At the distance of about fifty-five or sixty versts from Archangel we came to a monastery at a place called Seea; it was surrounded by woods and lakes, which, in the summer-time, must have a very pretty effect. For a Russian building, it was quite an ancient one, and was erected before Peter the Great’s reign: it was the sanctuary to which that monarch often retired to perform his devotions. Like most monasteries in the empire, it was surrounded by a wall, having a curiously dovetailed top with towers at each corner pierced with loopholes. One of the gentlemen, who was acquainted with the abbot, proposed to us to pay him a visit; we all of course willingly assented, and turned out of the post-road for the purpose. Half a verst brought us to the gates: on ringing a bell, one of the holy brothers appeared, who to our disappointment informed us that the Father (for such they designate their superior) was ill and asleep, but offered to awake him if we wished; we thanked him, but begged that the abbot’s slumbers should not be disturbed on our account, and requested the monk to express our great regret at his superior’s indisposition, with good wishes for his recovery. The monk, seeing us about to depart, entreated us to take some little refreshment in the refectory: on our declining, he asked us if we would not like to see the shrine of their patron, Saint Anthony, whose body was interred in their church. We accepted his offer, and followed him into the cathedral, which, like all Greek places of worship, was filled with pictures of the innumerable saints of their calendar, and wretchedly-painted scripture-pieces. Having walked round the interior of the building and examined the very curious lamps hung before several of the images, we were led to a shrine quite brilliant with lighted tapers and oil, and here our guide pointed with evident pride to a full-length likeness of the saint placed on the top of a long box that covered his mortal remains. Above it was a wretched daub of a Virgin and Child, which he triumphantly informed us was the holy man’s own work. Although there was nothing to admire in it, we saw that it would give him pleasure to express our satisfaction, and therefore did not fail to do so: we also made the offering of a piece of silver to the church, which seemed to raise us immensely in the good monk’s estimation. After thanking him for the trouble, we left the monastery of St. Anthony just as a party of the peasantry from a village close by, dressed in their best clothes, with smooth hair and well-combed beards, were reverently ascending the steps, bent on asking the prayers of the respected superior for the success of the ensuing harvest.
Having traversed about four hundred versts, we came to the town of Kargapol; it contains nothing remarkable, and is composed of wooden houses, as usual. From this place the scenery began to show a little variety. We had no longer to complain of those monotonous plains of which we were so thoroughly weary: the country now became diversified by hills and valleys; sometimes we were rapidly galloping up a declivity (for the Russians drive at the top of the horse’s speed up hill), at others we were gliding along the edge of a precipice. One of the horses slipped aside, and by so doing broke his thighbone; the poor yemstchick cried most bitterly, saying that his master would beat him almost to death. We were so grieved at his misfortune that we made up a little subscription for him, which afforded him some consolation, and I dare say served to comfort him under the correction. As for our unlucky steed, we were obliged to leave him behind on the snow, and doubtless in a few hours his carcase had furnished an unwonted feast to the prowling wolves with which the forests around were infested. During the next post we were doomed to meet with more misfortunes, for our yemstchick drove us so near to the edge of the road that he turned us both out into the midst of an enormous snow-drift I really thought we should be smothered, for the kabitka rolled right over upon us; being half-buried in the snow was disagreeable enough, but to have pillows, mattress, portmanteaux, and a whole shower of small etcetera with which our sledge was filled, upon our backs, rendering it impossible for us to move, was even worse. The other kabitkas had by this time come up, and great inquiries were made for our yemstchick, who had unaccountably disappeared; presently a voice was heard whose smothered tones seemed to come somewhere from under ground, and to our horror we found that he was just under us, and that the kabitka had jammed him deeply into the snow, so that he could not get out. To raise the sledge was the first thing to be done, and with the aid of the other yemstchicks we were extricated from our dilemma; our coachman was pulled out of the snow. We expected to find him half-dead, or at the least with some bones broken; he, however, merely shook himself, just as a dog does on coming out of the water, and jumped upon his seat as if nothing had happened. Our friends, finding that we were neither of us hurt, enjoyed a hearty laugh at our expense: I make no doubt that we cut a sorry figure. As for our yemstchick, he was ready to go down on his knees to ask our forgiveness. He begged to know if we were bruised at all; being answered in the negative, he repeatedly crossed himself, and thanked God for our sakes, and perhaps for his own too. We were glad enough to get into the sledge again and drive on, to escape the jokes with which our friends assailed us. Our yemstchick had been a soldier, he said, and boasted of having served the Czar in every government in his dominions; but now that his time was out, he had turned post-driver. He told us that the last province he had been in was Podolia, of which he gave the most flourishing accounts.
“But,” said I, “why did you not remain, when, as you say, your prospects were so good, and the country so delightful?”
“Ah! Matutchka, how was it possible? I thought of my native village far away in the north. I was always longing to see the snow and pine-forests again, which made me so miserable that I asked for my discharge; and as I had served the required term, here I am.”
“But how did you return from so great a distance? Did the government send you back?”
“Not at all, Barishna! I walked all the way.”
“What! fifteen hundred versts?”
“Yes, to be sure; that is nothing.”
“But I suppose you live comfortably here. You have a little pension, I dare say?”