AMONG THE passengers on board the steamer, I observed an elderly man, whose immensely swollen legs could hardly support his corpulent frame. His head, well set between his large shoulders, had a noble cast: it was a portrait of Louis XVI.
I soon learnt that he was the Russian Prince K——, a descendant of the conquering Varegues, and therefore one of the most ancient of the Russian nobility.
As I observed him, supported by his secretary, and moving with difficulty towards a seat, I could not help saying to myself, here is a sorry traveling companion; but on hearing his name, which I well knew by reputation, I reproached myself for this incorrigible mania of judging by appearances.
As soon as seated, the old gentleman, the expression of whose face was shrewd, although noble and sincere, addressed me by name.
Apostrophized thus suddenly, I rose without replying. The prince continued in that truly aristocratic tone, the perfect simplicity of which excludes all idea of ceremony:—
“You, who have seen almost all Europe, will, I am sure, be of my opinion.”
“On what subject, Prince?”
“On England. I was saying to Prince ———, here,” indicating with his finger, and without further presentation, the individual with whom he was talking, “that there is no noblesse among the English. They have titles and offices; but the idea which we attach to a real order of nobility, distinguished by characteristics which can neither be purchased nor conferred, is unknown to them. A monarch may create a prince; education, circumstances, genius, virtue, may make a hero; but none of these things are sufficient to constitute a nobleman.”
“Prince,” I replied, “a noblesse, in that sense of the word which was once understood in France, and in which you and I, I believe, understand it at present, has become a fiction, and was perhaps always one. You remind me of the observation of M. de Lauraguais, who said, on returning from an assembly of the marshals of France, ‘we were twelve dukes and peers, but I was the only gentleman.’ ”
“He said the truth,” replied the prince. “On the continent, a person of ancient family alone is considered as noble, because in countries where nobility is still something real, it is inherent in the blood, and not in fortune, favor, talent, or avocation; it is the produce of history; and, as in physics, the period for the formation of certain metals appears to have ceased, so in communities, the period for the creation of noble families has ceased also. It is this of which the English are ignorant.”
“It is true,” I answered, “that though still preserving much feudal pride, they have lost the spirit of feudal institutions. In England, chivalry has ceded to industry, which has readily consented to take up its abode in a baronial constitution, on condition that the ancient privileges attached to names should be placed within reach of newly founded families.
“By this social revolution, the result of a succession of political changes, hereditary rights are no longer attached to a race, but are transferred to individuals, to offices, and to estates. Formerly the warrior ennobled the land that he won; now it is the possession of the land which constitutes the noble; and what is called a noblesse in England, seems to me to be nothing more than a class that is rich enough to pay for wearing a certain dress. This monied aristocracy differs, no doubt, very greatly from the aristocracy of blood. Rank that has been bought, has an evidence of the intelligence and activity of the man; rank that has been inherited is an evidence of the favor of Providence.
“The confusion of ideas respecting the two kinds of aristocracy, that of money and that of birth, is such in England, that the descendants of a family, whose name belongs to the history of the country, if they happen to be poor and are without title, will tell you they are not noble; while my Lord ——— (grandson of a tailor), forms, as member of the house of peers, a part of the high aristocracy of the land.”
“I knew that we should agree,” replied the prince, with a graceful gravity that is peculiar to him.
Struck with this easy manner of making acquaintance, I began to examine the countryman of the Prince K——, Prince D——, the celebrity of whose name had already attracted my attention. I beheld a man still young: his complexion wore a leaden hue; a quiet, patient expression was visible in his eye; but his forehead was full, his figure tall, and throughout his person there was a regularity which accorded with the coldness of his manners, and the harmony produced by which was not unpleasing.
Prince K——, who never tired of conversation, continued:—
“To prove to you that the English notions of nobility differ from ours, I will relate a little anecdote which will perhaps amuse you.
“In 1814 I attended the Emperor Alexander on his visit to London. At that time His Majesty honored me with much confidence, which procured for me many marks of kindness on the part of the Prince of Wales, then regent. This prince took me aside one day, and said to me, ‘I should like to do something that would be agreeable to the emperor. He appears to have a great regard for the physician who accompanies him; could I confer on this person any favor that would please your master?’
“‘You could, sir,’ I replied.
“‘What, then, should it be?’
“‘Nobility.’
“On the morrow the doctor was made a knight. The Emperor took pains to ascertain the nature of the distinction which thus constituted his physician a Sir, and his physician’s wife a Lady; but, although his powers of comprehension were good, he died without being able to understand our explanations, or the value of the new dignity conferred upon his medical man.”
“The ignorance of the Emperor Alexander,” I replied, “is justified by that of many well-informed men: look at the greater number of novels in which foreigners attempt to depict English society.” This discourse served as a prelude to a most agreeable conversation, which lasted several hours. The tone of society among the higher ranks in Russia is marked by an easy politeness, the secret of which is almost lost among ourselves.
Everyone, not even excluding the French secretary of Prince K——, appears modest, superior to the little cares and contrivances of vanity and self-love, and, consequently, exempt from their mistakes and mortifications. If it is this that one gains from living under a despotism, Vive la Russie! How can polished manners subsist in a country where nothing is respected, seeing that bon ton is only discernment in testifying respect. Let us recommence by showing respect to those who have a right to deference, and we shall then again become naturally, and, so to speak involuntarily, polite.
Notwithstanding the reserve which I threw into my answers to the Prince K——, the old diplomatist quickly discovered the tendency of my views.
“You do not belong either to your country or to your age,” he exclaimed; “you are an enemy to the power of speech as a political engine.”
“It is true,” I replied; “any other way of ascertaining the worth of men appears to me preferable to public speaking, in a country where self-love is so easily excited as in mine. I do not believe that there could be found in France many men who would not sacrifice their most cherished opinions to the desire of having it said that they had made a good speech.”
“Nevertheless,” pursued the liberal Russian prince, “everything is included in the gift of language; everything that is in man, and something even beyond, reveals itself by discourse: there is divinity in speech.”
“I agree with you,” I replied, “and it is for that very reason that I dread to see it prostituted.”
“When a genius like that of Mr. Canning’s,” continued the prince, “enchained the attention of the first men of England and of the world, surely political oratory was something great and glorious!”
“What good has this brilliant genius produced? and what evil would he not have caused if he had had inflammable minds for auditors? Speech employed in private, as a means of persuasion, to change the direction of ideas, to influence the action of a man, or of a small number of men, appears to me useful, either as an auxiliary or as a counterbalance to power; but I fear it in a large political assembly whose deliberations are conducted in public. It too often secures a triumph to limited views and fallacious popular notions, at the expense of lofty, far-sighted conceptions, and plans profoundly laid. To impose upon nations the domination of majorities is to subject them to mediocrity. If such is not your object, you do wrong to laud oratorical influence. The politics of large assemblies are almost always timid, sordid, and unprincipled. You oppose to this the case of England: that country is not what it is supposed to be. It is true that in its houses of parliament, questions are decided by the majority; but that majority represents the aristocracy of the land, which for a long time has not ceased, except at very brief intervals, to direct the affairs of the state. Besides, to what refuges of lies have not parliamentary forms compelled the leaders of this masked oligarchy to descend? Is it for this that you envy England?”
“Nevertheless, man must be led either by fear or by persuasion.”
“True, but action is more persuasive than words. Does not the Prussian government prove this? Does not Bonaparte? Bonaparte at the commencement of his reign governed by persuasion as much as, or more than, by force, and yet his eloquence, though great, was never addressed except to individuals; to the mass he never spoke except by deeds: to discuss the laws in public is to rob them of that respect which is the secret of their power.”
“You are a friend to despotism?”
“On the contrary, I dread the lawyers, and their echo the newspapers,[1] which are but speeches whose echo resounds for twenty-four hours. This is the despotism which threatens us in the present day.”
“Come among us, and you will learn to fear some other kinds.”
“It will not be you, Prince, who will succeed in imbuing me with a bad opinion of Russia.”
“Do not judge of it, either by me, or by any other Russian who has traveled: our natural flexibility renders us cosmopolites the moment we leave our own land; and this disposition of mind is in itself a satire against our government!”
Here, notwithstanding his habit of speaking openly on all subjects, the prince began to distrust both himself, me, and everyone else, and took refuge in some remarks not very conspicuous for their perspicuity. He afterwards, however, availed himself of a moment when we were alone to lay before me his opinion as to the character of the men and the institutions of his country. The following, as nearly as I can recollect, forms the sum of his observations:—
“Russia, in the present age, is only four hundred years removed from the invasions of barbarian tribes, whilst fourteen centuries have elapsed since western Europe experienced the same crisis. A civilization older by one thousand years, of course places an immeasurable distance between the manners of nations.
“Many ages before the irruption of the Mongols, the Scandinavians placed over the Slavic (then altogether savages) chieftains, who reigned at Great Novgorod and at Kiev, under the name of Varangians. These foreign heroes, supported by a small retinue of armed followers, became the first princes of the Russians; and their companions in arms are the stock whence proceeds the more ancient nobility. The Varangian princes, who were a species of demigods, governed the nation while still composed of wandering tribes. It was from the emperors and patriarchs of Constantinople that they at this period derived all their notions of luxury and the arts. Such, if I may be allowed the expression, was the first-laid stratum of civilization in Russia, afterwards trampled on and destroyed by the Tartar conquerors.
“A vast body of saints, who were the legislators of a newly converted Christian people, illume, with their names, this fabulous epoch of Russian history. Princes, also, great by their savage virtues, ennoble the early period of the Slavic annals. Their names shine out from the profound darkness of the age, like stars piercing the clouds of a stormy night. The very sound of these strange names excites the imagination and challenges curiosity. Rurik, Oleg, Queen Olga, St. Vladimir, Sviatopolk, and Monomakh, are personages whose characters no more resemble those of the heroes of the West than do their appellations.
“They have nothing of the chivalrous about them; they are like the monarchs of Scripture; the nation which they rendered great remained in the vicinity of Asia; ignorant of your romance, it preserved manners that were in a great measure patriarchal.
“The Russian nation was not formed in that brilliant school of good faith, by whose instructions chivalrous Europe had so well profited, that the word honor was for a long period synonymous with truth, and the word of honor had a sanctity which is still revered, even in France, where so many things have been forgotten.
“The noble influence of the Knights of the Cross stopped, with that of Catholicism, in Poland. The Russians are warriors, but they fight under the principle of obedience, and with the object of gain; the Polish chevaliers fought for the pure love of glory; and thus, though these two people spring from the same stock, and have still many points of resemblance, the events of history have separated them so widely that it will require a greater number of ages of Russian policy to reunite them than it has required of religion and of social habitudes to part them asunder.
“Whilst Europe was slowly recovering from the efforts she had made during centuries to rescue the tomb of Christ from the unbelievers, Russia was paying tribute to the Mohammedans under Uzbek, and at the same time drawing her arts and sciences, her manners, religion, and politics, as also her principles of craft and fraud, and her aversion to the Latin cross, from the Greek Empire. If we reflect on all these civil, religious, and political influences, we shall no longer wonder at the little confidence that can be placed in the word of a Russian (it is the Russian prince who speaks), nor that the Russian character in general should bear the impress of that false Byzantine stamp which influences social life even under the empire of the czars—worthy successors of the lieutenants of Bati.
“The unmitigated despotism that reigns over us established itself at the very period when servitude ceased in the rest of Europe. From the time of the invasion of the Mongols, the Slavs, until then one of the freest people in the world, became slaves first to their conquerors, and afterwards to their own princes. Bondage was thenceforward established among them, not only as an existing state, but as a constituent principle of society. It has degraded the right of speech in Russia to such a point that it is no longer considered anything better than a snare: our government lives by lies, for truth is as terrible to the tyrant as to the slave. Thus, little as one speaks in Russia, one always speaks too much, since in that country all discourse is the expression of religious or political hypocrisy.”
“Prince,” I replied, after having listened attentively to this long series of deductions, “I will not believe you. It is enlightened to rise above national prejudices, and polite to deal gently with the prejudices of foreigners; but I have no more confidence in your concessions than I have in others’ claims and pretensions.”
“In three months you will render me greater justice; meanwhile, and as we are yet alone,”—he said this after looking round on all sides,—“I will direct your attention to a leading point, I will present you with a key which will serve to explain everything to you in the country you are about to visit.
“Think at each step you take among this Asiatic people that the chivalrous and Catholic influence has never obtained in their land; and not only have they never adopted it, they have withstood it also, with bitter animosity, during long wars with Lithuania, Poland, and the knights of the Teutonic order.”
“You make me proud of my discernment. I wrote lately to one of my friends, that I conceived religious intolerance to be the secret spring of Russian policy.”
“You anticipated clearly what you are going to see; you can have no adequate idea of the intense intolerance of the Russians; those whose minds are cultivated, and whom business brings into intercourse with western Europe, take the utmost pains to conceal the predominant national sentiment, which is the triumph of the Greek orthodoxy—with them, synonymous with the policy of Russia.
“Without keeping this in view, nothing can be explained either in our manners or our politics. You must not believe, for example, that the persecutions in Poland were the effect of the personal resentment of the emperor: they were the result of a profound and deliberate calculation. These acts of cruelty are meritorious in the eyes of true believers; it is the Holy Spirit who so enlightens the sovereign as to elevate him above all human feelings; and it is God who blesses him as the executor of his high designs. By this manner of viewing things, judges and executioners become so much the greater saints as they are greater barbarians. Your Legitimist journals little know what they are doing when they seek for allies among schismatics. We shall see a European revolution before we shall see the Emperor of Russia acting in good faith with a Catholic power; the Protestants are at least open adversaries; besides, they will more readily reunite with the Pope than the chief of the Russian autocracy; for the Protestants, having beheld all their creeds degenerate into systems, and their religious faith transformed into philosophic doubt, have nothing left but their sectarian pride to sacrifice to Rome; whereas the emperor possesses a real and positive spiritual power, which he will never voluntarily relinquish. Rome, and all that can be connected with the Romish church, has no more dangerous enemy than the autocrat of Moscow—visible head of his own church; and I am astonished that Italian penetration has not discovered the danger that threatens you from that quarter. After this veracious picture, judge of the illusion with which the Legitimists of Paris nurse their hopes.”
This conversation will give an idea of all the others. Whenever the subject became unpleasant to Muscovite self-love, the Prince K—— broke off, at least until he was fully sure that no one overheard us.
The subjects of our discourse have made me reflect, and my reflections make me fear.
There is perhaps more to look forward to in this country, long depreciated by our modern thinkers, because appearing so far behind all others, than in those English colonies implanted on the American soil, and which are too highly vaunted by the philosophers whose systems have developed the real democracy, with all its abuses, which now subsists.
If the military spirit which prevails in Russia has failed to produce anything analogous to our creed of honor, or to invest its soldiers with the brilliant reputation which distinguishes ours, it should not therefore be said that the nation is less powerful. Honor is a human divinity, but in practical life duty outvalues even honor; though not so dazzling it is more sustained, and more capable of sustaining.
In my opinion the empire of the world is henceforth no longer to be committed to the turbulent, but to people of a patient spirit.[2] Europe, enlightened as she now is, will no longer submit, except to real strength: now the real strength of nations is obedience to the power which rules them, just as discipline is the strength of armies. Henceforth, falsehood will react so as to produce most injury to those who would make it their instrument; truth will give birth to a new influence, so greatly will neglect and disuse have renewed its youth and vigor.
The curiosity which I feel to see Russia, and the admiration with which the spirit of order that must govern the administration of so vast a state inspires me, do not prevent my judging impartially of the policy of its government. The domination of Russia, when confining itself to diplomatic efforts, without proceeding to actual conquest, appears to me that which is most to be dreaded by the world. There is much misapprehension as regards the part which this state would play in Europe. In accordance with its constitutional character, it would represent the principle of order, but influenced by the character of its rulers, it seeks to propagate tyranny under pretext of remedying anarchy; as though arbitrary power could remedy any evil! It is the elements of moral principle that this nation lacks; with its military habits, and its recollections of invasions, it is still occupied with notions of wars of conquest, the most brutal of all wars; whereas the struggles of France and the other Western nations will henceforth assume the character of wars of propagandism.
The number of passengers whom I have fallen in with on board the Nicholas I is fortunately few. There is a young Princess D—— accompanying her husband on his return to St. Petersburg, a charming person, in appearance quite the heroine of a Scottish romance.
This amiable couple, accompanied also by the brother of the princess, have been passing several months in Silesia, subjecting themselves to the treatment of the famous cold-water remedy. It is more than a remedy, it is a sacrament: it is medical baptism.
In the fervor of their faith, the prince and princess have entertained us with the recital of wonderful results obtained by this mode of cure. The discovery is due to a peasant, who professes to be superior to all the doctors in the world, and justifies his pretensions by his works. He believes in himself; this example communicates itself to others; and many disciples of the new apostle are made whole by their faith. Crowds of strangers from every country resort to Gräfenberg, where all diseases are treated except those of the chest. The patient is subjected to showers (ice-cold water being employed), and then wrapped for five or six hours in flannel. No complaint, said the prince, could withstand the perspiration which this treatment produces.
“No complaint, and no individual either,” I remarked.
“You are mistaken,” replied the prince, with the zeal of a new convert; “among a multitude, there are very few who have died at Gräfenberg. Princes and princesses fix themselves near to the new savior, and after having tried his remedy, the love of water becomes quite a passion.”
Here Prince D—— looked at his watch, and called a servant. The man came with a large pitcher of cold water in his hand, and poured it over his master’s body between the waistcoat and the shirt. I could scarcely credit my senses.
The prince continued the conversation without noticing my astonishment.
“The father of the reigning Duke of Nassau arrived at Gräfenberg entirely deprived of the use of his limbs; the water has greatly restored him; but as he aspires to a perfect cure, it is uncertain when he leaves. No one knows on arriving at Gräfenberg how long he will remain; the duration of the treatment depends on the complaint and the temperament of the individual; besides, one cannot calculate on the influence of a passion, and this mode of using water becomes a passion with some people, who continue indefinitely to linger near the source of their supreme felicity.”
“Prince, in listening to your account, I am ready to believe in these wonderful results; but when I reflect, I must still doubt their efficacy. Such apparent cures have often evil consequences; perspirations so violent decompose the blood, and often change gout into dropsy.”
“I am so persuaded of the efficacy of the cold-water treatment,” replied the prince, “that I am going to form near to me an establishment similar to that of Gräfenberg.”
The Slavs, thought I to myself, have a mania for other things besides cold water, namely, a general passion for novelties. The thoughts of this imitative people willingly exercise themselves with the inventions of others.
Besides the personages already mentioned, there was yet another Russian princess on board our vessel. This lady, the Princess L——, was a most agreeable person in society: our evenings were passed delightfully in listening to Russian airs, which she sung with pleasing execution, and which were quite new to me. The Princess D—— took parts with her, and even sometimes accompanied the airs with a few graceful steps of some Cossack dance. These national exhibitions and impromptu concerts agreeably suspended our conversations, and made the hours pass like moments.
Our Russian ladies have admitted into their little circle a French merchant, who is one of the passengers. He is a man rather past the middle age, full of great schemes connected with steamboats and railroads, but still exhibiting all his former youthful pretensions; agreeable smiles and gracious mien blended with winning grimaces, plebeian gestures, narrow ideas, and studied language. He is, notwithstanding, a good fellow, speaking willingly, and even well, when he speaks on subjects with which he is conversant; amusing also, though self-sufficient, and sometimes rather prosy.
He is going to Russia to electrify certain minds in favor of some great industrial undertakings. He travels as agent for several French commercial houses who have associated, he says, to carry into effect these important objects; but his head, although full of grave commercial ideas, finds place, nevertheless, for all the songs and bon mots that have been popular in Paris for the last twenty years. Before turning merchant he had been a lancer, and he has preserved, in his air and attitudes, some amusing traces of his former profession. He never speaks of the Russians without alluding to French superiority in matters of every description; but his vanity is too palpable to become offensive, or to excite anything beyond a laugh.
When singing, he casts tender glances upon the ladies; when declaiming the Parisienne or the Marseillaise he folds his cloak around him with a theatrical air: his store of songs and sayings, although rather jovial in character, much amuses our fair strangers. In listening to him they seem to believe they are on a visit to Paris. The mauvais ton of this specimen of French manners by no means strikes them, because they do not comprehend its source or its scope; a language which they cannot understand cannot disgust them; besides, persons belonging to really good society are always the last to be annoyed or alarmed. The fear of being lowered in position does not oblige them to take offense at everything that is said.
The old Prince K—— and myself laugh between ourselves at the language to which they listen; they laugh on their part with the innocence of an ignorance unacquainted with the point at which good taste ceases and French vulgarity begins.
Vulgarity commences as soon as the individual thinks of avoiding it: such a thought never occurs to persons perfectly sure of their own good breeding.
When the gaiety of the ex-lancer becomes rather too exuberant, the Russian ladies moderate it by singing, in their turn, some of those national airs of which the melancholy and originality greatly charm me.
The Princess L—— has sung to us some airs of the Russian Gypsies, which, to my great surprise, bring the Spanish boleros to my mind. The Gitanos of Andalusia are of the same race as the Russian Gypsies. This population dispersed, one knows not why, throughout all Europe, has preserved, in every region, its manners, its traditions, and its national songs.
The sea voyage, so much dreaded in prospect, has proved so agreeable that I look forward to its termination with real regret. Besides, who does not feel some sense of desolation in arriving in a large city, where one has no business and no friends. My passion for travel cools when I consider that it consists entirely of departures and arrivals. But what pleasures and advantages do we not purchase by this pain! Were it only that we can by this means obtain information without laborious study, it would be well thus to turn over, as the leaves of a book, the different countries of the earth.
When I feel myself discouraged in the midst of my pilgrimages, I say to myself, “If I wish for the result, I must take the means,” and under this thought I persevere. I do more:— scarcely am I again in my own abode, when I think of recommencing my travels. Perpetual travel would be a delightful way of passing life, especially for one who cannot conform to the ideas that govern the world in the age in which he lives. To change one’s country is tantamount to changing one’s century. It is a long bygone age which I now hope to study in Russia.
Never do I recollect having met in traveling, with society so agreeable and amusing as in this passage. Our life here is like life in the country in wet weather; we cannot get out, but all task themselves to amuse the others, so that the effort of each turns to the benefit of all. This however must be ascribed to the perfect sociability of some of our passengers, and more especially to the amiable authority of Prince K——. Had it not been for the part he took at the commencement of our voyage, no one would have broken the ice, and we should have continued observing one other in silence during the whole passage. Instead of such a melancholy isolation, we talk and chatter night and day. The light lasting during the whole twenty-four hours, has the effect of so deranging habits, that there are always some ready for conversation at any hour. It is now past three o’clock, and as I write, I hear my companions laughing and talking in the cabin; if I were to go down, they would ask me to recite some French verses, or to tell some story about Paris. They never tire of asking about Mademoiselle Rachel or Duprez, the two great dramatic stars of the day. They long to draw to their own country the celebrated talents which they cannot obtain permission to come and see amongst us.
When the French lancer, the mercantile militaire, joins in the conversation, it is generally to interrupt it. There is then sure to be laughter, singing, and Russian dances.
This gaiety, innocent as it is, has proved offensive to two Americans going to Petersburg on business. These inhabitants of the New World do not permit themselves even a smile at the foolish pleasures of the young European women. They do not perceive that liberty and carelessness are the safeguards of youthful hearts. Their puritanism rebels not only against license, but against mirth; they are Jansenists of the Protestant school; to please them, life must be made one protracted funeral. Happily, the ladies we have on board do not trouble themselves to render any reason to these pedantic merchants. Their manners are more simple than most of the women of the North, who, when they come to Paris, believe themselves obliged to distort their whole nature in order to seduce us. Our fair fellow-passengers please without seeming to think of pleasing; their French accent also appears to me better than that of most of the Polish women whom I have met in Saxony and Bohemia. In speaking our language they do not pretend to correct it, but endeavor to speak as we speak, and very nearly succeed.
Yesterday, a slight accident which happened to our engine served to exhibit some of the secret traits of character in those on board.
The recollection of the former accident that befell our boat has had the effect of making the passengers rather timid and distrustful, though the weather has remained throughout extremely fine.
Yesterday after dinner, we were seated reading, when suddenly the motion of the paddles stopped, and an unusual noise was heard to proceed from the engine. The sailors rushed forward; the captain followed, without saying a word in reply to the questions of the passengers. At length he gave the order to sound. “We are on a rock,” said a female voice, the first that had dared to break our solemn silence. “The engine is going to burst,” exclaimed another.
I was silent, though I began to think that my presentiments were going to be realized, and that it was not, after all, caprice which had inclined me to renounce this voyage.
The Princess L——, whose health is delicate, fell into a swoon, murmuring some broken words of grief that she should die so far from her husband. The Princess D—— pressed the arm of hers, and awaited the result with a calm, which one would not have expected from her slight, frail form and gentle features.
The fat and amiable Prince K—— neither changed his countenance nor his place; he would have sunk in his armchair into the sea without disturbing himself. The French ex-lancer, half merchant, half comedian, put on a bold face, and began to hum a song. This bravado displeased me, and made me blush for France, where vanity searches out of all things to extract some opportunity for display; true moral dignity exaggerates nothing, not even indifference to danger; the Americans continued their reading; I observed everybody.
At length the captain came to inform us that the nut of the screw of one of the pistons was broken, and that all would be made right again in a quarter of an hour.
At this news, the apprehensions that each party had more or less concealed betrayed themselves by a general explosion of rejoicing. Each confessed his thoughts and fears, all laughed at one another, and those who were the most candid in their confessions were the least laughed at. The evening that had commenced so ominously concluded with dance and song.
Before separating for the night, Prince K—— complimented me for my good manners in listening with apparent pleasure to his stories. One may recognize the well-bred man, he observed, by the manner he assumes in listening to another. I replied that the best way by which to seem to be listening, was to listen. This answer, repeated by the prince, was lauded beyond its merit. Nothing is lost, and every thought is done more than justice to by persons whose benevolence even is intellectual.
[1]These allusions, it must be remembered, refer more especially to France under King Louis Philippe.—Trans.
[2] I must again request the reader, who would follow me throughout this work, to wait before forming an opinion of Russia, until he shall have compared my different views made before and after my journey. The candor and good faith with which I profess to write forbid me to retrench anything that I have already written.