CHAPTER XXVIII. SUMMER WEATHER IN RUSSIA—ST. PETERSBURG AND MOSCOW ENOUGH FOR SIGHT-SEERS—M. KATKOFF AND HIS GAZETTE—TSAR AND PEOPLE—REPUBLICAN POSSIBILITIES OF THE COSSACK.
After one has packed trunks, paid hotel bills, bought railway-tickets, procured a supply of rubles and kopecks from his banker, and made every preparation to leave Germany for Russia, it is discouraging to be told that he has chosen the wrong season for visiting that country.
“The winter, sir, is the only time to see Russia. St. Petersburg is like a furnace in July. It is a rainless month. The streets are never watered, and when the winds blow—mostly from the south, making the air still hotter—you are smothered with dust. The mosquitoes—”
But I had heard enough. It was too late to back out from the Russian trip, and I did not care to know the worst. So I interrupted the speaker with the question, “When did you leave St. Petersburg?”
He colored a little. “Oh, I have never been there myself! No money would tempt me to go to Russia before December, at least. I am only telling you what everybody knows. The books are full—”
“Of probable misstatements on these points,” said I, finishing the sentence for him. “I know that English writers are unanimous about the heat of a St. Petersburg July. But then Englishmen complain of every temperature over 70°. Americans are less fond of cold weather. I will learn the truth for myself. Good-evening.”
The man with whom I held this conversation looked like a professor in some small Western college. I had met him by chance in the rooms of the American Exchange at Berlin. Overhearing me say that I was bound to Russia that night, he had proceeded to draw upon his large store of book-knowledge for my benefit. His positive manner was probably borrowed from the classroom; and I have no doubt he was pained because I did not take his advice on trust, with many thanks, like a docile pupil.
As an American accustomed to “summer heat,” I declare St. Petersburg to be very comfortable in July. Neither there nor at Moscow, four hundred miles farther south, have I seen more than 80° F. registered in the shade, and the mid-day temperature touched much lower figures during my stay. Clothed accordingly, one may ride or walk in the open air at high noon, and revel in the bright sunshine unharmed. There were several rainfalls which were more than showers. They cooled the air to the point of chilliness, and effectually laid the dust. At no time were the streets swept by the wind with the sirocco-effects described in some English books. Even the largest open squares were free from the predicted nuisance. Dressed in light woolen, and armed with an umbrella against the sun or the rain, the American will have no occasion to carp at the Russian weather in those months when his compatriots at home are fleeing for coolness—and not always finding it—to the mountains and the sea-shore. Contrasting his comfort with the sufferings he would have undergone in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston, he can feel only gratitude for the endurable summer weather of St. Petersburg. He is unvexed by mosquitoes and the flies are well-behaved.