I learned here an extra lesson in the small value attached by Russians to titles in themselves.  It was at the Ekaterinburg booth, where precious and semi-precious stones from the Ural and Siberia, in great variety and beauty, were for sale.  A Russian of the higher classes, and, evidently, not poor, inquired the price of a rosary of amethysts, with a cross of assorted gems fit for a bishop.  The attendant mentioned the price.  It did not seem excessive, but the bargainer exclaimed, in a bantering tone,—­

“Come now, prince, that’s the fancy price.  Tell me the real price.”

But the “prince” would not make any reduction, and his customer walked away.  I thought I would try the effect of the title on the Caucasians and Bokhariots.  I had already dropped into the habit of addressing Tatars as “prince,” except in the case of hotel waiters,—­and I might as well have included them.  I found to my amusement that, instead of resenting it as an impertinence, they reduced the price of the article for which I was bargaining by five kopeks (about two and a half cents) every time I used the title, though no sign of gratification disturbed the serene gravity of their countenances any more than if they had been Americans and I had addressed them as “colonel” or “judge,” at haphazard.  Truly, human nature varies little under different skies!  But I know now, authoritatively, that the market value of the title of “prince” is exactly two and a half cents.

One evening we drove across the bridge to take tea at a garden on the “Atkos,” or slope,—­the crest of the green hill on which stands the Kremlin.  In this Atkos quarter of the town there are some really fine houses of wealthy merchants, mingled with the curious old dwellings of the merely well-to-do and the poor.  In the garden the tea was not very good, and the weedy-looking chorus of women, the inevitable adjunct to every eating establishment at the Fair, as we had learned, sang wretchedly, and were rewarded accordingly when one of their number came round to take up a collection.  But the view!  Far below, at our feet, swept broad “Matushka Volga.”  The wharves were crowded with vessels.  Steamers and great barges lay anchored in the stream in battalions.  Though the activity of the day was practically over, tugs and small boats were darting about and lending life to the scene.  We were on the “Hills” side of the river.  Far away, in dreamy dimness, lay the flat, blue-green line of the “Forests” shore.  On our left was the mouth of the Oka, and the Fair beyond, which seemed to be swarming with ants, lay flat on the water level.  The setting sun tinged the scene with pale rose and amber in a mild glow for a while, and then the myriad lights shone out from the city and river with even more charming effect.