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.
Reception of the Imperial Family at a Review.
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.”