with six horses. This struck me as being extremely cheap. The distance is
seventy-two Russian stages, almost equivalent to five hundred Italian
miles, or a hundred and sixty French leagues.

We set out just as a cannon shot from the citadel announced the close of
day. It was towards the end of May, in which month there is literally no
night at St. Petersburg. Without the report of the cannon no one would be
able to tell when the day ended and the night began. One can read a
letter at midnight, and the moonlight makes no appreciable difference.
This continual day lasts for eight weeks, and during that time no one
lights a candle. At Moscow it is different; a candle is always necessary
at midnight if one wished to read.

We reached Novgorod in forty-eight hours, and here the chevochic allowed
us a rest of five hours. I saw a circumstance there which surprised me
very much, though one has no business to be surprised at anything if one
travels much, and especially in a land of half savages. I asked the
chevochic to drink, but he appeared to be in great melancholy. I enquired
what was the matter, and he told Zaira that one of his horses had refused
to eat, and that it was clear that if he could not eat he could not work.
We followed him into the stable, and found the horse looking oppressed by
care, its head lowered and motionless; it had evidently got no appetite.
His master began a pathetic oration, looking tenderly at the animal, as
if to arouse it to a sense of duty, and then taking its head, and kissing
it lovingly, he put it into the manger, but to no purpose. Then the man
began to weep bitterly, but in such a way that I had the greatest
difficulty to prevent myself laughing, for I could see that he wept in
the hope that his tears might soften the brute's heart. When he had wept
some time he again put the horse's head into the manger, but again to no
purpose. At this he got furious and swore to be avenged. He led the horse