“Now, McShane, you must take care of the money, and pay the driver,” said O’Donahue, pulling out several pieces of thick paper, some coloured red, some blue, and others of a dirty white.

  “Is this money?” said McShane, with astonishment.

  “Yes, that’s roubles.”

  “Roubles, are they? I wonder what they’d call them in Ireland; they look like soup-tickets.”

  “Never mind. And now, McShane, there are two words which the consul has told me to make use of: one is Scoro, and when you say that, it means ‘Go fast,’ and you hold up a small bit of money at the same time.”

  “Scoro! well, that’s a word I sha’n’t forget.”

  “But, then, there’s another, which is Scorae.”

  “And what may be the English of that?”

  “Why, that means ‘Go faster,’ and with that you hold up a larger piece of money.”

  “Why, then, it’s no use remembering Scoro at all, for Scorae will do much better; so we need not burden ourselves with the first at all. Suppose we try the effect of that last word upon our bear-skin friend who is driving!”

  McShane held up a rouble, and called out to the driver— “Scorae!” The fellow turned his head, smiled, and lashed his horses until they were at the full speed, and then looked back at them for approval.

  “By the powers, that’s no fool of a word! it will take us all the way to Saint Petersburg as fast as we wish.”

  “We do not sleep on the road, but travel night and day,” said O’Donahue, “for there is no place worth sleeping at.”

  “And the ‘ating, O’Donahue?”

  “We must get that by signs, for we have no other means.”

  On that point they soon found they had no difficulty; and thus they proceeded, without speaking a word of the language, day and night, until they arrived at the capital.

  At the entrance their passports were demanded, and the officer at the guard-house came out and told them that a Cossack would accompany them. A Cossack, with a spear as long as a fir-tree, and a beard not quite so long, then took them in charge, and trotted before the carriage, the driver following him at a slow pace.

  “An’t we prisoners?” inquired McShane.

  “I don’t know, but it looks very like it,” replied O’Donahue.

  This, however, was not the case. The carriage drove to a splendid street called the Neffsky Perspective, and as soon as it stopped at the entrance of an hotel, the Cossack, after speaking to the landlord, who came out, took his departure.

  A journey of four hundred miles, day and night, is no joke: our travellers fell fast asleep in their spacious apartment, and it was not till the next day that they found themselves clean and comfortable, Joey being dressed in a rich livery, as a sort of page, and McShane doing duty as valet when others were present, and when sitting alone with O’Donahue, taking his fair share of the bottle.

  Two days after their arrival, the landlord procured for O’Donahue a courier who could speak both English and French as well as Russian, and almost every other language. It was resolved by O’Donahue and McShane, in council, to dress him up in a splendid uniform; and a carriage having been hired for the month, O’Donahue felt that he was in a position to present his credentials to the English ambassador and the other parties for whom he had received letters of introduction.

  Chapter Thirteen.

  In which there is some Information Relative to the City of St. Petersburg.

  For 300 roubles a month, O’Donahue had procured a drosky, very handsomely fitted up; the shaft horse was a splendid trotter, and the other, a beautiful-shaped animal, capered about curving his neck, until his nose almost touched his knee, and prancing, so as to be the admiration of the passers-by. His coachman, whose name was Athenasis, had the largest beard in Saint Petersburg; Joey was the smallest tiger; Dimitri, one of the tallest and handsomest yägers. Altogether, Captain O’Donahue had laid out his money well; and on a fine, sunny day he set off to present his letters to the English ambassador and other parties. Although the letters were very short, it was quite sufficient that they were written by so distinguished and so universally beloved a person as his Royal Highness. The ambassador, Lord Saint H, immediately desired O’Donahue to consider his house open to him, requesting the pleasure of his company to dinner on the following day, and offered to present him to the Emperor at the first levee. O’Donahue took his leave, delighted with his success, and then drove to the hotel of the Princess Woronzoff, Count Nesselrode, and Prince Gallitzin, where he found himself equally well received. After his visits were all paid, O’Donahue sported his handsome equipage on the English and Russian quays, and up and down the Neffsky Perspective for an hour or two, and then returned to the hotel.

  “I am very sorry,” said O’Donahue, after he had narrated to McShane all that had taken place, “that I permitted you to put yourself down on the passport as valet in the foolish way you have. You would have enjoyed yourself as much as I probably shall, and have been in your proper position in society.”

  “Then I’m not sorry at all, O’Donahue, and I’ll tell you why. I should have enjoyed myself, I do not doubt — but I should have enjoyed myself too much; and, after dining with ambassadors, and princes, and counts, and all that thing — should I ever have gone back comfortable and contented to Mrs McShane, and the cook’s shop? No, no — I’m not exactly reconciled, as it is; and if I were to be drinking champagne, and ‘ating French kickshaws with the Russian nobility for three or four months, dancing perhaps with princesses, and whispering in the ears of duchesses, wouldn’t my nose turn up with contempt at the beefsteak pie, and poor Mrs McShane, with all her kind smiles, look twice as corpulent as ever? No, no, I’m better here, and I’m a wise man, although I say it myself.”

  “Well, perhaps you are, McShane; but still I do not like that I should be spending your money in this way without your having your share of it at least.”

  “My share of it — now, O’Donahue, suppose I had come over here on my own account, where should I have been? I could not have mustered up the amiable impudence you did, to persuade the commander-in-chief to give me letters to the ambassador: nor could I have got up such a turn-out, nor have fitted the turn-out so well as you do. I should have been as stupid as an owl, just doing what I have done the whole of the blessed morning for want of your company — looking after one of the floating bridges across the river, and spitting into the stream, just to add my mite to the Baltic Sea.”

  “I’m sorry you were not better amused.”

  “I was amused; for I was thinking of the good-humoured face of Mrs McShane, which was much better than being in high company, and forgetting her entirely. Let me alone for amusing myself after my own fashion, O’Donahue, and that’s all I wish. I suppose you have heard nothing in your travels about your Powlish princess?”

  “Of course not; it will require some tact to bring in her name — I must do it as if by mere accident.”

  “Shall I ask the courier if she is an acquaintance of his?”

  “An acquaintance, McShane?”

  “I don’t mean on visiting terms; but if he knows anything about the family, or where they live?”

  “No, McShane, I think you had better not; we do not know much of him at present. I shall dine at the ambassador’s tomorrow, and there will be a large party.”

  During the day invitations for evening parties were brought in from the Prince Gallitzin and Princess Woronzoff.

  “The plot thickens fast, as the saying is,” observed McShane; “you’ll be certain to meet your fair lady at some of these places.”

  “That is what I trust to do,” replied O’Donahue; “if not, as soon as I’m intimate, I shall make inquiries about her; but we must first see how the land lies.”

  O’Donahue dined at the ambassador’s, and went to the other parties, but did not meet with the object of his search. Being a good musician, he was much in request in so musical a society as that of Saint Petersburg. The emperor was still at his country palace, and O’Donahue had been more than a fortnight at the capital without there being an opportunity for the ambassador to present him at court.

  Dimitri, the person whom O’Donahue engaged as courier, was a very clever, intelligent fellow; and as he found that O’Donahue had all the liberality of an Irishman, and was in every respect a most indulgent master, he soon had his interest at heart. Perhaps the more peculiar intimacy between O’Donahue and McShane, as a valet, assisted Dimitri in forming a good opinion of the former, as the hauteur and distance generally preserved by the English towards their domestics are very displeasing to the Continental servants, who, if permitted to be familiar, will not only serve you more faithfully, but be satisfied with more moderate wages. Dimitri spoke English and French pretty well, German and Russian of course perfectly. He was a Russian by birth, had been brought up at the Foundling Hospital, at Moscow, and therefore was not a serf. He soon became intimate with McShane: and as soon as the latter discovered that there was no intention on the part of Dimitri to be dishonest, he was satisfied, and treated him with cordiality.

  “Tell your master this,” said Dimitri, “never to give his opinion on political matters before any one while in Petersburg, or he will be reported to the government, and will be looked upon with suspicion. All the servants and couriers here, indeed every third person you meet, is an agent of police.”

  “Then it’s not at all unlikely that you are one yourself,” replied McShane.

  “I am so,” replied Dimitri, coolly, “and all the better for your master. I shall be ordered to make my report in a few days, and I shall not fail to do so.”

  “And what will they ask you?” said McShane.

  “They will ask me first who and what your master is? Whether I have discovered from you, if he is of family and importance in his own country? whether he has expressed any political opinions? and whether I have discovered the real business which brought him here?”

  “And what will you reply to all this?” answered McShane.

  “Why, I hardly know. I wish I knew what he wishes me to say, for he is a gentleman whom I am very fond of, and that’s the truth; perhaps you can tell me?”

  “Why, yes, I know a good deal about him, that’s certain. As for his family, there’s not a better in Ireland or England, for he’s royal if he had his right.”

  “What!” exclaimed Dimitri.

  “As sure as I’m sitting in this old arm-chair, didn’t he bring letters from the brother of the present king? does that go for nothing in this country of yours? or do you value men by the length of their beards?”

  “Men are valued here not by their titles, but by their rank as officers. A general is a greater man than a prince,” replied Dimitri.

  “With all my heart, for then I’m somebody,” replied McShane.

  “You?” replied the courier.

  “I mean my master,” returned McShane, correcting himself; “for he’s an officer, and a good one, too.”

  “Yes, that may be; but you said yourself,” replied the courier, laughing. “My good friend, a valet to any one in Petersburg is no better than one of the mujiks who work in the streets. Well, I know that our master is an officer, and of high rank; as for his political opinions, I have never heard him express any, except his admiration of the city, and of course of the emperor.”

  “Most decidedly; and of the empress also,” replied McShane.

  “That is not at all necessary,” continued Dimitri, laughing. “In fact, he has no business to admire the empress.”

  “But he admires the government and the laws,” said McShane; “and you may add, my good fellow — the army and the navy — by the powers, he’s all admiration, all over! — you may take my word for it.”

  “Well, I will do so; but then there is one other question to reply to, which is, why did he come here? what is his business?”

  “To look about him, to be sure; to spend his money like a gentleman; to give his letters of introduction; and to amuse himself,” replied McShane. “But this is dry talking, so, Dimitri, order a bottle of champagne, and then we’ll wet our whistle before we go on.”

  “Champagne! will your master stand that?” inquired Dimitri.

  “Stand it? to be sure, and he’d be very angry if he thought I did not make myself comfortable. Tell them to put it down in the bill for me; if they doubt the propriety, let them ask my master.”

  Dimitri went and ordered the champagne. As soon as they had a glass, Dimitri observed, “Your master is a fine liberal fellow, and I would serve him to the last day of my life; but you see that the reasons you give for your master being here are the same as are given by everybody else, whether they come as spies or secret emissaries, or to foment insurrection; that answer, therefore, is considered as no answer at all by the police (although very often a true one), and they will try to find out whether it is so or not.”

  “What other cause can a gentleman like him have for coming here? He is not going to dirty his hands with speculation, information, or any other botheration,” replied McShane, tossing off his glass.

  “I don’t say so; but his having letters from the king’s brother will be considered suspicious.”

  “The devil it will. Now in our country that would only create a suspicion that he was a real gentleman — that’s all.”

  “You don’t understand this country,” replied Dimitri.

  “No, it beats my comprehension entirely, and that’s a fact; so fill up your glass. I hope it’s not treason; but if it is, I can’t help saying it. My good friend Dimitri—”

  “Stop,” said Dimitri, rising and shutting the door, “now, what is it?”

  “Why, just this; I haven’t seen one good-looking woman since I’ve been in this good-looking town of yours; now, that’s the truth.”

  “There’s more truth than treason in that,” replied the courier; “but still there are some beautiful women among the higher classes.”

  “It’s to be hoped so; for they’ve left no beauty for the lower, at all events.”

  “We have very beautiful women in Poland,” said the courier.

  “Why don’t you bring a few here, then?”

  “There are a great many Polish ladies in Petersburg at this moment.”

  “Then go down and order another bottle,” said McShane, “and we’ll drink their healths.”

  The second bottle was finished, and McShane, who had been drinking before, became less cautious.

  “You said,” observed he, “that you have many Polish ladies in Petersburg; did you ever hear of a Princess Czartowinky? — I think that’s the name.”

  “Czartorinski, you mean,” replied Dimitri; “to be sure I did; I served in the family some years ago, when the old prince was alive. But where did you see her?”

  “In England, to be sure.”

  “Well, that’s probable, for she has just returned from travelling with her uncle.”

  “Is she now in Petersburg, my good fellow?”

  “I believe she is — but why do wish to know?”

  “Merely asked — that’s all.”

  “Now, Macshanovich,” — for such was the familiar way in which Dimitri addressed his supposed brother-servant— “I suspect this Princess Czartorinski is some way connected with your master’s coming here. Tell me the truth — is such the case? I’m sure it is.”

  “Then you know more than I do,” replied McShane, correcting himself, “for I’m not exactly in my master’s secrets; all that I do know is, that my master met her in England, and I thought her very handsome.”

  “And so did he?”

  “That’s as may be; between ourselves, I’ve an idea he was a little smitten in that quarter; but that’s only my own opinion, nothing more.”

  “Has he ever spoken about her since you were here?” said Dimitri.

  “Just once, as I handed his waistcoat to him; he said— ‘I wonder if all the ladies are as handsome as that Polish princess that we met in Cumberland?’”

  “If I thought he wished it, or cared for her, I would make inquiry, and soon find out all about her; but otherwise, it’s no use taking the trouble,” replied the courier.

  “Well, then, will you give me your hand, and promise to serve faithfully, if I tell you all I know about the matter?”

  “By the blessed Saint Nicholas, I do!” replied Dimitri; “you may trust me.”

  “Well, then, it’s my opinion that my master’s over head and ears in love with her, and has come here for no other purpose.”

  “Well, I’m glad you told me that; it will satisfy the police.”

  “The police; why murder and Irish! you’re not going to inform the police, you villain?”

  “Not with whom he is in love, most certainly, but that he has come here on that account; it will satisfy them, for they have no fear of a man that’s in love, and he will not be watched. Depend upon it, I cannot do a better thing to serve our master.”

  “Well, then, perhaps you are right. I don’t like this champagne — get a bottle of Burgundy, Dimitri. Don’t look so hard — it’s all right. The captain dines out every day, and has ordered me to drink for the honour of the house.”

  “He’s a capital master,” replied Dimitri, who had begun to feel the effects of the former bottles.

  As soon as the third bottle was tapped, McShane continued —

  “Now, Dimitri, I’ve given my opinion, and I can tell you, if my master has, as I suspect, come here about this young lady, and succeeds in obtaining her, it will be a blessed thing for you and me; for he’s as generous as the day, and has plenty of money. Do you know who she is?”

  “To be sure I do; she is an only daughter of the late Prince Czartorinski, and now a sort of ward under the protection of the Emperor. She inherits all the estates, except one which was left to found an hospital at Warsaw, and is a rich heiress. It is supposed the emperor will bestow her upon one of his generals. She is at the palace, and a maid of honour to the empress.”

  “Whew!” whistled McShane; “won’t there be a difficulty.”

  “I should think so,” replied the courier, gravely.