[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Russian Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE, MARY F.
NIXON-ROULET, BLANCHE MCMANUS,
CLARA Y. WINLOW, FLORENCE E.
MENDEL AND OTHERS
Our Little African Cousin
Our Little Alaskan Cousin
Our Little Arabian Cousin
Our Little Argentine Cousin
Our Little Armenian Cousin
Our Little Australian Cousin
Our Little Austrian Cousin
Our Little Belgian Cousin
Our Little Bohemian Cousin
Our Little Boer Cousin
Our Little Brazilian Cousin
Our Little Bulgarian Cousin
Our Little Canadian Cousin
Our Little Chinese Cousin
Our Little Cuban Cousin
Our Little Danish Cousin
Our Little Dutch Cousin
Our Little Egyptian Cousin
Our Little English Cousin
Our Little Eskimo Cousin
Our Little French Cousin
Our Little German Cousin
Our Little Grecian Cousin
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
Our Little Hindu Cousin
Our Little Hungarian Cousin
Our Little Indian Cousin
Our Little Irish Cousin
Our Little Italian Cousin
Our Little Japanese Cousin
Our Little Jewish Cousin
Our Little Korean Cousin
Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin
Our Little Mexican Cousin
Our Little Norwegian Cousin
Our Little Panama Cousin
Our Little Persian Cousin
Our Little Philippine Cousin
Our Little Polish Cousin
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin
Our Little Portuguese Cousin
Our Little Russian Cousin
Our Little Scotch Cousin
Our Little Servian Cousin
Our Little Siamese Cousin
Our Little Spanish Cousin
Our Little Swedish Cousin
Our Little Swiss Cousin
Our Little Turkish Cousin
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: PETROVNA.]
Our Little
Russian Cousin
By
Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
The Page Company
Publishers
_Copyright, 1901_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Twelfth Impression, April, 1909
Thirteenth Impression, August, 1910
Fourteenth Impression, April, 1913
Fifteenth Impression, July, 1915
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
Preface
A LARGE country, called Russia, lies in the eastern part of Europe. It
stretches from the icy shores of the Arctic Ocean, on the north, to the
warm waters of the Black Sea, on the south.
Many of the children of this great country have fair skins and blue
eyes. They belong to the same race as their English and American
cousins, although they speak a different language.
Some of them live in palaces, and have everything that heart could
desire; but a vast number of them are very poor, and their parents are
obliged to work hard to keep the grim wolf, hunger, away from the door.
Russia, as a nation, is very young, as compared with many others. She
is still in her childhood. Perhaps it is because of this that her
people do not enjoy as much freedom as ourselves.
A few years ago the Emperor of Russia spoke some words to which the
people of the western world listened with surprise and delight. He
said, "I wish there were peace between all countries, and that we could
settle our differences with each other without fighting." These wise
words did a great deal of good. The emperor, without doubt, meant what
he said. He did wish heartily that wars should be at an end. He has not
felt able, however, to carry out his ideas of peace, for at this very
moment he is at war with the people of Japan.
Let us hope that this war will soon be over, and that the nation to
which our Russian Cousin belongs will become as truly free and wise as
she is now large and powerful.
MALDEN, MASS., _May 1904_.
List of Illustrations
PAGE
PETROVNA _Frontispiece_
BABY BROTHER AND HIS NURSE 17
A VERY GRAND BUILDING 32
IN THE PEASANT VILLAGE 44
MARFA AND FROST 59
THE GREAT FAIR OF NIJNI-NOVGOROD 74
Our Little Russian Cousin
PETROVNA is a dainty little floweret of the cold lands far away. She
is your little Russian cousin. Her home is in the largest country of
this great round ball, the Earth. How fair are her cheeks, how blue her
eyes, and what long, beautiful, yellow hair she has! Her hands are so
white and soft and plump, I know you would like to squeeze them.
She is very gentle and ladylike. Her mamma has taught her that is the
right way to behave. Yet she is full of fun, and laughs at every joke
that her brother Ivan makes. They have great sport together, these two
children. Petrovna is ten, and Ivan eight years old.
Sometimes they play they are grown up, just as you do. Then Petrovna
puts on her mother's gown with a long train, and Ivan dresses himself
up like a soldier. Petrovna "makes believe" that she is a princess at
the court of the Emperor. She powders her hair, and puffs it on the top
of her head, and places feathers in it. Ivan cuts shining ornaments out
of a sheet of tin and fastens them on his coat. He pretends that these
were given him for bravery in battle.
These little children live in a fine city near the sea. Its name is St.
Petersburg. The streets look very much like those of Chicago and New
York. There are many grand palaces, however, and the churches are quite
different from ours.
Perhaps you would like to know why St. Petersburg was built. A long
time ago Peter the Great was the ruler of Russia. There was no large
city in the country near the sea at that time. Peter said, "If my
country is to be powerful, I must have a city that is near the coast
and that looks toward the rest of Europe."
Peter went to the shores of the river Neva, near the Baltic Sea. The
land was low and marshy. That did not matter to him. He sent out an
order for workmen. Great numbers of men came to the spot he had chosen,
to prepare it for streets and houses. Thousands of piles must first be
driven into the marshy soil. Millions of stones must be brought to fill
it up before streets could be laid. It was such unhealthful work that,
before the city was finished, hundreds of the poor workmen died of
fever. But the work was done, and Peter the Great went to live there.
He brought all his court with him. He made the place his capital. It is
now the most important city of Russia, and one of the largest in the
world. It is often called the "Czar's Window," because he is said to
look out over Europe from this place. (I forgot to tell you that the
Emperor of Russia is called the Czar.)
Let us come back to Petrovna and Ivan, who are just going out on the
river to skate. Their home is almost a palace, it is so big and grand.
Their father is a merchant. He buys tea from the East and sells it to
the people of his own country. He has grown so rich that he owns a
fine house in the city, in which the family live during the long, cold
winter. They go to another home on an island of the river Neva in the
summer-time.
Let us look into the big drawing-room, where papa and mamma entertain
their friends in the evening. How high the walls are! At one side of
the room is an immense porcelain stove. It looks somewhat like a tomb.
It is big enough for a play-house for Petrovna and Ivan. A big wood
fire is built in the stove on cold winter mornings. When it has burnt
down to glowing coals, the chimney is closed up, and port-holes from
the stove are opened. Then the heat rushes out into the room. How
close the air becomes! You do not wonder at it when you look around
and notice that there are three sets of windows at each casing. There
is only one pane in the whole room which can be opened to let in the
outside air. The Russians are afraid of having the cold enter their
houses. They have enough of it out-of-doors during at least six months
of the year.
What is that strange-looking vessel on the side table? It is of shining
copper. The maid polishes it very often, as it is used every evening
by papa and mamma. They call it a "samovar," and no Russian home is
complete without one. You probably can't guess the reason, so I will
have to tell you.
You must understand that the people of this far-away land are great
tea-drinkers. Tea in the morning, tea at noon, tea at night, and tea
between-whiles. They like it fresh, too. Tea always tastes best and is
least harmful when drunk as soon as it is made. So these good Russians
must have something near them on which to heat the water. In the middle
of the samovar is a cylinder in which hot coals are placed, and the
water is heated around this cylinder.
The boiling water is taken out whenever it is wanted and poured on the
tea in papa's tumbler or mamma's cup. No milk, if you please, to suit
their taste, and no sugar _in_ the tea. They prefer to take a lump of
the very hardest sugar in their fingers and nibble it as they swallow
the beverage they like so much.
A slice of lemon is often put in the tumbler with the tea. People in
our own country have begun to copy this custom, and drink what we call
"Russian tea." No doubt you have heard of it.
Let us turn to the wall and notice the large picture of the Madonna
and the infant Jesus hanging there. A lamp is burning in front of it.
If Petrovna comes into the room now, she will go to that picture at
once and cross herself before it. Every devout Russian has at least one
religious picture in his house, and will always pay it reverence when
he enters.
If a thief should happen to come into Petrovna's house in the night,
he would not dare to steal in the presence of such a picture, however
brave he might be. He would first hang a cloth over the painting. Then
he would go on with his wicked work without further thought.
There is a large organ in this grand drawing-room. It is played almost
automatically. (A big word, isn't it?) Petrovna and Ivan have music
boxes here, as the Russians are very fond of music. I fear they are
rather lazy, though, for many of their musical instruments do not
depend on the skill of those who play upon them. They make what we call
mechanical music.
[Illustration: BABY BROTHER AND HIS NURSE.]
There are several little tables about the room, as Petrovna's mamma and
papa are fond of playing cards with their friends. Indeed, you need not
be surprised at seeing the rich merchant playing a game at his store
any hour of the day. He smokes and drinks tea while he plays. And mamma
does the same. Yes, my dears, the women of Russia, of your own white
race, roll their dainty cigarettes and smoke them as commonly as the
men do. Petrovna will doubtless do this very thing when she is older.
When she comes to America she will probably be much surprised to see
only men practising the habit.
Petrovna and Ivan go to bed much later than their cousins across the
Atlantic, while their parents often sit up till three or four
o'clock in the morning. Such a gay city as they live in! Balls and
parties, theatres and sleigh-rides, night after night in the winter
season. Of course people cannot rise early for breakfast if they are
awake nearly all night. It is not often that Petrovna's papa goes to
his store before ten or eleven o'clock in the morning. The whole city
looks sleepy and dismal before that time. The sky is gray and dreary,
and the fog is thick and damp. The stores are closed, and few people
are to be seen.
But it is dinner-time. Here come the children with their skates on
their arms, and with them are the nurse and their baby brother. He has
been out for a ride in his little sleigh. He is wrapped up so tightly
you can hardly see his fat cheeks and the dimple in his chin.
As nurse takes off her hood and cape, I want you to notice her dress.
It is the national costume of Russia. She wears a loose white
undergarment with full short sleeves. It is low in the neck. She has a
dark skirt over this. The band is fastened around her body under the
arms, while straps over the shoulders hold it in place. I must not
forget to mention a large white apron, which is fastened by a belt
around her waist. Nor would she think herself dressed without her
ear-rings and bead necklace. The moment her hood is taken off she puts
a high cap of bright-coloured muslin on her head. This is always worn
in the house to show she is a married woman.
And here come papa and mamma. Papa is a fine-looking man with a long
beard. Mamma looks good and kind, and has a sweet voice, but she could
not be called pretty.
Dinner is waiting, and all have fine appetites. As they enter the
dining-room they do not sit down to the table at once. One by one they
go up to a sideboard where all sorts of cold dishes are served. There
are dried beef, smoked salmon, cheese, radishes, and other relishes
of which Russians are fond. Each one helps himself to some of these
dainties. They take small portions, however, for this is what they call
the zakushka, or appetiser. You need not try to pronounce it unless
you wish. It is to make them hungrier for the solid meal, which comes
afterward. How these people do eat! First there is cabbage soup, made
of chopped cabbage which has been boiled with a piece of meat. Petrovna
first dips her spoon into a dish of barley beside her plate, and then
into the soup. She is very fond of this national dish. The richest and
the poorest people, even the Czar himself, eat it continually and never
tire of it. The only difference is that the poor peasant can seldom
afford the meat which improves its flavour so much.
Next comes a pie made of fish and raisins. It seems rather queer to us
to have these two things cooked together, but our Russian cousins think
it is very good. And now a roast lamb is served with salted cucumbers,
followed by buckwheat pudding, and ices, for dessert.
Last, but not least, the samovar is set on the table, and cup after cup
of delicious tea is drunk by the family.
I forgot to tell you that sour cream was served with the soup, and papa
and mamma drank some cordial while they ate of the zakushka. This was
to encourage their appetites still more. But I certainly can't see what
need there was. They ate and ate, and drank tea and still more tea,
till it seemed as if they would be made ill.
It is said that Russians are among the largest eaters in the world. If
this be so, I do not wonder that so many of them grow stout. This makes
me think of a story I read the other day. Perhaps you would like to
hear it. There was a certain soldier in Russia who ate so much that his
friends used to lay wagers with strangers as to the quantity he could
eat at a single time. His friends generally won, too. It happened one
day that the colonel of the regiment made a large wager that the man
could eat a whole sheep at one meal. The cook prepared the sheep in
many ways, in order to encourage the man's appetite. Of one part he
made a pie, of another a stew, of still another a hash, and so on.
The man swallowed one preparation after another until the sheep was
almost eaten, when he looked up and said, "If you give me so much
zakushka, I am afraid I will not be able to eat the sheep when it is
brought in." You understand the joke, of course, when you remember that
the zakushka is made of the side dishes one eats before the regular
meal is begun. Of course the colonel won his bet.
Besides the cabbage soup, there are still others of which the Russians
are very fond. One of these is made with cold beer with pieces of
cucumber, meat, and red herrings floating about in it, as well as bits
of ice. Still another is made of a fish called the sterlet, which is
found only in the Volga, the principal river of Russia. Then there are
trout soup, perch soup, and several other kinds of which you probably
never heard.
But now let us leave the dinner-table and go out into Petrovna's yard.
At one end of it there is a high platform. It is built at least twenty
feet above the ground. Steps lead up to it on one side, while from the
other a long slant reaches down to a frozen pond below. This slant
looks as though it were solid shining ice. But underneath there are
stout boards to keep it smooth and unbending. They are fastened to a
very strong framework. Now guess, if you please, why this ice hill, as
it is called, was made in Petrovna's back yard. To amuse her and her
little brother, of course.
They are very fond of coasting. They like it even better than skating.
So their thoughtful papa hired two workmen. They made the framework
and laid great blocks of ice close together upon the slant. They then
poured water over the ice to make it perfectly smooth. The cold winds
blew upon it. It froze solid in a few minutes, and not a crack in the
ice can be seen. It will last all winter, for in Russia the warm days,
that we sometimes have in January, are scarcely known.
Petrovna and Ivan take their sleds every morning as soon as lessons are
over, and away they run up the steps of their ice hill. Hurrah! Now
hold your breath, for away they go, faster and faster, down the hill
and over the pond below. How they shout with delight! They travel more
quickly than any express train you ever saw.
I am afraid you will be a little envious of their fun and wish you
had a private ice hill like theirs. The best part of it is that these
little Russians don't have to wait for a good snow-storm to make
coasting for them. It is always on hand and made to order.
Petrovna has a hill made of polished wood at her summer home on the
island. It cost a good deal of money, but her papa thought, "What does
that matter? The children like coasting better than any other sport, so
coasting they shall have."
There are public ice-hills in several parts of the city. Both old and
young people are very fond of coasting. The Emperor himself has a slide
of beautiful mahogany in his palace. It has been polished until it
shines like one of the finest pieces of furniture.
Petrovna and Ivan do not go to school as some of the poor children
do. They have a French governess. She teaches them to read, write,
and spell. She also gives them lessons in French and German. She is
a fine scholar, and Petrovna's papa and mamma respect her greatly.
She is treated like one of the family and meets all of their friends.
Petrovna's mamma wished her children's governess to be a Frenchwoman,
because French is generally spoken in good society in Russia. Of course
she can teach them to pronounce it better than a person of their own
country could.
Besides the two languages they are studying now, Ivan and Petrovna will
soon take Latin, and perhaps Italian. Well-educated people of Russia
often speak several different languages. But there are thousands, yes,
millions of the poor in their land who cannot read their own language
or even write their own names! The schools are not as common, you see,
as in this country, but they are growing better every year.
By the way, I must tell you that there are more than forty different
tongues spoken in the various parts of the great country of Russia. If
you learned to speak the Russian language in one part of it, you might
not understand what the people say in a different part.
In Petrovna's yard there is a little house close to the main one. If
she should let you look in, you would see a large brick oven at the end
of the room. Wide shelves are fastened one above another on the side
of the wall. You can't imagine what this place is used for, so I shall
certainly have to tell you. It is the family bath-house. I can hear you
cry, "What a bath-house! I don't see any tub, or, in fact, _anything_
that looks like a bath-house." But the children of Russia do not take
water baths as you do. They are bathed by steam.
Every Saturday a big fire is made in the stove, and when the bricks are
very hot, water is poured over them. The room is filled with hot steam.
Petrovna delights in this weekly bath. At first she lies on a low shelf
until she gets quite warm. The perspiration starts out all over her
little naked body. Then her maid places her on a higher shelf and pours
more water over the stove. More steam rises, and Petrovna grows warmer
and warmer. It seems as though she would suffocate. Now for a still
higher shelf in the room. Of course the higher up the little girl goes,
the hotter she grows. The water fairly runs out of the pores of her
skin, now. Instead of looking like a lily, she would remind you of a
boiled lobster.
Shouldn't you think she would get cold after a hot bath like that,
especially as she is going out of doors into the freezing air? She
never does, however, and I will tell you why. When she has been steamed
enough, she is slowly cooled off by having first warm and then cold
water poured over her. When all is finished, and she has been rubbed
down, she feels as fresh and sweet as a flower.
She is ready for the next day's duty and pleasure now. To-morrow is
the Sabbath, and every good Russian takes his bath on the day before.
Sunday morning comes. Every one of the family wears his holiday
clothes, for, after breakfast, all will attend church service.
Petrovna's mamma has promised to take her to-day to the cathedral of
St. Mark. She is so pleased she can hardly wait till the time comes to
put on her wraps. No hat for her, if you please. That would not keep
her dear little head warm enough. She wears a hood with a deep cape,
and a long white cloak of astrakhan. Perhaps you have a muff of the
same material. I wonder if you think it is fur. Astrakhan is the soft
white fleece taken from the new-born lamb of a peculiar kind of sheep.
The sooner the baby lamb is killed, the handsomer is the wool. Every
year thousands of sheep are raised in Asia so that the beautiful white,
gray, and black astrakhan can be sent to Russia, and to people in other
parts of the world.
Petrovna wears her hood and cloak with the wool inside to keep her all
the warmer. Her mamma has a hood and cloak of the richest sable. It
cost thousands of dollars. You cannot see its beauty, for she wears it
with the fur on the inside to keep her comfortable, just as Petrovna
does.
The sleigh is at the door, and it is time to leave. What a curious
one it is! It is low and small, and the back of the seat is so low
that Petrovna might fall over backward if she were not used to it.
There is just room enough for the little girl and her mamma, with a
small seat in front for the coachman. Notice his queer clothes and his
funny-looking hat. It makes you think of a battered stovepipe. The
upper part of the crown is much wider than the lower part, and the
narrow brim curls up. His blue cloak is quite loose, and has a long
plaited skirt. It is fastened on one side with six metal buttons. A
heavy leather belt is clasped around his waist.
Observe the horses. They are fine-looking animals, but how queerly they
are harnessed. The middle one has a high wooden yoke about his neck.
The rest of the harness is fastened to that. The horses on the outside
are attached to the one in the middle by a single rein. They are left
quite free in their motions. They are called madmen. Some sleighs have
one horse, some two, and some three.
And now Petrovna and her mamma are seated, the fur robes are tucked
snugly in, the coachman jumps to his seat and makes a kind of clucking
noise. The horses rush onward at a furious rate, and still Petrovna
calls out, "Faster!" She is not afraid of accident, nor is she
satisfied, although the horses seem to be doing their best. Russians
are not fond of exercising themselves, but they dearly like to be moved
as fast as possible. This is why they like sleighing and coasting
better than any other sports.
As Petrovna rides along she finds that the streets are full of sleighs,
yet they do not sound so merry as they do in our own land. What is the
difference? There are no sleigh-bells. There is a law that none can be
used in the cities of Russia. I will tell you the reason. There are so
many sleighs, and the streets are so crowded with them (for hardly any
person walks), that the drivers would get confused by the sound of so
many bells, and run into each other. There is a very severe punishment
for the one who causes such an accident. But strange to say, although
there is so much driving, few people are injured. The coachmen are very
careful, although they probably drive faster than the people of any
other country.
[Illustration: A VERY GRAND BUILDING.]
In a few minutes Petrovna and her mamma arrive in front of a very grand
building. This is the cathedral. Papa and the rest of the family drive
up at the same time, and all alight. See the crowd of beggars at the
gates! There are poor men and women who ask for enough money to buy a
dinner of coarse black bread. There are nuns who are asking alms to
support their convent. Few people are willing to refuse at the very
doors of the church.
The cathedral is built in the shape of a cross. All churches in Russia
are built in the same way. But notice these massive steps. Each is
cut out of a single block of granite. Stand off a little and look at
the great, shining dome. It is made of copper but is covered thickly
with gold. It is so far up, and shines so brightly in the sunlight,
that it is a beacon-light to the sailors far out on the sea.
Now let us follow our little cousin and enter the cathedral. How dark,
and yet how beautiful it is! There are no seats. Rich and poor are
standing together in worship. See those great columns of beautiful
stones. The delicate sea-green is malachite. That heavenly blue is
lapis lazuli. Does it not make you think of fairy-land? Notice, please,
the number of beautiful pictures. There are no statues or images in the
building, because the Russian Church does not think it right to worship
them.
Listen to the music. There is no organ, but hidden from sight is a
choir of men who are chanting. Are not their voices fine? Would you
not like to stay all day to listen to such music? But what is Petrovna
doing? As she entered the church she bought a candle at a stand near
the door. Now she brings it to a shrine at the side of the great
building. She offers it to a priest, who lights it and places it in a
silver stand in front of the sacred picture. There are several holes in
the stand, in which other candles are burning. The priest allows each
candle to burn only a minute or two, because many other people keep
coming up. They wish to have their candles burn there also.
As our dear little cousin stands there crossing herself devoutly, let
us notice the picture of the Madonna before which the candles are
burning. Her dress, as well as the halo around her head, is fairly
covered with gold and silver and precious stones. Good and pious people
have spent thousands of dollars for these beautiful gems. The only
parts not covered are the face and hands. The background, even, is
covered with gold. There are many other such shrines in the cathedral.
A white-robed priest attends to the candles, which are kept burning
night and day in each one of these shrines.
The church is filled with the odour of incense. Through the faint blue
smoke we can still watch Petrovna as she stands throughout the service.
Now and then she bows her body to the floor, or crosses herself as some
sacred name is repeated.
And now it is over. A ride once more, and home is reached. The rest of
the day is given up to play and pleasure. Papa goes to his club for
a game of cards. Perhaps Petrovna and Ivan will go out coasting, or
mamma will take them for a visit to some friends. After church service,
Sunday in Russia is a gala-day for rich and poor. It is a time for
parties in winter, and picnics in the summer-time.
Sometimes in the morning Petrovna and her brother go to early market
with the maid. It is more fun in winter than in summer, even though
"Jack Frost" is on the watch to nip off their noses. Snow is everywhere
to be seen on the housetops and fences, and great drifts of snow are
being dug out in the streets. Icicles are hanging from every corner.
Yes, Jack Frost is a merry-looking fellow, but he is ready to bite you
if he has half a chance. Petrovna touches her nose and cheeks every
little while to be sure they are not numb. It is so easy in northern
Russia to find oneself with a frozen ear or nose. A disagreeable
surprise party, indeed.
But the market! You never saw anything like it. It is well that it is
called "the frozen market." Here are whole sheep standing on their
stiff, frozen legs, and looking at you with their frozen eyes. Beside
them are pigs with their four legs pulled outwards, and looking, oh! so
queer and odd. Quails, grouse, chickens, ducks, partridges,--all kinds
of fowls and game, and all frozen. They have been frozen for weeks,
and will stay so in this frosty air till they are handed over to the
hard-hearted cooks. Then into the oven they will go, and come out,
brown and tender, on the dinner-table.
Russia is a great place for game of all kinds. In the market there are
great piles of fish in a solid frozen heap. Petrovna takes hold of a
string, and lifts a brick of frozen milk. That is the way milk is sold.
No quart measures are needed in winter in St. Petersburg.
The children ask the maid to take the long way home, for they wish to
look again at the statue of their loved Kriloff. How dear he is to all
Russian children! His stories of dogs, cats, rabbits, foxes, squirrels,
and other living creatures, bring them nearer to the hearts of
everybody. The figures of many of the animals that live in his stories
are carved on his monument.
But look! What is all this commotion about? See the crowd gathering on
the sidewalks. The street is cleared by the police, for the Emperor is
coming, the Great White Czar. First comes a squadron of cavalry, and
behind them is the royal sleigh. It is drawn by two beautiful horses.
Three officers sit in the sleigh with the Emperor.
What a fine face and figure he has! He looks kind and noble, but worn
with the cares of his great empire. As he passes along, the people
cheer with might. They love him with all their hearts. He is the head
of their Church. He is the father of this great people. They worship
him, and would save him all his care if they could. But alas! there
are enemies in this very city who may even now be plotting to take
his life. They do not believe in kings, nor, indeed, in rulers of any
kind. They work secretly against him with other people all over Russia.
Although from time to time they are discovered and killed or sent into
exile, others take their places. This great ruler, who is warmly loved
by his subjects, is in danger of his life all the time. No wonder he
looks so careworn.
Petrovna and Ivan look long and tenderly after him, cheering till their
little throats are quite tired out. Then they hurry home to tell mamma
what they have seen to-day.
At dinner Ivan said, "Papa, I wish you would tell me something about
the Cossacks. They seem to go everywhere the Czar does. I noticed them
in the body of cavalry this morning. They look and dress so differently
from us, but they ride their horses nobly. I would like to look like a
Cossack when on horseback."
"They are noble men, indeed," said papa. "Their home is far away from
us, in the south of Russia. A long time ago they were at war with us,
but now they are good friends and strong defenders of our country. In
time of war they are the spies and scouts. They are so faithful that
the Emperor can feel perfectly safe when they are near. They pay no
taxes, but give their services in the army instead."
"Papa," interrupted Ivan, "why do they wear long beards and have no
buttons on their coats? That is not like the rest of the cavalry. And
they carry no cartridge-boxes."
"That is true," was the reply. "The Cossacks detest buttons, and hook
their coats over, just as ladies often do. The cartridges are carried
in a row of pockets on the breasts of their coats. You see they are a
very independent people, and insist on dressing in their own manner.
The Czar allows them to do so because they are so good in other ways.
"You should see them in war. They dare to go into the greatest of
dangers. They admire bravery more than anything else in the world. Just
before a battle they wash themselves and dress with the greatest care.
They believe that they must be clean if they would enter heaven. But
when the battle is over they draw up in line, leaving empty places for
their fellows who have fallen. Then they sing sad songs in memory of
them.
"In their own home they treat each other like brothers, and share the
land in common. They are good to their cattle and horses. After a long
march they will always care for their horses and feed them before doing
anything for themselves. Before they eat they always wash themselves,
oil their hair, and pray. They are as fond of tea as we are, my boy.
"But this is enough for to-night. I hope you will study your history
carefully as you grow older. I want you to know more about the
Cossacks, as well as many other interesting people who live in this
great strong country of ours."
Not many miles from the fine city in which Petrovna lives are some
other children whose home is very different from hers. Their parents
are peasants who were serfs not many years ago. A serf was one kind of
slave, for he belonged either to the Emperor or some rich nobleman. He
could be bought and sold just like a horse. But the grandfather of the
present Czar said, "My people must all be free. No human being in my
empire shall be a slave any longer." That was the end of serfdom.
But these people are still very, very poor. Few of them can read a
book. Many of them are lazy and fond of strong drink. They live in
little villages all over Russia. There are more peasants than all other
classes of people in the country.
Petrovna's papa must soon go to one of these villages on business. His
little daughter is going with him. She is sorry for the poor peasants.
She wishes she could give their children some pretty playthings like
hers. She carries a new red skirt for a little girl there whom she
knows.
The village looks very bare in the winter season. It is still more
so in the summer time. No trees, no sidewalks, scanty gardens, and
scarcely what you could call a street. Only wide pathways between the
rows of huts, which are huddled together. There is only one two-story
house in the place. This is owned by the storekeeper or village
merchant. He sells the peasants everything they need to buy. He is not
of the peasant class himself. He came to live here in order to make
money out of these poor men and women. The village well, from which
every one in the place draws his water, is near his house. On the side
of the well hangs a sacred picture, so that every one who comes there
may worship first.
[Illustration: IN THE PEASANT VILLAGE.]
On the front of each hut are three little windows, close together. The
sashes and frames are painted a bright red, or perhaps a gaudy purple.
The Russian peasant is very fond of colour, and will work hard for the
sake of a new red shirt for himself or a yellow skirt for his wife.
The porch and doorway are on one side of the hut. In summer time an
earthen kettle hangs down from the roof, and as the father comes home
from his work he will stop a moment and tip a little water out of the
kettle over his hands. He rubs them together and wipes himself on the
tail of his shirt. This is the only washing he has except the weekly
steaming in the village bath-house.
Look at the flocks of pigeons around the house. They are very tame.
They appear well fed and fat. In Russia the pigeon or dove is a
sacred bird and is never harmed. The rough peasant will share his last
crust with a pigeon.
Petrovna goes to the door of one of the cottages and passes inside. Oh
dear, how close the place is! It smells strongly of the cabbage soup
boiling for the day's dinner. Only one small room in the house. Yet
there is a large family of children living here, besides half a dozen
shaggy-haired dogs. With the exception of the big brick stove, there is
no furniture except what the father made himself. In one corner of the
room is a rickety table.
A narrow bench is built against the wall on two sides of the room.
There are no chairs and no beds. How do they get along? And yet they
seem quite happy and comfortable. Papa and mamma sleep up on top of the
big stove. The older children sleep beside them. Don't worry, my dears.
They do not get burned, but like their hard, warm bed very much. The
logs burn down to ashes in the daytime. The bricks are just pleasantly
warm by night.
But the little girl to whom Petrovna has brought the dress, and her
three-year-old brother, where do they sleep? On the benches against the
walls. If they should have bad dreams and tumble off in the night, it
would not matter so very much, for the bench is near the floor.
When meal time comes, the family does not gather around the table, for
as I told you, there are no seats that can be moved. They sit on the
benches, and the table is therefore kept in the corner of the room.
They can sit at only two sides of it, of course.
But I have not yet spoken of the most important thing in the house. It
is the Ikon, or sacred picture. The priest blessed it before it was
brought to the home. There is a place for a candle to burn in front
of it, but these poor people cannot afford to keep one lighted all the
time. This picture has no gold upon it, like the one in Petrovna's
house. It cost only a few pennies, but it is sacred, nevertheless. The
family give it reverence many times a day. It is never forgotten as
they enter the room.
It sometimes happens, I am sorry to say, that the father comes home
the worse for taking strong drink. Perhaps he cannot walk straight,
and hangs his head from side to side. But when he opens the door, he
remembers to turn to the sacred picture and cross himself before it.
Although there is so little furniture and so few windows, the room
looks bright and gay. The table is painted a gorgeous red, while the
benches are a brilliant green.
Black bread made from coarse rye-meal, cabbage soup, weak tea (for they
cannot afford to have it strong), are the daily food of the peasants.
If they can get some buckwheat and dried herring, once in awhile, they
think themselves well-off.
They have many happy times, these poor people of Russia. When work is
done for the day, they dance and sing, and play upon the concertina, if
any one in the village owns one of these cheap musical instruments.
When Petrovna takes out the red dress for the little girl and a large
package of buckwheat which mamma has sent to the family, every one in
the house shouts with delight. It seems as though they could not thank
her enough. Even the dogs wake up and begin to bark in excitement. In
the midst of it all Petrovna's papa calls for her. She must go back
to the grand city and her fine home. She will forget for a time that
all children in the world cannot be as well dressed and well fed as
herself.
Petrovna has never yet been far away from St. Petersburg. She longs to
go to the beautiful white-walled city of Moscow. Her mamma has been
there, and has described its beauties over and over again.
It is a long journey from St. Petersburg. As you draw near the city,
a blaze of colour is spread out before you. Domes of red and gold and
purple are shining on the hilltops in the glorious sunlight. Churches
and towers and palaces are without number, and differ from each other
in shape and beauty. Moscow is a mass of colour made of countless
gems and countless tints. In the midst of the city is the Kremlin or
citadel. But the Kremlin is not one building. It is really a fortress
surrounded by a massive wall that encloses many palaces and cathedrals,
beautiful gardens and stately convents. Great gates open into it, and
each has its story. One of them is called the Nicholas gate. A picture
of St. Nicholas, whom the Russians worship, hangs over it. At one
time the French were at war with the Russians. They stormed this gate
and split its solid stonework, but the picture was unharmed. "It is a
miracle," the people said.
There is a picture of the Virgin over another gate. The French tried to
get this picture, but they did not succeed. This was another miracle,
all thought, and no one passes through that gate now without taking off
his hat. Within the Kremlin are other sacred pictures, which the people
believe can work miracles.
The oil of baptism is prepared and blessed by the high-priest in a
certain cathedral in Moscow. It is sent to every church in Russia, that
all new-born children may be baptised with it.
Petrovna's mamma went to the city of Moscow when the Czar was crowned.
He could not be formally made Emperor in St. Petersburg. That was
not to be thought of. All Czars must be married as well as crowned in
Moscow, and, until the time of Peter the Great, all have been buried
there.
The coronation of the present Czar was the greatest spectacle of modern
times. Petrovna hears her mamma sigh when she tries to describe it.
Everything was so grand and shining and gorgeous,--processions and
fireworks, music and feasting, everybody pleased and gaily dressed;
men in silk and velvet, ladies sparkling in satins covered with pearls
and diamonds; the double-headed eagle, the bird of Russia, showing its
gilded crowns everywhere.
In the evening there were no rockets and Roman candles, but fireworks
that were constantly shining, while the fronts of the buildings were
covered with candles burning in glass globes.
Such horses, such elegant carriages, and such fine parks to drive in!
And through the city ran the river, reflecting the lights from all
sides.
There were days and days of feasting, from the time the new Emperor
arrived in the city. He appeared in the grand procession mounted on a
snow-white horse. He was dressed very simply in dark green, wearing
a cap of astrakhan. Behind him came a great array of princes and
grand-dukes. Next came the Emperor's mother in a carriage drawn by
eight superb horses. After this appeared the carriage of the Empress.
It was all of gold, and also drawn by eight snow-white horses.
How the crowd cheered, and cheered again! If this could show how
devoted the people were to their ruler, their love could not be
measured.
The governor of the city came out to meet the Czar and presented him
with bread and salt.
These are the emblems of trust and friendship. Then the royal family
rode onward till they came to a little chapel, where the Emperor and
Empress alighted. They passed in alone to worship.
Now to the Kremlin, where a multitude was waiting for them. There were
thousands of the peasants, who had travelled hundreds of miles on foot.
They wished to see, if only for one moment, the head of their Church
and State. There were princes and officers from every country of the
world. There were Chinese mandarins, Persian rulers, wealthy Indians,
people of all colours and races. And all were dressed in the richest
robes that money could buy and art design. Such a mass of colour! Such
sparkling of precious stones! Such a wealth of satin and lace and
velvet and cloth of silver and gold!
After his entrance of triumph into the city, the Emperor and Empress
retired from the public eye for three days. They must fast and pray
until the time that the Czar should be crowned, else they would
not be in right condition for this ceremony. But the others in the
crowded city did not fast. The days were given to pleasures of all
kinds,--eating, drinking, music, and dancing.
At last the Czar was crowned! It was in the cathedral, where all other
Czars have been crowned before. He himself put on the robe and collar,
and assumed the crown of empire. The heavy crown of gold was placed on
his head by his own hands. He then made a noble prayer for himself and
the great empire, and for the millions of people who are his devoted
subjects. How fair and strong and kindly was his face! Never had
Petrovna's mamma seen anything so grand or so solemn. She stops and
repeats a prayer now for the good Emperor Nicholas II.
When the ceremony was ended there was a ringing of bells all over the
city. Hundreds of cannon were fired. Then more feasting and merriment
followed for days yet to come. Free dinners were served every day to
five thousand of the poor. The Czar did not forget them. They feasted
as they had never done before in their lives.
At last came the great day of the festival. It was called the "people's
fête." Every one was welcome. There were shows of all kinds that you
can imagine. There were concerts and plays, boxing and fencing matches,
trained animals,--everything to make the people happy. Overlooking it
all sat the Czar in a grand pavilion. All the lords and ladies of the
land were about him.
How delightful it was! Petrovna's mamma leans back in her chair and
smiles softly to herself as she thinks of that joyful time.
On many a winter evening, as they sit around the big porcelain stove
and sip the tea, Petrovna and Ivan beg for stories. They like fairy
tales best of all. Their favourite one is the story of "Frost." Perhaps
you would like to hear it.
Once upon a time there was a man who had three children. His wife was
extremely fond of two of the daughters, but she was cruel and unkind to
the third girl, whose name was Marfa. This was because Marfa was her
stepdaughter. She made Marfa get up early in the morning to work, while
her stepsisters were having a nice nap. The poor girl had to feed the
cattle, bring in the wood, make the fire, and sweep the room. After
this she must mend the clothes and do many other things before the rest
of the family stirred. What a hard time she had, poor child! And then
she was only scolded for her labour.
She did not have a kind word from any one except her old father, and
then only when they were alone together. He was afraid of his wife,
and did not dare to be good to Marfa when the others were around.
She was a beautiful girl, and was sweet and patient, besides. Her
stepmother was jealous of her because she was so much lovelier than her
sisters. The old woman said to herself, "I will put the girl out of my
sight and get rid of her. I hate her."
That very night she said to her husband, "Come, old man, get up early
in the morning and harness the horse. Take Marfa away on a visit." Then
she turned to her stepdaughter, and said, "Put your clothes together
and dress neatly when you get up, for your father will be ready to take
you away."
The girl was delighted. She thought how nice it would be to go where
people would be kind to her. Morning came. Marfa washed herself
carefully, prayed to God, put on her best dress, and looked lovely
enough to be a bride.
[Illustration: MARFA AND FROST.]
The old stepmother called her to a breakfast of cold cabbage soup, and
then said to her, "Now, Marfa, get out of my sight for ever. I have
seen enough of you. The sledge is at the door. Husband, take Marfa to
her bridegroom. Go straight down the road, turn to the right, go up the
hill till you come to an old pine-tree, and there leave the girl for
Frost. He will soon come to get her."
The poor old father looked sad enough when he heard these words, but he
did not dare to disobey his wife. He and Marfa got into the sledge and
rode away slowly. His daughter was weeping bitterly. In a little while
they came to the place where they were ordered to stop. Marfa got out
and sat down under the pine-tree. The old man rode away. He thought he
should never see his darling child again. He wept at the thought Soon
he was out of sight.
There was nothing but snow for Marfa to look upon now. The ground
was covered with great drifts. The bushes were buried under it. The
branches of the trees were bending under its weight. Not a sound could
be heard save the falling of icicles and the creaking steps of Frost as
he leaped from tree to tree.
Marfa was chilled through. Her teeth chattered. Her lips were blue and
stiff. She was too cold to sob or cry out. Frost was coming nearer and
nearer. Pretty soon he was in the tree above Marfa's head. He cried
out, "Maiden, are you warm?" "Oh, yes, quite warm enough, dear Father
Frost," she answered. Then he came down from the tree. Now she was
almost frozen.
He called again, "Are you warm, my sweet girl? Are you sure you are
warm enough?" By this time Marfa was so numb she could hardly move
her lips. But she tried to answer, "Oh, yes, dearest sir, I am warm
enough." Frost took pity on the poor patient maiden. He brought furs
and warm blankets and wrapped her up in them. Then he left her.
She slept unharmed all night, and, when she woke in the morning, she
found gifts of rich clothing which Frost had brought her in the night.
Her father soon appeared with the sledge. He had expected to find her
dead body, but she was well and healthy. Not even a finger was frozen.
How the old man rejoiced. He took Marfa and her fine presents into the
sledge, and they rode home together.
You can imagine how angry the stepmother was when she saw the girl
again. But when she heard how kind Frost had been, and saw the
beautiful clothing he had given Marfa, she said, "Husband, you must
take my girls to their bridegroom. He will be far kinder to them
than he has been to Marfa, I am sure of that." Then she said to her
daughters, "I have found a bridegroom for you. You must go to meet him."