English people in Russia—Sudden change of sentiment—Intolerant
feelings of the Russians towards them—Opinions of the
people—Ideas of the Russians on the English ministry—Their
hope of aid from the Americans—The lower classes—Losses of the
Russians—Disagreeable remarks—Their manner of speaking of the
French—Political ideas—The Americans in St. Petersburg—Invented
news—Odd ideas of a war-ship—The English in fault—Mr. Pim’s
designs—Russian disgust at the new warlike inventions—Dread
of the British—The serfs—The troops in the capital—Vanity
of the Russians—Their disappointment about Turkey—False
ideas—Evil effects of the conscription and slavery—The
recruits—Deserters—Dissatisfaction—The Czar’s ambition—Aspect
of St. Petersburg—Wretched recruits—Embarrassments of the
Russians—A bivouac—The dying officer—March of the army—The
future of Russia—A review—Anecdote of the Emperor.
The English in Russia have always been much more respected than liked;
and latterly they have become most intensely hated, from the political
position in which Great Britain stands towards that country. Among us,
if a Russian were in company, it is not probable that he would find
any difference in the manner in which he was received because the two
governments are at war; but the Russians are really not enlightened
enough to separate the individual from the nation, and think it a proof
of patriotism to show their resentment to any son or daughter of England
whom they may chance to meet. As soon as the Declaration of War was
known, there was a marked and very disagreeable change in the manners
of even my oldest and most attached friends: it seemed that those few
words were sufficient to sever the bonds of amity, and to place a
barrier of ice between those who had previously been on the closest terms
of intimacy; indeed, I verily believe that they would just as readily
have touched a toad as have shaken hands with an English person. This
intolerant feeling of course found vent in words, as well as in silent
indications; and at last it reached so great a height, that it became
almost impossible for any one to remain in the country who was obliged to
come into daily contact with them. No opprobrious term was too coarse for
us: “those dogs,” “those swine the English,” were expressions so general,
that we were not surprised to hear them even from the lips of ladies of
rank and education. Added to this was the impossibility of making any
reply, unless in the most guarded terms; for the immense number of spies,
and their excessive pleasure at catching a stray word or so, would have
subjected either a lady or a gentleman to the most disagreeable visits
of an emissary of the secret police, and a summons to Count Orloff’s
office. Indeed I was told of two Englishmen who were requested to present
themselves at that place, for speaking disrespectfully of the Russian
journals in a coffee-house, and expressing some well-founded doubts of
the veracity of their contents. I was informed that they received a
severe reprimand, and were _ordered to believe_ all that was written
under the government sanction—a thing extremely difficult to do, seeing
the extraordinary falsehoods inserted in the papers, and the wonderful
triumphs of Russian valour recounted; but to be sure the word _victory_
is as easily written as the word _defeat_; and it certainly sounds much
more agreeably to the ear. Although we English did not believe the
accounts published, yet it was extremely annoying to hear the exulting
remarks of the Russians on the supposed advantages obtained by their
armies. The majority of the people professed to believe the accounts
given, and very likely they really did so, as only a select few are
acquainted with anything like the truth. I was told that even the Emperor
himself is not always informed of the extent of his losses, because so
few have the courage to tell him of them. A friend of mine accidentally
heard two military generals[21] talking of the great reverses the Russian
arms had experienced; they were speaking in an under-tone, but she
distinctly heard the words—
“It is very strange that three generals should have fallen, and so few
soldiers slain!”
“How!” exclaimed the other, “few? why, we have lost altogether forty
thousand men!”
This was before the fatal siege of Silistria, or just at its
commencement: so the thousands that have perished altogether by the sword
and pestilence must amount to a fearful number. Even while I was at St.
Petersburg, it was affirmed that the Russians had lost since their entry
into the principalities, at the lowest estimate, seventy thousand men.
The absurd falsehoods daily published for the amusement of the Russians,
and the abuse of our nation, we can well afford to laugh at in England;
but it is widely different to one standing alone in a foreign land, and
among the enemies of one’s country. None but those who have been placed
in such a position can have any idea of the grief and heartburning it
causes, nor how very difficult it is to remain silent on hearing such
expressions as, “There will be plenty of English blood shed this year,
thank God!” “We must have some new hospitals built for the wounded when
the British fleet is destroyed!” “Count Besborodku has made a present
of cannon to the Emperor, to shoot those swine when they approach us!”
“There won’t be many of the British that will ever return home again!”
“The first victory we gain over those dogs of islanders,” &c. &c. Amid
all their resentment and hatred towards the English, it was strange to
remark how tenderly the French were treated, as if they were a people too
insignificant and helpless to merit any other sentiment but that of the
most profound pity and compassion, the victims of English policy, and
as if they were merely a cat’s-paw to serve the turn of our government.
The Russians expressed the greatest contempt for them in the light of
antagonists: “We have beaten them before, and we will beat them again,”
was a phrase a thousand times repeated, for they vauntingly boast of
having defeated _la grande armée_ in 1812, and of having hunted the
French out of their country as if they were sheep; but all Europe knows
what truth there is in Russian history.
The Russians expressed great friendship for Lord Aberdeen, and intense
hatred of Lord Palmerston, whom they blamed as the prime mover of public
affairs, and as the author indirectly of all their misfortunes. I may
mention _en passant_ that the names of Napier and Palmerston inspired the
lower classes with so great a terror, that the women used to frighten
the children by saying that the English Admiral was coming! And among
the common men, after exhausting all the opprobrious terms they could
think of (and the Russian language is singularly rich in that respect),
one would turn to the other and say, “You are an English dog!” Then
followed a few more civilities, which they would finish by calling each
other “Palmerston,” without having the remotest idea of what the word
meant; but as the very climax of hatred and revenge, they would bawl out
“Napier!” as if he were fifty times worse than Satan himself.
There was an English lady of influence in St. Petersburg, of whose great
wit and penetration the Russians stood in the most profound dread and
awe. I shall never forget the unbounded rage with which they related
an anecdote of her, which showed how deeply they felt the cut they had
received, and how true they knew her words were. Soon after the _Battle_
(?) of Sinope, one of the Russian nobles was so obliging as to call on
her, expressly to hear what she would say concerning that _glorious_ feat
of valour or cowardice, and in the course of conversation remarked that
it must be very disagreeable to her to reside on the quay.
“Why so, your Excellence?”
“Because,” replied he, “it must be so annoying to you to hear the cannon
fired in honour of our victories!”
“Oh! dear, no!” was the reply; “not in the least; it happens _so very
seldom_.”
The Russian, finding he was no match for the English lady, remained
silent, and was soon glad to beat a retreat to hide his discomfiture.
In revenge we were told that “she would not be invited to their balls,”
as if to be excluded from their dull feasts of frivolity were a severe
punishment and an irremediable misfortune. It was really ridiculous
to see what puny efforts the Russians made to show their anger at the
English: they would pass you in the street, and not bow, although they
had previously been well acquainted with you. It may be judged to what an
excess they carried their resentment, when I mention that even children
behaved in the same manner. I was well acquainted with a lady who resided
at one of the Institutes in St. Petersburg, and I was in the habit of
frequently calling to see her; before the Declaration I was always met
with smiles, and, according to the established custom, the young persons
used to bow as they passed us; but as soon as they knew that the war had
commenced, we heard them continually make the remark one to the other,
“Ne la saluez pas, ma chère, c’est une Anglaise!”
All the shop windows in St. Petersburg were filled with plates inscribed
“The Glorious Battle of Sinope,” as the Russians are pleased to call that
fearful act of cowardice. On my arrival in London I found the very same
representations, or fac-similes of them, displayed, with the far truer
designation of “Horrible Massacre!”
Among the upper ranks the most ridiculous ideas concerning the war were
prevalent; they were kept so entirely in the dark by all the government
accounts, and by the absurd severity of the officials at the Censor’s
office, who carefully erase every article that has any reference to
political affairs or to Muscovite losses, that it is no wonder that their
conjectures were sometimes laughable, and if related in England appear
incredible. The Emperor in their eyes was a martyr, and the English his
persecutors; they blamed them as the most cunning of people, nor could
they conceal their spite and vexation at having been outwitted by our
government. They were convinced that the union with France could not
possibly last, and that the Americans would come to their rescue; that
English money was the chief instigator in the whole affair; and that
it was mainly the curry-favouring spirit of our people, who hastened
to congratulate Louis Napoleon on his being elected Emperor, that had
prevented a friendship between Russia and _la grande nation_. “Ah, quel
malheur!” exclaimed one of the Czar’s aides-de-camp, “that our Emperor
did not call him ‘mon frère;’ how different it would have all been!” To
hear them talk, one would imagine that all the evils existing in the
world are to be ascribed to British influence, which at least proves
how very powerful they must deem it. It was usual to hear them affirm
that the revolution in China was all our doing, and that we were trying
to raise Poland against Russia; that the Indian empire was in imminent
danger from their army in Asia, which they declared had been sent against
Hindûstan; that we were on the point of learning a great deal from their
teaching in military matters, meaning by that, that our soldiers never
had so powerful an enemy to contend with as the Russians. “Deceitful
England” was to receive condign punishment. “If,” said an old general,
“Napoleon the Great called England ‘Perfide Albion,’ our Emperor should
name her ‘Fausse Angleterre:’” a sentiment that met with universal
approbation. The Greeks, according to them, were a nation of saints and
martyrs, who were worthy of the utmost admiration, and the French were
to be despised and pitied for being so led astray; yet, notwithstanding
their pretended disdain of the latter people for their inferiority to
themselves in every respect, they still had a dash of hope that they
would ultimately be induced to change sides and serve the turn of Russia.
It was extraordinary how the Russians clung to the idea that they had
secured the aid of America[22] to save them from their embarrassments.
They spoke of the help they were to receive with as much assurance as
if a treaty had already been signed on the subject, and they appeared
to regard the President of the United States with as much respect as a
sailor does his sheet-anchor in a storm. To do the Americans justice,
they took all the advances in perfectly good faith, and rather encouraged
the hope: they were courted in all companies, feasted, petted, and, as
they say, “made much of,” and seemed rather pleased than otherwise. It
is odd that citizens of a republican nation such as that of the States
should have so great a reverence for titles, orders, stars, and the like
trumpery, for surely, if a person _be_ a gentleman in the proper sense of
the word, it is not necessary that he be ticketed as such like a prize-ox
in a cattle-show; and in Russia, above every other country, a glittering
star, or a cross suspended by à scarlet ribbon round the neck, would be a
most fallacious criterion that the wearer merited so high an appellation.
Indeed it often happens that the subjects of the Czar, the breast of
whose coat is like a cushion, on which all the family jewels are pinned,
have the vilest souls and the blackest hearts, together with the most
empty heads, in his dominions. I do not know if a foreigner would not
really form a more correct estimate of their character if he judged of
their baseness by the number of orders they display. The Americans in
St. Petersburg did not seem to think so, for, the very morning I left
it, one of the attachés of their embassy showed my friends, with the
greatest exultation, the Easter eggs with which the Princess so-and-so,
the Countess such-an-one, and several officials of high rank about the
court, had presented him: he also exhibited the portraits of the whole of
the Imperial family, which he intended to hang up, he said, “as household
treasures, when he returned to New York,” whither he was going “right
away,” as he assured us.
The Russians, upon the strength of their hopes, were always threatening
us with the American fleet in the Baltic, which would place the Allied
fleets between two enemies. Is the old adage about extremes meeting
really so near the truth? Whether there were any substantial foundations
to all these castles in the air, we had no means of knowing. The French
have a proverb, “Il n’y a pas de fumée sans feu.”
Almost every morning we were hearing news of the discomfiture of the
Allies, the destruction of at least a part of the fleet, and so on. One
day I went to call on a lady, and an elderly gentleman there present
informed her, as a piece of pleasing intelligence, that _four more_ of
the ships in the Baltic had been sunk. As this was about the tenth time
that reliable information had been received of a similar event, upon a
fair calculation there were already forty of them put _hors de combat_.
In speaking of Sir Charles Napier one evening, I was informed, “He is the
most savage monster breathing; he never shows mercy to any one, because
he really does not know what the word means; and as the parliament has
ordered him to spare nothing that is Russian, God knows who would live to
speak of the scenes we shall witness when he comes to St. Petersburg.”
Notwithstanding the terror which was universal, they still affected to
laugh at the idea of a naval invasion. “Look at Odessa; what did the
fleet do except making themselves ridiculous, and what is that place
compared to Cronstadt and our other forts?”
We were much amused once by the account an old gentleman gave a whole
company concerning the manœuvres of the Allied fleets near Denmark.
According to him, the splendid “men” of war now floating on the Russian
seas were constructed somewhat in the fashion of hens and chickens; for
he gravely told us that the hulls were made to open, and a whole progeny
of little gunboats made their sudden appearance, which, after having
fired off the cannon and done all the mischief they could, ran back like
lightning to the shelter of their great parent’s wing, the hull of which
opened and closed by means of machinery, and were thus enabled to place
all the young fry in safety!
Instead of the Russians being the aggressors and the cause of the war,
the English were always accused of it, and, according to the people in
St. Petersburg, our Queen would have declared war long before she did so
had our government been sure of the co-operation of the French. “Vous
prenez la France par la manche, because if you do not guide her she may
turn against you.” At another time we were told that the chief object
for which the English made war was that of obtaining possession of the
gold-mines in Siberia. In England people would scarcely credit that
anything so absurd could be believed even in Russia, yet it undoubtedly
was so. I remember when Mr. Pim, the naval lieutenant, came to St.
Petersburg, proposing to cross overland to the north of Siberia in search
of Sir John Franklin, all the Russians were convinced that he was sent
merely as a spy to look out for the gold-mines,[23] whilst some went so
far as to say that his designs were to corrupt the nomads of Asia, only
they forgot to add what we intended to do with them when we had them.
We heard a Russian gentleman remark that, in fighting with the
Anglo-French powers, they should at the least have the advantage of doing
so with people more enlightened than themselves, and, gain or lose, they
should still profit, for, even if they were beaten, they should acquire
greater civilization; and he adduced Prussia in illustration of the
proposition, “for she would never be the nation she is were it not for
her wars with France.”
Intense indignation was also expressed on account of the new warlike
inventions. “Look at those long-range guns and asphyxiant balls; it is
a perfect disgrace to any people to invent such, and it is cowardice
and baseness to make use of them.” The knowledge of the superiority
of English mechanism and wonderful machinery, of which even the lower
classes in St. Petersburg have some idea, seemed more than anything
else to inspire them with terror, and by them nothing was considered
impossible for the English to perform. I heard a common man say one day
to another, with a grave shake of his head, “The English, ah! there is no
getting on against them!” and such seemed to be the universal impression.
I was informed that many of the lower classes in the capital had the idea
that, if the English conquered them, they should be no longer slaves,
and not have a poll-tax to pay. If this be true, and I was assured it
was so, who can calculate what the consequences of such a belief spread
among the populace might be, or how soon the hollow fabric of the Russian
government would fall into ruins? If this conviction once enter into the
national mind, the nobility may soon find that they have a greater enemy
in their oppressed peasantry than in a foreign army. They have a thousand
years of wrongs and slavery to avenge, and, like the heaving of ground in
an earthquake, they will shake and topple down the mighty strongholds and
towers of those who vainly hope to tread them under their feet for ever.
It was the opinion of many when I left St. Petersburg that the eighty
thousand soldiers (as the Russians said) bivouacked in the streets
and billeted on the houses, were a great deal more for the purpose of
ensuring peace within the barriers of the town than for that of repelling
a foreign invader _au dehors_.[24]
Everything that could be done by the government for raising the anger
and fanaticism of the people against the English was resorted to, and it
was nothing uncommon to hear many of the lower classes declare that they
would cut the throats of all the heretics within reach as soon as they
heard the sound of the cannon at Cronstadt, as the sacrifice of a certain
number of them was necessary in order to ensure the victory on their
side. A pleasant prospect for our poor countrymen left in the capital!
But it is not astonishing, taught, as they are, that we are heretics,
that all their fanatical feelings are raised and all their barbarian
antipathy set in antagonism to us and the French.
The upper classes were equally enraged against us, and even in society
they sometimes could not restrain the expression of their anger and spite
within the bounds of politeness or propriety. One day I called on a lady
of rank, and I had scarcely entered the room ere she began to attack me
in a rather violent manner concerning the present war. It was in vain
that I assured her that I knew nothing at all about it, and that it was
the affair of our government. “Ah!” said she, “you pretend to be very
cool and unconcerned now, but you will tell another tale when you see
the Russian flag flying over the Tower of London!”
Before the war began the Russians were always boasting of their navy and
the excellence of their seamen. “Our sailors,” said the senator L——ski
one day, “are, you must allow, quite equal to those of England—le mâtelot
Russe ne cédera jamais à qui que ce soit.” Since the Declaration of war
they have wisely been silent. It is strange, however, that a people
possessing nautical qualities in so admirable a degree should be glad
to run behind stone walls and keep there whilst the enemy’s ships are
sailing merrily over their seas. “What inconceivable insolence,” said
a court lady once, as she was reading the gazette, “what inconceivable
insolence of those English to call their squadrons by the names of the
‘Baltic fleet,’ the ‘Black-Sea fleet!’ the seas are our Emperor’s, and
not theirs.” I had a great mind to ask her why they did not assert it in
a stronger manner than by words only; but I reflected that I was in an
enemy’s land, and the vision of Count Orloff’s office and the birch had a
great deal to do with my prudence.
The boastings of the Russians are intolerable. To hear them talk you
would think that, like the Khan of Tartary, their Czar bids all the kings
and potentates of the earth to eat their dinner; and I do believe, if St.
Petersburg were demolished by the Allies, and Moscow in ruins, they would
still declare that they were invincible. If their Emperor is not exactly
the brother of the sun and moon, he is Heaven’s first lieutenant at the
very least. Perhaps this fanfaronnade is a remnant of their Asiatic
habits, which may possibly shortly be cured by European remedies.
How much soever the Czar might have sought to disguise his intentions
concerning Turkey and Constantinople, his nobles did not attempt to do
so, and that even two years ago, long ere this war was certain.
“Quant à Constantinople, nous l’aurons; soyez tranquille,” said a
nobleman one evening.
“But perhaps it would be advisable to ask the permission of France and
England,” I remarked.
“It is not necessary,” replied he; “what could your fleets or the French
with their armies do against our brave troops?”
“We shall see that perhaps some time or other.”
“We shall, but Turkey is ours!”
This is a phrase I have heard them repeat scores of times, even before
the English dreamt of a war, with as much confidence as if the double
eagle were already stretching his black wings over Stamboul and the
Bosphorus, and the Czar were issuing imperial ukases from the Sublime
Porte itself.
When the Anglo-French fleets entered the Black Sea and a few troops were
forwarded to Constantinople, nothing could then exceed their rage and
indignation. “There is no such country as Turkey now,” said they, “and no
longer a Sultan, for henceforward the game will be played by France and
England.” The Russians would not believe that England seriously intended
to declare war against them. “It is not possible,” said they; “she
will never do it; how could she ever exist without Russia and Russian
commerce?” This was the illusion they had; in fact, they really seemed to
imagine that all our national prosperity depended upon the flax, hemp,
tallow, and corn of their steppes and fields; but when the news came at
last with a copy of the Queen’s declaration, there was a complete panic.
I was informed by an acquaintance that the merchants on ’Change looked
perfectly aghast and were silent with terror, for they and the nobles
equally felt how serious the effects would be to them, and with the
continual draining of the young men from the estates, and the money from
their pockets, ruin and distress stared them in the face. No one can have
any idea of the effect on the population these continual conscriptions
produce unless he has seen it. When we were leaving the country we
passed through nearly twelve hundred versts of Russian and Polish land:
excepting recruits, we scarcely saw a young man in any of the villages.
There were only very old peasants with the women and children; even young
lads were drawn away, and the chaussées or post-roads were all being
mended by women and girls. What desolation will reign in these districts
ere the war is over it is impossible to imagine. But the loss of life
is not the only evil that attends the wretched system of a military
despotism; the dreadful effect it has on the morals of the people will
be felt generation after generation. These young men, totally ignorant
and illiterate, are drawn away from their homes and families in all
probability for ever; they have no means of communicating with their
relations or wives, as they do not know how to read or write, and the
loosening of all social ties, the forgetfulness of duty and affection,
causing them to feel that none sympathize with them or even know that
they are still in being, produce a fearful amount of vice and crime that
will be an inheritance for many a year to come. I remember hearing a
Russian noble say that “true communism is only to be found in Russia.”
From that assertion it may be imagined what the state of morality must
be in the villages. The condition of slavery must also contribute to
this evil state of things; for the domestic servants, who are often
separated from their parents when very young, perhaps apprenticed or
taken to some place hundreds of versts distant from their native village,
entirely forget each other, and for years consecutively never hear or
know anything concerning their relations. Most of the men-servants are
married, and many of them have their wives in the country, whom perhaps
they do not see even once a year. When the young men are taken for
soldiers, their relations do not even expect to see them again. One
morning a poor woman came to me crying most bitterly, and saying that
her two nephews had just been forced from her house to go into the army.
I tried to console her, saying that they would return when the war was
over, but this only made her more distressed. “No, no,” exclaimed she in
the deepest sorrow, “they will never come back any more; the Russians
are beaten in every place.” Until lately the lower classes were always
convinced that the Emperor’s troops were invincible, but it seems, by
what she said, that even _they_ have got to know something of the truth.
A foreigner in St. Petersburg informed me that he had “gone to see the
recruits that morning, but there did not seem to be much patriotism
among them: there was nothing but sobs and tears to be seen among those
who were pronounced fit for service, whilst the rejected ones were
frantic with delight, and bowed and crossed themselves with the greatest
gratitude.” The most distressing scenes may be seen in the streets
among the bands of recruits—they, their mothers and sisters, or wives,
all weeping together as they walk along; for the women, with innate
tenderness, accompany them for many miles out of the town, unwilling,
until the very last moment, to bid the objects of their affection adieu
for ever, whilst the latter, in entering the Russian army, like the
condemned in Dante’s ‘Inferno,’ leave all hope behind.
Before the war began it was the universal custom among the landowners to
send all the worthless characters into the army, and, as men of _any_
size are eligible to serve therein, it was a convenient manner of getting
rid of those that were idle or disobedient. I have often been present
when a lady or gentleman, in writing to the steward, would say, “Since
you can do nothing with Vassili, Ivan, or Gregory, you can hand them over
to the recruiting-officers at the next conscription.”
“Do you know,” said one of these proprietors, “if you say to one of our
serfs, ‘I will send you for a soldier,’ he will tremble at the words,
and not forget them either for two years at the least.” By this we may
form some idea of the light in which the honourable profession of arms is
regarded by them, and of the treatment they expect when they are forced
to embrace it.
Desertions are, of course, extremely frequent, and since the commencement
of the war they are fifty times multiplied, if one may judge from the
numerous groups of miserable wretches, heavily chained, met with almost
hourly in the streets of St. Petersburg. I am sure it was enough to
make one’s heart ache with sorrow and indignation to look on their
grief-stricken faces and thin figures, which seemed as if they had been
wandering with the wolves in the wilderness to escape from the cruelty
of their fellow-men. Once or twice I met a group even more horrible than
these. Several soldiers with fixed bayonets were walking on each side of
a droshsky, on which was seated one of their comrades holding in his arms
what was certainly the _corpse_ of some unhappy deserter who had just
received the punishment for his fault, his head shaking listlessly from
side to side, and his arms hanging straight and rigid, the livid shadow
of death on his sharp and painful features, showing that the heavy lash
had at last released him from his misery. In looking round on the broad
streets of the capital, and seeing, in contrast with so much suffering
and misfortune, the gaudy carriages of the nobles and their gaily-dressed
occupants, who seemed so wholly busied in the pursuit of pleasure that
they could not spare a single moment to reflect on the unhappiness of
their fellow-creatures, I was often tempted to ask myself whether, if
entreaty were made, as in times of old, “to spare the city for ten’s
sake,” the domes and towers of St. Petersburg would still stand to cast
their shadow on the earth.
The numerous conscriptions levied since the Russians entered the
Principalities have taken away not only the worthless slaves but the very
flower of the estates, and great was the dissatisfaction even openly
expressed by the proprietors: “Notre Empereur se trouvera en face de
son peuple,” said one of them; from which an inference may be drawn.
On all sides universal disapprobation was heard; but they were careful
not to lay the blame on the Czar, so their anger was vented on the
English and Lord Palmerston, whom they still persisted in saying was
the prime mover of all, and on whom, of course, their own government
was glad to throw the odium. It was not known, nor would it be believed
when affirmed, that the Allied Powers had caused the rights of the
Christians to be recognised in Turkey; and even when the “Confidential
Correspondence” was published, they actually, with the Emperor’s letter
before them, declared that the whole was a forgery and a tissue of
falsehoods.[25] In consequence all their hatred, anger, and fanaticism
were roused against the English as abettors of infidels and downright
liars; their monarch was a martyr, and the English his persecutors. At
last, when they could no longer shut their eyes entirely to the truth,
the upper classes said that they supposed the Emperor wished to acquire
the surname of Great, and that he was willing to become the admiration
of future ages and be spoken of by posterity. If the latter reason be
a true one, there is every probability that his expectations will be
realized, only in a manner rather contrary to what he desired. Perhaps
the illusion concerning the wonderful power of Russia will be further
dispelled when they have been enlightened by a few flashes of the cannon
of the Allies, and have been made to feel that of France and England,
for as yet scarcely any of them are acquainted with the resources of the
two countries, thanks to their education and the government books of
instruction. They are truly like people walking in darkness, and are now
moved like chessmen anywhere that the player pleases.
One morning I went to call on a lady, and as usual the parties present
were railing at the English. At last I asked my friend why they did not
say something about the French as well. Her answer was naïve enough:
“Oh, we don’t mind them; but I believe they talk about the English
so much because they fear them the most. Our people you know,” she
continued, “are accustomed to think of the former as a nation they
have vanquished, but they were not prepared to see your countrymen in
the light of enemies, the two countries have been so many centuries
friends.” Certainly the communication with England has existed from time
immemorial; even in the remotest ages commerce was carried on between
the two countries, although it was only _established_ in the reign of
Ivan IV.; and it may be remembered by the reader of Russian history that
the daughter of Harold the Unfortunate married a Russian prince.[26] I
remember a gentleman near Orenburg informing me that, in digging among
the ruins of an ancient Tartar city near his residence, fragments of
English pottery were frequently turned up, yet the very name of the town
had disappeared and was forgotten. An English gentleman in Moscow once
showed me a gold coin, half the size of a fourpenny-piece, of Ethelred,
or Ethelbert, I am not sure which, that had been dug up or found near
the lake of Ladoga, and, as he supposed, had been dropped there by some
British merchant on his way to the fair of Nisny Novogorod, which has
been annually held at that place for centuries beyond record, and was
in former ages the grand emporium of Europe and Asia, whither merchants
of both continents repaired to exchange the manufactures and produce
of each. It is still held in the month of July, and lasts six weeks,
and is also still resorted to by dealers from most of the nations of
Europe to purchase cashmere shawls, &c. I was once very near the place
during the time of the fair, but, as it is not considered “comme il
faut” for a lady to be seen there, I did not visit it. It is the grand
market for tea, which is brought thither by the Chinese to exchange
for Russian money. Formerly the Russians gave their own manufactures
of cloth instead of paying in coin for the chests of tea, but I was
assured that their speculations on that head had been entirely ruined by
themselves; “for,” said my informant, “with true Muscovite dishonesty
they, finding that the Chinese did not unroll the bundles of cloth, hit
upon the ingenious plan of making the first few arsheens of good quality,
and the remainder of the veriest rubbish: the unsuspecting Celestials
took them as usual without much examination at the word of the western
merchants, and carried them back to China, the Russian cheats meanwhile
laughing in their sleeve to think how they had taken them in. But they
were severely punished the next year, and have been ever since, for the
Chinese tea-dealers were not to be duped a second time; they attended the
fair with their well-packed chests, but obstinately refused to receive
anything but silver money in payment; so the Russians, who had prepared
a vast quantity of cloth, were obliged to carry it all back again; and
as the people cannot do without tea, they were forced to purchase it for
ready cash, and bear the loss as they best could.” Any one that knows the
Russian character and their want of foresight will have no difficulty in
recognising this anecdote as a true trait of the national mind.
In London we may walk through every street, and, from any indication we
see of the fact, we should never guess that the nation was at war with
anybody. It was far different in St. Petersburg when I left it; there not
only every street but every house gave some intimation of the struggle in
which they are engaged: trade was almost at a stand-still; scarcely any
of the shops had customers in them; everybody seemed to be economizing
their money lest poverty should come.
Long lines of cannon and ammunition-waggons were drawn up here and there,
outworks were being thrown up, parks of artillery were being dragged
through the streets continually, regiments marching in and marching out,
whilst whole armies were being sent to the Baltic provinces, which I
was informed were to be occupied by four hundred thousand troops, but,
as the authority was a Russian one, there is no reason to believe it.
Every morning, look out of the window at what hour I would, hundreds, nay
thousands, of raw recruits, torn from their villages perhaps a thousand
versts off, were tramping wearily along, with all their worldly riches
in bundles at their back, with dresses wet and muddy, and faces stricken
with grief, as they marched in the direction of the palace in order to
receive the Emperor’s approval. I know not what the feelings in that
man’s breast can be as he deliberately scans the downcast countenances
of so many miserable wretches, and then sends them down to the seat of
war, really and truly for nothing else than to become food for cannon,
and the prey of vultures and jackals. Does he ever reflect that for each
life he thus sacrifices for his ambition he will be called to account and
stand arraigned as a murderer before the judgment-seat of God, who has
committed them into his hands that he may be the protector and not the
slayer of his people?
Reviews were held almost daily: Cossacks, Circassians, guards, and the
line, all had their turn and their destination assigned them. I was
told that the Czar, in reviewing a number of troops previous to their
being forwarded on their march to the south, was struck with the sad
and dejected air of the poor men, and even the officers. “Hold your
heads up,” he angrily exclaimed; “why do you look so miserable? there is
nothing to cause you to be so!” Perhaps the soldiers saw more plainly
than he the evils that threatened them. From all that I could learn,
the government was at its wit’s end to know what to do with the forces:
they were marched hither and thither, to and fro, according as some
fresh intelligence arrived, bringing news of intended attacks just in
the opposite points to those reported before, and by this means wearing
out the men’s strength and spirits, until they would be too happy to
surrender as prisoners to whoever would have the charity to take them.
The daily expense of supporting all these myriads amounts, as a Russian
informed me, to about a million of silver roubles, or rather more than
a hundred and fifty-eight thousand pounds. To the English, who pay
their troops more liberally, and feed them with better rations than the
detestable black bread and salt with which the Russian warriors are
furnished, this may seem a small sum for so vast a number as they boast
of possessing, but perhaps, with the national failing concerning numbers,
they might have put in a stray figure or so to look well on paper.
[Illustration: Reception of the Imperial Family at a Review.
page 314.]
In speaking of the Anglo-French invasion, the Russians declared that,
if the enemy took Cronstadt, they would themselves burn St. Petersburg,
as they did Moscow in 1812. Indeed it looked somewhat as if they had
the idea in view, for all the great families were sending their jewels,
plate, and valuables into the interior, whilst many of them went to
their estates with the intention of remaining there a whole year. I
was informed that the treasures from the palace were also taken away,
and, among other articles worthy of removal, the state prisoners from
the fortress, who were transported to some unknown place at a distance.
There was also a grave discussion as to the propriety of forming another
capital near the ancient city of Novogorod, which in former times, under
Rurick, in the ninth century, was the metropolis of his dominions. If
they do so they will incur the danger of falling into the _status quo
ante_ Peter’s reign, for, if cut off from easy communication with Europe,
civilization, which is still but an exotic in the country, and has not
yet taken a firm root in its soil, will die away, and barbarism, which
is the normal state of Russia, will assert its supremacy. In short,
the Russians are in that agreeable position that any prospect would be
preferable to that which they have before them.
Perhaps the sentiments of a gentleman in St. Petersburg, concerning the
present state of affairs, may be interesting: he is of Polish descent, a
man of talent and education, and one of the best authors in the country.
A great many visitors were assembled, and during their stay my friend
assented to everything that was proposed; but when they had all departed,
he frankly told me that he was convinced the Russians had no chance,
and that he was sure they would be dreadfully beaten. On my asking him
what he really thought of the whole affair, he replied, “In a few words
I will tell you. This Emperor Nicholas seems to me to have been placed
by Heaven on the throne in order to punish the wickedness of his people:
how otherwise could he have been tempted thus to risk his country, crown,
life, and all, upon a single turn of a card? vous verrez qu’il sera
flambé. No one has ever yet stood against Lord Palmerston, and neither
will he. Look at Louis Philippe; who caused him to repent of kicking
against the pricks? And that Queen of Spain—you will see how long she
will rule. Lord Palmerston is one of the greatest statesmen the English
have ever had, and you may be sure he would not be so much hated in
Russia were he not feared, and with good reason too.”
I remarked that it was a pity the Emperor did not withdraw ere it was too
late.
“He would be glad to do so,” was the reply, “but he dares not; he has
raised a legion of demons that he cannot lay. What would the proprietors
say? What would the ruined merchants say? and what would become of him
if he were thus publicly to acknowledge that he is in the wrong? No; now
that he has advanced so far, he is obliged to continue, and leave the
bill he has drawn to be dishonoured by those that come after him.” He
also expressed the conviction that the allies could take St. Petersburg
if it suited them to do so. “But in regard to that,” he said, “they would
do well to destroy what the efforts of barbarians have erected. This
city,” continued he, “is but a false imitation of a civilized capital.
What barbarism has planned and fostered, let civilization demolish: we
shall then perhaps see the nation reduced to a savage state, and so
much the better, as they will have to learn by experience, instead of
having the outward appearance of a civilized people thrust upon them by
a despot’s sword. Peter the Great made an enormous mistake that it will
take centuries to correct.”
On my expressing regret that so many fine buildings should be destroyed,
“It seems so at the first sight,” replied my friend, “but it ought to be
done for more than one reason, for the sake of the human race thousands
of years to come, who would bless the hands that had dealt chastisement
to a tyrant, and had shown an example that would be felt to the end
of time.” He finished by presenting me with a copy of the imperial
proclamation concerning the miraculous preservation of Odessa, which he
laughingly bade me keep as a precious document, one of the most wonderful
productions of the age, and a most astonishing proof of the extent it was
possible to lie in the face of Heaven. I believe that, although I had
been acquainted with the family seven or eight years, my friend would not
have dared to speak so freely, had he not been aware that the next day I
was to leave Russia probably for ever.
Whether my friend’s ideas be just or not, I cannot tell; but how can
we expect that a blessing will be on a city, every stone of whose
foundations was laid at the cost of a human life?[27] The Russians
themselves have ever had a foreboding that St. Petersburg will not long
exist, and that evil will befal it. Perhaps they feel that the myriads
whose clay has long ere this mingled with the morasses into which they
were thrown, still cry for vengeance unto Heaven, and that they will be
heard at last.
When I was on the road to Warsaw, I saw the large army that Russia was
sending through Poland to the south and the Principalities; as nearly as
I could calculate there were about sixty thousand men, chiefly infantry
of the line, in three divisions, perhaps at the distance of fifty
versts apart. It was not without a feeling of sincere compassion that I
gazed on the poor people’s faces, and thought how few, how very few, of
all those would ever return again. One division of many thousands was
bivouacked on the plains _à la belle étoile_; most of them were fast
asleep on the bare ground, their arms piled up near them, with sentinels
guarding different points; videttes were stationed at a distance, looking
in their dark coats like bronze statues, with the twilight sky in the
background. Here and there were watch-fires, with a few soldiers sitting
around; scores of ammunition-waggons and gun-carriages were at a little
distance further on, with men standing under arms, and the horses grazing
on the scanty grass of the fields close by. I came up with the second
division early on the next morning; the soldiers were all marching
merrily along to the voices of those in the van of each regiment, who
were singing the war-song of the Russian army; and they really seemed,
in the excitement of the moment, to have forgotten the scanty rations
and infamous treatment they receive, and for which they are compensated
by the munificent pay of _nine shillings per annum_! I remarked that
the officers were dressed precisely the same as the privates; a small
piece of twisted gold lace, from the neck to the shoulder, was the only
distinguishing mark by which they were known. The reason of their being
so attired was because so many had been shot by the enemy, who, it was
affirmed, took aim at their more showy uniforms; but from all that I was
told, the rifles of the Turks are not the only ones of which they need
stand in fear, nor are the Turks their only enemies; their oppression has
caused them to find both among their own ranks.
At one of the stations an officer belonging to this division got into
the mail-coach; he was evidently in a deep decline, and was so extremely
ill that he could scarcely stand: it was truly sad to hear him talk. He
informed me that he had received orders to join his regiment, living
or dead, and that he was obliged to obey, although he feared it would
only be to leave his corpse on the route, as he could be of very little
service to his country in the state in which he was. It was plain enough
that he would never again be able to bear arms in the field; but he was
going to the war, nevertheless, although he must have perished not many
days after I saw him. His brother officers appeared very kind to him, and
rode several miles by the side of the diligence, cheering him with their
conversation, and endeavouring to instil some hope into his heart, but in
vain; he smiled faintly, and shook his head with mournful significance,
for he felt that his march in life was over, and that ambition and a
soldier’s name had found an early grave. But he seemed resigned to his
fate; and when we stopped at the wretched village in which his company
was to rest for the night, I doubt whether he ever quitted it again,
and most likely rose no more from the miserable bed in the peasant’s
isba to which he was supported. We were all very grieved to see him, yet
perhaps some of his gay companions have ere this met a worse fate still;
for they may now lie with thousands of their poor fellow-soldiers in
their dismal graves amid the pestilent marshes of the Danube, or in the
ghastly trench that forms the grave of thousands on the heights of Alma—a
horrible sacrifice made to the hateful ambition of their imperial master.
The third division was crossing the Vistula in flat boats and rafts at
the time we were doing so; indeed many of the men and horses were on the
same raft with us: their cannon, and ammunition-waggons were drawn up in
a long line on the opposite bank. I asked some of them whither they were
going, but I met with the usual answer of the Russian boor—“Ya nisnaiu”
(I don’t know); on listening, however, to the conversation of a group of
officers who stood near me, I concluded that a part were to remain in
Poland, and the remainder to proceed further south.
There must have been immense numbers of soldiers wounded in the affairs
of Oltenitza and Kalafat; for, go into whatever house you would in St.
Petersburg, the ladies and children were all occupied in preparing lint,
by unravelling linen rags, for the use of the army; and all the ladies
in the Institutes were so engaged by order of the Crown: the enormous
quantities they made, and the repeated demands for more, proved how many
poor men had been sufferers for the Emperor’s sake.
The check that the Russian arms are receiving at our hands, we may be
well assured they will neither forgive nor forget; and even centuries
to come, they will, if they have the power, take their revenge for it:
it is their national character, and they will never rest until their
thirst for vengeance is slaked, if it be possible. How fairly soever they
may speak—how plausibly soever they may act—they will ever be on the
watch, like a cat for its prey, for the slightest weakness, or the least
slip, that could give them the most trifling advantage, or tend to the
attainment of their object. Remember the taking of Moscow by the Poles,
and see for how many centuries they were lying in wait for Warsaw, and
how patiently generation after generation they set traps and pitfalls to
catch the Polish people tripping, although their enemies were at that
time one of the most civilized and powerful states of Europe, whilst they
themselves were scarcely recognised as a nation, and were almost unknown
to the west. Like drops of water undermining a bank, they venture little
by little, and work in silence until their object is gained—then woe
and desolation to those that fall! But now that “vaulting ambition has
o’erleap’d itself,” let us hope that the children’s children of England
and France may bid defiance for ever to their schemes of vengeance!
One of the most splendid sights in the world is perhaps the _grande
révue_, in St. Petersburg, of the troops, previous to their proceeding
to the summer encampment; it lasts nearly a whole day, and takes place
on the _Champ de Mars_, a large space in front of the summer gardens.
We went several times to see it; on the last occasion there were eighty
thousand men assembled—a hundred thousand, a gentleman who was with us
affirmed, which he pronounced “affrayant pour le monde entier.” There is
usually a great crowd to witness the spectacle, but we were so fortunate
as to have seats secured for us at a friend’s house, whence we could have
a good view of the whole field. On reaching the _Champ de Mars_ my first
feeling was one of disappointment, for I could scarcely believe that so
great a multitude of men and horses would have occupied comparatively
so small a space. The square is not more than one-third of a mile in
length, yet there seemed ample room left for performing their military
evolutions. The men were all standing under arms, awaiting the arrival
of his Imperial Majesty and staff—they and the horses immoveable as
statues of bronze; the solid squadrons of Cossacks, like a dark cloud,
were drawn up at the further end of the field; their long spears held
quite upright had the effect of an endless line of palisades, so even and
motionless did they appear. The Czar was expected every minute, so we
anxiously kept our gaze fixed in the direction of the palace; at length
he arrived: tremendous indeed was the effect of the salutation which he
received from the multitude of warriors; He, followed by his glittering
staff, passed close to the spot where we were seated, mounted on a black
war-horse, his noble figure dressed in the full uniform of the guards,
his brow surmounted by the magnificent helmet with a golden eagle,
whose widely-spread wings form the crest; he looked like another Attila
reviewing the descendants of the Huns. It was with a feeling almost of
sorrow that I gazed on that brilliant group as they swept proudly along
the serried lines of the living mass, and thought that, long ere another
century had fled, not one of all that mighty multitude would exist to
speak of that splendid sight, and that the magnificent pageant of that
day was doomed, like thousands of others that had passed before, to fade
away like a shadow, and be remembered no more.
It was only when the masses began to move that I could form any idea
of the myriads assembled; then indeed the sight was magnificent. As to
the military evolutions, of course I could not attempt a description of
them, but the beautiful costumes of the various nations, the handsome
uniforms, the glittering casques and flashing swords, the wild strains
of the martial bands, formed a scene that could perhaps be only equalled
by the _Champ de Mars_ in Paris on a similar occasion. Now would come
sweeping past a regiment of Circassians, like a hand of warriors from
some gay tournament, heroes of song and romance awakened from their sleep
of ages into a new and stirring life; presently a squadron of the guards,
their eagle-crested helms flashing in the sun; then would rush by the
sombre cloud of Cossacks, their lances couched as if to attack the ranks
of an enemy, their rough-looking horses galloping at the top of their
speed; then again regiments of infantry, until there seemed no end of the
long line, their martial tread sounding like the rushing of a mountain
stream, and until the eye was weary of watching their (to me at least)
inexplicable movements. A gentleman with whom my friends were acquainted,
and who ought to know, if anybody could do so, informed me that the
Emperor was a very timid horseman, that he never mounted but mares of the
gentlest and most docile temper, and that numbers intended for his use
died ere they were sufficiently broken in. I do not now remember whether
it was three or five years that he mentioned they were in training, but,
to use his own expression, “les pauvres bêtes se brisaient le cœur;” they
died of grief, in fact, being wearied out with the trial.
An incident took place at one of these grand reviews in St. Petersburg
which is greatly to the Emperor’s honour. I will therefore relate it,
especially as I had it from good authority: indeed so much has been
said against him of late, that a short anecdote in his favour will, I
hope, prove an agreeable change. During the performance of some military
evolution the Czar despatched a young aide-de-camp to an old general
with a particular order. Whether the officer was confused, or timid, I
do not know, but he gave an exactly contrary one to that which he had
received. The astonishment of his Imperial Majesty may well be imagined
when he perceived that the grandest movement of the day was entirely
defeated by some unforeseen stratagem of the general’s. The Emperor is
naturally _très emporté_; indeed I have heard that he is subject to fits
of ungovernable rage, similar to those that Peter I. was so frequently
attacked with, and, as may be supposed, his anger was unbounded on this
occasion thus to be humiliated in the face of all the officers. He
commanded the general to his presence, and before the crowd of military
there present he called him “Durak!”[28] The venerable old warrior drew
back; his grey hairs were insulted, and his veteran experience called
in question; the angry flush mounted to his brow, but, remembering that
it was the voice of the sovereign that had dared to utter such a term,
he made a martial salute and was silent; but, complaining of sudden
indisposition, he was allowed to retire. The review was nearly over, so
the Emperor returned to the palace. Early the next morning the young
aide-de-camp presented himself, and earnestly begged an audience of his
Majesty. On its being accorded, he in the most frank and manly manner
confessed the error of which he had been guilty, and, expressing sincere
regret, entreated that he might be degraded from his rank, or suffer any
punishment, rather than his venerated general should be thus disgraced.
The Emperor heard his account in silence, and on its termination bade
him return to his barracks and report himself under an arrest. What
reparation could now be made by a Czar to the old man whom he had thus
insulted? To the astonishment of the military, another review was ordered
to take place, at which the same regiments were to attend; and when the
whole were assembled, the Emperor, calling the veteran general to his
side, made a public apology for his late conduct, embraced him, and,
kissing him on each cheek, presented him with a star which he himself
had worn. I heard some call this a theatrical representation; I do not
believe it was so: why should the Autocrat of all the Russias not have
the credit of possessing noble sentiments in common with any other
gentleman, though he be the enemy of our country, and though his heart be
proud and ambitious? The young aide-de-camp was not disgraced; indeed,
the action redounded so much to his honour that he became an especial
favourite.
After the grand review of which I have before spoken, the troops left the
ground by different routes, and in half an hour the _Champ de Mars_ was
as silent as before; the only trace of the lately assembled host was the
marks of the horses’ hoofs by myriads in every direction deeply cut into
the sand.