Can any one imagine a death more dreadful than to be dying of want while passing through so many inhabited places, within a stone’s throw of them, seeing crowds of people on the shores, all anxious to afford aid, yet unable to do so?
Apparently the waters were unusually high that year, for several isbas also floated by that had been swept away by the flood, indicating that one or more villages had been overflowed. At Twer the flood was so great that the governor’s family all went in boats, with hundreds of loaves in each, down the centre of the streets, and the servants were employed to throw them into the windows of the poor people’s houses, lest they should be starved. In Petersburg there are stones inserted here and there with the date 1824 inscribed on them, to commemorate the dreadful inundation of that year. During it thousands of people perished, whole villages were washed away, the coffins of the dead were seen floating down the streets, and the names of those enclosed therein were read on the plates as they passed by. Each spring the capital is in a similar danger. One other like misfortune would be almost the ruin of it. A lady told me that she was residing on the quay at the time, and mentioned a curious circumstance. The countless rats infesting the banks suddenly made their appearance by thousands, and sat on the window-sills, or any place where they could be in safety, until the waters had subsided: they then as suddenly disappeared, and were seen no more.
It seemed that we were destined to witness misfortunes on the day above alluded to on the shores of the Volga, for we were just on the point of returning home when another bark hove in sight. We waited, out of curiosity, to see it pass by. Only one man was on board: he and a dog were standing together on the deck. At last, perceiving how near they were to the shore, he resolved to make a desperate attempt to reach it. He seized a pole, and, calling to his companion, leaped upon a large sheet of ice that was floating past. The people on shore, admiring his courage and agility, cheered him to the utmost, and, with shouts and acclamations, stood ready to welcome him to land. The poor dog, having less boldness than his master, or warned by instinct of the imminent danger, remained for a few seconds upon the fast receding bark, whining with grief and dismay, and then made up his mind to run the same risk. He soon stood by the side of the man, whose steps he followed as he leaped from one sheet of ice to another by the aid of the pole. All eyes were eagerly watching their movements. They really seemed to have a chance of success. Another and another leap, and they were now within twenty yards of the shore. “Courage!” shouted the multitude; “there is but one leap more, and the danger is over.” The man looked at the crowd of eager faces, all anxious to extend a helping hand, when he was seen to hesitate, and he trembled violently. Was it possible that at the last effort his heart failed him? The dog had already leaped the watery space, and had reached the shore in safety, on which he stood barking encouragement to his master. “Courage!” again shouted the people; “Courage!” The piece of ice on which the man was standing was floating on: there was but one chance, and that was going from him. He summoned all his energies. A cry of despair was heard, answered by one of horror from the spectators, as the body of the unhappy peasant was swept rapidly past us down the river, impelled onwards by the crashing masses under which he had disappeared. Poor fellow! the ice that had been strong enough to bear the weight of his light-footed companion, gave way with his, and the fate he so earnestly sought to avert overtook him at the last.
A friend of ours related to us that some years before, being at Peterhoff when the Neva was breaking up, she was at the window one day, when she thought she perceived an object at an immense distance off on the ice. By means of a telescope she was enabled to see a poor old peasant on his knees, his white hair streaming in the wind, his hands raised in imploring despair towards heaven, apparently praying for that aid that none, alas! could render him. His horse and telega were standing by, soon destined to become the prey of the rushing waters that surrounded them. He was swept gradually from her sight, but, as long as it was possible to discern him, he still remained on his knees, in the same attitude of devotion.
In St. Petersburg, as soon as the ice has disappeared, the commandant of the fortress crosses the river to the winter palace on the opposite side. Several boats, with flags flying and bands playing, form a kind of aquatic procession. The custom was, that, on the commandant’s presentation of a gold cup on this occasion to the Emperor, his Majesty should return it filled with ducats; “but,” said General P——, “his Majesty, perceiving that by some unaccountable means the cup became larger every year, was under the necessity of limiting the number of ducats to a fixed sum, since which time no change has been observed in the size of the cup.” It is not until this ceremony has taken place that any boats are permitted to cross the Neva, as the rapid descent of the ice may cause fatal accidents.
Immense numbers of native barks come down from the interior as soon as the river is clear. They are large, unwieldy, flat-bottomed boats, constructed in a very primitive fashion, with an enormous barbarous-looking helm, at which a long-bearded peasant, in loose shirt and trowsers, is generally standing. Several others propel the vessel with long poles, which must be very fatiguing, as they are obliged to walk to and fro incessantly. A gallery is often erected outside, on the upper part of the large corn-barks, with a long wooden seat, on which the men can sit when the vessel is at anchor. When a couple of these boats run foul of each other, the people on board run hither and thither, shouting and bawling with all their might, making clumsy attempts to get free, and perform a frantic pantomime, as if the accident had driven them completely mad. At last, slavo Bogen! they part company with their bulky friend, and are in no more danger from his awkward embraces, so all goes on as before, until a similar event again occurs, when they become animated by another accès.
These poor men have perhaps come a thousand versts or more from their native villages, pursuing patiently their toilsome and weary journey, pushing themselves onwards with those long thin poles, walking three times the length of the whole distance in going to and fro as we see them now, to bring the produce of their proprietors’ estates—corn, flax, linseed, deals, and hides. Their cargoes are destined mostly for the English market, and will be taken in this manner down to Cronstadt,[13] where they will be transferred to British vessels. Theirs must be a dreary life, one would think; yet on the banks of the Volga I have often passed an agreeable hour in listening to their wild songs, is the sounds were borne to the shore from the strange-looking barks, during the calm evenings of a Russian summer.
The little ferry-boats that ply on the Neva are slight, dangerous-looking things, with a very elevated stern, painted with all sorts of colours, and in every device that may suggest itself to the owner’s fancy: sometimes there is a fine landscape at the back of the seat, sometimes extraordinary tulips and marvellous roses, most unhappy-looking fish, or a melancholy lady and gentleman staring at each other. The boatmen are like the peasants, with long beards and loose shirts, and generally civil and obliging; indeed, it must be allowed that the lower class of the Russians are remarkably so, not only to their superiors, but to each other. The most unpolished boor in the country will always take off his hat when he meets a companion or acquaintance, and that with quite as much respect as to a person above him in rank.
A little pleasure-trip in these small boats to some of the numerous islands in the vicinity of St. Petersburg is extremely agreeable on a summer’s evening. These islands are formed by different branches of the Neva and by canals, which serve to drain the marshy ground of which they are composed. Although everything about them is purely artificial, Nature having done little enough to embellish them, yet the effect produced is very delightful. Pretty little country houses, or fancy isbas, built of wood and fantastically decorated, show themselves here and there among the foliage of a forest of trees and shrubs; a Chinese temple or Turkish kiosk placed on some little promontory arrests our attention; a Greek statue or Corinthian column ornamenting some sequestered spot, and half buried in the creeping plants that twine around it. The whole scenery is entirely flat, there are no hills or even elevations, and its chief charm consists in the bright-green verdure with which the islands are covered, the clear blue streams everywhere meeting the eye, and the glorious sky of a northern summer. Bands of musicians play in various spots on certain days: they are mostly Germans. These al fresco concerts are excellent, the pieces (generally selections from operas) are admirably performed, and crowds of ladies in beautiful dresses, and gentlemen in country costumes, repair in the evening to attend them. Now and then there is a benefit-night, otherwise the amusement is entirely gratuitous. As the entertainment takes place in the open air, even the humblest classes can enjoy it, and numerous groups of the people may be seen standing at a respectful distance among the trees, for they are very fond of music. No disturbances ever take place in Russia, even when a crowd is assembled; but then, as Count Custine said, when the remark was exultingly made to him by a Russian nobleman on some public occasion, “Mon cher, c’est très bien, mais je ne vois pas de peuple!”
Yalagen is among the islands, and is a very favourite place of resort: the grounds belonging to the palace are beautiful and the flower-garden charming.