CHAPTER III
COMME LE MONDE S'AMUSE
It is the last day of "Butter-week." Despite the excessive cold, thestreets of St. Petersburg are thronged with a tumultuous crowd. To-daymeat may still be eaten, to-morrow the great fast begins; everybutcher's shop will be shut; for seven whole weeks oil is in theascendant. Every one is in haste to make a good meal to-day.
The great Haymarket, the "Szenaja Plostadt," is the attraction to thehungry throng. There, in long rows before the butchers' booths, stand ontheir four feet frozen oxen, bucks, and wild boars, with headsoutstretched, the butcher either sawing or chopping off the desiredjoint for his customers; his knife would make no impression upon thehard-frozen meat. Quantities of small game--hares, partridges,pheasants, and black-cock--from other countries, preserved by the icyatmosphere, hang in festoons from the booths. The venders of bear'sflesh have their separate quarter; the centre of the square is taken upby the fish shops, where great heaps of bemaned sea-lions are offered asdelicacies. Purchasers in tens of thousands pass before the booths, someon foot, others in sleighs with bells jingling, the greater part of themwomen, while the sellers are all men. No women hawkers are to be foundhere. Even the special delicacy of Butter-week, the "blinnis," are madeby men bakers; these are omelets soaked in butter and spread withcaviare. Then there are the Raznocsiks, tall young fellows, their furcoats fastened with a girdle round their waists, who, with baskets ontheir heads piled high with every kind of eatable, go in and out of thecrowd with untiring cry, "Come, buy pirogo! saikis! kwast!" The vendersof tea are keeping it boiling hot in their great samovars; the doors ofthe spirit-booths are forever on the swing. Pirog especially disposes toa good drink. It is a flat cake, composed of chopped fish, meat, andcoarse vegetables--a choice morsel--and this is the last day on which itmay be enjoyed; to-morrow it may not even be thought of. All St.Petersburg is in the streets. It is a lovely day in March; not a day ofspring and violets, but of frost and icicles. The north wind ofyesterday has sent down the thermometer fourteen degrees. Splendidweather!
At midday, just as the great clock of Isaac Church begins to strike, afresh hubbub arises among the noisy throng. Down the long, straightstreet, called Czarskoje Zelo Prospect, a party of huntsmen were seencoming along in full pursuit of a magnificent twelve-antlered stag. Astag-hunt at that season of the year is forbidden by the common laws ofhunting. The new antlers are not yet grown; they are but knots grownover with tender hide. No less is it permitted to follow a hunt throughthe streets of a city, more especially of St. Petersburg during Mafliczaweek. But this distinguished party does not seem bound by ordinary laws.
The hunting-party consists of some twelve men and three of the oppositesex, not counting about fifty huntsmen and packs of hounds. They sendthe people flying the whole length of the street before them.
It may have been that the start had been in Czarskoje Zelo Deer Park,that the stag had broken away and had taken his course towards the town,the huntsmen after him. A huntsman's zeal does not stop to inquire whichway is permitted or which prohibited.
The stag dashes across Fontankabridge. In vain the toll-keepers put upthe barrier, it clears it at a bound. Then, seeing the hunting-party inpursuit, the terrified toll-keepers prepare to reopen the passage."Leave it alone!" shouts the foremost, and the company, following theexample of the stag, clears it. Mr. Stag has meanwhile reached one ofthe principal streets, the hounds on his track; the gaping countrybumpkins at the street corners rush back in panic as the huntsmen dashpast them.
At the entrance to the barracks of the Imperial Cadet Corps stands agrenadier on guard. If he has any sense he will shoot down theapproaching stag, that it may not injure the crowd in its mad career.But military etiquette goes before common-sense. The soldier on guard,recognizing his superior in command, lowers his gun and presents arms.The rebellious stag meanwhile, knowing no such etiquette, springs uponthe guard, and, catching him on its antlers, tosses him into the air.The guard on reaching the ground again will probably present arms oncemore from that lowly position. The stag, by this time, has reached across street. This is one of the most frequented promenades in theimperial city. The loungers rush away in all directions, womenscreaming, men swearing, dogs barking--one runs against and upsets theother--sledges overturn upon fallen foot-passengers. The stag andhunting-party spring over outstretched bodies and overturned sledgesalike. It is capital sport--no one can take any hurt, the snow lies toothick. Now the stag, reaching the Haymarket, seems somewhat bewildered.For one second it stands affrighted, the dense throng blocking up thegreat square. The next something attracts its attention. It is the rowof stags, which it takes for a herd, standing up before thegame-dealers' booths. Now the instinct of all hunted animals is to seekrefuge in a herd if they come upon one. So away into the thick of thethrong! Now the roar, the screams, and curses become a very pandemonium.Booths and butchers' stalls overturned bear witness to the creature'swild career; but no sooner has it reached its lifeless fellows and, withquick instinct, scented blood, than, maddened with fury and with antlerslowered, it forces itself a passage back into the Garten Strasse, andtears off panting and snorting towards the Costinoi Dwor. This is one ofthe curiosities of St. Petersburg--the great bazaar.
The Costinoi Dwor is a distinct quarter in itself, where everything ofmost costly nature, from Persian carpets to diamond necklaces, is to bebought. Here the stag evidently thinks to find shelter. All the doorsstand open. From among the thousand shops he must needs select that of aVenetian glass-dealer, huntsmen and hounds in hot pursuit. In the vastapartment, supported by pillars, are massed crystal ornaments,amounting in value to hundreds of thousands of rubles, artisticallypiled into pyramids of fairy-like elegance, the walls hung with Venetianmirrors reaching from floor to ceiling. The unhappy Italian proclaimshimself bankrupt as he sees the stag make for his shop, containing suchcostly and perishable wares, and it is a comical sight to see the poorsignor and his _fauteuil_ fall back head over heels when the crashcomes. But no sooner does the stag see an innumerable number of itsfellows reflected in the mirrors all around him, hounds upon them,closely followed by galloping huntsmen, than it completely loses thelittle remnant of wits it had retained, and, turning its back on theraving Italian, it dashes through the ranks of its pursuers towards theAppraxin Dwor, where Turks, Jews, Armenians, Persians, brokers,second-hand dealers, Little and Great Russians, Copts, and Raskolniks,Gruses, and Finlanders abound, their stalls crammed with old rubbishfrom every quarter of the globe, and they themselves standing out in themiddle of the street to better attract the passers-by, two or threeseizing the unwary customer by the arm at the same time, crying up theirown wares, depreciating those of their neighbors, squabbling amongthemselves, vociferating oaths, lying, cheating, bargaining--playing therogue in every barbaric language under the sun. And to them, in theirvery midst, the excited, maddened stag! Now the real fun begins. It wasa sight to see the terrified peddlers scattered right and left amongtheir heaps of rubbish, to hear their agonized adjurations to all thepowers of heaven and earth; to see them crawl on all fours, frog-like,into their holes, as the huntsmen and hounds went galloping in fullcourse over their fallen bodies; and to watch the angry company, afterthe wild hunt had passed, streaming back again to their desecratedwares with loud laments, proclaiming that the world was coming to anend. The stag simply flew over the heads of the densely packed throng;the hunt could not follow up so rapidly; it required the huntsmen'swhips to keep the dogs together in such a bewildering crowd. Thus itgained a certain advantage, and, reaching the Boulevard of the FontanaCanal, dashed across the frozen stream to the opposite bank, and speddown the Goronschaja Street before its pursuers came up with it. [At thetime of our story (1825) a palace, surrounded by a large park, theBulasky Gardens, stood there. The great fire of 1862 has since laid it,as well as the whole Appraxin Dwor, in ruins; the railway-station ofCzarskoje Zelo now occupies the site.]
The park is surrounded by a high gilded railing, through which sprigs ofvine-covered f
irs push their way. Perhaps the stag takes it for itsnative home. Close by palace and park lies the great Obuchow Hospital;some five hundred patients, men and women (most of them epileptics) arejust coming down the opposite street, returning from Trinity Church,where they have been attending mass. Should the affrighted creature rushin among the panic-stricken crowd, there would be no escape forthem--their crippled, infirm forms, their enfeebled brains, would renderit impossible. The very fright alone might kill them, deadened as aretheir senses. Now a chorus of horror arises from the procession ofimbeciles, who, as if under a spell, come to a halt, helplessly awaitingthe attack of the incomprehensible foe. Infirmity has not crippled theirfeet alone, but their thinking powers also. Nothing intervenes to stopthe approaching stag. As it flies in full career past the principal gateof the Bulasky Gardens a shot resounds in the air. The stag makes aside spring, throws back its head, sinks down, struggles up again,plunges its bleeding nose into the snow, then stretches itself out,resting its stately antlered head on the threshold of the gate, asthough in gratitude to him whose well-directed aim has released it fromits pursuers.
Sport was spoiled.