Our Little Russian Cousin

Every Saturday a big fire is made in the stove, and when the bricks are very hot, water is poured over them. The room is filled with hot steam. Petrovna delights in this weekly bath. At first she lies on a low shelf until she gets quite warm. The perspiration starts out all over her little naked body. Then her maid places her on a higher shelf and pours more water over the stove. More steam rises, and Petrovna grows warmer and warmer. It seems as though she would suffocate. Now for a still higher shelf in the room. Of course the higher up the little girl goes, the hotter she grows. The water fairly runs out of the pores of her skin, now. Instead of looking like a lily, she would remind you of a boiled lobster.

Shouldn't you think she would get cold after a hot bath like that, especially as she is going out of doors into the freezing air? She never does, however, and I will tell you why. When she has been steamed enough, she is slowly cooled off by having first warm and then cold water poured over her. When all is finished, and she has been rubbed down, she feels as fresh and sweet as a flower.

She is ready for the next day's duty and pleasure now. To-morrow is the Sabbath, and every good Russian takes his bath on the day before. Sunday morning comes. Every one of the family wears his holiday clothes, for, after breakfast, all will attend church service.

Petrovna's mamma has promised to take her to-day to the cathedral of St. Mark. She is so pleased she can hardly wait till the time comes to put on her wraps. No hat for her, if you please. That would not keep her dear little head warm enough. She wears a hood with a deep cape, and a long white cloak of astrakhan. Perhaps you have a muff of the same material. I wonder if you think it is fur. Astrakhan is the soft white fleece taken from the new-born lamb of a peculiar kind of sheep. The sooner the baby lamb is killed, the handsomer is the wool. Every year thousands of sheep are raised in Asia so that the beautiful white, gray, and black astrakhan can be sent to Russia, and to people in other parts of the world.

Petrovna wears her hood and cloak with the wool inside to keep her all the warmer. Her mamma has a hood and cloak of the richest sable. It cost thousands of dollars. You cannot see its beauty, for she wears it with the fur on the inside to keep her comfortable, just as Petrovna does.

The sleigh is at the door, and it is time to leave. What a curious one it is! It is low and small, and the back of the seat is so low that Petrovna might fall over backward if she were not used to it. There is just room enough for the little girl and her mamma, with a small seat in front for the coachman. Notice his queer clothes and his funny-looking hat. It makes you think of a battered stovepipe. The upper part of the crown is much wider than the lower part, and the narrow brim curls up. His blue cloak is quite loose, and has a long plaited skirt. It is fastened on one side with six metal buttons. A heavy leather belt is clasped around his waist.

Observe the horses. They are fine-looking animals, but how queerly they are harnessed. The middle one has a high wooden yoke about his neck. The rest of the harness is fastened to that. The horses on the outside are attached to the one in the middle by a single rein. They are left quite free in their motions. They are called madmen. Some sleighs have one horse, some two, and some three.

And now Petrovna and her mamma are seated, the fur robes are tucked snugly in, the coachman jumps to his seat and makes a kind of clucking noise. The horses rush onward at a furious rate, and still Petrovna calls out, "Faster!" She is not afraid of accident, nor is she satisfied, although the horses seem to be doing their best. Russians are not fond of exercising themselves, but they dearly like to be moved as fast as possible. This is why they like sleighing and coasting better than any other sports.

As Petrovna rides along she finds that the streets are full of sleighs, yet they do not sound so merry as they do in our own land. What is the difference? There are no sleigh-bells. There is a law that none can be used in the cities of Russia. I will tell you the reason. There are so many sleighs, and the streets are so crowded with them (for hardly any person walks), that the drivers would get confused by the sound of so many bells, and run into each other. There is a very severe punishment for the one who causes such an accident. But strange to say, although there is so much driving, few people are injured. The coachmen are very careful, although they probably drive faster than the people of any other country.

In a few minutes Petrovna and her mamma arrive in front of a very grand building. This is the cathedral. Papa and the rest of the family drive up at the same time, and all alight. See the crowd of beggars at the gates! There are poor men and women who ask for enough money to buy a dinner of coarse black bread. There are nuns who are asking alms to support their convent. Few people are willing to refuse at the very doors of the church.

The cathedral is built in the shape of a cross. All churches in Russia are built in the same way. But notice these massive steps. Each is cut out of a single block of granite. Stand off a little and look at the great, shining dome. It is made of copper but is covered thickly with gold. It is so far up, and shines so brightly in the sunlight, that it is a beacon-light to the sailors far out on the sea.

Now let us follow our little cousin and enter the cathedral. How dark, and yet how beautiful it is! There are no seats. Rich and poor are standing together in worship. See those great columns of beautiful stones. The delicate sea-green is malachite. That heavenly blue is lapis lazuli. Does it not make you think of fairy-land? Notice, please, the number of beautiful pictures. There are no statues or images in the building, because the Russian Church does not think it right to worship them.

Listen to the music. There is no organ, but hidden from sight is a choir of men who are chanting. Are not their voices fine? Would you not like to stay all day to listen to such music? But what is Petrovna doing? As she entered the church she bought a candle at a stand near the door. Now she brings it to a shrine at the side of the great building. She offers it to a priest, who lights it and places it in a silver stand in front of the sacred picture. There are several holes in the stand, in which other candles are burning. The priest allows each candle to burn only a minute or two, because many other people keep coming up. They wish to have their candles burn there also.

As our dear little cousin stands there crossing herself devoutly, let us notice the picture of the Madonna before which the candles are burning. Her dress, as well as the halo around her head, is fairly covered with gold and silver and precious stones. Good and pious people have spent thousands of dollars for these beautiful gems. The only parts not covered are the face and hands. The background, even, is covered with gold. There are many other such shrines in the cathedral. A white-robed priest attends to the candles, which are kept burning night and day in each one of these shrines.

The church is filled with the odour of incense. Through the faint blue smoke we can still watch Petrovna as she stands throughout the service. Now and then she bows her body to the floor, or crosses herself as some sacred name is repeated.

And now it is over. A ride once more, and home is reached. The rest of the day is given up to play and pleasure. Papa goes to his club for a game of cards. Perhaps Petrovna and Ivan will go out coasting, or mamma will take them for a visit to some friends. After church service, Sunday in Russia is a gala-day for rich and poor. It is a time for parties in winter, and picnics in the summer-time.

Sometimes in the morning Petrovna and her brother go to early market with the maid. It is more fun in winter than in summer, even though "Jack Frost" is on the watch to nip off their noses. Snow is everywhere to be seen on the housetops and fences, and great drifts of snow are being dug out in the streets. Icicles are hanging from every corner. Yes, Jack Frost is a merry-looking fellow, but he is ready to bite you if he has half a chance. Petrovna touches her nose and cheeks every little while to be sure they are not numb. It is so easy in northern Russia to find oneself with a frozen ear or nose. A disagreeable surprise party, indeed.

But the market! You never saw anything like it. It is well that it is called "the frozen market." Here are whole sheep standing on their stiff, frozen legs, and looking at you with their frozen eyes. Beside them are pigs with their four legs pulled outwards, and looking, oh! so queer and odd. Quails, grouse, chickens, ducks, partridges, – all kinds of fowls and game, and all frozen. They have been frozen for weeks, and will stay so in this frosty air till they are handed over to the hard-hearted cooks. Then into the oven they will go, and come out, brown and tender, on the dinner-table.

Russia is a great place for game of all kinds. In the market there are great piles of fish in a solid frozen heap. Petrovna takes hold of a string, and lifts a brick of frozen milk. That is the way milk is sold. No quart measures are needed in winter in St. Petersburg.

The children ask the maid to take the long way home, for they wish to look again at the statue of their loved Kriloff. How dear he is to all Russian children! His stories of dogs, cats, rabbits, foxes, squirrels, and other living creatures, bring them nearer to the hearts of everybody. The figures of many of the animals that live in his stories are carved on his monument.

But look! What is all this commotion about? See the crowd gathering on the sidewalks. The street is cleared by the police, for the Emperor is coming, the Great White Czar. First comes a squadron of cavalry, and behind them is the royal sleigh. It is drawn by two beautiful horses. Three officers sit in the sleigh with the Emperor.

What a fine face and figure he has! He looks kind and noble, but worn with the cares of his great empire. As he passes along, the people cheer with might. They love him with all their hearts. He is the head of their Church. He is the father of this great people. They worship him, and would save him all his care if they could. But alas! there are enemies in this very city who may even now be plotting to take his life. They do not believe in kings, nor, indeed, in rulers of any kind. They work secretly against him with other people all over Russia. Although from time to time they are discovered and killed or sent into exile, others take their places. This great ruler, who is warmly loved by his subjects, is in danger of his life all the time. No wonder he looks so careworn.

Petrovna and Ivan look long and tenderly after him, cheering till their little throats are quite tired out. Then they hurry home to tell mamma what they have seen to-day.

At dinner Ivan said, "Papa, I wish you would tell me something about the Cossacks. They seem to go everywhere the Czar does. I noticed them in the body of cavalry this morning. They look and dress so differently from us, but they ride their horses nobly. I would like to look like a Cossack when on horseback."

"They are noble men, indeed," said papa. "Their home is far away from us, in the south of Russia. A long time ago they were at war with us, but now they are good friends and strong defenders of our country. In time of war they are the spies and scouts. They are so faithful that the Emperor can feel perfectly safe when they are near. They pay no taxes, but give their services in the army instead."

"Papa," interrupted Ivan, "why do they wear long beards and have no buttons on their coats? That is not like the rest of the cavalry. And they carry no cartridge-boxes."

"That is true," was the reply. "The Cossacks detest buttons, and hook their coats over, just as ladies often do. The cartridges are carried in a row of pockets on the breasts of their coats. You see they are a very independent people, and insist on dressing in their own manner. The Czar allows them to do so because they are so good in other ways.

"You should see them in war. They dare to go into the greatest of dangers. They admire bravery more than anything else in the world. Just before a battle they wash themselves and dress with the greatest care. They believe that they must be clean if they would enter heaven. But when the battle is over they draw up in line, leaving empty places for their fellows who have fallen. Then they sing sad songs in memory of them.

"In their own home they treat each other like brothers, and share the land in common. They are good to their cattle and horses. After a long march they will always care for their horses and feed them before doing anything for themselves. Before they eat they always wash themselves, oil their hair, and pray. They are as fond of tea as we are, my boy.

"But this is enough for to-night. I hope you will study your history carefully as you grow older. I want you to know more about the Cossacks, as well as many other interesting people who live in this great strong country of ours."

Not many miles from the fine city in which Petrovna lives are some other children whose home is very different from hers. Their parents are peasants who were serfs not many years ago. A serf was one kind of slave, for he belonged either to the Emperor or some rich nobleman. He could be bought and sold just like a horse. But the grandfather of the present Czar said, "My people must all be free. No human being in my empire shall be a slave any longer." That was the end of serfdom.

But these people are still very, very poor. Few of them can read a book. Many of them are lazy and fond of strong drink. They live in little villages all over Russia. There are more peasants than all other classes of people in the country.

Petrovna's papa must soon go to one of these villages on business. His little daughter is going with him. She is sorry for the poor peasants. She wishes she could give their children some pretty playthings like hers. She carries a new red skirt for a little girl there whom she knows.

The village looks very bare in the winter season. It is still more so in the summer time. No trees, no sidewalks, scanty gardens, and scarcely what you could call a street. Only wide pathways between the rows of huts, which are huddled together. There is only one two-story house in the place. This is owned by the storekeeper or village merchant. He sells the peasants everything they need to buy. He is not of the peasant class himself. He came to live here in order to make money out of these poor men and women. The village well, from which every one in the place draws his water, is near his house. On the side of the well hangs a sacred picture, so that every one who comes there may worship first.

On the front of each hut are three little windows, close together. The sashes and frames are painted a bright red, or perhaps a gaudy purple. The Russian peasant is very fond of colour, and will work hard for the sake of a new red shirt for himself or a yellow skirt for his wife.

The porch and doorway are on one side of the hut. In summer time an earthen kettle hangs down from the roof, and as the father comes home from his work he will stop a moment and tip a little water out of the kettle over his hands. He rubs them together and wipes himself on the tail of his shirt. This is the only washing he has except the weekly steaming in the village bath-house.

Look at the flocks of pigeons around the house. They are very tame. They appear well fed and fat. In Russia the pigeon or dove is a sacred bird and is never harmed. The rough peasant will share his last crust with a pigeon.

Petrovna goes to the door of one of the cottages and passes inside. Oh dear, how close the place is! It smells strongly of the cabbage soup boiling for the day's dinner. Only one small room in the house. Yet there is a large family of children living here, besides half a dozen shaggy-haired dogs. With the exception of the big brick stove, there is no furniture except what the father made himself. In one corner of the room is a rickety table.

A narrow bench is built against the wall on two sides of the room. There are no chairs and no beds. How do they get along? And yet they seem quite happy and comfortable. Papa and mamma sleep up on top of the big stove. The older children sleep beside them. Don't worry, my dears. They do not get burned, but like their hard, warm bed very much. The logs burn down to ashes in the daytime. The bricks are just pleasantly warm by night.

But the little girl to whom Petrovna has brought the dress, and her three-year-old brother, where do they sleep? On the benches against the walls. If they should have bad dreams and tumble off in the night, it would not matter so very much, for the bench is near the floor.

When meal time comes, the family does not gather around the table, for as I told you, there are no seats that can be moved. They sit on the benches, and the table is therefore kept in the corner of the room. They can sit at only two sides of it, of course.

But I have not yet spoken of the most important thing in the house. It is the Ikon, or sacred picture. The priest blessed it before it was brought to the home. There is a place for a candle to burn in front of it, but these poor people cannot afford to keep one lighted all the time. This picture has no gold upon it, like the one in Petrovna's house. It cost only a few pennies, but it is sacred, nevertheless. The family give it reverence many times a day. It is never forgotten as they enter the room.

It sometimes happens, I am sorry to say, that the father comes home the worse for taking strong drink. Perhaps he cannot walk straight, and hangs his head from side to side. But when he opens the door, he remembers to turn to the sacred picture and cross himself before it.

Although there is so little furniture and so few windows, the room looks bright and gay. The table is painted a gorgeous red, while the benches are a brilliant green.

Black bread made from coarse rye-meal, cabbage soup, weak tea (for they cannot afford to have it strong), are the daily food of the peasants. If they can get some buckwheat and dried herring, once in awhile, they think themselves well-off.

They have many happy times, these poor people of Russia. When work is done for the day, they dance and sing, and play upon the concertina, if any one in the village owns one of these cheap musical instruments.

When Petrovna takes out the red dress for the little girl and a large package of buckwheat which mamma has sent to the family, every one in the house shouts with delight. It seems as though they could not thank her enough. Even the dogs wake up and begin to bark in excitement. In the midst of it all Petrovna's papa calls for her. She must go back to the grand city and her fine home. She will forget for a time that all children in the world cannot be as well dressed and well fed as herself.

Petrovna has never yet been far away from St. Petersburg. She longs to go to the beautiful white-walled city of Moscow. Her mamma has been there, and has described its beauties over and over again.

It is a long journey from St. Petersburg. As you draw near the city, a blaze of colour is spread out before you. Domes of red and gold and purple are shining on the hilltops in the glorious sunlight. Churches and towers and palaces are without number, and differ from each other in shape and beauty. Moscow is a mass of colour made of countless gems and countless tints. In the midst of the city is the Kremlin or citadel. But the Kremlin is not one building. It is really a fortress surrounded by a massive wall that encloses many palaces and cathedrals, beautiful gardens and stately convents. Great gates open into it, and each has its story. One of them is called the Nicholas gate. A picture of St. Nicholas, whom the Russians worship, hangs over it. At one time the French were at war with the Russians. They stormed this gate and split its solid stonework, but the picture was unharmed. "It is a miracle," the people said.

There is a picture of the Virgin over another gate. The French tried to get this picture, but they did not succeed. This was another miracle, all thought, and no one passes through that gate now without taking off his hat. Within the Kremlin are other sacred pictures, which the people believe can work miracles.