The Neva is no ordinary river, though its whole length is but about thirty-six miles. It supplies the city with drinking water of the purest description, and is thus in this respect alone invaluable, as there are no springs to be reached in the low marshy district upon which the metropolis stands, resting upon a forest of piles. The river forms a number of canals which intersect the town in various directions, draining away all impurities, as well as making of the city a series of closely-connected islands. In short, the Neva is to this Russian Venice in importance what the Nile is to the Egyptians, though effective in a different manner. The entire course of the river from its entrance to its exit from the city is a trifle over twelve miles, lined the whole distance by substantial stone embankments, finished with granite pavements, parapets, and broad stone steps leading at convenient intervals from the street to the water's edge, where little steam-gondolas are always in readiness to convey one to any desired section of the town. Many officials and rich private families have their own boats, propelled by from two to eight oarsmen. On Sundays especially a small fleet of boats is to be seen upon the river, which is almost a mile in width opposite the Winter Palace, where the shores are united by a long bridge of boats, the depth in mid channel being over fifty feet. The main branch of the Neva divides the city into two great sections, which are connected by four bridges. The principal of these is the Nicholas Bridge, a superb piece of marine architecture which was fifteen years in the process of building, having been begun by the Emperor in 1843 and finished in 1858. It crosses the river on eight colossal iron arches resting on mammoth piers of granite. By patient engineering skill the difficulties of a shifting bottom, great depth, and a swift current were finally overcome, giving lasting fame to the successful architect, Stanislas Herbedze. The Nicholas is the only permanent bridge, the others being floating structures supported by pontoons, or boats, which are placed at suitable distances to accommodate the demands of business. Notwithstanding the populous character of the city, the avenues and squares have a rather deserted aspect in many sections, but this is mainly owing to their extraordinary size. A marching regiment on the Nevsky Prospect seems to be scarcely more in number than does a single company in most European thoroughfares. We may mention, by the way, that the garrison of St. Petersburg never embraces less than about sixty thousand troops of all arms, quite sufficient to produce an ever-present military aspect, as they are kept upon what is called a war-footing. In the event of a sudden declaration of war this garrison is designed as a nucleus for an efficient army.
The winter season, which sets in about the first of November, changes the aspect of everything in the Russian capital, and lasts until the end of April, when the ice generally breaks up. In the mean time the Neva freezes to a depth of six feet. But keen as is the winter cold the Russians do not suffer much from it, being universally clad in skins and furs. Even the peasant class necessarily wear warm sheep-skins, or they would be liable often to freeze to death on the briefest exposure. In the public squares and open places before the theatres large fires in iron enclosures are lighted and tended by the police at night, for the benefit of the drosky drivers and others necessarily exposed in the open air. The windows of the dwelling-houses are all arranged with double sashes, and each entrance to the house is constructed with a double passage. So also on the railroad cars, which are then by means of large stoves rendered comparatively comfortable. Ventilation is but little regarded in winter. The frosty air is so keen that it is excluded at all cost. The nicely spun theories as to the fatal poison derived from twice-breathed air are unheeded here, nor do the people seem to be any the worse for disregarding them. The animal food brought to market from the country is of course frozen hard as stone, and will keep sweet for months in this condition, having finally to be cut up for use by means of a saw or axe; no knife could sever it. But in spite of its chilling physical properties, the winter is the season of gayety and merriment in this peculiar capital. With the first snow, wheels are cheerfully discarded, and swift-gliding sleighs take the place of the uncomfortable droskies; the merry bells jingle night and day a ceaseless tune; the world is robed in bridal white, and life is at its gayest. Balls, theatres, concerts, court fêtes, are conducted upon a scale of magnificence unknown in Paris, London, or Vienna. Pleasure and reckless amusement seem to be the only end and aim of life among the wealthier classes,—the nobility as they are called,—who hesitate at nothing to effect the object of present enjoyment. Morality is an unknown quantity in the general calculation. When that Eastern monarch offered a princely reward to the discoverer of a new pleasure, he forgot to stipulate that it should be blameless.
If there are poverty and wretchedness existing here it is not obvious to the stranger. More or less of a secret character there must be in every large community; but what we would say is that there is no street begging, and no half-starved women or children obstruct the way and challenge sympathy, as in London or Naples. There is to be sure a constant and systematic begging just inside the doors of the churches, where one passes through a line of nuns dressed in black cloaks and peaked hoods lined with white. These individuals are sent out from the religious establishments to which they belong to solicit alms for a series of years, until a certain sum of money is realized by each, which is paid over to the sisterhood,—and which, when the fixed sum is obtained, insures them a provision for life. This to the writer's mind forms the very meanest system of beggary with which he has yet been brought in contact. These women, mostly quite youthful, are apparently in perfect health and quite able to support themselves by honest labor, like the rest of their sisterhood. As we have intimated, there is no St. Giles, Five Points, or North Street in St. Petersburg. The wages paid for labor are very low, amounting, as we were told, to from forty to fifty cents per day in the city, and a less sum in the country. The necessities of life are not dear in the capital, but the price of luxuries is excessive. The common people are content with very simple food and a share of steaming hot tea. The drosky drivers are hired by companies who own the horses and vehicles, and receive about eight dollars per month on which to support themselves. They pick up a trifle now and then from generous passengers in the way of pourboire, and as a class they are the least intelligent to be found in the metropolis. There is a local saying applied to one who is deemed to be a miserable, worthless fellow. They say of him, "He is only fit to drive a drosky." The Paris, New York, London, and Vienna cab-drivers are cunning and audacious, but the Russian drosky-driver is very low in the scale of humanity, so far as brains are concerned, and does not know enough to be a rogue.
Discontent among the mass of the people does not exist to any material extent; those who represent the case to be otherwise are seriously mistaken. It is the few scheming, partially educated, idle, disappointed, and useless members of society who ferment revolution and turmoil in Russia,—people who have everything to gain by public agitation and panic; men actuated by the same spirit as those who were so lately condemned to death for wholesale murder in our own country. Nine tenths and more of the people of Russia are loyal to "father the Tzar,"—loyal to his family and dynasty. Nihilism is almost entirely stimulated from without. England is more seriously torn by internal dissensions to-day than is Russia, and the German people have a great deal more cause for dissatisfaction with their government than have the Russian. To hold up the Russian government as being immaculate would be gross folly; but for foreigners to represent it to be so abhorrent as has long been the fashion to do, is equally incorrect and unjust. Nihilism means nothingness; and never was the purpose of a mad revolutionary combination more appropriately named. This murderous crew has been well defined by an English writer, who says, "The Nihilists are simply striving to force upon an unwilling people the fantastic freedom of anarchy." The very name which these restless spirits have assumed is an argument against them. Some have grown sensitive as to having the title of Nihilists applied to them, and prefer that of Communists or Socialists, which are in fact synonymous names that are already rendered odious in Europe and America. When Elliott, the Corn-law rhymer was asked, "What is a Communist?" he answered: "One who has yearnings for equal division of unequal earnings. Idler or burglar, he is willing to fork out his penny and pocket your shilling." Socialism is the very embodiment of selfishness; its aim is that of legalized plunder. Communists, Socialists, Nihilists, are one and all disciples of destruction. Just after the terrible explosion in the Winter Palace, two of the conspirators met in St. Isaac's Square. "Is all blown up?" asked one of the other. "No," was the reply, "the Globe remains." "Then let us blow up the globe!" added the other. When these vile conspirators are discovered, as in the case of those lately detected in an attempt to burn the city of Vienna, they are found to be composed of escaped convicts, forgers, and murderers, who naturally array themselves against law and order. It was not when Russia was little better than a military despotism under the Emperor Nicholas, that Nihilism showed its cloven foot. Alexander II. was assassinated in the streets of St. Petersburg after the millions of grateful serfs had been given their liberty, the press granted greater freedom of discussion, the stringent laws mitigated, and when the country was upon its slow but sure progress towards constitutional government. National freedom is not what these anarchists desire; they seek wholesale destruction. The devotion to the Tzar evinced by the common people is not slavish, or the result of fear; it is more of childlike veneration. Whatever the Emperor commands must be done; no one may question it. The same respect exists for the property of the Tzar. No collector of government taxes fears for his charge in travelling through the least settled districts. The money he carries belongs to the Tzar and is sacred; no peasant would touch it. The Tzar is the father of his people, commanding parental obedience and respect. The author believes this sentiment to be largely reciprocal, and that the monarch has sincerely the best good of the people at heart.
A fresh scandal has lately been started in the columns of the European press, notably in the English and German papers,—that the Tzar is addicted to gross intemperance, and may at any time in a moment of excess plunge headlong into a foreign war. Of course no casual visitor to Russia can offer competent evidence to the contrary; but it was our privilege to see Alexander III. on several occasions, and at different periods of the day, being each time strongly impressed with a very different estimate of his habits. The Emperor presents no aspect of excess of any sort, but on the contrary appears like one conscious of his great responsibility and actuated by a calm conscientious resolve to fulfil its requirements. "What King so strong can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?" asks Shakspeare.
Our remarks as to the honesty of the peasantry in all matters relating to the Tzar must not be taken as indicating the honesty of the Russian masses generally, as regards strangers and one another, especially those of the large cities and the habitués of the great fairs. There are no more adroit thieves in Christendom than those of St. Petersburg and Moscow. Some of the anecdotes relating to these gentry seem almost incredible for boldness, adroitness, and success. There is a familiar proverb here which says, "The common Russian may be stupid, but he would only make one mouthful of the Devil himself!"
Intemperance is the great bane of the lower classes, and the aggregate quantity of spirit consumed by the people is almost beyond belief, though St. Petersburg is not to be compared with Moscow in this very objectionable respect. The chief means of intoxication is the drinking of Vodka, brandy made from grain. The drunken Russian however is not as a rule quarrelsome, he only becomes more lovingly demonstrative and foolish. A ludicrous though sad evidence of this peculiarity was observed in front of the Hôtel d'Angleterre. A well-dressed and intelligent appearing citizen paused opposite the principal entrance, took off his hat, and quietly but tenderly apostrophized it, smoothing the crown affectionately, which he petted and kissed. It was then replaced properly upon his head, and the wearer passed on to the next corner, where his chapeau was again made the recipient of his fond caresses and gentle assurances, ending as before with a devoted kiss. This process was repeated several times as he passed along the big square of St. Isaac's totally indifferent to all observers. Singular to say, this behavior was the only manifest evidence of the individual's inebriety; but the truth is, our Muscovite was very drunk.
Nearly every nationality of Europe and many of Asia are represented on the business streets of St. Petersburg,—Persians, English, Arabs, Greeks, Circassians, and so on, each more or less strongly individualized. The close observer is not long in discovering that the northern being the sunny side of the streets radiating from the Admiralty, on that side are to be found the finest shops. The summer days are long; twilight is not a period between light and darkness, but between light and light. The street lamps are nearly useless at this season of the year. Friday is the sacred day of the Moslem, the turbaned Turk, and the black-bearded Persian; Saturday the Jews appear in holiday attire (though they are not in favor here), Sunday being appropriated by the professed Christian. Nowhere else is there such an array of white palatial residences, such an airy metropolitan aspect, such grand and costly statues of bronze, such broad and endless boulevards. The English Quay is a favorite promenade and drive; it is surrounded by the grand residences of wealthy Russians, who live on a scale of splendor and expense equal to petty sovereigns. A marked feature in the windows, balconies, and entrances of these dwellings was the long, wavy, green leaves of tropical plants, which must require a world of care to insure their healthful existence in this climate. Handsome four-in-hand vehicles dash through the fashionable streets, and though one sees both sexes in public, there seems to be a half-Oriental exclusiveness surrounding womanhood in the realm of the Tzar. Glare and glitter are manifest on all sides, but the domestic virtues are little cultivated in any class of society, marriage being scarcely more than a matter of form, hardly ever one of sentiment. As in France and at Continental courts generally, intrigue and sensuality prevail in those very places to which the common people look for their example. Gaming is a prevailing vice among the women, if we may credit what we were told and judge from what little we saw. As to gentlemen, they have practised that vice almost from boyhood; it is the universal habit of Russian youth. But to all such general remarks there are noble exceptions, and if these are rare they are all the more appreciable.
We were speaking of the English Quay, which recalls the beauty and spirited action of the Russian horses. No stranger will fail to notice them. The author has seen animals more beautiful in form among the Moors; but taken as a whole the horses of St. Petersburg, whether we select them from those kept for private use, or from the cavalry of the army, or the artillery attached to the garrison, are the finest equine specimens to be seen anywhere. The dash of Tartar blood in their veins gives them all the vigor, spirit, and endurance that can be desired. The five islands of the city separated by the arms of the Nevka and Neva, are named the "Garden Islands," which form the pleasure-drive of the town. They have quite a country aspect, and are a series of parks in fact, where the fine roads wind through shady woods, cross green meadows, and skirt transparent lakes. Here every variety of villa and châlet is seen embowered in attractive verdure, where one is sure in the after part of the day to meet the best equipages of the citizens, occupied by merry family parties.
The city of the Neva is the most spacious capital ever built by the hand of man, and one cannot but feel that many of its grand squares presided over by some famous monument are yet dismally empty. The millions of the Paris populace could find space sufficient here without enlarging the present area. As we look upon it to-day, it probably bears little resemblance to the city left by the great Peter its founder, except in its grand plan; and yet it extends so little way into the past as to have comparatively no root in history. The magnificent granite quays, the gorgeous palaces, the costly churches and monuments do not date previous to the reign of Catherine II. The choice of the locality and the building of the capital upon it, is naturally a wonder to those who have not thought carefully about it, since it seems to have been contrary to all reason, and to have been steadily pursued in the face of difficulties which would have discouraged and defeated most similar enterprises. Ten thousand lives were sacrificed among the laborers annually while the work was going on, owing to its unhealthy nature; but still the autocratic designer held to his purpose, until finally a respectable but not unobjectionable foundation may be said to have been achieved upon this Finland marsh. Yet there are those who reason that all was foreseen by the energetic founder; that he had a grand and definite object in view of which he never lost sight; and moreover that the object which he aimed at has been fully attained. The city is necessarily isolated, the environs being nearly unavailable for habitations, indeed incapable of being much improved for any desirable purpose. Like Madrid, it derives its importance from the fact that it is the capital,—not from its location, though it has a maritime relation which the Spanish metropolis cannot boast. The great interest of the city to the author was its brief but almost magical history, and the genius of him who founded it, of whom Motley said that he was the only monarch who ever descended from a throne to fit himself properly to ascend it. In population and its number of houses St. Petersburg is exceeded by several European cities; but its area is immense.