The Kirghiz themselves have but little faith in doctors or vets.

It is with great difficulty that the nomads can be persuaded to

have their children vaccinated; the result is, that when small-pox

breaks out among them it creates fearful havoc in the population.

Putting this epidemic out of the question, the roving Tartars are

a peculiarly healthy race. The absence of medical men does not seem

to have affected their longevity, the disease they most suffer

from being ophthalmia, which is brought on by the glare of the snow

in the winter, and by the dust and heat in the summer months.

The country now began to change its snowy aspect, and party-coloured

grasses of various hues dotted the Steppes around. The Kirghiz had

taken advantage of the more benignant weather, and hundreds of

horses were here and there to be seen picking up what they could

find. In fact, it is extraordinary how any of these animals manage

to exist through the winter months, as the nomads hardly ever feed

them with corn, trusting to the slight vegetation which exists

beneath the snow. Occasionally the poor beasts perish by thousands,

and a Tartar who is a rich man one week may find himself a beggar the

next. This comes from the frequent snow-storms, when the thermometer

sometimes descends to from forty to fifty degrees below zero,

Fahrenheit; but more often from some slight thaw taking place for

perhaps a few hours. This is sufficient to ruin whole districts,

for the ground becomes covered with an impenetrable coating of

ice, and the horses simply die of starvation, not being able to

kick away the frozen substance as they do the snow from the grass

beneath their hoofs. No horses which I have ever seen are so hardy

as these little animals, which are indigenous to the Kirghiz Steppes;

perhaps for the same reason that the Spartans of old excelled all

other nations in physical strength, but with this difference, that

nature doles out to the weakly colts the same fate which the Spartan

parents apportioned to their sickly offspring.

The Kirghiz never clothe their horses, even in the coldest winter.

They do not even take the trouble to water them, the snow eaten

by the animals supplying this want. Towards the end of the winter

months the ribs of the poor beasts almost come through their sides;

but once the snow disappears and the rich vegetation which replaces

it in the early spring comes up, the animals gain flesh and strength,

and are capable of performing marches which many people in this

country would deem impossible, a hundred-mile ride not being at all

an uncommon occurrence in Tartary. Kirghiz horses are not generally

well shaped, and cannot gallop very fast, but they can traverse

enormous distances without water, forage, or halting. When the

natives wish to perform any very long journey they generally employ

two horses: on one they carry a little water in a skin, and some

corn, while they ride the other, changing from time to time, to

ease the animals.

It is said that a Kirghiz chief once galloped with a Cossack escort

(on two horses) 200 miles in twenty-four hours, the path extending

for a considerable distance over a mountainous and rocky district.

The animals, however, soon recovered from the effects of the journey,

although they were a little lame for the first few days.

An extraordinary march was made by Count Borkh to the Sam, in May,

1870. The object of his expedition was to explore the routes across

the Ust Urt, and if possible to capture some Kirghiz _aúls_ (villages),

which were the headquarters of some marauding bands from the town

of Kungrad. The Russian officer determined to cross the northern

Tchink, and by a forced march to surprise the tribes which nomadized

on the Sam. Up to that time only small Cossack detachments had

ever succeeded in penetrating to this locality. To explain the

difficulties to be overcome, it must be observed that the Ust Urt

plateau is bounded on all sides by a scarped cliff, known by the

name of the Tchink. It is very steep, attaining in some places an

elevation of from 400 to 600 feet, and the tracks down its rugged

sides are blocked up by enormous rocks and loose stones. Count Borkh

resolved to march as lightly equipped as possible, and without

baggage, as he wished to avoid meeting any parties of the nomad tribes

on his road. His men carried three days' rations on their saddles,

while the artillery took only as many rounds as the limber-box

would contain. The expedition was made up of 150 Orenburg Cossacks,

sixty mounted riflemen, and a gun, which was taken more by way of

experiment than for any other reason, the authorities being anxious

to know if artillery could be transported in that direction.

The detachment reached Ak-Tiube in six days without _contretemps_,

after a march of 333 miles, and with the loss of only two lame

horses.

_WINTER IN MOSCOW_

_H. SUTHERLAND EDWARDS_

Russia in the summer is no more like Russia in the winter than a

camp in time of peace is like a camp in the presence of the enemy.

Moreover, snow is one of the chief natural productions of the country;

and without it Russia is as uninteresting as an orchard without fruit.

One always thinks of Russia in connection with its frosts, and of

its frosts in connection with such great events as the campaign of

1812, or the winter of 1854 in the Crimea. Accordingly, a foreigner

in Russia naturally looks forward to the winter with much interest,

mingled perhaps with a certain amount of awe. He waits for it,

in fact, as a man waits for a thief, expecting the visitor with

a certain kind of apprehension, and not without a due provision

of life-preservers in the shape of goloshes, seven-leagued boots,

scarves, fur coats, etc.

The house I lived in was in the middle of Moscow; and with the

exception of the stoves, the internal arrangement seemed like that

of most other dwellings in Europe. The Russian stoves, however, are,

in fact, thick hollow party-walls, built of brick, and sometimes

separating, or connecting, as many as three or four rooms, and

heating them all from one common centre. The outer sides of these

lofty intramural furnaces are usually faced with a kind of white

porcelain, though in some houses they are papered like the rest

of the wall, so that the presence of the stove is only known in

summer by two or three apertures like port-holes, which have been

made for the purpose of admitting the hot air, and which, when

there is no heat within, are closed with round metal covers like

the tops of canisters. Sometimes, especially in country houses,

the stove, or _peitchka_ as it is called, is not only a wall, but

a wall which, towards the bottom, projects so as to form a kind

of dresser or sofa, and which the lazier of the inmates use not

infrequently in the latter capacity. In the huts the _peitchka_

is almost invariably of this form; and the peasants not only lie

and sleep upon it as a matter of course, but even get inside and

use it as a bath. Not that they fill their stoves with water--that

would be rather difficult. But the Russian bath is merely a room

paved with stone slabs and heated like an oven, in which the bather

stands to be rubbed and lathered, and to have buckets of water poured

over him, or thrown at him, by naked attendants; and accordingly a

stove makes an excellent bath on a small scale. As a general rule,

every row of huts has one or more baths attached to it, which the

inhabitants support by subscription; but when this is not the case,

the peasant, after carefully raking out the ashes, creeps into

the hot _peitchka_, and is soon bathed in his own perspiration.

He would infallibly be baked alive but for the pailfuls of water

with which he soon begins to cool his heated skin. Thanks, however,

to this precaution, he issues from the fiery furnace uninjured,

and, it is to be hoped, benefited.

[Illustration: THE RED SQUARE, MOSCOW.]

When a stove is being heated, the port-holes are kept carefully

shut, to prevent the egress of carbonic-acid gas. But after the

wood has become thoroughly charred, and every vestige of flame

has disappeared, the chimney is closed on a level with the garret

floor, the covers are removed from the apertures in the side of

the stove, and the hot air is allowed to penetrate freely into

the room; which, if enough wood has been put into the _peitchka_,

and the lid of the chimney closes hermetically, will, by this one

fire, be kept warm for twelve or fourteen hours.

Occasionally it happens that the port-holes are opened while there

still flickers a little blue flame above the whitening embers.

In this case there is death in the stove. The carbonic-acid gas,

which is still proceeding from the burning charcoal, enters the

room, and produces asphyxia, or at all events some of its symptoms.

If you have not time, or if you are already too weak, to open the

door when you find yourself attacked by _ougar_ (as the Russians

call this gas), you had better throw the first thing you have at

hand through the window; and the cold air, rushing rapidly into the

room, will save you. A foreigner unaccustomed to the hot apartments

of Russia will scarcely perceive the presence of _ougar_ until he

is already seriously affected by it; and in this manner the son

of the Persian ambassador lost his life, some years since, in one

of the principal hotels of Moscow. A native, however, if the stove

should chance to be "covered" before the wood is thoroughly charred,

will detect the presence of the fatal gas almost instantaneously;

and having done so, the best remedy he can adopt for the headache

and sickness, which even then will inevitably follow, is to rush

into the open air, and cool his temples by copious applications of

snow. Persons who are almost insensible from the effect of _ougar_

have to be carried out and rolled in the snow,--a process which

speedily restores them to their natural condition.

One morning there was a fall of snow; and the cream was brought

in from the country in jars wrapped carefully round with matting

to prevent its freezing. Hundreds of cabbages and thousands of

potatoes, similarly protected, were purchased and stowed away.

Furlongs of wood (in Russia wood is sold by the foot), were laid

up in the courtyard; an inspector of stoves arrived to see that

every _peitchka_ was in proper working order; and an examiner and

fitter-in of windows was summoned to adjust the usual extra sash.

At last the windows had been made fast, each pane being at the

same time reputtied into its frame. On the window-sill, in the

space between the outer and inner panes, was something resembling

a long deep line of snow, which was, however, merely a mass of

cotton-wool placed there as an additional protection against the

external air. Indeed, the winds of the Russian winter have such

powers of penetration that, in a room guarded by _triple_ windows,

besides shutters closed with the greatest exactness, I have seen

the curtains slightly agitated when the howling outside was somewhat

louder than usual. "The wind," says Gregorovitch in his _Winter's

Tale_, "howls like a dog; and like a dog will bite the feet and calves

of those who have not duly provided themselves with fur-goloshes

and doubly-thick pantaloons." Such a wind must not be suffered to

intrude into any house intended to be habitable.

Besides the cotton-wool, which is a special provision against draughts,

the space between the two sashes is usually adorned with artificial

flowers; indeed, the fondness of the Russians for flowers and green

leaves during the winter is remarkable. The corridors are converted

into greenhouses, by means of trellis-work covered with creepers. The

windows of many of the apartments are encircled by evergreens, and

in the drawing-rooms, flower-stands form the principal ornaments. At

the same time enormous sums are paid for bouquets from the hot-houses

which abound in both the capitals. Doubtless the long winters have

some share in the production of this passion for flowers and green

plants, just as love of country is increased by exile, and love

of liberty by imprisonment.

There are generally at least two heavy snow-storms by way of warning

before winter fairly commences its reign. The first fall of snow

thaws perhaps a few days afterwards, the second in about a week,

the third in five months. If a lady drops her bracelet or brooch

in the street during the period of this third fall, she need not

trouble herself to put out handbills offering a reward for its

discovery, at all events not before the spring; for it will be

preserved in its hiding-place, as well as ice can preserve it,

until about the middle of April, when, if the amount of the reward

be greater than the value of the article lost, it will in all

probability be restored to her. The Russians put on their furs at

the first signs of winter, and the sledges make their appearance

in the streets as soon as the snow is an inch or two thick. Of

course at such a time a sledge is far from possessing any advantage

over a carriage on wheels; but the Russians welcome their appearance

with so much enthusiasm, that the first sledge-drivers are sure

of excellent receipts for several days. The _droshkies_ disappear

one by one with the black mud of autumn; and by the time the gilt

cupolas of the churches, and the red and green roofs of the houses,

have been made whiter than their own walls, the city swarms with

sledges. It is not, however, until near Christmas, when the "frost

of St. Nicholas" sets in, that they are seen in all their glory.

The earlier frosts of October and November mayor may not be attended

to without any very dangerous results ensuing; but when the frigid

St. Nicholas makes his appearance,--staying the most rapid currents,

forming bridges over the broadest rivers, and converting seas into

deserts of ice,--then a blast from his breath, if not properly

guarded against, may prove fatal.

It has been said that it is not until the _Nikòlskoi Maros_, or

Frost of St. Nicholas, that the sledges fly through the streets in

all their glory. By that time the rich "boyars"[1] (as foreigners

persist in styling the Russian proprietors of the present day),

have arrived from their estates, and the poor peasants, who have

long ceased to till the ground, and have not thrashed all the corn,

begin to come in from theirs; for, humble and dependent as he may

be, each peasant has nevertheless his own patch of land. For the

former are the elegant sledges of polished nut-wood, with rugs

of soft, thick fur to protect the legs of the occupants; whose

drivers, in their green caftans fastened round the waist with red

sashes, and in their square thickly-wadded caps of crimson velvet,

like sofa-cushions, urge on the prodigiously fast trotting horses,

at the same time throwing themselves back in their seats with

outstretched arms and tightened reins, as though the animals were

madly endeavouring to escape from their control. The latter bring

with them certain strongly-made wooden boxes, with a seat at the

back for two passengers and a perch in front for a driver. These

boxes are put upon rails, and called sledges. The bottom of each

box (or sledge), is plentifully strewn with hay, which after a

few days becomes converted, by means of snow and dirty goloshes,

into something very like manure. The driver is immediately in front

of you, with his brass badge hanging on his back like the label

on a box of sardines. He wears a sheepskin; but it is notorious

that after ten years' wear the sheepskin loses its odour, besides

which it is winter, so that your sense of smell has really nothing

to fear. The one thing necessary is to keep your legs to yourself,

or at all events not to obtrude them beneath the perch of the driver,

or you will run the chance of having your foot crushed by that

gentleman's heel. Sometimes the horse is fresh from the plough,

and requires a most vigorous application of the driver's thong

to induce him to quit his accustomed pace; but for the most part

the animals are willing enough, and as rapid as their masters are

skilful. The driver is generally much attached to his horse, whom

he affectionately styles his "dove" or his "pigeon," assuring him

that although the ground is covered with snow, there is still grass

in the stable for his _galoùpchik_--as the favourite bird is called,

etc., etc.

[Footnote 1: It would be equally correct to speak of the English

nobility of the present day as "the barons."]

As for the real pigeons and doves, they are to be found everywhere,--on

the belfries of the churches, in the courtyards of the houses, in

the streets blocking up the pavement, and above all, beneath the

projecting edges of the roofs, where you may see them clustering

in long deep lines like black cornices.

At home we associate snow with darkness and gloom; but, when once

the snow has fallen, the sky of Moscow is as bright and as blue as

that of Italy; the atmosphere is clear and pure; the sun shines for

several hours in the day with a brightness from which the reflection

of the snow becomes perfectly dazzling; and if the frost be intense,

there is not a breath of wind. The breath that really does attract

your notice is that of the pedestrians, who appear to be blowing

forth columns of smoke or steam into the rarefied atmosphere, and

who look like so many walking chimneys or human locomotives. And

if breath looks like smoke, smoke itself looks almost solid. Rise

early, when the fires are being lighted which are to heat the stoves

through the entire day, and if the thermometer outside your window

marks more than 15°, you will see the grey columns rising heavily into

the air, until at a certain height the smoke remains stationary, and

hangs in clouds above the houses. Looking from some great elevation,

such as the tower of Ivan Veliki in the Kremlin, you see these

clouds beneath you, agitated like waves, and forming a kind of

nebulous sea, which is, however, soon taken up by the surrounding

atmosphere.

It is astonishing how much cold one can support when the sky is

bright and the sun shining; certainly ten or fifteen degrees more

by Réaumur's thermometer, than when the day is dark and gloomy.

And the effect is the same on all. On one of these fine frosty

days there is unwonted cheerfulness in the look, unwonted energy

in the movements of everyone you meet. If there were the slightest

wind with so keen a temperature, you would feel, every time it grazed

your face, as if you were being shaved with a blunt razor,--for to

be cut with a sharp one is comparatively nothing. But the air is

calm; and as the day exhilarates you generally, it makes you walk

more briskly than you are in the habit of doing in your _shouba_

of cloth, wadding, and fur; and the result is, you are so warm and

so surrounded by sunshine, that, but for seeing the cold, you might

fancy yourself on the shores of the Mediterranean instead of on the

banks of the Moskva, which is now a long, shiny, serpent-like path

of ice. In London, on a damp, foggy, sunless winter's day, when

the thermometer is not quite down to freezing-point, the system

is so depressed by the atmosphere and the cheerless aspect of the

streets, that you feel the cold more acutely than you would do on

a sunshiny morning in Moscow with ten degrees of frost. In St.

Petersburg, where the winter sun is, "as in northern climes, but

dimly bright," and where the city is frequently enveloped in a

mist (which is, however, ethereal vapour compared to the opaque

fogs of London), the cold is, on the same principle, more severely

felt than in Moscow. Nevertheless, in St. Petersburg people go

about far more lightly clad than in the more southern towns of

the empire,--for St. Petersburg is half a foreign city, and the

numerous pedestrians have found it necessary to reject the ponderous

_shouba_ for a long wadded paletot with a fur-collar. The real

Russian _shouba_ is undoubtedly very warm; for it enables the Moscow

merchant to go upon 'Change, which in the old capital, during the

coldest weather, is held in the open air.

In considering the advantages and disadvantages of a Russian winter,

one should not forget the question of rain. It is evident, then,

that where there is frost there can be no rain; and accordingly,

for nearly six months in the year, you can dispense altogether

with that most unpleasant encumbrance, the umbrella. For it must

be remembered that in Russia the snow does not fall in the soft

feathery flakes to which we are accustomed in the more temperate

latitudes. It comes down in showers of microscopic darts, which,

instead of intercepting the light of the sun, like the arrows of

Xerxes' army, glitter and sparkle in the rays as they reflect them

in every direction. The minute crystals, or rather crystalline

fragments, can be at once shaken from the collars of fur, on the

points of which they hang like needles, but above all like Epsom

salts; and on the cloth of the men's _shoubas_ and the satin of

the women's cloaks they have scarcely any hold.

The most pleasant time of the whole winter is during the moonlight

nights, when the wind is still and the snow deep on the ground.

In the streets the sparkling _trottoir_, which appears literally

paved with diamonds, is as hard as the agate floor of the Cathedral

of the Annunciation in the Kremlin. In the country, where alone you

can enjoy the night in all its beauty, the frozen surface crunches,

but scarcely sinks, beneath the sledge, as your _troika_ tears

along the road as fast as the centre horse can trot and the two

outsiders gallop. For it is a peculiarity of the _troika_ that

the three horses that constitute it are harnessed abreast; and

that while the one in the shafts, whose head is upheld by a bow,

with a little bell suspended from the top, is trained to trot,

and never to leave that pace, however fast he may be driven, the

two who are harnessed outside must gallop, even if they gallop

but six miles an hour; though it is far more likely that they will

be called upon to do twelve. Lastly, the _troika_ must present a

fan-like front; to produce which the driver tightens the outside

reins till the heads of the outriggers stand out at an angle of

forty or fifty degrees from that of the horse in the shafts. At

the same time the centre horse trots with his head high in the

air, while the two who have their existences devoted to galloping

have their noses depressed towards the ground, like bulls running

at a dog.

There may be enough moonlight to read by when the moon itself is

obscured by clouds. But if it shines directly on the white ermine-like

snow, which covers the vast plains like an interminable carpet, the

atmosphere becomes full of light, and the night in its brightness,

its solitude, and its silence, broken only by the bells of some

distant team, reminds you of the calmness of an unusually quiet

and beautiful day. As you turn away from the main road towards

the woods, you pass groups of tall slender birch-trees, with their

white silvery bark, and their delicate thread-like fibres hanging

in frozen showers from the ends of the branches, and clothing the

birch with a kind of icy foliage, while the other trees remain

bare and ragged. The birch is eminently a winter tree, and its

tresses of fibres, whether petrified and covered with crystal by

the frost, or waving freely in the breeze which has stripped them

of their snow, are equally ornamental. The ground is strewed with

the shadows of the trees, traced with exquisite fineness on the

white snow, from which these lunar photographs stand forth with

wonderful distinctness. To drive out with an indefinite number of

_troikas_ to some village in the environs, or to the first station

on one of the Government roads, is a common mode of spending a

fine winter's night, and one which is equally popular in Moscow

and St. Petersburg. These excursions, which always partake more

or less of the nature of a picnic, form one of the chief pleasures

of the cold season. Of course such expeditions also take place

during the day, but, whatever the hour of the departure, if there

happen to be a moon that night, the return is sure not to take

place before it has made its appearance.

_A JOURNEY BY SLEIGH_

_FRED BURNABY_

"Bring out another sleigh," said my friend. "How the wind cuts!

does it not?" he continued, as the breeze, whistling against our

bodies, made itself felt in spite of all the precautions we had

taken. The vehicle now brought was broader and more commodious than

the previous one, which, somewhat in the shape of a coffin, seemed

especially designed so as to torture the occupants, particularly if,

like my companion and self, they should happen to be endowed by

nature with that curse during a sleigh journey--however desirable

appendages they may be when in a crowd--long legs. Three horses

abreast, their coats white with pendent icicles and hoar-frost,

were harnessed to the sleigh; the centre animal was in the shafts

and had his head fastened to a huge wooden head-collar, bright with

various colors. From the summit of the head-collar was suspended

a bell, while the two outside horses were harnessed by cord traces

to splinter-bars attached to the sides of the sleigh. The object

of all this is to make the animal in the middle trot at a brisk

pace, while his two companions gallop, their necks arched round in

a direction opposite to the horse in the centre, this poor beast's

head being tightly reined up to the head-collar.

A well-turned-out _troika_ with three really good horses, which get

over the ground at the rate of twelve miles an hour, is a pretty

sight to witness, particularly if the team has been properly trained,

and the outside animals never attempt to break into a trot, while

the one in the shafts steps forward with high action; but the

constrained position in which the horses are kept must be highly

uncomfortable to them, and one not calculated to enable a driver

to get as much pace out of his animals as they could give him if

harnessed in another manner.

Off we went at a brisk pace, the bell dangling from our horse's

head-collar, and jingling merrily at every stride of the team.

The sun rose high in the heavens: it was a bright and glorious

morning in spite of the intense cold, and the amount of oxygen we

inhaled was enough to elevate the spirits of the most dyspeptic of

mankind. Presently, after descending a slight declivity, our Jehu

turned sharply to the right; then came a scramble and a succession of

jolts and jerks as we slid down a steep bank, and we found ourselves

on what appeared to be a broad high-road. Here the sight of many

masts and shipping which, bound in by the fetters of a relentless

winter, would remain imbedded in the ice till the ensuing spring,

showed me that we were on the Volga. It was an animated spectacle,

this frozen highway, thronged with peasants who strode beside their

sledges, which were bringing cotton and other goods from Orenburg

to the railway. Now a smart _troika_ would dash by us, its driver

shouting as he passed, when our Jehu, stimulating his steeds by

loud cries and frequent applications of the whip, would vainly

strive to overtake his brother coachman. Old and young alike seemed

like octogenarians, their short thick beards and mustaches being

white as hoar-frost from the congealed breath. According to all

accounts the river had not been long frozen, and till very recently

steamers laden with corn from Southern Russia had plied between

Sizeran and Samara. The price of corn is here forty copecks the

pood of forty pounds, while the same quantity at Samara could be

purchased for eighteen copecks. An iron bridge was being constructed

a little farther down the Volga. Here the railroad was to pass,

and it was said that in two years' time there would be railway

communication, not only between Samara and the capital, but even

as far as Orenburg.

Presently the scenery became very picturesque as we raced over the

glistening surface, which flashed like a burnished cuirass beneath

the rays of the rising sun. Now we approach a spot where seemingly

the waters from some violent blast or other had been in a state

of foam and commotion, when a stern frost transformed them into a

solid mass. Pillars and blocks of the shining and hardened element

were seen modelled into a thousand quaint and grotesque patterns.

Here a fountain, perfectly formed with Ionic and Doric columns,

was reflecting a thousand prismatic hues from the diamond-like

stalactites which had attached themselves to its crest. There a

huge obelisk, which, if of stone, might have come from ancient

Thebes, lay half buried beneath a pile of fleecy snow. Farther

on we came to what might have been a Roman temple or vast hall in

the palace of a Cæsar, where many half-hidden pillars and monuments

erected their tapering summits above the piles of the _débris_. The

wind had done in that northern latitude what has been performed

by some violent pre-adamite agency in the Berber desert. Take away

the ebon blackness of the stony masses which have been there cast

forth from the bowels of the earth, and replace them on a smaller

scale by the crystal forms I have faintly attempted to describe,

and the resemblance would be striking.

Now we came to some fishing-huts, which were constructed on the

frozen river, the traffic in the finny tribe which takes place in

this part of Russia being very great, the Volga producing the sterlet

(a fish unknown in other rivers of Europe), in large quantities. I

have often eaten them, but must say I could never appreciate this

so-called delicacy. The bones are of a very glutinous nature, and

can be easily masticated, while the taste of a sterlet is something

between that of a barbel and a perch, the muddy flavour of the

former predominating. However, they are an expensive luxury, as,

to be perfection for the table, they should be taken out of the

water alive and put at once into the cooking-pot. The distance to

St. Petersburg from the Volga is considerable, and a good-sized

fish will often cost from thirty to forty roubles, and sometimes

even a great deal more.

We were now gradually nearing our first halting-place, where it

was arranged that we should change horses. This was a farm-house

known by the name of Nijnege Pegersky Hootor, twenty-five versts

distant from Sizeran. Some men were engaged in winnowing corn in a

yard hard by the dwelling; and the system they employed to separate

the husks from the grain probably dates from before the flood,

for, throwing the corn high up into the air with a shovel, they

let the wind blow away the husks, and the grain descended on to a

carpet set to catch it in the fall. It was then considered to be

sufficiently winnowed, and fit to be sent to the mill. The farm-house

was fairly clean, and, for a wonder, there were no live animals

inside the dwelling. It is no uncommon thing in farm-houses in

Russia to find a calf domesticated in the sitting-room of the family,

and this more particularly during the winter months. But here the

good housewife permitted no such intruders, and the boards were

clean and white, thus showing that a certain amount of scrubbing

was the custom.

The habitation, which was of a square shape, and entirely made of

wood, contained two good-sized but low rooms, a large stove made

of dried clay being so arranged as to warm both the apartments.

A heavy wooden door on the outside of the building gave access to

a small portico, at the other end of which there was the customary

_obraz_, or image, which is to be found in almost every house in

Russia. These _obrazye_ are made of different patterns, but generally

take the form of a picture of saints or of the Trinity. They are

executed in silver-gilt or brass relief, and adorned with tawdry

fringe or other gewgaws. The repeated bows and crosses made by the

peasantry before these idols is very surprising to an Englishman,

who may have been told that there is little difference between the

Greek religion and his own; but if this is the case, the sooner

the second commandment is omitted from our service, the better.

It may be said that the Russian peasantry only look upon these

images as symbols, and that in reality they are praying to the

living God. Let any one who indulges in this delusion travel in

Russia and talk to the inhabitants with reference to the _obrazye_,

or go to Kief at the time of a pilgrimage to the mummified saints

in that sanctuary, and I think he will then say that no country

in the world is so imbued with superstitious credences as Russia.

Above the stove, which was about five feet high, a platform of

boards had been erected at a distance of about three feet from the

ceiling. This was the sleeping resort of the family, and occasionally

used for drying clothes during the day. The Russian _moujik_ likes

this platform more than any other part of the habitation, and his

great delight is to lie there and perspire profusely, after which

he finds himself the better able to resist the cold of the elements

outside. The farm-house in which I now found myself had cost in

building two hundred roubles, about twenty-six pounds of our money,

and her home was a source of pride to the good housewife, who could

read and write, an accomplishment not often possessed by the women

of this class in the province of Russia.

By this time our former team had been replaced by three fresh horses,

and the driver who was to accompany us had nearly finished making

his own preparations for the sleigh journey. Several long bands

of cloth, first carefully warmed at the stove, were successively

wound round his feet, and then, having put on a pair of thick boots

and stuffed some hay into a pair of much larger dimensions, he

drew the latter on as well, when, with a thick sheep-skin coat,

cap, and _vashlik_, he declared that he was ready to start.

The cold was very intense when we quitted the threshold, and the

thermometer had fallen several degrees during the last half-hour;

the wind had also increased, and it howled and whistled against the

eaves of the farm-house, bearing millions of minute snowy flakes

before it in its course. Presently the sound of a little stamping on

the bottom of the sleigh announced to me that the cold had penetrated

to my companion's feet, and that he was endeavouring to keep up the

circulation.

Very soon that so-called "pins-and-needles" sensation, recalling

some snow-balling episodes of my boyish days, began once more to make

itself felt, and I found myself commencing a sort of double-shuffle

against the boards of the vehicle. The snow was falling in thick

flakes, and with great difficulty our driver could keep the track,

his jaded horses sinking sometimes up to the traces in the rapidly

forming drifts, and floundering heavily along the now thoroughly

hidden road. The cracks of his whip sounded like pistol-shots against

their jaded flanks, and volumes of invectives issued from his lips.

"Oh, sons of animals!"--[whack].

"Oh, spoiled one!"--[whack]. This to a brute which looked as if

he never had eaten a good feed of corn in his life. "Oh, woolly

ones!" [whack! whack! whack!].

"O Lord God!" This as we were all upset into a snowdrift, the sleigh

being three parts overturned, and our Jehu precipitated in the

opposite direction.

"How far are we from the next halting-place?" suddenly inquired

my companion, with an ejaculation which showed that even his good

temper had given way under the cold and our situation.

"Only four versts, one of noble birth," replied the struggling Jehu,

who was busily engaged endeavouring to right the half-overturned

sleigh. A Russian verst about night-fall, and under such conditions

as I have endeavoured to point out to the reader, is an unknown

quantity. A Scotch mile and a bit, an Irish league, a Spanish _legua_,

or the German _stunde_, are at all times calculated to call forth

the wrath of the traveller, but in no way equal to the first-named

division of distance. For the verst is barely two-thirds of an

English mile, and when, after driving yet for an hour, we were

told that there were still two versts more before we could arrive

at our halting-place, it began fully to dawn upon my friend that

either our driver's knowledge of distance, or otherwise his veracity,

was at fault.

At last we reached a long, struggling village, formed of houses

constructed much in the same way as that previously described,

when our horses stopped before a detached cottage. The proprietor

came out to meet us at the threshold. "_Samovar, samovar!_" (urn),

said my companion. "Quick, quick! _samovar!_" and hurrying by him,

and hastily throwing off our furs, we endeavoured to regain our

lost circulation beside the walls of a well-heated stove.

The Russian peasants are not ignorant of the good old maxim that

the early bird gets the worm, and the few hours' daylight they

enjoy during the winter months makes it doubly necessary for them

to observe this precept. We were all up a good hour before sunrise,

my companion making the tea, while our driver was harnessing the

horses, but this time not three abreast, for the road was bad and

narrow; so we determined to have two small sleighs with a pair of

horses to each, and put our luggage in one vehicle while we travelled

in the other.

Off we went, a motley crew. First, the unwashed peddler who had

wished to be my companion's bedfellow the night before; then our

luggage sleigh; and, finally, my friend and self, who brought up

the rear, with a careful eye upon our effects, as the people in

that part of the country were said to have some difficulty in

distinguishing between _meum_ and _tuum_.

The sun was bright and glorious, and in no part of the world hitherto

visited have I ever seen aurora in such magnificence. First, a pale

blue streak, gradually extending over the whole of the eastern

horizon, arose like a wall barring the unknown beyond; then, suddenly

changing colour until the summit was like lapis-lazuli, and its

base a sheet of purple waves of grey and crystal, radiating from

the darker hues, relieved the eye, appalled by the vastness of

the barrier; the purple foundations were in turn upheaved by a

sea of fire, which dazzled the eye with its glowing brilliancy,

and the wall of colours floating in space broke up into castles,

battlements, and towers, which were wafted by the breeze far away

from our view. The sea of flame meanwhile had lighted up the whole

horizon; the eye quailed beneath the glare. The snowy carpet at

our feet reflected like a camera the wonderful panorama overhead.

Flakes of light in rapid succession bound earth to sky, until the

globe of sparkling light arising from the depths of this ocean of

flame dimmed into insignificance the surroundings of the picture.

Presently a sudden check and exclamation of our Jehu told us that

the harness had given way, and a conversation, freely interlarded

with epithets exchanged between the driver and the peddler, showed

that there was decidedly a difference of opinion between them. It

appeared that the man of commerce was the only one of the party

who knew the road, and having discovered this fact, he determined

to make use of his knowledge by refusing to show the way unless

the proprietor of the horses who drove the vehicle containing our

luggage would abate a little from the price he had demanded for

the hire of the horse in the peddler's sleigh. "A bargain is a

bargain!" cried our driver, wishing to curry favour with his master,

now a few yards behind him. "A bargain is a bargain. Oh, thou son

of an animal, drive on!" "It is very cold," muttered my companion.

"For the sake of God," he shouted, "go on!" But neither the allusion

to the peddler's parentage nor the invocation of the Deity had

the slightest effect upon the fellow's mercenary soul.

"I am warm, and well wrapped up," he said; "it is all the same to

me if we wait here one hour or ten;" and with the most provoking

indifference he commenced to smoke, not even the manner in which

the other drivers aspersed the reputation of his mother appearing

to have the smallest effect. At last the proprietor, seeing it

was useless holding out any longer, agreed to abate somewhat from

the hire of the horse, and once more the journey continued over

a break-neck country, though at anything but a break-neck pace,

until we reached the station--a farm-hause--eighteen versts from

our sleeping quarters, and, as we were informed, forty-five from

Samara.

_RUSSIAN ARCHITECTURE_

_EUGÈNE EMMANUEL VIOLLET-LE-DUC_

The Russian people, composed of diverse elements in which the Sclav

predominated at the moment when that vast empire began to be established

under great princes and amid incessant struggle, was in too close

communication with Byzantium not to have been to a certain extent

in submission to Byzantine art; but nevertheless each of these

elements was in possession of certain notions of art which we must

not neglect.

The Sclavs, like the Varangians, knew scarcely anything but construction

by wood, but at a comparatively early period they had already carried

the art of carpentry very far, and in many different channels.

The Sclavs (as extant traditions show), proceeded by piles in their

wooden buildings: and the Scandinavians resorted to joining and

dove-tailing. Thus, the latter early attained great skill in naval

construction.

These two methods of construction in wood have persisted till the

present day, which fact is easily established on examining the

rural dwellings of Russia.

The Sclavs, moreover, as well as the Varangians, possessed certain

art expressions which denote an Asiatic origin.

Even in Byzantine art, so far as ornamentation is concerned, there

were origins that were evidently common to those that are felt in

the Sclav arts; and these original elements are again found in

Central Asia.

That ornamentation, composed of interlacings and conventional floral

motives, dry and metallic, which was adopted at Byzantium, where it

very soon destroyed the last vestiges of Roman art, also appears

on the most ancient monuments of the Sclavs, and even on objects

that in France are attributed to the Merovingians, that is to say,

the Franks who came from the shores of the Baltic.

Thus, Russia was to take her arts, as regards ornamentation, from

branches that are far apart from one another in time and distance,

but which sprang from a common trunk.

About the Tenth Century, the Russian buildings were of wood; all

texts agree on this point, and consequently these constructions

could have no part in Byzantine architecture, which does not recall

even the traditions of carpentry work.

Towards the Eleventh Century, when the Russians began to build

religious edifices of masonry, the structure of which, particularly

in the vaulting, is inspired by Byzantine art, they adapted to this

structure, together with a sensibly modified Byzantine garb, an

ornamentation, derived from Asiatic, Sclavic and Turanian elements

in variable, that is to say local, proportions.

[Illustration: CHURCH OF THE REDEMER, MOSCOW.]

For at least three centuries, Byzantium was the great school sought

by the Latin, Visigothic and Germanic nations of Europe for art

teaching, and it was not till the end of the Twelfth Century that

the French broke away from these traditions. Their example was

followed in Italy, England and Germany more or less successfully.

Russia held aloof from these attempts: she was too closely identified

with Byzantine art to try any other course; it may be said that she

was the guardian of that art, and was to carry on its traditions

by mingling with it elements due to the Asiatic Sclavic genius.

All the dominant elements in Russian art, whether they come from

the north or south, belong to Asia. Iranians or Persians, Indians,

Turanians, or Mongols have furnished tribute, though in unequal

quantities, to this art.

It may also be said that if Russia has borrowed much from Byzantium,

the art elements among her population have not been without influence

upon the formation of Byzantine art. We think even that the influence

of Byzantine upon Russian art has been greatly exaggerated, and

that Persia may have had at least as much effect upon the course

of art in Russia.

However, we must except everything pertaining to images. But even

here Asiatic influence makes itself felt, not in the form, but in

the preservation of the types. The imagery of the Greek school

has never gone out of favour in Russia, and it still holds its

place there in the representation of holy personages. In this,

Russia shows her attachment to tradition, as all the Asiatic races

do, and shows how little her intimate sentiments have suffered

modification.

The Russians avoided the influence of the Iconoclasts which was

felt so violently in the Western Empire in the Eighth Century, and

later still in various parts of Western Europe; among the Vaudois

and Albigenses in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Century, the Hussites

in the Fifteenth, and the Reformers in the Sixteenth.

But if Russian architecture and ornamentation show marked originality,

this does not seem to be the case with the representation of holy

personages. These remain Byzantine. It was the school of Mount

Athos that supplied Russia with the types, as it did to almost all

the Greek Christians of the Orient.

In these representations, we have difficulty in finding a tendency

towards realism, which, morever, does not appear till quite late,

and does not come to full bloom.

In Russian art, it is possible to find a few Scandinavian traces,

or, to be more exact, in the arts of Scandinavia we find some elements

borrowed from the same sources whence the Russians took theirs.

Russia has been one of the laboratories in which the arts, brought

from all parts of Asia, have been united to adopt an intermediate

form between the Eastern and the Western world.

Geographically, she was favourably placed to gather together these

influences; and, ethnologically, she was entirely prepared to assimilate

these arts and develop them. If she has stopped short in this work,

it was only at a very recent period, and when repudiating her origin

and traditions, she tried to become Western, in spite of her own

genius.

In the first place, the oldest religious edifices of Russia affect

slender forms, in elevation, which distinguishes them from the

purely Byzantine buildings.

Evidently, the Russians, from the Twelfth Century on, employed

in their religious edifices a geometrical plan that was different

from that employed by the Byzantine architects, but one very close

to that admitted by the architects of Greece during the early years

of the Middle Ages.

In Georgia and Armenia, a number of ancient churches, the majority

of which are very small, are also of this character. But, while

submitting to these dispositions, as soon as they adopted masonry

instead of wood for building, the Russians gave quite individual

proportions to their religious edifices.

By the Fifteenth Century, Russia had combined all the various elements

by the aid of which a national art should be constituted. To

recapitulate these origins: We find already among the Scythians

some elements of art fairly well developed, foreign to Greek art

and derived from Oriental tradition. Byzantium, in constant contact

with the people of Southern Russia, made its arts felt there; but in

the North, some slight Finnish influences and then some Scandinavian

ones, make themselves felt. From Persia likewise, Russia received

impulses in art, on account of her commercial relations with that

country through Georgia and Armenia. In the Thirteenth Century,

the Tartar-Mongol domination was imposed upon Russia, employed

her artists and craftsmen, and thus placed her in direct contact

with that Mediæval Orient that was so mighty and so brilliant in

all its art productions.

At length left to herself, in the Fifteenth Century, Russia constituted

her own art from these various sources. But this variety of sources

is more apparent than real. It is enough to examine Scythian

ornamentation to recognize that it is of a pronounced Indo-Oriental

character. Byzantine taste has exerted a preponderating influence

upon Russia. But it has been recognized that this Byzantine style

is itself composed of very varied elements among which figure most

largely the art of Eastern Asia, and that from this Byzantine art

Russia likes to appropriate the Asiatic side in particular.

So that we may regard Russian art as composed of elements borrowed

from the Orient to the almost complete exclusion of all others.

Moreover, if we follow the streams of art to their sources, we soon

come to recognize that the tributaries are not at all numerous.

In the matter of architecture, there are only two principles: structure

by wood and concrete structure: grottoes, and construction with clay,

and with masonry, which is derived from it. As to construction with

cut stones, there results, either from a tradition of building

with wood or from concrete construction, grottoes or conglomerate

masses, sometimes both, as in Egyptian art, for example.

The innumerable races who issued from the East and finally overwhelmed

the Roman Empire had preserved from their cradle their own traditions,

and continued to keep up communication with their old homes. Better

than any other nation, the Russians preserved these traditions, and

they were, so to speak, rejuvenated every time a new wave passed

across their territories; for it was always from the northern or

southern Orient, from the Ural or the Taurus, that the invaders

came. Whether they presented themselves as enemies or colonists

they brought with them something of Asia, the great mother of

civilizations.

This Russian art, therefore, was never struck with decadence as

was the Byzantine art. It did not live solely upon itself, but

profited by all that was brought from the Orient. So, when the

Eastern Empire fell during the Fifteenth Century, leaving only

a pale trace of the last expressions of its arts, Russia, on the

contrary, was raising edifices and fabricating objects of great

value from an artistic point of view.

The West had only a small share in these productions, but even

this was enough to enable Russian art to be distinguished from the

arts of the East by a certain freedom of conception and variety in

the execution that rendered it an original product full of promise,

the developments of which might have been marvellous if the natural

course of events had not been hindered by the passion with which

high Russian society threw itself on the works of art of Italy,

Germany and France.

_SCULPTURE AND PAINTING_

_PHILIPPE BERTHELOT_

Western influence was very strongly felt in sculpture and painting

in Russia during the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Narrowly

confined to the representation of conventional types of saints,

these arts did not acquire either personality or expression for

two centuries. It was not until the Eighteenth Century that they

began to raise statues to the memory of Russia's great men: one

of the first monuments was consecrated, as was indeed just, to

Peter the Great, Russia's great reformer; in his lifetime, Count

Bartolomeo Rastrelli the sculptor, father of the architect, executed

a _Peter the Great on Horseback_, which was cast in bronze in 1847;

but the successors of Peter the Great did not like this group which

they did not consider sufficiently animated and would not allow

it to be erected on a public square. Catherine II. had Falconet

model a _Peter the Great_ mounted on a fiery horse climbing up

a rock; this bronze group is placed in the centre of the Square

of Peter the Great on the Neva, at St. Petersburg. Among the most

celebrated works of Russian sculpture, we may cite the bronze monument

erected to the memory of Prince Poyarski and the butcher Minine

on the Red Square, Moscow (by Martoss, rector of the Academy of

Fine Arts, St. Petersburg, in 1888); Lomonossov's monument (by

Martoss); those of Generals Barclay de Tolly and Koutousov (1818-1836

after the model by B. Orlovski, placed in front of the Cathedral

of Kazan, St. Petersburg); the colossal bust of Alexander I. (by

Orlovski); the commemorative monument of Alexander I. (1832, by

Montferrand), with a statue of the Angel of Peace, by Orlovski;

the statue of Krilov, the fabulist, 1855, by Baron Clodt in the

Summer Garden, St. Petersburg; an equestrian statue of the emperor

Nicholas I. (by Clodt, 1859, on the St. Mary square); the monument

of Novgorod, elevated in memory of the millenary of the Russian

occupation (1862), in the form of a gigantic bell containing scenes

from Russian history, by Mikiechin; the monument to Catherine II.

by Mikiechin, she being represented as surrounded by her generals

and statesmen (1874, before the Alexander Theatre); the monument to

Pushkin in Moscow (1830, by Objekuchin and Bogomolov); the monument

to Bohdan-Chmelnizki, at Kiev (1873, by Mikiechin and other sculptors).

The principal Russian sculptors are Popov, Antokolski (statue of Ivan

the Terrible, 1871, in St. Petersburg), Tchichov and E. Lanceray.

They are characterized by a very pronounced realism that is common

to all.

Russian painting has developed in various directions during the

last two centuries under the influence of Western Europe; until

the first half of the Nineteenth Century the imitation of Italian

painting, the classical French school and the execution of strictly

academic painting were the three principal paths attempted by the

Russian artists. But for half a century, art has found a national

expression for itself. At the end of the Eighteenth and beginning of

the Nineteenth Century, the principal representatives of religious

and historical painting were Losenko (died in 1773), Antropov (died

in 1792), Akimov (died in 1814), Ugriumov (died in 1823), Levizki

(died in 1822), Ivanov (died in 1823), and Moschov (died in 1839).

The landscape and marine painters of greatest repute are Sim. and

Sil. Schtchedrin (the first died in 1804, and the second in 1830),

Pritchetnikov (died in 1809), F. Alekseiev (died in 1824). Academic

painting was cultivated principally by Tropinin (died in 1827),

Warnek (died in 1843), Lebediev (died in 1837), Worobiev (died

in 1855), K. Rabus (died in 1857), Bruni (died in 1875), Markov

(died in 1878), A. Beidemann (died in 1869) and Willewalde. The

chief painter of the romantic school is K. Brullov, who formed

a school and had numerous scholars. Other romantic painters of

repute are Bronnikov and various landscape and marine painters

such as Aivasovski, Bogolnibov, L. Lagorio and A. Mechtcherski.

Religious and popular painting has A. Ivanov for its representative.

The principal realistic painters in genre and historical painting

are Fedotov, Makovski, Perov, Polenor, Vereschagin, etc.

[Illustration: STATUE OF PETER THE GREAT AND THE ADMIRALTY PALACE,

ST. PETERSBURG.]

Ornamental sculpture seems to be superior to statuary in Russia:

it is abundantly practised in the decoration of churches; the

innumerable chapels standing at the street corners in honour of some

saint possess icons and lamps of bronze and silver; the iconostases

of the cathedrals are extremely rich,--gold, silver-gilt, silver,

lapis-lazuli, malachite and enamel-work are lavishly employed there.

In the churches of Saint Isaac and the Saviour there are many admirable

and veritable _chefs d'œuvre_ of originality and brilliancy to be

found. The industry of bronze and goldsmith's work in religious

objects is very flourishing and gives occupation to numerous workmen

and artists in Moscow and St. Petersburg. An imperial manufactory

produces the mosaics which occupy such a great place in the decoration

of the churches.

Industrial arts are very prosperous in Russia and have made great

progress during the last century: silken goods are no longer imported

from Lyons; and the Russian cabinet-makers produce beautiful furniture,

not only in their national style, but in the purest forms of French

art of the Louis XV. and Louis XVI. styles. Civil goldsmith's work

and jewellery have also been benefited by the national Renaissance:

the Emperor Alexander III. restored to honour the national feminine

costume for official balls, and ordered works of art to be made

after the models of the Muscovite style, and indeed even after

the marvels found in the excavations of the Cimmerian Bosphorus.

The religious images, particularly those made in Moscow and Kazan,

come very near being works of art. Numerous manufactories produce

icons painted on wood or copper, ornamented with reliefs of copper,

_crysocale_, silver, silver-gilt and gold. The workmen are monks

and peasants: each part of the icon--eyes, nose, mouth, hands and

feet--is executed by a specialist who always makes the same thing,

after the immutable types that the Muscovite convents received

from Mount Athos.

_RUSSIAN MUSIC_

_A. E. KEETON_

Russian music is the strangest paradox--it owes more to the music

of other countries than any other school, yet no music is more

thoroughly individual and unmistakable. It clothes itself after

the form and fashion of its neighbours, but beneath its garb peeps

out a physiognomy indubitably Sclavonic. Its utterances impress us

as the most modern--yet the student who would correctly analyze

many of its unique characteristics of harmony and modulation is often

obliged to take a flying leap backwards over a space of centuries

in order to investigate old Church modes, or Persian and Arabian

scale systems, both so ancient as to be well-nigh forgotten in

Western Europe.

Sixty years ago, there was no Russian school of music, properly

speaking; then suddenly it sprang into being. The wonderful rapidity

of its growth almost confuses one. Its exponents at once displayed

the astonishing receptiveness common to their race. _D'un trait_, as

the French would say, they appropriated the knowledge and experience

which the Italian and German schools had been slowly amassing for

centuries. Technique, form, counterpoint--all these they found

ready made to their hand, and borrowed them unstintingly. Had they

done this and no more, the onlooker might have dismissed them as

clever plagairists, and probably no one would have paid them any

further attention. But they had other means at their disposal. Their

country contained a treasure-house of native melody and rhythm;

a region albeit which few Russians had hitherto thought it worth

their while to explore. It is true that, since the middle of the

Seventeenth Century, tentative excursions had been made in this

direction from time to time, chiefly, though, by outsiders settled

in Russia, nor had any of their efforts led to very appreciable

results. The man who first turned with serious intent to the pent-up

musical resources of his own country was Michael Ivanovitch Glinka.

He had sufficient strength of purpose to carry out his designs--he

became the founder of the modern Russian school of music and the

father of Russian opera.

Glinka belonged to a good if not very wealthy family, who lived upon

their estate in the government of Smolensk, where he was born in 1804.

From babyhood upwards he delighted his friends and relations by his

aptitude not for music alone, but also for languages, literature,

zoology, botany--in fact, for each and every intellectual pursuit

which came in his way. The brilliance of his college course in St.

Petersburg was noteworthy. He quitted it to occupy a civil post

under Government, a position, however, which he soon abandoned,

in order to devote himself solely to music. Like so many other men

of genius, he married a woman quite incapable of comprehending

his artistic aims and ambitions; to quote the words of a Russian

writer, Madame Glinka, _née_ Maria Petrovna, "was only a pretty doll,

who loved society and fine clothes, and had no sympathy whatever

with her husband's romantic, poetic side." One is glad to state

that Glinka never had to struggle with poverty. He died at Berlin

in 1857.

He did for Russian music what his contemporary, Pushkin, did for

Russian literature, each in his own department representing a national

movement. Perhaps it is not too far-fetched a theory to trace this

movement to the momentous date of 1812, when it fell to the lot

of Russia to administer the first check in Napoleon's triumphant

career. Ever since the reign of Peter the Great it had been the

fashion to ape foreign habits, to speak foreign tongues, to import

foreign music, to mimic foreign literature. But when a foreign

invader, who had marched all-conquering through the rest of Europe,

appeared in serious earnest at the very gates of Moscow, there

was a rebound: slumbering patriotism awoke with a great shout,

and, united by a common danger, all classes gathered together for

the protection of their Tsar and their Kremlin. To have repulsed

a Napoleon was a mighty deed, which could reveal to the Russians

of what stuff they were made. It taught them to rely upon each

other and be strong in themselves; and as the art of a nation is

invariably the outcome of its history, so the rising generation

of Russian thinkers looked inwards rather than abroad. Glinka,

Pushkin, and their followers sought no foreign aid; they represent

a Russian Renaissance. They were content, indeed, to abide by the

forms universally adopted elsewhere, but the spirit of their art

manifestation was Russian to its core. In literature, Pushkin and

Gogol were never weary of delineating their compatriots in every grade

of Sclavonic society, whilst Glinka took his musical inspirations

from his native folk-songs and dance-rhythms--from the historic

chronicles of his country or its legendary lore. In reality, the

foreign influences and environment with which he came so continuously

into contact served more and more to convince him that Russia in

her turn had as great a mission in music as any other nation. For

thirty years the idea was gradually gaining strength in his mind.

"I want," he said to a friend, "to write an essentially national

opera both as regards subject and music; something which no foreigner

can possibly accuse of being borrowed, and which shall come home

to my compatriots as a part of themselves."

His fame depends solely upon the two operas, _La Vie pour le Tsar_

and _Russlan et Ludmille_. That he should have chosen to express

himself especially in opera is a significant fact. The unerring

instinct of his genius evidently told him that in this form, rather

than in purely instrumental music, he would most truly represent

that people whose musical aspirations he wished above all else

to portray faithfully, and certainly in opera lay his surest way

towards enlisting the sympathies of his compatriots. As before

remarked, one might have imagined that opera would scarcely ally

itself to his personal individuality; it seems probable, therefore,

that various salient traits inherent in the Russians as a nation

must have led him to the choice. First and foremost, any music

which claims to proceed from the very heart of the Russian people

must contain a vocal element. So universal a love of singing as

exists throughout Russia is to be met with in no other country.

By this one does not mean to infer that Russian cultivated singing,

either solo or choral, is in any way superior to what is heard

elsewhere. The Russian peasant knows absolutely nothing about voice

production, nor, maybe, is he gifted with any unusual vocal material,

nevertheless, singing is closely bound up with every rural event of

his cheerless existence. During the last half-century many hundreds

of the native melodies sung by the Russian country people for

generations past have been collected and written down by different

musicians--Balakireff, Rimsky-Korsakoff, Prokoudin, and Lisenko

amongst others. The variety of these folk-songs is astonishing.

They never become monotonous, each song having its distinctive

climax, and the air always suits the words. Often the untutored

singer has one melody in his _répertoire_, but intuitively he modifies

its strains according to the sentiment of his subject.

This general love of music applies as much to the noble as to the

peasant. "Where there is a Sclav there is a Song," says a Sclavonic

proverb, and no public ceremony or Court function is ever deemed

complete in Russia without an outburst of singing to heighten its

impressiveness. There is besides a marked dramatic ingredient in the

Sclavonic character. The typical Russian loves acting. To discover

this, it is only necessary to visit a Russian village and witness

the unconscious presentments of lyric drama or of desolate tragedy

set forth by the quaint rites of a country wedding or a rustic

funeral. Or study a Russian legend. It at once impresses you with

its wealth of dramatic situations most concisely defined. In this,

the Sclavonic folktale differs radically from its Celtic neighbour.

A comparison of the two types suggests that the Russian principally

desires a clear statement of facts; a poetic idea which must be

extracted from clouds of metaphor conveys but little significance

to his mind. An innate love of song, an innate love of acting, a

keen perception of dramatic unity, combined with a passionate love

of colour and a strong sense of movement--here surely, without any

manner of doubt, one has the basis of a well-nigh perfect school of

opera. Glinka, the cultivated musician, himself a Russian, thoroughly

appreciated these national qualities; indeed they were part and

parcel of his birthright. He could assimilate the characteristics

of his race and merge them into his own very remarkable originality.

The first product of the combined motors was _La Vie pour le Tsar_,

given at St. Petersburg in 1836. Fifty years later it had reached

its 577th performance, and from all accounts it still retains an

undiminished popularity.

[Illustration: THE THEATER, ODESSA.]

If we dissect this opera and examine its wonderful mastery of technique

and its depth of musical inspiration, it displays beauties which

cannot fail to appeal to connoisseurs of every race and school. But

regarded as a whole, one is inclined to doubt its ever becoming a

standard work outside its native home. Its true scope and meaning

can only be justly estimated by a public acquainted with Russia

herself, with her people, her history and her innermost modes of

thought.

Glinka attached the highest value to the folk-song, of which, as

already stated, he found a treasure trove ready to his hand. Nothing,

though, was further from his thoughts than to employ this material

in _pot-pourri_ style. Russians themselves are all agreed that it

would be difficult to select one whole folk-song from any single

work of Glinka's. It would naturally require a native of Russia

with an accurate knowledge of these native tunes to tell us exactly

when and where he used them. He seized their mood. In this way he

developed every species of Sclavonic folk-song--Great Russian,

Little Russian, Circassian, Polish, Finnish--with a passing flavour

contributed by Persia, for undoubtedly Oriental music had, at some

remote period, influenced its Sclavonic neighbour very strongly.

Glinka may be said to have attained his end almost unconscious

of his mode of procedure. Determined to compose Russian music,

he pursued his idea unremittingly, but it was only towards the

close of his life that he began to seriously analyze his effects,

asking himself whence he had obtained them and in what essential

points they exhibited their nationality. This inquiry involved

him in a field of research bewildering in its magnitude, and one

which his early death unfortunately prevented him from thoroughly

investigating. Nor is the task by any means completed now, some

forty years later, although many Russian musicians have thrown

considerable light upon its varied aspects. The first step towards

a folk-song analysis was the collecting of the melodies in sufficient

numbers for comparison. So much being done, it flashed upon Glinka

that there was an intimate connection between the Russian folk-song

and the most ancient Russian Church music. That is to say, the

melody and the freedom of rhythm typical of the folk-song had been

evolved by the people, whilst its harmonization, in which lay one

of its most striking essentialities, had been bequeathed it by the

Church. From all that can be gathered concerning music in Muscovy

prior to the introduction of Christianity, it seems justifiable to

admit that harmony, or part singing, was already practised amongst

the inhabitants, in what manner it is impossible to conjecture.

At any rate, when the Church of Byzantium took root there, the

Sclav was sufficiently advanced musically to imbibe a new idea. We

know that the Byzantine Church modes were purely diatonic, so is

the harmonization of the Russian folk-song in its most elementary

and uncorrupted form. That the one produced the other is a most

natural conclusion. In the oldest of the Russian national melodies

Glinka discovered the most clearly defined type of the earliest

Christian songs on record.

A wonderful testimony this to the indwelling religious spirit of

the Russian people, who change but little and who are singularly

tenacious of their customs in spite of all their ready receptiveness.

In one sense the folk-song is as rude and hardy as its singer; from

another point of view it is a shy, delicate emanation shrinking

from all human intercourse outside its own small coterie of familiar

voices. In Russia, as in every other country, it has had to be

sought in the remote Steppes and far-off districts where foreign

influences had never penetrated, and by a curious inverse process

its harmonies, of course, transmitted orally, were the means of

preserving the Byzantine Church tonality long after this "first

cause" had accepted chromatic and enharmonic modulations. In the

chief Russian cities and more opened-up parts of the country, the

Italian, French, and later on German elements gradually formed

themselves into Church as well as secular music, and only within

the last sixty years have attempts been made to restore this to

its pristine and, perhaps it may be added, somewhat monotonous

purity. The minor key in which the Sclavonic folksong was usually

couched, together with its extraordinary variety of rhythm and

phrase, protected it from this monotony, the minor keys having

infinitely richer resources of colour, even when strictly diatonically

treated, than the major.

Sclavonic music figures so constantly upon every concert programme

in these days that we are probably most of us accustomed to its

vagaries of rhythm, or what may be styled irregularity of metre.

This is a direct heritage from the folk-song, which Glinka and

his successors have borrowed largely.

The leading musical spirits of his day were quick to accredit him

a kindred genius. Berlioz welcomed him gladly, and furthered his

cause by eloquent writing as well as by obtaining him a hearing

in Paris. Liszt was another enthusiastic "Glinkite," and Schumann,

unfailingly keen to notice new talent pursuing a new path, speedily

drew attention to a Russian who was doing for the music of his

country what Chopin and Moniusco had done for Poland. Rubinstein,

who was still a boy when Glinka's sun was near setting, grew up

with a warm admiration for the founder of his native school, and

in 1855 he spent some of his ardour upon a highly laudatory article

in the _Wiener Zeitschrift fir Musik_, placing Glinka on a par with

Beethoven. Glinka thoroughly detesting anything that savoured of

flattery, took the young musician soundly to task for his pains;

but Rubinstein remained true to his tenets, and later on, when

years had matured his judgment, we find him including the name of

Glinka with that of Bach, Beethoven, Schubert and Chopin, as the

chief germinators of modern music; whilst one of the last acts of

his generous public career was a concert given in aid of a national

monument to the composer of _La Vie pour le Tsar_. With one or

two minor exceptions, successive Russian masters have followed

faithfully in Glinka's footsteps. To Borodine, Dargomijsky, Seroff,

Balakireff, and Rimsky-Korsakoff a full meed of nationality has been

granted. To Rubinstein and Tscháikowski criticism is at present

disposed to deny the quality in its most salient features. But

their prolific mass of compositions has so far scarcely been

sufficiently explored outside their own Russian domain for a final

judgment to be hazarded. A nearer inspection of their work, indeed,

together with a more accurate study of Russian art as a whole,

distinctly leads to the opinion that a revolution of feeling may

eventually spring up, especially on the subject of their operas.

Also Rubinstein's dramatic works, now mostly dismissed by foreigners

as his weakest productions, may in due course be accepted as his

finest creations. From the different reasons previously deduced

there can be little doubt that in opera Glinka purposely laid the

corner-stone of what he earnestly believed to be a true Russian

school, and a glance at contemporary musical activity shows that

here Russia has every opportunity for distinguishing herself, and

that with very little competition.

_RUSSIAN LITERATURE_

_W. R. MORFILL_

Of the Russian there are the following chief dialects--Great, Little,

and White Russian. The Great Russian is the literary and official

language of the Empire. In its structure it is highly synthetic,

having three genders and seven cases, and the nouns and adjectives

being fully inflected. Its great peculiarity (which it shares in

common with all the Sclavonic languages), is the structure of the

verbs, which are divided into so-called "aspects," which modify

the meaning, just as the Latin terminations _sco, urio_, and _ita_,

only the forms are developed into a more perfect system. The letters

employed are the Cyrillian, held to have been invented by St. Cyril

in the Ninth Century. They are on the whole well adapted to express

the many sounds of the Russian alphabet, for which the Latin letters

would be wholly inadequate, and must perforce be employed in some

such uncouth combinations as those which communicate a grotesque

appearance to Polish. It would be out of place here to discuss the

Ecclesiastical Sclavonic employed in so many of the early writings

composed in Russian. I shall proceed to speak of the literature in

Russian properly so-called. The great epochs of this will be--

I. From the earliest times to the reign of Peter the Great.

II. From the reign of Peter the Great to our own time.

The Russians, like the rest of the Sclavonic peoples are very rich

in national songs, many (as one may judge from the allusions found

in them), going back to a remote antiquity. For a long time, and

especially during the period of French influence, these productions

were neglected. In the last twenty years, however, they have been

assiduously collected by Bezsonov, Kirievski, Rîbnikov, Hilferding and

others. The Russian legendary poems are called _Bîlini_ (literally,

tales of old time), and may be most conveniently divided into the

following classes:--

1. That of the earlier heroes. 2. The Cycle of Vladimir. 3. The

Royal, or Moscow Cycle.

The early heroes are of a half-mythical type, and perform prodigies

of valour. To this class belong Volga Vseslavich, Mikoula Selianinovich

and Sviatogor. The great glory of the Cycle of Vladimir is Ilya

Murometz. The _Bîlinas_ are filled with his magnificent exploits,

either alone, or in the company of Sviatogor.

The national songs are carried on through the troublous times of

Boris Godunov, and the false Dimitri, to the days of Peter the

Great, when they seem to have acquired new vigour on account of

the military achievements of the regenerator of his country. Nor

are they extinct in our own time, for we find exploits of Napoleon,

especially his disastrous expedition to Russia, made the subject

of verse. The interest, however, of these legendary poems fades

away as we advance into later days. The number of minstrels is

rapidly diminishing; and Riabanin, and his companions among the

Great Russians, and Ostap Veresai among the Malo-Russians, will

probably be the last of these generations of rhapsodists, who have

transmitted their traditional chants from father to son, from tutor

to pupil. A great feature in Russian literature is the collection

of chronicles, which begin with Nestor, monk of the Pestcherski

Cloister at Kiev, who was born about A. D. 1056, and died about

1116.

During the time when Russia groaned under the yoke of the Mongols,

the nation remained silent, except here and there, perhaps, in some

legendary song, sung among peasants, and destined subsequently

to be gathered from oral tradition by a Rîbnikov and a Hilferding.

Such literature as was cultivated formed the recreation of the

monks in their cells. A new era, however, was to come. Ivan III.

established the autocracy and made Moscow the centre of the new

government. The Russians naturally looked to Constantinople as

the centre of their civilization; and even when the city was taken

by the Turks its influence did not cease. Many learned Greeks fled

to Russia, and found an hospitable reception in the dominions of

the Grand Duke. During the reigns of Ivan the Terrible and his

immediate successors, although the material progress of the country

was considerably advanced, and a strong Government founded, yet

little was done for learning. Simeon Polotzki (1628-80), tutor

to the Tsar Feodor, son of Alexis, was an indefatigable writer

of religious and educational books, but his productions can now

only interest the antiquarian. The verses composed by him on the

new palace built by the Tsar Alexis, at Kolomenski are deliciously

quaint. Of a more important character is the sketch of the Russian

government, and the habits of the people, written by one Koshikin

(or Kotoshikin--for the name is found in both forms), a renegade

diak or secretary, which, after having lain for a long time in

manuscript in the library of Upsala, in Sweden, was edited in 1840,

by the Russian historian Soloviev. Kotoshikin terminated a life

of strange vicissitudes by perishing at the hands of the public

executioner at Stockholm, about 1669.

With the reforms of Peter the Great commences an entirely new period

in the history of Russian literature, which was now to be under

Western influence. The epoch was inaugurated by Lomonosov, the

son of a poor fisherman of Archangel, who forms one of the curious

band of peasant authors--of very various merit, it must be

confessed--who present such an unexpected phenomenon in Russian

literature. Occasionally we have men of real genius, as in the cases

of Koltzov, Nikitin, and Shevchenko, the great glory of southern

Russia; sometimes, perhaps, a man whose abilities have been overrated

as in the instance of Slepoushkin. Lemonosov is more praised than

read by his countrymen. His turgid odes, stuffed with classical

allusions, in praise of Anne and Elizabeth, are still committed

to memory by pupils at educational establishments. His panegyrics

are certainly fulsome, but probably no worse than those of Boileau

in praise of Louis XIV., who grovelled without the excuse of the

imperfectly educated Scythian. The reign of Catherine II. (1762-96),

saw the rise of a whole generation of court poets. The great maxim,

"_Un Auguste peut aisément faire un Virgile_," was seen in all its

absurdity in semi-barbarous Russia. These wits were supported by

the Empress and her immediate _entourage_, to whom their florid

productions were ordinarily addressed.

[Illustration: THE LIBRARY, ODESSA.]

From Byzantine traditions, from legends of saints, from confused

chronicles, and orthodox hymnologies, Russia was to pass by one

of the most violent changes ever witnessed in the literature of

any country, into epics moulded upon the _Henriade_, and tedious

odes in the style of Boileau and Jean Baptiste Rousseau. Oustrialov,

the historian, truly characterizes most of the voluminous writers

of this epoch, as mediocre verse makers, for claiming merits in the

cases of Bogdanovich, Khemnitzer, Von Vizin, Dmitriev, and Derzhavin.

Bogdanovich wrote a very pretty lyric piece, styled _Dushenka_

based on the story of Cupid and Psyche, and partly imitated from

Lafontaine, with a sportive charm about the verse which will preserve

it from becoming obsolete. With Khemnitzer begin the fabulists. But

I shall reserve my remarks upon this species of literature and

its Russian votaries until I come to Krîlov, who may be said to

be one of the few Sclavonic authors who have gained a reputation

beyond the limits of their own country. In Denis Von Vizin, born

at Moscow, but as his name shows, of German extraction, Russia saw

a writer of genuine national comedy. Hitherto she had to content

herself with poor imitations of Molière. His two plays, the _Brigadier_

and the _Minor_ (_Nederosl_), have much original talent. No such

vigorous representations of character appeared again on the stage

till _The Misfortune of being too Clever_ (_Gore et Ouma_) of

Griboiedov, and the _Revisor_ of Gogol. Dmitriev deserves perhaps

no more than a passing mention.

The name of Derzhavin is spoken of with reverence among his countrymen:

he was the laureate of the epoch of Catherine, and had a fresh ode

for every new military glory. There is much fire and vigour in

his productions and he could develop the strength and flexibility

of his native language which can be made as expressive and concise

as Greek. Perhaps, however, we get a little tired of his endless

perfections of Felitza, the name under which he celebrates the

Empress Catherine, a woman who--whatever her private faults may

have been,--did a great deal for Russia.

In Nicholas Karamzin appeared the first Russian historian who can

properly claim the title. His poems are almost forgotten: here and

there we come upon a solitary lyric in a book of extracts. His

_History of the Russian Empire_, however, is a work of extensive

research, and must always be quoted with respect by Sclavonic scholars.

Unfortunately, it only extends to the election of Michael Romanov.

Karamzin was followed by Nicholas Polevoi, son of a Siberian merchant,

who hardly left any species of literature untouched. His _History

of the Russian People_, however, did not add to his reputation,

and is now almost forgotten. In later times both these authors

have been eclipsed by such writers as Soloviev and Kostomarov.

A new and more critical school of Russian historians has sprung

up; but for the early history of the Sclavonic peoples, the great

work is still Schafarik's _Sclavonic Antiquities_, first published

in the Bohemian language, and more familiar to scholars in the

West of Europe in its German version.

With the breaking up of old forms of government caused by the French

Revolution, came the dislocation of the old conventional modes of

thought. Classicism in literature was dead, having weighed like an

incubus upon the fancy and fresh life of many generations. England

and Germany were at the head of the new movement, which was at a

later period to be joined to France. The influence was to extend

to Russia, and may be said to date from the reign of Alexander I.

It was headed by Zhukovski, who was rather a fluent translator

than an original poet. He has given excellent versions of Schiller,

Goethe, Moore, and Byron, and has better enriched the literature

of his country in this way than by his original productions. He

had, however, some lyric fire of his own; the ode entitled _The

Poet in the Camp of the Russian Warriors_, written in the memorable

year 1812, did something to stimulate the national feelings, and

procure for the poet a good appointment at court.

In Alexander Pushkin, the Russians were destined to find their

greatest poet. His first work, _Rouslan and Lioudmilla_, was a tale

of half-mythical times, in which the influence of Byron was clearly

visible, but the author had never allowed himself to become a mere

copyist. The same may be said of _The Prisoner of the Caucasus_,

in which Pushkin had an opportunity of describing the romantic

scenery of that wild country, which was then entirely new ground.

In the _Fountain of Bakchiserai_ he chose an episode in the history

of the Khans of the Crimea, which he has handled very poetically.

The _Gipsies_ is a wild oriental tale of passion and vengeance. The

poet, who had been spending some time amid the Steppes of Bessarabia,

has left us wonderful pictures of the wandering tribes and their

savage life. Many Russians consider the _Evgenié Oniegin_ of Pushkin

to be his best effort. It is a powerfully written love-story, full

of sketches of modern life, interspersed with satire and pathos.

A criticism of Pushkin would necessarily be imperfect, which left

out of all consideration his drama on the subject of _Boris Godunov_.

Here he has used Shakespeare as his model. Up to this time the

traditions of the Russian stage--such as they were--were wholly

French. The piece is undoubtedly very clever, and conceived with

true dramatic power.

Since Pushkin's attempt, the historical drama based upon the English,

has been very successfully cultivated. A fine trilogy has been

composed by Count A. Tolstoi (whose premature death all Russia

deplored), on the three subjects, _The Death of Ivan the Terrible_

(1866), _The Tsar Feodor_ (1868) and the _Tsar Boris_ (1869).

The Russian fabulists, whose name is legion, demand some mention;

Khemnitzer, Dmitriev, Ivanov and others, have attempted this style

of poetry; but the most celebrated of all is Ivan Krilov (1768-1844).

Many of his short sentences have become proverbs among the Russian

people, like the couplets of Lafontaine among the French, and Butler's

_Hudibras_ among ourselves. His pictures of life and manners are

most thoroughly national. In Koltzov the true voice of the people,

which had before only expressed itself in the national ballads was

heard. The life of this sensitive and warm-hearted man of genius

was clouded by poverty and suffering.

The poems of Koltzov are written, for the most part, in an unrhymed

verse; the sharp, well-defined accent in Russian amply satisfying

the ear, as in German. His poetical taste had been nurtured by

the popular lays of his country. He has caught their colouring

as truly as Burns did that of the Scottish minstrelsy. He is

unquestionably the most national poet that Russia has produced;

Slepoushkin and Alipanov, two other peasant poets, who made some

little noise in their time, cannot for one moment be compared with

him; but, on the other hand, he has been excelled by the fiery

energy and picturesque power of the Cossack, Taras Shevchenko, of

whom I shall speak. Since the death of Pushkin, Lermontov alone

has appeared to dispute the poetical crown with him. The short life

of this author (1814-41), ended in the same way as Pushkin's--in

a duel provoked by himself. Many of his lyrics are exquisite, and

have become standard poems in Russia, such as the _Gifts of Terek_

and _The Cradle Song of the Cossack Mother_.

In Gogol, who died in 1852, the Russians had to lament the loss

of a keen and vigorous satirist. With a happy humour reminding

us of Dickens in his best moods, he has sketched all classes of

society in the _Dead Souls_, perhaps the cleverest of all Russian

novels. No one, also has reproduced the scenery and habits of Little

Russia, of which he was a native, more vigorously than Gogol, whether

in the pictures of country life in his _Old-Fashioned Household_

(if we may translate in so free a manner the title _Starovetskie

Pomestchiki_), or in the wilder sketches of the struggles which

took place between the Poles and Cossacks in _Taras Boulba_. In the

_Portrait_ and _Memoirs of a Madman_, Gogol shows a weird power,

which may be compared with that of the fantastic American, Edgar

Allan Poe. Besides his novels, he wrote a brilliant comedy called

the _Revisor_, dealing with the evils of bureaucracy.

Towards the end of the year 1877, died Nicholas Nekrasov, the most

remarkable poet produced by Russia since Lermontov. He has left

six volumes of poetry, of a peculiarly realistic type, chiefly

dwelling upon the misfortunes of the Russian peasantry, and putting

before us most forcibly the dull grey tints of their monotonous

and purposeless lives.

I have not space to enumerate here even the most prominent Russian

novelists. No account, however, of their literature would be anything

like complete which omitted the name of Ivan Tourgheniev, whose

reputation is European. With the Russians the English novel of the

realistic type is the fashionable model. In this branch of literature,

French influences have hardly been felt at all. The historical

novel--an echo of the great romances of Sir Walter Scott--had its

cultivators in such writers as Zagoskin and Lazhechnikov; but at

the present time, with the exception of the recent productions

of Count Tolstoi, it is a form of literature as dead in Russia

as in our own country. The novel of domestic life bids fair to

swallow up all the rest, and it is to this that the Russians are

devoting their attention.

Tourgheniev first made a name by his _Memoirs of a Sportsman_,

a powerfully written work, in which harrowing descriptions are

given of the miserable condition of the Russian serfs. Since the

publication of this novel, or rather series of sketches, he has

written a succession of able works of the same kind, in which all

classes of Russian society have been reviewed. No more pathetic

tale than the _Gentleman's Retreat_ (_Dvorianskoe Gnezdo_) can

be shown in the literature of any country. There are touches in

it worthy of George Eliot. In _Fathers and Children_ and _Smoke_,

Tourgheniev has grappled with the nihilistic ideas which for a

long time have been so current in Russia.

The study of Russian history, so well commenced by Karamzin, has

been further developed by Oustrialov and Soloviev.

The Malo-Russian is very rich in _skazki_ (national tales) and

in songs. Peculiar to them is the _douma_, a kind of narrative

poem, in which the metre is generally very irregular; but a sort

of rhythm is preserved by the recurrence of accentuated syllables.

The _douma_ of the Little Russians corresponds to the _bîlina_

of the Great Russians.

As might naturally be expected, most Malo-Russian authors of eminence,

have preferred using the Great Russian, notably Gogol, who however

is very fond of introducing provincial expressions which require a

glossary. The foundation of the Malo-Russian cultivated literature

was laid by the travisty of the _Æneid_, by Kotliarevski, which

enjoys great popularity among his countrymen. A truly national

poet appeared in Taras Shevchenko, born a serf in the Government

of Kiev, at the village of Kirilovka.

Of the literature of the White Russians, but little need be said,

as it is very scanty, amounting to a few collections of songs edited

by Shein, Bezsonov and others.

_PRESENT CONDITIONS_

_E. S._

Nicholas I., Tsar of all the Russias (born in 1868), the eldest

son of Alexander III. and the Princess Dagmar, daughter of King

Christian IX. of Denmark, ascended the throne on the death of his

father in 1894. He is descended from Michael Romanof, elected Tsar

in 1613, after the extinction of the House of Rurik, and also from

the Oldenburg family. Nicholas II. was married in 1894 to Princess

Alexandra Alix (Alexandra Feodorovina), daughter of Ludwig IV., Grand

Duke of Hesse, and Alice Maud Mary, daughter of Queen Victoria. Their

four daughters are: Olga (born 1895); Tatiana (born 1897); Marie

(born 1899); and Anastasia (born 1901). The Grand Duke Michael (born

1878), brother of the Emperor, is the Heir Presumptive. The Emperor's

vast revenue is derived from Crown domains: the amount is unknown,

as no reference is made in the budgets or finance accounts. It

consists, however, of more than a million of square miles of cultivated

lands and forests, besides gold and other mines in Siberia.

[Illustration: THE TSAR NICHOLAS.]

Russia is an absolute hereditary monarchy. The Emperor's will is

law, and in him the whole legislative, executive and judicial power

is united. The administration of the Empire is entrusted to four

great boards or councils: the Council of the State; the Ruling

Senate; the Holy Synod; and the Committee of Ministers.

The Council of State, established by Alexander I. in 1801, consists

of a president nominated every year by the Emperor and a large

number of members appointed by him. This council is divided into

four departments: Legislation; Civil and Church Administration;

State's Economy and Industry; Sciences and Commerce.

The Ruling Senate, founded by Peter I. in 1711, is really the high

court of justice for the Empire. It is divided into six departments,

or sections.

The Holy Synod, founded by Peter I. in 1728, has charge of the

religious affairs of the Empire. Its members are the Metropolitans

of St. Petersburg, Moscow and Kief, the archbishop of Georgia and

several bishops who sit in turn. The President is Antonious, the

Metropolitan of St. Petersburg. The Emperor has to approve of all

the decisions of the Holy Synod.

European Russia consists of Russia Proper (50 Provinces), Poland

(10 Provinces), and Finland (Grand Duchy). The population in 1897

was respectively, 93,467,736; 9,401,097; and 2,527,801. Asiatic

Russia consists of Caucasia (11 Provinces; population 9,291,000);

Siberia (8 Provinces and Regions; population 5,726,719); and Central

Asia (10 Provinces and Regions; population 7,740,394). Russian

subjects in Khiva and Bokhara number 6,412. Of the total population

128,161,249, 64,616,280 were men and 64,594,883, women. In European

Russia the annual increase of population is at the rate of nearly

a million and a half. The chief cities of European Russia are St.

Petersburg (1,267,023); Moscow (988,614); Warsaw (638,208); Odessa

(405,041); Lodz (315,209); Riga (256,197); Kief (247,432); Kharkoff

(174,846); Tiflis (160,645); Vilna (159,568); Tashkend (156,414);

Saratov (137,109); Kasan (131,508); Ekaterinoslav (121,216);

Rostov-on-the-Don (119,889); Astrakhan (113,001); Baku (112,253);

Tula (111,048), and Kishineff(108,796). The population of Novgorod,

Samara, Minsk and Nikolaieff is between 95,000 and 90,000. Tiflis

and Baku in the Caucasus have respective populations of 160,000

and 112,000. The largest towns in the Trans-Caspia are Askhabad

(19,500) and Merv (8,750), and those of Turkestan are Tashkend,

Namangan Samarkand and Andijan. There are about 50,000 in each

of the Siberian towns of Tomsk, Irkutsk and Ekaterinburg.

[Illustration: THE TSARINA.]

There has been no census since 1897, but in 1900 the population of

St. Petersburg was 1,439,739; Moscow, 1,035,664; and Riga, 282,943.

The mortality in the towns is so great that the deaths exceed the

births. Emigration is on the increase, and, of late years, the

Russians, particularly the Jews, flock to the United States, chiefly

through Hamburg, Lübeck and Bremen. In 1900, 49,580 emigrated to

the United States; 1,253 to Argentina; and numbers to Canada and

Brazil. Emigration to Siberia varies from year to year, but is on

the increase. In 1898, 80,000 went and in 1901 from 150,000 to

200,000. There is also much emigration to the Southern Ural and

the Steppe provinces.

In European Russia, there is an average of a town or village to

every four or seven square miles, and in the Caucasus, one to every

nine square miles; but in Asiatic Russia the average varies; for

example, in Samarkand there is one to every fourteen square miles,

and in the province of Yakutsk, one to every 2,760 square miles.

The principal ports are St. Petersburg, Cronstadt, Narva, Riga,

Libau, Pernau and Vindau (on the Baltic); Hango (on the Gulf of

Bothnia); Revel, Helsingförs and Wiborg (on the Gulf of Finland);

Archangel and Ekaterinsk (Arctic and White Seas); Odessa, Nicolaieff,

Sebastopol, Nova-Rossiisk, Berdiansk and Batoum, Taganrog, Marinpol,

Rostov and Kertch (on the Black Sea and Sea of Azov); Astrakhan,

Derbent and Baku (on the Caspian Sea); Nicolaieffsk, Vladivostok

and Petrapaulovsk in Kamtchatka; and Port Arthur and Dalni or

Ta-lien-wan (Gulf of Pechili), have been occupied since the

Russo-Chinese Treaty of 1898.

The established religion is the Russo-Greek, or Græco-Russian, known

officially as the Orthodox Catholic Faith. It maintains the relations

of a sister church with the four patriarchates of Constantinople,

Antioch, Jerusalem and Alexandria. The Emperor is the head of the

church. The Russian Empire is divided into 64 bishoprics, under 3

metropolitans, 14 archbishops and 48 bishops; in 1898, there were

66,146 churches (718 of which were cathedrals), and 785 monasteries.

With the exception of the Jewish, all religions are allowed to be

professed. There are more than 12,000,000 dissenters scattered

throughout the Empire. The numbers are: Orthodox Greek, 87,384,480;

Dissenters, 2,173,738; Roman Catholic, 11,420,927; Protestants,

3,743,209; other Christians, 1,221,511; Mohammedans, 13,889,421;

Jews, 5,189,401; and other religions, 645,503. In 1903, the Holy

Synod received 28,388,049 roubles from the Imperial budget, besides

other revenue and gifts.

The Empire is divided into 15 educational districts: St. Petersburg,

Moscow, Kasan, Orenburg, Kharkoff, Odessa, Kief, Vilna, Warsaw,

Riga, Caucasus, Turkestan, West Siberia, East Siberia and Amur.

In some of the primary village schools, there are school-gardens,

while bee-keeping and silk-worm culture, as well as trades and

handiwork, are taught. In 1900, the Ministers contributed 51,062,842

roubles for schools and universities. The universities are in Moscow

(4,344 students in 1902); St. Petersburg (3,708); Kief (2,316);

Kharkov (1,340); Dorpat (1,791); Warsaw (1,312); Kasan (823); Odessa

(1,116); and Tomsk (549). Helsingfors, Finland, had 1,211 students

in 1900-1.

Since 1874 military service has been obligatory for all men from

the age of 21. The period of service in European Russia is five

years in the active army (reduced by furloughs to four) 13 in the

Zapas those who have passed through active service and five years

in the Opolchenie, or reserve; in Asiatic Russia, seven years in

the active army and six in the Zapas; and in Caucasia, three years

in the active army and 15 in the Zapas. The Opolchenie is a reserve

force of drilled conscripts.

The Cossacks (Don, Kuban Terek, Astrakhan, Orenburg, Ural, Siberia,

Semiryetchensk, Transbaikalia, Amur and Usuri) are divided in three

classes; the first in active service, the second on furlough with

their arms and horses; the third with arms and without horses. Some

of the Cossack cavalry serves with the regular cavalry. Military

service is also obligatory in Finland.

The Russian army consists of 31 corps. The lowest estimate of its

peace strength is about 1,100,000 with 42,000 officers; the war

strength about 75,000 officers, 4,500,000 men and 562,000 horses.

Owing to its widely separated seas, the Russian navy maintains

four squadrons: the Baltic, the Black Sea, the Pacific and the

Caspian. Cronstadt is the chief base of the Baltic Fleet; Sebastopol

of the Black Sea; and Vladivostok and Port Arthur of the Pacific.

The Caspian fleet is comparatively insignificant. In 1903, the navy

consisted of 26 battleships, 14 coast defence ships, 24 first-class

cruisers, 15 second-class cruisers, 161 gunboats and torpedo craft.

The ocean shipping of the Russian Empire is not relatively large,

but its lake and river shipping is very extensive. In 1900, the

sea-going marine consisted of 2,293 sailing vessels and 745 steamers.

The total length of railway open for traffic and travel on January

1, 1903, was 35,336 miles (not including 1,753 miles in Finland).

Of this 4,965 miles were in Asiatic Russia.

The legal unit of money is the silver rouble of 100 kopecks of

the value of 2s. 1.6d., or about fifty cents of American money.

The coins called imperial and half-imperial contain 15 and 7-1/2

roubles respectively. There are also credit notes of 100, 25, 10,

5, 3 and 1 rouble.

Russia's chief source of revenue is the liquor traffic. Her chief

exports are spirits, tallow, wool, tow, bristles, timber, hides and

skins, grain, raw and dressed flax, linseed and hemp. Her principal

imports are tea, cotton and other colonial produce, iron, machinery,

wool, wine, fruits, vegetables and oil.

Russia is the second largest European grower of wheat. Hemp, flax,

potatoes and tobacco are also raised in large quantities. Barley,

buckwheat, oats, millet and rye form the staple food of the inhabitants.

Mines of great value exist in the Ural, Obdorsk and Altai mountains,

which produce gold, copper, iron, silver, platinum, rock-salt,

marble and kaolin or china clay. Rich naphtha springs exist on

the Caspian and an immense bed of coal has been discovered between

the Donetz and Dnieper rivers.

The Grand Duchy of Finland, which Russia conquered from Sweden

and finally annexed in 1808, had a population in 1898 of about

2,595,000 (2,230,000 Finns; 350,000 Swedes; 12,000 Russians; 2,000

Germans; and 1,000 Laps). The chief religion is the Lutheran. The

capital is Helsingfors with a population of 111,000, including the

Russian garrison. The Tsar of Russia is the Grand Duke; Lieut.-Gen.

N. Bobrikov, the governor-general; and V. von Plehwe, Secretary of

State. The Diet, convoked triennially, consists of nobles, clergy,

burgesses and peasants, but the country is chiefly governed by the

Imperial Finnish Senate of twenty-two members. The army consists

of nine battalions of Finnish Rifles (5,600 men), and one regiment

of dragoons (900 men, with a reserve of 30,000). The chief export

is timber and the chief industry iron mines. In 1898, the marine

comprised 2,298 vessels of 324,344 tons.

Bokhara and Khiva in Central Asia are vassal states of Russia.

Bokhara, bounded on the north by Russian Turkestan, was once the

most famous state of Central Asia. Genghis Khan took it from the

Arabs in the Thirteenth Century, and it was taken by the Uzbegs,

fanatical Sunni Mahommedans of Turkish extraction, in 1505. After

the Russian capture of Tashkend in 1865, the Amir Muzeffared-din

proclaimed a holy war against the Russians, who invaded his province

and captured Samarkand in 1868. By a treaty of 1873, no foreigner may

be admitted into Bokhara without a Russian passport. The population

is estimated at 2,000,000. The Amir Syed Abdul Ahad succeeded in

1885. The Uzbegs are still the dominant race. The religion is

Mahommedan. The chief towns are Bokhara (about 75,000) and Karshi

(25,000). The chief products are sheep, goats, camels, horses,

rice, cotton, silk, corn, fruit, hemp and tobacco. Gold, salt,

alum and sulphur are the chief minerals. There are cotton, woollen

and silk manufacturers. Many Indian goods such as shawls, tea,

drugs, indigo and muslins are imported. The Amir has 11,000 troops,

4,000 of which are quartered in Bokhara. The Russian Trans-Caspian

Railway runs through Bokhara and there is steam navigation on the

Oxus. A telegraph connects Bokhara with Tashkend.

The conquest of Khiva, another Uzbeg State also founded on the

ruins of Tamerlane's Central Asian Empire, was attempted by Peter

the Great in 1717 and again in 1839 by the Tsar Nicholas. On the

pretext that the Khivans had aided the rebellious Kirghiz, the

Russians invaded Khiva in 1873 and forced the Khan to sign a treaty

putting the Khanate under Russian government. The reigning sovereign

is Seyid Mahomed Rahim Khan who succeeded his father in 1865. He was

born about 1845. The population is estimated at 800,000, including

400,000 nomad Turcomans. The principal towns are Khiva (about 5,000)

and New Urgenj (3,000). The religion is Mahommedan. The army consists

of about 2,000 men. The chief productions are silk and cotton.

[Illustration: KALKSTRASSE AND THE PROMENADE, RIGA.]

In 1898, Russia obtained a lease of twenty-five years from China of

Point Arthur and Ta-lien-wan with the adjacent seas and territory

to the north. To this the name of Kwang-Tung was given in 1899. Port

Arthur, the capital, is a naval station for Russian and Chinese

ships. At the end of the port a new town, Dalni, has been founded;

it is connected by rail with the Trans-Siberian railway system.

Russia's history in 1903 was marked by general disquietude and

turbulence. The disorders among the peasantry in 1902 led to a

special committee being appointed to inquire into and ameliorate

their condition and also to improve agriculture. On March 11, 1903,

the Tsar issued a manifesto promising reform in the government of

local towns and tolerance in religion. As little or no improvement

was noticed, strike riots resulted in Slatoust (Ufa) and at

Nijni-Novgorod, and riots also broke out in the university of St.

Petersburg. In May, the Governor of Ufa was assassinated. To these

disturbances, the Anti-Semitic outrages were encouraged at Kishineff

(Bessarabia) when forty-five Jews were killed, 484 injured, 700

houses demolished, and 600 houses sacked. Strike riots also broke

out in South Russia and the Caucasus, particularly in the towns of

Kief, Odessa, Baku, Rostov, Nikolaieff. Many smaller towns also

suffered loss of life. Military troops were called out to quell

the rioters. The policy of Russification was carried on in Finland

as well as in the more recent acquisitions. The chief interest,

however, lay in the extension of Russia's diplomatic and military

policy in the Far East under Admiral Alexeieff (appointed August

13, 1903).