Petersburg besides! I really felt my whole frame swelling with pride; every hair in my whiskers quivered!

"Is he really so powerful, papa, as people say that he is?"

"Very powerful indeed, my boy."

"And he's despotic, is he not? He has no Parliament?"

"No Parliament!" I repeated to myself; "well, that's no great matter in a country so abounding with other good things! But what a rat of rats this must be, to be so spoken of and thought of by the lords of creation!"

"It must be a fine thing to be an autoc-rat, papa, and have no law but one's own will!"

"It is a giddy elevation, Neddy, which no truly wise man, conscious of human infirmity, would ever covet to attain."

"Wise man! human infirmity!" exclaimed I. These few words, like a touch to a bubble, had burst my high-blown ideas of family dignity. It was a man, then, one of human race, who chose to add rat to his name; and these democ-rats and aristoc-rats in France-- why, they must be men too, nothing but men, after all!

CHAPTER XIV.

A TERRIBLE WORD.

When I met my old friend Whiskerandos, it was usually at night, as moving about by day was dangerous; for who ever showed mercy to a rat, or even thought of inquiring whether he possessed qualities which might render him deserving of it?

"How do you like your quarters?" said Whiskerandos to me one starry night, when all was still upon deck, and, save one sailor on the watch, all of humankind were sleeping.

"They please me well enough," I replied.

"For my part," said Whiskerandos, "I shall be heartily glad when our voyage is over; and I am half vexed that I ever led you to make it."

"Why so? We do not fare ill; we have plenty to eat." As I have mentioned before, this is ever the first consideration with a rat.

"The sailors don't starve," said Whiskerandos more slowly; "yet they think of adding another dish to their mess."

"Glad to hear it," said I; "you know that I am curious about dishes, and should like to have my whiskers in a new one."

"Oh! but they won't be contented with your whiskers!" cried my friend, with a funny, forced laugh.

"What do you mean?" said I quickly.

"Well, I heard Jack and Tom, two of the sailors, talking together to-day down in the hold; and there was one word of their conversation which, I own, struck me like the paw of a cat. That word was--"

"What was it?" cried I nervously; for if a hero like Whiskerandos felt anything approaching to fear, I might be expected to be half-dead with fright.

He drooped his head for a moment, and uttered one word-- "_rat-pies!_"

I started as though I had seen a tabby pounce down from the rigging!

"'Tis impossible!" I faintly exclaimed; "human beings never, never eat rats!"

"Oh! I beg your pardon!" replied Whiskerandos, regaining his usual brisk manner; "don't you remember old Furry telling us that his reason for quitting China was, that he was afraid of being dished up for the dinner of some mighty mandarin, whose hair hung in a long tail behind him? Amongst the lowest cla.s.ses in France, and the gypsies in England, we poor rats are known as an article of food; and I have heard that in the islands of the South Seas we were held in so much esteem, that 'sweet as a rat' pa.s.sed as a proverb."

"I don't like such compliments!" exclaimed I, beginning to tremble all over.

"Come, Ratto, you must pluck up a little courage, and show yourself worthy of the race of Mus! There is never any use in meeting misfortune half way. To be caught, killed, and put into a pie, is, I grant it, a serious evil; to be always afraid of being so is another. The first we may or we may not escape; but the second-- which is perhaps the worse of the two-- lies in some degree within the power of our own will. We need not make ourselves wretched before the time, about some event which never may happen."

Good philosophy this, I believe, but not a little difficult to act upon.

When I have seen the younger members of that race which proudly styles itself "lords of creation," trembling, shrinking, nay-- I shame to say it-- even _crying_, at fear of some possible evil, a little disappointment perhaps, or a little pain, I have thought of Whiskerandos and the pies, and fancied that reasoning mortals might learn something even from a rat.

I was so terribly afraid of being caught by the sailors, that I confined myself more than usual to the cabin, keeping close to the hole that I had made, that I might always be ready for a start should the blue eyes ever happen to rest upon me; but those books, those famous books, happily gave them other occupation.

"Papa," said Neddy to his father one day, "I should rather have gone to some other place than St. Petersburg, I feel such a dislike to the Russians."

"Why should you dislike them," said the captain.

"Oh! because they were our enemies so long, and killed so many of our fine fellows!"

"They were but obeying the orders of their czar-- doing what they believed to be their duty."

"But they were horribly cruel, papa."

"It would both be ungenerous and unjust to charge upon a whole nation the crimes of a few individuals. It is singular that one of the most striking examples of mercy to a foe of which I have ever heard, was shown by a Russian. The story is given as a fact, and I have pleasure in relating it, not only from its own touching interest, but from the hope that it may teach my son what our conduct should be towards those who, though our foes, are our fellow-creatures still.

"In the time of the first Napoleon, the French invaded Russia, from whence they were obliged to retreat, suffering the most fearful hardships, not only from the usual privations of war, but those caused by famine and the fearful cold of that northern clime. Thousands and thousands of brave troops perished in this fatal retreat. The splendid army which had marched into Russia so numerous and strong, melted away like a snow-ball! The fierce Cossacks hovered around the lessening bands, cutting off the weary stragglers who, unable to keep up with the rest, sank down upon the snow to die!

"At this fearful time two poor French officers, separated from their comrades, helpless and exhausted, sought refuge at the house of a lady, beseeching her to preserve them from the terrible death with which they were threatened, either from cold and hunger, or the swords of their enemies. The lady was a Russian,-- the officers were her foes,-- she had probably suffered from the devastating march of the French army,-- but she had the heart of a woman. She dared not conceal the officers in her own house for fear of her servants and the rage of her countrymen, who would probably have not only slain the fugitives, but have wreaked their vengeance also upon her for seeking to protect their enemies. The Russian lady hid them in a wood, at some little distance from her dwelling, and thither every night, braving both the danger of discovery and the peril of being attacked by wolves, did this n.o.ble-hearted woman go alone, to bear food and necessaries to the suffering Frenchmen."

"Oh! papa, just fancy hurrying along the snow, with the sharp winter's wind cutting like a knife,-- and then perhaps to hear a distant howl, showing that a wolf was on one's track! Oh! I should not have fancied those night expeditions!"

"It would have been n.o.ble," resumed the captain, "to have ventured thus for a friend,-- the Russian lady did so for her enemies."

"And were the French officers saved at last?"

"Yes; by freely giving her money as she had freely risked her safety, after a while the lady contrived the escape of the fugitives beyond the frontier. When a considerable time had elapsed, a present of a piece of plate, which she received from France, showed that the officers were not ungrateful to their preserver."

"She was a generous enemy, papa, and a n.o.ble woman. But are not the common people in Russia very ignorant and bad?"

"Very ignorant I believe they are, but it would be harsh and wrong to call them very bad. They are cheerful and good-tempered, and even when intoxicated they do not show the ferocity which disgraces a drunkard in England."

"But are they not dreadful thieves?"

"They are said to be very skilful in cheating, and singularly dexterous in picking pockets. But here again it would be unjust to brand a whole nation with a disgraceful stigma.* I have another true story for you, Neddy, and this time it shall be of a poor Russian, a messenger, or as they call him, an Isdavoi.

"An English lady living at St. Petersburg gave five hundred rubles** in charge to an Isdavoi to deliver to her daughter, who dwelt at some distance. On the following day the Russian returned, kissed the lady's hand after the fashion of his country, and said, 'Pardon me, I am guilty. I cannot tell how it has happened, but I have lost your money, and cannot find it again. Deal with me as you please.'"

"The poor fellow," continued the captain, "probably expected a severe flogging, or dismissal from his office, but the lady had no inclination to punish him with such rigour. Unwilling to ruin the Isdavoi, she made no mention of his offence, considered the money as gone for ever, and after a while lost sight of the messenger entirely. After six years had elapsed he came to her one day with a joyful face, laden with six hundred rubles, which he brought in the place of those which had been intrusted to his care. On inquiry it was found that this honest Russian had for those six years been denying himself every little pleasure, and by resolute economy had saved up his wages until he had collected about half of the sum required. He had then married a wife whose feelings of honour appeared to have been as delicate as his own, for not only her dower of one hundred rubles was added to his hard-earned savings, but her little valuables had been sold to make up the full amount of the money that had been lost!"

"Oh, papa! what honest people! But did the English woman take all their money!"