CHAPTER XXV. A HUNT FOR MALACHITE AND LAPIS-LAZULI IN THE GOSTINNOI DVOR.
An American’s pride in his importance as a customer is apt to get a bad fall when he enters at random a shop in Moscow. At St. Petersburg he has noticed that his patronage was not greatly coveted in the vast bazaar opposite the Hôtel d’Europe on the Nevskoi Prospekt where he made most of his purchases. He missed the assiduous, almost servile, attention to which he was accustomed in London, Paris, and Vienna. But in Moscow the shop-keepers carry their indifference a point further. They act as if they wanted to repel American customers. This is because we are confounded with Englishmen, and, as such, are not liked. Dressing and speaking like Englishmen and too often imitating them in tricks of manner, Americans are only naturally mistaken for a class of foreigners with whom Russia has perpetual feud. As Moscow is the heart of Russia, the anti-English feeling is strongest there. Americans soon find this out, whenever they walk the streets or visit the great bazaars, from the icy atmosphere that seems to surround every Russian like a nimbus. At the great hotels the Englishmen are welcome, because the landlords are superior to local prejudices when their guests pay well. At least one porter or waiter who speaks French is kept on hand for their convenience. At some of the larger and higher-priced shops of Moscow, they are also treated with some of the consideration paid to them in Western Europe. But their room is undoubtedly more desired than their company by the Russians at large. And Americans, except where they can make their nationality known, suffer from the same antipathy. I give my own experience.
I wanted to buy some articles made of malachite and lapis-lazuli. Having seen in the churches whole pillars rising from floor to ceiling veneered with those beautiful green and blue stones, I imagined that both of them would be abundant and cheap in the heart of the empire where they are mined. Much to my surprise, the manager of my hotel could not direct me to any shop for such purchases. He advised me to try an immense bazaar near the Kremlin. Its Russian name, as nearly as I can give it in English characters, is Gostinnoi Dvor. The district of the city in which it is situated is the Kitai Gorod (Chinese town or quarter). I took his advice, starting out just after breakfast one fine morning, and determining to give all of twenty—possibly thirty—of my precious minutes to the search for lapis-lazuli and malachite.
The bazaar is a great, covered market divided into innumerable stalls. Each stall has its show-cases thrust in front, containing the choicest of the goods for sale, usually ticketed with prices in rubles and kopecks. These are given in figures to be read of all men. Just behind the show-cases stands a man or woman on the alert. In the rear of the little booth is the proprietor, sitting on a three-legged stool before a ledger. On either side of him rise tiers of shelves packed with his reserved treasures. As I started to go down the narrow passage-way between two rows of these stalls I observed the long perspective of men or women waiting for customers at that early hour. I almost dreaded to run the gantlet. My object was to go through the entire bazaar; “mark down” the shops at which lapis-lazuli and malachite were exposed for sale, with a note of the prices, and, after I had found just what suited me, then to come back and buy it on the best terms I could make.
To escape being teased to purchase the clothes, boots and shoes, kitchen utensils, mouse-traps, fancy soaps, cutlery, and thousands of other things I did not want, I kept to the middle of the passage-way, walking fast with head down, but looking out sharply at the corners of my eyes. These swift side-glances took in not only the strangely various contents of all the shops I passed, but also the looks of the people in charge. I was much astonished to receive no particular notice from them. They looked at me as at a passing dog or cat, but not one of them nodded or beckoned. And not one even began to tidy up his things with a wisp-broom, or change them about ostentatiously, as the shopman in other lands often does when a possible customer comes in sight. The Russian face is generally considered inexpressive. But I never knew till then how blank it could be. Once in a while, however, I noticed a lowering of brows and a slight protrusion of the lower lip, which looked very much like disdain. I did not then know that I was mistaken for an Englishman, and that I could not have chosen a place for shopping where our insular friends are held in such large measure of dislike as in that truly Russian bazaar.
Two pretty girls, dressed in bright colors, with silver skewers in their hair, were selling flowers at one of the stands. I stepped up to buy a buttonhole bouquet, and selected one, tendering a ruble for change. I was anxious to see if either of the girls would offer to pin it to the lapel of my coat, as flower-venders often do elsewhere. To propitiate them, I said “American.” This single word has been known to produce wonderful effect on occasions. But it was thrown away here. These fair creatures were of the peasant class, totally ignorant of any language but Russian. It is doubtful if they had ever seen an American to know him. To them I was only an Englishman, and therefore it was that one of them sheered away from me, and the other pouted, and I was obliged to pin on my own boutonnière. Now, I was indeed vexed, not guessing the real trouble.
I determined to compel some of these people to notice me. I stepped up to a counter, picked up an old copper frying-pan, and rapped it sharply with my knuckles. This meant in the sign-language, “How much?” I had a note-book and pencil in hand, and intended to intimate by dumb-show that the proprietor should jot down the price there. The frying-pan, when smitten, sounded like a gong, and made quite a noise. This was all the better for me, as it was sure to bring down the man who sat back there on a high stool, and was the only occupant of the shop. He descended from his perch, but it was with a scowl, as if the harsh sound had disturbed his meditations. Looking at me, he seemed instantly to make up his mind that I did not want to buy that ancient frying-pan on any terms. And this was true. But I was not prepared for what he did. He just took the utensil gently by the handle, gave it a little twist to detach it from my grasp, and then laid it down on the counter. It was as if he had said, “No more of that, please.” I stalked away as majestically as possible, without any attempt at explanation. Broad faces with high cheek-bones were on the grin all about. It would have been a real comfort to know that I was mistaken for an Englishman.
I walked fast down the middle of the aisle, resolved not to stop again till I saw some stall at which jewelry and ornamental knickknacks were on sale. For about a thousand feet farther it was a monotonous stretch of useful articles to wear or to eat or to furnish a house withal. Then I came to a corner round which was another passage-way about a quarter of a mile long, also lined with shops. And I may as well explain here that, at regular intervals of a few hundred feet, other alleys just as full of shops branch off criss-cross. The bazaar is of the distracting chess-board pattern; and the man who started out, as I did, to see the whole of it, in order to miss no good chance of buying some malachite and lapis-lazuli, had a bigger job in hand than he dreamed of.
Far ahead, I saw strings of gilt beads dangling in front of a shop. Hurrying on, I found that it was full of ear-rings, breastpins, chains, crosses, and all the other kinds of jewelry in vogue everywhere. The objects were mostly of silver and gold. There were real diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls. Putting on my best smile, to propitiate the owner, who, like all the others, did not seem to want to have anything to do with me, I peered into his show-cases and ran my eye rapidly over the contents. Among them there was nothing green, but emeralds, or blue, but sapphires. Still, I was not discouraged, for there were miles or more of shops under that vast roof, and sooner or later the desired objects must be found.
After a smart walk of about five minutes more, through files of apathetic Russians without seeing what was wanted, I came upon a colony of Jews, and warmed up to them at once, when they bowed and beckoned to me. It was evident that they were anxious to trade, and had no prejudices against supposed Englishmen. Several of them dealt in jewelry and works of art; and, as luck would have it, there was a huge object made of malachite exhibited conspicuously on a shelf in front of one of their stalls. It was shaped like a punch-bowl, of about one gallon capacity. I pointed to it with my cane. The man took it down for me. It was a masterpiece. The fragments of malachite of which it was composed exhibited the various green shades of the stone, and the characteristic wavy lines. The pieces were so carefully selected, and the joining was so nicely done, that the colors and the lines ran together making a perfect whole. At first sight, one could not believe that this punch-bowl was not carved from a single piece of malachite. There was no need of asking the Jew his price, for it was ticketed plainly enough two hundred and fifty—the figures standing for rubles. This would be about one hundred and twenty-five dollars, counting the ruble at its then gold value of fifty cents. I might have bought it at a third or perhaps a half off, and was strongly tempted to try for it. But its size, the trouble of carrying it round in a trunk, and, not least, the high duty which would be levied on it in New York, were enough to restrain me. I looked all over his exposed stock, but could see no more malachite and not a sign of lapis-lazuli. It then occurred to me that, being a Jew, he might have traveled, and have some knowledge of the world’s great languages. So I threw scraps of French, German, and English at him in succession. To all he only shook his head, and expelled from his chest a few of those deep gutturals which I had already learned to recognize as pure Slavic. Like most Russians, whether Jew or Christian, he had never been out of his country, nor spoken to a foreigner. Nothing so deeply impressed me with the immensity of the Russian Empire, and the isolated condition of her people, as the fact that so few of them, and those only the well educated—even in the two great cities, St. Petersburg and Moscow—understand a word of any language but their own. I nodded good-by to my Jewish friend, whose kind manner showed that he regretted as much as I that we could not find a common ground for exchanging ideas, and went on with the search.
It might have been half an hour later when I saw, shining through the window of a show-case, a pair of deep-blue sleeve-buttons. I stepped up and examined them closely. The shade of blue was indigo. The surface had a fine, hard polish, and reflected to the eye those little star-like points of light which, in the true lapis-lazuli, seem just buried beneath its surface. The beautiful stones were heavily mounted in gold. They were exactly what I wanted. The ticket linked to them bore the figures twenty-eight—rubles, of course. This was not too high for genuine lapis-lazuli sleeve-buttons, gold mounted in the best style. The pleasant looks of this Russian proprietor seemed to invite me to tarry and trade.
Forgetting for a moment that he could not possibly understand English, I pointed to the lovely objects, and said, interrogatively, “Lapis-lazuli?” To my great delight he nodded and smiled. That was a “Yes,” all the world over.
“Is it gold?” I asked, in reference to the setting, at the same time repeating the question in French. It was plain that he understood the one or the other language, for he nodded and smiled again. To find some one at last who could catch my idea was indeed gratifying. Anticipating my wish, he then removed the sleeve-buttons from the show-case and put them in my hand. I turned them over and examined them minutely. Though unfamiliar with the best tests for lapis-lazuli, I knew that, like all natural stones, it should have a cold touch, and not warm readily in the palm. I held it for a moment, when it became heated in contact with the flesh. Then I strongly suspected it to be paste. A solid gold setting should be heavy of its size. This one was very light. I decided that the sleeve-buttons were not a bargain at any price, and laid them down on the counter.
At that instant I was startled by a voice at my elbow, which said, “Those just suit me, if you don’t want ’em.”
I turned and saw a plethoric Englishman, who looked flushed and panted as if from over-exertion. “Fact is,” said he, “I’ve been chasm’ up and down this blarsted bazaar after lapus-lazerlee more’n two hours, and this is the first lot I’ve struck. I don’t want to take ’em away from you, you know. But I’ve promised to buy a pair of just such sleeve-buttons for a friend in London.”
“You are welcome to them,” I said; “but”—and I was about to give him a friendly hint to examine the goods very carefully before buying.
“Thanks,” he said, interrupting me. “Twenty-eight rubles, I see by the ticket. I’ll try him at half-price,” he added in an undertone for my ear.
Then, raising his voice at the shop-keeper, he cried, “I’ll give you fourteen, and not another ruble.” The Russian certainly understood that much of English, for again he nodded and smiled mechanically as usual; whereupon his customer thrust two ten-ruble notes at him, in evident anxiety not to lose a great bargain. As he did so, he said to me in a side-whisper, “Now I’ve got ’em, I don’t mind telling you that a cousin of mine paid thirty rubles for a smaller pair than them at Nijni-Novgorod two years ago.”
Now came a surprise for our hasty English friend; for the shopman, with a bewildered expression of face, handed back to him one of the ten-ruble notes. Then he opened a till and scooped out a quantity of change—some paper and some silver and copper. I now shared the Englishman’s amazement, and we both looked on, silently wondering what would happen next. Finally, he deliberately counted out seven rubles and ninety-two kopecks, and pushed them toward the Englishman. This made the price of the sleeve-buttons only two rubles and eight kopeck’s, or about one dollar and four cents of American money. Here, indeed, was a stupendous bargain, unless the lapis-lazuli were only paste and the gold pinchbeck.
The latter proved to be the case, as the Englishman and I readily perceived after giving the sleeve-buttons a more minute examination than we had hitherto bestowed on them. The figures on the ticket, when critically inspected, turned out to be 2 with a dot followed by an 8. This meant two rubles and eight kopecks, but the dot was so faint that we had both failed to notice it at first. The Englishman had rashly taken it for granted that the materials were genuine without asking any questions. He had no cause of complaint against the seller, for he had not been cheated. To persons who wanted such imitations, they were worth the low price charged. The fact was, as the Englishman and I agreed on comparing notes, that the Russian had not understood one word of anything either of us had said to him. He had simply nodded and grinned, as a matter of civility, trusting that, when the business came to close quarters, the meaning could mutually be made clear. This habit of nodding, as the equivalent of “Yes,” is very common among people in all parts of Europe, who have not the faintest idea of what you are asking them. They take the chance that “Yes” may be the right answer, and perhaps they even say “Yes” to you in whatever language they speak, in order to keep up the illusion. I have been a hundred times misled—and often greatly to my annoyance—by this nod or spoken assent of coachmen, porters, and tradesmen in all parts of Europe.
The Englishman realized the impossibility of explaining matters to the jewelry-dealer, and of getting his money back. He accepted the situation philosophically. After the goods had been carefully packed for him in a little pasteboard box, he put them in his pocket with the simple remark, “Good enough present for somebody, you know.”
We then separated with a friendly hand-shake, he to return to the Hôtel Dusaux, where he said he was stopping, and I to pursue my researches for a stone almost as elusive as the philosopher’s. “I’ve done the whole bazaar, and I know it’s no use,” were his parting words. But I determined to see for myself; and it was not till the end of two hours more that I gave up the hunt in despair, wearied and foot-sore.
But I had better luck when I returned to St. Petersburg. There I had the pleasure of inspecting several small but choice stocks of malachite goods, and purchasing some specimens at reasonable rates. I saw a few pieces of lapis-lazuli—undoubtedly genuine—but not one as handsome as the imitation sold to that Englishman in the Gostinnoi Dvor of Moscow. The prices asked for them seemed always far too high for their intrinsic beauty. So I left them all in their show-cases on the Nevskoi Prospekt, to meet the possible demand of other Americans for that kind of stone.