TERRITORIAL EXPANSION AND FOREIGN POLICY
Rapid Growth of Russia--Expansive Tendency of Agricultural Peoples--The
Russo-Slavonians--The Northern Forest and the Steppe--Colonisation--The
Part of the Government in the Process of Expansion--Expansion towards
the West--Growth of the Empire Represented in a Tabular Form--Commercial
Motive for Expansion--The Expansive Force in the Future--Possibilities
of Expansion in Europe--Persia, Afghanistan, and India--Trans-Siberian
Railway and Weltpolitik--A Grandiose Scheme--Determined Opposition of
Japan--Negotiations and War--Russia's Imprudence Explained--Conclusion.
The rapid growth of Russia is one of the most remarkable facts of modern
history. An insignificant tribe, or collection of tribes, which, a
thousand years ago, occupied a small district near the sources of
the Dnieper and Western Dvina, has grown into a great nation with a
territory stretching from the Baltic to the Northern Pacific, and from
the Polar Ocean to the frontiers of Turkey, Persia, Afghanistan, and
China. We have here a fact well deserving of investigation, and as
the process is still going on and is commonly supposed to threaten our
national interests, the investigation ought to have for us more than a
mere scientific interest. What is the secret of this expansive power?
Is it a mere barbarous lust of territorial aggrandisement, or is it
some more reasonable motive? And what is the nature of the process? Is
annexation followed by assimilation, or do the new acquisitions retain
their old character? Is the Empire in its present extent a homogeneous
whole, or merely a conglomeration of heterogenous units held together
by the outward bond of centralised administration? If we could find
satisfactory answers to these questions, we might determine how far
Russia is strengthened or weakened by her annexations of territory, and
might form some plausible conjectures as to how, when, and where the
process of expansion is to stop.
By glancing at her history from the economic point of view we may easily
detect one prominent cause of expansion.
An agricultural people, employing merely the primitive methods of
agriculture, has always a strong tendency to widen its borders.
The natural increase of population demands a constantly increasing
production of grain, whilst the primitive methods of cultivation exhaust
the soil and steadily diminish its productivity. With regard to this
stage of economic development, the modest assertion of Malthus, that
the supply of food does not increase so rapidly as the population, often
falls far short of the truth. As the population increases, the supply
of food may decrease not only relatively, but absolutely. When a
people finds itself in this critical position, it must adopt one of two
alternatives: either it must prevent the increase of population, or it
must increase the production of food. In the former case it may legalise
the custom of "exposing" infants, as was done in ancient Greece; or it
may regularly sell a large portion of the young women and children,
as was done until recently in Circassia; or the surplus population
may emigrate to foreign lands, as the Scandinavians did in the ninth
century, and as we ourselves are doing in a more peaceable fashion
at the present day. The other alternative may be effected either
by extending the area of cultivation or by improving the system of
agriculture.
The Russo-Slavonians, being an agricultural people, experienced this
difficulty, but for them it was not serious. A convenient way of escape
was plainly indicated by their peculiar geographical position. They
were not hemmed in by lofty mountains or stormy seas. To the south and
east--at their very doors, as it were--lay a boundless expanse of thinly
populated virgin soil, awaiting the labour of the husbandman, and ready
to repay it most liberally. The peasantry therefore, instead of exposing
their infants, selling their daughters, or sweeping the seas as Vikings,
simply spread out towards the east and south. This was at once the most
natural and the wisest course, for of all the expedients for preserving
the equilibrium between population and food-production, increasing the
area of cultivation is, under the circumstances just described, the
easiest and most effective. Theoretically the same result might have
been obtained by improving the method of agriculture, but practically
this was impossible. Intensive culture is not likely to be adopted so
long as expansion is easy. High farming is a thing to be proud of when
there is a scarcity of land, but it would be absurd to attempt it where
there is abundance of virgin soil in the vicinity.
The process of expansion, thus produced by purely economic causes,
was accelerated by influences of another kind, especially during the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The increase in the number of
officials, the augmentation of the taxes, the merciless exactions of the
Voyevods and their subordinates, the transformation of the peasants
and "free wandering people" into serfs, the ecclesiastical reforms and
consequent persecution of the schismatics, the frequent conscriptions
and violent reforms of Peter the Great--these and other kinds of
oppression made thousands flee from their homes and seek a refuge in the
free territory, where there were no officials, no tax-gatherers, and
no proprietors. But the State, with its army of tax-gatherers and
officials, followed close on the heels of the fugitives, and those
who wished to preserve their liberty had to advance still further.
Notwithstanding the efforts of the authorities to retain the population
in the localities actually occupied, the wave of colonisation moved
steadily onwards.
The vast territory which lay open to the colonists consisted of two
contiguous regions, separated from each other by no mountains or
rivers, but widely differing from each other in many respects. The one,
comprising all the northern part of Eastern Europe and of Asia,
even unto Kamchatka, may be roughly described as a land of forests,
intersected by many rivers, and containing numerous lakes and marshes;
the other, stretching southwards to the Black Sea, and eastwards far
away into Central Asia, is for the most part what Russians call "the
Steppe," and Americans would call the prairies.
Each of these two regions presented peculiar inducements and peculiar
obstacles to colonisation. So far as the facility of raising grain was
concerned, the southern region was decidedly preferable. In the north
the soil had little natural fertility, and was covered with dense
forests, so that much time and labour had to be expended in making a
clearing before the seed could be sown.* In the south, on the contrary,
the squatter had no trees to fell, and no clearing to make. Nature had
cleared the land for him, and supplied him with a rich black soil of
marvellous fertility, which has not yet been exhausted by centuries
of cultivation. Why, then, did the peasant often prefer the northern
forests to the fertile Steppe where the land was already prepared for
him?
* The modus operandi has been already described; vide supra,
pp. 104 et seq.
For this apparent inconsistency there was a good and valid reason. The
muzhik had not, even in those good old times, any passionate love of
labour for its own sake, nor was he by any means insensible to the
facilities for agriculture afforded by the Steppe. But he could not
regard the subject exclusively from the agricultural point of view. He
had to take into consideration the fauna as well as the flora of the
two regions. At the head of the fauna in the northern forests stood
the peace-loving, laborious Finnish tribes, little disposed to molest
settlers who did not make themselves obnoxiously aggressive; on the
Steppe lived the predatory, nomadic hordes, ever ready to attack,
plunder, and carry off as slaves the peaceful agricultural population.
These facts, as well as the agricultural conditions, were known to
intending colonists, and influenced them in their choice of a new home.
Though generally fearless and fatalistic in a higher degree, they
could not entirely overlook the dangers of the Steppe, and many of them
preferred to encounter the hard work of the forest region.
These differences in the character and population of the two regions
determined the character of the colonisation. Though the colonisation
of the northern regions was not effected entirely without bloodshed, it
was, on the whole, of a peaceful kind, and consequently received little
attention from the contemporary chroniclers. The colonisation of the
Steppe, on the contrary, required the help of the Cossacks, and forms,
as I have already shown, one of the bloodiest pages of European history.
Thus, we see, the process of expansion towards the north, east, and
south may be described as a spontaneous movement of the agricultural
population. It must, however, be admitted that this is an imperfect
and one-sided representation of the phenomenon. Though the initiative
unquestionably came from the people, the Government played an important
part in the movement.
In early times when Russia was merely a conglomeration of independent
principalities, the Princes were under the moral and political
obligation of protecting their subjects, and this obligation coincided
admirably with their natural desire to extend their dominions. When the
Grand Princes of Muscovy, in the fifteenth century, united the numerous
principalities and proclaimed themselves Tsars, they accepted this
obligation for the whole country, and conceived much grander schemes of
territorial aggrandisement. Towards the north and northeast no strenuous
efforts were required. The Republic of Novgorod easily gained possession
of Northern Russia as far as the Ural Mountains, and Siberia was
conquered by a small band of Cossacks without the authorisation of
Muscovy, so that the Tsars had merely to annex the already conquered
territory. In the southern region the part played by the Government
was very different. The agricultural population had to be constantly
protected along a frontier of enormous length, lying open at all points
to the incursions of nomadic tribes. To prevent raids it was necessary
to keep up a military cordon, and this means did not always ensure
protection to those living near the frontier. The nomads often came in
formidable hordes, which could be successfully resisted only by large
armies, and sometimes the armies were not large enough to cope with
them. Again and again during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries
Tartar hordes swept over the country--burning the villages and towns,
and spreading devastation wherever they appeared--and during more than
two centuries Russia had to pay a heavy tribute to the Khans.
Gradually the Tsars threw off this galling yoke. Ivan the Terrible
annexed the three Khanates of the Lower Volga--Kazan, Kipttchak, and
Astrakhan--and in that way removed the danger of a foreign domination.
But permanent protection was not thereby secured to the outlying
provinces. The nomadic tribes living near the frontier continued their
raids, and in the slave markets of the Crimea the living merchandise was
supplied by Russia and Poland.
To protect an open frontier against the incursions of nomadic tribes
three methods are possible: the construction of a great wall, the
establishment of a strong military cordon, and the permanent subjugation
of the marauders. The first of these expedients, adopted by the Romans
in Britain and by the Chinese on their northwestern frontier, is
enormously expensive, and was utterly impossible in a country like
Southern Russia, where there is no stone for building purposes; the
second was constantly tried, and constantly found wanting; the third
alone proved practicable and efficient. Though the Government has
long since recognised that the acquisition of barren, thinly populated
steppes is a burden rather than an advantage, it has been induced to go
on making annexations for the purpose of self-defence, as well as for
other reasons.
In consequence of this active part which the Government took in the
extension of the territory, the process of political expansion sometimes
got greatly ahead of the colonisation. After the Turkish wars and
consequent annexations in the time of Catherine II., for example, a
great part of Southern Russia was almost uninhabited, and the deficiency
had to be corrected, as we have seen, by organised emigration. At the
present day, in the Asiatic provinces, there are still immense tracts of
unoccupied land, some of which are being gradually colonised.
If we turn now from the East to the West we shall find that the
expansion in this direction was of an entirely different kind. The
country lying to the westward of the early Russo-Slavonian settlements
had a poor soil and a comparatively dense population, and consequently
held out little inducement to emigration. Besides this, it was inhabited
by warlike agricultural races, who were not only capable of defending
their own territory, but even strongly disposed to make encroachments
on their eastern neighbours. Russian expansion to the westward was,
therefore, not a spontaneous movement of the agricultural population,
but the work of the Government, acting slowly and laboriously by means
of diplomacy and military force; it had, however, a certain historical
justification.
No sooner had Russia freed herself, in the fifteenth century, from
the Tartar domination, than her political independence, and even
her national existence, were threatened from the West. Her western
neighbours, were like herself, animated with that tendency to national
expansion which I have above described; and for a time it seemed
doubtful who should ultimately possess the vast plains of Eastern
Europe. The chief competitors were the Tsars of Moscow and the Kings
of Poland, and the latter appeared to have the better chance. In close
connection with Western Europe, they had been able to adopt many of the
improvements which had recently been made in the art of war, and they
already possessed the rich valley of the Dnieper. Once, with the help of
the free Cossacks, they succeeded in overrunning the whole of Muscovy,
and a son of the Polish king was elected Tsar in Moscow. By attempting
to accomplish their purpose in a too hasty and reckless fashion, they
raised a storm of religious and patriotic fanaticism, which very
soon drove them out of their newly acquired possessions. The country
remained, however, in a very precarious position, and its more
intelligent rulers perceived plainly that, in order to carry on the
struggle successfully, they must import something of that Western
civilisation which gave such an advantage to their opponents.
Some steps had already been taken in that direction. In the year 1553 an
English navigator, whilst seeking for a short route to China and India,
had accidentally discovered the port of Archangel on the White Sea, and
since that time the Tsars had kept up an intermittent diplomatic and
commercial intercourse with England. But this route was at all times
tedious and dangerous, and during a great part of the year it was closed
by the ice. In view of these difficulties the Tsars tried to import
"cunning foreign artificers," by way of the Baltic; but their efforts
were hampered by the Livonian Order, who at that time held the east
coast, and who considered, like the Europeans on the coast of Africa at
the present day, that the barbarous natives of the interior should not
be supplied with arms and ammunition. All the other routes to the West
traversed likewise the territory of rivals, who might at any time become
avowed enemies. Under these circumstances the Tsars naturally desired to
break through the barrier which hemmed them in, and the acquisition
of the eastern coast of the Baltic became one of the chief objects of
Russia's foreign policy.
After Poland, Russia's most formidable rival was Sweden. That
power early acquired a large amount of territory to the east of the
Baltic--including the mouths of the Neva, where St. Petersburg now
stands--and long harboured ambitious schemes of further conquest. In the
troublous times when the Poles overran the Tsardom of Muscovy, she took
advantage of the occasion to annex a considerable amount of territory,
and her expansion in this direction went on in intermittent fashion
until it was finally stopped by Peter the Great.
In comparison with these two rivals Russia was weak in all that regarded
the art of war; but she had two immense advantages: she had a very large
population, and a strong, stable Government that could concentrate the
national forces for any definite purpose. All that she required for
success in the competition was an army on the European model. Peter the
Great created such an army, and won the prize. After this the political
disintegration of Poland proceeded rapidly, and when that unhappy
country fell to pieces Russia naturally took for herself the lion's
share of the spoil. Sweden, too, sank to political insignificance, and
gradually lost all her trans-Baltic possessions. The last of them--the
Grand Duchy of Finland, which stretches from the Gulf of Finland to
the Polar Ocean--was ceded to Russia by the peace of Friederichshamm in
1809.
The territorial extent of all these acquisitions will be best shown in
a tabular form. The following table represents the process of expansion
from the time when Ivan III. united the independent principalities and
threw off the Tartar yoke, down to the accession of Peter the Great in
1682:
English
Sq. Miles.
In 1505 the Tsardom of Muscovy contained about 784,000
" 1583 " " " " 996,000
" 1584 " " " " 2,650,000
" 1598 " " " " 3,328,000
" 1676 " " " " 5,448,000
" 1682 " " " " 5,618,000
Of these 5,618,000 English square miles about 1,696,000 were in Europe
and about 3,922,000 in Asia. Peter the Great, though famous as a
conqueror, did not annex nearly so much territory as many of his
predecessors and successors. At his death, in 1752, the Empire
contained, in round numbers, 1,738,000 square miles in Europe and
4,092,000 in Asia. The following table shows the subsequent expansion:
In Europe and the Caucasus In Asia.
Eng. sq. m Eng. sq. m.
In 1725 the Russian Empire contained about 1,738,000 4,092,000
" 1770 " " " " 1,780,000 4,452,000
" 1800 " " " " 2,014,000 4,452,000
" 1825 " " " " 2,226,000 4,452,000
" 1855 " " " " 2,261,250 5,194,000
" 1867 " " " " 2,267,360 5,267,560
" 1897 " " " " 2,267,360 6,382,321
In this table is not included the territory in the North-west of
America--containing about 513,250 English square miles--which was
annexed to Russia in 1799 and ceded to the United States in 1867.
When once Russia has annexed she does not readily relax her grasp. She
has, however, since the death of Peter the Great, on four occasions
ceded territory which had come into her possession. To Persia she ceded,
in 1729, Mazanderan and Astrabad, and in 1735 a large portion of the
Caucasus; in 1856, by the Treaty of Paris, she gave up the mouths of the
Danube and part of Bessarabia; in 1867 she sold to the United States her
American possessions; in 1881 she retroceded to China the greater
part of Kuldja, which she had occupied for ten years; and now she is
releasing her hold on Manchuria under the pressure of Japan.
The increase in the population--due in part to territorial
acquisitions--since 1722, when the first census was taken, has been as
follows:--
In 1722 the Empire contained about 14 million inhabitants.
" 1742 " " " 16 "
" 1762 " " " 19 "
" 1782 " " " 28 "
" 1796 " " " 36 "
" 1812 " " " 41 "
" 1815 " " " 45 "
" 1835 " " " 60 "
" 1851 " " " 68 "
" 1858 " " " 44 "
" 1897 " " " 129 "
So much for the past. To sum up, we may say that, if we have read
Russian history aright, the chief motives of expansion have been
spontaneous colonisation, self-defence against nomadic tribes, and high
political aims, such as the desire to reach the sea-coast; and that the
process has been greatly facilitated by peculiar geographical conditions
and the autocratic form of government. Before passing to the future,
I must mention another cause of expansion which has recently come into
play, and which has already acquired very great importance.
Russia is rapidly becoming, as I have explained in a previous chapter,
a great industrial and commercial nation, and is anxious to acquire new
markets for her manufactured goods. Though her industries cannot yet
supply her own wants, she likes to peg out claims for the future, so as
not to be forestalled by more advanced nations. I am not sure that she
ever makes a conquest exclusively for this purpose, but whenever it
happens that she has other reasons for widening her borders, the idea of
acquiring commercial advantages acts as a subsidiary incentive, and
as soon as the territory is annexed she raises round it a line of
commercial fortifications in the shape of custom-houses, through which
foreign goods have great difficulty in forcing their way.
This policy is quite intelligible from the patriotic point of view, but
Russians like to justify it, and condemn English competition, on higher
ground. England, they say, is like a successful manufacturer who has
oustripped his rivals and who seeks to prevent any new competitors from
coming into the field. By her mercantile policy she has become the great
blood-sucker of other nations. Having no cause to fear competition, she
advocates the insidious principles of Free Trade, and deluges foreign
countries with her manufactures to such an extent that unprotected
native industries are inevitably ruined. Thus all nations have long
paid tribute to England, but the era of emancipation had dawned. The
fallacies of Free Trade have been detected and exposed, and Russia, like
other nations, has found in the beneficent power of protective tariffs a
means of escape from British economic thraldom. Henceforth, not only the
muzhiks of European Russia, but also the populations of Central
Asia, will be saved from the heartless exploitation of Manchester and
Birmingham--and be handed over, I presume, to the tender mercies of the
manufacturers of Moscow and St. Petersburg, who sell their goods much
dearer than their English rivals.
Having thus analysed the expansive tendency, let us endeavour to
determine how the various factors of which it is composed are acting in
the present and are likely to act in the future. In this investigation
it will be well to begin with the simpler, and proceed gradually to the
more complex parts of the problem.
Towards the north and the west the history of Russian expansion may
almost be regarded as closed. Northwards there is nothing to be annexed
but the Arctic Ocean and the Polar regions; and, westwards, annexations
at the expense of Germany are not to be thought of. There remain,
therefore, only Sweden and Norway. They may possibly, at some future
time, come within the range of Russia's territorial appetite, but at
present the only part of the Scandinavian Peninsula on which she is
supposed to cast longing eyes is a barren district in the extreme north,
which is said to contain an excellent warm-water port.
Towards the south-west there are possibilities of future expansion, and
already some people talk of Austrian Galicia being geographically and
ethnographically a part of Russia; but so long as the Austro-Hungarian
Empire holds together such possibilities do not come within the sphere
of practical politics.
Farther east, towards the Balkan Peninsula, the expansive tendency is
much more complicated and of very ancient date. The Russo-Slavs who
held the valley of the Dnieper from the ninth to the thirteenth century
belonged to those numerous frontier tribes which the tottering Byzantine
Empires attempted to ward off by diplomacy and rich gifts, and by giving
to the troublesome chiefs, on condition of their accepting Christianity,
princesses of the Imperial family as brides. Vladimir, Prince of Kief,
now recognised as a Saint by the Russian Church, accepted Christianity
in this way (A. D. 988), and his subjects followed his example.
Russia thus became ecclesiastically a part of the Patriarchate of
Constantinople, and the people learned to regard Tsargrad--that is,
the City of the Tsar, as the Byzantine Emperor was then called--with
peculiar veneration.
All through the long Tartar domination, when the nomadic hordes held the
valley of the Dnieper and formed a barrier between Russia and the Balkan
Peninsula, the capital of the Greek Orthodox world was remembered
and venerated by the Russian people, and in the fifteenth century it
acquired in their eyes a new significance. At that time the relative
positions of Constantinople and Moscow were changed. Constantinople fell
under the power of the Mahometan Turks, whilst Moscow threw off the yoke
of the Mahometan Tartars, the northern representatives of the Turkish
race. The Grand Prince of Moscow thereby became the Protector of
the Faith, and in some sort the successor of the Byzantine Tsars. To
strengthen this claim, Ivan III. married a niece of the last Byzantine
Emperor, and his successors went further in the same direction by
assuming the title of Tsar, and inventing a fable about their ancestor
Rurik having been a descendant of Caesar Augustus.
All this would seem to a lawyer, or even to a diplomatist, a very
shadowy title, and none of the Russian monarchs--except perhaps
Catherine II., who conceived the project of resuscitating the Byzantine
Empire, and caused one of her grandsons to learn modern Greek, in
view of possible contingencies--ever thought seriously of claiming
the imaginary heritage; but the idea that the Tsars ought to reign in
Tsargrad, and that St. Sophia, polluted by Moslem abominations, should
be restored to the Orthodox Christians, struck deep root in the minds of
the Russian people, and is still by no means extinct. As soon as serious
disturbances break out in the East the peasantry begin to think that
perhaps the time has come for undertaking a crusade for the recovery of
the Holy City on the Bosphorus, and for the liberation of their brethren
in the faith who groan under Turkish bondage.
Essentially different from this religious sentiment, but often blended
with it, is a vague feeling of racial affinity, which has long existed
among the various Slav nationalities, and which was greatly developed
during last century by writers of the Panslavist school. When Germans
and Italians were striving after political independence and unity, it
naturally occurred to the Slavs that they might do likewise. The idea
became popular among the subject Slav nationalities of Austria and
Turkey, and it awoke a certain amount of enthusiasm in Moscow, where it
was hoped that "all the Slav streams would unite in the great Russian
Sea." It required no great political perspicacity to foresee that in
any confederation of Slav nationalities the hegemony must necessarily
devolve on Russia, the only Slav State which has succeeded in becoming a
Great Power.
Those two currents of national feeling ran parallel to, and intermingled
with, the policy of the Government. Desirous of becoming a great naval
Power, Russia has always striven to reach the sea-coast and obtain good
harbours. In the north and north-west she succeeded in a certain degree,
but neither the White Sea nor the Baltic satisfied her requirements, and
she naturally turned her eyes to the Mediterranean. With difficulty
she gained possession of the northern shores of the Black Sea, but her
designs were thereby only half realised, because the Turks held the only
outlet to the Mediterranean, and could effectually blockade, so far as
the open sea is concerned, all her Black Sea ports, without employing
a single ship of war. Thus the possession of the Straits, involving
necessarily the possession of Constantinople, became a cardinal point of
Russia's foreign policy. Any description of the various methods adopted
by her at different times for the attainment of this end does not enter
into my present programme, but I may say briefly that the action of the
three factors above mentioned--the religious feeling, the Panslavist
sentiment, and the political aims--has never been better exemplified
than in the last struggle with Turkey, culminating in the Treaty of San
Stefano and the Congress of Berlin.
For all classes in Russia the result of that struggle was a feeling
of profound disappointment. The peasantry bewailed the fact that the
Crescent on St. Sophia had not been replaced by the Cross; the Slavophil
patriots were indignant that the "little brothers" had shown themselves
unworthy of the generous efforts and sacrifices made on their behalf,
and that a portion of the future Slav confederation had passed under
the domination of Austria; and the Government recognised that the
acquisition of the Straits must be indefinitely postponed. Then history
repeated itself. After the Crimean War, in accordance with Prince
Gortchakoff's famous epigram, La Russie ne boude pas elle se recueille,
the Government had for some years abandoned an active policy in Europe,
and devoted itself to the work of internal reorganisation; whilst the
military party had turned their attention to making new acquisitions
of territory and influence in Asia. In like manner, after the Turkish
campaign of 1877-78, Alexander III., turning his back on the Slav
brethren, inaugurated an era of peace in Europe and of territorial
expansion in the east. In this direction the expansive force was
not affected by religious feeling, or Panslavist sentiment, and
was controlled and guided by purely political considerations. It is
consequently much easier to determine in this field of action what the
political aims really are.
In Asia, as in Europe, the dominant factor in the policy of the
Government has been the desire to reach the sea-coast; and in both
continents the ports first acquired were in northern latitudes where
the coasts are free from ice during only a part of the year. In this
respect, Nikolaefsk and Vladivostok in the Far East correspond to
Archangel and St. Petersburg in Europe. Such ports could not fulfil
all the requirements, and consequently the expansive tendency turned
southwards--in Europe towards the Black Sea and the Mediterranean,
and in Asia towards the Persian Gulf, the Indian Ocean and the Gulf of
Pechili.
In Persia the Russian Government pursues the policy of pacific
infiltration, and already the northern half of the Shah's dominions is
pretty well permeated with Russian influence, commercial and political.
In the southern half the infiltration is to some extent checked by
physical obstacles and British influence, but it is steadily advancing,
and the idea of obtaining a port on the Persian Gulf is coming within
the range of practical politics.
In Afghanistan also the pressure is felt, and here too the expansive
tendency meets with opposition from England. More than once the two
great Powers have come dangerously near to war--notably in 1885, at
the moment of the Penjdeh incident, when the British Parliament voted
11,000,000 pounds for military preparations. Fortunately on that
occasion the problem was solved by diplomacy. The northern frontier of
Afghanistan was demarcated by a joint commission, and an agreement was
come to by which this line should form the boundary of the British
and Russian spheres of influence. For some years Russia scrupulously
respected this agreement, but during our South African difficulties
she showed symptoms of departing from it, and at one moment orders were
issued from St. Petersburg for a military demonstration on the Afghan
frontier. Strange to say, the military authorities, who are usually very
bellicose, deprecated such a movement, on the ground that a military
demonstration in a country like Afghanistan might easily develop into a
serious campaign, and that a serious campaign ought not to be undertaken
in that region until after the completion of the strategical railways
from Orenburg to Tashkent.
As this important line has now been completed, and other strategic lines
are in contemplation, the question arises whether Russia meditates an
attack on India. It is a question which is not easily answered. No doubt
there are many Russians who think it would be a grand thing to annex
our Indian Empire, with its teeming millions and its imaginary fabulous
treasures, and not a few young officers imagine that it would be an easy
task. Further, it is certain that the problem of an invasion has been
studied by the Headquarters Staff in St. Petersburg, just as the problem
of an invasion of England has been studied by the Headquarters Staff in
Berlin. It may be pretty safely asserted, however, that the idea of a
conquest of India has never been seriously entertained in the Russian
official world. What has been seriously entertained, not only in the
official world, but by the Government itself, is the idea--strongly
recommended by the late General Skobelef--that Russia should, as quickly
as possible, get within striking distance of our Indian possessions, so
that she may always be able to bring strong diplomatic pressure on the
British Government, and in the event of a conflict immobilise a large
part of the British army.
The expansive tendency in the direction of the Persian Gulf and
the Indian Ocean was considerably weakened by the completion of the
Trans-Siberian Railway and the rapid development of an aggressive policy
in the Far east. Never, perhaps, has the construction of a single line
produced such deep and lasting changes in the sphere of Weltpolitik.
As soon as the Trans-Siberian was being rapidly constructed a
magnificent prospect opened up to the gaze of imaginative politicians in
St. Petersburg. The foreground was Manchuria a region of 364,000 square
miles, endowed by nature with enormous mineral resources, and
presenting a splendid field for agricultural colonisation and commercial
enterprise. Beyond was seen Korea, geographically an appendix of
Manchuria, possessing splendid harbours, and occupied by an effete,
unwarlike population, wholly incapable of resisting a European Power.
That was quite enough to inflame the imagination of patriotic Russians;
but there was something more, dimly perceived in the background. Once
in possession of Manchuria, supplied with a network of railways, Russia
would dominate Peking and the whole of Northern China, and she would
thus be able to play a decisive part in the approaching struggle of the
European Powers for the Far-Eastern Sick Man's inheritance.
Of course there were obstacles in the way of realising this grandiose
scheme, and there were some cool heads in St. Petersburg who were not
slow to point them out. In the first place the undertaking must be
extremely costly, and the economic condition of Russia proper was not
such as to justify the expenditure of an enormous capital which must be
for many years unproductive. Any superfluous capital which the country
might possess was much more urgently required for purposes of internal
development, and the impoverished agricultural population ought not
to be drained of their last meagre reserves for the sake of gigantic
political schemes which did not directly contribute to their material
welfare. To this the enthusiastic advocates of the forward policy
replied that the national finances had never been in such a prosperous
condition, that the revenue was increasing by leaps and bounds, that
the money invested in the proposed enterprise would soon be repaid with
interest; and that if Russia did not at once seize the opportunity she
would find herself forestalled by energetic rivals. There was still,
however, one formidable objection. Such an enormous increase of
Russia's power in the Far East would inevitably arouse the jealousy and
opposition of other Powers, especially of Japan, for whom the future of
Korea and Manchuria was a question of life and death. Here again these
advocates of the forward policy had their answer ready. They declared
that the danger was more apparent than real. In Far-Eastern diplomacy
the European Powers could not compete with Russia, and they might easily
be bought off by giving them a very modest share of the spoil; as for
Japan, she was not formidable, for she was just emerging from Oriental
barbarism, and all her boasted progress was nothing more than a thin
veneer of European civilisation. As the Moscow patriots on the eve of
the Crimean War said contemptuously of the Allies, "We have only to
throw our hats at them," so now the believers in Russia's historic
mission in the Far East spoke of their future opponents as "monkeys" and
"parrots."
The war between China and Japan in 1894-5, terminating in the Treaty of
Shimonoseki, which ceded to Japan the Liaotung Peninsula, showed Russia
that if she was not to be forestalled she must be up and doing. She
accordingly formed a coalition with France and Germany, and compelled
Japan to withdraw from the mainland, on the pretext that the integrity
of China must be maintained. In this way China recovered, for a moment,
a bit of lost territory, and further benefits were conferred on her by
a guarantee for a foreign loan, and by the creation of the Russo-Chinese
Bank, which would assist her in her financial affairs. For these and
other favours she was expected to be grateful, and it was suggested
to her that her gratitude might take the form of facilitating the
construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway. If constructed wholly on
Russian territory the line would have to make an enormous bend to the
northward, whereas if it went straight from Lake Baikal to Vladivostok
it would be very much shorter, and would confer a very great benefit
on the north-eastern provinces of the Celestial Empire. This benefit,
moreover, might be greatly increased by making a branch line to
Talienwan and Port Arthur, which would some day be united with Peking.
Gradually Li-Hung-Chang and other influential Chinese officials were
induced to sympathise with the scheme, and a concession was granted for
the direct line to Vladivostok through Chinese territory.
The retrocession of the Liaotung Peninsula had not been effected by
Russia alone. Germany and France had co-operated, and they also expected
from China a mark of gratitude in some tangible form. On this point
the statesmen of Berlin held very strong views, and they thought it
advisable to obtain a material guarantee for the fulfilment of their
expectations by seizing Kiaochau, on the ground that German missionaries
had been murdered by Chinese fanatics.
For Russia this was a most unwelcome incident. She had earmarked
Kiaochau for her own purposes, and had already made an agreement with
the authorities in Peking that the harbour might be used freely by her
fleet. And this was not the worst. The incident might inaugurate an era
of partition for which she was not yet prepared, and another port which
she had earmarked for her own use might be seized by a rival. Already
English ships of war were reported to be prowling about in the vicinity
of the Liaotung Peninsula. She hastened to demand, therefore, as a
set-off for the loss of Kiaochau, a lease of Port Arthur and Talienwan,
and a railway concession to unite these ports with the Trans-Siberian
Railway. The Chinese Government was too weak to think of refusing the
demands, and the process of gradually absorbing Manchuria began, in
accordance with a plan already roughly sketched out in St. Petersburg.
In the light of a few authentic documents and many subsequent events,
the outline of this plan can be traced with tolerable accuracy. In the
region through which the projected railways were to run there was a
large marauding population, and consequently the labourers and the
works would have to be protected; and as Chinese troops can never be
thoroughly relied on, the protecting force must be Russian. Under
this rather transparent disguise a small army of occupation could be
gradually introduced, and in establishing a modus vivendi between it and
the Chinese civil and military authorities a predominant influence in
the local administration could be established. At the same time, by
energetic diplomatic action at Peking, which would be brought within
striking-distance by the railways, all rival foreign influences might be
excluded from the occupied provinces, and the rest might be left to the
action of "spontaneous infiltration." Thus, while professing to uphold
the principle of the territorial integrity of the Celestial Empire, the
Cabinet of St. Petersburg might practically annex the whole of Manchuria
and transform Port Arthur into a great naval port and arsenal, a far
more effectual "Dominator of the East" than Vladivostok, which was
intended, as its name implies, to fulfil that function. From Manchuria
the political influence and the spontaneous infiltration would naturally
extend to Korea, and on the deeply indented coast of the Hermit Kingdom
new ports and arsenals, far more spacious and strategically more
important than Port Arthur, might be constructed.
The grandiose scheme was carefully laid, and for a time it was favoured
by circumstances. In 1900 the Boxer troubles justified Russia in sending
a large force into Manchuria, and enabled her subsequently to play the
part of China's protector against the inordinate demands of the Western
Powers for compensation and guarantees. For a moment it seemed as if
the slow process of gradual infiltration might be replaced by a more
expeditious mode of annexation. As the dexterous diplomacy of Ignatief
in 1858 had induced the Son of Heaven to cede to Russia the rich
Primorsk provinces between the Amur and the sea, as compensation for
Russian protection against the English and French, who had burnt his
Summer Palace, so his successor might now perhaps be induced to cede
Manchuria to the Tsar for similar reasons.
No such cession actually took place, but the Russian diplomatists in
Peking could use the gratitude argument in support of their demands for
an extension of the rights and privileges of the "temporary" occupation;
and when China sought to resist the pressure by leaning on the rival
Powers she found them to be little better than broken reeds. France
could not openly oppose her ally, and Germany had reasons of her own
for conciliating the Tsar, whilst England and the United States, though
avowedly opposing the scheme as dangerous to their commercial interests,
were not prepared to go to war in defence of their policy. It seemed,
therefore, that by patience, tenacity and diplomatic dexterity Russia
might ultimately attain her ends; but a surprise was in store for her.
There was one Power which recognised that her own vital interests were
at stake, and which was ready to undertake a life-and-death struggle in
defence of them.
Though still smarting under the humiliation of her expulsion from the
Liaotung Peninsula in 1895, and watching with the keenest interest every
move in the political game, Japan had remained for some time in the
background, and had confined her efforts to resisting Russian influence
in Korea and supporting diplomatically the Powers who were upholding
the policy of the open door. Now, when it had become evident that the
Western Powers would not prevent the realisation of the Russian scheme,
she determined to intervene energetically, and to stake her national
existence on the result. Ever since 1895 she had been making military
and naval preparations for the day of the revanche, and now that day was
at hand. Against the danger of a coalition such as had checkmated her
on the previous occasion she was protected by the alliance which she had
concluded with England in 1902, and she felt confident that with Russia
alone she was quite capable of dealing single-handed. Her position is
briefly and graphically described in a despatch, telegraphed at that
time (28th July, 1903) by the Japanese Government to its representative
at St. Petersburg, instructing him to open negotiations:
"The recent conduct of Russia in making new demands at Peking and
tightening her hold upon Manchuria has led the Imperial Government to
believe that she must have abandoned her intention of retiring from
that province. At the same time, her increased activity upon the Korean
frontier is such as to raise doubts as to the limits of her ambition.
The unconditional and permanent occupation of Manchuria by Russia would
create a state of things prejudicial to the security and interests of
Japan. The principle of equal opportunity (the open door) would thereby
be annulled, and the territorial integrity of China impaired. There is,
however, a still more serious consideration for the Japanese Government.
If Russia were established on the flank of Korea she would constantly
menace the separate existence of that Empire, or at least exercise in
it a predominant influence; and as Japan considers Korea an important
outpost in her line of defence, she regards its independence as
absolutely essential to her own repose and safety. Moreover, the
political as well as commercial and industrial interests and influence
which Japan possesses in Korea are paramount over those of other Powers;
she cannot, having regard to her own security, consent to surrender them
to, or share them with, another Power."
In accordance with this view of the situation the Japanese Government
informed Count Lamsdorff that, as it desired to remove from the
relations of the two Empires every cause of future misunderstanding,
it would be glad to enter with the Imperial Russian Government upon an
examination of the condition of affairs in the Far East, with a view to
defining the respective special interests of the two countries in those
regions.
Though Count Lamsdorff accepted the proposal with apparent cordiality
and professed to regard it as a means of preventing any outsider from
sowing the seeds of discord between the two countries, the idea of
a general discussion was not at all welcome. Careful definition of
respective interests was the last thing the Russian Government desired.
Its policy was to keep the whole situation in a haze until it had
consolidated its position in Manchuria and on the Korean frontier
to such an extent that it could dictate its own terms in any future
arrangement. It could not, however, consistently with its oft-repeated
declarations of disinterestedness and love of peace, decline to discuss
the subject. It consented, therefore, to an exchange of views, but in
order to ensure that the tightening of its hold on the territories in
question should proceed pari passu with the diplomatic action, it made
an extraordinary departure from ordinary procedure, entrusting the
conduct of the affair, not to Count Lamsdorff and the Foreign Office,
but to Admiral Alexeyef, the newly created Viceroy of the Far East,
in whom was vested the control of all civil, military, naval, and
diplomatic affairs relating to that part of the world.
From the commencement of the negotiations, which lasted from August
12th, 1903, to February 6th, 1904, the irreconcilable differences of the
two rivals became apparent, and all through the correspondence, in
which a few apparent concessions were offered by Japan, neither Power
retreated a step from the positions originally taken up. What Japan
suggested was, roughly speaking, a mutual engagement to uphold the
independence and integrity of the Chinese and Korean empires, and at the
same time a bilateral arrangement by which the special interests of the
two contracting parties in Manchuria and in Korea should be formally
recognised, and the means of protecting them clearly defined. The scheme
did not commend itself to the Russians. They systematically ignored the
interests of Japan in Manchuria, and maintained that she had no right
to interfere in any arrangements they might think fit to make with the
Chinese Government with regard to that province. In their opinion, Japan
ought to recognise formally that Manchuria lay outside her sphere
of interest, and the negotiations should be confined to limiting her
freedom of action in Korea.
With such a wide divergence in principle the two parties were not likely
to agree in matters of detail. Their conflicting aims came out most
clearly in the question of the open door. The Japanese insisted on
obtaining the privileges of the open door, including the right of
settlement in Manchuria, and Russia obstinately refused. Having marked
out Manchuria as a close reserve for her own colonisation, trade, and
industry, and knowing that she could not compete with the Japanese if
they were freely admitted, she could not adopt the principle of "equal
opportunity" which her rivals recommended. A fidus achates of Admiral
Alexeyef explained to me quite frankly, during the negotiations, why no
concessions could be made on that point. In the work of establishing
law and order in Manchuria, constructing roads, bridges, railways, and
towns, Russia had expended an enormous sum--estimated by Count Cassini
at 60,000,000 pounds--and until that capital was recovered, or until a
reasonable interest was derived from the investment, Russia could not
think of sharing with any one the fruits of the prosperity which she had
created.
We need not go further into the details of the negotiations. Japan soon
convinced herself that the onward march of the Colossus was not to be
stopped by paper barricades, and knowing well that her actual military
and naval superiority was being rapidly diminished by Russia's warlike
preparations,* she suddenly broke off diplomatic relations and commenced
hostilities.
* According to an estimate made by the Japanese authorities,
between April, 1903, and the outbreak of the war, Russia
increased her naval and military forces in the Far East by
nineteen war vessels, aggregating 82,415 tons, and 40,000
soldiers. In addition to this, one battleship, three
cruisers, seven torpedo destroyers, and four torpedo boats,
aggregating about 37,040 tons, were on their way to the
East, and preparations had been made for increasing the land
forces by 200,000 men. For further details, see Asakawa,
"The Russo-Japanese Conflict" (London, 1904), pp. 352-54.
Russia thus found herself engaged in a war of the first magnitude, of
which no one can predict the ultimate consequences, and the question
naturally arises as to why, with an Emperor who lately aspired to play
in politics the part of a great peacemaker, she provoked a conflict,
for which she was very imperfectly prepared--imposing on herself the
obligation of defending a naval fortress, hastily constructed on foreign
territory, and united with her base by a single line of railway 6,000
miles long. The question is easily answered: she did not believe in the
possibility of war. The Emperor was firmly resolved that he would not
attack Japan, and no one would admit for a moment that Japan could have
the audacity to attack the great Russian Empire. In the late autumn
of 1903, it is true, a few well-informed officials in St. Petersburg,
influenced by the warnings of Baron Rosen, the Russian Minister in
Tokio, began to perceive that perhaps Japan would provoke a conflict,
but they were convinced that the military and naval preparations
already made were quite sufficient to repel the attack. One of these
officials--probably the best informed of all--said to me quite frankly:
"If Japan had attacked us in May or June, we should have been in a sorry
plight, but now [November, 1903] we are ready."
The whole past history of territoral expansion in Asia tended to confirm
the prevailing illusions. Russia had advanced steadily from the Ural
and the Caspian to the Hindu Kush and the Northern Pacific without once
encountering serious resistance. Not once had she been called on to make
a great national effort, and the armed resistance of the native races
had never inflicted on her anything worse than pin-pricks. From decrepit
China, which possessed no army in the European sense of the term, a more
energetic resistance was not to be expected. Had not Muravieff Amurski
with a few Cossacks quietly occupied her Amur territories without
provoking anything more dangerous than a diplomatic protest; and had
not Ignatief annexed her rich Primorsk provinces, including the site of
Vladivostok, by purely diplomatic means? Why should not Count Cassini,
a diplomatist of the same type as Ignatief, imitate his adroit
predecessor, and secure for Russia, if not the formal annexation, at
least the permanent occupation, of Manchuria? Remembering all this, we
can perceive that the great mistake of the Russian Government is not
so very difficult to explain. It certainly did not want war--far from
it--but it wanted to obtain Manchuria by a gradual, painless process
of absorption, and it did not perceive that this could not be attained
without a life-and-death struggle with a young, vigorous nationality,
which has contrived to combine the passions and virtues of a primitive
race with the organising powers and scientific appliances of the most
advanced civilisation.
Russian territorial expansion has thus been checked, for some years to
come, on the Pacific coast; but the expansive tendency will re-appear
soon in other regions, and it behooves us to be watchful, because,
whatever direction it may take, it is likely to affect our interests
directly or indirectly. Will it confine itself for some years to a
process of infiltration in Mongolia and Northern Thibet, the line of
least resistance? Or will it impinge on our Indian frontier, directed by
those who desire to avenge themselves on Japan's ally for the reverses
sustained in Manchuria? Or will it once more take the direction of the
Bosphorous, where a campaign might be expected to awaken religious and
warlike enthusiasm among the masses? To these questions I cannot give
any answer, because so much depends on the internal consequences of the
present war, and on accidental circumstances which no one can at
present foresee. I have always desired, and still desire, that we should
cultivate friendly relations with our great rival, and that we should
learn to appreciate the many good qualities of her people; but I have at
the same time always desired that we should keep a watchful eye on
her irrepressible tendency to expand, and that we should take timely
precautions against any unprovoked aggression, however justifiable it
may seem to her from the point of view of her own national interests.