fries have a religious significance, representing the degrees of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. The center turret symbolizes the patriarch, his radiant head raised between heaven and earth, surrounded with his priests, his deacons, and sub-deacons. The theological idea is always scrupulously preserved, and understood by the initiated, though the fantastic and varying forms give no hint of design to the careless observer. Chains, brilliant with gold or silver, unite the points of the crosses on the different-sized spires, producing an effect in the changing light, of which no painting could give an idea. A lively imagination can easily transform the grotesque collection of towers on every sacred edifice into a solemn assembly of ecclesiastics, or a cohort of phantoms hovering over the city.

I must not omit another most striking peculiarity in the aspect of Russian churches. The mysterious domes, besides the orna

upon

ments described, seem almost incased in armor, so complicated and elaborate is the labor betowed upon them. The most brilliant colors are employed in representing this multitude of spires, scales, spangles, enamel, stripes, plaids, and the dazzling effect in the sunlight can never be imagined by those who have not seen it. The effect of the gorgeous hues streaming from the summits of these masses of architecture, in the midst of the solitary waste environing Moscow, is like some magical illumination of the desert by gigantic gems. The play of the light upon the aërial structures produces a kind of phantasmagoria at mid-day; and it gives to Moscow a different aspect from any other European city. You can fancy what an appearance the sky must have amid these dazzling hues; it is as radiant as that of an antique painting glowing with gold.

I was more agreeably employed than in

counting the number of these wonderful edifices; for, as you will have seen, I have little to do with details. In my opinion, figures should always be in a book by themselves; but for the benefit of statistically-inclined readers, I will mention that the number of churches in Moscow has been variously stated by different writers to be between 484 and 1,600! This is reliable! So much for travelers' statements, your testy readers will exclaim; those who doubt my assertions had better verify them for themselves.

A few more remarks upon the general appearance of Moscow must suffice. The extent of the city causes an abundance of illusions, before you become familiar with its locality. Forests, lakes, and fields, are comprised in its limits, and its edifices are quite distant from each other. Its gorgeously-roofed churches form a semicircle to the eye; and when seen for the first time in the setting sun, resemble a fiery rainbow or an aureola spanning the city.

At a short distance from the gates, all my fine fancies vanished. I stopped before the very real and clumsy castle of Petrofski, built by Catherine II., in the oddest taste, after a modern design, its white walls overloaded with red ornaments. The style is intended for Gothic; but it presents none of the beauties, but only the extravagancies of this order. The building is perfectly square, with a regularity of plan which does not render its general aspect more imposing. It is the residence of the emperor during his visits to the ancient capital.

Your disenchantment is complete after you have passed Petrofski. Indeed, by the time you enter Moscow, you are ready to inquire how all that you admired so much in the distance has disappeared. You wake as from a dream and find yourself in one of the most prosaic cities, for it really does not possess a single meritorious work of art. Seen as a whole, and at a sufficient distance, it appears like a type of Asiatic life invested with all the poetry and mystery of the East; but you find it in detail a large commercial city, inharmonious, clumsy, badly built, badly paved, and sparsely populated,-a miserable copy of the European world.

Amid the chaos of brick, mortar, and plaster in which I found myself, I still preserved my faith in the Kremlin, and

immediately upon my arrival hastened to see it. Eager as I was to penetrate its inclosure and visit it in detail, I found myself at its very threshold gazing with wondering eyes upon the church of St. Basil, or, as it is sometimes called, the Cathedral of the Protection of the Virgin. The title of cathedral is very lavishly bestowed by the Greek Church; every monastery has one, and there are several in every city. This is certainly one of the most singular, if it is not the most beautiful monument in all Russia. You wih see by the sketch that it is a collection of turrets of an unequal height, forming a kind of bouquet, or rather a group of vari ous fruits; or, still better, an enormous crystallization of a thousand hues, shining in the sunlight like Bohemian glass, or like the most brilliant enamels. Scales of golden fish, skins of serpents, dragon heads, altar ornaments, and the garments of the priesthood are represented upon them; the arrows surmounting them are painted like the richest brocade; in fact, they bear quite a resemblance to gaudily dressed people. The roof between the spires glitters with colors of indescribable brilliancy, dazzling to the eye, and fascinating, by their novel effect, to the imagination. This fantastic edifice was founded in 1554, by Ivan the Terrible, as an expression of his gratitude to heaven for the taking of Kazan. His pious offering was finished by an act which gave him a new claim to his too well-deserved surname. When the monument was completed, Ivan asked for the architect who had drawn the plan and directed the labors. After lavishing his praises upon the work, he inquired if he believed himself capable of erecting a still more beautiful building. Gratified by the encomiums bestowed by the monarch, and with the consciousness of his genius glowing within him, the artist truthfully replied that he was certain he could do himself more justice in another structure. Ivan the Terrible then ordered his eyes to be put out, as a punishment for not displaying his utmost power in obedience to his commands, and also to prevent the construction of another edifice superior to it in beauty.

The tower of this church affords one of the finest views of the general appearance and situation of the ancient capital. Like Rome, it extends over the declivities of several hills: but here all comparison ends;

nothing in Europe, probably nothing in the world bears any resemblance to the singular spectacle. Two circumstances render the picture strikingly peculiar. In the first place, the roofs are not covered with tiles, slate, wood, or thatch, or any material employed in other countries. They are all metallic, and all painted red and green. The blending and contrast of these two brilliant colors is still more increased and diversified by the innumerable domes and spires, belfries and minarets of every form, which shoot up from amid this gay groundwork with still more brilliant and glittering colors into the air.

Moscow was called for a long time the Great Village, and both words were applied with equal propriety. It is one of the largest cities of Europe in extent, being about twenty-seven miles in circumference. In some quarters and in some relations it still preserves its village character. In the immediate neighborhood of the Kremlin there are some regular streets and the houses are connected; but elsewhere they are quite isolated, and surrounded with courts and gardens. In some of these dispersed dwellings, which really unite what your papers so often advertise-the conveniences of a rural and city residence-reside the old Muscovite nobility, in the patriarchal style of their ancestors, from time immemorial.

The Kremlin is the political as well as the religious sanctuary of Moscow. All the remembrances of its early history are gathered about it, up to the time when Peter the Great, in his triumphal career, gave Russia her place among European nations. The exact origin of the Kremlin is unknown; even the signification of the word is scarcely decided by etymologists. It has been traced to krem, a stone; but it is doubtful if there is anything locally significant about it, as several other Russian cities have their Kremlins. It is probably a general name, like the Alcazar of Spain, which originated from the El Kasr of the Arabs, signifying a fortified palace. The Kremlin serves the same purpose, inclosing and protecting, in the royal residence, all that is most dear and sacred to the nation. Among its temples are many remains of another kind. The old palace of the czars is still in existence, not less strange and grotesque from its foundations to the ceiling than the Church of St. Basil. Here also is the ancient palace of the

Patriarch, with all the transactions and all the books of the Holy Synod; the Senate and the Arsenal, the Treasury or Armory, in which twenty halls are crowded with objects incalculably valuable in themselves, or on account of the memories associated with them; among them are thrones, scepters, crowns, jewels, arms and armor, standards, crucifixes, crosses, and official insignia of every kind. Among other curiosities, I was shown the scepter and globe sent by Alexander Comnenus to one of the great Muscovite princes; the throne of Ivan III.; the crowns of the kingdoms of Europe and Asia annexed to that of Russia; the clothes which Peter the Great wore at Pultava; and the litter on which Charles XII. was carried at that battle which decided the fate of the two rivals. The artillery pieces taken from the French, or rather left behind, in the frightful re treat of 1812, are ranged before the arsenal.

In the very center of the Kremlin are four churches, describing a perfect square, forming the true metropolitan sanctuary of Russia. The oldest is that of the Annunciation, which dates back to 1397. Its arches were decorated with frescoes by two monks, at different epochs, and the paradise which it represents displays a strange reunion of saints and sinners, according to our ideas. Side by side with St. Peter and the other evangelists, we find Aristotle, Ptolemy, Socrates, Menander the comedian, and Anacharsis: as the latter was a Scythian, that is almost Russian, I was not so surprised at his good fortune. The good monk artists must have been "liberally" inclined; a Roman monk would have consigned these famous heathens to the same hell with Cain and Judas Iscariot.

The Church of the Archangel Michael was formerly the sepulcher of the czars; but Peter the Great disinherited Moscow of her dead as well as her living princes. He founded in his new capital a new series of imperial tombs. In the Church of the Assumption, which is the first of the three cathedrals, repose the ashes of the ancient patriarchs, the former popes of the Greek Church.

It was formerly the place of coronation for the czars, and the ceremony is still perpetuated in it. It contains a tribune or pulpit, never entered except by the aristocracy when the holy oil was poured on the brows of the autocrats, in

vesting them with all the power that man can exercise on earth.

But the churches of Moscow, though numerous and ancient, in their form and structure bear no comparison to the other famous ecclesiastical edifices of Europe. They are generally small, low and narrow; even the most celebrated ones are only chapels surmounted with domes and belfries. They are of all forms and all colors, and, seen from a distance, many of them resemble little pagodas of Saxony porcelain. In some of them you trace the hand of an Italian architect, who transfers a little of the grandeur of the Roman temples to the form adopted by the Greek. They appear still smaller than they otherwise would, because they are divided almost in halves for the separation of the cloister or place of the sacred images, which is entered only by the priests during service, and which no female eye can ever pene

trate.

Somewhat like the Church of St. Mark's at Venice in form and proportions, the Greek edifices also resemble it in the

richness of its internal ornaments. Ancient Byzantine pictures cover all the walls, all the arches, and all the cupolas. Most of these images are covered with metallic plates, something like turtle shells, often of gold or silver, upon which is carved the drapery concealed by them; the entire walls appear covered with these shells of precious metal, while the head or hands of the poor saints beneath seem to be emerging from some purgatorial hole. The most ancient and revered of these relics are inclosed in cases, or under a magnificent dais of massive gold or silver; they are crowded with votive offerings of diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds, of such size and value that they would honor the treasury of a king.

Europe has more celebrated bells than might be supposed by one who has not interested himself respecting them. But the largest, the heaviest, and the most famous, is one of the wonders of the Kremlin, universally known as the Queen of Bells. This mountain of metal is almost an object of worship to the Rus