The English and French custom-houses are not as difficult to pass as the American, and the examination is generally quite brief. The traveler should get all his pieces together, so as to facilitate the labors of the officials, and if he has anything liable to duty it is best to declare it before any questions are asked. Spirits and tobacco are the things mainly looked for, and, if any are found that have not been declared, they are liable to confiscation. Where the passenger has only a small quantity of luggage it is generally passed without being opened; and if there are several trunks they investigate every second or third one, making the selection themselves. It is well not to have any of your trunks nicely corded and made up for a long journey, as the officers have learned from long experience that such packages are more liable to contain contraband goods than any other, and consequently they are the ones generally chosen to be opened.
Landing in America has more formality than landing in England or France. The officers come on board at quarantine, and while the ship is making her way up the harbor the declarations of the passengers are taken. The number and character of each one's packages is marked on a blank, to which is appended an oath to the effect that the passenger has told the truth. He receives a card bearing the number of his declaration, and when he reaches the dock and has his baggage ready for examination, he presents his ticket to the officer in charge; the latter assigns his subordinate who is to conduct the examination, and hands him the declaration that the passenger has made. If the number and character of the packages is found to be correct, and no dutiable goods are discovered that have not been declared, the inspection is over in a few minutes, the officer puts a cabalistic mark on each article, and the passenger may then breathe freely. Sometimes the officials conduct the search with a great deal of rigor, and at others they are not at all particular. There appears to be no regular system about the business, and the officials are lax or vigilant, according to the temper of their chief. A change in the office of collector of customs at New York is followed by a great deal of energy, but nobody can tell how long it will last. On some occasions the inspectors have actually turned the contents of trunks on the dock in order to facilitate their examinations, and a great deal of needless rudeness has been displayed by them.
For the information of travelers, the following caution is published:—
"All articles such as wearing apparel, not having been worn, must be declared at the custom-house. Travelers not conforming to this regulation will incur not only the confiscation of the articles not declared, but also the payment of a fine. Silks, laces, and other foreign goods, packed with articles of apparel, or otherwise concealed, are, as well as the articles in which they may be placed, liable to seizure; and travelers are warned that the seizure is strictly enforced, unless the examining officer is informed of the articles being in the package, and the goods duly declared before it is opened."
Clothing in actual use is admitted free of duty, and those who return home with a supply of new garments should be particular to wear each article at least once, in order to be within the regulations. Ladies are informed that a dress that has simply been "tried on" is considered liable to duty, but if it has actually been worn once or twice, it is admissible. Gloves are exempt from this condition, but the traveler should not expect to import a large quantity. The strict allowance is one dozen pairs, but in most cases three or four dozen may be carried without question. The regulations say that each passenger may bring, free of duty, a fair amount of clothing, according to his condition in life, a statement that has given rise to a great deal of dispute. Half a dozen costly silk dresses of the latest fashion would be manifestly out of place in the baggage of Bridget Maloney in the steerage, and fresh from the bogs of Ireland, while they would be regarded as a moderate allowance for Miss Flora M'Flimsey, whose father is a millionaire.
In the continental ports, generally, there is often considerable delay in examining baggage, and the following regulations have been made to facilitate the movements of travelers:—
"Passengers, on landing, are not permitted to take more than one small bag with them on shore. The custom-house porters, who are responsible for its safety, convey it direct from the vessel to the custom-house, where the owner, to save personal attendance, had better send the hotel commissionaire afterwards with the keys. The landlord of the inn is responsible for his honesty."
Leaving the custom-house behind you, the way is clear to seek a hotel. Generally there are plenty of runners at the landing-place, and if you have chosen the establishment where you are to stop, you have only to name it, and the runner for that house will step forward to take charge of yourself and your belongings. Sometimes the baggage is taken on the cab or carriage which carries you, and at others it is intrusted to licensed porters, who are responsible for its safe delivery, and can be trusted without much hesitation. As far as possible, it is best to keep your baggage always with you when traveling, but there are many instances where it is not convenient to do so. Before you leave the custom-house there are some fees to be paid to the porters who have handled your luggage, but none to the officers who examined it. You will find, too, that the man who puts it on the carriage desires to be remembered, and you discover very early in your travels that you are in the land of fees. If you are in charge of the hotel runner you can let him settle these matters, or, if you prefer to attend to them yourself, you can do so, but you run the risk of giving too much. The runner is not always to be trusted, as he sometimes has a secret arrangement with the porters to compel strangers to bleed freely with the understanding that he is to receive the surplus. For putting the ordinary baggage of a traveler through the custom-house and on the top of a cab, a shilling is sufficient, and if it is handled by two persons they should be satisfied with a sixpence each.
It is best to ask the hotel proprietor to settle for your cab rather than attempt it yourself. It is next to impossible to ascertain from a driver how much he is legally entitled to; he either lies about it, or will not give a direct answer. He will "leave it to the gentleman," and the more you persist in knowing, the more he will "leave it to your honor." And finally when you make a venture, and through fear of giving too little give too much, the chances are, five to one, he will declare himself under-paid, and demand more. He promises beforehand to leave it to you, but rarely does, and therein is the aggravating part of the business. The only way to do under such circumstances is to walk off and leave him to shower imprecations on you; if you prefer peace and quietness you will pay what he demands. This payment will be followed by a request for an additional something for drinking your health, and possibly by a hint that the horse is hungry, and a trifle to buy oats would be appreciated by the beast. Don't expect a driver in the United Kingdom to change a coin for you; his pockets may be bulging with shillings and sixpences, but he declares with the most solemn face that he has no change, and possibly insists that you are the first patron he has had for two days.
Our copy-books at school generally inform us that the horse is a noble animal. No one will be likely to dispute the statement, as we all have a respect for the horse, and many of us are familiar with incidents that show his excellent character. But, admitting his nobility, it is a little singular that he should be associated with so much that is the reverse of noble, or rather that the great majority of those who associate with him are inclined to rascality. The whole race of hackmen and cabmen, from one end of the world to the other, are distinguished for their swindling tendencies; horse-trading and horse-jockeying are synonyms of cheating, and the race-track is the resort of scoundrels of all grades and kinds. If the traveler is not prepared to accept this proposition before landing in the old world, he will have excellent opportunities to verify it before he has been a month on the eastern side of the Atlantic.
In the English hotels the traveler will find many things to remind him that he is not in the United States. Instead of an office with a marble counter, a heavy register, and a clerk gorgeous as to hair and sparkling as to breast-pin, he finds a little window opening into a room only a few feet square, and behind the window a woman. She takes his application for lodging, and as he peers into the nook where she sits he wonders how the New York hotel clerk would get along in such narrow limits. Perhaps he may see a door opening beyond the office into an equally small apartment, where the book-keeper is stationed, and, in many instances, he finds that the accounts are kept by one of the gentler sex.
In many hotels not a man is visible about the office, with the possible exception of the porter, and the entire management is in feminine hands. The proprietor is rarely seen, and even the manager, where there is a masculine one, is a personage who is reached with more or less difficulty. At a famous hotel in Ireland, which bears the name of its proprietor, the story goes that a gentleman asked one day if that individual was in.
"He's in his private office, sir," was the reply.
"Say that I wish to see him a moment," said the gentleman, who was a London merchant of considerable prominence, and well known as a frequent patron of the hotel.
The clerk disappeared, and shortly returned with the following message:—
"Mr. —— is engaged at present over some papers, and will send his secretary out in a few minutes to see what you want."
The American will miss the wide corridors of the hotels of his native land, and he finds the space usually given up to the public in the United States is here reserved for the strict use of the house. There are no broad reading-rooms and parlors, with a plentiful supply of papers from all parts of the country, as in the great hostelries at home; the bar is a dingy nook, scarcely larger than the office, and the most conspicuous ornaments in it are the handles of the beer-pumps. The bartender is absent, and in his place the bar-maid presides; those who are bibulously inclined will find comparatively little to tempt them, as the array of "mixed drinks," so common in an American bar, is practically unknown in England. A few drinking establishments in London have sought to attract the patronage of strangers from the United States by advertising "American drinks," but those who have tried them say that the British concoctions are base counterfeits of the great originals.
In some hotels there is no public bar whatever, and drinks are served to order in the dining and smoking-rooms, or in the private apartments. Smoking is usually forbidden in the corridors, and sometimes the stranger who ventures to light a cigar in his private room will be told that he is violating the rules, and must go to the smoking-room.
In the last few years the English appear to have taken a hint from their transatlantic cousins in the way of hotel-keeping, and several establishments containing many of the American features have sprung into existence. The most of them have been successful, and it is probable that the crop will increase.
Bedrooms in the English hotels are usually larger than in American houses, and furnished on a more liberal scale. The beds are spacious, and frequently you find an old-fashioned four-poster of considerable antiquity, together with others that were fashioned in the present time. A hotel in Liverpool boasts of a bed in which Oliver Cromwell once slept, and certainly he could have occupied it without being cramped for space. Those who are liable to colds and rheumatic pains should be particular to have the sheets well aired and dried before retiring; the moist climate of the British Islands is apt to leave a disagreeable dampness on bed-linen, and make it very detrimental to the general health. Many a man has taken a severe cold by sleeping in damp sheets on his arrival in England, and discovered to his sorrow that his recovery was a thing of several weeks, if not longer. The prevailing moisture of the United Kingdom is an excellent thing for the ruddy cheeks of the women, and beneficial to the potato crop, but the stranger is not usually enamored of it, especially if he comes from a region where dry atmosphere is the fashion.
There are only a very few hotels where the traveler is received on the American system, and pays a lump sum per day for everything. The engagement is nearly always for the room alone, and all meals are charged extra, and may be taken wherever the customer chooses. There is an extra item for "attendance," and custom has fixed this at one shilling and sixpence at the majority of the English hotels. Some hotels compel you to breakfast in the house, or at all events they charge you for that meal, whether you take it or not, but the dinner is quite optional with you. The dining-room is generally known as the "coffee-room," but in some hotels there is a larger hall in addition to the coffee-room, where the table d'hote dinner is served. One can breakfast very comfortably in the coffee-room, as he will find the morning papers there, and frequently a stock of guide-books and writing materials, with which he may amuse himself while his chop or steak is being prepared. Chops, steaks, ham and eggs, and cold meats are the principal items of an English breakfast, and there is hardly any variation from day to day.
If the dinner is served in the continental style, the traveler has no choice, but takes the courses in the order in which they are brought. A dinner "off the joint" is another thing, and a peculiarly British institution. Soup is served, and then fish, and then comes the joint, which is the piece de resistance of the day. A huge round of beef, smoking hot from the fire, or perhaps an equally huge piece of mutton, is mounted on a small table whose legs terminate in casters; by means of this table the joint is wheeled before each customer, who indicates to the carver the exact morsel he desires. There can be no deception, and no opportunity to serve up slices that have been warmed over from a previously cooked joint. The form of service is quite a novelty to the newly-arrived American, and various opinions have been passed upon its advantages. Some are loud in its praise while others declare that the sight of the steaming joints destroys their appetite.
The dinner costs from two shillings, sixpence, to five shillings, and there is an extra charge of threepence or sixpence for attendance, if the customer is not stopping in the hotel, and sometimes when he is. This attendance business is a nuisance, and many a stranger has spoken his mind freely in denouncing it as a well-regulated swindle. The theory is that it pays for the service, but it does nothing of the kind, and every waiter who has done the least thing for you, as well as others who have not lifted a finger in your aid, expects to receive a fee before your departure. Some of the hotels have the impertinence to print on their bill-heads "the service is all included, and nothing more is expected," a falsehood as glaring as any that has ever been told in the history of the world. The stranger who takes them at their word, and leaves the house without distributing sixpences and shillings to the servants, would be looked upon as little less than a downright swindler, and be received with coldness and negligence if he had the temerity to venture there again.
The prices of bedrooms vary according to their location and character; they are rarely less than two shillings—with the inevitable attendance—and often as high as five shillings. The following may be taken as a fair average of charges in an English hotel of medium pretensions:
| Bedroom, | 3 shillings. |
| Breakfast, | 3 shillings. |
| Dinner, | 4 shillings. |
| Supper, | 2 shillings 6 pence. |
| Attendance, | 1 shillings 6 pence. |
If tea is added to this it will cost not less than one shilling, and generally more. The fees to the servants are not likely to be less than a shilling a day for each person of the party, and it requires careful management to bring them down to that figure. The fees should never be given till the moment of departure, for the reason already mentioned in our talk about steamships.
At all hotels in the United Kingdom and on the Continent be sure to have the price of everything distinctly understood at the time the room is taken. Perhaps it is from a consciousness of the dishonesty of the charge for attendance, the manager or other person who assigns your room never mentions that item, and a direct question is needed to bring it out. The following inquiries will cover the ordinary circumstances of arrival at a hotel:—
"What is the price of a bedroom?"
"What is the charge for attendance?"
"How much for dinner?"
"How much for breakfast?"
"What time must a room be given up?"
The last interrogatory is necessary in consequence of the varying rules of the hotels. Most of them have their day, like the nautical one, begin at noon, and a person who remains till one or two P.M. must pay for an extra day of room and attendance. Some hotels begin their day at 11 A.M., and some as early as 10; it is a noticeable fact that in several of these latter instances important trains leave a couple of hours after the termination of the diurnal reckoning. The traveler who holds his room till it is time to go to the train finds to his astonishment that the last hour of his occupation has cost him the same as an entire day. But the hotel keepers have a living to make, and must keep an eye to the main chance.
Guides for the city or neighborhood can be had at all hotels, and are preferable to those picked up the street. Carriages and cabs can also be ordered at the hotel, but if the traveler can trust himself to make a bargain it is better to secure them outside, since the house not infrequently adds a commission for its services. Besides it is well to learn as much as possible of the people you are among, and there are no more sharply-defined characters in the world than the professional drivers of Irish, Scotch, or English cities.
Allusion has been made in preceding paragraphs to the system of gratuities that prevails in Great Britain and on the Continent. It is the greatest of all the annoyances of European travel, not so much for the money it consumes as for the perplexities it makes, and the perpetual irritation of being asked at every step to give an indefinite sum for real or fancied services. It would be a good deal mitigated if the expectants would name the exact amount they are entitled to; a regular tariff for gratuities would be a vast relief to the traveling public, but this boon is emphatically refused. The amount is always left to the stranger, partly for the reason that custom has so ordained, and partly because an avenue is thus left open for an increased demand.
The waiter is much less likely than his friend the cab-man to tell you he is under-paid, but he vouchsafes that information far more frequently than is agreeable to the traveler. He rarely speaks when conveying this reproof, but his manner is unmistakable. Occasionally he puts the money back in your hand, and declines to accept it; his manner is as lofty as the summit of Mount Blanc, and quite as cold, and to judge by his appearance his most tender susceptibilities have been sorely wounded. The novice generally soothes him by an addition to the amount of the offer, but the experienced voyager does nothing of the kind. He drops the returned cash into his pocket and turns away; the movement brings the offended dignity to his senses, and for a moment he undergoes a mental struggle over the situation. Shall he preserve his haughty manner and refuse to pursue the subject, or shall he accept what he has just declined? These are the questions that flit through his brain, and he carefully balances the pros and cons. The usual result is in favor of the last-named course, and he pockets his fee in silence and thankfulness, not unaccompanied with a sullen air.
Occurrences of this kind are more rare in England than on the Continent, and the Continent again is freer from them than the countries farther East. Perhaps the worst of all is Egypt, where "backsheesh!" ("a present") is dinned into the traveler's ears from morn till night; it is the word he first hears on his arrival, and the last at his departure, and in after years it haunts his dreams, and is by no means banished from his waking hours. Whatever he does or does not do, he is expected to pay for; services are impudently forced upon him, and then the demand for compensation is as insolent as it is exorbitant. The manner of the Egyptian Arab in this matter of backsheesh is most insulting, and the wonder is he has been allowed to practice it so long. Give him what you consider a fair return for his services, either real or fancied, and he pushes the money back into your hands and lifts his nose into the air; you have been in his estimation a miser, and your coin is unfit for him to touch. But if you drop it into your pocket and turn away, his whole attitude changes; he is no longer the proud descendant of the Mamelukes and the kings of Egypt, but the most cringing suppliant you can imagine. He begs you to give again what he has just refused, and if you persist in keeping it he has resource to tears. Not unfrequently he rolls on the ground and screams like an angry child, and he will follow you for hours in the hope that you will relent. Sometimes, instead of thrusting the money into your hand, he throws it on the ground, knowing that you will be very unlikely to stoop to pick it up; by so doing he endeavors to make sure of the original offer, and takes his chances in shaming or bullying you into giving more.
The question naturally occurs to an American, 'How shall I ascertain what is proper to give when a service has been rendered to me?' No general rule can be laid down, and the traveler must depend often on his judgment. Where it is possible to do so, you can ask any person who is familiar with the subject, and he will tell you; when this cannot be done you have only yourself to rely upon. Remember that in England and on the Continent money has a greater purchasing power than in America, and gauge your fees accordingly. Where you have engaged cabmen, guides, or other individuals whose rate of service is previously arranged, or is regulated by a tariff, you will be about right if you add ten per cent. for a gratuity. Thus a guide whose tariff is five francs a day should be satisfied with half a franc, but, if he has been specially zealous and useful, you can give him a franc with safety. The Paris cabman expects four sous additional on the course or six sous an hour; his fee is obligatory in a certain sense, as his wages are too low for him to live upon without the pour boire. The German cabman expects his trinkgeld as a matter of course, and you will really under-pay him if you do not give it. The same is the case with his class in all parts of the Continent, as well as in Great Britain, and you will fully hit the mark if you augment the regular tariff by fifteen or twenty per cent.
In the restaurants the waiters generally receive nothing in the form of wages; they rely entirely on the donations of patrons for their compensation, and the system is well understood by the public. The money thus obtained is dropped into a box at the cashier's counter, and divided among all the waiters of the establishment at the end of the week. This has been found after long experience the best way to secure uniform attention to all customers,—better than to allow each waiter to pocket the money he receives. In the latter case, a patron known to be liberal would be carefully looked after, while the man who gave only the regulation fee would be neglected. Under the present arrangement a waiter can have no great inducement to neglect the niggardly man to an undue extent, and, on the other hand, he will not be over-serviceable to the generous one. The box for the money is in full view of all the waiters, so as to prevent any frauds on the revenue; it is usually of metal, and a foot or so in height. The shape and material cause the coin to jingle when it falls, and thus the waiters can be taught by the ear as well as by the eye that the donations are properly bestowed.
A French barber shop frequently amuses the stranger on account of the way the pour boire is received. You have whatever tonsorial operation you choose, and when the work is finished you pay according to the tariff. When change has been made you leave a few sous on the counter for the inevitable extra; the cashier drops them in the metal box which stands ready for their reception, and the sound of their fall is followed by a chorus of "Merci, monsieur," from all the barbers in the place, be they few or many. Half a dozen masculine voices pronouncing those words in measured cadence have a strange effect on the ears of a novice.
In many hotels and restaurants in England, and on the Continent, not only do the servants receive no wages, but they even pay something to the proprietor for their places. In the restaurants of Vienna there is a man who is designated the "zoll-kellner," (pay-waiter) who carries a leather sack at his side to hold the coin for making change. Your accounts are settled with him, and not with the waiter who has served you, and it is to the zoll-kellner that you give your gratuities. Out of the gratuities he pays the wages of the waiters, and reimburses himself for his services, so that the attendance costs the establishment nothing. Some of the larger bier-halles in Vienna derive a revenue from the service, as they require the zoll-kellner to pay some hundreds of dollars annually for his privilege, besides giving his time and paying the waiters.
The usual fee in a restaurant on the Continent is a sou on each franc of the bill, or one sou in twenty. Thus, if you have ten francs to pay for your dinner, you give half a franc, or ten sous, to the waiter, and if you have expended only five francs you give him five sous. A sou on a franc is a good general rule; it is followed by the great majority of Frenchmen and other continental people, but you should not adhere to it by giving a single sou when you have only a franc to pay. Never give less than two sous, where you give anything at all, except to the professional beggar of whom you wish to rid yourself. The cashiers of the restaurants always arrange the change, so that you will have the material for the pour boire. Suppose your bill is exactly ten francs, and you put down a twenty-franc piece from which the amount is to be taken. The cashier sends back, not a ten-franc piece, but a five-franc piece, four francs, half a franc, and the rest in copper. Sometimes there is an attempt to cause the stranger to bleed freely by making change so that he will be compelled to give more than is necessary. Thus in the instance described above, the cashier would send back a five-franc piece and five pieces of one franc each, so as to compel a donation of a franc. Whenever this is done you can be entirely sure that it is an effort to extract more than is due; you can meet it by asking change—la monnaie—for one of the franc pieces, or better still, give the exact pour boire from the reserve you should always have in your pocket.
The regulation of the fees necessary for a hotel is more difficult than for a restaurant. The amount given should be proportioned to the time you have been in the house, the services of the waiters, the demands you have made upon them, and the size of your party. It is best to let one person of a party pay all the gratuities, and do it in a systematic way so that each servant receives his or her due. Suppose you are four in number, and have been a week in the house; you pay the concierge from five to eight francs, the chambermaid four to six, the waiter who has brought the coffee in the morning, and otherwise looked after you, five to eight, and the porter who has handled luggage and blacked your boots, five to six francs. These figures are for a fair amount of service, and are liberal enough for most cases. Every traveler must judge for himself whether he has made an undue demand upon the servants, and gauge his gratuities accordingly.
So much has been said about the fee system that some of the hotels have adopted the plan of certain English ones in announcing that the service is all included and nothing more is expected. But the pretence is a very thin one, as the departing traveler will surely ascertain. The servants come to his room while he is putting the finishing touch to his packing, they lie in wait in the halls and on the stairways, and they assemble at the door to see him off. There is often a preconcerted system of signals by which all the servants can be notified of the approaching departure of a patron of a hotel. Bells will be rung, or somebody will be called in a loud voice to bring something either real or imaginary. The writer had the following experience in a hotel in Paris:
He had been in the house nearly a week, and followed the usual custom of leaving his key with the concierge whenever he went out. If he came in in the afternoon he was usually informed that the chambermaid had the key upstairs, and on proceeding to his hall he summoned that damsel by touching a bell at the head of the stairway; the concierge never made any pretence of calling her, but simply indicated that the key was above. One afternoon he came in, asked for his key, and received the usual response that the chambermaid had it. As he turned to go upstairs he asked to have his bill made out, as he was going away immediately.
The half-asleep concierge seemed to have been struck with a shock from an electric battery. She protruded her head from the window of her office, and shouted so that she could have been heard to the uttermost parts of the house:-
"Fifine! Fifine! apportez le clef pour numero trente deux; monsieur va partir—il va partir" ("Bring the key for number 32; the gentlemen is going away; he's going away!")
The echoes of the last syllable of the last word of her call followed number 32 up the stairs to his door. When he had arranged his packing and descended, he found the servants waiting for him, with the exception of those he had already encountered on his way down. At least half of them he had never seen, but all had their hands open for any tokens of remembrance in the shape of the current coin of the country.
The custom of assembling all the servants on the departure of a traveler is descended from the Middle Ages when the retainers of a castle were summoned by the bell at the portcullis to welcome the coming and speed the parting guest. Like many another honorable usage of olden times it has suffered degradation; at present it is simply a form of extracting money from the traveler, and not one servant in a hundred is aware of its origin, or thinks of it in any other light than the practical one. The fee system to the hotel waiter had a similar origin, and is likewise a relic of feudalism. The guest at the castle of a baron of the Middle Ages was not expected to pay for his accommodation; he was in every sense a guest, and like many a guest of modern days, he often felt that he was causing a good deal of trouble and extra work on the part of the servants and retainers. Consequently he opened his purse at his departure and scattered his cash among those who had cared for him; the shell of the custom has been retained, but its sentiment is altogether gone. The patron of a hotel pays his bill, and is in no sense a "guest," as many keepers of hostelries like to call him, and the excuse for his distribution of money among the servants has the lightest possible foundation.
In high circles the habits of the olden time remain in all their purity, and princes and kings and nobles are obliged to pay heavily for their entertainment. After his sojourn in Paris in 1867, the Emperor of Russia gave 40,000 francs to be distributed among the servants of the palace where he was lodged, and the King of Italy gave 10,000 francs under similar circumstances at Vienna in 1873. American and other foreigners of distinction who visit Egypt are often honored with lodgings in one of the Khedive's palaces, or with one of his private steamers to go up the Nile. But it is bad economy to accept these courtesies, for the reason that the backsheesh to servants and officers amounts to a large figure, frequently to several hundreds of dollars. It was said of Ismail Pacha that he paid nothing to the attaches of his boats and palaces but reimbursed them by giving them an occasional distinguished visitor to pluck.
The fee system has grown into so many abuses in these latter days that several governments have passed laws restricting it, and forbidding its servants to accept fees. This is noticeable in the public galleries of France, Italy, and other countries, where no fees are demanded except a slight charge for taking care of a cane or umbrella, and sometimes an entrance fee, which is bought at a ticket-office, and must be paid by everybody who enters. At the ruins of Pompeii signs are posted in all the languages of Europe forbidding the guides to accept fees in any form under penalty of dismissal; the regulations are so stringent that no guide dares to accept a piece of money, no matter how willing you may be to give it. But there is a form of keeping the word of promise to the ear and breaking it to the hope; the guides are allowed to sell photographs of the various objects of interest, and sometimes they pester you with them to an extent far worse than any direct application for gratuities.
The traveler should be cautious about making a "half-bargain" with guides, valets, et id omne genus, who will be sure to make all kinds of claim against him. Never accept the services of one of these men without a positive agreement as to the amount he is to receive, and if you can have it include his pour boire, so much the better. He always desires to leave something open for a demand, while you should be equally certain to have no loop-hole in the contract. A Neapolitan guide will fix his services at five francs a day, "and something for myself if you are satisfied." Now this something breeds a great deal of trouble. The writer had one of these fellows to accompany him up Vesuvius on his first visit to Naples. The 'something' was left undetermined; the guide received five francs at the end of the day with a franc extra, which was thought to be quite sufficient. He struck an attitude of astonishment and declared himself outrageously treated; "gentlemen always gives me five francs extra," he remarked, "and some of them gives ten." This was said with an air of withering contempt, but there was nothing in his neighborhood that withered immediately. When a guide proposes to hire himself for five francs and something if you are satisfied, endeavor to fix the amount of the "satisfaction." If he will not do it he is a good subject to drop, unless he is the only one of his kind attainable, and you happen to be in a hurry. Remember always that a half-bargain is a bad bargain, everywhere, and especially in the countries where the fee system is in vogue.
Sometimes even a careful bargain will not protect the traveler from trouble. Italian boatmen will agree for a certain sum, and while on the way they demand more. If you are going on board a steamer at Naples they are apt to be extortionate, as they know you are leaving port and are not likely to give them trouble with the police. A boatman agrees to carry you and your baggage for two francs; you enter his boat and off you go. Half way to the ship he stops rowing and demands four, or perhaps five, francs, and threatens to return to shore unless you comply. If you are strong, and carry a cane or good umbrella, a threat to break his head, accompanied with a gesture to that effect, will generally cause him to proceed. If you are weak and timid, the best way is to say nothing, and if you are tough in conscience and don't mind meeting downright rascality with a white lie, you can nod assent and let him go on. Before he gets to the ship he will increase his demand, and you may nod again. When you reach the vessel do not show your money till your baggage is safe on board, the heavy trunks in the hold, and the lighter things in your cabin. Then pay the sum you first agreed to give, and not a centime more, and, having discharged the obligation, descend to the saloon. The boatman is not allowed to follow you there, but he will give vent to a volley of imprecations that fall harmless on your devoted head if you happen to be ignorant of Italian. When these fellows get too noisy they are ordered away from the ship, and after their departure you may mount again to the deck and enjoy the wonderfully beautiful panorama of the bay of Naples.
The boatmen of Alexandria, Egypt, are worse than their Neapolitan brethren, as they sometimes resort to downright violence. A strong cane is the best argument for them, and if you are two or three men against an equal or inferior number, you have a moral force that stands in good stead. One man alone may face two or three of these rascals, but he is not altogether safe, as they would have little hesitation in robbing him and then throwing him overboard, if they could be sure of escaping undetected. They have been known to pull around the harbor for an hour or two to compel their victim to come to terms, and if brought before the police for their misconduct they generally manage to bribe themselves out of trouble, unless their prosecutor is able and willing to pay more for their punishment than they can for their liberty.
The inhabitants of Switzerland have been noted in all ages for their thrifty habits and their ability to make much of an opportunity. In former times their genius was displayed in watch-making and other industries; in these latter days, they have devoted themselves in great measure to fleecing the tourists that come among them, and some of their performances in this line border on the wonderful. Watch-making and wood-carving still exist, and quite probably there are yet many honest people in the land of the Alps. Down to a recent period the exploitation of the stranger was left to the hotel-keepers, guides, porters, and others with whom he came in contact, and if he felt aggrieved and brought complaint against his swindlers he could receive redress at the hands of the law. On a changé tout cela, the government has come to the assistance of the exploiting class, and what was before optional is now official. At every step the tourist encounters a "tariff," and if he objects to anything his attention is called to the fact that it is "official." The hotel porter takes your trunk to the door of the establishment where you have been lodged, and hands it over to a licensed porter, who carries it to the boat, train, or diligence. He stops at the dock, or at the front of the station, where another licensed porter comes forward and bears the trunk to the baggageman; each of the porters must be paid, and the baggageman also expects something, and if you object you are shown the official tariff, from which there is no appeal.
The official tariff is made the scapegoat of a great many extortions and downright falsehoods; the writer will give a bit of his personal experience to illustrate this statement. He was in Martigny, on his way to Chamouny, in the summer of 1880, and wished to hire a carriage for the journey; he had been told that one could be had for thirty or forty francs, and asked the proprietor of the hotel Clerc where carriages were to be had and the price to be paid. The latter answered that the tariff for a carriage for two persons was fifty francs, and there was no other price.
"But," said the stranger, "I have been told that a carriage can be had for thirty or forty francs. Is it not so?"
"Not at all," was the proprietor's answer; "there is only one price, fifty francs. They will tell you so at the office of the Association of Drivers." (Societe des cochers de Martigny.)
He indicated the office, which was close to the hotel, and the stranger went there. The agent assured him that no carriage could be had under fifty francs, and he pointed to the official tariff, by which all drivers were bound. Convinced of the truthfulness of the landlord's statement, the stranger engaged a carriage and paid twenty-five francs in advance, the balance being due on arrival at Chamouny. Then he strolled up the street and came upon an office bearing the announcement:—
"Carriages for Chamouny.—Two persons, thirty francs; three persons, forty francs; four persons, fifty francs."
Full of wrath at having been swindled, he returned to the hotel and interviewed the landlord. There was a good deal of frankness to the square foot of the conversation, and the landlord became very indignant when told that he had dealt sparingly with the truth. He defended his action on the ground that the official tariff was fifty francs, and he did not recognize the existence of the opposition. In whatever light the case was presented, he responded that the opposition was not "recognized," and he would not allow his patrons to travel by it if possible to prevent their doing so. He denied receiving any commission from the "official" drivers, and waxed wroth at the intimation of such a thing, but the writer ascertained afterwards to his full satisfaction that the drivers gave ten per cent. of their revenues to the hotel-keepers on condition that the latter would ignore the existence of the opposition, and give all patronage to the association.
Cases like the foregoing may be found all over Switzerland in one form or another. Great stress is laid upon the words "official" and "tariff," and matters are so arranged that the traveler can be bled as much as possible with the least possible chance of redress. The authorities connive at the frauds, and the chances are twenty to one that a tourist who has the temerity to bring his disputes before them will be required to pay the sum in question, with a heavy addition in the shape of a fine. As an instance of official connivance, the following may be cited:—
Tourists going from Zermatt to the railway station at Visp have a journey of about eight hours, partly by saddle and partly by wagon; it is customary to forward trunks and valises by the government post, which is due at Visp at 4 P.M., while the train for Lausanne and Geneva leaves at five o'clock. The traveler times his movements so as to get to Visp to claim his baggage and take it to the railway station in season for the train, but he finds on arrival that the postmaster is busy with the verification of the lists, copying them, sorting letters, and arranging parcels in general, so that there is no delivery till after the departure of the train. This neat arrangement compels the traveler who wishes to keep with his luggage to spend a night at Visp, to the profit of one of the two hotels that adorn this uninteresting place, and, furthermore, they have a habit of closing the office half an hour before the departure of the forenoon train, and the hotel-keepers manage to keep you at breakfast until this half-hour has been reached. In this case you must wait till afternoon, or go on without your property, either of which is unpleasant, and if you venture to complain you are told that such is the regulation of the office, and as the postmaster represents the government the futility of any opposition is at once apparent.
The Swiss excel even the Chinese in their genius for combinations and guilds; and the object of these enterprises is not, like those of the Chinese, altogether in the interest of legitimate labor, but to the end that the pocket of the stranger can be depleted to the advantage of the inhabitants of the land of William Tell. Items that were formerly regarded as gratuities, and therefore optional, are now obligatory, and they are frequently demanded with an insolence that rouses the traveler's ire. There are doubtless many honest people in Switzerland, but it is not easy for the ordinary traveler to find them, and the difficulty seems to be increasing every year.
We have already considered the subject of letters of credit and the uses to be made of them. We will now look at the perplexities of the English and Continental currencies. The English stand at the head of the list in having one of the most troublesome monetary systems imaginable; it is a never-failing source of inconvenience to the stranger, especially if he has come from a land where the decimal system in one form or another is in vogue. We all know it from the school-books:—
It is easy enough to commit the above to memory, but not at all easy to put it into practice. The farthing is imaginary, like the American mill, the smallest coin being two farthings, or half a penny, usually called a ha'penny, with the accent on the first syllable. This coin is about equal to the American cent, so that a penny is worth two cents, or very nearly. The shilling is nearly the equivalent of twenty-five cents. Four shillings may be reckoned as a dollar, and a pound as five dollars. The actual value is less than five dollars, but it is near enough for rough calculations. The guinea is obsolete, and does not exist in circulation, but the coins can be bought as curiosities, and may be seen occasionally dangling from the watch-chains of their possessors. English tradesmen are fond of stating prices in guineas when dealing with foreigners, as they can thereby add five per cent. to their revenues; the English customer is on the look-out for this trick and cannot be caught by it, but the American is very likely to confound pounds with guineas and not think of the difference. Some unscrupulous tailors and other tradesmen are in the habit of making their bills in guineas when only pounds have been mentioned, and not infrequently the bills are paid without the discovery of the swindle.
The smallest bank-notes in circulation in England are of five pounds each, though the banks in Ireland and Scotland, and some of the private banks in England, issue notes of one pound. The gold coins are twenty shillings and ten shillings each, and known as sovereigns and half-sovereigns. In common usage the larger is frequently called a "sov.," and a ten-shilling piece a "half-sov." Silver coins are for five shillings, two and a half shillings, two shillings, one shilling, sixpence, fourpence, and threepence. The copper coins of a penny and a halfpenny complete the list. The two-and-a-half-shilling piece is called half a crown, the five-shilling piece sometimes a crown and sometimes, in slang language, "five bob." A shilling is designated as a "bob" by the lower classes, and a sixpence as a "tanner." "Two bobs and a tanner," means "two shillings and sixpence."
The two-shilling piece is the newest of the English coins, and is heartily detested by the cabman, the waiter, and all others whose existence has any dependence on gratuities. Where half a crown was formerly given, the two-shilling piece comes in use; the giver saves a sixpence, and the receiver is "out" just that amount. If a vote of the fee-taking classes could be had on the subject it would be unanimous for the abolition of this hated coin. Travelers economically inclined would do well to consider the advantages of this piece of money, and govern themselves accordingly.
On the Continent the currency in nearly all countries is far simpler than in England, for the reason that it is on a decimal basis. The franc is the acknowledged unit of France, Belgium, Switzerland, and Italy, and it is divided into a hundred parts, known as centimes in the three countries first named, and as centissimi in the last of the list. Reckonings are in francs and centimes; the approximate value of the franc is twenty cents of American money—though in reality it is a trifle over eighteen cents. The centime is consequently one-fifth of a cent, but no coins of that value are stamped except in Italy; five centimes make a sou in all the countries except Italy, where the coin is known as a soldi, and it is the smallest of the coins in general use. The sou is practically the equivalent of the American cent, and is about as large as the old-fashioned "copper" of twenty years ago. There is a two-sous piece of copper in all the countries named, and quite recently some of them have adopted nickel coins of the value of five, ten, and twenty centimes. There are silver coins of twenty and fifty centimes (the last being a half-franc), and then come the pieces of one franc, two francs, and five francs, the last being about the size of the American dollar. The gold coins are of ten and twenty francs, and occasionally we encounter pieces of forty francs, and also some slender ones of five francs. Bank-notes are of 10, 20, 50, 100, 500, and 1000 francs, and rarely smaller except in Italy, where there is a depreciated paper currency with forced circulation. Gold and silver are as scarce in Italy as they were in the United States in the decade following our civil war; the rate of discount for paper varies according to the condition of the national treasury, and for other countries, and can always be ascertained at any banker's, or in the hotels. Where it is not expressly stipulated to the contrary, all hotel and other bills in Italy are payable in paper at par whatever may be the rate of discount; if a hotel-keeper attempts to compel the payment of his bill in gold, without previous notification, he can be brought to terms by referring him to the police. The franc is commonly called a lira in Italy, especially among the lower classes, who have a tendency to stick to their national terms.
The unit of Austria is the florin (about fifty American cents), which is divided into a hundred kreutzers. The currency is in paper, at a varying discount, with coins of one, five, ten, and twenty kreutzers, based on the paper values. There is a ten-florin piece of gold which is intended to be equal to the twenty-franc piece, but is just a trifle short of it, and is consequently refused by bankers and others, except at a discount. The unit of Russia is the rouble (about seventy-five cents American), and it is divided into one hundred kopecks; the circulation is in paper, and it fluctuates in value with the varying conditions of the public treasury, and the alternating events of war or peace.
The German States had until within a few a years a bewildering array of currencies that would require whole pages of this book for their enumeration. Since the unification of the Empire the old currencies have mostly disappeared, and a uniform system has been adopted. The unit is the mark (twenty-five cents American, or one shilling English), and the mark is divided into one hundred pfennings. The silver coins are five marks, two marks, and one mark, and fifty and twenty pfennings, the nickel of ten and five pfennings, the copper of two pfennings and one pfenning; the gold coins are twenty, ten, and five marks, and the largest of the three is intended to be equal to the English sovereign.
English sovereigns can be exchanged in any country of Europe for the local currency, and so can the French, Italian, or other pieces of twenty francs. The latter are generally called napoleons, but since the establishment of the French Republic there has been a revival of the old name louis, or louis d'or. Some intense Republicans denominate the coin in question "une piece de vingt francs," and do not seem to mind the loss of time requisite for pronouncing four words instead of one. The traveler who has a stock of sovereigns or napoleons, either or both, can always settle his bill at the hotels with those coins, but he must be careful to have a supply of the money of the country for paying railway fares. In most countries of Europe the railways are more or less under government control, and the ticket-sellers are forbidden to accept foreign money. Sometimes a ticket-seller will change the traveler's money for him, but he naturally expects to be paid for his trouble.
At the frontier railway stations there are money-changers who do a very good business on small capital. Travelers can exchange the money of the country they are leaving for that of the one they are entering, and the changer can turn his capital as many times as there are trains each way daily, and make a small percentage on each operation. He has a fine profit and no risk, except that he may take an occasional counterfeit, but in the latter case he will have little difficulty in passing it on the first verdant customer. Counterfeit coins abound in Spain, Switzerland, England, and some other countries, but not in great number. The traveler is sure to be caught by them once in a while, and also by coins which have been called in and are declared uncurrent. The latter can be disposed of as gratuities to waiters and guides, and the former may be kept as curiosities, or dropped into the hats of importunate beggars.
For a rough calculation you can turn your dollars into pounds by dividing their amount by five, and into francs by using the same number as a multiplier. Multiply your dollars by four for German marks, and by two for Austrian florins; and if you get as far as Turkey and wish to reckon in piastres, you must multiply by twenty. To reach the amount in dollars of any values in the above currencies, you have only to reverse the operation, and after a little practice you will do it very rapidly.
As long as the American is in the United Kingdom he finds no trouble in making himself understood, but when he crosses the channel and lands on the Continent, the situation changes. Strange languages assail his ears, and the farther he goes the more languages he finds. If he has never studied any tongue save his mother one, he will often find himself helpless, and he execrates the memory of the man who first proposed the erection of the tower of Babel, and thereby brought trouble on the whole human race. He wishes he had studied some of the foreign lingo before he left home, and vows that before he comes again he will be able to make himself understood in French and German. An excellent resolution this is, and, like most good resolves, it is rarely kept.
An American who is entirely ignorant of any language beyond the vernacular of his own land may travel from one end of Europe to the other without any very serious trouble. But he will pay dear for his lack of lingual accomplishments, as he will be regarded as a fair subject for exploitation by the inn-keepers, guides, and others with whom he is brought in contact, and he cannot go out of the beaten track of tourists. In the principal hotels throughout Europe there are English-speaking clerks and servants, and it is usually easy to find guides and valets who are able to get on in the language of the British Isles. Those with deep and well-lined purses may employ a courier who will look after everything—engage rooms at hotels, buy railway tickets, attend to the luggage, and in various ways relieve the traveler from a great deal of perplexity. But he is a luxury that only the affluent can afford, as he not only has his wages and traveling expenses, but he obtains a commission, or "squeeze," on nearly every disbursement in your behalf. He takes you to the best hotels and secures the best rooms in them, and he leads you to the shops where the prices are highest, with correspondingly large commissions. He is generally honest so far as actual plunder of your money is concerned, and he takes care that no one but himself fleeces you, unless he can have a share of the spoil. His operations are conducted upon well understood principles, and he regards the taking of a commission as entirely compatible with rigid integrity. Now and then a courier can be found who disdains commissions, and faithfully watches the interest of his employer, and when such a man is obtained he may be regarded as a treasure.
Be very particular in employing a courier, as your happiness or misery will depend in great measure upon his goodness or badness. Your banker in London or Paris can generally recommend a trustworthy man, and there is a couriers' association in London that is well spoken of. The association is responsible for the honesty of each member, and also for his sobriety and general good conduct, but in any event the credentials of the man you are considering should be carefully examined. Especially should this be done with a courier who seeks you and offers his services, and if he cannot produce good references he should be rejected at once. The genuineness of the testimonials should also be investigated, as there have been instances where these documents were mostly imaginary, and written to order.
A courier should be familiar with English, French, German, and Italian, and if you are going to Spain, Russia, or the Scandinavian countries, you should seek for one who knows the languages along your intended route of travel. You can hire a good courier for fifty or sixty dollars a month, though he will frequently ask more, and you must pay extra for one who speaks Russian, Scandinavian, or Spanish. Whenever there are second-class carriages on the train he will travel in them, but it often happens that the express trains have none but first-class coaches, and in that event you must provide him with a first-class ticket. He should be called by his surname, without any preliminary "mister," and, if he understands his business, you can be perfectly free with him without fear that he will overstep the proper bounds. Don't invite him to sit with you at table or to ride with you in a carriage, as he does not expect anything of the sort; if you do, you will encourage him to undue familiarity, which may result in his assuming the air of a gentleman who is permitting you to travel with him for companionship.
In your financial relations with him, do exactly as you would with a clerk or cashier in business affairs. Have the contract carefully drawn in writing so as to avoid misunderstandings, and examine his accounts frequently and thoroughly, going over every item, whether small or large. It is well to arrange beforehand that he shall bring the accounts to you every second or third morning, and if he neglects to do so, and shows a persistence in the neglect, you will have reason to believe he is not honest. When you start on a journey give him money enough to pay the various items of expenditure to your first stopping-place. It is not good policy to be "close " with him, and, on the other hand, it is very impolitic to be careless of his accounts.
The courier is supposed to pay his own hotel bill, or to be boarded free of charge by the establishment. The real fact is that your own bill is sufficiently augmented to cover the courier's expenses, and in some instances he has been known to receive a commission in money in addition to his free living. Make it a part of your contract that he is to act as local guide in the cities you visit; otherwise you will be compelled to employ a guide in each place in addition to your courier. Some of the grand ones refuse to do so, and it is for you to determine whether to engage a man of high notions, or another who is not so exacting.
If not disposed to incur the expense of a courier you can hire a traveling servant for about half the price you will pay for the more distinguished attaché. These servants are not generally satisfactory, for the reason that they do not claim to understand all about the cities, routes, etc., and cannot speak the continental languages. Very often they are quite as helpless as the traveler himself, if not more so, and some of them are continually getting lost and giving no end of trouble to their employers to find them.
If you undertake to get along without any assistance, it is advisable to learn something of the language of the country you are to travel in. Ever so little is better than none at all, and you will be surprised to find how much you can accomplish with a very limited capital of words. Learn to count in French; you can do so in a few hours if you give your mind to it, and you will never regret the time you have devoted to the accomplishment of enumeration. Commit to memory a few phrases, such as "where is?" "how much?" and the like, and make yourself able to understand the bills of fare in restaurants and hotels. When you have done this you can look proudly down on the unfortunate wretch who knows nothing, and cannot help himself. After being thus perfected in French, you can attack German in the same way, and afterwards Italian; if you are to be ten days or more in a country it is worth your while to learn to count in its language, and when you have acquired the numerals you will want to know something more.
Don't practice your lingual acquirements on your friends if you can find anybody else to try them on. But don't be afraid to talk when on shopping excursions, or in other places where your French can be used; the continental people are polite, and will help you out of difficulty when you lose your footing, and they never smile at your most awkward blunders.
Books of the sentences and phrases in most frequent use are abundant and cheap. They are given in English, French, German, and Italian, in parallel columns, and are generally divided according to the subjects of conversation. They are excellent in theory, but it is generally discovered in practice that you can rarely find the sentence you wish to use, and may turn the leaves over and over again to no purpose.
If you find that you are not understood in your native language, and know no other, remember that it will not help the listener's understanding if you shout into his ear, or repeat a question over and over again with an increased emphasis each time.
Many laughable mistakes will occur in your efforts to get on in a country where you do not know the language, but they are part of the experiences of travel, and a good deal of instruction can be obtained from them. Sometimes a slight change in the pronunciation of a single word or syllable, or the incorrect use of an article, causes an awkward misunderstanding, but all such accidents should be taken good-humoredly and made the subject of merriment rather than of vexation. An American one day, in a Paris restaurant, wished to call for bread, and was astonished when the waiter after some delay brought him stewed rabbit. He pondered over the subject, and finally remembered that instead of saying "du pain," he had made it "le pain," which was naturally supposed to be "lapin," the French word for rabbit or hare. He ate the stew in silence, and never allowed the waiter to understand that a mistake had been made.
A story is told of a party of Americans taking a ride in the Bois du Boulogne, and they wished to induce the driver to go faster, but the more they urged, the more angry he became, and their attempts at the French for "go faster, driver," seemed to set him wild. At last he stopped and wanted to fight, and when they refused to indulge in a trial of muscular capacity, he called a policeman. Some one happened along at this juncture who could act as interpreter, and it was discovered that they had been addressing the jehu as "cochon" (pig) instead of "cocher" (driver). An explanation was made, the driver received a franc as a salve to his wounded dignity, and the drive was continued at a more satisfactory speed.
Many things may be said in pantomime where you are ignorant of the words that are needed. If you wish to employ a carriage by the hour, and cannot grapple with "a l'heure," you can show the face of your watch to the driver and point to the time; he will understand your meaning at once, and will indicate his comprehension of it by a nod. If you wish the carriage for only a single course you do not show your watch at all, but simply give or show the address to which you want to go. A desire for food or drink may be manifested by the conveyance of imaginary viands or liquids to the mouth, and following the said conveyance with equally imaginary mastication or deglutition. Mistakes will occur in pantomime as well as in spoken words, and the traveler should be prepared for them. An Englishman at a German inn endeavored to show that he wished to go to bed, and did it by commencing the removal of his clothing, and making a motion with his arms, as if he would spread himself over the invisible couch. The inn-keeper nodded, and disappeared; and he soon returned, followed by the servants, bringing a large tub and some water, under the impression that the stranger wished to take a bath. The latter made himself understood by resting his head on his hand and closing his eyes, whereupon there was a laugh all around, and he was shown to his sleeping-room.
Not infrequently you will throw yourself into a condition of exhaustion by mustering all your French for an effort; after it is made, and you are at your wit's end, you are answered in English, and find that your mental struggle has been thrown away. During the last Paris exposition one of the hotels imported a lot of waiters from London for the benefit of their English patrons. A Briton arrived at this house one morning, unaware of the importation, and after making himself presentable he proceeded to the breakfast-room. Beckoning to a waiter, he gave his order.
"Donnez moi du biftek, du pomme de terre, et du cafe au lait." (Give me a beefsteak, potatoes, and coffee with milk.)
He was at the end of his French, and drew a long breath as he finished the sentence. The waiter listened attentively, with a blank expression on his face, and replied:—
"If it's all the same, sir, couldn't you just as well do it in English? I've only been here three days."
Whether you can speak the continental languages or not, you must put yourself into the hands of a dragoman when you go to the Orient and endeavor to make a journey into the interior. The dragoman differs from the courier in being a contractor who undertakes to manage your journey for a fixed sum per day, or for the entire trip, and he makes a margin sufficiently large to include the compensation for his own services. He combines the services of courier, butler, and maitre d'hotel all in one, and a good dragoman is able to relieve the traveler of all trouble by attending to every kind of petty detail, and managing the journey so that the tourist has nothing to think of beyond enjoying himself.
Dragomen are of all kinds, from the worst to the best; most of them bring recommendations from former employers, and, while these should have due weight, it is best not to rely on them implicitly. There are some of the profession who enjoy a high reputation, and their prices are fixed accordingly; a cheap dragoman is almost sure to be a poor one, but not all high-priced ones are necessarily good. If possible, when starting for a journey in Syria and Egypt, get a friend who has been there before you to recommend a dragoman, and make a careful note of the name and address, so that there can be no mistake. Good ones may also be heard of around the consulate of your country, and in whatever bargain you make you should have the consular approval. The dragomen who hang about the hotels are not to be relied on, as they are often in league with the establishments to make something out of the stranger, or have agreed to pay a commission to whoever can get them an engagement.
George William Curtis, in his Nile Notes, says, "The dragoman is of four species; the Maltese, or able knave; the Greek, or the cunning knave; the Syrian, or the active knave; and the Egyptian, or the stupid knave." The description is by no means inaccurate, but it gives the impression that all are knaves, whatever their race or nationality. There is little to choose between them, and whatever kind you employ it is quite possible you may wish you had taken another. There are honest and efficient ones among all the different races, and also a liberal allowance of those who are worthless, or even worse.
Detailed directions for engaging dragomen, and the forms of contracts to be made with them, can be found in the guide-books of Murray and Baedeker, to which the reader is referred. Never trust yourself to draw a contract that will be "iron-clad," but go to your consulate and have the matter attended to there, at a cost of five dollars. Then, in case of trouble, the consul can be called to arbitrate the matter, and his decision will be final. As you are required to pay half, or more, of the engagement-money at the time of making the contract, you thus place yourself at the mercy of the man you are engaging, and it is worth while to be cautious.
If a particular dragoman has been recommended to you by some friend at home, you will very likely be told on enquiring for him that he died a few months ago. Of course, it is just possible that he is no longer alive, as drago—like other men—are but mortal, but his death at that time is by no means a certainty. His rivals have a convenient way of ridding themselves of his competition by killing him metaphorically, and they are particular to state time, place, and circumstances with great minuteness. Bayard Taylor became much attached to his dragoman in his journey up the Nile in 1852, and recommended him, a few years afterwards, to some friends. They brought back the information of the man's death, but on visiting Cairo in 1874 Taylor found his old companion alive and well, and very much chagrined at the announcement of his demise. "He is dead," or "He has just left with a party," is the stereotyped answer of the dragomen you encounter around the hotels when you ask for one whose name has been given to you by a friend at home, although it is well known by them that the man in question is within a dozen blocks of them, and waiting for a job.
It is the custom at the end of a journey in the Holy Land, or on the Nile, to make a present to the servants in addition to the contract-price agreed upon with the dragoman or manager of the party. The dragoman is always ready to attend to the distribution of this gratuity, and shows great activity in looking after it. Verdant travelers are apt to place the affair and the money in his hands with the expectation that he will carry out their wishes; the only distribution he makes, in nine cases out of ten, is to distribute the cash around the pockets of his own garments, and leave the other servants without a penny. Unless you give the money to the waiters with your own hands the chances are ten to one they will get nothing, and the whole amount will go to enrich the dragoman; it will not even answer to allow that worthy to distribute it to them in your presence, as he will manage by certain dexterous turns of the wrist to retain the larger portion for himself. Complaints of his misconduct are unlikely to reach your ears, as the servants are his subordinates, and liable to lose their places if they incur his displeasure. The writer was once a member of a party on a Nile steamboat that made up a purse for the servants; while the money was being raised two or three of the cabin-waiters intimated privately that if the money was put in the hands of the dragoman they would get nothing, since he always kept the whole of it. "Whatever you give us," said they, "please put in our own hands," and we acted on the hint to the great disgust of the dragoman.