VIEWS ON THE MOSCOW RAILWAY.
The St. Petersburg and Moscow Railroad has been in operation some
eight or ten years, and has contributed much to the internal
prosperity of the country. In the summer of 1862 it was extended as
far as Vladimir, and now connects St. Petersburg with Nijni Novgorod,
one of the most important points in the empire, where the great annual
fair is held, where tea-merchants and others from all parts of Tartary
and China meet to exchange the products of those countries with those
of the merchants of Russia. During the present year (1862) it is
expected that the line of railway connection will be completed from
St. Petersburg to the Prussian frontier, and connect with the
railroads of Prussia, so that within twelve months it will be
practicable to travel by rail all the way from Marseilles or Bordeaux
to Nijni Novgorod.
The Moscow and St. Petersburg Railway is something over four hundred
miles in length, and consists of a double track, broad, well graded,
and substantially constructed. The whole business of running the line,
keeping the cars and track in repair, working the machine-shops, etc.,
embracing all the practical details of the operative department, is
let out by contract to an American company, while the government
supervises the financial department, and reserves to itself the
municipal control.[A] It is a remarkable fact, characteristic of the
Russians, that while they possess uncommon capacity to acquire all the
details of engineering, and are by no means lacking in mechanical
skill, they are utterly deficient in management and administrative
capacity. Wasteful, improvident, and short-sighted, they can never do
any thing without the aid of more sagacious and economical heads to
keep them within the bounds of reason. Thus, at one time, when they
undertook to run this line on their own account, although they started
with an extraordinary surplus of material, they soon ran the cars off
their wheels, forgetting to keep up a supply of new ones as they went
along; ran the engines out of working order; kept nothing in repair;
provided against no contingency; and were finally likely to break down
entirely, when they determined that it would be better to give this
branch of the business out by contract. One great fault with them is,
they labor under an idea that nothing can be done without an
extraordinary number of officers, soldiers, policemen, and employes of
every description--upon the principle, I suppose, that if two heads
are better than one, the ignorance or inefficiency of a small number
of employes can be remedied by having a very great number of the same
kind. In other words, they seem to think that if five hundred men can
not be industrious, skillful, and economical, five thousand trained in
exactly the same schools, and with precisely the same propensities,
must be ten times better. Even now there is not a station, and
scarcely a foot of the railway from St. Petersburg to Moscow, that is
not infested with an extraordinary surplus of useless men in uniform.
At the great depots in each of these cities the traveler is fairly
confused with the crowds of officers and employes through which he is
obliged to make his way. Before he enters the doorways, liveried
porters outside offer to take his baggage; then he passes by guards,
who look at him carefully and let him go in; then he finds guards who
show him where to find the ticket-office; when he arrives at the
ticket-office, he finds a guard or two outside, and half a dozen
clerks inside; then he buys his ticket, and an officer examines it as
he goes into the wirthsaal; there he finds other officers stationed to
preserve order; when the bell rings the doors are opened; numerous
officers outside show him where to find the cars, and which car he
must get into; and when he gets into a car he sits for a quarter of an
hour, and sees officers going up and down outside all the time, and
thinks to himself that people certainly can not be supposed to have
very good eyes, ears, or understanding of their own in this country,
since nobody is deemed capable of using them on his individual
responsibility. I only wonder that they don't eat, drink, sleep, and
travel for a man at once by proxy, and thereby save him the trouble of
living or moving at all. In fact, I had some thought of asking one of
these licensed gentlemen if the regulations could not be stretched a
point so as to embrace the payment of my expenses; but it occurred to
me that if I were relieved of that responsibility, they might
undertake at the same time to write these letters for me, which would
be likely to alter the tone and thereby destroy my individuality. But
it must be admitted that good order, convenience, politeness, and
comfort are the predominant characteristics of railway travel in
Russia. The conductors usually speak French, German, and English, and
are exceedingly attentive to the comfort of the passengers. The hours
of starting and stopping are punctually observed--so punctually that
you can calculate to the exact minute when you will arrive at any
given point. Having no watch, I always knew the time by looking at my
ticket. Between St. Petersburg and Moscow there are thirty-three
stations, seven of which are the grand stations of Lubanskaia,
Malovischerskaia, Okoulourskaia, Bologovskaia, Spirovskaia, Tver, and
Klinskaia. The rest are small intermediate stations. At every
seventy-five versts--about fifty miles--the cars stop twenty minutes,
and refreshments may be had by paying a pretty heavy price for them.
At the points above-named there are large and substantial edifices
built by the company, containing various offices, spacious
eating-saloons, ante-chambers, etc., and attached to which are
extensive machine-shops, and various outbuildings required by the
service. Occasionally towns may be seen in the vicinity of these
stations, but for the most part they stand out desolate and alone in
the dreary waste of country lying between the two great cities. At
every twenty-five versts are sub-stations, where the cars stop for a
few minutes. These are also large and very substantial edifices, but
not distinguished for architectural beauty, like many of the stations
in France and Germany. Usually the Russian station consists of an
immense plain circular building, constructed of brick, with very
thick walls, and a plain zinc roof, the outside painted red, the roof
green; wings or flanges built of the same material extending along the
track; a broad wooden esplanade in front, upon which the passengers
can amuse themselves promenading, and a neat garden, with other
accommodations, at one end. Some of the large stations are not only
massive and of enormous extent, but present rather a striking and
picturesque appearance as they are approached from the distance,
standing as they do in the great deserts of space like solitary
sentinels of civilization. The passengers rush out at every
stopping-place just as they do in other parts of the world, some to
stretch their limbs, others to replenish the waste that seems to be
constantly going on in the stomachs of the traveling public. I don't
know how it is, but it appears to me that people who travel by railway
are always either tired, thirsty, or hungry. The voracity with which
plates of soup, cutlets, sandwiches, salad, scalding hot tea, wine,
beer, and brandy are swallowed down by these hungry and thirsty
Russians, is quite as striking as any thing I ever saw done in the
same line at Washoe. But it is not a feature confined to Russia. I
notice the same thing every where all over the world; and what vexes
me about it is that I never get tired myself, and rarely hungry or
thirsty. Here, in midsummer, with a sweltering hot sun, and an
atmosphere that would almost smother a salamander, were whole legions
of officers, elegantly-dressed ladies, and a rabble of miscellaneous
second and third class passengers like myself, puffing, blowing,
eating, drinking, sweating, and toiling, as if their very existence
depended upon keeping up the internal fires and blowing them off
again. It is dreadful to see people so hard pushed to live. I really
can't conjecture what sort of a commotion they will make when they
come to die. A sandwich or two and a glass of tea lasted me all the
way to Moscow--a journey of eighteen hours, and I never suffered from
hunger, thirst, or fatigue the whole way. If I had "gone in" like
other people, I would certainly have been a dead man before I got half
way; and yet, I think, two sandwiches more would have lasted me to the
Ural Mountains. It continually bothers me to know how the human
stomach can bear to be tormented in this frightful way. Per Baccho! I
would as soon be shot in the hand with an escopette ball as drink the
quantity of wine and eat the quantity of food that I have seen even
women and children dispose of, as if it were mere pastime, on these
railway journeys. I think it must be either this or the frost that
accounts for the extraordinary prevalence of red noses in Russia, and
it even occurred to me that the stations are painted a fiery red, so
that when travelers come within range of the refracted color their
noses may look pale by contrast, and thereby remind them that it is
time to renew the caloric.
[A] This contract terminated last year (1865).
With the exception of the seventy-five versts between Moscow and Tver,
I can not remember that I ever traveled over so desolate and
uninteresting a stretch of country as that lying between St.
Petersburg and Moscow. For a short distance out of St. Petersburg
there are some few villas and farms to relieve the monotony of the
gloomy pine forests; then the country opens out into immense
undulating plains, marshy meadows, scrubby groves of young pine,
without any apparent limit; here and there a bleak and solitary
village of log huts; a herd of cattle in the meadows; a wretched,
sterile-looking farm, with plowed fields, at remote intervals, and so
on hour after hour, the scene offering but little variety the whole
way to Tver. The villages are wholly destitute of picturesque effect.
Such rude and miserable hovels as they are composed of could scarcely
be found in the wildest frontier region of the United States. These
cabins or hovels are built of logs, and are very low and small,
generally consisting of only one or two rooms. I saw none that were
whitewashed or painted, and nothing like order or regularity was
perceptible about them, all seeming to be huddled together as if they
happened there by accident, and were obliged to keep at close quarters
in order to avoid freezing during the terrible winters. Some of them
are not unlike the city of Eden in Martin Chuzzlewit. The entire
absence of every thing approaching taste, comfort, or rural beauty in
the appearance of these villages; the weird and desolate aspect of the
boggy and grass-grown streets; the utter want of interest in progress
or improvement on the part of the peasantry who inhabit them, are well
calculated to produce a melancholy impression of the condition of
these poor people. How can it be otherwise, held in bondage as they
have been for centuries, subject to be taxed at the discretion of
their owners; the results of their labors wrested from them; no
advance made by the most enterprising and intelligent of them without
in some way subjecting them to new burdens? Whatever may be the result
of the movement now made for their emancipation, it certainly can not
be more depressing than the existing system of serfage. Looking back
over the scenes of village life I had witnessed in France and
Germany--the neat vine-covered cottages, the little flower-gardens,
the orchards and green lanes, the festive days, when the air resounded
to the merry voices of laughing damsels and village beaux--
"The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made"--
the joyous dancers out on the village green, the flaunting banners and
wreaths of flowers hung in rich profusion over the cross-roads--with
such scenes as these flitting through my memory, I could well
understand that there is an absolute physical servitude to which men
can be reduced, that, in the progress of generations, must crush down
the human soul, and make life indeed a dreary struggle. In the
splendor of large cities, amid the glitter and magnificence of palaces
and churches, the varied paraphernalia of aristocracy and wealth, and
all the excitements, allurements, and novelties apparent to the
superficial eye, the real condition of the masses is not perceptible.
They must be seen in the country--in their far-off villages and homes
throughout the broad land; there you find no disguise to cover the
horrible deformities of their bruised and crushed life; there you see
the full measure of their civilization. In the huts of these poor
people there is little or no comfort. Many of them have neither beds
nor chairs, and the occupants spend a sort of camp life within doors,
cooking their food like Indians, and huddling round the earthen stove
or fireplace in winter, where they lie down on the bare ground and
sleep in a mass, like a nest of animals, to keep each other warm.
Their clothing is of the coarsest material, but reasonably good, and
well suited to the climate. The men are a much finer-looking race,
physically, than their masters. I saw some serfs in Moscow who, in
stature, strong athletic forms, and bold and manly features, would
compare favorably with the best specimens of men in any country. It
was almost incredible that such noble-looking fellows, with their
blue, piercing eyes and manly air, should be reduced to such a state
of abject servitude as to kiss the tails of their master's coats! Many
of them had features as bold and forms as brawny as our own California
miners; and more than once, when I saw them lounging about in their
big boots, with their easy, reckless air, and looked at their
weather-beaten faces and vigorous, sunburnt beards, I could almost
imagine that they were genuine Californians. But here the resemblance
ceased. No sooner did an officer of high standing pass, than they
manifested some abject sign of their degraded condition.
[Illustration: HAY GATHERERS.]
Some of the agricultural implements that one sees in this country
would astonish a Californian. The plows are patterned very much after
those that were used by Boaz and other large farmers in the days of
the Patriarchs; the scythes are the exact originals of the old
pictures in which Death is represented as mowing down mankind; the
hoes, rakes, and shovels would be an ornament to any museum, but are
entirely indescribable; and as for the wagons and harnesses--herein
lies the superior genius of the Russians over all the races of earth,
ancient or modern, for never were such wagons and such harnesses seen
on any other part of the globe. To be accurate and methodical, each
wagon has four wheels, and each wheel is roughly put together of rough
wood, and then roughly bound up in an iron band about four inches
wide, and thick in proportion. Logs of wood, skillfully hewed with
broad-axes, answer for the axle-tree; and as they don't weigh over
half a ton each, they are sometimes braced in the middle to keep them
from breaking. Upon the top of this is a big basket, about the shape
of a bath-tub, in which the load is carried. Sometimes the body is
made of planks tied together with bullock's hide, or no body at all
is used, as convenience may require. The wagon being thus completed,
braced and thorough-braced with old ropes, iron bands, and leather
straps, we come to the horses, which stand generally in front. The
middle horse is favored with a pair of shafts of enormous durability
and strength. He stands between these shafts, and is fastened in them
by means of ropes; but, to prevent him from jumping out overhead, a
wooden arch is out over him, which is the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of
ornamentation. This is called the _duga_, and is the most prominent
object to be seen about every wagon, drosky, and kibitka in Russia. I
am not sure but a species of veneration is attached to it. Often it is
highly decorated with gilding, painted figures, and every vagary of
artistic genius, and must cost nearly as much as the entire wagon.
Some of the _dugas_ even carry saintly images upon them, so that the
devout driver may perform his devotions as he drives through life. To
suppose that a horse could pull a wagon in Russia without this wooden
arch, the utility of which no human eye but that of a Russian can see,
is to suppose an impossibility. Now, the shafts being spread out so as
to give the horse plenty of room at each side, it becomes necessary,
since they are rather loosely hung on at the but-ends, to keep them
from swaying. How do you think this is done? Nothing easier. By
running a rope from the end of each shaft to the projecting end of the
fore axle, outside of the wheels. For this purpose the axle is made to
project a foot beyond the wheels, and the only trouble about it is
that two wagons on a narrow road often find it difficult to pass. It
is very curious to see these primitive-looking objects lumbering about
through the streets of Moscow and St. Petersburg. The horses are most
commonly placed three abreast. In the ordinary kibitka or traveling
wagon the outside horses are merely fastened by ropes, and strike out
in any direction they please, the whip and a small rein serving to
keep them within bounds. It is perfectly astonishing with what
reckless and headlong speed these animals dash over the rough
pavements. Just imagine the luxury of a warm day's journey in such a
vehicle, which has neither springs nor backed seats--three fiery
horses fastened to it, and each pulling, plunging, and pirouetting on
his own account; a ferocious yamtschick cracking his whip and
shrieking "Shivar! shivar!"--faster! faster!--the wagon, rattling all
over, plunging into ruts, jumping over stones, ripping its way through
bogs and mud-banks; your bones shaken nearly out of their sockets;
your vertebrae partially dislocated; your mouth filled with dust; your
tongue swollen and parched; your eyes blinded with grit; your
_yamtschick_ reeling drunk with _vodka_, and bound to draw to the
destined station--or some worse place; your confidence in men and
horses shaken with your bones; your views of the future circumscribed
by every turn of the road--oh! it is charming; it is the very climax
of human enjoyment. Wouldn't you like to travel in Russia?
In addition to the villages which are scattered at frequent intervals
along the route, the gilded dome of a church is occasionally seen in
the distance, indicating the existence of a town; but one seldom
catches more than a glimpse of the green-covered roofs of the houses,
over the interminable patches of scrubby pine. It is not a country
that presents such attractive features as to induce the mere tourist
to get out and spend a few days rambling through it. In these dreary
solitudes of marshes and pines, the inhabitants speak no other
language than their own, and that not very well; but well or ill, it
is all Greek--or rather Russian--to the majority of people from other
countries.
But, as I said before, this habit of digression will be the death of
me. Like a rocket, I start off splendidly, but explode and fall to
pieces in every direction before I get half way on my journey. If the
scintillations are varied and gayly colored, to be sure, the powder is
not utterly lost; but the trouble of it is, if one keeps going off
like rockets all the time, he will never get any where, and in the
end will leave nothing but smoke and darkness to the gaping multitude.
If my memory serves me, I was talking of the Emperor Alexander's convoy
of private railway carriages--the most magnificent affair of the kind,
perhaps, in existence. It was made purposely for his use, at a cost of
more than a hundred thousand dollars, and presented to him by the
American company, Winans and Company. Nothing so magnificent in
decoration, and so admirably adapted to the convenience, comfort, and
enjoyment of a royal party has ever been seen in Europe. The main
carriage--for there are several in the suite--called, _par excellence_,
the emperor's own, is eighty-five feet long, and something over the
usual width. It rests upon two undivided sleepers of such elastic and
well-grained wood that they would bear the entire weight of the
carriage, without the necessity of a support in the middle, forming a
single stretch or arch, from axle to axle, of about seventy feet. The
springs, wheels, brakes, and various kinds of iron-work, are of the
finest and most select material, and highly finished in every detail,
combining strength and durability with artistic beauty. The interior of
the main or imperial carriage is a masterpiece of sumptuous
ornamentation. Here are the richest of carvings; the most gorgeous
hangings of embroidered velvet; mirrors and pictures in profusion;
carpets and rugs that seem coaxing the feet to linger upon them;
tables, cushioned sofas, and luxurious arm-chairs; divans and lounges
of rare designs, covered with the richest damask; exquisite Pompeian
vases and brilliant chandeliers--all, in short, that ingenuity could
devise and wealth procure to charm the senses, and render this a
traveling palace worthy the imperial presence. Connected with the main
saloon is the royal bedchamber, with adjoining bathing and dressing
rooms, equally sumptuous in all their appointments. Besides which,
there are smoking-rooms, private offices, magnificent chambers for the
camarilla, the secretaries, and body-guard of the emperor. The whole
is admirably arranged for convenience and comfort; and it is said that
the motion, when the convoy is under way, is so soft and dreamy that it
is scarcely possible to feel a vibration, the effect being as if the
cars were floating through the air, or drawn over tracks of down. Fully
equal to this, yet more subdued and delicate in the drapery and
coloring, are the apartments of the empress. Here it may truly be said
is "the poetry of motion" realized--saloons fit for the angels that
flit through them, of whom the chiefest ornament is the empress
herself--the beautiful and beloved Maria Alexandrina, the charm of
whose presence is felt like a pleasant glow of sunshine wherever she
goes. Here are drawing-rooms, boudoirs, apartments for the beautiful
maids of honor, reading-rooms, and even a dancing-saloon, from which it
may well be inferred that the royal party enjoy themselves. If the
emperor fails to make himself agreeable in this branch of his
establishment, he deserves to be put out at the very first station. But
he has the ladies at a disadvantage, which probably compels them to be
very tolerant of his behavior; that is to say, he can detach their
branch of the establishment from his own, and leave them on the road at
any time he pleases by pulling a string; but I believe there is no
instance yet on record of his having availed himself of this autocratic
privilege. It is usually understood at the start whether the excursion
is to be in partnership or alone. When the emperor goes out on a
hunting expedition, he is accompanied by a select company of gentlemen,
and of course is compelled to deprive himself of the pleasure of the
more attractive and intoxicating society of ladies, which would be
calculated to unsteady his nerves, and render him unfit for those
terrific encounters with the bears of the forest upon which his fame as
a hunter is chiefly founded.