The Englishwoman in Russia

by A lady

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.