I DATE FROM yesterday the commencement of my Russian Travels.[1] The hereditary grand duke has arrived at Ems, preceded by ten or twelve carriages, and attended by a numerous court.
What has chiefly struck me in my first view of Russian courtiers is the extraordinary submissiveness with which, as grandees, they perform their devoirs. They seem, in fact, to be only a higher order of slaves; but the moment the prince has retired, a free, unrestrained, and decided manner is reassumed, which contrasts unpleasantly with that complete abnegation of self, affected only the moment before. In a word, there appears to reign throughout the suite of the heir of the Imperial throne, a habit of servile docility from which the nobles are not more exempt than the valets. It is not merely the etiquette that regulates other courts, where official respect, the importance of the office rather than that of the person, the compulsory part, in short, that has to be played, produces ennui, and sometimes ridicule: it is something more; it is a spontaneous and involuntary humility, which yet does not altogether exclude arrogance: it seems to me as though I could hear them say, “since it cannot be otherwise, we are glad to have it so.” This mixture of pride and humiliation displeases me, and by no means prepossesses me in favor of the country I am about to survey.
I found myself amid the crowd of curious spectators close to the grand duke, just as he descended from his carriage; and as he stood for some time before entering the gate of the maison des bains, talking with a Russian lady, the Countess ———, I was able to observe him at my leisure. His age, as his appearance indicates, is twenty: his height is commanding, but he appears to me, for so young a man, rather fat. His features would be handsome were it not that their fullness destroys their expression. His round face rather resembles that of a German than a Russian; it suggests an idea of what the Emperor Alexander’s must have been at the same age, without however recalling, in any degree, the physiognomy of the Kalmyk. A face of this cast will pass through many changes before assuming its definitive character. The habitual humor which it, at present, denotes, is gentleness and benevolence; but between the youthful smile of the eyes and the constant contraction of the mouth, there is, nevertheless, a discordance which does not bespeak frankness, and which, perhaps, indicates some inward suffering. The sorrows of youth—of that age in which happiness is, as it were, the right of man—are secrets the better guarded, because they are mysteries inexplicable even to those who experience them. The expression of this young prince is amiable; his carriage is graceful, imposing, and altogether princely; and his manner modest, without being timid, which must alone gain him much goodwill. The embarrassment of great people is so embarrassing to others, that their ease always wears the character of affability, to which in fact it amounts. When they believe themselves to be something more than common mortals, they become constrained, both by the direct influence of such an opinion, and by the hopeless effort of inducing others to share it. This absurd inquietude does not disturb the grand duke. His presence conveys the idea of a perfectly well-bred man; and if he ever reign, it will be by the charm inherent in graceful manners that he will cause himself to be obeyed: it will not be by terror, unless, at least, the necessities attached to the office of a Russian emperor should, in changing his position, change his disposition also.
Since writing the above, I have again seen the hereditary grand duke, and have examined him more nearly and leisurely. He had cast off his uniform, which appeared to fit him too closely, and gave to his person a bloated appearance. In my opinion he looks best in undress. His general bearing is certainly pleasing; his carriage is lofty, yet without military stiffness. The kind of grace by which he is distinguished, reminds one of that peculiar charm of manner which seems to belong to the Slavic race. It is not the expression of the quick passions of southern climes, neither is it the imperturbable coolness of the people of the north: it is a combination of simplicity, of southern mobility, and of Scandinavian melancholy. The Slavs are fair-complexioned Arabs; the grand duke is more than half German, but in Mecklenburg and Holstein, as in some parts of Russia, there are Germans of Slavic extraction.
The countenance of this prince, notwithstanding his youth, presents fewer attractions than his figure. His complexion has already lost its freshness [2]; one can observe that he is under the influence of some cause of grief; his eyelids are cast down with a sadness that betrays the cares of a riper age. His well-formed mouth is not without an expression of sweetness; his Grecian profile reminds me of antique medals, or of the portraits of the Empress Catherine; but notwithstanding his expression of amiableness (an expression which almost always imparts that also of beauty), his youth, and, yet more, his German blood, it is impossible to avoid observing in the lines of his face a power of dissimulation which one trembles to see in so young a man. This trait is doubtless the impress of destiny. It convinces me that the grand duke will be called to the throne. The tones of his voice are sweet, which is not commonly the case in his family; they say it is a gift which he has inherited from his mother.
He shines among the young people of his suite without our discovering what it is that preserves the distance which may be easily observed to exist between them, unless it be the perfect gracefulness of his person. Gracefulness always indicates an amiable mental endowment; it depicts mind upon the features, embodies it in the carriage and the attitudes, and pleases at the very time that it commands. Russian travelers had spoken to me of the beauty of the prince as quite a phenomenon. Without this exaggeration I should have been more struck with it; besides, I could not but recollect the romantic mien, the archangelic form, of his father and his uncle the grand duke Michael, who, when in 1815, they visited Paris, were called “the northern lights,” and I felt inclined to be severe, because I had been deceived; yet, notwithstanding this, the grand duke of Russia appears to me as one of the finest models of a prince that I have ever met with.
With the elegance of his equipages, the disorder of the baggage, and the carelessness of the servants, I have been much struck. In contrasting this imperial cortege with the magnificent simplicity of English equipages, and the careful superintendence that English servants bestow upon everything, one is reminded that even to have one’s carriages and harness made in London would not be all that is requisite towards attaining that perfection in material, or external arrangements, the possession of which constitutes the superiority of the English in so matter-of-fact an age as our own.
Yesterday I went to see the sun setting on the Rhine. It was a magnificent spectacle. It is not, however, the banks of the river, with their monotonous ruins and parched vineyards, which occupy too much of the landscape to be agreeable to the eye, that I chiefly admire in this beautiful yet overlauded country. I have seen elsewhere banks more commanding, more varied, more lovely; finer forests, a more luxuriant vegetation, and more picturesque and striking points of view: it is the river itself, especially as viewed from the shore, that appears to me the most wonderful object in the scene. This immense body of water, gliding with an ever-equal motion through the country which it beautifies and enlivens, reveals to me a power in creation that overwhelms my senses. In watching its movements I liken myself to a physician examining the pulse of a man in order to ascertain his strength. Rivers are the arteries of our globe, and before their manifestation of universal life I stand fixed in awe and admiration: I feel myself to be in the presence of my sovereign; I see eternity, I believe, and I almost grasp the infinite. This is the involuntary perception of a sublime mystery; in nature what I cannot comprehend I admire, and my ignorance takes refuge in adoration. Thus it is that science to me is less necessary than to discontented minds.
We shall literally die of heat. It is many years since the air of the valley of Ems, always oppressive, has risen to the present temperature. Last night, in returning from the banks of the Rhine, I saw in the woods a swarm of fireflies—my beloved Italian luccioli. I had never before observed them, except in hot climates.
I set out in two days for Berlin and St. Petersburg.
[1]5th June, 1839.
[2]The grand duke had been ill some time before his arrival at Ems.