MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 200, 22 August 1905, Page 2

MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES.

SECRETS OF THE KREMLIN

The Russian revolutionists might storm the g: eat palaces of St. Petersburg, might crowd the streets of . Warsaw, might even surge around the Royal paince at Tsarskoe Selo, but, there is one spot in Russia where they dare not go. f f they were to attack the Kremlin every loyal Russian would gladly lay down his life to have the great treasure-Tiouse ot his Fatherland. Within the walls of the Kremlin lies a treasury of gold and precious stones which would pay Russia's national debt many times over.

The Kremlin is an enormous fortress, arfd for a thousand years has sheltered the throne and the treasures of the Russian Empire. It stands upon an eminence a city within a city, washed on ►hree'sides by the River Volga,.and enclosed by a wall nearly a mile and a half long. The Kremlin is not only the legal capital of the Empire, the location of the throne and the residence of the Czar, but is also the headquarters of the Orthodox Greek Church. In the treasury the thrones, crowns, sceptres, coronation robes, state carriages, table-plate, jewelled ornaments and other relics of the house of Romanoff are preserved. According to ancient custom, every ruler of 1 'a, until recent years < has had his own crown and throne and sceptre, and each has endeavoured to surpass his predecessors in taste and ex , ravaganee. The palace of the Kremlin is always kept in readiness for its imperial tenant, and he spends a few weeks there at intervals each year, in order to gratify his loyal subjects in the holy city—'"Our Mother .Moscow." In some respects it is the finest residence of all the sovereigns of Europe.

There are numerous state apartments, finished and furnished with barbaric splendour five or six hundred years ago. much gold and silver and many precious stones having been used. Gold was once so plentiful in Russia that it was spread over the walls of palaces, jewels were so numerous that they were embedded as ornaments in doors.

The throne of Ivan the Terrible, for example, is made of solid silver, ornamented with gold, and thickly studded with gems. His robe of state, which is still on exhibHion, was described by a writer of the fifteenth century as "seeming to be one sheet of diamonds, while his neck-collar, the bands of his sleeves and the train that he drew behind him were within of sable and without of uniform pearls, like large drops of water, of the purest whiteness, each being of the value if a male slave."

The revolutionaries declare that there is in the Kremlin enough useless treasure to pay the debt of Russia; and in the churches and palaces enough gold and jewels to build a schoolhouse in every village and give an education to every child in the Empire. ADVENTURES IN BOOKIAND One of the most delightful of recent books is "Adventures Among Books," by Andrew Lang. Mr Lang's adventures began soon after he left his cradle, for lie discovered the elegy of Cock Robin at four. His first novel (at nine) was "Jane Eyre"; then came "Pickwick," and "from that hour it was all over, for five or six years, with anything like industry and lesson-books. I read 'Pickwick' in convulsions of mirth. I dropped Pinnock's 'Rome" for good. I neglected everything printed in Latin, in . fact every hing that one was understood to prepare for one's classes in the schoo , whither I was now sent, in Edinburgh. For there, living a rather lonely small boy in the house of an aged relation, 1 found the Waverley novels. The rest is transport." And then he found the greatest of all—Thackeray. He began with "Vanity Fair," and read on and on. "But, of all Thackeray's books, I suppose 'Pendennis' was the favourite." "The story of PenV' writes Mr Lang, '"made one wish to run away to literature, to the Temple, to streets whe:* Brown, the famous reviewer, might be seen walking with his wife and umbrella. The writing of poems 'up to' pictures, (he beer vri h Warrington in the mornings, the suppers in the back-kitchen, these were the alluring things, not society, and Lady Rockminster, and Lord Steyne. Well, one has run away to literature since, but where is the matutinal beer? Where is ihe back-kitchen? Where ara Warrington, and Foker, and F. B. ? I have never met them in this living world, though Brown, the celebrated reviewer, is familiar to mc, and also Mr Sydney Scraper, of the Oxford nnd Cambridge Club. Perhaps backkitchens exist, perhaps there are cakes and ale in the life literary, and F. B. may take his walks by the Round Pond. Dut one never encoun:ers these rarities, and Bungay and Bacon are no longer the innocent and ignorant rivals whom Thackeray drew. They do no? give those wonderful parties; Miss Bunnion has become quite conventional; Percy Popjoy has abandoned letters; Mr Wenham does not toady; Mr Wagg does not joke any more. The literary life is very like any other in London, or is it that we do not see it aright, not having the eyes of genius? Well, a life on the ocean wave, too, may not be so desirable as it seems in Marryat's so many a lad whom he tempted into the navy has discovered. The bes' part of the existence of a man of letters is his looking forward to it through the spectacles of Titmarsh." A chapter in this book is devoted to Robert Louis Stevenson, who Mr Lang knew well. They were related to each other in some way or other. But Mr Lang never heard of his existence till, in 1873, he, like Stevenson, was at Mentone iv the interests of his health. There ther met: "He looked, as in my eyes he alv.ays did look, more like a lass than a lad, with a rather long, smooth, oval face, brown hair worn at greater length than is common, large lucid eyes, but whether blue or hrrwn 1 cannot remember—if brown, certainly light brown."' At tirst Mr Lang was not attracted to Stevenson, but after reading his essay, '"Ordered South," he says, "I saw at once that here was a new writer, a writer indeed; one who could do what none of us. nous aulres. could rival, or approach. I was instantly 'sealed of the Tribe of Louis,* an admirer, a devotee, a fanatic, if you please. At least my taste has never altered." Of Stevenson's personality, Mr Lang says: "Mr Stevenson more than any man I ever met. the power of making other men fall iv love wth him. I mean that he excited a passionate admiratiun and affection, so much so that I verily believe some men were jealous of other men's places in his liking. I once met a stranger who. having become aequainred with him, spoke of him with a touching fondness and pride, his fancy ruposInjj a.- it seemed, in a fond contemplation of so much sreuins and rharm. What \■ n- so taking in him? and how. is one to au*ly»e that daialing auriaee of pl*a-

santry, that changeful shining htflndar, wit, wisdom, recklessness; beneath which beat the most kind and tolerant of hearts?" " &