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THE
LAND OF THOR.
BY
J. ROSS BROWNE,
AUTHOR OF
"YUSEF," "CRUSOE'S ISLAND," "AN AMERICAN FAMILY IN
GERMANY," ETC.
Illustrated by the Author.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1867.
BY J. ROSS BROWNE.
AN AMERICAN FAMILY IN GERMANY. Illustrated by the
Author. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00.
THE LAND OF THOR. Illustrated by the Author. 12mo,
Cloth, $2 00.
CRUSOE'S ISLAND: A Ramble in the Footsteps of Alexander
Selkirk. With Sketches of Adventure in California and
Washoe. Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth. $1 75.
YUSEF; or, The Journey of the Frangi. A Crusade in the
East. With Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75.
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and sixty-seven, by HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Clerk's Office
of the District Court of the Southern District of New York.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IMPRESSIONS OF ST. PETERSBURG 9
II. A PLEASANT EXCURSION 25
III. VIEWS ON THE MOSCOW RAILWAY 39
IV. MOSCOW 52
V. TEA-DRINKING 60
VI. THE PETERSKOI GARDENS 65
VII. THE "LITTLE WATER" 73
VIII. THE MARKETS OF MOSCOW 77
IX. THE NOSE REGIMENT 88
X. THE EMPEROR'S BEAR-HUNT 92
XI. RUSSIAN HUMOR 97
XII. A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE 104
XIII. THE DENOUEMENT 125
XIV. THE KREMLIN 134
XV. RUSSIAN MANNERS AND CUSTOMS 155
XVI. DESPOTISM _versus_ SERFDOM 165
XVII. REFORM IN RUSSIA 170
XVIII. A BOND OF SYMPATHY 185
XIX. CIVILIZATION IN RUSSIA 193
XX. PASSAGE TO REVEL 209
XXI. REVEL AND HELSINGFORS 218
XXII. A BATHING SCENE 227
XXIII. ABO--FINLAND 236
XXIV. STOCKHOLM 248
XXV. WALKS ABOUT STOCKHOLM 262
XXVI. THE GOTHA CANAL 272
XXVII. VOYAGE TO CHRISTIANA 291
XXVIII. FROM CHRISTIANIA TO LILLEHAMMER 302
XXIX. HOW THEY TRAVEL IN NORWAY 310
XXX. A NORWEGIAN GIRL 317
XXXI. HOW THEY LIVE 335
XXXII. JOHN BULL ABROAD 354
XXXIII. WOMEN IN NORWAY AND GERMANY 361
XXXIV. DOWN THE DRIVSDAL 368
XXXV. A NORWEGIAN HORSE-JOCKEY 372
XXXVI. OUT OF MONEY 381
XXXVII. ICELANDIC TRAVEL 383
XXXVIII. HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 387
XXXIX. VOYAGE TO SCOTLAND 398
XL. THE JOLLY BLOODS 404
XLI. THE FAROE ISLANDS 408
XLII. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ICELAND 426
XLIII. REYKJAVIK, THE CAPITAL OF ICELAND 431
XLIV. GEIR ZOEGA 440
XLV. THE ENGLISH TOURISTS 445
XLVI. THE ROAD TO THINGVALLA 449
XLVII. THE ALMANNAJAU 465
XLVIII. THINGVALLA 476
XLIX. THE ROAD TO THE GEYSERS 490
L. THE GEYSERS 503
LI. THE ENGLISH SPORTS IN TROUBLE 527
LII. A FRIGHTFUL ADVENTURE 537
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Laborers and Shipwrights 10
Russian and Finn 11
Cooper's Shop and Residence 15
Merchant, Peddlers and Coachman 18
Istrovoschiks 21
Fish Peddler 29
Young Peasants 31
Dvornick and Postman 35
Glazier, Painter, Carpenters 37
Hay Gatherers 46
Prisoners for Siberia 58
Tea-sellers 61
Mujiks at Tea 63
Russian Theatre 68
The Peterskoi Gardens 72
Vodka 75
Old-clothes' Market 78
Cabinet-makers 84
Pigs, Pups, and Pans 87
Imperial Nosegay 90
Skinned and Stuffed Man 100
Frozen Animals in the Market 101
Mujik and Cats 103
Effects of "Little Water" 111
Russian Beggars 115
Gambling Saloon 122
A Passage of Politeness 157
Serfs 168
In Norseland 292
The Steamer entering the Fjord 295
Coast of Norway 297
The Islands 299
Approach to Christiania 303
Station-house, Logen Valley 313
Station-boy 321
"Good-by--Many Thanks!" 322
Norwegian Peasant Family 324
The Post-girl 330
Waiting for a Nibble 341
Snow-plow 344
A Drinking Bout 345
A Norwegian Farm 347
Norwegian Church 348
Parish Schoolmaster 349
Dovre Fjeld 353
Playing him out 356
English Sportsman 358
Bear Chase 359
Peasant Women at Work 360
Wheeling Girls 363
Justice of the Peace 365
Model Landlord 367
Drivsdal Valley 369
Passage on the Driv 371
The Prize 375
Traveling on Foot 382
The great Geyser 385
Hans Christian Andersen 394
A Dandy Tourist 406
Thorshavn 407
View in Faroe Islands 409
Faroese Children 412
Faroese Islanders 414
Kirk Goboe 421
Farm-house and Ruins 423
Faroese on Horseback 425
Natural Bridge 427
Coast of Iceland 429
The Meal-sack 430
Reykjavik, the Capital of Iceland 432
Governor's Residence, Reykjavik 434
Icelandic Houses 435
Church at Reykjavik 436
Icelanders at Work 438
Geir Zoega 441
Icelandic Horses 443
English Party at Reykjavik 447
A Rough Road 451
Taking Snuff 454
An Icelandic Bog 459
Geir Zoega and Brusa 463
Entrance to the Almannajau 466
The Almannajau 467
Skeleton View of the Almannajau 469
Outline View of Thingvalla 470
Fall of the Almannajau 472
Icelandic Shepherd-girl 473
Church at Thingvalla 477
The Pastor's House 479
The Pastor of Thingvalla 485
Skeleton View of the Logberg 488
Thingvalla, Logberg, Almannajau 489
Diagram of the Logberg 490
An Artist at Home 492
Lava-fjelds 494
Effigy in Lava 495
The Hrafnajau 497
The Tintron Rock 499
Bridge River 502
Shepherd and Family 506
The Strokhr 516
Side-saddle 519
Great Geyser and Receiver 525
Strokhr and Receiver 525
"Oh-o-o-ah!" 529
The English Party 533
Interior of Icelandic Hut 536
An Awkward Predicament 540
THE LAND OF THOR.
CHAPTER I.
IMPRESSIONS OF ST. PETERSBURG.
I landed at St. Petersburg with a knapsack on my back and a hundred
dollars in my pocket. An extensive tour along the borders of the
Arctic Circle was before me, and it was necessary I should husband my
resources.
In my search for a cheap German gasthaus I walked nearly all over the
city. My impressions were probably tinctured by the circumstances of
my position, but it seemed to me I had never seen so strange a place.
[Illustration: LABORERS AND SHIPWRIGHTS.]
[Illustration: RUSSIAN AND FINN.]
The best streets of St. Petersburg resemble on an inferior scale the
best parts of Paris, Berlin, and Vienna. Nothing in the architecture
conveys any idea of national taste except the glittering cupolas of
the churches, the showy colors of the houses, and the vast extent and
ornamentation of the palaces. The general aspect of the city is that
of immense level space. Built upon islands, cut up into various
sections by the branches of the Neva, intersected by canals, destitute
of eminent points of observation, the whole city has a scattered and
incongruous effect--an incomprehensible remoteness about it, as if one
might continually wander about without finding the centre. Some parts,
of course, are better than others; some streets are indicative of
wealth and luxury; but without a guide it is extremely difficult to
determine whether there are not still finer buildings and quarters in
the main part of the city--if you could only get at it. The eye
wanders continually in search of heights and prominent objects. Even
the Winter Palace, the Admiralty, and the Izaak Church lose much of
their grandeur in the surrounding deserts of space from the absence of
contrast with familiar and tangible objects. It is only by a careful
examination in detail that one can become fully sensible of their
extraordinary magnificence. Vast streets of almost interminable
length, lined by insignificant two-story houses with green roofs and
yellow walls; vast open squares or ploschads; palaces, public
buildings, and churches, dwindled down to mere toy-work in the deserts
of space intervening; countless throngs of citizens and carriages
scarcely bigger than ants to the eye; broad sheets of water, dotted
with steamers, brigs, barks, wood-barges and row-boats, still
infinitesimal in the distance; long rows of trees, forming a foliage
to some of the principal promenades, with glimpses of gardens and
shrubbery at remote intervals; canals and dismal green swamps--not all
at one sweep of the eye, but visible from time to time in the course
of an afternoon's ramble, are the most prominent characteristics of
this wonderful city. A vague sense of loneliness impresses the
traveler from a distant land--as if in his pilgrimage through foreign
climes he had at length wandered into the midst of a strange and
peculiar civilization--a boundless desert of wild-looking streets, a
waste of colossal palaces, of gilded churches and glistening waters,
all perpetually dwindling away before him in the infinity of space. He
sees a people strange and unfamiliar in costume and expression;
fierce, stern-looking officers, rigid in features, closely shaved, and
dressed in glittering uniforms; grave, long-bearded priests, with
square-topped black turbans, their flowing black drapery trailing in
the dust; pale women richly and elegantly dressed, gliding unattended
through mazes of the crowd; rough, half-savage serfs, in dirty pink
shirts, loose trowsers, and big boots, bowing down before the shrines
on the bridges and public places; the drosky drivers, with their long
beards, small bell-shaped hats, long blue coats and fire-bucket boots,
lying half asleep upon their rusty little vehicles awaiting a
customer, or dashing away at a headlong pace over the rough
cobble-paved streets, and so on of every class and kind. The traveler
wanders about from place to place, gazing into the strange faces he
meets, till the sense of loneliness becomes oppressive. An invisible
but impassable barrier seems to stand between him and the moving
multitude. He hears languages that fall without a meaning upon his
ear; wonders at the soft inflections of the voices; vainly seeks some
familiar look or word; thinks it strange that he alone should be cut
off from all communion with the souls of men around him; and then
wonders if they have souls like other people, and why there is no
kindred expression in their faces--no visible consciousness of a
common humanity. It is natural that every stranger in a strange city
should experience this feeling to some extent, but I know of no place
where it seems so strikingly the case as in St. Petersburg. Accustomed
as I was to strange cities and strange languages, I never felt utterly
lonely until I reached this great mart of commerce and civilization.
The costly luxury of the palaces; the wild Tartaric glitter of the
churches; the tropical luxuriance of the gardens; the brilliant
equipages of the nobility; the display of military power; the strange
and restless throngs forever moving through the haunts of business and
pleasure; the uncouth costumes of the lower classes, and the wonderful
commingling of sumptuous elegance and barbarous filth, visible in
almost every thing, produced a singular feeling of mingled wonder and
isolation--as if the solitary traveler were the only person in the
world who was not permitted to comprehend the spirit and import of the
scene, or take a part in the great drama of life in which all others
seemed to be engaged. I do not know if plain, practical men are
generally so easily impressed by external objects, but I must confess
that when I trudged along the streets with my knapsack on my back,
looking around in every direction for a gasthaus; when I spoke to
people in my peculiar style of French and German, and received
unintelligible answers in Russian; when I got lost among palaces and
grand military establishments, instead of finding the gasthaus, and
finally attracted the attention of the surly-looking guards, who were
stationed about every where, by the anxious pertinacity with which I
examined every building, a vague notion began to get possession of me
that I was a sort of outlaw, and would sooner or later be seized and
dragged before the Czar for daring to enter such a magnificent city in
such an uncouth and unbecoming manner. When I cast my eyes up at the
sign-boards, and read about grand fabrications and steam-companies,
and walked along the quays of the Neva, and saw wood enough piled up
in big broad-bottomed boats to satisfy the wants of myself and family
for ten thousand years; when I strolled into the Nevskoi, and jostled
my way through crowds of nobles, officers, soldiers, dandies, and
commoners, stopping suddenly at every picture-shop, gazing dreamily
into the gorgeous millinery establishments, pondering thoughtfully
over the glittering wares of the jewelers, lagging moodily by the
grand cafes, and snuffing reflectively the odors that came from the
grand restaurations--when all this occurred, and I went down into a
beer-cellar and made acquaintance with a worthy German, and he asked
me if I had any meerschaums to sell, the notion that I had no
particular business in so costly and luxurious a place began to grow
stronger than ever. A kind of dread came over me that the mighty
spirit of Peter the Great would come riding through the scorching hot
air on a gale of snowflakes, at the head of a bloody phalanx of
Muscovites, and, rising in his stirrups as he approached, would demand
of me in a voice of thunder, "Stranger, how much money have you got?"
to which I could only answer, "Sublime and potent Czar, taking the
average value of my Roaring Grizzly, Dead Broke, Gone Case, and
Sorrowful Countenance, and placing it against the present value of
Russian securities, I consider it within the bounds of reason to say
that I hold about a million of rubles!" But if he should insist upon
an exhibit of ready cash--there was the rub! It absolutely made me
feel weak in the knees to think of it. Indeed, a horrid suspicion
seized me, after I had crossed the bridge and begun to renew my search
for a cheap gasthaus on the Vassoli Ostrou, that every fat,
neatly-shaved man I met, with small gray eyes, a polished hat on his
head drawn a little over his brow, his lips compressed, and his coat
buttoned closely around his body, was a rich banker, and that he was
saying to himself as I passed, "That fellow with the slouched hat and
the knapsack is a suspicious character, to say the least of him. It
becomes my duty to warn the police of his movements. I suspect him
to be a Hungarian refugee."
[Illustration: COOPER'S SHOP AND RESIDENCE.]
With some difficulty, I succeeded at length in finding just such a
place as I desired--clean and comfortable enough, considering the
circumstances, and not unusually fertile in vermin for a city like St.
Petersburg, which produces all kinds of troublesome insects
spontaneously. There was this advantage in my quarters, in addition to
their cheapness--that the proprietor and attendants spoke several of
the Christian languages, including German, which, of all languages in
the world, is the softest and most euphonious to my ear--when I am
away from Frankfort. Besides, my room was very advantageously arranged
for a solitary traveler. Being about eight feet square, with only one
small window overlooking the back yard, and effectually secured by
iron fastenings, so that nobody could open it, there was no
possibility of thieves getting in and robbing me when the door was
shut and locked on the inside. Its closeness presented an effectual
barrier against the night air, which in these high northern latitudes
is considered extremely unwholesome to sleep in. With the thermometer
at 100 degrees Fahrenheit, the atmosphere, to be sure, was a little
sweltering during the day, and somewhat thick by night, but that was
an additional advantage, inasmuch as it forced the occupant to stay
out most of the time and see a great deal more of the town than he
could possibly see in his room.
Having deposited my knapsack and put my extra shirt in the wash, you
will now be kind enough to consider me the shade of Virgil, ready to
lead you, after the fashion of Dante, through the infernal regions or
any where else within the bounds of justice, even through St.
Petersburg, where the climate in summer is hot enough to satisfy
almost any body. The sun shines here, in June and July, for twenty
hours a day, and even then scarcely disappears beneath the horizon. I
never experienced such sweltering weather in any part of the world
except Aspinwall. One is fairly boiled with the heat, and might be
wrung out like a wet rag. Properly speaking, the day commences for
respectable people, and men of enterprising spirit--tourists,
pleasure-seekers, gamblers, vagabonds, and the like--about nine or ten
o'clock at night, and continues till about four or five o'clock the
next morning. It is then St. Petersburg fairly turns out; then the
beauty and fashion of the city unfold their wings and flit through the
streets, or float in Russian gondolas upon the glistening waters of
the Neva; then it is the little steamers skim about from island to
island, freighted with a population just waked up to a realizing sense
of the pleasures of existence; then is the atmosphere balmy, and the
light wonderfully soft and richly tinted; then come the sweet witching
hours, when
"Shady nooks
Patiently give up their quiet being."
None but the weary, labor-worn serf, who has toiled through the long
day in the fierce rays of the sun, can sleep such nights as these. I
call them nights, yet what a strange mistake. The sunshine still
lingers in the heavens with a golden glow; the evening vanishes
dreamily in the arms of the morning; there is nothing to mark the
changes--all is soft, gradual, and illusory. A peculiar and almost
supernatural light glistens upon the gilded domes of the churches; the
glaring waters of the Neva are alive with gondolas; miniature steamers
are flying through the winding channels of the islands; strains of
music float upon the air; gay and festive throngs move along the
promenades of the Nevskoi; gilded and glittering equipages pass over
the bridges and disappear in the shadowy recesses of the islands.
Whatever may be unseemly in life is covered by a rich and mystic
drapery of twilight. The floating bath-houses of the Neva, with their
variegated tressel-work and brilliant colors, resemble fairy palaces;
and the plashing of the bathers falls upon the ear like the gambols
of water-spirits. Not far from the Izaak Bridge, the equestrian
statue of Peter the Great stands out in bold relief on a pedestal of
granite; the mighty Czar, casting an eagle look over the waters of the
Neva, while his noble steed rears over the yawning precipice in front,
crushing a serpent beneath his hoof. The spirit of Peter the Great
still lives throughout Russia; but it is better understood in the
merciless blasts of winter than in the soft glow of the summer nights.
[Illustration: MERCHANT, PEDDLERS, AND COACHMAN.]
Wander with me now, and let us take a look at the Winter Palace--the
grandest pile, perhaps, ever built by human hands. Six thousand people
occupy it during the long winter months, and well they may, for it is
a city of palaces in itself. Fronting the Neva, it occupies a space of
several acres, its massive walls richly decorated with ornamental
designs, a forest of chimneys on top--the whole pile forming an
immense oblong square so grand, so massive, so wonderfully rich and
varied in its details, that the imagination is lost in a colossal
wilderness of architectural beauties. Standing in the open plozchad,
we may gaze at this magnificent pile for hours, and dream over it, and
picture to our minds the scenes of splendor its inner walls have
witnessed; the royal _fetes_ of the Czars; the courtly throngs that
have filled its halls; the vast treasures expended in erecting it; the
enslaved multitudes, now low in the dust, who have left this monument
to speak of human pride, and the sweat and toil that pride must feed
upon; and while we gaze and dream thus, a mellow light comes down from
the firmament, and the mighty Czars, and their palaces, and armies,
and navies, and worldly strifes, what are they in the presence of the
everlasting Power? For "it is he that sitteth upon the circle of the
earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers."
But these dreamings and these wanderings through this city of palaces
would be endless. We may feast our eyes upon the Admiralty, the Winter
Palace, the Marble Palace, the Senate-house, the palace of the
Grand-duke Michael, the Column of Alexander, the colleges,
universities, imperial gardens and summer-houses, and, after all, we
can only feel that they are built upon the necks of an enslaved
people; that the mightiest Czars of Russia, in common with the poorest
serfs, are but "as grasshoppers upon the earth."
The _istrovoschik_ (sneeze and you have the word)--in plain English,
the drosky drivers--are a notable feature in St. Petersburg. When I
saw them for the first time on the quay of the Wassaly Ostrow, where
the steamer from Stettin lands her passengers, the idea naturally
impressed my mind that I had fallen among a brotherhood of Pilgrims or
Druids. Nothing could be more unique than the incongruity of their
costume and occupation. Every man looked like a priest; his long
beard, his grave expression of countenance, his little black hat and
flowing blue coat, gathered around the waist by means of a sash, his
glazed boots reaching above the knees, his slow and measured motions,
and the sublime indifference with which he regarded his customers,
were singularly impressive. Even the filth and rustiness which formed
the most prominent characteristics of the class contributed to the
delusion that they might have sprung from a Druidical source, and
gathered their dust of travel on the pilgrimage from remote ages down
to the present period. It is really something novel, in the line of
hackery, to see those sedate fellows sitting on their little droskys
awaiting a customer. The force of competition, however, has of late
years committed sad inroads upon their dignity, and now they are
getting to be about as enterprising and pertinacious as any of their
kindred in other parts of the world. The drosky is in itself a
curiosity as a means of locomotion. Like the driver, it is generally
dirty and dilapidated; but here the similitude ends; for, while the
former is often high, his drosky is always low. The wheels are not
bigger than those of an ordinary dog-cart, and the seat is only
designed for one person, though on a pinch it can accommodate two.
Generally it consists of a plank covered with a cushion, extending
lengthwise in the same direction as the horse, so that the rider sits
astride of it as if riding on horseback; some, however, have been
modernized so as to afford a more convenient seat in the usual way.
Night and day these droskys are every where to be seen, sometimes
drawn up by the sidewalk, the driver asleep, awaiting a customer, but
more frequently rattling full tilt over the pavements (the roughest
in the world) with a load, consisting, in nine cases out of ten, of a
fat old gentleman in military uniform, a very ugly old lady with a
lapdog, or a very dashy young lady glittering with jewels, on her way,
perhaps, to the Confiseur's or somewhere else. But in a city like St.
Petersburg, where it is at least two or three miles from one place to
another, every body with twenty kopecks in his pocket uses the drosky.
It is the most convenient and economical mode of locomotion for all
ordinary purposes, hence the number of them is very large. On some of
the principal streets it is marvelous how they wind their way at such
a rattling pace through the crowd. To a stranger unacquainted with
localities, they are a great convenience. And here, you see, commences
the gist of the story.
[Illustration: ISTROVOSCHIKS.]
On a certain occasion I called a drosky-man and directed him to drive
me to the United States Consulate. Having never been there myself, I
depended solely upon the intelligence and enterprise of the
istrovoschik. My knowledge of the Russian consisted of three
words--the name of the street and _dratzall kopeck_, the latter being
the stipulated fare of twenty kopecks. By an affirmative signal the
driver gave me to understand that he fully comprehended my wishes,
and, with a flourish of his whip, away we started. After driving me
nearly all over the city of St. Petersburg--a pretty extensive city,
as any body will find who undertakes to walk through it--this adroit
and skillful whipster, who had never uttered a word from the time of
starting, now deliberately drew up his drosky on the corner of a
principal street and began a conversation. I repeated the name of the
street in which the consulate was located, and _dratzall kopeck_. The
driver gazed in my face with a grave and placid countenance, stroked
his long beard, tucked the skirts of his long blue coat under him, and
drove on again. After rattling over a series of the most frightful
cobble-stone pavements ever designed as an improvement in a great
city, through several new quarters, he again stopped and treated me
to some more remarks in his native language. I answered as before, the
name of the street. He shook his head with discouraging gravity. I
then remarked _dratzall kopeck_. From the confused answer he made,
which occupied at least ten minutes of his time, and of which I was
unable to comprehend a single word, it was apparent that he was as
ignorant of his own language as he was of the city. In this extremity
he called another driver to his aid, who spoke just the words of
English, "Gooda-morkig!" "Good-morning," said I. From this the
conversation lapsed at once into remote depths of Russian. In despair
I got out of the drosky and walked along the street, looking up at all
the signs--the driver after me with his drosky, apparently watching to
see that I did not make my escape. At length I espied a German name on
a bakery sign. How familiar it looked in that desert of unintelligible
Russian--like a favorite quotation in a page of metaphysics. I went in
and spoke German--_vie gaetz?_ You are aware, perhaps, that I excel in
that language. I asked the way to the United States Consulate. The
baker had probably forgotten his native tongue, if ever he knew it at
all, for I could get nothing out of him but a shake of the head and
_nicht furstay_. However, he had the goodness, seeing my perplexity,
to put on his hat and undertake to find the consul's, which, by dint
of inquiry, he at length ascertained to be about half a mile distant.
We walked all the way, this good old baker and I, he refusing to ride
because there was only room for one, and I not liking to do so and let
him walk. The drosky-man followed in the rear, driving along very
leisurely, and with great apparent comfort to himself. He leaned back
in his seat with much gusto, and seemed rather amused than otherwise
at our movements. At length we reached the consulate. It was about
three hundred yards from my original point of departure. Any other man
in existence than my istrovoschik would have sunk into the earth upon
seeing me make this astounding discovery. I knew it by certain
landmarks--a church and a garden. But he did not sink into the earth.
He merely sat on his drosky as cool as a cucumber. I felt so grateful
to the worthy baker, who was a fat old gentleman, and perspired freely
after his walk, that I gave him thirty kopecks. The drosky-man claimed
forty kopecks, just double his fare. I called in the services of an
interpreter, and protested against this imposition. The interpreter
and the drosky-man got into an animated dispute on the question, and
must have gone clear back to the fundamental principles of droskyism,
for they seemed likely never to come to an end. The weather was warm,
and both kept constantly wiping their faces, and turning the whole
subject over and over again, without the slightest probability of an
equitable conclusion. At length my interpreter said, "Perhaps, sir,
you had better pay it. The man says you kept him running about for
over two hours; and since you have no proof to the contrary, it would
only give you trouble to have him punished." This view accorded
entirely with my own, and I cheerfully paid the forty kopecks; also
ten kopecks drink-geld, and a small douceur of half a ruble (fifty
kopecks) to the gentleman who had so kindly settled the difficulty for
me. After many years' experience of travel, I am satisfied, as before
stated, that a man may be born naturally honest, but can not long
retain his integrity in the hack business. He must sooner or later
take to swindling, otherwise he can never keep his horses fat, or make
the profession respectable and remunerative. Such, at least, has been
my experience of men in this line of business, not excepting the
istrovoschik of St. Petersburg.