SUMMER WEATHER IN RUSSIA--ST. PETERSBURG AND MOSCOW ENOUGH FOR
SIGHT-SEERS--M. KATKOFF AND HIS GAZETTE--TSAR AND PEOPLE--REPUBLICAN
POSSIBILITIES OF THE COSSACK.
After one has packed trunks, paid hotel bills, bought railway-tickets,
procured a supply of rubles and kopecks from his banker, and made every
preparation to leave Germany for Russia, it is discouraging to be told
that he has chosen the wrong season for visiting that country.
“The winter, sir, is the only time to see Russia. St. Petersburg is
like a furnace in July. It is a rainless month. The streets are never
watered, and when the winds blow--mostly from the south, making the air
still hotter--you are smothered with dust. The mosquitoes--”
But I had heard enough. It was too late to back out from the Russian
trip, and I did not care to know the worst. So I interrupted the
speaker with the question, “When did you leave St. Petersburg?”
He colored a little. “Oh, I have never been there myself! No money
would tempt me to go to Russia before December, at least. I am only
telling you what everybody knows. The books are full--”
“Of probable misstatements on these points,” said I, finishing the
sentence for him. “I know that English writers are unanimous about the
heat of a St. Petersburg July. But then Englishmen complain of every
temperature over 70°. Americans are less fond of cold weather. I will
learn the truth for myself. Good-evening.”
The man with whom I held this conversation looked like a professor in
some small Western college. I had met him by chance in the rooms of
the American Exchange at Berlin. Overhearing me say that I was bound
to Russia that night, he had proceeded to draw upon his large store
of book-knowledge for my benefit. His positive manner was probably
borrowed from the classroom; and I have no doubt he was pained because
I did not take his advice on trust, with many thanks, like a docile
pupil.
As an American accustomed to “summer heat,” I declare St. Petersburg to
be very comfortable in July. Neither there nor at Moscow, four hundred
miles farther south, have I seen more than 80° F. registered in the
shade, and the mid-day temperature touched much lower figures during
my stay. Clothed accordingly, one may ride or walk in the open air
at high noon, and revel in the bright sunshine unharmed. There were
several rainfalls which were more than showers. They cooled the air
to the point of chilliness, and effectually laid the dust. At no time
were the streets swept by the wind with the sirocco-effects described
in some English books. Even the largest open squares were free from the
predicted nuisance. Dressed in light woolen, and armed with an umbrella
against the sun or the rain, the American will have no occasion to carp
at the Russian weather in those months when his compatriots at home are
fleeing for coolness--and not always finding it--to the mountains and
the sea-shore. Contrasting his comfort with the sufferings he would
have undergone in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston, he can feel only
gratitude for the endurable summer weather of St. Petersburg. He is
unvexed by mosquitoes and the flies are well-behaved.
A Russian winter may be all that Gautier paints it; but, if that
brilliant Frenchman had been thin instead of stout, with less inside
room for the storage of solids and liquids as a sure defense against
Arctic rigors; and, if he had been obliged to look after anybody
besides Gautier, he might have hesitated to take the journey whose
record gives so much pleasure to readers. And, remember, his point
of departure was Paris, not New York. A trip from America to St.
Petersburg, merely to verify Gautier’s impressions there, would hardly
pay for the cost, time, and trouble. Americans prefer to pass the cold
months in Italy or Egypt or the Holy Land, or some other sunny clime,
and leave to more adventurous souls the pleasures--such as they are--of
a Russian winter. Everything that the ordinary tourist cares to see
can be seen in July as well as in January. The Winter Palace in St.
Petersburg is closed in summer, it is true, but the Hermitage, with its
glut of pictures and _bric-à-brac_, is open. So is Tsarskoé Selo, a
little distance outside of the city. There are many other palaces in or
about the capital, mostly accessible in summer. Private, if not public,
admittance can be had to every museum and library. The Tsar may be
absent during the warmer months, but the visitor would probably not get
a look at him or any of the imperial family in winter. If the nobility
are also missing, the innocent American does not know it, as he has
no means of telling a prince from a plebeian. If the entire court and
all the fashionable element are away, St. Petersburg has not been
carried off with them. And that city, and, still more, Moscow, are at
all times so full of interest on a hundred accounts that one does not
pause to think whether their attractions would or would not be greatly
heightened by the presence of snow six feet deep on a level, or by the
return of the Tsar from Peterhof or Gatschina.
Russia is fortunate in the possession of two great capitals. St.
Petersburg is the civil and Moscow the religious center of a double
administration. Paris is the only city of France that most Americans
desire to visit. That city is, indeed, France in the sense that
Parisians claim for her; and the rest of the republic is but a
matter of detail. Similarly, St. Petersburg and Moscow are Russia.
By sojourning a few days in each city, one can gather sufficient, if
superficial, knowledge of the Russian people, their religious and
secular institutions, their amusements, their business ways, their
modes of living, to correct a host of errors into which prejudiced
authors have led him. If he is a student of natural history, an
ethnologist, a profound investigator of social problems--if he desires
to see with his own eyes how the exiles fare in Siberia, or whether
the petroleum-wells of Baku are running dry, or how the railway to
Merv is getting along--he may spend many months in Russia acquiring
interesting information. But, if he wants a good time, with the minimum
of discomfort, while he is packing away in the odd corners of his
brain the things most truly worth knowing about Russia, let him stick
to St. Petersburg and Moscow. There he will find hotels first class in
all respects, easy carriages, and French (if not English) newspapers.
Unless he is a critical analyst of race peculiarities, he will be
satisfied with the many varieties of Russia’s population which he sees
in Moscow alone. And, as to souvenirs of the country, he will, perhaps,
be more fortunate in picking them up at bargains in the Gostinnoi Dvors
of the two capitals than if he hunted and chaffered for them at the
crowded and noisy fair of Nijni-Novgorod.
In the restaurants and reading-rooms one often notices little groups
of Russians earnestly scanning the columns of a newspaper in their own
language. It is a large, four-page sheet, usually accompanied by a
supplement. Perhaps one will read, and the others will listen. At times
they seem deeply interested, hanging upon the words that are uttered
as if they were revelations of the greatest moment. The expression of
their faces is unbroken by any trace of levity. They lay the paper
down, and seem to be discussing what has been read. Sometimes one
observes marked signs of dissent from some member of the group, but
more commonly there is an apparent agreement with those sentiments
of the journal which have provoked the debate. Seeing the same scene
enacted with trifling variations a number of times, I became anxious to
learn the occasion of it, and then I ceased to be surprised.
The paper is the “Moscow Gazette” (“Moskovskeeya Vedomostee”), edited
by M. Katkoff, the man who wields an influence in Russia second to no
subject of the Tsar. We are told that the Russian press is fettered
and crushed, and here is an editor more powerful, for good or ill,
than any statesman of the empire. Holding no office, reaching the
mind of the Tsar only through his printed columns, he disputes with
M. de Giers (Minister of Foreign Affairs) for the confidence and
support of their common master. And, hardly less important, he makes
himself felt, through the widely distributed “Gazette,” among the most
thoughtful circles of Russia. In all the foreign offices of Europe his
opinions are carefully studied, being regarded as the earliest and best
indications of the drift of Russian sentiment. For M. Katkoff is, above
all things, a Russian. He is the champion Panslavist. He advocates the
federation of all branches of the great Slavic race. It is his policy
that keeps alive the national jealousy of Germany and Austria. His
eyes are fastened on Bulgaria, Roumania, and Servia, where the Slavic
population is a strong element. Galicia and Bohemia in Austria, Posen
in Prussia, and independent little Montenegro, are among the regions
embraced within the wide sweep of his Slavic sympathies. A union of
the Slavs for any purpose, and on any scheme of protection extended by
the great Empire of the North to the federated provinces, would end in
their consolidation with Russia under the government of the Tsar.
Italy and Germany have each been substantially unified on the same
principle. If it is admissible in those two cases, why not in that of
Russia? Panslavism, ably upheld in the “Moscow Gazette,” can never
be unpalatable to the Tsar or the people, for it strongly appeals to
patriotism and national pride. Therefore, M. Katkoff is permitted
to display zeal in this direction even to the point of excess. It
is only when his feelings betray him into undue hostility to some
power--Germany or Austria, for example--with which the Tsar desires
to keep on good terms, that the Panslavist leader is called to order.
But the rebuke takes only the form of a summons to St. Petersburg,
where he has an audience, and is readily restored to the favor which
he had only nominally lost. The existence of such a paper, which is
not a government organ, and yet passes as such among most of its
readers--which can be approved or repudiated at pleasure, just
as circumstances may require--is a great convenience. It must be
understood that no editor would enjoy the license given to M. Katkoff
if he were in the least degree politically unsound or disloyal. The
strength of his position lies in his intense, unselfish devotion to
Russian interests, his passionate adherence to the autocratic system,
and his burning hatred of all those revolutionary elements that would
precipitate changes for which Russia is not prepared.
A foreigner thrown among Russians, who can not speak his language, is
worse off than a visitor to a deaf and dumb asylum, the inmates of
which can make their opinions known by writing or by signs. One may
travel all over Russia, and learn nothing more of the political ideas
of the common people than when he entered it, if he depends on them for
enlightenment. His only sources of information are educated Russians,
who can converse in his own tongue, or English, French, or German
residents who have lived in the country long enough to understand the
people and have outgrown their native prejudices. It is from such
persons that I gathered a few impressions, which went far to modify
views formed upon the strength of unfriendly English publications.
It may sometimes be true, as the proverb says, that “to hear the news,
you must go away from home.” But this can hardly hold good in the case
of reports relating to the Tsar’s personal character and habits. It is
much more likely that the assertions about his intemperance, insanity,
and brutality, which appear in the London “Times,” are fictions, than
that such alleged facts should be totally unknown among intelligent
people in St. Petersburg, where he lives. I sought in vain for any
corroboration of the reports that the Tsar ever has the delirium
tremens, or is under the influence of liquor, or exhibits signs of
madness, or has a violent temper and is abusive to his ministers and
courtiers. Nobody with whom I conversed had ever heard any rumors
of this kind, except as they originated from known reports in the
foreign papers. These were invariably denounced to me as malicious
inventions. Old English dwellers in Russia expressed themselves
warmly on the subject. They felt ashamed at the wholly unfounded and
outrageous libels heaped by the press of London on one who, so far as
they know, is truly temperate, free from any taint of lunacy, mild and
reasonable in his intercourse with all. They spoke of him as a “family
man,” having a German fondness for wife and children and the simple
pleasures of domestic life. They regretted that he observed so strict
a seclusion; but admitted that he was forced to be very circumspect
in his movements in order to escape the fangs of the Nihilists. All
my informants pitied the Tsar and still more pitied his subjects, who
are, in large measure, deprived of that direct personal cognizance of
their needs and wishes which might prove so beneficial to them if the
Nihilists would permit it to be freely exercised. It also follows,
from this comparative isolation of the Tsar, that the powers which he
delegates are undoubtedly in many cases abused, and the facts are never
brought to his paternal knowledge.
For the Tsar is not only the executive and the law-making power of the
state, head of the Church, fountain of justice, commander-in-chief
of the army and navy, but, more than all these, he is father to
his people. His subjects owe him, in theory, a filial respect and
obedience; and, with the exception of the Nihilists, they are dutiful
children. The relation is an Oriental one, which we of the West can not
understand. But it is powerfully operative in Russia. It has not been
really weakened by anything that the Nihilists have done, but, on the
contrary, strengthened. This would be proved any day by the spontaneous
and almost universal response of the Russian people to any call for
sacrifice which their father should make upon them.
Some foreign writers profess to fear that the Tsar will plunge his
country into a causeless war, in order to find an outlet for national
discontent. But the only discontent which troubles Russia at present is
that of the Nihilists, who are irreconcilable. No war in behalf of some
Slavic race, or to extend the boundaries of Russia, or to possess the
Holy Places, would have their sympathy. They would still plot against
the life of the one man whose murder, according to their shallow view,
might bring about that chaos which is the desire of their hearts. The
assassination of Alexander II did not promote the cause of Nihilism
in the least; but, on the other hand, led to the adoption of severer
though unsuccessful measures for its repression; and there is no reason
to think that the removal of the present sovereign would be of any
advantage to the cause of anarchy. The Tsars live in their successors.
The mighty empire which has weathered the storms of a thousand years is
not now at the mercy of a dynamite bomb.
The undoubted tendency of Russia is now toward what is commonly spoken
of as a “constitutional government.” This is not following a general
demand of the people. They seem to be, as a rule, quite indifferent
to it; but it is believed to be favored by the Tsar. His life, aside
from the dreadful menaces of Nihilism, is made a burden to him by the
enormous and steadily increasing responsibilities of his position.
As a conscientious man, these must press upon him heavily, no matter
how much he seeks to distribute them among the ministers who are but
his creatures. If he could be assisted in his great work by a national
body, in some sense representing the people, and if his ministers were
made responsible in fact instead of being purely clerical functionaries
as at present, the diabolical aims of the Nihilists would be frustrated
more surely than they could be in any other way. The blind hate which
now seeks the life of one man only would then lose its concentration.
It would then be necessary to kill or terrorize a whole ministry, or a
majority of delegates--a task, the difficulty of which would probably
impress the most unimaginative of Nihilists. One might almost predict
the disappearance of Nihilism as an organized danger in Russia, if
constitutionalism could somehow be grafted on the old trunk. (See
APPENDIX.)
The fifty years assigned by Napoleon as the period during which Europe
would become either republican or Cossack, passed away, leaving his
prophecy unfulfilled. But his own France is a republic, and more
liberal principles have been incorporated in all the imperial and
monarchical governments of Europe. If there is a drift discernible, it
is toward republicanism. By the word “Cossack” Napoleon meant that
absolutism of which Russia was the most remarkable example of his day.
But the Cossack himself is now in the stream with the rest. It will
be perhaps only a question of time when he will be as well fitted for
and desirous to adopt republican institutions, as the man of any other
race in Europe. Who can say that, wherever the Cossack of the future
goes, he may not carry with him the germ of republicanism? It is this
possibility which lends to every sign of liberal development in Russia
a tremendous significance in the eyes of Americans. And if Russia
still clings by preference to her venerable paternal system, that is
no reason why our ancient friendship for that great country and people
should be impaired.