CHAPTER XIII 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!

ALEXANDER KIRéEFF
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 Athen?um 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.