Due North: or, Glimpses of Scandinavia and Russia

On the trip from St. Petersburg to Moscow one proceeds through scenery of the most monotonous and, we must add, of the most melancholy character, – flat and featureless, made up of forests of fir-trees, interspersed with the white birch and long reaches of wide, cheerless, deserted plains. The dense forest forms a prominent feature of Russia north of the line of travel between the two great cities, covering in that region fully a third part of the surface of the country; indeed, the largest forest in Europe is that of Yolskoniki, near the source of the Volga. On the contrary, to the south of Moscow the vast plains or steppes are quite free from wood, in fact only too often consisting of mere sandy deserts, unfit for habitation. It seemed as though no country could be more thinly inhabited or more wearisomely tame. Now and again a few sheep were seen cropping the thin brown moss and straggling verdure, tended by a boy clad in a fur cap and skin capote, forming a strong contrast to his bare legs and feet. Few people are seen and no considerable communities, though occasional sections exhibit fair cultivation. This is partly explained by the fact that the road was built simply to connect Moscow and St. Petersburg, as already explained. Though inhabited for centuries by fierce and active races, the appearance here is that of primitiveness; the log-cabins seem like temporary expedients, – wooden tents, as it were. The men and women who are seen at the stations are of the Calmuck type, the ugliest of all humanity, with high cheek-bones, flattened noses, dull gray eyes, copper-colored hair, and bronzed complexions. Their food is not of a character to develop much physical comeliness. The one vegetable which the Russian peasant cultivates is cabbage; this mixed with dried mushrooms, and rarely anything else, makes the soup upon which he lives. Add to this soup a porridge made of maize, and we have about the entire substance of their regular food. If they produce some pork and corn, butter and cheese, these are sold at the nearest market, and are of far too dainty a character for them to indulge in, since a certain amount of money must be raised somehow for the annual visit of the tax-gatherer. We are speaking of the humble masses; of course there are some thrifty peasants, who manage to live on a more liberal scale, and to provide better subsistence for their families, but they form the exception. The railroad is owned and operated by the Government, and it was a little ludicrous to see the station-masters in full uniform wherever the train stopped, with their swords and spurs clanking upon the wooden platforms. A naval officer might with just as much propriety wear spurs upon the quarter-deck as a local railroad agent on shore. But the customs here are unlike those of other lands; Russia resembles herself alone.

With the exception of the provinces which border on the Caucasus, all Russia is prairie-like in surface. The moderate slopes and elevations of the Urals scarcely break this vast plain which covers so large a share of the globe. Two fifths of European Russia are covered with woods, interspersed with morass and arable land; but as regards fuel, the peat beds in the central regions are practically inexhaustible, forming a cheap and ever-present means for the production of heat in the long dreary winters, as well as for steam-producing purposes on railroads and in manufactories. In the general absence of coal mines, the importance of the peat-product can hardly be over-estimated. It is considered by consumers that the same cubic quantity of peat will yield one third more heat in actual use than wood, retaining it longer; besides which it possesses some other minor advantages over the product of the forest. At some points on the line of the railroad immense mounds of peat were observed which had been mined, dried, and stacked for future use by the employees of the Government. The visible amount of the article was often so great as to be quite beyond estimate by a casual observer. The long broad stacks in more than one instance covered several acres of land, closely ranged with narrow road-ways between them. They were twenty feet or more in height, and conical-shaped to shed the rain. Prepared with rock-oil, coal-dust, and some other combustible, we were told that this peat had been successfully used on the Russian war-steamers, proving superior to coal in the ordinary form, besides taking up much less room in the ships' bunks. As to procure fuel for her ships of war has been a problem difficult to solve heretofore, this immense storage of peat looked to us as if designed to meet this special purpose. The peasantry, as we have said, are generally quite poor, though many of them now own their little farms, which the want of pecuniary means compels them to work with the most primitive tools; besides which they are entirely unaided by the light of modern agricultural experience. No other country, however, is so rich in horses, mines of gold, silver, copper, and precious stones, or in the more useful products of iron, lead, and zinc. The fecundity of the Russians is something elsewhere unequalled; still the inhabitants average but about fifteen to the square mile, while Germany has nearly eighty, and England a hundred and fourteen. The average climate is not unfavorable to health, though there are insalubrious districts whose condition is traceable to local causes. The birch forests with their tremulous, silvery aspect, delicate and graceful, increase as one penetrates towards central Russia upon this line; and there is ample evidence of fair fertility of soil, which is by no means made the most of. Rye, barley, oats, and flax seem to constitute the principal crops under cultivation: while it was observed that nearly every cabin, however humble, had its low, sheltered line of rudely-constructed beehives, honey taking the place of sugar among the common people. The villages were of rare occurrence, but when seen presented road-ways as broad as the boulevards of great cities, yet only lined by low, turf-roofed cabins. The winter season is so long and severe that it is difficult for the peasant to wrest from the half-reluctant earth sufficient upon which to subsist. He lives in a log-cabin of his own construction; wife, daughter, and son all join the father in hard field-labor, not a small share of which was observed to be ditching, in order to render the marshy soil available for crops. The brief season must be made the most of, and therefore many hours are given to work and few to sleep. These peasants are surrounded by all sorts of superstitions from their very birth. Each of the many festivals of the year has its strange rites, songs, and legends. The woods are believed to be inhabited by demons and water-sprites, and peopled by invisible dwarfs and genii. They still trust to charms and incantations for the cure of diseases, like the Lapps and other semi-barbarians, while their rude log-cabins are but one degree better than the habitations of these nomads. Nothing could be more simple than the interior arrangements of their cabins, never omitting, however, the picture of some saint, before which a lamp is kept burning day and night. There is always a rude table, some pine benches, and a huge stove. A wooden shelf raised a few feet from the floor is the sleeping-place, and the bedding consists of sheep-skins, the condition of which, long used and seldom if ever washed, may be imagined. A painted frame-house is hardly to be seen outside of the large towns; no peasant would aspire to such a luxury.

Forests of such density of undergrowth as to defy ingress to man frequently line the railway for miles together; but the dull, dreary loneliness of the way is relieved by occasional glimpses of wild-flowers scattered along the road-side in great variety, diffusing indescribable freshness. Among them, now and again, a tall, glutinous, scarlet poppy would rear its gaudy head, nodding lazily in the currents of air, and leading one to wonder how it came in such company. A peculiar little blue-flower was frequently observed with yellow petals, which seemed to look up from the surrounding nakedness and desolation with the appealing expression of human eyes. Snow-white daisies and the delicate little hare-bell came also into view at intervals, struggling for a brief, sad existence, unless the elfin crew consoled them beneath the moon's pale ray. We must not fail to mention that the stations are beautified by floral displays of no mean character. It seems that professional gardeners travel on the line, remaining long enough at each place to organize the skilful culture of garden-plants by the keeper's family during the summer season; but it made one shudder to imagine what must be the aspect of this region during the long frost-locked Russian winter.

On reaching Tver we crossed the Volga by a high iron bridge, – one of the greatest rivers of the world, the Mississippi of Russia. The average traveller does not stop at Tver any longer than is necessary for the purpose of the railroad officials, but it is a considerable and rising place, especially since the railroad between the two great cities chanced to run through its borders. It contains a little over thirty thousand inhabitants; has its Kremlin, cathedral, theatre, library, and public parks. An English-speaking Russian, evidently a man of business and affairs who was bound for Moscow, gave us a very good idea of Tver. Its locality upon the river makes it the recipient of great stores of grain, wool, and hemp for distribution among western manufacturers. Wood-cutting and rafting also engage a large number of the population, the product in the shape of dimension lumber, deals, etc. finally being shipped to western European ports. Our informant also spoke of this being the centre of an intelligent community scarcely exceeded by the best society of St. Petersburg. From this point the river is navigable for over two thousand miles to far off Astrakhan. In a country so extensive, and which possesses so small a portion of seaboard, rivers have a great importance; and until the introduction of the growing system of railroads, they formed nearly the only available means of transportation. The canals, rivers, and lakes are no longer navigated by barges propelled by horse-power. Steam-tugs and small passenger steamboats now tow great numbers of flat-bottomed boats, which are universally of large capacity. Freight by this mode of conveyance is very cheap; we were told at Nijni Novgorod that goods could be transported to that great business centre from the Ural Mountains, a distance of nearly fourteen hundred miles by river, for twenty-five shillings per ton. The Volga is the largest river in Europe; measured through all its windings, it has a length of twenty-four hundred miles from its rise among the Valdai Hills, five hundred and fifty feet above the sea-level, to its débouchure into the Caspian. Many cities and thriving towns are picturesquely situated mostly on its right bank, where available sites upon elevated ground have been found, – as in the case of Kostroma, and also at Nijni-Novgorod, where it is joined by the Oka. In addition to these rivers there are also the Obi, the Yenisei, the Lena, the Don, and the Dnieper, all rivers of the first class, whose entire course from source to mouth is within Russian territory, saying nothing of the several large rivers tributary to these. We must not forget, however, those frontier rivers, the Danube, the Amoor, and the Oxus, all of which are auxiliary to the great system of canals that connect the headwaters of all the important rivers of Russia. The Volga by this system communicates with the White Sea, the Baltic, and the Euxine, – statistics showing that no less than fifteen thousand vessels navigate this great river annually.

While we are placing these interesting facts before the reader relating to the material greatness and facilities of the Empire, we are also approaching its ancient capital, upon which the far-reaching past has laid its consecrating hand. It is found to stand upon a vast plain, through which winds the Moskva River, from which the city derives its name. The villages naturally become more populous as we advance, and gilded domes and cupolas occasionally loom up above the tree-tops on either side of the road, indicating a Greek church here and there amid isolated communities. As in approaching Cairo one sees first the pyramids of Gheezeh and afterwards the graceful minarets and towers of the Egyptian city gleaming through the golden haze, so as we gradually emerge from the thinly-inhabited, half-cultivated Russian plains and draw near the capital, first there comes into view the massive towers of the Kremlin and the Church of Our Saviour with its golden dome, followed by the hundreds of glittering steeples, belfries, towers, and star-gilded domes which characterize the ancient city. We were told that the many-towered sacred edifices of Russia have a religious significance in the steeples, domes, and spires with which they are so profusely decorated. Usually the middle projection is the most lofty, and is surrounded by four others, the forms and positions varying with a significance too subtile for one to understand who is not initiated in the tenets of the Greek Church. Though some of these temples have simply a cupola in the shape of an inverted bowl, terminating in a gilded point capped by a cross and crescent, few of them have less than five or six superstructures, and some have sixteen, of the most whimsical device, – bright, gilded chains depending from them, affixed to the apex of each pinnacle. When one looks for the first time upon the roofs of the Muscovite city as it lies under the glare of the warm summer sun, the scene is both fascinating and confusing. The general aspect is far more picturesque at Moscow than at the capital on the Neva, because the city is here located upon undulating and in some parts even hilly ground; besides which St. Petersburg is decidedly European, while Moscow is Tartar in its very atmosphere. The first is the visible growth of modern ideas; the last is the symbol of the past.

Though Moscow has been three times nearly destroyed, – first, by the Tartars in the fourteenth century; second, by the Poles in the seventeenth century; and again, at the time of the French invasion under Napoleon, in 1812, – still it has sprung from its ashes each time as if by magic power, and has never lost its original character, being a more splendid and prosperous capital than ever before since its foundation, and is to-day rapidly increasing in the number of its population. The romantic character of its history, so mingled with protracted wars, civil conflicts, sieges, and conflagrations, makes it seem like a fabulous city. The aggregate of the population is not much if any less than that of St. Petersburg, while the territory which it covers will measure over twenty miles in circumference. "In spite of all the ravages and vicissitudes through which Moscow has passed in the thousand years of its existence," said a resident to us, "probably no city in the world is less changed from its earliest years." Descriptions of the place written by travellers nearly three centuries since might pass for a correct exhibit of the ancient capital to-day. The impress of the long Tartar occupation in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries still remains both in the architecture and the manners and customs of the people, while much of its original barbaric splendor permeates everything. At St. Petersburg the overpowering influence of European civilization is keenly felt; here, that of Oriental mysticism still prevails.

The city is unique taken as a whole. One seems to breathe in a semi-Asiatic barbarism while strolling through its quaint streets and antiquated quarters. There are no avenues long enough to form a perspective, the streets winding like a river through a broad meadow, but undulating so as occasionally to give one a bird's-eye view of the neighborhood. Still there are modern sections which might be taken out of Vienna, London, Dresden, or Paris, for one finds characteristics of them all combined mingled with the gilded domes of an Indian city, and the graceful minarets of Egypt. A certain modern varnish is now and then observable. Gas has been introduced, and tramways are laid in some of the principal thoroughfares. Like the Manzanares at Madrid or the Arno at Florence, the Moskva is not a deep river, though its channel conveys ten times the amount of water that flows in those just named. It winds ribbon-like in and about the city, adding greatly to its picturesqueness as seen from an elevation. True, this city is in a central position as regards the length and breadth of Russia, but that is about all one can say in favor of the location. St. Petersburg reclaimed from the Finland swamps has the commerce of the world at its door, and therein presents a raison d'être, which almost excuses the labor and loss of life and treasure which it cost.

Moscow is to the Russian what Mecca is to the pious Moslem, and he calls it by the endearing name of "Mother." Like Kief and the Troitzkoi, it is the object of pious pilgrimage to thousands annually, who come from long distances and always on foot. The ludicrously illustrated signs are as numerous here as they are in the capital, often running into caricature. For instance, a fruit-dealer puts out a gaudily-painted scene representing a basket of fruit and its carrier coming to grief, the basket and contents falling from the carrier's head and the fruit flying in all directions. A milk-shop exhibited a crude sign depicting a struggle between a hungry calf and a dairy-maid as to which should obtain the lacteal deposit from the cow. These signs answer their purpose, and speak a mute language intelligible to the Russian multitude. The city is said to have once contained "forty times forty churches and chapels," but it has not so many to-day, though there must be between six and eight hundred. The ambassadors of Holstein said in 1633 that there were two thousand churches and chapels in the capital. The Kremlin which crowns a hill is the central point of the city, and is enclosed by high walls, battlement rising upon battlement, flanked by massive towers. The name is Tartar, and signifies a fortress. As such it is unequalled for its vastness, its historical associations, and the wealth of its sanctuaries. It was founded six or seven hundred years ago, and is an enclosure studded with cathedrals covering broad streets and spacious squares. That of Krasnoi exhibits a bronze monument in its centre erected in honor of Minimi and Tojarsky, two Muscovite patriots. The Kremlin is a citadel and a city within itself, being the same to Moscow that the Acropolis was to Athens. The buildings are a strange conglomerate of architecture, including Tartarian, Hindu, Chinese, and Gothic, exhibited in cathedrals, chapels, towers, convents, and palaces. We did not count them, but were told that there were thirty-two churches within the walls. The cathedral of the Assumption is perhaps the most noteworthy, teeming as it does with historic interest, and being filled with tombs and pictures from its dark agate floor to the vast cupola. Here, from the time of Ivan the Great to that of the present Emperor, the Tzars have all been crowned; and here Peter placed the royal insignia upon the head of his second wife, the Livonian peasant-girl. One picture of the Virgin in this church is surrounded by diamonds and other precious stones which are valued at half a million of dollars. It is to be presumed that on the occasion of an Emperor's coronation, or that of some great religious festival, the squares, streets, and areas generally of the Kremlin become crowded with ecclesiastics, citizens, strangers, soldiers, and courtiers in gala array; but it seemed a little dreary and lonely to us amid all its antiquity and mildewed splendor. Silence reigned supreme, save for the steady tread of the sentinels; all was loneliness, but for the presence of the sight-seer and his guide. However busy the city close at hand, commerce and trade do not enter within the walls of the Kremlin. One's thoughts were busy enough, over-stimulated in fact, while strolling through the apartments of the Imperial Palace. In imagination, these low-studded apartments, secret divans and closets became repeopled by their former tenants. It was remembered that even to the days of Peter the Great Oriental seclusion was the fate of empresses and princesses, upon whom the highest state officials might not dare to look, – whose faces in short were always hidden. But scandal says that thus unnaturally secluded, their woman wit taught them ways of compensation; for in spite of guards and bolts, they received at times visits from their secret lovers, the great risk encountered but adding zest to such clandestine achievements. To be sure, as a penalty a head was now and then severed from the owner's body, and some gay Lothario was knouted and sent off to Siberia to work out his life in the mines; but that did not change human nature, to which royalty is as amenable as the rest of creation. The grand Palace as it now stands was built by the Emperor Nicholas, or rather it was repaired and enlarged by him, embracing all the ancient portions as originally designed, but the rest of the structure so extended as to afford suites of royal state apartments which are unsurpassed by any palace in the world, either in spaciousness, magnificence of finish or furniture. The Throne Room is beyond comparison the most superb apartment of its character which the author has ever seen. Magnificent as the interior is, the external architectural effect of the Palace is in such decided contrast with that of the surrounding churches, monasteries, towers, and sacred gates as to create a singular incongruity.

The venerable, crenellated walls of the Kremlin, which measure about two miles in circumference, forming nearly a triangle, are pierced by five gates of an imposing character, to each of which is attributed a religious or historical importance. Often have invading hosts battered at these gates, and sometimes gained an entrance; but strange to say, they have always in the end been worsted by the faithful Muscovites. Over the Redeemer's Gate, so called, is affixed a wonder-working picture of the Saviour, which is an object of great and universal veneration. No one, not even the Emperor, passes beneath it without removing his hat and bowing the head. A miracle is supposed to have been wrought in connection with this picture of the Redeemer at the time when the retreating French made a vain attempt to blow up the buildings of the Kremlin; hence the special honor accorded to it. The gate itself was erected in 1491, and is like the main tower of a large cathedral or an isolated campanile. It is painted red, with green spires, and flanked on the sides by small chapels. The National Armory, also within the walls, is of great interest, quite unsurpassed in its collection of Oriental arms, but those of all nations are also well represented. It will be remembered that Moscow was in the olden time as celebrated for the excellence of its steel weapons, and especially for the temper of its sword blades, as were Toledo and Damascus. In the grand courtyard of the Kremlin, near that pillar-like structure the Tower of Ivan, hundreds of Napoleon's captured cannon lay idly on the earth, recalling the tragic story of the French invasion; but then it was remembered that the French have also at Paris their Column of Vendôme, the encircling bas-reliefs of which contain the metal of many captured Russian cannon. So while scores of battle-torn Muscovite flags hang aloft in the church of the Invalides at the French capital, the tri-color also decks the walls of Peter and Paul in the fortifications of St. Petersburg, – toys in "that mad game the world so loves to play," but, alas! what do they represent but condensed drops of blood?

Opposite the Arsenal stands the Senate House of Moscow, the High Court of Appeals, built by Catherine II. The main hall is of great capacity and magnificence; the whole building underwent complete restoration in 1866. The summit of the Tower of Ivan the Great, erected in 1600, affords a widespread view of the city in every direction; and perhaps it may be said to be the best that can be obtained. It is one of the most conspicuous structures in the Kremlin, standing partially by itself, and is seen from a long distance as one approaches by rail. The tower consists of five stories, and is three hundred and twenty-five feet in height. The basement and three stories above it are octagonal, the last cylindrical, the whole embracing a wild confusion of design. Half-way up is a gallery from whence the former sovereigns used to harangue the people. The lower story is a chapel dedicated to Saint John, while the other stories contain many bells, the heaviest of which, we were told, weighed over sixty tons. In the upper portion there is a chime of silver bells which daily ring forth the national anthem at meridian. The racket and din produced when all the bells in the tower are rung together, as they are on Easter eve, must be deafening.