A lady

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 manoeuvres 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.

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 coeur;” 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.