re run into the small of his
back. All those physical torments which disturb thin-skinned people
from other countries are no torments at all to him; and I incline to
the opinion that it is the constant experience he enjoys in a small
way that enables him to endure the wounds received in battle with such
wonderful stoicism. A man can carry a bull if he only commences when
the animal is young. Why not, on the same principle, accustom himself
to being stabbed every night till he can quietly endure to be run
through with a bayonet? The Russian soldiers possess wonderful powers
of passive endurance. Being stabbed or cut to pieces is second nature
to them--they have been accustomed to it, in a degree, from early
infancy. Who does not remember how they were hewed and hacked down in
the Crimean War, and yet came to life again by thousands after they
were given up for dead? Perhaps no other soldiers in the world possess
such stoicism under the inflictions of pain. They stand an enormous
amount of killing; more so, I think, than any other people, unless it
may be the Irish, who, at the battle of Vinegar Hill, in the rebellion
of '98, were nearly all cut to pieces and left for dead on the field,
but got up in a day or two after and went at it again as lively as
ever. This, however, was not owing to the same early experience, but
to the healthy blood made of potatoes, with a slight sprinkling of
Irish whisky. In fine, I don't think a genuine Muscovite could sleep
without a bountiful supply of vermin to titillate his skin any more
than a miller bereft of the customary noise of his hoppers.

Which brings me back again to the adventure. On that filthy bed the
ruffians laid me down to be devoured by the wild beasts by which it
was infested. Then they turned about to a shrine that stood in a
corner of the room, and each one bowed down before it three times and
crossed himself, after which they all left the room and quietly closed
the door behind them. I was penetrated with horror at the thought of
the terrible death before me, but not so much as to avoid noticing
that the chief furniture of the room consisted of a stove in one
corner, of cylindrical form, made of terra-cotta or burnt clay, and
glazed outside. It was colored in rather a fanciful way, like
queensware, and made a conspicuous appearance, reaching from the floor
to the ceiling. This was the genuine Russian stove, with which these
people no doubt kept themselves warm during t