A PLEASANT EXCURSION.
I had the good fortune, during my ramble, to meet with a couple of
fellow-passengers from Stettin. One of them was a rough, weather-beaten
man of middle age, with rather marked features, but not an unkindly
expression. His mysterious conduct during the voyage had frequently
attracted my attention. There was something curious about his motions, as
if an invisible companion, to whom he was bound in some strange way,
continually accompanied him. He drank enormous quantities of beer, and
smoked from morning till night a tremendous meerschaum, which must have
held at least a pint of tobacco. When not engaged in drinking beer and
smoking, he usually walked rapidly up and down the decks, with his hands
behind him and his head bent down, talking in a guttural voice to himself
about "hemp." He slept--or rather lay down, for I don't think he ever
slept--with his head close to mine on a bench in the cabin, and it was a
continued source of trouble to me the way he puffed, and groaned, and
talked about "hemp." Sometimes he was half the night arguing with himself
about the various prices and qualities of this useful article, but I did
not understand enough of his _blat deutsch_ to gather the drift of the
argument. All I could make out was "_Zweimal zwei macht vier_--(a
puff)--_sechs und vierzig_--(a groan)--_acht und sechzig macht ein
hundert_--(a snort)--_sieben tausend_--_acht tausend fuenf und dreissig
thaler_--(a sigh)--_schilling_--_kopeck_--_ruble_--_hemphf! Mein Gott!
Zwei und dreissig tausend_--_hemphf_--_ruble_--(a terrible gritting of
the teeth)--_sechs und fuenfzig_--_Gott im Himmel!_--_Ich kann nicht
schlafen!_" Here he would jump up and shout "Kellner! Kellner! _ein
flask bier!_--_sechs und zechzig_--_zweimal acht und vierzig! Kellner,
flask bier!_--_Liebe Gott_--_was ist das?_--_Nine und sechzig_--_flask
bier!_ _Kleich! Kleich!_" When the beer came he would drink off three
bottles without stopping, then light his pipe, fill the cabin with smoke,
and after he had done that go on deck to get the fresh air. I could hear
him for hours walking up and down over my head, and thought I could
occasionally detect the words. "_Hemphf_--_ruble_--_thaler_--_fuenfmal
sechs und zwanzig_--_mein Gott!_" It was evident the man was laboring
under some dreadful internal excitement about the price of hemp. What
could it be? Was he going to hang himself? Did he contemplate buying some
Russian hemp for that purpose especially? The mystery was heightened by
the fact that he was frequently in close conversation with the young man
whom I have already mentioned as my other fellow-passenger, and they both
talked about nothing else but hemp. What in the name of sense were they
going to do with hemp in Mechlenberg, their native country, where people
were beheaded--unless they meant to hang themselves? The mystery troubled
me so much that I finally made bold to ask the young man if his friend
had committed any serious crime, and whether that was the reason he
talked so much about hemp? These North Germans are a queer people. I
don't think they ever suspect any body to be joking. They take the most
outrageous proposition literally, and never seem to understand that there
can be two meanings to any thing. As Sydney Smith says of the Scotch, it
would take a surgical operation to get a joke well into their
understanding. When I propounded this question to my young
fellow-passenger--a very amiable and intelligent young man--he looked
distressed and horror-stricken, and replied with great earnestness, "Oh
no, he is a very respectable man. I am certain he never committed a crime
in his life." "But," said I, "if he doesn't intend to hang somebody, why
should he rave about hemp all night?" "Oh, he is a rope-maker. He is
going to Russia to buy a cargo of hemp, and he's afraid prices will go up
unless he gets there soon. The head wind and chopping sea keep us back a
good deal." "Yes, yes, I understand it all now. Suppose, my young friend,
you and I go to work and help the steamer along a little? It would be
doing a great service to the cause of hemp, and enable me to sleep
besides." The Mechlenberger looked incredulous. "How are we to do it?" he
asked at length. "Oh, nothing easier!" I answered. "Just put a couple of
these handspikes in the lee scuppers--so! and hold her steady!" At this
the Mechlenberger, who was a very genial and good-natured fellow, could
scarcely help laughing, the absurdity of the idea struck him so forcibly.
Seeing, however, that I looked perfectly in earnest, he was kind enough
to explain the erroneous basis of my calculation, and accordingly entered
into an elaborate mathematical demonstration to prove that what we gained
by lifting we would lose by the additional pressure of our feet upon the
decks! After this I was prepared to believe the story of the old
Nuremberger, who, when about to set out on his travels, got on top of his
trunk and took hold of each end for the purpose of carrying it to the
post station. The question about the hemp was too good to be lost, and my
young friend had too strong a business head not to perceive the
delightful verdancy of my character. He accordingly took the earliest
opportunity to mention it to his comrade, Herr Batz, the rope-maker, who
never stopped laughing about the mistake I had made till we got to St.
Petersburg. They were both very genial, pleasant fellows, and took a
great fancy to the Herr American who thought Herr Batz was going to hang
himself, and who had proposed to steady the steamer by means of a
handspike. Such primitive simplicity was absolutely refreshing to them;
and, since they enjoyed it, of course I did, and we were the best of
friends.
On the present occasion, after we had passed the usual compliments it
was proposed that we should hire a boat, as the night was fine, and
take a trip down to the Kamennoi Island. I was delighted to have two
such agreeable companions, and readily acceded to the proposition. A
young Russian in the hemp business accompanied us, and altogether we
made a very lively and humorous party. I was sorry, however, to be
prejudiced in the estimation of the Russian by having the hemp and
handspike story repeated in my presence, but finally got over that,
and changed the current of the conversation by asking if the Emperor
Alexander would send me to Siberia in case I smoked a cigar in the
boat? To which the Russian responded somewhat gravely that I could
smoke as many cigars on the water as I pleased, although it was
forbidden in the streets on account of the danger of fire; but that,
in any event, I would merely have to pay a fine, as people were only
sent to Siberia for capital crimes and political offenses.
We got a boat down near the Custom-house, at a point of the Vassoli
Ostrou, called the Strelka, and were soon skimming along through a
small branch of the Neva, toward the island of Krestofskoi. The water
was literally alive with boats, all filled with gay parties of
pleasure-seekers, some on their way to the different islands, some to
the bath-houses which abound in every direction, and all apparently
enjoying a delightful time of it. Passing to the right of the
Petrofskoi Island, whose grass-covered shores slope down to the water
like a green carpet outspread under the trees, we soon reached the
Little Nevka, about three miles from our starting-point. We
disembarked on the Krestofskoi Island, near the bridge which crosses
from Petrofskoi. On the right is a beautiful palace belonging to some
of the royal family, the gardens of which sweep down to the waters of
the Nevka, and present a charming scene of floral luxuriance.
Gondolas, richly carved and curiously shaped, lay moored near the
stone steps; the trestled bowers were filled with gay parties;
pleasant sounds of voices and music floated upon the air, and over
all a soft twilight gave a mystic fascination to the scene. I thought
of the terrible arctic winters that for six months in the year cast
their cold death-pall over the scene of glowing and tropical
luxuriance, and wondered how it could ever come to life again; how the
shrubs could bloom, and the birds sing, and the soft air of the summer
nights come back and linger where such dreary horrors were wont to
desolate the earth.
[Illustration: FISH PEDDLER.]
The constant dread of infringing upon the police regulations; the
extraordinary deference with which men in uniform are regarded; the
circumspect behavior at public places; the nice and well-regulated
mirthfulness, never overstepping the strict bounds of prudence, which
I had so often noticed in the northern states of Germany, and which
may in part be attributed to the naturally conservative and orderly
character of the people, are not the prominent features of the
population of St. Petersburg. It appeared to me that in this respect
at least they are more like Americans than any people I had seen in
Europe; they do pretty much as they please; follow such trades and
occupations as they like best; become noisy and uproarious when it
suits them; get drunk occasionally; fight now and then; lie about on
the grass and under the trees when they feel tired; enjoy themselves
to their heart's content at all the public places; and care nothing
about the police as long as the police let them alone. I rather
fancied there must be a natural democratic streak in these people, for
they are certainly more free and easy in their manners, rougher in
their dress, more independent in their general air, and a good deal
dirtier than most of the people I had met with in the course of my
travels. I do not mean to say that rowdyism and democracy are
synonymous, but I consider it a good sign of innate manliness and a
natural spirit of independence when men are not afraid to dress like
vagabonds and behave a little extravagantly, if it suits their taste.
It must be said, however, that the police regulations or St.
Petersburg, without being onerous or vexatious, are quite as good as
those of any large city in Europe. When men are deprived of their
political liberties, the least that can be done for them is to let
them enjoy as much municipal freedom as may be consistent with public
peace. I should never have suspected, from any thing I saw in the city
or neighborhood of St. Petersburg, that I was within the limits of an
absolute despotism. If one desires to satisfy himself on this point he
must visit the interior.
[Illustration: YOUNG PEASANTS.]
I was led into this train of reflection partly by the scenes I had
witnessed during my rambles through the city and on the way down the
river, and partly by what we now saw on the island of Krestofskoi. A
bridge unites this island with the Petrofskoi, and two other bridges
with the islands of Kamennoi and Elaghinskoi. It was eleven o'clock at
night, yet the twilight was so rich and glowing that one might readily
read a newspaper in any of the open spaces. The main avenues were
crowded with carriages of every conceivable description--the grandly
decorated coach of the noble, glittering with armorial bearings and
drawn by four richly-caparisoned horses; the barouche, easy and
elegant, filled with a gay company of foreigners; the drosky, whirling
along at a rapid pace, with its solitary occupant; the kareta, plain,
neat, and substantial, carrying on its ample seats some worthy
merchant and his family; the nondescript little vehicle, without top,
bottom, or sides--nothing but four small wheels and a cushioned seat
perched on springs, with an exquisite perched astride upon the street,
driving a magnificent blood horse at the rate of 2.40; and English
boxes with stiff Englishmen in them; and French chaises with loose
Frenchmen in them; and a New York buggy with a New York fancy man in
it; and hundreds of fine horses with dashing Russian officers in
uniform mounted on them, and hundreds of other horses with secretaries
and various young sprigs of nobility struggling painfully to stay
mounted on them; and, in short, every thing grand, fanciful, and
entertaining in the way of locomotion that the most fertile
imagination can conceive. Don't do me the injustice, I pray you, to
consider me envious of the good fortune of others in being able to
ride when I had to walk, for it does me an amazing deal of good to see
people enjoy themselves. Nothing pleases me better than to see a fat
old lady, glittering all over with fine silks and jewels, leaning back
in her cushioned carriage, with her beloved little lapdog in her
arms--two elegant drivers, four prancing horses, and a splendid little
postillion in front; two stalwart footmen, in plush breeches, behind,
with variegated yellow backs like a pair of wasps. Can any thing be
more picturesque? It always makes me think of a large June-bug dragged
about by an accommodating crowd of fancy-colored flies! And what can
be more imposing than a Russian grandee? See that terrific old
gentleman, sitting all alone in a gorgeous carriage, large enough to
carry himself and half a dozen of his friends. Orders and disorders
cover him from head to foot. He is the exact picture of a ferocious
bullfrog, with a tremendous mustache and a horribly malignant
expression of eye, and naturally enough expects every body to get out
of his way. That man must have had greatness thrust upon him, for he
never could have achieved it by the brilliancy of his intellect.
Doubtless he spends much of his time at the springs, but they don't
seem to have purified his body, or subdued the natural ferocity of his
temper. His wife must have a pleasant time. I wonder if he sleeps
well, or enjoys Herzain's essays on Russian aristocracy? But make way,
ye pedestrian rabble, for here comes a secretary of legation on
horseback--make way, or he will tumble off and inflict some bodily
injury upon you with the points of his waxed mustache! I know he must
be a secretary of legation by the enormous polished boots he wears
over his tight breeches, the dandy parting of his hair, the
supercilious stupidity of his countenance, and the horrible tortures
he suffers in trying to stick on the back of his horse. Nobody else in
the world could make such an ass of himself by such frantic attempts
to show off and keep on at the same time. I'll bet my life he thinks
he is the most beautiful and accomplished gentleman ever produced by a
beneficent Creator. Well, it is a happy thing for some of us that we
don't see ourselves as others see us; if we did, my friends in the
hemp business and myself would fare badly. Beregrissa! Padi!
Padi!--have a care! make way, for here comes a cloud of dust, and in
that cloud of dust is a kibitka, drawn by three wild horses, and in
that kibitka, half sitting, half clinging to the side, is an official
courier. Crack goes the whip of the _yamtschick_; the three fiery
horses fly through the dust; the courier waves his hand to an officer
on horseback, and with a whirl and a whisk they disappear. _Pashol!_ I
hope they won't break their necks before they get through.
[Illustration: DVORNICK AND POSTMAN.]
Soon the main road branches out in various directions, and we strike
off with the diverging streams of pedestrians, families of the middle
and lower classes, young men of the town, gay young damsels with their
beaux, burly tradesmen, tinkers, tailors, and hatters, waiters and
apprentices, sailors and soldiers, until we find ourselves in the
midst of a grand old forest. Open glades, pavilions, and tables are
visible at intervals; but for the most part we are in a labyrinthian
wilderness of trees, rich in foliage, and almost oppressive in their
umbrageous density, while
"Deep velvet verdure clothes the turf beneath,
And trodden flowers their richest odors breathe."
Insects flit through the still atmosphere; the hum of human voices,
softened by distance, falls soothingly upon the ear; and as we look,
and listen, and loiter on our way, we wonder if this can be the
dreamland of the arctic regions? Can there ever be snow-storms and
scathing frosts in such a land of tropical luxuriance? Thus, as we
lounge along in the mellow twilight amid the groves of Katrofskoi,
what charming pictures of sylvan enjoyment are revealed to us at every
turn! Rustic tables under the great wide-spreading trees are
surrounded by family groups--old patriarchs, and their children, and
great-grandchildren; the steaming urn of tea in the middle; the old
people chatting and gossiping; the young people laughing merrily; the
children tumbling about over the green sward. Passing on we come to a
group of Mujiks lying camp-fashion on the grass, eating their black
bread, drinking their vodka, and sleeping whenever they please--for
this is their summer home, and this grass is their bed. Next we come
to a group of officers, their rich uniforms glittering in the soft
twilight, their horses tied to the trees, or held at a little distance
by some attendant soldiers. Dominoes, cards, Champagne, and cakes are
scattered in tempting profusion upon the table, and if they are not
enjoying their military career, it is not for want of congenial
accompaniments and plenty of leisure. A little farther on we meet a
jovial party of Germans seated under a tree, with a goodly supply of
bread and sausages before them, singing in fine accord a song of their
faderland. Next we hear the familiar strains of an organ, and soon
come in sight of an Italian who is exhibiting an accomplished monkey
to an enraptured crowd of children. The monkey has been thoroughly
trained in the school of adversity, and makes horrible grimaces at his
cruel and cadaverous master, who in ferocious tones, and without the
least appearance of enjoying the sport, commands this miniature man to
dance, fire a small gun, go through the sword exercise, play on a
small fiddle, smoke a cigar, turn a somersault, bow to the company,
and hold out his hat for an unlimited number of kopecks. Herr Batz
suggests that such a monkey as that might be taught to spin ropes, and
our younger Mechlenberger laughs, and says he once read a story of a
monkey that shaved a cat, and then cut off his own or the cat's tail,
he could not remember which. This reminds the Russian of a countess in
Moscow who owned a beautiful little dog, to which she was greatly
attached. She required her serfs to call it "My noble Prince," and had
them well flogged with the knout whenever they approached it without
bowing. One day a cat got hold of the noble Prince, and gave him a
good scratching. The countess, being unable to soothe her afflicted
poodle, caused the cat's paws to be cut off, and served up on a plate
for his unhappy highness to play with--after which the noble pug was
perfectly satisfied! Of course, we all laughed at the Russian's story,
but he assured us it was a well authenticated fact, and was generally
regarded as a most delicate _jeu d'esprit_. Not to be behindhand in
the line of cats and monkeys, I was obliged to tell an anecdote of a
Frenchman, who, on his arrival in Algiers, ordered a ragout at one of
the most fashionable restaurants. It was duly served up, and
pronounced excellent, though rather strongly flavored. "Pray," said
the Frenchman to the _maitre d'hotel_, "of what species of cat do you
make ragouts in Algiers?" "Pardon, monsieur," replied the polite host,
"we use nothing but monkeys in Africa!" Disgusted at this colonial
barbarism, the Frenchman immediately returned to Paris, where he
remained forever after, that he might enjoy his customary and more
civilized dish of cat. Herr Batz had not before heard of such a
thing, neither had the young Mechlenberger, and they both agreed that
cats must be a very disgusting article of food. The Russian, however,
seemed to regard it as nothing uncommon, and gave us some very
entertaining accounts of various curious dishes in the interior of
Russia, to which cats were not a circumstance.
[Illustration: GLAZIER, PAINTER, CARPENTERS.]
With such flimsy conversation as this we entertain ourselves till we
reach a village of summer residences on the Kamennoi Island. Here we
pause a while to enjoy the varied scenes of amusement that tempt the
loiterer at every step; the tea-drinking parties out on the porticoes,
the gambling saloons, the dancing pavilions, the cafes, the
confectioneries, with their gay throngs of customers, their gaudy
colors, their music, and sounds of joy and revelry. A little farther
on we come to a stand of carriages, and near by a gate and a large
garden. For thirty kopecks apiece we procure tickets of admission.
This is the Vauxhall of Kamennoi. We jostle in with the crowd, and
soon find ourselves in front of an open theatre.
So passes away the time till the whistle of a little steamer warns us
of an opportunity to get back to the city. Hurrying down to the wharf,
we secure places on the stern-sheets of a screw-wheeled craft not much
bigger than a good-sized yawl. It is crowded to overflowing--in front,
on top of the machinery, in the rear, over the sides--not a square
inch of space left for man or beast. The whistle blows again; the
fiery little monster of an engine shivers and screams with excess of
steam; the grim, black-looking engineer gives the irons a pull, and
away we go at a rate of speed that threatens momentary destruction
against some bridge or bath-house. It is now two o'clock A.M. The rays
of the rising sun are already reflected upon the glowing waters of the
Neva. Barges and row-boats are hurrying toward the city. Carriages are
rolling along the shady avenues of the islands. Crowds are gathered at
every pier and landing-place awaiting some conveyance homeward. Ladies
are waving their handkerchiefs to the little steamer to stop, and
gentlemen are flourishing their hats. The captain blows the whistle,
and the engineer stops the boat with such a sudden reversion of our
screw that we are pitched forward out of the seats. Some of the
passengers clamber up at the landing-places, and others clamber down
and take their places. The little engine sets up its terrific scream
again; the hot steam hisses and fizzes all over the boat; involuntary
thoughts of maimed limbs and scalded skins are palpably impressed upon
every face; but the little steamer keeps on--she is used to it, like
the eels, and never bursts up. Winding through the varied channels of
the Neva, under bridges, through narrow passes, among wood-boats,
row-boats, and shipping, we at length reach the landing on the Russian
Quay, above the Admiralty. Here we disembark, well satisfied to be
safely over all the enjoyments and hazards of the evening.
Evening, did I say? The morning sun is blazing out in all his glory!
We have had no evening--no night. It has been all a wild, strange,
glowing freak of fancy. The light of day has been upon us all the
time. And now, should we go to bed, when the sun is shining over the
city, glistening upon the domes of the churches, illuminating the
windows of the palaces, awaking the drowsy sailors of the Neva? Shall
we hide ourselves away in suffocating rooms when the morning breeze is
floating in from the Gulf of Finland, bearing upon its wings the
invigorating brine of ocean, or shall we,
"Pleased to feel the air,
Still wander in the luxury of light?"