on in a way that I do not dare commit to paper."

Posse, writing in December of the same year, says:

"In spite of the cold and scarcity, and although the water is standing in the huts, the King will not yet let us go into winter quarters. I believe that if he had only eight hundred men left he would invade Russia with them, without taking the slightest thought as to what they would live on; and if one of our men is shot, he cares no more about it than he would for a louse, and never troubles himself about such a loss."

The counselors of Charles were of opinion that he should immediately accept the propositions of peace offered by King Augustus, invade Russia, take up winter quarters in the enemy's country, and use all means to foment the discontent existing there, even to proclaiming Sophia. After such a defeat, the Russians were unprepared to resist, and it would be possible to advance even to Moscow. In any case, the Swedes could get advantages of much the same sort as they had had in the Troublous Times, and could forever secure their rule in the provinces already possessed by them. Charles was at first inclined to this opinion, and forbade his troopers foraging over the frontier, lest the country should become barren, and nothing be left for the invading army. But he speedily changed his mind. His contempt for the Russians rapidly grew, and he despised them as a people not worth fighting. He had a personal feeling of hostility toward his cousin Augustus for his treachery, and feared, or pretended to fear, that if peace were made with him, he would break it the moment the Swedes had entered Russia; but more than all, he desired to put down the third enemy by force of arms.

No doubt many of those who surrounded him secretly worked on his feelings of ambition, in order that these plans might be carried out, for they feared the march through the deserted and cold districts of Northern Russia, where, with the King's temperament, they would be obliged to suffer many privations. Sending, therefore, a small force to the region of Lake Ládoga and the Neva, Charles took up his winter quarters in the castle of Lais, a few miles from Dorpat. The troops were quartered in the villages and in the open country round about. Although he might have taken up pleasanter winter quarters in Narva,

Riga, or Pernau, he did not visit these towns once during the course of the winter, and it was not until the beginning of June that he even went to the neighboring university town of Dorpat.

The time passed merrily enough in the castle, where General Magnus Stenbock invented all sorts of amusements-suppers, masquerades, spectacles, and even a great sham fight, with snow castles and snow balls. Charles paid little attention to governmental affairs, and busied himself solely with plans of war. He frequently visited the detachments of troops, but simply in order to see them drilled and go through their exercises, and not for the purpose of inquiring into their condition. Meanwhile, owing to the cold and privations, fever was making tremendous ravage in the army; two hundred and seventy of the Dalecarlian regiment died, and four hundred in that of Vestmanland, so that Vestmanland, so that on the return of spring less than half the troops were fit for action. The King's cousin, the Count Palatine Adolph Johann, died from fever, as well as many of the royal servants. lack of provisions, and even of clothing, caused the soldiers, in spite of the severe orders, to pillage and plunder the villages and houses of the inhabitants. The people wondered that the King should thus harass his own subjects, when he could have lived on the enemy in the neighboring Russian province of Pskof, and the discontent which was caused among the nobility of Livonia and Esthonia by the "Reduction" now extended to all classes of the population.

The

Peter had not got far from Narva when he received the news of the defeat. It surprised him, and almost stunned him by its unexpectedness and its magnitude, but it did not dispirit him. On the contrary, it roused him to new effort. He had the heroic qualities of perseverance and determination, difficulty but spurred him on, and, Antæus-like, he rose, after each fall, with new energy and new courage. At a later time, after the battle of Poltáva, he was able to judge the matter calmly, and said:

"Our army was vanquished by the Swedes

that is incontestable; but one should remember what sort of an army it was. The Lefort regiment was the only old one. The two regiments of guards had been present at the two assaults of Azof, but they never had seen any field-fighting, especially with regular troops. The other regiments

consisted-even to some of the colonels

of raw recruits, both officers and soldiers. Besides that, there was the great hunger, because, on account of the late season of the year, the roads were so muddy that the transport of provisions had to be stopped. In one word, it was like child's play. One cannot, then, be surprised that, against such an old, disciplined, and experienced army, these untried pupils got the worst of it. This victory was then, indeed, a sad and severe blow to us. It seemed to rob us of all hope for the future, and to come from the wrath of God. But now, when we think of it rightly, we ascribe it rather to the goodness of God than to his anger; for if we had conquered then, when we knew as little of war as of government, this piece of luck might have had unfortunate consequences. That we lived through this disaster, or rather this good fortune, forced us to be industrious, laborious, and experienced."

But there was no time then for calm consideration of the causes and conse

quences of the Russian defeat. Every moment was necessary for action. The Swedes might at any time invade the country. Peter met, near Lake Sámra, Prince Nikíta Répnin, who had collected his division in the Volga country, and was marching toward Narva. He was at once turned back to Nóvgorod, and instructed to bring into order the regiments which had left Narva "in confusion." Work was immediately begun on the fortifications of Nóvgorod, Pskof, and the Petchérsky monastery near Pskof. Men, women, and children were all put to the work, and the services in the churches were given up in order that the priests and monks could help. Houses were pulled down and churches were destroyed where they stood in the way of the new fortifications. Peter set the example by laboring with his own hands at the first intrenchment at Nóvgorod, and then intrusted it to Lieutenant-Colonel Shénshín. On coming back afterward and not finding Shénshín there, he had him mercilessly whipped at the very intrenchment, and then had him sent to Smolénsk as a common soldier. At Moscow, Leontius Kókoshkin was hanged because he had taken a bribe of five rubles when engaged in receiving carts at Tver, and another official, Poskótchin, was hanged at Novgorod for a similar offense.

Three weeks after the battle, when the stragglers had all come in, it was found

that, out of the three divisions of Golovín, Weyde, and Trubetskóy, there remained twenty-three thousand men. Adding to these the division of Répnin, Peter still had an army of thirty-three thousand men. The irregular cavalry and the local levies had practically disappeared, and were unserviceable. Orders were at once given to Prince Boris Galítsyn to make new levies, and especially to raise nine regiments of dragoons of a thousand men each. Volunteers were also again asked for from Moscow, but the prohibition against enlisting the old Streltsi was still kept in force. In a few months, the army was much larger than before, and, according to the testimony of foreigners, was in excellent condition.

Peter staid two weeks in Nóvgorod, to do what was most indispensable for the protection of the frontier. He then went to Moscow, and his activity was visible everywhere.

It was necessary to make new artillery, for nearly all had been captured by the Swedes. Vinius was charged with this task, and, in default of other metal, was ordered to melt down the bells of the churches and monasteries. The old man set to work with all his energy, and, in spite of the difficulty in finding workmen, in spite of the delays of the burgomasters in sending on metal, he was able, by the end of 1701, to furnish three hundred cannon, and prided himself on having done this so well, for not only were the pieces faultless, but they had been made at a saving of ten thousand rubles over previous cost. Besides this, he had founded a school, where two hundred and fifty boys were learning to become artillerymen and skilled workmen. Old as he was, in 1702 he even undertook a journey to Siberia to investigate the copper found there. Vinius, perhaps, exaggerated the difficulties under which he labored, but what he complained of most was that, in being appointed inspector of the artillery, he had been deprived of the charge of the post-office, and inquired whether it was on account of any anger toward him. Peter replied:

"I have received your letter, in which you write about the readiness of the artillery, and how you are working at it. The business is very good and necessary, for time is like death. You ask me if the post was not taken away from you so unexpectedly from some anger of mine. not your conscience at all accuse you? For I long ago talked to you about it, and you

But does

THE author of these remarks was on the point of prefixing to them a different title from the one he has actually made use of, when it occurred to him that the latter would give a much better idea of his subject. "The London Theaters" stands for something that may, more or less profitably, be talked about, but "The English Stage" is a conception so purely intellectual, so confined to the region of theory, or reminiscence, or desire, that it eludes the most ingenious grasp. There are a great many theaters in London, enjoying various degrees of credit and prosperity; but there is nothing cynical in saying that there is no such thing in existence as an English stage. The stage is a collective organism, composed of the harmonious vitality diffused through a number of individual play-houses, which are nourished by a dramatic literature

native to the country, and expressing its manners and feelings, and which work together to an effective end. When it substantially exists, it is usually summed up, typified to the world, in a theater more distinguished than the rest, in which the education of the actor has reached its highest point, and in which it is the supreme ambition of the dramatic authors of the country to see their productions represented. There is a stage in France, of which the ComédieFrançaise is the richest expression; and we are told that there is a very honorable stage in Germany, where two or three excellent theaters-literary theaters-maintain the standard of finished and brilliant acting. It appears to be generally conceded that there was formerly a stage in England. In the last century, the English theaters went hand-in-hand with a literature which

sprang substantially from the English mind itself, and which, though it has not proved of any value to posterity, ministered, for the time, to what we have called the vitality of the stage. At that time the actor's profession was looked upon as a hill of difficulty, not to be scaled at a bound, nor trodden by every comer. His art was not thought an easy one to master, and a long probation, an apprenticeship of humility, was the portion of even the most promising aspirants. The two great "patented" houses, Drury Lane and Covent Garden, performed very much the same function that the ComédieFrançaise has long been supposed to discharge (in spite of many lapses and errors) on the other side of the Channel. They protected the drama, and they had a high responsibility. They monopolized, in London, the right to play Shakspere and the poetical repertory, and they formed the objective point of actors and authors alike. They recruited themselves from the training-school which the provincial theaters then supplied, and they rewarded merit, and consecrated reputations. All this is changed, as so many things are changed in literature and art. The conditions of production are immensely different from those of an age in which the demand for the things that make life agreeable had not become so immoderate as to create a standing quarrel between the quality and the quantity of the supply. The art of writing a play has apparently become a lost one with the English race, who are content to let their entertainment be made for them by a people whose whole view of life is, however ingenious, essentially different from their own. The comparatively simple and homogeneous character of the English stage has become a sort of musty tradition, and in its place we have several dozen small theatrical enterprises, some of which are very successful, and others not at all so, but all of which live entirely on what the French call "expedients," and compass their degree of success by methods decidedly incongruous.

It is of the actual, however, that we pretend to speak, and not of the possible or impossible. Talking simply of the actual, the first thing to say of it is that the theater is nowadays decidedly the fashion in London. People go to it a great deal, and are willing to pay high prices for the privilege; they talk of it, they write about it, and, in a great many of them, the taste for it takes the form of a desire to pass from the passive

to the active side of the foot-lights. The number of stage-struck persons who are to be met with in the London world is remarkable, and the number of prosperous actors who are but lately escaped amateurs is equally striking. The older actors regard the invasion of this class with melancholy disapproval, and declare that the profession is going to the dogs. By amateurs we mean young men "of the world" (for of the other sex, naturally, there is much less question) not of theatrical stock, who have gone upon the stage after being educated for something very different, and who have managed to achieve success without going through the old-fashioned processes. The old actors are probably right from their own point of view-the point of view from which a long course of histrionic gymnastics was thought indispensable, and from which the touchstone of accomplishment was the art of delivering the great Shaksperean speeches. That way of considering the matter has lost credit, and the clever people on the London stage to-day aim at a line of effect in which their being "amateurs" is almost a positive advantage. Small, realistic comedy is their chosen field, and the art of acting as little as possible has-doubtless with good results in some ways-taken the place of the art of acting as much. Of course,