Across Coveted Lands | Page 2

Russian train from the German capital one hears a great
deal of the terrors of the approaching Russian Custom-house, and here I
may relate rather an amusing incident which will prove what these
terrors amount to. In my sleeping car there happened to be some French
merchants on their way to the fair of Nijni-Novgorod. On perceiving
my two rifles, a good-sized ammunition case, and two cameras, one of
the gentlemen gratuitously informed me that if I intended to proceed to
Russia I had better leave all these things behind, or they would all be
confiscated at the frontier. I begged to differ, and the Frenchmen
laughed boisterously at my ignorance, and at what would happen
presently. In their imaginative minds they perceived my valued
firearms being lost for ever, and predicted my being detained at the
police station till it pleased les terribles Cossacques to let me proceed.
"Evidently," shouted one of the Frenchmen at the top of his voice, "this
is your first journey abroad. . . . We," he added, "are great travellers.
We have been once before in Russia."

"You are great travellers!" I exclaimed, with the emphasis very strong
on the are, and pretending intense admiration.
Naturally the Franco-Russian Alliance was dragged into the
conversation; were I a Frenchman I might fare less badly. The Russians
and the French were brothers. But a British subject! A hated
Englishman bringing into Russia two rifles, two revolvers, six hundred
cartridges, twelve hundred photographic plates, two cameras, a large
case of scientific instruments, all of which I would duly declare! Why?
Russia was not England. I should soon experience how Englishmen
were treated in some countries. "Russians," he exclaimed, "have not a
polished manner like the French. Ah, non! They are semi-barbarians yet.
They respect and fear the French, but not the English. . . . par
exemple!"
The frontier station of Alexandrovo was reached, and a horde of
terror-stricken passengers alighted from the carriages, preceded and
followed by bags, portmanteaux, hold-alls, and bundles of umbrellas,
which were hastily conveyed to the long tables of the huge
Custom-house inspection room.
The two Frenchmen had their belongings next to mine on the long
counter, and presently an officer came. They were French subjects and
they had nothing to declare. Their elaborately decorated bags were
instantly ordered open and turned upside down, while the officer
searched with some gusto among the contents now spread on the table.
There was a small pocket camera, two packets of photographic plates,
some soiled handkerchiefs, collars and cuffs, a box of fancy note-paper,
a bottle of scent, a pair of embroidered pantoufles, and a lot of patent
brass studs and cuff links.
With the exception of the soiled linen, everything was seized, for all
were liable to duty, and some sharp words of reprimand were used by
the officer to my now subdued French neighbours for attempting to
smuggle.
The officer moved on to me.

"Monsieur," mournfully remarked the Frenchman, "now you will be
done for."
I declared everything and produced a special permit, which had been
very courteously given me by the Russian Ambassador, and handed it
to the officer. Having eagerly read it, he stood with his heels together
and gave me a military salute. With a profound bow he begged me to
point out to him all my luggage so that he could have it stamped
without giving me further trouble. He politely declined to use the keys I
handed him, and thinking that I might feel uncomfortable in the
hustling crowd of people he conveyed me to a chair in order that I
might sit down.
I turned round to look at the Frenchmen. They had altogether collapsed.
"I thought you said that Englishmen were hated in Russia, and that they
would confiscate all my things? You see they have confiscated
nothing," I meekly remarked to the Frenchmen, when they returned to
the sleeping car. "I do not think that I have met with more polite
Customs officials anywhere."
"Oui, oui," muttered the stouter Frenchman, who was evidently in no
mood to enter into further conversation. "Et nous autres bêtes," he
soliloquized, "qui avons fait l'alliance avec ces sauvages là! On m'a
tout pris même le papier à lettres!"
He removed his coat and waistcoat and the many interesting patent
appliances for holding his tie in the correct position--where it never
remained--then he threw himself violently on the berth, face towards
the wall, and grumbled the greater part of the night on the stupid
mistake of the Franco-Russian Alliance. On his return to France he
would write a letter to the Ministre des Affaires Étrangères. After a
long and tedious soliloquy he fortunately fell asleep.
Warsaw on the Vistula, the old capital of Poland, was reached in the
morning.
The quickest way