MISCELLANEOUS MEMORIES
My Embarrassment--A Spy--I Am Easily Taken In--A Demand for Fifty
Pounds--A Threat--I Defy the Blackmailer--A Warning--Gladstone's
Refusal to Meet Gambetta--My Husband's Dilemma--Russian Views on
Duelling--Kinglake Challenges an Emperor--My Brother's
Views--Kinglake's Charm--The Value of an Englishman--The Dogger Bank
Incident
I once heard an after-dinner speaker refer to his remarks as "long
pauses bridged by a poverty of thought." I find that a volume of
reminiscences is in danger of becoming a sheaf of inconsequences bound
by unpardonable egotism. I seem long since to have exhausted what I
regard as a reasonable number of I's; and then again, there are so many
things that I want to say that bear no reasonable relation to each
other.
My position is that of the young man at a dinner party who was boiling
over with eagerness to tell a shooting story. He waited impatiently
for the conversation to develop in such a direction as would enable him
to drag it in. Dessert arrived, and still no opening. In sheer
desperation he stamped loudly on the floor beneath the table. "What
was that? Sounded like a gun. Talking of guns, etc.," and he secured
his opening.
If I appear inconsequent, my readers must remember that young man's
shooting story and forgive me.
{183}
For some reason that I have never quite been able to understand, people
seem to think that I am endowed with great wealth. If they only knew
how money hates me. The moment I take it into my hands it runs and
runs away from me with frightened speed. But all this does not prevent
people from convincing themselves not only that I am possessed of great
riches, but that I am so stupid as not to know what to do with them.
Sometimes this state of affairs is extremely tiresome. I recall one
incident that should be a lesson to others as it has been a lesson to
me. One day a card was brought to me bearing the name
GRETCHEN ----
Aus Riga.
I asked myself: is that Gretchen going to complain to me of her Faust?
Have I to chastise that captivating _mangeur de Coeurs_? But the fact
that my visitor was from Riga, and thus a compatriot of mine to a great
extent, prevailed upon my doubts, and I received my young lady, who by
the way was not particularly young and not exactly a fashionable lady,
was not only terribly lean, but angular and wretched in appearance.
This killed my hesitation, and I eagerly tried to find out what she
wanted and what I could do, and who recommended her to me. "Nobody,"
she said. "I never heard your name, but by mere chance saw it in the
_Court Guide_." She wanted some remunerative work, as remunerative as
possible. I already had a secretary, but engaged my "Gretchen" as an
extra reader. She seemed pleased, and I was in hopes {184} that I
should also be pleased with that new alliance. My new reader was
certainly not stupid, and always wanted to have some messages for my
friends, wanting to know everything about everybody. Always being busy
and short of time I could not satisfy that curious fancy of my
"Gretchen." She said she knew nobody in England, except myself. I
tried to help her, advising her to start a little boarding-house,
especially as I was going to Scotland for a fortnight to stay with Lady
Mary Nisbet-Hamilton. Besides, a new plan suggested itself to me; I
thought that whilst "Gretchen" was looking for her rooms and furniture,
she might live in my rooms at the hotel during my absence. May I now
say that no plan could be more foolish and dangerous than mine turned
out to be.
Scotland is a wonderfully hospitable and kind part of the world, and
oh! how beautiful, and I was naturally captivated and prolonged my
visit. On returning to my hotel I found "Gretchen" much less angular
and less melancholy. The little cottage was found, the furniture
bought, and she still wanted only a little more help. Upon this we
parted, to my great satisfaction. But something perfectly unexpected
happened to me a few weeks later. "My Gretchen" returned to me and
said that she decidedly wanted more help, not less than £50 (fifty).
At that time, my pocket being empty, I looked at her sternly and said:
"But you are mad, this is out of the question," "No," said she, "you
shall give me this money. In fact I can compel you to do so. Do you
know that I can sell your correspondence to an editor or a publisher?
{185} You forgot to lock your drawers and I have taken a copy of all
letters addressed to you." I confess I was appalled.
This happened in the years 1878-1880, I don't remember which, when I
was in the midst of a tremendous political agitation. With my answer I
generally returned letters which might be taken as political documents,
still my drafts could serve as a clue to many important discussions,
and then I remembered that I did not return Bishop Strossmeyer's letter
to Mr. Gladstone, as I wanted to discuss it verbally at our first
meeting.
Yes, I was terribly served for my imprudence. However, trying to look
perfectly calm, I said: "Very well, sell my correspondence, sell your
copies to whom you like, but I cannot give you the money you require,
and I forbid you ever to come to me again. Sell me to whomsoever you
like, be it a statesman or a publisher."
A few years later a friend of mine was interested to find out what had
become of her and her boarding-house, but there she heard that my
Gretchen had left England and many debts behind her. We then
understood that I simply had been in the hands of a spy. But have I
not been cruelly punished for being young and stupid? Alas! stupidity
is very often a great luxury for which one pays dearly. I was still in
deep mourning, and somehow personal questions affected me very little.
I hope that this strange experience will be understood by some of my
indulgent readers, and may at the same time serve as a warning
especially to thoughtless, confiding Russians.
{186}
I remember dear Kinglake once annoying me by referring to John Bright
as "only" a Quaker. I had for Bright a great admiration, and before I
had finished I think poor dear "Eothen" became convinced of the fact.
My first meeting with Bright was in the late eighties. I was as
carried away as were my two brothers, Nicolas and Alexander Kiréeff, by
the movement of the Old Catholics and the idea of Universal Peace (even
before The Hague Conference). Great was my joy when one day the visit
was announced to me of the famous John Bright, whose name was not only
known, but also revered in Russia. We naturally began talking on the
mission of "The Friends" to Russia, their reception by the Emperor
Nicolas, and the Crimean War.
"After all," said I frankly, "in spite of all her sacrifices in the
year '54, England has gained but little; just a monument in Pall Mall
inscribed 'Crimea' to remind the world of a costly struggle."
Our interview lasted about two hours. He talked away and I remained a
patient listener. I confess I fancied that as I said nothing, the
conversation would be quite to his liking! And I suppose it was, for
meeting a friend of mine shortly afterwards, he remarked: "I saw O.K.
the other day. I was very much struck by her. She is the very picture
of health and strength. She will never grow old."
Nothing more! Was it not dreadful? Are you smiling?
Our position in Finland offers sometimes amusing experiences. I
remember my poor husband's trouble at Helsingfors. At that time he was
attached {187} to the Grand Duke Nicolas (father of the present Grand
Duke), who was always very kind to him. In meeting his chief at
Helsingfors he was invited to come to lunch on the same day. At the
appointed time, having put on all his decorations and the appropriate
uniform, he went out into the street and tried to get a cab. He saw
many vacant vehicles one after the other, and made desperate signs to
make them stop, all in vain. Not even the policeman seemed to
understand what the poor General tried to explain. Will you believe
it!--Novikoff entirely missed his appointment because they all
pretended that they could not understand a word of Russian. I confess
my husband's distress amused me, but his helplessness seemed so
incredible that I only saw its funny side at the time--whilst in
reality it certainly possessed also a very serious side.
It was always pleasing and interesting to me to feel and to know that
my old friend Kinglake and my dear brother Alexander, though they did
not then know each other personally, were linked together by a common
opinion on a subject they both took very deeply to heart: the subject
of duels. Kinglake could never pardon the Duke of Wellington the
abolition of duelling in the British Army.
Personally, having always felt very strongly against every kind of
violence or bloodshed, I found his point of view very difficult to
understand, and often tried to investigate more profoundly the ethics
of the question.
"Do you really mean," I said to Kinglake one day, "that it is right and
justifiable for people to {188} attack each other, sometimes for the
flimsiest reasons, as is so often done in Germany, just for the fun of
the thing--while the tragic little game, as often as not, ends in the
death of one of the combatants?"
"That is so," said Kinglake seriously; "but the possibility of a duel
ennobles the spirit of a country, is an education in manners, and
results in the development of a kind of moral _muscle_."
The anecdote, by the way, is well known that Kinglake once sent a
challenge, went off to Boulogne where the duel was to take place,
waited there for days in vain, and, his adversary having failed to
appear or to make any sort of response, returned to London in disgust.
The point of this story, however, has never been revealed, and after so
many years I think I can hardly be accused of indiscretion if I tell my
readers the interesting detail that the adversary to whom Kinglake had
sent his unanswered challenge was no less a personage than Louis
Napoleon, afterwards the Emperor Napoleon III! I have this from
Abraham Hayward, a very indiscreet friend of Kinglake's, who never
appreciated the importance of the Oriental saying: "Speech is silver
and silence is gold." For my part, I have often regretted having said
too much, and never deplored having said too little.
But to return to the serious aspect of the question. My brother,
though he always strongly condemned the frivolity and light-mindedness
with which the practice of duelling is treated in Germany, held the
view that duels were an indispensable necessity where questions of
honour are concerned.
{189}
"Can you imagine," he said to me one day in reply to a remonstrance in
this connection, "that I could, for instance, allow some madman to
attack with impunity your good name or that of our mother? How could I
hesitate for a moment to send him a challenge?"
"But you yourself say '_a madman_,'" I protested. "A madman is not
responsible for his actions."
"The line between madness and sanity," answered my brother, "is a very
difficult one to determine. The punishment of certain misdeeds is
necessary, not only for the culprit himself, but as a deterrent and
precautionary measure, without which no civilised society can long
exist in safety."
My brother, indeed, was exceedingly keen on this subject, and really
became quite an authority on the question of duelling. Not long before
his death, when he was already very ill, General Mikoulin, who was
publishing a book in this connection, came and asked my brother to give
him some of his views, which he did at some length.
"Why can we not publish your thoughts ourselves?" I protested, when
Mikoulin had left the room; "why should you give them to someone else?"
My brother smiled sadly.
"Is it not all the same?" he asked. "As long as these views are
propagated, what matter under whose name? Mikoulin is a staff-general,
and I am sure he will do it well."
Mikoulin, by the way, who published the book entirely according to what
my brother had told him, was killed the other day, after many brilliant
deeds. It seems to me that some of the opinions my {190} brother at
various times expressed on this favourite theme, may be of interest to
English readers. I will quote from some of his letters and articles.
"The question of duels in military circles," he once wrote, "has been
thoroughly investigated and placed in its true position by the firm,
guiding hand of our late beloved Emperor Alexander III, always so
sensitive in matters of personal honour, and so keen for the
preservation of peace.
"The matter is by no means an easy one to deal with, the more so as few
people have the courage to discuss it with frankness and sincerity,
preferring rather to 'run with the hare and hunt with the hounds,' in
an indefinite desire to appear both ultra-humane and ultra-chivalrous!
"Duels have always existed, still exist, and will continue always to
exist, whatever may be said against them and whatever measures may be
taken to do away with them. I will even go so far as to say that they
must exist, as long as the moral status of society does not rise above
its present level, as long as our culture does not grow broader."
"Is it not strange that no one will deny my right, revolver in hand, to
defend my watch or my money against the assaults of a burglar? Why
then am I to be denied the right to defend my honour in the same
fashion? Besides, in defending my honour, I am defending society--for
indeed it would be unthinkable to live in a world where honour could
find no defender!
[Illustration: ALEXANDER KIRÉEFF]
"Does it not seem strange and illogical to admit the defence of one's
minor worldly goods and to forbid that of the most precious of all
treasures? {191} We who believe in duels attack nobody--we only defend
ourselves against attack. Let no one attack us, and we shall be as
silent as deep waters, as unobtrusive as grass. The priceless treasure
of our honour may be, in the opinion of others, an illusion, an
abstract nothing that has no set value on markets and exchanges--but to
us, it is precious. Leave us in peace. We do not ask you to abandon
your utilitarianism, your financial materialism, we do not in fact
interfere with _your_ ideals, cannot you let us abide, unmolested, by
_ours_?
"It is obvious, of course, that while defending duelling as a system, I
do not for a moment deny the many undesirable factors that cannot be
prevented from occasionally creeping into it. The ideal duel would be
one in which the combatants would take upon themselves the defence not
of personal, but of public and social interests and rights. Such a
high level is, of course, hard to attain, but the element of personal
revenge can nevertheless be considerably diminished.
"We hear on all sides that duelling is no better than murder, that
duellists are brainless and thoughtless, that none but a fool could, in
our enlightened age, mistake such a mad, meaningless savagery for
chivalry. Poor duels, and poor irresponsible duellists! Were
Pouschkin and Lermontoff, those victims of offended honour, really such
fools? And Bentham, and the great socialist Lassalle himself? No--on
certain conditions, duels are inevitable, and not one of my opponents
in this matter will ever produce or invent anything better to take
their place."
After quoting these passages from various of my {192} brother's private
letters and articles, I insist upon adding that I have never seen a man
more courteous, polite and universally esteemed than he. Two of our
old generals--General Fock and General Smirnoff--who distinguished
themselves by their courage in the Japanese war, quarrelled and found
no one better able to arbitrate between them than Alexander Kiréeff.
Their confidence in him was unlimited, but he understood that the
question was of vital importance, and that a duel was unavoidable.
Both combatants asked him to be present at the duel, and to see that
the Russian duelling laws were strictly adhered to, which he did.
General Smirnoff was wounded, but both recognised that my brother did
all he could to bring about a reconciliation. If he failed, it only
showed that certain tragic elements in life will take place in spite of
all our efforts to prevent them.
I may add that my brother, equipped as he was with his chivalrous code
of honour, was also an expert fencer, so distinguished indeed that, at
a public fencing competition at Naples open to the whole of Europe, he
carried off the first prize--a gold sword of honour. But I am glad to
say that never once did he engage in a duel.
Apart from being in favour of duelling, Kinglake was, although in
himself essentially a man of peace, all for war; it thinned out
populations, just as duelling kept up a better tone in society. I, on
the other hand, the daughter of a man who earned the St. George's Cross
on the battlefield, the sister of two soldiers, and the wife of
another, was always dreaming of peace.
{193}
My own idea is that no generation that has suffered a great war ever
wants another. That is left for following generations who cannot
conceive the horrors of what they themselves have not experienced.
Whenever I was absent from England I always received from Kinglake a
weekly letter. I remember his once complaining that writing to a lady
through the poste restante was like trying to kiss a nun through a
double grating. Sometimes he would imitate the "little language" of
the great satirist Swift, calling himself "poor dear me," and referring
to me as "my dear miss." Thereby hangs a story.
On one occasion at dinner Hayward told a characteristic anecdote which,
although it seemed to amuse the other ladies present, caused me
considerable embarrassment. Kinglake afterwards said to me: "I thought
you were a hardened married woman; I shall henceforth call you 'miss.'"
He was a very sweet, lovable man, old in years but a youth in heart.
His letters were full of gaiety and persiflage.
Once he wrote to me:
"Hayward can pardon you having an ambassador or two at your _feet_, but
to find the way to your _heart_, obstructed by a crowd of astronomers,
Russ-expansionists, metaphysicians, theologians, translators,
historians, poets--this is more than I can endure."
He was never tired of rallying me about my callers and friends,
insisting that I was a _grande dame_ to whom all the really great in
the land came to {194} make obeisance. Once when staying at Sidmouth
he wrote:
"Mrs. Grundy has a small house there, but she does not know me by
sight. If Madame Novikoff were to come, the astonished little town,
dazzled first by her, would find itself invaded by theologians,
bishops, ambassadors of deceased emperors, and an ex-Prime Minister."
When he gave me his photograph, and I gave him mine, he referred to the
transaction as "an exchange between the personified months of May and
November."
On one occasion _The Times_ inserted, to Kinglake's great indignation,
a statement that I had been obliged to leave England. Shortly
afterwards Chinery, the editor, happened to seat himself at the same
table with Kinglake at the Athenæum Club. Kinglake immediately rose
and moved to another part of the room.
"So unlike me," was his comment; "but somehow a savagery as of youth
came over me in my ancient days; it was like being twenty years old
again."
Later, however, he discovered that Froude had been indirectly
responsible for the paragraph, and Kinglake immediately found means of
conveying to Chinery his regrets.
Poor dear "Eothen's" mind was powerful and bright to his last day. I
called on him frequently during his last days, and it was not until the
end, which came on January 2nd, 1891, that I realised the extent of my
loss.
For one thing there is, in the Englishman's eyes, {195} nothing more
sacred on earth than the person and property of an Englishman. It
would be well if some of our Russian officials would follow the example
of their English friends. It is a praiseworthy and unquestioned fact
that all Englishmen at home and abroad are penetrated by a personal
sense of their duty towards each other. Everything English must be
defended and encouraged, every Englishman must be helped and protected.
Such patriotic _esprit de corps_ and solidarity makes one sometimes
feel quite envious, and indeed I have often noticed the very natural
smile of incredulous surprise with which English people regard the
so-frequently-met-with indifference shown by certain Russian officials
towards Russian affairs.
An amusing example comes to my mind in connection with Lord Napier of
Ettrick, a former British Ambassador at Petrograd, and a great friend
of mine. Lord Napier called on me one day, and greeted me with a
humorous glance. "I have just been to see your Governor-General," he
said, smiling. "What funny people there are in the world! I went on
business about some Englishman who came to me a few days ago with a
complaint against a Russian. I was too busy to occupy myself with the
matter, so thought I would hand it over to the local authorities. The
Governor-General, however, didn't give me time to say much--before I
had explained anything, he interrupted me with the warmest assurances
that I need have no fears whatever,--that the Russians would be
punished, and the Englishman given full satisfaction for whatever
offence he may have suffered."
{196}
"I considered it my duty," continued Lord Napier, "to make it quite
clear to the Governor-General that I knew nothing about the rights of
the matter and that it was necessary to look into the facts. After
all, the Englishman might be in the wrong, or the whole thing might be
an invention! But really, I had the greatest difficulty in persuading
our friend to consider such a possibility! Is not my impartiality
praiseworthy? Are you not pleased?" and Lord Napier smiled
questioningly. We both laughed, and I thought it best to treat the
incident as a good joke--but actually, I confess that its humour by no
means appealed to me!
Let me draw a parallel: A few years ago a woman of doubtful nationality
was arrested by the Russian authorities in Warsaw. She immediately
wailed out that she was of British extraction, and made a theatrical
appeal "to the English nation," through the medium of some English
newspaper correspondent.
Without making the smallest attempt at investigating the circumstances,
the whole of Great Britain was up in arms and astir with anger and
indignation. Excited meetings and demonstrations followed through the
length and breadth of the land, while the newspapers filled their
columns with foolish unfounded libels on Russia. The whole agitation
only ended with the official report of the British Consul in Warsaw,
announcing the Emperor's pardon, by which the originator of all this
agitation was allowed to return to her country.
It is indeed a happy fact that no Englishman or Englishwoman need ever
fear to travel in any {197} country where there exists a British
Embassy or Consulate. Every British subject knows that wherever he may
be, there is someone who can, in case of need, protect and defend him,
and that once he has announced his nationality he has nothing more to
fear.
All this only makes one repeat the wish that our Russian officials
might somehow be induced to show more interest in their
fellow-countrymen, and, in their international relations, to follow
closely and fearlessly the admirable example of our great ally England.
It appeared to us Russians that England was always on the look out for
something to magnify into an international incident. As I write, I am
reminded of another incident where the sacredness of the person of
British subjects was demonstrated. This was the Dogger Bank affair.
Although the circumstances are well known, I will recapitulate them.
Russia was at war with Japan, and her Baltic Fleet was on the way to
the Far East. On the night of October 21st-22nd, 1904, fifty British
trawlers, manned by some five hundred men, were engaged in fishing on
the Dogger Bank. The first division of the Baltic Fleet passed them,
the second division turned their searchlights upon the fishing boats.
The officers in charge imagined that they saw torpedo boats
approaching. They immediately opened fire on the trawlers with
quick-firing guns, and in the course of twenty minutes had fired some
three hundred shots. Their gunnery was not very good, however, as
fortunately only six of the boats were hit, one being sunk. Two
fishermen were {198} killed, and four wounded. The Russian fleet then
steamed away to the south.
Unfortunately the officers of this scratch fleet seemed to have been
suffering from nerves, but that did not, I think, justify the outcry
raised in this country.
I wrote to the Press, drawing attention to a similar mistake that had
occurred in 1890, in which the position had been reversed. It was on
the occasion of the joint international forces that were being sent
from Tientsin to Peking at the time of the Boxer Revolt. About
midnight on June 4 a body of Russian sailors were returning on foot
from their work. Some English sailors, believing them to be Boxers,
opened fire from the railway carriages. Before the mistake had been
discovered two Russians had been killed and several others wounded.
Vice-Admiral Seymour, who was in command of the British forces,
hastened to send an official letter of regret, which was immediately
accepted, and there the matter ended. There was no outcry in the
Russian Press--we understood and accepted the Englishman's word.
{199}