The English are somewhat concerned at this moment at the state of their Navy, which they say leaves much to be desired. There are many politicians who are in favour of building an increased number of ships, but it appears that this cannot be done without grievously taxing the rich, who are already overtaxed. The Duke of Buckingham told me yesterday that if the taxes were to be in any way increased he would be obliged to dismiss his gardener and his Groom of the Chambers. Besides which, he assured me that this agitation in favour of an increased Navy was entirely due to a foolish fear of the Dutch, a fear which he said was utterly groundless, for it was inconceivable that the Dutch could wish to invade England; moreover, if they did so they would be defeated by the English Navy, such as it was.
PETER THE GREAT
Letter from an English Architect
St. Petersburg, July, 1715.
Dear Sir,
Although it is almost six weeks ago that I arrived at St. Petersburg, I have not until this moment had leisure to write you my impressions. And now before I impart these to you I must advert to a conversation which I had in Berlin with X——, who, as you know, spent many years in Russia, before the accession of the present Czar, and who is an eminent Russian scholar. He assured me that in entering the Russian service at the present moment I was doing a foolish and perilous thing. Russia, he said, was on the eve of a grave crisis, which might very probably lead to the dismemberment of the nation. This was owing to the character of the present Sovereign. The Czar was inspired with inordinate ambition and blind obstinacy; he was, moreover, pursued by a demon of restlessness, and a desire to change and reform everything that was old. This love of improvement was no doubt in itself a laudable ambition; yet in view of the peculiar circumstances of the case, the ignorance of the great mass of Russians, the fundamental conservatism of the educated class, the deficiency and the inadequacy of all necessary material and instruments, the designs of the Czar were akin to madness.
He was attempting to make bricks without straw, and this could only have one result—the disruption of the kingdom of Russia and the consequent rise of a large and powerful Poland. Poland would once again reduce Russia to servitude, and all civilized Europe would once more be revolted by the spectacle of civil and religious tyranny. Moreover, a powerful Poland was, as far as all European countries were concerned, far less to be desired than a powerful Russia. I will comment on these remarks in due time. At present I must resume my narrative.
On arriving at St. Petersburg I went straight to the Summer Palace. I was told that the Czar had gone to Cronstot. He had left orders that I was to follow him thither as soon as I arrived, in a snow which was waiting to convey the Dutch Minister. It was a fine, sultry day when we started from St. Petersburg. I was much impressed by the sight of the city, which possesses already many thousands of houses and some fine churches and palaces. We started with a fair wind, but soon a storm arose, and our condition was the more perilous owing to the lack of experience of the captain and the mate. The Dutch Minister was prostrate with sea-sickness, and upon his asking whether there was any chance of escape—and he seemed, such were his pains, to hope for a negative answer—the captain, who was facing the emergency by doing nothing at all, kept on repeating in a soothing voice the word Nichevo (which means “all is well”) “we shall arrive.” All seemed to be very far from well. The mate, when consulted, folded his hands together and said Bog Znaet, which means “God knows.” At last, after two days and three nights, which we spent without fire or provisions, we arrived at Cronstot. We were forthwith bidden to the Czar’s pleasure-house, Peterhof, on the coast of Ingria, whither a fair wind took us without further mishap.
We were at once taken into the Czar’s presence. Anything less like the state and formal etiquette of Paris, Berlin, or Madrid, it would be difficult to imagine. To speak of the simplicity of the Czar would be to understate my meaning. He seemed to be divested not only of the formality of sovereigns, but of the ordinary convention and reserve which unwittingly hang over every human being like a cloak. He greeted us as if he had known us all his life, and as if he were continuing a conversation but lately interrupted. His dress—which was dark, plain, and sober—his demeanour, his manner, were not only free from all trace of pomp but would have struck one as simple in a common sailor. And yet the overwhelming mastery and intelligence and power of the man were instantly apparent in the swiftness of his look and the stamp of his countenance. It was clear from the first moment that he was a man who went straight to the point and had the knack of eliminating and casting aside the unessential and the superfluous with the quick decision with which a skilful gardener removes dead flowers from a tree with his garden knife.
This was evident when speaking of the concern he had felt for us owing to the storm. The Dutch Minister launched out into a diffuse narrative. The Czar at once seized on the essential fact that the skipper was incapable and deftly changed the subject, keeping the garrulous Minister charmed all the while. He welcomed me to Russia and said that he had been awaiting my arrival with impatience, as he had much work for me to do. “But we will talk of that later,” he said, “at present you must be hungry.”