It was only when the masses began to move that I could form any idea of the myriads assembled; then indeed the sight was magnificent. As to the military evolutions, of course I could not attempt a description of them, but the beautiful costumes of the various nations, the handsome uniforms, the glittering casques and flashing swords, the wild strains of the martial bands, formed a scene that could perhaps be only equalled by the Champ de Mars in Paris on a similar occasion. Now would come sweeping past a regiment of Circassians, like a hand of warriors from some gay tournament, heroes of song and romance awakened from their sleep of ages into a new and stirring life; presently a squadron of the guards, their eagle-crested helms flashing in the sun; then would rush by the sombre cloud of Cossacks, their lances couched as if to attack the ranks of an enemy, their rough-looking horses galloping at the top of their speed; then again regiments of infantry, until there seemed no end of the long line, their martial tread sounding like the rushing of a mountain stream, and until the eye was weary of watching their (to me at least) inexplicable movements. A gentleman with whom my friends were acquainted, and who ought to know, if anybody could do so, informed me that the Emperor was a very timid horseman, that he never mounted but mares of the gentlest and most docile temper, and that numbers intended for his use died ere they were sufficiently broken in. I do not now remember whether it was three or five years that he mentioned they were in training, but, to use his own expression, “les pauvres bêtes se brisaient le cœur;” they died of grief, in fact, being wearied out with the trial.
An incident took place at one of these grand reviews in St. Petersburg which is greatly to the Emperor’s honour. I will therefore relate it, especially as I had it from good authority: indeed so much has been said against him of late, that a short anecdote in his favour will, I hope, prove an agreeable change. During the performance of some military evolution the Czar despatched a young aide-de-camp to an old general with a particular order. Whether the officer was confused, or timid, I do not know, but he gave an exactly contrary one to that which he had received. The astonishment of his Imperial Majesty may well be imagined when he perceived that the grandest movement of the day was entirely defeated by some unforeseen stratagem of the general’s. The Emperor is naturally très emporté; indeed I have heard that he is subject to fits of ungovernable rage, similar to those that Peter I. was so frequently attacked with, and, as may be supposed, his anger was unbounded on this occasion thus to be humiliated in the face of all the officers. He commanded the general to his presence, and before the crowd of military there present he called him “Durak!”[28] The venerable old warrior drew back; his grey hairs were insulted, and his veteran experience called in question; the angry flush mounted to his brow, but, remembering that it was the voice of the sovereign that had dared to utter such a term, he made a martial salute and was silent; but, complaining of sudden indisposition, he was allowed to retire. The review was nearly over, so the Emperor returned to the palace. Early the next morning the young aide-de-camp presented himself, and earnestly begged an audience of his Majesty. On its being accorded, he in the most frank and manly manner confessed the error of which he had been guilty, and, expressing sincere regret, entreated that he might be degraded from his rank, or suffer any punishment, rather than his venerated general should be thus disgraced. The Emperor heard his account in silence, and on its termination bade him return to his barracks and report himself under an arrest. What reparation could now be made by a Czar to the old man whom he had thus insulted? To the astonishment of the military, another review was ordered to take place, at which the same regiments were to attend; and when the whole were assembled, the Emperor, calling the veteran general to his side, made a public apology for his late conduct, embraced him, and, kissing him on each cheek, presented him with a star which he himself had worn. I heard some call this a theatrical representation; I do not believe it was so: why should the Autocrat of all the Russias not have the credit of possessing noble sentiments in common with any other gentleman, though he be the enemy of our country, and though his heart be proud and ambitious? The young aide-de-camp was not disgraced; indeed, the action redounded so much to his honour that he became an especial favourite.
After the grand review of which I have before spoken, the troops left the ground by different routes, and in half an hour the Champ de Mars was as silent as before; the only trace of the lately assembled host was the marks of the horses’ hoofs by myriads in every direction deeply cut into the sand.
CHAPTER XX.
Foreigners in Russia—The Poles—The oath of allegiance—Disgraceful treatment—Want of cordiality—Polish exiles—Greek and Roman churches—Difference of creed—Saints—Christmas custom—Warsaw—Polish cottages—Peasants: their treatment—Germans in Russia: their customs; their mode of life—New-Year’s eve—Pleasing custom—Character of the Germans—Variety of foreigners—The French—The Turkish renegade—Mixed society—Conclusion.
In writing about Russia, some notice of the foreign residents will not be out of place, as they form so great a proportion of the inhabitants of all the large towns. The most numerous among them are the Poles and the Germans: the former are dispersed all over the empire, being obliged to serve as employés and in the army. Centuries of warfare and mutual cruelties have caused these two great divisions of the same race to hate each other with an intensity that would have satisfied the great Dr. Johnson himself. Every Polish gentleman is forced to take the oath, in which he calls on Heaven to witness that he will shed the last drop of his blood for the Emperor’s sake. It must be galling indeed to have to pronounce these words, with the recollection of the wrongs of his country weighing on his heart, and, perhaps, the remembrance of an outraged mother or sister who might have been publicly flogged for instilling sentiments of patriotism into his soul. Let it not be thought that these are merely idle words. Many a time have I been told of Polish ladies who have been sufferers from the executioner’s lash, not many years ago, in the very capital of their country. A hundred instances have been told me, with the names of the unfortunate women who were the victims of such brutal treatment. To them we may give our pity and compassion—the eternal shame and dishonour will fall on the head of those at whose command such acts were done.
Among my acquaintances abroad I numbered a great many Poles, and I asked a noble one day how he could conscientiously take the oath above mentioned. “We wait patiently,” replied he, “for the time is not yet come. As for the allegiance, we make a reservation to ourselves concerning it; but hope leads us still to expect that the hour for Poland’s resurrection will arrive. What can we do at present?” Notwithstanding that the Poles are everywhere received in society, there is very little cordiality in regard to friendship: many have, it is true, intermarried with Russians, but they are not, for the most part, of the superior class of gentry, but are merely petty employés, or people of no “family” in the aristocratic sense of the word. In almost every part of Russia Polish people may be met who have been banished from their native land for some political offence, either proved or suspected. Many have assured me that they were taken away in the middle of the night from their own house, and perhaps dragged from their bed, merely on suspicion of being disaffected. It was impossible to refute the accusation, because, according to the wise laws of despotism, they had never been confronted with their accusers, or even knew who they were: very probably the information had been given by some government spy, the name of whom is “legion” in Poland. One of these victims was a gentleman who, with his wife, had been imprisoned four months, when they were hurried away from Vilna to the interior of Russia, and they assured me that they had not the remotest idea what the crime was of which they were accused. Added to the antipathy the Poles and Russians naturally feel for each other politically, the difference in religion contributes to their animosity; for although the Greek Church and the Roman may appear in the eyes of Protestants to possess few points of difference, yet, perhaps for that very reason, their hatred to each other is the more intense. As far as I could learn, the chief differences between the Greek and Roman belief consist of a trivial distinction, scarcely more than verbal, in the doctrine of the equality of the three persons in the Trinity, of the denial by the Greeks of the necessity of their priests remaining unmarried, and of the substitution of pictures for images as objects of worship and reverence. It is true that, since the division of the Christian Church into the eastern and the western, a vast number of extra saints have been added to each, which may have caused considerable jealousy between them. If so, the Russians must triumph, for they have about twice as many as the Romanists; but, on the other hand, they are not quite so select.
I once went to dine with some Polish friends on Christmas Day, and I remarked a quantity of straw scattered under the table. On my begging to know why this was done, I was informed that it was in commemoration of the Saviour having been born in a manger: the Russians have not this custom.