Part 20
Never was there a happier appointment than that of Lord Napier, who succeeded him in Russia in 1860, with the more exalted rank of Ambassador, seconded by an ambassadress who seemed to have been born for the position. The British Embassy soon became the most popular centre of society in Russia. John Lumley—afterwards Lord Savile—was First Secretary (what would now be called Councillor), and he was a most valuable aide-de-camp socially to his chief. In these happy circumstances the prestige and influence increased every day, until at the end, when Lord Napier, in 1864, was transferred to Berlin, the Emperor Alexander wished to give him the Order of St. Andrew, the Garter of Russia, but unfortunately in those days the acceptance of foreign Orders was strictly forbidden. Queen Victoria was like Queen Elizabeth, who said that she would not allow her dogs to wear any collar but her own.
Few men ever had a much more difficult task than that with which Lord Napier was confronted when he took possession of the Embassy. Not only did he conjure into life a new popularity out of the ashes of the dead indifference, and worse, in which England was held, but he succeeded in winning the personal love and affection of all with whom he came in contact; and this he did in spite of the emasculate meddlings in Polish affairs which were the favourite pastime of Lord Russell and the cynical amusement of Prince Gortchakoff.
[Illustration: PRINCE GORTCHAKOFF.
_From a photograph._
[_To face p. 296._]
It must not be supposed that Lord Napier did not himself openly condemn much that was going on in Poland; but he did so with tact, as an onlooker, and not like Lord Russell, with the appearance of impertinent interference in the internal government of a friendly country. There were, as I have shown in my “Memories,” many Russians in high positions who were outspoken in their detestation of General Muraieff, whom Prince Suvoroff did not hesitate to call a “hangman” in the Tsar’s presence at a banquet at Tsarskoe Selo. Lord Napier would have cried “Amen” to that. But though he was an uncompromising critic, he never forfeited the goodwill of the court to which he was accredited.
The honour and reputation of England were safe in his hands, and he enjoyed an influence which had been vouchsafed to none of his predecessors. What Prince Gortchakoff and all other Russians resented in Lord Russell was the schoolmaster tone of his dispatches. That Prince Suvoroff’s condemnation of the cruelties of Warsaw did not meet with an Imperial reproof was significant enough, and an English ambassador would find plenty of men who would applaud a similar reproof from him. But none of them, even of those who were loudest in their blame, would accept Lord Russell’s sermons and prescriptions. The Polish Revolution was a terrible first act in the drama upon which the curtain was to fall in so tragic a fashion.
The liberation of the serfs in 1861 was manifestly the greatest achievement of Alexander’s reign—indeed, it was one of the greatest and noblest achievements in the whole history of Society. It was a great upheaval, far more wide-reaching and searching than the abolition of negro slavery which rewarded the humane labours of Clarkson, Sharp and Wilberforce. That only affected the planters of the West Indies. There were no negro slaves in London, Edinburgh, or Dublin. In Russia, on the contrary, serfdom was universal. There were serfs even among the tradesmen of St. Petersburg, Moscow and Warsaw, and all the great towns—men who had raised themselves by industry and knowledge into a higher status than that of the drudge or labourer, the hewer of wood and drawer of water, but who yet remained serfs, and had to pay a share of their gains to their lords. The fortunes of rich Boyarin were calculated in the souls of men. There had been more than once talk of putting an end to this horror, but it was left to the generous and good Tsar to carry the reform into execution. He was ably seconded by M. Valouieff, Minister of the Interior, who worked out all the details of the scheme. It was no easy task to carry out so mighty a change, for, of course, the vested interests were powerful and the mighty ego was on guard, as ever; but the Tsar was in deadly earnest, and in spite of all opposition, twenty-three millions of dead souls were born again into life.
It was an audaciously bold piece of statesmanship. Even an autocrat is dependent upon the will of others for his power. He cannot stand up in the Agora, and, like a god, proclaim himself “I am that I am!” He needs support, and in Russia at that time, when the proletariat had not yet even the semblance of political existence, the only prop upon which the Tsar could rely was the _noblesse_, and it was precisely their privileges that he was attacking. It needed moral courage, it needed physical courage, to set such a machinery in motion. Remember who and what were the men who murdered the Emperor Paul. Not a gang of revolutionary _carbonari_—Turgénieff was not yet born and the word “Nihilist” had not yet been coined[22]—but a band of powerful nobles, headed by his own prime minister. Remember who were the leading Dekabrists, men bearing historic names, proud of their descent from the sacred stock of Rurik. It was men of that importance who would be the most affected by the change, and whose opposition was to be feared. No weak man would have braved them. It is true that emancipation had long been in the air, and that a great number—perhaps even a large majority—of the landed aristocracy had pledged themselves to it. But there was a dangerous leaven of discontent, and none could say how far the taint might have penetrated.
M. Valouieff, the minister who was the Tsar’s right-hand man in this difficult business, was a remarkable personality. Strikingly handsome, tall and dignified, with all the characteristics of blue blood, he was not dwarfed even by the mighty stature of his Imperial master. When, two years after the liberation of the serfs in Russia, the measure was extended to Poland, I was present, as I have related in my “Memories,” at the reception of the Tsar of the peasants’ deputation who came to St. Petersburg to thank the Tsar. It was impossible not to be struck by the commanding aspect of the Emperor and his minister, both sons of Anak, towering above the rest of the crowd.
The emancipation of the serfs was, of course, Valouieff’s masterpiece in statesmanship, but he had several other measures of first-class importance to his credit. It was he who in 1864 established the Zemstvo—elected bodies for the local conduct of provincial business—and another of his achievements was the regulation of the laws relating to the Press. He, moreover, had something of a literary reputation as the author of two or three novels. But these were rather amateurish, and it is upon his statesmanship that his fame must rest.
Like the Chancellor, Prince Gortchakoff, he was very kind to me, and whenever we met in Society, he always had a friendly word for me. When I got back to London, he was next to Prince Gortchakoff, the Russian statesman in whom I found Lord Palmerston and Lord Clarendon the most interested. They fully appreciated the greatness of his work in the emancipation business, and were glad to have some first-hand impressions of his very remarkable personality.
The emancipation was a colossal task. It is not possible by a mere stroke of the pen to revolutionize the lives of twenty-three millions of men. The serfs were to be freed—that is easily said; but the interests of the landed aristocracy must also be taken into consideration, and it says much for Valouieff’s statesmanship and wisdom that the measure should have been carried into effect practically without any friction.
It was impossible suddenly to deprive of its labour the whole of the agricultural land of that vast empire. There had to be a transition period during which the peasants, though no longer serfs, still remained under certain obligations to their former masters; but within the space of two years the landlords were bound to make over to them their houses with suitable allotments of land against a fair rent, with the further privilege of purchase, with the consent of the proprietor. The obligations of the peasant and his rent were capitalized on a basis of six per cent. Of this capital, twenty per cent. was to be paid at once to the landlord, while the Government gave him the remaining eighty per cent. in Government bonds bearing five per cent. interest, the Government recouping itself for this advance in forty-nine years by a payment of six per cent. from the peasant. The purchases might be effected by single individuals or by partnerships. This would be facilitated by the Russian communal system, by which the members of each commune were able to combine for the redemption money and other expenses.
It was calculated that about one-third of the property of the landed aristocracy, equal to 390,886 square kilometres, was made over to the peasants. This is Brockhaus’ calculation. He goes on to point out that for various reasons, chiefly the ignorance and intemperance of the peasants, there were not a few troubles arising out of the great economic change. Although in some instances land soon rose in value fifty per cent. above the estimate of 1861, in others it suffered great deterioration.
There is one feature in this great economic change which is worthy of note. If we read the lives, memoirs and correspondence of the ministers who have ruled England in modern times, it is impossible not to recognize an underlying element of personal ambition in all their contentions. That, I take it, is inseparable from a constitutional Government where the “Outs” are always struggling to become “Ins.” Here there was no such motive possible. A Tsar of Russia could become no greater than he already was, and even the minister who did his behest had nothing to fear or to gain from the _arbitrium popularis aurae_. The Emperor had, and could have, nothing in view but the good of his people, and for that those who saw him at work knew that his efforts were untiring. It is strange that it should have been precisely in the reign of so good a monarch, a real benefactor of the world over which he ruled, that the seeds of the poisonous plant of Nihilism should have germinated, spreading like the virus of cancer, which, cut out of one place by the surgeon’s knife, still travels through the system and reappears in some new spot.
Nihilism was not confined, as has been popularly supposed, to the students of the universities and a few clever but discontented literary men and artists. As a matter of fact, it had invaded all classes. The civil service, the army, the police—even the secret police—were infected.
* * * * *
The diplomatic negotiations which took place at St. Petersburg in the winter of 1863-64 were big with the fate of Europe and of the world. It was the result of the grievous blunders made by Lord Russell that Prussia was enabled to take the first step in that career of plunder and aggrandisement which has wrought such terrible tragedies. I have dealt with that story fully in my “Memories.” I was at St. Petersburg at the time, and owing to my confidential relations with Lord Napier, and to the kindness of Prince Gortchakoff and other Russian ministers, I had the opportunity of being well posted, not only in what took place publicly, but also in the feeling which was prevalent in Russia in regard to the Danish war.
In his brilliantly fascinating fourth volume of the “Life of Lord Beaconsfield,” Mr. Buckle[23] revives the time-honoured fallacy that Russia was not ready to join hands with us in defence of Denmark. That fallacy can only owe its existence to the careful handling of persons whose aim it was to whitewash Lord Russell. It is true that his blustering and bullying in the Polish Revolution—followed by the eating of the leek with appetite—had made England very unpopular in Russia; but in regard to Denmark there was another motive at work, and a very powerful one, in the prospective marriage of the Princess Dagmar to the Tsarevitch.
In principle, Russia did not want to go to war, but she was ready to sacrifice her wish for peace if only England would join in with her and cry “Hands off!” to Prussia and Austria. England did not want war in July, 1914, but on the 4th of August war was declared. The cases are exactly similar. In both cases a “scrap of paper” was torn up by Prussia, who only a few months earlier had guaranteed the integrity of King Christian’s dominions. In 1914 mercifully Lord Russell had been long “resting and being thanked” over the mischief he had wrought. Sterner and more chivalrous doctrines prevailed, and this time England was ready to draw the sword for a principle of honour.
It is, I know, an absolute mistake to suppose that if we had carried out the policy indicated by Lord Palmerston in Parliament at the end of the Session of 1863 we should have stood alone. Russia would have been with us. Our position, supposing we had gone to war, would have been all to our advantage—as Lord John Manners pointed out, it would have been “the most popular, the easiest and the cheapest war (for it can be managed by our navy alone) of the century.”[24] Lord John Manners was quite right. We should have sent our navy to Danish waters, and we need not have sent out a single soldier.
To march upon Berlin would have been a mere holiday task for the Russian army, a sort of picnic, like our march upon Magdala. But I can assert that it was the firm conviction of the best informed diplomatists of Europe that the mere knowledge that England and Russia were determined to uphold the rights of Denmark would of itself have sufficed to avert war. I have written elsewhere how, when Lord Napier had to tell Prince Gortchakoff that England would not join with him, the Prince answered: “Alors, milord, je mets de côté la supposition que l’Angleterre fasse jamais la guerre pour une question d’honneur.” That was the conviction which guided him in all his subsequent dealings with England, the advances in Central Asia, in defiance of all treaties, until the gates of Afghanistan were reached, and in 1870, when France was crippled, the tearing up of the Black Sea Treaty obligations of 1856.
Mr. Buckle is so clear-minded a critic of foreign politics that I should hesitate to differ from him were I not possessed of absolute knowledge not from hearsay. A study of the “Origines diplomatiques de la guerre de 1870” can only confirm what I have said; and that exhaustive publication proves up to the hilt my contention that since the origin of the war of 1870 was due to the betrayal of Denmark in 1863-64, it is to the grave political blunders then made that we must ascribe the outrage of 1914.
Free of England and Russia, Bismarck was able to carry out his full programme: (1) Kiel and a navy. (2) The crippling of Austria. (3) The humiliation of France. (4) Who can doubt what that was? The destruction of England’s sea power, and the world under the heel of Prussia.
Lord Russell’s meddling and muddling in the affairs of Poland had, it is true, estranged Russia and France. But the former Power was, nevertheless, keenly in favour of Denmark; as regards France, there was perhaps another consideration which was not without its influence. It is a matter of common knowledge that Louis Napoleon was very ambitious to build up a navy which should be able to hold its own with ours. In the “Origines diplomatiques” there is published a dispatch from the French chargé d’affaires at St. Petersburg, M. de Massignac, a very clever man, with whom I was intimate, urging upon M. Drouyn de Lhuys the expediency of furthering the views of Prussia. He pointed out that the success of Prussia would give her Kiel, and enable her to build a navy which might, in given circumstances, help the other Continental Powers to destroy England’s preponderant supremacy at sea! I am inclined to think that this view may have had more restraining influence with Louis Napoleon even than the snubbing with which Lord Russell met his proposals for a conference or congress at Brussels. We know, moreover, that the Emperor had a distinct leaning towards Prussia, which he looked upon as making for progress in contradistinction to Austria, which in his eyes was antiquated and retrograde.
It was, then, at St. Petersburg that the fate of Denmark was sealed and the first triumph of Bismarck’s policy secured. The Danish Duchies were stolen by Prussia, and, as my old friend M. de Massignac had foreseen, the foundations were laid of a navy which up to that time had been a dream in Cloudcuckooland. For the shameful abandonment of Denmark we are now, fifty years later, paying the just penalty.
THE END
_Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey._
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES
[1] See my “Garter Mission to Japan,” pp. 193-203.
[2] Max Müller, “Chips from a German Workshop,” IX., 178.
[3] Max Müller, _ut supra_.
[4] Even the famous Laws of Manu were only held to be Smriti—tradition.
[5] See Max Müller’s “Ancient Sanskrit Literature,” pp. 57 and 80.
[6] How like a passage in one of Robert Louis Stevenson’s prayers written at Vailima: “We thank Thee, Lord, for the glory of the late days and the excellent face of Thy Sun.”
[7] “Chips from a German Workshop,” Vol. I., p. 13.
[8] Max Müller’s “Chips,” Vol. I., pp. 36-37.
[9] _Picea pungens glauca._
[10] The Japanese, following the horology of the Chinese, used to divide the day of 24 hours into 12 periods, each of which had its sign, something like the sign of the Zodiac.
Midnight until 2 a.m. was the hour of the Rat 2 a.m. ” 4 a.m. ” ” Ox 4 a.m. ” 6 a.m. ” ” Tiger 6 a.m. ” 8 a.m. ” ” Hare 8 a.m. ” 10 a.m. ” ” Dragon 10 a.m. ” 12 noon ” ” Snake 12 noon ” 2 p.m. ” ” Horse 2 p.m. ” 4 p.m. ” ” Ram 4 p.m. ” 6 p.m. ” ” Ape 6 p.m. ” 8 p.m. ” ” Cock 8 p.m. ” 10 p.m. ” ” Hog 10 p.m. ” midnight ” ” Fox
[11] See my “Tales of Old Japan: the Loves of Gompachi and Komurasaki.”
[12] _Morning Post_, May 8th, 1915.
[13] Quoted in the _Spectator_, May 8th, 1915.
[14] Lord March, afterwards “Old Q.”
[15] The Duke of Queensberry.
[16] Mr. Thrale’s profits from the brewery were estimated at £30,000 a year.
[17] Mügge, pp. 131, 134.
[18]
“As when upon a trancèd summer night Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-chainèd by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir.”
HYPERION, I., 72.
[19] Tomini later quarrelled with Napoleon and entered the service of Alexander.
[20] The craze for absolute uniformity was exemplified in the Kurros (snub-nosed) Grenadier Regiment of the Emperor Paul. Not only was every nose in the regiment tip-tilted, but the meter-like brass shakos of the old pattern seen in Hogarth’s pictures—“The March to Finchley,” for example—each has a bullet-hole exactly in the same place. This was to commemorate an attempt on the Tsar’s life. The bullet missed him, but found its billet in the shako of one of his guards. Whether the snub-noses and the shakos still exist I know not. They were very conspicuous in my time.
[21] The Emperor Louis Napoleon.
[22] The word, “Nihilist” first appeared in Turgénieff’s story, “Fathers and Sons,” in 1861.
[23] “The Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield,” Vol. IV., p. 342.
[24] Buckle’s “Life of Disraeli,” _ut supra_, Vol. IV., p. 343.
INDEX
INDEX
Abdul Hamid, Sultan of Turkey, 138, 274.
Aberdeen, George H. Gordon, 4th Earl of, 269, 270.
Abrantès, Junot, Duc d’, 173-4.
Addison, Joseph, 114.
Albert, Prince Consort, 141-2.
Alexander I., Emperor of Russia, 247-8, 253 _et sq._, 258 _et sq._
Alexander II., Emperor of Russia, 264, 284 _et sq._, 296.
Allard, Father, 87.
Ananda, 25, 35, 40, 42.
Anatha Pindaka, 35.
Angeli, Von, 144.
Arnold, Sir Edwin, 18, 23.
Aryans, The, 49 _et sq._, 59 _et sq._
Asōka, King, 18, 51.
Aston, Molly, 241.
Aston, Sir Thomas, 241.
Bacon, Francis (Lord Verulam), 62, 189.
Bagatelle, 162-3, 175, 190-1, 193, 195.
Balfe, Michael William, 294.
Balfe, Victoire, 294-5.
“Bamboo Garden, The,” Lord Redesdale’s, ix.
Barbosa, 49.
Baring, Maurice, 203-4.
Barlaam and Josaphat, The Story of, 27 _et sq._
Batsford, x. _et sq._, xviii., xix., xxi.
Beaconsfield, Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of, 304.
Beal, Samuel, 23.
Beethoven, 151-2, 218, 251.
Benares, King of, 37.
Benfey, Theodor, 60 _et sq._
Berghaus, Heinrich, 52.
Bernhardt, Sarah, 152.
Bezbarooks, Count, 248.
Bhikshus, The, 42 _et sq._, 214.
Bimbisara, King of Maghada, 12, 32, 35.
Bismarck, Prince, 307-8.
Bizet, Georges, 218.
Blümml, Emil, 130.
Bodhisatva Maitriya, 37 _et sq._
Bonjean, M., 87.
Bopp, Franz, 60.
Boutourlin, 256.
Brahmans, The, 48 _et sq._, 65, 68-9
Brockhaus, Professor, 214.
Broughton, John Cam Hobhouse, Lord, 45.
Buckingham, Richard Grenville, 2nd Duke of, 186.
Buckle, George Earle, 304, 306.
Buddha, The, 8 _et sq._, 46 _et sq._, 65 _et sq._, 96, 233.
Bunsen, Baron, 54 _et sq._
Burnouf, Jean Louis, 60.
Byron, Lord, 45, 207.
Cambridge, xx.
Canning, Lord, 287, 290.
Canning, George, 167.
Capell, Edward, 242-3.
Carlisle, Lord, 171-2.
Carlyle, Thomas, 259.
Caste, 48 _et sq._
Castiglione, Countess, 222-31.
Castlereagh, Lord, 167.
Catherine the Great, 248-9, 252.
Cavell, Nurse, 93.
Cellini, Benvenuto, 155.
Chandana, 26.
Charles VI., Emperor, 137, 145.
Charles X. of France, 175.
Chandra Mukherji, 13-14, 18, 30.
Chelsea Hospital, 97.
Chreptowitch, Count, 289, 290.
Christian, King of Denmark, 305.
Cimarosa, Domenico, 151.
Cissey, General, 91.
Clair, Father, 87.
Clarendon, George Villiers, Earl of, 301.
Clarkson, Thomas, 298.
Clopton, Sir Hugh, 240 _et sq._
Commune, The, 78 _et sq._
Confucius, 33, 52-3.
Constantine, Grand Duke, 262, 267-8, 288.
Cook, Dr., 227-8.
Courbet, Gustave, 83 _et sq._
Cowes, Royal Yacht Squadron Castle, xii. _et sq._
Crampton, Sir John, 292 _et sq._
Crawley, George, 79.
Crimean War, 270 _et sq._
Dagmar, Empress of Russia, 304.
Dandapani, 24.
Dante, xix. _et sq._, 206.
Darboy, Monseigneur, Archbishop of Paris, 87 _et sq._
Dasson, M., 180.
Daudet, Alphonse, xxiii.
Daudet, Ernest, xxiii.
Davids Rhys, 23, 31, 37.
Davis, Mr. Charles, 198.
Devadatta, 24-5, 35-6, 40.
Dietrichstein, Count, 134.
Dodgson, Rev. Charles, 229.
Domenichino, 183.
Donay, General, 91.
Dostoieffski, Feodor, 205.
Drummond, Messrs. G. & E., 158.
Ducondray, Father, 87.
Duplessis, Isabella, 132.
Dyer, Sir William, 243.
Edward VII., 93, 200.
Elizabeth, Empress, 132.
Ellis, Sir Arthur, 201.
Enghien, Duc d’, 254.
Esher, Reginald Brett, 2nd Viscount, 189 _et sq._, 199.
Eton College, 209 _et sq._
Eugénie, 94.
Evans, Jennie, 209, 211.
Evans, William, 209 _et sq._
Evelyn, John, 243.
Fagnani, Marchese, 165 _et sq._, 172.
Fagnani, Marchesa, 165 _et sq._
Fagnani, Maria. _See_ LADY HERTFORD.
Fa Hsien, 13.
Faraday, Michael, 53.
Ferronays, M. de la, 263-4.
Fitzmaurice, Lord Edmond, 287, 290.
Fragonard, Jean, 112, 175.
Francis of Assisi, St., 47, 54 _et sq._, 214.
Francis I., Emperor, 134, 137-8, 142, 147.
Fraser, Sir James, 125.
Frederick the Great, 143, 146.
Friar, Duc de, 295.
Fryatt, Captain, 93.
Fuchs, Gräfin, 133.
Gainsborough, Sir Thomas, 101, 172.
Gaisman, 145.
Gallifet, Marquis de, 91 _et sq._