St. Petersburg. While the fort was in process of erection a church was
also built, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul. The site of this wooden
edifice is now occupied by the cathedral, begun in 1714, ten years
later. As regarded a home for himself, Peter was easily satisfied. A hut
of logs--his palace he called it--was built near the fortress,
fifty-five feet long by twenty-five wide, and containing but three
rooms. At a later date, to preserve this his first place of residence in
his new city, he enclosed it within another building. Thus it still
remains, a place of pilgrimage for devout Russians. It contains many
relics of the great czar. His bedroom is now a chapel.
Such a city, in such a situation, should have taken years to build.
Peter wished to have it done in months, and he pushed the labor with
little regard for its cost in life and treasure. Men were brought from
all sections of Russia and put to work. Disease broke out among them,
engendered by the dampness of the soil; but the work went on. Floods
came and covered the island, drowning some of the sick in their beds;
but there was no alleviation. History tells us that Swedish prisoners
were employed, and that they died by thousands. Death, in Peter's eyes,
was only an unpleasant incident, and new workmen were brought in
multitudes, many of them to perish in their turn. It has been said that
the building of the city cost two hundred thousand lives. This is, no
doubt, an exaggeration, but it indicates a frightful mortality. But the
feverish impatience of the czar told in results, and by 1714 the city
possessed over thirty-four thousand buildings, with inhabitants in
proportion.
The floods came and played their part in the work of death. In that of
1706, Peter measured water twenty-one inches deep on the floor of his
hut. He thought it "extremely amusing" as men, women, and children were
swept past his windows on floating wreckage down the stream. What the
people themselves thought of it history does not say.
[Illustration: SLEIGHING IN RUSSIA.]
As yet Peter had no design of making St. Petersburg the capital of his
empire. That conception seems not to have come to him until after the
crushing defeat of the Swedish monarch Charles XII. at the battle of
Pultowa. And indeed it was not until 1817 that it was made the capital.
It was the fifth Russian capital, its predecessors in that honor having
been Novgorod, Kief, Vladimir, and Moscow.
To add a commercial quarter to the new city, Peter chose the island of
Vasily Ostrof,--the Finnish "Island of Buffaloes,"--where a town was
laid out in the Dutch fashion, with canals for streets. This island is
still the business centre of the city, though the canals have long since
disappeared. The streets of St. Petersburg for many years continued
unpaved, notwithstanding the marshy character of the soil, and in the
early days boats replaced carriages for travel and traffic.
The work of building the new capital was not confined to the czar. The
nobles were obliged to build palaces in it,--very much to their chagrin.
They hated St. Petersburg as cordially as Peter hated Moscow. They
already had large and elegant mansions in the latter city, and had
little relish for building new ones in this desert capital, four hundred
miles to the north. But the word of the czar was law, and none dared say
him nay. Every proprietor whose estate held five hundred serfs was
ordered to build a stone house of two stories in the new city. Those of
greater wealth had to build more pretentious edifices. Peter's own taste
in architecture was not good. He loved low and small rooms. None of his
palaces were fine buildings. In building the Winter Palace, whose
stories were made high enough to conform to others on the street, he had
double ceilings put in his special rooms, so as to reduce their height.
The city under way, the question of its defence became prominent. The
Swedes, the mortal enemies of the czar, looked with little favor on this
new project, and their prowling vessels in the gulf seemed to threaten
it with attack. Peter made vigorous efforts to prepare for defence.
Ship-building went on briskly on the Svir River, between Lakes Ladoga
and Onega, and the vessels were got down as quickly as possible into the
Neva. Peter himself explored and measured the depth of water in the Gulf
of Finland. Here, some twenty miles from the city, lay the island of
Cronslot, seven miles long, and in the narrowest part of the gulf. The
northern channel past this island proved too shallow to be a source of
danger. The southern channel was navigable, and this the czar determined
to fortify.
A fort was begun in the water near the island's shores, stone being sunk
for its foundation. Work on it was pressed with the greatest energy, for
fear of an attack by the Swedish fleet, and it was completed before the
winter's end. With the idea of making this his commercial port, Peter
had many stone warehouses built on the island, most of which soon fell
into decay for want of use. But to-day Cronstadt, as the new town and
fortress were called, is the greatest naval station and one of the most
flourishing commercial cities in Russia, while its fortifications
protect the capital from dangers of assault.
In those early days, however, St. Petersburg was designed to be the
centre of commerce, and Peter took what means he could to entice
merchant vessels to his new city. The first to appear--coming almost by
accident--was of Dutch build. It arrived in November, 1703, and Peter
himself served as pilot to bring it up to the town. Great was the
astonishment of the skipper, on being afterwards presented to the czar,
to recognize in him his late pilot. And Peter's delight was equally
great on learning that the ship had been freighted by Cornelis Calf, one
of his old Zaandam friends. The skipper was feasted to his heart's
content and presented with five hundred ducats, while each sailor
received thirty thalers, and the ship was renamed the St. Petersburg.
Two other ships appeared the same year, one Dutch and one English, and
their skippers and crews received the same reward. These pioneer vessels
were exempted forever from all tolls and dues at that port.
St. Petersburg, as it exists to-day, bears very little resemblance to
the city of Peter's plan. To his successors are due the splendid granite
quays, which aid in keeping out the overflowing stream, the rows of
palaces, the noble churches and public buildings, the statues, columns,
and other triumphs of architecture which abundantly adorn the great
modern capital. The marshy island soil has been lifted by two centuries
of accretions, while the main city has crept up from its old location to
the mainland, where the fashionable quarters and the government offices
now stand.
St. Petersburg is still exposed to yearly peril by overflow. The violent
autumnal storms, driving the waters of the gulf into the channel of the
stream, back up terrible floods. The spring-time rise in the lakes which
feed the Neva threatens similar disaster. In 1721 Peter himself narrowly
escaped drowning in the Nevski Prospect, now the finest street in
Europe.
Of the floods that have desolated the city, the greatest was that of
November, 1824. Driven into the river's mouth by a furious southwest
storm, the waters of the gulf were heaped up to the first stories of the
houses even in the highest streets. Horses and carriages were swept
away; bridges were torn loose and floated off; numbers of houses were
moved from their foundations; a full regiment of carbineers, who had
taken refuge on the roof of their barracks, perished in the furious
torrent. At Cronstadt the waters rose so high that a hundred-gun ship
was left stranded in the market-place. The czar, who had just returned
from a long journey to the east, found himself made captive in his own
palace. Standing on the balcony which looks up the Neva, surrounded by
his weeping family, he saw with deep dismay wrecks of every kind,
bridges and merchandise, horses and cattle, and houses peopled with
helpless inmates, swept before his eyes by the raging flood. Boats were
overturned and emptied their crews into the stream. Some who escaped
death by drowning died from the bitter cold as they floated downward on
vessels or rafts. It seemed almost as if the whole city would be carried
bodily into the gulf.
The official reports of this disaster state that forty-five hundred of
the people perished,--probably not half the true figure. Of the houses
that remained, many were ruined, and thousands of poor wretches wandered
homeless through the drenched streets. Such was one example of the
inheritance left by Peter the Great to the dwellers in his favorite
city, his "window to Europe," as it has been called.
_FROM THE HOVEL TO THE THRONE._
The reign of Peter the Great was signalized by two notable instances of
the rise of persons from the lowest to the highest estate, ability being
placed above birth and talent preferred to noble descent. A poor boy,
Mentchikof by name, son of a monastery laborer, had made his way to
Moscow and there found employment with a pastry-cook, who sent him out
daily with a basket of mince pies, which he was to sell in the streets.
The boy was destitute of education, but he had inherited a musical voice
and a lively manner, which stood him in good stead in proclaiming the
merits of his wares. He could sing a ballad in taking style, and became
so widely known for his songs and stories that he was often invited into
gentlemen's houses to entertain company. His voice and his wit ended in
making him a prince of the empire, a favorite of the czar, and in the
end virtually the emperor of Russia.
Being one day in the kitchen of a boyar's house, where dinner was being
prepared for the czar, who had promised to dine there that day, young
Mentchikof overheard the master of the house give special directions to
his cook about a dish of meat of which he said the czar was especially
fond, and noticed that he furtively dropped a powder of some kind into
it, as if by way of spice.
This act seemed suspicious to the acute lad. Noting particularly the
composition of the dish, he betook himself to the street, where he began
again to exalt the merits of his pies and to entertain the passers-by
with ballads. He kept in the vicinity of the boyar's house until the
czar arrived, when he raised his voice to its highest pitch and began to
sing vociferously. The czar, attracted by the boy's voice and amused by
his manner, called him up, and asked him if he would sell his stock in
trade, basket and all.
"I have orders only to sell the pies," replied the shrewd vender: "I
cannot sell the basket without asking my master's leave. But, as
everything in Russia belongs to your majesty, you have only to lay on me
your commands."
This answer so greatly pleased the czar that he bade the boy come with
him into the house and wait on him at table, much to the young
pie-vender's joy, as it was just the result for which he had hoped. The
dinner went on, Mentchikof waiting on the czar with such skill as he
could command, and watching eagerly for the approach of the suspected
dish. At length it was brought in and placed on the table before the
czar. The boy thereupon leaned forward and whispered in the monarch's
ear, begging him not to eat of that dish.
Surprised at this request, and quick to suspect something wrong, the
czar rose and walked into an adjoining room, bidding the boy accompany
him.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Why should I not eat of that particular
dish?"
"Because I am afraid it is not all right," answered the boy. "I was in
the kitchen while it was being prepared, and saw the boyar, when the
cook's back was turned, drop a powder into the dish. I do not know what
all this meant, but thought it my duty to put your majesty on your
guard."
"Thanks for your shrewdness, my lad," said the czar; "I will bear it in
mind."
Peter returned to the table with his wonted cheerfulness of countenance,
giving no indication that he had heard anything unusual.
"I should like your majesty to try that dish," said the boyar: "I fancy
that you will find it very good."
"Come sit here beside me," suggested Peter. It was the custom at that
time in Moscow for the master of a house to wait on the table when he
entertained guests.
Peter put some of the questionable dish on a plate and placed it before
his host.
"No doubt it is good," he said. "Try some of it yourself and set me an
example."
This request threw the host into a state of the utmost confusion, and
with trembling utterance he replied that it was not becoming for a
servant to eat with his master.
"It is becoming to a dog, if I wish it," answered Peter, and he set the
plate on the floor before a dog which was in the room.
In a moment the brute had emptied the dish. But in a short time the
poor animal was seen to be in convulsions, and it soon fell dead before
the assembled company.
"Is this the dish you recommended so highly?" said Peter, fixing a
terrible look on the shrinking boyar. "So I was to take the place of
that dead dog?"
Orders were given to have the animal opened and examined, and the result
of the investigation proved beyond doubt that its death was due to
poison. The culprit, however, escaped the terrible punishment which he
would have suffered at Peter's hands by taking his own life. He was
found dead in bed the next morning.
We do not vouch for the truth of this interesting story. Though told by
a writer of Peter's time, it is doubted by late historians. But such is
the fate of the best stories afloat, and the voice of doubt threatens to
rob history of much of its romance. The story of Mentchikof, in its most
usual shape, states that Le Fort, general and admiral, was the first to
be attracted to the sprightly boy, and that Peter saw him at Le Fort's
house, was delighted with him, and made him his page.
The pastry-cook's boy soon became the indispensable companion of the
czar, assisted him in his workshop, attended him in his wars, and at the
siege of Azov displayed the greatest bravery. He accompanied Peter in
his travels, worked with him in Holland, and distinguished himself in
the wars with the Swedes, receiving the order of St. Andrew for
gallantry at the battle of the Neva. In 1704 he was given the rank of
general, and was the first to defeat the Swedes in a pitched battle. At
the czar's request he was made a prince of the Holy Roman Empire.
As Prince Mentchikof the new grandee loomed high. His house in Moscow
was magnificent, his banquets were gorgeous with gold and silver plate,
and the ambassadors of the powers of Europe figured among his guests.
Such was the bright side of the picture. The dark side was one of
extortion and robbery, in which the favorite of the czar out-did in
peculation all the other officials of the realm.
Peculation in Russia, indeed, assumed enormous proportions, but this was
a crime towards which Peter did not manifest his usual severity. Two of
the robbers in high places were executed, but the others were let off
with fines and a castigation with Peter's walking-stick, which he was in
the habit of using freely on high and low alike. As for Mentchikof, he
was incorrigible. So high was he in favor with his master that the
senators, who had abundant proofs of his robberies and little love for
him personally, dared not openly accuse him before the czar. The most
they ventured to do was to draw up a statement of his peculations and
lay the paper on the table at the czar's seat. Peter saw it, ran his eye
over its contents, but said nothing. Day after day the paper lay in the
same place, but the czar continued silent. One day as he sat in the
senate, the senator Tolstoi, who sat beside him, was bold enough to ask
him what he thought of that document.
"Nothing," Peter replied, "but that Mentchikof will always be
Mentchikof."
The death of Peter placed the favorite in a precarious position. He had
a host of enemies, who would have rejoiced in his downfall. These, who
formed what may be called the Old Russian party, wished to proclaim as
monarch the grandson of the deceased czar. But Mentchikof and the party
of reform were beforehand with them, and gave the throne to Catharine,
the widow of the late monarch. Under her the pastry-cook's boy rose to
the summit of his power and virtually governed the country. Unluckily
for the favorite, Catharine died in two years, and a new czar, Peter
II., grandson of Peter the Great, came to the throne.
Mentchikof had been left guardian of the youthful czar, to whom his
daughter was betrothed, and whom he took to his house and surrounded
with his creatures. And now for a time the favorite soared higher than
ever, was practically lord of the land, and made himself more feared
than had been Peter himself.
But he had reached the verge of a precipice. There was no love between
the young czar and Mary Mentchikof, and the youthful prince was soon
brought to dislike his guardian. Events moved fast. Peter left
Mentchikof's house and sought the summer palace, to which his guardian
was refused admittance. Soon after he was arrested, the shock of the
disgrace bringing on an apoplectic stroke. In vain he appealed to the
emperor; he was ordered to retire to his estate, and soon after was
banished, with his whole family, to Siberia. This was in 1727. The
disgraced favorite survived his exile but two years, dying of apoplexy
in 1729. Four months afterwards the new czar followed in death the man
he had disgraced.
The other instance of a rise from low to high estate was that of the
empress herself, whose career was very closely related to that of
Mentchikof. There are various instances in history of a woman of low
estate being chosen to share a monarch's throne, but only one, that of
Catharine of Russia, in which a poor stranger, taken from among the
ruins of a plundered town, became eventually the absolute sovereign of
that empire into which she had been carried as captive or slave.
It was in 1702, during the sharply contested war between Russia and
Sweden, that, while Charles XII. of Sweden was making conquests in
Poland, the Russian army was having similar success in Livonia and
Ingria. Among the Russian successes was the capture of a small town
named Marienburg, which surrendered at discretion, but whose magazines
were blown up by the Swedes. This behavior so provoked the Russian
general that he gave orders for the town to be destroyed and all its
inhabitants to be carried off.
Among the prisoners was a girl, Catharine by name, a native of Livonia,
who had been left an orphan at the age of three years, and had been
brought up as a servant in the family of M. Gluck, the minister of the
place. Such was the humble origin of the woman who was to become the
wife of Peter the Great, and afterwards Catharine I., Empress of Russia.
In 1702 Catharine, then seventeen years of age, married a Swedish
dragoon, one of the garrison of Marienburg. Her married life was a short
one, her husband being obliged to leave her in two days to join his
regiment. She never saw him again. She could neither read nor write,
and, like Mentchikof, never learned those arts. She was, however,
handsome and attractive, delicate and well formed, and of a most
excellent temper, being never known to be out of humor, while she was
obliging and civil to all, and after her exaltation took good care of
the family of her benefactor Gluck. As for her first husband, she sent
him sums of money until 1705, when he was killed in battle.
It was a common fate of prisoners of war then to be sold as slaves to
the Turks, but the beauty of Catharine saved her from this. After some
vicissitudes, she fell into the hands of Mentchikof, at whose quarters
she was seen by the czar. Struck by her beauty and good sense, Peter
took her to his palace, where, finding in her a warm appreciation of his
plans of reform and an admirable disposition, he made her his own by a
private marriage. In 1711 this was supplemented by a public wedding.
Catharine was soon able amply to reward the czar for the honor he had
conferred upon her. He was at war with the Turks, and, through a foolish
contempt for their generalship and military skill, allowed himself to
fall into a trap from which there seemed no escape. He found himself
completely surrounded by the enemy and cut off from all supplies, and
it seemed as if he would be forced to surrender with his whole force to
the despised foe.
From this dilemma Catharine, who was in the camp, relieved him.
Collecting a large sum of money and presents of jewelry, and seeking the
camp of the enemy, she succeeded in bribing the Turkish general, or in
some way inducing him to conclude peace and suffer the Russian army to
escape. Peter repaid his able wife by conferring upon her the dignity of
empress.
The death of the czar was followed, as we have said, by the elevation of
his wife to the vacant throne, principally through the aid of
Mentchikof, her former lord and master, aided by the effect of her
seemingly inconsolable grief and the judicious distribution of money and
jewels as presents.
For two years Catharine and Mentchikof, whose life had begun in the
hovel, and who were now virtually together on the throne, were the
unquestioned autocrats of Russia. Catharine had no genius for
government, and left the control of affairs to her minister, who was to
all intents and purposes sovereign of Russia. The empress, meanwhile,
passed her days in vice and dissipation, thereby hastening her end. She
died in 1727, at the age of about forty years. In the same year, as
already stated, the man who had grown great with her fell from his high
estate.
_BUFFOONERIES OF THE RUSSIAN COURT._
Amid the serious matters which present themselves so abundantly in the
history of Russia, buffooneries of the coarsest character at times find
place. Numerous examples of this might be drawn from the reign of Peter
the Great, whose idea of humor was broad burlesque, and who, despite the
religious prejudices of the people, did not hesitate to make the church
the subject of his jests. One of the broadest of these farces was that
known as the Conclave, the purpose of which was to burlesque or treat
with contumely the method of selecting the head of the Roman Catholic
Church.
At the court of the czar was an old man named Sotof, a drunkard of
inimitable powers of imbibition, and long a butt for the jests of the
court. He had taught the czar to write, a service which he deemed worthy
of being rewarded by the highest dignities of the empire.
Peter, who dearly loved a practical joke, learning the aspirations of
the old sot, promised to confer on him the most eminent office in the
world, and accordingly appointed him _Kniaz Papa_ that is, prince-pope,
with a salary of two thousand roubles and a palace at St. Petersburg.
The exaltation of Sotof to this dignity was solemnized by a performance
more gross than ludicrous. Buffoons were chosen to lift the new
dignitary to his throne, and four fellows who stammered with every word
delivered absurd addresses upon his exaltation. The mock pope then
created a number of cardinals, at whose head he rode through the streets
in procession, his seat of state being a cask of brandy which was
carried on a sledge drawn by four oxen.
The cardinals followed, and after them came sledges laden with food and
drink, while the music of the procession consisted of a hideous turmoil
of drums, trumpets, horns, fiddles, and hautboys, all playing out of
time, mingled with the ear-splitting clatter of pots and pans vigorously
beaten by a troop of cooks and scullions. Next came a number of men
dressed as Roman Catholic monks, each carrying a bottle and a glass. In
the rear of the procession marched the czar and his courtiers, Peter
dressed as a Dutch skipper, the others wearing various comic disguises.