nature; and knowing that their urbanity, on account of their polar situation, is generally suspected, they are even anxious to make a profuse display of it. They are remarkably hospitable, and very attentive to strangers. Connubial happiness amongst the higher orders seldom endures eleven months after the honey-moon, when the parties generally kiss, pout, part, and afterwards are happy. Divorce is not recognized by the laws of Russia. The road to Moscow fre quently exhibits a singular spectacle of lords and their ladies, taking a half-yearly glance at each other as they meet, in exchanging their residences in the two cities, for their mutual accommodation and amusement: this is the nearest point of contact. The education of the young nobility very frequently suffers from the free and unguarded manner in which they receive every needy adventurer in the capacity of domestic tutor, particularly if he be an Englishman: English taylors, and servants out of livery, and travelling valets, frequently become the preceptors and governors of children. A fellow of this description said one day: "In summer I be clerk to a butcher at "Cronstadt, and in winter I teaches English to the Russian nobi"lity's children." I knew a lady whose valet left her at Petersburg, in consequence of having been appointed to the superintendence of the children of a Russian nobleman of high distinction, with one thousand rubles per annum, a table, and two slaves. The Russian nobility are in general very extravagant, and consequently frequently embarrassed: their bills are often at a discount of sixty and even seventy pounds per cent.

Soon after our arrival, we visited the grand imperial theatre, or opera house, called the Stone-Theatre, which stands in a large open place, nearly in front of the marine garrison, formerly the new jail, and the Nicolai canal. At four angles, in this spacious area, are four pavilions of iron, supported by pillars of the same metal, resting upon a circular basement of granite, within which, in winter, large fir fires are constructed, the wind being kept off by vast circular moveable shutters of iron, for warming and screening the servants of those who visit the theatre in the winter. Previous to the erection of these sheds, many of those unfortunate persons were frozen to death. The government, attentive to the lives of the people, has interdicted performances at the opera, when the frost is unusually severe. The front is a noble portico, supported by Doric pillars; the interior is about the size of Covent-Garden, of an oval shape, and splendidly but

rather heavily decorated. The lower tier of boxes project from the sides, at the back of which are pilasters, adorned with appropriate de corations, richly gilded, above which are three rows of boxes, supported by Corinthian pillars, each of which, as well as those below, contain nine persons. Nothing less than the whole box can be taken. It frequently happens that servants stand behind their masters or mistresses in the boxes, during the performance, and present a curious motly appearance. The imperial box is in the centre of the first tier, projecting a little, is small, and very plainly decorated. The pit has seven or eight rows of seats with backs to them, in which a commodious portion of space for each spectator is marked off by little plates of brass, numbered upon the top of the back seat; this part is called the fauteuils. Such is the order observed here, and in every theatre on the continent, that however popular the piece, a spectator may, during any part of the performance, reach his seat, in this part of the theatre, without any difficulty. Behind, but not boarded off, is the pit and the parterre. The price of admission to the boxes and fauteuils are two silver rubles, little more than five shillings. There are no galleries. The massy girandoles, one of which is placed at every pilaster, are never illuminated but when the imperial family are present; on which occasion only, a magnificent circle of large patent lamps is used, descending from the centre of the roof; at other times its place is supplied by one of smaller dimensions, when the obscurity which prevails induces the ladies generally to appear in an undress. Although this gloom before the curtain is said to be advantageous to the effect of scenery, yet the eye is saddened, as it runs its circuit in vain for forms adorned with graceful drapery, the glittering gem, the nodding plume, and looks of adorned beauty, that give fresh brilliance to the gay galaxy of light. This theatre is furnished with a great number of doors and passages, reservoirs of water, and an engine in case of fire, and with concealed flues and stoves, to give it summer warmth in winter. It is always strongly guarded by a detachment from the guards, as well as by the police officers, who preserve the most admirable order among the carriages and servants. It is not an ungratifying sight, after the opera, to pause at the doors and see with what uncommon skill and velocity the carriages, each drawn by four horses, drive up to the grand entrance under the portico, receive their company, and gallop off at full speed; pockets are very rarely picked, and accidents seldom happen.

Owing to the size and quantity of decorations, and the spacious arrangement of the boxes, I should not think the theatre could contain more than twelve hundred persons. Its receipts have never yet exceeded one thousand six hundred and eighty rubles, or two hundred and forty pounds. How different from a London theatre, which, on a crowded night, when a Siddons or a Litchfield delight their audience, is lined with faces, and the very walls appear to breathe!

The first opera I saw was Blue Beard, performed by Italian performers; the subject of which varied but little from the representation of it in England, except that the last wife of Blue Beard has a lover, who in the concluding act lays the sanguinary tyrant breathless with his sword. The catastrophe was finely worked up, and drew from the Russians successions of enthusiastic acclamation. Do these sentiments of tenderness, these noble notions of retributive justice, denote an immutable barbarism? The processions were in the first style of magnificence, the dresses and ornaments were very costly, and it is not unusual to introduce, on these occasions, one thousand men, selected from the guards for the expression of their faces and symmetry of their figures, to swell the scene of pomp. The orchestra was very full, and combined the first-rate powers of music. The scenes were handsome and well managed. A room was formed of entire sides, and well furnished; and a garden was displayed with all its characteristics. The emperor contributes very munificently to the support of this theatre; and as all the machinists and workmen are his slaves, they are all under admirable discipline. The introduction of a tree into a study, or fringing the top of a forest with a rich cieling, scenic blunders, which frequently occur on the English stage, would hazard the backs of the Russian scene shifters. This theatre has a very

beautiful set of scenes, which is never displayed but on nights when the imperial family honour it with their presence. The silence and decorum of the audience cannot but impress the mind of any one, who has witnessed the boisterous clamours of an English audience. The curtain ascends at six o'clock precisely. No after-piece, as with us, only now and then a ballet, succeeds the opera, which is generally concluded by nine o'clock, when the company go to the summer gardens, drive about the city, or proceed to card and supper parties.

This theatre is as much dedicated to the Russian muses as to those> of more genial climates. In this respect Catherine II pursued the same plan of domestic policy, so wisely adopted by Gustavus III; but

the plan, since her demise, has never been encouraged by the higher circles. A Russ play has the same effect upon fashion in Russia as George Barnwell has upon the same class in England. Although in the former there are some inimitable performers, as in the hero of the latter, one of the most perfect and affecting imitations of nature, in that walk of the drama, ever exhibited upon any stage, is display. ed by Mr. Charles Kemble.

I went one evening, in company with my amiable and gallant friend, captain Elphinstone, to see a Russ opera, called "The School for Jealousy :" it is not much esteemed. As it proceeded captain E. explained it to me: the sentiments were frequently A coarse, sometimes very obscene; the actors, who were Russians, appeared to perform with great ability; the heroine of the piece was represented by a very pretty and interesting girl, who was taken from the hospital of foundlings: she manifested grace, and a bewitching naïveté, and played and sang most sweetly. I am sorry I have forgotten her name; she is the principal Russ actress, and is a very great favourite. In the course of the play, to my astonishment, was introduced a scene of the inside of the mad-house at Petersburg, in which, amongst a number of horrible grotesque figures, a mad periwig-maker threw a handful of hair-powder into the face of a frantic girl, who ran raving about the stage with dishevelled locks, which excited strong risibility amongst the audience. I was so disgusted at the spectacle, and the applause, that I wished it had not happened; but as it did, I record it. Although an English audience has been delighted at a dance of undertakers, laughed at the feats of skeletons in pantomines, and in Hamlet has expressed great mirth at seeing a buffoon grave-digger roll human skulls upon the stage, and beat them about with his spade, it could not endure a sight in which those objects, whom pity and every tender feeling have consecrated, are brought forward with ridicule. But let it be remembered that madness is less frequent in Russia than in milder regions; and hence the people, for they are very far from being strangers to feelings which would do honour to the most civilized of the human race, are less acquainted with, and consequently less affected by its appearance; and when it is thus wantonly displayed upon the stage, it appears under the mask of buffoonery. The government would do well to suppress this and every similar exhibition, calculated only to

imbrute a civilized mind, and postpone the refinement of a rude

one.

I was much more pleased with the Russ opera of the Nymph of the Dnieper, which is so popular and attractive, that it never fails to fill the seats of fashion. It is chiefly intended to display the ancient costume and music of Russia. The story is very simple: A prince has sworn eternal constancy to a nymph, who is violently attached to him; his father, a powerful king, wishes him to marry a princess of an ancient house; the prince consents, but the nuptials are always interrupted by the stratagems of the jealous nymph, who appears in various disguises. The first scene was singularly beautiful: it displayed a river and its banks, and nymphs swimming; the manner in which they rose upon the water was admirably natural; the music of the ancient Russ airs, in which the celebrated Cossacka is introduced, were exquisite; the scenery was very fine, and displayed a number of pantomimic changes.

The Russian noblemen are fond of the drama; almost every country mansion has a private theatre. Those of the nobility, who from disgust to the court, or some other cause, confine their resi dence to Moscow and the adjacent country, live in the voluptuous magnificence of eastern satraps: after dinner they frequently retire to a vast rotunda, and sip their coffee, during a battle of dogs, wild bears, and wolves; from thence they go to their private theatres, where great dramatic skill is frequently displayed by their slaves, who perform, and who also furnish the orchestra. These people are tutored by French players, who are very liberally paid by their employers.