Travellers in Russia—False impressions—Civilization in the
Czar’s dominions—Public roads—Morasses and forests—The Vologda
road—Wretched horses—Rough roads—The crown peasants—Aspect
of the villages—Civilization of the _people_—Vanity of the
Russians—Provincial towns—The churches—The postmasters—The
yemstchicks, or drivers—Personal appearance of the
peasantry—Their costumes—Crossing the Dwina—Pleasing
scene—Village burying-ground.
The generality of travellers in Russia, at least of those tourists who
have obliged the world with ‘Winters in St. Petersburg’ and ‘Journeys to
Moscow,’ containing the most flourishing accounts of the state of the
roads, the high civilization, the rapid strides to excellence, &c., of
the Czar’s dominions, are unfortunately limited to a class who, having
a few months’ leisure, and being desirous of change, take the voyage to
Russia as one promising more novelty than the hackneyed roads of France
and Switzerland. Their ordinary plan is, to take the steamer to St.
Petersburg, and after a stay of a short time take a “run” to Moscow,
whence they return in time for the “boat,” and hasten back at the rate of
ten or twelve knots an hour, carrying away with them the most erroneous
and false ideas of the real state of things, the mere surface of which
they have scarcely had time to skim. Had they remained a few years
among the Russians, not living, as the most part of the English do,
in little colonies by themselves, but mixing with the people, and had
they travelled a few thousand miles over the cross-country roads, they
would soon have had “the gilding taken off the gingerbread” of Muscovite
civilization. In fact, the excessive exterior polish always reminded me
of a woman with her face painted, who hopes by factitious bloom on her
cheeks to hide her ugliness. Moscow and St. Petersburg are certainly
fine cities; the former may be regarded as the true Russian capital,
the latter is merely a handsome imitation of other European great
towns. Having seen them, the stranger has seen all that is civilized
in the empire. In illustration of what I have said, I may remark that,
excepting the chaussée from the western to the inland capital, and from
the former to Warsaw, there are really no roads; those fine macadamised
highways so much lauded by travellers, and deservedly so, extend but a
few miles beyond the towns: farther on the route lies through immense
plains of sand, endless morasses, and interminable forests in the north,
and steppes in the south, across which the post-road has been cut; but
this post-road scarcely deserves the name, for, generally, it is merely
a cleared space cut through the woods, with boughs of trees laid down
here and there where there are spots that would be otherwise impassable.
There is little enough to vary the monotony of the journey; the miserable
villages with their wretched inhabitants scarcely serve to enliven the
scene.
The whole of the distance between Archangel and Vologda, comprising
several hundred miles, with the exception of the two pretty towns
Vycavajai and Velsk, is composed of those desolate features which,
indeed, characterise nearly all the north of Russia. Sometimes we
had to be dragged through sand so deep that our carriage-wheels sank
a foot or two, and the eight ragged-looking brutes—they were scarcely
worthy of the name of horses—would suddenly stand stock still, and thus
confess their utter inability to fulfil their engagement of taking us
to the next post-station. Whenever this happened, there was nothing for
it but to descend from the carriage in order to lighten the weight,
and to stand patiently until some peasants had been procured from a
neighbouring village, who, by the aid of poles inserted between the
spokes of the wheels, and by loud barbarous cries, aroused the energies
of our gallant team to make further efforts and extricate us from this
dilemma. After the usual number of Slavo Bogens (thank God) had been
uttered by the wild-looking, long-bearded boors, and after being again
seated comfortably, with every reason for congratulating ourselves that
we were progressing, although at a snail’s pace, perhaps I would be
tempted to take a little nap, being convinced that I should lose nothing
of the prospect, for I might be pretty sure of seeing the same endless
forests of fir if I were to awake the next day. With this assurance I
begin to nod, and, perhaps, by some unaccountable delusion am dreaming of
the smooth highways and green hedges of merry England, when bump we come
against something, the shock giving me such a rap on the head that it
effectually dispels all visions and fantasies. I look out and find we are
splashing gaily through a morass which hides in its bosom sly stones and
stocks, and which seems as interminable as the sandy plains from which we
have just escaped, and of which we shall have many repetitions before
the journey is over. Of course, as every one knows, there are no inns
on the cross-roads, and places whereat to rest at night are altogether
unknown. Even on the great chaussées it is better to travel day and
night and remain in the carriage, for he must be a bold man who would be
willing to face the vermin of all kinds, even for a single night, in a
wayside hotel. The better class of Russian travellers know well how they
are peopled, and avoid them accordingly. As for the lower class, they are
too much accustomed to such company to care in the least. A Russian lady
whom I know once spoke to her peasants on the subject of cleanliness, and
especially concerning the vermin. Their reply would have done honour to a
Gentoo: “Ah, Sudarina, it is a _sin to kill them, because God has given
them to us_!”
The post-station is generally kept by a government official: a samovar
or tea-urn can be obtained from him, for the use of which he expects a
few copecks; and this, with the addition of black bread and salt, is all
that can be procured during the whole route: it is therefore absolutely
necessary to provide oneself with everything that is needful, such as
bread, meat, tea, &c., and in very long journeys a cooking apparatus.
If the traveller does not take spoons, cups, and plates, let him be
very careful to wash those he finds at the station, or he may swallow
some little animal and transgress the Gentoo laws, besides which entire
confidence cannot be placed in the mode of their being purified. I
remember taking tea at a certain monastery. There were many ladies and
gentlemen at the abbot’s party; and, to make it more pleasant, his
reverence proposed our adjourning to a summerhouse in the garden to eat
ices. The young monks or novices were to act as servitors, and they stood
behind some bushes near the place where we sat. I confess my relish for
the refreshment was somewhat taken away when I saw them lick the spoons
and wipe them: I could not warn my friends, but I took good care not to
make use of them myself. But in regard to travelling in Russia, I am
sure that those who have done so in the summer time will well remember
the miserable nights passed _en route_, the myriads of mosquitoes,
rising like a brown cloud from the marshy grounds, allowing no rest, to
which the excessive heat formed no agreeable addition. In Archangel the
English sailors suffered so dreadfully from the bites of these insects
that they were frequently obliged to go to the hospital: they used to
declare that “it was worse than in the West Indies.” The winter journeys,
notwithstanding the extreme cold, are infinitely more pleasant.
The people at the post-stations are generally civil, and are much obliged
for a small gratuity. As for the poor yemstchicks or drivers, they are
overcome with gratitude at a trifling present of a few copecks at the end
of each post.
I remarked that the inhabitants of the villages belonging to the crown,
through which we passed, appeared more comfortably lodged and far more
at their ease than those who were the property of private landowners:
perhaps their less degraded look was owing to their enjoying upon the
whole more freedom than those who are ground down to the dust by the
tyranny of the petty noblesse. The crown peasants pay a poll-tax to the
Emperor.
Some of the villages were in a most wretched condition, the houses dirty
and dilapidated, without windows, and having only a little trap-door
just large enough for a man to peep through, which shuts at pleasure to
exclude the cold. Indeed the log-huts of the Russian peasants are very
little better than the wigwams of the Red Indians, although sometimes
the exterior is more ornamented. The inhabitants live in much the
same manner as they did centuries before Peter the Great’s reign. The
_people_ have not made a single forward step in the march of intellect,
of which the admirers of Russia so madly rave. Scores of the Russians
of the upper classes, I have heard, say the same thing, notwithstanding
their own vanity, which so blinds their eyes that they imagine that by
imitating the exterior polish of the French—although omitting the solid
enlightenment of that nation—they have really become civilized, and many,
I verily believe, think that they have even surpassed them. Perhaps the
Czar would have done more towards the advancement of his people, and
have benefited the cause of civilization more, had he spent his money in
forming roads throughout his empire, and made the means of communication
easier between the various towns, instead of playing the game of chess in
Turkey, and sinking such enormous sums in the marshes of the Danube.
A short time since the Grand-Duke Alexander, the heir apparent to the
throne, was at a banquet, when some one was remarking on the great
advantage it would be to the country when the railway was finished
between St. Petersburg and Warsaw. His Imperial Highness replied that it
would be so indeed, but that his Majesty, being engaged in war with the
Turks, was obliged to employ the money intended for its construction in
defraying the expenses of the army. When we were passing through Poland
I noticed that the works had been entirely suspended. _A propos_ of this
subject I may mention that, when the railway between St. Petersburg and
Moscow was nearly finished, orders came that it was to be ready on a
certain day, as the Imperial family were to visit the latter city, and
proposed going thither by train. There were several miles of it entirely
unconstructed, but, to obey orders, they patched them up in the best
way they could, and laid the rails down so that the waggons might pass
over them. The most wonderful thing was that some fatal accident did
not happen. The Emperor, of course, knew nothing about it, or perhaps
he would not exactly have liked to risk _his own_ life and those of
his court on the Moscow railroad. We were staying near the spot at the
time. So badly arranged was this road at first, that, when we went to
St. Petersburg by it, we were kept thirty-six hours in the midst of
the Valdai hills, in twenty-eight degrees of cold (Réaumur), without
anything to eat or drink. Some of the third-class passengers were obliged
to be brought into the first-class waggons, lest they should be frozen
to death; and a poor peasant-woman’s child died in her arms from the
dreadful severity of the weather. Some of the passengers (one of them an
officer in the army) fainted; and all this was through the negligence of
the authorities. So many complaints were made that it is now well managed
and the conductors are very civil.
The description of one provincial town in Russia is applicable to
almost every other. The most remarkable buildings are the churches and
monasteries, the domes and cupolas of which are painted green, gilt, or
of dark blue with golden stars sprinkled over them, each dome and minaret
being surmounted by a glittering cross standing on a crescent; the
gymnasium, or government school for young gentlemen; barracks (a _sine
quâ non_), and a post-office: these, with a few good houses, and many
mere wooden huts similar to those in the villages, make the substance
of a country town, up to the very barriers of which the interminable
forests form the suburbs. We changed horses and driver at every station;
the postmasters are bound to have horses in readiness for all travellers
furnished with a padarosjnai or government _feuille de route_. They very
often make a little money by suddenly losing their memory regarding the
horses at their disposal, as they only recover it again at the sight of a
small piece of silver, which serves wonderfully to recall to their mind’s
eye the vision of sundry rough nags in the field at the back. It is but
just to them to say that the apparition of a military uniform possesses
the same magic influence.
The life the poor yemstchicks lead must be miserable in the extreme:
any complaint lodged against them is pretty sure of procuring them a
good beating; and I have seen the conductors or guards of the mail-coach
thrash them most unmercifully with the sword, or give them such blows
on the ears with their post-horn as to make one feel sick at heart to
think that any human being was obliged to endure so great an indignity,
and that without the hope of redress. The mode in which they live I can
compare to nothing but to that of dogs. Wherever we stopped at night
on our summer’s journeys we were almost in danger of stumbling over the
sleeping bodies of these poor people; for all the space in front of the
station was crowded with what at the first sight I really thought were
heaps of brown skins on the bare ground, but which I soon perceived were
yemstchicks, all in readiness to be hired by the next travellers who
might be passing. When a carriage arrived, they would suddenly start into
life and draw lots amongst themselves as to who should take the turn:
he on whom the lot fell immediately fetched the horses and mounted; the
rest threw themselves again on the ground and instantly returned to their
slumber, so exactly like a number of animals that it was painful to see
them. In the winter-time they sleep in cribs something like a horse’s
manger, with a little hay or straw. “Our peasants,” said a Russian to
me, “are nothing but brutes; the only argument with them is blows, for
that is all they can understand.” Is this, then, the land in which
civilization has made her abode, and whose wonderful advance in the path
of wisdom is to form an era in the records of the human race? Surely
those who are under this delusion can have but very little idea how small
an amount of civilization exists beyond Moscow and St. Petersburg, or
they must have been too ready to believe the boastings of the Russians
and the flourishing accounts of superficial travellers.
A Russian village is generally composed of a long row of wooden houses on
each side of the post-road, with usually a line of birch-trees in front.
Some of the well-to-do peasants, or those amongst them who are the most
ingenious, have the eaves of their cottages ornamented in a very pretty
manner with a kind of border of so light and elegant a description that
it may be compared to wooden lace; the windows, where there are any,
are decorated in the same manner. At the entrance of the villages we
generally saw painted on the same board the number of men and of cows
contained in each; the fair sex were not thought _worth the trouble_ of
being enumerated.
As to the inhabitants, they are true children of the soil; the men have
something fine in their appearance; they wear a loose shirt fastened
round the waist. In some of the villages through which we passed a few of
the men had boots on, but the greater part had only leggings bound round
with thongs, sandal-fashion; their feet were furnished with shoes of a
kind of basket-work, made of strips of the birch-tree. The women had on a
coarse chemise with full sleeves, and over that the national dress, the
sarafane, which was generally of common blue or red cotton, having no
boddice, but kept on the shoulder by a band of the same. The married ones
wore a handkerchief tied round the head in a peculiar manner; most of the
girls had their hair formed into a long plait hanging down their back:
the children ran about at play almost in a state of nature, having on
only a short shirt with open sleeves. Nearly every house in the villages
was furnished with a kind of settee outside, where in the evening we
frequently saw groups of the peasants sitting to have a chat or to sing
together their national airs, of which they are very fond. During our
journey we had to pass several rivers on rafts, which were dragged to the
opposite bank by means of ropes. We had to cross a very rapid branch
of the northern Dwina, which had been much increased by the melting of
the snow. Here we were very nearly drowned, for, the carriage being too
heavy for the raft, it began to sink when in the middle of the stream;
but fortunately, through the great exertions used by the peasants, we at
last reached the shore. We continued to follow the course of the Dwina
for more than fifty miles. I do not know anything that gives a more
dreary idea of a country than the sight of a broad and silent river,
whose unbroken surface reflects no human habitation as far as the eye
can reach, not a single bark to ruffle the mysterious stillness of the
waters, nor any living thing to awaken the echoes of those dismal forests
of pine which stretch far away to the verge of the horizon, and seem an
impenetrable bar to the advance of civilization.
Such is the aspect of the Dwina and its dark, untrodden shores; yet,
in coming to a very broad part of the river we were greatly delighted
by a scene which, like many others—we know not why or wherefore—become
indelibly impressed on the mind, a pleasing and vivid picture of the
past. The scene of which I speak may seem in description not to be worthy
of remark, nor perhaps would it have appeared remarkable to us had we not
previously passed so many monotonous days. In a bend of the river, at
the confluence of several smaller streams that empty themselves into the
Dwina, we suddenly came to a considerable elevation rising abruptly from
the water. The sun had just set, but his parting rays still illumined
the beautiful gilt cross surmounting a small church which crowned the
height above us; the lamps were already lighted and gleamed through
its long narrow windows, and borne on the calm summer breeze came the
voices of the monks and choristers singing the magnificent responses
of the Greco-Russian Church. It was a saint’s-day, and the people from
the neighbouring village, dressed in their gayest and best attire, were
hastening up the path in groups of twos and threes; others were crossing
the stream in boats; but all were intent upon worshiping the heavenly
Father of All in his holy place.
A little farther on we passed the burying-ground of the village. Most of
the graves were marked by a rudely-constructed cross in wood, but some of
these were so old and broken that little of their original form remained.