Others, again, were dragging along immense rafts of timber, cut from far distant forests, destined to construct navies in widely scattered lands; while craft of all sorts were steering their course up the stream, laden with produce for the extensive market then taking place. No sooner had the carriages stopped than a troop of villagers were seen approaching along the street, some with garlands, others with banners, those leading bearing in their hands large dishes. In one dish was a large black loaf, in another a pile of salt, on a third a jug of water. The men had flowing beards of patriarchal length and thickness, and were habited in long sheepskin garments, which gave them a comfortable, substantial look. They all bowed low as they approached the Count, but he entreated them in a kind voice to rise and stand upright before him.

"We come, most n.o.ble _Goshod_, to offer you the congratulations of our village on your coming among us for the first time, and we beg to present you such poor food as we can supply, according to the ancient custom of our country," said the chief man of the party.

The Count having thanked them in a few kind words, cut some of the brown bread, which he dipped in the salt, and then drank a draught of the water, which was of delicious coolness. It was drawn, they told him, from a well celebrated for its purity, and which, even in the height of summer, had always ice on the shaft. This ceremony over, the Count and his friends drove on to his mansion, about a verst farther within the estate. A long avenue of lime-trees conducted them up to the house, which was of considerable size, and surrounded by all descriptions of out-houses, in anything but a flourishing condition. The mansion was built partly of brick and partly of wood, with verandahs and galleries, and steps running round outside it, and odd little projections, and bits of roofs apparently covering nothing, and for no other object than to serve as ornaments. The land-steward came down the steps, making many low bows, and followed by a troop of servants in faded blue liveries, all of them endeavouring to imitate his movements with very ridiculous ill success. The Count could scarcely restrain his laughter.

"I shall have plenty of work here to get things shipshape," said he, turning to Cousin Giles. "My uncle, from whom I inherited this property, was a n.o.ble of the old school. State with him was of the greatest importance. He loved to make a show--not that he really cared about it himself, or had any large amount of vanity, but that he considered it necessary to maintain the dignity of his order. Thus he kept up this useless troop of lazy varlets in faded liveries, when a good house-steward and two active footmen would have served him much better. I shall turn some of those fellows to the right-about very soon, and try to employ them in productive labour."

While the Count was talking they entered the house. Everything within betokened the old-fashioned taste of the former owner. Large sofas, numberless card-tables, high-backed chairs, huge, badly gilt picture-frames, enclosing daubs of most incomprehensible subjects, mirrors of all shapes and sizes, not one condescending to give a correct reflection of the human face. There was a large hall with a table down the centre, on which an ample meal was spread. At the upper end was a profusion of silver and gla.s.s, and two huge salt-cellars. Below the salt-cellars were plates and knives and forks of a far more humble description. The house-steward came forward with many a bow, and inquired when his lord would condescend to dine. "As soon as dinner can be ready," was the answer; "but come, gentlemen, we will go up to our rooms and shake off the dust of our journey."

The guests were shown by the house-steward to their bedrooms. They were very humbly furnished. All the grandeur had evidently been reserved for the public apartments. They came down to the dining-hall, when the Count took his seat at the head of the board, and his guests arranged themselves on either side. A number of other persons then came in, retainers of some sort,--persons of an inferior order, at all events: among them was a man in a long green gown, yellow boots, a dark vest, and light hair straggling over his shoulders. He bowed low, as did the others, to the Barin, the lord, and took his seat humbly below the salt.

They all ate with the gravity of judges about to condemn a fellow-mortal to death.

"I am glad that you have had an opportunity of seeing how Russians of the old school lived," observed the Count, turning to Cousin Giles. "I could not endure this sort of thing long, but it would not be wise to make too sudden changes. I shall in future only dine in state on great occasions, when it is politic to exhibit myself in public. We cannot all of a sudden introduce the freedom of the English. Ah! You should indeed value your inst.i.tutions, both public and domestic."

The Count was busy all the next morning in seeing his overseers, and receiving deputations from the inhabitants of the various villages on his estate, who came to welcome him, and bring the accustomed offering of bread and salt. He arranged, however, ample amus.e.m.e.nt for his guests during the day, by supplying them with horses to ride, and boats on a lake a couple of versts away from the house, where they caught a large supply of fish in a very short time. In the afternoon several visitors, who had been invited to meet them, arrived. They were proprietors, large and small, of estates ten, twenty, and thirty versts away. The Count's own estate extended thirty versts in one direction, so that he had not many near neighbours. Some of these gentlemen spoke English fluently, and had seen the world. Fred and Harry were delighted with them, and so especially was Mr Evergreen, they were so polite and polished, and so full of information. Mr Evergreen declared that he should be proud to be a Russian, to be like them.

"Ah, my dear sirs, you should see Russia during the winter," exclaimed Baron Shakertoskey. "It is then we are most full of life and vivacity.

Then nature kindly forms us roads, over which we are borne, gliding smoothly, at a rapid pace by quick-footed steeds; bridges are thrown across streams, by means which far surpa.s.s the art of man; and fresh fish, and flesh, and fowl are brought to market in the forms which they held when alive. Fish stand up on their tails, as if about to leap out of the baskets where they are placed. Sheep, oxen, and calves, rabbits and hares, look as if they could still run about, and fowls rear up their heads as if still denizens of the poultry-yard. A true Russian winter is only to be found at Moscow or in the interior. At Saint Petersburg, owing to the neighbourhood of the Baltic, the wind which blows over it frequently produces a thaw or a partial thaw, even in the middle of winter. Thus, as the wind shifts, so does the temperature rise and fall. With a west wind comes rain, and with a north-east a bitter cold; other winds bring fogs, and some, cheerful, bright frosty days, so that the inhabitants of that great city are liable to wind and rain in January, and frost and snow in April. Still the thermometer of Fahrenheit often falls to 55 degrees below zero, which it seldom reaches in Moscow. As in summer it often rises to 99 degrees, we may calculate a range of temperature of 150 degrees. This is a difference of temperature which would dreadfully try the const.i.tution, did not people take very great precautions against it by the mode in which they warm their houses and clothe themselves. In Moscow, when the winter begins, it commences to freeze in right earnest, and does not leave off at the beck of any wind which may blow. We consider it to begin in October, and to end in May--a period of six months--long enough to please the greatest admirer of ice and snow. We then, once for all, don our fur cloaks, caps, and boots, without which we never show our noses out of doors till the beginning of spring. We then also light our stoves and paste up our windows. You have seen a Russian stove? It is worth examination. It is a vast ma.s.s of stone, which, though it takes a long time to warm, will keep warm for a much longer period without any additional fuel. The interior is like an oven, with a chimney, a long snake-like pa.s.sage leading to it. As long as the wood continues to blaze the chimney is kept open, but as soon as it is reduced to ashes, the pa.s.sage to it is closed, and the hot air is allowed to pa.s.s by numerous channels into the room. Sometimes the outer air is allowed to pa.s.s through pipes over hot plates in the stove, and in this way fresh air, properly charged with oxygen, is supplied to the inhabitants. In large houses the mouth of the stove is in an outer pa.s.sage or in an ante-room, while the front is a mere ma.s.s of china, or concealed altogether by looking-gla.s.ses or other furniture. One or more servants in large houses have the entire charge of the stoves. They fill them with wood the last thing at night, and light them some hours before the family rise in the morning. In the sleeping-rooms they are kept in all night. In the houses of the poor, one stove of huge proportions serves for every purpose. It serves not only to heat the hut, but to bake their bread, and for all sorts of cookery, and to dry their clothes, articles of which are generally seen hung up round it. Benches are placed before it, where the inmates sit to warm themselves, while on a platform above it are placed beds, where, wrapped up in sheepskins, they indulge in idleness and heat--the greatest luxuries they are able to enjoy. To all our houses we have double windows: we paste paper over every crevice by which air may enter, and we fill up the lower part of the interval between the two windows with sand, into which we stick artificial flowers, to remind us that summer, with its varied-tinted beauties, will once again return. Two or three doors also must generally be pa.s.sed before the inside of the house is reached. Thus, you see, in spite of the bitter cold in the outer world, we contrive to construct an inner one where we can make ourselves tolerably comfortable. We never venture out without being well wrapped up in furs, and then we move from house to house as fast as we can, so as to avoid being exposed any length of time to the cold. We have also large fires lighted in front of the places of amus.e.m.e.nt and the palaces of the Emperor and n.o.bility, where the drivers and servants may warm themselves while waiting for their masters. Generally with great cold there is little wind; and people, as long as they are warmly clad and in motion, have no reason to fear its effects, but unhappy is the wretch who is overtaken by sleep while exposed to it. His death is certain. Death thus produced is said to be accompanied by no disagreeable sensations, at least so say those who have been partially frozen and recovered, but I would rather not try the experiment. When the thermometer falls to 50 or 55 degrees below zero, it is time to be cautious. No one shows his nose out of doors unless compelled by urgent necessity, and when he does, he moves along as fast as he can--keeping a watchful look-out after that prominent and important feature of the human countenance. As no unusual sensation accompanies the first attack of frost on the nose, it is difficult to guard against it. A warning is, however, given by the peculiar white hue which it a.s.sumes, and immediately this sign is observed by a pa.s.ser-by, he gives notice to the person attacked. 'Oh, father! Father! Thy nose, thy nose!' he will cry, rushing up to him with a handful of snow, with which he will rub the feature attacked, if, on a nearer inspection, he sees that it is in danger. Of course people generally take the best possible care of their noses, so that the dreaded catastrophe does not often occur. We wrap up warmly, and leave only the eyes and mouth and nose exposed, so that nearly all the heat which escapes from the body has to pa.s.s through that channel, and thus effectually keeps it warm.

"We Russians are not so fond of violent exercise as are you English, and therefore we depend on the heat of our stoves and the thickness of our clothing to keep ourselves warm. We sometimes forget that our servants are not so substantially clad as ourselves, and while we are entertaining ourselves in-doors, they, foolish fellows, fall asleep, and get frozen to death outside the palace or theatre, or wherever we may happen to be. Every year, also, people lose their lives by getting drunk and falling asleep out of doors. They may try the experiment several times, but some night the thermometer sinks to zero, and they never wake again. In summer, travelling is all very well, but in winter it is enjoyable; no dust, no dirt, no scorching heat. Well covered up with warm skins, and with fur boots on our feet, away we glide, dragged rapidly on by our prancing steeds over the hard snow, fleet almost as the bird on the wing, and like the bird directly across the country, where in summer no road can be found. Mighty streams also are bridged over, and we journey along the bed of water-courses; which in spring are swept by foaming torrents. The thick mantle of ice and snow which clothes our country forms a superb highway, which the inhabitants of other lands may in vain desire. The snow, which seems so cold and inhospitable to the stranger, is our greatest and most valued friend.

It is like a fur cloak; it keeps in the warmth generated in the bosom of the earth, and shelters the bulbs and roots and seeds from the biting cold, which would otherwise destroy them. More than anything else we have to dread a snowless winter; then truly the earth is shut up by an iron grasp, and tall trees, and shrubs, and plants wither and die under its malign influence. The earth, deprived of its usual covering, the ruthless cold deeply penetrates it, and man and beast and creeping things suffer from its effects. Oh, yes, we have reason to pray earnestly to be delivered from a snowless winter?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Sports in Winter--Bear and Wolf Hunting--Story of the Miller and the Wolves--Other Tales about Wolves--Shooting Wolves from Sledges--Narrow Escape from a Wolf--Breaking up of the Ice on the Volga--Dreadful Sight of a Boat's Crew carried away with the Ice--Loss of an old Man on the Ice--The Russian Bath--Trial of Vocal Powers of Two Musicians.

"But have you no sports in the winter season?" asked Fred. "I thought that the country abounded in bears and wolves, and deer and game of all sorts. They are the sort of animals I should like to look after."

"We have an abundance of bears and wolves, and of smaller animals too, but we are not very fond of leaving our comfortable homes to shoot them.

Sometimes, when a bear becomes troublesome in a neighbourhood by his depredations, the villagers turn out in a body to destroy him; and wolves are the enemies of all. In winter, when hard pressed by hunger, a flock of these are very dangerous, and numberless persons have fallen victims to their voracity. A dreadful circ.u.mstance relating to wolves occurred near this a few winters ago.

"A miller, Nicholas Eremeitch by name, was, with his wife and children, returning from the neighbouring town to his own village, a distance of some twenty versts or so. He and his wife sat in the front part of the sledge; their children, well covered with skins, were behind, except one, which was in its mother's arms, another at their feet. Their road lay partly through a forest, and partly across an open plain, now exhibiting one unbroken sheet of snow. The children were laughing cheerily, for though the frost was excessive, there was no wind, and the cold was scarcely felt. They had accomplished more than half their distance at a good rate.

"Nicholas Eremeitch was well-to-do in the world, and he had a pair of good horses, which knew how to go over the ground. A common peasant would have driven but one, but he required them for his trade. He and his wife were conversing together on what they had seen in the town, when they were startled by a sharp yelp at no great distance off.

"'Is that a dog who has lost his master?' asked the miller's wife.

"'No, wife, no,' answered the miller. 'Heaven protect us!'

"As he spoke there was a rushing sound heard from far off in the forest.

At first it was very faint; then it grew louder and louder. Their sagacious steeds knew too well what caused the sound, and, snorting with fear, they started off at full gallop. There was no necessity for Nicholas to urge them on. He, also, too well knew the cause of the sound. Anxiously he looked over his shoulder. Another yelp was heard, louder and sharper than before. They were just entering on the plain.

Another and another yelp rang in their ears, and at the same moment a pack of wolves, in a dense ma.s.s, were seen emerging from the forest.

The affrighted steeds tore on. It was with difficulty the miller could keep them together. His wife clasped her infant closer to her bosom.

The children looked from under their fur covering, and then shrunk down again shivering with fear, for they had an instinctive dread of the danger which threatened them. The stout miller, who scarcely before had ever known what fear was, turned pale, as the sharp, eager yelps of the infernal pack sounded nearer and nearer behind him. He had no weapons but his long whip and a thick stick. He clenched his teeth, and his breath came fast and thick, as the danger grew more imminent. With voice, and rein, and whip, he urged on his steeds, yet they wanted, as I said, no inducement to proceed. They felt the danger as well as their master. The miller's wife sat still, an icy coldness gathering round her heart. All they had to trust to was speed. The nearest _isba_ where they could hope for aid was yet a long way off; yet rapidly as they dashed onward, the hungry pack were fleeter still. A miracle alone could save them--from man they could expect no help.

"'On!--on! My trusty steeds,' shouted the miller. 'Courage, wife!-- courage! We may distance them yet. Trust in the good saints; they may preserve us. Oh that I had my gun in my hand, I would give an account of some of these brutes!'

"In vain, in vain the horses stretched their sinews to the utmost. Fast though they flew through the air, the savage brutes were faster still.

The miller's shouts and cries seemed for a short time to keep the animals at bay, but still they were gathering thickly around the sledge, singling out its inmates for their prey.

"The poor children shrieked with terror as they beheld the fiery eyes, the open mouths, and hanging tongues of the fierce brutes close to the sledge. They fancied that they could feel their hot breath on their cheeks--the terrible fangs of the animals seemed every instant about to seize them. Again and again they piteously shrieked out--

"'Oh, father!--oh, mother, mother! Save us!'

"The miller frantically lashed and lashed, and shouted to his steeds, till his voice almost failed him. They could go no faster. Already, indeed, their strength began to flag. 'If they fail me at this juncture all will be lost,' thought the miller; 'still I'll not give up hope.'

"Again he lashed his horses, and then he lashed and lashed around him, in the hopes of keeping off the infuriated animals, which now came thronging up on either side. As yet they had not dared to seize the horses; should they do so, all, he knew, would be lost. His wife, pale as death, sat by his side. She could do nothing but cry for mercy. She dared not look round, lest altogether she should lose her senses at the sight she dreaded to see. She longs to draw her elder children to the front of the sledge, but there is no room for them there; so, as before, she sits still, clasping her infant to her bosom. On fly the horses.

The wolves pursue, growing bolder and bolder. There is a fearful shriek.

"'Oh, mother! Mother! Save--'

"The cry is drowned by the sharp yelping of the wolves. On a sudden the pack give up the chase. The miller looks round to learn the cause. His eldest child--his favourite, t.i.tiana, is no longer in her place. The other children point with fearful gaze to the spot where the wolves are circling round, snorting, and gnashing, and tearing, and leaping over each other's shoulders. To rescue her is hopeless; to attempt it would be the certain destruction of the rest. Flight, rapid and continuous, offers the only prospect of safety. Faint, alas! Is that. On--on he drives; but, oh horror!--once more the wolves are in hot pursuit. The sledge is again soon overtaken. Fiercely the miller defends his remaining children with loud shouts and lashings of his whip; but what can a weapon such as that effect against a whole host of wild beasts?

Some of the fiercest leapt on the sledge.

"'Oh, mercy, mercy!'--Another child--their darling boy, poor little Peoter, is torn away. Can they rescue him? No, no; it is impossible.

They must drive on--on--on--for their own lives. Even if they drive fast as the wind, will they preserve the rest? For a few short moments the wolves stop to revel in their dreadful banquet. The miller lashes on his steeds furiously as before. He is maddened with horror. On, on he drives. The poor mother sits like a statue. All faculties are benumbed. She has no power to shriek. Scarcely does she know what has occurred. Again the wolves are in full chase. Two children remain alive, but they are exposed to the cold; their sheepskin mantle has been torn away. They are weeping piteously. With a frantic grasp the miller drags one up between him and his wife; but, alas! The other he cannot save. He tries, but ere he can grasp it by the shoulder, the savage brutes have dragged it down among them. A faint shriek escapes it, and its miseries are at an end. With whetted appet.i.tes the wolves again follow the sledge. The miller looks at the savage pack now almost surrounding him, and his courage begins to give way. But his wife is still by his side, and three children are unhurt. He may yet keep the wolves off; but if they once venture on the sledge, if once his arm is seized, he knows that all, all he holds dearest in life, must be lost also. Still, therefore, he drives on, but he almost despairs of escaping. He has too much reason for his worst fears. Impatient for their expected banquet, the wolves begin to leap up round the sledge, just as the waves of a breaking sea rise tumultuously round the labouring bark. In a few minutes all will be over. The miller knows full well that his horses will soon be seized, and then that hope must indeed depart. Ah! The fatal moment has come. Already a wolf, more famished than his companions, has flown at the neck of one of his horses. The animal plunges and rears in a frantic attempt to free himself from his foe. Ah! At that instant the miller shouts louder than before--his courage returns--he lashes furiously at the wolf--The n.o.ble horse frees himself and dashes onward.

"'We are saved--we are saved!' shouts the miller. 'Wife, wife, arouse yourself!'

"Far off he sees advancing over the snow a large sledge; it glides nearer and nearer. Those in it see what is occurring. Shot after shot is fired, and the wolves fall thickly around. Dashing up at full speed, a sledge approaches. The miller almost shrieks with joy. For an instant he forgets those he has lost; yet only for an instant. He has the fond heart of a father. The sportsmen load and fire again. They have come in search of this very pack. The miller and the rest of his family were saved; but it was many a long week before he or his poor bereaved wife recovered from the effects of that day's adventure."

"A very dreadful story indeed; very dreadful," observed Mr Evergreen.

"Do people generally get attacked by wolves when they travel by sledges in winter."

"I think we may safely say not generally," answered one of the Russian guests, laughing. "If such were the case, people would be inclined to stay at home. A story is current still more dreadful than the one you have heard.

"A peasant woman was driving a sledge with several of her children in it from one village to another, when she was pursued by a pack of wolves.

As the brutes overtook her, she threw them one of her children, to induce them to stop and eat it up, while she drove on. Child after child was treated in the same way, till she reached a village, when the villagers came out and drove the wolves back. When the mother told her story, one of the villagers, in his rage at her inhumanity, struck her dead on the spot with his axe."

"A very dreadful story, but I do not believe a word about it," said their host. "I do not believe that any woman would act so barbarous a part."

"Nor do I," observed Cousin Giles. "The slavers on the coast of Africa are wont to play a similar trick when pursued by our cruisers. They will throw a live slave overboard at a time, in the hopes that the cruiser will heave-to or lower a boat to pick the poor black up, and thus allow them more time to escape."

"We often go out on sledges expressly to shoot the wolves," observed an old country gentleman of the party. "We use large sledges, capable of containing several persons, and we provide ourselves with plenty of guns and ammunition. In one of the sledges a pig is carried, in charge of a servant, and there is also a rope with a bag of hay, which is dragged after the sledge. When we arrive on the ground where we expect to find the wolves, the bag of hay is thrown out, and the servant gives the pig a twitch of the tail, which makes it squeak l.u.s.tily. Now, wolves are especially fond of pork, and, hearing the well-known sounds, they hurry out of their fastnesses from all quarters, in expectation of a feast.

As the brutes happily hunt by sight and sound, and not by scent, and being, moreover, foolish brutes, as the more savage animals often are, when they see the bag of hay they fancy that the pig must be inside it, and eagerly give chase. Now the sport begins, and as the wolves draw near, one after the other they get knocked over by the guns of the sportsmen. We often kill numbers in that way, and thus get rid of most noxious animals. Although their flesh is of no use, their skins are of considerable value, mantles and cloaks being lined with them. A wolf is a dangerous animal to meddle with when wounded. On one occasion I was out hunting, when we had killed some fifty or more wolves. On our return, we pa.s.sed a remarkably large wolf, which lay apparently dead on the snow. One of our party took it into his head that he would like to possess himself of the skin, and, leaving the sledge, he approached the brute with the intention of flaying it. He was about to take hold of its muzzle, when the animal, resenting the indignity of having his nose pulled, reared itself up on its forepaws, snarling furiously. Ere my friend could spring back, the brute had seized him by the arm, and was dragging him to the earth. In another instant his fangs would have been at his throat, when the sportsman plunged his knife into its breast.

Still the wolf struggled with his antagonist. We were afraid to fire, lest we should kill the man as well as the brute. It was a moment of fearful suspense. The life-blood of the wolf was flowing freely, but before he died he might have destroyed our friend. We drove to the spot as fast as we could, in the hopes of being in time to rescue our companion. As we were leaping from the sledge, the combatants rolled over. Happily the man was uppermost. He drew a deep breath as we released him.

"'I never wish to have such a fight as that again,' he exclaimed, shaking himself. 'It must have lasted a quarter of an hour at least.

How was it you did not sooner come to my a.s.sistance?'

"In reality, not two minutes had elapsed from the time he reached the wolf till he finally killed it. His arm was somewhat lacerated, but his thick coat had saved him. It was a lesson to me ever after, not to go near a wild beast till I am certain he is put _hors de combat_."

"The breaking up of the ice on the various rivers of Russia is a time of great excitement," observed the Count. "In an instant the natural bridges which the winter has formed are destroyed, often with little or no warning, and people are hurried down the stream on the floating ma.s.ses of ice, frequently unable to reach the sh.o.r.e, till, one ma.s.s driven under the other by the fierce rush of waters, they are engulfed beneath them. I was one year at Jaroslaf, on the Volga, at that period.

You, my friends, who were there at the time, will not have forgotten the circ.u.mstance. I was on horseback, riding along the banks of the river, to watch the huge ma.s.ses of ice which came floating down the stream. Sometimes they would glide calmly by, in almost unbroken sheets; then they would meet with some obstruction--either a narrow part of the stream, or a promontory, or a rock--and then they would leap and rush over each other, as if imbued with life, and eager to escape from the pursuit of an enemy. The rushing and crushing and grinding of the ice, and roar of the waters was almost deafening. The ma.s.ses would a.s.sume, too, all sorts of fantastic shapes, which one, with a slight exertion of fancy, might imagine bears, and lions, and castles, and ships under sail--indeed all sorts of things, animate and inanimate. As I looked up the stream, my attention was drawn to a large black object, which I soon made out to be a vessel of the largest size which navigates those waters. She came gliding rapidly down--now stem, now stern foremost; now whirling round and round, and evidently beyond all control. To my horror, I perceived as she drew near there were several men on board. The current brought her close to the bank where I was.

By the gaunt looks and gestures of the crew, I perceived that they were suffering from hunger. This notion was confirmed when the vessel drew still nearer.