Power of the Greek Church. — Freeing the Serfs. — Education Needed. — Mammoth Russia. — Religion and Superstition. — Memorial Structures. — Church Fasts. — Theatres and Public Amusements. — Night Revels. — A Russian Bazaar. — Children’s Nurses in Costume. — The one Vehicle of Russia. — Dress of the People. — Fire Brigade. — Red Tape. — Personal Surveillance. — Passports. — Annoyances. — Spying Upon Strangers. — The Author’s Experience. — Censorship of the Press.

It is not alone her military organization, colossal and complete as it is, which forms the sole strength of the great Russian Empire, embracing nearly two thirds of the earth’s surface, and covering an area of eighty millions of square miles. There is a power behind the army which is nearly as potent as any other element in maintaining the absolute sovereignty of the Emperor, and that is the Church which recognizes him as its head; and where physical control might prove inadequate to enforce the wishes of the Tzar, religious influence, as directed by the priesthood, would undoubtedly accomplish as much with the masses of the population as would force of arms. The clergy of the Greek Church are the faithful servitors of absolutism, and from the nature of things must always be hearty supporters of the reigning monarch. It requires no remarkable insight for them to realize that their very existence as a priesthood depends upon the stability of the Empire. The Anarchists, who entertain but one distinctive idea, admit of no fealty to God or man, and cherish as little respect for the Church as for the State.

Alexander III. has probably at this writing one hundred millions of subjects, embracing the most remarkable diversity of nationalities and races of which it is possible to conceive. Since March 3, 1861, there have been no serfs in the Empire. Twenty millions of human beings who were slaves the day before, on that auspicious date were proclaimed freemen. All honor to the memory of him who made this bold and manly stride towards universal emancipation against the combined influence of the entire Russian nobility! Whatever of political restlessness there may be existing among the upper classes of the Tzar’s subjects is traceable in its origin to this freeing of the peasantry of the country. Like slavery in our own Southern States serfdom died hard, and its supporters are not yet all “reconstructed.” Like the American negroes, the serfs were sold from master to master and treated like chattels; humanity was not a relative term between noble and serf. Masters sent them to Siberia to work in the mines, or to serve in the army, or exchanged them for cattle or money, and often gambled them away by the dozen in a single night. They made or unmade families according to the heartless caprice of the moment, and unhesitatingly outraged every domestic tie. Before the abolishment of serfdom the Government and the nobles owned all the land in Russia; but to-day the former serfs own at least one third of the land whereon they live and which they cultivate, and for every acre (to their honor be it said) they have paid a fair market value, having accumulated the means by industry and rigid economy. An intelligent native merchant informed the author that self-respect seemed to have been at once implanted among the common people by the manifesto of March, 1861, and that a rapid social improvement has been clearly observable ever since. The better education of the rising generation is what is now most required to supplement the great act of emancipation; and though this is being attempted in the various districts to a limited extent as we have shown, still it is but a slow condition of progress. Not until the Government takes the matter seriously in hand, using its authority and lending its liberal pecuniary aid, will anything of importance be accomplished in this direction.

The Tzar’s dominion embraces every phase of religion and of civilization. Portions of the Empire are as barbaric as Central Africa; others are semi-civilized, while a large share of the people inhabiting the cities assume the highest outward appearance of refinement and culture. This diversity of character spreads over a country extending from the Great Wall of China on one side to the borders of Germany on the other; from the Crimea in the South to the Polar Ocean in the far North. As to the national or State religion,—that of the Greek Church,—it seems to be based upon gross superstition, and is therefore all the more effective as a restraining principle from evil-doing among the great mass of poor ignorant creatures who respect scarcely anything else. Much genuine piety is observable among the Russians, a large proportion of the educated people being zealous church-goers, strictly observing all the outward forms of the religion they profess. In the churches there is no distinction of person; all are deemed equal before the Almighty Father. There are no seats in the temples of worship; all the congregation stand or kneel, and during the services often prostrate themselves upon the marble floor. The monks and nuns conduct a thriving business in the sale of sacred tapers, holy relics, images, wedding-rings, and also indulgences and prayers, as in the Roman Catholic Church. Indeed, the resemblance in the forms and ceremonies of the two are to one not initiated almost identical.

To commemorate such an event as leads other nations to erect triumphal arches, Russia builds churches. In St. Petersburg, the Church of St. Alexander commemorates the first victory won by the Russians over the Swedes; St. Isaac’s, the birth of Peter the Great; Our Lady of Kazan, the triumph of Russian arms against the Persians and the Turks. In Moscow, St. Basil commemorates the conquest of Kazan; the Donskoi Convent, the victory over the Crim Tartars; and St. Saviour’s, the expulsion of Napoleon. Slava Bogu!—“Glory to God,”—is an expression ever upon the lips of the devout Russian, and he is only consistent to his Oriental instincts in the multiplication of fane and altar throughout his native-land. If fasting and prayer are indications of sincerity, he must be actuated by honest convictions, since he has twice the number of days in the year devoted to self-denial which are known to other religionists. Every Wednesday and Friday, be his situation or condition what it may, he must abstain from meat. More than one half the days in a Russian year are devoted to fasting and humiliation. During seven weeks before Easter no flesh or fish, no milk, no eggs, and no butter can be partaken of without outraging the familiar rules of the Church. For fifteen days in August a fast of great severity is held in honor of the Virgin’s death. We do not pretend to give a list of the periods devoted to fast; these we have named are only examples. Every new house in which a man lives, every new shop which he opens for trade, must be formally blessed at the outset. So closely have religious passions passed into social life that the people are even more alive to its requirements than the priesthood, save in those instances where perquisites are anticipated.

The cost of everything in Russia, except the bare necessities, seemed to us to be exorbitant,—nice articles of dress or of simple wear being held at such prices as naturally leads foreigners to avoid all purchases which can conveniently be deferred. As to the native population who are able to expend money freely, they do not seem to care what price is charged them; their recklessness, indeed, in money matters has long been proverbial. So long as they have the means to pay with, they do so; when this is no longer the case, they seem to live with equal recklessness on credit. We were told that one third of the apparently affluent were bankrupt. Fancy articles which are offered for sale in the city stores are nearly all imported from Paris or Vienna; very few lines of manufactured goods are produced in the country. Opera and theatre tickets cost three times as much as in America; and all select public exhibitions are charged for in a similar ratio, except a few which are organized on a popular basis for the humbler classes, such as the tea and beer gardens. The theatres of St. Petersburg are after the usual European style of these structures,—all being large and convenient. As they are under the sole charge of the Government, they are conducted on a grand scale of excellence. Nothing but the choicest thing of its kind in dramatic representation is permitted,—only the best ballet and opera, aided by the most admirable scenery and mechanical effects. The establishment known as the Italian Opera accommodates three thousand spectators without crowding. In what is called the Michael Theatre the best French troupes only appear; and it may be safely said that the average performances excel those of Paris. A Government censor critically examines every piece before its performance. The prices paid by the directors for the services of the best European performers are almost fabulous; no private enterprise could afford to disburse such liberal compensations to artists. The necessity for paying such extravagant rates arises partly from the disinclination of prima-donnas and other dramatic artists to subject themselves to the arbitrary direction of a censorship which is sure to hold them strictly to the letter of their agreement, and which does not hesitate to inflict exemplary punishment for wilful departure from the same. Besides which, the rigor of the climate is such as to create a dread among women-artists to encounter its exigencies. It is only during the winter months that the theatres are open, as in the summer season the court and fashionable people generally are absent from the capital.

Here, as in Copenhagen and Stockholm, the people are assiduous in improving the short summer weeks by devoting themselves heart and soul to out-door amusements. Night is turned into day; the public gardens are crowded,—the entertainments consisting of light theatricals, music, acrobatic performances, dancing, and the like, which are kept up alternating with each other until long past midnight. The people in the mean time sit at little marble tables, and sip tea from tumblers, drink beer, coffee, and spirits, supplemented by various light condiments, until finally those who drink fermented liquors become more than jolly. These places of course draw together all classes of people, and more especially are the nightly resort of the demi-monde. In European cities, generally, such resorts are compelled to close at midnight; here they may last until daylight returns. The Sabbath is the most popular day of the seven at the public gardens, when day and evening performances take place. The Greek churches, like the Roman Catholic, are always open through the entire week, so that the devoutly-inclined can turn aside at any hour and bow before the altar, which to him typifies all that is holy. The Sabbath is therefore regarded here as it is in Rome, Paris, or Seville,—in the light of a holiday as well as a holy-day. After having attended morning Mass, a member of either church unhesitatingly seeks his favorite amusement. The horse-races of Paris, the bull-fights of Madrid, and the grand military-parades of St. Petersburg, all take place on Sunday. Few European communities find that repose and calmness in the day which seems best to accord with American sentiment. It cannot be supposed that a community which goes to bed so late,—seldom before two or three o’clock A. M.,—can be early risers, and they certainly are not. Only the bakers’ and butchers’ shops and the bar-rooms are open before ten o’clock A. M., while general business is not resumed before about midday. The plodding laborer only is seen wending his way to work as the church-bells chime out the six o’clock matins; and no matter how many churches, shrines, or chapels he may pass, at each one he lifts his hat, makes the sign of the cross upon his breast, and mutters a brief prayer.

Every Russian city has a Gostinnoi-Dvor, or Bazaar, meaning literally the “Stranger’s Court,”—a sort of permanent fair,—a “bon-marche” on a large scale. That of St. Petersburg is situated on the Nevsky Prospect; or rather it fronts upon that thoroughfare, but extends through to Great Garden Street. The structure devoted to this purpose is two stories in height, the second floor being reserved for wholesale business, while the basement or ground-floor consists of a multitude of retail shops, where nearly every conceivable kind of goods is offered for sale. No fire is allowed in the bazaar even in winter, except the tiny silver lamps which burn before the pictures of saints. To suppose that these could be dangerous would be sacrilege. There is one excellent rule in the Gostinnoi-Dvor: while other city shops ask various prices, and sell for whatever they can get, this great bazaar has fixed prices, and is supposed to adhere to them. Regarding the quality of the goods sold here, truth compels us to say that the intelligent traveller will hardly feel inclined to invest much money in their purchase. Pictures of saints and packs of cards are the two articles which find the largest sale in such places. A propensity to gamble is as natural to this people as it is to the Chinese. The popular cry of the Spanish lower classes is “bread and bulls;” that of the Russians might be “saints and cards.” Next to vodka, cards are the evil genius of the masses. Many are the dram-shops and potent the liquor where the idlers play with cards and liquid fire. We were speaking to a resident upon these matters, when he closed by saying: “Ah, yes, it is to be regretted; but what can you expect? It is so hard to be good, and so very easy to be bad!”

Coming out of the labyrinth of narrow alleys and long arcades of the bazaar upon the Nevsky Prospect side, we overtook a bevy of nursery girls with their juvenile charges bound for the shady paths and fragrant precincts of the Summer Garden. These maids are here quite a social feature, and in their showy distinctive dress recall those of the Tuileries at Paris, the Prado at Madrid, or the Ceylon nurses of English officers’ children at Colombo. These St. Petersburg domestics much affect the old Russian costume, with added vividness of color, producing a theatrical and gala-day effect. It seems to be quite a mark of family distinction to have a nurse thus bedecked about the house, or abroad with its baby-representative, while there is evident rivalry between the matronly employers in regard to the richness of the dresses worn by the maids. These costumes consist often of a bonnet like a diadem of red or blue velvet, embroidered with gold, beneath which falls the hair in two long braids. The robe is of some wadded damask, the waist just below the arms, supplemented by a very short skirt. Plenty of gold cord decks these garments, which are usually braided in fantastic figures.

The one vehicle of Russia is the drosky, the most uncomfortable and unavailable vehicle ever constructed for the use of man, but of which there are, nevertheless, over fifteen thousand in the streets of the imperial city. It has very low wheels, a heavy awkward body, and is as noisy as a Concord coach. Some one describes it as being a cross between a cab and an instrument of torture. There is no rest for the occupant’s back; and while the seat is more than large enough for one, it is not large enough for two persons. It is a sort of sledge on wheels. The noise made by these low-running ugly conveyances as they are hurried by the drivers over the uneven rubble-stones of the streets is deafening. Why the Russians adhere so tenaciously to this ill-conceived four-wheeled conveyance, we could not divine. It has no special adaptability to the roads or streets of the country that we could understand, while there are half-a-dozen European or American substitutes combining comfort, economy, and comeliness, which might be profitably adopted in its place. The legal charge for conveyance in droskies is as moderate as is their accommodation, but a foreigner is always charged three or four times the regular fare. The poor ill-paid fellows who drive them form a distinct class, dressing all alike, in a short bell-crowned hat, a padded blue-cloth surtout, or wrapper, reaching to their feet and folded across the breast. This garment is buttoned under the left arm with a row of six small, close-set silver buttons, while a belt indicates where the waist should be. These drivers are a miserably ignorant class, sleeping doubled up on the front of the droskies night and day, when not employed. The vehicle is at once their house and their bed, and if one requires a drosky he first awakens the driver, who is usually curled up asleep like a dog. It is the only home these poor fellows have, in nine cases out of ten. The horses are changed at night after a day’s service, but the driver remains at his post day and night. Unlike the reckless drivers of Paris, Naples, and New York, the Russian rarely strikes his horse with the whip, but is apt to talk to him incessantly,—“Go ahead! we are in a hurry, my infant;” or, “Take care of that stone!” “Turn to the left, my pigeon!” and so on.

All St. Petersburg wear top-boots outside the pantaloons. Even mechanics and common laborers adopt this style; but wherefore, except that it is the fashion, one cannot conceive. The common people universally wear red-cotton shirts hanging outside the pantaloons. It was surprising to see gentlemen wearing overcoats in mid-summer, when the temperature was such that Europeans would be perspiring freely though clad in the thinnest vestment. In winter the Russian covers himself up to the very eyes in fur, and perhaps the contrast between fur and woollen makes sufficient difference with him. It was observed that the apparatus and organization for extinguishing fires in the city was very primitive, water being conveyed in a barrel-shaped vehicle, and other very simple means adopted. The water-ways of the city, with a proper hose-system, ought certainly to supply sufficient water for any possible exigency. In the several districts of the town lofty watch-towers are erected, from which a strict look-out is kept at all hours for fires; and a system of signals is adopted whereby the locality of any chance blaze can be plainly and promptly indicated. In the daytime this is done by means of black balls, and in the night by colored lights. But in St. Petersburg as in Paris destructive fires are of rare occurrence; for if one breaks out, the houses are so nearly fire-proof that the damage is almost always confined to the apartment where it originates.

In leaving St. Petersburg, it must be admitted that one encounters a great amount of formality relating to passports and other matters seemingly very needless. Though the principal sights of the city are called free, yet one cannot visit them unattended by a well-known local guide or without disbursing liberally of fees. Foreigners are not left alone for a moment, and are not permitted to wander hither and thither in the galleries, as in other countries, or to examine freely for themselves. One is forbidden to make even pencil sketches or to take notes in the various palaces, museums, armories, or hospitals; and if he would afterwards record his impressions, he must trust solely to memory. The author was subjected to constant surveillance in both St. Petersburg and Moscow, which was to say the least of it quite annoying; his correspondence was also withheld from him,—but no serious trouble worth expatiating upon was experienced. In passing from city to city it is absolutely necessary to have one’s passport vised, as no railroad agent will sell a ticket to the traveller without this evidence being exhibited to him; and finally, upon preparing to leave the country, one’s passport must show the official signature authorizing this purpose. There is a proverb which says, “The gates of Russia are wide to those who enter, but narrow to those who would go out.” No native of rank can leave the country without special permission, which is obtainable on the payment of a certain tax, though not unless it meets the Emperor’s approval. Under former emperors this has been a source of considerable dissatisfaction to people who desired to travel abroad, and who could not obtain the needed permission of the Tzar, but we were told that under the present government much greater liberty of action is accorded to subjects of all classes in this respect. It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that in an absolute monarchy the will of the ruler is law. In Russia all power is centred in the Emperor. For the purpose of local administration, Poland, Finland, the Baltic provinces, and the Caucasus have each their own form of government, having been permitted to retain their local laws and institutions to a certain extent when they were not at variance with the general principle of the Empire. Though at the imperial headquarters of government the Emperor is aided by four great Councils, he is free to accept or reject their advice as he pleases.

The censorship of the press is still enforced to a certain extent, though as already intimated it is far from being so rigid as heretofore. At the Hotel d’Angleterre, where the author made his temporary home, it was noticed that a copy of the “New York Herald” was kept on file for the use of the guests; but it was also observed that it was not delivered from the Post-office until the day subsequent to its receipt, which gave the officials ample time to examine and pass upon the contents. On the day following our arrival the Herald was delivered at the hotel minus a leading article, which had been cut out by the Post-office officials, who did not consider the subject, whatever it may have been, wholesome mental food to lay before the Emperor’s subjects. On expressing surprise to our host at this mutilation of the newspaper, we were answered only by a very significant shrug of the shoulders. Residents are very careful about expressing any opinion regarding the official acts of the Government. Books, newspapers, or reading matter in any form if found among a traveller’s baggage is generally taken possession of by the officers of the customs; but if one is willing to submit to the necessary red tape and expense, they will be returned to him upon his leaving the country.