tuary it contained, all the statues being made of the worst stone, and
executed in the worst possible taste. The names cut beneath them gave the
whole the air of a practical joke. A weeping statue was Democritus;
another, with grinning mouth, was labelled Heraclitus; an old man with a
long beard was Sappho; and an old woman, Avicenna; and so on.

As I was smiling at this extraordinary collection, I saw the czarina,
preceded by Count Gregorius Orloff, and followed by two ladies,
approaching. Count Panin was on her left hand. I stood by the hedge to
let her pass, but as soon as she came up to me she asked, smilingly, if I
had been interested in the statues. I replied, following her steps, that
I presumed they had been placed there to impose on fools, or to excite
the laughter of those acquainted with history.

"From what I can make out," she replied, "the secret of the matter is
that my worthy aunt was imposed on, and indeed she did not trouble
herself much about such trifles. But I hope you have seen other things in
Russia less ridiculous than these statues?"

I entertained the sovereign for more than an hour with my remarks on the
things of note I had seen in St. Petersburg. The conversation happened to
turn on the King of Prussia, and I sang his praises; but I censured his
terrible habit of always interrupting the person whom he was addressing.
Catherine smiled and asked me to tell her about the conversation I had
had with this monarch, and I did so to the best of my ability. She was
then kind enough to say that she had never seen me at the Courtag, which
was a vocal and instrumental concert given at the palace, and open to
all. I told her that I had only attended once, as I was so unfortunate as
not to have a taste for music. At this she turned to Panin, and said
smilingly that she knew someone else who had the same misfortune. If the
reader remembers what I heard her say about music as she was leaving the
opera, he will pronounce my speech to have been a very courtier-like one,
and I confess it was; but who can resist making such speeches to a
monarch, and above all, a monarch in petticoats?

The czarina turned from me to speak to M. Bezkoi, who had just come up,
and as M. Panin left the garden I did so too, delighted with the honour I
had had.

The empress, who was a woman of moderate height and yet of a majestic
appearance, thoroughly understood the art of making herself loved. She
was not beautiful, but yet sh