dukes and duchesses
were managing their own cables in the usual manner. The party included
the king and queen of Greece and other royal spectators. What interested
me most was to hear them all shrieking and conversing in Russian, with
only 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 and
palaces. For example, just outside of Tzarskoe Selo, on the Petersburg
highway, lies a Russian village called Kuzmino, whose inhabitants are as
genuine, unmodified peasants as if they lived a hundred miles from any
provincial town. Here in the north, where timber is plentiful, cottages
are raised from the ground by a half-story, without windows, which
serves as a storeroom for carts, sledges, and farming implements. The
entrance is through a door beside the large courtyard gate, which rears
its heavy frame on the street line, adjoining the house, in Russian
fashion. A rough staircase leads to the dwelling-rooms over the shed
storeroom. Three tiny windows on the street front, with solid wooden
shutters, are the ordinary allowance for light. In Kuzmino, many of the
windows had delicate, clean white curtains, and all were filled with
blooming plants. A single window, for symmetry, and a carved balcony
fill in the sharp gable end of such houses, but open into nothing, and
the window is not even glazed. Carved horses' heads, rude but
recognizable, tuft the peak, and lacelike wood carving droops from the
eaves. The roofs also are of wood.
This was the style of the cottages in Kuzmino. The name of the owner was
inscribed on the corner of each house; and there appeared to be but two
surnames, at most three, in the whole village. One new but unfinished
house seemed to have been built from the ridgepole downward, instead of
in the usual order. There were no doorways or stairs or apertures for
communication between the stories, which were two in number. It was an
architectural riddle.
As a stroll to the village had consumed an unexpected amount of time, we
found ourselves, at the breakfast hour, miles away from our hotel. We
instituted a search for milk, and were directed at random, it seemed,
until a withered little old peasant, who was evidently given to
tippling, enlisted himself as our guide. He took us to the house of a
woman who carried milk and cream to town twice a week, and introduced us
with a comical flourish.