Russia in 1839 -Empire of the Czar: A Journey Through Eternal Russia

by Astolphe De Custine

  Before cleansing their own persons, those who make use of the public baths ought to insist on the cleansing; out of these dens where the old ]Iuseovites revel in their dirtiness, and hasten old age by the inordinate use of steam, and by the perspiration it provokes.

  It is now ten o'clock in the evening. The o`overnor has sent to inform me that his son and his carriage will presently attend me. I have answered, with many thanks, that having retired for the night, I cannot this evening avail myself of his kindness; but that I shall pass the whole of the morrow at Yaroslaf, and shall then make my acknowledgments in person. I am not sorry to have this opportunity of observing Russian hospitality in the provinces.

  136VISIT TO THE GOVERNOR.

  This morning, about eleven, the governor's son, who is a mere child, arrived in full uniform, to take me in a carriage-and-fonr, with coachman, and faleiter mounted on the off-side horse, an equipage precisely similar to that of the courtiers at Petersburg. This elegant ajmarition at the door of my inn disappointed me; I saw at once that it was not with old Muscovites, with true boyards, that I had to do. I felt that I should be again among European travellers, courtiers of the Emperor Alexander, and lordly cosmopolites.

  " My father knows Paris," said the young man; " he will be delighted to see a Frenchman."

  " At what period was he in France ? "

  The young Russian was silent; my question appeared to disconcert him, although I had thought it a very simple one : at first I was unable to account for his embarrassment; after discovering its cause, I gave him credit for an exquisite delicacy, — a rare sentiment in every country and at every age.

  M., governor of Yaroslaf, had visited France,

  in the suite of the Emperor Alexander, during the campaigns of 1813 and 1814, and this was a reminiscence of which his son was unwilling to remind me. His tact recalled to my memory a very different trait. One day, in a small town of Germany, I dined with the envoy of a petty German government, who, in presenting me to his wife, said that I was a Frenchman.

  " He's an enemy, then," interrupted their son, a boy of apparently thirteen or fourteen years old.

  That young gentleman had not been sent to school in Russia.

  S0UVEX1RS OF VERSAILLES.137

  On entering the spacious and brilliant saloon, where the governor, his lady, and their numerous family awaited me, I could have imagined myself in London, or rather in Petersburg, for the lady of the house was ensconced, à la russe, in the little cabinet enclosed by gilded trellis, and raised a few steps, which occupied a corner of the saloon, and which is called the a¡tane. The governor received me with politeness, and led me across the saloon, past several male and female relatives who had met there, into the verdant cabinet, where I found his wife.

  Scarcely had she invited me to sit down in this sanctuary than she thus addressed me: " Monsieur de Custine, does Elzéar still write fables ?"

  My unele, Count Elzéar de Sabran, had been from his boyhood celebrated in the society of Versailles for his poetical talent, and he would have been equally so in public society if his friends and relations could have persuaded him to publish his collections of fables — a species of poetical code, enlarged by time and experience; for every circumstance of his life, every public and private event, has inspired him with one of these apologues, always ingenious, and often profound, and to which an elegant and easy versification, an original and piquant turn of expression, impart a peculiar charm. The recollection of this was far from my thoughts when I entered the house of the governor of Yaroslaf, for my mind was occupied with the hope, too rarely satisfied, of finding real Russians in Russia.

  I replied to the lady of the governor by a smile of astonishment, which silently said ■— explain to me this mystery. The explanation was soon given. " I was brought up," continued the lady, " by a

  138

  SOUVENIRS

  friend of your grandmother, Madame de Sabran; that friend often spoke to me of her natural grace and charming wit, as well as of the mind and talents of your uncle and your mother; she often even spoke to me of you, though she had left France before your

  birth. It is Madameto whom I allude; she

  accompanied into Russia the Polignac family when they became emigres, and since the death of the Duchess de Polignac she has never left me."

  In concluding these words Madamepresented

  me to her governess, an elderly person, who spoke French better than I, and whose countenance expressed penetration and gentleness.

  I saw that I must once again renounce my dream of the boyards, a dream which, notwithstanding its futility, did not leave me without awaking some regret; but I had wherewith to indemnify myself

  for my mistake. Madame , the wife of the

  governor, belongs to one of the great original families

  of Lithuania; she was born Princess ■. Over and

  above the politeness common to nearly all people of this rank, in every land, she has acquired the taste and the tone of French society, as it existed in its most flourishing epoch; and, although yet young, she reminds me, by the noble simplicity of her manners, of the elderly persons whom I knew in my childhood. Those manners are the traditions of the old court, respect for every kind of propriety, good taste in its highest perfection, for it includes even good and kindly dispositions, in short, every thing that was attractive in the higher circles of Paris at the time when our social superiority was denied by none; at the time when Madame de Marsan, 1huiting fîerself

  OF VERSAILLES.139

  to an humble pension, retired voluntarily to a small apartment in the Assumption, and for ten years devoted her immense income to paying the debts of her brother, the Prince de Guémenée, — by this noble sacrifice extenuating, as far as was in her power, the disgrace and scandal of a bankrupt nobleman.

  All this will teach me nothing about the country I am inspecting, I thought to myself, nevertheless it will afford me a pleasure that I should be loath to deny myself, for it is one that has now become more rare perhaps, than is the satisfaction of the simple curiosity which brought me here.

  I fancied myself in the chamber of my grandmother *, though, indeed, on a day when the Chevalier de Boufflers was not there, nor Madame de Coaslin, nor even the lady of the house : for those brilliant models of the character of intellect which formerly adorned French conversation have gone, never to return, even in Russia; but I found myself in the chosen circle of their friends and disciples, assembled, as it were, in their absence; and I felt as though we were waiting for them, and that they would soon reappear.

  I was not in the least prepared for this species of emotion ; of all the surprises of my journey it has been for me the most unexpected.

  The lady of the house participated in my astonishment; for she told me of the exclamation she had made the previous evening, on perceiving my name at the bottom of the note I had sent to the governor.

  * The Countess de Sabi·an, afterwards Marchioness de Boufflers, who died at Paris in 1S27, aged 78 years.

  140 INFLUENCE OF FEENCH LITEItATUEE.

  The singularity of the rencontre, in a region where I supposed myself as little known as a Chinese, immediately gave a familiar and friendly tone to the conversation, which became general, without ceasing to be agreeable and easy. There was nothing concerted or affected in the pleasure they seemed to take in seeing me. The surprise had been reciprocal: no one had expected me at Yaroslaf; I had only ^decided to take that route the day before leaving Moscow.

  The brother of the governor's wife, a Prince,

  writes our language perfectly well. He has published volumes of French verses, and was kind enough to present me with one of his collections. On opening the book, my eyes fell upon this line, full of sentiment; it occurs in a piece entitled Consolations à une Mere:

  " Les pleurs sont la fontaine cù ìiotre âme s'épure." *

  Assuredly, he is fortunate who expresses his idea so well in a foreign language.

  All the members
of thefamily vied with each

  other in doing me the honours of the house and of the city.

  My books were loaded with indirect and ingenious praises, and were cited so as to recall to my mind a crowd of details that I had forgotten. The delicate and natural manner in which these quotations were introduced would have pleased me if they had less flattered me. The small number of books which the censorship allows to penetrate so far, remain popular a long time. I may say, not in my own personal praise,

  * Tears are the fount that purifies the soul.

  COJTVEXT OF THE TRANSFIGURATIOX. 141

  but in that of the times in which we live, that in travelling over Europe the only hospitality really worthy of gratitude that I have received has been that which I owe to my writings. They have created for me among strangers a small number of friends, whose kindness, ever new, has in no slight degree contributed to prolong my inborn taste for travelling and for poetry. If a position of so little importance as the one which I occupy in our literature has procured me such advantages, it is easy to conceive the influence which the talents that among us rule the thinking world, must exercise.

  This apostleship of our authors constitutes the real power of France : but what responsibility does not such a vocation carry with it! It is, however, viewed as are other offices; the desire of obtaining it causes the danger of exercising it to be forgotten. As re-gards myself, if, during the course of my life, I have understood and felt one sentiment of ambition, it has been that of sharing, according to my powers, in this government of the human mind, as superior to political power as electricity is to gunpowder.

  A great deal was said to me about Jean Sbogar; and when it was known that I had the happiness of being personally acquainted with the author, a thousand qiiestions were asked me regarding him. Would that I had had, in order to answer, the talent for narration which he possesses in so high a degree !

  One of the brothers-in-law of the governor has taken me to see the Convent of the Transfigm·ation, which serves as residence for the archbishop of Yaroslaf. This monastery, like all the Greek religious houses, is a kind of low citadel, enclosing several

  142BYZANTINE STYLE IN THE ARTS.

  churches, and numerous small edifices of every style except the good style.

  The only thing that appeared to me novel and striking in the visit, was the devotion of my guide,

  Prince. He bent his forehead, and applied his

  lips, with a fervour that was surprising, to all the objects presented for the veneration of the faithful; and in this convent, which encloses several sanctuaries, he performed the same ceremonies in twenty different places. Mean while his drawing-room conversation announced nothing of this devotion of the cloister. He concluded by inviting me also to kiss the relies of a saint whose tomb a monk had opened for us. I saw him make at least fifty signs of the cross; he kissed twenty images and relies: in short, not any one of our nuns in the seclusion of her convent would repeat so many genufluxions, salutations, and inclinations of the head in passing and repassing the high altar of her church, as did this Russian prince, an old officer and aide-de-camp of the Emperor Alexander, in presence of a stranger, in the monastery of the Transfiguration.

  The Greeks cover the walls of their churches with fresco paintings in the Byzantine style. A foreigner feels at first some respect for these representations, because he believes them ancient; but when he finds that the churches which appear the most ancient have been recoloured, and often rebuilt but yesterday, his veneration soon changes into profound ennui. The madonnas, even the ones most newly painted, resemble those that were brought into Italy towards the end of the middle aces, to revive there the taste for art. But since then, the Italians — their genius electrized by the con-

  Г01ХТЗ OF DISPUTE IN ТПЕ GREEK СНШ1СП. 143

  quering spirit of the Roman church — have perceived and pursued the grand and the beautiful, and have produced all that the world has seen of most sublime in every branch of art; during which time the Greeks of the Lower Empire, and the Russians after them, have continued faithfully to chalk their Virgins of the eighth century.

  The Eastern Church has never been favourable to the arts. Since schism was declared, she has done nothing but benumb all minds with the subtleties of theology. In the present day, the true believers in Russia dispute seriously among themselves as to whether it is permitted to give the natural flesh-colour to the heads of the Virgin, or if it is necessary to continue to colour them, like the pretended madonnas of St. Luke, with that tint of bistre which is so unnatural. There is also much dispute among them as to the manner of representing the rest of the person : it is uncertain whether the body ought to be painted, or imitated in metal and enclosed in a kind of cuirass, which leaves the face alone visible, or sometimes the eyes only. The reader must explain to himself, as he best can, why a metallic body appears more decent in the eyes of the Greek priests than canvas painted as a woman's robe.

  "We are not yet at the end of the great points of dispute in the Greek church. Certain doctors, whose number is large enough to form a sect, have conscientiously separated themselves from the mother-church because she now shields .within her bosom impious innovators, who permit the priests to give the sacerdotal benediction with three fingers of the hand, whereas the true tradition wills that the fore and

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  144

  THE ZACUSKA,

  middle fingers only shall be eharged with the task of dispensing blessings upon the faithful.

  Such are the questions now agitated in the Greco-Russian church; and let it not be supposed that they are considered puerile : they inflame passions, provoke heresy, and decide the fate of men in this world and in the next. To return to my entertainers :

  The great Russian nobles appear to me more amiable in the provinces than at court.

  The wife of the governor of Yaroslaf has, at this moment, all her family united around her; several of her sisters, with their husbands and children, are lodged in her house : she admits also to her table the principal employes of her husband, who are inhabitants of the city; her son also is still attended by a tutor; so that at dinner there were twenty persons to sit down to table.

  It is the custom of the north to precede the principal repast by a smaller refection, which is served in the saloon, a quarter of an hour before entering the dining-room. This preliminary, which is destined to sharpen the appetite, is called in Russian, if my ear has not deceived me, zacuska. The servants bring upon trays small plates filled with fresh caviare, such as is only eaten in this country, dried fish, cheese, salt meats, sea biscuits, and pastry; with these, bitter liqueurs, French brandy, London porter, Hungarian wine, &c, are also brought in; and these things are eaten and drunk standing. A stranger, ignorant of the usages of the country, or an appetite easily satisfied, might very soon here make a meal, and remain afterwards a spectator only of the real dinner. The Russians eat plentifully, and keep a liberal table :

  RUSSIAN DINNERS,145

  but they are too fond of hashes, stuffing, little balls of minee-meat, and fish in patés.

  One of the most delicate fishes in the world is caught in the Volga, where it abounds. It is called the sterled, and unites the flavour of the sea and fresh water fishes, without, however, resembling any that I have eaten elsewhere. This fish is large, its flesh light and fine; its head, pointed and full of cartilages, is considered delicate; the monster is seasoned very skilfully, but without many spices : the sauce that is served with it unites the flavour of wine, strong" meat broth, and lemon-juice. I prefer this national dish to all the other ragouts of the land, and especially to the cold and sour soup, that species of fish-broth, iced, that forms the detestable treat of the Russians. They also make soups of sugared vinegar, of which I have tasted enough to prevent my ever asking for any more.

  The governor's dinner was good and well served, without superfluity, and without useless recherche. The abundance and excellent quality of the watermelons aston
ishes me: it is said that they come from the environs of Moscow, but I should rather imagine they send to the Crimea for them. It is the custom in this country to place the dessert upon the table at the commencement of the dinner, and to serve it plate by plate. This method has its advantages and its inconveniences: it seems to me only perfectly proper at great dinners.

  The Russian dinners are of a reasonable length; and nearly all the guests disperse upon rising from table. Some practise the Oriental habit of the siesta ; others take a promenade or return to their business after

  VOL. III.H

  146FAMILY SOIREE.

  drinking coffee. Dinner is not here the repast which finishes the labours of the day; and when I took leave of the lady of the house, she had the kindness to engage me to return and pass the evening with her. I accepted the invitation, for I felt it would be impolite to refuse it: all that is offered to me here, is done with so much good taste, that neither my fatigue nor my wish to retire and write to my friends, are sufficient to preserve my liberty: such hospitality is a pleasant tyranny; it would be indelicate not to accept it; a earriage-and-four and a house are placed at my disposal, a whole family are troubling themselves to amuse me and to show me the country; and this is done without any affected compliments, superfluous protestations, or importunate empi`esscment: I do not know how to resist so much rare simplicity, grace, and elegance; I should yield were it only from a patriotic instinct, for there is in these agreeable manners a souvenir of ancient France which affects and attracts me: it seems as though I had come to the frontiers of the civilised world to reap a part of the heritage of the French ^ spirit of the eighteenth century, a spirit that has been long lost among ourselves. This inexpressible charm of good manners, and of simple language, reminds me of a paradox of one of the most intellectual men I have ever known : " There is not," he says, " a bad action nor a bad sentiment that has not its source in a fault of manners ; consequently true politeness is virtue ; it is all the virtues united." He went yet further ; he pretended there was no other vice but that of coarseness.