e non-Russian character of the modern
ecclesiastical glories of which it is the exponent, as we listen eagerly
to the soft, rich, boom-boom-bo-o-om of the great bourdon, embroidered
with silver melody by the multitude of smaller bells chiming nearly all
day long with a truly orthodox sweetness unknown to the Western world,
and which, to-day, are more elaborately beautiful than usual, in honor
of the great festival. We appreciate to the full the wailing cry of the
prisoner, in the ancient epic songs of the land: "He was cut off from
the light of the fair, red sun, from the sound of sweet church-bells."

On the great Palace Square another characteristic sight is to be seen on
the nights of Court balls, which follow the Jordan, when the blaze of
electric light from the rock-crystal chandeliers, big as haystacks,
within the state apartments, is supplemented by the fires in the heater
and on the snow outside, round which the waiting coachmen warm
themselves, with Rembrandtesque effects of _chiaro-oscuro_ second only
to the picturesqueness of _dvorniki_ in their nondescript caps and
shaggy coats, who cluster round blazing fagots in less aristocratic
quarters when the thermometer descends below zero.

When spring comes with the magical suddenness which characterizes
Northern lands, the gardens, quays, and the Nevsky Prospekt still
preserve their charms for a space, and are thronged far into the night
with promenaders, who gaze at the imperial crowns, stars, monograms, and
other devices temporarily applied to the street lanterns, and the fairy
flames on the low curb-posts (whereat no horse, though unblinded, ever
shies), with which man attempts, on the numerous royal festival days of
early summer, to rival the illumination of the indescribably beautiful
tints of river and sky. But the peasant-_izvostchik_ goes off to the
country to till his little patch of land, aided by the shaggy little
farm-horse, which has been consorting on the Prospekt with thoroughbred
trotters all winter, and helping him to eke out his cash income, scanty
at the best of times; or he emigrates to a summer resort, scorning our
insinuation that he is so unfashionable as to remain in town. The
deserted Prospekt is torn up for repairs. The merchants, especially the
goldsmiths, complain that it would be true economy for them to close
their shops. The annual troops of foreign travelers arrive, view the
lovely islands of the Neva delta, catch a glimpse of the s