the country with blood until the valour of Ivan Vassillievitch II. laid a chain on their necks, and uniting the numerous principalities into one vast empire, assumed to himself the title of Tzar, or Emperor.

Hence we meet with so many Princes in Russia, who are in general of the blood of these regal families; and, though, perhaps, the inheritance of some may lie on the borders of the northern Pacific Ocean, on the confines of China, or in Tartary itself, yet they all crowd to the centre of the empire; and usually in Mosco pass the winter, in scenes of magnificence not inferior to a royal court.

As to the title of Duke, it does not properly belong to Russia. What we in England call Archduke, is Grand-Prince, meaning (as the son of the Tzar) the head of all the Princes of the empire. The appellation Boyar, is inferior to that of Prince. Vaivodes are Governors of provinces. And the titles of Count and Baron were, I believe, first introduced by Peter the Great. I think I cannot end the history of these sounding names better than by giving you a copy of the manner in which the Great Catherine used to write all her titles. First premising, that the Sovereigns of Russia never put their names before that of the supreme Monarch of the universe.

66

By the grace of God, Catherine II. Empress and Autocratrix of all the Russias, of Mosco, Kief, Vladimir, Novgorod, &c. Tzaritza of Kazan, Tzaritza of Astrakhan, Tzaritza of Siberia, Tzaritza of the Tauridan Chersonese, Grand Princess of Smolensk, Princess of Pskove, Esthonia, Livonia, Karelia, Twer, Yugoria, Permia, Viatka, Bulgaria, and other countries, Grand-Princess of Nishney-Novgorod, of Tscher

VOL. II.

F

nigof, Riazane, Polotsk, Rostof, Yaroslavl, Bielosero, Udoria, Obdoria, Kondia, Vitepsk, Mestislavl; Sovereign of the whole northern region, and of the country of Iveria; of the Kartalinian and Grusinian Tzars, and of the Kabardinian country, of the Circassians, and of the mountain Princes, and of others, hereditary Princess and Sovereign."

And now, having led you such a race after the signs of honour, it is but right that I should bring you to repose a little where the substance lies: and so, once more to the Prince Gallitzen. His mansion is splendid, and in every point worthy of his taste and fortune. I dined with him. soon after my arrival; and again observed some very fine pictures which I had neglected to notice to you during my last sojourn in this city.

The first on which I could steadily fix my eye (for remember the Prince and I were not alone, several of my fair acquaintance were present, whose charms might well attract my observation from art to nature), was a Saint Sebastian, said to be painted by Salvator Rosa, exquisitely fine: but so peculiar were its beauties, that I strongly doubt whether even that great master could ever produce such à picture as this. In the first place, the colouring is so vivid, clear and fleshy: and in the second, the drawing is so accurate; and thirdly, the distribution of light and shade is more harmoniously disposed, than I ever saw in any of his most esteemed and largest productions. In short, to bring you an instance in his Prodigal Son, which is deservedly regarded as one of his best the styles are so different between the Saint Sebastian and it, that it would require the penetration of Apelles and Protagoras united, to discover traces in either of having both been produced by the same

hand. As several persons whom I met with, pronounced it to be a work of Salvator Rosa; and as their connoisseur experience in the galleries of the Continent ought to give them authority, I did not pretend to dispute their judgment, though I could not assent; but must still deny our favourite banditti painter the merit of producing this Saint. If I dare presume to affix a name to it, I would say that I rather think it bears the marks of Michael Angelo de Caravaggio.

The Prince can boast a chef-d'œuvre of Murilio. The subject is two boys eating a water-melon. They are represented the size of life, and possess all that fascination, so true to nature, which distinguishes the productions of this Spaniard. There is a fine duplicate of this picture in the Elector's gallery at Munich. Many smaller pictures of the Dutch and Italian schools ornament the saloon in which I sat; but time, and ignorance and neglect in those who have the care of them, have so woefully abused their beauties, that they are now scarcely worth notice.

Indeed, as I looked around on the assemblage, some good, others bad, and most indifferent, I could not but recollect the impression I have so often felt, both at home and abroad, when taken by a travelled lover of arts to see his collection. His walls, in general, are plentifully hung; and at as great an expence as if every pannel had been painted by the fathers of the art: but how easy is it to see, that not depending on his own judgment, the amateur has been led by those cicerone gentlemen, who are ever ready to save him the trouble of seeing, selecting, and buying and, who thus directing his taste both in sculpture and painting, fill his house, and their own pockets, by the labours of merely secondary artists.

But I should be ungrateful to my illustrious host, and most ungracious to myself, were I to dwell longer on the faults of a minor part of his furniture, when all else, his bronzes and his statues, were admirable ; and himself, moved like a Nestor through the scene. Though I passed so long a day with him, from noon till night, the interest never flagged. His conversation teemed with information and urbanity. The characters of men lay open before him: he decided on all with a precision that declared his judgment; while the candour with which he examined their actions, convinced you of the goodness of his heart.

The evening brought in new company, who turned the scene to a gaiety in which he partook with smiles; and an elegant supper terminated the night. A very well timed period! It is twelve o'clock! That witching hour, when all the grim heroes and heroines of the Tales of Wonder are afloat! So, for fear of being visited by some of the said sheeted fraternity, I shall even be beforehand with them, and assume a double share of their wardrobe by getting between the sheets of my bed. Therefore, goòd night to thee, my friend!

LETTER XXX.

Mosco, December, 1806.

I

DINED yesterday with Count Razumofsky; and partook of a re

past, which, at this sterile season of the year, teemed with all the luxuries of spring and autumn: fruits of every climate, ripened in hothouses; and vegetables of all descriptions, raised in cellars. A strange place, you will think, for the exercise of horticulture! But so it is; and by the exclusion of the cold air, and the admission of heat from the stoves, these subterraneous gardens produce summer vegetables all the year round. round. Green Green peas and asparagus are here as common at Christmas, as potatoes and winter-cabbages may be with you.

Indeed the Russians are very much indebted to the fostering care of our mother Earth; for in her bosom do they also treasure the ice which, during the hot months, is used to cool their feverish bloods. In no country, not even Italy, can this attemperating substance be consumed in greater quantities. It is put down into the vaults appointed for its reception every year in such vast shoals, that, I am told, from the continual replenishing, (and using that first which lies a-top, and consequently the latest deposited, there is ice in some of the cellars in Mosco, which has lain at their Bottoms for nearly a century. The ice is so strong, that when the owner has portions taken out for consumption, the servants are obliged to cut it up with pick-axes.