Chapter VII: Section 2: The congress shall have power to enforce this article by (2)

Charlie Smith was about ten years my senior, and that sort of regard from an elder is always appreciated by a boy. At the time of my visit to New York he was stopping at the Brevoort House. He was a member of the New York Club in Broadway, the crack one at that time, and won my heart and esteem at once. I was devoted to him. One day we strolled down Broadway and he treated me to oysters and a glass of beer, and I thought I was a man of the world.

When we met at Weston he fascinated me more than ever, with his stories and songs, and we had many merry evenings. I was treated as a young man, not a boy, and I look back to those old times with unmingled delight.

The letter I received from my mother announcing Charlie Smith’s death at San Francisco, I can now recall and explain. Of Boston parentage, he had gone to California in the early days, and made what at that time was considered a good fortune. He was killed accidentally by a shot when out gunning. He was so popular in the city of San Francisco that the body was laid in state in the rooms of the Union Club of that city, as a tribute to the appreciation in which he was held by its members.

THE NEW YORK CLUB.

The New York Club, corner of Broadway and Great Jones street, I never visited with Charlie Smith, but during the War they moved to the Haight house, Fifth avenue and 15th street. That was the apogee of their greatness, and I was introduced and became a six months’ member. Great Jones street was near property which belongs to the Jones-De Trobriand-Post families.

TO MY MOTHER.

Wednesday, Dec. 20, 1866.
Saint Petersburg.

My dear Mamma:

I begin you a letter now, to finish sometime if possible. Your last one talked to me about the furs. I think you are quite right to want lots of Russian things, as they are fascinating, and you will probably never have as good an opportunity of getting them. Be easy, then, for I am to buy no end of various things, and send them all off to Boston, by the first Spring boat of Mr. Ropes. Mr. Prince, who is the head one of the house here, is very obliging, and being a good judge of furs, I think I can satisfy you in that line, though they won’t be in time for this winter. I shall buy the skins only, and you can have them made up in Boston to suit you, as the fur goods they wear here are different from ours, and might not please you. For instance, I have not seen a pair of cuffs in St. Petersburg. I shall get handsome, dark Siberian sable skins, worthy of a princess, Persian table cloths, malachite ornaments, slippers, Circassian silver, etc., etc., and also something which will make you very happy—a little box or two of the stunning tea, which is brought across from Pekin in caravans.

We are to dine with Mr. Prince next Tuesday, which is Christmas day, and have since had to decline an invitation for the same day, given us by the English Ambassador.

EMPEROR ALEXANDER II.—PRESENTATION.

Two days ago we were presented to the Emperor. We were quite alone, no other people being presented the same day. We marched through suites of apartments, and were formally ushered into His Majesty’s billiard room, where we were received by two of the chamberlains, and from there we went into the reception room where we soon had a little conversation with the head of all the Russias in our native (?) language of French. He is very nice, I give you my word, but we were disappointed in not seeing the Empress, though this comes some other time.

We have a good many occasions of airing our French in the _beau monde_ of Russia, and I find that there is no trouble with it; the only thing to do being to go right along regardless of errors, for I see that although I do not speak very well, there are plenty who speak quite as bad and worse, and this being a neutral ground of course one is bolder. However, a great many of the well educated speak English admirably.

All this goes to show that we are in for society now, and have to await quietly a round of balls, operas, and dinners, and return our calls most punctiliously, a form of etiquette about which the Russians are very exacting.

We went to a jolly young count’s (Koucheleff Besborodko) the other day, who immediately made us at home with a delicious cigar. His house, take it all in all, was about as lovely as any I have ever seen, with an Oriental smoking room, a Pompadour boudoir, a Chinese room, a long gallery of paintings, an immense dancing hall, and a conservatory arranged with grottoes and cascades, a rustic bridge, and an original old statue of a satyr, picked up in Rome. The Count is a great connoisseur of art, and his collection in all its branches is magnificent, with souvenirs of every city of Europe, and all the ages of the world, enough to drive to despair any such little dabblers as myself.

I have met quite a charming young Austrian lady, who lives with the Spanish Ambassador’s wife, but I shall take good care of my heart and bring it back to Boston.

Our acquaintances, thus far, are eminently diplomatic, as you see, the English consul’s family especially being very attentive.

We skated yesterday on the Neva Club place for the first time, as the grounds are only just opened, but today it is thawing again, and we must wait a bit for it to freeze.

I think you would be rather frightened at the way they drive here in the sleighs, rushing off as fast as possible, yelling to people and carriages to get out of the way, and then bringing the horse up suddenly with a droll sound—bhr-r-r-r!—which corresponds to “whoa” in English. In some letter I will describe a sleigh for you, but they are all alike, from the Emperor’s to the street cabs, except in finish. There are very few covered vehicles here to hire, and you always go, by night and day, in an open sleigh, so you can judge from that, that the cold is not so awfully severe here as you imagine. We take very good care not to be frozen, as we both have a horror of the amusement, but enough for today.

Nate.

THE PRESENTATION.

The Hon. Cassius M. Clay, the American Minister, presented C. A. Longfellow and myself to the Emperor.

THE INVITATION.

Translated from the French.

Ministry of the Imperial Court.
Direction of Ceremonies.
St. Petersburg, 5–17 December, 1866.

The Grand Master of Ceremonies has the honor to inform Mr. N.
Appleton, that he will have the honor of being presented to His
Majesty the Emperor tomorrow, Tuesday, 6–18 December, at half past one
in the afternoon at the Winter Palace.

You are requested to come to the door of Her Majesty the Empress.

[Seal]
[See binding of this book.]

The invitation was gladly accepted, not only from the desire of meeting in person the Autocrat of all the Russias, but also because once done your name was put upon the list of distinguished visitors to the capital, and, as a matter of course, you were invited to all the balls and festivities of the season. General Clay called for us in his sleigh, and we drove to the Winter Palace, where we were met by some of the officers of the staff, on horseback. The regulation dress prescribed for us was “black or blue dress coat, black vest and pantaloons, white cravat and white kids,” as stated in a marginal note by General Clay.

Having been ushered into the presence of the Emperor, as detailed in my letter to my mother, we had a little chat with him, principally answering some questions about America, and then retired, and went down stairs.

While waiting in the hall below for our sleigh to drive up, the Tsar came bounding down the staircase, followed by his favorite Newfoundland dog, with which he was often photographed, and before jumping into his sleigh and dashing off on some call, he stopped and exchanged a few more words with us. Indeed the whole interview made a most agreeable impression upon me.

GORTSCHAKOFF.

“The days when the great Nicholas leaned on him sweep back from the
mists of the buried years. In his old age, he is the Richelieu of
another Tsar, for Russia draws the sword in fight once more.”

—_Col. Richard Henry Savage_ on Gortschakoff in 1876.

I was naturally very much delighted with the prospect of being presented to the distinguished veteran Russian diplomatist and chancellor of the empire. This occurred in December of this year, 1866. General Clay had arranged the interview beforehand with Count Gortschakoff, and one morning called for us at our hotel in his sleigh to take us there. Another person was of the party, and strangely enough a negro, a certain Captain Chester, who was out in Russia on some special business.

We started off through the cold, clear air, and were soon at the door of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where we were expected, and ushered in. We first met Mr. Westerman, a gentleman who for some time had been Count Gortschakoff’s right hand man and assistant in the tremendous duties of his office, and were then shown by him into the private cabinet of the chancellor.

Our interview was, of course, not lengthy, but most interesting. The old gentleman chatted with us very pleasantly on different topics, and in his manner and reception of us was as simple and unaffected as a child. He looked hale and hearty, and as though he had before him many years, which he meant to devote to aiding the development of Russian progress and civilization, and he did live two years after the death of the Tsar and died in Baden-Baden March 11, 1883.

LETTER TO MY MOTHER.

St. Petersburg,
Thursday, Dec. 27, 1866.

My dear Mamma.

Another week has glided rapidly by, finding us still at St. Petersburg, and I have two of your letters to acknowledge, the last one bearing date of December 9th.

TO CRONSTADT—AN AMERICAN PARTY.

What have we been doing? Among other things yesterday a party of Americans went to see Cronstadt. We were, General Roberts, U. S. A., a good specimen of an American general (Benjamin Stone Roberts, graduate of West Point, served in the Mexican war and the Rebellion, brevetted Brig. Gen. U. S. A., and Major Gen. U. S. V., inventor of the Roberts breech-loading rifle, which he was trying to introduce to the Russians. He was a remarkably genial fellow, and had lots of good stories which he delighted in telling.), Mr. Sawyer, correspondent of the New York _Herald_, and a very pleasant companion, C. A. L., and myself, and we had a Russian colonel put at our disposal to open the gates of everything. We went down by rail to a place opposite Cronstadt, and then crossed over the Gulf of Finland on the ice, with two funny little Finnish ponies to each sledge, one trotting and the other galloping, but going like the wind, and doing the five miles in less than half an hour, without lessening speed once. It was very cold and our fur coats were necessary. We visited some of the forts, and afterwards breakfasted at the Navy and Army Club of the place. The whole effect of the day and the adventures were eminently Russian. We had to get up long before daylight, and saw the sun rise about 9 o’clock, something one does not often see here, as we are generally asleep at that time.

THE IMPERIAL STABLES.

One day last week we visited the Imperial stables, which I thought very shabby, although many of the horses were stunning, and afterwards we examined all the swell carriages and sledges, which have been used at coronations, weddings and _fêtes_ from the time of Peter the Great to the Princess Dagmar. They showed all varieties of taste, and are more magnificent than those at the Trianon at Versailles.

On Christmas Day Charlie and self dined with Mr. Prince, and attended just before dinner the christening of his youngest child. It was quite a large dinner, Anglo-American, and most decidedly respectable. It is curious how very few American families there are living in St. Petersburg. Last Sunday we dined with Mr. Whistler, (George W., father of the artist James Abbott McNeill W.) who is one of the gentlemen connected with the Winans car manufactory. There were about twelve, all gentlemen, and all Americans, indeed it included almost all the American males here,—General Clay, and the Consul, Mr. Winans, Mr. Pierce, and others, and it was jolly enough.

On Saturday next Charlie and I think of starting for Moscow, spending ten days, or so, and then returning, as we give up the Odessa plan, but we have not quite decided.

Well, I must stop now, as I go in a minute to drive with the Spanish Ambassador and his wife, the Duke and Duchess d’Osuna et de l’Ynfantado, but whether it is a “_grand diner diplomatique_” or a “_petite causerie intime_” I know not.

Friday morning: I have just time to finish and dispatch this now, before going out to perform the numerous last duties on the eve of our departure for Moscow. Cards must be sent round, etc. etc.

The dinner yesterday was very good, rather in the heavy diplomatic line, old swells with countless decorations, and jewelled dowagers nodding over the table, with a sprinkling of youthful _attachés_ and officers filling up the corners. Later in the evening I went to a ball at the rooms of the Artists’ Club, and danced a little.

Well, I must rush out, one is always hurried here, as I have before observed. My next will probably be from Moscow, where I can give you an account of our cousin Eliza, and deliver her your present; also, the Kremlin, and the tea-drinking gardens. A hard snow storm which looks like continuing.

Adieu. Nate.

ROSS WINANS.

In a letter from my mother visiting Baltimore in 1852, to my sister and myself in Boston, she wrote:—“This morning we have been to see the most superb house in the country, built by a gentleman of the name of Winans, who has been employed by the Russian government in the construction of railroads and cars, and has made an immense fortune.” This letter was sealed according to the custom of the time with a red wafer.

Ross Winans, a native of New Jersey, was an inventor and manufacturer of railroad machines in Baltimore, and undertook the Russian railroads by the advice of George W. Whistler. He died in Baltimore, in 1877, at the age of eighty-one. He had two sons who went to Russia; Thomas de Kay, who died in Newport, R. I., June 11, 1878, aged fifty-eight, and William Louis, who never returned to this country, but went to England after the completion of the St. Petersburg and Moscow railroad, and died in London, June 25, 1897, aged seventy-five.

CHAPTER FIFTH.
MOSCOW. THE CITY AND ENVIRONS.
TROTTING IN RUSSIA.

“Say, Mandarin, fresh from the Orient old,
Will they give us the queue when they give us the gold?
Rise, Curtin, arise! Let the Manchu declare—
Is he under the paw of the Great Northern Bear?

You uncovered the Pole, brought Pan Michael to light,
Ran Sienkievitch down through the vast polar night;
Then, skirting the coast to the isles of the Celt,
You caught the sweet ballads that make the heart melt,

Thus linking two worlds. Nate Appleton tried,
But the Gulf was too deep, or the Isthmus too wide.
Brother Pratt had the keynote—he doesn’t know which,
Art, music, the lingo of Ivanovitch.”
—_James Herbert Morse._

Harvard College Class of 1863. Poem at Class Dinner of 1901.

FROM ST. PETERSBURG TO MOSCOW.

The journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow is a long ride, and in winter when the days are short, seems to be a night which will never end. You take the train in the afternoon and have not accomplished many scores of versts, or disposed of many hours, before twilight fades into dark, and the great snow plain on every side loses its brilliant whiteness, and has a grey and mysterious look. So, too, in the morning, though late, the sun is not more than fairly up when you behold in the distance the gilded domes and fairy minarets of the old Russian metropolis, as they first appear, and you feel that at last you are in the heart of the Empire. But the hours passed in the cars are far from tedious. “Car” is the word that can be used, for those on that railroad line much more resembled what we have in the United States, than anything to be found in Europe. They were divided into small rooms or compartments, a large saloon being left in the middle, and a passage going the length of the car, so that you could pass from one end to the other, and get off on either platform. At that time no regular beds were made up, as in our “sleepers,” but the cushions could be comfortably arranged and the weary traveller repose very satisfactorily. There was, too, a room overhead for smoking, which you entered by climbing up a narrow, ladder-like staircase, and where the fragrant Havana could be enjoyed in security. Double doors and windows kept out the excessive cold, and a good stove plentifully supplied with wood made the temperature within all that was to be desired. The buffets on the road could not be excelled, and a _table d’hôte_ dinner was taken at one of the stations about six o’clock, which offered a glittering array of glass and silver as you entered on leaving the train, while the display of viands alone would tempt one, were he not ravenous with travel.

THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW.
]

The occupants of the car, in an easy fellow-feeling way, soon get acquainted with each other, and throwing off the reserve they might otherwise have, mix together in democratic freedom. Their nationalities are soon known, if not their names, for there is always one man aboard who has a knack of finding them out and of communicating adroitly his information to the others, and stories of travelling adventures in different countries, with accounts of the queer persons met, and the dangers escaped, beguile the hours.

St. Petersburg is entirely a modern city, and a modern city like other European capitals, or, rather, like the modern parts of them. The stranger going there expects, very naturally, to see predominant the stamp of Muscovite nationality but he does not find it, as the principal public buildings were designed by foreign architects, and show plainly traces of the country from which the brain that gave them birth has come.

Moscow, fortunately, is quite different, and is well worthy of being the place where the Tsars are crowned. Any one who dropped down their blindfold would, as soon as the bandage was removed from his eyes, cry out like the soldiers of Napoleon’s army, as its green roofs and gilded cupolas met their anxious gaze, “Moscow, Moscow!”

No city in the world has a more marked style, which is neither of the East nor of the West, but rather suggestions of both. Constantinople, Venice, Vienna, all can be seen in part, and as you look at it calmly, in awe and admiration, you can only say, “This place is unique, it resembles nothing else,” and you know why it is so, in reflecting that here is the old homestead of the great Slavonic race, a race sufficiently different from all others to be well warranted in leaving one typical city as a monument.

FIRST LETTER FROM MOSCOW.

To my mother from Moscow I wrote as follows:—I cannot date this as there is no French paper about, and also, what with the Russian and our difference in the calendar, time is considerably mixed up. This cannot be better shown than by the agreeable fact that we have two Christmas Days this year, one which we passed in St. Petersburg, and the other which comes next week, when we are to see a real German Christmas tree at the Carnatzes.

Well, then to begin, Mrs. Appleton, we are now in Moscow, a truly Russian city, and as different to St. Petersburg as Boston is to Paris. We left St. P. on Saturday afternoon, and after a journey of hours, with several Americans in the train, we arrived here, and are comfortably established in the Hotel Dusaux.

I first went to find Curtin, my old classmate and the secretary of our Legation, who was much surprised at seeing me, and said he would do his best possible to make our stay pleasant. We then called on my cousin Eliza Carnatz, and had no difficulty in finding her and making ourselves known, and she was delighted at seeing her relatives and appreciated your present, which I am happy to say has finally reached its destination safely. This picture (The letter-head showing a colored view of the Kremlin.) will do for your scrap book, so I will leave it entire.

In the evening Curtin took us to a Russian party, and I think I passed about the pleasantest evening there in Europe. It was at the house of General Behring, a lineal descendant of the one who discovered the Straits, and the _soirée_ began with private theatricals in Russian and French, afterwards dancing, then the mazourka, then a sit down supper, the universal custom at parties here, and finally the _cotillon_, something as with us, and home between four and five.

The General received us with charming cordiality, and would make us believe we were doing him a favor in coming, and his lovely daughters,—their mother being dead,—acted well in the plays, and did the honors of the house most gracefully.

There were several pretty Russian young ladies there, and many were the sentiments and toasts for the friendship between Russia and America, the two great rising nations of the world!

The young ladies here nearly all speak English well, besides French, German, Russian, and also, sometimes, Italian. This is true of many of the young men, too, and although this seems to make us very ignorant, still, in the matter of general education, the classics, philosophy, mathematics, etc., I imagine we are their superiors. Moreover, languages are almost a necessity here, while with us they are only a very desirable luxury.

Wednesday p. m.: The day after the ball we did not rise much before dinner time, when we dined with the Carnatzes. The party consisted of Coz. Eliza and husband, Mr. Watson, the father of his first wife, a brother, a French lady friend, and one or two others. It seemed quite natural there, as there were several family portraits on the walls, and her album was filled with photographs of all of us. We had a quietly pleasant evening, with long chats about Russia and America, family events, literature, politics,—and drank tea indefinitely.

RUSSIAN TEA-DRINKING.

Tea is the national drink of the Russians, and a genuine tea-drinking restaurant is very curious. We went to one the other evening which is the resort of the _isvoschiks_ (cabbies) and the peasants. Your true Russ orders a pot of tea and another larger one of hot water, the latter of which is often replenished, and he will sit over it several hours, drinking fifteen or twenty cups of tea, and not finishing until he can get no more color out of it. What do your delicate nerves think of this?

DRINKING TEA.
]

The tea is wonderfully good, and the commonest stuff here would put to the blush the very best hotel article in America and much of that you have at family tea parties also.

Yesterday morning we went with Mr. Young, a very pleasant and attentive young American from Niagara, who has been here several years in the business of agricultural implements, to see the Kremlin, and all the big bells therein, which are truly wonderful, and can make much noise when they try, and in the evening to the Carnatz’s box at the ballet of the Grand Theatre. The building is considered, perhaps, the finest in Europe, and the ballet itself as is always in Russia, remarkably fine. After the ballet Charlie and I went to a ball at the Kosakoff’s, where we had a good idea of a fine Moscow house and the Muscovite _beau monde_. Dancing, supper, music, etc., and finally I had for my partner in the German cotillon the prettiest girl in Moscow, a Miss Martinoff.

FAST TROTTERS IN MOSCOW.

We went out today to the race course, where they often have races in sleighs, and saw the sports of Moscow exercising their fast trotters. The scene was very like ours at home, and we conversed on the relative merits of Russian and American trotters, and one enthusiastic old Russ wanted to bet two hundred thousand roubles on his country, so that if I buy and import “Dexter” (The fastest trotter of the time.) I can make a goodly sum.

SNOW HILLS.

The snow hills are a national institution on the same principle as our coasting, only the hills are artificial and are all ice, and you take a lady on the sled with you, and dash down like the wind. There are two hills opposite, so that they go from one to the other and then return.

Remembrance to all,
Nate.

THE CARNATZ CONNECTION.

My diary when a boy of fourteen had the following entry:—“January 16, 1858. Our Russian cousin sent us some nice things; among them were a malachite pin and sleeve buttons, and one of the medals thrown to the peasants at the coronation of the present Emperor Alexander.”

My mother’s mother, Mrs. Jesse Sumner, was a daughter of Mrs. Nathaniel Coffin, whose son Thomas established himself in business in Moscow about 1829, and died in Perovo, Russia, in 1832. His daughter Eliza married Mr. Carnatz, a German. In 1870, we received the intelligence that they proposed to remove to Dresden.

THE CARNATZ CHILDREN.

Nothing has ever shown me more conclusively how easy it is for children, when very young, to learn and speak several languages, than my experience with my little Carnatz cousins. Of course being Russians by birth, that may naturally have been their first language, but their mother, who insisted upon being an American, the country of her father, had them at once instructed, probably by herself, in the English tongue. Then her husband, their father, being a German the language of the Fatherland had its proper place. After that came French, which was the cosmopolitan language of all well-to-do people in the Russian empire. They could rattle off these various languages “as easily as rolling off a log,” and so can any one who begins them in childhood.

A RUSSIAN MANSION.

A good type of the elegant Russian mansion was large, made of wood and only two stories, with a long array of rooms running _en suite_. At the door stood the ever watchful porter, ready to take the _shubes_ and overshoes of the guests, and never forgetting to whom each belonged, resplendent in his showy livery with the eagles embroidered in the wide border of his cape, looking the picture of comfort as he stood by the blazing fire, the thermometer outside showing a temperature well below the zero of Fahrenheit. Beyond him, at the foot of the stairs, a huge, stuffed black bear stood erect, in his paws a salver, with a pitcher and glasses, as if bidding you welcome to the hospitalities of the house.

THE CITY AND ITS ENVIRONS.

We went on many excursions in the city and its environs. The Kremlin, with its endless interesting objects, the churches so numerous that they say there is one for every day in the year, and the old historical monuments from which can be gleaned a knowledge of all the phases from barbarism to civilization through which the vast Muscovite nationality has passed, were carefully and intelligently studied. We would ramble for hours through the curious bazaar, the Gostinny Dvor, gazing at the different wares exposed, talking and bargaining with the shrewd Jew shopkeepers, and picking up many curiosities, from Persian talismans to Siberian rugs, which had found their way to this cosmopolitan mart in boats through the Caspian Sea and up the curving Volga River, or in caravans all along the dreary plains and through the steep mountain ranges, from the interior of China and Hindostan. Malachite from the mines in the Ural Mountains, fragrant packages of high-priced tea, chain-armor from Circassia, and quaint Albanian gems, gorgeous colored silks, pipes of every description, in short, a perfect medley of _bric-a-brac_, we hunted up leisurely, sending daily some newly discovered treasure to our collections.

TROTTING IN RUSSIA.

The trotting during the winter months takes place on the ice, when a large river or pond is accessible; as, for instance, on the Neva itself at St. Petersburg, which is the favorite place of all. But a well made track on the frozen snow is nearly, if not quite, as good, and this can be found and laid out anywhere. The course, which is one or two versts long,—the Russian verst is 3501 English feet,—is in the form of an ellipse; that is, the length of two of the curving sides is much greater than that of the other two, as is often seen in American tracks, where a long and narrow piece of ground only can be obtained. But now comes the great peculiarity of the Russian race, which is, that the horses do not start or trot together. One starts from a line in the centre of one of the long sides of the course, while the other starts from a line exactly opposite and on the other side. Should there be four horses entered they have two parallel tracks close to each other, and for six horses three of these ellipses, and so on. When there is more than one track the effect is most peculiar: for, at the signal for starting, the horses all seem to be rushing off in different directions.

Then, too, the horses all start from a standstill, each one toeing the line before the word “go” is given. Of course, in this system, there is not the excitement of seeing the horses together, changing places, now one ahead, and now another; those who break held in, and all trying to secure and keep the pole from the others. They merely trot round the course at their greatest speed and the one which returns to his goal or starting point first, is declared the winner. In case of breaking, a certain number of steps at a gallop only is allowed during the heat, and any horse that is not brought down into this allotted number is thrown out of the races by the judges, and loses his chance. It is common to have a running horse by the side of the trotter to excite him to his utmost speed, but generally this horse is not harnessed, but is mounted by a skillful rider, who keeps close alongside of the other, knowing exactly the pace at which he can go without breaking.

The sleighs used are very light, seemingly made of some kind of basket-work, and also very low, the driver being seated not more than a foot off the ground or snow, bracing himself with his feet in a sort of stirrup on either side. Low vehicles are also used for racing on the gravel track, and primitive they are in appearance, a narrow board supported on the axles, with four small wheels nearly the same size, and the American twowheeled spider-sulky has come into use, as the small wheeled vehicles detract from the speed, on account of a badly regulated centre of gravity and excessive friction.

For getting the greatest pulling power out of the horse with the least fatigue, and leaving all the muscles unimpeded and in full play, the Russian method of harnessing is excellent. The shafts of the _drosky_ or sleigh, the collar of the horse and the duga meet at one point on the horse’s shoulder, and at this point is all the strain of pulling. There are neither traces nor breeching to interfere with the action. The collar, made of wood, is carefully fitted to the horse’s neck, and while the shafts are inclined to press it _against_ the neck, the duga exerts a corresponding pressure out on either side, and these three parts of the harness are so lashed together by leather thongs that they remain firmly in place, and it is a rare sight to find a horse with his neck galled from exercise.

A COURSIER.
]

The horses are put on the track very young, at the age of two, three or four years, and after that time, are found rather to lose than increase their speed. Perhaps there may be peculiarities in the breed which gives them their greatest strength when young, or it may be the climate brings out forces which in milder regions it takes more time to develop. Certain it is that the Russian horse, of which the Orloff is the handsomest type, when taken to a foreign country soon loses his grace of action and fire. At home they are the _beau ideal_ of beauty, with great natural knee action, arching necks, distended nostrils and flashing eyes, but it has often happened that the same horse which would attract the attention of every passer by on the Nevski Prospect, when seen in the Bois de Boulogne or Hyde Park has lost his distinguishing traits and seems but an ordinary animal.

As there is always a question as to the beauty of “banging” the horse’s tail in accordance with the English taste, or of leaving the natural growth as was more common in America some years ago than at present, I would state that the tail in Russia is left as nature made it, long and waving, and sometimes even trailing on the ground. And for another disputed question, whether or not it is beneficial to clip the horse in winter, without touching on the numerous arguments which humanity, convenience and preference have brought plausibly up on either side, I will simply say that in Russia it is the universal rule to leave the horses, whether they be for work or for pleasure, with the long-haired coat, God has given them, untouched all through the months when they need some protection against the cold.

TO HARNESS A HORSE A LA RUSSE.

First put on the bridle, which is merely a headstall without blinders. Saddle and surcingle together. Collar and breeching together. Put the horse in the shafts and put on the hoop, strapping the shafts and hoop together with a long strap, which is afterwards wound around the shafts. There is a strap on each shaft just opposite the saddle. The one on the left shaft goes over the saddle, passing through rings, and is wound around the right shaft. The one on the right shaft goes through loops under the surcingle and is wound around the left shaft. These straps help to keep the shafts firmly in place. The horse pulls from his collar. The ends of the shafts and hoop must just meet, the hoop going inside of the shafts and pressing them out. Of the four straps from the top of the hoop, two go under the check strap and fasten to the bit ring, and the other two, with the loops through which the reins pass, are fastened to the shafts, behind the hoop. The bit should be simple snaffle.

The running horse is on the left side. A strap goes from his bit to the shaft of the wheeler, passing through the martingale ring. This strap is quite long, and gives him considerable play. The rein, _only one_, goes from the outside ring of the bit.

For a pair of horses there are no saddles. The traces are fastened to leather rings on the collar. A surcingle is fastened on the traces and passes under each horse, close behind his forelegs.

They always drive with four reins but this is useless.

The ridiculous custom of having blinders over the horse’s eyes is unknown to the Russians, except as imported from other countries. The animal is allowed to see for himself on all sides, pleasant or ugly sights, and is not treated like an infant, whom his human doctors suppose is going to be frightened at what may meet his gaze. Sensible both for horse and man is this, as the former doubtless derives pleasure in his way from the sights of the street or the scenery of the country, while the latter enjoys seeing what is one of the finest points of a horse—his eye.

Check reins are happily not a part of the Russian harness.

The men who congregate about the race-course are pretty nearly the same types in all the nations of the world. There are the elaborate dandies, known as _petits crévès_ in France, who go because it is the fashion to see and be seen, whether or not they have any taste for the racing itself, and can tell one horse from another. There are gentlemen who really are devoted to the noble animal, who are interested in improving the breeds, and who, if possessed of fortune, generally have some of their own stock taking part in the races. Then comes the sporting fraternity of all degrees, horse dealers sharp for making a good bargain in buying or selling, trainers, jockeys, stable boys and besides them plenty of loafers who are there for betting on the race, or for “turning an honest (?) penny” in any way that their wits suggest.

LETTER TO MY MOTHER.

Moscow, Dec. 27, 1866. This is dated by the Russian calendar, which is just twelve days behind ours, so you can calculate. I have a few minutes before going to dine with Cousin Eliza to begin this and I will dip promiscuously into some of the events of the past week.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

Let me see,—Christmas has come and gone for the second time this year, and we have seen the way it is done in Russia. It is the same old story—a tree, _arbre de Noël_,—everywhere, though the custom has been brought here by the Germans.

We went to the Carnatzes about half-past seven, and they being German of course all the arrangements were _a la mode Allemande_. The tree always comes off Christmas eve, and is generally a family gathering, gotten up especially for the amusement of the little ones. A large tree just like ours at home, greeted our gaze on entering, placed on a table, brilliantly lighted, covered with all kinds of things, bonbons, gold balls, etc., topped off with an American flag in compliment to us. The presents were all lying around on tables, and the tree remains untouched for a week, so that poor children can come in and enjoy it on different days.

Charlie and I were not forgotten, and we received each a portfolio filled with different views of Moscow.

Every guest, on leaving, also, takes a huge box filled with almonds, sugar plums, cakes, etc., etc., quite enough to make you ill for a week. The party was not very large, and we broke up just before midnight to go to the French Catholic church to hear the mass, but the place was jammed, and we did not stay long. Charlie and I then jumped into our sleigh, and the great bells of the Kremlin and the neighboring churches were booming all around.

THE PATRIARCHAL CATHEDRAL.

We wended our way up the hill and pushed into the Patriarchal Cathedral of Russia, where all the Tsars are crowned, and here we saw the Russian mass. The crowd was so dense that it was impossible to penetrate more than a few feet into the church, and we soon left.

THE RUSSIAN BATH.

One evening last week we did the Russian bath. It is perfectly delicious, a general steaming all over first, and then you are bodily champooed by the careful attendant,—the soap suds being, so to speak, whipped in with a bunch of rushes flourished round you,—and then recline at your ease, as long as you please, and finally cool off with differently moderated showers of water.

We have made the acquaintance of a Mr. Arnoldi, who has a charming wife. He is a great lover of horse flesh, and took us over a stable, where we saw splendid specimens of the different types of the Russian horse, and afterwards we went to the trotting track and saw the sports with their fast trotters. The scene was not unlike Riverside Park at home, and very interesting to me. They want to get up international races.

We afterwards dined with Mr. A., quite _en famille_.

THE MAZOURKA.

We have been to another party at the aunt’s of my lovely Miss M—, and I again watched her going through the graceful slides of the mazourka.

There are two public balls every night now during the holidays, sometimes a masquerade at the Nobility Club or the Grand Opera, or again a dance or concert at the German Club, and so on, but the masquerades, after Paris, are tame.

The holidays are much made of here, and every one celebrates them by getting tipsy, for the Russian, besides his everlasting tea, also manages to dispose of considerable _vodki_, the alcoholic drink of the country. (Spelled _vodki_ and _vodka_, distilled from rye, also from potatoes.)

To a hard working Yankee it is odd, the slowness and want of ambition of all. For instance, Sunday is a holiday, and the day before he prepares himself for it, and the day after he gets sober, and as there is on the average one fête day during the week, when the same game is tried, it does not leave many days for work.

OFF TO ST. PETERSBURG.

Thus you see the days slip along on golden wings, and your _flâneur_ looks with horror on the bore of packing up his traps, but we may be off on Saturday to St. Petersburg. I have your letter No. 11, with the Boston gayeties. I will get you some nice postage stamps some time, but for the present these will suffice. Accept, also, the photograph of Chawls and myself _à la Russe_, with the Kremlin in the background, and us in the front, done up in our _shubes_ and boots, and waiting the approach of many bears. (See frontispiece.)

Fear not for our ears and noses now, for although the thermometer keeps down steadily in the region of “Niblo” (Meaning zero, an old joke of First Lieutenant Peleg W. Blake of the Fifth Mass. Battery, who when speaking of the weather always called zero “Niblo,”) we are much more comfortable in the streets than we are at home, where it seems to be the fashion to be cold always out of doors.

The photographs of Moscow are the best in the world. (I had never seen such beautifully glazed ones at that time.) We do not get much news here about Americans, as there is no French paper in Moscow, and even if there were there would be no time to read it, we are in such a whirl of excitement. Going to bed at four gives you a short morning.

THE STAIGG PORTRAIT.
]

I read the President’s (Johnson’s) message with interest, and great satisfaction in regard to everything except the internal politics of the United States. How pleasant, too, is the report of the Treasury. People here look upon our diminishing debt with perfect amazement. Indeed the influence which our country is giving to the world is more perceptible every day and very noticeable here.

We are of course much interested in the great yacht race, and want brother Tom to come over in the Spring, and give the graceful little _Alice_ another wetting in the Channel. Tell him she must not go home in May. I want to sail in her once in the summer. What a carnival there will be in Paris, and how much nicer to be a “swell” in Moscow than an individual in the former.

Well, adieu. Nate.

FROM MY MOTHER IN BOSTON.

THE STAIGG PORTRAIT.

Dec. 27, 1866.

You can judge of my amazement, my excitement, on going up to the drawing-room after dinner on Christmas Day, to find before my eyes a portrait of you, my dear Nathan, gracefully standing with your arm holding the bridle of your horse, and looking so like life that I really started, reading the announcement, put on by Hattie:—“By Atlantic Telegraph, St. Petersburg. A Merry Christmas!”—Why, I felt that it had actually come from there! It is a charming picture. What a villain you are! Of course it is not finished, and is to go back to have some alterations.

Oh you sly boy! Coming up from Lynn (Our summer home at the beach.) every day to give me this delightful surprise! _I thank you._

We had a charming Christmas dinner, and, will you believe it? the presents for the third time were so hid they had great difficulty in finding them, and some were obliged to be told.

NEW YEAR’S DAY IN MOSCOW.

Russ., January 2, 1867.

I begin you this, Dear “Mum,” from Moscow, but I may finish it in St. Petersburg. Children of chance, that we are, how dare we calculate on even the events of a few days? With this moral question at the beginning, I will tell you that we are still here, and have been through various adventures. Among others was the dedication of a church in the Russo Greek style, and the magnates of the city thought we had better see it. I did not object, as a dinner formed an important feature. Accordingly, one of the selectmen of Moscow routed us out of bed, and I gave him audience in my _robe de nuit_, and after he had conversed some time in Russ he thought matters would be expedited by an interpreter. I soon discovered that his sleigh was at the door, and that he wanted us to be off, so I hastened, and was ready,—Charlie following in our sleigh with Curtin.—He wore a medal and his horse was a high stepper. We soon reached the church, and had standing places of honor, _vide_ Moscow _Gazette_ of the next day with our distinguished names in Russian print,—for above three and a half hours, and we were not sorry to rattle off to the good dinner, which the opulent merchant, who had given the church, had had prepared for his guests. The lunch was stunning, entirely _à la Russe_, with some little wrinkles I mean to remember, and the _menu_ on very gorgeous frosted paper, and a photograph of the church under each plate. We returned from our day’s work very much satisfied.

The society of this place is quite funny. We have got into the very “swell” little clique of the town, the Faubourg Saint Beacon Street of Moscow, and like the same set in our own blessed “Hub,” it is a close oligarchy with an endless array of cousins. The other evening we saw a most pretty phase of the holidays. About twenty young ladies and cavaliers of this set, with one or two matrons, went round the town in masquerade with fancy domino costumes, stopping at half a dozen different houses, at each of which they would dance once, with a supper later. Chawls and I went to two of the houses to see them and the effect was stunning; a postillion rushing in first, and then the others following in couples, Poles, Spaniards, and Tartars, Folly, a Cook, a Baby and her Nurse, &c., and so on. The coachman and footman, even, were in mask, to make the disguise as complete as possible, but we soon discovered our friends.

I think we will try it in Boston next winter.

The society of the merchant families is quite another set, but as they have the money now their entertainments are on a most gorgeous scale.

NEW YEAR’S DAY.

After all how like people are in all countries. This is well shown by yesterday, the Russian New Year’s Day. We got up a very “swell” trap,—a trotter and a runner by his side,—and went about slaughtering all our acquaintances. It was precisely the same as in New York, except that they gave you no grub anywhere, nor wine, though we did see one inebriate youth driving off. Every one always drives about the city and you get into the state of being unable to walk ten steps. You wo’n’t do it. Sleighs are very cheap, and the distances are very great, so that you keep your sleigh about you as an indispensable companion, from twelve noon until after midnight. The coachman follows you round like a dog, merely going off to feed his horses some time in the afternoon. With all this it is strange that the Russians never drive themselves, and no matter how fine the horses of the gay youth of the city, and how elegant his equipage, the coachman always drives. Perhaps this is because horses are a necessity, not a luxury, and having to drive so much every day you do not care to do it yourself. I think I, myself, with all my fondness for horses, would soon be indisposed to drive in Russia.

THE RUSSIAN GROOM.

The “swell” groom here has a _chic_ quite his own, and totally different from the London “tiger,” which has spread over the rest of the continent and America. My “Tom,” with his neat tights and top boots, carefully trimmed whiskers and square shoulders is very different from your bearded Russian coachman, the stouter the better, with lozenged-shaped, pin-cushion like, velvet hat, long tunic with a gorgeous colored sash and big boots. They drive with both arms stretched out at full length, and have four reins for a single pair of horses.

Tuesday, p.m.: I will finish this off now and take it on with me to St. Petersburg, tomorrow, to mail it there, as we have decided to change our base, in fact, having slaughtered all the fair ones of Moscow, and having left a good impression, it is much better to make our bows and retire quickly.

I have been skating today and yesterday with a most bright and attractive young lady, the Princess G—— (Princess Julie Gagarine now for years Madame la Princesse Ourousoff, one of the same great family represented at the Races on the Newport beach in 1866.) a cousin of the beautiful Miss M——. Being in mourning we have not seen her in society. She goes to St. Petersburg in a few days where we shall meet her again.

We go to our last party tonight. Private theatricals and a ball afterwards. Last evening a _soirée musicale_ at the Martinoffs, and a dance later at another house.

We go to St. Petersburg to be quiet(?) as you imagine, and we shall arrive just in time for the “Blessing of the Neva,” breakfast at the Winter Palace, Review of Troops, etc., etc., and from now until Lent we shall have all we want of gayety.

Adieu, oh Moscow! with thy Kremlin and gilded turrets, thy fair princesses, thy fast horses, thy caviar and thy mazourka. Fain would we linger here, but the hand of time points onward, and the vague sensation of joys now past, vibrates in the brain!

I have some little packages for you and Hattie from Coz. Eliza, which will I hope reach you safely some day. I am off now to bid her good bye.

Nate.

FROM MY SISTER IN BOSTON.

January 8, 1867.

Your letter from St. Petersburg arrived by the same steamer that brought Mr. Burgess and little Billy’s blue suit, for both of which many thanks. I wish you could see the little man in the jacket and cap, he looks awful cunning, and the color just suits his complexion. They are just the right size, and all beholders say “How remarkable that a young man like Mr. Appleton should know just what to get for a baby like that!”

The worsted work for the old lady was also a great success. She thinks it the funniest thing she ever saw. And all this page and not a word yet about the picture!

THE STAIGG PORTRAIT. THE SURPRISE.