On the 4th of November I arrived in St. Petersburg after an absence of thirty-seven years. Even in that country, where everything moves so slowly, there had clearly been changes; the most evident of these being the railway from the frontier. At my former visit the journey from Berlin had required nine days and nine nights of steady travel, mainly in a narrow post-coach; now it was easily done in one day and two nights in very comfortable cars. At that first visit the entire railway system of Russia, with the exception of the road from the capital to Gatshina only a few miles long, consisted of the line to Moscow; at this second visit the system had spread very largely over the empire, and was rapidly extending through Siberia and Northern China to the Pacific.
But the deadening influence of the whole Russian system was evident. Persons who clamor for governmental control of American railways should visit Germany, and above all Russia, to see how such control results. In Germany its defects are evident enough; people are made to travel in carriages which our main lines would not think of using, and with a lack of conveniences which with us would provoke a revolt; but the most amazing thing about this administration in Russia is to see how, after all this vast expenditure, the whole atmosphere of the country seems to paralyze energy. During my stay at St. Petersburg I traveled over the line between that city and Berlin six or eight times, and though there was usually but one express-train a day, I never saw more than twenty or thirty through passengers. When one bears in mind the fact that this road is the main artery connecting one hundred and twenty millions of people at one end with over two hundred millions at the other, this seems amazing; but still more so when one considers that in the United States, with a population of, say, eighty millions in all, we have five great trunk-lines across the continent, each running large express-trains several times a day.
There was apparently little change as regards enterprise in Russia, whatever there might be as regarded facilities for travel. St. Petersburg had grown, of course. There were new streets in the suburbs, and where the old admiralty wharves had stood,—for the space of perhaps an eighth of a mile along the Neva,—fine buildings had been erected. But these were the only evident changes, the renowned Nevskii Prospekt remaining as formerly—a long line of stuccoed houses on either side, almost all poor in architecture; and the street itself the same unkempt, shabby, commonplace thoroughfare as of old. No new bridge had been built across the Neva for forty years. There was still but one permanent structure spanning the river, and the great stream of travel and traffic between the two parts of the city was dependent mainly on the bridges of boats, which, at the breaking of the ice in the spring, had sometimes to be withdrawn during many days.
A change had indeed been brought by the emancipation of the serfs, but there was little outward sign of it. The muzhik remained, to all appearance, what he was before: in fact, as our train drew into St. Petersburg, the peasants, with their sheepskin caftans, cropped hair, and stupid faces, brought back the old impressions so vividly that I seemed not to have been absent a week. The old atmosphere of repression was evident everywhere. I had begun my experience of it under Nicholas I, had seen a more liberal policy under Alexander II, but now found a recurrence of reaction, and everywhere a pressure which deadened all efforts at initiating a better condition of things.
But I soon found one change for the better. During my former stay under Nicholas I and Alexander II, the air was full of charges of swindling and cheatery against the main men at court. Now next to nothing of that sort was heard; it was evident that Alexander III, narrow and illiberal though he might be, was an honest man, and determined to end the sort of thing that had disgraced the reigns of his father and grandfather.
Having made the usual visit to the Foreign Office upon my arrival, I was accompanied three days later by the proper officials, Prince Soltykoff and M. de Koniar, on a special train to Gatchina, and there received by the Emperor. I found him—though much more reserved than his father—agreeable and straightforward. As he was averse to set speeches, we began at once a discussion on various questions interesting the two nations, and especially those arising out of the Behring Sea fisheries. He seemed to enter fully into the American view; characterizing the marauders in that sea as "ces poachers la"—using the English word, although our conversation was in French; and on my saying that the Russian and American interests in that question were identical, he not only acquiesced, but spoke at considerable length, and earnestly, in the same sense.
He alluded especially to the Chicago Exposition, spoke in praise of its general conception and plan, said that though in certain classes of objects of art it might not equal some of the European expositions, it would doubtless in very many specialties surpass all others; and on my expressing the hope that Russia would be fully represented, he responded heartily, declaring that to be his own wish.
Among the various subjects noted was one which was rather curious. In the anteroom I had found the Greek Archbishop of Warsaw arrayed in a purple robe and hat—the latter adorned with an exceedingly lustrous cross of diamonds, and, engaging in conversation with him, had learned that he had a few years before visited China as a missionary; his talk was that of a very intelligent man; and on my saying that one of our former American bishops, Dr. Boone, in preparing a Chinese edition of the Scriptures had found great difficulty in deciding upon a proper equivalent for the word "God," the archbishop answered, "That is quite natural, for the reason that the Chinese have really no conception of such a Being."
Toward the close of my interview with the Emperor, then, I referred to the archbishop, and congratulated the monarch on having so accomplished and devoted a prelate in his church. At this he said, "You speak Russian, then?" to which I answered in the negative. "But," he said, "how then could you talk with the archbishop?" I answered, "He spoke in French." The Emperor seemed greatly surprised at this, and well he might be, for the ecclesiastics in Russia seem the only exceptions to the rule that Russians speak French and other foreign languages better and more generally than do any other people.
This interview concluded, I was taken through a long series of apartments filled with tapestries, porcelain, carvings, portraits, and the like, to be received by the Empress. She was slight in figure, graceful, with a most kindly face and manner, and she put me at ease immediately, addressing me in English, and detaining me much longer than I had expected. She, too, spoke of the Chicago Exposition, saying that she had ordered some things of her own sent to it. She also referred very pleasantly to the Rev. Dr. Talmage of Brooklyn, who had come over on one of the ships which brought supplies to the famine-stricken; and she dwelt upon sundry similarities and dissimilarities between our own country and Russia, discussing various matters of local interest, and was in every way cordial and kindly.