Chapter 15

FIRST VIEW OF ST. PETERSBURG.

"Cronstadt! Cronstadt!" I heard the shout from the deck one evening when the sun was going down, and his red disk seemed resting on the heaving waters, while to the east the strong fortifications stood clearly defined against the sky, bathed in his glowing light. Being quite alone in the cabin, for every human being was on deck, I was taking my survey of the place from the open port-hole before me.

It was a very gay scene upon which I looked. Not even on the Thames, our own river, have I seen a greater variety of craft. Steam-boats, and sailing-boats, schooners, cutters, brigs and gondolas,-- paddled along the water, or spread snowy wings to the breeze. I gazed upon them, and upon the formidable batteries, bristling with guns, which defend the "water-gate of St. Petersburg" as Cronstadt has been called, till the shadows of night fell around, and I could without risk of observation, join Whiskerandos in the hold.

He was in company with another rat, of rather a foreign appearance.

"My friend Dwishtswatshiksky here," said he, "tells me that we shall soon arrive at the capital of Russia."

"I am very glad to hear it!" cried I; "I long to be again on shore. If we had any means of landing here, I should not care if I stopped short of St. Petersburg." I had not forgotten the pies.

"You would doubtless, little brother, from natural association, like to visit Rat Island," said the stranger with the unpronounceable name.

"Rat Island!" exclaimed Whiskerandos and I at the same moment.

"That fortified island opposite to Cronstadt, lying across the bay upon which the place stands, and giving to its waters the appearance of a lake, was called Ratusare, or Rat's Island in the days of old."

"Not the only Rat's Island in the world," observed Whiskerandos; "we have one off the coast of Devon."

"And doubtless it still bears that name," said the Russian rat, with a graceful wave of his whiskers. "But things, alas! were altered here when the warriors of Peter the Great drove the Swedes from this island in 1703. The vanquished left behind them nothing but a great kettle, which in default of other trophy the Russians reared in triumph on a pole; so the name of the place has been changed since that time, and Rat Island is called Kettle Island."

"It is fortunate for us, sir rat," said I, (I did not venture to attempt to call him by his name,) "it is fortunate for us that before landing in a strange country, we have met with a friend so intelligent and well-informed as you appear to be."

He made me so many polite assurances of the gratification which he felt in making my acquaintance, the pleasure which it would give him to conduct us to the house in which he usually quartered in the city, and the pride which he would feel in showing us everything which he could hope would interest us, that we blunt English rats felt almost abashed at his excessive courtesy. He only followed the manners of his country, where the poorest labourer is quite overwhelming in his politeness.

Dwishtswatshiksky (we soon shortened his name to Wisky) was as good as his word. We kept close while the passengers landed at a magnificent quay at St. Petersburg; while the rapid tread of feet, loud voices, shouts and hurried movements, were heard above, not a rat ventured forth from his hiding-place. Alas! with every precaution, when we mustered before landing, our numbers were sadly diminished, though of rat pies we had heard no more. In darkness we a second time made a suspension bridge of the rope which bound the vessel to the shore, and with delight I found myself again upon land, a free denizen of earth, no longer cooped up in the narrow, dangerous prison of a vessel.

Wisky led the way, closely followed by Whiskerandos. They moved on so fast that I was in danger of losing sight of my guides, so apt was I to linger on my way to look at the wonders around me. It is a beautiful city, St. Petersburg; at least so it seemed to me in the moonlight. With its streets of palaces, its lively green roofs, sky-blue cupolas dotted with stars, gilt spires, columns, statues, and obelisks, it is a place not soon to be forgotten. If I might venture to suggest a fault, it is that all looks too perfectly new. Antiquity gives added interest to beauty,-- at least such is the opinion of a rat. That which looks as if it had risen but yesterday, appears as though it might fall to-morrow.

"Would you believe it," said Wisky, "a great part of this splendid city is built upon piles! The foundation alone of yonder great church cost a million of rubles! There is a constant fight going on here between water and the efforts of man. To look at the fine buildings around us, you would say that man had secured the victory. He has thrown over the river a variety of bridges, stone, suspension, and pontoon, that can be taken to pieces at pleasure, to connect the numerous islands together, and has raised the most stately edifices on a trembling bog! But the water is not conquered after all! I have known houses burst asunder from the foundations giving way. I have seen a palace separated from the very steps that led up to its door. And in spring, when the snow melts which has been collecting for months, the horses can scarcely flounder along through the rivers of mud in the streets!"

"Does the water ever rise very high?" inquired Whiskerandos. This was no idle question on his part; he made it as a practical rat, who knew what it was to live in a cellar, and had no desire to be drowned.

"Ah, my dear brother!" replied the Russian rat, "many stories are still told of the fearful inundation which happened in 1824. Impelled by a furious west wind, the waters then rose to a fearful height, streamed through the streets, floated the carriages, made boats of the carts, nay, lifted some wooden houses right from the ground, and sent them floating about, with all their inhabitants in them, like so many men-of-war! Horses were drowned, and so, alas! were rats in terrible numbers. The trees in the squares were crowded with men, clinging to them like bees when they cluster! It is said that thousands of poor human beings perished, and that the inundation cost the city more than a hundred millions of rubles!"

"Well, St. Petersburg is a splendid place!" cried I; "but after all, the merry banks of the Thames, and dear dingy old London for me!"