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What but the ice in the Gulf of Finland? In Brussels, weather-wise men, bound Russia-wards, were quite sanguine as to the first day of May being first open water. But in Berlin, people began to shake their heads, and whisper ugly stories about the ice; and many advised me to take a run down to Leipzig and Dresden, and see the Saxon Switzerland; telling me significantly that I would have ample time to explore all central Germany before the northern waters were ruffled by the keel even of a cock-boat.

There was a little band of Britons purposing for Petersburg at the table d'hote of the Hotel de Russie, at Berlin, of whom I had the advantage to make one; and we fed ourselves from day to day after dinner with fallacious hopes of early steamers. A Roman citizen in a buff waistcoat, and extensively interested in tallow, so at least it was whispered, though the Fumden Blad said merely Shortsix, Kaufmann aus England, and was silent as to his specialty, was perfectly certain that a steamboat would start from Stockholm for Cronstadt on the fourth of May, and he expressed his determination to secure a passage by her; but as Sweden happens to be on the other side of the Baltic, and there was no bridge, and no water communication yet opened therewith, the Stockholm steamer was a thing to be looked at in lithography, framed and glazed in the hall of the hotel and longed for, rather than embarked in.

We were all of us perpetually haunted. This spectral craft was reported to have left Hull some time since-we all agreed that the passage-money out was nine guineas, inclusive of provisions of the very best quality, but exclusive of wines, liquors, and the steward's fee, and she was to call after doubling the cape, I presume at Kiel, Lubeck, Copenhagen, Konigsberg; Jerusalem, Madagascar, and North and South Amerikee, for aught I know.

To find this ghostly bark, an impetuous Englishman —a north countryman with a head so fiery in hue that they might have put him on a post and made a lighthouse of him, and pendant whiskers like carriage rugs, started off by the midnight mail to Hamburg. He came back in three days and a towering rage, saying that there was ice even in the Elbe, and giving us to understand that the free cities of Hamburg, Lubeck, and Bremen, had concurred in laughing him to scorn at the bare mention of a steamer due north-yet awhile at least.

By degrees a grim certainty broke upon us, and settled itself convincingly in our minds. To the complexion of the Preussischer-Adler we must come; and that Post-Dampfschiff would start from Stettin on Saturday, the seventeenth of May, at noon, and not one day or hour before. I thought the three long weeks would never have come to an end. I might, had I been differently situated, have taken my fill of enjoyment in Berlin,.

But they were all caviare to the million of Prussian blue devils which possessed me. I felt that I had no business in Berlin-that I had no right to applaud Fraulein Wagner-that I ought to reserve my kid-glove reverberations for Mademoiselle Bagdanoff: that every walk I took Unter den Linden was so many paces robbed from the Nevsky Perspective, and that every sight I took at the King of Prussia and the Princes of the House of Hohenzollern was a fraud on my liege literary masters, the Emperor of Russia and the scions of the house of Romanoff.

Conscience-stricken as I felt, though void of guilt, I had my consolations-few and spare, but grateful as Esmeralda's cup to the thirst-tortured Quasimodo. I heard the Oberon of Karl Maria von Weber performed with such a fervour and solemnity of sincerity, listened to with such rapt attention and reverent love-drunk up by a thousand greedy ears, bar by bar, note by note-from- the first delicious hornmurmur in the overture to the last crash in the triumphant march, in the finale, that I began at last to fancy that I was in a Cathedral instead of 2.

An extra gleam of consolation was imparted to me, too, when I read in the Schauspiel-zettel, or play-bill, the printed avowal that the libretto of the opera had been into High Dutch rendered from the Efiglish of the Herr-Poem-Konstruktor J. Again; I saw the Faust -of Wolfgang von Goethethe Faust as a tragedy, in all its magnificent and majestic simplicity.

I don't think I clearly comprehended fifty phrases of the dialogue; I could scarcely read the names of the dramatis personae in the play-bill; and yet I would not have missed that performance for a pile of ducats; nor shall I ever forget the actor who played Mephistopheles.

His name is a shadow to me now; the biting wit, the searching philosophy, the scathing satire in -his speech were wellnigh Greek to me; but the hood, the gait, the gestures, the devil's grin, the vibrating voice, the red cock's feather, the long peaked shoes, the sardonically up-turned moustache, will never be erased from my mind, and will stand me in good stead for commentaries when in the week of the three Thursdays, I suppose I take heart of grace and sit down to study the giant of Weimar's masterpiece in the original.

There was a pretty, blue-eyed, rosy-lipped Marguerite, whose hair had a golden sheen perfectly wondrous; and Faust would have been a senseless stock not to have fallen in love with her; but, alas! Still, I came away from Faust almost happy. There might, perchance, at other times be a surly pleasure in the discovery that Berlin gloves are ap — parently unknown at Berlin-even as there are no French rolls in Paris-and that Berlin wool is very little sought after.

There might have been some advantage gained to science by an attempt to analyze the peculiar smell of the capital of Prussia, which, to uninitiated noses, seems compounded of volatile essence of Cologne, not the eau, but the streets thereof, multiplied by sewer, plus cesspool, plus Grande Rue de Pera, plus Rue de la Tixeranderie after a shower of rain, plus port of Marseilles at any time, plus London eating-house, plus Vauxhall bone-boiling establishment, plus tallow factory, plus low lodging-house in Whitechapel, plus dissecting-rooms, plus the 46 gruel thick and slab 9 of Macbeth's witches when it began to cool.

Though the H6tel de Russie boasted as savoury a table-dhoSte as one would wish to find, likewise Rhine wine exhilarating to the palate and soothing to the soul, I began to loathe my food and drink. I longed for Russian caviare and Russian vodki.

I came abroad to eat candles and drink train-oil-or, at least, the equivalent for that which is popularly supposed to form the favourite food of our late enemies-and not to feast on Bisque soup and supreme de volaille. Three weeks! The maestro whom I met at Potsdam, went back to Cologne cheerfully; he was not bound for the land, of the Russ; and, having accomplished the object of his mission-which I imagine to have been the engagement of a few hundred fiddlers-departed in a droschky, his straw-coloured kids gleaming in the sunshine, and wishing me joy of my journey to St.

Shall I ever get there, I wonder? The Englishman, who was a man of the world, didn't come back. He of the red head Mr. Eddystone I christened him from his beacon-like hair took rail for Kanigsberg, to see if there was anything in the steam-vessel line to be done there, and the buff waistcoat, who was commercially interested in tallow, boldly announced his determination not to stand it any longer, but to be off to St. Petersburg overland.

The railway, I reasoned, will take me as far as this same K6inigsberg, and proceeding thence by way of. There is the malle-poste, or diligence; there is the extra-post; there is the private kibitka, which I can purchase, or hire, and horse at my own charges from stage to stage. When the winter breaks up in Russia, he remarks, the roads break up too, and the travellers break down. He has often been overland himself, perforce, where hasn't he been?

He enlarges so much on the bruisings, bumpings, joltings, and dislocations to. I can't stop any longer in Berlin, however, that is certain. So I drive out of the Oraneinberg Gate, and cast myself into a railway carriage, which, in its turn, casts me out at Stettin-on-the-Oder, eightyfour miles distant.

And on the banks of that fearsome River Oder I pass May-day. In the Oder, too, I find the steamer in which, at some far remote period of my existence, I suppose I am to occupy a berth. I find the " Preussischer Adler; " but woe is me! There being something the matter with her boilers, they have dismasted her, leaving her nothing but clumsy stumps like wooden legs.

They are scraping her all over, for some cutaneous disorder with which she is afflicted, I presume, and they are recoppering her bottom,an operation which German shipwrights appear to me to perform with gum-arabic, Dutch metal, and a camel's-hair pencil. Altogether the "Prussian Eagle " looks such a woe-begone, moulting, tailless, broken-beaked bird, and so very unlike going to Cronstadt, that I flee from her in dismay; and boarding the "Geyser," which is trim, taut, and double-funnelled, steam swiftly through the Haf See to Swinemunde, and then across the East Sea to Copenhagen.

There is a horrible persuasion forcing itself upon me now-that I live in Berlin: that my goal is there. Back to Berlin I go. Letters are waiting for me. People I didn't know from Adam a month ago, and don't care a silbergroschen for, offer to kiss me on both cheeks, and welcome me home. I suppose by this time I am a Prussian subject, and shall have to serve in the landwehr.

Between that and blowing one's brains out there is not much difference. I go back to Stettin, where I have a touch of the overland longing again it is now the tenth of May , and a Jewish gentleman with an apple-green gabardine, lined with cat-skin, and a beard so ragged and torn, that I am led to surmise that he has himself despoiled the cats of their furry robes, and has suffered severely in the contest, is exceedingly anxious he nosed me in the hotel lobby as an Englishman, within an hour of my arrival that I should purchase a kibitka he has to sell.

He only wants fifty thalers for it; it is a splendid kibitka, he says: —" sehr hilbsch, schrecklich! I look at the kibitka, which I am to horse from stage to stage, and I deserve to be horsed myself if I buy. I quarrel with the Jew in the cat-skins on the subject, who calls me lord, and sheds tears. He is not in the least offended when I bid him go hang, in the English language, and walk away moodilycalling after me in cheerful accents by the title of Well-born Great British Sir that he has a fine English bull-pup to dispose of, dirt-cheap.

After this, I have another look at the " Preussischer Adler," which, by this time, has been turned, for coppering purposes, nearly keel upwards, and looks as if she had abandoned herself to despair, as I have. Walk the streets of Stettin I dare not, for I am pursued by the hideous spectre of Thomas Tilder aus Tyrol, of whom more anon.

Yes, Thomas, in these pages shall you, like noxious bat on barndoor, be spread out with nails of type! And, as for Berlin, I am ashamed to show my face there again. The very clerks at the station seem to think it quite time for me to be in Russia; and I am afraid the head waiter at the H6tel de Russie took it very ill. The process is a solemn and intricate one, and merits a few words of notice.

There is plenty of time; they are hammering away at the Prussian Eagle's boilers yet. First, with great fear and trembling, I go to the hotel of the Russian embassy, which is a tremendous mansion, as big as a castle, under the Linden. I have borne the majority of Foreign Legations abroad with tolerable equanimity; but I am quite overcome here by the grandeur, and the double eagle over the gate, and the vastness of the court-yard, and the odour of a diplomatic dinner, which is being cooked probably in stew-pans of gold from the Ural mountains ; but I am especially awed by a house-porter, or Suisse, of gigantic stature, possibly the largest Suisse that ever human ambassador possessed.

He is not exactly like a beadle, nor a drum-major, nor an archbishop, he wears a gold-embroidered alb nor a field-marshal, nor garter king-at-arms, nor my lord on May-day, but is something between all these functionaries in appearance. He has a long gilt-headed pole in his hand, much more like the. Here, in but a seedy little bureau for so grand a mansion, I find a little round old gentleman in a grey flannel dressing-gown and a skull-cap, who looks more like my Uncle Toby than a Russian, offers me snuff from his box, a present from the czar, perhaps, and courteously desires to know what he can do for me.

I explain my errand; upon which the little old gentleman shakes his head with Burleigh-like sagacity, as if granting a vise to a passport were no light matter, and, securing my papers, begs me to call again at three o'clock the following day. I call again at the appointed time, when it appears that the little old gentleman —or, at least, his diplomatic chiefs —have no orders, as yet, to admit English subjects into Russia; so there are telegraphic messages to be sent to Warsaw, where Count Gortschakoff is, and who most courteously telegraphs back, "By all means:" and there are papers to be signed, and declarations to be made, and there is the deuce and all to pay.

Lord Granville, according to the Nord, had commissioned one Sir Acton to engage a house at Moscow for him. Sir Acton telegraphs to Lord Granville to know whether the terms demanded for the house will suit his lordship, whereupon Lord Granville telegraphs back, " Yes, my dear.

The chief secretary of legation, he says, is at Charlottenbourg, dining with the king, and without his signature the passport is not valid. I call again; but I suppose the secretary must be taking tea with some other member of the royal family, for no passport do I receive, and another appointment is made.

This time I see my passport bodily, lying on a table, and by the amount of Russian hieroglyphics and double-eagle stamps covering every available blank space on its surface, it ought surely, to my mind, to be good from Revel to Tobolsk. But it is noch nicht fertig-not yet ready-the little old gentleman says. He speaks nothing but German —so, at least, he blandly declares; yet I notice that he pricks his ears up sharply, and that his eyes twinkle, when an irate Frenchman, whose errand is the same as mine only he has been waiting ten days denounces the Russians, in his native tongue, as a nation de barbares.

I begin myself to get exceedingly cross, and impatient to know when I am to have the precious document; whereupon the little old gentleman looks at me curiously, as if he didn't quite understand what I meant, or perhaps as if I didn't quite understand his meaning. I tell him that I am stopping at the Hoitel de Russie, in which with a smile of five-hundred-diplomatist power, he makes me a bow, and tells me he will have the honour of bringing me the passport.

I ask if there is any charge for the vise; but, with another smile that would set a sphynx up in business on the spot, so inscrutable is it, he assures me that the vise is Gratis, gratis, and bows me out. I go home to dinner, and discourse to Mr. Erenreich on my passport tribulations. Otherwise you may perhaps find that he has left the passport at the Legation, and that it is impossible to obtain it before to-morrow.

He makes me a profusion of bows, and gives me my passport, —gutt nach Russland as he expresses it. Yet the expenditure of three shillings has made me " good for Russia. Petersburg was as inaccessible to an Englishman as Mecca or Japan, and now, lo, a scrap of a.

What he should want a Prussian dollar from me for, or why, indeed, he should exact any thing, passes my comprehension. He walked into my bedroom at the Drei Kronen this morning, at a dreadfully early hour, with his hat on, and his umbrella a dull crimson in hue under his arm. He bade me good morning in a cavalier manner, and informed me that he was the commissionnaire, to which I retorted that he might be the Pope, but that I wanted none of his company.

The boots was packing my luggage, and he superintended the process with a serenely patronizing air, thinking possibly, that on the principle that "1' 1 il du maitre engraisse' le cheval," it is the eye of the commissionnaire that cords the trunks. Finding me indisposed for conversation I had taken some genuine Russian caviare for breakfast with a view of acclimatizing myself early, and was dreadfully sick , he took himself and umbrella off to another apartment, and the boots expressed his opinion to me in strict confidence that he, the commissionnaire, was a spitzbube.

This is all he has done for me, and now he has the conscience to come to me and tell me that his charges are "chost von Daler. Why do I give the commissionnaire the thaler he demands, and to which he has no sort of right? Why do I feel inclined to give two, three dollars, to invite him to partake of schnapps, to cast myself on his neck, and assure him that I love him as a brother? Why, because to-day is Saturday, the seventeenth of May, eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and I am standing on the deck-the quarter-deck, ye gods!

New tail-feathers, new wing-feathers, new beak, new -claws, has the " Preussischer Adler. There is nothing the matter with her boilers now, her masts are tapering, her decks snow-white, and I have no doubt that her copper glistens like burnished gold, and that the mermaids in the Baltic will be tempted to purloin little bits of the shining metal to deck their weedy tresses withal.

A bran new flag of creamy tinge floats at her stern, and on it is depicted with smart plumage, and beak and claws of gold, an eagle of gigantic dimensions. And this is the last eagle with one head that I shall see on this side Jordan. Every thing seems to be new on board. The saloon is gorgeous in crimson velvet, and mirrors, and mahogany and gold. There are the cleanest of sheets, the rosiest of counterpanes, the most coquettish of chintz curtains to the berths.

All the crock. All the knives and forks are new; and though I discover afterwards that they won't cut, they are delightfully shiny. There is a library of new books in a new rosewood case, and there is a new cabinet piano, tuned up to nautical-concert pitch, and whose keys when struck clang as sharply as the tongue of an American steamboat clerk. The stewards, of whom there are a goodly number, are all clad in glossy new uniforms of a fancy naval cut, and look like midshipmen at a Vauxhall masquerade.

There is a spacious galley for cooking purposes, full of the brightest cooking utensils; a titillating odour issues therefrom, and there are four cooks, yea four, all in professional white. One has an imperial and gold watch-chain, one is flirting with the stewardess, who is young, pretty, flounced, and wears her hair after the manner of the Empress Eug6nie, a third is smoking a paper cigarette, quite the gentleman, while the last, reclining in a grove of stewpans, is studying attentively a handsomelybound book.

What can it be? Both are commanded by officers respectively of the Prussian! The fare by the Prussian Eagle is enormously high; nine guineas for a sixty hours' passage. On payment of this exorbitant honorarium she will carry such humble passengers as myself; but the ordinary travellers per "Preussischer Adler" are princes of the empire,.

And as for ladies- tenez! I start at the wrong end of the season to travel with the grandees, however. Petersburg as fast as ever they can obtain passports. The Vladimir, they tell me, has all her berths engaged up to the middle of July next, and the Prussian Eagle is in equal demand. I should perhaps be more unexceptionably satisfied with the Adler's arrangements, if her crew would not persist in wearing moustaches and Hessian boots with the tassels cut off.

It is not nautical. A boatswain, too, with stripes down his trousers, is to me an anomaly. I must dissent, too, from the system of stowing passengers' luggage per " Preussischer Adler. He advances jauntily, as though he were not unaccustomed to dance a coranto. Arrived at the brink of the abyss, he stops, expectorates, bandies a joke in High Dutch with a compatriot who is mending his trousers in an adjacent barge, and bending slightly, pitches the trunk head foremost into the hold.

There is, I need scarcely say, a tremendous fuss and to-do with papers and policemen before we"start, calling over names, verification or legitimation of. THE feeling may be one of pure cockneyism, as puerile as when one sees a ship on the sea for the first time, but I cannot help it; I have a pleasure, almost infantine, when I remind myself that I am no longer performing a trite steamboat voyage on the Thames, the Seine, the Rhine, the Scheldt, or the Straits of Dover, but that I am in verity journeying on the bosom of the Baltic; that we have left the coast of Denmark far behind; that that low long strip of land yonder cingling the horizon is the Swedish island of Gothland, and that, by to-morrow at daybreak, we may expect to enter the Gulf of Finland.

Dear reader, if you are, as I hope, a lover of the story-books, would not your heart sing, and your soul be gladdened-would not you clap your hands. That a livery-stable keeper's horse in Barbican had that morning put out the eye of a calender, son of a king, with a whisk of his tail; that Mr.

Mitchell, of the Zoological Society, had just received a fine roe per Peninsular and Oriental Company's steamer; that there were excursions every day from the Waterloo station to the Valley of Diamonds; that Mr. Farrance of Spring Garden supposing that eminent pastrycooking firm to have an individual entity had been sentenced to death for making cream tarts without pepper, but had been respited on the discovery that he was the long-lost prince Moureddin Hassan; that several giants had been slain in Wales by Lieutenant-general Jack; that the Forty Thieves were to be tried at the next session of the Central Criminal Court; that a genii had issued from the smoke of a saucepan at Mr.

Simpson's fish ordinary in Billingsgate; that the Prince of Wales had awakened a beautiful princess, who had been asleep, with all her household, in an enchanted palace in some woods and forests in the Home Park, Windsor; and that a dwarfish gentleman, by the name of Rumpelstiltskin, had lately had an audience of her most gracious Majesty, and boldly demanded the last of the royal babies as a reward for his services in cutting the Koh-i-noor diamond?

Who would not forego a Guildhall banquet for the pleasure of a genuine Barmecide feast? When I was a little lad, the maps were my story-books. The big marble-paper covered atlas, only to be thumbed on high days and holidays, had greater charms for me than even Fox's Martyrs or the Seven Champions. With this atlas and a paunchy volume with a piecrust cover was it Brookes' or Maunder's Gazetteer? How I longed for the time when I should be big enough to go to Spain shall I ever be big enough to make that journey, I wonder?

But my special story-book was that vast patch on the map of Europe marked Russia. In Europe, quotha! I never was satiated with this part of the atlas. There was perpetual winter in Russia, of course. The only means of travelling was on a sledge across the snowy steppes. Packs of wolves invariably followed in pursuit, howling fearfully for prey.

The traveller was always provided with a stock of live babies, whom he loved dearer than life. Then he threw out his lovely and attached wife at her own earnest request, I need not say, and then the wolves, intent on a third course, leaped into the sledge, and made an end of him. It used to puzzle me considerably as to how the horses escaped being eaten in the commencement, for the sledge always kept going at a tremendous rate; and I was always in a state of ludicrous uncertainty as to the steppes -what they were made of,-wood, or stone, or turf; whether children ever sat on them with babies in their arms; but the wolves would never have allowed that, surely!

There was attraction enough to me, goodness knows, in the rest of the atlas; in boot-shaped Italy; in Africa, huge and yellow as a pumpkin, and like that esculent, little excavated; in the Red Sea; why did they always colour it pea-green in the map? The Baltic was a continual wonder to me.

How could ships ever get into it when there were the Great and Little Belts, and the Kraken, and the Maelstrom, and the icebergs, and the polar bears to stop the way. Russia on the map was one vast and delightful region of mysteries, and adventures, and perilous expeditions; a glorious wonder-land of czars who lived in wooden houses disguised as shipwrights; of Cossacks continually careering on long-maned ponies, and with lances like Maypoles; of grisly bears, sweet-smelling leather, ducks, wolves, palaces of ice,.

Never mind the knout; never mind the perpetual winter; never mind the passage of the Beresina, —I put Russia down in my juvenile itinerary as a place to be visited, cofite qui coufte, as soon as I was twenty-one. I remember, when I was about half that age, travelling on the top of an omnibus from Mile End to the Bank with a philosophic individual in a red plaid cloak. He told me he had lived ten years in Russia Rooshia, he pronounced it, and gave me to understand confidentially that the czar ruled his subjects with a rod of iron.

I grieved when he departed, though his conversation was but common-place. I followed him half-way up Cornhill, gazing at the red plaid skirts of his cloak flapping in the breeze, and revering him as one who had had vast and wonderful experiences,-as a Sindbad the Sailor, multiplied by Marco Polo. Oh, for my twenty-first birthday, and my aunt's legacy, and hey for Russia!

The birthday and the legacy came and departed never to return again. I received sentence of imprisonment within three hundred miles of London, accompanied by hard labour for the term of my natural life; and though I was far from forgetting Russia —though a poor Silvio Pellico of a paperstainer-I still cherished, in a secret corner of my heart, a wild plan of escaping from the Speilberg some day, and travelling to my heart's content.

Russia faded by degrees into the complexion of a story-book, to be believed in, furtively, but against reason and against hope. And this dreamy, legend. Every traveller seemed to form a conception of the'country and people more monstrous and unveracious than his predecessor; and I really think that, but for the war, and the Prisoners at Lewes, and the Times Correspondent, I should have ended by acceding to the persuasion that Russia was none other than the Empire of Cockaigne5 and the Emperor Nicholas the legitimate successor of Prester John.

But, now, lo! This is real Russian writing on my passport; there are two live Russians playing dcarter on the poop, and I am steaming merrily through the real Baltic. We may see the Mirage this evening, the chief mate says, hopefully. We may be among the Ice tomorrow, says weather-worn Captain Smith not Captain Steffens, he is too prudent to allude to such matters, but another captain-a honorary navigator ominously.

Ice, Mirage, and the Gulf of Finland! Are not these better than a cold day in the Strand, or a steamboat collision in the Pool? We are only thirty passengers for Cronstadt, and the " Preussischer Adler " has ample accommodation for above a hundred.

It may not be out of place, however, to remark, that there is an infinitely stronger desire to get out of this favoured empire than to get into it. There have been, even, I am told, some Russians born and bred under the beneficent rule of the autocrat, who, having once escaped from the. In Prussia and Denmark, and in my progress due north, generally, I had observed, when I happened to mention my intention of going to St.

Petersburg, a peculiar curiosity to know the purport of my journey thither, quite distinct from official inquisitiveness. My interlocutor would usually ask " whether Monsieur sold? I devoted myself to the instruction, perhaps. No; I did not teach any thing; and, on this, my catechist after apparently satisfying himself from my modest appearance, that I was neither an ambassador nor a secretary, of legation, would shrug up his shoulders and give a low whistle, and me a look which might, with extreme facility, be translated into, " Que diable allez-vous faire dans cette galore?

We are thirty passengers, as I have said, and we. Captain Steffens is red of face, blue of gills, black and shiny of hair, high of shirt-collar, and an officer of the royal Prussian navy. He will be Admiral Steffens, I doubt not, in the fulness of time, when the Prussian government has built a vessel large enough for him to hoist hisl flag in. About a quarter of an hour before we started, I had observed the red face and the high shirt-collar popping in and out-with Jack-in-th.

I had previously been dull enough to take the first mate, who stood at the gangway, for the commander of the "' Preussischer Adler," and to admire the tasteful variety of his uniform, composed as it was, of a monkey-jacket with gilt buttons, a sky-blue cap with a gold band, fawn-coloured trousers, and a tartan velvet waistcoat of a most distracting liveliness of pattern and colour. But it was only at the last moment that I was undeceived, and was made to confess how obtuse I had been; for then, the state-room door flying wide open, Captain Steffens was manifest with the thirty passengers' passports in one hand, and a tremendous telescope in the other, and arrayed besides in all the glory of a light-blue frock, a white waistcoat, an astonishing pair of epaulettes of gold bullion, " swabs," I believe, they are termed in nautical parlance, a shirt.

But why, Captain Steffens, why, did you suffer a navy cap with a gold-laced band to replace the traditional, the martial, the becoming cocked-hat? For with that tele. He takes off his epaulettes after we have left Swinemunde, and subsides into shoulderstraps; but the long telescope never leaves him, and he seems to have an equal partiality for the thirty passports.

He is always conning them overbehind funnels, and in dim recesses of the forecastle; and he seems to have a special penchant for perusing mine, and muttering my name over to himself, as if there. I step to him at last, and request to be permitted to enlighten him on any doubtful point he may descry. He assures me that all is right; but he confesses that passports are the bane of his existence.

Confound those passports! It appears to me that the traveller who has his passport most in accordance with the rule and regulation is subject to the most annoyance. At Stettin I had to go to the Russian consul's bureau to procure a certificate of legitimation to my passport before they would give me my ticket at the steam-packet office. The Muscovite functionary looked at my Foreign-Office document with infinite contempt, and informed me that, being an English one, it was by no means valid in Russia.

When I explained to him that it had been vise by his own ambassador at Berlin, he disappeared with it, still looking very dubious, into an adjoining apartment, which, from sundry hangings and mouldings, and the flounces of a silk dress which I espied through the half-opened door, I conjecture to have been the boudoir of Madame la Consulesse. I suppose he showed the passport to his wife; and, enlightened, doubtless, by her superior judgment, he presently returned radiant, saying that the passport was parfaitement en regle, and that it was charmant.

I can see him now, holding my passport at arm's length, and examining the Russian visd through his eye-glass with an air half critical, half approving, as if it were some natural curiosity improved by cunning workmanship, and murmuring charmant meanwhile. He seemed so fond of it that it was quite a difficulty for him to.

He did so at last, together with the legitimation, which was an illegible scrawl on a scrap of paper like a pawnbroker's duplicate. I think his clerks must have known that my passport was in rule and charming, for they bestowed quite fraternal glances on me as I went out. To have a passport in regular order seems to be the only thing necessary to be thought great and wise and good in these parts; and, when a virtuous man dies, I wonder they don't engrave on his tombstone that he was a tender father, an attached husband, and that his passport was parfaitement en regle.

I wish that, instead of being thirty passengers, we were only twenty-nine;' or, at all events, I devoutly wish that the thirtieth were any other than Captain Smith. He is a sea-captain; what right has he to be in another man's vessel? Where is his ship? He has no right even to the name of Smith-he ought to be Smit, or Schmidt, for he tells me that he was born at Dantzig; that it is only in the fourth generation that he can claim English descent. Indeed, he speaks English fluently enough, but with the accent of a Hottentot.

When Captain Smith was an egg, he must indubitably have been selected by that eminent nautical poultry-fancier, Mother Carey, for chicken-hatching purposes, and a fullfeathered bird of ill-omen he has grown up to be.

He has had a spite against the " Preussischer Adler" from the outset; and I hear him grumbling to himself or the Baltic Sea-it does not much matter which, for he is always communing with one or the. He has a camp-stool on which he sits over the engine hatchway, casting baleful glances at the cylinders, and grumbling about the number of dalers they have " gostet," and that they are "not worth a tam.

I discover him counting, watch in hand, the number of revolutions per minute of the engines, and muttering disparaging remarks to the steward. He takes a vast quantity of solitary drams from a private bottle, openly declaring that the ship's stores are to be measured by his invariable standard of worthlessness. Sometimes, in right of nautical freemasonry, he mounts the paddle-box bridge, and hovers over Captain Steffens he is very tall like an Old Man of the Sea, whispering grim counsel into that commander's ear, till Captain Steffens seems very much inclined to charge at him full butt with his long telescope, or to pitch him bodily into the Baltic.

He haunts the deck at unholy hours, carrying a long pair of boots lined with sheepskin, which he incites the cook, with drams from his solitary bottle, to grease, and which he suspends, for seasoning, to forbidden ropes and stays. The subject on which he is especially eloquent is a certain ship-" Schibb " he calls it -laden with madapolams, and by him, at some remote period of time, commanded,: and which went.

He brings a tattered chart of his own on deck, for the ship's charts, he confidentially remarks, are not worth his favourite monosyllable, and shows me the exact spot where the ill-fated vessel came to grief. Hans Schwieber was my mate, and de supercargo was a tam tief.

It is very easy to see that he predicts a fate similar to that of the "s Schin Jungfrau " for the "Preussischer Adler. Hle wants to know where Captain Steffens passed his examination; and he denies the possibility of the vessel steering well, seeing that the Baltic is full of magnetic islands, which cause the needle to fly round to all parts of the compass at once.

To aggravate his imperfections, he wears a tall hat, grossly sinning against all the rules of nautical etiquette; and he smokes the biggest and rankest of Hamburg cigars, one of which, like an ill-flavoured sausage, smoulders on the bench by his side all dinner-time. He evidently prefers the company of the second-cabin passengers, as a body, to ours; and audibly mutters that the first-class accommodation. Altogether, he is such a baleful, malignant, wet-blanket son of a gun, that I feel myself fast growing mutinous; and his sinister prophecies go on multiplying so rapidly, that I christen him JONAH, and am very much inclined to sign a round-robin, or to head a deputation of the passengers to Captain Steffens, praying that he may be cast into the sea.

But where is the fish that would consent to keep such a terrible old bore for three days and nights in its belly? As, when in a summer afternoon's nap you have been drowsily annoyed, some half-hour durant, by a big blue-bottle, and are suddenly awakened by the sharp agony of a hornet's sting full in the calf of your favourite leg, so, suddenly does the passive annoyance of Captain Smith's evil predictions cede to the active torture of Miss WAPPS's persecution.

Miss Wapps, English, travelling alone, and aged forty, has taken it into her fair head to entertain a violent dislike to me, and pursues me with quite a ferocity of antipathy. She is a lean and bony spinster, with a curiously blue-bronzed nose, and cheekbones to match, and a remarkable mole on her chin with a solitary hair growing from it like One-Tree Hill at Greenwich.

She has a profusion of little ringlets that twist and twine like the serpents of the Furies that had taken to drinking, and had been metamorphosed, as a punishment, into corkscrews. To see her perambulating the decks after they have been newly swabbed, holding up her drapery, and displaying a pair of baggy —well, I suppose there is no harm in the word-pantalettes, and with a great.

She is one of those terrible specimens of humanity who have a preconceived persuasion-a woman who has made up her mind about everything-arts, sciences, laws, learning, commerce, religion, Shakspeare, and the musical glasses —and nothing can shake, nothing convince, nothing mollify her.

Her conclusions are ordinarily unfavourable. She stayed a few hours at the Drei Kronen at Stettin, where I had the advantage of her society, and she made up her mind at a very early stage of our acquaintance that I was an impostor, because I said I was going to St. I am going to St. Petersburg to recover my p;operty devastated by the late unchristian war. She overwhelmed me at once with a carboy of vitriolic acid: she never took wine-never!

And though she said no more, it was very easy to gather from Miss Wapps's tone and looks that in her eyes the person most likely to rob the Bank of England, go over to the Pope of Rome, and assassinate the Emperor of the French, would be the man who did take wine. She flatly contradicted me, too, as to the amount of the fare which I had just paid from Stettin to Cronstadt.

She had made up her mind that it was one hundred and fifty francs French money, and all the arguments in the world could not bring her to recognize the existence of such things as roubles or thalers. But where she was Samsonically strong against me was on the question of my nationality. As I happen to be rather swart of hue, and a tolerable linguist, she took it into her head at once that I was a foreigner, and addressed me as " Mossoo.

To make the matter worse —it being necessary for me, during one of the endless passport formalities, to answer to my name, which is not very English in sound-it went conclusively to make out a case against me in the mind of Miss Wapps. She called me Mossoo again, but vengefully in sarcastic accents; and complained of the infamy of an honourable English gentlewoman being beset by Jesuits and spies.

On board, Miss Wapps does not abate one atom of her animosity. I have not the fatuity to believe that I am what is usually termed popular with the sex; but as I am, I hope, inoffensive and a good listener, I have been able to retain some desirable female acquaintances; but there is no conciliating Miss Wapps.

She is enraged with me for not being sea-sick. She wants to know what the world is coming to, when men can puff their filthy tobacco under the noses of ladies accustomed to the best society? As a culmination of injury, she publicly accuses me at dinner of detaining the mustard designedly and of malice aforethought -at my end of the table. I am covered with confusion, and endeavour to excuse myself; but she overpowers me with her voice, and Captain Steffens looks severely at me.

I have an inward struggle after dinner, as to whether I shall give her a piece of my mind, and so shut her up for ever, or make her an offer of marriage; but I take a middle course, a! She is going to Moscow for the coronation, when there are to be grand dramatic doings; but she is coming out thus early to stay with her mamma, also an actress, who has been fifteen years in St.

Captain' Steffens loves her like a father already, I can see. Even the grim' Captain Smith -regards her with the affection of a Dutch uncle. She dresses every morning for the deck, and every afternoon for dinner, with as much care as though she were still on her beloved Boulevard de Gand. Her -hair is always smooth, her eyes always bright, her little foot always bien chaussee, her dress always in applepie order, her temper always lively, cheerful, amiable.

She is all lithe movements, and silver laughter, and roguish sayings. Enfin: she is a Parisienne! What need I say more? She has a dozen of the gentlemen passen. He follows her about like a corpulent poodle; he takes care of her baskets, shawls, and furs; he toils up ladders with camp-stools for her; he holds an umbrella over her'to shield her from the sun; he cuts the leaves of books for her; he produces for her benefit private stores of chocolate and bon-bons; he sits next to her at dinner, and carves tit-bits for her; he pays for the champagne; he walks the deck with her by moonlight, shielding her from the midnight air with ample pelisses, and rolling his little eyes in his fat face.

She is all smiles and amiability to him as, indeed, to every one else ; she allows him to sit at her feet; she gives him to snuff from her vinaigrette; she pats his broad back and calls him "] Mon bon gros;" she is as familiar with him as if she had known him a quarter of a century; she orders him about like a dog or a black man; but is never cross, never pettish.

She will probably give him the tips of her little fingers to kiss when she leaves him at Cronstadt; and, when some day perhaps she meets him by chance on the Nevskoi, she won't know him from Adam. Somebody else gets the pleasant travelling companions; I get the Miss Wappses. I never fall in love with a pretty girl, but I find she has a sweetheart already, or has been.

Am I not as good as a wine-merchant's bagman? Never mind; let me console myself with the Russian. The Russian is a gentleman whose two years' term of travel has expired, and who, not, being able to obtain an extension of his leave of absence, and not very desirous of having his estates sequestered, which would be the penalty of disobedience, is returning, distressingly against his own inclination, to Russia, is an individual who looks young enough to be two or three and twenty, and old enough to be two or three and forty.

How are you to tell in a gentleman whose hair, without a speck of gray, is always faultlessly brushed, oiled, perfumed, and arranged; whose moustache is lustrous, firm, and black; whose teeth are sound and white; whose face is perfectly smooth, and clear, and clean shaven; who is always perfectly easy, graceful, and self-possessed?

The Russian speaks English and French-the first language as you and I, my dear Bob, speak it; the second as our friend, Monsieur Adolphe, from Paris, would speak his native tongue; by which I mean that the Russian speaks English like an Englishman, and French like a Frenchman, without hesitation, accent, or foreign idiom. He is versed in the literature of both countries, and talks of Sam Weller and Jerome Paturot with equal facility. I am, perhaps, not so well qualified to judge of his proficiency in Italian; but he seems to speak that tongue with at least the same.

He laughs when I talk about the special and astounding gift that his countrymen seem to possess for the acquisition of languages. I certainly picked up Italian in six months, during a residence in the country; but I could speak French, English, and German long before I could speak Russian. Nous autres gentilhommes Russes, we have English nurses; we have French and Swiss governesses; we have German professors at college. As children and as adults we often pass days and weeks without hearing a word of Russian; and the language with which we have the slightest acquaintance is our own.

He talks, and seems to be well informed, on every body and every thing, and speaks about governments and dynasties in precisely the same tone of easy persiflage in which he discusses the Italian opera and the ballet. He tells me a great deal about the Greek church; but it is easy to see that matters ecclesiastical don't trouble "nous autres gentilhommes Russes "' much.

He has been in the army, like the vast majority of his order, and is learned in horses, dogs, and general sportsmanship; a branch of knowledge that clashes strangely with his grassailleing Parisian accent. He proposes edcarte in an interval of chat; but finding that I am but a poor cardplayer, he shows me a few tricks on the cards sufficient to set a moderately ambitious wizard up in business on the spot, and.

Page 62 62 A JOURNEY DUE NORTH, contentedly relinquishes the pack for the pianoforte, on which he executes such brilliant voluntaries, that I can see the hard-favoured visage of Miss Wapps gazing down at us through the saloon skylight in discontented admiration-that decisive lady marvelling doubtless how such an accomplished Russian can condescend to waste his time and talents on such a trumpery mortal as I am. He shows me an album bound in green velvet, and with his cipher and coronet embroidered in rubies thereupon, and filled with drawings of his own execution.

He rolls paper cigarettes with the dexterity of a Castilian caballero; and he has the most varied and exact statistical knowledge on all sorts of topics, political, social, agricultural, and literary, of any man I ever met with. And this is, believe me, as ordinary and every-day-to-be-found specimen of the Russian gentlemen as the unlettered, unlicked, uncouth, untravelled John Smith one meets at a Boulogne boarding-house is of an English esquire.

My friend, the Russian, has his little peculiarities; without being in the slightest degree grave or senten-. If he have an opinion on any subject, and he converses on almost all topics, it is not on board the " Preussischer Adler," or to me, that he will impart it. With his handsome face and graceful. It may have struck the reader, that beyond alluding to the bare fact of being on the Baltic, and in a fair way for Cronstadt, I have said little or nothing as yet concerning our actual voyage.

In the first place, there is but little marine intelligence to be chronicled; for from Saturday at noon, when we started, to this present Monday evening, we have had uninterrupted fair weather and smooth water; and are gliding along as on a lake. And, in the second place, I generally avoid the subject of the sea as much as I can. I hate it. I have a dread for it, as Mrs. Hemans had. To me it is simply a Monster, cruel, capricious, remorseless, rapacious, insatiable, deceitful; sullenly unwilling to disgorge its treasures; mockingly refusing to give up its dead.!

But it must, and Shall, some day: the Sea. If any thing could reconcile me, however, to that baseless highway, it would be the days and nights we have had since Saturday. And the white ships that glide on the tranquil sea, far far away towards the immensity of the horizon, are as auguries of peace and hope to me; and the very smoke from the boat's funnel that was black and choky at Stettin, is now, in the undying sun, all gorgeous in purple and orange as it rolls forth in clouds that wander rudderless through the empty sky, till the sea-birds meet them, and break them into fragments with their sharp-Aected wings.

Among them is a humorous character from the south of France, who is proceeding to Russia to superintend a sugar manufactory belonging to some Russian seigneur. He has been established by common consent chief wag and joke-master in ordinary to the Prussian Eagle. I hear shouts of laughter from where he holds his merry court long after I am snug in my berth; and the steward retails his latest witticisms to us at dinner, hot and hot, between the courses.

He lives at free quarters, for his jests' sakes, in the way of wines, spirits, and cigars; and I don't think the steward can have the heart to take" any money of him for fees or extras at the voyage's end. As a wag he must, of course, have a butt: and he has fixed on a little, snuffy, old Frenchwoman, with a red cotton pocket-handkerchief tied round her head, who, with a large basket, a larger umbrella, and no other perceptible luggage, started up suddenly at Stettin.

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