be the man of pleasure: that alone was enough to charm Philip of
Orleans. But in Russia, what could I seem in any way calculated to charm
the Czar? I could neither make ships nor could sail them when they were
made; I neither knew, nor, what was worse, cared to know, the stern
from the rudder. Mechanics were a mystery to me; road-making was an
incomprehensible science. Brandy I could not endure; a blunt bearing
and familiar manner I could not assume. What was it, then, that made
the Czar call upon me, at least twice a week in private, shut himself up
with me by the hour together, and endeavour to make me drunk with Tokay,
in order (as he very incautiously let out one night), "to learn the
secrets of my heart"? I thought, at first, that the nature of my mission
was enough to solve the riddle: but we talked so little about it that,
with all my diplomatic vanities fresh about me, I could not help feeling
I owed the honour I received less to my qualities as a minister than to
those as an individual.

At last, however, I found that the secret attraction was what the Czar
termed the philosophical channel into which our conferences flowed. I
never saw a man so partial to moral problems and metaphysical inquiries,
especially to those connected with what ought to be the beginning or the
end of all moral sciences,--politics. Sometimes we would wander out in
disguise, and select some object from the customs or things around us,
as the theme of reflection and discussion; nor in these moments would
the Czar ever allow me to yield to his rank what I might not feel
disposed to concede to his arguments. One day, I remember that he
arrested me in the streets, and made me accompany him to look upon two
men undergoing the fearful punishment of the battaog;* one was a German,
the other a Russian: the former shrieked violently, struggled in the
hands of his punishers, and, with the utmost difficulty, was subjected
to his penalty; the latter bore it patiently and in silence; he only
spoke once, and it was to say, "God bless the Czar!"

* A terrible kind of flogging, but less severe than the knout.

"Can your Majesty hear the man," said I, warmly, when the Czar
interpreted these words to me, "and not pardon him?" Peter frowned, but
I was not silenced. "You don't know the Russians!" said he, sharply, and
turned aside. The punishment was now over. "Ask the German," said the
Czar to an officer, "what was his offence?" The German, who was w