D 9%0 NORTHERN EUROPE 2QS! Ginnff CompmyPaMistie Class _ID.9$0. Book JMil Copyright N° COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. A Scene in Russia See pages 109-122 YOUTH'S COMPANION SERIES NORTHERN EUROPE Norway, Russia, The Netherlands, France, Germany, and Switzerland BOSTON, U.S.A. GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS Cbe ^tbewcttm press 1 902 THE YOUTH'S COMPANION SERIES GEOGRAPHICAL READERS THE WIDE WORLD NORTHERN EUROPE UNDER SUNNY SKIES (In preparation) , TOWARD THE RISING SUN (In preparation) : /"^jra £i£e "U an i>s nea-r-kome *'"''• i '•) preparation) THE LIBRARY ©F ©ONGRESS, Two Cop ea Ieceives MAR. 3. 1902 OWVWGHT ENTRY CLASS ] On the Quicksands The driver, who had been on the seat for some time, now leaped to the ground and used his whip and lungs vigorously, at the same time tugging at the bridle of the forward horse. It was a moment of terrible suspense; all depended upon the horses, for the rope was strong, and we knew that two of those to be saved were securely fastened to it, while the guide was holding to the girl with a grasp like death. It seemed as if the horses knew how much depended upon them, for, in spite of their slipping and sinking footsteps, they succeeded in moving forward, and soon we saw the girl gently drawn from her living grave ; the sand closed instantly behind her and left no trace of the dreadful struggle. On, on we went, the sands casting up little spouts of water all around us, and the wheels sinking halfway to the hubs. Now our only dread was that the older girl could not be brought out of the long fainting fit. The little one was clinging wildly to the rope, sobbing pitifully and calling, "Sister, sister, open your eyes and look at me!" The guide held [73] Northern Europe firmly to the girl ; he did not attempt to regain his footing, but was dragged backward over the sand. After what seemed to us hours, we reached the river which comes down from Avranches. Here, on the pebbly bottom, it was safe for us to come to a standstill. Then we all pulled on the rope, and it required our combined strength to draw to us the three figures who were so unable to help themselves ; but strength was given us, and nearer and nearer they came, until they were at the edge of the river. The driver then waded to the shore, took Babette in his arms and cut the rope, that no time might be lost. She clung to him, sobbing, and with many comforting words he brought her to the wagon, where we received her. She soon cuddled down, exhausted, in the Fraulein's lap, and we hastened to draw in the rope, and to pile our wraps into the bottom of the wagonette. On looking back, we saw the driver just lifting the older sister from the arms of the guide, who then struggled to his feet, and, with the driver, bore the still unconscious girl to the place we had prepared for her. [74l On the Quicksands There was no time to stop to revive her, for we could already see the line of surf, which was steadily gaining upon us, and we had still two miles to go. So we hurriedly dipped our hand- kerchiefs into the river, the guide splashed his face vigorously, caught his trident from the wagon, and on he went, not stopping for one moment's rest after his almost superhuman exer- tions. Babette still sobbed in the Fraulein's arms, always calling to her sister that she was safe, and begging her to speak. The rest of us bent all our energies to call the older sister back to life. We bathed her face and chafed her hands, and were presently rewarded by seeing her open her eyes. She was trying to speak, and, looking into our strange faces, gasped, " The sands are creeping higher and higher. Tell mother not to grieve for me, for I saved Babette." Then she sank back into an unconscious state, from which we could not again arouse her. All this time we were racing with the tide ; the horses and men were tired, but on they sped. We could hear the water in the sands beneath us, and the white surf line came nearer and nearer, [75] Northern Europe until it seemed as if the waves were breaking just behind us. On, on we went. The voice of the waters seemed to put new life into the horses, who pricked up their ears, dashed forward, and finally landed us safely upon the coast. There an anxious crowd had assembled to watch our race with the tide. As the people gathered around to hear why we had so long delayed our return, a cry of "Mamma!" was heard, and a comely peasant woman elbowed her way through the crowd to the side of the wagon, and caught Babette in her arms. Then, seeing the white face among us, she screamed, "Jeanne, my daughter! Give her to me!" Of course we hastened to explain matters, and in return she told us how Jeanne had raised a beau- tiful white lily, and was taking it as an offering to " Our Lady of the Flowers" at the monastery. They had warned her that she might lose her way, but she had been quite sure that she could find a safe path, with the result which we have seen. During this recital the mother had led the way to their little cottage, where we left them. r 76 ] On the Quicksandt After supper we hastened back to see again the two girls with whom fate had so closely linked us that afternoon. Little Babette, looking rosy and sweet in a fresh pinafore, ran to meet us, and led us to Jeanne, who was sitting on the doorstep, leaning back against the door, the lower half of which was closed. She smiled a welcome, being still too weak to talk. We congratulated the mother upon having such a noble daughter, but no words could express the admiration we felt for this girl, who had bravely held up her little sister to be saved, while she slowly sank into what she felt to be certain death. Lucy C. Kellogg. [??] LIFE IN THE ALPS Switzerland is made up of a number of cantons, which are subdivided into communes, each possessing its own president and council, and making its own local laws. The communal laws are, however, subject to the revision of the cantonal government. I live, for instance, in the commune of Naters. The sale of the land on which our chalet stands was first agreed to by the vote of the assembled burghers of the commune ; but their vote had to be afterwards ratified by the "high government" of Sion, the chief town of the canton. Naters, the name of the commune, is also the name of its principal village. I had the honor, this year, of being unani- mously elected an honorary burgher of the com- mune. This confers upon me certain rights and privileges not previously enjoyed. I can, if I please, pasture cows upon the alps — a name [73] §r [79] M Northern Europe given by the inhabitants, not to the snow-capped mountains, but to the grassy slopes stretching far below the snows. I' am also entitled to a certain allowance of fuel from the pine woods. Finally, I can build a chalet on the communal ground. I have called it a chalet, but it is by no means one of the picturesque wooden edifices to which this term is usually applied. It has to bear, at times, the pressure of a mighty mass of snow. The walls are therefore built of stone and are very thick. I could give you many illustrations of the breakages produced by snow pressure, but one will suffice. Our kitchen chimney rises from the roof near the eaves, and the pressure of the snow lying on the roof above it was once so great as to shear away the chimney and land it bodily upon the snowdrift underneath. Once, indeed, to obtain entrance to our kitchen, we had to cut a staircase of six steps in the drift at the back of the house. Toward the end of June the flocks and herds are driven to the upper pastures, private owner- ship ceasing and communal rights, as to grazing, beginning at an elevation of about four thousand [So] Life in the Alps feet above the Rhone, or seven thousand feet above the sea. J| The peasants and their jjj| families accompany their /- — -_-^~ living property, remaining for two or three months in huts built expressly with a view to their annual migration. Nearly all of them move [81] Northern Europe into Naters for the winter; but we remain alone, amid the solemn silence of the hills, three weeks or a month after the peasants have disappeared. Their time of disappearance depends upon the exhaustion of the pasturage. Many of them have intermediate huts and bits of land between Naters and their highest dwellings, and the possessors of such huts descend by successive steps to the valley. Snow falls, of course, for the most part, in winter; but the exact period at which it falls is not to be predicted. A winter may pass with scarcely any snow, while in early spring it may fall in immense quantities. Then follows a time of avalanches, when the snow, detaching itself from the steep mountain sides, shoots downward with destructive energy. I have seen snow here in midsummer, so heavy that the herds had to be driven a long way down to get a little pasture. Three or four years ago a fall of unequaled severity began on the night of the 1 2th of September. There was a brief respite of sunshine, during which the peasants, had they been wise, might have brought down their flocks. But they failed to do so. Snowing [82] Life in the Alps recommenced, the sheep were caught upon the mountains, and for a long time they could not be reached by their owners. Many of them perished. For thirteen days the chief portion of the flock remained unaccounted for. During all this time the animals were without food, and, indeed, were given up for lost. Nearly two hundred of them, however, were afterwards discovered alive, and driven down to the Bel Alp. I saw them arrive after their long fast, and they seemed perfectly brisk and cheerful. Some of them were entirely bare of wool, the covering having been eaten off their backs by their famishing companions. I have been assured that all the sheep that indulged in this nutriment died, balls of undigested wool being found in their stomachs afterwards. Avalanches were frequent at the time here referred to, and by them numbers of the sheep on the lower slopes were swept away. It is only those burghers who are compara- tively well off that ascend to the higher grazing grounds. Even they seem to find the struggle for existence a hard one. Two or three cows and a few sheep or goats constitute, in fairly [83] Northern Europe well-to-do cases, the burgher's movable wealth, while the land privately owned is divided into very small parcels. The peasants' huts, built for the most part of pine logs, richly colored by the oxidizing action of the sun, are not always wholesome. The upper part of every hut is divided into two dwelling rooms, one for sleeping and the other for cooking and other purposes. The single sleeping room is often occupied by a numerous family, space being obtained by placing one bed above another, like the berths in a ship. There is no chimney, the smoke escaping through aper- tures in the roof. In our neighborhood the roofs are usually formed of flags obtained from a rock capable of cleavage. The sleeping room is always over the cow shed, this position being chosen for the sake of warmth. Through chinks in the floor the sleepers obtain not only warmth, but often air that has passed through the lungs of the ani- mals underneath. The result, as regards health, is not satisfactory ; the women and children suffer most. Were it not that the contaminated respi- ration of the night is neutralized by outdoor life [34] Life in the Alps .during the clay, the result would be still less satisfactory. As I write, a rush, followed by a heavy thud, outside, informs me that a mass of snow has shot, [85] Northern Europe from the southern slope of our roof, down upon our terrace. This reminds me to tell you some- thing more about the avalanches which are such frequent destroyers of life in the Alps. Whole villages, imprudently situated, are from time to time overwhelmed. We had an eye to this danger when we chose the terrace on which our cottage is built. Climbers and their guides are not infrequently carried away by avalanches, and many a brave man lies at the present moment undiscovered in their debris, Some years ago a famous guide and favorite companion of mine was lost through allowing himself to be persuaded to attempt a mountain which he considered unsafe. Falling stones constitute another serious and frequently fatal danger in the Alps ; and here the goats, which roam about the upper slopes and gullies, often play a mischievous part. I once witnessed an incident of this kind. I was accompanied at the time by a friend and his son. A herd of goats was observed brows- ing on the heights above us. Suddenly an ominous tapping was heard overhead, and, look- ing up, I saw a stone in the air. Whenever it [86] Life in the Alp* the warning. touched the ground it €b? was deflected, so that from the direction of the stone at any moment it was difficult to infer its final direction. I called out to my friend, " Beware of the stone ! " and he, turning toward his son, repeated It had scarcely quitted his lips when the missile plunged down upon him. He fell with a shout, and I was instantly at his side. The stone had struck the calf of his leg, embedding one of its angles in the flesh, and in- flicting a very ugly wound. Slipping in perilous places is the most fruitful cause of Alpine disaster. It is usual for climbers to rope themselves together, and the English Alpine Club has taken every pains to produce ropes of the soundest material and the best workmanship. [87] Northern Europe The rope is tied around the waist, or is fastened to a belt clasping the waist, of each climber. The rope is an indispensable accompaniment of Alpine climbing, and no competent mountaineer will recommend its abandonment. Prudence, how- ever, is necessary in the use of it. The men tied together ought to be few in number. A party of three or four, including the guide or guides, is, in my opinion, large enough. In a numerous party there is a temptation to distribute responsi- bility, each individual tending to rely too much upon the others; while in a small party the mind of each man is concentrated on the precautions necessary for safety. On still, sunny summer days, the heat is great and relaxing. This is the time to seek the adja- cent glacier, down which a torrent of bracing air rolls daily. We have also our due share of thunderstorms, when the peals, sometimes break- ing close to us, retreat in deafening echoes and die away amid the rocky halls of the mountains. In this respect, however, we are far better off [88] Life in the Alps than our neighbors in northern Italy, whose hills, acting as lightning conductors, partially drain the clouds of their electricity before we receive the shots of their " red artillery." We can see from our mountain perch the wonderful "thrilling" of these Italian thunderstorms, beyond the great mountain range at the farther side of the valley of the Rhone. On the fine October morning when these lines are written, we find ourselves surrounded every- where by glittering snow. The riven glacier and its flanking mountains are dazzling in their white- ness. After a period of superb weather, streaks and wisps of boding cloud made their appearance a few days ago. They spread, became denser, and finally discharged themselves in a heavy fall of snow. But the sunshine rapidly recovered its ascendency, and the peasants, who had already descended some distance with their cows and sheep, hoped two days of such warmth would again clear their pastures. They were deceived, for yesterday the snow fell steadily and almost constantly. It interrupted the transport of our firewood, on mules' backs, [89] Northern Europe from the pine woods nearly one thousand feet below us. This morning, however, I opened the glass door of our little sitting room, which faces south, and stepped out upon our terrace. About one thousand five hundred feet below us the white covering came to an end, while, beyond this, sunny green pastures descended to the valley of the Rhone. To the north the peaks grouped themselves round the massive Aletschhorn, the second in height among these Oberland Moun- tains. Over the Aletschhorn the sky was clear, which is one of the surest signs of fine weather. On a morning as fair and exhilarating as the present one, but earlier in the year, from the top of the Aletschhorn — a height of fourteen thou- sand feet — I once looked down upon the summit of the Jungfrau. One striking feature invariably reveals itself here at the end of September and beginning of October. From the terrace of our cottage we look down upon a basin vast and grand, at the bottom of which stands the town of Brieg. Over Brieg the line of vision carries us to the Simplon Pass and the mountains right and left of it. Naters stands in a great gap of the mountains, ' [90] Life in the Alpi where meadows and pine-clad knolls stretch, with great variety of contour, up to the higher Alpine pastures. The basin has no regularly rounded rim but runs into irregular bays and estuaries, continuous with the great valley of the. Rhone. At the period referred to, valley, basin, bays, and estuaries are frequently filled by a cloud, the surface of which seems, at times, as level as the unruffled surface of the ocean. A night or two ago I looked down upon such a sea of cloud, as it gleamed in the light of a brilliant moon. Above the shining sea rose the solemn mountains, over- arched by the cloudless sky. As I write, a firmament of undimmed azure shuts out the view into stellar space. No trace of cloud is visible; and yet the substance from which clouds are made is, at this moment, mixed copi- ously with the transparent air. That substance is the vapor of water; and I take this beautiful day as an illustration to impress upon you the fact that water vapor is not a thing that can be seen in the air. Were the atmosphere above and around me at the present moment suddenly chilled, visible clouds would be formed by the precipita- tion of vapor now invisible. [9i] Northern Europe Some years ago I stood upon the roof of the great cathedral of Milan. The air over the plains of Lombardy was then as pure and transparent as it is here to-day. From the cathedral roof the snowy Alps are to be seen, and on the occasion to which I refer a light wind blew towards them. When this air, so pure and transparent as long as the sunny plains of Lombardy were underneath to warm it, reached the cold Alps and was tilted up their sides, the aqueous vapor it contained was precipitated into clouds of scowling blackness. If you pour cold water into a tumbler on a fine summer day, a dimness will be immediately produced by the conversion into water, on the outside surface of the glass, of the aqueous vapor of the surrounding air. Pushing the experiment still further, you may fill a suitable vessel with a mixture of ice and salt, which is colder than the coldest water. On the hottest clay in summer a thick fur of hoar frost is thus readily produced on the chilled surface of the vessel. The quantity of vapor which the atmosphere contains varies from day to day. In England, northeasterly winds bring us dry air, because the wind, before reaching us, has passed over vast [92] Life in the Alps distances of dry ground. Southwesterly winds, on the other hand, come charged with the vapor contracted during their passage over vast tracts of ocean. Such winds, in England, produce the heaviest rains. And now we approach a question of very great interest. The condensed vapor which reaches the lowlands as rain, falls usually upon the sum- mits as snow. To a resident among the Alps it is interesting to observe, the morning after a night's heavy rain, a limit sharply drawn, at the same level along the sides of the mountains, above which they are covered with snow, while below it no snow is to be seen. This limit marks the passage from snow to rain. To the mountain snow all the glaciers of the Alps owe their existence. By ordinary mechan- ical pressure snow can be converted into solid ice ; and, partly by its own pressure, partly by the freezing of infiltrated water, the snow of the moun- tains is converted into the ice of the glaciers. The great glaciers, such as the one now below me, have all large gathering grounds, great basins or branches where the snow collects and becomes gradually compacted to ice. Partly by the yielding [93] Northern Europe of its own mass, and partly by sliding over its bed, this ice moves downwards like a river. We may go further and affirm, with a distin- guished writer on this subject, that " between a glacier and a river there is a resemblance so complete that it would be impossible to find in the latter a peculiarity of motion which does not exist in the former." It has been proved that, owing to the friction of its sides, which holds the ice back, the motion of a glacier is swiftest at its center; that, because of the friction against its bed, the surface of a glacier moves more rapidly than its bottom; that, when the valley through which the glacier moves is not straight, but curved, the point of swiftest motion is shifted from its center towards the concave side of the valley. All these facts hold equally good for a river. It is easy to understand that, with a substance like glacier ice, tensions must occur which will break up the ice, forming clefts or fissures to relieve the strains. The crevasses of glaciers are thus produced. John Tyndall. [94] AN OPEN-AIR PARLIAMENT On Sunday, the 24th of April, 1892, some Swiss friends took four of us Americans to witness the open-air Parliament of Appenzell, in which the proceedings were of extraordinary interest because the constitution of the canton was to be amended by popular vote. As the sun rose in the eastern Alps the church bells of all the villages and towns in the canton began to ring. In half an hour thousands of mountaineers, shepherds, herdsmen, dairymen, and farmers were coming from every direction along smooth white roads or rugged mountain paths toward the place of assembly at the village of Trogen. We had never before realized how many people lived in the little villages, hamlets, and by-places of these upper Alps. Every man coming to vote at the assembly wore a sword, not only because this has been for centuries the custom of voters, but because adherence to it was prescribed by proclamation. [95] Northern Europe The swords were the emblem of Swiss citizen- ship. But the festival was of peace, as well as law, without a quarrel or a hot word in all that multitude. No man may dare demand payment of a debt on this day. It is freedom's day — the day when the richest and the poorest, the creditor and the debtor, the president and the peasant are alike. Such scenes as we saw were taking place else- where in the Alps this morning. In several can- tons the men were collecting in some meadow or on some mountain slope to adopt laws by popular vote. For five hundred years this, scene has been enacted yearly, and it may be enacted for a thou- sand years to come. To these democratic shep- herds of the Alps no other system seems possible. They desire no political revolution, and they are almost as changeless as their mountains. Besides wearing their swords, the voters mostly carried umbrellas as walking sticks, and all were in holiday attire. Every man wore a black hat. Most of the men had to come from six to twelve miles, and return home in a single day — all for the privilege of a vote. But the Swiss ' [96] An Open-Air Parliament do not consider voting a privilege merely. It is a solemn, patriotic duty, and the citizen is fined who does not attend the meeting on the last Sunday in April of every year. The Parliament was to meet at eleven o'clock. Every vantage point, house top, wall, fence, or height of any kind w r as packed with spectators. It was only by the wand of official authority that we could make our way through the dense crowd to the great stone building where we had seats. The public square was so crammed that it looked, from our place at an upper window, like a sea of black hats, apparently without room for another one. There was no loud laughter or cheering, but the murmur of ten thousand in conversa- tion floated up to our ears. Directly below us was the raised platform on which the officials of state w r ere to stand during the ceremony. Right and left at the front of the platform two swords were fixed, the emblems of the state's authority. All around, in full view, were the beautiful mountains and the green Alpine meadows ; and dowm yonder, shining like a mirror, the great lake. Over beyond the lake we could see Ger- man land; and we thought of the contrast which [97] Northern Europe the institutions of that monarchical country, with its rule of force, presented to the freedom and simple ways of the people before us. As eleven o'clock approached, guards formed a chain around the black mass of voters to exclude strangers, though there was no foot of vacant space. Every eye was bent on the plat- form. Suddenly silence became supreme. Then there was a quick sound of drums, and four hallc- bardiers, clad in the costume of the Middle Ages, mounted the platform. A band struck up the national hymn. It was sung by the multitude, and then the officers of state ascended to their places. The chief Landamman, or governor, wore a long black mantle and a great three-cornered military hat. The high constable and other offi- cials wore cocked hats, and mantles of white and black. As the Landamman stepped to the front of the platform, the change from the sea of black hats to a sea of bare heads was astounding. Every head was uncovered and bowed in prayer. After that, when hats were on again, the Landam- man spoke. [98] An Open-Air Parliament :-- " No consideration shall move us to-day," he said, " but the peo- ple's good. No local interests, no party or political advantages, only the honor of our country shall be thought of in L.ofC. [99] Northern Europe our votes. Let us to-day be worthy of our free- dom. I declare the Parliament open." Every man present had in his hands a copy of the laws about to be proposed. There was no wrangling of debate. Days before coming here, each of these mountaineers had fully made up his mind how to vote. There was nothing now but his own conscience to influence him in his action. Suddenly the high constable shouted in a stentorian voice: " Let every man whom it pleases to have this law adopted hold up his hand." When the high constable had estimated that show of hands, he shouted : " Let every man whom it does not please to have this proposal adopted hold up his hand." Usually the majorities, one way or the other, are so great that counting is not necessary. What a man is this high constable ! His authority is not insignificant. He is highly respected in the canton. His voice could com- pletely drown the open-air speakers on American or English platforms. When he cries out, " Mr. Landamman, fellow- citizens, and dear confederates, do you accept this r T °°] An Open-Air Parliament law?" every one in the vast audience hears, and the very hills seem to echo his thundering tones. A dozen proposed laws were quickly put before the assembly, and passed or voted down. In no case was there a shout of the victors or a groan of the defeated. Even the constitution was amended without a cheer. Aside from the loud and solemn calls of the high constable there was silence. " Fellow-citizens and dear confederates, is it your will that this clause be added to our consti- tution?" Instantly the black sea of hats was hidden by the white sea of uplifted hands. The spectator was astonished that the important act should be done so suddenly. In this parliament are no signs of partisanship. Only one question seemed in every voter's mind : Is this proposed law for the common good? There was not a demagogue or a wire-puller or a political boss within a mile of the place. A new insurance law was soon proposed to the assembly. Its merits had been under discussion for months. Every mind was made up. " Will you have this law, citizens and confeder- ates?" the high constable called. [IOI] Northern Europe There was a feeble, silent show of affirmative hands, which proved clearly that the answer was to be in the negative ; and when the second call was made, the uplifted hands proved the measure overwhelmingly lost. The officials who prepared and proposed it were standing on the platform and witnessed the defeat ; but there was not a word nor a frown from them. They had learned the people's will, and they turned to other business. All the officers of state are elected by like shows of hands. There is no speaking, except that the aspirants for the position of high con- stable may speak five minutes each, nominate themselves, and prove their voices. During his speech the constable in office puts his regalia and hat aside, and resumes them only in case he is reelected. The newly elected officers are con- ducted to the platform by the hallebardiers, and the literal mantles of office are transferred to their shoulders in the presence of the multitude. The installation, like the election, w r as accom- plished in a few minutes. Not only had impor- tant laws been passed, but officers had been elected, and a change in the constitution adopted in two hours. [102] An Open-Air Parliament Then came the administering of the oath of allegiance. Every head was bared and every hand held toward heaven, while in a slow and solemn voice ten thousand patriot Swiss repeated with the Landamman the declaration J:hat they would be good citizens, true to Switzerland, observers of the laws they had made, and faith- ful to the common good. This solemn oath, made in the open sunlight and witnessed by the everlasting mountains, seemed doubly made in the presence of God. In another half hour the people were peacefully wending their way along the white roads and up zigzag mountain paths to their homes. They had done their duty as free citizens, and with a cere- mony as simple and solemn as a sacrament itself. S. H. M. Byers. [103] DOWN THE MOSELLE The river Moselle, often called "The Bride of the Rhine," is even more picturesque than the Rhine itself. It is more winding, and also nar- rower, so that the voyager is nearer the beauty and quaintness of its shores. Its bordering hills, although no higher than those along the Rhine, are at least equally impressive, while the valleys and ravines which wind away between them are more irregular and inviting. A rowing trip down the Moselle is safe, easy, and full of pleasure. Imagine yourself gliding down stream, with charming Treves fading into the distance as the afternoon shadows lengthen. You are at the oars, pulling with slow, even strokes. Your friend, in the stern, holds the tiller. You are fairly under way, and already the scenes on either hand begin to interest you. Here, for instance, you pass a company of Ger- man infantry, bathing. They keep their ranks, and at signals upon the bugle throw off their [104] Down the Moselle clothing, plunge, still in line, into the stream, and a few moments later emerge and dress. One wonders if they eat, drink, and sleep, in company formation. Soon you round a bend and float for a mile or two between green meadows, behind which lie villages embowered in trees. A rude scow, laden with peasants returning from work and singing some evening hymn, crosses your course. Now it grows dark, and at the next little village you land, under the lee of a jetty, and moor your boat for the night. Until you have almost reached the Rhine, you may safely leave anything in the boat overnight. You find your way into the village and soon are settled snugly at the inn. [105] Northern Europe Cold pork and ham, boiled eggs, rye and sweet- ened white bread, cakes, with plenty of whatever fruit is in season, and beer and wine if you wish, form your evening meal. The thick feather pil- lows upon your bed, one of which is intended to serve as a blanket, are rather warm, and if your pitcher held five times as much water you would be better pleased. But you are so healthily tired that you sleep soundly. until the bell of the neigh- boring church rouses you next morning. After breakfast the maidservant, acting as porter, carries your luggage to the boat. Before long, perhaps, the shores in front of you look sur- prisingly white, and, as you float down between them, you find them covered with linen which has been washed and spread out to dry and bleach. Many lively groups of washerwomen are passed, who keep up an incessant spat-spatting of their sheets and pillow r cases while they chat and joke. Sometimes for miles the hillsides rise almost from the water's edge, and are covered with care- fully cultivated vineyards. Now and then you pass a considerable town, and hear a band playing in the garden of its chief hotel. Sometimes the [106] Down the Moselle [107] Northern Europe river is so winding that you row for two hours and a dozen miles in order to reach a point only a single mile, easily walked in fifteen minutes, from your starting place. The Moselle castles are less famous than those on the Rhine, perhaps, but they are quite as picturesque and equally worth visiting. Usually they stand, protectingly, upon high places above the villages. The most striking castle of all is Schloss Eltz, three miles inland from Moselkern, rising upon its knoll above the mass of foliage like some great rock above the waves of the ocean. It is one of the best-preserved specimens of the mediaeval architecture in all Germany. Morton Dexter. [108] A RUSSIAN VILLAGE The first impression produced upon a stranger by a village in Great Russia is undoubtedly gloomy. The small, one-storied cottages have 1 A Russian Village Scene neither flowers in front nor clean, white-curtained windows. They look depressingly dark. The unwhitewashed walls are built of thick logs, if there are woods in the neighborhood, or else of rough stone. The windows, of which there are [ io 9] Northern Europe never more than three, are small, with tiny panes of glass, — for glass is expensive. The straw roofs are unsightly, as in most cases they are unthatched and are merely made out of bundles of straw held together with straw ropes. Sometimes, when fodder is scarce, it will even happen that the roofs are removed to feed the cattle, and the cottages then look still more for- lorn. Many of them have only one room and a small passage, entered by two or three steps. When there are two rooms they are built on opposite sides of the passage. The interiors are as poor as the outside. The walls are neither papered nor whitewashed, and a fourth of the room, sometimes even a third, is occupied by a large brick or beaten clay oven. The top of this is generally used as a bed for the aged or sick, and as a nursery for the children. Two deal forms and a deal table are the furni- ture. These are placed along the two principal walls, and here also is fixed cornerwise a little shelf for the sacred pictures, painted in dark colors on wood, before which hangs a little oil lamp to be lighted on holy days. A small bottle of holy water, a colored Easter egg, a bunch of [no] A Russian Village dried willows in bud, — a substitute for the palm, — these or similar relics complete the decorations of that side of the room. In the corner, nearer the stove, is a bedstead, consisting generally of two or three planks fas- tened to the wall; there are seldom sheets or blankets on it. This bed is reserved for the father and mother; the other members of the family sleep on the benches or on the stove. Sometimes there is a little loft made of planks fixed underneath the ceiling where three or four persons can lie. The fourth corner by the stove contains the crockery and a few kitchen utensils. Under the bed there may be a large, unpainted wooden chest, wherein all family linen and cloth- ing are kept. The two-roomed cottages may be richer in a few articles, a brass samovar, or tea urn, perhaps, but this is the exception. The village looks even less attractive than it might, owing to the absence of trees and shrubs near the houses, and the unpaved condition of the road, which in the rainy season is so deep in mud that the pigs can bury themselves up to their snouts in it. Some of the more prosperous cot- tagers try to add some external decoration, and [in] Northern Europe here and there artistically carved porches and window shutters may be seen ; but these orna- ments are lost in their gloomy setting. The village, however, is not altogether lacking in brightness. There is often a river close by with very picturesque banks and a mill, and there is always the church, built in Byzantine style and standing in the most prominent position. It is whitewashed and generally surrounded by an inclosure planted with lilacs and acacias. The priest's house, too, is pleasant to look at, as a rule, with its garden and white-curtained windows; and if the village boasts a resident " squire," the visitor may be still further cheered by the sight of a large house, roofed with green iron and having an extensive garden and other luxuries obtainable only by the rich. Nowadays there is sometimes a school, though this rarely differs in appearance from the usual peasant's cottage, and even a cottage hospital may be found in some villages, built and maintained by the local government; but both are, unfortunately, very rare. Nevertheless, as regards the land, the peasants in Great Russia are better off than those of many [112] A Russian Village other countries, for the little they have belongs to them ; their cottages and the ground at the back are their own. From time immemorial the land has been the communal property of the vil- lage. There are no private owners except the squire and the few who have bought some land from him, and the old-time custom of supplying every inhabitant of the village with some land is still strictly observed. While woods and pastures are used in com- mon, the arable land is divided into three parts, according to its quality, and each household is allotted a fair share in these three parts. The size of each allotment depends in the first instance on the quantity of land held by the community, and then on the number of male workers in the family. Each household cultivates its plots inde- pendently, but no hedges are grown between the divisions, only a small furrow marking them off; and for this reason Russian grain fields, although cultivated in small allotments, are well adapted for the use of steam implements. Only poverty and ignorance prevent the peas- ants of Great Russia from growing their grain with modern methods and improvements. In ["3] Northern Europe South Russia, where the peasants are a little better off, the fields in many places resound with the whir and whistle of labor-saving machinery. This system of property in land has developed a strong village organization, called the mir. All that concerns the village as a whole is decided by the mir and carried out by the community. It is not an elected body ; its members are made up of all those workers who have attained their majority. Every head of a household, women included, if there is not a son of ripe age, has a voice in the assembly. There is no voting in the mir, no chairman, no secretary, no special time or place of meeting. Whenever a matter turns up which concerns the whole village the men and women gather together at some place of their own choosing — in sum- mer time this is always out of doors — and talk over the affair until they arrive at an agreement. If the subject is one of importance, the meeting will be convoked again and again until it is set- tled; for unanimity is indispensable in the mir decisions. Besides questions concerning the division, pur- chase, and renting of land., the mir decides about ["4] A Russian Village the building of churches, the opening of schools, the digging of wells, and the making of roads and bridges. It also fixes the dates for plowing, haymaking, and harvesting. When these are arranged, men, women, and children all turn out and work to the accompaniment of cheery laugh- ter and songs. Indeed, in passing through a village when some communal work is in hand, such as building a bridge or repairing a road, one might easily fancy the villagers were out for recreation, so bright and merry do they look and so easily does the work seem to be done. The grain fields, although cultivated separately, must all be harvested at the same time, because, when the grain is cut, the land becomes the pas- ture for the cattle of the whole village. The driving out of the cattle devolves upon a com- munal headman, who is himself a characteristic figure in the Russian village. He is generally a lonely old man, who is appointed to this post by the mir; and each household contributes to his food, clothing, and shelter. In some villages the mir builds him a cottage, in others each family receives him in turn ; but the mir provides for his wants and punishes him for any neglect of duty. ["5] Northern Europe In harvest time the fields are a beautiful sight. All the men wear straw hats and snow-white shirts and trousers belted with a gay woolen girdle, the handiwork of their women folk. The women themselves are clad in finely embroidered white linen shirts and bright-colored skirts and kerchiefs, also the result of their own in- dustry. On any other occasion a woman might wear some arti- cle she had bought, but when harvesting it is her pride to wear everything of her own fashioning. Narrow as the village life may be, it still re- tains many good old customs. If a family is in distress through death or illness of the father, and too poor to hire labor at harvest time, help is always forthcoming. When the grain is reaped and brought home and there is nothing where- with to entertain the harvesters, they themselves [n6] [n Festive Dress A Russian Village o supply the materials for a feast, without which it would be considered disrespectful and unlucky to close the day. " Bees " are an institution in the Russian vil- lage. All summer they are in full swing, especially among the women. Each one's flax is gathered and beaten in turn, the potatoes are dug and stored, and so on. But at the end of every day the evening air is full of song and dance, for in Russia they do not forget to play after work. In fact, the village youth lose no opportunity of meeting for amuse- ^ ment. In the summer nights there are the national songs and dances out of doors. In winter the girls meet at one another's houses to spin, and the young men join them to sing and play games while spindle and distaff are plying. The Russian peasants are a striking example of restricted needs and self-supply. They buy very few articles of either food or clothing. Rye bread, cabbage soup, potatoes, or a porridge of L"7] mw Northern Europe buckwheat or millet form their usual dinner. On Sunday a dish of milk or eggs may be added. From time to time a sheep or pig is killed, and then there is a little meat. Only the richer fami- lies or those who live near the great towns drink tea, the poorer having tea only when they are ill ; and the only article of everyday use which they buy is salt. The clothing is altogether homemade. Each family grows the flax out of which the women make the linen. Every woman may not know how to fix the loom, but nearly all know how to weave. That very necessary winter garment, the sheepskin, is from their own sheep, as is the woolen cloth of which the overcoat is made. The usual costume for a man consists of a white linen shirt worn over the trousers and belted in about the waist ; the trousers are of the same coarse linen and are worn with the ends tucked into the top-boots. But as a rule boots are worn only by the richer peasants, and even among them the old people keep them for Sunday wear. The general foot gear is bast (bark fiber) shoes, the legs being wrapped in a bandage of linen or woolen, according to the season. The [118] A Russian Village shoe strings keep these leg wraps from unfasten- ing, and the trousers are tucked inside them. An overcoat with a girdle, a conical hat, and a pair of warm gloves complete the outfit. The women's dress is extremely picturesque. They wear a white linen shirt with long, full sleeves ; over this a short, colored skirt and a long apron ; shoes or boots similar to the men's, but hats never ; their heads are covered with a kerchief or shawl, which on Sundays is replaced by an embroidered headdress for married women, while the girls twine bright ribbons in their own long plaits. Nowhere, perhaps, has woman such a wide sphere of activity as in Great Russia. There she is the gardener, the dairymaid, the sheep-shearer, the spinner, the dyer, the weaver, and the sewer of the cloth when it is woven. She works, more- over, beside the man in the field, in the wood, and on the river. In several parts of central Russia the men are compelled to leave the village for many months in the year to earn a little money, and at such times all the field work is done by women. Their home industries are various and of a high quality. In the small markets of the [119] Northern Europe smaller towns, which are held once a week, one sees hundreds of peasant women selling garden, dairy, and poultry produce, as well as rolls of finest linen, tablecloths, towels, fine laces, and artistic embroideries. Yet with all these conditions favorable to prosperity, the Russian peasant is, as a rule, terri- bly poor. This is due to several causes. The first and most important is the smallness of the allotments, which necessitates the renting of other land, especially meadow land, for which the rent is much too high. In 1 86 1, when the peasants were liberated, the government forced the serf owners to sell so much land to the communes. For this the government paid, and the peasants are bound to refund this money within the next forty-seven years. But the land which the owners were willing to give up has already proved insufficient ; since then the agricultural population has greatly increased ; consequently the allotments have grown ridicu- lously small, and pasture lands are especially scarce, as the landowners retained nearly all of them. The lack of suitable pasturage is a very serious difficulty. [ I2 °J A Russian Village Although the allotments produce little, it would be possible to manage were it not for the ruinous rate of taxes. It is usual for a peasant family to pay from twenty-five to thirty-five dollars, besides all the indirect taxes, which are heavy, especially as the average income of the peasant is very small. To pay rates and taxes he sells his grain, at times, for half price, and then for nine months out of twelve the family eats bread adulterated with all sorts of things ; really pure rye bread is eaten only in exceptionally good years. Any one looking at a Russian peasant, espe- cially at plowing time, can see that both he and his horses are permanently underfed. The man is small, his face and hair are colorless, and his expression is hopeless. Watch him at his dinner in the field ; it will consist of a piece of dark, sour, unwholesome rye bread and onions washed down with a sour drink made of bran and a little flour. His horse is not so tall as an English yearling; it is mere skin and bone. In the spring the horse does not get enough even of the old rotten roof straw. The harness is made of scraps of rope [121 J Northern Europe and leather ; the plow is miserably small and scratches the soil just a few inches deep, over which plowing a wooden harrow will be dragged. The Russian peasant's intelligence is unques- tionable. He is quick to learn new things and to adapt himself to new conditions — witness those who migrate to Siberia, where the land is free, and those who find their way to America, where there are free schools. What wonders might we not justly expect to be worked in the little vil- lages of Great Russia by liberty and education ! The Princess Kropotkin. [122] Mar 8 1002. MAR 8 1902 1 COPY DEL. TO CAT, D!V, MAR, 3 1902 6-Compa ny- Publishers