Places worth visiting—Peter’s Museum—The Czar’s
works—Curious effigy—The war-horse—The Nevsky monastery—The
saint’s shrine—Magnificent tomb—Superstition—The
cemetery—Catherine—Imperial mausoleum—Description
of the sarcophagi—Prisoners—Political offenders—Spy
system—Bombardment of Odessa—Dumb spy—A spy of rank—Assemblée
de la noblesse—Masked balls—Russian civilization—Love of
money—Inebriety—Society in St. Petersburg.
There are many places well worth visiting in St. Petersburg: such as
Peter’s Museum at the Academy of Sciences, the Palace of the Hermitage,
the Monastery of Alexander Nevsky, &c. &c. The first of these (Peter’s
Museum) contains a great many relics of the Czar after whom it is named;
many of them are the work of his own hands—models of ships, a chandelier,
some iron articles, shoes, and little ivory figures. There are also his
tools and instruments, carefully preserved under a glass case. In another
apartment is the effigy of the great Peter himself, modelled in wax,
habited in one of his own court-dresses, having shoes on that he himself
made, and the head is decorated with his own natural hair made into a
wig. Unlike the Russians generally, he had dark eyes and hair, and his
features had more of the southern cast than of the northern. He must have
been of immense stature, for a rod was shown us which we were assured
was exactly his height, and its length was some inches more than six
feet. Another room contains the horse on which he rode at the battle of
Poltava, when the royal Swede “was taught to fly;” it is a wiry little
animal, of a light brown, much resembling in size and appearance one of
the small species ridden by the Cossacks, but quite out of proportion
to the gigantic Czar, whose feet must have nearly reached the ground. I
believe there is another museum also called after Peter the Great, but we
did not go to see it.
At the very end of the Nevsky Perspective, after passing a vast number
of miserable dwellings, we reach the Nevsky Monastery, from which the
street is named. Alexander Nevsky is an imperial and warrior saint, and
was Czar of Muscovy. After his death he was canonized for some reason or
other; and of course, with all his imperial and religious advantages, his
shrine is greatly visited and much reverenced by the people. It seems
a general rule, not only among the heathen nations of antiquity, but
with the Russians as well, that, when thoroughly tired of the “fantastic
tricks” played by their monarchs “before high Heaven,” they are content
to worship them as gods, though they might themselves have forwarded
them on the road to Paradise. The late Emperor Alexander, though not yet
dignified with the title of _saint_, has obtained the first step towards
it by being surnamed the “_Blessed_,” but why and wherefore no one could
ever tell us.
The Nevsky Monastery is a large pile of buildings painted white, with a
green roof; the road to it leads through an avenue of birch-trees, as
is generally the case in Russian monasteries. A large cathedral forms
the principal attraction, for in it is contained the saint’s shrine,
which is very magnificent and consists of an immense silver monument,
several yards in height, and placed against the wall: in the front is
a sarcophagus of the same metal on a raised dais; on its cover is a
full-length likeness of the dead, crowned by one of those circles of
radiant glory in pure gold which distinguish the Greek images,[3] and
further decorated with a wreath of artificial flowers. At the head of
the tomb a beautiful silver lamp is always kept burning, which casts
down on the features a soft light, and gives them a peculiarly pleasing
effect. At the foot of the shrine are seated two large figures of angels
in silver, and at each side of it is a military trophy consisting of
shields, spears, battle-axes, &c. &c., all of the same precious metal;
over the sarcophagus was thrown a magnificent pall of cloth of gold most
richly ornamented. I was assured by the Russian lady who accompanied me
that the body of the saint lay uncorrupted beneath.
“And do you really believe that Alexander Nevsky’s corpse is exempted
from the decay of other mortals?”
“Undoubtedly I do,” was the reply: “I have as little doubt of it as that
I see you now before my eyes.”
“But have you ever seen it?”
“No! that of course is not allowed, but the priests have done so, and
they tell us that he lies there just as if he were asleep; even his
limbs are not become rigid, and that is one of the great proofs that he
is worthy of being numbered among our patron saints.” Seeing me still
incredulous, she added, “I assure you that at Kiev there are numbers of
the uncorrupted bodies of our holy men and martyrs, which, if you went
thither, you could see yourself and be convinced.”
“But perhaps the monks have the secret of thus preserving them; I have
heard so.”
“I will not talk to you any more,” replied my friend; “you English
heretics will not believe any of our miracles.”
She quitted me, and went up the steps leading to the sarcophagus; and
devoutly kissing the hands and feet of the image, she repeatedly crossed
herself, whilst she muttered a few words in prayer; and having made
the offering of a piece of money, by slipping it through the top of
a well-secured box, she turned to accompany me out of the church. We
lingered a few moments longer to admire the rich canopy, supported by
massive silver pillars, that overshadows the tomb, and to read the name
of “Souvarof” on a small mural slab, and then proceeded to the cemetery
attached to the establishment. It was much crowded with monuments;
broken pillars, surmounted by a gilt cross, weeping female figures of
the purest white marble, and simple white crosses, were among the most
common and interesting of these offerings to the memory of the dead, made
by affection, ostentation, or hypocrisy. It was here that Peter III.,
the husband of the too famous Catherine, was interred, for she would not
even allow him to repose with his ancestors. Perhaps the idea of herself
being placed side by side with him of whose dreadful death she stands
arraigned, might not have been a very pleasant one. After Catherine’s
decease, Paul had his father’s body removed to the fortress, which
has been the mausoleum of the imperial family since Peter the Great’s
reign. I was told that he caused the nobleman who had actually done the
murderous deed to stand as guard the whole of the first night alone in
the church, between the tomb of the woman whose wicked orders he had
obeyed in the hopes of sharing the crown (of which reward she cheated
him), and that of the unhappy monarch whom he had murdered: the fearful
feelings of that night’s dreadful ordeal rendered him a maniac during the
remainder of his life.
We visited the chapel in which the members of the Romanof family are
deposited. Their resting-place is extremely simple, and is an ordinary
church. The tombs or sarcophagi are merely long boxes, standing in rows
before the altar, each covered with a crimson velvet pall, on which the
arms of Russia are embroidered. I was told that they were precisely
similar to the tombs of the Sultans in Constantinople, with the exception
of the turban.
Among other things we were shown the cushion on which Souvarof, the
half-barbarian general, reposed when in his tent; it was of leather,
stuffed with straw; but as I have no respect for the man, I was not
much interested in seeing it. On the other side of the river, opposite
the fortress, is a statue of him “_en héros_,” as our friend said; _en
barbare_ would have been more appropriate.
On leaving the place we perceived several of the criminals (it being the
state prison) peeping through the gratings of their cells; the whole
of one side of their heads was shaved, beginning with the line of the
nose, and finishing at the nape of the neck, presenting a most strange
appearance; the object of this is, that they may be recognised if they
should effect an escape. Beneath the fortress are the dungeons in which
the state prisoners are confined; I was assured that the dungeons extend
to a considerable distance under the Neva. How inconceivably wretched
such an existence must be!—in darkness, silence, and solitude, it seems
wonderful how they can survive, even for a few days. The church clock
chimes every quarter of an hour, which must be wearisome enough to
the unhappy creatures within hearing. At one time I was residing just
opposite to this place, on the other side of the river. One morning, at
about nine o’clock, I perceived a long line of sledges crossing the ice,
preceded and followed by a party of mounted _gensdarmes_: each equipage
contained a gentleman and one of the police. I found out afterwards that
these poor fellows, most of them quite youths, had been incarcerated
for some silly nonsense they had uttered about politics; they were then
being taken before the authorities to hear their final sentence. I do
not think that any of them escaped; they were hurried off to Siberia, in
the prisoners’ kabitkas that stood ready to receive them in the yard.
It appears that they had been to a supper-party, and had taken more
wine than needful, when they had talked pretty freely, of course. When
three meet together in Russia, you may safely count one of them as a
spy; it proved to be so in this instance, for information was quickly
given that some horrible conspiracy was being formed. The result we have
seen. A young _gendarme_ officer used to visit at the house of one of
our acquaintances; his presence always produced restraint, as they are
obliged by their duty to report whatever they may hear. _A propos_ of the
spy system: I was informed that, besides the secret police, there are
eighty thousand paid agents in the country, among whom, to their shame be
it spoken, are many Poles and foreigners. I am happy to say that I never
heard an instance of an Englishman being so employed. A great many women
belong to this hateful profession; even some of the French milliners
in St. Petersburg have the reputation of being agents of police. One
would wonder how politics could be brought on the _tapis_ while a lady
is engaged in trying on a new cap or bonnet; but these _marchandes de
modes_ have free admission to the masquerades, theatres, &c. &c., where
they can exercise their detective talents. It is no exaggeration to say
that a Russian subject scarcely dares to utter his true sentiments, even
to his own brother or familiar friend. I am sure that I have often been
present at conversations in which perhaps four or five would be taking
part, each knowing that his neighbour was telling a lie, and avowing
sentiments exactly contrary to those he felt; yet the subject under
consideration would be discussed with all the gravity and seriousness of
entire conviction. Take for example the recent bombardment of Odessa: I
was present in St. Petersburg at the time, and read the proclamation of
the Emperor announcing to his faithful people the astounding fact that
the allied fleets, mounting three hundred and fifty cannon, had fired for
twelve consecutive hours upon the town, killing only _four_ men, and that
the people were so well behaved, they did not let even the tremendous
cannonading interrupt their peaceful devotions! Added to which, they were
assured, after a few remarks on our fleet firing at too great a distance
to be within range of the battery guns, that the English ships retired
with great loss and damage. How this was caused when the Russian balls
could not reach them, the Emperor forgot to explain. I had an invitation
to dine with a family the very day on which the news came, and I would
not be absent, lest it should be ascribed to some feeling of annoyance
among the English. During the whole dinner (at which were some generals,
other officers, and ladies of rank), nothing was talked of but this
wonderful triumph of the Russian arms. I am convinced that there was not
one single person there present who believed it: but who could venture to
doubt the imperial words? Evil would have befallen him who had dared to
do so.
I remember, when in the province of Archangel, a deaf and dumb gentleman
paid the town a visit; he was furnished with letters of introduction
to some families there, and was well received at the governor’s table;
his agreeable manners and accomplishments, joined to his misfortune,
made him a general favourite, and caused much interest; he could read
French, German, Russian, and Polish; was a connoisseur of art, and
showed us several pretty drawings of his own execution. Two or three
times I was struck with an expression of more intelligence in his face
than one would expect when any conversation was going on behind his
back. It was not until three years after that I accidentally heard this
very man spoken of in St. Petersburg. He was one of the government
spies. It was no doubt for a very large sum that he had been induced
to put so great a constraint upon himself, and it must have required
long training to enable him to perform so difficult a part. This vile
system must have a dreadful effect in demoralizing all ranks of society,
producing hypocrisy, falsehood, meanness, and cunning, which are felt in
the minutest relations of life. On one occasion I was conversing with
a Polish lady and gentleman upon Count Custine’s work on Russia, which
is rigidly prohibited by the censor; in the midst of our conversation
a gentleman called, and by some _à propos_ accident asked if we had
read the book in question. I, being English, immediately replied in the
affirmative; but my Polish friends pretended that they had scarcely ever
heard even its title; and although only a few minutes previously they had
acquiesced in the justice of many of the Count’s remarks, they said “of
course they would not read a work condemned and prohibited.”
I will add another instance. A general officer visited the province in
which I was for some time residing; his rank gave him easy access to all
the best houses, and he was sure to be met with at any grand dinner.
Alas! he also was a spy. It was not until he had quitted the place that
this began to be whispered, and it was afterwards confirmed. I have heard
that professions learned and sacred, as well as honourable, all have
members who act as spies upon the rest.
Among the places worth visiting in the capital is the “nobility’s
assemblée,” at the corner of St Michael-street and the square. When I
first went to reside in St. Petersburg, these rooms were considered
quite the _mode_, but now they are no longer so, for public places soon
degenerate in Russia from the _comme il faut_ to the _mauvais genre_;
there were given balls and masquerades, at which the imperial family
were frequently present; the ladies wore dominoes after midnight, but
the gentlemen went unmasked. Any _lady_ could intrigue the Emperor
(no gentleman was allowed to do so), who frequently was surrounded
by a little gay crowd of _beaux masqués_, entertaining him with all
the chit-chat and _conversations légères_ peculiar to the style of
such amusements. I was informed that a great many Frenchwomen, even
milliners, were furnished with tickets gratis, their gay badinage and
cheerful manners serving so much to enliven the company. Among the
tales of scandal which, in the absence of politics, shares with actors
and actresses the honour of being made the subject of conversation in
Russian society, was one which I make no doubt whatever was a positive
fact, and, as it is _à propos_ to these _bals masqués_, I will relate
it. A lady, the daughter of an old general named B——, was one evening
at the masquerade; she intrigued a _personage_ of very high rank, and
while so doing was imprudent enough to touch upon some forbidden subject;
shortly after she left the assemblée and returned home, perfectly
unconscious that orders had been given not to let her out of sight until
her name and place of residence had been ascertained. The next morning
she was disagreeably surprised by a visit from an officer of the secret
police, who politely requested her to accompany him to Count Orloff’s
office. Such an invitation was, of course, not to be refused—she went
immediately. The gentleman who received her was _aimabilité_ itself;
he kindly pointed to a seat that stood near, and blandly proceeded to
ask her a few questions concerning the previous evening’s amusement,
to all of which the terrified lady tremblingly replied “the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” for no equivocation would have
availed her in that place. When the interrogation was finished, the chair
suddenly sank through the floor, and I am ashamed to say that from the
hand of some unseen person below she received a correction such as little
boys used formerly to be subjected to from the birch of old-fashioned
schoolmasters. I met this lady frequently in company, and knew her sister
well. I had the anecdote from an intimate friend of the family, and have
not the slightest doubt of its being true.
The same misfortune is said to have occurred about four months ago to a
certain noble princess from the south, who expressed some sympathy with
the cause of the Western Powers. I have often asked Russians, when they
were boasting of their great civilization, if this were a proof of it.
Once the reply was that “a great many of the Russian ladies deserved to
be beaten, and that it would do them a great deal of good.” At another
time, in speaking of the peasant-women being so treated, a certain Prince
A—— replied that “they were not worthy of the title of women, they were
no better than cattle!” Once, on complaining of the impertinence of
a servant, I was recommended to “box her ears well;” on my remarking
that such an action would be a greater disgrace to me than to the girl
herself, the lady, whose maid she was, answered, “If you do not do it, I
will;” she rang the bell, the footman was told to send Marousha, and the
instant she came, notwithstanding my entreaties, the lady administered
with her own hand a sound blow on each side of the poor girl’s head!
When abroad, the Russians invariably deny that such a state of things
exists; they will even sometimes attempt to hide it in their own country,
which shows that at the least they have the grace to be ashamed of it.
A stranger in walking through the streets in St. Petersburg, if he
understands anything of the language spoken, cannot fail to remark that
the general theme of conversation among the lower classes is _money_;
scarcely one of the men or women passes by without our catching the
words tchitvertack, grebinick, roup, &c. In no country is more avidity
displayed in the pursuit of gain; only speak of a piece of silver, and a
Russian’s eyes sparkle at the sound, and he is ready to do anything in
order to obtain it. Copecks and whisky are the two greatest temptations
of his heart. M. P——ski, a gentleman of education, assured me, only the
morning I left St. Petersburg, that they were in much more danger from
the pillage of the lower classes than from any exterior enemy; and he
expressed the greatest fears for the consequences of bringing so many
thousands of wild savages of soldiers into the town, for, if they rose,
it would be _en masse_, and he was fearful that the great temptation
offered by the sight of a civilized capital for the first time would
shortly prove an irresistible one; if they did have an outbreak, it would
sweep the upper classes away like a torrent.
In regard to the love of whisky to be remarked at every step, how can
we wonder that the Russian boor is addicted to drinking when there is
every inducement held out to him to do so? he is more to be pitied than
condemned. The government revenues are in great part acquired by the sale
of votku; there are people called brandy-farmers, who contract with the
authorities for the monopoly; they generally make great fortunes, and
the poor _people_ pay for all. The charge of inebriety among those of
superior rank is entirely false; a Russian gentleman seldom takes much
wine, and the ladies _never_; they have faults grave enough, but this is
not one of them.
The society in St. Petersburg is, of course, as varied and as much
divided into cliques as that of any other great city, and it entirely
depends upon which circle the stranger has the fortune to be introduced
into whether he be favourably impressed with what he sees, or the
contrary; from my own experience I should say that it is rare to meet
with more agreeable people. I do not speak of their knowledge, or what is
denominated mind, for there are not many lovers of deep study or profound
erudition among the Russians, either gentlemen or ladies; but of their
kindness, good-nature, and desire to afford pleasure to others, the
foreigner will have no reason to complain. It must, however, be confessed
that their feeling towards strangers has much changed since the present
state of affairs has commenced.