Russia — Text and Context
Edition facts
For Russia — Text and Context, the stored edition analysis reports 285,366 words, 20 hr 41 min estimated reading time, and 33 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 27.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Russia -- Politics and government -- 1801-1917,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.
How this score is calculated
- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
as my state of mind on being awakened early one morning by peculiar symptoms which I had never before experienced. Unwilling to admit to myself the possibility of being ill, I got up, and endeavoured to dress as usual, but very soon discovered that I was unable to stand. There was no denying the fact; not only was I ill, but the malady, whatever it was, surpassed my powers of diagnosis; and when the symptoms increased steadily all that day and the following night, I was constrained to take the humiliating decision of asking for medical advice. To my inquiries whether there was a doctor in the neighbourhood, the old servant replied, "There is not exactly a doctor, but there is a Feldsher in the village."
"And what is a Feldsher?"
"A Feldsher is . . . . is a Feldsher."
"I am quite aware of that, but I would like to know what you mean by the word. What is this Feldsher?"
"He's an old soldier who dresses wounds and gives physic."
The definition did not predispose me in favour of the mysterious personage, but as there was nothing better to be had I ordered him to be sent for, notwithstanding the strenuous opposition of the old servant, who evidently did not believe in feldshers.
In about half an hour a tall, broad-shouldered man entered, and stood bolt upright in the middle of the room in the attitude which is designated in military language by the word "Attention." His clean-shaven chin, long moustache, and closely-cropped hair confirmed one part of the old servant's definition; he was unmistakably an old soldier.
"You are a Feldsher," I said, making use of the word which I had recently added to my vocabulary.
"Exactly so, your Nobility!" These words, the ordinary form of affirmation used by soldiers to their officers, were pronounced in a loud, metallic, monotonous tone, as if the speaker had been an automaton conversing with a brother automaton at a distance of twenty yards. As soon as the words were pronounced the mouth of the machine closed spasmodically, and the head, which had been momentarily turned towards me, reverted to its former position with a jerk as if it had received the order "Eyes front!"
"Then please to sit down here, and I'll tell you about my ailment." Upon this the figure took three paces to the front, wheeled to the right-about, and sat down on the edge of the chair, retaining the position of "Attention" as nearly as the sitting posture would allow. When the symptoms had been carefully described, he knitted his brows, and after some reflection remarked, "I can give you a dose of . . . ." Here followed a long word which I did not understand.
"I don't wish you to give me a dose of anything till I know what is the matter with me. Though a bit of a doctor myself, I have no idea what it is, and, pardon me, I think you are in the same position." Noticing a look of ruffled professional dignity on his face, I added, as a sedative, "It is evidently something very peculiar, so that if the first medical practitioner in the country were present he would probably be as much puzzled as ourselves."
The sedative had the desired effect. "Well, sir, to tell you the truth," he said, in a more human tone of voice, "I do not clearly understand what it is."
"Exactly; and therefore I think we had better leave the cure to Nature, and not interfere with her mode of treatment."
"Perhaps it would be better."
"No doubt. And now, since I have to lie here on my back, and feel rather lonely, I should like to have a talk with you. You are not in a hurry, I hope?"
"Not at all. My assistant knows where I am, and will send for me if I am required."
"So you have an assistant, have you?"
"Oh, yes; a very sharp young fellow, who has been two years in the Feldsher school, and has now come here to help me and learn more by practice. That is a new way. I never was at a school of the kind myself, and had to pick up what I could when a servant in the hospital. There were, I believe, no such schools in my time. The one where my assistant learned was opened by the Zemstvo."
"The Zemstvo is the new local administration, is it not?"
Wallace begins his study not with abstract theory but with a practical account of travelling in Russia, describing railways, river communications, and the peculiar discomforts of post-stations and hotels. He immediately establishes a tone of direct observation, noting that Russian titles like "Privy Councillor" refer to rank, not actual office—a clue to the bureaucratic complexities he will later dissect. The early chapters move from the northern forests to a peasant household, introducing the reader to village priests, communal land systems, and the lingering influence of paganism. Wallace’s method is to ground each generalisation in a specific scene: a vapour-bath, a medical consultation, a family dispute. This approach gives the work a documentary texture, as if the reader is accompanying the author on his journey.
First Impressions: Travel and Observation
The opening chapter, "Travelling in Russia," functions as a practical primer. Wallace itemises the difficulties: state interference in railways, the hazards of river navigation, the ubiquity of rats, and the peculiar customs of hotels. He explains the construction of a tarantass and the requisites for winter travel, including the risk of frostbite. These details are not mere colour; they establish the conditions under which he gathered his evidence. The chapter on the northern forests continues this pattern, describing a peasant’s house, the vapour-bath, and a curious custom—all presented as direct experience. Wallace’s voice is that of a seasoned traveller who expects his reader to be unfamiliar with Russian life, so he explains everything from the ground up.
The Parish Priest and Popular Religion
Chapter IV, "The Village Priest," offers a nuanced portrait of the white clergy. Wallace notes that priests’ names, clerical marriages, and the distinction between white and black clergy are little understood by outsiders. He argues that the people do not respect parish priests because of their historical isolation and economic dependence. Yet he also shows the religious devotion of the peasantry through their veneration of icons and their participation in parish fetes. The chapter includes two typical specimens of the parochial clergy, suggesting a range from the worldly to the devout. Wallace avoids simple condemnation; instead, he traces the historical roots of the clergy’s low status and the premonitory symptoms of change.
Peasant Households and Communal Life
In "A Peasant Family of the Old Type," Wallace examines the household of Ivan Petroff, describing its co-operative associations and the predominance of economic conceptions over blood-relationship. He details peasant marriages, the advantages of large families, and the consequences of family disruptions. The chapter on the peasantry of the north extends this analysis to communal land systems, yearly migrations, and domestic industries. Wallace’s method is to let a single family stand for a broader pattern, but he is careful to note variations. He also discusses the influence of capital and wholesale enterprise, showing how traditional structures were being reshaped by economic forces.
Bureaucracy and Historical Justification
Later in the work, Wallace turns to the centralised administration. He acknowledges that the Russian bureaucracy has fallen into bad odour, especially after the reign of Nicholas I, with its stern military regime and pedantic formalism. Yet he insists on an historical justification: without a strongly centralised administration, Russia would never have become a great European Power. He argues that autocracy and centralisation were necessary first for the creation and then for the preservation of national independence. This section is notable for its balanced tone: Wallace does not defend every action of the bureaucracy, but he asks readers to consider the distinction between theoretical and historical possibility. The excerpt ends with a reminder that the Russian Empire was once a conglomeration of independent units, held together by centripetal force.
Wallace’s Russia rewards a reader who moves slowly, attending to the concrete scenes that anchor his arguments. The early chapters on travel and village life provide the sensory grounding for the later analysis of bureaucracy and national development. Because the excerpts are incomplete, the reader should treat each chapter as a self-contained essay that builds toward a larger picture. Pay particular attention to Wallace’s habit of qualifying his generalisations—he is more interested in historical contingency than in sweeping verdicts.
Reading about Wallace’s parish priest and the slow village rhythms, I remembered sitting on my grandfather’s porch, listening to him talk about his own father’s emigration. That same feeling of distant, lived-in structure returned with The American Nation: A History — Volume 1: European Background of American History, 1300-1600 — A Closer Reading, as if the old world’s weight were somehow still pressing gently on the new.
There are no reviews for this eBook.
Take a moment to reflect on this book
Create a short personal record of your experience with this book.