CHAPTER II.
THE ENTRANCE INTO PETERSBURG.--A RENCONTRE WITH AN INQUISITIVE AND
MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.--NOTHING LIKE TRAVEL.
IT was certainly like entering a new world when I had the frigid
felicity of entering Russia. I expected to have found Petersburg
a wonderful city, and I was disappointed; it was a wonderful
beginning of a city, and that was all I ought to leave expected.
But never, I believe, was there a place which there was so much
difficulty in arriving at: such winds, such climate, such police
arrangements,--arranged, too, by such fellows! six feet high, with
nothing human about them but their uncleanness and ferocity! Such
vexatious delays, difficulties, ordeals, through which it was necessary
to pass, and to pass, too, with an air of the most perfect satisfaction
and content. By the Lord! one would have imagined, at all events, it
must be an earthly paradise, to be so arduous of access, instead of a
Dutch-looking town, with comfortless canals, and the most terrible
climate in which a civilized creature was ever frozen to death. "It is
just the city a nation of bears would build, if bears ever became
architects," said I to myself, as I entered the northern capital, with
my teeth chattering and my limbs in a state of perfect insensibility.
My vehicle stopped, at last, at an hotel to which I had been directed.
It was a circumstance, I believe, peculiar to Petersburg, that, at the
time I speak of, none of its streets had a name; and if one wanted to
find out a house, one was forced to do so by oral description. A
pleasant thing it was, too, to stop in the middle of a street, to listen
to such description at full length, and find one's self rapidly becoming
ice as the detail progressed. After I was lodged, thawed, and fed, I
fell fast asleep, and slept for eighteen hours, without waking once; to
my mind, it was a miracle that I ever woke again.
I then dressed myself, and taking my interpreter,--who was a Livonian, a
great rascal, but clever, who washed twice a week, and did not wear a
beard above eight inches long,--I put myself into my carriage, and went
to deliver my letters of introduction. I had one in particular to the
Admiral Apraxin; and it was with him that I was directed to confer,
previous to seeking an interview with the Emperor. Accordingly I
repaired to his hotel, which was situated on a sort of quay, and was
really, for Petersburg, very magnificent. In this quarter, then or a
little later, lived about thirty other officers of the court, General
Jagoyinsky, General Cyernichoff, etc.; and, appropriately enough, the
most remarkable public building in the vicinity is the great
slaughter-house,--a fine specimen that of practical satire!
On endeavouring to pass through the Admiral's hall I had the
mortification of finding myself rejected by his domestics. As two men
in military attire were instantly admitted, I thought this a little hard
upon a man who had travelled so far to see his admiralship, and,
accordingly, hinted my indignation to Mr. Muscotofsky, my interpreter.
"You are not so richly dressed as those gentlemen," said he.
"That is the reason, is it?"
"If it so please Saint Nicholas, it is; and, besides, those gentlemen
have two men running before them to cry, 'Clear the way!'"
"I had better, then, dress myself better, and take two /avant
couriers/."
"If it so please Saint Nicholas." Upon this I returned, robed myself in
scarlet and gold, took a couple of lacqueys, returned to Admiral
Apraxin's, and was admitted in an instant. Who would have thought these
savages so like us? Appearances, you see, produce realities all over
the world!
The Admiral, who was a very great man at court--though he narrowly
escaped Siberia, or the knout, some time after--was civil enough to me:
but I soon saw that, favourite as he was with the Czar, that great man
left but petty moves in the grand chessboard of politics to be played by
any but himself; and my proper plan in this court appeared evidently to
be unlike that pursued in most others, where it is better to win the
favourite than the prince. Accordingly, I lost no time in seeking an
interview with the Czar himself, and readily obtained an appointment to
that effect.
On the day before the interview took place, I amused myself with walking
over the city, gazing upon its growing grandeur, and casting, in
especial, a wistful eye upon the fortress or citadel, which is situated
in an island, surrounded by the city, and upon the building of which
more than one hundred thousand men are supposed to have perished. So
great a sacrifice does it require to conquer Nature!
While I was thus amusing myself, I observed a man in a small chaise with
one horse pass me twice, and look at me very earnestly. Like most of my
countrymen, I do not love to be stared at; however, I thought it better
in that unknown country to change my intended frown for a good-natured
expression of countenance, and turned away. A singular sight now struck
my attention: a couple of men with beards that would have hidden a
cassowary, were walking slowly along in their curious long garments, and
certainly (I say it reverently) disgracing the semblance of humanity,
when, just as they came by a gate, two other men of astonishing height
started forth, each armed with a pair of shears. Before a second was
over, off went the beards of the first two passengers; and before
another second expired, off went the skirts of their garments too: I
never saw excrescences so expeditiously lopped. The two operators, who
preserved a profound silence during this brief affair, then retired a
little, and the mutilated wanderers pursued their way with an air of
extreme discomfiture.
"Nothing like travel, certainly!" said I, unconsciously aloud.
"True!" said a voice in English behind me. I turned, and saw the man
who had noticed me so earnestly in the one horse chaise. He was a tall,
robust man, dressed very plainly, and even shabbily, in a green uniform,
with a narrow tarnished gold lace; and I judged him to be a foreigner,
like myself, though his accent and pronunciation evidently showed that
he was not a native of the country in the language of which he accosted
me.
"It is very true," said he again; "there is nothing like travel!"
"And travel," I rejoined courteously, "in those places where travel
seldom extends. I have only been six days at Petersburg, and till I
came hither, I knew nothing of the variety of human nature or the power
of human genius. But will you allow me to ask the meaning of the very
singular occurrence we have just witnessed?"
"Oh, nothing," rejoined the man, with a broad strong smile, "nothing but
an attempt to make men out of brutes. This custom of shaving is not,
thank Heaven, much wanted now: some years ago it was requisite to have
several stations for barbers and tailors to perform their duties in.
Now this is very seldom necessary; those gentlemen were especially
marked out for the operation. By ------" (and here the man swore a
hearty English and somewhat seafaring oath, which a little astonished me
in the streets of Petersburg), "I wish it were as easy to lop off all
old customs! that it were as easy to clip the /beard of the mind/, Sir!
Ha! ha!"
"But the Czar must have found a little difficulty in effecting even this
outward amendment; and to say truth, I see so many beards about still
that I think the reform has been more partial than universal."
"Ah, those are the beards of the common people: the Czar leaves those
for the present. Have you seen the docks yet?"
"No, I am not sufficiently a sailor to take much interest in them."
"Humph! humph! you are a soldier, perhaps?"
"I hope to be so one day or other: I am not yet!"
"Not yet! humph! there are opportunities in plenty for those who wish
it; what is your profession, then, and what do you know best?"
I was certainly not charmed with the honest inquisitiveness of the
stranger. "Sir," said I, "Sir, my profession is to answer no questions;
and what I know best is--to hold my tongue!"
The stranger laughed out. "Well, well, that is what all Englishmen know
best!" said he; "but don't be offended: if you will come home with me I
will give you a glass of brandy!"
"I am very much obliged for the offer, but business obliges me to
decline it; good morning, Sir."
"Good morning!" answered the man, slightly moving his hat, in answer to
my salutation.
We separated, as I thought; but I was mistaken. As ill-luck would have
it, I lost my way in endeavouring to return home. While I was
interrogating a French artisan, who seemed in a prodigious hurry, up
comes my inquisitive friend in green again. "Ha! you have lost your
way: I can put you into it better than any man in Petersburg!"
I thought it right to accept the offer; and we moved on side by side. I
now looked pretty attentively at my gentleman. I have said that he was
tall and stout; he was also remarkably well-built, and had a kind of
seaman's ease and freedom of gait and manner. His countenance was very
peculiar; short, firm, and strongly marked; a small, but thick mustachio
covered his upper lip; the rest of his face was shaved. His mouth was
wide, but closed, when silent, with that expression of iron resolution
which no feature /but/ the mouth can convey. His eyes were large,
well-opened, and rather stern; and when, which was often in the course
of conversation, he pushed back his hat from his forehead, the motion
developed two strong deep wrinkles between the eyebrows, which might be
indicative either of thought or of irascibility,--perhaps of both. He
spoke quickly, and with a little occasional embarrassment of voice,
which, however, never communicated itself to his manner. He seemed,
indeed, to have a perfect acquaintance with the mazes of the growing
city; and, every now and then, stopped to say when such a house was
built, whither such a street was to lead, etc. As each of these details
betrayed some great triumph over natural obstacles and sometimes over
national prejudice, I could not help dropping a few enthusiastic
expressions in praise of the genius of the Czar. The man's eyes
sparkled as he heard them.
"It is easy to see," said I, "that you sympathize with me, and that the
admiration of this great man is not confined to Englishmen. How little
in comparison seem all other monarchs!--they ruin kingdoms; the Czar
creates one. The whole history of the world does not afford an instance
of triumphs so vast, so important, so glorious as his have been. How
his subjects should adore him!"
"No," said the stranger, with an altered and thoughtful manner, "it is
not his subjects, but /their posterity/, that will appreciate his
motives, and forgive him for wishing Russia to be an empire of MEN. The
present generation may sometimes be laughed, sometimes forced, out of
their more barbarous habits and brute-like customs, but they cannot be
reasoned out of them; and they don't love the man who attempts to do it.
Why, Sir, I question whether Ivan IV., who used to butcher the dogs
between prayers for an occupation, and between meals for an appetite, I
question whether his memory is not to the full as much loved as the
living Czar. I know, at least, that whenever the latter attempts a
reform, the good Muscovites shrug up their shoulders, and mutter, 'We
did not do these things in the good old days of Ivan IV.'"
"Ah! the people of all nations are wonderfully attached to their ancient
customs; and it is not unfrequently that the most stubborn enemies to
living men are their own ancestors."
"Ha! ha!--true--good!" cried the stranger; and then, after a short
pause, he said in a tone of deep feeling which had not hitherto seemed
at all a part of his character, "We should do that which is good to the
human race, from some principle within, and should not therefore abate
our efforts for the opposition, the rancour, or the ingratitude that we
experience without. It will be enough reward for Peter I., if
hereafter, when (in that circulation of knowledge throughout the world
which I can compare to nothing better than the circulation of the blood
in the human body) the glory of Russia shall rest, not upon the extent
of her dominions, but that of her civilization,--not upon the number of
inhabitants, embruted and besotted, but the number of enlightened,
prosperous, and free men; it will be enough for him, if he be considered
to have laid the first stone of that great change,--if his labours be
fairly weighed against the obstacles which opposed them,--if, for his
honest and unceasing endeavour to improve millions, he be not too
severely judged for offences in a more limited circle,--and if, in
consideration of having fought the great battle against custom,
circumstances, and opposing nature, he be sometimes forgiven for not
having invariably conquered himself."
As the stranger broke off abruptly, I could not but feel a little
impressed by his words and the energy with which they were spoken. We
were now in sight of my lodging. I asked my guide to enter it; but the
change in our conversation seemed to have unfitted him a little for my
companionship.
"No," said he, "I have business now; we shall meet again; what's your
name?"
"Certainly," thought I, "no man ever scrupled so little to ask plain
questions:" however, I answered him truly and freely.
"Devereux!" said he, as if surprised. "Ha!--well--we shall meet again.
Good day."
