remained, to which we should have scarcely given the name in the
South of Europe. The garden was very agreeable; it was embellished
with trees and flowers; but at four paces from the house the deserts
and the marshes were again to be seen. In the environs of
Petersburg, nature has the look of an enemy who resumes his
advantages, when man ceases for a moment to struggle with him.

The next morning I repaired to the church of Our Lady of Casan,
built by Paul I. on the model of St. Peter's at Rome. The interior
of this church, decorated with a great number of columns of granite
is exceedingly beautiful; but the building itself displeases,
precisely because it reminds us of St. Peter's: and because it
differs from it so much the more, from the mere wish of imitation.
It is impossible to create in two years what cost the labour of a
century to the first artists of the universe. The Russians would by
rapidity escape from time as they do from space: but time only
preserves what it has founded, and the fine arts, of which
inspiration seems the first source, cannot nevertheless dispense
with reflection.

From Our Lady of Casan I went to the convent of St. Alexander
Newski, a place consecrated to one of the sovereign heroes of
Russia, who extended his conquests to the borders of the Neva. The
empress Elizabeth, daughter of Peter I. had a silver coffin made for
him, upon which it is customary to put a piece of money, as a pledge
of the vow which is recommended to the Saint. The tomb of Suwarow is
in this convent of Alexander Newski, but his name is its only
decoration; it is enough for him, but not for the Russians, to whom
he rendered such important services. This nation, however, is so
thoroughly military, that lofty achievements of that description
excite less astonishment in it than other nations.

The greatest families of Russia have erected tombs to their
relatives in the cemetery which belongs to the church of Newski, but
none of these monuments are worthy of remark; they are not
beautiful, regarded as objects of art, and no grand idea there
strikes the imagination. It is certain that the idea of death
produces little effect on the Russians; whether it is from courage,
or from the inconstancy of their impressions, long regrets are
hardly in their character; they are more susceptible of superstition
than emotion: superstition attaches to this life, and religion to
another; superstition is allied to fatality, and religio