as given, that people might get over the first throes of
their repugnance, after which every man who chose to retain his beard was
to pay a tax of one hundred roubles. The priests and the serfs were put on
a lower footing, and allowed to retain theirs upon payment of a copeck
every time they passed the gate of a city. Great discontent existed in
consequence, but the dreadful fate of the Strelitzes was too recent to be
forgotten, and thousands who had the will had not the courage to revolt.
As is well remarked by a writer in the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, they
thought it wiser to cut off their beards than to run the risk of incensing
a man who would make no scruple in cutting off their heads. Wiser, too,
than the popes and bishops of a former age, he did not threaten them with
eternal damnation, but made them pay in hard cash the penalty of their
disobedience. For many years, a very considerable revenue was collected
from this source. The collectors gave in receipt for its payment a small
copper coin, struck expressly for the purpose, and called the
"_borodovaia_," or "the bearded." On one side it bore the figure of a
nose, mouth, and moustaches, with a long bushy beard, surmounted by the
words, "_Deuyee Vyeatee_," "money received;" the whole encircled by a
wreath, and stamped with the black eagle of Russia. On the reverse, it
bore the date of the year. Every man who chose to wear a beard was obliged
to produce this receipt on his entry into a town. Those who were
refractory, and refused to pay the tax, were thrown into prison.

Since that day, the rulers of modern Europe have endeavoured to persuade,
rather than to force, in all matters pertaining to fashion. The Vatican
troubles itself no more about beards or ringlets, and men may become hairy
as bears, if such is their fancy, without fear of excommunication or
deprivation of their political rights. Folly has taken a new start, and
cultivates the moustache.

Even upon this point governments will not let men alone. Religion as yet
has not meddled with it; but perhaps it will; and politics already
influence it considerably. Before the revolution of 1830, neither the
French nor Belgian citizens were remarkable for their moustaches; but,
after that event, there was hardly a shopkeeper either in Paris or
Brussels whose upper lip did not suddenly become hairy with real or mock
moustaches. During a temporary triumph gained by the Dutch soldiers over
the citizens of Louvain,