Few cities within the limits of the Russian dominions possess greater historic interest than Revel. Although its commerce is limited to a few annual shipments of hemp, flax, and tallow, produced in the province of Esthonia, and the importation of such articles of domestic consumption as the peasants require, it occupies a prominent position as a naval dÉpÔt for Russian vessels of war, and is much frequented in summer by the citizens of St. Petersburg as a bathing-place and general resort of pleasure. A steamer leaves daily for Revel and Helsingfors, which, during the bathing season, is crowded with passengers, as in the case of my own trip, of which I have already given you a sketch. The approach to the harbor, in the bright morning sun, is exceedingly picturesque. Beyond the forest of masts and spars, with gayly-colored flags and streamers spread to the breeze, rises a group of ancient buildings on the rocky eminence called the Domberg, comprising the castle, the residences of the governor and commandant, and various palaces and quarters of the nobility, surrounded by Gothic walls and strong fortifications. This ancient and picturesque pile has been termed the Acropolis of Revel, though beyond the fact that it overlooks the lower town and forms a prominent feature in the scenic beauties of the place, it is difficult to determine in what respect it can bear a comparison with the famous Acropolis of Athens. However, I have observed that travelers find it convenient to discover resemblances of this kind where none exist, as a means of rounding off their descriptions; and since the Kremlin is styled the Acropolis of Moscow, I see no reason why Revel should not enjoy the same sort of classic association. It is to be hoped that when Russian travelers visit San Francisco, they will, upon the principle adopted by tourists in their country, do us the justice to designate Russian Hill as the Acropolis of San Francisco; and should they visit Sacramento during the existence of a flood, I have no doubt they can find a pile of bricks or a whisky barrel sufficiently elevated above the general level to merit the distinctive appellation of an Acropolis. Revel has suffered more frequent changes of government, and passed through the hands of a greater variety of rulers, than any city, perhaps, in the whole of Northern Europe. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries it was a province of Denmark; subsequently it fell into the hands of the Swedes, and in 1347 became a possession of the Livonian Knights, a chivalrous and warlike order, who built castles, lived in a style of great luxuriance, killed, robbed, and plundered the people of the surrounding countries, and otherwise distinguished themselves as gentlemen of the first families, not one of them having ever been known to perform a day’s useful labor in his life. Such, indeed, was the heroic character of these doughty knights, that, having plunged the whole country into ruin and distress, the peasants, driven to desperation, rose upon them in 1560, and completely routed and destroyed them, killing many, and compelling the remainder to seek some other occupation. This was rough treatment for gentlemen, but it happens from time to time in the course of history, and shows to what trials chivalrous blood is exposed when it can’t have its own way. Finally Esthonia and Livonia fell into the hands of Charles II. of Sweden, from whom they were wrested by Peter the Great. Since that period these provinces have continued under the Russian dominion. From the time of Peter to the reign of the present emperor, Revel has been a favorite summer resort of the Czars. It has been rebuilt, patched, fortified, and improved to such an extent that it now represents almost every style of architecture known in Northern Europe since the Middle Ages. The people partake of the same characteristics, being a mixture of every Northern race by which the place has been inhabited since the reign of Eric XIV. of Denmark. I spent some hours visiting the churches and other objects of interest, a detailed description of which would scarcely be practicable within the brief limits of a letter. The Ritterschaftshaus, containing the armorial bearings of the nobility, is a place of great historical interest; but I saw nothing that afforded me so much amusement as the scenes in the Jahrmarket, where the annual summer fair is held. Here were booths and tents, and all sorts of wares, much in the style of the markets of the Riadi in Moscow, of which I have already given a description. The crowds gathered around those places of barter and trade appeared to enjoy a very free-and-easy sort of life. I could see nothing about them indicative of an oppressed condition. Most of them were reeling drunk, and such as were not drunk seemed in a fair way of speedily arriving at that condition of beatitude.

From the Jahrmarket I strolled out to the Cathermthal, a favorite resort of the citizens during the heat of the day. The shady promenades of this magnificent garden, its natural beauties, and the display of equipages and costumes, render it an exceedingly agreeable lounging-place for a stranger. Every thing is in the Russian style—the pavilions, the music, the theatrical exhibitions, and the predominance of naval and military uniforms throughout the grounds. The scarcity of flowers is remedied to some extent by the profusion of epaulettes and brass buttons, which the emperor seems to regard as superior to any thing in nature. No garden that I have yet seen in Russia is destitute of ornaments of this kind.

Gambling was going on every where—at every tea-table and in every pavilion. This department of civilization is well represented in Revel by the Russians. Horse-racing, cards, dominoes, and other amusements and games of hazard, are their ruling passion. A Russian who will not bet his head after he has lost all his valuable possessions must be a very poor representative of his country indeed. I have rarely seen such a passionate devotion to the gaming-table, even in California, which is not usually behind the nations of Europe in all that pertains to the cultivation of the human mind. Revel must be a heaven to a genuine Russian. All is free and unreserved, and morals are said to be unknown, save to a few of the old-fashioned citizens and gentry. Visitors usually leave their own behind them, and depend upon chance for a fresh supply in case of necessity.

The afternoon was warm, and it occurred to me that a stroll on the beach would be pleasant. Accompanied by my friend the horse-jockey, who seemed determined to hold on to me as long as I remained in Revel, under the conviction, no doubt, that I was secretly engaged in the horse business, and would come out in my true character before long, I sauntered down in the direction of some bathing tents, scattered along the beach a little below the port. My jockey friend was continually trying to pump out of me upon which of the horses in the approaching race it was my intention to bet, urging me as a friend not to throw away my money on the roan or chestnut, although appearances were in their favor, but to go in heavy on the black mare; and notwithstanding I assured him it was not my intention to risk any portion of my capital on this race, he was pertinacious in giving me his advice, and could not be convinced that I know nothing about the horses, and never bet on races of any kind. “Sare,” said he, “you are a stranger. These Russians are great rascals. They will cheat you out of your eyes. I speakee English. I am your friend.” I thanked him very cordially, but assured him there was no danger of my being cheated. He then went into a dissertation on the relative merits of the horses, to prove that it was impossible for me, a perfect stranger, to escape bankruptcy among so many sharpers. “But,” said I, “the horse-race takes place to-morrow, does it not?” “Yes, sare, to-morrow at three o’clock! You will be there? I shall also be there!” “But, my good friend, I leave to-night in the steamer; therefore all your kindness is thrown away!” “Oh! you must not leave to-night. You must see the horse-race!” In vain I assured him it was impossible for me to remain. He was not to be put off on any pretext, and, having made up his mind that I must remain, I was forced to drop the subject and let him have his way. While he was enlarging upon the merits of the black mare, my attention was attracted by a group of bathers—ladies, as I judged by their voices, though, as they were dressed in rather a fantastic style, I could not perceive any other indication of the sex. One of the party—a lively young girl of sixteen or seventeen—seemed to be a perfect mermaid. She plunged and swam, ducked and dived, kicked up her delicate little feet, and disappeared under the surf in a way that struck me with awe and admiration. Never was there such an enchanting picture of perfect abandonment to the enjoyment of the occasion. A poetic feeling I took possession of me. Visions of grottoes under the deep sea waves, and beautiful princesses and maidens, filled my soul. I thought of Gulnare in the Arabian Nights, and felt disposed, like Mirza, the King of Persia, to “embrace her with great tenderness.” It was really a very pretty sight. “Sare,” said my companion, confidentially, “take my advice. She is blind of one eye, and has a strain in the fore leg, but you may bet on her! I jockeyed her for six months before the last race.” He was still talking about the black mare. I turned away to hide my impatience. After a few words of desultory conversation, I excused myself on the plea of sickness, and bade him good-evening.

At 8P.M. I took my departure from Revel. A new batch of passengers had come on board. We were soon steaming our way across the Gulf of Finland. I had rarely spent a more pleasant day, and, if time had permitted, would gladly have prolonged my sojourn in the quaint old city of Revel. The summer nights were still incomparably beautiful. A glow of sunshine was visible in the sky as late as eleven o’clock. At two, the rays of the rising sun began to illuminate the horizon. A dead calm gave to the sleeping waters of the Gulf the appearance of a lake; and as we approached the shores of Helsingfors, the illusion was heightened by innumerable little islands, clothed with verdant slopes of grass and groves of pine. The harbor of Helsingfors derives a peculiar interest from its system of fortifications. Nature seems to have done much to render it impregnable; and what Nature has not done has been accomplished by the military genius of the Russians. Immense masses of rock rise from the water in every direction, leaving deep narrow passages between for vessels. Every rock is a fortress. The steamer passed through a perfect maze of fortifications. Guns bore upon us from all sides—out of the forts, out of holes in the rocks—in short, out of every conceivable nook and crevice in the bay. The very rocks seemed to be alive with sentinels and to bustle with armories. Probably there is no part of the Russian dominions, except Cronstadt, more thoroughly fortified than Sweaborg. The system of engineering displayed upon this point evinces the highest order of military genius. The fortifications embrace a series of forts, castles, barracks, and military establishments of various kinds, situated on seven islands of solid rock, forming the different channels of approach to the harbor. Count Ehrensuerd, Field-marshal of Sweden, is entitled to the credit of having devised the original system of fortifications, afterward so successfully carried out by the Czars of Russia. This was the last rallying-point of the Swedes during the war with Russia. In 1808, Admiral Cronstadt, the commander of the Swedish forces, who had hitherto proved himself a brave and patriotic officer, submitted to terms of capitulation and delivered over the forts to the Russians. History scarcely furnishes a parallel to such a wanton and unaccountable act of treachery. Cronstadt had fifteen hundred men, two frigates, and all the munitions of war to hold his position against any force that could be brought against him; while the Russians were reduced to great extremities, and, it is said, had scarcely force enough left to man the forts after they were evacuated by the Swedes. Sufficient testimony has been gathered by historians to show that Cronstadt bartered his honor for money; yet, strange to say, such is the high estimation in which he was originally held by the Swedes, that many of them to this day profess to disbelieve that he was capable of such an infamous crime. It is thought by some that he must have been laboring under some mental hallucination at the time of the capitulation. Be that as it may, the success of the Russian arms was doubtless greatly facilitated by this act of treason. Cronstadt, like Benedict Arnold, died an isolated and broken-hearted man. His ill-gotten gains were but a poor recompense for the infamy entailed upon his name. Such, indeed, as all history shows, has been and must ever be the fate of all traitors to their country.

Helsingfors was founded by Gustavus Vasa in the sixteenth century. A portion of the old town is still visible, though there is little about it beyond a few ruined walls possessing much historical interest. After the Russians obtained possession they enlarged and improved the city upon its present site, and in 1819 it became the capital of Finland. In 1827 Abo suffered from a general conflagration, after which the grand University of that city was removed to Helsingfors, which now comprises the most important public buildings and institutions in Finland. Among these are the senate-house, the palace of the governor, the Museum, the Botanical Garden, the Observatory, etc. The streets in the lower parts of the city are broad and regular, and many of the houses are quite as good as the generality of private residences in Moscow or St. Petersburg. The principal church, which is built in the form of a Greek cross, is a conspicuous and imposing edifice, standing near the centre of the town on a rocky eminence, presenting on the approach up the harbor a peculiarly Russian effect with its gilded domes and crosses. The green roofs of the houses also remind one that he is still within the dominions of Russia; and if any doubt on that point should remain after landing from the steamer, it is speedily dispelled by the vast numbers of Russian soldiers and officers constantly marching about the streets.

I had two days to devote to the objects of interest in and around Helsingfors. For convenience and economy, I took a room in a Finnish hotel, on one of the back streets. Having deposited my knapsack, my first visit was to the Observatory, from which a beautiful view is to be had of the harbor and fortifications. From this point of observation a very good idea may be formed of the extent and general character of the town. It covers a large area of solid rocks, the entire foundation consisting of immense round boulders, forming a succession of ups and downs singularly varied in outline and picturesque at every point of view. Beyond the main part of the town, toward the interior, the country is mountainous, and covered for the most part with dense forests of pine. Cultivation has made but little progress beyond the immediate suburbs. A few miles from the waters of the bay the eye rests upon an apparently untrodden wilderness of rocky heights and pine forests, and toward the Gulf nothing can exceed the desolate grandeur of the scene. Rock-bound islands, upon which the surf breaks with an unceasing moan; points and promontories covered with dark forests; a rugged coast, dimly looming through the mist; innumerable sea-gulls whirling and screaming over the dizzy pinnacles, are its principal features. While I was seated on a bank of moss near the Observatory, enjoying the beauties of the scene, strains of music were wafted up on the breeze from the shady recesses of the Botanical Gardens, toward which I saw that the citizens were wending their way. It was Sunday, which here as well as in Germany is a day of recreation. I took a by-path and speedily joined the crowd. The people of every degree are well dressed and respectable, and I was somewhat surprised to find so much politeness, cultivation, and intelligence in such an out-of-the-way part of the world. The music was excellent, and the display of style and fashion in the gardens was quite equal to any thing I had seen in my European travels. From what little I saw of the Finns, I was greatly prepossessed in their favor. They seem to me to be a primitive, substantial, and reliable race, strong in their affections, kind and hospitable toward strangers, amiable and inoffensive, yet brave and patriotic—hating the Russians with a cordiality truly refreshing. I formed a casual acquaintance with several of them during my rambles about the Garden. No sooner did they discern my nationality than they gave me to understand that their Constitution had been violated, their liberties trampled under foot, their rights disregarded, and their patience under all these injuries misconstrued. “We only await an opportunity,” they said, “to prove to the world that we are still a free-born people. The time is not distant. In the heart of every Finn burns the spirit of a freeman and a patriot! We are not a race doomed to slavery. You who are an American can understand us! We only want a chance to cast off the chains of despotism which now oppress us. It is coming: we are overpowered now, but not conquered! We hate the Russians! No true Finn can ever amalgamate with such a race!”

This was the strain in which I was constantly addressed. Notwithstanding the electoral privileges guaranteed to the Finns under their Constitution, and the fact that many of the municipal offices are filled by themselves, there is no more community of interest between them and their rulers than between the Italians and the Austrians. Their hatred of the government and of all its concomitants is implacable. It seemed a luxury to some of these poor people to find a sympathizing listener. I met many intelligent Finns, both in Helsingfors and Abo, who spoke good English, and never conversed with one for five minutes without hearing the same strong expressions of dislike to the present condition of affairs, and sanguine hopes for the future. There is only hope for them, that I can see—that the emancipation of the serfs may lead to the establishment of a more liberal system of government throughout the Russian dominions. All hopes based upon isolated revolutions are futile.