ONE OUGHT to be a Russian, or even the emperor himself, to bear the fatigue of a life at Petersburg. In the evening there are fêtes, such as are only seen in Russia; in the morning, court ceremonies and receptions, public solemnities, or reviews upon sea or land. A vessel of one hundred twenty guns has just been launched on the Neva before the whole court; but, though the largest vessel that the river has ever borne, it must not be supposed that there was any crowd at this naval spectacle. Space is that which the Russians least want, and through which they most suffer. The four or five hundred thousand men who inhabit Petersburg, without peopling it, are lost in the vast enclosure of the immense city, the heart of which is composed of granite and brass, the body of plaster and of mortar, and the extremities of painted wood and rotten planks. These planks are raised in a solitary marsh like walls around the city, which resembles a colossal statue with feet of clay. It is like none of the other capitals of the civilized world, even though, in its construction, all have been copied; but man in vain seeks for models in distant lands: the soil and the climate are his masters; they oblige him to create novelties, when he desires only to revive the antique.
I was present at the Congress of Vienna, but I do not recollect seeing anything to be compared to the richness of the jewels and dresses, the gorgeous variety of the uniforms, or the grandeur and admirable ordering of the whole spectacle, in the fête given by the emperor, on the evening of the marriage of his daughter, in this same Winter Palace—burnt down only a year ago.
Towards the end of the soirée given at court to celebrate the nuptials of the Grand Duchess Marie, the empress sent some officers to look for me, who searched for a quarter of an hour without being able to find me. I was standing apart, according to my frequent practice, still absorbed in contemplating the beauty of the heavens and admiring the night, against the same window where the empress had left me. Since supper, I had left this place only for an instant, to follow in the train of Their Majesties; but not having been observed, I returned into the gallery, where I could contemplate at leisure the romantic spectacle of the sun rising over a great city during a court ball. The officers at length discovered me in my hiding place, and hastened to lead me to the empress, who was waiting for me. She had the goodness to say before all the court, “M. de Custine, I have been inquiring for you for a long time; why did you avoid me?”
“Madame, I twice placed myself before Your Majesty, but you did not see me.”
“It was your own fault, for I have been seeking for you ever since I entered the ballroom. I wish you to see everything here in detail, in order that you may carry from Russia an opinion which may rectify that of the foolish and the mischievously disposed.”
“Madame, I am far from attributing to myself a power that could effect this; but if my impressions were communicable, France would imagine Russia to be fairyland.”
“You must not judge by appearances, you must look deeply into things, for you possess everything that can enable you to do this. Adieu! I only wished to say good evening;—the heat fatigues me. Do not forget to inspect my new apartments; they have been remodeled according to a plan of the emperor’s. I will give orders for everything to be shown to you.” On withdrawing, she left me the object of general curiosity, and of the apparent goodwill of the courtiers.
This court life is so new that it amuses me. It is like a journey in the olden times: I could imagine myself at Versailles a century ago. Politeness and magnificence are here natural. It will be seen by this how different Petersburg is from our Paris of the present day. At Paris there is luxury, riches, and even elegance; but there is neither grandeur nor courtesy. Ever since the first revolution, we have dwelt in a conquered country, where the spoilers and the spoiled consort together as well as they are able. In order to be polite, it is necessary to have something to give. Politeness is the art of doing to others the honors of the advantages we possess, whether of our minds, our riches, our rank, or our standing. To be polite, is to know how to offer and to accept with grace; but when a person has nothing certain of his own, he cannot give anything. In France at the present time, nothing is exchanged through mutual goodwill; everything is snatched by means of interest, ambition, or fear. Conversation even becomes insipid, when the secret calculations of interest cease to animate it. Mind itself is only valued, when it can be turned to personal account.
A fixed security of position in society is the basis of courtesy in all its relations, and the source also of those sallies of wit that enliven conversation.
Scarcely had we rested from the fatigues of the court ball, when we had to attend, in the Michael Palace, another fête given yesterday by the Grand Duchess Helena, sister-in-law of the emperor, wife of the Grand Duke Michael, and daughter of Prince Paul of Würtemberg, who lives at Paris. She is spoken of as one of the most distinguished personages in Europe, and her conversation is extremely interesting. I had the honor of being presented to her before the ball commenced, when she only addressed a word to me, but during the evening, she gave me several opportunities of talking with her.
The following is, as far as I recollect, the summary of what was said:—
“I hear that, in Paris and its neighborhood, you move in a very agreeable circle of society.”
“It is true, madame, the conversation of persons of wit is my greatest pleasure, but I was far from venturing to suppose that your Imperial Highness would have been acquainted with this circumstance.”
“We know Paris, and we are aware that there are there some few who are conversant with things as they now are, and who, at the same time, do not forget the past. These are, I doubt not, your friends. We admire, through their writings, several of the persons whom you see habitually, especially Madame Gay, and her daughter, Madame de Girardin.”
“Those ladies are very clever and distinguished: I have the good fortune to be their friend.”
“You possess in them friends of a superior character.” Nothing is so rare as to think ourselves obliged to feel modesty for others; it was, however, a sentiment which I, in a slight degree, experienced at this moment. It will be said that, of all modesty, this costs the least in its manifestation. However much it may be ridiculed, it is not the less true that I felt I should have wanted delicacy, had I endeavored to excite for my friends an admiration, by which my own vanity might have profited. At Paris, I should have said all that I thought; at Petersburg, I was afraid of seeming to magnify myself, under the pretense of doing justice to others. The grand duchess persisted, saying, “We take great pleasure in reading the works of Madame Gay. What do you think of them?”
“My opinion is, madame, that we may find in them a description of the society of former days written by one who understands it.”
“Why does not Madame de Girardin continue to write?” “Madame de Girardin is a poetess, madame, and in a writer of poetry, silence is the indication of labor.”
“I hope that this is the cause of her silence; for, with her observing mind and poetical talent, it would be a pity that she should confine herself to the production of mere ephemeral works.”
During this conversation, I made it a rule merely to listen and to reply; but I expected to hear the grand duchess pronounce other names which might flatter my patriotic pride, and put my friendly reserve to new trials.
These expectations were deceived. The grand duchess, who passes her life in a country where society is remarkable for its tact, undoubtedly knew better than myself what to speak of, and what to omit. Equally fearing the significance of my words, and of my silence, she did not utter another syllable on the subject of our contemporary literature.
There are certain names, whose sound alone would disturb the tranquillity of mind and the uniformity of thought, despotically imposed upon all who will live at the Russian court.
I must now describe some of the magic fêtes at which I am present every evening. With us the balls are disfigured by the somber attire of the men, whereas the varied and brilliant uniforms of the Russian officers give an extreme brilliancy to the reception rooms of Petersburg.
In Russia, the magnificence of the women’s apparel is found to accord with the gold of the military dress; and the male dancers have not the appearance of being the clerks of attorneys, or the shopmen of their partners’ apothecaries.
The whole length of the garden front of the Michael Palace is ornamented by an Italian colonnade. Yesterday, they availed themselves of a temperature of 26 degrees to illuminate the spaces betwixt each pillar of this exterior gallery with clusters of small lamps, arranged in a manner that had a very original effect. The lamps were formed of paper in the shape of tulips, lyres, vases, &c. Their appearance was both tasteful and novel.
At each fête given by the Grand Duchess Helena, it is said that she invents something altogether new. Such a reputation must be troublesome, for it is difficult to maintain. This princess, so beautiful and so quick, and so celebrated throughout Europe for the grace of her manners and the charms of her conversation, struck me as being less natural and easy than the other females of the Imperial family. Celebrity as a woman of wit and high intellectual attainment, must be a heavy burden in a royal court. She is an elegant and distinguished-looking person, but has the air of suffering from weariness and lassitude. Perhaps she would have been happier had she possessed good sense, less wit, no education, and had continued a German princess, confined to the monotonous life of a petty sovereignty.
Her obligation of doing the honors of French literature at the court of the Emperor Nicholas, makes me afraid for the Grand Duchess Helena.
The light that proceeded from the groups of lamps was reflected in a picturesque manner upon the pillars of the palace, and among the trees of the garden. The latter was full of people. In the fêtes at Petersburg, the people serve as an ornament, just as a collection of rare plants adorns a hothouse. Delightful sounds were heard in the distance, where several orchestras were executing military symphonies, and responding to each other with a harmony that was admirable. The light reflected on the trees had a charming effect. Nothing is more fantastically beautiful than the golden verdure of foliage illuminated during a fine night.
The interior of the grand gallery in which they danced was arranged with a marvelous luxury. Fifteen hundred boxes of the rarest plants, in flower, formed a grove of fragrant verdure. At one of the extremities of the hall, amid thickets of exotic shrubs, a fountain threw up a column of fresh and sparkling water: its spray, illumined by the innumerable wax lights, shone like the dust of diamonds, and refreshed the air, always kept in agitation by the movement of the dance. It might have been supposed that these strange plants, including large palms and bananas, all of whose boxes were concealed under a carpet of mossy verdure, grew in their native earth, and that the groups of northern dancers had been transported by enchantment to the forests of the tropics. It was like a dream; there was not merely luxury in the scene, there was poetry. The brilliancy of the magic gallery was multiplied a hundredfold by a greater profusion of enormous and richly gilded mirrors than I had ever elsewhere seen. The windows ranged under the colonnade were left open on account of the excessive heat of the summer night. The hall was lofty, and extended the length of half the palace. The effect of all this magnificence may be better imagined than described. It seemed like the palace of the fairies: all ideas of limits disappeared, and nothing met the eye but space, light, gold, flowers, reflection, illusion, and the giddy movement of the crowd, which crowd itself seemed multiplied to infinity. Every actor in the scene was equal to ten, so greatly did the mirrors aid the effect. I have never seen anything more beautiful than this crystal palace; but the ball was like other balls, and did not answer to the gorgeous decorations of the edifice. I was surprised that such a nation of dancers did not devise something new to perform on the boards of a theater so different from all others, where people meet to dance and to fatigue themselves, under the pretext of enjoyment. I should like to have seen the quadrilles and the ballets of other theaters. It strikes me that in the Middle Ages, the gratifications of the imagination had a greater influence in the diversions of courts than they have at present. In the Michael Palace the only dances that I saw were the polonaises, the waltz, and the degenerated country dances called quadrilles in the Franco-Russian language. Even the mazurkas at Petersburg are less lively and graceful than the real dances of Warsaw. Russian gravity cannot accommodate itself to the vivacity, the whim, and the abandon of the true Polish dances.
Under the perfumed groves of the ballroom, the empress rested at the conclusion of every polonaise. She found there a shelter from the heat of the illuminated garden, the air of which, during this summer night, was as stifling as that of the interior of the palace.
I found leisure during the fête to draw a comparison in my own mind between France and Russia, on a subject regarding which my observations were not in favor of the former. Democracy cannot but be uncongenial to the ordering of a grand assembly. The one which I beheld in the Michael Palace was embellished with all the care and all the tokens of homage of which a sovereign could be the object. A queen is always indispensable to elegant pleasures. But the principles of equality have so many other advantages, that we may well sacrifice to them the luxuries of pleasure. It is this which we do in France with a disinterestedness that is meritorious; my only fear is lest our great-grandchildren may have different views when the time shall have arrived to enjoy the perfections prepared for them by their too generous ancestors. Who knows if these undeceived generations will not say, when speaking of ourselves, “Seduced by a sophistical eloquence, they became vague, unmeaning fanatics, and have entailed on us absolute misery”?
To return from the contemplation of the future which America is promising to Europe:—before the banquet the empress, seated under her canopy of exotic verdure, made me a sign to approach her; and scarcely had I obeyed, when the emperor also came to the magic fountain, where a shower of diamonds was giving us both light and a freshened atmosphere. He took me by the hand, and led me some steps from the chair of his consort, where he was pleased to converse with me for more than a quarter of an hour on subjects of interest; for this prince does not, like many other princes, speak to you merely that it may be seen he does so.
He first said a few words on the admirable arrangements of the fête; and I remarked, in reply, that, in a life so active as his, I was astonished that he could find time for everything, including even a participation in the pleasures of the crowd.
“Happily,” he replied, “the machine of government is very simple in my country; for, with distances which render everything difficult, if the form of government was complicated, the head of one man would not suffice for its requirements.”
I was surprised and flattered by this tone of frankness. The emperor, who understands better than any one that which is felt, though not expressed, proceeded,—replying to my thought,—“If I speak to you in this manner, it is because I know that you can understand me: we are continuing the labors of Peter the Great.”
“He is not dead, sire; his genius and his will still govern Russia.”
When anyone speaks in public with the emperor, a large circle of courtiers gathers at a respectful distance, from whence no one can overhear the sovereign’s conversation, though all eyes continue fixed upon him.
It is not the prince who is likely to embarrass you when he does you the honor of conversing: it is his suite.
The emperor continued:—“We do not find it very easy to execute this work: submission may cause you to believe that there is uniformity among us, but I must undeceive you; there is no other country where is found such diversity of races, of manners, of religion, and of mind, as in Russia. The diversity lies at the bottom, the uniformity appears on the surface, and the unity is only apparent. You see near us twenty officers, the two first only are Russians; the three next to them are conciliated Poles; several of the others are Germans; there are even the khans of the Kirgiz, who bring me their sons to educate among my cadets. There is one of them,” he said, pointing with his finger to a little Chinese monkey, in a whimsical costume of velvet all bedizened with gold.
“Two hundred thousand children are brought up and instructed at my cost with that child.”
“Sire, everything is done on a large scale in this country— everything is colossal.”
“Too colossal for one man.”
“What man has ever stood in nearer relation to his people?”
“You speak of Peter the Great?”
“No, sire.”
“I hope that you will not be content with merely seeing Petersburg. What is your plan of route in visiting my country?”
“Sire, I wish to leave immediately after the fête of Peterhof.”
“To go—”
“To Moscow and Nizhny.”
“Good: but you will be there too soon: you will leave Moscow before my arrival, and I should have been glad to see you there.”
“This observation of Your Majesty’s will cause me to change my plan.”
“So much the better; we will show you the new works that we are making at the Kremlin. My object is to render the architecture of those old edifices better adapted to the uses now made of them. The palace was inconveniently small for me. You will be present also at a curious ceremony on the plain of Borodino: I am to place there the first stone of a monument which we are about to erect in commemoration of that battle.”
I remained silent, and no doubt the expression of my face became serious. The emperor fixed his eyes on me, and then continued, in a tone of kindness, and with a delicacy and even sensibility of manner which touched my heart,—“The inspection of the maneuvers at least will interest you.”
“Sire, everything interests me in Russia.”
I saw the old Marquis ———, who has only one leg, dance the polonaise with the empress. Lame as he is, he can get through this dance, which is nothing more than a solemn procession. He has arrived here with his sons: they travel like real great lords; a yacht brought them from London to Petersburg, whither they have had forwarded English horses and carriages in great number. Their equipages are the most elegant, if they are not the most sumptuous, in Petersburg. These travelers are treated with marked attention. They are intimate with the Imperial family. The emperor’s love of field sports, and the recollection of his journey to London when grand duke, have established between him and the Marquis ——— that kind of familiarity which, it appears to me, must be more pleasant to the princes who confer, than to the private individuals who have become the objects of such favor. Where friendship is impossible, intimacy I should think can be only constraining. One would have said, to have sometimes seen the manners of the marquis’s sons towards the members of the Imperial family, that they thought on this subject as I did. If freedom of manners and speech should gain a footing at court, where will falsehood and politeness find a refuge?
In connection with the marriage fêtes given in honor of the Grand Duchess Marie, a little incident occurred which will remind the reader of what often happened at the court of the Emperor Napoleon.
The grand chamberlain had died shortly before the marriage, and his office had been given to Count Golovkin, formerly Russian ambassador to China, to which country he could not obtain access. This nobleman, entering upon the functions of his office on the occasion of the marriage, had less experience than his predecessor. A young chamberlain, appointed by him, managed to incur the wrath of the emperor, and exposed his superior to a rather severe reprimand: it was at the ball of the Grand Duchess Helena.
The emperor was talking with the Austrian ambassador. The chamberlain received from the Grand Duchess Marie an order to carry her invitation to this ambassador to dance with her. In his zeal, the unfortunate débutant broke the circle of courtiers which I have before described as forming at a respectful distance around the emperor, and boldly approached His Majesty’s person, saying to the ambassador, “Monsieur le Comte, Madame la Duchesse de Leuchtenberg requests that you will dance with her the first polonaise.”
The emperor, shocked with the ignorance of the new chamberlain, addressed him, in a loud tone of voice, saying, “You have been appointed to a post, sir; learn, therefore, how to fulfill its duties; in the first place, my daughter is not the Duchess of Leuchtenberg,—she is called the Grand Duchess Marie; in the second place, you ought to know that no one interrupts me when I am talking.”
The new chamberlain who received this harsh reprimand was, unfortunately, a poor Polish gentleman. The emperor, not content with what he had said, caused the grand chamberlain to be called, and recommended him to be, in future, more circumspect in his selection of deputies.
I left the ball of the Michael Palace at an early hour. I loitered on the staircase, and could have wished to remain there longer: it was a wood of orange trees in flower. Never have I seen anything more magnificent or better directed than this fête; but there is nothing so fatiguing as admiration too greatly prolonged, especially if it does not relate to the phenomena of nature, or the works of the higher arts.
I lay down my pen in order to dine with a Russian officer, the young Count ———, who took me this morning to the Cabinet of Mineralogy, the finest I believe in Europe, for the Ural mines are unequaled in the variety of their mineral wealth. Nothing can be seen here alone. A native of the country is always with you, to do the honors of the public establishments and institutions, and there are not many days in the year favorable for seeing them. In summer, they are repairing the edifices damaged by the frosts; in winter, there is nothing but receptions: everyone dances who does not freeze. It will be thought I am exaggerating when I say that Russia is scarcely better seen in Petersburg than in France. Strip the observation of its paradoxical form, and it is strictly true. Most assuredly, it is not sufficient to visit this country in order to know it. Without the aid of others, it is not possible to obtain an idea of anything, and often, this aid tyrannizes over its object, and imbues him with ideas only that are fallacious.