the art, still the voices were so admirably well adjusted, and so passing sweet withal, that the effect-in such a place, and with such associations-had something akin to enchantment.

The Tatars, in the meantime, either conversed in whisper, or listened in silence to the music of their heretofore victims. Neither party appeared to remember the day-although not very far distant-when the blood-stained crescent gleamed over the domes of the HOLY CITY, and when the spoiler said to the captives of the Moskva, in the words that were spoken to those who sat down weeping by the rivers of Babylon, Sing us one of the songs of Zion!" But a more interesting audience appeared at the casements of the Tatar colony. These were the Mohammedan women, peeping from behind the curtains, and taking a stolen glance at the amusement below. I observed in particular for the first, but not for the last time, a young and pretty girl, who was even more than usually anxious to see what was to be seen, and yet more than usually afraid lest her curiosity should be chidden. She had a silken curtain drawn over more than two-thirds of her window, and at the aperture her face was never presented but furtively. I never saw a man in her room, and never discovered her engaged either in work or recreation of any kind, except playing at cards with an old woman, which she did regularly every evening. My eyes became afterwards acquainted with those of this agreeable infidel. She seemed amused by the interest she excited, and took a thousand opportunities, in the course of the day, of popping out her head, and then looking, in pretty alarm, to the stranger's window; but I never saw her nearer. She either did not go out at all, or was so closely muffled up in her oriental veil, that I could not recognise her.

It may be supposed that the scene in the court, and the soft music, and the face of the beautiful Tatar girl, had altogether the effect of tranquillizing my nerves; and, in fact, I went to bed with little or no apprehension of my throat being cut during the night by the Barbarians of the North. The next morning I went forth to view the savage metropolis. I have never seen Timbuctoo, and am unable, therefore, to speak from comparison; but of Moscow I would say, that it must be reckoned a very wonderful monument of barbarian art. In the centre is the Kremlin, a jumble of palaces and churches, surrounded by lofty walls, and walks and gardens; then the city, or the town of shops and merchants, also walled; then another and much vaster circle of habitations, girded round by planted boulevards; and then an immense and shapeless suburb, as it may be termed, though bound in by bastions. The houses of the nobility, which are confined to the two last quarters, are in general reproductions of the palaces of Italy. They are bound together by lines of buildings of meaner pretensions, but, as all are painted of some light and delicate colour, the effect is wonderfully elegant; so much so, that if Russia were not Russia, and the Russians not Russians, I am almost tempted to think that the city might be admired even by eyes accustomed to the architectural glories of Oxford-street and Tottenhamcourt Road. But the temples of Moscow-it is there that the taste of the savage breaks forth. Their fantastic forms, their thousand domes and copulas, either gilded, or painted a brilliant green, have an effect, as they have an architecture, entirely their own. The civilized spectator is bewildered and amazed, for he cannot measure them by the square and

plummet of classical criticism which he carries in his pocket. Not one of the conventional terms of art will apply, which he bears about with him on his tongue's end; and, shrugging his shoulders, he turns away from the scene with a smile. But the picture follows him; its unworldly forms impress themselves upon his mind; its rainbow colours tinge his imagination; he dreams that night of the Arabian tales, and the next morning, with a bitter blush, detects himself writing in his journal the heretical words-Russian architecture.

But on this subject I have already bestowed enough of my tediousness upon the public. My present object is to tell my anxious friends how I fared among the natives, and what kind of barbarians they are. Most of the newspapers of France and England have been endeavouring, day after day, for a long time past, to let out the secret; but, some way or other, this has been done in so indefinite a manner, that one feels one's blood curdle, without knowing why. That the Russians are barbarians of the north, is sure enough; that the Turks, compared with them, are a polite and civilized people, is not denied; that the latter, if fallen under the domination of the former, would cease to be what everybody knows they are, the civilizers of the human race, is a melancholy fact. All this is sufficiently obvious, but still something more is necessary. What kind of savages are the Russians?—that is the question. How many generations are they behind the Spaniards, for instance, in the humanities of life? Does the atmosphere of this country vibrate with curses, like that of Ireland? Does midnight murder stalk through the land? Do the mothers bury their children alive? Do their atrocious superstitions convert the meek and holy Jesus into a brutal Moloch? Do their devotees cut one another's throats because all do not believe precisely alike?

The next morning I called to deliver a letter of introduction to a "Prince." The Russians, like all other savages, are fond of titles, and of that of prince in particular. The title, however, is a mere ornament, like that of a ribbon at one's button-hole, and has nothing to do with determining the real rank of the individual. The title in this country descends not to the eldest son, but to all the children, male and female; and thus, in the course of a few generations, we have a flourishing colony of princes. The property, in the meantime, is divided among the family, and thus, in the course of a few generations, all these princes are poor. The poor nobles, however, are permitted to sell their property to the rich, and thus an aristocracy of wealth is formed; but even this is evanescent, for the rich in their turn become poor by the subdivision of their estates. Hence it arises that in Russia hereditary rank is held in little or no estimation; and that even the circumstance of wealth gives no permanent dignity to a family. Every man, therefore, is valued by his public utility, so far as this can be evidenced by the nature of the public service to which he is called by the Emperor. The Emperor, no doubt, makes a bad selection sometimes, like other men; but still, in theory, the plan is wonderfully wise for a nation of barbarians.

The prince I visited on the present occasion was high in office, and therefore one of the real grandees of the empire; but, notwithstanding,

Journey to St. Petersburg and Moscow, through Courland and Livonia.”— Heath's Picturesque Annual, 1836."

Nov.-VOL. XLV. NO. CLXXIX.

2 A

I found him visible at ten o'clock in the morning. In more refined countries, if I had presumed to knock at a grandee's door at such an hour, I should have run some risk of being given in charge to the watchman. What was more astonishing, the princess, or "my wife," as he called her, intruded upon the tête-à-tête immediately after. At ten o'clock in the morning! how uncivilized! I found both the lady and gentleman well acquainted with the present state of England, and desperately afraid of the progress of popular reform, and its possible results with regard to Russia. I always eschew such subjects, however, when it is possible, and I changed the conversation as speedily as I could do so without rudeness.

The prince is the director of some of the principal charitable institutions of Moscow, and the information I either received from himself on the subject, or which he put me in the way of acquiring, was puzzling in the extreme. These institutions are not only admirable in themselves, but, generally speaking, among the best administered in Europe. How to reconcile this with the barbarism of the country is the question. When talking doubtfully of the moral effect of the Foundling Hospital, I could not but admire, on many occasions, the kindliness of heart, whatever I might think of the arguments, of my opponents. "At any rate," concluded they," we are willing to prevent one great crime, even at the hazard of inducing the commission of a hundred immoralities. We desire to do at least present good, trusting in the Almighty that he will not permit it to be followed by future evil.”

Charity, in this city, assumes every possible form. Count Sheremeetoff, for instance, bestows every year upon a certain number of spinsters a dowry of from a hundred to a thousand roubles, which they gain in the way of a lottery. The drawing presents a curious and interesting scene. A friend of mine once congratulated a young girl upon obtaining a small prize. "Tush!" said she, tossing her head, and half laughing, half crying, "what sort of husband can one expect for a hundred

roubles ?"

After dining with the prince above mentioned, and with many other Moscow nobles, I felt myself altogether confused and disappointed. The dinner, the wines, the language, the manners, all were Parisian. I regretted having come so far to see the barbarians of the north. Being on the spot, however, I noted a few things in which a slight difference was visible. In almost every house, par exemple, there was at least one elderly female, who appeared neither in dress nor manner to belong to the station of the entertainer, yet who sat in the drawingroom, and at table, with the rest of the company. These persons did not take part in the conversation. If more than one, they talked in a low voice together, when they were not altogether silent; and they always contrived to find their way to the dining-room without the assistance of the gentlemen.

General invitations to dinner are very common among the more wealthy families; but I could not bring myself, on more than two or three occasions, to avail myself of this species of hospitality. When I did go without a special summons, I found that, in general, the table was graced with "old familiar faces." Each house has its own diners; and I was told that the non-appearance of any of these standard guests is looked upon with great suspicion. At one princely board, a gentle

man invariably made his appearance on the Sundays, who was only known as "the man with the epaulettes." He had received the first invitation a score of years before, and being of a very unobtrusive disposition, his name, in process of time, came to be forgotten, while his person was as well known as the marble columns of the hall. A Sunday at length came when something was found to be amiss at the table. The host and hostess fidgeted, the guests looked at one another, and held their spoons suspended over their soup. Everybody felt as if all was not right, but no one knew what was the matter; till at length the question broke suddenly from the noble entertainer, "Where is the man with the epaulettes ?"

The Man was not there. The old stagers in vain taxed their memory for some tradition which might throw a light upon his name. The servants were in vain interrogated as to the abiding place of this interesting personage. No one knew anything about him, and the meal passed on in doubts, fears, and conjectures of every possible hue. The worst of them, no doubt, were the truest; for the next Sunday-the nextthe next-all brought the accustomed meal, and the old familiar facesminus one. The man with the epaulettes was doubtless dead; but even this was only a hypothesis. Nothing is absolutely certain, but that he never was seen again.

"Weeks followed weeks, moons roll'd on moons away,

But Conrad comes not-came not since that day !”~

The servants in such families are, generally speaking, too numerous and ill-regulated to be of much use. When you enter a Russian nobleman's house, instead of a few brilliantly-dressed exquisites who wait upon you with a kind of devout attention, yet without the smallest hurry or confusion, you encounter a number of shabby dogs, whose motions and appearance persuade you for a moment that the house is on fire, and that a part of the street rabble has obtained admittance. These gentry either open upon you at once, not one of them having any precise department of his own, or, after gratifying their curiosity, they turn away, yawn, stretch themselves upon a bench, or enter into conversation with one another.

Hiring a servant is a mere lottery. The character of the man, it is true, is written upon his passport; but all these characters are alike— and all good. If the master has sufficient regard for his own honour to write the character which his servant deserves, a functionary of the police calls upon him, and represents that the fellow will never get another place. If the master is resolute, the servant, supposing him to have money or friends, brings an action against his "tyrant," who is put to great trouble and expense in proving-if that be possible at all-the truth of his allegations. Should the servant be prevented, however, either by poverty or fear of the result, from taking this step, he in most cases can command at least a five-rouble note, with which he bribes the police and obtains a new character.

Servants are sometimes-for there is no use in mincing the matterslaves; that is to say, they belong to their master unconnected with the land, and cannot be considered feudal tenants. The agricultural peasants may be transferred from one master to another; but they cannot be removed from the land, and therefore they can no more be said to be sold, than an English leaseholder, when the title-deeds of the

property pass into new hands. Sometimes these tenants obtain permission to leave the estate, and become traffickers, servants, or anything else; but still they belong to this lord, as before, and must continue to pay him the obrok, or capitation tax. The difference between them and the former class is not a mere nominal one; for the one is, to all intents and purposes, a slave, who may be sold like an ox, while the other is a feudal tenant, who has either received leave of absence for a certain number of years, or who has been altogether manumitted, on condition of paying, as before, his obrok.

The number of slaves is comparatively very small. Sometimes, when well treated, they are faithful and attached, as was occasionally the case with negroes; but still in Russia, as everywhere else, slavery is a plaguespot upon the land, which, however we may flatter ourselves, can never be thoroughly eradicated, except with blood and burning. During my stay in Moscow, a gentleman flogged one of his slaves who acted as coachman, and sent him to his estate in the country. Here the man was flogged again, by an order which he carried himself, and then came back to town with two horses under his charge. On arriving, some further fault was found, and he was flogged for the third time, and commanded to betake himself again to the country, there to receive another flagellation. The man set out to obey, but he had hardly trudged half way, when he suddenly changed his intention. He returned to Moscow, walked straight to his master's room, and hewed him in pieces with his hatchet. He then called his brother-domestics around him, pointed to the mangled body, and telling them, in a few words, how and why the deed had been done, surrendered himself to justice.

I saw another assassin of the kind, when loaded with fetters, and about to commence his march for the mines of Siberia-the terrific substitute, in this country, for capital punishment. The motives in his case were not so clear; for the lady of the land, whom he had slain, was reported to be of a humane disposition, while the victim above mentioned was said to be a hard-hearted scoundrel, who well deserved his fate. A sullen obstinacy was the predominant character of the assassin's face. He felt no remorse, and exhibited no terror at the idea of a journey which would conduct him to a place, where three or four years, at most, of hopeless wretchedness, would terminate in a miserable death. He had entered his mistress's chamber, it seems, and smothered her with the bed-clothes. He confessed the fact, yet would not throw the least light upon his object, whether this was revenge or robbery; but the unhappy wretch was anxious to impress upon us all that two young women, his fellow-servants, who had been condemned as accomplices, were not only innocent of the crime, but had been altogether ignorant of his intentions.

I saw these women after their backs had been torn by the knout, and when they were just ready to begin their march to Siberia; but I could not learn that the slightest evidence had been adduced against them, except the supposition that, as they were in the house at the time, they must have had a guilty knowledge of a deed which had taken more than an hour to perpetrate. The truth is, the system of slavery is so monstrous, that, unless protected in this way, by a crime of the kind involving the destruction even of the innocent, it could not continue to exist without giving rise to almost daily assassinations. The slaves, however,