I witnessed the performance of a Russian tragedy, the subject of which was the deliverance of the Muscovites, when they drove back the Tartars beyond Casan.  The prince of Smolensko appeared in the ancient costume of the boyars, and the Tartar army was called the golden horde.  This piece was written almost entirely according to the rules of the French drama; the rhythm of the verses, the declamation, and the division of the scenes, was entirely French; one situation only was peculiar to Russian manners, and that was the profound terror which the dread of her father’s curse has inspired in a young female.  Paternal authority is almost as strong among the Russians as among the Chinese, and it is always among the people that we must seek for the germ of national character.  The good company of all countries resembles each other, and nothing is so unfit as that elegant world to furnish subjects for tragedy.  Among all those which the history of Russia presents, there is one by which I was particularly struck.  Ivan the Terrible, already old, was besieging Novorogod.  The boyars seeing him very much enfeebled, asked him if he would not give the command of the assault to his son.  His rage at this proposition was so great, that nothing could appease him; his son prostrated himself at his feet, but he repulsed him with a blow of such violence, that two days after the unfortunate prince died of it.  The father, then reduced to despair, became equally indifferent to war and to power, and only survived his son a few months.  This revolt of an old despot against the progress of time has in it something grand and solemn, and the melting tenderness which succeeds to the paroxysm of rage in that ferocious soul, represents man as he comes from the hand of nature, now irritated by selfishness, and again restrained by affection.

A law of Russia inflicted the same punishment on the person who lamed a man in the arm as on one who killed him.  In fact, man in Russia is principally valuable by his military strength; all other kinds of energy are adapted to manners and institutions which the present state of Russia has not yet developed.  The females at Petersburg, however, seemed to be penetrated with that patriotic honor which constitutes the moral power of a state.  The princess Dolgoronki, the baroness Strogonoff, and several others equally of the first rank, already knew that a part of their fortunes had suffered greatly by the ravaging of the province of Smolensko, and they appeared not to think of it otherwise than to encourage their equals to sacrifice every thing like them.  The princess Dolgorouki related to me that an old long-bearded Russian, seated on an eminence overlooking Smoleusko, thus, in tears, addressed his little grandson, whom he held upon his knees:  “Formerly, my child, the Russians went to gain victories at the extremity of Europe; now, strangers come to attack them in their own homes.”  The grief of this old man was not vain, and we shall soon see how dearly his tears have been purchased.