THE WHITE SEA.
THE MONASTERY OF SOLOVETSK--THE PRISONER OF SOLOVETSK--HETERODOXY AND
ORTHODOXY--THE PROMONTORY--A FURTHER JOURNEY.
I did not go as far as the monastery of Solovetsk, but I have collected
a great number of details about that place of pilgrimage. In the White
Sea, about 280 verstes to the westward of Archangel, there is a group
of islands, and of these the largest bears the name of Solovetsk.
Originally inhabited by the Fins, it was afterwards occupied by some
intrepid trappers (_promylchlenniki_) of the ancient republic of
Novgorod. It became afterwards the asylum of St. Zosimus, who built
a cell there, and founded a little wooden chapel. Other cenobites
succeeded him on that spot. A convent of monks (_tcherntsé_) was
formed, and this foundation soon becoming celebrated for its miracles,
was enriched by the offerings of the faithful, and was finally endowed
with a fortress or stronghold, for the preservation of its treasures.
With the republic of Novgorod, Solovetsk and its monastery passed
under the domination of the Tzars, who strengthened its fortifications.
In the time of the false Demetrius, the partisans of Boris Godounov,
along with their riches, took refuge in the castle of the Holy Isle,
and there made an obstinate resistance ‘to the most intrepid knights
who held with the pretender:’ thus saith tradition. May they, by any
chance, have been _our_ celebrated _Lissovians_--our hardy warriors of
the seventeenth century. At any rate, this defence of the place added
to the glory of the island, which, after Kiow, occupies the first place
in the list of the holy places of the Russian Empire.
The situation of Solovetsk in a frozen region, and in one that is
difficult of access, makes all culture there next to impossible.
Latterly, and chiefly by reason of the labours of the monks, some
vegetables, chiefly cabbages, have been raised on the island; but
flour, wheat, groats, oil, and other articles of food only come thither
from Archangel. The recluses can make _kvass_ for themselves, and
their manufacture has a peculiar celebrity. They also possess a mill,
a few cattle, and even some horses. Close to their cloisters are large
warehouses in which the pilgrims deposit their baggage, receiving a
numbered ticket in exchange; but the buildings destined to shelter the
_bohomolets_ are a much greater affair, and their numbers are very
considerable. There are large furnished rooms or halls with long tables
and benches. There the faithful lodge, sleep, and eat their meals;
the compartments of the men being separated from those for women. I
have never heard the hospitality of the brotherhood spoken of but in
terms of praise. During the repasts, a monk reads to the guests in each
hall, out of the ‘Lives of the Saints,’ or recites some prayers. Every
_bohomolets_ has the right of being lodged and fed gratuitously for
the three first nights. During that time he prays, goes to confession,
lights and hold candles, and gets _akathisti_ (antiphones) or gospels
read over his head. There is a tariff for all these spiritual
exercises, but the terms are very modest, though the visit to the tombs
of St. Zosimus and of St. Savatyï have to be paid for separately. When
the three days have expired, the pilgrim will be expected, if he stays
longer, to provide for his own wants, and to pay for his lodging. A
number of devout persons make a vow to remain on the island for whole
years at a time, and these years they spend in acts of devotion and of
penitence. Such guests are warmly welcomed by the brothers, but on the
condition that they pay their own expenses, or make themselves useful
in the convent by some occupation, and become workmen, gardeners, and
the like.
As soon as the White Sea has become navigable, that is to say, by
the first days of June, the pilgrims crowd into little boats, called
_karbasses_, which, from Archangel, carry them to the Holy Isle. The
price of the voyage is very small, but owing to the discomforts, and
indeed to the dangers of a long crossing on a sea generally very rough,
many _bohomolets_ go on foot from Archangel, and skirt the shore till
they reach a promontory opposite Solovetsk, from which it is separated
by an arm of the sea not one verst in width, and only then do they
commit themselves to the _karbasses_. No one can land on the island,
except during the four months of June, July, August, and September,
for by the beginning of October all navigation of the White Sea is
prevented by the violence of its tempests, and still more by the ice
which enters it from the Polar Sea. So from October to June there are
no visitors at the convent.
It is a strange thing, and one perhaps not without significance, that
alongside of the very house of God, the Tzars have built one for
themselves--a mysterious prison, of which the _bohomolets_ speak with
the greatest terror, because no one knows what is the meaning or the
use of it. Who may be the unhappy beings who are inclosed within these
dungeon walls! No common criminals certainly, for _they_ are sent to
Siberia. And yet the prison of Solovetsk is certainly occupied, for
sentries and keepers are always on duty, and at their posts. I have
been told that some years ago an old man was seen there. He had a white
beard, and had become blind from weeping. I do not pretend to give any
guarantee for the truth of this tale, which has, however, been narrated
by many; still less do I venture to vouch for the secret which has
been whispered into my ear on more than one occasion; but they say that
the blind prisoner of Solovetsk is a brother of Nicholas--that he is
the Grand Duke Constantine himself...!
But to return to my own history; on the day which followed the night
in which I determined to abandon any further attempts at evasion from
Archangel, I rose at daybreak, received my baggage from the porter of
the _dvorets_, and declared to him my intention of pressing on to the
monastery of Solovetsk. After having bought some bread and some salt,
I crossed the Dvina, and struck away in the direction of the western
promontory which faces the Holy Isle. The day was hot and fine, the
country flat, but wild and deserted. By evening I reached a little
hamlet, and there I decided to take a Russian bath, a measure which
had become indispensable after my long sojourn among the saints. The
Russians, even the lowest of the people, frequently use these baths on
Saturdays, or on the eve of their festivals. The bath house is a simple
wooden building, where you find a huge stove of about two yards square,
formed of bricks or of unquarried stone, put together without any
cement. There is no chimney, and the smoke goes out at the holes in the
roof. As soon as these stoves are really heated, water is poured over
them, and the steam which flies from them, filling the whole place,
turns it into a bath room.
After leaving the stove, I felt a strange longing to drink some milk,
and on going to get some in a hut pointed out by my host, I found two
women, to whom I made my wants known, after having made the three
signs of the cross, which are expected of one. They gave me very scant
measure for the piece of money which I offered, and served me with
a bad grace, for which I was not at first able to account. While I
took some mouthfuls of the milk we began to converse, and at last I
found the solution of the enigma. They belonged to the sect of the
‘_staroviertsi_,’ or old believers, and by the way in which I made
the sign of the cross they recognised in me an orthodoxy that was to
be deplored. They did not conceal from me what was their regret that
a man of such piety, a _bohomolets_, should be thus wandering in the
ways of certain perdition. They then showed me how truly to make sure
of my salvation, and tired at last of differing with them, I ended in
adopting their method. These good women were so happy, that they gave
to their neophyte three fresh measures of milk, and refused payment
for it. As they took leave of me, they offered fervent prayers to
God that I might be preserved in the paths of conversion! But these
prayers, alas! were not to be granted, for as soon as I returned to
my landlord’s dwelling, I was again obliged, to cross myself in the
orthodox fashion.
I continued my journey, walking for several days in a marshy country,
or through woods of stunted fir trees, where I was often obliged to
spend the night. I became more and more aware of the polar nature of
the climate. The sun hardly ever left us; and even during the short
interval between his setting and his rising again, his level rays threw
over the landscape a clearness of light which would have allowed one to
execute the finest needlework. Night was only to be distinguished from
day by the greater stillness which reigned over the face of nature.
It is true, that the geographical ideas which had been acquired by me
when I sat on a form in school had prepared me years before for this
phenomenon, yet I felt as if in a dream on thus finding myself in
regions where the sun never sets. The country, I found, became always
poorer and more desolate, until, at last, I reached the coast; and
after that, I continued to walk along the cliffs, where, for several
days, the weather was extremely fine, and the sun so warm that I was
obliged to take off my pelisse. But, before long, a heavy gale of
wind rose; and the ocean, rolling in mountainous waves, and covered
with snowy foam, seemed eager to justify its name of White Sea, and
presented a spectacle at once mournful and admirably grand. The tempest
lasted for several days. I hardly ever met a human being; but the sight
of a serpent, which had been newly killed, showed me that in this
country and in this latitude reptiles were not wanting. On reaching a
small village on the sea-shore, I found in a _possada_--that is to say,
in a colony--a multitude of _bohomolets_, and, among others, my former
companions from Véliki-Oustiong, who had set out, long before me, from
Archangel, in _karbasses_ bound for the Holy Island, but who had been
driven by the storm to land and seek for shelter at this spot. One of
the _karbasses_ had been swamped, and every soul on board lost in the
waves; and now these poor people awaited the laying of the tempest;
but I left them, assuring them that I should reach the monastery much
sooner and safer on foot than they would in their wretched little
boats. Towards evening, the sea went down, and I had soon reached the
promontory which faces the island of Solovetsk. Leaning on my staff,
I stood for some moments contemplating the shores, and thinking of
our old Lissoviens, who may, perhaps, have encamped on this very
spot, while pushing their adventurous course to the extreme north.
Then, turning to the left, and without waiting for a passage to the
monastery, I struck into the road which would take me to Onega.
And, in truth, now that my attempts at Archangel had failed, this
was the only route open to me; for a return to Archangel and
Véliki-Oustiong, with a journey thence through the very heart of Russia
Proper, was not to be thought of; and, again, there was nothing more
natural than that a _bohomolets_, having accomplished his pilgrimage to
Solovetsk, should turn to Onega, and to the government of Olonets, so
as to make the pious round of Novgorod and of Kiow, and there _salute
the holy bones_--for such is the sanctified phraseology in use (_dla
pokloniénïa swiatym mostcham_). I do not say that I yet saw what I
ought to do on reaching Onega; but after the mistake about Archangel,
I was not inclined to make any great plans, or to think of the morrow.
I therefore resolutely pursued my way, skirting the western edge of
the promontory, and walking, for several days, along a path which was
bounded, on the one side, by the sea--on the other, by a low range
of hillocks, densely covered with wood. Before me, I saw nothing but
sands, heaths, and marshes; and one incident will, I think, suffice
to give an idea of this desolate country. One day, having arrived at
a _possada_, I could get no bread. The inhabitants had been without
any for a week, because the bad weather had stopped the boats that
came from Archangel; but, as an equivalent, I found some of the fresh
herrings of the White Sea, which were of a good size and excellent
flavour.
At Onega, I was not tempted to make any further experiments among the
foreign ships that I saw at anchor in the port. In order to have made
any attempts of the kind, with the slightest chance of success, it
would have been necessary for me to pass several days in the town,
where there was no crowd of pilgrims among whom I could hide, as at
Véliki-Oustiong and at Archangel, so as to conceal myself from the
eyes of the Police. Moreover, I was still under the painful impression
left by the discovery of my last bad reckoning, and I had decidedly
more confidence in _terra firma_, which, as yet, had never deceived my
hopes. Two land routes were open to me from Onega, and it was now time
to choose between them. The one to the right would have led me, by the
marshes of Laponia and the river Torneo, to the Swedish frontier; the
other, to the left, trending across the government of Olonets, would
take me, by Vytiégra, to the Gulf of Finland, and to the Baltic. Of
these lines, the first was the most fatiguing--the second the most
dangerous. Had I not already crossed the Ourals and the steppe of
Petchora, I should certainly have taken an extreme northern direction
to Laponia; but I now dreaded the privations, and the miseries with
which I was too well acquainted. Wasted and disheartened, I had begun
to fear hardships more than danger, and I decided in favour of Vytiégra.
Without, therefore, making too long a halt in Onega, I pushed towards
the south, by skirting the banks of the river which also bears the
name of Onega. Every now and then I met solitary pilgrims on their
way to the monastery of Solovetsk, to whom naturally I could impart
the latest intelligence about the island. I remember one old man in
particular--small, withered, and white as a dove, but very fresh and
hearty withal, who said to me, ‘Can you doubt where I come from? I am
from Kargopol...!’ He pronounced the name with such pride, with such
a sense of the greatness of his native town, that I really might have
fancied that I heard the famous _civis Romanus_. Now Kargopol, which I
soon reached, may truly be said to be one of the saddest little hamlets
of a very sad country. Yet, in spite of the sombre and monotonous
aspect of these districts, where marshes alternate with boundless
woods, in spite of the enormous distances I had to traverse on foot, in
spite of the discomforts incident to the condition of a fugitive who
has always to fear gendarmes, inns, or any expenditure which exceeds
the bare necessaries of life, this journey from Onega to Vytiégra was
very far from being equal in suffering to that which I had made over
the Ourals and the plain of Petchora. My character of a pilgrim gave me
a certain assurance that I need no longer to the same extent avoid the
dwellings of men. Besides, the season was milder; and when at nightfall
I had to turn into some wood to sleep, I could find branches and green
leaves enough to fashion a pretty soft bed. What most surprises me is,
that, in all these nights passed in the solitude of the forests, I was
never once disturbed by wild beasts. Sometimes, indeed, I was startled
by the distant howling of the wolves, but none of these animals ever
presented themselves to my eyes.
It must not, however, be supposed that, during this expedition, I was
not exposed to much tribulation, in spite of the really very exact
knowledge which I possessed of the manners and customs of the country.
Sometimes an adventure would be almost comic: as when, one day, not far
from this celebrated Kargopol, I asked for food at a hut, and received
for answer that they had nothing but _tolokno_ to offer me.
‘Well, let us have the _tolokno_,’ I said, rather pleased than
otherwise to make the acquaintance of a national dish, which I had
often heard of, but never seen. My confusion, however, became great
when the mistress of the house set down before me a jug of water, a
spoon, and a small earthen jar half full of a dry and blackish flour.
How was that to be eaten? How could I fail to betray that I was a
stranger by my crying ignorance of a dish so common in Russia? I began
to talk, as if for my life, about any nonsense that would divert their
attention; but my hostess was not to be diverted, and she asked me why
I did not eat, since I was so hungry?
‘But perhaps you would like it better mixed with kvass (cider)?’
‘Oh yes, with cider,’ I replied, as much at a loss as before.
She brought some cider, and, luckily, poured it herself into the pot,
stirring it with the spoon. The brown mass then swelled until it filled
the jar, and made a paste, which I now knew how to eat. It was made
of oats baked in an oven, which are then carefully sifted and pounded
in meal, and, when mixed with water or cider it forms a substance
so fairly palatable that I can recommend it especially to our brave
highlanders of the Carpathians.
The district of Olonets is traversed in all directions by canals,
formed to unite the different lakes and rivers of Onega, Ladoga,
Vytiégra, Svir, &c.; and these form the principal means of
communication between one place and another. For the preservation and
inspection of these works, stations have been set down at different
points, and these are constantly occupied by soldiers, the greater
number of them being Poles, who have groaned under arms in the imperial
service for the last sixteen years, that is to say, ever since 1831.
From Archangel to Vytiégra I fell in with several of my unhappy
countrymen, thus incorporated into military bodies, and generally
found that, in spite of their long residence in the country, they
spoke Russian very imperfectly. I often talked with them, pretending
to be a native of Siberia, and thus drew from them an account of their
sorrows. I remember, in particular, one sinister phrase which made me
shudder. Hearing once the complaints made by a Pole of the hardships
and fatigues of his life as a Russian soldier, I said to him what only
a true Russian would have said:
‘But, after all, you are not so very much beaten?’
‘What! we are not beaten,’ was the retort, accompanied by an almost
savage laugh; ‘you don’t think we are beaten? as if anybody got the
Tzar’s bread to eat gratis!’
I frequently saw another sad sight in this country, namely, gangs
(_partyé_) of Jewish children that were being driven to Archangel.
It should be known that, whereas the Russian government in Poland
only recruits among adult Christians, it takes boys of from ten to
fifteen from the Jewish population, in order that, forgetting more
perfectly their traditional religion and manners, they may become fit
for military life, for which it seems that adult Israelites are not so
well adapted. A great number of these young recruits are intended for
the navy, and sent to the different ports of the White Sea, and, to me,
the sight of these poor children, with their heads shaved, and wrapped
in their little pelisses, was most pitiful; for the soldiers in charge
of the gang drove them before them like a flock of sheep, and I was
assured by the natives that many of them died by the way.
It was also in this department of Olonets that I saw another symptom
of the moral state of Russia, which was in itself not less curious. I
had gone into a cottage to ask my way; it was on the road from Kargopol
to Vytiégra. I found in the hut an old man with a long white beard,
and of respectable appearance, who, as soon as he began to talk to me,
expressed such a hatred of the Tzar, the government, and the priests,
that I had no difficulty in recognising in him a _starovier_, or old
believer. Finding me to be a man well disposed to share his religious
views, he ran on at great length, and finally shed tears over the
persecution of the true faith. In order to prove to me that the manner
of making the sign of the cross adopted ever since the reformation of
Nicon (that is, the ordinary Russian fashion) was wholly heretical, he
looked all round the outside of his house, locked the door, and, having
taken an oath of secrecy from me, he drew from a hiding-place a little
figure in copper, evidently a rough piece of old Byzantine workmanship,
which certainly represented our Lord as giving the benediction with the
two fore fingers of the right hand extended, as in the manner of the
_staroviertsi_. ‘They force us,’ he continued, ‘to go to the _tserkiev_
of the heretics, where the _popes_ oblige us to make the sign of the
cross in their own way; but when we come back from the _tserkiev_, we
pray to the true God, and we ask Him to forgive the great sin.’ He
afterwards drew from the same repository an old paper book, setting
forth ‘The History of the Patriarch Joseph, as betrayed and sold by his
Brethren.’ The good man proceeded to instruct me in these novelties,
and shed some tears of emotion at the virtue of Joseph when tempted by
the wife of Potiphar.
Scarcely had I reached Vytiégra than I was accosted on the quays by a
peasant, who asked me where I was going.
‘I am a _bohomolets_; I replied. ‘I am returning from the monastery of
Solovetsk, and I am on my way to “_adore the sacred bones_” at Novgorod
and at Kiow.’
‘Then, I am your man,’ he said. ‘I will take you to St. Petersburg. My
boat is small, but I have only my horse to take with me, and you can
help me to row ... it is not heavy.’
‘I know that sort of work very well, and I know that it is not light;
how much will you give me?’
We wrangled for a long time over the price, the sly villain having
every mind to get the use of my arms, and not to pay for it; but at
last we agreed that he should give me dressed victuals for the whole
time of our voyage, and, so pleased was he with the bargain he had
made, that he took me straight to a pothouse to drink a glass with him.
The project of going to St. Petersburg, into the very capital of
Nicholas, was sufficiently strange, and, most certainly, it was not
one which I had contemplated when I made sundry and manifold plans of
evasion at Ekaterinski-Zavod; but, since leaving Archangel, I had been
wandering pretty much on chance, with no other object than always to
get near some sea or frontier, no matter which, and always to avoid
remaining more than a few hours in any place where they were likely to
ask me for my papers. Now the boat in question was to leave that very
day; and there was something, even in the very strangeness of the
enterprise, which seemed reassuring. Any capital appeared to me less
dangerous than a small provincial town, and the event showed that I was
not wrong in this calculation.
By evening the boat was slipped from her moorings, and the navigation
began, which, by Vytiégra, the lake of Onega, the river Svir, the
lake of Ladoga, and the Néva, was to conduct me to the very walls of
St. Petersburg. We rowed day and night, or floated past innumerable
canoes, boats and ships, with which the lakes and rivers were literally
covered; but, above all, past rafts of wood, also intended to supply
the wants of the metropolis, and which, in some places, completely,
obstructed the passage. We made a party of three--myself, the master,
and his son, a stout young man, who, whenever we neared the banks,
would get the horse out and fasten him to the boat, so as to help
to draw it along. In spite of the smallness of the boat, its owner
could not prevail on himself to refuse an occasional passenger, whom
he would take up or put down at spots agreed upon; for how could he
be expected to resist turning a penny from time to time? But these
freights caused me the greatest distress, for the passengers could not
be said to be members of any Temperance league, and I had to watch over
the tipsiest ones, and once had even to jump into the water to pull
out a poor wretch who had rolled overboard. As I do not wish to make
myself appear better than I am, I must state here that I had a strong
personal interest in the safety of these troublesome guests; for, had
any disaster really occurred, we should have been obliged to stop, and
report ourselves at the nearest police station, when the negotiation
thereupon ensuing would, to a certainty, have been opened by a request
for our papers; thus my charity was hardly of a very evangelical sort.
As we approached by degrees the end of our voyage, I became more
absorbed in thought, and, above all, more anxious to learn something
of the usages of St. Petersburg. Happily, we picked up at one of the
stations several women, who, after paying visits to their relations,
were returning to the capital, where they seemed to have lived for
many years as servants and housemaids. My condition as a _bohomolets_
obliged me to preach to them a degree of morality in conduct, which
seemed only to excite their risibility. However, I did not preach
entirely in vain, especially when I took under my protection an old
woman, of whom these chambermaids had made a butt in a way that was
really disgusting. She was an old peasant of Korélia, on her way to St.
Petersburg, which she had never seen before, to visit a daughter, who
plied her trade as a laundress in the city. She was immensely grateful
to me for my protection, called me her ‘_batiouchka_’ (little father),
and soon offered me an assistance which can be called nothing less than
providential.
After encountering a violent storm, during which our women screamed
horribly, and after leaving behind us Nova-Ladoga and Schlusselbourg,
where Alexis Orlov strangled the unhappy Peter III., by the orders of
Catherine the Great, we reached the quays of the capital, at about
eight o’clock in the morning, and drew towards the shore opposite the
Perspective Nevski. The servant girls jumped gaily from the boat,
giving me a rendezvous _to preach to them_, and I was preparing to
step on shore, feeling, I must confess, much at a loss what to do with
myself, when the poor Korélian woman came up to me, and said, ‘Just
stay with me; I have sent to tell my daughter, and she will soon be
down to fetch me, and will show you where you can get a cheap lodging.’
It may be imagined with what eagerness I embraced her proposition; and
oh, ineffable joy! while we waited a long time in the boat, no one
came to ask for our papers. At last the laundress appeared; she kissed
her mother affectionately, and took up her trunk, which she and I then
carried between us, on a stick across our shoulders. Thus we set off,
preceded by the good old soul herself, who carried on her head the
earthen jar which had contained her food. And in this strange trim I
entered the city of the Tzar!
We had to go through an endless number of streets, bridges, and lanes
before we reached the place where the laundress lived; it was in a
lodging-house of one story in height (_dom postoïaly_), where the
poorest of the working-classes dwell, and where they came at night to
sleep on a flock-bed (if they can get it), or if not, to lie, as the
Russian phrase is, ‘on the floor, with their fists for a pillow.’ The
swelled faces and the red noses of some who frequented this miserable
abode, showed that many shapes of sin and distress harboured there.
There were, however, regular lodgers, who let out to passengers rooms
that they had furnished on this speculation, and my laundress was
one of these. Unfortunately, her room was already occupied; but she
recommended me to a neighbour, and a bargain was soon made at the rate
of eight kopeks a-day. In order to avoid the critical moment, I asked
my landlady immediately to show me the way to the Prefecture of Police,
where passports were given and examined.
‘Who are you?’ asked my hostess.
‘I am a _bohomolets_, from beyond Vologda; I am returning from
Solovetsk, and going to Véliki-Novgorod, to worship the bones of the
saints....’
‘You do well; God be your help! Show me your passport.’
I handed to her my shabby little pass, repressing any show of anxiety;
but she evidently could not read, and only looked at the stamp, then
said to me: ‘How long do you think of remaining here?’
‘From three to five days at the most; I must just rest a little.’
‘Then I will tell you what it is, it is perfectly useless for you to go
to the Police?’
‘Just as you please; I don’t know the ways of this place. But why is it
no use to go to the Police?’
‘Well, you see, I should have to go with you, and that is too much
trouble for me.’
‘Why must you go?’
‘Because, you see, the Police have lately become so plaguily exacting.
Formerly, it used to suffice if the new-comer himself went to the
Prefecture; but now nothing will serve them but to see his landlord
along with him. Then there is always such a crowd of people at the
office, that one has to wait ever so long before one’s turn comes
round. If one has a lodger for a month or a year, then it is worth
one’s pains to go through all this trouble and fatigue; but if he is
only to stay a night or two, one would never gain a living, for the
time would be spent in coming and going. One could not do a hand’s-turn
in one’s own house at that rate, and people must live, you know; and it
is but little bread that one gets from the Police. And that is why we
prefer not to make any declaration, when the lodger only remains for a
few days; we find it the best plan, and if at the Prefecture they do
not hear all they might like to hear, I cannot say I think there is any
harm done.’
I made no objection, it may be supposed; but installing myself in
my room I remained there all the rest of the day, in spite of the
insinuating discourse of my landlady, who proposed to me that I should
go and see the illuminations, for that day was a high day in the
capital. It was July 9, 1846, and they were celebrating the nuptials,
or the betrothal (I do not quite know which), of a daughter of the
Emperor Nicholas, the Grand-Duchess Olga, with the Prince of Wurtemberg!
The next day, however, I did go out, and I promenaded the town, of
which the wide handsome streets seemed to me to be singularly deserted.
I was meditating on the quickest way of leaving the place, and had
determined, if need be, to swim to the shores of the Baltic, although
any more convenient method, if it should arise, was not to be despised.
I knew that a packet sailed from St. Petersburg to Havre, but what
were the days of its sailing, where did it lie, and was its captain
French or Russian? Grave questions, which I did not dare to put to any
one for fear of compromising myself. I walked up and down the Néva,
and read the inscriptions on the different red and yellow bills which
were posted up on blank planks on each of the different steamers;
but I could only read by stealth, for a peasant, ‘a Russian man’
(_rouski tcheloviék_) like me, must not make a display of learning!
So I sauntered slowly and perused the inscriptions. One would be ‘the
vessel of his Majesty the Emperor,’ another ‘of His Highness the Prince
Imperial,’ ‘of the Grand Duke Michael,’ ‘of Her Majesty the Empress,
and the ladies of her court,’ &c. Evidently all of too high a class
for me. I managed at last to discover less titled vessels; but then
their destinations were not to my liking, and would not have suited me
in any way. After having thus examined the whole length of the left
bank of the Néva, I crossed the bridge in front of the statue of Peter
the Great, and now pursued the stream along the right hand to its
mouth. I stopped for a moment at the foot of the two gigantic sphinxes
which are placed opposite the museum, and the sight of these strange
Egyptian guests in the City of Ice made me lose myself for a moment in
thought. Suddenly my eyes fell on an advertisement in large letters,
which, stuck up near the mast of a steamboat, announced that that
vessel was to sail for Riga on the following morning...!
I trembled, and I had difficulty in suppressing the emotion I felt;
but still, I thought, how was I to reach the steamer, how enter into
parley with the captain of it? I saw a man, probably the pilot, walking
on deck; his red shirt pulled on over his drawers was quite after the
Russian fashion, but I did not dare to address him, and I contented
myself with devouring him with my eyes. In the meantime the sun was
sinking, and it was going on to seven o’clock in the evening, when
suddenly the man in the red shirt looked up and said:--
‘Do you by any chance want to go to Riga? If so, take your passage by
us.’
‘Certainly, I want to go to Riga; but how is a poor man like me to go
in the steamboat? That costs a great deal, it is not made for the like
of us.’
‘Why not; come along. A _moujik_ like you won’t be asked to pay a great
deal.’
‘How much?’
He named a sum, which I do not remember, but which astonished me at the
time as being really very moderate.
‘Well, will that suit you? What are you hesitating about now?’
‘I only came here to-day, and the Police must _viser_ my passport.’
‘Then, let me tell you, you will have a three days’ job of it with your
Police, and our steamer sails to-morrow morning.’
‘What can I do then?’
‘Go without having it _visé_, to be sure.’
‘Bah! suppose I get into trouble?’
‘Idiot! Here is a _moujik_ setting up to teach me! Have you got your
passport with you? Let us see it.’
I drew from my pocket the pass which I kept carefully wrapped in a silk
handkerchief, after the Russian plan; but the man did not even give
himself the trouble of looking at it.
‘Come to-morrow, at seven o’clock in the morning, and if you don’t find
me here, wait for me; and now be off as quick as you can.’
I returned joyously to my lodgings, and on the following morning I was
punctual to my appointment. Steam was already got up; my man perceived
me, and said simply, ‘Pay your money.’ He then left me, and returned
with a yellow ticket, of which I naturally pretended to ignore the
signification. This extracted a second notice, as follows, ‘Hold your
tongue, _moujik_, and let us manage.’ The bell rang three times, the
barrier was opened, the passengers pressed and hurried in, while a rude
shove from my friend sent me in along with the others. Some moments
after the paddles went round, we were in motion; and I was as one that
dreamed.