Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.The Russian Passport System—Baron Verysoft—Mr Tobias Evergreen—His Gratitude for the Baron’s Politeness—The Difficulty of reading Russian—The Travellers at a Nonplus—Russian Signboard—Fred and Harry lose themselves—Meet with Tom Pulling—How Tom and his Messmates managed to find their Latitude and Longitude, and to steer a right Course for Port.The next morning our travellers were reminded that they were not in a free country, in which a man may come and go as he lists without let or hindrance, but that certain very stringent regulations respecting passports must be conformed to before they could attempt to do anything else. Most condescending gentlemen, “commissionaires” they called themselves, undertook for certain considerations to get the work done for them; but Cousin Giles declined their services.“I have no doubt that we shall be able to get through the business ourselves perfectly well, and we shall see something of the way the Russians manage these affairs,” said he.He intended to visit the mercantile house on whom he had a letter of credit, and he had also several letters of introduction which he wished to deliver as soon as possible. To his bankers, accordingly, they first drove, and they had no difficulty in finding the house. The merchant who acted in that capacity was very kind, and gave them all the information they could desire as to what they should do about their passports; he also wrote down for them a list of the names of the houses at which they had arranged to call. Their first duty was to visit the Alien Office, to take out their permission to reside or travel in Russia. It is in the south-eastern part of the city. The gentleman who presides over it goes by the name of Baron Verysoft among the English, from the peculiar suavity of his manners. Mounting a flight of stairs, they found the Baron at one end of a handsome room, more like a drawing-room than an office, with a number of persons seated round it, all waiting to undergo the ordeal of his friendly inquiries. Nearly all civilised nations were there represented,—English, Germans, French, and Spaniards. Among them they recognised some of their fellow-passengers. The simple, round, good-natured face of one of them they were glad to see. His name was Mr Tobias Evergreen. He was very civil to the lads on board, and seemed to take a great interest in them. Cousin Giles said he did not think he was quite the man to benefit by a journey in Russia; but one thing was certain, he was not likely to make the police very suspicious about his movements. Besides the strangers, there were two or three clerks in uniform, whose sharp, piercing eyes kept glancing round on the visitors, and narrowly scrutinising any fresh arrivals. They seemed to have little else to do beyond this, but to mend their pens, and to make occasional notes in some huge books before them. A number of people had to go up to the table of the Baron, and to reply to his questions; so our friends were compelled to exercise their patience till their turn came. Mr Evergreen spoke a few sentences, which he said was French. Cousin Giles also knew a little of that language, but Fred was able to understand it, and to speak it tolerably well. At last Mr Evergreen’s turn came, and they followed him up to the table.The Baron, in the blandest and most courteous way, inquired Mr Evergreen’s name and country; whether he was married or single; what was his object in travelling; the name of his banker; how long he purposed remaining in the country,—to all of which questions he gave answers which seemed perfectly satisfactory to the Baron; and he then volunteered several particulars of his private history, at which the Baron bowed and smiled, as the lads observed he had bowed and smiled at several persons before, while he went on making notes in his book. Perhaps he did not understand a word Mr Evergreen said, or, what is very probable, he was not listening to what did not concern him, but was habitually too polite to let this be discovered. Mr Evergreen had then to sign his name several times in a book, and then the Baron bowed very politely, handed him his passport to take it to the passport office and various police offices, to be signed and countersigned again and again. Mr Evergreen on this bowed to the Baron, and the Baron bowed again. Mr Evergreen would have continued bowing before so great and benignant a personage had not the Baron summoned our friends to approach, Mr Evergreen meantime waiting for them.They quickly got through the business, and the Baron gave a bow to Cousin Giles, which, if not so profound as those he gave to Mr Evergreen, was much more cordial, and seemed to say: “We understand each other; you are a man I can trust.”When they got outside the door, Mr Evergreen was loud in his praises of Baron Verysoft.“Nice, charming man!” he exclaimed; “so civil, so kind to me. Don’t you think I ought to ask him to dinner, now? It would be but a proper attention in return for his civility.”“He would have to fulfil a very large number of dinner engagements if all thought as you do; but I suspect few people are so grateful for his attentions,” answered Cousin Giles.It was some time before Mr Evergreen could be persuaded to give up his idea.“The credit of our country is at stake,” said he. “Well, well, I suppose I must do as you advise, and let the Baron form his own conclusions of us.”After all, the terrible passport work was got through with much less trouble and expense than Cousin Giles was led to believe would be the case. One of the head clerks at the passport office, a Dane, who spoke English perfectly, assured him that if he went himself he would get the documents signed at once without bribery. The Government fees were very low, and beyond these he paid nothing. He was afterwards told that the Government wished to produce a good impression on the foreigners who were expected in the country to be present at the coronation, and had therefore issued directions to expedite the delivery of passports.About this time, certainly, new regulations were made with regard to the passports for natives, and many of the old and most obnoxious ones were altered. Till now, a Russian, if he wished to move from one town to another, could not do so without giving several days’ notice to the police; and if he wished to leave the country he was compelled to beg permission to do so three months beforehand. Now, by getting any well-known person to be responsible for any debt he might leave unpaid, he was able to travel abroad at the notice of a day or two—indeed, as soon as the governor of his district would issue his passport. Of course it was a question how long this improved system was likely to last. Even now, both foreigners and natives could only get passports from one city to another; and thus Cousin Giles had taken out one for Moscow, but would be obliged then to take another to go farther into the interior. All the passport arrangements having been made, the travellers agreed to leave their letters of introduction, as a drizzling rain had come on, and would prevent them from enjoying the views presented by the city. When, however, Cousin Giles came to examine the paper of directions given by the banker, he found that they were written in the Russian character. Now as the Russian letters, although some of the capitals are somewhat alike in shape, have a totally different sound to the English, or indeed to any other European language, he could not read a word.“Never mind,” said he; “perhaps our drosky drivers, our ishvoshtsticks, can read it.”He showed it to the two men, who bent their heads with profound sagacity over the paper, letting the drops of rain from their shovel hats fall down on the document, nearly obliterating the writing; and then they called another of their profession to their council, but the united wisdom of all three apparently could make nothing of the inscription; for, at last returning it, they shook their heads very gravely, and shrugged their shoulders in a most significant manner.“I daresay we shall fall in with some one or other who can speak English before long,” said Cousin Giles, who was never long at a loss on an emergency.He accordingly stopped one or two people, whom he addressed with a polite bow in English and French, but they shrugged their shoulders and passed on. At last they met a German who spoke English, and he very willingly directed the ishvoshtsticks where to drive.While Cousin Giles was paying one of his visits, and as it was near the luncheon hour at the hotel, he advised Fred and Harry to return there, promising soon to follow them.“We can find our way there easily enough!” they both exclaimed; “we know exactly what to say to the ishvoshtstick—Angliskoy Nabergenoy—that’s it—the English Quay. Oh, we shall get along famously.”Saying this, they jumped up on their fore-and-aft drosky, and, giving their directions as well as could any Russian, they thought, away they drove.They were then in the Vasiliefskoi Ostrof quarter, or on Basilius Island. This is the name given to the large island which is to the north of the main channel of the Neva. Here is the Exchange, and many public buildings before mentioned, and here most of the English merchants reside. They drove on, remarking a variety of novel and curious sights on their way; but, forgetting to take due note of the direction in which they were going, they passed along the quay, and over one of the floating bridges, and then through some fine wide streets. They were amused with the guards stationed at the corners of streets in every quarter of the city. They were mostly thin, tall, lank men, in long coats reaching to their heels, with huge battle-axes on long poles in their hands, and helmets on their heads. What use they were of it was difficult to say, for they certainly could not have run after a thief, much less have knocked one down. The signs, also, in front of the shops appeared very ridiculous. Instead of the display of articles made by an English tradesman in his windows, there were large boards over the doors and windows, and their sides, and under the windows, painted with gigantic designs representing the chief articles to be found within. Huge gloves and stockings, and cravats and pocket-handkerchiefs, and boots and shoes, and coats and trousers, and hats and caps, and knives and forks and spoons—indeed, it is impossible to enumerate all the articles thus represented.“Those are what we may call Russian hieroglyphics, Harry,” said Fred; “I daresay, now, that the Egyptians had something of the sort in their shop windows before they knew how to write.”“It is a capital sort of language,” replied Harry, “because, you see, the mujicks, who do not know how to read, and we, who don’t understand Russian, both understand it equally well.”“The best universal language,” remarked Fred. “If something of the sort were established regularly in the world, it would save a great deal of trouble. But I say, Harry, where have we got to? I am sure we have never been here before.”They had been so amused that they had not remarked the change in the style of architecture of the streets through which they were passing. They were now in a region of low houses, although of considerable size, mostly on one floor, very few having two storeys.“I am sure this is not the way to the English Quay.”Harry, who sat in front, on this began to pull the ishvoshtstick by his badge, and then by his sleeve, to make him stop. The fellow either would not or could not understand that they wanted to stop. At last he pulled up, and looked over his shoulder.“I say, Harry, do you remember what they call the English Quay? For, on my word, I have forgotten it,” exclaimed Fred in some little dismay, feeling very like Mustapha in the tale ofThe Forty Thieves, when he forgets the talismanic words, “Open sesame.”“I’m sure I don’t know exactly, but I’ll try and see if I can’t make the fellow understand,” answered Harry. “I say, you cabdrivowitch, cut away to the English Quayoi!”The man shook his head and sat still, as much as to say, “I don’t understand you, my masters.”“What’s to be done? He doesn’t seem to think my Russian very first-rate,” said Harry.“I say, old fellow, we are very hungry, and want to get back to our inn to luncheon,” cried Fred, imitating the action of eating.A bright idea seemed to have seized the ishvoshtstick, and, whipping on his horse, he drove rapidly onward. Harry thought that he had fully comprehended them. He pulled up, however, very soon before a door, over which were painted pieces of meat and sausages, and rolls, and bottles, and glasses. Evidently it was an eating-house, but the lads would not avail themselves of its accommodation, for two reasons—they did not know what to ask for, and they had no Russian money in their pockets; they therefore shook their heads, and signed to the driver to go on. The man evidently thought them very unreasonable and hard to please, but obeyed. It was soon clear to them that they were getting to the outskirts of the city, and they were about trying to make the man turn back when they saw three figures approaching, whom by their rolling walk and dress they recognised even at a distance as English seamen. When the men drew near, the lads were delighted to find that one was their shipmate, old Tom.He hailed them with a cheerful voice, and told them that, having met two young friends belonging to a ship at Cronstadt, he had got leave for them to accompany him to see Saint Petersburg.“But I say, Tom, can you tell us where we are?” said Fred.“That’s just what we were going to ask you,” replied old Tom. “We’ve got out of our reckoning somehow, and we know no more where we are than if we had got into the Pacific without a chart or compass.”“What is to be done?” exclaimed Fred; “this stupid fellow does not understand a word we say, and though we have told him to drive back to our hotel he won’t go.”For a long time all hands consulted together. One proposed one thing, one the other. By this time two or three other ishvoshtsticks had stopped with their vehicles near the strangers, but could no more than the first comprehend where they wanted to go.“If we could but get back to the large square with the big statue in it of Peter on horseback on a rock, we could find our way to the inn easily enough,” said Fred.Old Tom thought a moment. “What, the chap who is holding out his hand?” he asked.“The same,” answered Fred.“Then I have it!” he exclaimed with exultation. “Jem, just do you go down on all fours, and serve me for a horse for a minute, and we’ll soon see what will happen.”“What! Do you want me to carry you there, Tom?” asked Jem. “I’d do it willingly if I knew the way, but I think we should get there faster if we all walked on our two legs.”“No, no!” answered Tom; “I want you to act the big horse, and I’ll do the rider.”“Oh, ay, I see it all now, mate,” said Jem, going down on all fours, while old Tom, who, though serious-minded, was very much of a wag at proper seasons, leaped on his back, and stuck out one arm as Peter’s statue is doing.“Now, Jem, rear up on your fore legs as the big horse is doing, and we shall come the statue to an affigraphy,” he cried.The representation of the statue of Peter was unmistakeable. In an instant the ishvoshtsticks comprehended what was required, and, clapping their hands with delight, while they burst into loud laughter, made signals to the seamen to jump into a drosky, and away they drove as fast as their horses could go, in the very direction from whence Fred and Harry had just come. In about a quarter of an hour they saw the tall golden spire of the Admiralty directly ahead of them, and shortly afterwards they rattled into the vast open space in which it stands, when the ishvoshtsticks pulled up close to the very statue of Peter.“Now, starboard your helm, my lads, and steer a westerly course,” sung out old Tom to the drivers. They did not understand what he said, but they saw the direction in which he pointed along the quay, so they all drove off again as rapidly as before. Harry pulled at their driver’s badge to make him stop in front of the hotel, where they found Cousin Giles looking out for them. He had not been very anxious about their safety, for he guessed that they had lost their way, and would probably find it again before long, while, as he said, it would teach them to keep a better reckoning in future. Old Tom and his companions could not be persuaded to come in, for they said that they must make the best of their way back to Cronstadt. They made Cousin Giles laugh heartily by their description of the mode they had hit on for making the ishvoshtsticks understand the point to which they wished to be conveyed.

The Russian Passport System—Baron Verysoft—Mr Tobias Evergreen—His Gratitude for the Baron’s Politeness—The Difficulty of reading Russian—The Travellers at a Nonplus—Russian Signboard—Fred and Harry lose themselves—Meet with Tom Pulling—How Tom and his Messmates managed to find their Latitude and Longitude, and to steer a right Course for Port.

The Russian Passport System—Baron Verysoft—Mr Tobias Evergreen—His Gratitude for the Baron’s Politeness—The Difficulty of reading Russian—The Travellers at a Nonplus—Russian Signboard—Fred and Harry lose themselves—Meet with Tom Pulling—How Tom and his Messmates managed to find their Latitude and Longitude, and to steer a right Course for Port.

The next morning our travellers were reminded that they were not in a free country, in which a man may come and go as he lists without let or hindrance, but that certain very stringent regulations respecting passports must be conformed to before they could attempt to do anything else. Most condescending gentlemen, “commissionaires” they called themselves, undertook for certain considerations to get the work done for them; but Cousin Giles declined their services.

“I have no doubt that we shall be able to get through the business ourselves perfectly well, and we shall see something of the way the Russians manage these affairs,” said he.

He intended to visit the mercantile house on whom he had a letter of credit, and he had also several letters of introduction which he wished to deliver as soon as possible. To his bankers, accordingly, they first drove, and they had no difficulty in finding the house. The merchant who acted in that capacity was very kind, and gave them all the information they could desire as to what they should do about their passports; he also wrote down for them a list of the names of the houses at which they had arranged to call. Their first duty was to visit the Alien Office, to take out their permission to reside or travel in Russia. It is in the south-eastern part of the city. The gentleman who presides over it goes by the name of Baron Verysoft among the English, from the peculiar suavity of his manners. Mounting a flight of stairs, they found the Baron at one end of a handsome room, more like a drawing-room than an office, with a number of persons seated round it, all waiting to undergo the ordeal of his friendly inquiries. Nearly all civilised nations were there represented,—English, Germans, French, and Spaniards. Among them they recognised some of their fellow-passengers. The simple, round, good-natured face of one of them they were glad to see. His name was Mr Tobias Evergreen. He was very civil to the lads on board, and seemed to take a great interest in them. Cousin Giles said he did not think he was quite the man to benefit by a journey in Russia; but one thing was certain, he was not likely to make the police very suspicious about his movements. Besides the strangers, there were two or three clerks in uniform, whose sharp, piercing eyes kept glancing round on the visitors, and narrowly scrutinising any fresh arrivals. They seemed to have little else to do beyond this, but to mend their pens, and to make occasional notes in some huge books before them. A number of people had to go up to the table of the Baron, and to reply to his questions; so our friends were compelled to exercise their patience till their turn came. Mr Evergreen spoke a few sentences, which he said was French. Cousin Giles also knew a little of that language, but Fred was able to understand it, and to speak it tolerably well. At last Mr Evergreen’s turn came, and they followed him up to the table.

The Baron, in the blandest and most courteous way, inquired Mr Evergreen’s name and country; whether he was married or single; what was his object in travelling; the name of his banker; how long he purposed remaining in the country,—to all of which questions he gave answers which seemed perfectly satisfactory to the Baron; and he then volunteered several particulars of his private history, at which the Baron bowed and smiled, as the lads observed he had bowed and smiled at several persons before, while he went on making notes in his book. Perhaps he did not understand a word Mr Evergreen said, or, what is very probable, he was not listening to what did not concern him, but was habitually too polite to let this be discovered. Mr Evergreen had then to sign his name several times in a book, and then the Baron bowed very politely, handed him his passport to take it to the passport office and various police offices, to be signed and countersigned again and again. Mr Evergreen on this bowed to the Baron, and the Baron bowed again. Mr Evergreen would have continued bowing before so great and benignant a personage had not the Baron summoned our friends to approach, Mr Evergreen meantime waiting for them.

They quickly got through the business, and the Baron gave a bow to Cousin Giles, which, if not so profound as those he gave to Mr Evergreen, was much more cordial, and seemed to say: “We understand each other; you are a man I can trust.”

When they got outside the door, Mr Evergreen was loud in his praises of Baron Verysoft.

“Nice, charming man!” he exclaimed; “so civil, so kind to me. Don’t you think I ought to ask him to dinner, now? It would be but a proper attention in return for his civility.”

“He would have to fulfil a very large number of dinner engagements if all thought as you do; but I suspect few people are so grateful for his attentions,” answered Cousin Giles.

It was some time before Mr Evergreen could be persuaded to give up his idea.

“The credit of our country is at stake,” said he. “Well, well, I suppose I must do as you advise, and let the Baron form his own conclusions of us.”

After all, the terrible passport work was got through with much less trouble and expense than Cousin Giles was led to believe would be the case. One of the head clerks at the passport office, a Dane, who spoke English perfectly, assured him that if he went himself he would get the documents signed at once without bribery. The Government fees were very low, and beyond these he paid nothing. He was afterwards told that the Government wished to produce a good impression on the foreigners who were expected in the country to be present at the coronation, and had therefore issued directions to expedite the delivery of passports.

About this time, certainly, new regulations were made with regard to the passports for natives, and many of the old and most obnoxious ones were altered. Till now, a Russian, if he wished to move from one town to another, could not do so without giving several days’ notice to the police; and if he wished to leave the country he was compelled to beg permission to do so three months beforehand. Now, by getting any well-known person to be responsible for any debt he might leave unpaid, he was able to travel abroad at the notice of a day or two—indeed, as soon as the governor of his district would issue his passport. Of course it was a question how long this improved system was likely to last. Even now, both foreigners and natives could only get passports from one city to another; and thus Cousin Giles had taken out one for Moscow, but would be obliged then to take another to go farther into the interior. All the passport arrangements having been made, the travellers agreed to leave their letters of introduction, as a drizzling rain had come on, and would prevent them from enjoying the views presented by the city. When, however, Cousin Giles came to examine the paper of directions given by the banker, he found that they were written in the Russian character. Now as the Russian letters, although some of the capitals are somewhat alike in shape, have a totally different sound to the English, or indeed to any other European language, he could not read a word.

“Never mind,” said he; “perhaps our drosky drivers, our ishvoshtsticks, can read it.”

He showed it to the two men, who bent their heads with profound sagacity over the paper, letting the drops of rain from their shovel hats fall down on the document, nearly obliterating the writing; and then they called another of their profession to their council, but the united wisdom of all three apparently could make nothing of the inscription; for, at last returning it, they shook their heads very gravely, and shrugged their shoulders in a most significant manner.

“I daresay we shall fall in with some one or other who can speak English before long,” said Cousin Giles, who was never long at a loss on an emergency.

He accordingly stopped one or two people, whom he addressed with a polite bow in English and French, but they shrugged their shoulders and passed on. At last they met a German who spoke English, and he very willingly directed the ishvoshtsticks where to drive.

While Cousin Giles was paying one of his visits, and as it was near the luncheon hour at the hotel, he advised Fred and Harry to return there, promising soon to follow them.

“We can find our way there easily enough!” they both exclaimed; “we know exactly what to say to the ishvoshtstick—Angliskoy Nabergenoy—that’s it—the English Quay. Oh, we shall get along famously.”

Saying this, they jumped up on their fore-and-aft drosky, and, giving their directions as well as could any Russian, they thought, away they drove.

They were then in the Vasiliefskoi Ostrof quarter, or on Basilius Island. This is the name given to the large island which is to the north of the main channel of the Neva. Here is the Exchange, and many public buildings before mentioned, and here most of the English merchants reside. They drove on, remarking a variety of novel and curious sights on their way; but, forgetting to take due note of the direction in which they were going, they passed along the quay, and over one of the floating bridges, and then through some fine wide streets. They were amused with the guards stationed at the corners of streets in every quarter of the city. They were mostly thin, tall, lank men, in long coats reaching to their heels, with huge battle-axes on long poles in their hands, and helmets on their heads. What use they were of it was difficult to say, for they certainly could not have run after a thief, much less have knocked one down. The signs, also, in front of the shops appeared very ridiculous. Instead of the display of articles made by an English tradesman in his windows, there were large boards over the doors and windows, and their sides, and under the windows, painted with gigantic designs representing the chief articles to be found within. Huge gloves and stockings, and cravats and pocket-handkerchiefs, and boots and shoes, and coats and trousers, and hats and caps, and knives and forks and spoons—indeed, it is impossible to enumerate all the articles thus represented.

“Those are what we may call Russian hieroglyphics, Harry,” said Fred; “I daresay, now, that the Egyptians had something of the sort in their shop windows before they knew how to write.”

“It is a capital sort of language,” replied Harry, “because, you see, the mujicks, who do not know how to read, and we, who don’t understand Russian, both understand it equally well.”

“The best universal language,” remarked Fred. “If something of the sort were established regularly in the world, it would save a great deal of trouble. But I say, Harry, where have we got to? I am sure we have never been here before.”

They had been so amused that they had not remarked the change in the style of architecture of the streets through which they were passing. They were now in a region of low houses, although of considerable size, mostly on one floor, very few having two storeys.

“I am sure this is not the way to the English Quay.”

Harry, who sat in front, on this began to pull the ishvoshtstick by his badge, and then by his sleeve, to make him stop. The fellow either would not or could not understand that they wanted to stop. At last he pulled up, and looked over his shoulder.

“I say, Harry, do you remember what they call the English Quay? For, on my word, I have forgotten it,” exclaimed Fred in some little dismay, feeling very like Mustapha in the tale ofThe Forty Thieves, when he forgets the talismanic words, “Open sesame.”

“I’m sure I don’t know exactly, but I’ll try and see if I can’t make the fellow understand,” answered Harry. “I say, you cabdrivowitch, cut away to the English Quayoi!”

The man shook his head and sat still, as much as to say, “I don’t understand you, my masters.”

“What’s to be done? He doesn’t seem to think my Russian very first-rate,” said Harry.

“I say, old fellow, we are very hungry, and want to get back to our inn to luncheon,” cried Fred, imitating the action of eating.

A bright idea seemed to have seized the ishvoshtstick, and, whipping on his horse, he drove rapidly onward. Harry thought that he had fully comprehended them. He pulled up, however, very soon before a door, over which were painted pieces of meat and sausages, and rolls, and bottles, and glasses. Evidently it was an eating-house, but the lads would not avail themselves of its accommodation, for two reasons—they did not know what to ask for, and they had no Russian money in their pockets; they therefore shook their heads, and signed to the driver to go on. The man evidently thought them very unreasonable and hard to please, but obeyed. It was soon clear to them that they were getting to the outskirts of the city, and they were about trying to make the man turn back when they saw three figures approaching, whom by their rolling walk and dress they recognised even at a distance as English seamen. When the men drew near, the lads were delighted to find that one was their shipmate, old Tom.

He hailed them with a cheerful voice, and told them that, having met two young friends belonging to a ship at Cronstadt, he had got leave for them to accompany him to see Saint Petersburg.

“But I say, Tom, can you tell us where we are?” said Fred.

“That’s just what we were going to ask you,” replied old Tom. “We’ve got out of our reckoning somehow, and we know no more where we are than if we had got into the Pacific without a chart or compass.”

“What is to be done?” exclaimed Fred; “this stupid fellow does not understand a word we say, and though we have told him to drive back to our hotel he won’t go.”

For a long time all hands consulted together. One proposed one thing, one the other. By this time two or three other ishvoshtsticks had stopped with their vehicles near the strangers, but could no more than the first comprehend where they wanted to go.

“If we could but get back to the large square with the big statue in it of Peter on horseback on a rock, we could find our way to the inn easily enough,” said Fred.

Old Tom thought a moment. “What, the chap who is holding out his hand?” he asked.

“The same,” answered Fred.

“Then I have it!” he exclaimed with exultation. “Jem, just do you go down on all fours, and serve me for a horse for a minute, and we’ll soon see what will happen.”

“What! Do you want me to carry you there, Tom?” asked Jem. “I’d do it willingly if I knew the way, but I think we should get there faster if we all walked on our two legs.”

“No, no!” answered Tom; “I want you to act the big horse, and I’ll do the rider.”

“Oh, ay, I see it all now, mate,” said Jem, going down on all fours, while old Tom, who, though serious-minded, was very much of a wag at proper seasons, leaped on his back, and stuck out one arm as Peter’s statue is doing.

“Now, Jem, rear up on your fore legs as the big horse is doing, and we shall come the statue to an affigraphy,” he cried.

The representation of the statue of Peter was unmistakeable. In an instant the ishvoshtsticks comprehended what was required, and, clapping their hands with delight, while they burst into loud laughter, made signals to the seamen to jump into a drosky, and away they drove as fast as their horses could go, in the very direction from whence Fred and Harry had just come. In about a quarter of an hour they saw the tall golden spire of the Admiralty directly ahead of them, and shortly afterwards they rattled into the vast open space in which it stands, when the ishvoshtsticks pulled up close to the very statue of Peter.

“Now, starboard your helm, my lads, and steer a westerly course,” sung out old Tom to the drivers. They did not understand what he said, but they saw the direction in which he pointed along the quay, so they all drove off again as rapidly as before. Harry pulled at their driver’s badge to make him stop in front of the hotel, where they found Cousin Giles looking out for them. He had not been very anxious about their safety, for he guessed that they had lost their way, and would probably find it again before long, while, as he said, it would teach them to keep a better reckoning in future. Old Tom and his companions could not be persuaded to come in, for they said that they must make the best of their way back to Cronstadt. They made Cousin Giles laugh heartily by their description of the mode they had hit on for making the ishvoshtsticks understand the point to which they wished to be conveyed.

Chapter Five.Bird’s-eye View of Saint Petersburg from the Tower of the Admiralty—The Isaac Church—Politeness of a Russian Officer—The Hermitage Palace—Portraits of the Czars—Magnificent Hall—Superb View from it—Jewels—Relics of Peter the Great—The Winter and other Palaces—Bridge of Boats—Exchange—Church of Peter Paul—Tombs of the Czars.Cousin Giles and his young companions had climbed up to the summit of the Admiralty tower on a fine bright morning, when they could enjoy the strange scene which this aerial position presented to their eyes.“Let us take it in properly, and map it down in our memory,” said Cousin Giles after they had looked round and round, then to a distance, and down into the open spaces and streets below them, with their moving crowd of men, and horses, and carriages, of high and low degree, dashing and tearing here and there as if the lives of monarchs and the fate of kingdoms depended on their speed. “First, look to the east; there we have the rapid, clear Neva, flowing out of Lake Ladoga, which in our mind’s eye we can see in the distance, though it is too far off to be seen in reality. Then, in the same direction, near the outskirts of the city, the river branches off into several channels, making a delta like that of the Nile, and forming a number of islands of various dimensions—some so large that a considerable portion of the city to the north of us stands on them, others containing only a few gardens and villas. The country surrounding the city seems barren and desolate in the extreme, either an arid steppe or a stagnant marsh telling of the agues and fevers afflicting those dwelling near it. To the north, however, not many versts from the city, rise the hills and woods, and fields and orchards of Finland, inhabited by the finest peasantry of the Russian empire. To the west appear the shining waters of the head of the Gulf of Finland, with the fortifications of Cronstadt in the far distance, and a fleet of men-of-war before it; while higher up is a whole squadron of gun-boats, which were lately built and fitted out in a great hurry to meet those England had prepared to send into these waters. Across the head of the gulf, looking down on Cronstadt, peep forth amid a mass of green foliage the golden spires and domes, and white-walled palaces, and Swiss-looking villas of Peterhoff, beyond which, and far away as the eye can reach to the southward, and very, very much farther on, one great desolate steppe or plain, bearing for miles and miles scarcely a tree higher than a gooseberry bush, or a hill boasting a height of greater elevation than a molehill. Now let us bring our eyes nearer to our feet, to the mouth of the river. We see it crowded with steamers and every variety of craft of moderate size of all nations, and yet we know that the greater proportion of vessels which bade to the city do not come higher than Cronstadt. The large barges and lighters which we see moving up and down the river convey their cargoes to and from that place. High up the river, above the bridges, is another collection of vessels, and several are to be seen moving up and down the different channels; while the canals, which meander through the city in various directions, are literally jammed up with barges, chiefly unloading firewood. The canals pass down the middle of the broad streets, many of which are fringed with trees. At the mouth of the river, on the south side, is Mr Baird’s iron factory, where steam-engines and iron machines of all sorts are made; near it is his private residence. He is now a Russian baron, and is much esteemed by the Emperor. A little higher up is the new naval arsenal, with long sheds, where gangs of workmen are employed in chains, and through which runs a canal. Some men-of-war steamers are moored off it. Others are seen in different parts of the river, their guns commanding the quays; so that, should an émeute ever take place, the communication between the various quarters of the city would speedily be cut off. Groups of shipping are visible at different parts of the quays; but no ugly warehouses or stores of any sort are in sight, and their cargoes are quickly spirited away to other unaristocratical parts of the city. Here the mansions of the noble and wealthy have taken possession of the whole length of the quays. The first building of importance on the north side, opposite Mr Baird’s works, is the Corps of Mines. It is of great extent, and contains a museum stored with models, illustrating every branch of civil and military engineering, as well as some beautifully executed models of various descriptions of mines. Then come in succession, and nearly in the same line, the magnificent edifices containing the Academy of Arts, the University, the Academy of Sciences, the Corps of Cadets, and, lastly, the Exchange. Some of these buildings cover as much ground as many of the largest squares in London. Above the Exchange is Petersburg Island, which is covered with a strong fortification, called the Citadel. It contains a church called Peter Paul, built by Peter the Great, and which has a spire exactly like that of the Admiralty. On the island is also the cottage which Peter the Great inhabited while the foundations of his wondrous city were being laid. Beyond it, to the north and west, can be discerned some of the smaller channels of the silvery Neva, flowing among gardens and orchards, and green waving woods, with villas of every description of architecture, more suited apparently to the climate of the sunny south than to the cold atmosphere of this bleak region. Between the base of the building on which we stand and the northern portion of the city we have described, runs the main channel of the river. It is crossed by several broad bridges, resting on a chain of huge boats or barges, which can be removed when the approach of winter gives signs that, by means of the quick-forming ice, the inhabitants will be able to cross without their aid.“We will now turn and face to the south. To the right is the long line of the English Quay, with its numerous handsome and substantial mansions, which in any other city would be called palaces. Then comes the great square or rather space below us, bordered by huge piles containing the chief public offices in the empire. Standing amid them, yet not pressed on too closely, rises the proud structure of the new Church of Saint Isaac, with its four granite-columned porticoes. Then radiating off directly before us are the three widest and longest streets perhaps in Europe: first in magnificence comes the Neva Perspective, and then comes Peas Street, and the Resurrection Perspective; but running out of them are also streets of great width, composed of houses of numerous storeys and undoubted pretensions to grandeur. The Neva Perspective is the most interesting. On the right side of it stands the Kazan Church, which it was intended should be like Saint Peter’s at Rome; but, except that it has a wide-spreading portico with numerous columns, it is in no way to be compared to that magnificent structure. On the same side is a building, or rather a collection of buildings, which at a distance have no very imposing appearance. This is the great market of Saint Petersburg, or the Gostinnoi dvor. It consists of a series of arcades, in front of stores of two or more storeys, forming the outside boundary of an extensive region of squares, which have likewise arcades running round them, the area being filled with garden produce and rough wares not liable to be injured by weather. Here every article, either for use or consumption, which the lower orders can possibly require, is to be found, from a hat to a cucumber, or a pair of shoes to a leg of mutton; but, as our friends were about to visit the place, it need not now be further described.“At the very end of the street could be seen the terminus of the Saint Petersburg and Moscow railway, the iron road itself running far, far away to the southward across the flat and marshy steppe. On either side of this prince of streets, the Neva Prospect, and in many streets branching from it, could be seen a number of lofty and magnificent palaces with here and there golden-domed churches, and many public buildings, convents, and monasteries, and wide walks fringed with trees, and canals carrying produce from far-off countries into the very heart of the city. Let us have one look more before we descend at Peter’s Statue, not bigger apparently than a child’s toy, and the Alexander Column, and the golden domes of the Isaac Church, and the huge Winter Palace, and the Hermitage, and the Imperial Theatre, and the long line of palaces facing the quays of the Neva beyond them; then we have to-day witnessed a sight not easily forgotten.“Saint Petersburg, as it stands on its millions of wooden piles, the liquid, rapidly-flowing Neva, the moving, living crowd of uniform-clad inhabitants—men, women, and children, coaches, droskies, and horses, infantry and cavalry, Cossacks of the Don on their ragged ponies, and skeleton-looking guards with their glittering halberds at every corner. Those at home may gain a fair notion of the scene from Burford’s Panorama, but they will soon forget it, while we shall remember it all our lives: there is nothing like the reality to impress it on our minds.” So said Cousin Giles as our friends began to descend into the world below.“We must now visit some of these places in detail,” said Cousin Giles as they stood in the square outside the Admiralty gates. “Where shall we go first?”“To the big new church!” exclaimed Harry. “I want to see if it is as fine inside as it is out.”To the Isaac Church accordingly they steered their course. On their way they encountered a party of British naval officers, whose ship was lying at Cronstadt. Several of them were well-known to Cousin Giles, and they gladly accepted his invitation to visit the church. When, however, they got to the gate in the wooden paling which still surrounded it, the porter signified to them that without a ticket they could not be admitted. Even a silver rouble could not soften him. He looked at it wistfully, but for some reason was afraid of accepting the bribe. Just as they were going away in despair, a tall, gentleman-like officer stepped through the gateway. He looked at them for an instant, and then inquired in French what they wanted. Cousin Giles explained.“Oh, I will soon arrange that, I doubt not,” he replied, returning into the enclosure. He quickly came back, and begged them to enter. “After you have seen the church, if you will come to the Hermitage, I will be there, and shall have great pleasure in showing you over it.”Cousin Giles and the commander of the English ship and the other officers bowed and thanked him, and accepted his offer. He then left them, and they mounted the long flight of steps which leads up to the southern portico. It must be understood that there are three similar porticoes, with lofty granite columns, constituting the chief beauty of the exterior of the building. The roof is supported by massive columns: they, and every part of the walls, are covered with the richest marbles of every colour, highly polished. In the centre is a dome, near the summit of which, as if it were watching over the worshippers below, is seen a dove, floating apparently in air. The effect is good, whatever may be thought of the taste which would allow so sacred an emblem to be thus introduced. The great attractions of the church are a row of malachite pillars on either side of the high altar. Their appearance is very fine; the malachite is, however, only veneered on copper, of which the pillars are composed. There are also numerous pictures of saints, which at first sight appeared to be of the richest mosaic, like those of Saint Peter’s at Rome, but on examination they proved to be only on canvas; perhaps they are placed there till the real mosaics are ready. The three brass doors of the church, covered with figures in the deepest relief, are very fine, as is also a large window of stained glass.Cousin Giles observed, that the richness of the decorations put him in mind of Saint Peter’s at Rome; but, both in respect to size and elegance of design, it is much inferior.The party having satisfied their curiosity, set off across the square to the Hermitage. Their new friend the colonel was at the door to receive them, and, conducted by a guide in the imperial livery, they mounted a superb flight of steps, which led them into a series of magnificent rooms, the walls of which were covered with some of the finest pictures of the great masters. In the centre of each of these rooms were exquisitely-shaped vases of malachite and other valuable materials.The colonel, in the politest manner, pointed out to the party the pictures most worthy of admiration. Cousin Giles was particularly struck by two holy families, by Raphael, painted at different periods of his life, very different from each other, and yet both equally beautiful.There are a number of very large pictures in the halls, the favourite subject of which is the retreat of the French from Russia, and the burning of Moscow. This subject is treated in every possible manner. There are also a number of large pictures of the battles in which the Russians have been victorious. They are not fond of keeping up a remembrance of their defeats. There was a good picture of the late Emperor, with his haughty brow, fierce eyes, and determined lips, the very impersonification of self-will and human pride, now brought down to the very dust; but, haughty as was that brow, the expression of the countenance gave no sign of talent or true genius. It was indeed wanting. He had the sense to take advantage of the ideas of others, and the determination to carry them into execution. The colonel stopped to look at the picture, but there was no smile of affection on his countenance. There were also full-length portraits of many Czars, and among others of Paul, which had a rollicking, half-tipsy look about it, very characteristic of the man. The crown was on one side, and the buttons of the waistcoat unfastened, if not, indeed, buttoned awry. Intoxication or insanity was clearly portrayed by the too faithful artist. It was a way of speaking truth in which courtiers are not apt to indulge.The colonel led the party through a number of halls, each more vast and more beautiful than the former. The walls of one were of white and gold, of another blue and silver, and of a third of a pinkish hue; but the most beautiful of all was the music hall. The pillars which supported the roof were white twisted with gold—a most aerial flight of steps leading to a gallery above, with a second row of pillars. It was more like a scene described in Eastern romance than what one expects to meet with in the solid reality of life. The windows of the hall looked out on a fine view of the Neva, with the citadel before it. The colonel caught the eyes of the British officers looking at it.“Ah!” said he, taking the hands of the commander and pointing to the fortress, “that is the place you would have had to take if you had come here in the spring; but, believe me, my dear sir, I receive you much more willingly in this friendly way than I should have done at the point of the bayonet.”The colonel spoke in so frank and cordial a way, and with so much grace in his manner, that he completely won the hearts of his guests. They all warmly pressed him to come on board, their ship, promising to show him everything about her. He replied that he would gladly have availed himself of their offer, but that he was compelled to go to Moscow to make preparations for the coronation.Two fine old soldiers, tall and upright, with huge moustaches, and breasts covered with decorations, stood guard at the entrance of the treasury. It contained jewels of every description, and curious productions of rare art, such as a prince in theArabian Nightsmight have been told to bring from a far distant country before he could hope to win the hand of some lovely princess. Among them was a clock under a glass case, consisting of a golden tree, with a peacock, an owl, a cock, a mouse, a stream of running water, and many other things. At each hour the peacock unfolds his tail, the cock crows, the owl rolls his goggle eyes, and the mouse runs out of its hole. But far more interesting than all the crowns of gold, the robes of silk, and the precious gems, are numerous articles manufactured by the great Peter, and the tools with which he worked. Among others is the chair on which he sat—a very rough affair, spy-glasses of huge dimensions, and walking-sticks in numerable—some thin-made switches, others thick enough to knock down a giant, with every variety of handle, ending with the old man’s crutch, a complete epitome of human life.It would be impossible in our journal to mention all the magnificent pictures collected from every part of Europe, and the vast numbers of interesting curiosities.This beautiful palace, as has been remarked, was built by Catherine, that she might retire to it after the cares of state, and endeavour to forget them among its varieties and objects of interest. That she attained the ease and happiness she sought, is more than doubtful.“Depend on it, my lads,” observed Cousin Giles, “that powerful but bad woman was far from happy amid all the luxury which wealth could give her. Nothing but a good conscience, void of offence towards God and man, can bring happiness, and that she had not got.”The Winter Palace is next to the Hermitage. Though much larger, it is far less interesting, as the interior was burnt down in 1837, when many fine paintings and articles of value were destroyed. It is said that in the old palace there resided not less than six thousand persons, some living in huts constructed on the roof, whence no one thought of disturbing them. Some thousands no doubt reside also in the present building.That moon-stricken monarch, Paul, built a palace for himself, in the hope that within its fortified walls he might be safe from the attacks of his enemies. So eager was he to have it finished, that five thousand men were employed on it daily. To dry the walls, iron plates were made hot and fastened against them; but what is done in a hurry is generally ill done, and such was the case in this instance: the cost was three times greater than it need have been.Scarcely had the unhappy Emperor inhabited his new abode three months, when he fell, pierced by the daggers of assassins, in the centre of the very fortress he had fancied would prove his security.The Hermitage having been thoroughly lionised under the auspices of the polite colonel, the party steered a course across the bridge of boats to the Exchange, a large building with a fine portico and a flight of steps facing the river, on the north side, at the eastern end of Vasili Ostrof, and with a fine open space before it. It was presented by the late Emperor to the mercantile community of Saint Petersburg, whom he wished especially to conciliate. In front stand two granite columns, decorated with the prows of ships cast in metal. On a close examination of the building, our friends discovered that it was covered with stucco, which in many places was already crumbling away, as is the case with many other edifices of high and low degree in this rapidly constructed city. Cousin Giles and his friends were hesitating about entering when they were overtaken by Mr Henshaw.“Come in,” said he. “The merchants here are happy to see strangers; they will not knock your hat over your eyes, as the frequenters of Change Alley are wont to do to intruders.”They followed their friend, and found themselves in a vast hall full of long blue or green-coated gentry, with flowing beards and low-crowned hats, intermingled with others in modern European costume—some looking round in expectation of a correspondent, others in earnest conversation in knots of twos or threes, busily engaged in buying or selling, a word deciding the fate of hundreds of fat oxen now feeding securely in their native pastures, or of thousands of tall trees growing in the primeval forest thousands of versts away. They were much struck by observing an altar on one side of the entrance, with candles burning on it, and the picture of a saint, black, as usual, and in a golden habit, before which the native merchants bowed and crossed themselves as they passed onward to transact their affairs. Here were collected representatives of all nations, and from every part of Russia—a strange medley of physiognomies, tongues, and costumes; but so habitual has become to them a modulated tone of voice, that, in spite of the hundreds speaking at once, a gentle murmur alone is heard through the hall.Among the foreigners the Germans probably preponderate, but the English hold a very high position: in no community abroad are British merchants more deservedly respected than those engaged in the Russian trade. Cousin Giles and his young companions made the acquaintance of several, and found them most pleasing, gentlemanly men. Mr Henshaw took them to see the portraits of the present and the late Emperor, hanging up in an inner room of the building. The present Czar is a slighter and shorter man than his father, and with a far milder expression of countenance. The picture of Nicholas speaks of undaunted courage and determination, and at the same time of a relentless and almost a ferocious disposition.“I am glad he was not my master,” exclaimed Harry; “how hard he would have hit if he had begun to flog one!”Leaving the Exchange, they returned to the south side, and then crossed another long bridge of boats, and afterwards a smaller one, to the Citadel. Here their object was to see the Church of Peter Paul, where Peter the Great, and all his successors, including the late Emperor, lie buried. After they had entered within the strongly fortified walls, an avenue of birch trees took them up to the church, with its lofty gilt spire. The richly painted roof is supported by massive square pillars, covered with pictures of saints, as is the pulpit. The altar blazes with gold and silver, and huge silver candlesticks. The faces and hands of the saints are all black, and peep out of holes cut in sheets of gold or silver maiked to represent their robes; thus the artist has very little labour in producing a picture. The tombs of the Czars are grouped on either side of the high altar. They are plain sarcophagi, are usually covered with black velvet palls, very simple and unostentatious. On the walls and pillars are suspended various trophies taken in war from the enemies of Russia. Over the windows, as Harry observed, were some “huge jolly cherubs—that is to say,” he added, “fat heads and nothing else to carry behind them; so it is no wonder their cheeks get blown out.”“We have seen enough lions for one day,” said Cousin Giles as they left the fortress. “Fred will have work enough to write up his notes as it is.”After dinner, Fred read out to Cousin Giles and his brother the remarks he had made on the various scenes they had witnessed in their walks and drives through the city. They will be found in the following chapter.

Bird’s-eye View of Saint Petersburg from the Tower of the Admiralty—The Isaac Church—Politeness of a Russian Officer—The Hermitage Palace—Portraits of the Czars—Magnificent Hall—Superb View from it—Jewels—Relics of Peter the Great—The Winter and other Palaces—Bridge of Boats—Exchange—Church of Peter Paul—Tombs of the Czars.

Bird’s-eye View of Saint Petersburg from the Tower of the Admiralty—The Isaac Church—Politeness of a Russian Officer—The Hermitage Palace—Portraits of the Czars—Magnificent Hall—Superb View from it—Jewels—Relics of Peter the Great—The Winter and other Palaces—Bridge of Boats—Exchange—Church of Peter Paul—Tombs of the Czars.

Cousin Giles and his young companions had climbed up to the summit of the Admiralty tower on a fine bright morning, when they could enjoy the strange scene which this aerial position presented to their eyes.

“Let us take it in properly, and map it down in our memory,” said Cousin Giles after they had looked round and round, then to a distance, and down into the open spaces and streets below them, with their moving crowd of men, and horses, and carriages, of high and low degree, dashing and tearing here and there as if the lives of monarchs and the fate of kingdoms depended on their speed. “First, look to the east; there we have the rapid, clear Neva, flowing out of Lake Ladoga, which in our mind’s eye we can see in the distance, though it is too far off to be seen in reality. Then, in the same direction, near the outskirts of the city, the river branches off into several channels, making a delta like that of the Nile, and forming a number of islands of various dimensions—some so large that a considerable portion of the city to the north of us stands on them, others containing only a few gardens and villas. The country surrounding the city seems barren and desolate in the extreme, either an arid steppe or a stagnant marsh telling of the agues and fevers afflicting those dwelling near it. To the north, however, not many versts from the city, rise the hills and woods, and fields and orchards of Finland, inhabited by the finest peasantry of the Russian empire. To the west appear the shining waters of the head of the Gulf of Finland, with the fortifications of Cronstadt in the far distance, and a fleet of men-of-war before it; while higher up is a whole squadron of gun-boats, which were lately built and fitted out in a great hurry to meet those England had prepared to send into these waters. Across the head of the gulf, looking down on Cronstadt, peep forth amid a mass of green foliage the golden spires and domes, and white-walled palaces, and Swiss-looking villas of Peterhoff, beyond which, and far away as the eye can reach to the southward, and very, very much farther on, one great desolate steppe or plain, bearing for miles and miles scarcely a tree higher than a gooseberry bush, or a hill boasting a height of greater elevation than a molehill. Now let us bring our eyes nearer to our feet, to the mouth of the river. We see it crowded with steamers and every variety of craft of moderate size of all nations, and yet we know that the greater proportion of vessels which bade to the city do not come higher than Cronstadt. The large barges and lighters which we see moving up and down the river convey their cargoes to and from that place. High up the river, above the bridges, is another collection of vessels, and several are to be seen moving up and down the different channels; while the canals, which meander through the city in various directions, are literally jammed up with barges, chiefly unloading firewood. The canals pass down the middle of the broad streets, many of which are fringed with trees. At the mouth of the river, on the south side, is Mr Baird’s iron factory, where steam-engines and iron machines of all sorts are made; near it is his private residence. He is now a Russian baron, and is much esteemed by the Emperor. A little higher up is the new naval arsenal, with long sheds, where gangs of workmen are employed in chains, and through which runs a canal. Some men-of-war steamers are moored off it. Others are seen in different parts of the river, their guns commanding the quays; so that, should an émeute ever take place, the communication between the various quarters of the city would speedily be cut off. Groups of shipping are visible at different parts of the quays; but no ugly warehouses or stores of any sort are in sight, and their cargoes are quickly spirited away to other unaristocratical parts of the city. Here the mansions of the noble and wealthy have taken possession of the whole length of the quays. The first building of importance on the north side, opposite Mr Baird’s works, is the Corps of Mines. It is of great extent, and contains a museum stored with models, illustrating every branch of civil and military engineering, as well as some beautifully executed models of various descriptions of mines. Then come in succession, and nearly in the same line, the magnificent edifices containing the Academy of Arts, the University, the Academy of Sciences, the Corps of Cadets, and, lastly, the Exchange. Some of these buildings cover as much ground as many of the largest squares in London. Above the Exchange is Petersburg Island, which is covered with a strong fortification, called the Citadel. It contains a church called Peter Paul, built by Peter the Great, and which has a spire exactly like that of the Admiralty. On the island is also the cottage which Peter the Great inhabited while the foundations of his wondrous city were being laid. Beyond it, to the north and west, can be discerned some of the smaller channels of the silvery Neva, flowing among gardens and orchards, and green waving woods, with villas of every description of architecture, more suited apparently to the climate of the sunny south than to the cold atmosphere of this bleak region. Between the base of the building on which we stand and the northern portion of the city we have described, runs the main channel of the river. It is crossed by several broad bridges, resting on a chain of huge boats or barges, which can be removed when the approach of winter gives signs that, by means of the quick-forming ice, the inhabitants will be able to cross without their aid.

“We will now turn and face to the south. To the right is the long line of the English Quay, with its numerous handsome and substantial mansions, which in any other city would be called palaces. Then comes the great square or rather space below us, bordered by huge piles containing the chief public offices in the empire. Standing amid them, yet not pressed on too closely, rises the proud structure of the new Church of Saint Isaac, with its four granite-columned porticoes. Then radiating off directly before us are the three widest and longest streets perhaps in Europe: first in magnificence comes the Neva Perspective, and then comes Peas Street, and the Resurrection Perspective; but running out of them are also streets of great width, composed of houses of numerous storeys and undoubted pretensions to grandeur. The Neva Perspective is the most interesting. On the right side of it stands the Kazan Church, which it was intended should be like Saint Peter’s at Rome; but, except that it has a wide-spreading portico with numerous columns, it is in no way to be compared to that magnificent structure. On the same side is a building, or rather a collection of buildings, which at a distance have no very imposing appearance. This is the great market of Saint Petersburg, or the Gostinnoi dvor. It consists of a series of arcades, in front of stores of two or more storeys, forming the outside boundary of an extensive region of squares, which have likewise arcades running round them, the area being filled with garden produce and rough wares not liable to be injured by weather. Here every article, either for use or consumption, which the lower orders can possibly require, is to be found, from a hat to a cucumber, or a pair of shoes to a leg of mutton; but, as our friends were about to visit the place, it need not now be further described.

“At the very end of the street could be seen the terminus of the Saint Petersburg and Moscow railway, the iron road itself running far, far away to the southward across the flat and marshy steppe. On either side of this prince of streets, the Neva Prospect, and in many streets branching from it, could be seen a number of lofty and magnificent palaces with here and there golden-domed churches, and many public buildings, convents, and monasteries, and wide walks fringed with trees, and canals carrying produce from far-off countries into the very heart of the city. Let us have one look more before we descend at Peter’s Statue, not bigger apparently than a child’s toy, and the Alexander Column, and the golden domes of the Isaac Church, and the huge Winter Palace, and the Hermitage, and the Imperial Theatre, and the long line of palaces facing the quays of the Neva beyond them; then we have to-day witnessed a sight not easily forgotten.

“Saint Petersburg, as it stands on its millions of wooden piles, the liquid, rapidly-flowing Neva, the moving, living crowd of uniform-clad inhabitants—men, women, and children, coaches, droskies, and horses, infantry and cavalry, Cossacks of the Don on their ragged ponies, and skeleton-looking guards with their glittering halberds at every corner. Those at home may gain a fair notion of the scene from Burford’s Panorama, but they will soon forget it, while we shall remember it all our lives: there is nothing like the reality to impress it on our minds.” So said Cousin Giles as our friends began to descend into the world below.

“We must now visit some of these places in detail,” said Cousin Giles as they stood in the square outside the Admiralty gates. “Where shall we go first?”

“To the big new church!” exclaimed Harry. “I want to see if it is as fine inside as it is out.”

To the Isaac Church accordingly they steered their course. On their way they encountered a party of British naval officers, whose ship was lying at Cronstadt. Several of them were well-known to Cousin Giles, and they gladly accepted his invitation to visit the church. When, however, they got to the gate in the wooden paling which still surrounded it, the porter signified to them that without a ticket they could not be admitted. Even a silver rouble could not soften him. He looked at it wistfully, but for some reason was afraid of accepting the bribe. Just as they were going away in despair, a tall, gentleman-like officer stepped through the gateway. He looked at them for an instant, and then inquired in French what they wanted. Cousin Giles explained.

“Oh, I will soon arrange that, I doubt not,” he replied, returning into the enclosure. He quickly came back, and begged them to enter. “After you have seen the church, if you will come to the Hermitage, I will be there, and shall have great pleasure in showing you over it.”

Cousin Giles and the commander of the English ship and the other officers bowed and thanked him, and accepted his offer. He then left them, and they mounted the long flight of steps which leads up to the southern portico. It must be understood that there are three similar porticoes, with lofty granite columns, constituting the chief beauty of the exterior of the building. The roof is supported by massive columns: they, and every part of the walls, are covered with the richest marbles of every colour, highly polished. In the centre is a dome, near the summit of which, as if it were watching over the worshippers below, is seen a dove, floating apparently in air. The effect is good, whatever may be thought of the taste which would allow so sacred an emblem to be thus introduced. The great attractions of the church are a row of malachite pillars on either side of the high altar. Their appearance is very fine; the malachite is, however, only veneered on copper, of which the pillars are composed. There are also numerous pictures of saints, which at first sight appeared to be of the richest mosaic, like those of Saint Peter’s at Rome, but on examination they proved to be only on canvas; perhaps they are placed there till the real mosaics are ready. The three brass doors of the church, covered with figures in the deepest relief, are very fine, as is also a large window of stained glass.

Cousin Giles observed, that the richness of the decorations put him in mind of Saint Peter’s at Rome; but, both in respect to size and elegance of design, it is much inferior.

The party having satisfied their curiosity, set off across the square to the Hermitage. Their new friend the colonel was at the door to receive them, and, conducted by a guide in the imperial livery, they mounted a superb flight of steps, which led them into a series of magnificent rooms, the walls of which were covered with some of the finest pictures of the great masters. In the centre of each of these rooms were exquisitely-shaped vases of malachite and other valuable materials.

The colonel, in the politest manner, pointed out to the party the pictures most worthy of admiration. Cousin Giles was particularly struck by two holy families, by Raphael, painted at different periods of his life, very different from each other, and yet both equally beautiful.

There are a number of very large pictures in the halls, the favourite subject of which is the retreat of the French from Russia, and the burning of Moscow. This subject is treated in every possible manner. There are also a number of large pictures of the battles in which the Russians have been victorious. They are not fond of keeping up a remembrance of their defeats. There was a good picture of the late Emperor, with his haughty brow, fierce eyes, and determined lips, the very impersonification of self-will and human pride, now brought down to the very dust; but, haughty as was that brow, the expression of the countenance gave no sign of talent or true genius. It was indeed wanting. He had the sense to take advantage of the ideas of others, and the determination to carry them into execution. The colonel stopped to look at the picture, but there was no smile of affection on his countenance. There were also full-length portraits of many Czars, and among others of Paul, which had a rollicking, half-tipsy look about it, very characteristic of the man. The crown was on one side, and the buttons of the waistcoat unfastened, if not, indeed, buttoned awry. Intoxication or insanity was clearly portrayed by the too faithful artist. It was a way of speaking truth in which courtiers are not apt to indulge.

The colonel led the party through a number of halls, each more vast and more beautiful than the former. The walls of one were of white and gold, of another blue and silver, and of a third of a pinkish hue; but the most beautiful of all was the music hall. The pillars which supported the roof were white twisted with gold—a most aerial flight of steps leading to a gallery above, with a second row of pillars. It was more like a scene described in Eastern romance than what one expects to meet with in the solid reality of life. The windows of the hall looked out on a fine view of the Neva, with the citadel before it. The colonel caught the eyes of the British officers looking at it.

“Ah!” said he, taking the hands of the commander and pointing to the fortress, “that is the place you would have had to take if you had come here in the spring; but, believe me, my dear sir, I receive you much more willingly in this friendly way than I should have done at the point of the bayonet.”

The colonel spoke in so frank and cordial a way, and with so much grace in his manner, that he completely won the hearts of his guests. They all warmly pressed him to come on board, their ship, promising to show him everything about her. He replied that he would gladly have availed himself of their offer, but that he was compelled to go to Moscow to make preparations for the coronation.

Two fine old soldiers, tall and upright, with huge moustaches, and breasts covered with decorations, stood guard at the entrance of the treasury. It contained jewels of every description, and curious productions of rare art, such as a prince in theArabian Nightsmight have been told to bring from a far distant country before he could hope to win the hand of some lovely princess. Among them was a clock under a glass case, consisting of a golden tree, with a peacock, an owl, a cock, a mouse, a stream of running water, and many other things. At each hour the peacock unfolds his tail, the cock crows, the owl rolls his goggle eyes, and the mouse runs out of its hole. But far more interesting than all the crowns of gold, the robes of silk, and the precious gems, are numerous articles manufactured by the great Peter, and the tools with which he worked. Among others is the chair on which he sat—a very rough affair, spy-glasses of huge dimensions, and walking-sticks in numerable—some thin-made switches, others thick enough to knock down a giant, with every variety of handle, ending with the old man’s crutch, a complete epitome of human life.

It would be impossible in our journal to mention all the magnificent pictures collected from every part of Europe, and the vast numbers of interesting curiosities.

This beautiful palace, as has been remarked, was built by Catherine, that she might retire to it after the cares of state, and endeavour to forget them among its varieties and objects of interest. That she attained the ease and happiness she sought, is more than doubtful.

“Depend on it, my lads,” observed Cousin Giles, “that powerful but bad woman was far from happy amid all the luxury which wealth could give her. Nothing but a good conscience, void of offence towards God and man, can bring happiness, and that she had not got.”

The Winter Palace is next to the Hermitage. Though much larger, it is far less interesting, as the interior was burnt down in 1837, when many fine paintings and articles of value were destroyed. It is said that in the old palace there resided not less than six thousand persons, some living in huts constructed on the roof, whence no one thought of disturbing them. Some thousands no doubt reside also in the present building.

That moon-stricken monarch, Paul, built a palace for himself, in the hope that within its fortified walls he might be safe from the attacks of his enemies. So eager was he to have it finished, that five thousand men were employed on it daily. To dry the walls, iron plates were made hot and fastened against them; but what is done in a hurry is generally ill done, and such was the case in this instance: the cost was three times greater than it need have been.

Scarcely had the unhappy Emperor inhabited his new abode three months, when he fell, pierced by the daggers of assassins, in the centre of the very fortress he had fancied would prove his security.

The Hermitage having been thoroughly lionised under the auspices of the polite colonel, the party steered a course across the bridge of boats to the Exchange, a large building with a fine portico and a flight of steps facing the river, on the north side, at the eastern end of Vasili Ostrof, and with a fine open space before it. It was presented by the late Emperor to the mercantile community of Saint Petersburg, whom he wished especially to conciliate. In front stand two granite columns, decorated with the prows of ships cast in metal. On a close examination of the building, our friends discovered that it was covered with stucco, which in many places was already crumbling away, as is the case with many other edifices of high and low degree in this rapidly constructed city. Cousin Giles and his friends were hesitating about entering when they were overtaken by Mr Henshaw.

“Come in,” said he. “The merchants here are happy to see strangers; they will not knock your hat over your eyes, as the frequenters of Change Alley are wont to do to intruders.”

They followed their friend, and found themselves in a vast hall full of long blue or green-coated gentry, with flowing beards and low-crowned hats, intermingled with others in modern European costume—some looking round in expectation of a correspondent, others in earnest conversation in knots of twos or threes, busily engaged in buying or selling, a word deciding the fate of hundreds of fat oxen now feeding securely in their native pastures, or of thousands of tall trees growing in the primeval forest thousands of versts away. They were much struck by observing an altar on one side of the entrance, with candles burning on it, and the picture of a saint, black, as usual, and in a golden habit, before which the native merchants bowed and crossed themselves as they passed onward to transact their affairs. Here were collected representatives of all nations, and from every part of Russia—a strange medley of physiognomies, tongues, and costumes; but so habitual has become to them a modulated tone of voice, that, in spite of the hundreds speaking at once, a gentle murmur alone is heard through the hall.

Among the foreigners the Germans probably preponderate, but the English hold a very high position: in no community abroad are British merchants more deservedly respected than those engaged in the Russian trade. Cousin Giles and his young companions made the acquaintance of several, and found them most pleasing, gentlemanly men. Mr Henshaw took them to see the portraits of the present and the late Emperor, hanging up in an inner room of the building. The present Czar is a slighter and shorter man than his father, and with a far milder expression of countenance. The picture of Nicholas speaks of undaunted courage and determination, and at the same time of a relentless and almost a ferocious disposition.

“I am glad he was not my master,” exclaimed Harry; “how hard he would have hit if he had begun to flog one!”

Leaving the Exchange, they returned to the south side, and then crossed another long bridge of boats, and afterwards a smaller one, to the Citadel. Here their object was to see the Church of Peter Paul, where Peter the Great, and all his successors, including the late Emperor, lie buried. After they had entered within the strongly fortified walls, an avenue of birch trees took them up to the church, with its lofty gilt spire. The richly painted roof is supported by massive square pillars, covered with pictures of saints, as is the pulpit. The altar blazes with gold and silver, and huge silver candlesticks. The faces and hands of the saints are all black, and peep out of holes cut in sheets of gold or silver maiked to represent their robes; thus the artist has very little labour in producing a picture. The tombs of the Czars are grouped on either side of the high altar. They are plain sarcophagi, are usually covered with black velvet palls, very simple and unostentatious. On the walls and pillars are suspended various trophies taken in war from the enemies of Russia. Over the windows, as Harry observed, were some “huge jolly cherubs—that is to say,” he added, “fat heads and nothing else to carry behind them; so it is no wonder their cheeks get blown out.”

“We have seen enough lions for one day,” said Cousin Giles as they left the fortress. “Fred will have work enough to write up his notes as it is.”

After dinner, Fred read out to Cousin Giles and his brother the remarks he had made on the various scenes they had witnessed in their walks and drives through the city. They will be found in the following chapter.

Chapter Six.Remarks from Fred’s Note-book about Saint Petersburg, and the Habits and Customs of the Russians.The streets and places of Saint Petersburg are very badly paved: the holes and ruts in them are full of mud when it rains, and of dust in summer weather; some parts are covered with blocks of wood, like the streets of London. Did the English learn the system from the Russians, or the Russians from the English? Other streets are paved with little round pebbles, very unpleasant to walk on. The side pavements are often narrow and very uneven. The frosts of winter much unsettle the flagstones.The policemen at the corners of the streets look as if they were all cut from one model, like a child’s tin regiment of soldiers. They are all tall, thin, lathy fellows, in long greatcoats, with huge moustaches and long-handled halberds; their faces as long, solemn, and grave as if the weight of the empire rested on their shoulders.Mr Evergreen, who had joined us near the hotel, had a cigar in his mouth; no sooner did the guard see it, than he made furious signs to him to put it out.“Dear me, he’ll march me off to prison, and perhaps to Siberia!” exclaimed our verdant friend, hastily throwing the cigar on the ground. As we passed, I happened to turn round, when I beheld the long guard stalking rapidly towards the still burning weed; he seized it, and, placing it between his lips, coolly marched back to his sentry-box, where he continued smoking as if it were his own lawful property.These guards are said to be great rogues. I suspect he would have dowsed his glim in no little hurry if one of his officers had hove in sight.Passed a troop of Cossacks of the Don, mounted on the most rugged, roughly-caparisoned little steeds, looking as if just caught wild from the steppes. They act as the cavalry police of the city. They are little dark fellows, and wear fur caps with red tops to them, long brown caftans or coats, and yellow boots; having in their hands long tapering lances, with which they would, doubtless, prick a man in a street disturbance, or on any other occasion, with the slightest possible compunction.When we first arrived, the houses, and even the streets, had an oveny smell, which showed us how hot it had been and must often be in summer. The westerly wind has now cooled the air, and made it very pleasant. The Russian wheaten bread is excellent, very light and pure, made up in long loaves or oblong rolls. We were shown a loaf which came from Moscow, made in the shape of a basket with a handle. A housewife returning from market hangs half a dozen of them on her arm. The bread of peasants is very different; it is made of rye, very brown—almost black, very close, heavy, and sour. They are, however, very fond of it, and so are even the upper classes, who seldom make a meal without taking some.The streets, as one drives about, seem interminable,—long wide avenues of trees with gardens and places extending away at right angles in all directions. What dreary, hopeless work for a poor fellow on foot on a hot day, who has lost his way, to find it again!They are here called lines, like the avenues of New York, Cousin Giles says. One is directed to the fifteenth or sixteenth line. Most of the private residences here are in flats—few people have a house to themselves. The entrance is either at the side of an archway, or from a quadrangle round which the houses are built.At the north end of the iron bridge stands a shrine, with the picture of the Virgin Mary on it, before which tapers are constantly burning. Every one who passes, belonging to the Greek Church, takes off his hat and rapidly and energetically crosses himself; drosky drivers, soldiers, peasants, rein up their horses, even going at full speed, and perform their acts of devotion. People on foot stop and bow and cross themselves,—some scarcely breaking off a conversation, while others kneel before the altar and continue some minutes, if not in prayer, at all events in the attitude of devotion. This end of the bridge turns on pivots, to allow vessels to pass up and down.In the streets are seen a number of pigeons, whom no one disturbs. The Russians have a superstitious veneration for them, believing, I fancy, that they are inhabited by the souls of their departed relatives. We, however, had a pigeon pie at the hotel. Fruit is very dear here. We were asked a silver rouble for a basket of strawberries, almost spoilt, and two roubles for a melon.We saw some excellent figures of native costumes. Three roubles were asked for each. One of the late Emperor cost four roubles, the additional rouble being put on in compliment to his Majesty. It would be disrespectful to sell even a dead emperor at as low a price as a living subject.In every quarter of the city, over the police stations, at which the thin halberd-armed guards are posted, are watch-towers. A man is stationed at the top, which is fitted with a telegraph, to give notice either of a fire or a flood. Fires may occur any day—floods in the spring chiefly, from the rapid melting of the snows of winter. Red flags tell of coming floods; black-striped balls by day, and lamps by night, of fire.An omnibus, probably built in England, passed us with four horses; a postilion, dressed in a drosky driver’s hat and long coat, rode the leaders, while another man in a similar costume sat on the box to steer the wheelers. The omnibuses are painted black or dark red—very sombre-looking conveyances, making one think of prison-vans or hearses. Some of the little country carts are curious-looking affairs. They are built with ribs, and look like a boat with the stem and stern cut off; the hind wheels are kept on by a bow, one end of which comes out from the side of the cart, and the other presses the axle.We remarked the washing stages on the Neva. In the centre is a long opening, at which the women stand and dip in the unfortunate garments to be cleansed, and batter them with a mallet.There are also large stages with buildings on them for swimming baths. On one we saw “Swimming School,” written in German. A foot regiment passed us with black-and-brass helmets, dark-drab long coats, black belts and scabbards. They had a very sombre appearance, but were fine-looking fellows, evidently fit for service.A number of wood boats are unloading at the quays. They are huge flat-bottomed barges, of white planks slightly fastened together. They are broken up and burnt like their cargo. The wood they bring is chiefly birch, and is cut up in pieces fit for the stove. The canals are crowded in some places with these boats. A number of vessels, chiefly Dutch, were unloading at the quays close to the Winter Palace; but not a particle of mercantile dirt or litter was to be seen. Carts came and quickly transported the cargo to less polished regions. It took us just two minutes and a half to walk rapidly from one end of the Winter Palace to the other. That does not seem much, but let any one try how much ground he can get over in that time at a walk, and it will give him a good idea of the extent of the building.Droskies can be hired at a very cheap rate. For less than sixpence one may go from one end of the city to the other, and that is no trifling distance.The peasant women whom we have seen in the city are dressed in rough greatcoats and boots, with coloured handkerchiefs tied over their heads and under their chins. Their appearance is not attractive.On Sunday we went to the church of the English Factory, of which Dr Law has been minister for many years. The outside is like a house. The residence of the minister is under it. There is also a library attached to it. The church itself is a very handsome hall. The ladies sit on one side, the men on the other. Several persons in Russian uniforms were there. Their parents probably were English, and, though they have entered the Russian service, they are allowed to adhere to their own form of worship.We find the Russian language perfectly unpronounceable. It is said to be like Hindustanee; for instance, a stick ispalkain Russian, andpalkeein Hindustanee, and there are numerous words equally alike in the two languages. It is very rich, we are told. There are but few words expressing the same thing. In English we say a man, a dog, and a tree dies; the Russians say a man dies, or rather departs, a dog perishes, a tree withers. This shows that, heathens though they were when their language was invented, they must have believed in the immortality of the soul.The late Emperor disliked drinking and smoking. If either a military or civil officer was known by him to have been intoxicated, from that moment his promotion was stopped, if even he escaped being dismissed immediately from his office. The Emperor passed an edict prohibiting smoking in railway carriages. On one occasion, the Grand Duke Michael, who was going a short distance with a party of friends by the train, appeared on the platform with a cigar in his mouth, but threw it away before stepping into the carriage. This he did to show his respect for the Emperor’s edict, for no one would have ventured to stop him had he smoked on. Even then most of the imperial family smoked, as does the present Emperor.Log-huts, very similar to those used in Canada, are the usual habitations of Russian peasants. They are found close up to that mighty city of Saint Petersburg. A groove is cut in the length of the log, into which the log above it is let. The interstices are filled with moss. They are considered far warmer than any brick or stone houses. Sometimes they are boarded over, and when painted gaily have a cheerful aspect. Ordinary plank houses are used in summer, but would scarcely be habitable in winter.When people during the winter are travelling in Russia, they do not use hot bricks or water-bottles, as the Canadians do, for their feet, but wear very thick fur boots, made of ample size, so as in no way to impede the circulation of the blood. A tight boot is painful and dangerous, and many a person in consequence has lost a foot, even his life. When walking, India-rubber goloshes are worn, which are taken off when a person enters a house. A very large thick fur cloak, in which a person is completely enveloped, is worn when travelling. It is thrown down in a corner as soon as a person enters a house, where it lies like a heap of dirty clothes.Spitting is as common among all classes as we heat that it is in America. Carpets have only of late years been introduced into the houses of the opulent, but people spit over them just as they did over their brick floors. A refined sort of spittoon has been introduced, with a high handle. By touching a spring the lid flies open, and drops again when made use of. Uncle Giles says the inventor would have done better to have invented some means of breaking his countrymen off a dirty habit; perhaps, however, the hot air in the rooms, and the sharp air outside, may have something to do with it.The English here say that the habits of social life among the Russians have very much improved since they mixed with them: I do not know what view the Russians take of the case.Thirty years ago, palaces and public offices were alike dirty in the extreme; but the Emperor Alexander, after his visit to England, introduced great improvements. Now the public offices at Saint Petersburg, at all events, are kept fairly clean. I do not think, however, that the housemaid has got so far south as Moscow; it is too holy a place, in a Russian’s idea, to make cleanliness necessary.An English friend told us that once upon a time he went to pay a visit to a great man, who lived in a great house. The entrance-hall was unspeakably dirty; round it, against the walls, were a number of ottomans, on which slept numerous shock-headed, sandal-footed, long-coated, red-shirted serfs, with their master’s fur cloaks rolled up as pillows. The next hall was scarcely cleaner. The third was gorgeously furnished, but no neat-handed housemaid, apparently, ever entered to sweep the floors or brush away the cobwebs. An ante-room was a shade better; while the great man’s private chamber looked really comfortable, as if he had imbibed a sufficient regard for cleanliness to keep himself out of the dirt.Perhaps with the same object the late Emperor introduced foot pavements in Saint Petersburg. Formerly foot passengers had to pick their way from stone to stone among rivulets of mud. English ladies used to be much admired for the propriety of their walking dresses; now, on account of the undue length of their gowns, they kick up so great a dust that it is most unpleasant to walk behind them. Uncle Giles says, “Perhaps they do it to keep off danglers.” Russian ladies never think of walking in the city—the streets of Saint Petersburg, in truth, do not tempt them; in spring and autumn they are thick with mud, in summer with the finest dust.The ladies of Russia are, like those in other countries, very fond of lap-dogs, and give very high prices for them. The groom who came over with us brought two dozen, shut up in hen-coops, and expected to get 20 pounds at least for each of them.The wealthy Russians generally give enormous prices for luxuries. Our captain on one voyage brought over some oysters, which sold, he told us, at fourpence each. They are not to be found in the Baltic. He made about nine hundred per cent, by them. Saint Petersburg is very ill supplied with salt-water fish; there are neither lobsters nor flatfish.It is generally supposed in England that the very finest tea is to be found in Russia, brought all the way overland from China. This an English friend assured us is a mistake. There is certainly very good tea in Russia, but what costs there ten shillings is not superior to what can be bought in England at from four to five shillings. Very large quantities of very bad tea are smuggled over the German frontier, a large proportion probably having come round from China by sea, and not considered good enough for the English market.Our friend on one occasion, being on his way home overland, having missed the diligence, had to stop a day at Tilsit, a place celebrated for the Articles of Peace signed there between Napoleon and the Allies. While wandering round the town, he saw large storehouses with chests piled upon chests of tea. He asked where all the tea was to go. Some people would not answer, but others told him that Russian merchants came and bought it, and carried it away over the frontier. Large quantities used to be smuggled through Finland, which has different custom regulations to those of Russia. A light duty only was charged on tea in that country, but how to get it into Russia was the question. To effect this, logs of wood were hollowed out, filled with tea, and floated down the streams. Carts loaded with casks of apples entered the country; inside the casks were chests of tea. This sort of smuggling just suited the taste and enterprise of a Russian peasant.Once upon a time, the cart of an unfortunate smuggler broke down in front of the Emperor’s palace. Not only did the cart break, but so did the casks of apples, and out rolled the chests of tea. The affrighted smugglers fled, and left their property to the police, whose samovars did not probably smoke the less merrily in consequence. At all events, thecontretempsopened the eyes of the Emperor somewhat to the folly of having high restrictive duties with a frontier so enormous as that of Russia; but, whatever were his plans of reform, the war and death cut them short. Large quantities of tea are at the present time imported into the neighbouring German ports, for the acknowledged object of sending them into Russia.Of course, as is to be expected, there is much bribery and corruption in all departments of Government. An officer of the Guards, Count —, was appointed chief of the Custom-house. He had not much practical knowledge of business, but he resolved to make amends for his deficiency in that respect by looking into things with his own eyes. Once upon a time the daughter of one of his subordinates was married, and he was invited to the feast. Now, on so important an occasion, if a man has not a house of his own large enough to entertain his guests, he borrows one from a friend. On this occasion the father of the bride borrowed one from an official in his own department. When Count — entered, he admired the furniture and the rooms, and everything in it.“Of course you have hired this; to whom does it belong?”“It belongs to my friend So-and-so; he has lent it to me,” was the answer.“Ho, ho!” thought the Count. “So-and-so must have a fine private fortune, or else he must have the knack of fingering large bribes.”He consequently watched the unsuspecting So-and-so very narrowly, and soon discovered that he had fingers of a most tenacious description, which easily accounted for his handsome income. So-and-so, to his surprise, found himself one fine morning dismissed from his office, and compelled to retire into well-merited poverty and disgrace.The Russians are at all times civil to strangers, and even during the war none of the English who remained were ever insulted by them. The English merchants, indeed, who have long resided in the country, were allowed to move about as they liked, and several even resided at Peterhoff, in sight of the British fleet. The only people who ever said a word against them were some Prussians, whose direct trade was injured by the war. Prussia herself, however, benefited by the transit of goods across her frontier.The mode of heating houses has been very much improved of late years. The best houses have now fireplaces, as well as stoves, which add much to the ventilation of the rooms. The stoves are made of brick; they are peculiar to the country, and may be called air-stoves. The fresh air is introduced by pipes from the outside, and, passing over the stove, is conveyed in other pipes through the house. The air also passes over a plate of iron, which is sprinkled sometimes with plain water, or by the more luxurious with rose-water. By depressing or elevating this plate, a current of air is sent through the room.All the rooms have double windows; the inside one is removed in summer—not the outside one, as in Canada. If the air was allowed to get in between the two windows, the glass would become permanently covered with frost. To prevent this, a glass panel, which opens at both ends, is introduced between the two windows, and through this the room is aired. Great care is taken not to begin to heat the rooms till the second window is put in, or the glass in this case also would become coated with ice, and would remain so all the winter.The Russian peasants are very economical in their mode of cooking. They are horrified at seeing the broth in which a leg of mutton is boiled thrown away, as is too often done in England. They will make a dish out of almost any of the herbs of the field, or of birds, beasts, or creeping things. They make all sorts of fish soups, of which they are especially fond; so, indeed, are the rich. All classes have an especial affection for the black rye bread of the country. We found it very sour, though I daresay habit might make one like it. All classes use porridges of every description. Buck-wheat is used for this purpose, as also to make cakes, as in America. What we call manna croup is also used in a variety of ways. A favourite fish among the higher classes is the sterlet, a sort of sturgeon; soup is made of it, but it is very expensive.Good as some of the police regulations are, others are very absurd. If a person is wounded or otherwise injured, no one may go near him; for, if the wounded man should die, the person who went to help him would be carried off to prison, and certainly be tried for the murder. An acquaintance told us that one day in winter he saw from the window of a hotel, where he was standing with a friend, an English lady driving in a sledge; at that moment a heavy sledge drove against it, upsetting it, and severely injuring her. A policeman was on the point of seizing her sledge, and would have taken it and herself to the police office, where, to a certainty, she would have died. There was not a moment for thought. His friend knocked down the policeman and then ran off, while he jumped into the sledge and drove off to a hotel, whence he sent for the lady’s husband. The lady was ill for many weeks. He never heard anything more of the knocked-down policeman, who probably, after picking himself up, was content with the capture of the heavy sledge which had committed the mischief.We find that by going to Saint Petersburg we have lost two hours of time, but, as we hope to return home, we shall get it back again. The Russians, it must be remembered, in their love for Conservatism, keep the old style of time, which is about ten days behind the new. This rather puzzled us at first.Skating is not in vogue in Russia; indeed, the ice so soon becomes covered with snow, that there is very little opportunity afforded to indulge in the pastime. The Montagne-Russe is the great out-of-door pastime. Huge hills are formed of ice and snow, and placed in a line, one beyond the other. People climb up to the top of the first with little sledges. A gentleman sits in front and guides the sledge, a lady holds on behind, and away they go down one hill, the impetus carrying them up the other, or a considerable way up it, and thus the whole line is traversed. So fond are the Russians of the amusement, that they have, even in summer, wooden mountains with greased roads, which answer the purpose of ice.

Remarks from Fred’s Note-book about Saint Petersburg, and the Habits and Customs of the Russians.

Remarks from Fred’s Note-book about Saint Petersburg, and the Habits and Customs of the Russians.

The streets and places of Saint Petersburg are very badly paved: the holes and ruts in them are full of mud when it rains, and of dust in summer weather; some parts are covered with blocks of wood, like the streets of London. Did the English learn the system from the Russians, or the Russians from the English? Other streets are paved with little round pebbles, very unpleasant to walk on. The side pavements are often narrow and very uneven. The frosts of winter much unsettle the flagstones.

The policemen at the corners of the streets look as if they were all cut from one model, like a child’s tin regiment of soldiers. They are all tall, thin, lathy fellows, in long greatcoats, with huge moustaches and long-handled halberds; their faces as long, solemn, and grave as if the weight of the empire rested on their shoulders.

Mr Evergreen, who had joined us near the hotel, had a cigar in his mouth; no sooner did the guard see it, than he made furious signs to him to put it out.

“Dear me, he’ll march me off to prison, and perhaps to Siberia!” exclaimed our verdant friend, hastily throwing the cigar on the ground. As we passed, I happened to turn round, when I beheld the long guard stalking rapidly towards the still burning weed; he seized it, and, placing it between his lips, coolly marched back to his sentry-box, where he continued smoking as if it were his own lawful property.

These guards are said to be great rogues. I suspect he would have dowsed his glim in no little hurry if one of his officers had hove in sight.

Passed a troop of Cossacks of the Don, mounted on the most rugged, roughly-caparisoned little steeds, looking as if just caught wild from the steppes. They act as the cavalry police of the city. They are little dark fellows, and wear fur caps with red tops to them, long brown caftans or coats, and yellow boots; having in their hands long tapering lances, with which they would, doubtless, prick a man in a street disturbance, or on any other occasion, with the slightest possible compunction.

When we first arrived, the houses, and even the streets, had an oveny smell, which showed us how hot it had been and must often be in summer. The westerly wind has now cooled the air, and made it very pleasant. The Russian wheaten bread is excellent, very light and pure, made up in long loaves or oblong rolls. We were shown a loaf which came from Moscow, made in the shape of a basket with a handle. A housewife returning from market hangs half a dozen of them on her arm. The bread of peasants is very different; it is made of rye, very brown—almost black, very close, heavy, and sour. They are, however, very fond of it, and so are even the upper classes, who seldom make a meal without taking some.

The streets, as one drives about, seem interminable,—long wide avenues of trees with gardens and places extending away at right angles in all directions. What dreary, hopeless work for a poor fellow on foot on a hot day, who has lost his way, to find it again!

They are here called lines, like the avenues of New York, Cousin Giles says. One is directed to the fifteenth or sixteenth line. Most of the private residences here are in flats—few people have a house to themselves. The entrance is either at the side of an archway, or from a quadrangle round which the houses are built.

At the north end of the iron bridge stands a shrine, with the picture of the Virgin Mary on it, before which tapers are constantly burning. Every one who passes, belonging to the Greek Church, takes off his hat and rapidly and energetically crosses himself; drosky drivers, soldiers, peasants, rein up their horses, even going at full speed, and perform their acts of devotion. People on foot stop and bow and cross themselves,—some scarcely breaking off a conversation, while others kneel before the altar and continue some minutes, if not in prayer, at all events in the attitude of devotion. This end of the bridge turns on pivots, to allow vessels to pass up and down.

In the streets are seen a number of pigeons, whom no one disturbs. The Russians have a superstitious veneration for them, believing, I fancy, that they are inhabited by the souls of their departed relatives. We, however, had a pigeon pie at the hotel. Fruit is very dear here. We were asked a silver rouble for a basket of strawberries, almost spoilt, and two roubles for a melon.

We saw some excellent figures of native costumes. Three roubles were asked for each. One of the late Emperor cost four roubles, the additional rouble being put on in compliment to his Majesty. It would be disrespectful to sell even a dead emperor at as low a price as a living subject.

In every quarter of the city, over the police stations, at which the thin halberd-armed guards are posted, are watch-towers. A man is stationed at the top, which is fitted with a telegraph, to give notice either of a fire or a flood. Fires may occur any day—floods in the spring chiefly, from the rapid melting of the snows of winter. Red flags tell of coming floods; black-striped balls by day, and lamps by night, of fire.

An omnibus, probably built in England, passed us with four horses; a postilion, dressed in a drosky driver’s hat and long coat, rode the leaders, while another man in a similar costume sat on the box to steer the wheelers. The omnibuses are painted black or dark red—very sombre-looking conveyances, making one think of prison-vans or hearses. Some of the little country carts are curious-looking affairs. They are built with ribs, and look like a boat with the stem and stern cut off; the hind wheels are kept on by a bow, one end of which comes out from the side of the cart, and the other presses the axle.

We remarked the washing stages on the Neva. In the centre is a long opening, at which the women stand and dip in the unfortunate garments to be cleansed, and batter them with a mallet.

There are also large stages with buildings on them for swimming baths. On one we saw “Swimming School,” written in German. A foot regiment passed us with black-and-brass helmets, dark-drab long coats, black belts and scabbards. They had a very sombre appearance, but were fine-looking fellows, evidently fit for service.

A number of wood boats are unloading at the quays. They are huge flat-bottomed barges, of white planks slightly fastened together. They are broken up and burnt like their cargo. The wood they bring is chiefly birch, and is cut up in pieces fit for the stove. The canals are crowded in some places with these boats. A number of vessels, chiefly Dutch, were unloading at the quays close to the Winter Palace; but not a particle of mercantile dirt or litter was to be seen. Carts came and quickly transported the cargo to less polished regions. It took us just two minutes and a half to walk rapidly from one end of the Winter Palace to the other. That does not seem much, but let any one try how much ground he can get over in that time at a walk, and it will give him a good idea of the extent of the building.

Droskies can be hired at a very cheap rate. For less than sixpence one may go from one end of the city to the other, and that is no trifling distance.

The peasant women whom we have seen in the city are dressed in rough greatcoats and boots, with coloured handkerchiefs tied over their heads and under their chins. Their appearance is not attractive.

On Sunday we went to the church of the English Factory, of which Dr Law has been minister for many years. The outside is like a house. The residence of the minister is under it. There is also a library attached to it. The church itself is a very handsome hall. The ladies sit on one side, the men on the other. Several persons in Russian uniforms were there. Their parents probably were English, and, though they have entered the Russian service, they are allowed to adhere to their own form of worship.

We find the Russian language perfectly unpronounceable. It is said to be like Hindustanee; for instance, a stick ispalkain Russian, andpalkeein Hindustanee, and there are numerous words equally alike in the two languages. It is very rich, we are told. There are but few words expressing the same thing. In English we say a man, a dog, and a tree dies; the Russians say a man dies, or rather departs, a dog perishes, a tree withers. This shows that, heathens though they were when their language was invented, they must have believed in the immortality of the soul.

The late Emperor disliked drinking and smoking. If either a military or civil officer was known by him to have been intoxicated, from that moment his promotion was stopped, if even he escaped being dismissed immediately from his office. The Emperor passed an edict prohibiting smoking in railway carriages. On one occasion, the Grand Duke Michael, who was going a short distance with a party of friends by the train, appeared on the platform with a cigar in his mouth, but threw it away before stepping into the carriage. This he did to show his respect for the Emperor’s edict, for no one would have ventured to stop him had he smoked on. Even then most of the imperial family smoked, as does the present Emperor.

Log-huts, very similar to those used in Canada, are the usual habitations of Russian peasants. They are found close up to that mighty city of Saint Petersburg. A groove is cut in the length of the log, into which the log above it is let. The interstices are filled with moss. They are considered far warmer than any brick or stone houses. Sometimes they are boarded over, and when painted gaily have a cheerful aspect. Ordinary plank houses are used in summer, but would scarcely be habitable in winter.

When people during the winter are travelling in Russia, they do not use hot bricks or water-bottles, as the Canadians do, for their feet, but wear very thick fur boots, made of ample size, so as in no way to impede the circulation of the blood. A tight boot is painful and dangerous, and many a person in consequence has lost a foot, even his life. When walking, India-rubber goloshes are worn, which are taken off when a person enters a house. A very large thick fur cloak, in which a person is completely enveloped, is worn when travelling. It is thrown down in a corner as soon as a person enters a house, where it lies like a heap of dirty clothes.

Spitting is as common among all classes as we heat that it is in America. Carpets have only of late years been introduced into the houses of the opulent, but people spit over them just as they did over their brick floors. A refined sort of spittoon has been introduced, with a high handle. By touching a spring the lid flies open, and drops again when made use of. Uncle Giles says the inventor would have done better to have invented some means of breaking his countrymen off a dirty habit; perhaps, however, the hot air in the rooms, and the sharp air outside, may have something to do with it.

The English here say that the habits of social life among the Russians have very much improved since they mixed with them: I do not know what view the Russians take of the case.

Thirty years ago, palaces and public offices were alike dirty in the extreme; but the Emperor Alexander, after his visit to England, introduced great improvements. Now the public offices at Saint Petersburg, at all events, are kept fairly clean. I do not think, however, that the housemaid has got so far south as Moscow; it is too holy a place, in a Russian’s idea, to make cleanliness necessary.

An English friend told us that once upon a time he went to pay a visit to a great man, who lived in a great house. The entrance-hall was unspeakably dirty; round it, against the walls, were a number of ottomans, on which slept numerous shock-headed, sandal-footed, long-coated, red-shirted serfs, with their master’s fur cloaks rolled up as pillows. The next hall was scarcely cleaner. The third was gorgeously furnished, but no neat-handed housemaid, apparently, ever entered to sweep the floors or brush away the cobwebs. An ante-room was a shade better; while the great man’s private chamber looked really comfortable, as if he had imbibed a sufficient regard for cleanliness to keep himself out of the dirt.

Perhaps with the same object the late Emperor introduced foot pavements in Saint Petersburg. Formerly foot passengers had to pick their way from stone to stone among rivulets of mud. English ladies used to be much admired for the propriety of their walking dresses; now, on account of the undue length of their gowns, they kick up so great a dust that it is most unpleasant to walk behind them. Uncle Giles says, “Perhaps they do it to keep off danglers.” Russian ladies never think of walking in the city—the streets of Saint Petersburg, in truth, do not tempt them; in spring and autumn they are thick with mud, in summer with the finest dust.

The ladies of Russia are, like those in other countries, very fond of lap-dogs, and give very high prices for them. The groom who came over with us brought two dozen, shut up in hen-coops, and expected to get 20 pounds at least for each of them.

The wealthy Russians generally give enormous prices for luxuries. Our captain on one voyage brought over some oysters, which sold, he told us, at fourpence each. They are not to be found in the Baltic. He made about nine hundred per cent, by them. Saint Petersburg is very ill supplied with salt-water fish; there are neither lobsters nor flatfish.

It is generally supposed in England that the very finest tea is to be found in Russia, brought all the way overland from China. This an English friend assured us is a mistake. There is certainly very good tea in Russia, but what costs there ten shillings is not superior to what can be bought in England at from four to five shillings. Very large quantities of very bad tea are smuggled over the German frontier, a large proportion probably having come round from China by sea, and not considered good enough for the English market.

Our friend on one occasion, being on his way home overland, having missed the diligence, had to stop a day at Tilsit, a place celebrated for the Articles of Peace signed there between Napoleon and the Allies. While wandering round the town, he saw large storehouses with chests piled upon chests of tea. He asked where all the tea was to go. Some people would not answer, but others told him that Russian merchants came and bought it, and carried it away over the frontier. Large quantities used to be smuggled through Finland, which has different custom regulations to those of Russia. A light duty only was charged on tea in that country, but how to get it into Russia was the question. To effect this, logs of wood were hollowed out, filled with tea, and floated down the streams. Carts loaded with casks of apples entered the country; inside the casks were chests of tea. This sort of smuggling just suited the taste and enterprise of a Russian peasant.

Once upon a time, the cart of an unfortunate smuggler broke down in front of the Emperor’s palace. Not only did the cart break, but so did the casks of apples, and out rolled the chests of tea. The affrighted smugglers fled, and left their property to the police, whose samovars did not probably smoke the less merrily in consequence. At all events, thecontretempsopened the eyes of the Emperor somewhat to the folly of having high restrictive duties with a frontier so enormous as that of Russia; but, whatever were his plans of reform, the war and death cut them short. Large quantities of tea are at the present time imported into the neighbouring German ports, for the acknowledged object of sending them into Russia.

Of course, as is to be expected, there is much bribery and corruption in all departments of Government. An officer of the Guards, Count —, was appointed chief of the Custom-house. He had not much practical knowledge of business, but he resolved to make amends for his deficiency in that respect by looking into things with his own eyes. Once upon a time the daughter of one of his subordinates was married, and he was invited to the feast. Now, on so important an occasion, if a man has not a house of his own large enough to entertain his guests, he borrows one from a friend. On this occasion the father of the bride borrowed one from an official in his own department. When Count — entered, he admired the furniture and the rooms, and everything in it.

“Of course you have hired this; to whom does it belong?”

“It belongs to my friend So-and-so; he has lent it to me,” was the answer.

“Ho, ho!” thought the Count. “So-and-so must have a fine private fortune, or else he must have the knack of fingering large bribes.”

He consequently watched the unsuspecting So-and-so very narrowly, and soon discovered that he had fingers of a most tenacious description, which easily accounted for his handsome income. So-and-so, to his surprise, found himself one fine morning dismissed from his office, and compelled to retire into well-merited poverty and disgrace.

The Russians are at all times civil to strangers, and even during the war none of the English who remained were ever insulted by them. The English merchants, indeed, who have long resided in the country, were allowed to move about as they liked, and several even resided at Peterhoff, in sight of the British fleet. The only people who ever said a word against them were some Prussians, whose direct trade was injured by the war. Prussia herself, however, benefited by the transit of goods across her frontier.

The mode of heating houses has been very much improved of late years. The best houses have now fireplaces, as well as stoves, which add much to the ventilation of the rooms. The stoves are made of brick; they are peculiar to the country, and may be called air-stoves. The fresh air is introduced by pipes from the outside, and, passing over the stove, is conveyed in other pipes through the house. The air also passes over a plate of iron, which is sprinkled sometimes with plain water, or by the more luxurious with rose-water. By depressing or elevating this plate, a current of air is sent through the room.

All the rooms have double windows; the inside one is removed in summer—not the outside one, as in Canada. If the air was allowed to get in between the two windows, the glass would become permanently covered with frost. To prevent this, a glass panel, which opens at both ends, is introduced between the two windows, and through this the room is aired. Great care is taken not to begin to heat the rooms till the second window is put in, or the glass in this case also would become coated with ice, and would remain so all the winter.

The Russian peasants are very economical in their mode of cooking. They are horrified at seeing the broth in which a leg of mutton is boiled thrown away, as is too often done in England. They will make a dish out of almost any of the herbs of the field, or of birds, beasts, or creeping things. They make all sorts of fish soups, of which they are especially fond; so, indeed, are the rich. All classes have an especial affection for the black rye bread of the country. We found it very sour, though I daresay habit might make one like it. All classes use porridges of every description. Buck-wheat is used for this purpose, as also to make cakes, as in America. What we call manna croup is also used in a variety of ways. A favourite fish among the higher classes is the sterlet, a sort of sturgeon; soup is made of it, but it is very expensive.

Good as some of the police regulations are, others are very absurd. If a person is wounded or otherwise injured, no one may go near him; for, if the wounded man should die, the person who went to help him would be carried off to prison, and certainly be tried for the murder. An acquaintance told us that one day in winter he saw from the window of a hotel, where he was standing with a friend, an English lady driving in a sledge; at that moment a heavy sledge drove against it, upsetting it, and severely injuring her. A policeman was on the point of seizing her sledge, and would have taken it and herself to the police office, where, to a certainty, she would have died. There was not a moment for thought. His friend knocked down the policeman and then ran off, while he jumped into the sledge and drove off to a hotel, whence he sent for the lady’s husband. The lady was ill for many weeks. He never heard anything more of the knocked-down policeman, who probably, after picking himself up, was content with the capture of the heavy sledge which had committed the mischief.

We find that by going to Saint Petersburg we have lost two hours of time, but, as we hope to return home, we shall get it back again. The Russians, it must be remembered, in their love for Conservatism, keep the old style of time, which is about ten days behind the new. This rather puzzled us at first.

Skating is not in vogue in Russia; indeed, the ice so soon becomes covered with snow, that there is very little opportunity afforded to indulge in the pastime. The Montagne-Russe is the great out-of-door pastime. Huge hills are formed of ice and snow, and placed in a line, one beyond the other. People climb up to the top of the first with little sledges. A gentleman sits in front and guides the sledge, a lady holds on behind, and away they go down one hill, the impetus carrying them up the other, or a considerable way up it, and thus the whole line is traversed. So fond are the Russians of the amusement, that they have, even in summer, wooden mountains with greased roads, which answer the purpose of ice.

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