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 cou............