first confused impression, and separate the motley throng of life into
its several elements. I shall not attempt, however, to catch and paint
its ever-changing, fluctuating character. Our limited visit allowed us
to see only the more central and crowded streets. Outside of these, for
miles, extend suburbs of iron, of furs, wool, and other coarser
products, brought together from the Ural, from the forests towards the
Polar Ocean, and from the vast extent of Siberia. Here, from morning
till night, the beloved _kvass_ flows in rivers, the strong stream of
_shchi_ (cabbage-soup) sends up its perpetual incense, and the samovar
of cheap tea is never empty. Here, although important interests are
represented, the intercourse between buyers and sellers is less grave
and methodical than in the bazaar. There are jokes, laughter, songs, and
a constant play of that repartee in which even the serfs are masters.
Here, too, jugglers and mountebanks of all sorts ply their trade;
gypsies sing, dance, and tell fortunes; and other vocations, less
respectable than these, flourish vigorously. For, whether the visitor be
an Ostiak from the Polar Circle, an Uzbek from the Upper Oxus, a
Crim-Tartar or Nogai, a Georgian from Tiflis, a Mongolian from the Land
of Grass, a Persian from Ispahan, a Jew from Hamburg, a Frenchman from
Lyons, a Tyrolese, Swiss, Bohemian, or an Anglo-Saxon from either side
of the Atlantic, he meets his fellow-visitors to the Great Fair on the
common ground, not of human brotherhood, but of human appetite; and all
the manifold nationalities succumb to the same allurements. If the
various forms of indulgence could be so used as to propagate ideas, the
world would speedily be regenerated; but as things go, "cakes and ale"
have more force than the loftiest ideas, the noblest theories of
improvement; and the impartial observer will make this discovery as
readily at Nijni-Novgorod as anywhere else.
Before taking leave of the Fair, let me give a word to the important
subject of tea. It is a much-disputed question with the connoisseurs of
that beverage which neither cheers nor inebriates, (though, I confess,
it is more agreeable than koumiss,) whether the Russian "caravan tea" is
really superior to that which is imported by sea. After much patient
observation, combined with serious reflection, I incline to the opinion
that the flavor of tea depends, not upon the method of transportation,
but upon the price paid for the article. I have tasted bad caravan tea
in Russia, and delicious tea in New York. In St. Petersburg you cannot
procure a good article for less than three roubles ($2.25, _gold_) per
pound; while the finer kinds bring twelve and even sixteen roubles.
Whoever is willing to import at that price can no doubt procure tea of
equal excellence. The fact is, that this land-transportation is slow,
laborious, and expensive; hence the finer kinds of tea are always
selected, a pound thereof costing no more for carriage than a pound of
inferior quality; _whence_ the superior flavor of caravan tea. There is,
however, one variety to be obtained in Russia which I have found nowhere
else, not even in the Chinese sea-ports. It is called "imperial tea",
and comes in elegant boxes of yellow silk emblazoned with the dragon of
the Hang dynasty, at the rate of from six to twenty dollars a pound. It
is yellow, and the decoction from it is almost colorless. A small pinch
of it, added to ordinary black tea, gives an indescribably delicious
flavor,--the very aroma of the tea-blossom; but one cup of it, unmixed,
is said to deprive the drinker of sleep for three nights. We brought
some home, and a dose thereof was administered to three unconscious
guests during my absence; but I have not yet ascertained the effects
which followed.
Monsieur D. brought our last delightful stroll through the glittering
streets to an untimely end. The train for Moscow was to leave at three
o'clock; and he had ordered an early dinner at the restaurant. By the
time this was concluded, it was necessary to drive at once to the
station, in order to secure places. We were almost too late; the train,
long as it was, was crammed to overflowing; and although both
station-master and conductor assisted us, the eager passengers
disregarded their authority. With great difficulty, one compartment was
cleared for the ladies; in the adjoining one four merchants, in long
caftans, with sacks of watermelons as provision for the journey, took
their places, and would not be ejected. A scene of confusion ensued, in
which station-master, conductor, Monsieur D., my friend P., and the
Russian merchants were curiously mixed; but when we saw the sacks of
watermelons rolling out of the door, we knew the day was ours. In two
minutes more we were in full possession; the doors were locked, and the
struggling throngs beat against them in vain.
With a grateful farewell to our kind guide, whose rather severe duties
for our sake were now over, we moved away from the station, past heaps
of cotton-bales, past hills of drifting sand, and impassive groups of
Persians, Tartars, and Bukharians, and slowly mounted the long grade to
the level of the upland, leaving the Fair to hum and whirl in the hollow
between the rivers, and the white walls and golden domes of Novgorod to
grow dim on the crest of the receding hill.
The next morning, at sunrise, we were again in Moscow.
MY AUTUMN WALK.
On woodlands ruddy with autumn
The amber sunshine lies;
I look on the beauty round me,
And tears come into my eyes.
For the wind that sweeps the meadows
Blows out of the far South-west,
Where our gallant men are fighting,
And the gallant dead are at rest.
The golden-rod is leaning
And the purple aster waves
In a breeze from the land of battles,
A breath from the land of graves.
Full fast the leaves are dropping
Before that wandering breath;
As fast, on the field of battle,
Our brethren fall in death.
Beautiful over my pathway
The forest spoils are shed;
They are spotting the grassy hillocks
With purple and gold and red.
Beautiful is the death-sleep
Of those who bravely fight
In their country's holy quarrel,
And perish for the Right.
But who shall comfort the living,
The light of whose homes is gone:
The bride, that, early widowed,
Lives broken-hearted on;
The matron, whose sons are lying
In graves on a distant shore;
The maiden, whose promised husband
Comes back from the war no more?
I look on the peaceful dwellings
Whose windows glimmer in sight,
With croft and garden and orchard
That bask in the mellow light;
And I know, that, when our couriers
With news of victory come,
They will bring a bitter message
Of hopeless grief to some.
Again I turn to the woodlands,
And shudder as I see
The mock-grape's[B] blood-red banner
Hung out on the cedar-tree;
And I think of days of slaughter,
And the night-sky red with flames,
On the Chattahoochee's meadows,
And the wasted banks of the James.
Oh, for the fresh spring-season,
When the groves are in their prime,
And far away in the future
Is the frosty autumn-time!
Oh, for that better season,
When the pride of the foe shall yield,
And the hosts of God and freedom
March back from the well-won field;
And the matron shall clasp her first-born
With tears of joy and pride;
And the scarred and war-worn lover
Shall claim his promised bride!
The leaves are swept from the branches;
But the living buds are there,
With folded flower and foliage,
To sprout in a kinder air.
October, 1864.
FOOTNOTES:
[B] _Ampelopsis_, mock-grape. I have here literally translated the
botanical name of the Virginia creeper,--an appellation too cumbrous for
verse.
FIVE-SISTERS COURT AT CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
For a business street Every Lane certainly is very lazy. It sets out
just to make a short passage between two thoroughfares, but, though
forced first to walk straight by the warehouses that wall in its
entrance, it soon begins to loiter, staring down back alleys, yawning
into courts, plunging into stable-yards, and at length standing
irresolute at three ways of getting to the end of its journey. It passes
by artisans' shops, and keeps two or three masons' cellars and
carpenters' lofts, as if its slovenly buildings needed perpetual
repairs. It has not at all the air of once knowing better days. It began
life hopelessly; and though the mayor and common council and board of
aldermen, with ten righteous men, should daily march through it, the
broom of official and private virtue could not sweep it clean of its
slovenliness. But one of its idle turnings does suddenly end in a
virtuous court: here Every Lane may come, when it indulges in vain
aspirations for a more respectable character, and take refuge in the
quiet demeanor of Every Court. The court is shaped like the letter T
with an L to it. The upright beam connects it with Every Lane, and
maintains a non-committal character, since its sides are blank walls;
upon one side of the cross-beam are four houses, while a fifth occupies
the diminutive L of the court, esconcing itself in a snug corner, as if
ready to rush out at the cry of "All in! all in!" Gardens fill the
unoccupied sides, toy-gardens, but large enough to raise all the flowers
needed for this toy-court. The five houses, built exactly alike, are two
and a half stories high, and have each a dormer-window, curtained with
white dimity, so that they look like five elderly dames in caps; and the
court has gotten the name of Five-Sisters Court, to the despair of Every
Lane, which felt its sole chance for respectability slip away when the
court came to disown its patronymic.
It was at dusk, the afternoon before Christmas, that a young man,
Nicholas Judge by name, walking inquiringly down Every Lane, turned into
Five-Sisters Court, and stood facing the five old ladies, apparently in
some doubt as to which he should accost. There was a number on each
door, but no name; and it was impossible to tell from the outside who or
what sort of people lived in each. If one could only get round to the
rear of the court, one might get some light, for the backs of houses are
generally off their guard, and the Five Sisters who look alike in their
dimity caps might possibly have more distinct characters when not
dressed for company. Perhaps, after the caps are off, and the spectacles
removed--But what outrageous sentiments are we drifting toward!
There was a cause for Nicholas Judge's hesitation. In one of those
houses he had good reason to believe lived an aunt of his, the only
relation left to him in the world, so far as he knew, and by so slender
a thread was he held to her that he knew only her maiden name. Through
the labyrinth of possible widowhoods, one of which at least was actual,
and the changes in condition which many years would effect, he was to
feel his way to the Fair Rosamond by this thread. Nicholas was a wise
young man, as will no doubt appear when we come to know him better, and,
though a fresh country youth, visiting the city for the first time, was
not so indiscreet as to ask bluntly at each door, until he got
satisfaction, "Does my Aunt Eunice live here?" As the doors in the court
were all shut and equally dumb, he resolved to take the houses in order,
and proposing to himself the strategy of asking for a drink of water,
and so opening the way for further parley, he stood before the door of
Number One.
He raised the knocker, (for there was no bell,) and tapped in a
hesitating manner, as if he would take it all back in case of an
egregious mistake. There was a shuffle in the entry; the door opened
slowly, disclosing an old and tidy negro woman, who invited Nicholas in
by a gesture, and saying, "You wish to see master?" led him on through a
dark passage without waiting for an answer. "Certainly," he thought, "I
want to see the master more than I want a drink of water: I will keep
that device for the next house"; and, obeying the lead of the servant,
he went up stairs, and was ushered into a room, where there was just
enough dusky light to disclose tiers of books, a table covered with
papers, and other indications of a student's abode.
Nicholas's eye had hardly become accustomed to the dim light, when there
entered the scholar himself, the master whom he was to see: a small old
man, erect, with white hair and smooth forehead, beneath which projected
two beads of eyes, that seemed, from their advanced position,
endeavoring to take in what lay round the corner of the head as well as
objects directly in front. His long palm-leaved study-gown and tasselled
velvet cap lent him a reverend appearance; and he bore in his hand what
seemed a curiously shaped dipper, as if he were some wise man coming to
slake a disciple's thirst with water from the fountain-head of
knowledge.
"Has he guessed my pretended errand?" wondered Nicholas to himself,
feeling a little ashamed of his innocent ruse, for he was not in the
least thirsty; but the old man began at once to address him, after
motioning him to a seat. He spoke abruptly, and with a restrained
impatience of manner:--
"So you received my letter appointing this hour for an interview. Well,
what do you expect me to do for you? You compliment me, in a loose sort
of way, on my contributions to philological science, and tell me that
you are engaged in the same inquiries with myself"--
"Sir," said Nicholas, in alarm,--"I ought to explain myself,--I"----
But the old gentleman gave no heed to the interruption, and
continued:----
--"And that you have published an article on the Value of Words. You
sent me the paper, but I didn't find anything in it. I have no great
opinion of the efforts of young men in this direction. It contained
commonplace generalities which I never heard questioned. You can't show
the value of words by wasting them. I told you I should be plain. Now
you want me to give you some hints, you say, as to the best method of
pursuing philological researches. In a hasty moment I said you might
come, though I don't usually allow visitors. You praise me for what I
have accomplished in philology. Young man, that is because I have not
given myself up to idle gadding and gossiping. Do you think, if I had
been making calls, and receiving anybody who chose to force himself upon
me, during the last forty years, that I should have been able to master
the digamma, which you think my worthiest labor?"
"Sir," interrupted Nicholas again, thinking that the question, though it
admitted no answer, might give him a chance to stand on his own legs
once more, "I really must ask your pardon."
"The best method of pursuing philological researches!" continued the old
scholar, deaf to Nicholas's remonstrance. "That is one of your foolish
general questions, that show how little you know what you are about. But
do as I have done. Work by yourself, and dig, dig. Give up your
senseless gabbling in the magazines, get over your astonishment at
finding that _coelum_ and _heaven_ contain the same idea
etymologically, and that there was a large bread-bakery at Skolos,
and make up your mind to believe nothing till you can't help it. You
haven't begun to work yet. Wait till you have lived as I have, forty
years in one house, with your library likely to turn you out of doors,
and only an old black woman to speak to, before you begin to think of
calling yourself a scholar. Eh?"
And at this point the old gentleman adjusted the dipper, which was
merely an ear-trumpet,--though for a moment more mysterious to
Nicholas, in its new capacity, than when he had regarded it as a unique
specimen of a familiar household-implement,--and thrust the bowl toward
the embarrassed youth. In fact, having said all that he intended to say
to his unwelcome supposed disciple, he showed enough churlish grace to
permit him to make such reply or defence as seemed best.
The old gentleman had pulled up so suddenly in his harangue, and called
for an answer so authoritatively, and with such a singular flourish of
his trumpet, that Nicholas, losing command of the studied explanation of
his conduct, which a moment before had been at his tongue's end, caught
at the last sentence spoken, and gained a perilous advantage by
asking,--
"Have you, indeed, lived in this house forty years, Sir?"
"Eh! what?" said the old gentleman, impatiently, perceiving that he had
spoken. "Here, speak into my trumpet. What is the use of a trumpet, if
you don't speak into it?"
"Oh," thought Nicholas to himself, "I see, he is excessively deaf"; and
bending over the trumpet, where he saw a sieve-like frame, as if all
speech were to be strained as it entered, he collected his force, and
repeated the question, with measured and sonorous utterance, "Sir, have
you lived in this house forty years?"
"I just told you so," said the old man, not unnaturally starting back.
"And if you were going to ask me such an unnecessary question at all,"
he added, testily, "you needn't have roared it out at me. I could have
heard that without my trumpet. Yes, I've lived here forty years, and so
has black Maria, who opened the door for you; and I say again that I
have accomplished what I have by uninterrupted study. I haven't gone
about, bowing to every he, she, and it. I never knew who lived in any of
the other houses in the court till to-day, when a woman came and asked
me to go out for the evening to her house; and just because it was
Christmas-eve, I was foolish enough to be wheedled by her into saying I
would go. Miss ---- Miss ----, I can't remember her name now. I shall
have to ask Maria. There, you haven't got much satisfaction out of me;
but do you mind what I said to you, and it will be worth more than if I
had told you what books to read. Eh?" And he invited Nicholas once more
to drop his words into the trumpet.
"Good afternoon," said Nicholas, hesitatingly,--"thank you,"--at a loss
what pertinent reply to make, and in despair of clearing himself from
the tangle in which he had become involved. It was plain, too, that he
should get no satisfaction here, at least upon the search in which he
was engaged. But the reply seemed quite satisfactory to the old
gentleman, who cheerfully relinquished him to black Maria, who, in turn,
passed him out of the house.
Left to himself, and rid of his personal embarrassment, he began to feel
uncomfortably guilty, as he considered the confusion which he had
entailed upon the real philological disciple, and would fain comfort
himself with the hope that he had acted as a sort of lightning-rod to
conduct the old scholar's bolts, and so had secured some immunity for
the one at whom the bolts were really shot. But his own situation
demanded his attention; and leaving the to-be unhappy young man and the
to-be perplexed old gentleman to settle the difficulty over the
mediating ear-trumpet, he addressed himself again to his task, and
proposed to take another survey of the court, with the vague hope that
his aunt might show herself with such unmistakable signs of relationship
as to bring his researches to an immediate and triumphant close.
Just as he was turning away from the front of Number One, buttoning his
overcoat with an air of self-abstraction, he was suddenly and
unaccountably attacked in the chest with such violence as almost to
throw him off his feet. At the next moment his ears were assailed by a
profusion of apologetic explanations from a young man, who made out to
tell him, that, coming out of his house with the intention of calling
next door, he had leaped over the snow that lay between, and, not seeing
the gentleman, had, most unintentionally, plunged headlong into him. He
hoped he had not hurt him; he begged a thousand pardons; it was very
careless in him; and then, perfect peace having succeeded this violent
attack, the new-comer politely asked,--
"Can you tell me whether Doctor Chocker is at home, and disengaged? I
perceive that you have just left his house."
"Do you mean the deaf old gentleman in Number One?" asked Nicholas.
"I was not aware that he was deaf," said his companion.
"And I did not know that his name was Doctor Chocker," said Nicholas,
smiling. "But may I ask," said he, with a sudden thought, and blushing
so hard that even the wintry red of his cheeks was outshone, "if you
were just going to see him?"
"I had an appointment to see him at this hour; and that is the reason
why I asked you if he was disengaged."
"He--he is not engaged, I believe," said Nicholas, stammering and
blushing harder than ever; "but a word with you, Sir. I must--really--it
was wholly unintentional--but unless I am mistaken, the old gentleman
thought I was you."
"Thought you were I?" said the other, screwing his eyebrows into a
question, and letting his nose stand for an exclamation-point. "But
come, it is cold here,--will you do me the honor to come up to my room?
At any rate, I should like to hear something about the old fellow." And
he turned towards the next house.
"What--!" said Nicholas, "do you live in Number Two?"
"Yes, I have rooms here," said his companion, jumping back over the
snow. "You seem surprised."
"It is extraordinary," muttered Nicholas to himself, as he entered the
house and followed his new acquaintance up stairs.
Their entrance seemed to create some confusion; for there was an
indistinct sound as of a tumultuous retreat in every direction, a
scuttling up and down stairs, and a whisking of dresses round corners,
with still more indistinct and distant sound of suppressed chattering
and a voice berating.
"It is extremely provoking," said the young man, when they had entered
his room and the door was shut; "but the people in this house seem to do
nothing but watch my movements. You heard that banging about? Well, I
seldom come in or go out, especially with a friend, but that just such a
stampede takes place in the passage-ways and staircase. I have no idea
who lives in the house, except a Mrs. Crimp, a very worthy woman, no
doubt, but with too many children, I should guess. I only lodge here;
and as I send my money down every month with the bill which I find on my
table, I never see Mrs. Crimp. Now I don't see why they should be so
curious about me. I'm sure I am very contented in my ignorance of the
whole household. It's a little annoying, though, when I bring any one
into the house. Will you excuse me a moment, while I ring for more
coal?"
While he disappeared for this purpose, seeming to keep the bell in some
other part of the house, Nicholas took a hasty glance round the room,
and, opening a book on the table, read on the fly-leaf, _Paul Le Clear_,
a name which he tagged for convenience to the occupant of the room until
he should find one more authentic. The room corresponded to that in
which he had met Doctor Chocker, but the cheerful gleam of an open fire
gave a brighter aspect to the interior. Here also were books; but while
at the Doctor's the walls, tables, and even floor seemed bursting with
the crowd that had found lodging there, so that he had made his way to a
chair by a sort of footpath through a field of folios, here there was
the nicest order and an evident attempt at artistic arrangement. Nor
were books alone the possessors of the walls; for a few pictures and
busts had places, and two or three ingenious cupboards excited
curiosity. The room, in short, showed plainly the presence of a
cultivated mind; and Nicholas, who, though unfamiliar with city-life,
had received a capital intellectual training at the hands of a
scholarly, but anchoret father, was delighted at the signs of culture in
his new acquaintance.
Mr. Le Clear reentered the room, followed presently by the coal-scuttle
in the hands of a small servant, and, remembering the occasion which had
brought them together, invited Nicholas to finish the explanation which
he had begun below. He, set at ease by the agreeable surroundings,
opened his heart wide, and, for the sake of explicitness in his
narration, proposed to begin back at the very beginning.
"By all means begin at the beginning," said Mr. Le Clear, rubbing his
hands in expectant pleasure; "but before you begin, my good Sir, let me
suggest that we take a cup of tea together. I must take mine early
to-night, as I am to spend the evening out, and there's something to
tell you, Sir, when you are through,"--as if meeting his burst of
confidence with a corresponding one,--"though it's a small matter,
probably, compared with yours, but it has amused me. I can't make a
great show on the table," he added, with an elegant humility, when
Nicholas accepted his invitation; "but I like to take my tea in my room,
though I go out for dinner."
So saying, he brought from the cupboard a little table-cloth, and,
bustling about, deposited on a tea-tray, one by one, various members of
a tea-set, which had evidently been plucked from a tea-plant in China,
since the forms and figures were all suggested by the flowery kingdom.
The lids of the vessels were shaped like tea-leaves; and miniature China
men and women picked their way about among the letters of the Chinese
alphabet, as if they were playing at word-puzzles. Nicholas admired the
service to its owner's content, establishing thus a new bond of sympathy
between them; and both were soon seated near the table, sipping the tea
with demure little spoons, that approached the meagreness of Chinese
chop-sticks, and decorating white bread with brown marmalade.