“And travel,” I rejoined courteously, “in those places where travel seldom extends. I have only been six days at Petersburg, and till I came hither, I knew nothing of the variety of human nature or the power of human genius. But will you allow me to ask the meaning of the very singular occurrence we have just witnessed?”
“Oh, nothing,” rejoined the man, with a broad strong smile, “nothing but an attempt to make men out of brutes. This custom of shaving is not, thank Heaven, much wanted now: some years ago it was requisite to have several stations for barbers and tailors to perform their duties in. Now this is very seldom necessary; those gentlemen were especially marked out for the operation. By———” (and here the man swore a hearty English and somewhat seafaring oath, which a little astonished me in the streets of Petersburg), “I wish it were as easy to lop off all old customs! that it were as easy to clip the beard of the mind, Sir! Ha! ha!”
“But the Czar must have found a little difficulty in effecting even this outward amendment; and to say truth, I see so many beards about still that I think the reform has been more partial than universal.”
“Ah, those are the beards of the common people: the Czar leaves those for the present. Have you seen the docks yet?”
“No, I am not sufficiently a sailor to take much interest in them.”
“Humph! humph! you are a soldier, perhaps?”
“I hope to be so one day or other: I am not yet!”
“Not yet! humph! there are opportunities in plenty for those who wish it; what is your profession, then, and what do you know best?”
I was certainly not charmed with the honest inquisitiveness of the stranger. “Sir,” said I, “Sir, my profession is to answer no questions; and what I know best is—to hold my tongue!”
The stranger laughed out. “Well, well, that is what all Englishmen know best!” said he; “but don’t be offended: if you will come home with me I will give you a glass of brandy!”