The run, which lasts from one morning to the next, is naturally not very entertaining. The broad expanse of snowy plain, relieved only by snow-breaks and frozen swamps, at every two miles a few wretched half-Asiatic huts, and occasionally the dark profile of a forest, no more to be seen, and a sea of unintelligible Slavic sounds, no more to be heard. The feeling of loneliness grows upon one, and the impression becomes constantly stronger that Russia is a world for itself.
But there is an end to everything, even to a railroad journey without books, without papers, and without conversation. At the dawn of the clear, wintry day one may already distinguish the signs of a great city. A station with magnificent buildings and a well-cared-for park stretching almost to the tracks claims our attention after the many unimpressive sights of the long road. We decipher the name "Gatschina," and understand why there is such a strong police force on the platform. This is the Winter Palace. Scarcely an hour later the gilded cupolas stand out bright above the snow; the brakes are put on; we are in St. Petersburg.
It cannot be said that the city appears in a favorable light when viewed from the railroad. The not over-elegant two-horse vehicle which takes us and our baggage rattles over miserable pavements, dirty from the melting snow, through broad, endless suburban streets. The houses on either side are of only one story, built mostly of wood, their poverty-stricken appearance being intensified here and there by three-storied barracks. Liquor-shops, little second-hand stores, wooden huts, with putrid garbage, follow one another in a variety by no means pleasing. The passers-by, ill-clad, with the inevitable rubber shoes, shuffle along the slushy sidewalks; trucks with two or sometimes three horses, their necks bent under the brightly painted Russian "duga" (wooden yoke), a truly Gorki atmosphere in its entirety. One can scarcely believe that he is entering one of the most brilliant cities of the continent. The endless rows of stores with their two-storied sheds, which one passes on the way to the centre of the city, but slightly improve one's first impression, for even they are far removed from the splendor of the capital.