“Serve your country!” was the dying command of Emperor Nicholas to his son Alexander. “Serve your country! All my care, all my efforts have been directed to the good of Russia. I desired to take upon myself all the difficulties, all the dangers, so that I might leave to you an Empire tranquil, well organised, and happy. Providence has decided otherwise. For at what a time and under what circumstances I am dying! You will find your way difficult.”

This last message of Emperor Nicholas, reproduced on Count Bludoff’s authority in the excellent periodical, “The Annals of Old Times,” was no idle phrase, nor can it be read by any true Russian without emotion. In spite of his noble efforts, of his devotion to his country, his constant anxiety to do only what was just and useful, the dying Emperor left to his son a heritage of woe. The realm, exhausted by a tremendous war, was morally, as materially, a wreck. Russia at that epoch was filled with antiquated ideas and absurd traditions, strange and opposing prejudices, conflicting interests. She had millions of serfs, but no schools and no roads. Her treasury was empty, the Russian seas were covered with hostile cruisers, and Sebastopol was yet stained with torrents of Russian blood. I was then only a child, but I remember as vividly as if it were but yesterday the horror of great darkness of that terrible time. Everywhere one heard the words of agony and distress; young and old, rich and poor, the highly placed and the lowliest of the low, shared alike the universal sense of poignant shame. The gloom was unbroken, or relieved only by those displays of moral heroism in which Russia has never failed even in the darkest hour of her destinies. Boys of fifteen eagerly prepared themselves to serve their country in the field, and the mother’s love for her son yielded to the voice of supreme patriotism; sacrifices of life, of income, of all that is most cherished, were willingly made. With Russians patriotism is a passion and a religion. But although our brothers could die, there seemed no hope that their sacrifice could save our country from fresh disasters. Hope had gone out amongst us, and the courage of despair alone remained to us in the end.

Whether we looked at home or abroad, everything was in ruins. Our military system had broken down; the administrative machinery of the State had almost collapsed. Emperor Nicholas, “the Quixote of Autocracy,” could not survive the catastrophe which overwhelmed the régime to which he had devoted the arduous labours of thirty years; his hopes all blighted, his ideal for ever unrealised. Dying with a heart broken by the sight of the miseries of his people, the Emperor delivered over his realm to his son and successor with the command worthy of a Russian, to devote his life to the service of his country.

How fully that parting injunction was fulfilled must be told by other pens than mine. In these pages I make no pretence of writing the history of the present reign, or even of attempting to detail minutely the reforms by which Emperor Alexander II. has served his country and earned her affection. I merely put together as well as I can the views which the majority of Russians take of the reforms of the present reign. I would never dream of attempting to write a scientific treatise on so vast a theme. This is, par excellence, “a short study of a great subject.” I dare say some English critics will object at once, that Russian anarchists, or Nihilists, are at variance with the opinions professed in this paper; but, fortunately, the anarchists are anything but numerous, and, besides, the greater part of them do not belong to our nationality. They are Poles, Jews, Germans, and only occasionally Russians, and they are out of harmony with the whole stream of Russian thought, Russian traditions, and Russian faith. Fenians do not represent England, Communards do not represent France, and Camorrists do not represent Italy.

But the infamous attempts on the life of our Emperor no more prove that he has not served his country than the execution of martyrs that they were not true to their belief. Does not Mr. Lowell say:—

Count me o’er earth’s chosen heroes: they were souls that stood alone,

While the men they agonised for hurled the contumelious stone.

No Russian ever asserts that the work of reform is complete. Of course there is still much to be done. One reason for which we deplore the anarchical outrages is, because they postpone reforms; and those who were so urgent for the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act in Ireland ought at least to understand, if they do not approve, the sentiment which led to the Supreme Commission of Count Loris Melikoff.

The first work of the Emperor was to bring to a close the unhappy war, which cost Russia such heavy sacrifices, but which had at least been a vivid although a terrible exposure of the weak points in our organisation. Peace had become a necessity, and peace was signed. Bitter indeed must have been the reflection of a patriotic ruler whom a dire fate compelled to commence his reign by the signature of such a treaty as that of Paris! Even now, when the humiliation has been brilliantly effaced by the bravery of our soldiers and the sagacity of our statesmen, it is difficult to think without a pang of patriotic remorse of that ill-fated memorial of Russia’s disasters. The treaty, however, was signed, the troops of the invaders quitted our soil, and Russia breathed once more.

The manifesto in which the Emperor announced the termination of the war was a document memorable in Russian history. A phrase which it contained sounded the keynote of the reign which was then commencing. The Emperor expressed the hope that “by the combined efforts of the Government and the people, the public administration would be improved, and that justice and mercy would reign in the courts of law.”

This direct intimation from the throne that henceforth the Emperor and his people would co-operate in the work of reform gave a stimulus and a direction to the popular sentiment. Russians hailed with delight the advent of a new era, in which autocratic power was to go hand in hand with democratic energy in reconstructing a new Russia from the ruins of the old régime. Reform became the universal watchword. All the gloomy memories of the war served to increase the zeal with which it was sought to remove the causes of our weakness.

The beginning of the reign was signalised by acts of grace which dried the tears of many unhappy people and consoled many broken hearts. Thousands of persons were released from police supervision; the surviving Decembrists were pardoned.

It was in the year after his accession to the throne, and shortly after the conclusion of peace, that the Emperor came to Moscow. This ancient and beautiful city, dominated by the historic Kremlin, around which cling so many glorious traditions of our national story, has ever inspired our Emperor with the noblest and most generous resolutions. He summoned the “Maréchaux de Noblesse,” who are elected by the nobles of every province from their own number, and addressed them on the subject of serfage. Disclaiming any immediate intention of abolishing serfdom, he warned them that the existing system could not remain unchanged. “If serfdom is doomed,” he said in words which embody the deepest conviction of every Russian, “it is better that the necessary reform should come from above rather than from below.” He urged them, therefore, to submit the question to the nobles, that they might consider how best the necessary reform could be executed.

Thus was fairly launched “from above” the great question of the emancipation of the serfs. The subject had long been talked of, but no one had courage enough to face at once all the consequences of so great a reform. The Emperor, therefore, early in 1857, formed an influential committee for discussing the projected change. Not contented with this, his Majesty gave a new stimulus to the movement by issuing his famous “Rescript to Nasimoff.” Taking advantage of a desire expressed by the nobles of Lithuania to revise the arrangement between them and their serfs, the Emperor empowered them to form committees for the preparation of definite projects for the abolition of serfage. Immediately afterwards an official circular was issued to all the governors and “Maréchaux de Noblesse” of Russia, informing them that the Lithuanian nobles had recognised the necessity of liberating their peasants, expressing the satisfaction of the Emperor at this noble resolve, and concluding by a broad hint, that they would do well to follow the Lithuanian example. Everyone seemed highly pleased, and there was no end of animated discussions and brilliant plans.

The number of serf-owners was small. There were about 110,000 in all Russia—a mere handful compared with the twenty-three millions of peasants whom they owned, and the more numerous millions, who were neither serfs nor the owners of serfs. Even if the nobles had been less patriotic than the most of them were, they had no choice but to go with the stream.

At first it was thought well to proceed slowly. By an Ukase, issued December 1857, the Russian Government proposed that (1) the landlord should retain his rights over his whole estate; (2) that the peasants should keep their fenced-in holdings and enjoy the right of acquiring them as their absolute property; (3) that they should have the use of as much land as was necessary for sustenance under the local conditions, paying rent for the same, in money or labour, to the lord of the manor; (4) that the abolition of serfdom should take place very gradually, under conditions intended to prevent them deserting their holdings and migrating to other regions. Such was the starting point of the Government when it began to grapple with the question of serfdom. Committees were appointed in every province to discuss the subject. Furnished with these provincial reports, a special Imperial Commission elaborated at St. Petersburg the law of Emancipation. Autocracy, of course, is unpopular in England, but there are few Englishmen, having studied the subject, who do not admit that the representatives of the autocracy were much more liberal and more favourable to the peasants than the representatives of the landed proprietors in the provincial committees.

But why should I trouble you with these details? The result of all these discussions may as well be given at once. The great reform was undertaken, directed as occasion required by the Emperor and moulded by the autocratic power, until it took at last a far more drastic shape than that which at first was contemplated. After the project drawn up by the Elaboration Commission was completed, it was submitted for revision to the Committee for Peasant Affairs, and then to the Council of State. The reactionary tendencies of revising bodies are not peculiar to England. But in Russia we possessed a safeguard against the selfishness of proprietors, the lack of which, possibly, may some day be felt in Ireland. The Emperor, in submitting the project of law to their consideration, limited their interference to details. “In Russia,” said he, “laws are made by autocratic power. The autocratic power created serfage, the autocratic power must abolish it.”

Such warnings were not thrown away. The Emancipation Law was completed, and on February 19/March 3, 1861, the signature of Alexander II. gave liberty to twenty-three millions of serfs.

It was a great day indeed in the annals of our history, one of the greatest. How vividly we remember all the outbursts of enthusiasm with which the appearance of the manifesto was welcomed. The hopes with which, five years before, the advent of our Emperor’s reign was hailed, were realised. In the capital, in both capitals, and indeed everywhere throughout Russia, there was universal rejoicing. Brighter and brighter before our eyes glowed the visions of the future, and in the fervour of exultant faith, Russians rejoiced at what they felt was the true regeneration of their country, the regular and gradual realisation of their national aspirations.

Even in foreign countries the act of liberation excited deep interest. Across the wide Atlantic, a poet of the great Western Republic not yet cleansed from the stain of slavery hailed our Emperor as the Scythian Tzar, “who, with the pencil of the Northern star, wrote freedom o’er his land.” Even English Russophobes condescend to admit the grandeur of the spectacle. Imagine, then, how it affected us, Russians, impressionable and impulsive as we are, to strike a stroke for freedom and humanity of such momentous importance. Even now, when twenty years have gone by, Russian hearts throb with patriotic pride, when that day of emancipation is recalled to their memory. England is proud of her Clarkson and Wilberforce, and I have seen great audiences thrill with enthusiasm at the mere mention of the names of the heroes of that struggle for liberty. But, after all, what was your slavery? A mere colonial question, affecting a small number of negroes in the West Indies. America is proud, and justly proud, of Abraham Lincoln: but what was his emancipation proclamation? A measure of war, a weapon whereby the free North sought to crush the slave-holding South. But with us serfdom was everywhere. Including crown peasants, nearly half our population were serfs. Yet without a sword being unsheathed, the great work was achieved, and by the simple mandate of the Emperor, serfdom ceased to exist within the limits of the Russian Empire. Tell me, is there anything in English history greater than that act of him whom you denounce as a despot, but whose name is cherished in Russian hearts as Alexander the Emancipator?

It is sometimes said by those who disparage everything Russian, merely because it is Russian, that the emancipation made no difference.¹ Possibly, if these kind friends were reduced for a year to the state of the unemancipated serf, the experience would be profitable. Before 1861 the serf belonged to his master. He could be punished, sold, banished, separated from his family, his money and labour exacted; the law interfered in these cases very seldom indeed. The serf could not even marry without his owner’s permission. He could not make a will and bequeath his land to another. By emancipation the serfs acquired the full legal rights of freemen. Surely I do not need to argue in England that the change was an improvement! I shall be told, and truly told, that the position of our serfs under kind masters was good. In fact, I know several cases myself where serfs objected to any alteration in their position, urging their masters to refuse to give them the freedom they did not care for, “being perfectly happy already.” Mr. Wallace, I see, who thoroughly investigated the subject, even goes so far as to say, that under a good owner, Russian serfs had a much more enviable position than the majority of English agricultural labourers. I do not say that, not knowing the condition of your agricultural population. But with the richest landlords, and the richest Church, in the richest country in the world, Mr. Wallace surely must be mistaken, when he says that your labourers are not the most civilised and comfortable of their class in Europe. All I say is, that because serfs were happy under a good master, it is no proof that serfdom, as a whole, conduced to the happiness, not to say to the moral development, of the people.

Of the emancipation of the serfs everyone has heard, although but few have realised the difficulties in the way of its accomplishment—difficulties arising from the extent of our territory, the diversity of our populations, the difficulty of communications, and the absence of any complete social statistics. But of this other work, almost as great, and inseparably connected with the law of emancipation, how few even appear to have heard the name. Yet what is passing in Ireland might remind you of one phase, and that not the least remarkable, of our Emperor’s reforms. The serfs were not only freed from servitude, they were established as peasant proprietors on the soil which they tilled. Is not that what many of the best Liberals are demanding for Ireland to-day?²

The agrarian act of Alexander II. always appeared to me a great thing, but I never realised how great it was till I read the speech which Mr. John Bright made at Birmingham on the Irish Land Question. Mr. Bright, the courageous leader of the advanced Land Reformers, yet declared himself to be aghast at the mere idea of executing in Ireland a reform similar to that which our Emperor enforced in Russia twenty years ago. To buy out the landlords with the money borrowed from the State, Mr. Bright declared, was  “monstrous and impossible.” Rich England, it seems, could not raise the two or three hundred millions needed for such a purchase. 

Yet poor Russia raised one hundred millions to buy out her landlords and settle the emancipated serfs upon their own holdings.

I will avoid Russian terms and use what my English friends tell me are their nearest English equivalents. Briefly, then, the Land Act of our Emperor decreed to every peasant fixity of tenure at fixed rents, either in money or labour. It was also ordered that every peasant serf might be assisted by the State to purchase his farm. The extent of the farm allowed to each peasant was left to be decided by the Communal Council, but the average holding of our peasants is about ten acres. The extent of land allowed to each commune was decided, if possible, by private agreement; but when owner and peasant failed to agree in the course of a year, the functionaries known as “arbiters of peace”—(a most excellent body of functionaries indeed)—interfered, and settled both the quantity of land and the amount of rent.

The arrangement by which the peasants were enabled to buy their holdings I will try to explain as briefly as possible. If the landlord received, say 10l. per annum rent or dues from ten peasants of a commune holding 200 acres, the peasant had the option of buying at about 16 2/3  years’ purchase, or say, 167l. The State lent them 134l., to be repaid in forty-nine years at 6 per cent., or about eight pounds a year, while they had to pay 33l, themselves as their share of the purchase-money. Practically, therefore, by paying down a little more than three years’ rent, they were enabled by the State to become owners of their holdings, paying off the rest of the purchase-money by instalments, equalling four-fifths of the former rent for forty-nine years. After that the payment ceases, and the land is their own. The question arises, of course, where did the peasants get their purchase-money, which they had to find? In many cases they did not get it at all. When land was compulsorily redeemed without the consent of the peasants, the landlord had to take the four-fifths advanced by Government as payment in full. This was done in over 60 cases out of 100. Even when peasants agreed to pay, they often evaded fulfilment of their engagements. The effect, therefore, of the agrarian law is, in the majority of cases, that the peasant, by paying four-fifths his former rent to the State, instead of to his landlord, will in forty-nine years become absolute owner of his farm. The landlords, of course, in many cases suffered materially. They lost, first their serfs, and then 20 per cent. of their rents. If Russia had had English constitutional machinery, perhaps the reform would have been still under discussion and “serious consideration.” Russia has too much ground to make up, too many reforms to execute, to indulge in the luxury of constitutionalism. Some time, perhaps, we shall be able to spare time for endless dialectical skirmishes, “obstruction” and conflicts between landlords in one House and the nation in another, but not yet. Such things are adapted to a higher state of civilisation. We can wait with angelic patience. What is the result? Russia has now over ten million families owning the land they till. The emancipated serfs have been secured in possession of farms extending over three hundred million acres, the State having advanced for the operation over 100,000,000l.

But such a Land Act—I hear some people say—was confiscation. Such, however, was not the view in Russia. The feeling that serfdom had to be got rid of, even at some great sacrifice, was universal in my country. The landlords were aware that a momentary loss had to be made—just as in time of war you well understand the necessity of unexpected taxation and heavy sacrifices. The landowners lost—say four shillings in the pound or even more—in order that Russia might root her peasants in the soil. It was absolutely necessary, it was done, and nobody is now groaning about it. “Communistic,” “Socialistic,” &c. &c., are words with different interpretations. Russia is made up of communes. Her land system in some parts is “Socialistic.” But do not be too easily shocked. Remember what the great Cavour said: “The right to the soil which Russia gives to all her children is more dangerous to us Westerns than all her armies.” We see and feel that the actual power of Russia is closely connected with the real welfare of every one of our countrymen.

The Emancipation Act, the Land Act—these two great measures were inseparably united with a third, the Act reorganising and extending the system of local self-government. In olden times the landlord was a little Tzar. After the Emancipation his authority was replaced by communal self-government. The communal system of Russia is as democratic as anything in Switzerland or the United States. It is an ancient institution genuinely Russian. The Emperor gave it new life and vigour, and although it would be folly to expect illiterate peasants, in villages remote from roads and railways, to display the political aptitude of English electors, I appeal to Mr. Wallace’s testimony, whether the simple Russian peasants do not manage their own affairs with remarkable common sense. They include more than four-fifths of the population; they enjoy, he says, “the most complete autonomy,” and they are “capital specimens of representative constitutional government of the extreme democratic type.” Even women, when heads of households, take part in the business of the “Mir.” The commune is the primeval unit, the foundation upon which the Emperor reared the existing superstructure of rural government—a work which forms the complement to the Emancipation and the Agrarian Laws. Together they constitute a trio of measures which justifies the remark of Von Sarauw, that “there is no country the legislation of which has produced any work during the last fifty years to be compared to the Russian emancipation of the serfs.”

The economical effects of this great reform I am hardly qualified to discuss. The landlords were not ruined: that I know from personal experience and from all that is said by my connections and relatives, all belonging to the class which, till the Emancipation, alone possessed serfs. Now we consider the emancipated people as independent neighbours. Formerly, anything happening to them became our own concern. We had to rebuild sometimes whole villages destroyed by fire; we had to build hospitals and schools at our own expense; we had to buy horses and cattle in times of famine and necessity. Now all that is changed. The nobility do not, therefore, repine over the sacrifices entailed by the two great and admirable reforms—those of Emancipation and of the Land. They retain possession of part of the land and they continue to keep up excellent relations in most cases with the emancipated serfs. Last year I spent the summer with my family in the country, near Tamboff—all our family anniversaries, holidays, &c., were celebrated by our former serfs as usual. They came to express their kind wishes, bringing strawberries, or eggs, or mushrooms, or other innocent presents as of old, and evidently believing that “les petits cadeaux entretiennent l’amitié.” Sometimes, it is only fair to say—in very rare cases—landlords had to complain of insubordination. Not having looked into those cases myself, I cannot be expected to decide on whose part the fault was. I grant that both may have been wrong; but on the whole, the landlords and the peasants are very friendly.

The political effects of emancipation have been very great. The serf, on becoming a free man, did not lose in a moment his servility, but he began to realise his independence. “We could certainly assume,” said Mr. Aksakoff in his memorable speech on the Servian War, “that with the abolition of serfdom and of many legal class distinctions, together with the spread of elementary education, the intellectual view of the people must expand, and their mind acquire greater freedom of action. But the events which have occurred have surpassed the most sanguine expectations.” That Mr. Aksakoff did not exaggerate, is proved by the change which English observers found in the army which crossed the Danube in 1877, and the serf soldiers who defended Sebastopol; though on becoming soldiers they and their families ceased to be serfs.

By accustoming our people to take part in the working of a system of representative local government, they are taught political lessons of the greatest value. Rome was not built in a day, but a very great deal has been done to regenerate Russia in a single reign.

Our Emperor is abused by those who know nothing about him, because he does not destroy his Autocracy, and set up Parliamentary institutions in Russia.

Mr. Aksakoff, whose fearless way of speaking out his mind is well known, and who is certainly anything but a courtier or flatterer, remarks in his new organ “Russ”: “A Parliament should crown the edifice, but first the edifice must be built.” Broad and deep lie the foundations in our communal institutions, and on these the Emperor has built and continues to build; but the superstructure is not yet complete, and impatience might jeopardise all. The speed has been so great, that to go faster might be unsafe.

The communes, each under their stárosta, have been grouped in volosts, where the elected representatives of the communes meet in council under the stárchiná, or elected chief. Over both commune and volost stands the Zemstvo, or District Assembly, composed of representatives of the landowners and householders, the rural communes and of the towns. Those are elected for terms of three years. Over the Zemstvo are the provincial assemblies, composed of delegates from the district assemblies, who levy the rates which the Zemstvos spend. These rates are devoted to the founding and maintenance of schools, hospitals and asylums, the making of roads, rebuilding bridges, &c. &c. It is true, though we have immense natural riches (in Siberia and elsewhere), they have to be developed. As yet we are not wealthy and have not much to spend. The revenues of all our towns and cities are not much above three millions sterling, one-third of which is contributed by Moscow and St. Petersburg. Poverty is certainly not a crime, but it explains many things which are imputed to us as such. These local institutions, no doubt, are very imperfect. Few human institutions are otherwise, and a great system of representative government cannot be completed in a single year, or even in a single reign.

English people believe in local self-government. They are as proud of it as a miser of his gold. In the counties, for instance, they seem to keep it well out of sight. Year after year I come to England and ask what is going on in your Parliament? I am told this and that measure have been discussed; and, amongst others, there is usually a County Government Bill. But it is only discussion. England is only a small place. Russia is as large as a continent, but it has been covered with a complete system of elected governing bodies, while England has been discussing for the hundredth time how little work should be given to the county boards. Our county government law was comprehensive and more thoroughgoing than anything England has even begun to discuss.

In all these reforms, especially in the greatest, that of the emancipation of the serfs, the Emperor and the Imperial family took a foremost part. The Grand Duke Constantine, the Emperor’s second brother, was president of the “Great Committee for the Emancipation of the Peasants,” and twenty-five folio volumes of MSS. remain to attest the diligence with which it laboured, and the painstaking and unremitting attention devoted by it to every branch of the subject.

The great social revolution involved in the emancipation of the serfs compelled the immediate adoption of other reforms. Everything had to be remodelled; the old system had worn itself out. This was especially the case in the administration of justice. A quarter of a century ago it was in a scandalous condition; the governor of each province was almost as powerful as a Pasha, and sometimes almost as corrupt. His subordinates who exercised judicial functions were usually ignorant, and often venal. They were miserably paid, and thus were apt to yield to temptation. The “law’s delays,” of which English writers have complained, were even worse in Russia. One great source of this tedious procrastination was the rule that all evidence had to be in writing. Another fertile source of injustice was the fact that the accused was never confronted with his accuser. Men might be arrested and imprisoned for months as arbitrarily as in Ireland when Habeas Corpus is suspended, without ever being brought before a court. Trial by jury was unknown; the Code was in existence, but seldom in use. The judge, entrenched behind thirty thousand statutes, did practically what he pleased. Our judicial procedure was involved and intricate. Judges had no fixity of tenure of their office. No reports were permitted to be published of judicial proceedings.

All this was abolished almost at a stroke. The reforms in judicial administration which other nations have painfully elaborated step by step, we adopted almost en masse.

Beginning at the foundation, a simple but efficient judicial system was established. The old corrupt judges who were paid next to nothing, and prospered on a starvation salary, were superseded by justices of the peace, who were paid decent incomes, and were not, therefore, under the alternatives of starvation or corruption.

Although paid sometimes ten or twelve times more than the old judges, they lived more simply, and dearer judges were found to mean cheaper justice. The Code was introduced into all the law courts. Judicial procedure was quickened and simplified. Trials were held in open court; the accused was confronted with his accuser. Witnesses gave publicly, by word of mouth, what formerly had to be laboriously written out. Trial by jury was established. This institution, “the palladium of British liberty,” was thus transplanted to despotic Russia by Emperor Alexander, merely as one among a list of reforms, so numerous and so important, that it is often forgotten even by those who sympathised with the work of a reforming Emperor. Another feature of the new judicial system resembled your Habeas Corpus Act. It provided that no one should be arrested for offences against the law without being brought to trial within a short time. The Nihilist conspiracy has led to the suspension of some of these provisions as a matter of self-defence, but I have seen enough during this visit to England to feel that it would not need one-half the crimes of our secret assassins to move Englishmen to demand the Loris Melikoff system—at any rate for Ireland.

The organisation of the judicial administration was simple, and not unlike that of France. Petty cases were tried by justices of the peace. Appeals were heard by the monthly sessions of all the justices in the district. Ordinary courts were established for the trial of grave cases, and from these, cases could be carried to the Court of Appeal. The Senate is the Supreme Court over all.

The change was immense. It has worked admirably. There are some drawbacks, no doubt. We have made the judges independent, and Dr. Eckardt, who is certainly not prejudiced in our favour, bears witness that many of them carry their independence so far as to favour the poor against the rich, and actually to oppose themselves to the interests of the State. Well, that at least is better than the ordinary idea that all our justices are the obedient slaves of a merciless despotism.

Another great work which our Emperor undertook was the purification of the administration. This work, I frankly admit, is far from being complete. The traditions of corruption linger in many places, especially where salaries are inadequate. But although I admit and deplore the existence of these shortcomings, I am happy to say things are decidedly getting better. No doubt the contractors, most of whom were Jews, robbed us shamefully during the war; no doubt we have had scandals both recent and deplorable, but Mr. Wallace is strictly accurate when he says, “The Russian administration is incomparably purer now than at any former period of its history.” But Mr. Wallace is not a Russophobe, though he surely is not particularly partial to us either; but take Mr. Butler-Johnstone, whose antipathy to Russians goes a long way indeed, and who does not even attempt to climb the Olympus of impartiality. He distinctly asserts that “corruption, if not absolutely rooted out, has, at any rate, been checked and compelled to hide its head.” Does not this justify confidence in the future? in that future, when we shall have a free press throwing a vivid light upon all the weak places of our administration? Yet pardon me if I make a somewhat uncourteous inquiry. You have a free press in England—very free. You are always preaching at poor Russians about their venality. If a poor wretched customs-officer yields to the temptation put in his way by a wealthy foreigner, no words are strong enough to condemn “the corruption of these Muscovites.” But how is it with you in England? Last spring there was a general election. Never in recent history has a more momentous issue been placed before the constituencies. The destinies of the country, of the Empire, and of the peace of Europe were committed to the keeping of the electors. To each citizen his country appealed at that great crisis to decide the greatest and most vital questions affecting the future of England and of the world. Tell me, as frankly as I speak myself, did all your citizens show themselves worthy of that high trust? I have read and heard on this subject things which, I confess, painfully astonish me. I was assured, most emphatically, that not one, or two, or a dozen, but hundreds, nay, even thousands of electors, would “sell their votes for a jug of beer.” It seems above doubt, that at Oxford, a cathedral city, a seat of a University, a great stronghold of religion and education, the corruption was as bad or worse than anything prevailing in the most benighted village of “barbarous” Russia, and that even pious and learned professors bribed with the worst. One shrinks from believing such things, in spite of the authority with which trustworthy men speak of facts of this kind. But suppose half of it be correct, is not the English elector, who, at such a crisis sells his vote to the highest bidder, morally far worse than the Russian official who occasionally winks when he receives a tip? Is your indignation not sometimes tinged with a little bit of Tartufferie?

Emperor Alexander devoted much attention to the promotion of education. The difficulties in the way of educating all the people are enormous, owing to the extent of territory over which our population is scattered. You cannot even in wealthy England build a school in every small village, and Russia is an empire of villages. Of our European population only one-twelfth of the whole live in towns. But our peasants are eager to learn, and their children are sent to school whenever they can. In ten years—from 1860 to 1870—the number of the recruits who could read multiplied fivefold. In very olden times it was not thought well to teach the serf to read, and you must compare us, not with what you are, but with what we were. We lack teachers, we lack schools; we have only about 20,000 schools, with less than a million scholars; but as most of these schools have been opened in the present reign, that is not so bad after all. In higher education we have less reason to shrink from a comparison with the West. When Emperor Nicholas died we had six universities. We have now nine; the latest, that of Tomsk, in Siberia, having been founded to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of Emperor Alexander’s accession to the throne. Nor is the increase in number the only change. The number of students has been multiplied nearly fourfold. The curriculum has been entirely changed; we have better professors, and the classical studies are enforced in all the gymnasiums. The number of hours for Greek and Latin equal those of German schools; and of this question one of the best and the most energetic advocates was Mr. Katkoff, the editor of the “Moscow Gazette,” himself a great classical scholar. Scholarships have been founded, and much money has been given for the promotion of higher education. In 1854 our Education Budget was not more than a quarter of a million; it is over two millions of pounds now, and is annually increasing. The stimulus which has been given to the education of women is most remarkable, and fully deserves much more detailed description than I can give in this rapid survey of the reforms of the reign. Madame Fisher’s classical gymnasium at Moscow is the most remarkable and successful that could be found in Europe. Several of her pupils passed such very brilliant examinations that the Government allowed them to teach Greek, Latin, and mathematics to the first three forms of the classical gymnasiums for boys. There are also many other educational institutions which have done much to raise the standard of female education in Russia, even above what it was; and in Russia, as Mr. Julius Faucher, an acute Prussian observer, remarked several years ago, “Russian young ladies are undoubtedly of a general education more resembling men’s highest education than is the case in any other country, England, America and Sweden not excepted.”

The tendency of the reign of Emperor Alexander has been to offer to women, as to men, la carrière ouverte aux talents; and this tendency has been even more manifest in local elective assemblies than in the central government.

The entry of women into the professions—notably into that of medicine—has been facilitated during the war. The inestimable services of the Russian women as nurses to the sick and wounded, as dressers, and even as operators, led to such warm acknowledgments from the Military Doctors’ Council, that a permission was given to all Russian women who held diplomas as doctors to practise in Zemstvo hospitals and asylums, and their success has been very great indeed. A woman’s medical school has been established at St. Petersburg, as well as a woman’s natural science academy. At Moscow, Kasan, and Kieff university lectures are given to women, and many excellent fruits have already resulted from this system.

The position of women has been generally improved under Alexander II. Russian women for a hundred years have had in many respects a better position than their sisters even in England. Marriage with us deprives no woman of her property. Married women can receive legacies, bequeath property, and deal with their estate in all respects as if they were unmarried. Absolute equality of civil rights with men was granted to women in Russia by the Empress Elizabeth, and this right has never been revoked. It has produced an abiding effect upon the Russian character. How long it will be before your debating club at St. Stephen’s grants to English women the rights in relation to property, &c., which we Russians have enjoyed for more than a century has never been revealed to me.

But I must hasten. In connection with the intellectual progress of the reign there must be recognised the relaxation of the severity of the laws restraining the freedom of the press. The censorship still exists, but it is not so strict as it was. Sometimes, indeed, it appears to be exercised by officials remarkably lacking in intelligence, at whose absurd blunders intelligent Russians blush; but on the whole the most ridiculous censor to-day is more liberal and intelligent than the censor of the last reign. Freedom of the press, however, is a reform still to be achieved; and even before that is granted in its entirety much might be done. If provincial newspapers were given the usual liberty possessed by those of Moscow and St. Petersburg, a step would be taken in the right direction. My object, however, is not to point out what still remains to be accomplished, but to describe what has been done already.

Materially many important reforms have been achieved. That these reforms have resulted in one kind of material success is undoubted. The revenue has more than doubled. This increase is largely due to the ever-increasing development of our great natural resources. Russia is a gigantic treasury of wealth, but we have as yet hardly begun to utilise the endowments of nature. When the Emperor came to the throne, there were only 600 miles of railway in the whole Empire. To-day there are nearly 15,000 miles of railway in Russia, almost all of which were made under the guarantee of the State. This network of rail connects the Euxine with the Baltic, and knits together the extremities of our unwieldy Empire. We do not travel so fast as you do in your expresses, but we travel more comfortably, and we kill fewer persons on our railways than are killed on any other lines in Europe. The extension of the telegraph has been even more rapid. Russia has now 60,000 miles of telegraph, with 120,000 miles of wire. Our ports have been improved, our harbours deepened. In all large towns gasworks and waterworks have been established. Docks have been constructed, canals cut. In every direction there are signs of material progress. The yield of our iron, salt and coal mines has been largely increased. The increase of coal is very remarkable. Sir Roderick Murchison, an eminent authority, denied to Russia a great future, “because she had no coal.” Even eminent authorities, it seems, may be mistaken, for we have increased our produce of coal thirtyfold in the last ten years, and even now, when we raise two millions of tons every year, we have but begun to touch the surface of our coal-bed. Our yield of corn has enormously increased. Imports and exports which were 45,000,000l. in 1856, rose to 144,000,000l. in 1875, which fell in 1877, owing to the war, to 128,000,000l. This increase has followed the reduction of the import duties begun in 1857, and continued in 1869. Our tariff is still far from meeting with the approval of your Cobden Club, but it is perfection compared with the prohibitive system of Emperor Nicholas. It is necessary to be wearisome in repeating what, nevertheless, is so often ignored: to judge correctly the progress of the reign, never forget its starting point.

Free trade is not introduced into Russia, but neither is it in America; and seeing the efforts Germany is now making to return to Protection, one must admit that the question is not very simple. Russia has the other day abolished the oppressive salt tax, which England has abolished at home in 1825, but which she has introduced into India, where it exists to this day. The abolition of the salt tax is regarded throughout the whole of Russia as a great boon, especially to the poorer classes.

The army has been reorganised, perhaps I should say, is being reorganised, for the process is not yet complete. But many great changes have been made, all tending in one direction. The period of service has been reduced from twenty-five years to six, with nine years in the reserve. The Ukase of November, 1871, established the principle of universal obligation to serve in the army. In 1874 this was enforced. The exemption of the nobility and richer merchants was abolished. All thus were made equal in the eye of the law. All class privileges, offensive to the masses of the people, ceased to exist—a reform entirely in harmony with the character of the nation. Our nobles now retain only the privilege of leading their countrymen in the path of culture and civilisation. Pensions were decreed to old soldiers, and the old brutal method of corporal punishment abolished; and it may encourage your War Minister to know that, though the lash was forbidden, no wholesale shooting was found necessary to preserve discipline. During the Russo-Turkish war only two soldiers suffered the capital penalty—one for desertion, and the other for robbery with violence. The change in the spirit of our gallant troops was commented upon by all observers of that great campaign.

In our army all nationalities serve as brothers in arms, and no career is barred, as in some other countries, by prejudices of race. Jews, Poles, the nationalities most hostile to the Russians, hold the highest commands. The son of Schamyl is an officer in our service, and the case of Count Loris Melikoff proves conclusively that Armenians are welcome to the highest posts—these poor Armenians, despised and persecuted by the Turks, of whom Byron said: “It was in Armenia that Paradise was placed, and that the Flood first abated and the dove alighted. But with the disappearance of Paradise itself dates the unhappiness of the country; for, though long a powerful kingdom, it was scarcely an independent one, and the satraps of Persia and the Pachas of Turkey have alike desolated the region where God created man in His own image.”³ And Lamartine writes: “J’ai toujours aimé les Arméniens, parce qu’ils sont le peuple de la bonne espérance parmi les populations actives, honnêtes et littéraires de l’Orient.”

Well, in Russia they are welcomed in every profession and station. Pardon me if I ask, did you find it possible to treat your subject races in the same way in England? The famous sepoys who came to Malta do not seem to furnish many generals to the military forces of her Majesty. In Germany almost all the superior officers are of noble birth, and Jews certainly do not abound among those who hold commissions in the Prussian service. With us Jews and Mahometans are treated as other soldiers, allowed not only to be faithful to their creed, but in some places—in Kasan for instance—their mosques and synagogues are far richer than the Russian churches. I myself know a Mahometan who occupies the prominent position of aide-de-camp to the Emperor.

Russia is not a maritime nation, but few Powers have bestowed more attention to their navy, and especially to the welfare of the sailors. As in the army, the conditions of service have been improved, corporal punishment has been abolished, and vigorous measures taken to raise the standard of education and efficiency. No naval authorities, not even those of England, have been more bold and adventurous in making experiments in naval architecture. The circular ironclads and the “Livadia” are instances of the readiness of Russians to abandon the old ruts, and although the result in many cases may not have justified all expectations, the attempt proves at least that our officials are not the slaves of routine and red tape. Indeed, Sir E. J. Reed declares that he doubts whether “the spontaneous intellectual activity of the Russian navy is surpassed in any navy in Europe.” The heroic exploits of Baranoff, Doubassoff, Schestakoff, and others during the late war, show that the valour of our sailors has not diminished under the régime of science and torpedoes; and should the necessity arise some day for vigorous action to overcome the vis inertiae of the Turks, the Russian navy will show that it is not unworthy to go into action side by side with English ironclads.

The civil administration of Russia has been much improved, but the process is still incomplete, and before Count Loris Melikoff has finished his patriotic labours, we expect still further improvements.

The Russian police are better behaved, less corrupt, and less arbitrary than they were. But with us the police is not a great centralised mechanism; three-fourths of our constables are simple peasants elected to the office by the vote of their neighbours in the commune. They may wear a badge and carry a walking-stick, but anything more unlike the gendarmes in the old sense of the word it would be difficult to conceive.

In the cities, of course, the police are better organised, but our cities, comparatively, are few, and our villages many. “But there is the third section,” I shall be told. Perhaps it would be better to say there was the third section. It is abolished, and merged in the ordinary police administration. The money saved by its abolition has been appropriated to help to meet the deficiency caused by the repeal of the salt tax. But even the “third section” was little understood in this country. I am not going to defend it, as it often was most defective, but in its origin it was purely philanthropic, being designed to check abuses of administration, and to compose family disputes. It degenerated into an instrument for political purposes, and everybody in Russia was delighted to see it suppressed. Why English people, however, should be so horrified at the existence of “secret police” I hardly understand; perhaps if we called them “detectives” this new christening would make all the difference.

There is one respect in which, as in the case of liberty of the press, Russia has decidedly still much to do, and that is in ecclesiastical questions. But even here much has been done. Hereditary priesthood has been abolished. Any qualified person, who desires to become a priest, can do so on passing a satisfactory examination. Our Church has no doubt many abuses; many of its clergy are very ignorant and by no means perfect; but our Church and our clergy being at least in harmony with Russian aspirations, do not oppose themselves to the national ideal. In this, perhaps, it may compare with advantage with the more cultured and wealthier Churches elsewhere, whose influence seems too often to be the reliance of all reactionary and anti-national parties. Religious liberty exists in Russia, but here also the excellent principle is not carried out to its logical conclusions. Our schismatics, Raskolniki, are no longer troubled by the police; their marriages are recognised, and their children are allowed to attend public schools. Still their position may yet be improved in some questions of detail. Of course there are Raskolniki and Raskolniki; some are mere criminals—committing in the name of their faith most desperate crimes; others are the purest, the best of men. Ignorance alone can fail to see the differences between them, and confound them together. Some of our anarchists also pretended that they were committing their crimes “to save their country,” just as some of the Raskolniki tried in the same curious way “to save their souls.” But the autocratic power can introduce the necessary reforms in that direction much better than the great bulk of the people. Perhaps Englishmen who do not elect Roman Catholics as members of Parliament will understand that concessions to schismatics and unbelievers are more likely to be obtained from the Emperor than from an Orthodox Parliament elected by universal suffrage. Proselytism is discountenanced in Russia; but it is not true that the Bible is not permitted in our country. Your own Bible Society reports, that “in the whole range of its operations there is no country under the sun in which the development of Bible work has been measured by equal breadth and rapidity.” An English minister, the Rev. Mr. Landells, recently went through our prisons and hospitals, giving away Bibles and tracts and hymns, and instead of being punished, he was given a cordial note of recommendation by the Government to all local authorities, although he came at a time when Lord Beaconsfield had certainly not prejudiced Russians very much in favour of the practical reality of English Christianity. The famous knout has been abolished for the last eighteen years. The cruel practice of branding criminals disappeared at the same time, and prison discipline has been improved. Still greater reforms in the prison system are under consideration. Most of the existing prisons are condemned, and would be replaced immediately but for our financial difficulties. Even in spite of these, it is intended to build at once new prisons with the latest improvements at Moscow, Smolensk, Voronège, Cherson and Omsk. The new House of Detention in St. Petersburg, an English visitor admits, “will stand comparison with any prison in any part of the world.” As for Siberia, it is now being recognised that our penal settlements are by no means so horrible as they used to be painted. Too many of our convicts escape; but, as Rev. Mr. Landells admits, after a long tour through the country, he left Asia with the impression “that if a prisoner chooses to behave decently well, he may be in Siberia more comfortable than in many, and as comfortable as in most, of the prisons of the world.”

Among minor administrative improvements may be mentioned the fact that where, as in old times, no one could leave Russia without the permission of the police, and by paying five hundred roubles for a passport, he has now to pay for it but a few shillings. There is only one restriction imposed, and that might perhaps be adopted with advantage elsewhere: no passport is issued to a debtor who desires to escape from the claims of his creditors by leaving the country, unless, of course, the police ignore these claims, which is very seldom the case. Married women besides have to get their husbands’ permission for going abroad. But when you remember the immense numbers of Russian women travelling in foreign countries, you will admit that Russian husbands seldom withhold the required permission. At all events, I never heard of that kind of opposition, although Russian husbands are quite as good as those of any other country. It is a question of habit and custom, just as in England you allow your young sons to go far away—to India, Africa, and America— whilst we hardly ever permit such a thing. Russian children grow up and ripen in their own country.

In this article I have excluded the consideration of foreign questions. But surely among the reforms of the reign I might have included the suppression of the slave trade in the Tartar khanates, the emancipation of the slaves in Khiva and Bokhara, and the establishment of law and order in the lawless and fanatical regions of Central Asia. Neither have I referred even to the changes, great and far-reaching, which have made the peasants of Lithuania and Poland regard Russia as their best friend against their aristocratic landlords.

I will only say, that if anyone wishes to see what drastic agrarian reform directed against “landlordism” really is, he cannot do better than study the Ukase of March 2, 1864, which settled the peasants on the land and broke the power of the Polish nobles over many hundreds of thousands of peasants, a great part of whom, as in Lithuania, were Russians and Orthodox.

If Poland is our Ireland, Finland is our Scotland, peaceful, contented, happy, industrious, and thriving. Finland also shared in the reforms of the reign. In 1864 the right to acquire property and exercise its privileges, previously vested in the nobles only, was extended to every Finn. In 1869 the Emperor opened the Finland Diet, using the following words, which perhaps will sound somewhat familiar in English ears, although some, who do not understand our institutions, may think they come strangely from the mouth of an autocrat:—

I guard the inviolable principle of Constitutional Monarchy, ingrained in the character of the Finnish people, and stamped on its laws and customs. It is your duty, as representing the Grand Duchy of Finland, to prove by the dignity, moderation and order of your decisions that liberal institutions in the hands of a wise people, of a people ready to work in harmony with the Emperor, with a practical view towards the development of public welfare, are not only not dangerous, but constitute a guarantee for order and prosperity.

Occasions arise, as in Poland and in Ireland, and to a certain extent in Russia, through the efforts of the Nihilist conspiracy, when it seems as if Liberal institutions do not conduce to order and prosperity. But these appearances are but temporary and will pass away. They are occasioned by imperfect application of Liberal principles, not by the Liberal principles themselves.

But when they do arise, they may necessitate vigorous measures, which are in their essence temporary; and we can at least claim for our Emperor that to cope with the assassination and incendiarism of the Nihilist Camorra he did not hesitate to brush on one side all rules and all precedents in order to place absolute power in the hands of the ablest administrator who could be found in the Empire. The appointment of Count Loris Melikoff was one of those brilliant but daring acts of high statesmanship which no other ruler could have accomplished. Condemned fiercely by the Western press, it was hailed with enthusiasm by all Russia, and the result has proved that we judged our Emperor the best.

To raise an Armenian general to the steps of the throne, to place in his hands supreme authority over all the highest and proudest personages in the realm, was an act impossible to any but an autocratic Emperor; while it is not too much to say that to discern the pre-eminent ability of Count Loris Melikoff, and to trust him with all but Imperial power, required insight and nerve which few, if any, European sovereigns possess.

Russians are proud of their Emperor, and, as I have tried my best to show, not without cause. Besides all these domestic reforms, which shed unfading lustre upon his name, he has on at least two memorable occasions excited the enthusiasm of the nation by his dealings with foreign countries. The first was on the occasion of the Polish insurrection, the second during the late crisis in the East.

The Polish rebellion of 1863-4 was not so important in itself. If it had been left alone, it would easily have been suppressed. But in an evil hour it occurred to the Western Powers that the rising afforded grounds for their interference in the government of the Russian Empire. For the Poles of course this was most unfortunate. The intervention of their Western friends was purely Platonic, but it was fatal to their cause. Irish grievances, perhaps, would not receive too sympathetic handling, even from Mr. Gladstone, if all the Governments of Europe, from that of Germany to that of Roumania, were making the troubles of Ireland a ground for diplomatic representations. It united Russians as one man against foreign intervention, and our Emperor excited the utmost patriotic enthusiasm by the dignified indifference with which he treated these impertinences of the West. In that he was the true representative of the national feeling, and the honour of Russia was safe in his hands. The intervention of the Powers had also its amusing side. At first we were surprised, then indignant, but afterwards we only laughed. It was so very ridiculous. Every Cabinet in Europe, even that of little Portugal, thought fit to read us lectures, how we should manage our own affairs.

I remember well when the Portuguese Minister, M. de Moïra—a very pleasant man he was—came to Prince Gortschakoff with a despatch from his Government on the subject of the Poles. Madame de Moïra, a Russian by birth, and a very witty and hospitable woman received every week. The Chancellor took the paper, put it in his pocket, and smilingly said: “Very well; I will see Madame de Moïra at her reception, and we will have a chat with her about this matter.” With that he closed the interview. It is to be hoped that the Portuguese Ministers were satisfied with this reception of their diplomatic remonstrances. It was at least as successful as those of the others.

If in the Polish affair the action of the Emperor fully satisfied the most exacting dictates of the national pride, his conduct during the Eastern crisis showed that he shared to the full the noble aspirations and unshrinking self-sacrifice of his people. At first, weighed down with the burden and the responsibility of the Empire, he hesitated. He made every effort to preserve the European concert and to make it effective as an instrument for the liberation of the East. All his efforts were in vain. The former English Cabinet rendered a pacific settlement impossible. Then it was that within the ancient walls of our glorious Kremlin the Emperor broke the silence he had preserved so long, and addressed to his subjects the memorable speech in which he declared that, if all other efforts failed, Russia was determined to go on alone. An overwhelming enthusiasm throughout the whole of Russia responded to these words. All the rest—conferences, protocols, representations, remonstrances—were mere idle babble. Everything of good that has been done in the East was due to that resolve of our Emperor. Europe talked—Russia acted. Every free institution existing in the East at this moment was planted or defended by the Russian sword. Not until Russia had done her work did Europe intervene, and then only to spoil it. Russia liberated, Europe enslaved. Russia exacted efficacious guarantees, Europe replaced them with idle words. A very curious instance of this occurs in the case of Armenia. Russia proposed, in clause 16 of the San Stefano Treaty, to keep her troops in Armenia till the Turks had introduced there the promised reforms. Lord Salisbury reversed the clause, even as far as its number was concerned: the Berlin Treaty, clause 61, objected to any foreign army being left in Armenia, and trusted, or pretended to trust, to the humanitarian and philanthropic promises of the Turk. We now may contemplate and enjoy the results of that alteration. Europe interfered, and has had to pay dearly for its intermeddling. There would have been no Dulcigno question but for blunders at Berlin. The Greeks would have had not only Thessaly and Epirus, but Crete also, if they had thrown in their lot with Russia; Macedonia would have been as free as the Bulgaria of which it formed a part; Armenia would enjoy self-government with efficacious guarantees under the San Stefano Treaty. In Albania, Greece, Macedonia, and Armenia, Europe is suffering from the consequences of her own folly.

In the accomplishment of the great work of liberation, the Emperor took a personal share. He crossed the Danube with his army. Almost all the Imperial family were in the battle-field; the Emperor’s nephew, Prince Serge of Leuchtenberg, a very promising young man, was killed in action. The Emperor was kindness itself towards the soldiers. Touching stories are told of his visits to the hospitals, and his tender words of sympathy with the poor sufferers. One day as he thanked them for their gallant exploits, they replied, “We will try to do our best, your Majesty, we will try.” “No,” answered the Emperor, “you have nothing more to try. You have done your duty admirably. Russia and I thank you warmly for what you have achieved.” On one occasion the Emperor approached a young soldier, badly wounded. “Do you suffer much?” he asked. “Yes,” replied the poor fellow. “Let me kiss your hand, your Majesty.” “No,” said the Emperor, “no, I must kiss you myself.” Such were the scenes through which the Emperor passed during many weary months of privations and suffering, sharing the sorrows and alleviating the pain of the humblest of his subjects. His work was subsequently in part undone, that is not his responsibility nor Russia’s. It lies at the door of Europe and of England.

I have the misfortune of very seldom agreeing with official literature, but Madame Adam’s excellent publication, “La Nouvelle Revue,” reproduced on November 1, 1880, an article on the Russo-Turkish War, in which the part played by our Emperor during the war is very faithfully and graphically described. No Russian, who really loves his country, and sympathises with her moral development and welfare, ever forgets what he owes to the initiative of Emperor Alexander II. and our late Empress.

The Empress Marie was the very impersonification of ardent patriotism and complete self-sacrifice. Her patience was really wonderful, especially during her most trying illness, which lasted so long and ended so fatally for us all. Not one word of complaint, not one moment of egotism! Almost dying, she still continued to give orders concerning some gifts to be made to some poor people. She loved the Slavs. She appreciated the sacrifices of our volunteers in Serbia, she allowed her ladies-in-waiting to go from church to church, from house to house, making collections for the Christians of the East. With her vivid and cultivated intelligence she understood how natural it was for us to love them too, and identifying herself so entirely as she did with the nation, she eagerly studied every phase of the Slavophil movement. Now that she is no more, one dares to praise her, without fearing to be taken for a flatterer or a courtier. The late Empress actually understood what an Empress of Russia ought to be.

I have now, very imperfectly, tried to explain why we Russians are unable to accept the foreign prejudices against our Emperor. He has done for his country more than any other Emperor since Peter the Great. A sovereign who emancipated the serfs, settled the peasants on the soil, and liberated the southern Slavs, has earned the gratitude, not only of the present, but also of the coming generations. 

Russia has need of more reforms, and that is why almost all reasonable Russians support the autocracy, that powerful and effective system, which works more speedily than Western Constitutionalism. Russia has transplanted already too many exotics from the West, unsuited for her soil. Only reforms based upon our national life, and natural development, and in conformity to our own traditions, can be effective and useful. Constitutionalism of the Polish type, in which the veto (“Né posvólim”) of a single deputy nullified the legislation of an entire session—48 out of 55 parliaments held between 1652 and 1704, are said to have enacted absolutely nothing—is not regarded with envy in Russia. Neither is English Constitutionalism, where “Obstruction” is becoming almost as powerful as the Polish “Né posvólim,” likely to gain many adherents amongst those who are already impatient because reforms are not passed more rapidly. In the address sent to the Emperor by some Old Believers it was said: “In thy innovations we hear the voice of our old times.” Only such reforms as these are useful in Russia.

O.K.

1. I was amused to learn the other day that some people actually believe our serfage was partly due to English influences. Serfdom with us dates from the time when Boris Godounoff bound the peasants to the soil, a short time after the poor-law of your Queen Elizabeth. Mr. Julius Faucher, writing on Russian agrarian legislation in the Cobden Club Essays, says: “Might not Boris Godounoff, informed by his ambassador of the wise counsel of the advisers of the English Queen, have tried a Muscovite version of contemporary English legislation? Indeed it looks very much like it. Proneness to imitation and reckless boldness in trying it, is a Russian characteristic.”—Systems of Land Tenure, p. 398.
2. I have already referred to mr. Faucher’s essay; may I quote again from his pages the following most remarkable statement? After saying that at the time of the Emancipation several Russians were inclined to favour a settlement which would merely place the emancipated serfs in the same position as farmers in your land system, they abandoned this idea: first, because they saw the miserable condition of the English agricultural labourer, and secondly, because the working of that system in Ireland—where small farms are the rule—produced “abject misery, semi barbarism and, before all things, agrarian crime.”
3. Lord Byron: Moore’s “Life of Lord Byron,” p. 337.