EDWARD DANIEL CLARKE.
[Of the English travellers of the latter part of the last century, none acquired greater distinction than Dr. Clarke. Born in Sussex in 1769, in 1790 he made a tour of Great Britain, in 1792 visited France, Switzerland, and Italy, and in 1799 started on a three-years’ tour of Northern Europe, Turkey, Syria, Egypt, etc., publishing, in 1810, “Travels in Various Parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa,” one of the most delightful and popular works of travel ever issued, and which has given him a durable celebrity. He died in 1822. We give below a portion of his animated description of Moscow, which he visited in 1800, years before the invasion of Napoleon and the burning of this celebrated Russian capital.]
There is nothing more extraordinary in this country than the transition of the seasons. The people of Moscow have no spring: winter vanishes, and summer is. This is not the work of a week, or a day, but of one instant, and the manner of it exceeds belief. We came from Petersburg to Moscow on sledges. The next day snow was gone. On the 8th of April, at mid-day, snow beat in at our carriage windows. On the same day, at sunset, arriving in Moscow, we had difficulty in being dragged through the mud to the commandant’s. The next morning the streets were dry, the double windows had been removed from the houses, the casements thrown open, all the carriages were upon wheels, and the balconies filled with spectators. Another day brought with it twenty-three degrees of heat of Celsius, when the thermometer was placed in the shade at noon.
We arrived at the season of the year in which this city is most interesting to strangers. Moscow is in everything extraordinary, as well in disappointing expectation as in surpassing it; in causing wonder and derision, pleasure and regret. Let me conduct the reader back with me again to the gate by which we entered, and thence through the streets. Numerous spires, glittering with gold, amidst burnished domes and painted palaces, appear in the midst of an open plain for several versts before you reach this gate. Having passed, you look about, and wonder what has become of the city, or where you are, and are ready to ask, once more, “How far is it to Moscow?” They will tell you, “This is Moscow!” and you behold nothing but a wide and scattered suburb,—houses, gardens, pigsties, brick walls, churches, dung-hills, palaces, timber-yards, warehouses, and a refuse, as it were, of materials, sufficient to stock an empire with miserable towns and miserable villages.
One might imagine all the states of Europe and Asia had sent a building, by way of representative, to Moscow, and, under this impression, the eye is presented with deputies from all countries, holding congress: timber huts from regions beyond the Arctic; plastered palaces from Sweden and Denmark, not whitewashed since their arrival; painted walls from the Tyrol; mosques from Constantinople; Tartar temples from Bucharia; pagodas, pavilions, and verandas from China; cabarets from Spain; dungeons, prisons, and public offices from France; architectural ruins from Rome; terraces and trellises from Naples, and warehouses from Wapping.
MOSCOW
Having heard accounts of its immense population, you wander through deserted streets. Passing suddenly towards the quarter where the shops are situated, you might walk upon the heads of thousands. The daily throng is there so immense that, unable to force a passage through it, or assign any motive that might convene such a multitude, you ask the cause, and are told that it is always the same. Nor is the costume less various than the aspect of the buildings. Greeks, Turks, Tartars, Cossacks, Chinese, Muscovites, English, French, Italians, Poles, Germans, all parade in the habits of their respective countries.
We were in a Russian inn, a complete epitome of the city itself. The next room to ours was filled by ambassadors from Persia. In a chamber beyond the Persians lodged a party of Kirghisians, a people yet unknown, and any one of whom might be exhibited in a cage as some newly-discovered species. They had bald heads, covered by conical embroidered caps, and wore sheep’s hides. Beyond the Kirghisians lodged a nidus of Bucharians, wild as the asses of Numidia. All these were ambassadors from their respective districts, extremely jealous of each other, who had been to Petersburg to treat of commerce, peace, and war.
The doors of all our chambers opened into one gloomy passage, so that sometimes we all encountered, and formed a curious masquerade. The Kirghisians and Bucharians were best at arm’s length; but the worthy old Persian, whose name was Orazai, often exchanged visits with us. He brought us presents, according to the custom of his country, and was much pleased with an English pocketknife we had given him, with which he said he should shave his head. At his devotions he stood silent for an hour together, on two small carpets, barefooted, with his face towards Mecca, holding, as he said, intellectual converse with Mohammed....
Ambassadors of other more Oriental hordes drove into the court-yard of the inn from Petersburg. The Emperor had presented each of them with a barouche. Never was anything more ludicrous than their appearance. Out of respect to the sovereign they had maintained a painful struggle to preserve their seat, sitting cross-legged, like Turks. The snow having melted, they had been jolted in this manner over the trunks of trees, which form a timber causeway between Petersburg and Moscow; so that, when taken from their fine new carriages, they could hardly crawl, and made the most pitiable grimaces imaginable. A few days after coming to Moscow they ordered all the carriages to be sold for whatever sum any person would offer.
[Immediately after Mr. Clarke’s arrival at Moscow the Easter ceremonies were celebrated with great pomp and display. Of these he gives an animated description, of which we select the concluding portion.]
The third and most magnificent ceremony of all is celebrated two hours after midnight, in the morning of Easter Sunday. It is called the ceremony of the Resurrection, and certainly exceeded everything of the kind celebrated at Rome, or anywhere else. I have not seen so splendid a sight in any Roman Catholic country, not even that of the benediction by the Pope during the Holy Week.
At midnight the great bell of the cathedral tolled. Its vibrations seemed the rolling of distant thunder, and they were instantly accompanied by the noise of all the bells in Moscow. Every inhabitant was stirring, and the rattling of carriages in the streets was greater than at noonday. The whole city was in a blaze, for lights were seen in all the windows, and innumerable torches in the streets. The tower of the cathedral was illuminated from its foundation to its cross. The same ceremony takes place in all the churches; and, what is truly surprising, considering their number, it is said they are all equally crowded.
We hastened to the cathedral, which was filled with a prodigious assembly of all ranks and sexes, bearing lighted wax tapers, to be afterwards heaped as vows on the different shrines. The walls, ceilings, and every part of this building are covered by the pictures of saints and martyrs. In the moment of our arrival the doors were shut, and on the outside appeared Reato, the archbishop, preceded by banners and torches, and followed by all his train of priests, with crucifixes and censers, who were making three times, in procession, the tour of the cathedral, chanting with loud voices, and glittering in sumptuous vestments, covered by gold, silver, and precious stones. The snow had not melted so rapidly in the Kremlin as in the streets of the city, and this magnificent procession was therefore constrained to move upon planks over the deep mud which surrounded the cathedral.
After completing the third circuit they all halted opposite the great doors, which were shut; and the archbishop, with a censer, scattered incense against the doors and over the priests. Suddenly these doors were opened, and the effect was beyond description great. The immense throng of spectators within, bearing innumerable tapers, formed two lines, through which the archbishop entered, advancing with his train to a throne near the centre. The profusion of lights in all parts of the cathedral, and, among others, of the enormous chandelier which hung from the centre, the richness of the dresses, and the vastness of the assembly, filled us with astonishment. Having joined the suite of the archbishop, we accompanied the procession, and passed even to the throne, on which the police officers permitted us to stand, among the priests, near an embroidered stool of satin, placed for the archbishop. The loud chorus which burst forth at the entrance to the church continued as the procession moved towards the throne, and after the archbishop had taken his seat, when my attention was for a moment called off by seeing one of the Russians earnestly crossing himself with his right hand, while his left was employed in picking my companion’s pocket of his handkerchief.
Soon after the archbishop descended, and went all round the cathedral, first offering incense to the priests, and then to the people, as he passed along. When he had returned to his seat the priests, two by two, performed the same ceremony, beginning with the archbishop, who rose and made obeisance with a lighted taper in his hand. From the moment the church doors were opened the spectators had continued bowing their heads and crossing themselves, insomuch that some of the people seemed really exhausted by the constant motion of the head and hands.
I had now leisure to examine the dresses and figures of the priests, which were certainly the most striking I ever saw. Their long dark hair, without powder, fell down in ringlets, or straight and thick, far over their rich robes and shoulders. Their dark thick beards, also, entirely covered their breasts. On the heads of the archbishop and bishops were high caps, covered with gems and adorned by miniature paintings, set in jewels, of the crucifixion, the Virgin, and the saints. Their robes of various-colored satin were of the most costly embroidery, and even on these were miniature pictures set with precious stones....
After two hours had been spent in various ceremonies, the archbishop advanced, holding forth a cross, which all the people crowded to embrace, squeezing each other nearly to suffocation. As soon, however, as their eagerness had been somewhat satisfied, he retired to the sacristy, where, putting on a plain purple robe, he again advanced, exclaiming three times in a very loud voice, “Christ is risen!”
The most remarkable part of the solemnity now followed. The archbishop, descending into the body of the church, concluded the whole ceremony by crawling round the pavement on his hands and knees, kissing the consecrated pictures, whether on the pillars, the walls, the altars, or the tombs, the priests and all the people imitating his example. Sepulchres were opened and all the mummied bodies of incorruptible saints exhibited, all of which underwent the same general kissing.
Thus was Easter proclaimed, and riot and debauchery instantly broke loose. The inn in which we lodged became a pandemonium. Drinking, dancing, and singing continued through the night and day. But in the midst of all these excesses quarrels hardly ever took place. The wild, rude riot of a Russian populace is full of humanity. Few disputes are heard; no blows are given; no lives endangered, but by drinking. No meetings take place of any kind without repeating the expressions of peace and joy, Christos voscress! “Christ is risen!” to which the answer always is the same, Vo isteney voscress! “He is risen indeed!”
On Easter Monday begins the presentation of the paschal eggs: lovers to their mistresses, relatives to each other, servants to their masters, all bring ornamented eggs. Every offering at this season is called a paschal egg. The meanest pauper in the street, presenting an egg, and repeating the words, Christos voscress, may demand a salute, even of the Empress. All business is laid aside; the upper ranks are engaged in visiting, balls, dinners, suppers, and masquerades, while boors fill the air with their songs or roll drunk about the streets. Servants appear in new and tawdry liveries, and carriages in the most sumptuous parade....
After London and Constantinople, Moscow is, doubtless, the most remarkable city in Europe. A stranger, passing rapidly through, might pronounce it the dullest, dirtiest, and most uninteresting city in the world, while another, having resided there, would affirm that it had rather the character of a great commercial and wealthy metropolis of a vast and powerful empire. If the grandeur and riches of the inhabitants are to be estimated by the number of equipages, and the number of horses attached to each, Moscow would excel in splendor all the cities of the globe. There is hardly an individual, above the rank of plebeian, who would be seen without four horses to his carriage, and the generality have six. But the manner in which this pomp is displayed is a perfect burlesque upon stateliness. A couple of ragged boys are placed as postilions, before a coachman in such sheep’s hides as are worn by the peasants in the woods, and behind the carriage are stationed a couple of lackeys, more tawdry but not less ludicrous than their drivers. To give all this greater effect, the traces of the horses are so long that it requires considerable management to preserve the horses from being entangled whenever they turn the corner of a street or make a halt. Notwithstanding this, no stranger, however he may deride its absurdity, will venture to visit the nobles, if he wishes for their notice, without four horses to his chariot, a ragged coachman and postilion, and a parade of equipage that must excite his laughter in proportion as it insures their countenance and approbation....
The numberless bells of Moscow continue to ring during the whole of Easter week, tinkling and tolling without any kind of harmony or order. The large bell near the cathedral is only used on important occasions, and yields the finest and most solemn tone I ever heard. When it sounds, a deep and hollow murmur vibrates all over Moscow, like the fullest and lowest tones of a vast organ, or the rolling of distant thunder. This bell is suspended in a tower called the Belfry of St. Ivan, beneath others which, though of less size, are enormous. It is forty feet nine inches in circumference, sixteen inches and a half thick, and it weighs more than fifty-seven tons.
The Kremlin is, above all other places, most worthy a traveller’s notice. It was our evening walk, whenever we could escape the engagements of society. The view it affords of the city surpasses every other, both in singularity and splendor, especially from St. Ivan’s tower. This fortress is surrounded on all sides by walls, towers, and ramparts, and stuffed full of domes and steeples. The appearance differs in every point of view, on account of the strange irregularity in the edifices it contains....
The great bell of Moscow, known to be the largest ever founded, is in a deep pit in the midst of the Kremlin. The history of its fall is a fable, and, as writers are accustomed to copy each other, the story continues to be propagated. The fact is, the bell remains in the place where it was originally cast. It never was suspended. The Russians might as well attempt to suspend a first-rate line-of-battle ship with all its guns and stores. A fire took place in the Kremlin, the flames of which caught the building erected over the pit in which the bell yet remained, in consequence of which the metal became hot, and water thrown to extinguish the fire fell upon the bell, causing the fracture which has taken place.
The entrance is by a trap-door placed even with the surface of the earth. We found the steps very dangerous. Some of them were wanting, and others broken, which occasioned me a severe fall down the whole extent of the first flight and a narrow escape for my life in not being dashed upon the bell. In consequence of this accident a sentinel was stationed afterwards at the trap-door to prevent people from becoming victims to their curiosity. He might have been as well employed in mending the steps as in waiting all day to say that they were broken.
The bell is truly a mountain of metal. They relate that it contains a very large proportion of gold and silver, for that, while it was in fusion, the people cast in, as votive offerings, their plate and money. It is permitted to doubt the truth of traditionary tales, particularly in Russia, where people are much disposed to relate what they have heard without once reflecting on its probability. I endeavored in vain to assay a small part. The natives regard it with superstitious veneration, and they would not allow even a grain to be filed off; at the same time it may be said the compound has a white, shining appearance, unlike bell-metal in general, and perhaps its silvery appearance has strengthened, if not given rise to, a conjecture respecting the richness of its materials.
[The bell, two feet above its lower part,—which was buried in the earth,—measured in circumference sixty-seven feet four inches; its height was twenty-one feet four and a half inches; in its thickest part it measured twenty-three inches. The estimated weight is four hundred and forty-three thousand seven hundred and seventy-two pounds.]
The architecture exhibited in different parts of the Kremlin, in its palaces and churches, is like nothing seen in Europe. It is difficult to say from what country it has been principally derived. The architects were generally Italians; but the style is Tartarian, Indian, Chinese, and Gothic. Here a pagoda, there an arcade! In some parts richness and even elegance; in others, barbarity and decay. Taken altogether, it is a jumble of magnificence and ruin. Old buildings repaired and modern structures not completed. Half-open vaults and mouldering walls and empty caves, amidst whitewashed brick buildings and towers and churches, with glittering, gilded, or painted domes. In the midst of it some devotees are seen entering a little, mean structure, more like a stable than a church. This, they tell you, is the first place of Christian worship erected in Moscow....
The view of Moscow from the terrace in the Kremlin, near the spot where the artillery is preserved, would afford a fine subject for a panorama. The number of magnificent buildings, the domes, the towers, the spires, which fill all the prospect, make it, perhaps, the most novel and interesting sight in Europe. All the wretched hovels and miserable wooden buildings, which appear in passing through the streets, are lost in the vast assemblage of magnificent edifices, among which the Foundling Hospital is particularly conspicuous. Below the walls of the Kremlin the Moscva, already become a river of importance, is seen flowing towards the Volga. The new promenade forming on its banks, immediately below the fortress, is a superb work, and promises to rival the famous quay at Petersburg.