I repaired to the garden, and as I walked about I marvelled at the
statuary it contained, all the statues being made of the worst stone, and
executed in the worst possible taste. The names cut beneath them gave the
whole the air of a practical joke. A weeping statue was Democritus;
another, with grinning mouth, was labelled Heraclitus; an old man with a
long beard was Sappho; and an old woman, Avicenna; and so on.

As I was smiling at this extraordinary collection, I saw the czarina,
preceded by Count Gregorius Orloff, and followed by two ladies,
approaching. Count Panin was on her left hand. I stood by the hedge to
let her pass, but as soon as she came up to me she asked, smilingly, if I
had been interested in the statues. I replied, following her steps, that
I presumed they had been placed there to impose on fools, or to excite
the laughter of those acquainted with history.

"From what I can make out," she replied, "the secret of the matter is
that my worthy aunt was imposed on, and indeed she did not trouble
herself much about such trifles. But I hope you have seen other things in
Russia less ridiculous than these statues?"

I entertained the sovereign for more than an hour with my remarks on the
things of note I had seen in St. Petersburg. The conversation happened to
turn on the King of Prussia, and I sang his praises; but I censured his
terrible habit of always interrupting the person whom he was addressing.
Catherine smiled and asked me to tell her about the conversation I had
had with this monarch, and I did so to the best of my ability. She was
then kind enough to say that she had never seen me at the Courtag, which
was a vocal and instrumental concert given at the palace, and open to
all. I told her that I had only attended once, as I was so unfortunate as