The Englishwoman in Russia

by A lady

“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.