“Pension! no, only the officers ever get that, and they only when they are wounded. But as for being well off, slavo Bogen! we live as our neighbours do. I have a wife and two children; we get plenty of black bread and salt, and very often stchie. What else could we wish for?”
It was really something agreeable to hear that even this poor man could feel attachment for his miserable village of log-huts, situated, doubtless, in the midst of some dreary morass in this obscure corner of the earth. My reflections on the wonderful affection everywhere felt for the scenes in which childhood has been passed were interrupted by the driver asking if we would like to hear some of the songs the soldiers used to sing on the march. On our assenting, he began in a full, deep-toned tenor, awakening all the echoes of the surrounding forests. The burthen of his song was concerning some country belle who danced so elegantly that even the Czar himself came to see her performance. According to all accounts, the hearts of the village-swains were all sore with being so much in love with her; but she settled the matter by choosing a happy fellow named Ivan, whose felicity, we were assured, was inconceivable. This love does not appear to have been entirely disinterested, for there followed a long list of the bride’s trousseau. She had a crasnoi sarafane, or red gown, and was further endowed with some pillows and a counterpane; added to which she was the richest bride in the whole village. The air was pretty, and, like most Russian melodies, in the minor key; the whole was terminated by the peculiar scream which finishes each cadence. We were so amused by our yemstchick that we were quite sorry when we arrived at the station. Notwithstanding his mal-adresse in overturning us, we made him a present, which was so much more than he expected, that he was overpowered with gratitude, and crossed himself many times in wishing us a prosperous journey.
He was succeeded by a merry little fellow, who entertained us by giving us a confidential tableau of his prospects in life. He began by informing us that he was going to be married, and that he was so much in love he could get no rest night or day; that his intended bride’s name was Katrina; she was seventeen and he was twenty-one, and “Please God, they should soon be as happy as they need be.” He also volunteered a song, the subject of which was a soldier’s daughter who had fallen in love with the major of the regiment; but, it appears, her case was a hopeless one, as he was going to wed another.
Night had now closed in, and for the first time during our journey the full moon shone in all her splendour upon the scene; during the previous days the sky had been much clouded, and occasional falls of snow had prevented our remarking a most beautiful effect produced by the shadow of the trees on the pure glittering plains beneath. I can compare it to nothing but a mezzo-tinto drawing, only infinitely more defined. There was not a breath of air to stir the branches of the lofty pines interlaced over our heads; a mysterious silence seemed to pervade the very atmosphere we breathed; it was excessively cold, and the moon lighted up the clear sky with such brilliancy, that we could easily read a moderately-sized print; the snow at the same time glittered and sparkled like millions of diamonds strewn in our path, and clung to the sombre foliage of the forest like gems of the purest water on sable plumes. Yes, truly, even this barren land possesses beauty and loveliness. One who has travelled through a night such as this will never forget the impression left on his mind by so splendid a scene, and will cease to wonder at the attachment of the barbarian serfs to their isolated villages.
The next day we reached Ladinapol, an insignificant place. The extensive lake of Ladoga not being sufficiently frozen to make it safe for us to cross it in our sledges, we continued our route by the post-road. We passed the small river Swere, and soon came to the town of Ladoga on the Volkof; from thence we proceeded to Schlusselberg, on the lake which formerly belonged to Sweden, and of which Peter the Great deprived her. It was in the castle of this place that his son was confined.
Once during our journey we were tempted to see what a village-inn was like, for after travelling eight days and nights we felt so thoroughly worn out by fatigue, that we thought any place in which we could rest a little would be welcome; we therefore asked our yemstchick if there were no house of entertainment at the neighbouring hamlet. “Ay, surely,” replied he, “there is a very good tavern for travellers at the other end of the village.”
“Then drive on, pray, my good fellow, and let us be there as quickly as possible.”
“Horro sha Barishna!”
Crack went his whip, and our steeds, having a vision of hay near at hand, were tempted to stretch their legs into a real gallop; we, in the mean while, had the douce illusion of thinking that we should soon have a smoking samovar on the table and a few hours’ repose. Alas! how our hopes were disappointed! Our kabitka suddenly drew up at a miserable-looking peasant’s isba, half tumbling down, from the foundation having sunk a foot or two on one side. The yemstchick rapped at the door, which was opened by a dirty, long-bearded old fellow, who seemed to have had quite enough whisky to make him perfectly stupid. When we at last succeeded in making him understand what our wishes were, he said that he had a room in which we could very well pass the night. Our Russian acquaintance begged us to alight, which we did in the faint hope of finding the interior better than the exterior would lead us to suppose. Our host thereupon threw open the door of an apartment, on the floor of which some dozen or two of peasants in their sheepskins, men, women, and children, were huddled promiscuously on the bare boards. The heat and stench were intolerable; one look was sufficient. I and my friend hastened back to the kabitka, nor did we heed the repeated assurance of the worthy landlord that we could sleep very well on the table! Our compagnons de voyage, however, had the courage to pass the night somewhere in the house; we ladies preferred the refuge of our kabitka, which was drawn under an open shed that served as a stable as well. Our slumbers were somewhat disturbed by the horses’ noses sniffing at us several times during the night, attracted, I suppose, by the hay placed at the bottom of our sledge. According to the accounts our friends gave of the manner in which they had passed the time, we had, notwithstanding this annoyance, every reason to congratulate ourselves on having given the preference to the stable.