From Moscow, where they arrived on the 3d of January, 1806, they shortly afterward made an excursion eastward to Yaroslav, on the banks of the Volga, during which Heber made the remarkable discovery that the Russian clergy almost universally were inimical to the government; being more connected than most other classes of men with the peasants, many of whose sufferings and oppressions they shared. They witnessed at Yaroslav a wolf-hunt on the frozen Volga. It should rather, however, be termed a “wolf-baiting;” for the animals, which had been previously caught for the purpose, were at once set upon by a number of dogs, and beaten almost blind by the long whips of savages, whom I cannot term hunters. A couple of hares were likewise chased upon the ice by Siberian greyhounds, very beautiful creatures, with silky hair and a fan tail, which, though less swift, were said to be more hardy than our greyhounds.
Heber, somewhat dazzled, as was natural, by the gorgeous taste of the Muscovites, seems to have been highly gratified by the reception which he and his fellow-traveller experienced at the ancient capital of the empire: “The eastern retinues and luxuries,” says he, “which one meets with here are almost beyond belief. There are few English countesses have so many pearls in their possession as I have seen in the streets in the cap of a merchant’s wife. At a ball in the ancient costume, which was given by M. Nedilensky (secretary of state to the late empress, whose family we have found the most agreeable in Moscow), the ladies all wore caps entirely of pearls, and the blaze of diamonds on their saraphaus (the ancient Russian tunic) would have outshone, I think, St. James’s. The pearl bonnet is not a becoming dress, as it makes its wearer look very pale, a fault which some ladies had evidently been endeavouring to obviate.” The heads which were thus gaudily garnished on the outside were generally exceedingly empty, as may safely be inferred from the degree of information possessed by their fathers, husbands, and brothers; so that the comparison with English ladies, in whom beauty and intelligence usually go hand in hand, could, I imagine, be carried no further.
Upon leaving Moscow about the middle of March, our traveller proceeded southward through the Ukraine, the country of the Cossacks, at Charkof, the capital of which, a university had recently been established. The professors of this establishment, who were all very handsomely paid, presented a motley assemblage of Russians, Germans, and Frenchmen, nearly every individual of which was big with some new scheme of teaching or college government; but this ludicrous appearance would wear off in time, while the benefit conferred on the people would be extensive and permanent. From hence they hurried on, for they were still rapid in their motions, to Taganroy, or the “Cape of the Teakettle,” so called from the form of the rock on which the fortress stands; and from thence to Nakitchivan on the Don. “This town,” says Heber, “is a singular mixture of Cossack houses and the black felt tents of the Kalmucs, all fishermen, and with their habitations almost thrust into the river. From the windows of the public-house where I am writing, the view is very singular and pleasing. The moon is risen, and throws a broad glare of light over the Don, which is here so widely overflowed that the opposite bank is scarcely visible; the foreground is a steep limestone hill covered with cottages and circular tents; and we hear on every side the mingled characteristic sounds of the singing of the boatmen on the river, the barking of the large ferocious Kalmuc dogs, which in all these countries are suffered to prowl about during the night, blended with the low monotonous chant of the Cossack women, who are enjoying the fine evening, and dancing in a large circle in the streets.”
Tcherkask, their next station, which in spring was mostly under water, seemed in some degree to resemble Venice. It was, in the opinion of our travellers, one of the most singular towns in the world, where, in the season of the inundation, the communication between one house and another was preserved by a kind of balcony or gallery, raised on wooden pillars, and running along the streets on both sides. From hence they continued their journey along the banks of the Kuban and the frontiers of Circassia, having in view the wild range of the Caucasus, with vast forests of oak at its roots. The population of these districts, fierce marauding mountaineers, beheld with regret the efforts which were making by the Russian government to wean them from their sanguinary habits. Their whole delight consisted in bloodshed and plunder. But their frays had gradually become less and less frequent: “Formerly,” said their guide, “we were ourselves a terror to our neighbours—but we are now,” added he with a sigh—“a civilized people!” “The land on the Russian side of the river (Kuban),” says Heber, “is but scantily wooded; on the southern side it rises in a magnificent theatre of oak woods, interspersed with cultivated ground, and the smoke of villages, with the ridges of Caucasus above the whole. The nearest hills are by no means gigantic; but there are some white peaks which rise at a vast distance, and which proved to us that these were only the first story of the mountain.”
Our travellers now traversed the Crimea, and proceeded across a stepp intersected by numerous streams, inlets of the sea, and some large salt-water lakes, to Odessa, an interesting town, which in the opinion of Heber owed its prosperity to the administration of the Duc de Richelieu far more than to any natural advantages. Their route now lay across Russian Poland, Hungary, Austria, and Northern Germany. They arrived at Yarmouth on the 14th of October, 1806, and Heber immediately set forward to join the family circle at Hodnet, where he enjoyed the satisfaction which every wanderer feels when returning, after a long and toilsome journey, to his native home.
In the year 1807 Heber took orders, and obtained the living of Hodnet, in Shropshire, which was in his brother’s gift; he then returned to Oxford for the purpose of taking his degree as master of arts. It will readily be supposed that he, whose piety was truly apostolical, even while in a secular station, now that he had assumed the habit of a Christian minister, became doubly anxious to render not only his conduct, but the very thoughts of his mind, pure as became his holy calling. The church has in no age been destitute of teachers remarkable for their virtue and benevolence; but even among preachers of the gospel it is not often that a man so gifted as Heber with genius, with enlarged knowledge of mankind, with almost boundless charity and benevolence, can be found, the perusal of whose life must create in the reader as well as in me the vain wish that we had numbered him among our friends. Yet Heber was far from being an ascetic. Like all men of high imaginative powers who have never suffered vice to brush away the down from their nobler feelings, he had a bold faith in the enduring nature of affection, and spoke of love, not like a pert worldling, whom no excellence could kindle, but like a philosopher, aware of the prejudices of the vulgar, but far above being swayed by them. “To speak, however, my serious opinion,” says he, in a letter to a friend, “I believe that were it possible for a well-founded passion to wear out, the very recollection of it would be more valuable than the greatest happiness afforded by those calm and vulgar kindnesses which chiefly proceed from knowing no great harm of one another. You remember Shenstone’s epitaph on Miss Dolman: Vale, Maria, Puellarum Elegantissima, heu quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse. I am not sure how long that romance of passion may continue which the world shows such anxiety to wean us of as soon as possible, and which it laughs at because it envies; but, end when it may, it is never lost, but will contribute, like fermentation, to make the remainder of the cup of happiness more pleasant and wholesome.”
In the April of 1809 Heber married Amelia, youngest daughter of Dr. Shipley, dean of St. Asaph. On this occasion he undertook an excursion in Wales, the beauties of which, notwithstanding the variety of scenes he had beheld, he seemed to consider equal to those of any country in the world. He then settled on his rectory, and employed himself earnestly in diffusing among his parishioners a proper sense of religion, and habits of piety and virtue. “He became, indeed,” says his excellent widow, “their earthly guide, their pastor, and friend. His ear was never shut to their complaints, nor his hands closed to their wants. Instead of hiding his face from the poor, he sought out distress; he made it a rule, from which no circumstances induced him to swerve, to ‘give to all who asked,’ however trifling the sum; and wherever he had an opportunity, he never failed to inquire into, and more effectually to relieve their distress. He could not pass a sick person, or a child crying, without endeavouring to sooth and help them; and the kindness of his manner always rendered his gifts doubly valuable.”
Heber, whose leisure, however, was not considerable, was now led, by a praiseworthy literary ambition, to become a contributor to the Quarterly Review, where many of the excellent critiques on books of travels which appeared about that period were of his writing. Having himself travelled, he knew how to appreciate the historian of foreign manners, while the high tone of his Christian virtues emancipated him from that mean jealousy with which little minds are inspired by the success of a rival. He was, moreover, admirably calculated by the extent and variety of his reading, in which perhaps, he was scarcely excelled even by Dr. Southey or Sir Walter Scott, for determining the amount of information which any particular observer added to the common stock; without which no critic, however able or acute, can possibly judge with accuracy of the merits of a traveller. The Castalian rill, which Providence had intrusted to our traveller’s keeping, was not, in the mean while, permitted to stagnate. Various poems, of different character and pretensions, he from time to time composed, and submitted to the world; and in 1812 published a collected edition of all his poetical works. In the same year he was afflicted by a severe and somewhat protracted illness. Indeed, he continued through life, observes Mrs. Heber, subject to inflammatory attacks, though rigid temperance and exercise enabled him to pursue his studies without inconvenience. He was an early riser, and having performed his daily devotions, devoted the larger portion of the day to literature; from which, nevertheless, he was ready to separate himself at the call of duty.
I have before observed that Heber’s character was by no means morose or ascetic; he was full of vivacity, good-humour, wit, and no enemy to amusements; but he conceived that on Sunday it was the Christian’s duty to abstain as far as possible from every species of business. An anecdote illustrative of this point, which is related by Mrs. Heber, is well worth repeating: As Mr. Reginald Heber was riding one Sunday morning to preach at Moreton, his horse cast a shoe. Seeing the village blacksmith standing at the door of his forge, he requested him to replace it. The man immediately set about blowing up the embers of his Saturday night’s fire, on seeing which, he said, “On second thoughts, John, it does not signify; I can walk my mare; it will not lame her, and I do not like to disturb your day of rest.”
In 1815 he was appointed Bampton lecturer. His subject was necessarily theological, so that it is not within my competence to decide respecting the merit of his mode of treating it; but notwithstanding that it excited the opposition of one antagonist, who called in question his orthodoxy, the lectures appear, when published, to have been generally approved of by the clergy, the legitimate judges in such matters. Two years after this he was promoted to a stall in the cathedral of St. Asaph, an appointment which led to many journeys into Wales, during which he yielded up his mind to the delight of poetical composition. In the midst of these and similar enjoyments, which, to a mind so purely and beautifully constituted as his, must have been secondary only to those arising from the exercise of virtue, Heber underwent the affliction of losing at a very early age his only child. This bereavement, however, severely as it affected his heart, he submitted to with that religious resignation which his character would have led us to expect from him.