a hymn of praise to the russian railroad! the russian tracks begin at warsaw to have a considerably broader bed. this for a strategical purpose, to render difficult the invasion by european armies. it is also a benefit to the traveller, for the russian coaches are wider and more comfortable than the european, and the side-passages along the coupé are very convenient for little walks during the journey. a separate heating compartment and buffet, with the indispensable samovar, where one may secure a glass of tea at any time, are situated in the centre of the long car. the trains do not jolt, although they are almost as fast as ours. the smoke and soot do not drive through the tightly closed double windows. a twenty-four hour trip here tires one less than a six-hour trip with us. certainly there is more need of preparation for a comfortable journey in russia than in the west. the distances are immense, a twenty-four hour journey creating no comments. the warsaw-petersburg train was as well filled as the ordinary express-train between frankfort and cologne.
[pg 25]
the run, which lasts from one morning to the next, is naturally not very entertaining. the broad expanse of snowy plain, relieved only by snow-breaks and frozen swamps, at every two miles a few wretched half-asiatic huts, and occasionally the dark profile of a forest, no more to be seen, and a sea of unintelligible slavic sounds, no more to be heard. the feeling of loneliness grows upon one, and the impression becomes constantly stronger that russia is a world for itself.
but there is an end to everything, even to a railroad journey without books, without papers, and without conversation. at the dawn of the clear, wintry day one may already distinguish the signs of a great city. a station with magnificent buildings and a well-cared-for park stretching almost to the tracks claims our attention after the many unimpressive sights of the long road. we decipher the name "gatschina," and understand why there is such a strong police force on the platform. this is the winter palace. scarcely an hour later the gilded cupolas stand out bright above the snow; the brakes are put on; we are in st. petersburg.
it cannot be said that the city appears in a favorable light when viewed from the railroad. the not over-elegant two-horse vehicle which takes us and our baggage rattles over miserable pavements, dirty from the melting snow, through broad, endless suburban streets. the houses on either side are of only one story, built mostly of wood, their[pg 26] poverty-stricken appearance being intensified here and there by three-storied barracks. liquor-shops, little second-hand stores, wooden huts, with putrid garbage, follow one another in a variety by no means pleasing. the passers-by, ill-clad, with the inevitable rubber shoes, shuffle along the slushy sidewalks; trucks with two or sometimes three horses, their necks bent under the brightly painted russian "duga" (wooden yoke), a truly gorki atmosphere in its entirety. one can scarcely believe that he is entering one of the most brilliant cities of the continent. the endless rows of stores with their two-storied sheds, which one passes on the way to the centre of the city, but slightly improve one's first impression, for even they are far removed from the splendor of the capital.
we finally reach the hotel to which our mail has been addressed. it is an enormous structure, more than two hundred metres long. yet it has no room for us. it is filled to overflowing. it is impossible to crowd in one more soul. we again take our carriage. we drive from one hotel to another, growing constantly more modest in our demands for lodging. but our efforts are vain. everything is occupied to the very gables.
we were careless in coming to st. petersburg in january. this is the time of congresses, of business, of carnivals. all the provincial officials are here to render their annual reports to their ministries. naturally, they bring with them their families, who wish[pg 27] to make their important purchases here and to taste of the social season. congresses and conferences are held here not in the summer and vacation months as with us, but shortly before the "butter-week," really a carnival, the pleasure of which one may wish to take this opportunity to test. medical, teachers', and insurance congresses are held here at the same time. foreign merchants come here to complete their transactions. but the great city of st. petersburg is not adapted for foreign guests.
the instincts of self-defence awake at the time of need. we do not intend to camp to-night under the bridge arch. we make great efforts and by the evening have secured a room, in spite of the "absolute impossibility," in that large and only comfortable hotel in st. petersburg, which we shared with a friendly mouse, but which was free from other objectionable tenants. even the little mouse was deprived in a base manner of its life and liberty the very next night. once provided with board and lodging, we decided to become acquainted with the better side of st. petersburg. what does a stranger usually do in the evening when he visits a strange city? he goes to some theatre.
there are plenty of hotel porters and agents to provide for the wishes of the guests. "hello, agent; get me tickets for the imperial theatre"—where a ballet of tschaikowski's is to be presented to-night by first-class talent. the theatre programme, obligingly provided with a french translation, informs us[pg 28] that among others, kscheschinska will do herself the honor to play the leading r?le. "but, honored sir, that is quite impossible; first, because this is the carnival time; second, because most of the seats are already subscribed for; and third, because kscheschinska dances to-night"—a sly closing of the left eye accompanies the mention of the name—"and neither the emperor nor the court will be absent from the theatre. unless you pay twenty to thirty rubles to a speculator you will hardly get into the theatre."
since my passion for the ballet or for kscheschinska does not attain the proportions of a twenty-ruble investment, i find it preferable to devote the evening to the always interesting and fruitful hotel studies. what seething life in the numberless corridors, dining-halls, and vestibules of the fashionable st. petersburg hotel! governors in generals' gold-braided uniforms, covered with so many orders and medals that it makes one curious to find out about all the deeds of heroism for which they were bestowed; chamberlains with refined elegance in their gala dress, hiding the "beau restes" of the one-sided adonis; tall, agile, dark-eyed circassians with the indispensable cartridge-pouch on the breast region of their long coats, with the dagger hanging in its massive gold sheath from the tightly drawn belt; cossacks with fur caps a foot high, made of white or black angora skins, placed on their bristly heads; a nimble chinese man, or maid, servant, with long pigtail, whose sex it is impossible to distinguish; a[pg 29] whole troop of dark-eyed khivanese squatting on their prayer-rugs before the apartment of their khan, passing the nargile from hand to hand, and exchanging witticisms about the passing europeans; beardless tatar waiters shuffling by in their flat-soled shoes—a mixture of europe and asia such as may hardly be seen at once in any other part of the world. the west european merchants and other travellers, who throng the hotel, are scarcely noted among the exotic appearances. in this hotel, as elsewhere throughout st. petersburg, the european, the civilian, is seemingly merely tolerated. the city belongs to the functionaries, soldiers, officials, and chamberlains, to the cossacks, circassians, and, above all others, to the police. more intimate acquaintance reveals that a goodly portion of the uniformed persons in st. petersburg are ordinary students, technologists, professors, etc., and that these uniformed persons do not equally represent the state. on the contrary, the fight of the state, or, to be more precise, of the police, against the free professions, would not be so bitter if the members of the latter were not entitled to wear uniforms. as it is, they also may appear to the common people as representatives of the czar's authority.
we slept through the night. kind fate had decreed for us snow and cold in succession to the disagreeable thaw, and we availed ourselves of the clear weather to become acquainted with the bright side of st. petersburg. and, first of all, the snow![pg 30] it changes the entire appearance of the city as if by a magic wand. the narrow, open carriages where two persons can accommodate themselves only with difficulty, especially when wrapped in fur coats, have disappeared. their places have been taken by small, low sleighs without backs. the "izwozchik" (driver) in his blue, plaited tatar fur coat and multicolored sash, with fur-trimmed plush cap on his head, sits almost in the passenger's lap. yet there is compensation for the meagre dimensions of the sleigh. the small, rugged horses speed along like arrows through the straight streets, hastened on by the caressing words or the exclamations of the bearded driver. horse, driver, and sleigh are very essential figures in the st. petersburg street scenes. we at home cannot at all realize how much driving is done in st. petersburg. the distances are enormous; streets five or six kilometres long are not unusual. there are almost no streetcar lines, thanks to the selfishness of the town representatives, composed of st. petersburg house-owners, who do not care to see a reduction in rents in the central portion of the town. the average city inhabitant readily parts with the thirty, forty, or fifty kopeks demanded by the "izwozchik," and thus everything is rushed along in an unending race. the "pravo" (right) or "hei beregis!" (look out!), which the drivers bawl to one another or to the pedestrians, resounds through the streets, but they are not very effectual. one must open his[pg 31] eyes more than his ears if he wishes to escape injury in the streets of st. petersburg. the constant racing often results in four or five rows of speeding conveyances attempting to pass one another. the drivers with their bearded, apostle faces, which appear lamblike when they good-naturedly invite you to enter their conveyances, are like wild men when they let loose. their cossack nature then asserts itself. on and always on, and let the poor pedestrian take care of his bones. and however much the little horse may pant and the flakes of foam may fly from its sides, "his excellency," "the count," "his highness" (the izwozchik is extremely generous with his titles), will surely add a few kopeks when the driver has been very smart; and so the little horse must run until the passenger, unaccustomed to such driving, loses his breath.
but the russian barbarian conception of wealth and fashion is to have his driver race even when out for a pleasure drive, as if it were a question of life or death. the numberless private turnouts, distinguished by their greater elegance, their splendid horses, harness, liveries, and carriages, have no less speed than the hackney-coachman, but the reverse, at a still greater speed, thanks to the elasticity of their high-stepping arab trotters. and now imagine twenty-five thousand such vehicles simultaneously in racing motion, with here and there a jingling "troika," its two outer horses galloping madly and the middle horse trotting furiously; imagine, at the[pg 32] same time, the bright colors of the four-cornered plush caps on the heads of the stylish drivers, the gay-colored rugs on the "troikas," the blue and green nets on the galloping horses of the private sleighs, the glitter of the gold and silver harness, the scarlet coats of the court coachmen and lackeys, everything rushing along on a crisp winter day, over the glimmering, freshly fallen snow, between the mighty fa?ades of imposing structures, flanked by an almost unbroken chain of tall policeman and gendarmes, and you have the picture of the heart of st. petersburg at the time of social activity. splendor, riches, wildness are all caricatured into magnificence as if calculated to impress and to frighten. woe to him here who is not of the masters!
