This beautiful palace, as has been remarked, was built by Catherine, that she might retire to it after the cares of state, and endeavour to forget them among its varieties and objects of interest. That she attained the ease and happiness she sought, is more than doubtful.
“Depend on it, my lads,” observed Cousin Giles, “that powerful but bad woman was far from happy amid all the luxury which wealth could give her. Nothing but a good conscience, void of offence towards God and man, can bring happiness, and that she had not got.”
The Winter Palace is next to the Hermitage. Though much larger, it is far less interesting, as the interior was burnt down in 1837, when many fine paintings and articles of value were destroyed. It is said that in the old palace there resided not less than six thousand persons, some living in huts constructed on the roof, whence no one thought of disturbing them. Some thousands no doubt reside also in the present building.
That moon-stricken monarch, Paul, built a palace for himself, in the hope that within its fortified walls he might be safe from the attacks of his enemies. So eager was he to have it finished, that five thousand men were employed on it daily. To dry the walls, iron plates were made hot and fastened against them; but what is done in a hurry is generally ill done, and such was the case in this instance: the cost was three times greater than it need have been.
Scarcely had the unhappy Emperor inhabited his new abode three months, when he fell, pierced by the daggers of assassins, in the centre of the very fortress he had fancied would prove his security.
The Hermitage having been thoroughly lionised under the auspices of the polite colonel, the party steered a course across the bridge of boats to the Exchange, a large building with a fine portico and a flight of steps facing the river, on the north side, at the eastern end of Vasili Ostrof, and with a fine open space before it. It was presented by the late Emperor to the mercantile community of Saint Petersburg, whom he wished especially to conciliate. In front stand two granite columns, decorated with the prows of ships cast in metal. On a close examination of the building, our friends discovered that it was covered with stucco, which in many places was already crumbling away, as is the case with many other edifices of high and low degree in this rapidly constructed city. Cousin Giles and his friends were hesitating about entering when they were overtaken by Mr Henshaw.
“Come in,” said he. “The merchants here are happy to see strangers; they will not knock your hat over your eyes, as the frequenters of Change Alley are wont to do to intruders.”
They followed their friend, and found themselves in a vast hall full of long blue or green-coated gentry, with flowing beards and low-crowned hats, intermingled with others in modern European costume—some looking round in expectation of a correspondent, others in earnest conversation in knots of twos or threes, busily engaged in buying or selling, a word deciding the fate of hundreds of fat oxen now feeding securely in their native pastures, or of thousands of tall trees growing in the primeval forest thousands of versts away. They were much struck by observing an altar on one side of the entrance, with candles burning on it, and the picture of a saint, black, as usual, and in a golden habit, before which the native merchants bowed and crossed themselves as they passed onward to transact their affairs. Here were collected representatives of all nations, and from every part of Russia—a strange medley of physiognomies, tongues, and costumes; but so habitual has become to them a modulated tone of voice, that, in spite of the hundreds speaking at once, a gentle murmur alone is heard through the hall.
Among the foreigners the Germans probably preponderate, but the English hold a very high position: in no community abroad are British merchants more deservedly respected than those engaged in the Russian trade. Cousin Giles and his young companions made the acquaintance of several, and found them most pleasing, gentlemanly men. Mr Henshaw took them to see the portraits of the present and the late Emperor, hanging up in an inner room of the building. The present Czar is a slighter and shorter man than his father, and with a far milder expression of countenance. The picture of Nicholas speaks of undaunted courage and determination, and at the same time of a relentless and almost a ferocious disposition.
“I am glad he was not my master,” exclaimed Harry; “how hard he would have hit if he had begun to flog one!”