The first gate we reached was a beautiful example of the art of this Northern country.  There were splendid pillars of teak, marble tigers and marble fretwork beneath, with much glittering colouring around.  A strong post of Russian infantry was on guard here, and sitting inside the enclosure with the men off duty were a number of Palace eunuchs.  They all seemed quite intimate together and were chaffing one another—­soldiers and eunuchs laughing heartily at some coarse jest.

We wended our way through a marble courtyard, which wore a rather deserted and forlorn look, and which had huge low-lying halls and dwellings for the Palace servants ranged on either side.  These appeared to be all deserted now, but at regular intervals were Russian sentries standing up on lookout platforms.  They were peering over the walls in every direction, and seemed to be keeping a very sharp lookout.  The officer said that many guards of other nationalities were well within rifle-shot from here, and that men were continually trying to steal their way right into the inner Palace by scaling the walls.  He called them robbers!

The next gate was much smaller, and showed from its very appearance that we were nearing the actual Palaces—­the hidden, mysterious abodes of the Tartar rulers who had so ignominiously fled.  Here the sentries had the strictest orders, for, stopping us short with their lowered bayonet points, they looked askance at us, and politely asked the officer who we were and why we had ventured here.  In the end, to set their minds at ease, he had to tear a leaf from his pocket-book, write an order, and make us sign our names.  Upon this, the non-commissioned officer in charge of this post detached himself and joined our little party.  We were not going to be allowed in alone, and imperceptibly the affair assumed a graver and more consequential aspect.  Then, quietly advancing, we four were speedily lost in the huge maze of gardens and buildings.  The area covered by the Palaces was enormous.

Beyond this was a succession of high, picturesque-looking buildings of a curious Persian-Tartar appearance, with little galleries running round them, and drum-shaped gateways of stone pierced in unexpected places.  There were also flowering trees and beautiful groves.  It was, indeed, charming, and over everything there was a refined coolness which to me was something very new.  We came on a last sentry, who, at a word from his sergeant, drew a heavy iron key from a wooden box hanging on the wall and fitted it to a lock.  The key turned with a faint screeching, which seemed out of place; the little gate was thrust open and closed behind us, and ... at last we were within the sacro-sanct courtyards of the rulers of the most antique Empire in the world....