In the winter the
depressing damp of this northern Venice is crystallized and harmless.
On the English Quay a tall, narrow house stands looking glumly across
the river. It is a suspected house, and watched; for here dwelt Stepan
Lanovitch, secretary and organizer of the Charity League.
Although the outward appearance of the house is uninviting, the interior
is warm and dainty. The odor of delicate hot-house plants is in the
slightly enervating atmosphere of the apartments. It is a Russian fancy
to fill the dwelling-rooms with delicate, forced foliage and bloom. In
no country of the world are flowers so worshipped, is money so freely
spent in floral decoration. There is something in the sight, and more
especially in the scent of hot-house plants, that appeals to the complex
siftings of three races which constitute a modern Russian.
We, in the modest self-depreciation which is a national characteristic,
are in the habit of thinking, and sometimes saying, that we have all the
good points of the Angle and the Saxon rolled satisfactorily into one
Anglo-Saxon whole. We are of the opinion that mixed races are the best,
and we leave it to be understood that ours is the only satisfactory
combination. Most of us ignore the fact that there are others at all,
and very few indeed recognize the fact that the Russian of to-day is
essentially a modern outcome of a triple racial alliance of which the
best component is the Tartar.
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