July 1914—Enthusiasm at Moscow—My Ambition Realised—England and Russia Allies—A War of Right—Wounded Heroes—Russia's Faith in Victory—Our Emperor's Call—England's Greatness—I am Introduced to Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli—"The M.P. for Russia in England"—Mr. Gladstone's Championship—An Unpopular Cause


I was in Moscow when our Monarch's mighty voice sounded in defence of little Serbia. I was driving near the Tverskoi Boulevard, when a shouting crowd rushed past me, and burst into a neighbouring restaurant.

"What does it all mean?" I exclaimed. "Is it a riot? do they want drink?"

"Oh no," said the bystanders. "They only want to call out the orchestra and make them play the national hymn."

I stopped my carriage.

The orchestra appeared, and played our God save the Tzar, while the whole crowd, wild with enthusiasm, joined in.

Delighted and touched, I followed them. Most were singing and shouting "Hurrah," some praying and making the sign of the cross, while the throng continually increased.

{18}

Similar scenes occurred daily in various quarters of the town. One evening, an idle crowd had assembled near St. Saviour's Church. A priest appeared with a cross. The whole crowd fell on their knees and prayed. Such moments one cannot forget—indeed one can only thank God for them.

People say that in Petrograd the demonstrations were still grander. It may be so—but whenever the Emperor visits Moscow, and speaks there with his powerful, animating voice, the old capital rises to unapproachable heights of enthusiasm and to resolutions of unbounded self-sacrifice.

A few days later I realised that the great ambition of my life was about to be realised, not only by an entente, but by an alliance between Russia and the country that has given me so many friends and shown me such splendid hospitality. Yet how differently everything had happened from what I had anticipated after the signing of the Anglo-Russian Agreement. It was not the gradual drawing together of the two countries that each might enjoy the peaceful friendship of the other: but the sudden discovery that they had a common foe to fight, a common ideal to preserve, a common civilisation to save.

Years ago I wrote, "I want to be a harbinger of peace, of hope, of prosperity to come," and yet here was my great ambition being realised to the sound of the drum and midst the thunder of the destroying guns.

History was repeating itself. As in 1875, a Slav nation was being oppressed, threatened with annihilation, and the great heart of Russia was moved. {19} I remember so well those days forty years ago when our Foreign Office tried all it could to stop the reckless chivalry of the Russian people—determined as all classes were to sacrifice everything, life itself even, for the sake of their oppressed co-religionists, the Bulgarians.

In that August thirty-eight years before (1876), Petrograd itself (always more cautious and reserved than Moscow) showed an enthusiasm for the cause of the Christian Slavs that daily gathered strength. It pervaded all classes from prince to peasant.

The sympathy of the masses had been evoked by the atrocities, committed in the usual unspeakable Turkish fashion, in Bulgaria. That sympathy, however, bore chiefly a religious, not a political character, and as in almost all great national movements our Emperor identified himself with his people. Public collections were being made for the sick and wounded.

Officers of the Red Cross and ladies of the Court and society went from house to house requesting subscriptions.

At railway stations, on the steam-boats, even on the tramways, the "Red Cross" was present everywhere, with a sealed box for donations. Every effort was made to animate feelings of compassion for the suffering Christians, and to swell the funds for providing ambulances for the sick and wounded.

And now in 1914 another great national emotion had swept over three hundred millions of people. This was not a war of greed or gain; it was not concerned with some insult levelled at Russia or the violation of her frontiers; it was the result of a {20} deep religious sense of justice in the hearts of the people. It was what in England would be called "the sporting instinct" which forbids a big man to hit another smaller than himself.

No power could have held back the chivalrous Russians from going to the aid of threatened Serbia. All recognised that a terrible and fateful day had dawned, and throughout the dark days of the autumn of 1915, the people never flinched from the task they had undertaken. They were pledged to save Serbia.

Russians believed, still believe and will always believe, in the sacredness of an oath given in the name of God. Certain words indeed are not meaningless sounds! To such sacred promises naturally belongs also the oath of allegiance.

For centuries confidence and harmony reigned between all the Russian subjects. Now, the blasphemous Kaiser was trying to abolish every moral and religious tie. Could anything be more cruel and mischievous?

Everywhere it was the same. When I visited the wounded in my Tamboff country place, our poor soldiers, in answer to my queries as to their wants and desires, answered quite simply, not in the least realising the nobleness of their feeling:

"If God would only make us strong enough to go and punish the infamous enemy. You do not know the harm done to our fields, our churches, our brothers."

The tone of this and similar remarks was very striking. One of the wounded was a Mohammedan. I do not know whether it is wise or not, but the {21} Mohammedans in Russia are treated exactly like other Russian subjects, and they know that in serving Russia they may attain the highest military positions, as did, for instance, General Ali Khanoff, and others of the same creed.

Russia, as a whole, has an unlimited faith in victory. The Russian Emperor's New Year's address echoed far and wide, like a clarion call, through the ranks of the Imperial army and fleet. All doubts vanished beyond recall, for the utterance of the Sovereign was more decided, definite and determined than any that had gone before. Here are words that must ring like a knell in the ears of exhausted Germany, trembling under the strain of her last efforts.

"A half-victory—an unfinished war"—this was the hideous phantom before which the hearts of our brave soldiers sank, and which, like a ceaseless nightmare, disturbed the rest, even of our most illiterate peasants. Far and wide, indeed, Russian hearts to-day thrill and respond to their beloved Emperor's call:

"Remember that without complete victory our dear Russia cannot ensure for herself and her people the independence that is her pride and her birthright, cannot enjoy and develop to the full the fruits of her labour and her natural wealth. Let your hearts be permeated with the consciousness that there can be no peace without victory. However great may be the sacrifice required of us, we must march onward unflinchingly, onward to triumph for our country and our cause."

The air vibrated with the echoes of these splendid {22} words—and the bereaved mothers, sisters, wives, weeping in the loneliness and despair of their broken hearts, look up and smile again, because Russia's blood has not been shed in vain. The news travelled on the wings of the wind, and over countless distant, unknown graves, it brought its message to our fallen heroes: "You shall be revenged, brave warriors; your souls shall celebrate the moment of triumph, together with your living brothers!"

It is good also to know that we are not alone in our determination, that our Allies are with us, and share our views.

Therefore, if we assume that Germany's entire population numbers about seventy millions, the outside limit for the numerical strength of her army can in no circumstance exceed ten millions, this being already 14 per cent of the whole nation, and a completely unprecedented percentage of the nation's manhood. Such figures, indeed, represent an entire people in arms—a people, however, that has taken upon itself the impossible task of measuring its strength against that of three other mighty peoples, armed, also, to the teeth. In this uneven struggle, Germany must ultimately, in spite of Austrian, Bulgarian and Turkish help, meet her ruin, and bleed to death.

We, in Russia, look forward to the future without fear. We stand united as one man. All political strifes and disagreements are forgotten; there is no division of parties, no discussion of any affairs of State except those connected with the war. "War war, war, till victory, till triumph. There lies our future, and so shall it be." With these words our {23} Home Secretary, Monsieur Khvostoff, concluded his recent speech to the members of the Press Bureau. The same sentiments are echoed everywhere. We are determined and hopeful, and ready for every sacrifice, because, to quote our Empress Alexandra in her New Year's telegram to the Secretary of State, "A war that has been forced on us by our enemies, and that has attained dimensions unprecedented in history, naturally calls for immense sacrifices. But I know that the Russian people will not hesitate before these sacrifices, and will fight on nobly until the moment when God's blessing will bring to the glorious warriors who are shedding their blood for their fatherland and their Emperor, the peace that shall be bought by complete victory over our foes."

By these words may English people discern the spirit of their Russian friends, their faith in victory.

The difference between 1876 and 1914 is our attitude towards Great Britain. Whereas forty years ago we suspected, even hated, her, now we see her in her true colours. She is doing for Belgium what we once did for Bulgaria, and from a sense of right and political honour. She could have remained neutral, safe in her sea defences, devoting her time to capturing the trade of the combatants. Instead of which she chose to risk all in honouring her pledge. This fact brought Russia very near to Great Britain, and I hope the years that are coming will see a better understanding in Great Britain of the Russian Spirit.

And now something about myself. In 1873 Baron Brunow, the Russian Ambassador in London, introduced me to Mr. Gladstone and {24} Mr. Disraeli in the same evening. The one was to become a dear friend who was to give powerful support to my efforts to bring Russia and England closer together, whilst the other a few years later was to confer upon me the honorary title of which I have always been so proud. "Madame Novikoff," he said, during the Bulgarian agitation, when Mr. Gladstone and I were doing our utmost to negative his pro-Turkish activities, "I call Madame Novikoff the M.P. for Russia in England."

This remark was not intended to give me pleasure, although, now that my years of work have ended successfully, it may appear, as Mr. W. T. Stead said, "a flattering compliment."

At that time, however, Lord Beaconsfield was not feeling so cordial towards me as to frame graceful compliments, and he probably knew that, expert as he was in the art of flattery, nothing he could say would divert me from the path of antagonism towards his policy that I had chosen for myself.

"Ambassadors represent Governments, M.P.'s represent the people," Mr. Stead wrote, apropos Beaconsfield's remark, and I have always striven, however unworthily, to represent Russia, the most peace-loving nation in the world.

W. E. Gladstone (April 5, 1892)
W. E. Gladstone (April 5, 1892)

It was to the enjoyment of peace to my country that I first undertook my self-imposed work, the bringing of Great Britain and Russia to a better understanding that would result in their working together towards a common end—peace. It is a strange trick of fate that the two countries should eventually be brought together, not by peace but {25} by war; but the workings of Providence are inscrutable, and out of this great evil perhaps a still greater good may come.

By the Anglo-Russian Agreement of 1908 the two countries became good friends, now they are allies. Britons are fighting in Russia under the Russian High Command, and it is no secret that British sailors are fighting ship by ship with Russian sailors in the Baltic; and with those who have fought together for a common cause, friendship and understanding are inevitable.

It is strange to look back upon what have come to be known as the "jingo days," when in the streets and music-halls was sung a ditty in which Britons told each other—I quote from memory:

We don't want to fight; but, by jingo, if we do,
We've got the men, we've got the ships, we've got the money too.

and all this was levelled at Russia, because she chose to do what Great Britain to her everlasting honour is doing to-day, avenging a downtrodden, but uncrushed people.

There was one man who saw clearly and stood up fearlessly against the popular clamour, and that was Mr. Gladstone. For twenty years he worked with me loyally towards the end I had in view. He never faltered in his denunciations of the unspeakable Turk and all his ways. From 1876 to 1880 the crisis was acute, and at any time war between Great Britain and Russia was possible.

During the whole of this time Mr. Gladstone was doing his utmost to counteract the evils of the Disraeli policy, and he was always in close touch {26} and constant communication with me. His support and unflinching championship of what he thought to be the cause of right was to me a great comfort. I was a woman in a foreign land, fighting against the prejudices that I saw everywhere about me.

In the early part of 1876 ugly rumours were afloat as to wholesale massacres of Bulgarians by the Turks. On June the 23rd there appeared in The Daily News a letter from its Constantinople correspondent (Mr., now Sir, Edwin Pears), and the attention of the House of Commons was directed to the appalling allegations it contained. Mr. Disraeli, then Prime Minister, treated the whole matter with airy unconcern, but the members on both sides of the House were irritated rather than soothed by his manner.

With a caution that was infinitely to his credit, for I know from our talks how deeply he felt, Mr. Gladstone waited the report of Mr. Walter Baring, the British Commissioner, which confirmed in all their revolting detail the rumours of the slaughter of harmless Bulgarians, men, women and children. Convinced that the evidence was uncontrovertible, Mr. Gladstone plunged into the fray, first by publishing his pamphlet, The Bulgarian Horrors and the Question of the East, and later by urging an understanding with Russia that would render this wholesale slaughter of a Christian people impossible in future.

In Russia there was only one thought in the people's minds—war, which no human power could have prevented. The nation insisted that they {27} should be allowed to stand beside their co-religionists and fight in defence of their freedom.

As for myself, those were busy days. I saw around me nothing but suspicion of Russia, perhaps even of myself: but I had a noble example set me, if one were needed, by Mr. Gladstone. Ours was a fight for Christianity and civilisation. Every hour of my day and sometimes far into the night was occupied. I rushed fearlessly into print, as I have done for the last forty years when I felt that my pen might serve the purpose I had in mind. In those days editors were less hospitable towards me than they have since become. Mine was an unpopular cause, I wrote as a Russian patriot, which meant that I sometimes showed a tendency to injure British susceptibilities. "But what matter that?" I asked myself with Jesuitical satisfaction. "The end is good, and it is the end that matters." I think there are very few of my friends in England to-day who will not echo my words.

The day on which I write these words is the Russian Flag Day, the second since the war broke out. In the streets are English and Russian girls and women selling small flags, for the most exorbitant sum they can extract from the purchasers, "to help Russia."

When I look back upon those days of gloom, when Mr. Gladstone used to come and see "the Russian agent," "the M.P. for Russia in England," and talk anxiously about the near future, and whether the storm would pass or break, it is with gratitude and expressions of heartfelt thanks to the people who have so often shown me hospitality and {28} in time began to listen to my words. They must have found some difficulty in avoiding the words I showered upon them; for I frankly confess I lost no opportunity of "rushing into print."