Moscow—Poushkin’s verses—The Moscowites—Dislike of
foreigners—Antipathy to the St. Petersburg people—Ancient
devotees—Places of amusement—General remarks—The Kremlin—The
churches—General view of the city—Napoleon—The miraculous
image—Ivan and his recompence for genius—The Gostinoi Dwor—The
shopkeepers’ brides—A wedding coach—The Tartar—The Persian—The
Metropolitan of Moscow—The Jews—The shopkeepers—Smoking—The
Tiramà, or ancient palace—The new palace—The Treasury—The
diadems—The Tartars of the present day—The church of Warsaw—The
last fight for freedom—Various curiosities—Spoils of the
_grande armée_—The officer’s widow—French refugees: their
gratitude—The model of the Kremlin.
Although this is no book of travels, but merely a sketch of the Russians
and Russian life, yet, as I have frequently spoken of Moscow, perhaps
a description of it may be acceptable. This beautiful city strikes the
stranger with admiration, as much from its fine situation as from the
semi-Asiatic barbarism of its splendour. Poushkin, the national poet,
speaks of its gardens and its palaces, its crosses, and its cupolas that
“form a crescent,” and appeals to the hearts of his countrymen in some
beautiful stanzas that find their echo in every Russian breast, for there
is no place in the empire for which they have so great an affection.
“Mother” Moscow is the endearing epithet they bestow on their ancient
capital; and they would rather see St. Petersburg buried in the morasses
on which it is built than that any evil should befal Moscow. Patriotism
in every people is to be admired; and certainly the love the Russians
bear to their country, although mixed up with much fanaticism, is worthy
of our respect. Moscow has all the prestige of a holy city, and is still
regarded by the _nation_ as the capital. The Moscowites themselves look
down on the inhabitants of St. Petersburg as a kind of _parvenus_ and
mushrooms,—people of no caste, and a race of mixed blood, descended from
foreigners and adventurers,—whilst they hold themselves up as the true
sons of Old Russia, and are in every respect much more truly Russian
than the St. Petersburg people. The feeling against foreigners, although
their society is much courted by the upper classes, is, as a national
sentiment, very strong. Were a revolution to break out, I have heard it
said a thousand times, they would be the first to fall victims to the
people’s rage, for they are looked on as heretics, and subverters of
the manners and customs of their forefathers, to which they cling as
tenaciously as any oriental nation. If the lower class were to rise,
as some fear they will do, a Russian massacre of St. Bartholomew would
inevitably ensue. The English _were_ the most liked and respected by them
before the late events; they are now the most intensely hated of any.
The general rule appears to be, that what is liked in St. Petersburg
should be hated in Moscow, and _vice versâ_; if, therefore, an actress
or singer _fait fureur_ in the western city, she is immediately hissed
in the eastern. If people be in an extasy of delight at some grand
discovery, such as table-moving, which has occupied the _powerful_
intellect of the inhabitants of St. Petersburg for the last year and a
half, it is, of course, but coldly received in Moscow; and so on. In
religion the Moscowites are in everything the most orthodox “Greek.”
It seems an established rule that old ladies superannuated from society
should go to reside in Moscow, in order to spend their last years among
the ancient churches, bigoted priests, monks, and nuns, with which the
city is perfectly crowded. When the world has lost its charms for them
(or, rather, they have lost their charms for the world), they retire
thither, and assiduously fast, pray, and _pay_, in the hopes of more
surely paving the road to heaven, and removing the brambles of youthful
sins and follies out of their path. The time that was formerly spent by
them at balls, the opera, and card-tables, they now devote to nightly
vigils in the churches, attending mass, and in visits to the convents and
their musty inmates. The money which they used to throw away in gambling
and extravagance, they now employ in making rich gifts to religious
houses, in purchasing dresses for the priests, and in giving presents to
pilgrims; so that, as may be supposed, the prospect of living merrily in
Moscow is rather clouded; but fortunately there are people neither so
old nor so bigoted but that they have amusements of their own. There are
an opera, a French theatre, assembly-rooms, which are very splendid, and
every social entertainment the same as in St. Petersburg; but the truth
must be told, they are all in very second-rate style. The streets in
Moscow are irregular, narrow, and badly paved, but there is an Asiatic
look about them and the inhabitants that pleases from its novelty. Some
of the houses are magnificent in appearance, and the elevated situation
of many of them adds greatly to their effect: they lie scattered here
and there among gardens, which serve greatly to embellish the general
aspect of the city. The views presented by almost every opening are
really beautiful, and possess so great a variety that they never cease
to delight the eye. The churches are extremely curious; many of them
are very ancient, and, were it not for the gilt crosses on the top,
they might be mistaken for oriental mosques. Some of them have the most
strange galleries on the exterior, the most extraordinary embellishments
of paint and colours, twisted towers, and wonderful roofs, that can be
imagined. But let us take a walk into the Kremlin, and have a general
view of the whole city. We are now passing down the Kousmitski Most,
or Smiths’ Bridge, which is the principal street, the Pall-Mall of the
Moscowites; there are some good shops, nearly all French or Italian, yet
everything bears the stamp of a _second_ capital. The faces we meet are
quite in a different style from those we saw in St. Petersburg: some of
them are extremely pretty, and others very much the contrary. I believe
it was in Moscow that I saw the most frightful countenance I ever beheld.
There are not many pedestrians: the Moscow people are too Asiatic to
be fond of exercise. The carriages that pass contain numerous portly
old ladies and gentlemen, some of them with very Tartar-like faces,
and looking solemn and grave. A few minutes’ walk, and we are at the
far-famed Kremlin itself. Its massive walls, and curious towers tapering
to the sky, with small loopholes and windows, the terrace of earth on
which it is built, may all recall to our mind the time when it formed
the stronghold of Muscovy, when men fought with bows and arrows, and the
besiegers were repulsed from lofty battlements. The general appearance
almost reminds us of the pictures of the old palaces of Hindûstan, so
perfectly oriental does it seem. What a number of churches crowded
together! What a variety of domes, cupolas, and crosses, all glittering
in the sun! That long, narrow garden, which forms a walk under the walls,
was formerly the moat which rendered the Kremlin a more secure abode for
the Czar, for here is still the ancient palace of the Muscovite monarchs.
That huge white building yonder, audaciously lifting its staring front
over the walls, is the new imperial residence, which joins on to the
old one. It certainly spoils the picturesque _ensemble_ of the Kremlin,
and looks infinitely more like a range of barracks than aught else.
Crossing the sloping way over the Alexander Gardens, we perceive that
the wall encloses within its precincts not only innumerable churches and
convents, but an arsenal and casernes, before which are displayed, in a
very prominent manner, several handsome guns, a part of the spoils of the
_grande armée_, as they say. As we proceed we see a variety of curious
old churches, each more quaint and interesting than the last; and now we
have a good view of Ivan Veliki (or the Cathedral of John the Great),
the pride of the Moscowites, in front of which is the celebrated great
bell of which everybody has heard or read. Several monks sweep past us
in their long black gowns, and innumerable military men saunter about,
making a fitting group in the foreground. If we stand and look over this
wall on the side of the walk, we shall have a view that is worth coming
a thousand versts to see. Below us lies the city; what a gay-looking
place! The gilt domes and golden crosses, the star-bespangled cupolas,
the belfries with their lofty spires, the palace-like buildings, the
gardens, the gaily-painted roofs, the very irregularity of the streets,
lend an additional beauty; the hills on which the city is built, rising
from the Moskwa’s banks, succeed each other until lost in the distance.
The only object wanting to render the panorama perfect is water. What a
pity that the river is so narrow and scanty! The view of Moscow, for an
inland town, if it only had the broad Volga running through it instead of
this poor shallow stream, which scarcely serves to float the river-boats,
would be unequalled, excepting perhaps by the city of Mexico, which
filled Cortez and his iron warriors with so much delight. That enormous
square building with a church in the centre, that we see yonder to the
left, is the Foundling Hospital: it contains some thousands of inmates;
the children are brought up to serve the crown, or as servants and
needlewomen, according to their sex. The present state of affairs in
Russia renders such establishments necessary, in order to prevent the
crime of infanticide, which would otherwise be a common one. Far away to
the right are the Sparrow Hills, a very pretty place of resort for picnic
parties, &c.
It was near the spot on which we now are that Napoleon the Great is said
to have stood and gazed on the flames of the burning city beneath him,
in whose red glare of fiery light he read, as Belshazzar did of old upon
the wall, that his empire had passed away. Why did not Nicholas learn of
a mightier man than himself how dangerous it is to invade the hearths and
altars of another race, when ambition and not justice prompts the deed?
We could remain here for hours and yet never be tired of gazing on this
beautiful tableau; but there are many other objects to see, and so we
will continue our promenade.
In crossing the space within the Kremlin we pass more churches and more
barracks until we reach the Holy Gate: the picture of the Virgin and
Child is above it—of course it is a miraculous one. One of the greatest
miracles it ever performed was the remaining where it is when the French
invaded the city; for that gay and frolicsome people tried, so the
Russians say, with all their force to remove it, but in vain; so, _sous
entendu_, it could be nothing but a supernatural power that kept it fixed
where we now see it. We heretics may imagine, from its shabby appearance,
that they let it stay because it really was not worth their while to take
it away. The Russians regard it with extreme reverence, and the sentinel
placed near has strict orders to let no one pass through the gateway
unless he uncover his head. We ladies are exempted from this penalty, and
having unceremoniously walked through the arch we reach the large space
in front of the Gorod or Gostinoi Dwor. That strangely-built church to
the right, painted of all sorts of colours and twisted into all sorts
of contortions, is one that was erected at the command of Vassili the
Blessed, or, as some say, Ivan the Terrible, the Muscovite Caligula,[18]
who was so enchanted with it when it was finished that he ordered the
architect’s eyes to be _pulled out_, lest he should ever construct
another similar in beauty. What a pleasing encouragement to genius!
That heavy statue in front of the Gostinoi Dwor was, they say, cast to
commemorate the defeat of the Poles when Poland was more powerful than
Russia. That ponderous arm appears disproportioned to the figure. The
Gorod is much larger than the Gostinoi Dwor in St. Petersburg, but it
is neither so clean nor kept in so good order: I think the shopmen are
still more tiresome with their “What do you wish?” Some of the shops
contain things of great value, although not displayed to view. That
decent-looking woman is inspecting real cashmere shawls. “How much is
this one?” she asks.
“Seven hundred silver roubles” (110_l._); and he adds, “not a copeck
less.”
That young girl standing near her is her daughter; she is going to be
married, and one of these expensive shawls must always form an item
in the dowry of a shopkeeper’s bride. Generally, the most extravagant
furs, brocades, jewels, and satins are to be seen worn by the women
of this class: they frequently have no bonnet, and wear merely a silk
handkerchief tied tightly round the head and fastened in the front with a
diamond brooch. That splendid carriage with six horses, three postilions,
coachman, and two footmen behind, all richly bedizened with gold lace,
and having cocked hats trimmed with white ostrich-feathers, is one
sent to fetch another bride of the merchant class: she is probably the
destined wife of one of the shopkeepers in this Gostinoi Dwor. I remember
once seeing the dowry of one of these people; it was being carried by
on the heads of about sixty men one after another. Such quantities of
fine things, enough to raise the envy of all the damsels in the city.
Certainly there was nothing hidden under a bushel, for every article
was frankly displayed to the greatest advantage in midday and in the
public streets. Formerly it was the custom to marry the daughters at
twelve and thirteen: there are many now alive who were married at that
youthful age, but an ukase has since been published forbidding any girl
to be espoused before she has attained her seventeenth year. That man
with a covered dish is selling hot blinnies (pancakes); he seems to find
numerous customers. The one next to him is a Tartar; his shaven head is
covered by a light-coloured felt hat, and he wears a long blue caftan,
which is their usual costume: he is vending Kazane soap, made of eggs,
and very much prized by the ladies. Like all Mahometans he abominates
pork. We used to see the village children, as one was passing, hold the
two corners of their apron in their fingers, imitating the shape of pigs’
ears, which invariably filled them with unutterable disgust, and which
they always showed by spitting several times over the shoulder. The man
opposite, standing in front of an eastern-looking shop, is a Persian:
notice his high black sheepskin cap of a conical shape, such as those
seen on the Nimroud sculptures, and his long open sleeves tied in a knot
behind his back: he is speaking to a countryman of his in a language that
seems to equal the Italian for its softness. His Asiatic countenance and
elegant appearance form a marked contrast to the group of peasants near
him, who are standing admiring the shoes and boots of coloured leather
embroidered with gold and silver, for which the town of Torjock is
celebrated.
Yonder goes the metropolitan of Moscow in his coach and six, exactly
similar to the one we saw in St. Petersburg. They say that he would not
be long primate here if his Majesty had the power to remove him, for
even _his_ authority finds a check in the reverence and respect with
which his Eminence is regarded by the Russian people. He is the author of
several theological works, and bears besides so exemplary a character for
piety and good works, that it is no wonder they look upon him as a saint:
indeed there are many so designated in the Greek kalendar who have not
merited the title half so well.
Many of those whom we meet have the unmistakeable traits of the Hebrew
countenance, yet there are no Jews allowed to reside either in Moscow or
St. Petersburg unless they produce the certificate of their baptism. Can
it be that the temptation of gain has caused them to _call_ themselves
Christians and to forswear the creed of their fathers?
The people of Moscow seem even greater lovers of tea than those of St.
Petersburg, for almost every shopman is comforted by a glass of it, which
is constantly standing on the counter beside him. On the other side
you may remark a small frame with strong wires stretched across it, on
which wooden or ivory heads are threaded, by means of which he makes his
calculations very rapidly, the Russian money being in decimals. It is
most probably an invention introduced by the Chinese, as Mr. Davis speaks
of an instrument exactly similar in common use in the Celestial Empire,
and very likely the merchants from that country, at the great fair of
Nishni Novogorod, might have first taught the Muscovites its utility. It
is true that with this instrument they can instantly calculate any sum
of whatever amount, but it must be a bad practice after all to do so, as
without its aid they can do nothing in arithmetic, and appear quite at a
loss in counting the most trifling sums.
That gentleman opposite is making a bargain with our friend the Persian;
he wishes to buy some narghilés. See what a number of pipes he has
brought out, of all fashions and prices; some of them are beautifully
ornamented: he finds a ready sale for them, the Russians being as much
addicted to smoking as any Oriental nation, but it is strictly forbidden
to do so in the streets; any person seen so occupied would be taken to
the police-station. There is a story they used to tell in St. Petersburg;
I do not know whether it be a true one, as so many anecdotes are invented
about the Emperor. One morning he was walking down the Perspective, and a
French gentleman, who was on a visit to the capital, was sauntering along
with a cigar, the tip of which was as red as a ruby, and pretty wreaths
of smoke were gaily ascending in the frosty air. The Emperor looked at
him, and he in return looked at the Emperor. He then, with all the grace
for which the _grande nation_ is celebrated, accosted him in elegant
French, and turned to enter into a little chat. His Majesty took it all
in good part, and they continued their walk until they came near the
palace; but on the way he mentioned to the stranger that the strictest
orders were given concerning smoking, and asked if he had heard of them.
The Frenchman replied that he believed somebody had told him something
about it, but he was going to leave Russia in a day or so, and he would
not care even if he met Nicholas himself. Just at that moment the guard
turned out and saluted his Majesty. “Ah!” said the Frenchman, “and who
are you, mon cher?” “I _am_ Nicholas himself,” answered the Emperor. The
gallant Français immediately put his cigar in his pocket.
The Kremlin we have just visited contains, among other interesting
buildings, the Tiramà and the Treasury. The first mentioned is the
ancient palace of the Czars. Among other apartments shown are those
formerly occupied as a kind of harem. The Russian women in former times
were kept as secluded from the world as are the ladies in eastern
countries: they were veiled and jealously guarded, and were not allowed
to quit the palace even to go to church: the place on which they were
accustomed to stand to hear the mass sung in the adjoining cathedral
was pointed out to us. The rooms in the Tiramà are small, with vaulted
ceilings, the whole of which, as well as the walls, are completely
covered with arabesque paintings exceedingly rich and curious: they were
executed by Byzantine artists: the doors are _à jour_ and similarly
decorated.
The chair, table, and Bible of the Czar Alexis, father of Peter the
Great, are carefully preserved in one of the apartments: the book was
securely locked, so we could not see in what language it was written,
probably in Sclavonic. The window still exists out of which the so-called
false Dmitri leaped when the insurgents had effected an entrance into the
palace in order to assassinate him. The story of this unfortunate prince
still remains an enigma in history: certainly it was greatly to the
advantage of Shuisky, his immediate successor, and of those that followed
him, to endeavour to prove that he was an impostor. Outside of the
palace is the terrace on which the Czars appeared after their accession
to the throne, to show themselves to the people in all the pomp and
circumstance of imperial power.
The church adjoining the Tiramà is curious and very ancient: there are a
great many paintings and ornaments in the old Byzantine style.
Connected with this antique palace is the new one built by the present
Emperor: it is certainly magnificent in the interior, from the immensity
and splendour of the suite of state apartments, each of which is
designated after one of the orders of knighthood. I do not know which
is the most imposing of these grand halls; each one is perfect in
itself and of its kind, but the largest is that of St. George.[19] The
walls are completely covered with gilt arabesque carving, relieved at
intervals by the insignia of the order; enormous chandeliers depend from
the ceiling, and the floors are of inlaid oak. Even in the daytime the
effect of so much gilding was dazzling, and when the lamps are lighted
it must be almost overpowering. So much glitter and overcharged ornament
do not accord with our English taste, accustomed as we are to Gothic
architecture and buildings of simple grandeur; but the Russians are
extremely fond of show and barbaric splendour, so that perhaps they look
with equal _dégoût_ on our public edifices.
The treasury contains a great variety of interesting objects. In the
jewel-room, placed on pedestals, are sixteen crowns, among which is the
imperial diadem of Russia, the crown of unhappy Poland, and those of
Siberia and Astrachan. Both of the latter are extremely curious, and
resemble a highly-ornamented skull-cap of gold, trimmed round with black
fur. Whilst gazing on these, it is impossible to avoid reflecting upon
the vicissitudes of nations. I remember when we were staying near the
Volga, in the summer-time, we frequently took a walk along the upper
bank, whence we could look down on the river and watch the numerous barks
heavily laden with corn and other raw produce, being tugged up the stream
by gangs of Tartars; they were harnessed together like so many cattle,
sometimes as many as forty in a company, with a headman or driver. Now
and then they were allowed an hour or so for rest, and, just like so many
beasts of burthen, they threw themselves, leashed together as they were,
upon the bare ground, and were soon asleep. When the leader thought that
they had reposed long enough, he went about from one to another, kicking
them up with as little ceremony as if they were merely slumbering dogs.
Having received a sufficient number of these gentle admonitions, the men
arose, and immediately re-commenced their toilsome journey, singing with
sharp piercing voices the barbarous songs they had learned far away amid
the plains of Tartary, and with which they awoke the echoes in a land
where their forefathers once caused their scarcely less savage war-cry to
resound. The very cities through which they were wearily marching bore
the monuments of their ancestors’ triumphs, and many a high wall of earth
or solid tower pointed out the spot over which they reigned in other
times as the conquerors of the land. In gazing on these Tartar slaves,
whose faces had no more expression than that of a brute, one could
scarcely believe that these were the descendants of a race at whose name
not only all Asia but the whole of eastern Europe trembled, who founded
empires and dynasties, who overran kingdoms and carried monarchs away
captive, and who have left the traces of their conquests from the Yellow
Sea to the Neva. Among other objects to be seen at the Treasury are the
throne of Poland, her sceptre, and, alas for her! the keys of Warsaw. How
sad must be the feelings of a Polish heart at the sight of the spoils of
his miserable country! When I was at Warsaw I saw the church at which the
unhappy people made their _last_ stand against the overwhelming armies
of Russia. When every other part of the city had fallen into the hands
of the enemy, the Poles shut themselves up in the church that is to the
right as you enter from the St. Petersburg road, determined in their
despair at least to sell their lives as dearly as possible, and to perish
rather than to become the degraded slaves of the hated Muscovites. They
fought until, faint and weary, they could defend the place no longer;
they were forced to give way, and the Russians entered. Heaps of the
dying and the dead, weeping women who were on their knees praying for
the aid of Heaven, infants wildly clasped in the arms of their frantic
mothers, wretched girls shrieking with terror or vainly begging for
mercy, wounded children and bleeding patriots were presented to the sight
of the savage soldiers in their _career of glory_! The victors did not
remain long in the church, and when they quitted it there was not a man,
woman, or child left alive within its walls—“thus was _Warsaw_ lost and
won!” The lady who was with me spoke in guarded whispers as she recounted
the sorrows of her country, and looked round several times in fear lest
she should be heard by some passer by, so dangerous is it to speak the
truth under Russian rule.
Perhaps the time will come when the blackened walls of this doubly sacred
edifice will be replaced by a glorious monument which shall proudly meet
the gaze of the Muscovite traveller in future years, when Poland shall
be again a country, and the Poles a people; for surely so much patriot
blood has not fallen like rain upon the soil, though now trodden down
by the iron heel of oppression, without bringing forth a rich harvest
of noble hearts who will sweep the name of Russian from their land, and
restore that land again to its place among the nations. It is to be hoped
that the days of adversity have not been entirely lost, nor the lesson
taught by it unheeded; perhaps the chastisement has been dealt them by
the hand of Heaven, that the evils may be swept away, and that they may
rise once more a wiser nation and a better people. How many scores of sad
and mournful tales have been told me by my Polish friends, showing the
miserable state of their country! The brother of one of them, who was in
the revolution of 1830, was obliged to take refuge, with another patriot,
in the wild forests of the west of Poland: they remained there during
several days, subsisting on berries and crude fruits; at last the latter
was determined to make an effort to leave the country, but previous to
so doing he wished to obtain an interview with the young lady to whom he
was going to be married, as he could not think of quitting the country
without informing her of his fate, lest she should imagine that he had
been slain. He accordingly found means to let her know that he would meet
her on the next night at a peasant’s cottage, and when the hour came he
set out for the purpose. My friend’s brother accompanied him as far as
he dared, but he had scarcely left the forest, and was not out of sight,
before some soldiers suddenly appeared who had been sent to scour the
country in search of them: they seized him immediately, and shot him dead
before the eyes of his companion, who hastened to quit the spot. How he
crossed the frontier I was not told, but he did find an opportunity to do
so, for my friend informed me that he was then in the service of France.
The last time that news was heard of him he was with the army in Algiers,
and perhaps ere this he has taken part in those grand struggles now going
on between the soldiers of freedom and the slaves of despotism, in which
he will have a noble opportunity for avenging the death of his brother
patriot.
The Treasury contains many other remarkable curiosities besides those
I have mentioned—the coronation robes of Peter the Great, Alexander,
and the present Czar, together with the canopy borne at the ceremony; a
curious chair richly set with turquoises and precious stones; an ivory
throne, &c. In glass cases were a number of bâtons, crosses, stars of
knighthood, and insignia; a quantity of plate was also displayed on
shelves round the room of a very ancient appearance—forks that must have
been made about the time when they were first invented, the prongs of
which were three inches long, so that they looked much more like warlike
instruments than any destined for the festive board. Another apartment
was appropriated to curiosities in armour and weapons. Some wax figures
upon pedestals were dressed in the ancient national costume, which
did not much differ from the modern, and also in that of Muscovite
warriors; their shirt of mail and the formidable axe might recall the
armed figure of some Norman knight. This warlike instrument, which the
soldiers formerly _threw_ in battle with so unerring an aim that they
rarely missed cleaving the enemy’s skull, resembles in every respect the
axe of the modern Russian peasants. There is something very Saxon about
the features and figures of these effigies, so that one might almost
imagine that the supposition of some historians is a true one, that the
original race of Sclavons was nearly related to the one from which we are
descended, but the admixture of the Tartars has changed the Russian face.
I do not know how true all these suppositions of the learned may be,
but the Highland Scotch whom I met in Russia have often assured me that
Russ resembles Erse so much that they found it extremely easy to learn;
according to them the numerals are almost the same. As I do not know the
Celtic language, I could only judge by the sound, and certainly, when ten
were counted, I had no difficulty to understand the words.
In a room further on we were shown a collection of muskets, pistols, &c.
&c., which we were told had been taken from the French: they had most
likely been collected after the terrible retreat from Moscow in 1812.
I was acquainted with a lady whose first husband was an officer in the
_grande armée_; her history would furnish ample incidents to make an
attractive romance. She was only sixteen when she crossed the Borodino
sitting on a telega, with a baby a few weeks old on her lap, and was
present in that battle, or rather she was left in her husband’s tent: she
never saw him more; and in the evening, when she was anxiously expecting
his return, she was terrified by the appearance of several Cossacks, who
with their drawn swords rushed into the tent: they were on the point
of seizing her and her infant, when she pulled out a pistol which she
always had by her loaded, and, boldly taking aim, she vowed that she
would fire at the first who dared to touch her: the savage soldiers did
not, of course, understand what she said, as she spoke only French, but
they easily guessed her intention, and drew back. Just at that moment
M. K., a Russian officer of rank, happened to pass near the spot, and,
hearing a female voice, entered the tent. Struck with the lady’s youth
and beautiful countenance, as well as with her courage, he ordered the
Cossacks out of the place, which command they reluctantly obeyed, and
then, as he spoke her language, requested an explanation. She informed
him who she was, that her husband was a French officer, and begged M.
K.’s protection. A soldier belonging to the army of Napoleon entered
whilst she was speaking, and informed her that her husband was killed,
and that he himself saw him fall. Her situation was now really desperate,
for she was alone in an enemy’s country, ignorant of their language, with
an infant in arms, and destitute of means. M. K., sincerely pitying her
misfortunes, offered her the shelter of his mother’s roof until she could
be forwarded to Paris. She accepted gratefully his kindness; he procured
a country cart with a sufficient escort, and she was enabled to reach
Madame K.’s estate in safety. When the campaign was over, the gallant
Russian returned home, made an offer of his hand to the young French
widow, and they were married. He died of the cholera in 1832, and she
again became a widow. I am still in correspondence with her daughters,
and therefore am well acquainted with the family.
Another old lady with whom we were intimate often gave us the most
fearful accounts of the scenes she had witnessed during “la retraite,”
and of the dreadful sufferings of the unhappy French soldiers. She told
us, among other anecdotes, that she herself had sheltered some officers
and men who came to her once in the depth of the night to beg her aid.
They had been flying before the Russians for several days, and had at
last reached her estate. It was awfully cold, and the poor foreigners
were nearly starved; so her womanly compassion, surmounting her antipathy
to the enemies of her country, prompted her to afford them assistance.
She did so at the imminent hazard of her own life, for the people were
so exasperated against the invaders, and so infuriated against those who
offered the least protection to them, that they would infallibly have
sacrificed her as a traitor. The utmost caution was therefore necessary:
she bade the unfortunate Frenchmen to go away for the present as quietly
as they could, lest any of the household should hear them, and directed
them to a wood not far from the mansion, where they would find a hut
filled with hay, promising them that she herself would come to relieve
their necessities. They did as she requested, and she instantly slipped
on her fur cloak and hood, and, filling a basket with all the cooked
provisions and wine she could find without the aid of her servants, she
fearlessly left the house and hastened alone on her mission of charity,
although the neighbourhood was much infested with wolves rendered
ravenous by the excessive inclemency of the weather. The gratitude of the
poor refugees may well be imagined, and every night, let the weather
be what it would, she repeated her kind visit for a long time, until
by heavy bribes she found the means to get them across the frontiers,
and they returned in safety to their beautiful France. It was not until
some years after that she heard what had become of them, when one day
she received a splendid piece of plate illustrative of the Retreat, on
which was an inscription expressive of the most grateful remembrance of
her benevolence, and accompanied with many prayers for her happiness and
prosperity.
By the side of the spoils of the _grande armée_ were some richly
ornamented saddles set with turquoises, pearls, and diamonds, with
frontlets and bridles to match, mostly of Persian manufacture.
In the lower story of the building is shown the model of the Kremlin[20]
as Catherine II. wished it to be re-constructed; but although the long
line of Greek columns would have had a fine effect, it would neither have
been so picturesque nor so truly national as the present structure.