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