Our Little Russian Cousin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The oil of baptism is prepared and blessed by the high-priest in a certain cathedral in Moscow. It is sent to every church in Russia, that all new-born children may be baptised with it.

Petrovna's mamma went to the city of Moscow when the Czar was crowned. He could not be formally made Emperor in St. Petersburg. That was not to be thought of. All Czars must be married as well as crowned in Moscow, and, until the time of Peter the Great, all have been buried there.

The coronation of the present Czar was the greatest spectacle of modern times. Petrovna hears her mamma sigh when she tries to describe it. Everything was so grand and shining and gorgeous, – processions and fireworks, music and feasting, everybody pleased and gaily dressed; men in silk and velvet, ladies sparkling in satins covered with pearls and diamonds; the double-headed eagle, the bird of Russia, showing its gilded crowns everywhere.

In the evening there were no rockets and Roman candles, but fireworks that were constantly shining, while the fronts of the buildings were covered with candles burning in glass globes.

Such horses, such elegant carriages, and such fine parks to drive in! And through the city ran the river, reflecting the lights from all sides.

There were days and days of feasting, from the time the new Emperor arrived in the city. He appeared in the grand procession mounted on a snow-white horse. He was dressed very simply in dark green, wearing a cap of astrakhan. Behind him came a great array of princes and grand-dukes. Next came the Emperor's mother in a carriage drawn by eight superb horses. After this appeared the carriage of the Empress. It was all of gold, and also drawn by eight snow-white horses.

How the crowd cheered, and cheered again! If this could show how devoted the people were to their ruler, their love could not be measured.

The governor of the city came out to meet the Czar and presented him with bread and salt.

These are the emblems of trust and friendship. Then the royal family rode onward till they came to a little chapel, where the Emperor and Empress alighted. They passed in alone to worship.

Now to the Kremlin, where a multitude was waiting for them. There were thousands of the peasants, who had travelled hundreds of miles on foot. They wished to see, if only for one moment, the head of their Church and State. There were princes and officers from every country of the world. There were Chinese mandarins, Persian rulers, wealthy Indians, people of all colours and races. And all were dressed in the richest robes that money could buy and art design. Such a mass of colour! Such sparkling of precious stones! Such a wealth of satin and lace and velvet and cloth of silver and gold!

After his entrance of triumph into the city, the Emperor and Empress retired from the public eye for three days. They must fast and pray until the time that the Czar should be crowned, else they would not be in right condition for this ceremony. But the others in the crowded city did not fast. The days were given to pleasures of all kinds, – eating, drinking, music, and dancing.

At last the Czar was crowned! It was in the cathedral, where all other Czars have been crowned before. He himself put on the robe and collar, and assumed the crown of empire. The heavy crown of gold was placed on his head by his own hands. He then made a noble prayer for himself and the great empire, and for the millions of people who are his devoted subjects. How fair and strong and kindly was his face! Never had Petrovna's mamma seen anything so grand or so solemn. She stops and repeats a prayer now for the good Emperor Nicholas II.

When the ceremony was ended there was a ringing of bells all over the city. Hundreds of cannon were fired. Then more feasting and merriment followed for days yet to come. Free dinners were served every day to five thousand of the poor. The Czar did not forget them. They feasted as they had never done before in their lives.

At last came the great day of the festival. It was called the "people's fête." Every one was welcome. There were shows of all kinds that you can imagine. There were concerts and plays, boxing and fencing matches, trained animals, – everything to make the people happy. Overlooking it all sat the Czar in a grand pavilion. All the lords and ladies of the land were about him.

How delightful it was! Petrovna's mamma leans back in her chair and smiles softly to herself as she thinks of that joyful time.

On many a winter evening, as they sit around the big porcelain stove and sip the tea, Petrovna and Ivan beg for stories. They like fairy tales best of all. Their favourite one is the story of "Frost." Perhaps you would like to hear it.

Once upon a time there was a man who had three children. His wife was extremely fond of two of the daughters, but she was cruel and unkind to the third girl, whose name was Marfa. This was because Marfa was her stepdaughter. She made Marfa get up early in the morning to work, while her stepsisters were having a nice nap. The poor girl had to feed the cattle, bring in the wood, make the fire, and sweep the room. After this she must mend the clothes and do many other things before the rest of the family stirred. What a hard time she had, poor child! And then she was only scolded for her labour.

She did not have a kind word from any one except her old father, and then only when they were alone together. He was afraid of his wife, and did not dare to be good to Marfa when the others were around. She was a beautiful girl, and was sweet and patient, besides. Her stepmother was jealous of her because she was so much lovelier than her sisters. The old woman said to herself, "I will put the girl out of my sight and get rid of her. I hate her."

That very night she said to her husband, "Come, old man, get up early in the morning and harness the horse. Take Marfa away on a visit." Then she turned to her stepdaughter, and said, "Put your clothes together and dress neatly when you get up, for your father will be ready to take you away."

The girl was delighted. She thought how nice it would be to go where people would be kind to her. Morning came. Marfa washed herself carefully, prayed to God, put on her best dress, and looked lovely enough to be a bride.

The old stepmother called her to a breakfast of cold cabbage soup, and then said to her, "Now, Marfa, get out of my sight for ever. I have seen enough of you. The sledge is at the door. Husband, take Marfa to her bridegroom. Go straight down the road, turn to the right, go up the hill till you come to an old pine-tree, and there leave the girl for Frost. He will soon come to get her."

The poor old father looked sad enough when he heard these words, but he did not dare to disobey his wife. He and Marfa got into the sledge and rode away slowly. His daughter was weeping bitterly. In a little while they came to the place where they were ordered to stop. Marfa got out and sat down under the pine-tree. The old man rode away. He thought he should never see his darling child again. He wept at the thought Soon he was out of sight.

There was nothing but snow for Marfa to look upon now. The ground was covered with great drifts. The bushes were buried under it. The branches of the trees were bending under its weight. Not a sound could be heard save the falling of icicles and the creaking steps of Frost as he leaped from tree to tree.

Marfa was chilled through. Her teeth chattered. Her lips were blue and stiff. She was too cold to sob or cry out. Frost was coming nearer and nearer. Pretty soon he was in the tree above Marfa's head. He cried out, "Maiden, are you warm?" "Oh, yes, quite warm enough, dear Father Frost," she answered. Then he came down from the tree. Now she was almost frozen.

He called again, "Are you warm, my sweet girl? Are you sure you are warm enough?" By this time Marfa was so numb she could hardly move her lips. But she tried to answer, "Oh, yes, dearest sir, I am warm enough." Frost took pity on the poor patient maiden. He brought furs and warm blankets and wrapped her up in them. Then he left her.

She slept unharmed all night, and, when she woke in the morning, she found gifts of rich clothing which Frost had brought her in the night. Her father soon appeared with the sledge. He had expected to find her dead body, but she was well and healthy. Not even a finger was frozen. How the old man rejoiced. He took Marfa and her fine presents into the sledge, and they rode home together.

You can imagine how angry the stepmother was when she saw the girl again. But when she heard how kind Frost had been, and saw the beautiful clothing he had given Marfa, she said, "Husband, you must take my girls to their bridegroom. He will be far kinder to them than he has been to Marfa, I am sure of that." Then she said to her daughters, "I have found a bridegroom for you. You must go to meet him."