The Englishwoman in Russia

by A lady

The isbas, or cottages, are constructed by the peasants themselves; the exterior is formed of balks, cut of precisely the same length and thickness, laid horizontally one above the other, the ends of which cross each other at each corner of the building; the interstices are filled with moss and tow; the roof is somewhat like that of a Swiss châlet (indeed, in general appearance an isba resembles one); the eaves are decorated with wood-work à jour; pretty balconies are very often to be seen, and windows round which the same ornament is carried; these are the cottages of the wealthier peasants, but the poorest isbas are destitute of any of these gay decorations, and sometimes even of windows, and consist of merely a small balk cottage, with a plain roof. The furniture inside is in almost every case the same: a wooden settee, a deal table and a chair or two, a samovar or tea-urn, a few earthenware pipkins and basins, some bowls of birch-wood and spoons to match them, and a picture of the Virgin or of some saint, which is always suspended in the corner; and, if the peasant be rich enough, a lamp filled with oil is burning before it. The bedroom in a cottage is the one in which the inmates live and cook; the bed for the family is the flat top of the stove, where they enjoy their sleep and fairy dreams in company with the cockroaches, tarracans, and brown beetles, in a heat that seems sufficient to bake them, and in an air foul and close enough to stifle any one but a Russian. We were once travelling near Velsk, and stopped for a short time at one of the cross-road stations; it was in the middle of the night when we arrived. On going into the room we looked around, and at the first sight we all thought that the walls were papered, a small tallow candle alone serving to make darkness visible; but on approaching nearer, to our horror and dismay they were completely covered with insects that must not be named to ears polite; myriads swarmed even upon the ceiling. We rushed breathlessly down the stairs, and, when we had reached the asylum of our carriage, we trembled lest we should unwittingly have transported a colony on our dresses.

In the summer-time the peasants sleep on the bare ground, and generally in the open air. When the weather is not wet they throw themselves down anywhere, in their ordinary dress and sheepskin, and usually turn their faces to the earth.

When the foundation of one of their isbas becomes decayed, they raise the whole of the upper part by means of beams inserted between the balks, and reconstruct the lower part, which operation renders the cottage almost as good as it was before.

To a stranger one of the most interesting sights is the breaking up of the ice on the large rivers. As spring advances, everybody is anxiously expecting the day when it will take place. Groups of people may be seen standing along the quays or banks, with their eyes all fixed on the same object, giving their opinion from past experiences, drawing inferences from the black and watery appearance of the ice, and gravely debating upon the probability of its disappearing “either to-day or to-morrow.” Gentlemen bet wagers on it, ladies chatter about it, peasants quarrel over it; every person is interested concerning it, and, when it is first seen to move, pleasure is expressed on every face.

The breaking up of the ice of the Neva is by no means so magnificent a spectacle as that of the Volga or the Northern Dwina, although the whole of the frozen masses from the lake of Ladoga descend by its stream.

How delighted I was when, for the first time, I saw the breaking up of the ice in the Dwina! Sometimes the immense blocks seemed to assume the shape of a lion, a dog, a swan, and every kind of figure, beautiful or grotesque, according to the fancy of the spectator. The rushing and crashing of the enormous masses in their onward journey to the ocean; the force with which they became heaped one on another, as if they were really endowed with life, and were struggling to obtain the foremost place in the watery race; the deep blue sunny sky that had succeeded the cloudy canopy of the dreary winter months; the flocks of wild swans; the solitary sea-mew, skimming with snowy pinions the liberated waves—formed a scene altogether strange and beautiful. Sometimes some huge bark would float by, like a wreck vainly struggling with its fate amid the sea of ice, and carried along with irresistible force; sometimes an uprooted pine or sombre fir might be seen dashing against everything in its way.

Many fatal accidents occur at these times. I remember a sad day we once passed at Jaroslaf when the Volga was breaking up. The ice is a long time floating past, from the immense length of the river and the numerous tributaries that empty themselves into it. We used, when the weather was fine, to go in a party to the shore to enjoy the sight. It was on one of these occasions that we perceived a bark rapidly descending the stream. On its nearer approach it was discovered that there were several people on board. It came so close to the shore that the men could hail it. To our horror they informed us that they had been seven days on board, and that they had eaten up all their provisions “three days ago.” They begged and prayed that some help might be given them, for they had not a single piece of bread or any other article of food remaining. Loaves were instantly brought, and every exertion was made to throw them on the deck. Some men even drove at full speed along the banks, so as to precede the vessel, and have the better chance of succeeding; but, alas! all was in vain. Every attempt failed; and the bark, with the ill-fated peasants, was carried away by the rapid current far out of sight.

“And what will become of these poor men?” I asked of one of our party.

“The probability is, that they will be driven with the ice down into the Caspian Sea, unless, as sometimes happens, a stoppage may occur by the masses being jammed together in some narrow part; they will then be saved; but, if not, nothing but starvation is before them.”