Madame Mecour, the dancer, introduced me to her lover, Ghelaghin, also a minister.  He had spent twenty years of his life in Siberia.

A letter from Da Loglio got me a warm welcome from the castrato Luini, a delightful man, who kept a splendid table.  He was the lover of Colonna, the singer, but their affection seemed to me a torment, for they could scarce live together in peace for a single day.  At Luini’s house I met another castrato, Millico, a great friend of the chief huntsman, Narischkin, who also became one of my friends.  This Narischkin, a pleasant and a well-informed man, was the husband of the famous Maria Paulovna.  It was at the chief huntsman’s splendid table that I met Calogeso Plato, now archbishop of Novgorod, and then chaplain to the empress.  This monk was a Russian, and a master of ruses, understood Greek, and spoke Latin and French, and was what would be called a fine man.  It was no wonder that he rose to such a height, as in Russia the nobility never lower themselves by accepting church dignities.

Da Loglio had given me a letter for the Princess Daschkoff, and I took it to her country house, at the distance of three versts from St. Petersburg.  She had been exiled from the capital, because, having assisted Catherine to ascend the throne, she claimed to share it with her.

I found the princess mourning for the loss of her husband.  She welcomed me kindly, and promised to speak to M. Panin on my behalf; and three days later she wrote to me that I could call on that nobleman as soon as I liked.  This was a specimen of the empress’s magnanimity; she had disgraced the princess, but she allowed her favourite minister to pay his court to her every evening.  I have heard, on good authority, that Panin was not the princess’s lover, but her father.  She is now the President of the Academy of Science, and I suppose the literati must look upon her as another Minerva, or else they would be ashamed to have a woman at their head.  For completeness’ sake the Russians should get a woman to command their armies, but Joan d’Arcs are scarce.

Melissino and I were present at an extraordinary ceremony on the Day of the Epiphany, namely the blessing of the Neva, then covered with five feet of ice.

After the benediction of the waters children were baptized by being plunged into a large hole which had been made in the ice.  On the day on which I was present the priest happened to let one of the children slip through his hands.

“Drugoi!” he cried.

That is, “Give me another.”  But my surprise may be imagined when I saw that the father and mother of the child were in an ecstasy of joy; they were certain that the babe had been carried straight to heaven.  Happy ignorance!