As we entered the slobodka and descended rapidly toward the river, the bells were clanging loudly and the population was generally on its way to church. The men were in their best shoobas and caps, while the women displayed the latest fashions in winter cloaks. Several pretty faces, rosy from the biting frost, peered at the strangers, who returned as many glances as possible. Our yemshick took us to the Hotel de Berlin, and, for the first time in eighteen hundred versts, we unloaded our baggage from the sleighs. Breakfast, a bath, and a change of clothes prepared me for the sights of this Uralian city.

For sight-seeing, the time of my arrival was unfortunate. Every kind of work was suspended, every shop was closed, and nothing could be done until the end of the Christmas holidays. I especially desired to inspect the Granilnoi Fabric, or Imperial establishment for stone cutting, and the machine shop where all steam engines for Siberia are manufactured. But, as everything had yielded to the general festivities, I could not gratify my desire.

Ekaterineburg is on the Asiatic side of the Urals, though belonging to the European government of Perm. It has a beautiful situation, the Isset being dammed so as to form a small lake in the middle of the city. Many of the best houses overlook this lake, and, from their balconies, one can enjoy charming views of the city, water, and the dark forests of the Urals. The principal street and favorite drive passes at the end of the lake, and is pretty well thronged in fine weather. There are many wealthy citizens in Ekaterineburg, as the character of the houses will attest. I was told there was quite a rage among them for statuary, pictures, and other works of art. Special care is bestowed upon conservatories, some of which contain tropical plants imported at enormous expense. The population is about twenty thousand, and increases very slowly.



The city is the central point of mining enterprises of the Ural mountains, and the residence of the Nachalnik, or chief of mines. The general plan of management is much like that already described at Barnaool. The government mines include those of iron, copper, and gold, the latter being of least importance. Great quantities of shot, shell, and guns have been made in the Urals, as well as iron work for more peaceful purposes. Beside the government works, there are numerous foundries and manufactories of a private character. In various parts of the Ural chain some of the zavods are of immense extent, and employ large numbers of workmen. At Nijne Tagilsk, for example, there is a population of twenty-five thousand, all engaged directly or indirectly in the production of iron.

The sheet iron so popular in America for parlor stoves and stove pipe, comes from Ekaterineburg and its vicinity, and is made from magnetic ore. The bar iron of the Urals is famous the world over for its excellent qualities, and commands a higher price than any other. Great quantities of iron are floated in boats down the streams flowing into the Kama and Volga. Thence it goes to the fair at Nijne Novgorod, and to the points of shipment to the maritime markets.

The development of the wealth of the Urals has been largely due to the Demidoff family. Nikite Demidoff was sent by Peter the Great, about the year 1701, to examine the mines on both sides of the chain. He performed his work thoroughly, and was so well satisfied with the prospective wealth of the region that he established himself there permanently. In return for his services, the government granted a large tract to the Demidoffs in perpetuity. The famous malachite mines are on the Demidoff estate, but are only a small portion of the mineral wealth in the original grant. I have heard the Demidoff family called the richest in Russia—except the Romanoff. Many zavods in the Urals were planned and constructed by Nikite and his descendants, and most of them are still in successful operation and have undergone no change. The iron works of the Urals are very extensive, and capable of supplying any reasonable demand of individual or imperial character. At Zlatoust there is a manufactory of firearms and sword blades that is said to be unsurpassed in the excellence of its products. The sabres from Zlatoust are of superior fineness and quality, rivaling the famous blades of Damascus and Toledo.

Close by the little lake in Ekaterineburg is the Moneta Fabric, or Imperial mint, where all the copper money of Russia is coined. It is an extensive concern, and most of its machinery was constructed in the city. The copper mines of the Urals are the richest in Russia, and possess inexhaustible wealth. Malachite—an oxide of copper—is found here in large quantities. I believe the only mines where malachite is worked are in the Urals, though small specimens of this beautiful mineral have been found near Lake Superior and in Australia.

About twenty-five years ago an enormous mass of malachite, said to weigh 400 tons, was discovered near Tagilsk. It has since been broken up and removed, its value being more than a million roubles. Sir Roderick Murchison, while exploring the Urals on behalf of the Russian government, saw this treasure while the excavations around it were in progress. According to his account it was found 280 feet below the surface. Strings of copper were followed by the miners until they unexpectedly reached the malachite. Other masses of far less importance have since been found, some of them containing sixty per cent. of copper.

The gold mines of the Ural are less extensive now than formerly, new discoveries not equaling the exhausted placers. They are principally on the Asiatic slope, in the vicinity of Kamenskoi. The Emperor Alexander First visited the mines of the Ural in 1824, and personally wielded the shovel and pickaxe nearly two hours. A nugget weighing twenty-four pounds and some ounces was afterward found about two feet ibelow the point where His Majesty 'knocked off' work. A monument now marks the spot, and contains the tools handled by the Emperor.



CHAPTER XLIX.

I had several commissions to execute for the purchase of souvenirs at Ekaterineburg, and lost no time in visiting a dealer. While we were at breakfast an itinerant merchant called, and subsequently another accosted us on the street. At ordinary times, strangers are beset by men and boys who are walking cabinets of semi-precious stones. A small boy met me in the corridor of the hotel and repeated a lapidarious vocabulary that would have shamed a professor of mineralogy.

At the dealer's, I was very soon in a bewildering collection of amethyst, beryl, chalcedony, topaz, tourmaline, jasper, aquamarine, malachite, and other articles of value. The collection numbered many hundred pieces comprising seals, paper, weights, beads, charms for watch chains, vases, statuettes, brooches, buttons, etc. The handles of seals were cut in a variety of ways, some representing animals or birds, while a goodly portion were plain or fluted at the sides.

The prettiest work I saw was in paper weights. There were imitations of leaves, flowers, and grapes in properly tinted stone fixed upon marble tablets either white or colored. Equal skill was displayed in arranging and cutting these stones. I saw many beautiful mosaics displaying the stones of the Ural and Altai mountains.

Natural crystals were finely arranged in the shape of miniature caves and grottoes. Beads were of malachite, crystal, topaz, and variegated marble, and seemed quite plentiful. Malachite is the most abundant of the half-precious stones of the Ural, crystal and topaz ranking next. Aquamarine was the most valuable stone offered. It is not found in the Urals but comes from Eastern Siberia.

In another establishment there were little busts of the Emperor and other high personages in Russia, cut in crystal and topaz. I saw a fine bust of Yermak, and another of the elder Demidoff, both in topaz. A crystal bust of Louis Napoleon was exhibited, and its owner told me it would be sent to the Exposition Universelle. Learning that I was an American, the proprietor showed me a half completed bust of Mr. Lincoln, and was gratified to learn that the likeness was good. The bust was cut in topaz, and when finished would be about six inches high.

Though no work was in progress I had opportunity to look through a private "fabric." Stone cutting is performed as by lapidaries every where with small wheels covered with diamond dust or emery. Each laborer has his bench and performs a particular part of the work under the direction of a superintendent. Wages were very low, skilled workmen being paid less than ordinary stevedores in America. For three roubles, I bought a twelve sided topaz, an inch in diameter with the signs of the zodiac neatly engraved upon it. In London or New York, the cutting would have cost more than ten times that amount. The Granilnoi Fabric employs about a hundred and fifty workmen, but no private establishment supports more than twenty-five. The Granilnoi Fabric was to be sold in 1867, and pass out of government control. The laborers there were formerly crown peasants, and became free under the abolition ukase of Alexander II. The palace and Imperial museum at St. Petersburg contain wonderful illustrations of their skill.

Diamonds have been sought in the Urals, and the region is said to resemble the diamond districts of Brazil. They have been found in but a single instance, and there is a suspicion that the few discovered on that occasion were a "plant."

We remained two days at Ekaterineburg, repairing sleighs and resting from fatigue. On account of the holidays, we paid double prices for labor, and were charged double by drosky drivers. At the hotel, the landlord wished to follow the same custom, but we emphatically objected. A theatrical performance came off during our stay, but we were too weary to witness it. Near the hotel there was a "live beast show" almost an exact counterpart of what one sees in America. Music, voluble doorkeepers, gaping crowd of youngsters, and canvas pictures of terrific combats between beasts and snakes, all were there.

According to our custom we prepared to start in the evening for another westward stride. The thermometer was low enough to give the snow that crisp, metallic sound under the runners only heard in cold weather. We took tickets for Kazan, and ordered horses at nine o'clock. As we left the city, we passed between two monument-like posts, marking the gateway.

Two or three versts away, we passed the zavod of Verkne Issetskoi, an immense concern with a population sufficient to found a score of western cities. In this establishment is made a great deal of the sheet-iron that comes to America. The material is of so fine a quality that it can be rolled to the thickness of letter paper without breaking. Every thing at the zavod is on a grand scale even to the house of the director, and his facilities for entertaining guests. All was silent at the time of our passage, the workmen being busy with their Christmas festivities.

Leaving the zavod we were once more among the forests of the Urals, and riding over the low hills that form this part of the range. The road was good, but there were more oukhabas than suited my fancy.

I was on constant lookout for the steep road leading over the range, but failed to find it. Before leaving New York a friend suggested that I should have a severe journey over the Ural mountains which were deeply shaded on the map we consulted. I can assure him it was no worse than a sleigh ride anywhere else on a clear, frosty night. The ascent is so gradual that one does not perceive it at all. Ekaterineburg stands eight hundred feet above the sea; the pass, twenty-four miles distant, is only nine hundred feet higher. The range is depressed at this point, but nowhere attains sufficient loftiness to justify its prominence on the maps. In Ekaterineburg I asked for the mountains.

"There they are," said the person of whom I enquired, and he waved his hand toward a wooded ridge in the west. The designated locality appeared less difficult of passage than the hills opposite Cincinnati.

"Don't fail to tell the yemshick to stop at the boundary." This was my injunction several times repeated as we changed horses at the first station. Eight or ten versts on our second course, the sleigh halted and the yemshick announced the highest point on the road.

I stepped from the sleigh and waded through a deep snowdrift to the granite obelisk erected by the first Alexander to mark the line between the two continents. It Is a plain shaft—- Bunker Hill monument in miniature—bearing the word "EUROPE" on one side, and "ASIA" on the other. Two fir trees planted by His August Majesty are on opposite sides of the monument.



A snow-drift in the middle of a frosty night is not the place for sentimental musings. I rested a foot in each of two continents at the same moment, but could not discover any difference in their manners, customs, or climate.

Regaining the sleigh, I nestled into my furs, and soon fell asleep. I was in Europe. I had accomplished the hope and dream of my boyhood. But in my most romantic moments, I had not expected to stand for the first time in Europe on the ridge of the Ural Mountains.



After passing the boundary, we dashed away over the undulating road, and made a steady though, imperceptible descent into the valley of the Kama. As I commenced my first day in Europe, the sunbeams wavered and glistened on the frost-crystals that covered the trees, and the flood of light that poured full into my opening eyes was painfully dazzling. Where we halted for breakfast, the station was neat and commodious, and its rooms well furnished. We fared sumptuously on cutlets and eggs, with excellent bread. Just as we were seated in the sleigh, a beggar made a touching appeal, as explained by the doctor, in behalf of the prophet Elias. The prophet's financial agent was of so unprepossessing appearance that we declined investing. Beggars often ask alms in the interest of particular saints, and this one had attached himself to Elias.

We met many sledges laden with goods en route to the fair which takes place every February at Irbit. This fair is of great importance to Siberia, and attracts merchants from all the region west of Tomsk. From forty to fifty million roubles worth of goods are exchanged there during the four weeks devoted to traffic. The commodities from Siberia are chiefly furs and tea, those from Europe comprise a great many articles. Irbit is on the Asiatic side of the Ural mountains, about two hundred versts northeast of Ekaterineburg. It is a place of little consequence except during the time of the fair.

After entering Europe, we relied upon the stations for our meals, carrying no provisions with us except tea and sugar. We knew the peasants would be well supplied with edibles during Christmas holidays, and were quite safe in depending upon them. A traveler in Russia must consult the calendar before starting on a journey, if he would ascertain what provision he may, or may not, find among the people.

Congour was the first town of importance, and has an unenviable reputation for its numerous thieves. They do not molest the post vehicles unless the opportunity is very favorable, their accomplishments being specially exercised upon merchandise trains. Sometimes when trains pass through Congour the natives manage to steal single vehicles and their loads. The operation is facilitated by there being only one driver to five or six teams. This town is also famous for its tanneries, the leather from Congour having a high reputation throughout Russia. Peter the Great was at much trouble to teach the art of tanning to his subjects. At present, the Russians have very little to learn from others on that score. Peter introduced tanning from Holland and Germany, and when the first piece of leather tanned in Russia was brought to him he took it between his teeth and exerted all the strength of his jaws to bite through it. The leather resisted his efforts, and so delighted the monarch that he decreed a pension to the successful tanner. The specimen, with the marks of his teeth upon it, is still preserved at St. Petersburg.

While waiting for dinner at Congour, I contemplated some engravings hanging in the public room at the station. Four of them represented scenes in "Elizabeth, or the exiles of Siberia," a story which has been translated into most modern languages. These engravings were made in Moscow several years ago, and illustrated the most prominent incidents in the narrative.

There were many things to remind me I was no longer in Siberia, and especially on the Baraba steppe. Snows were deeper, and the sky was clearer. The level country was replaced by a broken one. Forests of pine and fir displayed regular clearings, and evinced careful attention. Villages were more numerous, larger and of greater antiquity. Stations were better kept and had more the air of hotels. Churches appeared more venerable and less venerated. Beggars increased in number, and importunity. In Asia the yemshick was the only man at a station who asked "navodku," but in Europe the chelavek or starost expected to be remembered. In Asia, the gratuity was called "Navodku" or whisky money; in Europe, it was "nachi," tea money.

During the second night, we reached Perm and halted long enough to eat a supper that made me dream of tigers and polar bears during my first sleep. In entering, we drove along a lighted street with substantial houses on either side, but without meeting man or beast. This street and the station were all I saw of a city of 25,000 inhabitants. In summer travelers for Siberia usually leave the steamboat at this point, and begin their land journey, the Kama being navigable thus far in ordinary water. Perm is an important mining center, and contains several foundries and manufactories on an extensive scale. The doctor assured me that after the places I had visited in Siberia, there was nothing to be seen there—and I saw it.

A deep snow had been trodden into an uneven road in this part of the journey. At times it seemed to me as if the sleigh and all it contained would go to pieces in the terrific thumps we received. We descended hills as if pursued by wolves or a guilty conscience, and it was generally our fate to find a huge oukhaba just when the horses were doing their best. I think the sleigh sometimes made a clear leap of six or eight feet from the crest of a ridge to the bottom of a hollow. The leaping was not very objectionable, but the impact made everything rattle. I could say, like the Irishman who fell from a house top, "'twas not the fall, darling, that hurt me, but stopping so quick at the end."

When the roads are rough the continual jolting of the sleigh is very fatiguing to a traveler, and frequently, during the first two or three days of his journey, throws him into what is very properly designated the road fever. His pulse is quick, his blood warm, his head aches, his whole frame becomes sore and stiff, and his mind is far from being serene and amiable. In the first part of my land journey I had the satisfaction of ascertaining by practical experience the exact character of the road-fever. My brain seemed ready to burst, and appeared to my excited imagination about as large as a barrel; every fresh jolt and thump of the vehicle gave me a sensation as if somebody were driving a tenpenny nail into my skull; as for good-nature under such circumstances that was out of the question, and I am free to confess that my temper was not unlike that of a bear with a sore head.

Where the roads are good, or if the speed is not great, one can sleep very well in a Russian sleigh; I succeeded in extracting a great deal of slumber from my vehicle, and sometimes did not wake for three or four hours. Sometimes the roads are in such wretched condition that one is tossed to the height of discomfort, and can be very well likened to a lump of butter in a revolving churn. In such cases sleep is almost if not wholly, impossible, and the traveler, proceeding at courier speed, must take advantage of the few moments' halt at the stations while the horses are being changed. As he has but ten or fifteen minutes for the change he makes good use of his time and sleeps very soundly until his team is ready. During the Crimean war, while the Emperor Nicholas was temporarily sojourning at Moscow, a courier arrived one day with important dispatches from Sebastopol. He was commissioned to deliver them to no one but His Majesty, and waited in the ante-room of the palace while his name and business were announced. Overcome by fatigue he fell asleep; when the chamberlains came to take him to the Imperial presence they were quite unable to rouse him. The attendants shook him and shouted, but to no purpose beyond making so much disturbance as to bring the Emperor to the ante-room. Nicholas ordered them to desist, and then, standing near the officer, said, in an ordinary voice, "Vashe prevoschoditelstvo, loshadi gotovey" (Your horses are ready, your Excellency). The officer sprang to his feet in an instant, greatly to the delight of the Emperor and to his own confusion when he discovered where he was.

The Russians have several popular songs that celebrate the glories of sleigh-riding. I give a translation of a portion of one of them, a song that is frequently repeated by the peasants in the vicinity of Moscow and Nijne Novgorod. It is proper to explain that a troika is a team of three horses abreast, the douga is the yoke above the shaft-horse's neck, and Valdai is the town on the Moscow and St. Petersburg road where the best and most famous bells of Russia are made.

A RUSSIAN SLEIGHING SONG.

Away, away, along the road The fiery troika bounds, While 'neath the douga, sadly sweet, The Valdai bell resounds.

Away, away, we leave the town, Its roofs and spires behind, The crystal snow-flakes dance around As o'er the steppe we wind.

Away, away, the glittering stars Shine greeting from above, Our hearts beat fast as on we glide, Swift as the flying dove.



CHAPTER L.

We found the road much better after leaving the government of Perm and entering that of Viatka. The yemshicks we took in this region were "Votiaks," descendants of the Finnish races that dwelt there before the Russian conquest. They had the dark physiognomy of the Finns, and spoke a mixture of their own language and Russian. They have been generally baptized and brought into the Greek churches, though they still adhere to some of their ancient forms of worship. They pay taxes to the crown, but their local administration is left to themselves.

Approaching Malmouish we had a sullen driver who insisted upon going slowly, even while descending hills. Indignantly I suggested giving the fellow a kick for his drink money. The doctor attempted to be stern and reproved the delinquent, but ended with giving him five copecks and an injunction to do better in future. I opposed making undeserved gratuities, and after this occurrence determined to say no more about rewards to drivers during the rest of the journey.

Memorandum for travelers making the Siberian tour:

An irritable disposition, (like mine,) should not be placed with an amiable one, (like the doctor's.) If misery loves company, so does anger; and a petulant man should have an associate who can be ruffled.

After leaving the Votiaks, we entered the country of the Tartars, the descendants of the followers of Genghis Khan, who carried the Mongol standard into Central Europe. Russia remained long under their yoke, and the Tartars of the present day live as a distinct people in various parts of the empire. They are nearly all Mohammedans, and the conversion of one of them to Christianity is a very rare occurrence. My attention was called to their mosques in the villages we passed, the construction being quite unlike that of the Russian churches. A tall spire or minaret, somewhat like the steeple of an American church, rises in the center of a Tartar mosque and generally overlooks the whole village. No bells are used, the people being called to prayer by the voice of a crier.

These Tartars have none of the warlike spirit of their ancestors, and are among the most peaceful subjects of the Russian emperor. They are industrious and enterprising, and manage to live comfortably. Their reputation for shrewdness doubtless gave rise to the story of the difficulty of catching a Tartar.

At the stations we generally found Russian smotretals with Tartar attendants. Blacksmiths, looking for jobs, carefully examined our sleighs. One found my shafts badly chafed where they touched the runners, and offered to iron the weak points for sixty copecks. I objected to the delay for preparing the irons. "Grotovey, Grotovey; piet minute" said the man, producing the ready prepared irons from one pocket and a hammer and nails from another. By the time the horses were led out the job was completed. I should have been better satisfied if one iron had not come off within two hours, and left the shaft as bare as ever.

The Tartars speak Russian very fairly, but use the Mongol language among themselves. They dress like the Russians, or very nearly so, the most distinguishing feature being a sort of skull cap like that worn by the Chinese. Their hair is cut like a prize fighter's, excepting a little tuft on the crown. Out of doors they wore the Russian cap over their Mohammedan one—unconsciously symbolizing their subjection to Muscovite rule.

These Tartars drove horses of the same race as those in the Baraba steppe. They carried us finely where the road permitted, and I had equal admiration for the powers of the horses and the skill of their drivers.

In the night, after passing Malmouish, the weather became warm. I laid aside my dehar only a half hour before the thermometer fell, and set me shivering. About daybreak it was warmer, and the increasing temperature ushered in a violent storm. It snowed and it blowed, and it was cold, frosty weather all day and all night. We closed the sleigh and attempted to exclude the snow, but our efforts were vain. The little crevices admitted enough to cover us in a short time, and we very soon concluded to let the wind have its own way. The road was filled, and in many places we had hard work to get through. How the yemshicks found the way was a mystery. Once at a station, when the smotretal announced "gotovey," I was actually unable to find the sleigh, though it stood not twenty feet from the door. The yemshicks said they were guided by the telegraph posts, which followed the line of road.

We were four hours making twenty-five versts to the last station before reaching Kazan. We took a hearty supper of soup, eggs, and bread, under a suspicion that we might remain out all night. Once the mammoth sleigh came up with us in the dark, and its shafts nearly ran us through. Collisions of this kind happened occasionally on the road, but were rarely as forcible as this one. We were twice on our beam ends and nearly overturned, and on several occasions stuck in the snow. By good luck we managed to arrive at Kazan about 2 A. M. On reaching the hotel, we were confronted by what I thought a snow statue, but which proved to be the dvornik, or watchman. Our baggage was taken up stairs, while we shook the snow from our furs. The samovar shortened our visages and filled our stomachs with tea. We retired to rest upon sofas and did not rise until a late hour.

It happened to be New Year's, and the fashionable society of Kazan was doing its congratulations. I drove through the principal part of the city and found an animated scene. Numberless and numbered droskies were darting through the streets, carrying gayly dressed officers making their ceremonious calls. Soldiers were parading with bands of music, and the lower classes were out in large numbers. The storm had ceased, the weather was warm, and everything was propitious for out-door exercise.

The soldiers were the first I had seen since entering Europe, and impressed me favorably with the Russian army. They wore grey uniforms, like those I saw in Siberia, and marched with a regular and steady stride. It was not till I had reached St. Petersburg that I saw the elite of the Emperor's military forces. The reforms of Alexander have not left the army untouched. Great improvements have been made in the last twelve or fifteen years. More attention has been paid to the private soldiers than heretofore, their pay being increased and time of service lessened. The Imperial family preserves its military character, and the present Emperor allows no laxity of discipline in his efforts to elevate the men in the ranks.

It is said of the grand duke Michel, uncle of Alexander II., that he was a most rigid disciplinarian. His great delight was in parades, and he never overlooked the least irregularity. Not a button, not a moustache even, escaped his notice, and whoever was not en regle was certain to be punished. He is reported to have said,—

"I detest war. It breaks the ranks, deranges the soldiers, and soils their uniforms."[F]

[Footnote F: The land forces of Russia are formed of two descriptions of troops—the regular troops properly so called, and the feudal militia of the Cossacks and similar tribes.

The regular army is recruited from the classes of peasants and artisans partly and principally by means of a conscription, partly by the adoption of the sons of soldiers, and partly by voluntary enlistment. Every individual belonging to these classes is, with a few exceptions, liable to compulsory service, provided he be of the proper age and stature. The nominal strength of the Russian army, according to the returns of the ministry of War, is as follows:

1. Regular Army. Peace-footing. War-footing. Infantry......... 364,422 694,511 Cavalry.......... 38,306 49,183 Artillery........ 41,831 48,773 Engineers........ 13,413 16,203 ———- ———- Total.................. 457,875 808,670

2. Army of First Reserve. Troops of the line........ 80,455 74,561 Garrison in regiments..... 80,455 23,470 Garrison in battalions.... 19,830 29,862 ———- ———- Total................... 100,285 127,925

3. Army of Second Reserve. Troops of all arms........ 254,036 199,380 ———- ————- General total........... 812,096 1,135,975

Among the irregular troops of Russia, the most important are the Cossacks. The country of the Don Cossacks contains from 600,000 to 700,000 inhabitants. In case of necessity, every Cossack, from 15 to 60 years, is bound to render military service. The usual regular military force, however, consists of 54 cavalry regiments, each numbering 1,044 men, making a total of 56,376. The Cossacks are reckoned in round numbers as follows:

In Military Heads. service. On the Black Sea............................ 125,000 18,000 Great Russian Cossacks on the Caucasian Line 150,000 18,000 Don Cossacks................................ 440,000 66,000 Ural Cossacks............................... 50,000 8,000 Orenburg Cossacks........................... 60,000 10,000 Siberian Cossacks........................... 50,000 9,000 ———- ———- Total..................................... 875,000 129,000

The Russian navy consists of two great divisions—the fleet of the Baltic and that of the Black Sea. Each of these two fleets is again subdivided into sections, of which three are in or near the Baltic and three in or near the Black Sea, to which must be added the small squadrons of galleys, gunboats, and similar vessels.

According to an official report, the Russian fleet consisted last year of 290 steamers, having 38,000 horse power, with 2,205 guns, besides 29 sailing vessels, with 65 guns. The greater and more formidable part of this navy was stationed in the Baltic. The Black Sea fleet numbered 43; the Caspian, 39; the Siberian or Pacific, 30; and the Lake Aral or Turkistan squadron, 11 vessels. The rest of the ships were either stationed at Kronstadt and Sweaborg or engaged in cruising in European waters.

The iron-clad fleet of war consisted, at the commencement of 1868, of 24 vessels, with an aggregate of 149 guns, as follows:

2 Frigates, one of 18, and one of 24 guns.... 42 guns. 3 Floating Batteries of 14, 16, and 27 guns.. 57 guns. 2 Corvettes of 8 guns........................ 16 guns. 6 Monitors of 2 guns each.................... 12 guns. 11 Turret ships of 2 guns each................ 22 guns. — —- Total, 24 iron-clads with............................ 149 guns.

The Imperial navy was manned at the beginning of 1868 by 60,230 sailors and marines, under the command of 3,791 officers, among whom are 119 admirals and generals.]

I had a letter to Colonel Molostoff, the brother of a Siberian friend and compagnon du voyage. I knew the colonel would not be at home on the first day of the year, as he had many relatives and friends to visit. So I sent the letter to his house, and accompanied Schmidt on a call upon Dr. Freeze, a prominent physician of Kazan. Madam Freeze was a native of Heidelburg, and evidently loved the Rhine better than the Volga. She gave me a letter to her brother in Moscow, where she promised me an introduction to a niece of the poet Goethe.

In the evening Colonel Molostoff called at the hotel and took me to the New Year's ball of the nobility of Kazan. There was a maze of apartments belonging to the nobility club,—the dancing room being quite as elegant and as spacious as the large hall of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. I found files of English, French, and German papers in the reading-room, and spent a little while over the latest news from America. The male portion of the assemblage consisted of officers and civilians, the former in the majority. There was a perfect blaze of stars and gay uniforms, that quite outshone the evening dress of the civilians. As Kazan is old, populous, and wealthy, it is needless to add that the ladies were dressed just like those of St. Petersburg or Paris.

I was introduced to several officials, among them the governor, who had recently assumed command. Colonel Molostoff introduced me to three ladies who spoke English, but hardly had I opened conversation with the first before she was whisked away into the dance. The second and the third followed the same fate, and I began to look upon ball-room acquaintance as an uncertainty.

"Now," said the colonel, "I will introduce you to one who is not young, but she is charming, and does not dance." We went to seek her, but she was in the midst of a gay party just preparing for a visit to the lunch room.

I was so utterly wearied after my long ride that conversation was a great effort, and I could hardly keep my eyes from closing. I had promised to join a supper party at three o'clock, but midnight found me just able to stand. Fearful that I might bring discredit upon America by going to sleep during the festivities, I begged an excuse and returned to my hotel. Five minutes after entering my room I was in the land of dreams.

In the treasury of the Kremlin of Moscow the royal crown of Kazan is preserved. The descendants of Genghis Khan founded the city and made it the seat of their European power. For three centuries it remained a menace to Russia, and held the princes of Muscovy in fear and dread. But as the Russians grew in strength Kazan became weaker, and ultimately fell under the Muscovite control. Ivan the Terrible determined to drive the Tartars from the banks of the Volga. After three severe and disastrous campaigns, and a siege in which assailant and assailed displayed prodigies of valor, Kazan was stormed and captured. The kingdom was overthrown, and the Russian power extended to the Urals. The cruelties of Ivan the Terrible were partially forgiven in return for his breaking the Tartar yoke.

A pyramidal monument marks the burial place of the Russians who fell at the capture of the city, and the positions of the besiegers are still pointed out; but I believe no traces of the circumvallation are visible. The walls of the Tartar fortress form a part of the present Kremlin, but have been so rebuilt and enlarged that their distinctive character is gone.

Nicholas called Kazan the third capital of his empire, and the city is generally admitted first in importance after St. Petersburg and Moscow. Its position is well chosen on the banks of a small river, the Kazanka, which joins the Volga six versts away. On a high bluff stretching into a plateau in the rear of the city and frowning defiantly toward the west, its position is a commanding one. On the edge of this bluff is the Kremlin, with its thick and high walls enclosing the governor's palace and other public buildings, all overlooked by a lofty bell-tower. Every part of the city gives evidence of wealth.

The population is about sixty thousand, including, I presume, the military garrison. There are twelve or fifteen thousand Tartars, who live in a quarter of the city specially assigned them. They are said to be industrious and peaceful, and some of them have amassed great wealth. I saw a Tartar merchant at the ball on New Year's eve, and was told that his fortune was one of the best in Kazan. I can testify personally to the energy of Tartar peddlers. On my first morning at the hotel I was visited by itinerant dealers in hats, boots, dressing gowns, and other articles of wear. The Tartars at Moscow are no less active than their brethren of Kazan, and very shrewd in their dealings. Every one of them appears to believe that strangers visit Russia for the sole purpose of buying dressing gowns.

I took a drive through the Tartar quarter, or Katai Gorod, of Kazan, and inspected (but did not read) the signs over the shops. The houses are little different from those in the Russian quarter, and the general appearance of the streets was the same. I glanced at several female faces in defiance of Mohammedan law, which forbids women unveiling before strangers. On one occasion when no Tartar men were visible, a young and pretty woman removed her veil and evidently desired to be looked at. I satisfied my curiosity, and expressed admiration in all the complimentary Russian adjectives I could remember.

As we passed a butcher's shop, my isvoshchik intimated that horse meat was sold there. The Tartars are fond of equine flesh, and prefer it to beef. On the Kirghese steppes the horse is prominent in gastronomic festivities.

Kazan is famous throughout Russia for the extent and variety of its manufactures. Russians and Tartars are alike engaged in them, and the products of their industry bear a good reputation. The city has printing establishments on an extensive scale, one of them devoted to Tartar literature. Several editions of the Koran have been printed here for the faithful in Northern and Central Asia.

The University of Kazan is one of the most celebrated institutions of learning in Russia, and has an excellent board of professors. Special attention is devoted to the Asiatic languages and literature, but no other branch of knowledge is neglected. I met the Professor of Persian literature, and found him speaking English and French fluently. I was invited to look through the museum and cabinet attached to the university, but time did not permit. There is a ladies' seminary in equally good reputation for its educational facilities.

One morning, about two weeks before my arrival at Kazan, the early risers passing this seminary discovered the body of a young man hanging upon the fence. It was clad only in a shirt, and no other clothing could be found. No one recognized the features of the individual, and the occupants of the seminary professed utter ignorance of the affair. As might be expected, great excitement followed the discovery. Visits of the sterner sex were absolutely forbidden, and the young maidens in the building were placed under surveillance. The gentleman who told me the story, said:

"It is very strange, especially as the public can learn nothing about the young man's identity."

While conversing with a high official at Nijne Novgorod, a few days later, I referred to this affair and expressed my surprise that the police could not trace it out.

"That is to say," he replied, with a shrug of the shoulders, "that the police have suppressed the particulars. It is a scandalous occurrence that may as well be kept from the public."

One thing was quite certain: if the police thought proper to conceal the details of this affair, there was no likelihood of their publication. In Russia the police exercise a power much greater than in the United States. Those who have visited France and Austria can form a pretty correct idea of the Russian system, the three countries being nearly alike in this respect. The police has supervision over the people in a variety of ways; controls the fire department, looks after the general health, and provides for the well-being of society. Every man, woman, and child is considered under its surveillance, and accounted for by some member of the force. Passports are examined by the police, and if en regle, the owners are not likely to be troubled. Taxes are collected, quarrels adjusted, and debts paid through its agency.

Almost everybody has heard of the secret police of Russia, and many questions have been asked me about it. I cannot throw much light upon it, and if I could it would not be a secret police. I never knowingly came in contact with the shadow, neither did I have the slightest reason to fear it. If my letters were opened and read, those familiar with my manuscript will agree that the police had a hard time of it. If anybody dogged my steps or drew me into conversation to report my opinions at the bureau secret, I never knew it. The servants who brought my cutlets and tea, the woman who washed my linen, or the dvornik who guarded the door, may have been spies upon me; but, if so, I didn't see it. Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.

People talk politics in Russia with apparent freedom, more so than I expected to find. Men and women expressed their opinions with candor (as I believe,) and criticised what they saw wrong in their government. The Russian journals possess more freedom than those of Paris, and the theatres can play pretty nearly what they like. Official tyranny or dishonesty can be shown up by the press or satirized on the stage more freely and safely than in the country of Napoleon Third, with all its boasted freedom.

I once read a story in which an Englishman in Austria is represented saying to his companion, "No gentleman meddles with the politics of the countries he visits." I made it my rule in Russia never to start the subject of politics in conversation with anybody. Very often it was started, and I then spoke as freely as I would have spoken in New York. If my opinion was asked upon any point, I gave it frankly, but never volunteered it. I believe the Golden Rule a good one for a traveler. We Americans would think it very rude for a foreigner to come here and point out to us our faults. But for all that, a great many of us visit Europe and have no hesitation in telling the subjects of the various monarchies a variety of impolite truths. During the reign of Nicholas, the secret police was much more extensive than at present. The occurrences of 1825 and subsequent years led to a close surveillance of men in all stations of life. It was said under Nicholas that when three men were assembled, one was a spy and another might be. Doubtless the espionage was rigid, but I never heard that it affected those who said or did nothing objectionable. Under Alexander II. the stability of the throne hardly requires the aid of a detective force, and, if what I was told be true, it receives very little.

The police have a standing order to arrest any person who speaks to the Emperor in the promenade at the Public Garden. One day Nicholas recognized in the crowd a favorite comedian, and accosted him with a few words of encouragement. The actor thanked his majesty for his approval, and the two separated. A stupid policeman arrested the actor, and hurried him to prison on the charge of violating the law.

"But the emperor spoke to me first," was the apology.

"No matter," replied the policeman; "you spoke to the emperor, and must be arrested."

At the theatre that evening Nicholas was in the imperial box, utterly ignorant of what had occurred to his favorite. The performance was delayed, the audience impatient, manager frantic, and the emperor finally sent to know the cause of the curtain remaining down. The actor did not come, and after waiting some time, His Majesty went home. Next morning the prisoner was released, and during the day the emperor learned what had occurred. Sending for the victim of police stupidity, he asked what reparation could be made for his night in prison.

"I beg your majesty," was the frank request, "never to speak to me again in the Public Garden."

Nicholas promised compliance. He also made a pecuniary testimonial at the comedian's next benefit.



CHAPTER LI.

Dr. Schmidt sold his sleigh and left Kazan by diligence the day after our arrival. I remained four days, and, when ready to start, managed to pick up a young Russian who was going to Nijne Novgorod. Each of us spoke two languages, but we had no common tongue. I brushed up all the Russian I had learned, and compelled it to perform very active service. Before our companionship ended I was astonished to find what an extensive business of conversation could be conducted with a limited capital of words.

Our communications were fragmentary and sometimes obscure, but we rarely became "hopelessly stuck." When my knowledge of spoken words failed I had recourse to a "Manual of Russian-English conversation," in which there were phrases on all sorts of topics. Examining the book at leisure one would think it abundantly fertile; but when I desired a particular phrase it was rarely to be found. As a last resource we tried Latin, but I could not remember a hundred words out of all my classics.

A regular thaw had set in, and the streets were in a condition of 'slosh' that reminded me of Broadway in spring. When we left the hotel, a crowd of attendants gathered to be remembered pecuniarily. The yemshick tied his horses' tails in the tightest of knots to prevent their filling with snow and water. At the western gate we found a jam of sleds and sleighs, where we stuck for nearly half an hour, despite the efforts of two soldier policemen. When able to proceed we traversed a high causeway spanning the Kazanka valley and emerged into a suburb containing a large foundry. A mosque and a church, side by side, symbolized the harmony between Tartar and Russian.

Passing this suburb we reached the winter station of many steamboats and barges, among which we threaded our way. Seven versts from Kazan we reached the bank of the Volga.

The first view of the road upon the river was not inviting. There were many pools of surface water, and the continuous travel had worn deep hollows in the snow and ice. Some of the pools into which our yemshick drove appeared about as safe as a mill-pond in May. As the fellow ought to know his route I said nothing, and let him have his own way. We met a great many sleds carrying merchandise, and passed a train going in our direction. One driver carelessly riding on his load was rolled overboard, and fell sidewise into a deep mass of snow and water. He uttered an imprecation, and rose dripping like a boiled cabbage just lifted out of a dinner pot.

We headed obliquely across the river toward a dozen tow-boats frozen in the ice. The navigation of the Volga employs more than four hundred steamers, three-fourths of which are tows. Dead walls in Kazan frequently displayed flaming announcements, that reminded me of St. Louis and New Orleans. The companies run a sharp rivalry in freight and passenger traffic, their season lasting from April to October. The gross receipts for 1866 of one company owning thirty-four boats, was one million, two hundred and fifty-three thousand, and some odd roubles. This, after deducting running expenses, would not leave a large amount of profit. The surplus in the case of that company was to be applied to paying debts. "Not a copeck," said my informant, "will the stockholders receive in the shape of dividends."

I did not obtain any full and clear information touching the navigation of the Volga. The steamboats run from Tver, on the Moscow and St. Petersburg railway, to Astrachan, at the mouth of the river. The best part of the business is the transport of goods and passengers,—chiefly the former,—to the fair at Nijne Novgorod. The river is full of shifting sand-bars, and the channel is very tortuous, especially at low water. The first company to introduce steam on the Volga was an English one. Its success induced many Russians to follow its example, so that the business is now over done.

Here, as in the Siberian rivers, the custom prevails of carrying freight in barges, which are towed by tugs. All the steamers I saw were side-wheelers.

We changed horses on the south bank of the Volga, only twelve versts from Kazan. The right bank of the river presents an unbroken line of hills or bluffs, while the opposite one is generally low. The summer road from Kazan westward follows the high ground in the vicinity of the river, but often several versts away. The winter road is over the ice of the Volga, keeping generally pretty near the bank. A double line of pine or other boughs in the ice marks the route. These boughs are placed by the Administration of Roads, under whose supervision the way is daily examined. No one is allowed to travel on the ice until the officials declare it safe.

Night came upon us soon after passing the first station. The road was a combination of pitch-holes, water, soft snow, and detours to avoid dangerous places. The most unpleasant drives were when we left the river to change horses at the villages on the high bank. It was well enough going up, but in descending the sleigh sometimes endeavored to go ahead of the horses. Once we came near going over a perpendicular bank sixty or eighty feet high. Had we done so, our establishment would have not been worth fifty cents a bushel at the bottom of the bank.

Back from the Volga on this part of the route there were many villages of Cheramess, a people of Tartar descent who preserve many of their ancient customs. They are thoroughly loyal to Russia, and keep the portrait of the emperor in nearly every cottage. In accordance with their custom of veiling women they hang a piece of gauze over the picture of the empress. While changing horses, we were beset by many beggars, whose forlorn appearance entitled them to sympathy. I purchased a number of blessings, as each beggar made the sign of the cross over me on receiving a copeck. Russian beggars are the most devout I ever saw, and display great familiarity with the calendar of saints. One morning at Kazan I stood at my hotel window watching a beggar woman soliciting alms. Several poorly dressed peasants gave her each a copeck or two, and both giver and receiver made the sign of the cross. One decrepid old man gave her a loaf of bread, blessing it devoutly as he placed it in her hands. So far as I saw not a single well dressed person paid any attention to the mendicant. 'Only the poor can feel for the poor.'



We encountered a great deal of merchandise, carried invariably upon, one-horse sleds. Cotton, and wool in large sacks were the principal freight going westward, while that moving toward Kazan was of a miscellaneous character. The yemshicks were the worst I found on the whole extent of my sleigh ride. They generally contented themselves with the regulation speed, and it was not often that the promise of drink-money affected them. I concluded that money was more easily obtained here than elsewhere on the route. Ten copecks were an important item to a yemshick in Siberia, but of little consequence along the Volga.



Villages were numerous along the Volga, and most of them were very liberally supplied with churches. We passed Makarief, which was for many years the scene of the great fair of European Russia. Fire and flood alike visited the place, and in 1816 the fair was transferred to Nijne Novgorod. One of the villages has a church spire that leans considerably toward the edge of the river.

About fifty versts from Nijne Novgorod the population of a large village was gathered, in Sunday dress, upon the ice. A baptism was in progress, and as we drove past the assemblage we caught a glimpse of a man plunging through a freshly cut hole. Half a minute later he emerged from the crowd and ran toward the nearest house, the water dripping from his garments and hair. As we passed around the end of the village, I looked back and saw another person running in the same direction.

Converts to the Russian church are baptized by immersion, and, once received in its bosom, they continue members until death do them part. What I have said of the church in Siberia will apply throughout all Russia. The government is far more tolerant in the matter of religion than that of any Roman Catholic country in Europe, and might reprove Great Britain pretty sharply for its religious tyrannies in unhappy Ireland. Every one in Russia can worship God according to the dictates of his own conscience, provided he does not shock the moral sense of civilization in so doing. Every respectable form of Christian worship enjoys full liberty, and so does every respectable form of paganism and anti-Christianity. The Greek faith is the acknowledged religion of the government, and the priests, by virtue of their partly official character, naturally wield considerable power. The abuse or undue employment of that power is not (theoretically) permitted, however much the church may manifest its zeal. Every effort is made to convert unbelievers, but no man is forced to accept the Greek faith.

Traveling through Russia one may see many forms of worship. He will find the altars of Shamanism, the temples of Bhudha, the mosques of Islam, and the synagogues of Israel. On one single avenue of the Russian capital he will pass in succession the churches of the Greek, the Catholic, the Armenian, the Lutheran, and the Episcopal faith. He will be told that among the native Russians there are nearly fifty sects of greater or less importance. There are some advantages in belonging to the church of state, just as in England, but they are not essential. I am acquainted with officers in the military, naval, and civil service of the government who are not, and never have been, members of the Greek church. I never heard any intimation that their religion had been the least bar to their progress.

The Pope, in his encyclical of October, 1867, complains of the conduct of the Russian government toward the Catholics in Poland. No doubt Alexander has played the mischief with the Pope's faithful in that quarter, but not on account of their religion. In Warsaw a Russian officer, a Pole by birth, told me of the misfortunes that had fallen upon the Catholic monastery and college in that city. "We found in the insurrection," said the officer, "that the monks were engaged in making knives, daggers, cartridges, and other weapons. The priests were the active men of the rebellion, and did more than any other class to urge it forward, and here is a specimen of iron-mongery from the hands of the monks. We found two hundred of these in the college recently suppressed. Many more were distributed and used."

As he spoke he opened a drawer and showed me a short dagger fitting into a small handle. The point of the blade had been dipped in poison, and was carefully wrapped in paper. The instrument was used by sticking it into somebody in a crowd, and allowing it to remain. Death was pretty certain from a very slight scratch of this weapon.

If this gentleman's story is correct, and it was corroborated by others, the Russian persecution of the Polish Catholics is not entirely without reason.

Among the dissenters in the Greek church there is a body called Staroviersty (Old Believers). The difference between them and the adherents of the orthodox faith is more ritualistic than doctrinal. Both make the sign of the cross, though each has its own way of holding the fingers in the operation. The Staroviersty do not use tobacco in any form, and their mode of life is generally quite rigid. Under Catherine and Paul they were persecuted, and, as a matter of course, increased their numbers rapidly. For the past sixty years oppression has been removed, and they have done pretty nearly as they liked. They are found in all parts of the empire, but are most numerous in the vicinity of the Ural mountains.

Russia has its share of fanatical sects, some of whom push their religion to a wonderful extreme. One sect has a way of sacrificing children by a sort of slow torture in no way commendable. Another sect makes a burnt offering of some of its adherents, who are selected by lot. They enter a house prepared for the occasion, and begin a service of singing and prayer. After a time spent in devotions, the building is set on fire and consumed with its occupants. Another sect which is mentioned elsewhere practices the mutilation of masculine believers, and steals children for adoption into their families. Against all these fanatics the government exercises its despotic power.

The peasants are generally very devout, and keep all the days of the church with becoming reverence. There is a story that a moujik waylaid and killed a traveler, and while rifling the pockets of his victim found a cake containing meat. Though very hungry he would not eat the cake, because meat was forbidden in the fast then in force.



The government is endeavoring to diminish the power and influence of the priests, and the number of saints' days, when men must abstain from, labor. Heretofore the priests have enjoyed the privilege of recruiting the clergy from their own members. When a village priest died his office fell to his son, and if he had no male heir the revenues went to his eldest daughter until some priest married her and took charge of the parish. By special order of the emperor any vacancy is hereafter to be filled by the most deserving candidate.

It is said that during the Crimean war the governor of Moscow notified the pastor of the English church in that city that the prayer for the success of Her Brittanic Majesty's armies must be omitted. The pastor appealed to the emperor, who replied that prayers of regular form might continue to be read, no matter what they contained. The governor made no further interference.

About three o'clock in the afternoon of the second day from Kazan, the yemshick pointed out the spires of Nijne Novgorod, on the southern bank of the Volga. A fleet of steamers, barges, and soudnas lay sealed in the ice along the shore, waiting for the moving of the waters. The road to the north bank was marked with pine boughs, that fringed the moving line of sleighs and sledges. We threaded our way among the stationary vessels, and at length came before the town. A friend had commended me to the Hotel de la Poste, and I ordered the yemshick to drive there. With an eye to his pocket the fellow carried me to an establishment of the same name on the other side of the Oka. I had a suspicion that I was being swindled, but as they blandly informed me that no other hotel with that title existed, I alighted and ordered my baggage up.

This was the end of my sleigh ride. I had passed two hundred and nine stations, with as many changes of horses and drivers. Nearly seven hundred horses had been attached to my sleigh, and had drawn me over a road of greatly varied character. Out of forty days from Irkutsk, I spent sixteen at the cities and towns on the way. I slept twenty-six nights in my sleigh with the thermometer varying from thirty-five degrees above zero to forty-five below, and encountered four severe storms and a variety of smaller ones. Including the detour to Barnaool, my sleigh ride was about thirty-six hundred miles long. From Stratensk by way of Kiachta to Irkutsk, I traveled not far from fourteen hundred miles with wheeled vehicles, and made ninety-three changes. My whole ride from steam navigation on the Amoor to the railway at Nijne Novgorod was very nearly five thousand miles.

There was a manifest desire to swindle me at the bogus Hotel de la Poste. Half a dozen attendants carried my baggage to my room, and each demanded a reward. When I gave the yemshick his "na vodka," an officious attendant suggested that the gentleman should be very liberal at the end of his ride. I asked for a bath, and they ordered a sleigh to take me to a bathing establishment several squares away. My proposition to be content for the present with a wash basin was pronounced impossible, until I finished the argument with my left boot. The waiter finally became affectionate, and when I ordered supper he suggested comforts not on the bill of fare. The landlord proposed to purchase my sleigh and superfluous furs, and we concluded a bargain at less than a twelfth of their cost.

After a night's rest I recrossed the Oka and drove to the town. Here I found the veritable Hotel de la Poste, to which I immediately changed my quarters. The house overlooked a little park enclosing a pond, where a hundred or more persons were skating. The park was well shaded, and must be quite pleasant in summer. The town hardly deserves the name of Nijne (Lower) Novgorod, as it stands on a bluff nearly two hundred feet above the river. Its lower town contains little else than small shops, storehouses, poor hotels, and steamboat offices. The Kremlin, or fortress, looks down from a very picturesque position, and its strong walls have a defiant air. From the edge of the bluff the view is wide; the low field and forest land on the opposite side of the river, the sinuous Volga and its tributary, the Oka, are all visible for a long distance. Opposite, on a tongue of land between the Volga and the Oka, is the scene of the fair of Nijne Novgorod, the greatest, I believe, in the world.

There are many fine houses in the upper town, with indications of considerable wealth. I had a letter of introduction to the Chief of Police, Colonel Kretegin, who kindly showed me the principal objects of interest in and around the Kremlin. The monument to the memory of Minin Sukhoruky possessed the greatest historical importance. This man, a peasant and butcher, believed himself called to deliver Russia from the Poles in 1612. He awakened his countrymen, and joined a Russian noble in leading them to expel the invaders. A bronze monument at Moscow represents Minin starting on his mission. The memorial at Nijne is of a less elaborate character.

We drove through the fair grounds, which wore as empty of occupants as Goldsmith's deserted village. It is laid out like a regular town or city, and most of its houses are substantially built. So much has been written about this commercial center that I will not attempt its description, especially as I was not there in fair season. The population of the town—ordinarily forty thousand—becomes three hundred thousand during the fair. More than half a million persons have visited the city in a single summer, and the value of goods sold or exchanged during each fair is about two hundred millions of roubles.

Colonel Kretegin told me that the members of the Fox embassy were much astonished at finding American goods for sale at Nijne Novgorod. It would be difficult to mention any part of the civilized world where some article of our manufacture has not penetrated.



CHAPTER LII.

At the close of the second day at Nijne Novgorod I started for Moscow. As we drove from the hotel to the railway the jackdaws, perched everywhere on the roofs, were unusually noisy. Leaving Asia and entering Europe, the magpie seemed to give place to the jackdaw. The latter bird inhabits the towns and cities east of the Ural mountains, and we frequently saw large flocks searching the debris along the Volga road. He associates freely with the pigeon, and appears well protected by public sentiment. Possibly his uneatable character and his fancied resemblance to the pigeon saves him from being knocked in the head. Pigeons are very abundant in all Russian cities, and their tameness is a matter of remark among foreign visitors.

The railway station is across the Oka and near the site of the annual fair. We went at a smashing pace down hill and over the ice to the other side, narrowly missing several collisions. At the railway I fell to the charge of two porters, who carried my baggage while I sought the ticket office. A young woman speaking French officiated at the desk, and furnished me with a billet de voyage to Moscow.

In the waiting room a hundred or more persons were gathered. The men were well wrapped in furs, and among the ladies hoods were more numerous than bonnets. Three-fourths of the males and a third of the females were smoking cigarettes, and there was no prohibition visible. In accordance with the national taste the chief article sold at the buffet was hot tea in tumblers.

Some one uttered "Sibeerski" as, clad in my dehar, I walked past a little group. To keep up appearances and kill time I drank tea, until the door opened and a rush was made for the train. There is an adage in Germany that three kinds of people—fools, princes, and Americans—travel first class. To continue Russian pretences, and by the advice of a friend, I took a second class ticket, and found the accommodation better than the average of first class cars in America.

How strange was the sensation of railway travel! Since I last experienced it, I had journeyed more than half around the globe. I had been tossed on the Pacific and adjacent waters, had ascended the great river of northern Asia, had found the rough way of life along the frozen roads beyond the Baikal, and ended with that long, long ride over Siberian snows. I looked back through a long vista of earth and snow, storm and sunshine, starlight and darkness, rolling sea and placid river, rugged mountains and extended plains.

The hardships of travel were ended as I reached the land of railways, and our motion as we sped along the track seemed more luxurious than ever before. Contrasted with the cramped and narrow sleigh, pitching over ridges and occasionally overturning, the carriage where I sat appeared the perfection of locomotive skill. How sweet is pleasure after pain. Sunshine is brightest in the morning, and prosperity has a keener zest when it follows adversity. To be truly enjoyed, our lives must be chequered with light and shadow, and varied with different scenes.

The railway between Nijne Novgorod and Moscow is about two hundred and fifty miles in length, and was built by French and Russian capital combined. There is only one passenger train each way daily, at a speed not exceeding twenty miles an hour.

In the compartment where I sat there was a young French woman, governess in a family at Simbirsk, with a Russian female servant accompanying her. The governess was chatty, and invited me to join her in a feast of bon-bons, which she devoured at a prodigious rate. The servant was becomingly silent, and solaced herself with cigarettes. The restaurants along the road are quite well supplied, especially those where full meals are provided. Two hours after starting we halted ten minutes for tea and cigarettes. Two hours later we had thirty minutes for supper, which was all ready at our arrival. About midnight we stopped at the ancient city of Vladimir, where there is a cathedral founded in the twelfth century. Stepping from the train to get a night glimpse of the place, I found a substantial supper (or breakfast) spread for consumption. In justice to the Russians, I am happy to say very few patronized this midnight table.

At daybreak I rubbed the frost from a window and looked upon a stretch of snow and frost, with peasant cottages few and far between. An hour later, our speed slackened. Again cleaning the glass and peering through it, a large city came in sight.

It was Moscow,—"Holy Moscow,"—the city of the Czars, and beloved of every Russian. Suffering through Tartar, Polish, and French occupations, it has survived pillage, massacre, fire, and famine, and remains at this day the most thoroughly national of the great cities of the empire. The towers and domes of its many churches glittered in the morning sunlight as they glittered half a century ago, when Napoleon and his soldiers first climbed the hills that overlook the city.

It was a long drive from the station to the hotel. The morning was clear and cold, and the snow in the streets had been ground into a sand-like mass several inches deep. The solid foundation beneath was worn with hollows and ridges, that vividly recalled the oukhabas of the post road. Streets were full of sleds and sleighs, the latter dashing at a rapid rate. In the region near the station there were so many signs of 'Trakteer' as to suggest the possibility of one half the inhabitants selling tea, beer, and quass to the other half. Near the center of the city the best shops displayed signs in French or English, generally the former.

Of course I went early to the Kremlin. Who has ever read or talked of Moscow without its historic fortress? Entering by the Sacred Gate, I lifted my hat in comformity to the custom, from which not even the emperor is exempt. One of my school-books contained a description of the Czar Kolokol, or Great Bell, and stated that a horse and chaise could pass through the hole where a piece was broken from one side. Possibly the miniature vehicle of Tom Thumb could be driven through, but, certainly, no ordinary one-horse shay could have any prospect of success. The hole is six feet in height, by about a yard wide at the bottom, and narrows like a wedge toward the top. The height and diameter of the bell are respectively nineteen feet four inches by twenty feet three inches. It weighs 444,000 pounds. It was cast in 1733, by order of the Empress Anne, and the hole in its side was made by the falling of some rafters during a fire in 1737. It remained buried in the ground until 1836, when it was raised and placed on its present pedestal by order of the Emperor Nicholas.



To enumerate all the wonders of the Kremlin would consume much time and space. Somebody tells of a Yankee gazing at Niagara, and lamenting that a magnificent water power should run to waste. I could not help wondering how many miles of railway could be built from the proceeds of the mass of wealth inside the Kremlin. Diamonds, rubies, pearls, crowns, sceptres, thrones, princely and priestly robes, are gathered in such numbers that eye and brain become weary in their contemplation. The most interesting of these treasures are those around which cling historic associations. The crowns of the kingdoms of Kazan and Astrachan point to the overthrow of Tartar power in Europe, while the throne of Poland symbolizes the westward course of the Muscovite star of empire. There are flags borne or captured in Russia's victories, from the storming of Kazan and the defence of Albazin down to the suppression of Polish revolt. Mute and dumb witnesses of the misfortunes of the Grand Armee are the long rows of cannon that lie near the Kremlin palace. Three hundred and sixty-five French guns tell of Napoleon's disastrous march to Moscow.

The holiest part of holy Moscow is within the Kremlin. In the church of the Assumption, the czars of Russia, from John the Terrible down to the present day, have been crowned. In the Michael church, until the accession of Peter the Great, the Rurik and Romanoff dynasties were buried; while another church witnessed their baptism, and marriage. What a wonderful amount of gold and jewels are visible in the churches and chapels of the Kremlin! The floor of one is of jasper and agate; pearl and amethyst and onyx adorn the inner walls of another. One has vast pillars of porphyry, and the domes and turrets of all are liberally spread or starred with gold. The pictures of the infant Saviour and his mother are hung with necklaces of jewels, each of them almost a fortune. One might easily think that the wealth of Ormuz or of Ind had been gathered to adorn the shrines of the most oriental Christian faith.

I visted the Imperial Theatre, which the Muscovites pronounce the finest in the world. To my mind it is only equaled by La Scala at Milan, or San Carlo at Naples. Outside it reminded me of our ci-devant Academy of Music. Inside it was gorgeous, well arranged, and spacious.



The Kitai Gorod, or Chinese town of Moscow, is close by the Kremlin and outside its walls. The only feature worthy the name of this part of the city is the number of Tartar inhabitants and the immense bazaar, or Gustinni Dvor, where the principal trade of Moscow has been centered for nearly three hundred years. The quantity of goods in the bazaar is something enormous. A Russian said to me: "If half the houses in Moscow were stripped of furniture, ornaments, and all things save the walls and roofs; if their inhabitants were plundered of all clothing and personal goods except their bank accounts,—the gastinni dvor could supply every deficiency within two hours. You may enter the bazaar wearing nothing but your shirt, and can depart in an hour dressed and decorated in any manner you choose, and riding in your carriage with driver and footman in livery."

The railway between St. Petersburg and Moscow is a government affair, and forms nearly a direct line from one city to the other. It is said that the emperor Nicholas placed a ruler on the map and drew a line from one capital to the other to mark the route the engineers must follow. Notwithstanding the favorable character of the country the cost of the road was enormous, in consequence of alleged peculations. There is a story that the government once wished to make a great impression upon a Persian embassy. All the marvels of St. Petersburg and Moscow were exhausted, but the oriental embassadors remained serene and unmoved.

"What shall we do to surprise them," the emperor demanded of his prime minister.

"Nothing is better, sire," replied that official, "than to tell them the cost of the Imperial railway."

One hears more about stealing and bribe taking in Russia than in any other country I ever visited. The evil is partly on account of low salaries and great expense of living, and partly due to ancient custom. The emperor has endeavored to establish a reform in this particular, but the difficulties are very great because of the secret character of "palm-greasing," It is related that a German savant once remarked to Nicholas that he could do Russia a great service by breaking up the system of financial corruption. "To get such a project in action," replied the emperor, "I must begin by bribing my prime minister."

Of the country between the capitals I saw very little. In the cars the double windows, covered with frost, were about as transparent as a drop curtain. We stopped at a great many capacious and well built stations, where there was abundant opportunity for feeding and drinking. The journey commenced at two in the afternoon, and was finished at ten on the following morning. The distance, according to official measurement, is four hundred and three miles.

The train halted at the station nearest St. Petersburg, and as we stood a moment upon the platform, we saw the great, gilded dome of St. Isaac's cathedral rising over the city. In St. Petersburg my first duty was to take breakfast, a bath, and a change of clothes at a hotel, and then, to drive to the banker's for letters from home. I had not seen an American for five months; as I alighted from my droshky, a well-dressed individual looked at me, and not to be outdone I returned his glance. Our eyes peered over two fur collars that exposed very little of our faces. After a moment's hesitation each of us spoke the other's name, and I experienced the double pleasure of meeting in one individual a countryman and an old friend.

THE END