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.