If you are not acquainted with him, I shall have the pleasure of introducing him to you and yours.
Meantime, if you wish to he amused, and with what is now and what is true, read Mrs. Wilmott's Memoirs of the Princess Dashkoff, and her own residence in Russia. We know enough of the author to warrant the whole to be true. I do not say that she tells the whole truth, hut that all she docs tell is true, and what she does not tell she was bound in honor and friendship, and by the tacit inviolable com- between confidence shewn and accepted, never to reveal, much less to publish. Both in the Princess Dashkoff's own Memoirs (very able and curious) and in Mrs. Wilmott's continuation (very amusing And new), there are from time to time great gaps, on coming to which the reader cries Ha! Ha! and feels that he must skip over. These gaps are never covered over ; and when we come even to dangerous ground we see that we must not turn that way, or hope to get on in utter darkness and our guide deserting — or, if not deserting, standing stock still, obstinately dumb. These memoirs are not a book on which History could absolutely be founded, but a book to which the judicious historian might safely refer for illustrations — and even for materials — all which it affords being sound and solid. Much more, in short, may these Memoirs be depended upon than any or many of the French varnished and vamped up Memoires pour servir a l'Histoire,
After reading the book I wrote to Mrs. Wilmot, and after homage due to her talents and her truth, I ventured to express, what I am sure you will feel if you read the volume, some horror, towards the (dose, at the Princess Dashkoff's accepting for herself or her sister, or for whoever it was. a ball from Orloff the murderer — that Orloff who with his own hand strangled his emperor.
Mrs. Wilmot made me but a lame apology for her dear princess. I think, and an odd answer for herself. In the first place, she said, It was so long ago. As if such a murder could be a by-gone tale! or as if thirty or forty or any number of years could purify or cleanse a murderer in the eyes and sense of Humanity or Justice! In the next place she pleaded that she was so much pleased by Orloff 's angel daughter who stood beside him, and then with his parental delight in her beauty, simplicity, and elegance in the dance.
Mrs. Wilmot was sure I should have felt as she did and have for- gotten the murderer in the father. But, on the contrary. I am afraid I should have forgotten the father in the murderer; I fear I should have seen only "the vile spot" which would never out of that hand! And oh ! that horrible knee — I see it pressing on the body of the breathless Peter ; and, through all the music of the ball-room band, methinks I hear " shrieks of an agonising king."
Possibly in Russia, "murder is lawful made by the excess," and
