Leaving the interior of the Kremlin by the Gate of our Saviour, where all who pass, by an ancient custom, uncover the head, one passes on the opposite side of the square into the bazaars, which are worth a visit, and where, it is said, there are ten thousand shops, of every branch of industry.
I found here a well-ordered hotel, kept by an Englishman, where I am quite at home, although the only traveller in the house. The landlady tells me I am the only American who has visited them this year, in consequence of the cholera and the revolutions in Europe, with the difficulty of procuring passports.
In Russia, all strangers are obliged to publish for ten days in the public journals, their intention to leave the country; which publication, with the permission of sojourn, is quite a tax. I have, however, escaped all that, and shall depart soon for Warsaw.
XLVIII.
Cracow, Poland, 1848.
Since I last wrote you at Moscow, I have travelled over one thousand miles in Russia and Poland, by mail coach, private post, and lastly by railroad from Warsaw to this place, having had but one upset, without injury, and the breaking of an axle on another occasion, which obliged me to take the common wagon of the country. These wagons are made almost entirely of wood, with little iron, on low wheels, and very light. There not being any seats, the only resource was to fill the wagon with hay, to avoid the jolting. With a pair of good horses, and sometimes four, on the full jump, and a rough peasant driver, one gets over the road rapidly.
I have passed over large tracts of country entirely level, there being no great elevations in central or western Russia—a vast deal of uncultivated and thin soil—long distances made without signs of habitation or life, and presenting a desert appearance—most parts of the country thinly wooded; and it was gladdening to the eye to strike a town or village, to obtain supplies, but particularly gratifying to arrive in Poland, an old and better cultivated country, with more evidence of civilization, and means to support life. The weather has favored me much, being mild and dry, and the roads in good order.
On my arrival at Warsaw, on the banks of the Vistula, a city with a population of one hundred and fifty thousand, I was struck with its dull and sombre appearance, under the iron hand of despotic rule—liberty of thought and speech being suppressed. Here I found the Russian troops were marching out of the city, to take up winter quarters, after a general review. They were composed of thirty-one battalions of infantry, forty-six squadrons and eight divisions of cavalry, twenty batteries of artillery—in all thirty-four thousand men, ten thousand horses, and two hundred and twelve pieces of cannon. It was a brilliant sight to see them on the move. The Russian government is exceedingly jealous of its rights, and determined to maintain its authority. There are three hundred thousand soldiers ready to march to the frontier at a moment’s warning.
A signal telegraph is established from Warsaw to St. Petersburg, but the people here know nothing of the events in Europe. A Warsaw newspaper is a curiosity; it is about six inches square—a double sheet.
On passing the frontier, and coming to Cracow, I was questioned particularly why I was going out of my route on my way to Berlin, as my courier pass expressed; to which I replied I was ahead of time, and wished to see Cracow in passing. The conversation of the officer was of a nature to draw out my views, but I was on my guard. After which, as I was obliged to pass the night there, he was extremely polite, and told me the difficulty he had to obey orders in the visitation of luggage and examination of papers; he was even obliged to take off newspapers as envelopes from packages, to prevent the introduction of news from the adjacent countries.