SEVERAL of the ladies of this court, but their number is not great, have a reputation for beauty which is deserved; others have usurped that reputation by means of coquetries, contrivances, and affectations—all copied from the English; for the Russians in high life pass their time in searching for foreign models of fashion. They are sometimes deceived in their choice, when their mistake produces a singular kind of elegance—an elegance without taste. A Russian left to himself would spend his life in dreams of unsatisfied vanity: he would view himself as a barbarian. Nothing injures more the natural disposition, and consequently the mental powers of a people, than this continual dwelling upon the social superiority of other nations. To feel humbled by the very sense of one’s own assumption is an inconsistency in the actings of self-love which is not unfrequently to be seen in Russia, where the character of the parvenu may be studied under all its grades and phases.
As a general rule applicable to the different classes of the nation, beauty is less common among the women than the men; though among the latter also may be found great numbers whose faces are flat and void of all expression. The Finns have high cheekbones, small, dull, sunken eyes, and visages so flattened that it might be fancied they had all, at their birth, fallen on their noses. Their mouth is also deformed, and their whole appearance bears the impress of the slave. This portrait does not apply to the Slavs.
I have met many people marked with the smallpox, a sight rarely now seen in other parts of Europe, and which betrays the negligence of the Russian administration on an important point.
In Petersburg, the different races are so mingled, that it is impossible to form a correct idea of the real population of Russia. Germans, Swedes, Livonians, Finns (who are a species of Laplanders), Kalmyks, and other Tartar races, have so mixed their blood with that of the Slavs, that the primitive beauty of the latter has, in the capital, gradually degenerated; which leads me often to think of the observation of the emperor, “Petersburg is Russian, but it is not Russia.”
I have been witnessing at the opera what is called a gala performance. The building was magnificently lighted: it is large, and well proportioned. Galleries and projecting boxes are unknown here: there is in Petersburg no middle class for whom to provide seats. The architect, therefore, unfettered in his plan, can construct theaters of a simple and regular design, like those of Italy, where the women who are not of the highest ranks are seated in the orchestra.
By special favor I obtained a seat in the first row of the orchestra. On gala days these chairs are reserved for the greatest nobles and the high court functionaries, and none are admitted to them except in the uniform or costume of their rank or office.
My right-hand neighbor, seeing from my dress that I was a stranger, accosted me in French, with that hospitable politeness, which in Petersburg is a characteristic of the higher, and, to a certain extent, of all classes; for here everyone is polite—the great, through the vanity of showing their good breeding, the little, through sentiments of fear.
After a few commonplace observations, I asked my obliging neighbor the name of the piece that was to be performed. “It is a translation from the French,” he answered: “The Devil on Two Sticks.” I puzzled my head to no purpose to make out what drama could have been translated under this title; at length it turned out that the translation was a pantomime founded on our ballet of the same name.
I did not much admire it, and directed my attention chiefly to the audience. At length, the court arrived. The Imperial box is an elegant salon, which occupies the back part of the theater, and which is even yet more brilliantly illuminated.
The entrance of the emperor was imposing. As he advanced to the front of his box, accompanied by the empress, and followed by their family and the attendant courtiers, the public rose simultaneously. His Majesty was dressed in a singularly splendid red uniform. That of the Cossacks looks well only on very young men: the one which the emperor wore better suited his age, and greatly set off the nobleness of his features and his stature. Before seating himself, he saluted the assembly with the peculiarly polite dignity by which he is characterized. The empress did the same, and, which appeared to me an assumption that was tantamount to a want of respect towards the public, their suite followed their example. The whole theater rendered to the sovereigns bow for bow, and, furthermore, overwhelmed them with plaudits and hurrahs. These demonstrations had an official character which greatly diminished their value. Wonderful, that an emperor should be applauded by a pit full of courtiers! In Russia, real flattery would be the appearance of independence. The Russians have not found out this indirect mode of pleasing; and, in truth, its use might sometimes become perilous, notwithstanding the feeling of ennui which the servility of his subjects must often produce in the prince.
The compulsory manifestations of submission with which he is everywhere received is the reason why the present emperor has only twice in his life had the satisfaction of testing his personal power upon the assembled multitude—and this was during an insurrection! The only free man in Russia is the revolted soldier.
Viewed from the point where I sat, the emperor appeared truly worthy of commanding men, so noble was his face, and so majestic his figure. My mind involuntarily recurred to the period when he mounted the throne, and the contemplation of that bright page of history led my thoughts away from the scene that was enacting before me.
What I am now about to narrate was detailed to me by the emperor himself, only a few days ago. The reason that it was not stated in the last chapter is because the papers[1] containing such details could not be confided either to the Russian post or to any traveler.
The day on which Nicholas ascended the throne was that in which rebellion broke out among the guards. At the first intimation of the revolt of the troops, the emperor and empress proceeded alone to their chapel, and, falling on their knees, on the steps of the altar, bound each other by mutual oath before God, to die as sovereigns, if they should be unable to triumph over the insurrection.
The emperor might well view the evil as serious, for he had been informed that the archbishop had already vainly endeavored to appease the soldiers. In Russia, when religious power loses its influence, disorder is indeed formidable.
After solemnly making the sign of the cross, the emperor proceeded to confront the rebels, and to master them by his presence, and by the calm energy of his countenance. He stated this to me in terms more modest than those which I now use, and of which, unfortunately, I have not preserved the recollection, for at first I was rather taken by surprise, owing to the unexpected turn of the conversation. Of what passed after recovering from this surprise my memory is more trustworthy.
“Sire, Your Majesty drew your strength from the right source.”
“I did not know what I was about to do or say—I was inspired.”
“To receive such inspirations, it is necessary to merit them.”
“I did nothing extraordinary: I said to the soldiers, ‘Return to your ranks!’ and, at the moment of passing the regiment in review, I cried, ‘On your knees!’ They all obeyed. What gave me power was, that the instant before I had made up my mind to perish or conquer. I am grateful for having succeeded; but I am not proud of it, for it was by no merit of my own.”
Such were the noble expressions which the emperor made use of in relating to me this contemporary tragedy.
From the above relation, an idea may be formed of the interesting nature of the subjects on which he converses with the travelers whom he honors with his goodwill. It will also explain the character of the influence he exercises over ourselves, as well as over his people and his family. He is the Louis XIV of the Slavs.
Eyewitnesses have informed me that his form seemed to dilate and grow more lofty and commanding at each step that he made in advancing towards the mutineers. Taciturn, melancholy, and absorbed in trifles as he had appeared during his youth, he became a hero the moment he was a monarch. The contrary is usually the case; and princes promise more than they perform.
This prince is, on the throne, as perfectly in his proper sphere as a great actor would be on the boards. His attitude before the rebel guards was so imposing, that, while he harangued the troops, one of the conspirators, it is said, advanced four times towards him with the intention of killing him, and four times his courage failed, like the Cimbrian’s before Marius.
An absurd falsehood was the instrument that the conspirators had employed to incite the army to this outbreak. They had spread a report that Nicholas had usurped the crown of his brother Constantine, who was, they said, on his way to Petersburg, to defend his rights by force of arms. The means through which they had induced the rebels to cry under the palace windows in favor of the constitution, was by persuading them that this word constitution was the name of the wife of Constantine. It was, therefore, an idea of duty which actuated the soldiers, who believed the emperor an usurper, and who could only be led into rebellion by a fraud. The fact is, that Constantine had refused the crown through weakness: he dreaded being poisoned. God knows, and there are perhaps some men who know also, if his abdication saved him from the peril which he thus expected to avoid.
It was, then, in support of legitimacy, that the deceived soldiers revolted against their legitimate sovereign. People remarked that, during the whole time the emperor remained among the troops, he did not once put his horse in rapid motion; but, though so calm, he was very pale. He was putting his power to the test, and the success of the proof assured him of the future obedience of his people.
Such a man cannot be judged by the standard applied to ordinary characters. His grave and authoritative voice, his magnetic and piercing look,—which is often cold and fixed rather through the habit of suppressing his passions than of dissimulating his thoughts, for he is frank,—his superb forehead, his features, which are those of an Apollo or a Jupiter, his immovable, imposing, and imperious expression, his figure, more noble than easy, more monumental than human, exercise upon all who approach his person a power which is irresistible. He becomes master of the wills of others, because it is seen that he is master of his own.
The following is what I have retained of the remainder of our conversation:—
“The insurrection thus appeased, Your Majesty must have entered the palace with feelings very different to those under which it was left; not only the throne, but the admiration of the world, and the sympathy of all lofty minds being, by this event, assured to Your Majesty.”
“I did not thus view it: what I then did has been too much praised.”
The emperor did not tell me that on his return, he found his wife afflicted with a nervous trembling of the head, of which she has never been entirely cured. The convulsive motion is scarcely visible; indeed, on some days, when calm and in good health, the empress is entirely free from it: but whenever she is suffering, either mentally or physically, the evil returns and augments. This noble woman must have fearfully struggled with the inquietude occasioned by her husband’s daring exposure of his person to the assassin’s blow. On his return, she embraced him without speaking; but the emperor, after having soothed her, felt himself grow weak, and threw himself into the arms of one of his most faithful servants, exclaiming,—“What a beginning of a reign!”
I publish these details, because it is well they should be known, in order to teach the obscure to envy less the fortune of the great.
Whatever apparent inequality legislation may have established in the different conditions of civilized men, the equity of Providence justifies itself by maintaining a secret equality, which nothing can alter or disturb. This is done by the agency of mental evils, which generally increase in the same ratio that physical evils diminish. There is less injustice in the world than the founders and legislators of nations have endeavored to produce, or than the vulgar imagine they perceive: the laws of nature are more equitable than the laws of man.
These reflections passed rapidly through my mind as I conversed with the emperor, producing in me a sentiment which he would, I believe, have been rather surprised to learn that he had inspired,—it was that of indescribable pity. I took care to conceal the emotion, and continued:—
“I can truly say, sire, that one of the chief motives of my curiosity in visiting Russia was the desire of approaching a prince who exercises such power over men.”
“The Russians are good; but he must render himself worthy who would govern such a people.”
“Your Majesty has better appreciated the wants and the position of this country than any of your predecessors.”
“Despotism still exists in Russia: it is the essence of my government, but it accords with the genius of the nation.”
“Sire, by stopping Russia on the road of imitation, you are restoring her to herself.”
“I love my country, and I believe I understand it. I assure you, that when I feel heartily weary of all the miseries of the times, I endeavor to forget the rest of Europe by retiring towards the interior of Russia.”
“In order to refresh yourself at your fountainhead?” “Precisely so. No one is more from his heart a Russian than I am. I am going to say to you what I would not say to another, but I feel that you will understand me.”
Here the emperor interrupted himself, and looked at me attentively. I continued to listen without replying, and he proceeded:—
“I can understand republicanism: it is a plain and straight forward form of government, or, at least, it might be so; I can understand absolute monarchy, for I am myself the head of such an order of things; but I cannot understand a representative monarchy; it is the government of lies, fraud, and corruption; and I would rather fall back even upon China than ever adopt it.”
“Sire, I have always regarded representative government as a transaction inevitable in certain communities at certain epochs; but like all other transactions, it does not solve questions,—it only adjourns difficulties.”
The emperor seemed to say, Go on. I continued:— “It is a truce signed between democracy and monarchy, under the auspices of two very mean tyrants, fear and interest; and it is prolonged by that pride of intellect which takes pleasure in talking, and that popular vanity which satisfies itself on words. In short, it is the aristocracy of oratory, substituted for the aristocracy of birth; it is the government of the lawyers.”
“Sir, you speak the truth,” said the emperor, pressing my hand: “I have been a representative sovereign,[2] and the world knows what it has cost me to have been unwilling to submit to the exigences of this infamous government (I quote literally). To buy votes, to corrupt consciences, to seduce some in order to deceive others; all these means I disdained, as degrading those who obey as much as those who command, and I have dearly paid the penalty of my straightforwardness; but, God be praised, I have done forever with this detestable political machine. I shall never more be a constitutional king. I have too much need of saying all that I think ever to consent to reign over any people by means of stratagem and intrigue.”
The name of Poland, which presented itself incessantly to our thoughts, was not once uttered in this singular conversation.
The effect it produced on me was great. I felt myself subdued. The nobleness of sentiment which the emperor displayed, and the frankness of his language, seemed to me greatly to temper his omnipotence.
I confess I was dazzled! A man who could, notwithstanding my ideas of independence, make himself forgiven for being absolute monarch of sixty millions of fellow-beings, was, in my eyes, something beyond our common nature; but I distrusted my own admiration. I felt like the bourgeois among us, who, when surprised by the grace and address of the men of other days, are tempted by their good taste to yield to the captivating lure, but their principles resisting, they remain uncomfortably stiff, and endeavor to appear as insensible as possible. It is not in my nature to doubt a man’s words at the moment they are addressed to me. A human being who speaks is, to me, the organ of God: it is only by dint of reflection and experience that I recognize the possibility of design and disguise. This may be called a foolish simplicity, which perhaps it is; but I solace myself for such mental weakness by the recollection that its source is a mental virtue: my own good faith makes me believe in the sincerity of others, even in that of an emperor of Russia.
The beauty of his face is also another instrument of persuasion; for this beauty is moral as well as physical. I attribute its effect to the truth of his sentiments, yet more than to the regularity of his features. It was at a ball at the Duchess of Oldenburg’s that I had this interesting conversation with the emperor. The fête was singular, and deserves describing.
The Duchess of Oldenburg, who was a princess of Nassau, is nearly allied, through her husband, to the emperor. She wished to give a soirée on the occasion of the marriage of the grand duchess, but being unable to excel the magnificence of the former fêtes, or to vie with the splendors of the court, she conceived the idea of a bal champêtre at her house in the Islands.
The archduke of Austria, who arrived two days ago, to be present at the festivities of Petersburg; the ambassadors of the whole world (singular actors in a pastoral); all Russia, and finally, all the highborn foreigners, gathered together to promenade with an air of innocent simplicity, in a garden where orchestras were concealed among the distant groves.
The emperor prescribes the character of each fête: the direction for this day was, “the elegant simplicity of Horace.”
The humor of all minds, including even the corps diplomatique, was throughout the evening modeled in conformity with this order. It was like reading an eclogue, not of Theocritus or Virgil, but of Fontenelle.
We danced in the open air until eleven in the evening, and then, the heavy dews having sufficiently inundated the heads and shoulders of the women, young and old, who assisted at this triumph over the climate, we re-entered the little palace which forms the usual summer residence of the Duchess of Oldenburg.
In the center of the villa[3] was a rotunda, quite dazzling with gold and wax lights, in which the dancers continued their amusement, while the others wandered over the rest of the house, to which this bright rotunda formed, as it were, a central sun.
There presided throughout the fête, which was smaller than the preceding ones, a species of splendid disorder that struck me more than the pomp of all the others. Without speaking of the comical constraint depicted on the countenances of certain parties who were obliged, for a time, to affect rural simplicity, it was a soirée altogether original, a species of Imperial Tivoli, where people felt themselves almost free, although in presence of an absolute master. The sovereign who enjoys himself seems no longer a despot, and this evening the emperor enjoyed himself.
The excessive heats of the present summer had fortunately favored the design of the duchess. Her summerhouse is situated in the most beautiful part of the Islands, and it was in the midst of a garden radiant with flowers in pots, and upon an English lawn,—another marvel here,—that she had fixed her dancing room. This was a superb inlaid flooring, surrounded by elegant balustrades, richly embellished with flowers, and to which the sky served as ceiling. In Petersburg, the luxury of rare flowers, reared in the hothouse, supplies the place of trees. Its inhabitants—men who have left Asia to imprison themselves among the snows of the North—recollect the Oriental luxury of their earlier country, and do their best to supply the sterility of Nature, which, left to herself, produces only pine and birch trees. Art raises here an infinite variety of shrubs and plants; for as everything is artificial, it is just as easy to grow the exotic flowers of America as the violets and lilacs of France.
The empress, delicate as she is, danced, with her neck bare and her head uncovered, every polonaise at this magnificent ball in the garden of her cousin. In Russia, everybody pursues his career to the limits of his powers. The duty of an empress is to amuse herself to death.
This German princess, the victim of a frivolity which must surely press as heavily as chains upon captives, enjoys in Russia a happiness rarely enjoyed in any land, or in any rank, and unexampled in the life of an empress,—she has a friend. Of this lady, the Baroness de ———, I have already spoken. She and the empress, since the marriage of the latter, have scarcely ever been separated. The baroness, whose character is sincere, and whose heart is devoted, has not profited by her position. The man whom she has married is one of the military officers to whom the emperor is most indebted; for the Baron de ——— saved his life on the day of the revolt that attended the accession to the throne, by exposing his own with a devotedness unprompted by interest. Nothing could be sufficient reward for such an act of courage; it has, consequently, gone unrewarded.
As the garden became dark, a distant music answered to the orchestra of the ball, and harmoniously chased away the gloom of the night, a gloom too natural to these monotonous shades. The desert recommences on the Islands, where the pines and morasses of Finland adjoin the prettiest parks. An arm of the Neva flows slowly—for here all water appears stagnant—before the windows of the little princely house of the Duchess of Oldenburg. On this evening, the water was covered with boats full of spectators, and the road also swarmed with pedestrians. A mixed crowd of middle-class men, who are as much slaves as the peasants, and of work-people, all courtiers of courtiers, pressed among the carriages of the grandees to gaze on the livery of the master of their masters. The whole spectacle was striking and original. In Russia the names are the same as elsewhere, but the things are altogether different. I often escaped from the throng of the ball to walk beneath the trees of the park, and muse on the melancholy that insinuates itself into the entertainments of such a land. But my meditations were short, for on this day the emperor seemed as though determined to keep possession of my thoughts. Was it because he had discovered in the bottom of my heart some prejudices little favorable towards him, though the result only of what I had heard before being presented; or did he find it amusing to converse for a few moments with one who differed from those who daily came in his way; or was it that Madame de ——— had created an influence in his mind in my favor? I could not explain to my own satisfaction the cause of receiving so much honor.
The emperor is not only accustomed to command actions, he knows how to reign over hearts: perhaps he wished to conquer mine; perhaps the ices of my shyness served to stimulate his self-love. The desire of pleasing is natural to him: to compel admiration would still be to make himself obeyed. Perhaps he had a desire of trying his power on a stranger; perhaps, in short, it was the instinct of a man who had long lived deprived of the truth, and who believed he had for once met with a sincere character. I repeat, I was ignorant of his motives; but on that evening I could not stand before him, nor even place myself in a retired corner of the room where he might be, without his obliging me to approach and talk with him.
On seeing me enter the ballroom, he said, “What have you seen this morning?”
“Sire, I have been visiting the Cabinet of Natural History, and the famous Mammoth of Siberia.”
“It is an object unequaled, in its kind, in the world.” “Yes, sire; there are many things in Russia that are not to be seen elsewhere.”
“You flatter me.” “I respect Your Majesty too much to dare to flatter; but perhaps, sire, I do not fear you sufficiently; and I therefore ingenuously speak my thoughts, when even truth appears like compliment.”
“This is a delicate compliment, monsieur: you strangers spoil us.”
“Sire, Your Majesty was pleased to desire that I should be at my ease with you, and you have succeeded, as in everything else that you undertake. Your Majesty has cured me, for a time at least, of my natural timidity.”
Obliged to avoid all allusion to the great political interests of the day, I wished to lead the conversation towards a subject which interested me quite as much; I added, therefore, “Each time that I am permitted to approach Your Majesty, I recognize the power which caused your enemies to fall at your feet on the day that Your Majesty ascended the throne.”
“In your country, there are prejudices entertained against us, which are more difficult to triumph over than the passions of a revolted army.”
“Sire, you are seen from too great a distance: if Your Majesty were better known, you would be better appreciated, and would find among us, as well as here, abundance of admirers. The commencement of Your Majesty’s reign has already called forth just praises; it was also equally, or even yet more highly lauded at the time of the cholera; for in this second insurrection, Your Majesty displayed the same authority, but tempered with the most generous devotion to the cause of humanity. Energy has never failed you, sire, in times of danger.”
“The moments of which you recall the recollection have been, doubtless, the best in my life; nevertheless, they have appeared to me as the most frightful.”
“I can well understand that, sire; to subdue nature in ourselves and in others requires an effort—”
“An effort which is terrible,” interrupted the Emperor, with an energy which startled me,—“and one that is felt long after.”
“Yes; but there is the consolation of having acted heroically.”
“I have not acted heroically. I only performed my part: in such circumstances none can tell what he will do or say. We run into the danger, without previously inquiring how we are to get out of it.”
“It was God who inspired you, sire; and if two so dissimilar things as poetry and government may be compared, I should say that you acted in the same way that poets sing,— in listening to the voice from above.”
“There was no poetry in that action.”
I could perceive that my comparison had not appeared flattering, because it had not been understood in the sense of the Latin poet. At court, they are in the habit of viewing poetry as merely an exhibition of wit; and it would have been necessary to have launched into a discussion to prove that it is the purest and most brilliant light that irradiates the soul. I therefore preferred remaining silent; but the emperor, being unwilling, doubtless, to leave me under the regret of having displeased him, detained me yet further, to the great astonishment of the court, and resumed the conversation with a kindness that was very gratifying. “What is your decided plan of route?” he asked.
“Sire, after the fête at Peterhof, I propose leaving for Moscow, from whence I wish to proceed to Nizhny, to see the fair, and to return to Moscow before the arrival of Your Majesty.”
“So much the better: I shall be glad for you to examine, in detail, my works at the Kremlin. My residence there was too small, I am therefore building another more suitable; and I will explain to you myself all my plans for the embellishment of this part of Moscow, which we view as the cradle of the empire. But you have no time to lose, for you have immense distances to travel over—the distances! these are the curse of Russia.”
“Do not, sire, regret them: they form the canvas of pictures that are to be filled up; elsewhere the earth is too confined for the inhabitants; but it will never fail Your Majesty.”
“The time fails me.” “You have the future.” “They little know me who reproach my ambition: far from seeking to extend our territory, I am desirous of drawing closer around me the entire population of Russia. It is simply over misery and barbarism that I wish to achieve conquests: to ameliorate the condition of the Russians would be more gratifying than to aggrandize myself. If you knew what an amiable people the Russians are! how gentle, and how naturally polite! You will see them at Peterhof; but it is here, on the first of January, that I would have especially desired to show them to you.” Then, returning to his favorite theme, he continued: “But it is not easy to render oneself worthy of governing such a people.”
“Your Majesty has already done much for Russia.”
“I fear sometimes that I have not done all that might have been effected.”
The emperor is the only man in the empire with whom one may talk without fear of informers; he is also the only one in whom I have as yet recognized natural sentiments and sincere language. If I lived in this country, and had a secret to conceal, I should begin by confiding it to him.
If he has, as I think, more pride than vanity, more dignity than arrogance, the general impression of the various portraits I have successively traced of him, and especially the effect his conversation produced on me, ought to be satisfactory to him: in fact, I did my best to resist the influence of his attractions. I am certainly anything but revolutionary, still I am revolutionized: such is the consequence of being born in France, and of living there. But I have a yet better reason to give in explanation of my endeavor to resist the influence of the emperor over me. Aristocrat, both from character and conviction, I feel that the aristocracy alone can withstand either the seductions or the abuses of absolute power. Without an aristocracy, there would be nothing but tyranny both in monarchies and in democracies. The sight of despotism is revolting to me in spite of myself; it offends all the ideas of liberty which spring alike from my natural feelings and my political creed. No aristocrat can submit, without repugnance, to see the leveling hand of despotism laid upon the people. This, however, happens in pure democracies as much as in absolute monarchical governments.
It appears to me, that if I were a sovereign I should like the society of those who would recognize in me the fellow-being as well as the prince, especially if, when viewed apart from my titles, and reduced to myself, I should still have a right to be called a sincere, firm, and upright man.
Let the reader seriously ask himself, if that which I have recounted of the Emperor Nicholas, since my arrival in Russia, places this prince lower in his opinion than before he had read these chapters.
Our frequent communications in public gained me numerous acquaintances, as well as renewal of acquaintances. Many persons whom I had met elsewhere cast themselves in my way, though only after they had observed that I was the object of this particular goodwill on the part of the sovereign. These men were the most exalted persons at court; but it is the custom of people of the world, and especially of place-men, to be sparing of everything except ambitious schemes. To preserve at court sentiments above the vulgar range, requires the endowment of a very lofty mind, and lofty minds are rare.
It cannot be too often repeated, that there are no great noblemen in Russia, because there are no independent characters, with the exception, at least, of those superior minds, which are too few in number to exercise any general influence on society. It is the pride inspired by high birth, far more than riches or rank acquired by industry, which renders man independent.
This country, in many respects so different from France, still resembles it in one—it is without any regulated social system. By reason of this gap in the body politic, universal equality reigns in Russia as in France, and therefore, in both countries, the minds of men are restless and unquiet: with us this is demonstrated by visible agitations and explosions; in Russia, political passions are concentrated. In France, everyone can arrive at his object, by setting out from the tribune[4]; in Russia by setting out at court. The lowest of men, if he can discover how to please his sovereign, may become tomorrow second only to the emperor. The favor of that god is the prize which produces as many prodigies of effort, and miraculous metamorphoses, as the desire of popularity among us. A profound flatterer in Petersburg is the same as a sublime orator in Paris. What a talent of observation must not that have been in the Russian courtiers, which enabled them to discover that a means of pleasing the emperor was to walk in winter without a greatcoat in the streets of Petersburg. This flattery of the climate has cost the life of more than one ambitious individual. Under a despotism which is without limits, minds are as much agitated and tormented as under a republic; but with this difference, the agitation of the subjects of an autocracy is more painful on account of the silence and concealment that ambition has to impose upon itself in order to succeed. With us, sacrifices, to be profitable, have to be public; here, on the contrary, they must be secret. The unlimited monarch dislikes no one so much as a subject publicly devoted. All zeal that exceeds a blind and servile obedience is felt by him as both troublesome and suspicious: exceptions open the door to pretensions, pretensions assume the shape of rights, and, under a despot, a subject who fancies that he has rights is a rebel.
Before this journey, my ideas of despotism were suggested by my study of society in Austria and Prussia. I had forgotten that those states are despotic only in name, and that manners and customs there, serve to correct institutions. In Germany, the people despotically governed appeared to me the happiest upon earth; a despotism thus mitigated by the mildness of its customs caused me to think that absolutism was not, after all, so detestable a thing as our philosophers had pretended. I did not then know what absolute government was among a nation of slaves.
It is to Russia that we must go in order to see the results of this terrible combination of the mind and science of Europe with the genius of Asia—a combination which is so much the more formidable as it is likely to last; for ambition and fear— passions which elsewhere ruin men by causing them to speak too much—here engender silence. This forced silence produces a forced calm, an apparent order, more strong and more frightful than anarchy itself. I admit but few fundamental rules in politics, because, in the art of government, I believe more in the efficacy of circumstances than of principles, but my indifference does not go so far as to tolerate institutions which necessarily exclude all dignity of human character in their objects.
Perhaps an independent judiciary and a powerful aristocracy would instill a calm and an elevation into the Russian character, and render the land happy; but I do not believe the emperor dreams of such modes of ameliorating the condition of his people. However superior a man may be, he does not voluntarily renounce his own way of doing good to others.
But what right have we to reproach the emperor of Russia with his love of authority? Is not the genius of revolution as tyrannical at Paris as the genius of despotism at Petersburg?
At the same time, we owe it to ourselves to make here a restriction that will show the difference between the social state of the two countries. In France, revolutionary tyranny is an evil belonging to a state of transition; in Russia, despotic tyranny is permanent.
[1]Dispatched in the form of a letter to Paris.—Trans.
[2]In Poland.
[3]In Russian, “the dacha.”
[4]It must be remembered that this was written during the reign of Louis Philippe. —Trans.