THE AWAKENING OF RUSSIA
A New Era--My Brother Nicholas--Hadji Ghiray: Hero--Terrible News--A
Heroic Advance--My Brother's Death--Aksakoff's Famous Speech--Russia
Aflame--A Nation's Sacrifice--My Heart-broken Letters--Mr. Gladstone's
Response--Mutual Suspicion--My Visits to England
It is not only easy, but delightful at this moment to write in dear
England about Russia and Russians, about our institutions and customs,
confessing even our drawbacks when they have to be explained. But,
alas! some thirty or forty years ago such was not the case.
I wonder if it will interest English people to follow the life of a
Russian, who, like myself, has felt the effect of these different
currents.
We must remember, that, if at this moment, everything English is not
only appreciated in Russia, but even enthusiastically admired, things
were quite different at the time when I began writing pro-Russian
articles in England.
Yes, indeed: the Russian feelings in the years '76, '77 and '78 were
permeated with severe bitterness against Disraeli's English policy so
hostile to Russia.
Find and study the Russian papers of these years. They will show you
how all the Russian Press, and {30} in fact the whole country, was
convinced that Turkey would never have refused to introduce the reforms
asked by Russia in favour of the tortured Slavs if it had not been for
England's cruel support and advice.
The whole of Russia at that time was seething with indignation and
resentment.
In the year 1876 in all our papers, and in every mouth, were variations
on the same theme:
"England is the principal cause of all our sacrifices and losses.
England's obedient slave, Turkey, refuses all our most legitimate
demands in favour of our co-religionists, our brethren by race.
Turkey's insolent opposition is England's doing. Besides, the Russian
Government hesitated to present her Ultimatum to the Sultan--not being
prepared for war."
And so it really was. Russia then was as pacific and unprepared for
fighting as she was at the beginning of the present gigantic
Armageddon. Russia imagined that everybody understood that she was not
coveting new acquisitions, and was quite unprepared for war, which was
true enough--indeed she seemed as if she never cared to be prepared.
She lived in a fool's Paradise, insisting on universal peace as at The
Hague Conference, and as if the whole world were composed of "the
friends" (better known as "Quakers").
The present diabolical war has taught us many good lessons, including
the necessity for prudence in the future. It will also teach us to
develop our own endless resources without depending on foreign help,
which is always paid for not only at usual, {31} but at monstrous
prices, such as those which now exist at Petrograd and Moscow.
But hostile as Russia was in 1876 to any kind of war, yet, when the
Balkan troubles commenced, crowds of poor Russians, preferring death to
peace at any price, rushed to that country, concealing even from their
relatives and friends their determination to support the Slavs,
notwithstanding the complete unpreparedness of the latter. That was
perhaps pure folly on the part of our volunteers, but a sublime and
heroic folly, of which we are now proud. At that time, however, I, at
all events (in spite of all) only felt the bitterness of indignation
and despair with our Government and with England's policy.
My brother, Nicholas, as a member of the Slavonic Benevolent Society,
went to Belgrade, Sofia and Cettingje. But he went armed only with
money collected for ambulances and for the establishment of medical
depôts, where medical aid could be obtained. The insurrection in
Bosnia and Herzegovina was already spreading, and no preparations had
been made. The helplessness of the wretched Balkan Slavs was simply
appalling. As Nicholas had distributed all the money entrusted to him,
and had sent in all his accounts to the Benevolent S. Society to the
last copeck, our brother Alexander and I expected his speedy return to
Russia.
In fact, I had Alexander's letter in my pocket, where he spoke of
Nicholas' splendid business-like arrangement, when I read in all the
papers a short but terrible telegram: "Hadji Ghiray is killed at
Zaitcher"--it was Nicholas Kiréeff. He had joined {32} the Serbians
under an assumed name, as we later discovered.
My horror at this news was indescribable. I could not believe it. But
it was soon followed by a wire from Alexander which said: "The Emperor
has sent for me and informed me of our brother's death. He allows me
to go to you at once, and we will go to see Mother in Italy. She must
be now at Lucca, and probably knows nothing as yet of our misfortune."
I shall hope to be forgiven for quoting Kinglake's account of my
brother's sacrifice. It was characteristically Russian in its
Quixotism:
"The young Nichol ... Kiréeff was a noble, and being by nature a man of
an enthusiastic disposition, with the romantic example before him in
the life of his father, he had accustomed himself to the idea of
self-sacrifice. Upon the outbreak of Prince Milan's insurrection, he
went off to Servia with the design of acting simply under the banner of
the Red Cross, and had already entered upon his humane task, when he
found himself called upon by General Tchernaieff to accept the command
of what we may call a brigade--a force of some five thousand infantry,
consisting of volunteers and militiamen, supported, it seems, by five
guns; and before long, he not only had to take his brigade into action,
but to use it as the means of assailing an entrenched position at
Rakovitz. Young Kiréeff very well understood that the irregular force
entrusted to him was far from being one that could be commanded in the
hour of battle by taking a look with a field-glass and uttering a few
words to an aide-de-camp; so {33} he determined to carry forward his
men by the simple and primitive expedient of personally advancing in
front of them. He was a man of great stature, with extraordinary
beauty of features, and, whether owing to the midsummer heat, or from
any wild, martyr-like, or dare-devil impulse, he chose, as he had done
from the first, to be clothed altogether in white. Whilst advancing in
front of his troops against the Turkish battery he was struck--first by
a shot passing through his left arm, then presently by another one
which struck him in the neck, and then again by yet another one which
shattered his right hand and forced him to drop his sword; but, despite
all these wounds, he was still continuing his resolute advance, when a
fourth shot passed through his lungs, and brought him, at length, to
the ground, yet did not prevent him from uttering--although with great
effort--the cry of 'Forward! Forward!' A fifth shot, however, fired
low, passed through the fallen chief's heart and quenched his gallant
spirit. The brigade he had commanded fell back, and his body--vainly
asked for soon afterwards by General Tchernaieff--remained in the hands
of the Turks."[1]
[1] _The Invasion of the Crimea_. Sixth edition.
[Illustration: NICOLAS KIRÉEFF]
I saw it stated in the newspapers a short time back that a German
officer and some hundred and fifty men had surrendered to the British,
stating that he and his men would probably be of more use to Germany
alive than dead. When I think of the tragedy surrounding the death of
my brother, Nicholas Kiréeff, I can now see that he served Russia
better by his death than he could by living for her.
The news of his heroic fall passed from one end {34} of Russia to the
other like the notes of a bugle calling an army into being. But for
his death my own humble efforts to bring about a better understanding
between two great nations might possibly never have been attempted.
There is probably no evil out of which good cannot be formed.
The effect of my brother's death was instantaneous and electrical. He
was the first Russian volunteer to fall in the cause of freedom, the
cause that people in Great Britain could not or would not understand.
Officers and men of the Russian army clamoured to go to the front. By
giving his life freely for the sake of his conscience, my brother was
the instrument of Russia doing one of the finest things that any nation
has ever done.
Kinglake has written:
"It may be that the grandeur of the young colonel's form and stature,
and the sight of the blood, showing vividly on his white attire, added
something extraneous and weird to the sentiment which might well be
inspired by witnessing his personal heroism ... but, be that as it may,
the actual result was that accounts of the incident--accounts growing
every day more and more marvellous--flew so swiftly from city to city,
from village to village, that before seven days had passed, the
smouldering fire of Russian enthusiasm leapt up into a dangerous flame.
Under countless green domes, big and small, priests fiercely chanting
the 'Requiem' for a young hero's soul, and setting forth the glory of
dying in defence of 'syn-orthodox' brethren, drew warlike responses
from men who--whilst still in cathedral or church--cried aloud that
they, too, would go where the young {35} Kiréeff had gone; and so many
of them hastened to keep their word, that before long a flood of
volunteers from many parts of Russia was pouring fast into Belgrade.
To sustain the once kindled enthusiasm apt means were taken. The
simple photograph, representing the young Kiréeff's noble features,
soon expanded to large-sized portraits; and Fable then springing
forward in the Path of Truth, but transcending it with the swiftness of
our modern appliances, there was constituted in a strangely short time
one of those stirring legends which used to be the growth of long
years--a legend half warlike, half superstitious, which exalted its
really tall hero to the dimensions of a giant, and showed him piling up
hecatombs by a mighty slaughter of Turks."[2]
[2] _The Invasion of the Crimea_. Sixth edition.
The death of Nicholas Kiréeff was a kind of spark falling on a train of
gunpowder. In a month's time the whole of Russia was roused.
"The news of the death of Nicholas Kiréeff," said Aksakoff, in one of
his most famous speeches, "at once stimulated hundreds to become
volunteers--an event that repeated itself when the news was received of
the deaths of further Russian volunteers. Death did not frighten, but,
as it were, attracted them. At the beginning of the movement the
volunteers were men who had belonged to the army, and chiefly from
among the nobles. I remember the feeling of real emotion which I
experienced when the first sergeant came requesting me to send him to
Servia--so new to me was the existence of such a feeling in the ranks
of the people. This feeling soon grew in intensity when, not only old
soldiers, {36} but even peasants, came to me with the same request.
And how humbly did they persevere in their petition, as if begging
alms! With tears they begged me, on their knees, to send them to the
field of battle. Such petitions of the peasants were mostly granted,
and you should have seen their joy at the announcement of the decision!
However, those scenes became so frequent, and business increased to
such an extent, that it was quite impossible to watch the expression of
popular feeling, or to inquire into particulars from the volunteers as
to their motives. 'I have resolved to die for my Faith.' 'My heart
burns.' 'I want to help our brethren.' 'Our people are being killed.'
Such were the brief answers which were given with great sincerity. I
repeat there was not, and could not be, any mercenary motive on the
part of the volunteers. I, at least, conscientiously warned every one
of the hard lot awaiting him. Privations, wounds, and death were all
that these volunteers could expect for themselves, but they rightly
guessed that sooner or later the official Russian army would take up
their cause."
In less than a month after my brother's death 75 officers of the
Imperial Guards at Petrograd resigned their commission in the army, and
hurried to Serbia; 120 officers at Moscow and Southern Russia did the
same.
The impartial British Ambassador, Lord Augustus Loftus, informed his
Government that according to private information 20,000 Cossacks were
going to the Balkans in disguise. He also communicated the following
characteristic letter:
{37}
"Even women, old men, and children speak of nothing but the Slavonic
war. The warlike spirit of the Cossacks is on fire, and from small to
great they all await permission to fall on the Turks like a whirlwind.
At many of the settlements the Cossacks are getting their arms ready,
with a full conviction that in a few days the order will be given to
fall on the enemies of the Holy Faith and of their Slav brethren.
There is at the same time a general murmuring against diplomacy for its
dilatoriness in coming to the rescue. Deputies have arrived from many
of the Cossack settlements to represent to the Ataman that the Cossacks
are no longer able to stand the extermination of the Christians."
Lord Augustus Loftus reluctantly admitted that "neither the Emperor nor
Prince Gortschakoff are now able to resist the unanimous appeal of the
nation for intervention to protect and save their co-religionists." At
that time Russia knew perfectly well that nobody outside her realms
cared to share her sacrifices and her work, and that the greatest part
of England even threatened her with war--an eventuality which certainly
could not be contemplated with indifference.
The tragedy at Zaitschar had lighted a flame that spread throughout the
length of Russia. Enormous sums of money were offered with reckless
generosity. Foreigners who witnessed the enthusiasm of the movement
were astonished. They did not understand the romantic chivalry of the
Russian nature. Ivan Aksakoff, the President of the Benevolent Slav
Society in Moscow, alone collected more than a million roubles, and
everywhere Red Cross Societies {38} sprang up with a suddenness that
was amazing. I belonged to the Moscow Red Cross Committee. It was one
of our duties to collect money and material for ambulance work. I
recollect vividly, although forty years have since passed, how people
of all sorts and conditions came to us with their offerings. Women of
fashion tendered their jewels, paupers their copper coins. Everybody
gave what he could.
I could write volumes about what occurred in those glorious yet tragic
days. Everywhere I encountered examples of a deep religious enthusiasm
that seemed to animate the whole country, irrespective of class; yet
the foreign Press saw in this spontaneous movement only a sham
engineered for political purposes.
The years '76 and '77 formed a grand page of Russian history--years of
real crusade in our prosaic, materialistic nineteenth century. The
crowds of Russians who rushed to meet almost certain death in heroic
defence of their oppressed and unarmed Christian brethren in the East,
the vast sums of money, offered with spontaneous and reckless
generosity, astonished all those foreigners who witnessed the
marvellous enthusiasm of that movement.
This enthusiasm in Russia was the first direct result of my dear
brother's death; but there was another. I was prostrated with grief by
the shock. To my distraught mind England was responsible for the
tragedy. Had she not encouraged the Turk there would have been no war
and my brother would have been alive. If Mr. Gladstone had been in
power, my brother would not have been sacrificed. How bitterly I
upbraided England in my own mind. {39} As soon as I was well enough
and influenced by all that I had read in our Press about England's
interference with Russia's humane policy, and also by my personal
passionate grief, I simply lost my head. Can it be believed that I
wrote to my English friends in these very words: "It is England who has
killed my brother. It is England who prevents our Government from
helping our brethren in the Balkans. Russia was in duty bound to
remonstrate with the Sultan, even to the extent of threatening him with
war, the moment his massacres began. Impulsively Russian volunteers
rushed to the rescue, and my poor brother Nicholas happened to be the
first amongst them. He would not have been the first hero to be killed
at the head of the unarmed Serbian troops, if those had been enrolled
as official soldiers, well-armed and ready for battle."
Such letters can be written only, as this was, in moments of real
despair. But I must gratefully add that my English correspondents
understood my grief, and that people like Lord Napier, Froude,
Kinglake, Freeman, Charles Villiers, Sir William Harcourt and
others--then known to me rather as clever and pleasant
conversationalists--all answered me with extreme kindness and sympathy.
They assured me that Disraeli's policy in Turkey was wrong, that
Parliament intended to question it, that _The Daily News_ and other
papers had already started the campaign, etc., etc. Yes, I felt their
kindness, but the only person who left my letter unanswered was Mr.
Gladstone, and this rather grieved me. In fact, I expected that he
would have been the first to respond, as we had {40} understood each
other so well on the old Catholic movement.
Two or three weeks later, however, I received a communication from Mrs.
Gladstone, which read:
DEAR MADAME NOVIKOFF,
My husband, overwhelmed at this moment with business, wishes me to
write and express to you our sincere sympathy with you in your great
loss; indeed we know what it is to lose a precious brother, and we also
know as you do how to rejoice in a beautiful unselfish life being
crowned with joy eternal. You will ere this have read the answer to
your question as to Bulgaria in my husband's pamphlet in the
newspapers. England is at length roused from her lethargy; indeed it
is terrible what has been going on. Once more assuring you of our
heartfelt sympathy in your sorrow, believe me, yours very sincerely,
CATHERINE GLADSTONE.
I could not at the moment understand what she meant, but I was soon
enlightened by the appearance of the celebrated pamphlet on the
Bulgarian horrors.
[Illustration: MYSELF IN 1876]
Although all the letters I received were deeply sympathetic, I could
see that the sympathy expressed was with me personally rather than with
the cause I had so much at heart; for how can anyone sympathise with
what they do not understand?
Great Britain suspected Russia as if it were the most natural thing in
the world to do so, whilst Russia reciprocated by suspecting Great
Britain. Each put the worst possible construction upon the {41} acts
of the other. Seeing this, I decided to do all I could in my humble
and unpretentious way to further a better understanding between the two
nations. I remembered the fable of the mouse and the lion, and that
was the beginning of forty years' work, during which I have never once
wandered from the path I had chosen.
There is in the little kingdom of Serbia a village situated near the
place where Nicholas Kiréeff fell, named Kireevo in his honour. My
brother Alexander, who was present at the ceremony of naming the
village, was deeply impressed by its fervour and the gratitude shown to
a Russian hero. Whatever good I have been able to do I always regard
as an offering upon the grave of my brother Nicholas.
An intense craving came over me to explain to all my friends the
Russian public opinion's ground for accusing England of responsibility
for our mishaps in the Balkans and for the tardy declaration of war by
our Government. (All the telegrams and letters referring to these
terrible years have been duly collected by me and given to the
Roumiantzoff Museum in Moscow. Certain documents and letters belong to
history and must not perish with our death.) Let me give some further
details about what I (unsupported, unprotected, ignorant as I felt
myself to be) returned to face on my arrival in England. Those visits
to England, by the by, did not extend at first over a couple of months,
my family duties naturally taking me always back to Russia. I never
like to speak too much of myself, but I think I am in honour bound to
explain to all those who showed me their sympathetic {42} support that,
after all, my only object was to do my very best and in that way, to a
certain extent, deserve their support and sympathy.
My plan was a very simple one: to let England know real Russians and
Russian views, and to let Russia know England and English views.
{43}