Memories of the Neva. 1 79 



of palaces. Through the intervals of troops the Exchange 

 and its pillars and steps might be seen in bold outline, and 

 uglier always, the greater the distance between you and 

 them, the monstrous columns, decorated with the prows of 

 quaint ships, stood over the river. 



In the Square itself our prospect was of masses of 

 soldiery, out of the centre of whom rose, eighty-four feet in 

 the air, the Alexander Column — a single shaft of beautiful 

 red granite, whose pedestal is ornamented with work smelted 

 from Turkish cannon, and which, as a monument, tells its 

 own history in the inscription "To Alexander the First — 

 grateful Russia.'' Opposite the main entrance, over which 

 the yellow Imperial flag floated, is the Constantine Arch, its 

 gigantic horses apparently in the act of leaping down from 

 their stucco pedestal amongst the troops below. The public 

 buildings, of which this arch is part, extend nearly a mile. 

 The officers, mounted and on foot, waiting before the Palace 

 gates, were a small army in themselves, and an army of 

 splendid fellows they were. The spectacle of twenty thou- 

 sand men standing within ken of the palace, like rows ot 

 statues, though striking, was not so brilliant as it might have 

 been, or as it would have been had summer reigned instead 

 of winter. These Russian great coats are enormous levellers. 

 The Emperor and his brothers and sons wear them as 

 rough and sombre as the rest of the officers. Decorations, 

 splendid uniforms, and fine figures are thrown away under 

 these closely-buttoned garments. The thing becomes 

 monotonous when the men are numbered by thousands. 

 The privates were alike as two peas, except in the head-gear 

 ■ — tall straight fellows, in long double-breasted brownish 

 grey overcoats, buttoned to the throat. Two broad bands of 

 the same colour crossed the breast, holding in its place the 

 hair-covered knapsack at the soldier's back. The men wore 



