CHAPTER III MR. GLADSTONE AND I STRIVE FOR PEACE

The Real England—The St. James's Hall Meeting—Remarkable Enthusiasm—Mr. Gladstone's Speech—He Escorts me Home—Newspaper Comment—Lord Salisbury and General Ignatieff—Mutual Regard—The Turks Displeased—An Embarrassing Tribute—The End of the Constantinople Conference—Mr. Gladstone Compromised—War Declared—"What Will England Do?"—Bismarck's Policy—Prince Gortschakoff's Opinion


England's attitude towards Russia had been frankly hostile: but a revulsion of feeling soon set in. I had always maintained that the real England was represented by Mr. Gladstone and not Mr. Disraeli. The first sign came from the north, and meetings of protest were held in different large towns, the upshot of which was the calling of a National Conference on non-party terms. Many of the most distinguished men in the country heartily supported the idea, and a great meeting was arranged to be held in the old St. James's Hall on November 27, 1876.

I was present during the whole conference, to which I received ten separate invitations. The enthusiasm was tremendous throughout the proceedings: but when Mr. Gladstone rose to speak he received an ovation, and it was some minutes before the uproar subsided sufficiently to allow of his being heard. I was thrilled as I had never been thrilled {44} before. The speech was a magnificent effort and I need not describe it here. I had never before heard Mr. Gladstone speak in public, and I was glad that it should be on the subject of the downtrodden Slavs.

He spoke for upwards of an hour and a half, and when he finished there was another outburst from the audience. It was nearly eight o'clock when I rose to leave the hall. As I was slowly making my way down the staircase, pushed and buffeted by the vast throng that was pouring out of the hall, I heard my name called and I recognised Mr. Gladstone's voice. He had seen me as he, too, was making his way out, and, offering me his arm, he conducted me into the street. In spite of his having delivered a long speech and that he was due at a dinner party, he insisted on accompanying me to Claridge's, where I was staying, talking with interest and animation as we walked.

Leaving me at my door, where I strove to thank him for what he had done for Russia in striking a blow at Turkish prestige in England, he strode off to keep his appointment to dine with the Corps Diplomatique.

When he arrived it was to find himself an hour late, and half the Ambassadors to the Court of St. James's hungry and diplomatically impatient. He tendered his apologies, also for the fact that he had not had time to dress, adding, "I have just been taking Madame Novikoff home to her hotel, which caused me to be a little late."

This explanation was regarded by the diplomatists rather as adding insult to injury. To them it seemed {45} an indiscretion for a British politician to see to her hotel the "agent" of a foreign Power with whom relations were somewhat strained. The jingo and Turkish newspapers seized upon the incident as an admirable means of prejudicing Mr. Gladstone in the eyes of their countrymen. Thus was a simple act of courtesy on the part of an English gentleman, who happened also to be a politician, magnified into something of an international incident.

Mr. Gladstone, however, was fearless. He never did anything that he was not convinced was right, and then he faced the world with that lion-like courage that seemed to say "Come on—if you dare."

Of that memorable day I wrote soon after Mr. Gladstone's death, and although what I said has already been partly printed, it so clearly shows the fearlessness of Mr. Gladstone that I venture to quote it here.

"On more than one occasion it has happened that he has acquainted me of his intentions, the daring of which both charmed and affrighted me. But hesitation before a goal firmly resolved upon he never knew. 'God indeed he feared, and other fear had none!' So, after the famous Conference at St. James's Hall, organised under his superintendence in favour of the Orthodox Slavs in Turkey, I remarked that, in opposing thus the policy of Disraeli and the Queen, he was waging a revolution. He interrupted me: 'Quite so, that is just the word for it. But my conscience has nothing to upbraid me with, for it is pre-eminently a Christian revolution. Besides,' he went on more slowly, 'I am not {46} the only one who is doing so. The four thousand people who were present in the hall were almost unanimous in their adherence, and did not hesitate to express their sympathy with the noble part played by Russia in the Balkans. 'Did you not notice,' he asked quickly, with a slight smile, 'that the only speaker hissed by the public merited this disgrace only because he sought to prove his impartiality by declaring that he was not specially a friend of Russia? The funny thing about it,' he added, 'is that the poor orator is by no means a Russophobe. I know him personally.' I shall never forget that incident as long as I live!"

Following the Conference was the Conference of the Powers in Constantinople. When Lord Salisbury went as the British Plenipotentiary it was with a heart full of suspicion of General Ignatieff, the Russian Ambassador at Constantinople. Poor Ignatieff had been the text for many journalistic sermons upon the duplicity of Russians in general, and the Russian Ambassador to Turkey in particular. He was a veritable Machiavelli, Lord Salisbury was told, who must be carefully watched.

Lord Salisbury was, however, a man given to judging for himself, and much to the chagrin of the Turks, he soon threw his suspicions aside and entered into cordial personal relations with the man whom he had been sent to circumvent.

Lord Salisbury soon discovered that underneath a bluntness that was sometimes a little disconcerting, there was a man of honour and conviction. The British plenipotentiary was a just man who {47} recognised that he had to deal with one who was too fearless to be diplomatically suave.

Soon the two men came to appreciate each other's qualities. Ignatieff told Lord Salisbury not to believe anything he told him until he had first assured himself of its truth. There is one quality in an Englishman that no one appeals to in vain, and that is his sportsmanship. Whether by accident or design, Ignatieff had struck the right note, and henceforth Lord Salisbury and he worked loyally together for peace.

The Turks were far from pleased with the course events were taking, and Lord Salisbury became extremely unpopular. Sir Edwin Pears in his fascinating book, Forty Years in Constantinople, has written that "Lord Salisbury may even be said to have been hooted out of the city."

He could not, however, succeed in the face of Disraeli's policy of antagonism, and the sending of a plenipotentiary to Constantinople was little more than a farce,—a sop to British public opinion.

After he left Constantinople, General (or to give him his full title Count Nicholas) Ignatieff, became Minister of the Interior, and at one time President of the Slavonic Society.

On the day of the Slavonic Saints, Cyril and Methodius, this Society generally holds its Annual Meeting, attended by from 1000 to 2000 members. On one such occasion the Ignatieffs invited me to dine at their house and to go to the meeting with them. The Countess, by the way, was as good a Slavophil as her husband. At the conclusion of the meeting, the Count made a very enthusiastic and {48} eloquent speech, to which we both listened attentively. Suddenly, to my great dismay and annoyance, I heard him say in a loud voice: "And here is a Russian lady who is serving our patriotic cause abroad," etc. etc.

Taken aback by this unexpected demonstration, I heartily wished myself at the Antipodes, and this wish increased when almost the entire audience surrounded me to express their effusive gratitude. It really was a terrible moment, though of course it was kindly meant....

But to return to 1876. The Conference at Constantinople had broken up, I was then in Russia, and Lord Salisbury had left the city conscious of his own unpopularity. He had endeavoured to impress upon the Turks that against Russia they stood alone, that is as far as Great Britain was concerned. Abdul Hamid knew Great Britain's suspicions of Russia, and upon this he relied. The awakening came on April 24 (1877) when Russia declared war against Turkey and Great Britain remained neutral, holding a watching brief.

The public attitude towards myself at this period was one of very obvious hostility. The frank and open friendship existing between Mr. Gladstone and the "notorious agent of the Russian Embassy in London," did not pass without comment, and certain busybodies became very active. Mr. Gladstone was said to have "compromised" himself politically by writing letters to the "agent" of a foreign Power which was at the very time being threatened with war by Great Britain. It all seems very absurd now, but in those days, when public {49} opinion was at boiling point, it was not a matter to be treated lightly. We were accused by the Press of conspiracy.

We in Russia were constantly asking each other what would be the attitude of England. On the eve of war our newspapers ascribed to England the following plans: (1) To occupy Athens and Crete, preventing Greece by all means from rising and helping us; (2) refusal to permit Russian vessels to pass Gibraltar; (3) and occupy Constantinople if Turkey gets too great a thrashing. I confess that I was at a loss as all these suggestions were tantamount to a declaration of war against Russia. Those were days of terrible anxiety.

News of the declaration of war was received in Petrograd on April 24/12, at 2 p.m. At 5 p.m. the Moscow Douma assembled in the Hotel de Ville. There was immense enthusiasm. The Douma at once offered a million roubles and 1000 beds for the wounded. Cries were heard from different directions. "It was too little, far too little." Then it was decided to consider the sum as a simple beginning. The merchants also met together and the same thing was repeated; also a voluntary donation of a million; 160 ladies offered their services as Sisters of Charity; 100 of them having already passed their examinations. Russia seemed quite revived. "What will England do?" I wrote on that day to Mr. Gladstone. "I know what she would do if you were at the head of the Government. But as it is now—well, we'll do our duty and let happen what may."

England's decision was to do nothing—for the {50} present. In the meantime a great wave of feeling was passing over Russia; yet in England it appeared impossible for people to see that this was not a piece of political jobbery. When I went to Russia at the end of 1876 I despaired of peace; but hoped that the courageous stand made by Mr. Gladstone might after all prevent war.

Those were very dark and gloomy days. We in Russia were victims of all sorts of rumours as to what England intended to do, whilst in England there seemed to be a conviction that whatever Russia might do it would constitute an unfriendly act.

I have been proudly described by my brother Alexander as maintaining a splendid, although a forlorn, struggle in the interests of peace. It may have been splendid, I do not know, but it was certainly forlorn. For a woman to endeavour to keep apart two nations who seemed determined to misunderstand each other, was a folly which, had I been more versed in the ways of the political world, I might have never attempted. Out of my ignorance came my strength; for I dared to hope things at a period when hope was not 'quoted' on the political exchange.

One of the curious anomalies of the situation was that, although Bismarck's policy of getting England embroiled with Russia was not overlooked in Britain, yet everyone seemed to be doing their utmost to assist the Iron Chancellor in his designs.

It was said that Queen Victoria herself was quite aware that Germany was doing all she could to get the British Army to the East so that her hands {51} might be freed in the West, and the very newspapers that called most loudly for war frankly admitted their conviction that Germany had designs on Belgium.

All this puzzled me excessively. With a woman's impatience I felt that I wanted to shake the silly men who would not understand that they were being used as catspaws of the master-mind of Europe.

Bismarck was playing his game as only Bismarck could. How he must have smiled to himself! No words of mine can give the slightest idea of what I suffered in those days. I could not sleep and I could not think. My mind was in a whirl. I felt again the torture which came over me when I heard of Nicholas' death.

In February I wrote from Moscow as one almost distraught: "I would willingly give my life, a very poor gift indeed, for peace."

Soon after the St. James's Hall Conference, as I was passing through Petrograd, I made a point of seeing Prince Gortschakoff: to urge him as well as I could, to do justice to the better part of England.

I gave him as vivid a description as I could of the magnificent Conference, and of the sympathies of the real representatives of well-thinking Englishmen. That same evening, as I afterwards heard, he related to the Czar our conversation in every detail.

I remember Prince Gortschakoff observing that the British people were powerless and that Beaconsfield would hoodwink them at a moment's notice. I could only reply that I hoped not. But I insisted on rendering justice to a people who, after {52} meeting, had convinced me were as noble, as generous and true as we were ourselves.

"You are partial," the Prince said to me.

"No," I replied, "I am true."

I felt that in all Russia I was the only one who was never tired of showing the difference between these two Englands, the official England and the popular England. Thus many of my countrymen and countrywomen who favoured a rupture with "Perfidious England" were angry with me. They thought that I showed them only one side of the question, and that the whole country would yield to Disraeli.