Browne John Ross
The Land of Thor
“Thou stand’st alone unrivall’d, till the fire,
To come, in which all empires shall expire.”
Truly, when we glance back at the national career of the Russians, they can not but strike us as a wonderful people. While we must condemn their cruelty and rapacity; while we can see nothing to excuse in their ferocious persecution of the Turks; while the greater part of their history is a bloody record of injustice to weaker nations, we can not but admire their indomitable courage, their intense and unalterable attachment to their brave old Czars, and their sublime devotion to their religion and their nationality.
CHAPTER XX.
PASSAGE TO REVEL
It was not without a feeling of regret that I took my departure from St. Petersburg. Short as my visit to Russia had been, it was full of interest. Not a single day had been idly or unprofitably spent. Indeed, I know of no country that presents so many attractions to the traveler who takes pleasure in novelties of character and peculiarities of manners and customs. The lovers of picturesque scenery will find little to gratify his taste in a mere railroad excursion to Moscow; but with ample time and means at his disposal, a journey to the Ural Mountains, or a voyage down the Volga to the Caspian Sea, would doubtless be replete with interest. For my part, much as I enjoy the natural beauties of a country through which I travel, they never afford me as much pleasure as the study of a peculiar race of people. Mere scenery, however beautiful, becomes monotonous, unless it be associated with something that gives it a varied and striking human interest. The mountains and lakes of Scotland derive their chief attractions from the wild legends of romance and chivalry so inseparably connected with them; and Switzerland would be but a dreary desert of glaciers without its history. In Russia, Nature has been less prodigal in her gifts; and the real interest of the country centres in its public institutions, the religious observances of the people, and the progress of civilization under a despotic system of government. Of these I have endeavored to give you such impressions as may be derived from a sojourn of a few weeks in Moscow and St. Petersburg – necessarily imperfect and superficial, but I trust not altogether destitute of amusing features.
On a pleasant morning in August, I called for my “rechnung” at the German gasthaus on the Wasseli-Ostrow. The bill was complicated in proportion to its length. There was an extra charge of fifteen kopeks a day for the room over and above the amount originally specified. That was conscientious cheating, so I made no complaint. Then there was a charge for two candles when I saw but one, and always went to bed by daylight. That was customary cheating, and could not be disputed. Next came an item for beefsteaks, when, to the best of my knowledge and belief, nothing but veal cutlets, which were also duly specified, ever passed my lips in any part of Russia. Upon that I ventured a remonstrance, but gave in on the assurance that it was Russian beefsteak. I was too glad to have any ground for believing that it was not Russian dog. Next came an item for police commissions. All that work I had done myself, and therefore was entitled to demur. It appeared that a man was kept for that purpose, and when he was not employed he expected remuneration for the disappointment. Then there was an item for domestic service, when the only service rendered was to black my boots, for which I had already paid. No matter; it was customary, so I gave in. Then came sundry bottles of wine. I never drink wine. “But,” said the proprietor, “it was on the table.” Not being able to dispute that, I abandoned the question of wine. Various ices were in the bill. I had asked for a lump of ice in a glass of water on several occasions, supposing it to be a common article in a country on the edge of the Arctic circle, but for every lump of ice the charge was ten kopeks. Upon this principle, I suppose they attach an exorbitant value to thawed water during six months of the year, when the Neva is a solid block of ice. I find that ice is an uncommonly costly luxury in Northern Europe, where there is a great deal of it. In Germany it is ranked with fresh water and other deadly poisons; in Russia it costs too much for general use; and in Norway and Sweden, where the snow-capped mountains are always in sight, the people seem to be unacquainted with the use of iced water, or, indeed, any other kind of water as a beverage in summer. They drink brandy and schnapps to keep themselves cool. However, I got through the bill at last, without loss of temper, being satisfied it was very reasonable for St. Petersburg. Having paid for every article real and imaginary; paid each servant individually for looking at me; then paid for domestic services generally; paid the proprietor for speaking his native language, which was German, and the commissioner for wearing a brass band on his cap, and bowing several times as I passed out, the whole matter was amicably concluded, and, with my knapsack on my back, I wended my way down to the steam-boat landing of the Wasseli-Ostrow. As I was about to step on board the Russian steamer bound for Revel – an eager crowd of passengers pressing in on the plankway from all sides – I was forcibly seized by the arm. Supposing it to be an arrest for some unconscious violation of the police regulations, a ghastly vision of Siberia flashed upon my mind as I turned to demand an explanation. But it was not a policeman who arrested me – it was only my friend, Herr Batz, the rope-maker, who, with a flushed face and starting eyes, gazed at me. “Where are you going?” said he. “To Revel,” said I. Almost breathless from his struggle to get at me, he forcibly pulled me aside from the crowd, drew me close up to him, and in a hoarse whisper uttered these remarkable words: “Hempf is up! It took a rise yesterday —Zweimal zwey macht vier, und sechsmal vier macht vier und zwanzig! verstehen sie?” “Gott im Himmel!” said I, “you don’t say so?” “Ya, freilich!” groaned Herr Batz, hoarsely: “Zwey tausent rubles! verstehen sie? Sechs und dreissig, und acht und vierzig.” “Ya! ya!” said I, grasping him cordially by the hand, for I was afraid the steamer would leave – “Adjeu, mein Herr! adjeu!” and I darted away into the crowd. The last I saw of the unfortunate rope-maker, he was standing on the quay, waving his red cotton handkerchief at me. As the lines were cast loose, and the steamer swung out into the river, he put both hands to his mouth, and shouted out something which the confusion of sounds prevented me from hearing distinctly. I was certain, however, that the last word that fell upon my ear was “hempf!”
The Neva at this season of the year presents a most animated and picturesque appearance. A little above the landing-place of the Baltic steamers, a magnificent bridge connects the Wasseli-Ostrow with the main part of the city, embracing the Winter Palace, the Admiralty, and the Nevskoi, generally known as the Bolshaia, or Great Side. Below this bridge, as far as the eye can reach in the direction of the Gulf of Finland, the glittering waters of the Neva are alive with various kinds of shipping – merchant vessels from all parts of the world; fishing smacks from Finland and Riga; lumber vessels from Tornea; wood-boats from the interior; Russian and Prussian steamers; row-boats, skiffs, and fancy colored canoes, with crews and passengers representing many nations of the earth, are in perpetual motion; and while the sight is bewildered by the variety of moving objects, the ears are confounded by the strange medley of languages.
Through this confused web of obstacles, the little steamer in which I had taken passage worked her way cautiously and systematically, catching a rope here and there for a sudden swing to the right or to the left, stopping and backing from time to time, and feeling with her nose for the narrow channels of the river, till she was fairly out of danger, when, with a blast of the whistle and a heavy pressure of steam, she dashed forth into the open waters of the gulf.
As we gradually receded, I turned to take a last look at the mighty Venice of the North. The gold-covered domes of the churches, rising high above the massive ranges of palaces, were glittering brilliantly in the sunlight; the variegated shipping of the Neva was growing dim in the distance; the masses of foliage that crowned the islands were of tropical luxuriance, and the whole city, with its palaces, fortifications, and churches, seemed to rest upon the surface of the waters. It was a sight not soon to be forgotten. I turned toward the dark and stern fortresses of Cronstadt, now breaking in strong outline through the golden haze of the morning, and thought of the grim old Czar who had thus battled with Nature, and planted a mighty city in the wilderness; and thus musing, sighed to think that such a man should have lacked the warmth divine which sheds the only true and enduring lustre upon human greatness.
After the usual detention at Cronstadt for the examination of passports, the steamer once more started on her way, and in a few hours nothing was in sight save the shores of the gulf dim on the horizon, and the sails of distant vessels looming up in the haze.
I now, for the first time, had leisure to look at my fellow-passengers.
A Russian steamer during the pleasure season is a floating Babel. Here, within the limits of a few dozen feet, were the representatives of almost every nation from the Arctic circle to the tropics – Finns and Swedes, Norwegians and Danes, Tartars and Russians, Poles and Germans, Frenchmen and Englishmen, South Americans, and – I was going to say North Americans, of which, however, I was the sole representative.
It was a motley assemblage – a hodge-podge of humanity, a kind of living pot-pourri of dirty faces and dirty shirts, military uniforms, slouched hats, blowses, and big boots. There was a Russian general, who always stood at the cabin door to show himself to the rest of the passengers. I don’t know for the life of me what he was angry about, but his face wore a perpetual frown of indignation, scorn, and contempt; his black brows were constitutionally knit; his eyes seemed to be always trying to overpower and knock somebody under; his lips were firmly compressed, and his mustaches stood out like a dagger on each side, with the handles wrapped in a bundle of dirty hair under his nose. So tight was his uniform around the body and neck that it forced all the blood up into his face, and wouldn’t let it get back again; and it seemed a miracle that the veins in his forehead did not burst and carry away the top of his head, brains and all. Opposite to this great man, in an attitude of profound humility, stood his liveried servant – a very gentlemanly-looking person, with an intellectual baldness covering the entire top of his cranium. This deferential individual wore a coat beautifully variegated before and behind with gold lace; a pair of plush knee-breeches, white stockings, and white kid gloves; and was continually engaged in bowing to the great man, and otherwise anticipating his wants. When the great man looked at a trunk, or a carpet sack, or any thing else in the line of baggage or traveling equipments, the liveried servant bowed very low, looked nervously about him, and then darted off and seized hold of the article in question, gave it a pull or a push, put it down again, looked nervously around him, hurried back and bowed again to his august master, who by that time was generally looking in some other direction with an air of great indifference – as much as to say that he was accustomed to that species of homage, and did not attach any particular value to it. The passengers regarded him with profound awe and admiration, and seemed to be very much afraid he would, upon some trifling provocation, draw his sword and attack them. I was determined, if ever he undertook such a demonstration of authority as that, to resent it with the true spirit of a Californian, and cast about me for some weapon of personal defense, but saw nothing likely to be available in an emergency of that kind except a small bucket of slush, with which, however, it would be practicable to “douse his glim.” This great man, with his attendant, was bound for the sea-baths of Revel, where he would doubtless soon be buffeting the waves like a porpoise – or possibly, in virtue of the commanding powers vested in him by nature and the Czar of Russia, would sit down by the sea-shore like Hardicanute the Dane, and order the waves to retire.
Then there was an old lady and her three daughters who sat on the camp-stools by the step-ladder; the same fat old lady, bedizened with finery, and the same three young ladies, with strong features and dismal dresses, which the traveler encounters all over the Continent of Europe. The old lady was in a state of chronic agony lest the young ladies should be forcibly seized and carried away by some daring youth of the male sex; and the young ladies were conscious that such was the general purpose of mankind, and that they were in imminent danger of being preyed upon in that way, and, consequently, must always hold down their heads and look at the seams in the deck upon the approach of any gallant-looking cavalier with a handsome face and a fine figure, to say nothing of the expressive tenderness of his eyes and the gracefulness of his manner, and many other fascinating features in the young gentleman’s appearance, of which they could not be otherwise than entirely unconscious, since they had not taken the slightest notice of him, and never contemplated encouraging his advances. The old lady was a very discreet and proper old lady, and the young ladies were very discreet and proper young ladies, and they were going to the baths of Revel after their last winter’s campaign in the fashionable circles of St. Petersburg; and any body could see at a glance that they were of a distinguished and fashionable family, because they had a courier and two lapdogs, and carried a coat of arms on their trunks and bandboxes, and were taken with violent headaches soon after leaving Cronstadt, and used smelling-salts.
Next was the man who belongs to no particular nation, speaks every language, and knows every body – a shabby-genteel, middle-aged man, of no ostensible occupation, but always occupied. “Sare,” said he, “I perceive you are an Englishman. I always very glad am to meet with Englishmen. I two years spent in London.” “Indeed!” said I; “you speak English very well, considering you learned it in England!” “Yes, sare – in London – I was in business there.” “Mercantile?” said I. “No, sare; I attended to mi-lor Granby’s ’orses.” “Oh! that indeed!” “Yes, sare;” and so the conversation went on in a manner both entertaining and instructive. In the course of it, I gathered that my shabby-genteel friend was going to Revel to attend a ’orse-race.
Another conspicuous group on the deck soon after attracted my attention – the hungry people. This group consisted of some six or eight persons, male and female, of a very Jewish cast of features, well-dressed and lively, evidently Germans, since they spoke in the German language. Scarcely had the steamer cast loose from the quay when they opened the pile of baskets, boxes, and packages by which they were surrounded, and, taking out sundry loaves of bread, lumps of cheese, sausages, and wine-bottles, began to eat and drink with a voracity perfectly amazing. I was certain I had seen them a thousand times before. Every feature was familiar; and even their constitutional appetite was nothing new to me. I had never seen this group, or their prototype, in any public conveyance, or in any part of the world, without a feeling of envy at the extraordinary vigor of their digestive functions. Here were pale, cadaverous-looking men, and sallow women, who never stopped eating from morning till night, in rough or calm weather, in sunshine or storm; ever hungry, ever thirsty, ever cramming and guzzling with a degree of zest that the sturdiest laborer in the field could never experience; and yet they neither burst nor dropped down dead, nor suffered from sea-sickness. Doubtless they had just breakfasted before they came aboard; but, to make sure of it, they immediately breakfasted again. As soon as they were through that, they lunched; then they dined; after dinner they drank coffee and ate cakes; after coffee and cakes they lunched again; then they ate a hearty supper, and after supper whetted their appetites on tea and cakes; and before bedtime appeased the cravings of hunger with a heavy meal of sausages, brown bread, and cheese, which they washed down with several bottles of wine. I don’t know how many times they got up to eat in the night, but suppose it could not have been more than twice or three times, since they were at it again by daylight in the morning as vigorously as ever. I am inclined to think that some people are physically so organized as to be insensible to the difference between a pound of food and ten pounds, as others are unconscious of the difference between wit and stupidity, sense and nonsense; such, for instance, as the humorous group, who sit by the companion-way, and keep themselves and every body around them in a continued roar of laughter. It is good to be merry; but I must confess it is not within the bounds of my capacity to discover a source of merriment in such pranks of wit as these people enjoy. A young fellow makes a face like an owl – every body roars laughing, the idea is so exquisitely comical. Another pulls his comrades by the hair, and every body shouts with uproarious merriment. One sly chap shoves another off his seat and takes possession of it – a feat so humorous that the whole crowd is convulsed. A bad orange, pitched across the deck, strikes an elderly gentleman on the bald pate – well, I had to laugh at that myself. By-and-by, a stout, florid young gentleman turns pale and groans; three or four officious friends, with twinkling eyes, seize him by the arms, and drag him over to the lee-scuppers, where he manifests still more decided symptoms of sea-sickness. His friends hold him, rub him, chafe him, and pat him on the back; one offers him a meerschaum pipe to smoke; another, a bunch of cigars; a third, a piece of fat meat; while a fourth tempts him with a bottle of some wine, all of which is uncommon fun to every body but the unfortunate victim. Thus the time passes away pleasantly enough, after all, taking into view the variety of incidents and scenes which constantly occupy the attention of a looker-on. I had taken a deck-passage for cheapness, and made out to get through the night by bundling myself up on a pile of baggage, and catching a few cat-naps whenever the noise created by these lively young gentlemen would permit of such a feat.
By seven o’clock in the morning we were steering into the harbor of Revel.
CHAPTER XXI.
REVEL AND HELSINGFORS
Few cities within the limits of the Russian dominions possess greater historic interest than Revel. Although its commerce is limited to a few annual shipments of hemp, flax, and tallow, produced in the province of Esthonia, and the importation of such articles of domestic consumption as the peasants require, it occupies a prominent position as a naval dépôt for Russian vessels of war, and is much frequented in summer by the citizens of St. Petersburg as a bathing-place and general resort of pleasure. A steamer leaves daily for Revel and Helsingfors, which, during the bathing season, is crowded with passengers, as in the case of my own trip, of which I have already given you a sketch. The approach to the harbor, in the bright morning sun, is exceedingly picturesque. Beyond the forest of masts and spars, with gayly-colored flags and streamers spread to the breeze, rises a group of ancient buildings on the rocky eminence called the Domberg, comprising the castle, the residences of the governor and commandant, and various palaces and quarters of the nobility, surrounded by Gothic walls and strong fortifications. This ancient and picturesque pile has been termed the Acropolis of Revel, though beyond the fact that it overlooks the lower town and forms a prominent feature in the scenic beauties of the place, it is difficult to determine in what respect it can bear a comparison with the famous Acropolis of Athens. However, I have observed that travelers find it convenient to discover resemblances of this kind where none exist, as a means of rounding off their descriptions; and since the Kremlin is styled the Acropolis of Moscow, I see no reason why Revel should not enjoy the same sort of classic association. It is to be hoped that when Russian travelers visit San Francisco, they will, upon the principle adopted by tourists in their country, do us the justice to designate Russian Hill as the Acropolis of San Francisco; and should they visit Sacramento during the existence of a flood, I have no doubt they can find a pile of bricks or a whisky barrel sufficiently elevated above the general level to merit the distinctive appellation of an Acropolis. Revel has suffered more frequent changes of government, and passed through the hands of a greater variety of rulers, than any city, perhaps, in the whole of Northern Europe. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries it was a province of Denmark; subsequently it fell into the hands of the Swedes, and in 1347 became a possession of the Livonian Knights, a chivalrous and warlike order, who built castles, lived in a style of great luxuriance, killed, robbed, and plundered the people of the surrounding countries, and otherwise distinguished themselves as gentlemen of the first families, not one of them having ever been known to perform a day’s useful labor in his life. Such, indeed, was the heroic character of these doughty knights, that, having plunged the whole country into ruin and distress, the peasants, driven to desperation, rose upon them in 1560, and completely routed and destroyed them, killing many, and compelling the remainder to seek some other occupation. This was rough treatment for gentlemen, but it happens from time to time in the course of history, and shows to what trials chivalrous blood is exposed when it can’t have its own way. Finally Esthonia and Livonia fell into the hands of Charles II. of Sweden, from whom they were wrested by Peter the Great. Since that period these provinces have continued under the Russian dominion. From the time of Peter to the reign of the present emperor, Revel has been a favorite summer resort of the Czars. It has been rebuilt, patched, fortified, and improved to such an extent that it now represents almost every style of architecture known in Northern Europe since the Middle Ages. The people partake of the same characteristics, being a mixture of every Northern race by which the place has been inhabited since the reign of Eric XIV. of Denmark. I spent some hours visiting the churches and other objects of interest, a detailed description of which would scarcely be practicable within the brief limits of a letter. The Ritterschaftshaus, containing the armorial bearings of the nobility, is a place of great historical interest; but I saw nothing that afforded me so much amusement as the scenes in the Jahrmarket, where the annual summer fair is held. Here were booths and tents, and all sorts of wares, much in the style of the markets of the Riadi in Moscow, of which I have already given a description. The crowds gathered around those places of barter and trade appeared to enjoy a very free-and-easy sort of life. I could see nothing about them indicative of an oppressed condition. Most of them were reeling drunk, and such as were not drunk seemed in a fair way of speedily arriving at that condition of beatitude.
From the Jahrmarket I strolled out to the Cathermthal, a favorite resort of the citizens during the heat of the day. The shady promenades of this magnificent garden, its natural beauties, and the display of equipages and costumes, render it an exceedingly agreeable lounging-place for a stranger. Every thing is in the Russian style – the pavilions, the music, the theatrical exhibitions, and the predominance of naval and military uniforms throughout the grounds. The scarcity of flowers is remedied to some extent by the profusion of epaulettes and brass buttons, which the emperor seems to regard as superior to any thing in nature. No garden that I have yet seen in Russia is destitute of ornaments of this kind.
Gambling was going on every where – at every tea-table and in every pavilion. This department of civilization is well represented in Revel by the Russians. Horse-racing, cards, dominoes, and other amusements and games of hazard, are their ruling passion. A Russian who will not bet his head after he has lost all his valuable possessions must be a very poor representative of his country indeed. I have rarely seen such a passionate devotion to the gaming-table, even in California, which is not usually behind the nations of Europe in all that pertains to the cultivation of the human mind. Revel must be a heaven to a genuine Russian. All is free and unreserved, and morals are said to be unknown, save to a few of the old-fashioned citizens and gentry. Visitors usually leave their own behind them, and depend upon chance for a fresh supply in case of necessity.
The afternoon was warm, and it occurred to me that a stroll on the beach would be pleasant. Accompanied by my friend the horse-jockey, who seemed determined to hold on to me as long as I remained in Revel, under the conviction, no doubt, that I was secretly engaged in the horse business, and would come out in my true character before long, I sauntered down in the direction of some bathing tents, scattered along the beach a little below the port. My jockey friend was continually trying to pump out of me upon which of the horses in the approaching race it was my intention to bet, urging me as a friend not to throw away my money on the roan or chestnut, although appearances were in their favor, but to go in heavy on the black mare; and notwithstanding I assured him it was not my intention to risk any portion of my capital on this race, he was pertinacious in giving me his advice, and could not be convinced that I know nothing about the horses, and never bet on races of any kind. “Sare,” said he, “you are a stranger. These Russians are great rascals. They will cheat you out of your eyes. I speakee English. I am your friend.” I thanked him very cordially, but assured him there was no danger of my being cheated. He then went into a dissertation on the relative merits of the horses, to prove that it was impossible for me, a perfect stranger, to escape bankruptcy among so many sharpers. “But,” said I, “the horse-race takes place to-morrow, does it not?” “Yes, sare, to-morrow at three o’clock! You will be there? I shall also be there!” “But, my good friend, I leave to-night in the steamer; therefore all your kindness is thrown away!” “Oh! you must not leave to-night. You must see the horse-race!” In vain I assured him it was impossible for me to remain. He was not to be put off on any pretext, and, having made up his mind that I must remain, I was forced to drop the subject and let him have his way. While he was enlarging upon the merits of the black mare, my attention was attracted by a group of bathers – ladies, as I judged by their voices, though, as they were dressed in rather a fantastic style, I could not perceive any other indication of the sex. One of the party – a lively young girl of sixteen or seventeen – seemed to be a perfect mermaid. She plunged and swam, ducked and dived, kicked up her delicate little feet, and disappeared under the surf in a way that struck me with awe and admiration. Never was there such an enchanting picture of perfect abandonment to the enjoyment of the occasion. A poetic feeling I took possession of me. Visions of grottoes under the deep sea waves, and beautiful princesses and maidens, filled my soul. I thought of Gulnare in the Arabian Nights, and felt disposed, like Mirza, the King of Persia, to “embrace her with great tenderness.” It was really a very pretty sight. “Sare,” said my companion, confidentially, “take my advice. She is blind of one eye, and has a strain in the fore leg, but you may bet on her! I jockeyed her for six months before the last race.” He was still talking about the black mare. I turned away to hide my impatience. After a few words of desultory conversation, I excused myself on the plea of sickness, and bade him good-evening.
At 8 P.M. I took my departure from Revel. A new batch of passengers had come on board. We were soon steaming our way across the Gulf of Finland. I had rarely spent a more pleasant day, and, if time had permitted, would gladly have prolonged my sojourn in the quaint old city of Revel. The summer nights were still incomparably beautiful. A glow of sunshine was visible in the sky as late as eleven o’clock. At two, the rays of the rising sun began to illuminate the horizon. A dead calm gave to the sleeping waters of the Gulf the appearance of a lake; and as we approached the shores of Helsingfors, the illusion was heightened by innumerable little islands, clothed with verdant slopes of grass and groves of pine. The harbor of Helsingfors derives a peculiar interest from its system of fortifications. Nature seems to have done much to render it impregnable; and what Nature has not done has been accomplished by the military genius of the Russians. Immense masses of rock rise from the water in every direction, leaving deep narrow passages between for vessels. Every rock is a fortress. The steamer passed through a perfect maze of fortifications. Guns bore upon us from all sides – out of the forts, out of holes in the rocks – in short, out of every conceivable nook and crevice in the bay. The very rocks seemed to be alive with sentinels and to bustle with armories. Probably there is no part of the Russian dominions, except Cronstadt, more thoroughly fortified than Sweaborg. The system of engineering displayed upon this point evinces the highest order of military genius. The fortifications embrace a series of forts, castles, barracks, and military establishments of various kinds, situated on seven islands of solid rock, forming the different channels of approach to the harbor. Count Ehrensuerd, Field-marshal of Sweden, is entitled to the credit of having devised the original system of fortifications, afterward so successfully carried out by the Czars of Russia. This was the last rallying-point of the Swedes during the war with Russia. In 1808, Admiral Cronstadt, the commander of the Swedish forces, who had hitherto proved himself a brave and patriotic officer, submitted to terms of capitulation and delivered over the forts to the Russians. History scarcely furnishes a parallel to such a wanton and unaccountable act of treachery. Cronstadt had fifteen hundred men, two frigates, and all the munitions of war to hold his position against any force that could be brought against him; while the Russians were reduced to great extremities, and, it is said, had scarcely force enough left to man the forts after they were evacuated by the Swedes. Sufficient testimony has been gathered by historians to show that Cronstadt bartered his honor for money; yet, strange to say, such is the high estimation in which he was originally held by the Swedes, that many of them to this day profess to disbelieve that he was capable of such an infamous crime. It is thought by some that he must have been laboring under some mental hallucination at the time of the capitulation. Be that as it may, the success of the Russian arms was doubtless greatly facilitated by this act of treason. Cronstadt, like Benedict Arnold, died an isolated and broken-hearted man. His ill-gotten gains were but a poor recompense for the infamy entailed upon his name. Such, indeed, as all history shows, has been and must ever be the fate of all traitors to their country.
