Leading the Blind (33 page)

The Customs ordeal seems to have been more onerous than in other places: ‘Whether,' says Baedeker's
Russia
, 1914, ‘at the railway frontier station or at a seaport the examination of passengers' luggage is generally thorough. Unprinted paper only should be used for packing, to avoid any cause of suspicion.

‘The only things that are passed
DUTY FREE
are
Used Objects
indispensable for the journey. Travellers should avoid works of a political, social, or historical nature; bound books are subject to duty. Passengers are particularly warned against offering gratuities. Prohibited goods, such as gunpowder and playing cards, are confiscated.'

Having obtained clearance, supposing he had any luggage left, our traveller in 1888 would find good hotels and restaurants in Odessa, and boulevard cafes at which to take his ease. There was also an English Club, and a German Club, Murray says, ‘where amateur theatricals are frequently performed in German; the Nobility Club, of which the members are principally Jews'. In the town he would also find an Anglican church, a British Consul-General and a British Seaman's Institute, Home and Reading Room, facilities which no doubt gave the feeling of being back in civilization. By 1912 two hundred steamers a year harboured there, though Baedeker's
Mediterranean
, 1911, says: ‘The excesses of the revolution of 1905 were nowhere more ghastly than at Odessa.'

As soon as our traveller departs from the cosmopolitan comforts of the Black Sea coast and goes north through the Ukraine into Russia proper he will come up against the realities of the Russian character as described in several guidebooks. Depending on his religion he may reflect on the following from Murray: ‘Alien
Jews
may only visit Russia with the sanction of the Minister of the Interior, which must be sought by petition. Exception to this rule is, however, made in favour of foreign Jews distinguished by their position in society, or by their extensive business transactions.'

Railway travel in Russia was slow, though the carriages were said to be the most comfortable in Europe. There was sometimes ‘a certain amount of disorder in the taking and keeping of seats. On entering a train all the seats will at first appear to be occupied, but an application to the station-master will soon cause a removal of the cloaks, bedding, &c., with which the carriage is packed. However, these artifices are not peculiar to Russia alone. Cases of theft are unfortunately not unfrequent, particularly in the south. It is dangerous to leave valuables in a carriage while taking refreshments at a station.'

In
Things Seen in Russia
by W. Barnes Steveni (one of a series, with many photographs of the time which now makes the books very collectable) we may read that: ‘There is probably no country in Europe where railway travelling is so cheap as in Russia … but third-class travelling is
dear at any price
, on account of the stifling atmosphere of the carriages and the undesirable and lively company of all kinds, especially those that never pay their fare! These workmen travel enormous distances in special trains at ridiculously low fares, probably cheaper than in any country in Europe.'

From the same source we learn that matters of the stomach are well taken care of, since before the start of the journey passengers may ‘meet at the beautiful buffets for which the Russian stations are noted, to gossip and regale the inner man with Pekoe tea flavoured with lemon, and eat caviare, meat pies, and other delicacies. As a rule, Russian buffets on the principal railways surpass anything I have seen in England as regards cheapness and variety of food.'

Steveni's observations on the Russian character are worth quoting: ‘I have noticed that the larger the village, the more corrupt and spoilt the inhabitants; for human beings in this respect appear to be like apples – the more they are crowded together, the sooner they become rotten.'

He goes on to say that there were a hundred and twelve million peasants in Russia, and that, ‘If this be the case, there is latent in the Russian people a force which will some day not only affect its destinies, but probably the destinies of Europe, for such a mighty power cannot always be suppressed or ignored.' He calculated that there is room for six hundred million people in the Russian Empire and, ‘As the population doubles every fifty to fifty-five years, the population in 1985 – without counting probable annexations of more territory – will amount to 400,000,000 souls.' Which goes to show how demographic speculation can be so wide of the mark; the population in 1979 was about 262,500,000: and in any case, who could have foreseen the many calamities which were to fall upon the unfortunate Russian people?

Steveni considers that, as far as survival goes, ‘the Russian peasant's idea of hygiene are so primitive that, were it not for the plentiful and regular use of the steam bath he would contract so many diseases that the race would rapidly die out'.

He occasionally reflects on their morals, and deplores the fact that women do so much work in the fields. ‘It is not infrequently happens that while the women are busy ploughing or reaping, sometimes several miles away from their villages, some of the little urchins or mites that have been left behind, all alone, set fire to the house or outbuildings. As most of the houses are built of wood and thatched with straw, the entire village before long is ablaze, and the old and infirm and young are burnt to death before they can be rescued from the flames. If one wishes to understand the mind of the Russian peasants, his ideals and outlook on life, we must not turn to books of travel or to the works of modern novelists, but instead study the works of William Langland and Chaucer.'

Baedeker's reflections on the character of the Russians are also interesting, for the people have been ‘influenced not only by a long history of subjugation to feudal despotism, but also by the gloomy forests, and unresponsive soil, and the rigorous climate, and especially by the enforced inactivity of the long winters. In disposition they are melancholy and reserved, clinging obstinately to their traditions, and full of self-sacrificing devotion to Tzar, Church, and feudal superior. They are easily disciplined, and so make excellent soldiers, but have little power of independent thinking or of initiation. The normal Great Russian is thus the mainstay of political and economic inertia and reaction. Even the educated Russian gives comparatively little response to the actual demands of life; he is more or less the victim of fancy and temperament, which sometimes leads him to a despondent slackness, sometimes to emotional outbursts. Here we have the explanation of the want of organisation, the disorder, and the waste of time which strike the western visitor to Russia.'

Baedeker divides the people of Russia into four classes: ‘… nobles and officials, clergy, citizens or townspeople, and peasants. Alongside of admirable achievements in all spheres of intellectual activity, we find also a great deal of merely outward imitation of western forms, and a tendency to rest content with a veneer of western culture and a stock of western catchwords. Side by side with an unquenchable desire for scientific knowledge, which shuns no sacrifice and is constantly drawing new elements from the lower classes, there is only too often a total inability to put into practice and make an effectual use of what has been learned. Fancy and emotion are much more widely developed in the soul of the Russian than true energy and joy in creation. The upper classes are noted for their luxury and extravagance and for their reckless gambling, their better side showing itself in their unlimited hospitality. The lower classes live in unspeakable poverty and destitution. Beggars are very troublesome, especially in the vicinity of churches.'

Manufacturing industry was said to be much less important than agriculture, although ‘the Government has done much to elevate it in recent times, but there is a lack both of native capital and of competent workmen. The entrepreneurs and managers of factories are largely foreigners.' Should our traveller coming up from Odessa call at Yuzovka he would find coal mines and ironworks established by Mr John Hughes in 1872, ‘whose employees were many of them English, for which a church and chaplain were provided'.

Approaching Moscow, the train stops at Tula which, Murray tells us, is ‘famed for its manufacture of fire-arms and generally for its hardware'. The gun factory, Baedeker says, was established in 1632 by a Dutchman, and is now ‘under the superintendence of an Englishman named Trewheller'. Steveni, who also has something to say about this place, finds that: ‘The Russian workman is generally very intelligent and works cheaply, but he is so extremely careless that he has to be carefully watched at his work.'

Tula is frequently called the ‘Birmingham of Russia', Steveni says, but has ‘no very high opinion of the quality of its small-arms, judging from the wretched specimen of a revolver I purchased when last passing through. It was cheaply and carelessly made, and did not possess that finish one finds in English and American weapons. If the Russian mechanic cannot make a first-class revolver, he is quite a genius as regards the manufacture of
samovars.
'

Steveni agrees with other writers that card-playing is a very important pastime in Russia. ‘In a country where the pursuit of politics is not altogether advisable, many people who would otherwise dabble in public affairs throw all their attention into cards and gambling.'

It is not only the aristocracy who are dissolute, because peasants who become rich merchants gladly join in the high-life as well: ‘One merchant used to come to the gardens with a pocket-book full of £10 bank-notes, and throw them broadcast among the singers and dancers. Sometimes the performances conclude with a drunken orgie, during which the merchants, in order to show their generosity and absolute contempt for money, finish off by smashing all the mirrors and wine-glasses, and then coolly calling for the bill! It must be remembered that the majority of the merchants spring from the peasant class, and have neither the birth, breeding, or social status of the merchants in England.'

Should the merchant go on holiday to the Baltic beach resort of Dubbeln he might need to exercise more restraint over his boisterousness, for Murray tells us that: ‘The hours of bathing for ladies and gentlemen, respectively, are regulated by the ringing of a bell, and any infringement by the one sex on the hours allotted to the other is visited with a severe fine when detected', which penalty, however, the merchant may not have been averse to paying.

Travelling within Russian towns had its difficulties: ‘The driver of the carriage often does not know how to read; he does not always know his way about, and sometimes raises difficulties about giving change', Baedeker informs us. ‘The little one-horse
Sleighs
are wider and more comfortable than the cabs. When they are going fast, passengers must be on their guard against being thrown out.'

We are told that hotels in provincial towns, ‘especially the older ones, satisfy as a rule only the most moderate demands, and they often leave much to be desired in point of cleanliness. In spite of these failings they frequently have high-sounding names, such as Grand Hotel, etc. The washing arrangements are generally unsatisfactory, usually consisting of a tiny wash-basin communicating with a small tank, from which the water trickles in a feeble stream.'

Murray comments in his earlier guide: ‘Without wishing to detract from the merits of the best hotels mentioned in the Handbook, it is right to advise the traveller to be provided, when travelling in Russia, with remedies against insects of a vexatory disposition.'

The further one went from the main cities the worse was the accommodation, especially for those using Siberia as a route to Japan, or wanting to see something of Central Asia. On the Caucasian Black Sea coast, at Poti, there were many hotels but, says Murray of 1888: ‘The climate is disagreeable, and fever prevails during the summer months. The marshy forests throw out most dangerous fogs which produce ague. The houses are infested by noxious vermin.'

On the Siberian route at Tiumen the hotels are said to be poor: ‘It is well to come provided with sheets, towels, soap, and insect powder.' At Bokhara in Central Asia: ‘Travellers are cautioned not to drink water that has not been boiled, and to be on their guard against boils, ulcers and contagious diseases.'

‘In summer,' Baedeker writes, ‘the heat is almost unbearable, while the dust irritates the respiratory organs in a highly unpleasant manner.' In the matter of social intercourse one is told: ‘Immediately on arrival at Ashkhabad, Bokhara, or Tashkent, the traveller should call upon the Russian diplomatic officials (dress clothes
de rigeur
).'

Caution against drinking water is again heavily italicized. ‘For washing, the traveller should be provided with an indiarubber bath or basin, and he should disinfect the water with lysoform. The so-called Sartian sickness or pendinka (identical with Aleppo or Baghdad boil) especially prevalent in Aug. and Sept., and the rishta (thread-worm) which burrows under the skin, seem both to be propagated by the water.'

Towards the end of the nineteenth century the overland journey to Peking via Siberia was attracting more and more travellers, including ladies, Murray says, and although the railway ended just beyond the Ural Mountains, ‘with the assistance of the Russian Commissioner at the Chinese frontier, the journey has been performed in nine weeks from St. Petersburg'. After 1903, when the Trans-Siberian Railway was complete, the twice-weekly express took nine days to go from St Petersburg to Vladivostok on the Pacific, passengers being cared for by the International Sleeping Car Company.

On the way to Irkutsk the literary traveller might call at Omsk where, Baedeker reminds us: ‘The building in which the author F. M. Dostoevski (d. 1881) was imprisoned from 1849 to 1853, and in which he wrote his “Recollections of a Dead House” stood in the N.E. corner of the fortress, but has been removed.'