CHAPTER VI THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS I

A Pacific Emperor—An Imperial Fault—The Pauper's Funeral—The Emperor's Visit to my Mother—My Dilemma—The Emperor's Kindness—He is Snubbed by an Ingenue—The Emperor's Desire for an Alliance with England—Prince Gortschakoff's Rejoinder—The Slav Ideal—Russia and Constantinople—Bismarck's Admiration—He Discomfits a Member of the Reichstag


A noteworthy example of a rapprochement between England, France, and Russia, long before the Triple Entente in politics became an established fact, was the researches undertaken three-quarters of a century ago, by three leading scientific authorities, into the geological features of the Russian Empire. Sir Roderick Murchison, M. de Verneuil and Count Alexander Keyserling were appointed by their respective Governments to make a joint expedition and, as a result of their labours, wrote a book entitled The Geology of Russia in Europe and the Urals, which was published by the British Museum in 1845, in two volumes. This was indeed a promising beginning, and may be said to have been the precursor for much co-operation between these nations long before an Entente was within the sphere of practical politics. At any rate, it serves to prove that there is a natural bond of sympathy between the great Allies, and that it is in no sense a question of political expediency.

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This took place under the Emperor Nicholas I, who was always for peace, and in particular for an understanding with England. The whole situation in Europe has changed since those days, or rather seems to have changed. In reality it is not so. A few persons have made an effort to open their eyes, and have discovered a well-established fact. That is all. It is an important discovery, no doubt, so important that nervous politicians conjure up imaginary difficulties, and appeal to all sorts of magic utterances: "Balance of power," cries one; "Immediate danger," shouts the other; "Traditional policy," exclaims the third. But all these appeals might as well not have been made. The "newly-discovered fact" has been known to Russians for years, although clever Westerns have only just found it out. It is indeed only natural that we should know it first, for it relates to our Emperor. Europe has learned to feel that there is once more an Emperor Nicholas on the Russian throne, and that in Alexander III even the most imperious of Chancellors found a Sovereign whom no intimidation could dismay, and no menace could deter from the path of duty. Some Englishmen, I regret to say, did not like the memory of the Emperor, whose noble and generous qualities are more and more appreciated in History. The Emperor Nicholas I was undoubtedly a superior man in many respects. Imperious he was, no doubt—it is an Imperial fault!—but he was not only disinterested, he was generous and noble in the highest degree. Books could be written about his kind actions.

He was once driving on a cold winter's day, when {91} he perceived a poor hearse, and a still poorer coffin. There were no followers, but the young driver, almost a child, was sobbing bitterly, and evidently overwhelmed with his grief. The Emperor stopped his horse and asked who the departed was.

"It was my father," answered the boy, through a new torrent of tears. "He was a blind beggar, and I had him under my care."

The Emperor left his sledge and followed the humble coffin to the burial ground. Naturally, many people followed His Majesty's example, and the procession became a strange sight. Strange, but fine—paternal, showing once more the link between the great autocrat and his people—a link based on devotion and trust. As a very young child I have myself experienced the kindness of his smile, and felt the protection of his powerful hand.

If I may tell the story again, I remember, when my father died, the Emperor Nicholas I paid a visit of condolence to my mother, and desired to see his god-children. My two brothers and I appeared. I, as the only girl, received from my governess stringent orders before entering the drawing-room to "look well and to make a deep Court reverence." Penetrated with my new role, and full of zeal, I did my best—which, alas! turned out to be my very worst—I bowed so deeply that suddenly all became confused and I fell over backwards against a pillar. A horrified glance from mother—the roof with its painted flowers and Cupids—misery and bewilderment! But all this lasted only a second. The dear Emperor rushed to me, seized my trembling hands, and began praising me as if I had really covered {92} myself, not with ridicule, but with glory. Thus he cheered me and made me happy. People who knew him intimately speak of him with unqualified devotion. But the fascination he exercised did not render less commanding the conscious power which dwelt within him. For he was a power—perhaps the greatest power of his day.

The great and unexpected steps taken by his grandson allowed us to hope to find the same resolute devotion to his country in our present ruler, Nicholas II, and we did not hope in vain.

The Emperor Nicholas I was charmingly courteous and kind to young people. Thus, one day, the Court arrived in Moscow, and the Moscow nobility arranged a brilliant ball to greet Their Majesties. Naturally the young girls all longed to be presented on this occasion. One amongst them was exceedingly beautiful and attractive. The Emperor addressed a few words to her, expressing his pleasure at making her acquaintance. She looked at him somewhat severely, without answering a word.

"Do you not hear what I say?" enquired the Emperor in some surprise.

"Yes," replied the young lady curtly, "I hear, but I do not listen!" (J'enténds mais je n'écoute pas!)

The Emperor, extremely amused by this tone of self-defence, when he never dreamt of attacking or offending, went to the Empress. "There is a charming child here," he said, "most amusing and innocent. Make her your Maid of Honour." This was done. By her position she was quite entitled to this distinction, but still, people were very much amused. Later on she received other honours, {93} occupied a high position at our Court, and died only a short time ago.

One of the great desires of the Emperor Nicholas I was to establish such a close and cordial alliance between Russia and England as even then would form a solid guarantee of peace to the world. It was his desire to cement the alliance that led him to make those overtures to Sir Henry Seymour, which were so basely misrepresented and so perfidiously utilised to destroy the good understanding they were intended to promote.

"'You know my feelings?' so Mr. Kinglake begins the story, in his vivacious and charming but slightly unjust The Invasion of the Crimea, 'you know my feelings,' said the Emperor to Sir Henry Seymour, 'with regard to England. What I have told you before, I say again; it was intended that the two countries should be upon terms of close amity; and I feel sure that this will continue to be the case; and I repeat that it is very essential that the two Governments should be on the best of terms, and the necessity was never greater than at present. When we are agreed, I am quite without anxiety as to the rest of Europe. It is immaterial what the others may think or do.'"

This is what the Emperor Nicholas always said, and it was with him a fixed idea. "I desire to speak to you," he said on another occasion, "as a friend and as a gentleman. [The Emperor little knew how the confidence he placed in the "gentleman" would be requited.] If England and I arrive at an understanding in this matter it is indifferent what others do or think."

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In 1846, during his visit to London, the Emperor expressed a wish that, while he would do all in his power to keep the "Sick Man" (Turkey) alive, we should keep the possible and eventual case of a collapse honestly and reasonably before our eyes. This is not the only reason why the memory of the Emperor Nicholas I is ever grateful to those who labour for the Anglo-Russian Alliance. Nor is it the only one why I recall these suggestive passages just now. Some people invoke the prejudice of the past to poison the friendship of the future. Let me take a more grateful course of recalling the repeated attempts of Russia to arrive at a good understanding with England. There is a continuity about Russian policy, and the principles laid down by the grandfather are followed by the grandson.

It is important to remember that in the last century, Austria and England, the friends of the Porte, have taken more Turkish territory for themselves than we, her hereditary foes.

Let us remember the following facts: The Emperor Nicholas I decided to concede to England all she wanted concerning Egypt; and in return, so far from stipulating for the possession, at that time, of Constantinople, he offered to make an engagement not to establish himself there as possessor, not even if circumstances compelled him to undertake a temporary occupation of the city. What then was the Emperor's proposal? It was that of a friendly understanding, "as between gentlemen," that certain things should not be done in case of a sudden collapse of the Ottoman Empire.

Such were the earnest wishes of Russia, but {95} England remained deaf and prejudiced, suspicious and hostile. She preferred a bloody struggle to a hearty alliance, and a tremendous war was fought—thousands of innocent people killed, millions of money spent on both sides—and with no actual result. Does anything remain of the famous Treaty of Paris? I remember having once asked Prince Gortschakoff whether it was he or Count Nesselrode who signed that treaty. The Chancellor was ill, and thought he could not leave his chair, but my question electrified him.

"No," he exclaimed, forgetting his illness and jumping to his feet, "I did not put my name to that document, but I spent a good part of my life in tearing it to pieces. And it is torn to pieces," he repeated, with a vivid, delighted look.

In order to be on good terms with Russia, England has merely not to interfere in Russia's dealings with the Slavs, her co-religionists; not demoralise the latter, not to support elements opposed to our Church and our nationality. In fact, it is an easy, negative part she has to play. Instead of this, in Beaconsfield's days, she quarrelled like a nervous woman, and we acted, perhaps, like another nervous woman. Now, however, is the day of strong men, both English and Russian.

Nicholas I saw that it is of vital importance for the Slavs, who are no traitors to their country, to cling to Russia, because she is the only Power that cares for their Church and their nationality. The Slavs incorporated with Germany have been thoroughly Germanised. Austria is not so clever as her master, but she successfully introduces the {96} Roman Catholic propaganda among the Slavs; imprisons men like Father Naoumovitch for his devotion to the Eastern Church, and morally does almost more harm to the poor young nationalities than does Turkey.

I remember when I was quite a child, a young Southern Slav came to my mother and began complaining of their position. My mother interrupted him by asking, "Would you prefer to belong to Austria?" Though a child, I was horrified to see the despair of his face. "Oh," cried he, "Austria is even worse than Turkey. Turkey kills the body—Austria kills the soul." This is an opinion which, it may be said, is generally held amongst the Southern Slavs—and terribly verified in Bulgaria at the present moment (1916).

It is difficult for outsiders to judge Slavonic troubles and Slavonic needs. It is a private family affair, which ought to be left to us to settle. The Slavs awoke England's sympathies only when it was thought they were the enemies of Russia. Alas! They had their pet name in England, and it was not complimentary.

Is it rational, I ventured to ask in the year 1886, to awaken general indignation in a country like Russia, which could be so useful as an ally? We have common enemies in Asia. Fancy the power represented by two great Christian countries like Russia and England, when they are united and friendly! Is it really not worth having? Time has given me my answer.

People have been so kind as to say that I have been mainly responsible for the bringing together {97} of England and Russia, but whatever I have done I have merely been carrying on the ideal of the Emperor Nicholas I.

Kinglake wrote: "The Emperor Nicholas had laid down for himself a rule which was always to guide his conduct upon the Eastern Question; and it seems to be certain that at this time (the eve of the Turkish war of 1853), even in his most angry moments, he intended to cling to his resolve. What he had determined was that no temptation should draw him into hostile conflict with England."[1]


[1] The Invasion of the Crimea. Sixth edition.


It must be borne in mind that this is the testimony of an Englishman, and one who cannot be accused of being pro-Russian.

It is interesting to recall the words addressed by the Emperor Nicholas I to the English Ambassador at Petrograd in 1853. The Emperor then said:

"The affairs of Turkey are in a very disorganised condition; the country itself seems to be falling to pieces; the fall will be a great misfortune, and it is very important that England and Russia should come to a perfectly good understanding upon these affairs. We have on our hands a Sick Man, a very Sick Man. It will be, I tell you frankly, a great misfortune if one of these days he should slip away from us, especially before all necessary arrangements are made. If the Turkish Empire falls, it falls to rise no more; and I put it you, therefore, whether it is not better to be provided beforehand for a contingency, than to incur the chaos, confusion, and the certainty of an European war, all of which must attend the {98} catastrophe if it should occur unexpectedly and before some ulterior system has been sketched."

The Sick Man certainly has taken longer in dying than the Emperor thought, but he certainly seems to be well on the way now.

Nicholas I was a statesman, one who has been described as bearing "the stamp of a generous and chivalrous nature."

Bismarck himself, in 1849, expressed his admiration of the Emperor's conduct in regard to Hungary. He was always essentially upright and straightforward, and was in every sense of the term a strong man.

Writing of Bismarck reminds me of a story I have heard which I do not remember to have seen in print.

One of Bismarck's most violent opponents thought to damage the Chancellor's position by re-reading one of his own speeches made some years previously. In a loud determined voice the deputy read Bismarck's words before the Reichstag, no one listening to him with more attention than Bismarck himself. When at last the deputy concluded, confident of his own triumph, Bismarck exclaimed: "I should hardly have expected to hear such a prudent, useful speech, and some twenty years ago nothing could have been more appropriate. At this moment, of course, it is quite out of date and could not be acted upon."