The Cathedral at Riga.The Cathedral at Riga.
One of the most interesting experiences I had last year was attending on the Feast of the Epiphany—the appointed day for that and similar services—the blessing of the Neva. The ceremony takes place just outside the Winter Palace at Petrograd. Diplomatists and other visitors who wish to look on, stand within at the windows, but I much preferred to be outside, even though it was bitterly cold and we had to be bareheaded. There was a magnificent and bewildering gathering of Russian ecclesiastics, gorgeously vested. Pricelessikonswere carried, and beautiful banners of rich embroideries, the whole effect being strangely Eastern in character. A few only could enter the smallkioskon the river’s bank where the water, brought in a silver basin, was blessed. But the thrilling thing that day was the glorious singing, chant and refrain, which so richly filled the air, stirring the very depths of one’s being, and the innumerable rows of deeply attentive soldiers in their long grey coats, whosefrequent bowings and devout crossings all through the ranks showed that, though they were there officially, they were there to worship also. The Emperor walked from the palace amongst others and returned to it, bareheaded like any common soldier, with a perfectly plain overcoat like the rest, and nothing whatever to distinguish him from the crowd. He was unattended and moved quite freely with the rest, and could not be recognized except by a few of us standing near the door, who were already familiar with his appearance. There was but little cheering in consequence, though he acknowledged it in that modest and unaffected way which always distinguishes him. It was then that I saw the Grand Duke Nicholas for the first time, the generalissimo in the war, a magnificent man. He had certain announcements to make, or directions to give, and his grand voice rang out on the clear air so that every one could hear. “A real leader of men that,” one felt instinctively without dreaming how soon one would have cause to remember the thought, under tragically altered circumstances.
We cannot possibly attach too much importance to the fact, admitted on all sides and in the most unexpected quarters, that this great race,coming so very closely into our lives, uniting their destiny in some measure with our own, is above all others a distinctly religious people. Russia, as must be ever becoming more and more evident, is to be our ally in a way hitherto entirely unknown to our race and nation. Thoughtful observers have seen it coming for some time, and are not taken at all by surprise, but the idea is still new and not altogether welcome to many. There is no doubt at all about it in my own mind, and I shall return to it more fully in a later chapter, that while we shall still remain the friends of France and act the part of true “friends in need” should occasion again arise, and look with a friendly eye upon other nationalities, and even—how much I hope it—make up our quarrel with Prussia and the German peoples she has influenced against us, yet with Russia our relations are already altogether different, and our two empires are rapidly beginning to realize that they are coming together in an entirely different relationship, to knit up true and enduring ties of brotherly unity with each other, not for selfish purposes at all, but for a great work together for civilization and forGod. We Anglo-Saxons are a deeply religious people at heart, though with our temperamental reticenceand reserve we speak least about the things of which we feel the most. The Russians are also a sincerely religious people, and they, on the other hand, bring out most readily, spontaneously, and naturally, the things which mean most to them. We are unlike each other in temperament, yet absolutely like each other in our view of the deep things ofGod. Thus complementary to one another, we have a real intelligible hope of a lasting friendship. We should have no hope at all of any such tie between ourselves and them if they did not share our serious view of human life and responsibility, and base that view upon a firm belief inGod. We should feel at heart that we had no real confidence in their stability, grit, and powers of staying and lasting out.
Surely the one thing that has come out during the war is the supreme importance ofmorale. Napoleon went so far, I have seen it stated, as to say it counted for an army, in proportion to its numbers, as three to one. I remember too how the military correspondent of theTimes, in one of his most interesting articles on the Balkan War, when it was drawing to a close, explained the disastrous defeat of the Turkish army by the gradual loss ofmoralethey hadsustained by the decay of religion amongst them under the régime of the Young Turks. Prayers had been largely given up by the troops, who no longer had the ministrations of their spiritual leaders, andmoralehad gone in consequence. Then had come disaster. He contrasted with all this the tremendous fervour of the Balkan League, and described a picture he had recently seen in a French illustrated paper. Two French officers were shown looking at a Bulgarian regiment on their knees, their priest praying for them and blessing them before they went into action. “What would one of our generals get,” said one of the French officers to his friend, “if he ordered such a thing as that?” “He would get the victory,” quietly said the other.
I am expecting great things from Russia, and for us through Russia, for civilization and forGod, and what I have written is being ever more and more widely felt by others also, and even expressed in daily papers, where at one time we should not have expected such a thing to be thought of in the midst of a great war. “That Russia is one of the most truly religious countries in the world is proved by the crowds which filled and overflowed in all the churches yesterday when thanksgiving services were heldin celebration of the victory,nor is it possible to doubt the sincerity and devotionof the worshippers. The firm belief in the divine ruling of the world is to be found amongall classes.”[7]
FOOTNOTES:[7]The Daily Mailcorrespondent at Petrograd, November 12, 1914.
[7]The Daily Mailcorrespondent at Petrograd, November 12, 1914.
[7]The Daily Mailcorrespondent at Petrograd, November 12, 1914.
One interesting figure has held the attention of the Continent of Europe for many long years, appealing to the imagination and baffling comprehension, but will never fill the same place again. Another, however, is coming forward very possibly in his stead, without any wish or intention of his own, and that other is the Emperor of Russia. He will do so, I believe, just as the German Emperor has done, because history affords him the opportunity, and because, like the Kaiser, he too is a man who cherishes thoughts of great purposes for his people and ideals for himself.
It affords me the greatest pleasure to write about the Emperor—he is not usually spoken of in Russian society as the Tsar—for I shall always feel most deeply grateful to him for his great personal kindness at my first audience with him, and the great encouragement he gave me at the very beginning of my work abroad.
Her Imperial Majesty the Tsaritsa.Her Imperial Majesty the Tsaritsa.
I have already explained the quaking spirit in which I crossed the frontier. It so happened that Russia was the first country I visited when appointed to take charge of the jurisdiction, and, as to so many others, there was something forbidding to me in the very name of Russia. I knew at that time also that my visitations would bring me, as they have done, into contact with other sovereigns, and with great personages in other countries, and here at St. Petersburg I was to begin with the most unknown and, as one thought of his vast empire, most overwhelming of them all. And then—but let me describe an audience at the palace at Tsarskoe Selo, for it will probably interest many a reader, and also explain how very different from a somewhat perturbed anticipation was the pleasurable reality. I have taken care to satisfy myself beforehand that I shall not be transgressing any of the rules of court etiquette, nor be guilty of any breach of confidence in so doing.
Audiences abroad are always arranged through the British Embassy or Legation. Court dress is worn in Russia, even though the reception itself is perfectly informal, but, as court dress for a bishop consists in being robed as for Easter services, in red chimere, etc., there was no difficulty in providing it even for one who has tocarry everything in a couple of bags, and for months at a time.
Tsarskoe Selo—“The Tsar’s village,” the words mean—is a little over half an hour by rail from Petrograd, and I was instructed to start from the Imperial Station in Petrograd, and there walked over rich carpets, through saluting soldiers, to the imperial train, most beautifully and comfortably arranged with smoking, writing, and reading compartments. Upon arrival at Tsarskoe Selo imperial carriages are always waiting for those expected, with coachman and footman on the box, wearing bright scarlet cloaks edged with white fur and very smart cocked hats of red and gold.
It was a typical Russian wintry day with a tremendous blizzard blowing, and blinding snow falling. Sentries were stationed at intervals through the streets of the village, saluting all the imperial carriages as they went by, although no occupant could be seen; and having passed through it we entered the park and soon drew up at the door of the small palace where the Emperor always resides, and which, white itself, looked that day like a fairy palace rising up amid the snow.
Nothing could be more strikingly different from that white world without, however, thanthe warmth and richness of colour within. On every side there were brilliant and unfamiliar liveries and dazzlingly rich uniforms. An official, of huge physique, wearing several medals, with a broad gold band round his head, from which, on its right side, stuck out a curious bunch of dark feathers, in velvet and lace dress, and with breeches and silk stockings—there was no one the least like him in the crowd of attendants—at once came forward and led me away to a dressing-room in which to leave my furs and change into my robes. He then conducted me through one beautiful room after another, each one richly furnished and adorned with beautiful china, paintings,ikons, trophies, and presents from different parts of the empire, until at length we reached a small room where a number of officers in brilliant uniforms were seated and evidently in attendance.
One of them, the Conte de Grabbé, at once came forward and welcomed me, chatting pleasantly until a servant, very quietly attired like an English butler, came out from a room opposite and, holding the door open, signified that I was to enter.
There was no introduction or announcement of any kind, and, as I entered, the Emperor was already standing there to meet me, smilingpleasantly and encouragingly, with extended hand.
“It is very kind in your Imperial Majesty,” I said, “to allow me to come and see you in this informal way.”
“It is very kind in you to come and see us, bishop,” he replied, so cheerily and unaffectedly, that away went every bit of diffidence and sense of constraint, and, to my great relief and gratitude, I found myself talking as naturally as to an intimate friend. I say “gratitude” because, being put so entirely at ease, able to say all that it was in my mind to say, and ask anything that it was in my mind to wish to know, enabled me to get a clear idea of the Emperor’s attractive personality, and even, as he spoke quite freely, of some at least of the opinions and principles which must rule his conduct and shape his policy and government.
“He gives you confidence,” a diplomatist who had had many official audiences with him said to me one day, and that exactly describes the effect he produces. He talked freely of all things before the public mind just then—of the approaching Coronation of King George, for whom he expressed a more than cousinly regard and respect; of domestic duties and family life as the ideals which shape the destinies ofraces; of the Russian Church, particularly asking if its dignitaries had welcomed me; of our English Church; of travelling; of my own impressions of Russia and other things. It was quite astonishing afterwards to recall the ground we had covered in that interview. And before I left he inquired:—
“When will you be coming to Russia again, bishop?”
“Next year, sir,” I said; “for I believe I am to go to Siberia.”
“Siberia! How interesting! I’ve never yet been to Siberia. Then you’ll come and tell us all about it when you return, won’t you?”
“I shall be much honoured, sir.” And praying God’s blessing upon himself and the imperial family, for which he thanked me as simply and modestly as any other layman would have done, I withdrew, feeling that it had been one of the most helpful and memorable interviews I had ever had.
I have been often asked if the Emperor is not very much like our King, and it is a somewhat difficult question to answer. As he stood there that morning, in a simple pale blue uniform, well set up and looking extraordinarily young and boyish, and smilingly happy—so entirely different from one’s expectations—it did notoccur to me to see any such likeness, but an old courtier said to me, in speaking after luncheon of “the resemblance which is so much talked of”—
“There is no resemblance to be noticed when their two Majesties are together, nor would there be any striking likeness seen between their portraits in colours, but in photographs or anything that is black and white, just bringing out light and shade, then the similarity is most remarkable, you might easily mistake one for the other.”
This puts one’s own impressions very clearly. There is a well-known photograph, circulated as a postcard in Germany, and from a German negative, of which I have a copy, in which the two Emperors are shown in conversation on the imperial yacht. Any one seeing it in English hands would certainly think that it was our King and the Kaiser, and be quite astonished at learning it was not.
The Emperor received me the first time in a very comfortable but simply furnished study, and the last time, when, in accordance with his invitation, I went to tell him about my two missions to Siberia, in his billiard-room fitted up as a study or library, and in which he led me to the kind of window-seat which we know so well in English country houses, looking out upon thepark. Afterwards luncheon was served for me in theGrand Palaisof the Great Catherine, a most magnificent and immense palace a little distance away, full of interesting souvenirs of Russia’s past.
His Imperial Highness the Tsarevitch Alexei.His Imperial Highness the Tsarevitch Alexei.
It is well known how many and different rumours have been circulated during the last two years about the heir to the throne, and it seems rather a pity that the simple truth has not been announced and made fully known from the first, for I am assured on the best authority in Petrograd, that the Tsarevitch suffers from a skin affection not unknown, unfortunately, to members of our royal family, which, as he is a very high-spirited boy, difficult to watch and caution, has in moments of exuberance and violent exertion caused him to receive injuries which for a time have been disabling.
When last at Tsarskoe Selo, before taking my leave I took out some puzzles from my pocket, made of wood and steel, quite inexpensive, as I thought it likely they would be most welcome because most unfamiliar, and handing them to the Emperor, said:—
“I have brought the Tsarevitch a present, sir, and I bring it out with much hesitation, for it is a very simple one, and I know he must have had many beautiful and costly gifts this Christmas.”
“Not at all,” he said; “we bring him up very simply, and he loves puzzles. He and I used up all we could get, especially those jig-saw puzzles, while he was ill. These, I see, are new.”
“I hope,” I said, “that he is now better?”
“Yes,” he said, “he is; he’s quite well now—quite well,” he repeated with emphasis.
The Emperor speaks English perfectly, fluently, and with ease, and I have been told that it is the language most generally, if not always, used in the ordinary daily life of the imperial family.
I have taken up some time in giving these personal impressions, but I think it is quite worth while to do so just now as the Emperor was so particularly gracious and kind, and thus enabled me to form some idea of what he is, just as a man and a father in his own home; and that I know will appeal to my own countrymen when wondering what is likely to be his policy and aim as a ruler of a vast empire.
A man can onlydowhat heis, whether he be in the highest or the lowest positions in the world; and he always brings out, sooner or later, what he is at heart. It must therefore be a very great source of confidence to us all just now, when we believe that the providence ofGodhas brought the British and the Russian Empires together, not for temporary, but forenduring objects, to know, as I feel we may consider that we do know, that the Emperor of all the Russias is a man we can all respect and trust, precisely as we respect and trust our own Sovereign—as one whose ideals are those of domestic duty and family life on the one hand, and the real interests and well-being of the labouring and toiling millions of his people on the other.
A somewhat scandalous book was written last year which I won’t mention by name, lest curiosity should lead those who have not read it to do so, which gave a most unfavourable impression of the Emperor and the imperial family. It was not, however, written by an Englishman; and, without questioning in any way the writer’sbona fides, I am bound to say, and very confidently and energetically, that I have never yet met one of my own countrymen who has had to do with the Emperor of Russia, financially, diplomatically, or in audience, who has not expressed himself to me about him in the same appreciative terms as I have here used myself.
Take, for instance, what Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace has written only a few months ago.[8]“The antiquated idea that Tsars are always heartless tyrants who devote much of their timein sending troublesome subjects to Siberia, is now happily pretty well exploded, but the average Englishman is still reluctant to admit that an avowedly autocratic government may be, in certain circumstances, a useful institution. There is no doubt, however, that in the gigantic work of raising Russia to her present level of civilization, the Tsars have played a most important part. As for the present Tsar, he has followed, in a humane spirit, the best traditions of his ancestors. Any one who has had opportunities of studying closely his character and aims, and who knows the difficulties with which he has had to contend, can hardly fail to regard him with sympathy and admiration. Among the qualities which would commend him to Englishmen are his scrupulous honesty and genuine truthfulness. Of these—were I not restrained by fear of committing a breach of confidence—I might give some interesting illustrations.
“As a ruler, Nicholas II habitually takes a keen, sympathetic interest in the material and moral progress of his country; and is ever ready to listen attentively and patiently to those who are presumably competent to offer sound advice on the subject. At the same time he is very prudent in action; and this happy combination of zeal and caution, which distinguishes himfrom his too impetuous countrymen, has been signally displayed in recent years. During the revolutionary agitation which followed close on the disastrous Japanese War, when the impetuous would-be reformers wished to overturn the whole existing fabric of administration, and the timid counsellors recommended vigorous retrograde measures, he wisely steered a middle course, which has resulted in the creation of a moderate form of parliamentary institutions.”
I am not alone, therefore, in the very favourable impression I have formed of the Russian Emperor as a man whom the best of my own countrymen may respect as one like-minded with themselves in his views of life and conduct, and his own countrymen thoroughly trust as a constitutional ruler who, though determined, as he will be advised by his most trusted counsellors, to go cautiously, yet is convinced that a good government’s one and chief concern is the well-being of those who are governed, and especially of those who form the lowest class in its social scale.
Like Sir Donald Wallace, I too could give instances of the Emperor’s straightforward and generous action which show the essential right-mindedness of his nature in a very striking way, if it were possible to do so without breach ofconfidence. Especially was this the case in a particular instance of which I know, when it was a question of putting his own interests, and even dignity, in a very secondary position. It was one, indeed, in which no great ruler could be expected or asked to do so, but when he learnt himself what was involved he at once did so subordinate his own interests, and has earned in consequence the lasting gratitude of all concerned, and their entire and loyal confidence.
The Russian people are intensely loyal, and, as the overwhelming majority are of the peasant class, their loyalty is of that simple, fervid, and trusting character which is seen in their family and village life. They do not speak of the “Emperor” so much as of “The Little Father,” and that is how they feel towards him. He is the father of his people and they are his children. If there is anything they object to in legislation it is always put down to officialdom, just as our own Colonies, before the days when they began to “think imperially,” used to vent all their displeasure upon “Downing Street” when unwelcome legislation took place, and never upon Queen Victoria (or her government), for whom they had the greatest respect and affection. The Russian peasant too murmurs loudly at times against the governors and theirsubordinates when he is requested to do something that he does not like, but with a solacing reflection to himself that “The Little Father would put everything right if he only knew.”
There is disaffection and serious disloyalty in other quarters, and I shall try my best to describe it and what may very possibly be some of its causes, in my chapter on “Russia’s Problem,” but the dangerous disaffection, probably already beginning to pass away, is confined to a few of the largest towns, and does not in any way affect the overwhelming majority of the Emperor’s subjects, who are entirely devoted to him and patriotically loyal.
This ought to be remembered also when we are thinking over future relations between our own people and theirs. The Russians are not a downtrodden and oppressed people struggling to throw off the yoke of a harsh and despotic rule, but are contented, loyal, and law-abiding. They do not, however, show their loyalty by any outward expressions such as the “All Highest,” and others with which we have been made familiar in the addresses and letters of Germans of high rank, office, and birth, during the war. No such terms exist or are thought of amongst the subjects of the Emperor of Russia. The word Tsar occurs, I believe, inthe National Anthem, and Tsaritsa is used occasionally, while there is no such word as Tsarina in the language. But neither Tsar, Emperor, Tsaritsa, or Empress are used, I am told, amongst the ordinary people. They speak of “Gosudar” and “Gosudarina” which mean Lord and Lady, or Sir and Madame, and in such general use are these terms, I believe, that a man writing a business letter to a tradesman would begin “Gracious Gosudar.” The Tsarevitch Alexis is spoken of amongst the people by a word in perfectly common use, which is no more than the ordinary word for “heir.” Loyalty and great respect, it would seem, are quite consistent with great familiarity of thought and expression.
The Emperor is probably spoken of more frequently as Nicolai Alexandrovitch—“Nicholas, son of Alexander”—than by any other title, and I feel sure that the Grand Duke Nicholas, Commander-in-Chief, and his doings at head-quarters, have been spoken of all over Russian plains and Siberian steppes this winter as familiarly and as proudly as of some one who had gone from their own village. “Ah! Nicolai Nicolaievitch! What a man he is! How well he has fought this war! How proud we are of him!” etc., etc. I was told lately of a touching incidentwhich occurred at a great service in Russia (the translation of the remains of a great saint) at which the Grand Duchess Serge was present, and, when she arrived, had gone quietly up to a gallery pew, arranged for her and other great ladies. Soon afterwards an old peasant woman, to whom she had once shown a kindness, arrived, and at once began to inquire:—
“Has Elizabeth come yet?”—the Grand Duchess’s Christian name—“I want Elizabeth. She told me when next I came where she was to be sure and ask for her. Where’s Elizabeth?”
The Grand Duchess in her exalted gallery caught something of what was going on, and, hearing her own name, at once came down.
“Here I am, little mother!” And then with “Dear Elizabeth!” the old woman threw her arms about her neck and began her story.
Such a thing is only possible in Russia, and yet it is the one country in the world where we have always been led to think that between the highest and the lowest there is that “great gulf fixed,” which if not bridged over in this life by sympathy and love, has little hope of being passed in the world to come.
Rank and position and high office if worthily filled need no buttressing up. Least of all need those who hold them give themselves airs.Their office is enough in itself; and last year, when I had a large party of German youths to take about London, and by the kindness of those concerned took them to see one or two great places where they were most courteously and graciously received—they were the sons of working men in Frankfurt—I was more than pleased to hear one of them say to his friend, “I notice that in England the higher the rank the less the pretence.” So it is in Russia. The more exalted the position the more unaffected and simple the one who fills it!
The Grand Duchess Elizabeth, daughter of our own Princess Alice, is probably the best known and the best loved woman in all Moscow, indeed in all Russia, and hereafter will, in all probability, have “Saint” prefixed to her name. Many do not hesitate to use it even now. Her sad experiences appealed most powerfully to the people’s sympathies when she was so tragically widowed a few years ago. Her husband, the Grand Duke Serge, Governor of Moscow, had become extremely unpopular with certain classes, and it was well known that his life was in danger; but he knew no fear, and drove out constantly in an open carriage in which the Grand Duchess insisted upon accompanying him. It is said that at length a letter was written tohim advising him to leave her behind if he valued her life, and adding significantly, “We have no quarrel with her, nor anything against her.” She was, therefore, from that time left at home, his secretary asking to be allowed to go in her place. Again the same kind of letter was received, and he too was left behind; and the Grand Duke, who was no coward, determined to go alone. And then, on the first morning he did so, and not far from his own door, the fatal bomb was thrown, and did its work so effectually that there was nothing left to be seen! He was literally “blown to atoms.” Every one in Moscow is said to have heard the terrific explosion, and knew at once. “They have him at last!” The Grand Duchess heard also and rushed immediately to the scene. It may be questioned whether any other woman has ever had such an ordeal as that to face! She had just seen her husband drive away from his home, and in a few moments there was nothing left! I believe a finger with his signet ring was subsequently found, but that was all.
Moscow, which had always respected and admired her, at once gave her whole-hearted sympathy, which soon became a deep and true affection as they learnt that she had determined to give her whole life and income to their poor.
She founded the first order which has been introduced into Russia for women’s work amongst the sick and poor. When I was last in Moscow, she explained to me its character, and it seemed to me to be a blend of the Tertiaries of S. Francis and the deaconesses of the primitive church, though the latter is the model she has wished to follow. She told me she had ninety-six sisters in the order now, and that whilst some sick were brought into their own wards many were visited in their own homes. It is this visiting work that she hopes most to develop as time goes on. She is, of course, by Baptism and Confirmation a member of our own Church, and is full of interest and sympathy towards it, and usually attends the Abbey service when in London, though she joined the Orthodox Church of Russia during her married life. This, she told me, was without any influence being brought to bear upon her, and entirely from conviction that it was best for her own religious life in her adopted country.
She wore the simple and grey habit of her order, and it was difficult to realize that she was a princess of the blood, and sister-in-law to the Emperor himself, as she spoke so simply and humbly about her work, and what shehoped still with the blessing ofGodto do. She does not cut herself off, however, from life’s ordinary relationships, for when later at Tsarskoe Selo, I told the Emperor that I had been able to see her and hear about her work, he said, “She is coming to spend a fortnight with us this very afternoon.”
That is what one meets everywhere in Russia, the unconventional and the natural. The superior of a new order, which is an entirely fresh departure, would be expected in any other country to give up everything else in the way of social and family relationships. But in Russia, if a perfectly natural thing like a visit to near relations suggests itself as desirable the visit is duly paid.
It is so always! The splendid and the simple, high rank and humble birth seem to find themselves close together, the rich and the poor unite so easily in a common interest. “A gorgeous imperial procession was passing through the palace hall,” writes one who saw it at Tsarskoe Selo as a specially grand function, “and two or three maid-servants appeared at the head of a little staircase to look on, wearing print dresses. No one told them to go away.”[9]No one would think of it.
The Emperor loves the simple folk he governs,and showed it plainly when in the earlier part of his reign he moved freely amongst them, standing next to peasants and workmen in Moscow, when he stepped into a church to pray. And after he returned from our own country, from the marriage of King George, I read the other day, “somebody asked him what had impressed him most. ‘The crowd outside Buckingham Palace waiting to see Queen Victoria drive out,’ he said. ‘There they waited, hour after hour, and at last a little black carriage came out of the palace-gates. Very few of the people in the crowd could see the Queen, but they knew that she was there, and they went away satisfied. One day it will be like that in Russia.’” And the writer adds: “I do not think the Emperor’s prophecy is likely to be realized in his lifetime; but a day will come when his subjects will forget the mistakes that have been made in his name, and recognize that they owe to him great reforms.” I fancy in subsequent editions, for his book well deserves to have them, he will alter those words into “I feel sure that he will live to see it, and not have long to wait.”
Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Elizabeth—The Friend of the Poor.Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Elizabeth—The Friend of the Poor.
FOOTNOTES:[8]Our New Ally.[9]Rothay Reynolds,My Russian Year.
[8]Our New Ally.
[8]Our New Ally.
[9]Rothay Reynolds,My Russian Year.
[9]Rothay Reynolds,My Russian Year.
Two years ago, when I was in conversation with one of our leading diplomatists, who has a very intimate knowledge of the Russian people, their Emperor and governing classes, I asked him, “Do you not think that the Russian government is the most paternal in its aim and character of all the governments in Europe?”
“Of course I do,” he replied; and rather excitedly added, “But when I even hint at such a view of Russian methods to our own countrymen here at home they regard me as if I had taken leave of my senses, and look at me with an incredulous and pitying eye.”
It is no wonder that this should be so when our own people still, for the most part, look upon Russia as the land of the knout and banishment, with an oppressive and despotic government which on the least suspicion seizes upon unoffending victims and consigns them to Siberia and the mines, where, chained together, they drag out their lingering existence inunfamiliar and degrading toil. No words are wasted, it is believed, upon the weak and ineffective, but the lash comes stingingly down upon their shoulders. Harsh legislation is the rule, it is thought, and if perchance people rise up in masses against it, as they do from time to time, the dreaded Cossack sweeps through the streets, and, at terrible cost to human life, clears them. Again and again I find this is the prevailing idea of Russia, as I am asked if I am not afraid to travel there; and something like it, I have candidly admitted, was my own impression before I went there and saw things for myself. But nothing could be more unlike the actual reality.
The relations of the governing and governed in Russia are really paternal on the one hand and filial on the other, and I hope that I may be able to induce my readers to believe that is true of the greater part of the whole population.
In the first place, the knout is long since gone. No such thing exists now, except as a curiosity, in the whole of Russia, nor has it been used officially since the days of the present Emperor’sgreat grandfather!
Next there are the convicts. It is now twenty-five years since Mr. Harry de Windt, the well-known traveller, disproved the lurid accountswhich had been given a short time before of the horrors of Siberian prisons. In his book of 1903 he says, “I have always maintained that were I sentenced to a term of penal servitude I would infinitely prefer to serve it in (some parts of) Siberia than in England.” When he puts these words in brackets he is thinking, of course, of the severity of climate and distance from frequented routes, and not of the treatment of the prisoners. He tells at length—space does not permit me to quote freely as I would like to do—how even criminal convicts are well cared for; and that even the murderers and murderesses amongst them, for there is no capital punishment in Russia, are lodged in wards which are clean and well warmed; that there is a comfortable infirmary connected with a prison, and even a home close at hand, supported by private subscription, for children of the prisoners.
Mr. Foster Fraser also, in his book onThe Real Siberia—perhaps one of the best known of modern works on that part of the empire—tells us that having been more “thrilled” as a boy by what he had read about Siberian prisons than by Red Indian stories, and knowing that people, the world over, were in the habit of saying, “Only Russia could be so cruel,a civilized country would shrink from such barbarities,” determined to go and see for himself, and, as is usual with those who go to Russia full of prejudice and dread, the scales fell from his eyes when he visited Irkutsk prison. He found to his surprise that, “It was not the gloomy, sullen-stoned, slit-windowed, iron-barred structure such as are our prisons at home”; and he describes at length a system which will compare favourably with any other prisons in the world, as to discipline, but surpasses them all in friendliness and freedom from constraint. “What attracted me was the informal relationship between governor and prisoners. The men talked without any restraint, made requests and even jests.” But the climax of his experiences of “Siberian horrors” came when he asked to see the women prisoners, and was taken to the “best house in the place,” where, on going into the yard, he saw some women “sitting about, and some children playing with a kitten.”
“I’ll send for the matron,” said the governor.
“Is this the prison?” I asked in some amazement.
“Yes—this is the only prison we have in Irkutsk for women.”
“It was just a large-sized ordinary house,” hegoes on, “abutting on the street, but not a single soldier to see. I couldn’t help laughing,” he adds, for the women, who numbered about forty, and had twenty children with them, represented offences which ranged from petty theft up to murder, the five or six murderesses being much the same as the others in appearance and character as far as could be seen. Mr. Fraser felt it was absurd to call such a place a prison, and asked:—
“Do you really mean to say that these women don’t go away?”
And then his amazement was complete when he was told that one had surprised them very much, a little while before, by going off, but had surprised them even more by coming back after a day or two and telling them that she had wanted to see a man she was rather fond of and have a week-end with him, as men visitors were not allowed on Sundays, the visiting day!
It will be conceded, I think, by my most prejudiced reader, that Russia does not seem to be unduly harsh in her dealings with even her worst type of criminals!
Next let me speak of “politicals,” as we may call them. It is nearly two years ago since a meeting was organized in London to protest in the name of civilization—very strong languageindeed was used in the preliminary circular—against Russia’s treatment of her political prisoners; and one who holds very high office in London, and whom it was specially desired to have present, did me the honour of asking my advice about attending it, as I had just returned from Siberia. I replied at once, and pointed out how very difficult and delicate the work of embassies and legations is made when such meetings of protest are held in the countries they represent, and that we should deeply resent meetings of a similar kind being held in other countries with respect to methods of our own. We are open to criticism ourselves at times, every one will admit! I gave it as my opinion also that the statements of the circular were greatly exaggerated. Wishing later to be assured that this was so, I questioned a Russian of high rank in diplomacy, who at once said:—
“Suppose you go and see for yourself the next time you are in Siberia. Visit any mines you wish, or prisons either, and the Russian government shall afford you all facilities.”
Characteristic Group of Russians.Characteristic Group of Russians.
This I am hoping to do this very year, if all’s well, and so, though I have seen convicts for myself in Siberia, yet what I have to say here now is not at first hand, but still it will be on the best authority in every case, and when Ican I will give names. It was quite a revelation to me as I listened, on my first visit to Russia, to the statements I heard on all sides whenever banishment to Siberia was mentioned.
“But surely you know what that means? No? Well, for ordinary political offenders who are either suspect or actually giving offence, and making government difficult, all that it means is that they have to go and live in Siberia, where their wives and families follow them. Their property is not seized nor income forfeited. It can all be realized, and so they can live as comfortably there as in Russia. There are people indeed who prefer to live in Siberia after they have gone there. After a few years or so, if they like to escape they can do so, and no one interferes. They can live where they please, but they must not return to Russia.”
That did not seem a very hard fate, nor can it be said to be a very undeserved one, for every one must feel that the government of a country so vast is beset with difficulties and must, in the present state of its population, be firm, and not hesitate at strong measures against those plotting against it. I know myself, in a recent case too, which caused much excitement in this country, warning after warning was given to enable the offender to leave the country before arrest tookplace, and even after the sentence unexpected indulgence and clemency were shown.
Let me now quote straight from Mr. Foster Fraser’s book, written by one who tells us frankly that he “went to Siberia with the average Britisher’s prejudice against things Russian, but with eyes open,” and determined to see things for himself.
“The political prisoners are given the best part of the country to live in, namely, in the west. Other prisoners are exiled nearer to the icy regions according to the gravity of their offence. The political prisoners may practise handicrafts, and, by special permission, medicine. A ‘political’ is not identified with the criminal any more than a debtor is identified with a felon in England. Such offenders do not travel with other prisoners in a gang. A ‘political’ may be on a train going into exile; but no one knows it besides himself and the members of the police travelling in the same carriage. Politicals get about £1. 10s.a month from the government, but this varies according to the district to which they are sent. Wives who accompany their husbands are allowed 36 lb. of bread a month, but must submit to the regulations of theétape. If all goes well with a ‘political’ he gets permission to settle in some Siberian townwith his family, but any allowance from the government then ceases. He is just the same as any other resident, save that he can never leave Siberia. If he wishes to farm, the government will give him a plot of land and money to work it. But this money must be paid back by instalments.” He states, as will be seen, “he can never leave Siberia,” but what, I fancy, was really meant by his informant was “never return to Russia.” We can hardly think, in a land where the executive is so indulgent as to allow a dangerous criminal to “week-end” with a friend, that they will be less considerate to a political of good character wishing to go to a better climate and letting it be understood that Russia would not be the place selected. There is the human touch about everything in that country of spacious and large ideas, and it is not lacking either in the treatment of political offenders or with other criminals and felons also.
Mr. Harry de Windt is not only explicit but even amusing and entertaining as he tells us what he found at Yakutsk, which is quite remote enough from civilization, on the great Lena post road, to make one feel that the lot of the banished there must be sad indeed; but at the same time we can enter a little, perhaps, into his feelings of amazement when he found that “the politicalexiles there seemed to be no worse off, socially, than any one else, for they moved about in society and were constantly favoured guests of the Chief of Police. The exiles, however, were not permitted to take part in the private theatricals I have mentioned, a restriction which caused them great annoyance. Their loud and unfavourable criticisms from the stalls on the evening in question were certainly not in the best of taste, and, to my surprise, they were not resented by the governor’s staff.” This incident will show that, in Yakutsk at any rate, the “politicals” are treated not only with leniency but with a friendly courtesy, which on this occasion was certainly abused. Mr. Olenin, an exile whose term of banishment was expiring, told me that he had no fault whatever to find with Yakutsk as a place of exile, so much so that he had resolved not to return to Russia at the end of his sentence, but to remain here and complete an ethnological work upon which he was engaged. I don’t think that “harshness and barbarity” are words that can be appropriately used for a discipline that permits attendances at “private theatricals” where politicals are so much at ease that they indulge in loud and unfavourable criticisms in the presence of the governor’s staff, and go out as favoured gueststo dinner parties given by the Chief of the Police!
A few months ago, however, I had my last and great surprise as to Russia, in learning—what strangely enough is not yet known to many Russians of experience and official rank—that convict labour in mines is entirely abandoned now, and has been for some years! It was found to be both unprofitable and impracticable as modern ideas of mining advanced. It was clearly a great waste of time to march gangs to the “pit’s mouth,” as they call it in our own mining districts, and remove their chains before sending them down, putting them on when they came up again. Then no blasting is now done without dynamite; and that, clearly, was a dangerous substance to hand over to criminals. Again, they are of all classes, and but few could ever have worked in mines before, and not having either technical knowledge or experience, their work would be unprofitable. Convict labour below ground has been given up for some time in consequence. Prisoners now, when sent out to Siberia, are only required to work above ground, though they may go into the mines if they choose, and have fitness for the work, and can be trusted. They are all allowed and encouraged to hire themselves out,receiving the market price for their work, and so being able to obtain little comforts for themselves. As far as I have been able to consider the experiences of reliable authorities, I feel convinced that when able to see for myself I too shall say I would far rather serve a term of imprisonment with hard labour amongst the convicts of Siberia than in Dartmoor or Portland. There is far more of the human touch in the former, and a man does not suffer in his manhood in the same way there as he does in the English, French, Belgian, and Central American prisons I have known.
How, then, are we to account for all the well-known stories of miseries and sufferings associated with that lone, and in winter very terrible land? Most of us read in our youthful daysElizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia, and since then have always spoken of “the Siberian mines,” and “banishment” with bated breath! How have such impressions so gained ground that the very name of Russia has taken us straightway out of Europe into Asia to thoughts of the severest and most hopeless criminal punishments in the world? I should say that the explanation is to be found, very possibly, in the methods used before arrest. What is called “administrative procedure” has long been the usual way of dealing with suspectedpolitical offenders. A man or woman is arrested, and without public trial is removed to Siberia, and there required to live under police supervision. Arrests are made at any time. “A man may be seated quietly at home with his family, in his office, or at some place of public entertainment, when a touch upon his shoulder summons him away.” There are no press reports of his trial or examination, which is conducted in private, nor any appeal from it, and there have been, and perhaps are still, cases where a suspected offender’s family remain in ignorance of what has happened to him, or where he is. The thought of such a disappearance from the midst of family and friends is enough to chill any heart, and even if Russia does consider it necessary to deal thus summarily with those who are enemies of social order and the well-being of the State, without being unduly harsh in her treatment of them when they are exiled, one may very well hope that what have been called the “underground methods” of her police may soon be entirely laid aside. It is still consistent, I submit, with the aim of a paternal government to remove at once, and with no uncertain or hesitating hand, those who are considered the most dangerous elements in its social life, and the enemies of its stability and well-being.
It was in Siberia, however, that I learnt the positive side of Russia’s care for her peasant and working population. There I found, as soon as I looked into the working of a great company, that it was necessary to have a Russian engineer, in addition to the one employed by the staff, who is held responsible by the governor of the district for the inspection of all machinery and the arrangements made for securing those employed from unnecessary risk and danger. A police officer of a superior class is attached to the staff also, not only to maintain order, but to receive any complaints and transmit them if serious to higher authorities. The government distinctly interferes in order to guard the interests of its working class, and though sometimes the presence of another engineer or the police official may seem irksome, our countrymen recognize loyally that the government have no wish to be vexatious, but only to fulfil their duty to their own people.
Then next I found, also in Siberia, how extraordinarily kind and helpful all officials are to colonists, who are not always easy to deal with when travelling or settling down in a new country. They take things for granted and expect much, and yet are never disappointed; officials of every class, and especially on railways, being unfailing in patience, tact, good-nature, and good-humour. The working folk on a train, in their third or fourth classes, are always treated with indulgence and kindly consideration.