in ordinary affairs. I mean those unconnected with politics. It would
be difficult to name any branch of business where commissions are not
paid to somebody. Lawyers give commissions to those who send them
clients; doctors pay those who recommend them to patients; grocers,
butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers pay commissions to those who
send them patronage; tailors, milliners, haberdashers, confectioners,
florists, bar-keepers, taverners—in fact, nearly all persons who
buy, or sell, or fill orders, are obliged to pay commissions to
somebody. Railway companies, steamship companies, and dozens of other
corporations—reputed to be without souls—pay commissions, and will
continue to pay them to the end of time. Even undertakers are not
exempt. I know of two cases wherein they have paid for the business
which came to them, and have heard of several others. One that was
told me a few weeks ago was as follows: A woman in a fashionable
boarding-house died suddenly, and her husband asked the landlady to
send for an undertaker. She did so, and the job proved a good one,
as the bereaved husband was possessed of considerable money, and
wished to do the thing up in style. He told the undertaker to make
the funeral a swell one, and not to stand on expense. The undertaker
obeyed orders, and the affair was the envy of the remaining boarders
in the house. A day or two after the payment of the bill, the landlady
called at the coffin shop, and quietly hinted that a death in a
house is a sad thing, especially in a boarding-house. The undertaker
assented, and without further parley drew a check for fifty dollars,
which consoled the unhappy matron, and turned her sorrow into delight.
When another boarder dies she will not forget this slight testimonial
of the undertaker’s respect and esteem.
[Sidenote: TAILORS AND THE BILLS THEY PAY.]
Many a nice young man about town is clothed free of expense by
fashionable tailors who have an eye to business, and know it is to
their advantage to keep the much viewed swells in fine garments.
Grocers, butchers, bakers, and all men of their ilk, pay commissions
to house servants much oftener than their employers imagine. The
custom has become very general in New York in the past few years,
and in some households the wages of the servants are the smallest
part of their incomes. On New Year’s day the grocers send presents
to the servants, generally a bottle of whiskey or gin to each cook
or kitchen maid, and the result is, that, in a good many houses, the
servants below stairs, on the first day of January, are quite as
drunk as the majority of the visitors and entertainers in the parlors
above. At the railway and steamboat landings, the hackmen frequently
pay commissions to the policemen who allow them good places in the
line, and do not press them to move on. Policemen, by the way, make
a great many commissions—when their consciences are flexible—from
gin-shops, gambling-houses, and other establishments which may as well
be nameless, and in the same way hotel clerks and hackmen are enabled
to add materially to their regular incomes. The hotel clerks come in
for commissions on the tailors, and the same is the case with others
who come in contact with strangers. For example, there is a tailor
in New York who is understood to have friendly relations with one of
the consulates,—I don’t mean with the consul, but with some of the
subordinates. When a foreign traveller drops into this consulate, and
says, “I want some clothes, you know, and I want to know, you know,
where I can find a good tailor, you know,” some one is moved to say,
“My dear fellow, you know, go to ——‘s; here’s his card; awful nice
tailor, you know; will just suit you, my boy.” The traveller goes,
and remarks to the tailor that they told him at the consulate that
this was the place. Is it anybody’s business if somebody gets the
handsome thing done for him?
[Sidenote: INTRODUCTION TO GAMBLERS.]
There is one trick in the business which has been adopted by many
people, but the point of it is rarely seen by the victim. It is that
of giving a letter of introduction by way of holding a tighter grip
on the party to be skinned, and also of avoiding a dispute as to the
validity of the claim for a commission. Jones, from the country, is
stopping at the Bangup Hotel, and asks the clerk to direct him to a
good, respectable gambling-house, or something of the sort, as he
is a stranger in town, and doesn’t know the ropes. Clerk tells him,
for instance, that Heenan’s or Morrissey’s is just what he wants,
and draws from his pocket a card, on which is printed the name of
the clerk of the Bangup. Then he writes on the back thereof, “This
is my particular friend, Mr. Jones: treat him kindly; show him every
attention, and charge it to me.” “Be sure and hand him this card,” the
clerk enjoins; “otherwise he won’t know you, and won’t show you any
more attention than anybody else.” Jones delivers the card, is treated
politely, and often leaves a hundred dollars or so in the house, and
is satisfied. So also is the clerk when he receives his share of the
proceeds.
A few years ago there were two hotels, one in New York, and the other
in a western city, which were run in a sort of half-way partnership.
Suppose you were a patron of the New York concern, and were about
going to the other city: mine host of Manhattan would say, “Let me
give you a letter to my cousin,” and forthwith he wrote a warm letter,
in which you were represented as a particular friend,—you will always
find a “particular” in the letter,—one of the best of men, a gentleman
in the true sense of that word, and one whose acquaintance would be an
honor of which the President of the United States and the Emperor of
Russia might be proud. You would be deserving the highest respect, and
should receive the very best the house could afford.
[Sidenote: A MODEL LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.]
You took the letter,—I have seen several of them,—and went to the
house named in it. I never knew anybody who received any special
courtesy in consequence, but he generally found his bill from twenty
to fifty per cent. higher than it would have been had he brought no
introduction. The two hotels played that game a long time before
travellers found them out, and it was astonishing how long it took to
discover the trick. A friend of mine once arrived here from the hotel
at the other end of the line. I met him at the dock, and urged him to
go to the house where I lived. “No,” said he, “I have a letter from ——
to his cousin here, and I am going to that hotel. Just look at that
letter.” I read the document, which was one of the most fulsome things
you ever saw, and would clearly entitle my friend to canonization. He
went to the hotel, was politely received, crammed into a room under
the eaves, and about as large as a cigar-box; could not get moved
lower down, though they promised every hour that they would transfer
him on the next; and after staying there four days, left in disgust,
with the additional affront of a bill, in which there were all real
and several erroneous extras at the highest possible or impossible
rates. The real wording of that letter should have been,—
“This is one of our patrons; stick him in anywhere, and charge him all
you can.”
[Sidenote: COMMISSIONS IN THE PIANO TRADE.]
I presume the business that pays more commissions than any other is
that of making and selling pianos. In the first place each large
establishment usually keeps a man to write its advertisements and look
after its business relations with the press and advertising mediums
generally. One manufacturer, a shrewd foreigner, is understood to
employ one of the musical critics, who not only prepares pamphlets
and advertisements, but devotes his criticisms as far as possible to
the interest of his master. Then, most of the distinguished pianists
who come here are each paid by some one of the manufacturers to toot
for his piano. If you look at the programmes of these piano concerts
and recitals, you will generally see a line announcing “The Muggins
piano is exclusively used at this concert, and recommended by Herr
Ivorypounder.” One pianist, now in this country, was brought here by
a piano maker who guaranteed forty thousand dollars for a six months’
tour; and another foreign pianist, now here, has a similar guarantee
of twenty thousand. It is safe to say that half the noted foreign
pianists are imported by the piano makers, and that half the rest are
engaged and subsidized by the makers soon after they get here. Then,
most of the concert tours are backed by the piano men; and I know
several instances in which they have been directly organized by them.
They may lose money on the tour itself, but they make money out of
the extra sales of pianos. Then they are obliged to pay commissions
to music stores and to music teachers who recommend their wares and
effect sales, and frequently to persons totally unconnected with
musical matters, such as upholsterers, carpenters, and friends of the
families where pianos are bought. I know an instance wherein a man who
was paying attention to a young lady received two hundred and fifty
dollars from a piano dealer for turning the attention of his loved one
from the instrument of Stiggins to that of Wiggins. He accompanied her
to the store, where she made her purchase; her papa sent his check
next morning, and in the afternoon her dear Charles Augustus called
for and obtained his commission. And he is not the only society man,
by a long way, who makes something out of the piano dealers.
The daughter of a wealthy citizen not long ago wanted a piano, and
the wealthy citizen told her to select one. The house was undergoing
some repairs and alterations, and the carpenters and upholsterers
were at work there. Maria was taking music lessons, and appealed to
her teacher for advice; the latter recommended a Muggins, and in the
course of a week or so the piano was bought and sent home. The teacher
was suddenly called out of town, and did not visit Muggins until ten
or twelve days after the purchase. When he asked for his commission,
Muggins told him it was already paid.
“To whom?” was the question, with emphasis of astonishment.
“To Reps & Co., upholsterers.”
[Sidenote: TRICK OF REPS AND COMPANY.]
“What right had they to it?”
“They came here next day after the piano was sent home, and said they
were upholstering the house, and were consulted about a piano. They
recommended mine as specially adapted to the house, and said it was
bought through their influence. I paid them the commission. Since then
the carpenters have been here, and now you make the third applicant. I
am sorry it has happened so, but take a check for fifty dollars, and
whenever you influence another sale, let me know at once.”
The music teacher was badly sold, as it afterwards turned out that
Reps & Co. did not know a word about the piano till they saw it in the
house. Had he been as sharp as some others of his profession, he would
have notified each of the piano makers, as soon as Maria broached the
subject, that he was trying to sell his piano, and then, no matter
whose make she selected, he would have obtained his honestly earned
commission.
LXVI.
THE WIELICZKA SALT MINES.
THE GREAT WIELICZKA SALT MINES, THE LARGEST IN THE WORLD.—THEIR
HISTORY.—EXTENT AND PRODUCT.—DESCENT INTO AND EXPLORATION OF
THEM.—WHAT IS TO BE SEEN.—MINERS AT WORK BLINDFOLDED.—WONDERFUL
CHAMBERS.—GLOOM CONVERTED INTO SPLENDOR.—BANQUETS IN THE
BOWELS OF THE EARTH.—THE INFERNAL LAKE.—HUMAN DEMONS.—AWFUL
APPARITIONS.—EXTRAORDINARY NARRATIVES.
The Wieliczka salt mines in Galicia, Austrian Poland, are probably
the largest and most productive on the globe. They are generally
called the Cracow mines, though they are ten miles from the ancient
capital of Poland—perhaps because Wieliczka (pronounced _Vyalitchka_)
is so much harder for the tongue to master. They are connected with
the mines of Bohemia,—this town is some eighteen miles east of
Wieliczka,—and extend over a space two miles long, and nearly one mile
broad, with a depth varying from six hundred to eleven hundred feet.
The time of their discovery is unknown; but it is held that salt was
obtained from them in small quantities as early as the eighth century.
That they were worked in the beginning of the twelfth century, when
they belonged to Poland, there can be no manner of doubt. Less than
two hundred years later, they had grown so productive, that Casimir
the Great established rules respecting them. In 1656 they were ceded
to Austria, and twenty-seven years after recovered by John Sobieski.
Austria again obtained possession of them at the first dismemberment
of Poland, and has held them from 1772 to the present time, except
for the six years preceding 1815. They have been a great source of
wealth to the empire, and from them the Polish monarchs have drawn
their principal revenues. So important were they considered, that, at
each royal election, the Polish nobles stipulated that the salt of
Wieliczka should be furnished to them at cost. The mines have never
yielded so abundantly as at present; the annual product being, I have
understood, about six hundred thousand tons, which, at ten dollars
a ton—the usual market rate—creates a revenue of some six million
dollars. As many as fourteen or fifteen hundred men, and as many as
six or seven hundred horses, are generally employed in extracting the
salt, which is found in lenticular masses inclined at a high angle.
The salt varies very much in purity. Some of it, called _green salt_,
has six or seven per cent. of clay; another kind (_spiza_) is mixed
with sand, and the third and best sort (_szybik_) lies at the lower
levels in unadulterated and beautifully transparent crystals. The
Bohemian mines employ six or seven hundred workmen, and yield from
two hundred to two hundred and fifty thousand tons of salt yearly.
The figures I give, I obtained on the spot, and they may therefore be
regarded as accurate.
[Sidenote: ENTERING A SALT MINE.]
A few years ago I made a special journey from Vienna, in order to go
through the Wieliczka mines, in which I had felt a great interest
ever since the geography of my boyish days had introduced me to their
acquaintance. I had no trouble in procuring a ticket of admission at
the Château of Wieliczka; and, well supplied with kreuzers for the
workmen, I changed my clothes, and announced myself ready for the
descent. There are ten or twelve shafts, but I asked to enter by the
one the miners generally used. This is rather primitive,—material
improvements having been made in some of the others,—or rather the
means of descent are primitive. I was assigned to the charge of two
miners, who were as stout, and hardy, and grim-looking as if they had
toiled in the bowels of the earth—as no doubt they had—nearly all
their lives. They were provided with torches, and they handed me one,
at the same time showing me a place in the cap I had put on into which
I could thrust the torch for convenience in carrying it. At the top of
the shaft was a kind of windlass for letting us down, the construction
of which I did not examine. A long vertical iron bar was in the centre
of the shaft, and about this bar was a steel ring, to which iron
baskets or chairs were fastened by chains.
[Sidenote: DESCENDING IN DARKNESS.]
In these we took our seats, our legs hanging down, while we held to
the chains above. At a given signal, the steel ring slipped along
the bar, and we went smoothly and steadily down. The sensation very
closely resembled that of descending a well. The darkness of the
pit, which the feeble light of our torches made still darker, and
the flickering shadows lent a certain gloomy picturesqueness to our
perpendicular journey.
I might describe the anxiety and apprehension which I felt lest the
chains should break, or I should be thrown out of my narrow seat into
the great blackness below; but, as I did not have any such feeling,
and as I question seriously if men of nerve or experience have it
either, I will not try to render myself the hero of an imaginary
situation.
I had supposed we should go to the lowest depths of the mines, but
we stopped when we had descended four or five hundred feet, and got
out. I learned then that the mines were full of wooden bridges and
staircases by which the different levels were reached, and that by
these communication was kept up with distant quarters. Some of the
other shafts, as I was informed, are much deeper, requiring to be on a
level with the galleries where the excavations are working. I had been
taken down that particular one in order that I might see the entire
arrangement and construction of the mines.
[Illustration: DESCENDING THE SHAFT.]
[Illustration: CHAPEL.
SCENES IN THE GREAT WIELICZKA SALT MINES AT GALICIA AUSTRIA.]
[Sidenote: A TORTUOUS ROUTE.]
My guides were Poles; but I soon found that they spoke German, of
which I had sufficient knowledge to ask ordinary questions, and
understand the answers thereto. We set out on the second part of our
journey, one of my conductors in front, and one behind; each of us
carrying a torch in the left hand, at a forward point of elevation, so
as to furnish as much light as possible. We threaded several passages
which seemed to be veined with quartz, but which, on examination,
I discovered to be the green salt. We went over bridges, down
staircases, to the right and to the left, passing various chambers
and avenues, until my head became completely turned, and I could
not have retraced my way to save my soul. I observed, however, that
our general course was downward; and finally we arrived at a large
chamber, represented to be seven hundred feet below the surface. This
chamber had been abandoned because all the salt in the stratum had
been obtained; but it had been arranged like a chapel, containing an
altar, several crosses, and some images of saints, all made of rock
salt. When the light of the torches was reflected on these natural
objects, the effect was superb. The crystals glittered like diamonds,
and only a little imagination was needed to transform the rude vault
into an apartment of Aladdin’s palace.
After I had sufficiently admired the chapel, we resumed our excursion
over more bridges, down more steps, and through more passages,
until we came to what the guides termed a river. It was not a very
remarkable stream, reminding me, in its smallness, of the renowned
Rubicon, or the Manzenares, when the latter does not happen to be
altogether dry. Such as it was, however, we stepped into a rude little
boat and crossed over, where we were soon on another bridge, and
crawled down another staircase of the most rickety and tumble-down
description.
I was surprised that we had met so few workmen, and mentioned my
surprise to the stalwart fellows with me. They informed me that the
part of the mine through which we had passed had been worked out, and
that the miners had gone farther down, following the strata containing
the salt. In half an hour or less, we encountered a number of miners
hewing out a new passage. They were naked above the waist, and some
of them wore the garb of southern savages, the high temperature
rendering clothing uncomfortable, if not superfluous. They used picks
and crowbars, and, in the beginning of their excavations, would lie
down on their backs, and strike out the salt with their implements,
covering their eyes with pieces of leather, to prevent injury from the
falling fragments. It is not often that men can work well with their
eyes blinded, but there they succeeded better without seeing than with
seeing. As they increased the cavity to sufficient height, they stood
up and labored in the regular way.
There was now no lack of miners, who were visible on every hand,
delving hard, steadily, and silently. Their toil is excessively
monotonous and severe. As most of them have done nothing else, and as
they are densely ignorant, they are not tortured by brighter memories,
nor haunted by pictures of the possible. Their earnings are miserably
small—not more, I believe, on an average, than thirty to forty cents
a day, and working about twelve hours out of the twenty-four. Out of
these wages they usually have families to support; for it is as true
in Austria as in every other land, that extreme poverty incites to
marriage and prolific paternity.
[Sidenote: CROSSING UNDERGROUND RIVERS.]
The one so-called river which we had crossed was an introduction to a
number of others, all of them small, and more like pools than streams.
The two workmen generally pushed a little boat over with poles, though
they sometimes used oars very much in the same fashion as the Lethe
and the Styx in the Mammoth Cave are crossed. These pools or rivers
are formed by percolations of water through the strata, and in them
the miners have not unfrequently been drowned.
[Illustration: SALT DIGGING.]
[Illustration: IN THE WIELICZKA SALT MINES.]
Our onward progress soon brought us to a large open space—it must
have been a hundred feet high, and nearly two hundred in length and
breadth—called the Chamber of Letow; and about half a mile farther
is another of still greater dimensions, known as the Chamber of
Michelawic. These chambers, which were excavations, were decked out
in all the splendor of rock salt. There were chairs, candlesticks,
chandeliers, statues, thrones, columns, and altars composed of the
chief staple; and when lamps were lighted in the natural hall, the
rays of light were reflected from thousands of points, and the whole
interior shone in sparkling splendor. It recalled to my mind the
Crystal Saloon, as it is styled, in the New Palace at Potsdam, when it
is illuminated on some special occasion.
[Sidenote: A WONDERFUL SCENE.]
I had brought with me from Cracow some small fireworks, such as red
lights, serpents, and Catharine wheels, for the purpose of burning
them in the mines; and this was evidently one of the places for their
use. I handed some of them to the guides, and in a few seconds the
cavern, more than eight hundred feet under ground, was ablaze with
different colors, and showers of radiance. To produce a greater
effect, all the lights were extinguished, and then another pyrotechnic
exhibition began. The result was marvellous. One would have imagined
that the moon, and stars, and sun, had all burst through the earth,
that divided us from the upper air, and were gleaming and flashing
under our very eyes. The rock salt was as so many prisms, revealing
all the lines of the rainbow, and coruscating like a vault studded
with jewels.
Such glorious radiance I had never witnessed under ground, nor had
I deemed such radiance possible there. The extraordinary contrast
between the pitchy darkness and the magnificence of the illumination
can hardly be expressed in words. It was as a sudden plunge from a
Memphian night into a tropical noon, and the first effect was almost
blinding. I have witnessed, in my time, numberless exhibitions of
fireworks on a grand scale, but none of them furnished so splendid a
spectacle as the few pieces burned in the depths of Wieliczka. So much
for accessories. Rock salt has its æsthetic as well as material uses;
and, confronted with common lamps and common fireworks, it assumes
the beauties of Dreamland and the shining glories which theological
rhapsodists have associated with the Celestial Kingdom.
The Chamber of Michelawic is consecrated, I was told, to St. Anthony,
and I think the saint would show his much boasted power,—not to speak
of his kindness,—if he would relieve the poor devils who so implicitly
believe in him from their need of wasting toil in those dreary
caverns. On the 3d of every July, grand mass is celebrated in the
chamber,—then regarded as a chapel,—and is followed by a banquet, in
which the principal officials of Cracow and the directors of the mines
participate. At that date the workmen are given a partial holiday,
and receive trifling sums of money, that are quite enough to render
them happy, and to make them wish that every day of the year were the
3d of July.
[Sidenote: VISIT OF THE IMPERIAL FAMILY.]