DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

under the Last Tsar

St Basil's Cathedral, Moscow, at the end of the century
Daily Life in Russia
under the Last Tsar

HENRI TROYAT

TRANSLATED BY MALCOLM BARNES

Stanford University Press

Stanford, California
 Other books in the Daily Life series published by
Stanford University Press

Daily Life in China on the Eve of the Mongol Invasion,

1250-1276, by Jacques Gernet
Daily Life in Rembrandt's Holland,
by Paul Zumthor
Daily Life in Spain in the Golden Age,
by Marcelin Defourneaux
Daily Life of the Aztecs on the Eve of the Spanish Conquest,
by Jacques Soustelle

Stanford University Press

Stanford, California
Original French edition, La Vie Quotidienne en Russie
au Temps du Demier Tsar, © 1959 by Librairie Hachette
English Translation© 1961 by George Allen & Unwin Ltd.
Originating American publisher: The Macmillan Company, New York, 1962
Reissued in cloth and paper by Stanford University Press in 1979
Printed in the United States of America
Cloth ISBN 0-8047-1037-6 Paper ISBN 0-8047-1030-9
Last figure below indicates year of this printing:
05 04 -

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

 PREFACE
Undoubtedly I should have followed the usual pattern of this
series of books by handling my subject like a historian, but
the period and the land that I was asked to describe seemed
so close to me -because of my parents' tales and my own
childhood memories- that from the moment I started work
I felt unable to present the living world that I bore within me
in a systematic manner. I have therefore done my best with
the necessity of dividing this confused totality of impressions
into clearly defined chapters: administration, the nobility, the
clergy, the bourgeoisie, the people ... I have even been
shameless enough to invent a traveller in the process of dis-
covering Russia for himself and my readers. I derived amuse-
ment and sorrow from his disappointments. In short, instead
of treating the past as if it were dead matter, I have tried to
animate it by giving it the colour and vitality of a contem-
porary report.
For the date of this journey beyond the frontier, it seemed
to me logical to choose the year 1903, which is characteristic
of the' last days of absolutism. In the following year, in fact,
the Russo-Japanese War shook the country's faith in its army
and its sovereign, and immediately afterwards a revolution,
followed by strikes, stirred Nikolas II to make his first liberal
concessions. The Russia of the Duma was already no longer
the Russia of the old regime. Under an apparent administra-
tive stability there was a sickness and an anguish which could
only end in the tragic events of 1917.
Having decided that the year 1903 was the best period for
a description of pre-revolutionary Russian society, I also saw
myself obliged to restrict my investigations in terms of space.
In a land as vast and as diversely peopled as Russia, the
variety of customs was much more noticeable than in any
other European land, and 300 pages would not have sufficed
had I wished only to compare the life of a peasant from the
Tula region with that of his brothers in the Ukraine, the
Kuban, the lower Volga, the shores of the Caspian Sea, or the
confines of Siberia. Since the most Russian city in Russia was
incontestably Moscow, it was by penetrating into the differ-
6 PREFACE
ent circles of that city that I strove to catch the innumerable
aspects of daily life in the Tsarist empire.
I do not deny the imperfections of such a method. My
documentation is certainly incomplete and arbitrary. It was
drawn equally from didactic writings and from the tales of
contemporaries who were worthy to be trusted.
A day will come when better-qualified writers than myself
will draw up the complete catalogue of human activity in
Russia on the eve of the First World War. While we wait for
this enormous compilation, I beg the reader not to see any-
thing more in my book than a sentimental promenade
through the past of a land that is little known.
 CONTENTS

PREFACE page 5
TABLE OF WEIGHTS, MEASURES, MONEY 8
I Arrival 13
II Family Party 23
III Russian Promenade 30
IV Entertainment and Dining Out 40
v Baths, 'Traktirs' and Night Shelters 51
VI The Orthodox Church 63
VII The Workers 87
VIII The Army 108
IX The Different Social Classes and the
Administrative Machine 127
X The Law 147
XI Moscow's Many Faces 159
XII The Tsar and his Entourage 174
XIII The Peasants 195
XIV Nizhny-Novgorod 215
XV The Volga 226
BIBLIOGRAPHY 233
INDEX 236
 WEIGHTS, MEASURES, MONEY

Pood approximately 36 lb. avoirdupois.

Verst approximately 73 mile, or more ex-
actly 3,500 feet. 100 versts = 66 miles
520 feet.
1 verst= 500 sagenes; 1 sagene = 3
arsheens; 1 arsheen = 16 verchoks.
Thus 1 sagene= 7 feet; 1 arsheen =
28 inches; 1 verchok = H inches.
Rouble (100 kopecks= 1 rouble) 5PM in
1903. Thus 10 roubles = $5.15,
100 roubles = $51.50, and 1,ooo
roubles = $515.00.
 ILLUSTRATIONS
St Basil's Cathedral, Moscow frontispiece
1. Workers' quarters in Moscow facing page 48
Railway police on the Trans-Siberian line
Second-class carriage at the end of the train
2. The Kremlin and the Moskvaretsky Bridge 49
The Spass Gate of the Kremlin
:3. The market-place of Kitai:-Gorod, Moscow 96
Moscow street scene
4. Moscow shops 97
Moscow street scene
5. Muscovite Workers 112
Workers' dwellings in Moscow
Artillerymen of the Guard
6. Workers' dormitory in St Petersburg 11:3
Interior of a St Petersburg traktir
Interior of a shelter in the Khitrovka, Mo8cow
7. A colporteur 144
Around the Samovar
A rich Russian merchant
The wife of a rich Russian merchant
8. Monks of the St Serge Monastery, Moscow 145
Children's nurse in traditional clothing
A market in Moscow
9. Tsarkoe Selo, St Petersburg 160
Bridge and church of St Isaac, St Petersburg
10. Entrance to the Palace of Tsarkoe Selo 161
The Chinese Theatre at Tsarkoe Selo
On the banks of the Neva, St Petersburg
11. Nikolas II and the Empress Alexandra 192
The Winter Palace, St Petersburg
12. Nizhny-Novgorod with the barges gathering 19:3
A street scene in Nizhny-Novgorod
1:3. A peasant family at the table 208
A young peasant conscript leaves to join the army
14. Emigrants at Chelyabinsk Station 209
Russian emigrants at the station at Samara
Volga steamship
DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA
under the Last Tsar
 CHAPTER I

ARRIVAL
In the train- Formalities- Russian railways and roads-
Moscow- Conveyances, roads, churches, the hotel- The
calendar

A .
FLAT white landscape had been slipping past the
misted windows of the train for many hours. The
engine whistled mournfully in the snow-covered plain,
while beneath the traveller's feet the rails rumbled and
jarred. He was alone in his compartment, and to while away
the time had opened on his knees a small book in a red
binding, a Baedeker of Russia published in 1902. He had
bought it on the eve of his departure; filled with maps, itiner-
aries, prices and practical advice, it was indispensable to all
who were going to take a look at the Slav world.
In these early years of the century, when the railways were
bringing people and cultures closer together, Russia alone
seemed to stand apart distrustfully. Although our traveller
would not have needed a passport to go to Paris or Berlin, he
had to ask for one to go to Moscow. Reason for travelling:
business. Age: 26 years. Status: bachelor. Permanent address:
14 Littlefields Avenue, London. Surname and first names:
Russell, Edward Paul John. Seals, stamps, signatures .... Nor
did the formalities end there. In Moscow he would have to
exchange his passport for a residential permit, which must be
renewed at the end of six months, and when he wanted to
return home his papers would only be handed back in ex-
change for a certificate from the district police superinten-
dent, stating that there was no objection to his departure.
Luckily, according to Baedeker, hotel-keepers took responsi-
bility for these procedures at a charge that varied between
30 and 90 kopecks. 1
Although exasperated by all these irritating formalities,
Russell had to admit that when he crossed the frontier the
customs officers who had examined his bags and the men who
'Seep. 10 for table of dollar equivalents.
14 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

had looked at his passport had been reassuringly correct in

their behaviour. The officer in charge of the passport officials
bore himself with a certain pride and spoke a little French:
he wore a long greatcoat, had an upward-curling moustache,
and carried a sword. The railway staff wore dark clothes,
baggy trousers, black boots and fur caps. It was at Wirballen
(Verjbolovo) that they had first been seen. The passengers
had had to change trains because the Russian railway gauge
(1·524 m.) was wider than that of other European railways,
except the Spanish. Fear of invasion was ever-present.
In Russia the first-class carriages were blue, the second-
class were yellow and the third green. In the first-class com-
partments two wide seats with removable backs could be
turned into four couchettes for the night. There were special
carriages for non-smokers and ladies, and on the main lines,
like the one from Warsaw to Moscow, there were even
sleeping-cars. Before reaching any main station the guard
passed through the train to warn passengers. Those who
wished to get down on to the platform locked their compart-
ments or asked an attendant to look after their baggage. They
could find refreshment in the station buffets, almost all of
which had some gastronomic speciality new to a European
palate. The samovar was steaming and there were piles of
hors-d'muvres. The white-aproned waiters hurried from table
to table where tired travellers' heads bent over their food.
The train would start again after the bell had been rung
three times: first as a warning, again ten minutes later, and
when it had rung a third time the train moved off.
It was 1,067 versts (710 miles) from Wirballen to Moscow,
a journey of thirty hours. Russell was rather sorry that he had
reserved the whole compartment to himself, for the price of
luxury was solitude: a supplement of six roubles so as to have
no one to talk to. At the prevailing rate of exchange this
amounted to less than thirteen shillings. His gaze faltered
over Baedeker's grey text. He knew already that European
Russia and Siberia formed an empire of 129,000,000 in-
habitants; that supreme authority was held by the Tsar,
Nikolas II; that the established church was the Orthodox
Church; that in church architecture the Byzantine style was
supreme; that 'popes' were married and wore their hair long;
that the national drinks were tea, kvass and vodka; that serf-
 ARRIVAL 15
dom had been abolished in 1861; but that the greatest of the
noble families and the leaders of industry and commerce
made a great display of their wealth. A few words gathered
from travellers' tales formed the basis of his vocabulary:
mouiik, knout, troika, izba, barin, etc.
Russell, the son of a prosperous textile merchant, had suc-
cessfully concluded his studies in law and accountancy. He
spoke French, and was interested in art, politics and social
questions. There were no problems about his future; but
before taking him into the business, his father had decided
to send him to Russia to complete his education. This land
held promise of gigantic development. Moreover, Russell
would not be at a loose end in Moscow, for his parents had
commended him to Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov, a big
Moscow textile merchant who had recently visited the
Russell firm on a buying trip. When Zubov had heard that
young Russell was planning to pay a visit to Russia, he had
offered him advice and hospitality. Russell wondered how
sincere this friendly man's proposals were. But he had not
taken the train just in order to meet this Russian again; his
father's instructions had been vague but serious: 'stay there
as long as necessary. Make yourself familiar with the ways of
the country. See what there is to be done there. At the
moment, rather than in the future, I have less need of you
here than in Moscow.'
These words echoed in the young man's ears while the
train rolled along towards the ancient capital of the Tsars. It
was his first big journey. He had been on the move for more
than two days. At times he thought he might be dreaming,
and that he might wake up at home in his own room, with the
old servant, Gertrude, vigorously drawing the curtains on a
vista of roofs, rain and smoke. But the minutes passed and the
wheels went on turning and the frosted window still framed
the same patch of white and foggy earth over which the birds
Hew silently. How vast this country was! How far apart the
towns and how few the roads! Russell recalled some statistics
recently consulted. With its population of 129,000,000 people,
Russia had only 19 cities of more than 100,000 inhabitants. 1
1 Only St Petersburg and Moscow had more than one million inhabitants.

Warsaw had 638,000, Odessa 405,000, Lodz 315,000, Riga 282,000, Kiev
247,000, Kharkov 175,000.
16 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

In European Russia and Russian Poland there were only

15,000 miles of roads that were surfaced from end to end;
3,300 miles of roads paved throughout; and 340,000 miles of
roads neither surfaced nor paved, and impracticable in fact
in times of rain or thaw. As to the Russian railway system,
with its 25,000 miles of track, it was no greater than that of
Britain. Russell was not unaware that, since the Crimean
War, an enormous amount of foreign capital had been in-
vested in the Russian Railway Co. 1 This fact to some extent
reassured him. Even a foreigner moved along on machinery
paid for with money from home. In general, the Russian
Government entrusted the construction of new lines to
private companies and gave them help in their activities,
either by assuring a normal interest to the shareholders, funds
in the form of assistance, or by guaranteeing its debentures.
But the State also became its own contractor, or in advance
bought back lines that belonged to joint-stock companies.
Anyway, according to the concessions, the Government
settled the technical conditions of their construction very
precisely and fixed the tariffs for the transport of passengers
and goods. 2 Nevertheless, for obscure reasons, Russian
stations were situated a long way from the towns. According
to legend, when in 1842 Nikolas I decided to build the line
from St Petersburg to Moscow, there were so many argu-
ments among the engineers entrusted with laying out the
route that the potentate then seized a ruler, traced a straight
line on the map between the two capitals and, looking angrily
at his engineers, declared: 'You will lay the track along this
line and no other: The result, it is said, was to leave Nov-
gorod about forty miles south of the main line and to bring
about the rapid decline of Moscow's former rival.
Telegraph poles slid past Russell's eyes. He struggled
against sleep. The compartment was overheated, but out-
side the cold was fierce enough to freeze the saliva in one's
mouth. Russell was glad that he had brought flannel under-
' This company was authorized to exploit the Nikolas railway (St Peters-
burg-Moscow), then to construct the lines from St Petersburg to Warsaw and
Wirballen, and Moscow to Nizhny-Novgorod.
• Until the promulgation of the law of May 8, 1889, private companies
fixed their own tariffs freely, which involved the public and railway agencies
in a real chaos of contradictory figures.
 ARRIVAL 17
clothes with him, a cat-skin waistcoat and thick woollen
socks.
As to overcoats, Baedeker recommended buying one in
Russia, lined with fur. This advice was followed by the
laconic note: 'Do not hesitate, in second-rate shops, to offer
10 to 20 per cent less than the price asked (35 per cent in the
Caucasus).' Were Russian shopkeepers robbers? The follow-
ing advice gave Russell some anxiety: 'In small hotels it is as
well to have a pillow, bed-linen and insect powder.' But he
would not be going to a 'small' hotel, for he had already
chosen the Slavyansky-Bazar, which Baedeker rated a first-
class establishment.
Perhaps he should have warned Alexander Vassilievitch
Zubov of his arrival? He had not wished to do so for fear of
disturbing him, but also in order to be rather more free about
his accommodation and in his first look at the city. He would
wait a day or two before telephoning his Russian contact. It
was an extraordinary fact that, according to Zubov, there
had been a telephone service in Moscow since 1882. 1 For a
land that some people regarded as backward, this was rather
an achievement.
From time to time a village of snow-covered wooden
houses loomed up in the distance. Birches, firs, frozen ponds,
a sledge gliding across the country behind a small dark
horse. At minor stations the gates were watched by women
with round weather-beaten faces, their heads covered with
a kerchief, a horn slung round their shoulders bandolier-
fashion, and felt boots on their feet. On the platforms of the
main stations uniforms were everywhere: policemen, soldiers,
railwaymen, students, all were dressed, it seemed, in military
fashion. Was it true that in Russia half the men wore the dis-
tinctive dress of their profession?
On the whole the men were tall, with an air at once gentle
and martial, which was very attractive. The memory of
Napoleon, which had already come to Russell's mind as the
train crossed the Berezina, returned at the approaches to
Borodino, where the terrible battle of the Moskva had been
'The first apparatus put into service were by Bell-Blek, but from 1888
apparatus by Erikson of Stockholm were employed throughout the terri-
tory.
18 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

fought. This Moskva, or Moscow River, was slowly crossed

on a bridge which roared and trembled. The end of the jour-
ney was drawing near. People were stirring in neighbouring
compartments. Russell ventured into the corridor and wiped
away the mist from a small patch of window; then suddenly,
very far away, in a region made unreal by fog, sun and snow,
he saw the gilded domes of Moscow.

"' "' "' "'

As he emerged from the station, Russell came face to face
with the city and its low buildings, its dirty snow, its muffied
figures, and the distant clamour of a thousand bells. A white-
aproned porter hurried along in front of him with one case
on his shoulder and one in his hand. In the forecourt stood a
line of small sleighs with their drivers shouting to attract
customers. The porter wanted to stop at the first in the line,
but Russell resolutely chose another, for Baedeker had made
it clear that an izvozchik standing at the station entrance
always asked more than his fellows farther off. They all wore
long greatcoats. Their massive figures were of one piece with
their sleighs. At the end of the line an enormous pot-bellied
individual, well-wrapped up, crushed the seat with his great
weight. A curious black hat like an inverted chamber-pot
came down to his eyes. Locks of filthy hair hung down over
his ears. His steel-blue eyes sparkled above his reddish beard.
His nose was blue with cold.
'Slavyansky-Bazar; Russell said to him resolutely.
The face of the driver melted into a toothy smile. He
stretched his arm out in a welcoming gesture and jabbered a
few incomprehensible words. But Russell, warned by
Baedeker, refused to climb into the sleigh until he knew
what it would cost. An argument began between the driver,
who spoke violently in Russian, and Russell, who persisted in
repeating in his own language: 'Fix a price, or I will go to
someone else!'
A sympathetic traveller came forward as interpreter. He
was young, well dressed and dictatorial. Several times Russell
heard on his lips the terrible word gorodovoi; since crossing
the frontier it was impossible not to know that this meant
'policeman'. Eventually the quarrel died down and the inter-
 ARRIVAL 19
preter said to Russell: 'He wants forty kopecks. It's a reason-
able price. Good-day, sir.'
Thus reassured, Russell was profuse with his thanks and
climbed into the sleigh, in which the porter had already
placed the cases. Two ten-kopeck pieces passed into a hand
that was black with dirt. The porter bent double in a deep
bow and Russell wondered if he had given too much. The
driver clicked his tongue and the small, shaggy horse dragged
at the shafts. The runners grated on the packed snow and
they were off. The Russian cold, dry and sharp, seized
Russell's tender face. Curled up on his seat, he screwed up
his eyes in the icy air where the shining crystals danced.
The streets were full of life. On the pavements, which had
been scraped clear and were flanked with thick banks of
snow, men dressed in European fashion, striking military
figures and elegant women with their hands buried in muffs,
jostled with kerchief-wearing matrons and moujiks with
unkempt beards; and tattered tulups/ who were still living
as in the time of Peter the Great. The buildings were painted
in soft colours. Here and there above the roofs rose blue
domes studded with gold. Over the shopfronts were the
strange characters of the Russian alphabet, but was it for the
benefit of foreigners or illiterate Russians that each shop bore
also an unmistakable sign representing the articles to be
found inside? Signs which depicted strings of sausages,
placid cattle in a pasture, yellow biscuits, a scarlet hat, a gun,
a giant boot. Innumerable sleighs glided rapidly along the
roadway between these two rows of pictures; sumptuous or
modest, they jostled one another to the creaking of the run-
ners and the jingle of the harness, the horses blowing jets of
vapour through their nostrils. Fragments of ice, torn from
the road by their hoofs, bombarded the snow-screens of the
sleighs.
The driver turned to Russell and said: 'Tverskaya!'
Evidently he wished to point out that they were in Tver-
skaya Street. According to Baedeker's map, this important
thoroughfare led to the Red Square and the Kremlin, and
Baedeker was right. Here was a two-way arch, each passage
surmounted by a pointed tower. Between the two stood the
1 Tulup: overcoat of uncured skin, with the fur turned inside.
20 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Iberian Chapel, its entrance obstructed by a group of tramp-

ling, mumbling worshippers. The driver removed his hat and
crossed himself in a slow and ample fashion which passed,
singularly, from forehead to chest, and from right shoulder
to left.
Suddenly the walls drew apart, the view widened, and all
the pictures of the Kremlin that Russell had ever seen in
books of travel, in illustrated papers and on postcards, came
together in a single vista, motionless and grandiose. The
Kremlin wall, its battlements notched in the shape of swal-
lows' tails, enclosed a prodigious variety of scaly bulbs,
gilded domes, pinnacles and turrets with collars of bright
stonework. Yet, it was not behind these ramparts, but at the
far end of the vast snowfield, that the city's strangest struc-
ture rose. Was it a church ... or an avalanche of toys that
had fallen upon the earth from the sky and lay there in
disorder, brilliant with all the colours of childhood?
On a number of white drums St Basil's Cathedral thrust
upwards a group of dissimilar and asymmetrical domes,
shaped like pineapples, turbans, onions and pumpkins. Gold,
blue, red, yellow and green streamed from top to bottom of
the edifice, which was surmounted by orthodox crosses. 'So
there it is, the heart of Russia,' Russell said to himself, and
he deplored the fact that since the days of Peter the Great
the Tsars should have had themselves crowned in Moscow
but should have lived obstinately in St Petersburg. Over-
whelmed by the picturesqueness of the spot, he would like
to have seen all the passers-by in boyar costume, or peasant
costume at least. Was it because of the blood that was spilt
there throughout the centuries, on that very spot, that it had
been named the Red Square? This romantic idea appealed to
him, for he did not know that in Russian the words 'beautiful'
and 'red' are synonymous, that Krasnaya devitsa, for example,
means 'a beautiful girl', and that Krasnaya ploshchad can
be translated as either 'the red square' or 'the beautiful
square', with a definite preference for the latter? 1 After a
1 It was only in the second half of the seventeenth century that the Krem-

lin Square, surrounded by beautiful new buildings, was given the name of
Krasnaya ploshchad, in other words 'the beautiful square'. Until then it had
been known as Pozharnaya ploshchad, or 'the square of fires', with allusion to
the numerous fires which destroyed the wooden shanties at this spot.
 ARRIVAL 21
slight detour to allow the traveller to admire the monument
to Minin and Pozharsky, who conquered the Poles and liber-
ated Moscow in 1612, the driver turned back, drove his sleigh
into Nikolskaya Street, passed yet another cathedral, two
monasteries, and the ancient printing works of the Holy
Synod, and halted before the Slavyansky-Bazar. 1
He had scarcely paid his driver and crossed the threshold
than he was no longer in Russia, but in a luxurious and cos-
mopolitan place with mirrors, chandeliers, red carpets, white
shirt-fronts, bows and smiles. The finest apartment cost
twenty-five roubles. But one could live more modestly under
the same roof. Wisely, Russell chose a very suitable room at
five roubles a day. There was not the slightest local colour in
this room, which was papered yellow with a floral design and
furnished in heavy mahogany. The lighting was electric.
There was hot and cold running water in the wash-basin, and
double windows because of the cold. Russell sat down on a
leather settee, took a notebook from his pocket and wrote the
date: January 17, 1903. 'Have arrived in Moscow. Everything
all right.' Then, raising his eyes, he noticed a calendar on the
wall, showing the figure 4.
Being an orderly man he prepared to correct the mistake
by tearing off the leaves and then suddenly stopped as an
idea struck him: the Russians had kept the Julian calendar,
which was thirteen days behind the Gregorian calendar
adopted by the West. 2 So Russell was in. Moscow even before
he had left home and he was beginning again the month that
was already nearly half-finished in Western Europe. The im-
pression of having lived backwards during his journey seemed
so strange to him that for a long while he stood as if
astounded, unable to distinguish the past from the present,
suspended in a chronological void. He had put his watch
right at Wirballen, and the time there was fifty-nine minutes
'At the entrance to Nikolskaya Street stood the Kazan Cathedral; by its
side was the Za-lkono-Spassky (The Saviour behind the Ikons) monastery,
and farther off the Greek convent of St Nikolas, and opposite, the Blagoyav-
lensky (Epiphany) monastery.
2 The Julian calendar, established by Julius Ceasar forty-six years before

the Christian era, was adopted by the first Nicaean Council in 325 as the basis
of the Christian year. This calendar was thirteen days behind the Gregorian
calendar adopted successively by all the western peoples. A century earlier
the gap had been only twelve days.
22 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

behind that at Moscow. So it was high time to have lunch!

This prospect whetted Russell's appetite. Mter a hurried
toilet he stood before his mirror and saw himself younger by
thirteen days, slender, elegant and clear-complexioned, with
curly brown hair and a neat moustache above a gourmand's
lip.
 CHAPTER II

FAMILY PARTY
A Muscovite family- The traditional patronymic- The two
forenames- The Russian cuisine- The importance of tea -
The samovar

A TER he had bought a fur-lined coat and visited the

Kremlin, Russell telephoned Zubov, who reproached
him for not announcing his arrival earlier and asked
him to lunch the same day.
The Zubov family was numerous and prosperous, and lived
in a two-storied house near the Nikitskaya Gate. Beside
Alexander Vassilievitch, who was a stout, pink-skinned man
of fifty, with a fair beard and a playful sense of humour, his
wife, Tatiana Sergeyevna, seemed strangely pale, gentle and
dreamy. They had a son Nikolas of fourteen years, restless
and talkative, who wore the black-belted grey uniform of a
gymnasium pupil, a nineteen-year-old daughter, Helen, and
one a little older- Olga- who was married to her father's
partner, Paul Egorovitch Sychkin. She had just had a baby.
The young couple lived in the house next door. Paul Egoro-
vitch Sychkin had a bald and oblong head, pince-nez spec-
tacles, an infallible memory and a passion for statistics. His
conversation was sprinkled with dates and figures, and it did
not take Russell long to realize that control of the Zubov firm
was effectively in this meticulous man's hands, while the
easy-going Alexander Vassilievitch was content to agree with
his son-in-law's decisions and enjoy the benefits of freedom
from worry.
Everyone in the family spoke a refined French under the
fond eye of a governess who came from Dijon, plump Mile
Joze. When Olga's baby reached the age when he would be
stammering his first words, Mile J oze would take him in
hand in order to teach him 'the language of Voltaire'. For the
time being he was still in the care of an old nanny, the niania,
a person indispensable to any Russian household.
This nyanya, like all of her kind, was a peasant who had
 24 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

come to the city when young and had worn herself out look-
ing after children without hoping for anything but their love.
Illiterate, superstitious, talkative and tirelessly devoted, it
was she who spent the whole night at the bedside of some
. young scamp; who grovelled before the ikon, repaired the
broken toys, wiped away tears and blew noses after a fit of
misery, and pleaded for her charges when their parents were
too severe; and when sleep was slow in coming, she would
lean over the little bed by the wavering flame of a nightlight
and in low voice tell the story of some episode in the lives of
the saints, or some legend in which invincible knights fought
for princesses against their would-be ravishers.
Despite her numerous virtues, the nyanya was rarelv
allowed at her master's table, and Russell, though he heard
speak of the woman who had brought up Helen, Olga, and
Nikolas before being passed on to little Andrei:, had no oppor-
tunity to see her that day. But the conversation soon took a
less intimate turn, for the Zubovs had invited some friends to
lunch. Their arrival produced a lively atmosphere in the
room; they were four - two single men and a married couple.
Russell had heard that in Russia men kissed each other on the
lips to wish each other good-day. But this was another mis-
taken idea. They simply embraced. And the way in which
they greeted the ladies was most elegant: they clicked heels
in a military fashion before bowing to kiss hands.
Alexander Vassilievitch made the introductions. The new-
comers seemed delighted to meet Russell. They gathered
round him and asked him about life at home, about the
theatres and the exhibitions.... Flattered by their interest,
Russell began to swagger. Alexander Vassilievitch then de-
cided that he could not continue to treat his guest so for-
mally. In Russia everyone was known by two forenames, his
own and his father's. Thus Alexander Vassilievitch meant
Alexander, son of Vassili. Tatiana Sergeyevna meant Tatiana,
daughter of Serge. Even if you had met someone only once
and long ago, you had, at the risk of being considered ill-
bred, to remember his double forename. This everyday
mnemotechnical exercise seemed quite exhausting to Russell,
for at home he need only remember the addresses and
telephone numbers of his acquaintances.
 FAMILY PARTY 25
Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov was delighted. What was
Mr Russell's usual forename? John? And his father's? Paul.
In future, therefore, he would be Ivan Pavlovitch.
'Ivan Pavlovitch, we are delighted to welcome you!'
'The pleasure is all mine, Alexander Vassilievitch,' Russell
replied.
The company broke into smiles. Ivan Pavlovitch felt that
he had been russified to the core and asked for further infor-
mation. Was it true that in Russia the family name changed
in gender according to whether it applied to a man or a
woman? The reply was in the affirmative. Thus, one of
Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov' s daughters was Helena
Alexandrovna Zubova, and the other, the wife of Paul
Egorovitch Sychkin, was Olga Alexandrovna Sychkina. The
widow of Mikhailovsky, one of their friends, was Anna
Grigorievna Mikhailovskaya.
They lingered for a while in the drawing-room, which was
crowded with Napoleon III furniture, green plants and
modern paintings in heavy gilded frames. But at last the
double doors opened and a delicious odour titillated Russell's
nostrils.
In the dining-room, which was very big and bright, a
special table had been laden with hors-d'muvres or zakuski.
Bottles of ice~ vodka shone above an extraordinary display
of eatables, which Alexander Vassilievitch enumerated for
his guest: fresh caviar, pressed caviar, herring fillets, cucum-
bers in brine, smoked sturgeon, balyk, sucking-pig in horse-
radish, cold salmon, and little warm pates of meat, cabbage,
fish, etc. Astonished by this abundant prologue to the real
meal, Russell watched the other guests, who were helping
themselves to whatever they fancied and washing each
mouthful down with a bumper of vodka.
'Never drink vodka without eating something on top of it,'
said the master of the house.
Ivan Pavlovitch followed this advice. At each draught of
spirit his throat burned and a line of fire passed through his
stomach. He quickly reached out for the zakuski to smother
the fire with a blanket of caviar. The vodka called for food,
and the food called for vodka. From one small glass to
another, Russell had the impression that the noise in the
26 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

room was increasing, that it was gayer, lighter and warmer.

Alexander Vassilievitch started to tell him about the Russian
cuisine. Many of the dishes in this cuisine were controlled by
the seasons and by religion. Thus, a delicious cake of
sweetened white cheese, paskha, and a sort of brioche,
kulich, were only served at Easter; bliny- pancakes with
cream and caviar- only appeared on the table on meat days;
for okroshka- cold soup, sourish and aromatic, with scraps
of fish and.flakes of ice- one had to wait till the summer, and
the return of the larks was celebrated on March 9 by making
little bread rolls shaped like birds (zhavoronki) with raisins for
eyes. But there were innumerable other dishes which could be
eaten all through the year: borsch (a soup of cabbage and
meat, served with cream); the various kulibyaki of meat, rice
and fish; the cotelettes de Kiev, cotelettes Pozharsky, pelmeni
... without counting all the products of the French cuisine,
which were muph enjoyed in Russia. Many houses boasted of
having a French chef in their employ. Most of the time the
meals were mixed: half-Russian, half-French. Evidence of
this could be found in an anonymous gourmet's book called
The Gastronomic Notebooks of St Petersburg. This book, of
which only 100 copies were printed, was a collection of all
the important menus which the author had enjoyed during
his long life. Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov showed Russell
this work: dinners at the English Club, at the home of Prince
Lobanov, at the home of Count Vorontzov, and so on. Sixteen
covers served by two, 200 covers served by twenty .... Hazel-
grouse cutlets a la Russe together with quail pies with truffie
a la Perigueux, little Volga sterlets, or rastegai of salmon,
with chicken ala Montmorency.
The great wines were all French, but there were very good
Crimean vintages. To attract the connoisseurs, champagne
had to be, not iced, as in France, but positively frozen, so
that needles of ice could be seen suspended in the bottle. Of
vodka, a spirit made from grain, there were several kinds;
from ordinary white vodka to peppered vodka, pertsovka,
and in between a more savoury vodka, zubrovka, so named
because the herb which gave it its bouquet was much sought
after by an animal in process of extinction, the zubr, a species
of aurochs or bison.
 FAMILY PARTY 27
At his host's invitation, Russell tasted three vodkas in turn
in order to compare them, and his eyes filled with tears. With
a brave effort to stay lucid, he asked his neighbour if the
common people fed and quenched their thirst in this fashion.
The answer was that the fare of the common people was of
course simple, shchi (sour cabbage soup), kasha (buckwheat
gruel), borsch and black bread formed the basis of their
ordinary meals. Both in summer and winter their preference
was for vodka, but they liked kvass too, a less expensive drink
made by fermenting barley. Finally, tea was so important to
the national life that instead of a 'tip' or pourboire, one said
in Russia nachai, which means 'for tea'. Throughout the
provinces the samovar was the centre of the household, the
symbol of relaxation and well-being. Its name was derived
from two Russian words: samo, itself, and varit, to boil. Thus
it was not a vessel for making tea but for obtaining and keep-
ing boiling water. Russell, who during his journey had
already seen numerous samovars in buffets, learned that these
pot-bellied and gleaming copper urns were traversed by a
vertical chimney with a small grate for holding live charcoal
at the base. The water, poured in at the top, surrounded the
chimney and got hot from contact with it. A teapot, filled
with concentrated tea, was kept warm on the top of the
samovar. To get boiling water at any hour of the day, all you
had to do was to turn on the tap. A curious detail was that
men drank their tea from glasses and women drank theirs
from cups. The glasses were mounted in stands with handles
so that they could be picked up without burning the fingers.
All classes of society followed this custom: in the big houses
these stands were real pieces of skilfully carved silver. Peas-
ants, workers and shopkeepers did not sugar their tea, but
slipped a piece of sugar into their mouths and kept it there
by clever manipulation of the tongue while the warm drink
passed into their throats. This way of drinking tea was called
v prikusku.
While Russell listened to these explanations, he felt he was
choking with an abundance of alcohol and food. Someone
offered him a Russian cigarette (papirosa) with a long
cardboard mouthpiece. The tobacco had a sweet oriental
flavour. Even the ladies smoked. The sound of the voices was
28 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

deafening. Russell, stupefied and nauseated, thought long-

ingly of a long siesta in his room. But Alexander Vassilievitch
took him amicably by the arm. It was time to go to table.
Convinced that he could swallow nothing of this meal,
Russell was surprised to feel his appetite return at the sight
of a jellied sturgeon. Two mait1'es-ah0tel, dressed in black,
with white cravats and gloves, glided behind the chairs.
Their manner of serving was perfectly European, but their
faces had the prominent cheekbones and the slanting eyes of
the conquering Mongols. Rhine wine was poured into the
glasses. Conversation was general. They spoke of a certain
Chekhov, whose last play had been a great success, of
Chaliapin, a deep bass singer, Sobinov, an extraordinary tenor
who was Chaliapin's rival with the female public, and of
some celebrated dancers, Pavlova and Kchessinskaya, over
whom the Moscow and St Petersburg theatres were quarrel-
ling. It was apparent that there was jealousy between the
two great cities. According to Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov,
the people of St Petersburg criticized the Muscovites for
their coarse joviality and their puerile insouciance, while the
Muscovites criticized them for their false western elegance,
their haughtiness and their pretentiousness in regarding
themselves as the centre of the universe.
'Moscow', said Alexander Vassilievitch, 'is the old Russia
of merchants, artisans and artists. St. Petersburg is the new
Russia, artificial and formal, governmental. Some day the
Tsar will have to come back to live in Moscow.'
Russell signified assent while he cut up a chicken cutlet
a la Kiev, full of melted butter, which spread warm and
steaming over his plate. After dessert- a pineapple jelly
beaten up in champagne and topped with a fruit macedoine
- the men returned to smoking their long cigarettes with
cardboard tubes. Coffee was not served in the drawing-room,
but on the table in the dining-room. Though the cups were
nothing special to look at, Russell admired the little inlaid
silver spoons which were, according to Helen, his neighbour,
of a special Russian style. The liqueurs were international:
cognac, chartreuse, framboise and kiimmel.
It was four in the afternoon when they left the table.
Russell's tongue was on fire and he felt he had all the Krem-
 FAMILY PARTY 29
lin's domes in his stomach. The other guests seemed happy
and comfortable. One after the other they approached their
hostess and kissed her hand to thank her for having fed them
so well. This custom seemed so strange to Russell that he
hesitated a little before conforming to it. But Tatiana
Sergeyevna responded to his gesture with a gracious smile
and, without knowing exactly where his feet were taking
him, he found himself back in the room with the great green
plants. Outside the snow was falling, and here, in hothouse
warmth, were palms and exotic ferns. It was Sunday in
Russia and Saturday in England. Nobody was in a hurry to
leave. In response to the entreaties of those around her,
Helen sat down at the piano and sang a very languorous
tzigane ballad.
 CHAPTER III

RUSSIAN PROMENADE
Domestic life- Servants' pay-- A schoolboy's morning- The
cares of a domesticated lady- A sleigh-ride - Troikas- Philip-
pov's patisserie and Elisseyev's food store- Muscovite
bazaars - The fire service

R USSIAN hospitality was no mere phrase: after inviting

Russell to lunch or dinner several times, Alexander
Vassilievitch Zubov begged him to come and live with
them. A guest room was at his disposal. It would be so much
nicer than at the hotel. Russell accepted the offer eagerly,
for he was anxious to know about life in a big Muscovite
house.
His host told him how, in his parents' happy days, before
the abolition of serfdom, the house swarmed with servants
whose functions were ill-defined. Now that times had
changed they had to restrict themselves. The family had only
one chef in its service, an assistant cook, two valets, two
chambermaids, a laundress, a sewing-maid, a coachman, a
groom and an odd-job man. It was the coachman who re-
ceived the highest wages: 40 roubles a month (about £4 14s).
The chef and the valets made shift with 25 roubles and the
head chambermaid with 15 roubles. As this staff was in-
sufficient to maintain the establishment, Alexander Vassilie-
vitch had made a contract with a tiler who inspected the roof
at the beginning and end of the winter, with a German clock-
maker who undertook to wind up all the clocks in the house,
with a stove-setter who occupied himself with the central
heating, and with a polisher who regularly came with his men
to polish the parquet floors and clean the tiles. The cellar and
the storeroom were crammed with drink and foodstuffs. Pro-
visions were bought for several months in advance: moun-
tains of potatoes, and barrels of sauerkraut and herrings. In
the stable were four horses, including a pair of Orloff trotters
which had cost 2,500 roubles (approx. £265) and were the
envy of all Moscow. In the carriage shed were two sleighs, a
 RUSSIAN PROMENADE 31
landau, a calash and a small hunting-brake. But unknown to
his wife, Alexander Vassilievitch dreamed of acquiring a
motor-car: a Mercedes-Simplex with 'side-doors'. This would
appear next year. Between now and then the Germans would
have improved their machines further.
'I don't like the Germans,' he said, 'but one has to admit that
they are ingenious. Do you know, my dear Ivan Pavlovitch,
that in Old Russian the words "German" and "foreigner"
are synonymous? In the old days a Nemets was a German. 'I
Every day Alexander Vassilievitch rose at eight, before his
wife. The family took breakfast all together in the dining-
room. But young Nikolas had already swallowed his last slice
of bread when the grown-ups sat down to table: prayers at
the gymnasium began at eight-thirty and lessons at nine. The
numbering of the classes in Russia began with the first and
ended with the eighth. So Nikolas, who was in the fifth, had
to endure three more years of tiresome discipline before
achieving the free life of a student. While waiting for the
pleasures of such promotion, his daily hope was to see the
thermometer go down to minus 20o Reaumur. 2 Then the fire-
men would hoist white flags on their watch-towers, the
official signal for leave of absence because of the cold. The
schools would close their doors and throughout the city the
schoolboys would pray secretly that the temperature would
stay where it was. Unfortunately, this kind of holiday was
rare and Nikolas left to face the snow and the blackboard,
leaving his parents, his sister, Mile Joze and John Russell
seated in the warmth with the aroma of tea and jam.
On rising, Tatiana Sergeyevna wore a champagne-coloured
wrap, buttoned to the neck, with lace at the wrists. Alexander
Vassilievitch sported a cashmere dressing-gown. A piece of
transparent material covered his upper lip. He removed this
muzzle before sitting down, to reveal a soft and shining
moustache, as if drawn by the brush of a Chinese artist. He
was visibly glad to be in good health, closely shaved, with
flawless nails and a sound set of teeth. Close to his plate were
'Etymologically, nemets was connected with nemoi (mute). In popular
speech the term was applied to those who could not speak Russian, in other
words foreigners, and especially Germans.
'Twenty degrees of frost Reaumur would equal45' of frost Fahrenheit.
32 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

some letters and the morning papers: Moskovsky Listok and

Russkaya Vedomost . ... After some refreshment he peered
at the envelopes, grumbling 'Nothing interesting,' and
stuffed them into his pocket. Then he lit a cigarette, opened
a news-sheet and commented on the headings for the benefit
of those present. His partner would have been at the office a
long time already and he could not make up his mind
whether to go there himself. He would gladly have stayed for
another hour in the family circle if his valet had not come to
announce that the sleigh was ready.
'Ah! Very well,' he said, stretching himself.
His glance faded, a sigh escaped his thick red lips, and
just for a moment he resembled his son about to leave for
school.
Having accompanied her husband to the entrance-hall,
received his kiss and listened to the ritual 'Au revoir, angel!'
Tatiana Sergeyevna was soon caught up in the many cares of
a lady of quality. The valet came to show her the suppliers'
bills and to tell her about a recent dispute between the two
chambermaids. The cook followed him, bringing suggestions
for the menus of masters and servants. Servants had a separ-
ate diet, healthy and abundant; they required soup and meat
at every meal. Next came Olga in a great hurry to seek her
mothers advice: Prascovie, little Andreis nurse, required
large helpings of caviar for lunch, for she was obliged, she
said, to eat a salty diet and drink copiously so that her milk
should be beyond reproach.
'That's girl's impossible!' cried Tatiana Sergeyevna. 'Give
her herrings, they'll have the same effect. Threaten to send
her away if she insists! What a pity you cannot feed your
child yourself! '
Prascovie was a robust peasant girl with a comely face and
firm full bosom. The Zubov's doctor had sounded her, had
analysed her blood and milk, and had declared her fit for the
job. In accordance with custom, Olga had provided the
nurse's outfit, which comprised a red satin skirt, another blue
one, underclothes, nightclothes, white aprons, a Russian
diadem with multicoloured ribbons, and a necklace of
unbreakable beads which the baby could bite without
danger.
 RUSSIAN PROMENADE 33
'When I think of all we have done for her!' Olga sighed.
Finally she hurried off to a fitting, and Tatiana Sergeyevna
returned to her own affairs. The florist, with whom the
Zubbvs had a contract for the regular decoration of their
rooms, delivered armfuls of fresh flowers which had to be
tastefully arranged in the vases. Then came the masseuse, an
athletic matron with short hair and the spectacles of a pro-
fessor. While she kneaded her client's body with her hands
she reported the latest gossip. Scarcely had the masseuse
finished her work than a manicurist replaced her at Tatiana
Sergeyevna's bedside. The hairdresser awaited his turn in
the neighbouring room. From time to time the telephone
rang, friends suggested dinner, a sleigh-ride, a visit to a
fashion house .... With her ear to the receiver and her eyes
in the mirror, she gossiped happily with a friend as idle as
herself, while the man flourished his curling-irons above her
head.
0 0 0 0

For form's sake, Russell sometimes went to the Zubov

store to study the way its business was run. But despite the
size of the counters, the number of its clerks and the varietv
of materials on the shelves, he did not feel strange in this big
Muscovite establishment. From one country to another, the
working methods were the same. The only notable differences
from things at home were that the salesmen measured
materials by the arsheen 1 and that Russian book-keepers did
their calculations on an abacus. This was definitely no place
for Russell to spend his time if he wished to profit by his stay
in Moscow. Rather than grow bored in the afternoon in the
stale smell of cloth, Russell preferred to go with Tatiana
Sergeyevna and Helen on their trips round the town or for
sleigh-drives across the Petrovsky Park.
Snow and sunshine. The finest turnouts met in the avenues.
Between the passing lines of vehicles people greeted one
another or exchanged shouts, or waved their hands as they
went by. Some carriages were drawn by high-strung trotters,
driven by enormous coachmen in blue or green greatcoats.
But there were also lowly hired sleighs, calashes mounted on
1 See page 10 for list of American equivalents.
34 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

runners, and little boxes carried swiftly along by horses with

black flowing manes. The wind whistled around Russell's
ears. Curled up opposite Tatiana Sergeyevna under her bear-
skin cover, his head down between his shoulders, his eyes
running and his nose frozen, he was divided between wonder
and fear. Troikas were seeking to pass one another to the
rapid tinkling of little bells. The drivers sat upright on their
seats, with arms outstretched and beards like snowy sponges.
They shouted at their horses to encourage them.
Thanks to the information given him by Russian friends,
Russell was not unaware of the way in which such an equi-
page was harnessed. Although harnessed in line abreast, a
troika's three horses ran in different styles. Only the centre
horse ran in shafts. A wooden arch surmounted its neck. Held
on two reins, this horse was the active, well-balanced, serious
element in the group. Its role was to trot straight ahead with
its head up, while the other two horses had to gallop at its
sides in a free and spirited fashion, their heads turned out-
wards and their muzzles down towards the snow. The driver
handled these two with only one outer rein each, and a single
strap connected each of them with the shaft-horse. Thus the
three horses, in their silver harnesses, their steaming blankets
and their bells, spread like a fan in front of the light sleighs.
The Zubovs' carriage was drawn by a pair of trotters, but
Tatiana Sergeyevna decided that one evening they would
hire several troikas and go together to a famous restaurant
near Moscow.
The drive to the Petrovsky Park often ended with a skating
session on the Priesnienskie Ponds. Near the Zoological Gar-
den one could hear the mmble of sleighs in the twilight mists
as they glided up the frozen slopes, the grating of the chains
that dragged them, laughter and the sound of an orchestra
playing waltzes for the skaters. This orchestra was accom-
modated at the edge of the pond, in the shelter of an enor-
mous plaster shell. The rink was surrounded by .lighted
globes. Elegant ladies circled upon the ice with their hands
buried in their muffs. Others, clinging to chairs, uttered cries
of fear, while military gentlemen swirled around them, their
hands on their hips, their teeth shining and their moustaches
stiff with frost. One big gentleman with side whiskers pushed
 RUSSIAN PROMENADE 35
a chair on skates, in which a pale and chilly beauty lolled.
Russell, who knew how to skate, was glad to prove to his
northern friends that, although he lived in a temperate
climate, he was as skilful as they were in the art of propelling
himself on the frozen surface of the pond. Around him the
light of the lamp-standards transformed the mist into a sort
of scintillating aurora, powdery and unreal. He dashed for-
ward; he flew; he was no longer cold; he was a Samorzed, a
Laplander.
After this exercise they all went together to the Cafe
Philippov, which stood at the corner of Tverskaya Street
and Glinichevsky Street. Oh! the comfortable warmth, the
delicious perfume, that welcomed them over its threshold!
It was said that old Philippov's fortune was made on the day
when, having delivered some rolls to the Governor of Mos-
cow, the latter had called him along to show him a spider
that had been cooked in the dough. Without a sign of con-
cern, Philippov had munched the spider, saying:
'It's a raisin, Your Excellency.'
'Since when have you been putting raisins in the rolls?'
'Since today, Your Excellency. It's an innovation ... .'
When he returned home the patissier had grabbed a box of
raisins and had cast them in handfuls into the dough that was
ready for the oven. Some hours later, as proof of his good
faith, he sent the Governor further rolls picked out with black
spots. Next day all Moscow wanted to taste them. The fashion
had been started. Philippov doubled his business; his son
enlarged it and increased its specialities. There Russell could
taste all sorts of pies with meat, cabbage, eggs, mushrooms,
cream cheese or jam, complicated cakes, succulent tartlets,
kalachi, saiki, black bread, brown bread and even white
bread.
Another spot sacred to gastronomy was the immense Elis-
seyev store, named the Temple of Bacchus, stuffed with exotic
fruits and fine wines. A crowd of buyers jostled before a dis-
play of pineapples, bananas, coconuts, grapes and flasks with
multicoloured labels. The proprietor claimed to have gained
the Legion of Honour at the Paris Exhibition of 1900 for the
excellence of the vintages he had shown there. Whether that
was true or not, his buttonhole was decorated with the red
36 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

ribbon. In Moscow, meanwhile, the success of his business

had been almost endangered by fussy officialdom. He had
been trading for several years when some officials had been
warned that he was contravening certain police regulations:
no one might sell wines and spirits within a radius of forty-
two sagenes (about 100 yards) of a church. Now, the door of
the nearest church was within the prohibited distance from
the store. Ordered to stop his trade, Elisseyev had avoided the
problem by taking all his bottles to the far end of the store
and making a new entry into Kozitsky Street. By thus sep-
arating the paths of those going to the temple of God and
those going to the temple of Bacchus, he put himself right
with the authorities and kept his customers.
Under the guidance of the Zubovs, Russell visited other
stores: food stores, fashion, fur and jewellery shops. They
seemed to him to be as well kept on the whole as those in
Paris or London. But his preference, for picturesqueness, was
for the Ryady bazaars on the Red Square. These huge three-
floored buildings were intersected by passages, galleries and
staircases, and entirely lit by electricity. This labyrinth shel-
tered more than a thousand shops with incredible displays of
laceware, lacquer-ware, undressed skins, knives, enamel-
ware, table-covers, antique clocks .... Bearded and booted
merchants, standing in the doorways, called upon passers-by
to enter. The crowd was indolent and poorly dressed. There
were no fixed prices for the articles in the windows. The least
scrap of cloth and the crudest wooden bowl were the excuse
for interminable arguments. Beside a ragged peasant, search-
ing amongst remnants, a young woman, wrapped in a sump-
tuous sable coat, was examining delicate Bruges lace through
her lorgnette. As Russell was speaking French with Tatiana
Sergeyevna, a jeweller offered them his silver articles, insist-
ing on the fact that the quality of the silver used in Russian
jewellery was better than that of French silver, but he was
careful to say that with articles made of gold the reverse was
the case.
Not far away, bordering upon the Theatre Square, was an
even stranger market: Okhotny Ryad. Along the open-air
stalls, overburdened with foodstuffs, dawdled a motley mob
of housewives. With shawls over their heads, felt boots on
 RUSSIAN PROMENADE 37
their feet and baskets on their arms, they felt the chickens,
the fish and the meat with both hands. Hens cackled, and
piglets squealed in their cages. Sturdy hunters, festooned
with hares, ducks and pheasants, wandered about among the
crowd offering their game. An itinerant veterinary surgeon,
with his apparatus hanging from his belt, took off his boots
and pushed a cat into one of them head-first, so as to be able
to castrate him more conveniently. Some old gossips sur-
rounded him, serious and contemplative. The cat howled.
Its owner crossed himself. Vendors of hot drinks poured their
tea and sbiten into glasses for one kopeck a time. This boiling
brew, with a honey basis, was the special choice of coachmen,
who froze all day long upon their seats. But Tatiana Sergey-
evna dissuaded Russell from tasting it. Moreover, she did not
like these vulgar gatherings and always turned back to the
shops she preferred, at the Marshals' Bridge on the Luby-
anka Street and Tverskaya Street. When she felt she had
made too many purchases, she called upon a messenger to
carry the packages. There were messengers almost every-
where, in front of the big hotels, the luxury shops, the
museums, the theatres and the restaurants. They were
recognizable by the red bands round their caps. Friendly,
quick and resourceful, they would deliver a letter, or
obtain information about train times, or book seats for a
concert. ...
One day, as Russell and Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov
were leaving the Reinhard tobacconist's shop where they had
bought some cigars, a hurricane swept past them: the fire
brigade! At the head of the formation galloped a big fellow
in a copper helmet, armed with a long whip. His cheeks were
puffed out and his eyes were fierce as he sounded the horn.
Carriages scattered and pedestrians fled in disorder at his
approach. Behind him red sleighs glided madly by, packed
with helmets, ladders, hoses and axes .... In a twinkling, the
brigade had vanished.
'The fire is in the Myasnitskaya district,' said Alexander
Vassilievitch.
'How do you know?' Russell asked.
'Because three white balls have been hoisted on the fire
brigade's watch-tower. That's the sign for Myasnitskaya. For
38 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Gorodskaya it is one ball, for Pyatnitskaya four balls .... See

for yourself... .'
Indeed, above the roofs the tower of the Tverskaya barrack
could be seen, with three balls at its mast.
'At dusk; Alexander Vassilievitch went on, 'the balls are
replaced with lanterns. A watchman walks about the top of
the building day and night. As soon as he perceives smoke in
the distance he gives the alarm by sounding a bell and put-
ting out balls or lanterns corresponding to the district. If the
fire is very large a red flag or a red lantern is added to the
usual signal. Then all the fire-brigade barracks are mobilized .
. . . The firemen who have just passed came from the Tver-
skaya fire-station.'
'How do you know that?'
'By the horses' coats. Each barrack has its own colour for
the teams. The horses of the Tverskaya barrack are all pie-
bald, those of the Arbatskaya barrack are all bay, those of the
Lakimskaya are all dapple-grey, those of the Sretinskaya are
all roan with white tails and manes .... The Muscovites are
very proud of their fire-brigades ... .'
While talking, he turned into a cross-road and Russell saw
that at this point the road and pavement were covered with
fresh straw.
'That's because there's a sick person in one of these houses;
said Alexander Vassilievitch. 'The porter has put down straw
to deaden the noise. Between ourselves, they could have done
without it, for the snow deadens it all anyhow. But what can
you do? It's a custom with us. When my daughter was in
childbirth, I too made them spread straw. Ahl you were right
to come to Moscow in the winter, dear Ivan Pavlovitchl It's
the best time to see the town!'
Alexander Vassilievitch interrupted himself to point to a
cloud of birds that were covering the sky. They were arriving
in black, cawing masses from ali points of the compass.
'What's going on?' Russell asked.
'Those are the crows coming home.'
'Coming home?'
'Yes, they roost in the towers, on the roofs, on the domes of
the Kremlin. In five minutes they will all have settled. When
the sun goes down the birds go to sleep and civilized man
 RUSSIAN PROMENADE 39
begins to live. You don't know the Moscow nights yet, Ivan
Pavlovitch. I shall undertake your education. Tonight we'll
go to the Salomonsky Circus, tomorrow to the Grand Theatre
and the day after to the Moscow Arts Theatre, then next to
the Korch Theatre and after that to the Little Theatre ... .'
With his otter-skin cap jauntily set over one ear and his
chin in the fur collar of his greatcoat, Alexander Vassilievitch
was filled with satisfaction.
 CHAPTER IV

ENTERTAINMENT AND DINING OUT

Moscow theatres- Different kinds of coachmen- The Mer-
chants' Club- Supper at the Strelnya- Tzigane singers

C OMPARED with Moscow's Grand Theatre, Covent

Garden was a charming little chocolate-box. Russian
ostentation overflowed in the building's gigantic
dimensions. As he got down from the sleigh and prepared to
make for the imposing pillars at the entrance, that were
covered with hoar-frost and lit by the milk-white globes of
the candelabra, Russell felt that the Tsar in person was about
to welcome him at the door. The sleighs lined up to take their
turn in front of the peristyle. Policemen shouted orders in
hoarse voices. Coachmen swore as they dragged at their
reins. Clouds of steam rose from the horses' Hanks. In the
flickering light of the carriage lamps, footmen were busy
helping some general with white side-whiskers to get down,
or some young woman, dusted with snow, who laughed as she
shook her fur coat.
The bright vestibule hummed like a beehive in the sun.
Bald heads, diadems, bare shoulders, sombre dress-coats,
uniforms starred with decorations - a whole mass of people
sparkled, glittered, swirled around, gossiped and drifted
slowly away towards the great glass door which led to the
auditorium. Tatiana Sergeyevna and her daughter, who were
both in evening gowns, exchanged greetings with their
friends. This was a ballet night, and all the season-ticket
holders were there. The performance would begin at eight.
Alexander Vassilievitch, as a Muscovite of rank, had rented
his box for the season.
An attendant in red and gold uniform, decorated with the
black imperial eagles, led the Zubov family and their guest
down a long, curving corridor, decorated with garlands and
medallions, pushed open a door and stood aside respectfully
while the ladies entered what seemed to be a jewel-case of
purple cloth. Tatiana Sergeyevna and Helen attended to their
 ENTERTAINMENT AND DINING OUT 41
hair in a mirror in the little room before taking their seats at
the front of the box. Their lorgnettes were at once directed at
the pit. Every face in the orchestra stalls and the ground-floor
boxes was known to them. They flirted with their fans and
commented in an undertone on the dresses and hair-styles of
other women. Standing behind them, Russell gazed with a
slight feeling of dizziness at the swelling tiers of balconies,
with their fine arabesques and their velvet-covered fronts on
which were boxes of sweets, programmes, a naked elbow, or
fingers clutching a handkerchief. Both below and above,
people· were turning in all directions, and smile answered
smile across the bays. Above the gulf. hung an enormous
crystal chandelier. Facing the stage, the imperial box was
empty, but the canopy and blazons and the two-headed eagle
witnessed to the omnipresence of Nikolas II. All this luxury
had a crushing effect on Russell. He was no longer surprised
that a box at the Grand Theatre should cost at least fifteen
roubles, but he could not understand how it was that in
Moscow so many people could afford such luxurious enter-
tainment.
In the orchestra pit that was filled with musicians in even-
ing-dress, white shirt-fronts were leaning over the white
scores. Violins, hautbois and clarinets were playing an unob-
trusive prelude. Alexander Vassilievitch explained the sub-
ject of the ballet they were going to see in a few minutes. The
auditorium grew dark, the conductor emerged, tapped the
edge of his rostrum with his baton, and soft music rose
towards the crimson curtains that were lit by the footlights.
Russell was not a balletomane. Nevertheless he admired
the aerial evolutions of the dancers, the imposing dimensions
of the stage and the rustic scene of the ballet. In the interval
Alexander Vassilievitch had champagne and chocolates
brought into the little room adjoining the box. Glass in hand,
he told Russell that the Russians had a passion for dancing
and that the rivalry of Moscow and St Petersburg in this
sphere had the appearance of open warfare. In St Petersburg
it was held that Moscow's artistes sacrificed tradition to facile
effects, while in Moscow the artistes of St Petersburg were
criticized for pushing technique too far to the detriment of
feeling.
42 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Each of the two cities had a dancing-school under the

Emperor's patronage. The pupils at these illustrious establish-
ments received a general education, of course, but most of
their time was devoted to choreographic studies. Apprenticed
to a cult which absorbed them completely, they were un-
aware of the events that took place beyond the walls of the
institution; they wore clothes of antiquated cut, slept, ate,
worked and dreamed together, and for their rare outings
crowded together into big carriages with the windows
screened, so that no gaze could fall upon their faces during
the journey from school to theatre. After the final examination
they became in effect dancing officials, with a salary that
began at 600 roubles ( $309) a year, and for the principals was
720 roubles ( $371) a year. Then began a brilliant and exciting
life, punctuated with homage, intrigues, success and dis-
appointments. In Russia the craze for ballerinas was so great
that those without a rich patron were rare. It was even whis-
pered that certain members of the Imperial Family set the
example in this matter. But beyond the sentimental consider-
ations, the balletomanes constituted an educated, exacting
and fiercely dogmatic public. They knew all the ballets by
heart, followed the careers of the dancers, were indignant at
the least deviation from the established rules, awaited tensely
the moment when their idol started upon a difficult dance,
and counted the beats with anxiety in their breasts .... It
would have taken a catastrophe or a mortal illness to make
any of them miss a gala performance. When Matilda
Kchessinskaya came to dance in Moscow, all the front rows
of the orchestra stalls in the Maria Theatre at St Petersburg
were empty, for the incomparable dancer's devotees had
followed her to Moscow.
With this information Russell watched the rest of the per-
formance with added interest. The flying skirts so absorbed
him that unconsciously he nodded his head in time with the
music, and when the curtain fell upon the last vision of the
star standing between two baskets of roses and blowing
kisses to the crowd, he had not the least doubt that he would
remember this performance always.
The audience streamed towards the exit. The snow swirled
among the tall white columns. The attendants were shouting
 ENTERTAINMENT AND DINING OUT 43
for carriages. The carriage lanterns swung around in the
darkness. In the centre of the square a few coachmen were
still warming themselves at the big braziers that had been
lit in the iron-roofed shelters, while they waited for their
masters.

The next evening, Alexander Vassilievitch and his wife

decided to take Russell to the Moscow Arts Theatre. This
theatre, recently founded by Stanislavsky and Nemirovitch-
Danchenko with the aid of a subsidy from the Russian mer-
chant, Sava Moroxov, was reckoned to have revolutionized
the aesthetic ideas of all nations and all ages. Reacting
against declamatory styles and papier mache decors, this new
group claimed that it could recreate life on the stage. Stanis-
lavsky demanded absolute devotion from his colleagues, tire-
less patience and the desire to purify themselves through
work. The company rehearsed for months in the country, and
if an actor gave evidence of doubtful morality his master did
not hesitate to dismiss him, whatever his talent, in order to
preserve his colleagues' peace of mind. The smallest details of
the performance were handled with a fanatical concern for
realism. In historical pieces the costumes were copied exactly
from those of the period. The actors wore them for a long
time before the first performance so as to get used to them, and
so to shape them to their bodies that they would feel as much
at home in them as in their own clothes. In open-air scenes
painted trees were replaced by real trees. In indoor scenes
the rooms had real walls, real ceilings, real furniture and real
lamps; real chickens were served at table, real tea was poured
from the teapots, and real fires burned in the grates. Every-
thing was conceived so that the public should not have the
impression of being present at a theatrical performance, but
of looking in on the intimate life of the persons of the plays as
if by a ruse.
Exacting as he was towards his actors, Stanislavsky was no
less so towards the spectators. They had to enter the theatre
religiously. At eight o'clock precisely the doors were closed
and latecomers were driven away relentlessly. To avoid such
a contretemps, the Zubovs and their guest had dined quickly
44 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

and in an unusually frugal fashion. 'After the performance

we'll make up for it at the Strelnya Restaurant,' Alexander
Vassilievitch had said as he rose from the table with his
mouth still full.
They arrived ten minutes before the curtain rose. What a
contrast to the sumptuous decoration of the Grand Theatre!
Here the colours and the lines were deliberately simple. The
walls and stalls were done in the same grey material. The
stage curtain was also grey, with a seagull pattern amongst
its folds. 'That's because the theatre's first great success was
Chekhov's The Seagull,' said Alexander Vassilievitch in an
undertone. His normal exuberance' had given way to a sort of
timidity. The whole audience, moreover was as quiet as in the
precincts of a temple.
'But this is nothing!' Alexander Vassilievitch went on.
'You'll be surprised by the silence after the curtain goes up.
Silence is indispensable if the spectator is to catch the
smallest stage effect arranged by Stanislavsky: the murmur
of the wind, the patter of rain, the hammer of horses' hoofs,
the ticking of a clock, the shrilling of crickets ... Chekhov
made a little joke about this craze of Stanislavsky's when he
said to a friend in Stanislavsky's presence: ''I'm going to write
a new play, which will begin like this: 'How nice it is! How
quiet! Not a bird to be heard, not a dog, not a cuckoo, not an
owl, not a nightingale, not a clock, not a bell, not a single
cricket .. .' " The joke went all over Moscow .. .'
He stopped speaking and held his breath. There was not
an empty seat in the theatre. The lights dimmed. The doors
were closed hermetically, like those of a safe. The curtain
quivered and then opened gently. Without leaving his seat,
Russell found himself tossed headlong into a noisy boyar
feast. Servants were carrying enormous plates laden with
geese and pigs, and piles of fruit and vegetables. Others were
rolling barrels of wine. This motley throng recreated the
very disorder of reality. They were playing Tsar Fedor.
Although he did not understand a word of the retorts that
were tossed to and fro across the stage, Russell followed the
performance enthusiastically. Each interval was a dead
period, for which his friends' gossip could not console him.
'This is the real theatre!' he stammered. 'We ought to follow
 ENTERTAINMENT AND DINING OUT 45
its example. If I could only take them home with me, show
them .. .' At the end of the performance it was in a half-
conscious state that he let himself be carried by the crowd
towards the doors.

To get to the Strelnya Restaurant, Alexander Vassilievitch

had ordered a troika from the livery-stable keeper Echkin, 1
and it was the owner's son who drove them. Bundled up in
his overcoat, he could not even get down from his seat to
welcome his customers. The horses pawed the ground and
pranced. Alexander Vassilievitch, his wife and Russell settled
down upon their luxurious seats and muffied themselves up
to the chest in woollen blankets and bear-skins.
Echkin Junior started off. The little bells tinkled gently.
In Tverskaya Street dry snow lashed their faces and there
was not even the shadow of a passer-by on the white pave-
ments. A few steamy windows were lit, showing dark sil-
houettes against the diffused light of a chandelier. A servant
stood at a palace gate. The plumed helmet of a policeman was
visible. Sleighs passed with their loads of muffied-up revel-
lers. A coachman sang at the top of his voice. Another
shouted: 'Heh! Grabyat!'
'What's he shouting?' Russell asked.
'He's shouting: "We are being robbed!"' said Alexander
Vassilievitch.
'But why?'
'It's an old Moscow coachman's cry from the days when
the roads were not safe .... The danger has gone, but the cry
survives ... .'
Beyond the Tverskaya Gate all the teams speeded up. One
sleigh, drawn by a single horse, caught up with the Echkin
troika.
'That's Gusev, the best likatch in Moscow,' said Alexander
Vassilievitch.
'The best what?' asked Russell, swallowing a mouthful of
frozen air.
'The best likatch. The likatch are the aristocracy of
Russian coachmen. Their horses are half-breeds, former race-
' Echkin, like Ukharsky, had one of the best livery-stables in Moscow.
46 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

horses, which cost a lot. No one can compete with them for
speed. The most famous likatch are Gusev and Spitzin, but
their charges are very high. Gusev has another string to his
bow! He has an admirable voice and sings all through the
journey. Very often, when he takes his customers to the
Strelnya or the Yar, they take him into their private room so
that they can go on listening to him.'
At that moment Gusev was not singing but yelling in a
terrible voice:
'Beregis! ... Kuda edesh! ... Gusev pravit... .'
'He's saying: "Look out! ... Where are you going? ... It's
Gusev driving!'" Alexander Vassilievitch explained, and he
tapped on the coachman's back to suggest that he should slow
down. Echkin docilely drew in to the right and Gusev passed
him in a whirlwind. His passenger was an officer.
'As a rule, officers are not allowed to use ordinary hired
carriages,' said Alexander Vassilievitch. 'They always take
the likatch, or half-likatch, never the wretched little sleigh
with its rawboned horse and tattered driver, whom we call a
vanka, Vanka being the diminutive of I van- begging your
pardon, my dear Ivan Pavlovitch. And here's another kind of
equipage, the goluhki, with a wheel-horse and another on a
breast-harness. They are quick and pleasant .... You see a
lot of them outside the Merchants' Club for the big Tuesday
dinners ... .'
'Oh! those Tuesday dinners,' sighed Tatiana Sergeyevna.
'My husband always comes back from them at impossible
hours with his smoke-inflamed eyes and a headache ... .'
'I must go there from time to time, angel,' said Alexander
Vassilievitch. 'It's a matter of great business interest. I meet
important and influential men there. . . . Every headache's
worth a fortune .... This one's in scrap metal, and that one in
cloth, in the oil trade or in railways. Their pockets are burst-
ing with roubles. And what meals! My mouth waters even
when I think of them! You will never eat better sucking-pigs,
Ivan Pavlovitch, than at the Merchants' Club. It comes
straight from Testov's farm, where the pigs are fed in pens
where they can scarcely move their feet. Another remarkable
speciality is kulihyaki in a dozen layers, each layer being com-
posed of a different filling: meat, fish, mushrooms, chicken,
 ENTERTAINMENT AND DINING OUT 47
game, and I don't know what else. And the champagne, and
the fruit drink! The club treasurer is a specialist in fruit
drinks .... Stepan Ryabov's orchestra plays during meals.
Hungarian and Russian tzigane choirs take turns in sing-
ing ... .'
'Yes,' said Tatiana Sergeyevna, 'and afterwards these men
invite the chorus girls to their tables!'
'So what?' asked Alexander Vassilievitch. 'Russian mer-
chants have a mania for singing. The choruses are those from
the Yar or the Strelnya. Pretty girls, tool From the Russian
chorus it is the director, Anna Zakharovna, who chooses the
singer for each client. She knows everyone's taste. But ob-
viously, the soloists, like the violent Polia or the beautiful
Alexandra Nikolayevna, can do as they please. Generally the
Muscovite merchants prefer the Russian chorus girls, who
are gentler than the tziganes and more approachable than the
Hungarians, whose lingo is disconcerting. However, the
"rape of the Sabines", as we say, is strictly prohibited in the
environs of the club. All the chorus girls, after singing and
eating, have to return to the Yar and the Strelnya. Their ad-
mirers follow in their wake in sleighs. They will wait until the
girls have finished their work before dealing with them. You
will see these professional charmers at the restaurant very
soon!'
Russell did not reply. He was only mildly interested by the
prospect of these musical and amorous pleasures. Without
daring to admit it to anyone, he was sorry that Helen had not
accompanied her parents to the Strelnya, but it was regarded
as unseemly for a young girl to appear in a place where ladies
of easy virtue were on show.
Beside the road the trees of the Petrovsky Park hung their
white tracery branches, and the troika sped along under the
frosty lacework. Other troikas followed. In the darkness the
tinkle of the little bells mingled with bursts of singing and
gusts of laughter. Lights were shining in the distance.
'We're there!' said Alexander Vassilievitch.
Beyond the snowy shadows appeared something like an
enormous block of ice, lit from within. The roof and walls
of the restaurant were of glass. Beside it were a traktir for the
coachman and a stable for the horses. The sleigh slowed
48 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

down and then stopped. A braided porter hurried up to the

travellers, helped them to descend and brushed the snow
from their clothes. In the entrance other servants relieved
them of their fur-lined coats, their galoshes and boots.
Coming out of the arctic night, Russell was plunged into an
immense and overheated room where the penetrating odours
of caviar and fine sauces prevailed. In the middle of winter,
tropical plants spread amongst the guests. Palm-trees raised
their scaly and hairy trunks to the ceiling. On the periphery,
within the stony jaws of artificial caves, were little white
tables surrounded by pink faces. Fountains splashed into
basins and cascades ran down the sides of the rocks. A Hun-
garian orchestra was playing on a raised platform.
A head waiter hurried up to Alexander Vassilievitch,
greeted him with all the deference due to a distinguished
habitue and led the new-comers to the table reserved for
them. Still dazed by the sleigh-ride, Russell gazed with stupe-
faction upon the crowd of diners with cheerful faces and
clattering forks. Alexander Vassilievitch drew his attention
to a big and bearded person, a merchant in his own trade,
who on a gala occasion had payed an exorbitant sum to have
one of the finest palm-trees in the room cut down because, he
said, it hid the orchestra.
Two waiters were politely leading away a man in evening
dress who was obviously drunk; they were going to revive
him and bring him to his senses in the lavatory. Tziganes with
motley shawls and glittering trinkets were seated here and
there amongst the customers: these were the charmers of
whom Alexander Vassilievitch had spoken. Meanwhile some
little Hungarians, very young and very pretty, dressed in
frogged waistcoats and wearing soft leather boots, were
rmenthusiastically playing a potpourri from a Viennese
operetta. The violinist, the pianist and the flautist each had
an admirer who, alone at his table, was impatiently waiting
for the music to end.
Alexander Vassilievitch was scarcely seated before he
decided that they would be better in a private room, and
once again the head waiter and the waiters made themselves
obsequiously busy. The private room opened out on the main
room through a glazed bay and was furnished with a table,
 1 Left: Workers' quarter
in Moscow, with an ikon
above the street

Right: Railway
police on the
Trans-Siberian
line

Left: Second-class
carriage at the end
of a train on the
Trans-Siberian
railway
2 Above: The
Kremlin and the
Moskvaretzky
Bridge at the
end of the
century

Left: The Spass

Gate of the Kremlin
at the end of the
century
 ENTERTAlNMENT AND DINING OUT 49
chairs, a sofa and a piano draped with a fringed shawl. Of
course, they were served at once with iced champagne, 'with
icicles'. Fresh caviar, liver au madere, sterlets, partridges ala
creme . ... Over dessert, Alexander Vassilievitch called in a
group of Russian singers with their balalaikas. After the regu-
lation five songs they gave way to a tzigane chorus, and girls
with the dark faces of wild creatures slipped into the room.
Alexander Vassilievitch knew them all. As he explained to
Russell, they were not ordinary gipsies, but women of great
talent, fawned upon by Moscow's high society, who, as a
result of the princely tips received from their admirers, had
amassed fortunes. Their jewels were authentic and their
adventures were numerous.
'A true Russian,' said Alexander Vassilievitch, 'is prepared
to spend heedlessly in order to listen to good tzigane songs.
These songs arouse his melancholy as well as his gaiety. They
take him out of himself. That's what's important. A man who
does not know how to get out of himself from time to time is
as much to be pitied as a prisoner in a cell.'
Behind the chorus girls three musicians entered, dressed in
red tunics with split sleeves thrown over the back. The
soloist, a mature woman with black eyes and prominent
cheekbones, placed a glass of champagne on an upturned
plate, advanced upon Tatiana Sergeyevna and sang a drink-
ing song. Russell was surprised to see the respectable Tatiana
Sergeyevna empty her glass at a draught. 'Are they now going
to attack me?' he wondered apprehensively. And he was
right. Directed by Alexander Vassilievitch, the chorus begged
'Ivan Pavlovitch' to oblige too. He swallowed an enormous
bumper of champagne and a shout of delight greeted his per-
formance. The ceremony was repeated with Alexander Vassi-
lievitch, who, with his moustache askew and his eyes bright,
was bursting with satisfaction. Afterwards the soloist sang in
a harsh voice a chant that brought the tears to Russell's eyes.
He did not know whence had come this desire to be sad. The
more he listened to the tziganes, the more he wanted to drink,
as if to prepare the substance of his body for a wonderful
revelation. The bottles of champagne- both for the chorus
girls and for the guests- followed one another on to the table.
Suddenly Russell felt that he was drunk, but with an intoxi-
50 DAlLY LIFE IN RUSSIA

cation infinitely noble and poetic. Alexander Vassilievitch

and Tatiana Sergeyevna were his brother and sister. He
would never leave them. He was going to live with them till
the end of his days. The singers' gaudy finery fascinated him.
He beat time with his hands and no longer heard what his
neighbours were saying.
He never understood how it was that he found himself, at
about three in the morning, in complete darkness in a snowy
landscape. A troika was bearing him and his friends along. As
far as he could make out, they could not go home until they
had eaten an omelette at a local inn.
 CHAPTER V

BATHS, TRAKTIRS AND NIGHT SHELTERS

Russian bath-houses and how their attendants were recruited -
Their duties- Life in the 'traktirs'- The underworld of Mos-
cow: the Khitrov market, its shelters, taverns, and dens of
thieves, criminals and beggars

R ussELL had read in his Baedeker that a conscientious

tourist must visit the Russian steam baths. Some were
in the luxury class, with private rooms, which cost three
or four roubles to enter, but there were others for the masses
costing from five kopecks per person, where there was only a
communal room for the men and another for the women. As
soon as he had made his intentions known to Alexander
Vassilievitch, the latter proposed to take him to an establish-
ment of the better class. They asked for a private room for
two, which embarrassed Russell, for he was hardly prepared
for the idea of undressing in front of his host. But they were
scarcely in the little room before Alexander Vassilievitch had
stripped himself quite naked with evident pleasure. He
laughed and· slapped his belly. His baptismal cross shone on
his flabby chest.
The robust simplicity of his attitude encouraged Russell to
undress also. He had just pulled off his shirt when two strap-
ping fellows came into the room flexing their shoulders. These
were the bathers whom Alexander Vassilievitch had engaged
at the entrance. They were dressed very lightly in linen
trousers, tied at the waist, with a mountain of muscles above.
Russell's distrust increased. They passed into the next room,
which was tiled, overheated and full of steam, in which a
slight odour of damp flesh persisted. In a trice the customers
became as clay on a white marble table; Russell's bather
sprinkled him from head to foot with boiling water, lathered
him with a fibre sponge and violently rubbed his ears, neck,
arms, and the whole of his anatomy. Beside him, Alexander
Vassilievitch groaned under the efforts of the other fanatic,
whose head was shaven and who wore a scapular over his
 52 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

hairy chest. Turned over and over, sat up forcibly, stretched

out on his stomach, kneaded, beaten, massaged, scraped and
washed, Russell had no time to recover his wits before he had
been pushed through a little door into a suffocating cloud of
steam. Plunged not far from him into the same cloud, Alexan-
der Vassilievitch was furiously beating his own body with a
broom made of twigs to stimulate the circulation of the blood.
His red face, glistening with perspiration, hovered in the
murky emanations of the stove. He beat himself, punished
himself, and delightedly expiated the sin of being a man with
dirty skin.
'Try it, Ivan Pavlovitch, it's marvellous!' he cried in a
breathless voice.
About to give up the ghost, Ivan Pavlovitch declined.
When he was no longer a piece of overheated and enervated
flesh, a cold shower fell upon his shoulders. He then found
himself in the changing-room again with a chiropodist seated
before him on a stool. Alexander Vassilievitch, stretched out
on a bench, had lit a cigar and was savouring, with half-
closed eyes, the pleasure of being as clean as a new kopeck.
'You will never get as clean in a bathroom as in one of our
bath-houses,' he said. 'Here the pores open up, the flesh
breathes, the smallest bits of dirt run away. Believe me,
having a modern bathroom would not stop anyone in Russia
from going to have a good sweat in the hands of experts.
Ordinary folk go up to the bath-houses every Saturday. For
them it's a holiday. People of the upper classes meet in a
private room like us. They relax, idle and gossip. The most
famous bath-houses in Moscow are the Sandunovsky. But
there are easily a hundred others in the city. The Tsentralnye
baths, the Poltavskie baths ... I will show you some of
them ... .'
He kept his word. During eight consecutive days, Russell
visited the bathing-establishments with him: some were very
modest, while others were astonishingly luxurious. At the
end of this investigation, the life of the 'bathers' or banshchiki
held no more secrets from him. Alexander Vassilievitch ex-
plained that the staff of each bath-house came from the same
commune, or at least from the same region. Apprenticeship
began when very young.
 BATHS, 'TRAKTIRS' AND NIGHT SHELTERS 53
A fully qualified 'bather' would return to his native village
to spend a few days' holiday. His closest friends admired his
new boots, his cap with its patent-leather peak, and his
watch, which he wore on a chain round his neck, hanging
down as far as his stomach. Relatives who had a son of ten
or twelve years would beg this splendid citizen to take the boy
with him when he returned to the city. The boy would learn
the craft among men who were not really strangers. The
'bather' agreed. A passport had to be obtained in the boy's
name by faking his age, for the law forbade the employment
of children under twelve years in any kind of labour, or
fifteen years in activities detrimental to their health. Of
course a tip had to be passed to the official who would add a
few years to the document. The boy scarcely knew how to
read, but he had learned to sign his name. He was given a
pair of lapti- footwear of plaited bark- a little linen and an
old coat, and he went off to work and to make his fortune.
At the baths where he ended up, all confused, his hair was
cut, he was scoured, and he was taught to bow very low to
important visitors. On the days when the baths were closed,
either on Monday or Tuesday, he ran errands for the master,
cleaned the rooms with water, and helped his elders to put
kvass into bottles; on all the other days, he prepared the little
twig brooms, of which the consumption was enormous. On
the days before holidays, in the larger bath-houses, close on
three thousand were distributed, which quickly softened and
came to pieces in the hands of the flagellants. The soldiers
who came from their barracks in complete platoons had the
right to one broom between ten men. The trees of neighbour-
ing forests provided these thin and supple branches. They
were brought into the city in convoys. The firewood for heat-
ing came down the Moscow River from Mojaisk as rafts.
The baths always comprised a changing-room, a soaping-
room and the bathroom properly so called. The soaping-room
was warmed by a Dutch stove and the steam-room by a stove
of stone or cast iron on which an attendant threw buckets of
water to produce the steam. The temperature rose to over
160° F. All day long men leapt about in the smelly steam,
beat themselves, and sprinkled one another with water. The
same thing went on in the women's section. To sweat better,
54 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

the real enthusiasts climbed up some steps, for the heat was
even greater nearer the ceiling than it was at floor level.
Meanwhile, our little boy, naked to the navel, an apron
round his hips, rapidly made scrubbing-cloths from sacking.
From five in the morning till midnight he suffocated in the
heat, among the crowd. Cuffs rained upon him. His profession
was thrust into his head and back with blows. Sometimes a
small coin was dropped into his hand by some pink and damp
personage with a glistening beard. By fifteen or sixteen he
had learnt to cut toe-nails, and to pare corns and callouses. At
seventeen he was no longer regarded as an apprentice, but as
a bathing-attendant. His earnings increased with his experi-
ence, and the time came to think of marriage. Now, marriage
was not possible without new clothes, a tulup and a pair of
boots. The tulup and clothes would be ordered from loan
Pavlov, who lived at the far end of a court in Marosseyka
Street. The bath attendants patronized no other tailor, and
he had no other customers but the bath attendants. Payment
was made in two parts, the first half at Easter and the other
half at Christmas. From Ivan Pavlov one went to Peter
Kirsanytch, who lived in Karetnaya Street and likewise
worked for none but the bath-house staff.
When the measurements had been taken, Peter Kirsanytch
asked: 'Do you want these boots with or without a squeak?'
And received the answer, 'With!'
The answer was correct, for everyone knows that new boots
must squeak when one walks, so that passers-by may notice
and covet them. Thus clothed and shod the man went back to
his village and chose a wife, and afterwards the young couple
returned to settle in Moscow close to the bath-house. So good
a profession could not be abandoned. With time this man
grew in importance. He had regular clients. On some of them
he even attempted a little massage. His fame grew. He
bought a watch. And one day, when he paid a visit to his
family in the country, a neighbour brought his son to him, a
boy of ten, who could not read or write but would like to
work with him in Moscow at the steam baths, where one
could earn so good a living.
However, there was one situation for small peasants that
was even more desirable, provided that they were not totally
 BATHS, 'TRAKTIRS' AND NIGHT SHELTERS 55
illiterate; that of a waiter at a traktir. The majority of waiters
in baggy trousers and white shirts whom Russell had seen in
restaurants had been brought to the city by their parents
when very young. If they were from Iaroslav they had a
strong chance of being engaged, for it was this province
which by tradition provided the staff for the best houses.
Every father's dream was that his son might be taken on at
the Hermitage or at Testov's. But to begin with he had to be
content with second-rank establishments. The apprentice
exchange was held in a traktir near Tverskaya Street. The
restaurateur concluded a five-year contract with the parents,
and the boy followed his new master, who housed and fed
him, and taught him his profession. To begin with he would
help the dish-washers, and then, if he had the inclination, he
would be allowed into the kitchens, where he would be in-
structed in the preparation of the dishes, and when he knew
'all the sauces', he would be launched into the dining-room
amongst the customers. But it would only be after five years
of obscure labour that he received the insignia of his profes-
sion: a silk sash and a purse of black patent leather for his
counters. He always kept the purse in his sash; as for the
counters, he was given them at the cash-desk every morning,
to the value of twenty-five roubles, and they served to pay for
the dishes ordered at the 'buffet'. Thereafter he would
exchange the money he received from customers for further
counters. Tips were put into a pool and at the end of the day
were shared by the staff. They were paid no wages and even
had to pay their employer up to 20 per cent of their earnings;
in some fashionable restaurants, moreover, they had to pro-
vide themselves with an outfit comprising half a dozen white
calico or holland shirts and trousers. 1
Running continually between the office and the restaurant,
they worked from fourteen to sixteen hours a day. It was the
tea service which took the most time and brought in the
smallest tips. Five kopecks a glass with two sugars! And cus-
tomers would ask for boiling water to add to the pot. Cer-
tainly, in the big traktirs one made it up on the food, but in
the traktirs for coachmen, for example, one slaved for almost
'It should be noted that in the few restaurants of European style the frock
coat was de rigueur for waiters.
56 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

nothing. In Moscow these traktirs for coachmen were in-

numerable. A courtyard with a drinking-trough for the
horses, and a shack with a food-counter for the men. Frozen
by long waiting in the street, they entered and sat at a table
in a corner, nibbled a salted gherkin or a crust of black bread,
drank a glass of tea and stayed there, weary and stupefied, en-
joying the warmth, the smell and the darkness. On fast days
they did not take sugar with their tea, but lime honey instead.
In the famous Egorov traktir in the Okhotny Ryad Square,
customers had the choice of tea with lemon or tea with a ser-
viette. Those who prefered the former received two glasses of
tea with lemon and sugar. Those who preferred the latter
received a cup, a little pot for the preparation of concentrated
tea, a large pot full of boiling water and a clean serviette
which they tied round their necks. Drinking their boiling hot
infusion they sweated abundantly and sponged their fore-
heads, necks and beards with the linen. When they had
emptied three or four pots and sweated in this fashion, the
linen serviettes were no more than sodden rags which were
then proudly abandoned on the edge of the table.
In every traktir an ikon, lit by a night-light, hung on three
little silver chains. The customers bowed and crossed them-
selves before it as they passed the threshold. The luxury
traktirs, the restaurants of European style, also had their
ikons, but they did not receive the same veneration from the
visitors. Among these traktirs de luxe there were some that
specialized in Siberian dishes, like Lopachev's; others, like
Testov's, were famous for their sucking-pig with horseradish;
the big merchants preferred to frequent the Hermitage Res-
taurant, or the Slavyansky-Bazar, the Yar or the Strelnya; and
the lovers of cock-fighting went secretly to the Golubiatnia.
In all these establishments the staff found a good living. Even
the little apprentices were relatively well treated. In any case
their fate was more enviable than that of the children who
worked in the bathhouses, or with the shoemakers, tailors,
carpenters or masons. Among these boys, who were taken into
the crafts while very young, some were so famished and
beaten that they fled back to their villages or joined the
bands of ragamuffins that hung about the Khitrov market.
According to Alexander Vassilievitch, the Khitrov market
 BATHS, 'TRAKTIRS' AND NIGHT SHELTERS 57
was a resort of brigands, and he refused to take Russell there
although the latter very much wanted to go. More courageous
than his father-in-law, Paul Egorovitch Sychkin volunteered
to accompany their friend to the Muscovite Court of
Miracles. Paul Egorovitch Sychkin was a progressive; he be-
lieved that man would be set free by machines and told him-
self that in his heart he was very close to the people. Never-
theless he asked Russell to dress in a modest fashion and not
to carry much money in his pockets.
The Khitrov market spread over a vast square in the centre
of the city near the Iauza River. Tortuous alleyways ran down
into a sort of basin, surrounded by low houses with fa<;;ades
of rotted and flaking plaster .1 Was it the closeness of the
water that seemed to keep a blanket of mist over the area?
In these murky vapours swarmed pale-faced phantoms in
ragged and filthy garments. Innumerable stalls, rooted in the
snow, offered sausages, herrings and cucumbers for sale. Soup
was steaming in saucepans. When they were opened, the
doors of the traktirs gave out thick and nauseating odours.
Russell halted in front of a row of matrons seated, like
bundles of rags, on great earthenware or iron pots. Hunched,
and with blue noses and toothless mouths, they were shouting
in throaty voices to draw the attention of passers-by.
'What are they doing?' Russell asked.
'They're keeping their wares warm.'
'What?'
'Yes, indeed! There are lapsha 2 in those pots. The food
stays warm for a long time under their skirts. When a custo-
mer turns up these women lift the lids of their seats in order
to serve them. It isn't very appetizing, but quite ingenious.'
Russell felt uneasy in his clean clothes and holeless shoes.
Menacing shadows surrounded him and barged into him. The
whole Khitrov market seemed to be watching him and him
alone.
'And these houses around the square,' he went on timidly.
'What are they for?'
'Gorki was inspired by the customs of this quarter to write The Lower
Depths. In the interests of realism the actors of Stanislavsky's company went
to these places to study the language, dress and behaviour of the degraded
population from nature in order to present it on the stage afterwards.
• Dishes made of vermicelli.
58 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

'They are night-shelters.'

'All of them?'
'Yes. More than ten thousand destitute persons can stay in
them for five kopecks each.'
'How do you know?'
'I made inquiries, purely out of social curiosity,' said Paul
Egorovitch.
He told Russell that every morning entire groups .of
workers came straight from the station to the Khitrov market,
lined up in a shelter and with their bundles in their hands
waited to be hired by the overseers for work in the city. In
the afternoon it was in the same shelter that the ragmen
settled down to do business with the tramps. The latter
undressed or took off their boots on the spot, sold their boots
or tulups and went off half-naked with a few kopecks in their
pockets. By stripping themselves they acquired the means to
spend two or three more nights under a roof. Moreover, each
shelter had its own kind of customer. 1 The Rumiantsov
shelter comprised two traktirs, the Siberian and the Stage.
To the Yaroshenko shelter there was only one: the Convict
Prison. At the Stage the homeless, the beggars and the rag-
men mainly gathered; at the Siberian the pickpockets and
receivers; at the Convict Prison those who had deserted from
forced labour or had escaped from municipal prisons, all men
of noisy and violent temper who could be roused to madness
by raw vodka. Two policemen of giant stature ruled over this
labyrinth of alleyways. Even the boldest of the malefactors
feared their fists, which were as heavy as stone. They knew
everyone, but they made an arrest only in the event of a brawl
or on the express instruction of the authorities. When Paul
Egorovitch asked him about this, one of these representatives
of order answered with a great laugh:
'It's because I close my eyes to these fellows' pasts that I
have stayed on the job for twenty years. Otherwise I should
have been rotting underground for a long time. You see, I am
here to guarantee order and not to denounce those who have
disturbed it at some other time.'
These words, which Paul Egorovitch translated for Russell,
' Shelters were known by the names of their proprietors: Rumyanstov,
Bunin, Kulakov, etc.
 BATHS, 'TRAKTIRS' AND NIGHT SHELTERS 59
still further increased his feeling of uneasiness in a hostile
world.
'Let's make a tour of the Convict Prison,' Paul Egoro-
vitch suggested with an engaging smile.
'What Convict Prison?'
'The traktir I spoke about just now.'
'Do you think it's necessary?'
'Yes, of course. Don't be afraid. The habitues of the
Khitrovka don't attack well-meaning visitors like you or me.
Anyway the policeman is at the door ... .'
They entered a low, dark room, foul with the smell of boots
and makhorka. 1 Thick smoke obscured the light of a petrol-
lamp standing on the counter. Hideous faces floated in the
half-light like jelly-fish on the surface of the sea. The sound
of voices was deafening. The men were quarrelling. A
dishevelled woman with a bleeding nose and a crazed look
barged into Russell and rushed towards the door. A drunkard·
followed her with raised fists, staggering. Mter a few seconds
of hesitation, Paul Egorovitch and Russell left also. In front
of the traktir, the drunkard had collapsed in the snow and
was sleeping off his vodka. The woman was in flight along an
alleyway, screaming. The policeman had seen it all and had
not moved.
'Now,' said Paul Egorovitch, 'let's take a look at the
sleeping-rooms.'
Russell did not dare to say that he would have preferred
to go home. He forced a smile, but fear seized his limbs. Fol-
lowing Paul Egorovitch he penetrated into a leprous two-
floored building, climbed a staircase that stank of latrines,
and came out into a big room in which some sleeping men
lay like corpses on litters. Curled up under their rags they
were steeped in a nauseous odour of rotten meat, vermin and
human excrement. The majority of the bunks were of slightly
sloping planks of wood on supports, a yard above the floor.
Ten men were snoring upon them side by side, but a slat had
only to be moved to disclose a second layer of customers,
stretched out below, on the bare floor.
'Above, they pay six kopecks a night,' said Paul Egorovitch.
'But below, as they have less air, the price is only five
' Bad tobacco in use amongst the people.
 60 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

kopecks. The whole place is full by nine in the evening. But

during the day it is only the lazy ones and the sick who stay
here. This shelter is regarded as the intellectual centre of the
Khitrovka. You will find the unsuccessful actors here, writers
who have never published a thing in their lives, drunken
poets, and penniless geniuses. . . . Among them are the
copiers.'
'The copiers?'
'Yes. Come this way and you'll see.'
In the next room about a dozen men in rags were seated
around a table, with their heads bent, pen in hand. Not one
raised his eyes to look at the visitors.
'They are copying plays,' said Paul Egorovitch. 'The job is
always urgent and seldom well paid. Those you see will work
all night. Then, before daylight, they will elect one to deliver
the goods. One man will lend him his boots, another his coat
· and another his hat in order to give him a presentable appear-
ance. Thus attired he will go to the theatrical agent and
return with the money. Fifty kopecks an act!'
The pens squeaked and the backs remained bent. The old
scholars laboured elbow to elbow over their task.
'Another remarkable shelter is the Bunin,' said Paul
Egorovitch, drawing Russell out into the street again. 'It is
the refuge of professional beggars and especially tailors. The
latter are called "crabs" here because they never stick their
noses outside. In the middle of the night the thieves arrive
and tumble into the room. They carry bundles of fur-lined
coats, lined overcoats and elegant capes. Then the tailors
share out the task at once. All the garments are transformed.
How could a policeman recognize a sable cloak, which he had
been told had disappeared, in these fur caps and slippers?
What connection could there be between this well-cut waist-
coat and the overcoat which some gentleman has complained
of having lost in a bath-house cloakroom? The next morning
the dealers will carry away armfuls of all these articles, which
have been made by half-naked tailors in a few hours by the
light of a wretched petrol-lamp. The profits are shared equit-
ably. There's no trickery between comrades in such a busi-
ness as this. Khitrovka law is merciless. Anyone who cheats
ends some day with a knife in his back.'
 BATHS, 'TRAKTIRS' AND NIGHT SHELTERS 61
A woman with a dirty furrowed face and wrapped in sordid
rags, passed with a shivering baby in her arms.
'That's a professional beggar-woman,' said Paul Egoro-
vitch. 'She hires the baby by the day.'
'You can hire babies in the Khitrovka?' Russell asked.
'Of course! They are very much in demand among the
shrews who live by public charity. With that sodden and
scabby bundle they are sure to soften the hearts of the crowd.
During the last week of Lent a rather peevish infant will
bring in twenty-five kopecks a day, and a child of three will
bring in ten. They trail them through the cold and the mud
and take their shoes off so that they will be more pitiful. If
they are still at the breast they are deprived of milk so that
they will whimper more. In many cases the baby dies in the
arms of the hirer, who will continue to carry it until it is dark
so as not to miss any alms.'
'It's abominable,' Russell stammered.
'Yes, my dear fellow,' said Paul Egorovitch. 'The Khitrovka
children have a lot to complain of. Those who survive learn
to keep watch very young, to steal from window displays, or
simply to beg. They specialize. They join groups. From time
to time there's a round-up in the shelters. A few bad types go
to prison. But when they've served their sentence, they slip
back into the same surroundings and resume their old habits.
As to the girls, they all end up as prostitutes, either on the
streets or in brothels. In the Khitrovka a virgin of fourteen is
something rare. Don't you have districts of ill-fame in your
own cities too?'
'Certainly,' said Russell. 'But it is my impression that the
poverty and decay are less horrible than here.'
'Yes, yes!' Paul Egorovitch conceded. 'In Russia every-
thing is big: riches, poverty, faith .... There is no such thing,
so to speak, as a middle class. On one side are the high aris-
tocracy and the opulent society of merchants, industrialists
and landlords; and on the other are the immense masses,
illiterate and superstitious, who were perhaps better adapted
to serfdom than to this false freedom of destitution. Between
these two extremes is a thin layer of skilled workers, techni-
cians, lesser officials and intellectuals who are struggling to
defend their taste for progress and independence. They are
62 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

the modern and active element of the country and cannot

draw the inert mass of the nation along with them. They are
constantly in danger of being crushed by the rest or swal-
lowed up. My father-in-law, who is an optimist, believes that
things will turn out all right in time. For myself, I fear the
worst. There is too much social inequality in Russia, so the
stability of the regime must be endangered at some time or
another. When I leave the Khitrov market and see the fine
shops in Tverskaya Street, I wonder with anguish how the
two worlds can exist together:
The sky was growing dark. Faint lights were appearing
behind the dirty windows. Snow began to fall.
'This is the time when the Khitrovka becomes dangerous,'
Paul Egorovitch went on. 'I don't advise staying here after
twilight. Let's go quickly!'
A steep and narrow road lay before them. Creatures with
grimacing features turned as they passed. A few jeers rang
out. Russell drew his head down between his shoulders. Paul
Egorovitch took his hand and drew him on, like Virgil lead-
ing Dante amongst the damned. When they got back, Russell
found that someone had stolen his watch.
 CHAPTER VI

THE ORTHODOX CHURCH

Ikons and their mystic meaning; their place in everyday life -
Prosfors, holy water and fasts'- White Clergy and black
clergy; the supremacy of the monks; the ordinary priests- The
Orthodox Church as distinct from other religions- Differences
between the Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church- The
piety of the Russian people- The sects -Pilgrims - The
Orthodox saints - Religious and other festivals- The Russian
liturgical chants - Rites and creeds

R ussELL, though a freethinker, found it natural to

accompany the Zubov family each Sunday when they
went to Orthodox mass. He felt that he would have
betrayed his duty as a tourist had he refused to participate in
these collective acts of devotion which reveal a nation's heart.
Moreover, all philosophical considerations excluded, he ap-
preciated the stately ostentation of the Russian liturgy. His
only regret was that the congregation had to stand through-
out the service. There was not a bench in the whole vast nave
of the Church of the Saviour where the Zubovs customarily
went. This church, which was built to commemorate the
deliverance of Moscow in 1812, was in the form of the Greek
cross. Four enormous pillars supported the central dome
where the picture of the Sabaoth God hung. All around, in a
gallery, marble plaques bore the names of the heroes who
were killed by the French and the list of battles won against
Napoleon. The several levels of the ikonostasis were also of
marble, of unreal and dazzling whiteness. Gold was every-
where, in the niches, in the little balconies and down the
columns. Hundreds of chandeliers hung their flaming con-
stellations under the painted vaults.
Russell had been surprised at first by the absence of sculp-
tures, but Alexander Vassilievitch explained that, contrary to
the Roman Catholics, the Orthodox had kept the biblical
prohibition against idols of stone, wood or metal: 'Thou shalt
not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any
thing that is in heaven above .. .' But they considered that
64 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

this prohibition applied only to works of art which, by their

size and shape, were likely to be confused with the person
represented. They therefore barred any statues or figures in
the round from the sanctuary, but permitted painted images,
which in their flatness could not affect the minds of the faith-
ful.1 For did not the heathen of earlier days burn incense and
immolate their victims before the statues of their gods and
goddesses? The Russian clergy went even further in discour-
aging the suspect forms of devotion by not reserving chapels
to the principal Church saints. These saints almost always
had their effigies on the pillars in the naves, on the walls of
the ikonostasis, but rarely in any place where they could be
the object of exclusive worship. Moreover, at the end of the
last century the believers were still opposed to giving the
colours of living flesh to the faces of the blessed and insisted
that artists should continue to colour them with a sepia tint
that was as far from natural as possible, a tradition which
went back to the legendary madonnas of St Luke.
Ikon-worship in the Eastern Church had been sanctioned
by the Seventh Oecumenical Council (at Nicaea in 787).
According to this high assembly's definition, there was a
mystical relation between the picture and the model. The
copy shared in the essence of what had inspired it. The saint
on whom the artist was concentrating entered into the artist's
work and transfigured it- vivified it, so to speak. If the sub-
ject himself was present in the ikon, his divine power lay
therein. St John of Damascus said that an ikon was 'a sub-
stance full of divine energy, power and grace.' When per-
forming the rite of consecrating an ikon, the Orthodox
Church asked God to cause the light of the Holy Ghost to
descend upon the picture which had been painted by human
hands, so as to confer on it the miraculous power of curing
sickness and expelling demons. 'It is not before powerless
images that we prostrate ourselves .... When engraving the
features of the likeness, we uphold it, we adore it ... we draw
'It is interesting to note that, although the Orthodox clergy did not permit
statues in the sanctuary, they sometimes allowed them as ornaments to the
outside of a church, Thus the fac;ade of the Church of the Saviour itself was
decorated with forty-eight high reliefs, and at St Petersburg the French
architect, Richard de Monferrand, was able to place kneeling bronze angels
on the roof of the Cathedral of St Isaac.
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 65
from it the grace of salvation.' The ikon being a mystery, the
art of painting it was a holy undertaking. 'Sanctify and
illumine the soul of Thy servant,' the artist asked, 'guide
his hand so that it may produce the holy ikon worthily
and perfectly.' (The Painter's Guide, Mount Athos.) In this
ideal state of mind, he did not seek to flatter the eye by the
beauty of the lines and colours, but to effect as complete an
incorporation as possible of the supernatural essence in forms
perceptible to the senses. He complied with very old graphic
rules, handed down from generation to generation. He be-
came an anonymous person, a hand detached from the body,
the instrument of a higher will. The colours he used were
mixed with holy water and with tiny particles of the relics of
saints. When the picture was completed, the idea of signing
it never entered the artist's head; for, properly speaking, it
was not he who had directed its creation, but the entire
Church. According to Alexander Vassilievitch, ikon-worship
had nothing in common with neo-fetichism, since the venera-
tion of the faithful was not directed to the picture itself but
to what it represented. The Russian bishops, when conse-
crated, took an oath to prevent the people from giving the
ikons an adoration which was due to God alone. However,
their vigilance could not stop the superstitious impulses of
lowly people towards the dark Byzantine paintings. To be
convinced of this, Russell had only to watch the genuflexions
and the impassioned signs of the cross which men and women
made before some smoke-blackened Virgin or white-bearded
saint with a fixed stare. Forests of candles burned before
them. The bottoms of the pictures were worn and obscured
by the kisses of the multitude. Of most of the saints, male or
female, only the feet, hands or faces could be seen through
gaps in a carapace of goldsmith's work. Wrapped in chasubles
of silver and gold, brown faces with deep black eyes and
closed lips showed their hieratical indifference to the
mumbled prayers.
Miraculous ikons were legion. That of the Iberian Virgin,
studded with pearls and diamonds, was particularly vener-
ated by the Muscovites. Not a day passed but it was taken in
a carriage, at a high fee, to the bedside of a sick person, or to
a newly installed apartment, or to a family feast. The carriage
66 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

was drawn by four trotters, accompanied by four postil-

ions on horseback. Behind, and under an awning which pro-
longed the roof of the vehicle, were two valets in faded livery.
Coachman, postilions and valets were always bareheaded.
Inside the carriage was a priest in his sacerdotal habit and an
assistant. The ikon was placed before them on a seat. All
along the road the passers-by uncovered and crossed them-
selves, and when the carriage stopped in front of a 'client's'
house a crowd formed to witness the 'descent' of the image.
The faithful followed it to the door, while others devotedly
kissed the seat on which the ikon had rested. During its
absence from the Iberian Chapel (until six in the evening, at
the latest), it was replaced by a copy.
In war, the Russians always carried a few holy ikons into
the field and any success was attributed to them. The Virgin
of Smolensk was dear to the whole Orthodox West after the
victory of Poltava. Our Lady of Kazan owed her fame to the
capture of Kazan under Ivan the Terrible, but it was also
thanks to her that Minin and Pozharsky had driven the Poles
from Moscow and that Alexander I had halted the French
invasion of 1812. On the eve of the battle of Borodino,
Marshal Kutuzov went in person to beg the help of the
miraculous Virgin. Reproductions of the most famous ikons
kept watch over all Russian homes, and there had to be at
least one in every dining-room and every bedroom. In certain,
particularly pious, households there was a real oratory in
miniature. The holy pictures by their infinite multiplication,
were integrated into domestic life. No important action was
taken without their intervention. They were taken down from
their corners to watch over the sick and the dying, to follow
the dead to the cemetery, to keep an eye on a birth, and to
serve as witnesses to big business affairs and small oaths.
When a young man asked for the hand of a young girl, the
parents blessed the betrothal with the house ikon. This same
ikon, held by a boy, accompanied the girl when she went by
carriage to church on her wedding day. When some member
of the family was about to leave on a long journey, everyone
gathered before the ikon, sat down together in silence, then
rose, crossed themselves and kissed the traveller to wish him
bon voyage.
Other practices of a religious nature surprised Russell
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 67
when Alexander Vassilievitch told him about them. Russians
crossed not only themselves (by taking the right hand to the
forehead, breast, right shoulder and finally left shoulder);
they also made the sign upon those who were dear to them,
as well as upon various articles and food, to drive the powers
of evil away from them, after the custom of the early Christ-
ians. Parents crossed their children in their beds at night. A
wife crossed her husband when he left for work, saying 'God
be with thee!'
In Russia, everything that had been blessed by the priest
took on a sacred and, so to speak, a magical value. Holy water
was very often given to the sick to drink. Tatiana Sergeyevna
brought back from the church little bread rolls that had been
blessed, and she shared them with her husband and children
after making the sign of the cross over them. Russell tasted
these blessed Orthodox rolls one day; they were round, big-
ger and closer than the Roman hosts and they were leavened.
Widows of the lesser clergy, the prosforni, had the job of
making them. To celebrate mass, the priest took several
pmsfms and with liturgical lance cut them into five lots:
the pieces of the first prosfor were dedicated to Christ,
those of the second to the Virgin, those of the third to
the Apostles, the Prophets and the Martyrs, those of the
fourth to the living and those of the fifth to the dead. After
Mass, the unused pieces of bread were distributed among
the congregation. To eat a piece was to perform an act of
faith and an inner purification. For Palm Sunday, the conse-
crated box-trees were replaced by willow branches with sil-
very and woolly buds. At Easter the faithful had their
coloured eggs, their kulich and their paskha blessed by the
parish priest. In Russia there were no registers of births,
marriages and deaths other than those of the Church; there-
fore, since all certificates of birth were drawn up by the
priests, it was impossible to exist officially without having
been baptized. The natural consequence of this legislation
was that the annulment of a marriage could only be carried
out, in rare and well-defined cases, . by an ecclesiastical
tribunal, subordinate to the Most Holy Synod. 1
'The divorced wife continued to bear her husband's name legally and a
special decision was necessary to authorize her or to force her, as the case
may be, to resume her maiden name.
68 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Contrarily to the Catholic Church, the Orthodox Church

had not evolved with the centuries. An archaic austerity con-
tinued to rule over the practices it imposed upon the faithful.
When Alexander Vassilievitch enumerated all the fasts and
abstinences of the Orthodox, Russell was staggered by their
number. Instead of a single Lent, the Russian Church had
four: the first, corresponding to Advent, preceded Christmas
(from November 15 till December 24), the second, the prin-
cipal Lent, lasted for the seven weeks before Easter; a third
preceded StPeter's day (lasting from June 7 till June 28); and
the fourth preceded Assumption (from August 1 till
August 14). Apart from the Ients and the feast-day vigils,
there were two days of abstinence each week: Wednesday,
the day of Judas's betrayal of Christ, and Friday, the day of
the Saviour's death. The total number of fast-days was a third
of the days in a year. During the four Ients, meat, milk,
butter and eggs were prohibited. Alexander Vassilievitch,
although a strong believer, thought that this was excessive,
and he was not the only one. The majority of enlightened
people took great liberties with the rules and only fasted
during the first and last week of the principal lent, for which
it was not necessary to obtain a dispensation from the priest.
If Catholics regarded abstinence as an obligation to the
Church, the Russians regarded it as chastening and as a
preparation for the fast-days. Thus they relied on their own
consciences for a decision.
'Amongst Catholics,' said Alexander Vassilievitch, 'timid
people go to the cure to ask for a privilege, or a dispensation,
or for advice. With us, most of the time, we follow our own
inspiration. If we sin, the word of the "pope" will not efface
our guilt. We may confess it, but we do not think we are
forgiven. We are alone with our own souls. Take my wife, for
example: ought she to ask a priest for permission not to fast
when, by giving her a delicate constitution, God has pro-
hibited her from fasting?'
These words left Russell pensive: evidently the Orthodox
priests did not enjoy the same respect from their flocks as did
the Catholic priests. The Russians did not see them as spiritual
guides able to free them from their sins and to enlighten them
as to the path they should follow, but rather as simple custo-
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 69
dians of ritual, leaders of prayer, dispensers of the sacra-
ments. So much was this the case that in the churches there
were no pulpits from which a priest could preach to his fl.ock. 1
Sermons were rare and were mostly restricted to the upper
clergy. Commentary on the Gospels by the priest was re-
placed by readings from the Fathers or from a few treatises
approved by the Most Holy Synod. These books, studded
with Slav expressions, were often unintelligible to the masses.
Then, even when he took the floor to address the throng, the
priest did not enter into close communication with them, but
remained a reciter of a sacred text. Dressed in his rich
sacerdotal habit, he was too far from humble mortals to
arouse their friendly confidence, and in everyday life he was
too close for anyone to think of treating him with veneration.
Had he not a wife and child like other men? His long,
neglected beard, poverty and domestic worries made one
smile. The whole misunderstanding derived perhaps from the
division of the Orthodox clergy into secular (or white) clergy,
and monastic (or black) clergy. The monastic clergy were
vowed to celibacy and it was from them that the high digni-
taries of the Church were recruited; but the secular clergy
provided the parish priests who were all subject to the obli-
gation of marriage.
There were three degrees of monastic clergy: monks, priest-
monks, and bishops. The monks and priest-monks spent their
lives in the monasteries aud were subject to a very austere
regime: notably, they were forbidden to eat meat except in
case of illness. They began as poslushniki (lay brothers), and
after a long period of waiting and study they took their final
vows and became monakhi (monks). Of course, there were
several echelons in the monastic priesthood: first of all one
was a deacon (ierodyakon), then one became a priest-monk
(ieromonakh), and finally an archimandrite (a rank inter-
mediate between a bishop and a monk). One was only or-
dained archimandrite after acquiring an academic degree:
Master or Doctor of Theology. But even to be a simple iero-
dyakon one had to complete one's studies at a seminary.
1 Dostoyevsky wrote: 'The Russian people were educated in the churches

where, throughout the centuries, they had heard hymns that were worth
more than sermons.'
70 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

At the highest levels of the Orthodox ecclesiastical pyra-

mid were the bishops, archbishops and metropolitans. The
whole of Russia was divided into eparchies, or dioceses,
administered by an archbishop (arkhiepiskop) or a bishop
(episkop). Three of these eparchies, the most important ones,
had metropolitans: Novgorod and St Petersburg, Moscow,
and Kiev. In each eparchy there was a consistory presided
over by the bishop. The secular clergy of the country and the
towns were in absolute dependence upon this high prelate of
the monastic clergy.
As for the secular (or white) parochial clergy, it was sub-
divided into: protoierei (archpriests), some of whom wore
the episcopal mitre during services; hierei (priests, or com-
monly 'popes'); protodyakony (archdeacons, attached gener-
ally to the service of a bishop); and diakone (deacons). All the
members of this clergy had to marry, and to wear beards and
long hair. If their wives died, they had no right to marry
again and usually retired into a monastery. They were there-
fore careful of their partners. The parochial clergy was sub-
ordinate hierarchically to the bishop of the diocese. The
bishop's directives were passed to the priests through the
consistory. Each parish had its church, served by a 'pope'
and a deacon, himself assisted by a psalter-reader (psalom-
shchik) and a sacristan (ponomar).
The parochial clergy was recruited from the pupils in the
seminaries and theological schools or academies. There was
a seminary in every diocese and four theological academies
in the whole Empire. 1 To be ordained as priest one had to have
completed the whole seminary course with the degree of
Bachelor of Theology. In general the function of the
academies was to create future high ecclesiastical dignitaries,
in other words monks.
While these monks could as celibates aspire to a brilliant
career, the ordinary and married priests abandoned all per-
sonal ambitions when accepting their charges. 2 It was the
rule that they should remain attached throughout their lives
'St Petersburg, Moscow, Kazan, Kiev.
'Their lot was so unenviable that recruitment to the seminaries was ex-
clusively from the sons of priests. The clergy thus became a caste, a great
family, in which, from generation to generation, the same names were to be
found.
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 71
to one church, without expecting either advancement or
transfer to a pleasanter or richer region. The sum allotted
them by the Holy Synod was starvation pay: 60 roubles (less
than £7) a year! From this pay they had to provide for the
maintenance of their numerous family, to busy themselves
after a fashion with the village school, to look after the
peasants in the absence of a doctor and to go hither and
thither performing baptismal, burial and marriage services.
As there were no fixed fees for such religious ceremonies,
everyone paid what he liked, that is to say the least possible!
Kept in such a low state by their ecclesiastical superior, the
priests could acquire the respect of their parishioners only
with difficulty. Their flock only asked that they should have
a majestic manner, a fine beard, and a strong and solemn
voice.
The monks, on the other hand, were deeply revered by the
people. They were learned, remote and mysterious; they led
an ascetic and contemplative life. They were thought capable
of performing miracles, and people went to the monasteries
to seek their advice. The biggest monasteries were called
lavra, and the smallest skit or pustyn (hermitage or retreat),
but there were no religious orders like those of the Roman
Church and nothing comparable with the powerful commu-
nities of other parts of Europe, with their diverse habits, their
strict rules and their international missions. The Russian
monk had no other desire in retiring from the world than to
expiate the sins of the age by prayer.
Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov spoke with wonder of a cer-
tain monastery, Optina Pustyn, which he had visited about
fifteen years earlier. It was situated in the heart of Russia, in
the province of Kaluga on the banks of the peaceful Jisdra
River. The white boundary walls and the blue church domes
and golden crosses stood out from the green forest, and there
was no sound but birdsong and the murmur of running water.
To cross the threshold of this establishment was to turn one's
back on the futile turmoil of the age. In the middle of the
night, according to the rules, the monks assembled to sing
matins. Communal prayers were numerous and were said
punctually. In the refectory, the silence was disturbed only
by the voice of a monk or a novice reading the li£e of the saint
 72 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA
who was being venerated that day. Thanks to subsidies from
merchants, industrialists and well-to-do peasants, the monas-
tery maintained a school, a hospital and an orphanage. Close
to the monastery, in the forest, was a small group of buildings,
a skit, where a very limited number of monks, wishing to
devote themselves to asceticism, lived in solitude and peace.
A palisade, and a gate decorated with ikons, surrounded this
refuge of intense spirituality. The white cells, flower borders,
cedar avenues, the pond, church, beehives and cemetery: all
seemed made peaceful by the daily orisons. Yet it was neither
the beauty of the landscape nor the fervour with which the
services in this place were celebrated that attracted so many
pilgrims, but the unusual fame of its starets .1
The Russian word starets means 'an old man', but, con-
trary to the current expression starik, it conjured up an idea
of moral dignity and serene experience. The starets was
generally an elderly monk who by meditation and prayer had
acquired the power to understand and to guide those who
came to him in trouble. Whether he was the superior of the
monastery or whether he assisted the superior in his task, he
was the brotherhood's spiritual guide. But there was one
strange fact: the starets was not necessarily a priest; in that
event, the faithful asked his advice as spontaneously and as
humbly as if he had been a minister of God, but confessed
regularly to another.
In Russia the renown of these starets was so great that
from morning till night the most famous of them received
crowds of sinners in search of truth in their cells or visiting-
rooms. The sick in body or soul, dull-witted illiterates or
tormented intellectuals, rich merchants or half-starved pil-
grims, they all wished to enlighten or right themselves by
contact with the admirable old man. They would ask him for
his advice on whether to accept or decline a job, on a love
affair gone wrong, on a secret crime .... Sometimes, even be-
fore a newcomer had unbosomed himself, the starets guessed
his problem and responded with a pacifying word, an in-
spired look or a smile.
At one time, at Optina Pustyn, Father Leonid used to
'See the admirable portrait of the starets Zosima in Dostoyevsky's The
Brothers Karamazov.
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 73
receive the pilgrims seated on his bed, dressed in a white
smock and wearing a cap, and while he talked spiritedly he
plaited girdles. His visitors knelt or squatted on the floor
around him. His successor, Fa~her Macaire, had received and
advised Nikolas Gogol and the slavophil publicist Kireyevsky,
whose conversion caused such a stir at that time. After Father
Macaire came Father Ambrose, who had continued the bril-
liant tradition of the starets of Optina Pustyn. His teaching
had led Constantin Leontiev, the philosopher and man of
letters, to turn away from the world and enter the priesthood.
Other eminent personalities had come to him seeking lessons
in wisdom: officers of the Guard, savants, high officials, the
famous critic Strakhov, the publicists and philosophers
Khomiakov and Vladimir Soloviov, the Grand Duke Con-
stantin and the two most famous novelists of their time,
Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy. 1 The starets Ambrose had died in
1891.
'He was already very old when I saw him for the last time,'
Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov said. 'Imagine a tall, thin,
stooping man with a bright eye, a deeply furrowed face and
a little beard. He looked at me with penetrating gentleness
and I felt that everything in my head was becoming clear. If
there were a few more starets of his kind, even misfortune
might become for us a source of joy!'
'Are there many monasteries in Russia?' Russell asked.
'About five hundred and fifty, with eleven thousand monks
and eighteen thousand nuns. That's not enormous!'
'And to what authority is the Monastic clergy respon-
sible?'
'Only the Holy Synod and the Tsar are above them.'
0 0 0 0

The association of the Tsar and the Church was of rela-

tively recent origin.
Evangelized by Greek monks in 988, during the reign of
Vladimir Svyatoslavitch, the Russian nation remained Ortho-
dox even under the Mongol occupation. When the invaders
'In 1910, when Leo Tolstoy finally resolved to leave his family, it was
to Optina Pustyn that he finally made his way with the intention of seeing
the starets Joseph, Ambrose's successor.
74 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

had at last been driven from the country, the supremacy of

the Patriarch of Constantinople had not been recognized by
the Russians for a long time. Attempts by the Popes to recon-
cile the Orthodox and Roman Catholic Churches remained
unproductive. In 1591 the Metropolitan of Moscow was
recognized as Fifth Patriarch, leader of the Russian ecclesi-
astical hierarchy. In the middle of the seventeenth century,
under Tsar Alexis Mikhailovitch, the Patriarch Nikhon
ordered the liturgy to be revised, but his innovations infuri-
ated people and caused several sects to be created, the most
important of which was that of the Staroveri (Old Believers).
This schism, the raskol, was accentuated when Peter the Great
united the spiritual and temporal powers by not appointing
a new holder to the vacant seat of Patriarch (1700) and by
founding the Most Holy Synod, a body entrusted with the
direction of religious matters (1721). The Most Holy Synod
was composed of the highest dignitaries of the regular clergy
nominated by the Tsar. He was himself represented in this
assembly by the Procurator-General, a lay official who made
known what questions were to be debated. No decision of the
Most Holy Synod was valid without his approval, and, there-
fore, the Emperor's.
The State religion was the Orthodox faith, 1 but according
to the last census the Roman Catholic faith had 11,420,000
followers (mainly in Poland and in neighbouring govern-
ments), the Armenian-Gregorian Church 1,600,000, Protes-
tants 3,743,000 (mainly in Finland, the Baltic provinces and
in the German colonies in southern Russia), Mohammedans
14,000,000 (mainly in the Caucasus and eastern provinces),
with heathen among the Finnish tribes and the Asiatic fol-
lowers of Brahma.
From the doctrinal point of view, the principal difference
between the Orthodox and the Catholic Churches turned
upon the Latin formula of filioque. This formula is part of the
creed which the Catholic Church recites at Mass: 'I believe
too in the Holy Ghost ... which proceeds from the Father
and the Son.' Now this statement is not to be found in the
1 Foreign cults evidently escaped the competence of the Most Holy
Synod, but were equally subordinate to Imperial authority, since they
were controlled by the Ministry of the Interior.
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 75
Gospel according to StJohn/ nor in the text of the Council of
Nicaea, where it was said simply that 'I believe in the Holy
Ghost which proceeds from the Father.' Having added the
filioque to the formula of the traditional faith, the Catholic
Church had refused to submit to the orders of Photius,
Patriarch of Constantinople, who regarded the Latins as
heretics. The Orthodox repudiated the filioque with horror.
For them the Holy Ghost did not proceed from the Father
and from the Son, as for the Catholics, but came from the
Father 'through the Son'. More precisely, the Orthodox dis-
tinguished between eternal emission of the Holy Ghost issu-
ing from the Father, and the emission of the Holy Ghost at a
point in time, in other words the temporal sendii~g of the
Holy Ghost into the world by the Son, through the Son, in the
features of the Son. 2
Other divergences between the two churches were these:
obviously, the Orthodox did not recognize the primacy and
infallibility of the Pope and they rejected the western ideas
of indulgences and purgatory. According to them, imme-
diately after death the soul went from stage to stage ack-
nowledging its sins and suffering agony while awaiting the
last judgement. For the righteous this agony was, however,
mitigated by the awareness that they were close to God. But
even the Saints did not share in perfect felicity, since final
judgement had not yet been given. Thus there was no such
place as purgatory where purification might be obtained
through suffering; there was no possibility of expiation before
the great awakening; all the dead, the good and the evil, were
in an intermediate state in which joy and despair balanced
one another.
Finally, as to discipline, the Orthodox Church permitted
the marriage of priests but not of bishops, condemned the use
of unleavened bread in the celebration of mass, and bap-
tized by triple immersion and not by sprinkling water on the
1 'But when the Comforter is come, whom I will send tmto you from the

Father, even the Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall
testify of me' (John xv, 26).
'The idea of the temporal emission of the Holy Ghost through the Son in
the features of the Son was so subtle that certain western theologians were
able to accuse Photius of no longer distinguishing between the Son and the
Holy Ghost, contrary to the Evangelical and Nicaean faith.
76 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

head of the person as amongst the Latins. Moreover the bap-

tismal formula differed in the two churches: with the Ortho-
dox it was God Himself and not the priest, the minister of
God, who carried out the baptism; and while the Catholic
priest declares: 'I baptize you in the name of the Father, and
of the Son and of the Holy Ghost', the Orthodox priest was
content to declare: 'So-and-so is baptized in the name of the
Father,' etc. Finally, and contrary to the Catholics who, since
the thirteenth century, partook of the sacrament kneeling
and in one kind, the Orthodox, according to the rites of the
primitive Christian Church, took communion standing and in
two kinds: a piece of consecrated bread, soaked in wine, was
offered them by the priest in a silver spoon. With his hands
crossed on his breast, each communicant spoke his forename.
Having placed the fragment of wine-soaked prosfor on the
tongue of the faithful, the priest announced: 'The Servant of
God, So-and-so, has taken communion.' Thereafter the com-
municant withdrew from the altar, drinking a little wine
from a cup and eating a morsel of consecrated bread which
was offered him on a plate.

Without doubt, the Orthodox Russian people were un-

stintingly pious, as in the early days of Christianity. The
forms of worship, sacraments, benedictions, relics, candles,
chants, signs of the cross, and the genuflexions all played a
great role in their expression of faith. They were sensitive to
the beauty of the ceremonies, but their instincts forced them
to find a very deep and very simple evangelical truth behind
these ceremonies. Its religion drew its inspiration chiefly from
the Sermon on the Mount: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for
theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are the meek, for
they shall inherit the earth .... Blessed are those who weep,
for they shall be comforted .... Blessed are the merciful, for
they shall obtain mercy ... .' Touched by the Galilean's pre-
dictions, the most humble moujik had infinite compassion for
his brothers in distress. But, lavish with mercy for others, he
ardently hoped that he would receive it himself. Around
Russell the large congregation crossed themselves and mur-
mured: 'Gospodi pomilui (Lord, have mercy on us). This
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 77
phrase, which constantly recurred in the prayers, was, accord-
ing to Alexander Vassilievitch, very characteristic of the
spiritual torment of his fellow citizens.
'Russia,' he said, 'is haunted by the idea of sin and punish-
ment. In Christ it sees the One who came on earth to save
souls in peril and to promise the repentant sinners a better
heavenly future than the righteous who thought them-
selves at peace with their consciences. Is there a crime that
cannot be redeemed by a sincere impulse of the whole being
towards the All-Highest? We do not think so. We do not hate
the thief, the depraved or the murderer; we are sorry for him,
we call him neschastnyi, the unfortunate. Always in our minds
is the memory of Christ granting the Kingdom of God to the
thief who was crucified beside him on Calvary. This is a very
pure, very ancient Christianity, stripped of all metaphysics,
a reverie on suffering, death and future justice, a vague and
childish love of everything that breathes, a confused desire
for brotherhood, a step towards indefinable felicities ... :
Russell wondered if this evangelical idealism, this search
after a personal religion, was not at the origin of the numer-
ous sects that existed in Russia. Alexander Vassilievitch had
enumerated them.
In the first place there were the Old Believers (Staroveri),
who were not properly speaking sectarians but schismatics.
They did not forgive the Patriarch Nikhon for having cor-
rected copying errors in the religious books. For them these
very errors were sacred, since the faith of their elders had
rested upon them. They forbade their followers to attend
worship according to the new texts, to shave their beards, to
make the sign of the cross with three fingers (instead of only
two fingers as their ancestors did), and to say Iissus (Jesus)
like everyone else, when the copiers of the old manuscripts
wrote the name I ssus.
During the eighteenth century the central power had in-
creased its persecution of the elements hostile to Peter the
Great's 'European innovations'. Excommunicated, and pur-
sued by troops and police, the Staroveri defended them-
selves with arms, perished by hundreds or found refuge in the
forests and deserts of the Empire. Great schismatic com-
munities were gradually formed in this way, which were
78 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

closely united within themselves. These communities culti-

vated the arid lands, succoured the poor of the neighbour-
hood, opened monasteries and shelters for pilgrims, and
absorbed numerous peasants, attracted by the solid economic
and religious organization of the brotherhood. With time the
pursuit of the Old Believers weakened, but the Sta1'0veri
clung no less tenaciously to the customs and beliefs of earlier
times. In 1886 the Holy Synod declared that the Orthodox
Church was not opposed to the old texts so dear to the Staro-
veri so much as to the spirit of rebellion of which these texts
were the symbol. The Metropolitan Platon had even author-
ized the ordination of priests who would officiate according
to the old rites. The adepts of this new cult, or rather of this
archaic liturgy, called themselves Edinovertsy. Throughout
the Empire special churches, under the protection of the
Holy Synod, were opened to receive them. 1 But the Staroveri
scorned returning to religious legality and preferred to elect
and to pay their own priests in conformity with a secular
tradition.
According to Alexander Vassilievitch Zubov, Moscow was
the Statoveri's capital. Whether they were peasants, writers
or merchants, the Staroveri were distinguished by their
piety, sobriety, economic sense and the patriarchal structure
of their homes. Severe as they were to themselves and to
others, certain of these Old Believers had amassed consider-
able fortunes. Their prosperity was yet another means of
imposing a respect of the schism on the ecclesiastical authori-
ties and the police. At the Nijny-Novgorod fair, which for
many business men was only an occasion for pleasure, the
Staroveri behaved with decency and dignity. The long per-
secutions they had suffered had developed in them the spirit
of mutual aid. Their association was a sort of freemasonry, in
which the members knew each other by various signs (rings,
rosaries, wooden spoons painted according to a special de-
sign). There were towns and regions almost entirely subject
to the economic domination of the Staroveri. Some small ·
industries were monopolized and controlled by them to such
an extent that the workers and moujiks joined the schism in
order to obtain work. This was especially so with the manu-
, There were already 224 in 1886.
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 79
facture of wooden spoons. A good half of the Russian
peasantry used wooden spoons for their soup, and these were
made by the enemies of the official church!
Side by side with this strong, virtuous and rich organiza-
tion innumerable sects with the most disquieting peculiarities
developed": the Dukhobory, who recognized only one source
of faith, inner inspiration, and refused to do their military
service so as not to have to shed blood; the Molokany, milk-
drinkers who devoted themselves to realizing the Galilean
life in its original purity; the Stranniki, the wanderers, who,
in order to escape 'the Church's demoniacal servitude', trav-
elled endlessly in the steppes and forests of Siberia; the
N emolyakhi, who claimed to dispense with priests and sacra-
ments in order to join with God outside the formalities of
worship; the Khlisty, who, in their erotic ecstasies, felt that
the Divine Master was reincarnated in them; the Skoptsy,
who castrated themselves in order to be free of fleshly temp-
tations; the Beloriztsy, who dressed themselves in white
'like heavenly angels' and went from village to village
preaching innocence; the Skakuny, who prayed while jump-
ing ...
All these sects, and many others, expressed the need to do
without the official mediation of the clergy and to establish
a direct relation between man and God. Was it not this pro-
pensity to judge everything by himself which explained the
violence into which the normally so peaceful moujik allowed
himself to be drawn? Assassinations, tortures, fines, pil-
lage ... These terroristic flare-ups were by no means rare in
the country. To such primitive beings the idea that 'every-
thing will be pardoned' was very close to an assurance that
'everything is permissible'. Worn out by poverty, they sud-
denly gave themselves up to their basest instincts, but re-
pented immediately afterwards, confessed their crimes and
accepted their punishment. According to Alexander Vassilie-
vitch, the Siberian prisons were stuffed with men who, having
paid the forfeit, continued to pray to God with the most
Christian humility. Had they not been told that the last
should be first?
Another religious phenomenon peculiar to Russia was the
incalculable number of pilgrims who trod the roads. There
80 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

were few peasants without an ambition to visit the Petchersk

catacombs at Kiev or the laura of the St Serge Trinity. In
Moscow Russell had met several of these bogomoltsy, dis-
tinguishable by their dirtiness, their weary air and the
bundles they carried over their shoulders. Almost all of the
pilgrims were of advanced age, for the young people were
kept back by work in the fields. Having left their distant vil-
lages with a few kopecks in their pockets, they travelled on
foot for weeks or months, begging as they went, sleeping
under the stars or in a shed beside a monastery door. Distance
did not frighten them. Some of them crossed the whole
Empire, from the western frontiers to the heart of Siberia, or
from the banks of the Dnieper to the shores of the Baltic. The
most courageous of them went down to Odessa and em-
barked in the hold of some old tub sailing for the Holy Land.
Their faces were dirty and haggard, their clothes hung in
rags, their lapti were no more than scraps of mud and blood,
but a gentle bewilderment lit their eyes. Men or women,
most of them were realizing a long-cherished dream and did
not doubt that they would be recompensed at the end of
the journey. On their way they collected alms for the con-
struction of a church or for themselves; the mystical nature
of their approach incited men of means to come to their aid.
Alexander Vassilievitch had read in the newspapers that the
flow of pilgrims to Kiev far exceeded a million a year. As to
the monks of the St Serge Trinity laura, they had scarcely
enough candles, small ikons or consecrated bread to satisfy
their clientele. The pilgrims slept in huge barrack-rooms, ate
at the common table, heard mass, drank the holy water from
a fountain, visited the caves, went into ecstasies before the
extraordinary richness of the treasure in the sacristy, yawned
in the library, leaned trembling with fear over the sarcopha-
gus in which the remains of St Serge lay, covered with a
sheet of red velvet, kissed the golden cross which was placed
on these remains, and went away lit to the depths of their
souls.
Before his journey to Russia, Russell had imagined there
were no specifically Orthodox saints. His Moscow friends
were not slow to disillusion him. In fact the Russian Church
reckoned its saints, its blessed and its venerable (Prepodo-
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 81
bnye) in great number. 1 In the catacombs at Kiev alone there
were a hundred of them. Even monasteries of secondary im-
portance had relics of which they were very proud. Among
these were national heroes like Alexander Nevsky, tireless
converters like St Serge, and anchorites and ascetics like those
monks of Kiev who for years had lived motionless in sub-
terranean darkness. But, turned by preference towards its
origins, the Orthodox Church was reluctant to record new
miracles. In the previous century a vast movement of opinion
was required to make the Church recognize Bishops Mitro-
fan and Tikhon as saints. In Russia, moreover, canonization
was not preceded by the long inquiries and costly proceed-
ings of the Roman Church. Here, as in primitive times, it was
the voice of the people that designated the elect of God. For
the faithful and for the Church the great sign of sanctity was
the incorruptibility of the bodies of the blessed. H, in addi-
tion, one could point to a few miracles achieved over their
tombs, the Holy Synod proceeded to a rapid investigation of
the remains and in irrefutable cases submitted a decree of
canonization to the Emperor.
However, it was not the multiplicity of Orthodox saints
that explained the number of holidays in Russia. Besides the
religious festivals there were the days of national celebration;
the patron saint's day of the Empress (April 23), the birth of
the Emperor (May 6), the Emperor's coronation (May 14),
the Empress's Birthday (May 25), the Dowager Empress's
birthday (November 14), the birthday of the Crown Prince
Mikhail Alexandrovitch (November 22)/ and the Emperor's
patron saint's day (December 6). Taking Sundays and the
Church festivals into account, the total of non-working days
was as many as 100 a year. Moreover, in Russia the word
'feast-day' derived from the word 'idle' (prazdnik, feast-day;
prazdnyi, idle). But were the Russian people truly idle? Yes, if
one thinks of Alexander Vassilievitch, no, if one thinks of his
son-in-law.
Russell struggled to put some order into his ideas, but did
not succeed, carried away as he was by the singing of the
1The number of canonized Russian saints was about 385.
The son of the Emperor and Empress, the Tsarevitch Alexis, was not born
2

until the following year, July 30, 1904.

82 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

choir which echoed in the vaulting. Never would he have

believed that a vocal ensemble could give such an impression
of profound harmony. The choir was composed exclusively
of men and children. 1 Their voices were so well blended that
the melody seemed to come from a single mouth, from a
single inexhaustible and majestic breath. The number of the
bass voices made the bowels of the earth tremble, when sud-
denly sounds of heavenly purity mingled with the storm and
rose, ever clearer, shriller and more joyful, to evoke the
Christian faith. No keyboard, wind or stringed instrument
was used to accompany these canticles. In fact the Orthodox
Church would tolerate only the most natural instrument of
all, the voice, for sacred music. Had not God given man a
voiceso that he could sing His praises for ever? In the most
sumptuous cathedrals and also in the most humble village
churches the choirs played a preponderant part. It was in-
contestably in Russia that the plainsong, inherited from
ancient Greece, had best preserved its nobility. But to the
plainsong the anonymous· masters of the Middle Ages had
added original chants, called raspievy, sad in design, which
belonged to the old popular plaints. Great importance was
given to the musical education of priests and deacons in the
seminaries, for they too had to have fine voices to command
the attention of the faithful. The lowliest moujiks would have
despised a 'pope' with defective diction ora nasal voice.
Without exactly understanding the significance of the dif-
ferent phases of the Orthodox mass, Russell followed it with
sustained artistic interest. Alexander Vassilievitch had told
him that the Orthodox clergy had retained the usages of the
early Christians, and according to these usages the Russians
never sat down during the service. Moreover, they never car-
ried prayer-books or rituals to mass, for they would have
thought it unsuitable to turn the pages in the sanctuary of
the Lord. In order to follow the liturgy better, pious people
read the service before going to church. There were no
church officers to regulate the order of the great ceremonies,
no hand-bell to call the faithful to meditation, no confessional
where the priest could conveniently isolate himself in order
1 In the women's convents, on the other hand, it was the nuns alone who

formed the choir.

 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 83
to hear the confessions of sinners. 1 Always careful to change
nothing of the ancient ritual, the Orthodox Church forbade
shortening mass. There was nothing analogous to the Catholic
low mass, in which the priest conducts a dialogue with a
server only, who responds in the name of the absent congre-
gation. In Russia the services had all to be public. They were
directed at the congregation. Faced with an empty nave, the
priest could pray, but he could not conduct a service. The
greater number of innovations introduced by Rome to revive
and stimulate the piety of the faithful were looked upon by
the Orthodox clergy with a distrustful eye. The most wide-
spread Catholic services, like that of the Sacred Heart, for
example, remained foreign to it. The austerity of its worship
was visible in the scenes of the sacred drama. To the east, at
the back of the apse, stood a single altar, since there was but
one God and one Saviour. Between the altar and the nave,
the enormous barrier of the iconostasis, gilded and decorated
with pictures, represented the temple veil. Of the three gates
of the ikonostasis, the middle one, with two doors, was called
the Imperial Gate, while the two others were known as the
deacons' gates. Only the priest had the right to pass through
the Imperial Gate, or the Tsar himself, to receive communion
on the day of his coronation. This gate was closed during the
mystery of the consecration. A curtain was drawn behind it:
the symbol of the fleshly condition of human beings which
prevented them from seeing heaven. But at the solemn
moments of worship the curtain was drawn aside and the
gate opened; heaven was revealed to the faithful and the
very throne of God became visible. From the left side of the
altar, properly so called, towards the north-east part, was a
table like an altar, the zhertvennik, or offertory. The entrance
and exit of the priest in his heavy gilded chasuble, the carry-
ing of the sacrificial items from the offertory to the altar, the
progress of the deacon with the gospel or the chalice, the
closing or the reopening of the doors of the ikonostasis, were
the different stages of a mystical performance. 2 The incense
'The confessionals were not allowed by the Catholic Church until the
sixteenth century.
'The costume of the Orthodox priests consisted of a stikharion (the
Catholic priest's alb), a long sleeveless tunic, of the scarf, the sleeveless
84 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

rose from a silver-chained censer which the dyakony swung at

knee level. All these slow solemnities harmonized with the
severe luxury of the old Byzantine churches. This antiquity
was apparent even in the liturgical furniture. Among these
were the flabellum, 1 a metal fan which the deacon waves
before the tabernacle, the golden spoon for the communion
wine, the holy spear and sponge, 2 reminiscent of Calvary,
and other sacred articles which have long been in disuse in
western countries.
The great Orthodox ceremonies drew their inspiration
from the same simple symbolism as those of the early
Christian Church. For example, the marriage rites, as des-
cribed to Russell by Alexander Vassilievitch, were very
strange indeed to a European mind. Throughout the service
groomsmen took turns in holding two heavy gilded crowns at
arms' length above the heads of the couple. After the couple
had exchanged rings and kissed before the tabernacle, the
officiating priest offered them a cup of wine, from which they
drank thrice in turn, for everything henceforth would be
held in common; then, having tied their hands together with
a silk handkerchief, the priest made them follow him three
times round the altar, so that they should be imbued with the
idea that from that day hence they would walk through life
closely united.
A ceremony no less picturesque was that of Easter, un-
doubtedly the most beautiful festival in the whole Orthodox
liturgy. In Russia midnight mass took place on the very night
of the Ressurrection. At the given hour, after the psalms had
been sung, the priest approached the sepulchre, symbolically
raised the shroud and saw that the Saviour was no longer in
the tomb. Then, instead of announcing the resurrection, he
hesitated, like the disciples of the Gospel, and went out into
the square with all the clergy to make a circuit of the church
chasuble (phelonion or risa) with an opening for the head, and a tall cylin-
drical headdress (kamilaukhion). The Bishop wore a sakkos instead of the
chasuble, a mitre instead of the kamilaukhion, and finally the crucifix.
1 The Catholic Church had suppressed the use of the flabellum in the

fourteenth century. But it is still carried today, in certain ceremonies, before

the Pope.
'The holy spear is used to cut into pieces, or dolabs, the bread intended
for consecration; the liturgical sponge is used by the deacon to purify the
paten.
 THE ORTHODOX CHURCH 85
in search of the vanished Christ. Finally, convinced of the
miracle, he re-entered the temple and, facing the crowd, pro-
claimed: 'Christ is risen.' The congregation replied in an out-
burst of joy: 'Truly, He is risen.' In every hand a little taper
burned. Friends, kinsmen and strangers then exchanged the
triple Easter kiss, and none might refuse this sign of brotherly
affection. The sombre liturgy of the days of sorrow gave place
to wildly joyful singing. All the bells of Moscow rang together
above the city. In the houses coloured eggs and ritual cakes
appeared, the pashkha and the kulich, decorated with the
letters XB, the Russian initials of the words 'Christ' and
'Risen'.
In the country, after the night service, the congregation,
with the lighted tapers still in their hands, moved to the
cemetery to take the Easter greeting to their dead. Little
eggs of coloured porcelain were hung upon the arms of the
crosses, so that the dead should not be excluded from
Christian rejoicing. Russell wanted very much to attend the
Easter festivals in Moscow. But would he still be the Zubovs'
guest at that time? As he pondered the question he inhaled
the odour of incense which had strengthened in the nave, and
in the end he found the sweetish oriental odour rather sickly.
His limbs grew numb. His gaze floated over the compact
mass of faces. All classes of society intermingled in the pre-
cincts of the cathedral. The coarsest and the most refined
faces had the same air of abandon. Heads were bowed. Lips
were murmuring. Signs of the cross, the wrong way round,
were made upon every breast. The crowd prostrated itself,
bowihg like a cornfield at the passing of the wind. The com-
mon people touched the earth with their brows; the rest were
content with a more discreet genuflexion.
Russell was ill at ease standing alone beside a pillar, but
no one paid attention to him. The congregation rose. Alexan-
der Vassilievitch lightly dusted his trousers with the tips of
his fingers. How did Tatiana Sergeyevna and her daughters
endure the fatigue of these long services? Russell watched
Helen out of the corner of his eye and found her singularly
pale and beautiful in the exaltation of her prayers. Young
Nikolas, wearing the grey uniform of a gymnasium pupil,
began to show signs of restlessness. He turned towards the
86 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

doors; he sighed. There, beside the altar, surrounded by a

cloud of incense, the priest proclaimed some glad truth. He
was superb, mitred in oriental fashion, leonine, with his hair
falling over his shoulders, his flowing beard and his shining
chasuble with folds as neat as joints in armour. At last came
the ceremony of 'dismissal', corresponding to the Ite missa
est of the Catholic Church, and the congregation began to
move. Everyone went in turn to kiss the crucifix and the hand
of the priest held out to them. Russell stood aside while his
friends carried out the rite. 'How unhygienic!' he thought.
'Thousands of people going to put their lips, one after the
other, to this cross. Among them there are certainly some who
are diseased. Here is a dirty, slobbery old man. Behind him a
woman· carrying her child in her arms, and the infant kisses
the cross after the old man. And we are in the twentieth cen-
tury!' But Alexander Vassilievitch and Tatiana Sergeyevna
explained to him that the strength of the Orthodox faith was
such that no case of contagion had ever resulted from this
practice. But Russell was still distrustful. The procession
seemed to him very long.
Out in the open air again he was dazzled by the sunshine
and the fresh odour of the snow. In the church square some
nuns, collecting alms, were seated at little tables in their long
black veils. Each little table bore a tin plate filled with
kopecks. The faces of these women were shrunken and blue
with cold. They had the lips of corpses. Where did they come
from, from what faraway convent, where the roof was threat-
ening to collapse or the ikons needed regilding? Farther off
were ragged beggars, some of whom were genuine pilgrims,
while others were 'specialists' from the Khitrov. Alexander
Vassilievitch distributed some money, rather at random, into
the frozen hands that were held out to him.
The Church of the Saviour stood above the Moskva. On
the great snow-covered square the crowd flowed between the
masters' sleighs. The Zubovs' equipage was in the front row.
The horses snorted. Up on his seat the driver growled into his
beard and pulled on the reins. Before getting into the sleigh
Helen smiled at Russell and murmured: 'Did you like our
Sunday mass, Monsieur?'
'Enormously,' he replied, gazing at her gratefully.
 CHAPTER VII

THE WORKERS
Russian factories, working conditions, pay- The new social
laws- The role of factory inspectors- Free medical aid- The
housing problem: factory dormitories, kamorki, rooms in the
city- Visit to a swingling shop: workers sleeping by their
machines - Workers' food - Educational establishments subsi-
dized by manufacturers- Movements for social improvement-
Workers' budgets- Artels - State monopoly of alcoholic drinks
- Public and private assistance in Russia- The foundling
hospital in Moscow.

I T WAS the obliging Paul Egorovitch Sychin, again, who

undertook to take Russell to the workers' suburbs of
Moscow. Zubov's son-in-law had acquaintances among
the leading industrialists and their doors were open to him.
Cloth-factories, tanneries, foundries, sawmills, giant iron-
works, and workshops, where nails, leaden objects and
samovars were made- Russell lived for weeks on end among
gear-wheels, driving-belts, the smell of warm grease, the hiss
of steam, the glare of flames, the vibration of machines and
the shouts of overseers. At first sight nothing distinguished
Russian factories from those of other countries in the same
field. But it could be seen that the machines were of British
or German make, that the workers were more poorly dressed
than in England, and that the roofs of the workshops were
seldom glazed because of the climate and heavy snowfalls.
In accordance with the law of June 2, 1897, a working day
must not exceed eleven and a half hours, excluding rest time.
On Saturdays and on the eve of feast-days, this was reduced
to ten hours. 1 It was forbidden to employ night workers for
more than ten continuous hours. Whenever the day exceeded
ten hours it had to be broken by one hour's rest at least.
But, for sure, these regulations were often broken and it
was not uncommon for a worker to labour for thirteen or
fourteen hours a day just as in the days before the law was
' Day work could not begin before five in the morning nor finish later than
nine at night.
88 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

promulgated. The great number of holidays compensated for

the excessive effort imposed on employees during the rest of
the year. 1
As to pay, it obviously varied according to the work and
where it was done, and the sex and age of the worker. In the
Moscow region an adult male earned on the average 14 to 15
roubles per month, a female 10 roubles, a young male (15 to
17 years old) 7 roubles, and a child (less than 15 years) 5
roubles. According to the exchange rates at that time (100
roubles = $51.50) the monthly salary of a Russian worker
came to about $7.35. But certain skilled workers received
very much higher pay. Thus in Moscow cotton-spinners were
paid up to 20 roubles ( $10.30) a month, wool-spinners 22
roubles ( $11.33), skilled pottery or porcelain workers 17
roubles ( $8.76), those in the silk industry 22 roubles ( $11.33),
and in engineering or construction works 40 to 50 roubles
( $20.60 to $25.75). These figures increased for workers close
to the western frontier of the Empire ( Lodz or Warsaw) or in
St Petersburg; they decreased (by 20 per cent) in the eastern
regions, and fell to an absurdly low level beyond the
Urals.
Whatever his occupation, every worker when engaged
received a booklet from his employer, in which the conditions
of his employment, the payment of wages, deductions in the
form of fines, rents and various liabilities were recorded, and,
should the occasion arise, the reason for his dismissal. In
brief, it was a sort of professional passport which, together
with his official passport, ended by fixing an individual's
capabilities and predisposed him to accept his inferior status.
Though an employer had no right to dismiss an employee
without a fortnight's notice, he could inflict penalties forcer-
tain mistakes which were provided for in the rules. In former
times the sums collected in this way went into the owner's
pocket, but since the new law they had gone into a special
account and were used as a rule to improve the lot of neces-
sitous workers. Factory inspectors 2 watched over the applica-
tion of the laws in the Empire's industries and mines. Estab-
1According to the official statistics from Demetriev (1897), more than 80
per cent. of factories were subject to 89 to 99 holidays a year.
'They numbered about 300.
 THE WORKERS 89
lished by the law of July 7, 1899, they were attached directly
to the Ministry of Finance. Their powers were even further
extended as Russian industrial legislation was subsequently
enlarged by numerous decisions relating to the hygiene of
premises, conditions of juvenile and female labour, compul-
sory education, accidents, free medical care, etc.
Russell, who thought his own country a century ahead of
Russia in social progress, was surprised to learn that the
employment of children of less than twelve years and the
employment of women at night had been forbidden in Russia
(by the laws of July 1, 1882, and July 3, 1896 1 ) and that in
Russia there was a medical service at large factories (of more
than 100 workers), and that employers' responsibility in the
matter of working accidents was constantly recognized. 2
Since 1888 there had been a system of workers' insurance
against this kind of accident. Six large companies share9- the
industrial custom of the Empire. But the new law, the
promulgation of which was awaited impatiently, would intro-
duce the idea of professional risk into Russian law. The em-
ployer would be personally and directly responsible for
accidents at work without the victim having to prove that
the owner or his manager was at fault, and instead of hoping
for redress the worker would be certain that payment would
be made to him for temporary or permanent disablement,
that should he die his funeral expenses would be covered by
his employer up to thirty roubles, and that his widow and
children would receive, in the same event, a pension repre-
setiting two-thirds of his last annual wages.
As to free medical aid, the methods differed from one
factory to another. Certain employers quietly ignored the law
'At the beginning of the twentieth century, juvenile, adolescent and female
labour was controlled in Russia as follows: it was forbidden to engage chil-
dren of less than twelve years in factories; further the Ministry of Finance
reserved the right to prohibit the employment of children from twelve to
fifteen years old in industries injurious to their health; night work (from
9 p.m. till 5 a.m.) was forbidden for children in all industries (except glass-
works, in which they could be employed for six continuous hours at most) as
well as for women and adolescents in textile industries or phosphorus match
manufacture. Finally, neither women nor children could be employed in
mines.
'The Russian law on accidents at work was promulgated on June 2, 1903,
and entered into effect on January 1, 1904.
90 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

of 1866, 1 others only maintained an ambulance or an infir-

mary at their works, from which the sick man was sent if
necessary to a public institution; and others (mainly the big
businesses) had real hospitals at their disposal where they
cared not only for their workers but also for their families and
even for the neighbouring population. As an example,
Sychkin told Russell of the Ramensk cotton-mill, which
employed 6,500 workers and boasted of a hospital with 90
beds and a maternity home with 16 beds; also the Bogorodsko-
Glukhovsky factory (8,210 workers) with a modern clinic in
which, in a single year, nearly 20,000 persons had been cared
for and nearly 2,000 had been hospitalized. While listening to
his guide, Russell realized that the laws were interpreted and
adapted by each firm in its own way. But Paul Egorovitch
Sychkin seemed less concerned with this incoherence than
with the practical problem of workers' dwellings.
'In your country the workers live where they like and
usually quite a long way from the factory. Even when they
are settled in dwellings specially built by their employer, they
pay rent in exchange. In short, they forget the factory atmo-
sphere when they go home. In Russia, on the contrary, half
the workers live gratuitously, either in the workshops them-
selves or in huge buildings attached to the factories. This is
explained by the fact that in Russia the majority of the popu-
lation is rural and the peasant who comes to town to seek
employment is obviously unable to find a room at a low cost.
Moreover, in their izba they have acquired the habit of living
six, eight or ten together in a smoky room. Why should they
be more refined now? If you want to understand the life of
the Russian worker you must visit a few of these houses,
exclusively occupied by the workers and their families ... .'
Under the guidance of Paul Egorovitch Sychkin, it did not
take Russell long to see that all the large factories were
flanked by grey and dejected buildings of several stories,
which were simply warehouses of labour. The same archi-
tectural style was recognizable in all: they were civilian
barracks. Inside, a dark and narrow corridor was flanked by
thin plank doors, which opened into dormitories for twenty
1 By a law of August 26, 1866, the owners
of factories were obliged to
install a hospital for their workers near the works.
 THE WORKERS 91
or thirty workers or into minute rooms (kamorki) each shelter-
ing several families. Each family strove to mark off its modest
do/Il1ain in the kamorka with hangings made of old pieces of
cloth and plaited mats. But these flimsy partitions were not
enough to ensure the privacy of couples. The beds (simple
plank bunks) touched one another. One chair and one table
served ten persons. Men, women and children mingled their
voices, odours, illnesses, quarrels and reconciliations. Yet the
tenants of a kamorka were envied by those who lived in the
dormitories. There the bunks stood side by side without the
least separation. Often they were placed one above the other,
the highest being about two feet below the ceiling. The
workers did their washing in the room and dried it on lines
strung from wall to wall. A sour odour came from these rags
as they dripped upon the muddy floor. The casement win-
dows were clearly too small to permit the ventilation of the
premises. In any case, they were carefully nailed up and
blocked in.
This kind of dormitory was generally reserved for single
men. Nevertheless, Paul Egorovitch Sychkin showed Russell
some communal rooms in which, as a result of overpopulation
at the factory, women, couples and complete families lived
among the bachelors. The beds were separated by wooden
partitions fixed to their frames and rising to a height of about
three feet six inches. Thus each household had its compart-
ment and the room resembled a stable. According to Sychkin,
in certain workers' houses the tenants had on the average
only two square yards of space and three or four cubic yards
of air per person. And these figures took account only of the
number of occupants at a given moment. Now, all the big
factories worked continuously, and quite often the same beds
were occupied turn and turn about by two workers, one on
day shift and the other on night shift. Because of this relief
system the dormitory was never empty. In such conditions
the quantity of breathable air calculated by Sychkin must be
reduced again by half. Appalled by these details, Russell
wondered why the Russian worker, himself so badly housed,
was not content till he had made his family leave the village
to join him.
'Ifs very simple,' said Paul Egorovitch Sychkin. 'Having
92 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

left his own people to work in the town, a man soon sees that
he doesn't get money enough to keep both himself and those
whom he has left in the country. In forcing his wife and chil-
dren to join him, he reckons that they will be hired at the
factory for a fair wage and that their housing will raise no
problem. Doubtless to encourage this kind of family migra-
tion, the big manufacturers have built such barracks on their
factory land. The Russian peasant has a robust constitution.
Comfort and hygiene do not interest him. He almost dis-
trusts them. What he wants is a corner in which to lie down
on bare boards for not too much money. Now the dormitory
is always free of charge, and the kamorki, at the very most,
are let for a deduction of one per cent of the wage, or virtu-
ally nothing, so the worker writes home. His wife and chil-
dren arrive, and the whole lot pile up in some stifling den,
already overcrowded with two families, or in the communal
room with worn-out bodies strewn upon their litters all
around them. With the help of bits of cardboard and cloth
hung from nails, the women try to make a refuge in which
to protect themselves against indiscreet glances. But no one
pays any attention to them. The men are too worn out during
the week and on Sundays most of them are drunk. According
to statistics which I have consulted, the proportion of women
working in the factories in 1855 was 33 per cent. and today
it has risen to 44 per cent. In the. textile industries they rep-
resent as much as 77 per cent. of the staff. We are watching a
strange phenomenon. So long as the worker's family lives far
away from him in the country, he keeps his ties with the soil
and with the patriarchal customs of former times. He returns
to the village from time to time in order to share in the work
in the fields. He knows that there he has his roof, his friends,
his graves, his memories. This nostalgic attraction ends
abruptly as soon as our man has been able to make his wife
and children come and settle in the great barrack. All are
employed in the same factory. They have sold their little
shanty. They are no longer peasants. And they are proud of
it! Gradually a new class is born, homeless, without regrets
and without traditions, who have no possessions of their own
and live from day to day, lost in an anonymous mass of people
just like themselves. As a result of living so close together,
 THE WORKERS 93
they acquire a vague awareness of their strength. Just con-
sider that at the present moment there are no more than two
and a half million workers in Russia for a total population of
129 millions. 1 Nevertheless, one can already speak of a
"workers' will", while the Russian peasants, many times more
numerous, are far from showing the same cohesion in de-
fending their interests.'
Having inspected the dormitories of three factories, Russell
was sure that nowhere in Russia were workers worse housed.
To destroy his illusions, Paul Egorovitch Sychkin showed him
what went on at a small factory specializing in the swingling
of flax and hemp. The master, a big man with a fiery beard
and eyes of forget-me-not blue, gave the two visitors an en-
thusiastic welcome and opened the great workshop door.
As he crossed the threshold, Russell thought he was enter-
ing a tropical forest of damp and discoloured foliage. Bundles
of fibres hung from the ceiling and intercepted the daylight.
To move forward, Sychkin had to push the damp and woody
beards apart with his hands. The floor was covered with a
thick layer of sticky nauseating filth, with here and there a
pool of black water in front of a steaming bucket. Along the
wall, close to the windows, stood the machines for breaking
the fibres, which consisted of two pieces of wood, held to-
gether at one end by a strong pin. The lower piece was
mounted on four feet. The whole thing formed a sort of cage,
about three yards long and two yards wide. Paul Egorovitch
Sychkin explained to Russell that the restricted space served
both as a work place and a lodging for the worker's family.
They lived there for twenty-four hours a day. At meal-times
the whole little tribe sat on the ground between the piles of
hemp and the bowls of dirty water; to sleep they stretched
out on planks with bundles of fibre as pillows.
'Living together, these poor people have lost all sense of
modesty,' Sychkin whispered. 'They have no embarrassment
in promiscuity. The women even give birth here in front of
everybody.'
' Of these 2,500,000 workers the textile industry alone employed nearly
700,000, mines and metallurgy 600,000, food production 250,000, and metal
goods 225,000. In the textile industry, cotton manufacture led with 325,000
workers, followed by woollens (150,000), linen (60,000) and silk (40,000).
94 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Russell perceived a child of about fifteen years on a bed of

rags at the foot of a machine. His eyes were closed and he
seemed to be sleeping deeply. But the sweat ran down his
livid face and his nostrils were pinched. In fact, he was
shivering with fever. Above him a robust fellow with dis-
hevelled fair hair, undoubtedly the boy's father, mechanically
raised and lowered the jaws of the machine for breaking the
stems. Seated on an upturned bucket, a mother suckled her
baby, who was wrapped in dirty rags. As the heat and mois-
ture were necessary to the processing of the fibres, a wash-
house atmosphere prevailed. The walls were cracked and
eaten away by brownish mould. The ceiling dripped. A grey
film covered the windows. At each step Russell's feet sank into
the black mud on the floor.
'In this kind of factory,' said Paul Egorovitch Sychkin, 'it
is usual to scrape the floor only once a year, in July.'
'And do these miserable people live like this in the filth for
a whole year?' asked Russell.
'Alas! Yes.'
'Is it only in these mills that the workers and their families
sleep, eat, procreate and die beside their machines?'
'No,' Sychkin admitted, 'it's the same in almost all the
smaller factories, where the work is still done by hand or at
least by simple mechanical means. I mean particularly the
small silk and woollen factories, and the textile printing
works. In these workshops they sleep on the floor, under the
benches, or on looms covered with planks. The weavers'
babies lie in cradles hooked up to the ceiling and are lulled to
sleep by the rhythmic beat of the lays ... .'
As he left the mill, Russell was so appalled that Paul Egoro-
vitch Sychkin regretted having shown things in such a bad
light.
'The housing problem is much in the minds of the public
authorities,' he said. 'Many societies have already been
formed for building hygienic houses at a low price. Don't
forget that the cloth-factory at Ramensk, together with the
Krupp factories in Germany, got the highest award at the
Brussels Exhibition of 1876 for the comfortable furnishing of
its workers' dwellings. Other Russian factories have followed
that example, including some of the biggest. In many respects
 THE WORKERS 95
other parts of Europe, like France, are behind us, I have been
told, with their slums and their leprous areas. Poverty is
frightening everywhere. But with time and goodwill we will
bring it to an end.'
Russell was not easy to convince.
'I suppose,' he said, 'that there are Russian workers housed
elsewhere than in the workshops and barracks.'
'Of course,' cried Paul Egorovitch Sychkin. 'Although more
than 60 per cent of the workers in the Government of Mos-
cow live in such places, the proportion is less in other
industrial centres, such as St Petersburg, Lodz, Warsaw,
Riga, Odessa .... Actually, the workers who fix up their own
living-quarters are scarcely better off than those in the com-
munal room or kamorki. The "apartment" in the city usually
consists of a dark and tiny room, furnished with a bed, two
chairs and a table. All the doors of these "apartments" open
into the same corridor. The rent depends on the area of the
room. On the average it is 5 roubles 50 kopecks a month for a
room of from 30 to 40 cubic yards. For this sum the proprietor
also provides the wood for heating. Of course, only workers
living with their families can afford the luxury of such a
dwelling. With their women and children they crowd to-
gether into one room. Then, to lower the cost, another worker,
by preference a bachelor, is taken in as sub-tenant. At night
a folding screen separates him from the rest of the brood. He
pays his host 1 rouble 50 kopecks a month. In exchange he
has the right to a bed, a lamp, boiling water for tea, and
sometimes even sauerkraut and kvas. It is always the tenant
who buys the provisions and does the cooking for the sub-
tenant. ... In fact, their food is very plain for them all: black
bread, sauerkraut, cabbage soup, boiled buckwheat with
bacon, fresh cucumbers in summer and salted cucumbers in
winter, and kvass. Morning and evening it is the same menu.
Meat almost never appears. On fast-days the bacon is
replaced by sunflower-seed oil with a penetrating odour.
From this point of view, the workers who sleep and eat at the
factory are infinitely better treated, for, in addition to the
items I have just mentioned, they get meat at midday. The
"pension" in the refectory costs about 3 roubles 75 per
month. The employer deducts this sum from the wages. For
96 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

everyday purchases, there are special shops near the factory

authorized to sell to the workers on credit, guaranteed by
their wages. The prices of the most essential articles are con-
trolled and approved by the factory inspector. For example,
women's footwear costs 1 rouble 65, cotton materialS kopecks
an arsheen, printed calico. 10 kopecks. . . . In the end, the
workers living in the buildings attached to the factory, like
those who live in a room in the town, find themselves at the
end of the month with empty pockets!
'There's another important fact: Russian law does not
oblige the factory proprietor to open schools for teaching the
children they employ, nor to send those children to schools
which already exist. But it stipulates that children not pro-
vided with certificates of primary education must have the
"opportunity" to attend school three hours a day and
eighteen hours a week. Although they might not be com-
pelled, the majority of big Russian firms have created educa-
tional establishments near their factories, under the control
of the Ministry of Public Education. On January 1, 1899,
there were 446 schools of this kind in Russia, attended by
nearly 50,000 adolescents. 1 The maintenance of these centres
costs 787,000 roubles a year, of which 732,000 roubles are
exclusively at the cost of the employers. It seems to me that
this proves that the manufacturers have become aware of the
wretched state in which their employees still vegetate and
that, in the interests even of their business, they are trying
to create a new generation of workers, developed, literate and
ambitious ... .'
While they talked the two men had left the workers' quar-
ter of Presnia and were walking along streets that looked
quieter and more prosperous. They stopped for tea at a
traktir, but they were scarcely seated at a table before Russell
asked the question which had been on the tip of his tongue:
'These various social laws of which you have been speak-
ing. Were they enacted spontaneously or under pressure?'
'I am sorry to have to say,' Sychkin replied, 'that the
workers only secured this quite relative improvement of their
'To be exact, 46,973. Of this total, 4,307 were children who worked in
factories, 32,958 children whose parents worked in the factories, and 9,708
children who were not associated with the factories.
3
Left: The
market-place
of Kitay-Gorod,
Moscow

Right: Moscow
street scene
4 Moscow :>uvp:.

Moscow street scene

 THE WORKERS 97
lot by recourse to social agitation. It was following the strikes
organized between 1870 and 1880 that the government
promulgated the law of June 1, 1882, forbidding the employ-
ment of children of less than twelve years in factories and
restricting the employment of adolescents and women. In
January 1885 the strike at the Morozov factories (11,000
workers) was provoked by the abuse of fines, which the
management inflicted under the most varied pretexts in order
to reduce the wage-earners' pay. The outburst was put down
by the military and ended in the disbanding of 800 workers.
Thirty-three rioters were brought before the court. The jury
acquitted them, and the following year, on June 3, 1886, a
law regulating the system of fines fixed their rates and speci-
fied that the sums thus collected must not under any circum-
stances benefit the employer. Meanwhile, this same law laid
down the penalties which would be incurred thereafter by
instigators of strikes; from four to eight months in prison. Of
course, strikes began again and were more serious. In 1896,
35,000 workers in the cotton-mills of St Petersburg ceased
work. In 1897 there was a further strike of all textile workers.
The Government at once instituted the 1B~-hour day by the
law of June 2, 1897. At the present time it seems that the
Tsar's policy is now to give way gradually to the legitimate
demands of the workers, but also to strengthen the repressive
apparatus in order to prevent any further outbreak. The num-
ber of factory inspectors has been increased, and the num-
ber of police agents, charged with watching the industrial
suburbs, has been augmented considerably. Thus the
struggle promises to be increasingly harsh. The workers are
organizing themselves. Obviously there exists as yet only a
single kind of authorized professional association: the mutual
assistance funds. They are multiplying throughout the land:
mutual assistance funds for shoemakers, weavers, paper-
makers, domestic servants ... Their activities are limited to
handing out money to the sick, widows, orphans and necessi-
tous persons, but although devoid of any political signifi-
cance, these groupings give the labouring masses the impres-
sion that they are not absolutely defenceless. Add to this that,
for close on ten years, clandestine circles have proliferated in
St Petersburg and Moscow, and all the big cities, and that the
98 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

intellectuals- students, engineers, journalists - fed on the

doctrines of Karl Max, are elaborating the programme of the
'future democratic Russia.' According to them, it is necessary
to free labour from the capitalist yoke, to bring the workers
to power, to turn the bourgeois order of things upside down .
. . . You know as much as I do about their ideas! The party
theoreticians are already mingling with the factory workers
to prepare them for the revolt. In 1897 a new organization was
created: the Bund, a general league of Jewish workers of
Poland, Lithuania and Russia, directed by a central executive
committee. Thus the workers are uniting, no longer in iso-
lated centres but from city to city, in order to cover Russia
with a network of branches with a common inspiration. The
result of this campaign was the first Social-Democratic Con-
gress at Minsk in March 1898. I have read the party's mani-
festo: "The proletariat will shake off the Tsarist yoke!" It
makes one tremble. I simply hope that here, as elsewhere,
liberal measures will disarm the fanatics of disorder. You are
looking at me anxiously. Do you really believe that the
Russian worker has more to complain about than others?'
Russell was slow in answering. 'I think,' he murmured at
last, 'that your workers haven't a lot of reason to envy others.
But poverty in Western Europe is less obvious, perhaps less
aggressive, than what I have just seen. One might say that
here poverty, squalor and shame are ostentatious. People here
display their wounds and glory in their misfortunes!'
'Don't be too quick to generalize,' said Sychkin. 'Have you
anything in your country like our artels?'
Russell confessed that he did not know what the word
meant, so Paul Egorovitch Sychkin told him that side by side
with the ordinary workers, there existed in Russia a large class
of artisans, grouped in communities, or artels. These artels
were of very ancient origin 1 and were founded on the prin-
ciple of the co-operative: the members all had to be of the
same trade, to work with their own hands, to have equal
rights, and to be jointly responsible for the actions of any
member of the brotherhood. There were artels of porters, of
bank and commercial messengers (bankirskie or kupechie
artelshchiki), etc. All the artels had registered capital, deriving
'There were artels in Russia in the twelfth century.
 THE WORKERS 99
from payments made by the artelshchiki on their joining the
community: the vkup, the gift on admission, and the novizna,
the gift on being received. This capital served as the mem-
bers' guarantee when they assumed responsibility in some
work or service. Thus united in common interest, the artel-
shchiki therefore did not tolerate lazy, unscrupulous or unskil-
ful individuals within their group. They all kept watch upon
one another, and the public never had cause for complaint.
Once a year, early in the autumn, they met to hear their dele-
gates' report, approve accounts, settle the portion of the
receipts to be put to reserve, determine each member's share
of the benefits and decide the pensions for widows and
orphans. Afterwards they elected their president, starosta, or
old one, and a secretary, the pisar, entrusted with the artel's
correspondence and accounts. To be a member of an artel
was for a Russian worker a certificate of excellence. Paul
Egorovitch Sychkin even claimed that there was no such
thing as a really poor or intemperate artelshchik.
'Anyway,' he concluded, 'intemperance is decreasing in
our country. All the statistics agree upon this.'
Here again Russell asked for clarification. What miracle
had cured the Russian people of intemperance? But the reply
was disappointing: there was no miracle, only a law, dated
1894, which made the sale of spirits a State monopoly.
'Before this law,' Sychkin went on, 'drunkenness was a
chronic vice among the lower orders. Private industry manu-
factured poorly refined alcoholic liquor embellished with in-
jurious ingredients. Every traktir had its thirsty clientele,
ready to hand over their shirts and boots for a small glass.
The law of 1894 has almost completely suppressed the sale of
drinks. It is the State which now distils and sells vodka. Who-
ever wants to drink it can only buy it by the bottle in special
shops ... .'
When they left the traktir, Paul Egorovitch Sychkin led
Russell to the door of one of these shops. Workers and
moujiks entered the shop soberly, one by one. Each re-
appeared shortly afterwards clasping a bottle of ordinary
vodka with a red seaL The better vodka had a white seal.
Once in the street the man went off for about fifty yards and
stopped, for by the regulations he was forbidden to consume
100 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

the alcohol within fifty yards of the shop or ninety yards of a

church. There was an infallible technique for opening the
bottle. The customer applied a sharp and powerful blow to
the bottom of the bottle with the palm of his hand and the
cork sprang out. Standing in the middle of the pavement, the
man thrust the neck of the bottle into his mouth, threw back
his head, swallowed the spirits in two or three gulps,
grimaced, drew a scrap of black bread from his pocket, broke
it, chewed it and returned to the shop with a sigh. There he
acquired a few kopecks for the empty bottle. With this
money he bought another but smaller bottle, which was
known as a merzavchik, 'a little rascal', and went off to
empty it fifty paces away, thinking sadly that the operation
could not be repeated a third time. Mostly the vodka-lovers
had not the wherewithal for a bite of food and swallowed
their doses of alcohol without eating a thing. This practice
was dangerous when it was very cold. In winter it was not
uncommon for a drinker to fall, dead drunk, into the snow.
The police gathered up the strays and took them off to the
police station.
Sychkin and Russell wanted to take a cab home, so they
went over to a line of isvoschiks that were freezing in a little
snow-covered square, and there was at once a chorus of
shouts from the bearded drivers, with their tall hats and filthy
greatcoats. After much bargaining Sychkin at last agreed a
price for the journey with one of the drivers and all the rest
fell silent. The happy chosen one took off his hat to invite his
customers to be seated. Russell hauled himself up into the
carriage beside his companion and they curled their legs up
under a great blanket. In front of them the isvostchik sat as
if impaled upon his tiny seat. He clicked his tongue. The
carriage set off. Fed on cabbage-stalks and putrid peelings,
the horse trotted along, breaking wind at every jolt.
The outer parts of Moscow, with their little wooden houses,
little bare gardens and shops with painted metal signs, were
1ike large villages, and the passers-by resembled moujiks.
Men, women and children nibbled sunflower seeds all day
long. They would take a handful from their pockets, put them
into their mouths, shell them with their teeth and tongues,
spit out the skin and eat the little kernel. The pavements were
 THE WORKERS 101
strewn with the small black husks, almost like a carpet of
crushed insects. As the two men drew closer to the centre of
the city, the roads became cleaner, the shop-fronts more pleas-
ing, and the faces of the pedestrians more European. Every
time he passed a church the coachman took off his hat and
crossed himself. Snow gleamed on the roofs. Bells were ring-
ing. Gradually, Russell forgot the factories and the dormi-
tories, and was no longer ashamed to be happy in his wadded
greatcoat and astrakan hat, with his residence permit in his
pocket.

Having introduced Russell to the poverty of the Russian

working masses, Paul Egorovitch Sychkin wanted to show
him also the efforts of the State and of private persons in
matters of assistance. In Russia there was no general plan
fixing the organization and limits of public or private charity.
Such chaos prevailed among the laws in force that the Senate
had lately thought it necessary even to make clear that aid
for the poor was a right and not an obligation for towns and
zem<Jtvos. Despite the confusion of the various official regu-
lations, benevolence was keen from top to bottom of the
social scale. The merchant class, the petit bourgeois, the
parish guardians, zemstvos and municipalities, all had their
own ways of bringing help to the needy. Even the peasants
were not outside the movement. According to official figures,
every moujik of a certain degree of comfort gave three or four
pounds of cereals a year to the poor, to a value of three or four
roubles. Mendicancy was not regarded as shameful in Russia,
and to refuse bread to a beggar was a great sin. But the most
widespread aid was given by private charitable societies.
There were many such societies in the Empire: about 2,500,
of which 360 at least were in the Government of St Peters-
burg and 125 in that of Moscow. The biggest of these organi-
zations was certainly the Administration of the Institutions
of the Empress Marie, created in 1797 and placed under the
protection of Her Majesty the Dowager Empress Marie
Fedorovna. Asylums for the blind, deaf and dumb and aged,
hospitals, foundling hospitals in St Petersburg (33,000 people
assisted every year) and in Moscow, which was even bigger
102 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

(39,000 a year), depended upon this administration. Accord-

ing to Paul Egorovitch Sychkin, the generosity of the Russian
spirit could not be understood without visiting the Moscow
Foundling Hospital. It was, he said, the biggest charitable
establishment in the world. The State paid an annual sub-
vention of more than a million roubles (£100,000), deriving
mainly from the sale of playing-cards, towards the found-
lings. Visiting-days were Thursdays and Sundays.
Russell at first thought that such a home must necessarily
be in the suburbs of Moscow, but he was quite surprised
when Paul Egorovitch Sychkin led him to the centre of the
city, not far from the Kremlin, and showed him an enormous
building, with five floors towering above the Moskva. In its
anonymity, frigidity and cleanliness, this endless plaster-
white fac;ade was the symbol of officially assisted poverty. At
the entrance, in Solianka Street, two allegorical sculptured
groups represented childhood and education. From the en-
trance one passed into a square with flowers and green plants.
The hospital, built under Catherine II, had 2,000 identical
windows.
A young doctor, a friend of Sychkin, undertook to conduct
the visitors into the temple of abandoned childhood. As soon
as he was in the building, Russell was surprised by the size of
the corridors, 140 yards long! Immense rooms opened up on
either side of them, each lit by thirty windows and warmed
by Dutch stoves. Floors, ceilings and walls were painted.
Dirty linen never remained in the room: it was dropped direct
to the basement, where it was disinfected on the spot in high-
pressure steam-baths. Despite the hygienic precautions, a
stale and sour odour prevailed in the dormitories. The doctor
who accompanied Russell and Sychkin explained that it was
fruitless to combat this odour because the rooms were over-
populated and the cubic air-space inadequate.
The cast-iron cots were lined up along the main axis of the
room, each being draped with a white muslin veil. Blue gauze
veils were reserved for ophthalmic cases. For premature
infants there were forty-five warmed cots, made of two metal
bath-tubs fitted one into the other, the space between them
being filled with warm water. The doctor called this appara-
tus an 'incubator-bath' or 'samovar' and thought it prefer-
 THE WORKERS 103
able to the eight Tamier incubators which the establishment
had at its disposal.
The nurses scarcely ever left the infants entrusted to them.
They slept at the foot of the cradles on straw mattresses
which, during the day, were piled in a corner of the room,
covered with a grey sheet to hide them from the eyes of
visitors. Russell was amazed by this opulent troop of milch-
women, the kormilitsy. They were all dressed in blouses
with puffed sleeves, bodices with shoulder-straps, and heavily
embroidered red skirts. Their round white bosoms stretched
the cloth. A diadem, or kakoshnik, crowned each head, and
the colour varied according to the wing to which the nurse
was attached. All were peasant women who had abandoned
their own infants in the villages in order to earn some money
by nursing other people's babies. The majority of the kor-
militsy, however, had insufficient milk. Those who had
plenty took on two or even three nurslings, which secured
them extra food, a litre of beer and fifteen additional kopecks
a day. The doctor told how some of them had begun, very
ingeniously, by leaving their own babies with the hospital;
knowing the numbers by which they had been registered,
they searched for their own infants and suckled them secretly
at the expense of the management, which was .an unprotest-
ing party to this little fraud.
Sick infants were isolated in an infirmary, where a special
section was given over to syphilitic cases, which were very
numerous. These were suckled by some fifty nurses who were
themselves syphilitic. Mortality in this service was higher
than anywhere else.
According to the new rule, dating from December 18, 1890,
the hospital accepted infants of less than one year, illegiti-
mate, deprived of their mothers or with mothers too poor to
care for them, foundlings, legitimate children whose mothers
were dead (or who could not feed them at the breast), etc.
The persons who brought the infants had, as a rule, to pro-
vide certificates of birth and baptism. As to the babies col-
lected from the public highway, they were admitted on a
mere report from the superintendent of police. With
illegitimate children the regulations provided further that
the management could, in certain cases, make do with a
104 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

statement by the almoner or the principal maternity doctor,

declaring under oath that it was preferable to keep the baby's
birth secret so as not to harm the mother's social position.
Such a statement had to be accompanied by the payment of
fifteen roubles.
The office for abandoned children was on the ground floor,
and in it day and night two inspectresses resolutely awaited
the living bundles which women brought in from the street.
It was almost never the mothers themselves who undertook
this painful step, but neighbours or friends. They had to show
the infants' certificates of birth and baptism as well as their
own passports. As soon as a child was admitted, the inspec-
tress established its identity, entered it in the great register
of the house and gave it a number. This number was repro-
duced on an oval bone medallion which was hung round the
neck of the little inmate. The person who had brought the
nursling to the office received a form (pink for girls, blue for
boys) bearing the same number and the date of deposit. It
was by this form that the child's mother or family could, if
the occasion arose, find it again after it had been placed in
the country .1
When these first formalities were completed, the child was
stripped of its rags, washed, measured, .cared for, swaddled,
directed to a 'waiting section' and handed over to one of 30
nurses who, until the next day's medical examination, were
charged with suckling the newcomers. The rules of the house
did not limit the number of admissions, and their daily aver-
age was 60, with 'peaks' of 80 to 100! On certain days, said
the doctor, the infants were brought in by dozens, in baskets,
from the boundaries of the Government of Moscow, or even
from Asia and Caucasia. The majority were half-dead with
hunger and cold. Of more than 20,000 nurslings who entered
the hospital every year, 4 per cent died within a few hours
of admission, 20 per cent were seriously ill, 32 per cent
showed congenital weakness. In good or poor health, they
formed a daily total of 2,000 mouths to feed. The number of
nurses was almost equal to that of the consumers.
The majority of them were girls from the environs of
'According to statistics for the year 1900, there were 108 illegitimate births
in every thousand in the towns of Russia.
 THE WORKERS 105
Moscow. On arrival they were examined by a doctor and, if
the quality of their milk was regarded as satisfactory, they
were entered in a register, plunged into a bath, and were
given the linen and uniform of the establishment. After a
final examination by the chief doctor, each took a nursling
from among the infants brought in the day before to the office
of abandoned children. At that moment the priest baptized
the few newly born who had been taken in without baptismal
certificate and gave them the name of the day's saint. The
nurses received a monthly wage of seven roubles ( $3.61) if
engaged for six months, or five roubles ( $2.58) if engaged for
a shorter time. Those who suckled more than one nursling at
a time received supplements of food, drink and pay (15
kopecks = 8 cents a day).
With the doctor's complicity, Russell and Sychkin were
able to watch these women at their meal. They made their
way to the refectory in compact groups of 350 to 400. With
diadems on their heads, their bosoms thrust out, their red
dresses rustling, a heavy-breasted regiment flowed down the
corridor. There was something rather odd about these living
sources of nourishment going to feed themselves. Each held
her wooden spoon in her hand. At the refectory door each
received an enormous piece of black bread. Having bowed
several times to the Virgin's altar, which stood at the far end
of the hall with candles that stayed alight throughout the
meal, they took their places at the table and the meal began.
The menu normally comprised meat shchi and boiled buck-
wheat. The soup was served in a dish big enough for six per-
sons, into which each dipped her spoon in turn. There was no
rationing. Servants refilled the plate as many times as neces-
sary until the company was satisfied. However, the doctor
made clear to Russell that the nurses had to follow the rules
of the Orthodox Church and to fast for 29 Wednesdays and
Fridays and for the whole duration of the four great Russian
Ients: the great Easter Lent (7 weeks), the great Christmas
Lent (39 days), the great St Peter Lent (21 days), and the
Assumption Lent (14 days). In all, a nurse's year contained
almost as many meat-days as fast-days, the fast-day being
placed under the austere sign of the herring!
The medical staff comprised 30 to 40 doctors and more
106 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

than 200 sick-nurses. But, despite their knowledge and devo-

tion, the mortality rate at the hospital was very high. The
young doctor admitted that an average of 25 infants died
each day, and it was during the months of April, May, June
and July. that the figures were highest. During these months,
in fact, there was a shortage of wet-nurses for the foundlings,
because the village women were kept at home by the work
in the fields.
Once admitted to the home, the healthy children did not
remain there for more than three or four weeks. As soon as
the umbilical wound had healed, the infants were vaccinated
with cow·pox and sent in groups to the provinces. The jour-
ney by train, and then in a wretched carriage over rutted
roads, often covered 250 or 300 miles, and often in winter the
infants, who had left Moscow in good health, arrived sick,
exhausted and frozen at the end of the expedition. There a
village nurse welcomed them and they shared the life of the
moujiks. In the majority of cases, the young doctor said, there
was not even a bed for the infant to sleep in. The nurse put
several into a basket hanging by ropes from the ceiling. No
supervision was possible, for the villages were very far from
the central administration. Half these abandoned children
who swarmed in the izbas died while still very young.
Though Russell was saddened by such misery, he was
pleasantly surprised to learn of the liberal organization of the
maternity annexe to the hospital. In this model establishment,
the pregnant girls had no need to fear interrogation about the
reasons for their distress, nor even that they would be re-
proached for it. They could, without difficulty, abandon their
babies by conforming to the rules. There was even a section
for secret confinements, comprising 13 paying rooms (75, 60
and 50 roubles a month, according to the size of the room).
Any woman wanting to be delivered secretly entered the
maternity section in the last month of her pregnancy. On
arrival she gave her name and address in a sealed envelope to
the doctor in charge. A nurse, always the same, was attached
to her. Only the doctor in charge visited the patient, de-
livered her and gave her all necessary care. Her child, if she
so wished, was admitted officially to the foundling hospital.
In that event, the doctor in charge handed the mother a cer-
 THE WORKERS 107
tificate stating that she had been delivered secretly in the
maternity section. As soon as she had recovered, she left the
establishment without any questions at all. Before her de-
parture, the doctor in charge handed her back the sealed
envelope which contained her identity.
'Our organization has many shortcomings; said the young
doctor, 'but has its origin incontestably in a generous idea.
We strive to spare the woman's honour; we respect her even
in her weaknesses.'
Two wet-nurses passed along the corridor, each holding a
baby to her breast. Russell followed them with a glance that
was touched with emotion and said:
'In this field we are a little less broadminded than you,
doctor.'
 CHAPTER VIII

THE ARMY
The officer cadets (or 'iunkers') at school: traditions, ragging,
studies, examinations, promotion - The Corps of Pages- The
Kammerpages - General organization of the Army - Recruit-
ment- Grades- Service to the Regiment - Relatioes of officers
and men- Officers' pay- Distinctions- Discipline, uniforms -
The barracks- Soldiers' pay, food and equipment- The Cos-
sacks: 'the dzhigitovka' and the lava technique

R ussELL would certainly have learned nothing about

the Russian Army if Alexander Vassilievitch had not
introduced him to his nephew, Cornet Vassili Fedoro-
vitch Kapytov, then on leave in Moscow. This young man
was fresh from the Elizavetgrad Cavalry School and very
proud of his new uniform and his fair waxed moustache.
Having been invited to dinner by his uncle, he lent a willing
ear to the questions which Russell put to him about his mili-
tary training. During the meal, it is true, the conversation
was disjointed, but when they left the table Vassili Fedoro-
vitch had no difficulty in holding everyone's attention. Lean-
ing against the chimney-piece with a glass of kiimmel in his
left hand, a cigar in his right, he smiled as he recalled his
astonishment when faced as a novice with the strict disci-
pline of the school. For pupils from the gymnasia who, like
himself, could produce a qualifying certificate, the course
lasted only two years. At the end of these two years the
junkers who had satisfied their examiners were incorporated
in the regiments with the rank of cornet. But before this pro-
motion what a lot of study they had to do and what ragging
they suffered!
The 'seniors', who called themselves 'honorary cornets',
led the new-comers (who were called 'second-rate animals')
a hard life. An 'honorary cornet' was always right in his deal-
ings with a 'second-rate animal' and spared him neither pun-
ishments nor public humiliations. Both in school and in the
street the latter had to march upright, with his arms stretched
and his little finger down the seam of his trousers. Whenever
 THE ARMY 109
he saw a second-year junker he had to salute him respect-
fully, turning his head towards him as if he were a hierarchi-
cal superior. The cadets' assembly-room, known pompously
as a smoking-room, was divided in two by a deep line drawn
with a white-hot poker in the asphalt floor. The 'second-rate
animals' were kept beyond this frontier and could only cross
it on the invitation of an 'honorary cornet'. At seven in the
morning the trumpeters sounded the reveille at the four cor-
ners of the barracks and the 'second-rate animals' sprang
out of bed and fled to the washrooms in order to leave them
free for the arrival of the 'seniors'. But they had to be quick
before they were deafened by cries of 'Get out! Vermin! Lazy
dogs! The last three will get extra guard duty!'
After roll-call came common prayers and breakfast, which
consisted of tea, black bread and butter. Then studies began.
The instructors were all officers. The school was under the
direction of a colonel with two majors under his orders. Each
squadron numbered 140 junkers. The very full curriculum
comprised equitation, jumping, fencing, gymnastics and foot-
drill as outdoor exercises. In the classroom they learned mili-
tary history, the art of fortification, ballistics, topography,
administration, hippology, mechanics and chemistry. These
last two sciences were regarded by the pupils as unworthy of
a junker. It was traditional that 'second-rate animals' must
handle books on mechanics and chemistry only with gloved
hands, as a sign of contempt. The 'second-rate animal' who
got a zero for chemistry had the right to live for forty-eight
hours on terms of equality with the 'seniors'. He could. lie on
a table, light a cigarette under the noses of the 'honorary
cornets' and walk before them with one hand in his pocket
and his collar undone.
Cavalry training took place in the school's riding-ring. The
'second-rate animals' began by mounting without spurs or
stirrups. When, after heaping his whole repertoire of abuse
upon them, the instructor reckoned they could keep more or
less in the saddle, spurs and stirrups were given them as a
reward. Then they learned to sabre cones of clay raised on
wooden frames. The supreme art consisted in cleaving the
obstacles with the point of the blade in such a way that the
cut part remained in its place despite the speed of the horse.
110 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Often the clay cones were alternated with faggots, in which

event the cadets asked the assistant instructors to soak the
branches beforehand in salt water so that, dried and
hardened, they might be easier to slice.
They lunched at midday in the large dining-hall and at
half-past one, with their stomachs laden with meat, sauer-
kraut and plain water, the junkers returned to their class-
rooms until six in the evening. After supper, the cadets pre-
pared their lessons and their duties in the study, which was
decorated with commemorative plaques and military pic-
tures blackened with age. The dormitories where they slept
were meticulously clean. Mattresses and pillows were filled
with horsehair, and blankets were made of grey wool. When
he undressed, the junker had to fold his clothes in regulation
fashion and place his socks on top of them 'in love', that is to
say, iri the form of a cross. The junker who was responsible
for the squadron's night duties did his rounds, reprimanded
any 'second-rate animal' who was slow in getting to bed,
pushed over any badly arranged pack, handed out a few
guard duties and retired. Lights out was sounded at ten.
Each morning orderlies brushed the young gentlemen's uni-
forms and polished their boots. Regulations provided one
orderly for ten cadets. The junkers gave them three roubles a
month as a reward.
It was only when he had passed his preliminary examina-
tion that the 'second-rate animal' received permission from
his major to go out. Trembling with pleasure, he dressed in
an irreproachable fashion, drew on white gloves, made cer-
tain that his boots shone, that his cap was tilted over his
brow, that the folds of his coat were correct, and finally pre-
sented himself to the guard-post. There the junker on duty,
a 'senior', examined him from head to foot and asked him a
ridiculous question at pointblank: 'What is the birthday of
the colonel in command of the school?' or 'Since when have
forts been used in Russia?' Astonished, the newcomer did
not know what to reply and was pitilessly sent back to his
dormitory. It was a rule, in fact, that a 'second-rate animal's'
first outing should be stopped on any unexpected pretext. On
his second outing, on the other hand, he no longer found the
same obstacles. But in the town his martyrdom began. His
 THE ARMY 111
eyes searched the horizon in fear of seeing an officer's
uniform. Now the officers' uniforms were many and he must
not fail to salute with all the requisite stiffness. For a general
one had even to freeze to attention three paces in advance of
him and not to begin walking again until he was three paces
past. In the theatre junkers were not allowed in the first three
rows of the stalls. In all public places, before sitting down,
they had to ask permission of the officers present. If an officer
of high rank suddenly appeared before them, the junkers
rose, saluted him and repeated the request. To evade any
misunderstanding, therefore, the junkers avoided being
seated during the intervals. Moreover, they were strictly for-
bidden to enter music-halls and cafes with music. Kept away
from all the bright life, the junkers nevertheless discussed it
amongst themselves with assurance. On the whole their con-
versation was anything but intellectual. Three subjects ex-
cited both the 'second-rate animals' and 'honorary cornets':
wine, horses and women.
Though they drank only tea and water at school, the
junkers boasted amongst themselves of their knowledge of
champagne, bordeaux, burgundy and liqueurs. To hear them
one would think that at home they cleaned their teeth in
Veuve Clicquot! Of course, all of them claimed to be able to
drain a bottle of cognac without a tremor. To be a good
cornet, one had in fact to have a stomach that was proof
against the most diabolical of alcoholic drinks. As to horses,
they were an inexhaustible source of discussion among the
future centaurs of the Imperial Army. They weighed the
merits of one breed against the other. They expressed
opinions on the studs and on the trainers. They demonstrated
horsemanship seated astride a chair. But it was the subject of
women that aroused the liveliest feelings.
With an indulgent smile, Vassili Fedorovitch admitted that
many lies were told within the precincts of the school on this
subject. Every one of them sought to persuade the rest that
he had had adventures. But not sentimental adventures ('sen-
timent' was despised by the junkers). 'Passing adventures' or
'physical adventures'! No names were given, certainly, but
certain details brought a flush to the cheeks of the narrator
himself. The dream of all these young men was eventually to
112 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

have a comedienne, a dancer or a demi-mondaine for a mis-

tress. Some of them were well known. The junkers who lived
in Moscow and St Petersburg said that they cost fortunes.
Moreover, the majority ended their careers with brilliant
marriages. However, all the 'honorary cornets' were agreed
that they would not marry a woman from the theatre, for she
could be harmful to their careers. Officers of the Imperial
Guard who married actresses were obliged to leave their
regiment and to fall back upon some ordinary regiment. One
would be mad to sacrifice one's future for creatures like that!
With them one led a gay life, but it was the discreet and
refined girls one chose when one wanted to start a home! As
he spoke these words, Vassili Fedorovitch looked at his
cousin Helen. She turned her head away. Russell felt sud-
denly irritated by this good-looking fellow's chatter, though
he had asked for these confidences himself.
'I suppose,' said Alexander Vassilievitch, 'that your second
year was not so hard as the first?'
'Of course not!' Vassili Fedorovitch replied as he shook the
ash of his cigar into the fireplace: 'From a "second-rate
animal" I became an "honorary cornet". It was now my job to
train the new-comers! However, you can be sure that I was
not too cruel. I only did what was necessary .... But how
long and irritating that second year seemed! ... And then at
last the exams! ... My average made me eighth in the first
category of officer candidates. Quite a good result. Since one's
choice of regiment depends upon the marks secured, I could
expect not to be disappointed. As soon as the general rating
was announced, a secret campaign was launched amongst my
comrades. It was a case of everyone discouraging everyone
else about the regiment he himself wanted to join. The
strangest rumours circulated in the dormitories. Such and such
a unit was not favoured by His Imperial Majesty. Service in
some other unit cost an enormous amount. A third was well
known for its colonel's strictness. But my own choice had
long been made: J wanted to serve with the Alexandria
Hussars.'
'Because of the uniform?' asked Paul Egorovitch Sychkin
with a malicious gleam in his eye.
'Because of the unit's glorious past,' Vassili Fedorovitch
5 Right:
Muscovite
workers

Left: Workers'
dwellings in
Moscow; the
proprietor's
name (Volkov)
can be seen
on the lantern

Right: Artillerymen of
the Guard
 6

Left: Workers'
dormitory at a
transport
undertaking in
St Petersburg

Right: Interior
of a
St Petersburg
traktir

Left: Interior
of a shelter in
the Khitrovka,
Moscow
 THE ARMY 113
answered. 'Four days before we left on manmuvres, the
colonel in command of the school received the list of vacan-
cies in the cavalry regiments. The cadets were summoned one
by one in order of their general rating to state their prefer-
ences. Being well placed I was able to get the regiment I
wanted. Others, whose marks were lower than mine, had to
make do with regiments that did not please them .... Laugh-
ter, shouts of joy, embraces, groans ... the whole school was
in a state of excitement. Immediately after the ceremony,
tailors, bootmakers and saddlemakers invaded the common-
room to solicit our orders. In all the dormitories measure-
ments were taken, samples examined, prices discussed. Be-
fore leaving on manmuvres every junker had, according to
tradition, to possess a cap of the regiment which he would
afterwards join. Of course it was forbidden to wear the cap
before the date of official appointment, but in the absence
of superiors all the cadets strutted about the corridors with
their new headgear set jauntily on their heads. There's no point
in telling you that I found the September manmuvres, three
versts from Elizavetgrad, wearisome. At last the "second-rate
animals" left camp to go on leave to their respective families,
and the officers-to-be remained alone in their barracks. No
more exercises, no more courses, no more questions. Just
waiting- waiting interminably for the telegram that meant
freedom! One day, as I was walking beside the river, shouts
rang out and I rushed towards the cantonment. Amongst a
group of cadets stood a telegraph messenger, bare-headed,
dripping with sweat. He was waving a dispatch at arm's
length. Coins were raining into his cap, which was placed on
the ground. At last he escaped the embraces of the junkers
and ran to carry his message to the school's director. The
bugle sounded assembly. The squadrons fell in. Then our
colonel appeared, smiling and paternal, with the telegram in
his hand. After the appointments were read, we rushed off to
our barracks. Our new uniforms awaited us, stretched out on
the beds. Until evening there was a gathering of varied uni-
forms in the camp: representatives of every cavalry regiment
in the Empire walked up and down, side by side, smoking
cigars and talking about their futures. The colonel assembled
us for the last time in order to give us our leave passes for
114 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

twenty-one days .... And there you are .... To you it means
nothing, but for me it was like a fairy-tale ... .'
A murmur of understanding greeted his words. Vassili
Fedorovitch emptied his glass of kiimmel.
'And is the life the same in all the Russian military schools?'
Russell asked.
'Very nearly,' said Vassili Fedorovitch. 'Except in His
Imperial Majesty's Corps of Pages, where the discipline is
even more severe.'
The word 'page', as applied to military men, surprised
Russell. But Alexander Vassilievitch explained that this term
in Russia designated the officer-cadets of aristocratic birth.
For a boy to be admitted to this institution, not only did his
father and grandfather have to have been of incontestable
nobility, but one or the other must have served in the Russian
army with the rank of general. Children were mostly entered
for the Corps of Pages at birth. They joined at twelve or
thirteen years of age, and left it to join a Guards regiment
only after five years in the middle classes and two years in
the higher classes. In fact, any young man wishing to enter
a Guards regiment was subjected beforehand to a very strict
and secret scrutiny by the officers of that regiment. Priority
was obviously accorded to the candidates whose forebears
had served in the same unit. Thanks to this quasi-hereditary
recruitment, the officers felt themselves bound to their regi-
ment by genuine family traditions. For instance, one had only
to glance at a list of Horse Guards Officers to see a considerable
number of names of Baltic consonance. The Knights Guards,
on the other hand, had on the whole specifically Russian
names. Well before passing their final examinations, the pages
knew the regiment to which they were destined by their
origins. And they looked to this future with jealous pride.
The sumptuousness of the pages' full-dress uniforms was
legendary: black or red cloth, with gold frogs, white gloves
and a white-plumed helmet. In the preparatory courses the
uniform was scarcely less showy, but the plumed helmet was
replaced by a pointed one. The general and military teaching
was intense in an establishment that was destined to create
the Empire's warrior elite. Conscious of their privileged
position, the cadets formed a caste, all the members of which
 THE ARMY 115
were united by an oath of friendship unto death. Love for the
Tsar and the Fatherland, respect for the regulations, and a
thirst to prove their heroism burned in all of them. The
Maltese Cross was their emblem, and their ideal was simple:
to enforce respect by their valour, to treat women as objects
of pleasure, and to accede rapidly to the highest ranks and to
the most dazzling positions.
Meanwhile, within this nursery of future high officers were
the Kammerpages, like an aristocracy within an aristocracy:
the Pages of the Chamber. From among all the cadets the
Imperial Family chose a dozen for Palace service. This selec-
tion was made less by the marks the young men secured than
by their names and appearance. A tall stature, a fine face and
a glorious genealogy were the best recommendations for this
duty. Each Kammerpage was personally attached to the suite
of a certain member of the Imperial Family. During dinners
and banquets he stood motionless behind the seat of the
Grand Duchess to whom he had the honour of being officially
attached. In processions and ceremonials he bore her train.
But no service was ever asked of him that was not pre-
scribed by etiquette. After a few hours in the wake of the
Tsar, he came back to earth, still dazed by his luck, returned
to school and modestly resumed his studies. His comrades
looked at him with envy, as if he were a messenger from some
miraculous universe.
'Yes, yes,' said Russell, 'but these are exceptional cases. What
is the composition of the Russian Army outside the Guards?'
The question seemed natural to Vassili Fedorovitch and he
answered with all the assurance of his two years at the
cavalry school. Overwhelmed by an avalanche of figures,
Russell learned that since the reforms of 1874 military service
was compulsory for everyone in Russia from twenty-one to
forty-three years of age, without any possibility of buying
out' or substitution. The men passed as 'fit' were registered
either in the ranks of the regular army, or in the territorial
reserve (opolchenie). Active army service was for eighteen
years, five of which were with the colours and thirteen with
the reserve or militia. 1 In view of the enormous size of the
' In the infantry or the foot artillery the men spent only four years with the
colours.
116 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

population, only the young men selected by lot were incor-

porated into the regular army. 1 The rest were called up only in
the event of war by the Emperor's edict. Further, there were
among them a great number of persons exempted for reasons
of health, studies or family. 2 Taking these special cases into
account, each year 270,000 to 290,000 conscripts were re-
cruited, which in peacetime assured a total permanent effec-
tive of a million men. This figure could easily be increased to
2,500,000 and only considerations of economy kept conscrip-
tion within the limits named.
The officers of the reserve were recruited from volunteers
who, according to their level of general education, spent a
longer or shorter period with the colours and could be quickly
promoted to the rank of non-commissioned officer, or to
officer after examination. There were 52 infantry divisions,
three of which were Guards, four of Grenadiers and 45 of the
line; 19 cavalry divisions, four of which were of the Guards;
52 brigades of foot artillery, including three of Guards. Almost
all the ranks corresponded to those of other armies, though
they bore names that were difficult to remember, and were
reminiscent of German influence: unterofitser, feldfebel, feier-
verker, kornet, praporshchik, podporuchik, poruchik, shtabs-
kapitan, kapitan, rotmistr, podpolkovnik, polkovnik ... And
Vassili Fedorovitch, who was still only a kornet, would cer-
tainly end as a polkovnik (colonel). 3
'Before the law of January 1, 1874, military service was for twenty-five
years for those who, selected by lot, had no means with which to buy them-
selves out or have themselves replaced. Once called to the colours, the man
became more or less a military man for life. When returned to civilian life
after twenty-five years with the army, he remained a person apart, isolated,
unadapted, no longer having the taste for the sort of life led by those around
him.
'Thus, only sons supporting the family formed the second reserve of the
opoltchenie, and could only be mobilized, in case of war, by an imperial
manifesto.
'In the infantry, the hierarchy of non-commissioned officers comprised the
four following grades: mladshii unterofitser (corporal), vzvodnyi unterofitser
(sergeant), feldfebel (sergeant-major or adjutant), portupei yunker (acting
officer). In the cavalry the corporal was known simply as unterofitser, the
sergeant as vzvodnyi unterofitser, and the squadron sergeant-major or adju-
tant as vakhmistr. Among the Cossacks the corresponding grades were
mladshii uryadnik and starshii uryadnik. In the artillery the corporal was
known as mladshii feierverker, the sergeant as vzvodnyi feierverker, and the
sergeant-major or adjutant as feldfebel.
 THE ARMY 117
'Will you tell us about your first contact with your men?'
Tatiana Sergeyevna asked him.
'Certainly. Are you really interested?' asked Vassili
Fedorovitch. Tm afraid that the moment which was so
moving for me would not be very interesting to others ....
Anyway. here it is. When I arrived at Kalisz, where the Alex-
andriitsy were quartered, I was disappointed to learn that
the regiment was still on army manreuvres and would not
return for three days. Another cornet from the Nikolas
cavalry school was in the same position as myself. We spent
our leisure in looking for a room in the town and visiting the
restaurants and pleasure spots- which were, alas! wretched
-in that provincial Polish hole. At last the news spread in
the streets that the regiment was on its way back. Solemn
mass was to take place in the main square. My companion
and I hurriedly put on our parade uniforms and posted our-
selves at the spot arranged for the assembly. A crowd of
sightseers had preceded us. I was filled with a sort of religious
anguish. Suddenly there was a sound which swelled and
drew nearer. A mob of urchins came along at a run to herald
the arrival of the hussars. The colonel's aide-de-camp led the
procession. Behind him came the trumpeters, blowing with
full cheeks and caracoling on their grey horses. Then a non-
commissioned officer, his chest covered with medals; he held
the regimental standard rolled up in its black oilcloth cover.
He was flanked by two officers. The colonel came next, quite
alone, on a superb chestnut. Then came the squadron in a
cloud of dust. The men were sunburnt, weary, happy ....
They drew up in line in the square. The regimental chaplain
donned his priestly vestments and erected the field altar,
The officer hierarchy comprised the following: (1) praporshchik, ensign; (2)
podporuchik, second-lieutenant in all arms except the cavalry, where the
corresponding title was comet; khorunzhii among the Cossacks; (3) poruchik,
lieutenant in all regular arms, sotnik among the Cossacks; (4) shtabskapitan,
second in command in the infantry, artillery, engineers and dragoons (shtabs-
rotmistr in the rest of the cavalry); (5) kapitan, captain in the infantry,
artillery, engineers and dragoons (rotmistr in the rest of the cavalry, and
esaul in the Cossacks); (6) podpolkovnik, lieutenant-colonel (the rank of
commandant l;J.ad been suppressed in 1884), voskovoi starshina among the
Cossacks; (7) polkovnik, colonel, who was not necessarily regimental chief.
The hierarchy of general officers comprised four grades: (1) major-general,
or brigadier-general; (2) lieutenant-general, or general of division; (3) general
of infantry, cavalry, artillery or engineers; (4) field-marshal.
118 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

beside which the standard-bearer ranged himself at once.

Orders rang out: "Dismount! ... Caps off!" A few men
assembled to form a choir and the prayers began. The priest
spoke in a hurried indistinct voice, but the singing of the
choir was wonderful.'
Russell observed that he found this practice of open-air
mass very strange.
'The Russian Army is permeated by the religious spirit,'
Vassili Fedorovitch replied. 'Morning and evening prayers
are compulsory. Furthermore, in all important circumstances
the priest intervenes to raise thesoldier's spirit by celebrating
divine service.'
'And every regiment has its own choir?'
'Yes. Some of them are famous. The art of singing is very
widespread in Russia. In the infantry the men sing as they
march. The choir leader is usually a tenor. He strikes up the
first couplet and all the voices join in the refrain. Sometimes a
dancer leaves the ranks and, with his knapsack on his back,
jigs up and down, crouches down and flings out his legs to
left and right with devilish agility. He is spurred on with
shouts and whistles. The officers smile. Everyone forgets his
cares and his weariness. Some of the soldiers' songs are spicy,
others are plaintive ballads, and others still are marching-
songs, and the repertoire is infinite. Every regiment is proud
of its singers .... But I'm straying from my story! Where was
I? Ah, yes! After the regiment returned to Kalisz, I was pre-
sented to the aide-de-camp. He welcomed me in a very
friendly fashion and gave me a list of all those to whom I
ought to pay a personal visit: the colonel in command of the
regiment, the other officers, the chaplain, the military doc-
tors .... When I had completed these formalities, our colonel
assigned me to Squadron 2 because of my height and the
colour of my hair. Among the hussars, they prefer to choose
dark men for Squadron 1 and fair men for Squadron 2 ....
Each squadron has the same distinguishing hair colour... .'
'What?' cried Russell. 'A cornet's physical appearance is of
importance in his appointment?'
'Why not?' Vassili Fedorovitch answered. 'For officers this
colour-matching is very approximate. But for the men it is the
rule, especially in the Guards regiments. You ought to have
 THE ARMY 119
seen the Grand Duke Vladimir sorting out the young recruits
in the Mikhail riding-school. What an eye! What a sense of
harmony! How quick! The bearded fellows and the tall ones
are sent to the Preobrazhensky Regiment, the tall and fair
ones go straight to the Semionovsky Regiment, those with pug
noses are traditionally reserved for the Pavlovsky Regiment,
in remembrance of the Emperor Paul who also had a
flattened profile, those who are slender and thin have their
appropriate place in the Knights Guards and the Horse
Guards, and the small dark men join other small dark men in
the Hussars. Believe me, it all looks very fine! But to return to
myself, thanks to the friendliness which quickly grew up
between my fellow-officers and myself, I have not felt in the
least out of place in this new life. I have sixteen scouts under
my orders. Instruction, foot-drill, physical exercises, gallop-
ing on varied terrain, target practice .... In the evening the
officers get together in one or another's quarters to gossip or
play cards. The colonel receives us often. He has a charming
wife! As I have some talent as a pianist, there is no evening
to which I am not invited ... .'
Russell interrupted him to ask for other less personal de-
tails. He wanted to know how an officer's rank was identified.
Vassili Fedorovitch launched into a very complex explana-
tion, from which it became clear that the distinctions were
shown only in the epaulettes. These epaulettes, which for
officers were gilded, included stripes and stars that indicated
the rank. In addition, they had different-coloured borders
(red, blue, white, yellow) according to the regiment's number
in the division. The same colours were on the soldiers' shoulder
straps. The men never addressed a superior by his rank, but
as 'Your Nobility' if he was a subaltern, 'Your High Nobility'
if he was a colonel or lieutenant-colonel, 'Your Excellency'
if he was a brigadier-general or divisional general, and 'Your
High Excellency' if he was the general of an army corps.
When he appeared before his troops the commander always
addressed them in a familiar way by 'Zdorovo rebiaty!'
('Rullo, children!'). And everyone, at attention, responded in
chorus 'Zdravie zhelaem, vashe prevoskhoditelstvo!' ('Good
health, Your Excellency!'), or better, 'Rady startsya, vashe
prevoskhodetelstvo!' ('Happy to serve, Your Excellency!'
120 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

This exchange of friendly greetings was evidence, according

to Vassili Fedorovitch, of the partriachal spirit which inspired
the relations of officers and men. The men had no less respect
for their superiors, but, thanks to a few benevolent words, the
discipline was tinged with humanity and the regiment be-
came a family.
Though they were held in high esteem by the people, Rus-
sian officers received relatively modest pay: 312 roubles a
year for a second-lieutenant, 339 roubles a year for a lieuten-
ant, 441 roubles for a captain, 1,017 roubles for a general of
division. There were substantial allowances for food and
lodging. The number of rooms assigned to each officer varied
according to his grade and his family situation. In the
mounted Guards a married lieutenant had five or six rooms,
a cellar, an attic, a stable and a coach-house at his disposal.
When quarters were not actually provided an officer received
an allowance varying according to rank and station. At St
Petersburg, Moscow, Kiev and Odessa this allowance was
200 roubles a year for second-lieutenants and rose to 800
roubles for regimental commanders. Table-money was 200
roubles for subalterns and 1,200 roubles for regimental com-
manders. Numerous secondary allowances were added to
these basic allowances, so that in the end a second-lieutenant
in a large city received 800 roubles a year. For Guards officers
service was so expensive that their pay was insufficient to
defray all their outgoings. The majority had considerable
personal fortunes.
There was a great variety of medals and decorations in
Russia. The most valued orders were those of St Andrei, 1 St
Alexander Nevsky, St Vladimir and the Eagle. After these
came the orders of St Anne and St Stanislas. As for the
glorious order of St George, his cross was only awarded for
deeds of war. According to class these decorations were worn
on the breast, at the neck, or at the sword-knot.
Punishments normally inflicted on officers varied from
open arrest to strict arrest. For serious lack of discipline or
honour a tribunal of officers pronounced judgement on the
'The Order of St Andrei was restricted to members of the Imperial
Family, to foreign sovereigns and crown princes and to a few heads of
state.
 THE ARMY 121
guilty officer's case. There was a tribunal of this kind in every
regiment.
The officers' uniform, except in a few Guards corps, was
very simple: a dark green tunic, trousers of the same shade,
boots and a cap with a wide crown and a varnished peak. The
sabre hung at the side on a thin leather cross-belt. The full-
dress uniform was more flattering: a shorter tunic with
epaulettes. These epaulettes were fringed for senior officers,
but not for subalterns. In winter the officers wore a grey
cloth greatcoat over their tunics. In summer the dark green
tunic was replaced for officers and men by one of white
linen.
Of course, in the great Guards regiments the uniforms were
more numerous, more varied and richer than those of the
ordinary regiments. In the mounted Guards, for instance,
every officer had five or six different outfits: the white dress,
which consisted of a white tunic ornamented with gold; the
red dress, a sort of red jerkin, decorated front and back with
an enormous two-headed eagle; the field dress, a pleated
tunic on which the service belt was worn; the parade dress,
with gilded breastplate and a helmet surmounted by the
imperial eagle with outspread wings; finally, the town dress,
like that of other officers. Arms were just as varied: a mount~d
Guard carried a cuirassier's straight sword on parade, a
dragoon's sabre on manreuvre and an epee for town wear.
Furthermore, he had to equip himself at his own expense. 1
In other mounted troops, an officer up to and including
lieutenant-colonel had the right since 1882 to a horse free of
charge, but had to buy another at his own expense. The wear-
ing of civilian clothes was strictly forbidden to officers, except
when travelling abroad. In this respect there was nothing
comparable to the tolerance allowed in England. Moreover,
the Tsar set the example and never appeared except in
general's uniform.
According to Vassili Fedorovitch, esprit de corps, very
widespread throughout the Army, took on the character of
real devotion in the elite regiments. A Russian officer could
1 The Guards officers had superb horses costing as much as 2,000 roubles

(over $530). Ordinary horses, reserved for the troops, were worth 150 to
300 roubles.
122 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

be a bad son, brother, father or husband, but never a bad

comrade. In the gymnasium and afterwards in the military
school, his instructors had already extolled the idea of sacri-
fice for friendship's sake. Later he learned to place the honour
of the regiment above all other personal considerations.
Among the Hussars of the Guard a mutual guarantee was the
rule among officers. Many parents, who had accepted great
sacrifices to see their sons in this becoming uniform, were
afterwards obliged to sell horses, land and jewels in order to
help pay the debts of a son's friend. Vassili Fedorovitch cited
the case of Prince Paul Lobanov, who ran into debt to the
extent of 800,000 roubles ( $412,000). As he could not repay
this fantastic sum in reasonable time, his comrades had got
the necessary money together between them. As a result,
numerous officers were completely ruined, had to leave the
service and retire into the country.
In the cavalry the centre of military life was the riding-
school. The mounted Guards had two: the big school was for
exercises on horse and on foot, for reviews, inspections, horse-
shows, and official celebrations which were honoured by the
Emperor's presence. 1 The small school, on the other hand,
was restricted to officers and was of a more intimate charac-
ter. The second-lieutenants and lieutenants rode there every
day; it was there, too, that the training of horses for the horse-
show took place. In the evenings, during Lent, the officers
organized tournaments and gymkhanas in the small school,
at which their families and guests were present. When the
competition was ended, they had supper there to the music
of a brass band of the Horse Guards or its extraordinary
balalaika players. Every Thursday the officers of the Horse
Guards were obliged to go to the mess for the grand weekly
dinner. Only officers who were sick or who had the colonel's
permission to be absent were exempt. Each officer had the
right to invite a few friends, civilian or military, with the per-
mission of the colonel or major, but women were not
admitted to these military gatherings. The regimental com-
mander presided at table and the officers took their places
around it in order of seniority. The band wafted waves of
music over all the tight uniforms. With dessert came the
'The Horse Guards' celebration was on March 25th, Annunciation Day.
 THE ARMY 123
balalaika players and singers. To be invited to these meals
was an honour, especially for civilians.
After dinner the officers played skittles in a specially fur-
nished room, or gathered round the billiards-table, or made
up a card-party in the green-room. Sometimes, at the request
of those present, a cold supper was served at about midnight:
it began traditionally with onion soup; However, whatever
hour the officers left the mess, they had under severe penalty
to be present in their squadrons at morning exercise.
The barracks, in the big Russian cities, were huge and
well maintained. In the barrackcroom, where the smell of
boots, sweat and rifle-oil prevailed, there were rows of iron
bedsteads, each provided with a palliasse. The packs were
lined up on the floorboards. There was a rack for the rifles
with their bayonets fixed. 1 The other furniture was a table,
stools and parallel bars. From the walls hung pictures of the
Imperial Family and instruction tables concerning the in-
signia of rank, firing positions and sentry duties. In a corner
was the company's ikon with its red-glass lamp. The cor-
porals and sergeants were quartered with their men. The
sergeant-major had a separate room. The lavatories, refectory,
disciplinary quarters, sick-bays, canteen, and workshops were
comparable with those of other European armies. Every regi-
ment had its own chapel.
A soldier's food was very copious and similar to normal
peasant food: black bread, boiled buckwheat, meat soup,
cabbage and beetroot. Potatoes were a luxury. On fast-days,
meat soup was replaced by fish soup. Kvass was the drink,
and on feast days a glass of vodka. Tea was not served to the
troops, but each soldier had his personal tea-caddy and
helped himself to boiling water from the kitchens. A soldier's
pay was collected every four months only, amounting to
2 roubles 70 ( $1.39) in line regiments, and to 4 roubles 95
( $2.55) in the Guards.
In winter the troops wore the grey greatcoat and the
ba<Jhlyk, a sort of hood protecting the neck and ears. In
summer the greatcoat was rolled up and slung round the
body from shoulder to hip; the bashlyk disappeared and a flat
1 The bayonet was always fixed to the rifle, even for shooting and drill. A

soldier sheathed it only on marches.

124 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

cap (furazhka) took its place, with an engraved metal plate

giving the regimental number. In the pack were two pairs of
pants, two shirts, a linen smock, a pair of white summer
trousers, and strips of material which were wrapped around
the feet instead of socks. Handkerchiefs were unknown by
Russian soldiers; they used their fingers dexterously. A Rus-
sian soldier's main qualities were endurance, obedience and
good humour. During the four or five years he spent with
the colours, he learnt not only to handle weapons, but also,
very often, to read and write.
With the Cossacks things were quite different. One was a
Cossack by heredity, regulated in certain areas by law. In
exchange for lands which they cultivated, the Cossacks were
all subject to personal military service and had to provide
their own horses and equipment. There were eleven voisko
or Cossack armies, established for the most part in the fron-
tier regions: the Cossacks of the Don, Kuban, Terek, Astra-
khan, Ural, Orenburg, Siberia, Semiretchie, Transbaikal,
Amur, and UssurU Each voisko had its chief, or ataman.
But in peacetime only a third of the mobilizable effectives
were with the colours. In fact every Cossack, after four years'
active service in a first-time regiment, was enrolled for four
years in a second-time regiment, then for four years in a
third-time regiment. When they returned home after the first
four years they were obliged to remain equipped and
mounted to answer any mobilization measure at once. During
the third four years, on the other hand, they were excused
from maintaining a mount. In wartime, the Cossack troops
could put 190,000 men into the line.
Their uniform consisted of a tight-waisted tunic (green for
the Cossacks of the line, red for the Emperor's regiment, blue
for the Hereditary Grand Duke's regiment), baggy trousers
thrust into boots and a papakha, a fur cap with a cloth top,
the colour of which varied according to the formation. 2 The
Kuban and Terek Cossacks wore the black Circassian tunic
(chekmen), without a collar, with sleeves that widened at the
1 To this list one must add the Caucasian squadron of the Guard, the

Tsar's private escort, and various regiments of irregular cavalry of Daghestan,

Kuta!s, Kuban, Georgia, etc.
2 In summer, the Cossacks wore a flat cap (furazhka).
 THE ARMY 125
ends, with a narrow leather belt around the waist and cart-
ridges to right and left of the chest; under the tunic was a
waistcoat of black, blue or red silk, the beshmet; they wore
also a coat of goat's or sheep's wool, the burka, which was
light and waterproof. A Cossack's arms consisted of a very
long lance (pika), a guardless sword (shashka) and a Berdan
carbine. The Terek and Kuban Cossacks had, in addition, a
dagger (kinzhal) and a pistol.
The Cossacks' horses were small, dark, strong in the leg
and inured to fatigue. Their saddles were like Arab saddles,
but with a cantle that was not turned up so far. The horses
were guided by a simple string in the mouth. The stirrups
were very short. In horsemanship the Cossacks feared no one.
They rode upright; when trotting the seat was raised and the
upper part of the body was forward; spurs were suppressed
on August 23, 1885 and the nagaika 1 became compulsory.
From their earliest years, the Cossack boys spent the better
part of their time astride their restive beasts. The distinctive
sign of these apprentice 'centaurs' was the tuft of hair, the
chub, which curled up on one side of their foreheads. Later
they learned the dzhigitovka, a group of equestrian acro-
batics held in high esteem among the Cossacks of all pro-
vinces. A good dzighit must know how to fire in the most
difficult positions, to jump down and remount without slack-
ening speed, to pass from one mount to another at the gallop,
to stand upright in the saddle with the stirrups crossed on
the seat to form a point of support for the feet, to bend down
and pick up an object from the earth at top speed, and to
pivot under the horse's belly.
The great degree of freedom allowed the Cossacks, the
autonomy of their local administration, the material abun-
dance in which they lived, all aroused in them a feeling of
dignity and courage. The Cossacks of the same formation
always came from the same stanitsa, 2 and the cohesion of the
body of the troops rested on the ancient customs of the popu-
lation. However, the fact that each Cossack served with his
own horse, trained according to an original method, made
impossible the close-formation manreuvres usual to the
'Leather whip.
• Cossack village or small town.
126 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

regular cavalry whose animals were paired by height,

strength and training. The regular cavalry were strong in
mass onslaughts but weak in individual assaults. The Cossack
cavalry, on the other hand, were strong in individual attack,
and in pitched battles were hampered by the different speeds
of their horses. It had therefore been necessary to devise a
way of tackling the enemy in keeping with their capacities
and defects. This very special form of charge was called the
lava. 1 In the lava the Cossacks dispersed and prepared their
attack by harassing actions so as to be able, when circum-
stances seemed favourable, to swoop upon the disorganized
enemy and force him into a series of isolated fights with side-
arms. In such cases, their address, their mobility, and their
bravery were marvellous. They went in with lance and sabre,
shouting their war-cry: 'Gik! Gikl- an avalanche of
demons, before whom the bravest sought safety in Hight.
Enthused by Vassili Fedorovitch's account, Russell com-
mented. 'The Russians are, I see, a very warlike people!'
'Yes,' said Alexander Vassilievitch, 'but only when at-
tacked. The combative virtues of the race are only aroused
if the enemy invades the soil of their fatherland. Otherwise,
our men are rather calm and good-natured. Just think! In
Russian the same word, mir, is used for "world" and for
"peace"!'
1 Lava, torrent.
 CHAPTER IX

THE DIFFERENT SOCIAL CLASSES AND

THE ADMINISTRATIVE MACHINE
The chin or table of ranks- The Russian nobility, titled and
untitled- The townspeople: citizens, notables, merchants,
artisans, and petits bourgeois - The peasants: the freeing of
the serfs and the modalities of repurchasing land from the
nobleman - Administration of the State: the Governor, the
zemstvos of a Government or district and the zcmsky nachal-
nik; administration of the communes: the mir and the volost -
Supreme authority of the Tsar; the Council of Empire, the
Committee of Ministers, the Most Holy Synod and the Senate
- The regular police and the political police. Organization of
the Okhrana, its agents and methods- The Press- The censor-
ship of periodicals and books

I NFORMED as he now was about the military hierarchy of

Russia, Russell was keen to know about the civil hierarchy.
In a travel book he had read that all Russian officials were
classed by categories according to the importance of the ser-
vices they rendered the State, and that there were mysterious
connections between the army ranks and those of the bureau-
cracy. Alexander Vassilievitch confirmed this. It was Peter
the Great who, in order to discipline his people the better,
had created the chin, the table of ranks. This curious insti-
tution opened the ranks of nobility to persons not of noble
birth. Any servant of the State, whatever his birth, could rise
step by step until he had acquired a high honorary title. The
scale of human values thus established had fourteen chin,
ranging for civilians from that of college registrar to the all-
powerful Chancellor of the Empire, and for the military from
ensign or cornet to field-marshal. Between these two extremes
were the generals of infantry, cavalry or artillery, and privy
councillors in active capacity (second chin), with the right to
the title of 'Your High Excellency'; lieutenant-generals and
privy councillors (third chin), major-generals and state coun-
cillors in active capacity (fourth chin), with the right to the
title 'Your Excellency'; brigadier-generals and councillors of
state (fifth chin) with the right to the title 'Your High
128 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Origin'; colonels and college counsellors (sixth chin),

lieutenant-colonels and aulic councillors (seventh chin),
majors and college assessors (eighth chin), with the right to
the title 'Your High Nobility'; captains and titular council-
lors (ninth chin), seconds in command and college secretaries
(tenth chin), lieutenants and Government secretaries (twelfth
chin), 1 second-lieutenants and senate or synod registrars
(thirteenth chin) with the right to the title 'Your Nobility'. 2
Thus in Russia an official was a chinovnik, a man with a
rank, and not as in other countries a man with a function.
Thus, after some years of untiring labour in office, a young
commoner could become the equal of a captain or a major
without ever having served in the army. But although en-
tered upon the hierarchical tables, he was only properly
regarded as noble from the moment at which he entered the
eighth class. Thanks to the mirage of this glorious ladder, the
top of which was close to the throne, all the clerks in the
Empire were obsessed by the race for honours. By distribut-
ing privileges and regulating the passage from one category
to another, the Tsar made certain of his servants' obedience.
From the most genuine prince to the lowliest peasant, every-
one had his pigeon-hole and his serial number. Even the
nobility itself was divided into two kinds: the hereditary and
the acquired.
The so-called hereditary nobility, in some families, went
back to the days of the very earliest sovereigns. The names of
the oldest companions of the Tsar (or boyars3 ) were entered
in a register known as the 'sixth book' (shestaya kniga) drawn
up at the beginning of the eighteenth century. To weaken the
power of these illustrious servants, who enriched and streng-
thened themselves with the years, Peter the Great had insti-
tuted the table of ranks and arrogated to himself the right to
'The eleventh chin had been suppressed.
2 ln Russian: Your High Excellency=Vashe Vysoko Prevoskhoditelstvo;
Your Excellency= V ashe Prevoskhoditelstvo; Your High Origin= V ashe
Vysokorodie; Your High Nobility=Vashe Vysokoblagorodie; Your Nobility
=Vashe Blagorodie. There are no English equivalents of some of these
forms of address, which are therefore rendered literally. For the latter three
'Sir' would normally be used in England.
'The Slav word boyar had become boyarin in old Russian, then, in popular
parlance, as a result of deformation, barin, in other words, 'My Lord', or
more simply, 'Sir'.
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 129
create princes, counts and barons at will. 1 His successors had
continued the same policy by conferring nobility upon offi-
cials, both hereditary and personal. In the reign of Alexan-
der II the emancipation of the serfs had shaken the position
and wealth of the nobility. Alexander III had restored some
of its importance by entrusting it, in the person of the mar-
shals and district chiefs, with the administrative control of
Districts and Provinces, and by establishing a State Bank of
the Nobility, to help the landed proprietors by granting them
credits at a low rate of interest. According to Alexander
Vassilievitch, the Russian nobility no longer had any power
as a caste, but its most eminent representatives had a certain
influence on State affairs through the high positions they
occupied in the administration. Thus the nobility in each
Government constituted a corps, an autonomous noble
society, which was itself divided into as many groups as there
were Districts within the Government. Every third year the
nobility of the Government met in an assembly of nobility.
This assembly elected the person who would perform certain
functions in the ensuing three-year period; it examined the list
of members of the nobility in the Government (genealogical
book); it financed the social treasury of the nobility of the
Government by voluntary contributions; and when necessary
it drafted the petitions addressed to His Imperial Majesty. A
commission, known as the Assembly of the Delegates of the
Nobility, instituted a permanent representation of the nobility
of each Government, on the basis of one member per District
and a president, the Marshal of the Nobility, elected for three
years. Furthermore, a 'Chamber for the Protection of the
Nobility' occupied itself with minors and disabled persons
and looked after the administration of their property.
The official armorial of the Russian nobility comprised five
ranks: princes, counts, barons, untitled gentlemen whose
nobility antedated Peter I, and untitled gentlemen whose
nobility postdated Peter I. There were no dukes, marquises,
viscounts or knights. The title of Grand Duke (in Russian,
Velikii Knyaz) may be literally translated as 'Grand Prince'
and was reserved for members of the Imperial Family. As to
the nobiliary particle, its use was unknown in Russia. One
'The last two titles did not exist in Russia before the eighteenth century.
130 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

was Prince Viasemsky or Count Vorontzov, but not Prince of

Viasemsky or Count of Vorontzov, since the suffixes sky, ov,
iev, in, which occurred in the majority of Russian family
names, corresponded grammatically to the English word
of.
In Russia the princely title was transmitted to the whole
direct posterity of both sexes, and it was no exaggeration to
say that there were at least two thousand princes (knyaz) in
the Tsarist Empire. After the annexation of the Caucasus, the
Georgian tavads, chiefs of small kingdoms, had been pom-
pously recognized as 'princes' too. The same was done for
the nomadic Khans and for the representatives of the greater
Armenian and Tartar families.
The Russian counts were as numerous as the princes, the
oldest families amongst the counts being the Golovins, the
Cheremetevs and the Tolstoys.
The title of baron was conferred very rarely, and then
mostly on bankers or great industrialists of foreign origin.
Dimsdale, an English doctor, had acquired the rank of baron
for having vaccinated the Empress Catherine and her son
Paul. A few Jews of great merit were also barons, which was
displeasing to the nobles of the Baltic provinces, where the
title was very common among the descendants of the Teu-
tonic Knights.
In addition to this titled nobility- princes, counts and
barons- there was an untitled nobility, often more illustrious
in its antiquity. Only the real experts knew how to settle the
difference between the merits of a person ennobled through
the rank of colonel or counsellor of State, and those without
titles whose names had been inscribed for centuries in the
book of the boyars. The old untitled families were almost
innumerable. 1
In the upper Russian aristocracy fortunes melted away in
the sun. According to Alexander Vassilievitch, the richest
persons were Counts Sheremetev and Stroganov, Prince
Yussupov, Counts Orlov-Davydov and Orlov-Denisov,
Princes Kochubei, Galitsin (both branches), Saltykov and
Vasilchikov, Counts Bobrinsky, Vorontsov-Dachkov, Chu-
'According to Leroy-Beaulieu, the Russian nobility amatmted to nearly
two million.
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 131
valov, Tolstoy, Narychkin, Prince Bariatinsky, etc. But
already, several of the great families had had to agree to mis~
alliances in order to preserve their place in the world.
Parallel with the nobility were the clergy, about whom
Russell had already been informed.
Next came the urban class, which in every town comprised
the distinguished citizens, merchants, artisans and the petits
bourgeois. Each corporation had its representative assemblies
and its permanent institutions.
To become a merchant one had to be enrolled in one of
two guilds, paying the corresponding levy to the State. The
first of these guilds, heavily taxed, comprised the wholesalers;
the second, less heavily taxed, the retailers. The artisans had
to be enrolled in one of the professional bodies (tsekh 1 ) in the
towns. The petits bomgeois, 'without guilds', or meshchani,
were those who were enabled by their means to live a regular
life, but whose activities were not within the realms of com~
merce, industry or craft. The rank of 'distinguished citizen'
was awarded for personal or hereditary reasons to merchants
or manufacturers for services rendered to the economy of the
Empire. Naturally, Alexander Vassilievitch, a merchant of
the first guild, was an hereditary distinguished citizen of
Moscow.
The most numerous of all Russian social classes were the
peasants. 2 Before the emancipation of the serfs by Alexan~
der II in 1861, all the peasants were tied to the land and
belonged either to the State or to the landed proprietors. In
giving freedom to the humblest of his subjects, Alexander II
gave them the opportunity of purchasing a part of the land
(nadel) which they formerly cultivated for their masters. The
price (obrok) they had to pay the master in exchange for these
plots was determined by the prosperity of the area and sub~
ject to revision every twenty years. 3 At first optional, the
purchase became obligatory in 1881. After their first indig-
nation at this measure, the landed proprietors themselves
hastened its application, for almost all of them were deeply
' From the German Zeche, corporation.
2 See Chapter XIII on the life of the peasants.
'There was one peculiarity about the obrok: it increased as the area of
land diminished. It was not the cultivated lands that were valued highly but
the enclosures on which the peasants' dwellings were built.
132 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

in debt. 1 But the peasants had not the money necessary to

acquire the land immediately. If they wished it, the State
came to their assistance by advancing them the amount
needed to free themselves from the obrok. These advances
were repayable annually over a period of forty-nine years,
principal and interest amounting to 6 per cent included.
Despite this generous credit, the scale of repayments was so
exorbitant that the majority of the farmers could not face the
payments demanded by the Treasury. Fortunately, in the
closing years of the nineteenth century the Government had
ordered a reduction in the price of the plots of land distri-
buted to the freed serfs. It was just in time, for the whole
rural population of the Empire was on the verge of ruin.
According to Alexander Vassilievitch's calculations, based on
a reading of the most recent economic documents published
by the Press, the purchasing operation would be completed
by 1931.

From an administrative point of view, the Empire was

divided into 78 Governments and 18 Provinces or Regions, 2
plus the Island of Sakhalin. Further, four cities- St Peters-
burg, Odessa, Sebastapol and Kerch-Ienikale- constituted
'prefectural cities' directly answerable to the central
authority. Governments were subdivided into Districts
(uezd) of varying size and number, which were themselves
subdivided into towns and communes (volost).
At the head of each Government was a Governor represent-
ing the central power. Among his powers were the promul-
gation of the laws, control of their execution, supervision of
all the administrative institutions and, as agent of the Minis-
try of the Interior, control of police and public assistance. In
each District of the Government was an official at the head
of the police: the ispravnik (High Commissioner of Police),
having under his orders, in each subdivision or stan, a stan-
voi pristav (stan commissioner), who himself commanded the
policemen, known as uryadniki.
1 When they were freed, seven-tenths of the serfs belonging to the landed

proprietors were in debt to the State credit houses.

'Terms employed for territories which, by their remoteness or by the
eccentricity of their institutions, were subject to special rule.
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 133
Side by side with the representatives of the central govern-
ment there were, in each Province or Government and in
each District, elected assemblies, 1 or zemstvos, concerned
with the economic and agricultural interests of the area. The
population of the District elected deputies (or glasny, deliber-
ative members) entrusted with expressing the wishes of their
principals by categories (nobles, tradespeople, moujiks). The
District zemstvo usually met once a year and discussed local
affairs under the presidency of the Marshal of the District
nobility. Further, the assembly appointed from its members
those who for three years would form the executive commit-
tee of the provincial estates; this executive committee of three
sat permanently.
Each District having its zemstvo, the Province or Govern-
ment had them also, with representatives who were elected
for three years by the District zemstvo. The Government
zemstvo, under the presidency of the Marshal of the Govern-
ment nobility, dealt with questions of regional interest and
from among its members appointed an executive committee
of six, charged with expediting affairs between sessions.
These arrangements, which assured a semblance of auto-
nomy to the provincial and communal administrations, had
unfortunately been upset by the law of June 12, 1889, which
created cantonal leaders (zemsky nachalnik). By the same
law the Government and District zemstvos had seen their
powers restricted and the number of representatives of the
nobility increased in relation to that of other categories of
deputies.
From 1870 administration of the towns was in the hands of
a municipal council (gorodskaya duma), elected by the most
important townsmen: property-owners, tradesmen or indus-
trialists with large incomes. In Moscow, out of 1,173,000 in-
habitants, including those of the suburbs, there were only
10,000 electors. Parallel with the gorodskaya duma there was
an executive committee (gorodskaya uprava) and a mayor
(gorodskaya golova).
The peasant class was divided into communities, with
'To be an elector one had to be of Russian nationality, twenty-five years
old, and to represent a property qualification which varied with the three
electoral categories: nobles, town-dwellers, peasants.
134 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

common lands in Great Russia, the East and the South, and
with private properties in Western Russia. To administer
their affairs, the peasants formed communal assemblies in the
villages and, in the chief place of the canton, a cantonal
assembly, the volost. The municipal authorities of the village
commune were the council (mir or skhod) and its representa-
tive, the starosta, the elder. The mir, composed of all the
heads of households in the commune, discussed the incidence
of taxes, the admission of new members, the guardianship of
minors, the organization of rural schools, assistance to the
poor, and the distribution of lands in regions subject to the
system of common assembly; the volost (one representative
for every ten households), met under the presidency of its
starchina, or senior, appointed for three years. This assembly
had amongst its powers all affairs relating to the economic
and social needs of the volost. It was completed by a per-
manent council and by a tribunal of three judges, who dealt
with disputes to the value of less than one hundred roubles
and with offences of no great seriousness. This apparently
liberal measure of self-government was, in fact, from 1889,
controlled and supervised by the zemsky nachalnik, the can-
tonal chief. ·
All the cantonal chiefs of the District formed a District
assembly presided over by a Marshal of the nobility. The
superior instance was the provincial committee, presided
over by the Governor, who ruled with the co-operation of the
officials of adminstrative and judicial rank. Thus in the end
the control of the affairs of every Government was in the
hands ofthe Governor, representing the Tsar. The Govern-
ment and District zemstvos were placed under his control.
The police, the promulgation of the laws, provincial adminis-
trative decisions, hygiene, public assistance, supervision of
elected organs - in brief, the whole life of the area depended
onhim. 1
Above this regional potentate were only those high per-
sonages who watched over the destinies of the Empire: the
' It should be noted that this organization was applied to the letter only
in thirty-four governments, constituting, to some extent, the heart of Russia.
For all the special racial territories and those of different cultures, a special
form of government had been created to suit the special customs of the
people.
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 135
Tsar, whose unlimited power was consecrated by the Church,
the Council of Empire formed of all the ministers and of cer-
tain powerful dignitaries whose function was to sanction the
laws, the Committee of Ministers, which prepared the legis-
lative measures, the Most Holy Synod, charged with watch-
ing over the religious life of the nation, and the Senate, itself
divided into eight departments, the competence of which
extended to the publication of ukases, to the confirmation of
the titles of nobility, to the settlement of the boundaries of
landed property and to judgement on appeal of civil and
criminal cases. All this political and administrative apparatus
was backed by a strong police.

During his walks with Alexander Vassilievitch, Russell had

been struck by the great number of policemen (gorodovoi)
who stood on guard in the streets. Usually they were men of
heavy and uncouth appearance. They enjoyed no respect
among the population. Their function was limited to ensuring
the maintenance of order in the streets, preventing brawls,
and taking drunkards and thieves to the nearest police
station. The difficult tasks were reserved to gendarmes.
In Moscow, as in all large Russian cities, there was a High
Chief of Police; under his orders were the Chiefs of Police,
who themselves commanded police majors; one for every
division. Next came the police officers, four or five to the
ward, the 'aides', the copyists and finally the policemen
properly so called. The porter (dvornik) of every house kept a
daily list of the occupants and informed the local police
station of departures and arrivals in the building. All the
inhabitants of the quarter were thus checked in the police
register. In Moscow/ furthermore, at the Gnezdikovsky
Pereulok, in the police printing works, there was an office
where private persons could take note of all the addresses
by paying two kopecks per item. 2
To Russell all this seemed scandalous; in it he saw official
encouragement to indiscretion and the infringement of
'All Russian towns had their address bureau.
' One could also ask for the information in writing, by sending a special
postcard to the address bureau of any town.
136 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

privacy. To him a man was free only if he was allowed to

travel as he pleased, to think what he liked and to conceal the
place where he lived from police and intruders alike. But
Alexander Vassilievitch explained to him that in a land as
vast and as diversely peopled as Russia, tolerance of that kind
would have led the nation into disorder and ruin. The
administration's control over citizens was not in the least
tyrannical. The rules could always be modified by offering a
tip to an understanding official, and the less well-paid the
State's servants were the more widespread tipping became
among the public. Meanwhile, one had to know when to give,
how to give ....
'Sometimes it is enough to mention the name of a relative
in governmental spheres for the trembling bureaucrat to give
you the favour you require. Sometimes one has to slip a
rouble, or two roubles, into the hand which is held carelessly
open on the edge of the table. And sometimes, if it is an
official of top rank, it is a good thing to prepare a well-filled
envelope in advance. So you see, with us the law is rigid, but
man is supple. That is the secret of our organization. Seen
from outside it appears to be uncompromising, but from
within you can see there are innumerable adjustments to the
most terrible regulations.'
'What about the Okhrana?' Russell asked him point-blank.
Alexander Vassilievitch' s face took on an expression of sus-
picious seriousness.
'What? ... The Okhrana? .. .'he muttered.
'I've heard of it in England,' Russell went on. 'It's the
political police, the secret police, isn't it?'
'It's very necessary,' sighed Alexander Vassilievitch, 'with
all the revolutionaries and anarchists swarming on our soil!
The strength and cunning of these fighting groups is disquiet-
ing. They are supported from abroad. Their object is to over-
throw the imperial power and to bring chaos to Russia. To
achieve that end any means are justifiable, murder especially.
I will not remind you of the list of their crimes, but think for
example of how Alexander II, the most liberal of our tsars,
who suppressed serfdom, forbade corporal punishment, who
granted municipal autonomy, reformed the law and public
education, was the victim of six attacks before he succumbed
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 137
in 1881 to a seventh attack organized by the People's Will
Party. And the assassination last year of Sypyagin, the Minis-
ter of the Interior! And all the bomb factories, the clandestine
printing works, that are discovered in the Empire! Believe
me, to fight these people we need men better qualified than
the gorodovye. We need a secret police, we need the
Okhrana!'
'How does it function?' Russell asked.
At first Alexander Vassilievitch pretended that he knew
nothing; then, plied with friendly questions, he agreed to
give some information about the institution that was as mys-
terious as it was formidable. The Okhrana- a development
of the Third Department- had its headquarters in St Peters-
burg. Like the police, it was answerable to the Police Depart-
ment, itself subordinate to the Ministry of the Interior. The
post of Director-General of the Police Department was often
occupied by a judge with experience of political affairs.
Sections of the police were spread throughout the Empire,
but there were sections of the Okhrana in only a few centres.
Moreover, control of investigations in the Okhrana sections,
as with the police, was in the hands of a special body of
officers. At the head of the investigation service was the chief
of the Okhrana, surrounded by a constellation of officers and
high officials. The office work was carried on by examiners
who had at their disposal mountains of descriptive memo-
randa and fingerprints, as well as a library containing all the
revolutionary publications of Russia and Europe.
The Okhrana's role was limited to tracking suspect indi-
viduals and frustrating the preparation of criminal attacks.
Repression was not its job. When the observation of a group
had produced adequate results, the Okhrana proceeded to
'liquidate' it, that is to say, after a search of the various 'con-
spiratorial premises'/ the greatest possible number of con-
spirators were arrested. The law authorized the chiefs of
Okhrana sections to keep the accused in custody for fifteen
days. This delay could be extended to a month by the
Governor's decision. Thereafter, the accused were freed if the
evidence accumulated against them was insufficient, or they
'Term used amongst Russian police and revolutionaries to designate the
place where the conspirators met clandestinely.
138 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

were handed over to the law for preliminary investigation.

Representatives of the Public Prosecutor, attached to the
various sections of the Okhrana, saw that the procedure was
properly observed. The Okhrana never executed its prisoners.
Sentences of death were all pronounced by regular courts,
after indictment and pleading. 1 There was only one form of
extra-judicial repression. The Minister of the Interior could,
in certain cases, on his own authority decide to banish a sus-
pect to a distant part of the Empire for a maximum of five
years. As Russell showed astonishment at such arbitrary pro-
cedure, Alexander Vassilievitch assured him that the adminis-
tration used it with discretion.
'Sometimes the culprit's. preferences are taken into
account. If he is a sick man, he is exiled to a region where the
climate is suited to his state of health. At least, that is what
was told me by one who is familiar with General
Zavarzin ... .'2
'Did he tell you at the same time how they set about
shadowing suspects?' Russell asked.
'Oh! Everyone in Russia knows about that,' Alexander
Vassilievitch replied. 'In the Okhrana there are "outside
agents" charged with investigations, and "inside agents", or
secret collaborators, charged with denunciation. The former
are especially clever and courageous officials under various
identities and disguises, whose task it is to watch suspects
in the street, in trains, at the theatre and in restaurants.
According to the circumstances, they disguise themselves as
domestic servants, caretakers, newspaper-sellers, or railway
workers. Their speech and gestures are appropriate to their
disguise, which requires very thorough training. The Okhrana
has a special store where clothing and uniforms of all kinds
are piled up. It has a stable too, and a coach-house for car-
riages and sleighs. In the Okhrana building in Moscow, for
example, there is a courtyard reserved for agents disguised as
coachmen, who come and go continuously, according to the
needs of the service.'
'Nevertheless, in provinces under martial law executions without trial
could be ordered by the military commandant. Thus the Governor-General of
Warsaw on several occasions condemned groups of terrorists to death.
2 General Zavarzin (Chief of the Moscow Okhrana): Memoirs
of a Chief of
the Okhrana.
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 139
'Perhaps I've been driven by one of these coachmen with-
out knowing it!' grumbled Russell.
'Perhaps,' said Alexander Vassilievitch. 'They do not refuse
fares because that would arouse suspicion. But don't worry,
they are not very many. A hundred at the most! Moreover,
all the "outside" agents are well-bred fellows, of irreproach-
able honesty and morality. This work is for them a vocation.
No descendant of a Pole or a Jew can join their ranks. They
swear an oath before a priest before taking up their duties.
All the information they report is centralized at the Okhrana.
If a suspect shows anxiety by frequent changes of address,
the agent breaks off his shadowing and a colleague takes his
place .... But the Okhrana's trump card is its organization of
"inside" agents. These are generally repentant revolution-
aries, who, having kept their comrades' confidence, help us
to unmask them ... .'
'In other words, traitors!' Russell cried.
'That's a fine word!' Alexander Vassilievitch sighed. 'For
me the end justifies the means. When the security of the State
is at stake, patriotism obliges certain men to assume a role
which in fact they find distasteful. .. .'
'Do you think it is patriotism which forces these men to
change sides?'
'Yes, sometimes. But sometimes also, of course, the pros-
pect of escaping punishment and sometimes the promise of
reward ... .'
'Are they paid a lot?'
'No. So far as I know, and quite confidentially, the inside
agents rarely get more than twenty to thirty roubles a month.
The Okhrana communicates with them with the greatest
care. They all have false names. Their real identities are
known only to the highest officials. Meetings between
Okhrana chiefs and the secret collaborators take place in one
of the innumerable apartments which the police keep in the
city and its suburbs ... .'
'And what about the censorship of correspondence?'
Russell asked. 'Is it true that there is at the Okhrana a "black"
room where letters and parcels are examined?'
'Yes,' Alexander Vassilievitch admitted. 'The service was
begun by Alexander III. In the principal cities of the Empire
140 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

polyglot officials work at examining the post on the basis of

lists of suspects provided by the police. When a letter arouses
the agents' suspicions, they open it by special means, or
simply steam it open, take a copy and reseal the envelope so
carefully that the recipient cannot believe, when he gets it,
that it has been opened. Of course, if it happens to be a letter
written in secret ink (lemon juice, milk or saliva) it has to be
so treated that it is impossible to send it on. Letters of this
kind are often written in cipher, and the Okhrana has expert
decoders, able to unravel the cleverest of combinations!
Think how useful such a censorship would be in wartime ... !'
'Probably,' said Russell. 'But Russia is not at war, so far
as I know.'
'It is at war against itself,' Alexander Vassilievitch cut in.
'It is forced to defend itself against those of its sons who,
from fanaticism or aberration, would like to destroy it!
Neither you, nor me, nor any one of our friends has anything
to fear from the police ... .'
'Because we're not involved in politics!'
'Just so!'
'In short, to live in peace in Russia, one must avoid politics
or applaud the politics of the Government!'
'If you don't applaud the Government's politics, it is better
to criticize them in a reasonable way and deferentially.'
Russell tossed his head. Accustomed to the maelstrom of
public opinion at home and to violent parliamentary debates,
attacks by the left-wing newspapers on those of the right and
vice versa, he was astonished that in Russia discontent could
only be expressed between reliable friends and by hints.
'Believe me,' Alexander Vassilievitch went on, 'it isn't good
for the people to get mixed up in State affairs. Because they
are badly informed, they get excited and lose their heads and
see enemies everywhere. What I blame your own Press for is
the abuse of cartoons. Why do you allow these wretched
artists to make fun of leading statesmen? How can you ex-
pect honest citizens to respect a minister if he is pictured in
the Press as a worm-eaten pear, a lame duck or a bearded
goat? Government people should stand on a pedestal. Take
the pedestal away and you have only a man like the rest, to
whom only a fool would give his confidence.'
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 141
'So there are no caricatures in Russia?' Russell asked.
'Not of the Tsar or his entourage, at any rate, nor of minis-
ters or high officials. . . . If a journalist has political views
different from those of the Government, he expresses them in
a serious, deferential and documented article. He weighs
every word. In no country in the world has the art of insinu-
ation been pushed as far as it has with us. Officially, our news-
papers belong to no party, but they nevertheless reflect, very
discreetly, the different opinions of society. Some tend to be
liberal, others are rather conservative .... To the inexperi-
enced eye all the papers seem to be written in the same spirit,
but the regular readers know how to read between the
lines ... .'
'Are there many periodicals in Russia?'
'At the 1899 census there were about 1,000, of which 600
were dailies. Of course, St Petersburg and Moscow publish
most. Taking weeklies and monthlies into account, St Peters-
burg leads with 300. Moscow accounts for only 100. Warsaw
about 60 .... Besides publications in the Russian language,
these figures include regular publications in Polish, German,
Lettish, Estonian, Georgian, Armenian, French .... The first
Russian periodical, which saw daylight in 1703, was called
Military and other news worth knowing and remembering.
In 1728 it became the St Petersburg News. It was only in
1838 that His Imperial Majesty ordered the publication, in
each Government, of a Government Gazette. The non-official
part of these organs was devoted to writings on the history
and geography of the various parts of the Empire. As to the
first provincial newspapers published privately, they were
the Kiev Telegraph, the Kmnstadt Gazette, the Novgorod
Telegraph, the Voronezh Telegraph 1 • • • Amongst the news-
papers in the capitals, undoubtedly the illustrated paper Niva
is the most successful. .. .'
Russell stopped this recital by asking in an evasive tone:
'What about the censorship, Alexander Vassilievitch? Is it as
severe in Russia as they say?'
Alexander Vassilievitch began to laugh:
'Oh, you Englishmen! As soon as anyone mentions censor-
ship you see red! In this matter, as in all the others, things
1 Founded in 1858, 1861, 1869 and 1869 respectively.
142 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

are much less serious here than you think. In Moscow and
St Petersburg, since 1865, every paper has been free to choose
which way it will be censored: before or after publication.
All the big newspapers have preferred to be exempt from
censorship in advance by paying a surety of 2,500 roubles.
As a result, they can print what seems best to them at their
own risk and peril. If a newspaper abuses this privilege and
supports subversive ideas it is suspended for a while, or even
suppressed, after three ministerial warnings. In the Provinces
the majority of newspapers work by prior authorization,
which obviously complicates the task of the contributors.
The unfortunate editor-in-chief must submit proofs of the
articles to the censor day by day and sheet by sheet. The
censor gets them late, after dinner, for the issue which will
appear the next day. He spends his evening reading them and
correcting them. The hours slip by. At the printing works the
printers get impatient, the editor-in-chief gazes at his watch
and gets desperate, wondering if his galleys will come back
to him cut, disfigured and unusable, or whether the paper
will go to press before dawn. At last the messenger appears,
holding a bundle of papers in his hand. Everyone rushes up
to him. Anxious faces bend over the grey print that smells of
fresh ink. The censor has taken a favourable view: only a
dozen insignificant changes. The editor mops his brow and
heaves a sigh of relief. To work! The paper will be on sale at
the proper time after all. Those who read it while they eat
their breakfast have no idea of the anguish which has accom-
panied the birth of the paper.... Of course, it is tiresome that
the expression of public opinion should be restricted in this
way. But don't you think that by preventing writers from
wasting their time in political quarrels and ephemeral
articles, the imperial censorship has encouraged them to
concentrate on eternal problems? Russian literature has
benefited from all the talent which has not found employ-
ment in the superficial and urgent needs of the daily papers.
The most brilliant epoch in Russian thought was that in
which the Press had the least liberty. It was in the reign of
the despotic Nikolas I that Pushkin, Lermontov, Gogo! and
many others displayed their genius .... Who knows if they
would have given such poetic expression to their ideals in a
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMlNIS'f:RATION 143
country where their opinions could have been expressed in
the papers? Who knows if, living in a Russian democracy,
they would not have dissipated their creative energies in
pointless polemics?'
Russell was not very receptive to this tortuous justification
of censorship. Brought up on liberal ideas, he held that
artistic success was inseparable from freedom of expression.
But he had no wish to give offence to his host by contradict-
ing him further, and he contented himself with asking if, in
a land of absolute rule like Russia, the banality of the papers
did not prompt the lovers of reading to fall back upon books.
'Of course,' said Alexander Vassilievitch. 'But don't forget
that the cultured elite of Russia is only a minute part of the
population. Yet I have read a well-documented article in
which it is stated that last year nearly 20,000 works were
published by the various Russian publishers. As to the sub-
ject treated by the authors, the largest section was of religious
works (13·5 per cent); then came literary works (12 per cent),
then various informative works, school books, medical books,
science, morals and juvenile literature .... It was in the reign
of Catherine II that the book trade was organized here by the
publisher Novikov. Today we have some very large pub-
lishers: Suvarin, Sytin, Marx, Pavlenkov .... At the end of
the last century there were 2,800 bookshops in Russia, 360 of
them in St Petersburg, 220 in Moscow and 180 in Warsaw ....
I think these figures have increased with progress in educa-
tion. The general tendency of the publishers is to produce
books at the lowest possible price in order to attract an ever
wider public.'
'All these books are, of course, submitted to the censorship,'
Russell interjected.
'Oh, yes!' answered Alexander Vassilievitch. 'In this con-
nection I'll tell you something that happened to a young
writer friend of mine, Gilyarovsky, a few years ago. He had
got together about fifteen short stories of the life of the
people treated in quite crude terms, and had given the col-
lection the title: The People of the Slums. Having corrected
the proofs, Gilyarovsky sent a hastily bound copy to the
censor and awaited the response with anxiety. The next day,
when he went to see Verner the publisher, he learned that in
144 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

the night an inspector had appeared at the workshop, had

confiscated all the volumes printed and had ordered the
type to be broken up in his presence. As the final decision
could only be taken by the censorship committee in St Peters-
burg, Gilyarovsky left for the capital, where he made
innumerable representations, requests and entreaties on
stamped paper. All in vain! He returned to Moscow hopeless.
One day, when I was lunching with him at Testov's, the
editor of the Moscow Newssheet came into the restaurant.
Seeing Gilyarovsky, he cried: "What a coincidence! I have
just learned, quite by accident, that they are just about to
burn your book at the fire station in the Sushevskaya quarter.
Hurry! You may arrive in time to enjoy the spectacle!" We
rushed out. Indeed, in the barrack courtyard there was a pile
of blackened, smoking sheets. The firemen were stirring the
pile nonchalantly. Gilyarovsky rescued a charred page. It
was the cover. On it one could read: The People of the Slums,
Studies from Nature. My friend had difficulty in controlling
his rage. This auto-da-te was, I believe, the last of its kind ..
Today, when a book is condemned, all the copies are carefully
torn up in a machine and sent as raw material to the pulp
factories. 1 But don't put on that shocked expression! Since the
accession of Nikolas II, it has been extremely rare for a book
to be withdrawn from circulation by an administrative
decision.'
At that point in the discussion Russell recalled the con-
demnation of Leo Tolstoy by the Holy Synod two years
earlier. Excommunicated from the Orthodox Church on
February 22, 1901, the great writer became a popular idol in
a few days. Outside Russia the papers spoke enthusiastically
of his courage. But in Russia? Alexander Vassilievitch ad-
mitted that the censorship was still very harsh towards the
author of Resurrection. The publisher Suvarin was not able
to publish in his journal, The New Times, two dispatches
concerning Tolstoy's health because the police authorities
had intercepted them. It was forbidden to show portraits of
Tolstoy in the bookshops. This order must be obeyed, it was
said, until the •culprit's' death. Another scandal: the writer
'The last book to be burned was in fact Gilyarovsky's, in 1887. See
Gilyarovsky's Memoirs: Moscow and the Muscovites.
 Around the samovar

7 A colporteur

A rich Russian merchant, The wife of a rich Russian

by B. Konstodiev merchant, by B. Konstodiev
 Children's nurse in
traditional clothing

8 Monks of the St Serge Monastery,

Moscow

A market in Moscow
 SOCIAL CLASSES AND ADMINISTRATION 145
Amphitheatrov had published in the paper Russia an article
entitled 'Messrs. Obmanov'/ which was clearly aimed at the
Romanovs, the Imperial family.
'Of course, the paper was suspended and the author exiled
from the capital,' said Alexander Vassilievitch. 'In earlier
times they would have been more severe with him. But the
Tsar is paying more and more attention to public opinion.
The fashion in political matters tends towards tolerance. If
that goes on we will one day have a parliament like yours, an
empire Duma. A lot is being said about it in high circles.'
Russell remained meditative. The more he listened to
Alexander Vassilievitch, the stronger grew his impression
that the Tsarist administration was like a mailed fist plunged
into a soft dough. The natural pleasantness of the people was
at odds with the harshness of the laws which weighed upon
them. It was difficult to imagine a gayer nation, a nation more
hospitable, ingenuous and charming than the Russians, and a
governmental apparatus more archaic and ponderous than
that which held them captive. 2
1 The name Obmanov derives from the Russian word obman, a lie! The

article was published on January 14, 1902.

2 The principle of an empire Duma was only proclaimed on October 17,

1905, and the methods of election to this assembly were clarified by a law of
December 14, 1905. The electors were divided into three groups or curia:
landed proprietors (for the majority of the nobles), citizens and peasants. The
electors of the first group (1,918 for the 51 Provinces of Russia) were elected
by the district electoral assemblies; those of the second, numbering 1,344, by
the town electoral assemblies; those of the third, numbering 2,476, by the
peasants' electoral assemblies, themselves elected by the electors of the
volost. All these electors met in the provincial (Government) assemblies. In
each of these assemblies the peasant delegates, by themselves, elected first of
all their deputy to the Duma. Then all the electors elected the rest of the
deputies for the Province. The Duma comprised 412 deputies in all. To be
an elector, one had to be 25 years old, to have property of some kind or a
fixed residence, and to appear in the taxation lists. Workers had the right to
vote in the curia separately, and their representatives also took part in the
provincial assemblies in the election of deputies to the Duma. The legisla-
tive role of the Duma, which at first sight seemed very important, was con-
siderably restricted by the later decisions of Nikolas II: the creation of an
upper chamber, invested with a legislative competence equal to that of the
Duma and entrusted with keeping the reformist activity of the Duma in
check; retaining the Tsar's prerogatives in foreign affairs, military and
religous regulations, and the Tsar's power to dissolve the Duma at will and
to fix the date of new elections as he thought fit; also the Tsar's absolute right
to legislate on his own between sessions of the Duma, etc. The first Duma,
which met in 1906, showed its intentions to make wide reforms and was
146 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA
dissolved the same year. The second Duma, which met in February 1907,
showed itseU more radical even than the first, and the Government ordered
its dissolution after a few months' work. The third Duma, elected after a fur-
ther law curtailing its powers, sat in apparent calm. But, misled by this
trustful atmosphere, the Government wished to take advantage of the
opportunity to. revert to reactionary policies, and the assembly revolted
openly against these subservient measures. The fourth Duma, which met in
1912, was no more than a symbolical organ where voices were still raised
occasionally to protest against the excesses of the autocracy. This was the
situation when war was declared in 1914.
 CHAPTER X

THE LAW
The iustices of the peace and the assembly of iustices - Ordi-
nary courts: appointment and competence of magistrates- The
senate as court of appeal- The Zemsky Nachalnik- The cost
of iustice -Advocates- The examining magistrates- Composi-
tion and working of iuries- The penal system in Russia: sup-
pression of corporal punishment and of the death penalty -
The condition of convicts and forced labour colonies in Siberia
-A criminal trial in Moscow.

R ussELL did not forget that at home he had studied law,

and he questioned Alexander Vassilievitch about the
working of the law in Russia. At first his host's answers
seemed to be satisfactory. Out of the inextricable jumble of
old written laws and customs, Speransky, in the reign of
Nikolas I, had drawn up a chronological summary (Polnoe
sobranye zakonov) of forty-eight quarto volumes. But one
man's lifetime was not long enough to acquire a deep know-
ledge of this work, and in 1833 the statutes and contradictory
ukases were summarized and co-ordinated in the form of a
code (Svod Zakonov) divided into articles and chapters.
There were fifteen volumes in all, treating civil, criminal,
commercial and administrative affairs and procedure.
Later, Alexander II, son of Nikolas I, proceeded to re-
organize the judicial system. Before the reforms imposed by
this monarch, the courts had no independence, the procedure
was secret and rigorously formalist, the judges were poorly
trained, their decisions were too often dictated by venality
and trials were protracted. But now the law was separated
from the legislature and executive; proceedings were public,
the more serious crimes were subject to trial by jury, justices
of the peace pronounced judgement on less important
matters, and the simplified procedure guaranteed individual
liberty and property.
The renovated judicial system comprised two kinds of
jurisdiction: on the one hand were the justices of the peace,
and on the other the judges of the common courts. But these
148 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

two forms of jurisdiction, instead of being superimposed one

upon the other, as in the majority of western nations, were
distinct, each possessing its court of first instance and its
court of appeal, and differing in the way the justices were
appointed. The whole structure was crowned by the Senate,
which was the Supreme Court of Appeal and controlled the
law throughout the Empire.
The justices of the peace had to judge disputes of no great
seriousness, of which the value did not exceed 500 roubles,
and offences that could be punished by a fine not exceeding
300 roubles or a sentence of at most a year's imprisonment.
These justices were elected by the district zemstvo, for in
order to function satisfactorily they had to know the local
population and their habits and customs. The State required
two qualifications for candidates: education and wealth, the
one ensuring their capacity and the other their independence.
However, it was not the Treasury that paid the justices; the
Provincial Assemblies which appointed them also fixed the
emoluments, and usually their salary amounted to 2,000
roubles a year in the smaller cities and from 4,000 to 5,000
roubles in St Petersburg and Moscow. 1
Procedure before the justices of the peace was simple and
conciliatory. They strove to reason with the parties with a
concern for equity rather than for rights. Anyone with a com-
plaint to make addressed himself to the justice of the peace
in his own area, either in writing or in person, and the latter
would fix a day for the hearing without delay. The sittings,
always in public, were marked by a patriarchal good-
heartedness which gave the litigants confidence, especially in
the country. There was no decorum. The justice had neither
robe nor uniform; he presided in a frock-coat or a jacket, just
as he felt inclined, but he always wore around his neck a
medal on a gilded chain. In a corner of the room was a desk
on which were placed the Gospels and the Crucifix. Wit-
nesses swore on the Gospel and kissed the Crucifix before
replying to the justice's questions. Their words, like those of
the litigants, were summarized in writing, then read over to
the interested parties and certified with their signatures. The
1 From this salary the magistrate paid
for the hiring of the court-room, the
heating, and the wages of the clerk of the court.
 THE LAW 149
parties put forward their own arguments or were assisted by
an attorney. Any adult person had the right to fill this office,
but specialists in talking and quibbling were recruited chiefly
from among retired employees, former clerks of court and
the unemployed secretaries of the region. For them the
illiterate moujiks were an easy prey. Whether the cause was
good or bad, their interest was to press the plaintiff to lodge
an appeal if he had not received satisfaction in the first
instance. 1
In the second instance, the case went before the assembly
of justices, which was held every month at the chief town of
the Government. The law did not require the presence at this
session of all the justices of the Government, but only three
of them, one of whom was elected president. 2 The justice of
the peace whose decision was in question could not take part
in settling the same case. The sittings were public, with a
succession of witnesses and pleas. This time an attorney,
appointed by the Government, presented his conclusions on
criminal matters and certain civil matters. Enlightened by
him, the assembly could quash the sentence of the justice of
the first instance for reasons of incompetence or formal error.
In that event, they sent the dossier forthwith to another,
appointed by themselves. Decisions given on appeal by the
assembly could only be opposed before the Senate. Procedure
in both instances before the justices of the peace was not
subject to any stamp duty or tax.
Parallel with this form of jurisdiction were the common
courts. They had to deal with more serious matters than those
which occupied the justices of the peace. The judges in these
courts sat in uniform, and the advocates wore frock-coats.
The sittings were always in public and were attended by
much display. While the justices of the peace were all elected,
the judges of the common courts were chosen from among
professional lawyers and appointed by the Emperor. Every
court had the right to offer its own candidates to its vacant
places, but this candidate had to secure the approval of the
'One could only lodge an appeal if the value of the dispute exceeded
thirty roubles, or the penalty was fifteen roubles or three days' imprisonment.
• This system was copied from the meetings of justices of the peace as they
functioned in England.
150 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

procurator, that is to say the direct agent of the Minister,

before soliciting higher approval. The law of 1864 had laid
down in principle the irremovability of judges. 1 However, the
Government still controlled their promotion or movement.
And in a land as vast as Russia, a change of residence was
equivalent to exile. Thus, whilst giving up the right to
remove the servants of the law, the State held them at its
mercy by other threats.
The Minister had his own special representative attached
to every court who was subject to immediate removal; the
procurator, who supervised the execution of the laws, de-
fended the interests of the State and those of people unable
to do so for themselves and inquired into crimes and offences.
It was, moreover, from among the procurators that the upper
staff of the Bench were often recruited. Alexander Vassilie-
vitch pointed out a disadvantage in this, for a man who was
used to regarding the prisoner from the point of view of the
prosecution could not, from one day to another, acquire the
necessary impartiality of a judge.
There were two instances for the common courts: the
District court, having the whole Government under its juris-
diction, and the court of justice, the competence of which
extended over several Governments. The judgements given
by the District courts, civil or criminal, were subject to appeal
before the court of justice, except in cases where decisions
were made with the assistance of a jury. These decisions
could only be taken to the Court of AppeaP The Senate, set
up as a Court of Appeal, was not thoroughly acquainted with
the dispute. 3 It examined the judgements of the courts of
justice and certain judgements of the District courts from the
formal point of view and also as to the interpretation of the
' Except if he has committed some crime or some serious offence.
'In addition, there were in Russia a certain number of special courts: (1)
military courts concerned with offences and crimes committed by military
persons or against military persons; (2) ecclesiastical courts which judged
disciplinary affairs of the clergy and the matrimonial affairs of private per-
sons; (3) commercial courts, having within their competence commercial
affairs in St Petersburg, Moscow, Odessa, Taganrog, Kerch, Kichinev and
Archangel; (4) peasant courts, called cantonal courts, and courts for allo-
geneous peoples, charged with applying, in certain lands, the laws of custom.
'The Senate appeals department was divided into two sections: one for
civil affairs, the other for criminal affairs.
 THE LAW 151
law. If it was thought necessary to quash a judgement, the
case was sent back to another court of appeal.
However, these arrangements had to be modified to take
into account the special customs of certain Provinces, especi-
ally the frontier Provinces. But it was the law of June 12,
1889, which had caused the most serious disruption to the
Russian judicial code by creating cantonal chiefs (zemskie
nachalniki). Entrusted with supervising the self-government
of the peasants, they had in addition received the attributes
of justices of the peace. So that, in the Governments where
there were cantonal chiefs, judicial power was once more
attached to the administration. In the cities instead of justices
of the peace there were urban judges, appointed by the
Minister of Justice on the proposals of the Marshals of the
nobility. Only in the two capitals and six large cities were
there elected judges.
In the ordinary courts the defence of private persons was
generally assured by sworn advocates (prisyazhnye poveren-
nye). There were also notaries to forestall litigation by having
deeds, contracts and agreements drawn up in proper fashion.
But Russia had no attorneys. It was the advocates who
assumed this role in all phases of the proceedings.
Legal expenses were lower in Russia than in other lands.
All citations which instituted proceedings or otherwise· were
drawn up on paper with a 40-kopeck stamp. The proportion-
ate registration fees were 50 kopecks per 100 roubles of the
sum in question, and when the dispute could not be valued
the court determined the fees. 'fhe costs of prosecutions rose
to 6 roubles for the convocation and the publication of judge-
ments by default, from 25 kopecks to 1 rouble for the trans-
port and residence of the judges, examining magistrates and
local experts, from 25 kopecks to 3 roubles for the compensa-
tion of witnesses.
Of course, the advocates' fees were additional to these
sums. To be a sworn advocate, it was necessary to have
acquired a law-school diploma and to have been called to
the bar. The bar in each city elected a council which had the
disciplinary power of reprimand, suspension or expulsion
over its members. Beginners were subject to a five-year pro-
bation before being admitted to the corporate body. In prac-
152 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

tice, a client rarely dealt with an advocate on the basis of a

fixed sum; the fee depended upon the success of the pleading.
In a civil case the remuneration amounted, if successful, to
5, 10, or even sometimes 20 per cent of the sum involved. If
it was a criminal case, the lighter the penalty. inflicted the
greater the advocate's remuneration. Alexander Vassilie-
vitch said that the great Russian advocates made fortunes
and enjoyed the great respect of the educated public. In this
vast empire, without political assemblies, they were the first
to speak freely, according to their consciences, and risked
endangering their careers by the boldness of their words. In
recent years every Russian, no matter what his crime in
respect of a private person or the State, had seen a defender
stand at his side who dared to oppose the representative of
the Government charged with making the accusation.
Before Alexander II's reforms, the investigation of crimi-
nal cases was entrusted to the police, who used violence in
order to secure statements from suspects. In 1880 the exam-
ining magistrates (sudebnye sledovatli) made their appear-
ance, but the police continued to encroach on their powers
by initiating house searches, preliminary interrogation of wit-
nesses, and sometimes making arrests without warrant. Since
the examining magistrates were, according to the law, irre-
movable, the Ministry got into the habit of entrusting criminal
inquiries not to these titular magistrates but to employees
in an active capacity, revocable at will. These employees
received a miserable salary and were dependent, on
the one hand, on the prosecution and the administration, and
on the other on the procurators and the provincial Gover-
nors.
The laws of 1884 introduced the jury to Russia. Men whose
age and wealth satisfied the required conditions for jury
service 1 were officially inscribed every year in the general
lists. From among these names a district zemstvo committee
chose those persons most notable for their morality or good
sense. Moujiks, small artisans, landed proprietors, aristocrats
'To be a juror one had to own 100 dessiatines (about 270 acres) of land in
the country, or a house worth 2,000 roubles in the capitals, or 1,000 roubles in
a chief town of a Government, or 500 roubles in other localities, or to have a
revenue or salary of 500 roubles in the capitals or 200 roubles elsewhere.
 THE LAW 153
and merchants were thus brought together to give their
decision on the same case. 1 But, in reality, the final list was
drawn up most often on the desk of the District Marshal of
the Nobility. Despite the efforts of this representative of the
Government, the jurors, drawn by lots from among all the
candidates entered in the final list, formed a not very homo-
geneous group, and their decisions were frequently in con-
tradiction to the law.
In Russell's mind Russia was the land of the knout. He was
therefore very surprised to learn that the knout, as a means
of punishment, had been forbidden since the early years of
Nikolas l's reign and that a ukase of 1863 had similarly sup-
pressed the birch, which the Russian serf had suffered for a
long time. Although struck from the penal code, corporal
punishment was, it is true, still adhered to traditionally in
distant parts of the land. But these were cases too isolated to
be worth considering. In its present state the law of the
Empire was, according to Alexander Vassilievitch, one of the
mildest in Europe. Capital punishment was abolished in
Russia in 1753 by the Empress Elizabeth. 2 The only exception
to this rule was for attempts upon the life of the sovereign or
against the security of the State. So far as secondary political
crimes were concerned, the scaffold was usually replaced by
deportation and forced labour. When the Government wanted
to obtain some spectacular sentence of death for declared
enemies of the regime, these were referred to military tribu-
nals, which passed judgement according to martial law.
Despite the mildness of the penal code, there were relatively
fewer cases of homicide in Russia than in other European
countries where the law was more severe. Thus France pro-
nounced 30 sentences of death and 110 sentences of forced
labour for life, while in Russia, although the total number of
sentences was very much greater, the penalty of forced labour
for life, which was the supreme penalty, was pronounced in
'Here, for example, is the list of jurors, before drawing lots, in a big
bankruptcy case in Moscow: ten meshchane (or petit bourgeois), ten peasants,
two artisans, one former soldier, one noble and three notable citizens.
2 However, it is to be noted that the knout, at that time, replaced the axe

and the rope. The judge, prevented by law from passing a sentence of death,
would condemn a man to a hundred blows of the knout, knowing full well
that the culprit would die during the punishment.
154 DAILY LIF.E IN RUSSIA

only 25 cases during the same period. 1 A ukase of June 12,

1900, had furthermore considerably reduc~d the number of
cases in which deportation could be decided by a court. The
days were far off when whole hordes of political prisoners and
criminals went off in fetters to the convict prisons of Siberia.
Even in 1878 they crossed the Urals in hundreds, famished
and in rags, trusting that the end of the journey would prove
a recompense. 2
In fact, these deportees were divided into two main classes:
the convicts properly so called (ssylno katorzhniki) and those
under lighter punishment, the forced-labour columns (ssylno
poselentsy). In former times the convicts were employed in
the hardest tasks in the mines. Those who survived the fatigue
and privations of this subterranean life were few. Beaten by
the warders, fed on soup made of rubbish, consumed by all
sorts of diseases, they almost regretted that they had not been
hanged at the end of their trials. 3 Today, on the other hand,
the convicts worked in the factories, the salt-mines and
quarries or on road construction. According to regulations,
they were only kept in prison during the first quarter of their
sentence. Mterwards, they passed into the category of
forced-labour columns and were free to take lodgings near
the camp, outside the barbed wire, on condition that they
appeared every day before the prison authorities for control.
This permission was often granted for good conduct before
the legal period of delay had expired. 4
For simple deportees discipline was even less harsh. They
were only obliged not to leave the domicile to which they had
been sent. The police watched them out of the corners of
their eyes. Those with means lived on their revenues, rented
a house and took their misfortunes patiently. The rest tried
to support themselves by practising their former professions,
'Figures cited by N. W. Kovalevsky, of the Russian Finance Ministry, in
his report of the situation in Russia in 1900.
• The figures for 1878 were as follows:
Condemned to forced labour 853
Condemned to simple deportation 9,847
Reintegrated escapees 1,064
'See Dostoyevsky's account in The House of the Dead.
• In order to calculate the period of forced labour, ten months were reckoned
as an entire year, which shortened the official duration of the sentence by a
sixth.
 THE LAW 155
or by offering their services in the mines and factories on the
same level and for the same pay as the free workers. But
although the lot of these 'forced settlers' was not at first
glance tragic, almost all of them suffered from being so far
from their friends, families and the entire world. Though
some of them, when their sentences were completed, re-
mained where they were, set up a home and took part in the
life of the locality, others, worn out by the monotony of exile,
fled.
A fair number of the convicts, moreover, escaped from the
prisons despite the vigilance of the warders. To return home
the fugitives covered enormous distances across the steppes
and frozen forests of the region. Setting out from the depths
of Siberia, they tramped for months, begging, stealing and
foiling the manreuvres of the police. In their struggle with
the authorities they had the help of the common people, for
the common people felt the same pity for political deportees
and simple criminals, regarding them all as brothers unjustly
persecuted by the State. The Siberian peasants who lived in
isolated farms, as a matter of custom placed a little food and
water in front of their doors each night for these formidable
vagabonds. In the towns and villages the passport control
made it possible to catch a few of the fugitives. More than ten
per cent of those sent each year from Moscow to Siberia
were 'reintegrated men'. But there were many who gathered
together in bands and wandered about, or were employed in
the mines, or laboured in the fields. Pillage, rape and murder
flourished in their path.
Having used the deportation of individuals on a wide scale
in order to colonize Siberia, the Government, alarmed at the
increase in criminal activity in the provinces of Tobolsk and
Tomsk, now preferred imprisonment to deportation, but the
Russian prisons were inadequate for the new penal policy.
Others had to be built very quickly on the model of European
prison buildings. To recruit a competent staff and to ameli-
orate the prisoners' conditions were the intentions of the
Ministry of Justice.
'Do you still think we're a barbaric country?' Alexander
Vassilievitch asked when he had ended his statement.
'I have never said so!' Russell cried. 'Certainly your penal
156 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

system is less harsh and more humane than some, but what is
so striking to me is the disorder that exists here under an
apparent administrative order. You haven't got a law without
an exception, nor a liberal institution without someone to
watch over it, nor a free citizen without the shadow of a
policeman behind him. Every time you describe some gener-
ous measure of the Emperor's, I expect some qualification to
lessen its effectiveness. You give and you take away again,
you loosen the rope and you tighten it again ... .'
Alexander Vassilievitch began to laugh: 'Don't forget that
Russia is in full social evolution. The people who demand
freedom are not mature enough to enjoy it without danger.
Also the reformers are acting warily, correcting their innova-
tions when they prove in practice to be premature .... But
in time we'll succeed in consolidating all that. Would you
like to see a trial? An advocate friend of mine is pleading for
the defence the day after tomorow at a Moscow district court.
His client is accused of murdering her husand. It might be
interesting.'
Russell agreed. Two days later he passed with Alexander
Vassilievitch through the walls of the Kremlin, where, oppo-
site the Arsenal, the imposing white fa~ade of the Palace of
Justice rose. They ascended the steps like two ants. The walls
drew apart to support an aerial dome in three tiers. Russell
felt crushed by the gigantic dimensions of the circular hall,
with its Doric columns, its bas-reliefs, paintings, marbles, its
hard light and its cold sonorousness. Men with anxious faces
were crowded together and murmuring amongst themselves
in the antechamber of the law: advocates in white shirt-
fronts, clerks in faded uniforms, litigants in fur-lined coats
or tulups. Alexander Vassilievitch drew Russell into a corri-
dor lit by very deeply set windows, spoke to an usher and
pushed open a door. They sat down on one of the benches
reserved for the public. Strangers of all classes were talking
amongst themselves in respectful expectation.
The hearing had not yet begun. The room was warm and
smelt of floor-polish and coal-dust. At the far end, on a three-
stepped dais, stood a long table covered with a fringed green
cloth. Behind the table were three chairs with carved oak
backs. Behind the three chairs was a portrait of Nikolas II in
 THE LAW 157
uniform, with the ribbon of the Order of St Andrei round his
neck. To the right were two rows of chairs for the jury. In one
corner was the procurator's chair, a pulpit and an ikon, and
in the other the clerk's table. Near the public was the bench
for the accused, polished by use and protected by a barrier of
little carved wooden posts.
At last the jury entered, visibly intimidated by their un-
accustomed duties. Among them Russell noticed a big
bearded merchant, and a bespectacled young man who might
be a professor or a doctor. When these representatives of the
people's conscience were seated side by side, an usher stood
up in the middle of the hall and uttered a few words in a
resounding voice. 'The Court!' murmured Alexander Vassilie-
vitch. Everyone rose. The president and his two assessors
came forward on to the dais. All three were in uniform with
gold-embroidered collars. The president was bald and had
white side-whiskers. The judges seated themselves in their
arm-chairs and the public followed suit to the sounds of
shuffiing feet and nervous coughing. Then two gendarmes,
with swords at their sides, brought the woman prisoner into
the box. All eyes were turned towards her, without surprise
or reproach, but with a sort of tranquil pity. She was small
and thin, with waxen cheeks, and her eyes were dark, deep
and gentle. She had cut her husband's throat with a razor
while he slept. Under interrogation, she had stated that he
had been unfaithful to her, had beaten her and had tried to
kill her. The clerk shuffied papers on his table. The jurors
were counted; the absent ones were replaced and lots were
drawn ....
The president placed his hand to his ear so as to hear the
comments of his assistants better. Suddenly Russell observed
the presence of a cassocked priest on the floor of the court.
He was there to swear the jury in. At a gesture from the
president he approached the pulpit beneath the ikon, slipped
his head, with its long oily black hair, through the opening in
a stole, adjusted the sacred ornament on his abdomen, ad-
dressed the jurors and explained what he expected of them.
Each in turn raised his right hand, with fingers together as
when making the sign of the cross, and repeated a formula
which Alexander Vassilievitch translated for Russell in a low
158 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

voice: 'I promise and I swear, by Almighty God, on the

Gospels and the Cross .. : '
After this ceremony the jurors drew aside to elect their
foreman, then resumed their seats, listened to the advice of
the side-whiskered president, and the trial began. The
woman answered questions in a scarcely audible voice. The
witnesses came and went, the clerk read the accusation, and
the witnesses gave evidence under oath. The proceedings
continued as in Britain. Russell certainly understood nothing
of the words which were exchanged before him, but the
gestures and the facial expressions of the principal persons
helped him to guess their thoughts. There was a report by the
medical expert, an examination by the jury of the exhibits,
crafty questioning of the bewildered witnesses by the procu-
rator and the advocate for the defence, a resounding indict-
ment, and an endless and mawkish counsel's speech. Stand-
ing up in his fine black clothes and his stiff white shirt-front,
the defending counsel stretched out a merciful arm towards
the accused and his voice filled with tears. The faces of those
present were filled with gentleness. 'They pity her because
she has committed a murder!' Russell mused, an idea which
seemed to him essentially Russian. The hearing was sus·-
pended several times. Finally, the jury retired to deliberate.
Russell was sure of an acquittal, but the woman was sen-
tenced to the loss of rights 'both civil and personal' and to 1

hard labour for four years. She did not flinch as the president
delivered the verdict. The gendarmes led her away. The
crowd flowed out into the broad flagged corridor. Russell was
disappointed, but as for Alexander Vassilievitch, he reckoned
the sentence was just.
'After all, she did kill her husband!' he said. 'Moreover,
without my friend's speech she would have got double. Let's
go and congratulate him. He deserves it!'
Surrounded by a circle of acquaintances, the advocate was
beaming; he was mopping his brow with a fine cambric
handkerchief.
 CHAPTER XI

MOSCOW'S MANY FACES

The significance of festivals in the daily life of the Russian
people- The blessing of the waters- Tatiana's day -Fasting
and bliny- The Great Lent and the markets -Anathemas-
The melting of the snows- The Day of the Forty Martyrs-
Palm Sunday -Preparations for Easter- Orthodox Easter in
Church and at table

0 NE by one the traktirs, shops, monuments, museums

and churches of Moscow yielded their secrets to
Russell. Tatiana Sergeyevna showed him the Treti-
akov Gallery, which two rich Muscovite merchants, the
brothers Tretiakov, had given the city in 1882, and which
contained more than 2,000 pictures by Russian painters.
Alexander Vassilievitch acted as his guide to the palaces,
monasteries and cathedrals of the Kremlin, took him to the
top of the Ivan Veliky tower, and led him into the home of the
Romanovs, where nothing had changed, it seemed, since the
time of Mikhail Fedorovitch, the first Tsar of the dynasty.
Paul Egorovitch took him to the Rumiantsev Museum and
the Historical Museum. But to these Russell much preferred
the innumerable aspects of daily life, the interiors glimpsed
through the double ground-floor windows, and contact with
the ordinary man in the street.
Far from the main thoroughfares, the narrow and badly
paved alleyways were a maze, where old and peeling houses
slumbered at the ends of gardens, wooden shanties rotted
behind broken fences, and ill-defined fields opened up,
undulating and powdered with snow, a chapel raised its
bulbous dome above a pile of ramshackle buildings, and a
nobleman's dwelling suddenly appeared with the fac;ade of a
Greek temple, hoar-frost on its columns and two stone lions
flanking the gate. Each building bore a number and the
owner's name legibly on the wall- the Shukin house, the
Tarassov house, and so on. Beside each entrance hung a lan-
tern, which also bore the owner's name, traced in black letters
on the glass. It was the porter's job to keep the lantern going.
160 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

This additional lighting was indispensable, for, far from the

city centre, the public street-lamps were few.
In fact, there was not just one Moscow, but ten, twenty,
thirty Moscows side by side.
There was the Moscow of half-ruined noble families, living
far from the Court, with dusty drawing-rooms, chandeliers,
portraits of bewigged ancestors, memorials, resentments,
debts, silent pride and ragged servants.
There was the Moscow of wealthy tradesmen, of bold in-
dustrialists, the kings of cotton, silk, iron, wood or leather,
who played at being patrons, built chateaux, subsidized
theatrical companies, bought French pictures, took an in-
terest in gastronomy, and gambled away thousands of roubles
with a smile, though their grandparents had been simple
peasants, with bass lapti on their feet, who scarcely knew
how to sign their names.
There was the Moscow of the small, corpulent, bearded
tradesmen in long greatcoats and squeaky boots, who worked
all week in their shops where the pot-bellied samovars shone,
went each Saturday to the public baths and every Sunday to
mass with their families, who grew indignant when their sons
and daughters wished to study instead of remaining in trade
and the family tradition.
There was the Moscow of tiny incense-perfumed churches,
with their blackened pictures, gentle evening bells,
cavernous-voiced priests, frozen beggars, and shawled
women, who knelt and beat their foreheads on the stone
slabs, kissed all the ikons and knew by heart the list of saints
to be invoked in case of illness, theft, pregnancy, dispute or
the evil eye. .
There was the Moscow of offices, of haggard, badly fed
clerks, dressed in faded uniforms, with their crafty struggles
for promotion, their scratchy pens, clattering abaci and dim
lighting.
There was the Moscow of fashionable salons, where ele-
gant ladies organized meetings for poetry recitals, music,
spiritualism and scandal. Reputations were made or des-
troyed in these salons; the most cutting words were spoken
and the most daring intrigues were plotted. Famous beauties
played at breaking hearts, and men were banished, fought
Tsarkoe Selo, St Petersburg

Bridge and Church of St Isaac, St Petersburg, with

the monument to Peter the Great
 10
Left:
Entrance
to the
Palace
of
Tsarkoe
Selo

Right:
The
Chinese
Theatre
at
Tsarkoe
Selo

Left: On the
banks of the
Neva, St Petersbur!
with the
Royal Palace in
the distance
 MOSCow's MANY FACES 161
amongst themselves, or committed suicide for them, or forgot
them by drinking champagne with the tziganes at the Yar
Restaurant.
There was the bright Moscow of the theatres with its per-
manent idols: Chaliapin, Sobinov, Stanislavsky, Komissar-
zhevskaya ...
There was the Moscow of the shoemakers, carpenters,
glaziers and tailors: poverty, a half-dozen dirty and squalling
brats, a pregnant wife, a baby in a packing-case and an ikon
fn the corner. Great lovers of the balalaika, the accordion and
vodka, these small artisans sang and got drunk on Sunday, and
for the rest of the week, taciturn and heavy-headed, brooded
over their misfortunes and dreamed of the next Sunday.
There was the Moscow of students, with their meetings,
their debates, riots and youthful enthusiasms. They lived
poorly several to a room upon the parcels sent them by their
parents, earned a few roubles by giving private lessons, wor-
shipped certain professors and detested others, and gazed at
their brilliant futures through the smoke of their cardboard-
ended cigarettes.
There was suburban Moscow, where the horses sank
breast-deep in the snow, where the dogs howled in the white
kitchen-gardens, where, behind the Taganka, witches told
fortunes, cast spells and mixed powders and philtres; where
special bakers cooked kalach 1 'with a handle' for the gilders'
workers, so that they should not dirty the bread when grasp-
ing it in blackened acid-stinking hands.
There was the Presnia quarter of Moscow, with its dismal
factories, its workers housed in barracks, its powerful police-
men, its convoys of wagons, its smoke and the racing beat of
machinery that made the earth tremble.
There was the Moscow of the Stock Exchange quarter,
with its international banks, export stores, warehouses, ex-
change offices, anxious faces and hands that trembled as they
fluttered through the pages of the newspapers or tore off
dividend warrants.
There was the Moscow of the popular promenades in the
Sokolniki Park, where the merchants still took their marriage-
able daughters. In the sleigh, hired for the occasion, the
1 A bread roll in the shape of a padlock.
162 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

parents sat on either side of the beautiful dolled-up child,

covered in furs and jewels, her cheeks pink from the cold
air. On the opposite seat the professional matchmaker
(svakha) sat enthroned, strong in all the joys conjured up by
her intervention. The timid young girl looked neither right
nor left, but hundreds of eyes were on her. Young men, walk-
ing in the same avenue, scrutinized the living capital offered
to their covetous gaze. If one of them should be tempted, he
then approached the svakha to obtain further details regard-
ing the dowry.
There was the Moscow of the Khitrovka, the centre of
drunkenness, robbery, murder and idleness, with its packed
night-shelters, liquor-shops, quarrels, summary executions,
rags, fog and secret laws.
There was the Moscow of the Trubnaya Square and the
adjacent lanes, the quarter for the prostitutes and maisons de
rendezvous. There was a very elegant example a few steps
from the great Hermitage Restaurant, and another, not far
away, abutted upon a convent. Because of this the house in
question was in keen demand, and its clients had named it
Svyatye Nomera, 'the Holy Numbers'. Farther off, in Maly-
Kolossov Street, near the Tsvetnoi Boulevard, were squalid
brothels that charged only 50 kopecks. The regulation red
light shone above their doors.
Though it was almost empty during the week, Trubnaya
Square livened up on Sunday mornings. Processions of ped-
lars came there to sell dogs, cats, rabbits, fighting-cocks,
doves, canaries and live fish in buckets. The din of bargaining
was interrupted by barks, chirps and bellicose crowings.
There were always bird-lovers to buy freedom for the birds-
a strange custom which, for Russell, expressed an oppressed
people's desire for independence! After a long palaver, the
grumbling bird-catcher agreed to the price fixed by his cus-
tomer, took the money, opened the cage and let the pigeons
fly away. All heads were raised joyfully to follow the captives
as they flew into the sky towards the Petrovsky Boulevard.
But it was a cruel trick, for these were tame pigeons; they
settled a little way off and folded their wings, and wisely
waited for a small boy to come and collect them and take
them back to the vendor to be put on sale again. Towards
 MOSCow's MANY FACES 163
evening the crowd dispersed and the square returned to its
true dimensions; the likatches drew up before the Her-
mitage Restaurant, with its brilliantly lit windows, and on
the boulevard the girls of easy virtue appeared in their
feathered hats and provocative smiles. The hotel of the 'Holy
Number' took in its furtive couples. Champagne was taken
up to the rooms. In the convent next door the bells rang slowly.
At dawn, peasants coming from their villages in telegas
passed through the city crying: 'Milk! Milk! Who wants
milk?' One also met in the streets the vendor of warm drinks,
with all his apparatus: an enormous copper boiler in his hand,
garlands of bread rolls around his neck, and on his stomach
an apron with pockets for carrying the glasses. A knife-
grinder passed, carrying his heavy stone and treadle-stand on
his shoulder, crying in a raucous voice: 'I sharpen knives, I
sharpen scissors!' A Tartar followed him, bowed under the
weight of a bundle of carpets and silks; at regular intervals
he raised the cry of the dealers of his race: 'Churumburumf'
The people mockingly described this merchant as knyaz
(prince), for, it was said, in his own country he had only to
own thirty sheep to have the right to the title.
Caught by the spell of Moscow, it sometimes seemed to
Russell that he was neither altogether in Europe nor alto-
gether in Asia. In the old Russian capital life was regulated
by the progress of the seasons, the changes of temperature,
the gifts of the earth and the cycle of Orthodox festivals. On
January 6, for the Blessing of the Waters, a religious proces-
sion went to the banks of the Moskva and halted before a
large hole that had been cut in the ice. A bishop celebrated
mass in the open air. The choir sang. To the sound of all the
bells, a cross was plunged into the cold black water. In a
temperature of minus 20°, the crowd watched the ceremony
from the bank. When the procession of priests, deacons,
banners, crosses and ikons left the spot to return solemnly to
the church, there were always a few courageous young fel-
lows who promptly undressed, ran naked to the hole and
plunged into the icy water. They came out as red as boiled
lobsters, with haggard eyes, shivering limbs and laughter on
their lips. Charitable spectators at once rushed towards them,
rubbed them, wrapped them in coats and gave them great
164 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

draughts of vodka. Was there not a popular saying that 'What

is health to the Russian is deadly to the foreigner'? 1
On January 12, 'Tatiana's Day', the students noisily cele-
brated the anniversary of the founding of Moscow Univer-
sity. After mass in the university church and pompous
addresses by the professors, the crowd of young men flowed
out into the streets, singing Gaudeamus and even the Mar-
seillaise at the tops of their voices. The police had been
instructed to leave them alone and watched this disturbance
of public order with suppressed rage. The festival continued
in the Hermitage Restaurant, where the tables had been
cleared of their valuable crockery in advance. Those who had
money paid for those who had not. Vodka and champagne
inflamed their faces. From the Hermitage shouting groups
went by sleigh to more distant restaurants, the Yar or the
Strelnya. A future judge climbed a palm-tree like a monkey,
a future doctor took off his boots and jacket and threw him-
self into the pool to catch the sterlets by the gills, and future
theologians sang with the tzigane chorus. In the artificial
caves girls, collected from the Tsvetnoi Boulevard, danced
with naked breasts before future engineers who were so
drunk that they scarcely saw them. At dawn the staff cleaned
up the battlefield, loaded the piles of bodies into sleighs,
aired the room and consoled themselves for the damage with
the thought that this sort of clientele would not set foot in the
place for another year.
A little later, in February, during the first week of Lent,
marked by the prohibition of meat-eating (myasopust), bliny
with cream appeared on all tables, accompanied by herrings
or caviar. So the days preparatory to the Great Lent became
an occasion for gastronomic delights. Pedlars' huts rose on
the Devitchy field. Vendors of spiced bread, nuts, hot bliny,
fish-cakes and sweetmeats, exhibitors of monkeys with their
sharmanka, 2 story-tellers, accordion and balalaika players,
theatrical companies in motley costume- the whole multi-
tude swirled about, gesticulated and bawled in the frail
framework of planks and painted canvas. On the Saturday of
the 'great shrovetide' (shirokaya maslyanitsa), the Russian
'Tchto Russkomu zdorovo, Niemtsou smert.
'Barrel organs.
 MOSCow's MANY FACES 165
carnival season was in full swing; the restaurants, circuses,
theatres and liquor-shops turned crowds away. On the
Taganka side the merchants displayed themselves in rich
carriages with their harnesses decorated with paper flowers
and ribbons. They promenaded their wives and daughters in
all their jewels. Families solemnly greeted each other as they
passed.
On Sunday evening the city fell quiet. At twilight, on the
banks of the Moskva, between the Moskvoretskv and Ustin-
sky bridges, rustic sleighs arrived, driven by peasants and
overflowing with foodstuffs: barrels of pickled cabbage and
salted cucumbers, baskets of dried mushrooms, boxes of
chick-peas, jars of various pickles. All these foodstuffs were
needed to provision the city for the Great Lent, the first week
of which (syropust) was dedicated by the Church to vege-
tables. No more milk, butter or white cheese! Amongst the
lowly people and certain great families of believers, these
instructions were followed to the letter.
The merchants erected their huts on the embankment in
the night and on Monday morning the crowd went down to
the Moskva to see the endless rows of tents and shanties
stuffed with Christian provisions. Garlands of white, yellow
and brown mushrooms hung between the shafts of the
sleighs. Nimble hands plunged into casks of brine where
gherkins floated among fennel branches and currant leaves.
At the end of a vigorous arm swung a whole family of glazed
cracknel biscuits, strewn with poppy-seed. Honey oozed from
rows of wax. Between two piles of potatoes an artist was
selling wood-carvings representing scenes from the holy
scriptures, and a colporteur was offering ikons and cheap
Bibles .... The Muscovite housewives hurriedly bought the
strict foodstuffs which they would need during the long
weeks of the Orthodox Great Lent. Then, laden with bundles,
baskets· and jars, they returned home. But they left again at
once so as not to miss the solemn penitential mass, during
which the singing of the choirs is always so sad and so beau-
tiful. The bells no longer sounded except at long intervals,
deep and funereal. In the nave the priests, in their chasubles
of mourning, black with silver embroidery, knelt three times
while repeating: 'Lord and Master of my life .. .'
166 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Throughout the first week of the Great Lent, the imperial

theatres closed their doors. Profiting by this windfall, foreign
actors flowed into Moscow and the public rushed along to
their performances. 1 The following Sunday, in the heart of
the Kremlin, in the brilliantly lit Cathedral of the Assump-
tion, a very impressive ceremony took place during the mass
celebrated by the Bishop himself. To the solemn singing of
the choir, a score of priests formed a semicircle around the
Bishop. A proto-deacon, with long hair and a haggard face,
moved to the middle of the temple and, facing the rapt con-
gregation, called down execration upon the impious and the
heretics, on those who did not believe in the resurrection of
the dead, the immortality of the soul and the illuminating
omnipotence of the Lord, on those who scoffed at the Church,
who did not observe the fast ... There were a dozen cate-
gories of great sinners. Every time he named one, the proto-
deacon took a breath and then cried in a voice of thunder:
'A-na-thema!'
The windows shook. Three times the priests answered in
chorus:
'Anathema! Anathema! Anathema; ' 2
A tremor of anguish ran through the congregation, who
bowed their heads.
However, the weeks passed and the days lengthened: a
very slight warmness, an unusual mildness, and a mysterious
gaiety penetrated the air despite the persistent snow. Around
Moscow the first buds swelled on the black wet branches. But
there was another herald of spring: the rooks came back in
groups and made their nests in the gardens. The gutters wore
beards of icicles, which the urchins broke off and sucked with
delight. On the roofs of some houses, workmen, tied by ropes
to the chimneys, plun~ed their shovels into the snow and
cried 'Look out below! and passers-by flattened themselves
against the wall to avoid the avalanche. Often the white mass
detached itself and of its own accord fell with a muffled roar.
'The theatres were closed also during Holy Week and on the eve of the
great religious festivals.
• In more remote times, the clergy every year launched anathemas upon the
heretic Grishka Otrepiev, who had overthrown the TsarBoris Gudonov, upon
Ivan Mazeppa, who had betrayed Peter the Great, on Stenka Ra:zin, 'thief,
traitor and infamous creature', and on Pugachev, the 'bloody rebel'.
 MOSCow's MANY FACES 167
On both sides of the street rose great banks of dead snow.
Sometimes the sky clouded over and flakes whirled through
the air. But the end of the winter was at hand.
On March 9, the Day of the Forty Martyrs, the arrival of
the larks was the pretext for serving little loaves shaped like
birds, with folded wings and eyes made of dried raisins. On
the Friday and Saturday before Palm Sunday (the sixth week
of the Great Lent), all the willows in the neighbouring country
were cut by their owners. A forest of branches with their soft
silver-grey catkins moved in convoys in the direction of
Moscow and poured into the Red Square. The crenellated
fortress walls, the Minin and Pojarsky monuments, and the
Cathedral of St Basil were surrounded by fluffy, moving
thickets. At the same time balloon-sellers came from every
direction, holding their enormous multicoloured wares on a
string as they swung to the least breath of wind. Urchins ran
amongst the crowd, blowing toy trumpets and swinging
hand-rattles. Housewives carefully chose the palms they
would take to church to be blessed. On Saturday a strange
merry-go-round was organized in front of the Kremlin:
gliding over the muddy earth, calashes and landaus went
round and round carrying entire beaming families. The
horses moved at a walk. The children gazed at the red bal-
loons. In the midst of the immense ring formed by the proces-
sion policemen in grey capes were quietly watching from a
distance and twirling their moustaches.
On Sunday, after mass, in the humblest homes as well as
the noblemen's residences, every ikon had its willow branch.
Then began Holy Week, with its deserted squares, its silent
bells and its stricter fast. But this somnolence in the city con-
cealed an intense culinary activity. Housewives everywhere
were busy organizing the Easter feast. They had to prepare
the dough for the kulich, the sugared white cheese for the
paskha and the dyes for the eggs.
The number of eggs bought by the Zubov tribe alone was
such that Russell wondered if there were enough hens in the
Empire to supply the needs of the population. To colour the
shells various powders mixed with boiling water and vinegar
were used. The eggs were plunged into the liquid one by one
and emerged red, green, blue and yellow. Greased with a
168 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

scrap of bacon-fat, they shone like jewels. The Zubovs' old

niania completed the decoration of some of them with a
brush. But her hands shook, for she had observed the fast
more strictly than her employers, and it had exhausted her
nervous strength.
Simultaneously with these activities, there was a general
cleaning up in all the rooms. A glazier came to remove the
double frames from the windows, and the daylight in the
rooms was improved. The gutters dripped. The roadway be-
came clear, turning into a liquid yellowish paste. Sleighs
finally gave way to wheeled carriages. The servants polished
everything they could lay their hands on. The doorknobs
already shone like the Easter eggs; the pendants on the chan-
deliers were filled with blue lights, and the floors smelt of
beeswax. Suddenly a great piece of news passed from mouth
to mouth: the ice on the Moskva was breaking.
Russell made his way to the river's edge. Between the
embankments a slow break-up was carrying the white blocks
along; they swung about, crashed together and crumbled to
pieces with a dream-like softness. A crowd of bystanders
watched the rising of the waters. The Rood threatened some
quarters of the city. But everyone was used to it. Everyone
looked happy. The great day was drawing near. The Zubovs'
nyanya sighed deeply, prayed for hours on end before the
ikons, and made the sign of the cross over her stomach when
she heard it rumble. Tatiana Sergeyevna, Helen and Olga
were very busy with their clothes. The dressmaker was late.
Would they get their new dresses for Easter? They were to
receive them very shortly before the Lord's resurrection.
There was a custom which required that, on the Thursday
of Holy Week, each of the faithful should take home with
him a little taper which had been lit during mass. A screw
of paper surrounded the Harne to prevent it from being blown
out by the wind during the journey. Innumerable flickering
glow-worms thus hurried at the same time through the twilit
Moscow streets. As soon as they entered their homes these
pious people raised the wax taper and with the black smoke
that rose from the wick they traced a cross above the door.
Then they rekindled the candles at the ikons. In the Zubov
household it was the nyanya who performed these rites, on
 MOSCow's MANY FACES 169
which, she said, the prosperity of the whole house depended.
On Easter Saturday, in the street, the majority of passers-by
were laden with baskets and boxes. The bakers, overwhelmed
with orders, were engulfed in dough and sweetmeats. The
nyanya decorated the ikons with paper roses, and carried the
paskha, the eggs and the kulich to church, where they were
blessed.
For midnight mass the Zubovs and Russell went to the
Kremlin. The crowd was so dense within the old crenellated
walls that they were unable to get into the Cathedral of the
Assumption. Although Alexander Vassilievitch had explained
and described the ceremony to him beforehand, Russell was
filled with wonder at the ocean of heads that rippled among
the reefs of the churches and the palaces. The domes shone
far above them in a dark wet mist. But on this evening the
stars had come down to earth, for each of the faithful held a
wax taper in his hand- a light for every face. The flames
flickered in the wind. All classes of the population were repre-
sented among those gathered together. Some carried coloured
eggs and paskha wrapped in paper. Alexander Vassilievitch
vanished and soon came back with tapers which he gave to
his wife, son-in-law, daughters, son and guest. Russell hunted
in his pocket for matches. Tatiana Sergeyevna stopped him.
Was he going to commit sacrilege? His neighbour on the left,
a robust tradesman, wearing boots and wrapped in a long
blue tunic, gave him his own lighted candle. The flame had
to pass in this way from one to another like faith in Jesus
Christ. The wax sputtered and then burned brightly.
'Thank you,' said Russell.
And as his neighbour looked at him with surprise, he pulled
himself together and murmured: 'Spasibof'
Tatiana Sergeyevna, and then Helen, came to light their
candles from the same bright source, which Russell shielded
with his hand. Soon all the members of the Zubov family
were lit from below like the ikons. Helen's eyes shone like
diamonds. A gilded line emphasized the curve of her cheek.
Her lips were smiling with happiness. Everyone around her
had a joyful air. People were not praying; they were whis-
pering and jostling with feverish impatience, as they awaited
permission to give free expression to their gladness. Distant
170 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

singing flowed out through the cathedral doors. A misty

glimmer floated above the entrance. All the candelabra were
lit inside. Russell's candle softened in his grasp. Suddenly
Helen cried 'Look!'
The religious processions emerged simultaneously from all
the Kremlin's churches. Banners, tapers and golden chasubles
formed long and scintillatingrivers. Each procession moved
forward through the crowd with a thousand flickering flames.
Priests, deacons and the congregation were seeking Christ
outside the sepulchre in the marvellous certainty of His
resurrection. The choir's powerful singing rose so high and
carried so far that it must have been heard at the ends of the
earth. A star with a fluorescent train leapt into the sky, fol-
lowed by another. Suddenly everything was lit up. Fire-
works! Golden rain fell upon the domes, catherine wheels
whirled at the top of the towers, and fiery letters- 'X.B: 1 -
quivered on the palace fagades. Under this torrent of light
the whole Kremlin - its domes, crosses, battlements and
columns- quivered like a magic vessel, ready to break from
its moorings and make off into the, darkness. The earth
vibrated beneath Russell's feet. An enormous and melodious
sound fell upon his ears. Light silver and heavy bronze, Ivan
Veliky' s bells were giving the signal for Christian rejoicing
and all the city's bells replied. Deafened by this uproar,
Russell was astonished to see his neighbour, the tradesman,
turn to him a face that was overwhelmed with thankfulness:
'Khristos voskreseP said the man.
And Russell felt the touch of a perfumed beard on his
cheek. In his confusion he recalled Alexander Vassilievitch's
advice and stammered:
'Vo istinu voskrese/'3
Having exchanged the triple kiss with this stranger, he
turned to the Zubovs, and every member of the family re-
peated the gesture. Russell repeated: Khristos voskresse,
offered his lips and opened his arms. His heart was overflow-
ing with Christian love. As he brushed Helen's smooth cool
cheek with his lips, he felt like an angel amongst angels. All
around them people were embracing, congratulating one
another and offering each other eggs.
1 'Christ is risen!' • 'Christ is risen!' • 'Truly He is risen!'
 MOSCow's MANY FACES 171
'I am so hungry!' said Alexander Vassilievitch.
That same night, at the Zubovs' home, there was a gigantic
supper for many guests. The servants, each of whom had
received a little gift (paskha, kulich, cheap jewellery), all had
merry faces. Russell was much amused by the custom of 'egg
fights' among those at table. Each took a coloured hard-
boiled egg and, grasping it in his hand, lightly struck the egg
held by his neighbour. The one whose egg was broken was
out of the game, and the winner at once faced a new adver-
sary, and so on. The experts chose by preference the eggs
with pointed ends and held them closely in their hands to
lessen the area of impact. At the end of the fight, the host
announced the winner, who put his victorious egg aside in
anticipation of a further trial and broke another on the edge
of his plate for immediate consumption. Pink, yellow or green
marbling, due to the colouring matter having penetrated the
shell, sometimes marked the plump white surfaces of the
shelled eggs. They were salted and munched rapturously.
Even those who had taken great care not to observe Lent
gave the impression of not having satisfied their hunger for
seven weeks.
The eggs gave way to hot and cold zakuski. And the hot
and cold zakuski gave place to the traditional sucking-pig,
with its crisp crackling, its half-closed eyes, and a coloured
egg in its half-open mouth. Glasses of vodka, zubrovka and
pertzovka were the punctuation marks in this long gastro-
nomic sentence. By turns, toasts were drunk to the lady of the
house, the host, to the present and absent, to Britain, to Russia,
to women in general and pretty women in particular. The
paskha, in the shape of a truncated pyramid, white and
packed with preserved fruits, flavoured with vanilla, the
cylindrical kulich with its topping of melted sugar, received
the praise of the connoisseurs. Supper ended at four in the
morning.
The next day Russell was awakened by the melodious ring-
ing of a thousand bells which echoed the good news across
the city. On Easter Day in Russia any person could go and
ring the bells in the churches, just as he liked. Russian bells
were fixed: it was the clapper which made the sound by
striking the walls of the bell. The windows shook to this loud
172 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

but joyful music. The maddened pigeons circled in the blue

sky. The sun shone in the puddles. In the middle of the
dining-room the table was already prepared for all who came
to greet Tatiana Sergeyevna during the day: a sucking-pig,
that looked like a brother of the one the night before, slept
the sleep of innocence in a field of coloured eggs, charcuterie,
caviar, balyk, salmon, pickles, paskha, kulich, and bottles of
vodka and wine.
Alexander Vassilievitch had drawn up the list of visits he
himself had to pay in the afternoon. A score at least. To miss
one of them would have been the greatest discourtesy. Paul
Egorovitch and Russell were brought in to accompany him.
And so the men hurried through the city from one house to
another, and the women received them. They left in a
calash. The coachman wore a belt and a new hat. The trot-
ters had carefully plaited tails, black shoes, shining as if with
lacquer, and silver harness which caught the smallest ray of
sunlight.
At each apartment, where Russell entered behind Alexander
Vassilievitch and Paul Egorovitch, he saw the same table,
with the same paskha, the same sucking-pig, the same kulich
and the same eggs. A joyful cry invariably greeted the new-
comers:
'How kind of you! Come in! Khristos voskrese!'
And the lady of the house reached up graciously to Alex-
ander Vassilievitch's silky moustache, while behind him Paul
Egorovitch and Russell awaited their turn. Three kisses for
each and they passed on at once to serious matters. On pain
of upsetting their delightful hostess, they had to taste the
sucking-pig, the eggs, the paskha and the kulich of which
she was so proud. At the tenth call the repetition of this menu
overwhelmed Russell. Before each table he had the feeling
that the Easter dainties of the preceding buffet, led by the
sucking-pig on nimble feet, had passed them on the journey,
and that he had found them again, inexorable and inexhaust-
ible, in different surroundings and amongst new faces. The
eternal piglet watched him fixedly betwixt its golden lids.
Russell was reminded of the eye of conscience which fol-
lowed Cain everywhere. A shiver ran down his back. He held
his fork in a feeble hand. His mouth was filled with revolt,
 MOSCOW's MANY FACES 173
but at his side Alexander Vassilievitch and Paul Egorovitch
ate with appetite, went into raptures over the quality of the
food and drained their glasses. One might have thought it
was their first meal since the morning.
At last they left. The open air, the sunlight, and the sound
of the bells. Alexander Vassilievitch struck a name from his
list and gave a new address to the coachman. They had to
cross the whole city, which was in festival array. In the streets
were strollers in their Sunday best: the men wore shirts of
red, pink, yellow, mauve and blue, and their hair shone with
pommade. Their boots were remarkably polished. The
women had large flowered skirts, and bright-coloured scarves
on their heads. They met, embraced and exchanged Easter
eggs. In courtyards and gardens the plaintive sounds of the
accordion melted a few sensitive souls, and in the drink-stores
laughter could be heard. Each small employer received the
congratulations of his staff in his workroom or in his shop,
where a big table had been laid beneath the ikon. 'Popes'
with high caps and venerable beards passed from one house
to another, blessing their parishioners and their food, and
drinking a glass of vodka under the fond gaze of the hostess.
A slight jolt. The carriage stopped. Russell, roused from his
stupor, followed Alexander Vassilievitch and Paul Egorovitch
into a red-carpeted vestibule, passed through open double-
doors, saw amid the green plants a crowd of people with
glasses in their hands, heard the words Khristos voskrese,
received three kisses, six kisses, a dozen kisses, and allowed
himself to be led to the table where the piglet awaited him
with an Easter egg between its teeth.
The next day, although the time of fasting was over,
Russell put himself on a diet.
 CHAPTER Xll

THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE

Visit to St Petersburg- The building of the city- Its appear·
ance to a newcomer- A military parade - The life of the
Imperial Family- The Court staff- The Emperor's day at
Tsarskoe-Selo - The ceremony of Easter greetings to the
Emperor and Empress- A ball at the Winter Palace - The
high society of St Petersburg- The clubs of the two capitals -
Artistic movements in Russia

X EXANDER VASSILIEVITCH had to go to St Petersburg on

business and Russell decided to go with him: 400 miles
by railway in a straight line, and a 12-hour journey. Be-
fore they left, the family gathered beneath the ikon. They all
sat with bowed heads for a moment's meditation; then there
was a great noise of chairs being pushed back. They all rose
and embraced under the tranquil gaze of the holy picture.
Alexander Vassilievitch preferred to travel by day so that
Russell might admire the landscape. But in fact the landscape
was nothing remarkable. After leaving Moscow by the Nikolas
Station, the train rolled rapidly along between bare plains,
copses of puny trees, muddy marshlands and dreary peat-
bogs; The villages were half-submerged in mud. The roads
were tracks of brownish refuse, cut by ruts and broken by
puddles. As the train approached the Tver the scene became
even more desolate: a featureless plain, stumps of trees in-
stead of stunted forests, a network of channels full of dirty
water, and all around slabs of peat piled up in the shape of
coffins. Mterwards came thick-set pines and birches with
trunks as white as dried bones. In the pastures were window-
less huts for storing hay. There were houses built of wood
from foundation to roof, grouped around a well, and a rustic
church with a gold-studded blue dome; a level-crossing with
its woman keeper, booted, and wearing a scarf over her head.
Then there were more marshes.
Alexander Vassilievitch explained to Russell that St Peters-
burg had been built, by order of Peter the Great, on a spongy,
sodden plain at the mouth of the Neva. At this point there
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 175
had once stood a Swedish fortress, which the Emperor had
razed in 1702. The following year (May 16, 1703) he laid the
first stone of the new Russian capital, which he said would be
a window to the West. His ambition was to build a city as
quickly as one built a house.
Forty thousand workers were employed on this super-
human task in an unhealthy climate. The soil was so soft that
for the foundations they had to bring material in sacks from
far away. As there were no stones in the vicinity, the captains
of all the ships on Lake Ladoga and the drivers of all wagons
bringing goods to St Petersburg were ordered to carry a load
of stone that was fixed in advance, and to put themselves at
the disposal of the commissioner in charge of the building.
The majority of the buildings were raised upon piles. To drain
the marshes, canals were dug that ran out of the river and
returned to it. The congestion of workers was such that they
lacked both lodging and food. The weakest died for want of
care. The rest arrived in convoys from the far ends of the
Empire. If Peter the Great was harsh towards the serfs, he
was no less so towards the great. A ukase ordered 350 noble
families and as many merchant and artisan families to take up
residence in St Petersburg and to build their homes there in
accordance with plans already drawn up and approved by
the Tsar. He himself had been installed in a modest dwelling
since 1703, while awaiting the completion of the Summer
Palace. The city was solemnly raised in 1712 to the rank of
court residence, and in order to give it the importance of a
national sanctuary, the Tsar had the bones of St Alexander
Nevsky taken there in 1724.
Forced to abandon their comfortable Moscow habits for
the new life in a land 'rich in tears and marshes', the Em-
peror's familiars resigned themselves to this change of resi-
dence as to an undeserved exile. Then, as St Petersburg grew
in size and splendour, thousands of 'volunteers' flowed there
to seek their fortunes in trade and government service. Now
in this strange region where the sky was pale green, where the
poor grass was mixed with heath and moss, where the bristling
pine and the melancholy larch predominated, where the
exhalations of stagnant water filled the air with dampness,
penetrated the.houses and pierced a man to the marrow, there
176 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

rose an artificial city, systematic and cold. One and a half

million inhabitants lived there in the shadow of the sovereign.
All the ministries, all the administrative departments, and all
the aristocratic circles were gathered together in a foggy
corner of land. No Russian was ever out of his element when
he arrived in Moscow for the first time, but everyone was so
when arriving for the first time in St Petersburg. They did not
feel at home, though they felt to some extent in Europe. Thus
it was, paradoxically, from the least Russian city in the whole
of Russia that since Peter the Great the Romanov dynasty
had governed the nation. Alexander Vassilievitch said that
this psychological error might have grave consequences in
the years to come.
'A Tsar ought to live at the heart of the nation. And the
heart of the nation is not St Petersburg with its straight vistas,
its fog, its uniforms, its arrogance and red tape; it is patriar-
chal and gaudy Moscow, where everything is simple, tradi-
tional and charming! Do you know why the St Petersburgers
,.
don•t like us? Because, without daring to say so, they envy
us ....
At these words the engine emitted a distressful whistle.
They had arrived at Bologoye. Alexander Vassilievitch re-
membered that there was an excellent buffet there and per-
suaded Russell that a borsch and pirozhk would do them both
good.

The Hotel de l'Europe at St Petersburg was like any first-

class hotel in any other capital in the world. Alexander
Vassilievitch and Russell took rooms with windows that
looked out on to the Nevsky Prospect. The next morning they
set out in a cab to reconnoitre the City. Protected by the
leather hood of the carriage, Russell listened to the beat of
the raindrops above his head. In the rain and the mist, St
Petersburg seemed to emerge, all streaming with water, from
a deep swamp. Trails of dampness impregnated the walls. In
the air there floated a strange smell of smoke, decay, sea salt
and carbolic. The streets were wide and perfectly straight,
without a tree or a hoarding. Stone fac;;ades of imposing
dimensions were everywhere. On the pavements the pedes-
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 177
trians moved along elbow to elbow with the same automatic
sort of walk. Black umbrellas swayed above their heads.
Their faces were pale and anxious. No one strolled or gazed
into the shop windows, or stopped to exchange a few words
with a stranger; they passed straight on, as if forced along by
a fixed idea. Carriages with rubber-tyred wheels rolled along
silently on the wet roadway and threw up sprays of dirty
water when they passed through the puddles.
The Nevsky Prospect began at the monument to St Alex-
ander Nevsky and stretched for two and a half miles to the
Admiralty building, the gilded spire of which pierced the
mist above the river. This triumphal route, nearly forty yards
wide, was flanked with palaces, churches, government offices
and shops: the Anichkov Palace, the residence of the
Dowager Empress Marie Fedorovna, the Imperial Library,
the Gostiny Dvor, a sort of vaulted arcade with low-built
shops and a crowd of silent buyers, the municipal Duma with
its granite steps, and the Kazan Cathedral with a colonnade
copied from St Peter's in Rome. Alexander Vassilievitch
showed Russell that the ikonostasis and balustrade of this
cathedral were of solid silver and that the metal used in it
had been recaptured by the Don Cossacks from the soldiers
of Napoleon's army after- the latter had pillaged Moscow's
churches. Amongst other marvels, the Cathedral contained
the miraculous picture of the Virgin of Kazan, French flags,
Imperial eagles, the keys of twenty-eight foreign cities and
Marshal Davout's baton. At Alexander Vassilievitch's instruc-
tions, the carriage turned slowly left, into the great Morskaya.
With its luxury shops, its private hotels and its fashionable
restaurants, this artery was the rendezvous for the elegant
strollers of St Petersburg. Russell could have believed himself
in Paris, in the Rue de la Paix, if a spectacle of Asiatic rich-
ness had not suddenly taken his attention. The great Mor-
skaya opened out on to an immense square, or more exactly
on to twin squares, one of which surrounded the Imperial
Council building and the other the overwhelming St Isaac's
Cathedral, built of marble and granite, decorated with mono-
lithic columns and crowned with golden domes. Between
these two gigantic buildings- the profane and the sacred-
stood the equestrian statue of Nikolas I in the uniform of the
178 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Knights Guards. His wife and three daughters had posed for
the effigies of Justice, Strength, Wisdom and Religion which
encircled the pedestal. Never had a family portrait a less
familiar air!
What a contrast there was between this conventional and
ponderous work and Falconnet's statue of Peter the Great,
situated 500 yards away in a great square near the Senate and
the Synod! The bronze Tsar, dressed as a Roman Emperor,
was forcing his mount to rear on a rock above the abyss. He
hurled defiance at the waters of the Neva, at the pestilential
marshlands, at the whole Russian nation; he held out an arm,
gave the command, and on this desert shore a capital was
born. On the plinth were these words: 'To Peter the First-
Catherine the Second'. The high figure of the monarch was
wrapped in mist. Drops of water streamed over his bronze
face. Pushkin had celebrated the statue in a poem and
Alexander Vassilievitch translated a few of its lines for
Russell's benefit:
... and in thy hold
A curb of iron, thou sat'st of old
0'er Russia, on her haunches rearing!
Military music sounded afar off; fifes and drums. Soldiers
marched past in a near-by street, striking the muddy surface
with their boots. All the statues of the emperors must have
quivered with satisfaction. The coachman cracked his whip.
The horses moved off. The line of the embankment appeared.
This was the pride of St Petersburg: a dike of Finnish pink
granite hemmed in the Neva which was here as wide as an
arm of the sea. On the Hat and glaucous water lay steamships,
lighters, sailing-boats and rowing-boats. Cranes lowered their
black arms over cargoes of cases and barrels. There were
whistle-blasts, jets of smoke, and the nonchalant coming and
going of stevedores around the merchandise....
Opposite, on the northern shore, was the Cathedral of St
Peter and St Paul, its belfry topped by a thin golden spire,
overlooking the sinister walls of the fortress. This northern
shore was divided into numerous islands by the arms of the
river. The first of these islands was occupied by the StPeter
and St Paul fortress, a prison of dank dungeons where -like
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 179
so many other political prisoners- Dostoyevsky spent some
months while awaiting trial and deportation in irons to
Siberia. On the second island, Vassili Ostrov, rose the Uni-
versity buildings, the Academy of Sciences, the Academy of
Fine Arts, the Naval Academy, the Mining Academy, and
various scholastic establishments. But Alexander Vassilie-
vitch said that this student city was much less lively than the
Latin quarter in Paris. Here a uniformed youth, serious, care-
worn and generally poor, lived in a boredom of rectilinear
vistas and sumptuous barracks built by the emperors for the
education of their best subjects. To the north were smaller
and less populous islands: the Island of the Apothecaries, with
its botanical gardens; the Kamerny Island, with its Church
of the Nativity of John the Baptist, Summer Theatre and rich
villas; the Ielagin Island, with its palace and fine oak-trees;
the Krestovsky Island, with castle, gardens and yacht club;
the Petrovsky Island, favoured by Peter the Great, and its
park, which was laid out according to his own direc-
tions ....
In summer, according to Alexander Vassilievitch, all these
verdant islands were invaded by city-dwellers hungry for
space and fresh air. Restaurants, bandstands, and cafe-
concerts opened up in the groves. The air was alive with the
continuous sound of singing and laughter. Crowds turned up
to see the sun set in the Gulf of Finland and rise almost at
once in the east in the glow of morning, for that was the
season of the white nights, of the midnight sun ....
But St Petersburg spread its holiday resorts far beyond
these islands- as far as Oranienbaum, Peterhof, Gatchina,
Pavlovsk and Tsarskoe-Selo, some of these localites having
been founded by Peter the Great and others by his succes-
sors. Alexander III was fond of Gatchina; Peter the Great had
a predilection for Peterhof, where he had two residences built
for him by Leblond, named Marly and Mon Plaisir. As to the
reigning sovereign, Nikolas II, he retired either to Peterhof or
Tsarskoe-Selo with the beginning of the fine weather. At the
moment he was still at St Petersburg, and so was all the
high aristocracy of which his entourage was composed.
Having passed along the enormous Admiralty building, the
carriage turned right into the Winter Palace Square. In the
180 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

centre stood Alexander's column, a prodigious monolith of

pink granite, surmounted by an angel bearing a cross. Russell
was able to catch only a glimpse of the monument, the top of
which was lost in mist. The carriage was already making a
wide curve; they returned towards the river and ran up the
Court Embankment. The walls of the Winter Palace
stretched out of sight: they had a brownish-ochre tint, and
were heavy with ornaments and statues. Then came the
Hermitage Palace, the barracks of the Preobrazhensky Regi-
ment, the Grand Duke Alexandrovitch's palace, the Grand
Duke Mikhael Nikolayevitch's palace, the Marble Palace and
other dwellings belonging to the principal families of the
Russian nobility. It seemed to Russell that they were driving
through a rainy Olympus. High dignitaries in uniforms that
were studded with decorations and great ladies in diadems
lived behind the windows at which he dared to gaze as he
passed. He told Alexander Vassilievitch that he would give a
lot to be able to attend a ball at the Winter Palace, but
Alexander Vassilievitch replied that all the money in the
world could not buy him such a favour. If Russell would like
to look at the Tsar and his suite from afar, he would have to
be content with attending a military review on the parade
ground.
'Do you think you could get two good seats in a stand?'
Russell asked.
'I don't know at all,' said Alexander Vassilievitch. 'But I
have influential connections in St Petersburg. I'll try ... .'
The carriage took a turning and drove back to the city,
passing in front of the Pavlovsky barracks. Then came the
Imperial stables, the Imperial stud, the Mikhail Theatre, and
once again the Nevsky Prospect, a wide misty corridor be-
tween two rows of grey fac;ades. In Moscow Russell had
never felt such a penetrating atmosphere of absolute sove-
reignty. Here the palaces, barracks and ministries jostled one
another. One man in three was in uniform. Each of them
lived with the thought of the Tsar above him. Everything
belonged to the Tsar, from the stones to the souls of men.
'When will there be a review on the parade ground?'
Russell asked.
·Next Sunday,' said Alexander Vassilievitch.
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 181
During the next few days, while Alexander Vassilievitch
hurried from office to office on his affairs, Russell conscien-
tiously visited the city's principal churches and the Hermi-
tage Museum, which was crammed with wonderful paint-
ings. He went at a steady pace from Rembrandt to Rubens,
from Claude Lorrain to Raphael, and from Tintoretto to
Chardin. But all these splendid things did not turn him from
his fixed idea: he wanted to see the Tsar and his army. At last,
on Saturday evening, Alexander Vassilievitch brought the
good news: one of his friends, Count Alexis Mikhailovitch
Radionov, had got him two seats in the back row of a stand.
'Now we have only to hope for good weather,' said Russell.
'The weather will be good,' said Alexander Vassilievitch;
'that's certain.'
'Why?'
'Haven't you heard of the Tsar's sunshine?'
Russell shook his head. Perhaps, indeed, in this strange
land the sun itself was under the Emperor's orders.

The sun emerged from the mist just as Alexander Vassilie-

vitch and Russell settled into their seats in one of the high
stands kept for the public on the left of the imperial pavilion.
An elegant company was assembled there, elbow to elbow,
and knee to knee. The women's filmy attire shone out against
the dark mass of uniforms and jackets. The silence was filled
with innumerable murmurings. On the parade ground the
whole guard was assembled in living, quivering immobility.
The regiments were like wide bands of varied colours sewn
end to end and spangled here and there by the glitter of
swords and bayonets. Farther off, at the edge of the parade
ground, the crowd seethed dimly. All of a sudden a cry ran
from mouth to mouth: 'There he is!'
The Emperor on horseback appeared very far away at the
corner of the parade ground. As he came into sight the flags
trembled and the music broke out, throwing to the heavens
the first notes of God Save the Tsar. Nikolas II came on at a
gentle gallop along the front of his troops. As he came closer
Russell could see his features more clearly. He was of
medium height, slender and well proportioned. He wore the
182 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

white tunic of the Knights Guards, and over it the blue

ribbon of the Order of St Andrei. A helmet, topped by the
two-headed eagle, stood above his pale face, with its short,
round beard. His horse had a light, almost dancing pace. A
scarlet cloth covered the saddle. Behind the Tsar came his
escort, in uniforms of red, green, white and blue, in helmets,
fur caps and plumes, with crosses, medals and fringed epaul-
ettes. A few foreign officers were among the cohort of Russian
generals. As he came level with each regiment, the Tsar cried:
'Zdorovo rebyataf' ('Greetings, children!') And each regiment
replied in chorus: 'Zdravie zhelaem, Vashe Imperatorskoe
Velitchestvo!' ('Good health, Your Imperial Majesty!') The
Empress followed in an open carriage drawn by six horses. A
great stir greeted her arrival before the tribunes. She took her
place in the central pavilion. Around her were other mem-
bers of the Imperial Family, dignitaries, ministers and cour-
tiers. Nikolas II halted without dismounting. His horse tossed
its head up and down. A deafening salvo resounded and the
parade began.
The red lines of the Cossacks of the escort moved off first,
preceded by their fanfare. The infantry followed in compact
masses: first came the Preobrazhensky and Semionovsky Regi-
ments; then the Pavlovsky Regiment, wearing the high gilded
mitre of Frederick the Great's grenadiers. The marks of bul-
lets were still to be seen on the oldest headgear, which were
real museum pieces. But it was customary to make holes in
the metal of the helmets to perpetuate the memory of earlier
struggles. The Pavlovsky held their rifles at a slant with two
hands, as if for a bayonet charge. The other regiments made
their appearance in parade order, dressed in green and
divided at intervals by the markers' little pennants. Before
passing in front of the Tsar they changed to parade step. The
artillery arrived next, at the trot. Scarcely had silence re-
turned than an order sounded in the distance.
The cavalry! Over the whole length of the parade ground,
a wall of men and horses emerged from the dust: Knights
Guards in silver breastplates, Horse Guards in golden breast-
plates, yellow Cuirassiers and blue Cuirassiers, the Empress's
Uhlans armed with lances bearing pennants with their
colours, Horse Grenadiers with chenille helmets ending in a
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 183
strip of yellow and red material floating in the wind, the
Emperor's Hussars in gold-embroidered vermilion tunics,
blue breeches and white dolmans with black fur on the
shoulders, the Emperor's Cossacks in purple tunics, bearing
lances, the Heir Apparent's Cossacks in light blue uniform .
. . . The torrent rolled along to the very foot of the tribunes.
The ladies made a movement of recoil, as if they were afraid
of being run down by the wave. The Tsar's hand went to his
helmet. But at the instant they reached the imperial pavilion,
the riders stopped dead; then, starting an elegant curve, they
made off along the platforms reserved for the guests. The
weather was clear and Russell already saw a line of silky
cruppers drawing away, their tails beating the air. He wanted
to applaud, but the crowd kept quiet. In the distance shrill
bugle-calls vibrated.
Alexander Vassilievitch murmured: 'A very fine parade. It
couldn't have been better even in Moscow.'
On returning to their hotel, Russell's legs were stiff and his
back ached as if he had been on a horse all morning.
That same evening Alexander Vassilievitch had invited
Count Alexis Mikhailovitch Radionov to dinner; he was the
friend who had got them the seats at the review, and Russell
had the honour of being introduced to this eminent person in
the restaurant of the Hotel de l'Europe. Without a definite
job at Court, Alexis Mikhailovitch Radionov was present
nevertheless at all official receptions, and was delighted to
tell Russell about the life of the Imperial Family and its
entourage.
According to this expert in etiquette, there was no court in
Europe where the staff was as varied and the hierarchy as
complicated as in the Russian Court. At the head of the
whole palace administration was the Minister of the Imperial
Court. Below him were the Grand Marshal of the Court, the
Grand Chamberlain of the Court, and the Grand Master of
the Court, who formed the upper level of the pyramid, with
the Cup-Bearer, the Esquire Trenchant, the Master of the
Horse and the Master of the Hunt. Almost all these gentle-
men were state officials of the second class (privy councillors,
or generals of infantry, cavalry or artillery) and had the right
as such to the title 'Your High Excellency'. The state officials
184 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

of the next class (privy councillors and councillors of state)

performed the functions of Marshal of the Court, Grand
Master of Ceremonies, Master of the Court, Chamberlain,
Equerry and Huntsman, and were addressed as 'Your Excel-
lency'. Lesser functions were those of Masters of Ceremonies,
Gentlemen of the Chamber, and so on.
The female staff at court was smaller and less varied. The
Empress's court consisted of a Grand Mistress, and several
ladies ofhonour and maids of honour. The lesser courts, those
of the Grand Duchesses, consisted of a smaller number of
ladies and maids of honour.
These arrangements dated from the time of Alexander III,
who had a taste for display. Nikolas II, on the other hand,
was simpler. Temperamentally modest and indecisive, and
by choice a solitary, he spent as little time as possible at St
Petersburg, where the excitement upset him, and preferred
to live quietly with his family at Peterhof or Tsarskoe-Selo.
The Empress Alexandra Fedorovna, who was impression-
able and uncommunicative, shared her husband's feelings and
was only really happy when away from the crowd and among
her four daughters. At this date, 1903, the eldest, Olga
Nikolayevna, was eight years old; then came Tatiana Niko-
layevna, six; Maria Nikolayevna, four, and Anastasia Nikolay-
evna, two. 1
At Tsarskoe-Selo there were two principal palaces: the
Catherine Palace (the old palace), which was used for big
dinners, receptions and ceremonies, and the Alexander Palace
(the new palace), where the Emperor led a steady patriarchal
life amongst his own folk. Rising at eight o'clock, he bathed
in a leisurely fashion, and breakfasted alone (tea with milk,
and rolls or biscuits) in the rosewood room. If the Empress
was awake by this time, he took his meal with her in their
room. Immediately afterwards he went to his office to listen
to various reports. First came the duty A.D.C., the Grand
Marshal of the Court and the Palace Commander. The Grand
Marshal discussed only questions concerning ceremonial, but
the Commander, who was personally responsible for the
Tsar's safety, brought political and police matters to his atten-
tion. After the Commander came ministers or high officials
'The Grand Duke Alexis Nikolayevitch was born later, on July 30, 1904.
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 185
summoned from St Petersburg. When these audiences were
over, the Emperor took a walk in the park with his dogs.
Then he usually ate a snack- h01'sch, kasha, kvass; these eat-
ables (proba) were brought him in a covered dish by a
warrant-officer. After midday he received visitors of less
importance. Lunch was served at one o'clock. The menus
were prepared three days in advance by the staff of the
Marshal of the Court and submitted to the Empress, who
approved or modified them as she thought fit. Lunch- to
which came mostly a few of the Tsar's friends -comprised
four courses besides hors-d' muvre. Nikolas II ate moderately,
preferred the Russian cuisine, often asked for sucking-pig
with horseradish, never ate fresh caviar (having once suffered
serious indigestion from having taken an excessive quantity),
drank a glass of vodka before sitting down to table, and
during a meal preferred to drink port.
After lunch he returned to work until half-past three; again
he walked in the park, and at five o'clock took tea with the
Empress, while he browsed in Russian and foreign news-
papers. From six till eight there were further audiences.
Dinner was at eight, with five courses. At about half-past nine
Nikolas II retired to his office once more, examined a few
dossiers, then rejoined the Empress and ended the evening
chatting or reading aloud at her side. When she was not with
her husband, the Empress spent her time at embroidery, talk-
ing to her ladies of honour or walking in the park with her
children.
This timetable was modified, of course, on days of religious
or military ceremony.
To ensure the safety of the sovereign, the Palace Com-
mander had the following under his orders: (1) His Majesty's
personal escort and the combined battalion of the Guard,
which together provided the sentries within the palace and
the park; (2) the palace police, who watched the neighbour-
ing streets and, in accordance with a register, supervised the
comings and goings of persons summoned to an audience; (3)
the first railway battalion, which kept watch on the line from
St Petersburg to Tsarskoe-Selo; (4) the duty guard, entrusted
with the protection of the Imperial Family on its journeys.
Nikolas II's closest relatives, Grand Dukes and Grand
186 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Duchesses frequently came to Tsarskoe-Selo on friendly or

formal visits. The Dowager Empress usually resided at
Gachina. But she never failed to join her son for Easter. On
Easter Sunday the Emperor's entourage gathered to offer him
their greetings. From ten in the morning the rooms of the
Alexander Palace were full of people. Then the various court
services in full dress passed one after the other into the
drawing-room where the Tsar and Tsarina stood. First, the
priests and cantors of the Imperial Chapel moved forward in
their gold-braided crimson caftans. Behind them came the
gardeners with baskets of flowers and fruit, the members of
the palace farriery with the Grand Farrier leading, the four-
riers of the chamber in vermilion uniform and white stock-
ings, the offiCiating priests in scarlet, the couriers in black
and their hats ornamented with ostrich plumes in the im-
perial colours, the Arabs in turbans with oriental shawls over
their shoulders, the butlers, the cooks, the scullions, and the
lesser kitchen staff. These had scarcely retired bowing when
the Master of the Horse brought the officers of equitation and
harnessing before the Tsar, the elegant Italian halberdier in
elk-skin breeches, with gold-embroidered white jacket and
varnished boots. Behind him, as if for contrast, came the.
coachmen in long wadded greatcoats with pleated backs, tied
with silk scarves; numerous medals shone on their broad
chests, and their hair, which was cut in the Russian style,
glistened with oil. The stablemen and washers followed in
their footsteps. They soon gave place to the huntsmen, guards
and beaters of the Imperial Hunt. Next came the Palace
Commander's men and the Tsarskoe-Selo police, and the
heads and deputy heads of all departments of the court
administration. Hundreds of visitors thus filed into the room
which was decorated with enormous sheafs of lilac and roses.
In the middle stood the Emperor in full uniform, but simple
and smiling. The Empress sat at his side in an armchair. The
Minister of the Imperial Court, the Grand Mistress of the
Court, the ladies arid maids of honour and a few members of
the suite stood behind them. Baskets of coloured eggs stood
on the long tables. Each employee, whatever his rank, ad-
vanced to the Emperor.
'Khristos voskrese,' said Nikolas II.
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 187
'Vo istinu voskresse,' was the reply. ·
Then the Emperor and his subject kissed three times. Mter
a deep bow, the palace servant approached the Empress, who
offered him an Easter egg and said: 'Khristos voskrese.'
The servant replied: 'Vo istinu voskrese,' took the egg and
kissed the Empress's hand.
The eggs for those of lower rank were large and of fine por-
celain and came from the imperial factories. The dignitaries
had the right to smaller eggs of various stones from the Urals
cut in the imperial factory at Peterhof. The Dowager Empress
received staff greetings in a near-by room. At the end of the
ceremony, Their Majesties went to the Library to hear the
choir of the Imperial Chapel. Count Radionov reckoned that
in two days more than 1,600 persons passed before Nikolas II
in this way.
However, it was not on this occasion that the Court could
be seen in all its splendour. Whoever wished to see St Peters-
burg high society around its master could not do better than
be present at a grand ball at the Winter Palace. The season
of grand balls was over, and Russell had to make do with
Radionov' s enthusiastic description of them.
From early in the day the heralds of the Imperial House-
hold ran through the city bearing from house to house the list
of those invited that evening. Usually everyone had known
the date of the ball for a long time, but the official invitation
was an order given on the same day. According to etiquette,
it freed one from all previous engagements to private persons
and relieved one even of the duties of mourning. The loss of
one's dearest did not exempt one from appearing at this func-
tion. Moreover, no woman could appear before the Emperor
and Empress in black, except when the deceased was a kins-
man of the royal family.
The opening of the ball was timed for nine o'clock, but the
guests had to be assembled well in advance, to await the en-
trance of the Tsar. Lines of sleighs and carriages glided
towards the brilliantly lit palace from all parts of the city.
Shawl-covered figures, wrapped in fur-lined coats, crowded
upon the snow-covered steps. Having taken their masters to
their destination, the coachmen crowded around the fires
that had been lit in the corrugated-iron shelters. While this
188 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

bivouac swelled in the frozen square, furs fell from the

naked shoulders in the glittering marble and crystal vesti-
bule. A procession of uniforms and dresses with trains, dia-
dems and decorations, swords and fans, spread into the great
gallery and ascended the staircase of honour between two
rows of Knights Guards, motionless giants in breastplates and
feathered helmets. In the immense White Room the statues
looked down upon a landscape of palms and roses. The crowd
of guests undulated gently under the lights of the chan-
deliers, and all eyes were already fixed on the doors through
which the Emperor would enter.
In the first ranks of notable persons were the old 'portrait'
ladies, so called because they wore upon their corsages a
miniature of their sovereign framed with brilliants. They
were zealous guardians of etiquette and living chronicles of
Court life, and they cast a strict eye upon the bevy of maids
of honour, who were recognizable by the diamond monogram
of the reigning Empress on their left shoulders. These maids
of honour were chosen from families of exceptional merit or
of high birth. Their prestige was great in St Petersburg
society. But most of them paled before the famous beauties
of the capital. Graceful young women, crowned with plumes
and jewels, passed through the hall in a wave of rustling
materials. Men of all ages crowded around them. Amongst
their admirers were ancient and worn-out dignitaries of the
Court, ministers, and chamberlains with the golden key on
their backs. All the serious servants of the Empire were deco-
rated with broad ribbons, studded with decorations, so that
there was not an empty space on their breasts. By contrast,
their age gave even greater presence to the young officers of
the elite regiments: the Knights Guards and the Horse
Guards, who carried their massive eagle-crowned helmets in
the crook of their arms, the Lancers with their red breast-
plates, the Hussars of the Guard with white gold-braided
dolmans, and the wasp-waisted Circassian Princes with
damascene daggers.
From minute to minute, curiosity, impatience, and a kind
of anxiety grew amongst the Tsar·s guests. Then it was nine
o·clock and all movement suddenly froze, conversations
stopped one by one, and the main door opened its two leaves.
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 189
In the deathly silence a loud voice cried: 'His Imperial
Majesty!'
The Emperor came forward in uniform, escorted by all the
members of his family, each in the place assigned to him by
the degree of his kinship. The orchestra, grouped in a thicket
of green plants, launched upon the opening bars of the tradi-
tional polonaise. The Grand Marshal and the Grand Mistress
of the Court led the procession. The Emperor gave his hand
to one of the Grand Duchesses, and the Empress gave hers
to the doyen of the Diplomatic Corps. The other couples
formed up in their turn and circled the hall with measured
tread. This graceful musical promenade was followed by
quadrilles, waltzes, and mazurkas .... Alexis Mikhailovitch
Radionov flushed as he recalled the excitement of the ball:
'What dresses, my dear fellow! What jewels! Every
diadem, every necklace is worth a hundred thousand roubles!
A simple ribbon is held by a plaque of precious stones worth
a fortune! Some apparently plain robes cost more than the
dalmatics and brocades of gold and silver! But all this is
nothing compared with the fancy-dress balls which are also
held in the Winter Palace. On the last occasion, Their Majes-
ties appeared in Russian costumes of the seventeenth century,
like those worn by the tsars and tsarinas before Peter the
Great. It was a riot of brilliants, pearls, precious stones, silks,
velvet and rare furs. The Empress's robe itself weighed two
pouds (over 70 lb.). Her long cloth-of-gold cloak was fastened
across the breast with a clasp of enormous rubies, un-
doubtedly the finest in the Imperial Treasury. These clothes
were as stiff as a suit of armour, and our beloved sovereigns
looked just like the ancient ikons!'

From Alexis Mikhailovitch Radionov's tales and Alexander

Vassilievitch's comments, it did not take Russell long to
realize that St Petersburg high society was very different
from that of Moscow. In the imperial capital, social circles
were stricter than anywhere else. A man could achieve a
brilliant career in the service of the State, become a general,
a privy councillor, or even a minister, but the doors of certain
salons would still be closed to him if he was not well born or
190 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

if he had compromised himself by a misalliance. A certain

diplomat, who had been officially received by the Emperor,
was ignored by the noble families of the Empire for this
reason. On the other hand, the same families would suddenly
take a fancy to some young man of no standing, because he
was obsequious and witty. He would be pushed along, en-
couraged, and put on the road to success.
But the leading part played by aristocratic circles seemed
less strange to Russell than the part played by the clubs, the
number of which was incalculable. But whereas in England a
club was a place where men escaped from their wives, in
Russia clubs mostly had a family character.
In St Petersburg every class of society had its club. At the
top was the Imperial Yacht Club on the Morskaya. It had
only 150 members and was regarded as the most aristocratic
in the capital: the Grand Dukes, the high dignitaries of the
Court, and the Tsar's aides-de-camp formed its nucleus. A
few foreign diplomats were admitted to it temporarily. How
many men, strolling along the Morskaya, cast an envious
glance at the sanctuary where the most famous servants of
the Empire were gathered! A man who had hitherto been
quite unassuming and kindly became a monument of cold-
ness, self-importance and authority if, after secret scrutiny,
he was considered worthy to belong to the elite of the Im-
perial Yacht· Club. From one day to the next he became
dogmatic about everything, with the assurance of a minister.
He would say: 'The Yacht Club thinks this .. .' or 'The Yacht
Club reckons .. .' Such vanity was not unfounded, for most
people to be found there were familiars of the Emperor.
Thanks to their connections, the members of the Yacht Club
could aspire to the most distinguished careers. It was in these
rooms that the candidates for important administrative posts,
for the honorary Court functions, and for command of the
Guards regiments, were recruited. Here, as in the army,
esprit de corps implied a robust unity of thought, responsi-
bility and sentiment.
The English Club (founded in 1770 with the approval of
Catherine II) was once the choice of political men: affairs of
State were discussed there between games of chess. With
time it had lost its air of great wisdom, but the number of its
 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 191
members was still limited, and many men grew old and em-
bittered before they achieved the honour of becoming one of
them. Neither musical evenings nor balls were given there,
for the members preferred good food and cards.
The New Club (Novyi Klub), recently founded at the in-
stance of the Grand Duke Vladimir, was more modern in
spirit than the English Club, its neighbour on the Court
Embankment. At the New Club the rich young men crowded
together: one gambled there for high stakes, retailed the
latest gossip from behind the scenes, from antechambers and
alcoves, and in the long run one acquired an unquestionable
stamp of elegance. Women were not admitted to this estab-
lishment- where, nevertheless, their praises were sung-
except on a few great occasions.
The River Yacht Club (Retchnoi Yacht Klub) was re-
stricted mainly to sportsmen. Its members went in for yacht-
ing and even tennis. Many foreign yachtsmen were members.
The other clubs, where ladies were admitted, either to
special evenings or in the normal way, were the Noble
Assembly (Blagorodnye Sobranie) which in days gone by had
received illustrious foreign musicians, such as Rubini, Alboni
and Liszt; the Arts Society of St Petersburg, devoted to
theatrical performances, tableaux vivants and sing-songs; the
Dance Societv,, a name which describes its activities; the
Commercial Club, which was a meeting-place of wholesalers;
the Merchants' Club, where the wives of these gentlemen dis-
played an ostentatious luxury; the Shop Assistants' Club,
where only employees were received; and so on.
To balance this mass of Petersburgian clubs, Alexander
Vassilievitch named some Muscovite clubs: the English Club,
as aristocratic as its namesake in the capital, the Nobles'
Club, the Merchants' Club, the German Club, the Arts Club,
the Musical Circle ... But in Moscow the clubs were not so
open to women as they were in St Petersburg.
If these two great cities were rivals in worldliness, they
were equally so in matters of art and literature. It seemed to
Russell that in cultured Russian society the passion for
poetry, novels, the theatre, music and painting was more
intense and more sincere than among the same social groups
in England and France. It is true, of course, that public
192 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

enthusiasm is not always evidence of good taste. The pom-

pous Munich style had its admirers. But the rich Moscow
merchants, Shchukin and Morozov, were already buying
impressionist canvases which nobody wanted in Paris. Thanks
to them the names of Manet, Monet, Renoir and Cezanne
were better known in Russia than in France. Another rich
Moscow merchant, Ostrukhov, was devoting part of his
wealth to acquiring old ikons. Yet another, Soldatenkov, spent
his money unstintingly to facilitate the publication at a very
low price of the books necessary to the country's intellectual
development. As to the brothers Tretiakov, who were enthusi-
astic collectors, Moscow was indebted to them for the largest
collection of contemporary Russian pictures.
In St Petersburg, Serge Diaghilev and the painters Somov
and Benois founded the review Mir Iskusstva (The World of
Art, 1897), while another review, Novy Poryt (The New Way),
brought the thinkers and philosophers of the younger genera-
tion together. Tolstoy and Chekov still dominated the novel
and the theatre, but on all sides people of new and fiery talent
were rising, bursting with daring comments and getting to-
gether in coteries, clubs and schools. The poets of Moscow
gathered around Briussov, those of St Petersburg around
Zinaida Hippius, Merezhkhovsky and Fedor Sologub. The
general public was not very well informed about the different
theories which stirred the writers known as 'modern', but
the whole of Russia's cultured society lived in a state of
creative fever. Hundreds of students would sacrifice all their
savings to hear Chaliapin or Sobinov, or to be present at a per-
formance at the Arts Theatre, or to be captivated once again
by the bitter and tragic voice of Komissarzhevskaya. A frenzied
love of the theatre seemed to Russell one of the main traits of
the Russian character. Families in comfortable circumstances
took their children to the opera and ballet while they were
still very young, and 'to play at theatre' was the favourite
pastime of every schoolboy.
In the previous century, parallel with the great imperial
theatres, gentlemen had founded private theatres where
actors who were the slaves of their talents performed. About
1825 a Moscow merchant named Varguin had organized a
company in his own house which, as it developed, had
 11 Nikolas II
and the Empress
Alexandra in
the robes of
the Tsars and
Tsarinas before
the times of
Peter the Great

Below: The Winter Palace, St Petersburg, on the occasion of a ball

12 Nizhni-Novgorod with the barges gathering on
the waterfront

A street scene in Nizhni-Novgorod

 THE TSAR AND HIS ENTOURAGE 193
assumed the name of the Maly Theatre (Little Theatre). This
stage was to produce the finest works of Russian dramatic
art: The Misfortune of having Too Much Sense, by Griboy-
edov, who depicted the noble officials in all their dullness and
servility, Gogol's Revizor, a violent satire on the ways of the
Government, plays by Ostrovsky, in which the author de-
nounced the brutality, ignorance and cupidity of the mer-
chants, and the dramas of Tolstoy .... There was a saying
among the students that 'one learns science at the University
and life at the Little Theatre'.
At the beginning of the twentieth century there were five
public theatres in Russia directly dependent upon the Im-
perial Government: they were attached to the Ministry of the
Court. In St Petersburg: the Marie Theatre 1 (opera and
ballet), the Alexandra Theatre (drama and comedy), the
Mikhail Theatre (where there was a permanent French com-
pany and where, in the Russian language, only classics were
usually presented). In Moscow: the Grand Theatre (opera
and ballet) and the Little Theatre, which has been mentioned
above. 2 The nobles and dignitaries of the Empire reckoned
that their presence at ballet and opera at the Marie Theatre
was both a privilege and an obligation. For performances on
Tuesdays and Fridays (opera) and on Sundays (opera in the
afternoons, ballet in the evening) one could, with a little luck,
obtain tickets at the box office, or with greater certainty (and
by paying rather more) from the numerous people who
loitered around the building with tickets for resale. On other
days almost all the seats were reserved by season-ticket. The
Russian aristocracy, faithful to the Marie Theatre, appreci-
ated also the French plays at the Mikhail Theatre. The Alex-
andra Theatre, on the other hand, was frequented by the
lesser nobility, the intellectuals, officials, merchants and
students.
In 1883 Tsar Alexander III had finally abolished the mono-
poly of the imperial theatres, opening the way to private
enterprise in the drama. At once many companies were
formed in the two capitals: the Korch Theatre in Moscow, the
'As an indication, the Marie Theatre had 2,000 seats, and the price of first-
tier boxes was 16 roubles 10 for the ballet and 19 roubles 40 for operas.
2 The Little Theatre was burnt down in 1901.
194 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

Su'vorin Theatre in St Petersburg. Mamontov, a business

man, decided to reform the Russian opera which was in
danger of being stifled by conventions. He gave his patron-
age to Mussorgsky, from whom the 'connoisseurs' turned
away ironically, helped Rimsky-Korsakov to force Snegu-
rotchka, Tsar Saltan and Le Coq aOr upon the public, and
gave encouragement to Chaliapin, who had been dismissed
from the Marie Theatre for 'incompetence'. Another melo-
maniac, Belayev, organized chamber-music evenings at his
own home. The principal habitues of this little circle were
Rimsky-Korsakov, Borodin, Glazunov, Blumenfeld ....
Meanwhile, the real reform of the stage was prepared at a
restaurant in Moscow. There, on June 22, 1897, the young
actor and prime mover, Stanislavsky, met the dramatist
Nemirovitch-Danchenko, and during a heated argument laid
down the conditions for the rebirth of the Russian theatre.
From their discussion the famous Moscow Arts Theatre was
born, and it was a Moscow merchant, Sava Morozov, who
financed this revolutionary enterprise. The new building of
the Moscow Arts Theatre was inaugurated in 1902 as a result
of his subsidy. But the St Petersburgers realized this time that
the Muscovites had completed a stage in the competition
between the two cities. Alexis Mikhailovitch Radionov de-
clared that Moscow had turned it to good account, but that
did not prevent him from insisting on keeping Zubov and
Russell at St Petersburg.
'Why are you in such a hurry to catch the train?' he asked.
'In a few days we shall be celebrating the bicentenary of the
foundation of St Petersburg. You reafly must be there. Their
Majesties are going to inaugurate the Tro'itsky Bridge over
the Neva opposite the Peter and Paul fortress.'
Dazzled by this prospect, Russell hoped for a moment that
Alexander Vassilievitch would agree to prolong their stay in
the capital, but the latter excused himself on the ground that
urgent business was calling him back to Moscow.
 CHAPTER XIII

THE PEASANTS
Life in the country- Interior of an isba- The bath-houses-
Village festivals- Dances, songs and costumes- Making lapti
-A pedlar- Origins of the mouiik - The mir in relation to the
communal council- The mouiik at home: patriarchal and other
customs - Marriage rites - Nuptial laments - Work in the
home- Seasonal migrations of the mouiiks - Their primitive
piety- The Beguny sect- Various superstitions- Russian folk-
lore- Popular sayings- The political education of agricultural
workers - Agrarian troubles

W HEN the fine weather began Moscow took on a new

look. Even the plainest women managed to greet
the sunshine with bright-coloured kerchiefs and
skirts. Soldiers and students sported their summer outfits.
There were white shirts and helmets everywhere. Many men
had their heads shaved.
It was regarded as good form to have a villa on the out-
skirts of Moscow, and the Zubovs had one. With the month of
July the whole family moved there, and Russell went with
them. The Zubovs' country house was both charming and
decrepit; the walls were cream, with a touch of pink; there
was a pillared flight of steps, a large garden, a birch
wood, a pond, a kitchen garden, an aviary, a playing-
field and swings for the children. The days were pleasantly
spent in walks, fishing-parties, croquet matches and
charades.
The tea ceremony played a very important part in the life
of a Russian family on holiday. Tatiana Sergeyevna, seated at
the end of the table beside the samovar, presided over the
handing round. Having prepared a very strong infusion in
the teapot, she poured the dark and scented essence into cups
for the ladies and glasses for the men, and diluted it with
boiling water from the samovar. If one asked for a second
cup, the lady of the house rinsed the cup and dried it with a
little embroidered cloth before refilling it in the same way. On
the table were fruit, jams, honey, patisseries, slices of water-
196 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

melon and small jugs of soft drinks. This meal lasted from
four till six in the afternoon.
Alexander Vassilievitch and Paul Egorovitch were often
obliged to return to Moscow on business. As they accom-
panied the men to the little station, the women pitied them
for having to leave for the difficulties, the heat and worries of
the city. But actually this feminine pity was slightly qualified
by the idea that perhaps, after working hours, the two men
would find distraction with the tzigane singers. For greater
convenience Tatiana Sergeyevna had brought only half her
staff to the country. Thus the husbands would not be without
help in Moscow. After three or four days away, they returned,
weary, important and happy, to the verdant retreat where
the ladies awaited them, smiling, in their floral gowns. When
rain threatened, the men played billiards in the Russian
fashion. Parties with neighbours were sometimes organized
on the veranda.
When he could escape from social obligations, Russell went
for walks in the country. Paul Egorovitch Sychkin gladly
went with him on these excursions. As they moved away from
the railways the two men moved backwards in time. In one
hour's walking from the comfortable Zubov villa there began
the crude, disturbing, attractive world of the Russian
moujiks. From one visit to another Russell learned to know
them better.
All the villages resembled one another: a little church with
a bulbous steeple, a well, some geese, some hens scratching
in the dust, sunflowers lifting their great yellow heads above
a fence, and a few cabins of logs that were fitted closely to-
gether and made draught-proof with oakum packing. Inside
was a small single room with a large stove, all smoke-
blackened, with benches along the wall, a table and, in the
corner, lit by night-lights, the holy pictures to which the
visitor had to bow before greeting the master of the house.
The best place to sleep was the one reserved by the moujik
for himself, on the oven: it was warm there in winter and cool
in summer. Sometimes he took his wife there with him, or a
sick child. But mostly the women, girls and boys slept on the
floor on piles of rags, or in the barn. It was not the custom to
undress for the night, but the men took off their boots or bark
 THE PEASANTS 197
sandals to air their feet. The flies loved this dim menagerie-
like stench: they buzzed in swarms around the copper samo-
var. Earthenware plates, wooden spoons, goat-skins hanging
from nails, everything there was wretched.
But in Russia every village of any importance had its bath-
house. The population crowded there on the eve of a feast
day. In these steam baths men and women sweated separ-
ately until they almost swooned, flogged themselves to stimu-
late circulation, and scratched and scoured themselves with
pitiless frenzy. Afterwards, in the winter, the more courage-
ous ones rolled in the snow; in the summer they all dressed
again and, made thirsty by such violent sweating, went to a
traktir to quench it.
A religious festival was always accompanied by a copious
meal. The members of a family gathered together at the home
of the grandfather or father whom they had left in order to
set up homes of their own. Now that the tribe was together
again for a few hours, it showed its gratitude to the head of
the tribe by eating heavily and drinking hard. Besides the
relatives, there were friends, pilgrims, neighbours, and
beggars, 'sent by the Lord'. Russian hospitality was no legend
and its gastronomic character was confirmed by numerous
proverbs such as: Chto v pechi, to na stol mechi (Bring to the
table everything you can find in the oven); N e krasna izba
uglami, a krasna pirogami (The house is not made beautiful
by its rooms but by its pies). The very word hospitality in
Russian, khlebosolstvo, was derived from two words: khleb
and sol, bread and salt. The poorest peasants saved their
money to be able, on certain dates, to organize serious feast-
ing. These feasts usually lasted the whole day. They ate,
drank, went out to stretch their limbs and get some air, and
then sat down to table again with a new appetite. While the
old folk gorged and groaned with pleasure, the young ones
amused themselves in the meadow. The band consisted in-
variably of an accordion and a balalaika, a species of mando-
lin with a triangular body. The girls, holding hands, formed
khorovody, in other words, they danced around and sang
popular songs. The boys, not far away, with jovial faces and
bent knees, frenziedly flung one leg out after another to the
maddening beat of a trepak or a cossack. Sometimes the
198 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

bolder boys attempted to hug a girl. Then there were shouts,

excited laughter and such vigorous rebuffs that the gallant
fellow would find himself on his back in the grass. Around
the swings (kacheli), an indispensable item at every celebra-
tion, there was much shouting and laughter. Peasant women
sat astride the plank that hung on ropes. At each end
of this small bench, stout young fellows set it swinging
to and fro by flexing and straightening their knees alter-
nately.
For holidays the women dressed in the sarafan, a brightly
coloured frock with shoulder-straps, covering an embroidered
shirt. Some of them wore the kakochuik, a red or blue diadem
ornamented with glass trinkets. Others wore simple scarves
knotted over their heads. Around their necks hung long neck-
lets of multicoloured beads. The men had cut their hair as if
with a basin. The young men were beardless, but the old men
wore full beards; all of them wore blouse-shaped cotton shirts
that buttoned at the side and hung outside, linen or wool
trousers that were stuffed into their boots. For the moujik a
fine pair of boots was a sign of elegance. The poorest made
do with lapti, a sort of sandal made of the plaited hark of
lime-trees.
In June the whole village joined forces to cut down some
limes in the vicinity. Next began the delicate operation of
detaching the first two layers of hark. When the weather was
warm and humid the tree could be stripped easily, but in cold
and dry weather there was no sap in the fibres, and even with
an axe it was difficult to separate the superimposed layers.
Each of these layers had its use in the peasant's domestic
economy. The first skin was used for roofing houses; the
second skin, taken mainly from young lime-trees, was put
into water and was left soaking all the summer. When winter
began it was piled up in a warm room, and when thoroughly
dried was cut into strips and plaited to make lapti. A moujik
often used two or three pairs of lapti a week. He liked this
kind of footwear, which left his feet free, did not retain mois-
ture for long and cost nothing.
No village festival was complete without a pedlar, or
korobeinik. 1 An indefatigable walker, the korobeinik came
' From the word korob =a box.
 THE PEASANTS 199
from distant places, carrying an enormous black bundle
strapped to his shoulders. He was always dressed in a black
frock-coat of an antiquated shape, a black waistcoat deco-
rated with metal or glass buttons, black trousers and a cap
with a black peak. Sometimes the man had a horse and cart
to transport his goods, in which case he slowly walked the
roads beside his horse. He had scarcely arrived in some
hamlet when the whole population hurried out to meet him.
The women stood enraptured at the cretonnes and the bril-
liantly coloured prints which he spread before them. One of
them, with flushed cheeks and eyes shining covetously, tried
on a necklace of glass beads, while another, clinging to a pair
of green ear-rings, plunged her hand into the piles of multi-
coloured ribbons, and a third begged the pedlar to accept a
roll of thread, which she herself had plaited, in exchange for
a little ikon. But the pedlar was not listening, being too occu-
pied in negotiating the sale of a silk belt to a rich, bearded,
paunchy moujik. Paul Egorovitch, who watched such an
incident with Russell, translated the conversation.
'Well!' cried the moujik in an assured voice, 'shall we
shake hands on it?'
'Add another 50 kopecks,' the pedlar begged, bowing low,
'Christ is my witness that even so I shall get nothing out of
this but our friendship.'
'Enough of these lies! I'm certain you're robbing me of a
rouble.'
'If I robbed all my customers of roubles I should now be a
merchant in Moscow,' the pedlar replied, winking malici-
ously.
'Very well, then. Let's split the difference. I'll give you
another twenty-five kopecks!'
'One feather more or less makes no difference to a pillow!
Make it thirty-five kopecks and it's yours!'
Meanwhile some urchins were prowling around the spiced
and sugared buns, longingly fingering the wonderful whistles
cut in the shape of birds, horses or serpents, or sniffing the
air near the piles of caramels screwed up in shiny paper. The
pedlar unwrapped vessels of coloured wood, books, ikons,
kerchiefs or lubochnye kartiny, a 'tuppence coloured' sheet
of pictures representing the generals Ermolov and Skobelev
200 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

surrounded by mythological figures, the Tsar, the Tsarina, or

the torment of sinners in Hell.
After the pedlar's departure, the objects he had sold appar-
ently lost half their attraction in the hands of their owners.
The colours faded, the laughter died out, and everyday life
was resumed.

Once there had been two kinds of serfs: those who were
tied to the soil (krepostnye) and those who were tied to the
master (dvorovye). The dvorovye were not involved in agri-
culture, but served in the master's house as porters, cooks,
valets and coachmen. They could be sold at any moment and
into no matter what conditions. The krepostnye, however,
could not be removed from the soil they cultivated, and if
the proprietor sold them properly, they passed under the
authority of the purchaser without the boundaries of their
fields being affected by it. Thus in the course of centuries the
idea had taken deep root in the minds of the moujiks that the
land was theirs, although their persons belonged to the
master. The master could deprive them of everything except
the land. 1 When, on February 19, 1861, Alexander II promul-
gated the law emancipating the serfs, the latter received the
news with a joy that was mixed with anxiety. According to
this law, the dvorovye must, for two more years, either pay a
fee to the master (30 roubles per man and 10 roubles per
woman), or guarantee him personal service. After this brief
interval they were free but, of course, received no share of
the land. Thus a class of permanent servants was created. The
treatment of the krepostnye, on the other hand, was inspired
by the anxiety both to give land to former serfs and to safe-
guard, as far as possible, the right of the owners. The latter
therefore found that they were forced to give the moujiks a
part of their domains, but subject to compensation in accor-
dance with a scale annexed to the act. The application of
these extremely complex terms was entrusted to an arbitrator,
chosen from amongst the nobility. The latter's decisions
could be submitted to a special court composed of the nobles
'The Russian peasants were enslaved and tied to the master's land only at
the. end of the sixteenth century by a decision of the Tsar Boris Gudonov.
 THE PEASANTS 201
of the Government. And it was the Senate, the noble assembly
par excellence, which judged the differences in the last resort.
This aspect of the reform aroused the suspicions of the
moujiks; dimly convinced that they were the owners of the
plots they cultivated, they were astonished that they now
had to pay for them. Doubtless the owners had distorted the
Emperor's generous ideas! One day the truth would out! The
Tsar would issue a new 'ukase', written 'in letters of gold', to
make clear that he gave the moujiks both their liberty and
their land.
But the years passed; the 'ukase in letters of gold' was slow
in appearing, and the moujiks reckoned that, although they
were freed from bodily servitude, other restraints weighed
upon them. In fact, to make it possible for them to acquire
their enclosures and portions (nadel) rapidly, the State had
granted them long-term loans. It was the State which, in their
stead, had paid the purchase price (obrok) to the landowners
in letters of credit. Afterwards, the State turned to the mou-
jiks to claim an annual payment of six kopecks for every
rouble advanced, the capital being fully redeemed in forty-
nine years. Thereafter every connection was broken between
the f<_)rmer masters and the peasants. But the latter remained
debtors to the State which, to secure its debt, imposed re-
sponsibility for payment upon the commune, represented by
the popular assembly known as the mir. Formerly, it had been
the master who had accepted the responsibility for tax col-
lection: if he was harsh he flogged the negligent payer, but
ended by sending the taxes where they were intended; if he
was a good man, he might pay the debt himself out of laziness
or pity. But the mir was intractable. This assembly of peasants
accepted no excuses from their fellows who, by misfortune or
mistake, jeopardized the interests of the community. Accord-
ing to Paul Egorovitch Sychkin, many moujiks, overwhelmed
by care, felt a nostalgia for the days of serfdom. Once they
had been like children, without rights, vaguely oblivious and
without initiative; but now they had become adults over-
night, with instructions to steer their own way through life.
'Things were better in the masters' days,' the old folk said. 'At
least, we didn't have to worry about the future. We were sure
of eating our fill. The master did the thinking for us ... .'
202 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

On the other hand, the young folk had already adapted

themselves to the new situation. At present every peasant
owned a plot of land but, at the same time, as a member of
the commune, he was co-proprietor of an inalienable com-
munal plot, the control of which rested with the mir.
The mir, or skhod, was a popular body which met at the
request of any member of the commune. If two peasants had
a disagreement, they went at once to the starosta, the elected
leader of the village; and if the starosta did not succeed in
conciliatin?, the two points of view, they declared: 'Mir nass
rassudit!' ( The mir will judge between us.') At these words
the starosta was obliged to call the mir together. An urchin
ran off and stopped at every house, every enclosure and every
crossing, to summon the peasants. An hour or two later the
mir, meeting in the starosta's izba, listened to the two parties
and, after some discussion, gave judgement that was imme-
diately enforcible.
The mir also met to hear Government communications, to
concern itself with the guardianship of. minors, to share out
the taxes which fell upon the village and to distribute
amongst the peasants the land that belonged to the commune.
Of this land there were three categories: rich, medium and
poor. Each of these categories was itself divided into as many
plots as there were members of the mir: lots were drawn and
each peasant received a piece of each kind of soil. Woodlands
and other outlying parts were not shared out. In practice, this
parcelling-up sometimes posed insoluble problems, and plain-
tiffs went to a higher level, the volost, a sort of council com-
prising the elected representatives of several communes (one
representative for every ten households). The volost, pre-
sided over by a starchina, had a permanent council, the
volost's regency, and a court composed of three elected
judges. A cantonal chief, or zemskii nachalnik, watched
closely on behalf of the Government the use which the
moujiks made of their new-found freedom. 1
The institution of the mir was, in fact, inspired by the cus-
toms of Russian peasant families. These families, with their
patriarchal traditions, were mirs in miniature. Supreme
authority belonged to the father or the grandfather, so long
1 See the earlier chapter on local government in Russia.
 THE PEASANTS 203
as he kept his wits. Often, after marriage, the sons remained
with their parents. Thus several households lived under the
same roof and worked in the same field. Such cohabitation
was not without its consequences. It was not seldom that an
'old one', still in his prime, coveted his daughter-in-law, who
was always before his eyes. It was generally when the son left
to do his military service that the father replaced him beside
the young forsaken wife. Accustomed to this kind of abuse,
the people described them by the generic word snokhach-
estvo (from snoklw, daughter-in-law). There is an anecdote
about this sort of thing. In the Government of Voronezh the
moujiks had bought a bell, but, when they came to hang it in
the belfry their combined efforts were not enough. Persuaded
that the bell was weighed down by the sins of the men who
were trying to get it into position, the village 'pope' ordered
all those whose feelings for their daughters-in-law were too
great to withdraw. To everyone's astonishment, half the
helpers let go their ropes. That the mothers-in-law should be
shrewish was inevitable in such circumstances. The young
husband, in any case, beat his wife shamelessly, and she was
not ashamed of being beaten. If her husband did not thrash
her from time to time, she felt that he did not love her very
much.
When a moujik reckoned that the time had come for his
son to marry, he began to question the boy about his prefer-
ences. If the boy hesitated the father gave him the choice of
a certain number of girls he had sorted out. Once the decision
was taken, father and mother appointed a professional match-
maker (svakha) to act as go-between with the parents of the
future wife; or sometimes an elderly aunt was entrusted with
the negotiations. ·
'Would you like an alliance with such-and-such?' the
matchmaker would ask.
The young girl's parents would refuse with a sigh or reply
unambiguously that the alliance would not be disagree-
able.
The samovar then appeared on the table, and the terms of
the deal were discussed at once: the size of the dowry, where
the household would be set up, and various other promises.
The matchmaker drank her tea from the saucer with a piece
204 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

of sugar in her. cheek. Her ear registered the least word, and
her sharp glance took in the contents of the izba. After her
departure the parents called in the fiancee and told her of the
proposals of which she had been the object. Even if the news
overwhelmed her with joy, she had, according to tradition,
to show despair. However, if she was really desperate, her
cries and her sobs had a more sincere quality and in that case
her relations would be convinced. Forced marriages were
increasingly rare in the country.
When there was nothing more to discuss, the fathers of the
betrothed met for a last time and set a seal on the arrange-
ment by wrapping their hands in their coats and striking
them together; the purpose of this was symbolically to ensure
that the couple should not lack cloth for their garments.
Afterwards, the girl's parents blessed the couple with the
family ikon.
Well before the wedding ceremony the young woman
renounced the innocent pleasures of her youth and wept
openly with her friends. Together they sewed the trousseau
while singing old laments about a brutal husband, a licen-
tious father-in-law, a hateful mother-in-law, and sisters-in-
law with the tongues of serpents. Certain phrases in these
laments (svadebnye plachi) were ritual and were passed on
from one marriage to another. The fiancee begged those who
were nearest to her not to hand her over to 'wicked strangers',
but to leave her free, 'whether it he a cold winter, or a fine
spring, or a warm summer'. These groans and sighs reached
their paroxysm on the devichnik, the last evening the girl
spent in her parents' house. She bade farewell to the berib-
boned hair of a virgin and asked her mother to remove it from
her unruly little head. If she wept too much, her friends en-
treated her to be quiet, but the old women advised her, on
the contrary, not to restrain her tears: 'Weep your fill at table
or you will weep in the stable.'
An unchanging ritual required that the girl should grieve
in this way until the moment when the wedding procession
left for the church: was she not on the point of leaving her
well-loved parents? But once the religious ceremony was
ended, she must not spill a tear for fear of vexing her new
family and her young husband. At the church itself, the wit-
 THE PEASANTS 205
nesses followed with interest the way in which the couple
behaved before the altar, for it was said that the one who first
set foot on the carpet was certain of dominating the other.
The flames of the candles which the couple held in their
hands were also watched, in order to foresee which of them
would survive the other. Pages took turns in holding crowns
above the heads of the young couple. The priest, serious and
with huge beard, gave them the rings, ordered them to
exchange a kiss, to drink wine from the same cup and to
follow him three times round the altar with their hands tied
together. Incense was burning in the censer which the
dyakony was swinging. A peasant choir sang with angelic
voices. And everything ended in an enormous meal in one
house or the other. The 'pope' was, of course, at the feast.
The young couple did not eat, but had to embrace each time
their health was drunk. As it was customary that neither food
nor drink should be lacking from a wedding feast, the re-
joicings went on for several days and the moujiks were in
debt for a long time.

Since the emancipation, young couples had showed an

increasing tendency to set up home away from their kinsfolk.
Married or not, while he lived in the paternal home the
peasant took no part in the communal assembly. But as soon
as he set up house for himself and his wife, he became the
head of a family and took part in the deliberations of the mir,
with the same rights and duties as his father. Despite the
recent sharing-out of the land, the majority of moujiks could
not extract all that was necessary for subsistence from its
cultivation. To add to their comforts, they worked at home as
a family during the long winter months. This small home
industry was known in Russia as 'bush industry' (kustar-
naya promyshlennast). Seven or eight million peasants were
thus employed for the coldest part of the year. The most
varied objects came from their hands. There were as many
specialities as there were provinces! Wooden spoons, knives
and forks, baskets, plaited footwear, and cloth made of rushes
(rogozhi), were made principally in the Nizhny-Novgorod
region. At Yaroslav and Kostroma thread and cloth were
206 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

made from flax, Vladimir was famous for silk goods, Vologda
and Balaghna for their lace, Vyatka and Perm for leatherwork,
Kursk for religious imagery, the Government of Moscow for
its toys, that of Tula for its harmonicas (the simplest costing
five kopecks and the most luxurious 250 roubles) and for its
magnificent samovars. A Russian proverb said: 'One does not
go to Tula with one's samovar (V Tulu samovarom ne
ezdyat).'
Because rural industry was so widespread in Russia, a
swarm of agents went through the country buying the pro-
ducts wholesale. Each merchant- or prassol- confined his
activities to a fixed district comprising several villages. Know-
ing the population thoroughly, he shared in the intimate life
of the moujiks, lent them money, gave them limited credit,
even provided the necessary raw material for their labours,
and always arranged to monopolize their output at a paltry
price. If, distrusting him, the peasants went to the nearest
town to try and sell their merchandise on better terms, they
found other prasol there who invariably offered them lower
prices than had been offered by their usual prasol. Faced
with this secret union of merchants, the unfortunate rural
craftsmen had to give in. In the smoky izba, men, women
and young children toiled together: one carved a wooden
bowl and another decorated it with a large brush dipped in
a pot of paint. Grandfather snored as he slept on his stove. A
girl sang, seated beside the window which was covered with
frost-flowers. Snow blocked the doorway.
When the spring came the kustarniki did their accounts
and saw that they had not gained much: only some 50 to 70
roubles a year.
There was another means by which peasants could aug-
ment their income. Often, when the weather turned bad,
they left their hamlets to seek work elsewhere. This migra-
tory movement reflected a vague need for expansion in the
restless spirit of the moujik. His homeland, the matushka
Rus (our Little Mother Russia), was so big that wherever
he went he could be certain of finding a land belonging to
the same batyushka Gosudar (the Emperor, our Little
Father) and the same holy Russian cross shining above an
Orthodox church. The less adventurous were content to go
 THE PEASANTS 207
to the city, with their horses and sleighs, to secure a police
permit to be a sleigh-driver for the winter. Others crossed
Russia in every direction, buying shoddy goods in one village
to resell them in another. Others, still, ended their journeys in
a factory, in a naval yard, near a railway under construction,
at the bottom of a mine, on the shore of a lake full of fish, or
as shepherds in the steppes of the Government of Orenburg.
Children of fourteen, who had set out from Tver, got as far as
the shores of the Sea of Azov. People from the Government
of Nizhny-Novgorod laboured on the Kama, or the Don, or in
Western Siberia, while stoneworkers, who were natives of
the Government of Orel, were at work paving the streets of
Moscow, like those from Baku, Saratov and Batum.
Distances were of no account to these permanent nomads,
for there was no reason why their wills should become ex-
hausted while there was still no obstacle in sight. The level
horizon was a permanent incitement to go on. According to
Paul Egorovitch Sychkin, the statisticians reckoned that the
number of peasants who left their homes every year was six
millions. Roused by fabulous stories, they left in search of
adventure, marching towards a land of abundance and sun-
shine. Was it not said that in some provinces they paid
1 rouble 50 kopecks for a day's work? Russell had already
seen groups of migrating peasants marching along the rail-
way line with sacks on their backs and scythes over their
shoulders. If, when they reached the end of their journey,
they did not find anyone to hire them as they had hoped, they
set forth again undiscouraged and passed into the next
Government. Some returned home for the harvest, others
worked far from their own villages until the end of the
autumn. But all, on their return, had to confess that the
savings they brought back were very small. Paul Egorovitch,
who loved figures, revealed to Russell that in 1895, for
example, of 55,500 workers who had left for the Government
of Kherson, 83·6 per cent had arrived on foot. The time they
had taken to cover this distance represented 12,500,000 work-
ing days. After deduction for expenses en route, their average
wages, for the whole duration of the summer, was 13 kopecks
a day!
Back in his own hamlet, the migratory moujik gladly re-
208 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

lated what he had seen and what he had heard during his
journey. But even those who only half-believed him did not
grudge him his inventions, for the Russian mind is well
trained to the love of stories.

Paul Egorovitch Sychkin was definite on one point: the

moujik got his taste for marvels from reading the sacred
books. In most of the izbas profane pictures, cut from old
illustrated periodicals, were stuck on the wall beside the ikons,
and on a shelf there was always a dusty and mildewed Bible
smelling of leather and incense. For a short while there had
been a primary school in certain villages of the region. How-
ever, nine times out of ten the little moujik learned to read
more or less at home from the Gospels, the book of martyrs
and the psalter. Fed on biblical legends, he was accustomed
to living in daily communication with God and his Saints. As
he grew up he associated them with his own life. He tried to
understand them better. And by dint of interpreting and
commenting upon their messages in his own fashion, he passed
gently and unconsciously into heresy. His religion seemed to
be simultaneously a fidelity to the unchangeable rituals and
a constant individual creation.
There were a few Old Believers in one of the villages which
Russell had visited with Sychkin. As members of the
Beguny sect, they rejected the official Gospels, corrected by
the Patriarch Nikhon in the seventeenth century. A pious
member of this brotherhood had been entrusted with copying
out, for the use of his companions, the books that were still
filled with 'sacred mistakes'.
Superficially the life of the dissenters closely resembled
that of other moujiks. They worked in the fields, married and
had children. Their doctrines certainly forbade them to fre-
quent the church, to prostrate themselves before the holy
images dishonoured by Nikhon, or to use incense and candles;
but in fact the long prayers they said together in an izba did
not prevent them from being present regularly at the Ortho-
dox service. There they were distinguished by their behaviour
during mass, saying Issus instead of Iissus (for Jesus), crossing
themselves with two fingers instead of three, and not follow-
13 A peasant family at table
A young peasant conscript leaves to join the army
 14 Left: Emigrants at
Chelyabinsk Station

Volga steamship

Russian emigrants at the station at Samara

 THE PEASANTS 209
ing the rest of the congregation in the repetition of the cry
Allelufah!
As old age approached, the Beguny stopped going to
church and began a new kind of existence: they ate apart
from the family, from bowls with their own wooden spoons.
Then the need to save their own souls became so pressing
that they fled from home, never to return. Doubtless they
went to join other old folk in the forest, in order to devote
their last days to contemplating God. It was said that there
were monasteries of Old Believers hidden among the ancient
trees, far from any road and from anyone's gaze. There the
Beguny lived on fresh water, bread and incantations, and in
a state of ecstasy allowed their bodies to be devoured by
insects.
In fact, the Russian peasant was ready to believe anything.
For his religion was less a moral matter than a mystery. It
was not in obedience to the precepts of Christ that he was
patient, docile, hospitable and charitable, but from a natural
inclination to be indulgent. This quite evangelical kindness
did not prevent him, if he was deceitful, envious or de-
bauched, from sincerely asking for the blessing of a certain
saint for the success of his ventures. Having only a dim idea
of evil, he sought powerful accomplices in heaven. Thus the
horse-thieves confided their expeditions to St Nikolas, and
usurers recommended their transactions to St Akim. Accord-
ing to Paul Egorovitch, of the candles that burned in the
church beneath the ikons, two-thirds at least were evi-
dence of some bargaining with the higher powers ruling the
earth.
These higher powers were either Christian or pagan
according to circumstances. Despite the new school and its
bespectacled teacher, despite the resounding voice of the
'pope', age-old superstitions combined to torment the Rus-
sian peasant's soul. He gladly sought a supernatural explana-
tion of the smallest event in his life. Wherever he turned the
universe seemed to him to be peopled with good or evil
spirits. Even the advanced moujiks, who pretended to despise
these legends, did not like to go out at night near cemeteries
or old mills.
In the forest lived the leshii, a spirit with a bluish skin,
210 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

protruding eyes and long hair. This spirit protected criminals,

imitated birdsong and wandered through his realm laughing,
whistling and clapping his hands. The echo was of his
making. A mocking creature, he often amused himself by
leading men astray in the woods. To counter his tricks, one
had to wear one's jacket back to front and to put one's left
boot on the right foot. His brother of the plain was the polevik.
The vodyanoi was the spirit of the waters. Every river, every
stream, every pond had its own spirit, old, hideous and green
bearded. When he was well disposed, he was pleased to guide
the fish into the fishermen's nets. But if he was in a bad
humour, he tore the traps and the lines, raised storms, sank
ships and smashed dikes. When he was drunk he made the
rivers overflow. In the depths of the waters there also lived
the water-sprites, or msalki, beautiful naked girls with skin
the colour of moonlight, silken hair and emerald eyes. They
so charmed the passers-by with their laughter and songs that
some of them would drown themselves for the rusalkis' sake.
The vedmy, or sorcerers, were stunted, wicked, toothless
women, who gave themselves to black magic, travelling by
night on brooms and casting spells. There was also the baba-
yaga, a repugnant hook-nosed creature which moved about,
seated on a mortar, with a pestle in its right hand to force a
way, and a broom in its left hand to efface the signs of its
passage. As all Russian children knew, it lived in a mobile
isba, mounted on chicken's feet. This dwelling had neither
doors nor windows. There was a terrible black cat in its
yard.
Of course, the moujik's house itself was full of little spirits,
who hid in the chimney, under the soil or amongst the beams.
Their leader was the domovoi, old and dishevelled, with a
hairy body and a tail. He protected the family, shared in its
daily life, amused himself in provoking a sleeper's snores,
tangling a flirtatious woman's hair, hiding the master's boots,
maddening the hens, and breaking the leg of a bench; but on
the other hand he often healed the sick and appeased domes-
tic quarrels. His comrade in the farmyard was called the
dvorovoi, the one in the stable the konyushennik (at night he
plaited the mane of his favourite horse), and the one in the
bath-house the bannik. The girls questioned the bannik about
 THE PEASANTS 211
their future while they exposed their naked backs to him
through the half-open door at midnight; if he scratched them
they could expect the worst, and if he caressed them life
would be sweet. But the bannik detested young women in
childbed, who were generally transferred to the hut reserved
for ablutions, if there was no place in the isba. Everyone
knew that it was dangerous to leave them alone with the
bannik.
To these deities of a rudimentary mythology were added
all the spirits of the departed, who returned to earth to help
the living or to complicate their tasks. The tchur, or dead
ancestor, had the right to special veneration. The children
unconsciously invoked him when, playing tag, they called
out on touching 'home': Chur menya!'- in other words,
'Ancestor, protect me!' As to the custom of taking burning
coals from the old hearth into a new house, this symbolized
the passage of the spirits of the ancestors from one dwelling
to the other.
0 0 0 0

Russell was particularly interested in popular sayings, of

which Paul Egorovitch provided the translations. The
majority of them were involved in rhymes or in amusing
consonances. They illustrated the fatalism of the Russian
peasant, his slowness and his great laziness: 'Pospeshish
lyndhei nasmeshish!' (If you hurry, you will make people
laugh!) 'Tishe edesh, dalshe budesh!' (Go slowly, you will
go farther!) Other proverbs refer to the poverty of the coun-
tryside: 'No one knows (vedaet) how the poor dine
(obedaet).' 'Bread and water (voda), those are our food
(eda).' 'Bread and kvas, that's all there is at home (u nas).'
'Stichi da kasha, pishcha nasha.' (Cabbage soup and gruel,
that's our food.) The protest against the inequality of men
was expressed as follows: 'In the forest the trees are unequal,
and in the world so are men.' 'If there were no bast shoes,
there would be no velvet clothes.' 'We all look at the same
sun, but we don't eat the same dinner.' Evidently no Tsar
was able to come to the aid of his people, for do Boga vysoko,
do Tsarya daleko!' (God is too high and the Tsar is too far
away!) As to the judge, he is too aware of the power of money
212 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

to take the part of the moujik: 'Karman sukh, sudya glukh!'

(If the pocket is empty, the judge is deaf.) 'The law is like the
helm (dychlo), it goes wherever you turn it (vyshlo)'. In con-
clusion, all the moujiks saw themselves in the favourite Volga
boatmen's proverb: 'Pull on your rope (lyamka) until they dig
your grave (yamka).'
The more Russell discussed the Russian peasant with his
hosts, the less clear his picture of the peasant became. Some-
times he saw the moujik as a sort of primitive Christian with
an aura of innocence, and sometimes as an idle brute, illiter-
ate, crafty and cruel. In fact, the Russians themselves could
not agree about him. For the Slavophils, the narodniki, the
moujik's rough exterior, hid great virtues which would ex-
pand, sooner or later, under the sun of liberty. For the 'wes-
terners' he was, on the other hand, an eternal lesser creature,
incapable of setting the general interest above his particular
interest, and opposed to all progress and change. Angel or
beast, he represented an immense, elusive and uncontrollable
power. Everyone felt that the future of Russia would perhaps
have the strange face of a little moujik with a red beard, a
flat nose, a low brow and a childish look. Paul Egorovitch
Sychkin told how revolutionary circles attached an over-
whelming importance to the political education of the land-
worker. Already, the majority of the peasants, even those
whose sons did not go to school, knew the meaning of the
words 'socialism' and 'capitalism'. Into the bands of pil-
grims who marched towards the holy city of Kiev slipped the
apostles of the Marxist religion, disguised as beggars, pedlars
or tramps. They loitered at the crossroads and at the outskirts
of the forests to indoctrinate the passers-by. They set them-
selves up in the village as tailors, healers and menders; they
made friends with the teachers and the inn-keepers; they dis-
tributed leaflets and booklets amongst the young people who
were hungry for learning. Their lesson was always the same:
although the land had been distributed, the moujiks would
remain impoverished so long as they did not recover from
their masters the goods which the masters had unjustly kept;
as to the Tsar, it was absolutely necessary that he should be
elected by universal suffrage and his power limited by a con-
stitution. Actually, the peasants were not interested in the
 THE PEASANTS 213
way in which the Tsar would be elected or the nation
governed. Of all the ideas which the commercial travellers of
socialism showed them, they remembered that which was of
the most benefit to themselves. From the moment I become
poor, I have the right to appropriate those things of which
the rich have too many. Sometimes a group of policemen
hurriedly went to a village to arrest an agitator. But he always
disappeared before their arrival.
The year 1902 had been marked by many agrarian troubles
in the Governments of Poltava and Kharkhov. A pomieshik, 1 a
friend of the Zubovs, had had his barns pillaged by rioters the
previous year. He told Russell about his misfortunes. He had
noticed for some weeks that the moujiks had been holding
secret assemblies, whispering amongst themselves whilst
casting sidelong glances at his house. One day they came in
a crowd to demand the return of his corn: 'If you don't give
it to us, the men from the next village will take it! Now, you
know us and you know that we love you very much! You
must give us preference!' And, while the pomieshik protested,
they all ran off to his barns. There they began to quarrel
amongst themselves. After a little while, one of the thieves
came back to find the pomieshik: 'I beseech you, barin, to
help us to divide it up. It is quite disorderly: some are taking
too much and others have nothing!' But the pomieshik refused
to preside over his own pillage and the man went away crest-
fallen. In the barns they were knocking one another over and
struggling amongst themselves. Those who had succeeded in
filling their sacks made off, bent under their loot. Others at
once took their places. The next day was a disappointing one
for the looters. A detachment of police arrived in the village
with a telega full of rods. The moujiks hastened to return the
stolen corn to the pomeshchik and actually asked him for a
receipt!
Alllootings did not end in this simple fashion: horses were
stolen, and mills and barns were set on fire, but those truly
responsible for the disorders mostly escaped the police.
Sychkin reckoned the lot of the moujik must be quickly eased
if the growth of brigandage in the country was to be stopped.
But as he looked out upon the limitless cornfields, the pretty
'Landed proprietor.
214 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA
green-domed churches, the trembling birch-woods, the
peasants with their kind, sunburnt faces and the Zubov
family taking tea on the veranda, it was difficult for Russell
to believe that there was a greater threat to the social order
in Russia than anywhere else.
 CHAPTER XIV

NIZHNY-NOVGOROD
The fair: men, animds and goods - The different races which
form the Russian people- The position of the Jews- Pogroms
-Foreigners in Russia

B AEDEKER was categorical; a conscientiou.s visitor must

visit the Nizhny-Novgorod fair, which was held every
year from July 15 till September 10. All the races of
Russia met there in a turmoil of trading. Nizhny-Novgorod was
only eleven hours from Moscow by express train, which
stopped at Pavlov, the station close to the Zubov property.
Alexander Vassilievitch decided that he would take his guest
on this trip, while Sychkin would stay with the women in the
country. They took the sleeping-car. The compartment was
luxurious. At each end of the corridor were perfectly ap-
pointed toilets. A samovar steamed in a recess which served
as a kitchen. One had only to summon the attendant and he
would serve tea at any hour. Very pleased with such comfort,
Russell wanted to take a look at the third class.
Though he disapproved of his companion's curiosity,
Alexander Vassilievitch went with him through the corridors
to the poorest part of the train. They came to a halt in a
wagon littered with sordid packages, among which drifted
travellers like bundles of rags. Shapeless women with red
scarves over their heads and their hands folded on their
stomachs, scabby brats tottering with fatigue, and moujiks
with straw-coloured hair and weatherbeaten skin, filthy with
dirt and sweat, but with the gentle eyes of cattle. An acrid
human stench rose to Russell's nostrils and he beat a hasty
retreat.
When he got back to his compartment, he confessed to
Alexander Vassilievitch the distress he felt at seeing again the
crude juxtaposition of riches and poverty in Russia. To dis-
tract him from these thoughts, Alexander Vassilievitch began
to explain the Nizhny-Novgorod fair. From 1641 the principal
fair in the region was held in the neighbourhood of the
216 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

convent of St Macaire, seventy versts from Nizhny-Novgorod,

on the property of a landowner who took a fee from the mer-
chants. But in 1816 a fire destroyed the huts and Alexander I,
seeking new sources of revenue, ordered that the fair should
be transferred to the plain between the Volga and the Oka.
This site was always flooded, and to put the matter right the
Government put some gigantic works in hand, which, under
the direction of General Augustin de Betancourt, went on
until1822 and cost more than 3,000,000 roubles. The ground-
level was raised about ten feet and supported by freestone;
an immense sewer was constructed underneath and the
drainage ran out into the Volga. The Nizhny-Novgorod fair
was important because it took place at the intersection of two
great waterways, where the trade of East and West met. Of
course, the turnover of this extraordinary bazaar dropped
somewhat following the development of the railways, but it
still amounted to between 165 and 200 million roubles for the
merchandise brought in, and between 150 and 185 million
roubles for the merchandise sold. As for the population of
Nizhny, which normal1y numbered 89,000 inhabitants, it was
swollen by 400,000 visitors from the second half of July.
Although this information had prepared him to some
extent, Russell was astonished the next day when he ap-
proached the town which Alexander Vassilievitch had des-
cribed. After leaving their baggage at the Post Hotel, the two
men took a cab for a quick visit to the old city of Nizhny-
Novgorod, with its kremlin, monasteries, cathedrals, churches
and park. Then, from the top of a hill, they looked down upon
the strange sight of the fair. It stood in the triangle where the
Volga and the Oka met. In the foreground lay a fleet of
vessels with wide square bows and a forest of masts. Farther
off, in midstream more slender ships were moored together,
forming veritable islands surmounted by masts and ropes.
Then, beyond a stretch of calm water, ill-matched hulls were
lined up, showing battered tarpaulins and limp sails, while a
crowd of stevedores swarmed in a morass of bluish mud. These
vessels, barges and junks had brought tea from Kiakhta, iron
from the Urals, cashmere goods from Persia, furs from Siberia
and dried fish from the Caspian Sea.
A wooden bridge crowded with pedestrians, horses and
 NIZHNY-NOVGOROD 217
carriages spanned the Oka and connected the old city with
the fair. But seen from afar this wide bridge seemed pointless,
for the boats around it were so closely packed that one could,
by leaping from one to another, cross the river without wet-
ting one's feet. Beyond the green roofs of the bazaar lay
another stretch of water, shining like a stream of mercury: the
Volga. The horizon was as infinite as thaf of the sea. Into the
warm air, redolent with the odour of fish and of tar, rose
the hum of voices. All the dialects of Russia and Asia met at
this spot.
Alexander Vassilievitch ordered the driver to go on. The
carriage descended a short and steep road, and then started
across the plank bridge. Caught between traps, calashes and
droshkis, they progressed slowly, while coming to meet them
were a variety of signs, pinnacles, hangings, glassware, frag-
ments of the alphabet, Asiatic smiles and Russian beards.
They left the carriage where the crowd was thickest.
The fair consisted of an inner and an outer part. The inner
part consisted of covered markets (ambars) of one or two
floors, constructed for the most part of stone, beside the wide
roads that intersected at right angles. In this section 3,000
shops displayed jewellery, goldsmith's work, silks, clocks, and
various knick-knacks. 1 Around this vast market lay another,
the outer market, more irregular and more animated than the
first. In it were 4,000 wooden huts. At the shop-doors were
merchants of all kinds and races: Chinese in gleaming silk
and skull-caps, with pigtails hanging down their backs;
velvet-eyed Persians with hooked noses; moustached Turks in
fezes, shaven-headed Kalmuks, Jews in long and filthy great-
coats, Circassians, Armenians, Poles ...
Each row (or ryad) was devoted to a different trade. There
was the Petersburgskaya, crammed with glassware and crude
pottery, and the Alexander Nevsky, which was restricted to
wooden chests painted in varied colours, with tinplated fit-
tings. These two arteries ended at the Alexander Nevsky
Cathedral, under the guardian shadow of which was an
avalanche of spoons, jugs and pots. Not far away was the bell
market with its heavy bronze-ware hanging from the scaffold-
' The ambarres belonged to the Crown and their rents totalled 500,000
roubles a year.
218 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

ing in order of size. Anyone who wanted to could ring them

by striking the tongue against the bell; bending their heads
and shutting their eyes, the ringers listened to the thunder
of the bell with an air as pleased as if they were listening to
birdsong. Without allowing Russell time to pause amongst
these melomaniacs with such strong ear-drums, Alexander
Vassilievitch led him through the jumble of races and voices,
and the mixture of odours, to a site west of the Siberian
landing-stage, where the tea depots lay.
The bales of tea, piled up to a great height, were covered
with tarpaulins. The sellers lived in the vicinity of their
treasure, in huts made of matting. Alexander Vassilievitch
explained to Russell that·the tea that came from China by the
land route (caravan tea) was reckoned to be better than the
tea that came by sea, because the aroma had not been
weakened or denatured by damp. In reality, however, the
caravan tea did not always follow the land route from the
Chinese frontier and from Perm to Nizhny-Novgorod it was
carried by ship on the Kama and Volga. Known also as
'Russian tea', it was carried in little boxes that were sewn up
in skins, with the hair turned inwards to prevent the perfume
from escaping. Compressed tea in tablets (plitochnyi chai)
was also sold, and even a coarse tea in heavy bricks (kir-
pichnyi chai) which had to be broken with an axe before
use. The Kalmuks and Caucasians drank it with milk, butter,
salt and pepper. All the tea-buyers were provided with a little
teapot, so that they might taste it before giving their orders.
The foreign merchant, seated in his matting shelter, always
had a steaming samovar at his side. He tossed into the teapot
a pinch of the sample chosen by the customer and poured
over it a rea,sonable quantity of boiling water. In the largest
booths the circle of experts plunged their noses into the heaps
of tea and exchanged views in a subdued voice.
Behind the tea depot stretched the depot for undressed
skins, the sale of which was entirely in the hands of Tartars
and Kirghiz. A sharp and nauseous smell hung over the
thousands of hairy hides to which the tails of horses and horns
of cattle were still attached. A little farther off, in contrast to
these lowly skins, were the luxury pelts: the dead white of
bear, the speckled white of ermine, the silver glint of blue
 NIZHNY-NOVGOROD 219
fox, the tawny yellow of polecat, the ash of squirrel, and the
regal sable, a velvety dark brown. But Alexander Vassilie-
vitch was already drawing Russell on, for there were so many
things to see. Soon they were stumbling over hillocks of slip-
pers, lapti and boots, over a whole landscape of nuts, pis-
taches and raisins, over a multicoloured expanse of Persian
carpets, along the gallery of carriages ('Drozhki, tarantass for
sale!') or among the fine collection of Kirghiz, Cossack and
Arab horses that were whinnying with fear in the faces of the
passers-by. As they passed in front of a thriving textile shop,
Russell commented on the dexterity of the book-keepers,
whose fingers flew to and fro on the abaci. In Russian com-
mercial houses all calculations had been done on these
apparently rudimentary machines for hundreds of years. 1
The abacus was a rectangular frame with several transverse
metal rods on which wooden beads were threaded. The beads
on the first row were the units, those on the second row were
the tens, those on the third row the hundreds, and so forth.
There was a row for the poltinniki (50 kopecks) and a row for
the kopecks. By moving these beads from left to right, the
experts carried out the four forms of arithmetic at prodigious
speed and, it is said, they could do the same for even more
complicated calculations. Whereas a religious silence reigned
in the accounts offices of all other parts of Europe, here the
employees lived amidst the happy clatter of beads. The best
abaci, which were much sought after for the quality of their
wood, were made by the house of Svietchnikov. Alexander
Vassilievitch claimed that there were virtuosos with the
abacus, to whom additions, subtractions and multiplications
were as pleasant to listen to as music.
Another feature of the Nizhny fair was the market for Ural
iron. It took place on the long sandy island of Peski, which
was reached by a bridge of boats. There, along a stretch of
one kilometre, under shelter or in the open, mountains of
iron were piled up in the form of sheets, bars, anvils, screws,
forks, nails, ladles, buckets, wheelbarrows, choppers, pans,
bolts. . . . These metal articles amounted in value to about
'Used since time immemorial by the Chinese and the Tartars, the abacus
was introduced into Russia by the Mongols towards the end of the Middle
Ages.
220 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

twenty-five million roubles a year. On the same sandbank

were interminable lines of boats laden with dried or salted
fish. Swarms of beggars crowded along the bank; to secure
a way through the fishermen threw them a few damaged
herrings.
It was strange that there was no quay for discharging
cargoes. The Volga and the Oka ran through the land as
freely as at the creation of the world. Steamboats and great
tubby barges loaded and unloaded their goods beside the
banks of clay or sand. A few cranes puffed about near the
bigger vessels. Heralded by bugle-blasts, wagons rolled along
t~e rails across the port, while among them squeezed the
muscular stevedores of Nizhny, called kryuchniki, or 'human
hooks', bent double under their enormous loads. All had
sinister faces, with swollen purple nostrils, beards that were
soaked in sweat and alcohol, and drunkards' eyes that were
sunk in a network of wrinkles as deep as scars. Their clothes
were very scanty: trousers of thin grey cloth, strips of filthy
linen for socks, and blouses of a strange rose-coloured
cretonne, soaked by rain and sweat, tom, vainglorious and
revolting....

When they returned to the hotel that evening Russell felt

overwhelmed not only by the diversity of the goods he had
seen but also by the variety of human types which formed
the Nizhny crowd. How could the Russian people maintain an
apparent political unity with such an amalgam of races, tradi-
tions, religions and dialects? Alexander Vassilievitch's answer
to this question was simply that it was a miracle. The cement
which held the disparate elements of the Russian nation to-
gether was their love for the Tsar, but this love was controlled
by a vigilant police force.
'Russia is a puzzle, and a puzzle that involves also a frame-
work,' said Alexander Vassilievitch. 'Take away the frame-
work and the whole lot falls apart!'
To convince his questioner, he named the various ethnic
groups within the Empire which totalled 129,000,000 inhabi-
tants at the 1897 census, and 135,000,000 according to the
latest forecasts. Of this immense total the Great Russians
(about 55,000,000) formed the Russian nation properly so
 NIZHNY-NOVGOROD 221
called. Vigorous, thick-set, with blue or brown eyes, and with
thick, curly, light chestnut hair, they were nonchalant,
showed their unconcern with a smile, a shrug and the word
nitchevo (meaning 'nothing'), and attributed their virtues
and faults to the 'richness of their nature' (shirokaya natura).
The Little Russians (about 23,000,000) inhabited mainly the
Governments of Kiev, Kharkov, Chernigov and Poltava. Of
more slender appearance than the Great Russians, with
brown complexions and dark eyes, they were famous for their
fierce attachment to the language, traditions and history of
their province- Ukraine- which has a magnificent folklore.
The White Russians (4,500,000) occupied the Governments of
Grodno, Smolensk, Vitebsk, Minsk and Mogilev, but accord-
ing to Alexander Vassilievitch they were so poor and so wild
that villages of more than ten huts were rare in their land.
Like the two great races previously named, the White
Russians were Orthodox. The Poles (9,000,000) were Catholic.
The .Lithuanians, together with the Latvians, formed a
branch of the Indo-European family (5,000,000), but the
Lithuanians were mostly Catholic and the Latvians were
Lutheran. The Finns and Estonians (6,000,000) were also
Lutherans. As for the eastern races, they were innumerable:
Tartars, Turkmens, Kirghiz, Bashkirs, Buryats, Tungus ....
To these were added all the populations and religions of the
Caucasus: Circassians, Georgians Mingrelians, Khevzurs,
Karbadins, Ossetians, Chechens, Lezgins, Armenians ....
Different statutes existed for diverse groups, such as the
Finns, who enjoyed a special juridical position, and the Cos-
sacks, both of whom formed a class apart, with rights, privi-
leges and some sort of self-government. As to the nomad
tribes and the savages of the north and east of the Empire,
the State only required that they should recognize Russian
sovereignty, but otherwise left them to live their own lives
according to the customs of the steppes. Alexander Vassilie-
vitch had reached this point in his exposition when Russell
asked him about the exact condition of the Jews in Russia.
Alexander Vassilievitch's face clouded over at once. His ques-
tioner had touched upon a sore point. He clicked his tongue
sadly and said:
'You must understand us ... .'
222 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

After which he admitted that the Jews in Russia had suf-

fered 'a few restrictive measures' .1 They could not live where
they liked, nor change their residence freely. By law they
were allowed to settle permanently only in the western and
southwestern Governments of European Russia. An excep-
tion was made for Jewish merchants in the first guild (those
who payed the highest tax), for Jews who had completed a
higher education, and for those who practised certain profes-
sions 'necessary to society'. On the other hand, there were
severe restrictions on the right of Jews to acquire landed
property, enter State service, participate in the election of
town representatives, or enrol in a public educational insti-
tution. Of their total number of students, Russian univer-
sities admitted Jews to the extent of only between three and
ten per cent, and the proportion admitted to the secondary
schools was the same. Alexander Vassilievitch deplored the
distressing situation of the Jews in Russia, but to him it
seemed difficult to give them greater freedom.
'Our people are too poorly educated, too simple, too
credulous! If the Jews were to spread through the country
all our moujiks would be ruined in a few years. Every time a
prassol Jew appears in a small town or in a fairground the
roubles change hands. Our crafty fox makes nothing and
sells nothing; he acts as an intermediary and takes a com-
mission. Or worse, he advances money at a usurious rate ....
The peasant doesn't understand the lender's talk at all, signs
the papers and does not even dream that he will have to lay
out money for interest, and there he is, suddenly caught,
struck all of a heap, stripped of everything .... Ev:en if we
offered the Jews the opportunity to live like us, they wouldn't
want to. They have their own practices. They stick close
together around their rabbis. Their lives are so closely
moulded by religion that to some extent they are afraid of
progress and the future ... .'
'What happens to the status of a Jew in Russia if he should
be baptized a Christian?' Russell asked.
'It was only in 1769 that, for the first time, the Jews were authorized to
settle in Russia in certain Governments. But the Jewish question was not
really raised until after the annexation of Poland, where the Jews were very
numerous.
 NIZHNY-NOVGOROD 223
'Everything would be different!' Alexander Vassilievitch
cried gaily. 'In the eyes of the law he would be no longer a
Jew, an allogeneous type, but a citizen like the rest, a son of
the great orthodox fatherland!'
'But the faults for which you blame his race will not have
been effaced by conversion. He will not be less eager for gain,
for example, nor less crafty!'
'Who knows?' Alexander Vassilievitch sighed. And he fell
silent, with a frown of irritation and distrust.
'Why don't you admit, then, that in Russia you don't like
the Jews very much?' Russell answered smiling.
Alexander Vassilievitch shot him a challenging glance:
'Yes, my dear sir. But we are careful in our dealings with
them. We will gradually give them the equality of rights they
ask for- when they have become Russian at heart, and when
they have shown a desire to leave their ghettoes. That will
take years, centuries perhaps ... .'
While Alexander Vassilievitch was speaking, Russell mused
upon the anti-Jewish riots at Balta and Tchernigov, and the
terrible Kichinev pogrom that had broken out on Easter Day
that year. 1 Encouraged by the authorities, a crowd of intoxi-
cated hooligans had pillaged, demolished and set fire to the
Jewish dwellings for forty-eight hours; 130 persons were
killed or seriously injured and 500 slightly injured. The
Minister Plehve, who was obviously the instigator of the
pogrom, forbade the Russian newspapers to mention it; but
everyone in Russia knew about this sorry affair.
'The trouble with the Jews,' Alexander Vassilievitch went
on, 'is that almost all of them have the revolutionary spirit.
They would like to overthrow the regime and dismember
Russia.'2
'Isn't that what was said in the proclamations distributed
at Kichinev?' Russell murmured.
Alexander Vassilievitch pretended not to hear.
'April 8-21, 1903.
'Since his accession to power, Plehve had exasperated the national
minorities continuously: Jews, Poles, Finns, Armenians. The Kichinev
pogrom was followed, on August 29, by one at Cornel, directly supported
by the troops. Plehve was assassinated on July 15, 1904. But the pogroms
broke out again, here and there, with 'the black centuries' as the prime
movers.
224 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

'I hate violence; he said, 'whether from the right or left.

Now this is strange! We have been to the fair, we were in a
good humour, we began to speak of the Jewish problem, and
everything becomes dark and sad and anxious! However,
when you remember the Dreyfus affair, are you in the West
entitled to reproach us for anti-semitism?'
'There is one difference; Russell replied. 'I imagine that
in Russia Dreyfus would not have been able to get his trial
reviewed.'
'That's true; Alexander Vassilievitch conceded. 'Here the
authorities never admit a mistake. That's because of the size
of the country. There are so many people to watch over. If
France and Britain were bigger they would be less liberal. ...
Yet I don't think there's a nation in the world more open to
foreign penetration than is Russia!'
At these words Russell gave a start: he remembered his
passport troubles and the fuss at the customs.
'Oh, yes!' Alexander Vassilievitch went on. 'There are
certain formalities for foreigners who want to cross the
Russian frontiers of course, but once in Russia they are very
nearly our equals. To encourage foreign scholars, artists and
technicians to settle in Russia, Peter the Great and his suc-
cessors gave them land, tax exemptions and privileges. Today
Russia not only offers foreigners the complete protection of the
administration and the courts, but even allows them certain
political rights. Thus a foreigner can occupy certain posts in
the State service, get himself registered as member of a pro-
fessional body, purchase a commercial or industrial licence,
acquire landed property, be a merchant of one or other guild,
build a factory, 1 obtain the rank of notable citizen in his own
right and afterwards hereditary, and finally can ask for
naturalization after five years' residence in Russia- or even
less. Isn't that simple and practical and generous? There are
complete colonies of Germans in Russia; since the reign of
Catherine II, they have lived beside the Volga, in Crimea
and in the Governments of Ekaterinoslav and Kherson. You
would be astonished at the number of Frenchmen who have
settled in St Petersburg and Moscow and have made their
'Restriction of the right to devote.oneself to commerce or industry existed
only for foreign Jews.
 NIZHNY·NOVGOROD 225
fortunes there. Our governesses, fashions and sympathies are
allFrench ... .'
He grew excited as he spoke, and suddenly, with tears in
his eyes, he grasped Russell's hand on the table:
'You know what's in my mind, Ivan Pavlovitch? Why don't
you stay in Russia?'
Russell smiled and shook his head.
 CHAPTER XV

. THE VOLGA
The burlaki or Volga boatmen, their work and customs- Visit
to Samara- Kumys- The preparation of caviar- Russell finds
a happy ending to his long stay in Russia

H AVING visited Nizhny-Novgorod, it was difficult to resist

the temptation to go down the Volga by ship. It was
Alexander Vassilievitch's view that the journey should
extend at least as far as Samara, if not Astrakhan: three days
down-river and four days up. Having made this decision, he
telegraphed his wife, suggesting that she should join them,
and forty-eight hours later Tatiana Sergeyevna reached
Nizhny-Novgorod with her two daughters, her son and her
son-in-law.
Several shipping companies maintained the river service:
the Volga Company, the Caucasus and Mercury Company,
the Samoliot Company, and the Nadezhda Company. All the
passenger vessels were steamships, with two decks, large
paddle-wheels and tall smoke-stacks; they had comfortable
cabins, electric lighting, restaurants, saloons and bathrooms.
The trip to Samara cost 9 roubles 30 kopecks first-class, and
6 roubles in second. The fares to Astrakhan (six days) were
21 roubles and 13 roubles 50 kopecks respectively. ·
Alexander Vassilievitch selected an attractive steamer,
very white and very new, that belonged to the Samoliot
Company. The voyage began. At the third stroke of the bell
the steamer drew slowly away from the shore, with its pon-
toon of rotten planks, low houses and a few waving girls in red
blouses. Then it described a circle, beating the water with its
paddle-wheels, and turned its back on the city. The Volga
widened. Its yellow flood seemed slow at the banks and rapid
in midstream. At the stern, near the engine-room, the outcasts
among the travellers were crowded together, a mass of
ragged creatures drinking their soup from old jam-jars. They
went from one town to another along the river without definite
purpose and without real hope. From the upper deck, which
 THE VOLGA 227
was restricted to the first class, the sandy banks could be seen
lying upon their chalk foundations like the layers of a cake.
Little churches with blue roofs, miniature kremlins in rose-
coloured brick, gilded crosses, wooden cottages, white and
pillared villages proliferated. Then came velvety green strips
of forest, a pale beach, trails of mist and finally the twilight.
A balalai:ka was playing on the deck occupied by the poorer
. passengers.
Because of frequent changes of depth, the ships could not
always turn to starboard. Thus, when two ships were about
to pass, the sailors on each of them waved flags by day, or
lanterns by night, to signal the side on which passing was
possible.
Russell was very impatient to see the famous Volga boat-
men, the burlaki, whose poverty, it was said was so great and
whose songs were so beautiful. Alexander Vassilievitch re-
strained his impatience: the burlaki were disappearing. The
progress of steam navigation had practically destroyed their
work. But shortly before reaching Issady, Russell caught
sight of a band of haulers, dragging an enormous barge
against the current. All the passengers on the steamer imme-
diately lined the rails. Paul Egorovitch Sychkin lent Russell
his field-glasses.
A band of ragged creatures was marching slowly and pain-
fully along the bank. A cable linked them to the mast of the
vessel which they had taken in tow. The end of this cable was
fitted with leather straps, distributed in pairs, each with a
short stick attached. The burlaki were harnessed to the straps
and brought all their weight to bear upon the stick which was
level with their belts. The vessel was of medium size, and one
row of burlaki was enough to move it. Had the load been
greater, a second row would undoubtedly have been needed.
The men followed one another in single file. A mufHed and
vaguely rhythmical chant accompanied their efforts. They
put their right feet forward in unison, but the load they drew
was so heavy that they could not advance their left feet in the
same way and had to be content to bring them level with the
right. A forward thrust of the chest, a powerful lean of the
shoulder, and once more all the right feet moved in the mud
of the little road. The song's monotonous rhythm controlled
228 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

their step so strictly that, according to Alexander Vassilie-

vitch, it was impossible for a burlak to slow his pace without
hindering all his companions.
When the wind was in their favour the burlaki could cover
thirty to thirty-five versts a day, but when the wind blew
against them they covered only a few versts between sunrise
and nightfall. Their system of haulage varied according to
the nature of the terrain. When the banks became steep and
covered with forests, the burlaki gave up towing the ships
from the bank by ropes. They took two little boats into the
middle of the river and dropped an anchor there. To this
anchor a long cable was attached, the free end of which was
taken to the deck of the ship being towed. Then all the
burlaki assembled on the deck, gripped the rope and hauled
until the heavy vessel moved up to the anchor. Having
reached this point, the little boats went to cast the anchor
farther away and the manreuvre was then repeated.
Like many Russian workers, the burlaki framed an artel.
The total strength of the artel varied with the size of the ship
to be towed. For the biggest the team sometimes numbered
150 or 200 men. Once the group was organized, the burlaki
chose their cook, a task that usually fell to a boy of ten to
thirteen years. He prepared for all of them an abundant but
invariable diet: cabbage soup and buckwheat gruel. Having
elected their cook, the· burlaki met again to choose the
strongest man to lead them; they called him 'old one' or
stavosta. The stavosta marched at the head of the team and
gave the orders, and by his courage was an example to them
all. The least robust members of the artel came at the tail of
the formation and saw that the cable did not catch on any
obstacle as they passed. To tow a cargo ship the bttrlaki were
assisted by a pilot, or batsman (derived from the English
word 'boatman'), who knew every turn in the bed of the
Volga. The sandbanks in the stream shifted so frequently that
the pilot had to be able to discern these changes of depth by
nothing more than the colour and transparency of the water.
He was better paid than his comrades of the artel, and dis-
tinguished by a fine red shirt and high leather boots.
The burlaki's day began before sunrise. At eight in the
morning they breakfasted, then they worked until two
 THE VOLGA 229
o'clock; a short halt for dinner and once again the whole crew
applied themselves to the straps; when the first stars began
to shine the Volga boatmen dropped the rope at last, ate
their soup, lay down fully dressed on the earth or in their
boat, and slept the sleep of beasts. Uncommon strength and
inexhaustible lungs were required. The most widespread
disease amongst the burlaki was tuberculosis. Whoever fell
sick during a towing job was unlucky: he was given his pay
and passport forthwith, and was abandoned on the bank.
Normally, the burlaki had to complete the haul from Astra-
khan to Nizhny-Novgorod in seventy to seventy-three days in
order to be at the fair by July 20. The proprietor of the mer-
chandise carried in the vessel grew increasingly impatient as
the date drew near, and the artel strove to keep to the agreed
time. Towards the end of the journey the men scarcely slept;
they were dazed, their legs trembled and their throats were
raw with dust. Having reached Nizhny-Novgorod they drank
away their meagre pay in the drinking-dens and when the
hauling season ended found themselves as poor as ever.
Russell was astonished that any people, although primitive,
ignorant and illiterate, should be forced into a form of labour
which could normally be done by beasts of burden.
'Go and tell them then!' cried Alexander Vassilievitch.
'You see what they say! Those fellows are savages. The Volga
matushka (little Mother Volga) is their homeland, and they
love it jealously and fiercely! Steamships and tugs are for
them objects of superstitious hate. They even detest the new
roads! The poorer the land and the less cultivated it is, the
more they feel at home! But don't worry, the Volga boatmen
will soon be no more than a musical memory! And sentimen-
tal people will regret their passing!'

The next morning the ship approached the port of Kazan.

A veil of dust concealed the city proper. Around the quay
stretched a miserable sort of camp, frequented by beggars,
sailors and Tartar merchants. Some offered boxes of caviar,
others leather slippers, water-melons, curdled milk, cold
chickens, and pigs' hearts in bowls. The passing of a subur-
ban tram occasionally stirred this stagnant hole to life. There
230 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

was a halt of three hours and then the steamer sounded its
whistle once again, puffed, and beat the dirty water into a
white foam.
Russell had the strange feeling that, like the ship that
carried him, he had broken his ties with the real world. His
will, his identity, and even his intelligence had dissolved in
the slow strength of the Volga. He lived from one vista to
another, from meal to meal, from smile to smile. Space had
no limits. His eyes followed the quivering wave which fell
away from the ship and lost sight of it long before it had
touched the shore. Over there were villages, dunes, churches,
moujiks .... When they reached a port a horde of swarthy
Asiatics and peasant women with swollen bosoms beneath
their coloured blouses dashed in the direction of the engine-
room. A rich merchant came up on to the first-class deck with
his wife, who was dressed in rustling silks. Russell observed
the comings and goings of the passengers out of the corner of
his eye. In this little floating world only one face seemed
pleasing: Helen's. Why was it that this young lady was even
more attractive on the water than on the land? The reflec-
tions from the river gave her a disturbing charm. She had
only to say a few words to Russell, or to hand him a glass of
tea, or to breathe a sigh as she gazed at the horizon, and he
felt as if lifted up on wings.
After three days' sailing the steppe widened out and then
closed in again; the river lapped at a village, rounded a
smooth curve and the first houses of Samara came into view.
White cube-like villas shone in their dark terraced gardens.
But the landing-stage was only a long strip of mud, strewn
with bundles, barrels and sacks. A band of ragged men were
shouting abuse at one another as they floundered about in
the mud. Steamships puffed about, beating the water with
their giant wheels, and around them the little boats danced
like nut-shells in the oily eddies. An enormous steamer, rather
like those on the Mississippi, drew away from the pier to
make way for the newcomer of the same company. Farther
off some barges glided along in single file, drawn by tugs that
were as black as crows.
There was a halt of three and a half hours. Alexander
Vassilievitch decided to use it for a visit to the city. All its
 THE VOLGA 231
streets intersected at right angles. The wooden houses seemed
blackened as if by fire, while the houses· built of stone were
covered with white plaster. The air was filled with a blinding
hot dust, like that of the African deserts. On both sides of the
main thoroughfare- the only one that was paved- rose the
private mansions of the richest corn merchants in the region.
A tramway passed through the built-up area from one end to
the other, but turkeys were pecking between the rails. At the
foot of the monument to Alexander II some urchins were
playing a game of chance in which they spun a plate that was
covered with numbers. In Dvorianskaya Street, Russell
noticed some prettily decorated windows. It was there too
that he met his first Russian camels, hairless and melancholy,
with soft humps, a feminine gaze and a light tread. But
Alexander Vassilievitch would not let him spend his time
dreaming of caravan trips; he was anxious to visit a kumys
house. The family was divided between two isvostchiks, and
to the sound of little bells they set off for Annayevo on the
hill. During the journey Russell learned that kumys, the great
speciality of Samara, was a drink made from fermented and
gasified mare's milk. A tonic drink par excellence, it worked
wonders with anaemia cases.
When he had swallowed his glass of kumys Russell did feel
a deep sense of well-being; opposite him Helen leaned her
pretty profile over a cup filled with a white liquid with
bluish shadows. Seated around the table, the other members
of the family were discussing whether they would stay at
Samara or continue their journey to Astrakhan. Alexander
Vassilievitch favoured a radical solution:
'Who would be satisfied with a half-Volga when he has the
chance of doing the whole thing? We ought to go as far as
the Caspian Sea, to the very sources of caviar! Do you know,
Ivan Pavlovitch, how caviar is made?
'No,' Russell stammered, for his mind was really elsewhere.
'Very well, I'll explain.'
Lost in his happy daydream, Russell vaguely heard that
there were several sorts of caviar (ikra). Fresh caviar or grainy
caviar, which was obtained by cleaning the sturgeon's eggs
in a sieve in order to separate the adhering fibres; afterwards
they were laid out to drain for twenty-four hours on a sieve
232 DAILY LIFE IN RUSSIA

or in a cloth; finally they were put into drums. Pressed

caviar was made the same way, except that it was then
kneaded by hand in pickling brine and twisted in linen sacks
before being stored in barrels. A third kind of caviar was
subjected to salting and drying. Finally, the experts at Astra-
khan and the fishing-ports of the Caspian Sea had themselves
served with sturgeon's eggs taken straight from the fish's
belly, before their eyes, and whipped up in a glass of water.
'A feast for a king!' Alexander Vassilievitch exclaimed. 'I'll
make you taste them all. Do you know how many eggs a large
sturgeon has in its entrails? Three million! .... So it's settled?
We're going on to Astrakhan?'
'Why not?' cried Russell enthusiastically.
In his present state of mind he would have accompanied
the Zubovs to the antipodes. They returned to the ship in
haste. Helen was radiant. That evening, as usual, the family
gathered on deck to watch the last gleams of daylight. Sunsets
on the Volga were reputed to be the most beautiful in the
world, like those seen on the Nile. The horizon flamed, the
banks were no more than an intangible coppery dust, while
golden shivers ran through the green water. Russell was
watching Helen and, with the other travellers, repeated:
'It's wonderful! It's divine!'
Alexander Vassilievitch had caviar served for supper. Then
they returned on deck.
The sky was filled with stars. Men were singing on the deck
below. The paddle-wheels threw up cascades of diamonds on
the black water. The Zubovs, excited with the beauty of it all,
sank into a row of deck-chairs. But Helen soon left her parents
and went to lean upon the rails. Russell went to join her. She
gazed straight ahead and her face showed happiness. The
shores of the Volga could be seen no more. A warm scent rose
from the young girl's hair, and Russell found the courage to
tell her that he loved her.
Three months later he married her in Moscow. As from
that day, daily life in Russia would have no more secrets for
him.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY
The bibliography of a subject as broad as daily life in Russia
at the beginning of the twentieth century should comprise
all the memoirs of the survivors of the Tsarist regime, all the
modern historical, ethnographical and political treatises, all
the periodicals of the time, and even all the novels and stories
that portray the habits of the different social classes of
Russia on the eve of the revolution. But I have restricted
myself to recording here the principal works I consulted
in the course of my labours.
[PUBLISHERs NOTE: Very few of these works are available in
English translation, but these are separately noted.]

A. WORKS IN FRENCH OR TRANSLATED INTO

FRENCH FROM THE RUSSIAN
BAEDEKER (K.): La Russie. Manuel du Voyageur.
BEUCLER (Andre): Paysages et Villes russes.
BocDANOVITCH: I ournal.
BoMPARD (Maurice): Mon Ambassade en Russie, 1903-1908.
BRIAN-CHANINOV (N.): Histoire de Russie.
Capitales du Monde ...
DELINES (Michel): Russie, nos Allies chez eux.
GAUTIER (Theophile): Voyage en Russie.
GILLARD (Pierre): Le Tragique Destin de Nicolas II et de sa
fa mille.
GouRFINKEL (Nina): Theatre russe contemporain.
GRUNWALD (Constantin de): Quand la Russie avait des saints.
GuERASSIMOV (General): Tsarisme et Terrorisme.
HoFMANN (M.): Histoire de la Litterature russe.
HoFMANN (R.): Un Siecle d'Opera russe.
JACQMIN (Paul) and d'EsTAINTOT (Rene): Droits des Patrons
et des Ouvriers.
KARsAVINA: Ballets russes.
KoBELIATSKY: Recueil complet de Legislation industrielle.
KoVALEVSKY (M. w. de): La Russie ala Fin du xrxe siecle.
KozLIANINNOFF (Colonel W.): Manuel commemoratif de la
Garde acheval.
LABRY (Raoul): Autour du Moufik.
LACROIX (Frederic): Les Mysteres de la Russie.
LAPORTE (Maurice): Histoire de l'Okhrana.
L:EoNmov (L. D.): La Rampe et la Vie.
234 BIBLIOGRAPHY
LEROY-BEAULIEU (Anatole): L'Empire des Tsars et les Russes
(articles from Revue des Deux Mondes).
LoREY (Doctor G.): L'Hospice des Enfants trouves de
Moscou.
LoUKINE (Rotislas): Mythologie russe.
LoUKOMSKI (G. K.): La Vie et les Mmurs en Russie.
MARIE DE Russm (S. A. 1.): Education d'une Princesse.
MicHAGUINE-SKRYDLOFF (Prince): Russie blanche et Russie
rouge.
MILIOUKOV (Paul), SEIGNOBOS (Ch.) and EISENMANN (L.):
Histoire de Russie.
MoRIN (Jean): Mes souvenirs sur la Russie des Tsars (La
Bibliotheque mondiale).
NAZAREVSKI (V. V.): Histoire de Moscou.
PALEOLOGUE (Maurice): La Russie des Tsars.
PINOTEAU (Robert): La Russie d'hier et d'aujourd'hui.
RouET DE JouRNEL (M.-J.): Monachisme et monasteres russes.
SALOMON (Ch.) and LEBLANc (Leon): La Loi russe du 2-15 juin
sur les Accidents du Travail.
S:EMENOFF (E.): Une Page de la Contre-Revolution russe: les
Pogroms. _
SERAPHIM (Metropolite): L'Eglise orthodoxe.
SILVESTRE (Armand): La Russie.
SouvoRINE (Alexis): Journal intime.
SPIRIDOVITCH (General Alexandre): Histoire du Terrorisme
russe.-Les Dernieres Annees de la Cour de Tsarsko'ie-
Selo.
Tablettes gastronomiques de Saint-Petersbourg, redigees par
unamateur.
TsAKNI (N.): La Russie sectaire.
VASILI (Count P.): La Sainte-Russie.
VmousovA (Anna): Souve11irs de rna Vie.
VoLKOV (Alexis): Souvenirs d'un valet de Chambre de la
Tsarine Alexandra Feodorovna,
WAsSILIEFF (A. T.): Police russe et Revolution.
WEIDLE (Wladimir): La Russie absente et presente.
WRANGEL (N.): Souvenirs du Baron N. Wrangel; du Servage
au Bolchevisme.
ZAVARZINE (General): Souvenirs d'un Chef de l'Okhrtma.

B. WORKS AVAILABLE IN ENGLISH

CusTINE (Marquis de): Russia in 1839.
KLEINMICHEL (Countess): Memoirs of a Shipwrecked World.
KRoPOTKIN (Prince): The Terror in Russia.
PLATONOV (S.): History of Russia.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 235
RADZIWILL (Princess): The Taint of the Romanovs.
SoKoLOv (Y.): Russian Folklore.
STANISLAVSKY (C.): My Life.

C. WORKS IN RUSSIAN
(Titles translated here for convenience)

AsTRov (N. 1.): Memoirs.

BRUCHTEIN (A.): Pages from the Past.
BuRYCHKIN (P. A.): The Merchants' Moscow.
CHMELEV (I.): The Year of Our Lord.
DEMENTIEV (E. M.): The Factory, what it gives and what it
takes.
FENIN (A. I.): Memoirs of an Engineer.
GRINEVICH (V.): Workers' Movement in Russia.
GERASIMOV (V.): A Russian Worker's Life.
GILIAROVSKY (V. L.): Moscow and the Muscovites.
History of the U.S.S.R. in the 19th Century.
!ANIUL (I. 1.): Memoirs of a Factory Inspector.
LuciNIN: The Artels and the Cooperative Movement.
SEREBROV (A.): The Time and the Man.
SoBOTOVITCH (I. and E.): Moscow from a River Omnibus.
SYTIN (P.): History of the Moscow Streets.
TELECHov (N.): A Writer's Notebook.
ToucAN-BARANOVSKY: The Russian Workshop.
 INDEX
Abacus,33, 160,219 Bird-catchers, 162
Address bureaux, 135-6 Bliny (pancakes), 26, 164
Advocates, 151-2 Borsch (soup), 26, 27
Alexander 11,-129, 131, 136-7, 147, Batsman (ship's pilot), 228
200 Boyars, 128
Alexander III, 129, 139, 179, 184 Bribery, 136
Ambars (covered markets), 217 Brothels, 162
Apprentices Bund, the (league of Jewish workers),
in bath-houses and restaurants, 54- 98
56 Burlaki: see Volga boatmen
in Cossack regiments, 125 'Bush industry', 205-6
Architecture, 14, 20, 63, 156, 177
Army Cadets, Army, 108 fol.
barracks, 123 Calashes (carriages), 31, 33, 167
food, 123 Calendar, 21
life and training, 108 fol. Camels, 231
military courts, 150n, 153 Capital punishment, 138, 153
officers' status in 'table of ranks', Catholic Church
127 divergences between Catholic and
organization and hierarchy, 115-17 Orthodox Churches, 68, 74-6,
parades, 181-2 83,84n
pay,120,123 membership of, 221
uniforms, 114-15, 121, 123--4, Cavalry training, 108-15, 122--3: see
182--3, 188 also Cossacks
weapons, 121, 123n, 125 Caviar, 231-2
Arsheen (measurement unit), 10,23 Censorship
Art, 159, 191-2 postal, 139-40
Artels (artisans' communities), 98-9, of Press and books, 141-4
228-9 Chaliapin, Fyodor, 28, 161, 192
Chancellor of the Empire, 127
Baby-hiring, 61 Charitable societies, 101-2
Balalaika players, 122--3, 161, 164, Chekhov, Anton, 28, 44
197,227 Children
Ballet and ballet schools, 41-2, 193 as apprentices, 54-6 passim
Banishment, 138, 154 attendance at factory schools, 96
Baptism, 75-6 employment regulations, 89, 97
of foundlings, 105 as foundlings, 102-7
as sole registration of persons, 67 hiring of babies, 61
Bath-attendants ('bathers'), 52-4 as thieves and prostitutes, 61
Bath-houses, 51-4 Chin ('table of ranks'), 127-8
Bazaars, 36 Choirs
Beards and moustaches, 19, 31, 36, Army, ll8
100,198 Church,82
Beggars,58,60-1,86,101 Churches and cathedrals, 20, 21, 86,
Beguny (religious sect): see Old 160,166,167,170, 177-9passim
Believers Church membership, 74
Beloriztsy religious sect), 79 Church vestments, 83, 84n
 INDEX 237
Cities, IS Electoral qualifications, 133n, 145n
Clothing prices (for workers), 96 Electric lighting, 21, 36
Clubs,26,46-7,190-l Elizavetgrad Cavalry School, 108-
Coachmen, 45-6, 47, 55-6 114
Cock-fighting, 56, 162 Entertainments: see Ballet; Music;
Communal assemblies (of peasants), Opera; Salomonsky Circus;
134-5 Theatres
Conscription, 115-16 Estonians in Russia, 221
Constantin, Grand Duke, 73 Ethnic groups, 220--3
Convents, 21 n, 216
Conveyances: see Calashes; Droshkis; Factories, 87
Landaus; Motor-cars; Sleighs; children in, 89
Troikas dormitories and living quarters in,
Convicts, 154-5 90--,6
Co-operative movement, 98-9 medical services in, 89-90
Copiers (of plays etc.), 60 womenin,89
Cossacks, 117 n, 124-6, 221 working hours and holidays, 87-8
Costume, 17,31 Fairs, 215-20
of children's nurses, 32 Fast-days, 68, 105, 164-5
of peasant women, 198 Feast-days and festivals, 81, 84-c5,
of priests, 83 n 163-73, 197-8
of sleigh drivers, 18 Finns in Russia, 221
see also Uniforms Fire brigades, 37-8
Court of Appeal, 135 Food and drink, 14, 25-8, 30, 35-7
Court staff, etiquette and ceremonial, passim, 46-7, 95, 100, 111, 123,
183-9 165, 167, 171, 172--3, 194-5,
'Crabs' (tailors), 60 199,231
Crime and punishment, 57--fl1, 138, Forcedlabour,153-5
153-5 Foreigners in Russia, 31, 224--,5
Crows (in Moscow), 38 Forenames custom, 24
Customs formalities, 13-14 Foundlings, 102--,7
Francophiles, Russians as, 225
Death penalty: see Capital puni~h- French language, cuisine and fash-
ment ions, 22, 26, 225
Decorations, 120 Frenchmen in Russia, 224-5
Deportation, 138, 154
Diaghilev, Serge, 192 Gastronomic Notebooks of St Peters-
Divorce and annulment of marriage, burg, 26
67 Germans in Russia, 224
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, 69n, 72n, 73, Gogo!, Nikolas, 73
154n,179 Golubiatnia Restaurant (Moscow), 56
Drama, 28, 43-4, 192--3 Gorki, Maxim, 57 n
Droshkis, 217 Government administration, 127 fol.,
Drunkenness, 92, 99-100, 161, 164 132 fol.
Dukhobory (religious sect), 79 Great Lent, the, 164 fol.
Duma, the,145-6 'Great Russians', 220-1
Dzhigitovka (Cossacks' acrobatics), Guilds, merchants', 131
125 Gymnasia (schools), 31

Easter ceremonies and customs, 67, Hermitage Restaurant (Moscow), 55,

84-5,167-73,186-7 56,164
Ecclesiastical courts, 150n Hiring of labour, 58
Education,31,96,134 Holidays (official non-working days),
Egorov Restaurant (Moscow), 56 81,88
238 INDEX
Holy Synod, 21, 67, 69, 73, 74, 78, Kiev
135 metropolitan of, 70
'Honorary comets' (senior Army pilgrimages to, 80
cadets), 108-9 population of, 15n
Horses, 31, 33-4 saints' relics at, 81
cavalry,ll1,121n Kinzhal (dagger), 125
Cossacks', 124-6 passim Kireyevsky, Ivan, 73
fire brigades', 38 Knout, the, 153
Hospitality as Russian characteristic, Komissarzhevskaya, Theodore, 161,
24 fol., 197 192
Hospitals and asylums, 101 Kopeck, value of, 10
for factory workers, 90 Krasnaya ploshchad, meaning of, 20
Moscow Foundling Hospital, 102- Kremlin, the (Moscow), 19-20
107 Kruychniki (stevedores), 220
Hotel de !'Europe (St Petersburg), Kulibyaki (composite dish), 26,46-7
176 Kulich (brioche), 26, 67, 85, 167, 169,
Hotels, 17, 21, 176 171,172
Household management, SO, 32 Kumys (mares' milk), 231
Houses, naming customs, 159
Landaus, 31, 167
Iberian Chapel (Moscow), 2G Lapsha (vermicelli dish), 57
Ikons,63-6 Lapti (footwear), 53, 198
in churches, 83 Latvians in Russia, 221
in law courts, 157 Lava (Cossack charge), 126
in restaurants, 56 Lavra: see Monasteries
Illegitimacy, 103-4, 106-7 Law, 147 fol.: see also Advocates;
Industrial accident insurance, 89 Court of Appeal; Judges; Jury
Ironwork, 219-20 system; Justices of the peace;
Magistrates; Okhrana; Police
Leontiev, Constantin, 73
Jews Likatch (coachmen), 45-6
banned from the Okhrana, 139 Literature, 191-2
as nobility, 130 Lithuanians in Russia, 221
persecution and status of, 222-4 'Little Russians', 221
workers' league, 98 Lodz, population of, 15n
Judges, 147-8,149-50 Lubochnye kartiny (pictorial sheet),
Julian calendar, Russia's adherence 199-200
to,21
Junkers (officer cadets), 108 fol. Magistrates, 152
Jury system, 152-3, 157-8 Makhorka (tobacco), 59
Justices of the peace, 147-9 Mares' milk, 231
Markets, 35-7,56-62, 162,217
Kalach (bread roll), 161 Marriage rites and customs, 84, 203-
Kammerpages (Pages of the Cham- 205
ber), ll5 Marxist indoctrination, 98, 212-14
Kamorki (workers' dwellings), 90-6 Matchmakers, professional, 162, 203-
Kasha (gruel), 27 204
Kazan,229-30 Medals and decorations, 120
Cathedral, 21n, 177 Medical services in factories, 89-90
Kchessinskaya, Matilda, 28, 42 Merchants, 46-7, 131
Kharkov, population of, 15n M erzavchik ('little rascal': small
Khitrov market, 56-62, 162 vodka bottle), 100
Khlysty (religious sect), 79 M eshchane (petit bourgeoisie), 131
Khomiakov, Alexey, 73 Messenger services, 37
 INDEX 239
Metropolitans, 70 Nizhny-Novgorod, 215 fol.
Military parades, 181-2 the fair, 216-20
Military schools, 108-14 Nobility, 127 fol., 160
Minin, Kuzma, 21, 66 palaces of, 180
Mir (peasants' assembly), 134, 201-2 Nuns, 82n, 86
Molokany (religious sect), 79 Nurses, children's, 23-4,32, 168, 169
Monakhi (monks), 69-73 Nyanyas: see Nurses, children's
Monasteries and convents, 21 n, 69,
71-3 Obrok (peasants' land-purchaseprice),
Money units, 10 131-2,201
Monferrand, Richard de, 64 n Odessa, population of, 15n
Monks, 69-73 Okhotny Ryad (market), 36-7
Moscow, 8, 18-19, 159 fol. Okhrana (secret police), 136-40
charitable societies in, 101 Old Believers (religious sect), 74, 77-
citizens' migration to St Peters- 79,208-9
burg, 175-6 Opera, 193--4 passim
Foundling Hospital, 102-7 Opolchenie (territorial army reserve),
metropolitan of, 70 115-16
Minin and Pojarsky as liberators of, Optina Pustyn (monastery), 71-3
(1612), 21, 66 Orthodox Church, 14
number of electors, 133 baptismal and communion rites,
population of, 15n, 133 75-6
rivalry with St Petersburg, 28, 41, choirs, 82
175,191 divergences between Orthodox and
suburbs, 100 Catholic Churches, 68,74-6,83,
university, 164 84n
see also under Churches and foundation and history, 73-4
cathedrals; Hotels; Restaurants; hierarchy, 69-70
Theatres marriage rites, 84
Moscow Arts Theatre, 39, 43-5, 194 the mass, 82-3
Moskva (river), 17-18 relations with the Tsars, 73--4
and the Great Lent, 165 ritual, 63-8, 75-6, 83-6
religious ceremony at, 163 saints, 80-1
Motor-cars, 31 as sole registrar of births, marriages
Moujiks: see Peasants and deaths, 67
Multi-racial elements, 220-5 see also Fast-days; Feast-days and
Museums, 159 festivals; Monks; Nuns; Priests
Music and musicians, 41, 47, 49, 181,
191,193,194 Pages, Corps of, 114-15
Mythology, 208-11 Pages of the Chamber, 115
Palaces, 179, 1801 184
Nadiel (peasants' land-plots), 131 Parks,33-4,47, 161-2
Nemets (foreigners), 31, 224-5 Pashka (cheese cake), 26, 67, 85, 167,
Nemirovitch-Danchenko, 43, 194 169,171,172
Nemolyakhi (religious sect), 79 Passports, 13-14
Nevsky, Alexander, 175 Pavlova, Anna, 28
monument to, 177 Peasants, 131-2
order of, 120 communal assemblies of, 133-5,
Nevsky Prospect (St Petersburg), 201-2
176-7, 180 drinking habits, 99-100
Newspapers, 32, 141-3 as factory workers, 92-3
Night-shelters, 58-61 home industries, 205-6
Nikhon, Patriarch, 77,208 marriage customs, 203-5
Nikolas II, Tsar, 7, 14, 179, 181 fol. Marxist indoctrination of, 212-14
240 INDEX
as migratory workers, 20~ Religion: see Catholic Church;
religious and superstitious beliefs, Church membership; Orthodox
208-11 Church
as serfs 200-1 Religious sects, 74,77-9,208-9
village life of, 196-200 Rents of workers' dwellings, 95
Pedlars and street-vendors, 162, 164- Restaurants and cafes, 35, 44, 45,
16.5, 167, 198-200 47-9,55-6,58-9,161
Personal names customs, 24-5 Revolutionaries, 137, 139
Pertsovka (peppered vodka), 26 Riga, population of, 15n
Peter the Great, 128-9 Roads, 16
and foreigners, 224 Rouble, value of, 10
and founding of St Petersburg, 175 Rural industries, 205-6
and Petrovsky Island, 179 Russo-Japanese War, 7
residences of, 179 Ryady bazaars, 36
statue of, 178
Petrovsky Island (St Petersburg), 179 Sagene (measurement unit), 10
Petrovsky Park (Moscow), 33-4,47 St Basil's Cathedral, 20, 167
Philippov Cafe (Moscow), 35 St Petersburg, 28
Physical characteristics of Russians, cathedrals, 177, 178
17 charitable societies in, 101
Piety as Russian characteristic, 76-9 foundation and history of, 174 fol.
Pilgrims, religious, 79-80, 86,212 Hotel de !'Europe, 176
Plays: see Drama metropolitan of, 70
Pogroms, 223 Muscovites' migration to, 175-6
Poles in Russia, 139,221, 222n population of, 15n
Police, 58, 59, 132-5 passim, 152 rivalry with Moscow, 28, 41, 175,
see also Okhrana 191
Pood (unit of weight), 10 as Tsar's favoured residence, 20,
Population statistics, 15,220-1 175
Pozharnaya Ploshchad (Red Square), Saints, Russian, 80-1
20 Salaries: see Wages and salaries
Prazdnik: see Feast-days Salomonsky Circus, 39
Prefectural cities, 132 Salons, 160-1
Prepodobnye (saints), 80-1 Salutation customs, 24
Press and book censorship, 141-4 Samara, 226, 230-1
Priests, 67-71, 83n Samovars, 14, 206
Prisons, 155,178-9 meaning of name, 27
Prosfors (ritual loaves), 67 Sarafan (women's dress), 198
Prostitution, 61, 162 Schools, 31;
Proverbs, 197,211-12 in factories, 96
Publishing, 143-4: see also News- peasants', 134
papers 'Second-rate animals' (junior Army
Punishment: see Crime and punish- cadets), 108-10
ment Secret agents, 139-40
Pustyn (hermitage), 71 Senate, the, 135
Separation of powers, 147
Racial elements, diversity of, 220-5 Serfdom, 14-15, 131-2,200-1
Railways, 13-16, 214 Servants, domestic, 23
'Ranks, table of', 127-8 wages, 3D
Receivers of stolen goods, 60 Shashka (sword), 125
Red Square (Moscow), 19 Shipping companies, 226
meaning of name, 20 Shops and shopping, 17, 33, 35-6,
Registration of births, marriages and 217-18
deaths,67 shop signs, 19
 INDEX 241
Siberia, forced labour in, 154-5 and the Durna,145n
Skakung (religious sect), 79 and the Easter greetings ceremony,
Skating, 34-5 186-7
Skit (hermitage), 71 and St Petersburg, 20, 175, 179-80
Skoptsky (religious sect), 79 uniform of, 121, 182
Slavyansky-Bazar Hotel (Moscow), see also Alexander II; Alexan-
21,56 der III; Nikolas II; Court staff,
Sleighs, 18-19,30,33,40,207 etiquette and ceremonial
Smoking,27-8,37,59 Tuberculosis, 229
Sobinov,Leonid,28, 161,192 Tulups (overcoats), 19,54
Social classes, 61-2, 127 fol. Tverskaya Street (Moscow), 19,37
Sokolniki Park (Moscow), 161-2 Tzigane musicians and singers, 47-9
Soloviov, Vladimir, 73
Spirits, belief in, 209-10 Uniforms, 17
Stanislavsky, Constantin, 43-4, 57 n, Army, 121, 123-4, 182-3, 188
161, 194 cadets', 114-15
Starets (elderly monks), 72-3 coachmen's, 33
Staroveri: see Old Believers Cossacks', 124
Steamships, 226-7,230 Guards officers', 119, 121
Stevedores, 220 railway staffs', 14
Strakhov, Nikolay, 73 theatre attendants', 40
Stranniki (religious sect), 79 Tsar's, 121, 182
Street life, 19 Universities, 164, 179
Strelnya Restaurant (Moscow), 44, Unmarried mothers, care of, 106-7
45,47-9,56 Uryadniki: see Police
Strikes, industrial, 97
Students, 161, 179 Vaccination, 106
Sunflower seeds as food, 100-1 Verchok (measurement unit), 10
Superstition, 209-11 Verjbolovo (Wirballen), 14,21-2
Svakha: see Matchmakers, profes- Verst (measurement unit), 10
sional Vestments, church, 83, 84n
Village life, 196-200
Tailors, 54, 60, 113 Vodka,25-7,123
Tea and tea drinking, 14, 27, 56, 123, state monopoly in and peasants'
195-6,203,215,218 consumption of, 99-100
Telephone service, 17 Volga (river), 226 fol.
Territorial Army Reserve, 115 Volga boatmen, 227-9
Testov's Restaurant (Moscow), 55, 56 Volost (peasants' a~sembly), 132, 134
Theatres, 39-45, 166n, 192-4
Thieves, 57, 60 Wages and salaries
Tipping customs, 54, 55, 136 Army pay, 120, 123
Titles and forms of address, 127 fol. of ballet dancers, 42
Tobacco-smoking, 27-8,37,59 of factory workers, 88
Tolstoy, Leo73,144 of justices of the peace, 148
Tradesmen and industrialists, 160-1 of servants, 30
Traktirs: see Restaurants and cafes Waiters, 48,55-6
Travel regulations, 13-14 Warsaw, population of, 15n
Troikas, 34 Weapons,121,123n,125
Trubnaya Square (Moscow), 162-3 Weights and measures, 10
Tsar, the Wet nurses for foundlings, 104-7
and the administration, 128 White Russians, 221
and the boyars, 128 Wine-drinking, 26, 28,35,111
and the censorship, 145 Winter Palace (St Petersburg), 180
and the Church, 73-4 balls at, 187-9
242 INDEX

Wirballen (Verjbolov), 14,21-2 in factories, 87 fol.

Witches, 161 of tailors, 60
Women of waiters, 5~
in factories, 89, 92, 97 see also Peasants
peasants' costume, 198
as railway gate-watchers, 17 Yar Restaurant (Moscow), 47, 56, 161
smoking habits of, 27
Workers' assistance associations, 97 Zakuski (hors-d'reuvres), 25
Workers' dwellings, 90-$ Zemstvos (Government assemblies),
Working conditions and hours 133
of bath-attendants, 52-4 Zubrovka (variety of vodka), 26-7