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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a45d8cf --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65966 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65966) diff --git a/old/65966-0.txt b/old/65966-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1cbd028..0000000 --- a/old/65966-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9505 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Roundabout to Moscow, by John Bell Bouton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Roundabout to Moscow - An Epicurean Journey - -Author: John Bell Bouton - -Release Date: July 31, 2021 [eBook #65966] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: deaurider, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW *** - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -[Illustration: Title page in Russian] - - -ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW - -AN EPICUREAN JOURNEY - -BY -JOHN BELL BOUTON -AUTHOR OF “ROUND THE BLOCK” - -NEW YORK -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY -1887 - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1887, -BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - - - -TO -THE SYMPATHETIC COMRADE -IN THESE WANDERINGS, -MY WIFE. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -If any reader of this book happens to be carrying about a heavy pack -of fine old English prejudices, I beg that he or she will drop it -before entering upon the eleven chapters relating to Russia. The best -preparative for crossing the Russian frontier is to throw out of -the carriage-window every English volume with which the tourist has -beguiled the way in the vain hope of forming correct impressions of the -country ahead. - -Englishmen can not be trusted to treat Russia fairly. John Bull hates -Ivanovitch. With him the Russian is always a Tartar or a Cossack. -Though these terms are not, in fact, opprobrious--since the Tartar of -to-day is the model business man of Russia, industrious, faithful, -highly respected, and the Cossack preserves none of his ancient traits -but an excessive fondness for horses, a martial spirit, and fervent -patriotism--they are slurring words in the English sense. - -Americans have no cause of quarrel with Russians. There is no Turkey on -this continent which we feel bound to save from the jaws of the Russian -bear in order to devour her ourselves. We have no distant province -with 200,000,000 inhabitants of an alien race, retained by a tenure -so precarious that the approach of a rival within 500 miles of the -border throws us into a panic. We have no India for Russia to invade. -Americans are in a position to do what their English friends have never -done--see and report Russia as she is. - -If a sense of gratitude for the touching sympathy shown by Russia to -the United States at a time when the offensive interference of England -in our affairs was strongly feared, shall prepossess the American -traveler in favor of that great country and people, there is little -danger that he will paint them in colors too bright for truth. For, -with his best efforts, he will find it impossible to dismiss all the -false anti-Russian ideas with which English literature has filled -him. So clinging and powerful is their effect, that he will at times -question the evidence of his own senses, and be tempted to discard his -personal experience as exceptional and misleading. - -I saw no drunken priests reeling through the streets of St. Petersburg -and Moscow, and not a single case of intoxication, even among the -_mujiks_. Tea is the national beverage of Russia. Beggars drew but -lightly upon the little pocketful of kopecks which I had set apart for -them. I lost nothing by theft, and was not defrauded, to my knowledge, -under cover of overcharges at the shops or the hotels. Government -officers are considerate, polite, and do not seem to be in pursuit of -bribes. Russians of the lowest class are not more unclean in appearance -than the corresponding grade in England. The “rough” who infests London -and Liverpool is unknown in St. Petersburg and Moscow. - -If external indications are any guide, I should call the Russians -the most religious people in Europe. They build more churches, adorn -them more sumptuously, attend service oftener and in greater numbers, -repeat more prayers, and perform more devotional rites every day, than -the men and women of any other land. There are shrines at almost -every street-corner, and every house has its Icon. The Russian type of -face is serious. Unfriendly critics note this as an infallible sign -of national despair, the overt manifestation of which is that revolt -against God and Man called Nihilism. But it is only the characteristic -gravity of semi-Orientals, for such are the Russians. They are not -down-trodden; and, out of their 100,000,000 free souls, there is a -proportion of Nihilists no larger, probably, than that of Socialists in -Germany, Communists in France, “Dynamiters” in London, or Anarchists in -Chicago. The Tsar enjoys the confidence and love of the vast majority -of his people. Russia may safely challenge the rest of Europe to -exhibit a parallel to the comparative progress, social and political, -which she has made in the past thirty years. When the Cossack waters -his horse in the Bosporus, and looks down into India from his outpost -in the Solyman Mountains, jealous powers will lament his irresistible -advance. But Americans can not share their regrets, believing that -civilization and liberty may be borne in his train as surely as in that -of any other aggressive member of the great European family. - -The record of “An Epicurean Journey” is not a place for the discussion -of controverted matters. And my sole object in writing this preface is -to explain to the possibly surprised reader why I can not echo that -censure of Russian institutions and aims which is the burden of so many -English books and magazine and newspaper articles. But I have not gone -out of the way to praise Russia, or to do her more than simple justice. -That a far greater number of Americans annually may include her in -their European rounds, and count their stay in Russia as among the most -agreeable episodes of their lives, is the sincere wish of - -J. B. B. - -NEW YORK, _May, 1887_. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -CHAPTER I. - PAGE -By _train de luxe_ from Paris to Nice--The Monte - Carlo games 1 - - -CHAPTER II. - -Oldpaint, Cockspur, and North Adams at the Casino 14 - - -CHAPTER III. - -A bad night in Genoa harbor 27 - - -CHAPTER IV. - -Rome--Good-Friday and Easter 39 - - -CHAPTER V. - -Cutting a King--Margherita, Queen of Hearts 50 - - -CHAPTER VI. - -Naples--Sorrento--Capri--Pæstum 57 - - -CHAPTER VII. - -Fresh diggings at Pompeii--Vesuvius “working”--The - tell-tale seismograph--Solfatara 68 - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -Italian beggars--A neglected grave--The blue-gum - tree and malaria--Perugia--Etruscan tombs 80 - - -CHAPTER IX. - -Florence--Bologna--Como 91 - - -CHAPTER X. - -Peasant-girls--Nightingales--Isola Bella--San - Carlo Borromeo in copper 104 - - -CHAPTER XI. - -The Simplon Pass in June--Vispach to Zermatt--The - Matterhorn--A fine view from the snows of - Gorner Grat 113 - - -CHAPTER XII. - -Early Alpine flowers--A wedding-feast--The Rhône - Valley and glacier--The Furca Pass 126 - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -Avalanches on the Jungfrau--The guides - of Grindelwald 136 - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -Excelsior and the maiden 145 - - -CHAPTER XV. - -An English admirer of the “American language” 158 - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -Prehistoric lake-dwellers--An island inn and - its memories 168 - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -Carlsbad--Prague--Dresden 177 - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -Berlin--Its military atmosphere 188 - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -St. Petersburg in July 203 - - -CHAPTER XX. - -The first droschky-ride--Sunset at the - islands--Early morning views of the - Nevskoi Prospekt 215 - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -Grand-Duke Alexis--The American minister and - his chasseur--Russian press censorship--An - indignant Briton--Undiscoverable Nihilists 233 - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -The holy city of Russia 250 - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -The Moscow Foundling Asylum 262 - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -Russian epicurism in tea--The Joltai-Tchai, or - yellow-flower brand 275 - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -A hunt for malachite and lapis-lazuli in the - Gostinnoi Dvor 282 - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -The peacock-feather mystery--Manayunk and the - old masters--His fruitless search for the - Kremlin--The Moscow rag-fair--Petrovsky - Palace--Dining in the grounds 296 - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -A comedy of passports--Mythical police espionage 313 - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -Summer weather in Russia--St. Petersburg and - Moscow enough for sight-seers--M. Katkoff and - his “Gazette”--Tsar and people--Republican - possibilities of the Cossack 328 - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -Russian Finland--Stockholm--The largest known - meteorite--The Djurgarden 342 - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -By rail to Christiania--Fare on the road--Norway’s - capital--The Viking-ship--An inland tour 353 - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -A baby kudsk--Tyri-Fiord--Hönefos--Lake - Spirellen--Dinner at a Sanitarium 364 - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -Omnipotent kroner--The family parlor at - Odnæs--Rands and Christiania Fiords 383 - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -The Gothenburg whale--Three kings in a - bunch--Northern out-door life--A study - of windmills 394 - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -Diamond-cutting at Amsterdam 406 - - -APPENDIX. - -Constitutional government for Russia 419 - - - - -ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -BY TRAIN DE LUXE FROM PARIS TO NICE--THE MONTE CARLO GAMES. - - -Before leaving America, in the spring of 1886, I read in the London -“Times” a slashing attack on the celebrated _train de luxe_ which -runs twice a week from Paris to Nice. The writer--an Englishman--had -missed a connection which he should have made by that train. So he -relieved his mind--as traveling Britons are apt to do--by pitching into -the delinquent through the columns of a journal still supposed to be -powerful for warning and chastisement. I observed that in all his fury -he did not declare that the train lacked comforts or even the luxuries -claimed in its high-sounding name. Therefore we determined to try it, -as it offered a passage from Paris to Nice in nineteen hours; and we -did not regret the choice. - -The whole distance is 675 miles. Two first-class fares paid to the -P. L. M. (“short” for Paris, Lyons and Mediterranean Railway) amount -to $53.68. Add to this $41.45 as special charges for the _train de -luxe_--run by a separate company--and you have $95.13 as the joint -first outlay for the trip. If any railway-riding in the United States -is more than half as expensive as this, I have yet to discover it. -The sleeping-cars do not seem to be either Wagner or Pullman; they -more nearly resemble the Mann Boudoir. They are not quite as large as -those in America, and are more solidly built. The compartments are -designed for parties of two or four each, and have doors which make a -desired privacy for the inmates. These little rooms occupy the whole -width of the car, except a narrow passage for common use running -lengthwise. The beds are exceedingly comfortable, and are metamorphosed -into handsome sofas for the daytime. A restaurant-car accompanies the -train; and in this good fare may be had _à la carte_, at all hours, -and an elaborate _table d’hôte_ twice a day. The attendants are alert -and polite. Everybody on the _train de luxe_ seems to feel a personal -responsibility in keeping up its reputation and reconciling passengers -to their large disbursement of money. It was my good fortune--as an -American--to enlist at once the kindest sympathy of the Paris agent of -the sleeping-car company, as also of the conductor. By the courtesy -of those officials we were allowed to tenant a room for four, though -paying only for two persons. This gave us plenty of space, and perhaps -accounts in part for the general satisfaction I experienced. - -Though the rate of speed averaged thirty-five miles an hour, there was -little vibratory motion and no jarring whenever the train stopped or -started again. If the P. L. M. does not use the Westinghouse air-brake -and Miller platform, it has equivalent contrivances of its own just as -good. - -A better night’s rest could not be asked for than the one I enjoyed -till the _train de luxe_ pulled up in the Lyons station at 6.25 A. M. -on time. The Paris we had left at 9.25 Wednesday night, April 14th, was -anything but gay. A cold rain swept the deserted streets and deepened -the gloom everywhere observable on the faces of hotel-landlords, -shopkeepers, and cabmen. Trade had been stagnant there all winter, and -the spring season--with its promises of better times--was deplorably -backward. But I must not omit to mention that it was further along than -in America, or even England. The trees which line the Champs-Elysées -were in full leaf, and the Bois de Boulogne was thick with shade. But a -keen north wind came down upon Paris while we were there, and we were -glad to quit it. - -Next morning as we entered Lyons I raised the curtain at the foot of my -little bed, and lo! a sight of enchantment. An unclouded sun lighted up -the great manufacturing city and its environs and glorified everything. -The general impression was that of an entrance to Italy. The roofs -of all the houses wear the peculiar earthen tiles which one sees in -Italian towns. The church-steeples begin to resemble _campaniles_. -Olive-trees are possible in the soft climate of this part of Southern -France. The natives, who swarm about the station at an early hour -and gaze wonderingly at the _train de luxe_, are swarthy of face and -profuse of gesture--more Italian than French in outward appearance. But -our greatest delight was in the increasing warmth of the outer air, for -the car had required heating on that cold night of a northern spring. -A dainty breakfast--served on the snowiest of linen--at a table from -which we could study the sunny landscape as we whirled along, completed -the prelude of a lovely day. Our next stop was at Marseilles, where -we changed locomotives. There the Mediterranean came into view, but -a cloud over the sun prevented that full revelation of its beauties -which we saw later on. What a glamour genius throws over common things! -The Château d’If is nothing but a square-built tower, standing on a -little island in the harbor of Marseilles. It is neither grand nor -picturesque. I should not have glanced at it a second time if Dumas -had not forever linked it in my mind with the imprisonment and daring -escape of his Count of Monte Cristo. There may be much to see and -admire in Marseilles, but I could only think of Edmond Dantes and his -wonderful adventures. - -Nice, into the station of which we punctually rolled amid a crowd of -staring spectators, was then out of season. As a winter resort much -beloved by consumptives and tired-out people, it deserves its fame. -Orange and lemon trees, aloes, palms, oleanders, acacias, and many -other tropical plants, thrive there in the months that are coldest -elsewhere. Nice faces the Mediterranean toward the south, and is -sheltered from every rude wind by the towering Maritime Alps. The -fashionable season proper had already terminated with the opening -of Parliament--which is the invariable signal for the resumption of -social gayeties in London. The richest patrons of Nice, as of all this -coast, are Englishmen. And as they leave, the great hotels begin to -close in the very month when Nature is most actively renewing herself -and looking her best. Even Nice, with all her tropical proclivities, -is capable of being chilly upon occasion. Snow had visited the place -within a month, and we found a fire comfortable in our chamber. It -seemed strange to be toasting one’s feet at the hearth, and looking -out of window upon gardens golden with oranges and bristling with -gigantic palms, or thick-set with monstrous specimens of that vegetable -devil-fish known as the agave or century-plant. The arms or tentacles -of these are twelve or fifteen feet long and two or three feet thick at -the butt. Fill in this rough outline with lilacs, daisies, geraniums, -heliotropes, and tea-roses, and the reader may realize what was seen -from every hotel window and balcony on the _Riviera di ponente_. - - -We took the Corniche road by private carriage from Nice to Mentone, -about nineteen miles. It is a marvelous piece of engineering skill, -gaining a height of 1,500 feet by a bold succession of zigzags. As its -name implies, this road is a mere cornice. It is cut into the sides -of mountains, and in places overhangs frightful precipices. During -the first hour of our journey I frequently jumped out of the carriage -to pick the strange and exquisite wild flowers which grew along the -road-side. But we soon reached the altitude where these attractions -ceased, and we were called upon to admire the beetling rocks which -towered far above us. This rugged scenery was in the ascendant most of -the time. It makes the Corniche route grand in its savage loneliness, -but beautiful I can not call it. But beauty flashed upon us in the -distance whenever a turn of the road brought the Mediterranean into -view. Under a brilliant sun that sea looks like a limitless stretch -of changeable silk, full of graceful wrinkles. Near the shore its -predominant color is light blue. Toward the horizon, this deepens into -a darker shade. Purples and greens may also be descried in larger -masses and clearer tints than one observes in the broad Atlantic in any -of its moods. - -We lunched at a little hamlet--Turbi--perched high up in the mountains. -The landlord of the Grand Hotel at Nice had advised me to try ham and -eggs, as the least objectionable dish to be obtained off-hand at the -Turbi inn. The landlady accepted the order in the most accommodating -spirit, and after a little delay brought in some slices of raw ham and -boiled eggs. I then described to her as well as I knew how the American -process of cooking ham and eggs. Her face lighted up with intelligence, -and she retired to try again. Fifteen minutes later she came back with -the eggs stirred up in a mess at the bottom of a skillet and the raw -ham reposing beneath them, where it had been slightly warmed in the new -operation. But the _vin du pays_ was honest and palatable. Bread and -cheese are always good to a hungry man. We stayed our appetites, if we -did not lunch exactly to our liking. From Turbi to Mentone the road is -mostly down-hill, and the scenery a repetition of what we had seen in -the first half of the Corniche. As for Mentone itself, it is Nice over -again, with a slight difference of location, but much smaller. - - -I have seen the notorious games at Monte Carlo (five or six miles from -Mentone), strictly as an outsider. There is no lovelier spot under -the whole heavens. Nature and the art paid for out of the enormous -gains of the greatest gambling-hell on earth have done everything to -make a paradise of Monte Carlo. The Casino is a palace in size and -splendor. The surrounding gardens are full of the choicest flowers -and musical with birds and waterfalls. Mountains exclude every biting -wind. Three hundred feet below the promontory lies the matchless -Mediterranean. All around are beautiful villas and large and elegant -hotels and restaurants worthy of Paris. The season at Monte Carlo lasts -the year round, and is always prosperous. Admission to the _salle de -jeu_ is not to be had for the asking. No one under twenty-one years of -age can enter. As no resident--but only the stranger--is allowed -access to the Casino, the local population is not hurt by the game. I -was obliged to present my visiting-card at the bureau and write my -name on the back of a ticket. Then, after surrendering my umbrella, -the great doors of the den were thrown open to me. I had read of so -many suicides committed at this place that I quite expected, when I -entered, to interrupt some ruined gambler in the act of blowing out his -silly brains. Instead of confronting such a tragedy, I found myself -in the presence of a large company of quiet people, sitting around -long tables, watching a revolving wheel in the center, and listening -to the click of the little ivory ball as it slackened and fell into a -numbered compartment of the wheel and determined the gain or loss of -the players. There are four of these roulette-tables, and two others -in an adjoining room, at which only _trente et quarante_ is played, -the latter a game of cards. No game lasts over a minute, so that the -suspense is not long and agonizing. The London illustrated papers -have lately represented the gamesters of both sexes as uniformly -hideous. Their countenances were made infernal with avarice. As for the -_croupiers_, who rake in or pay out the money, they were depicted as -fiends incarnate. - -Speaking of suicides, I learned that, only two days before my visit, -a man who had lost all at one of the tables suddenly whipped out a -pistol and shot himself. He was quietly removed, and the _roulette_ -and _trente et quarante_ went on without interruption. A lady, who had -been watching the play on one occasion, told me that she saw a person -seize from the table a little pile of money which had been won by -another. He appealed for redress to the superintendent of the Casino. -The latter did not stop to inquire into the justice of the claim, but -immediately paid over to the second player the sum which he said had -been thus publicly stolen from him. This little incident proves the -constant anxiety of the “administration” to avoid disagreeable scenes -and scandals. But the suicides can not be stopped, as men, acting -under the sudden impulse of despair, will kill themselves before the -“bank” can solace them with the donations it is always ready to make -for the relief of ruined gamesters. The French Government could, if it -would, in the capacity of protector and powerful neighbor, suppress -the monstrous evil of Monte Carlo. But Prince Charles manages to keep -in favor at Paris, not merely by his personal residence there, but by -a full-blown legation, which he maintains at the French capital for -diplomatic purposes, just like a first-class sovereign. - -Describing people as I find them, I must say that the male players -seemed an average lot of human beings. The females were more mixed and -questionable. The _croupiers_ were evidently wearied and bored, but on -the whole good-looking and certainly amiable. Most of the players were -of frugal mind. The usual stake was a five-franc piece; napoleons were -scarce. One reckless man who put up ten of them at a time, turned pale -when he lost them all, and hauled out of the game. No one lost much at -any table under my observation, and in not a single case did a player -gain the possible maximum of thirty-five times the amount of his stake. -To a looker-on the spectacle was monotonous in the highest degree. -Perhaps it is livelier toward midnight than in the afternoon when I saw -it. But, whether slow or swift, it is none the less to be condemned as -demoralizing in its far-reaching influences, productive of thefts and -embezzlements, as well as the undoubted cause of many suicides. How any -person can turn his back on all these beauties of nature and art, and -give himself up to such a sordid and destructive vice, is a puzzle to -every well-regulated mind. - -After seeing the games at Monte Carlo, I visited the palace of Prince -Charles at Monaco. Careless writers use the two names interchangeably. -Be it understood, then, that Monte Carlo is part of the diminutive -principality of Monaco. The less is included in the greater. The -prince’s palace is situated at the other end of his possessions, -about a mile from the Casino. He never occupies it. He lives in -luxurious retirement at Paris on the large revenues derived from a -lease of the gambling monopoly. But he is cut off from many of the -pleasures of this life, as he is stone-blind. His ample income enables -him to remit all taxes to his few thousand subjects, and to keep a -really beautiful palace on show for all comers. Not to be wanting in -any of the outward signs of sovereignty, he maintains an “army” of -fine fellows--sixty-five strong--and has a park of highly burnished -artillery pointing seaward. Hundreds of cannon-balls are piled up -symmetrically in his palace yard. At the great gates of the edifice, as -I approached it, stood two good-looking soldiers. One rested gracefully -on his shining musket, and the other played with a tame crow which -hopped about in the grass. Seeing me, he recovered his erect position -and dignity, and returned my courteous salute. I asked permission -to enter the palace. With a gesture he referred me to a gorgeous -personage, looking like three major-generals rolled into one, who -suddenly appeared in a doorway. I took him for the commander-in-chief; -but he was only the _concierge_. With a profound bow he requested my -visiting-card, which I gave him. Then, after registering my name, I was -turned over to another less splendid but still imposing official, who -showed me through the long galleries and suites of rooms. They are full -of costly pictures and statues, and magnificently upholstered. But they -have the cold, cheerless atmosphere and stuffy smell of all uninhabited -houses however grand. I was glad to escape from the wearisome round -into the open air. - -The blind prince not only exempts his subjects from taxes, but he -provides for several good schools, and is a liberal supporter of the -Roman Catholic Church. A fine cathedral is now rising at Monaco. - -Public morals are so deeply concerned in the suppression of the Monte -Carlo games that I do not yet feel like quitting them. I will take a -fresh start in Chapter II, and isolate for description a few types -of character among the many that may be seen at the Casino. We will -watch them at work (for it is no “play” to them save in name), amid -seductions difficult to be withstood by any will that does not rest on -principles. - -I now beg leave to introduce the reader to Oldpaint, Cockspur, and -North Adams. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -OLDPAINT, COCKSPUR, AND NORTH ADAMS AT THE CASINO. - - -Oldpaint was a fellow-traveler of ours from Mentone to Monte Carlo. Not -knowing her real name, I call her Oldpaint for sufficient reasons. She -was wrinkled with age, and excessively painted. Turner, in his moments -of divinest frenzy, would not have laid on the red more boldly. It -blazed through her veil. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken, with -deep black marks scored beneath them which she had vainly attempted -to whiten. The whole expression of her face was desperate. I observed -in her hand a ticket stamped Monte Carlo. Then I guessed she was a -veteran devotee of roulette. And I was right. For, when I entered the -_salle de jeu_ a few hours later, she was already there, comfortably -seated at the _croupier’s_ elbow, and evidently at home. It was by -closely watching her play that I first came to understand the horrible -fascination of the game for its votaries. - -Cockspur is another name I was obliged to invent for an -Englishman--also a confirmed gambler--whom we first encountered -lunching in the Restaurant de Paris at Monte Carlo. This establishment -is worthy of its imposing title. There is no better on the Boulevards. -It is famous for game in season, and good wines all the year round. -When we entered this paradise of _gourmets_, and dropped quietly -into two chairs at a table not far from the door, we did not -instantly attract attention. No waiter appearing for a moment, we -fell to studying some brilliant frescoes on the ceiling, and noting -the sumptuousness of the furniture, the fineness of the linen, the -exquisite fragility of the cut-glass. Still no _garçon_. I turned my -head impatiently, and then saw what was the matter. At the third table -behind us sat a tall young man, with light, curly hair and mustaches, -and by his side a showy woman, who looked like a queen of burlesque in -walking-suit. There was an indescribable something in the frizzling of -her hair, the look of her eyes, her stereotyped smile, which betrayed -the professional winner of applause from crowded parquettes. The man -was evidently under her dominion, and was testifying to his complete -surrender by ordering on the costliest meats and wines. They did not -seem desirous to excite public curiosity, for they spoke low and -behaved decorously enough. But the lunch was prodigal, even for that -place of extravagances. To serve it had required two waiters, who now, -in a moment of pause, hovered about “milord’s” table, wondering what -he would condescend to order next. It was plain that they were all -expecting liberal _pour boires_ from this spendthrift of a patron. -Still other waiters had gathered in the vicinity, as if to pick up some -stray crumbs of his bounty. All eyes being focused on this couple, we -had apparently escaped observation. I gave notice of my presence by a -slight cough, and, to the lasting credit of the Restaurant de Paris, -am happy to say that it provoked a prompt response. A smart waiter -dutifully detached himself from the little group and bent before me -with an apologetic expression of face. I hastily consulted the _carte -du jour_, and gave my order. - -The lunch was quickly served, and proved to be excellent. The -sweetbreads, _omelette soufflé_, and some Pontet Canet of 1872, were -particularly interesting. But I did not forget to look over my shoulder -occasionally to see how the Englishman and his companion were getting -on. They soon finished their repast; the bill, which might have been a -washer-woman’s for length, was delivered and paid without verification. -He only looked at the total, and produced from a great roll of French -bank-notes one which he placed upon the salver extended to him. Then -he opened a rouleau of gold, and gave a bright-yellow piece to each of -the two waiters who stood near him. As the salver was borne past me -to the _caisse_, I noticed that the bill was of the denomination of -100 francs. The Englishman did not stop for his change (if any), but -hurried off with his stylish enslaver; so I inferred that 100 francs -was not far from the price of their lunch. Remarking this extraordinary -lavishness, I said to myself, “That man has been winning a pot of money -over at the Casino.” - -Now it happened that he had placed his new Derby hat in the embrasure -of the window, just behind my chair. As one of the waiters reached over -for it, I inadvertently glanced into the hat, and there chanced to see -the illegible name of somebody, “maker, Cockspur St., London.” So this -extravagant Englishman became “Cockspur” to me henceforth and forever. -We shall soon see more of him. - -From our luncheon at the Restaurant de Paris we went direct to the -Casino, and there, while I was hunting up my card for the inspection -of the chief inquisitor, I observed an innocent-looking youth standing -near me. He wore the dog-collar, the pointed shoes, the tight-fitting, -single-breasted coat of the London swell, and he gripped his little -silver-headed cane in the middle, like a shillalah. But I know my dear -fellow-countrymen under all their disguises. A single glance at his -face convinced me that he was a good young American on his first trip. -His dissipation was obviously confined to clothes. He had just handed -in his card, and an official personage was making an entry of the name -in a book. - -“_Quel pays, monsieur?_” he asked, courteously. - -The good young man turned to me and said, with surprise: “Is there -anything to pay here? I thought it was a free show.” - -“There is no charge. He only wants to know where you are from, as we -would say in America,” I answered. - -His ingenuous cheeks colored. “I can speak French a little myself,” -said he; “but somehow I don’t catch it when they speak it at me.” - -I assured him kindly that we all had the same trouble, more or less. - -“_Quel pays, monsieur?_” repeated the ever-amiable _greffier_ of the -administration. - -“Beg pardon,” said the good young man, flushing again. “I’m from North -Adams, Massachusetts.” - -“_Nort-a-darm--Massa-Massa--n’importe--Angleterre_,” murmured the -_greffier_, and down it went. - -The benighted Frenchman had supposed the name of the glorious old -commonwealth to be that of some obscure shire in England. It is the -most flagrant piece of geographical distortion on record. - -The good young man was so flustered by all this that he did not wait to -exchange cards with me, but hurried off to the gambling-hall. So I was -compelled to label him in my mind “North Adams.” He was number three -among the strangers in whose actions that day I took a deep interest. -Without their presence, indeed, the game of roulette would have been -tiresome to me as a mere spectator. - -If Oldpaint had not been one of the large company of gamblers in that -magnificent apartment, I should have been much disappointed; for I felt -a profound curiosity to see how her withered features would stand the -wear and tear of the game. There she was, as if by agreement, and I at -once stationed myself behind her chair. Her seat was well chosen for a -general survey of the table. She was just opposite the wheel, and the -_croupier_ who set it whirling at intervals was her nearest neighbor. - -Oldpaint still wore her veil closely drawn over her face. But I -could see the varying expression of her features through the gauze, -as I looked down at her while she played. At one time her dull eyes -would light up with a gleam of avaricious joy. Again they would -become fishy. The pinched mouth would contract slightly at the -corners, bringing out new wrinkles on her rouged cheeks, or her thin, -vermilion-tinted lips would curve downward, just as she happened to win -or lose--more commonly the latter. Her gloved hands, which terminated -in skeleton wrists, trembled equally as she put up her stakes or piled -her occasional winnings in little round towers before her. - -By her side stood a small open bag, through the steel jaws of which I -saw silver five-franc pieces and little rolls of gold, like packages -of lozenges, with one coin visible at the end as a sample. Below was -a thin foundation of French bank-notes. Oldpaint was one of those who -play on a system. She had before her a large pasteboard card divided -into many squares, and a pencil with a sharp point. Whenever the wheel -slowed up so as to permit the ivory ball to drop into a compartment and -decide the game, she threw a lightning glance at the winning number and -color, and pricked certain entries on her card. By the time the human -parrot at her side called out, “_Faites vos jeux_,” she was ready with -a fresh stake, generally a small one. In no instance did she go over -ten francs. - -As for Oldpaint’s system, it was too complicated for me to understand. -But the results were plain enough: _rouge_ was generally turning up -when she had bet on _noir_. Her money, as a rule, stood on _pair_, -when it should have been on _impair_. When other players were doubling -their stakes on _passe_, Oldpaint was almost sure to have five francs -on _manque_. Occasionally she would haul in something substantial. -Once she bagged eight times the amount of her stake. It had been put -at the intersecting lines of four numbers, one of which had won. As -the _croupier_ scooped them in for her with his little rake, I could -see the enamel on her cheeks crack open in new places, she smiled so -broadly; and then, on the strength of this bit of luck, the poor old -woman would go on losing again. It made me sick to see her throwing -away good money on a system which ought to have been turned round end -for end. A gambler, if he had been in my place, would have made a good -thing just watching Oldpaint and playing against her every time. - -My attention was now called off by the sudden appearance of Cockspur on -the scene. As there was no spare seat for him at the table, he stood up -in the second row of players and spectators. His face was flushed, and -he reached forward between two other persons to rest his hand on the -back of a chair, as if to steady himself. I wondered if the man would -be foolish enough to play in that half-drunken state. It was a great -pity that such a free-hearted fellow should be a victim of the dreadful -vice of gambling, and perhaps be reduced to beggary by his rashness -before night. - -Cockspur took a napoleon from a side-pocket which audibly jingled -with coins. Waiting till the wheel started, he pitched the gold-piece -carelessly on the table. It rolled on its edge, making a circle on -the cloth and finally laid down at the junction of two lines which -intersect six numbers. “_Rien ne va plus_,” droned the human parrot, -when the speed of the wheel was much reduced, and a moment later the -ball dropped with a little thud. “_Vingt-cinq rouge_,” said the same -monotonous voice. I looked at the square on the table, and lo! it was -one of the six numbers covered by Cockspur’s napoleon. He had won five -times the amount of his stake. One of the servitors whose duty it is to -assist in placing money on the table or handing over winnings, passed -the six napoleons up to Cockspur, who slipped them into the yawning -side-pocket. His face expressed no pleasure. Some men, under the -belief that they had struck a run of luck, would, in Cockspur’s place, -have risked a sum larger than twenty francs on the next round. In his -condition I expected him to do something rash. But he only produced -another napoleon from his store and let it fall. After wobbling about -a moment it came to rest on the division marked _manque_. Again a whirl -of the wheel and a fall of the ball, and the _croupier_ proclaimed -“_Quinze noir_,” and Cockspur doubled his stake, because 15 is -_manque_, or less than 18. All numbers over 18 up to 36 are _passe_; -and all the players who had put their money on the part of the table so -labeled, were losers to the bank. - -The same good fortune pursued Cockspur as he pitched his gold pieces -at random into the section _Rouge_ or _Noir_, _Pair_ or _Impair_. He -won six or seven times running while I looked on. And then he and all -the players together fell prey to the bank’s single advantage. Besides -the thirty-six numbers, there is a zero (0), and, when that catches the -ball, all the stakes on the board are raked in by the bank, with the -solitary exception that any person who has staked on the zero (thereby -backing the bank) gains thirty-five times the amount of his wager. But, -in the case under notice, the zero symbol was uncovered. As the bank -plays nine or ten hours every day in the year, and must, according -to the law of probabilities, win once in every thirty-seven games -(requiring about a minute each) on the average, one can understand -how the administration makes all its money without the necessity of -cheating. No player is allowed to stake more than six thousand francs -at a time, and the enormous capital of the bank enables it to continue -the game against any conceivably probable run of bad luck. - -Cockspur continued to drop his money, always the one prudent napoleon, -on the table, and letting it take the chances. Sometimes he lost, but -more often he won. It would have been amusing, but for the sadness of -their long and hungry faces, to see Oldpaint and some others who were -losing steadily on systems, look up at Cockspur who was discarding all -methods and trusting blindly to luck, and showing so much judgment even -in his folly, taking only small risks at a time. As I gazed across -the table at him, I foresaw with prophetic eye the time, and not far -off, when his luck would turn, and he would then become frenzied and -reckless; perhaps put up his last napoleon, and lose it, and then the -siren with the frizzled hair would drop her penniless lover, and the -comedy of real life would tragically close with a pistol-shot and a -newspaper paragraph. - -I was dwelling on this dismal ending of the handsome fellow opposite, -when a new cause of anxiety threw him quite out of my mind. - -There was North Adams, fluttering around the table like a moth about -a candle. He had been spending his time watching the other groups of -players, I suppose, and had now come to see what our set was doing. -Like most persons who look on at the game for the first time, he -watched only those who won. The equal numbers who lost at every fall of -the ball seemed to escape his observation. Every time a player raked in -a goodly pile, North Adams’s eyes would bulge out with astonishment. He -would thrust his hand into a pocket and partly draw it out, and then -thrust it back again. A storm of conflicting feelings swept over his -smooth, beardless face. One could easily read avarice, covetousness, -the love of illicit gain, struggling with the generous sentiments of -youth and the good principles of New England training. I tried to catch -his eye, but in vain. He was totally absorbed in the contemplation -of all that money so easily won. Once he elbowed his way through the -double row of outsiders, and I thought he was about to place money on -the table. But just then the bank again scored zero (0), and all those -yellow and white pieces down there disappeared in an instant! This was -a warning for North Adams. He drew back, and I saw a look as of shrewd -reflection pass across his face. He wiped his damp brow, and resolutely -buttoned up the pocket into which his hand had so often dived without -bringing up anything. - -That one decisive hit for the bank seemed to banish the doubts that -had evidently troubled North Adams. He did not look like a person of -severe moral principles; he may have had no nice scruples upon the -subject of gaming; but when his mind, such as it was, still bearing -the impress of his early schooling and severe discipline, realized -that the bank had a “sure thing” in the long run, then he hesitated to -jump at the gilded bait. Some grains of hard common sense inherited -from level-headed ancestors, along with the high cheek-bones of his -Scotch face, came to his rescue in the nick of time. Blood will tell, -even when thinned down in the veins of a harmless dude; and while I -looked at him, still questioning his firmness against temptation, he -deliberately turned his back upon the game and walked straight out of -the room. - -I soon followed him into the open air, better pleased with that -spectacle of conflict and victory than with all else I had seen in the -gambling-palace of Monte Carlo. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A BAD NIGHT IN GENOA HARBOR. - - -A man not in a hurry to reach Southern Italy before hot weather, might -find happiness and contentment in three or four days of Genoa. The -old city has churches and palaces worth visiting. Some of the drives -in the environs are charming, and I should not soon tire of views of -the Mediterranean to be had from the Acqua Sola. But, when the tourist -is burning up with a desire to pass early May in Rome, Naples, and -Sorrento, and hopes to see the glorious Greek ruins of Pæstum without -fear of a sunstroke, he willingly leaves over Genoa to the chance of -another visit. My real object in breaking the journey at that point was -to take boat thence to Naples direct, and avoid the rail route to Rome, -which I had traversed in 1883. - -I had gathered from books the impression that, for unalloyed pleasure, -nothing in the line of travel was quite equal to the steamship trip -from Genoa along the coast, touching at Leghorn, Cività Vecchia (port -of Rome), passing in full view of Elba and Corsica, and entering the -glorious Neapolitan bay by daylight. The view of Naples from the sea, -with the long curve of coast, the white houses of the city piled high -in terraces, smoking Vesuvius in the background, and the islands of -Ischia and Capri deep blue in the offing, like sapphires in a setting -of lapis-lazuli, is the identical view to which the much-quoted proverb -refers. We had looked forward to this trip with the greatest pleasure, -and now I must tell the reader how the cup was dashed to the ground -even before it had been raised to our lips. - -We thought we were in great luck when we found, on arriving at Genoa, -that a steamship would start for Naples, and take in all the wonderful -sights along the coast, the following night at 9 P. M. precisely. Even -before I had made a tour of the city, I went to the office of the -steamship company to secure the best cabin left. I greatly feared that -all the accommodations had been snapped up by other more fortunate -travelers. When I reached the office I was quite alarmed to see crowds -of people standing before the heavy wire network which separated them -from the cashier and clerks. These people were all thrusting their -money through small open wickets, and receiving in exchange slips -of paper that looked like tickets. I annexed myself to one of these -anxious crowds, and after a delay of ten minutes, and a little firm but -still polite working of my elbows into the ribs of others all about me, -found myself face to face with a nervous and overworked young man. - -I told him in French what I wanted, and asked him the price of two -first-class tickets. Like most intelligent Italians, he understood a -little French. His face expressed great surprise, as if my application -for a first-class cabin on a Naples steamer was something unheard of. -He begged me to excuse him a moment, and he would find out the price. -I thought this very strange, when I considered the great demand that -must exist for the best berths. I was curious for an explanation, but -forbore to seek it when I looked at that poor young man’s tired face. -He sat down, with one hand partly covering his forehead, in which I -could see the distended veins, while with the other hand he ciphered -on a blotting-pad, meanwhile looking hard at some columns of printed -figures on a placard before him. He was immersed in deep calculations -for five minutes. One would have thought he was working out an eclipse -of the sun. - -The pack of Italians behind me was increasing, and there were murmurs -of dissatisfaction on account of their delay, while the young man -was performing prodigies in arithmetic. I was beginning to feel very -uncomfortable under the pressure in the rear, when he suddenly footed -up his elaborate computations, and told me what two first-class tickets -from Genoa to Naples--table-fare included, without wine--would cost. I -was surprised to learn that the fares were much higher than those by -rail all the way; but, _per contra_, there was the escape from a dreary -land-ride, and, better yet, the sea-view of Naples, cheap even at the -price of death. So I paid over the money and received my tickets, with -the accompanying injunction that I must be on board at 8 P. M., one -hour before sailing, without fail. The exhausted young man also gave -me directions about reaching the steamship, which was then anchored in -the harbor. I thanked him, and forced myself through the ever-growing -throng of Italians to the open air. I deemed myself truly fortunate -to have secured that prize of a cabin, and reveled in the fondest -anticipations. - -The next night, a few minutes before eight o’clock, we descended from a -carriage to the quay, where small boats could be obtained to put us on -board. The driver blew a shrill whistle, to which several boats near by -responded. The one that reached us first, and thereby became entitled -to our patronage, looked like the relic of an Arctic whaler. Its -sides were worm-eaten; its bottom was covered with water. It exhaled -a rank smell of fish. The rower was as unpleasant to the eye as the -craft he slowly propelled with two oars that looked as if they would -snap off in the middle with the least strain. My first intention was -to reject the services of this boat and man; but when I glanced at the -others heading for me, I saw that, if possible, they were worse. So -I accepted the situation, and in a few minutes we, with our trunks, -were on board, keeping our feet out of the water by resting them on -the spare seat before us. Then he struck out for the steamship, and he -had not made ten strokes of the oars before I had forgotten all about -the disagreeable sight and smell of the boat. For in that part of the -harbor, in that tide, we were initiated into the mysteries of the old -sewage system of Genoa. In this respect the city is probably better -off than any other along the Italian coast; but, during that little -boat-ride, I ceased to wonder why the cholera, which thrives on filth -and stenches, is so fond of Mediterranean towns. If I had not known -the ride to be a short one, and that we should weigh anchor in an hour -and be off for the open sea, I should have felt like abandoning the -expedition at that early stage of it. - -When we reached the goal at last, after making the circuit of several -other sea-going craft, steam and sail, anchored close together, -we found a large, handsome boat. She was freshly painted, and I -shall always remember how nice the paint smelt in contrast with the -unpleasant odors all around her. We could see men on deck hoisting in -the cargo from a lighter alongside, and hear their cheery cries as -they tugged at the ropes. They were so very busy that not one of them -could lend a hand to us. But our boatman, with all his dirt, was not -lazy. He lost no time in putting our two trunks aboard, shouldering -them with ease, and bounding up the flight of wooden steps which hung -precariously from the deck to the water’s edge. We followed quickly, -and I inquired at once for _il capitano_. One of the sailors pointed -me to a wiry little man, who was sharply watching the hands as they -swung the barrels and boxes on board and lowered them into the hold. -I stepped up to him and handed him my ticket. He looked it over twice -carefully, scratched his head in evident perplexity, and murmured -words in Italian unintelligible to me. I tried him in French, but he -only shook his head. His astonishment at something was even greater -than that of the young man in the company’s office the day before. -Finally, in despair, he called to a subordinate of some rank and put -us in his charge, significantly shrugging his shoulders at the same -time. This man’s manner expressed surprise, mingled with amusement, -I should say. He also could not speak French, but he made signs that -we were to follow him. We did so, and, descending the companion-way, -found ourselves in a small but neat saloon, off which six or eight -cabins opened on either side. The one assigned to us was well situated -and commodious enough, but the two beds in it were not made up, and it -had a musty smell, as if it had not been aired through the port-hole -for some years. But this stuffiness was more tolerable than the stench -which would soon have permeated the cabin if the dead-light had been -open. Of washing arrangements there were none in the cabin, but we -were shown a place outside which would have supplied that deficiency, -if there had been any jug for water, or stopper at the bottom of the -basin to keep the water from running out, or towel or soap-dish. These -discoveries were dampers, but we were inclined to be philosophical. -The worst, however, was yet to be learned, and, thanks to the scrappy -French of the captain’s cook, whom we interviewed upon the subject of a -little hot supper, we soon found it out. - -It appears that this boat, and others of the same line, no longer -made a business of carrying first-class passengers; the railways do -all that now. Once in a while an officer of the Italian army or -navy presents himself with a government pass, and some provision is -made for him, but yet he must rough it. Just before nine o’clock a -gentleman with a long, trailing sword and spurs, appeared with a pass, -and took a cabin next to ours. He was the only first or even second -class passenger aboard besides ourselves. There were a few persons in -the steerage, who furnished their own food. Being out of the habit of -taking saloon-passengers, the officers of the boat had made no suitable -preparations for them. They were just as much amazed to see us there as -the company’s agent had been to receive my order for a cabin. To the -former we also represented a certain amount of extra trouble and care. - -“But how about the rush for tickets?” I asked the cook. - -“Oh, that was only for freight-receipts,” he replied. - -All this intelligence, and much more of the kind, especially relating -to the lean larder, and the cook’s inability to get a hot supper for -us, with some uncertainty as to breakfast next morning, were vexatious -and even distressing. Still, we knew we should not starve on board; -and, after all, the privations, whatever they might be, would last -only thirty-six hours, the time required for the whole trip, including -a stoppage at Leghorn, so we were told. Besides, it was almost nine -o’clock now, and too late to go ashore. So we decided to put the -best face on our disappointment. Meanwhile, the stewardess had come -aboard, and she had fished out of the lockers enough sheets, blankets, -and pillows to equip our two berths. A pair of towels were also -discovered after much search and hung up on nails above the mockery of -a wash-stand. Toward ten o’clock matters were becoming slightly more -endurable. But the boat had not started. The men were still hoisting in -the cargo, as we knew from their droning songs and the creaking of the -windlass. Eleven o’clock came and went, and yet no sign of departure. - -So we went to bed, hoping that we might soon fall asleep, and wake in -the morning to find the boat far on her way across the Gulf of Genoa. -But sleep was impossible while those interminable choruses rang in our -ears. Twelve, one, two, three, four o’clock!--and our craft was still -at her anchorage and the operation of loading progressing as noisily -as ever. As dawn stole through the dead-light, I arose and opened it -to get a whiff of fresh air as a change from the stifling atmosphere -of the cabin, which had only a lattice-work opening on the saloon for -ventilation. But a mephitic odor arose from the water, and compelled -me to close the bull’s-eye. Dressing myself, I went on deck, and -there saw that the work of loading had in fact only just begun. A -second lighter, with a towering pile of merchandise, had been brought -alongside during the night, and the transfer of her cargo to the hold -I knew would be the work of many hours. I resolved to hail a boat, go -ashore with my trunks, trust to getting my passage-money refunded by -the company, and leave for Rome _via_ Pisa on the ten-o’clock train. - -We carried this resolve into instant execution. The officers, who -were then on deck, beamed with delight as they saw us preparing to -leave. One hailed a boat for us. Another brought our two trunks in his -strong arms from the room where they had been stored overnight. The -cook bustled around ecstatically and made us a cup of good coffee, -with sugar and milk. I never saw a man so pleased; for our presence -on the boat had been a cause of the greatest solicitude to him, in -the impoverished state of his supplies. The stewardess grinned with -unspeakable satisfaction. Even the captain found time to quit his post -at the hatchway to see us over the ship’s side in safety. None of us -said a word, but our hearts swelled with thankfulness at the thought -that we were parting with each other forever. - -The _battello_ which put us ashore seemed to be a twin-sister of -the one that put us aboard. But we reached the quay in safety, after -running a gantlet of foul smells. Then another singular incident befell -us. Custom-house officers were on the watch at our landing-place. They -might have seen us when we left the steamship out there. They must have -known that we had passed the night on board, for they asked questions -of the boatman, which he answered, all doubtless to that effect. And -yet our baggage was taken to the custom-house, not far off, for an -inspection. The head-man spoke a little French, and I explained to him -the facts of the case. But this did not prevent him from performing the -solemn ceremony of examining the contents of the trunks, the valise, -the bundle of shawls, and the hand-bag, just as if we had arrived from -the coast of Africa. I thought, from the expression on the faces of the -inspectors, that a couple of francs would have saved me this detention. -But I was really amused at the farce, and allowed it to proceed -unchecked. - -Returning to the Hôtel de Gênes, greatly to the surprise of the worthy -head-porter, we stopped there long enough to take a solid breakfast. -A visit soon after made to the office of the steamship company was -successful in getting back the passage-money, with apologies for the -mishaps which had occurred. I could not quite make out whether the -fault was with the young man who sold me the tickets, or with somebody -on board ship who did not heed the wishes of his employers on shore, -and I did not care to settle the question so long as I was not obliged -to be imprisoned on that craft during the uncertain period of her -voyage from Genoa to Naples. - -I wonder if she has started yet? Perhaps she is still taking in cargo. -I only know that, for weeks afterward, every time I saw a Naples -newspaper, I looked among the marine arrivals for the name of that -boat, and did not find it. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -ROME--GOOD-FRIDAY AND EASTER. - - -I can imagine no drearier ride than that by rail from Pisa to Rome. The -road skirts the sea most of the way. For many miles it traverses the -Roman Campagna. The dreaded miasma which rises at night from this vast -plain has left it tenantless, except by the station-masters and hands, -and the herdsmen needed to watch over the droves of horses and oxen and -flocks of sheep which browse on the abundant herbage. These herdsmen -look wild and brigandish in their peaked hats and slashed jackets. -Whether they take quinine freely, or are naturally proof against -malaria, I know not. But it is a fact that most of them--as also of -the railway servants--do not have the haggard and palsied look I had -expected to note among them. Even they, however, have fears of the -consequences of their exposure; for I noticed at every station, where -there were several buildings, large young groves of the eucalyptus or -blue-gum tree. Its balsamic odor was perceptible from the car-windows. -The Italian Government encourages the setting out of this tree as a -preventive of malaria. - -The success of the experiment is still a matter of dispute. In point of -fact, the shepherds and others who live in miserable huts, hundreds of -feet from the railway-track and have no such protection, seem as strong -and hearty as those who dwell continually in the shade of the blue-gum -tree. - -We attended the special services at St. Peter’s on Good-Friday. Driving -through the streets we found the banks and shops of all kinds open -as usual. The only indication of the solemnity of the day was the -increased attendance at all the churches. And this may be, in part, -explained by the extraordinary musical attractions. At St. Peter’s -many thousand persons must have been present between 4.30 and 6.30 P. -M., when the _Tenebrœ_ and _Miserere_ were chanted or sung by a great -concourse of priests and a select choir. The music was impressive, but -its proper effects were lost on all hearers who could not squeeze into -the little side-chapel where it was performed. Every effort had been -made to render St. Peter’s gloomy, but without avail. The brilliant -mosaics and frescoes were all shrouded. The eighty-nine lamps which -burn about the crypt of St. Peter’s tomb were extinguished. But -glorious sunshine flooded the whole interior. It streamed in mighty -beams through the colorless windows facing the west, and set at naught -all puny attempts to make the most splendid church in the world look -dark and dull. About six o’clock the throng was the greatest. For two -hours people had been pouring in, but only a small part of the vast -floor was occupied. Among the worshipers or spectators were friars -of every known order, richly attired officers of every grade in the -Italian army, common soldiers of all branches of the service, men and -women representing every nation of Europe, and a great many Americans, -besides countless numbers of the highest as well as the lowest classes -of Roman society. The spectacle was one of deep interest, aside from -the somber devotional exercises which had convoked this immense -multitude. - -On Easter-Sunday hundreds of shops were still open in the narrower -and poorer streets of Rome. The day was perfect. The sun shone from -a cloudless sky--just warm enough to be pleasant. We drove to St. -Peter’s at 9.30 A. M., and found everybody going in the same direction. -But, although people had been streaming into the church for an hour -before we arrived, the number on the floor was hardly noticeable. The -magnificent pictures were again revealed in all the undimmed freshness -of their original tints. The lights which circle St. Peter’s tomb -were once more burning. Red cloths had been hung over some of the -marble pillars. The church was thus made as bright and beautiful as -possible, but to me it seemed scarcely more so than on Good-Friday. On -this joyous occasion the English cardinal, Howard--a thick-set man, -with a large head and a deep, sonorous voice--conducted the services. -These took place almost directly beneath the dome, and were heard -and witnessed by a great congregation. The singing by the choir was -very fine--the boys’ and men’s voices mingling with exquisite effect. -The chanting of the priests was less pleasing to the musical ear. -While these exercises were progressing under the dome, priests were -celebrating masses in many of the side-chapels, which were also partly -filled with worshipers. At the boxes, which serve as confessionals, -were fathers, who touched the kneeling faithful with long wands. As -for the bronze image of St. Peter, there was a constant succession -of persons, of all ages and stations in life, who kissed his foot in -passing, carefully wiping the well-worn spot before applying their lips -to the cold metal. - -Interesting as was the occasion, it was tame compared with the -ceremonies observed by the Popes before the patrimony of Peter passed -under the control of the King of Italy. In the old days the Holy Father -read the mass in St. Peter’s on Easter-Sunday, and was borne from -the church in grand procession. At a later hour he appeared on the -_loggia_, and gave his benediction “to the city and the world.” After -dark there was a wonderful illumination of the dome. All these striking -rites and customs are now things of the past. Pope Leo XIII was nowhere -publicly visible during the joyous festival of 1886. He was seen only -by a few of the strangers in Rome--themselves devout Catholics--who had -previously obtained cards of admission to the private chapel where the -Pope himself officiated, and they took the sacrament from his hands. - - -The most popular man in Italy is the King. No statesman shares with -him the confidence and affection of the people. One day I noticed a -stir in and about the great doorway of the Hôtel de Londres, where I -was stopping. Heads were bared on all sides. Everybody in sight was -bowing profoundly. In front of the hotel stood a common open carriage -with two horses, simply caparisoned, and a driver in dark livery. A -tall, handsome officer of high rank, splendidly attired, sat on the -left side of the vehicle. The rest of the seat was occupied by a stout, -middle-aged man in citizen’s clothes. His cheek-bones were high, his -lower jaw was massive, his mustache iron-gray, and, as he kept up a -constant motion of doffing and replacing his hat, I remarked a broad -forehead crowned with hair thick and bristling. He looked just enough -like the portraits of Humbert the First to convince me that he was the -King of Italy. And so it proved. He had called at the Hôtel de Londres -to visit the Prussian Princess Marie, who had a suite of rooms at the -house. This lady is the widow of the “Red Prince” Frederick Charles. -She happened to be out at the time, and so the King did not alight, but -drove away in his modest turn-out, receiving from all persons on the -Piazza di Spagna the most respectful salutation. Drivers of carriages -on hire, and even beggars at the street corners, were greeted by him as -courteously as the Roman nobles who dashed past him in equipages far -more showy than his own. The day previous to this visit he had made -a return-call on Prince Fushimy of Japan at the same hotel. Though -politeness costs nothing, it goes far to make King Humbert a great -favorite with crowned heads as well as with the Italian people. That -policy of Italy, which has made friends of every nation in Europe, is -dictated by the King, and represents his considerate politeness and -native shrewdness. The courage which he showed at Naples during the -last cholera epidemic was only one of numerous instances proving his -devotion to the welfare of his constitutional subjects. His queen--the -“Pearl of Savoy”--is not less successful in winning hearts. She is a -fine-looking blonde, an accomplished whip, the patroness of unnumbered -charities, and as courteous as her lord. - - -Visiting the Pantheon, I saw, just as I did three years before, many -people standing in front of the tomb of the late Victor Emanuel. They -were mostly Italians, by whom the memory of the man who made their -country one is almost worshiped. Hundreds of wreaths of immortelles -and other flowers are hung around and above the tomb. These come from -all the secular universities, academies, and public institutions of -Italy, and also from private hands. They are renewed from time to -time, and look beautifully fresh. Long streamers of silk or satin -attached to the floral offerings bear inscriptions eulogistic of _Il -Rè Galantuomo_. In a large book which lies open, visitors voluntarily -enter their names. Hundreds of thousands have thus been registered -since the mortal remains of Victor Emanuel were here inshrined. There -could be no grander mausoleum than the Pantheon. It is the best -preserved of all the great edifices of ancient Rome--identified with -the mightiest power of the old world, and with the rise and progress -of Christianity. No longer a pagan temple, but a Christian church, -it is the proper resting-place of the unifier of Italy. Although the -relations between the Quirinal and the Vatican have been much strained -ever since the Pope lost his temporal sovereignty, it is not impossible -that, some day, the Roman Catholic Church will be proud that she -holds within her consecrated Pantheon the ashes of the king who was -still her son. At the Pantheon, as at St. Peter’s, I am always struck -with the magnificent effect of the admission of pure sunlight, free -from the intervention of stained glass. The sole illumination of the -Pantheon, you know, comes from a great circular hole in the dome. It -admits the rain, which leaves a round wet place on the stone floor -beneath. But there is still ample room for the free movement of the -crowds that come and go, without dampening their feet. Majestic as is -the dome that rises in its perfect curve to a height of 140 feet above -the floor, it impresses the beholder even less than the sight of the -distant blue concave which he sees through that immense opening. As for -the details of the interior, they appear in the flood of daylight in -all their richness and variety of color. It by no means follows that -a “religious light” should be “dim.” St. Peter’s and the Pantheon -triumphantly refute that too prevalent notion. - - -None of my guide-books--even the most recent in date--give any -description of some remarkable and interesting statues and pedestals -which have been brought to light within a year. The images are -life-sized sculptures of what might be called “lady superiors” of -the Vestal Virgins. No one of whom I inquired could tell me where -they were; but I found them for myself in an open excavated space not -far from the Forum Romanum. Two or three of the statues are almost -perfect. They are marble, exquisitely chiseled, and are doubtless good -resemblances of the distinguished originals. Though vestal virgins, -they have a matronly look. They were evidently women of intellectual -ability, as also of high social rank. They seem born to command. Their -main attire was the full, graceful robe universally worn in their -day. Five or six thick fillets bound about their foreheads, covering -also part of their hair, reminded me of a badge almost similar, worn -by nuns of various orders in the Roman Catholic Church. But, though -their dress was all simplicity and modesty, their bearing was anything -but humble. The whole expression of face and form was one of intense -self-satisfaction and pride. The pedestals to which these statues -once belonged have been mostly recovered in fine condition. They bear -warm tributes to the many virtues of the illustrious ladies whom they -commemorate. And yet history tells us that the vestal virgins had -seats of honor near the Cæsars in the Colosseum, and without pity saw -Christians devoured in the arena by wild beasts, and that no spectators -were more heartless than they when the fallen gladiators looked up to -their boxes for the signal of mercy which should have saved them from -the victor’s sword! - - -At least once a year that dreadful old ruin--the Colosseum--is the -scene of a ghastly and weird illumination. The exhibition came off on -the night of the 24th of April, between ten o’clock and midnight. The -interior of the stupendous structure was packed with human beings who -waited for a long time with much impatience for the show to begin. -Suddenly brilliant lights--many electric and others calcium--flashed -out from the lofty tiers of the amphitheatre, while a belt of fire -girded the top wall. The effect was startling. Every stone and brick -in the huge pile was instantaneously revealed, photographing itself in -imperishable lines on the brain of the beholder. The feeling excited -was akin to terror. The faces of all those men and women looked pale, -as they were upturned to the heights where thousands of brutal Romans -had so often sat and feasted on scenes of torture and butchery. To -behold the Colosseum by moonlight is something never to be forgotten, -as the partial shadows lend themselves to the conjuration of specters -from the dark passage-ways which one sees all around him. But the -illumination of which I write is still more impressive, when red and -green lights are alternately used. These are somehow infernal in their -suggestiveness. When to their peculiar effects you add the hoarse cries -of great companies of rooks aroused from their repose in the crevices -of the topmost tiers--and circling wildly through the air overhead--you -have something very much like a pandemonium, which is repeated in a -nightmare when you return home to sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CUTTING A KING--MARGHERITA, QUEEN OF HEARTS. - - -One does not often have the chance of being uncivil to a king. But it -was my misfortune on one occasion to be, or to seem, downright rude to -Humbert the First. - -We were taking a carriage-ride in the Villa Borghese. The sun glared -intensely. The broad drives in the grounds had not been sprinkled, -and the dust rose in clouds under the few wheels that stirred it up. -My eyes were sheltered with blue glasses, and a light umbrella held -against the sun cut into the view very seriously. The coachman, after -the manner of his race, had been pointing out objects of interest with -which we were already perfectly familiar, clothing his superfluous -information in a Tuscan _patois_. We paid no attention to the numerous -remarks delivered at us over his left shoulder, as our exhaustive -study of the Villa Borghese on previous visits had qualified us as -first-class guides to the place. Therefore, when he said something that -sounded like “Eel R-ray” (_Il Rè_), I did not associate the words with -the instant approach of the King of Italy. - -A moment later a two-horse carriage dashed past us. The horses -were black and beautiful, throwing out their fore-legs with a free -and splendid action. A gentleman (whom I should not have failed to -recognize, but for my blue glasses and the whirl of dust) sat bolt -upright on the front seat, guiding his spirited team with a firm hand. -The seat behind was occupied by a servant in quiet livery. The equipage -came and went like a flash; but, quick as it was, the accomplished -driver had time to take off his hat at us, moving it through an arc of -about two feet, and replace it. Before I could answer this remarkably -courteous salute from an entire stranger, he was off. Meantime coachee -had, in his humble way, atoned for my short-coming. He had lifted his -hat and bowed profoundly. When all was over, he turned clear round and -said again (this time almost reproachfully), “Eel R-ray, signor.” Then -I knew that I had cut a king, and that our driver, who had observed my -discourtesy with a side eye, was, in effect, chiding me for it. - -The good fellow saw that I was flustered by this unpleasant incident; -for I really burned with shame to think that I should be guilty of -rudeness to the politest of kings in his own capital. So he hastened -to explain to me, as nearly as I could make out from his provincial -Italian, that the King would be sure to pass us again in a few minutes. -For you see the Villa Borghese is not very large, and carriages keep -circling about and returning on their tracks. Well, this time I -determined to be ahead of the King, and doff my hat first, through -as ample a curve as my arm would allow. I shut up the umbrella and -pocketed the blue glasses, that nothing might impede the grace of the -atoning action. Sure enough, just as we turned the end of a long oval, -there was the King bearing down on us again. - -Looking at him over my box-seat, I identified him easily by the front -view. In all Italy there is no second pair of mustaches like his; -they curl like rams’ horns, and are almost as thick. His horses were -trotting a two-and-a-half-minute gait, and his piercing black eyes -sparkled with pleasure as he watched them. A second more, and he was on -our port-bow, as sailors would say. Then was my time. Having the brim -of my Derby well in hand, I made a tremendous flourish with it at His -Majesty. If gestures convey ideas, then he must have seen that I meant -to pay the utmost respect to him as the democratic King of Italy. The -monarch instinctively raised his hand to his hat as if to take it off; -then, catching a clear sight of my face, he evidently remembered me as -the ill-bred person whom he had met in his rounds five minutes before. -His eyes were instantly averted. He did not remove his hat. This time -the King of Italy had cut me, and had served me just right. - -The most affable of coachmen then managed to explain that we should -probably intersect the orbit of the King for the third time, if we -kept on driving around the grounds. For my own part I had had about -enough of it. The King and I were even. So, to avoid the embarrassment -of a third meeting, I ordered the man to leave the Villa and go over -to the Pincian Hill. He turned the horses for the purpose, but had -not proceeded far before the well-known stiff figure and the flaring -mustaches intercepted our retreat by dashing down a side-road out of -a little piece of woods. I would have given something to avoid the -encounter. But there was no escaping it. As the King drew into the -main road, the salute I felt bound to make was an awkward one, and I -was conscious of a slight tingling in the tips of my ears. His Majesty -must have noticed my confusion, for there was an amused look in his -eyes, and his mustaches were not thick enough to mask the slight upward -curves at the corners of his mouth. And then, in the off-hand way which -has made him so genuinely popular, he doffed his hat and returned my -bow with accrued interest. So happily ended my first exchange of -civilities with a king. - -A short ride transferred us from the Villa Borghese to the Pincian -Hill. We reached the crest in time to hear the four-o’clock concert, -performed before an attentive audience of a hundred persons in -carriages and a thousand on foot. The selections were all from Italian -composers, and probably known by heart by most of the people present, -who stood or sat like statues as if entranced by the music. The band, -which belongs to the finest regiment of the Roman garrison, played -divinely. But all the charm of their performance could not keep my -eyes and thoughts from the Eternal City basking in the warm sunshine -below--a wide expanse of churches, palaces and ruins. Almost every -church is crowned with a dome, and each of these huge bulbs, whose -slates reflect the sun with a dull glow, looks like a feeble imitation -of Michael Angelo’s great work. But not one of them detracts from the -grandeur of St. Peter’s, which, from whatever point of view it is seen, -dwarfs all the rest into insignificance. St. Angelo Castle--in shape -a snuff box--the uplifted swell of the Pantheon, the Capitol, the -Quirinal Palace, are easily identified through the haze which envelopes -all. The blue Campagna is dimly seen in the distance. Through the -foreground the yellow Tiber makes its serpentine curves, flashing like -gold under the westering sun. - - -The next day we had the good fortune to meet the Queen while driving in -the Villa Doria Pamphilj. That time royalty had no cause to complain. -The most loyal of her subjects could not have outdone my obeisance, -though it was rendered more to the beautiful woman than to the Queen. -She did not descend upon us unawares, like the King the day before. -We knew of her coming afar off, for she advertised her approach by -the scarlet magnificence of her box-cloth and the blazing uniforms of -her coachman and foot-guards. I saw this brilliant turn-out a quarter -of a mile away, and, having kings on my mind just then, supposed that -His Majesty was taking the air in state. I was relieved and pleased -when our driver, pointing his whip at the flaming red spots in the -distance, said, “_La Regina!_” Just at that point in the road stood a -line of carriages drawn up in waiting to see the Queen pass. Some of -them had been standing there a long time in expectation of the event, -for it had become known that she would make the circuit of the Villa -Doria Pamphilj that afternoon; and the best place of all to see her -was that wide opening in the road, where our victoria had joined the -many other carriages. The Queen passed us all at the slowest of paces. -Each person in the long line received an individual nod from her, -given with exceeding dignity and grace. She is every inch a queen; and -that is saying a great deal, for she is of the Junonian order, and her -uncommon height is made symmetrical by a generous breadth of shoulders -and a satisfying plenitude of bust. Her arms, as guessed at by the -outlines of her tight sleeves, are strong and shapely. Her eyes are a -deep blue, her hair is a light chestnut, her complexion her own pink -and white. People who think of Italians only as swarthy in face, with -hair and eyes of jet, do not know of what delicate beauty the race is -capable when it strays into the blonde type. Queen Margherita is at -the head of the fair branch of the great Italian family. She is the -“Pearl of Savoy.” She was dressed with the severest simplicity. There -was not a jewel visible, and one did not remember the colors she wore. -Her own flower, the daisy, is not less ostentatious. But her native -loveliness needs no ornamental setting. She reigns over men’s hearts by -her birthright of beauty; and I can think of no better phrase to couple -with this than the homely one that she is “just as good as she looks.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -NAPLES--SORRENTO--CAPRI--PÆSTUM. - - -My sanitary inspection of Naples was hasty, and did not prepare me -to give the city a clean bill of health. The streets through which -I passed were less dirty than those of New York. Except for certain -foul smells on the waterfronts, there was nothing in Naples to alarm -the stranger, ever sensitive on the subject of fever and cholera. -The light-hearted Neapolitans laugh at the fears of Englishmen and -Americans. They are now claiming great things for their city on the -strength of their new and copious water-supply. Visitors, however, -refuse to believe in its excellence as a beverage, and persist in -drinking Apollinaris, Victoria, St. Galmier, Source Badoit, and -some other natural or doctored water. It is not for the interest of -hotel-keepers to decry those bottled waters, from the sale of which -they make large profits. But the landlord of the “Nobile” assured me -that none of them can possibly be purer and healthier than the fluid -which sparkles untouched in the _caraffes_ on his tables. The water is -freely used for sprinkling the streets and sluicing the gutters. The -fountains of New York are dried up and mute; but those of Naples play -at certain hours of the day, if not from morning to night. They remind -us of the abundant jets and cascades which we had, with so much regret, -left behind us at Rome. Though the weather in early May is extremely -pleasant, and the heat just right for out-of-door exercise, the sun -glares at times with Italian fierceness. Then it is refreshing to see -the fountains glittering aloft, and to hear the musical splash of their -waters in deep marble basins. - -The radical improvements which are expected to render Naples one of -the healthiest cities of Europe have yet to be made. But they are -all planned, and the work has begun on some of them. They include a -complete system of sewerage and the construction of long, wide streets -through those populous quarters where the sun and fresh air never come -now. It was in this swarming, dark, and unventilated district that the -cholera did its worst. Toward these great works the Italian Government -has contributed ten million dollars, and the city (and province) of -Naples eight million more. It is by showing such interest in the -fortunes of all her component parts, especially the large cities, that -unified Italy deepens her hold upon the affections of her people all -over the peninsula. - - -Snow on Vesuvius in May! The weather at Sorrento flies in the face -of all the authorities. We have been warned a hundred times not to -visit Southern Italy during the “hot month” of May. At the Hôtel -Tramontano we burned little sticks of wood at the rate of a quarter of -a cord a day in the vain effort to keep our sitting-room comfortable. -Our English friends have misled us in the kindest manner possible. -They call the weather warm at 60° Fahr., and hot at 70°. Americans, -accustomed to broiling summers at home, find this climate barely genial -at the very time when Englishmen are roasted out of it. Therefore, I -say, put no faith in their statements where temperature is concerned. -Men who never wear overcoats, and who walk twenty miles before -breakfast, are no guides for people less hardened. With the exception -of one day (strangely enough) in London, and another in Naples, we have -not stopped at a hotel where a fire at night was not a necessity as -well as an expensive luxury. Of course, the thickness of the walls is -responsible for some of the coldness. At Naples I looked down from the -balcony of my hotel and watched some masons at work just across the -narrow street. They were laying outside walls three feet thick, and -walls of two feet between the rooms. The rising structure seemed to be -a jail or a bank. I inquired, and found it was designed for an elegant -private residence. Yet, for the exclusion of heat, it might as well be -a prison, and would look like one, if the walls were not papered and -frescoed. - -Vesuvius is an ever-fascinating subject of study. I observe it fifty -times a day with undiminished interest. The changed position of the sun -and every passing cloud, and especially the shifting directions and -forms of the “smoke,” make a new picture of the mountain every time. -The natives for twenty miles around look upon Vesuvius at once as a -barometer and a weather-vane. When the vapor--for such it is for the -most part--drifts, they know from what quarter the wind is blowing. The -capricious shapes it suddenly assumes at times foretell them of coming -storms or calms. I am not yet deep in this lore. But, all the same, -it is a pleasure to note the protean changes of the escaping steam. -Sometimes it goes straight up to the sky in a long, slender shaft, and -at the extreme height opens out like a palm-tree. Then, again, it looks -like a mushroom, with a thick stem and a “chunky” top. Often it streams -out horizontally at great length, like the smoke of a steamer at sea. -When the wind is out of the north or east, accompanied by a slight -rain, then I notice that the vapor rolls down the mountain like its -own lava. At other times Vesuvius makes a huge white cap or turban for -itself--the vapor settling down on the peak and remaining stationary. -Frequently this enlarges into a shroud and gradually covers the volcano -from head to foot. At night, when the sky is clear, there is only one -thing to be seen on Vesuvius--that is the dull-red light which crowns -its dark outlines. While under my observation it was in a state of -unusual activity. It “worked,” as the phrase is. - - -One morning “Old Vesuve” (for so one finds himself calling the volcano -after a short acquaintance) indicated a change of wind from the -northeast to the southwest. This favored an expedition to the famous -Blue Grotto of Capri, which can not be entered when the wind is driving -the water against and into the narrow opening through which the little -boats must pass. I made the trip from Sorrento to Capri by steamer, -and was then transferred to a frail-looking but stanch canoe, most -skillfully handled. The waves were pretty high--the effect of a storm -which had lasted two days. As we neared the portal of the grotto, it -seemed impossible to shoot through it, for it is not more than three -feet high and three wide, and the water was constantly rushing in and -out of it with a deafening roar and showers of spray. At times more -than half of the opening was filled with the current, which threatened -to dash the fragile bark into splinters and drown the passengers. The -boatman himself hesitated. The conditions were much worse than those he -usually overcame with ease. But he watched his chances, and, seizing -a moment when the current was setting outward, he caught hold of a -jutting point of rock, and, by a sudden jerk, swung us in. I had been -lying flat in the boat, drenched with spray. Responding to his call, I -sat up and looked around. - -My first feeling was of disappointment. The grotto is not blue. The -wonderful color, of which one hears so much, is in the water. The vault -rises to a graceful arch in the center and covers a space--irregular in -shape--equal, perhaps, to 125 feet square. Its point of greatest height -is thirty or forty feet above the water. The stone is of a dirty white, -and the faint reflection of light from its concave surface doubtless -has something to do with the production of the phenomenon which gives -the grotto its name. The water of the Mediterranean is beautiful under -all conditions. One need not penetrate grottoes in order to admire its -tints, ever varying on a background of blue. But here the relations -of the water to the light of day are unique. I tried to study the -thing in cold blood, and these are my conclusions about it: Some of -the diffused daylight enters the cave through the only opening above -the water-line. This light irradiates the water to a certain depth, -and causes the white roof to be reflected in it. A great deal of light -also enters beneath the surface of the water, through the opening which -descends to the floor of the grotto. This floor also seems to be white -(as observed by me) at its depth of (say) fifty feet. It therefore -sends back the reflection which the water has already received from the -limestone roof. This double effect gives a brilliant silver tone to the -inclosed mass of blue water. One hunts in vain for some comparison to -convey a clear idea of the unearthly beauty of the spectacle. Sky-blue -satin with the sun shining on it would resemble the surface of the -water as I saw it. But that simile fails to describe the extraordinary -effects of the Blue Grotto. These are mainly derived from the depths, -and are best compared to the sheen of silver and blue which are noticed -in the heart of a sapphire held up against the sunlight. - -I was rudely aroused from these cogitations by a boat bumping against -mine. A man in it apologized, and thrust a card into my hand. -Inspecting it by the faint light, I saw that it was the _menu_ of a -_déjeûner_ which would be held hot in waiting for all comers on the -arrival of the steamer at the _Marina Grande_, or chief landing-place -of the island, farther on. Feeling hungry, I ordered my boatman to -return to the ship. The exit was easily made. As soon as all the -visitors to the grotto were safely on board, we proceeded to our other -destination. The business energy of the man who chose so strange a -place to advertise his _table d’hôte_ breakfast was not without reward. -I patronized his hotel. His quail was nice, as it ought to have been, -for the island is celebrated for the abundance and succulence of that -bird. But that which he served as the wine of Capri would in New York -be called water with a dash of vinegar. There are some ruins of a villa -of Tiberius, which may be seen, per donkey, at the top of a high hill. -But one ruin more or less is nothing in this land of wrecked greatness. -So I contented myself with my Blue Grotto, and, when the steamer -whistled for her truant passengers, bade a good-by to Capri. - - -It is interesting to watch the fishermen at work just underneath my -windows. The Hôtel Tramontano stands 150 feet above the sea, on a rock -that is lapped by its waves. The nets have been set the night before, -and at daybreak the racket begins. Men in boats go out to regulate -matters and take the fish from the meshes. There is a crowd of people -on shore hauling at the ropes and slowly dragging the nets and their -prey out of the depths. They are mostly women, with bare legs and -arms, as strong-looking as the men. They pull in unison, slowly and -carefully. Presently they cease, in compliance with orders screamed to -them from the captains of the boats. Then, from my height, I see one -net raised to the surface with extreme caution. The harvest is about -to be gathered in. The men out there tug at the seine as if it were -heavy. They soon have it well in hand. Their joyous shouts tell the -anxious women on shore that the catch is a good one. They lift the net -now with the greatest possible care, and I begin to see its silvery -contents. The fish, which almost cover its exposed surface, shine like -new standard dollars. The men shake and strip them off, and they fall -a glittering heap into the bottom of the boat. I should say there -were bushels of them, and rejoice that the brave fishermen and their -wives will have something to eat and much to spare for the market. In -size and taste these smelts are exactly like those we eat in America. -I shall relish them a little more at the table to-night after having -“assisted,” as a Frenchman would say, in the operation of catching -them. - -I wonder how much of the sub-Treasury building in Wall Street will -still be standing in the year 4372? This question occurred to me very -forcibly as I gazed on the majestic ruins of the Greek temples at -Pæstum. These are supposed to date back to about 600 B. C. They are all -in the same general state of decay as the Parthenon at Athens, which -they much resemble. The largest and best preserved is the Temple of -Neptune, which vividly recalls, by its dimensions and form, the Wall -Street temple of quite another kind. The original thirty-six Doric -columns, each about eight feet in diameter, are yet proudly erect, and, -at a little distance, seem in perfect condition. Only when one comes -near to them does he discover how the tooth of Time has gnawed into and -marred their exquisite shape. The outline of the eastern front is yet -so complete that it could be “restored” by the addition of a few great -stones. Long rows of other fluted columns, not far off, are the remains -of a structure to which the name Basilica is given for want of a -better. A third ruin still farther away is called the Temple of Ceres, -or of Vesta, just as one pleases. Thus uncertain is the most accurate -knowledge we now possess about Poseidonia, which the Greeks dedicated -to Neptune, on a lovely site near the Mediterranean, twenty-five -centuries ago. It must have been a large and important settlement in -their day. But, in the present year of grace, not a single stone or -trace of any edifice (of the old Greek town) can be found, except of -the three I have named, the massive construction of which has alone -saved any part of them to astonish and delight the modern world with -their noble and beautiful proportions. Bits of Roman antiquities lie -around, but these are so very new in comparison with the glorious -Greek fragments that one regards them without interest. Formerly a -trip to Pæstum was attended with danger from brigands. Now your sole -risk is malaria of the worst type. I am happy to inform any Americans -who may desire to see the treasures of Pæstum that they may now be -spared a long and fatiguing ride through a flat and monotonous country. -A railway has been completed from Battipaglia to Pæstum, linking it -directly and easily with Naples, Salerno, and La Cava. We made our -journey from the latter point, starting about 10 A. M., spending two -hours among the ruins, and getting back a little after six--a great -improvement on any possible way of “doing” Pæstum before the rails were -laid. But quinine is still as indispensable to the cautious visitor now -as a pistol was thirty years ago. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -FRESH DIGGINGS AT POMPEII--VESUVIUS “WORKING”--THE TELL-TALE -SEISMOGRAPH--SOLFATARA. - - -It seems odd to speak of a dead city as a growing one. But that is -exactly the case with Pompeii. There are many cities in Italy that -do not grow half as fast as the one buried by the ashes of Vesuvius -eighteen hundred years ago. A person visiting it at intervals of a -year notices a marked enlargement of its boundaries. The Italians are -the champion diggers. They make the shovel fly when they attack the -grave of Pompeii. We saw a gang of them at work there. A government -overseer watched them like a hawk. He wanted to be sure that they -pocketed no jewelry, coins, or objects of art or utility yielded by -the excavations. The only produce of their toil in that line, as we -stood by, was a bit of iron, which the guide called a hinge, and the -fragment of a small marble column. The spades, busily plied, were -gradually bringing to light a beautiful house. The floors were mosaic, -with simple but graceful designs in scroll-pattern--nearly as fresh -of color as if laid yesterday. The walls bore frescoes of fainter -tints--grinning masks, fauns, Cupids, birds, fish, and fruit. It had -evidently been the home of a well-to-do citizen of Pompeii. The nervous -movements of the workmen betrayed their anxiety. They were hoping at -every moment to make a valuable “find.” Perhaps they might hit upon -a great iron chest--studded with round knobs like a boiler--and full -of gold, money, or ornaments; or they might strike another wonder in -marble or bronze; or they might be startled by coming suddenly upon a -skull or other human remains. In the latter event the work is suspended -till a careful inspection is made. The responsible and intelligent -person in charge proceeds to ascertain if the dead Pompeiian has left -a mold of himself or herself in the plastic ashes. If so, he prepares -a mixture of plaster-of-Paris, breaks a hole in the crust and slowly -pours in the liquid till the mold is full. When it has hardened, the -casting is tenderly removed. Lo! there is a rough image, showing -some poor creature in the agonies of death, prone on the floor, face -downward. - -Thus, most usually, were the inhabitants of the doomed city caught by -the destroying angel. The skull, or leg, or arm, or whatever other part -of the skeleton has not relapsed into its original dust, may attach -itself to the plaster cast in the proper place, or may require to be -joined on by a pardonable “restoration.” In either case the effect is -thrilling in its horrible reality. Nothing in painting or sculpture can -shock the beholder more than these self-produced and truthful statues -exhibited in the museum, which is the first and most interesting -thing shown to visitors. But, though neither gold nor silver, nor the -minutest scrap of a skeleton, nor anything else of importance was -unearthed for my benefit, I quitted the new excavations with reluctance -to examine those parts of Pompeii with which the world is already -familiar through the medium of books and pictures. I found myself quite -at home in the bakery, the wine-shop, at the oil-merchant’s, at the -houses of Pansa, of Sallust, of the “tragic poet,” and the rest. The -high stepping-stones across the streets looked familiar, as if I had -trodden them before. The deep ruts cut by the carts as they groaned up -the hill, coming from ancient Stabia, were like friendly landmarks. So -fully have literature and art made us acquainted with this disinterred -city. - -The guide tells me that only about one third of Pompeii has yet been -uncovered. I take his word for it. He is also of the opinion that the -best parts of the city have already been dug out. He evidently wishes -that the work would stop. He is very human in this, for he finds it -tiresome to show people about the present Pompeii. Treble its size, -and his labor would be threefold. And he is forbidden to accept money. -But I imagine that this very stern prohibition does not prevent some -persons from offering him quantities, quite privately, or him from -accepting them. It may be true, as our guide insists, that the temples, -forums, baths, theatres, and fine houses now above-ground surpass -anything of the kind that may hereafter be discovered at Pompeii. -But the Italian Government is not disposed to take that for granted. -Liberal sums are yearly appropriated to push on the work. It bears -fruits. A new temple or amphitheatre may not be struck every year, -but something is constantly being turned up to instruct the world in -the manners and customs of the old Romans, so well reflected in the -representative city of Pompeii. Of bronze or stone statues, household -implements, and tools of trades, the yield is immense and steady. These -may be counted by the thousand in the splendid museum at Naples. One -can see so many articles of luxury and use exactly similar to those -he buys nowadays, that he is fain to pause and try to remember what -besides the steam-engine, the photograph, and the electric telegraph, -we moderns have invented. There being no more room at Naples to store -these treasures, the excess of them is huddled together in the -courtyards and houses of Pompeii herself. It is estimated that, at the -present rate, this mine of antiquities will not be worked out in fifty -years. - - -Vesuvius is the most deceptive of mountains. We know how treacherous -and cruel he is. But as we see him gently smoking, in the haze of this -soft, enervating atmosphere, we think him very much maligned. The -chimney of a well-regulated house could not be steadier of behavior. -His sides look sleek in the distance. One would never suspect that all -that brown softness is lava, fifty feet deep, and covering thousands -of acres. When I ascended the volcano, I realized how illusory are -impressions when formed afar off. After traversing Portici and Resina -(old Herculaneum), the carriage climbed a steep slope between country -villas with “plenty of fruit and shade,” as the advertisement of a -country-house to let would say. Presently a sharp turn in the road -brought me face to face with the head of a lava-stream which had been -mercifully stayed at that point years ago. The road had been cut -through it, showing its depth, and that was enough to have buried -in its path any of the villas I had seen below. From this point on -to the station of the Funicular Railway the road for the most part -passes between gray-black walls of lava, the tops of which are curled -like waves or twisted into capricious spiral forms, and then forever -stilled. Not a flower or blade of grass grows there, except in crevices -where dust may have fallen and the wind has scattered seeds. - -The desolation, mile after mile, is oppressive to behold. One -seeks relief by looking back over the blue Mediterranean and the -reddish-white cities of the plain. Or else he looks ahead and up to -Vesuvius, whose terrible majesty now begins to appear. I now see that -where the sea of lava ends the ashes begin. The vapor, which seemed -to curl so peacefully and thinly, from the standpoint of Naples, -is mounting to the sky in a great volume, and whirling as if in a -cyclone. One imagines a roar as that hot steam rushes from the crater. -He sees specks tossed into the air. These are stones flung aloft two -hundred to three hundred feet, and dropped back into the yawning pit -to be presently ejected again. He has been told that Vesuvius is a -little more active than usual. He can now readily understand of what -frightful deeds the volcano is capable when in the maddest humor. Not -only all the little cities near his base, which have been rebuilt in -the childlike faith that they will never again be destroyed, but proud -Naples, which has so far been spared, are at his mercy. - -After I had ascended by railway to a nearer view of the monster, and -completed my acquaintance with him as far as it was safe, familiarity -did not lessen my respect for his power. It seemed impudently -inquisitive for a party of tiny mortals to be throwing stones into his -enormous mouth, poking canes into his ribs and stirring up the red fire -there, and laughing as the dense, sulphurous fumes rose in our faces. -The guides roasted eggs for us, and we ate them with a pinch of salt, -chucking the shells into the crater, which answered back with a shower -of red-hot stones. These luckily missed their mark. I incline to think -that some of the fun made by our company of visitors was like whistling -to keep up one’s courage; for I noticed that the noisiest of them clung -hard to the guides and gave a wide berth to the crater’s edge, and -looked most pleased when the signal was given to return. Just as we -started on the downward path, Vesuvius made a noise between a sob and a -shriek, and belched forth a farewell volley of stones, which might have -spoiled some hats, and even heads, if they had been shot accurately. - -For the information of those who have never ascended Vesuvius but hope -to do so some day, I add that the trip by carriage from Naples is -three and one-half hours long to the foot of the Funicular Railway. -Thence to the upper station is a ride of twelve minutes, by a line -much resembling that of Mount Washington or the Righi, in ease and -safety. From there to the top of the crater is a steep climb of fifteen -or twenty-five minutes, according to the age and wind of the climber. -Persons with weak lungs or shaky legs, or in any respect infirm, should -not attempt the latter feat. For them is provided the _chaise-porte_. -Two strong young fellows carry this like a bier--their customer sitting -composedly (unless he or she is badly scared) in the chair which is -swung in the middle of two long poles. The bearers are like goats in -sure-footedness, strength, and agility. It is wonderful to see them -pick their way among the huge, jagged pieces of smoking lava and up the -steep slope of hot ashes, ankle-deep, without slipping. In an hour one -may do reasonable justice to the cone and crater, and in two hours and -a half more be back in Naples. - -On my way down the mountain I profited by a little spare time to do -what most tourists omit: I visited the observatory. This building is -securely placed on a spur of Vesuvius where the lava-wave parts in -its destructive course. Here dwell day and night, all the year round, -an accomplished scientist and an able staff, whose duty it is to note -all the phenomena of eruptions and earthquakes. In reality most of the -work is done for them by instruments of almost inconceivable delicacy -and precision, and they have only to keep these in perfect order. This -exquisite automatic apparatus reports everything the world wants to -know about earthquakes except their cause. They give the direction of -the movement, its speed and intensity and duration. Though the man -who climbs to the crater does not observe the faintest throb beneath -his feet when the volcano is most active, there is a little tell-tale -machine down in the observatory which vibrates passionately at that -precise moment. It is not at rest five minutes together during the -whole day. If the motion of the trembling is horizontal, then a hollow -brass ball swings toward the north, south, east, and west, as the case -may be. This indicates unerringly the direction of the earthquake-wave. -If the motion is vertical, then a spiral coil of fine wire visibly -shortens and springs back again. Every discharge of stones from the -crater above causes an extraordinary agitation of the wire. You see the -shower and the sympathetic action of this sensitive coil at the same -instant. The director invites you to dance a jig on the floor, within a -foot of the wire, to show that its movements correspond only to actual -tremblings of old Mother Earth. You do so, jumping as high as you can. -But the apparatus makes no sign. The heavy rumbling of a wagon in the -road outside does not disturb it. The “seismograph,” as it is called, -does only the work for which it was designed. The director, however, -was good enough to switch off its connection from the bowels of the -earth to my pulse. No doctor with hand on wrist could have counted the -beats more accurately. They were more regular than those of Vesuvius, -if not quite as fierce. Out of the millions of observations taken here -in the course of years, it is hoped that some time an exact science of -earthquakes may be constructed, with possible usefulness to mankind. -For three or four days before the appalling calamity in Ischia (just -off this coast) in 1883, all the apparatus of the observatory was -greatly excited. Something frightful was brewing. That was evident to -the watchers up there. The world knows the result. If it could have -been foretold in time to save hundreds of lives on that unhappy island, -that would indeed have been a triumph of science. - -At the center of the old volcanic district west of Naples is the great -crater of Solfatara, not yet quite extinct. Eight centuries ago it -was active and destructive; now it is full of stunted bushes and tall -grass. The sulphurous vapor rising from a hole about three feet in -diameter, on one side of the vast bowl, shows that a fire still burns -in its bosom. One can not see the red-hot lava in the crevices, as on -Vesuvius. But if the hand is held in the ascending steam for a moment, -a scalding heat is felt. The guide who conducted me about the crater -actually crawled into this hole at a point where it could be entered -horizontally. To escape suffocation he covered his mouth with his hand -and kept close to the ground. After about a minute of anxiety on my -part, he returned with fine specimens of sulphuric deposits exactly -like those I had seen fringing some of the chinks in the burning flank -of Vesuvius. The offensive smell and acrid taste of the vapor which -poured forth incessantly from this subterranean passage were the same -that make an ascent of the Vesuvian cone so trying to many persons. -The guide assured me that the connection between Solfatara and the -great volcano on the Bay of Naples was intimate and instant. Whenever -Vesuvius is inactive, Solfatara “works” quite fiercely. Whenever -Vesuvius is very active, Solfatara is disappointing. It would seem from -this statement that, though the mountains are miles apart, they both -communicate with a common reservoir of molten matter. - -There is no certainty that Solfatara will not break out again. There -have been periods of centuries between the eruptions of Vesuvius; and -it is a recorded fact that at times its crater has been lined inside -with foliage, so reduced was its capacity for mischief. As there is -no present prospect that tourists can descend in safety to the floor -of its crater and study minutely the phenomena which can not be fairly -seen from the rim, they should not fail to visit Solfatara. They will -not burn the soles of their boots, and yet they can, if they please, -roast eggs by digging down about a foot in places indicated by the -guide. They can realize the thinness of the crust over which they walk -by raising a large stone and throwing it down violently. The ground -gives back a hollow sound. It is true that Solfatara does not eject -red-hot stones, even the smallest. But that is a point in its favor, -enabling the visitor to look on with a sense of perfect safety. There -is but one Vesuvius. No other volcano is as accessible, or offers -as many advantages for all kinds of observations. But if one is at -Naples, and does not care to incur the fatigue or other discomforts of -an ascent of Vesuvius, Solfatara is a good substitute excursion and -is hereby recommended; and, as something supplementary to the greater -event, it is also of much interest. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -ITALIAN BEGGARS--A NEGLECTED GRAVE--THE BLUE-GUM TREE AND -MALARIA--PERUGIA--ETRUSCAN TOMBS. - - -If, by a stroke of this pen, I could banish every beggar from Italy, -I should hesitate to do so. They may deserve the punishment. But they -are amusing rascals. Life here would be duller without them. The -other day when a span of tired horses were dragging me up Vesuvius, -three men sprang out of the ground in front of the carriage. I do not -know how else to explain their sudden appearance. They were beggars -of the musical variety. One carried a fiddle, the second a mandolin, -the third a guitar. Bowing to me, they formed a line on my right and -marched up the mountain, Indian file, playing as they went. I was just -then trying to realize in imagination the terrible splendor of the -eruption that had caused the flow of lava fifty feet deep, through -which the carriage-road was cut. These three fellows with their -lively Neapolitan airs disturbed me greatly. But the absurdity of the -situation soon overcame my resentment. I laughed heartily and permitted -them to escort me about a mile before dismissing them with a few soldi. -We parted friends, and they proceeded to levy tribute on the carriage -behind me. It takes philosophy to extract amusement out of these -seeming pests. But happy is the man who can do it, for Southern Italy -swarms with them. - -At Baiæ where we were taking a bad lunch at a wretched little inn, four -women entered the room, and, without asking our leave, began to dance -the tarantella. They were probably the wife of the landlord and three -servants. Their dancing was a fitting accompaniment to the lunch they -had provided for us. One of the women strummed a tambourine as big as -an old-fashioned kitchen sieve. This supplied the only music, except -that the other three kept time with castanets. They made a horrible -din, and, being ill-favored and shabbily dressed, were anything but -pleasant companions, as they flirted their skirts almost in our -faces. But after a few minutes we found them with all their faults -more interesting than the lunch, and made them a present altogether -too large for their deserts. This was a serious mistake, for they all -rushed off and speedily returned, with bouquets, coral jewelry, and -antiquities that must have been at least forty-eight hours old. All -these they wanted us to buy at exorbitant prices. Our refusal to do -so angered the whole party. This, of course, put an end to the fun. -So I settled the tavern score hastily and we returned to Naples. But -the incident, unsatisfactorily as it terminated, remains to-day the -pleasantest memory of a visit to ruins that were not worth seeing. - -On my visit to the Blue Grotto at Capri, it required the utmost -obstinancy to refuse the demand of my boatman for a two-franc piece. -He wanted me to throw it into the water, and see him dive and bring it -up from the bottom. If I had accepted his offer, he would have whisked -off his coat and shirt (if he had one), and gone down fifty feet for -the piece, and recovered it for himself without fail. But I was anxious -to get back to the steamer which was waiting for us, and resolutely -declined to be amused at that price. At Sorrento, the hotel guests -standing out on the balconies overlooking the sea were constantly -importuned for “pennies” by boys in the boats below. When the money was -thrown down, the little fellows would watch its course through the air, -and, the moment it struck the water, they would dive into the pellucid -depths and in a flash reappear with it, holding it aloft between -thumb and finger. These are but a few out of the hundred methods in -which money is extracted from you, under the pretense of some service -rendered or amusement supplied. And still I say that it pays to humor -all these people to a moderate extent. And, furthermore, I would not -refuse a very modest coin to the ragged but picturesque creature who -stands at every church-door and lies in wait for me at every bit of -rising ground. He does not pretend to give any equivalent for the money -received. He is a beggar pure and simple. He has been begging for -thirty, forty, or fifty years. In all that time he imagines that he has -acquired “rights,” and I confess I almost feel ashamed of myself when I -drop my insignificant alms into his dirty hand. - - -“Shelley?” asked the man in charge of the Protestant Cemetery at Rome, -when we appeared at the gate, one beautiful afternoon in May. It is -the only English word except “Keats” that he can pronounce correctly. -Three years before the same man put the same question to us. We again -answered “Yes.” For, with many others of the English-speaking race, we -took a sad pleasure in visiting the graves of those two most gifted -and unhappy beings. Shelley’s heart alone rests in the cypress-shaded -inclosure, which is now full of graves. The rest of his body, we -remember, was reduced to ashes on a funeral-pyre, in the presence of -Byron and some others, at that spot on the shore of Spezzia Bay where -the drowned poet had been cast up by the waves. As this is an age of -monuments to neglected genius, I was curious to see if anything had -been done for Shelley by his ardent admirers since 1883. No! there is -the old small stone flat on the earth, looking moldier than ever. The -inscription “_Cor Cordium_” is filled in with dirt. A weed, looking -like burdock, grows rankly about the grave. There is not a flower near -it, unless one should count in a withered and blackened rose which -some pitying soul had thrown down on the center of the dingy marble -slab. This may have been lying there for two or three months. I dare -say fragments of it will be found there a year hence, unless the wind -blows them away. For it is evident that Shelley’s tombstone is never -swept and cleaned except by the elements. Trelawney, the life-long -friend and stanch defender of the poet, rests beside him. He died at -the age of eighty-eight, and Shelley at thirty. In standing beside -these two graves, equally destitute of human care, one pays a tribute -to friendship as well as to genius. - -Another old man--Severn--sleeps alongside of young Keats. Their graves, -situated in a free and wind-swept place, outside of the stuffed -cemetery, are well cared for. The same good people who put up the -exquisite portrait of Keats in _alto-rilievo_ against the wall of -the portal and erected the tombstone in memory of Severn, doubtless -provided for proper attention to the graves. The wall near by is -thick with climbing roses. Daisies, buttercups, and some flowers not -so familiar to us, star the lush grass on every side. A trim hedge -incloses the two who, in death, as in life, were not divided. Keats -sleeps under the shadow of a laurel-tree, which has grown much in the -last three years, and still supplies leaves in abundance to be plucked -and pressed as souvenirs. As we stood there and watched the sharp -shadow of the venerable pyramid of Cestius slowly creeping toward us, -the spell was broken by the harsh voice of a man at my elbow. “What a -shame,” he said, “that such an epitaph should be allowed to stand above -a grave!” I turned and saw an Englishman. He referred, of course, to -the bitterness of the inscription, alluding to the savage criticisms -which, doubtless, hastened the death of the consumptive, broken-hearted -Keats. The Englishman thought it was high time to erase this memorial -of a by-gone literary feud. “True,” I replied, “the epitaph does -seem out of place now, when the position of Keats among the English -immortals is assured. But, after all, should it not be kept there as a -warning to future critics? It should teach them to be more tolerant of -young authors, with their new and daring styles.” The other man could -not accept that view of the case. I did not care to discuss it. So we -touched hats and parted. - - -It is not easy to find out the exact sanitary value of the eucalyptus, -or blue-gum tree. Americans who inhabit malarial districts, and are -waiting for Italy to test the tree thoroughly before planting it in -their own grounds, will be sorry to learn that a blight has fallen on -a great many promising groves of the eucalyptus in this country. At -most of the railway-stations in South Italy the trees are withered, -if not yet dead. Their leaves are yellow and curled up, and have only -a faint resinous smell. Many of the trees, whose leaves are still -green and balmy, are stunted. They do not grow here with the rapidity -and vigor of the eucalyptus in Australia. The trouble is less with -the climate than the soil, for I observed at some stations every sign -of health in some trees. A specimen would show robustness in every -leaf, and fill the air with its peculiar odor, while another one not -two hundred feet away would be drooping and scentless. In those few -places where the tree has done justice to itself, as one may say, men -speak well of it. They regard it as a preventive, to some extent, of -malarial fever; they ought to know. The good fathers at the Abbey of -Tre Fontaine, near Rome, have the highest opinion of the eucalyptus. -It is an undoubted fact that the very free planting of the tree in and -about the abbey-grounds has made them habitable. It takes kindly to -that particular locality. The monks have mastered the art of raising -it to perfection. They have a vast nursery where it is grown by the -hundreds of thousands, and sold cheaply. The trees which I had noticed -at so many railway-stations all came from Tre Fontaine. The monks make -a handsome revenue out of this product. It would not be quite fair to -say that their interests prejudice them in its favor, though one could -hardly expect them to underrate something the cultivation of which is -so gainful for them. To sum up the matter, according to my present -light, I should say that where the eucalyptus can be made to thrive it -is a check on malaria. - - -The old town, Perugia, is well worth visiting on many accounts. -Traveling by rail from Rome to Florence, one sees large clusters of -houses perched high on the hill-side. They are crowned with campaniles -and domes, surrounded by high walls, and provoke one’s curiosity to -make their closer acquaintance. But on consulting his guide-book, the -tourist finds that these elevated settlements contain few objects of -interest, better examples of which can be found elsewhere. He also -learns, which is as much to the purpose, that they have no good hotels. -Now, Perugia is very old, very quaint, full of venerable historical -associations, a center of Etruscan tombs, and other antiquities, -seventeen hundred feet above the sea, and has a first-class hotel. This -modern structure, the “Grand,” occupies the highest ground of the town, -and commands a magnificent view of the Umbrian Valley. East, south, -and west I survey all the details of a landscape of variety and beauty -unsurpassed. It is intersected by the Tiber and some smaller rivers, -which flash in the morning sun. Many villages are visible as brown -patches, among them Assisi, famous as the birthplace of St. Francis. -Mountains bound the view on all sides. Some of them are still tipped -with snow, and their summits would easily be mistaken for clouds if -these were not scurrying past in the south wind. As I write a haze -is beginning to blot out the more distant villages. A heated term is -threatening. But Americans are not to be frightened by that. Only I -wish the roads were not so white and dusty. - -This country is a vast cemetery. No one can say how many races were -buried here before the Etruscans passed away in their turn and left the -ground honey-combed with their tombs. When one sinks a well or digs a -cellar for a house, he is apt to strike his spade against a rock, which -gives back a hollow sound. It is the roof of an Etruscan burial-vault. -From this subterranean chamber the air has been excluded for more than -two thousand years. I am told that strange things are sometimes seen in -the tombs at the moment when they are opened, and then vanish forever. -They say that glimpses are caught of old Etruscan lords and ladies -sitting at banquets, and that these disappear the instant the outer air -touches them. When the finder proceeds to open and examine the tomb, he -discovers nothing but a heap of dust in place of the vision that had -startled him. These are obviously fables, for the most part. Though I -believe it is true that an Etruscan knight, in full armor, collapsed -to dusty nothingness in precisely this way when his tomb was invaded a -few years ago. We have been to see the Sepulchre of the Volumnii, about -five miles below Perugia, and found it and its contents very strange -and interesting. It is supposed to date back to the third century B. -C. A descent of some thirty steps leads down to it from the road-side. -First, a chamber, about twenty-five feet square, is entered, and from -this smaller apartments branch to right and left. The sepulchre is -hewn out of the tufa-rock. It is very damp and cold. Heads of Medusa, -dolphins, and serpents are carved with much skill on the top and sides -of this tomb. All around stand small stone urns, each one bearing in -_alto-rilievo_ the representation of a fight. One man is always killing -another, unless the scene is varied by the sacrifice of a bound and -helpless woman or child on an altar. The covers of these urns are -higher works of art. They are surmounted with recumbent figures of men -and women. These are dressed in the costume of their age and sex, and -each has in his or her hand a bowl for tears. Lifting off a cover, I -find inside the urn about a hatful of ashes. I run my fingers through -this mass and feel fragments of burned bones. But I am rudely stirring -up all that remains of some gallant warrior or some haughty beauty, -and withdraw my hand with a sense of remorse. A great many personal -ornaments of exceeding richness and grace have been taken from these -receptacles, and are separately exhibited by the custodian. But if one -wishes to realize the full extent of the arts and sciences familiar to -the old Etruscans, he should inspect the splendid collection in the -University Museum at Perugia. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -FLORENCE--BOLOGNA--COMO. - - -Sunday, May 23d, being at Florence, we went to the Duomo. Advancing -from the door to the center of that magnificent cathedral, we noticed -a crowd of persons standing there, and heard a musical voice sounding -above their heads. The edifice is so vast that the thousand or more -people who composed the throng occupied comparatively only a small -space on the floor. The voice, the source of which we could not trace -at first in the dim light of the place, proved to come from a pulpit -in mid-air. The speaker was a fine-looking man about fifty years old. -His face was highly intellectual, and at moments intensely spiritual in -its expression. He spoke Italian with a sweetness and a rhythmic swing -delightful to the ear. One might not know a word of what he said--as -at the Italian opera--and still enjoy hearing him. But it was not -necessary to understand more than a few words--here and there--of the -beautiful language that rolled so fluently from his lips in order to -catch the full purport of his remarks. His theme was the consolations -of religion in earthly sorrows. He spoke without manuscript or notes. -The man’s heart was full of his message, and he delivered it with an -eloquence that held his audience spell-bound. Officers and privates -of the army, gray-headed civilians, rich men and beggars, women and -children, all stood there with parted lips gazing upon his face and -drinking in his words of faith and cheer. His gestures were few and -natural. They seemed freighted with meaning. At times he would point up -to the glorious dome, as if apostrophizing the angels and saints who -make that great concave seem a glimpse of heaven. Then he would press -his hand fervently upon his heart, as if to testify a sincerity for -which no such gesture was needed, as truth and zeal shone before all -men in every line of his face. Suddenly, while the attention of his -hearers was rapt and almost painful in its intensity, he stopped, gave -the congregation his blessing with a quick motion of his right hand -(a sign of the cross), and abruptly left the pulpit. A moment later I -saw him glide rapidly through the throng with a thick cloak wrapped -about him, and a shawl tied around his neck. His impassioned sermon -had heated him up, and he was very wisely taking care of himself. His -name is unknown to me, and I may never see him again. But his eloquent -discourse, which would have interpreted itself had it been spoken in -Chinese, will ever remain one of my pleasantest recollections of the -grand old Cathedral of Florence. - -On the way back to my hotel I passed the Palazzo Vecchio. As I stopped -to inspect its venerable front, a small boy handed me a printed slip -of paper. Looking at it, I found it to be a recommendation of somebody -with a long name for the office of delegate in the National Assembly. -It was signed by numerous citizens of Florence, all highly respectable, -probably, but strangers to me. Just before me I observed one man -button-holing another, and whispering something in his ear. Groups of -people were conferring mysteriously on every side. Then, for the first -time, I noticed that the Palazzo Vecchio itself was plastered over -with enormous placards of assorted colors--red, green, blue, white, -and yellow. Letters a foot long proclaimed all these show-bills to be -election posters, quite in the American style. They were all dated the -night before the eventful day--namely, Sunday--which had been assigned -for the great struggle between the friends and foes of the present -Italian ministry. Politicians are the same in all countries. The -cunning fellows in Italy understand as well as their American kind the -art of issuing “last cards” and “final appeals” at an hour too late for -refutation by their opponents. - -Desiring to compare the Italian with the American process of balloting, -I climbed to a large upper room in the palace where voting was then in -progress. Admission was impossible without a _permesso_, which it was -not worth while to procure, as I saw at a glance through the doorway -how the business was done. A number of officials sat at a long table; -upon it were glass globes for the ballots, and books for identifying -and checking off the voters. The formalities were in substance the -same as those which so effectually deter very busy men from voting in -New York except in presidential years. With a population of 150,000, -Florence is entitled to cast about 15,000 votes; and out of these the -proportion of stay-at-homes is as large as in our own city. Very little -interest was actually taken in the election, although the political -journals had been trying for a week to “get up steam” with pictorial -caricatures and big head-lines. The contest was evidently one between -the ins and the outs, and the great majority of voters had no real -concern in the issue. But the lesson was no less instructive to an -American. All that I saw on that election Sunday in Florence convinced -me that political tricks and “dodges” are by no means confined to our -beloved country. - - -The tourist’s purse should be well stuffed if he wants to buy -Florentine mosaics at the shops of the most famous manufacturers. The -prices of some of their products would be called high even in New York. -Extra fine pieces are ticketed at five thousand francs and upward. Some -of the makers of mosaics have grown rich on American patronage. It is -not at their shops that you get bargains. There is no shade of color, -I believe, which the artist can not find among the stones, shells, or -corals with which he produces his wonderful effects. As all great works -of art require a master for their accomplishment, it stands to reason -that the finest original landscapes, portraits, and flower and fruit -pieces can never be very cheap, as most people estimate cheapness. But -it is possible to pick up fairly good mosaics in Florence at reasonable -rates, though these are not the rates asked by the seller. He does not -expect you to give more than a half or two thirds his nominal price. -I have visited a number of factories of fancy goods in Italy, and -observed that nearly, all the labor is performed by mere children. They -toil many hours in the day, and are poorly paid. Under the pretense -that they are being educated to a trade, they continue for years to -do a journeyman’s work, and it is to their cunning hands that we owe -some of the most marvelous imitations of masterpieces in wood-carving, -filigree, and mosaic. When, therefore, the manufacturer takes off a -half or a third of his asking price, he is still making a large profit -on his goods. No American need think that he can ever get the better of -an art-dealer in Europe. That is impossible. - - -One of the most interesting sights in the environs of Florence is the -Carthusian Monastery. I had the pleasure of visiting it with a party -of American ladies. The monastery is an immense structure, covering -acres of land, and contains ten or a dozen chapels of different -sizes. This is enough to give each monk a chapel all to himself--the -inmates not exceeding that number. For reasons best known to the -Italian Government, it has been decided to wind up certain spiritual -retreats, and this Carthusian Monastery among them. But the work is -done gradually, and the buildings and grounds will not revert to -the Government until the last of the few remaining monks is dead. -They do not seem likely to die in a hurry. Some of them would take -the prizes in any human exhibition for fatness and sleekness. Their -loose and flowing robes of some cream-colored stuff, perhaps, impart -an unreal fullness to their figures. One wonders if their lives are -quite as austere as represented. The monk who piloted our party about -is magnificent in physique. He stands about six feet two inches, as -straight as an arrow, weighs fully two hundred pounds, has a winning, -slightly sunburned Italian face, and is in manner a perfect gentleman. -To the ladies he is at once dignified and courteous. Somewhere in some -other days he must have mingled with refined society, and I catch -myself in a state of keen surprise when I contrast his presumably -monastic life here with the gay times that he may have had elsewhere. -He is very fluent in Italian and French, as if he were making up (poor -fellow!) for the enforced silence of his vows. For we are told that -this ready talker is allowed to converse with his brethren no more -than one hour in a week. We are shown his suite of small, miserable, -cheerless rooms where he receives and eats his frugal meals, which -are shoved to him through a hole in the wall by a hand attached to an -unseen person. We see the wretched straw pallet on which he stretches -his giant frame, and the bare table where he makes his solitary -repast. Then we look again at his healthy face, and still wonder -by what alchemy he can transmute his solitude and privation into -apparent contentment and even happiness. The ladies all think that -our handsome guide must “have a history.” They imagine that somewhere -among his antecedents is the inevitable “woman.” They speculate fondly -on the probabilities of some love-affair which drove our friend from a -luxurious court to this penitential abode. They unanimously agree that -it is “too bad” to keep such a fine-looking gentleman confined in a -monastery, when society outside is pining for precisely that kind of -material. But our monk makes no revelation of his own thoughts. After -he has patiently taken us all over the monastery, and picked flowers -for the ladies as mementos of their visit, he bids them good-by with -the one unchanging expression of contentment on his face. May his ample -shadow never be less, nor his beard of raven blackness be shorn of its -luxuriant proportions! - - -Entering the ancient and famous city of Bologna May 24th, I could -think only of the sausage that bears her name. The ideas of Bologna -and sausage were one and inseparable. Could anything be more -ridiculous? There was a large, rich, enterprising city, with her fine -picture-galleries, churches, and important university, two remarkable -leaning towers, and many branches of industry in which she excels. And -yet I found myself looking out of the carriage-windows, right and -left, for nothing but sausages! Not a single specimen of them could -be seen between the station and the hotel. You may believe I was much -disappointed. But at dinner, among a great variety of French dishes, -the waiters bore around plates covered with the thinnest possible -slices of the celebrated sausage. For a moment I hovered over it -with a fork, and then gave myself the benefit of the doubt. All the -Italians present scrambled for it, but the English people and at least -two Americans at table let it alone. Such is prejudice. After dinner, -walking about the shops near our hotel, I saw plenty of sausages. -Indeed, these were the most beautiful ornaments of the shop-windows. -Some were a foot in diameter, and their finely-cut surfaces looked like -Roman mosaic. Aside from her sausages, Bologna is well worth a visit, -and even those persons who are squeamish about eating them can not help -admiring their decorative effect when exposed for sale in the busy -parts of the city. Their artistic combinations of tint lighten up the -shop-fronts like so many chromos or colored photographs. - - -Next day we examined the two leaning towers. One of them is -particularly interesting, because it is claimed by some authorities to -be the only tower in all Italy which leans “on purpose.” The taller -of the pair deflects only about three and a half feet in a height of -two hundred and seventy-two feet; while the other, with a height of -only one hundred and thirty-eight feet, is eight and a half feet out -of plumb. According to tradition, if not history, this obliquity is -the work of design. One may suppose that the original intention was -to carry the short tower to the same height as the tall one, and that -the architect and the workmen became frightened as they proceeded. One -feels like “standing from under” as he looks up and sees that massive -chimney-like pile apparently on the point of toppling over with its -own weight. I can understand, too, that the masons may have struck for -higher wages or fewer hours as the tower began to lean more and more. -It should have needed no trade-union or Knights of Labor to impel them -to make a demand on their employers. To them as to us it must have -seemed very absurd to build a tower at enormous expense for the express -object of showing how much it could be made to lean without falling. -After one has looked at these eccentric structures a short time he -becomes the prey of a singular optical illusion. Every other campanile -or steeple or chimney appears to be leaning more or less. The fronts of -tall buildings do not seem to be exactly up and down. The spectator -insensibly compares one upright object with another, and discovers, as -he imagines, a variance of a yard, or a foot, or an inch, from the true -perpendicular. He becomes painfully skeptical about the stability of -all things, and does not get rid of this disagreeable impression until -he leaves Bologna, and ceases to see the pair of leaning towers looming -always above the horizon. - - -Taking one’s lunch on the upper deck of a Rhine steamer is very -pleasant. The same operation is highly agreeable on a Danube boat. The -picturesque scenery of both rivers is enjoyed all the more while the -inner man is duly refreshed. But a lunch eaten in full air on the smart -little craft that plies on the most beautiful of Italian lakes between -Como and Bellagio is an experience no less delightful. The food and the -wine are good, to begin with. If one comes up from Milan on a hot and -dusty day, he revels in the coolness as he sits under an awning and is -fanned by breezes that have swept over yonder snow-fields of the Alps. -The hotter he has found Rome and Florence--and the more wearisome the -great valley or prairie of the Po has seemed to him as he traversed -it--the more he feasts on the prospect of mountains now all around him, -and the promise of lower temperature which they do not hold out in -vain. The hills which form the immediate frame of this exquisite lake -are clothed to their tops in green--not barren on the summit like those -of Southern Italy. This green is reflected in the clear, deep water, -and perhaps of itself explains the fine aquamarine tint for which Como -is as famous as Lake Leman for its matchless blue. - -Perhaps no person who ever heard or read Claude Melnotte’s description -of Como, as poured by him into the too credulous ear of the Lady of -Lyons, can look on this lake without recalling some or all of that -delicious bit of poetry. This is unfortunate. Because the shores of -lovely Como do not abound in orange-groves as he has been led to -expect. Neither does he see anywhere fountains gushing forth in the -midst of roses. Besides, the environments of the lake are far from soft -and sensuous. The entire effect partakes of the grand and rugged. It is -only of the water itself and the villas on the banks that the epithet -beautiful is spontaneously used. But we know that Claude Melnotte was -only romancing when he painted Como to the love-lorn Pauline. Bulwer -must not be held responsible if travelers do not find here exactly -those charms which they had been prepared for. But none the less is the -Lake of Como peerless in Italy. If it has a rival anywhere it is in -America. Those who have seen Lake George may with some show of justice -assert its equality with Como in the chief elements of beauty. I have -heard the comparison made more than once by Americans here--to the -disparagement of Como. But why compare them at all? They are different -in certain respects; and I should say that in those variations, and -those only, each is more charming than the other. - -In a world’s competition of roses the Lake of Como would stand a good -chance of carrying off the highest honors, for the profusion, size, -variety, and fragrance of those flowers. The villas here recall Byron’s -flowing line about “the gardens of Gul in their bloom.” And then the -nightingales! They are singing all night long in the forest on the -hill-side. There is an accompaniment of sweet woodland music to odors -almost oppressive in their richness. The old fable of the nightingale -loving the rose seems to be possible in this Eden of Como. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -PEASANT-GIRLS--NIGHTINGALES--ISOLA BELLA--SAN CARLO BORROMEO IN COPPER. - - -A lucky accident enabled us to get an inside view of some little -Swiss and Italian villages rarely seen by tourists. We missed a boat -through the fault of a servant, and were obliged to take a carriage -from Lugano, on the lake of that name, to Luino, on Lago Maggiore. -The day was beautiful, the team fresh, and the route not described in -the guide-books. The old post-road which we traveled is still kept in -good condition for local use. We did not pass a single carriage all -the way. The villages of Northern Italy are almost uniformly neat and -clean. The inhabitants are honest, industrious, and self-respecting. We -have not seen a beggar within the boundaries of the Italian lakes. The -scarcity of men in these out-of-the-way places is very noticeable. All -the young and strong fellows are at work in the larger towns along the -lakes, where there is plenty to do for willing hands in the “season.” -We saw no natives except old men, children, and women. The latter -do everything inside and outside of the houses, the shops, and the -taverns. They were gathering in a crop of hay from all the fields along -both sides of the road. The fragrance of the new-mown grass filled -the air. Except for the women with their rakes and forks the scene in -early June very closely resembled that of a New England meadow in a -later month. There are the same stone walls dividing the fields, only a -little better built than those in America. Daisies and butter-cups are -the wild flowers in greatest abundance, though there are many others -peculiar to this part of the world. The one object in the landscape -which, above every other, makes a difference, is the high square tower -of the Campanile. The traveler is never out of sight of that substitute -for the American steeple, and there is hardly an hour of the day when -he does not hear its sweet accord of bells ringing in the distance. -And the people of these little hamlets are never so busy that some of -them can not steal a few minutes from their day’s work to enter their -church and kneel in silent prayer. As we walk on tip-toe down the cold -stone aisles to look at some bit of painting or sculpture of surprising -excellence, we feel ashamed of disturbing the poor women at their -devotions. But they do not seem to mind it, showing far less curiosity -about strangers than the average congregation of a church in any small -American village would exhibit. - -In this memorable ride we frequently met girls with large wicker -baskets strapped to their shoulders. The bearers were healthy and -strong, and did not appear to need the aid of the thick stick which -served as a cane. There are no tramps hereabout. But if one should -spring from the road-side and insult that muscular young creature, I -imagine that he would be sorry for it; for her stout staff is gripped -in a large hand and her arm is sinewy. She is just such an athlete -as the girl who rowed us all about the Bay of Lugano. That rower, -by-the-way, handled the oars more neatly than any boatman we have -seen on these lakes. Her stroke was faultless. And all the time that -she was cleaving the water with a powerful sweep she was talking with -feminine facility, divining by instinct the questions we were about to -ask, and giving us the very information we would have sought. If such a -girl--instead of a stupid boy--had been the driver of our carriage, I -might have learned more worth the mention between Lugano and Luino. - -Returning to the lasses on the road, I would add that the monstrous -baskets were filled to the top with something that seemed heavy. The -girls may have been trudging home from market with goods obtained in -exchange for their own handy-work. For they are dexterous at spinning, -weaving, and lace-making, as well as in the manufacture of butter -and cheese. It is no wonder that the men confidingly leave all the -interests of home in their charge. Seeing how true and brave they are, -we can not help regretting that those straight, handsome forms should -so soon be bowed down by the excessive burdens thrust upon them. But -they would be the first to reject the traveler’s commiseration. Those -who are barefoot would tell him that they enjoy treading the earth -with their naked soles. Most of the girls whom we met, however, wear -bandages of white linen or other material wrapped around the feet and -wooden sandals lightly strapped to them. This arrangement gives more -play to the feet than the stockings and shoes of other countries. The -wearers would spurn with contempt the tight fits and high heels which -no fashionable woman of the period could do without. - - -The Lakes Lugano and Maggiore are less picturesque and interesting than -Como. The tourist ought, if convenient, to reverse the circuit we made. -Como should be kept for the last if possible, since all the rest pale -in comparison with it. But each of the other lakes has its separate -fascination, either of tint or of surrounding mountains, or something -else. For example, we saw on Lake Lugano no less than four cascades of -great height and fullness. They looked like fresh and foaming milk as -they streamed from precipices a thousand feet high. Any one of them -would make the fortune of a hotel-keeper in Switzerland, where such -objects are greatly in favor; but here they are too common to excite -much interest. As for Lake Maggiore, it enjoys the distinction of -being larger than any other of the group. This gives space for longer -steamboat trips, which some persons enjoy greatly, and I can certify to -the pleasure of them. But the same lake surpasses the rest in the glory -of the snow mountains, which, though miles away, seem to spring out of -its depths. These are the Simplon and its spotless associates. They -raise their sharp crests far above the snow-line, and show great masses -of gleaming white on which the sun has yet made little impression. -As we entered the Bay of Pallanza, the haze prevented our seeing the -lofty range. But next morning, when I flung open the shutters, there -stood the Simplon, cleaving the sky with its wedge. The rays from -the east struck it full in the breast and made it sparkle. One could -see without a glass all the divisions of rock and snow and ice that -compose its towering bulk. Somewhere beyond are the far sublimer -Matterhorn, Weisshorn, Monte Rosa, and others. But they are not needed -to enhance the picturesqueness of this part of Maggiore. Simplon and -his companions answer the purpose just as well. - - -That man must be very sleepy who would complain of being kept awake by -nightingales. These birds inhabit the thickets around my hotel. About -eleven o’clock, the first night of our arrival, one of them awoke me -from a sound sleep. A window stood ajar, and music flooded the chamber. -The singer was a soloist. Not a sound of any kind interrupted his -performance. Even the crickets stopped to listen. Somebody has taken -the trouble to jot down every note and trill of the nightingale’s song. -It may be reproduced, I believe, on the upper octaves of the piano. But -it can never be made to sound as ravishing as the “wood-notes wild” -of that bird in those bushes. Perhaps imagination has something to -do with the effect. Memory quickly recalls fugitive scraps of poetry -about nightingales, and one listens to them the more greedily. Suddenly -the music, which was so enchanting, woke echoes far and near. Other -nightingales, as if accepting a challenge, responded to the soloist. It -was too much of a good thing. The sweet sounds ran together and became -confused. What had been perfect as an air was discord as a chorus. In -the midst of it the chief singer ceased. A few minutes later, and all -was quiet. - - -“Napoleon the Great slept there,” said the guide, pointing to an -alcove-bed in the huge château on Isola Bella. There was room enough -in it for six little corporals. Fancy the conqueror curling himself -up into a ball and trying to hush to sleep the ambitious schemes that -seethed in his brain! Not long after his visit at Isola Bella he fought -the battle of Marengo. After one has wandered through the labyrinth -of rooms, he is turned over to the gardener. This man takes you to -a little gully hard by, and stops before an enormous laurel-tree. -“There,” says he, “Napoleon cut the word _battaglia_ with his own -hand.” Still fresh from the inspection of Napoleon’s bed, one gazes -almost with awe on a tree which he actually gashed in a moment of -abstraction. But nothing can be seen. The liveliest fancy can make out -nothing more than worm-holes in the bark. The gardener is then good -enough to explain that the highly prized inscription rotted away years -ago. This is too bad. He tries to make up for the loss by showing us -what wonderful things the beautiful island, as it is truly called, is -capable of producing. - -It is not for an American to be astonished at anything in the -gardening line. So I suppressed any surprise I might have felt when -the cork-tree, the camphor-tree, the tea-plant, and bamboo in every -variety, growing comfortably side by side, were shown to me. It was -a happy family, whose members had been brought together from every -zone but the Arctic. Perhaps the gardener may have easily guessed our -nationality; for it is a fact that he spoke with the greatest pride -of all the different American trees in the collection. To resist such -delicate flattery was impossible. I hope I sustained the reputation of -our country by the size of the _pour boire_ which he received as we -left. The Borromean Islands, of which Isola Bella is the queen, would -well repay one for a visit to Lago Maggiore if there were no other -attractions. - - -The most illustrious member of the Borromean family in all its eventful -history--St. Charles--has been made the subject of a colossal statue. -It was erected about two hundred years ago at Arona. Its material is -copper, except the head, hands, and feet, which are bronze. Having -seen Bartholdi’s statue of Liberty in Paris, in 1883, I was impelled -to compare it with this old giant. Some people say that Bartholdi’s -masterpiece will easily become the prey of wind and weather--that the -thin copper sheets of which it is made will not last long, and that -the first stiff gale will blow it down. But San Carlo Borromeo is -perpetuated in just such copper for the most part. That metal does not -show the least trace of age, save that it has become of a darker and -richer tint with time. As for the wind, there could be no worse site -for a large statue than the high hill north of Arona, where the gusts -are frightful at times. I beg to cite this towering image--sixty-six -feet high and surmounting a pedestal of forty feet--as hopeful evidence -that the greater achievement of Bartholdi will be seen and admired in -its perfection centuries hence. - -Art-critics, in their off-hand, dogmatic way, call the statue of San -Carlo “worthless.” They say that the hands--one of which holds a book, -while the other gives a blessing--are badly managed, that the pose of -the figure is ungraceful, and that the ears are too big. As to the -ears, I admit that they possibly do the saint much injustice. They seem -about the shape and size of meat-platters. But if one’s attention were -not called to them, they would not look so bad. This defect, if such it -is, might perhaps be remedied by turning the unfortunate ears upside -down or back side front. All the rest strikes me as dignified and -effective enough. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE SIMPLON IN JUNE--VISPACH TO ZERMATT--THE MATTERHORN--A FINE VIEW -FROM THE SNOWS OF GORNER-GRAT. - - -Crossing from Italy to Switzerland by the Simplon Pass early in June, -we found the remains of a great snow-drift near the summit. The crest -of the heap rose above the top of our carriage. On the Italian, or -south, side of the Alps the weather had been quite warm and even -enervating. Although the sky was overcast and rain fell at intervals, -I became unpleasantly heated whenever I walked, to ease the horses -and pick flowers. But the moment we began to descend from the extreme -height of about 6,500 feet, a cold wind struck us in front and flank. -Rugs and shawls which had been carefully strapped up were unbound and -put to use. The road was as good as when Napoleon made it, and the -horses were fresh from a night’s rest at the half-way inn of Isella. -The carriage rattled down the steep grade, the driver cracking his -whip merrily, and making echoes in the deep and narrow gorges. We knew -that a few hours of this pace would bring us to Brieg and warmth. I -never before realized the full difference between a northern and a -southern aspect. As we made the gradual ascent from Domo d’Ossola, snow -had been occasionally seen, but always far above us. It filled crevices -at the height of 7,000 feet, or crowned the very peaks. But when we -had passed the little village of Simplon and neared the Hospice, there -was snow in patches far below us. And from the road upward it still -covered large tracts, and at times threatened avalanches. These, -however, are of rare occurrence on the Simplon in the first half of -June. Rude crosses mark the spots where travelers had been swept into -the profound gulf which yawned on our left. At one place, the driver -said, four men had been carried to that awful but immediate death. An -enduring crucifix of bronze had been firmly set in a stone socket, just -where they were overtaken. This is the part of the road where so many -“refuges” have been provided. Those places of shelter, as well as the -more comfortable Hospice, have saved the lives of many persons crossing -the pass in the fall, winter, and spring. The _tourmente_, or whirlwind -of snow, is a cause of more deaths than avalanches in the high Alps. -It is bitterly cold and blinding, and in a few minutes raises mounds of -snow through which horses and men can hardly make their way. We were -glad to know that the icy plague was out of season at the time of our -crossing. - -The waterfalls--among the greatest charms of the Simplon Pass--were at -their best. The rains had been heavy for some days, and the sun was -melting the snow in all but its highest lodgments. The white peaks -of mountains, ranging from 9,000 to 11,000 feet above the sea, were -sublime and beautiful. One never tires of gazing at them and using some -more familiar mountain at home as a sort of measuring-scale in order -to form a better idea of their height. Americans are in the habit of -recalling their impressions of Washington, Mansfield, Graylock, or the -Catskills for this purpose. In the Alps, however, this plan does not -help us much. For some of the most majestic of the range have their -bases at a height of 5,000 feet to begin with, and never seem to be -as high by several thousand feet as they really are. A mountain of -much less stature would look just as lofty springing from a foundation -nearer the sea-level. I soon gave up Washington, Moosilauke, and the -rest, and began employing Trinity Church steeple and the Produce -Exchange tower as wands of memory in trying to measure Monte Leone and -the Aletschhorn. The system was amusing if not satisfactory. - -But when no lofty mountains are in sight then one’s spirit is refreshed -by the waterfalls. I never before conceived of the widely different -forms which falling water could assume. We passed hundreds of -cascades between Domo d’Ossola and Brieg, and no two were alike. They -resembled each other as little in shape as in size. Some were simple -mill-streams. They came rushing down the mountains in great volume to -turn wheels. But they found no corn to grind or logs to saw. They were -only conducted off through culverts beneath the road-bed, where they -could do neither harm nor good. What might be called lace-patterns were -innumerable. They were flat waterfalls, thin and very wide, slipping -gently over smooth rocks of easy slopes. Wavy bands of lines made the -breadth of these falls look in the distance exactly like snow-white -lace. Bridal veils of the most exquisite texture were common. Some kept -their symmetry in leaps of at least five hundred feet. There were falls -which reminded one of the dropping of brilliants from fireworks high -in the air. Each flashing wavelet seemed to preserve its unity as it -fell over the precipice, and to come down slowly till broken up by some -jutting rock below. A fall that always pleased us dissipated itself -in a transparent vapor, and sparkled in the sunshine like a cascade of -diamonds. This is the sort of fall that Swiss innkeepers are said to -manufacture in the dry season. It only needs a small boy with a few -pails of water. He is out of sight on the heights, and turns on the -fall when he sees a carriage coming through the pass. There were too -many falls of this kind to make us question their genuineness. Another -style that never tired came down in numerous short leaps. The effect -was that of stairs made of silver. Sometimes they were solid--as one -might say--and made so little spray that they seemed to be shining -steps leading from the gloomy depths of the ravine to the white and -serene land above. - -We used up the best part of two days traveling from Pallanza (on the -Lago Maggiore), Italy, to Brieg, Switzerland, which is the upper end of -the Simplon road, and would not have abridged the journey by a single -hour. It is delightful and exhilarating to every lover of Nature--in -fine weather. Few persons who seek the Alps for health and pleasure -will be sorry to learn that the proposed tunnel of the Simplon is -likely to remain a dream many years longer. In a shed of the little -_auberge_ at Isella may be seen a boring-machine which has been tried -on the Italian side and laid up for want of funds. The tunnel would -be about twelve miles long, and nobody knows how much it would cost. -And nobody in Italy, at least, seems to care. The scheme is of French -origin, though the Swiss are very friendly to it, and its projectors -have hoped that Switzerland would subscribe liberally toward its -execution. But, at present, there is little prospect that help will -come from that quarter or any other. Admirers of the picturesque who -do not want to see the noble Simplon road discarded will not, however, -object to the construction of a narrow-gauge railway between Domo -d’Ossola and the Italian lakes. This would save them the delay and -expense of a carriage-ride of four or five hours through a somewhat -monotonous country. I can testify to the solidity of the road-bed -as far as built. The bridges are particularly strong. Work is now -suspended on this enterprise, also for lack of money, and the natives -told me that they did not expect to see it in operation under four -years--if ever. - -At Brieg we took carriage for Vispach, though the railway from the -former place connects the two villages and continues on to Geneva. -Vispach is the only point of departure for the Zermatt country, where -the Matterhorn reigns supreme. Thousands of persons--mostly Alpine -climbers--visit Zermatt in July and August. It is strange, therefore, -that for half the way there is no carriage-road where one could be -made at moderate cost merely by widening the present bridle-path. As a -walk, the distance is a good nine hours, and is readily taken by many -English men and women. But people like ourselves, not used to such -performances, are glad to mount horses, or, if timid or not strong, -prefer to be borne on the chair with poles (which one sees everywhere -in these mountains) by the strong hands of two young Swiss giants, with -two others to “spell” them and carry the “traps.” Light-weight ladies -are greatly in favor with these porters. They trot off with their -little burden at a rate which soon distances my horse. It is fun to -notice that sometimes they pretend to find the load heavy and slacken -their gait, as if fatigued. The object of this artifice is to justify -the employment of the second pair of giants, one of whom has a bundle -of umbrellas and the other a small black hand-bag, which is popularly -supposed to be full of money, but in fact contains only bottles. -The horse is led by a fifth man, not, I flatter myself, because the -rider does not know how to ride, but in order to make number five -seem indispensable. This man carries a small package of shawls. It is -the poor horse that does most of the real work and receives no _pour -boire_. For, besides the person on his back, he bears the only piece -of baggage worth mentioning. This is a leather valise of modest -dimensions. Wise people who go to Zermatt get themselves up in light -marching order, leaving their trunks behind to be picked up on their -return. For you are obliged to come out of the Visp Valley the same way -you go in, unless you cross into Italy on foot over a glacier about two -miles high, which we do not propose to do. - -If one were not looking so sharply after his horse and his scattered -property, and keeping the little procession on the go in order to lose -no time, he would enjoy the scenery between Vispach and St. Niklaus -more than he does. It is always wild and in places is magnificent. On -both sides of the valley are crags of great height and occasionally -a snow-tipped peak. Sometimes we rise far above the river Visp, and -then again descend to its level. We are always within hearing distance -of its deep gurgle. On the whole, it was a relief to change off for -a rough mountain-wagon at St. Niklaus and do the rest of the way -with no attendant but the driver. Rain came on about that time, and -we lost some of the finest views to be had before reaching Zermatt. -But we did see the enormous blocks of stone which were shaken down -by the earthquake of 1885 and rolled to the middle of the valley. -The force required to detach these masses from their everlasting -foundations is comprehensible. But it is not so easy to believe that -an immense section of the Bies glacier which overhangs the village -of Randa, slipped with such initial velocity as to clear that hamlet -completely and fall on the other side. The story goes that, although -this monstrous ice-cake missed the village, the wind of it blew down -all the houses! But we prefer to accept all the astonishing statements -about glaciers, and thereby heighten our enjoyment of those remarkable -objects. - -At half-past five the next morning, I obtained my first and best view -of the sublime Matterhorn from a chamber of the Hôtel du Mont Rose. -It was like an instantaneous photograph. Perhaps not a second elapsed -before a drifting cloud covered the summit. But in that fleeting moment -the view was complete. In the pure air of Zermatt (itself 5,300 feet -high) the stars shine with an intensity unknown to lower regions, -and mountains which are miles away seem to overhang the village. The -height of the Matterhorn is about 14,700 feet. This, great as it is, -would not count for so much but for the peculiar shape of the peak. As -seen from Zermatt it presents two sides of a pyramid of solid rock. -These rise at very sharp angles from a slender base and terminate in -the form of a tusk, which actually curves at the top. It recalls to -mind a walrus-tooth or the horn of a rhinoceros. A slight coating of -snow mantles only a part of this rockiest of mountains. Nothing could -seem more difficult than the ascent of the Matterhorn. As one looks at -it the wonder grows that the little churchyard of the hamlet, which -holds the bodies of the three who paid with their lives for the honor -of “conquering” it twenty years ago, is not filled with victims of -the same ambition. In the precious moment of my observation I mark -the route by which those daring men made their ascent. There is the -“shoulder” which they passed triumphantly. There is the steepest of -slopes up which they were the pioneers. There is the precipice of -4,000 feet down which four of the party slipped as they were returning -from their victory. And, somewhere down there among the eternal snow, -perhaps in the fathomless crevasse of a glacier, is still buried -the body of Lord Douglas, one of the most intrepid members of the -expedition. But, while I am making out these points of interest, a -cloud eclipses all. I had seen just enough of the obstacles of the -Matterhorn to increase my amazement at the well-known fact that it is -often ascended with safety now-a-days. It should be remembered that -ropes have been securely fastened to the sides of the mountain in the -worst places, and render the task less difficult than formerly. There -are guides standing in the street in front of the Hôtel du Mont Rose -who would conduct you to the top of the Matterhorn and bring you back -alive for a moderate sum. But they would not start to-day or to-morrow. -They would wait until July, when the snow had melted and left the lower -part of the mountain bare. Even now, however, an offer large enough -will procure the attempt--and probably a successful one--to accomplish -this greatest of Alpine feats. - -One day I happened to meet in a shop a veteran guide who had retired -from the business on his fees and laurels. The old fellow had just -dined freely, and was feeling well. Knowing who he was, I playfully -asked him if he would take me up the Matterhorn and plant the American -flag on the top for 1,000 francs? My manner should have showed that I -was joking. The aged guide, entering into the humor of the thing, as I -supposed, said he would think about it and let me know. Sure enough, -that very night he hunted me up and said he was ready to start the -next day, if required, on the terms mentioned. He seemed very much -disappointed when I told him I was only “in fun.” Since then I am -aware that all the guides in the street are watching me anxiously. -They hope that I may prove the first candidate for their services on -the Matterhorn this season. Last year they assisted more than twenty -persons up and down that terrible rock without a single accident. -August is the best month for the ascents. - -Taking advantage of a fine morning, I started off with a trusty -guide, and in about five hours gained a height of nearly 10,000 feet. -Our route was by a bridle-path up to the Riffelberg, where there -is a summer hotel 8,430 feet above the sea. This establishment was -tenantless at the time of our visit. It is not usually open before -July. Leaving the horse there, the guide and myself proceeded on foot. -At first snow-patches alternated with naked rocks, but presently we -struck a continuous deposit of snow, which gradually increased in depth -from three to six and eight feet. Fortunately for us, Mr. Seiler, the -energetic proprietor of all the hotels in and about Zermatt--five in -number--had that very day directed his men to break a path through -this immense snow-field. We reaped the benefit of their work, and in -fact followed on their heels. At noon we had reached a point on the -Gorner Grat which commanded all the mountains and glaciers I desired to -see; and, as the sun was fast softening the snow and making our task -more arduous, we rested. At that elevation we had fine views of the -Weisshorn, the Rothhorn, Monte Rosa (15,217 feet, and next in height to -Mont Blanc), the Lyskamm, Castor and Pollux, the Dent Blanc, and nearly -all the Alpine monsters of this region except the Matterhorn--coyest -of the family. Five or six glaciers could be distinctly seen for the -greater part of their length and breadth. While feasting on this -incomparable scene of icy magnificence drops of rain began to fall, the -majestic outlines of Monte Rosa vanished in a cloud, the whole prospect -became blurred, and, most reluctantly, I decided to return to Zermatt. -But, that nothing might be wanting to make the excursion prosperous, we -were, on the way, favored with a view of the Matterhorn only a shade -less admirable than the one I have already described. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -EARLY ALPINE FLOWERS--A WEDDING-FEAST--THE RHÔNE VALLEY AND -GLACIER--FURCA PASS. - - -What do you say to meadows so thickly set with forget-me-nots that they -are unbroken stretches of blue? If pieces of the sky had dropped on the -grass, the effect would have been about the same as that which we saw -often repeated in the valley of the Rhône. The shade was the faintest -of the many blue tints that one sees in Alpine fields. The corn-flower -grows rank in June, but is not coupled with the flaming poppy as often -as in some other countries of Europe. In the upper pastures are two -species of flowers--each as blue as a perfect sapphire. Both grow close -to the ground. One is small and star-like. The other is bell-shaped and -slender. I have picked it at a height of 7,000 feet. The yellows are in -great force. Dandelions and buttercups everywhere remind the American -tourist of home. There is a large, graceful anemone of a yellow so -delicate as to be almost white. If it does not thrust its exquisite -head through the snow, it follows hard upon the disappearance of the -icy mantle. A flower of the kind we call “ladies’ delight”--of a pure -lemon-color--is profusely distributed. In some parts of Switzerland one -comes upon fields all ablaze with buttons of gold. I give the English -equivalent of the French and German names by which this showy flower -is commonly known here. And the reds of various depths are only less -abundant than the yellows. Of these the Alpine rose--as it is just -breaking into blossom this month--is most captivating. The bud, as -it begins to open, looks like a cutting of coral. Daisies supply the -white to this wonderful enameling of Nature. Or, shall I say that it -is a carpet so deftly woven as to defy the imitation of its combined -hues in any piece of mortal handiwork? “You could not see the grass -for flowers.” This extravagance of the poet does not overstate the -floral wealth of some of the fields that border the Rhône between -Brieg and Viesch. Stay! I must not omit to mention some wild violets -of extraordinary size and beauty. These I found in only one place--far -above the Rhône glacier--and earned their possession by a hot scramble -up a very steep hill while the carriage was taking its long and zigzag -way round. - -At Viesch we came upon a scene that is interesting everywhere--a -wedding-feast. As the carriage rolled through the narrow street of the -little village, the driver fired a volley of shots from the end of -his whip. He was a fine fellow, and wore, as a badge of his calling, -a dashing green hat with a blackcock’s feather stuck in the band. -There were three spirited horses, their necks encircled with bells -which jingled musically. We were conscious of producing an effect as -we rattled up to the door of the only inn, but were hardly prepared -for the reception which seemed to await us. There stood not only the -landlord and his staff of attendants, but a large number of men and -women, evidently dressed in “their best.” They all stepped forward -as if to welcome us, and at the same time a brass band inside of the -house struck up a joyous air. The situation was really embarrassing; -and we were relieved when we discovered that this effusive reception -was intended not for ourselves, but for some other people who were -very much expected. The faces of the bystanders lengthened when they -saw that we were not the persons so anxiously looked for. All but the -landlord and his immediate aids went back into the house, and our -reception became not more marked than that of all other travelers -alighting at these hospitable shelters for man and beast. - -Then we learned that we had innocently interrupted the tranquil flow of -a wedding-breakfast--having been mistaken for some belated guests of -great importance. The bridegroom was the landlord himself. He looked -radiant with happiness. The bride, whom we saw later on, was a buxom -lass, attired not in the high-colored and fanciful Swiss costume of -which one reads in books. Her dress, if not a creation of the great -Worth himself, was irreproachable in its Frenchiness. And there was -not a single sign of Swiss nationality in the garb of any man or -woman present. This was disappointing. But then the wedding-party -was composed of the richer and “upper” classes of Viesch and the -neighborhood--of twenty miles round. - -The landlord, in the fullness of his heart, had spared no expense. In -the dining-room were two long tables, from which a hundred guests were -just rising as I peeped into it. Long rows of bottles, conscientiously -drained to the last drop, were the principal objects in sight, save -some Cupids in sugar which the knives of the banqueters had spared. As -fast as the guests vacated the room they began dancing in couples. Up -and down the hallways they went, waltzing furiously, while the band of -twelve brass pieces played selections from Strauss. Every player had -before him a bottle, which was replenished by an attentive waiter as -fast as emptied. I never before realized the enormous cubic capacity of -a brass band! While we were gazing on this mirthful scene, loud cracks -of a whip were heard, and up came the delayed guests for whom we had -been mistaken. There was another rush to the door, followed by a storm -of shouts and kisses. The new-comers entered the house in a whirlwind -of excitement. Without even stopping to doff their overcoats and -cloaks, they plunged into the mazes of the waltz. A few minutes later -the dining-room had been cleared of all obstructions, and the dancing -then set in with an earnestness that would shame the languid beaux and -belles of a New York ball. We reluctantly left the festivities at their -height, and resumed the journey to Münster, where we purposed spending -the night. - -At the little inn of Münster we were received by a woman who had a -handkerchief tied about her face, and looked tired out. She did not -seem to care whether we stopped there or not. The house was in a state -of fresh paint and repair, and the prospect for the night was not -inviting. We were shown into a chamber which had neither carpet nor -rug upon the floor. But that floor was scrupulously clean. The sheets -on the beds were coarse, but they smelled of lavender. Everything was -cheap but reassuringly neat. When the dinner was served--at the exact -minute ordered--we could easily have criticised the crockery. But the -plates were hot, as well as the soup, the fillet of beef and chicken -tender and cooked to a turn, the pudding and cake nice, and the Swiss -Muscat as delicate of flavor as it should be. After dinner a roaring -fire in a wide-throated chimney and an Argand lamp burning on the table -of this same room made the place far more comfortable and home-like -than are many of the “Grand Hotels” of which Europe is full. A good -night’s rest and a capital breakfast completed the recommendations -of this humble inn to the traveler’s confidence and patronage. Its -substance is in inverse ratio to its show. Besides all else, its -windows on the west command in clear weather perfect views of the -Weisshorn. This is about 14,800 feet high, and is the greatest object -of interest in the Rhône Valley. As one toils up the ascent, he keeps -the splendid white peak in sight mile after mile. He admires it from -several view-points, but it never shows up to better advantage than -when seen on a fine day from the elevation of Münster. - -When you have been following up a river for two days, and seen it -dwindle as you rise above the junction of one tributary brook after -another, it is a great satisfaction to trace that river to its source. -In its narrowest part the Rhône is a powerful stream. Its turbid -waters rush along with a noise of thunder. They have cut in places a -deep gorge, the bottom of which is far out of sight of the road. They -have polished all the stones in their path into a general condition -of smoothness. Nowhere is the erosive action of water more strikingly -shown. When you stand at the foot of a stupendous glacier and see -the beginning of this boisterous river, you no longer wonder at its -youthful vigor. There is a great, dark cavern in the side of the -glacier. It is now of a triangular shape. From this opening the Rhône -issues with a fierce bound, as if straining to be free. Looking into -the hole, you can see nothing beyond a distance of twenty feet. But you -can hear the young torrent, as it tears its way down to the light, far -back in the bowels of the ice-mountains. - -Scientific observers have placed rows of stones painted black, in -the valley just below the glacier, to show how much it is receding -year by year. It is also shrinking in breadth, as you find out for -yourself when you notice the old lateral moraines, or deposits of -earth and stones, on the two sides of the slowly moving mass. These -are many feet higher on the flanks of the channel than the mounds of -the same kind which are now accumulating. Nevertheless, as you look -up at an angle of about 45° and see this glacier rise for a mile or -so until its tooth-like _seracs_ stand out against the blue sky, you -feel that the Rhône will not dry up at its fountain-head for many a -year to come. This conviction is deepened as your horses struggle up -the scientifically perfect road which takes you across the Furca. You -keep the glacier under observation for more than an hour as you rise -to the height where it bends and is lost in the recesses of the parent -snow-field. You understand how frightful a thing is a crevasse, when -you look down into one and discover that what seemed from below only -a little rift, is a yawning gulf in which your coach and horses might -sink to perdition without touching its sides. Individual _seracs_ loom -up from thirty to fifty feet high. And behind this awful fringe of ice -you see a snow-slope (_névé_) of thousands of acres stretching far back -to the base of a mountain which is itself crowned with a hoary burden. -And then, if not before, you discover that the mighty Rhône glacier is -but the protruding tongue (which it resembles in outline) of a body of -snow and ice whose duration will outlast the arithmetic of puny men. - -On the Furca Pass the snow is not deeper than on the Simplon, but -there is more of it. Snow-banks higher than the driver’s head line -one side of the road at intervals for distances of a thousand feet. -On the other side they had been in part pitched down the slope by -the laborers who are always on hand. The summit is nearly 8,000 feet -above the sea. As we climbed to it the horizon widened to the west -and opened up a glorious view of Monte Rosa. As seen from the Furca -Pass, this nearest rival of Mont Blanc looks like a pyramid--showing -but a single peak in place of the two or three crests which I had made -out as I looked across the long level of untrodden snow on the Gorner -Grat. Thus it is that mountains, like everything else, look differently -when viewed from different standpoints. The Matterhorn could barely be -distinguished by reason of a haze in its vicinity. The Weisshorn and -other nearer mountains had been so long in sight that we were glutted -with them. It was the unseen which we longed to see. And when, as our -team pulled up at the door of the Furca Inn, and we found that the -great Finsteraarhorn of the Bernese group was not visible from that -point, nothing we had seen before made up for the disappointment. I -fear that this is only base ingratitude; for the day was an uncommonly -good one for June 15th, and unmixed thankfulness should have been the -only sentiment. - -The Furca Inn enjoys the distinction of having been the home of Queen -Victoria for three days in August, 1868. As Americans would say, she -“ran the concern.” The house was hired for her exclusive use. The -royal bed, cooking-utensils, and all the domestic belongings were -brought on from England. So were the doctor, the cook, the gillie, and -even the humblest but still useful members of the Queen’s household. In -the dining-room hangs a framed list of the names of the whole party, -save the Queen, whose photograph surmounts it. Among the autographs -is that of John Brown. The proprietor exhibits with pride the little -room in which Her Majesty slept. Whether the charges are higher in -consequence, the present writer can not say, as he came and went with a -rapidity quite unpleasing to the landlord. - -From the summit of the Furca Pass down to Andermatt the ride would be -prodigiously interesting if one were not satiated with the sights on -the western ascent. - -After a night at Andermatt the journey was resumed by carriage to -Fluelen and then by boat to Lucerne. Of the scenery along that part -of the route--savage and tame, gloomy and bright, by turns--one could -write more enthusiastically if his impressions of the Furca were not -still fresh. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -AVALANCHES ON THE JUNGFRAU--THE GUIDES OF GRINDELWALD. - - -The avalanche about to be described started just below the peak of -the Silberhorn, a few minutes before midday. At that hour the sun was -beginning to make his rays felt in the frozen bosom of the Jungfrau. -The Silberhorn is the showiest ornament of that most bewitching of -mountains. It is an acute pyramid, and has a surface like frosted -silver. It seems so dead and cold that one does not suspect its latent -capacity for motion and sound. Yet it is from this statuesque spur that -some of the most terrible avalanches of the Jungfrau are let loose. -The sides are so steep that the ice and snow are always about to slide -off, and, when the afternoon sun shines straight and hot upon them, the -watcher for avalanches is never disappointed. I had been staring at -the dazzling Jungfrau through smoke-colored glasses for some time, and -waiting for the show to begin. My point of observation was on a knoll -or excrescence of the Wengern Alp--itself no mean mountain--from which -the peerless Jungfrau can be seen at the shortest range. The day was -perfect, the sky cloudless and the wind hushed. The only signs of life -around me were the fluttering of butterflies and the humming of bees. -The silence was awful. Far off, down in the Lauterbrunnen Valley, I -could see the Staubbach Fall sparkling in the sunshine. From my exalted -station its course could be tracked for a long distance before it flung -itself into the abyss and kept its horse-tail form complete for nearly -a thousand feet. It looked so near, through the transparent air, that -sometimes I fancied I could hear its roar. But this was an illusion. -The only sound that breaks the stillness of the solitary height is that -of the avalanche for which I was so patiently waiting. - -Suddenly there was a gleam as of particles in motion on a part of the -Silberhorn at which I had often looked with keen expectations. For just -there could be discerned, without a glass, a series of long, parallel -scratches such as avalanches always make. These are the grooves in -which, like many human institutions, they may be said to run from year -to year by force of habit. The rate of the motion was so slow and -indeterminate--for a reason which I afterward found out--that one -might, for a moment, question if the shining atoms were not stationary, -after all. But no! though the pace seemed to be that of a snail, it -was real and downward, and was soon too accelerated to be mistaken. -The whole breadth of one side of the Silberhorn was moving, beyond a -doubt. I was witnessing the sublime spectacle of a great avalanche. -More swiftly it descended, and yet it seemed to crawl. In this way -it slid along for a short distance--about 2,000 feet, as I afterward -learned--when the mass fell over a jutting piece of ice or rock. Then -it looked something like a waterfall. Below was another steep slope -scored with the furrows of old avalanches. Here the motion was more -rapid, but still surprisingly slow. Then, and not before, I heard -a sound as of thunder. If the sky had not been one unspotted blue, -I should have supposed a storm to be bursting somewhere among the -mountains. It was the noise of the avalanche, at that moment reaching -my ears from a distance, which was so deceptive. Later on, studying -the phenomena of avalanches more deliberately, I ascertained that the -scene of action--apparently not more than half a mile off--was often -seven miles and never less than three. By noting the avalanche at the -instant of its birth and counting the seconds of time till the first -boom reported itself, one can calculate the distance with sufficient -accuracy. - -The Silberhorn being many miles from my standpoint in an air-line, it -follows that the terms “small” and “slow,” used in connection with its -avalanches, are irrelevant. The breadth of the falling mass should be -expressed in rods and not in feet. Its movement was exceedingly swift. -What seemed to start as snow was, in fact, a great ice-cake, acres in -extent, and perhaps fifty feet thick. This, striking against rocks in -its course, broke into fragments which were indistinguishable in the -distance. The apparent waterfall was composed chiefly of large lumps -of ice. These were destined to be pulverized in good earnest as they -continued their descent. Then I heard a sound as of hissing mingled -with the deeper reverberations. A short distance--more than a thousand -feet, probably--was thus traversed when the avalanche entered upon -another stage of its career. It tumbled over another ridge--this time -looking more like a waterfall than before. Here its volume was much -contracted, and I could clearly see that this fact was due to the depth -of the rock-bound channels through which it ran. Then it sprawled quite -freely over a great open space or plateau, where it rested and formed -a perceptible heap, thick at the center, and flattening out gradually -toward the edges. Judging of its dimensions by my revised standards, I -should say that it covered many acres, and was deep enough to bury an -Alpine village of the average size. - -Between noon and two o’clock, when I left the fascinating scene to seek -for luncheon at the Hôtel des Avalanches, about three hundred feet -below my mound of solitary observation, the Silberhorn had contributed -nothing further to the pile at its base. But, at other points of the -imposing range visible from the Wengern Alp, and especially on the -main body of the Jungfrau, on a shoulder of the Monch, and on the -steepest part of the Eiger, some avalanche was always in sight of the -attentive observer. They usually resembled cascades from beginning to -end. Rarely could one see the popular idea of an avalanche realized. -Most people, I find, think of avalanches as broad tracts of snow which -are transferred from the upper part of a mountain into a valley at its -foot, keeping their general shape all the way. The Silberhorn specimen -corresponded to this ideal for a short distance, as I have said. But -all the others trickled down in a water-like way from top to bottom. -The behavior of the falling ice and snow was so much like that of water -that one could be convinced that he was beholding an avalanche only -when he saw what took place at its terminus. For, in five cases out of -six, the icy torrent ended in a white heap, which still remained far -up the mountain-sides, though below the true snow-line. Except that -they lacked the well-known green tint, the tracts of snow and ice thus -deposited looked like glaciers. Brooks ran from the lower end of them -into the valleys far beneath. - -The grooves--or deeply worn passage-ways--through which these -avalanches descend, seem as if made by human hands. Some of them run -as straight as bowling-alleys. Others have easy and graceful curves, -as if laid out for a railway. But, almost without an exception, the -transit of the avalanche from peak to base is interrupted by narrow -rock-gorges. Against these it dashes itself with a fury expressed to -my ear by a sound like that of a small cannon, which is heard far -above the rest of the racket. The latter generally reminds one of -the irregular firing of infantry, and appears to be caused by large -fragments of ice and stones which are brought down with the lighter -material. It is only an avalanche of the broadest pattern that imitates -the deep roll of thunder. And this reminds me to mention that some of -the most deafening sounds that one hears in the Alps are not easily -explained. As he is gazing intently upon the Jungfrau, he is startled -by an ear-splitting report as of a 500-pounder. He expects, as a -matter of course, to see some enormous cornice of ice tumbling down. -But all is motionless up there. He asks his guide what has happened. -The man tells him that probably a big rock has fallen on the other -side of the Jungfrau, or in some ravine on the spectator’s side, but -out of his sight. I have observed that, wherever there is a glacier, -this loudest and most striking of all the mountain sounds is most -often heard. At our hotel (de l’Ours), in Grindelwald, from which two -glaciers can be seen, these extraordinary noises called the guests to -the doors and windows many times on sunny afternoons. But not once did -they see anything which served to explain the mystery. In defiance -of the guides, I attribute the sounds to the cracking of ice in the -glaciers under the influence of heat. There is something strangely -uncanny in the occurrence of such appalling noises without any visible -cause. - - -The guides of Grindelwald, and of all the Bernese Oberland, are an -aristocracy. I am referring to those who pilot you safely among the -real dangers of the Jungfrau, the Wetterhorn, the Schreckhorn, the -Finsteraarhorn, and the other first-class peaks. The most distinguished -of them are named in all the hand-books. They pose as objects of -admiration in the streets. And they are well worth looking at. They are -lithe and sinewy, with frank, resolute faces. They mostly dress in -corduroy velveteen, with slouch hats of the same. Their yellow beards -sweep their breasts. A provokingly slow gait also identifies them. They -walk--unless under the spur of necessity--about half as fast as the -ordinary American or Englishman. A friend of mine, in tow of a guide, -consumed six hours in the ascent of the Wengern Alp from Grindelwald. -The usual time is only three hours. But he arrived at the top perfectly -unblown, and then appreciated the wisdom of going slowly. These men -are very taciturn. They give opinions about the weather with great -reluctance, if at all, and will not converse about anything while in -the act of climbing. Thus they save their wind, the want of which is -so trying to inexperienced Alpine tourists. But, what they lack in -affability they make up in essential service. They will stand by their -employer in every tight place, and will rescue his remains and bear -them back to the valley, if he persists in despising the guide’s advice -and perishes in consequence. - -These trusty fellows make great friends of members of the Alpine Club, -and are sometimes well paid for leaving their beloved Switzerland and -aiding in the conquest of high mountains in the antipodes. One of the -corps has visited both India and New Zealand for this purpose. He -showed as much sagacity in attacking the redoubtable giants of those -distant countries as if he had known all about their weakest points -from his infancy. In every case he took his patron successfully to the -top, by a route which he instinctively chose as the easiest and the -best. This guide returned home through London, and, while there, his -employer made him the subject of an interesting experiment to test -his “bump” of locality. One evening the man was asked to take a ride -across London in a cab. He was driven a distance of many miles, and the -route was purposely made as tangled and intricate as possible. Arriving -at their destination--the house of an Alpine celebrity--the cab was -dismissed. After a short detention, the guide was told to return with -his employer through the same streets which they had traversed in their -roundabout journey. And he did it without making a single mistake, -although an entire stranger in the great city. The man had not the -faintest suspicion that he would be asked to do this difficult thing. -He had almost unconsciously marked down the whole labyrinthine route. -He did in London exactly what he would have done without the least -effort among the mountains of his native land. His observation and -memory of trifles supplied the unerring clews by which he retraced his -way through the maze of the metropolis. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -EXCELSIOR AND THE MAIDEN. - - -The hero of Longfellow’s poem, “Excelsior,” has long been a favorite -subject with artists. Among the many full-length fancy portraits of -that rash young man, is one which represents him in a loose sack-coat -with knee-breeches, a rolling shirt-collar displaying his open throat, -and the long ends of a necktie streaming in the winds. The costume was -charming, but too airy for the higher Alps, to which he was bound. He -had a little kit, presumably of clothes, slung across his shoulder. He -held aloft a stick to which was tied a white flag or banner inscribed -“Excelsior.” The artist had caught the spirit of Longfellow’s verse, -and had stamped enthusiasm and high resolve on the pleasant face of -this young fellow. - -I had been sitting for some time over an out-door luncheon in front -of the Hôtel des Avalanches, with lines of “Excelsior” running in my -head. Before me was the Queen of Mountains. The landlord had assured -me that the top of the symmetrical peak was fifteen good miles away. -It did not seem more than a mile off in the transparent atmosphere of -that perfect June morning. It was equally impossible to realize that -you could not see, with the naked eye, the figures--showing black -against the spotless snow--of persons climbing the Jungfrau by paths -directly opposite the house. There was no one so occupied that day, -as the season for ascents does not begin till July. So I was obliged -to take the landlord’s word for it that the largest parties attacking -the mountain were invisible from his hotel, except through the fine -telescope which stood there on its tripod with joints greased and ready -for use. Then I fell to meditating on the sad fate of the willful young -hero of the poem. I amused myself imagining him as he toiled up those -awful heights, after dark, floundering through the snow waist-deep, -just missing the crevasses by an inch, starting little avalanches -of loose rocks and ice (the larger, more overwhelming and dangerous -snow-slides occurring only in the hours of full sunshine), and finally -succumbing to fatigue and exhaustion and cold, and dying up there, far -from human aid, with his banner still gripped in his hand. How much -better, I thought, if he had taken a fancy to the maiden of the valley, -and remained comfortable and happy down below! - -And there was the identical maiden at my elbow! She had just poured -out a cup of smoking, fragrant coffee for me, and stood waiting meekly -to take another order. A prettier girl never ’tended on travelers. I -addressed her in English, and found she spoke it well; and when she -added--noticing that I was an American--that she had relatives in -the United States, and had spent two years there on a visit, I felt -that here was a sort of country-woman in this out-of-the-way place. -Surely I had seen few American girls of twenty or thereabout comelier -than this true daughter of the Alps. She was a niece of the landlord, -she said, and she had the manners of a lady. As the season had but -recently opened, and the tide of tourists not yet set in, there was a -scarcity of hired help at the inn. She was assisting in the humblest -ways to make everybody contented. She served me without any sense of -humiliation, such as possibly I might have observed in her had she -passed a few more years in America before returning to her dear old -Swiss home. - -Her pretty face and innocent, winning ways had divided my attention -with the avalanches. I am not sure but that I missed some little -ones while chatting with her. As I sipped the delicious coffee, my -imagination paired her off with that headstrong youth in “Excelsior.” I -could not help thinking what a fool he was not to rest his weary head -on that breast, as per invitation, instead of climbing the terrible -mountain after dark. - -Perhaps it was the mountain air--perhaps it was the coffee. Anyhow, my -imagination became so excited that I thought I saw that same young man -right before me, coming up the steep road from Lauterbrunnen. He was -not two hundred feet away. There was no mistaking him. He had on the -knee-breeches, the bob-tailed jacket, the cut-away collar and flowing -necktie of the picture, and a small knapsack of the roll-pattern was -strapped to his back. There, too, was the attractive face stamped with -fierce resolution. But the most striking mark of identity was a white -flag attached to a walking-stick which he carried over his shoulder -like a musket. The wind was brisk and blew the flag out straight -behind him. It did not, so far as I could see, bear the inscription -“Excelsior,” and this was the first shock to the illusion. As I looked -wonderingly at him, he turned on his heels and shook his flag, which I -could now see was only a pocket-handkerchief, high in the air, as if -signaling some distant person. - -This dumb show lasted about half a minute. Then he lowered his flag and -strode up to the hotel. As he drew near enough, I saw that his eyes -were deep blue, like those of the hero of the poem. So, for all these -reasons, I at once christened him “Excelsior.” - -Excelsior, though a young man, was not a green traveler. He knew a -good thing when he saw it. There was a pretty girl, and there was a -little table covered with a clean white cloth, all set out with plates, -glasses, knives, forks, and napkins, under an awning that screened it -from the sun, with the peerless Jungfrau in full view. So, when he took -his seat at the spare table near me, I was not surprised. He looked at -the maiden, and she looked at him. Everybody would have said they were -made for each other, so far as good looks are reasons for mating. She -was not a full-blooded brunette, but her deep-brown hair and eyes and -swarthy ruddiness of cheeks differentiated her from the blonde school -of beauty. He was fair-haired, with a skin which the sun had reddened -but not freckled, and just such a forehead (now that he had cast his -slouched hat aside) as you see in Shelley’s portraits. As he sat -there, with his strong, shapely arm flung over the back of his chair, -he looked the embodiment of youthful vigor and careless grace. The -misleading outlines of modern clothes could not conceal the symmetry of -his figure. How the sculptors must have wanted him for a model, if he -ever came under their eyes, in Rome or Florence. And they would have -been equally glad, I am sure, to secure a like favor from the Swiss -maiden. - -Suddenly he glanced at his watch, and then accosted me in the language -I expected to hear, for I knew him to be an American at first sight. - -“Not a bad job, that--only four hours and ten minutes from Interlaken, -and the muddiest road I ever saw, up the Wengern Alp.” - -“Well done,” I replied. “The guide-books give six hours for it. But -aren’t you tired?” - -“Not the slightest,” he said, laughing pleasantly, and showing his fine -white teeth. “Lucky for me, as I must do Grindelwald and the lower -glacier before night.” - -This astonished me. I had found the ascent from Grindelwald over -thousands of rude stone steps and through seas of mud, hard enough on -horseback, and was dreading the descent as still more trying. And here -was Excelsior talking about it as if it were only a little promenade -on Broadway, not to mention the visit to the lower glacier, a good two -hours’ stretch (going and returning) from Grindelwald and more mud from -three to six inches deep all the way, except for the stepping-stones. - -“Well, you are plucky--young America all over!” I at length remarked, -with a pride in the gameness of my countryman. - -“I’m from Illinois,” said he. - -“And I from New York.” - -“Then we’re sure not to quarrel,” he rejoined, “for I’ve noticed that -New-Yorkers and Westerners get along better together in Europe than -Americans from any other parts of the country.” - -I said that I had often noticed the same thing, without being able -to explain it. There was a singular instinctive aversion between -New-Yorkers themselves and also between them and Bostonians and -Philadelphians. But, whenever New York and Chicago met in any foreign -country, the fraternization was spontaneous. Then I took the liberty of -asking my young friend why he waved his handkerchief on the end of a -stick just before pulling up at the hotel. - -“Oh! only to signal a fellow over there on the Murren. We had walked -together up the Lauterbrunnen Valley, and he turned off to climb the -Murren while I kept on for the Wengern Alp. We agreed to exchange -signals from the tops of the two mountains, or foot-hills, or whatever -else they should be called. But he hasn’t got up there yet, for I don’t -see a flutter of his handkerchief.” - -“Possibly because it is at least eight miles from here to Murren in an -air-line,” I said, smiling. - -The maiden, who had been listening with great interest to this -dialogue, her tender eyes fixed on the younger of the two speakers all -the time, here broke in to say: - -“Perhaps you would like to look through the glass down there. That will -show you everything on the Murren plain enough.” She spoke English with -a foreign accent so delicate that types can not reproduce it. - -“Thank you, miss,” said Excelsior, sweetly, “I shall be very glad. But -let me order the lunch first.” - -The young girl seemed happy to serve him. She handed him a bill of -fare, and waited by his side while he looked it over. It was as good as -a play to watch the two thus thrown together by Fate. - -Excelsior examined the bill with great apparent interest. Every item in -it seemed to raise a question which he asked in a voice so low that I -could not hear him. I never saw a man so particular about his luncheon, -and so long ordering it. But at last he got through, and the maiden -hastened into the house. - -“Fine girl, or rather, young lady, that,” said I to Excelsior. “The -niece of the landlord, and has been in America two years.” - -“I thought she was superior,” replied Excelsior, “and wondered where -she picked up her good English. What a musical voice and lovely--” - -But while he was speaking the fair object of our comments reappeared -upon the scene. I may have been mistaken, but it seemed to me that a -cherry-colored ribbon, over which rolled a plain, broad white collar, -had been retied in her absence. And this reminded me that Excelsior -had, while speaking to me, been smoothing out the rumpled ends of his -blue neckerchief. To my eye it looked more pleasing before, but I dare -say he was not thinking of my taste in dress. - -What I had told Excelsior about this young girl had caused a -perceptible change in his manner toward her. He had been civil enough -before, but now he was quite polite, as one who recognizes the -difference between a landlord’s niece and a common house-servant. But -it was plain that her two years’ residence in America had impressed him -most deeply. To him she was in some sense an American girl. It was with -a bow almost deferential that he said, if she pleased, he would now try -the telescope, and perhaps be able to get a sight of his friend on the -Murren. The maiden acted very much as if she expected and wanted this, -for she smiled and tripped down the little slope before the house to -the spot where the glass rested on its three spindle legs. Excelsior -followed. What was said down there I do not know, for I did not think -it my business to join them, and from the place where I still sat, -watching for avalanches, I could not catch a word. I only repeat what I -saw. - -It seemed to take a great while to get that telescope into working -trim. Nothing was the matter with it when I used it twenty minutes -before; but now they had the greatest trouble in lengthening or -shortening the focus and elevating or depressing the object-glass. For -me one hand was enough to adjust the instrument, but now it took four -hands, and they were for a long time unsuccessful. As far as I could -make out things clearly, these hands appeared to be getting in each -other’s way occasionally; and, besides, there was one head too many. -It sometimes seemed as if they were both trying to look through the -telescope at once, and this was obviously impossible. And, finally, -when they had the telescope all right, as I supposed, and Excelsior was -about to pick up his Murren friend in good earnest, they would stop and -lean on the long brass tube and fall to conversing with each other, as -if they had clean forgotten the business in hand. Then, looking up, -they saw me gazing down at them, and resumed their absurd manipulations -of the glass with increased energy. - -I felt just mischievous enough to shout to them: “Anything the matter? -Can I help you?” - -“No, thanks,” he cried. “We are just catching the range now; something -the matter with the swivel. Oh, there he is, swinging his handkerchief -on the piazza of the Murren Hotel! And now he is looking through a -telescope, too. He sees us!” Excelsior thereupon fluttered his own -signal for about one minute with great enthusiasm. By means of the two -glasses the friends had exchanged salutes across an interval of eight -miles. - -This ceremony over, Excelsior apparently transferred his interest -to the Jungfrau, the Monch, the Eiger, and lesser peaks, as well he -might have done, for there is no single view in the Bernese Oberland -more sublime and satisfactory in all its details than that of the -mountain-chain seen from the Wengern Alp. Here, too, the telescope -was continually getting out of gear and defying the joint efforts of -Excelsior and the maiden to make it work right. I do not know if they -would ever have quitted the task which occupied them so intently had -not a horseman and a lady in a _chaise-porte_, swinging between two -stalwart peasants, arrived on the scene. The new-comers, of course, -required immediate attention, and the maiden was too good a niece of -the landlord to neglect his interests. So, with this single remark, -made so loud that all of us could hear it, “I think you understand how -to do it now, sir,” she bounded up the slope like a chamois to look -after the new guests. Excelsior followed a moment later, and sat down -at the little table where his hot luncheon was about due. - -I felt that a pretty comedy of real life had been interrupted by these -arrivals. I hoped to see a second act of it when the maiden served -Excelsior with his repast, but in this I was disappointed. She soon -brought out the dishes and the half-bottle of Yvorne he had ordered, -and put them before him. But she was silent and demure now, for there -were new eyes upon her. Excelsior himself had an attack of gravity, -for he ate and drank without saying a word to the maiden, who came and -went. If it was not a case of love at first sight on his part, then I -am no judge of the symptoms of that passion. As for the maiden, who can -tell? - -I am sorry not to gratify the legitimate curiosity of my readers -further on this point; but I could not tarry longer on the Wengern Alp, -even to report the progress of a genuine love-affair. An appointment -at Grindelwald compelled me to hasten my departure. I bade good-by to -Excelsior, with a hope that I should meet him at the Hôtel de l’Ours -that night or next morning. He replied, in a confused manner, that he -did not know. Perhaps he would spend just one night on the Wengern Alp; -the house there seemed so snug and comfortable. “It would not be a bad -idea, you know, to visit the glacier over there in the morning, while -the snow is still hard and the footing good.” - -I did not feel familiar enough with Excelsior to joke him about another -attraction--a second Jungfrau--so I only smiled. When I said good-by to -the maiden, I could not help adding that I hoped she would see America -again some day, and perhaps stay there; and, by a natural association -of ideas, I glanced at the same time at Excelsior. For, far-fetched -as the thought may seem, the mountain air was so stimulating that I -persisted in imagining that the chance meeting of these two emotional -young persons on the Wengern Alp was the beginning of a romance -destined to end in a happy marriage. What a good-looking couple they -would make! - -I have never seen him or her from that day to this. But we all find out -for ourselves the truth of the old saying that the world is small. I -should not be much astonished to meet Mr. and Mrs. Excelsior some day; -and then I shall tell him how much more sensible I think him to be than -the young man in the poem, who had no taste for pretty Swiss girls. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -AN ENGLISH ADMIRER OF THE “AMERICAN LANGUAGE.” - - -At the Hôtel de l’Ours (the Bear Hotel of Englishmen and Americans -who do not care to expose their French) I added another to the list -of my pleasant English acquaintances. One morning, while sauntering -in front of the hotel before breakfast, I noticed a young man with -bright-yellow hair, whiskers, and mustache, calm gray eyes, and that -perfect freshness of complexion which one rarely sees in men’s faces -outside of England. He was habited in corduroy from his jockey-cap down -to his knee-breeches, and wore stout walking-shoes of the Alpine Club -pattern. In his right hand he sported a sharp-pointed Alpenstock, which -looked stained and worn with use, but was unscarred by branding-irons. -His well-knit figure and his good face were a recommendation to all -beholders. We exchanged glances, and would probably have spoken to each -other then, if one of the long-bearded guides had not appeared and -taken off Corduroy in the direction of the lower glacier. Corduroy was -the name which, in absence of the authentic one, I conferred upon him. -I regretted his hasty departure, for he seemed just the man to draw -into an interesting conversation. - -The next morning, at about the same hour, I found Corduroy standing -alone, in the same place as before. He was again dressed for an outing, -and had his Alpenstock still in hand. He was looking fixedly in the -direction of the mighty Wetterhorn, whose snowy summit was now visible -and now concealed, as the lazy clouds or mist-wreaths drifted back -and forth. He puffed at a brierwood pipe calmly, and seemed engrossed -in that occupation and the study of Wetterhorn’s top, until he saw me -looking at him. Then he pulled the pipe from his mouth, as one who -expects to speak and be spoken to, at the same time walking toward me -with a look of friendly recognition. - -Being the older, I was the first to break silence, and I did so with a -commonplace remark upon the weather, which was a little uncertain, but -promising to be fine. And I could not resist the temptation to add that -it reminded me of the day I ascended the Gorner Grat, 10,000 feet above -the sea, only two weeks before. That being my only really hard climb -in the Alps, I was as proud of it as a boy of his first trousers. - -Corduroy’s face expressed great interest. He asked me a number of -questions about the state of the weather at Zermatt, and whether the -hotels were crowded, and as to the condition of the road from Vispach -to St. Niklaus, a bad bit generally. I answered him very fully, only -too happy to show off my familiarity with the most wonderful mountain -district of Switzerland. And I said patronizingly, I must confess: -“Really, now, you ought to see the Matterhorn. It’s worth the trouble, -I assure you. I was the second man on the Gorner Grat this year, and as -the snow was then about eight feet deep, and only a foot-path broken -through it part of the way, the climbing was no joke. You would find it -easier next--” - -“But I have already seen the Matterhorn,” said Corduroy, who had been -quietly smoking his pipe during my remarks. - -“From what point?” I asked. - -“From the top. I made my second ascent last year. And hope to get round -there in July for my third.” - -I have seen, in my day, many undemonstrative Englishmen. But this -one beat them all. Who could have thought he would have listened so -patiently to all my brag about that ant-hill of a Gorner Grat when he -had done the awful Matterhorn twice? I was astonished, and at first -doubtful of Corduroy’s entire veracity, though truth seemed to ooze out -of every feature of his prepossessing face. I inadvertently glanced at -the Alpenstock and saw no record of any performances written there. - -Corduroy read my thoughts. He cast an eye on the smooth old Alpenstock -and smiled as he said: “Oh! we never do that, you know.” - -Then I remembered to have heard that the people who do the least -climbing generally have the most names of conquered peaks on their -Alpenstocks; so that, in fact, the absence of the dreadful Matterhorn -from Corduroy’s staff became a sort of proof that he was not lying to -me. I blushed at my unworthy suspicion. It was now my turn to become -deeply interested. I asked him many questions about his ascents of -the most difficult mountain in all Europe. He answered briefly and -modestly, and I also learned from him by the corkscrew process (for I -never saw a man with less vanity) that he had ascended Mont Blanc, the -Jungfrau, the Weisshorn, Schreckhorn, and Finsteraarhorn once each, and -that he was now on the point of attacking the Wetterhorn, toward which -he had been gazing, but feared that the impending change of weather -might compel him to give it up. - -I asked him where he had been the day before, with the long-bearded -guide. - -“Oh, only up to the Eismeer there,” he said, jerking his thumb toward -a white and heavenly sea of ice, which shone at that moment, through -a rift in the clouds, forming a horizon line of 12,000 feet above the -ocean-level. It almost gave me a crick in the neck to look at it. - -“Of course no guide was needed for a thing like that,” he added. -“But the old fellow wanted a job; so I took him along to carry the -lunch-basket. Aren’t you going to do the Eismeer?” - -“Well,” said I, laughing, “I might perhaps get as far as the foot of -the glacier. But I guess I should have to discount the rest.” - -Corduroy broke out laughing. “Excuse me,” said he, “but you Americans -are so amusing. Ha! ha! Discount! what a capital word! So expressive, -you know. It means, if I understand it, that you would go to the foot -of the glacier, and say that you had been to the top. Ha! ha! No -offense meant.” - -“Not quite as bad as that,” I replied, laughing in turn. “To discount -it, in my sense of the word, is to imagine the rest of the glacier and -the Eismeer at the top, from the sample seen below. Have you never -discounted anything that way?” - -“Ha! ha! No! no! we are never allowed to do that. Discounting would be -dead against our rules.” - -I noticed that, for the second time, he employed the pronoun “we,” -from which I inferred that he was a member of some association of -mountain-climbers. As he seemed so much amused by the slang use of the -word “discount,” I thought I would favor him with a few more of our -latest and choicest inventions in that line, which happened to have -lodged in my memory: - -“You tumble to my exact meaning now, I hope.” - -“Ha! ha! Tumble to, signifying to understand, of course. That’s better -than discount, if possible. I do so admire the American language. So -rich, you know. Ha! ha!” - -I never saw a man so easily tickled. In the ecstasy of his mirth he -capered about like a dancing bear, while his laughter rang out till it -woke the echoes in old Mettenberg which frowned above us. The noise -drew a number of the hotel guests to the door, and others peered -through the windows at him. - -“They’ll think it’s a circus,” said I, innocently. - -“A circus. Ha! ha! how forcible, and so funny--just like you Americans! -And perhaps you’ll next say I’m the performing clown.” And that idea -started Corduroy off in another fit of laughter. - -“That’s about the size of it.” - -“The size of it! How good! So humorous, you know. Ha! ha!” - -“You seem to catch on to American slang like a native,” said I. - -“Catch on. Ha! ha! Well, that’s the best yet. A sort of figure of -speech meaning to seize something as it flies, I suppose.” - -“You have got it down fine.” - -Corduroy laughed gently in an accommodating spirit; but I do not think -he caught the precise meaning of this last expression. He made no -comment on it, and I was glad he did not ask me to explain it, for I -could not have done so. - -“By-the-way,” said Corduroy, “as you are an American, perhaps you can -tell me why an old story or joke is called a chestnut in your country. -It may be very funny--in fact, it must be, as it is American. But I -don’t tumble to it, as yet. Ha! ha!” - -For the honor of my country, I would have liked to clear up the great -chestnut mystery to this delightful young Englishman. I had heard some -accounts of the origin of the word in its application to threadbare -anecdotes and moldy conundrums, but they were all unsatisfactory. “I am -sorry I can not answer your question,” said I, at length; “but I can -give you points on the chestnut-bell.” - -Corduroy was all ears while I explained to him the construction of the -little instrument which had already worked so useful a reform in the -clubs of my country. - -“Well, well,” he cried, “American inventions are truly wonderful. And -this chestnut-bell beats them all. Ha! ha! I’m so glad I met you this -morning! I’ll have a chestnut-bell made according to your description -of it down at Interlaken by a metal-worker I know there. It’s just what -we have long wanted. You see, some of our fellows don’t climb any new -mountains. They keep telling all about the old mountains they climbed -years ago. Now, I just want to shut ’em up. And the chestnut-bell is -the thing to do it. Ha! ha!” And Corduroy roared with delight. - -“All right,” said I; “but as the chestnut-bell is the latest thing out -in my country, let me offer you a piece of advice.” - -“What is it?” asked Corduroy, eagerly. - -“It is this: Don’t give it away.” - -“I see--I see. You mean I must keep this idea of a chestnut-bell to -myself, so as to get the start of all the other fellows. How very -expressive! Give away. Ha! ha!” - -I was about to make some other valuable suggestion on the subject, -when I saw among the group which then filled the open doorway a -slight figure beckoning to me quite earnestly. When that small hand -is gesticulated in that peculiar way, I do not pretend not to see it. -Experience has taught me that it is much easier to answer the summons -in person at once than to explain later on why I did not do so. I said -“Ta! ta!” to Corduroy, and moved toward the house. - -As I hurried away, he called out to me, “There is no getting ahead of -you Americans, you know.” - -“It will be a cold day when we get left, and don’t you forget it!” was -my answer shouted back at him, exhausting my small stock of slang in -that supreme effort. - -“Just so,” he cried. “Ha! ha! Cold day! Get left! What a world of -meaning! Be sure I won’t forget it! Ha! ha!” - -I never saw Corduroy again. We had a little unambitious excursion of -our own to make that day, and did not get back to the Bear before -dinner-time. Then I inquired after the gentleman in corduroy, and -learned that he had given up the Wetterhorn on account of the thick -weather, and had started off for a walk over the Grimsel to the Rhône -glacier. He was well known at the hotel, being one of its regular -visitors. This steadiness of patronage might naturally be expected -of him, for he proved to be one of the most distinguished members -of the Alpine Club, famous for his devotion to mountain-climbing in -Switzerland, and a terror even to the hardiest guides, by reason of his -courage and perseverance against all obstacles. He had, it seems, a -passion for new routes and short cuts, which I hope will not some day -end the merry life of Corduroy. After this explanation, I understood -his occasional allusions to “we” and “us” and “our fellows” and -“our rules,” which forbade this and that. And sometimes now, at two -o’clock in the morning, while I am lying awake and thinking over many -things, I catch myself wondering if Corduroy has ever introduced the -chestnut-bell to the Alpine Club, and, if so, how the retired climbers -like it. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -PREHISTORIC LAKE-DWELLERS--AN ISLAND INN AND ITS MEMORIES. - - -If one cares to inquire about that mysterious prehistoric race known -as the lake-dwellers of Switzerland, he can do so to his heart’s -content at and about Zürich. If he wants to dig up their remains for -himself--and has plenty of money and time to spare--there is nothing to -hinder him from doing so. He has only to run a deep plow through places -along the shore of Lake Zürich where there are indications of peat, -and it is almost certain that sooner or later he will come on traces -of a primeval village. The first sign of it would be the badly decayed -fragments of a thick stake or pile. Sometimes well-preserved specimens -of these piles are found in great numbers, though more often they are -rotted out of all recognition. They are the props which held up the -lake-villages high and dry. They were driven into the chalky soil of -the lake-bottom, where they stuck fast. In the unknown centuries which -have flown since then, those parts of the lake have filled up, peat has -formed to the depth of five or six feet, and on top of this are two or -three feet of mold and loam. Having struck a pile, our investigator -must go straight down through the deep peat-bed which surrounds and -underlies it. He will soon come to a half-earthy stratum, in which, if -lucky, he will find numerous queer things. For this particular layer -may contain many kinds of objects--useful and ornamental--once highly -prized by, if not indispensable to, the comfort and happiness of the -simple lake-dwellers. It may readily be imagined that such articles -would accidentally fall from the house into the water beneath, there be -buried in the mud, and never be recovered by the owners. Doubtless some -of them, when broken or worn out in use, were thrown down there with a -“good-riddance.” - -It is believed, from many indubitable signs, that these lake-houses -(built of wicker-work) were destroyed by fire to an extent that would -appall any insurance company of our day that took risks on such -property. You see, these people, like some savage tribes now existing, -had much difficulty in starting and keeping fire. They obtained it only -by the rapid twirling of a pointed piece of wood on a flat piece. The -friction ignited some tinder-like substance. As they had no stoves, -hearths, or chimneys, this precious fire was kept--so far as modern -conjecture goes--upon a stone in the middle of the hut. There it was -watched night and day to preserve it and see that it did no harm. But -occasionally the watchers slept, or went off fishing or courting, and -then the fire, as is its mischievous habit, caught upon the nearest -combustible stuff. And so in five minutes poor Mr. Lake-Dweller was -houseless and homeless, and all his earthly possessions were at the -bottom of the lake. It was a great piece of good fortune if the entire -village did not disappear at the same time. Think of such a catastrophe -occurring, and no newspaper to do justice to it! - -We left our enthusiastic explorer with his boots ankle-deep in the -boggy soil beneath the peat-bed. It has cost him a great deal of money -to lay open the treasure-bearing stratum. But he feels amply rewarded -even if he has lighted on nothing better than the stone age of the -lake-dwellers, for there he will find most interesting proofs of the -identity of human nature in different ages and climes. The earliest -period in their shadowy history is called “stone,” to distinguish it -from the “bronze” age that followed. In point of fact, the former -overlapped the latter, but for convenience the two designations are -employed as best expressing the chief characteristic of the two ages. -In the first, stone was the material out of which hammers, adzes, -and arrow-heads were made. The patterns of these closely resemble -those adopted by our North American Indians. In weight as in shape -there is no recognizable difference; and the same good judgment was -shown in the choice of stones best adapted for every purpose. The -most skillful lapidaries of our day could not produce finer work in -porphyry, flint, and crystal than may be found among the relics of the -lake-dwellers. Though a very practical people, they were not without -æsthetic tastes. Otherwise, in making their rude pottery by hand they -would not have introduced decorative lines and dots. Nothing could be -more severely simple than the designs which appear on their water-jars, -cooking-vessels, and drinking-cups. The lines are crossed like a -hedge-fence. The dots are arranged in rows, several of these forming -a band. You there see the art of pottery in its infancy. Utility was -the chief end sought, and, doubtless, the unsymmetrical and clumsy -pots, bowls, pitchers, and goblets of the lake-dwellers answered their -purpose admirably. - -As to the fishing-nets of their day, no improvement could be desired. -The specimens recovered are made of the strongest hemp lines, of large -size, with “hobs and sinkers.” Lake Zürich supplied the table with -excellent fish in that far-off time, as now. And the lake-dwellers -were mighty hunters also. Bones of the bear and deer and all the -wild animals of the present Switzerland, with those of creatures now -extinct, are mingled with the other remains. They were a pastoral race, -besides. They raised millet and other cereals, and ground these into -a coarse flour, as appears from samples of their baked bread. Instead -of the horse they had the reindeer as a servant, and, with training, -he proved a useful one. For aught I know, he carried his master into -battle--in which case his speed would have enabled him to make a quick -retreat when the enemy’s fire of arrows became too hot. For, alas! -the lake-dwellers were either a persecuted race or an aggressive one -at some stage of their history. Implements of war are the most common -of finds, and the site and structure of the villages--so far as we -understand the subject--indicate extreme precautions for defense. It is -evident that the settlements were situated at some distance from the -old shore of the lake and approachable only by boats, or possibly by a -bridge, which could be raised or turned on a pivot at pleasure. - -It might be the fortune of our patient friend the digger to strike -a mine of bronze implements. Then he would realize the inventive -capacity of the lake-dwellers. The discovery or adoption of the -art of combining copper and tin as bronze stimulated their native -ingenuity wonderfully. It is supposed that they obtained the two -metals (rare, if found at all, in Switzerland) from England, Wales, -or some other country, in the course of trade. Be this as it may, the -quantity of bronze in use was large. It was employed for every purpose -of war and peace. Spear-heads, knives, and daggers or swords of the -“Roman” pattern, lie in the stratum by the side of coarse needles, -hair-pins, bracelets, and other articles of toilet use and ornament. -The composition of the bronze is about ninety per cent of copper and -ten of tin. This is slightly varied at times. The objects distinctively -ornamental have a brighter red or even a golden color, and are really -beautiful. - -But all the trouble and expense of attaining this knowledge about the -lake-dwellers of Switzerland may be saved by the diligent searcher for -truth. He need only visit the magnificent collection of antiquities -at Zürich as I did, and learn all these things much better at -second-hand. But he will be baffled if he expects to discover from any -evidence before him how many centuries ago the lake-dwellers lived, -and suffered, and passed away. Speculation is rife on this subject. -Antiquaries hold to views widely different. Where they disagree, it -is not for the humble learner to decide. It is much wiser for him to -enjoy unquestioningly the inspection of these remarkable relics of a -prehistoric age than to rack his brains in futile efforts to fix the -precise period of the lake-dwellers in the eras of man. - - -When we were shown into a chamber of the Insel Hotel at Constance, -my curiosity was at once excited by the singular appearance of a -room which opens out of that apartment. It is not large enough for a -parlor. It is too poorly lighted for a study or boudoir. It has three -narrow windows which are partly overgrown with ivy. They look on Lake -Constance, which then shone a deep green under the setting sun. The -wall of the chamber at the place where the two rooms join is about two -and a half feet thick. Putting my hand upon the showy paper that covers -the walls, I know by the touch that these are stone. Then, as I observe -that the little room is round in shape, the thought flashes upon me -that it is part of a tower, and perhaps in by-gone times may have been -a cell in which somebody was confined. - -The servant, who had been watching me in an amused manner, then made -his dramatic stroke. “This was the dungeon of John Huss,” was all he -said. And it was enough. His words recalled the fact that Huss, at some -time previous to his execution by order of the Council of Constance, -was imprisoned in a Dominican monastery of that city. Now the “Insel” -is that identical retreat, transformed into one of the most picturesque -and interesting hotels of Europe. The venerable cloisters have been -preserved intact. The great refectory of the monks is now a restaurant -full of good cheer in meat and drink. It witnessed scenes of revelry in -the old monastic days, as one may gather from the jovial inscriptions -still preserved on the walls. The church of the fraternity is now -the immense dining-room of the hotel, modernized and made secular of -aspect. This building was a stronghold four centuries ago. Then, as -now, it was surrounded by water. For this reason it was selected as one -of the successive prisons of John Huss. There he was beyond the hope of -rescue by his friends and partisans. - -Visiting the Guildhall of Constance next day, I saw additional -evidences of the precautions taken for his safe-keeping. There is the -massive door of oak, with iron bands and enormous locks, which was -rarely if ever opened during his confinement. For a little wicket in -this door served for the inspection of the prisoner by his jailers -and also to pass in food to him. There is the great stone in the -dungeon-floor to which he was chained. The windows of the cell as they -now appear are small; but much larger than the old apertures. One of -these openings for air and light is exhibited at the Guildhall. It -is only a slit of three or four inches wide, cut through the thick -stone. Among the other objects relating to the martyrdom of Huss, in -the same collection, are the van in which he was borne to the place of -execution and the brocaded chairs occupied by the Emperor Sigismund -and the Pope at the council. In the plain of Brühl, just outside the -city of Constance, one may see a rude memorial which marks the place -where Huss and later on Jerome of Prague were burned at the stake. It -is a great rock, quite rough, covered with ivy and bearing appropriate -inscriptions. A tall iron railing prevents a near approach to the spot. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -CARLSBAD--PRAGUE--DRESDEN. - - -If people would take only half the pains to keep their health that -they do to recover it when lost they would be spared a great deal -of trouble. At Carlsbad--the fashionable spa of Austria--we found -everybody getting up at five or six o’clock to drink doses of scalding -brine. A light leather strap slung across the shoulder of each person -supported a porcelain mug. The wearer took his place in a long queue, -and the procession moved slowly on to the fountain. Carefully surveying -the patients as they stood in line, one could see that they were mostly -a “damaged lot,” as the auctioneers say. Their dress and bearing -indicated that they belong to what is called “good society.” Their -ailments are the probable results of indolence and high living. If -overfeeding is the matter with them, then Carlsbad is the very place -for their cure. For I have never known a town where, at the hotels, -the minimum of portion and the maximum of price are so scientifically -adjusted in the interest of the landlords. It is bad manners to lick -the platter clean; but if the guests of the Carlsbad hotels refrain -from this, they miss an important part of their meals. It may be all -very well for the landlords to collude with the doctors for the benefit -of patients; but on behalf of those who are not invalids, and are -suffering sharply from hunger, I protest against the universal adoption -of the system. - -It is the prescribed rule at Carlsbad to take as much hot water as -possible on an empty stomach. Everybody knows that there is more -available room in the human frame for such a purpose in the early -morning hours than at any other time of day. And so we find all -Carlsbad up with the sun. This rule is rather hard on the brass bands -of Carlsbad. For the municipal ordinances require them to play lively -tunes at the principal fountains while the melancholy processions are -filing on. With what contempt those mighty drinkers of beer and wine -over there in the orchestra must regard all the people who think so -highly of hot water! It seemed to me as I looked upon the ruddy faces -of the musical performers that the continual pounding of drums and -wrestling with trombones must be as promotive of health as any other -known form of manual labor. But of course it would be hard on the well -people if every patient should join a brass band to recover his “tone.” - -When a member of the procession reaches the spring which is his goal, -he unslings his porcelain mug and hands it to a boy in waiting. The -water at most of the springs--they are many--issues with some force -amid a cloud of steam, from a small pipe. The mug is filled in a trice -and handed back to its owner. If he likes it very hot, he gulps it -rapidly. If he prefers it lukewarm, he lets it cool a little. Many -persons suck up the water through a glass tube, as if to prolong the -enjoyment. The Carlsbad waters taste differently, and perhaps no two -people find exactly the same flavor in the outcome of the same spring. -With regard to the stronger waters of the group, one often hears it -said, “Why, it tastes like chicken-broth, with too much salt in it!” -If this is true, then I can only say that some of the salt ought to be -extracted and the water put on the bill of fare of the Carlsbad hotels, -where the article called “chicken-broth” does not resemble the real -thing at all. Because of this pleasing flavor--reminiscence of the full -meals of happier days--the drinkers seem really to like the waters. - -As each person can have only one mugful at a time, he must go back -again to the tail end of the line as often as he wants more. This gives -him plenty of exercise, if he happens to want two or three quarts the -same morning. Meantime, those who have dutifully taken their doses--as -ordered by some medical tyrant--saunter up and down the pleasant -walks of Carlsbad and chat with their friends, and make themselves as -cheerful and agreeable as it is in the nature of things possible for a -human being to be an hour or two before breakfast. No time of day could -seem more unfavorable for flirtations. But, unless all the usual signs -mislead at Carlsbad, I should say that, as in the familiar song, “the -old, old story is told again at five o’clock in the morning,” often, in -and about the peopled colonnades of that place. - -The Sprudel Spring, which spouts the highest and sends out the most -water, is also the hottest. It is said that eggs may be boiled in it; -and I am prepared to believe the assertion, after observing the timid -way in which the most confirmed drinkers put the water to their lips. -The spring is irregular in its action. At intervals varying from five -to ten minutes it shoots with a force which makes the bystanders step -back to avoid the scalding spray. People who claim to be wiser than -the rest of us, say that the Sprudel and all the other springs result -from the following operations in Mother Earth: The water of some river -or lake in the vicinity of Carlsbad filters through the ground and -between the rocks to a depth of two or three miles or any distance you -like. On the way this water becomes saturated with salts of various -disagreeable kinds. At a certain point in its downward journey it -encounters the “internal fires,” or, at all events, a heat sufficient -to decompose some of the salts in the water and produce an explosive -gas. This gas, in its turn, projects the heated water through some -convenient hole clear to the surface of the earth, like shot out of a -gun. As nobody knows anything about what takes place away down there, -this explanation is, perhaps, as good as any that may be offered. It -is an interesting fact, by-the-way, that at the time of the great -earthquake which destroyed Lisbon and shook up so many other places, -the Sprudel stopped flowing for three days! - - -Sign-painters ought to make a good living in Prague. For its population -is about equally divided between Germans and Bohemians, and each -race prefers its own language to that of the other. As a result, the -enterprising merchant is obliged to hang out signs which may be read -by both races. In order to catch the custom of those who can not -read at all, he also calls the pictorial art into play. Everybody -can understand the picture of a sack of flour standing on end, or of -loaves of bread, or of bundles of hay or wood, or a pile of coal, or -a man pulling a tooth. But these embellishments are reserved for the -poorer quarters. In the really handsome, newer parts of Prague the -double sign suffices to meet the demands of all intelligent purchasers -among the two peoples. As every cashier and clerk is expected to -understand both German and Bohemian well enough to sell goods to either -race, you will readily see that accomplished linguists are a necessity -in the business circles of Prague, especially when French and English -and American visitors to that city are not uncommon. - -Though differing widely in race and language, the people of Prague are -one in the matter of dress. Their costume is that of the rest of the -world, as affected by that great equalizer, the railway. The Graben -is full of precisely the same persons, externally considered, that -one sees on the boulevards of Paris, in Oxford Street, or Broadway. -During my drives and walks about Prague I did not note a single item -of attire which might not be found in the most conventional of New -England villages. Jews abound in Prague, but not one of them could be -identified by that peculiar and very gloomy apparel which is worn by -their brethren in some other parts of Austria--say, in Carlsbad. There -the Jew is known afar off by his long, flowing black robe, matched by -a cap which he pulls down on the back of his head. This robe lends to -the wearer a gravity and dignity in full accord with his serious face. -The Carlsbad Jews are good-looking, and the human parade at and about -the springs would lose much of its interest if they were left out. The -tiresome uniformity of dress which we find in all the cities of Central -Europe is fast robbing Continental travel of a charm once potent. It -is bad enough to have the hotel bills-of-fare everywhere just alike, -though one can put up with lack of variety if the food is well cooked -and wholesome; but, when one sees, on all sides, the same dresses, even -to the cut of a collar, and the nice adjustment of a neck-tie, he feels -cheated out of his just and reasonable expectations. This is one of the -worst respects in which pictorial geographies and cyclopædias too often -lead their readers astray. - -You would hardly expect ever to be called on to complain that people -were too courteous. Yet, when it involves you in the necessity of -taking off your hat and describing a semicircle with it every minute -or two, you get just a little tired of the extreme politeness that -greets you all through Bavaria and Austria. I do not now allude to the -profound bows of your hotel landlord, your porter, your “boots,” and -your cabman. I do not speak of the man who sells you something--if it -is nothing more than a cake of soap--and bends almost to the floor -when you leave his shop. These men have relations with you which make -their courtesies a matter of course. You do as you please about bowing -back to them. As a rule, you do it if you are not stiff-necked and -hard-hearted. I now refer to the army officer or other gentleman who -doffs his cap to you most politely every time he enters or leaves a -railway-carriage in which you are sitting. But I have chiefly in mind -the pedestrians of high and low degree whom you meet in great numbers -along the country roads of Austria and Bavaria. These men, if natives, -never fail to bare their heads to you. And you must do the same to -them, or lose that good opinion of your own manners which every man -naturally wishes to preserve. Perhaps we Americans need those lessons -in politeness which are forced upon us in some parts of Europe. But it -is nevertheless a little trying to be continually required to exchange -the most respectful salutes with perfect strangers. I don’t think there -is any danger that our fellow-countrymen will ever catch the habit very -badly. - - -The superintendent or chief inspector of the great Picture-Gallery of -Dresden was quite indignant when I asked him if the Saxon Government -intended to refuse to American artists and students access to that -treasure-house, as had been reported. For his answer he sent at once -for a promising young American, who was then copying one of the -masterpieces of the gallery. Placing his hands affectionately on this -young man’s shoulders, he simply said, “No! no! impossible!” Then he -fled from the scene, as if my question had stung him. It is true, as -I have since learned, that Saxony, while feeling affronted by the -American thirty per cent duty on the paintings and statuary of her -subjects, does not propose to retaliate by excluding our compatriots -from her world-famous collections of art. On the contrary, American -artists are very popular there, and will continue to be welcome -visitors at all the galleries. The Saxon Government hopes that the -American art-tariff will be abolished or reduced some day, in response -to the demand of the best artists of our own country, and without -the pressure of any reprisal. If one would know how valuable are the -privileges enjoyed by American artists and students abroad, let him -enter the famous gallery of paintings, which is the chief glory of -Dresden, and look around him. He will see in almost every corner some -person sitting before a renowned picture and copying it at leisure. -Sometimes the picture still hangs on the wall, in which case the -body and the easel of the artist half conceal it from view. Several -masterpieces which I wanted to inspect closely were partly eclipsed -in this way. Sometimes the gem is taken down and put at the artist’s -exclusive disposal. You find its wooden back confronting you in some -nook of the gallery, and, if you try to peep round for a look at it, -the person at work copying it is apt to make you feel that you are an -intruder. I say that it is a great thing to enjoy these advantages over -the general public, and be able to derive a profit from them by selling -copies to American customers, who can take them home duty free. One may -not like the thirty per cent tariff, and still may feel most kindly -disposed toward every American artist and art-student in Europe, and -earnestly hope that their privileges will not be curtailed in the least. - -There is one room in this picture-gallery where I have not yet seen -an easel set up with a man or woman toiling behind it. That is the -apartment solely occupied by the immortal Sistine Madonna of Raphael. -Such a presence there would seem almost a profanation. For that -greatest work of the greatest of artists is a shrine before which men -of all religions and of no religion pay the same unaffected homage. You -remove your hat instinctively as you enter the little room. You cross -the floor on tip-toe. You gaze upon the wonderful canvas in silence. -If you exchange words of admiration about it with your companion or -neighbor, you do it in a whisper. As you reluctantly quit the place to -go directly to your hotel--for nothing in the gallery interests you -much after you have seen the Sistine Madonna--you realize better than -before what is the highest and truest mission of art in the world. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -BERLIN--ITS MILITARY ATMOSPHERE. - - -Two men sit on their horses like statues in front of the Brandenburg -Gate of Berlin. They wear spiked helmets. The numerous buttons on their -tight-fitting coats gleam in the sun. Their weapons are swords. When -you ask to what crack regiment they belong, you are told that they are -policemen. You find hundreds more of the same grave, martial persons, -mostly on foot, in the Berlin streets. You soon come to distinguish -them from the regular troops whom they so much resemble. But it is hard -to tell where the policeman ends and the soldier begins. If the moral -effect of this grim constabulary is as great on the citizens of Berlin -as on the stranger within her gates, then there are few breaches of -the peace committed here. At the railway-stations you see other men -who are soldierly in their dress and bearing. They wear the well-known -fatigue-caps with broad colored bands and a little circle embroidered -just above the visor. Their breasts are decorated with metal badges, of -which the crown emblem is a part. You naturally suppose them to belong -to the army, and to be ornamented with some kind of “order,” until you -go near enough to read the word “Portier,” with which they are labeled. -Thus it is that a strong military air is imparted to Berlin, over and -above that which comes from the corps in garrison here. This corps -comprises all arms of the service. The various uniforms--sometimes -simply neat, but often very showy--exhibited in Unter den Linden during -the evening promenade, form one of the chief attractions of that -most beautiful of Berlin streets. Such, at least, is the verdict of -visitors--especially Americans with whom army accoutrements are happily -things of the past. - -It must be confessed that the most peaceful-minded person may catch -the military fever here. The people of Berlin, like all other Germans, -protest to you that they hate war and desire peace above all things. -No men can look more pacific as they smoke their pipes and drink -their beer, and listen to the best music in the “Gartens.” Still, -it is the truth that they impress the impartial tourist as the most -warlike race in Europe. No capital that I have seen compares with -Berlin in the predominance of military ideas and suggestions. The -officers and privates everywhere on view are but a small part of -this total. The aged and heroic Emperor, the Crown Prince, Bismarck, -Moltke, Roon, and other heroes of the Franco-German War, are served up -in every possible way in the shop-windows of every street. Statues, -busts, oil-paintings, photographs of these distinguished men in full -“regimentals,” are as thick in Berlin as crucifixes and other religious -symbols in the most devout city of Southern Italy. It is a patriotism -which runs to idolatry. In the Königsplatz stands a splendid monument, -designed to commemorate the victorious issues of the recent wars -with Denmark, Austria, and France. On each of the four sides of the -pedestal are bronze reliefs of the Kaiser and all the rest of the -gallant company. If one is not tired of these repetitions of figures -and faces, he may climb an interior staircase of the column and come -out on a balcony, where he can regale himself with the sight of a -noble work in mosaic, in which the identical celebrities reappear in -new combinations and with still more brilliant effects. Visiting the -modern picture-galleries about town, he can not enter a nook or recess -so obscure that it does not hold at least one first-rate picture, -or marble or bronze bust of the Emperor or his heir, or his great -Chancellor, or his incomparable Field-Marshal and strategist. - -It is but natural that the Germans should love to honor the illustrious -sovereign, the statesman, and the general who have made their country -united and powerful. They know perfectly well that what they have won -by the sword can be kept only by the sword in that terrible struggle -for national supremacy, and even for existence, of which Europe is the -theatre. As long as the profession of the soldier is thus exalted above -every other by force of circumstances, what wonder that the Germans -should indulge their passion for hero-worship to an extent unknown in -all modern history? - -The American who passes through France and Germany finds this question -a very interesting one: How long will it be before these two countries -will be fighting again? He takes it for granted that they will fight -some time. All the signs point to that conclusion. He sees troops -incessantly drilling in all parts of Germany and France. If he can read -the native papers, he finds in almost every column some allusion more -or less covert, but unmistakably unfriendly in tone. If he inspects the -rows of yellow-covered pamphlets at the railway book-stalls, he will -be sure to see “Avant la Bataille,” or “Pas Encore,” or the spirited -replies in German, of which those and other sensational volumes have -been the occasion. Works like these are multiplying on both sides -of the frontier. They seem to be pilot balloons sent up to try the -winds. It is true that the authors are unofficial persons. They do not -speak for nations. But they do, nevertheless, succeed in straining the -relations between countries which require for the preservation of peace -the observance of mutual forbearance, if hearty good-will can not be -expected of them. - -A great many Frenchmen have made no concealment of their burning desire -for revenge ever since the war of 1870-’71. But in my previous visits -to Europe I have never found the Germans so outspoken on this ticklish -subject as at present. Every one with whom I have conversed believes -that the renewal of the struggle is not far off. No reason is given -for this belief. It is one of faith, resting on portents in the skies. -There does not seem to be, in Germany, the least doubt of the sequel, -if France, single-handed, should attempt to recover what she has lost. -But there is some anxiety to know whether she would have Russia as an -ally. In that event the Germans are counting on the support of Austria -and Italy. These, however, are questions of the future, and there we -will leave them, with the single remark that the physical and mental -health of Bismarck and Moltke, as trusted counselors of the indomitable -Kaiser, constitutes the best present security against any surprise in -diplomacy or war at the expense of Germany. - -I never saw in any one place in France as many French cannon as are -packed in the great court-yard of the arsenal of Berlin. They line the -sides of the quadrangle, and point to the center. Each of these pieces -bears some terrible name--“Le Vengeur,” “La Terreur,” “Le Destructeur,” -“Le Volcan,” “Le Borreau,” and the like--which now read strangely by -the light of history. Some show ugly scars, like bull-dogs gashed in -fighting. A frequent mark is the tearing away of a lip of the muzzle, -the effect of German shot. Others have deep scores in the sides, -where the balls struck them and glanced off. They are mostly bronze -of slender, graceful shapes, and profusely ornamented with arabesque -raised patterns. They have a certain Gallic look of trimness and taste, -and, if they failed to frighten off the German invader, they still -survive as works of art in the German capital, and fulfill the peaceful -mission of amusing the Berlinese. I roved among these trophies, and -patted them on the back, stopping occasionally to decipher the date of -their making. The year is cast in bold figures near the mouth of the -gun, and is often accompanied by the name of the sovereign in whose -reign it was born. There are specimens dating as far back as Louis XIV; -others are marked “Napoleon,” “Louis XVIII,” “Louis Philippe,” and the -larger number “Napoleon III.” As I saunter among these grim souvenirs -of the wreck of the Second Empire and the terrible humiliation of -France, I wonder how a French soldier would feel if he were present -among this throng of exulting Germans, with whom the exhibition is a -treat inexhaustibly popular. But then, of course, no Frenchman visiting -Berlin could bear the idea of witnessing these proofs of his country’s -disaster. - -As this thought passed through my mind, I looked up from a long, -handsome gun--“Le Tourbillon”--which I had been inspecting, and noticed -a martial face near me. It had piercing black eyes, a clipped, white -mustache, a prominent chin, and instantly reminded me of the portrait -of Marshal Pelissier, Duc de Malakoff. The lips were grimly set, and -there was no mistaking the frown in those corrugated lines of the -brow which the civilian’s hat did not conceal. Caught unawares, this -remarkable face showed shame, rage, hate, and revenge, or I am no -judge of the human countenance. But the moment the stranger’s eyes met -mine, this expression of the passions vanished. He smiled forcedly, -and whispered, “Pardon, monsieur,” then moved hastily away, as if to -avoid conversation or observation. The incident impressed me deeply. -He was certainly a Frenchman, perhaps an officer of high rank, who, -while visiting Berlin and out of his uniform, could not resist the -temptation to see what use the victors were making of all the spoils of -Sedan, Strasburg, and Metz, and of those venerable trophies of Waterloo -which fell into Blucher’s hands. He was too young for old Pelissier; -and, besides, that hero of the Crimea had been dead about two years. - -After glancing at the immense display of other cannon, home-made and -captured, old and new, the apparatus for mining and sapping, the -elaborate miniature plans of fortresses and (most curious of all) -the topographical models of historic battlefields, with tin troops -in position on both sides, just as they were drawn up at some crisis -of the conflict--all these on the vast lower floor of the arsenal--I -climbed an easy flight of stairs, and found myself in another hall -of trophies. The objects here exhibited were French muskets and -French standards. There were enough _chassepots_ to equip a division -of troops. A Frenchman himself, if he could dismiss his patriotic -sensibilities, must admire the highly artistic way in which the Germans -have grouped these shining weapons. Thousands of them are set in racks, -and look like organ-pipes, recalling Longfellow’s lines on “The Arsenal -at Springfield”; others are displayed against the walls as spokes of -a wheel, as triangles, as pentagons, and other geometrical forms, -beautiful in their perfect regularity. A committee of French artists -could not have treated the material more effectively. - -Above and all around droop the flags of conquered France. Some are old -and rent by bullets. I read among their folds such names as “Jena,” -“Austerlitz,” “Borodino,” “Alma,” “Inkermann,” “Solferino.” Others -are new and untorn and unstained. Their fresh, tricolored hues make -the long gallery gay as I look down its perspective. What would the -French officer say (to himself) if he could gaze upon these flags of -his country which now serve only to decorate the enemy’s arsenal? -There he is again by my side. His face is pale. His lips pinch each -other. His eyes shoot fire. He is staring intently at a poor old flag -in tatters--a mere rag--on which I spell out the word “Marengo.” No -wonder his patriotic soul is cruelly disturbed by the spectacle! How -can he endure it? As I ask this question, the object of it is suddenly -aware that I am looking at him. His eyes again meet mine, his face -mechanically becomes smooth if not pleasant, and his lips move as if -murmuring, “Pardon, monsieur!” in apology for not more successfully -commanding his emotions. Then he disappears among the crowd--there is -always a crowd at the arsenal--as before, and that is my last sight of -this mysterious personage. - -During one of our rides in the outskirts of Berlin we came upon a -regimental drill. It was taking place in a large, perfectly flat and -dry field or parade-ground. We sat comfortably in our carriage close -by, and watched the operations. An entire regiment was present, with -all its officers in command, and fine-looking men they were, from the -colonel down to the sous-lieutenant. It may be largely a question of -clothes. Perhaps the long frock-coat, with two rows of buttons on the -breast, and the spiked helmet, should be credited with part of the -effect. The bobtail, white coats of Austria, and the short, blue tunics -and red breeches of France, somehow detract from the impressiveness -which should adhere to the followers of Mars. And the _Pickelhaube_ of -the Germans is unquestionably more warlike than the French _kepi_, or -the cloth cap of the Austrians awkwardly set on the back of the head, -or the plumed, top-heavy, round hat of the Italian _bersaglieri_. The -German officers, for one reason or another, are more soldierly of -aspect than any of their European brethren in arms. The studious and -impartial observer must also give the German privates the palm over all -others of the rank and file, the English troops always excepted. They -look healthier, larger, stronger, with more staying power, than the -common soldiers of Austria, France, or Italy. - -These officers and these men are machines with souls. We are looking -at some wonderful automatic exhibition. Every arm and every leg of -every soldier responds to the orders as if pulled by invisible wires. -When they march in company columns, the line along the waist-buckles -of the men is perfectly straight. When they ground their muskets, a -thousand strike the earth with one thud. To me the most remarkable part -of the show is the goose-step parade, never seen outside of Germany. -It is a survival of the great Frederick’s iron system. The men throw -out one leg after another from the hip-joint, without a bend at the -knee. There is absolute uniformity in this strange combined movement. -A line of puppets operated by steam could not perform it better. A -Prussian officer would take that as the highest compliment, his purpose -being to impart to these thinking bodies before him all the formalism -of a machine complete in every part, thoroughly oiled and working -faultlessly. The goose-step parade is the pride of his heart. The -fierce colonel, who sits on his coal-black horse at a little distance, -and watches his regiment with merciless eyes, beams his silent approval -as they all stride toward him, with their thousands of stiff legs -rising and falling together as one. - -At Munich, on the way to Berlin, I had seen Bavarian soldiers taking -their gymnastic exercise out-of-doors. The same severe physical -discipline is enforced upon all the conscripts throughout the -empire; but it is not often that the tourist catches them in the -act of training every muscle in succession for the exigencies of a -campaign. By looking over a fence which separated me from the Munich -drill-ground, I could watch the performances at close quarters. -There, within a rod of me, were tough young fellow’s playing all -sorts of games. They were climbing ropes and letting themselves down -head-foremost. They were jumping over bars four or five feet high -without touching. They were scaling barricades fifteen or twenty feet -high by mounting on the shoulders of comrades. They were crossing -imaginary streams on narrow planks. Some of them, with wire masks -and iron breastplates, were fiercely lunging at one another with -bayonets on the ends of muskets. The sharp point was covered with a -wad of stuffed leather. Hundreds of men not thus engaged were marching -incessantly up and down the grounds and going through the manual of -arms, under the severest of tutors. When I had looked upon these men -and these games about half an hour, I understood better than before why -the Germans are formidable in war. - - -The Emperor and Empress were at Ems in mid-July, the time of my visit. -Parliament was not in session. The opera-houses were closed. The month -was in no sense part of “the season.” And yet the hotels and _pensions_ -were full and prices “way up.” It is worth while to know the special -reason of this. Berlin was holding a great exhibition of pictures. It -purported to take in “the world,” but I can not admit this claim, for -America was not at all represented in the long galleries through which -I paced in the vain hope of finding some scrap from the brush of a -fellow-countryman. None of the official persons whom I consulted knew -or cared anything about it. One or two of them had a vague impression -that some American artist had sent in something after the catalogue had -been printed, but could not “spot” it for me. So I patriotically hunted -for myself, and after much searching gave it up. Whether our artists -did not care to send coals to Newcastle, or whether the managers of -this immense picture-show had forgotten to invite, or had declined -to accept, offerings from the United States, I can not say. Perhaps -the jealousy and feeling of resentment which the American art tariff -has provoked in Germany may explain the phenomenon. Excepting for the -regrettable absence of contributions from America, the Ausstellung -of 1886 wanted for nothing. No better collection of modern European -paintings has ever been made. It was this that packed Berlin in -mid-July. There is a lesson just here which should be taken home by -every city in which ambition and enterprise are not yet extinct. Great -galleries of fine pictures are unfailing attractions. - - -Perhaps, when New York has doubled her supply of Croton, she will -provide a fountain worthy of the name. Nothing seems to captivate a -crowd quite as effectually as a big jet of water. It must be fired -into the air straight and high. It makes little difference whether -the stream is thick or thin at the nozzle. At the Interlaken Casino -there is a slender fountain of this kind. Its topmost drops tremble -some hundreds of feet above the ground. No one dreams of quitting the -scene till the water ceases to play, and I believe the spectators would -stay there all night if it were not turned off. At Dresden, behind -the Zwinger, there is a jet of far less pretensions. But, while it is -playing, everybody from far and near flocks around to see it. Visiting -the park of Sans Souci, not far from Berlin, I found the great fountain -just as irresistible as all of its kind have proved everywhere else. -The by-standers never tired of watching the sparkling column as it -shot aloft. They would hardly move out of the way, even when its spray -drenched them as the wind swayed the flashing summit to and fro. Nature -and art have combined to make the old pleasure-ground of Potsdam -lovely. But there is nothing in it as beautiful as its fountain. - - -The linden-trees in the great street upon which I look as I write, have -shed almost all their blossoms. The wind brings with it the faintest -trace of a perfume which is delicious when not too strong. The renowned -Unter den Linden must be the paradise of thoroughfares when its long -double lines of trees are in their full flower. Its noble palaces, -museums, universities, and other public buildings make it attractive at -all times. But its wealth of lindens is its unique charm in the summer. -Only I am a little disappointed not to find among the leafy rows a -single specimen of the tree as high as that which is so common in -Southern Germany. But, in years, perhaps, they will grow to be as lofty -as their predecessors in the same street which were cut down in their -old age and decrepitude. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -ST. PETERSBURG IN JULY. - - -The Russians play their alphabet of thirty-six letters for all it -is worth. Having plenty of letters, they string these out into long -words. How our German friends, with their addiction to polysyllables, -would enjoy such alphabetical resources! What tremendous jaw-breakers -they would manufacture! Our first acquaintance with the beauties of -the Russian language was made from the window of a sleeping-car at -daybreak. We were then in Russian territory, far from the frontier. As -the tram jogged along without stopping, we could see the Russian names -of the stations. At first, perhaps, there would be four or five regular -English letters, mixed up anyhow. Then would come a Greek character. -Next would occur an unmistakable figure 3. This would possibly be -followed by an N or an R or an L turned upside down or otherwise -distorted. And in the midst of these capital letters there would be a -sprinkling of “lower case,” as printers say. The whole effect was that -of “pi” of the most exasperating description. I can imagine no mental -exercise more debilitating than that of trying to spell out Russian -signs with the misleading help of the English letters on them. Even if -all the rest were smooth sailing, there are fatal snags in the shape of -gridirons, double saw-horses, and other symbols of unknown import. - -On the tongue of a polite Russian this language is musical and fluent. -We heard its accents first at Wirballen, where the baggage inspection -takes place. It is no joke for persons who have been traveling for -fifteen hours from Berlin to be wakened at midnight and put through -a custom-house ordeal. As I stepped off the train into the cold and -damp of the Wirballen station, a pleasant voice saluted my ear with a -long sentence, of which I caught only the word “passport.” Looking up, -I saw, by the dim light of a lantern, a Russian officer of gigantic -stature. He was most becomingly dressed in a blue tunic, flowing -trousers tucked into highly polished boots, an Astrakhan cap with a -red top and white pompon, and a long sword trailed from his side to -the floor. His large, healthy face beamed benevolence. If he had asked -for my pocket-book, I believe I should have given it up to him without -hesitation. I handed him Mr. Bayard’s valued certificate, with the -single word “American.” You should have seen the smile on his face -stretch into a positive laugh of welcome! He bowed profoundly, and -pointed the way to a spacious room which had been depicted to me as a -torture-chamber. - -We had been told that the Russian examination was most inquisitive -and merciless. We had heard that all English books and newspapers -were confiscated. Having read our stock of these on the way, we were -ready to surrender them cheerfully to the Russian censor. But we were -expecting to have great fun out of a quart-bottle half full of lemonade -and tightly corked. We had painted to ourselves the disappointment and -disgust of the officials when they opened that bottle in pursuit of -brandy and found only water. I confess I was almost sorry when they -did not smell or even look at it. As for the books and papers, these -gave the worthy men no more concern than the wisp-broom and slippers. -Mind you, the search was not a pure farce. Those engaged in it did not -look at you all the time as if they itched to be bribed. They did not -examine some trunks and “chalk” others without opening them, and then -expect you to pay for their forbearance. It was a strict and honest -business throughout. But there was a liberal construction in favor of -travelers. I had some paper rubles in my vest-pocket for an emergency. -But slight observation of the men at work convinced me that they did -not look for a gratuity from me, and that possibly they might be -affronted if I offered them one. We have undergone many custom-house -inquisitions, but that at Wirballen is the only one in which there was -not something strongly suggestive of bribes or gifts. - -It was this same national politeness on the part of a Russian to -Americans that first induced us to try the rail route from Berlin to -St. Petersburg. At Dresden, where we took train for Berlin, the only -other occupant of our carriage was a gentleman of middle age, with a -finely shaped head and a shrewd, kindly face. Some trivial incident -started a conversation, and he soon learned that we were Americans. It -was at once evident that this fact thawed any little fragment of ice -that yet clung to our intercourse. Our fellow-traveler then proclaimed -himself a Russian, and spoke with feeling of the friendship that had -always existed between his country and America, and hoped it would -be lasting. We echoed his sentiments every time, you may be sure. -These international comities having been exchanged, we proceeded to -extract from our friend some much-needed information about the Russian -facilities for traveling, the best hotels and shops in St. Petersburg -and Moscow, and a great deal else in respect to which our guide-books -are imperfect or stale. His knowledge of all these matters was full -and exact, and I took mental notes of his advice, which, during our -whole stay in Russia, proved of great value. A talk which was certainly -very profitable for us--and in which he manifested the utmost interest -and willingness to assist--was abruptly broken by the arrival of the -train at the German capital. Rising to take leave, he shook hands with -us heartily, and then informed us that he was Count Paul Schouvaloff, -Russian Embassador at Berlin, and said he would be happy to be of any -further service if we would call at the embassy. He was received at the -station by military and other _attachés_ of his staff, and driven off -to the palace on the Unter den Linden, which is his official residence. -It was under such agreeable auspices that we began our Russian journey, -and they were but a foretaste of the kindness which everywhere met -us--as Americans. - -The trip from Berlin to St. Petersburg takes about thirty-six hours. -You start at 9 A. M. in an express train, and do not strike the -“sleepers” till you reach Wirballen. The Russian conveniences for night -travel are almost perfect. The compartments are large, the beds good, -the ventilation is scientific, and the motion easy. The springy gait -of the carriage rocks you to sleep. The attendants are all alive, -and do not ask for or seem to expect fees. The train stops often and -long enough after daylight to “refresh” the hungriest and thirstiest -of mortals. At the tidy-looking stations--wooden, one-story, painted -yellow, each with boxes of flowers in the windows--he finds glasses of -delicious coffee or strong tea, “screeching” hot. The tea is served -from the _samovar_, or big urn, and is on tap night and day. A slice of -lemon floating on top makes this cheering drink look like brandy-punch. -There also may be had the whitest bread, the most golden butter, and -dainty Russian dishes, of which I am most happy to recall mutton and -rice drowned in a brown sauce that would kindle an appetite under the -ribs of Death. Such comforts and such luxuries made the long ride from -Wirballen to St. Petersburg unfatiguing. The country is flat, with -a large allowance of forest and swamp, and is sparsely settled. The -little aisle of the car was a common meeting-ground for passengers, who -were amiable and talkative. - -And so the time did not drag badly till we rolled into the Petersburg -station (they all say Petersburg here) a little before nine o’clock, -P. M. It was broad daylight in effect, and, as we were driven to our -hotel (d’Europe), we could see and enjoy the out-door life of this -great, modern-looking, wonderful city as well as if it had been high -noon. There were signs of business enterprise and prosperity on every -side. The _droschkies_ burned the pavement, as the French say, but the -drivers held their horses well in hand. These “cabbies,” by-the-way, -are almost the only class here whose dress is not European. Their -long wraps, like bathing-robes, buckled about the waist, and their -little hats, which look like the stove-pipe pattern badly crushed, are -the only marked oddities of attire in the streets. The pedestrians, -although through with the business of the day, walked rapidly. The -general aspect of the city, as of the people we saw, was more American -than French, German, or English. But for the maddening inscriptions -on the shop-fronts, and the golden domes and peculiar crosses of the -Greek churches, the city of Peter the Great might pass for a compound -of Chicago and Washington. The wide, straight streets--the _Prospekts_, -or perspectives, as they are called--remind me of the latest type of -American cities. On arriving at the hotel, I again surrendered my -passport (which had been countersigned and stamped by the Russian -consul-general at Berlin, and handed back to me after a brief detention -at Wirballen). It was returned next day, without any additional mark -upon it. - -The famous St. Isaac’s Church, about which so many writers rave, does -not impress us as much as we expected. Nothing could be simpler and -nothing richer than its outside and inside. It is immense, but it looks -small. Its great dome is a sheet of pure gold. Its interior has columns -of malachite and lapis-lazuli, massive shrines made of precious metals -by the hundred-weight and blazing with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, -and emeralds. One knows that millions of dollars have been lavished -on all these things, and yet the whole effect is not magnificent. The -money is not put where it shows on casual inspection. For a repetition -of visits I prefer the Kazan Cathedral, of which less ado is made in -the guide-books. That is the church beloved of Petersburgers; while -it is not dowered with as much malachite, lapis-lazuli, gold, silver, -and gems as fall to the share of St. Isaac’s, it is very rich in all -these gifts, and it has one shrine of incomparable splendor. That is -our Lady of Kazan. The Greek Church does not tolerate images among its -symbols. Reverence for the Saviour, or the Madonna and Child, or any -of the saints, is expressed by heaping up riches upon their portraits. -Our Lady of Kazan appears in a gold frame about three feet square. You -see only her face and hands. The rest of her is buried under solid -gold and silver crusted all over with the costliest jewels. She is a -special object of veneration. Princes and generals, opulent merchants, -beggars, old and young, women and children, all sorts of people, may -be seen at almost any hour of the day struggling to kiss her hands. -Before doing this the more devout bow and touch the cold stone floor -with their foreheads and cross themselves repeatedly. They bring little -votive candles which they light and stick in places provided for them. -Priests and women all dressed alike, in black robes and high hats minus -the brim, stand around with dishes to receive donations. I heard the -service intoned by lay readers with deep-bass voices, but did not see -a priest performing his sacred functions. The religion of the people -seems very real, so far as outward signs reveal it. Shrines are set up -at the street corners and in the fronts of shops and houses, and no -Russian fails to remove his hat and cross himself and bow deeply in -passing one of them. - -The most remarkable curiosity in this city is the perfect skeleton -of a mammoth dug out of an ice-bank in Siberia nearly one hundred -years ago. It is in the Museum of the Academy of Sciences, and I lost -no time in inspecting the bones of the colossal beast. He stood, in -his original full dress, as high as the lamented Jumbo at least. His -general appearance as to head, tail, trunk, legs, and chest was that of -an elephant. But his tusks, ten or twelve feet long, curved outward -and upward, as if they were trying to tie knots in themselves. Remains -of mammoths have often been dug up in Russia, but this skeleton is the -only one to which some of the flesh and skin and hairs still adheres. -The hide is about an inch thick. The hair is half a foot long, of a -whitish brown. At what remote date this monster was browsing around in -Siberia, what use he made of his queer horns, and how he got frozen up -in a mass of ice and mud, are questions which I leave to the lively -fancy of Jules Verne. - -Most smokers are proud to own a real amber mouth-piece. What would -they say to a room, seventy-five or one hundred feet square, lined on -all sides with amber clear to the high ceiling? That is what we saw -at Tsarskoé Selo, an imperial summer palace near St. Petersburg. The -precious fossil gum was cut and dovetailed so as to make beautiful -figures of Cupids, fruits, and flowers. The whole is in the highest -state of polish. It reflects the light not only from its surface, but -from its depths, and is lovely to look upon, even if one does not -think of the treasure expended in procuring all that rare product of -nature. We made the weary round of a hundred rooms, all gilded and -upholstered magnificently, and full of art-objects from every part -of the globe, but saw nothing that spoke so eloquently of boundless -wealth and luxury as that amber-lined chamber. When a Tsar undertakes -to do something really splendid in this line, he leaves all his brother -sovereigns far behind. - -I shall never take the least interest in the band-chariot of a circus -after having seen the forty or fifty gorgeous state carriages of the -Tsars. The best artists and artisans of all Europe have contributed -to the production of these wonderful objects, in which expense is -of no account. They are deeply gilt all over, and each panel bears -a painting from some master’s hand. In the midst of this brilliant -collection stands the traveling-sledge of Peter the Great, made -entirely by himself, and an honest and strong piece of work. It was -built for service, not for coronations and weddings, like the rest. -Adjoining this venerable relic is a _coupé_ of the simplest style, to -which our courteous guide points as he says, with emotion, “Alexander -the Second.” We look, and are startled to see that the rear part of -the _coupé_ is split open in several places and a little sunk down -on one side. Then we know at once that before us is the wreck of the -carriage in which the monarch sat when the first bomb exploded beneath -it. Within as well as without the havoc of the missile was terrible to -behold. It is a wonder that the doomed man escaped alive only to perish -by the second bomb, which his murderers held in reserve for him. The -memory of this martyred emancipator of the serfs is cherished with the -deepest affection by the people. His portrait is one of the commonest -in the shop-windows. In the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul (within -the fortress of that name) is the tomb of the unfortunate Emperor. Like -the sepulchres of his predecessors, all about him, it is of marble -unadorned. But its top is heaped with fresh flowers. Above and around -are hung wreaths of immortelles and other floral tributes and elaborate -mourning emblems in silver and gold testifying to the love of his -subjects and the admiration of men of other lands. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THE FIRST DROSCHKY-RIDE--SUNSET AT THE ISLANDS--EARLY MORNING VIEWS OF -THE NEVSKOI PROSPEKT. - - -“Don’t forget Firkin! I will write his name for you on the back -of my card.” Such were the closing words of a long conversation -about Russia held between myself and a young American who had -recently visited that country. The person to whom he referred was -the celebrated St. Petersburg guide, with headquarters at the Hôtel -d’Europe. This injunction to remember Firkin was laid upon me across -the breakfast-table of the Hôtel Grande Bretagne, Naples. I thanked -the young American, and placed his card thus indorsed in a select -compartment of my pocket-book. About two weeks later, dining one day at -“Schweizerhof,” Lucerne, my neighbor on the right, an English tourist, -led up a desultory talk to Russia. I have noticed that persons who -have been to Russia are apt to apprise others of that fact upon no -provocation at all. He also said, with great emphasis--speaking of St. -Petersburg--“By all means secure Firkin as a guide”; adding, “without -him you are helpless.” Frequently afterward, when we were pursuing our -devious journey to the great northern capital, some misgivings would -arise about difficulties to be encountered there; and then these would -all vanish when we recalled the magic name of Firkin. - -When we arrived at the Hôtel d’Europe, my first inquiry, after securing -rooms, was for this treasure of a man. The polite manager scoured -the reading-room, the restaurant, the smoking-room, and all the -passage-ways of the ground-floor in search of the famous guide. “He -must be out now with a party,” explained the manager, in French. “Did -you telegraph ahead to engage him?” - -Ah! I had forgotten that. I had thoughtlessly assumed that, as I was -visiting St. Petersburg out of the busy season, he would be entirely at -my disposal. Rash confidence! - -Next morning, after a good night’s rest, my first thought was of -Firkin. Even before breakfast, I resumed my inquiries for him, and -could have hugged him with delight when he was at last brought before -me by the courteous manager himself. He was a man of middle height -and age, with an ingratiating manner, and spoke English--his native -tongue. He looked the model guide. He smiled and shook his head when -I told him I wanted to engage his services during my stay. Then he -referred to a tablet in his hand, and, after carefully inspecting a -series of entries, said, “You wish to see the most remarkable sights in -Petersburg, I suppose.” I nodded. “Well, then,” said he, “I can give -you from nine to twelve day after to-morrow. That is the best I can -do. But it will afford you some idea of the manners and customs of the -natives. Strangers have no conception of them, I assure you.” - -Three hours seemed very little, and day after to-morrow was far off. -But I was curious to learn something about the real native life in -Russia, and jumped at the proposition. “All right,” said I, “we shall -be through breakfast by nine on Wednesday, and ready for you.” - -“Breakfast, my dear sir?” he cried. “Dinner, you mean; 9 P. M. is the -hour of starting. Between that and midnight I can show you the most -wonderful--” - -I laughed at the mutual mistake, and explained to the accomplished -guide that the sights we had in mind were those best seen by day -light--churches, palaces, museums, picture-galleries, etc. - -“Ah! I see,” he said, with a smile, “there is a lady along.” - -Thus ended my negotiations with Firkin. I tried in vain to engage -another guide at the hotel, one who spoke French a little. But he was -also booked far ahead. There was nothing left but to trust to my own -ingenuity and the judicious use of “tea-money,” as tips are called -in a land where tea is drunk even more generally than corn-brandy. I -bethought myself of the tourist’s best friend--the head-porter. He was -a Russian giant, amiable, like all oversized men, and speaking some -French. He promised me his best assistance, and, I will say at once, -was very useful. Whenever I wanted to go anywhere, he would give all -the directions in Russian to the droschky-driver. As the driver was -usually stupid, and, I should think, deaf, from the thundering tones -in which the head-porter invariably addressed him, it always took some -time to get us fairly started. Woe be to the _ishvoshtnik_ if I had any -occasion whatever to complain of him on my return, as I sometimes had! -Then the head-porter would seem to grow in stature to about eight feet. -He would shake his enormous fist in pretended rage at the blundering -fellow, and roar at him in the purest Russian. I could not understand -a word, but I knew by the driver’s looks that he was “catching it -hot.” It is on such occasions that the Russian alphabet of thirty-six -letters comes out strong. It enables one to do justice to the subject. -The man would quail before this frightful shower of expletives until -I would really pity him, and touch the shoulder of my good friend the -head-porter to call him off. After several repetitions of this severe -but wholesome treatment, the drivers made fair substitutes for the -lamented Firkin himself. - - -Strange as the statement may seem, my principal difficulty at first -was getting back to the hotel. Not a single one of the drivers engaged -for me knew the name “Hôtel d’Europe,” which was painted in letters -six feet long on the blank side of that immense establishment. I was -obliged to say “Nevskoi Prospekt,” which they all understood; and, when -they had entered that broadest of avenues, I piloted them to the hotel, -which fronted it. Finally, I obtained from the head-porter the Russian -name of the house--something like “Europeiskaya Gostinnitza”--and made -that work every time. - -Most of the streets are paved with large cobble-stones, and, if the -droschkies ever had springs, these have become unelastic by much -bumping over them. One mounts a droschky in St. Petersburg as he -steps into a gondola in Venice--with a feeling of romance. It is -something that shows off beautifully in pictures. You see a miniature -victoria, with thick little wheels--the front ones just the size for -barrows--drawn by a horse whose back is spanned with a high ornamental -arch of wood, to which bells are attached. The driver holds in the -flying steed with both hands--a graceful attitude. The whole turn-out -is so fairy-like and different from any other elsewhere, that the -tourist looks forward to a ride in a droschky as one of the greatest -treats of St. Petersburg. Among the few Russian words he picks up as -indispensable are _poshoi_ (go ahead) and _stoi_ (stop). Armed with -these, he sets forth on his first exploration of the city, careless, -light-hearted, prepared to enjoy everything, and particularly the -droschky. - -When we proceeded to seat ourselves in this vehicle, we barely found -room for two, and there was no back to it except a little rim, three -inches high, to prevent our falling out. We instinctively clung to -each other for support. If we were a little crowded, and there was any -danger of our tumbling into the street backward, those very facts were -new and interesting. The safe and comfortable carriages are always -commonplace, you know. We really felt like extolling the inventive -genius of Russia which had produced something totally unlike any of -the equipages of Western Europe. There was fascination in the risks of -it. The _ishvoshtnik_ (I roll this word like a sweet morsel under my -tongue) starts off quickly. This gives us a jerk, but, while holding on -to each other, we have each a spare hand with which we grasp the end -of our thin cushion. We are not thrown out, or likely to be, and we -murmur: “What fun!” “How exhilarating!” “What novel sensations!” as we -go jolting over the bowlders. - -The _ishvoshtnik_ has a good horse, and is proud to show him off. The -animal and his master seem to understand each other well. The one bends -back his ears, while the other pours a stream of unintelligible words -into them. No whip is ever used. We both feel much inconvenienced by -the horrible pavement, though we heroically suppress our emotions. We -suppose that we will soon get used to it. To distract our attention, -we try to amuse ourselves with the enigmatical signs on the shops. We -study the strange faces in the streets. We note the golden domes and -spires as they flash under the morning sun. We make every effort to -lose ourselves in the contemplation of this interesting city. But it is -of no use. The cobble-stones keep our teeth chattering, and at times -threaten to dislocate every bone in our bodies. We strike a bowlder of -extra size, and the droschky bounds up a foot. - -“How horrid! do stop him, do!” are the words I now hear. I yell -_poshoi_ at the driver. A voice at my side says, “How lucky you -remembered the word!” The man hears me, and he calls out _poshoi_ to -his horse. Now we shall see the sagacity of the animal. But no! The -brute does not understand his own language. He has broken his trot; he -is galloping. I hear a shriek--“Oh, pull his what-d’ye-call it, do!” -I grasp the driver’s baggy and greasy robe just above the girdle and -nearly jerk him off his seat. He looks around astonished, and I then -signal him to check his horse. He nods, and calls out _stoi_! And the -beast comes to a halt. Then the thought flashes upon me that I have got -my two Russian words mixed. Such is the fact, and we have a good laugh -over it in which the driver joins; and I have no doubt the mistake -would have amused the intelligent horse, if he had been told of it. -We were glad to get back to the hotel at a walk. This was our first -and last joint experience of a droschky in the rough streets of St. -Petersburg, though for little trips about town I tried it alone and -became somewhat hardened to it. - - -Late one afternoon, the head-porter, who was always making useful -suggestions, said to me, “Have you seen the sun set?” I told him I -came from the land of the setting sun. “But you must see it set here!” -pursued the good fellow. And before I could object, he whistled a -springy phaeton out of the court-yard of the hotel where it had been -standing awaiting orders. We stepped into the carriage, and he gave -directions in Russian to the driver. We were bound to a summer garden -or fashionable park, situated on what is known as “the islands.” We -crossed the Neva for the twentieth time, perhaps, as it divides the -great city in twain and lies between the Hôtel d’Europe and many places -of interest; and I again admired its noble breadth, its tranquil flow, -the dark steel-blue of its waters. From any of the bridges the view -along the quay is striking. The most imposing public buildings face the -Neva. The private edifices on the same alignment are only less stately. -It is here that the visitor recalls Paris as he has seen it from the -Pont de la Concorde; only the Neva is twice as wide as the Seine. -And this suggestion of Paris is strengthened when his eye catches a -reminder of the dome des Invalides, in the golden hemisphere of St. -Isaac’s. But for the frequency of the gilded bulbs and the square Greek -crosses that shine above the horizon of roofs, there is nothing Russian -or peculiar in the general view of St. Petersburg. - -Across the river we pass through streets destitute of novel features. -The fact that we are in the Tsar’s capital invests all things with a -certain glamour. We are far from home, and feel as if we ought to be -rewarded for our trouble in getting there, by the constant exhibition -of strange things. But, save for the puzzling signs and the universal -custom among the poorer classes (and all the military) of tucking -trousers into boots, and the low-wheeled droschkies with their drivers -in badly-crushed hats and tunics like blue meal-bags loosely tied in -the middle, little challenges our wonder or admiration. We leave the -busy streets for the green and shady gardens. These seem in no wise -different from public grounds elsewhere. The trees--spruces and firs -preponderating--are the same that thrive in all parts of Northern -Europe. The summer flowers are equally familiar to us. There are -restaurants, with people in the latest Paris styles, sitting in the -open air and drinking tea or something stronger; and bands are playing -for their delight just as they do in the Bois de Boulogne or Central -Park. The roads are macadamized and free from dust. Our carriage is -luxurious and from the depths of its cushions we look out idly on the -shaven lawns, the clipped shrubbery, the crystal ponds full of swans -and wood-ducks, the birds and butterflies spreading their wings to -the soft, caressing air, and shiver to think of the change that a -few months will make in this summer scene. For, perhaps, as soon as -mid-October, these little lakes and the Neva, of which we get frequent -glimpses between the trees, will be solid ice and all the landscape -Arctic. - -But we are coming to the sunset. We emerge from a thick wood at a point -where the glorious river widens out into the Gulf of Finland. There is -nothing to interrupt the view. Accustomed to American sunsets, we can -not fully share the enthusiasm which we see expressed in the eyes of -other persons, sitting in carriages and looking intently at that pile -of gold and rubies in the west. The driver, not hearing us utter any -exclamation of delight, turns half-way round and points to the setting -sun. I nod approvingly, and then we square off at it. It is indeed a -splendid exhibition of cloud-forms and luminous effects. Broad bands of -light shoot aloft like the pale tails of comets. There are many peaks -that turn rosy as if with an Alpine glow. Among the golden clouds one -traces the shapes of domes, as if another St. Petersburg were sinking -into night over there in the west. This is a brilliant spectacle for -the lover of Nature. But it sets us thinking of home and friends, so -many thousands of miles away in the direction of sunset. I dare say the -other people there looking at that wonderful sky as we do with alien -eyes, feel the same tender memories come over them with a rush, for we -are all silent together for a few minutes. - -The driver took the liberty of breaking the spell by moving on. We rode -through more woods, past more lawns with parterres of flowers, skirting -more lakes looking like duplicates of those we had before seen. -Finally, after about fifteen minutes of this pleasant but slightly -monotonous route, we came out upon another view of the sunset. It was -the same that we had seen before, but a quarter of an hour farther -along. The surrounding scene also appeared identical with the one we -had but just left. There was a small restaurant of fantastic design, -a precise copy, even to the large gilded weather-cock, of one I had -previously noticed, in front of which several carriages were drawn up, -while the owners or riders sat on the stoop eating ices. And there, -beyond the possibility of mistake, were a pair of bob-tail grays and -the same party of four ladies finishing up their light repast. We had -been taken to the same place twice to see the same sunset! It was -all the more vexatious as we were getting hungry, and I peremptorily -waved off the sunset with one hand and motioned with the other to go -ahead. The man evidently understood me, for he said _poshoi_ and off -we started. As we whirled along we fell into a talk about our future -plans and did not notice the scenery through which we passed. In about -fifteen minutes more we struck another view of the sunset, coming -abruptly upon it at a turn of the road. It was still so beautiful that -we could not forbear to look at it once again, although it was already -twice burned in upon our memories. Suddenly, as I took my eyes off -the molten splendor, I recognized the same old restaurant, with its -whimsical gables, its weather-cock and all the surroundings complete, -even to the bob-tail grays, pawing the ground and anxious to get away. -The four ladies were just on the point of entering their carriage. - -It was maddening. I would have given anything for a few Russian words -appropriate to the occasion. Would that the head-porter were there! -Oh, for one minute of Firkin! But I was powerless. I could only gasp, -“Europeiskaya Gostinnitza! _Poshoi!_” at the same time shaking my -fist at the driver. He understood me this time without a shadow of -doubt. In about forty minutes we entered the court-yard of the Hôtel -d’Europe. When the head-porter came forward to assist us in alighting, -I explained to him, with some indignation, the absurd persistence of -that ass in taking us to see the sunset three times running, when once -was all we wanted of it. Contrary to my expectations, the head-porter -did not interpret my emotions to the culprit, but calmly explained to -me that everybody who went to the Summer Garden to see the sunset took -it in three times before leaving the grounds. It was the regular thing -to do. The circuit, which is thrice made, was part of the fashionable -routine never omitted on any account. Though the excellent head-porter -did not say so, I could read in his face surprise that I should -complain of having had too much of a St. Petersburg sunset. - - -At 4.30 A. M. it is broad daylight. I happen to be awake, and I step -to a window which overlooks the Nevskoi Prospekt. The vast Gostinnoi -Dvor, in which we had shopped three hours on the stretch the day before -and seen but little of its inexhaustible stores in that short space of -time, is closed now. In two or three hours its thousands of shutters -will be taken down, and its swarming population of proprietors, -book-keepers, clerks, porters, and small boys will be getting ready for -another day’s business. The eternal lights burn at the beautiful Greek -shrine in the square opposite. The roof of the little temple is covered -with gold. Its shape is that of a Paris kiosk, but greatly magnified. A -Frenchman seeing it for the first time would step into it and ask for -“Le Figaro.” - -There are people abroad at that hour, and every one who passes this -shrine bows profoundly before it three times, and elaborately crosses -himself. A carriage drawn by two coal-black horses stops in front of -it. A priest, with the tall, black rimless hat and somber sweeping robe -of his order, descends. All spectators bow to him. He passes through -the ever-open doorway of the shrine to a place where I can see gleaming -gold and flashing jewels as the light of many wax-candles falls upon -them. After a short absence, the priest returns, carrying in his arms -a large square something. It is covered by a white cloth, but, as this -is accidentally displaced for a moment, I see the face of the Saviour. -It looks solemnly and tenderly out of the matted gold and precious -stones which overlay it. Three women in black follow it in procession -from the shrine to the carriage, with bent heads and slow steps. The -driver removes his hat. The heads of all spectators are bared, for -this is the principal Icon of the shrine near the great Bazaar, and -held in the deepest reverence by all orthodox Russians. It is about -to be taken to the priest’s house for some solemn ceremony of renewed -consecration. The carriage proceeds slowly along the Nevskoi Prospekt. -Through the open window I see the priest holding the Icon upon his -knees, and bending above it in the attitude of prayer. All beholders -doff their hats, bow, and cross themselves as the adored object passes. -A young officer is galloping down the street. He is dressed in the -dandy uniform of some crack regiment. He wears a shako with a tall -feather, and a gold chain about his neck; a long saber swings from his -waist; the blue cape of his light overcoat is thrown back to disclose -the rich scarlet lining. Even at that early hour his mustache is waxed -to fine points. He looks like a lady-killer. I say to myself, “He will -not bend his haughty head as the Icon goes by.” I am greatly mistaken. -He removes his shako, and bows to the pommel of his saddle. I notice -only one man who pays no respect to the Icon--that brawny fellow -sitting in a chair on the sidewalk, exactly opposite my window. His -head rests upon his breast, and he is evidently fast asleep. He is the -_dvornik_, or _concierge_, of the house in front of which he is taking -his nap. He is supposed to be watching the premises for the protection -of the inmates and their property. Perhaps he spends the whole night -in slumber, after the custom of unfaithful guardians in all climes and -ages. If so, the policeman, who is now coming slowly down the middle of -the street, with a drawn sword in his hand, must discover the fact if -he keeps his eyes open, and will perhaps wake the _dvornik_ to a sense -of his neglected duty by prodding him playfully. He glances at the -slumbering man as he saunters by, but does not disturb him. Doubtless, -requiring charity himself on that point very often, he is prepared to -extend it to others. Soon after he has passed, the _dvornik_ gives a -slight start, raises his head, pulls a bottle from beneath his heavy -cloak, takes a long pull at it, and goes to sleep again. - -I hear the heavy tramp of feet. Soon a battalion of soldiers comes in -sight. They are men of the medium size, young, healthy, and strong. -They put their feet down firmly, but do not march well, because -they have no music, not even a drum and fife. Their uniform is of -a bluish-gray color, and they wear fatigue-caps of cloth, slouchy -and unsoldierlike. Blankets are wreathed across the right shoulder, -and hang below the waist in an enormous fold, like a piece of -boa-constrictor. On their backs are knapsacks, with small tin pans -externally attached. The men look about as well as the raw conscripts -of other countries, and are probably good fighting material if well -drilled and handled. At their head rides the commanding officer, a -young fellow, whose bright face is clouded, as if he were leaving -somebody or something highly prized behind him. He may only be leading -his men to their morning drill in the exercise-grounds near the -arsenal. But it is more romantic to suppose that he is on his way to -Central Asia, and that he will engage in terrible skirmishes with -the border-ruffians down there, perform incredible deeds of valor, -capture a big chief, annex a province, and then come back to St. -Petersburg laden with loot and glory, to receive promotion to the rank -of major-general and the grand cross of St. George at the hands of the -Tsar. - -At that moment a still, small voice calling from the adjoining room -breaks up this day-dream, and ends my early morning view of St. -Petersburg. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -GRAND-DUKE ALEXIS--THE AMERICAN MINISTER AND HIS CHASSEUR--RUSSIAN -PRESS CENSORSHIP--AN INDIGNANT BRITON--UNDISCOVERABLE NIHILISTS. - - -As I was shuffling some card-photographs at Daziaro’s (print-shop on -the Nevskoi Prospekt), I noticed three or four costume-portraits of the -same fine-looking man. They were all full-lengths and very effective. -The intelligent face seemed familiar to me; but in vain I tried to -recall its owner. Neither the front nor the back of the photograph gave -any clew to his name. Where had I seen that open brow with the curling -hair, and those large, expressive eyes? I sought light from Daziaro. -“The Grand-Duke Alexis,” said he. - -That sent my memory back over quite a gap of years to the time when a -youthful scion of the house of Romanoff visited America and carried -the hearts of my countrywomen by storm. They unanimously declared that -he perfectly realized their ideal of a prince. That ideal was a most -exacting one; for it was founded on fairy-stories, and the Arthurian -legends. They knew nothing of princes in real life, or they would never -have made their standard so impossibly high. But here at last was a -prince who came up to it, with his stature of six feet two inches, his -winning face, and his dignified yet cordial manner. I have heard that -there are American ladies who sacredly preserve to this day the gloves -they wore when they danced in the same quadrille with the Grand-Duke -Alexis. - -With my countrymen he also made himself a great favorite by his desire -to please and readiness to be pleased. For these reasons--and because -of the sincere friendship which has always existed between the United -States and Russia--the Grand-Duke Alexis, wherever he went in America, -had a heartier popular reception than any other prince of any stock who -ever visited us. - -I could not help feeling a desire to see him again in the flesh, -after noticing how like his former self (except for the lapsed years) -he looked in the pictures. The Grand-Duke Alexis had become the -admiral of the Russian navy. I thought how fine he must look in the -full-dress uniform of his rank. I had more curiosity to see him than -the Tsar himself, who is the rarest spectacle now vouchsafed to the -eyes of the stranger, as he sticks close to his palaces and private -shooting-grounds. I found myself unconsciously on the watch for the -sailor-prince as I rode about the city. Sometimes I would see an -officer of commanding stature approaching us in a barouche at a dashing -gait, and would say, on the impulse, “I do believe that’s our friend.” -“Who? Who?” “Why, Alexis, to be sure!” “Oh, no, it’s somebody else.” -This happened very often, for showy officers in stylish turnouts are -not uncommon sights on the Nevskoi Prospekt. - -One day while standing in the spacious vestibule of the Hôtel d’Europe, -I noticed the people about me taking off their hats. Looking up, I -observed before me the Grand-Duke Alexis himself. The well-remembered -features were there, minus the high, open brow which was concealed -by a great cocked hat loftily plumed with green. Tall as he was in -America, he seemed to be two or three inches taller now. His dark-green -uniform--probably an admiral’s--fitted him well. He looked more -princely than ever. I took off my hat to him, but he did not notice it, -and, in fact, he returned nobody’s salute as far as I could see. “He -used to be more democratic in America,” I said to myself. “But that was -to please us. He is in Russia now, and the case is different.” - -At that moment the excellent head-porter, who was always rendering -these delicate attentions to the guests, whispered in my ear--“_Voilà -l’embassadeur Américain!_” - -Never was pleasing illusion more rudely dispelled to make room for -profound wonderment. So this resplendent being was the American -minister to Russia. What was his name? Oh, yes, I remember--Lothrop, of -Michigan. And that magnificent uniform? He must have been a general of -volunteers at home, and so is entitled by act of Congress to wear it -on ceremonial occasions abroad. A good idea, though some Americans who -have no uniforms to wear may ridicule it as pompous and fussy. I have -no doubt that the Russians are a great deal more impressed by all those -buttons, feathers, and gold lace, than they would be by the plain black -suit which I had supposed that Mr. Lothrop always wore. By-the-way, -I wonder to what arm of the service Mr. Lothrop belonged? I don’t -remember about that dark-green and that particular shape of hat. - -Just then a gentleman in complete black who had been following the -American minister, drew up alongside of him, and I could contrast the -two styles of dress to great advantage. Prejudice apart, there could be -no doubt that Mr. Lothrop looked more like a Minister Plenipotentiary -and Envoy Extraordinary of the United States of America in his -military garb than he would have done in civilian’s clothes. - -Can I believe my eyes? The minister is actually taking off his hat -and bowing very respectfully to the somber-coated person by his side. -Do my ears deceive me? He calls him “Your Excellency,” and seems to -be receiving an order from him like a servant. The next instant a -gentleman approaches the less conspicuous of the two figures and says -to him with a Chicago accent, “The American minister, I believe?” - -“Yes, sir! What can I do for you?” he kindly asks. - -And then I know that this gorgeous person is attached to our quiet -American minister as _chasseur_, and that it is his business to -herald the approach of that functionary. It is a practice found to be -very useful by our highest grade of representatives abroad; and that -American must be a ferociously uncompromising republican who would -object to this inexpensive but effective display of rank and dignity on -their part. - - -One afternoon while sitting in the reading-room of the Hôtel d’Europe, -looking over the last number of “Punch,” and trying to extract a laugh -from it, I became aware that a gentleman near me was desirous to open -conversation. Out of my side-eye I could see a monocle glaring at me, -with suppressed feeling behind it, and I knew by the fidgety motion -of a pair of hands, holding a newspaper aloft, that the owner had -something to say if I would lend him an ear. I laid down “Punch,” and -turning toward the stranger saw at once what was the matter. He was -exposing to my gaze a newspaper--the London “Saturday Review,” I think -it was--several pages of which had been badly mutilated by scissors. -Bits of various lengths had been snipped out of its reading-columns. -I immediately recognized the work of the Russian censor, specimens -of which I had seen before. The man who displayed this mangled -“Saturday Review” for my inspection was English. Seeing that he was -somewhat excited, I resolved to tease him a little for fun, though the -indignation which blazed from his face was honest, and certainly not -without cause. - -“I know that this is a land of tyranny,” said he, “but I’m an -Englishman and not afraid to speak my mind. Isn’t that an outrage?” - -“I beg your pardon,” said I; “what is the trouble?” - -“This paper sent me by a friend; see the holes in it!” - -“Ah! yes, he has picked out the plums for his scrap-book, and sent you -the leavings.” - -“My dear sir,” said the Englishman, dropping his single eye-glass in -his emotion, “you don’t understand; this is the beastly work of the -Russian Government. See!” and he handed me the paper. I glanced at the -damaged pages, and observed that the cuttings had been made in articles -about Russia. The job had been neatly done. The censor had evidently -read everything in the paper concerning Russia, and had scissored out -all the passages that were uncomplimentary. The rest of the context was -allowed to stand. - -“And, to make it worse,” said the Englishman, “the paper was detained -in the post-office here five days at least. There’s the original -wrapper with the London post-mark.” - -“Yes, I see. The censor wanted to do his work thoroughly. He is more -conscientious than most public officials, I should say.” - -“Conscientious, indeed! It was done for the express purpose of annoying -an Englishman.” - -I was about to reply that perhaps the parts of the articles cut away -had been written for the express purpose of annoying the Russians, but -I forbore. - -“And here is another style of mutilation,” he continued, handing me a -copy of another London paper. “What do you say to that?” - -He opened a sheet which showed at intervals large square or oblong -patches, apparently a mixture of lampblack and oil applied by a coarse -handstamp. The reading-matter beneath was effectually obliterated. -These daubs looked like woodcuts badly printed. - -“An illustrated paper?” I said, playfully. “Anyhow, this kind of cuts -is better than the other; you get your paper whole, you see,” and I -smiled. - -The Englishman felt hurt by my frivolous treatment of his grievance. -“It doesn’t seem to strike you exactly as it does me,” said he; “and -yet, I should think that, being an American, you--” - -“I know what you are about to say,” I interrupted. “Of course, I uphold -the liberty of the press as much as you do, and equally detest this -tampering with the mails; but then I don’t expect to find the same -measure of freedom here that I find in the United States or England. -The Russian Government maintains a strict censorship of the Russian -press. And, in order to be consistent, the Government also _pretends_ -to take great pains to keep out of the country all printed matter that -it does not like.” - -“Pretends, my good sir?” cried my English friend. “But it _does_ keep -out all such matter--as you have seen from these two specimens.” - -“How about this?” said I, taking up the clean and whole copy of -“Punch” from the table. “This contains two or three jokes at the -expense of Russia. And there are the ‘Illustrated News’ and ‘Graphic,’ -‘Figaro,’ ‘Charivari,’ ‘Indépendance Belge,’ ‘Fliegende Blätter,’ -‘Kladderdatsch,’ and--can I believe my eyes?--the great London ‘Times’ -itself! All regularly taken here and filed. You will find plenty of -hits at Russia in these papers, and not one of them has been cut or -blackened with a stamp. I can swear to that, as I have been looking all -through them.” - -“Yes, I know,” he answered. “But these all come that way, because they -are addressed to the Russian proprietor of the Hôtel d’Europe. The -outrage--for so I must still call it--is inflicted on me because I am -an Englishman.” - -It still gave him so much pleasure to imagine that he was a martyr -because of his race that I hesitated to undeceive him. But I thought it -better to correct his erroneous opinion by saying that, if he would ask -the head-porter, through whose hands all the mail-matter came, he would -find out that the newspapers addressed to all the transient guests of -every nationality at the hotel were treated in exactly the same way. -The letters, he would ascertain, came through straight enough, and -showed no signs of tampering. - -“That last is true,” said he. - -“And, as for the papers,” I continued, “I am told that a line from your -embassador or your consul-general addressed to the Russian Post-Office -Department, or even a call at headquarters from yourself, will cause -their prompt delivery undisturbed. Why not try it?” - -“I would not condescend to ask the favor!” was the haughty reply. - -“Well, then,” said I, shrugging my shoulders to imply a desire of -closing the somewhat unprofitable conversation--“then I am afraid you -will be obliged to put up with it. For my own part, I am free to say -that, while I am in a foreign country, I will not hurriedly condemn -laws and usages which happen to be unlike those in America. When I -don’t like it, I will leave it.” - -“I fancy you Americans think better of Russia than we Englishmen do.” - -“Perhaps so,” was my reply, as I buried myself once more in the pages -of “Punch,” and resumed silence. - -Our English friends can not at least complain that they are denied -freedom of speech in Russia. On the railroad-trains, in shops, in the -hotels, and in the public streets, I have heard them talk as boldly -and freely against the Tsar and his system as if they were at home. -I have sometimes thought it would be only becoming in them to speak -a little lower, or else tone down the severity of their criticisms -while experiencing in their own persons the actual toleration of the -government they so fiercely denounce. - - -Before entering Russia, I had stuffed myself--my mind, not -pockets--with books, magazine articles, and newspaper letters about -the Nihilists. From such sources of information I had learned that the -Nihilists represent all classes of Russian society--peasants, priests, -soldiers and officers, noblemen, and even the imperial family. It was -said that ladies of rank, wealth, and refinement were among the most -active propagandists of Nihilism. These reports had taken so strong -a hold of me that, on striking Russian soil, I began at once to look -about for some signs of the presence of this widely spread and terrible -doctrine. - -Among our fellow-passengers from Berlin to St. Petersburg was a lady -accompanied by her maid. She had a _coupé lit_ for her exclusive -use, through the window of which I could see her from the platform -of stations where we alighted for refreshments. She always shrank -into a corner of her carriage, as if to escape scrutiny. I noticed -that her chin was disproportionately large, and that her lips were -firmly pressed together. Some one told me that she was of high rank -in Russia. Whereupon the whimsical thought possessed me that here, -perhaps, was one of those aristocratic female Nihilists of whom I had -read so much. The absurdity of the idea did not prevent me from keeping -an eye on her. - -At the frontier station this lady’s actions were so strange that I -watched her with a “fearful joy.” She was profoundly agitated. Her -face was pale--even her resolute lips sharing in the ashen hue--and -she strode up and down the _salle d’attente_ unceasingly, as if to -walk off her nervousness. She had three large, black, strongly bound -trunks, marked with Russian initials in white paint. I knew they were -her trunks by the anxious glances which she threw at them from time to -time. Once, when the porter let the corner of one of them fall heavily -to the floor, I observed her start. “Perhaps it contains dynamite,” I -said to myself, half-laughingly. - -When her turn came for the formalities of the _douane_, she stepped -forward with a boldness which was well assumed. She and her maid -assisted the Government officers in unlocking, unstrapping, and -unpacking. Her apparent anxiety to have the search made thorough did -not deceive me. The men went to the bottom of two of the trunks--either -removing the contents or probing them with their long arms, or peering -among them with trained eyes and smelling hard for tobacco and spirits -all the time. They found nothing contraband. When they proceeded to -explore the third trunk, the lady made a strong visible effort to -conceal her emotion. “Now for bombs,” I thought, “or Nihilists’ tracts -at the very least!” - -It was fortunate for her that the custom-house myrmidons had not -noticed her feverish anxiety. But they were busy at their work, not -over-suspicious, and glad to be through with a midnight job which -paid them nothing. So they slighted number three, simply removing and -putting back a top layer of clothes. Then they closed the lid, and -chalked all the trunks. I could see the mysterious lady heave a sigh -of relief, which I could not help sharing with her, though it left -unanswered the interesting question, What did she have in that third -trunk? - -Was it dynamite? Or revolutionary pamphlets and circulars? Or some -innocent but dutiable stuff which the lady carried into her country -free? I have seen the sex equally agitated on the docks of New York, -when the goods which had been hid away were nothing more dangerous than -smoking-jackets or meerschaum pipes or uncut velvet. So let us give -the fair unknown Russian the benefit of the doubt, and imagine that -the extent of her offense, if any, was smuggling in a costly French -dinner-dress or _articles de Paris_ dear to the female heart. - - -Perhaps there never was a more harmless fellow than the _mujik_ who -made our beds and blacked our shoes on the Russian sleeping-car which -bore us to St. Petersburg. But that man had the high cheek bones, -the long, unkempt hair, and the generally wild look which I had -once noticed in the portrait of a notorious Nihilist printed in the -“Illustrated London News.” I did not then know that these were the -characteristic Tartar features, seen all over Russia. On account of -his resemblance to that portrait I found myself suspecting the _mujik_ -of Nihilistic tendencies. I once came upon him suddenly while he was -sitting on a stool in a little recess, at the rear end of the car. He -was muttering to himself, and pounding his knee with his brawny fist. -How could I help thinking that he was heaping curses on the existing -order of things universal, and that that self-inflicted blow of his -clinched hand expressed, in a feeble way, his long-pent hatred of -all human society? And yet it is possible that the poor man was only -cursing his ill-luck in taking a counterfeit ruble for good money. - - -During our visit to Tsarkoé Selo, while making the tour of the palace, -I noticed from a window a gentleman in uniform walking slowly through -the grounds. He had in his hand a letter which he was anxiously -scanning. Attracted by his soldierly bearing, I asked the guide who -he was. “_Le Prince_” (something unintelligible ending in sky), -“_monsieur_,” was the response. Now, here was a prince at home, in the -private garden of an imperial palace, his hair white, his port manly, -his breast bearing decorations--the man of all men, one would say, -least likely to risk the assured good things of this life by linking -his fortunate self to the Nihilists. And yet the book-writers and the -newspaper correspondents had told me that the head and front of the -awful conspiracy was to be found among the palaces of the empire. I -owe an apology to a presumably loyal and devoted subject of the Tsar -for permitting myself to suppose, for one second, that the prince, -whose name I deeply regret my inability to spell, was perhaps “boss” -of the Nihilists, and that the letter in his hand was written by some -fellow-conspirator in Warsaw or Moscow. Thus unjustly suspicious does -one become, after reading so many real or pretended revelations about -high-life Nihilists in Russia. - -Next day at the Hôtel d’Europe, while I was looking over the bill of -fare for luncheon, I observed that my waiter--a typical Russian in -aspect--hovered near me more closely than usual, and his appearance -indicated that he had something to say to me privately, in the -French which he spoke with some difficulty. He had heard us talk -about America, and he doubtless knew my nationality. Now, it is to -Americans that the revolutionists in all parts of Europe turn with -full confidence for sympathy. They make no mystery of their hatred of -kings and emperors when they get hold of an American ear. I have thus -become the repository of several confidential opinions about crowned -heads, which, if they had been known to the police, would have caused -the arrest and punishment of the speakers. Therefore, when I saw this -quiet-looking Russian waiter edging up, I said to myself: “He is going -to whisper his longings for republican institutions. It will do him -good to relieve his feelings. I am afraid he is a Nihilist. He looks -like one. I must condemn him for that, of course, but I will not deny -my sympathy for the oppressed, even in the heart of Russia.” - -As these thoughts floated through my brain, the waiter stooped down -to make his mysterious communication. I cocked up my ear to hear him -more distinctly. He said, in a half-whisper, “_Monsieur, il y a des_ -fish-balls _aujourdhui_.” And that was the whole of his tremendous -secret. Well, I was glad it was nothing more serious and laughed -heartily at my groundless misgivings. - -It seems that the accomplished manager of the restaurant had lately -added “fish-balls” to the extensive list of his special dishes for -particular days. It was a flattering concession to American tastes, -made, I presume, at the original suggestion of some Bostonian visiting -St. Petersburg. In due time, probably pork and beans and brown bread -will be introduced there through the same reforming agency. Supposing -that I was an American, the waiter illogically inferred that I was fond -of fish-balls. His hesitation in making the announcement arose from his -imperfect acquaintance with French, and his still deeper uncertainty as -to the exact pronunciation of “fish-balls.” - -This amusing incident cured me of my propensity for surmising that this -or that Russian man or woman might possibly be a disciple of Nihilism. -There may be a great many Nihilists in Russia, and they may belong to -all classes of society; but, if the secret police can not find them -out, we may be sure that strangers making hasty visits to the country -are not likely to be more successful in the search. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE HOLY CITY OF RUSSIA. - - -The “sea of fire” which Napoleon saw at Moscow was replaced for us by -a sea of green roofs as we neared that city at 10.30 A. M., July 23d. -The sight of a real sea could not have been more refreshing. We had -been traveling fourteen hours by express from St. Petersburg. We could -have read coarse print by twilight as late as 11 P. M., and then again -as early as two in the morning. It was possible, therefore, to see most -of the country through which we passed by simply raising the curtain -of the sleeping-car window. But the more we looked at the flying -landscape the less we liked it. The scenery was that from Wirballen to -St. Petersburg over again--flat, boggy, densely wooded, in places well -cleared and cultivated, in others with plenty of cattle reclining in -the fields, but lightly dotted with houses. Nothing except mountains -compensates for the absence of human life. We could have shouted for -joy at the first glimpse of that broad stretch of pea-green, two -stories high. From its surface, as from a body of water, rose domes, -turrets, spires, towers, battlements innumerable. There were bulbous -forms which we compared variously to onions, radishes, or turnips. -These were mostly plated with gold, which shone intensely in the keen -light of day. Others were silver or indigo-blue or red, and still -others matched the green from which they sprang. The churches of Moscow -are five hundred strong. Each of these may have half a dozen steeples. -The effect of the whole is bristling. The city looks like “many-spired -Milan” on a large scale, except that the domes interject an element -which one misses in the Christian West. The place of the Kremlin is -at once identified by the thicker growth of bulbs and needles which -we see near the center of the great city. The terms “eccentric,” -“whimsical,” “grotesque,” “bizarre,” “barbaric,” are used by some of -our fellow-travelers to express their feelings. We do not quarrel with -their epithets. We can only say that for us there can not be too great -a contrast between the church architecture here and that which we have -seen in other countries of other religions. We thank the Tartars--if -they are the responsible parties--for originating all those odd shapes -which cluster in the fold of the Kremlin. - -At the station we were received by a man wearing a long blue robe -girded at the waist, trousers tucked into his boots, and a sort of -smoking-cap with a band of peacock’s feathers. If he could have -spoken a word of English or French or German, the charm of this -splendid apparition would have vanished instantly. He was delightfully -Russian from top to toe. When we said “Slaviansky Bazaar” (name of -the principal hotel here), he knew what was meant. He conducted us -to a carriage, to which were harnessed four white horses abreast, -all decorated with bells and tassels. It was obvious that this sort -of thing was not universal in Moscow, for we saw no other men in the -streets dressed in that way, and few other horses thus caparisoned. All -the more were we obliged to the proprietor of the Slaviansky Bazaar for -treating his guests to the revival of old Russian hospitalities. At the -hotel we were sorry to see waiters in the claw-hammer coats and white -neck-ties of Delmonico’s. But then, again, it was a pleasure to find a -smooth-faced boy with his long hair parted in the middle and a tunic of -such a cut and length that he looked externally just like a girl. When -one finds these things at Moscow after traveling thousands of miles for -them, he begins to feel rewarded. - -We have been in pursuit of good, genuine Russian dinners in and out -of the hotel, and are prepared to say that they fully equal the best -French combinations in appetizing and nourishing qualities. At some of -the restaurants you must read or speak Russian or starve, unless you -can make the waiter understand that you will take a dinner at a fixed -price. It is delightful to find a race with the moral courage to invent -dishes of its own, with names which a Frenchman can not understand. -The soup, to begin with, would be incomprehensible to a Parisian -_chef_. Two portions of it would make a square meal. It is hot, slab -broth, with a large chunk of meat (not a knuckle-bone) in the middle -of it, inviting the knife to cut and come again. With this succulent -dish is served pastry, looking like Yankee “turn-overs,” stuffed to -the bursting-point with meat hash. Croquettes and balls of meat--with -delicious sauces--figure in almost every dinner. The conventional -“joint” of other countries--beef, mutton, or veal--is not wanting, and -the Russians so far accommodate themselves to our prejudices as to -give us chicken and salad--but the latter in the disappointing form -of pickled cucumber, while we are sighing for a little crisp lettuce. -I had almost forgotten the fish, but then the fish is served out of -place. Here it comes, third on the list, following a meat dish. For -dessert, one has the fruit of the season. Just now the strawberry is -in its zenith. They bring us a rosy pile, which we are expected to eat -out of soup-plates with table-spoons. Cream is plenty, but powdered -sugar scarce. I send for more. The waiter is polite, and goes for it. - -When he returns, I am conscious that he is looking me hard in the face. -He wants to see what manner of man it is who requires to qualify his -sour berries with so much of sweet. He had previously been looking just -as hard at my blue gaiters. I am beginning to discover that gaiters are -as rare here as fez caps in Broadway. In fact, I have the only pair in -Moscow, and should be glad to believe that the universal gaze directed -at them is not one of secret derision in this land of boots. As we are -now through with our dinner, we will dismiss that subject, only adding -that, if one must have wine, he can get something pure, light, and -nice, the product of the Crimea or Caucasus. In settling my score, I -give something to the waiter, as a reward for his spotlessness; for, -at the first-class restaurant where we have just dined (Moskovskia -Traktir), he is dressed in complete white, relieved only by a little -red cord about his waist. This shining habit is unstained by a single -drop of soup or gravy, although he has been whisking plates and tureens -off the table the moment we were through with them. - -On Sunday we were wakened early by a grand crash of bells. As almost -every one of the hundreds of churches has a set of four or five bells, -you will understand that, when all ring together, they compel a -hearing. None of them are very near us, and the sound of the harshest -was mellowed by distance. They were of all pitches, from the deepest -bass to the shrillest treble. I could not make out a tune in all the -noise. The bells are not rung as chimes. Each one seems to work “on its -own hook,” and to be striking a continuous fire-alarm. After listening -to the clamor for half an hour, one feels like turning over for another -nap. But the attempt is useless. The bell-ringers are as punctilious -in their performances as if these were the most essential part of -religion. They will not shorten the prescribed hours of this labor by a -single second. Among the profound notes that come booming over all the -green roofs, I fancy I hear the voice of a monstrous brazen-throated -creature whom I patted on the back the other day. He is kept in the -stronghold of a tower within the Kremlin about one hundred and fifty -feet from the ground. Without vouching for measurements, I should say -he is twelve feet wide at the flare or rim and fourteen feet high. His -tongue weighs about two tons. Sounded with the ferule of my umbrella, -he gave a little muffled roar. The man in charge offered to tap him -gently with the ponderous clapper swinging there. But I did not care to -hear him more clearly at short range, and declined. - -But one would willingly pay a number of rubles to hear the Tsar Kolokol -struck, if that dethroned monarch of all the bells could be set up -again. But there he remains, mutilated and silent forever. The pictures -of the great bell of Moscow had not prepared me to see how neatly it -had been broken. The detached fragment, which now stands by the side of -the ruined bell, might have been cut from it with a knife, so straight -and clean are the lines of breakage. One would think that it might be -put back again and the last trace of a scar be obliterated with solder. -But that would not restore its voice to the bell. For it has ten or a -dozen cracks, some of them many feet long, and each one has spoiled -it. If there is any considerable percentage of silver in this bell--as -seems likely on inspection, and if it weighs two hundred tons, as we -are told--it would be very valuable as old metal. But it is still more -precious to Moscow as her unique and most interesting treasure. - -The ordinary bass voice is often little better than a growl or -huskiness of the throat. No one thinks of calling it musical. But I -never heard tenors that thrilled and charmed me more than the basses -at the Temple of the Saviour. This is the costliest and most splendid -church in all the Russias. Its outside is marble and gold. Its inside -is a lavish display of the precious metals thickly set with gems. Every -fine quarry in the empire has contributed its best to compose the -tesselated floor, the wainscoting, and the columns of the marvelous -structure. It was built to commemorate the defeat of the French -invasion of 1812, and was only recently completed, after forty-six -years of consecutive work. As one walks about this stupendous church, -and transfers his admiration from one object of beauty and richness -to another, his attention is suddenly called off from everything by -a burst of musical thunder. It floods the interior like the crash -of a great organ. He looks all around, and can not see what causes -it. Somewhere in an elevated and hidden choir, or behind the massive -gold altar-piece, are the singers. The voices are all basses. There -are three or four distinct “parts,” some pitched so much higher than -others that they seem relatively to be tenors. Each note--even the -lowest--is clear and firm. It has the sweetness of a flute with the -sonorous volume of a bassoon. The concealed performers are uttering -responses to the gorgeously attired priests, whose own voices are deep -and melodious, and worthy to take part in this noble choral service. I -wait for half an hour, hoping that the singers will execute some long -and formal piece. But they do not, and I retire, having learned for the -first time of what a bass voice is capable in sacred music. - -Although the Russians spend so much money to celebrate the failure -of Napoleon, they really admire the audacious genius of the man, and -make no secret of it. In every palace and museum I have visited at -St. Petersburg and Moscow I have seen full-lengths or busts of him in -marble, bronze, or oil. Some are originals, others are copies. One -painting, entirely new to me, represents him with brown hair, banged. -In the Treasury of the Kremlin the guide shows you two camp-beds which -Napoleon left behind when he evacuated Moscow. He is always indicating -to you the street by which Napoleon entered or withdrew from the city, -the steps up which he walked, the doors through which he passed, the -chairs in which he sat. You would think that he was a Russian hero. The -people still point with a certain pride to the marks of cannon-shot and -bullets, and say, “Napoleon!” - -Of all the Russian sovereigns, next to Peter the Great, Catharine -the Second seems to have been the most extraordinary. The tourist is -continually running across her statues, her portraits, her crowns, -her jewelry, her silverware. There is more of her personal property -and reminders of her of one kind and another on show than of any -other Romanoff, man or woman. The best things in all the palaces, -the treasuries, and the sacristies were hers. If you see a string of -pearls, each perfect and as large as a hazel-nut, even before you have -pointed it out, your guide says, “Catharine the Second.” If there is a -scepter with a particularly large diamond in the top, and the handle -knobby with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, you know who wielded it -without being told. To the physical courage of a man she added the -delicate æsthetic tastes of a woman. Other rulers may have been more -extravagant than she, but Catharine the Second understood how to make -boundless wealth contribute to the production of artworks that still -live to be admired. The goldsmiths, the silversmiths, the lapidaries, -the sculptors, and the painters found in her their most intelligent -patroness. In their turn they did their utmost to perpetuate her -memory. Stone and canvas, metal and ivory agree in representing her -as tall and stout, with ample brain-power, a full lower face, and a -most imperial port. She was one born to command, and she would have -reduced men to vassalage by her indomitable will if she had not gentler -arts for managing them. In St. Petersburg stands a magnificent bronze -image of the Empress, of heroic size. Seated at the base of this lofty -figure, on a pedestal running all about it, are nine gentlemen, also -in bronze. Their postures are sentimental or statesmanlike or warlike. -The guide-book tells us they were favorites of Catharine the Second. In -that capacity, perhaps, they thought they could manage her. But they -were mistaken. A woman who, when in full army uniform, looked like the -most gallant of generals, was not putty in the hands of any favorite. -In that amazing collection of odds and ends known as the Treasury, -inside the Kremlin, there is an equestrian portrait of Catharine. -She bestrides her horse like a man. In front of the picture are two -saddles, made for her use and presented to her by some tributary -princes or neighboring potentates, who wanted to keep on good terms -with her. Her horse, already burdened with her generous weight, could -not have shared her admiration of the saddles, for they are heavy -with all kinds of precious stones, numbered by the hundreds; and the -stirrups and the shoes which the poor beast must wear in her honor are -of solid silver. - -In a corner of the room where I am now writing, just below the ceiling, -is a framed, silver-gilt picture of the Saviour facing the east. The -Virgin and Child look down from a similar position in the adjoining -bedchamber. Every room in this great labyrinth of a hotel has just such -an object of reverence which the pious Russian can not fail to see -as he crosses the threshold. To this he pays his homage of signs and -bows. He does it a thousand times a day in the streets, where these -emblems confront him at every turn. He does not expect people of other -religions to conform to any of his notions. He allows them to walk -freely about the churches and stare through opera-glasses, in a languid -way, at objects which to him are sacred, and to be approached only in -a spirit of abasement and veneration. But there is one shrine in this -city before which it is expected that every foreigner will remove his -hat. If he fails to do so, he is thought an ignorant, boorish fellow, -and may be hissed and hooted. It is the fine, large Icon of the Master, -which hangs above the Redeemer’s gate (Spasköi Vorota)--one of the -entrances of the Kremlin. Immemorial custom has made it obligatory -to take off the hat when entering this gate and keep it off till the -entire width of the wall is traversed. The cabman would let his horses -run away before he would neglect this hallowed usage; and if the Tsar -himself should fail to comply with it, he would start a revolution. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -THE MOSCOW FOUNDLING ASYLUM. - - -The foundling asylum (Vospitàtelny Dom) is as well known in Moscow -as the Tsar Kolokol. Any droschky-driver can take you there by the -shortest cut, if you engage him by the “course.” Every _mujik_ in the -streets can and will direct you to it with the greatest pleasure. He -may think that you want to adopt a child out of it, or to put one into -it. As a man of Moscow, he is interested in both those operations. -Let me not be misunderstood. The foundling asylum is not intended -to receive only children born out of wedlock. It is indeed a refuge -for those poor little waifs. Many a baby, over whom the Moskwa would -otherwise close its dark and swift waters, is saved to become a good -soldier for the Tsar or a modest and prettily dressed house-maid, -simply because the newborn could be put by the mother within the folds -of the foundling asylum and none be the wiser. She has only, in the -darkness of night, to place the child in a sort of cradle attached to -a door outside of the building, and pull a bell. This gives a signal -and starts some machinery. The door revolves on its hinges, landing the -little stranger on the inside. At the same time, a nurse responds to -the summons and takes charge of the baby. If the mother has left any -bit of a trinket tied around its neck, or a letter, or a card pinned -to its dress, or anything else to identify it, she can claim her own -at any time afterward, on proving her maternal rights. If she wants to -keep her painful secret forever to herself, she may be sure that her -child will be well fed, neatly clothed, taught to read and write, cared -for in health and morals, and trained in the religion of the Greek -Church, till he or she is old enough to be apprenticed, or adopted out -by some respectable citizen, and put in the way of an honest living. - -But the most frequent patrons of the asylum are married folk. If they -have more children than they can rear, they turn over the surplus to -the state--more often as a loan than a gift. They know that the good -doctors and nurses of the institution will do all in their power to -preserve the little lives unharmed. At the end of five or six years -they are more likely to find their Nicolaievitch or Feodorovna well -and happy, than if it had run the dreadful gantlet of scarlet fever, -cholera infantum, and diphtheria in their own squalid homes. It is a -misfortune to feel obliged to surrender a child to such a corporation, -though the biggest of souls animates it. The parents are to be -pitied--perhaps blamed--but it is not a disgrace to them. - -I said that anybody in Moscow could pilot you to the foundling asylum, -but you must know the Russian word for it. The landlord of your hotel -will give it to you, and you may commit it to memory, or write it -down by the sounds. It will not bear the slightest resemblance to -the name of a foundling asylum in French, German, Italian, or any -other language of which you may have a smattering. The surname of the -present writer has always appeared, when chalked in script on the -blackboard directories of Russian hotels, as “Tymour,” or something to -that effect. It reminded him of that monster in history--Timour the -Tartar--and such a liberty taken with his patronymic was not at all -agreeable. - -But to get on to the foundling asylum. Before presenting myself at -the visitors’ door of the vast building, I took an admission-ticket -from my pocket-book. This ticket is made of flimsy paper, about four -inches long by three wide; it bears a portrait of the Tsar, a number -of Russian words, and a facsimile of somebody’s signature. It is -popularly known as the “ruble.” When a man has this between his thumb -and finger, so that it can be seen of men, it will take him through -doors that are locked and bolted to all other forms of passport. The -same gratifying effects follow the exhibition of the shilling in -England, the franc in France, the lira in Italy, the mark in Germany, -and the florin in Austria. The door was opened by a dignified person. -He loomed up so very large that I thought my ruble was a little too -small for his measure; so I did not offer it, but crumpled it suddenly -in the palm of my hand. The tall man looked as if he did not expect -or desire a “tip.” Speaking in French, he kindly asked me in, and I -followed him. - -I was just in time to see something very interesting. We entered a room -at the end of a short passage. At that moment a poorly dressed old -woman was in the act of unrolling a huge bundle of shawls and wraps. -Over her was bending a matronly person with a very sympathetic face. -My polite guide drew near to this group of two, and I stood at his -elbow. The old woman peeled off the clothes as if she were unrolling -a mummy. Nobody spoke a word, but I heard a faint cry from the center -of the mysterious bundle. Then I knew that this was the reception-room -for babies, and that here was the newest of the comers. A moment more, -and a child was sprawling before us in its unadorned beauty. It lay in -the middle of the heap of shawls as in a soft nest, which it was loath -to quit. As it made another little piping cry, a tear moistened the -old woman’s eye, but she showed no other sign of agitation. I surmised -that she was the grandmother of the baby, and had come to discharge a -duty for which the mother was ashamed. The secret--whatever it was--was -confided to the care of the good matron alone, not even my guide being -allowed to share it. Then a little Greek cross of filigree silver was -handed over as a keepsake and means of identifying and reclaiming the -child. - -These preliminaries over, the matron touched a bell. In response, there -came a woman bearing a steelyard scale, and a measuring-tape. She held -the scale aloft with a firm hand, and the matron lifted the baby gently -from its nest and placed it in the large bowl-like receptable for -weighing. Between its bare pink flesh and the cold metal there was a -thin sheet of soft cloth. The baby performed its part bravely, for it -lay perfectly quiet, while the matron rapidly adjusted the weight till -the beam hung true. She could not have done the job more carefully if -she had been selling the baby at a hundred rubles a pound. The exact -weight was then entered in a great ledger. - -Next came the nice measuring of the head--all around just above the -eyes--and its length through the ears from crown to chin; then the -girth of its little body below the arms; and, finally, the candidate -was raised aloft again and turned in every direction in the strong -light of a large bay-window. The aspirants for the honor of the -princess’s hand in the “Arabian Nights” were not more critically -inspected for blemishes. The object of this minute examination of the -body was to note birth-marks, if any. Not one was found, as I can -certify, who witnessed the operation at short range. This over, a small -ticket or medal made of hard wood, numbered 11,283, and attached to -an India-rubber cord, was hung about baby’s neck. It would receive a -name later on; for the present it was only a numerical expression. Thus -ended the first stage of baby’s initiation. At that point, the old -woman whom I provisionally call “grandmother,” left the scene, carrying -the pile of shawls and wraps loosely upon her arm. If she felt any -emotions in parting with the child, she completely stifled them. - -The baby, still stark naked, but not shivering in the warm air of the -room, was then carried away. The guide beckoned me to follow it with -him, and I did so. We entered a small bath-room where were a nice -porcelain-lined bath-tub, of baby size, with silver plated stop-cocks, -a showering apparatus, sponges, soap and scrubbing-brush all complete. -A stout woman, with fat arms bared clear to the shoulder, officiated -at baby’s first bath, and I was expected to see it through. It is one -of the penalties of visiting public institutions anywhere with guides, -that you are in their hands and must go the rounds. But I had become -interested in baby’s fortunes, and found myself watching the soaping -and sponging and scrubbing without being much bored. If that baby takes -all the ills of life as bravely as it took the water in its ears, and -the soap its eyes, then there will be one angelic disposition more in -this wicked world. It sputtered a little, but never cried or sniveled -once. After it was all wiped dry and powdered with a flour-dredger, the -stout woman shouldered her charge and led the way to another room. I -found myself really curious to see what would happen to baby next. So I -followed, with the guide at my heels. - -We were now in the dressing-room; there was a large wardrobe with -glass doors; through these I could see baby-dresses hung on pegs. They -were variously trimmed with blue, red, and yellow ribbons, and I soon -found myself wondering which color would fall to baby’s share. Thus -concerned in its affairs had I unconsciously become. On shelves in the -wardrobe were displayed little stockings, soft knitted shoes, and caps. -There was plenty of clothes on hand for every emergency. The woman -reached up and took down a long, white dress trimmed with yellow. Now -I had noticed baby’s eyes and they were blue; so I took the liberty -of suggesting, through the guide, that the ribbons ought to match the -eyes. The hint was graciously adopted. If any future visitor to the -Foundling Asylum of Moscow should happen to observe the fine blue eyes -of No. 11,283, he will appreciate my good taste in matching them with -the ribbons, which, if worn out, I trust will be renewed. - -“And, now,” said my guide, “you must see the baby nursed.” I murmured -a few modest objections. I did not wish to intrude upon such strictly -private functions. The nurse would not like it, etc. The guide smiled, -and said I must follow the baby. So we passed through another doorway, -and entered the nurses’ room. - -It was a long apartment, spotless as to wooden floor and whitewashed -ceiling. Along one side was a row of strong, wooden cradles; on the -other side were the nurses’ beds with frames of iron. The sheets were -snowy and the pillows without crease. There were ten or twelve nurses -present, each one rocking a cradle or holding a child to her breast. -Ruddier and more robust women I never saw. They were mostly under -thirty years old, I should say. The contour of their faces was more -oval than the type of head seen between St. Petersburg and Moscow, and -they were handsomer in other respects. They were dressed for business -in neat and appropriate costumes, less scanty and more reserved than -one sees at the opera. - -Inquiring, I learned that the best nurses come from provinces south -of Moscow, and that most of these were of that select class. As we -entered they arose, still nursing their babies, and courtesied to us -gracefully. At first, I felt that I ought to apologize for disturbing -this large but peaceful family. The nurses, however, soon put me at -ease. They took the visit quite as a matter of course. They could -not have been less self-conscious had I been an artist, and they -professional models. As we passed down the line, the guide chucked some -of the babies under the chin or patted their heads. Not to be singular -I did the same thing. Each nurse seemed to think the act complimentary -to herself, as well as to the baby. I dare say, if her own chin had -been chucked, she would not have taken offense. But we did not try it. - -Near the end of the line stood a nurse, who had no baby in her arms. -The cradle just behind her was empty. Death had removed its little -tenant. She was the destined custodian of the neophyte in blue ribbons. -I was glad of it. In looking at her honest face and healthy complexion, -one felt sure that she was not to blame for that loss in the fold. The -nourishment she supplied must have been life-giving. On that broad and -generous bosom there was room for twins. As she saw the baby borne -toward her, she knew what it meant. Her large eyes shone with pleasure. -As the baby stopped opposite her, both reached out their arms. It was -an act of nature and spontaneous. That nurse and that child were made -for each other. Its own mother could not have folded it to her heart -more tenderly. I felt that I had no right to push curiosity further. I -was satisfied that baby’s fortunes, so far followed with interest, had -reached one happy stage. As I turned to depart, the last sounds I heard -from baby were faint gurgles of satisfaction. - - -My initiation into the mysteries of the foundling asylum was now -complete. I would gladly have stepped out of window on to the green -grass, with that touching picture of suckling innocence still in my -mind. But a guide, like a sentinel, must go his rounds. So I was -taken by moral force through other rooms full of nurses and babies, -whom I passed in review. The prevalent quietness of the infants was -surprising. Those who were awake were not crying. Like everybody else -in the building, they appeared to be on their good behavior during -my visit. One touch of human nature--if only the clinching of a tiny -fist--would have been a relief amid all that angelic display of sweet -temper. It made one suspect that they had been dosed with something to -keep them quiet. I was glad to pass on to the laundry, the hospital -(with only two or three little inmates) the kitchen and the pantry, -till finally we came to a refectory. There was a tableful of children -large enough to sit and ply the spoon. The oldest of the thirty or -forty could not have been more than six years. They were boys and -girls, simply and neatly dressed in uniform style. They all rose as we -entered, and held up their spoons in salute. It was a pretty sight and -more confusing to the visitor than one would think. Such courtesy seems -to demand a better response than a bow. A distribution of sugar-plums -or of small coin would seem the proper thing. But this is not allowed; -so that, all we can do, besides bowing, is to walk around this company -of little people, and smile at them in a vague, benevolent way. Through -the guide I begged them to be seated. They did not need to be asked -twice, for they were hungry, and I had interrupted them in the act -of eating what looked like hasty-pudding and milk. It recalled my own -early fondness for that dish, and I would gladly have been invited to -join the simple repast, even at the risk of spoiling a keen appetite -for the forthcoming elaborate dinner at the Slaviansky Bazaar. It was -a pleasure to note the size of the bowls. They held an honest quart -apiece, and had been so scrupulously filled that some of the children -stopped plying their spoons before they got to the bottom; others -rapidly emptied their bowls and polished off the interiors. For those -greedier ones there was still a supply of sweetened bread in stacks, -waiting a signal to be passed around. It was plain that the older -children, as well as the babies themselves, were objects of a provident -care which would shame many parents. Not otherwise can I explain -the bright eyes, contented faces, and chubby bodies I saw in that -refectory. Many of the children were strikingly good-looking. I recall -the seraphic face of a five-year-old girl, with large black eyes, and a -perfect mouth, and two dimples dotting cheeks of rose-leaves. And one -of the boys looked almost like a twin brother of the child in the arms -of the Sistine Madonna. There was the same dreamy, far-away gaze in his -eyes. I wondered how parents could abandon such beautiful children to -the care of other people. - -This was the climax of interest at the foundling-asylum, as the guide -then candidly informed me upon being questioned. It was much against -the good man’s wishes that I tore myself away from him. But, I hope, -when I pressed a humble gift into his hand, that he felt the more -reconciled to my departure, though it is only due to him, as to all of -his class whom I met in Russia, to say that they have the rare tact of -not appearing to want one’s money. One always feels a little delicacy -about offering _pour boires_. But the truth binds me to say that they -are never declined. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -RUSSIAN EPICURISM IN TEA--THE JOLTAI TCHAI, OR YELLOW-FLOWER BRAND. - - -Being at Moscow, I improved the occasion to look up the yellow-flower -tea--the Joltai Tchai--of which I had read and heard much. Travelers, -claiming to be veracious, have told us that this tea is the first -picking of the young and tender leaves of the choicest plants in China, -and that it is brought overland on the backs of porters. I have seen -pictures of men in Chinese dress climbing up mountains at angles of -70°, with chests of the precious tea strapped on their shoulders. -The object of this incredible toil, we were assured, was to avoid a -sea-voyage, in which the damp, salt air would impair the exquisite -flavor of the Joltai Tchai. The story went that this tea could always -be known by the presence of the small, yellowish-white buds or flowers -of its native stalk scattered through it, without which, as the quack -advertisements say, “none is genuine”; though it always seemed to me -that that proof must be a fallible one for all those people outside of -China who had never seen a tea-flower, and that, anyhow, it would be -easy to cheat them by mixing the real blossom with poor tea. But these -same enthusiastic authors proceeded to give higher and more subtile -tests for Joltai Tchai. They declared that, when a package of it was -opened, it exhaled the most delicious of perfumes, which filled a -room on the instant. They did not compare it to any earthly or known -odor, but left the impression that it was something heavenly, and -therefore indescribable. Its flavor on the palate was vaguely mentioned -as aromatic, delicate, and yet perceptible when diluted with any -amount of water. The mental effects ascribed to this tea were no less -remarkable. It was said that a cup of it, with only two teaspoonfuls to -the ordinary pot, was equal to a pint of champagne for exhilaration, -without the least after-clap of headache. As for those obfuscations of -the intellect commonly known as “cobwebs,” it would brush away the last -filament of them from the nooks and corners of the stupidest minds. But -we were solemnly warned not to take two cups of it at a time, under -penalty of losing sleep for forty-eight hours. Its cost to the consumer -in Russia was variously stated at ten to twenty dollars a pound. But -a tea, half as wonderful as this, should be cheap at any price. I -resolved to buy some of it. - -I was so anxious to secure the authentic article, that I called upon an -English gentleman, to whom I was referred, long a resident of Moscow, -and speaking Russian like a native. He consented to accompany me to the -only shop he knew of where the real Joltai Tchai could be obtained. -We found it in a part of the city but little visited by foreigners. -The shop was small, and three Tartar-like persons stood behind the -counter. On the walk thither the Englishman had kindly explained that -the Tartars were the most honest people in Russia--where honesty -is the rule, so far as I know. He assured me that Tartars pure and -simple were preferred before all other races for places of financial -responsibility. They made the best cashiers, head book-keepers, -superintendents, and managers. And when he said he was taking me to a -Tartar teashop, I felt as if I should not be robbed. - -The three Tartars did not even nod at us as we entered, but only stood -at ease to take our order. This was quickly given in Russian by my -companion, who first, however, asked the price of Joltai Tchai by -the pound. It was ten rubles (about eight dollars and thirty cents -in paper money), which was less than I had expected, and I mentioned -the quantity I would buy. One of the Tartars took down a small box -from an upper shelf, opened it, and disclosed another box having a -tightly fitting slide cover; this he removed, and brought to light a -thick tin-foil wrapping, which being unfolded revealed tissue-paper, -beneath several thicknesses of which lay the tea. Up to this time -I had stood back, waiting to catch the all-penetrating odor of the -Joltai Tchai at a distance, but it did not report itself. So I leaned -forward, bent over the little chest, and took a good long sniff. Yes, -there was a decided tea-smell, but no more searching or ravishing than -that of the Oolong I had been consuming at home all my life. This was -disappointment number one. - -The required amount of tea was carefully weighed before me. I could -watch it as it was shaken out of the chest into the capacious scale. -It looked about the color of green tea, with a yellow shade in a -side-light, and had no points of distinction except the presence of -many shriveled-up, dirty-white buds. These were yellow only to the eye -of faith; and that was disappointment number two. - -After the tea had been weighed with great particularity, the Tartar -removed it to the back of the shop, to do it up in a package with many -thicknesses of rice-paper and tin-foil. I could not help fearing that, -when out of my sight, the man would substitute a far inferior tea -for the costly Joltai Tchai. But when the Englishman, speaking from -his past experience with the race, said, “You can trust him,” I felt -completely reassured, paid my bill, thanked my English friend for his -assistance, and returned to the hotel with my treasure. And here let me -give the sequel of my experience with Joltai Tchai. - -It was not thoroughly tested for its supposed remarkable qualities till -I returned to the United States. Russian lovers of Joltai Tchai will -here object that the trial was not a fair one; that it should have -been made on their soil, before the tea had crossed any salt-water. -There is force in this suggestion. But it seemed a pity to break a -package so shapely, and intended to secure the contents completely -against the harmful influence of the elements. And then, too, all -the tea I drank in Russia was so excellent that I did not want any -better there. At home it was the subject of many experiments, which go -far to establish the following conclusions: The yellow-flower tea is -delicate to a fault; so much so that persons accustomed to the rank and -adulterated teas of commerce find it insipid. It is like the finest old -Johannisberger or Château-Margaux as compared with heady new wines; no -one but a professional tea-taster can appreciate its high grade. Its -odor is markedly not different from that of any other tea, except as -one may say it is more “tea-like.” Its unique excellence lies in its -clarifying and cheering effect on the mind of the drinker. It disperses -a headache like magic, and mental anxiety as well. If one were -possessed of “blue-devils,” I should expect two stiff cups of Joltai -Tchai to send them scampering. - -If it is worth, as some think, two or three dollars to extract a few -fleeting moments of joy from a bottle of champagne, then one should -not grudge thrice as much for a pound of yellow-flower tea, which will -insure him perhaps some hundred hours of innocent exaltation. And, as -for sleep, I have not yet lost any from its use, but prefer not to -drink a strong infusion of it late at night. - -Like any other high-grade tea, where the object is not to disguise -the flavor of the herb, it is best without sugar or cream, or even -the slice of lemon beloved by all Russians. But these ingredients, -unless too freely employed, do not rob the tea of its slightly peculiar -taste, or impair its virtue as a most agreeable tonic or stimulant. -Connoisseurs in teas prefer to treat it with fresh, actually boiling -water poured directly on the tea in a sunken cylinder full of holes -set into the pot. The clear infusion passes through this perforated -cylinder, and it should be drunk immediately afterward. But other -persons less critical like it better when the boiling water is poured -on the tea at the bottom of the pot, and then allowed to draw a good -five or even ten minutes on the stove itself, or, better still, on the -iron shelf for hot plates above it. This treatment makes a stronger -decoction, but tends to substitute rankness for delicacy of flavor. -But it brings out some of the valuable properties of the tea which do -not apparently respond to the other and more superficial method. On -the whole, the verdict of the majority of those who have tried it both -ways is in favor of the drawing process. Under no circumstances does it -acquire a bitter taste. And yet, after all that I have said in favor -of Joltai Tchai, it is a fact that nobody who drinks it seems to think -that it is anything extraordinary till told so. And I must say that I -am sometimes in serious doubt whether my high opinion of the tea is not -the work of pure imagination. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -A HUNT FOR MALACHITE AND LAPIS-LAZULI IN THE GOSTINNOI DVOR. - - -An American’s pride in his importance as a customer is apt to get a -bad fall when he enters at random a shop in Moscow. At St. Petersburg -he has noticed that his patronage was not greatly coveted in the vast -bazaar opposite the Hôtel d’Europe on the Nevskoi Prospekt where he -made most of his purchases. He missed the assiduous, almost servile, -attention to which he was accustomed in London, Paris, and Vienna. But -in Moscow the shop-keepers carry their indifference a point further. -They act as if they wanted to repel American customers. This is because -we are confounded with Englishmen, and, as such, are not liked. -Dressing and speaking like Englishmen and too often imitating them in -tricks of manner, Americans are only naturally mistaken for a class of -foreigners with whom Russia has perpetual feud. As Moscow is the heart -of Russia, the anti-English feeling is strongest there. Americans -soon find this out, whenever they walk the streets or visit the great -bazaars, from the icy atmosphere that seems to surround every Russian -like a nimbus. At the great hotels the Englishmen are welcome, because -the landlords are superior to local prejudices when their guests pay -well. At least one porter or waiter who speaks French is kept on hand -for their convenience. At some of the larger and higher-priced shops of -Moscow, they are also treated with some of the consideration paid to -them in Western Europe. But their room is undoubtedly more desired than -their company by the Russians at large. And Americans, except where -they can make their nationality known, suffer from the same antipathy. -I give my own experience. - -I wanted to buy some articles made of malachite and lapis-lazuli. -Having seen in the churches whole pillars rising from floor to ceiling -veneered with those beautiful green and blue stones, I imagined that -both of them would be abundant and cheap in the heart of the empire -where they are mined. Much to my surprise, the manager of my hotel -could not direct me to any shop for such purchases. He advised me to -try an immense bazaar near the Kremlin. Its Russian name, as nearly as -I can give it in English characters, is Gostinnoi Dvor. The district -of the city in which it is situated is the Kitai Gorod (Chinese town or -quarter). I took his advice, starting out just after breakfast one fine -morning, and determining to give all of twenty--possibly thirty--of my -precious minutes to the search for lapis-lazuli and malachite. - -The bazaar is a great, covered market divided into innumerable stalls. -Each stall has its show-cases thrust in front, containing the choicest -of the goods for sale, usually ticketed with prices in rubles and -kopecks. These are given in figures to be read of all men. Just behind -the show-cases stands a man or woman on the alert. In the rear of the -little booth is the proprietor, sitting on a three-legged stool before -a ledger. On either side of him rise tiers of shelves packed with his -reserved treasures. As I started to go down the narrow passage-way -between two rows of these stalls I observed the long perspective of men -or women waiting for customers at that early hour. I almost dreaded -to run the gantlet. My object was to go through the entire bazaar; -“mark down” the shops at which lapis-lazuli and malachite were exposed -for sale, with a note of the prices, and, after I had found just what -suited me, then to come back and buy it on the best terms I could make. - - -To escape being teased to purchase the clothes, boots and shoes, -kitchen utensils, mouse-traps, fancy soaps, cutlery, and thousands of -other things I did not want, I kept to the middle of the passage-way, -walking fast with head down, but looking out sharply at the corners -of my eyes. These swift side-glances took in not only the strangely -various contents of all the shops I passed, but also the looks of -the people in charge. I was much astonished to receive no particular -notice from them. They looked at me as at a passing dog or cat, but -not one of them nodded or beckoned. And not one even began to tidy up -his things with a wisp-broom, or change them about ostentatiously, as -the shopman in other lands often does when a possible customer comes -in sight. The Russian face is generally considered inexpressive. But I -never knew till then how blank it could be. Once in a while, however, I -noticed a lowering of brows and a slight protrusion of the lower lip, -which looked very much like disdain. I did not then know that I was -mistaken for an Englishman, and that I could not have chosen a place -for shopping where our insular friends are held in such large measure -of dislike as in that truly Russian bazaar. - -Two pretty girls, dressed in bright colors, with silver skewers in -their hair, were selling flowers at one of the stands. I stepped up -to buy a buttonhole bouquet, and selected one, tendering a ruble for -change. I was anxious to see if either of the girls would offer to pin -it to the lapel of my coat, as flower-venders often do elsewhere. To -propitiate them, I said “American.” This single word has been known to -produce wonderful effect on occasions. But it was thrown away here. -These fair creatures were of the peasant class, totally ignorant of any -language but Russian. It is doubtful if they had ever seen an American -to know him. To them I was only an Englishman, and therefore it was -that one of them sheered away from me, and the other pouted, and I was -obliged to pin on my own _boutonnière_. Now, I was indeed vexed, not -guessing the real trouble. - -I determined to compel some of these people to notice me. I stepped up -to a counter, picked up an old copper frying-pan, and rapped it sharply -with my knuckles. This meant in the sign-language, “How much?” I had -a note-book and pencil in hand, and intended to intimate by dumb-show -that the proprietor should jot down the price there. The frying-pan, -when smitten, sounded like a gong, and made quite a noise. This was -all the better for me, as it was sure to bring down the man who sat -back there on a high stool, and was the only occupant of the shop. He -descended from his perch, but it was with a scowl, as if the harsh -sound had disturbed his meditations. Looking at me, he seemed instantly -to make up his mind that I did not want to buy that ancient frying-pan -on any terms. And this was true. But I was not prepared for what he -did. He just took the utensil gently by the handle, gave it a little -twist to detach it from my grasp, and then laid it down on the counter. -It was as if he had said, “No more of that, please.” I stalked away as -majestically as possible, without any attempt at explanation. Broad -faces with high cheek-bones were on the grin all about. It would have -been a real comfort to know that I was mistaken for an Englishman. - -I walked fast down the middle of the aisle, resolved not to stop again -till I saw some stall at which jewelry and ornamental knickknacks were -on sale. For about a thousand feet farther it was a monotonous stretch -of useful articles to wear or to eat or to furnish a house withal. Then -I came to a corner round which was another passage-way about a quarter -of a mile long, also lined with shops. And I may as well explain here -that, at regular intervals of a few hundred feet, other alleys just as -full of shops branch off criss-cross. The bazaar is of the distracting -chess-board pattern; and the man who started out, as I did, to see the -whole of it, in order to miss no good chance of buying some malachite -and lapis-lazuli, had a bigger job in hand than he dreamed of. - -Far ahead, I saw strings of gilt beads dangling in front of a shop. -Hurrying on, I found that it was full of ear-rings, breastpins, chains, -crosses, and all the other kinds of jewelry in vogue everywhere. The -objects were mostly of silver and gold. There were real diamonds, -rubies, emeralds, and pearls. Putting on my best smile, to propitiate -the owner, who, like all the others, did not seem to want to have -anything to do with me, I peered into his show-cases and ran my eye -rapidly over the contents. Among them there was nothing green, but -emeralds, or blue, but sapphires. Still, I was not discouraged, for -there were miles or more of shops under that vast roof, and sooner or -later the desired objects must be found. - -After a smart walk of about five minutes more, through files of -apathetic Russians without seeing what was wanted, I came upon a -colony of Jews, and warmed up to them at once, when they bowed and -beckoned to me. It was evident that they were anxious to trade, and -had no prejudices against supposed Englishmen. Several of them dealt -in jewelry and works of art; and, as luck would have it, there was -a huge object made of malachite exhibited conspicuously on a shelf -in front of one of their stalls. It was shaped like a punch-bowl, -of about one gallon capacity. I pointed to it with my cane. The man -took it down for me. It was a masterpiece. The fragments of malachite -of which it was composed exhibited the various green shades of the -stone, and the characteristic wavy lines. The pieces were so carefully -selected, and the joining was so nicely done, that the colors and the -lines ran together making a perfect whole. At first sight, one could -not believe that this punch-bowl was not carved from a single piece of -malachite. There was no need of asking the Jew his price, for it was -ticketed plainly enough two hundred and fifty--the figures standing -for rubles. This would be about one hundred and twenty-five dollars, -counting the ruble at its then gold value of fifty cents. I might -have bought it at a third or perhaps a half off, and was strongly -tempted to try for it. But its size, the trouble of carrying it round -in a trunk, and, not least, the high duty which would be levied on -it in New York, were enough to restrain me. I looked all over his -exposed stock, but could see no more malachite and not a sign of -lapis-lazuli. It then occurred to me that, being a Jew, he might have -traveled, and have some knowledge of the world’s great languages. So -I threw scraps of French, German, and English at him in succession. -To all he only shook his head, and expelled from his chest a few of -those deep gutturals which I had already learned to recognize as pure -Slavic. Like most Russians, whether Jew or Christian, he had never -been out of his country, nor spoken to a foreigner. Nothing so deeply -impressed me with the immensity of the Russian Empire, and the isolated -condition of her people, as the fact that so few of them, and those -only the well educated--even in the two great cities, St. Petersburg -and Moscow--understand a word of any language but their own. I nodded -good-by to my Jewish friend, whose kind manner showed that he regretted -as much as I that we could not find a common ground for exchanging -ideas, and went on with the search. - -It might have been half an hour later when I saw, shining through the -window of a show-case, a pair of deep-blue sleeve-buttons. I stepped -up and examined them closely. The shade of blue was indigo. The -surface had a fine, hard polish, and reflected to the eye those little -star-like points of light which, in the true lapis-lazuli, seem just -buried beneath its surface. The beautiful stones were heavily mounted -in gold. They were exactly what I wanted. The ticket linked to them -bore the figures twenty-eight--rubles, of course. This was not too -high for genuine lapis-lazuli sleeve-buttons, gold mounted in the best -style. The pleasant looks of this Russian proprietor seemed to invite -me to tarry and trade. - -Forgetting for a moment that he could not possibly understand -English, I pointed to the lovely objects, and said, interrogatively, -“Lapis-lazuli?” To my great delight he nodded and smiled. That was a -“Yes,” all the world over. - -“Is it gold?” I asked, in reference to the setting, at the same time -repeating the question in French. It was plain that he understood the -one or the other language, for he nodded and smiled again. To find some -one at last who could catch my idea was indeed gratifying. Anticipating -my wish, he then removed the sleeve-buttons from the show-case and put -them in my hand. I turned them over and examined them minutely. Though -unfamiliar with the best tests for lapis-lazuli, I knew that, like -all natural stones, it should have a cold touch, and not warm readily -in the palm. I held it for a moment, when it became heated in contact -with the flesh. Then I strongly suspected it to be paste. A solid gold -setting should be heavy of its size. This one was very light. I decided -that the sleeve-buttons were not a bargain at any price, and laid them -down on the counter. - -At that instant I was startled by a voice at my elbow, which said, -“Those just suit me, if you don’t want ’em.” - -I turned and saw a plethoric Englishman, who looked flushed and panted -as if from over-exertion. “Fact is,” said he, “I’ve been chasm’ up -and down this blarsted bazaar after lapus-lazerlee more’n two hours, -and this is the first lot I’ve struck. I don’t want to take ’em away -from you, you know. But I’ve promised to buy a pair of just such -sleeve-buttons for a friend in London.” - -“You are welcome to them,” I said; “but”--and I was about to give him a -friendly hint to examine the goods very carefully before buying. - -“Thanks,” he said, interrupting me. “Twenty-eight rubles, I see by the -ticket. I’ll try him at half-price,” he added in an undertone for my -ear. - -Then, raising his voice at the shop-keeper, he cried, “I’ll give you -fourteen, and not another ruble.” The Russian certainly understood -that much of English, for again he nodded and smiled mechanically as -usual; whereupon his customer thrust two ten-ruble notes at him, in -evident anxiety not to lose a great bargain. As he did so, he said to -me in a side-whisper, “Now I’ve got ’em, I don’t mind telling you that -a cousin of mine paid thirty rubles for a smaller pair than them at -Nijni-Novgorod two years ago.” - -Now came a surprise for our hasty English friend; for the shopman, -with a bewildered expression of face, handed back to him one of the -ten-ruble notes. Then he opened a till and scooped out a quantity -of change--some paper and some silver and copper. I now shared the -Englishman’s amazement, and we both looked on, silently wondering -what would happen next. Finally, he deliberately counted out seven -rubles and ninety-two kopecks, and pushed them toward the Englishman. -This made the price of the sleeve-buttons only two rubles and eight -kopeck’s, or about one dollar and four cents of American money. Here, -indeed, was a stupendous bargain, unless the lapis-lazuli were only -paste and the gold pinchbeck. - -The latter proved to be the case, as the Englishman and I readily -perceived after giving the sleeve-buttons a more minute examination -than we had hitherto bestowed on them. The figures on the ticket, when -critically inspected, turned out to be 2 with a dot followed by an 8. -This meant two rubles and eight kopecks, but the dot was so faint that -we had both failed to notice it at first. The Englishman had rashly -taken it for granted that the materials were genuine without asking -any questions. He had no cause of complaint against the seller, for -he had not been cheated. To persons who wanted such imitations, they -were worth the low price charged. The fact was, as the Englishman and -I agreed on comparing notes, that the Russian had not understood one -word of anything either of us had said to him. He had simply nodded and -grinned, as a matter of civility, trusting that, when the business came -to close quarters, the meaning could mutually be made clear. This habit -of nodding, as the equivalent of “Yes,” is very common among people in -all parts of Europe, who have not the faintest idea of what you are -asking them. They take the chance that “Yes” may be the right answer, -and perhaps they even say “Yes” to you in whatever language they -speak, in order to keep up the illusion. I have been a hundred times -misled--and often greatly to my annoyance--by this nod or spoken assent -of coachmen, porters, and tradesmen in all parts of Europe. - -The Englishman realized the impossibility of explaining matters to -the jewelry-dealer, and of getting his money back. He accepted the -situation philosophically. After the goods had been carefully packed -for him in a little pasteboard box, he put them in his pocket with the -simple remark, “Good enough present for somebody, you know.” - -We then separated with a friendly hand-shake, he to return to the Hôtel -Dusaux, where he said he was stopping, and I to pursue my researches -for a stone almost as elusive as the philosopher’s. “I’ve done the -whole bazaar, and I know it’s no use,” were his parting words. But I -determined to see for myself; and it was not till the end of two hours -more that I gave up the hunt in despair, wearied and foot-sore. - - -But I had better luck when I returned to St. Petersburg. There I had -the pleasure of inspecting several small but choice stocks of malachite -goods, and purchasing some specimens at reasonable rates. I saw a few -pieces of lapis-lazuli--undoubtedly genuine--but not one as handsome -as the imitation sold to that Englishman in the Gostinnoi Dvor of -Moscow. The prices asked for them seemed always far too high for their -intrinsic beauty. So I left them all in their show-cases on the Nevskoi -Prospekt, to meet the possible demand of other Americans for that kind -of stone. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -THE PEACOCK-FEATHER MYSTERY--MANAYUNK AND THE OLD MASTERS--HIS -FRUITLESS SEARCH FOR THE KREMLIN--THE MOSCOW RAG-FAIR--THE PETROVSKY -PALACE--DINING IN THE GROUNDS. - - -The Russians are semi-Orientals in one respect. They are not as sternly -utilitarian as we of the West. The man with the long, blue tunic corded -at the waist, and the cap decked with peacock-feathers, who received us -with speechless effusion at the Moscow railway-station, was ornamental, -not useful. He did not take charge of our hand-bags or shawl-strap. -That was done by another man, who wore no peacock-feathers. He did not -drive the carriage and four (white horses abreast) from the station to -the hotel. He sat by the driver’s side, erect and imposing. I was moved -by a powerful curiosity to know what he did, except to impress the -stranger with a sense of barbaric splendor. - -Whenever I had occasion to leave the hotel, I always found one of -the pair (for there were two of these magnificent retainers) at his -post on or near the door-steps, gazing into vacancy. On my return I -never failed to see the peacock-feathers vibrating above any crowd of -servitors or visitors who might be sunning themselves in front of the -Slaviansky Bazaar. But what did this man do? Such was the question that -haunted my practical Western mind. I decided to watch him and find out. - -One morning I took my station for this purpose near the entrance, -where I could observe his movements at my leisure. The taller and -finer-looking of the two was on duty (if such it can be called) at -that hour. The feathers in his cap were quite new, and their gold and -green eyes gleamed iridescent in the sunlight. His long, blue tunic was -nicely brushed, and his boots were highly polished. There he stood, -almost motionless, save when he shifted the weight of his body from -one leg to the other. He was in a position where he could be seen by -everybody who entered or left the hotel. While I remained there on the -watch, some trunks were brought in, but he did not lend a hand. Other -trunks were taken out to the sidewalk, but he held aloof from them. -He neither gave nor received orders. His patient attitude and his -calm stoicism reminded one of the North American Indian. Only once -did he exhibit any sign of interest in mundane affairs. That was when -a horse-fly or blue-bottle buzzed about his head in a very provoking -way. He could not conceal his annoyance; and, when the insect alighted -on a door-post near him, he leaned over and killed it with a quick -stroke of his huge palm, and instantly resumed his erect position. At -that precise moment I caught his eye, and smiled at him. But he did -not smile back. That would not have been dignified, and dignity was -apparently his sole object in life. - -My observations were here interrupted. A young man whom I had -previously noticed loitering about the hotel stepped up to me, and -asked in a pleasant voice, “Are you an American, sir?” - -I knew at once that he was a compatriot, and judged from his accent -that he was a Philadelphian. He was a nicely-dressed, wholesome youth, -and I warmed to him. - -Being assured that I was an American, he began to talk freely, as if he -had lawful claims on my time and attention, and I was glad to give him -both, although he broke into an interesting investigation and caused me -to leave a problem forever unsolved. - -“Can you tell me if there is a picture-gallery of the old masters in -Moscow?” - -“Nothing to speak of. The only collections of old paintings worth -seeing in Russia are at Petersburg.” - -“Sure of it?” with a pleased expression in his eyes. - -“Perfectly.” - -“You can’t imagine how glad I am!”--and his face testified his joy. - -“Why?” - -“I don’t mind telling you, seeing that you are another American. My -aunt is a great admirer of old china, old furniture, and old pictures. -She has plenty of money, and her house at Manayunk, Philadelphia, is -just full of ’em. I’m her only nephew. But I am boring you, perhaps.” - -“Not at all,” said I, really interested, and curious to know why he -rejoiced over the absence of the old masters from Moscow. “Fire away.” - -“Thank you. Well, you see, my aunt would give anything if she could -come to Europe, and go through all the galleries that tire me so”--and -he heaved a sigh. “But she’s afraid to cross the ocean. So she made me -promise that I would go and see the most famous pictures of the old -masters--the _she-durvs_, they call ’em--and describe ’em for her in my -letters, the best I know how. It’s no fun, I assure you, but then she’s -my aunt.” - -“And you her favorite nephew” (with a smile). - -“Exactly. And I want to repay some of her kindness. For she is real -good to me. Of course, I don’t pretend to judge ’em for myself. All I -have to do is to praise ’em to Auntie. I can’t lay it on too thick for -her. It was a big job at Petersburg, you bet.” - -“Why at Petersburg?” - -“Because there’s such an awful lot of the old masters there--the real, -genuine things. I must have seen sixty or seventy Rubenses at the -Hermitage; and about an acre of Rembrandts, and, as for the Van Dycks, -they made me sick. Do you know,” he continued, speaking low, as if -imparting a great secret, “that a man can get to hate Murillo, if he -sees enough of him?” - -I replied that I could understand his feelings of satiety. “The full -soul loatheth the honey-comb,” etc. - -“I forgot to say that the old fellow I loathe most of all is -Botticelli. And he’s the very one Auntie is craziest about. She has -collected all the photographs of his pictures she could get in America -and I am adding to the stock all I can pick up in Europe.” - -“But there are not many Botticellis in the world. At least, I find them -scarce. That old fellow, as you call him, can not trouble you very -much.” - -“That’s it,” said Manayunk. “It’s the scarcity of Botticellis that -gives me the bother. You see Auntie told me not to miss a Botticelli on -any account. I have to look over all the pictures for the names of the -artists to be sure I don’t skip him. At first I trusted to the printed -catalogue, but some of ’em are old and not corrected up to date; and -then, again, the pictures are changed about, and the numbers get mixed.” - -“You are conscientious at any rate, and do not neglect your aunt’s -commission.” - -“Yes. She is very much pleased, she writes me, and thinks I’m becoming -a good judge of the old masters. That’s because I puff ’em so, I -suppose. But I tell you, I’m right glad of a rest here. All I really -had to see in Moscow was the Kremlin and the big bell. I’ve seen the -bell, but isn’t it strange I can’t find the Kremlin?” - -“Can’t find the Kremlin?” I echoed, in amazement. - -“At all events, the droschky-drivers can’t or won’t take me to it. -Kremlin, I am told, is a good Russian word, and I should think the -Russians ought to understand it. The first day I came here, I jumped -into a droschky, and, said I, ‘Kremlin!’ The man nodded, and off we -went like a flash. Just at the head of the street, we passed through -an opening in a wall and came into another part of Moscow. It is full -of churches and buildings that look like palaces, but I don’t care -about them any more. I didn’t know the Russian words for ‘big bell,’ -but the driver went to it without my asking. When I had looked at that -long enough, I said ‘Kremlin’ again, very plain. The driver nodded, -and away we went. He must have taken me through miles of streets, and -I was expecting every moment he would pull up at the Kremlin. But no, -he kept driving on, until, after about half an hour, we came round to -the big bell again. I called ‘Kremlin’ at him once more, and he grinned -and waved his hand about in a sort of general way. I never saw anybody -so stupid. So I yelled ‘Slaviansky Bazaar!’ at him, and he brought me -home. Perhaps, now, you can tell me how to find the fortress, prison, -or whatever it is, they call the Kremlin.” - -“Here is where you feel the want of a guide-book,” said I, gently. “If -you had one, you would find that the Kremlin is not a single structure, -but is the name of a great inclosed space with two miles of walls. All -those palaces and churches of which you speak are within the Kremlin, -and important features of it. The poor droschky-driver was showing you -the Kremlin all the time to the best of his ability.” - -Manayunk looked a little sheepish at this explanation, as it reflected -on his want of intelligence. “Thank you,” said he, hurriedly, at the -same time consulting his watch, and, without another word, he bolted -into the street. - - -When the visitor becomes satiated with the splendors of Moscow, he -may find it pleasant--for a change--to make a tour of the rag-fair or -old-clothes market. The site is an open space of about two acres in -the heart of the city. From dawn till dark, in fair weather, it is -filled with eager traders, who come there to buy, or sell, or barter. -The second-hand goods are generally so well used up that they may be -placed on the dirty cobble stones without receiving further injury. -There they remain arranged as neatly and compactly as possible, with -the proprietor standing guard over them and ready for business. Only a -few of the traffickers have stands of any kind for the exhibition of -their wares. The use of these is reserved for the more aristocratic -merchants, who occupy sheltered places alongside the ancient wall, -whose towering height affords a shade for them during several hours of -the day. It is among the multitude who spread dilapidated treasures -on the ground that the most amusing incidents are to be noted by the -inquisitive stranger. - -Articles which are thrown away by Americans as wholly valueless would -be offered in the Moscow rag-fair and find ready purchasers. Nothing -would seem more unlikely to be bought than a single boot, the mate of -which had been lost. But I saw one of extraordinary size--No. 15, I -should say--which was the center of quite a gathering. The boot had -been brilliantly polished for the occasion, and I supposed at first -that it was the specimen sign of some enterprising _mujik_ prepared -to “shine ’em up” for ten kopecks. Then I noticed a man measuring the -boot by the standard of his own foot, to see if it would suit him. It -was about an inch too long. He shook his head. Other spectators with -large feet stepped forward, and made the same personal comparison with -the unmated boot. One man thrust his stockingless foot into the yawning -leather, and rattled round in it for a minute, much to the amusement of -the bystanders. Then he gently kicked it off, and evidently dismissed -all thought of buying it. The boot was unpatched, and not run down at -the heel, and it seemed a great pity that an article in such superior -condition should go unbought. The proprietor, whose only stock in trade -was this solitary boot, was getting anxious, when relief unexpectedly -arrived. A strapping fellow, about six and a half feet high, elbowed -his way through the throng to see what was going on. The instant his -eye rested on the boot, it gleamed with surprise. He placed his own -foot by the side of it, and lo! it was a perfect match! I could see in -his face astonishment that another boot could be found as large as his -own. The seller at once saw that he had a probable customer before him. -Then began a lively chaffering between the two in Russian, in which -the spectators took the keenest interest, acting the part of chorus -to the principals. It ended in the sale of the odd boot at a price -to me unknown. The buyer took it in his hand and walked off with it. -Perhaps to this day he is trying to find a mate for it ready made. The -chances must be strong against his success in that search, even in the -old-clothes market of Moscow. - -I saw on sale a dress-coat of which one of the tails had been torn -away. It may have belonged to a man of fashion, or to a waiter, before -its immediate descent to this low destiny, and, in either case, the -history of that lost tail would doubtless be interesting. It was taken -up and minutely inspected by several persons, and then carefully -dropped on its assigned place in the dirt. But its owner did not seem -discouraged, for he knew that, sooner or later, some man would present -himself who, perhaps, had purchased the missing tail from some other -dealer, and was looking for the rest of the coat. Among the other -bargains offered were frying-pans without handles, and handles without -frying-pans; tables and chairs that needed only two or three legs -apiece to make them useful; coffee-mills minus cranks, and thermometers -with smashed bulbs. Asparagus and tomato cans, empty and battered, such -as would be tossed into the garbage-barrel or gutter in the United -States, were in great request. A little pile of them vanished in five -minutes. - -I was only a looker-on. The merchants seemed to understand the motive -of my presence among them, for they wasted none of their appeals on -me--with one exception. This was the case of a man who had one of -Lincoln and Bennett’s best London hats for sale. It was but little -worn, and looked good for many years of service on the head of some -conservative middle-aged gentleman who does not approve of novelty and -gloss in his hats. I was wearing a Derby at the time; seeing which, -the dealer ventured to suggest by signs that I should try on the -stove-pipe pattern which he held enticingly toward me. Taking me for -an Englishman, he supposed that I would be glad to acquire a London -hat at a price doubtless far below the original figures. He implored -me by gestures to put it on. I had not the remotest idea of buying -a first- or second-hand hat of that shape while traveling, but, to -please him, I consented to see if it would fit me. A large number -of idlers looked on approvingly while I made the trial. The hat was -decidedly too small, and was returned to the dealer with a shake of -the head made as emphatic as possible. Whereupon he did exactly what I -have seen done twenty times by hatters in various parts of America. He -took that undersized hat and began to stretch it with his hands one way -and compress it another way. Then he drew it over the cap of his knee -till I thought he would have split it up the side. Then he bowed, and -handed it to me again for another experiment. I made the politest signs -of declining; and, as he pressed the hat upon me with increased ardor, -improved the opportunity offered by a gap in the crowd and slipped away -from him. As I withdrew, I could hear murmurs of disapproval among the -bystanders. They thought I ought at least to have tried on the hat once -more after it had been so carefully enlarged to suit me. - - -The country roads in the environs of Moscow are not kept in good -repair. They abound in depressed places, which become miry pits or -pools after a heavy rain. The one which is least exposed to these -criticisms is that leading to the Petrovsky Palace and Gardens, a few -miles from the Kremlin. A French guide and interpreter whom we had -secured for a day or two recommended us to visit the Petrovsky Palace, -because Napoleon occupied it for a time after the heat and smoke of -burning Moscow had driven him beyond the walls. It was there the -Emperor took his last look at the gilded domes and spires of the holy -city as they glowed in the crimson light. It was from this palace that -he sent, by relays of swift couriers to Paris--as if bad news does -not travel fast enough without whip and spur--the intelligence of the -burning of Moscow, and the forced retreat of the grand army through -the snows. Our French guide thought it would give us great pleasure to -see the identical room, chair, table, ink-stand, and pen which were -involved in the production of this famous dispatch. But we had heard -of Napoleon at every turn about Moscow so far, and were quite willing -to forget him for a few hours. Therefore, we at first declined the -proposition to go out to the Petrovsky Palace, until it was further -explained that a good dinner could be had in the gardens adjoining. -Then we resolved to make the trip, the day being pleasant. - -The ride outside the city walls is not interesting until the Palace -Gardens are reached. These are laid out with the forethought and -tended with the scrupulous care which one always sees in the public -grounds of Russia. Visits to the parks in that country go far to -compensate one for the absence of more natural, diversified scenery. -We spent a pleasant hour or two among the winding roads and footpaths, -obtaining many views of the palace from different standpoints. It is an -old-fashioned building, with an air of homely comfort reflected from -every brick. If hoarded memories of twenty or thirty other palaces in -Europe had not interfered, we should hardly have been able to resist -the importunities of our guide to behold more relics of his adored -Napoleon. At 6 P. M. dinner was much more to our liking than the -exhibition of rooms in endless succession, however thickly crowded with -souvenirs of the great. - -Our man’s promise about a good dinner was fulfilled. The restaurant -where we pulled up for the momentous transaction is small but nicely -kept. The meal was served in a pretty little garden in the rear of -the premises. The walls were masses of climbing-plants in full bloom. -Venerable trees kept off the still warm rays of the declining sun. A -fountain shot its sparkling jet high in air, and the crystal drops -tinkled musically as they fell back into a marble basin. Our round -table was spread under a mighty oak. Sparrows of the unadulterated -English type hopped familiarly about us, as if expecting crumbs from -the forthcoming feast. They were the tamest of birds, alighting on -the tops of chairs almost within reach. At times they seemed to dare -one to drop a pinch of salt on their tails, preparatory to catching -them, according to the method recommended in childhood. As the dinner, -besides being excellent, was lengthy and in quantity superabundant, -there was plenty to spare for the companionable sparrows. They flocked -to us from all parts of the grounds, and at one time the chirping -congregation could have been numbered by the hundreds. There was -nothing particularly Russian about the dinner, except the soup, which -was serious and important. From this dish the central island of meat -and the stuffed pastry-ball are never absent. The occurrence of a -meat _entrée_ between the soup and the fish is another invariable -departure from the Western _menus_. There was an abundance of sauces -served upon meats which we had been accustomed to eating quite dry -or in their natural gravy. Where all was good, no one item--the soup -excluded--lives in my recollection. But I shall not soon forget the -honest, delicious wine of the Crimea. A little experience with the -Russian vintages had impressed me favorably. They have not the taste or -the heating after-effect of the French wines which are now so commonly -fortified and otherwise doctored all over the world, and not least -in France herself--and, worst of all, perhaps, in Paris. So I ordered -(through the Russian-speaking guide) a bottle of a Crimean brand. It -was an accidental, but fortunate, choice. The wine was red, and had the -general taste rather of Burgundy than of Bordeaux. But it had a bouquet -of its own; it dwelt pleasantly upon the palate, and it produced those -salutary effects of gentle warmth and cheer of which good wine may -still be capable if not abused by the drinker. But one may travel -thousands of miles in Europe and not find many wines of which this high -praise could be justly spoken. - -The English sparrows--pests in America--were so friendly and affable -in their way that we were reluctant to leave them. But we finally bade -them farewell with a parting largess of crumbs, and returned to Moscow -by the light of the setting sun. As we quitted the pleasant restaurant, -the proprietor and several of his staff flocked about to see us off, -and looked an unutterable good-by with a kindness of manner which -touched our alien hearts. I took pleasure in thinking that this mark -of courtesy was paid to our nationality. The guide knew that we were -Americans, and doubtless had mentioned that fact to the people at the -restaurant. There may be many Russians still ignorant of America and -Americans, but, among the vast majority in every part of Russia who are -aware of the friendly relations which have always existed between the -two nations, our countrymen are sure of a cordial welcome. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -A COMEDY OF PASSPORTS--MYTHICAL POLICE ESPIONAGE. - - -Travelers are told that, the farther they go into Russia, the more -they are subjected to police espionage. Whenever at St. Petersburg -I casually alluded to the informality of the passport examinations, -any English tourist with whom I was conversing would be sure to say, -with a knowing smile, “Wait till you get to Moscow.” “But, my dear -sir,” I would rejoin, “the time to be strict is when one is entering -the country. The object of requiring passports, as I understand it, -is to guard against returning Nihilists and dangerous characters -generally. I do believe that any other man could have come in on my -passport, for nobody attempted to identify me by my own--perhaps -flattering--description of myself. When it was finally handed back -to me at Wirballen, the only sign that it had been inspected was a -little round stamp next to the _visé_ of the Russian consul-general at -Berlin.” - -“Just like the rascals,” an Englishman once said to me, lowering his -voice a little. “I wonder if in America you ever heard the song about -‘The Spider and the Fly’? ‘Come into my parlor,’ you know, and all that -sort of thing.” - -I told him that it was not entirely unfamiliar to me, at which he -seemed surprised. - -“Well,” he continued, “Russia is the spider, and you are the fly. She -will bleed you in your pocket if not in your veins.” He stopped to -laugh at his own joke. “It’s easy enough to get in; but, when you want -to get out, and go to the police-office for a permit, you’ll see--” - -He did not say what would be seen; but the vagueness of his unfinished -remark implied something terrible. - -I had heard that the rooms at Russian hotels assigned to foreigners -were all provided with Judas-holes, through which an EYE watched the -inmates with the hope of surprising them in the act of loading up bombs -with dynamite. The thought of this scrutiny was horrible. I could not -help glancing uneasily around my apartment to discover the treacherous -orifice. The stucco-work next to the high ceiling seemed to be a mighty -snug place for a spy-hole, the dark shadows and the festooned cobwebs -lending themselves to its concealment. Once I seized an umbrella, and -stood on a chair tip-toe, and reached up just far enough to punch the -ferule into a spot which had crumbled away a little and looked like a -hole. If there was an EYE on the other side, its owner must take the -consequences. I heard no scream as the weapon pierced the ceiling. As -it was withdrawn, a shower of fine plaster followed, powdering my hair -in the true style of the last century. The absurdity of this incident -dispelled, once and for all, any real fear of being watched in that way. - -If the St. Petersburg police took any notice of my comings and goings, -I was unaware of it, though always seeking to discover some indication -of their surveillance. At the Hôtel d’Europe I had surrendered my -passport to the head-porter by request, and it pleased me to think that -I was not neglected by a paternal government. Next day, when it was -politely returned, it bore no fresh pen-mark, seal, or stamp, or even -the impression of a dirty thumb, to show that it had been opened. Since -the police did not seem to be looking after me, I determined to look -after the police. - -The execution of this design was reserved for Moscow; for it is in -that city, according to the best obtainable information, that the -odious features of the Russian police system may be seen at their -worst. That is the phase of it with which I most ardently desired to -become acquainted. I wanted to see the originally immaculate passport -still further soiled. It was really provoking that, up to the time of -reaching the Holy City, the following were the only indorsements upon -it, as translated from the Russian: - - - No. 4,710. - - Seen at the Imperial Russian Consulate for going to Russia. - - BERLIN, _July 3/13, 1886_. - - _Consul-General_, KUDRIAVTZEFF. - - -And, adjoining, was the stamp affixed at the frontier, containing in -a circle the words “Seen at Verjbolovo (Wirballen) when coming, July -5/17, 1886.” - -At Moscow, the passport, having been surrendered at the hotel as usual, -came back next day with two Russian superscriptions. There was a formal -entry as follows: - - - _July 11/23, 1886._ - - City precinct. In the house No. 9, presented and recorded. - - For the captain (signed), - RALIKHIN. - - -The other was personal and cordial, and produced a gentle thrill of -gratitude in the bosom of the recipient of the courtesy: - - - _July 11/23, 1886._ - - It is permitted to John Bouton, an American citizen, and wife, to - remain in Russia until January 5/17, 1887. For further stay he is - bound to obtain a passport, under the regulations established for - foreigners wishing to live in Russia. - - For the senior clerk (signed), - VOLYNIA. - - (_Gratis._) - - -The omission of my middle name was noticeable. At first, I explained -it on the theory of official carelessness, from which no country is -exempt. Then I remembered that, in the Russian nomenclature, there is -no recognized middle name, except that derived from the father. This -is constructed by adding “_vitch_” (son of) to the father’s Christian -name. In the case of the present writer, it would be _Nathanielóvitch_ -(son of Nathaniel), and thus it appears in the Russian version of the -title-page of this book. And the present place may be as good as any -to give the English pronunciation of the first six Slavic words there -displayed. They read, “OKOLNYM POOTEM VŬ MOSKVOO--EPIKOORÁYSKOYE -POOTESHESTVEEYE.” - -Except for the slight immaterial defect already noted, the police -indorsement at Moscow defies the most unfriendly criticism, even of -Englishmen. Here is a favor extended to me without asking. It exacts -no conditions. It clothes me with a six months’ residence in Russia, -and with all the protection of her laws. And to this truly hospitable -concession is attached no stamp requiring the payment of any fee. -Great is my surprise to see, instead of the customary _timbre_, the -familiar word “_gratis_.” I rub my eyes hard and look again. Yes, it -is no accidental combination of Russian characters reading “gratis,” -and meaning something widely different. It is the good old Latin word, -English by adoption, and known even in far-away Russia, which we often -see coupled with samples of garden-seeds, or specimen newspapers, or -bits of dress-patterns, or something else seeking free introduction -and circulation. But one may travel round the world, and find not -many places, if any, besides Russia, where this welcome word adorns -government paper in lieu of a stamp for fees. It is like a shake of the -hand, and makes one feel at home among strangers. - -And this same word “gratis” started another train of thought not wholly -complimentary to the United States. Up to this time my total outlay -to Russian officials, for the privilege of entering and moving freely -about their country, footed up less than forty-five cents. But my -American passport had cost me five dollars from first hands. True, -that without this magic document I could not have entered Russia. But -had I not been intending to visit that empire, I probably should not -have taken out a passport, for in previous trips to Europe it had been -found as superfluous for exhibition purposes as a college diploma. In -point of fact, therefore, I had paid our State Department, for the -right of going to Russia, more than ten times as much as Russia herself -had charged for throwing her doors wide open! Now, it seems to me that -a government with an annual surplus which encourages the most foolish -extravagance and waste, might afford to discard this tax upon those -of its citizens who desire to go abroad. The American passport-fee -should be abolished, if for no other reason than because it deters our -people from visiting their good friends, the Russians. I wonder if the -boast “_Civis Romanus sum_”--that warning to all the barbarian world -not to molest a Roman citizen--was uttered by a man with a five-dollar -passport stuck in the folds of his toga? - -Notwithstanding this most agreeable incident at Moscow, I could -not forget the unpleasant things reported about the Russian police -system. I could think of no surer way to ascertain the truth than to -go to police-headquarters, observe the manners of the chief and his -subordinates in their official den, and note their treatment, not -merely of an American citizen, but of natives whom one might chance -to see there. For this purpose a good occasion soon presented itself. -Instead of profiting by the gracious permission for a six months’ stay -in Russia, I was ungratefully meditating an early departure; and, in -order to leave the country without hindrance, must secure a police -permit. With this business as the pretext, perhaps the depth of the -mystery could be plumbed. - -One morning, I mentioned this purpose to one of the hotel staff, who -could speak a little French or English as required, and who stood for -all we ever saw of the “administration,” except the cashier in the -settlement of bills. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, -expressing at once surprise and dissuasion. Then he explained in a -dignified way that the guests never visited the police bureau in -person--that the house had “an agent,” “a representative,” “a man” -(these were some of the descriptive phrases used), who was authorized -to act in such delicate matters, with the consent and indeed with -the wish of the police, and that this person would take charge of my -passport, and save me a great deal of time and trouble. - -But my mind was made up to interview the chief of police, and so I -cut short the conversation by peremptorily requesting the call of a -droschky. The man smiled, with another shrug of the shoulders, and, -beckoning to one of those boys whose smooth chin, flowing hair parted -in the middle, pork-pie cap, and long, blue tunic strapped tightly -about the waist, make them look like girls, spoke to him in Russian. -I followed the little fellow to the sidewalk, where he ordered the -droschky for me, explaining the destination to the driver, and then he -started off on a run. - -As usual, the carriage dashed through the streets like a meteor. But, -however great our speed, I always saw on the sidewalk, just ahead, the -girlish dress and streaming hair of the hotel-boy. I wondered what -imperative business caused his race against time--or was it against the -droschky? Not the latter evidently, for in a few minutes he disappeared -down an alley. A quarter of an hour later, after quite a circuit of -stony streets, we entered a little court-yard, and halted opposite a -door with a Russian inscription on the lintel. The driver signaled -me to descend and go in. Opening the door, I saw before me a narrow -stairway, and, at the head thereof--the hotel-boy. His round, innocent -face was flushed, and he puffed audibly. That last half-mile had nearly -done for him. He looked down and beamed at me as I climbed the steps. I -playfully shook my finger at him, at the same time taking my passport -from a side-pocket. - -With a roguish laugh, he snatched it from my hand and scampered away -before I could stop him. I followed as fast as possible through some -half-lighted passages into what seemed an anteroom, where I caught -a glimpse of his flying blue tunic and tossing locks as he entered -a larger apartment beyond. Before me was a soldier or policeman -(convertible terms in Russia), who motioned me to a seat, which was -a rude bench. Upon my heels, as I entered the anteroom, trod another -policeman, who drew up inside as if awaiting further orders. To a -casual observer, ignorant of the truth, I should have appeared to be -under arrest, with these two sworded _gorodovois_ mounting guard. - -I could do nothing but wait till the boy had executed the commission -of obtaining my leave for departure, for which it was then evident he -had been privately sent from the hotel ahead of me, contrary to my -expressed wish. So I philosophically improved the occasion to look -about the place. From my position one could see into the adjoining -large room. There, at a square table, sat a middle-aged man with a -refined face, a mustache artistically curled, and a delicate white -hand, on the little finger of which sparkled a large diamond that -shone to great advantage as he raised it to his lips and withdrew or -replaced a cigarette. Before him was a pile of papers, which he was -signing, or indorsing, or stamping with official seals, and looking -somewhat bored as he performed that automatic task. Men came and bowed -to him deferentially, and took orders which issued languidly from his -lips between the whiffs. That imp of a boy stood in the background, -with the precious passport opened out wide, so that I could see the -spread-eagle water-mark (about two feet square) through it against -a window. He grinned as he caught my eye, and, though I now feared -that he had baffled my cherished design of penetrating the _sanctum -sanctorum_, I could not help smiling back at him; observing which act, -one of the policemen standing near looked hard at me as if to check the -display of any levity in that place. So I became grim again, and fell -to contrasting the stylish and genial appearance of the police magnate -yonder with the serious, gruff, heavy-bearded, and cruel-eyed person -who would have seemed (according to English reports) the most natural -occupant of that chair. - -Meanwhile my curiosity was also excited in another quarter. Just -in front of me, within a space inclosed by an iron railing with an -elaborate pattern of cross-bars, was a little crowd of Russians. They -were all looking by turns at me and at the two policemen. “Can it be -possible,” I thought, “that they--evidently prisoners themselves, -penned up there and awaiting orders which will consign them to dungeons -or to Siberia--suppose me also to be under arrest? I certainly detect -in their faces marks of sympathy and fellow-feeling.” - -I study the motley group at leisure. One of the number may have been -a student, for he had a thoughtful face; but I was pained to remark -a fierce expression in his eyes, as if he had absorbed the deadly -virus of Nihilism. “Rash boy! most likely implicated in the latest -plot (for full particulars, see highly imaginative dispatches in the -London press) for assassinating the Tsar. And there is a young girl -with a pretty face; another Nihilist, probably--the misguided student’s -sweetheart, it may be. They say that women are the most fanatical -disciples of the new dispensation. By her side stands a priest of the -Greek Church in his cylindrical black cap and full robes, which he -has disgraced by some offense--trivial, let us hope. But he, too, may -be a Nihilist, for we are told that the gospel of anarchy draws some -recruits from the ranks of the priesthood.” A soldier in fatigue-dress, -and some other men or women whose station in life one could not fix, -composed the rest of the company behind that grill, all (perhaps) -arrested for alleged Nihilism. This gave them, in my eyes, a tragic -interest which the common ruck of misdemeanants would have lacked. Who -can tell what they thought of me, as they reciprocated the curiosity -bestowed upon them? - -Engrossed in these interesting speculations, I had clean forgotten the -object of my visit until recalled from the reverie by the apparition -of the ever-smiling boy. He stood before me with the passport open, -and pointed out a new streak of inscription running down the back. -It had been obligingly furnished without any further information -about my identity than he had supplied. Thus ended ingloriously the -only opportunity which had presented itself to learn from personal -observation anything about the police system of Russia. I folded the -passport with a sigh, and thrust it into its pocket. As I did so, one -of the _gorodovois_ courteously indicated that my departure was now in -order. His long forefinger pointed to the door. - -As I rose to go, an official-looking personage came out of the chief’s -audience-room and walked briskly to the little knot of expectant -culprits behind that iron railing, which needed only a roof to make it -a cage. I halted a moment to see what would happen next. The Nihilists -began to look anxious, and I shared their emotions. What followed -was interpreted to me by gestures which could not be mistaken. The -official personage shook his head at the group, as if he were denying -them something. They seemed to entreat him. He only shook his head more -determinedly. As they persisted in trying to overcome his objections, -he brandished both hands at them in a manner which plainly said: “It’s -no use; go away; out of this now!” And this with so much energy that -the party in the pen instinctively fell back; and, as they did so, the -door behind them was flung open, disclosing, not a perspective of cells -as I had expected, but an outside stairway, the blue sky, and a tree in -leaf, all belonging to the free world, into which they hastened for the -labors or pleasures of the day! Putting this and that fact together, I -was impelled to the conclusion that these people were, after all, not -Nihilists or offenders of any rank, but only respectable citizens of -Moscow, who had called at the chief’s office to lay some request before -him, and that he had either decided to deny it, or else had put off -their reception to another day. And I never came any nearer than this -to identifying a Nihilist in Russia. - -Translated into English, this final indorsement of the passport reads -as follows: - - - _July, 15/27, 1886._ - - On behalf of the local police, there is no objection to John - Bouton and wife, American citizens named in this passport, leaving - Moscow for abroad. - - Captain of the city precinct, - (Signed) DVORONIN. - - -There was quite a galaxy of stamps affixed, making a total charge -of ninety-five kopecks--less than fifty cents gold value. The hotel -assumed the payment of this fee, and, adding a trifle for the services -of its “representative,” or “agent,” or “man” (the small boy), inserted -in my bill a lump item of one ruble fifty kopecks on “passport” -account. And I advise all American tourists to transact this kind of -business by proxy instead of wasting droschky-fares in unproductive -visits to the chief of police. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -SUMMER WEATHER IN RUSSIA--ST. PETERSBURG AND MOSCOW ENOUGH FOR -SIGHT-SEERS--M. KATKOFF AND HIS GAZETTE--TSAR AND PEOPLE--REPUBLICAN -POSSIBILITIES OF THE COSSACK. - - -After one has packed trunks, paid hotel bills, bought railway-tickets, -procured a supply of rubles and kopecks from his banker, and made every -preparation to leave Germany for Russia, it is discouraging to be told -that he has chosen the wrong season for visiting that country. - -“The winter, sir, is the only time to see Russia. St. Petersburg is -like a furnace in July. It is a rainless month. The streets are never -watered, and when the winds blow--mostly from the south, making the air -still hotter--you are smothered with dust. The mosquitoes--” - -But I had heard enough. It was too late to back out from the Russian -trip, and I did not care to know the worst. So I interrupted the -speaker with the question, “When did you leave St. Petersburg?” - -He colored a little. “Oh, I have never been there myself! No money -would tempt me to go to Russia before December, at least. I am only -telling you what everybody knows. The books are full--” - -“Of probable misstatements on these points,” said I, finishing the -sentence for him. “I know that English writers are unanimous about the -heat of a St. Petersburg July. But then Englishmen complain of every -temperature over 70°. Americans are less fond of cold weather. I will -learn the truth for myself. Good-evening.” - -The man with whom I held this conversation looked like a professor in -some small Western college. I had met him by chance in the rooms of -the American Exchange at Berlin. Overhearing me say that I was bound -to Russia that night, he had proceeded to draw upon his large store -of book-knowledge for my benefit. His positive manner was probably -borrowed from the classroom; and I have no doubt he was pained because -I did not take his advice on trust, with many thanks, like a docile -pupil. - -As an American accustomed to “summer heat,” I declare St. Petersburg to -be very comfortable in July. Neither there nor at Moscow, four hundred -miles farther south, have I seen more than 80° F. registered in the -shade, and the mid-day temperature touched much lower figures during -my stay. Clothed accordingly, one may ride or walk in the open air -at high noon, and revel in the bright sunshine unharmed. There were -several rainfalls which were more than showers. They cooled the air -to the point of chilliness, and effectually laid the dust. At no time -were the streets swept by the wind with the sirocco-effects described -in some English books. Even the largest open squares were free from the -predicted nuisance. Dressed in light woolen, and armed with an umbrella -against the sun or the rain, the American will have no occasion to carp -at the Russian weather in those months when his compatriots at home are -fleeing for coolness--and not always finding it--to the mountains and -the sea-shore. Contrasting his comfort with the sufferings he would -have undergone in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston, he can feel only -gratitude for the endurable summer weather of St. Petersburg. He is -unvexed by mosquitoes and the flies are well-behaved. - -A Russian winter may be all that Gautier paints it; but, if that -brilliant Frenchman had been thin instead of stout, with less inside -room for the storage of solids and liquids as a sure defense against -Arctic rigors; and, if he had been obliged to look after anybody -besides Gautier, he might have hesitated to take the journey whose -record gives so much pleasure to readers. And, remember, his point -of departure was Paris, not New York. A trip from America to St. -Petersburg, merely to verify Gautier’s impressions there, would hardly -pay for the cost, time, and trouble. Americans prefer to pass the cold -months in Italy or Egypt or the Holy Land, or some other sunny clime, -and leave to more adventurous souls the pleasures--such as they are--of -a Russian winter. Everything that the ordinary tourist cares to see -can be seen in July as well as in January. The Winter Palace in St. -Petersburg is closed in summer, it is true, but the Hermitage, with its -glut of pictures and _bric-à-brac_, is open. So is Tsarskoé Selo, a -little distance outside of the city. There are many other palaces in or -about the capital, mostly accessible in summer. Private, if not public, -admittance can be had to every museum and library. The Tsar may be -absent during the warmer months, but the visitor would probably not get -a look at him or any of the imperial family in winter. If the nobility -are also missing, the innocent American does not know it, as he has -no means of telling a prince from a plebeian. If the entire court and -all the fashionable element are away, St. Petersburg has not been -carried off with them. And that city, and, still more, Moscow, are at -all times so full of interest on a hundred accounts that one does not -pause to think whether their attractions would or would not be greatly -heightened by the presence of snow six feet deep on a level, or by the -return of the Tsar from Peterhof or Gatschina. - - -Russia is fortunate in the possession of two great capitals. St. -Petersburg is the civil and Moscow the religious center of a double -administration. Paris is the only city of France that most Americans -desire to visit. That city is, indeed, France in the sense that -Parisians claim for her; and the rest of the republic is but a -matter of detail. Similarly, St. Petersburg and Moscow are Russia. -By sojourning a few days in each city, one can gather sufficient, if -superficial, knowledge of the Russian people, their religious and -secular institutions, their amusements, their business ways, their -modes of living, to correct a host of errors into which prejudiced -authors have led him. If he is a student of natural history, an -ethnologist, a profound investigator of social problems--if he desires -to see with his own eyes how the exiles fare in Siberia, or whether -the petroleum-wells of Baku are running dry, or how the railway to -Merv is getting along--he may spend many months in Russia acquiring -interesting information. But, if he wants a good time, with the minimum -of discomfort, while he is packing away in the odd corners of his -brain the things most truly worth knowing about Russia, let him stick -to St. Petersburg and Moscow. There he will find hotels first class in -all respects, easy carriages, and French (if not English) newspapers. -Unless he is a critical analyst of race peculiarities, he will be -satisfied with the many varieties of Russia’s population which he sees -in Moscow alone. And, as to souvenirs of the country, he will, perhaps, -be more fortunate in picking them up at bargains in the Gostinnoi Dvors -of the two capitals than if he hunted and chaffered for them at the -crowded and noisy fair of Nijni-Novgorod. - - -In the restaurants and reading-rooms one often notices little groups -of Russians earnestly scanning the columns of a newspaper in their own -language. It is a large, four-page sheet, usually accompanied by a -supplement. Perhaps one will read, and the others will listen. At times -they seem deeply interested, hanging upon the words that are uttered -as if they were revelations of the greatest moment. The expression of -their faces is unbroken by any trace of levity. They lay the paper -down, and seem to be discussing what has been read. Sometimes one -observes marked signs of dissent from some member of the group, but -more commonly there is an apparent agreement with those sentiments -of the journal which have provoked the debate. Seeing the same scene -enacted with trifling variations a number of times, I became anxious to -learn the occasion of it, and then I ceased to be surprised. - -The paper is the “Moscow Gazette” (“Moskovskeeya Vedomostee”), edited -by M. Katkoff, the man who wields an influence in Russia second to no -subject of the Tsar. We are told that the Russian press is fettered -and crushed, and here is an editor more powerful, for good or ill, -than any statesman of the empire. Holding no office, reaching the -mind of the Tsar only through his printed columns, he disputes with -M. de Giers (Minister of Foreign Affairs) for the confidence and -support of their common master. And, hardly less important, he makes -himself felt, through the widely distributed “Gazette,” among the most -thoughtful circles of Russia. In all the foreign offices of Europe his -opinions are carefully studied, being regarded as the earliest and best -indications of the drift of Russian sentiment. For M. Katkoff is, above -all things, a Russian. He is the champion Panslavist. He advocates the -federation of all branches of the great Slavic race. It is his policy -that keeps alive the national jealousy of Germany and Austria. His -eyes are fastened on Bulgaria, Roumania, and Servia, where the Slavic -population is a strong element. Galicia and Bohemia in Austria, Posen -in Prussia, and independent little Montenegro, are among the regions -embraced within the wide sweep of his Slavic sympathies. A union of -the Slavs for any purpose, and on any scheme of protection extended by -the great Empire of the North to the federated provinces, would end in -their consolidation with Russia under the government of the Tsar. - -Italy and Germany have each been substantially unified on the same -principle. If it is admissible in those two cases, why not in that of -Russia? Panslavism, ably upheld in the “Moscow Gazette,” can never -be unpalatable to the Tsar or the people, for it strongly appeals to -patriotism and national pride. Therefore, M. Katkoff is permitted -to display zeal in this direction even to the point of excess. It -is only when his feelings betray him into undue hostility to some -power--Germany or Austria, for example--with which the Tsar desires -to keep on good terms, that the Panslavist leader is called to order. -But the rebuke takes only the form of a summons to St. Petersburg, -where he has an audience, and is readily restored to the favor which -he had only nominally lost. The existence of such a paper, which is -not a government organ, and yet passes as such among most of its -readers--which can be approved or repudiated at pleasure, just -as circumstances may require--is a great convenience. It must be -understood that no editor would enjoy the license given to M. Katkoff -if he were in the least degree politically unsound or disloyal. The -strength of his position lies in his intense, unselfish devotion to -Russian interests, his passionate adherence to the autocratic system, -and his burning hatred of all those revolutionary elements that would -precipitate changes for which Russia is not prepared. - - -A foreigner thrown among Russians, who can not speak his language, is -worse off than a visitor to a deaf and dumb asylum, the inmates of -which can make their opinions known by writing or by signs. One may -travel all over Russia, and learn nothing more of the political ideas -of the common people than when he entered it, if he depends on them for -enlightenment. His only sources of information are educated Russians, -who can converse in his own tongue, or English, French, or German -residents who have lived in the country long enough to understand the -people and have outgrown their native prejudices. It is from such -persons that I gathered a few impressions, which went far to modify -views formed upon the strength of unfriendly English publications. - -It may sometimes be true, as the proverb says, that “to hear the news, -you must go away from home.” But this can hardly hold good in the case -of reports relating to the Tsar’s personal character and habits. It is -much more likely that the assertions about his intemperance, insanity, -and brutality, which appear in the London “Times,” are fictions, than -that such alleged facts should be totally unknown among intelligent -people in St. Petersburg, where he lives. I sought in vain for any -corroboration of the reports that the Tsar ever has the delirium -tremens, or is under the influence of liquor, or exhibits signs of -madness, or has a violent temper and is abusive to his ministers and -courtiers. Nobody with whom I conversed had ever heard any rumors -of this kind, except as they originated from known reports in the -foreign papers. These were invariably denounced to me as malicious -inventions. Old English dwellers in Russia expressed themselves -warmly on the subject. They felt ashamed at the wholly unfounded and -outrageous libels heaped by the press of London on one who, so far as -they know, is truly temperate, free from any taint of lunacy, mild and -reasonable in his intercourse with all. They spoke of him as a “family -man,” having a German fondness for wife and children and the simple -pleasures of domestic life. They regretted that he observed so strict -a seclusion; but admitted that he was forced to be very circumspect -in his movements in order to escape the fangs of the Nihilists. All -my informants pitied the Tsar and still more pitied his subjects, who -are, in large measure, deprived of that direct personal cognizance of -their needs and wishes which might prove so beneficial to them if the -Nihilists would permit it to be freely exercised. It also follows, -from this comparative isolation of the Tsar, that the powers which he -delegates are undoubtedly in many cases abused, and the facts are never -brought to his paternal knowledge. - -For the Tsar is not only the executive and the law-making power of the -state, head of the Church, fountain of justice, commander-in-chief -of the army and navy, but, more than all these, he is father to -his people. His subjects owe him, in theory, a filial respect and -obedience; and, with the exception of the Nihilists, they are dutiful -children. The relation is an Oriental one, which we of the West can not -understand. But it is powerfully operative in Russia. It has not been -really weakened by anything that the Nihilists have done, but, on the -contrary, strengthened. This would be proved any day by the spontaneous -and almost universal response of the Russian people to any call for -sacrifice which their father should make upon them. - -Some foreign writers profess to fear that the Tsar will plunge his -country into a causeless war, in order to find an outlet for national -discontent. But the only discontent which troubles Russia at present is -that of the Nihilists, who are irreconcilable. No war in behalf of some -Slavic race, or to extend the boundaries of Russia, or to possess the -Holy Places, would have their sympathy. They would still plot against -the life of the one man whose murder, according to their shallow view, -might bring about that chaos which is the desire of their hearts. The -assassination of Alexander II did not promote the cause of Nihilism -in the least; but, on the other hand, led to the adoption of severer -though unsuccessful measures for its repression; and there is no reason -to think that the removal of the present sovereign would be of any -advantage to the cause of anarchy. The Tsars live in their successors. -The mighty empire which has weathered the storms of a thousand years is -not now at the mercy of a dynamite bomb. - - -The undoubted tendency of Russia is now toward what is commonly spoken -of as a “constitutional government.” This is not following a general -demand of the people. They seem to be, as a rule, quite indifferent -to it; but it is believed to be favored by the Tsar. His life, aside -from the dreadful menaces of Nihilism, is made a burden to him by the -enormous and steadily increasing responsibilities of his position. -As a conscientious man, these must press upon him heavily, no matter -how much he seeks to distribute them among the ministers who are but -his creatures. If he could be assisted in his great work by a national -body, in some sense representing the people, and if his ministers were -made responsible in fact instead of being purely clerical functionaries -as at present, the diabolical aims of the Nihilists would be frustrated -more surely than they could be in any other way. The blind hate which -now seeks the life of one man only would then lose its concentration. -It would then be necessary to kill or terrorize a whole ministry, or a -majority of delegates--a task, the difficulty of which would probably -impress the most unimaginative of Nihilists. One might almost predict -the disappearance of Nihilism as an organized danger in Russia, if -constitutionalism could somehow be grafted on the old trunk. (See -APPENDIX.) - - -The fifty years assigned by Napoleon as the period during which Europe -would become either republican or Cossack, passed away, leaving his -prophecy unfulfilled. But his own France is a republic, and more -liberal principles have been incorporated in all the imperial and -monarchical governments of Europe. If there is a drift discernible, it -is toward republicanism. By the word “Cossack” Napoleon meant that -absolutism of which Russia was the most remarkable example of his day. -But the Cossack himself is now in the stream with the rest. It will -be perhaps only a question of time when he will be as well fitted for -and desirous to adopt republican institutions, as the man of any other -race in Europe. Who can say that, wherever the Cossack of the future -goes, he may not carry with him the germ of republicanism? It is this -possibility which lends to every sign of liberal development in Russia -a tremendous significance in the eyes of Americans. And if Russia -still clings by preference to her venerable paternal system, that is -no reason why our ancient friendship for that great country and people -should be impaired. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -RUSSIAN FINLAND--STOCKHOLM--THE LARGEST KNOWN METEORITE--THE DJURGARDEN. - - -It takes some time to get the confused impressions of brilliant Moscow -out of one’s head; and, until this is done, one is in no fit condition -to judge of other cities. The gold, green, blue, yellow, and red of -Moscow left images in my brain which shifted about for days as with -turns of a kaleidoscope. Entering the capital of Sweden by water on a -bright August morning, I saw it at its best. Stockholm is a handsome -city in its own right, and that guide-book writer who first called it -the “Venice of the North” owes an apology to the Swedes for instituting -an unfortunate comparison. There is plenty of water in and about -Stockholm, but no intricate network of canals, no rich tint, no mellow -antiquity. Comparing Stockholm with Boston, one would not be so far -out of the way. There are resemblances in the hilly grounds on which -the two cities stand, in the central dome and the tall spires, in the -crooked and converging streets, the stone buildings, the trimness and -cleanliness of everything, the all-pervading air of prosperity. The -American who happens to know Boston feels at home here at once. Even -when he has just arrived from Moscow, and misses colors in the roofs -of Stockholm, he is soon somewhat consoled by the many-colored native -dresses which he meets at every turn. These are worn by the women of -Dalecarlia. In coming to this city to live, they keep on wearing the -showy costumes of their native province. Their head-dress is either -a sort of liberty-cap in blue or an exaggerated smoking-cap in red, -attached somehow just above the nape of the neck, and always on the -point of falling off. The rest of the dress is a mysterious composition -of bandanna handkerchiefs and bunting of divers hues. Chains, spangles, -beads, and embroidery cover all. There is nothing like this in the -Russia I have seen. It is the prettiest sight in all Stockholm. But to -go back a space, and tell how we got here. - -We left St. Petersburg in a clean and stanch little boat at 6 P. M. -Before stepping on board, I drew my passport from its envelope and -held it ready for the final ordeal; for, in theory, every stranger -is scrutinized as sharply on leaving as on entering the empire. I -was wondering where, on the broad surface of the dear old American -eagle, room would be found for still another and positively the last -inscription, seal, or stamp. But again, much to my disappointment, -nobody evinced the slightest curiosity to examine the document, either -at the gangway of the boat or during the voyage of some hundreds of -miles which we afterward made before quitting the jurisdiction of -Russia. Perhaps, if I had been a Nihilist, my departure from the -country would not have passed unnoticed. But my personal experience on -this and previous occasions, when a police supervision might have been -expected to make itself apparent, convinces me that it is a formality -much neglected, except when an attempted assassination of the Tsar -excites the authorities to spasms of real vigilance. - -The passengers--about thirty in number--assembled on the upper deck to -take last view’s of St. Isaac’s dome, the spire of Saints Peter and -Paul, and the other landmarks of gold which loom above the horizon -when twenty miles away. In half an hour we had scraped acquaintance -and crystallized into sets, which continued unbroken all the voyage. -Among those aboard were a Siberian family, a Chilian, a Belgian, a -German who had won the hand of a London lady, married her at St. -Petersburg, and was then on his wedding-journey; a Nijni-Novgorod -merchant, several Finns, and a number of Norwegians and Swedes. Every -language of Northern Europe was spoken on that deck. If one person -could not talk directly to another, he could do it through the medium -of an interpreter. And gestures eke out the meaning at the point where -words fail. We were a merry party, without asking or caring to know one -another’s names. - -Cronstadt--the sea-defense of St. Petersburg--was reached about 8 P. -M., and everybody inspected the fortifications which are called (by the -Russians) impregnable. To me they seemed old-fashioned and fragile. -Some of the forts are of stone or brick, with cannon in three or four -tiers. If a 500-pounder, working from a monitor at short range, could -not knock them about the ears of the defenders, I am much mistaken. The -real dependence of Cronstadt is probably the torpedo, and nobody yet -knows exactly how much that is worth. Toward eleven o’clock, when the -twilight had faded out, there was a general disposition to retire for -the night. The cabins of the Stockholm boats are small but comfortable. -Before the two sofas are transformed into beds, they are downy enough. -But, when they are rigged up with sheets, blankets, and pillows, the -inmates discover bones and buttons inside of them. They are very -trying on tender ribs. The cabin-doors have neither locks nor bolts, -and many persons do not even shut them, trusting to the screen of a -curtain which lets the air freely in and out. As the numbers of the -rooms do not show when the doors are ajar, this arrangement gives rise -to amusing mistakes, of which we hear some particulars the next morning. - -In crossing the Gulf of Finland the water was rough for a few hours, -and the pitching motion of the vessel disturbed the equilibrium of -all sensitive interiors. In the morning some of the friskiest of our -company of the night before did not report for coffee at 7.30 o’clock. -When they did appear at nine or ten, they were silent, if not sad. I -can only say that they missed some coffee which was wonderfully good. -It was served with an assortment of bread, sweet biscuit, and cakes. -This light refreshment kept one alive till nine, when those who could -pull themselves together dived into the little dining-saloon and had -their regular breakfast. The most important part of this meal--Swedish -fashion--is the “trimmings.” You are expected to fill yourself at a -sideboard before you sit at table. I counted twenty different dishes -set out as appetizers. Among them were cold boiled lobsters, eels in -jelly, several fish-salads reeking with oil, head-cheese, slices of -sausage, pickled tongue, potted meats of nature unknown, cabbage, -beets, onions sliced with vinegar, bread, butter, and cheese. The -true Swede, when in “good form,” attacks all these viands _seriatim_, -and makes a hole in them. But, before he does anything, he fills a -large wine-glass from the colorless contents of one or more decanters, -which tower above all other things in a great caster. Those hold gin -or _kummel_ or other fiery spirits. After ten or fifteen minutes thus -spent on his feet, he is ready to appreciate the beefsteak and potatoes -and the ham-omelette and other substantials which are tendered to him -when he sits down. - -We reached Helsingfors--the present capital of Russian Finland--about -noon. For several hours before coming in view of the town, we had -passed between numberless rocky islands. These kept off the winds and -waves, and after a while everybody was on deck and feeling well. The -practical joker (no company on shipboard is complete without one) did -not miss his chance when the famous white-roofed church of Helsingfors -hove in sight. As belated passengers thrust their heads above the -companion-way, he would seize them by the hand and drag them to the bow -to show them that it had been snowing during the night! To those not -in the secret the illusion was complete, and there was an instinctive -movement to button up coats. There was a great church on a hill, and -every roof, gable, and cornice where snow could lodge was apparently -covered with it. The church could not look whiter in the dead of -winter. This snow-effect is the work of design. It is paint--a study -from nature; and, if Helsingfors were distinguished for nothing else, -this unique church would make the place worthy of a visit. But all of -us who went ashore to spend the day--as the boat would not start again -before one o’clock the next morning--found much more there. The rides -and walks were pleasant; the parks large and full of flowers, with -fountains playing, and we could dine and sup in the open air, with -music by the best band of the garrison, which is always kept strong at -Helsingfors. Although the people of Finland are submissive to Russia in -many respects, they are quite independent in others. Russia humors them -to the extent of permitting home-rule in all matters local, and even -allows them to coin their own money. This concession suits the Finns -more than the traveling public. You are obliged to change your rubles -and kopecks into marks and pennies--all reckonings being made in the -latter money. I should say that Finland has the best of the bargain. -Russia protects her and makes business for her, and in return exercises -a sovereignty which strikes the stranger as merely nominal. - -By one o’clock, A. M., the last of the wanderers had come aboard, -tired out with his or her pleasurings on land. But all were ready for -another frolic of four hours when we arrived at Abo--the old capital -of Finland, and still strongly attached to the Sweden of which that -country was once an appanage. But here, as elsewhere, among the Finns, -the Russian yoke is hardly felt. There is not much to see or do in Abo, -except to visit an old castle and church, and dine at a pretty little -restaurant within hearing of the steamer’s whistle. This was all very -unexciting when compared to our revelries at Helsingfors. No one was -sorry when the screw again buzzed, and we were heading in a southwest -direction for Stockholm. Abo is the farthest northing we have yet -made. According to my tattered map, it is about on the latitude of the -Shetland Islands. It must be bitterly cold in winter, but on the day of -our visit the weather there was just on the verge of warmth. Except for -a light wind, it would have been uncomfortable in thick clothing. - -The third stage of the trip--from Finland to Stockholm--is uneventful. -We sleep through the larger part of it. The morning finds our craft -threading a multitude of islands. Many are richly cultivated. As we -approach Stockholm the pilot steers carefully. Navigation is difficult -for natural reasons, aside from the swarm of steamboats, ships, and -yachts. The Swedish flag, mainly a yellow cross on a blue ground, -is voted a beauty by all on deck. Our hastily formed impressions of -everything are favorable. We think well of the custom-house men, who, -while not neglecting their duty, give us as little trouble as possible, -and do not look significantly at the palms of their hands. So, after a -journey which has used up the best part of three days, we begin to see -the sights of which I spoke in the opening paragraph of this chapter. - -The greatest curiosity in Stockholm is Professor Nordenskiöld’s -meteorite. He found it in Greenland many years ago, shipped it to this -city, and presented it to the principal museum, where it occupies the -post of honor. It is the largest messenger from the skies of which -I have any knowledge. Some of the guide-books make a woful blunder -in mentioning the weight of the mass. They put it at two hundred and -fifty tons. This is the truth multiplied by (say) ten or more. But an -aërolite of twenty-five tons is still a prodigy. It would cut up into -a hundred of such pieces as are now the pride of separate collections -in the great cities of the world. Its bulk is about that of a New -York hackney-coach, minus wheels and box-seat, and it would resemble -that ugly object in shape if it were not flattened and narrowed on one -side. It is iron of the specific kind called meteoric, with a definite -proportion of nickel in its composition. The intense heat to which -it was subjected in passing from the celestial regions through our -atmosphere scorched it terribly. It is blistered all over. This is a -kind of heaven’s artillery before which the biggest red-hot shot of -human invention sinks into insignificance. - -There are many treasures of art and science in Stockholm which even the -most hurried of travelers should not fail to see. There are churches -which, though bare and cold when contrasted with those of Italy or -of Russia, are interesting by virtue of their tombs, their pictures, -statues, wood-carvings, and historical associations. On every side -the inquisitive mind may gather knowledge. But I think most tourists -will agree with me that for pure entertainment nothing yields better -return than a dinner in the Djurgarden. At one of the great restaurants -in that beautiful park you may dine perfectly in a shaded corridor -and watch the ever-fluctuating crowd of well-dressed, light-hearted -people, and hear the finest selections from the musical masterpieces -of all nations. These are rendered by a military band which might be -safely sent to America to compete with the best of ours. When the wind -and muscle of the performers give out, the music does not cease. As -the last strain of one band dies on the air, a second band, just as -good, continues the programme, so that there is no break in the feast -of sounds. The two sets of musicians “spell” each other, till all the -hearers have had enough. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -BY RAIL TO CHRISTIANIA--FARE ON THE ROAD--NORWAY’S CAPITAL--THE -VIKING-SHIP--AN INLAND TOUR. - - -“Twenty minutes for dinner!” supper, or breakfast, as the case may -be. The conductor on the Swedish or Norwegian railways announces this -important fact to English-speaking travelers in the sign-language. -He spreads out all his fingers and thumbs twice. It speaks volumes -to the hungry man. He jumps from the train to the platform of the -pretty little station. He enters a room where he finds the feast -all spread, but no waiters. Behind a desk in a corner sits a woman -calmly knitting. Her business is only to take the money. The guest’s -business is to help himself. It is fortunate for him if he has been -through the same ordeal before. For that mighty soup-tureen, with a -ladle in it, does not contain soup. It is full of delicious whipped -cream, destined for the strawberries or raspberries which form a mound -by its side. Another tureen, exactly matching it, is the one into -which he should first dip. He should go down deep and stir up the rich -sediment. With a pint of this soup at his disposal it matters less -what he eats afterward. He can have fish, two kinds of meat, various -side-dishes, pastry, cakes, bread, cheese and butter, tea, coffee, -and bottled ale, besides berries and cream (the latter in soup-plates -always) all at discretion. It rests with himself whether he will clear -the board. When he has satisfied his appetite, or eaten out his twenty -minutes, he hands the industrious woman at the desk one krone and a -half--about forty-two cents of American money. She barely looks up from -her work, sweeps the coins into the till, and resumes the clicking of -her needles with an expression of impatience. At first it seems as -if this “self-help” system were extremely liberal on the part of the -caterer. But after trying it a number of times I find that about half -of my twenty minutes is spent in choosing dishes, changing my plates, -knives, forks, and spoons, and these are never handy. It also occurs -to me that I am saving the establishment the expense of a waiter; and, -on the whole, I would prefer to pay a little more, and be helped by -somebody else. These meals, occurring at intervals of a few hours, -pleasantly break the monotony of the long rail-ride from Stockholm to -the Norwegian capital. The scenery is a succession of ponds--full of -lilies--birch-forests and hay-fields. After the first hundred miles of -it one cuddles into the corner of his seat and waits for the conductor -to make the invariable signs at him to rise and eat. - -Approaching Christiania and looking from the car-window, I think -I see the British flag everywhere. It is the red and blue of -Norway--resembling at a distance the colors of England. Norway, though -under the same popular king as Sweden, has her own flag. Are those -London policemen at the station? They wear cloth helmets, have their -numbers in metal on their standing coat-collars, carry sheathed clubs, -and only dispel the illusion when they give mild orders in an unknown -tongue. They motion us to go into a room where custom-house officers -are in waiting. For reasons good unto themselves, but incomprehensible -to the traveler coming from Stockholm, the Norwegian authorities put -the baggage through a second inspection. For all I know, the good King -Oscar himself may be obliged to stand this sort of thing every time he -rides from one of his capitals to the other. Though the ceremony seemed -absurd and needless, I determined to spare the officials all possible -trouble. I unbuckled the straps, unlocked the trunks, opened them, took -out the top trays, folded my arms, and awaited developments--strong in -innocence. Great was my astonishment when the custom-house man looked -at me, but not at the trunks, and asked simply, “Clothes?” I nodded, -whereupon he stooped and leisurely replaced the trays, locked and -buckled up the trunks, and chalked them without another word. Before -one could even thank him, he had vanished. - -As we rode through the streets to the hotel, the likeness of -Christiania to London was repeated in the yellowish fronts of the -two-story houses and the extreme cleanliness of the streets. What, -therefore, could be a better name for the principal hotel than -“Victoria”? It looks just like one of those great, rambling inns which -are the delight of Americans in the midland counties. It is a labyrinth -of halls, little passages, and stairs. On every landing-place is a -black or white bear or other wild beast artistically mounted. To come -upon one of these at dusk for the first time is startling. Elk-horns, -walrus-tusks, and every imaginable trophy of the chase, are displayed -in nooks and corners. We see at once that this free museum is intended -to please our English friends who come to Norway in the season to hunt -and take in Christiania on the way. We hope they find that all the game -has not already been shot and stuffed for the hotel. - -At the royal palaces, both here and at Stockholm, visitors have a free -run of the family rooms. Among themselves, kings, queens, and princes -are just like other people. No well-to-do household among Oscar’s -subjects contains a larger collection of personal photographs and -little souvenirs of relatives and friends than may be seen at any one -of His Majesty’s homes. Only the cabinet-portraits, cheaply framed and -hung on the walls or stuck into card-racks, are those of the Emperor -William, or the Prince of Wales, or the King of Denmark, or some -other sovereign or prince with whom Sweden and Norway are on the best -of terms. Fans, pipes, snuff-boxes, and all sorts of _bric-à-brac_, -which have been presented at Christmas or other times, are displayed -on _étagères_ or under glass. I dare say that the pin-cushions, -antimacassars, and tidies one sees in the more private rooms, are the -gifts and the work of princesses, at the least. It would be hard if -royalty could not act like the commonalty once in a while and enjoy -things which are simple and cheap. - -The King has artistic tastes with a strong patriotic bias. He prefers -Norwegian pictures for his Christiania palace. No others are to be seen -there. Some of them are crude, but all show originality, and there -are a few pieces which, by their truthfulness and vigor, would make a -sensation in any _salon_. In front of one of these people spontaneously -collect and stand in horror and wonder. It is an old-fashioned -sea-fight, not one of the modern scientific kind, where the combatants -are at long range and almost invisible to one another. The crafts -engaged are a Viking-ship and a vessel of some power with which the -ancient Norsemen were at war. The former stands high out of water at -bow and stern. The latter is more clumsily built--scow-shaped. The two -are in dead-lock, and the crew of one is boarding the other. Every man -on both sides is wielding an axe, pike, or short sword, and carries a -knife in his teeth. There is a desperate resistance, but the Viking -fellows are surely overmastering their enemies. The deck of the doomed -ship is red with blood, and so is the water all about, as the victims -of the terrible combat sink to their death. One lingers spell-bound -before this picture till a cough from the guide reminds him to move on. - -Every one should see this remarkable painting before or after paying -a visit to the special wonder of Christiania. It is the fortune of -that city to own something which is unique in archæology. This is a -practically perfect specimen of the Viking-ships with which the fierce -sea-robbers of the North made their descents on the English and French -coasts eight hundred or a thousand years ago. It was recently dug out -of a burial-mound of blue clay, where it formed the sepulchre of the -chief who owned and commanded it. The surrounding earth had preserving -qualities; and so the wood-work of the ship, the iron bolts, part of -the iron anchor, some of the cordage, bits of the sail, spears, swords, -and shields were recovered in good order. The remains of the interred -hero had evidently been removed for some purpose in the distant past, -as there were traces of a hole through the mound and then through the -wooden tent-like inclosure where the body had been placed. The hull is -beautifully modeled--about seventy-two feet long, fifteen and a half -feet broad, and three and a half feet deep inside. There are holes for -thirty-two oars, many of which were found within the hull. They are of -various lengths from eighteen feet downward. The helm is attached by -a rope to the right side of the vessel near the stern-post. Pieces of -the single mast--which carried a square sail--are shown, but its height -is unknown. The general shape of the ship reminds one of a Venetian -gondola, than which nothing could be better designed for speed and -offensive qualities. The crew, from the elevated position, fore and -aft, could easily jump down to the vessels they were assailing; and -they could, by the same arrangement, more surely repel boarders. It -takes but little imagination to people this black, rakish hull with the -original pirates standing erect and prepared to leap on their prey, -and in their midst some fair-bearded giant whom they adored and would -follow to the death. Such a ship as this may have witnessed such scenes -of bloodshed as are depicted on that canvas in the King’s palace. - - -Fiords, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, snow-mountains, soft, rounded hills -alternating with low but savage precipices, cultivated and peaceful -valleys--these are characteristics of the scenery in Eastern Norway. -We desired to take an easy trip into the interior, admitting us to -the heart of the country, with the minimum sacrifice of comfort. The -problem was how to get a good miniature impression of the natural -features of this region in four days? Fortunately, there was (and -still is, I hope) a man in Christiania able to solve this problem to -the entire satisfaction of the anxious inquirer. His name is Bennett. -He cashes your drafts, he outlines your excursions, he furnishes you -with carriages, horses, and drivers, he sells you books, carved wood, -old Norwegian silver, and other curios; he is universal purveyor and -everybody’s friend. I went to Bennett and laid my wishes before him. -Would he be good enough to plan a little outing, say of four days, -warranted to afford some slight idea of picturesque Norway? - -The worthy man listened to the request with as much apparent interest -as if I had been the first person who had ever asked him that familiar -question. Squaring off at a sheet of paper, he rapidly drew the -skeleton of a trip which was at once adopted on his recommendation. -Luckily, he had a carriage on hand, which was just the thing for the -bad weather then threatening. It was a stout four-wheeler, with a -high seat for the driver and a hood which came forward like that of -the old-fashioned chaise, and a thick leather apron for the further -protection of the inmates. There was a spare seat for the hand-bags and -shawls, and a roomy box in the rear for extra harness and a small trunk -if required. But we proposed to dispense with any luggage larger than a -valise. Everything that Bennett suggested I at once agreed to. - -Presently he said, “Of course, you want a guide, to speak the language, -and save you trouble?” - -“Never, Bennett, never!” said I, calmly but firmly. There is something -more unpleasant than the worst of rains in the idea of having a -man constantly perched before one, cutting off what little view -he might have, and showing him things he does not want to see. I -remembered bitterly some of my experiences in Switzerland and Russia, -and determined to abandon the trip rather than take along such an -incumbrance. - -Bennett smiled sweetly, and shrugged his broad shoulders. “As you -please,” said he. “Perhaps you can manage to get along with a copious -phrase-book, giving the Norwegian and English in parallel columns, you -know. I have a fine pocket-edition cheap.” - -“Never, Bennett, never!” I repeated. “I just happened to look into one -of those phrase-books this morning. The reader is told to consult the -rules for pronunciation of Norwegian words, and be sure to apply them -carefully; otherwise he would not be understood by the natives. I tried -it on the word _skyds_ (English, ‘posting’). May I drop dead if it -wasn’t pronounced _shoss_! No, Bennett, no! I will never have anything -to do with a language like that!” - -He laughed pleasantly again, like one who is accustomed to dealing with -highly eccentric persons. “And pray, sir, what will you do?” - -“Bennett,” said I, “have you, or could you get for me, two or perhaps -three pounds of the copper coins _öre_--pronounced _ouray_, I believe?” - -“I have a barrel of ’em at your disposal.” - -“But I want only enough to fill up my outside pockets. And could you -supply me with twenty or thirty notes of one krone each?” - -“I understand,” said he, “and I am sure it will work. There is no -language like ready money, after all. But it is the last that most -people think of trying.” - -It took but a few minutes to cash a draft on my bankers in London. I -received enough copper _öre_ packed in small _rouleaux_ to fill two -pockets, and stuffed my wallet with single paper kroner. Then I knew I -was prepared for any emergency arising from ignorance of the Norwegian -tongue. Besides these smaller resources, there was a due provision of -larger currency which can never come amiss. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -A BABY KUDSK--TYRI-FIORD--HÖNEFOS--LAKE SPIRELLEN--DINNER AT A -SANITARIUM. - - -Next morning (August 9th) we made an early start, with Hönefos as -the objective point for the day, the hotel there having been highly -recommended to us. The postboy (_kudsk_) who was to drive to the first -station on the route, two hours distant, was not a boy, but a man. And -that was a damper upon the enthusiasm with which we should have set -out; for all the authorities on Norwegian traveling assure one that the -drivers are invariably real boys--when they are not girls. Much of the -charm, and most of the risk, which is itself a delightful excitement to -some people, of carriage-riding in Norway, is always said to consist -in the fact that you are in charge of a joyous child, whose infantile -ways divert you, when there is nothing else worth looking at. As we -had already journeyed over a part of the road in a little ride we had -taken out of Christiania some days before, we would have been glad to -extract some amusement from the driver. At the next station there would -be a change on the box-seat, and we were hoping for somebody a little -smaller and less obstructive of the view, than postboy number one. But -we were not prepared for what happened. I had settled for my mileage -up to that point with the _skyddsskaffer_ (station-master), paid the -overgrown postboy the gratuity in _öre_ which usage decrees to him, the -tired horses had been taken from the pole and fresh ones put on, and -we were impatient to be off again, when a little chap climbed up to -the box-seat. He looked six or eight years old. I supposed he was the -youngest brother of the driver, who had not yet appeared. His toes, by -stretching, just touched the dash-board. The child was so very young -that we thought of asking him to take part of a spare seat inside if -he wished to ride to the next station. We waited five minutes for the -driver, when, what was our amazement, to see the reins handed up to -the mite! He took them in his baby-hand like an old coachman. Then he -prattled something in Norwegian. In reply he received a whip-stock with -about three inches of lash. He looked at it scornfully, and flourished -it in the air to show that it would not “crack.” The poor little fellow -wanted a real whip, with a thong about ten feet long, which he could -snap as he passed every house, like his father and his grandfather, who -were somewhere on the road that same day. But the station-master had no -better whip, or was unwilling to trust the child with one. He ordered -the carriage on. I saw a tear steal down the cheek of Toddlekins, and -heard an infantile sob, but he suddenly checked himself and made a -scarcely audible noise with his lips, and the horses, hearing that -signal to go, flew down the road. I stood erect for a while, ready to -jump to the box-seat and seize the reins; but in a very few moments -both the mite and the horses had my entire confidence. - -The animals knew every inch of the road, and were perfectly trained. -They went fast or slow in the right places, and they turned aside -enough for every passing cariole or _stolkjærre_ (cart with seats for -two). Perhaps the horses should have all the credit for that highly -satisfactory drive. But we preferred to think that we owed our safety -and pleasure to the baby _kudsk_. At the foot of every hill he would -jump to the ground--I always felt like lifting him down--and, while the -ponies were struggling up, he would, in the gravest and most knowing -manner, inspect the state of the harness and the wheels, and be sure -that everything was right and tight. He was a model coachman, seen -through the wrong end of a telescope. When he had clambered up to his -seat again and all was going well, he would look in a distressed manner -at that mockery of a whip; he would repeat the motion of cracking it, -and when the miserable apology for a lash would not make the slightest -noise, his lip would quiver and he could hardly hold in his tears. We -were sorry that we had no candy to give him at the end of the ride, but -made up for it in small coin. If he had been a shade cleaner, I might -have kissed him for his mother, at parting. - -At this second station, Holmedal, we commanded a view of the -Hols-Fiord, a branch of the larger Tyri-Fiord. It is a ribbon of fresh -water winding between crags and wooded slopes and would pass for a lake -in any other country but Norway. It has no direct connection with the -salt-water, violating my preconceived notion of a fiord, which I had -always supposed to be a true arm of the sea, thrust far up into the -land like the fiord of Christiania, at the head of which stands the -beautiful city of that name. But one soon comes to learn that the same -sheet of water is called a fiord or a lake according to the caprice -of writers about Norway, who are at swords’ points on all subjects. -Lake George (New York), or the Italian Lake Como, would pass for a -fiord in Norway. But, aside from questions of nomenclature, there is -no disputing the loveliness of Hols-Fiord or of the nobler Tyri. We -looked down upon a mirror, which perfectly reflected the green hills -and the beetling rocks that composed its frame. There was not wind -enough for sailing, and the surface of the fiord was unvexed save by -a few fishermen’s boats lazily rowed through the smooth water. The -original lotos-eaters, stretched along the ground covered with dry-pine -needles in the rear of the house, would have been loath to quit the -idyllic scene. Nothing less imperative than a luncheon would have -called us away from it. We would have been more grateful for the savory -stew of mutton served at that meal, had we known that we were soon to -be put on short rations of meat. The one article of food that never -fails is the egg. The trout are left to flash their speckled sides in -the brook, instead of gracing the table. And by the road-side, millions -of bushels of delicious strawberries rot unregarded! All the women -and girls are busy in the house, and all the men and boys are guiding -and driving the mob of tourists. Thus the hen--which can scratch for -her living, and needs to be watched only for her eggs laid in the -neighboring barn--becomes the unfailing reliance. - -At the Holmedal station, a man who was resting there, on his way to -Christiania, recognized the carriage as his own. Bennett had hired it -of him, and sublet it to me. The owner learned from me that I had -agreed to send it back from Odnæs to Christiania, by rail or steamboat, -at my own expense; whereupon occurred to him the brilliant idea of -getting me to sell it for him for his standing price of four hundred -kroner (about one hundred and twelve dollars). I thought he was joking, -and dismissed his proposition with a laugh. While we were lunching, -the man resumed his journey. On re-entering the carriage, I found -upon the seat a paper written in Norwegian, and signed by a name and -address. It proved to be a document authorizing the bearer (myself) -to sell the carriage at Odnæs for four hundred kroner. Nothing was -said about paying the money to the signer; that was taken for granted. -I was interested in gratifying his wishes, to the extent of fifteen -kroner--that being the freight-charge on the carriage from Odnæs back -to Christiania. I tried to make the sale, but without success. Such -instances of confidence in perfect strangers are, it is said, not rare -in Norway. - - -A boy about ten years old here took the reins. He was so much larger -and maturer than the preceding youngster, that he looked a man in -contrast. He had a whip with a long lash, which he cracked continually, -till I was impelled to check his exuberance of spirits. He also had the -fault--which it seems impossible to correct in the Norwegian _kudsk_, -old or young--of urging the horses down-hill at a headlong gait. They -all seem to think that this must give the greatest possible pleasure to -the riders. It is, indeed, agreeably exciting at times, when the road -is free of stones and sunken places. But we were journeying along the -side of the Tyri-Fiord at a good height above it, and did not want our -attention distracted from its calm, sunny bosom. In the post-luncheon -mood, we would fain have rested half an hour each at some of the -points. But, as this would have delayed the arrival at Hönefos till an -unseasonable evening hour, we took in the scene on the wing. At one -elevation we seemed to survey the whole expanse of the Tyri-Fiord. It -was apparently landlocked. Not till one examines a map does he discover -that a long strip of water--Drammenselv--links it to Drammens-Fiord, -which in turn leads up to the Christiania-Fiord. And this is the only -tenure by which the Tyri holds the title that is so misleading to -travelers. But, whatever its classification in geography, it is one of -the most picturesque pieces of water in Europe. - -The tourist’s principal motive in visiting Hönefos is to see the -waterfalls. He wants those falls “neat,” as one may say--that is, -unmixed with baser things. If he could realize in advance the number -of saw-mills for which these falls supply the power, he would probably -stay away from Hönefos. His idea of a fall is of a body of water which -has nothing to do but tumble gracefully over rocks with a tremendous -roar and a following cloud of spray. If he is an American, and has -seen Niagara, he is sure to be very exacting in his requirement for -waterfalls. When such a man first beholds the cascades of Hönefos, -his feeling is one of disappointment. The saw-mills stand so thick as -to cut off the view of the foaming, white water at many points. The -bubbles that are borne toward him by the raging current are flecked -with the fine dust of wood. With the roar of the water is mingled the -sound of buzz-saws. - -But one soon adjusts himself to the conditions of the scene. The falls -are so attractive that, when he has studied them a little while, he -ceases to note the planks, the boards, the shingles, which are piled up -on the banks of the Bægna River, and the dust that whirls past him on -all the surface of the water, and he no longer hears the saws as the -teeth eat their way through the hard Norwegian pine-logs. By shading -his eyes with his hand, he can shut out the mills which occupy the -middle distance, and imagine himself in the presence of Nature before -man had harnessed her up for his use. And when he inspects the branches -or side-issues of the cataract, he finds some as untamed and free as -any mountain-brook. In these he sees the natural fall of the waters -over rocks of their own choosing, uncontrolled by dams and sluices. The -Bægna is about an eighth of a mile wide at the place where it takes a -sheer plunge of thirty feet, and then races away in rapids. The best -view may be had in safety from a bridge immediately below the falls. - -The village of Hönefos is compact and businesslike. But there is a -Garden of Eden at the north end of it. This is situated at a bend of -the river, where one can see the falls in the distance and hear their -deep roar free from the under-tone of the saw-mills. By a wise choice, -Glatved’s Hotel has been placed there, and the tired wayfarer knows not -which to praise the more, the quiet comfort of the well-kept inn or the -restful charm of the lovely grounds in which it stands. They are laid -out in walks, lined with flowers and fruit- and foliage-trees. In shady -spots stand little tables and rustic chairs for the use of those who -like to eat or drink _al fresco_. But that sort of thing, though very -romantic, is quite out of the question at nightfall, with the mercury -down to 55° Fahr. So we took our first meal at Glatved’s in the pretty -dining-room, and a very good supper it was. I distinctly remember the -crisp trout, the broiled chicken, the snowy bread, and a dish of -huckleberries with cream. There were few guests at that season of the -year, English for the most part, friendly and affable to us Americans. -Our sleeping-room was large and clean, and opened on a broad balcony -facing the river. There in the morning was served a capital breakfast. -The sun shone brightly. The distant falls sparkled. The roar of the -water was a musical bass. Birds flew among the trees and butterflies -hovered over the flowers. If all things were steeped in rose-color, who -can say how much of it was owing to the strong, fragrant coffee, with -whipped cream, the dainty lamb-chops, the fried potato-shavings, the -_omelette au confiture_ with its purple heart of raspberry-jam? - - -We had hoped to be favored with a girl instead of a boy as driver to -the next station on the route--Heen. After our experience the day -before, we felt that anybody who could sit on the box-seat and hold the -reins could manage trained ponies in use on Norwegian roads. A girl -could safely be trusted with them. But to our great disappointment, a -lout of a boy climbed up in front, and off we started for Heen--with -the injunction (from the young woman who settled our bill and saw us -off) ringing in our ears--“Stop at the Captain’s!” - -The road to Heen was sandy and hilly most of the way. There were more -dashing falls at Höfsfos. And we found, in the depths of a pinewood, -stunted bushes with just such blueberries on them as the people of -distant New Hampshire and Vermont were doubtless picking that very day. -It is one of the pleasantest incidents of foreign travel to come across -wild flowers and fruits identical with those of America. - -The Captain’s at Heen is the only name given to the roomy house -belonging to the commander of the steamboat that plies between that -place and Sörum on Lake Spirellen. We reached it about 1 P. M., at -the moment dinner was going on the Captain’s hospitable table. As our -carriage was destined to accompany us up the lake, that was the end -of the land-ride for the present, and we were glad of it. The Captain -greeted us as we alighted. He is a square-shouldered, resolute man, -who speaks English well. Instead of ordering some one else to do the -work, he put the carriage with his own hands on board the steamboat, -which was then lying at her wharf close by and ready to leave. The -Captain’s dinner was a good one, as ten or twelve persons who sat about -the board all agreed. Soup, fresh eggs, two kinds of meat, pudding, -strawberries, cheese, coffee, and wine and beer for those who ordered -them, satisfied every rational expectation. - -We all boarded the little craft in a contented frame of mind. The day -was cloudy, but not damp or cold. Our course, for several English -miles, was up the Bægna River, in the teeth of a tremendous current. -At times it ran like a mill-race. The boat could make headway in some -places only by closely hugging the shore. Occasionally we would see -logs, that had slipped their moorings in the lake beyond, coming down -the middle of the stream with frightful velocity and threatening to -punch holes in the bow. The steersman smoked his pipe as calmly as if -sitting by his own hearth. If any log ever touched the hull, it glanced -off harmless. There were moments when the boat refused to mind the -helm. Then the Captain, who stood hard by--pipe in mouth also--would -put his great hairy hands on the spokes, and she minded quickly then. -Presently we entered upon that expansion of the river known as Lake -Spirellen. It is the Tyri-Fiord over again--in its alternately tame and -wild environments--but the current still ridges itself in the center of -the lake, and only near its shores can the boat make six or eight knots -an hour. No landings are attempted, but passengers and freight are -taken off or put on by flat-bottomed barges, which require powerful -rowers to hold them against the stream. We killed time watching these -struggling craft, or gazing through the crystal water down to the -grassy bottom, which our keel almost scraped. - -It was nearly dark when we landed at Sörum and the boat tied up for -the night. We all hurried ashore, to try our luck at a new hotel -whose unpainted sides showed a beautiful wood-color against the dark -background of hills. There was in its newness a promise of clean beds, -and wholesome, if homely, fare. The beds proved to be good, and the -fare was undoubtedly satisfactory to persons, if any, who happen to -prefer hard-boiled eggs to meat. For it was the five-minute egg that -formed the staple of supper and again of breakfast. The eggs were -always brought on in heaping platefuls wrapped up in hot napkins and -deceiving the eye with the promise of something better than themselves, -till the cloth was removed by a waitress, disclosing the standard -food of the smaller inns of Eastern Norway. But the bread, butter, -and cheese were very good, and there was a choice of tea, coffee, and -chocolate. What the Sörum hotel lacked, even more than meat, was modern -improvements. It is the want of these that makes the traveler, who has -outlived his passion for roughing it, think at least twice before he -makes up his mind to enter upon an extended tour of the interior of the -country. The most primitive New England farm-house of twenty-five years -ago was better off in these respects than any Norwegian hotel we have -seen outside of Christiania. - - -The third day of the excursion was the one to which we had looked -forward with the greatest pleasure; for the route from Sörum to Odnæs -was said to traverse some of the finest scenery in Eastern Norway. -We were promised a succession of high mountains, some snow-clad, -waterfalls leaping down precipices, and valleys unsurpassed in -loveliness stretching between the frowning heights. Throw in a lavish -supply of lakes and rivers, with Rands-Fiord as the goal, and you have -the seductive features of the journey as we had fondly dreamed of it. - -But the day opened with lowering weather. The air was full of moisture. -It seemed like a sponge just waiting to be squeezed a little to give -down rain. There was a good twelve hours’ ride before us to Odnæs. So I -determined to be off early. Everybody else at the hotel who was bound -in the same direction was equally anxious to get away. Breakfast was -ordered for us at half-past six, and, even before I had attacked my -ration of hard-boiled eggs, I interviewed the head-hostler upon the -subject of horses for the carriage, which had been drawn up before the -hotel during the night. He was a Norwegian who did not speak a word -of English; and, if he had spoken it as well as myself, we could not -have conversed at any length, he was so beset by people all wanting -their carriages and horses immediately. Thus far in our progress from -Christiania I had not had occasion to test the persuasive power of the -krone. The humble öre had been good enough for the trivial exigencies -that had hitherto arisen. Taking care not to be observed by others, -I held up one of the enticing bits of paper so that the head-hostler -could see it. Then I said “Odnæs,” and displayed seven fingers. - -Sure enough, at 7 A. M., sharp, there was the carriage with two fine -ponies attached, and a bright-looking lad in the seat, waiting at the -door of the hotel for me. Other persons, who had previously ordered -their carioles or _stolkjœrres_, looked on in amazement. They had been -coaxing and scolding the poor man, but had evidently not thought of my -simple expedient to secure his attention. - -We set out in fine style, with much cracking of the whip, all for -effect, however, as Norwegian horses need only a hint--which sounds -like uncorking a bottle, and is made by the lips of the driver--in -order to display their speed. They stop with equal readiness in -response to a buzzing sound emitted between his teeth. The road -was good, and that was fortunate, for we went at a frightful pace -over every short level stretch, and just the same down-hill. Some -of the hills slope at an angle of forty-five degrees. But this made -no difference. The horses dashed down one with a speed that did not -slacken till they had proceeded some distance up the next hill. They -would climb this at a fast walk, and at the top would be fresh and -ready for another plunge. After we had taken several of these dives and -come up safe and sound, the sensation of anxiety about consequences -wore off, and we enjoyed the delirious rush. They recalled the -excitement of tobogganing and swinging. But they did not permit that -survey of the scenery which one ought to take leisurely in Norway. -Whether we went fast or slow mattered but little that day, however, for -the rain soon began to fall in torrents. It was a steady down-pour, -which taxed our utmost resources in leather aprons, waterproofs, -shawls, and umbrellas. We were obliged to close the sides of the -carriage with oil-skins which had been provided by the ever-thoughtful -Bennett. Thus almost hermetically sealed up, we missed the charms of -the landscape, save when, at rare intervals, we would make a little -chink through the folds of the envelopes and catch tantalizing -glimpses of it. The driver--poor boy--must have been soaked through -his heavy top-coat to the skin. He urged his horses at their topmost -speed, to gain the station where some other luckless fellow must take -his place. We reached it in about three hours, and found it full of -travelers, rained in. Bed and board there were out of the question, in -the crowded condition of the station, and our only recourse was to go -ahead. - -Here the omnipotent kroner again came into play with immense effect. -The exhibition of a few of them procured an immediate change of horses, -and no less a person than the station-master himself occupied the post -of driver. A full-grown man was very acceptable for that function in -such weather. Small boys and girls were no more to be thought of. -The station-master made himself as nearly waterproof as possible; -and I hope was none the worse for his exposure to the storm, which -continued unabated all the way to a certain Sanitarium at which we -had been advised to stop for luncheon, instead of going on to the -regular station for that meal. Never was advice better given, or more -obediently followed. We found the Sanitarium a large, first-class -house. It would be a haven of rest, even in the finest weather, after -three hours of furious driving. As a refuge from the pitiless storm, -it was welcome and delightful beyond description. Luckily, we did -not want a room, for the house was packed full of summer boarders, -who were said to be drinking or bathing in the mineral waters which -are the chief attractions of the place. In whatever way they took the -waters, they were undoubtedly deriving benefit from them; for when we -sat down to dinner with about one hundred and fifty of the convalescent -patients, we never saw such a display of ravenous appetites. The bill -of fare was long. The waiters were nimble and attentive. The dishes -were gigantic platters, heaped up with food and passed with the utmost -dispatch down the long lines of hungry guests. As fast as these mighty -trays were cleared of their burdens, others equally large and laden -with steaming meats or vegetables would come to the rescue. A sturdy -corps of white-aproned carvers, at an adjoining table, could be heard -slashing away at the hot joints, trying to keep pace with the jaws of -the patients, and were at last successful, however difficult their task. - -It would not have been thought possible, but is a fact that, in the -final stage of the repast, plenty of fruit was passed around and -no takers. But then it must be explained that pudding, ice-cream, -cakes, and a most toothsome dish, which I will now briefly describe -from the best information procurable, had already made the circuit -for all who wanted them. This novel delicacy, without an English -name, is prepared as follows: A thin gruel is made of rice-flour, -or farina will do. Into this, while boiling hot, a mixture of -jellies is introduced--the greater the variety the better. Currant, -raspberry, strawberry--whatever the good housewife finds on her -pantry-shelves--are all dumped in together and vigorously stirred. The -artful compounder studies how to blend the natural flavors of these -jellies so that no one shall be in the ascendant. When the operation -is an entire success, the eaters should not be able to distinguish any -particular berry in the compost, but should enjoy a gustatory effect -in which each of the jellies is lost, only to reappear improved in a -new and delicious combination that defies analysis on the palate. It is -eaten, hot or cold, with or without cream and sugar. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -OMNIPOTENT KRONER--THE FAMILY PARLOR AT ODNÆS--RANDS AND CHRISTIANIA -FIORDS. - - -At the Sanitarium we scraped acquaintance with one of the ever-friendly -English race. When he learned that we were bound to Odnæs that -afternoon through the rain, which was still pouring, he expressed -his sympathy. For he explained that it was impossible to get any -accommodations at the only hotel there. He and a party of friends had -been turned away from that house the night before, and had come on in -the dark to the Sanitarium, where they were fortunate in securing the -billiard-table--the only sleeping-place (except the floors) not then -engaged. - -As there was no prospect of a relief from the pressure at any place -on the road while the severe storm lasted, we were in a quandary. But -I had unfailing faith in the power of kroner, and decided to go on. -We could not be worse off at Odnæs than at the Sanitarium, and, when -there, would be so much farther on the way to Christiania and the home -comforts of the Victoria Hotel. - -If the day had been fine, the view from this watering-place in the -hills would have been magnificent. It takes in a marvelous combination -of peaks, table-lands, valley, lakes, and rivers. But none of these -objects were visible through the rain; and, after many abortive efforts -to catch glimpses of grandeur and loveliness which we had come so far -to see, we shut ourselves up in the carriage as tightly as possible, -and tried in vain to sleep. - -The road to Odnæs was down-hill most of the way, and the drivers, whom -we changed twice, made good time. After five hours of imprisonment in -the carriage, relieved only by alighting at two little stations while -fresh horses were put to the pole, we reached Odnæs. The moment we -came in view of the hotel I realized how hopeless was the expectation -of obtaining any bed there. Six or eight vehicles of different kinds -were drawn up in front of the door. Others were squeezed into the small -sheds near the large stables, the stalls of which had long been filled -with horses, the later comers being tied to trees near the house. -But the most convincing evidence of an overflow was the human crowd -on the balcony, in the doorways and windows. Every pane of glass had -its peering face. There were rows of people standing on tip-toe and -looking over one another’s heads at us as our driver brought round -the carriage as near the front door as he could get. The countless -lookers-on smiled sarcastically as they saw us about to alight. That -unanimous grin suddenly decided my line of action. - -The head-porter of the hotel presented himself at the door of the -carriage. He had good manners, and spoke a little English. He deeply -regretted that they could not give us anything better than a place on -the floor, without bedclothes of any kind. - -“Very well,” said I, pointing to a neat little house--the only one in -sight--“perhaps they can take us in.” - -“Varee soree, sir, but they been all full two day.” - -In this serious emergency, I must test the virtue of kroner. I handed -one to the head-porter, and promised him three more if he would secure -a bed for us in that cottage. - -“I vill try, sir,” he replied, with a slight shrug of the shoulders; -but he spoke as one not without hope. - -Jumping to the front seat by the side of the driver, he ordered the -carriage on to the other house. We pulled up before it, and waited -there in the rain while the head-porter went inside to interview the -proprietor. - -We knew from the exterior of the dwelling that it was private, and that -lodging and board were provided by the occupants only as a favor to -those who could not possibly be accommodated at the hotel. - -In about five minutes, that seemed equal to fifteen--so acute was our -suspense--the good fellow returned beaming with smiles, and followed by -a man who looked a welcome which he could not speak. - -The head-porter wore an air of mystery as he thrust his head into the -carriage and said, in a low voice: “You vill have de best room--de -parlor. Dey vill make you much attention. Don’t say noting.” - -“Mum’s the word,” said I, not understanding the object of the last -remark, and not caring to ask. It was evident, from the manner of the -master of the house, that, during the last five minutes, he had been in -some way powerfully impressed with a sense of our importance; and, in -consequence, had consented to give up his parlor, which he had refused -to all previous comers. I appreciated the courtesy, knowing from books -how sacred in the eyes of all these northern races is the parlor--or -best room--of the house. - -The promised reward was slipped into the hand of the diplomatic -head-porter. He smiled his thanks. - -“You vill please be so goot to step out,” he then said, taking his hat -off in the rain to mark his profound respect for us. - -We observed that this act had its effect on the man who stood looking -down from the piazza, for he bowed in sympathy. - -I do not to this day know by what highly colored representations the -extraordinary privilege was obtained. I only know that, as if by magic, -the prohibition was removed from this almost holy room, and two single -beds--which probably were in use elsewhere by members of the family at -the time of our arrival--were brought in. The proprietor, his wife, -and three bright little girls all lent ready hands to transforming -the parlor into a comfortable sleeping-room. As not one of them could -speak any English, they only looked at us deferentially. In their eyes -we were persons of great distinction--thanks, no doubt, to the lively -imagination of our good friend from the Odnæs Hotel. - -The parlor had a neat, home-woven carpet--a rare decoration in -Norwegian houses--an excess of new furniture in mahogany and -horse-hair, brightly figured window-curtains, and family photographs -hung on the papered walls. Having arrived late, we were anxious to sup -at once, and the head-porter had told them to hurry up. But they were -desirous to show their respect in preparing a supper of unimpeachable -excellence. We were, therefore, kept waiting and hungry for about -an hour; and, during this interval, the pleasant landlady and her -daughters frequently knocked at the door, and, upon being admitted, -would courtesy, and proceed to bring in more towels, or water, or -drinking-glasses, or something else supposed to be conducive to our -comfort. Among the other offerings was a vase of flowers. - -The supper would have been very good for persons who could not have too -many hard-boiled eggs at once. They were the principal dish, and in -the abundance of their supply we recognized a marked compliment. For -ordinary persons probably not more than four eggs apiece would have -been served. There were about two dozen in the bowl before us, covered -by a steaming napkin to keep them warm. The only meat was ham unboiled -and thin slices of sausage, which did not commend themselves to -conservative palates. But berries and cream, the bread and butter, and, -above all, the cheese were highly relished, and the only fault with the -tea was what one finds everywhere--its weakness. We were waited on by -the little girls, looking nice with their hair done up in ribbons, and -long, snow-white aprons strapped about their shoulders. They watched -us with great curiosity, and occasionally compared notes in whispers. -Their manner indicated that they were overawed. - -Meanwhile our presence in the house had caused no small stir among -other guests, who filled every available nook and corner. It may well -have surprised them to see the spacious apartment, which they had all -longed to occupy at any price, finally given up to two persons, when, -with close packing, it might have sufficed for a stag-party of ten. -We were much stared at whenever we entered and left the room; and two -Englishmen, after eying me closely awhile, tried to draw me into a -conversation about myself; but I recalled the mysterious injunction, -“Don’t say noting!” and stood on my dignity. If there was any illusion -of which we were reaping the advantage--if, for example, we had been -represented by the romancing head-porter as a princely couple traveling -_incognito_--it was not for me to assist in dispelling it. - - -After a good night’s rest, we sat down to more hard-boiled eggs about -six o’clock in the morning. We breakfasted thus early in order to take -the steamer down the Rands-Fiord to the point of rail connection with -Christiania. The rain had ceased, the air was temperate, and we could -see all around us signs of the approaching departure of guests so long -weather-bound at Odnæs. Most of them were going on to Sörum, over the -road we had traveled the day before. Only two or three persons from the -hotel--and none from the little cottage--were destined for the steamer. - -The bill for our accommodation was presented, and proved to be -reasonable. If we had unconsciously been posing as high and mighty -personages, we were not unduly charged for it. When the family -assembled on the piazza to see us off, their manners showed how much -they appreciated the honor we had done them. May they never be made -victims of a less innocent imposition! If, to keep up the character -thrust upon me, I tipped a trifle to the daughters of the house, I hope -to be pardoned for that much complicity in the fraud. - -Our guide-book said that the Rands-Fiord was only six and a half -miles long, and we had thoughtlessly supposed the miles in question -to be English. But, to be sure of it, when we got on board I asked -the captain (who spoke English fairly) what time the boat was due at -the railway-station down the fiord. Looking at his watch--which then -marked seven o’clock--he replied, “At half-past one.” “What!” said -I, in amazement, “six hours and a half for as many miles?” “Yes,” he -answered, laughing, “Norwegian miles!” One of these equals seven of -English measure. - -There was some little delay in putting the carriage--the trusty -companion of our travels--on board. It had been hauled down from the -house where we passed the night, and hoisted to the upper deck of -the baby-steamer, out of the way. This done, we began the passage of -the Rands-Fiord, and found it pleasantly unexciting. It is almost a -duplicate of Lake Spirellen, save that the water has less of a current, -and the surrounding mountains are tamer. There is no apparent reason -why the one sheet of water is called a lake and the other a fiord. -They are both expansions of rivers, like the Tyri-Fiord heretofore -described, and in no sense inlets of the sea, though they may empty -into it by long and winding streams. We stopped many times on the trip -to take on or let off passengers. With only a few exceptions, the -transfer, as on Lake Spirellen, was made rapidly by small boats, which -put off for the shore as we approached a landing-place, and did the -business of shipping or unloading passengers and freight with neatness -and dispatch. These transfers, often as they occurred, were in the -nature of “incidents” of the voyage, and every person on board watched -the operation for the twentieth time with unabated interest. - -The great event of the day was a dinner served at 1 P. M. in the small -cabin below deck. It was a solid meal, with varieties of meat, which -we were glad to taste again after our short deprivation of fresh beef -and mutton. Just before we reached our destination at the end of the -fiord, the sun shone out with a splendor that rejoiced all hearts. It -made the little dancing waves of the Rands-Fiord sparkle, and threw a -warm flush over the dark hills on either hand. As we looked back on the -water which had been traversed, it recalled the Tappan-Zee of the noble -Hudson River as seen from Piermont. - -At the Rands-Fiord station we took rail--the carriage following by -the goods-train--for Christiania. This part of the route, though one -from which the traveler expects the least, is no less interesting than -the rides by carriage or steamer. The train passes through one of the -loveliest districts of Eastern Norway. The line skirts the west shore -of the Tyri-Fiord, affording glimpses of blue mountains not seen on -our journey along the east shore. It passes through the old towns of -Hangsund and Drammen, enabling the tourist to see occasionally from -the car-windows houses and costumes slightly different from those he -finds in the more modern and conventional Christiania. And then, with -a mighty curve, the train follows the trend of the magnificent and -properly named fiord upon which Christiania stands. The views here are -very fine. From the height above the water one can look down on the -calm expanse dotted with little islands, each one green with its patch -of woodland, or brown with its ripe rye and barley. The sails of the -pleasure-yachts and fishing-smacks gleam against the dark bosom of the -fiord; and at intervals of a few miles along the shore are towns or -villages where white houses shine from afar--proofs positive of the -industry and thrift of the Scandinavian race. One may travel thousands -of miles west and east, north and south in Norway and never behold a -fairer scene than that which made everybody on the train thrust head -out of window and gaze at it until a range of low coast-hills shut it -from view. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -THE GOTHENBURG WHALE--THREE KINGS IN A BUNCH--NORTHERN OUT-DOOR LIFE--A -STUDY OF WINDMILLS. - - -Let me tell my readers something about the pursuit of a whale under -difficulties. At Gothenburg, Sweden, I learned that a stuffed whale, -sixty feet long, could be seen in a museum of that city. Objects said -to be whales in the act of spouting are often pointed out to one at -sea. But they are usually miles away. They throw up jets which look in -the distance like little puffs of steam or exploding beer-bottles. I -always assented to the existence of those whales, to avoid controversy, -but reserved my doubts. Here, at last, was promised on the dry land -what had never really been seen by me on the ocean. So I lost no time -in seeking out the museum. Entering it, I steered at once for the fish -department. A single glance up and down the long room convinced me that -there was not even a baby-whale among its skinny and foul-smelling -treasures. An old woman, with a large brass plate--numbered--hanging -round her neck, was the only other living occupant of the room. She -was the custodian. I said, “Speak English?” She only shook her head. -As I could not speak Swedish, I tried pantomime, which goes a great -way in strange countries. First I looked round in astonishment, as if -missing something that ought to be there; then stretched both hands -as high and wide as possible, to imply that the thing wanting was of -immense size; finally, made a noise like the fizz of champagne, and -jerked both thumbs into the air. I flattered myself that all that meant -a whale, if anything. But the old woman’s face remained a wrinkled -blank. She did not “catch on.” A happy thought! I opened out both -arms like a pair of jaws big enough to take in Jonah. She exclaimed, -“Yaw!” with much energy, and took me to a corner of the room and left -me in front of--an alligator, with a very open countenance. Still -keeping my temper--though under extreme provocation--I made a fierce -wiggle-waggle motion with both hands to represent a big fish that -thrashes about a good deal with his flat tail. This time there could be -no doubt that she understood me, for she, piloted me into a side-show, -where I brought up before--a shark. That was too much for my patience. -Forgetting that the poor woman could not speak a word of English, I -cried out: “How stupid! Why don’t you show me the whale?” You should -have heard her yell: “Oh, yaw, yaw! der vale, der vale!” Thus near was -the Swedish word to the English one all the time I was wasting my best -pantomime on her. In two minutes more I had descended a long corkscrew -flight of stairs at the heels of the aged guide, and there, in a cool -basement, found the monster upon the ownership of which Gothenburg is -entitled to put on airs, for it is claimed to be the largest whale -ever skinned and mounted. It is all of sixty feet long, and so thick -in proportion, that twenty Jonahs could sit around inside quite -comfortably. In fact, its interior is fitted up with seats, and may be -hired by small parties who take a fancy to eating and drinking in a -whale’s belly. Alongside of the skin is the skeleton, also an object of -great interest, looking like the frame of a schooner bottom-side up. - - -It is not often that the tourist has a chance to see three kings in a -bunch. At Copenhagen we were just in time to witness the entry of the -King of Portugal. He came to pay a little visit to the King of Denmark, -one of whose sons, the King of Greece, was then spending a few days -at the old home. I hope it is not very unrepublican to say that if I -must look on kings I prefer that they should “act as such,” and always -be wearing their crowns and robes, and holding scepters in their hands -like pokers. If they would ride on horseback, or in golden chariots, so -much the better. These three kings sat in open barouches, like other -people; and they had left their robes and crowns and scepters at home. -But they were good enough to put on gorgeous cocked hats with fountains -of white feathers, and coats plastered all over with gold which served -as a background for decorations blazing with diamonds. It was not for -me--as the stern and unbending representative of a republic--to scowl -upon all those lovely gewgaws and that beautiful man-millinery. They -seemed appropriate enough for an occasion of show. The philosopher -accepts them gratefully, like any other free entertainment. Probably -the three kings were bored by it more than any of the spectators. The -King of Portugal is a middle-aged, stout gentleman with an expression -of face amiable as far as it could be seen under a weeping-willow of -plumes. To be born good-looking is a great initial advantage. Perhaps -that is why the young King of Greece received so large a share of the -applause. The reception was planned for the royal stranger. But the -people of Copenhagen take a lively personal interest in their own -dynasty. They follow its fortunes in all parts of the world, and, when -any of its members return for a visit, they never fail to testify their -pleasure. If King Christian of Denmark needed the indulgence of his -people to any great extent, much would be pardoned to him because he -is the father of so many good-looking children who have got on in the -world. - -These lucky children reciprocate the popular feeling at Copenhagen, -and come back from their distant thrones at least once a year. Then -there is a regular house-warming. The husbands and the wives and the -babies are all on hand. The court photographer is called in, and -pictures of the party are taken in a variety of combinations and -attitudes. A favorite group is one in which the Tsar of Russia--the -big brother-in-law--occupies the central position. He is a tall, -bluff-looking man, with a laughing face. In a Derby hat and a -shooting-jacket he would pass for a young English squire, without a -care in the world. He holds by the hand--with a tight grip, one would -say--the gentle Dagmar who shares his fate. By her side is one who -looks almost like her twin-sister--the Princess of Wales--and the -Prince himself is within touch. The tallest and best looking of all -the men is the King of Greece, and his queen nestles up to him very -fondly in the pictures. The Crown-Prince of Denmark is also there, -doing credit to the family. His wife, a princess of Sweden, with -other desirable qualities, is rich in her own right--a fact of which -the thrifty Danes remind you with pride. The youngest, Princess Thyra -and her husband, the Duke of Cumberland, with the unmarried son of -the King, make up the second generation of this great family party. -The first consists of the parents--the still comely Christian and his -wife--and the third generation is a mass of babies that I have never -stopped to count. They swarm all over the steps of the palace where -these pictures are taken. Some one of them is always wriggling about, -just enough to blur the photograph at that point. - - -There is something pathetic in the way that the people of Copenhagen, -Gothenburg, Christiania, and other northern cities make the most of -their short summer. Flowers are very precious to them, since they can -have them for so few months out-of-doors. We found every available -foot of front garden brilliant with blossoms--the reddest and -yellowest preferred. Every window in every house had its box of pinks, -nasturtiums, marigolds, heliotropes, and mignonettes. For the time -being the natives make believe that they are living in the tropics. -They play with sun-shades and awnings as if they really needed them. -They imitate the custom of Italy, and take their meals in the open air, -as if it were not generally cool and uncomfortable there. I never saw -an illusion better maintained. But I noticed that many, who carried -the self-deception too far, paid for it in coughs and sneezes. It was -not till we descended to the latitude of Hamburg, that we found it -an unalloyed pleasure to sit under the trees in the edge of evening -and dine. The good Hamburgers know how to live. They have established -a first-class zoölogical garden in a shady wood, near the center of -their city. They have stocked this garden with the most ferocious -and delightful wild beasts, securely caged. They have organized a -restaurant and _café_ of an incredible feeding capacity. They have -provided chairs for everybody. They have hired the best military band -in Hamburg and bade it play every day free of cost to all comers. - -We went out there to dinner one afternoon--between five and six -o’clock--and saw a sight not yet so familiar that it has ceased to be -deeply interesting. There were thousands of women and young girls, -neatly dressed, sitting at little tables sipping their coffee or beer -and nibbling their pretzels, and knitting or sewing “between whiles.” -Every one was talking or laughing. Between and under and over the -tables, and constantly on the move, were the happiest of children, in -numbers past counting. It was evident that this was the children’s -hour, and that they, with all their mothers and nurses, were having a -good time. In the midst of the joyous tumult would be heard the bark of -the seal, the roar of the lion, the squall of the peacock. Presently -the men began to collect and to occupy seats not hitherto taken. -Corks popped out of bottles and incense ascended from the deep bowls -of pipes. The fathers had come to join their babies. Not a policeman -was in sight, and there was no need of one. The only turbulent and -dangerous creatures anywhere around were the wild beasts, and they -were behind the bars. The music was exceedingly good--as it always is -in Germany--and it was pleasant to watch the vast audience drinking in -the sweet sounds with ecstasy and beating time with knitting-needles, -pipes, beer-mugs, and everything else handy. But in some of the most -delicate passages of favorite compositions, when the conductor was -doing his best to quiet down the band, funny effects would be produced -by the growls of the bears, which somebody was stirring up with a long -pole. - -Before quitting the colder lands of the North, let me not fail to -mention the warm, luxuriant--almost tropical--tastes of her sculptors. -After leaving Rome and Florence, one never sees as many marble Venuses, -Cupids, Adonises, and Apollos as in the capitals of Sweden, Norway, -and Denmark. They are all new, and sparkle like loaf-sugar. At first, -I thought they were copies of great originals in the Italian galleries. -But they proved to be native conceptions of the old myths, wrought out -with the patient art--if not the skill--of the true Greek. It would -take double windows and red-hot stoves to make those gods and goddesses -look comfortable in-doors in a Norwegian January. The costume of Eden -is even less adapted to the temperature of the front yard. Imagine -Venus in a snow-drift! - - -Coming by boat from Korsör, Denmark, to Kiel, Prussia, the passengers -on our steamboat had the pleasure of reviewing a division of the German -ironclad fleet. Attention was first caught by the rapid discharge of -cannon from a man-of-war in the offing. We could see her balls strike -the water. At the same time she was tacking to all points of the -compass and making signals. We next came in sight of a torpedo-fleet. -Each boat had a little smoke-stack, and hugged the water like a spider. -With the most powerful glass the details of this fleet could not be -made out at a distance of four or five miles. Then we passed two or -three great black hulks, with a double row of teeth all round. These -were war-ships of the ordinary type, and did not make one think very -highly of the German navy. But, a few miles farther on, there was -a change of opinion. Inside the spacious harbor of Kiel, and under -the guns of the great forts, lay the flower of the ships upon which -Germany will rely in her next war with a naval power. We counted twelve -of them--all new and terrible. They comprised every variety of ram -and battery, but we could not make out anything that looked like a -revolving turret. One mode of armament is a favorite. It consists of -two guns mounted to sweep the upper forward deck, two with the freest -play on the starboard and two more on the port side. The guns are -all of large caliber, of great length, designed for pounding at long -range. Seen aft, these ironclads are very noticeable for their breadth -of beam. They would float tranquilly enough, but seem deficient in -speed. As they were all at anchor, we could not judge of that point. -The skeletons of other vessels which promise to be, when completed, -as formidable as those before us, were to be seen in the imperial -ship-yards near by. Every country of Europe which has a navy is -exercising it about this time. Germany is only in the fashion when she -orders out her ironclads for mock-battles in the Baltic. But, though we -all knew this fact, we could not help wondering what power she intended -to impress with these exhibitions of her resources on the sea. - - -I suppose that few travelers trouble themselves to study windmills from -the inside. Perhaps these structures are best regarded as artistic -objects. They certainly set off landscapes very well. Standing on -little elevations, flinging out their gaunt arms against the evening -sky, they kindle the fancies of the beholder. A brain cooler than Don -Quixote’s might imagine them endowed with life. I confess to an ancient -desire to know something of the internal economy of windmills. It was -hard to understand how such slender, graceful towers could contain the -machinery for doing any really serious work, and, still more, that -the arms could have hurt Don Quixote very much when he pitched into -them, lance in rest. Revolving lazily in a moderate breeze, they look -harmless enough. An inspection of the works of one of the windmills on -a hill-top in Bremen has enlightened me a little. That which looks so -small and fragile at a distance, is a four-story house. It is at once -a granary, a mill, and a residence. The miller and his family have -in it their roomy parlor, dining-room, kitchen, and chambers. These -apartments are all comfortably furnished, and so well isolated that -the floating meal, of which the air is full in the mill itself, does -not invade their home. I have never seen anything neater, snugger, -and more generally habitable than the set of rooms which the miller’s -good wife was pleased to show us. When the wind stirred, there was no -idleness on those premises. The arms--monstrous when measured from -the upper platform--turned three great mill-stones, and had power -to spare. The miller and his boys strained every muscle to feed the -ravenous maws and bag the meal as fast as produced. Americans in Europe -are too apt to think ill of the old-fashioned modes of working here. -Windmills are often cited by them as specimens of antiquated notions. -They would change their minds if they could see, as I saw, how simply, -effectively, and above all how cheaply, a windmill can do useful work -for mankind. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -DIAMOND-CUTTING AT AMSTERDAM. - - -There is something in the business of diamond-cutting that appeals -strongly to the imagination. - -It must be extremely interesting to see the precious stones at the -mines disclosing themselves to the anxious seekers. Any chance blow -of the pick may bring to light a mate for the Koh-i-noor, the Orloff, -the Shah, the Sancy, the Pitt, the Hope, or any other of the great -diamonds of the world. In a moment the digger may become a rich man. -His occupation has all the excitement of gambling, with the essential -difference in his favor that he can make a steady living at it, -though he may fail to draw one of the capital prizes. Work in the -diamond-fields of Brazil and South Africa is a legitimate pursuit, -and, when well directed, wrests a subsistence from the stony earth as -surely as from a corn-patch or a cabbage-garden. It is, perhaps, more -seductive to the outside observer than to the fellow down there in the -pit who does all the grubbing. - -The traveler who can not make it convenient to go to South Africa or -Brazil to see diamonds found, may, by visiting Amsterdam, see them -cut. That old Dutch city--famous for its grave men, its plump women, -its dikes, its canals, its quaint houses, its commercial push, its -thrift and consequent wealth--enjoys the unique distinction of cutting -the diamonds of the world. Within a few years some other cities have -engaged in the business in a small way. But Coster, of Amsterdam, -still handles most of the rough stones which reach Europe. At his -establishment the Koh-i-noor was recut, and its latent fire fully -revealed. He gave to the Star of the South--the largest stone ever -unearthed in Brazil--the blaze of light which justifies its brilliant -name. He may truly be said to find the real diamond under the dull, -opaque crust which often hides its glow in the native state. He is even -more the discoverer of its beauties than the man who picked it out of -its gravelly bed. - -If Baedeker had given me some account of Coster’s way of cutting -diamonds, I might not have taken the trouble to look him up in -Amsterdam, where there are so many other things to claim the tourist’s -attention. But, in the absence of such information, I was impelled to -seek it for myself. - -In books one may see pictures of diamond-mining in Brazil, where the -slaves are represented as toiling with shovels and hoes in rich -gravel, while overseers stand in sentry-boxes all about, watching -every movement of the men lest they may conceal some gem in their -scanty clothing. He wonders if they keep up that kind of espionage at -Coster’s, where the opportunities for stealing diamonds must be very -great. I supposed there would be some difficulty in gaining admission -to a place where pecks of stones were lying round loose in various -stages of treatment, and even the air was full of diamond-dust. This -was romance. Now let us look at the reality. - -Coster offers no obstacle to the inquiring mind. It is only understood -that a small sum of money--a guilder (thirty-eight cents) is the proper -size of it--must be paid to the superintendent, who turns it over to -a fund for the good of the workmen. Every person who bears in his -face and clothes evidence of his ability to stand that assessment is -admitted and made welcome; and, if he has a lady with him, that is the -best voucher of his pecuniary responsibility. - -The man who piloted us about Coster’s spoke English, and made himself -agreeable. He first showed a handful of stones in the rough. As he -tossed them down carelessly on a table, I thought they were bits of gum -or grains of tapioca. Not one of them sparkled. Their hue was generally -a dirty yellow; only a few were milk-white; some were cream-colored. -Invited to examine the stones, I took them into my hand with some -reluctance, and kept my eye all the time on the exhibitor, being afraid -he might turn his head, or be called off to another part of the room, -and leave me in possession of those treasures, with a blind confidence -in my integrity. I trust it would not have been misplaced, but do not -want to take charge of a handful of diamonds, even temporarily, for -anybody else. There was no need of anxiety on this score, for the man’s -gaze was never once withdrawn from that valuable property. - -It was hard to realize that those poor-looking scraps of mineral were -diamonds--some worth one thousand dollars apiece when cut. Not one of -them was a perfect crystal, a pair of pyramids set base to base, of -which we see diagrams in the books. The edges had mostly been worn away -by much rolling in water, as one would say, their general appearance -being that of pebbles smoothed in a brook. But, on close inspection, -remains of the original crystalline shape were always detected. Every -diamond still retained rudimentary cutting edges, which are all that -is left of the old sharp lines. As they rested in my palm, they felt -cold as ice. As they struck against one another in moving them about, -they emitted faint, musical sounds; and their weight was remarkable -for their bulk. These peculiarities would attract the notice of the -most ignorant person. He would know that the stones in his hand were -out of the common. But it would be safe to bet that, if they were -thrown down by the quart in the streets among other stones, they would -pass unnoticed by persons not familiar with the appearance of uncut -diamonds. The experiment, however, is not likely to be made. - -After examining this handful of diamonds, one has no desire to see any -more in the rough. He could look at a cart-load of them without the -least emotion. They do not excite that feeling of cupidity which is -said to exist, however passive, in every human breast. - -Our guide then led us into a room where we saw the first process of -cutting. Several men were engaged in this work, which requires great -experience, judgment, and skill. It is there that the shape of the -polished stones is decided upon--whether it shall be a brilliant with -many flashing facets, or a rose with but few. Here the faults, if -any, of each stone are discovered by unerring eyes, and the defective -parts chipped away. We stood by the side of one of the men while he -disposed of what seemed a very knotty question. He held between thumb -and finger a stone as large as a filbert. To the uninstructed eye it -was a lump of gum arabic, with a certain symmetry of outline showing -its old octahedral form. After turning it over and inspecting it -critically, he put it in a little vise before him, and screwed the jaws -tightly together. Then he took a light, sharp chisel in one hand and a -small hammer in the other. He could not have looked more unconcerned -if he had been about to crack an after-dinner walnut. My heart was -in my mouth when I saw him apply his chisel to the diamond and give -it a smart tap with the hammer. What if he should break the stone in -pieces, instead of removing a defective fraction of it! The guide had -said it was a twenty-carat diamond, and believed to be of the first -water. But the operation, hazardous as it appeared, was easy to the -skilled artisan, and was successful. He had struck the diamond exactly -on the line of cleavage, and a thin piece fell into a box sunk into -the table just beneath the vise, and intended for the reception of the -chips. The man picked it out, and I saw at a glance that it was full -of black specks. These were uncrystallized carbon, like coal-dust, the -presence of which would have spoiled the stone when cut. He then showed -me the freshly exposed surface of the diamond. The rough, yellowish -scale of the imperfect portion having been removed, one could see -something of the true sparkle of the gem, though its full luminous -effect would be evoked only by the polishing process. Sometimes it is -necessary to detach a spotty part by working in a direction other than -the cleavage-line; then the hammer and chisel are of no avail. The -operator resorts to a saw, which, strangely enough, is toothless. It is -nothing more than a fine steel wire, perhaps double the thickness of a -hair. This wire is kept moistened by olive-oil, in which diamond-dust -has been mixed. As it is moved forth and back, saw-like, across the -surface, the dust supplies the place of teeth, and the metallic thread -slowly buries itself in that hardest of stones. - -The truth of the adage, “Diamond cuts diamond,” was made clear to us by -the spectacle of six men illustrating it. Each man held in each hand -a short stick, having at the end a socket filled with lead or some -easily melted alloy. The diamond to be cut is partly sunk below the -surface of this fusible metal while it is still in a molten condition, -and just before it cools; and, when the metal “sets,” there is the -diamond immovably imbedded, with enough of its surface exposed to -enable the operator to attack it with another diamond, which is fixed -in another stick the same way. Each diamond is to cut the other, and -thus two stones are simultaneously prepared for the market. When the -exposed parts of the two diamonds have been cut by each other as far -as possible, then the soft metal in the iron sockets is melted, the -stones are released and turned to bring the uncut sides uppermost, and -the work proceeds as before. This is the most tedious stage of the -business. One watches the men by the half-hour, and sees them make but -little progress as they press one diamond against the other with all -the power in their arms, and rub the two slowly together with a faint, -crunching noise. If the sunlight falls upon the scene, one may notice -certain glistening motes dropping into a little pan beneath their -hands. This is the dust of diamonds, which is most carefully saved up -to be used in the polishing, the final stage; and, whatever chippings -or splinters are obtained here or elsewhere in handling diamonds, are -pulverized in agate mortars for the same purpose. - -At intervals the workmen pause to look at the diamonds, to see how they -are getting on. We observe them at a little distance, and notice the -adamantine luster of the facets. Already it is possible to pick out an -uncommonly fine stone by its cold, steel-blue light. - -The most interesting department of Coster’s is the one where the -polishing is done. Here, at last, you may look into the hearts of the -diamonds freed from their grosser vestments. Here, if anywhere, the -spectator is apt to be stirred with unholy covetousness. If he has a -lady with him, she would be more than human if she did not sometimes -cry out, “How splendid!” “Just too lovely for anything!” and ask the -guide how much a pair of such diamonds would cost, pointing at a -perfect beauty that would weigh ten carats, sure. Cases are reported -in which husbands, at that stage of the rounds, have hurried up their -investigations, suddenly finding that they have no time to “look it -all through, my dear.” And, even when they have torn themselves and -the partners of their lives away from the scene of fascination, they -have not heard the last of Coster’s diamonds by a great deal. At any -moment, anywhere, while looking at the marble or bronze effigies of a -cathedral, or hunting among church-yard tombs for quaint inscriptions, -or rapturously gazing at some Madonna which is the glory of a -picture-gallery--when the mind ought to be filled with the most solemn -thoughts--one may hear the question, “Weren’t they splendid?” - -“What, my dear?” says the dull being who never takes a hint. - -“Why, those diamonds at Coster’s!” - -“Oh, yes, I remember--quite pretty.” And then the insensate husband, -perhaps, instead of pursuing the interesting subject, begs leave to -recall the fair one’s wandering attention to the beautiful carving on -that ancient tomb, or the seraphic expression of the Virgin’s eyes, etc. - -It has been said that there is one way to stop a mouth which babbles -too much of Coster’s. A kiss will do it, without fail, if followed -up by a gift of something in diamonds, according to the means or -generosity of the donor. But this is doubtless the slander of a cynic, -and repeated here only under protest. - -The polishers are about twenty strong. They are mostly young fellows, -who do not require glasses. Sharp eye-sight is the indispensable -qualification for their work. They are all hanging over horizontal -wheels which are driven at tremendous speed. Upon these revolving disks -they are pressing something very forcibly with both hands. It is a -stick with a diamond imbedded in the head thereof--the same that we -have seen in the cutting-room. Sometimes the workman releases one hand, -and takes a feather from a cup by his side. This has been soaking in -olive-oil, in which there is an ingredient of diamond-dust. He lets a -few drops of it fall on the flying wheel at a point near its center -or axis of motion. The centrifugal force at once scatters the oil and -the included dust all over the surface in a barely perceptible film. -Its tendency is to be thrown off the edge of the wheel but this is -prevented by a raised rim, which keeps it all somewhere on the disk. -Without the application of this mixture the diamond would never get a -polish. - -As we stood looking down the line of the polishers, who in turn glanced -from their work at us, the guide made a signal to one of them. He at -once withdrew his diamond from the wheel, wiped it on a leather apron, -and brought it to us for examination. It was a large stone--fifteen -carats, perhaps--which had been polished enough to show its native -worth. Its color was a yellow, so deep as to convert into a merit -what would otherwise have been a great defect. Had the tint been -that of straw instead of orange, its selling value would have been -small. But as it was extremely yellow, even for a South African stone, -connoisseurs would be sure to want it for their collections. There -would, perhaps, be a competition for the treasure. Strange caprice of -fancy which elevates a fault into a virtue! - -Another signal from the guide brought forward a diamond of a very -different sort. It was much more to my taste than the other. As the man -put the stick into my hand, the end of it seemed to blaze. It shone -so vividly that its size could not clearly be made out. Apparently -it was larger than the yellow one. But the guide informed me that -the polished surface of this stone was much the smaller. Its finer -water imparted the wonderful brilliancy I had noticed. From its facets -leaped coruscations that dazzled the eye like gleams of lightning. It -needed no expert to tell one that here was a diamond of the rarest -quality--something that might fairly be claimed to stand first on the -list of those twenty-odd grades into which the white stones are divided -by the dealers. I could not refrain from touching it with the tip of a -finger before the guide could warn me. The contact, which was but for -an instant, blistered the skin, so great was the heat caused by the -friction of polishing. It was a pleasure to know that this peerless -gem--about eight carats when finished--would be worth far more to adorn -the neck or bosom of beauty than the bigger yellow one of the rare -shade, destined only for the cabinet of some whimsical male collector. - -After the exhibition of this perfect diamond to our wondering gaze, -anything of lesser splendor would have failed to please. So we bade -farewell to Coster’s, after paying a visit to the graceful steam-engine -which supplies the motive power for all the disks that are kept -whirling on the busy second floor. There are other floors of the -same establishment where other work is done. There is a great safe -down in the basement, which is opened for you, disclosing boxes and -bags holding treasures to the extent of as many million dollars as -you choose to imagine. Every well-regulated visitor at Coster’s is -pleased to pay the complimentary fee expected of him, when he knows -that it goes to the benefit of the workmen; for, if his eyes have been -open to anything besides diamonds, he must have noticed intelligence, -sobriety, and honesty written in their faces. Then he understands that -at Coster’s there is a better guarantee for the security of diamonds -against theft and loss than if an overseer stood watching each squad of -men with pistol in hand. - - - - -APPENDIX. - - - - -CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT FOR RUSSIA. - -(SEE CHAPTER XXVIII.) - - -It is a matter of common report and belief, in Russia, that the -experiment of a constitutional government would have been made on the -accession of Alexander III, but for the opposition of his ministers. -His father was strongly disposed to establish a representative body of -the people, and a responsible ministry. This reform would have been -a crowning of that edifice, the building of which was cut short by -his murderers. The present Tsar desired to carry out this inherited -scheme, but before acting deemed it prudent to take the collective -opinion of his cabinet. This fact shows his readiness to receive advice -on important questions. He mentioned his own preference, but declared -that he would be guided by a majority opinion. This was adverse to -the proposed change. So ended, for the time being, a movement of the -greatest significance. - -The Tsar is said to be the strongest man in his dominions. Mythical -stories are told of his ability to straighten out horseshoes with his -naked hands, and double up silver pieces between his thumb and finger. -Those who know him testify to his high personal courage. The seclusion -of which we hear so much is, after all, only nominally observed. The -careful precautions against Nihilists are adopted by the chief of -police, who charges himself with the safety of his master. Alexander -III attends military reviews and public ceremonies of church and state. -He goes where duty calls him. He is seen more often in the streets and -parks of St. Petersburg than Queen Victoria in those of London. She, -too, is guarded at such times by soldiers and policemen, and no one -thinks the protection superfluous. The Tsar, in all his movements, -is hedged about with no more restrictions than seem to be needed for -the security of a man who is known to be pursued by a sworn band of -assassins. If he is as strong and brave as reported, it would be -strange if he lacked decision of character. Once resolved on conforming -the imperial system to the more modern type, he may not again be -dissuaded by any ministry from executing that beneficent design. - -There is no doubt that, if unmistakable public opinion in Russia -should call for this great change, it would be made. It remains -to be ascertained if a majority of her people really want those -constitutional forms for which the heart of civilized man everywhere -is supposed to yearn. If so, Russia, fortunately, has the machinery at -hand for the gratification of her longings. Every _Tir_, or commune, -now possesses the full power of self-government in economic and -strictly local affairs. The village elders, who are true home-rulers, -are chosen by the people. In every province or department of Russia the -same principle is illustrated on a larger scale. It is only in respect -to imperial or political issues that the autocracy makes itself felt. -The citizens of Moscow, for example, may do many things at their own -expense for which we of New York are obliged to crave permission of the -Legislature. - -Accustomed to govern themselves within a certain range, the Russians -could easily be fitted for participation in the higher duties which -a constitutional government would impose upon them. A lower House -could be evolved from the seeds of the _Tir_. An upper House could be -created by the Tsar out of abundant existing materials. Thus, without -any violent metamorphosis, liberal institutions might be introduced -into Russia. They may come, as a spontaneous offering from the throne, -sooner than their most sanguine friends in the empire now expect. - - -THE END. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Roundabout to Moscow</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0;'>An Epicurean Journey</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: John Bell Bouton</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 31, 2021 [eBook #65966]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: deaurider, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW ***</div> - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/i000.jpg" alt="Title page in Russian" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="Title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> - -<h1>ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW</h1> - -<p class="bold space-above">AN EPICUREAN JOURNEY</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY<br />JOHN BELL BOUTON<br /> -AUTHOR OF “ROUND THE BLOCK”</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">NEW YORK<br />D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />1887</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1887,<br /> -<span class="smcap">By</span> D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">TO<br /><br />THE SYMPATHETIC COMRADE<br /><br />IN THESE WANDERINGS,<br /><br />MY WIFE.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p>If any reader of this book happens to be carrying about a heavy pack -of fine old English prejudices, I beg that he or she will drop it -before entering upon the eleven chapters relating to Russia. The best -preparative for crossing the Russian frontier is to throw out of -the carriage-window every English volume with which the tourist has -beguiled the way in the vain hope of forming correct impressions of the -country ahead.</p> - -<p>Englishmen can not be trusted to treat Russia fairly. John Bull hates -Ivanovitch. With him the Russian is always a Tartar or a Cossack. -Though these terms are not, in fact, opprobrious—since the Tartar of -to-day is the model business man of Russia, industrious, faithful, -highly respected, and the Cossack preserves none of his ancient traits -but an excessive fondness for horses, a martial spirit, and fervent -patriotism—they are slurring words in the English sense.</p> - -<p>Americans have no cause of quarrel with Russians. There is no Turkey on -this continent which we feel bound to save from the jaws of the Russian -bear in order to devour her ourselves. We have no distant province -with 200,000,000 inhabitants of an alien race, retained by a tenure -so precarious that the approach of a rival within 500 miles of the -border throws us into a panic. We have no India<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> for Russia to invade. -Americans are in a position to do what their English friends have never -done—see and report Russia as she is.</p> - -<p>If a sense of gratitude for the touching sympathy shown by Russia to -the United States at a time when the offensive interference of England -in our affairs was strongly feared, shall prepossess the American -traveler in favor of that great country and people, there is little -danger that he will paint them in colors too bright for truth. For, -with his best efforts, he will find it impossible to dismiss all the -false anti-Russian ideas with which English literature has filled -him. So clinging and powerful is their effect, that he will at times -question the evidence of his own senses, and be tempted to discard his -personal experience as exceptional and misleading.</p> - -<p>I saw no drunken priests reeling through the streets of St. Petersburg -and Moscow, and not a single case of intoxication, even among the -<i>mujiks</i>. Tea is the national beverage of Russia. Beggars drew but -lightly upon the little pocketful of kopecks which I had set apart for -them. I lost nothing by theft, and was not defrauded, to my knowledge, -under cover of overcharges at the shops or the hotels. Government -officers are considerate, polite, and do not seem to be in pursuit of -bribes. Russians of the lowest class are not more unclean in appearance -than the corresponding grade in England. The “rough” who infests London -and Liverpool is unknown in St. Petersburg and Moscow.</p> - -<p>If external indications are any guide, I should call the Russians -the most religious people in Europe. They build more churches, adorn -them more sumptuously, attend service oftener and in greater numbers, -repeat more prayers, and perform more devotional rites every day, than -the men and women of any other land. There are shrines at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span>almost -every street-corner, and every house has its Icon. The Russian type of -face is serious. Unfriendly critics note this as an infallible sign -of national despair, the overt manifestation of which is that revolt -against God and Man called Nihilism. But it is only the characteristic -gravity of semi-Orientals, for such are the Russians. They are not -down-trodden; and, out of their 100,000,000 free souls, there is a -proportion of Nihilists no larger, probably, than that of Socialists in -Germany, Communists in France, “Dynamiters” in London, or Anarchists in -Chicago. The Tsar enjoys the confidence and love of the vast majority -of his people. Russia may safely challenge the rest of Europe to -exhibit a parallel to the comparative progress, social and political, -which she has made in the past thirty years. When the Cossack waters -his horse in the Bosporus, and looks down into India from his outpost -in the Solyman Mountains, jealous powers will lament his irresistible -advance. But Americans can not share their regrets, believing that -civilization and liberty may be borne in his train as surely as in that -of any other aggressive member of the great European family.</p> - -<p>The record of “An Epicurean Journey” is not a place for the discussion -of controverted matters. And my sole object in writing this preface is -to explain to the possibly surprised reader why I can not echo that -censure of Russian institutions and aims which is the burden of so many -English books and magazine and newspaper articles. But I have not gone -out of the way to praise Russia, or to do her more than simple justice. -That a far greater number of Americans annually may include her in -their European rounds, and count their stay in Russia as among the most -agreeable episodes of their lives, is the sincere wish of</p> - -<p class="right">J. B. B.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">New York</span>, <i>May, 1887</i>. </p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER I.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">By <i>train de luxe</i> from Paris to Nice—The Monte Carlo games</td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER II.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Oldpaint, Cockspur, and North Adams at the Casino</td> - <td><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER III.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">A bad night in Genoa harbor</td> - <td><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER IV.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Rome—Good-Friday and Easter</td> - <td><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER V.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Cutting a King—Margherita, Queen of Hearts</td> - <td><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER VI.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Naples—Sorrento—Capri—Pæstum</td> - <td><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER VII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Fresh diggings at Pompeii—Vesuvius “working”—The tell-tale<br /> -seismograph—Solfatara</td> - <td><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER VIII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Italian beggars—A neglected grave—The blue-gum tree and<br /> malaria—Perugia—Etruscan tombs</td> - <td><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>CHAPTER IX.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Florence—Bologna—Como</td> - <td><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER X.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Peasant-girls—Nightingales—Isola Bella—San Carlo Borromeo in copper</td> - <td><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XI.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">The Simplon Pass in June—Vispach to Zermatt—The Matterhorn—A<br /> -fine view from the snows of Gorner Grat</td> - <td><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Early Alpine flowers—A wedding-feast—The Rhône Valley and<br /> -glacier—The Furca Pass</td> - <td><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XIII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Avalanches on the Jungfrau—The guides of Grindelwald</td> - <td><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XIV.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Excelsior and the maiden</td> - <td><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XV.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">An English admirer of the “American language”</td> - <td><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XVI.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Prehistoric lake-dwellers—An island inn and its memories</td> - <td><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XVII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Carlsbad—Prague—Dresden</td> - <td><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XVIII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Berlin—Its military atmosphere</td> - <td><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XIX.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">St. Petersburg in July</td> - <td><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span>CHAPTER XX.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">The first droschky-ride—Sunset at the islands—Early morning<br /> -views of the Nevskoi Prospekt</td> - <td><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXI.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Grand-Duke Alexis—The American minister and his chasseur—Russian<br /> -press censorship—An indignant Briton—Undiscoverable Nihilists</td> - <td><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">The holy city of Russia</td> - <td><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXIII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">The Moscow Foundling Asylum</td> - <td><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXIV.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Russian epicurism in tea—The Joltai-Tchai, or yellow-flower brand</td> - <td><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXV.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">A hunt for malachite and lapis-lazuli in the Gostinnoi Dvor</td> - <td><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXVI.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">The peacock-feather mystery—Manayunk and the old masters—His<br /> -fruitless search for the Kremlin—The Moscow rag-fair—Petrovsky<br /> -Palace—Dining in the grounds</td> - <td><a href="#Page_296">296</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXVII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">A comedy of passports—Mythical police espionage</td> - <td><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXVIII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Summer weather in Russia—St. Petersburg and Moscow enough<br /> -for sight-seers—M. Katkoff and his “Gazette”—Tsar and<br /> -people—Republican possibilities of the Cossack</td> - <td><a href="#Page_328">328</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>CHAPTER XXIX.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Russian Finland—Stockholm—The largest known meteorite—The Djurgarden</td> - <td><a href="#Page_342">342</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXX.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">By rail to Christiania—Fare on the road—Norway’s capital—The<br /> -Viking-ship—An inland tour</td> - <td><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXXI.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">A baby kudsk—Tyri-Fiord—Hönefos—Lake Spirellen—Dinner<br /> -at a Sanitarium</td> - <td><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXXII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Omnipotent kroner—The family parlor at Odnæs—Rands and<br /> -Christiania Fiords</td> - <td><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXXIII.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">The Gothenburg whale—Three kings in a bunch—Northern<br /> -out-door life—A study of windmills</td> - <td><a href="#Page_394">394</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">CHAPTER XXXIV.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Diamond-cutting at Amsterdam</td> - <td><a href="#Page_406">406</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">APPENDIX.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Constitutional government for Russia</td> - <td><a href="#Page_419">419</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">BY TRAIN DE LUXE FROM PARIS TO NICE—THE MONTE CARLO GAMES.</span></h2> - -<p>Before leaving America, in the spring of 1886, I read in the London -“Times” a slashing attack on the celebrated <i>train de luxe</i> which -runs twice a week from Paris to Nice. The writer—an Englishman—had -missed a connection which he should have made by that train. So he -relieved his mind—as traveling Britons are apt to do—by pitching into -the delinquent through the columns of a journal still supposed to be -powerful for warning and chastisement. I observed that in all his fury -he did not declare that the train lacked comforts or even the luxuries -claimed in its high-sounding name. Therefore we determined to try it, -as it offered a passage from Paris to Nice in nineteen hours; and we -did not regret the choice.</p> - -<p>The whole distance is 675 miles. Two first-class <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>fares paid to the -P. L. M. (“short” for Paris, Lyons and Mediterranean Railway) amount -to $53.68. Add to this $41.45 as special charges for the <i>train de -luxe</i>—run by a separate company—and you have $95.13 as the joint -first outlay for the trip. If any railway-riding in the United States -is more than half as expensive as this, I have yet to discover it. -The sleeping-cars do not seem to be either Wagner or Pullman; they -more nearly resemble the Mann Boudoir. They are not quite as large as -those in America, and are more solidly built. The compartments are -designed for parties of two or four each, and have doors which make a -desired privacy for the inmates. These little rooms occupy the whole -width of the car, except a narrow passage for common use running -lengthwise. The beds are exceedingly comfortable, and are metamorphosed -into handsome sofas for the daytime. A restaurant-car accompanies the -train; and in this good fare may be had <i>à la carte</i>, at all hours, -and an elaborate <i>table d’hôte</i> twice a day. The attendants are alert -and polite. Everybody on the <i>train de luxe</i> seems to feel a personal -responsibility in keeping up its reputation and reconciling passengers -to their large disbursement of money. It was my good fortune—as an -American—to enlist at once the kindest sympathy of the Paris agent of -the sleeping-car<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> company, as also of the conductor. By the courtesy -of those officials we were allowed to tenant a room for four, though -paying only for two persons. This gave us plenty of space, and perhaps -accounts in part for the general satisfaction I experienced.</p> - -<p>Though the rate of speed averaged thirty-five miles an hour, there was -little vibratory motion and no jarring whenever the train stopped or -started again. If the P. L. M. does not use the Westinghouse air-brake -and Miller platform, it has equivalent contrivances of its own just as -good.</p> - -<p>A better night’s rest could not be asked for than the one I enjoyed -till the <i>train de luxe</i> pulled up in the Lyons station at 6.25 <span class="smaller">A. -M.</span> on time. The Paris we had left at 9.25 Wednesday night, -April 14th, was anything but gay. A cold rain swept the deserted -streets and deepened the gloom everywhere observable on the faces of -hotel-landlords, shopkeepers, and cabmen. Trade had been stagnant -there all winter, and the spring season—with its promises of better -times—was deplorably backward. But I must not omit to mention that it -was further along than in America, or even England. The trees which -line the Champs-Elysées were in full leaf, and the Bois de Boulogne was -thick with shade. But a keen north wind came down upon Paris while we -were there, and we were glad to quit it. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - -<p>Next morning as we entered Lyons I raised the curtain at the foot of my -little bed, and lo! a sight of enchantment. An unclouded sun lighted up -the great manufacturing city and its environs and glorified everything. -The general impression was that of an entrance to Italy. The roofs -of all the houses wear the peculiar earthen tiles which one sees in -Italian towns. The church-steeples begin to resemble <i>campaniles</i>. -Olive-trees are possible in the soft climate of this part of Southern -France. The natives, who swarm about the station at an early hour -and gaze wonderingly at the <i>train de luxe</i>, are swarthy of face and -profuse of gesture—more Italian than French in outward appearance. But -our greatest delight was in the increasing warmth of the outer air, for -the car had required heating on that cold night of a northern spring. -A dainty breakfast—served on the snowiest of linen—at a table from -which we could study the sunny landscape as we whirled along, completed -the prelude of a lovely day. Our next stop was at Marseilles, where -we changed locomotives. There the Mediterranean came into view, but -a cloud over the sun prevented that full revelation of its beauties -which we saw later on. What a glamour genius throws over common things! -The Château d’If is nothing but a square-built tower, standing on a -little island in the harbor of Marseilles. It is neither grand nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -picturesque. I should not have glanced at it a second time if Dumas -had not forever linked it in my mind with the imprisonment and daring -escape of his Count of Monte Cristo. There may be much to see and -admire in Marseilles, but I could only think of Edmond Dantes and his -wonderful adventures.</p> - -<p>Nice, into the station of which we punctually rolled amid a crowd of -staring spectators, was then out of season. As a winter resort much -beloved by consumptives and tired-out people, it deserves its fame. -Orange and lemon trees, aloes, palms, oleanders, acacias, and many -other tropical plants, thrive there in the months that are coldest -elsewhere. Nice faces the Mediterranean toward the south, and is -sheltered from every rude wind by the towering Maritime Alps. The -fashionable season proper had already terminated with the opening -of Parliament—which is the invariable signal for the resumption of -social gayeties in London. The richest patrons of Nice, as of all this -coast, are Englishmen. And as they leave, the great hotels begin to -close in the very month when Nature is most actively renewing herself -and looking her best. Even Nice, with all her tropical proclivities, -is capable of being chilly upon occasion. Snow had visited the place -within a month, and we found a fire comfortable in our chamber. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> -seemed strange to be toasting one’s feet at the hearth, and looking -out of window upon gardens golden with oranges and bristling with -gigantic palms, or thick-set with monstrous specimens of that vegetable -devil-fish known as the agave or century-plant. The arms or tentacles -of these are twelve or fifteen feet long and two or three feet thick at -the butt. Fill in this rough outline with lilacs, daisies, geraniums, -heliotropes, and tea-roses, and the reader may realize what was seen -from every hotel window and balcony on the <i>Riviera di ponente</i>.</p> - -<p class="space-above">We took the Corniche road by private carriage from Nice to Mentone, -about nineteen miles. It is a marvelous piece of engineering skill, -gaining a height of 1,500 feet by a bold succession of zigzags. As its -name implies, this road is a mere cornice. It is cut into the sides -of mountains, and in places overhangs frightful precipices. During -the first hour of our journey I frequently jumped out of the carriage -to pick the strange and exquisite wild flowers which grew along the -road-side. But we soon reached the altitude where these attractions -ceased, and we were called upon to admire the beetling rocks which -towered far above us. This rugged scenery was in the ascendant most of -the time. It makes the Corniche route grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> in its savage loneliness, -but beautiful I can not call it. But beauty flashed upon us in the -distance whenever a turn of the road brought the Mediterranean into -view. Under a brilliant sun that sea looks like a limitless stretch -of changeable silk, full of graceful wrinkles. Near the shore its -predominant color is light blue. Toward the horizon, this deepens into -a darker shade. Purples and greens may also be descried in larger -masses and clearer tints than one observes in the broad Atlantic in any -of its moods.</p> - -<p>We lunched at a little hamlet—Turbi—perched high up in the mountains. -The landlord of the Grand Hotel at Nice had advised me to try ham and -eggs, as the least objectionable dish to be obtained off-hand at the -Turbi inn. The landlady accepted the order in the most accommodating -spirit, and after a little delay brought in some slices of raw ham and -boiled eggs. I then described to her as well as I knew how the American -process of cooking ham and eggs. Her face lighted up with intelligence, -and she retired to try again. Fifteen minutes later she came back with -the eggs stirred up in a mess at the bottom of a skillet and the raw -ham reposing beneath them, where it had been slightly warmed in the new -operation. But the <i>vin du pays</i> was honest and palatable. Bread and -cheese are always good to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> a hungry man. We stayed our appetites, if we -did not lunch exactly to our liking. From Turbi to Mentone the road is -mostly down-hill, and the scenery a repetition of what we had seen in -the first half of the Corniche. As for Mentone itself, it is Nice over -again, with a slight difference of location, but much smaller.</p> - -<p class="space-above">I have seen the notorious games at Monte Carlo (five or six miles from -Mentone), strictly as an outsider. There is no lovelier spot under the -whole heavens. Nature and the art paid for out of the enormous gains -of the greatest gambling-hell on earth have done everything to make a -paradise of Monte Carlo. The Casino is a palace in size and splendor. -The surrounding gardens are full of the choicest flowers and musical -with birds and waterfalls. Mountains exclude every biting wind. Three -hundred feet below the promontory lies the matchless Mediterranean. -All around are beautiful villas and large and elegant hotels and -restaurants worthy of Paris. The season at Monte Carlo lasts the year -round, and is always prosperous. Admission to the <i>salle de jeu</i> is -not to be had for the asking. No one under twenty-one years of age can -enter. As no resident—but only the stranger—is allowed access to the -Casino, the local population is not hurt by the game. I was obliged to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -present my visiting-card at the bureau and write my name on the back of -a ticket. Then, after surrendering my umbrella, the great doors of the -den were thrown open to me. I had read of so many suicides committed -at this place that I quite expected, when I entered, to interrupt some -ruined gambler in the act of blowing out his silly brains. Instead -of confronting such a tragedy, I found myself in the presence of a -large company of quiet people, sitting around long tables, watching -a revolving wheel in the center, and listening to the click of the -little ivory ball as it slackened and fell into a numbered compartment -of the wheel and determined the gain or loss of the players. There are -four of these roulette-tables, and two others in an adjoining room, at -which only <i>trente et quarante</i> is played, the latter a game of cards. -No game lasts over a minute, so that the suspense is not long and -agonizing. The London illustrated papers have lately represented the -gamesters of both sexes as uniformly hideous. Their countenances were -made infernal with avarice. As for the <i>croupiers</i>, who rake in or pay -out the money, they were depicted as fiends incarnate.</p> - -<p>Speaking of suicides, I learned that, only two days before my visit, -a man who had lost all at one of the tables suddenly whipped out a -pistol and shot himself. He was quietly removed, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> the <i>roulette</i> -and <i>trente et quarante</i> went on without interruption. A lady, who had -been watching the play on one occasion, told me that she saw a person -seize from the table a little pile of money which had been won by -another. He appealed for redress to the superintendent of the Casino. -The latter did not stop to inquire into the justice of the claim, but -immediately paid over to the second player the sum which he said had -been thus publicly stolen from him. This little incident proves the -constant anxiety of the “administration” to avoid disagreeable scenes -and scandals. But the suicides can not be stopped, as men, acting -under the sudden impulse of despair, will kill themselves before the -“bank” can solace them with the donations it is always ready to make -for the relief of ruined gamesters. The French Government could, if it -would, in the capacity of protector and powerful neighbor, suppress -the monstrous evil of Monte Carlo. But Prince Charles manages to keep -in favor at Paris, not merely by his personal residence there, but by -a full-blown legation, which he maintains at the French capital for -diplomatic purposes, just like a first-class sovereign.</p> - -<p>Describing people as I find them, I must say that the male players -seemed an average lot of human beings. The females were more mixed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> and -questionable. The <i>croupiers</i> were evidently wearied and bored, but on -the whole good-looking and certainly amiable. Most of the players were -of frugal mind. The usual stake was a five-franc piece; napoleons were -scarce. One reckless man who put up ten of them at a time, turned pale -when he lost them all, and hauled out of the game. No one lost much at -any table under my observation, and in not a single case did a player -gain the possible maximum of thirty-five times the amount of his stake. -To a looker-on the spectacle was monotonous in the highest degree. -Perhaps it is livelier toward midnight than in the afternoon when I saw -it. But, whether slow or swift, it is none the less to be condemned as -demoralizing in its far-reaching influences, productive of thefts and -embezzlements, as well as the undoubted cause of many suicides. How any -person can turn his back on all these beauties of nature and art, and -give himself up to such a sordid and destructive vice, is a puzzle to -every well-regulated mind.</p> - -<p>After seeing the games at Monte Carlo, I visited the palace of Prince -Charles at Monaco. Careless writers use the two names interchangeably. -Be it understood, then, that Monte Carlo is part of the diminutive -principality of Monaco. The less is included in the greater. The -prince’s palace is situated at the other end of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>possessions, -about a mile from the Casino. He never occupies it. He lives in -luxurious retirement at Paris on the large revenues derived from a -lease of the gambling monopoly. But he is cut off from many of the -pleasures of this life, as he is stone-blind. His ample income enables -him to remit all taxes to his few thousand subjects, and to keep a -really beautiful palace on show for all comers. Not to be wanting in -any of the outward signs of sovereignty, he maintains an “army” of -fine fellows—sixty-five strong—and has a park of highly burnished -artillery pointing seaward. Hundreds of cannon-balls are piled up -symmetrically in his palace yard. At the great gates of the edifice, as -I approached it, stood two good-looking soldiers. One rested gracefully -on his shining musket, and the other played with a tame crow which -hopped about in the grass. Seeing me, he recovered his erect position -and dignity, and returned my courteous salute. I asked permission -to enter the palace. With a gesture he referred me to a gorgeous -personage, looking like three major-generals rolled into one, who -suddenly appeared in a doorway. I took him for the commander-in-chief; -but he was only the <i>concierge</i>. With a profound bow he requested my -visiting-card, which I gave him. Then, after registering my name, I was -turned over to another less splendid but still <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>imposing official, who -showed me through the long galleries and suites of rooms. They are full -of costly pictures and statues, and magnificently upholstered. But they -have the cold, cheerless atmosphere and stuffy smell of all uninhabited -houses however grand. I was glad to escape from the wearisome round -into the open air.</p> - -<p>The blind prince not only exempts his subjects from taxes, but he -provides for several good schools, and is a liberal supporter of the -Roman Catholic Church. A fine cathedral is now rising at Monaco.</p> - -<p>Public morals are so deeply concerned in the suppression of the Monte -Carlo games that I do not yet feel like quitting them. I will take a -fresh start in Chapter II, and isolate for description a few types -of character among the many that may be seen at the Casino. We will -watch them at work (for it is no “play” to them save in name), amid -seductions difficult to be withstood by any will that does not rest on -principles.</p> - -<p>I now beg leave to introduce the reader to Oldpaint, Cockspur, and -North Adams.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">OLDPAINT, COCKSPUR, AND NORTH ADAMS AT THE CASINO.</span></h2> - -<p>Oldpaint was a fellow-traveler of ours from Mentone to Monte Carlo. Not -knowing her real name, I call her Oldpaint for sufficient reasons. She -was wrinkled with age, and excessively painted. Turner, in his moments -of divinest frenzy, would not have laid on the red more boldly. It -blazed through her veil. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken, with -deep black marks scored beneath them which she had vainly attempted -to whiten. The whole expression of her face was desperate. I observed -in her hand a ticket stamped Monte Carlo. Then I guessed she was a -veteran devotee of roulette. And I was right. For, when I entered the -<i>salle de jeu</i> a few hours later, she was already there, comfortably -seated at the <i>croupier’s</i> elbow, and evidently at home. It was by -closely watching her play that I first came to understand the horrible -fascination of the game for its votaries. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<p>Cockspur is another name I was obliged to invent for an -Englishman—also a confirmed gambler—whom we first encountered -lunching in the Restaurant de Paris at Monte Carlo. This establishment -is worthy of its imposing title. There is no better on the Boulevards. -It is famous for game in season, and good wines all the year round. -When we entered this paradise of <i>gourmets</i>, and dropped quietly -into two chairs at a table not far from the door, we did not -instantly attract attention. No waiter appearing for a moment, we -fell to studying some brilliant frescoes on the ceiling, and noting -the sumptuousness of the furniture, the fineness of the linen, the -exquisite fragility of the cut-glass. Still no <i>garçon</i>. I turned my -head impatiently, and then saw what was the matter. At the third table -behind us sat a tall young man, with light, curly hair and mustaches, -and by his side a showy woman, who looked like a queen of burlesque in -walking-suit. There was an indescribable something in the frizzling of -her hair, the look of her eyes, her stereotyped smile, which betrayed -the professional winner of applause from crowded parquettes. The man -was evidently under her dominion, and was testifying to his complete -surrender by ordering on the costliest meats and wines. They did not -seem desirous to excite public curiosity, for they spoke low and -behaved decorously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> enough. But the lunch was prodigal, even for that -place of extravagances. To serve it had required two waiters, who now, -in a moment of pause, hovered about “milord’s” table, wondering what -he would condescend to order next. It was plain that they were all -expecting liberal <i>pour boires</i> from this spendthrift of a patron. -Still other waiters had gathered in the vicinity, as if to pick up some -stray crumbs of his bounty. All eyes being focused on this couple, we -had apparently escaped observation. I gave notice of my presence by a -slight cough, and, to the lasting credit of the Restaurant de Paris, -am happy to say that it provoked a prompt response. A smart waiter -dutifully detached himself from the little group and bent before me -with an apologetic expression of face. I hastily consulted the <i>carte -du jour</i>, and gave my order.</p> - -<p>The lunch was quickly served, and proved to be excellent. The -sweetbreads, <i>omelette soufflé</i>, and some Pontet Canet of 1872, were -particularly interesting. But I did not forget to look over my shoulder -occasionally to see how the Englishman and his companion were getting -on. They soon finished their repast; the bill, which might have been a -washer-woman’s for length, was delivered and paid without verification. -He only looked at the total, and produced from a great roll of French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -bank-notes one which he placed upon the salver extended to him. Then -he opened a rouleau of gold, and gave a bright-yellow piece to each of -the two waiters who stood near him. As the salver was borne past me -to the <i>caisse</i>, I noticed that the bill was of the denomination of -100 francs. The Englishman did not stop for his change (if any), but -hurried off with his stylish enslaver; so I inferred that 100 francs -was not far from the price of their lunch. Remarking this extraordinary -lavishness, I said to myself, “That man has been winning a pot of money -over at the Casino.”</p> - -<p>Now it happened that he had placed his new Derby hat in the embrasure -of the window, just behind my chair. As one of the waiters reached over -for it, I inadvertently glanced into the hat, and there chanced to see -the illegible name of somebody, “maker, Cockspur St., London.” So this -extravagant Englishman became “Cockspur” to me henceforth and forever. -We shall soon see more of him.</p> - -<p>From our luncheon at the Restaurant de Paris we went direct to the -Casino, and there, while I was hunting up my card for the inspection -of the chief inquisitor, I observed an innocent-looking youth standing -near me. He wore the dog-collar, the pointed shoes, the tight-fitting, -single-breasted coat of the London swell, and he gripped his little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> -silver-headed cane in the middle, like a shillalah. But I know my dear -fellow-countrymen under all their disguises. A single glance at his -face convinced me that he was a good young American on his first trip. -His dissipation was obviously confined to clothes. He had just handed -in his card, and an official personage was making an entry of the name -in a book.</p> - -<p>“<i>Quel pays, monsieur?</i>” he asked, courteously.</p> - -<p>The good young man turned to me and said, with surprise: “Is there -anything to pay here? I thought it was a free show.”</p> - -<p>“There is no charge. He only wants to know where you are from, as we -would say in America,” I answered.</p> - -<p>His ingenuous cheeks colored. “I can speak French a little myself,” -said he; “but somehow I don’t catch it when they speak it at me.”</p> - -<p>I assured him kindly that we all had the same trouble, more or less.</p> - -<p>“<i>Quel pays, monsieur?</i>” repeated the ever-amiable <i>greffier</i> of the -administration.</p> - -<p>“Beg pardon,” said the good young man, flushing again. “I’m from North -Adams, Massachusetts.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Nort-a-darm—Massa-Massa—n’importe—Angleterre</i>,” murmured the -<i>greffier</i>, and down it went.</p> - -<p>The benighted Frenchman had supposed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> name of the glorious old -commonwealth to be that of some obscure shire in England. It is the -most flagrant piece of geographical distortion on record.</p> - -<p>The good young man was so flustered by all this that he did not wait to -exchange cards with me, but hurried off to the gambling-hall. So I was -compelled to label him in my mind “North Adams.” He was number three -among the strangers in whose actions that day I took a deep interest. -Without their presence, indeed, the game of roulette would have been -tiresome to me as a mere spectator.</p> - -<p>If Oldpaint had not been one of the large company of gamblers in that -magnificent apartment, I should have been much disappointed; for I felt -a profound curiosity to see how her withered features would stand the -wear and tear of the game. There she was, as if by agreement, and I at -once stationed myself behind her chair. Her seat was well chosen for a -general survey of the table. She was just opposite the wheel, and the -<i>croupier</i> who set it whirling at intervals was her nearest neighbor.</p> - -<p>Oldpaint still wore her veil closely drawn over her face. But I -could see the varying expression of her features through the gauze, -as I looked down at her while she played. At one time her dull eyes -would light up with a gleam of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>avaricious joy. Again they would -become fishy. The pinched mouth would contract slightly at the -corners, bringing out new wrinkles on her rouged cheeks, or her thin, -vermilion-tinted lips would curve downward, just as she happened to win -or lose—more commonly the latter. Her gloved hands, which terminated -in skeleton wrists, trembled equally as she put up her stakes or piled -her occasional winnings in little round towers before her.</p> - -<p>By her side stood a small open bag, through the steel jaws of which I -saw silver five-franc pieces and little rolls of gold, like packages -of lozenges, with one coin visible at the end as a sample. Below was -a thin foundation of French bank-notes. Oldpaint was one of those who -play on a system. She had before her a large pasteboard card divided -into many squares, and a pencil with a sharp point. Whenever the wheel -slowed up so as to permit the ivory ball to drop into a compartment and -decide the game, she threw a lightning glance at the winning number and -color, and pricked certain entries on her card. By the time the human -parrot at her side called out, “<i>Faites vos jeux</i>,” she was ready with -a fresh stake, generally a small one. In no instance did she go over -ten francs.</p> - -<p>As for Oldpaint’s system, it was too <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>complicated for me to understand. -But the results were plain enough: <i>rouge</i> was generally turning up -when she had bet on <i>noir</i>. Her money, as a rule, stood on <i>pair</i>, -when it should have been on <i>impair</i>. When other players were doubling -their stakes on <i>passe</i>, Oldpaint was almost sure to have five francs -on <i>manque</i>. Occasionally she would haul in something substantial. -Once she bagged eight times the amount of her stake. It had been put -at the intersecting lines of four numbers, one of which had won. As -the <i>croupier</i> scooped them in for her with his little rake, I could -see the enamel on her cheeks crack open in new places, she smiled so -broadly; and then, on the strength of this bit of luck, the poor old -woman would go on losing again. It made me sick to see her throwing -away good money on a system which ought to have been turned round end -for end. A gambler, if he had been in my place, would have made a good -thing just watching Oldpaint and playing against her every time.</p> - -<p>My attention was now called off by the sudden appearance of Cockspur on -the scene. As there was no spare seat for him at the table, he stood up -in the second row of players and spectators. His face was flushed, and -he reached forward between two other persons to rest his hand on the -back of a chair, as if to steady himself. I wondered if the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> man would -be foolish enough to play in that half-drunken state. It was a great -pity that such a free-hearted fellow should be a victim of the dreadful -vice of gambling, and perhaps be reduced to beggary by his rashness -before night.</p> - -<p>Cockspur took a napoleon from a side-pocket which audibly jingled -with coins. Waiting till the wheel started, he pitched the gold-piece -carelessly on the table. It rolled on its edge, making a circle on -the cloth and finally laid down at the junction of two lines which -intersect six numbers. “<i>Rien ne va plus</i>,” droned the human parrot, -when the speed of the wheel was much reduced, and a moment later the -ball dropped with a little thud. “<i>Vingt-cinq rouge</i>,” said the same -monotonous voice. I looked at the square on the table, and lo! it was -one of the six numbers covered by Cockspur’s napoleon. He had won five -times the amount of his stake. One of the servitors whose duty it is to -assist in placing money on the table or handing over winnings, passed -the six napoleons up to Cockspur, who slipped them into the yawning -side-pocket. His face expressed no pleasure. Some men, under the -belief that they had struck a run of luck, would, in Cockspur’s place, -have risked a sum larger than twenty francs on the next round. In his -condition I expected him to do something rash. But he only produced -another napoleon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> from his store and let it fall. After wobbling about -a moment it came to rest on the division marked <i>manque</i>. Again a whirl -of the wheel and a fall of the ball, and the <i>croupier</i> proclaimed -“<i>Quinze noir</i>,” and Cockspur doubled his stake, because 15 is -<i>manque</i>, or less than 18. All numbers over 18 up to 36 are <i>passe</i>; -and all the players who had put their money on the part of the table so -labeled, were losers to the bank.</p> - -<p>The same good fortune pursued Cockspur as he pitched his gold pieces -at random into the section <i>Rouge</i> or <i>Noir</i>, <i>Pair</i> or <i>Impair</i>. He -won six or seven times running while I looked on. And then he and all -the players together fell prey to the bank’s single advantage. Besides -the thirty-six numbers, there is a zero (0), and, when that catches the -ball, all the stakes on the board are raked in by the bank, with the -solitary exception that any person who has staked on the zero (thereby -backing the bank) gains thirty-five times the amount of his wager. But, -in the case under notice, the zero symbol was uncovered. As the bank -plays nine or ten hours every day in the year, and must, according -to the law of probabilities, win once in every thirty-seven games -(requiring about a minute each) on the average, one can understand -how the administration makes all its money without the necessity of -cheating. No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> player is allowed to stake more than six thousand francs -at a time, and the enormous capital of the bank enables it to continue -the game against any conceivably probable run of bad luck.</p> - -<p>Cockspur continued to drop his money, always the one prudent napoleon, -on the table, and letting it take the chances. Sometimes he lost, but -more often he won. It would have been amusing, but for the sadness of -their long and hungry faces, to see Oldpaint and some others who were -losing steadily on systems, look up at Cockspur who was discarding all -methods and trusting blindly to luck, and showing so much judgment even -in his folly, taking only small risks at a time. As I gazed across -the table at him, I foresaw with prophetic eye the time, and not far -off, when his luck would turn, and he would then become frenzied and -reckless; perhaps put up his last napoleon, and lose it, and then the -siren with the frizzled hair would drop her penniless lover, and the -comedy of real life would tragically close with a pistol-shot and a -newspaper paragraph.</p> - -<p>I was dwelling on this dismal ending of the handsome fellow opposite, -when a new cause of anxiety threw him quite out of my mind.</p> - -<p>There was North Adams, fluttering around the table like a moth about -a candle. He had been spending his time watching the other groups of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -players, I suppose, and had now come to see what our set was doing. -Like most persons who look on at the game for the first time, he -watched only those who won. The equal numbers who lost at every fall of -the ball seemed to escape his observation. Every time a player raked in -a goodly pile, North Adams’s eyes would bulge out with astonishment. He -would thrust his hand into a pocket and partly draw it out, and then -thrust it back again. A storm of conflicting feelings swept over his -smooth, beardless face. One could easily read avarice, covetousness, -the love of illicit gain, struggling with the generous sentiments of -youth and the good principles of New England training. I tried to catch -his eye, but in vain. He was totally absorbed in the contemplation -of all that money so easily won. Once he elbowed his way through the -double row of outsiders, and I thought he was about to place money on -the table. But just then the bank again scored zero (0), and all those -yellow and white pieces down there disappeared in an instant! This was -a warning for North Adams. He drew back, and I saw a look as of shrewd -reflection pass across his face. He wiped his damp brow, and resolutely -buttoned up the pocket into which his hand had so often dived without -bringing up anything.</p> - -<p>That one decisive hit for the bank seemed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> banish the doubts that -had evidently troubled North Adams. He did not look like a person of -severe moral principles; he may have had no nice scruples upon the -subject of gaming; but when his mind, such as it was, still bearing -the impress of his early schooling and severe discipline, realized -that the bank had a “sure thing” in the long run, then he hesitated to -jump at the gilded bait. Some grains of hard common sense inherited -from level-headed ancestors, along with the high cheek-bones of his -Scotch face, came to his rescue in the nick of time. Blood will tell, -even when thinned down in the veins of a harmless dude; and while I -looked at him, still questioning his firmness against temptation, he -deliberately turned his back upon the game and walked straight out of -the room.</p> - -<p>I soon followed him into the open air, better pleased with that -spectacle of conflict and victory than with all else I had seen in the -gambling-palace of Monte Carlo.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">A BAD NIGHT IN GENOA HARBOR.</span></h2> - -<p>A man not in a hurry to reach Southern Italy before hot weather, might -find happiness and contentment in three or four days of Genoa. The -old city has churches and palaces worth visiting. Some of the drives -in the environs are charming, and I should not soon tire of views of -the Mediterranean to be had from the Acqua Sola. But, when the tourist -is burning up with a desire to pass early May in Rome, Naples, and -Sorrento, and hopes to see the glorious Greek ruins of Pæstum without -fear of a sunstroke, he willingly leaves over Genoa to the chance of -another visit. My real object in breaking the journey at that point was -to take boat thence to Naples direct, and avoid the rail route to Rome, -which I had traversed in 1883.</p> - -<p>I had gathered from books the impression that, for unalloyed pleasure, -nothing in the line of travel was quite equal to the steamship trip -from Genoa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> along the coast, touching at Leghorn, Cività Vecchia (port -of Rome), passing in full view of Elba and Corsica, and entering the -glorious Neapolitan bay by daylight. The view of Naples from the sea, -with the long curve of coast, the white houses of the city piled high -in terraces, smoking Vesuvius in the background, and the islands of -Ischia and Capri deep blue in the offing, like sapphires in a setting -of lapis-lazuli, is the identical view to which the much-quoted proverb -refers. We had looked forward to this trip with the greatest pleasure, -and now I must tell the reader how the cup was dashed to the ground -even before it had been raised to our lips.</p> - -<p>We thought we were in great luck when we found, on arriving at -Genoa, that a steamship would start for Naples, and take in all the -wonderful sights along the coast, the following night at 9 <span class="smaller">P. -M.</span> precisely. Even before I had made a tour of the city, I went -to the office of the steamship company to secure the best cabin left. -I greatly feared that all the accommodations had been snapped up by -other more fortunate travelers. When I reached the office I was quite -alarmed to see crowds of people standing before the heavy wire network -which separated them from the cashier and clerks. These people were -all thrusting their money through small open wickets, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> receiving -in exchange slips of paper that looked like tickets. I annexed myself -to one of these anxious crowds, and after a delay of ten minutes, and -a little firm but still polite working of my elbows into the ribs of -others all about me, found myself face to face with a nervous and -overworked young man.</p> - -<p>I told him in French what I wanted, and asked him the price of two -first-class tickets. Like most intelligent Italians, he understood a -little French. His face expressed great surprise, as if my application -for a first-class cabin on a Naples steamer was something unheard of. -He begged me to excuse him a moment, and he would find out the price. -I thought this very strange, when I considered the great demand that -must exist for the best berths. I was curious for an explanation, but -forbore to seek it when I looked at that poor young man’s tired face. -He sat down, with one hand partly covering his forehead, in which I -could see the distended veins, while with the other hand he ciphered -on a blotting-pad, meanwhile looking hard at some columns of printed -figures on a placard before him. He was immersed in deep calculations -for five minutes. One would have thought he was working out an eclipse -of the sun.</p> - -<p>The pack of Italians behind me was increasing, and there were murmurs -of dissatisfaction on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>account of their delay, while the young man -was performing prodigies in arithmetic. I was beginning to feel very -uncomfortable under the pressure in the rear, when he suddenly footed -up his elaborate computations, and told me what two first-class tickets -from Genoa to Naples—table-fare included, without wine—would cost. I -was surprised to learn that the fares were much higher than those by -rail all the way; but, <i>per contra</i>, there was the escape from a dreary -land-ride, and, better yet, the sea-view of Naples, cheap even at the -price of death. So I paid over the money and received my tickets, -with the accompanying injunction that I must be on board at 8 <span class="smaller">P. -M.</span>, one hour before sailing, without fail. The exhausted young man -also gave me directions about reaching the steamship, which was then -anchored in the harbor. I thanked him, and forced myself through the -ever-growing throng of Italians to the open air. I deemed myself truly -fortunate to have secured that prize of a cabin, and reveled in the -fondest anticipations.</p> - -<p>The next night, a few minutes before eight o’clock, we descended from a -carriage to the quay, where small boats could be obtained to put us on -board. The driver blew a shrill whistle, to which several boats near by -responded. The one that reached us first, and thereby became entitled -to our patronage, looked like the relic of an Arctic whaler.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> Its -sides were worm-eaten; its bottom was covered with water. It exhaled -a rank smell of fish. The rower was as unpleasant to the eye as the -craft he slowly propelled with two oars that looked as if they would -snap off in the middle with the least strain. My first intention was -to reject the services of this boat and man; but when I glanced at the -others heading for me, I saw that, if possible, they were worse. So -I accepted the situation, and in a few minutes we, with our trunks, -were on board, keeping our feet out of the water by resting them on -the spare seat before us. Then he struck out for the steamship, and he -had not made ten strokes of the oars before I had forgotten all about -the disagreeable sight and smell of the boat. For in that part of the -harbor, in that tide, we were initiated into the mysteries of the old -sewage system of Genoa. In this respect the city is probably better -off than any other along the Italian coast; but, during that little -boat-ride, I ceased to wonder why the cholera, which thrives on filth -and stenches, is so fond of Mediterranean towns. If I had not known -the ride to be a short one, and that we should weigh anchor in an hour -and be off for the open sea, I should have felt like abandoning the -expedition at that early stage of it.</p> - -<p>When we reached the goal at last, after making the circuit of several -other sea-going craft,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> steam and sail, anchored close together, -we found a large, handsome boat. She was freshly painted, and I -shall always remember how nice the paint smelt in contrast with the -unpleasant odors all around her. We could see men on deck hoisting in -the cargo from a lighter alongside, and hear their cheery cries as -they tugged at the ropes. They were so very busy that not one of them -could lend a hand to us. But our boatman, with all his dirt, was not -lazy. He lost no time in putting our two trunks aboard, shouldering -them with ease, and bounding up the flight of wooden steps which hung -precariously from the deck to the water’s edge. We followed quickly, -and I inquired at once for <i>il capitano</i>. One of the sailors pointed -me to a wiry little man, who was sharply watching the hands as they -swung the barrels and boxes on board and lowered them into the hold. -I stepped up to him and handed him my ticket. He looked it over twice -carefully, scratched his head in evident perplexity, and murmured -words in Italian unintelligible to me. I tried him in French, but he -only shook his head. His astonishment at something was even greater -than that of the young man in the company’s office the day before. -Finally, in despair, he called to a subordinate of some rank and put -us in his charge, significantly shrugging his shoulders at the same -time. This man’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> manner expressed surprise, mingled with amusement, -I should say. He also could not speak French, but he made signs that -we were to follow him. We did so, and, descending the companion-way, -found ourselves in a small but neat saloon, off which six or eight -cabins opened on either side. The one assigned to us was well situated -and commodious enough, but the two beds in it were not made up, and it -had a musty smell, as if it had not been aired through the port-hole -for some years. But this stuffiness was more tolerable than the stench -which would soon have permeated the cabin if the dead-light had been -open. Of washing arrangements there were none in the cabin, but we -were shown a place outside which would have supplied that deficiency, -if there had been any jug for water, or stopper at the bottom of the -basin to keep the water from running out, or towel or soap-dish. These -discoveries were dampers, but we were inclined to be philosophical. -The worst, however, was yet to be learned, and, thanks to the scrappy -French of the captain’s cook, whom we interviewed upon the subject of a -little hot supper, we soon found it out.</p> - -<p>It appears that this boat, and others of the same line, no longer -made a business of carrying first-class passengers; the railways do -all that now. Once in a while an officer of the Italian army or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -navy presents himself with a government pass, and some provision is -made for him, but yet he must rough it. Just before nine o’clock a -gentleman with a long, trailing sword and spurs, appeared with a pass, -and took a cabin next to ours. He was the only first or even second -class passenger aboard besides ourselves. There were a few persons in -the steerage, who furnished their own food. Being out of the habit of -taking saloon-passengers, the officers of the boat had made no suitable -preparations for them. They were just as much amazed to see us there as -the company’s agent had been to receive my order for a cabin. To the -former we also represented a certain amount of extra trouble and care.</p> - -<p>“But how about the rush for tickets?” I asked the cook.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that was only for freight-receipts,” he replied.</p> - -<p>All this intelligence, and much more of the kind, especially relating -to the lean larder, and the cook’s inability to get a hot supper for -us, with some uncertainty as to breakfast next morning, were vexatious -and even distressing. Still, we knew we should not starve on board; -and, after all, the privations, whatever they might be, would last -only thirty-six hours, the time required for the whole trip, including -a stoppage at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>Leghorn, so we were told. Besides, it was almost nine -o’clock now, and too late to go ashore. So we decided to put the -best face on our disappointment. Meanwhile, the stewardess had come -aboard, and she had fished out of the lockers enough sheets, blankets, -and pillows to equip our two berths. A pair of towels were also -discovered after much search and hung up on nails above the mockery of -a wash-stand. Toward ten o’clock matters were becoming slightly more -endurable. But the boat had not started. The men were still hoisting in -the cargo, as we knew from their droning songs and the creaking of the -windlass. Eleven o’clock came and went, and yet no sign of departure.</p> - -<p>So we went to bed, hoping that we might soon fall asleep, and wake in -the morning to find the boat far on her way across the Gulf of Genoa. -But sleep was impossible while those interminable choruses rang in our -ears. Twelve, one, two, three, four o’clock!—and our craft was still -at her anchorage and the operation of loading progressing as noisily -as ever. As dawn stole through the dead-light, I arose and opened it -to get a whiff of fresh air as a change from the stifling atmosphere -of the cabin, which had only a lattice-work opening on the saloon for -ventilation. But a mephitic odor arose from the water, and compelled -me to close the bull’s-eye. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>Dressing myself, I went on deck, and -there saw that the work of loading had in fact only just begun. A -second lighter, with a towering pile of merchandise, had been brought -alongside during the night, and the transfer of her cargo to the hold -I knew would be the work of many hours. I resolved to hail a boat, go -ashore with my trunks, trust to getting my passage-money refunded by -the company, and leave for Rome <i>via</i> Pisa on the ten-o’clock train.</p> - -<p>We carried this resolve into instant execution. The officers, who -were then on deck, beamed with delight as they saw us preparing to -leave. One hailed a boat for us. Another brought our two trunks in his -strong arms from the room where they had been stored overnight. The -cook bustled around ecstatically and made us a cup of good coffee, -with sugar and milk. I never saw a man so pleased; for our presence -on the boat had been a cause of the greatest solicitude to him, in -the impoverished state of his supplies. The stewardess grinned with -unspeakable satisfaction. Even the captain found time to quit his post -at the hatchway to see us over the ship’s side in safety. None of us -said a word, but our hearts swelled with thankfulness at the thought -that we were parting with each other forever.</p> - -<p>The <i>battello</i> which put us ashore seemed to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> a twin-sister of -the one that put us aboard. But we reached the quay in safety, after -running a gantlet of foul smells. Then another singular incident befell -us. Custom-house officers were on the watch at our landing-place. They -might have seen us when we left the steamship out there. They must have -known that we had passed the night on board, for they asked questions -of the boatman, which he answered, all doubtless to that effect. And -yet our baggage was taken to the custom-house, not far off, for an -inspection. The head-man spoke a little French, and I explained to him -the facts of the case. But this did not prevent him from performing the -solemn ceremony of examining the contents of the trunks, the valise, -the bundle of shawls, and the hand-bag, just as if we had arrived from -the coast of Africa. I thought, from the expression on the faces of the -inspectors, that a couple of francs would have saved me this detention. -But I was really amused at the farce, and allowed it to proceed -unchecked.</p> - -<p>Returning to the Hôtel de Gênes, greatly to the surprise of the worthy -head-porter, we stopped there long enough to take a solid breakfast. -A visit soon after made to the office of the steamship company was -successful in getting back the passage-money, with apologies for the -mishaps which had occurred. I could not quite make out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> whether the -fault was with the young man who sold me the tickets, or with somebody -on board ship who did not heed the wishes of his employers on shore, -and I did not care to settle the question so long as I was not obliged -to be imprisoned on that craft during the uncertain period of her -voyage from Genoa to Naples.</p> - -<p>I wonder if she has started yet? Perhaps she is still taking in cargo. -I only know that, for weeks afterward, every time I saw a Naples -newspaper, I looked among the marine arrivals for the name of that -boat, and did not find it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">ROME—GOOD-FRIDAY AND EASTER.</span></h2> - -<p>I can imagine no drearier ride than that by rail from Pisa to Rome. The -road skirts the sea most of the way. For many miles it traverses the -Roman Campagna. The dreaded miasma which rises at night from this vast -plain has left it tenantless, except by the station-masters and hands, -and the herdsmen needed to watch over the droves of horses and oxen and -flocks of sheep which browse on the abundant herbage. These herdsmen -look wild and brigandish in their peaked hats and slashed jackets. -Whether they take quinine freely, or are naturally proof against -malaria, I know not. But it is a fact that most of them—as also of -the railway servants—do not have the haggard and palsied look I had -expected to note among them. Even they, however, have fears of the -consequences of their exposure; for I noticed at every station, where -there were several buildings, large young groves of the eucalyptus or -blue-gum tree.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> Its balsamic odor was perceptible from the car-windows. -The Italian Government encourages the setting out of this tree as a -preventive of malaria.</p> - -<p>The success of the experiment is still a matter of dispute. In point of -fact, the shepherds and others who live in miserable huts, hundreds of -feet from the railway-track and have no such protection, seem as strong -and hearty as those who dwell continually in the shade of the blue-gum -tree.</p> - -<p>We attended the special services at St. Peter’s on Good-Friday. Driving -through the streets we found the banks and shops of all kinds open -as usual. The only indication of the solemnity of the day was the -increased attendance at all the churches. And this may be, in part, -explained by the extraordinary musical attractions. At St. Peter’s -many thousand persons must have been present between 4.30 and 6.30 -<span class="smaller">P. M.</span>, when the <i>Tenebrœ</i> and <i>Miserere</i> were chanted or sung -by a great concourse of priests and a select choir. The music was -impressive, but its proper effects were lost on all hearers who could -not squeeze into the little side-chapel where it was performed. Every -effort had been made to render St. Peter’s gloomy, but without avail. -The brilliant mosaics and frescoes were all shrouded. The eighty-nine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> -lamps which burn about the crypt of St. Peter’s tomb were extinguished. -But glorious sunshine flooded the whole interior. It streamed in mighty -beams through the colorless windows facing the west, and set at naught -all puny attempts to make the most splendid church in the world look -dark and dull. About six o’clock the throng was the greatest. For two -hours people had been pouring in, but only a small part of the vast -floor was occupied. Among the worshipers or spectators were friars -of every known order, richly attired officers of every grade in the -Italian army, common soldiers of all branches of the service, men and -women representing every nation of Europe, and a great many Americans, -besides countless numbers of the highest as well as the lowest classes -of Roman society. The spectacle was one of deep interest, aside from -the somber devotional exercises which had convoked this immense -multitude.</p> - -<p>On Easter-Sunday hundreds of shops were still open in the narrower -and poorer streets of Rome. The day was perfect. The sun shone from -a cloudless sky—just warm enough to be pleasant. We drove to St. -Peter’s at 9.30 <span class="smaller">A. M.</span>, and found everybody going in the same -direction. But, although people had been streaming into the church -for an hour before we arrived, the number on the floor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> was hardly -noticeable. The magnificent pictures were again revealed in all the -undimmed freshness of their original tints. The lights which circle St. -Peter’s tomb were once more burning. Red cloths had been hung over some -of the marble pillars. The church was thus made as bright and beautiful -as possible, but to me it seemed scarcely more so than on Good-Friday. -On this joyous occasion the English cardinal, Howard—a thick-set man, -with a large head and a deep, sonorous voice—conducted the services. -These took place almost directly beneath the dome, and were heard -and witnessed by a great congregation. The singing by the choir was -very fine—the boys’ and men’s voices mingling with exquisite effect. -The chanting of the priests was less pleasing to the musical ear. -While these exercises were progressing under the dome, priests were -celebrating masses in many of the side-chapels, which were also partly -filled with worshipers. At the boxes, which serve as confessionals, -were fathers, who touched the kneeling faithful with long wands. As -for the bronze image of St. Peter, there was a constant succession -of persons, of all ages and stations in life, who kissed his foot in -passing, carefully wiping the well-worn spot before applying their lips -to the cold metal.</p> - -<p>Interesting as was the occasion, it was tame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> compared with the -ceremonies observed by the Popes before the patrimony of Peter passed -under the control of the King of Italy. In the old days the Holy Father -read the mass in St. Peter’s on Easter-Sunday, and was borne from -the church in grand procession. At a later hour he appeared on the -<i>loggia</i>, and gave his benediction “to the city and the world.” After -dark there was a wonderful illumination of the dome. All these striking -rites and customs are now things of the past. Pope Leo XIII was nowhere -publicly visible during the joyous festival of 1886. He was seen only -by a few of the strangers in Rome—themselves devout Catholics—who had -previously obtained cards of admission to the private chapel where the -Pope himself officiated, and they took the sacrament from his hands.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The most popular man in Italy is the King. No statesman shares with -him the confidence and affection of the people. One day I noticed a -stir in and about the great doorway of the Hôtel de Londres, where I -was stopping. Heads were bared on all sides. Everybody in sight was -bowing profoundly. In front of the hotel stood a common open carriage -with two horses, simply caparisoned, and a driver in dark livery. A -tall, handsome officer of high rank, splendidly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>attired, sat on the -left side of the vehicle. The rest of the seat was occupied by a stout, -middle-aged man in citizen’s clothes. His cheek-bones were high, his -lower jaw was massive, his mustache iron-gray, and, as he kept up a -constant motion of doffing and replacing his hat, I remarked a broad -forehead crowned with hair thick and bristling. He looked just enough -like the portraits of Humbert the First to convince me that he was the -King of Italy. And so it proved. He had called at the Hôtel de Londres -to visit the Prussian Princess Marie, who had a suite of rooms at the -house. This lady is the widow of the “Red Prince” Frederick Charles. -She happened to be out at the time, and so the King did not alight, but -drove away in his modest turn-out, receiving from all persons on the -Piazza di Spagna the most respectful salutation. Drivers of carriages -on hire, and even beggars at the street corners, were greeted by him as -courteously as the Roman nobles who dashed past him in equipages far -more showy than his own. The day previous to this visit he had made -a return-call on Prince Fushimy of Japan at the same hotel. Though -politeness costs nothing, it goes far to make King Humbert a great -favorite with crowned heads as well as with the Italian people. That -policy of Italy, which has made friends of every nation in Europe, is -dictated by the King, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>represents his considerate politeness and -native shrewdness. The courage which he showed at Naples during the -last cholera epidemic was only one of numerous instances proving his -devotion to the welfare of his constitutional subjects. His queen—the -“Pearl of Savoy”—is not less successful in winning hearts. She is a -fine-looking blonde, an accomplished whip, the patroness of unnumbered -charities, and as courteous as her lord.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Visiting the Pantheon, I saw, just as I did three years before, many -people standing in front of the tomb of the late Victor Emanuel. They -were mostly Italians, by whom the memory of the man who made their -country one is almost worshiped. Hundreds of wreaths of immortelles -and other flowers are hung around and above the tomb. These come from -all the secular universities, academies, and public institutions of -Italy, and also from private hands. They are renewed from time to -time, and look beautifully fresh. Long streamers of silk or satin -attached to the floral offerings bear inscriptions eulogistic of <i>Il -Rè Galantuomo</i>. In a large book which lies open, visitors voluntarily -enter their names. Hundreds of thousands have thus been registered -since the mortal remains of Victor Emanuel were here inshrined. There -could be no grander mausoleum than the Pantheon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> It is the best -preserved of all the great edifices of ancient Rome—identified with -the mightiest power of the old world, and with the rise and progress -of Christianity. No longer a pagan temple, but a Christian church, -it is the proper resting-place of the unifier of Italy. Although the -relations between the Quirinal and the Vatican have been much strained -ever since the Pope lost his temporal sovereignty, it is not impossible -that, some day, the Roman Catholic Church will be proud that she -holds within her consecrated Pantheon the ashes of the king who was -still her son. At the Pantheon, as at St. Peter’s, I am always struck -with the magnificent effect of the admission of pure sunlight, free -from the intervention of stained glass. The sole illumination of the -Pantheon, you know, comes from a great circular hole in the dome. It -admits the rain, which leaves a round wet place on the stone floor -beneath. But there is still ample room for the free movement of the -crowds that come and go, without dampening their feet. Majestic as is -the dome that rises in its perfect curve to a height of 140 feet above -the floor, it impresses the beholder even less than the sight of the -distant blue concave which he sees through that immense opening. As for -the details of the interior, they appear in the flood of daylight in -all their richness and variety of color. It by no means follows that -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> “religious light” should be “dim.” St. Peter’s and the Pantheon -triumphantly refute that too prevalent notion.</p> - -<p class="space-above">None of my guide-books—even the most recent in date—give any -description of some remarkable and interesting statues and pedestals -which have been brought to light within a year. The images are -life-sized sculptures of what might be called “lady superiors” of -the Vestal Virgins. No one of whom I inquired could tell me where -they were; but I found them for myself in an open excavated space not -far from the Forum Romanum. Two or three of the statues are almost -perfect. They are marble, exquisitely chiseled, and are doubtless good -resemblances of the distinguished originals. Though vestal virgins, -they have a matronly look. They were evidently women of intellectual -ability, as also of high social rank. They seem born to command. Their -main attire was the full, graceful robe universally worn in their -day. Five or six thick fillets bound about their foreheads, covering -also part of their hair, reminded me of a badge almost similar, worn -by nuns of various orders in the Roman Catholic Church. But, though -their dress was all simplicity and modesty, their bearing was anything -but humble. The whole expression of face and form was one of intense -self-satisfaction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> and pride. The pedestals to which these statues -once belonged have been mostly recovered in fine condition. They bear -warm tributes to the many virtues of the illustrious ladies whom they -commemorate. And yet history tells us that the vestal virgins had -seats of honor near the Cæsars in the Colosseum, and without pity saw -Christians devoured in the arena by wild beasts, and that no spectators -were more heartless than they when the fallen gladiators looked up to -their boxes for the signal of mercy which should have saved them from -the victor’s sword!</p> - -<p class="space-above">At least once a year that dreadful old ruin—the Colosseum—is the -scene of a ghastly and weird illumination. The exhibition came off on -the night of the 24th of April, between ten o’clock and midnight. The -interior of the stupendous structure was packed with human beings who -waited for a long time with much impatience for the show to begin. -Suddenly brilliant lights—many electric and others calcium—flashed -out from the lofty tiers of the amphitheatre, while a belt of fire -girded the top wall. The effect was startling. Every stone and brick -in the huge pile was instantaneously revealed, photographing itself in -imperishable lines on the brain of the beholder. The feeling excited -was akin to terror. The faces of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> those men and women looked pale, -as they were upturned to the heights where thousands of brutal Romans -had so often sat and feasted on scenes of torture and butchery. To -behold the Colosseum by moonlight is something never to be forgotten, -as the partial shadows lend themselves to the conjuration of specters -from the dark passage-ways which one sees all around him. But the -illumination of which I write is still more impressive, when red and -green lights are alternately used. These are somehow infernal in their -suggestiveness. When to their peculiar effects you add the hoarse cries -of great companies of rooks aroused from their repose in the crevices -of the topmost tiers—and circling wildly through the air overhead—you -have something very much like a pandemonium, which is repeated in a -nightmare when you return home to sleep.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V.</span> <span class="smaller">CUTTING A KING—MARGHERITA, QUEEN OF HEARTS.</span></h2> - -<p>One does not often have the chance of being uncivil to a king. But it -was my misfortune on one occasion to be, or to seem, downright rude to -Humbert the First.</p> - -<p>We were taking a carriage-ride in the Villa Borghese. The sun glared -intensely. The broad drives in the grounds had not been sprinkled, -and the dust rose in clouds under the few wheels that stirred it up. -My eyes were sheltered with blue glasses, and a light umbrella held -against the sun cut into the view very seriously. The coachman, after -the manner of his race, had been pointing out objects of interest with -which we were already perfectly familiar, clothing his superfluous -information in a Tuscan <i>patois</i>. We paid no attention to the numerous -remarks delivered at us over his left shoulder, as our exhaustive -study of the Villa Borghese on previous visits had qualified us as -first-class guides to the place. Therefore, when he said something that -sounded like “Eel R-ray” (<i>Il Rè</i>), I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> did not associate the words with -the instant approach of the King of Italy.</p> - -<p>A moment later a two-horse carriage dashed past us. The horses -were black and beautiful, throwing out their fore-legs with a free -and splendid action. A gentleman (whom I should not have failed to -recognize, but for my blue glasses and the whirl of dust) sat bolt -upright on the front seat, guiding his spirited team with a firm hand. -The seat behind was occupied by a servant in quiet livery. The equipage -came and went like a flash; but, quick as it was, the accomplished -driver had time to take off his hat at us, moving it through an arc of -about two feet, and replace it. Before I could answer this remarkably -courteous salute from an entire stranger, he was off. Meantime coachee -had, in his humble way, atoned for my short-coming. He had lifted his -hat and bowed profoundly. When all was over, he turned clear round and -said again (this time almost reproachfully), “Eel R-ray, signor.” Then -I knew that I had cut a king, and that our driver, who had observed my -discourtesy with a side eye, was, in effect, chiding me for it.</p> - -<p>The good fellow saw that I was flustered by this unpleasant incident; -for I really burned with shame to think that I should be guilty of -rudeness to the politest of kings in his own capital. So he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> hastened -to explain to me, as nearly as I could make out from his provincial -Italian, that the King would be sure to pass us again in a few minutes. -For you see the Villa Borghese is not very large, and carriages keep -circling about and returning on their tracks. Well, this time I -determined to be ahead of the King, and doff my hat first, through -as ample a curve as my arm would allow. I shut up the umbrella and -pocketed the blue glasses, that nothing might impede the grace of the -atoning action. Sure enough, just as we turned the end of a long oval, -there was the King bearing down on us again.</p> - -<p>Looking at him over my box-seat, I identified him easily by the front -view. In all Italy there is no second pair of mustaches like his; -they curl like rams’ horns, and are almost as thick. His horses were -trotting a two-and-a-half-minute gait, and his piercing black eyes -sparkled with pleasure as he watched them. A second more, and he was on -our port-bow, as sailors would say. Then was my time. Having the brim -of my Derby well in hand, I made a tremendous flourish with it at His -Majesty. If gestures convey ideas, then he must have seen that I meant -to pay the utmost respect to him as the democratic King of Italy. The -monarch instinctively raised his hand to his hat as if to take it off; -then, catching a clear sight of my face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> he evidently remembered me as -the ill-bred person whom he had met in his rounds five minutes before. -His eyes were instantly averted. He did not remove his hat. This time -the King of Italy had cut me, and had served me just right.</p> - -<p>The most affable of coachmen then managed to explain that we should -probably intersect the orbit of the King for the third time, if we -kept on driving around the grounds. For my own part I had had about -enough of it. The King and I were even. So, to avoid the embarrassment -of a third meeting, I ordered the man to leave the Villa and go over -to the Pincian Hill. He turned the horses for the purpose, but had -not proceeded far before the well-known stiff figure and the flaring -mustaches intercepted our retreat by dashing down a side-road out of -a little piece of woods. I would have given something to avoid the -encounter. But there was no escaping it. As the King drew into the -main road, the salute I felt bound to make was an awkward one, and I -was conscious of a slight tingling in the tips of my ears. His Majesty -must have noticed my confusion, for there was an amused look in his -eyes, and his mustaches were not thick enough to mask the slight upward -curves at the corners of his mouth. And then, in the off-hand way which -has made him so genuinely popular, he doffed his hat and returned my -bow with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> accrued interest. So happily ended my first exchange of -civilities with a king.</p> - -<p>A short ride transferred us from the Villa Borghese to the Pincian -Hill. We reached the crest in time to hear the four-o’clock concert, -performed before an attentive audience of a hundred persons in -carriages and a thousand on foot. The selections were all from Italian -composers, and probably known by heart by most of the people present, -who stood or sat like statues as if entranced by the music. The band, -which belongs to the finest regiment of the Roman garrison, played -divinely. But all the charm of their performance could not keep my -eyes and thoughts from the Eternal City basking in the warm sunshine -below—a wide expanse of churches, palaces and ruins. Almost every -church is crowned with a dome, and each of these huge bulbs, whose -slates reflect the sun with a dull glow, looks like a feeble imitation -of Michael Angelo’s great work. But not one of them detracts from the -grandeur of St. Peter’s, which, from whatever point of view it is seen, -dwarfs all the rest into insignificance. St. Angelo Castle—in shape -a snuff box—the uplifted swell of the Pantheon, the Capitol, the -Quirinal Palace, are easily identified through the haze which envelopes -all. The blue Campagna is dimly seen in the distance. Through the -foreground the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>yellow Tiber makes its serpentine curves, flashing like -gold under the westering sun.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The next day we had the good fortune to meet the Queen while driving in -the Villa Doria Pamphilj. That time royalty had no cause to complain. -The most loyal of her subjects could not have outdone my obeisance, -though it was rendered more to the beautiful woman than to the Queen. -She did not descend upon us unawares, like the King the day before. -We knew of her coming afar off, for she advertised her approach by -the scarlet magnificence of her box-cloth and the blazing uniforms of -her coachman and foot-guards. I saw this brilliant turn-out a quarter -of a mile away, and, having kings on my mind just then, supposed that -His Majesty was taking the air in state. I was relieved and pleased -when our driver, pointing his whip at the flaming red spots in the -distance, said, “<i>La Regina!</i>” Just at that point in the road stood a -line of carriages drawn up in waiting to see the Queen pass. Some of -them had been standing there a long time in expectation of the event, -for it had become known that she would make the circuit of the Villa -Doria Pamphilj that afternoon; and the best place of all to see her -was that wide opening in the road, where our victoria had joined the -many other carriages. The Queen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> passed us all at the slowest of paces. -Each person in the long line received an individual nod from her, -given with exceeding dignity and grace. She is every inch a queen; and -that is saying a great deal, for she is of the Junonian order, and her -uncommon height is made symmetrical by a generous breadth of shoulders -and a satisfying plenitude of bust. Her arms, as guessed at by the -outlines of her tight sleeves, are strong and shapely. Her eyes are a -deep blue, her hair is a light chestnut, her complexion her own pink -and white. People who think of Italians only as swarthy in face, with -hair and eyes of jet, do not know of what delicate beauty the race is -capable when it strays into the blonde type. Queen Margherita is at -the head of the fair branch of the great Italian family. She is the -“Pearl of Savoy.” She was dressed with the severest simplicity. There -was not a jewel visible, and one did not remember the colors she wore. -Her own flower, the daisy, is not less ostentatious. But her native -loveliness needs no ornamental setting. She reigns over men’s hearts by -her birthright of beauty; and I can think of no better phrase to couple -with this than the homely one that she is “just as good as she looks.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI.</span> <span class="smaller">NAPLES—SORRENTO—CAPRI—PÆSTUM.</span></h2> - -<p>My sanitary inspection of Naples was hasty, and did not prepare me -to give the city a clean bill of health. The streets through which -I passed were less dirty than those of New York. Except for certain -foul smells on the waterfronts, there was nothing in Naples to alarm -the stranger, ever sensitive on the subject of fever and cholera. -The light-hearted Neapolitans laugh at the fears of Englishmen and -Americans. They are now claiming great things for their city on the -strength of their new and copious water-supply. Visitors, however, -refuse to believe in its excellence as a beverage, and persist in -drinking Apollinaris, Victoria, St. Galmier, Source Badoit, and -some other natural or doctored water. It is not for the interest of -hotel-keepers to decry those bottled waters, from the sale of which -they make large profits. But the landlord of the “Nobile” assured me -that none of them can possibly be purer and healthier than the fluid -which sparkles <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>untouched in the <i>caraffes</i> on his tables. The water is -freely used for sprinkling the streets and sluicing the gutters. The -fountains of New York are dried up and mute; but those of Naples play -at certain hours of the day, if not from morning to night. They remind -us of the abundant jets and cascades which we had, with so much regret, -left behind us at Rome. Though the weather in early May is extremely -pleasant, and the heat just right for out-of-door exercise, the sun -glares at times with Italian fierceness. Then it is refreshing to see -the fountains glittering aloft, and to hear the musical splash of their -waters in deep marble basins.</p> - -<p>The radical improvements which are expected to render Naples one of -the healthiest cities of Europe have yet to be made. But they are -all planned, and the work has begun on some of them. They include a -complete system of sewerage and the construction of long, wide streets -through those populous quarters where the sun and fresh air never come -now. It was in this swarming, dark, and unventilated district that the -cholera did its worst. Toward these great works the Italian Government -has contributed ten million dollars, and the city (and province) of -Naples eight million more. It is by showing such interest in the -fortunes of all her component parts, especially the large cities, that -unified Italy deepens her hold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> upon the affections of her people all -over the peninsula.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Snow on Vesuvius in May! The weather at Sorrento flies in the face -of all the authorities. We have been warned a hundred times not to -visit Southern Italy during the “hot month” of May. At the Hôtel -Tramontano we burned little sticks of wood at the rate of a quarter of -a cord a day in the vain effort to keep our sitting-room comfortable. -Our English friends have misled us in the kindest manner possible. -They call the weather warm at 60° Fahr., and hot at 70°. Americans, -accustomed to broiling summers at home, find this climate barely genial -at the very time when Englishmen are roasted out of it. Therefore, I -say, put no faith in their statements where temperature is concerned. -Men who never wear overcoats, and who walk twenty miles before -breakfast, are no guides for people less hardened. With the exception -of one day (strangely enough) in London, and another in Naples, we have -not stopped at a hotel where a fire at night was not a necessity as -well as an expensive luxury. Of course, the thickness of the walls is -responsible for some of the coldness. At Naples I looked down from the -balcony of my hotel and watched some masons at work just across the -narrow street. They were laying <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>outside walls three feet thick, and -walls of two feet between the rooms. The rising structure seemed to be -a jail or a bank. I inquired, and found it was designed for an elegant -private residence. Yet, for the exclusion of heat, it might as well be -a prison, and would look like one, if the walls were not papered and -frescoed.</p> - -<p>Vesuvius is an ever-fascinating subject of study. I observe it fifty -times a day with undiminished interest. The changed position of the sun -and every passing cloud, and especially the shifting directions and -forms of the “smoke,” make a new picture of the mountain every time. -The natives for twenty miles around look upon Vesuvius at once as a -barometer and a weather-vane. When the vapor—for such it is for the -most part—drifts, they know from what quarter the wind is blowing. The -capricious shapes it suddenly assumes at times foretell them of coming -storms or calms. I am not yet deep in this lore. But, all the same, -it is a pleasure to note the protean changes of the escaping steam. -Sometimes it goes straight up to the sky in a long, slender shaft, and -at the extreme height opens out like a palm-tree. Then, again, it looks -like a mushroom, with a thick stem and a “chunky” top. Often it streams -out horizontally at great length, like the smoke of a steamer at sea. -When the wind is out of the north or east, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>accompanied by a slight -rain, then I notice that the vapor rolls down the mountain like its -own lava. At other times Vesuvius makes a huge white cap or turban for -itself—the vapor settling down on the peak and remaining stationary. -Frequently this enlarges into a shroud and gradually covers the volcano -from head to foot. At night, when the sky is clear, there is only one -thing to be seen on Vesuvius—that is the dull-red light which crowns -its dark outlines. While under my observation it was in a state of -unusual activity. It “worked,” as the phrase is.</p> - -<p class="space-above">One morning “Old Vesuve” (for so one finds himself calling the volcano -after a short acquaintance) indicated a change of wind from the -northeast to the southwest. This favored an expedition to the famous -Blue Grotto of Capri, which can not be entered when the wind is driving -the water against and into the narrow opening through which the little -boats must pass. I made the trip from Sorrento to Capri by steamer, -and was then transferred to a frail-looking but stanch canoe, most -skillfully handled. The waves were pretty high—the effect of a storm -which had lasted two days. As we neared the portal of the grotto, it -seemed impossible to shoot through it, for it is not more than three -feet high and three wide, and the water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> was constantly rushing in and -out of it with a deafening roar and showers of spray. At times more -than half of the opening was filled with the current, which threatened -to dash the fragile bark into splinters and drown the passengers. The -boatman himself hesitated. The conditions were much worse than those he -usually overcame with ease. But he watched his chances, and, seizing -a moment when the current was setting outward, he caught hold of a -jutting point of rock, and, by a sudden jerk, swung us in. I had been -lying flat in the boat, drenched with spray. Responding to his call, I -sat up and looked around.</p> - -<p>My first feeling was of disappointment. The grotto is not blue. The -wonderful color, of which one hears so much, is in the water. The vault -rises to a graceful arch in the center and covers a space—irregular in -shape—equal, perhaps, to 125 feet square. Its point of greatest height -is thirty or forty feet above the water. The stone is of a dirty white, -and the faint reflection of light from its concave surface doubtless -has something to do with the production of the phenomenon which gives -the grotto its name. The water of the Mediterranean is beautiful under -all conditions. One need not penetrate grottoes in order to admire its -tints, ever varying on a background of blue. But here the relations -of the water to the light of day are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> unique. I tried to study the -thing in cold blood, and these are my conclusions about it: Some of -the diffused daylight enters the cave through the only opening above -the water-line. This light irradiates the water to a certain depth, -and causes the white roof to be reflected in it. A great deal of light -also enters beneath the surface of the water, through the opening which -descends to the floor of the grotto. This floor also seems to be white -(as observed by me) at its depth of (say) fifty feet. It therefore -sends back the reflection which the water has already received from the -limestone roof. This double effect gives a brilliant silver tone to the -inclosed mass of blue water. One hunts in vain for some comparison to -convey a clear idea of the unearthly beauty of the spectacle. Sky-blue -satin with the sun shining on it would resemble the surface of the -water as I saw it. But that simile fails to describe the extraordinary -effects of the Blue Grotto. These are mainly derived from the depths, -and are best compared to the sheen of silver and blue which are noticed -in the heart of a sapphire held up against the sunlight.</p> - -<p>I was rudely aroused from these cogitations by a boat bumping against -mine. A man in it apologized, and thrust a card into my hand. -Inspecting it by the faint light, I saw that it was the <i>menu</i> of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -<i>déjeûner</i> which would be held hot in waiting for all comers on the -arrival of the steamer at the <i>Marina Grande</i>, or chief landing-place -of the island, farther on. Feeling hungry, I ordered my boatman to -return to the ship. The exit was easily made. As soon as all the -visitors to the grotto were safely on board, we proceeded to our other -destination. The business energy of the man who chose so strange a -place to advertise his <i>table d’hôte</i> breakfast was not without reward. -I patronized his hotel. His quail was nice, as it ought to have been, -for the island is celebrated for the abundance and succulence of that -bird. But that which he served as the wine of Capri would in New York -be called water with a dash of vinegar. There are some ruins of a villa -of Tiberius, which may be seen, per donkey, at the top of a high hill. -But one ruin more or less is nothing in this land of wrecked greatness. -So I contented myself with my Blue Grotto, and, when the steamer -whistled for her truant passengers, bade a good-by to Capri.</p> - -<p class="space-above">It is interesting to watch the fishermen at work just underneath my -windows. The Hôtel Tramontano stands 150 feet above the sea, on a rock -that is lapped by its waves. The nets have been set the night before, -and at daybreak the racket begins. Men in boats go out to regulate -matters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> and take the fish from the meshes. There is a crowd of people -on shore hauling at the ropes and slowly dragging the nets and their -prey out of the depths. They are mostly women, with bare legs and -arms, as strong-looking as the men. They pull in unison, slowly and -carefully. Presently they cease, in compliance with orders screamed to -them from the captains of the boats. Then, from my height, I see one -net raised to the surface with extreme caution. The harvest is about -to be gathered in. The men out there tug at the seine as if it were -heavy. They soon have it well in hand. Their joyous shouts tell the -anxious women on shore that the catch is a good one. They lift the net -now with the greatest possible care, and I begin to see its silvery -contents. The fish, which almost cover its exposed surface, shine like -new standard dollars. The men shake and strip them off, and they fall -a glittering heap into the bottom of the boat. I should say there -were bushels of them, and rejoice that the brave fishermen and their -wives will have something to eat and much to spare for the market. In -size and taste these smelts are exactly like those we eat in America. -I shall relish them a little more at the table to-night after having -“assisted,” as a Frenchman would say, in the operation of catching -them. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> - -<p>I wonder how much of the sub-Treasury building in Wall Street will -still be standing in the year 4372? This question occurred to me very -forcibly as I gazed on the majestic ruins of the Greek temples at -Pæstum. These are supposed to date back to about 600 <span class="smaller">B. C.</span> -They are all in the same general state of decay as the Parthenon at -Athens, which they much resemble. The largest and best preserved is -the Temple of Neptune, which vividly recalls, by its dimensions and -form, the Wall Street temple of quite another kind. The original -thirty-six Doric columns, each about eight feet in diameter, are yet -proudly erect, and, at a little distance, seem in perfect condition. -Only when one comes near to them does he discover how the tooth of Time -has gnawed into and marred their exquisite shape. The outline of the -eastern front is yet so complete that it could be “restored” by the -addition of a few great stones. Long rows of other fluted columns, not -far off, are the remains of a structure to which the name Basilica is -given for want of a better. A third ruin still farther away is called -the Temple of Ceres, or of Vesta, just as one pleases. Thus uncertain -is the most accurate knowledge we now possess about Poseidonia, -which the Greeks dedicated to Neptune, on a lovely site near the -Mediterranean, twenty-five centuries ago. It must have been a large and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>important settlement in their day. But, in the present year of grace, -not a single stone or trace of any edifice (of the old Greek town) can -be found, except of the three I have named, the massive construction -of which has alone saved any part of them to astonish and delight the -modern world with their noble and beautiful proportions. Bits of Roman -antiquities lie around, but these are so very new in comparison with -the glorious Greek fragments that one regards them without interest. -Formerly a trip to Pæstum was attended with danger from brigands. Now -your sole risk is malaria of the worst type. I am happy to inform any -Americans who may desire to see the treasures of Pæstum that they may -now be spared a long and fatiguing ride through a flat and monotonous -country. A railway has been completed from Battipaglia to Pæstum, -linking it directly and easily with Naples, Salerno, and La Cava. -We made our journey from the latter point, starting about 10 A. M., -spending two hours among the ruins, and getting back a little after -six—a great improvement on any possible way of “doing” Pæstum before -the rails were laid. But quinine is still as indispensable to the -cautious visitor now as a pistol was thirty years ago.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII.</span> <span class="smaller">FRESH DIGGINGS AT POMPEII—VESUVIUS “WORKING”—THE TELL-TALE -SEISMOGRAPH—SOLFATARA.</span></h2> - -<p>It seems odd to speak of a dead city as a growing one. But that is -exactly the case with Pompeii. There are many cities in Italy that -do not grow half as fast as the one buried by the ashes of Vesuvius -eighteen hundred years ago. A person visiting it at intervals of a -year notices a marked enlargement of its boundaries. The Italians are -the champion diggers. They make the shovel fly when they attack the -grave of Pompeii. We saw a gang of them at work there. A government -overseer watched them like a hawk. He wanted to be sure that they -pocketed no jewelry, coins, or objects of art or utility yielded by -the excavations. The only produce of their toil in that line, as we -stood by, was a bit of iron, which the guide called a hinge, and the -fragment of a small marble column. The spades, busily plied, were -gradually bringing to light a beautiful house. The floors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> were mosaic, -with simple but graceful designs in scroll-pattern—nearly as fresh -of color as if laid yesterday. The walls bore frescoes of fainter -tints—grinning masks, fauns, Cupids, birds, fish, and fruit. It had -evidently been the home of a well-to-do citizen of Pompeii. The nervous -movements of the workmen betrayed their anxiety. They were hoping at -every moment to make a valuable “find.” Perhaps they might hit upon -a great iron chest—studded with round knobs like a boiler—and full -of gold, money, or ornaments; or they might strike another wonder in -marble or bronze; or they might be startled by coming suddenly upon a -skull or other human remains. In the latter event the work is suspended -till a careful inspection is made. The responsible and intelligent -person in charge proceeds to ascertain if the dead Pompeiian has left -a mold of himself or herself in the plastic ashes. If so, he prepares -a mixture of plaster-of-Paris, breaks a hole in the crust and slowly -pours in the liquid till the mold is full. When it has hardened, the -casting is tenderly removed. Lo! there is a rough image, showing -some poor creature in the agonies of death, prone on the floor, face -downward.</p> - -<p>Thus, most usually, were the inhabitants of the doomed city caught by -the destroying angel. The skull, or leg, or arm, or whatever other part -of the skeleton has not relapsed into its original dust, may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> attach -itself to the plaster cast in the proper place, or may require to be -joined on by a pardonable “restoration.” In either case the effect is -thrilling in its horrible reality. Nothing in painting or sculpture can -shock the beholder more than these self-produced and truthful statues -exhibited in the museum, which is the first and most interesting -thing shown to visitors. But, though neither gold nor silver, nor the -minutest scrap of a skeleton, nor anything else of importance was -unearthed for my benefit, I quitted the new excavations with reluctance -to examine those parts of Pompeii with which the world is already -familiar through the medium of books and pictures. I found myself quite -at home in the bakery, the wine-shop, at the oil-merchant’s, at the -houses of Pansa, of Sallust, of the “tragic poet,” and the rest. The -high stepping-stones across the streets looked familiar, as if I had -trodden them before. The deep ruts cut by the carts as they groaned up -the hill, coming from ancient Stabia, were like friendly landmarks. So -fully have literature and art made us acquainted with this disinterred -city.</p> - -<p>The guide tells me that only about one third of Pompeii has yet been -uncovered. I take his word for it. He is also of the opinion that the -best parts of the city have already been dug out. He evidently wishes -that the work would stop. He is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> very human in this, for he finds it -tiresome to show people about the present Pompeii. Treble its size, -and his labor would be threefold. And he is forbidden to accept money. -But I imagine that this very stern prohibition does not prevent some -persons from offering him quantities, quite privately, or him from -accepting them. It may be true, as our guide insists, that the temples, -forums, baths, theatres, and fine houses now above-ground surpass -anything of the kind that may hereafter be discovered at Pompeii. -But the Italian Government is not disposed to take that for granted. -Liberal sums are yearly appropriated to push on the work. It bears -fruits. A new temple or amphitheatre may not be struck every year, -but something is constantly being turned up to instruct the world in -the manners and customs of the old Romans, so well reflected in the -representative city of Pompeii. Of bronze or stone statues, household -implements, and tools of trades, the yield is immense and steady. These -may be counted by the thousand in the splendid museum at Naples. One -can see so many articles of luxury and use exactly similar to those -he buys nowadays, that he is fain to pause and try to remember what -besides the steam-engine, the photograph, and the electric telegraph, -we moderns have invented. There being no more room at Naples to store -these treasures,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> the excess of them is huddled together in the -courtyards and houses of Pompeii herself. It is estimated that, at the -present rate, this mine of antiquities will not be worked out in fifty -years.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Vesuvius is the most deceptive of mountains. We know how treacherous -and cruel he is. But as we see him gently smoking, in the haze of this -soft, enervating atmosphere, we think him very much maligned. The -chimney of a well-regulated house could not be steadier of behavior. -His sides look sleek in the distance. One would never suspect that all -that brown softness is lava, fifty feet deep, and covering thousands -of acres. When I ascended the volcano, I realized how illusory are -impressions when formed afar off. After traversing Portici and Resina -(old Herculaneum), the carriage climbed a steep slope between country -villas with “plenty of fruit and shade,” as the advertisement of a -country-house to let would say. Presently a sharp turn in the road -brought me face to face with the head of a lava-stream which had been -mercifully stayed at that point years ago. The road had been cut -through it, showing its depth, and that was enough to have buried -in its path any of the villas I had seen below. From this point on -to the station of the Funicular Railway the road for the most part -passes between gray-black walls of lava, the tops of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> which are curled -like waves or twisted into capricious spiral forms, and then forever -stilled. Not a flower or blade of grass grows there, except in crevices -where dust may have fallen and the wind has scattered seeds.</p> - -<p>The desolation, mile after mile, is oppressive to behold. One -seeks relief by looking back over the blue Mediterranean and the -reddish-white cities of the plain. Or else he looks ahead and up to -Vesuvius, whose terrible majesty now begins to appear. I now see that -where the sea of lava ends the ashes begin. The vapor, which seemed -to curl so peacefully and thinly, from the standpoint of Naples, -is mounting to the sky in a great volume, and whirling as if in a -cyclone. One imagines a roar as that hot steam rushes from the crater. -He sees specks tossed into the air. These are stones flung aloft two -hundred to three hundred feet, and dropped back into the yawning pit -to be presently ejected again. He has been told that Vesuvius is a -little more active than usual. He can now readily understand of what -frightful deeds the volcano is capable when in the maddest humor. Not -only all the little cities near his base, which have been rebuilt in -the childlike faith that they will never again be destroyed, but proud -Naples, which has so far been spared, are at his mercy.</p> - -<p>After I had ascended by railway to a nearer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> view of the monster, and -completed my acquaintance with him as far as it was safe, familiarity -did not lessen my respect for his power. It seemed impudently -inquisitive for a party of tiny mortals to be throwing stones into his -enormous mouth, poking canes into his ribs and stirring up the red fire -there, and laughing as the dense, sulphurous fumes rose in our faces. -The guides roasted eggs for us, and we ate them with a pinch of salt, -chucking the shells into the crater, which answered back with a shower -of red-hot stones. These luckily missed their mark. I incline to think -that some of the fun made by our company of visitors was like whistling -to keep up one’s courage; for I noticed that the noisiest of them clung -hard to the guides and gave a wide berth to the crater’s edge, and -looked most pleased when the signal was given to return. Just as we -started on the downward path, Vesuvius made a noise between a sob and a -shriek, and belched forth a farewell volley of stones, which might have -spoiled some hats, and even heads, if they had been shot accurately.</p> - -<p>For the information of those who have never ascended Vesuvius but hope -to do so some day, I add that the trip by carriage from Naples is -three and one-half hours long to the foot of the Funicular Railway. -Thence to the upper station is a ride of twelve minutes, by a line -much <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>resembling that of Mount Washington or the Righi, in ease and -safety. From there to the top of the crater is a steep climb of fifteen -or twenty-five minutes, according to the age and wind of the climber. -Persons with weak lungs or shaky legs, or in any respect infirm, should -not attempt the latter feat. For them is provided the <i>chaise-porte</i>. -Two strong young fellows carry this like a bier—their customer sitting -composedly (unless he or she is badly scared) in the chair which is -swung in the middle of two long poles. The bearers are like goats in -sure-footedness, strength, and agility. It is wonderful to see them -pick their way among the huge, jagged pieces of smoking lava and up the -steep slope of hot ashes, ankle-deep, without slipping. In an hour one -may do reasonable justice to the cone and crater, and in two hours and -a half more be back in Naples.</p> - -<p>On my way down the mountain I profited by a little spare time to do -what most tourists omit: I visited the observatory. This building is -securely placed on a spur of Vesuvius where the lava-wave parts in -its destructive course. Here dwell day and night, all the year round, -an accomplished scientist and an able staff, whose duty it is to note -all the phenomena of eruptions and earthquakes. In reality most of the -work is done for them by instruments of almost inconceivable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>delicacy -and precision, and they have only to keep these in perfect order. This -exquisite automatic apparatus reports everything the world wants to -know about earthquakes except their cause. They give the direction of -the movement, its speed and intensity and duration. Though the man -who climbs to the crater does not observe the faintest throb beneath -his feet when the volcano is most active, there is a little tell-tale -machine down in the observatory which vibrates passionately at that -precise moment. It is not at rest five minutes together during the -whole day. If the motion of the trembling is horizontal, then a hollow -brass ball swings toward the north, south, east, and west, as the case -may be. This indicates unerringly the direction of the earthquake-wave. -If the motion is vertical, then a spiral coil of fine wire visibly -shortens and springs back again. Every discharge of stones from the -crater above causes an extraordinary agitation of the wire. You see the -shower and the sympathetic action of this sensitive coil at the same -instant. The director invites you to dance a jig on the floor, within a -foot of the wire, to show that its movements correspond only to actual -tremblings of old Mother Earth. You do so, jumping as high as you can. -But the apparatus makes no sign. The heavy rumbling of a wagon in the -road outside does not disturb it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> The “seismograph,” as it is called, -does only the work for which it was designed. The director, however, -was good enough to switch off its connection from the bowels of the -earth to my pulse. No doctor with hand on wrist could have counted the -beats more accurately. They were more regular than those of Vesuvius, -if not quite as fierce. Out of the millions of observations taken here -in the course of years, it is hoped that some time an exact science of -earthquakes may be constructed, with possible usefulness to mankind. -For three or four days before the appalling calamity in Ischia (just -off this coast) in 1883, all the apparatus of the observatory was -greatly excited. Something frightful was brewing. That was evident to -the watchers up there. The world knows the result. If it could have -been foretold in time to save hundreds of lives on that unhappy island, -that would indeed have been a triumph of science.</p> - -<p>At the center of the old volcanic district west of Naples is the great -crater of Solfatara, not yet quite extinct. Eight centuries ago it -was active and destructive; now it is full of stunted bushes and tall -grass. The sulphurous vapor rising from a hole about three feet in -diameter, on one side of the vast bowl, shows that a fire still burns -in its bosom. One can not see the red-hot lava in the crevices, as on -Vesuvius. But if the hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> is held in the ascending steam for a moment, -a scalding heat is felt. The guide who conducted me about the crater -actually crawled into this hole at a point where it could be entered -horizontally. To escape suffocation he covered his mouth with his hand -and kept close to the ground. After about a minute of anxiety on my -part, he returned with fine specimens of sulphuric deposits exactly -like those I had seen fringing some of the chinks in the burning flank -of Vesuvius. The offensive smell and acrid taste of the vapor which -poured forth incessantly from this subterranean passage were the same -that make an ascent of the Vesuvian cone so trying to many persons. -The guide assured me that the connection between Solfatara and the -great volcano on the Bay of Naples was intimate and instant. Whenever -Vesuvius is inactive, Solfatara “works” quite fiercely. Whenever -Vesuvius is very active, Solfatara is disappointing. It would seem from -this statement that, though the mountains are miles apart, they both -communicate with a common reservoir of molten matter.</p> - -<p>There is no certainty that Solfatara will not break out again. There -have been periods of centuries between the eruptions of Vesuvius; and -it is a recorded fact that at times its crater has been lined inside -with foliage, so reduced was its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> capacity for mischief. As there is -no present prospect that tourists can descend in safety to the floor -of its crater and study minutely the phenomena which can not be fairly -seen from the rim, they should not fail to visit Solfatara. They will -not burn the soles of their boots, and yet they can, if they please, -roast eggs by digging down about a foot in places indicated by the -guide. They can realize the thinness of the crust over which they walk -by raising a large stone and throwing it down violently. The ground -gives back a hollow sound. It is true that Solfatara does not eject -red-hot stones, even the smallest. But that is a point in its favor, -enabling the visitor to look on with a sense of perfect safety. There -is but one Vesuvius. No other volcano is as accessible, or offers -as many advantages for all kinds of observations. But if one is at -Naples, and does not care to incur the fatigue or other discomforts of -an ascent of Vesuvius, Solfatara is a good substitute excursion and -is hereby recommended; and, as something supplementary to the greater -event, it is also of much interest.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">ITALIAN BEGGARS—A NEGLECTED GRAVE—THE BLUE-GUM TREE AND -MALARIA—PERUGIA—ETRUSCAN TOMBS.</span></h2> - -<p>If, by a stroke of this pen, I could banish every beggar from Italy, -I should hesitate to do so. They may deserve the punishment. But they -are amusing rascals. Life here would be duller without them. The -other day when a span of tired horses were dragging me up Vesuvius, -three men sprang out of the ground in front of the carriage. I do not -know how else to explain their sudden appearance. They were beggars -of the musical variety. One carried a fiddle, the second a mandolin, -the third a guitar. Bowing to me, they formed a line on my right and -marched up the mountain, Indian file, playing as they went. I was just -then trying to realize in imagination the terrible splendor of the -eruption that had caused the flow of lava fifty feet deep, through -which the carriage-road was cut. These three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> fellows with their -lively Neapolitan airs disturbed me greatly. But the absurdity of the -situation soon overcame my resentment. I laughed heartily and permitted -them to escort me about a mile before dismissing them with a few soldi. -We parted friends, and they proceeded to levy tribute on the carriage -behind me. It takes philosophy to extract amusement out of these -seeming pests. But happy is the man who can do it, for Southern Italy -swarms with them.</p> - -<p>At Baiæ where we were taking a bad lunch at a wretched little inn, four -women entered the room, and, without asking our leave, began to dance -the tarantella. They were probably the wife of the landlord and three -servants. Their dancing was a fitting accompaniment to the lunch they -had provided for us. One of the women strummed a tambourine as big as -an old-fashioned kitchen sieve. This supplied the only music, except -that the other three kept time with castanets. They made a horrible -din, and, being ill-favored and shabbily dressed, were anything but -pleasant companions, as they flirted their skirts almost in our -faces. But after a few minutes we found them with all their faults -more interesting than the lunch, and made them a present altogether -too large for their deserts. This was a serious mistake, for they all -rushed off and speedily returned, with bouquets,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> coral jewelry, and -antiquities that must have been at least forty-eight hours old. All -these they wanted us to buy at exorbitant prices. Our refusal to do -so angered the whole party. This, of course, put an end to the fun. -So I settled the tavern score hastily and we returned to Naples. But -the incident, unsatisfactorily as it terminated, remains to-day the -pleasantest memory of a visit to ruins that were not worth seeing.</p> - -<p>On my visit to the Blue Grotto at Capri, it required the utmost -obstinancy to refuse the demand of my boatman for a two-franc piece. -He wanted me to throw it into the water, and see him dive and bring it -up from the bottom. If I had accepted his offer, he would have whisked -off his coat and shirt (if he had one), and gone down fifty feet for -the piece, and recovered it for himself without fail. But I was anxious -to get back to the steamer which was waiting for us, and resolutely -declined to be amused at that price. At Sorrento, the hotel guests -standing out on the balconies overlooking the sea were constantly -importuned for “pennies” by boys in the boats below. When the money was -thrown down, the little fellows would watch its course through the air, -and, the moment it struck the water, they would dive into the pellucid -depths and in a flash reappear with it, holding it aloft between -thumb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> and finger. These are but a few out of the hundred methods in -which money is extracted from you, under the pretense of some service -rendered or amusement supplied. And still I say that it pays to humor -all these people to a moderate extent. And, furthermore, I would not -refuse a very modest coin to the ragged but picturesque creature who -stands at every church-door and lies in wait for me at every bit of -rising ground. He does not pretend to give any equivalent for the money -received. He is a beggar pure and simple. He has been begging for -thirty, forty, or fifty years. In all that time he imagines that he has -acquired “rights,” and I confess I almost feel ashamed of myself when I -drop my insignificant alms into his dirty hand.</p> - -<p class="space-above">“Shelley?” asked the man in charge of the Protestant Cemetery at Rome, -when we appeared at the gate, one beautiful afternoon in May. It is -the only English word except “Keats” that he can pronounce correctly. -Three years before the same man put the same question to us. We again -answered “Yes.” For, with many others of the English-speaking race, we -took a sad pleasure in visiting the graves of those two most gifted -and unhappy beings. Shelley’s heart alone rests in the cypress-shaded -inclosure, which is now full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> graves. The rest of his body, we -remember, was reduced to ashes on a funeral-pyre, in the presence of -Byron and some others, at that spot on the shore of Spezzia Bay where -the drowned poet had been cast up by the waves. As this is an age of -monuments to neglected genius, I was curious to see if anything had -been done for Shelley by his ardent admirers since 1883. No! there is -the old small stone flat on the earth, looking moldier than ever. The -inscription “<i>Cor Cordium</i>” is filled in with dirt. A weed, looking -like burdock, grows rankly about the grave. There is not a flower near -it, unless one should count in a withered and blackened rose which -some pitying soul had thrown down on the center of the dingy marble -slab. This may have been lying there for two or three months. I dare -say fragments of it will be found there a year hence, unless the wind -blows them away. For it is evident that Shelley’s tombstone is never -swept and cleaned except by the elements. Trelawney, the life-long -friend and stanch defender of the poet, rests beside him. He died at -the age of eighty-eight, and Shelley at thirty. In standing beside -these two graves, equally destitute of human care, one pays a tribute -to friendship as well as to genius.</p> - -<p>Another old man—Severn—sleeps alongside of young Keats. Their graves, -situated in a free and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> wind-swept place, outside of the stuffed -cemetery, are well cared for. The same good people who put up the -exquisite portrait of Keats in <i>alto-rilievo</i> against the wall of -the portal and erected the tombstone in memory of Severn, doubtless -provided for proper attention to the graves. The wall near by is -thick with climbing roses. Daisies, buttercups, and some flowers not -so familiar to us, star the lush grass on every side. A trim hedge -incloses the two who, in death, as in life, were not divided. Keats -sleeps under the shadow of a laurel-tree, which has grown much in the -last three years, and still supplies leaves in abundance to be plucked -and pressed as souvenirs. As we stood there and watched the sharp -shadow of the venerable pyramid of Cestius slowly creeping toward us, -the spell was broken by the harsh voice of a man at my elbow. “What a -shame,” he said, “that such an epitaph should be allowed to stand above -a grave!” I turned and saw an Englishman. He referred, of course, to -the bitterness of the inscription, alluding to the savage criticisms -which, doubtless, hastened the death of the consumptive, broken-hearted -Keats. The Englishman thought it was high time to erase this memorial -of a by-gone literary feud. “True,” I replied, “the epitaph does -seem out of place now, when the position of Keats among the English -immortals is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>assured. But, after all, should it not be kept there as a -warning to future critics? It should teach them to be more tolerant of -young authors, with their new and daring styles.” The other man could -not accept that view of the case. I did not care to discuss it. So we -touched hats and parted.</p> - -<p class="space-above">It is not easy to find out the exact sanitary value of the eucalyptus, -or blue-gum tree. Americans who inhabit malarial districts, and are -waiting for Italy to test the tree thoroughly before planting it in -their own grounds, will be sorry to learn that a blight has fallen on -a great many promising groves of the eucalyptus in this country. At -most of the railway-stations in South Italy the trees are withered, -if not yet dead. Their leaves are yellow and curled up, and have only -a faint resinous smell. Many of the trees, whose leaves are still -green and balmy, are stunted. They do not grow here with the rapidity -and vigor of the eucalyptus in Australia. The trouble is less with -the climate than the soil, for I observed at some stations every sign -of health in some trees. A specimen would show robustness in every -leaf, and fill the air with its peculiar odor, while another one not -two hundred feet away would be drooping and scentless. In those few -places where the tree has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> done justice to itself, as one may say, men -speak well of it. They regard it as a preventive, to some extent, of -malarial fever; they ought to know. The good fathers at the Abbey of -Tre Fontaine, near Rome, have the highest opinion of the eucalyptus. -It is an undoubted fact that the very free planting of the tree in and -about the abbey-grounds has made them habitable. It takes kindly to -that particular locality. The monks have mastered the art of raising -it to perfection. They have a vast nursery where it is grown by the -hundreds of thousands, and sold cheaply. The trees which I had noticed -at so many railway-stations all came from Tre Fontaine. The monks make -a handsome revenue out of this product. It would not be quite fair to -say that their interests prejudice them in its favor, though one could -hardly expect them to underrate something the cultivation of which is -so gainful for them. To sum up the matter, according to my present -light, I should say that where the eucalyptus can be made to thrive it -is a check on malaria.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The old town, Perugia, is well worth visiting on many accounts. -Traveling by rail from Rome to Florence, one sees large clusters of -houses perched high on the hill-side. They are crowned with campaniles -and domes, surrounded by high<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> walls, and provoke one’s curiosity to -make their closer acquaintance. But on consulting his guide-book, the -tourist finds that these elevated settlements contain few objects of -interest, better examples of which can be found elsewhere. He also -learns, which is as much to the purpose, that they have no good hotels. -Now, Perugia is very old, very quaint, full of venerable historical -associations, a center of Etruscan tombs, and other antiquities, -seventeen hundred feet above the sea, and has a first-class hotel. This -modern structure, the “Grand,” occupies the highest ground of the town, -and commands a magnificent view of the Umbrian Valley. East, south, -and west I survey all the details of a landscape of variety and beauty -unsurpassed. It is intersected by the Tiber and some smaller rivers, -which flash in the morning sun. Many villages are visible as brown -patches, among them Assisi, famous as the birthplace of St. Francis. -Mountains bound the view on all sides. Some of them are still tipped -with snow, and their summits would easily be mistaken for clouds if -these were not scurrying past in the south wind. As I write a haze -is beginning to blot out the more distant villages. A heated term is -threatening. But Americans are not to be frightened by that. Only I -wish the roads were not so white and dusty. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - -<p>This country is a vast cemetery. No one can say how many races were -buried here before the Etruscans passed away in their turn and left -the ground honey-combed with their tombs. When one sinks a well or -digs a cellar for a house, he is apt to strike his spade against a -rock, which gives back a hollow sound. It is the roof of an Etruscan -burial-vault. From this subterranean chamber the air has been excluded -for more than two thousand years. I am told that strange things are -sometimes seen in the tombs at the moment when they are opened, and -then vanish forever. They say that glimpses are caught of old Etruscan -lords and ladies sitting at banquets, and that these disappear the -instant the outer air touches them. When the finder proceeds to open -and examine the tomb, he discovers nothing but a heap of dust in place -of the vision that had startled him. These are obviously fables, for -the most part. Though I believe it is true that an Etruscan knight, in -full armor, collapsed to dusty nothingness in precisely this way when -his tomb was invaded a few years ago. We have been to see the Sepulchre -of the Volumnii, about five miles below Perugia, and found it and its -contents very strange and interesting. It is supposed to date back to -the third century <span class="smaller">B. C.</span> A descent of some thirty steps leads -down to it from the road-side. First, a chamber,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> about twenty-five -feet square, is entered, and from this smaller apartments branch to -right and left. The sepulchre is hewn out of the tufa-rock. It is very -damp and cold. Heads of Medusa, dolphins, and serpents are carved with -much skill on the top and sides of this tomb. All around stand small -stone urns, each one bearing in <i>alto-rilievo</i> the representation of a -fight. One man is always killing another, unless the scene is varied by -the sacrifice of a bound and helpless woman or child on an altar. The -covers of these urns are higher works of art. They are surmounted with -recumbent figures of men and women. These are dressed in the costume of -their age and sex, and each has in his or her hand a bowl for tears. -Lifting off a cover, I find inside the urn about a hatful of ashes. I -run my fingers through this mass and feel fragments of burned bones. -But I am rudely stirring up all that remains of some gallant warrior -or some haughty beauty, and withdraw my hand with a sense of remorse. -A great many personal ornaments of exceeding richness and grace have -been taken from these receptacles, and are separately exhibited by the -custodian. But if one wishes to realize the full extent of the arts and -sciences familiar to the old Etruscans, he should inspect the splendid -collection in the University Museum at Perugia.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX.</span> <span class="smaller">FLORENCE—BOLOGNA—COMO.</span></h2> - -<p>Sunday, May 23d, being at Florence, we went to the Duomo. Advancing -from the door to the center of that magnificent cathedral, we noticed -a crowd of persons standing there, and heard a musical voice sounding -above their heads. The edifice is so vast that the thousand or more -people who composed the throng occupied comparatively only a small -space on the floor. The voice, the source of which we could not trace -at first in the dim light of the place, proved to come from a pulpit -in mid-air. The speaker was a fine-looking man about fifty years old. -His face was highly intellectual, and at moments intensely spiritual in -its expression. He spoke Italian with a sweetness and a rhythmic swing -delightful to the ear. One might not know a word of what he said—as -at the Italian opera—and still enjoy hearing him. But it was not -necessary to understand more than a few words—here and there—of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -beautiful language that rolled so fluently from his lips in order to -catch the full purport of his remarks. His theme was the consolations -of religion in earthly sorrows. He spoke without manuscript or notes. -The man’s heart was full of his message, and he delivered it with an -eloquence that held his audience spell-bound. Officers and privates -of the army, gray-headed civilians, rich men and beggars, women and -children, all stood there with parted lips gazing upon his face and -drinking in his words of faith and cheer. His gestures were few and -natural. They seemed freighted with meaning. At times he would point up -to the glorious dome, as if apostrophizing the angels and saints who -make that great concave seem a glimpse of heaven. Then he would press -his hand fervently upon his heart, as if to testify a sincerity for -which no such gesture was needed, as truth and zeal shone before all -men in every line of his face. Suddenly, while the attention of his -hearers was rapt and almost painful in its intensity, he stopped, gave -the congregation his blessing with a quick motion of his right hand -(a sign of the cross), and abruptly left the pulpit. A moment later I -saw him glide rapidly through the throng with a thick cloak wrapped -about him, and a shawl tied around his neck. His impassioned sermon -had heated him up, and he was very wisely taking care of himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> His -name is unknown to me, and I may never see him again. But his eloquent -discourse, which would have interpreted itself had it been spoken in -Chinese, will ever remain one of my pleasantest recollections of the -grand old Cathedral of Florence.</p> - -<p>On the way back to my hotel I passed the Palazzo Vecchio. As I stopped -to inspect its venerable front, a small boy handed me a printed slip -of paper. Looking at it, I found it to be a recommendation of somebody -with a long name for the office of delegate in the National Assembly. -It was signed by numerous citizens of Florence, all highly respectable, -probably, but strangers to me. Just before me I observed one man -button-holing another, and whispering something in his ear. Groups of -people were conferring mysteriously on every side. Then, for the first -time, I noticed that the Palazzo Vecchio itself was plastered over -with enormous placards of assorted colors—red, green, blue, white, -and yellow. Letters a foot long proclaimed all these show-bills to be -election posters, quite in the American style. They were all dated the -night before the eventful day—namely, Sunday—which had been assigned -for the great struggle between the friends and foes of the present -Italian ministry. Politicians are the same in all countries. The -cunning fellows in Italy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> understand as well as their American kind the -art of issuing “last cards” and “final appeals” at an hour too late for -refutation by their opponents.</p> - -<p>Desiring to compare the Italian with the American process of balloting, -I climbed to a large upper room in the palace where voting was then in -progress. Admission was impossible without a <i>permesso</i>, which it was -not worth while to procure, as I saw at a glance through the doorway -how the business was done. A number of officials sat at a long table; -upon it were glass globes for the ballots, and books for identifying -and checking off the voters. The formalities were in substance the -same as those which so effectually deter very busy men from voting in -New York except in presidential years. With a population of 150,000, -Florence is entitled to cast about 15,000 votes; and out of these the -proportion of stay-at-homes is as large as in our own city. Very little -interest was actually taken in the election, although the political -journals had been trying for a week to “get up steam” with pictorial -caricatures and big head-lines. The contest was evidently one between -the ins and the outs, and the great majority of voters had no real -concern in the issue. But the lesson was no less instructive to an -American. All that I saw on that election Sunday in Florence convinced -me that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> political tricks and “dodges” are by no means confined to our -beloved country.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The tourist’s purse should be well stuffed if he wants to buy -Florentine mosaics at the shops of the most famous manufacturers. The -prices of some of their products would be called high even in New York. -Extra fine pieces are ticketed at five thousand francs and upward. Some -of the makers of mosaics have grown rich on American patronage. It is -not at their shops that you get bargains. There is no shade of color, -I believe, which the artist can not find among the stones, shells, or -corals with which he produces his wonderful effects. As all great works -of art require a master for their accomplishment, it stands to reason -that the finest original landscapes, portraits, and flower and fruit -pieces can never be very cheap, as most people estimate cheapness. But -it is possible to pick up fairly good mosaics in Florence at reasonable -rates, though these are not the rates asked by the seller. He does not -expect you to give more than a half or two thirds his nominal price. -I have visited a number of factories of fancy goods in Italy, and -observed that nearly, all the labor is performed by mere children. They -toil many hours in the day, and are poorly paid. Under the pretense -that they are being <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>educated to a trade, they continue for years to -do a journeyman’s work, and it is to their cunning hands that we owe -some of the most marvelous imitations of masterpieces in wood-carving, -filigree, and mosaic. When, therefore, the manufacturer takes off a -half or a third of his asking price, he is still making a large profit -on his goods. No American need think that he can ever get the better of -an art-dealer in Europe. That is impossible.</p> - -<p class="space-above">One of the most interesting sights in the environs of Florence is the -Carthusian Monastery. I had the pleasure of visiting it with a party -of American ladies. The monastery is an immense structure, covering -acres of land, and contains ten or a dozen chapels of different -sizes. This is enough to give each monk a chapel all to himself—the -inmates not exceeding that number. For reasons best known to the -Italian Government, it has been decided to wind up certain spiritual -retreats, and this Carthusian Monastery among them. But the work is -done gradually, and the buildings and grounds will not revert to -the Government until the last of the few remaining monks is dead. -They do not seem likely to die in a hurry. Some of them would take -the prizes in any human exhibition for fatness and sleekness. Their -loose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> and flowing robes of some cream-colored stuff, perhaps, impart -an unreal fullness to their figures. One wonders if their lives are -quite as austere as represented. The monk who piloted our party about -is magnificent in physique. He stands about six feet two inches, as -straight as an arrow, weighs fully two hundred pounds, has a winning, -slightly sunburned Italian face, and is in manner a perfect gentleman. -To the ladies he is at once dignified and courteous. Somewhere in some -other days he must have mingled with refined society, and I catch -myself in a state of keen surprise when I contrast his presumably -monastic life here with the gay times that he may have had elsewhere. -He is very fluent in Italian and French, as if he were making up (poor -fellow!) for the enforced silence of his vows. For we are told that -this ready talker is allowed to converse with his brethren no more -than one hour in a week. We are shown his suite of small, miserable, -cheerless rooms where he receives and eats his frugal meals, which -are shoved to him through a hole in the wall by a hand attached to an -unseen person. We see the wretched straw pallet on which he stretches -his giant frame, and the bare table where he makes his solitary -repast. Then we look again at his healthy face, and still wonder -by what alchemy he can transmute his solitude and privation into -apparent contentment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> and even happiness. The ladies all think that -our handsome guide must “have a history.” They imagine that somewhere -among his antecedents is the inevitable “woman.” They speculate fondly -on the probabilities of some love-affair which drove our friend from a -luxurious court to this penitential abode. They unanimously agree that -it is “too bad” to keep such a fine-looking gentleman confined in a -monastery, when society outside is pining for precisely that kind of -material. But our monk makes no revelation of his own thoughts. After -he has patiently taken us all over the monastery, and picked flowers -for the ladies as mementos of their visit, he bids them good-by with -the one unchanging expression of contentment on his face. May his ample -shadow never be less, nor his beard of raven blackness be shorn of its -luxuriant proportions!</p> - -<p class="space-above">Entering the ancient and famous city of Bologna May 24th, I could -think only of the sausage that bears her name. The ideas of Bologna -and sausage were one and inseparable. Could anything be more -ridiculous? There was a large, rich, enterprising city, with her fine -picture-galleries, churches, and important university, two remarkable -leaning towers, and many branches of industry in which she excels. And -yet I found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> myself looking out of the carriage-windows, right and -left, for nothing but sausages! Not a single specimen of them could -be seen between the station and the hotel. You may believe I was much -disappointed. But at dinner, among a great variety of French dishes, -the waiters bore around plates covered with the thinnest possible -slices of the celebrated sausage. For a moment I hovered over it -with a fork, and then gave myself the benefit of the doubt. All the -Italians present scrambled for it, but the English people and at least -two Americans at table let it alone. Such is prejudice. After dinner, -walking about the shops near our hotel, I saw plenty of sausages. -Indeed, these were the most beautiful ornaments of the shop-windows. -Some were a foot in diameter, and their finely-cut surfaces looked like -Roman mosaic. Aside from her sausages, Bologna is well worth a visit, -and even those persons who are squeamish about eating them can not help -admiring their decorative effect when exposed for sale in the busy -parts of the city. Their artistic combinations of tint lighten up the -shop-fronts like so many chromos or colored photographs.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Next day we examined the two leaning towers. One of them is -particularly interesting, because it is claimed by some authorities to -be the only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> tower in all Italy which leans “on purpose.” The taller -of the pair deflects only about three and a half feet in a height of -two hundred and seventy-two feet; while the other, with a height of -only one hundred and thirty-eight feet, is eight and a half feet out -of plumb. According to tradition, if not history, this obliquity is -the work of design. One may suppose that the original intention was -to carry the short tower to the same height as the tall one, and that -the architect and the workmen became frightened as they proceeded. One -feels like “standing from under” as he looks up and sees that massive -chimney-like pile apparently on the point of toppling over with its -own weight. I can understand, too, that the masons may have struck for -higher wages or fewer hours as the tower began to lean more and more. -It should have needed no trade-union or Knights of Labor to impel them -to make a demand on their employers. To them as to us it must have -seemed very absurd to build a tower at enormous expense for the express -object of showing how much it could be made to lean without falling. -After one has looked at these eccentric structures a short time he -becomes the prey of a singular optical illusion. Every other campanile -or steeple or chimney appears to be leaning more or less. The fronts of -tall buildings do not seem to be exactly up and down.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> The spectator -insensibly compares one upright object with another, and discovers, as -he imagines, a variance of a yard, or a foot, or an inch, from the true -perpendicular. He becomes painfully skeptical about the stability of -all things, and does not get rid of this disagreeable impression until -he leaves Bologna, and ceases to see the pair of leaning towers looming -always above the horizon.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Taking one’s lunch on the upper deck of a Rhine steamer is very -pleasant. The same operation is highly agreeable on a Danube boat. The -picturesque scenery of both rivers is enjoyed all the more while the -inner man is duly refreshed. But a lunch eaten in full air on the smart -little craft that plies on the most beautiful of Italian lakes between -Como and Bellagio is an experience no less delightful. The food and the -wine are good, to begin with. If one comes up from Milan on a hot and -dusty day, he revels in the coolness as he sits under an awning and is -fanned by breezes that have swept over yonder snow-fields of the Alps. -The hotter he has found Rome and Florence—and the more wearisome the -great valley or prairie of the Po has seemed to him as he traversed -it—the more he feasts on the prospect of mountains now all around him, -and the promise of lower temperature which they do not hold out in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -vain. The hills which form the immediate frame of this exquisite lake -are clothed to their tops in green—not barren on the summit like those -of Southern Italy. This green is reflected in the clear, deep water, -and perhaps of itself explains the fine aquamarine tint for which Como -is as famous as Lake Leman for its matchless blue.</p> - -<p>Perhaps no person who ever heard or read Claude Melnotte’s description -of Como, as poured by him into the too credulous ear of the Lady of -Lyons, can look on this lake without recalling some or all of that -delicious bit of poetry. This is unfortunate. Because the shores of -lovely Como do not abound in orange-groves as he has been led to -expect. Neither does he see anywhere fountains gushing forth in the -midst of roses. Besides, the environments of the lake are far from soft -and sensuous. The entire effect partakes of the grand and rugged. It is -only of the water itself and the villas on the banks that the epithet -beautiful is spontaneously used. But we know that Claude Melnotte was -only romancing when he painted Como to the love-lorn Pauline. Bulwer -must not be held responsible if travelers do not find here exactly -those charms which they had been prepared for. But none the less is the -Lake of Como peerless in Italy. If it has a rival anywhere it is in -America. Those who have seen Lake George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> may with some show of justice -assert its equality with Como in the chief elements of beauty. I have -heard the comparison made more than once by Americans here—to the -disparagement of Como. But why compare them at all? They are different -in certain respects; and I should say that in those variations, and -those only, each is more charming than the other.</p> - -<p>In a world’s competition of roses the Lake of Como would stand a good -chance of carrying off the highest honors, for the profusion, size, -variety, and fragrance of those flowers. The villas here recall Byron’s -flowing line about “the gardens of Gul in their bloom.” And then the -nightingales! They are singing all night long in the forest on the -hill-side. There is an accompaniment of sweet woodland music to odors -almost oppressive in their richness. The old fable of the nightingale -loving the rose seems to be possible in this Eden of Como.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER X.</span> <span class="smaller">PEASANT-GIRLS—NIGHTINGALES—ISOLA BELLA—SAN CARLO BORROMEO IN COPPER.</span></h2> - -<p>A lucky accident enabled us to get an inside view of some little -Swiss and Italian villages rarely seen by tourists. We missed a boat -through the fault of a servant, and were obliged to take a carriage -from Lugano, on the lake of that name, to Luino, on Lago Maggiore. -The day was beautiful, the team fresh, and the route not described in -the guide-books. The old post-road which we traveled is still kept in -good condition for local use. We did not pass a single carriage all -the way. The villages of Northern Italy are almost uniformly neat and -clean. The inhabitants are honest, industrious, and self-respecting. We -have not seen a beggar within the boundaries of the Italian lakes. The -scarcity of men in these out-of-the-way places is very noticeable. All -the young and strong fellows are at work in the larger towns along the -lakes, where there is plenty to do for willing hands in the “season.” -We saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> no natives except old men, children, and women. The latter -do everything inside and outside of the houses, the shops, and the -taverns. They were gathering in a crop of hay from all the fields along -both sides of the road. The fragrance of the new-mown grass filled -the air. Except for the women with their rakes and forks the scene in -early June very closely resembled that of a New England meadow in a -later month. There are the same stone walls dividing the fields, only a -little better built than those in America. Daisies and butter-cups are -the wild flowers in greatest abundance, though there are many others -peculiar to this part of the world. The one object in the landscape -which, above every other, makes a difference, is the high square tower -of the Campanile. The traveler is never out of sight of that substitute -for the American steeple, and there is hardly an hour of the day when -he does not hear its sweet accord of bells ringing in the distance. -And the people of these little hamlets are never so busy that some of -them can not steal a few minutes from their day’s work to enter their -church and kneel in silent prayer. As we walk on tip-toe down the cold -stone aisles to look at some bit of painting or sculpture of surprising -excellence, we feel ashamed of disturbing the poor women at their -devotions. But they do not seem to mind it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> showing far less curiosity -about strangers than the average congregation of a church in any small -American village would exhibit.</p> - -<p>In this memorable ride we frequently met girls with large wicker -baskets strapped to their shoulders. The bearers were healthy and -strong, and did not appear to need the aid of the thick stick which -served as a cane. There are no tramps hereabout. But if one should -spring from the road-side and insult that muscular young creature, I -imagine that he would be sorry for it; for her stout staff is gripped -in a large hand and her arm is sinewy. She is just such an athlete -as the girl who rowed us all about the Bay of Lugano. That rower, -by-the-way, handled the oars more neatly than any boatman we have -seen on these lakes. Her stroke was faultless. And all the time that -she was cleaving the water with a powerful sweep she was talking with -feminine facility, divining by instinct the questions we were about to -ask, and giving us the very information we would have sought. If such a -girl—instead of a stupid boy—had been the driver of our carriage, I -might have learned more worth the mention between Lugano and Luino.</p> - -<p>Returning to the lasses on the road, I would add that the monstrous -baskets were filled to the top with something that seemed heavy. The -girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> may have been trudging home from market with goods obtained in -exchange for their own handy-work. For they are dexterous at spinning, -weaving, and lace-making, as well as in the manufacture of butter -and cheese. It is no wonder that the men confidingly leave all the -interests of home in their charge. Seeing how true and brave they are, -we can not help regretting that those straight, handsome forms should -so soon be bowed down by the excessive burdens thrust upon them. But -they would be the first to reject the traveler’s commiseration. Those -who are barefoot would tell him that they enjoy treading the earth -with their naked soles. Most of the girls whom we met, however, wear -bandages of white linen or other material wrapped around the feet and -wooden sandals lightly strapped to them. This arrangement gives more -play to the feet than the stockings and shoes of other countries. The -wearers would spurn with contempt the tight fits and high heels which -no fashionable woman of the period could do without.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The Lakes Lugano and Maggiore are less picturesque and interesting than -Como. The tourist ought, if convenient, to reverse the circuit we made. -Como should be kept for the last if possible, since all the rest pale -in comparison with it. But each of the other lakes has its separate -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>fascination, either of tint or of surrounding mountains, or something -else. For example, we saw on Lake Lugano no less than four cascades of -great height and fullness. They looked like fresh and foaming milk as -they streamed from precipices a thousand feet high. Any one of them -would make the fortune of a hotel-keeper in Switzerland, where such -objects are greatly in favor; but here they are too common to excite -much interest. As for Lake Maggiore, it enjoys the distinction of -being larger than any other of the group. This gives space for longer -steamboat trips, which some persons enjoy greatly, and I can certify to -the pleasure of them. But the same lake surpasses the rest in the glory -of the snow mountains, which, though miles away, seem to spring out of -its depths. These are the Simplon and its spotless associates. They -raise their sharp crests far above the snow-line, and show great masses -of gleaming white on which the sun has yet made little impression. -As we entered the Bay of Pallanza, the haze prevented our seeing the -lofty range. But next morning, when I flung open the shutters, there -stood the Simplon, cleaving the sky with its wedge. The rays from -the east struck it full in the breast and made it sparkle. One could -see without a glass all the divisions of rock and snow and ice that -compose its towering bulk. Somewhere <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>beyond are the far sublimer -Matterhorn, Weisshorn, Monte Rosa, and others. But they are not needed -to enhance the picturesqueness of this part of Maggiore. Simplon and -his companions answer the purpose just as well.</p> - -<p class="space-above">That man must be very sleepy who would complain of being kept awake by -nightingales. These birds inhabit the thickets around my hotel. About -eleven o’clock, the first night of our arrival, one of them awoke me -from a sound sleep. A window stood ajar, and music flooded the chamber. -The singer was a soloist. Not a sound of any kind interrupted his -performance. Even the crickets stopped to listen. Somebody has taken -the trouble to jot down every note and trill of the nightingale’s song. -It may be reproduced, I believe, on the upper octaves of the piano. But -it can never be made to sound as ravishing as the “wood-notes wild” -of that bird in those bushes. Perhaps imagination has something to -do with the effect. Memory quickly recalls fugitive scraps of poetry -about nightingales, and one listens to them the more greedily. Suddenly -the music, which was so enchanting, woke echoes far and near. Other -nightingales, as if accepting a challenge, responded to the soloist. It -was too much of a good thing. The sweet sounds ran together and became -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>confused. What had been perfect as an air was discord as a chorus. In -the midst of it the chief singer ceased. A few minutes later, and all -was quiet.</p> - -<p class="space-above">“Napoleon the Great slept there,” said the guide, pointing to an -alcove-bed in the huge château on Isola Bella. There was room enough -in it for six little corporals. Fancy the conqueror curling himself -up into a ball and trying to hush to sleep the ambitious schemes that -seethed in his brain! Not long after his visit at Isola Bella he fought -the battle of Marengo. After one has wandered through the labyrinth -of rooms, he is turned over to the gardener. This man takes you to -a little gully hard by, and stops before an enormous laurel-tree. -“There,” says he, “Napoleon cut the word <i>battaglia</i> with his own -hand.” Still fresh from the inspection of Napoleon’s bed, one gazes -almost with awe on a tree which he actually gashed in a moment of -abstraction. But nothing can be seen. The liveliest fancy can make out -nothing more than worm-holes in the bark. The gardener is then good -enough to explain that the highly prized inscription rotted away years -ago. This is too bad. He tries to make up for the loss by showing us -what wonderful things the beautiful island, as it is truly called, is -capable of producing. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is not for an American to be astonished at anything in the -gardening line. So I suppressed any surprise I might have felt when -the cork-tree, the camphor-tree, the tea-plant, and bamboo in every -variety, growing comfortably side by side, were shown to me. It was -a happy family, whose members had been brought together from every -zone but the Arctic. Perhaps the gardener may have easily guessed our -nationality; for it is a fact that he spoke with the greatest pride -of all the different American trees in the collection. To resist such -delicate flattery was impossible. I hope I sustained the reputation of -our country by the size of the <i>pour boire</i> which he received as we -left. The Borromean Islands, of which Isola Bella is the queen, would -well repay one for a visit to Lago Maggiore if there were no other -attractions.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The most illustrious member of the Borromean family in all its eventful -history—St. Charles—has been made the subject of a colossal statue. -It was erected about two hundred years ago at Arona. Its material is -copper, except the head, hands, and feet, which are bronze. Having -seen Bartholdi’s statue of Liberty in Paris, in 1883, I was impelled -to compare it with this old giant. Some people say that Bartholdi’s -masterpiece will easily become the prey of wind and weather—that the -thin copper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> sheets of which it is made will not last long, and that -the first stiff gale will blow it down. But San Carlo Borromeo is -perpetuated in just such copper for the most part. That metal does not -show the least trace of age, save that it has become of a darker and -richer tint with time. As for the wind, there could be no worse site -for a large statue than the high hill north of Arona, where the gusts -are frightful at times. I beg to cite this towering image—sixty-six -feet high and surmounting a pedestal of forty feet—as hopeful evidence -that the greater achievement of Bartholdi will be seen and admired in -its perfection centuries hence.</p> - -<p>Art-critics, in their off-hand, dogmatic way, call the statue of San -Carlo “worthless.” They say that the hands—one of which holds a book, -while the other gives a blessing—are badly managed, that the pose of -the figure is ungraceful, and that the ears are too big. As to the -ears, I admit that they possibly do the saint much injustice. They seem -about the shape and size of meat-platters. But if one’s attention were -not called to them, they would not look so bad. This defect, if such it -is, might perhaps be remedied by turning the unfortunate ears upside -down or back side front. All the rest strikes me as dignified and -effective enough.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SIMPLON IN JUNE—VISPACH TO ZERMATT—THE MATTERHORN—A FINE VIEW -FROM THE SNOWS OF GORNER-GRAT.</span></h2> - -<p>Crossing from Italy to Switzerland by the Simplon Pass early in June, -we found the remains of a great snow-drift near the summit. The crest -of the heap rose above the top of our carriage. On the Italian, or -south, side of the Alps the weather had been quite warm and even -enervating. Although the sky was overcast and rain fell at intervals, -I became unpleasantly heated whenever I walked, to ease the horses -and pick flowers. But the moment we began to descend from the extreme -height of about 6,500 feet, a cold wind struck us in front and flank. -Rugs and shawls which had been carefully strapped up were unbound and -put to use. The road was as good as when Napoleon made it, and the -horses were fresh from a night’s rest at the half-way inn of Isella. -The carriage rattled down the steep grade, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> driver cracking his -whip merrily, and making echoes in the deep and narrow gorges. We knew -that a few hours of this pace would bring us to Brieg and warmth. I -never before realized the full difference between a northern and a -southern aspect. As we made the gradual ascent from Domo d’Ossola, snow -had been occasionally seen, but always far above us. It filled crevices -at the height of 7,000 feet, or crowned the very peaks. But when we -had passed the little village of Simplon and neared the Hospice, there -was snow in patches far below us. And from the road upward it still -covered large tracts, and at times threatened avalanches. These, -however, are of rare occurrence on the Simplon in the first half of -June. Rude crosses mark the spots where travelers had been swept into -the profound gulf which yawned on our left. At one place, the driver -said, four men had been carried to that awful but immediate death. An -enduring crucifix of bronze had been firmly set in a stone socket, just -where they were overtaken. This is the part of the road where so many -“refuges” have been provided. Those places of shelter, as well as the -more comfortable Hospice, have saved the lives of many persons crossing -the pass in the fall, winter, and spring. The <i>tourmente</i>, or whirlwind -of snow, is a cause of more deaths than avalanches in the high Alps.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -It is bitterly cold and blinding, and in a few minutes raises mounds of -snow through which horses and men can hardly make their way. We were -glad to know that the icy plague was out of season at the time of our -crossing.</p> - -<p>The waterfalls—among the greatest charms of the Simplon Pass—were at -their best. The rains had been heavy for some days, and the sun was -melting the snow in all but its highest lodgments. The white peaks -of mountains, ranging from 9,000 to 11,000 feet above the sea, were -sublime and beautiful. One never tires of gazing at them and using some -more familiar mountain at home as a sort of measuring-scale in order -to form a better idea of their height. Americans are in the habit of -recalling their impressions of Washington, Mansfield, Graylock, or the -Catskills for this purpose. In the Alps, however, this plan does not -help us much. For some of the most majestic of the range have their -bases at a height of 5,000 feet to begin with, and never seem to be -as high by several thousand feet as they really are. A mountain of -much less stature would look just as lofty springing from a foundation -nearer the sea-level. I soon gave up Washington, Moosilauke, and the -rest, and began employing Trinity Church steeple and the Produce -Exchange tower as wands of memory in trying to measure Monte Leone and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -the Aletschhorn. The system was amusing if not satisfactory.</p> - -<p>But when no lofty mountains are in sight then one’s spirit is refreshed -by the waterfalls. I never before conceived of the widely different -forms which falling water could assume. We passed hundreds of -cascades between Domo d’Ossola and Brieg, and no two were alike. They -resembled each other as little in shape as in size. Some were simple -mill-streams. They came rushing down the mountains in great volume to -turn wheels. But they found no corn to grind or logs to saw. They were -only conducted off through culverts beneath the road-bed, where they -could do neither harm nor good. What might be called lace-patterns were -innumerable. They were flat waterfalls, thin and very wide, slipping -gently over smooth rocks of easy slopes. Wavy bands of lines made the -breadth of these falls look in the distance exactly like snow-white -lace. Bridal veils of the most exquisite texture were common. Some kept -their symmetry in leaps of at least five hundred feet. There were falls -which reminded one of the dropping of brilliants from fireworks high -in the air. Each flashing wavelet seemed to preserve its unity as it -fell over the precipice, and to come down slowly till broken up by some -jutting rock below. A fall that always pleased us dissipated itself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -in a transparent vapor, and sparkled in the sunshine like a cascade of -diamonds. This is the sort of fall that Swiss innkeepers are said to -manufacture in the dry season. It only needs a small boy with a few -pails of water. He is out of sight on the heights, and turns on the -fall when he sees a carriage coming through the pass. There were too -many falls of this kind to make us question their genuineness. Another -style that never tired came down in numerous short leaps. The effect -was that of stairs made of silver. Sometimes they were solid—as one -might say—and made so little spray that they seemed to be shining -steps leading from the gloomy depths of the ravine to the white and -serene land above.</p> - -<p>We used up the best part of two days traveling from Pallanza (on the -Lago Maggiore), Italy, to Brieg, Switzerland, which is the upper end of -the Simplon road, and would not have abridged the journey by a single -hour. It is delightful and exhilarating to every lover of Nature—in -fine weather. Few persons who seek the Alps for health and pleasure -will be sorry to learn that the proposed tunnel of the Simplon is -likely to remain a dream many years longer. In a shed of the little -<i>auberge</i> at Isella may be seen a boring-machine which has been tried -on the Italian side and laid up for want of funds. The tunnel would -be about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> twelve miles long, and nobody knows how much it would cost. -And nobody in Italy, at least, seems to care. The scheme is of French -origin, though the Swiss are very friendly to it, and its projectors -have hoped that Switzerland would subscribe liberally toward its -execution. But, at present, there is little prospect that help will -come from that quarter or any other. Admirers of the picturesque who -do not want to see the noble Simplon road discarded will not, however, -object to the construction of a narrow-gauge railway between Domo -d’Ossola and the Italian lakes. This would save them the delay and -expense of a carriage-ride of four or five hours through a somewhat -monotonous country. I can testify to the solidity of the road-bed -as far as built. The bridges are particularly strong. Work is now -suspended on this enterprise, also for lack of money, and the natives -told me that they did not expect to see it in operation under four -years—if ever.</p> - -<p>At Brieg we took carriage for Vispach, though the railway from the -former place connects the two villages and continues on to Geneva. -Vispach is the only point of departure for the Zermatt country, where -the Matterhorn reigns supreme. Thousands of persons—mostly Alpine -climbers—visit Zermatt in July and August. It is strange, therefore, -that for half the way there is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> carriage-road where one could be -made at moderate cost merely by widening the present bridle-path. As a -walk, the distance is a good nine hours, and is readily taken by many -English men and women. But people like ourselves, not used to such -performances, are glad to mount horses, or, if timid or not strong, -prefer to be borne on the chair with poles (which one sees everywhere -in these mountains) by the strong hands of two young Swiss giants, with -two others to “spell” them and carry the “traps.” Light-weight ladies -are greatly in favor with these porters. They trot off with their -little burden at a rate which soon distances my horse. It is fun to -notice that sometimes they pretend to find the load heavy and slacken -their gait, as if fatigued. The object of this artifice is to justify -the employment of the second pair of giants, one of whom has a bundle -of umbrellas and the other a small black hand-bag, which is popularly -supposed to be full of money, but in fact contains only bottles. -The horse is led by a fifth man, not, I flatter myself, because the -rider does not know how to ride, but in order to make number five -seem indispensable. This man carries a small package of shawls. It is -the poor horse that does most of the real work and receives no <i>pour -boire</i>. For, besides the person on his back, he bears the only piece -of baggage worth mentioning. This is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> a leather valise of modest -dimensions. Wise people who go to Zermatt get themselves up in light -marching order, leaving their trunks behind to be picked up on their -return. For you are obliged to come out of the Visp Valley the same way -you go in, unless you cross into Italy on foot over a glacier about two -miles high, which we do not propose to do.</p> - -<p>If one were not looking so sharply after his horse and his scattered -property, and keeping the little procession on the go in order to lose -no time, he would enjoy the scenery between Vispach and St. Niklaus -more than he does. It is always wild and in places is magnificent. On -both sides of the valley are crags of great height and occasionally -a snow-tipped peak. Sometimes we rise far above the river Visp, and -then again descend to its level. We are always within hearing distance -of its deep gurgle. On the whole, it was a relief to change off for -a rough mountain-wagon at St. Niklaus and do the rest of the way -with no attendant but the driver. Rain came on about that time, and -we lost some of the finest views to be had before reaching Zermatt. -But we did see the enormous blocks of stone which were shaken down -by the earthquake of 1885 and rolled to the middle of the valley. -The force required to detach these masses from their everlasting -foundations is comprehensible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> But it is not so easy to believe that -an immense section of the Bies glacier which overhangs the village -of Randa, slipped with such initial velocity as to clear that hamlet -completely and fall on the other side. The story goes that, although -this monstrous ice-cake missed the village, the wind of it blew down -all the houses! But we prefer to accept all the astonishing statements -about glaciers, and thereby heighten our enjoyment of those remarkable -objects.</p> - -<p>At half-past five the next morning, I obtained my first and best view -of the sublime Matterhorn from a chamber of the Hôtel du Mont Rose. -It was like an instantaneous photograph. Perhaps not a second elapsed -before a drifting cloud covered the summit. But in that fleeting moment -the view was complete. In the pure air of Zermatt (itself 5,300 feet -high) the stars shine with an intensity unknown to lower regions, -and mountains which are miles away seem to overhang the village. The -height of the Matterhorn is about 14,700 feet. This, great as it is, -would not count for so much but for the peculiar shape of the peak. As -seen from Zermatt it presents two sides of a pyramid of solid rock. -These rise at very sharp angles from a slender base and terminate in -the form of a tusk, which actually curves at the top. It recalls to -mind a walrus-tooth or the horn of a rhinoceros. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> slight coating of -snow mantles only a part of this rockiest of mountains. Nothing could -seem more difficult than the ascent of the Matterhorn. As one looks at -it the wonder grows that the little churchyard of the hamlet, which -holds the bodies of the three who paid with their lives for the honor -of “conquering” it twenty years ago, is not filled with victims of -the same ambition. In the precious moment of my observation I mark -the route by which those daring men made their ascent. There is the -“shoulder” which they passed triumphantly. There is the steepest of -slopes up which they were the pioneers. There is the precipice of -4,000 feet down which four of the party slipped as they were returning -from their victory. And, somewhere down there among the eternal snow, -perhaps in the fathomless crevasse of a glacier, is still buried -the body of Lord Douglas, one of the most intrepid members of the -expedition. But, while I am making out these points of interest, a -cloud eclipses all. I had seen just enough of the obstacles of the -Matterhorn to increase my amazement at the well-known fact that it is -often ascended with safety now-a-days. It should be remembered that -ropes have been securely fastened to the sides of the mountain in the -worst places, and render the task less difficult than formerly. There -are guides standing in the street in front of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> the Hôtel du Mont Rose -who would conduct you to the top of the Matterhorn and bring you back -alive for a moderate sum. But they would not start to-day or to-morrow. -They would wait until July, when the snow had melted and left the lower -part of the mountain bare. Even now, however, an offer large enough -will procure the attempt—and probably a successful one—to accomplish -this greatest of Alpine feats.</p> - -<p>One day I happened to meet in a shop a veteran guide who had retired -from the business on his fees and laurels. The old fellow had just -dined freely, and was feeling well. Knowing who he was, I playfully -asked him if he would take me up the Matterhorn and plant the American -flag on the top for 1,000 francs? My manner should have showed that I -was joking. The aged guide, entering into the humor of the thing, as I -supposed, said he would think about it and let me know. Sure enough, -that very night he hunted me up and said he was ready to start the -next day, if required, on the terms mentioned. He seemed very much -disappointed when I told him I was only “in fun.” Since then I am -aware that all the guides in the street are watching me anxiously. -They hope that I may prove the first candidate for their services on -the Matterhorn this season. Last year they assisted more than twenty -persons up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> and down that terrible rock without a single accident. -August is the best month for the ascents.</p> - -<p>Taking advantage of a fine morning, I started off with a trusty -guide, and in about five hours gained a height of nearly 10,000 feet. -Our route was by a bridle-path up to the Riffelberg, where there -is a summer hotel 8,430 feet above the sea. This establishment was -tenantless at the time of our visit. It is not usually open before -July. Leaving the horse there, the guide and myself proceeded on foot. -At first snow-patches alternated with naked rocks, but presently we -struck a continuous deposit of snow, which gradually increased in depth -from three to six and eight feet. Fortunately for us, Mr. Seiler, the -energetic proprietor of all the hotels in and about Zermatt—five in -number—had that very day directed his men to break a path through -this immense snow-field. We reaped the benefit of their work, and in -fact followed on their heels. At noon we had reached a point on the -Gorner Grat which commanded all the mountains and glaciers I desired to -see; and, as the sun was fast softening the snow and making our task -more arduous, we rested. At that elevation we had fine views of the -Weisshorn, the Rothhorn, Monte Rosa (15,217 feet, and next in height to -Mont Blanc), the Lyskamm, Castor and Pollux, the Dent Blanc, and nearly -all the Alpine monsters of this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> region except the Matterhorn—coyest -of the family. Five or six glaciers could be distinctly seen for the -greater part of their length and breadth. While feasting on this -incomparable scene of icy magnificence drops of rain began to fall, the -majestic outlines of Monte Rosa vanished in a cloud, the whole prospect -became blurred, and, most reluctantly, I decided to return to Zermatt. -But, that nothing might be wanting to make the excursion prosperous, we -were, on the way, favored with a view of the Matterhorn only a shade -less admirable than the one I have already described.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XII.</span> <span class="smaller">EARLY ALPINE FLOWERS—A WEDDING-FEAST—THE RHÔNE VALLEY AND -GLACIER—FURCA PASS.</span></h2> - -<p>What do you say to meadows so thickly set with forget-me-nots that they -are unbroken stretches of blue? If pieces of the sky had dropped on the -grass, the effect would have been about the same as that which we saw -often repeated in the valley of the Rhône. The shade was the faintest -of the many blue tints that one sees in Alpine fields. The corn-flower -grows rank in June, but is not coupled with the flaming poppy as often -as in some other countries of Europe. In the upper pastures are two -species of flowers—each as blue as a perfect sapphire. Both grow close -to the ground. One is small and star-like. The other is bell-shaped and -slender. I have picked it at a height of 7,000 feet. The yellows are in -great force. Dandelions and buttercups everywhere remind the American -tourist of home. There is a large, graceful anemone of a yellow so -delicate as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> to be almost white. If it does not thrust its exquisite -head through the snow, it follows hard upon the disappearance of the -icy mantle. A flower of the kind we call “ladies’ delight”—of a pure -lemon-color—is profusely distributed. In some parts of Switzerland one -comes upon fields all ablaze with buttons of gold. I give the English -equivalent of the French and German names by which this showy flower -is commonly known here. And the reds of various depths are only less -abundant than the yellows. Of these the Alpine rose—as it is just -breaking into blossom this month—is most captivating. The bud, as -it begins to open, looks like a cutting of coral. Daisies supply the -white to this wonderful enameling of Nature. Or, shall I say that it -is a carpet so deftly woven as to defy the imitation of its combined -hues in any piece of mortal handiwork? “You could not see the grass -for flowers.” This extravagance of the poet does not overstate the -floral wealth of some of the fields that border the Rhône between -Brieg and Viesch. Stay! I must not omit to mention some wild violets -of extraordinary size and beauty. These I found in only one place—far -above the Rhône glacier—and earned their possession by a hot scramble -up a very steep hill while the carriage was taking its long and zigzag -way round. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<p>At Viesch we came upon a scene that is interesting everywhere—a -wedding-feast. As the carriage rolled through the narrow street of the -little village, the driver fired a volley of shots from the end of -his whip. He was a fine fellow, and wore, as a badge of his calling, -a dashing green hat with a blackcock’s feather stuck in the band. -There were three spirited horses, their necks encircled with bells -which jingled musically. We were conscious of producing an effect as -we rattled up to the door of the only inn, but were hardly prepared -for the reception which seemed to await us. There stood not only the -landlord and his staff of attendants, but a large number of men and -women, evidently dressed in “their best.” They all stepped forward -as if to welcome us, and at the same time a brass band inside of the -house struck up a joyous air. The situation was really embarrassing; -and we were relieved when we discovered that this effusive reception -was intended not for ourselves, but for some other people who were -very much expected. The faces of the bystanders lengthened when they -saw that we were not the persons so anxiously looked for. All but the -landlord and his immediate aids went back into the house, and our -reception became not more marked than that of all other travelers -alighting at these hospitable shelters for man and beast. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then we learned that we had innocently interrupted the tranquil flow of -a wedding-breakfast—having been mistaken for some belated guests of -great importance. The bridegroom was the landlord himself. He looked -radiant with happiness. The bride, whom we saw later on, was a buxom -lass, attired not in the high-colored and fanciful Swiss costume of -which one reads in books. Her dress, if not a creation of the great -Worth himself, was irreproachable in its Frenchiness. And there was -not a single sign of Swiss nationality in the garb of any man or -woman present. This was disappointing. But then the wedding-party -was composed of the richer and “upper” classes of Viesch and the -neighborhood—of twenty miles round.</p> - -<p>The landlord, in the fullness of his heart, had spared no expense. In -the dining-room were two long tables, from which a hundred guests were -just rising as I peeped into it. Long rows of bottles, conscientiously -drained to the last drop, were the principal objects in sight, save -some Cupids in sugar which the knives of the banqueters had spared. As -fast as the guests vacated the room they began dancing in couples. Up -and down the hallways they went, waltzing furiously, while the band of -twelve brass pieces played selections from Strauss. Every player had -before him a bottle, which was replenished by an attentive waiter as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -fast as emptied. I never before realized the enormous cubic capacity of -a brass band! While we were gazing on this mirthful scene, loud cracks -of a whip were heard, and up came the delayed guests for whom we had -been mistaken. There was another rush to the door, followed by a storm -of shouts and kisses. The new-comers entered the house in a whirlwind -of excitement. Without even stopping to doff their overcoats and -cloaks, they plunged into the mazes of the waltz. A few minutes later -the dining-room had been cleared of all obstructions, and the dancing -then set in with an earnestness that would shame the languid beaux and -belles of a New York ball. We reluctantly left the festivities at their -height, and resumed the journey to Münster, where we purposed spending -the night.</p> - -<p>At the little inn of Münster we were received by a woman who had a -handkerchief tied about her face, and looked tired out. She did not -seem to care whether we stopped there or not. The house was in a state -of fresh paint and repair, and the prospect for the night was not -inviting. We were shown into a chamber which had neither carpet nor -rug upon the floor. But that floor was scrupulously clean. The sheets -on the beds were coarse, but they smelled of lavender. Everything was -cheap but reassuringly neat. When the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>dinner was served—at the exact -minute ordered—we could easily have criticised the crockery. But the -plates were hot, as well as the soup, the fillet of beef and chicken -tender and cooked to a turn, the pudding and cake nice, and the Swiss -Muscat as delicate of flavor as it should be. After dinner a roaring -fire in a wide-throated chimney and an Argand lamp burning on the table -of this same room made the place far more comfortable and home-like -than are many of the “Grand Hotels” of which Europe is full. A good -night’s rest and a capital breakfast completed the recommendations -of this humble inn to the traveler’s confidence and patronage. Its -substance is in inverse ratio to its show. Besides all else, its -windows on the west command in clear weather perfect views of the -Weisshorn. This is about 14,800 feet high, and is the greatest object -of interest in the Rhône Valley. As one toils up the ascent, he keeps -the splendid white peak in sight mile after mile. He admires it from -several view-points, but it never shows up to better advantage than -when seen on a fine day from the elevation of Münster.</p> - -<p>When you have been following up a river for two days, and seen it -dwindle as you rise above the junction of one tributary brook after -another, it is a great satisfaction to trace that river to its source. -In its narrowest part the Rhône is a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>powerful stream. Its turbid -waters rush along with a noise of thunder. They have cut in places a -deep gorge, the bottom of which is far out of sight of the road. They -have polished all the stones in their path into a general condition -of smoothness. Nowhere is the erosive action of water more strikingly -shown. When you stand at the foot of a stupendous glacier and see -the beginning of this boisterous river, you no longer wonder at its -youthful vigor. There is a great, dark cavern in the side of the -glacier. It is now of a triangular shape. From this opening the Rhône -issues with a fierce bound, as if straining to be free. Looking into -the hole, you can see nothing beyond a distance of twenty feet. But you -can hear the young torrent, as it tears its way down to the light, far -back in the bowels of the ice-mountains.</p> - -<p>Scientific observers have placed rows of stones painted black, in -the valley just below the glacier, to show how much it is receding -year by year. It is also shrinking in breadth, as you find out for -yourself when you notice the old lateral moraines, or deposits of -earth and stones, on the two sides of the slowly moving mass. These -are many feet higher on the flanks of the channel than the mounds of -the same kind which are now accumulating. Nevertheless, as you look -up at an angle of about 45° and see this glacier rise for a mile or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -so until its tooth-like <i>seracs</i> stand out against the blue sky, you -feel that the Rhône will not dry up at its fountain-head for many a -year to come. This conviction is deepened as your horses struggle up -the scientifically perfect road which takes you across the Furca. You -keep the glacier under observation for more than an hour as you rise -to the height where it bends and is lost in the recesses of the parent -snow-field. You understand how frightful a thing is a crevasse, when -you look down into one and discover that what seemed from below only -a little rift, is a yawning gulf in which your coach and horses might -sink to perdition without touching its sides. Individual <i>seracs</i> loom -up from thirty to fifty feet high. And behind this awful fringe of ice -you see a snow-slope (<i>névé</i>) of thousands of acres stretching far back -to the base of a mountain which is itself crowned with a hoary burden. -And then, if not before, you discover that the mighty Rhône glacier is -but the protruding tongue (which it resembles in outline) of a body of -snow and ice whose duration will outlast the arithmetic of puny men.</p> - -<p>On the Furca Pass the snow is not deeper than on the Simplon, but -there is more of it. Snow-banks higher than the driver’s head line -one side of the road at intervals for distances of a thousand feet. -On the other side they had been in part<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> pitched down the slope by -the laborers who are always on hand. The summit is nearly 8,000 feet -above the sea. As we climbed to it the horizon widened to the west -and opened up a glorious view of Monte Rosa. As seen from the Furca -Pass, this nearest rival of Mont Blanc looks like a pyramid—showing -but a single peak in place of the two or three crests which I had made -out as I looked across the long level of untrodden snow on the Gorner -Grat. Thus it is that mountains, like everything else, look differently -when viewed from different standpoints. The Matterhorn could barely be -distinguished by reason of a haze in its vicinity. The Weisshorn and -other nearer mountains had been so long in sight that we were glutted -with them. It was the unseen which we longed to see. And when, as our -team pulled up at the door of the Furca Inn, and we found that the -great Finsteraarhorn of the Bernese group was not visible from that -point, nothing we had seen before made up for the disappointment. I -fear that this is only base ingratitude; for the day was an uncommonly -good one for June 15th, and unmixed thankfulness should have been the -only sentiment.</p> - -<p>The Furca Inn enjoys the distinction of having been the home of Queen -Victoria for three days in August, 1868. As Americans would say, she -“ran the concern.” The house was hired for her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> exclusive use. The -royal bed, cooking-utensils, and all the domestic belongings were -brought on from England. So were the doctor, the cook, the gillie, and -even the humblest but still useful members of the Queen’s household. In -the dining-room hangs a framed list of the names of the whole party, -save the Queen, whose photograph surmounts it. Among the autographs -is that of John Brown. The proprietor exhibits with pride the little -room in which Her Majesty slept. Whether the charges are higher in -consequence, the present writer can not say, as he came and went with a -rapidity quite unpleasing to the landlord.</p> - -<p>From the summit of the Furca Pass down to Andermatt the ride would be -prodigiously interesting if one were not satiated with the sights on -the western ascent.</p> - -<p>After a night at Andermatt the journey was resumed by carriage to -Fluelen and then by boat to Lucerne. Of the scenery along that part -of the route—savage and tame, gloomy and bright, by turns—one could -write more enthusiastically if his impressions of the Furca were not -still fresh.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII.</span> <span class="smaller">AVALANCHES ON THE JUNGFRAU—THE GUIDES OF GRINDELWALD.</span></h2> - -<p>The avalanche about to be described started just below the peak of -the Silberhorn, a few minutes before midday. At that hour the sun was -beginning to make his rays felt in the frozen bosom of the Jungfrau. -The Silberhorn is the showiest ornament of that most bewitching of -mountains. It is an acute pyramid, and has a surface like frosted -silver. It seems so dead and cold that one does not suspect its latent -capacity for motion and sound. Yet it is from this statuesque spur that -some of the most terrible avalanches of the Jungfrau are let loose. -The sides are so steep that the ice and snow are always about to slide -off, and, when the afternoon sun shines straight and hot upon them, the -watcher for avalanches is never disappointed. I had been staring at -the dazzling Jungfrau through smoke-colored glasses for some time, and -waiting for the show to begin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> My point of observation was on a knoll -or excrescence of the Wengern Alp—itself no mean mountain—from which -the peerless Jungfrau can be seen at the shortest range. The day was -perfect, the sky cloudless and the wind hushed. The only signs of life -around me were the fluttering of butterflies and the humming of bees. -The silence was awful. Far off, down in the Lauterbrunnen Valley, I -could see the Staubbach Fall sparkling in the sunshine. From my exalted -station its course could be tracked for a long distance before it flung -itself into the abyss and kept its horse-tail form complete for nearly -a thousand feet. It looked so near, through the transparent air, that -sometimes I fancied I could hear its roar. But this was an illusion. -The only sound that breaks the stillness of the solitary height is that -of the avalanche for which I was so patiently waiting.</p> - -<p>Suddenly there was a gleam as of particles in motion on a part of the -Silberhorn at which I had often looked with keen expectations. For just -there could be discerned, without a glass, a series of long, parallel -scratches such as avalanches always make. These are the grooves in -which, like many human institutions, they may be said to run from year -to year by force of habit. The rate of the motion was so slow and -indeterminate—for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> a reason which I afterward found out—that one -might, for a moment, question if the shining atoms were not stationary, -after all. But no! though the pace seemed to be that of a snail, it -was real and downward, and was soon too accelerated to be mistaken. -The whole breadth of one side of the Silberhorn was moving, beyond a -doubt. I was witnessing the sublime spectacle of a great avalanche. -More swiftly it descended, and yet it seemed to crawl. In this way -it slid along for a short distance—about 2,000 feet, as I afterward -learned—when the mass fell over a jutting piece of ice or rock. Then -it looked something like a waterfall. Below was another steep slope -scored with the furrows of old avalanches. Here the motion was more -rapid, but still surprisingly slow. Then, and not before, I heard -a sound as of thunder. If the sky had not been one unspotted blue, -I should have supposed a storm to be bursting somewhere among the -mountains. It was the noise of the avalanche, at that moment reaching -my ears from a distance, which was so deceptive. Later on, studying -the phenomena of avalanches more deliberately, I ascertained that the -scene of action—apparently not more than half a mile off—was often -seven miles and never less than three. By noting the avalanche at the -instant of its birth and counting the seconds of time till the first -boom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> reported itself, one can calculate the distance with sufficient -accuracy.</p> - -<p>The Silberhorn being many miles from my standpoint in an air-line, it -follows that the terms “small” and “slow,” used in connection with its -avalanches, are irrelevant. The breadth of the falling mass should be -expressed in rods and not in feet. Its movement was exceedingly swift. -What seemed to start as snow was, in fact, a great ice-cake, acres in -extent, and perhaps fifty feet thick. This, striking against rocks in -its course, broke into fragments which were indistinguishable in the -distance. The apparent waterfall was composed chiefly of large lumps -of ice. These were destined to be pulverized in good earnest as they -continued their descent. Then I heard a sound as of hissing mingled -with the deeper reverberations. A short distance—more than a thousand -feet, probably—was thus traversed when the avalanche entered upon -another stage of its career. It tumbled over another ridge—this time -looking more like a waterfall than before. Here its volume was much -contracted, and I could clearly see that this fact was due to the depth -of the rock-bound channels through which it ran. Then it sprawled quite -freely over a great open space or plateau, where it rested and formed -a perceptible heap, thick at the center, and flattening out gradually -toward the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> edges. Judging of its dimensions by my revised standards, I -should say that it covered many acres, and was deep enough to bury an -Alpine village of the average size.</p> - -<p>Between noon and two o’clock, when I left the fascinating scene to seek -for luncheon at the Hôtel des Avalanches, about three hundred feet -below my mound of solitary observation, the Silberhorn had contributed -nothing further to the pile at its base. But, at other points of the -imposing range visible from the Wengern Alp, and especially on the -main body of the Jungfrau, on a shoulder of the Monch, and on the -steepest part of the Eiger, some avalanche was always in sight of the -attentive observer. They usually resembled cascades from beginning to -end. Rarely could one see the popular idea of an avalanche realized. -Most people, I find, think of avalanches as broad tracts of snow which -are transferred from the upper part of a mountain into a valley at its -foot, keeping their general shape all the way. The Silberhorn specimen -corresponded to this ideal for a short distance, as I have said. But -all the others trickled down in a water-like way from top to bottom. -The behavior of the falling ice and snow was so much like that of water -that one could be convinced that he was beholding an avalanche only -when he saw what took place at its terminus.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> For, in five cases out of -six, the icy torrent ended in a white heap, which still remained far -up the mountain-sides, though below the true snow-line. Except that -they lacked the well-known green tint, the tracts of snow and ice thus -deposited looked like glaciers. Brooks ran from the lower end of them -into the valleys far beneath.</p> - -<p>The grooves—or deeply worn passage-ways—through which these -avalanches descend, seem as if made by human hands. Some of them run -as straight as bowling-alleys. Others have easy and graceful curves, -as if laid out for a railway. But, almost without an exception, the -transit of the avalanche from peak to base is interrupted by narrow -rock-gorges. Against these it dashes itself with a fury expressed to -my ear by a sound like that of a small cannon, which is heard far -above the rest of the racket. The latter generally reminds one of -the irregular firing of infantry, and appears to be caused by large -fragments of ice and stones which are brought down with the lighter -material. It is only an avalanche of the broadest pattern that imitates -the deep roll of thunder. And this reminds me to mention that some of -the most deafening sounds that one hears in the Alps are not easily -explained. As he is gazing intently upon the Jungfrau, he is startled -by an ear-splitting report as of a 500-pounder. He expects, as a -matter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> of course, to see some enormous cornice of ice tumbling down. -But all is motionless up there. He asks his guide what has happened. -The man tells him that probably a big rock has fallen on the other -side of the Jungfrau, or in some ravine on the spectator’s side, but -out of his sight. I have observed that, wherever there is a glacier, -this loudest and most striking of all the mountain sounds is most -often heard. At our hotel (de l’Ours), in Grindelwald, from which two -glaciers can be seen, these extraordinary noises called the guests to -the doors and windows many times on sunny afternoons. But not once did -they see anything which served to explain the mystery. In defiance -of the guides, I attribute the sounds to the cracking of ice in the -glaciers under the influence of heat. There is something strangely -uncanny in the occurrence of such appalling noises without any visible -cause.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The guides of Grindelwald, and of all the Bernese Oberland, are an -aristocracy. I am referring to those who pilot you safely among the -real dangers of the Jungfrau, the Wetterhorn, the Schreckhorn, the -Finsteraarhorn, and the other first-class peaks. The most distinguished -of them are named in all the hand-books. They pose as objects of -admiration in the streets. And they are well worth looking at. They are -lithe and sinewy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> with frank, resolute faces. They mostly dress in -corduroy velveteen, with slouch hats of the same. Their yellow beards -sweep their breasts. A provokingly slow gait also identifies them. They -walk—unless under the spur of necessity—about half as fast as the -ordinary American or Englishman. A friend of mine, in tow of a guide, -consumed six hours in the ascent of the Wengern Alp from Grindelwald. -The usual time is only three hours. But he arrived at the top perfectly -unblown, and then appreciated the wisdom of going slowly. These men -are very taciturn. They give opinions about the weather with great -reluctance, if at all, and will not converse about anything while in -the act of climbing. Thus they save their wind, the want of which is -so trying to inexperienced Alpine tourists. But, what they lack in -affability they make up in essential service. They will stand by their -employer in every tight place, and will rescue his remains and bear -them back to the valley, if he persists in despising the guide’s advice -and perishes in consequence.</p> - -<p>These trusty fellows make great friends of members of the Alpine Club, -and are sometimes well paid for leaving their beloved Switzerland and -aiding in the conquest of high mountains in the antipodes. One of the -corps has visited both India and New Zealand for this purpose. He -showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> as much sagacity in attacking the redoubtable giants of those -distant countries as if he had known all about their weakest points -from his infancy. In every case he took his patron successfully to the -top, by a route which he instinctively chose as the easiest and the -best. This guide returned home through London, and, while there, his -employer made him the subject of an interesting experiment to test -his “bump” of locality. One evening the man was asked to take a ride -across London in a cab. He was driven a distance of many miles, and the -route was purposely made as tangled and intricate as possible. Arriving -at their destination—the house of an Alpine celebrity—the cab was -dismissed. After a short detention, the guide was told to return with -his employer through the same streets which they had traversed in their -roundabout journey. And he did it without making a single mistake, -although an entire stranger in the great city. The man had not the -faintest suspicion that he would be asked to do this difficult thing. -He had almost unconsciously marked down the whole labyrinthine route. -He did in London exactly what he would have done without the least -effort among the mountains of his native land. His observation and -memory of trifles supplied the unerring clews by which he retraced his -way through the maze of the metropolis.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV.</span> <span class="smaller">EXCELSIOR AND THE MAIDEN.</span></h2> - -<p>The hero of Longfellow’s poem, “Excelsior,” has long been a favorite -subject with artists. Among the many full-length fancy portraits of -that rash young man, is one which represents him in a loose sack-coat -with knee-breeches, a rolling shirt-collar displaying his open throat, -and the long ends of a necktie streaming in the winds. The costume was -charming, but too airy for the higher Alps, to which he was bound. He -had a little kit, presumably of clothes, slung across his shoulder. He -held aloft a stick to which was tied a white flag or banner inscribed -“Excelsior.” The artist had caught the spirit of Longfellow’s verse, -and had stamped enthusiasm and high resolve on the pleasant face of -this young fellow.</p> - -<p>I had been sitting for some time over an out-door luncheon in front -of the Hôtel des Avalanches, with lines of “Excelsior” running in my -head. Before me was the Queen of Mountains.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> The landlord had assured -me that the top of the symmetrical peak was fifteen good miles away. -It did not seem more than a mile off in the transparent atmosphere of -that perfect June morning. It was equally impossible to realize that -you could not see, with the naked eye, the figures—showing black -against the spotless snow—of persons climbing the Jungfrau by paths -directly opposite the house. There was no one so occupied that day, -as the season for ascents does not begin till July. So I was obliged -to take the landlord’s word for it that the largest parties attacking -the mountain were invisible from his hotel, except through the fine -telescope which stood there on its tripod with joints greased and ready -for use. Then I fell to meditating on the sad fate of the willful young -hero of the poem. I amused myself imagining him as he toiled up those -awful heights, after dark, floundering through the snow waist-deep, -just missing the crevasses by an inch, starting little avalanches -of loose rocks and ice (the larger, more overwhelming and dangerous -snow-slides occurring only in the hours of full sunshine), and finally -succumbing to fatigue and exhaustion and cold, and dying up there, far -from human aid, with his banner still gripped in his hand. How much -better, I thought, if he had taken a fancy to the maiden of the valley, -and remained comfortable and happy down below! </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<p>And there was the identical maiden at my elbow! She had just poured -out a cup of smoking, fragrant coffee for me, and stood waiting meekly -to take another order. A prettier girl never ’tended on travelers. I -addressed her in English, and found she spoke it well; and when she -added—noticing that I was an American—that she had relatives in -the United States, and had spent two years there on a visit, I felt -that here was a sort of country-woman in this out-of-the-way place. -Surely I had seen few American girls of twenty or thereabout comelier -than this true daughter of the Alps. She was a niece of the landlord, -she said, and she had the manners of a lady. As the season had but -recently opened, and the tide of tourists not yet set in, there was a -scarcity of hired help at the inn. She was assisting in the humblest -ways to make everybody contented. She served me without any sense of -humiliation, such as possibly I might have observed in her had she -passed a few more years in America before returning to her dear old -Swiss home.</p> - -<p>Her pretty face and innocent, winning ways had divided my attention -with the avalanches. I am not sure but that I missed some little -ones while chatting with her. As I sipped the delicious coffee, my -imagination paired her off with that headstrong youth in “Excelsior.” I -could not help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> thinking what a fool he was not to rest his weary head -on that breast, as per invitation, instead of climbing the terrible -mountain after dark.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was the mountain air—perhaps it was the coffee. Anyhow, my -imagination became so excited that I thought I saw that same young man -right before me, coming up the steep road from Lauterbrunnen. He was -not two hundred feet away. There was no mistaking him. He had on the -knee-breeches, the bob-tailed jacket, the cut-away collar and flowing -necktie of the picture, and a small knapsack of the roll-pattern was -strapped to his back. There, too, was the attractive face stamped with -fierce resolution. But the most striking mark of identity was a white -flag attached to a walking-stick which he carried over his shoulder -like a musket. The wind was brisk and blew the flag out straight -behind him. It did not, so far as I could see, bear the inscription -“Excelsior,” and this was the first shock to the illusion. As I looked -wonderingly at him, he turned on his heels and shook his flag, which I -could now see was only a pocket-handkerchief, high in the air, as if -signaling some distant person.</p> - -<p>This dumb show lasted about half a minute. Then he lowered his flag and -strode up to the hotel. As he drew near enough, I saw that his eyes -were deep blue, like those of the hero of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> poem. So, for all these -reasons, I at once christened him “Excelsior.”</p> - -<p>Excelsior, though a young man, was not a green traveler. He knew a -good thing when he saw it. There was a pretty girl, and there was a -little table covered with a clean white cloth, all set out with plates, -glasses, knives, forks, and napkins, under an awning that screened it -from the sun, with the peerless Jungfrau in full view. So, when he took -his seat at the spare table near me, I was not surprised. He looked at -the maiden, and she looked at him. Everybody would have said they were -made for each other, so far as good looks are reasons for mating. She -was not a full-blooded brunette, but her deep-brown hair and eyes and -swarthy ruddiness of cheeks differentiated her from the blonde school -of beauty. He was fair-haired, with a skin which the sun had reddened -but not freckled, and just such a forehead (now that he had cast his -slouched hat aside) as you see in Shelley’s portraits. As he sat -there, with his strong, shapely arm flung over the back of his chair, -he looked the embodiment of youthful vigor and careless grace. The -misleading outlines of modern clothes could not conceal the symmetry of -his figure. How the sculptors must have wanted him for a model, if he -ever came under their eyes, in Rome or Florence. And they would have -been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> equally glad, I am sure, to secure a like favor from the Swiss -maiden.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he glanced at his watch, and then accosted me in the language -I expected to hear, for I knew him to be an American at first sight.</p> - -<p>“Not a bad job, that—only four hours and ten minutes from Interlaken, -and the muddiest road I ever saw, up the Wengern Alp.”</p> - -<p>“Well done,” I replied. “The guide-books give six hours for it. But -aren’t you tired?”</p> - -<p>“Not the slightest,” he said, laughing pleasantly, and showing his fine -white teeth. “Lucky for me, as I must do Grindelwald and the lower -glacier before night.”</p> - -<p>This astonished me. I had found the ascent from Grindelwald over -thousands of rude stone steps and through seas of mud, hard enough on -horseback, and was dreading the descent as still more trying. And here -was Excelsior talking about it as if it were only a little promenade -on Broadway, not to mention the visit to the lower glacier, a good two -hours’ stretch (going and returning) from Grindelwald and more mud from -three to six inches deep all the way, except for the stepping-stones.</p> - -<p>“Well, you are plucky—young America all over!” I at length remarked, -with a pride in the gameness of my countryman. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m from Illinois,” said he.</p> - -<p>“And I from New York.”</p> - -<p>“Then we’re sure not to quarrel,” he rejoined, “for I’ve noticed that -New-Yorkers and Westerners get along better together in Europe than -Americans from any other parts of the country.”</p> - -<p>I said that I had often noticed the same thing, without being able -to explain it. There was a singular instinctive aversion between -New-Yorkers themselves and also between them and Bostonians and -Philadelphians. But, whenever New York and Chicago met in any foreign -country, the fraternization was spontaneous. Then I took the liberty of -asking my young friend why he waved his handkerchief on the end of a -stick just before pulling up at the hotel.</p> - -<p>“Oh! only to signal a fellow over there on the Murren. We had walked -together up the Lauterbrunnen Valley, and he turned off to climb the -Murren while I kept on for the Wengern Alp. We agreed to exchange -signals from the tops of the two mountains, or foot-hills, or whatever -else they should be called. But he hasn’t got up there yet, for I don’t -see a flutter of his handkerchief.”</p> - -<p>“Possibly because it is at least eight miles from here to Murren in an -air-line,” I said, smiling.</p> - -<p>The maiden, who had been listening with great interest to this -dialogue, her tender eyes fixed on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> the younger of the two speakers all -the time, here broke in to say:</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you would like to look through the glass down there. That will -show you everything on the Murren plain enough.” She spoke English with -a foreign accent so delicate that types can not reproduce it.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, miss,” said Excelsior, sweetly, “I shall be very glad. But -let me order the lunch first.”</p> - -<p>The young girl seemed happy to serve him. She handed him a bill of -fare, and waited by his side while he looked it over. It was as good as -a play to watch the two thus thrown together by Fate.</p> - -<p>Excelsior examined the bill with great apparent interest. Every item in -it seemed to raise a question which he asked in a voice so low that I -could not hear him. I never saw a man so particular about his luncheon, -and so long ordering it. But at last he got through, and the maiden -hastened into the house.</p> - -<p>“Fine girl, or rather, young lady, that,” said I to Excelsior. “The -niece of the landlord, and has been in America two years.”</p> - -<p>“I thought she was superior,” replied Excelsior, “and wondered where -she picked up her good English. What a musical voice and lovely—” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> - -<p>But while he was speaking the fair object of our comments reappeared -upon the scene. I may have been mistaken, but it seemed to me that a -cherry-colored ribbon, over which rolled a plain, broad white collar, -had been retied in her absence. And this reminded me that Excelsior -had, while speaking to me, been smoothing out the rumpled ends of his -blue neckerchief. To my eye it looked more pleasing before, but I dare -say he was not thinking of my taste in dress.</p> - -<p>What I had told Excelsior about this young girl had caused a -perceptible change in his manner toward her. He had been civil enough -before, but now he was quite polite, as one who recognizes the -difference between a landlord’s niece and a common house-servant. But -it was plain that her two years’ residence in America had impressed him -most deeply. To him she was in some sense an American girl. It was with -a bow almost deferential that he said, if she pleased, he would now try -the telescope, and perhaps be able to get a sight of his friend on the -Murren. The maiden acted very much as if she expected and wanted this, -for she smiled and tripped down the little slope before the house to -the spot where the glass rested on its three spindle legs. Excelsior -followed. What was said down there I do not know, for I did not think -it my business to join them, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> from the place where I still sat, -watching for avalanches, I could not catch a word. I only repeat what I -saw.</p> - -<p>It seemed to take a great while to get that telescope into working -trim. Nothing was the matter with it when I used it twenty minutes -before; but now they had the greatest trouble in lengthening or -shortening the focus and elevating or depressing the object-glass. For -me one hand was enough to adjust the instrument, but now it took four -hands, and they were for a long time unsuccessful. As far as I could -make out things clearly, these hands appeared to be getting in each -other’s way occasionally; and, besides, there was one head too many. -It sometimes seemed as if they were both trying to look through the -telescope at once, and this was obviously impossible. And, finally, -when they had the telescope all right, as I supposed, and Excelsior was -about to pick up his Murren friend in good earnest, they would stop and -lean on the long brass tube and fall to conversing with each other, as -if they had clean forgotten the business in hand. Then, looking up, -they saw me gazing down at them, and resumed their absurd manipulations -of the glass with increased energy.</p> - -<p>I felt just mischievous enough to shout to them: “Anything the matter? -Can I help you?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, thanks,” he cried. “We are just catching the range now; something -the matter with the swivel. Oh, there he is, swinging his handkerchief -on the piazza of the Murren Hotel! And now he is looking through a -telescope, too. He sees us!” Excelsior thereupon fluttered his own -signal for about one minute with great enthusiasm. By means of the two -glasses the friends had exchanged salutes across an interval of eight -miles.</p> - -<p>This ceremony over, Excelsior apparently transferred his interest -to the Jungfrau, the Monch, the Eiger, and lesser peaks, as well he -might have done, for there is no single view in the Bernese Oberland -more sublime and satisfactory in all its details than that of the -mountain-chain seen from the Wengern Alp. Here, too, the telescope -was continually getting out of gear and defying the joint efforts of -Excelsior and the maiden to make it work right. I do not know if they -would ever have quitted the task which occupied them so intently had -not a horseman and a lady in a <i>chaise-porte</i>, swinging between two -stalwart peasants, arrived on the scene. The new-comers, of course, -required immediate attention, and the maiden was too good a niece of -the landlord to neglect his interests. So, with this single remark, -made so loud that all of us could hear it, “I think you understand how -to do it now, sir,” she bounded up the slope like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> chamois to look -after the new guests. Excelsior followed a moment later, and sat down -at the little table where his hot luncheon was about due.</p> - -<p>I felt that a pretty comedy of real life had been interrupted by these -arrivals. I hoped to see a second act of it when the maiden served -Excelsior with his repast, but in this I was disappointed. She soon -brought out the dishes and the half-bottle of Yvorne he had ordered, -and put them before him. But she was silent and demure now, for there -were new eyes upon her. Excelsior himself had an attack of gravity, -for he ate and drank without saying a word to the maiden, who came and -went. If it was not a case of love at first sight on his part, then I -am no judge of the symptoms of that passion. As for the maiden, who can -tell?</p> - -<p>I am sorry not to gratify the legitimate curiosity of my readers -further on this point; but I could not tarry longer on the Wengern Alp, -even to report the progress of a genuine love-affair. An appointment -at Grindelwald compelled me to hasten my departure. I bade good-by to -Excelsior, with a hope that I should meet him at the Hôtel de l’Ours -that night or next morning. He replied, in a confused manner, that he -did not know. Perhaps he would spend just one night on the Wengern Alp; -the house there seemed so snug<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> and comfortable. “It would not be a bad -idea, you know, to visit the glacier over there in the morning, while -the snow is still hard and the footing good.”</p> - -<p>I did not feel familiar enough with Excelsior to joke him about another -attraction—a second Jungfrau—so I only smiled. When I said good-by to -the maiden, I could not help adding that I hoped she would see America -again some day, and perhaps stay there; and, by a natural association -of ideas, I glanced at the same time at Excelsior. For, far-fetched -as the thought may seem, the mountain air was so stimulating that I -persisted in imagining that the chance meeting of these two emotional -young persons on the Wengern Alp was the beginning of a romance -destined to end in a happy marriage. What a good-looking couple they -would make!</p> - -<p>I have never seen him or her from that day to this. But we all find out -for ourselves the truth of the old saying that the world is small. I -should not be much astonished to meet Mr. and Mrs. Excelsior some day; -and then I shall tell him how much more sensible I think him to be than -the young man in the poem, who had no taste for pretty Swiss girls.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XV.</span> <span class="smaller">AN ENGLISH ADMIRER OF THE “AMERICAN LANGUAGE.”</span></h2> - -<p>At the Hôtel de l’Ours (the Bear Hotel of Englishmen and Americans -who do not care to expose their French) I added another to the list -of my pleasant English acquaintances. One morning, while sauntering -in front of the hotel before breakfast, I noticed a young man with -bright-yellow hair, whiskers, and mustache, calm gray eyes, and that -perfect freshness of complexion which one rarely sees in men’s faces -outside of England. He was habited in corduroy from his jockey-cap down -to his knee-breeches, and wore stout walking-shoes of the Alpine Club -pattern. In his right hand he sported a sharp-pointed Alpenstock, which -looked stained and worn with use, but was unscarred by branding-irons. -His well-knit figure and his good face were a recommendation to all -beholders. We exchanged glances, and would probably have spoken to each -other then, if one of the long-bearded <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>guides had not appeared and -taken off Corduroy in the direction of the lower glacier. Corduroy was -the name which, in absence of the authentic one, I conferred upon him. -I regretted his hasty departure, for he seemed just the man to draw -into an interesting conversation.</p> - -<p>The next morning, at about the same hour, I found Corduroy standing -alone, in the same place as before. He was again dressed for an outing, -and had his Alpenstock still in hand. He was looking fixedly in the -direction of the mighty Wetterhorn, whose snowy summit was now visible -and now concealed, as the lazy clouds or mist-wreaths drifted back -and forth. He puffed at a brierwood pipe calmly, and seemed engrossed -in that occupation and the study of Wetterhorn’s top, until he saw me -looking at him. Then he pulled the pipe from his mouth, as one who -expects to speak and be spoken to, at the same time walking toward me -with a look of friendly recognition.</p> - -<p>Being the older, I was the first to break silence, and I did so with a -commonplace remark upon the weather, which was a little uncertain, but -promising to be fine. And I could not resist the temptation to add that -it reminded me of the day I ascended the Gorner Grat, 10,000 feet above -the sea, only two weeks before. That being my only really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> hard climb -in the Alps, I was as proud of it as a boy of his first trousers.</p> - -<p>Corduroy’s face expressed great interest. He asked me a number of -questions about the state of the weather at Zermatt, and whether the -hotels were crowded, and as to the condition of the road from Vispach -to St. Niklaus, a bad bit generally. I answered him very fully, only -too happy to show off my familiarity with the most wonderful mountain -district of Switzerland. And I said patronizingly, I must confess: -“Really, now, you ought to see the Matterhorn. It’s worth the trouble, -I assure you. I was the second man on the Gorner Grat this year, and as -the snow was then about eight feet deep, and only a foot-path broken -through it part of the way, the climbing was no joke. You would find it -easier next—”</p> - -<p>“But I have already seen the Matterhorn,” said Corduroy, who had been -quietly smoking his pipe during my remarks.</p> - -<p>“From what point?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“From the top. I made my second ascent last year. And hope to get round -there in July for my third.”</p> - -<p>I have seen, in my day, many undemonstrative Englishmen. But this -one beat them all. Who could have thought he would have listened so -patiently to all my brag about that ant-hill of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> Gorner Grat when he -had done the awful Matterhorn twice? I was astonished, and at first -doubtful of Corduroy’s entire veracity, though truth seemed to ooze out -of every feature of his prepossessing face. I inadvertently glanced at -the Alpenstock and saw no record of any performances written there.</p> - -<p>Corduroy read my thoughts. He cast an eye on the smooth old Alpenstock -and smiled as he said: “Oh! we never do that, you know.”</p> - -<p>Then I remembered to have heard that the people who do the least -climbing generally have the most names of conquered peaks on their -Alpenstocks; so that, in fact, the absence of the dreadful Matterhorn -from Corduroy’s staff became a sort of proof that he was not lying to -me. I blushed at my unworthy suspicion. It was now my turn to become -deeply interested. I asked him many questions about his ascents of -the most difficult mountain in all Europe. He answered briefly and -modestly, and I also learned from him by the corkscrew process (for I -never saw a man with less vanity) that he had ascended Mont Blanc, the -Jungfrau, the Weisshorn, Schreckhorn, and Finsteraarhorn once each, and -that he was now on the point of attacking the Wetterhorn, toward which -he had been gazing, but feared that the impending change of weather -might compel him to give it up. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> - -<p>I asked him where he had been the day before, with the long-bearded -guide.</p> - -<p>“Oh, only up to the Eismeer there,” he said, jerking his thumb toward -a white and heavenly sea of ice, which shone at that moment, through -a rift in the clouds, forming a horizon line of 12,000 feet above the -ocean-level. It almost gave me a crick in the neck to look at it.</p> - -<p>“Of course no guide was needed for a thing like that,” he added. -“But the old fellow wanted a job; so I took him along to carry the -lunch-basket. Aren’t you going to do the Eismeer?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said I, laughing, “I might perhaps get as far as the foot of -the glacier. But I guess I should have to discount the rest.”</p> - -<p>Corduroy broke out laughing. “Excuse me,” said he, “but you Americans -are so amusing. Ha! ha! Discount! what a capital word! So expressive, -you know. It means, if I understand it, that you would go to the foot -of the glacier, and say that you had been to the top. Ha! ha! No -offense meant.”</p> - -<p>“Not quite as bad as that,” I replied, laughing in turn. “To discount -it, in my sense of the word, is to imagine the rest of the glacier and -the Eismeer at the top, from the sample seen below. Have you never -discounted anything that way?”</p> - -<p>“Ha! ha! No! no! we are never allowed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> do that. Discounting would be -dead against our rules.”</p> - -<p>I noticed that, for the second time, he employed the pronoun “we,” -from which I inferred that he was a member of some association of -mountain-climbers. As he seemed so much amused by the slang use of the -word “discount,” I thought I would favor him with a few more of our -latest and choicest inventions in that line, which happened to have -lodged in my memory:</p> - -<p>“You tumble to my exact meaning now, I hope.”</p> - -<p>“Ha! ha! Tumble to, signifying to understand, of course. That’s better -than discount, if possible. I do so admire the American language. So -rich, you know. Ha! ha!”</p> - -<p>I never saw a man so easily tickled. In the ecstasy of his mirth he -capered about like a dancing bear, while his laughter rang out till it -woke the echoes in old Mettenberg which frowned above us. The noise -drew a number of the hotel guests to the door, and others peered -through the windows at him.</p> - -<p>“They’ll think it’s a circus,” said I, innocently.</p> - -<p>“A circus. Ha! ha! how forcible, and so funny—just like you Americans! -And perhaps you’ll next say I’m the performing clown.” And that idea -started Corduroy off in another fit of laughter. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’s about the size of it.”</p> - -<p>“The size of it! How good! So humorous, you know. Ha! ha!”</p> - -<p>“You seem to catch on to American slang like a native,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Catch on. Ha! ha! Well, that’s the best yet. A sort of figure of -speech meaning to seize something as it flies, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“You have got it down fine.”</p> - -<p>Corduroy laughed gently in an accommodating spirit; but I do not think -he caught the precise meaning of this last expression. He made no -comment on it, and I was glad he did not ask me to explain it, for I -could not have done so.</p> - -<p>“By-the-way,” said Corduroy, “as you are an American, perhaps you can -tell me why an old story or joke is called a chestnut in your country. -It may be very funny—in fact, it must be, as it is American. But I -don’t tumble to it, as yet. Ha! ha!”</p> - -<p>For the honor of my country, I would have liked to clear up the great -chestnut mystery to this delightful young Englishman. I had heard some -accounts of the origin of the word in its application to threadbare -anecdotes and moldy conundrums, but they were all unsatisfactory. “I am -sorry I can not answer your question,” said I, at length; “but I can -give you points on the chestnut-bell.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> - -<p>Corduroy was all ears while I explained to him the construction of the -little instrument which had already worked so useful a reform in the -clubs of my country.</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” he cried, “American inventions are truly wonderful. And -this chestnut-bell beats them all. Ha! ha! I’m so glad I met you this -morning! I’ll have a chestnut-bell made according to your description -of it down at Interlaken by a metal-worker I know there. It’s just what -we have long wanted. You see, some of our fellows don’t climb any new -mountains. They keep telling all about the old mountains they climbed -years ago. Now, I just want to shut ’em up. And the chestnut-bell is -the thing to do it. Ha! ha!” And Corduroy roared with delight.</p> - -<p>“All right,” said I; “but as the chestnut-bell is the latest thing out -in my country, let me offer you a piece of advice.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” asked Corduroy, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“It is this: Don’t give it away.”</p> - -<p>“I see—I see. You mean I must keep this idea of a chestnut-bell to -myself, so as to get the start of all the other fellows. How very -expressive! Give away. Ha! ha!”</p> - -<p>I was about to make some other valuable suggestion on the subject, -when I saw among the group which then filled the open doorway a -slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> figure beckoning to me quite earnestly. When that small hand -is gesticulated in that peculiar way, I do not pretend not to see it. -Experience has taught me that it is much easier to answer the summons -in person at once than to explain later on why I did not do so. I said -“Ta! ta!” to Corduroy, and moved toward the house.</p> - -<p>As I hurried away, he called out to me, “There is no getting ahead of -you Americans, you know.”</p> - -<p>“It will be a cold day when we get left, and don’t you forget it!” was -my answer shouted back at him, exhausting my small stock of slang in -that supreme effort.</p> - -<p>“Just so,” he cried. “Ha! ha! Cold day! Get left! What a world of -meaning! Be sure I won’t forget it! Ha! ha!”</p> - -<p>I never saw Corduroy again. We had a little unambitious excursion of -our own to make that day, and did not get back to the Bear before -dinner-time. Then I inquired after the gentleman in corduroy, and -learned that he had given up the Wetterhorn on account of the thick -weather, and had started off for a walk over the Grimsel to the Rhône -glacier. He was well known at the hotel, being one of its regular -visitors. This steadiness of patronage might naturally be expected -of him, for he proved to be one of the most distinguished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> members -of the Alpine Club, famous for his devotion to mountain-climbing in -Switzerland, and a terror even to the hardiest guides, by reason of his -courage and perseverance against all obstacles. He had, it seems, a -passion for new routes and short cuts, which I hope will not some day -end the merry life of Corduroy. After this explanation, I understood -his occasional allusions to “we” and “us” and “our fellows” and -“our rules,” which forbade this and that. And sometimes now, at two -o’clock in the morning, while I am lying awake and thinking over many -things, I catch myself wondering if Corduroy has ever introduced the -chestnut-bell to the Alpine Club, and, if so, how the retired climbers -like it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVI.</span> <span class="smaller">PREHISTORIC LAKE-DWELLERS—AN ISLAND INN AND ITS MEMORIES.</span></h2> - -<p>If one cares to inquire about that mysterious prehistoric race known -as the lake-dwellers of Switzerland, he can do so to his heart’s -content at and about Zürich. If he wants to dig up their remains for -himself—and has plenty of money and time to spare—there is nothing to -hinder him from doing so. He has only to run a deep plow through places -along the shore of Lake Zürich where there are indications of peat, -and it is almost certain that sooner or later he will come on traces -of a primeval village. The first sign of it would be the badly decayed -fragments of a thick stake or pile. Sometimes well-preserved specimens -of these piles are found in great numbers, though more often they are -rotted out of all recognition. They are the props which held up the -lake-villages high and dry. They were driven into the chalky soil of -the lake-bottom, where they stuck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> fast. In the unknown centuries which -have flown since then, those parts of the lake have filled up, peat has -formed to the depth of five or six feet, and on top of this are two or -three feet of mold and loam. Having struck a pile, our investigator -must go straight down through the deep peat-bed which surrounds and -underlies it. He will soon come to a half-earthy stratum, in which, if -lucky, he will find numerous queer things. For this particular layer -may contain many kinds of objects—useful and ornamental—once highly -prized by, if not indispensable to, the comfort and happiness of the -simple lake-dwellers. It may readily be imagined that such articles -would accidentally fall from the house into the water beneath, there be -buried in the mud, and never be recovered by the owners. Doubtless some -of them, when broken or worn out in use, were thrown down there with a -“good-riddance.”</p> - -<p>It is believed, from many indubitable signs, that these lake-houses -(built of wicker-work) were destroyed by fire to an extent that would -appall any insurance company of our day that took risks on such -property. You see, these people, like some savage tribes now existing, -had much difficulty in starting and keeping fire. They obtained it only -by the rapid twirling of a pointed piece of wood on a flat piece. The -friction ignited some tinder-like <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>substance. As they had no stoves, -hearths, or chimneys, this precious fire was kept—so far as modern -conjecture goes—upon a stone in the middle of the hut. There it was -watched night and day to preserve it and see that it did no harm. But -occasionally the watchers slept, or went off fishing or courting, and -then the fire, as is its mischievous habit, caught upon the nearest -combustible stuff. And so in five minutes poor Mr. Lake-Dweller was -houseless and homeless, and all his earthly possessions were at the -bottom of the lake. It was a great piece of good fortune if the entire -village did not disappear at the same time. Think of such a catastrophe -occurring, and no newspaper to do justice to it!</p> - -<p>We left our enthusiastic explorer with his boots ankle-deep in the -boggy soil beneath the peat-bed. It has cost him a great deal of money -to lay open the treasure-bearing stratum. But he feels amply rewarded -even if he has lighted on nothing better than the stone age of the -lake-dwellers, for there he will find most interesting proofs of the -identity of human nature in different ages and climes. The earliest -period in their shadowy history is called “stone,” to distinguish it -from the “bronze” age that followed. In point of fact, the former -overlapped the latter, but for convenience the two designations are -employed as best expressing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> chief characteristic of the two ages. -In the first, stone was the material out of which hammers, adzes, -and arrow-heads were made. The patterns of these closely resemble -those adopted by our North American Indians. In weight as in shape -there is no recognizable difference; and the same good judgment was -shown in the choice of stones best adapted for every purpose. The -most skillful lapidaries of our day could not produce finer work in -porphyry, flint, and crystal than may be found among the relics of the -lake-dwellers. Though a very practical people, they were not without -æsthetic tastes. Otherwise, in making their rude pottery by hand they -would not have introduced decorative lines and dots. Nothing could be -more severely simple than the designs which appear on their water-jars, -cooking-vessels, and drinking-cups. The lines are crossed like a -hedge-fence. The dots are arranged in rows, several of these forming -a band. You there see the art of pottery in its infancy. Utility was -the chief end sought, and, doubtless, the unsymmetrical and clumsy -pots, bowls, pitchers, and goblets of the lake-dwellers answered their -purpose admirably.</p> - -<p>As to the fishing-nets of their day, no improvement could be desired. -The specimens recovered are made of the strongest hemp lines, of large -size, with “hobs and sinkers.” Lake Zürich supplied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> the table with -excellent fish in that far-off time, as now. And the lake-dwellers -were mighty hunters also. Bones of the bear and deer and all the -wild animals of the present Switzerland, with those of creatures now -extinct, are mingled with the other remains. They were a pastoral race, -besides. They raised millet and other cereals, and ground these into -a coarse flour, as appears from samples of their baked bread. Instead -of the horse they had the reindeer as a servant, and, with training, -he proved a useful one. For aught I know, he carried his master into -battle—in which case his speed would have enabled him to make a quick -retreat when the enemy’s fire of arrows became too hot. For, alas! -the lake-dwellers were either a persecuted race or an aggressive one -at some stage of their history. Implements of war are the most common -of finds, and the site and structure of the villages—so far as we -understand the subject—indicate extreme precautions for defense. It is -evident that the settlements were situated at some distance from the -old shore of the lake and approachable only by boats, or possibly by a -bridge, which could be raised or turned on a pivot at pleasure.</p> - -<p>It might be the fortune of our patient friend the digger to strike -a mine of bronze implements. Then he would realize the inventive -capacity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> the lake-dwellers. The discovery or adoption of the -art of combining copper and tin as bronze stimulated their native -ingenuity wonderfully. It is supposed that they obtained the two -metals (rare, if found at all, in Switzerland) from England, Wales, -or some other country, in the course of trade. Be this as it may, the -quantity of bronze in use was large. It was employed for every purpose -of war and peace. Spear-heads, knives, and daggers or swords of the -“Roman” pattern, lie in the stratum by the side of coarse needles, -hair-pins, bracelets, and other articles of toilet use and ornament. -The composition of the bronze is about ninety per cent of copper and -ten of tin. This is slightly varied at times. The objects distinctively -ornamental have a brighter red or even a golden color, and are really -beautiful.</p> - -<p>But all the trouble and expense of attaining this knowledge about the -lake-dwellers of Switzerland may be saved by the diligent searcher for -truth. He need only visit the magnificent collection of antiquities -at Zürich as I did, and learn all these things much better at -second-hand. But he will be baffled if he expects to discover from any -evidence before him how many centuries ago the lake-dwellers lived, -and suffered, and passed away. Speculation is rife on this subject. -Antiquaries hold to views widely different. Where they <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>disagree, it -is not for the humble learner to decide. It is much wiser for him to -enjoy unquestioningly the inspection of these remarkable relics of a -prehistoric age than to rack his brains in futile efforts to fix the -precise period of the lake-dwellers in the eras of man.</p> - -<p class="space-above">When we were shown into a chamber of the Insel Hotel at Constance, -my curiosity was at once excited by the singular appearance of a -room which opens out of that apartment. It is not large enough for a -parlor. It is too poorly lighted for a study or boudoir. It has three -narrow windows which are partly overgrown with ivy. They look on Lake -Constance, which then shone a deep green under the setting sun. The -wall of the chamber at the place where the two rooms join is about two -and a half feet thick. Putting my hand upon the showy paper that covers -the walls, I know by the touch that these are stone. Then, as I observe -that the little room is round in shape, the thought flashes upon me -that it is part of a tower, and perhaps in by-gone times may have been -a cell in which somebody was confined.</p> - -<p>The servant, who had been watching me in an amused manner, then made -his dramatic stroke. “This was the dungeon of John Huss,” was all he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -said. And it was enough. His words recalled the fact that Huss, at some -time previous to his execution by order of the Council of Constance, -was imprisoned in a Dominican monastery of that city. Now the “Insel” -is that identical retreat, transformed into one of the most picturesque -and interesting hotels of Europe. The venerable cloisters have been -preserved intact. The great refectory of the monks is now a restaurant -full of good cheer in meat and drink. It witnessed scenes of revelry in -the old monastic days, as one may gather from the jovial inscriptions -still preserved on the walls. The church of the fraternity is now -the immense dining-room of the hotel, modernized and made secular of -aspect. This building was a stronghold four centuries ago. Then, as -now, it was surrounded by water. For this reason it was selected as one -of the successive prisons of John Huss. There he was beyond the hope of -rescue by his friends and partisans.</p> - -<p>Visiting the Guildhall of Constance next day, I saw additional -evidences of the precautions taken for his safe-keeping. There is the -massive door of oak, with iron bands and enormous locks, which was -rarely if ever opened during his confinement. For a little wicket in -this door served for the inspection of the prisoner by his jailers -and also to pass in food to him. There is the great stone in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> the -dungeon-floor to which he was chained. The windows of the cell as they -now appear are small; but much larger than the old apertures. One of -these openings for air and light is exhibited at the Guildhall. It -is only a slit of three or four inches wide, cut through the thick -stone. Among the other objects relating to the martyrdom of Huss, in -the same collection, are the van in which he was borne to the place of -execution and the brocaded chairs occupied by the Emperor Sigismund -and the Pope at the council. In the plain of Brühl, just outside the -city of Constance, one may see a rude memorial which marks the place -where Huss and later on Jerome of Prague were burned at the stake. It -is a great rock, quite rough, covered with ivy and bearing appropriate -inscriptions. A tall iron railing prevents a near approach to the spot.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVII.</span> <span class="smaller">CARLSBAD—PRAGUE—DRESDEN.</span></h2> - -<p>If people would take only half the pains to keep their health that -they do to recover it when lost they would be spared a great deal -of trouble. At Carlsbad—the fashionable spa of Austria—we found -everybody getting up at five or six o’clock to drink doses of scalding -brine. A light leather strap slung across the shoulder of each person -supported a porcelain mug. The wearer took his place in a long queue, -and the procession moved slowly on to the fountain. Carefully surveying -the patients as they stood in line, one could see that they were mostly -a “damaged lot,” as the auctioneers say. Their dress and bearing -indicated that they belong to what is called “good society.” Their -ailments are the probable results of indolence and high living. If -overfeeding is the matter with them, then Carlsbad is the very place -for their cure. For I have never known a town where, at the hotels, -the minimum of portion and the maximum of price are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> so scientifically -adjusted in the interest of the landlords. It is bad manners to lick -the platter clean; but if the guests of the Carlsbad hotels refrain -from this, they miss an important part of their meals. It may be all -very well for the landlords to collude with the doctors for the benefit -of patients; but on behalf of those who are not invalids, and are -suffering sharply from hunger, I protest against the universal adoption -of the system.</p> - -<p>It is the prescribed rule at Carlsbad to take as much hot water as -possible on an empty stomach. Everybody knows that there is more -available room in the human frame for such a purpose in the early -morning hours than at any other time of day. And so we find all -Carlsbad up with the sun. This rule is rather hard on the brass bands -of Carlsbad. For the municipal ordinances require them to play lively -tunes at the principal fountains while the melancholy processions are -filing on. With what contempt those mighty drinkers of beer and wine -over there in the orchestra must regard all the people who think so -highly of hot water! It seemed to me as I looked upon the ruddy faces -of the musical performers that the continual pounding of drums and -wrestling with trombones must be as promotive of health as any other -known form of manual labor. But of course it would be hard on the well -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>people if every patient should join a brass band to recover his “tone.”</p> - -<p>When a member of the procession reaches the spring which is his goal, -he unslings his porcelain mug and hands it to a boy in waiting. The -water at most of the springs—they are many—issues with some force -amid a cloud of steam, from a small pipe. The mug is filled in a trice -and handed back to its owner. If he likes it very hot, he gulps it -rapidly. If he prefers it lukewarm, he lets it cool a little. Many -persons suck up the water through a glass tube, as if to prolong the -enjoyment. The Carlsbad waters taste differently, and perhaps no two -people find exactly the same flavor in the outcome of the same spring. -With regard to the stronger waters of the group, one often hears it -said, “Why, it tastes like chicken-broth, with too much salt in it!” -If this is true, then I can only say that some of the salt ought to be -extracted and the water put on the bill of fare of the Carlsbad hotels, -where the article called “chicken-broth” does not resemble the real -thing at all. Because of this pleasing flavor—reminiscence of the full -meals of happier days—the drinkers seem really to like the waters.</p> - -<p>As each person can have only one mugful at a time, he must go back -again to the tail end of the line as often as he wants more. This gives -him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> plenty of exercise, if he happens to want two or three quarts the -same morning. Meantime, those who have dutifully taken their doses—as -ordered by some medical tyrant—saunter up and down the pleasant -walks of Carlsbad and chat with their friends, and make themselves as -cheerful and agreeable as it is in the nature of things possible for a -human being to be an hour or two before breakfast. No time of day could -seem more unfavorable for flirtations. But, unless all the usual signs -mislead at Carlsbad, I should say that, as in the familiar song, “the -old, old story is told again at five o’clock in the morning,” often, in -and about the peopled colonnades of that place.</p> - -<p>The Sprudel Spring, which spouts the highest and sends out the most -water, is also the hottest. It is said that eggs may be boiled in it; -and I am prepared to believe the assertion, after observing the timid -way in which the most confirmed drinkers put the water to their lips. -The spring is irregular in its action. At intervals varying from five -to ten minutes it shoots with a force which makes the bystanders step -back to avoid the scalding spray. People who claim to be wiser than -the rest of us, say that the Sprudel and all the other springs result -from the following operations in Mother Earth: The water of some river -or lake in the vicinity of Carlsbad filters through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> ground and -between the rocks to a depth of two or three miles or any distance you -like. On the way this water becomes saturated with salts of various -disagreeable kinds. At a certain point in its downward journey it -encounters the “internal fires,” or, at all events, a heat sufficient -to decompose some of the salts in the water and produce an explosive -gas. This gas, in its turn, projects the heated water through some -convenient hole clear to the surface of the earth, like shot out of a -gun. As nobody knows anything about what takes place away down there, -this explanation is, perhaps, as good as any that may be offered. It -is an interesting fact, by-the-way, that at the time of the great -earthquake which destroyed Lisbon and shook up so many other places, -the Sprudel stopped flowing for three days!</p> - -<p class="space-above">Sign-painters ought to make a good living in Prague. For its population -is about equally divided between Germans and Bohemians, and each -race prefers its own language to that of the other. As a result, the -enterprising merchant is obliged to hang out signs which may be read -by both races. In order to catch the custom of those who can not -read at all, he also calls the pictorial art into play. Everybody -can understand the picture of a sack of flour standing on end, or of -loaves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> of bread, or of bundles of hay or wood, or a pile of coal, or -a man pulling a tooth. But these embellishments are reserved for the -poorer quarters. In the really handsome, newer parts of Prague the -double sign suffices to meet the demands of all intelligent purchasers -among the two peoples. As every cashier and clerk is expected to -understand both German and Bohemian well enough to sell goods to either -race, you will readily see that accomplished linguists are a necessity -in the business circles of Prague, especially when French and English -and American visitors to that city are not uncommon.</p> - -<p>Though differing widely in race and language, the people of Prague are -one in the matter of dress. Their costume is that of the rest of the -world, as affected by that great equalizer, the railway. The Graben -is full of precisely the same persons, externally considered, that -one sees on the boulevards of Paris, in Oxford Street, or Broadway. -During my drives and walks about Prague I did not note a single item -of attire which might not be found in the most conventional of New -England villages. Jews abound in Prague, but not one of them could be -identified by that peculiar and very gloomy apparel which is worn by -their brethren in some other parts of Austria—say, in Carlsbad. There -the Jew is known afar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> off by his long, flowing black robe, matched by -a cap which he pulls down on the back of his head. This robe lends to -the wearer a gravity and dignity in full accord with his serious face. -The Carlsbad Jews are good-looking, and the human parade at and about -the springs would lose much of its interest if they were left out. The -tiresome uniformity of dress which we find in all the cities of Central -Europe is fast robbing Continental travel of a charm once potent. It -is bad enough to have the hotel bills-of-fare everywhere just alike, -though one can put up with lack of variety if the food is well cooked -and wholesome; but, when one sees, on all sides, the same dresses, even -to the cut of a collar, and the nice adjustment of a neck-tie, he feels -cheated out of his just and reasonable expectations. This is one of the -worst respects in which pictorial geographies and cyclopædias too often -lead their readers astray.</p> - -<p>You would hardly expect ever to be called on to complain that people -were too courteous. Yet, when it involves you in the necessity of -taking off your hat and describing a semicircle with it every minute -or two, you get just a little tired of the extreme politeness that -greets you all through Bavaria and Austria. I do not now allude to the -profound bows of your hotel landlord, your porter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> your “boots,” and -your cabman. I do not speak of the man who sells you something—if it -is nothing more than a cake of soap—and bends almost to the floor -when you leave his shop. These men have relations with you which make -their courtesies a matter of course. You do as you please about bowing -back to them. As a rule, you do it if you are not stiff-necked and -hard-hearted. I now refer to the army officer or other gentleman who -doffs his cap to you most politely every time he enters or leaves a -railway-carriage in which you are sitting. But I have chiefly in mind -the pedestrians of high and low degree whom you meet in great numbers -along the country roads of Austria and Bavaria. These men, if natives, -never fail to bare their heads to you. And you must do the same to -them, or lose that good opinion of your own manners which every man -naturally wishes to preserve. Perhaps we Americans need those lessons -in politeness which are forced upon us in some parts of Europe. But it -is nevertheless a little trying to be continually required to exchange -the most respectful salutes with perfect strangers. I don’t think there -is any danger that our fellow-countrymen will ever catch the habit very -badly.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The superintendent or chief inspector of the great Picture-Gallery of -Dresden was quite <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>indignant when I asked him if the Saxon Government -intended to refuse to American artists and students access to that -treasure-house, as had been reported. For his answer he sent at once -for a promising young American, who was then copying one of the -masterpieces of the gallery. Placing his hands affectionately on this -young man’s shoulders, he simply said, “No! no! impossible!” Then he -fled from the scene, as if my question had stung him. It is true, as -I have since learned, that Saxony, while feeling affronted by the -American thirty per cent duty on the paintings and statuary of her -subjects, does not propose to retaliate by excluding our compatriots -from her world-famous collections of art. On the contrary, American -artists are very popular there, and will continue to be welcome -visitors at all the galleries. The Saxon Government hopes that the -American art-tariff will be abolished or reduced some day, in response -to the demand of the best artists of our own country, and without -the pressure of any reprisal. If one would know how valuable are the -privileges enjoyed by American artists and students abroad, let him -enter the famous gallery of paintings, which is the chief glory of -Dresden, and look around him. He will see in almost every corner some -person sitting before a renowned picture and copying it at leisure. -Sometimes the picture still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> hangs on the wall, in which case the -body and the easel of the artist half conceal it from view. Several -masterpieces which I wanted to inspect closely were partly eclipsed -in this way. Sometimes the gem is taken down and put at the artist’s -exclusive disposal. You find its wooden back confronting you in some -nook of the gallery, and, if you try to peep round for a look at it, -the person at work copying it is apt to make you feel that you are an -intruder. I say that it is a great thing to enjoy these advantages over -the general public, and be able to derive a profit from them by selling -copies to American customers, who can take them home duty free. One may -not like the thirty per cent tariff, and still may feel most kindly -disposed toward every American artist and art-student in Europe, and -earnestly hope that their privileges will not be curtailed in the least.</p> - -<p>There is one room in this picture-gallery where I have not yet seen -an easel set up with a man or woman toiling behind it. That is the -apartment solely occupied by the immortal Sistine Madonna of Raphael. -Such a presence there would seem almost a profanation. For that -greatest work of the greatest of artists is a shrine before which men -of all religions and of no religion pay the same unaffected homage. You -remove your hat instinctively as you enter the little room. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> cross -the floor on tip-toe. You gaze upon the wonderful canvas in silence. -If you exchange words of admiration about it with your companion or -neighbor, you do it in a whisper. As you reluctantly quit the place to -go directly to your hotel—for nothing in the gallery interests you -much after you have seen the Sistine Madonna—you realize better than -before what is the highest and truest mission of art in the world.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">BERLIN—ITS MILITARY ATMOSPHERE.</span></h2> - -<p>Two men sit on their horses like statues in front of the Brandenburg -Gate of Berlin. They wear spiked helmets. The numerous buttons on their -tight-fitting coats gleam in the sun. Their weapons are swords. When -you ask to what crack regiment they belong, you are told that they are -policemen. You find hundreds more of the same grave, martial persons, -mostly on foot, in the Berlin streets. You soon come to distinguish -them from the regular troops whom they so much resemble. But it is hard -to tell where the policeman ends and the soldier begins. If the moral -effect of this grim constabulary is as great on the citizens of Berlin -as on the stranger within her gates, then there are few breaches of -the peace committed here. At the railway-stations you see other men -who are soldierly in their dress and bearing. They wear the well-known -fatigue-caps with broad colored bands and a little circle embroidered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> -just above the visor. Their breasts are decorated with metal badges, of -which the crown emblem is a part. You naturally suppose them to belong -to the army, and to be ornamented with some kind of “order,” until you -go near enough to read the word “Portier,” with which they are labeled. -Thus it is that a strong military air is imparted to Berlin, over and -above that which comes from the corps in garrison here. This corps -comprises all arms of the service. The various uniforms—sometimes -simply neat, but often very showy—exhibited in Unter den Linden during -the evening promenade, form one of the chief attractions of that -most beautiful of Berlin streets. Such, at least, is the verdict of -visitors—especially Americans with whom army accoutrements are happily -things of the past.</p> - -<p>It must be confessed that the most peaceful-minded person may catch -the military fever here. The people of Berlin, like all other Germans, -protest to you that they hate war and desire peace above all things. -No men can look more pacific as they smoke their pipes and drink -their beer, and listen to the best music in the “Gartens.” Still, -it is the truth that they impress the impartial tourist as the most -warlike race in Europe. No capital that I have seen compares with -Berlin in the predominance of military ideas and suggestions. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> -officers and privates everywhere on view are but a small part of -this total. The aged and heroic Emperor, the Crown Prince, Bismarck, -Moltke, Roon, and other heroes of the Franco-German War, are served up -in every possible way in the shop-windows of every street. Statues, -busts, oil-paintings, photographs of these distinguished men in full -“regimentals,” are as thick in Berlin as crucifixes and other religious -symbols in the most devout city of Southern Italy. It is a patriotism -which runs to idolatry. In the Königsplatz stands a splendid monument, -designed to commemorate the victorious issues of the recent wars -with Denmark, Austria, and France. On each of the four sides of the -pedestal are bronze reliefs of the Kaiser and all the rest of the -gallant company. If one is not tired of these repetitions of figures -and faces, he may climb an interior staircase of the column and come -out on a balcony, where he can regale himself with the sight of a -noble work in mosaic, in which the identical celebrities reappear in -new combinations and with still more brilliant effects. Visiting the -modern picture-galleries about town, he can not enter a nook or recess -so obscure that it does not hold at least one first-rate picture, -or marble or bronze bust of the Emperor or his heir, or his great -Chancellor, or his incomparable Field-Marshal and strategist. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is but natural that the Germans should love to honor the illustrious -sovereign, the statesman, and the general who have made their country -united and powerful. They know perfectly well that what they have won -by the sword can be kept only by the sword in that terrible struggle -for national supremacy, and even for existence, of which Europe is the -theatre. As long as the profession of the soldier is thus exalted above -every other by force of circumstances, what wonder that the Germans -should indulge their passion for hero-worship to an extent unknown in -all modern history?</p> - -<p>The American who passes through France and Germany finds this question -a very interesting one: How long will it be before these two countries -will be fighting again? He takes it for granted that they will fight -some time. All the signs point to that conclusion. He sees troops -incessantly drilling in all parts of Germany and France. If he can read -the native papers, he finds in almost every column some allusion more -or less covert, but unmistakably unfriendly in tone. If he inspects the -rows of yellow-covered pamphlets at the railway book-stalls, he will -be sure to see “Avant la Bataille,” or “Pas Encore,” or the spirited -replies in German, of which those and other sensational volumes have -been the occasion. Works like these are multiplying on both sides -of the frontier. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> seem to be pilot balloons sent up to try the -winds. It is true that the authors are unofficial persons. They do not -speak for nations. But they do, nevertheless, succeed in straining the -relations between countries which require for the preservation of peace -the observance of mutual forbearance, if hearty good-will can not be -expected of them.</p> - -<p>A great many Frenchmen have made no concealment of their burning desire -for revenge ever since the war of 1870-’71. But in my previous visits -to Europe I have never found the Germans so outspoken on this ticklish -subject as at present. Every one with whom I have conversed believes -that the renewal of the struggle is not far off. No reason is given -for this belief. It is one of faith, resting on portents in the skies. -There does not seem to be, in Germany, the least doubt of the sequel, -if France, single-handed, should attempt to recover what she has lost. -But there is some anxiety to know whether she would have Russia as an -ally. In that event the Germans are counting on the support of Austria -and Italy. These, however, are questions of the future, and there we -will leave them, with the single remark that the physical and mental -health of Bismarck and Moltke, as trusted counselors of the indomitable -Kaiser, constitutes the best present security against any surprise in -diplomacy or war at the expense of Germany. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - -<p>I never saw in any one place in France as many French cannon as are -packed in the great court-yard of the arsenal of Berlin. They line the -sides of the quadrangle, and point to the center. Each of these pieces -bears some terrible name—“Le Vengeur,” “La Terreur,” “Le Destructeur,” -“Le Volcan,” “Le Borreau,” and the like—which now read strangely by -the light of history. Some show ugly scars, like bull-dogs gashed in -fighting. A frequent mark is the tearing away of a lip of the muzzle, -the effect of German shot. Others have deep scores in the sides, -where the balls struck them and glanced off. They are mostly bronze -of slender, graceful shapes, and profusely ornamented with arabesque -raised patterns. They have a certain Gallic look of trimness and taste, -and, if they failed to frighten off the German invader, they still -survive as works of art in the German capital, and fulfill the peaceful -mission of amusing the Berlinese. I roved among these trophies, and -patted them on the back, stopping occasionally to decipher the date of -their making. The year is cast in bold figures near the mouth of the -gun, and is often accompanied by the name of the sovereign in whose -reign it was born. There are specimens dating as far back as Louis XIV; -others are marked “Napoleon,” “Louis XVIII,” “Louis Philippe,” and the -larger number “Napoleon III.” As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> I saunter among these grim souvenirs -of the wreck of the Second Empire and the terrible humiliation of -France, I wonder how a French soldier would feel if he were present -among this throng of exulting Germans, with whom the exhibition is a -treat inexhaustibly popular. But then, of course, no Frenchman visiting -Berlin could bear the idea of witnessing these proofs of his country’s -disaster.</p> - -<p>As this thought passed through my mind, I looked up from a long, -handsome gun—“Le Tourbillon”—which I had been inspecting, and noticed -a martial face near me. It had piercing black eyes, a clipped, white -mustache, a prominent chin, and instantly reminded me of the portrait -of Marshal Pelissier, Duc de Malakoff. The lips were grimly set, and -there was no mistaking the frown in those corrugated lines of the -brow which the civilian’s hat did not conceal. Caught unawares, this -remarkable face showed shame, rage, hate, and revenge, or I am no -judge of the human countenance. But the moment the stranger’s eyes met -mine, this expression of the passions vanished. He smiled forcedly, -and whispered, “Pardon, monsieur,” then moved hastily away, as if to -avoid conversation or observation. The incident impressed me deeply. -He was certainly a Frenchman, perhaps an officer of high rank, who, -while visiting Berlin and out of his uniform, could not resist the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> -temptation to see what use the victors were making of all the spoils of -Sedan, Strasburg, and Metz, and of those venerable trophies of Waterloo -which fell into Blucher’s hands. He was too young for old Pelissier; -and, besides, that hero of the Crimea had been dead about two years.</p> - -<p>After glancing at the immense display of other cannon, home-made and -captured, old and new, the apparatus for mining and sapping, the -elaborate miniature plans of fortresses and (most curious of all) -the topographical models of historic battlefields, with tin troops -in position on both sides, just as they were drawn up at some crisis -of the conflict—all these on the vast lower floor of the arsenal—I -climbed an easy flight of stairs, and found myself in another hall -of trophies. The objects here exhibited were French muskets and -French standards. There were enough <i>chassepots</i> to equip a division -of troops. A Frenchman himself, if he could dismiss his patriotic -sensibilities, must admire the highly artistic way in which the Germans -have grouped these shining weapons. Thousands of them are set in racks, -and look like organ-pipes, recalling Longfellow’s lines on “The Arsenal -at Springfield”; others are displayed against the walls as spokes of -a wheel, as triangles, as pentagons, and other geometrical forms, -beautiful in their perfect regularity. A committee of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> French artists -could not have treated the material more effectively.</p> - -<p>Above and all around droop the flags of conquered France. Some are old -and rent by bullets. I read among their folds such names as “Jena,” -“Austerlitz,” “Borodino,” “Alma,” “Inkermann,” “Solferino.” Others -are new and untorn and unstained. Their fresh, tricolored hues make -the long gallery gay as I look down its perspective. What would the -French officer say (to himself) if he could gaze upon these flags of -his country which now serve only to decorate the enemy’s arsenal? -There he is again by my side. His face is pale. His lips pinch each -other. His eyes shoot fire. He is staring intently at a poor old flag -in tatters—a mere rag—on which I spell out the word “Marengo.” No -wonder his patriotic soul is cruelly disturbed by the spectacle! How -can he endure it? As I ask this question, the object of it is suddenly -aware that I am looking at him. His eyes again meet mine, his face -mechanically becomes smooth if not pleasant, and his lips move as if -murmuring, “Pardon, monsieur!” in apology for not more successfully -commanding his emotions. Then he disappears among the crowd—there is -always a crowd at the arsenal—as before, and that is my last sight of -this mysterious personage.</p> - -<p>During one of our rides in the outskirts of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>Berlin we came upon a -regimental drill. It was taking place in a large, perfectly flat and -dry field or parade-ground. We sat comfortably in our carriage close -by, and watched the operations. An entire regiment was present, with -all its officers in command, and fine-looking men they were, from the -colonel down to the sous-lieutenant. It may be largely a question of -clothes. Perhaps the long frock-coat, with two rows of buttons on the -breast, and the spiked helmet, should be credited with part of the -effect. The bobtail, white coats of Austria, and the short, blue tunics -and red breeches of France, somehow detract from the impressiveness -which should adhere to the followers of Mars. And the <i>Pickelhaube</i> of -the Germans is unquestionably more warlike than the French <i>kepi</i>, or -the cloth cap of the Austrians awkwardly set on the back of the head, -or the plumed, top-heavy, round hat of the Italian <i>bersaglieri</i>. The -German officers, for one reason or another, are more soldierly of -aspect than any of their European brethren in arms. The studious and -impartial observer must also give the German privates the palm over all -others of the rank and file, the English troops always excepted. They -look healthier, larger, stronger, with more staying power, than the -common soldiers of Austria, France, or Italy.</p> - -<p>These officers and these men are machines with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> souls. We are looking -at some wonderful automatic exhibition. Every arm and every leg of -every soldier responds to the orders as if pulled by invisible wires. -When they march in company columns, the line along the waist-buckles -of the men is perfectly straight. When they ground their muskets, a -thousand strike the earth with one thud. To me the most remarkable part -of the show is the goose-step parade, never seen outside of Germany. -It is a survival of the great Frederick’s iron system. The men throw -out one leg after another from the hip-joint, without a bend at the -knee. There is absolute uniformity in this strange combined movement. -A line of puppets operated by steam could not perform it better. A -Prussian officer would take that as the highest compliment, his purpose -being to impart to these thinking bodies before him all the formalism -of a machine complete in every part, thoroughly oiled and working -faultlessly. The goose-step parade is the pride of his heart. The -fierce colonel, who sits on his coal-black horse at a little distance, -and watches his regiment with merciless eyes, beams his silent approval -as they all stride toward him, with their thousands of stiff legs -rising and falling together as one.</p> - -<p>At Munich, on the way to Berlin, I had seen Bavarian soldiers taking -their gymnastic exercise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> out-of-doors. The same severe physical -discipline is enforced upon all the conscripts throughout the -empire; but it is not often that the tourist catches them in the -act of training every muscle in succession for the exigencies of a -campaign. By looking over a fence which separated me from the Munich -drill-ground, I could watch the performances at close quarters. -There, within a rod of me, were tough young fellow’s playing all -sorts of games. They were climbing ropes and letting themselves down -head-foremost. They were jumping over bars four or five feet high -without touching. They were scaling barricades fifteen or twenty feet -high by mounting on the shoulders of comrades. They were crossing -imaginary streams on narrow planks. Some of them, with wire masks -and iron breastplates, were fiercely lunging at one another with -bayonets on the ends of muskets. The sharp point was covered with a -wad of stuffed leather. Hundreds of men not thus engaged were marching -incessantly up and down the grounds and going through the manual of -arms, under the severest of tutors. When I had looked upon these men -and these games about half an hour, I understood better than before why -the Germans are formidable in war.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The Emperor and Empress were at Ems in mid-July, the time of my visit. -Parliament was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> in session. The opera-houses were closed. The month -was in no sense part of “the season.” And yet the hotels and <i>pensions</i> -were full and prices “way up.” It is worth while to know the special -reason of this. Berlin was holding a great exhibition of pictures. It -purported to take in “the world,” but I can not admit this claim, for -America was not at all represented in the long galleries through which -I paced in the vain hope of finding some scrap from the brush of a -fellow-countryman. None of the official persons whom I consulted knew -or cared anything about it. One or two of them had a vague impression -that some American artist had sent in something after the catalogue had -been printed, but could not “spot” it for me. So I patriotically hunted -for myself, and after much searching gave it up. Whether our artists -did not care to send coals to Newcastle, or whether the managers of -this immense picture-show had forgotten to invite, or had declined -to accept, offerings from the United States, I can not say. Perhaps -the jealousy and feeling of resentment which the American art tariff -has provoked in Germany may explain the phenomenon. Excepting for the -regrettable absence of contributions from America, the Ausstellung -of 1886 wanted for nothing. No better collection of modern European -paintings has ever been made. It was this that packed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>Berlin in -mid-July. There is a lesson just here which should be taken home by -every city in which ambition and enterprise are not yet extinct. Great -galleries of fine pictures are unfailing attractions.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Perhaps, when New York has doubled her supply of Croton, she will -provide a fountain worthy of the name. Nothing seems to captivate a -crowd quite as effectually as a big jet of water. It must be fired -into the air straight and high. It makes little difference whether -the stream is thick or thin at the nozzle. At the Interlaken Casino -there is a slender fountain of this kind. Its topmost drops tremble -some hundreds of feet above the ground. No one dreams of quitting the -scene till the water ceases to play, and I believe the spectators would -stay there all night if it were not turned off. At Dresden, behind -the Zwinger, there is a jet of far less pretensions. But, while it is -playing, everybody from far and near flocks around to see it. Visiting -the park of Sans Souci, not far from Berlin, I found the great fountain -just as irresistible as all of its kind have proved everywhere else. -The by-standers never tired of watching the sparkling column as it -shot aloft. They would hardly move out of the way, even when its spray -drenched them as the wind swayed the flashing summit to and fro. Nature -and art have combined to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> the old pleasure-ground of Potsdam -lovely. But there is nothing in it as beautiful as its fountain.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The linden-trees in the great street upon which I look as I write, have -shed almost all their blossoms. The wind brings with it the faintest -trace of a perfume which is delicious when not too strong. The renowned -Unter den Linden must be the paradise of thoroughfares when its long -double lines of trees are in their full flower. Its noble palaces, -museums, universities, and other public buildings make it attractive at -all times. But its wealth of lindens is its unique charm in the summer. -Only I am a little disappointed not to find among the leafy rows a -single specimen of the tree as high as that which is so common in -Southern Germany. But, in years, perhaps, they will grow to be as lofty -as their predecessors in the same street which were cut down in their -old age and decrepitude.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIX.</span> <span class="smaller">ST. PETERSBURG IN JULY.</span></h2> - -<p>The Russians play their alphabet of thirty-six letters for all it -is worth. Having plenty of letters, they string these out into long -words. How our German friends, with their addiction to polysyllables, -would enjoy such alphabetical resources! What tremendous jaw-breakers -they would manufacture! Our first acquaintance with the beauties of -the Russian language was made from the window of a sleeping-car at -daybreak. We were then in Russian territory, far from the frontier. As -the tram jogged along without stopping, we could see the Russian names -of the stations. At first, perhaps, there would be four or five regular -English letters, mixed up anyhow. Then would come a Greek character. -Next would occur an unmistakable figure 3. This would possibly be -followed by an N or an R or an L turned upside down or otherwise -distorted. And in the midst of these capital letters there would be a -sprinkling of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> “lower case,” as printers say. The whole effect was that -of “pi” of the most exasperating description. I can imagine no mental -exercise more debilitating than that of trying to spell out Russian -signs with the misleading help of the English letters on them. Even if -all the rest were smooth sailing, there are fatal snags in the shape of -gridirons, double saw-horses, and other symbols of unknown import.</p> - -<p>On the tongue of a polite Russian this language is musical and fluent. -We heard its accents first at Wirballen, where the baggage inspection -takes place. It is no joke for persons who have been traveling for -fifteen hours from Berlin to be wakened at midnight and put through -a custom-house ordeal. As I stepped off the train into the cold and -damp of the Wirballen station, a pleasant voice saluted my ear with a -long sentence, of which I caught only the word “passport.” Looking up, -I saw, by the dim light of a lantern, a Russian officer of gigantic -stature. He was most becomingly dressed in a blue tunic, flowing -trousers tucked into highly polished boots, an Astrakhan cap with a -red top and white pompon, and a long sword trailed from his side to -the floor. His large, healthy face beamed benevolence. If he had asked -for my pocket-book, I believe I should have given it up to him without -hesitation. I handed him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> Mr. Bayard’s valued certificate, with the -single word “American.” You should have seen the smile on his face -stretch into a positive laugh of welcome! He bowed profoundly, and -pointed the way to a spacious room which had been depicted to me as a -torture-chamber.</p> - -<p>We had been told that the Russian examination was most inquisitive -and merciless. We had heard that all English books and newspapers -were confiscated. Having read our stock of these on the way, we were -ready to surrender them cheerfully to the Russian censor. But we were -expecting to have great fun out of a quart-bottle half full of lemonade -and tightly corked. We had painted to ourselves the disappointment and -disgust of the officials when they opened that bottle in pursuit of -brandy and found only water. I confess I was almost sorry when they -did not smell or even look at it. As for the books and papers, these -gave the worthy men no more concern than the wisp-broom and slippers. -Mind you, the search was not a pure farce. Those engaged in it did not -look at you all the time as if they itched to be bribed. They did not -examine some trunks and “chalk” others without opening them, and then -expect you to pay for their forbearance. It was a strict and honest -business throughout. But there was a liberal construction in favor of -travelers. I had some paper <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>rubles in my vest-pocket for an emergency. -But slight observation of the men at work convinced me that they did -not look for a gratuity from me, and that possibly they might be -affronted if I offered them one. We have undergone many custom-house -inquisitions, but that at Wirballen is the only one in which there was -not something strongly suggestive of bribes or gifts.</p> - -<p>It was this same national politeness on the part of a Russian to -Americans that first induced us to try the rail route from Berlin to -St. Petersburg. At Dresden, where we took train for Berlin, the only -other occupant of our carriage was a gentleman of middle age, with a -finely shaped head and a shrewd, kindly face. Some trivial incident -started a conversation, and he soon learned that we were Americans. It -was at once evident that this fact thawed any little fragment of ice -that yet clung to our intercourse. Our fellow-traveler then proclaimed -himself a Russian, and spoke with feeling of the friendship that had -always existed between his country and America, and hoped it would -be lasting. We echoed his sentiments every time, you may be sure. -These international comities having been exchanged, we proceeded to -extract from our friend some much-needed information about the Russian -facilities for traveling, the best hotels and shops in St. Petersburg -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> Moscow, and a great deal else in respect to which our guide-books -are imperfect or stale. His knowledge of all these matters was full -and exact, and I took mental notes of his advice, which, during our -whole stay in Russia, proved of great value. A talk which was certainly -very profitable for us—and in which he manifested the utmost interest -and willingness to assist—was abruptly broken by the arrival of the -train at the German capital. Rising to take leave, he shook hands with -us heartily, and then informed us that he was Count Paul Schouvaloff, -Russian Embassador at Berlin, and said he would be happy to be of any -further service if we would call at the embassy. He was received at the -station by military and other <i>attachés</i> of his staff, and driven off -to the palace on the Unter den Linden, which is his official residence. -It was under such agreeable auspices that we began our Russian journey, -and they were but a foretaste of the kindness which everywhere met -us—as Americans.</p> - -<p>The trip from Berlin to St. Petersburg takes about thirty-six hours. -You start at 9 <span class="smaller">A. M.</span> in an express train, and do not strike -the “sleepers” till you reach Wirballen. The Russian conveniences for -night travel are almost perfect. The compartments are large, the beds -good, the ventilation is scientific, and the motion easy. The springy -gait<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> of the carriage rocks you to sleep. The attendants are all alive, -and do not ask for or seem to expect fees. The train stops often and -long enough after daylight to “refresh” the hungriest and thirstiest -of mortals. At the tidy-looking stations—wooden, one-story, painted -yellow, each with boxes of flowers in the windows—he finds glasses of -delicious coffee or strong tea, “screeching” hot. The tea is served -from the <i>samovar</i>, or big urn, and is on tap night and day. A slice of -lemon floating on top makes this cheering drink look like brandy-punch. -There also may be had the whitest bread, the most golden butter, and -dainty Russian dishes, of which I am most happy to recall mutton and -rice drowned in a brown sauce that would kindle an appetite under the -ribs of Death. Such comforts and such luxuries made the long ride from -Wirballen to St. Petersburg unfatiguing. The country is flat, with -a large allowance of forest and swamp, and is sparsely settled. The -little aisle of the car was a common meeting-ground for passengers, who -were amiable and talkative.</p> - -<p>And so the time did not drag badly till we rolled into the Petersburg -station (they all say Petersburg here) a little before nine o’clock, -<span class="smaller">P. M.</span> It was broad daylight in effect, and, as we were -driven to our hotel (d’Europe), we could see and enjoy the out-door -life of this great, modern-looking, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>wonderful city as well as if -it had been high noon. There were signs of business enterprise and -prosperity on every side. The <i>droschkies</i> burned the pavement, as -the French say, but the drivers held their horses well in hand. These -“cabbies,” by-the-way, are almost the only class here whose dress is -not European. Their long wraps, like bathing-robes, buckled about the -waist, and their little hats, which look like the stove-pipe pattern -badly crushed, are the only marked oddities of attire in the streets. -The pedestrians, although through with the business of the day, walked -rapidly. The general aspect of the city, as of the people we saw, was -more American than French, German, or English. But for the maddening -inscriptions on the shop-fronts, and the golden domes and peculiar -crosses of the Greek churches, the city of Peter the Great might -pass for a compound of Chicago and Washington. The wide, straight -streets—the <i>Prospekts</i>, or perspectives, as they are called—remind -me of the latest type of American cities. On arriving at the hotel, I -again surrendered my passport (which had been countersigned and stamped -by the Russian consul-general at Berlin, and handed back to me after a -brief detention at Wirballen). It was returned next day, without any -additional mark upon it.</p> - -<p>The famous St. Isaac’s Church, about which so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> many writers rave, does -not impress us as much as we expected. Nothing could be simpler and -nothing richer than its outside and inside. It is immense, but it looks -small. Its great dome is a sheet of pure gold. Its interior has columns -of malachite and lapis-lazuli, massive shrines made of precious metals -by the hundred-weight and blazing with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, -and emeralds. One knows that millions of dollars have been lavished -on all these things, and yet the whole effect is not magnificent. The -money is not put where it shows on casual inspection. For a repetition -of visits I prefer the Kazan Cathedral, of which less ado is made in -the guide-books. That is the church beloved of Petersburgers; while -it is not dowered with as much malachite, lapis-lazuli, gold, silver, -and gems as fall to the share of St. Isaac’s, it is very rich in all -these gifts, and it has one shrine of incomparable splendor. That is -our Lady of Kazan. The Greek Church does not tolerate images among its -symbols. Reverence for the Saviour, or the Madonna and Child, or any -of the saints, is expressed by heaping up riches upon their portraits. -Our Lady of Kazan appears in a gold frame about three feet square. You -see only her face and hands. The rest of her is buried under solid -gold and silver crusted all over with the costliest jewels. She is a -special object of veneration.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> Princes and generals, opulent merchants, -beggars, old and young, women and children, all sorts of people, may -be seen at almost any hour of the day struggling to kiss her hands. -Before doing this the more devout bow and touch the cold stone floor -with their foreheads and cross themselves repeatedly. They bring little -votive candles which they light and stick in places provided for them. -Priests and women all dressed alike, in black robes and high hats minus -the brim, stand around with dishes to receive donations. I heard the -service intoned by lay readers with deep-bass voices, but did not see -a priest performing his sacred functions. The religion of the people -seems very real, so far as outward signs reveal it. Shrines are set up -at the street corners and in the fronts of shops and houses, and no -Russian fails to remove his hat and cross himself and bow deeply in -passing one of them.</p> - -<p>The most remarkable curiosity in this city is the perfect skeleton -of a mammoth dug out of an ice-bank in Siberia nearly one hundred -years ago. It is in the Museum of the Academy of Sciences, and I lost -no time in inspecting the bones of the colossal beast. He stood, in -his original full dress, as high as the lamented Jumbo at least. His -general appearance as to head, tail, trunk, legs, and chest was that of -an elephant. But his tusks, ten or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> twelve feet long, curved outward -and upward, as if they were trying to tie knots in themselves. Remains -of mammoths have often been dug up in Russia, but this skeleton is the -only one to which some of the flesh and skin and hairs still adheres. -The hide is about an inch thick. The hair is half a foot long, of a -whitish brown. At what remote date this monster was browsing around in -Siberia, what use he made of his queer horns, and how he got frozen up -in a mass of ice and mud, are questions which I leave to the lively -fancy of Jules Verne.</p> - -<p>Most smokers are proud to own a real amber mouth-piece. What would -they say to a room, seventy-five or one hundred feet square, lined on -all sides with amber clear to the high ceiling? That is what we saw -at Tsarskoé Selo, an imperial summer palace near St. Petersburg. The -precious fossil gum was cut and dovetailed so as to make beautiful -figures of Cupids, fruits, and flowers. The whole is in the highest -state of polish. It reflects the light not only from its surface, but -from its depths, and is lovely to look upon, even if one does not -think of the treasure expended in procuring all that rare product of -nature. We made the weary round of a hundred rooms, all gilded and -upholstered magnificently, and full of art-objects from every part -of the globe, but saw nothing that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> spoke so eloquently of boundless -wealth and luxury as that amber-lined chamber. When a Tsar undertakes -to do something really splendid in this line, he leaves all his brother -sovereigns far behind.</p> - -<p>I shall never take the least interest in the band-chariot of a circus -after having seen the forty or fifty gorgeous state carriages of the -Tsars. The best artists and artisans of all Europe have contributed -to the production of these wonderful objects, in which expense is -of no account. They are deeply gilt all over, and each panel bears -a painting from some master’s hand. In the midst of this brilliant -collection stands the traveling-sledge of Peter the Great, made -entirely by himself, and an honest and strong piece of work. It was -built for service, not for coronations and weddings, like the rest. -Adjoining this venerable relic is a <i>coupé</i> of the simplest style, to -which our courteous guide points as he says, with emotion, “Alexander -the Second.” We look, and are startled to see that the rear part of -the <i>coupé</i> is split open in several places and a little sunk down -on one side. Then we know at once that before us is the wreck of the -carriage in which the monarch sat when the first bomb exploded beneath -it. Within as well as without the havoc of the missile was terrible to -behold. It is a wonder that the doomed man escaped alive only to perish -by the second bomb, which his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> murderers held in reserve for him. The -memory of this martyred emancipator of the serfs is cherished with the -deepest affection by the people. His portrait is one of the commonest -in the shop-windows. In the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul (within -the fortress of that name) is the tomb of the unfortunate Emperor. Like -the sepulchres of his predecessors, all about him, it is of marble -unadorned. But its top is heaped with fresh flowers. Above and around -are hung wreaths of immortelles and other floral tributes and elaborate -mourning emblems in silver and gold testifying to the love of his -subjects and the admiration of men of other lands.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XX.</span> <span class="smaller">THE FIRST DROSCHKY-RIDE—SUNSET AT THE ISLANDS—EARLY MORNING VIEWS OF -THE NEVSKOI PROSPEKT.</span></h2> - -<p>“Don’t forget Firkin! I will write his name for you on the back -of my card.” Such were the closing words of a long conversation -about Russia held between myself and a young American who had -recently visited that country. The person to whom he referred was -the celebrated St. Petersburg guide, with headquarters at the Hôtel -d’Europe. This injunction to remember Firkin was laid upon me across -the breakfast-table of the Hôtel Grande Bretagne, Naples. I thanked -the young American, and placed his card thus indorsed in a select -compartment of my pocket-book. About two weeks later, dining one day at -“Schweizerhof,” Lucerne, my neighbor on the right, an English tourist, -led up a desultory talk to Russia. I have noticed that persons who -have been to Russia are apt to apprise others of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> fact upon no -provocation at all. He also said, with great emphasis—speaking of St. -Petersburg—“By all means secure Firkin as a guide”; adding, “without -him you are helpless.” Frequently afterward, when we were pursuing our -devious journey to the great northern capital, some misgivings would -arise about difficulties to be encountered there; and then these would -all vanish when we recalled the magic name of Firkin.</p> - -<p>When we arrived at the Hôtel d’Europe, my first inquiry, after securing -rooms, was for this treasure of a man. The polite manager scoured -the reading-room, the restaurant, the smoking-room, and all the -passage-ways of the ground-floor in search of the famous guide. “He -must be out now with a party,” explained the manager, in French. “Did -you telegraph ahead to engage him?”</p> - -<p>Ah! I had forgotten that. I had thoughtlessly assumed that, as I was -visiting St. Petersburg out of the busy season, he would be entirely at -my disposal. Rash confidence!</p> - -<p>Next morning, after a good night’s rest, my first thought was of -Firkin. Even before breakfast, I resumed my inquiries for him, and -could have hugged him with delight when he was at last brought before -me by the courteous manager himself. He was a man of middle height -and age,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> with an ingratiating manner, and spoke English—his native -tongue. He looked the model guide. He smiled and shook his head when -I told him I wanted to engage his services during my stay. Then he -referred to a tablet in his hand, and, after carefully inspecting a -series of entries, said, “You wish to see the most remarkable sights in -Petersburg, I suppose.” I nodded. “Well, then,” said he, “I can give -you from nine to twelve day after to-morrow. That is the best I can -do. But it will afford you some idea of the manners and customs of the -natives. Strangers have no conception of them, I assure you.”</p> - -<p>Three hours seemed very little, and day after to-morrow was far off. -But I was curious to learn something about the real native life in -Russia, and jumped at the proposition. “All right,” said I, “we shall -be through breakfast by nine on Wednesday, and ready for you.”</p> - -<p>“Breakfast, my dear sir?” he cried. “Dinner, you mean; 9 <span class="smaller">P. M.</span> -is the hour of starting. Between that and midnight I can show you the -most wonderful—”</p> - -<p>I laughed at the mutual mistake, and explained to the accomplished -guide that the sights we had in mind were those best seen by day -light—churches, palaces, museums, picture-galleries, etc. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah! I see,” he said, with a smile, “there is a lady along.”</p> - -<p>Thus ended my negotiations with Firkin. I tried in vain to engage -another guide at the hotel, one who spoke French a little. But he was -also booked far ahead. There was nothing left but to trust to my own -ingenuity and the judicious use of “tea-money,” as tips are called -in a land where tea is drunk even more generally than corn-brandy. I -bethought myself of the tourist’s best friend—the head-porter. He was -a Russian giant, amiable, like all oversized men, and speaking some -French. He promised me his best assistance, and, I will say at once, -was very useful. Whenever I wanted to go anywhere, he would give all -the directions in Russian to the droschky-driver. As the driver was -usually stupid, and, I should think, deaf, from the thundering tones -in which the head-porter invariably addressed him, it always took some -time to get us fairly started. Woe be to the <i>ishvoshtnik</i> if I had any -occasion whatever to complain of him on my return, as I sometimes had! -Then the head-porter would seem to grow in stature to about eight feet. -He would shake his enormous fist in pretended rage at the blundering -fellow, and roar at him in the purest Russian. I could not understand -a word, but I knew by the driver’s looks that he was “catching it -hot.” It is on such <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>occasions that the Russian alphabet of thirty-six -letters comes out strong. It enables one to do justice to the subject. -The man would quail before this frightful shower of expletives until -I would really pity him, and touch the shoulder of my good friend the -head-porter to call him off. After several repetitions of this severe -but wholesome treatment, the drivers made fair substitutes for the -lamented Firkin himself.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Strange as the statement may seem, my principal difficulty at first -was getting back to the hotel. Not a single one of the drivers engaged -for me knew the name “Hôtel d’Europe,” which was painted in letters -six feet long on the blank side of that immense establishment. I was -obliged to say “Nevskoi Prospekt,” which they all understood; and, when -they had entered that broadest of avenues, I piloted them to the hotel, -which fronted it. Finally, I obtained from the head-porter the Russian -name of the house—something like “Europeiskaya Gostinnitza”—and made -that work every time.</p> - -<p>Most of the streets are paved with large cobble-stones, and, if the -droschkies ever had springs, these have become unelastic by much -bumping over them. One mounts a droschky in St. Petersburg as he -steps into a gondola in Venice—with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> feeling of romance. It is -something that shows off beautifully in pictures. You see a miniature -victoria, with thick little wheels—the front ones just the size for -barrows—drawn by a horse whose back is spanned with a high ornamental -arch of wood, to which bells are attached. The driver holds in the -flying steed with both hands—a graceful attitude. The whole turn-out -is so fairy-like and different from any other elsewhere, that the -tourist looks forward to a ride in a droschky as one of the greatest -treats of St. Petersburg. Among the few Russian words he picks up as -indispensable are <i>poshoi</i> (go ahead) and <i>stoi</i> (stop). Armed with -these, he sets forth on his first exploration of the city, careless, -light-hearted, prepared to enjoy everything, and particularly the -droschky.</p> - -<p>When we proceeded to seat ourselves in this vehicle, we barely found -room for two, and there was no back to it except a little rim, three -inches high, to prevent our falling out. We instinctively clung to -each other for support. If we were a little crowded, and there was any -danger of our tumbling into the street backward, those very facts were -new and interesting. The safe and comfortable carriages are always -commonplace, you know. We really felt like extolling the inventive -genius of Russia which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> produced something totally unlike any of -the equipages of Western Europe. There was fascination in the risks of -it. The <i>ishvoshtnik</i> (I roll this word like a sweet morsel under my -tongue) starts off quickly. This gives us a jerk, but, while holding on -to each other, we have each a spare hand with which we grasp the end -of our thin cushion. We are not thrown out, or likely to be, and we -murmur: “What fun!” “How exhilarating!” “What novel sensations!” as we -go jolting over the bowlders.</p> - -<p>The <i>ishvoshtnik</i> has a good horse, and is proud to show him off. The -animal and his master seem to understand each other well. The one bends -back his ears, while the other pours a stream of unintelligible words -into them. No whip is ever used. We both feel much inconvenienced by -the horrible pavement, though we heroically suppress our emotions. We -suppose that we will soon get used to it. To distract our attention, -we try to amuse ourselves with the enigmatical signs on the shops. We -study the strange faces in the streets. We note the golden domes and -spires as they flash under the morning sun. We make every effort to -lose ourselves in the contemplation of this interesting city. But it is -of no use. The cobble-stones keep our teeth chattering, and at times -threaten to dislocate every bone in our bodies.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> We strike a bowlder of -extra size, and the droschky bounds up a foot.</p> - -<p>“How horrid! do stop him, do!” are the words I now hear. I yell -<i>poshoi</i> at the driver. A voice at my side says, “How lucky you -remembered the word!” The man hears me, and he calls out <i>poshoi</i> to -his horse. Now we shall see the sagacity of the animal. But no! The -brute does not understand his own language. He has broken his trot; he -is galloping. I hear a shriek—“Oh, pull his what-d’ye-call it, do!” -I grasp the driver’s baggy and greasy robe just above the girdle and -nearly jerk him off his seat. He looks around astonished, and I then -signal him to check his horse. He nods, and calls out <i>stoi</i>! And the -beast comes to a halt. Then the thought flashes upon me that I have got -my two Russian words mixed. Such is the fact, and we have a good laugh -over it in which the driver joins; and I have no doubt the mistake -would have amused the intelligent horse, if he had been told of it. -We were glad to get back to the hotel at a walk. This was our first -and last joint experience of a droschky in the rough streets of St. -Petersburg, though for little trips about town I tried it alone and -became somewhat hardened to it.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Late one afternoon, the head-porter, who was always making useful -suggestions, said to me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> “Have you seen the sun set?” I told him I -came from the land of the setting sun. “But you must see it set here!” -pursued the good fellow. And before I could object, he whistled a -springy phaeton out of the court-yard of the hotel where it had been -standing awaiting orders. We stepped into the carriage, and he gave -directions in Russian to the driver. We were bound to a summer garden -or fashionable park, situated on what is known as “the islands.” We -crossed the Neva for the twentieth time, perhaps, as it divides the -great city in twain and lies between the Hôtel d’Europe and many places -of interest; and I again admired its noble breadth, its tranquil flow, -the dark steel-blue of its waters. From any of the bridges the view -along the quay is striking. The most imposing public buildings face the -Neva. The private edifices on the same alignment are only less stately. -It is here that the visitor recalls Paris as he has seen it from the -Pont de la Concorde; only the Neva is twice as wide as the Seine. -And this suggestion of Paris is strengthened when his eye catches a -reminder of the dome des Invalides, in the golden hemisphere of St. -Isaac’s. But for the frequency of the gilded bulbs and the square Greek -crosses that shine above the horizon of roofs, there is nothing Russian -or peculiar in the general view of St. Petersburg. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> - -<p>Across the river we pass through streets destitute of novel features. -The fact that we are in the Tsar’s capital invests all things with a -certain glamour. We are far from home, and feel as if we ought to be -rewarded for our trouble in getting there, by the constant exhibition -of strange things. But, save for the puzzling signs and the universal -custom among the poorer classes (and all the military) of tucking -trousers into boots, and the low-wheeled droschkies with their drivers -in badly-crushed hats and tunics like blue meal-bags loosely tied in -the middle, little challenges our wonder or admiration. We leave the -busy streets for the green and shady gardens. These seem in no wise -different from public grounds elsewhere. The trees—spruces and firs -preponderating—are the same that thrive in all parts of Northern -Europe. The summer flowers are equally familiar to us. There are -restaurants, with people in the latest Paris styles, sitting in the -open air and drinking tea or something stronger; and bands are playing -for their delight just as they do in the Bois de Boulogne or Central -Park. The roads are macadamized and free from dust. Our carriage is -luxurious and from the depths of its cushions we look out idly on the -shaven lawns, the clipped shrubbery, the crystal ponds full of swans -and wood-ducks, the birds and butterflies spreading their wings to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> -the soft, caressing air, and shiver to think of the change that a -few months will make in this summer scene. For, perhaps, as soon as -mid-October, these little lakes and the Neva, of which we get frequent -glimpses between the trees, will be solid ice and all the landscape -Arctic.</p> - -<p>But we are coming to the sunset. We emerge from a thick wood at a point -where the glorious river widens out into the Gulf of Finland. There is -nothing to interrupt the view. Accustomed to American sunsets, we can -not fully share the enthusiasm which we see expressed in the eyes of -other persons, sitting in carriages and looking intently at that pile -of gold and rubies in the west. The driver, not hearing us utter any -exclamation of delight, turns half-way round and points to the setting -sun. I nod approvingly, and then we square off at it. It is indeed a -splendid exhibition of cloud-forms and luminous effects. Broad bands of -light shoot aloft like the pale tails of comets. There are many peaks -that turn rosy as if with an Alpine glow. Among the golden clouds one -traces the shapes of domes, as if another St. Petersburg were sinking -into night over there in the west. This is a brilliant spectacle for -the lover of Nature. But it sets us thinking of home and friends, so -many thousands of miles away in the direction of sunset. I dare say the -other people there looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> at that wonderful sky as we do with alien -eyes, feel the same tender memories come over them with a rush, for we -are all silent together for a few minutes.</p> - -<p>The driver took the liberty of breaking the spell by moving on. We rode -through more woods, past more lawns with parterres of flowers, skirting -more lakes looking like duplicates of those we had before seen. -Finally, after about fifteen minutes of this pleasant but slightly -monotonous route, we came out upon another view of the sunset. It was -the same that we had seen before, but a quarter of an hour farther -along. The surrounding scene also appeared identical with the one we -had but just left. There was a small restaurant of fantastic design, -a precise copy, even to the large gilded weather-cock, of one I had -previously noticed, in front of which several carriages were drawn up, -while the owners or riders sat on the stoop eating ices. And there, -beyond the possibility of mistake, were a pair of bob-tail grays and -the same party of four ladies finishing up their light repast. We had -been taken to the same place twice to see the same sunset! It was -all the more vexatious as we were getting hungry, and I peremptorily -waved off the sunset with one hand and motioned with the other to go -ahead. The man evidently understood me, for he said <i>poshoi</i> and off -we started. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> we whirled along we fell into a talk about our future -plans and did not notice the scenery through which we passed. In about -fifteen minutes more we struck another view of the sunset, coming -abruptly upon it at a turn of the road. It was still so beautiful that -we could not forbear to look at it once again, although it was already -twice burned in upon our memories. Suddenly, as I took my eyes off -the molten splendor, I recognized the same old restaurant, with its -whimsical gables, its weather-cock and all the surroundings complete, -even to the bob-tail grays, pawing the ground and anxious to get away. -The four ladies were just on the point of entering their carriage.</p> - -<p>It was maddening. I would have given anything for a few Russian words -appropriate to the occasion. Would that the head-porter were there! -Oh, for one minute of Firkin! But I was powerless. I could only gasp, -“Europeiskaya Gostinnitza! <i>Poshoi!</i>” at the same time shaking my -fist at the driver. He understood me this time without a shadow of -doubt. In about forty minutes we entered the court-yard of the Hôtel -d’Europe. When the head-porter came forward to assist us in alighting, -I explained to him, with some indignation, the absurd persistence of -that ass in taking us to see the sunset three times running, when once -was all we wanted of it. Contrary to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> my expectations, the head-porter -did not interpret my emotions to the culprit, but calmly explained to -me that everybody who went to the Summer Garden to see the sunset took -it in three times before leaving the grounds. It was the regular thing -to do. The circuit, which is thrice made, was part of the fashionable -routine never omitted on any account. Though the excellent head-porter -did not say so, I could read in his face surprise that I should -complain of having had too much of a St. Petersburg sunset.</p> - -<p class="space-above">At 4.30 <span class="smaller">A. M.</span> it is broad daylight. I happen to be awake, -and I step to a window which overlooks the Nevskoi Prospekt. The vast -Gostinnoi Dvor, in which we had shopped three hours on the stretch -the day before and seen but little of its inexhaustible stores in -that short space of time, is closed now. In two or three hours its -thousands of shutters will be taken down, and its swarming population -of proprietors, book-keepers, clerks, porters, and small boys will be -getting ready for another day’s business. The eternal lights burn at -the beautiful Greek shrine in the square opposite. The roof of the -little temple is covered with gold. Its shape is that of a Paris kiosk, -but greatly magnified. A Frenchman seeing it for the first time would -step into it and ask for “Le Figaro.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - -<p>There are people abroad at that hour, and every one who passes this -shrine bows profoundly before it three times, and elaborately crosses -himself. A carriage drawn by two coal-black horses stops in front of -it. A priest, with the tall, black rimless hat and somber sweeping robe -of his order, descends. All spectators bow to him. He passes through -the ever-open doorway of the shrine to a place where I can see gleaming -gold and flashing jewels as the light of many wax-candles falls upon -them. After a short absence, the priest returns, carrying in his arms -a large square something. It is covered by a white cloth, but, as this -is accidentally displaced for a moment, I see the face of the Saviour. -It looks solemnly and tenderly out of the matted gold and precious -stones which overlay it. Three women in black follow it in procession -from the shrine to the carriage, with bent heads and slow steps. The -driver removes his hat. The heads of all spectators are bared, for -this is the principal Icon of the shrine near the great Bazaar, and -held in the deepest reverence by all orthodox Russians. It is about -to be taken to the priest’s house for some solemn ceremony of renewed -consecration. The carriage proceeds slowly along the Nevskoi Prospekt. -Through the open window I see the priest holding the Icon upon his -knees, and bending above<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> it in the attitude of prayer. All beholders -doff their hats, bow, and cross themselves as the adored object passes. -A young officer is galloping down the street. He is dressed in the -dandy uniform of some crack regiment. He wears a shako with a tall -feather, and a gold chain about his neck; a long saber swings from his -waist; the blue cape of his light overcoat is thrown back to disclose -the rich scarlet lining. Even at that early hour his mustache is waxed -to fine points. He looks like a lady-killer. I say to myself, “He will -not bend his haughty head as the Icon goes by.” I am greatly mistaken. -He removes his shako, and bows to the pommel of his saddle. I notice -only one man who pays no respect to the Icon—that brawny fellow -sitting in a chair on the sidewalk, exactly opposite my window. His -head rests upon his breast, and he is evidently fast asleep. He is the -<i>dvornik</i>, or <i>concierge</i>, of the house in front of which he is taking -his nap. He is supposed to be watching the premises for the protection -of the inmates and their property. Perhaps he spends the whole night -in slumber, after the custom of unfaithful guardians in all climes and -ages. If so, the policeman, who is now coming slowly down the middle of -the street, with a drawn sword in his hand, must discover the fact if -he keeps his eyes open, and will perhaps wake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> the <i>dvornik</i> to a sense -of his neglected duty by prodding him playfully. He glances at the -slumbering man as he saunters by, but does not disturb him. Doubtless, -requiring charity himself on that point very often, he is prepared to -extend it to others. Soon after he has passed, the <i>dvornik</i> gives a -slight start, raises his head, pulls a bottle from beneath his heavy -cloak, takes a long pull at it, and goes to sleep again.</p> - -<p>I hear the heavy tramp of feet. Soon a battalion of soldiers comes in -sight. They are men of the medium size, young, healthy, and strong. -They put their feet down firmly, but do not march well, because -they have no music, not even a drum and fife. Their uniform is of -a bluish-gray color, and they wear fatigue-caps of cloth, slouchy -and unsoldierlike. Blankets are wreathed across the right shoulder, -and hang below the waist in an enormous fold, like a piece of -boa-constrictor. On their backs are knapsacks, with small tin pans -externally attached. The men look about as well as the raw conscripts -of other countries, and are probably good fighting material if well -drilled and handled. At their head rides the commanding officer, a -young fellow, whose bright face is clouded, as if he were leaving -somebody or something highly prized behind him. He may only be leading -his men to their morning drill in the exercise-grounds <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>near the -arsenal. But it is more romantic to suppose that he is on his way to -Central Asia, and that he will engage in terrible skirmishes with -the border-ruffians down there, perform incredible deeds of valor, -capture a big chief, annex a province, and then come back to St. -Petersburg laden with loot and glory, to receive promotion to the rank -of major-general and the grand cross of St. George at the hands of the -Tsar.</p> - -<p>At that moment a still, small voice calling from the adjoining room -breaks up this day-dream, and ends my early morning view of St. -Petersburg.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXI.</span> <span class="smaller">GRAND-DUKE ALEXIS—THE AMERICAN MINISTER AND HIS CHASSEUR—RUSSIAN -PRESS CENSORSHIP—AN INDIGNANT BRITON—UNDISCOVERABLE NIHILISTS.</span></h2> - -<p>As I was shuffling some card-photographs at Daziaro’s (print-shop on -the Nevskoi Prospekt), I noticed three or four costume-portraits of the -same fine-looking man. They were all full-lengths and very effective. -The intelligent face seemed familiar to me; but in vain I tried to -recall its owner. Neither the front nor the back of the photograph gave -any clew to his name. Where had I seen that open brow with the curling -hair, and those large, expressive eyes? I sought light from Daziaro. -“The Grand-Duke Alexis,” said he.</p> - -<p>That sent my memory back over quite a gap of years to the time when a -youthful scion of the house of Romanoff visited America and carried -the hearts of my countrywomen by storm. They unanimously declared that -he perfectly realized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> their ideal of a prince. That ideal was a most -exacting one; for it was founded on fairy-stories, and the Arthurian -legends. They knew nothing of princes in real life, or they would never -have made their standard so impossibly high. But here at last was a -prince who came up to it, with his stature of six feet two inches, his -winning face, and his dignified yet cordial manner. I have heard that -there are American ladies who sacredly preserve to this day the gloves -they wore when they danced in the same quadrille with the Grand-Duke -Alexis.</p> - -<p>With my countrymen he also made himself a great favorite by his desire -to please and readiness to be pleased. For these reasons—and because -of the sincere friendship which has always existed between the United -States and Russia—the Grand-Duke Alexis, wherever he went in America, -had a heartier popular reception than any other prince of any stock who -ever visited us.</p> - -<p>I could not help feeling a desire to see him again in the flesh, -after noticing how like his former self (except for the lapsed years) -he looked in the pictures. The Grand-Duke Alexis had become the -admiral of the Russian navy. I thought how fine he must look in the -full-dress uniform of his rank. I had more curiosity to see him than -the Tsar himself, who is the rarest spectacle now vouchsafed to the -eyes of the stranger, as he sticks close to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> palaces and private -shooting-grounds. I found myself unconsciously on the watch for the -sailor-prince as I rode about the city. Sometimes I would see an -officer of commanding stature approaching us in a barouche at a dashing -gait, and would say, on the impulse, “I do believe that’s our friend.” -“Who? Who?” “Why, Alexis, to be sure!” “Oh, no, it’s somebody else.” -This happened very often, for showy officers in stylish turnouts are -not uncommon sights on the Nevskoi Prospekt.</p> - -<p>One day while standing in the spacious vestibule of the Hôtel d’Europe, -I noticed the people about me taking off their hats. Looking up, I -observed before me the Grand-Duke Alexis himself. The well-remembered -features were there, minus the high, open brow which was concealed -by a great cocked hat loftily plumed with green. Tall as he was in -America, he seemed to be two or three inches taller now. His dark-green -uniform—probably an admiral’s—fitted him well. He looked more -princely than ever. I took off my hat to him, but he did not notice it, -and, in fact, he returned nobody’s salute as far as I could see. “He -used to be more democratic in America,” I said to myself. “But that was -to please us. He is in Russia now, and the case is different.”</p> - -<p>At that moment the excellent head-porter, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> was always rendering -these delicate attentions to the guests, whispered in my ear—“<i>Voilà -l’embassadeur Américain!</i>”</p> - -<p>Never was pleasing illusion more rudely dispelled to make room for -profound wonderment. So this resplendent being was the American -minister to Russia. What was his name? Oh, yes, I remember—Lothrop, of -Michigan. And that magnificent uniform? He must have been a general of -volunteers at home, and so is entitled by act of Congress to wear it -on ceremonial occasions abroad. A good idea, though some Americans who -have no uniforms to wear may ridicule it as pompous and fussy. I have -no doubt that the Russians are a great deal more impressed by all those -buttons, feathers, and gold lace, than they would be by the plain black -suit which I had supposed that Mr. Lothrop always wore. By-the-way, -I wonder to what arm of the service Mr. Lothrop belonged? I don’t -remember about that dark-green and that particular shape of hat.</p> - -<p>Just then a gentleman in complete black who had been following the -American minister, drew up alongside of him, and I could contrast the -two styles of dress to great advantage. Prejudice apart, there could be -no doubt that Mr. Lothrop looked more like a Minister Plenipotentiary -and Envoy Extraordinary of the United States of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> America in his -military garb than he would have done in civilian’s clothes.</p> - -<p>Can I believe my eyes? The minister is actually taking off his hat -and bowing very respectfully to the somber-coated person by his side. -Do my ears deceive me? He calls him “Your Excellency,” and seems to -be receiving an order from him like a servant. The next instant a -gentleman approaches the less conspicuous of the two figures and says -to him with a Chicago accent, “The American minister, I believe?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir! What can I do for you?” he kindly asks.</p> - -<p>And then I know that this gorgeous person is attached to our quiet -American minister as <i>chasseur</i>, and that it is his business to -herald the approach of that functionary. It is a practice found to be -very useful by our highest grade of representatives abroad; and that -American must be a ferociously uncompromising republican who would -object to this inexpensive but effective display of rank and dignity on -their part.</p> - -<p class="space-above">One afternoon while sitting in the reading-room of the Hôtel d’Europe, -looking over the last number of “Punch,” and trying to extract a laugh -from it, I became aware that a gentleman near me was desirous to open -conversation. Out of my side-eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> I could see a monocle glaring at me, -with suppressed feeling behind it, and I knew by the fidgety motion -of a pair of hands, holding a newspaper aloft, that the owner had -something to say if I would lend him an ear. I laid down “Punch,” and -turning toward the stranger saw at once what was the matter. He was -exposing to my gaze a newspaper—the London “Saturday Review,” I think -it was—several pages of which had been badly mutilated by scissors. -Bits of various lengths had been snipped out of its reading-columns. -I immediately recognized the work of the Russian censor, specimens -of which I had seen before. The man who displayed this mangled -“Saturday Review” for my inspection was English. Seeing that he was -somewhat excited, I resolved to tease him a little for fun, though the -indignation which blazed from his face was honest, and certainly not -without cause.</p> - -<p>“I know that this is a land of tyranny,” said he, “but I’m an -Englishman and not afraid to speak my mind. Isn’t that an outrage?”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” said I; “what is the trouble?”</p> - -<p>“This paper sent me by a friend; see the holes in it!”</p> - -<p>“Ah! yes, he has picked out the plums for his scrap-book, and sent you -the leavings.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dear sir,” said the Englishman, dropping his single eye-glass in -his emotion, “you don’t understand; this is the beastly work of the -Russian Government. See!” and he handed me the paper. I glanced at the -damaged pages, and observed that the cuttings had been made in articles -about Russia. The job had been neatly done. The censor had evidently -read everything in the paper concerning Russia, and had scissored out -all the passages that were uncomplimentary. The rest of the context was -allowed to stand.</p> - -<p>“And, to make it worse,” said the Englishman, “the paper was detained -in the post-office here five days at least. There’s the original -wrapper with the London post-mark.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I see. The censor wanted to do his work thoroughly. He is more -conscientious than most public officials, I should say.”</p> - -<p>“Conscientious, indeed! It was done for the express purpose of annoying -an Englishman.”</p> - -<p>I was about to reply that perhaps the parts of the articles cut away -had been written for the express purpose of annoying the Russians, but -I forbore.</p> - -<p>“And here is another style of mutilation,” he continued, handing me a -copy of another London paper. “What do you say to that?”</p> - -<p>He opened a sheet which showed at intervals<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> large square or oblong -patches, apparently a mixture of lampblack and oil applied by a coarse -handstamp. The reading-matter beneath was effectually obliterated. -These daubs looked like woodcuts badly printed.</p> - -<p>“An illustrated paper?” I said, playfully. “Anyhow, this kind of cuts -is better than the other; you get your paper whole, you see,” and I -smiled.</p> - -<p>The Englishman felt hurt by my frivolous treatment of his grievance. -“It doesn’t seem to strike you exactly as it does me,” said he; “and -yet, I should think that, being an American, you—”</p> - -<p>“I know what you are about to say,” I interrupted. “Of course, I uphold -the liberty of the press as much as you do, and equally detest this -tampering with the mails; but then I don’t expect to find the same -measure of freedom here that I find in the United States or England. -The Russian Government maintains a strict censorship of the Russian -press. And, in order to be consistent, the Government also <i>pretends</i> -to take great pains to keep out of the country all printed matter that -it does not like.”</p> - -<p>“Pretends, my good sir?” cried my English friend. “But it <i>does</i> keep -out all such matter—as you have seen from these two specimens.”</p> - -<p>“How about this?” said I, taking up the clean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> and whole copy of -“Punch” from the table. “This contains two or three jokes at the -expense of Russia. And there are the ‘Illustrated News’ and ‘Graphic,’ -‘Figaro,’ ‘Charivari,’ ‘Indépendance Belge,’ ‘Fliegende Blätter,’ -‘Kladderdatsch,’ and—can I believe my eyes?—the great London ‘Times’ -itself! All regularly taken here and filed. You will find plenty of -hits at Russia in these papers, and not one of them has been cut or -blackened with a stamp. I can swear to that, as I have been looking all -through them.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” he answered. “But these all come that way, because they -are addressed to the Russian proprietor of the Hôtel d’Europe. The -outrage—for so I must still call it—is inflicted on me because I am -an Englishman.”</p> - -<p>It still gave him so much pleasure to imagine that he was a martyr -because of his race that I hesitated to undeceive him. But I thought it -better to correct his erroneous opinion by saying that, if he would ask -the head-porter, through whose hands all the mail-matter came, he would -find out that the newspapers addressed to all the transient guests of -every nationality at the hotel were treated in exactly the same way. -The letters, he would ascertain, came through straight enough, and -showed no signs of tampering.</p> - -<p>“That last is true,” said he. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And, as for the papers,” I continued, “I am told that a line from your -embassador or your consul-general addressed to the Russian Post-Office -Department, or even a call at headquarters from yourself, will cause -their prompt delivery undisturbed. Why not try it?”</p> - -<p>“I would not condescend to ask the favor!” was the haughty reply.</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” said I, shrugging my shoulders to imply a desire of -closing the somewhat unprofitable conversation—“then I am afraid you -will be obliged to put up with it. For my own part, I am free to say -that, while I am in a foreign country, I will not hurriedly condemn -laws and usages which happen to be unlike those in America. When I -don’t like it, I will leave it.”</p> - -<p>“I fancy you Americans think better of Russia than we Englishmen do.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so,” was my reply, as I buried myself once more in the pages -of “Punch,” and resumed silence.</p> - -<p>Our English friends can not at least complain that they are denied -freedom of speech in Russia. On the railroad-trains, in shops, in the -hotels, and in the public streets, I have heard them talk as boldly -and freely against the Tsar and his system as if they were at home. -I have sometimes thought it would be only becoming in them to speak -a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> lower, or else tone down the severity of their criticisms -while experiencing in their own persons the actual toleration of the -government they so fiercely denounce.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Before entering Russia, I had stuffed myself—my mind, not -pockets—with books, magazine articles, and newspaper letters about -the Nihilists. From such sources of information I had learned that the -Nihilists represent all classes of Russian society—peasants, priests, -soldiers and officers, noblemen, and even the imperial family. It was -said that ladies of rank, wealth, and refinement were among the most -active propagandists of Nihilism. These reports had taken so strong -a hold of me that, on striking Russian soil, I began at once to look -about for some signs of the presence of this widely spread and terrible -doctrine.</p> - -<p>Among our fellow-passengers from Berlin to St. Petersburg was a lady -accompanied by her maid. She had a <i>coupé lit</i> for her exclusive -use, through the window of which I could see her from the platform -of stations where we alighted for refreshments. She always shrank -into a corner of her carriage, as if to escape scrutiny. I noticed -that her chin was disproportionately large, and that her lips were -firmly pressed together. Some one told me that she was of high rank -in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>Russia. Whereupon the whimsical thought possessed me that here, -perhaps, was one of those aristocratic female Nihilists of whom I had -read so much. The absurdity of the idea did not prevent me from keeping -an eye on her.</p> - -<p>At the frontier station this lady’s actions were so strange that I -watched her with a “fearful joy.” She was profoundly agitated. Her -face was pale—even her resolute lips sharing in the ashen hue—and -she strode up and down the <i>salle d’attente</i> unceasingly, as if to -walk off her nervousness. She had three large, black, strongly bound -trunks, marked with Russian initials in white paint. I knew they were -her trunks by the anxious glances which she threw at them from time to -time. Once, when the porter let the corner of one of them fall heavily -to the floor, I observed her start. “Perhaps it contains dynamite,” I -said to myself, half-laughingly.</p> - -<p>When her turn came for the formalities of the <i>douane</i>, she stepped -forward with a boldness which was well assumed. She and her maid -assisted the Government officers in unlocking, unstrapping, and -unpacking. Her apparent anxiety to have the search made thorough did -not deceive me. The men went to the bottom of two of the trunks—either -removing the contents or probing them with their long arms, or peering -among them with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> trained eyes and smelling hard for tobacco and spirits -all the time. They found nothing contraband. When they proceeded to -explore the third trunk, the lady made a strong visible effort to -conceal her emotion. “Now for bombs,” I thought, “or Nihilists’ tracts -at the very least!”</p> - -<p>It was fortunate for her that the custom-house myrmidons had not -noticed her feverish anxiety. But they were busy at their work, not -over-suspicious, and glad to be through with a midnight job which -paid them nothing. So they slighted number three, simply removing and -putting back a top layer of clothes. Then they closed the lid, and -chalked all the trunks. I could see the mysterious lady heave a sigh -of relief, which I could not help sharing with her, though it left -unanswered the interesting question, What did she have in that third -trunk?</p> - -<p>Was it dynamite? Or revolutionary pamphlets and circulars? Or some -innocent but dutiable stuff which the lady carried into her country -free? I have seen the sex equally agitated on the docks of New York, -when the goods which had been hid away were nothing more dangerous than -smoking-jackets or meerschaum pipes or uncut velvet. So let us give -the fair unknown Russian the benefit of the doubt, and imagine that -the extent of her offense, if any, was smuggling in a costly French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -dinner-dress or <i>articles de Paris</i> dear to the female heart.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Perhaps there never was a more harmless fellow than the <i>mujik</i> who -made our beds and blacked our shoes on the Russian sleeping-car which -bore us to St. Petersburg. But that man had the high cheek bones, -the long, unkempt hair, and the generally wild look which I had -once noticed in the portrait of a notorious Nihilist printed in the -“Illustrated London News.” I did not then know that these were the -characteristic Tartar features, seen all over Russia. On account of -his resemblance to that portrait I found myself suspecting the <i>mujik</i> -of Nihilistic tendencies. I once came upon him suddenly while he was -sitting on a stool in a little recess, at the rear end of the car. He -was muttering to himself, and pounding his knee with his brawny fist. -How could I help thinking that he was heaping curses on the existing -order of things universal, and that that self-inflicted blow of his -clinched hand expressed, in a feeble way, his long-pent hatred of -all human society? And yet it is possible that the poor man was only -cursing his ill-luck in taking a counterfeit ruble for good money.</p> - -<p class="space-above">During our visit to Tsarkoé Selo, while making the tour of the palace, -I noticed from a window a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> gentleman in uniform walking slowly through -the grounds. He had in his hand a letter which he was anxiously -scanning. Attracted by his soldierly bearing, I asked the guide who -he was. “<i>Le Prince</i>” (something unintelligible ending in sky), -“<i>monsieur</i>,” was the response. Now, here was a prince at home, in the -private garden of an imperial palace, his hair white, his port manly, -his breast bearing decorations—the man of all men, one would say, -least likely to risk the assured good things of this life by linking -his fortunate self to the Nihilists. And yet the book-writers and the -newspaper correspondents had told me that the head and front of the -awful conspiracy was to be found among the palaces of the empire. I -owe an apology to a presumably loyal and devoted subject of the Tsar -for permitting myself to suppose, for one second, that the prince, -whose name I deeply regret my inability to spell, was perhaps “boss” -of the Nihilists, and that the letter in his hand was written by some -fellow-conspirator in Warsaw or Moscow. Thus unjustly suspicious does -one become, after reading so many real or pretended revelations about -high-life Nihilists in Russia.</p> - -<p>Next day at the Hôtel d’Europe, while I was looking over the bill of -fare for luncheon, I observed that my waiter—a typical Russian in -aspect—hovered near me more closely than usual, and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> appearance -indicated that he had something to say to me privately, in the -French which he spoke with some difficulty. He had heard us talk -about America, and he doubtless knew my nationality. Now, it is to -Americans that the revolutionists in all parts of Europe turn with -full confidence for sympathy. They make no mystery of their hatred of -kings and emperors when they get hold of an American ear. I have thus -become the repository of several confidential opinions about crowned -heads, which, if they had been known to the police, would have caused -the arrest and punishment of the speakers. Therefore, when I saw this -quiet-looking Russian waiter edging up, I said to myself: “He is going -to whisper his longings for republican institutions. It will do him -good to relieve his feelings. I am afraid he is a Nihilist. He looks -like one. I must condemn him for that, of course, but I will not deny -my sympathy for the oppressed, even in the heart of Russia.”</p> - -<p>As these thoughts floated through my brain, the waiter stooped down -to make his mysterious communication. I cocked up my ear to hear him -more distinctly. He said, in a half-whisper, “<i>Monsieur, il y a des</i> -fish-balls <i>aujourdhui</i>.” And that was the whole of his tremendous -secret. Well, I was glad it was nothing more serious and laughed -heartily at my groundless misgivings. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<p>It seems that the accomplished manager of the restaurant had lately -added “fish-balls” to the extensive list of his special dishes for -particular days. It was a flattering concession to American tastes, -made, I presume, at the original suggestion of some Bostonian visiting -St. Petersburg. In due time, probably pork and beans and brown bread -will be introduced there through the same reforming agency. Supposing -that I was an American, the waiter illogically inferred that I was fond -of fish-balls. His hesitation in making the announcement arose from his -imperfect acquaintance with French, and his still deeper uncertainty as -to the exact pronunciation of “fish-balls.”</p> - -<p>This amusing incident cured me of my propensity for surmising that this -or that Russian man or woman might possibly be a disciple of Nihilism. -There may be a great many Nihilists in Russia, and they may belong to -all classes of society; but, if the secret police can not find them -out, we may be sure that strangers making hasty visits to the country -are not likely to be more successful in the search.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE HOLY CITY OF RUSSIA.</span></h2> - -<p>The “sea of fire” which Napoleon saw at Moscow was replaced for -us by a sea of green roofs as we neared that city at 10.30 <span class="smaller">A. -M.</span>, July 23d. The sight of a real sea could not have been more -refreshing. We had been traveling fourteen hours by express from St. -Petersburg. We could have read coarse print by twilight as late as 11 -<span class="smaller">P. M.</span>, and then again as early as two in the morning. It was -possible, therefore, to see most of the country through which we passed -by simply raising the curtain of the sleeping-car window. But the more -we looked at the flying landscape the less we liked it. The scenery was -that from Wirballen to St. Petersburg over again—flat, boggy, densely -wooded, in places well cleared and cultivated, in others with plenty -of cattle reclining in the fields, but lightly dotted with houses. -Nothing except mountains compensates for the absence of human life. We -could have shouted for joy at the first glimpse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> of that broad stretch -of pea-green, two stories high. From its surface, as from a body of -water, rose domes, turrets, spires, towers, battlements innumerable. -There were bulbous forms which we compared variously to onions, -radishes, or turnips. These were mostly plated with gold, which shone -intensely in the keen light of day. Others were silver or indigo-blue -or red, and still others matched the green from which they sprang. The -churches of Moscow are five hundred strong. Each of these may have -half a dozen steeples. The effect of the whole is bristling. The city -looks like “many-spired Milan” on a large scale, except that the domes -interject an element which one misses in the Christian West. The place -of the Kremlin is at once identified by the thicker growth of bulbs -and needles which we see near the center of the great city. The terms -“eccentric,” “whimsical,” “grotesque,” “bizarre,” “barbaric,” are used -by some of our fellow-travelers to express their feelings. We do not -quarrel with their epithets. We can only say that for us there can not -be too great a contrast between the church architecture here and that -which we have seen in other countries of other religions. We thank the -Tartars—if they are the responsible parties—for originating all those -odd shapes which cluster in the fold of the Kremlin. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - -<p>At the station we were received by a man wearing a long blue robe -girded at the waist, trousers tucked into his boots, and a sort of -smoking-cap with a band of peacock’s feathers. If he could have -spoken a word of English or French or German, the charm of this -splendid apparition would have vanished instantly. He was delightfully -Russian from top to toe. When we said “Slaviansky Bazaar” (name of -the principal hotel here), he knew what was meant. He conducted us -to a carriage, to which were harnessed four white horses abreast, -all decorated with bells and tassels. It was obvious that this sort -of thing was not universal in Moscow, for we saw no other men in the -streets dressed in that way, and few other horses thus caparisoned. All -the more were we obliged to the proprietor of the Slaviansky Bazaar for -treating his guests to the revival of old Russian hospitalities. At the -hotel we were sorry to see waiters in the claw-hammer coats and white -neck-ties of Delmonico’s. But then, again, it was a pleasure to find a -smooth-faced boy with his long hair parted in the middle and a tunic of -such a cut and length that he looked externally just like a girl. When -one finds these things at Moscow after traveling thousands of miles for -them, he begins to feel rewarded.</p> - -<p>We have been in pursuit of good, genuine <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>Russian dinners in and out -of the hotel, and are prepared to say that they fully equal the best -French combinations in appetizing and nourishing qualities. At some of -the restaurants you must read or speak Russian or starve, unless you -can make the waiter understand that you will take a dinner at a fixed -price. It is delightful to find a race with the moral courage to invent -dishes of its own, with names which a Frenchman can not understand. -The soup, to begin with, would be incomprehensible to a Parisian -<i>chef</i>. Two portions of it would make a square meal. It is hot, slab -broth, with a large chunk of meat (not a knuckle-bone) in the middle -of it, inviting the knife to cut and come again. With this succulent -dish is served pastry, looking like Yankee “turn-overs,” stuffed to -the bursting-point with meat hash. Croquettes and balls of meat—with -delicious sauces—figure in almost every dinner. The conventional -“joint” of other countries—beef, mutton, or veal—is not wanting, and -the Russians so far accommodate themselves to our prejudices as to -give us chicken and salad—but the latter in the disappointing form -of pickled cucumber, while we are sighing for a little crisp lettuce. -I had almost forgotten the fish, but then the fish is served out of -place. Here it comes, third on the list, following a meat dish. For -dessert, one has the fruit of the season. Just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> now the strawberry is -in its zenith. They bring us a rosy pile, which we are expected to eat -out of soup-plates with table-spoons. Cream is plenty, but powdered -sugar scarce. I send for more. The waiter is polite, and goes for it.</p> - -<p>When he returns, I am conscious that he is looking me hard in the face. -He wants to see what manner of man it is who requires to qualify his -sour berries with so much of sweet. He had previously been looking just -as hard at my blue gaiters. I am beginning to discover that gaiters are -as rare here as fez caps in Broadway. In fact, I have the only pair in -Moscow, and should be glad to believe that the universal gaze directed -at them is not one of secret derision in this land of boots. As we are -now through with our dinner, we will dismiss that subject, only adding -that, if one must have wine, he can get something pure, light, and -nice, the product of the Crimea or Caucasus. In settling my score, I -give something to the waiter, as a reward for his spotlessness; for, -at the first-class restaurant where we have just dined (Moskovskia -Traktir), he is dressed in complete white, relieved only by a little -red cord about his waist. This shining habit is unstained by a single -drop of soup or gravy, although he has been whisking plates and tureens -off the table the moment we were through with them. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> - -<p>On Sunday we were wakened early by a grand crash of bells. As almost -every one of the hundreds of churches has a set of four or five bells, -you will understand that, when all ring together, they compel a -hearing. None of them are very near us, and the sound of the harshest -was mellowed by distance. They were of all pitches, from the deepest -bass to the shrillest treble. I could not make out a tune in all the -noise. The bells are not rung as chimes. Each one seems to work “on its -own hook,” and to be striking a continuous fire-alarm. After listening -to the clamor for half an hour, one feels like turning over for another -nap. But the attempt is useless. The bell-ringers are as punctilious -in their performances as if these were the most essential part of -religion. They will not shorten the prescribed hours of this labor by a -single second. Among the profound notes that come booming over all the -green roofs, I fancy I hear the voice of a monstrous brazen-throated -creature whom I patted on the back the other day. He is kept in the -stronghold of a tower within the Kremlin about one hundred and fifty -feet from the ground. Without vouching for measurements, I should say -he is twelve feet wide at the flare or rim and fourteen feet high. His -tongue weighs about two tons. Sounded with the ferule of my umbrella, -he gave a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> muffled roar. The man in charge offered to tap him -gently with the ponderous clapper swinging there. But I did not care to -hear him more clearly at short range, and declined.</p> - -<p>But one would willingly pay a number of rubles to hear the Tsar Kolokol -struck, if that dethroned monarch of all the bells could be set up -again. But there he remains, mutilated and silent forever. The pictures -of the great bell of Moscow had not prepared me to see how neatly it -had been broken. The detached fragment, which now stands by the side of -the ruined bell, might have been cut from it with a knife, so straight -and clean are the lines of breakage. One would think that it might be -put back again and the last trace of a scar be obliterated with solder. -But that would not restore its voice to the bell. For it has ten or a -dozen cracks, some of them many feet long, and each one has spoiled -it. If there is any considerable percentage of silver in this bell—as -seems likely on inspection, and if it weighs two hundred tons, as we -are told—it would be very valuable as old metal. But it is still more -precious to Moscow as her unique and most interesting treasure.</p> - -<p>The ordinary bass voice is often little better than a growl or -huskiness of the throat. No one thinks of calling it musical. But I -never heard tenors that thrilled and charmed me more than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> basses -at the Temple of the Saviour. This is the costliest and most splendid -church in all the Russias. Its outside is marble and gold. Its inside -is a lavish display of the precious metals thickly set with gems. Every -fine quarry in the empire has contributed its best to compose the -tesselated floor, the wainscoting, and the columns of the marvelous -structure. It was built to commemorate the defeat of the French -invasion of 1812, and was only recently completed, after forty-six -years of consecutive work. As one walks about this stupendous church, -and transfers his admiration from one object of beauty and richness -to another, his attention is suddenly called off from everything by -a burst of musical thunder. It floods the interior like the crash -of a great organ. He looks all around, and can not see what causes -it. Somewhere in an elevated and hidden choir, or behind the massive -gold altar-piece, are the singers. The voices are all basses. There -are three or four distinct “parts,” some pitched so much higher than -others that they seem relatively to be tenors. Each note—even the -lowest—is clear and firm. It has the sweetness of a flute with the -sonorous volume of a bassoon. The concealed performers are uttering -responses to the gorgeously attired priests, whose own voices are deep -and melodious, and worthy to take part in this noble choral service.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> I -wait for half an hour, hoping that the singers will execute some long -and formal piece. But they do not, and I retire, having learned for the -first time of what a bass voice is capable in sacred music.</p> - -<p>Although the Russians spend so much money to celebrate the failure -of Napoleon, they really admire the audacious genius of the man, and -make no secret of it. In every palace and museum I have visited at -St. Petersburg and Moscow I have seen full-lengths or busts of him in -marble, bronze, or oil. Some are originals, others are copies. One -painting, entirely new to me, represents him with brown hair, banged. -In the Treasury of the Kremlin the guide shows you two camp-beds which -Napoleon left behind when he evacuated Moscow. He is always indicating -to you the street by which Napoleon entered or withdrew from the city, -the steps up which he walked, the doors through which he passed, the -chairs in which he sat. You would think that he was a Russian hero. The -people still point with a certain pride to the marks of cannon-shot and -bullets, and say, “Napoleon!”</p> - -<p>Of all the Russian sovereigns, next to Peter the Great, Catharine -the Second seems to have been the most extraordinary. The tourist is -continually running across her statues, her portraits, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> crowns, -her jewelry, her silverware. There is more of her personal property -and reminders of her of one kind and another on show than of any -other Romanoff, man or woman. The best things in all the palaces, -the treasuries, and the sacristies were hers. If you see a string of -pearls, each perfect and as large as a hazel-nut, even before you have -pointed it out, your guide says, “Catharine the Second.” If there is a -scepter with a particularly large diamond in the top, and the handle -knobby with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, you know who wielded it -without being told. To the physical courage of a man she added the -delicate æsthetic tastes of a woman. Other rulers may have been more -extravagant than she, but Catharine the Second understood how to make -boundless wealth contribute to the production of artworks that still -live to be admired. The goldsmiths, the silversmiths, the lapidaries, -the sculptors, and the painters found in her their most intelligent -patroness. In their turn they did their utmost to perpetuate her -memory. Stone and canvas, metal and ivory agree in representing her -as tall and stout, with ample brain-power, a full lower face, and a -most imperial port. She was one born to command, and she would have -reduced men to vassalage by her indomitable will if she had not gentler -arts for managing them. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> St. Petersburg stands a magnificent bronze -image of the Empress, of heroic size. Seated at the base of this lofty -figure, on a pedestal running all about it, are nine gentlemen, also -in bronze. Their postures are sentimental or statesmanlike or warlike. -The guide-book tells us they were favorites of Catharine the Second. In -that capacity, perhaps, they thought they could manage her. But they -were mistaken. A woman who, when in full army uniform, looked like the -most gallant of generals, was not putty in the hands of any favorite. -In that amazing collection of odds and ends known as the Treasury, -inside the Kremlin, there is an equestrian portrait of Catharine. -She bestrides her horse like a man. In front of the picture are two -saddles, made for her use and presented to her by some tributary -princes or neighboring potentates, who wanted to keep on good terms -with her. Her horse, already burdened with her generous weight, could -not have shared her admiration of the saddles, for they are heavy -with all kinds of precious stones, numbered by the hundreds; and the -stirrups and the shoes which the poor beast must wear in her honor are -of solid silver.</p> - -<p>In a corner of the room where I am now writing, just below the ceiling, -is a framed, silver-gilt picture of the Saviour facing the east. The -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>Virgin and Child look down from a similar position in the adjoining -bedchamber. Every room in this great labyrinth of a hotel has just such -an object of reverence which the pious Russian can not fail to see -as he crosses the threshold. To this he pays his homage of signs and -bows. He does it a thousand times a day in the streets, where these -emblems confront him at every turn. He does not expect people of other -religions to conform to any of his notions. He allows them to walk -freely about the churches and stare through opera-glasses, in a languid -way, at objects which to him are sacred, and to be approached only in -a spirit of abasement and veneration. But there is one shrine in this -city before which it is expected that every foreigner will remove his -hat. If he fails to do so, he is thought an ignorant, boorish fellow, -and may be hissed and hooted. It is the fine, large Icon of the Master, -which hangs above the Redeemer’s gate (Spasköi Vorota)—one of the -entrances of the Kremlin. Immemorial custom has made it obligatory -to take off the hat when entering this gate and keep it off till the -entire width of the wall is traversed. The cabman would let his horses -run away before he would neglect this hallowed usage; and if the Tsar -himself should fail to comply with it, he would start a revolution.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE MOSCOW FOUNDLING ASYLUM.</span></h2> - -<p>The foundling asylum (Vospitàtelny Dom) is as well known in Moscow -as the Tsar Kolokol. Any droschky-driver can take you there by the -shortest cut, if you engage him by the “course.” Every <i>mujik</i> in the -streets can and will direct you to it with the greatest pleasure. He -may think that you want to adopt a child out of it, or to put one into -it. As a man of Moscow, he is interested in both those operations. -Let me not be misunderstood. The foundling asylum is not intended -to receive only children born out of wedlock. It is indeed a refuge -for those poor little waifs. Many a baby, over whom the Moskwa would -otherwise close its dark and swift waters, is saved to become a good -soldier for the Tsar or a modest and prettily dressed house-maid, -simply because the newborn could be put by the mother within the folds -of the foundling asylum and none be the wiser. She has only, in the -darkness of night, to place the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> child in a sort of cradle attached to -a door outside of the building, and pull a bell. This gives a signal -and starts some machinery. The door revolves on its hinges, landing the -little stranger on the inside. At the same time, a nurse responds to -the summons and takes charge of the baby. If the mother has left any -bit of a trinket tied around its neck, or a letter, or a card pinned -to its dress, or anything else to identify it, she can claim her own -at any time afterward, on proving her maternal rights. If she wants to -keep her painful secret forever to herself, she may be sure that her -child will be well fed, neatly clothed, taught to read and write, cared -for in health and morals, and trained in the religion of the Greek -Church, till he or she is old enough to be apprenticed, or adopted out -by some respectable citizen, and put in the way of an honest living.</p> - -<p>But the most frequent patrons of the asylum are married folk. If they -have more children than they can rear, they turn over the surplus to -the state—more often as a loan than a gift. They know that the good -doctors and nurses of the institution will do all in their power to -preserve the little lives unharmed. At the end of five or six years -they are more likely to find their Nicolaievitch or Feodorovna well -and happy, than if it had run the dreadful gantlet of scarlet fever, -cholera<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> infantum, and diphtheria in their own squalid homes. It is a -misfortune to feel obliged to surrender a child to such a corporation, -though the biggest of souls animates it. The parents are to be -pitied—perhaps blamed—but it is not a disgrace to them.</p> - -<p>I said that anybody in Moscow could pilot you to the foundling asylum, -but you must know the Russian word for it. The landlord of your hotel -will give it to you, and you may commit it to memory, or write it -down by the sounds. It will not bear the slightest resemblance to -the name of a foundling asylum in French, German, Italian, or any -other language of which you may have a smattering. The surname of the -present writer has always appeared, when chalked in script on the -blackboard directories of Russian hotels, as “Tymour,” or something to -that effect. It reminded him of that monster in history—Timour the -Tartar—and such a liberty taken with his patronymic was not at all -agreeable.</p> - -<p>But to get on to the foundling asylum. Before presenting myself at -the visitors’ door of the vast building, I took an admission-ticket -from my pocket-book. This ticket is made of flimsy paper, about four -inches long by three wide; it bears a portrait of the Tsar, a number -of Russian words, and a facsimile of somebody’s signature. It is -popularly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> known as the “ruble.” When a man has this between his thumb -and finger, so that it can be seen of men, it will take him through -doors that are locked and bolted to all other forms of passport. The -same gratifying effects follow the exhibition of the shilling in -England, the franc in France, the lira in Italy, the mark in Germany, -and the florin in Austria. The door was opened by a dignified person. -He loomed up so very large that I thought my ruble was a little too -small for his measure; so I did not offer it, but crumpled it suddenly -in the palm of my hand. The tall man looked as if he did not expect -or desire a “tip.” Speaking in French, he kindly asked me in, and I -followed him.</p> - -<p>I was just in time to see something very interesting. We entered a room -at the end of a short passage. At that moment a poorly dressed old -woman was in the act of unrolling a huge bundle of shawls and wraps. -Over her was bending a matronly person with a very sympathetic face. -My polite guide drew near to this group of two, and I stood at his -elbow. The old woman peeled off the clothes as if she were unrolling -a mummy. Nobody spoke a word, but I heard a faint cry from the center -of the mysterious bundle. Then I knew that this was the reception-room -for babies, and that here was the newest of the comers. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> moment more, -and a child was sprawling before us in its unadorned beauty. It lay in -the middle of the heap of shawls as in a soft nest, which it was loath -to quit. As it made another little piping cry, a tear moistened the -old woman’s eye, but she showed no other sign of agitation. I surmised -that she was the grandmother of the baby, and had come to discharge a -duty for which the mother was ashamed. The secret—whatever it was—was -confided to the care of the good matron alone, not even my guide being -allowed to share it. Then a little Greek cross of filigree silver was -handed over as a keepsake and means of identifying and reclaiming the -child.</p> - -<p>These preliminaries over, the matron touched a bell. In response, there -came a woman bearing a steelyard scale, and a measuring-tape. She held -the scale aloft with a firm hand, and the matron lifted the baby gently -from its nest and placed it in the large bowl-like receptable for -weighing. Between its bare pink flesh and the cold metal there was a -thin sheet of soft cloth. The baby performed its part bravely, for it -lay perfectly quiet, while the matron rapidly adjusted the weight till -the beam hung true. She could not have done the job more carefully if -she had been selling the baby at a hundred rubles a pound. The exact -weight was then entered in a great ledger. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> - -<p>Next came the nice measuring of the head—all around just above the -eyes—and its length through the ears from crown to chin; then the -girth of its little body below the arms; and, finally, the candidate -was raised aloft again and turned in every direction in the strong -light of a large bay-window. The aspirants for the honor of the -princess’s hand in the “Arabian Nights” were not more critically -inspected for blemishes. The object of this minute examination of the -body was to note birth-marks, if any. Not one was found, as I can -certify, who witnessed the operation at short range. This over, a small -ticket or medal made of hard wood, numbered 11,283, and attached to -an India-rubber cord, was hung about baby’s neck. It would receive a -name later on; for the present it was only a numerical expression. Thus -ended the first stage of baby’s initiation. At that point, the old -woman whom I provisionally call “grandmother,” left the scene, carrying -the pile of shawls and wraps loosely upon her arm. If she felt any -emotions in parting with the child, she completely stifled them.</p> - -<p>The baby, still stark naked, but not shivering in the warm air of the -room, was then carried away. The guide beckoned me to follow it with -him, and I did so. We entered a small bath-room where were a nice -porcelain-lined bath-tub, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> baby size, with silver plated stop-cocks, -a showering apparatus, sponges, soap and scrubbing-brush all complete. -A stout woman, with fat arms bared clear to the shoulder, officiated -at baby’s first bath, and I was expected to see it through. It is one -of the penalties of visiting public institutions anywhere with guides, -that you are in their hands and must go the rounds. But I had become -interested in baby’s fortunes, and found myself watching the soaping -and sponging and scrubbing without being much bored. If that baby takes -all the ills of life as bravely as it took the water in its ears, and -the soap its eyes, then there will be one angelic disposition more in -this wicked world. It sputtered a little, but never cried or sniveled -once. After it was all wiped dry and powdered with a flour-dredger, the -stout woman shouldered her charge and led the way to another room. I -found myself really curious to see what would happen to baby next. So I -followed, with the guide at my heels.</p> - -<p>We were now in the dressing-room; there was a large wardrobe with -glass doors; through these I could see baby-dresses hung on pegs. They -were variously trimmed with blue, red, and yellow ribbons, and I soon -found myself wondering which color would fall to baby’s share. Thus -concerned in its affairs had I unconsciously <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>become. On shelves in the -wardrobe were displayed little stockings, soft knitted shoes, and caps. -There was plenty of clothes on hand for every emergency. The woman -reached up and took down a long, white dress trimmed with yellow. Now -I had noticed baby’s eyes and they were blue; so I took the liberty -of suggesting, through the guide, that the ribbons ought to match the -eyes. The hint was graciously adopted. If any future visitor to the -Foundling Asylum of Moscow should happen to observe the fine blue eyes -of No. 11,283, he will appreciate my good taste in matching them with -the ribbons, which, if worn out, I trust will be renewed.</p> - -<p>“And, now,” said my guide, “you must see the baby nursed.” I murmured -a few modest objections. I did not wish to intrude upon such strictly -private functions. The nurse would not like it, etc. The guide smiled, -and said I must follow the baby. So we passed through another doorway, -and entered the nurses’ room.</p> - -<p>It was a long apartment, spotless as to wooden floor and whitewashed -ceiling. Along one side was a row of strong, wooden cradles; on the -other side were the nurses’ beds with frames of iron. The sheets were -snowy and the pillows without crease. There were ten or twelve nurses -present, each one rocking a cradle or holding a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> child to her breast. -Ruddier and more robust women I never saw. They were mostly under -thirty years old, I should say. The contour of their faces was more -oval than the type of head seen between St. Petersburg and Moscow, and -they were handsomer in other respects. They were dressed for business -in neat and appropriate costumes, less scanty and more reserved than -one sees at the opera.</p> - -<p>Inquiring, I learned that the best nurses come from provinces south -of Moscow, and that most of these were of that select class. As we -entered they arose, still nursing their babies, and courtesied to us -gracefully. At first, I felt that I ought to apologize for disturbing -this large but peaceful family. The nurses, however, soon put me at -ease. They took the visit quite as a matter of course. They could -not have been less self-conscious had I been an artist, and they -professional models. As we passed down the line, the guide chucked some -of the babies under the chin or patted their heads. Not to be singular -I did the same thing. Each nurse seemed to think the act complimentary -to herself, as well as to the baby. I dare say, if her own chin had -been chucked, she would not have taken offense. But we did not try it.</p> - -<p>Near the end of the line stood a nurse, who had no baby in her arms. -The cradle just behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> her was empty. Death had removed its little -tenant. She was the destined custodian of the neophyte in blue ribbons. -I was glad of it. In looking at her honest face and healthy complexion, -one felt sure that she was not to blame for that loss in the fold. The -nourishment she supplied must have been life-giving. On that broad and -generous bosom there was room for twins. As she saw the baby borne -toward her, she knew what it meant. Her large eyes shone with pleasure. -As the baby stopped opposite her, both reached out their arms. It was -an act of nature and spontaneous. That nurse and that child were made -for each other. Its own mother could not have folded it to her heart -more tenderly. I felt that I had no right to push curiosity further. I -was satisfied that baby’s fortunes, so far followed with interest, had -reached one happy stage. As I turned to depart, the last sounds I heard -from baby were faint gurgles of satisfaction.</p> - -<p class="space-above">My initiation into the mysteries of the foundling asylum was now -complete. I would gladly have stepped out of window on to the green -grass, with that touching picture of suckling innocence still in my -mind. But a guide, like a sentinel, must go his rounds. So I was -taken by moral force through other rooms full of nurses and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>babies, -whom I passed in review. The prevalent quietness of the infants was -surprising. Those who were awake were not crying. Like everybody else -in the building, they appeared to be on their good behavior during -my visit. One touch of human nature—if only the clinching of a tiny -fist—would have been a relief amid all that angelic display of sweet -temper. It made one suspect that they had been dosed with something to -keep them quiet. I was glad to pass on to the laundry, the hospital -(with only two or three little inmates) the kitchen and the pantry, -till finally we came to a refectory. There was a tableful of children -large enough to sit and ply the spoon. The oldest of the thirty or -forty could not have been more than six years. They were boys and -girls, simply and neatly dressed in uniform style. They all rose as we -entered, and held up their spoons in salute. It was a pretty sight and -more confusing to the visitor than one would think. Such courtesy seems -to demand a better response than a bow. A distribution of sugar-plums -or of small coin would seem the proper thing. But this is not allowed; -so that, all we can do, besides bowing, is to walk around this company -of little people, and smile at them in a vague, benevolent way. Through -the guide I begged them to be seated. They did not need to be asked -twice, for they were hungry, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> I had interrupted them in the act -of eating what looked like hasty-pudding and milk. It recalled my own -early fondness for that dish, and I would gladly have been invited to -join the simple repast, even at the risk of spoiling a keen appetite -for the forthcoming elaborate dinner at the Slaviansky Bazaar. It was -a pleasure to note the size of the bowls. They held an honest quart -apiece, and had been so scrupulously filled that some of the children -stopped plying their spoons before they got to the bottom; others -rapidly emptied their bowls and polished off the interiors. For those -greedier ones there was still a supply of sweetened bread in stacks, -waiting a signal to be passed around. It was plain that the older -children, as well as the babies themselves, were objects of a provident -care which would shame many parents. Not otherwise can I explain -the bright eyes, contented faces, and chubby bodies I saw in that -refectory. Many of the children were strikingly good-looking. I recall -the seraphic face of a five-year-old girl, with large black eyes, and a -perfect mouth, and two dimples dotting cheeks of rose-leaves. And one -of the boys looked almost like a twin brother of the child in the arms -of the Sistine Madonna. There was the same dreamy, far-away gaze in his -eyes. I wondered how parents could abandon such beautiful children to -the care of other people. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> - -<p>This was the climax of interest at the foundling-asylum, as the guide -then candidly informed me upon being questioned. It was much against -the good man’s wishes that I tore myself away from him. But, I hope, -when I pressed a humble gift into his hand, that he felt the more -reconciled to my departure, though it is only due to him, as to all of -his class whom I met in Russia, to say that they have the rare tact of -not appearing to want one’s money. One always feels a little delicacy -about offering <i>pour boires</i>. But the truth binds me to say that they -are never declined.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">RUSSIAN EPICURISM IN TEA—THE JOLTAI TCHAI, OR YELLOW-FLOWER BRAND.</span></h2> - -<p>Being at Moscow, I improved the occasion to look up the yellow-flower -tea—the Joltai Tchai—of which I had read and heard much. Travelers, -claiming to be veracious, have told us that this tea is the first -picking of the young and tender leaves of the choicest plants in China, -and that it is brought overland on the backs of porters. I have seen -pictures of men in Chinese dress climbing up mountains at angles of -70°, with chests of the precious tea strapped on their shoulders. -The object of this incredible toil, we were assured, was to avoid a -sea-voyage, in which the damp, salt air would impair the exquisite -flavor of the Joltai Tchai. The story went that this tea could always -be known by the presence of the small, yellowish-white buds or flowers -of its native stalk scattered through it, without which, as the quack -advertisements say, “none is genuine”; though it always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> seemed to me -that that proof must be a fallible one for all those people outside of -China who had never seen a tea-flower, and that, anyhow, it would be -easy to cheat them by mixing the real blossom with poor tea. But these -same enthusiastic authors proceeded to give higher and more subtile -tests for Joltai Tchai. They declared that, when a package of it was -opened, it exhaled the most delicious of perfumes, which filled a -room on the instant. They did not compare it to any earthly or known -odor, but left the impression that it was something heavenly, and -therefore indescribable. Its flavor on the palate was vaguely mentioned -as aromatic, delicate, and yet perceptible when diluted with any -amount of water. The mental effects ascribed to this tea were no less -remarkable. It was said that a cup of it, with only two teaspoonfuls to -the ordinary pot, was equal to a pint of champagne for exhilaration, -without the least after-clap of headache. As for those obfuscations of -the intellect commonly known as “cobwebs,” it would brush away the last -filament of them from the nooks and corners of the stupidest minds. But -we were solemnly warned not to take two cups of it at a time, under -penalty of losing sleep for forty-eight hours. Its cost to the consumer -in Russia was variously stated at ten to twenty dollars a pound. But -a tea, half as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>wonderful as this, should be cheap at any price. I -resolved to buy some of it.</p> - -<p>I was so anxious to secure the authentic article, that I called upon an -English gentleman, to whom I was referred, long a resident of Moscow, -and speaking Russian like a native. He consented to accompany me to the -only shop he knew of where the real Joltai Tchai could be obtained. -We found it in a part of the city but little visited by foreigners. -The shop was small, and three Tartar-like persons stood behind the -counter. On the walk thither the Englishman had kindly explained that -the Tartars were the most honest people in Russia—where honesty -is the rule, so far as I know. He assured me that Tartars pure and -simple were preferred before all other races for places of financial -responsibility. They made the best cashiers, head book-keepers, -superintendents, and managers. And when he said he was taking me to a -Tartar teashop, I felt as if I should not be robbed.</p> - -<p>The three Tartars did not even nod at us as we entered, but only stood -at ease to take our order. This was quickly given in Russian by my -companion, who first, however, asked the price of Joltai Tchai by -the pound. It was ten rubles (about eight dollars and thirty cents -in paper money), which was less than I had expected, and I mentioned -the quantity I would buy. One of the Tartars took down a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> small box -from an upper shelf, opened it, and disclosed another box having a -tightly fitting slide cover; this he removed, and brought to light a -thick tin-foil wrapping, which being unfolded revealed tissue-paper, -beneath several thicknesses of which lay the tea. Up to this time -I had stood back, waiting to catch the all-penetrating odor of the -Joltai Tchai at a distance, but it did not report itself. So I leaned -forward, bent over the little chest, and took a good long sniff. Yes, -there was a decided tea-smell, but no more searching or ravishing than -that of the Oolong I had been consuming at home all my life. This was -disappointment number one.</p> - -<p>The required amount of tea was carefully weighed before me. I could -watch it as it was shaken out of the chest into the capacious scale. -It looked about the color of green tea, with a yellow shade in a -side-light, and had no points of distinction except the presence of -many shriveled-up, dirty-white buds. These were yellow only to the eye -of faith; and that was disappointment number two.</p> - -<p>After the tea had been weighed with great particularity, the Tartar -removed it to the back of the shop, to do it up in a package with many -thicknesses of rice-paper and tin-foil. I could not help fearing that, -when out of my sight, the man would substitute a far inferior tea -for the costly Joltai<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> Tchai. But when the Englishman, speaking from -his past experience with the race, said, “You can trust him,” I felt -completely reassured, paid my bill, thanked my English friend for his -assistance, and returned to the hotel with my treasure. And here let me -give the sequel of my experience with Joltai Tchai.</p> - -<p>It was not thoroughly tested for its supposed remarkable qualities till -I returned to the United States. Russian lovers of Joltai Tchai will -here object that the trial was not a fair one; that it should have -been made on their soil, before the tea had crossed any salt-water. -There is force in this suggestion. But it seemed a pity to break a -package so shapely, and intended to secure the contents completely -against the harmful influence of the elements. And then, too, all -the tea I drank in Russia was so excellent that I did not want any -better there. At home it was the subject of many experiments, which go -far to establish the following conclusions: The yellow-flower tea is -delicate to a fault; so much so that persons accustomed to the rank and -adulterated teas of commerce find it insipid. It is like the finest old -Johannisberger or Château-Margaux as compared with heady new wines; no -one but a professional tea-taster can appreciate its high grade. Its -odor is markedly not different from that of any other tea, except as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> -one may say it is more “tea-like.” Its unique excellence lies in its -clarifying and cheering effect on the mind of the drinker. It disperses -a headache like magic, and mental anxiety as well. If one were -possessed of “blue-devils,” I should expect two stiff cups of Joltai -Tchai to send them scampering.</p> - -<p>If it is worth, as some think, two or three dollars to extract a few -fleeting moments of joy from a bottle of champagne, then one should -not grudge thrice as much for a pound of yellow-flower tea, which will -insure him perhaps some hundred hours of innocent exaltation. And, as -for sleep, I have not yet lost any from its use, but prefer not to -drink a strong infusion of it late at night.</p> - -<p>Like any other high-grade tea, where the object is not to disguise -the flavor of the herb, it is best without sugar or cream, or even -the slice of lemon beloved by all Russians. But these ingredients, -unless too freely employed, do not rob the tea of its slightly peculiar -taste, or impair its virtue as a most agreeable tonic or stimulant. -Connoisseurs in teas prefer to treat it with fresh, actually boiling -water poured directly on the tea in a sunken cylinder full of holes -set into the pot. The clear infusion passes through this perforated -cylinder, and it should be drunk immediately afterward. But other -persons less critical like it better when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> the boiling water is poured -on the tea at the bottom of the pot, and then allowed to draw a good -five or even ten minutes on the stove itself, or, better still, on the -iron shelf for hot plates above it. This treatment makes a stronger -decoction, but tends to substitute rankness for delicacy of flavor. -But it brings out some of the valuable properties of the tea which do -not apparently respond to the other and more superficial method. On -the whole, the verdict of the majority of those who have tried it both -ways is in favor of the drawing process. Under no circumstances does it -acquire a bitter taste. And yet, after all that I have said in favor -of Joltai Tchai, it is a fact that nobody who drinks it seems to think -that it is anything extraordinary till told so. And I must say that I -am sometimes in serious doubt whether my high opinion of the tea is not -the work of pure imagination.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXV.</span> <span class="smaller">A HUNT FOR MALACHITE AND LAPIS-LAZULI IN THE GOSTINNOI DVOR.</span></h2> - -<p>An American’s pride in his importance as a customer is apt to get a -bad fall when he enters at random a shop in Moscow. At St. Petersburg -he has noticed that his patronage was not greatly coveted in the vast -bazaar opposite the Hôtel d’Europe on the Nevskoi Prospekt where he -made most of his purchases. He missed the assiduous, almost servile, -attention to which he was accustomed in London, Paris, and Vienna. But -in Moscow the shop-keepers carry their indifference a point further. -They act as if they wanted to repel American customers. This is because -we are confounded with Englishmen, and, as such, are not liked. -Dressing and speaking like Englishmen and too often imitating them in -tricks of manner, Americans are only naturally mistaken for a class of -foreigners with whom Russia has perpetual feud. As Moscow is the heart -of Russia, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> anti-English feeling is strongest there. Americans -soon find this out, whenever they walk the streets or visit the great -bazaars, from the icy atmosphere that seems to surround every Russian -like a nimbus. At the great hotels the Englishmen are welcome, because -the landlords are superior to local prejudices when their guests pay -well. At least one porter or waiter who speaks French is kept on hand -for their convenience. At some of the larger and higher-priced shops of -Moscow, they are also treated with some of the consideration paid to -them in Western Europe. But their room is undoubtedly more desired than -their company by the Russians at large. And Americans, except where -they can make their nationality known, suffer from the same antipathy. -I give my own experience.</p> - -<p>I wanted to buy some articles made of malachite and lapis-lazuli. -Having seen in the churches whole pillars rising from floor to ceiling -veneered with those beautiful green and blue stones, I imagined that -both of them would be abundant and cheap in the heart of the empire -where they are mined. Much to my surprise, the manager of my hotel -could not direct me to any shop for such purchases. He advised me to -try an immense bazaar near the Kremlin. Its Russian name, as nearly as -I can give it in English <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>characters, is Gostinnoi Dvor. The district -of the city in which it is situated is the Kitai Gorod (Chinese town or -quarter). I took his advice, starting out just after breakfast one fine -morning, and determining to give all of twenty—possibly thirty—of my -precious minutes to the search for lapis-lazuli and malachite.</p> - -<p>The bazaar is a great, covered market divided into innumerable stalls. -Each stall has its show-cases thrust in front, containing the choicest -of the goods for sale, usually ticketed with prices in rubles and -kopecks. These are given in figures to be read of all men. Just behind -the show-cases stands a man or woman on the alert. In the rear of the -little booth is the proprietor, sitting on a three-legged stool before -a ledger. On either side of him rise tiers of shelves packed with his -reserved treasures. As I started to go down the narrow passage-way -between two rows of these stalls I observed the long perspective of men -or women waiting for customers at that early hour. I almost dreaded -to run the gantlet. My object was to go through the entire bazaar; -“mark down” the shops at which lapis-lazuli and malachite were exposed -for sale, with a note of the prices, and, after I had found just what -suited me, then to come back and buy it on the best terms I could make.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> - -<p>To escape being teased to purchase the clothes, boots and shoes, -kitchen utensils, mouse-traps, fancy soaps, cutlery, and thousands of -other things I did not want, I kept to the middle of the passage-way, -walking fast with head down, but looking out sharply at the corners -of my eyes. These swift side-glances took in not only the strangely -various contents of all the shops I passed, but also the looks of -the people in charge. I was much astonished to receive no particular -notice from them. They looked at me as at a passing dog or cat, but -not one of them nodded or beckoned. And not one even began to tidy up -his things with a wisp-broom, or change them about ostentatiously, as -the shopman in other lands often does when a possible customer comes -in sight. The Russian face is generally considered inexpressive. But I -never knew till then how blank it could be. Once in a while, however, I -noticed a lowering of brows and a slight protrusion of the lower lip, -which looked very much like disdain. I did not then know that I was -mistaken for an Englishman, and that I could not have chosen a place -for shopping where our insular friends are held in such large measure -of dislike as in that truly Russian bazaar.</p> - -<p>Two pretty girls, dressed in bright colors, with silver skewers in -their hair, were selling flowers at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> one of the stands. I stepped up -to buy a buttonhole bouquet, and selected one, tendering a ruble for -change. I was anxious to see if either of the girls would offer to pin -it to the lapel of my coat, as flower-venders often do elsewhere. To -propitiate them, I said “American.” This single word has been known to -produce wonderful effect on occasions. But it was thrown away here. -These fair creatures were of the peasant class, totally ignorant of any -language but Russian. It is doubtful if they had ever seen an American -to know him. To them I was only an Englishman, and therefore it was -that one of them sheered away from me, and the other pouted, and I was -obliged to pin on my own <i>boutonnière</i>. Now, I was indeed vexed, not -guessing the real trouble.</p> - -<p>I determined to compel some of these people to notice me. I stepped up -to a counter, picked up an old copper frying-pan, and rapped it sharply -with my knuckles. This meant in the sign-language, “How much?” I had -a note-book and pencil in hand, and intended to intimate by dumb-show -that the proprietor should jot down the price there. The frying-pan, -when smitten, sounded like a gong, and made quite a noise. This was -all the better for me, as it was sure to bring down the man who sat -back there on a high stool, and was the only occupant of the shop. He -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>descended from his perch, but it was with a scowl, as if the harsh -sound had disturbed his meditations. Looking at me, he seemed instantly -to make up his mind that I did not want to buy that ancient frying-pan -on any terms. And this was true. But I was not prepared for what he -did. He just took the utensil gently by the handle, gave it a little -twist to detach it from my grasp, and then laid it down on the counter. -It was as if he had said, “No more of that, please.” I stalked away as -majestically as possible, without any attempt at explanation. Broad -faces with high cheek-bones were on the grin all about. It would have -been a real comfort to know that I was mistaken for an Englishman.</p> - -<p>I walked fast down the middle of the aisle, resolved not to stop again -till I saw some stall at which jewelry and ornamental knickknacks were -on sale. For about a thousand feet farther it was a monotonous stretch -of useful articles to wear or to eat or to furnish a house withal. Then -I came to a corner round which was another passage-way about a quarter -of a mile long, also lined with shops. And I may as well explain here -that, at regular intervals of a few hundred feet, other alleys just as -full of shops branch off criss-cross. The bazaar is of the distracting -chess-board pattern; and the man who started out, as I did, to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> the -whole of it, in order to miss no good chance of buying some malachite -and lapis-lazuli, had a bigger job in hand than he dreamed of.</p> - -<p>Far ahead, I saw strings of gilt beads dangling in front of a shop. -Hurrying on, I found that it was full of ear-rings, breastpins, chains, -crosses, and all the other kinds of jewelry in vogue everywhere. The -objects were mostly of silver and gold. There were real diamonds, -rubies, emeralds, and pearls. Putting on my best smile, to propitiate -the owner, who, like all the others, did not seem to want to have -anything to do with me, I peered into his show-cases and ran my eye -rapidly over the contents. Among them there was nothing green, but -emeralds, or blue, but sapphires. Still, I was not discouraged, for -there were miles or more of shops under that vast roof, and sooner or -later the desired objects must be found.</p> - -<p>After a smart walk of about five minutes more, through files of -apathetic Russians without seeing what was wanted, I came upon a -colony of Jews, and warmed up to them at once, when they bowed and -beckoned to me. It was evident that they were anxious to trade, and -had no prejudices against supposed Englishmen. Several of them dealt -in jewelry and works of art; and, as luck would have it, there was -a huge object made of malachite exhibited conspicuously on a shelf -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> front of one of their stalls. It was shaped like a punch-bowl, -of about one gallon capacity. I pointed to it with my cane. The man -took it down for me. It was a masterpiece. The fragments of malachite -of which it was composed exhibited the various green shades of the -stone, and the characteristic wavy lines. The pieces were so carefully -selected, and the joining was so nicely done, that the colors and the -lines ran together making a perfect whole. At first sight, one could -not believe that this punch-bowl was not carved from a single piece of -malachite. There was no need of asking the Jew his price, for it was -ticketed plainly enough two hundred and fifty—the figures standing -for rubles. This would be about one hundred and twenty-five dollars, -counting the ruble at its then gold value of fifty cents. I might -have bought it at a third or perhaps a half off, and was strongly -tempted to try for it. But its size, the trouble of carrying it round -in a trunk, and, not least, the high duty which would be levied on -it in New York, were enough to restrain me. I looked all over his -exposed stock, but could see no more malachite and not a sign of -lapis-lazuli. It then occurred to me that, being a Jew, he might have -traveled, and have some knowledge of the world’s great languages. So -I threw scraps of French, German, and English at him in succession. -To all he only shook his head, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>expelled from his chest a few of -those deep gutturals which I had already learned to recognize as pure -Slavic. Like most Russians, whether Jew or Christian, he had never -been out of his country, nor spoken to a foreigner. Nothing so deeply -impressed me with the immensity of the Russian Empire, and the isolated -condition of her people, as the fact that so few of them, and those -only the well educated—even in the two great cities, St. Petersburg -and Moscow—understand a word of any language but their own. I nodded -good-by to my Jewish friend, whose kind manner showed that he regretted -as much as I that we could not find a common ground for exchanging -ideas, and went on with the search.</p> - -<p>It might have been half an hour later when I saw, shining through the -window of a show-case, a pair of deep-blue sleeve-buttons. I stepped -up and examined them closely. The shade of blue was indigo. The -surface had a fine, hard polish, and reflected to the eye those little -star-like points of light which, in the true lapis-lazuli, seem just -buried beneath its surface. The beautiful stones were heavily mounted -in gold. They were exactly what I wanted. The ticket linked to them -bore the figures twenty-eight—rubles, of course. This was not too -high for genuine lapis-lazuli sleeve-buttons, gold mounted in the best -style. The pleasant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> looks of this Russian proprietor seemed to invite -me to tarry and trade.</p> - -<p>Forgetting for a moment that he could not possibly understand -English, I pointed to the lovely objects, and said, interrogatively, -“Lapis-lazuli?” To my great delight he nodded and smiled. That was a -“Yes,” all the world over.</p> - -<p>“Is it gold?” I asked, in reference to the setting, at the same time -repeating the question in French. It was plain that he understood the -one or the other language, for he nodded and smiled again. To find some -one at last who could catch my idea was indeed gratifying. Anticipating -my wish, he then removed the sleeve-buttons from the show-case and put -them in my hand. I turned them over and examined them minutely. Though -unfamiliar with the best tests for lapis-lazuli, I knew that, like -all natural stones, it should have a cold touch, and not warm readily -in the palm. I held it for a moment, when it became heated in contact -with the flesh. Then I strongly suspected it to be paste. A solid gold -setting should be heavy of its size. This one was very light. I decided -that the sleeve-buttons were not a bargain at any price, and laid them -down on the counter.</p> - -<p>At that instant I was startled by a voice at my elbow, which said, -“Those just suit me, if you don’t want ’em.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> - -<p>I turned and saw a plethoric Englishman, who looked flushed and panted -as if from over-exertion. “Fact is,” said he, “I’ve been chasm’ up -and down this blarsted bazaar after lapus-lazerlee more’n two hours, -and this is the first lot I’ve struck. I don’t want to take ’em away -from you, you know. But I’ve promised to buy a pair of just such -sleeve-buttons for a friend in London.”</p> - -<p>“You are welcome to them,” I said; “but”—and I was about to give him a -friendly hint to examine the goods very carefully before buying.</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” he said, interrupting me. “Twenty-eight rubles, I see by the -ticket. I’ll try him at half-price,” he added in an undertone for my -ear.</p> - -<p>Then, raising his voice at the shop-keeper, he cried, “I’ll give you -fourteen, and not another ruble.” The Russian certainly understood -that much of English, for again he nodded and smiled mechanically as -usual; whereupon his customer thrust two ten-ruble notes at him, in -evident anxiety not to lose a great bargain. As he did so, he said to -me in a side-whisper, “Now I’ve got ’em, I don’t mind telling you that -a cousin of mine paid thirty rubles for a smaller pair than them at -Nijni-Novgorod two years ago.”</p> - -<p>Now came a surprise for our hasty English friend; for the shopman, -with a bewildered expression of face, handed back to him one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> the -ten-ruble notes. Then he opened a till and scooped out a quantity -of change—some paper and some silver and copper. I now shared the -Englishman’s amazement, and we both looked on, silently wondering -what would happen next. Finally, he deliberately counted out seven -rubles and ninety-two kopecks, and pushed them toward the Englishman. -This made the price of the sleeve-buttons only two rubles and eight -kopeck’s, or about one dollar and four cents of American money. Here, -indeed, was a stupendous bargain, unless the lapis-lazuli were only -paste and the gold pinchbeck.</p> - -<p>The latter proved to be the case, as the Englishman and I readily -perceived after giving the sleeve-buttons a more minute examination -than we had hitherto bestowed on them. The figures on the ticket, when -critically inspected, turned out to be 2 with a dot followed by an 8. -This meant two rubles and eight kopecks, but the dot was so faint that -we had both failed to notice it at first. The Englishman had rashly -taken it for granted that the materials were genuine without asking -any questions. He had no cause of complaint against the seller, for -he had not been cheated. To persons who wanted such imitations, they -were worth the low price charged. The fact was, as the Englishman and -I agreed on comparing notes, that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> Russian had not understood one -word of anything either of us had said to him. He had simply nodded and -grinned, as a matter of civility, trusting that, when the business came -to close quarters, the meaning could mutually be made clear. This habit -of nodding, as the equivalent of “Yes,” is very common among people in -all parts of Europe, who have not the faintest idea of what you are -asking them. They take the chance that “Yes” may be the right answer, -and perhaps they even say “Yes” to you in whatever language they -speak, in order to keep up the illusion. I have been a hundred times -misled—and often greatly to my annoyance—by this nod or spoken assent -of coachmen, porters, and tradesmen in all parts of Europe.</p> - -<p>The Englishman realized the impossibility of explaining matters to -the jewelry-dealer, and of getting his money back. He accepted the -situation philosophically. After the goods had been carefully packed -for him in a little pasteboard box, he put them in his pocket with the -simple remark, “Good enough present for somebody, you know.”</p> - -<p>We then separated with a friendly hand-shake, he to return to the Hôtel -Dusaux, where he said he was stopping, and I to pursue my researches -for a stone almost as elusive as the philosopher’s.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> “I’ve done the -whole bazaar, and I know it’s no use,” were his parting words. But I -determined to see for myself; and it was not till the end of two hours -more that I gave up the hunt in despair, wearied and foot-sore.</p> - -<p class="space-above">But I had better luck when I returned to St. Petersburg. There I had -the pleasure of inspecting several small but choice stocks of malachite -goods, and purchasing some specimens at reasonable rates. I saw a few -pieces of lapis-lazuli—undoubtedly genuine—but not one as handsome -as the imitation sold to that Englishman in the Gostinnoi Dvor of -Moscow. The prices asked for them seemed always far too high for their -intrinsic beauty. So I left them all in their show-cases on the Nevskoi -Prospekt, to meet the possible demand of other Americans for that kind -of stone.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE PEACOCK-FEATHER MYSTERY—MANAYUNK AND THE OLD MASTERS—HIS -FRUITLESS SEARCH FOR THE KREMLIN—THE MOSCOW RAG-FAIR—THE PETROVSKY -PALACE—DINING IN THE GROUNDS.</span></h2> - -<p>The Russians are semi-Orientals in one respect. They are not as sternly -utilitarian as we of the West. The man with the long, blue tunic corded -at the waist, and the cap decked with peacock-feathers, who received us -with speechless effusion at the Moscow railway-station, was ornamental, -not useful. He did not take charge of our hand-bags or shawl-strap. -That was done by another man, who wore no peacock-feathers. He did not -drive the carriage and four (white horses abreast) from the station to -the hotel. He sat by the driver’s side, erect and imposing. I was moved -by a powerful curiosity to know what he did, except to impress the -stranger with a sense of barbaric splendor.</p> - -<p>Whenever I had occasion to leave the hotel, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> always found one of -the pair (for there were two of these magnificent retainers) at his -post on or near the door-steps, gazing into vacancy. On my return I -never failed to see the peacock-feathers vibrating above any crowd of -servitors or visitors who might be sunning themselves in front of the -Slaviansky Bazaar. But what did this man do? Such was the question that -haunted my practical Western mind. I decided to watch him and find out.</p> - -<p>One morning I took my station for this purpose near the entrance, -where I could observe his movements at my leisure. The taller and -finer-looking of the two was on duty (if such it can be called) at -that hour. The feathers in his cap were quite new, and their gold and -green eyes gleamed iridescent in the sunlight. His long, blue tunic was -nicely brushed, and his boots were highly polished. There he stood, -almost motionless, save when he shifted the weight of his body from -one leg to the other. He was in a position where he could be seen by -everybody who entered or left the hotel. While I remained there on the -watch, some trunks were brought in, but he did not lend a hand. Other -trunks were taken out to the sidewalk, but he held aloof from them. -He neither gave nor received orders. His patient attitude and his -calm stoicism reminded one of the North <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>American Indian. Only once -did he exhibit any sign of interest in mundane affairs. That was when -a horse-fly or blue-bottle buzzed about his head in a very provoking -way. He could not conceal his annoyance; and, when the insect alighted -on a door-post near him, he leaned over and killed it with a quick -stroke of his huge palm, and instantly resumed his erect position. At -that precise moment I caught his eye, and smiled at him. But he did -not smile back. That would not have been dignified, and dignity was -apparently his sole object in life.</p> - -<p>My observations were here interrupted. A young man whom I had -previously noticed loitering about the hotel stepped up to me, and -asked in a pleasant voice, “Are you an American, sir?”</p> - -<p>I knew at once that he was a compatriot, and judged from his accent -that he was a Philadelphian. He was a nicely-dressed, wholesome youth, -and I warmed to him.</p> - -<p>Being assured that I was an American, he began to talk freely, as if he -had lawful claims on my time and attention, and I was glad to give him -both, although he broke into an interesting investigation and caused me -to leave a problem forever unsolved.</p> - -<p>“Can you tell me if there is a picture-gallery of the old masters in -Moscow?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Nothing to speak of. The only collections of old paintings worth -seeing in Russia are at Petersburg.”</p> - -<p>“Sure of it?” with a pleased expression in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Perfectly.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t imagine how glad I am!”—and his face testified his joy.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind telling you, seeing that you are another American. My -aunt is a great admirer of old china, old furniture, and old pictures. -She has plenty of money, and her house at Manayunk, Philadelphia, is -just full of ’em. I’m her only nephew. But I am boring you, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said I, really interested, and curious to know why he -rejoiced over the absence of the old masters from Moscow. “Fire away.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you. Well, you see, my aunt would give anything if she could -come to Europe, and go through all the galleries that tire me so”—and -he heaved a sigh. “But she’s afraid to cross the ocean. So she made me -promise that I would go and see the most famous pictures of the old -masters—the <i>she-durvs</i>, they call ’em—and describe ’em for her in my -letters, the best I know how. It’s no fun, I assure you, but then she’s -my aunt.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And you her favorite nephew” (with a smile).</p> - -<p>“Exactly. And I want to repay some of her kindness. For she is real -good to me. Of course, I don’t pretend to judge ’em for myself. All I -have to do is to praise ’em to Auntie. I can’t lay it on too thick for -her. It was a big job at Petersburg, you bet.”</p> - -<p>“Why at Petersburg?”</p> - -<p>“Because there’s such an awful lot of the old masters there—the real, -genuine things. I must have seen sixty or seventy Rubenses at the -Hermitage; and about an acre of Rembrandts, and, as for the Van Dycks, -they made me sick. Do you know,” he continued, speaking low, as if -imparting a great secret, “that a man can get to hate Murillo, if he -sees enough of him?”</p> - -<p>I replied that I could understand his feelings of satiety. “The full -soul loatheth the honey-comb,” etc.</p> - -<p>“I forgot to say that the old fellow I loathe most of all is -Botticelli. And he’s the very one Auntie is craziest about. She has -collected all the photographs of his pictures she could get in America -and I am adding to the stock all I can pick up in Europe.”</p> - -<p>“But there are not many Botticellis in the world. At least, I find them -scarce. That old <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>fellow, as you call him, can not trouble you very -much.”</p> - -<p>“That’s it,” said Manayunk. “It’s the scarcity of Botticellis that -gives me the bother. You see Auntie told me not to miss a Botticelli on -any account. I have to look over all the pictures for the names of the -artists to be sure I don’t skip him. At first I trusted to the printed -catalogue, but some of ’em are old and not corrected up to date; and -then, again, the pictures are changed about, and the numbers get mixed.”</p> - -<p>“You are conscientious at any rate, and do not neglect your aunt’s -commission.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. She is very much pleased, she writes me, and thinks I’m becoming -a good judge of the old masters. That’s because I puff ’em so, I -suppose. But I tell you, I’m right glad of a rest here. All I really -had to see in Moscow was the Kremlin and the big bell. I’ve seen the -bell, but isn’t it strange I can’t find the Kremlin?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t find the Kremlin?” I echoed, in amazement.</p> - -<p>“At all events, the droschky-drivers can’t or won’t take me to it. -Kremlin, I am told, is a good Russian word, and I should think the -Russians ought to understand it. The first day I came here, I jumped -into a droschky, and, said I, ‘Kremlin!’ The man nodded, and off we -went like a flash.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> Just at the head of the street, we passed through -an opening in a wall and came into another part of Moscow. It is full -of churches and buildings that look like palaces, but I don’t care -about them any more. I didn’t know the Russian words for ‘big bell,’ -but the driver went to it without my asking. When I had looked at that -long enough, I said ‘Kremlin’ again, very plain. The driver nodded, -and away we went. He must have taken me through miles of streets, and -I was expecting every moment he would pull up at the Kremlin. But no, -he kept driving on, until, after about half an hour, we came round to -the big bell again. I called ‘Kremlin’ at him once more, and he grinned -and waved his hand about in a sort of general way. I never saw anybody -so stupid. So I yelled ‘Slaviansky Bazaar!’ at him, and he brought me -home. Perhaps, now, you can tell me how to find the fortress, prison, -or whatever it is, they call the Kremlin.”</p> - -<p>“Here is where you feel the want of a guide-book,” said I, gently. “If -you had one, you would find that the Kremlin is not a single structure, -but is the name of a great inclosed space with two miles of walls. All -those palaces and churches of which you speak are within the Kremlin, -and important features of it. The poor droschky-driver was showing you -the Kremlin all the time to the best of his ability.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> - -<p>Manayunk looked a little sheepish at this explanation, as it reflected -on his want of intelligence. “Thank you,” said he, hurriedly, at the -same time consulting his watch, and, without another word, he bolted -into the street.</p> - -<p class="space-above">When the visitor becomes satiated with the splendors of Moscow, he -may find it pleasant—for a change—to make a tour of the rag-fair or -old-clothes market. The site is an open space of about two acres in -the heart of the city. From dawn till dark, in fair weather, it is -filled with eager traders, who come there to buy, or sell, or barter. -The second-hand goods are generally so well used up that they may be -placed on the dirty cobble stones without receiving further injury. -There they remain arranged as neatly and compactly as possible, with -the proprietor standing guard over them and ready for business. Only a -few of the traffickers have stands of any kind for the exhibition of -their wares. The use of these is reserved for the more aristocratic -merchants, who occupy sheltered places alongside the ancient wall, -whose towering height affords a shade for them during several hours of -the day. It is among the multitude who spread dilapidated treasures -on the ground that the most amusing incidents are to be noted by the -inquisitive stranger. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> - -<p>Articles which are thrown away by Americans as wholly valueless would -be offered in the Moscow rag-fair and find ready purchasers. Nothing -would seem more unlikely to be bought than a single boot, the mate of -which had been lost. But I saw one of extraordinary size—No. 15, I -should say—which was the center of quite a gathering. The boot had -been brilliantly polished for the occasion, and I supposed at first -that it was the specimen sign of some enterprising <i>mujik</i> prepared -to “shine ’em up” for ten kopecks. Then I noticed a man measuring the -boot by the standard of his own foot, to see if it would suit him. It -was about an inch too long. He shook his head. Other spectators with -large feet stepped forward, and made the same personal comparison with -the unmated boot. One man thrust his stockingless foot into the yawning -leather, and rattled round in it for a minute, much to the amusement of -the bystanders. Then he gently kicked it off, and evidently dismissed -all thought of buying it. The boot was unpatched, and not run down at -the heel, and it seemed a great pity that an article in such superior -condition should go unbought. The proprietor, whose only stock in trade -was this solitary boot, was getting anxious, when relief unexpectedly -arrived. A strapping fellow, about six and a half feet high, elbowed -his way through the throng to see what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> was going on. The instant his -eye rested on the boot, it gleamed with surprise. He placed his own -foot by the side of it, and lo! it was a perfect match! I could see in -his face astonishment that another boot could be found as large as his -own. The seller at once saw that he had a probable customer before him. -Then began a lively chaffering between the two in Russian, in which -the spectators took the keenest interest, acting the part of chorus -to the principals. It ended in the sale of the odd boot at a price -to me unknown. The buyer took it in his hand and walked off with it. -Perhaps to this day he is trying to find a mate for it ready made. The -chances must be strong against his success in that search, even in the -old-clothes market of Moscow.</p> - -<p>I saw on sale a dress-coat of which one of the tails had been torn -away. It may have belonged to a man of fashion, or to a waiter, before -its immediate descent to this low destiny, and, in either case, the -history of that lost tail would doubtless be interesting. It was taken -up and minutely inspected by several persons, and then carefully -dropped on its assigned place in the dirt. But its owner did not seem -discouraged, for he knew that, sooner or later, some man would present -himself who, perhaps, had purchased the missing tail from some other -dealer, and was looking for the rest of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> coat. Among the other -bargains offered were frying-pans without handles, and handles without -frying-pans; tables and chairs that needed only two or three legs -apiece to make them useful; coffee-mills minus cranks, and thermometers -with smashed bulbs. Asparagus and tomato cans, empty and battered, such -as would be tossed into the garbage-barrel or gutter in the United -States, were in great request. A little pile of them vanished in five -minutes.</p> - -<p>I was only a looker-on. The merchants seemed to understand the motive -of my presence among them, for they wasted none of their appeals on -me—with one exception. This was the case of a man who had one of -Lincoln and Bennett’s best London hats for sale. It was but little -worn, and looked good for many years of service on the head of some -conservative middle-aged gentleman who does not approve of novelty and -gloss in his hats. I was wearing a Derby at the time; seeing which, -the dealer ventured to suggest by signs that I should try on the -stove-pipe pattern which he held enticingly toward me. Taking me for -an Englishman, he supposed that I would be glad to acquire a London -hat at a price doubtless far below the original figures. He implored -me by gestures to put it on. I had not the remotest idea of buying -a first- or second-hand hat of that shape while traveling, but,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> to -please him, I consented to see if it would fit me. A large number -of idlers looked on approvingly while I made the trial. The hat was -decidedly too small, and was returned to the dealer with a shake of -the head made as emphatic as possible. Whereupon he did exactly what I -have seen done twenty times by hatters in various parts of America. He -took that undersized hat and began to stretch it with his hands one way -and compress it another way. Then he drew it over the cap of his knee -till I thought he would have split it up the side. Then he bowed, and -handed it to me again for another experiment. I made the politest signs -of declining; and, as he pressed the hat upon me with increased ardor, -improved the opportunity offered by a gap in the crowd and slipped away -from him. As I withdrew, I could hear murmurs of disapproval among the -bystanders. They thought I ought at least to have tried on the hat once -more after it had been so carefully enlarged to suit me.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The country roads in the environs of Moscow are not kept in good -repair. They abound in depressed places, which become miry pits or -pools after a heavy rain. The one which is least exposed to these -criticisms is that leading to the Petrovsky Palace and Gardens, a few -miles from the Kremlin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> A French guide and interpreter whom we had -secured for a day or two recommended us to visit the Petrovsky Palace, -because Napoleon occupied it for a time after the heat and smoke of -burning Moscow had driven him beyond the walls. It was there the -Emperor took his last look at the gilded domes and spires of the holy -city as they glowed in the crimson light. It was from this palace that -he sent, by relays of swift couriers to Paris—as if bad news does -not travel fast enough without whip and spur—the intelligence of the -burning of Moscow, and the forced retreat of the grand army through -the snows. Our French guide thought it would give us great pleasure to -see the identical room, chair, table, ink-stand, and pen which were -involved in the production of this famous dispatch. But we had heard -of Napoleon at every turn about Moscow so far, and were quite willing -to forget him for a few hours. Therefore, we at first declined the -proposition to go out to the Petrovsky Palace, until it was further -explained that a good dinner could be had in the gardens adjoining. -Then we resolved to make the trip, the day being pleasant.</p> - -<p>The ride outside the city walls is not interesting until the Palace -Gardens are reached. These are laid out with the forethought and -tended with the scrupulous care which one always sees in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> public -grounds of Russia. Visits to the parks in that country go far to -compensate one for the absence of more natural, diversified scenery. -We spent a pleasant hour or two among the winding roads and footpaths, -obtaining many views of the palace from different standpoints. It is an -old-fashioned building, with an air of homely comfort reflected from -every brick. If hoarded memories of twenty or thirty other palaces in -Europe had not interfered, we should hardly have been able to resist -the importunities of our guide to behold more relics of his adored -Napoleon. At 6 <span class="smaller">P. M.</span> dinner was much more to our liking than -the exhibition of rooms in endless succession, however thickly crowded -with souvenirs of the great.</p> - -<p>Our man’s promise about a good dinner was fulfilled. The restaurant -where we pulled up for the momentous transaction is small but nicely -kept. The meal was served in a pretty little garden in the rear of -the premises. The walls were masses of climbing-plants in full bloom. -Venerable trees kept off the still warm rays of the declining sun. A -fountain shot its sparkling jet high in air, and the crystal drops -tinkled musically as they fell back into a marble basin. Our round -table was spread under a mighty oak. Sparrows of the unadulterated -English type hopped familiarly about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> us, as if expecting crumbs from -the forthcoming feast. They were the tamest of birds, alighting on -the tops of chairs almost within reach. At times they seemed to dare -one to drop a pinch of salt on their tails, preparatory to catching -them, according to the method recommended in childhood. As the dinner, -besides being excellent, was lengthy and in quantity superabundant, -there was plenty to spare for the companionable sparrows. They flocked -to us from all parts of the grounds, and at one time the chirping -congregation could have been numbered by the hundreds. There was -nothing particularly Russian about the dinner, except the soup, which -was serious and important. From this dish the central island of meat -and the stuffed pastry-ball are never absent. The occurrence of a -meat <i>entrée</i> between the soup and the fish is another invariable -departure from the Western <i>menus</i>. There was an abundance of sauces -served upon meats which we had been accustomed to eating quite dry -or in their natural gravy. Where all was good, no one item—the soup -excluded—lives in my recollection. But I shall not soon forget the -honest, delicious wine of the Crimea. A little experience with the -Russian vintages had impressed me favorably. They have not the taste or -the heating after-effect of the French wines which are now so commonly -fortified and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>otherwise doctored all over the world, and not least -in France herself—and, worst of all, perhaps, in Paris. So I ordered -(through the Russian-speaking guide) a bottle of a Crimean brand. It -was an accidental, but fortunate, choice. The wine was red, and had the -general taste rather of Burgundy than of Bordeaux. But it had a bouquet -of its own; it dwelt pleasantly upon the palate, and it produced those -salutary effects of gentle warmth and cheer of which good wine may -still be capable if not abused by the drinker. But one may travel -thousands of miles in Europe and not find many wines of which this high -praise could be justly spoken.</p> - -<p>The English sparrows—pests in America—were so friendly and affable -in their way that we were reluctant to leave them. But we finally bade -them farewell with a parting largess of crumbs, and returned to Moscow -by the light of the setting sun. As we quitted the pleasant restaurant, -the proprietor and several of his staff flocked about to see us off, -and looked an unutterable good-by with a kindness of manner which -touched our alien hearts. I took pleasure in thinking that this mark -of courtesy was paid to our nationality. The guide knew that we were -Americans, and doubtless had mentioned that fact to the people at the -restaurant. There may be many Russians still ignorant of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> America and -Americans, but, among the vast majority in every part of Russia who are -aware of the friendly relations which have always existed between the -two nations, our countrymen are sure of a cordial welcome.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVII.</span> <span class="smaller">A COMEDY OF PASSPORTS—MYTHICAL POLICE ESPIONAGE.</span></h2> - -<p>Travelers are told that, the farther they go into Russia, the more -they are subjected to police espionage. Whenever at St. Petersburg -I casually alluded to the informality of the passport examinations, -any English tourist with whom I was conversing would be sure to say, -with a knowing smile, “Wait till you get to Moscow.” “But, my dear -sir,” I would rejoin, “the time to be strict is when one is entering -the country. The object of requiring passports, as I understand it, -is to guard against returning Nihilists and dangerous characters -generally. I do believe that any other man could have come in on my -passport, for nobody attempted to identify me by my own—perhaps -flattering—description of myself. When it was finally handed back -to me at Wirballen, the only sign that it had been inspected was a -little round stamp next to the <i>visé</i> of the Russian consul-general at -Berlin.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Just like the rascals,” an Englishman once said to me, lowering his -voice a little. “I wonder if in America you ever heard the song about -‘The Spider and the Fly’? ‘Come into my parlor,’ you know, and all that -sort of thing.”</p> - -<p>I told him that it was not entirely unfamiliar to me, at which he -seemed surprised.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he continued, “Russia is the spider, and you are the fly. She -will bleed you in your pocket if not in your veins.” He stopped to -laugh at his own joke. “It’s easy enough to get in; but, when you want -to get out, and go to the police-office for a permit, you’ll see—”</p> - -<p>He did not say what would be seen; but the vagueness of his unfinished -remark implied something terrible.</p> - -<p>I had heard that the rooms at Russian hotels assigned to foreigners -were all provided with Judas-holes, through which an <span class="smaller">EYE</span> -watched the inmates with the hope of surprising them in the act of -loading up bombs with dynamite. The thought of this scrutiny was -horrible. I could not help glancing uneasily around my apartment -to discover the treacherous orifice. The stucco-work next to the -high ceiling seemed to be a mighty snug place for a spy-hole, the -dark shadows and the festooned cobwebs lending themselves to its -concealment. Once I seized an umbrella, and stood on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> a chair tip-toe, -and reached up just far enough to punch the ferule into a spot which -had crumbled away a little and looked like a hole. If there was an -<span class="smaller">EYE</span> on the other side, its owner must take the consequences. I -heard no scream as the weapon pierced the ceiling. As it was withdrawn, -a shower of fine plaster followed, powdering my hair in the true style -of the last century. The absurdity of this incident dispelled, once and -for all, any real fear of being watched in that way.</p> - -<p>If the St. Petersburg police took any notice of my comings and goings, -I was unaware of it, though always seeking to discover some indication -of their surveillance. At the Hôtel d’Europe I had surrendered my -passport to the head-porter by request, and it pleased me to think that -I was not neglected by a paternal government. Next day, when it was -politely returned, it bore no fresh pen-mark, seal, or stamp, or even -the impression of a dirty thumb, to show that it had been opened. Since -the police did not seem to be looking after me, I determined to look -after the police.</p> - -<p>The execution of this design was reserved for Moscow; for it is in -that city, according to the best obtainable information, that the -odious features of the Russian police system may be seen at their -worst. That is the phase of it with which I most ardently desired to -become acquainted. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> wanted to see the originally immaculate passport -still further soiled. It was really provoking that, up to the time of -reaching the Holy City, the following were the only indorsements upon -it, as translated from the Russian:</p> - -<blockquote><p>No. 4,710.</p> - -<p>Seen at the Imperial Russian Consulate for going to Russia.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Berlin</span>, <i>July 3/13, 1886</i>. <br /> -<br /><i>Consul-General</i>, <span class="smcap">Kudriavtzeff</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>And, adjoining, was the stamp affixed at the frontier, containing in -a circle the words “Seen at Verjbolovo (Wirballen) when coming, July -5/17, 1886.”</p> - -<p>At Moscow, the passport, having been surrendered at the hotel as usual, -came back next day with two Russian superscriptions. There was a formal -entry as follows:</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>July 11/23, 1886.</i></p> - -<p>City precinct. In the house No. 9, presented and recorded.</p> - -<p class="right">For the captain (signed),<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Ralikhin</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The other was personal and cordial, and produced a gentle thrill of -gratitude in the bosom of the recipient of the courtesy: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p><i>July 11/23, 1886.</i></p> - -<p>It is permitted to John Bouton, an American citizen, and wife, to -remain in Russia until January 5/17, 1887. For further stay he is -bound to obtain a passport, under the regulations established for -foreigners wishing to live in Russia.</p> - -<p class="right">For the senior clerk (signed),<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Volynia</span>.</p> - -<p>(<i>Gratis.</i>)</p></blockquote> - -<p>The omission of my middle name was noticeable. At first, I explained -it on the theory of official carelessness, from which no country is -exempt. Then I remembered that, in the Russian nomenclature, there is -no recognized middle name, except that derived from the father. This -is constructed by adding “<i>vitch</i>” (son of) to the father’s Christian -name. In the case of the present writer, it would be <i>Nathanielóvitch</i> -(son of Nathaniel), and thus it appears in the Russian version of the -title-page of this book. And the present place may be as good as any -to give the English pronunciation of the first six Slavic words there -displayed. They read, “<span class="smcap">Okolnym Pootem vŭ Moskvoo—Epikooráyskoye -Pooteshestveeye</span>.”</p> - -<p>Except for the slight immaterial defect already noted, the police -indorsement at Moscow defies the most unfriendly criticism, even of -Englishmen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> Here is a favor extended to me without asking. It exacts -no conditions. It clothes me with a six months’ residence in Russia, -and with all the protection of her laws. And to this truly hospitable -concession is attached no stamp requiring the payment of any fee. -Great is my surprise to see, instead of the customary <i>timbre</i>, the -familiar word “<i>gratis</i>.” I rub my eyes hard and look again. Yes, it -is no accidental combination of Russian characters reading “gratis,” -and meaning something widely different. It is the good old Latin word, -English by adoption, and known even in far-away Russia, which we often -see coupled with samples of garden-seeds, or specimen newspapers, or -bits of dress-patterns, or something else seeking free introduction -and circulation. But one may travel round the world, and find not -many places, if any, besides Russia, where this welcome word adorns -government paper in lieu of a stamp for fees. It is like a shake of the -hand, and makes one feel at home among strangers.</p> - -<p>And this same word “gratis” started another train of thought not wholly -complimentary to the United States. Up to this time my total outlay -to Russian officials, for the privilege of entering and moving freely -about their country, footed up less than forty-five cents. But my -American passport had cost me five dollars from first hands. True,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> -that without this magic document I could not have entered Russia. But -had I not been intending to visit that empire, I probably should not -have taken out a passport, for in previous trips to Europe it had been -found as superfluous for exhibition purposes as a college diploma. In -point of fact, therefore, I had paid our State Department, for the -right of going to Russia, more than ten times as much as Russia herself -had charged for throwing her doors wide open! Now, it seems to me that -a government with an annual surplus which encourages the most foolish -extravagance and waste, might afford to discard this tax upon those -of its citizens who desire to go abroad. The American passport-fee -should be abolished, if for no other reason than because it deters our -people from visiting their good friends, the Russians. I wonder if the -boast “<i>Civis Romanus sum</i>”—that warning to all the barbarian world -not to molest a Roman citizen—was uttered by a man with a five-dollar -passport stuck in the folds of his toga?</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding this most agreeable incident at Moscow, I could -not forget the unpleasant things reported about the Russian police -system. I could think of no surer way to ascertain the truth than to -go to police-headquarters, observe the manners of the chief and his -subordinates in their official den, and note their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>treatment, not -merely of an American citizen, but of natives whom one might chance -to see there. For this purpose a good occasion soon presented itself. -Instead of profiting by the gracious permission for a six months’ stay -in Russia, I was ungratefully meditating an early departure; and, in -order to leave the country without hindrance, must secure a police -permit. With this business as the pretext, perhaps the depth of the -mystery could be plumbed.</p> - -<p>One morning, I mentioned this purpose to one of the hotel staff, who -could speak a little French or English as required, and who stood for -all we ever saw of the “administration,” except the cashier in the -settlement of bills. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, -expressing at once surprise and dissuasion. Then he explained in a -dignified way that the guests never visited the police bureau in -person—that the house had “an agent,” “a representative,” “a man” -(these were some of the descriptive phrases used), who was authorized -to act in such delicate matters, with the consent and indeed with -the wish of the police, and that this person would take charge of my -passport, and save me a great deal of time and trouble.</p> - -<p>But my mind was made up to interview the chief of police, and so I -cut short the conversation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> by peremptorily requesting the call of a -droschky. The man smiled, with another shrug of the shoulders, and, -beckoning to one of those boys whose smooth chin, flowing hair parted -in the middle, pork-pie cap, and long, blue tunic strapped tightly -about the waist, make them look like girls, spoke to him in Russian. -I followed the little fellow to the sidewalk, where he ordered the -droschky for me, explaining the destination to the driver, and then he -started off on a run.</p> - -<p>As usual, the carriage dashed through the streets like a meteor. But, -however great our speed, I always saw on the sidewalk, just ahead, the -girlish dress and streaming hair of the hotel-boy. I wondered what -imperative business caused his race against time—or was it against the -droschky? Not the latter evidently, for in a few minutes he disappeared -down an alley. A quarter of an hour later, after quite a circuit of -stony streets, we entered a little court-yard, and halted opposite a -door with a Russian inscription on the lintel. The driver signaled -me to descend and go in. Opening the door, I saw before me a narrow -stairway, and, at the head thereof—the hotel-boy. His round, innocent -face was flushed, and he puffed audibly. That last half-mile had nearly -done for him. He looked down and beamed at me as I climbed the steps. I -playfully shook my finger at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> him, at the same time taking my passport -from a side-pocket.</p> - -<p>With a roguish laugh, he snatched it from my hand and scampered away -before I could stop him. I followed as fast as possible through some -half-lighted passages into what seemed an anteroom, where I caught -a glimpse of his flying blue tunic and tossing locks as he entered -a larger apartment beyond. Before me was a soldier or policeman -(convertible terms in Russia), who motioned me to a seat, which was -a rude bench. Upon my heels, as I entered the anteroom, trod another -policeman, who drew up inside as if awaiting further orders. To a -casual observer, ignorant of the truth, I should have appeared to be -under arrest, with these two sworded <i>gorodovois</i> mounting guard.</p> - -<p>I could do nothing but wait till the boy had executed the commission -of obtaining my leave for departure, for which it was then evident he -had been privately sent from the hotel ahead of me, contrary to my -expressed wish. So I philosophically improved the occasion to look -about the place. From my position one could see into the adjoining -large room. There, at a square table, sat a middle-aged man with a -refined face, a mustache artistically curled, and a delicate white -hand, on the little finger of which sparkled a large <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>diamond that -shone to great advantage as he raised it to his lips and withdrew or -replaced a cigarette. Before him was a pile of papers, which he was -signing, or indorsing, or stamping with official seals, and looking -somewhat bored as he performed that automatic task. Men came and bowed -to him deferentially, and took orders which issued languidly from his -lips between the whiffs. That imp of a boy stood in the background, -with the precious passport opened out wide, so that I could see the -spread-eagle water-mark (about two feet square) through it against -a window. He grinned as he caught my eye, and, though I now feared -that he had baffled my cherished design of penetrating the <i>sanctum -sanctorum</i>, I could not help smiling back at him; observing which act, -one of the policemen standing near looked hard at me as if to check the -display of any levity in that place. So I became grim again, and fell -to contrasting the stylish and genial appearance of the police magnate -yonder with the serious, gruff, heavy-bearded, and cruel-eyed person -who would have seemed (according to English reports) the most natural -occupant of that chair.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile my curiosity was also excited in another quarter. Just -in front of me, within a space inclosed by an iron railing with an -elaborate pattern of cross-bars, was a little crowd of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>Russians. They -were all looking by turns at me and at the two policemen. “Can it be -possible,” I thought, “that they—evidently prisoners themselves, -penned up there and awaiting orders which will consign them to dungeons -or to Siberia—suppose me also to be under arrest? I certainly detect -in their faces marks of sympathy and fellow-feeling.”</p> - -<p>I study the motley group at leisure. One of the number may have been -a student, for he had a thoughtful face; but I was pained to remark -a fierce expression in his eyes, as if he had absorbed the deadly -virus of Nihilism. “Rash boy! most likely implicated in the latest -plot (for full particulars, see highly imaginative dispatches in the -London press) for assassinating the Tsar. And there is a young girl -with a pretty face; another Nihilist, probably—the misguided student’s -sweetheart, it may be. They say that women are the most fanatical -disciples of the new dispensation. By her side stands a priest of the -Greek Church in his cylindrical black cap and full robes, which he -has disgraced by some offense—trivial, let us hope. But he, too, may -be a Nihilist, for we are told that the gospel of anarchy draws some -recruits from the ranks of the priesthood.” A soldier in fatigue-dress, -and some other men or women whose station in life one could not fix, -composed the rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> of the company behind that grill, all (perhaps) -arrested for alleged Nihilism. This gave them, in my eyes, a tragic -interest which the common ruck of misdemeanants would have lacked. Who -can tell what they thought of me, as they reciprocated the curiosity -bestowed upon them?</p> - -<p>Engrossed in these interesting speculations, I had clean forgotten the -object of my visit until recalled from the reverie by the apparition -of the ever-smiling boy. He stood before me with the passport open, -and pointed out a new streak of inscription running down the back. -It had been obligingly furnished without any further information -about my identity than he had supplied. Thus ended ingloriously the -only opportunity which had presented itself to learn from personal -observation anything about the police system of Russia. I folded the -passport with a sigh, and thrust it into its pocket. As I did so, one -of the <i>gorodovois</i> courteously indicated that my departure was now in -order. His long forefinger pointed to the door.</p> - -<p>As I rose to go, an official-looking personage came out of the chief’s -audience-room and walked briskly to the little knot of expectant -culprits behind that iron railing, which needed only a roof to make it -a cage. I halted a moment to see what would happen next. The Nihilists -began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> look anxious, and I shared their emotions. What followed -was interpreted to me by gestures which could not be mistaken. The -official personage shook his head at the group, as if he were denying -them something. They seemed to entreat him. He only shook his head more -determinedly. As they persisted in trying to overcome his objections, -he brandished both hands at them in a manner which plainly said: “It’s -no use; go away; out of this now!” And this with so much energy that -the party in the pen instinctively fell back; and, as they did so, the -door behind them was flung open, disclosing, not a perspective of cells -as I had expected, but an outside stairway, the blue sky, and a tree in -leaf, all belonging to the free world, into which they hastened for the -labors or pleasures of the day! Putting this and that fact together, I -was impelled to the conclusion that these people were, after all, not -Nihilists or offenders of any rank, but only respectable citizens of -Moscow, who had called at the chief’s office to lay some request before -him, and that he had either decided to deny it, or else had put off -their reception to another day. And I never came any nearer than this -to identifying a Nihilist in Russia.</p> - -<p>Translated into English, this final indorsement of the passport reads -as follows: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p class="right"><i>July, 15/27, 1886.</i></p> - -<p>On behalf of the local police, there is no objection to John -Bouton and wife, American citizens named in this passport, leaving -Moscow for abroad.</p> - -<p class="right">Captain of the city precinct,<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -(Signed) <span class="smcap">Dvoronin</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>There was quite a galaxy of stamps affixed, making a total charge -of ninety-five kopecks—less than fifty cents gold value. The hotel -assumed the payment of this fee, and, adding a trifle for the services -of its “representative,” or “agent,” or “man” (the small boy), inserted -in my bill a lump item of one ruble fifty kopecks on “passport” -account. And I advise all American tourists to transact this kind of -business by proxy instead of wasting droschky-fares in unproductive -visits to the chief of police.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">SUMMER WEATHER IN RUSSIA—ST. PETERSBURG AND MOSCOW ENOUGH FOR -SIGHT-SEERS—M. KATKOFF AND HIS GAZETTE—TSAR AND PEOPLE—REPUBLICAN -POSSIBILITIES OF THE COSSACK.</span></h2> - -<p>After one has packed trunks, paid hotel bills, bought railway-tickets, -procured a supply of rubles and kopecks from his banker, and made every -preparation to leave Germany for Russia, it is discouraging to be told -that he has chosen the wrong season for visiting that country.</p> - -<p>“The winter, sir, is the only time to see Russia. St. Petersburg is -like a furnace in July. It is a rainless month. The streets are never -watered, and when the winds blow—mostly from the south, making the air -still hotter—you are smothered with dust. The mosquitoes—”</p> - -<p>But I had heard enough. It was too late to back out from the Russian -trip, and I did not care to know the worst. So I interrupted the -speaker with the question, “When did you leave St. Petersburg?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> - -<p>He colored a little. “Oh, I have never been there myself! No money -would tempt me to go to Russia before December, at least. I am only -telling you what everybody knows. The books are full—”</p> - -<p>“Of probable misstatements on these points,” said I, finishing the -sentence for him. “I know that English writers are unanimous about the -heat of a St. Petersburg July. But then Englishmen complain of every -temperature over 70°. Americans are less fond of cold weather. I will -learn the truth for myself. Good-evening.”</p> - -<p>The man with whom I held this conversation looked like a professor in -some small Western college. I had met him by chance in the rooms of -the American Exchange at Berlin. Overhearing me say that I was bound -to Russia that night, he had proceeded to draw upon his large store -of book-knowledge for my benefit. His positive manner was probably -borrowed from the classroom; and I have no doubt he was pained because -I did not take his advice on trust, with many thanks, like a docile -pupil.</p> - -<p>As an American accustomed to “summer heat,” I declare St. Petersburg to -be very comfortable in July. Neither there nor at Moscow, four hundred -miles farther south, have I seen more than 80° F. registered in the -shade, and the mid-day <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>temperature touched much lower figures during -my stay. Clothed accordingly, one may ride or walk in the open air -at high noon, and revel in the bright sunshine unharmed. There were -several rainfalls which were more than showers. They cooled the air -to the point of chilliness, and effectually laid the dust. At no time -were the streets swept by the wind with the sirocco-effects described -in some English books. Even the largest open squares were free from the -predicted nuisance. Dressed in light woolen, and armed with an umbrella -against the sun or the rain, the American will have no occasion to carp -at the Russian weather in those months when his compatriots at home are -fleeing for coolness—and not always finding it—to the mountains and -the sea-shore. Contrasting his comfort with the sufferings he would -have undergone in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston, he can feel only -gratitude for the endurable summer weather of St. Petersburg. He is -unvexed by mosquitoes and the flies are well-behaved.</p> - -<p>A Russian winter may be all that Gautier paints it; but, if that -brilliant Frenchman had been thin instead of stout, with less inside -room for the storage of solids and liquids as a sure defense against -Arctic rigors; and, if he had been obliged to look after anybody -besides Gautier, he might have hesitated to take the journey whose -record gives so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> much pleasure to readers. And, remember, his point -of departure was Paris, not New York. A trip from America to St. -Petersburg, merely to verify Gautier’s impressions there, would hardly -pay for the cost, time, and trouble. Americans prefer to pass the cold -months in Italy or Egypt or the Holy Land, or some other sunny clime, -and leave to more adventurous souls the pleasures—such as they are—of -a Russian winter. Everything that the ordinary tourist cares to see -can be seen in July as well as in January. The Winter Palace in St. -Petersburg is closed in summer, it is true, but the Hermitage, with its -glut of pictures and <i>bric-à-brac</i>, is open. So is Tsarskoé Selo, a -little distance outside of the city. There are many other palaces in or -about the capital, mostly accessible in summer. Private, if not public, -admittance can be had to every museum and library. The Tsar may be -absent during the warmer months, but the visitor would probably not get -a look at him or any of the imperial family in winter. If the nobility -are also missing, the innocent American does not know it, as he has -no means of telling a prince from a plebeian. If the entire court and -all the fashionable element are away, St. Petersburg has not been -carried off with them. And that city, and, still more, Moscow, are at -all times so full of interest on a hundred accounts that one does not -pause to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> think whether their attractions would or would not be greatly -heightened by the presence of snow six feet deep on a level, or by the -return of the Tsar from Peterhof or Gatschina.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Russia is fortunate in the possession of two great capitals. St. -Petersburg is the civil and Moscow the religious center of a double -administration. Paris is the only city of France that most Americans -desire to visit. That city is, indeed, France in the sense that -Parisians claim for her; and the rest of the republic is but a -matter of detail. Similarly, St. Petersburg and Moscow are Russia. -By sojourning a few days in each city, one can gather sufficient, if -superficial, knowledge of the Russian people, their religious and -secular institutions, their amusements, their business ways, their -modes of living, to correct a host of errors into which prejudiced -authors have led him. If he is a student of natural history, an -ethnologist, a profound investigator of social problems—if he desires -to see with his own eyes how the exiles fare in Siberia, or whether -the petroleum-wells of Baku are running dry, or how the railway to -Merv is getting along—he may spend many months in Russia acquiring -interesting information. But, if he wants a good time, with the minimum -of discomfort, while he is packing away in the odd <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>corners of his -brain the things most truly worth knowing about Russia, let him stick -to St. Petersburg and Moscow. There he will find hotels first class in -all respects, easy carriages, and French (if not English) newspapers. -Unless he is a critical analyst of race peculiarities, he will be -satisfied with the many varieties of Russia’s population which he sees -in Moscow alone. And, as to souvenirs of the country, he will, perhaps, -be more fortunate in picking them up at bargains in the Gostinnoi Dvors -of the two capitals than if he hunted and chaffered for them at the -crowded and noisy fair of Nijni-Novgorod.</p> - -<p class="space-above">In the restaurants and reading-rooms one often notices little groups -of Russians earnestly scanning the columns of a newspaper in their own -language. It is a large, four-page sheet, usually accompanied by a -supplement. Perhaps one will read, and the others will listen. At times -they seem deeply interested, hanging upon the words that are uttered -as if they were revelations of the greatest moment. The expression of -their faces is unbroken by any trace of levity. They lay the paper -down, and seem to be discussing what has been read. Sometimes one -observes marked signs of dissent from some member of the group, but -more commonly there is an apparent agreement with those <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>sentiments -of the journal which have provoked the debate. Seeing the same scene -enacted with trifling variations a number of times, I became anxious to -learn the occasion of it, and then I ceased to be surprised.</p> - -<p>The paper is the “Moscow Gazette” (“Moskovskeeya Vedomostee”), edited -by M. Katkoff, the man who wields an influence in Russia second to no -subject of the Tsar. We are told that the Russian press is fettered -and crushed, and here is an editor more powerful, for good or ill, -than any statesman of the empire. Holding no office, reaching the -mind of the Tsar only through his printed columns, he disputes with -M. de Giers (Minister of Foreign Affairs) for the confidence and -support of their common master. And, hardly less important, he makes -himself felt, through the widely distributed “Gazette,” among the most -thoughtful circles of Russia. In all the foreign offices of Europe his -opinions are carefully studied, being regarded as the earliest and best -indications of the drift of Russian sentiment. For M. Katkoff is, above -all things, a Russian. He is the champion Panslavist. He advocates the -federation of all branches of the great Slavic race. It is his policy -that keeps alive the national jealousy of Germany and Austria. His -eyes are fastened on Bulgaria, Roumania, and Servia, where the Slavic -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>population is a strong element. Galicia and Bohemia in Austria, Posen -in Prussia, and independent little Montenegro, are among the regions -embraced within the wide sweep of his Slavic sympathies. A union of -the Slavs for any purpose, and on any scheme of protection extended by -the great Empire of the North to the federated provinces, would end in -their consolidation with Russia under the government of the Tsar.</p> - -<p>Italy and Germany have each been substantially unified on the same -principle. If it is admissible in those two cases, why not in that of -Russia? Panslavism, ably upheld in the “Moscow Gazette,” can never -be unpalatable to the Tsar or the people, for it strongly appeals to -patriotism and national pride. Therefore, M. Katkoff is permitted -to display zeal in this direction even to the point of excess. It -is only when his feelings betray him into undue hostility to some -power—Germany or Austria, for example—with which the Tsar desires -to keep on good terms, that the Panslavist leader is called to order. -But the rebuke takes only the form of a summons to St. Petersburg, -where he has an audience, and is readily restored to the favor which -he had only nominally lost. The existence of such a paper, which is -not a government organ, and yet passes as such among most of its -readers—which can be approved or repudiated at pleasure, just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> -as circumstances may require—is a great convenience. It must be -understood that no editor would enjoy the license given to M. Katkoff -if he were in the least degree politically unsound or disloyal. The -strength of his position lies in his intense, unselfish devotion to -Russian interests, his passionate adherence to the autocratic system, -and his burning hatred of all those revolutionary elements that would -precipitate changes for which Russia is not prepared.</p> - -<p class="space-above">A foreigner thrown among Russians, who can not speak his language, is -worse off than a visitor to a deaf and dumb asylum, the inmates of -which can make their opinions known by writing or by signs. One may -travel all over Russia, and learn nothing more of the political ideas -of the common people than when he entered it, if he depends on them for -enlightenment. His only sources of information are educated Russians, -who can converse in his own tongue, or English, French, or German -residents who have lived in the country long enough to understand the -people and have outgrown their native prejudices. It is from such -persons that I gathered a few impressions, which went far to modify -views formed upon the strength of unfriendly English publications.</p> - -<p>It may sometimes be true, as the proverb says,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> that “to hear the news, -you must go away from home.” But this can hardly hold good in the case -of reports relating to the Tsar’s personal character and habits. It is -much more likely that the assertions about his intemperance, insanity, -and brutality, which appear in the London “Times,” are fictions, than -that such alleged facts should be totally unknown among intelligent -people in St. Petersburg, where he lives. I sought in vain for any -corroboration of the reports that the Tsar ever has the delirium -tremens, or is under the influence of liquor, or exhibits signs of -madness, or has a violent temper and is abusive to his ministers and -courtiers. Nobody with whom I conversed had ever heard any rumors -of this kind, except as they originated from known reports in the -foreign papers. These were invariably denounced to me as malicious -inventions. Old English dwellers in Russia expressed themselves -warmly on the subject. They felt ashamed at the wholly unfounded and -outrageous libels heaped by the press of London on one who, so far as -they know, is truly temperate, free from any taint of lunacy, mild and -reasonable in his intercourse with all. They spoke of him as a “family -man,” having a German fondness for wife and children and the simple -pleasures of domestic life. They regretted that he observed so strict -a seclusion; but admitted that he was forced to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> very circumspect -in his movements in order to escape the fangs of the Nihilists. All -my informants pitied the Tsar and still more pitied his subjects, who -are, in large measure, deprived of that direct personal cognizance of -their needs and wishes which might prove so beneficial to them if the -Nihilists would permit it to be freely exercised. It also follows, -from this comparative isolation of the Tsar, that the powers which he -delegates are undoubtedly in many cases abused, and the facts are never -brought to his paternal knowledge.</p> - -<p>For the Tsar is not only the executive and the law-making power of the -state, head of the Church, fountain of justice, commander-in-chief -of the army and navy, but, more than all these, he is father to -his people. His subjects owe him, in theory, a filial respect and -obedience; and, with the exception of the Nihilists, they are dutiful -children. The relation is an Oriental one, which we of the West can not -understand. But it is powerfully operative in Russia. It has not been -really weakened by anything that the Nihilists have done, but, on the -contrary, strengthened. This would be proved any day by the spontaneous -and almost universal response of the Russian people to any call for -sacrifice which their father should make upon them.</p> - -<p>Some foreign writers profess to fear that the Tsar will plunge his -country into a causeless war,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> in order to find an outlet for national -discontent. But the only discontent which troubles Russia at present is -that of the Nihilists, who are irreconcilable. No war in behalf of some -Slavic race, or to extend the boundaries of Russia, or to possess the -Holy Places, would have their sympathy. They would still plot against -the life of the one man whose murder, according to their shallow view, -might bring about that chaos which is the desire of their hearts. The -assassination of Alexander II did not promote the cause of Nihilism -in the least; but, on the other hand, led to the adoption of severer -though unsuccessful measures for its repression; and there is no reason -to think that the removal of the present sovereign would be of any -advantage to the cause of anarchy. The Tsars live in their successors. -The mighty empire which has weathered the storms of a thousand years is -not now at the mercy of a dynamite bomb.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The undoubted tendency of Russia is now toward what is commonly spoken -of as a “constitutional government.” This is not following a general -demand of the people. They seem to be, as a rule, quite indifferent -to it; but it is believed to be favored by the Tsar. His life, aside -from the dreadful menaces of Nihilism, is made a burden to him by the -enormous and steadily increasing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>responsibilities of his position. -As a conscientious man, these must press upon him heavily, no matter -how much he seeks to distribute them among the ministers who are but -his creatures. If he could be assisted in his great work by a national -body, in some sense representing the people, and if his ministers were -made responsible in fact instead of being purely clerical functionaries -as at present, the diabolical aims of the Nihilists would be frustrated -more surely than they could be in any other way. The blind hate which -now seeks the life of one man only would then lose its concentration. -It would then be necessary to kill or terrorize a whole ministry, or a -majority of delegates—a task, the difficulty of which would probably -impress the most unimaginative of Nihilists. One might almost predict -the disappearance of Nihilism as an organized danger in Russia, if -constitutionalism could somehow be grafted on the old trunk. (See <a href="#Page_419"><span class="smcap">Appendix</span></a>.)</p> - -<p class="space-above">The fifty years assigned by Napoleon as the period during which Europe -would become either republican or Cossack, passed away, leaving his -prophecy unfulfilled. But his own France is a republic, and more -liberal principles have been incorporated in all the imperial and -monarchical governments of Europe. If there is a drift discernible, it -is toward republicanism. By the word<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> “Cossack” Napoleon meant that -absolutism of which Russia was the most remarkable example of his day. -But the Cossack himself is now in the stream with the rest. It will -be perhaps only a question of time when he will be as well fitted for -and desirous to adopt republican institutions, as the man of any other -race in Europe. Who can say that, wherever the Cossack of the future -goes, he may not carry with him the germ of republicanism? It is this -possibility which lends to every sign of liberal development in Russia -a tremendous significance in the eyes of Americans. And if Russia -still clings by preference to her venerable paternal system, that is -no reason why our ancient friendship for that great country and people -should be impaired.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIX.</span> <span class="smaller">RUSSIAN FINLAND—STOCKHOLM—THE LARGEST KNOWN METEORITE—THE DJURGARDEN.</span></h2> - -<p>It takes some time to get the confused impressions of brilliant Moscow -out of one’s head; and, until this is done, one is in no fit condition -to judge of other cities. The gold, green, blue, yellow, and red of -Moscow left images in my brain which shifted about for days as with -turns of a kaleidoscope. Entering the capital of Sweden by water on a -bright August morning, I saw it at its best. Stockholm is a handsome -city in its own right, and that guide-book writer who first called it -the “Venice of the North” owes an apology to the Swedes for instituting -an unfortunate comparison. There is plenty of water in and about -Stockholm, but no intricate network of canals, no rich tint, no mellow -antiquity. Comparing Stockholm with Boston, one would not be so far -out of the way. There are resemblances in the hilly grounds on which -the two cities stand, in the central dome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> and the tall spires, in the -crooked and converging streets, the stone buildings, the trimness and -cleanliness of everything, the all-pervading air of prosperity. The -American who happens to know Boston feels at home here at once. Even -when he has just arrived from Moscow, and misses colors in the roofs -of Stockholm, he is soon somewhat consoled by the many-colored native -dresses which he meets at every turn. These are worn by the women of -Dalecarlia. In coming to this city to live, they keep on wearing the -showy costumes of their native province. Their head-dress is either -a sort of liberty-cap in blue or an exaggerated smoking-cap in red, -attached somehow just above the nape of the neck, and always on the -point of falling off. The rest of the dress is a mysterious composition -of bandanna handkerchiefs and bunting of divers hues. Chains, spangles, -beads, and embroidery cover all. There is nothing like this in the -Russia I have seen. It is the prettiest sight in all Stockholm. But to -go back a space, and tell how we got here.</p> - -<p>We left St. Petersburg in a clean and stanch little boat at 6 <span class="smaller">P. -M.</span> Before stepping on board, I drew my passport from its envelope -and held it ready for the final ordeal; for, in theory, every stranger -is scrutinized as sharply on leaving as on entering the empire. I -was wondering where, on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> the broad surface of the dear old American -eagle, room would be found for still another and positively the last -inscription, seal, or stamp. But again, much to my disappointment, -nobody evinced the slightest curiosity to examine the document, either -at the gangway of the boat or during the voyage of some hundreds of -miles which we afterward made before quitting the jurisdiction of -Russia. Perhaps, if I had been a Nihilist, my departure from the -country would not have passed unnoticed. But my personal experience on -this and previous occasions, when a police supervision might have been -expected to make itself apparent, convinces me that it is a formality -much neglected, except when an attempted assassination of the Tsar -excites the authorities to spasms of real vigilance.</p> - -<p>The passengers—about thirty in number—assembled on the upper deck to -take last view’s of St. Isaac’s dome, the spire of Saints Peter and -Paul, and the other landmarks of gold which loom above the horizon -when twenty miles away. In half an hour we had scraped acquaintance -and crystallized into sets, which continued unbroken all the voyage. -Among those aboard were a Siberian family, a Chilian, a Belgian, a -German who had won the hand of a London lady, married her at St. -Petersburg, and was then on his wedding-journey; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>a Nijni-Novgorod -merchant, several Finns, and a number of Norwegians and Swedes. Every -language of Northern Europe was spoken on that deck. If one person -could not talk directly to another, he could do it through the medium -of an interpreter. And gestures eke out the meaning at the point where -words fail. We were a merry party, without asking or caring to know one -another’s names.</p> - -<p>Cronstadt—the sea-defense of St. Petersburg—was reached about 8 -<span class="smaller">P. M.</span>, and everybody inspected the fortifications which are -called (by the Russians) impregnable. To me they seemed old-fashioned -and fragile. Some of the forts are of stone or brick, with cannon in -three or four tiers. If a 500-pounder, working from a monitor at short -range, could not knock them about the ears of the defenders, I am much -mistaken. The real dependence of Cronstadt is probably the torpedo, and -nobody yet knows exactly how much that is worth. Toward eleven o’clock, -when the twilight had faded out, there was a general disposition to -retire for the night. The cabins of the Stockholm boats are small but -comfortable. Before the two sofas are transformed into beds, they are -downy enough. But, when they are rigged up with sheets, blankets, and -pillows, the inmates discover bones and buttons inside of them. They -are very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> trying on tender ribs. The cabin-doors have neither locks nor -bolts, and many persons do not even shut them, trusting to the screen -of a curtain which lets the air freely in and out. As the numbers of -the rooms do not show when the doors are ajar, this arrangement gives -rise to amusing mistakes, of which we hear some particulars the next -morning.</p> - -<p>In crossing the Gulf of Finland the water was rough for a few hours, -and the pitching motion of the vessel disturbed the equilibrium of -all sensitive interiors. In the morning some of the friskiest of our -company of the night before did not report for coffee at 7.30 o’clock. -When they did appear at nine or ten, they were silent, if not sad. I -can only say that they missed some coffee which was wonderfully good. -It was served with an assortment of bread, sweet biscuit, and cakes. -This light refreshment kept one alive till nine, when those who could -pull themselves together dived into the little dining-saloon and had -their regular breakfast. The most important part of this meal—Swedish -fashion—is the “trimmings.” You are expected to fill yourself at a -sideboard before you sit at table. I counted twenty different dishes -set out as appetizers. Among them were cold boiled lobsters, eels in -jelly, several fish-salads reeking with oil, head-cheese, slices of -sausage, pickled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> tongue, potted meats of nature unknown, cabbage, -beets, onions sliced with vinegar, bread, butter, and cheese. The -true Swede, when in “good form,” attacks all these viands <i>seriatim</i>, -and makes a hole in them. But, before he does anything, he fills a -large wine-glass from the colorless contents of one or more decanters, -which tower above all other things in a great caster. Those hold gin -or <i>kummel</i> or other fiery spirits. After ten or fifteen minutes thus -spent on his feet, he is ready to appreciate the beefsteak and potatoes -and the ham-omelette and other substantials which are tendered to him -when he sits down.</p> - -<p>We reached Helsingfors—the present capital of Russian Finland—about -noon. For several hours before coming in view of the town, we had -passed between numberless rocky islands. These kept off the winds and -waves, and after a while everybody was on deck and feeling well. The -practical joker (no company on shipboard is complete without one) did -not miss his chance when the famous white-roofed church of Helsingfors -hove in sight. As belated passengers thrust their heads above the -companion-way, he would seize them by the hand and drag them to the bow -to show them that it had been snowing during the night! To those not -in the secret the illusion was complete, and there was an instinctive -movement to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> button up coats. There was a great church on a hill, and -every roof, gable, and cornice where snow could lodge was apparently -covered with it. The church could not look whiter in the dead of -winter. This snow-effect is the work of design. It is paint—a study -from nature; and, if Helsingfors were distinguished for nothing else, -this unique church would make the place worthy of a visit. But all of -us who went ashore to spend the day—as the boat would not start again -before one o’clock the next morning—found much more there. The rides -and walks were pleasant; the parks large and full of flowers, with -fountains playing, and we could dine and sup in the open air, with -music by the best band of the garrison, which is always kept strong at -Helsingfors. Although the people of Finland are submissive to Russia in -many respects, they are quite independent in others. Russia humors them -to the extent of permitting home-rule in all matters local, and even -allows them to coin their own money. This concession suits the Finns -more than the traveling public. You are obliged to change your rubles -and kopecks into marks and pennies—all reckonings being made in the -latter money. I should say that Finland has the best of the bargain. -Russia protects her and makes business for her, and in return exercises -a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>sovereignty which strikes the stranger as merely nominal.</p> - -<p>By one o’clock, <span class="smaller">A. M.</span>, the last of the wanderers had come -aboard, tired out with his or her pleasurings on land. But all were -ready for another frolic of four hours when we arrived at Abo—the old -capital of Finland, and still strongly attached to the Sweden of which -that country was once an appanage. But here, as elsewhere, among the -Finns, the Russian yoke is hardly felt. There is not much to see or do -in Abo, except to visit an old castle and church, and dine at a pretty -little restaurant within hearing of the steamer’s whistle. This was -all very unexciting when compared to our revelries at Helsingfors. No -one was sorry when the screw again buzzed, and we were heading in a -southwest direction for Stockholm. Abo is the farthest northing we have -yet made. According to my tattered map, it is about on the latitude of -the Shetland Islands. It must be bitterly cold in winter, but on the -day of our visit the weather there was just on the verge of warmth. -Except for a light wind, it would have been uncomfortable in thick -clothing.</p> - -<p>The third stage of the trip—from Finland to Stockholm—is uneventful. -We sleep through the larger part of it. The morning finds our craft -threading a multitude of islands. Many are richly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> cultivated. As we -approach Stockholm the pilot steers carefully. Navigation is difficult -for natural reasons, aside from the swarm of steamboats, ships, and -yachts. The Swedish flag, mainly a yellow cross on a blue ground, -is voted a beauty by all on deck. Our hastily formed impressions of -everything are favorable. We think well of the custom-house men, who, -while not neglecting their duty, give us as little trouble as possible, -and do not look significantly at the palms of their hands. So, after a -journey which has used up the best part of three days, we begin to see -the sights of which I spoke in the opening paragraph of this chapter.</p> - -<p>The greatest curiosity in Stockholm is Professor Nordenskiöld’s -meteorite. He found it in Greenland many years ago, shipped it to this -city, and presented it to the principal museum, where it occupies the -post of honor. It is the largest messenger from the skies of which -I have any knowledge. Some of the guide-books make a woful blunder -in mentioning the weight of the mass. They put it at two hundred and -fifty tons. This is the truth multiplied by (say) ten or more. But an -aërolite of twenty-five tons is still a prodigy. It would cut up into -a hundred of such pieces as are now the pride of separate collections -in the great cities of the world. Its bulk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> is about that of a New -York hackney-coach, minus wheels and box-seat, and it would resemble -that ugly object in shape if it were not flattened and narrowed on one -side. It is iron of the specific kind called meteoric, with a definite -proportion of nickel in its composition. The intense heat to which -it was subjected in passing from the celestial regions through our -atmosphere scorched it terribly. It is blistered all over. This is a -kind of heaven’s artillery before which the biggest red-hot shot of -human invention sinks into insignificance.</p> - -<p>There are many treasures of art and science in Stockholm which even the -most hurried of travelers should not fail to see. There are churches -which, though bare and cold when contrasted with those of Italy or -of Russia, are interesting by virtue of their tombs, their pictures, -statues, wood-carvings, and historical associations. On every side -the inquisitive mind may gather knowledge. But I think most tourists -will agree with me that for pure entertainment nothing yields better -return than a dinner in the Djurgarden. At one of the great restaurants -in that beautiful park you may dine perfectly in a shaded corridor -and watch the ever-fluctuating crowd of well-dressed, light-hearted -people, and hear the finest selections from the musical masterpieces -of all nations. These<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> are rendered by a military band which might be -safely sent to America to compete with the best of ours. When the wind -and muscle of the performers give out, the music does not cease. As -the last strain of one band dies on the air, a second band, just as -good, continues the programme, so that there is no break in the feast -of sounds. The two sets of musicians “spell” each other, till all the -hearers have had enough.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXX.</span> <span class="smaller">BY RAIL TO CHRISTIANIA—FARE ON THE ROAD—NORWAY’S CAPITAL—THE -VIKING-SHIP—AN INLAND TOUR.</span></h2> - -<p>“Twenty minutes for dinner!” supper, or breakfast, as the case may -be. The conductor on the Swedish or Norwegian railways announces this -important fact to English-speaking travelers in the sign-language. -He spreads out all his fingers and thumbs twice. It speaks volumes -to the hungry man. He jumps from the train to the platform of the -pretty little station. He enters a room where he finds the feast -all spread, but no waiters. Behind a desk in a corner sits a woman -calmly knitting. Her business is only to take the money. The guest’s -business is to help himself. It is fortunate for him if he has been -through the same ordeal before. For that mighty soup-tureen, with a -ladle in it, does not contain soup. It is full of delicious whipped -cream, destined for the strawberries or raspberries which form a mound -by its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> side. Another tureen, exactly matching it, is the one into -which he should first dip. He should go down deep and stir up the rich -sediment. With a pint of this soup at his disposal it matters less -what he eats afterward. He can have fish, two kinds of meat, various -side-dishes, pastry, cakes, bread, cheese and butter, tea, coffee, -and bottled ale, besides berries and cream (the latter in soup-plates -always) all at discretion. It rests with himself whether he will clear -the board. When he has satisfied his appetite, or eaten out his twenty -minutes, he hands the industrious woman at the desk one krone and a -half—about forty-two cents of American money. She barely looks up from -her work, sweeps the coins into the till, and resumes the clicking of -her needles with an expression of impatience. At first it seems as -if this “self-help” system were extremely liberal on the part of the -caterer. But after trying it a number of times I find that about half -of my twenty minutes is spent in choosing dishes, changing my plates, -knives, forks, and spoons, and these are never handy. It also occurs -to me that I am saving the establishment the expense of a waiter; and, -on the whole, I would prefer to pay a little more, and be helped by -somebody else. These meals, occurring at intervals of a few hours, -pleasantly break the monotony of the long rail-ride from Stockholm to -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> Norwegian capital. The scenery is a succession of ponds—full of -lilies—birch-forests and hay-fields. After the first hundred miles of -it one cuddles into the corner of his seat and waits for the conductor -to make the invariable signs at him to rise and eat.</p> - -<p>Approaching Christiania and looking from the car-window, I think -I see the British flag everywhere. It is the red and blue of -Norway—resembling at a distance the colors of England. Norway, though -under the same popular king as Sweden, has her own flag. Are those -London policemen at the station? They wear cloth helmets, have their -numbers in metal on their standing coat-collars, carry sheathed clubs, -and only dispel the illusion when they give mild orders in an unknown -tongue. They motion us to go into a room where custom-house officers -are in waiting. For reasons good unto themselves, but incomprehensible -to the traveler coming from Stockholm, the Norwegian authorities put -the baggage through a second inspection. For all I know, the good King -Oscar himself may be obliged to stand this sort of thing every time he -rides from one of his capitals to the other. Though the ceremony seemed -absurd and needless, I determined to spare the officials all possible -trouble. I unbuckled the straps, unlocked the trunks, opened them, took -out the top trays, folded my arms, and awaited developments—strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> in -innocence. Great was my astonishment when the custom-house man looked -at me, but not at the trunks, and asked simply, “Clothes?” I nodded, -whereupon he stooped and leisurely replaced the trays, locked and -buckled up the trunks, and chalked them without another word. Before -one could even thank him, he had vanished.</p> - -<p>As we rode through the streets to the hotel, the likeness of -Christiania to London was repeated in the yellowish fronts of the -two-story houses and the extreme cleanliness of the streets. What, -therefore, could be a better name for the principal hotel than -“Victoria”? It looks just like one of those great, rambling inns which -are the delight of Americans in the midland counties. It is a labyrinth -of halls, little passages, and stairs. On every landing-place is a -black or white bear or other wild beast artistically mounted. To come -upon one of these at dusk for the first time is startling. Elk-horns, -walrus-tusks, and every imaginable trophy of the chase, are displayed -in nooks and corners. We see at once that this free museum is intended -to please our English friends who come to Norway in the season to hunt -and take in Christiania on the way. We hope they find that all the game -has not already been shot and stuffed for the hotel.</p> - -<p>At the royal palaces, both here and at Stockholm, visitors have a free -run of the family rooms.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> Among themselves, kings, queens, and princes -are just like other people. No well-to-do household among Oscar’s -subjects contains a larger collection of personal photographs and -little souvenirs of relatives and friends than may be seen at any one -of His Majesty’s homes. Only the cabinet-portraits, cheaply framed and -hung on the walls or stuck into card-racks, are those of the Emperor -William, or the Prince of Wales, or the King of Denmark, or some -other sovereign or prince with whom Sweden and Norway are on the best -of terms. Fans, pipes, snuff-boxes, and all sorts of <i>bric-à-brac</i>, -which have been presented at Christmas or other times, are displayed -on <i>étagères</i> or under glass. I dare say that the pin-cushions, -antimacassars, and tidies one sees in the more private rooms, are the -gifts and the work of princesses, at the least. It would be hard if -royalty could not act like the commonalty once in a while and enjoy -things which are simple and cheap.</p> - -<p>The King has artistic tastes with a strong patriotic bias. He prefers -Norwegian pictures for his Christiania palace. No others are to be seen -there. Some of them are crude, but all show originality, and there -are a few pieces which, by their truthfulness and vigor, would make a -sensation in any <i>salon</i>. In front of one of these people spontaneously -collect and stand in horror and wonder. It is an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> old-fashioned -sea-fight, not one of the modern scientific kind, where the combatants -are at long range and almost invisible to one another. The crafts -engaged are a Viking-ship and a vessel of some power with which the -ancient Norsemen were at war. The former stands high out of water at -bow and stern. The latter is more clumsily built—scow-shaped. The two -are in dead-lock, and the crew of one is boarding the other. Every man -on both sides is wielding an axe, pike, or short sword, and carries a -knife in his teeth. There is a desperate resistance, but the Viking -fellows are surely overmastering their enemies. The deck of the doomed -ship is red with blood, and so is the water all about, as the victims -of the terrible combat sink to their death. One lingers spell-bound -before this picture till a cough from the guide reminds him to move on.</p> - -<p>Every one should see this remarkable painting before or after paying -a visit to the special wonder of Christiania. It is the fortune of -that city to own something which is unique in archæology. This is a -practically perfect specimen of the Viking-ships with which the fierce -sea-robbers of the North made their descents on the English and French -coasts eight hundred or a thousand years ago. It was recently dug out -of a burial-mound of blue clay, where it formed the sepulchre of the -chief who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> owned and commanded it. The surrounding earth had preserving -qualities; and so the wood-work of the ship, the iron bolts, part of -the iron anchor, some of the cordage, bits of the sail, spears, swords, -and shields were recovered in good order. The remains of the interred -hero had evidently been removed for some purpose in the distant past, -as there were traces of a hole through the mound and then through the -wooden tent-like inclosure where the body had been placed. The hull is -beautifully modeled—about seventy-two feet long, fifteen and a half -feet broad, and three and a half feet deep inside. There are holes for -thirty-two oars, many of which were found within the hull. They are of -various lengths from eighteen feet downward. The helm is attached by -a rope to the right side of the vessel near the stern-post. Pieces of -the single mast—which carried a square sail—are shown, but its height -is unknown. The general shape of the ship reminds one of a Venetian -gondola, than which nothing could be better designed for speed and -offensive qualities. The crew, from the elevated position, fore and -aft, could easily jump down to the vessels they were assailing; and -they could, by the same arrangement, more surely repel boarders. It -takes but little imagination to people this black, rakish hull with the -original pirates standing erect and prepared to leap on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> their prey, -and in their midst some fair-bearded giant whom they adored and would -follow to the death. Such a ship as this may have witnessed such scenes -of bloodshed as are depicted on that canvas in the King’s palace.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Fiords, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, snow-mountains, soft, rounded hills -alternating with low but savage precipices, cultivated and peaceful -valleys—these are characteristics of the scenery in Eastern Norway. -We desired to take an easy trip into the interior, admitting us to -the heart of the country, with the minimum sacrifice of comfort. The -problem was how to get a good miniature impression of the natural -features of this region in four days? Fortunately, there was (and -still is, I hope) a man in Christiania able to solve this problem to -the entire satisfaction of the anxious inquirer. His name is Bennett. -He cashes your drafts, he outlines your excursions, he furnishes you -with carriages, horses, and drivers, he sells you books, carved wood, -old Norwegian silver, and other curios; he is universal purveyor and -everybody’s friend. I went to Bennett and laid my wishes before him. -Would he be good enough to plan a little outing, say of four days, -warranted to afford some slight idea of picturesque Norway?</p> - -<p>The worthy man listened to the request with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> as much apparent interest -as if I had been the first person who had ever asked him that familiar -question. Squaring off at a sheet of paper, he rapidly drew the -skeleton of a trip which was at once adopted on his recommendation. -Luckily, he had a carriage on hand, which was just the thing for the -bad weather then threatening. It was a stout four-wheeler, with a -high seat for the driver and a hood which came forward like that of -the old-fashioned chaise, and a thick leather apron for the further -protection of the inmates. There was a spare seat for the hand-bags and -shawls, and a roomy box in the rear for extra harness and a small trunk -if required. But we proposed to dispense with any luggage larger than a -valise. Everything that Bennett suggested I at once agreed to.</p> - -<p>Presently he said, “Of course, you want a guide, to speak the language, -and save you trouble?”</p> - -<p>“Never, Bennett, never!” said I, calmly but firmly. There is something -more unpleasant than the worst of rains in the idea of having a -man constantly perched before one, cutting off what little view -he might have, and showing him things he does not want to see. I -remembered bitterly some of my experiences in Switzerland and Russia, -and determined to abandon the trip rather than take along such an -incumbrance. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p> - -<p>Bennett smiled sweetly, and shrugged his broad shoulders. “As you -please,” said he. “Perhaps you can manage to get along with a copious -phrase-book, giving the Norwegian and English in parallel columns, you -know. I have a fine pocket-edition cheap.”</p> - -<p>“Never, Bennett, never!” I repeated. “I just happened to look into one -of those phrase-books this morning. The reader is told to consult the -rules for pronunciation of Norwegian words, and be sure to apply them -carefully; otherwise he would not be understood by the natives. I tried -it on the word <i>skyds</i> (English, ‘posting’). May I drop dead if it -wasn’t pronounced <i>shoss</i>! No, Bennett, no! I will never have anything -to do with a language like that!”</p> - -<p>He laughed pleasantly again, like one who is accustomed to dealing with -highly eccentric persons. “And pray, sir, what will you do?”</p> - -<p>“Bennett,” said I, “have you, or could you get for me, two or perhaps -three pounds of the copper coins <i>öre</i>—pronounced <i>ouray</i>, I believe?”</p> - -<p>“I have a barrel of ’em at your disposal.”</p> - -<p>“But I want only enough to fill up my outside pockets. And could you -supply me with twenty or thirty notes of one krone each?”</p> - -<p>“I understand,” said he, “and I am sure it will work. There is no -language like ready money,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> after all. But it is the last that most -people think of trying.”</p> - -<p>It took but a few minutes to cash a draft on my bankers in London. I -received enough copper <i>öre</i> packed in small <i>rouleaux</i> to fill two -pockets, and stuffed my wallet with single paper kroner. Then I knew I -was prepared for any emergency arising from ignorance of the Norwegian -tongue. Besides these smaller resources, there was a due provision of -larger currency which can never come amiss.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXI.</span> <span class="smaller">A BABY KUDSK—TYRI-FIORD—HÖNEFOS—LAKE SPIRELLEN—DINNER AT A -SANITARIUM.</span></h2> - -<p>Next morning (August 9th) we made an early start, with Hönefos as -the objective point for the day, the hotel there having been highly -recommended to us. The postboy (<i>kudsk</i>) who was to drive to the first -station on the route, two hours distant, was not a boy, but a man. And -that was a damper upon the enthusiasm with which we should have set -out; for all the authorities on Norwegian traveling assure one that the -drivers are invariably real boys—when they are not girls. Much of the -charm, and most of the risk, which is itself a delightful excitement to -some people, of carriage-riding in Norway, is always said to consist -in the fact that you are in charge of a joyous child, whose infantile -ways divert you, when there is nothing else worth looking at. As we -had already journeyed over a part of the road in a little ride we had -taken out of Christiania some days<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> before, we would have been glad to -extract some amusement from the driver. At the next station there would -be a change on the box-seat, and we were hoping for somebody a little -smaller and less obstructive of the view, than postboy number one. But -we were not prepared for what happened. I had settled for my mileage -up to that point with the <i>skyddsskaffer</i> (station-master), paid the -overgrown postboy the gratuity in <i>öre</i> which usage decrees to him, the -tired horses had been taken from the pole and fresh ones put on, and -we were impatient to be off again, when a little chap climbed up to -the box-seat. He looked six or eight years old. I supposed he was the -youngest brother of the driver, who had not yet appeared. His toes, by -stretching, just touched the dash-board. The child was so very young -that we thought of asking him to take part of a spare seat inside if -he wished to ride to the next station. We waited five minutes for the -driver, when, what was our amazement, to see the reins handed up to -the mite! He took them in his baby-hand like an old coachman. Then he -prattled something in Norwegian. In reply he received a whip-stock with -about three inches of lash. He looked at it scornfully, and flourished -it in the air to show that it would not “crack.” The poor little fellow -wanted a real whip, with a thong about ten feet long, which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> could -snap as he passed every house, like his father and his grandfather, who -were somewhere on the road that same day. But the station-master had no -better whip, or was unwilling to trust the child with one. He ordered -the carriage on. I saw a tear steal down the cheek of Toddlekins, and -heard an infantile sob, but he suddenly checked himself and made a -scarcely audible noise with his lips, and the horses, hearing that -signal to go, flew down the road. I stood erect for a while, ready to -jump to the box-seat and seize the reins; but in a very few moments -both the mite and the horses had my entire confidence.</p> - -<p>The animals knew every inch of the road, and were perfectly trained. -They went fast or slow in the right places, and they turned aside -enough for every passing cariole or <i>stolkjærre</i> (cart with seats for -two). Perhaps the horses should have all the credit for that highly -satisfactory drive. But we preferred to think that we owed our safety -and pleasure to the baby <i>kudsk</i>. At the foot of every hill he would -jump to the ground—I always felt like lifting him down—and, while the -ponies were struggling up, he would, in the gravest and most knowing -manner, inspect the state of the harness and the wheels, and be sure -that everything was right and tight. He was a model coachman, seen -through the wrong end of a telescope. When he had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>clambered up to his -seat again and all was going well, he would look in a distressed manner -at that mockery of a whip; he would repeat the motion of cracking it, -and when the miserable apology for a lash would not make the slightest -noise, his lip would quiver and he could hardly hold in his tears. We -were sorry that we had no candy to give him at the end of the ride, but -made up for it in small coin. If he had been a shade cleaner, I might -have kissed him for his mother, at parting.</p> - -<p>At this second station, Holmedal, we commanded a view of the -Hols-Fiord, a branch of the larger Tyri-Fiord. It is a ribbon of fresh -water winding between crags and wooded slopes and would pass for a lake -in any other country but Norway. It has no direct connection with the -salt-water, violating my preconceived notion of a fiord, which I had -always supposed to be a true arm of the sea, thrust far up into the -land like the fiord of Christiania, at the head of which stands the -beautiful city of that name. But one soon comes to learn that the same -sheet of water is called a fiord or a lake according to the caprice -of writers about Norway, who are at swords’ points on all subjects. -Lake George (New York), or the Italian Lake Como, would pass for a -fiord in Norway. But, aside from questions of nomenclature, there is -no disputing the loveliness of Hols-Fiord or of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>nobler Tyri. We -looked down upon a mirror, which perfectly reflected the green hills -and the beetling rocks that composed its frame. There was not wind -enough for sailing, and the surface of the fiord was unvexed save by -a few fishermen’s boats lazily rowed through the smooth water. The -original lotos-eaters, stretched along the ground covered with dry-pine -needles in the rear of the house, would have been loath to quit the -idyllic scene. Nothing less imperative than a luncheon would have -called us away from it. We would have been more grateful for the savory -stew of mutton served at that meal, had we known that we were soon to -be put on short rations of meat. The one article of food that never -fails is the egg. The trout are left to flash their speckled sides in -the brook, instead of gracing the table. And by the road-side, millions -of bushels of delicious strawberries rot unregarded! All the women -and girls are busy in the house, and all the men and boys are guiding -and driving the mob of tourists. Thus the hen—which can scratch for -her living, and needs to be watched only for her eggs laid in the -neighboring barn—becomes the unfailing reliance.</p> - -<p>At the Holmedal station, a man who was resting there, on his way to -Christiania, recognized the carriage as his own. Bennett had hired it -of him, and sublet it to me. The owner learned from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> me that I had -agreed to send it back from Odnæs to Christiania, by rail or steamboat, -at my own expense; whereupon occurred to him the brilliant idea of -getting me to sell it for him for his standing price of four hundred -kroner (about one hundred and twelve dollars). I thought he was joking, -and dismissed his proposition with a laugh. While we were lunching, -the man resumed his journey. On re-entering the carriage, I found -upon the seat a paper written in Norwegian, and signed by a name and -address. It proved to be a document authorizing the bearer (myself) -to sell the carriage at Odnæs for four hundred kroner. Nothing was -said about paying the money to the signer; that was taken for granted. -I was interested in gratifying his wishes, to the extent of fifteen -kroner—that being the freight-charge on the carriage from Odnæs back -to Christiania. I tried to make the sale, but without success. Such -instances of confidence in perfect strangers are, it is said, not rare -in Norway.</p> - -<p class="space-above">A boy about ten years old here took the reins. He was so much larger -and maturer than the preceding youngster, that he looked a man in -contrast. He had a whip with a long lash, which he cracked continually, -till I was impelled to check his exuberance of spirits. He also had the -fault—which it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> seems impossible to correct in the Norwegian <i>kudsk</i>, -old or young—of urging the horses down-hill at a headlong gait. They -all seem to think that this must give the greatest possible pleasure to -the riders. It is, indeed, agreeably exciting at times, when the road -is free of stones and sunken places. But we were journeying along the -side of the Tyri-Fiord at a good height above it, and did not want our -attention distracted from its calm, sunny bosom. In the post-luncheon -mood, we would fain have rested half an hour each at some of the -points. But, as this would have delayed the arrival at Hönefos till an -unseasonable evening hour, we took in the scene on the wing. At one -elevation we seemed to survey the whole expanse of the Tyri-Fiord. It -was apparently landlocked. Not till one examines a map does he discover -that a long strip of water—Drammenselv—links it to Drammens-Fiord, -which in turn leads up to the Christiania-Fiord. And this is the only -tenure by which the Tyri holds the title that is so misleading to -travelers. But, whatever its classification in geography, it is one of -the most picturesque pieces of water in Europe.</p> - -<p>The tourist’s principal motive in visiting Hönefos is to see the -waterfalls. He wants those falls “neat,” as one may say—that is, -unmixed with baser things. If he could realize in advance the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> number -of saw-mills for which these falls supply the power, he would probably -stay away from Hönefos. His idea of a fall is of a body of water which -has nothing to do but tumble gracefully over rocks with a tremendous -roar and a following cloud of spray. If he is an American, and has -seen Niagara, he is sure to be very exacting in his requirement for -waterfalls. When such a man first beholds the cascades of Hönefos, -his feeling is one of disappointment. The saw-mills stand so thick as -to cut off the view of the foaming, white water at many points. The -bubbles that are borne toward him by the raging current are flecked -with the fine dust of wood. With the roar of the water is mingled the -sound of buzz-saws.</p> - -<p>But one soon adjusts himself to the conditions of the scene. The falls -are so attractive that, when he has studied them a little while, he -ceases to note the planks, the boards, the shingles, which are piled up -on the banks of the Bægna River, and the dust that whirls past him on -all the surface of the water, and he no longer hears the saws as the -teeth eat their way through the hard Norwegian pine-logs. By shading -his eyes with his hand, he can shut out the mills which occupy the -middle distance, and imagine himself in the presence of Nature before -man had harnessed her up for his use. And when he inspects the branches -or side-issues <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>of the cataract, he finds some as untamed and free as -any mountain-brook. In these he sees the natural fall of the waters -over rocks of their own choosing, uncontrolled by dams and sluices. The -Bægna is about an eighth of a mile wide at the place where it takes a -sheer plunge of thirty feet, and then races away in rapids. The best -view may be had in safety from a bridge immediately below the falls.</p> - -<p>The village of Hönefos is compact and businesslike. But there is a -Garden of Eden at the north end of it. This is situated at a bend of -the river, where one can see the falls in the distance and hear their -deep roar free from the under-tone of the saw-mills. By a wise choice, -Glatved’s Hotel has been placed there, and the tired wayfarer knows not -which to praise the more, the quiet comfort of the well-kept inn or the -restful charm of the lovely grounds in which it stands. They are laid -out in walks, lined with flowers and fruit- and foliage-trees. In shady -spots stand little tables and rustic chairs for the use of those who -like to eat or drink <i>al fresco</i>. But that sort of thing, though very -romantic, is quite out of the question at nightfall, with the mercury -down to 55° Fahr. So we took our first meal at Glatved’s in the pretty -dining-room, and a very good supper it was. I distinctly remember the -crisp trout, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> broiled chicken, the snowy bread, and a dish of -huckleberries with cream. There were few guests at that season of the -year, English for the most part, friendly and affable to us Americans. -Our sleeping-room was large and clean, and opened on a broad balcony -facing the river. There in the morning was served a capital breakfast. -The sun shone brightly. The distant falls sparkled. The roar of the -water was a musical bass. Birds flew among the trees and butterflies -hovered over the flowers. If all things were steeped in rose-color, who -can say how much of it was owing to the strong, fragrant coffee, with -whipped cream, the dainty lamb-chops, the fried potato-shavings, the -<i>omelette au confiture</i> with its purple heart of raspberry-jam?</p> - -<p class="space-above">We had hoped to be favored with a girl instead of a boy as driver to -the next station on the route—Heen. After our experience the day -before, we felt that anybody who could sit on the box-seat and hold the -reins could manage trained ponies in use on Norwegian roads. A girl -could safely be trusted with them. But to our great disappointment, a -lout of a boy climbed up in front, and off we started for Heen—with -the injunction (from the young woman who settled our bill and saw us -off) ringing in our ears—“Stop at the Captain’s!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> - -<p>The road to Heen was sandy and hilly most of the way. There were more -dashing falls at Höfsfos. And we found, in the depths of a pinewood, -stunted bushes with just such blueberries on them as the people of -distant New Hampshire and Vermont were doubtless picking that very day. -It is one of the pleasantest incidents of foreign travel to come across -wild flowers and fruits identical with those of America.</p> - -<p>The Captain’s at Heen is the only name given to the roomy house -belonging to the commander of the steamboat that plies between that -place and Sörum on Lake Spirellen. We reached it about 1 <span class="smaller">P. -M.</span>, at the moment dinner was going on the Captain’s hospitable -table. As our carriage was destined to accompany us up the lake, that -was the end of the land-ride for the present, and we were glad of it. -The Captain greeted us as we alighted. He is a square-shouldered, -resolute man, who speaks English well. Instead of ordering some one -else to do the work, he put the carriage with his own hands on board -the steamboat, which was then lying at her wharf close by and ready to -leave. The Captain’s dinner was a good one, as ten or twelve persons -who sat about the board all agreed. Soup, fresh eggs, two kinds of -meat, pudding, strawberries, cheese, coffee, and wine and beer for -those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> ordered them, satisfied every rational expectation.</p> - -<p>We all boarded the little craft in a contented frame of mind. The day -was cloudy, but not damp or cold. Our course, for several English -miles, was up the Bægna River, in the teeth of a tremendous current. -At times it ran like a mill-race. The boat could make headway in some -places only by closely hugging the shore. Occasionally we would see -logs, that had slipped their moorings in the lake beyond, coming down -the middle of the stream with frightful velocity and threatening to -punch holes in the bow. The steersman smoked his pipe as calmly as if -sitting by his own hearth. If any log ever touched the hull, it glanced -off harmless. There were moments when the boat refused to mind the -helm. Then the Captain, who stood hard by—pipe in mouth also—would -put his great hairy hands on the spokes, and she minded quickly then. -Presently we entered upon that expansion of the river known as Lake -Spirellen. It is the Tyri-Fiord over again—in its alternately tame and -wild environments—but the current still ridges itself in the center of -the lake, and only near its shores can the boat make six or eight knots -an hour. No landings are attempted, but passengers and freight are -taken off or put on by flat-bottomed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> barges, which require powerful -rowers to hold them against the stream. We killed time watching these -struggling craft, or gazing through the crystal water down to the -grassy bottom, which our keel almost scraped.</p> - -<p>It was nearly dark when we landed at Sörum and the boat tied up for -the night. We all hurried ashore, to try our luck at a new hotel -whose unpainted sides showed a beautiful wood-color against the dark -background of hills. There was in its newness a promise of clean beds, -and wholesome, if homely, fare. The beds proved to be good, and the -fare was undoubtedly satisfactory to persons, if any, who happen to -prefer hard-boiled eggs to meat. For it was the five-minute egg that -formed the staple of supper and again of breakfast. The eggs were -always brought on in heaping platefuls wrapped up in hot napkins and -deceiving the eye with the promise of something better than themselves, -till the cloth was removed by a waitress, disclosing the standard -food of the smaller inns of Eastern Norway. But the bread, butter, -and cheese were very good, and there was a choice of tea, coffee, and -chocolate. What the Sörum hotel lacked, even more than meat, was modern -improvements. It is the want of these that makes the traveler, who has -outlived his passion for roughing it, think at least twice before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> he -makes up his mind to enter upon an extended tour of the interior of the -country. The most primitive New England farm-house of twenty-five years -ago was better off in these respects than any Norwegian hotel we have -seen outside of Christiania.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The third day of the excursion was the one to which we had looked -forward with the greatest pleasure; for the route from Sörum to Odnæs -was said to traverse some of the finest scenery in Eastern Norway. -We were promised a succession of high mountains, some snow-clad, -waterfalls leaping down precipices, and valleys unsurpassed in -loveliness stretching between the frowning heights. Throw in a lavish -supply of lakes and rivers, with Rands-Fiord as the goal, and you have -the seductive features of the journey as we had fondly dreamed of it.</p> - -<p>But the day opened with lowering weather. The air was full of moisture. -It seemed like a sponge just waiting to be squeezed a little to give -down rain. There was a good twelve hours’ ride before us to Odnæs. So I -determined to be off early. Everybody else at the hotel who was bound -in the same direction was equally anxious to get away. Breakfast was -ordered for us at half-past six, and, even before I had attacked my -ration of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> hard-boiled eggs, I interviewed the head-hostler upon the -subject of horses for the carriage, which had been drawn up before the -hotel during the night. He was a Norwegian who did not speak a word -of English; and, if he had spoken it as well as myself, we could not -have conversed at any length, he was so beset by people all wanting -their carriages and horses immediately. Thus far in our progress from -Christiania I had not had occasion to test the persuasive power of the -krone. The humble öre had been good enough for the trivial exigencies -that had hitherto arisen. Taking care not to be observed by others, -I held up one of the enticing bits of paper so that the head-hostler -could see it. Then I said “Odnæs,” and displayed seven fingers.</p> - -<p>Sure enough, at 7 <span class="smaller">A. M.</span>, sharp, there was the carriage with -two fine ponies attached, and a bright-looking lad in the seat, waiting -at the door of the hotel for me. Other persons, who had previously -ordered their carioles or <i>stolkjœrres</i>, looked on in amazement. They -had been coaxing and scolding the poor man, but had evidently not -thought of my simple expedient to secure his attention.</p> - -<p>We set out in fine style, with much cracking of the whip, all for -effect, however, as Norwegian horses need only a hint—which sounds -like uncorking a bottle, and is made by the lips of the driver—in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span>order to display their speed. They stop with equal readiness in -response to a buzzing sound emitted between his teeth. The road -was good, and that was fortunate, for we went at a frightful pace -over every short level stretch, and just the same down-hill. Some -of the hills slope at an angle of forty-five degrees. But this made -no difference. The horses dashed down one with a speed that did not -slacken till they had proceeded some distance up the next hill. They -would climb this at a fast walk, and at the top would be fresh and -ready for another plunge. After we had taken several of these dives and -come up safe and sound, the sensation of anxiety about consequences -wore off, and we enjoyed the delirious rush. They recalled the -excitement of tobogganing and swinging. But they did not permit that -survey of the scenery which one ought to take leisurely in Norway. -Whether we went fast or slow mattered but little that day, however, for -the rain soon began to fall in torrents. It was a steady down-pour, -which taxed our utmost resources in leather aprons, waterproofs, -shawls, and umbrellas. We were obliged to close the sides of the -carriage with oil-skins which had been provided by the ever-thoughtful -Bennett. Thus almost hermetically sealed up, we missed the charms of -the landscape, save when, at rare intervals, we would make a little -chink through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> the folds of the envelopes and catch tantalizing -glimpses of it. The driver—poor boy—must have been soaked through -his heavy top-coat to the skin. He urged his horses at their topmost -speed, to gain the station where some other luckless fellow must take -his place. We reached it in about three hours, and found it full of -travelers, rained in. Bed and board there were out of the question, in -the crowded condition of the station, and our only recourse was to go -ahead.</p> - -<p>Here the omnipotent kroner again came into play with immense effect. -The exhibition of a few of them procured an immediate change of horses, -and no less a person than the station-master himself occupied the post -of driver. A full-grown man was very acceptable for that function in -such weather. Small boys and girls were no more to be thought of. -The station-master made himself as nearly waterproof as possible; -and I hope was none the worse for his exposure to the storm, which -continued unabated all the way to a certain Sanitarium at which we -had been advised to stop for luncheon, instead of going on to the -regular station for that meal. Never was advice better given, or more -obediently followed. We found the Sanitarium a large, first-class -house. It would be a haven of rest, even in the finest weather, after -three hours of furious driving. As a refuge from the pitiless storm, -it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> welcome and delightful beyond description. Luckily, we did -not want a room, for the house was packed full of summer boarders, -who were said to be drinking or bathing in the mineral waters which -are the chief attractions of the place. In whatever way they took the -waters, they were undoubtedly deriving benefit from them; for when we -sat down to dinner with about one hundred and fifty of the convalescent -patients, we never saw such a display of ravenous appetites. The bill -of fare was long. The waiters were nimble and attentive. The dishes -were gigantic platters, heaped up with food and passed with the utmost -dispatch down the long lines of hungry guests. As fast as these mighty -trays were cleared of their burdens, others equally large and laden -with steaming meats or vegetables would come to the rescue. A sturdy -corps of white-aproned carvers, at an adjoining table, could be heard -slashing away at the hot joints, trying to keep pace with the jaws of -the patients, and were at last successful, however difficult their task.</p> - -<p>It would not have been thought possible, but is a fact that, in the -final stage of the repast, plenty of fruit was passed around and -no takers. But then it must be explained that pudding, ice-cream, -cakes, and a most toothsome dish, which I will now briefly describe -from the best information<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> procurable, had already made the circuit -for all who wanted them. This novel delicacy, without an English -name, is prepared as follows: A thin gruel is made of rice-flour, -or farina will do. Into this, while boiling hot, a mixture of -jellies is introduced—the greater the variety the better. Currant, -raspberry, strawberry—whatever the good housewife finds on her -pantry-shelves—are all dumped in together and vigorously stirred. The -artful compounder studies how to blend the natural flavors of these -jellies so that no one shall be in the ascendant. When the operation -is an entire success, the eaters should not be able to distinguish any -particular berry in the compost, but should enjoy a gustatory effect -in which each of the jellies is lost, only to reappear improved in a -new and delicious combination that defies analysis on the palate. It is -eaten, hot or cold, with or without cream and sugar.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXII.</span> <span class="smaller">OMNIPOTENT KRONER—THE FAMILY PARLOR AT ODNÆS—RANDS AND CHRISTIANIA FIORDS.</span></h2> - -<p>At the Sanitarium we scraped acquaintance with one of the ever-friendly -English race. When he learned that we were bound to Odnæs that -afternoon through the rain, which was still pouring, he expressed -his sympathy. For he explained that it was impossible to get any -accommodations at the only hotel there. He and a party of friends had -been turned away from that house the night before, and had come on in -the dark to the Sanitarium, where they were fortunate in securing the -billiard-table—the only sleeping-place (except the floors) not then -engaged.</p> - -<p>As there was no prospect of a relief from the pressure at any place -on the road while the severe storm lasted, we were in a quandary. But -I had unfailing faith in the power of kroner, and decided to go on. -We could not be worse off at Odnæs than at the Sanitarium, and, when -there, would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> so much farther on the way to Christiania and the home -comforts of the Victoria Hotel.</p> - -<p>If the day had been fine, the view from this watering-place in the -hills would have been magnificent. It takes in a marvelous combination -of peaks, table-lands, valley, lakes, and rivers. But none of these -objects were visible through the rain; and, after many abortive efforts -to catch glimpses of grandeur and loveliness which we had come so far -to see, we shut ourselves up in the carriage as tightly as possible, -and tried in vain to sleep.</p> - -<p>The road to Odnæs was down-hill most of the way, and the drivers, whom -we changed twice, made good time. After five hours of imprisonment in -the carriage, relieved only by alighting at two little stations while -fresh horses were put to the pole, we reached Odnæs. The moment we -came in view of the hotel I realized how hopeless was the expectation -of obtaining any bed there. Six or eight vehicles of different kinds -were drawn up in front of the door. Others were squeezed into the small -sheds near the large stables, the stalls of which had long been filled -with horses, the later comers being tied to trees near the house. -But the most convincing evidence of an overflow was the human crowd -on the balcony, in the doorways and windows. Every pane of glass had -its peering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> face. There were rows of people standing on tip-toe and -looking over one another’s heads at us as our driver brought round -the carriage as near the front door as he could get. The countless -lookers-on smiled sarcastically as they saw us about to alight. That -unanimous grin suddenly decided my line of action.</p> - -<p>The head-porter of the hotel presented himself at the door of the -carriage. He had good manners, and spoke a little English. He deeply -regretted that they could not give us anything better than a place on -the floor, without bedclothes of any kind.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” said I, pointing to a neat little house—the only one in -sight—“perhaps they can take us in.”</p> - -<p>“Varee soree, sir, but they been all full two day.”</p> - -<p>In this serious emergency, I must test the virtue of kroner. I handed -one to the head-porter, and promised him three more if he would secure -a bed for us in that cottage.</p> - -<p>“I vill try, sir,” he replied, with a slight shrug of the shoulders; -but he spoke as one not without hope.</p> - -<p>Jumping to the front seat by the side of the driver, he ordered the -carriage on to the other house. We pulled up before it, and waited -there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> in the rain while the head-porter went inside to interview the -proprietor.</p> - -<p>We knew from the exterior of the dwelling that it was private, and that -lodging and board were provided by the occupants only as a favor to -those who could not possibly be accommodated at the hotel.</p> - -<p>In about five minutes, that seemed equal to fifteen—so acute was our -suspense—the good fellow returned beaming with smiles, and followed by -a man who looked a welcome which he could not speak.</p> - -<p>The head-porter wore an air of mystery as he thrust his head into the -carriage and said, in a low voice: “You vill have de best room—de -parlor. Dey vill make you much attention. Don’t say noting.”</p> - -<p>“Mum’s the word,” said I, not understanding the object of the last -remark, and not caring to ask. It was evident, from the manner of the -master of the house, that, during the last five minutes, he had been in -some way powerfully impressed with a sense of our importance; and, in -consequence, had consented to give up his parlor, which he had refused -to all previous comers. I appreciated the courtesy, knowing from books -how sacred in the eyes of all these northern races is the parlor—or -best room—of the house. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span></p> - -<p>The promised reward was slipped into the hand of the diplomatic -head-porter. He smiled his thanks.</p> - -<p>“You vill please be so goot to step out,” he then said, taking his hat -off in the rain to mark his profound respect for us.</p> - -<p>We observed that this act had its effect on the man who stood looking -down from the piazza, for he bowed in sympathy.</p> - -<p>I do not to this day know by what highly colored representations the -extraordinary privilege was obtained. I only know that, as if by magic, -the prohibition was removed from this almost holy room, and two single -beds—which probably were in use elsewhere by members of the family at -the time of our arrival—were brought in. The proprietor, his wife, -and three bright little girls all lent ready hands to transforming -the parlor into a comfortable sleeping-room. As not one of them could -speak any English, they only looked at us deferentially. In their eyes -we were persons of great distinction—thanks, no doubt, to the lively -imagination of our good friend from the Odnæs Hotel.</p> - -<p>The parlor had a neat, home-woven carpet—a rare decoration in -Norwegian houses—an excess of new furniture in mahogany and -horse-hair, brightly figured window-curtains, and family <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span>photographs -hung on the papered walls. Having arrived late, we were anxious to sup -at once, and the head-porter had told them to hurry up. But they were -desirous to show their respect in preparing a supper of unimpeachable -excellence. We were, therefore, kept waiting and hungry for about -an hour; and, during this interval, the pleasant landlady and her -daughters frequently knocked at the door, and, upon being admitted, -would courtesy, and proceed to bring in more towels, or water, or -drinking-glasses, or something else supposed to be conducive to our -comfort. Among the other offerings was a vase of flowers.</p> - -<p>The supper would have been very good for persons who could not have too -many hard-boiled eggs at once. They were the principal dish, and in -the abundance of their supply we recognized a marked compliment. For -ordinary persons probably not more than four eggs apiece would have -been served. There were about two dozen in the bowl before us, covered -by a steaming napkin to keep them warm. The only meat was ham unboiled -and thin slices of sausage, which did not commend themselves to -conservative palates. But berries and cream, the bread and butter, and, -above all, the cheese were highly relished, and the only fault with the -tea was what one finds everywhere—its weakness. We were waited on by -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> little girls, looking nice with their hair done up in ribbons, and -long, snow-white aprons strapped about their shoulders. They watched -us with great curiosity, and occasionally compared notes in whispers. -Their manner indicated that they were overawed.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile our presence in the house had caused no small stir among -other guests, who filled every available nook and corner. It may well -have surprised them to see the spacious apartment, which they had all -longed to occupy at any price, finally given up to two persons, when, -with close packing, it might have sufficed for a stag-party of ten. -We were much stared at whenever we entered and left the room; and two -Englishmen, after eying me closely awhile, tried to draw me into a -conversation about myself; but I recalled the mysterious injunction, -“Don’t say noting!” and stood on my dignity. If there was any illusion -of which we were reaping the advantage—if, for example, we had been -represented by the romancing head-porter as a princely couple traveling -<i>incognito</i>—it was not for me to assist in dispelling it.</p> - -<p class="space-above">After a good night’s rest, we sat down to more hard-boiled eggs about -six o’clock in the morning. We breakfasted thus early in order to take -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> steamer down the Rands-Fiord to the point of rail connection with -Christiania. The rain had ceased, the air was temperate, and we could -see all around us signs of the approaching departure of guests so long -weather-bound at Odnæs. Most of them were going on to Sörum, over the -road we had traveled the day before. Only two or three persons from the -hotel—and none from the little cottage—were destined for the steamer.</p> - -<p>The bill for our accommodation was presented, and proved to be -reasonable. If we had unconsciously been posing as high and mighty -personages, we were not unduly charged for it. When the family -assembled on the piazza to see us off, their manners showed how much -they appreciated the honor we had done them. May they never be made -victims of a less innocent imposition! If, to keep up the character -thrust upon me, I tipped a trifle to the daughters of the house, I hope -to be pardoned for that much complicity in the fraud.</p> - -<p>Our guide-book said that the Rands-Fiord was only six and a half -miles long, and we had thoughtlessly supposed the miles in question -to be English. But, to be sure of it, when we got on board I asked -the captain (who spoke English fairly) what time the boat was due at -the railway-station down the fiord. Looking at his watch—which then -marked seven o’clock—he replied, “At half-past one.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> “What!” said -I, in amazement, “six hours and a half for as many miles?” “Yes,” he -answered, laughing, “Norwegian miles!” One of these equals seven of -English measure.</p> - -<p>There was some little delay in putting the carriage—the trusty -companion of our travels—on board. It had been hauled down from the -house where we passed the night, and hoisted to the upper deck of -the baby-steamer, out of the way. This done, we began the passage of -the Rands-Fiord, and found it pleasantly unexciting. It is almost a -duplicate of Lake Spirellen, save that the water has less of a current, -and the surrounding mountains are tamer. There is no apparent reason -why the one sheet of water is called a lake and the other a fiord. -They are both expansions of rivers, like the Tyri-Fiord heretofore -described, and in no sense inlets of the sea, though they may empty -into it by long and winding streams. We stopped many times on the trip -to take on or let off passengers. With only a few exceptions, the -transfer, as on Lake Spirellen, was made rapidly by small boats, which -put off for the shore as we approached a landing-place, and did the -business of shipping or unloading passengers and freight with neatness -and dispatch. These transfers, often as they occurred, were in the -nature of “incidents” of the voyage, and every person on board watched -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> operation for the twentieth time with unabated interest.</p> - -<p>The great event of the day was a dinner served at 1 <span class="smaller">P. M.</span> in -the small cabin below deck. It was a solid meal, with varieties of -meat, which we were glad to taste again after our short deprivation of -fresh beef and mutton. Just before we reached our destination at the -end of the fiord, the sun shone out with a splendor that rejoiced all -hearts. It made the little dancing waves of the Rands-Fiord sparkle, -and threw a warm flush over the dark hills on either hand. As we looked -back on the water which had been traversed, it recalled the Tappan-Zee -of the noble Hudson River as seen from Piermont.</p> - -<p>At the Rands-Fiord station we took rail—the carriage following by -the goods-train—for Christiania. This part of the route, though one -from which the traveler expects the least, is no less interesting than -the rides by carriage or steamer. The train passes through one of the -loveliest districts of Eastern Norway. The line skirts the west shore -of the Tyri-Fiord, affording glimpses of blue mountains not seen on -our journey along the east shore. It passes through the old towns of -Hangsund and Drammen, enabling the tourist to see occasionally from -the car-windows houses and costumes slightly different from those he -finds in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> more modern and conventional Christiania. And then, with -a mighty curve, the train follows the trend of the magnificent and -properly named fiord upon which Christiania stands. The views here are -very fine. From the height above the water one can look down on the -calm expanse dotted with little islands, each one green with its patch -of woodland, or brown with its ripe rye and barley. The sails of the -pleasure-yachts and fishing-smacks gleam against the dark bosom of the -fiord; and at intervals of a few miles along the shore are towns or -villages where white houses shine from afar—proofs positive of the -industry and thrift of the Scandinavian race. One may travel thousands -of miles west and east, north and south in Norway and never behold a -fairer scene than that which made everybody on the train thrust head -out of window and gaze at it until a range of low coast-hills shut it -from view.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE GOTHENBURG WHALE—THREE KINGS IN A BUNCH—NORTHERN OUT-DOOR LIFE—A -STUDY OF WINDMILLS.</span></h2> - -<p>Let me tell my readers something about the pursuit of a whale under -difficulties. At Gothenburg, Sweden, I learned that a stuffed whale, -sixty feet long, could be seen in a museum of that city. Objects said -to be whales in the act of spouting are often pointed out to one at -sea. But they are usually miles away. They throw up jets which look in -the distance like little puffs of steam or exploding beer-bottles. I -always assented to the existence of those whales, to avoid controversy, -but reserved my doubts. Here, at last, was promised on the dry land -what had never really been seen by me on the ocean. So I lost no time -in seeking out the museum. Entering it, I steered at once for the fish -department. A single glance up and down the long room convinced me that -there was not even a baby-whale among its skinny and foul-smelling -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span>treasures. An old woman, with a large brass plate—numbered—hanging -round her neck, was the only other living occupant of the room. She -was the custodian. I said, “Speak English?” She only shook her head. -As I could not speak Swedish, I tried pantomime, which goes a great -way in strange countries. First I looked round in astonishment, as if -missing something that ought to be there; then stretched both hands -as high and wide as possible, to imply that the thing wanting was of -immense size; finally, made a noise like the fizz of champagne, and -jerked both thumbs into the air. I flattered myself that all that meant -a whale, if anything. But the old woman’s face remained a wrinkled -blank. She did not “catch on.” A happy thought! I opened out both -arms like a pair of jaws big enough to take in Jonah. She exclaimed, -“Yaw!” with much energy, and took me to a corner of the room and left -me in front of—an alligator, with a very open countenance. Still -keeping my temper—though under extreme provocation—I made a fierce -wiggle-waggle motion with both hands to represent a big fish that -thrashes about a good deal with his flat tail. This time there could be -no doubt that she understood me, for she, piloted me into a side-show, -where I brought up before—a shark. That was too much for my patience. -Forgetting that the poor woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> could not speak a word of English, I -cried out: “How stupid! Why don’t you show me the whale?” You should -have heard her yell: “Oh, yaw, yaw! der vale, der vale!” Thus near was -the Swedish word to the English one all the time I was wasting my best -pantomime on her. In two minutes more I had descended a long corkscrew -flight of stairs at the heels of the aged guide, and there, in a cool -basement, found the monster upon the ownership of which Gothenburg is -entitled to put on airs, for it is claimed to be the largest whale -ever skinned and mounted. It is all of sixty feet long, and so thick -in proportion, that twenty Jonahs could sit around inside quite -comfortably. In fact, its interior is fitted up with seats, and may be -hired by small parties who take a fancy to eating and drinking in a -whale’s belly. Alongside of the skin is the skeleton, also an object of -great interest, looking like the frame of a schooner bottom-side up.</p> - -<p class="space-above">It is not often that the tourist has a chance to see three kings in a -bunch. At Copenhagen we were just in time to witness the entry of the -King of Portugal. He came to pay a little visit to the King of Denmark, -one of whose sons, the King of Greece, was then spending a few days -at the old home. I hope it is not very unrepublican to say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> that if I -must look on kings I prefer that they should “act as such,” and always -be wearing their crowns and robes, and holding scepters in their hands -like pokers. If they would ride on horseback, or in golden chariots, so -much the better. These three kings sat in open barouches, like other -people; and they had left their robes and crowns and scepters at home. -But they were good enough to put on gorgeous cocked hats with fountains -of white feathers, and coats plastered all over with gold which served -as a background for decorations blazing with diamonds. It was not for -me—as the stern and unbending representative of a republic—to scowl -upon all those lovely gewgaws and that beautiful man-millinery. They -seemed appropriate enough for an occasion of show. The philosopher -accepts them gratefully, like any other free entertainment. Probably -the three kings were bored by it more than any of the spectators. The -King of Portugal is a middle-aged, stout gentleman with an expression -of face amiable as far as it could be seen under a weeping-willow of -plumes. To be born good-looking is a great initial advantage. Perhaps -that is why the young King of Greece received so large a share of the -applause. The reception was planned for the royal stranger. But the -people of Copenhagen take a lively personal interest in their own -dynasty. They follow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> its fortunes in all parts of the world, and, when -any of its members return for a visit, they never fail to testify their -pleasure. If King Christian of Denmark needed the indulgence of his -people to any great extent, much would be pardoned to him because he -is the father of so many good-looking children who have got on in the -world.</p> - -<p>These lucky children reciprocate the popular feeling at Copenhagen, -and come back from their distant thrones at least once a year. Then -there is a regular house-warming. The husbands and the wives and the -babies are all on hand. The court photographer is called in, and -pictures of the party are taken in a variety of combinations and -attitudes. A favorite group is one in which the Tsar of Russia—the -big brother-in-law—occupies the central position. He is a tall, -bluff-looking man, with a laughing face. In a Derby hat and a -shooting-jacket he would pass for a young English squire, without a -care in the world. He holds by the hand—with a tight grip, one would -say—the gentle Dagmar who shares his fate. By her side is one who -looks almost like her twin-sister—the Princess of Wales—and the -Prince himself is within touch. The tallest and best looking of all -the men is the King of Greece, and his queen nestles up to him very -fondly in the pictures. The Crown-Prince of Denmark is also there, -doing credit to the family.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> His wife, a princess of Sweden, with -other desirable qualities, is rich in her own right—a fact of which -the thrifty Danes remind you with pride. The youngest, Princess Thyra -and her husband, the Duke of Cumberland, with the unmarried son of -the King, make up the second generation of this great family party. -The first consists of the parents—the still comely Christian and his -wife—and the third generation is a mass of babies that I have never -stopped to count. They swarm all over the steps of the palace where -these pictures are taken. Some one of them is always wriggling about, -just enough to blur the photograph at that point.</p> - -<p class="space-above">There is something pathetic in the way that the people of Copenhagen, -Gothenburg, Christiania, and other northern cities make the most of -their short summer. Flowers are very precious to them, since they can -have them for so few months out-of-doors. We found every available -foot of front garden brilliant with blossoms—the reddest and -yellowest preferred. Every window in every house had its box of pinks, -nasturtiums, marigolds, heliotropes, and mignonettes. For the time -being the natives make believe that they are living in the tropics. -They play with sun-shades and awnings as if they really needed them. -They imitate the custom of Italy, and take their meals in the open air, -as if it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> were not generally cool and uncomfortable there. I never saw -an illusion better maintained. But I noticed that many, who carried -the self-deception too far, paid for it in coughs and sneezes. It was -not till we descended to the latitude of Hamburg, that we found it -an unalloyed pleasure to sit under the trees in the edge of evening -and dine. The good Hamburgers know how to live. They have established -a first-class zoölogical garden in a shady wood, near the center of -their city. They have stocked this garden with the most ferocious -and delightful wild beasts, securely caged. They have organized a -restaurant and <i>café</i> of an incredible feeding capacity. They have -provided chairs for everybody. They have hired the best military band -in Hamburg and bade it play every day free of cost to all comers.</p> - -<p>We went out there to dinner one afternoon—between five and six -o’clock—and saw a sight not yet so familiar that it has ceased to be -deeply interesting. There were thousands of women and young girls, -neatly dressed, sitting at little tables sipping their coffee or beer -and nibbling their pretzels, and knitting or sewing “between whiles.” -Every one was talking or laughing. Between and under and over the -tables, and constantly on the move, were the happiest of children, in -numbers past counting. It was evident that this was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> children’s -hour, and that they, with all their mothers and nurses, were having a -good time. In the midst of the joyous tumult would be heard the bark of -the seal, the roar of the lion, the squall of the peacock. Presently -the men began to collect and to occupy seats not hitherto taken. -Corks popped out of bottles and incense ascended from the deep bowls -of pipes. The fathers had come to join their babies. Not a policeman -was in sight, and there was no need of one. The only turbulent and -dangerous creatures anywhere around were the wild beasts, and they -were behind the bars. The music was exceedingly good—as it always is -in Germany—and it was pleasant to watch the vast audience drinking in -the sweet sounds with ecstasy and beating time with knitting-needles, -pipes, beer-mugs, and everything else handy. But in some of the most -delicate passages of favorite compositions, when the conductor was -doing his best to quiet down the band, funny effects would be produced -by the growls of the bears, which somebody was stirring up with a long -pole.</p> - -<p>Before quitting the colder lands of the North, let me not fail to -mention the warm, luxuriant—almost tropical—tastes of her sculptors. -After leaving Rome and Florence, one never sees as many marble Venuses, -Cupids, Adonises, and Apollos as in the capitals of Sweden, Norway, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> Denmark. They are all new, and sparkle like loaf-sugar. At first, -I thought they were copies of great originals in the Italian galleries. -But they proved to be native conceptions of the old myths, wrought out -with the patient art—if not the skill—of the true Greek. It would -take double windows and red-hot stoves to make those gods and goddesses -look comfortable in-doors in a Norwegian January. The costume of Eden -is even less adapted to the temperature of the front yard. Imagine -Venus in a snow-drift!</p> - -<p class="space-above">Coming by boat from Korsör, Denmark, to Kiel, Prussia, the passengers -on our steamboat had the pleasure of reviewing a division of the German -ironclad fleet. Attention was first caught by the rapid discharge of -cannon from a man-of-war in the offing. We could see her balls strike -the water. At the same time she was tacking to all points of the -compass and making signals. We next came in sight of a torpedo-fleet. -Each boat had a little smoke-stack, and hugged the water like a spider. -With the most powerful glass the details of this fleet could not be -made out at a distance of four or five miles. Then we passed two or -three great black hulks, with a double row of teeth all round. These -were war-ships of the ordinary type, and did not make one think very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> -highly of the German navy. But, a few miles farther on, there was -a change of opinion. Inside the spacious harbor of Kiel, and under -the guns of the great forts, lay the flower of the ships upon which -Germany will rely in her next war with a naval power. We counted twelve -of them—all new and terrible. They comprised every variety of ram -and battery, but we could not make out anything that looked like a -revolving turret. One mode of armament is a favorite. It consists of -two guns mounted to sweep the upper forward deck, two with the freest -play on the starboard and two more on the port side. The guns are -all of large caliber, of great length, designed for pounding at long -range. Seen aft, these ironclads are very noticeable for their breadth -of beam. They would float tranquilly enough, but seem deficient in -speed. As they were all at anchor, we could not judge of that point. -The skeletons of other vessels which promise to be, when completed, -as formidable as those before us, were to be seen in the imperial -ship-yards near by. Every country of Europe which has a navy is -exercising it about this time. Germany is only in the fashion when she -orders out her ironclads for mock-battles in the Baltic. But, though we -all knew this fact, we could not help wondering what power she intended -to impress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> with these exhibitions of her resources on the sea.</p> - -<p class="space-above">I suppose that few travelers trouble themselves to study windmills from -the inside. Perhaps these structures are best regarded as artistic -objects. They certainly set off landscapes very well. Standing on -little elevations, flinging out their gaunt arms against the evening -sky, they kindle the fancies of the beholder. A brain cooler than Don -Quixote’s might imagine them endowed with life. I confess to an ancient -desire to know something of the internal economy of windmills. It was -hard to understand how such slender, graceful towers could contain the -machinery for doing any really serious work, and, still more, that -the arms could have hurt Don Quixote very much when he pitched into -them, lance in rest. Revolving lazily in a moderate breeze, they look -harmless enough. An inspection of the works of one of the windmills on -a hill-top in Bremen has enlightened me a little. That which looks so -small and fragile at a distance, is a four-story house. It is at once -a granary, a mill, and a residence. The miller and his family have -in it their roomy parlor, dining-room, kitchen, and chambers. These -apartments are all comfortably furnished, and so well isolated that -the floating meal, of which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> air is full in the mill itself, does -not invade their home. I have never seen anything neater, snugger, -and more generally habitable than the set of rooms which the miller’s -good wife was pleased to show us. When the wind stirred, there was no -idleness on those premises. The arms—monstrous when measured from -the upper platform—turned three great mill-stones, and had power -to spare. The miller and his boys strained every muscle to feed the -ravenous maws and bag the meal as fast as produced. Americans in Europe -are too apt to think ill of the old-fashioned modes of working here. -Windmills are often cited by them as specimens of antiquated notions. -They would change their minds if they could see, as I saw, how simply, -effectively, and above all how cheaply, a windmill can do useful work -for mankind.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">DIAMOND-CUTTING AT AMSTERDAM.</span></h2> - -<p>There is something in the business of diamond-cutting that appeals -strongly to the imagination.</p> - -<p>It must be extremely interesting to see the precious stones at the -mines disclosing themselves to the anxious seekers. Any chance blow -of the pick may bring to light a mate for the Koh-i-noor, the Orloff, -the Shah, the Sancy, the Pitt, the Hope, or any other of the great -diamonds of the world. In a moment the digger may become a rich man. -His occupation has all the excitement of gambling, with the essential -difference in his favor that he can make a steady living at it, -though he may fail to draw one of the capital prizes. Work in the -diamond-fields of Brazil and South Africa is a legitimate pursuit, -and, when well directed, wrests a subsistence from the stony earth as -surely as from a corn-patch or a cabbage-garden. It is, perhaps, more -seductive to the outside observer than to the fellow down there in the -pit who does all the grubbing. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span></p> - -<p>The traveler who can not make it convenient to go to South Africa or -Brazil to see diamonds found, may, by visiting Amsterdam, see them -cut. That old Dutch city—famous for its grave men, its plump women, -its dikes, its canals, its quaint houses, its commercial push, its -thrift and consequent wealth—enjoys the unique distinction of cutting -the diamonds of the world. Within a few years some other cities have -engaged in the business in a small way. But Coster, of Amsterdam, -still handles most of the rough stones which reach Europe. At his -establishment the Koh-i-noor was recut, and its latent fire fully -revealed. He gave to the Star of the South—the largest stone ever -unearthed in Brazil—the blaze of light which justifies its brilliant -name. He may truly be said to find the real diamond under the dull, -opaque crust which often hides its glow in the native state. He is even -more the discoverer of its beauties than the man who picked it out of -its gravelly bed.</p> - -<p>If Baedeker had given me some account of Coster’s way of cutting -diamonds, I might not have taken the trouble to look him up in -Amsterdam, where there are so many other things to claim the tourist’s -attention. But, in the absence of such information, I was impelled to -seek it for myself.</p> - -<p>In books one may see pictures of diamond-mining in Brazil, where the -slaves are represented as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> toiling with shovels and hoes in rich -gravel, while overseers stand in sentry-boxes all about, watching -every movement of the men lest they may conceal some gem in their -scanty clothing. He wonders if they keep up that kind of espionage at -Coster’s, where the opportunities for stealing diamonds must be very -great. I supposed there would be some difficulty in gaining admission -to a place where pecks of stones were lying round loose in various -stages of treatment, and even the air was full of diamond-dust. This -was romance. Now let us look at the reality.</p> - -<p>Coster offers no obstacle to the inquiring mind. It is only understood -that a small sum of money—a guilder (thirty-eight cents) is the proper -size of it—must be paid to the superintendent, who turns it over to -a fund for the good of the workmen. Every person who bears in his -face and clothes evidence of his ability to stand that assessment is -admitted and made welcome; and, if he has a lady with him, that is the -best voucher of his pecuniary responsibility.</p> - -<p>The man who piloted us about Coster’s spoke English, and made himself -agreeable. He first showed a handful of stones in the rough. As he -tossed them down carelessly on a table, I thought they were bits of gum -or grains of tapioca. Not one of them sparkled. Their hue was generally -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> dirty yellow; only a few were milk-white; some were cream-colored. -Invited to examine the stones, I took them into my hand with some -reluctance, and kept my eye all the time on the exhibitor, being afraid -he might turn his head, or be called off to another part of the room, -and leave me in possession of those treasures, with a blind confidence -in my integrity. I trust it would not have been misplaced, but do not -want to take charge of a handful of diamonds, even temporarily, for -anybody else. There was no need of anxiety on this score, for the man’s -gaze was never once withdrawn from that valuable property.</p> - -<p>It was hard to realize that those poor-looking scraps of mineral were -diamonds—some worth one thousand dollars apiece when cut. Not one of -them was a perfect crystal, a pair of pyramids set base to base, of -which we see diagrams in the books. The edges had mostly been worn away -by much rolling in water, as one would say, their general appearance -being that of pebbles smoothed in a brook. But, on close inspection, -remains of the original crystalline shape were always detected. Every -diamond still retained rudimentary cutting edges, which are all that -is left of the old sharp lines. As they rested in my palm, they felt -cold as ice. As they struck against one another in moving them about, -they emitted faint, musical sounds;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> and their weight was remarkable -for their bulk. These peculiarities would attract the notice of the -most ignorant person. He would know that the stones in his hand were -out of the common. But it would be safe to bet that, if they were -thrown down by the quart in the streets among other stones, they would -pass unnoticed by persons not familiar with the appearance of uncut -diamonds. The experiment, however, is not likely to be made.</p> - -<p>After examining this handful of diamonds, one has no desire to see any -more in the rough. He could look at a cart-load of them without the -least emotion. They do not excite that feeling of cupidity which is -said to exist, however passive, in every human breast.</p> - -<p>Our guide then led us into a room where we saw the first process of -cutting. Several men were engaged in this work, which requires great -experience, judgment, and skill. It is there that the shape of the -polished stones is decided upon—whether it shall be a brilliant with -many flashing facets, or a rose with but few. Here the faults, if -any, of each stone are discovered by unerring eyes, and the defective -parts chipped away. We stood by the side of one of the men while he -disposed of what seemed a very knotty question. He held between thumb -and finger a stone as large as a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span>filbert. To the uninstructed eye it -was a lump of gum arabic, with a certain symmetry of outline showing -its old octahedral form. After turning it over and inspecting it -critically, he put it in a little vise before him, and screwed the jaws -tightly together. Then he took a light, sharp chisel in one hand and a -small hammer in the other. He could not have looked more unconcerned -if he had been about to crack an after-dinner walnut. My heart was -in my mouth when I saw him apply his chisel to the diamond and give -it a smart tap with the hammer. What if he should break the stone in -pieces, instead of removing a defective fraction of it! The guide had -said it was a twenty-carat diamond, and believed to be of the first -water. But the operation, hazardous as it appeared, was easy to the -skilled artisan, and was successful. He had struck the diamond exactly -on the line of cleavage, and a thin piece fell into a box sunk into -the table just beneath the vise, and intended for the reception of the -chips. The man picked it out, and I saw at a glance that it was full -of black specks. These were uncrystallized carbon, like coal-dust, the -presence of which would have spoiled the stone when cut. He then showed -me the freshly exposed surface of the diamond. The rough, yellowish -scale of the imperfect portion having been removed, one could see -something of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> the true sparkle of the gem, though its full luminous -effect would be evoked only by the polishing process. Sometimes it is -necessary to detach a spotty part by working in a direction other than -the cleavage-line; then the hammer and chisel are of no avail. The -operator resorts to a saw, which, strangely enough, is toothless. It is -nothing more than a fine steel wire, perhaps double the thickness of a -hair. This wire is kept moistened by olive-oil, in which diamond-dust -has been mixed. As it is moved forth and back, saw-like, across the -surface, the dust supplies the place of teeth, and the metallic thread -slowly buries itself in that hardest of stones.</p> - -<p>The truth of the adage, “Diamond cuts diamond,” was made clear to us by -the spectacle of six men illustrating it. Each man held in each hand -a short stick, having at the end a socket filled with lead or some -easily melted alloy. The diamond to be cut is partly sunk below the -surface of this fusible metal while it is still in a molten condition, -and just before it cools; and, when the metal “sets,” there is the -diamond immovably imbedded, with enough of its surface exposed to -enable the operator to attack it with another diamond, which is fixed -in another stick the same way. Each diamond is to cut the other, and -thus two stones are simultaneously prepared for the market.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> When the -exposed parts of the two diamonds have been cut by each other as far -as possible, then the soft metal in the iron sockets is melted, the -stones are released and turned to bring the uncut sides uppermost, and -the work proceeds as before. This is the most tedious stage of the -business. One watches the men by the half-hour, and sees them make but -little progress as they press one diamond against the other with all -the power in their arms, and rub the two slowly together with a faint, -crunching noise. If the sunlight falls upon the scene, one may notice -certain glistening motes dropping into a little pan beneath their -hands. This is the dust of diamonds, which is most carefully saved up -to be used in the polishing, the final stage; and, whatever chippings -or splinters are obtained here or elsewhere in handling diamonds, are -pulverized in agate mortars for the same purpose.</p> - -<p>At intervals the workmen pause to look at the diamonds, to see how they -are getting on. We observe them at a little distance, and notice the -adamantine luster of the facets. Already it is possible to pick out an -uncommonly fine stone by its cold, steel-blue light.</p> - -<p>The most interesting department of Coster’s is the one where the -polishing is done. Here, at last, you may look into the hearts of the -diamonds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> freed from their grosser vestments. Here, if anywhere, the -spectator is apt to be stirred with unholy covetousness. If he has a -lady with him, she would be more than human if she did not sometimes -cry out, “How splendid!” “Just too lovely for anything!” and ask the -guide how much a pair of such diamonds would cost, pointing at a -perfect beauty that would weigh ten carats, sure. Cases are reported -in which husbands, at that stage of the rounds, have hurried up their -investigations, suddenly finding that they have no time to “look it -all through, my dear.” And, even when they have torn themselves and -the partners of their lives away from the scene of fascination, they -have not heard the last of Coster’s diamonds by a great deal. At any -moment, anywhere, while looking at the marble or bronze effigies of a -cathedral, or hunting among church-yard tombs for quaint inscriptions, -or rapturously gazing at some Madonna which is the glory of a -picture-gallery—when the mind ought to be filled with the most solemn -thoughts—one may hear the question, “Weren’t they splendid?”</p> - -<p>“What, my dear?” says the dull being who never takes a hint.</p> - -<p>“Why, those diamonds at Coster’s!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, I remember—quite pretty.” And then the insensate husband, -perhaps, instead of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> pursuing the interesting subject, begs leave to -recall the fair one’s wandering attention to the beautiful carving on -that ancient tomb, or the seraphic expression of the Virgin’s eyes, etc.</p> - -<p>It has been said that there is one way to stop a mouth which babbles -too much of Coster’s. A kiss will do it, without fail, if followed -up by a gift of something in diamonds, according to the means or -generosity of the donor. But this is doubtless the slander of a cynic, -and repeated here only under protest.</p> - -<p>The polishers are about twenty strong. They are mostly young fellows, -who do not require glasses. Sharp eye-sight is the indispensable -qualification for their work. They are all hanging over horizontal -wheels which are driven at tremendous speed. Upon these revolving disks -they are pressing something very forcibly with both hands. It is a -stick with a diamond imbedded in the head thereof—the same that we -have seen in the cutting-room. Sometimes the workman releases one hand, -and takes a feather from a cup by his side. This has been soaking in -olive-oil, in which there is an ingredient of diamond-dust. He lets a -few drops of it fall on the flying wheel at a point near its center -or axis of motion. The centrifugal force at once scatters the oil and -the included dust all over the surface in a barely perceptible film. -Its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span>tendency is to be thrown off the edge of the wheel but this is -prevented by a raised rim, which keeps it all somewhere on the disk. -Without the application of this mixture the diamond would never get a -polish.</p> - -<p>As we stood looking down the line of the polishers, who in turn glanced -from their work at us, the guide made a signal to one of them. He at -once withdrew his diamond from the wheel, wiped it on a leather apron, -and brought it to us for examination. It was a large stone—fifteen -carats, perhaps—which had been polished enough to show its native -worth. Its color was a yellow, so deep as to convert into a merit -what would otherwise have been a great defect. Had the tint been -that of straw instead of orange, its selling value would have been -small. But as it was extremely yellow, even for a South African stone, -connoisseurs would be sure to want it for their collections. There -would, perhaps, be a competition for the treasure. Strange caprice of -fancy which elevates a fault into a virtue!</p> - -<p>Another signal from the guide brought forward a diamond of a very -different sort. It was much more to my taste than the other. As the man -put the stick into my hand, the end of it seemed to blaze. It shone -so vividly that its size could not clearly be made out. Apparently -it was larger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> than the yellow one. But the guide informed me that -the polished surface of this stone was much the smaller. Its finer -water imparted the wonderful brilliancy I had noticed. From its facets -leaped coruscations that dazzled the eye like gleams of lightning. It -needed no expert to tell one that here was a diamond of the rarest -quality—something that might fairly be claimed to stand first on the -list of those twenty-odd grades into which the white stones are divided -by the dealers. I could not refrain from touching it with the tip of a -finger before the guide could warn me. The contact, which was but for -an instant, blistered the skin, so great was the heat caused by the -friction of polishing. It was a pleasure to know that this peerless -gem—about eight carats when finished—would be worth far more to adorn -the neck or bosom of beauty than the bigger yellow one of the rare -shade, destined only for the cabinet of some whimsical male collector.</p> - -<p>After the exhibition of this perfect diamond to our wondering gaze, -anything of lesser splendor would have failed to please. So we bade -farewell to Coster’s, after paying a visit to the graceful steam-engine -which supplies the motive power for all the disks that are kept -whirling on the busy second floor. There are other floors of the -same establishment where other work is done. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> is a great safe -down in the basement, which is opened for you, disclosing boxes and -bags holding treasures to the extent of as many million dollars as -you choose to imagine. Every well-regulated visitor at Coster’s is -pleased to pay the complimentary fee expected of him, when he knows -that it goes to the benefit of the workmen; for, if his eyes have been -open to anything besides diamonds, he must have noticed intelligence, -sobriety, and honesty written in their faces. Then he understands that -at Coster’s there is a better guarantee for the security of diamonds -against theft and loss than if an overseer stood watching each squad of -men with pistol in hand.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span></p> - -<h2>APPENDIX.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h2>CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT FOR RUSSIA.</h2> - -<p class="bold">(SEE <a href="#Page_328">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a>)</p> - -<p>It is a matter of common report and belief, in Russia, that the -experiment of a constitutional government would have been made on the -accession of Alexander III, but for the opposition of his ministers. -His father was strongly disposed to establish a representative body of -the people, and a responsible ministry. This reform would have been -a crowning of that edifice, the building of which was cut short by -his murderers. The present Tsar desired to carry out this inherited -scheme, but before acting deemed it prudent to take the collective -opinion of his cabinet. This fact shows his readiness to receive advice -on important questions. He mentioned his own preference, but declared -that he would be guided by a majority opinion. This was adverse to -the proposed change. So ended, for the time being, a movement of the -greatest significance.</p> - -<p>The Tsar is said to be the strongest man in his dominions. Mythical -stories are told of his ability to straighten out horseshoes with his -naked hands,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> and double up silver pieces between his thumb and finger. -Those who know him testify to his high personal courage. The seclusion -of which we hear so much is, after all, only nominally observed. The -careful precautions against Nihilists are adopted by the chief of -police, who charges himself with the safety of his master. Alexander -III attends military reviews and public ceremonies of church and state. -He goes where duty calls him. He is seen more often in the streets and -parks of St. Petersburg than Queen Victoria in those of London. She, -too, is guarded at such times by soldiers and policemen, and no one -thinks the protection superfluous. The Tsar, in all his movements, -is hedged about with no more restrictions than seem to be needed for -the security of a man who is known to be pursued by a sworn band of -assassins. If he is as strong and brave as reported, it would be -strange if he lacked decision of character. Once resolved on conforming -the imperial system to the more modern type, he may not again be -dissuaded by any ministry from executing that beneficent design.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt that, if unmistakable public opinion in Russia -should call for this great change, it would be made. It remains -to be ascertained if a majority of her people really want those -constitutional forms for which the heart of civilized man everywhere -is supposed to yearn. If so, Russia, fortunately, has the machinery at -hand for the gratification of her longings. Every <i>Tir</i>, or commune, -now possesses the full power of self-government <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span>in economic and -strictly local affairs. The village elders, who are true home-rulers, -are chosen by the people. In every province or department of Russia the -same principle is illustrated on a larger scale. It is only in respect -to imperial or political issues that the autocracy makes itself felt. -The citizens of Moscow, for example, may do many things at their own -expense for which we of New York are obliged to crave permission of the -Legislature.</p> - -<p>Accustomed to govern themselves within a certain range, the Russians -could easily be fitted for participation in the higher duties which -a constitutional government would impose upon them. A lower House -could be evolved from the seeds of the <i>Tir</i>. An upper House could be -created by the Tsar out of abundant existing materials. Thus, without -any violent metamorphosis, liberal institutions might be introduced -into Russia. They may come, as a spontaneous offering from the throne, -sooner than their most sanguine friends in the empire now expect.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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