KAZAN--POLISH EXILES.
We passed through a great deal of bare, flat and uninteresting
country on the road to Kazan. The ground being covered with
snow, we could not judge of the soil, but farming villages were
tolerably numerous, and a fair amount of population seemed to find
a subsistence there. Oaks, of which we saw none on the Siberian
side of the Ural range, now began to appear. The birch trees grow
straight and tall, and pines were less conspicuous in the woods.
The number of Polish prisoners we found on the road threatened
seriously to impede our march. We had met them occasionally in
Siberia, but between Perm and Kazan we encountered companies of
them on the way, and at almost every station. The resources of the
posting establishment were severely taxed to provide horses for so
many travellers at once, and we had frequently to wait till the
Poles were gone, and then take the tired horses they had brought
from the last station. The Poles travelled in the same manner as we
did, in large sledges containing three or four people, sometimes
more. Those who could not be accommodated with sledges had carts, or
_telégas_, which were more or less crowded. None of them travelled
a-foot. All were well clothed in furs. On the whole I was surprised
to find such a number of people travelling with so much comfort.
When we met a party of them in a post-station we were very short of
room, unless when we happened to be there first. Then the cooking
establishment was entirely monopolised by the exiles when it pleased
the officer in charge to dine them. On such occasions we postponed
our repast to the next station. The prisoners are invariably treated
with kindness and consideration by the officer in charge and by
the _gensdarmes_. They are under close surveillance, but I did not
see any of the prisoners in irons, though I was informed that some
of them were so. I remember one fat, jolly fellow in charge of one
of the detachments of prisoners. He was a captain in the army, and
had hard work to console himself in his forlorn situation. He did
not at all like the service he was engaged in; indeed he seemed to
feel his banishment to Siberia more than the exiles themselves.
He envied our destination homewards, and took occasion to bemoan
himself a little. "Ah! you are happy," said he; "in a few days
you will be in Moscow, but I, poor devil, must go to Tobolsk with
_gensdarmes_"--accompanied by an expressive shrug of the shoulders,
and downcasting of the eyes. He made companions of some of the
prisoners; one in particular he seemed to be on cordial terms with.
The officer told us this prisoner had held a commission under
Garibaldi, and had been lately captured leading a band in Poland.
He was a handsome young fellow, with a wild look in his eye. As
for the rest of the prisoners, there was nothing remarkable about
them. They ate well and talked loudly; the din of their voices at a
post-station was intolerable. They joked and laughed a great deal,
by way of keeping their spirits up I suppose; but no indication
whatever was given that they were exiles undergoing the process of
banishment. If one might judge from appearances, I should say they
rather liked it.
On the 24th of November, late at night, we reached Kazan, a fine old
town, the name of which is closely bound up with the ancient history
of Russia. I found a letter waiting me at the post-office there,
in answer to my telegram from Kolyvan, which was a comfort. How I
got into the post-office at eleven o'clock at night, and how the men
happened to be there in their places at that hour, I was not very
clear about. But it was explained that two posts were then expected,
one from the east and one from the west, and that when I hammered at
the door they thought it was at least one of them. Arriving in Kazan
very late, we took up our quarters for the night at the station
hotel, where we were half suffocated as usual by the close fusty
atmosphere of a room kept up to + 16° Reaumur (68° Fahrenheit), no
air being ever allowed to enter.
In the morning we began to hear ominous warnings about the Volga.
The ice was coming down in big lumps, and our sledge could not
be got across--so we were informed. It was seven versts from the
station to the ferry. We might drive there and see for ourselves,
but then it would have been excessively disagreeable to have to
return defeated. We consulted a Russian gentleman to whom we had
a letter of introduction, but no comfort was to be got from him.
The state of the river was as bad as it could be, and he strongly
advised us not to leave Kazan until the Volga was hard frozen. The
voice of the tempter had been saying "wait, wait," at every point
of our journey from Kiachta to Kazan, but as we had not listened
before, we were not likely to do it now, when so near the end of
our journey. I could not help remarking how singularly we had been
baulked by contumacious rivers during the two months that had passed
since we encountered the Tolla in Mongolia. They were always just
in the impassable crisis when we happened to reach them, and last
of all the Volga gave us trouble, a river that we never reckoned on
crossing at all. A little earlier we should have passed up the river
in a steamboat. A little later we should have driven up the Volga on
the ice, for that is an almost direct road to Nijni-Novgorod. But
of course we hit the wrong time, just betwixt and between. The river
must however be crossed if we would proceed.
An offer of twenty roubles being made for the sledge, we sold it
to the post-master. It was he who persuaded us that we could not
take it further, and of course we thought ourselves "done" in
consequence. We got our traps stowed in two post-chaises and drove
towards the ferry on the Volga. In leaving the main town of Kazan
we crossed over a causeway, or embanked road, through a marsh which
connects the town with a kind of suburb. The view of Kazan from the
other side of the swamp is very fine. It is built on high ground,
and its spires and domes show to great advantage from a distance.
In the summer season, when tree leaves and green grass are out,
the environs of Kazan must be very pleasing to the eye; for even
in November, when the country was one great snowy waste, bleak and
cheerless, the town looked really handsome. The best houses, as well
as public buildings, are built of brick, indeed a wooden house is
rather the exception there. Having crossed a flat tract of country,
we reached the Volga at a point about five miles from Kazan, and as
many above its confluence with the Kama. It is truly a noble river,
and the high banks enable one to get a sort of bird's-eye view of
the broad sheet of water. I should rather say a compound of water,
ice, and snow, for the surface of the river was covered with large
blocks of ice, loaded with snow, moving rapidly down the stream,
with a few open spots of clear water here and there. There was great
commotion at the ferry among moujiks, Cossacks, and Tartars. Several
boats were busy conveying passengers across, but they made slow
work of it. The men refused to start from either side until they
saw, or thought they saw, sufficient space clear to hold out some
hope of their being able to effect the passage. They would wait an
hour or more for a favourable opportunity to start, and even then
they were just as likely to be carried down by the driving ice as
to fetch the opposite landing. One boat was jammed in mid-channel
and borne down in a perfectly unmanageable condition for two or
three miles, until the moving icebergs voluntarily released her,
when she was got to land at a place where it was impossible to get
horses or sledges near, owing to the precipitous nature of the bank.
The model of these boats is beautifully adapted to this kind of
iceberg navigation. Their sides are cut away, so that a straight
line is drawn from the gunwale to the keel. A section of the boat is
represented by the letter V, but the angle formed by the two sides
is much greater than that in the usual form of that letter, so that
the boats are very flat. They may be nipped between two fields and
no damage be done, as there is nothing for the ice to get hold of.
Did the boats present a perpendicular side to the edge of it, they
could not escape destruction. We unfortunately had ample time to
make observations on the navigation of the Volga and other matters
that came under our notice, for we were compelled to kick our heels
about the whole day, without finding a boat disengaged. Long before
dark the men stopped work for the day, to make sure they would
not be caught in the dusk of the evening essaying a passage which
demanded all their wits in broad daylight. The first hour or two
passed pleasantly enough while we entertained ourselves watching
the process of a river freezing. A margin of thick ice had already
formed along the bank, strong enough to arrest the progress of the
"pack" in its downward course, when borne against the projecting
points. The floating ice-fields crashed with great impetuosity on
the fixed ice, were shattered by the shock, and, urged by the force
of the current, the fragments were piled up one above another in
huge chaotic masses. When left still for a short time the pile
congealed, and in a few hours was ready to serve as a barrier to
stop more of the pack and annex it to the mass. During that one day
the solid ice was extended six or eight feet, and with continued
frost a very few days would suffice to freeze over the whole river.
The military were in great force on the banks of the Volga, and
carried everything their own way, regardless of the interests of the
general public, as represented by the few civilians who presented
themselves as candidates for the middle passage. We had seen some of
the soldiery before this time, but they were so-called "Cossacks"
of the old type. Those we encountered at Kazan, and on the Volga,
were smartly set off with French military caps, and had really a
soldier-like bearing. The traditional grey over-coat was universal,
but there was enough of innovation in their get-up to mark the
recent improvement that has taken place in the Russian soldier. I
shall probably allude in the sequel to the army reforms introduced
into Russia during the present reign.
A good many Tartars were sprinkled among the crowd that infested
the landing-place at the Volga ferry. They usually wear a round fur
cap, somewhat different from that worn by the Russian moujik. Their
physiognomy is widely removed from the Sclavonic type. They have the
flat features of the Mongol races, but are not to be confounded with
any of them.
The ferry-boats were engaged the whole day in conveying Polish
exiles across the river, bound for Siberia. It is a sad sight to
see so many people in captivity, and still more so to see a number
of women accompanying the exiles. It is quite common for the wives,
daughters, and mothers of the political convicts to follow their
relatives into Siberia. This is not discouraged by the Russian
government; on the contrary, every facility is granted to enable the
families to emigrate, and they have always the means of travelling
in company. The object of the government is to colonise Siberia, so
that the more people go there the better. Besides, the residence
of families in exile offers some guarantee against any attempt at
a return to their native country. Two old ladies I particularly
noticed coming out of a boat, accompanied by two soldiers. They were
both well dressed in black silk and warm fur cloaks. One of them was
extremely old, and unable to walk. She stooped a great deal, and
leaned on a crutch while standing on the ice. The other was also
very frail. We pitied these old creatures, exposed as they were
day after day in such inclement weather, compelled to undergo the
hardships and privations inseparable from all Russian and Siberian
travelling. They were treated with great kindness by the soldiers,
who lifted them carefully out of the boat, carried them to their
sledges, which were in waiting, and put them in as tenderly as if
they had been their own mothers. After carefully wrapping them up
with their furs, a Cossack got in beside each of the ladies, and
they drove off to Kazan. A girl who was with them was equally well
attended to by the officer in command of the party, who seemed to
consider the Polish maiden to be his especial charge.
Much has been said and written on this Polish question, and an
unusual number of distorted and exaggerated statements have gained
currency in Europe on the subject. It is certain that neither the
oppressors nor the oppressed are to be implicitly trusted as regards
their veracity, and it is not easy, in consequence, to sift out the
bare unvarnished truth. But, leaving out of sight for a moment the
actual merits of the question, as between the Russian government and
the rebellious Poles, the fate of the exiles is by no means such a
hard one as is too commonly supposed. I have taken pains to inquire
into this, and the more I have heard about it from persons well able
to judge, the more have I been convinced that the Poles in Siberia
are very much better off than the average of those in Poland. The
Russians to a man condemn them, and justify their government in the
measures that have been adopted to put down the insurrection. But
their feelings of loyalty to the Emperor may possibly warp their
judgment. The foreign residents who have no such influence to sway
their opinions, may be considered impartial in the matter; and they,
on the whole, indorse the Russian views as regards the Poles. Those
English residents in Siberia with whom I have conversed, assert that
the Polish exiles enjoy a degree of peace, comfort, and prosperity,
that they were altogether strangers to in their own country. Wealth,
talent, industry, and education have the most ample scope in
Siberia, and are set free from those distractions which sap healthy
enterprise in a country torn with civil wars. I have already given
some hints of the position occupied by Russian political exiles
in Siberia, and I need not dwell on the subject now, further than
to say that the Poles are treated with still greater leniency and
consideration.
That the exiles are, on the whole, dissatisfied, there can be no
doubt. But the more sensible of them admit that their worldly
circumstances are improved by going to Siberia. Many of them are
pleased at the change, and would not willingly return home if it
were open to them to do so. So long as they remain in Poland,
they say, they are at the mercy of every band of malcontents,
who have nothing of their own to lose. In revolutionary times
they are constrained, in spite of themselves, to take part in the
proceedings, and to sacrifice their time, property, and everything
else to schemes of which they may strongly disapprove. They never
feel secure from the consequences of the folly of their hot-headed
countrymen. They have no heart to work, when they are liable,
at any moment, to be involved in ruin by the rashness of some
insurrectionary party. But Siberia offers an escape from all this
strife and endless conspiracy, and some of them hail with delight
the sentence that exiles them to a more congenial soil. No one,
indeed, who has observed, in an impartial manner, the conditions
of life in Siberia and Russia respectively, will be disposed to
doubt that the former is really the more attractive residence, and
although it is remarkable, it is not incredible, that many Poles
should deliberately prefer it to their own country.
As a precautionary measure, the Russian government has always
studied to scatter the exiles over Siberia, to prevent any
large communities of them from congregating in one place. The
governor-general of Western Siberia has the power of distributing
them as he may see fit. All the exiles are taken to Tobolsk as
a rendezvous, and are there told off to the various districts
they are destined to reside in. In their final distribution there
is great room for favouritism, as well as for the gratification
of malevolence on the part of the governor; some of the exiles
may be sent to the large towns, and others to wild, uninhabited
regions, and inhospitable climates. Oppression and cruelty have
doubtless been in former days practised on them, and may possibly
still, to some extent, exist. But, in the main, they are treated
kindly, both while travelling, and in their appointed residences.
Whatever sentence may have been awarded (speaking of criminals),
it is invariably mitigated in practice. The stigma of exile is no
bar to their well-doing in Siberia. Everything combines to make
their lives pleasant, except that one element of bitterness, the
ever-present consciousness that they are under the ban of the law,
and doomed never to return to their own unhappy country. That
one consideration is, no doubt, powerful enough, in ardent and
sensitive minds, to neutralise all the elements of happiness that
their banishment affords; but time mellows it down to a vague,
latent feeling of oppression, and sympathy with those of their
countrymen who may still be engaged in the hopeless struggle for
independence. Those of the exiles who have sense enough to accept
their lot in a philosophical spirit, and do not weary their lives
out in chafing under their fate, have comparatively little cause
for dissatisfaction. The object of the Russian government is not so
much to punish the insurgents, as to colonise Siberia with people of
education and intelligence. Attempts to escape are punished with the
utmost severity; but these attempts are rare.
Mrs. Atkinson relates a story of a Pole who was caught in a
desperate effort to return to Europe, and sent to the mines. The
same is still the stock-story served up for the entertainment of
travellers, the ten years or more that have elapsed not having
apparently supplied another instance.
There cannot be much difference of opinion on the question of
the spoliation of Poland by the three great powers. Although the
vices inherent in the Polish constitution rendered the subjugation
of the country by its powerful neighbours almost inevitable,
nothing can justify the unscrupulous proceedings of Russia and her
two satellites in seizing it. But in the immediate causes that
prompted the recent insurrection, and the measures adopted by the
Russian government to quell it, the Poles have perhaps received
more sympathy, and the Russians more odium, than they deserved.
It is certain that the Emperor was liberally disposed towards the
Poles; but they aspired, not to greater liberty, but to absolute
independence of Russia. As was well shown by the correspondent of
the "Times," no reform, however radical, would conciliate them while
they were connected with Russia, and the easy rule of Alexander II.
was the very thing that enabled the Poles to rebel, which, under the
iron hand of Nicholas, was impossible.
It is, doubtless, a legitimate grievance that a highly cultured
people, as the Poles are, should be governed by semi-barbarous
Russians; but, on the other hand, the superior intelligence of the
Poles found its full value in Russia. They were rapidly gaining
posts of trust and emolument in the imperial service, and I have
heard it said, by a person eminently qualified to judge, that if
they had but postponed their insurrection for ten years, they would
then have had no cause to rebel, because by that time they would
have virtually governed Russia as much as Russia governs Poland. If
the Poles had possessed the practical philosophy of the Chinese,
they might have overcome their conquerors by a process somewhat
analogous to that by which the latter people have successively
out-civilised the various Tartar powers, and overrun their
territories. But they cast to the winds their opportunities, and
committed their destiny to the hazard of a desperate venture, in
which success was, humanly speaking, impossible. The only result,
indeed, that could reasonably have been expected from this fatal
enterprise was that the old relations between the two countries
should be replaced on the footing of a rigorous despotism on the one
hand, and absolute subjection on the other.
Without attempting to extenuate the severities, often arbitrary,
and cruelly unjust, that have been practised on the Poles by the
Russian officials in the later stages of the insurrection, due
allowance should be made for the exaggerations inseparable from
one-sided accounts, especially in times of great excitement. And
it is reasonable that their fair share of responsibility for the
blood that has been needlessly shed, should be borne by the leaders
of the movement, who with suicidal rashness plunged their country
into a war, which a little calm reflection might have shown them was
hopeless from the beginning.
It is well also to note that, since the rebellion has been finally
put down, the Russian government has evinced no vindictive feeling
towards the subjugated Poles; but, on the contrary, has set itself
to improve their condition by the establishment of many liberal
measures, social and educational, the progress of which was
interrupted by the outbreak of the insurrection.
But supposing even that the insurrection had been successful, what
substantial advantage would have accrued to Poland? A return to the
conditions existing before the partition, the hostile factions and
the confederations more tyrannical even than Russia, would not have
been a great improvement. And Poland would then have been a small,
weak, and poor kingdom, surrounded by three powerful enemies, who
would never want a _casus belli_. How long would the kingdom have
been likely to maintain its existence under such conditions?