"Have you ever been in Russia?" shouted a voice, that of the large
rough fellow who asked me the question about the Russian war.
"Oh yes, I have been in Russia," said I.
"Well, what kind of a country is it?"
"Very different from this," said I, "which is a little country up
in a corner, full of hills and mountains; that is an immense
country, extending from the Baltic Sea to the confines of China,
almost as flat as a pancake, there not being a hill to be seen for
nearly two thousand miles."
"A very poor country isn't it, always covered with ice and snow?"
"Oh no; it is one of the richest countries in the world, producing
all kinds of grain, with noble rivers intersecting it, and in some
parts covered with stately forests. In the winter, which is rather
long, there is a good deal of ice and snow, it is true, but in the
summer the weather is warmer than here."
"And are there any towns and cities in Russia, sir, as there are in
Britain?" said the old man who had resigned his seat in the
chimney-corner to me; "I suppose not, or if there be, nothing equal
to Hereford or Bristol, in both of which I have been."
"Oh yes," said I, "there are plenty of towns and cities. The two
principal ones are Moscow and Saint Petersburg, both of which are
capitals. Moscow is a fine old city, far up the country, and was
the original seat of empire. In it there is a wonderful building
called the Kremlin, situated on a hill. It is partly palace,
partly temple, and partly fortress. In one of its halls are I
don't know how many crowns, taken from various kings whom the
Russians have conquered. But the most remarkable thing in the
Kremlin is a huge bell in a cellar or cave, close by one of the
churches; it is twelve feet high, and the sound it gives when
struck with an iron bar, for there are no clappers to Russian
bells, is so loud that the common Russians say it can be heard over
the empire. The other city, Saint Petersburg, where the Court
generally reside, is a modern and very fine city; so fine indeed,
that I have no hesitation in saying that neither Bristol nor
Hereford is worthy to be named in the same day with it. Many of
the streets are miles in length, and straight as an arrow. The
Nefsky Prospect, as it is called, a street which runs from the
grand square, where stands the Emperor's palace, to the monastery
of Saint Alexander Nefsky, is nearly three miles in length, and is
full of noble shops and houses.
