Northern Russia and St. Petersburg. 1872

BEYOND the rising of the North Wind in the Thessalian mountains↗1 there was, to the early Greeks, a land of sunshine and gentle airs, whose fortunate inhabitants subsisted upon the fruits of the earth, and knew neither war, nor toil, nor pain. But, as the dwellers by the Ægean↗ passed the rocky barriers and advanced in the country above, this happy land still fled before them; and to-day we know that the Scythia↗ and Sarmatia↗ of the ancients are, throughout their whole extent, exposed to chilling blasts, and peopled by races subject to the common lot of humanity, while the perfect clime, if it exists at all, eludes us in the open Polar Sea. Let us look at the realm as it is.

Dividing European Russia into north and south at the line of Moscow↗, we have for the north a region stretching from the latitude of central Labrador↗ to the icebergs of the Arctic seas, and whose great city, St. Petersburg↗, lies under the same parallel as the southern point of Greenland↗, and Mount St. Elias↗ in Alaska↗. From the heats of a New York summer we fly to Quebec and the Saguenay↗, and the tempered air of the lower St. Lawrence↗. To feel a breeze fresh from the Pole as that which blows over the Kremlin of Moscow we must seek the lonely islands of Hudson's Bay↗.

Central Russia rises some, five hundred feet above the sea, and north-west of Moscow the Valdai hills↗ attain an elevation of nearly twelve hundred feet, and are the water shed between the Baltic↗ and the Euxine↗. Thence the land slopes away, on the south to the boundless steppes, and on the north, through forests of birch and pine, to the barren plains that lose themselves in the polar ocean.

Over most of this vast tract intense cold reigns for the greater part of the year, and the farther east you go the lower is the temperature. At St. Petersburg there are only two months, June and July, in which it never snows. The Neva↗, the lakes, the 2 canals, and the Gulf of Cronstadt↗ are frozen by the middle of November, and remain firm roads of ice until the sun and wind of April open their channels again to the Baltic. It is an ancient custom to announce the breaking up of the ice at St. Petersburg by a discharge of cannon from the Fortress, and to mark sunrise and sunset by the firing of a gun every day while the river runs free.

Spring comes on with marvelous rapidity. The soil responds instantly to the warm rays. The birch-trees expand their buds into delicate leaves. The black firs tip their boughs with green. Grains and grasses shoot up, and, with the few hardy wild fruits, come quickly to maturity. The inhabitants bask in the sun, and are loth to sleep through the long twilights that divide the days. By mid-August vapors gather in the sky; the trees begin to shed their thin foliage; chill rains descend, and summer is over.

Little grain is raised above St. Petersburg, and that little, so damp is the climate, must be kiln-dried for preservation. In some localities barley is sown as far north as Mesen↗; but it is only three or four times in a century that the season is warm enough and long enough to bring it to perfection, and it is usually cut as fodder for the cattle. All these latitudes depend mainly for their cereals upon the richer harvests of the south; but their rivers are stocked with fish, myriads of wild-fowl find a home in the woods and by the lakes, mushrooms abound, and the swamps are filled with cranberries↗ and whortleberries↗ that ripen despite the frosty air. The wealth of this region, from the Gulf of Bothnia↗ to the Oural↗, is in its forests and fisheries. The people are wood-cutters, hunters, fishers, workers in metals, charcoal-burners, preparers of tar and pitch and potash, makers of mats and of various utensils from the bark of the linden↗, and of coarse linen and cordage from the flax↗ and hemp↗ of their low-lying 3 fields. In summer the men go in companies to the Volga↗ and its tributary streams, where they find employment as boatmen and laborers, and in autumn they explore distant tracts for game and furs. Fortunate is he who in winter discovers a bear, especially if it be where the nobility, and perhaps the Czar himself, will join in the hunt. Along the Dwina↗, and among the lakes and hills of southern Finland↗, excellent pastures are found, and the rearing of cattle is an important branch of industry. In the reign of Catharine II↗. a fine breed of Dutch cattle was brought to Kholmogory↗↗ru, and from thence distributed over the Dwina meadows, where they still thrive and command the highest price in the St. Petersburg markets. As you go south from the Capital the country becomes more productive, and its fields are valuable as well as its forests. Agriculture receives greater attention, and the crops of rye↗, oats↗, barley↗, flax and hemp amply repay the industrious cultivator.

At the mouth of the Dwina is Archangel↗, the oldest seaport in Russia, and the only one of importance in Russia Proper, all the rest having been, in modern times, gained from her neighbors through conquest, — Archangel, whence the timber and furs and fish, the oats and tallow and tar of this rugged zone find their way to the outside world. It was the English who, in the middle of the sixteenth century, sailing past the stormy North Cape for a passage to China, found the Dwina mouth and dropped down the cold broad river, where was then but a monastery dedicated to the Archangel Michael↗. A little later, the town, taking its name from the cloister, was founded as a place for traffic in deals and skins, and for more than two hundred years it was the single seaport of the Empire. Several hundred ships, most of them British, visit it during the two months when the White Sea↗ is open. Canals unite the Volga with the Dwina and the Neva, so that the merchandise of the Caucasus↗ and Persia↗ can reach St. Petersburg and this Arctic port almost without change of boats. Its great stone bazar is crowded with the products of the country; and the long summer days, with scarcely a night between, are full of life and activity. Much of the Siberian trade comes to its market; and so few and simple are the wants of the people it represents, that its exports always largely exceed its imports, and the strand which skirts the river below the town is composed of the pebbles and gravel the English ships bring out as ballast. But, with September, winter begins. The snow falls fast on the log-paved streets, and the green domes and gilded spires. The ice closes the harbor, and woe to the pilgrim boat bound for the Convent of Solovetsk↗↗ru, in the Holy Isles, or to the Bremen↗ or Liverpool↗ brig, laden with flax and grain, that has lingered in the stream! Storms rage along the coast, and for almost another year the thirty thousand inhabitants of the Dwina mart are dead to the lands beyond the sea; given up to St. Michael, who shines upon the city arms, — an angel, robed in azure, flying on a golden field; in his hand a flaming sword, and beneath his feet a prostrate fiend.

The original inhabitants of this territory were Finnish tribes↗↗fi, part of that race which finds its highest development in the Magyars↗ of Hungary↗, and sinks almost to the brutes among the Ostiaks↗ and Samoïedes↗ of the 4 Polar deserts. Those of the Grand Duchy of Finland↗ have lost many of their distinctive characteristics by intermarriage with Swedes↗ and Russians↗; yet the square forms, flat faces, and sallow complexions of the peasants in and around St. Petersburg show that Finnish blood still runs strong in their veins. Indeed, wherever in Russia Proper you find high cheek-bones, depressed noses, and low, awkward figures, you may be quite sure of Finnish or Kalmuck↗ ancestors. The tribes on the borders of the Empire cling to their pagan superstitions, but the larger part of the people are embraced in the Lutheran↗ and Greek↗ communions. One of the noblest buildings of the realm is the massive Cathedral at Abo↗, begun when Yummala↗, the deity of the Finns, was discarded, like Odin↗ and Perun↗, for the God of the Christians. How well I remember its towers dark and grim against the sky — type of the strength and endurance of the North; while the wind, chill even in July, crept up from the bay and ruffled the harebells↗ that unfolded their pale blue petals in the grass beneath its shadow! Finland is a better country for agriculture than the opposite coast of Scandinavia, and its inhabitants are industrious and thrifty. It has its own laws, which are similar to those of Sweden. Only Finns have offices of trust in its government, and its soldiers and sailors serve apart from those of Russia, and are held in high esteem. In recent years its language and literature have received care- ful attention from native scholars. Early in this century Professor Porthan of Abo↗, whose bronze statue adorns that ancient city, called attention to the richness of his native tongue; and, by late Imperial decree, after 1883, Finnish instead of Swedish is to be the official language of the Duchy.2 With great labor Lönnrot↗ and Castrén↗ have collected its poems and traditions, and Topelius↗ has embodied the life of its people in vivid story.

Ah, these subtle differences of race! The true Russian is taller, slenderer, fairer. His features are more harmonious, and his movements have a grace and agility to which the heavy-limbed Finn is a stranger. In the attitudes and bearing of the lowest peasants there is often an ease and dignity such as invests the Arab in his desert tent, or the Syrian threading his narrow streets with a serene poise, the gift, not of breeding, but of birth; while their eyes and their songs-speech of the soul-betray a melancholy that touches the heart and kindles the imagination. This sadness is doubtless owing to the infelicities of their life for generations, and to the dreary monotony of a country where the earth wakes but for a moment to the caress of summer, and then falls back into winter death, wrapped in a shroud of snow over which chill winds chant perpetual requiem.

The inhabitants of the Baltic Provinces of Courland↗, Livonia↗, and Esthonia↗ are of Finnish 5 race, with the Lithuanians, a Slavonic people, in the south.3 Forcibly converted to Christianity in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries by German conquerors↗ and immigrants, they are at present largely Lutheran; their civilization is German, and Germans are everywhere in places of power and influence. The common people here were formerly very degraded, sharing their huts with their cattle, and having now a season of drunken plenty, and now a famine. But with personal freedom, the right to possess land, and means of education, they are rapidly rising and adopting the modes of thought and life of their German teachers. The production of grain and flax, and the breeding of cattle are their principal industries, and they number altogether some two millions.

Courland, the farthest south and the most fertile of the three Provinces, consists of broad plains watered by many small rivers-plains where the pine forests have given place to fruitful orchards and fields of wheat and rye and barley, with wind-mills crowning the ridges, and where well-built cottages and handsome manor-houses, churches, and parsonages show that rich and poor live prosperously together. "Gottes Ländchen" — Little Land of God — is the Courlander's name for his country.4 Mittau↗, its capital, is a small, ancient city on the Aa↗, where the nobles spend their winters, and where Jews swarm and direct the trade, as they do in nearly every other town of the Provinces.

Livonia and Esthonia have a poorer soil and longer reaches of pines and firs, with countless cold, gloomy lakes, and vast tracts of marshy land, strewn, as in Finland, with granite boulders. In some regions, where Germans are numerous and the common people proprietors of the lands they till, substantial stone farm-buildings, and broad, cultivated fields tell of good living and independence; but their cottages have commonly but a thatched roof, and are often destitute of a chimney, while even in the wealthy northern districts of their rich flax-lands there is little comfort or cleanliness in the peasant homes. Livonia is by far the most important of the three, because it possesses the second commercial city in Russia, the proud flourishing Riga↗, at the mouth of the Düna↗, with its political and social influence, and its great trade in flax and linseed and timber and grain; and the University of Dorpat↗, founded and fostered by Alexander I.↗, the center of intellectual life for all this region. This noble institution owes its earliest establishment to Gustavus Adolphus↗ when the province pertained to Sweden↗, but in the contest with Russia↗ under Peter I.↗ it was broken up, and for over a hundred years there was no great school in the Baltic lands, and the young men who sought more thorough education were forced to go to Germany to obtain it. Now it has seventy professors, with many hundred students; libraries, museums, the rarest botanical garden in Europe, besides an observatory↗ richly furnished and made famous by the labors of the astronomer Struve↗; and whoever in these provinces aspires in any way to place or fame must study at Dorpat. The old aristocratic town of Revel↗, capital of Esthonia, lying as it does. between Riga and St. Petersburg, is of little importance in modern days; but it is full of antique interest, and being but a day's journey from St. Petersburg by steamer, it is a favorite bathing-place with the Russians during the heats of summer. With its seven picturesque gates5, its castle-crowned hill, where the houses of the nobility are still like fortresses, where peculiar laws prevail, and no merchant is allowed to live, and with its outer town of tradesmen and artisans under municipal rule, it perhaps retains more of the Middle Ages than any other European city. There is constant effort on the part of the Government to assimilate these Provinces 6 to the rest of the Empire, by making them Russian↗ rather than German in character. Below them lies Poland↗, whose very name is a sigh, and whose Russian cities, Warsaw↗, Wilna↗, and the rest, have been the theaters of the most tragic events of the century gone.

"Black people"6 and "black rooms" are the common names for the Russian peasants and their habitations. These houses are built of logs or rough boards, the cracks stuffed with moss, and the poorest have neither chimney nor window, except small apertures closed with shutters or oiled paper, through which a little of the smoke escapes, while the larger part settles in soot and grime upon walls and inmates, thus justifying the appellation. Often the house has but one room, with a fourth of the space occupied by the brick stove or oven, the top of which, with its broad, adjacent shelf, is the bed of the family during the cold season-the clothes rarely put off, and a piece of felt their only mattress and covering-while in summer they sleep upon the bench that, divan-like, encircles the apartment, or upon the ground beneath the sky. Sometimes the poultry are kept in the house during the winter, so as to be sure of eggs for Easter; and in the warmth and dirt of the place vermin breed and abound. Almost every family has its bath, a small detached room, with its oven and tubs for water; for bathing is their domestic luxury, and necessary to their religion, since without this purification by steam and scourge they are not admitted to Holy Communion. Indeed, for all Russians the vapor-bath↗ never loses its charm, and they carry it with them wherever they go. Freshfield↗, the recent English traveler in the Caucasus↗, speaks of the delight with which the Cossacks↗ at a lonely post-station, where wood was scarce and expensive, took possession of the bath-house after it had been heated and used by his party. In proof of its salutary effects the Russians point to the Finns, and say that their superiority to the Lapps↗ in size and comeliness is owing to their having learned to employ the vapor-bath.

The better class of houses have two rooms, with a passage between them, entered by steps from the rear, and the foundation raised so as to give place for a cellar beneath; while chimney and small glass windows give comparative comfort and cheer. Often the ground is elevated or lowered by the severe frosts, so that the house stands unevenly, and is strained and old before its time. High in the quietest corner of the room hangs always a picture of the Virgin or some favorite saint. The easier the condition of the proprietor the more numerous are these sacred images, encased in frames of gilt, or beaten silver, with lamps burning before them, at least during the seasons of fast. Thus every hut becomes a chapel, and the yearning, the 7 passion, the poetry of the people find expression through the religious sentiment. For in the ordinary hamlets and villages books, as yet, are rarely seen, not one in a hundred of the peasants being able to read or write; and the whisky-shop is the only place of entertainment. The gardens are but inclosures for cabbages and onions. Most of the houses have neither flowers in the poor windows, nor shrubs nor trees by the doors. They stand with their gable-ends to the road, — the road that wanders out on to the bare plain, or loses itself in the solitudes of the forest; and the church, with its roof and dome of green, its gilded cross and echoing bell, is to the inmates the brightest object beyond their threshold, as the holy picture is the most attractive thing within.

This spirit of reverence and devotion, blind and slavish though it be, informs all the peasant's life. Before the figures of the saints he says his prayers at night with crossings and prostrations, and he renews them with equal fervor when he rises in the morning. "God save thee!" are the words with which he greets an acquaintance; and whenever anything the least unusual happens, or he passes a consecrated place — a churchyard, a wayside shrine, a convent tower — he crosses himself and sighs: "Gospodi pomilui!"7 — Lord have mercy! Conflagration or death from a lightning-stroke is always spoken of as "by the grace of God:", and in all things there is that veneration for His decrees and submission to His will which characterizes the Oriental mind. The picture of his guardian saint accompanies the Russian in all his journeys, and for every undertaking in life — the moving into a new house, the launching of a boat upon the river, the breaking up of fallow ground — he desires the blessing of the priest. Beggars ask alms "in the name of Christ," or, "in the name of your parents" (for respect for age is a cardinal virtue here); and the poorest man would think himself unworthy to be called Christian if he refused to drop his mite into the waiting palm. No language is fuller of stinging epithets, or broader in its power of abuse than the Russ; yet oaths and curses are seldom heard. Ye Bog — By God,8 is the most common affirmation, and this is used in a religious rather than a profane sense. All the ecclesiastical fasts and ordinances are strictly observed; and at Easter, as in the ancient Church, friends meet each other with kisses and presents of colored eggs, saying, "Christos voskrest!"9 — Christ is risen!

The life of the peasants is one of toil, but rarely one of anxiety, and few grow old through fret about the future. They have a facile mechanical genius, and with their hatchets they build their cabins, make the stools and tables which furnish them, and construct cart or sledge or raft, as their needs may require. The covered jugs, and the 8 bowls and spoons out of which they drink their quass and eat their soup, are fashioned by themselves from birch or linden wood, and of the bark of the latter, in some districts, they plait their shoes. Almost every village has the principal trades represented among its inhabitants, and communities can be found living remote from any town where everything they require is of their own production. This general ingenuity and adroitness, and their easy ways, make them satisfied with poorer work than their European neighbors; but many English and Germans are now scattered through the country as directors of "Works," and the skill they bring to arts and mechanics, and the competition which freer intercourse with the West induces, are causing vast improvement in their manufactures. Soon, however, Russians will fill these places, for the ambition of the people is roused, and under its stimulus they will rapidly master any trade or profession.

The common dress of the men is a shirt of colored linen or calico, which oftenest falls tunic-like over the loose trowsers that are tied below the knees; while the coat, double-breasted and with the skirt gathered at the hips, or the long, easy-fitting caftan↗ — a Tartar name for a Tartar garment — reaches nearly to the ankles, and is confined at the waist by a sash or a belt of leather. Leg-wrappings of cloth and bark slippers are used by the poorest, but stockings and loose half-boots of leather are becoming general. Full beards are worn, and the hair is often divided in the middle rather than at the side, and the head covered by a low crowned hat or a cap bound with fur. The common garment for both sexes in winter is a wrap of sheepskin with the wool inside, and the seams decorated with a kind of feather-stitch in bright colors — handsome when new, but so greasy and of such vile odor when old, that you hope never to encounter the wearer except in the open air.

The ancient and still popular dress of the women is a chemise of coarse white linen, open at the neck, with loose short sleeves. Over this the sarafan↗, a sleeveless gown gathered into a band above the bosom, with straps across the shoulders, and confined at the waist by a sash or a long ruffled apron. The materials of the dress are handsome or mean according to the circumstances of the wearer, and the necklace and ear-rings which complete it are of gold, or coral, or colored glass beads, as husband or father can afford to buy. The kokoshnik↗, a high, turban-like cap, is their ancient head-dress, and its form varies in the different provinces. It is little Court, when, set with jewels, it forms a stately seen now except upon grand occasions at crown, and recalls the early Czaritsas↗ and their attendant dames — wives of the great boyars↗ who upheld the throne. The usual head-covering of the women in these days is a handkerchief tied under the 9 chin, and the gayer its hues the better it pleases the wearer. A late English writer speaks of seeing a peasant woman at Nijni Novgorod bargaining for one like a rainbow for variety, and complaining because it was not bright enough.

"Madame," said the dealer, "there are no colors invented but those which are in that handkerchief."

The young girls wear their hair in a braid down the back and tied at the end with ribbons. At marriage it is customary to cut up these ribbons, called "maiden beauty," and distribute the pieces among the bride's youthful friends as souvenirs of her girlhood, while her divided hair is coiled about her head, often to the singing of an old song whose burden runs: — 

Of course all this applies mainly to the peasantry, the upper classes in dress and manner of living conforming to western Europe. Nowhere on the Continent is there more lavish luxury than among the nobility and the princely merchants of Russia. Every clime and country contributes to their delight. The richest robes, the costliest wines, the finest equipages, genial warmth and tropic bloom in their mansions, make a fairy world in the midst of frost and desolation.

Within doors the peasant women are quite as busy as the men without; indeed, they often share in the work of the fields. They pull and dress the flax. They spin and weave and bleach the linen. They bake and brew, and put up preserves and cordials of the wild fruit or of the raspberries and black currants that, with a little care, will grow in almost every garden. They make coarse woolen cloth, and felt for rugs and winter boots and mittens. They knit stockings. They fashion the sheepskin shoubas↗↗ru. They hem-stitch the ends of towels and tablecloths, and work them with flax-thread in various patterns, and finish them with knotted fringe, or with lace of their own manufacture — patient drudges — often the real saints of the calendar — but whose recognition and reward are not of this world. Occasionally one is seen with an exquisitely fair and lovely face, but as a rule they have far less beauty than the men, and their poor, 10 rough attire when abroad — shapeless boots, scanty skirts, jackets of sheepskin or wadded cloth and hood-like handkerchiefs — would obscure the charms of Venus herself.

The most common articles of food are rye bread, fish or cabbage soup, salted cucumbers, caviare made from the roes of the sturgeon, with onions or garlic flavoring almost every dish. Meat is more rarely eaten, and even if they could obtain it the Church fasts prohibit it for over a third of the year. So rigidly are these fasts kept, that among the orthodox neither lard nor butter nor milk nor eggs are used, and many even avoid sugar because it is clarified with blood, and take honey in its stead; while for olive oil, too expensive to be commonly employed, hemp-seed oil is substituted, which when fresh is sweet and palatable. The favorite beverages are tea (decoctions↗ of various herbs and pepper-water sweetened with honey are used when Chinese tea cannot be procured); Yuass↗, a fermented liquor made by pouring boiling water on to black bread, or rye or barley meal; and vodky↗, the whisky of the country. Drunkenness is their especial vice; but intoxication never makes them quarrelsome — they sing, they embrace each other, they sit in a stupid maze, but they do not fight or rave — and it is so common, even among the priests, that little disgrace attaches to it.

Marriages were formerly contracted very early in life, and the young people disposed of as suited parents and guardians. Up to the time of Peter the Great, women were kept in almost Eastern seclusion. Seeing in his foreign tour the advantages of society, this monarch, to the scandal of the old Russians, introduced social parties and receptions after the fashion of the West. Thus the old order of things was broken up, never to be restored; but something of the past still lingers, and many marriages are yet arranged by outside persons, with simple assent from the parties themselves. As Abraham said to his servant, "Go, and take a wife for my son Isaac;"10 so these Russian patriarchs say to some wise-woman who makes a trade of matrimony, "Go and find a wife with a good dowry for my son," or, "Seek me out a suitable husband for my daughter." To remedy, however, the evils resulting from too early marriages, the law now provides that the bride must be sixteen and the bridegroom eighteen years of age. This law is supplemented by the apparently useless regulation that no man beyond eighty, or woman beyond sixty, can marry. Second and third marriages must pay the penalty of two and five years' absence from Holy Communion, and no orthodox Russian can contract a fourth. Nor can marriage take place during the Church fasts, nor at any time unless the parties have duly confessed and communicated during the previous year. The marriage of cousins is forbidden, and great care is taken as to registers and certificates, so that bigamy is almost impossible. A secret marriage is invalid; and up to the age of twenty-one, the time of legal majority, neither son nor daughter can marry without the parents' consent.

The dowry of a Russian girl is a most important thing. The poorer people begin in the very infancy of their daughters to hoard it up for the 11 wedding-day, and the attractions of the maiden are not seldom measured by her store of spoons and linen. Each cottage has its brass-bound chest, receptacle of the family goods; and here is laid away every piece of homespun cloth, and every purchase at fair or market that can be spared for the daughter's portion. Great importance is attached to the ornamented towels, and it was an old custom for the newly-made bride to present one to the lord of the manor, who in return gave her a handkerchief enclosing a small sum of money. Unmarried women are the exceptions here; and those who through extreme plainness, or deformity, or illness are precluded from marriage, are known as Christ brides;" and if they are poor and able to work, they are often trained to be readers of prayers for the dead, during the interval between the death and the funeral — a sad life, cut off from ties of personal affection, and always in the house of mourning.

Betrothal — the exchange of rings, and the blessing and prayers of a priest in the presence of friends — usually precedes marriage, and is equally binding.

The same religious ceremonies attend the wedding of the peasant as of the Czar; nay, if many couples present themselves in church at one time, they are not wedded, as is often the case in England, by a single reading of the service; but separately they must prostrate themselves before the altar-screen; and hold the lighted candles; and inhale the odor of the incense; and listen to chant and prayer and litany; and exchange the rings of betrothal; and be crowned with the silver crowns — pressing the medallion of Christ to their lips; and taste three times the cup of wine and water in memory of the miracle of Cana↗; and, walking slowly, make thrice the circle of the church, as token of the eternity of their union; and thrice kiss each other and receive the benediction. The wedding feasts are often riotous, and not unfrequently the bride's whole dowry is spent in eating and drinking during the week which follows. wretched practice, and yet, poor woman! It is not strange that she is willing to make the most of the occasion, for thenceforth her life is one of sober toil. Among the better classes, also, gayety rules the hour. Balls and parties are given, and friends vie with each other in elegance and display. The young bride returns her calls in a light bonnet trimmed with feathers (not worn by the unmarried), and at home decorates her hair with some dainty lace or muslin which represents the matron's cap; but, should she die childless, her parents can reclaim her dowry.

Birth and death, as well as marriage, the Greek Church invests with symbols and solemnities. When an infant is a day old, a priest is summoned to give it a name and read prayers for the recovery of the mother. The calendar is searched, and the name of some saint chosen whose festival falls within the week of the child's nativity; at least this is the proper and pious mode of procedure. The one selected becomes thenceforth the patron saint, the angel of the boy or girl; and the festival day is his or her name's day, a day for pleasure and gifts and congratulations. Thus the present emperor [Alexander II of Russia↗] bears the name of St. Alexander Nevski↗, and his name's day is by our calendar, which is twelve days in advance of the Russian, the 11th of September — a day for illuminations and rejoicings throughout the Empire. These days are begun by devout attendance on mass; then an entertainment is provided for friends who, to show their interest, drop in without special invitation, and the evening is concluded with mirth and dancing. In a Russian's eyes his angel is most precious and potent; a sacred intelligence watching over all his life, and waiting to receive him when it is ended. Sometimes two or three in one family bear 12 the same name, and then the day is doubly celebrated.

Excepting in a few great families, where it has been settled by special statute, the law of primogeniture does not prevail in Russia, but all the sons take the rank of the father and share his estate.

There is no such word as baby in Russ; but the language is rich in diminutives, and by one of these the little one is thenceforth called. Boris becomes Borinka; Romàn, Romanoushka; Alexis, Alëshinka; Olga, Olinka; Agrafena, Grousha; and so on with numberless variations. The baby's cradle is the liulka,11 a small soft couch suspended by leather straps from the ceiling, and curtained about, with print in the hut, with silk in the hall, a warm nest which, at the least touch, rocks up and down. Until they are six or eight months old most infants are swathed, for sleep, in long bands of linen. The old nurse who guards babe and mother lavishes on the child the tenderest expressions; calls it her "Christ's child," her "General," and will let no one interfere with its slumbers.

As soon as may be, the christening takes place. Among the upper classes it is usually performed at home, the font being brought from the church for the purpose; but to the church itself the peasants go, and sometimes, on sunny Sabbath mornings when there is a market in the town, the nave is filled with children and their nurses and god-parents — for father and mother neither witness baptism nor marriage of their own offspring; a strange custom, dating back to ancient times, and which doubtless had, in the beginning, some significance. It is a complicated service. There are prayers and questions and responses, the repeating of the Nicene Creed, Bible readings, litanies and amens. The child is brought quite naked, but in soft wrappings, and at the proper moment is taken by the priest and completely immersed three separate times in the warm water of the font, for the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Then it is arrayed in a white garment which the godmother has prepared; and about its neck, attached to a silken cord or ribbon, is hung the cross given by the godfather, and of gold, or silver, or brass, as his means may allow; the cross which thenceforth it must always wear. After a half-hour of ceremonies the tired child is carried by the godfather to its waiting mother, glad to be fed and swathed and put to sleep in its liulka. If it slumbers long and peacefully, she predicts for it a prosperous life. At forty days old she takes it with her to her "churching," for its first Communion. The drop of wine is administered; the little mouth wiped by the Deacon with a silken napkin; and then the priest presses its face to the pictures of the altar-screen and exclaims: "The servant of God, Constantine (or whatever the name may be), is admitted into the Church of Christ." Carrying the infant behind the screen, he repeats the same in solemn tones, and thenceforth it is an orthodox Russian.*12

If such preparation as this is needful for an exchange of worlds, it behooves Russian parents to have no delay, since statistics show that two-thirds of the peasant children die 13 before they are a year old. Their rough life, now in the hot close rooms, now exposed to the freezing air, destroys the feeble ones, while it hardens the strong and leaves them to grow up into robust men and women. When quite young they are unrestricted, and lead a petted, care-free life; but they are seldom rude or quarrelsome. There is much superstition among the peasantry, and charms and spells are often resorted In to for the cure of ague and other ills from which they suffer. An Easter-egg which has lain for three years on the shelf beneath the pictures of the saints; cinders that have been in the censer during three liturgies for the repose of a soul; a wax taper which has burned at certain matins and vespers, are favorite charms; and, worn about the neck in a case attached to the cord that holds the cross, they are supposed to have healing power. In the country most of the diseases of women and children are treated by women. In every town there is a "lady's nurse" educated at St. Petersburg or Moscow, and provided by Government. The poor have their own baboushkas, wise-women who suffice for their ordinary needs, and who have great fluence in the families of their acquaintance. For the old nurse the housewife makes the cup of fragrant tea, and then, sitting by the deal table, pours into her listening ears the story of household troubles and anxieties, while the children gather round, waiting for the nuts or cakes or sun-flower seeds sure to be produced from the visitor's capacious pockets.

Severe illness is borne with a kind of Oriental resignation, and less reliance is placed upon remedies and physicians than with us. If medicine is taken, it is with reverence, the signing of the cross, and a muttered "God bless!" as it is swallowed. The person fatally ill is taken, if possible, to the church to receive the last sacrament; but if this cannot be done, it is administered at home. As death approaches, the pictures of the saints and lighted tapers are put behind the couch of the dying; or, if it be in a peasant's cabin, he is placed on the bench in the sacred corner; while a little child is held tenderly on a pillow before the holy images, and blessed and signed with the cross till life is gone. Great care is taken that there be no pigeon's feather in the pillow, for then the soul could not part quietly from the body, as the pigeon is "the bird of the Holy Ghost."

Many people prepare their own graveclothes long beforehand, and elderly women sometimes go to communion in their burial attire. When the shroud is put on, a picture of the Saviour or some saint is laid upon the breast; the hands are crossed, holding a taper; the tall crucifix and candlesticks with candles are brought from the church to stand and burn about the coffin; and night and day until the funeral, an ordained reader, with an associate in wealthy houses, — a peasant man or woman instructed for the purpose among the poor, — keeps his station beside the body, intoning the Psalter and prayers; while friends throng in to look at the deceased and offer their condolence. Twice a day, while the body remains at home, the priest comes to sing a requiem. The face of the dead is uncovered, and in sombre attire the listening mourners cross themselves and weep at the touching words with which it closes:

"With the saints let the soul of Thy deceased servant, O Lord, rest in peace, and keep him in everlasting remembrance."

The relatives and friends in procession accompany the body to the church, and all whom they meet, strangers or acquaintances, uncover the head and cross themselves, and wish repose to his soul. Arrived at the church the coffin is deposited before the altar-screen, while the mourners stand about it with lighted tapers in their hands; and with odor of incense and fervent ejaculations the burial 14 service proceeds. When it is over the priest reads from a paper a prayer for absolution, printed in Slavonic, and then places it in the hand of the dead; while a band of satin or paper with golden cherubim and some sacred text upon it, is fastened around the brow. Then the last kiss is given, the coffin is closed and borne to the church-yard, and beside the grave the family wait — each throwing a handful of earth within — until the kindly sods are replaced upon the mound.

Meantime at home the house is washed and set in order, and an abundant dinner prepared for the friends; while in the kitchen or some out-house a table is spread for the beggars who always crowd to a funeral, and who, on such occasions, are treated as guests and waited upon by the family. Their dinner is first served, and then the household, with relatives and priests and deacons, sit down to their own. Those who can afford it have mass and matins performed, and give alms to beggars for forty days. At the fortieth day the funeral services are almost repeated, and if a will was left it is then read. On the anniversary of the death, and on the name's day of the deceased, requiems are performed for them; but not for little children, as they are deemed innocent up to the age of seven or eight years, when they go to confession. Dying before that time, they are spoken of as "the sinless babe, Vera;" or, "the guiltless babe, Dimitry."

There are two days in spring called "Parents' days," which are especially devoted to the memory of the dead. Then the mourners repair to the church-yards to bewail their lost friends and to have requiems sung over the graves, and beggars hasten thither to receive the alms which are given for the benefit of the souls of the departed. The peasants carry eggs, cakes, curds, anything of which their relative was especially fond, and eat them by the grave for remembrance. Madame Romanoff mentions seeing on one of these days a group of peasants even sipping whisky upon the mound, and saying: "May the kingdom of heaven be his! he loved a drink, the deceased!" The most common monument is a wooden cross, with date and name cut upon it. Those of more elegance have the inscription in golden Slavonic letters upon a green ground.

The love of music is universal. At work or at leisure the peasant sings; and song and dance lighten the dreary monotony of his life, whether he hunt, or fish, or guide his boat along the slow-moving rivers, or till the colorless fields. Of other amusements there are few. Swings and seesaws, especially Easter; sledge-parties in winter, and the talk and gossip of the markets and bazars make up the sum. Among the higher classes card- playing is universal. Politeness characterizes the people in their intercourse with each other. "Good father," "good mother," are terms of address to elderly people; and the latter, matushka,13 is used sometimes to the Empress. The superior calls the inferior "good brother," and a child is spoken to as "my little soul," "my pretty dove," "my angel Fédia" (Feodor). How much we may expect when education and favoring circumstances come to the aid of these natural graces! The Act of Emancipation↗ was proclaimed on the 19th of February, 1861, and read upon the same day in all the churches of the Empire. The mass of the serfs had been too long in slavery, and were too ignorant to appreciate at once their new position; but in Saint Petersburg and Moscow there were thousands who, by paying yearly tribute to their masters, had gained the right to become merchants, mechanics, coachmen, servants, and some of them had thus accumulated large fortunes. Yet, knowing that the pleasure of the master could at any moment call them back to servitude, they hailed with delight the breaking of their chains. With shouts of joy they greeted the Emperor as he went to the Kazan church↗ to listen to the reading of the Emancipation ukaz. They sent him addresses overflowing with loyalty and gratitude. They gathered in the tea-houses and the whisky-shops to celebrate their triumph. They embraced each other, and companies paraded 15 the streets singing, "Volyushka! Volyushka!" — Darling Freedom!14

Eleven years have now passed during which there has been steady improvement in their condition. More than three-fourths of their number have availed themselves of the law by which they could obtain land in their own right or hold it at a moderate lease, and every branch of industry has received large accessions from their number. The new laws regarding land do not interfere with their old communal rights; they only fix the limits of the soil belonging to the former proprietor and to the commune. All local affairs are settled, as before, by Communal Assemblies15 held three times a year, and to which every five houses can elect a deputy. These Assemblies have power of appeal to the Czar↗ and the Ministry↗. Measures for the better instruction of the people followed their emancipation. Large sums were appropriated for the founding of village schools, the payment of teachers, the purchase of scientific instruments, and of books and paper for the poorer peasants. Of course many of them were stupidly inappreciative; but great numbers embraced their new opportunities with eagerness, glad to forget the time when, if one man in the village could write his name, he shook hands with his neighbors in token of delegated power, and then signed their contracts. When another generation, born to manhood and properly trained and educated, shall come upon the scene, we shall begin to know of what this Slavonic race is capable.

Of the old cities of Northern Russia — Pskof↗, Novgorod↗, Tver↗, and the rest — only two, Tver and Jaroslavl↗, have more than twenty-five thousand inhabitants; but about wall and dome and tower cluster memories of Tartar invasions,16 and Polish sieges, and civil wars, and of miraculous interpositions for the safety of Holy Russia.17 These cities are built principally of wood, with cathedral and monasteries, and perhaps the modern Government buildings, of stone. They manufacture leather, and linen, and paper, and cordage, and soap, and nails, and candles, and have annual fairs which are the resort of the surrounding country. Grandest among them, in ancient days, was Novgorod the Great↗, spread over an area of forty miles, and having a population of nearly half a million, "the mart town of all Moscovie↗, and in greatness beyond Moscow." Here the first Sovereigns of the line of Rurik↗ established themselves; here in the latter part of the fourteenth century money began to be coined↗ in place of the skins and pieces of leather which had been the medium of traffic; and here, in 1862, was celebrated the thousandth anniversary of the Empire.18 The republicans among the people had high hopes that on that day, in the cradle of Russian power, a Constitution might be given to the country. But this was not the policy of the Government. A military pageant, a ball, and a monument set up in honor of the occasion were all that characterized it. Novgorod had grown rich and powerful through its extensive trade. 16 The free city of the North, it elected its princes without regard to the Grand Dukes of Russia; but in the fifteenth century, after a terrible conflict↗, it was subdued by John the Great↗, and its treasures and many of its principal inhabitants were carried to Moscow. Even its Veché bell, which had so often summoned its people to deliberate upon the affairs of the city, was suspended in his tower in the Kremlin.19 With its many domes and spires, Novgorod still looks imposing as you approach it from a distance; but, entering, you see wide, desolate streets, and empty courts and squares, across which the shadows of the church towers fall, and through whose silent spaces the winds blowing over the Volkhoff↗ [river] sing dirges for the glory departed.

Pskof, the Hanse↗ town, inferior only to Novgorod in trade and importance, has a similar story of subjugation by the Moscow Sovereigns, and is to day a little provincial city with only the pride of the past to sustain it. Within its kremlin, the Cathedral of the Trinity↗ stands upon the site of a church said to have been built by St. Olga↗ two years after her conversion at Constantinople↗. Pleasant blending of the past with the present, before her cross, near the altar, hangs a lamp presented by the Grand Duke Constantine↗, which burns night and day for the namesake of the saint — his daughter, the Grand Duchess Olga↗, now Queen of Greece. Tver, at the head of navigation on the Volga, and upon the Petersburg and Moscow Railway↗, accepts the life of to-day, and, leaving is ancient pretensions to slumber with its long line of princes in the cathedral vaults, betakes itself to the shipping of grain and tallow, and the forging of iron. Near Kostroma↗ was the home of the Royal Romanoffs↗, and here lived Susanin↗,20 the peasant who gave his life to save Michael↗, the first of the dynasty, from a band of Polish ruffians who had come to murder him. "Do you think I would sell my Czar?" said he when they offered him gold to guide them to the estate. To reward his devotion a large tract of land, with many privileges, was made over to his daughter and her heirs, and the Emperor Nicholas↗ raised here a statue in his honor. The popular Russian play, "Life for the Czar," is founded upon this story of Susanin. Here, too, was born Osip Komisaroff↗↗ru, who at St. Petersburg, on the fourth of April, 1866, saved the Emperor Alexander II. from assassination, and has since borne the name of Komisaroff Kostromsky. At Uglitch↗ the young Prince Dimitry↗, last of the line of Rurik, was put to death; and a tall silver candlestick, presented by the town, stands near his coffin in the Archangel cathedral at Moscow↗. Jaroslavl, on the Volga, is perhaps at present the most prosperous of these old cities, having a vast bazar and sharing the commerce of the river. It owned extensive lands, with several thousand serfs, and at their emancipation it received large pecuniary compensation. The population of Jaroslavl is purely Russian, and its women are famed for their beauty. Vladimir↗, long the residence of the early Grand Dukes, is of consequence now chiefly because it lies on the road to the fairs of Nijni Novgorod↗ and 17 Irbit↗. It is near the northern limit of fruit, and cherries and apples are found in its market. Viatka↗ and Vologda↗, colonies of Great Novgorod, are simply the capitals of the broad, thinly-settled provinces to which they belong.

Of the towns which have become important in more modern days, the principal are Nijni Novgorod, at the confluence of the Volga and the Oka↗, the seat of the great fair; Perm↗, far in the east, on the Kama↗, thriving on the Siberian trade; and Rybinsk↗, on the upper Volga, where the immense stores of grain and tallow and skins brought up the river are transferred to barges and smaller boats for the canals that lead to the Baltic↗. For the streams are still the highways of Russia. Railroads as yet are few; and off the post routes the inhabitants must wait for snow and sledge to transport their produce to market or water-side. Winter is here the season of activity.

The traveler going from Moscow to the Baltic sees the rolling country subside into dreary levels. The firs and birches grow smaller. A dull misty sky hangs over the landscape, and from the north blows a lamenting wind that makes him picture the wretched land beyond, where tree and shrub have disappeared, and vast fields of snow lie beneath the darkness or the low sun of the poles, their white expanse rippled into waves by the Arctic gales. Suddenly a splendid city appears on the horizon — a city with gilded domes and piercing spires and long avenues, linking the Neva islands and reaching far out on the plain — St. Petersburg↗ — Pride of Russia!

Why did the great Peter [the Great] choose this unpromising swamp for the site of his new town? Because Archangel was inaccessible for nine months of the year; because he wished to approach Europe rather than Asia, and his port on the Sea of Azof↗ being in the midst of Asiatic tribes, the mouth of the Neva was then the most desirable spot on Russian soil. It was in May, 1703, that he began the city by building a small fort on Vassili Island↗, one of the cluster of islands in the delta of the Neva. The poor Finns of the newly acquired district, prisoners of war, and thousands of peasants from the remote regions of the Empire, were drafted to transform the malarious marsh into a spot habitable for man. Multitudes died yearly from the effects of exposure, of the severity of the climate, and of superstitious fear; for the ruling priests and monks abhorred Peter's innovations, and represented his new city to the people as "one of the mouths of hell." But steadily the work went on. Forests were buried in the mud; the soil was drained and raised; a certain proportion of the inhabitants of other towns were compelled to make it their abode; and, as when St. Mark's↗ was building, every vessel leaving Venice↗ for the East was obliged to bring back marbles and pillars for the cathedral, so for years no ship or cart could come to Petersburg without bringing 18 stones for the paving of its streets. Now it stands nearly sixty feet above the Baltic level; the islands and the river shores are covered with massive buildings or transformed into gardens planted with limes and birches and every shrub that can live in northern air; the Neva is walled with granite, and the inundating tide poured down from Lake Ladoga↗ is lessened by canals fed from the stream; while its high latitude and the strong fortress of Cronstadt↗ protect it from invasion. The larger and nobler part of the city is on the south bank of the Neva, and its center is the Admiralty Square facing the river. In this Square are the buildings for State purposes — the War Office, the Senate, the Synod where questions relating to the Church are settled — all the establishments for the official business of the Empire. The Admiralty is a huge pile of buildings, half a mile in length, devoted to the uses of the Navy. Above it is the Winter Palace↗, with a grand ascent from the Neva, the largest and stateliest of the palaces of Europe, where the Emperor and the thousands who attend him find ample space for the splendors and duties of the Court. Here, in a guarded room, blaze the Crown jewels — choicest treasures of the Oural mines; spoils of Asiatic conquest; gifts of lesser sovereigns trembling at the power of the Czars. By covered galleries the Palace communicates with the Hermitage↗ — the Louvre of Russia — a storehouse of ancient and modern art, where all the schools are represented, but where as yet there are few pictures or statues by native artists. In front towers the Alexander Column↗, whose shaft of red Finland granite rises eighty-four feet, without fluting or ornament, and upbears a bronze angel holding a cross, which, with the pedestal, also of bronze, gives to the whole almost twice that height above the pavement of the square. The only inscription it bears is: "To Alexander the First, Grateful Russia." Below the Admiralty, and near the river, is the famous equestrian statue of Peter the Great, erected in the reign of Catharine II. The great boulder on which his horse is rearing was found eleven miles away, in a morass of Finland. This immense rock, forty-five feet in length and thirty in height, lying detached and alone in the swamp, was looked upon with awe by the finders, and their amazement was increased when, on breaking off a portion which a lightning stroke had shattered, crystals, agates, amethysts, and other valuable stones were found embedded in the mass. Of these stones, and of other chippings of the rock, many little articles were made-bracelets, rings, snuff-boxes, cane-heads — and sold at high prices throughout the Empire. With vast labor and trouble the boulder was removed to the city; and though reduced in size by after cutting, it remains a noble base for the spirited rider who, clad in half-boots and flowing vest, sits on a housing of bearskin and extends his right hand in benediction. His head, uncovered and crowned with laurel, was modeled by 19 Marie Collot↗, a young French lady, who, through the reputation thus gained, made a fortune in Russia by her portrait busts, and eventually married the son of Falconet, M.↗ the designer of the statue.

The finest place in the Square is occupied by the glory of Russian churches, the Cathedral of St. Isaac↗. A church had always stood upon this site, but the Emperor Alexander I.↗ resolved to erect one here which should rival the famous cathedrals of western Europe. Begun in 1819, it was completed and dedicated with great solemnity in 1858. Seventy millions of dollars are said to have been expended upon it, no small portion of which was employed in making the ground solid with piles, and in gilding the domes with ducat-gold. Built of red Finland granite, in the form ofa Greek cross, its four equal sides are adorned with porticoes copied from the Pantheon↗, but of grander proportions, their columns being monoliths with a height of sixty and a diameter of seven feet. Similar columns uphold the great central dome, with its glittering cross; four lesser domes surround it, each at an angle of the roof; and the bases and capitals of the columns, and the groups of figures in the pediment, are of darkest bronze; the whole rich and somber in effect — a temple fit to face the Alexander Column, the great monolith of the world. The interior has the same massive symmetry and almost gloomy splendor. Pillars of malachite↗ and lapis lazuli↗ uphold the altar-screen; the altar itself is of these beautiful stones, adorned with gold; and the saints, shrined in mosaic and silver-gilt along the walls, look down upon a perpetual burning of tapers and offering of prayers.

Across the river is Vassili Island, the center of commerce, with the Bourse, the Academy of Sciences, the University, and other notable structures facing the stream; and to the north, Citadel Island, with the Fortress and Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul. The dungeons of the Fortress are used for prisoners of State; and the Cathedral, whose gilded lance-like spire lifts its cross almost four hundred feet above the Neva, is the burial-place of the Sovereigns of Russia from the time of Peter the Great, who, when life was done, would sleep nowhere but in the city he had founded. To the right of the Fortress is the wooden cottage of three rooms, where Peter lived and superintended the building of the city. The house is now incased in brick, to protect it from the weather; and his bedroom is converted into 20 a chapel, where hangs the miraculous image of the Saviour which he bore to the battle of Pultava↗, and to which devout Russians yet kneel and pray. It was returning from his name's-day devotions at this chapel, April 4th, 1866, that Komisaroff, the journeyman cap-maker, saw in the crowd a pistol aimed at the Emperor, and, seizing the assassin's arm, sent the ball wide of its mark, and saved the life of the Czar. Farther north are other islands, all densely populated, and thick-set with streets or villas surrounded by gardens.

The canals, like the river, are walled with granite and crossed by numerous bridges. Of the three bridges that span the Great Neva, two are built of boats and removed in winter, and only the Nikolai bridge is permanent, crossing the river from a little below the Admiralty to Vassili Island. It is of iron, twelve hundred feet in length, with seven arches supported on granite piers, and a drawbridge at its northern end. The foundations for these piers were made, as on shore, by driving piles close together, row above row, all the way across the channel. Before its erection there were sometimes days together, at the breaking up of the ice, when there was no communication between the opposite banks. In spite of all that has been done to save the city from floods, the streets are in a wretched condition at the melting of the snows, and a multitude of laborers are employed every spring upon buildings and pavements, repairing the ravages of the frost. The soil is so saturated with water, that it is difficult to make cellars or sewers. Some idea of the winters may be gained by noticing the vast quantities of wood brought to the city to keep its six hundred thousand inhabitants from freezing. comes by every route of land and water, and the very boats, and barges that transport it on the rivers and the canals are, upon arrival, broken up for fuel. The great brick stoves, and the tea-houses where hot tea is dispensed at all hours, are the comforts of the masses.

From the Square of the Admiralty radiate the three principal streets of the city, noted for their width where all are wide. The handsomest of these, the Nevski Prospekt, runs almost in a straight line for three miles, and terminates at the magnificent monastery of Alexander Nevski. Lined with palaces and churches and noble warehouses, planted with lindens and thronged by gay crowds, it is often called the finest street in Europe, and is singularly adapted to military reviews and gorgeous processions such as filled it last June at the celebration of the two hundredth anniversary of the birth of Peter the Great. Here is the center of traffic, the bazar built in the reign of the Empress Elizabeth, an immense structure where, as in the East, every trade has its quarter. Here is the Kazan Cathedral reared under Alexander I., and called in honor of the image of Our Lady of Kazan↗, which, set in costly stones, adorns the silver screen before the altar. This picture is thought to possess miraculous power, because it was found among the ashes of a conflagration in the old Tartar city whose name it bears. The face is of Southern type, gentle and compassionate, with soft dark eyes. Accurate copies of it are everywhere for sale, and throughout the Empire it is a favorite image. Here, too, is the Imperial Library, with its half-million volumes, and its collection of manuscripts more valuable than any other, unless it be that of the Vatican at Rome.

Along the Nevski rolls the varied 21 tide of Petersburg life — pedestrians of every nationality of the realm; mounted Cossacks, and officers resplendent with gold lace and orders; elegant barouches, on whose luxurious cushions recline titled ladies borne swiftly to their round of visits or morning drive; troikas, whose two horses trot briskly together, while the third, his head at right angles to them, gallops at the side; droskies, which the Marquis de Custine↗ aptly calls summer sledges, so low and small and convenient are they; policemen; companies of soldiers; groups of peasants; coachmen; porters; beggars; all, with their peculiar attire and strange speech, making up a panorama which you must go to the Neva to behold. Colossal works on every side, power, splendor, novelty; yet the misty skies, the low sun, which gives always the semblance of waning day, the dull tints of sea and shore, the melancholy wind blowing through the broad, level, monotonous streets, make it a sombre city during the milder half of the year. But when winter comes, with its pale blue sky; when the snow falls thick on the plain; when the Neva is a mass of ice and the favorite drive and race-course; when flying sledges fill the streets, and all who pass are wrapped in wool or furs; when, under the patronage of the Government, the great theaters display their attractions, and the rarest singers of the world beguile the long evenings with perfect song; when the huge stuccoed stoves, and hot-air flues running through the walls, and grates heaped with English coal diffuse a genial warmth through the stately mansions where flowers blossom as if in their native air, and the rank and fashion and wit and beauty of the Empire are gathered; then St. Petersburg is brilliant, imposing, unrivaled, the Miracle of the North.