attire we were pretty nearly like chimney-sweeps. Lately treated as a criminal, behold me now, all at once, at court before two sovereigns; the one dead, lying in state, and still surrounded with all the imperial pomp: the other in the full exercise of supreme power. This court seemed to me more strange than imposing; it exhibited a curious assemblage of the different representatives, and various costumes of numerous nations subject to the Russian sceptre. Here might be seen gentlemen in waiting, who, though in mourning, looked elegant and graceful, and had all the appearance of Molière's Marquisses; there, a Metropolitan[1] with his long, grey beard, his high cap, his stole and cross. Who is that dark man with black moustache and beard, caftan, wide trowsers, and yellow morocco slippers? He is a Tartar from the Crimea. And those two young men with shaved heads, and with rich girdles round their loins? The one is a Georgian and the other a Circassian. And yonder, that knot
- ↑ A Bishop.
