I told her "three or four days at most—just long
enough to rest myself." "In that case," she
said, "it is not worth while to go to the police."
"As you please," I answered. "I know
nothing of the custom here. But why is it
not worth while?" "Because I should be
obliged to go with you, and that is too much
trouble, as you remain so short a time." She
entered further into the matter, and it may be
taken for granted that I did not endeavour to
persuade her against her inclination. I then
took possession of my room, and stayed in
it all day, resisting the invitation of my landlady
to go and see the illuminations, for it
was the day on which the nuptials of the
Grand Duchess Olga, the Emperor's daughter,
with the Prince of Wurtemburg were
celebrated.

Next day I walked through the city, devising
the best means for making my escape from it.
It was my object to find, if possible, a steamboat
for Havre, but I was afraid to make
inquiries. I took my way along the quays,
furtively glancing at the inscriptions chalked in red
or yellow on the black sides of the vessels, but
it was long before I found anything that at all
answered my purpose. At last I saw a steamer
with a notice placed near the mast, which stated
that the vessel would start on the following
morning for Riga. It was with difficulty I
could subdue my emotion, but how to get speech
of the captain was the question. There was a
man walking the deck—the pilot probably—with
his red shirt over his trousers; I feared to
address him, though I kept close watch upon his
movements. Suddenly he perceived me, and
called out, "Do you want to go to Riga? If
so, step this way." "That certainly is my wish,"
I replied; "but how can such a poor fellow as
I travel in a steam-boat? It costs too much for
folks like me." "Oh, we shan't be too hard
upon a moujik." I asked him the fare, and he
named an astonishingly low sum; but perceiving
that I still hesitated, desired to know the
reason. I said I had only just arrived in St.
Petersburg, and must get my passport visé.
That, he observed, would make a delay of three
days, and the boat sailed on the following morning.
What was I to do, then? "Start without
the visa," he said, telling me at the same time
to show him my passport. I produced the paper
which had done duty for one, carefully wrapped
up in a handkerchief, after the custom of the
Russian peasants. He hardly looked at it, but
told me to come at seven in the morning, and
look out for him on the quay. I was punctual
to the time, and found him waiting for me. He
merely said, "Give me the money," and handed
me a yellow ticket, with an injunction to be
silent. At that moment the bell rang, the
passengers hurried on board, my friend gave me a
push, I mingled with the crowd, and a few
moments afterwards I was steaming away from St.
Petersburg. We had a rough passage, but I
met with no misadventure, landing at Riga
unquestioned. I there laid aside my assumed
character of a bohomolets, and called myself a
stchetinnik, one of those persons who go from
village to village buying hogs' bristles on
commission for the Riga merchants. This pretended
trade afforded me the opportunity of calling at
different houses, and asking my way through
Courland and Lithuania, which was the direction
I took towards the frontier. I usually slept in
the corn, or in the woods, and as it was now the
middle of July I had the benefit of fine weather.
I had cast aside my winter trousers for the
summer trousers I brought from Siberia, renewed
my linen and shoes, and exchanged my pelisse
with an innkeeper for a long coat and a small cap,
which I kept in my wallet, with an eye to
Prussia. As to my sheepskin armiak (or
burnous) I wore it like a regular rouski tcheloviek
(or true " man of Russia") notwithstanding the
heats of summer. My journey across Lithuania
—across our holy Samogitia—was not
unattended by emotion, or deprived of scenes that
gave me pleasure. Often and often I was tempted
to reveal my nationality to one or other of my
countrymen, and ask for advice and assistance;
but I struggled successfully against the desire,
and kept up the character of a stchetiunik to
the last.

I had resolved to enter Prussia between
Polonga and Kurszany, and infinite trouble
I took to gather information as to the manner
in which the Russians guarded the frontier. It
was from one of the soldiers employed at the
custom-house that I learnt the most. He was
bathing in the little bay of Polonga, where I
joined him. Hearing him remark that he came
from Pultava, I said I was a native of that place,
and presently we began conversing. There is a
very simple way of making a Russian soldier
talk; you have only to allude to the hardship of
his condition, and he opens his mouth directly.
Once on this theme, my bathing companion
related all the precautionary measures the
custom-house officers are obliged to have recourse
to, day and night, against smugglers and
bonntoostchiki (or " rebels," as they call fugitives),
and named the parts which were the least and
the most closely guarded. From this conversation
I concluded that it would be safest for me
to attempt to pass the frontier by day: so, at
two o'clock the same afternoon, after having
recommended my soul to God, and armed
myself with my poniard, I crept amongst some
corn, and watching the moment when the two
sentries posted on a rampart in front turned their
backs on each other. I then leapt the parapet
into the first of the three ditches that form the
frontier. I did so without noise, crawled
through the brushwood, and reached the second
ditch; but there the sentries saw me and
fired. I rushed on, scarcely knowing what
I did, arrived at the third ditch, tlirew myself
into it, scrambled up the opposite slope, and
then ran as fast as I could towards a small
wood.

I was in Prussia. But not yet thought
myself safe, for I could not be sure that the
neutrality of my place of refuge would be
respected. My apprehensions were fortunately