In the summer-time the country in Russia is very agreeable; the unconstrained hospitality of the proprietors, the manner of living, sans gêne, is particularly pleasant. Of course where estates consist of some five hundred square versts, and comprise immense forests and lakes, with a very scanty population, it would be absurd to expect that cultivation and flourishing appearance which we so much prize in England; yet there is a great deal to like and admire, notwithstanding. The plains extending far and wide, unenclosed by hedges; the bright green fields of flax or waving corn in the midst of forests of sombre pine; the broad silvery lake swarming with fish; the numerous eagles careering aloft in the clear blue sky; the peasants in their gaily-coloured costumes, merrily singing their native airs while at their work, or sitting down under the shade of the birch-trees taking their frugal repast; whilst in the background is seen rising from among the woods the white church with its blue dome bespangled with gold stars, its tapering gilt spire and numerous glittering crosses, all rendered doubly brilliant by the rays of an unclouded sun—all this makes a scene peculiarly Russian, but not the less beautiful. When the peasants have finished their repast, they devoutly turn towards the church and make the sign of the cross as they bow in gratitude for their daily bread; they will then throw themselves down in the shade to take their midday nap of two hours during the excessive heat:[7] this is not laziness, for the poor men generally get up at three o’clock in the morning, and do not leave off labour until ten at night; the continual twilight of a Russian summer enabling them to continue thus long at their employment. Towards the evening, if it be the eve of some saint’s day, or great national holiday, we shall see them lively and merry enough, all dressed in clean shirts of the brightest hues, and gay sarafanes, dancing in the space before their houses, singing their native airs to the tinkling of their triangular guitars, as if slavery were but a name and its burthens feathers. Alas! this is the sunny side of their existence. Could we but see the oppression of the land-stewards and the ill-treatment they meet with, we should soon discover how many clouds cast a shadow on their daily course. Men and women in name, and children in their thoughts and ideas, they are now governed like so many infants; but when the day comes on which they will awaken to their true condition, how fearful will be the retribution on the heads of those who have thus oppressed them. “We all look forward to a revolution,” said a gentleman of great talent one day; “we all look forward to a revolution; and when it does break out, the French tragedy will be but a game of play in comparison to it.” I often thought of his words when I saw the peasantry with their axes stuck into their girdle, a national custom, and shuddered to imagine the horrid deeds they will commit with these weapons when their vengeance shall have been aroused for the many years of injustice and cruelty to which they have been subjected.
Under the large landowners the lot of the peasantry is often tolerably happy; and as they do not know what freedom means, slavery is not greatly felt; but it is under the petty proprietors that they suffer the most; then indeed they are to be pitied. It is among these that we are continually hearing of such detestable actions as in any other country would cause them to be excluded from respectable society.
I remember, among dozens of other instances, some little anecdotes which illustrate this:—
A lady (?) who was in St. Petersburg for the winter, and whom I met two or three times at evening parties, was one day extremely unlucky at cards: she had some servants (slaves) who possessed very beautiful hair; and as she had not enough ready money to pay the debt incurred by her losses, she actually sent to a barber and had all their long tresses cut off, the sale of which enabled her to discharge it honourably! As closely-cropped hair is a punishment for immoral conduct, and exposes a girl to the jeers and mockeries of her companions, it may readily be imagined what a bitter mortification such an act must have been to them. I must, however, add that the person in question was a Pole; and as far as I have been able to judge, the Poles are infinitely more unfeeling and tyrannical to their serfs than the Russians.
I was once going to the opera in company with a Polish lady; she came and begged me to wait a few minutes, as she was not quite ready; she was magnificently dressed in dark crimson velvet, a profusion of jewels, lace, and marabout feathers. I took a seat in the drawing-room, next to her cabinet de toilette, whilst she completed her head-dress. Suddenly I heard a tremendous noise in the adjoining apartment; mistress and maid seemed to be endeavouring to outscold each other; but as they spoke Polish I did not understand what it was all about. Presently a loud crash, and the fall of a heavy body on the floor, announced that some catastrophe had happened. Very soon after the lady made her appearance, smiling with all the politeness possible, and expressing her regret at having kept me waiting. I made no remark, of course, nor did she allude to the mysterious fracas that had just taken place; but I afterwards learned the facts of the case: the maid had not pleased her in her coiffure; the lady scolded; the girl answered impertinently, which so enraged her amiable mistress, that, with the chair on which she was sitting, she knocked her down with so much violence that two of her front teeth were broken off in her fall!
An amusing anecdote was told me by a French lady. One of her countrywomen was engaged as dressing-maid to a lady of rank in Russia: one day, while combing out her mistress’s long back hair, she hurt her head; the lady turned round and gave her a slap on the face. The Frenchwoman, who had hold of her hair, which she was on the point of tying, so that it was all gathered together in her hand, grasped it tightly, and then inflicted a sound correction on the lady’s ears with the hair-brush. Perhaps it may be thought that she was immediately punished by being taken to the police, or at the least summarily dismissed from the household. Far from it; the maid knew the character of the Russians well, and also what she was about: she was perfectly aware that her mistress would not dare to expose her, on account of the disgrace to herself; for it would be an indelible one for a noble lady to have been beaten (in any place but Count Orloff’s office), and especially by a menial: she therefore not only took the whole quietly, but presented the Frenchwoman with thirty silver roubles and a new gown, to buy her silence; she was ever after treated with much consideration, and at the time the anecdote was told to me was still in the same situation.
When we were in the province of Vologda, I was one day walking alone in the garden; presently I heard loud voice accompanied by a heavy thump on somebody’s back frequently repeated. I stepped on one side, behind the thick shrubs, for I recognised the accents of the lady at whose house we were on a visit, and I thought she would rather not be seen just at that moment; but I could not resist gratifying my curiosity so far as to ascertain who the person was who had displeased her. I found that it was the gardener, a tall athletic young man, who, with a basket in his hands, was slowly walking down a path, followed by his proprietress, who between every sentence struck him a smart blow on his back with her clenched fist. The man was going forward with a downcast look, like a great overgrown child, exclaiming at intervals, “Isvenete, matutchka, isvenete, veno vat” (Pardon, mother, pardon; I am guilty). As for the lady, when I gazed on her face inflamed with anger, and saw her infuriated gestures, I could scarcely believe that she was the same person whom I had seen in the drawing-room not ten minutes before, whose graceful hospitality and amiable politeness had impressed us all with admiration.
During our stay in Jaroslaf a commission was sent from St. Petersburg to inquire into the manner in which the slaves of a neighbouring estate had been treated by their proprietress. Her shameful conduct had driven the unhappy serfs to such desperation, that some of them had found the means to escape, and had fled to the capital; they threw themselves at the feet of the Emperor, and implored him, in the name of God their common Father, to be their friend and protector, and to do them justice, as they had none other that would help them. His Majesty (who, if unbiassed by evil counsellors and interested landowners, is always ready to listen to the prayers of his poor peasants) promised that, if he found that they were guiltless, and had spoken truly, he would see that they received justice, and immediately gave orders that the strictest inquiries should be made concerning them. The result was that the estate was taken from the lady who had so ill-treated the peasants: she was allowed a small pension, enough to keep her from actual want, out of the rents, and the property was put under the care of trustees, that she should no longer have the power in her hands which she had so disgracefully abused. Even her daughters were removed from her guardianship, lest her example should have a bad influence on them.
Many other instances have been mentioned to me in which the Emperor has displayed as much humanity as justice; undoubtedly there would be fewer abuses were it possible that the knowledge of them could reach him; but thousands of vile and unjust actions are committed that are hushed up and escape the punishment they deserve. The Russians stand infinitely more in fear of the Emperor than they do of their Creator. The common saying, “The Czar is near, but God is far off,” gives a good idea of their feeling on the subject. I was once staying with a friend whose husband had at that time a great deal to do with the judicial department; and the horrible tales of crimes and cruelties committed by some of the proprietors that came under his excellency’s consideration would not be credited. It is true that there are badly-disposed people in every country, but happily they have not, as in Russia, such power in their hands. The very recital of such deeds was enough to make one shudder. It is difficult to know the exact extent of the evil existing, as no accounts really authentic are published. I may mention a few that came under my personal knowledge.
When we were at Nova Derevna, not far from St. Petersburg, two hands recently severed were found near our house in a wood: they were tied together, but it was never discovered to whom they belonged, or who had done the dreadful deed.