A New Era—My Brother Nicholas—Hadji Ghiray: Hero—Terrible News—A Heroic Advance—My Brother's Death—Aksakoff's Famous Speech—Russia Aflame—A Nation's Sacrifice—My Heart-broken Letters—Mr. Gladstone's Response—Mutual Suspicion—My Visits to England


It is not only easy, but delightful at this moment to write in dear England about Russia and Russians, about our institutions and customs, confessing even our drawbacks when they have to be explained. But, alas! some thirty or forty years ago such was not the case.

I wonder if it will interest English people to follow the life of a Russian, who, like myself, has felt the effect of these different currents.

We must remember, that, if at this moment, everything English is not only appreciated in Russia, but even enthusiastically admired, things were quite different at the time when I began writing pro-Russian articles in England.

Yes, indeed: the Russian feelings in the years '76, '77 and '78 were permeated with severe bitterness against Disraeli's English policy so hostile to Russia.

Find and study the Russian papers of these years. They will show you how all the Russian Press, and {30} in fact the whole country, was convinced that Turkey would never have refused to introduce the reforms asked by Russia in favour of the tortured Slavs if it had not been for England's cruel support and advice.

The whole of Russia at that time was seething with indignation and resentment.

In the year 1876 in all our papers, and in every mouth, were variations on the same theme:

"England is the principal cause of all our sacrifices and losses. England's obedient slave, Turkey, refuses all our most legitimate demands in favour of our co-religionists, our brethren by race. Turkey's insolent opposition is England's doing. Besides, the Russian Government hesitated to present her Ultimatum to the Sultan—not being prepared for war."

And so it really was. Russia then was as pacific and unprepared for fighting as she was at the beginning of the present gigantic Armageddon. Russia imagined that everybody understood that she was not coveting new acquisitions, and was quite unprepared for war, which was true enough—indeed she seemed as if she never cared to be prepared. She lived in a fool's Paradise, insisting on universal peace as at The Hague Conference, and as if the whole world were composed of "the friends" (better known as "Quakers").

The present diabolical war has taught us many good lessons, including the necessity for prudence in the future. It will also teach us to develop our own endless resources without depending on foreign help, which is always paid for not only at usual, {31} but at monstrous prices, such as those which now exist at Petrograd and Moscow.

But hostile as Russia was in 1876 to any kind of war, yet, when the Balkan troubles commenced, crowds of poor Russians, preferring death to peace at any price, rushed to that country, concealing even from their relatives and friends their determination to support the Slavs, notwithstanding the complete unpreparedness of the latter. That was perhaps pure folly on the part of our volunteers, but a sublime and heroic folly, of which we are now proud. At that time, however, I, at all events (in spite of all) only felt the bitterness of indignation and despair with our Government and with England's policy.

My brother, Nicholas, as a member of the Slavonic Benevolent Society, went to Belgrade, Sofia and Cettingje. But he went armed only with money collected for ambulances and for the establishment of medical dep?ts, where medical aid could be obtained. The insurrection in Bosnia and Herzegovina was already spreading, and no preparations had been made. The helplessness of the wretched Balkan Slavs was simply appalling. As Nicholas had distributed all the money entrusted to him, and had sent in all his accounts to the Benevolent S. Society to the last copeck, our brother Alexander and I expected his speedy return to Russia.

In fact, I had Alexander's letter in my pocket, where he spoke of Nicholas' splendid business-like arrangement, when I read in all the papers a short but terrible telegram: "Hadji Ghiray is killed at Zaitcher"—it was Nicholas Kiréeff. He had joined {32} the Serbians under an assumed name, as we later discovered.

My horror at this news was indescribable. I could not believe it. But it was soon followed by a wire from Alexander which said: "The Emperor has sent for me and informed me of our brother's death. He allows me to go to you at once, and we will go to see Mother in Italy. She must be now at Lucca, and probably knows nothing as yet of our misfortune."

I shall hope to be forgiven for quoting Kinglake's account of my brother's sacrifice. It was characteristically Russian in its Quixotism:

"The young Nichol ... Kiréeff was a noble, and being by nature a man of an enthusiastic disposition, with the romantic example before him in the life of his father, he had accustomed himself to the idea of self-sacrifice. Upon the outbreak of Prince Milan's insurrection, he went off to Servia with the design of acting simply under the banner of the Red Cross, and had already entered upon his humane task, when he found himself called upon by General Tchernaieff to accept the command of what we may call a brigade—a force of some five thousand infantry, consisting of volunteers and militiamen, supported, it seems, by five guns; and before long, he not only had to take his brigade into action, but to use it as the means of assailing an entrenched position at Rakovitz. Young Kiréeff very well understood that the irregular force entrusted to him was far from being one that could be commanded in the hour of battle by taking a look with a field-glass and uttering a few words to an aide-de-camp; so {33} he determined to carry forward his men by the simple and primitive expedient of personally advancing in front of them. He was a man of great stature, with extraordinary beauty of features, and, whether owing to the midsummer heat, or from any wild, martyr-like, or dare-devil impulse, he chose, as he had done from the first, to be clothed altogether in white. Whilst advancing in front of his troops against the Turkish battery he was struck—first by a shot passing through his left arm, then presently by another one which struck him in the neck, and then again by yet another one which shattered his right hand and forced him to drop his sword; but, despite all these wounds, he was still continuing his resolute advance, when a fourth shot passed through his lungs, and brought him, at length, to the ground, yet did not prevent him from uttering—although with great effort—the cry of 'Forward! Forward!' A fifth shot, however, fired low, passed through the fallen chief's heart and quenched his gallant spirit. The brigade he had commanded fell back, and his body—vainly asked for soon afterwards by General Tchernaieff—remained in the hands of the Turks."[1]


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



NICOLAS KIRéEFF
NICOLAS KIRéEFF

I saw it stated in the newspapers a short time back that a German officer and some hundred and fifty men had surrendered to the British, stating that he and his men would probably be of more use to Germany alive than dead. When I think of the tragedy surrounding the death of my brother, Nicholas Kiréeff, I can now see that he served Russia better by his death than he could by living for her.

The news of his heroic fall passed from one end {34} of Russia to the other like the notes of a bugle calling an army into being. But for his death my own humble efforts to bring about a better understanding between two great nations might possibly never have been attempted. There is probably no evil out of which good cannot be formed.

The effect of my brother's death was instantaneous and electrical. He was the first Russian volunteer to fall in the cause of freedom, the cause that people in Great Britain could not or would not understand. Officers and men of the Russian army clamoured to go to the front. By giving his life freely for the sake of his conscience, my brother was the instrument of Russia doing one of the finest things that any nation has ever done.

Kinglake has written:

"It may be that the grandeur of the young colonel's form and stature, and the sight of the blood, showing vividly on his white attire, added something extraneous and weird to the sentiment which might well be inspired by witnessing his personal heroism ... but, be that as it may, the actual result was that accounts of the incident—accounts growing every day more and more marvellous—flew so swiftly from city to city, from village to village, that before seven days had passed, the smouldering fire of Russian enthusiasm leapt up into a dangerous flame. Under countless green domes, big and small, priests fiercely chanting the 'Requiem' for a young hero's soul, and setting forth the glory of dying in defence of 'syn-orthodox' brethren, drew warlike responses from men who—whilst still in cathedral or church—cried aloud that they, too, would go where the young {35} Kiréeff had gone; and so many of them hastened to keep their word, that before long a flood of volunteers from many parts of Russia was pouring fast into Belgrade. To sustain the once kindled enthusiasm apt means were taken. The simple photograph, representing the young Kiréeff's noble features, soon expanded to large-sized portraits; and Fable then springing forward in the Path of Truth, but transcending it with the swiftness of our modern appliances, there was constituted in a strangely short time one of those stirring legends which used to be the growth of long years—a legend half warlike, half superstitious, which exalted its really tall hero to the dimensions of a giant, and showed him piling up hecatombs by a mighty slaughter of Turks."[2]


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


The death of Nicholas Kiréeff was a kind of spark falling on a train of gunpowder. In a month's time the whole of Russia was roused.

"The news of the death of Nicholas Kiréeff," said Aksakoff, in one of his most famous speeches, "at once stimulated hundreds to become volunteers—an event that repeated itself when the news was received of the deaths of further Russian volunteers. Death did not frighten, but, as it were, attracted them. At the beginning of the movement the volunteers were men who had belonged to the army, and chiefly from among the nobles. I remember the feeling of real emotion which I experienced when the first sergeant came requesting me to send him to Servia—so new to me was the existence of such a feeling in the ranks of the people. This feeling soon grew in intensity when, not only old soldiers, {36} but even peasants, came to me with the same request. And how humbly did they persevere in their petition, as if begging alms! With tears they begged me, on their knees, to send them to the field of battle. Such petitions of the peasants were mostly granted, and you should have seen their joy at the announcement of the decision! However, those scenes became so frequent, and business increased to such an extent, that it was quite impossible to watch the expression of popular feeling, or to inquire into particulars from the volunteers as to their motives. 'I have resolved to die for my Faith.' 'My heart burns.' 'I want to help our brethren.' 'Our people are being killed.' Such were the brief answers which were given with great sincerity. I repeat there was not, and could not be, any mercenary motive on the part of the volunteers. I, at least, conscientiously warned every one of the hard lot awaiting him. Privations, wounds, and death were all that these volunteers could expect for themselves, but they rightly guessed that sooner or later the official Russian army would take up their cause."

In less than a month after my brother's death 75 officers of the Imperial Guards at Petrograd resigned their commission in the army, and hurried to Serbia; 120 officers at Moscow and Southern Russia did the same.

The impartial British Ambassador, Lord Augustus Loftus, informed his Government that according to private information 20,000 Cossacks were going to the Balkans in disguise. He also communicated the following characteristic letter:

{37}

"Even women, old men, and children speak of nothing but the Slavonic war. The warlike spirit of the Cossacks is on fire, and from small to great they all await permission to fall on the Turks like a whirlwind. At many of the settlements the Cossacks are getting their arms ready, with a full conviction that in a few days the order will be given to fall on the enemies of the Holy Faith and of their Slav brethren. There is at the same time a general murmuring against diplomacy for its dilatoriness in coming to the rescue. Deputies have arrived from many of the Cossack settlements to represent to the Ataman that the Cossacks are no longer able to stand the extermination of the Christians."

Lord Augustus Loftus reluctantly admitted that "neither the Emperor nor Prince Gortschakoff are now able to resist the unanimous appeal of the nation for intervention to protect and save their co-religionists." At that time Russia knew perfectly well that nobody outside her realms cared to share her sacrifices and her work, and that the greatest part of England even threatened her with war—an eventuality which certainly could not be contemplated with indifference.

The tragedy at Zaitschar had lighted a flame that spread throughout the length of Russia. Enormous sums of money were offered with reckless generosity. Foreigners who witnessed the enthusiasm of the movement were astonished. They did not understand the romantic chivalry of the Russian nature. Ivan Aksakoff, the President of the Benevolent Slav Society in Moscow, alone collected more than a million roubles, and everywhere Red Cross Societies {38} sprang up with a suddenness that was amazing. I belonged to the Moscow Red Cross Committee. It was one of our duties to collect money and material for ambulance work. I recollect vividly, although forty years have since passed, how people of all sorts and conditions came to us with their offerings. Women of fashion tendered their jewels, paupers their copper coins. Everybody gave what he could.

I could write volumes about what occurred in those glorious yet tragic days. Everywhere I encountered examples of a deep religious enthusiasm that seemed to animate the whole country, irrespective of class; yet the foreign Press saw in this spontaneous movement only a sham engineered for political purposes.

The years '76 and '77 formed a grand page of Russian history—years of real crusade in our prosaic, materialistic nineteenth century. The crowds of Russians who rushed to meet almost certain death in heroic defence of their oppressed and unarmed Christian brethren in the East, the vast sums of money, offered with spontaneous and reckless generosity, astonished all those foreigners who witnessed the marvellous enthusiasm of that movement.

This enthusiasm in Russia was the first direct result of my dear brother's death; but there was another. I was prostrated with grief by the shock. To my distraught mind England was responsible for the tragedy. Had she not encouraged the Turk there would have been no war and my brother would have been alive. If Mr. Gladstone had been in power, my brother would not have been sacrificed. How bitterly I upbraided England in my own mind. {39} As soon as I was well enough and influenced by all that I had read in our Press about England's interference with Russia's humane policy, and also by my personal passionate grief, I simply lost my head. Can it be believed that I wrote to my English friends in these very words: "It is England who has killed my brother. It is England who prevents our Government from helping our brethren in the Balkans. Russia was in duty bound to remonstrate with the Sultan, even to the extent of threatening him with war, the moment his massacres began. Impulsively Russian volunteers rushed to the rescue, and my poor brother Nicholas happened to be the first amongst them. He would not have been the first hero to be killed at the head of the unarmed Serbian troops, if those had been enrolled as official soldiers, well-armed and ready for battle."

Such letters can be written only, as this was, in moments of real despair. But I must gratefully add that my English correspondents understood my grief, and that people like Lord Napier, Froude, Kinglake, Freeman, Charles Villiers, Sir William Harcourt and others—then known to me rather as clever and pleasant conversationalists—all answered me with extreme kindness and sympathy. They assured me that Disraeli's policy in Turkey was wrong, that Parliament intended to question it, that The Daily News and other papers had already started the campaign, etc., etc. Yes, I felt their kindness, but the only person who left my letter unanswered was Mr. Gladstone, and this rather grieved me. In fact, I expected that he would have been the first to respond, as we had {40} understood each other so well on the old Catholic movement.

Two or three weeks later, however, I received a communication from Mrs. Gladstone, which read:


DEAR MADAME NOVIKOFF,

My husband, overwhelmed at this moment with business, wishes me to write and express to you our sincere sympathy with you in your great loss; indeed we know what it is to lose a precious brother, and we also know as you do how to rejoice in a beautiful unselfish life being crowned with joy eternal. You will ere this have read the answer to your question as to Bulgaria in my husband's pamphlet in the newspapers. England is at length roused from her lethargy; indeed it is terrible what has been going on. Once more assuring you of our heartfelt sympathy in your sorrow, believe me, yours very sincerely,

CATHERINE GLADSTONE.


I could not at the moment understand what she meant, but I was soon enlightened by the appearance of the celebrated pamphlet on the Bulgarian horrors.

MYSELF IN 1876
MYSELF IN 1876

Although all the letters I received were deeply sympathetic, I could see that the sympathy expressed was with me personally rather than with the cause I had so much at heart; for how can anyone sympathise with what they do not understand?

Great Britain suspected Russia as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do so, whilst Russia reciprocated by suspecting Great Britain. Each put the worst possible construction upon the {41} acts of the other. Seeing this, I decided to do all I could in my humble and unpretentious way to further a better understanding between the two nations. I remembered the fable of the mouse and the lion, and that was the beginning of forty years' work, during which I have never once wandered from the path I had chosen.

There is in the little kingdom of Serbia a village situated near the place where Nicholas Kiréeff fell, named Kireevo in his honour. My brother Alexander, who was present at the ceremony of naming the village, was deeply impressed by its fervour and the gratitude shown to a Russian hero. Whatever good I have been able to do I always regard as an offering upon the grave of my brother Nicholas.

An intense craving came over me to explain to all my friends the Russian public opinion's ground for accusing England of responsibility for our mishaps in the Balkans and for the tardy declaration of war by our Government. (All the telegrams and letters referring to these terrible years have been duly collected by me and given to the Roumiantzoff Museum in Moscow. Certain documents and letters belong to history and must not perish with our death.) Let me give some further details about what I (unsupported, unprotected, ignorant as I felt myself to be) returned to face on my arrival in England. Those visits to England, by the by, did not extend at first over a couple of months, my family duties naturally taking me always back to Russia. I never like to speak too much of myself, but I think I am in honour bound to explain to all those who showed me their sympathetic {42} support that, after all, my only object was to do my very best and in that way, to a certain extent, deserve their support and sympathy.

My plan was a very simple one: to let England know real Russians and Russian views, and to let Russia know England and English views.