Warsaw is beautifully situated on the Vistula, and contains a great many buildings erected in former times; but it must be very vexing and grievous to the people to see the monument in their “grande place” supported by Russian eagles, publicly reminding them of their loss of nationality. The Vistula is so extremely shallow that the sand is everywhere visible through the water. As to the general aspect of the country, it much reminded me of some parts of England; even the whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs looked very like those we see at home, but the peasants bore no resemblance to our sturdy, independent-looking countrymen. They, poor people! with their sullen, downcast faces, too plainly showed, even more so than the Russian serfs, how hardly they fared, and how they were ground down by the oppression of their conquerors. It seemed to me that every Muscovite, dressed in a little brief authority, was at liberty to play the tyrant over them, and I used to feel quite indignant at the merciless manner in which the post-guards treated them. The blows they inflicted seemed almost enough to break the back of any human being, whilst the screams they elicited frequently broke the silence of the night, filling our party with horror and dismay, and made us sincerely pray for the time when retribution shall fall on the heads of their oppressors, and Poland shall be free again.
The Polish dishes are not at all according to the English taste; they contain too much garlic and sour cream, and are much too coarse to be pleasant. In all the provinces of Poland through which I have travelled the bread was extremely bad; even in Warsaw, at the hotels, although the waiters presented us with what they called English loaves, they bore very little resemblance to the white bread of London. Perhaps the best bread in Europe is made in Moscow: it is perfectly delicious.
The Germans in Russia are extremely numerous; they have spread themselves over the whole country and have monopolized a great deal of the trade. “There are only two patriotic nations in Europe,” said a Russian admiral, “Russia and England; the French are partisans of their party; but as for those Germans, their country is where they find they can gain most money.” In regard to his judgment on the French, it must be a false one, for in their history we see many proofs of real patriotism, which show that, in respect to them, he was in error; but his assertion touching the German people, especially those in Russia, was probably the truth. They are not liked by the Russians, who look upon them with all the antipathy of race; added to which, their penurious habits and desire for accumulating wealth, qualities so different from the national character of the people among whom they dwell, and their excessive severity as officers and overseers, cause them to be detested by the lower classes, while the upper classes look down upon them with disdain, and consider them as a sordid, money-getting nation, who possess no nobility of soul, so that with them the name German and “nobody” are synonymous, although, owing to the German predilections of the Emperor, many of the very highest places in every department are filled by people of that race. Among the lower classes they go by the name of sausage-eaters, from their love of that viand. The Germans in St. Petersburg are mostly from Livonia and Esthonia, countries long under the Russian rule: indeed the same may be said of those scattered over the empire; some of them are from Prussia, but, upon the whole, there are not many from the true Teutonic states. They live mostly in small colonies, mixing but little with the Russian society; indeed many of them, although they have been born and educated in the country, do not speak Russ at all well. They retain the manners and customs of their ancestors as well as their religion; they have their Christmas-tree on the eve of Christmas Day, their commemoration of Luther, and their festivities at the New Year in their own fashion. The Christmas-tree, with its gay decorations and hundred lights, the presents laid round it for the children and relations, and the croque-mitaine, so formidable to baby offenders, are all now so well known in England that a description of them is not necessary. The Germans are a social people among themselves, and they enjoy life quietly—mais ils mènent une vie ennuyante. Their society, however agreeable, still wants that gay animation of the French, which makes even trifling subjects interesting in conversation.
A great many of the medical men in Russia are Germans, and people of that nation may be found in every town: I believe I may say, without exaggeration, that nearly all the bakers’ shops, as well as those of chemists, are kept by them.
The ladies are exceedingly good housewives, but, as a French person of my acquaintance remarked, “Elles sont ou des heroïnes de Werter ou des ménagères.” One of their greatest pleasures consists in going once a week to the Singanstalt, or singing-club, to which nearly all the young persons of both sexes belong: the evening is passed in singing German Lieder, and the choruses from operas and oratorios by national composers, which they perform in very agreeable style.
One of the most delightful New-Year’s Eves I ever passed was at the house of a German friend. The family was a very large one, and all the members of it were assembled, even down to the third-cousins—grandmamma, grandpapa, all their married sons and daughters, with every one of the children, those of a few months old included, cousins, nephews, and nieces, not one was absent. After spending the evening in various social games, in which both great and small took part, the whole company took their seats round the room a little before midnight, and waited in silence until the clock struck twelve, announcing that another year had passed for ever, and that a new one had already commenced. All those who could sing stood in a group at one end of the hall, and the instant that the last stroke had solemnly sounded they burst into a chorus of thanksgiving. Each then sang a verse in turn, the grandfather, although past sixty, commencing in a fine tenor; after him sang the eldest son, and then the eldest daughter, and so on. The words, which are really beautiful, were partly composed by Voss; other verses had been added by the singers themselves. They began by thanking God for the renewal of another great division of time, expressed delight that so many were thus joyously assembled, with hopes for the welfare of those far away: but in the midst of their rejoicings they affectingly referred to the dead, who were sleeping in solitude, wrapped in their cold and silent graves, and whose place on earth was no more seen; and much emotion was excited by the following verses:—
“Wer weiss, wie mancher modert
Ums Jahr, gesenkt in’s Grab!
Unangemeldet fodert