Общественные и экономические заметки

Our transatlantic friends One of the reasons for the Russophobia of the foreign press. – Russian correspondents in American newspapers. – Confusing American public opinion. – Examples of American attitude towards Russian issues. –Russian-Turkish war on the American stage. Anyone who has had to follow everything that is written about Russia and Russian issues in the foreign press has undoubtedly been struck by the gall of Russophobia and the shamelessness of all kinds of slander that is generously delivered to the columns of various newspapers. We are accustomed to explain this phenomenon by the general hatred of the Western European world for its eastern half, on which fate destined to settle the Russian people. But there are particular reasons that give a particularly bilious direction to this hatred. While passing through England, I had the opportunity to meet in London with a Russian who, having lived there for more than ten years, had the opportunity to delve into the life of the English newspaper world. The conversation, naturally, most of all concerned the attitude of British public opinion towards Russia and Russian affairs, and I listened with surprise that the British generally love the Russians, and only their traditional policy on the Eastern question forces them to take a politically hostile attitude towards us, which is supported in every possible way by the cabinet, which was then still conservative. As if as a factual proof of the love of the English for Russia, in our society sat an Englishman who was devoted to Russia with all his soul, was interested in all its internal and external affairs, studied the Russian language and even accepted the Orthodox faith. How can we reconcile with this the desperate Russophobia of the English press, which, as a completely free press, should undoubtedly be a complete and true reflection of the public mood? – I asked my fellow countryman in surprise. The fellow countryman smiled and remarked: “It’s obvious that you are new abroad. When you live here longer, you will have a more correct understanding of this notorious freedom. First of all,” he continued, “in political matters the press is not nearly as independent of the cabinet as you are inclined to think. Inspirations from above here play, one might say, a more important role than here in Russia, since here they are incomparably more definite and are expressed in round sums of pounds sterling. In particular, in relation to Russia and Russian issues, the press cannot even positively be independent and independent. The British are generally not known for their knowledge of foreign languages, and Russian in particular. Therefore... – Therefore, Russian sections in newspapers should be in the hands of Russians, and this can in no way contribute to Russophobia! – I impatiently interrupted my fellow countryman. “Exactly so,” he answered: “it is impossible for English newspapers to do without Russians, or rather, without those who know the Russian language.” But this is the whole point of the question. By some accident, which, however, is understandable from a certain point of view, the representatives of knowledge of the Russian language, obsessed at the same time with the passion of writing, have long been not real Russians, but Russian Poles and Jews. They are the ones who run the Russian sections of the newspapers. Some time ago, I myself was interested in this question, I deliberately took the trouble to find out who, in fact, in the local newspaper world serve as representatives of Russia, and the research completely confirmed what was just said. In the ten best newspapers, the Russian sections, as it turns out, are in the hands almost exclusively of Poles and Jews, and among them there are only one or two Englishmen. And these Poles are all of such a kind that they cannot say two words about Russia without foaming at the mouth, our worst enemies and incurable dreamers of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth... These revelations of my London friend were instructive news for me and made it possible to more clearly understand certain aspects in the attitude of the English press towards Russian issues, for example, this well-known feverish sensitivity to the Polish question, this incessant hysterical, evilly powerless howl about the oppression of poor, defenseless Poland by the northern barbarians. About two years have passed since then, when I crossed the ocean and settled on the soil of the New World, among our transatlantic friends. The press here is already completely free, traditional politics on the Eastern question does not exist at all, and a certain “friendship” towards Russians can least of all support Russophobia. It was with a lively feeling of self-satisfaction that I usually took to American newspapers at first to find out what our “friends” were really saying about us. If anywhere, then undoubtedly here we must have our defenders from Western European slander and malice. Nothing happened. All those slander, antics and absurdities that abound in the Western European press in relation to Russia are easily transplanted to American pages and even with the addition of new ones. Struck by this abnormality, I began to look for its cause. One side explained itself quickly. If Western Europe is little familiar with the Russian language, despite constant relations with Russia, then the Americans do not know it at all, and it serves as a real Chinese wall in directly introducing them to the Russian people. Meanwhile, there is a huge need to get acquainted with Russia, and to satisfy it, newspapers calmly reprint everything that appears on Russian issues in German, English, and partly French newspapers. Over time, I had the opportunity to become partially acquainted with the intimate side of the American press and found that it also had Russian employees. But this acquaintance only contributed to the understanding of why she, with such illegibility, or rather with such hellish legibility, transfers onto her pages all the lies and abominations that abound in the Western European press in relation to Russia. The fact is that in New York there is no truly Russian intelligent element at all who could take upon themselves the task of seriously familiarizing Americans with Russia. But here lives a whole gang of adventurers, whom various tricks, partly of a political, but mainly of a simply criminal nature, were forcibly driven to the soil of the New World, putting them in a hostile attitude towards Russia, inaccessible to them. Not knowing any craft and not having any positive scientific and literary knowledge, they are at the same time filled with indignant denial. Some of them hang around with dirty German socialist leaflets (it’s remarkable that there is no English socialist press here), and some have settled down with large newspapers as “Russian correspondents” and heads of Russian departments. So they treat the American public with selections from Western European newspapers with the addition of their own fabrications, explanations and additions. And you will find in American newspapers news of every most insignificant gossip and abomination that abounds in the Russian press, but for the most part already in such an inflated form that gives the insignificant fact the meaning of “a symptom of incurable decomposition”; but at the same time, you will never learn about the biggest gratifying fact, unless real American correspondents in Russia notify about it by telegraph. Needless to say, what harm this does in establishing correct relations between two undoubtedly friendly peoples, how much it confuses American public opinion in relation to Russia. One must only be surprised that in this order of things they sometimes know how to express their ardent sympathies for Russia and the Russian people, especially in connection with outstanding events in his life, such as, for example, in connection with the celebration of the anniversary of the 25-year reign of the late Sovereign Emperor, when almost the entire American press unanimously blessed our crowned hero of the day and cursed nihilism. In such cases, American sympathy for us bursts out in a stormy stream, and “Russian correspondents” usually hide in holes, not daring to contradict the public opinion of the country. But the next, “everyday” day, they crawl out of their holes again and continue to earn their daily bread. Fortunately, we have, although few, good defenders among the Americans themselves, namely among those of them who had to personally become acquainted with Russia and the Russian people during their stay in it. They diligently share their pleasant impressions drawn from personal observation of Russian life, and even introduce Americans to the historical heroes of the Russian people. Thus, at present, in one of the best monthly magazines, Mr. Schuyler, the former American Consul General in Russia, is publishing a magnificent biography of our great transformer Peter the Great and with such luxury that is unthinkable here in Russia. Each page is illustrated with superb engravings, the total value of which rises to $30,000. Another American, the famous lawyer Stoughton, who had just returned from Russia, where he held the important post of envoy of the United States, published an article in the most widespread magazine, North American Review, the nature of which is to some extent determined by its title: “Popular fallacies about Russia” - “Walking lies about Russia.” In this same magazine, a few months earlier, a “Russian” published an article under the title: “Empire of the Dissatisfied.” Desperately waving his pen of denial and discontent, the writer reported so much and reached such Herculean pillars of all fiction that even the American editors found it necessary to wash their hands and on the very first page made a footnote that it “does not accept responsibility for the reliability of the facts reported by the author.” This article by Stoughton serves in some way as a response to the article by the “Russian”, and is interesting not only from this side, but also from the fact that its author had just returned from Russia, where he occupied an important and high position, which gave him the opportunity to penetrate into such areas of Russian life that are not accessible to everyone, and wrote his article under the lively impression of the observations he had just made. Therefore, I consider it not superfluous to present short excerpts from this article, and especially from that part of it that is directly related to the subject raised. “The tendency of newspaper correspondence and magazine articles of late,” says the author, “has been to give the impression that the Russian Empire is filled with the seeds of disorder, threatening insurrection and even revolution, unless the government makes immediate changes to meet what they call the demands of the people. This literature is mainly of English origin and is the result of that prejudice and that hostility towards Russia, which, with minor interruptions, has constantly existed in England over the past hundred years. Their origin actually dates back to the reign of Empress Catherine II, who, for all her shortcomings (and they are much less than those attributed to her), was one of the greatest and wisest rulers who ever lived; and, what is especially remarkable, these prejudices and animosities arose from her refusal, during our struggle for independence, to aid Great Britain in her wars with France and Spain, or to promote European peace by bribery, so that England, freed from her continental enemies, might fall with all her might upon our ancestors and crush their rebellion. Since that time, Russia, its people and government have constantly been friends of our country, never ceasing to be so even at a time when no other government in Europe regretted the division and the threatened subsequent destruction of the great republic. We must not forget that the Emperor of Russia, who is accused of such oppression of his people that even murders and rampages committed and threatened by nihilists are justified, is the same humane and Christian monarch who in 1861, risking his life and throne, freed millions of slaves. We must also remember that when in 1861 the echo of our southern guns thundered across Europe and the local rulers readily accepted it as the signal sign of a dying nation, he, with sincere sympathy, authorizing him for our everlasting gratitude, and with a deep understanding of the importance for us of the integrity of the union, instructed his Chancellor, Prince Gorchakov, to announce to us the “deep interest with which the emperor monitored the development of a crisis that threatened the well-being and even the existence of the union”; that “for more than eighty years of its existence, the American Union owes its independence, its stupendous growth and its progress to the consent of its members, consecrated under the leadership of its famous founder by institutions that could combine unity with freedom. This union was fruitful; he presented to the world a spectacle of prosperity unparalleled in the annals of history. It would be deplorable if, after such a brilliant experience, the United States rushed to violate the solemn treaty that has hitherto constituted its strength... This union in your eyes is not simply an essential element for the general political balance. He is, moreover, a nation towards which our august sovereign and all of Russia have the most friendly feelings; for these two countries, lying on the outskirts of two worlds, both in the ascending period of their development, seem called upon to a natural community of interests and sympathies, for which they have already given each other mutual proofs.” “A ruler who could, in the face of monarchical Europe, praise republican institutions in such enthusiastic terms, and who could so clearly see their importance for the development of the resources, wealth and happiness of the people, cannot be indifferent to the welfare of his own people, or inclined to deny them such political advantages and free institutions as he is capable of availing and enjoying. Therefore, it will only be fair to him and his government to assume that as soon as the Russian people (the mass of whom until recently were serfs) are able to enjoy the political freedom that lies in representative government, it will be given to them. And indeed, I have the highest authority to say that this is precisely the purpose of the Imperial Government, and that some time ago it was seriously engaged in discussing a plan how, after a more general basis of representation, partial representation could be introduced, by which the highest interests of all parts of the Empire could be represented in St. Petersburg. It would not be surprising if even the highest and most humane minds doubted the wisdom of granting recently freed slaves the right to elect representatives to assist in the government of a great empire. Yes, they don’t want this. The murderers who have recently declared themselves unfit for freedom, or even for life, except among savages and lawless vagabonds, do not belong to the liberated class, or even to any of the productive classes of Russia. They are few in number, recognizing no other organization except for the purposes of rampage and murder; they have no plan to change or reform the board; there is no theory except the theory of destroying and living without labor by robbing others. Nihilism is a doctrine from which even socialists and communists shudder. It involves the destruction of everything that holds even the worst society together. Its first mission is, as its founder declares, to destroy “lies” and “the first lie is God.” When we separate ourselves from it,” says this disgusting missionary (Bakunin), “and are convinced that the existence of ourselves and the entire surrounding world is due to the conglomeration of atoms, in accordance with the laws of gravity, then and only then will we take the first step towards freedom, and will encounter less difficulty in freeing the soul from the second lie, which is the law invented by the force that creates and destroys laws.” And then he declares that “when our souls are freed from the fear of God and from this childish reverence for the fiction of right, all the other chains that bind us and which are called science, civilization, property, family, morality and justice, will be torn like threads.” Such is the teaching of these pitiful people who drew such attention to themselves with their murders and attempted murders and who, among ignorant and extravagant people, even acquired sympathy for themselves as the oppressed and working in favor of state reform. “I don’t need to tell those who know anything about the character of the Russian peasant, about his respect for the law, reverence for the church, reverence for God, that he turns away from the nihilists, their teachings and goals, and he rarely appears among those arrested and tried. In the same way, the latest outrages were committed and instigated not by the working or industrial classes, but usually by semi-literate, excited half-educated students, who, although they are taught for the most part at government expense, become intolerant of religious instruction and any weakest control; and several more desperate daredevils who, having eluded the police, poison the souls of frivolous youth with their criminal teachings and finally drive others to commit the most terrible crimes. They are sometimes helped by women who boast of belonging to honorable and even noble families, but in fact they are those for whom the doors of decent houses are not opened. It is difficult to understand how such persons can be considered reformers. They represent in Russia neither the property, nor the intelligentsia, nor the industry of the people, and those who have studied their careers should have noticed that they never proposed certain reforms, or even such changes at all, that would not destroy the very foundations of society and the state. Nevertheless, a portion of the English press, and sometimes our own, have supposed, and many now believe it in our country, that the efforts of the nihilists to kill and destroy are intended to achieve liberation from an oppressive government, and that the greater part of the population of Russia is subject, through the tyranny and extortions of an oppressive, cruel and irresponsible power, to great and almost intolerable oppression and suffering. Those who believe this attribute a national and even patriotic goal to the nihilists and their murders, and as a result are inclined to justify the most brutal means to achieve the supposed goal. The nihilists are precisely trying to make such an impression and, with the help of the English press, which not without eagerness spreads all sorts of news calculated to humiliate the Russian government and people in the eyes of the world, they to some extent achieved what they wanted (which, however, would have had less consequences if this impression had not touched the consciousness of our own citizens) - to great injustice in relation to the government, whose home government and influence abroad has long been distinguished by wise and honest government and in general generous benevolence, especially towards the oppressed Christian peoples of Europe.” “I venture to conclude with the assurance that if we carefully study the history of the Russian Empire for the last hundred years and compare it with the history of every other European power, we will find that its government has surpassed all others in the sacrifices made by people and treasury to the aid of oppressed Christian peoples to liberate them from tyranny and slavery; and if we take into account the policy of the great Empress during our struggle for independence, and the sympathy expressed to us by her royal descendant during our last struggle for the integrity of the inheritance bequeathed to us by our fathers, then we will have to admit that Russian sympathy is serious and sincere, and not a simple product of Russian interests. This article was read with keen interest by the Americans and sympathetically welcomed by the press. The dark clique hid in holes and did not dare to open their mouths. It is remarkable that not a single American, who personally had to live for some time in Russia and directly observe the character and life of the Russian people, ever left it without being left with the best impressions. As a new example, in addition to the above, one can also point to Green, a lieutenant engineer in the United States Army, who served as attache at the American embassy in St. Petersburg. His recently published book: “Sketches of military life in Russia” (Sketches of army life in Russia) on every page shows not only friendship for the Russian people in its ordinary sense, but also the warmest, almost family-like sympathy, which cannot be found in Western European writings about Russia. That the Americans consider us Russians their friends is certain. To see this, you only have to walk along Broadway in New York. Here you will every now and then come across signs and advertisements that invite Yankee buyers in the name of their friendly people, “Russians”. Confectioners announce that they have the best cookies in the world - Russian ones, shoemakers proclaim that their shoes are made of Russian leather, bath attendants trumpet that their Russian baths relieve all sorts of ailments. In one place I even had to read such a strange sign: one aesculapian informs that you can get from him “a truly Russian cough remedy.” Since I did not suffer from a cough at that time, I had no particular interest in researching what kind of native remedy this was; but, be that as it may, it is pleasing to the patriotic feeling to see such Russophilia in the capital of the Americans. However, Russophilia does not always manifest itself among Americans in a form that is flattering to us. If you asked any Yankee which play of the last season he liked most, he would undignifiedly answer: “of course – Fatinitsa!” Indeed, “Fatinitsa” is one of the most popular and beloved plays in New York; it was performed here almost continuously for a whole year, moving only from one theater to another, the name of which is legion here. In its form, it is a comic opera, or in our opinion, an operetta in which musical and vocal passages mixed with dramatic ones - the most beloved form of theatrical plays by Americans, since they, with their unusually active, humorous and to the core huckster nature, cannot stand real opera, with its drag, vague idealism and philosophy of feeling. A good production, excellent music and talented performance made Fatinitsa a favorite of New York, and the position that Russians occupy in it makes it not uninteresting for us Russians. Although it is not entirely pleasant, it is not uninteresting to know how our transatlantic friends make fun of us. In order to get a closer look at the play, I went to one of the theaters, where, as stated in the theatrical advertisements (which here, it should be noted, in their commercial eloquence are in no way inferior to any other speculative advertisements), Fatinitsa was performed with unprecedented splendor: “In a brilliant setting, the most luxurious costumes, the best music in the Western Hemisphere and the most brilliant performance,” as the advertisement literally said. In America, theatrical concepts of locality are somewhat different than ours: the rows of seats closest to the orchestra are not held in high esteem and you can always get them, as if they were rejected, if you are late to take a chair in one of the middle rows. This happened to me too. Sitting in the front row, waiting for Fatinitsa, I looked at my “theater magazine,” as they call the posters here, which are given away for free and which really are not posters, but magazines containing, in addition to identifying the characters in the play, several good critical notes about various theatrical plays, an abyss of anecdotes and puns with which you can amuse your lady if you lack your own material, and a lot of all sorts of announcements. The orchestra, which cannot be said to be the best in the Western Hemisphere, performed the overture; then the curtain rose and the scene of the Russian-Turkish war opened. The action takes place on the Danube, against a Turkish fortress. Winter. Russian soldiers sleep in the snow, in the bitter cold. The dawn breaks and the sentry from the tower wakes up the soldiers with a bass hymn; but the tired soldiers do not hear the anthem and get up only when the drunken, barely standing “Sergeant Steypan” begins to beat them with a whip right and left. The Russian soldiers are all dressed in American overcoats with hoods; Only one sergeant is dressed in Russian; Around his neck, along with his flask, dangles a pair of Russian mittens, which he pats, apparently driving away the frost. An ordinary camp scene begins with a sutler, who is a Bulgarian brother serving as a spy for the Turks. A lot of “cadets” are playing with balls, throwing them at the sentries. Among the awakened ones is a young cavalry lieutenant Vladimir Dimitrovich (no surname), a dreamer in love who sings a nice aria: “A sweet dream is broken.” His ardent virgin heart had just learned the bliss of love in St. Petersburg when the god of war called him to the banks of the Danube. Once, during the “carnival,” a youthful lieutenant, under the guise of Fatinitsa, was introduced to an important “boyar” who had a pretty niece, Lydia Ivanovna. The boyar, seriously, fell into the imaginary Fatinitsa, and Fatinitsa into his niece. Now in camp life, Lydia Ivanovna is a constant subject of the lieutenant’s sighs and languid groans. As soon as the lieutenant managed to finish his languid song, the Cossacks dragged the spy into the camp. “Spy, spy - he’s ready for the gallows!” - the choir screamed. But in the imaginary spy the lieutenant recognizes his acquaintance, a correspondent for one large American newspaper, Forbes. Revived by fear, Forbes, when asked by Russian soldiers what a correspondent is, sets out a hilariously recitative description of a “reporter.” “You’ll probably excuse the mistake, sir,” Captain Vasily apologizes to him. - Please, no apologies, captain: on the contrary, I am very happy. Just think what magnificent correspondence I can write for my newspaper - two columns at least: “Capture of a special correspondent by a detachment of Cossacks. Brave and courageous defense. Defeated by numerical superiority." How many, I mean, were there? - Well, I can say two hundred - for the sake of euphony. “Tied with a lasso to the back of a wild Tatar mare. Arrival at the camp and condemned to the gallows as a spy. Deliverance by one lucky chance. A hearty greeting from the officers and a splendid dinner given in my honor.” Isn't it true? But the correspondent’s wild imagination about dinner was stopped by the officers’ statement that they only had one “Schtschi” soup and one “Vodki” wine, which would not make him well. For entertainment, the reporter suggests organizing a masquerade performance, to which everyone agrees and leaves the stage. A drum roll is heard. General Knatchukoff enters, fierce and wild, like Atilla, in a bear fur coat and with a whip in his hands, which obeys him like a good warrior’s sword. The general's movements are impetuous, wild and menacing, and his continuously whistling and clapping whip testifies to his disciplinary strictness. The general, having spewed out a whole sea of ​​swearing and curses for the insufficiently honorable meeting with him, sings a laudatory aria to the whip, in which he pours out his feelings of gratitude to the “unchanging friend”, who inspires everyone with love and fear for the “tall and powerful commander.” Having listed the nationalities of his regiments, in which there are Cossacks and Ostyaks, Druze and Tunguz, Laplanders and Finns, etc., the general solemnly declares that “every regiment knows a lot about this instrument.” The aria is accompanied by the musical cracking of a whip. Further scenes serve as actual proof of the general’s song that “every regiment knows a lot about the whip”: the general beats everyone who comes his way. The correspondent learned a lot about the whip before anyone else. Forbes. (He enters to the side.) Fabulous! A description of this Urza Major will be a delightful decoration of correspondence! General Bah! The foreigner is here! St. Nicholas! Thunder of Moscow! Who are you, dog? (grabs him by the collar). Forbes. How dare you, old Tatar! I will complain to my government! G. To hell with your government, get out! Do you know who I am? Take him and give him twenty-five whips! (With his own hand he gives an anticipation of the sweetness of the whip). F. But excuse me... I... I..., G. Not a word! Whip first, apology later! F. (Hands over his papers with a trembling hand). Would your Excellency please read from the main apartment... G. From the main apartment?! (You tear out the paper so that it tears, and read). Special Correspondent... Damn you - your whole breed. Your paper is in order (salutes her). You can be free from the whip. But for me, writing means knowing what to write. Otherwise, I’ll screw it up!!! The masked men and the lieutenant, disguised as a Romanian girl, enter. The general recognizes his Fatinitsa in her, drives everyone else away with a whip, and remains alone with her, where he proves the ardor of his heart, hidden under the armor of disciplinary severity. While courting the imaginary Fatinitsa, the general’s niece, Lydia Ivanovna, comes to the camp. A full Russian winter team appears on stage, even with a Russian bow, unknown here: only due to a misunderstanding, it was attached in the wrong place - in the middle of the shafts above the horse’s back. Two mounted Cossacks formed the escort. The Americans greeted this living Russian picture with wild applause. Willy-nilly, the general had to be delighted with his niece and, together with Fatinitsa and the reporter, escorted them to the camp barracks. Night has come, the mother of all treason. Brother sutler brought bashi-buzouks, who captivated the beauties along with the reporter, to his great pleasure, since this gave him new romantic material for correspondence. Meanwhile, the alarm sounded, the Russian regiments moved out and truly hellish firing began at the bashi-bouzouks, covering the stage with gunpowder smoke. In the midst of the battle, a general appeared in front of the front and, waving his whip in despair, shouted: “Stop, don’t shoot! Kill my Fatinitsa!” Victory remained with the Russians, and the prisoners remained with the Turks, who presented them to the pasha in the fortress, where the second act of the play takes the audience. The magnificent harem of Pasha Izzet is revealed. Pasha is a European-educated person, liberal, progressive and constantly busy with reforms in his harem. Forbes, as a correspondent, was received by the Pasha in a friendly manner and introduced to all the sweets of the harem pleasures; champagne flows like a river: there is no end to mutual surprise and praise, hugs and kisses with which the correspondent and the pasha seal their friendship. The correspondent promises to write a magnificent article about the pasha, for which he also offers champagne, etc. In honor of his new friend, the pasha organizes a performance of black shadows, but between the comic shadows the ferocious figure of a Russian general suddenly appears and the crack of a whip is heard, followed by an invasion of the harem of a Russian detachment. The liberal pasha had to desperately jump to dodge the Russian whip. The third and final action takes place in Odessa, in the general's house. The venerable general, even here, after the end of the war, does not abandon his habits and constantly appears with a whip. The lieutenant, under the name of Fatinitsa's brother, appears to the general, finds favor in his eyes, so he changes his decision to marry his niece to one of his friends, a Caucasian soldier, who had both arms torn off by a cannonball during the battle, and passes her off as a lieutenant with the addition of a proper promotion in rank. The general’s own heart wound began to heal at the thought that the lieutenant would thank him for his niece with his sister Fatinitsa. But the insidious reporter immediately cuts the entire Gordean knot of the play, bringing the general a letter informing him that Fatinitsa has died. The Iron General read the letter with tears, but then was consoled by the happiness of his niece, who was immediately married to the officer. The Russian "rore", who performed the wedding, in the ugliest, not at all Russian attire, then took part in the general fun. The presented skeleton of this play can give some idea about it. The large audience laughed continuously. The entire play is built on ridicule of Russian savagery and barbarism, in which we, Russians, seem to be far behind the Turks, who are more susceptible to European civilization than we are. This view, it must be admitted, exists not only on the theatrical comic stage: its sparkles can be constantly noticed both in the press and in everyday life. Yes, perhaps the play, ridiculing us Russians, was so to the taste of the Americans only because it found a correspondence in their views of us. The Americans, however, are not to blame for this attitude towards us. They do not know us directly and have no organ for direct acquaintance with us. They look at us through glasses, which are helpfully provided by the hostile German and English press and, to our shame, are supported by the Russian correspondents of American newspapers described above. Emigrants' Garden. – The Great Migration – An unprecedented influx of immigrants to America. – The value of labor and money exported from Europe. - Russian immigrants. – Samara Germans and the sad story of their adventures. On the shore of the ocean bay surrounding the American metropolis, there is a huge round building surrounded by high walls. In front of the narrow gate into the vast courtyard there is a constant crowd of people, presenting a unique spectacle of its kind in the world. This is the so-called emigrant garden (Castle Garden), a place where immigrants from Europe arrive and where they find their first shelter in the promised land of the New World. What a mixture of clothes, languages ​​and faces! Red-haired Scandinavians and dark-skinned Italians, dirty Polish Jews and lanky Irish, phlegmatic Germans and fidgety Frenchmen - all crowd here together, writing their names in the American belly book and looking around in embarrassment when an air train of the railway passes almost over their heads. The nosy Yankees immediately spin around, trying to rip off an extra thaler, ruble or franc from the inexperienced settlers as quickly as possible. There are also constantly present agents of political parties, collecting improvised material for political agitation and completely confusing the poor emigrants with various unfulfilled promises. Last and present years in America were some of the most fertile years. Thanks to the large harvests of these years, the country's industry expanded on a colossal scale, as if making up for the recent still severe crisis. The demand for labor was enormous, and it found a response in Europe, where at the same time systematic crop failures and difficult political circumstances placed an almost unbearable burden on the working population. The natural consequence of this has been an increase in emigration, and the last two years in this respect are unprecedented in the history of the country. Ocean steamers from Europe, one after another, bring thousands of immigrants, as if all of Europe had decided to move to America or a new era of migration of peoples had arrived. In 1879, 135,000 immigrants arrived in America; last year their number rose to 400,000, and for the current year they are counting on as much as half a million. The tide of emigration is constantly fluctuating in its volume. The largest surge before this was in 1854, when more than 319,000 people arrived in America, and then gradually waned until 1862, when only 76,000 arrived. From this year, emigration increased again and in 1872 reached the figure of 294,000. The next year, 1873, was the year of a terribly severe industrial crisis in the country, the sad consequences of which have hardly been erased only now, and therefore emigration again weakened, so that in 1877 the number of emigrants was only 54,000 - one of the smallest figures in the history of European emigration to the United States. In 1878 this figure rose to 75,000, and in 1879, as mentioned above, the number of emigrants was 135,000. In view of the direct dependence of emigration on crop failures and famine, it could be assumed that the largest influx of immigrants would come from Ireland, where a terrible famine had raged in recent years. However, statistics show that the Irish element in emigration has increased far out of proportion to other nationalities. A special tide is noticeable from Germany and the Scandinavian Peninsula. All of these are mostly young and healthy people who, relying on their healthy hands and hard work, hope to acquire a new good economy in the new promised land. Emigration is constantly supported and increased by the fact that former settlers, having acquired a household, call their relatives and friends to America, even sending them money for travel. The especially large influx of emigration this year is partly explained by the fact that the past industrial crisis temporarily stopped many thousands of families from relocating, who now, having received favorable news from America, are in a hurry to fulfill their long-standing desire. The Germans who move here openly complain about the unbearable condition in their sweet “Vaterland”, where Bismarck’s system of iron militarism is strangling industry and free labor. The Swedes complain about the scarcity and barrenness of the land, the Irish about hunger and a bad land rental system, the Jews about government persecution and bad gesheft, the Italians about militarism and a heavy tax system, etc. In a word, there is discontent everywhere, and in aged Europe, apparently, there is no longer any corner left where a person could be satisfied. Americans welcome these burdened, toiling, and disaffected people with open arms. The demand for labor is currently extremely high. The work bureau at the “emigrant garden” does not find it difficult to find work for all those immigrants who do not go to the far west. A remarkable feature of the emigration of the last year is that among the immigrants the age of maturity predominates, and there are relatively few children. A large proportion falls on young single people, who will undoubtedly all get married in America and thus become firmly attached to their new fatherland. Such emigration is extremely beneficial for the country; it is living capital, which is even more valuable than money. The Americans are fully aware of this. The Governor of the State of New York presented to the Legislature the following estimate of emigration: “The value of this addition to our population, as a productive force, cannot be simply measured by quantity. A study that I had to carry out several years ago proved that, while in our population only 21 1/2 percent are considered to be men from fifteen to forty years of age, among immigrants this percentage is always no less than 41 1/2. If the total influx of emigration during the last thirty years amounts to 8,000,000, then this has given us such a labor force as the native population can only provide with a population of more than 18,000,000 people. Moreover, these are for the most part people of the age that coincides in Europe with the obligation of military service, that is, people with the highest ability for physical labor. The main sources of emigration have always been Germany and Ireland, which account for 2/3 of all immigrants. In 1856, a calculation was made regarding the average amount of cash reserves brought with them by emigrants, and the lowest estimate was $68 per capita. This migration is one of the most remarkable ever accomplished in history. It has increased our population extremely rapidly, created large cities, established new states, given employment to our railroads, expanded our trade and industry, and taken an active part in all the great national events of which our country has been the theater. The benefits of such strong emigration spread throughout the northern parts of the republic. About 45 percent of them usually stay in New York State for the first year after their arrival, and then this proportion decreases significantly." The Bureau of Statistics at Washington, making a similar estimate of emigration, calculated that during the fifty years preceding 1871 it increased the capital of the country by $6,243,880,800, and in the year 1870 alone by $285,000,000. But even more valuable than the value of this simple physical and raw strength of the emigrants was the mass of skilled artisans, rare talents and even inventive geniuses they presented. It is remarkable that the most energetic and enterprising people usually migrate from Europe, which, however, is very understandable and natural. Such a long journey, undoubtedly, can only be undertaken by the most energetic natures, who at the same time can more successfully free themselves from the overwhelming oppression of a difficult social situation. Weaker natures are usually even frightened by such an undertaking and do not have the strength to extricate themselves from their difficult situation. Recently, a particularly favorable side to emigration has become increasingly noticed, namely, that immigrants, almost without stopping in New York, go straight to the far west, where they acquire land property and farming. The far west is still a rich desert with a sparse population. Land is cheap and requires only labor. How much room there is for emigration can be judged by the fact that the state of Texas alone can accommodate up to 50,000,000 people at an average density, while now it still has less than two million. Actually, a special feature has been noticed behind the emigration of the last year. In appearance, she seems more advantageous than before. People look more developed and more decently dressed. But at the same time they are poorer in monetary terms, so that the average amount of money they bring can only be determined at $60 per person. And yet, despite all this, the emigration of this year, even if it is estimated at 450 thousand, will take 27,000,000 dollars out of Europe in pure money - as a gift to America. The poorest emigrants are considered to be the Italians, who usually arrive here penniless and live, as elsewhere, in musical beggary with a wretched organ; the most uneducated are the Hungarian Slovaks, who have acquired a reputation here as the most rude and unkempt people, and the North German and Russian immigrants are considered the richest. The latter, the Mennonites, bring especially good money, so that often the average between them is $1,000 per capita. Last fall, twenty Mennonite families arrived from Russia and together brought a cash reserve of $85,000, which for Russia amounted to a direct loss of 170,000 rubles at the exchange rate. From the statistical reports published weekly by the emigrant commission, one can see that Russian immigrants are constantly arriving in America. There were especially many of them this spring. In some weeks, reports heralded the arrival of up to 900 Russian settlers. According to the usual specialization of the name “Russian,” it is natural to mean truly Russian people by this name. That’s what I thought at first, and with understandable joy I hurried to the emigrant garden to look at my dear compatriots. Imagine my disappointment and amazement when, instead of real Russian people, I constantly had to meet Poles and mainly the venerable Payson Bearers, Polish Jews. Both the Poles, and especially the Polish Jews, with their ugly sidelocks and dirty long-skirted caftans, for some reason consider it more profitable for themselves to hide behind the name of the Russians, although most of the former do not know how to speak a word in Russian. I have several acquaintances who are obviously Poles, and yet they boldly pass themselves off as purely Russian, and one of them even added the Russified syllable v to his surname ending in ko. The matter is explained, however, by the fact that for some reason the Americans had an unfavorable view of the Poles, as a degenerate and fragmented nation, incapable of serious work. Therefore, the Russian nickname gives them a better chance of finding employment. The counterfeit of Jews under a Russian name is even clearer. Americans in general strongly dislike Jews, and Polish Jews are not even liked by their half-brothers - American Jews, who disown them as some kind of dangerous infection. The very name “Polish Jew” or “polack” is considered by the latter to be a swear word, a synonym for untidiness and baseness. A decent American Jewish girl considers it a shame to marry a Polish Jew, even if he is a dark rich man. It is clear that in this order of things, Polish Jews have little chance of making a good deal, and so they solemnly call themselves “cisto-Russian” people. One day, a short, typical Jew comes to the local Russian church and asks for benefits from the “Russian charitable society.” Seeing that the petitioner was not Russian at all, the manager of the cash register decided to deny him the benefit, giving him at the same time an address to one of the rich Jewish charitable societies. – I’m not a Jew, by God I’m not a Jew! - the Jew screamed. - I am Russian! By God Russian! “But you don’t speak Russian well,” they remark to him. - It doesn't mean anything! By God, not a Jew! I am a cross-haired Tatar - Pyotr Troitskin. By God, not a Jew! - At the same time, all the muscles on his face worked desperately, and his hands dangled vigorously, making the sign of the cross to prove that he was not a Jew, but a Russian. The scene was so hilariously comic that it was undoubtedly worth more than the dollar that was given to the liquid. About two years ago these same “cisto-Russian” gentlemen even founded a “Russian club” in New York. The Americans, who are generally very interested in everything Russian, began to pay close attention to this club, and were quite disappointed when they found out it was a fake. There are almost no real Russian settlers here. Occasionally there are isolated cases of Russians appearing and sometimes of a very strange nature. Recently, a simple Russian soldier with three little children from Arkhangelsk arrived here on an English ship. The unfortunate adventuress came here in search of her husband, penniless and with only a dozen broken English words. She did not find her husband and, with her hungry, crying children, on the first day of her arrival she was forced to beg on the street. The police arrested her and handed her over to the emigrant commission for return to Russia. Americans do not like such immigrants. It's not like the deep-pocketed Mennonites. However, not all Russian Germans arriving here have thick pockets, especially if these Germans are not directly from Russia. Last year a party of Samara Germans arrived here in such a pitiful situation, which is no better than the situation of the Arkhangelsk adventuress. The party arrived by ship from Brazil in the number of 85 people - a pitiful remnant of the party, which numbered 350 people when leaving Russia. The story of their adventures is truly terrible. They were mostly immigrants from the Samara colony of Graf and its neighbors, where they were engaged in agriculture and owned good farms. In 1877, according to their stories, agents of the Brazilian government appeared among them and began to talk about the fertile country of the New World, where nature scatters its gifts with a generous hand and the land brings rich harvests almost without cultivation. They portrayed Brazil as a real paradise, where you can quickly get rich without much work, and where life has many delights that Samara does not even know about, and they offered a free choice of any and the best land. The unfortunate Germans succumbed to temptation and sent two people from their midst to explore the fabulous country. The spies sent made a quick trip to Brazil. Whether they themselves were deceived or for some reason found it advantageous to deceive their clients, only they gave a favorable report of their observations and, among other things, even assured that the Brazilian government would take into account the costs of their journey. Then the Germans, without thinking twice, decided to go to the promised land and in the fall of the same year they rose in the number of eighty families, comprising 350 souls. From Bremen the party set off “to America” with bright hopes. Their path was hard and long. They arrived in Rio Janeiro at the end of January 1878, having lost two elderly people and 32 children who died during the journey from the deadly equatorial heat and sea motion. The Brazilian government, of course, did not even think of paying the travel costs, and this immediately significantly emptied German pockets. The next day, upon arrival in the harbor, the government sent them inland by rail and settled them in the vicinity of the town of Palmyra. There is plenty of land there for them to choose from. But there was nothing to choose. The whole land was sandy and rocky and generally unsuitable for sowing wheat, to which they were so accustomed in Samara. The government supplied them with native seeds for sowing rice, coffee, tobacco and cotton, but our Samarians did not know how to start this. Taught by need, they somehow got along and did the crops. But as soon as the seeds sprouted and rose two inches, the heat burned the seedlings and the work was lost. Meanwhile, illness began to develop among them from the unbearable heat, children and women quickly died. At the same time, money reserves began to quickly deplete for the majority, and some of them, richer, then went ashore and returned to Europe. The colonists lived near Palmyra for more than a year. Then the government chose another place for them - in the forest, where they could suffer less from the unusual heat and once again gave them seeds for sowing. The crops, however, were not successful here either. After suffering here for about six months on meager government subsidies, the unfortunate colonists, whose numbers were constantly decreasing from disease and heat, went to the coastal mountains. Baranka. Here the government gave them work paving streets, but the meager wages were not enough to support them. They worked here for six months, after which the government - which, apparently, tried to do everything possible for them - sent them back to Rio Janeiro. For two weeks they lay there on the streets, hungry and ragged, under the rays of the scorching sun. To add insult to injury, they were arrested by the police for vagrancy and imprisoned for two weeks, after which, contrary to their desire to return to Russia, they were sent to settle in an inland village a hundred miles from the capital. For five and a half months they led a miserable, beggarly existence there, trying in vain to once again produce crops, which constantly failed. Finally, Brazilian officials responded to their tearful requests; allowed them to return to Rio Janeiro, from where the government sent them to the United States. They left Brazil on July 25th and arrived in New York on August 13th. It was a pity to look at these unfortunate Samarans when they sat in a group in one corner of the emigrant garden. The terrible story of their suffering was fully written on their emaciated faces and wretched appearance. It was no longer possible to recognize them as these clean, wealthy Samara colonists, whom you can constantly see in Samara cities in the fall, when they bring large golden wheat for sale. You should have seen their joy when they found out that I was Russian and, moreover, from the neighboring Saratov province. How many questions rained down on me from all sides about both Samara and the Volga, which for them is now depicted as something magically sweet, but - alas, unattainable. They are now going to Kansas, where they have some friends. – Why don’t you return to Russia now? - I asked one of the leaders of the party, Konrad Bach, recognizing at the same time the severe delicacy of the question. The Samaran at first hung his head dejectedly and then, quickly blinking his eyes, shouted with some kind of desperate pathos: – Der Himmel ist näher für uns, als das thöricht verlorne Russland! (Now heaven is closer to us than Russia, which we foolishly abandoned!). Some strong note of despair and humiliated pride sounded in these words, and I did not ask any more about it. When parting, the German’s eyes blinked quickly again, and he covered them with a dirty handkerchief. I left my fellow countrymen with a heavy feeling. III. A land flowing with milk and honey Sons and stepsons. – Trade Babylon. – Unprecedented development of trade. – Feedback from sales people. – Land is true wealth. - Last year's harvest. – Revolution in agriculture. - Sea of ​​wheat. – Finances of the country. – Endless numbers. – Tide and gold production. - King Croesus and the Yankees. - A brilliant self-seller. - Queen of drama. Fate is not the same mother for everyone. For her, some are sons, others are stepsons. Lately, as if she had deliberately decided to mercilessly scourge our poor fatherland with one hand and generously send out her caresses for our transatlantic friends with the other. Never before, perhaps, have two friends been in such a different state as these friends, Russians and Americans, are now in. While the native land is languishing under the weight of all kinds of troubles and adversities and the cry of a bleak situation echoes with pain in the Russian heart and overseas, the Americans are drowning in wealth and contentment is spreading in a wide wave across the country. This is fully reflected in the print. It was with pain in my heart that I always picked up a Russian newspaper. This is the endless cry of the land stricken with Egyptian plagues. On the contrary, the American newspaper is the jubilant, self-satisfied voice of the people living in a country flowing with milk and honey. Digital data from a Russian newspaper shows the amount of beetle and grass collected from the fields and the millions of rubles requested from the government by the starving provinces. American figures contain hundreds of millions of bushels of wheat harvested and billions of dollars in trade 23 . The sky has generously scattered its gifts for our transatlantic friends in recent years, but last year it turned out to be even more generous for them than in all the past twenty years since the Civil War. Last year's harvest is considered unprecedented. This had a direct impact on the trade of the country, and the commercial part of New York, or the so-called Down-town, presented a wonderful spectacle. This part of the city is already constantly bustling and bustling, but last year there was some kind of wild orgy of dollar fans crazy with delight. Masses of bustling people run along the sidewalks with their tongues hanging out; the streets are cluttered to the point of impassability with monstrous ratchets; the people's hubbub, merging with the roar and creaking of trade carts, groans over the city; Mountains of export and import goods are piled up along the shores of the piers, and the entire surface of the surrounding waters is covered with a countless fleet of merchant ships. This is a living picture of the ancient Phoenician Tire or flourishing Carthage, if only these trading giants of hoary antiquity can be compared in any way with present-day New York. Representatives of the richest trading firms were suffocating from troubles, and newspaper reporters could not obtain from them more or less definite data regarding the state of trade turnover. “Can you spare me ten minutes of your valuable time to say a few words regarding autumn trade and general prospects for industry?” - a Herald reporter asked a representative of a wealthy company, catching him in his free moment. - Oh, please! – he waved his arms and legs. – You don’t need ten minutes at all! Trade is first class! It's never been better! - and again rushed to his work, leaving the reporter, who had just taken out his notebook. Other company representatives used the same laconicisms to get rid of annoying reporters and briefly stated in one voice: “We are now at the top of the hill of prosperity and, in all likelihood, we will remain there for a long time in the future. Only one of them, as a means of relaxation, took a few minutes to talk with a reporter and made several reports that were not without interest in characterizing the current situation in the country. “Our trade is now in such a flourishing state, to which it has never before reached in my memory,” the venerable Yankee said smugly, wiping the sweat from his forehead, which poured in streams onto his gray beard. – This, first of all, of course, depends on the harvest with which heaven has blessed us. Providence, with a particularly generous hand, scattered its gifts for the south and west. I had to talk to hundreds of southerners, and they all unanimously declared that they were making more money from cotton this year than ever before. The harvest for everything is huge and the prices are satisfactory. In Louisiana, sugar cane has grown in great abundance, is already ripening, and prices are half as high as last year. Rice is also excellent, prices are high and will probably remain so. The wheat harvest in Texas is above average, and the cotton harvest promises to produce about one and a half million bales. – What, in your opinion, determines this rapid and unprecedentedly high surge of prosperity in our country – after the recent terrible crisis? – In my opinion, this depended on the sharp turn in the industry of our country brought about by this very crisis. At the end of the war, hundreds of thousands of unemployed people rushed north in search of work and flooded the northern cities. Thanks to this influx of cheap hands, as well as the high protective tariff, our manufacturing industry immediately grew to enormous proportions - but to the detriment of our agricultural interests, so that we were soon forced to buy our own grain abroad. Deprived of a real basis, the manufacturing industry could not flourish for long, and then, indeed, in 1873 this terrible collapse occurred. When this inevitable crisis broke out, and panic seized the entire industrial world, the market was overflowing with manufactured articles; there were no buyers, and prices fell into the abyss. Plants and factories suddenly stopped, counting workers, and every day more and more thousands were added to the thousands of idle hands. Finding no more work in industrial cities, the entire idle workforce then moved to the far west. There all these working people took to the plow, and after a few years the result was an almost miraculous revival of the country. This immediately showed where our true wealth lies. We are a more agricultural people than an industrial people. Last year's harvest was so great that it was almost impossible to expect anything better, and yet, by all indications, this year's harvest has surpassed it. Our prosperity has already begun to manifest itself in an increase in imports, which is an extraordinary phenomenon for the present time. Our exports have also increased. The coin flows to us in the same wide stream as Goodson pours his water into the ocean,” the smug businessman finished his speech with a smile. To give an idea of ​​the sea of ​​wheat produced last year by the United States, it will suffice to give one example. The state of Minnesota alone, which, however, year after year rises to the preeminent wheat granary of the state, produced last year, according to an average estimate, about 40,000,000 bushels of wheat, and according to the sanguine estimate of ardent speculators, this enormous figure rises to 53,000,000 bushels. The year before last this State produced 31,000,000 bushels, now 10, if not 20, millions more. The reason for this monstrous progress in production is explained by the fact that the vast expanse of the state is still uninhabited virgin soil, and it is every year occupied by new settlers from European emigrants, who year by year expand the area of ​​\u200b\u200bcultivable land. So, last year there were 200,805 acres of land under cultivation more than the previous one. Of the total state land last year, 1,696,896 acres were purchased and settled by settlers. And there, to the northwest of Minnesota, there are still immeasurable expanses of fertile virgin land. This year hundreds of thousands of emigrants are heading there, and in a year the sea of ​​wheat will spread even wider. One of the special amenities of this land is that the settlers do not remain separated from the rest of the world by impassable roads. Railways are being built into this remote interior of the country almost ahead of emigration. There are now six lines of railroads running into the Dakota Territory, which lies northwest of Minnesota and is a virgin soil capable of endless development, and all of them, with the exception of one, were built within the last two years, and were advanced several miles this summer. This endless wealth of fertile land threatens to revolutionize the wheat industry of America and will in time have an overwhelming influence on the grain market of the world. The land in these new territories (west of the headwaters of the Mississippi River) is so fertile and cheap that it is not only occupied by European emigrants, but also by native American farmers, who abandon their old farms and move to the new land to take full advantage of its cheapness and fertility. This does not mean that the old farms are exhausted, and their cultivation is no longer as profitable as before; no, they still provide a good harvest of grain; but for all that, they cannot be compared with the new lands, the cheapness and fertility of which threaten fatal competition with the old farms. On the new land one acre yields as much wheat as four acres in the old eastern states. Thanks to the immeasurable expanses of the earth, the application of a new method in processing begins here. Small-scale farming is giving way to large-scale, cooperative farming, with all the advantages of the latter in cheapness, speed and perfection. Entire regiments of workers in orderly rows, like an attacking army, carry out field work there, and the wheat produced in this way is the cheapest in the world. Large-scale farming is practiced in the "far west". A clear idea of ​​it can be given by a description of one of the largest farms processed by the new method. This farm contains 36,000 acres under the plough, of which 24,000 are in wheat and 12,000 in oats. This is some kind of endless sea, shimmering with a golden wave. When the time came for the harvest, it was as if a huge artillery with numerous servants appeared on the field. These were reaping machines - 125 in number. Each reaping machine is powered by three horses or mules and controlled by one worker. This reaping artillery is divided into divisions, and each division is under the command of a special superintendent or officer. When, on command, the artillery moved towards this unprecedented attack, the clanging and ringing of the machines resounded like some magical melody across the boundless golden sea, and to the farmer’s ear there is nothing sweeter than it. Behind the artillery there is now bare ground. The workers are hired under a contract for forty days with a pay of 1 dollar 75 cents per day, at the expense of the owner. They dine in the spacious dining room with the host family. At the end of the harvest, the grain is cleaned using threshing machines, and again with the same military discipline. The estimated yield on this farm is 18 bushels of wheat and 90 bushels of oats per acre. Thus the wheat production of this one farm rises to 432,000 bushels, the transportation of which requires 45 trains, each containing 20 cars. The entire wheat harvest for last year in the United States is estimated at 455,000,000 bushels. It is interesting to compare it with the production of previous years. In the previous year 422,122,000 bushels were harvested, representing an increase of 65 percent over 1870, 143 percent over 1860, and more than four times the 1850 production. The quantity reserved for native consumption increased from 100,931,000 bushels in 1850 to 169,000,000 in 1860, 224,000,000 in 1870, and 298,000,000 in 1879. The quantity of grain exported rose from 792,768 bushels in 1850 to 4,155,000 in 1860, 37,000,000 in 1870 and 124,000,000 in 1879, the export of the previous year being almost twice that of 1878. The increase in exports is relatively, although not absolutely, much greater than in domestic consumption. The amount of consumption per capita does not increase particularly noticeably. In 1850 it was 4.35 bushels per person, in 1860 - 5.37, in 1870 - 5.81 and in 1879 6.03. With all this enormous amount of wheat, Americans at the same time produce three times more corn. At the same time, it is interesting that they consume four times more of the latter than wheat, showing that they differ in taste from their Russian friends and are essentially corn-eating people, no offense to them. Now this golden sea of ​​wheat flowed in countless streams to various central trading points and ports. New York, of course, is at the head of them, and its piers are filled with grain. Countless elevators are overflowing with wheat, and it flows from them in an endless stream into the bottomless wombs of ocean ships, ships and steamships. Last year, a fleet of 2,500 ships of all kinds, loaded with grain, set off from here to all countries of the world. The largest number of these ships falls to the British. Between the ships of different nationalities there were several Russian barges. The entire amount of grain they exported is 125,000,000 bushels. In the grain trade New York now occupies a leading position in the world. It is followed by Chicago, then Buffalo (the main grain station on the way from Chicago to New York), Liverpool, London and Odessa. Last year, in terms of farm production, completed fifteen years of monstrous growth in the country's productive forces. Between 1865 and 1880, wheat and barley production tripled; maize, cotton and tobacco more than doubled; the production of oats increased by nearly 140,000,000 bushels, potatoes doubled, and the quantity of hay increased by more than one-third. If we determine this growth with more precise data, it will be expressed in the following different figures for the two extreme years of the fifteen-year period. The production of wheat has increased from 148,553,000 bushels in 1865 to 455,000,000 last year; corn from 704,427,000 to 1,544,899,000; oats from 225,252,000 to 364,253,000; rye from 19,544,000 to 22,646,000; barley from 11,391,000 to 40,184,000; potatoes from 101,632,000 to 181,369,000; tobacco from 183,317,000 pounds to 384,059,000; cotton from 2,229,000 bales to 5,020,000; hay from 23,538,000 tons to 35,648,000. The remarkable increase in the production of grain crops in the country is chiefly due to the settlement and cultivation of the western and northwestern states. During the present generation the center of corn production has moved from the south to the west, and of wheat production from the middle states to the far west. In 1849, 59 percent and in 1859 52 percent of the country's corn was produced in the southern states. In 1877, 850 million bushels were produced by the western states, and only 494,558,000 were supplied by all the rest. The increase in tobacco occurred mainly in the South, where production increased by one hundred million pounds from 1870 to 1878. During the same period, cotton harvest increased from three to five and a quarter million bales. Exports have increased rapidly in recent years and will probably continue to increase progressively in the future. Thus, the entire export of grain of all kinds in 1868 was only 390,000,000 bushels, and in 1878 it had already risen to 189,000,000. In 1868, about 3 percent of national production was exported, and in 1868 about 11 percent. In addition to this, during the last two years the export of animal production has increased tenfold, thus constituting an almost immeasurable source of national wealth. All this sea of ​​grain, flowing out of the country in its original form, returns to the Yankee pocket as pure gold. This trade alone is enough to fill the country with valuable metal; but, in addition, she herself produces it on a large scale, and, moreover, this production is in the process of increasing. During the last ten years, silver production has risen from $17,320,000 to $45,846,100, and gold production from $33,750,000 to $44,880,223. Industry insiders say that production will at least quadruple over the next decade. From 1870 to 1877, gold production exceeded the state's silver production; but since that time silver has outstripped gold by nearly five million dollars, partly owing to the discovery of large silver ores at Leadville, partly to the diminution of gold production in Nevada. Of the precious metals mined, 4,000,000 are used annually for jewelry and art. Last year, about 76,000,000 imported gold was added to domestic production, which, together with the production of gold last year (31,470,262), would amount to an increase of $107,470,262. If we add to this the amount of silver produced, valued at $37,032,857, then the entire increase in national wealth in pure coin will be expressed in the figure of $142,903,119. As large as this quantity is in itself, it is essentially insignificant in comparison with what is expected in the future. The great flow of capital from the east to the states beyond the Mississippi River will have the consequence of an extraordinary development of the mineral wealth of the west. Enormous wealth, spreading throughout the country, has accumulated with particular force in the last decades in individual hands, and now America is overflowing with such rich people, in front of whom the fabulous rich man of antiquity, the famous King Croesus, would almost seem like a beggar. He has long been a proverb for his wealth, and historians have tried with particular diligence to determine the magnitude of his wealth. But no matter how inspired their imagination, they do not find it possible, given the economic state of the ancient world, to give a figure for the entire Krezov wealth of more than 15-20 million gold rubles, or in American money from 10 to 15,000,000 dollars. Meanwhile, at present in New York there are at least forty people who have more than him, and there are about ten who are five times richer than Croesus. Thus, on the New York stock exchange, the proud king of antiquity would have completely faded in front of the Yankees. The greatest rich man of Rome, during the time of Julius Caesar, was Marcus Licinius Crassus, a clever speculator, famous for his greed. His wealth has often been calculated by historians, but it has never been put above $9-10,000,000. An Athenian or Roman who could value his wealth at about a million dollars was already considered an immensely rich man; but the inhabitants of New York at present, with a fortune of a million dollars, are considered only simply wealthy people and are not counted among the rich of the city. There are so many such millionaires here that they are not at all taken into account when talking about the financial aces of the city. In ancient times there were no such riches as, for example, the wealth of the New York aces Vanderbilt and Astor, who had almost $100,000,000 each; there were not even such riches, which are considered in dozens not only here, but also in Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Chicago, San Francisco and other cities of the country. During the present generation the increase of wealth has been prodigious in the country. Some of the greatest wealth has been created in as little as 40 or 50 years. Half a century ago there was only one person in New York who had a fortune of 1,000,000, namely Astor. Now there are hundreds of people who have much more, and they rather consider themselves insufficient than rich. When the banker Girard died in 1841, the fortune he left behind was considered the richest man on the entire continent, no one even came close to him in terms of money, and yet his entire fortune did not exceed $9,000,000 in value. People who do not consider themselves very old remember the time when 100,000 dollars was considered a good fortune, even in big cities, and 10,000 gave an independent existence in small towns. At the present time, 100,000 is considered barely enough to surround a person with more or less tolerable comfort, and ten thousand is so insignificant that it is shameful to even talk about such a condition. Is it possible that somewhere in a remote village the Yankees will be flattered by a beauty who has a dowry no larger than the last figure? It is very likely that during the next half century private wealth will increase in even greater proportions than it has increased during the same period in the past. In the 30s and 40s of the next century, there will probably be many American citizens who will have wealth from 150 to 200,000,000 dollars, and at the same time will complain that they do not have more. Having decided to test the readers’ patience with numbers for the present time, I will now bring my tyranny to the end and conclude the picture of the wealth of our transatlantic friends with a general overview of the country’s finances. This country, now drowning in wealth, was recently on the verge of bankruptcy, precisely in the early 60s, when an internecine war depleted all its resources and forced it into billions of debt. According to the latest official report, this unfortunate war cost the state $6,189,929,908. The liberation of blacks cost the state so much! If political passions had not been mixed in here, then with this sum it would not only have been possible to buy back all the slaves at the highest price that the greedy slave owners could demand, but it would have been possible to buy the whole of Africa. It was almost impossible to imagine that the state could ever get rid of this monstrous figure. And yet this sum, with the exception of the remaining national debt, has now been written off, precisely in the amount of $4,275,000,000. Это составляет за минувшие девятнадцать лет по 225.000.000 военных издержек на год. Such enormous costs to the state led to the endless issue of paper money and to insane speculative enterprises, which in turn were inevitably followed by a stunning crisis, financial panic and accompanying poverty and ruin. On August 31st, 1865, the entire national debt was $2,756,431,571, with annual interest of $150,977,696. Now, after 15 years, the total debt remains 1,900,000,000 dollars, and the actual interest debt is 1,723,993,100 with an annual interest of 79,633,981 dollars. Fifteen years ago each person in the United States owed $78.25 in public debt, with annual interest of $4.29. No one believed that the country could ever throw off this burden, and everyone thought that this debt, like in England, would be an eternal curse, passing from fathers to children and further posterity. And yet, each resident now faces half the debt of what it was in 1865, and the interest per capita remains no more than 1/3 of what it was fifteen years ago. Since that time, a wonderful change has occurred in trade turnover. For 25 years before the last five-year period, the excess of imports over exports was expressed by the figure 1,500,000,000 dollars, that is, every year the country bought 60,000,000 dollars more from abroad than it sold. During this quarter of a century there were only three years when exports exceeded imports, but the average excess was no more than 9,000,000. Over the past five years, the trade balance has finally tilted in a favorable direction for our friends. The excess of exports over carts during this time was as follows: in 1876 - $79,643,481; 1877 – 151.152.094; 1878 – 257.814.234; 1879 –264.661.666; for the first half of 1880, $167,908,359. A total of 921,179,828 in five years, or an annual average trade balance in favor of the country of $185,000,000. The balance of trade is inversely related to the balance of gold and silver. For 30 years until last year there was only one year when the country received more gold from abroad than it sent out. It was an exceptional year - at the beginning of the war, namely 1861, when the import of gold and silver exceeded the export by 16,548,531 dollars. In all other years, excluding the last one, the excess in the export of precious metals annually ranged from 4 to 90,000,000 dollars, or an average output of 40,000,000 per year. In 1880, the last fiscal year, on the contrary, the import of gold and silver outweighed the export by 75,891,391, which is for the country a gain in precious metals of $80,592,832 compared with the previous year, or a gain of $115,000,000 compared to the average annual balance of the past thirty years. If we take into account that this gain coincided precisely with the year when the paper dollar finally became equal to the gold dollar, then the omen of this gain is immeasurably more important than its entire figure. This is the beginning of a strong influx of gold and silver into the country, after a long ebb. This means that the pockets of the Old World have become thin, and its gold will flow in an unstoppable stream into the bottomless pocket of the Yankees. “The stars shine brighter for the happy,” said some little-known poet. The truth of this saying in our mercantile times, perhaps, will be more understandable if instead of “happy” we say “rich”, and it, perhaps, has never been justified with such completeness, as it has been justified in recent years for the Yankees drowning in wealth. Never before have there been so many bright first-magnitude stars on the American theatrical horizon as there are now. While in Russia, according to newspaper reports, the famine has had a deplorable effect on the stage, so that the opera goes on with its throat tied up, and the drama is limping on sticks, American wealth has attracted from all corners of the world such a multitude of first-class luminaries that the sky itself can hardly support them. Remarkable, indeed, is the attractive power of gold for free servants of art. They flock to him like flies to honey, and sometimes like moths to a fire. The latter can be counted among none other than the most famous creator of music of the future - Wagner. He did a curious thing. Having heard that the Yankees were great lovers of music, and even more owners of gold, he, in a private letter to the Bostonian, invited the Americans to buy themselves from Europe for eternal possession. It was he who made the offer that if the Americans collected a million dollars by subscription and paid him, then he agreed to move to America forever, where he would stage all his operas and devote his future life and all future works to the great republic. No matter how tempting such an offer from the great creator of the music of the future may be for ambitious Yankees, the Yankees are, first of all, a practical people, and before entering into a final agreement, they thoroughly weighed the conditions and profitability of the offer and - to the great chagrin, probably for the great self-seller - found the offer not entirely profitable for themselves. They calculated that Wagner was already a very old man, 67 years old, and therefore, according to the ordinary course of nature, could not live, or at least retain the full strength of his creative genius, for more than 75 years. Thus, for a million dollars he can serve America for only eight years, so that each year of his stay in America would cost the Yankees $125,000. According to their mercantile concept, it would be expensive and they - oh barbarians! – they rejected the generous offer of a disinterested self-seller. After all, it’s only one million, and besides, a self-seller might have made an effort to live longer. Thus, the creator of the music of the future did not have to rise on the American horizon. But the greatest dramatic luminary of Europe, the valiant crusher of the diplomatic eagles of the Iron Chancellor, the wonderful embodiment of all seven liberal arts, the semi-divine Sarah Bernard, swept through it all the more grandly. She arrived in New York at the end of October last year, bidding a tearful farewell to her la belle France and enduring a tumultuous ocean crossing. The semi-divine Sarah suffered terribly from seasickness, could not eat at all and was supplemented only by the smell of bouquets that were brought to her every day by the ship's officers and passengers. The enthusiasm and cordiality of the meeting on the part of the Yankees soon, however, rewarded her for the suffering she had brought. She was greeted like a queen; no, not much – like a goddess. Several steamships set out to meet her in the open ocean and, at the very meeting of the ship with the precious cargo, speeches poured out from various deputations, to which Sarah barely had time to respond merci, merci, merci, charmingly showing her pearly teeth. Americans are an extremely enthusiastic people, and the comedy with Sarah Bernard was simply hilarious. The whole city spent two weeks raving about Sarah. This, however, was greatly facilitated by the clever entrepreneur, who chose the semi-divine Sarah as the instrument of his speculation. Theaters in America are simple trading stores, often run by promotions, and therefore speculation on the “greatest stars” is a very common thing. The owner of many theaters here and in other cities, Abbey, decided to “make” money on Sarah, and engaged her on extremely expensive terms. He engaged her for a hundred performances, with a payment of a thousand dollars for each performance to her, and a thousand dollars to the accompanying troupe, chosen by her, which makes a total of 200,000 dollars for a hundred performances, which were distributed between New York and other major cities of the country. Having paid such a huge sum, the entrepreneur took all possible measures that the wise science of speculation has at his disposal to create as much noise and thunder as possible with his dear demigoddess. Even two months before Sarah’s arrival, he launched loud and eloquent advertisements, distributed photographic cards of the “drama queen” through the streets, published an illustrated biography and translation of dramas from her repertoire, in the theater after each performance he distributed an illustrated program of her dramas, replete with anecdotes from Sarah’s life and facsimiles of several of her intimate letters, and wove various anecdotes from the life of Sarah. All this was the reason that Sarah really captured the minds of the Yankees and, when she finally arrived, the Americans rushed to look at her as if she were some wonderful curiosity. Despite the doubled fee, the tickets were quickly snapped up by the public, and in the hands of speculators they rose to a monstrous figure. Americans admired the genius of her execution of the fine details of classical drama, but generally found her to fall short of what the advertising promised. But her wardrobe, with its wealth and variety, blinded the envious eyes of American ladies. The extent to which her wardrobe is large and valuable can be understood from the fact that when transporting it through customs, she had to pay $6,000 in duties. In addition to performances, Sarah organized special evenings at which she showed the amazed public her art in painting, sculpting, sculpture, and decided with her own hands to sculpt a bust of the famous American poet Longfellow, to the considerable pleasure of the brilliant old man, who, perhaps, would immortalize the already immortal Sarah with a poem. Europe and America. - The wheat granary of the world. - Grain speculation. – Cost of production. – Transportation. - Agricultural machines. –Bread and garden fruits. – Cattle breeding and meat trade. – Sheep farming. – Pigs and their social status. – What can we learn from the Americans? America completely alarmed Europe with its grain production. The grumpy, militant old woman, who has spent the last decades in the madness of bloody orgies and has lost her common sense in inventing improved instruments of self-destruction, now begins to look with horror at her young rival, who has reforged swords into plows and, with the energy of ardent youth, has given herself up to the peaceful work of the farmer. Already almost on the verge of bankruptcy, old Europe woke up and turned to its foundling, who had grown and developed into a blooming beauty, asking her to guide her gray head to reason. When the grain market of the world was filled with American wheat, not only Russia, for which this study was almost a Hamlet-like question, turned to study the grain production of America, but also England, which hitherto treated its “colony” with truly lordly arrogance. The year before last, these two countries, which did not agree on anything, seemed to conspire together and sent agents to the United States to study American grain production. In view of this, a brief sketch of American agricultural production is not superfluous. The center of wheat production in the United States is located in the Missouri and upper Mississippi river basins. This land was recently occupied by a red man, but now agriculture has developed on a grand scale here, and an unprecedented agricultural industry is in full swing. Masses of emigrants occupy this land, penetrating further and further to the west. What attractive force this land has for them can be judged by their expression: “if hell lay between us and the West, then we would step over it just to get to the promised land.” But emigrants, in essence, are not cultivators of the land, they are only pickers of the soil. When the virgin soil is exhausted and not an acre of rich prairie remains, subsequent generations will again turn east and take up the rational economy of the old type. It is incredible, however, that such an active and enterprising people limited their operations to only the surface of the earth, when directly below it in the river basin. Missouri, with the city of Kansas in the center, contains enormous coal deposits, far surpassing similar deposits of Pennsylvania and Maryland. Two great mountain ranges frame this area: the Allegheny, which runs parallel to the Atlantic coast, and the Rocky Mountains, which run along the Pacific coast. A space of 1,700 miles separates the bases of these mountain ranges at the points where they intersect the Canadian border line. To the south the space narrows and descends to 750 miles. With the exception of an insignificant strip through which the Red River flows for a space of two hundred miles towards Lake Winnepeg, this entire area is watered by only one large river. It contains about eight hundred million (800,000,000) acres of land, so that this Mississippi valley is fourteen times larger than the whole of Great Britain. The main grain products here are wheat and maize. The latter is produced more in the southern part of the valley, and the former in the northern and northwestern parts, with spring wheat being produced in the north, and winter wheat in the south, wherever the fields are not occupied by maize. A remarkable feature is the yield of these two products. The wheat harvest is more dependent on the weather, while the maize harvest is more dependent on cultivation. Moreover, the period during which maize can be sown is long, and the time during which it can be collected without fear of material damage is measured in whole months until winter. It's a different matter with wheat. Its sowing can be limited to only a few weeks in spring or autumn, and its harvest cannot last more than a few days. Since it depends less on cultivation than on climate and weather, that is why it is mainly chosen for sowing on new lands. This is the bread of the virgin prairies and the newly plowed lands of the western states. For all its capriciousness, wheat always commands higher prices than any other grain, and its very transportation provides a huge source of speculation. Immediately after the grain is threshed, it is taken to the nearest railway station and stored in the local elevator. Here you can always find an agent of large grain merchants, and he is always ready to buy at “exchange prices.” Prices can be found in newspapers, which in America, thanks to the widespread use of telegraph wires, always and everywhere provide news no later than yesterday's. The grain is paid for in cash, and it goes down to the elevator for sorting, weighting and cleaning, and with the issuance of a receipt, it is placed at the disposal of the buyer or future owners of the receipt. When the cost of production and the weight of wheat are known, its price still depends very much on speculation. Speculation on wheat in America is easier and there are more temptations for it due to the well-known method of its transfer from hand to hand. When the wheat is delivered to some public store or elevator, and inspected by a special official appointed to “sort” the grain, the latter classifies it into classes 1, 2, or 3—weighing 60 pounds per bushel. Then the owner is given a note for a certain number of bushels of wheat of a known variety, and according to this note the wheat is issued. The note may pass through several hands (with each new buyer giving only a small amount to protect the seller from loss), and when the wheat is issued, it will probably not contain a single grain of the one that was originally put together. Sometimes it happens that wheat is cheaper at the place of issue than at the place of production. Although in general it can be said that if the cost of production exceeds the price of the product, then production must cease, but with regard to America it must be borne in mind that she has an annually increasing surplus in bread and meat, which she must sell at any price. Three-quarters of this surplus is annually sold to England. Other countries, except during special years of famine, do not need American wheat and therefore impose heavy duties on its import. Therefore, however low the prices may be in England, the greater part of the grain and meat exported from the United States will always be destined for her shores. And when a good harvest occurs simultaneously in both the Old and New Worlds, prices may fall into the abyss. As a round number, the cost of farming an acre would be $10, including the cost of shipping the grain six miles to the local railroad, warehouse, or grain elevator. But these data do not determine the cost of producing a bushel of wheat; Here the harvest, which depends on the year, is of paramount importance. For a number of recent years the wheat crop in the United States has yielded more than 12 bushels per acre. In 1879, an acre yielded even 13.1 bushels. It has been observed that the center of population and industrial earnings in the United States is constantly and rapidly moving westward; As a result, wheat production has a nomadic character and goes in the same direction. Farmers consider it more profitable, that is, cheaper, when it is carried out on virgin soil at some distance from the points of consumption, than in the depleted districts from which they move, giving way to another population that needs the grain they produce. In regard to carriage and freight, there is a considerable difference between the cost of transportation from Chicago to New York by water or by rail, and transportation by rail is precisely twice as expensive. Waterways are closed by ice from November to April. When transporting across the ocean, sailing ships and steamships are used; but the difference between their values ​​over the last five years has been so insignificant that there is no need to go into it. Considerations about the cost of wheat production in America are mostly based on calculations taken from the practice of huge farms, where the land is cultivated with the help of the best machines and under the most perfect economic management. Other cost figures are taken from the practice of small farmers. But here very little value is attached to the work of the farmer himself and his family. Few people have any idea of ​​the hard and tireless work that falls to the lot of even prosperous farmers in America. Except perhaps at the harvest, no farmer spends so much time and energy in his day's work. The readiness with which farmers in America take up machinery is simply amazing. The skill and ease with which they work speaks in favor of the perfection of the machines, but even more in favor of the intelligence and development of the farmer. In America, labor-saving machinery is an absolute necessity even on small farms. Moreover, the purchase of machines is also encouraged by the fact that the farmer can always buy them on credit and with installment payments. In terms of their design, the machines used on farms are very good, extremely light and handy. Sometimes one hears comments about the fragility of American agricultural implements, but this is most likely to blame for the inability of European farmers to handle them. American cars are much more sophisticated than English cars. They are lighter, sleeker and better. When the natural fertility of the virgin soil is exhausted, or the productive power of the land becomes impoverished, and it becomes necessary to change the crops to restore its productivity, the expense of producing wheat on these western prairies and the basin of the great river will undoubtedly increase. That this exhaustion from the continuous production of wheat, accompanied by the burning of straw, must come in time is certain. But it will not come suddenly. The vast deposits of vegetation accumulated over centuries, and the masses of all kinds of grass burned and rotting on the prairies, cannot be depleted in a few years. Moreover, when wheat begins to show weak growth, a simple change in sowing the field with “Indian bread” is apparently sufficient to restore the fertility of the land. In northern latitudes, where Indian bread or maize cannot grow, a one-year sowing of clover is sufficient for a similar purpose. But the depleted productivity of the soil in some eastern states and the need for fertilization in others clearly show that, no matter how great the fertility of virgin soil, it is still not inexhaustible. Immediately after wheat in importance in the American economy comes corn or the so-called Indian grain, maize. Corn is slowly but steadily pushing wheat northward and now occupies the entire vast area from the Gulf of Mexico to the shores of the great lakes. The cost of its production is determined at 5 1/2 dollars per acre, which usually yields up to 40 bushels. Corn serves as a convenient grain for restoring the productive power of the land. The earth is at rest, cleansed and nourished by its growth. Moreover, this is an extremely reliable bread. Wheat is capricious and its harvest constantly fluctuates. Of the last 18 harvests in Ohio, only six produced full harvests, some suffering greatly from drought; but the corn during all this time produced a satisfactory crop, averaging 35 bushels per acre. Its annual production has recently increased enormously. In 1868, about 35,000,000 acres were sown with it, and in 1878 already 51,500,000, but its monetary value was constantly decreasing. This increased abundance and cheapness have made it an article of important foreign trade, so that at least 6 percent of it goes abroad. Recently, as we know, she even tried to penetrate Russia. In America it is widely used. It is primarily used to feed livestock and pigs. A bushel of corn worth 25 cents given to hogs returns 30 cents if the hog fed on it is sold even at as low a price as three cents per pound of live weight. In addition, the demand for it is great and, in fact, for human nutrition. Americans love it and it comes to the table in all sorts of shapes and forms. As an after-dinner dessert, the Yankees eat boiled cobs, spread with butter and sprinkle with pepper. A very large amount of it is processed into alcohol and exported abroad. Barley is little produced in America, and its grains are unclean, thin and irregular, but oats are constantly increasing in production. In 1874, 11,000,000 bushels of it were produced, and in 1878 there were already more than 13,000,000. Potatoes are a fairly important industry in agriculture, although in general its production is not increasing particularly rapidly. In 1874 it was produced 1,333,333 bushels, and in 1878 only 1,750,000. New York State supplies l/3 of this amount. Its quality is generally good, except in the southwestern states. Its general yield is not particularly large, being estimated at 88 bushels per acre, 60 pounds per bushel. In America there are two types of potatoes - ordinary, known in Russia, and sweet potatoes. Americans love the latter almost more than the former, but for Europeans it is cloying and tastes like ordinary potatoes boiled in molasses. American farms produce an enormous amount of fruit of every variety, and in general every farm from the outside looks like a garden. Every spring, more than 5,000,000 peach trees bloom from the Delaware Bay to the inter-ocean northwest. In the middle states and New England, hundreds of families derive a considerable income from the gathering and sale of wild berries—strawberries, raspberries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and a host of others—that grow in abundance in the fields and forests and along the outskirts of farmer's countryside. These small fruits are mostly consumed by the native population. Front gardens with pears and peaches are scattered everywhere. Even cemeteries are planted with pear and peach trees, where they serve for the free and gratuitous use of Americans who love to celebrate funerals for their ancestors. Entire fields are sown with sunflowers, and their trunks often rise above 11 feet and the disks themselves are more than 13 inches in diameter. California produces grapes in abundance, although its quality is far inferior to our Crimean grapes. The wines made from it, and especially the “California champagne” that is so beloved here, according to Americans, are no worse than French ones, but European wine connoisseurs only laugh at them. Watermelons and melons are produced in enormous quantities and in some states, especially Georgia, of excellent quality. Georgian watermelons have an oblong shape and are often so large that they cannot be lifted. But the largest gardening item is apples. More than 2,000,000 acres of land are planted with apple trees, and apple farming has increased rapidly during the past eight years. Along with peaches, apples are, as they say, indispensable here, and are available to all classes of people. There are many such gardens in New Jersey, Delaware and Maryland, with 10,000, 20,000 and 30,000 trees. Another important branch of the American economy is cattle breeding. However, anyone who has seen in England the magnificent bulls called American, and the massive carcasses of beef unloaded from ocean-going steamers in Liverpool, will have a wrong idea about American cattle. There are comparatively very few good breeds of cattle in America. There are, of course, thousands of large and pure shorthorn cattle grazing in Kentucky and the surrounding states, but in the eastern states the cattle are of the most ordinary kind, descended from the ordinary ancestors brought over by the original settlers, and only occasionally are herds of really good breed to be found. In the south and west, the Texan and other similar breeds predominate, undoubtedly descended from ancestors brought from Spain. In recent years the cattle industry has developed enormously on the plains of Texas and the far West. Texas has long been famous as the great kingdom of cattle, but now all that vast space, which until recently was designated on maps as the “great American desert,” is overrun with hundreds of thousands of cattle. A huge number of the best young bulls are annually driven north, where they are kept in walking stores on the plains of Colorado and Wyoming until they are required for market. Many young heifers graze along the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, where they nurse on tasty mountain grass. Texas is an excellent place for the breeding and breeding of cattle, but it is remarkable that the cattle there never reach great height; but the same cattle, transferred to other localities, receive a significant increase in volume. Great heat, periodic droughts and lack of water, so that sometimes it is necessary to walk thirty to forty miles to get there, are probably the reasons for this, and also for the fact that good breeds cannot exist and breed in Texas. These vast plains present a sad picture in autumn. Everything is scorched and bare, and for miles there is not a green petal in sight. The short, withered grass appears brown and scorched to the roots; but this apparently worthless grass is, in essence, homemade hay. It grows quickly in the spring and is dried by the sun before ripeness. If the drought is followed by rains in June, the grass may live again, but it is then quickly killed by frost, and in this form it is almost completely unusable. There are sometimes severe snowstorms in early autumn, lasting for several days, but after them magnificent warm weather begins again, often until Christmas. Deep snow is rare. When heavy snow falls, the cattle suffer severely from it, but it is usually soon blown away by the wind from the plains, and the herds have no difficulty in finding grass. The herds are controlled by young shepherds, and the dexterity with which they lasso wild calves, chasing them on their thin ponies, is amazing. Each cattle breeder has his own brand, entered in the government book, and counterfeiting it is strictly punished. The first shipments of cattle for the meat market are shipped early in the summer, and the last in late November. It is generally accepted that in recent years the net income of pastoralists on average has been 33 percent of capital. There is no doubt that this is one of the most profitable branches of American farming, but to secure a large interest it is necessary to have a large capital. For example, the owner of 10,000 head of cattle with 150 horses must have 7 or 8,000 dollars in cash to carry on the business successfully. Small herds require comparatively more. A herd of a thousand heads requires almost the same amount of care as a herd of 5,000. A herd of 5,000 must have 100 horses for shepherds, while a herd of 10,000 requires only 150. The cost of maintaining a good herd for a year usually does not exceed 1 1/2 dollars per piece, and in some cases goes down to 1 dollar. Within one hundred square miles of Wyoming territory, the herds number from 1,000 to 35,000 head. Their average value is determined at 20 dollars per head. In this territory, livestock losses from all possible causes are estimated at only 2 1/3 percent per year. In Texas and other counties, they are estimated at 5 to 10 percent. A herd of 10,000 heads annually produces from 1,500 to 2,000 new generation pieces. Four-year-old steers sell for $25 and $30, with each costing no more than $10 to raise. Most of the cattle are sold at markets in Chicago, and some are sent directly to New York, where they are killed and shipped to England. One must be amazed at the enormous distances these semi-wild Texas bulls travel. They travel thousands of miles and often even gain weight during this journey. Sometimes, however, they suffer a lot from droughts and lack of water, and sometimes they die in whole herds after eating some poisonous spring grass. Huge quantities of raw meat from Chicago slaughterhouses are sent to New York and the eastern states. For this purpose, there are special meat trains with special equipment for meat, cooling devices, so that meat and various dairy products arrive from Chicago to New York in a completely fresh condition, no matter how raging the heat. From New York, the meat is transported to England on ships with refrigerated apparatus, and at Liverpool it is unloaded as fresh as it was when it was prepared in Chicago. In England there are no longer such devices and meat often spoils on the way from Liverpool to London. But this is no longer the fault of the Americans. “We shouldn’t extend our stewardship of meat right into the mouths of our dear cousins,” the Americans respond to the reproaches of the British that in London the meat is no longer as fresh as in Liverpool. On the western plains, the herds are kept more for meat. On eastern farms, on the contrary, for dairy production. But dairy production is not particularly famous in America. Moreover, for some reason in recent years it has become especially unprofitable and many farms have reduced it to a modest size. Until recently, the eastern states were the main producers of butter and cheese. New York State was ahead of the curve in this regard. But now the West is beginning to interrupt in this regard, and it supplies the entire East with enormous quantities of cheese and butter. When it comes to the quality of these products, there is not much that can be said about it. Recently efforts have been made to improve the production of butter, and, apparently, some results have been achieved, but even now it is far from equal to that of Europe. Now, however, one notices a desire among Americans in general to use scientific and economic guidelines for dairy production. Americans have better luck making cheese, and its production was very profitable until last year, when prices fell. But in general, if we must say about butter that Americans have it bad, then about cheese we can say that it is quite good, although again it is not of the first grade and cannot be on par with European cheese. In some states attempts have been made to introduce the production of various varieties of European cheeses, but these attempts have not yet grown to such an extent that anything definite and positive can be said about their results. American cheese is surprisingly uniform - the same shape, the same color and quality. Americans don't use it much. Of the 300,000,000 pounds produced, more than 40 percent goes abroad. About 1,000,000,000 pounds of butter are produced, and almost all of it is consumed by the Yankees themselves, not more than two percent going abroad. America is not famous for horse breeding. Horses on farms exist only in the quantities required for everyday farming. They are light, fast and can be used for any purpose. The horse plows and carries bread to the railway station, takes the owner to the market in the city and his family to church on Sundays. The team, however, usually consists of a pair of horses, like our Germans. A pair of horses is usually enough for a plow. The usual price for a good farm horse is from $100 to $150, and for young stallions from $200 to $250. Sheep farming in America is also insignificant. This is evident from the fact that the number of sheep slightly exceeds the number of cattle. Large flocks of sheep are kept in the southwest solely for their wool. Not only is the quantity of meat they deliver insignificant, but its very quality is not of high quality, and, moreover, the cost of transporting such small animals is so high that this side of the fishery is almost not repaid. And with regard to the woolen industry there is no reason to suppose that America, within a few years, can develop it to a large extent and begin the wool challenge. At present she herself imports large quantities of wool from England and her colonies. More than sheep farming, America can boast of its pig farming. The pig is the happiest citizen of the American republic - of course, among four-legged animals. She enjoys complete freedom on farms, rummaging and sleeping wherever she pleases. Thanks to this freedom, she reaches significant weight at a relatively early age. The average live weight of a pig killed in winter is 280 pounds, in summer - 240 English pounds. A reduction of 20 percent from live weight usually gives the weight of the pork carcass. Nowhere can you see such huge herds of pigs as in the corn states of America. Except perhaps in Indian Territory you may see thousands of pigs, each one better than the other. The most common breed of pig is the Berkshire. Pigs of this breed reach maturity early and are distinguished by a large amount of clean meat in proportion to lard. The other most common breed is the Portland. These pigs get fat extremely quickly and reach enormous weight. The speed with which pigs are killed and prepared for the meat market in large American slaughterhouses is amazing. Suffice it to say that the pig is grabbed by the hind leg, yanked up, slaughtered, scalded, cleaned, gutted, beheaded, halved and escorted to a cold warehouse - all this in just 10-15 minutes. Pig farming in America, for all its benefits, is sometimes not without its disadvantages. American pigs are susceptible to various diseases, and the so-called “pork cholera” is especially dangerous for them. No remedy against it is effective, and the very reason for its appearance is completely incomprehensible to pig farmers. It is extremely contagious, and sometimes clears entire neighborhoods of pigs. In some places it rages against the unfortunate animals with such force that farmers temporarily stop pig farming. Little can be said in praise of the American poultry industry except turkeys, which are generally quite good and are raised without much difficulty. But they, however, do not reach the weight of good European breeds and in their shape are close to wild breeds. Chickens are generally a bad breed. If we say about Texas cattle that they consist only of “legs and horns,” then we must say about American chickens that they consist of “legs and wings.” When plucked, with their light yellow skin, they present a far from appetizing picture. They are too light and mobile, and if there were not so much cheap bread to fatten them, they would hardly be suitable for a decent table. Nevertheless, Americans are sick chicken eaters and on every Sunday, chicken is an indispensable part of the table. If we now generalize what has been said, we must say that America is far from a paradise in terms of natural resources, although in the dispute for agricultural supremacy it has significant advantages represented by new, undepleted soil. Railroads play a particularly important role in the development of the agricultural wealth of the United States. The people spare no effort to extend this right hand of civilization as far as possible. In America, it is not the population that leads, but the railroad that follows, but the latter goes ahead as a means for the former. There are few pleasant landscapes in it, but there is a continuous persistent struggle with nature and the ability to win. America is rich in enterprise that stops at nothing and ingenuity that never reaches a dead end. “In the agricultural rivalry with America,” the English Times recently said on one occasion, “we have not to fear its soil, nor its climate, nor its vastness of land, but the indestructible energy, the boundless self-confidence, and the inexhaustible ingenuity of the citizens of the United States.” If the English, with their well-known stubborn persistence, slow and silent, but sure efficiency, give so much weight in agricultural competition to the superiority of the moral character of the Americans; then what remains for us, Russians, with our apathy and flabbiness, with our courage in phrase and cowardice in deed, in the absence of healthy initiative and the dominance of traditional depression? The only thing left to do, of course, is not to lose heart, but to learn from our friends and be imbued with their example. Tanner or fasting doctor Fasting doctor. – The interest aroused by him is the Martyr of Glory. – End of fasting and gala dinner. – Watermelon instead of pharmaceutical doses. -Horror and bewilderment. - History of the post. - From a past life. – Views for the future. At the same time that our transatlantic friends were drowning in grain wealth, among them there was a man who decided to surprise the world with the extraordinary fact of a forty-day fast. This is the famous Dr. Tanner. Being a specialist in animal chemistry, Dr. Tanner developed a theory according to which a person can live without food and water much longer than the limits usually assumed by medicine and physiology. Like a true American, he did not limit himself to words, but openly came out with his theory and offered his personality to some learned society to experience a forty-day fast, asking for only one thousand dollars. Both his theory, and especially this thousand, raised a storm in the medical world, and among his brothers in arms there were those who stopped at nothing to undermine confidence in the fasting doctor and proclaimed his theory a great humbug, as Americans usually call deception under a plausible pretext. The fasting doctor, of course, was offended and decided to shame his opponents by subjecting himself to a forty-day fast without any reward. He chose a public hall as the place for this unprecedented experience and invited all the doctors who were interested in the experiment to be present at his fasting and observe all the phases of his fasting. Most doctors even now treated the doctor with irony and called him almost crazy; but others expressed their consent to observe the fasting doctor and formed a circle, which in turn was to monitor the doctor's fasting. And indeed, on June 28, Tanner ate steak for the last time and began fasting. The doctors took all possible precautions to monitor the reality of the fast. They searched all his clothes, shook his bed, searched the room so as not to allow any nutrient to be hidden, and separated him from the entire world around him. Newspapers and letters were handed over to the doctor only after a thorough examination. A detailed account was kept of all his movements and states in a book. The doctor is already an elderly man, has considerable humor and, with a cheerful mood, devoted himself to a difficult feat. He is healthy, with a ruddy face, although he already has gray hair. For the first four days, the doctor was cheerful and fresh, as if nothing had happened, he talked cheerfully and joked with his learned observers and visitors. But on the fifth and sixth days, hunger began to noticeably make itself known, and his bright eyes dimmed significantly. Those doctors who laughed at him immediately proclaimed the experiment a failure and predicted that the fasting doctor would not live another two days if he did not give up his “crazy” experiment. After a few days, however, they had to significantly push back the day of the doctor's death. The fifth and sixth days were, in the opinion of the faster himself, a difficult crisis for him, after which easier days should come again. And indeed, over the next few days, the doctor’s vigor returned again, fire shone in his eyes, and even a blush began to play on his cheeks, as if the fasting man had eaten an excellent Kentucky steak and washed it down with a good porter. Meanwhile, he took absolutely nothing into his mouth - not a crumb of bread and not a drop of water. This amazed the predictors of his death so much that they positively did not know what to do. They even began to suspect the guarding doctors themselves of being in league with the doctor and were not averse to accusing them all of deception. One of the skeptic doctors, who especially insisted on the inevitability of the doctor’s death on the 7th or 8th day, appeared in person in the hall of the hungry experiment and created a real storm, accusing everyone of deception. This got on the fasting doctor’s nerves so much that he later sobbed like a child and declared that this shock cost him a good ten days of fasting. Then the doctors insisted that he take some water, and he did take three ounces. This wonderfully revived him, and he again became refreshed and encouraged. Finally, when the 10th, 12th, 14th and 15th days of fasting passed, Dr. Tanner still did not die, as the doctors predicted for him, attention to him began to quickly increase. What is especially remarkable about this fasting is that the doctor had absolutely no peace, which is the most important condition for the success of the experiment. He constantly received numerous visitors, talked with them and doctors, walked and already on the 14th day of fasting he ran up the stairs to the upper gallery for a walk with such speed with which only democratic politicians, according to the remark of one reporter (the hall in which the doctor is fasting belongs to the Democrats) run after rallies for whiskey. Little by little, the fame of Dr. Tanner spread not only throughout America, but also throughout Europe, arousing interest, controversy, and bewilderment everywhere. Day after day, newspapers published detailed reports on all the movements and conditions of the faster, and the public read them in great demand, as during the most important political events. Interest, naturally, increased as the fast approached the end, and its last days were days of some kind of feverish agony. The hall was simply besieged by visitors, and the entrance fee in recent days amounted to a daily collection of a thousand dollars. Probably, the most brilliant practice would not have given the doctor such an enviable income! And the popularity that Americans value so much increased to such an extent that it was undoubtedly the envy of the most prominent politicians. Every day, ladies from high circles showered the fasting man with bouquets; during his usual walk through the streets, people greeted him with enthusiastic “hurray,” and heavenly-eyed ladies decorated his stroller with “roses and lilies” of their encouraging sympathy. Letters to him daily increased in number, so that the faster was finally unable to cope with them himself and, when reading them, he used the services of the legion of doctors and reporters who surrounded him. Bets on the success of his feat were announced in large numbers and for tens of thousands of dollars. Those interested in the bet constantly supported him with words of approval, promising to share the winnings if successful. Speculators attacked the faster with their services, trying to take advantage of his popularity for their own purposes and surrounded him with unprecedented comfort. The walls of the hall were covered with signs reading: “A magnificent piano, delighting the ear of a fasting doctor, delivered by the Brooke company,” located there; “The best spring mattress in the world, on which the fasting doctor finds sweet peace, was prepared” there; “The most beloved rocking chair by the wonderful fasting man was delivered” by such and such a company, etc. Boys on the streets carried whole piles of photographic cards representing the doctor in different phases of his fast, and publishing companies notified in advance about the “stories” of the fast they were preparing. In a word, the famous fasting man became the center around which a chaos of heterogeneous interests—scientific, inquisitive, monetary, and even cordial—moved feverishly. One lady sent him a tender love letter, in which, with the charming words of a loving woman, she encouraged him in a difficult feat and, as a reward for success, offered him her hand and her heart. Various congregations bombarded him with invitations to lecture at hundreds of dollars a night, etc., etc. Among this swirling whirlwind of different interests, the unfortunate faster himself languished like a mortal shadow, measuring with a hazy gaze the days and hours of his terrible feat. This experiment is physiological in appearance; but perhaps more interesting is the psychological element in it. In fact, to doom himself to forty whole days of the most boring and meaningless life, with constant physical suffering increasing hourly from hour to hour, with the alternative of death or general shame and ridicule, undoubtedly awaiting him in case of failure of the experiment, meant to perform a grandiose feat, which could only be decided upon, let alone completed, by a person with extraordinary willpower. Americans value all strength extremely highly, be it physical or mental, and now they were simply in awe of the willpower demonstrated by the doctor, and his numerous applause was caused mainly by this aspect of the experience. Both the applause and the doctor's suffering increased as the fast neared its end. The last three days were almost fatal for the doctor, and the doctors insistently demanded that the fast be broken; but the fasting doctor insisted on his own - and ended it with triumph at 12 o'clock on Saturday, August 7th. On the fortieth day of his fast, Dr. Tanner was positively the hero of the day. If the fast was an interesting phenomenon, an even more interesting event was the moment of its termination. Everyone was interested in the question of how the doctor would start eating after such a long abstinence. Many looked at this moment with horror, as the most dangerous and fatal. Indeed, his stomach was so exhausted that it even threw out the water that the doctor took in pharmaceutical doses. Conferences between doctors regarding the preparation of appropriate food for their fasting patient began a week before the end of the fast. All precautions that medical wisdom could suggest were taken. Several recipes were drawn up according to which the exhausted doctor was supposed to start eating. Meanwhile, private offerings in the form of various dishes fell from all sides for the doctor, and on Saturday the huge table in his hall was positively piled with all kinds of dishes. Juicy steaks, magnificent fruits, dozens of different wines and between them a dozen bottles of the so-called Russian milk wine were arranged in orderly rows in floral decorations. The entrance fee on the last day was set at a dollar, and despite this the hall was overcrowded with people, and outside there were still masses crowding, waiting for the fateful moment when the doctor would begin to eat. The doctor himself had been in an extremely excited and impatient state for the last few hours. He constantly took out and looked at his watch, as if counting even the seconds. Finally, the fateful and desired moment arrived. In the opposite house, the factory machine whistled twelve o'clock, the workers went out onto the roof of the house and barked: “Long live Dr. Tanner,” and the whole crowd on the street echoed the greeting. The hall resounded with enthusiastic cries, and the pianist played the lunch march: “Hurry, hurry to the blessed meal!” The doctor, his face lit up, came down from the upper gallery and sat down at a luxuriously decorated table. There were so many different dishes on the table that even someone who had not fasted before would have run wild. Therefore, the doctor, not paying attention to the table, took out his penknife and calmly began to cut the peach, which he was holding in his hand half an hour before the end of the fast, constantly repeating, as he later declared, the prayer: “And do not lead us into temptation.” The peach quickly disappeared into the doctor’s empty stomach, and the hall resounded with frantic cries of approval, which instantly spread throughout the street. The doctor cheerfully waved his handkerchief to the audience and said even more cheerfully: “Oh, come on, give me that Georgian watermelon over there!” Enthusiastic laughter and applause thundered throughout the hall. The doctors protested and offered the doctor their pharmaceutical doses. “No, gentlemen, I have been under your despotic rule for forty days; now I want to be free; let's have some watermelon! The hall again trembled with delight, and the magnificent watermelon from the state of Georgia cracked under the fasting knife. Then the doctor drank milk. The next day I ate steak. The doctors were horrified and perplexed, but the fasting man only listened and ate. “You’ve already eaten the steak!” – one medical student remarked in awe. “Yes, sir! look, and you stay away from me, otherwise I will kill you too! - the fasting doctor joked. Thus, the fasting man successfully crossed this terrible rubicon separating fasting from nutrition. Over the next days, the fasting man continued to eat until his jaws became tired and only noticed that at the same time every muscle in him was working. “Food is now my main occupation”! - he said cheerfully, devouring steak after steak. Never before has medical science encountered such a mysterious phenomenon as this post by Dr. Tanner. All its vicissitudes destroyed all the predictions and theories of doctors with such incredible force that a real commotion occurred among them, and a question arose in society about the scientific viability of modern medicine. Until now, medicine has usually stated that a person can live no more than 10–12 days without food. Cases are told of longer lives without food; but all these cases were questioned, since they occurred outside of any regular observation. From the experiments of various scientists on animals, it is clear that those animals live longer without food that have more reserves in their fatty parts. The first signs of dying from hunger are a drop in temperature. Dr. Tanner turned out to be completely outside the scope of this observation. During the entire forty days of fasting, his temperature suffered only the most insignificant fluctuations and his fat reserves were not large. The doctor's usual weight is 184 pounds, and when he began his fast, his weight was only 157 1/3 pounds. Obviously, he began his experiment at one of the most unfavorable moments. In animals subjected to the starvation experiment, cerebral dullness occurred from prolonged starvation. The doctors predicted such an unpleasant prospect for the fasting doctor, but their predictions did not come true at all. The doctor remained with a fresh head at all times, and even in the last days of Lent his cheerful humor constantly amused numerous visitors. On the 27th day of fasting, a weakening of memory began to be noticed, but this was more likely due to external irritation and weakness than from brain exhaustion. One well-known materialist here said on this matter: “This post did more to shake my faith in materialism than anything I had previously known. We materialists think that the soul is a simple function of the brain and that with every thought a certain brain cell is destroyed. If the brain is exhausted, then its function—thought—is exhausted and weakened. Now I see that Dr. Tanner has exhausted his brain almost to the point of impossibility by the terrible depletion of phosphorus in it, and yet his thought is constantly clear and active. I cannot reconcile this with my conviction.” Another remarkable feature of fasting was the effect of water on the doctor. When he took water, his pulse increased, color began to play in his face, and he felt a general revitalization and strengthening. His tissues absorbed water like a sponge. Fasting began on June 28. Under this number in the book assigned to record the observations of doctors on the vicissitudes of fasting, the following appears: “Dr. Henry Tanner, 49 years old, appeared at Clarendon Hall to perform a forty-day fast. He says that today he did not eat solid food, but at breakfast he drank a glass of milk, and he ate the same amount of milk at lunch a quarter before 12 noon. His weight with clothes is 15,742 pounds; temperature 99 degrees (Fahrenheit); the pulse varies from 21 to 24 per quarter of a minute, the average pulse is 88 per minute; number of breaths 18 per minute. The doctor was stripped naked and thoroughly searched. His dress was thoroughly examined and no food in any form was found in it.” On the first and second days, the doctor drank several ounces of water. But when they heard about the suspicions expressed that he took food with water, he decided to refuse water and really stood by his decision for a long time. Abstinence from water continued until the 15th day. His suffering from thirst was terrible, but he endured it with unparalleled selflessness. He was rapidly losing weight, becoming restless, nervous and agitated, and showing signs of imminent crisis. Forced by his own weakness, on the fifteenth day he again allowed himself to drink water and drank one ounce. Further, he did not see the possibility of enduring the experience without water and therefore decided to limit his fast only to abstaining from food, and began to drink water to his heart’s content. The water had a wonderful effect on him, he began to look more cheerful and fresh, and began to take daily stroller walks in the park, of course, accompanied by doctors and reporters. On the 25th day he caught a cold and almost added a fever to the suffering of fasting. But the doctor cured himself with hot water. In the last three days of fasting, severe vomiting caused the faster a lot of anxiety; the stomach threw out mineral water, which the doctor took on the advice of doctors. Mineral water was sent to him in abundance from all sides. But one jug of water sent from Philadelphia aroused the faster’s suspicions, since after it the vomiting intensified. He found it poisoned and guessed that it had been sent to him by some participant in an expensive bet, the winning of which was determined by the failure of the experiment. On the fortieth day before the dinner party began, the doctor weighed 121 ½ pounds. Weight loss during the entire fast was 36 pounds. The total amount of water he drank was 667 ½ ounces or 44.5 pounds. His highest pulse was 116, lowest pulse 66. Highest temperature Fahrenheit 100 4/5, lowest temperature 97 4/5. Breathing varied from 13 to 18 per minute. The dynamometer varied between 196 and 158 pounds for the right arm and 194 to 158 for the left. External feelings retained their constant sharpness and freshness. One of the last days, the doctor surprised his companions when, while walking in Central Park, he noticed a rat in the grass and drew the attention of his companions to it, noting at the same time: “You said that my eyes were weak”! The venerable faster was born in England and arrived in America as a sixteen-year-old boy. At the age of 23, he married an intelligent and energetic girl and led a meager life, working as a worker in a carriage company. His wife, being the more energetic half of this union, forced him to open a fruit shop for her, and then, not satisfied with the income from this business, encouraged him to study medicine. She herself entered the eclectic medical institute in Cincinnati with him, and both successfully completed the course. After that, they practiced medicine for three years in various places in Ohio and at the same time, in one city, they maintained Russian-Turkish baths with various scientific improvements and devices. The doctor was not naturally endowed with practical tact and was constantly devoted to various theories and dreams, to the great chagrin of his practical wife. This was probably the reason they divorced several years ago. His wife later stated that she could not live with her husband with his different theories. When she began to get sick, he allegedly almost starved her to death, applying to her his theory of treatment through abstinence from food. After the divorce, the doctor's wife continued to practice medicine, and the doctor completely indulged in his passion for theories. No longer having his wife at hand to try the experiment of a forty-day fast on her, the doctor decided to use his own personality for this, and, indeed, the first experiment of such a fast was brilliantly endured in his office under the supervision of his colleague and brother-in-arms. Then he supposedly fasted for 42 days. Dr. Moyer, who observed him during this first fast, expresses confidence that Tanner honestly abstained from food for 42 days. In his opinion, a faster is an honest enthusiast, extremely enthusiastic, perhaps somewhat touched, but not at all a deceiver; suffers from an excessive passion for gaining fame, has a strong will and a phlegmatic disposition of the body, which gives him the opportunity to arbitrarily stop the activity of his organic functions. By the way, even during the current fast, the doctors noticed an interesting feature in him, that he could fall asleep at will, and, as you know, very rare people have this ability and, by the way, Napoleon I was distinguished by it. During his current post, his divorced wife followed his experience with interest and expressed confidence in advance that he would complete it successfully. She is extremely confident in his energy and endurance in the field of theory, but considers him completely incapable of practical life. The doctor's old father is still alive. The terrible experience of his beloved son was hidden from the old man for a long time, for fear of disturbing his old nerves. But the old man turned out to be the true father of his son. Having learned about the post, he said: “Well, if my Henry said that he would post, then he will certainly post. He never broke his word." At the end of his first post, the doctor tried to take advantage of the rumor about him to gain popularity and the practical benefits associated with it. But then he failed. His first experience was met with doubt and even ridicule from the public and his brothers in arms. But now his passion for fame has found complete satisfaction. He is now the most famous doctor in America, and fame here means money. Knights of the turtle and a gluttonous general. – Fighters and pedestrians. – Combination of pleasure with benefit. – Summer Peripatetic School of Philosophy. -The king of inventors and a new luminary for our planet. - A novel in the life of Edison. While the fasting doctor astonished the world with his absolute fasting and fought with his stomach against the laws of nature, in another place a venerable general was violating all the laws of nature by excessive gluttony. Among all sorts of curious and strange clubs, in New York there is also a club of the so-called “Knights of the Turtle”. They consider their main goal to be improving the art of preparing turtle soups. The turtle is in great use in America, and restaurants on Broadway, as bait and advertisement, often display huge live turtles at their doors, which move their legs and heads for the amusement of passers-by. The said club is ahead of everyone else on the turtle issue and considers this its glory and pride. The other day there was an annual celebration at the club, and a splendid dinner consisted mainly of turtle soup and champagne. On this day, the chairman of the club appointed a prize to the person who eats the most turtle soup. The competition, naturally, was terrible; the club members ate the soup, as they say, until they sweat blood. At the end of dinner, when the “knights” lit cigars, the President solemnly announced that the prize belonged to General Barnard, who had eaten the most. The valiant general ate ninety-nine (99) bowls of soup, thirty-three (33) eggs and drank eighteen (18) glasses of vodka (brandy). Generals cannot always boast of such valor. It is difficult to find a people who would love competitions of all kinds as much as the Americans love them. In this respect, they can be said to be far superior even to the English, those famous sports fans. Newspapers daily announce the most bizarre competitions, which one can only shrug at from their childish naivety, and yet Americans - from gray-haired Yankees to blooming misses - go en masse to see them, and the press devotes entire columns to describing them in detail to the point of tediousness. Needless to say, what an important event is such a fact as, for example, the recent competition between the Americans and the Irish in shooting accuracy. The Americans watched them with almost the same bated breath as the Russians watched the siege of Plevna; at least, the newspapers conveyed the vicissitudes of the competition with such details that our news from near Plevna could not be compared with; entire columns were devoted to telegraph correspondence from the scene in Ireland, and, meanwhile, each word over an ocean cable costs 75 cents or, according to our exchange rate, l ½ ruble. They are also particularly fond of the rowing race. The colleges hold competitions every year, and one must see the interest with which society follows them. The entire honor of the college depends on the success of its oar competition. The winning college is surrounded by some kind of special aura for the whole year, and wonderfully, society usually considers it the best in scientific terms, and fathers strive to place their children in this college as a special honor. Finally, the colleges themselves are very jealous in maintaining their honor and the admission of students is determined by a certain qualification of their physical strength, a certain measure of the width of the chest and the thickness of the upper part of the arm. If a student is even one inch short of the established measurement in the chest and arms, then even if he is seven spans in the forehead, he will not be able to enter the famous college. Wrestling competitions are also very popular - like the ancient gladiatorial ones, only with huge fists instead of swords. The struggle is usually extremely stubborn, since tens of thousands of dollars are often hidden behind it; the fighters beat each other with brutal ferocity; the European’s heart swells with horror, while the heavenly-eyed American women only wave their handkerchiefs with innocent glee and their cheeks burn with the fire of pleasure. Quite often, one of the wrestlers, and sometimes both, are sent straight from the arena to the hospital, but their heads are abundantly decorated with victory wreaths from merciful ladies. A curious example of Americans’ love for such pleasure, especially if there is a large dollar jackpot behind it, was recently presented by one happy couple, the male half of whom was endowed with healthy fists by fate. A famous fighter with “the healthiest fists in the entire southern hemisphere” arrived here from South America and offered his services to lovers of this pleasure. Of course, an amateur was immediately found and a winning bet of $15,000 was announced. The advertisement found a monetary competitor, but there was no fist one yet. Then the gentle half of the happy couple said to their hefty half: “Dear Chali (a diminutive name for Charles), here is a good opportunity for you to make money: go and win!” The hefty half cringed a little at the prospect, but what is stronger than love and money? – and Chali went to the arena. When, already in the arena, he met the monstrous fists of his opponent in front of him, the poor man’s courage was ready to disappear, and it was time for him to give up the fight. Suddenly, at the most critical moment, the right voice came from the balcony: “Take courage, dear Chali, and you will win!” He raised his eyes and saw his gentle half, who in her left hand was holding a victorious wreath for him, and in her right hand a table with a large inscription: “Fifteen thousand dollars”! This picture restored his courage, he rushed into battle, and half an hour later his opponent was lying on the floor, helplessly waving his healthiest fists in the southern hemisphere. Such is the power of women and dollars. In such a fist competition, of course, you can find some other interesting features, but I once had to be at a pedestrian competition: it’s hard to imagine anything more boring, and meanwhile, the Americans simply went crazy with delight and jubilation. The competition was announced with magnificent advertisements; and Americans poured into the huge hall by the thousands to attend him and follow all his vicissitudes. “Have you been to a pedestrian competition”? - my Yankee doctor friend asks me. “Not yet, Doctor.” - “How is this possible?” – the venerable aesculapius almost flared up. “After all, this is the greatest competition in the world. Only in America you will see. There is nothing like this in your Russia. Definitely, definitely go! “I’ll go, I’ll go, doctor,” I reassured the indignant doctor. “Well, how did you like the pedestrian competition?” - a Methodist pastor I know suddenly asks me. “Sorry, honorable father, I haven’t been to the competition yet!” - “You haven’t been yet? Mu lord, be ashamed to say this. What a display of patience and endurance! I'm just ordering you to go. Otherwise you will never see anything like this! – the pastor was seething. “Well, shame on you that you still haven’t invited me to the walking competition!” - the pretty lips told me reproachfully. It was no longer as easy to get off as before, and I went to this greatest competition in the world. The huge hall, accommodating up to 15 thousand people, was overcrowded with spectators. The orchestra tirelessly played favorite national songs; the people screamed and went crazy; the large gallery is filled with newspaper reporters; at the top, large movable figures showed the number of miles traveled, and along the large circular line, like shadows, wandered the unfortunate competitors - pedestrians. The competition was supposed to last seven days, and this was already the fifth day. Almost completely without sleep or rest, the competitors walked along this line day after day, urged on by interested parties who had invested tens of thousands of dollars in bets. Some of the pedestrians seemed so exhausted that I was afraid of witnessing their inhuman death. And the Americans just rejoice and delight, the ladies wave their scarves and distort their pretty mouths with screams, throw flowers that the triumphant sufferers cannot even lift. And the sufferers again strain their strength and speed up their barely moving legs. There were seven competitors, and three of them covered almost a hundred miles every day. The winner was one young black man who completed 602 miles in a week. As soon as the competition was declared over, the poor fellow fell and instantly fell asleep, despite the enthusiastic roar of the ten thousand crowd that greeted him as the winner. It’s good that at least such a murderous victory is not badly rewarded. The black man received $17,000 for this victory. This is how our transatlantic friends fool around in many other ways. In addition to the “knights of the turtle” described above, there are many other knights of the same kind in New York, who on their annual holidays usually amuse the public with antics of buffoonery and comedy. The attitude of the press towards these buffoonish holidays is remarkable. She doesn’t grumble at them at all, much less throw thunder and lightning at the knights; on the contrary, she herself takes an active part in them, and in the best newspapers you can usually read humorous descriptions of such clownish festivities. This does not mean, however, that our friends are entirely imbued with buffoonery. They have an extremely high amount of liveliness and humor, which, when cheerful, quite naturally turns into carefree childishness and buffoonery. In other cases, they know how to have “serious” fun, combining benefit with pleasure. An example of such a combination of benefit and pleasure is the “philosophical school in the country.” Americans, as you know, are not particularly big fans of philosophical speculation. Net revenue for them is immeasurably more important than the most daring and fruitful philosophical conclusions. There are, however, exceptions between them, people with all their souls devoted to the interests of philosophical knowledge. While not particularly original in their thinking, they, like true Americans, are original in the forms of manifestation of their love of philosophy. One of them, the wealthy American Alcot, had a passionate desire to found a philosophical school in America that would be a complete reproduction of the ancient philosophical schools where Socrates, Plato and other luminaries of the ancient world philosophized. No sooner said than done. In the neighboring state of Massachusetts, which is distinguished by the most romantic beauties of nature, there is an insignificant place called Concord. Its surroundings are so picturesque and healthy that every summer it is usually occupied by thousands of summer residents from all directions. Alkot decided to found his own philosophical school here. Last year he erected a magnificent building for the academy, invited professors and opened lectures. At first the summer residents were shy of the academy, but then little by little they came to enjoy it. Now the fame of the academy has spread throughout the country and others come from thousands of miles to attend lectures. And now the philosophical academy is really in full swing. In addition to regular professors, many amateurs arrived to give lectures, one after another delighting the summer residents with the fruits of their philosophical speculation. The ladies, of course, keep up with the gentlemen and some of them also give lectures. During breaks, an orchestra of music plays, and nearby there is a “refreshing” drink. At the end of the lecture, students and teachers scatter around the magnificent park and have private conversations on philosophical subjects. The sound of the forests and the splashing of the surrounding waters give a romantic character to these philosophical pleasures. The founder of the academy himself, an old man of eighty years, jumps with pleasure like a child, seeing the fulfillment of his long-time dream. The course of lectures was two months, limited to the summer season. American competitions often promote scientific and technological discoveries. This was confirmed by the example of the great American inventor Edison. As you know, nature obediently reveals its innermost secrets to the great genius of this “king of inventors.” Only in electric lighting alone did she prefer our Yablochkov to him, who reaped rich laurels. But these laurels turned the head of the “king of inventors” and did not let him sleep. He retired to his laboratory and vowed: either never to leave it, or to come out with such an electric lamp that would surprise the world. For a year and a half, Edison worked hard on experiments in this area; there was not a word or breath about him, and everyone even began to forget about the great inventor, when suddenly on Sunday, December 21 last year, a cry rang through the city: a new great invention of a great man! The Herald included a special sheet in its Sunday issue, which described in detail, in documentary detail, with engravings and polytypes, the electric lamp invented by Edison and promised by him. The editorial trumpeted loudly that the great problem of how to light streets, churches, theaters and houses cheaply, pleasantly and safely had finally been brilliantly solved. This news was so unexpected that the unprepared public could not form a more or less definite idea about its subject, and it made a great impression only in the stock exchange world, where the shares of gas companies immediately sank into the abyss, from which savvy people did not fail to extract considerable interest. On the second and third days there was not the slightest explanation about the new invention, and doubt began to creep into the soul: is this lamp one of the many ducks that the cunning Yankees often let loose in clear water? But here reporters, those faithful servants of newspapers and the public, helped clarify the matter. They scattered throughout the city and desperately knocked on the doors of the local famous physicists and technicians, demanding to be allowed in for a voluntary examination. The scientists are in trouble here! They must expect every hour that a reporter will burst into their door and ask: what do you think on such and such an issue? The famous Professor Draper answered a similar question from a reporter only with a smile that, of course, Edison was a great man, but he could not say anything about his new invention until its practical application - and tried to quickly send the annoying co-questioner away. Another professor, the famous local technologist Morton, known for his research in physics, even warned reporters and sent his review to one of the newspapers, in which he protested against proclaiming the result of Edison’s experiments in the field of electric lighting as a “miraculous success,” since “everyone familiar with the matter can confidently predict its failure.” Be that as it may, representatives of science refused to give any positive explanation about the discovery that occupied everyone. Then reporters began to besiege Edison's laboratory, demanding further explanations from him. One of them tells the following about his visit to Edison’s “coal palace”. After the usual knock on the door, the “king of inventors” himself, a short, squat gentleman with dirty hands, met the reporter in his office and kindly led him to his laboratory, from where a new sun for our planet should emerge. “This is the lamp that caused you so much trouble,” Edison said with a smile, pointing to his invention, and began to explain its features and secret. This lamp is an example of simplicity and economy. The light in the lamp is produced by means of a horseshoe-shaped piece of charred paper, about two and a half inches long and a thread thick. This horseshoe is placed in a glass flask, from which the air is drawn out as much as possible with the given means of science, so that perhaps one millionth of it remains there. The inventor also showed the practical application of his invention. He stood just under an ordinary gas candelabra, on which his two lamps were burning. He removed one of them, and it turned out to be a simple glass flask. He placed it on the horn again, and immediately the shiny horseshoe illuminated the flask with golden light. Turning the screw in the lamp, Edison reduced the light to the point of a spark, then turned it back completely, like turning on a gas, and then turned it back again, and again a magnificent flame appeared. From this it could be seen that the electric light in his laboratory obeyed his will, just as gas light obeyed the hands accustomed to handle it. “I can say,” the great inventor said with visible complacency, “that electrically light has been completely improved, and all the problems that have bothered me over the past 18 months have been resolved. I hope to illuminate every home here. Once I get a few lamps outside, I'll let them burn day and night for at least two weeks to get a good taste of my charcoal. I am sure that it will not melt - I was convinced of this through experiments in my laboratory, carried out for whole weeks - but I want the public to be convinced of this, and to be convinced of this by their own experience. I think that my charred paper is the only substance capable of becoming completely incandescent and at the same time so fire-resistant that, while conducting an electrical current, it does not collapse. The void in the flask, of course, offers nothing for combustion, but the intense heat produced by electricity would destroy any substance except charred paper. There is absolutely nothing to melt here: it is simple, pure coal, and our age has not yet known such a machine that could produce enough electricity to destroy it.” The name of the “king of inventors”, after a year and a half of silence about him, is again on everyone’s tongue. In Russia, he is also often mentioned, but hardly even a tenth of his interesting, one might say anecdotal, life is known. In one Russian book I had to read that Edison was a gloomy bachelor. This is completely untrue. The “Tsar of Inventors” is a good family man and has three children. His marriage is of such a romantic nature that it can be told here. Back in 1873, Edison, already a famous inventor, was entirely occupied with coal, batteries, chemical processes and, it seemed, there was no such force that could break through the crust of his appearance to get to his heart. But this strength was found; her name is love. It was like this. In 1873, Edison was extremely busy experimenting with improving the automatic telegraph system. Among those invited to work on various machines related here, there was one extremely shy girl who devoted herself entirely to her work and never raised her eyes to the budding genius. One day Edison stood and watched as she worked her plump fingers. The girl, as usual, did not raise her eyes, but with nervous movements of her fingers she made it clear that she was in a terribly embarrassed state. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore, she dropped her hands to her knees and looked hopelessly into Edison’s face. A smile flashed on his face, and with some awkwardness he suddenly turned to her: -What do you think of me, Miss Mary? Do you like me? - Why are you, Mr. Edison, embarrassing me? I...I mean...I... – Don’t rush to answer me. It's not a big deal unless you want to marry me. The girl was inclined to laugh, but Edison continued: - I'm serious; however, do not rush to answer. Think carefully, talk to your mother and tell me as soon as it is convenient for you... Well, at least on Tuesday. Will this be convenient for you? I mean Tuesday next week. A? Edison's workshop was at that time in New York, and one of his friends, who served in the main office of the Western Society Telegraph Company in New York, returning home on the last train, saw the light in Edison's private laboratory and ran up the stairs to bring his friend out of his usual state of semi-oblivion over some difficult point of telegraphic science. - Hey, Tom! - the visitor shouted cheerfully. – What are you doing here up until this late? Let's go home! - How much time? – Edison asked, sleepily rubbing his eyes and stretching, like a suddenly awakened lion. - It's almost midnight. Let's go. - Really? – Edison asked in surprise. “So I have to go home.” After all, I got married today! Despite such apparent inattention to an important day in his life, Edison, one might say, is an exemplary family man, and his family, now consisting of three little ones, is one of the happiest. Yankee summer retreats. - On the ocean shore. - Miracles of buildings. – Centennial Tower and Iron Restaurant. – Cuban and Haitian. – Sea swimming. - Folk entertainment. - A black man's head instead of a target. - Night on the island. – Night excursion on the ocean. There are sometimes moments in human life when existence itself becomes an unbearable burden. The whole summer serves as such a moment in the capital of the New World. The heat is hellish, the sun is above, and the hot pavement below pierces you through and through, as if with a flame, and the very leaves of the chestnut trees, which are abundantly planted on the sidewalks, instead of coolness, blow some kind of suffocating heat. Fortunately, Grandfather the ocean is right next door, and everyone who has the opportunity, even for a moment, to break away from the murderous money-making machine, rushes out of town to summer refuges, scattered in large numbers on the coastal ocean islands. The most popular and favorite summer refuge at present is Coney Island, and its description can serve as an interesting picture of the summer life of Americans. On one of the hottest days, when the thermometer boldly threatened to exceed one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, for fear of being roasted alive, I went to Rabbit Island. Three-story hulks of floating palace-steamers set off one after another from the pier on the Hudson River, carrying away masses of exhausted, sweating people. In the Hudson River, not only in the circumference of New York, but also 50 miles higher, the water is salty from the constant ocean tides, and therefore, even as soon as you step on board the steamer, you feel the cooling breath of the sea zephyr. The magnificent floating palace "Leonora" set off. From the front platform of the upper floor there was a charming view of the entire panorama of the mouth of the Hudson River. On the right side, on the elevated bank, rise the pinnacles of the capital of the neighboring state of New Jersey, on the left, the beautiful and chocolate hulks of New York are crowded to the shore, the gates to the ocean can be seen in the distance, and below swarms a dense mass of all kinds of ships and steamships, somehow miraculously escaping from the majestically floating palace. On deck, everyone takes a deep breath of the fresh sea air, and the inevitable orchestra bravely strikes the popular song: “Eh, Emma, ​​you put me in a difficult dilemma!” Meanwhile, the steamer had already sailed into New York Bay, passed the gloomy island where General Hancock lived in anticipation of moving to the White House - if only the Democrats could stand up for him - and now he was at the gate leading to the open ocean. The ocean-going ship from Hamburg moved quietly towards the entrance to the New World, as if exhausted from a two-week non-stop journey, and masses of European emigrants gazed in surprise at the American floating palace. A little to the side a huge barge, crowded with people, was smoothly moving with sails. The people were in terrible excitement, crowding on the bow, and a desperate “ur-r-e-e!” continuously echoed across the ocean. Taking binoculars, I saw two heads in front of the barge on the surface of the water, vigorously struggling with the wave, and I guessed what was going on. This is a competition of swimmers who, as I later learned, had to swim 25 miles for a prize of $2,000. There were more than a thousand people on the barge with a zero-dollar entry fee and the obligation to drink entire barrels of beer, wisely stored by the founders of the competition. And the palace moves further into the ocean - and now the land is no longer visible in front of it: just an endless area of ​​​​water, on which the sails of lonely ships occasionally turn white and sea gulls fly like black stripes in the blue air. Wonderful picture! But the ship, as if suddenly coming to its senses and frightened by this boundless distance, turns left, and soon the famous Rabbit Island opens up before you. If you look at the coastline of the island from a distance, you can doubt your own sense of vision. On the shining white sand, magnificent palaces with towers, sparkling roofs, terraces, columns and irregularities and decorations of all kinds rise like magical masses. You might think that this is a deceptive mirage, a magical Fata Morgana, and not reality. And yet this is the real American reality, although not without an admixture of magic. Just five years ago, this island was a sandy desert, in which only rabbits lived and jumped serenely, and squalid fishermen’s huts huddled here and there along the shores. Its location, however, is so advantageous as a forward post on the route from Europe to America that the government of New York State decided to build a tower on it to commemorate the centenary of independence, celebrated in 1876. And from that time on, everyone’s eyes turned to the island, it began to become more and more fashionable, and magnificent summer hotels grew out of the sand like mushrooms after rain. At present, $20,000,000 has already been spent on shore buildings, and every year they are increasingly expanded and decorated. The buildings stretch along the shore for about ten miles and provide accommodation for tens of thousands of permanent summer residents, and casual visitors daily count in the hundreds of thousands. On Sundays, almost half the city moves to the island to take a break from their week’s work. When I approached the island, its sandy shore turned black from the masses of people moving along the coastline between a row of palaces and the splash of the ocean. The steamer stopped at the so-called “Iron Pier”. This is the first miracle. The pier projects 150 fathoms into the open ocean, and is all built of iron and supported above the water by tubular iron columns. It consists of three floors. The upper one serves as a place for a walk: a large orchestra plays here and there is a wonderful view of both the ocean and the line of palaces in all directions. You go down to the middle floor, and there is a rich restaurant with thousands of tables and cutlery. The lower floor is occupied by bathing rooms and already under the pier there is a place for swimming. When viewing this miracle of architectural art, a foreigner cannot help but be amazed at the demonic ingenuity of the American mind. Only a demon, using a dollar, could invent and create such a magical water palace. The entire building is extremely high, and the strongest wave of the ocean does not even reach the first floor and only roars angrily among the iron columns. Upon exiting the “water palace” onto the sandy shore, the first thing that attracts special attention is the tower, a monument to the centenary anniversary. In terms of its structure, it is similar to the “Iron Pier”, only it goes not to the ocean, but to the sky. It is built of iron and is a huge lattice transparent pillar. The Americans claim that this is the tallest building in the world made by human hands. If part of this measure is taken away from the share of American boasting, from which they are far from free, then the tower will still be a very grandiose building. Two lifting machines are constantly working, lifting hunters to the highest platform of the tower. The beauty of the panorama that opens up from there over the entire surrounding area far exceeds the fifteen-cent fee for the climb. The height of the tower will take your breath away, and you will not immediately dare to look down; and there a two-legged worm swarms and crawls along the sand, and you even become afraid, lest the ocean wash away this tiny intelligent worm with its wave. The perspective of the ocean expands to an endless distance, in which whitening sails are buried like clouds. The magical distance of the ocean enchants you, and you cannot take your eyes off it. Your thoughts are carried away into this distance and you imagine the shores of your native continent, but the bell announcing the profit of a new elevator brings you out of your oblivion, and you rush to see enough in all directions for your fifteen kopecks. The western side of the perspective, opening up a magnificent view of the capital of the New World with the surrounding galaxy of neighboring cities - New Jersey, Brooklyn, Hoboken, Williamsburg, etc. - completes the charm of the picture and you go down with a completely satisfied feeling. For lovers of heights, there is another means right next door - to completely disappear into the blue heights. Attached to a rope 1,000 feet long is a huge balloon, which, by means of a well-known mechanism, is either attracted to the ground, then released again into the heavenly heights. For a few cents you can also experience this pleasure of ballooning, and there are usually so many lovers that the balloon flies away to the sky, always overflowing with human cargo. I did not have the courage to decide on such a flight, especially since I had previously read in the newspapers a very unpleasant incident from the history of aeronautics. A similar balloon on a rope was also built in Cincinnati, and thousands of amateurs safely took aerial excursions on it. One fine day, a couple of country lovebirds, who came to the city to buy wedding supplies, wanted to experience the sensations of love in the blue. With cheerful laughter they boarded the balloon boat, the car thundered and the balloon quickly rushed into the enchanting blue of the sky. Suddenly something snapped, the rope fell, and the ball alone, already on the wings of exuberant freedom, flew into the boundless heights - never to return. A cry of despair was heard from the unfortunate passengers, but there was no way to help them; the ball soon disappeared from view - and I never had to read about the tragic outcome of this terrible excursion. Instead of a risky air flight, I chose to go to an “oriental” restaurant and demanded a steak and porter. Here I met two of my West Indian friends - a Frenchman from the island of Haiti and a Spaniard from the island of Cuba. The talkative Haitian, who even on this remote island retained all the riotousness of Parisian blood, according to custom and for the hundredth time began to ask the same questions about St. Petersburg, its morals and pleasures, assured me that everyone there spoke French and was extremely fond of the French in general, and, finally, at the end of his endless chatter, he swore by the independence and glory of his republic that he would certainly visit ours. Northern Palmyra. - “You are welcome!” - I answered him and was very happy when he quickly turned around, bowed and rushed off somewhere, probably looking for a new victim for his chatter. Looking after this fluttering citizen of the great Haitian Republic, I understood why on the island of Haiti, which forms an independent state, there are two revolutions almost every year, and its citizens either drive out the president and place the emperor on the throne, or overthrow the emperor and install the president again - until the next change of scenery. A completely different kind of Cuban. This is a young man with a long black mustache and a curly head; a tropical fire burns in his eyes, but he is extremely calm and even somewhat melancholic. - Well, how are you, Signor Ronquillo? “So-so,” he answers reluctantly. - He is a fool, not a general! – the Cuban suddenly flared up and his eyes flashed with the fire of indignant despair. “They told him a thousand times that it was too early to start, that not everything was prepared yet, that he would certainly burst into a trap like a rat.” No, he didn’t listen, he rather wanted to become president of the Cuban Republic, and now he presides over a Spanish prison, unless he’s already hanging on the gallows. I was just in his family, but, of course, there were tears, and I soon left... The Cuban twirled his black mustache and angrily banged his stick on the table, demanding a glass of cheerful sherry to disperse his sadness. He is talking about the famous leader of the Cuban insurgents, who last spring set off from New York to Fr. Cuba rebelled against the Spanish government and, after several unsuccessful skirmishes with Spanish troops, was captured with his main detachment. – Like a true Cuban, he is keenly interested in the fate of his homeland and constantly dreams of liberating the island from the Spanish yoke. The son of a wealthy planter on the island. Cuba, he was preparing to become a doctor at the medical college; but when an insurrection broke out in Cuba ten years ago, he, along with a dozen of his comrades, abandoned the college and rushed to the battlefield. For three years, he, hungry and half-naked, lived in the mountains and forests, fighting the Spaniards. But when, finally, the uprising began to lose all chances of success, and its participants were threatened by inevitable captivity, he and several of his comrades rushed into the open ocean in a simple boat, and after three days of sailing, they safely landed on Fr. Haiti, from which he then moved to New York, where he is now making Havana cigars. Meanwhile, in the opposite kiosk, the orchestra struck the Turkish march, extremely beloved by the Americans. His wildly voluptuous sounds excited the masses of people, who swayed and rushed to the occupied benches and armchairs in front of the kiosk. Behind the kiosk, Grandfather Ocean tirelessly continued to play his monotonous wild song on a sand harp. And this noisy splash of mighty waters had more enchanting power for me than even the exquisite melody of art. I walked along the sandy coast, and the waves of the ocean, in measured rows, keep coming and running onto the sand, and some are not averse to grabbing your legs if you are not careful enough. Not far above the water itself is the station of the “marine railway”, which runs into the distance along the shore in front of the front of the buildings. For five cents I took a ticket, and the train rushed along the very coast. It's a wonderful trip. Looking out the window from the carriage and seeing in front of you only an endless mass of water, you even forget that you are rushing along the ground, and it seems to you that some monstrous force is carrying you with terrifying speed into the irrevocable distance of the ocean. A few minutes later the train stops, and you see another part of the island in front of you. There are the same palaces here, with towers and terraces, but this part has more facilities for sea bathing. And indeed the entire shore is replete with swimmers in their strange, fantastic costumes. Men and women bathe together, and the noise of various voices rushes from the water - sometimes the squeaky cry of timid maidens, sometimes the roaring laughter of gentlemen. Opposite swimming is a majestic terrace for spectators, and under the terrace there are thousands of bathing rooms for undressing. Swim ticket and costume 25 cents. It's hard to imagine anything more pleasant than an ocean swim after the suffocating heat. You float on the waves easily and freely, and in the enjoyment of the healthy coolness you completely forget the agony you just endured from the scorching heat. And one wave after another picks you up, and another one positively throws you onto the soft sand. The waves move unevenly, and you cannot apply yourself to them if you do not look carefully for a series of water ridges approaching from afar. Among a series of shafts just washing your knees, suddenly such a shaft emerges that suddenly covers your head. Such shafts are sometimes dangerous. The Austrian Consul General was recently severely injured. At his summer dacha, he sat on a low rocky shore of the ocean and “fished” for fish, admiring, of course, more the melodic splash of the waves. His German soul was completely immersed in the contemplation of the beauties of nature, when suddenly, quite unexpectedly, a huge shaft came running, picked up the consul and slammed him down onto the rocky ground, and his knee was crushed. To prevent cases of being carried away by waves, the swimming area here is surrounded by a number of rescue boats. Recently there were rumors that sharks with a great appetite for human pieces began to appear here, and there was considerable commotion among swimmers; but these rumors, as it turned out later, were unfounded and were started by rival speculators who wanted to undermine this bathing establishment. After a swim, you feel fresh and not in need of a glass of sherry, and then you have enough strength to review the details, which are very varied here. Here you will see a carousel, a grimacing “parsley”, and a self-propelled swing. Over there, under the fantastic rotunda, on a pedestal stands a gigantic cow with golden horns. People surround her, and girls every now and then kneel before her. From afar, you might think that these are Yankees worshiping Apis, but when you get closer, you find out that the cow is a huge milk reservoir, and the girls milk milk from artificial tits for those who want it. The American Folk Museum is nearby, with an admission fee of 10 cents. I have often visited cheap museums in America intended for the common people, and I have always been especially pleasantly struck by the fact that in the foreground you always see a large wax group of the “Fathers of the Republic” sitting during the signing of the “Declaration of Independence”. Perhaps this was the reason that the names of these great and courageous patriots of the country, or, as the people usually call them, “signers,” are known by heart by every street boy. Here, too, these great hands stood silently at the letter of freedom, which from that time on became the goddess of the country. Between the mechanical machines I noticed Dr. Tanner there. The mechanical double of the fasting doctor exactly depicts his living original on the fortieth day of his fast. Pale and exhausted, he lies on the couch and weakly waves a Chinese fan at himself. Then there are many curiosities, which, however, can be seen in any such museum. What I found more curious than other things was a notebook in which visitors are invited to write down their names and also make comments about the merits of the museum. Knowing from experience the delicate vanity of the Yankees, I did not fail to touch this weak string for curiosity and wrote that in the museum “there are many curious things that I have never seen in my fatherland, Russia.” Undoubtedly, the Yankee will grin smugly more than once after reading this review. Other providers of folk entertainment have set up shop next to the museum. For five cents you can hit an anvil with a heavy hammer, and it will show the force of your blow. Immediately there is rifle shooting at the target, and a red-skinned Indian sits on the side and offers for a penny to try the accuracy of shooting from an Indian bow, and for bait he himself every now and then pierces the figure of the hated “white man”, who serves as the target, with an arrow. Next is a whole series of figures depicting different nationalities, and you can, depending on your antipathy, hit the head of a Chinese, Turk, German, etc. with a ball, and for every well-aimed hit you will receive a ticket for a free bottle of beer in a nearby restaurant. Americans are extremely fond of all kinds of exercises where they can show strength or agility. In one place there was a particularly lively ball throwing at the target. Expecting to find something particularly interesting there, I came closer, but, at first glance, there was nothing special. A stocky Yankee in a wide-brimmed straw hat stood and shouted: “Three balls for five cents! for a well-aimed blow to the cigar!” - and his half-blooded Yankees kept taking the ball and throwing it at the target. The target was a black head sticking out through the white canvas. Thinking that it was a mechanical head, I was about to leave, when suddenly, to my amazement, I noticed that after one particularly well-aimed blow, the eyes of the head blinked violently and the lips exposed a row of white teeth. I took a closer look and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the unfortunate head of a living black man! I approached from behind and saw that behind the canvas there was a chair on which the unfortunate black man was sitting and through a hole in the canvas he stuck his head out to shame and suffering. Never before have I seen such humiliation of human dignity. And this is in the glorified country of freedom, in the country of the declaration of human rights! O freedom! Bitter irony - your real name! And the Yankee keeps shouting, his cruel, inhuman brothers keep throwing balls at the unfortunate head, and the pitiful head just blinks and spits out tobacco chewing gum. A disgusting sight! Soon, however, night fell and probably ended the shame and suffering of the unfortunate “colored gentleman,” but, of course, only until tomorrow. The stars sparkled in the deep, dark sky, and the fiery ball of the moon floated out of the mysterious womb of the ocean. The coastline was shrouded in the darkness of night - but only for a few moments. As soon as the moon had time to rise above the water, the entire coastal area instantly lit up with the light of electric suns and gas stars. The day dawned again, but a fantastic day - with a whole galaxy of suns, and before them the moon darkened and the stars in the sky went out. Three suns blazed above the swimming spot, and under their magical rays the fantastic figures of bathing lovers and lovers continued to swarm, scream and splash. The ocean train again took me to the iron pier and the hundred-year-old tower. The tower went up to the sky like a pillar of fire, and the iron pier was lost in the ocean like a flaming broom. The floating palace, decorated with multi-colored lights, blew the whistle for departure, and I hurried to take my place. The steamer rushed into the dark depths of the ocean, and behind the entire shore merged into a continuous blazing glow. On deck, meanwhile, songs were heard among the mass of cheerful passengers. On the left side the Yankees were grouped and started singing their song about the “deep blue sea”; and on the starboard side a group of Frenchmen pressed themselves against the side and sang some kind of native song, which caused applause from the audience. The Yankees were offended and went against each other, taking on some more energetic motive. Then the French rose from their seats and, forming a circle, thundered the Marseillaise, the courageous motive of which successfully coincided with strong and sonorous voices and completely drowned out the Yankee goat chorus. In contrast to the Marseillaise, the Yankees again struck the most national American anthem: “Yankee Doodle rode into town on a little pony”; but the French finally won the attention of the public, and the Yankee chorus retreated, to the considerable pleasure of the French, who did not fail to bark: “Vive la republique francaise!” Then the winners were completely delighted and amused the audience all the way with selected songs from their native repertoire. And in the sky the stars again shone brightly and the golden moon floated majestically, and in the distance the lights on the embankment of the sleeping capital could be seen. 1 dollar – 1 rub. 35 kopecks, at the rate of 2 rubles; 1 bushel = 1.38 quads; 1 acre = 0.37 tithes. All this will be mentioned more than once below. The article was written in the evil time of 1880. Wo man singt, da lass dich rubig nieder: Bose Menschen haben keine Lieder. When sketching the American economy, the author used the report of the English agents Pell and Reed, who, on behalf of the Royal Commission on Agriculture at the end of 1879, were specifically engaged in researching this issue.