_WINTER IN MOSCOW_
_H. SUTHERLAND EDWARDS_
Russia in the summer is no more like Russia in the winter than a
camp in time of peace is like a camp in the presence of the enemy.
Moreover, snow is one of the chief natural productions of the country;
and without it Russia is as uninteresting as an orchard without fruit.
One always thinks of Russia in connection with its frosts, and of
its frosts in connection with such great events as the campaign of
1812, or the winter of 1854 in the Crimea. Accordingly, a foreigner
in Russia naturally looks forward to the winter with much interest,
mingled perhaps with a certain amount of awe. He waits for it,
in fact, as a man waits for a thief, expecting the visitor with
a certain kind of apprehension, and not without a due provision
of life-preservers in the shape of goloshes, seven-leagued boots,
scarves, fur coats, etc.
The house I lived in was in the middle of Moscow; and with the
exception of the stoves, the internal arrangement seemed like that
of most other dwellings in Europe.
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