The whole situation in Europe has changed this year—or rather seems to have changed. In reality it is not so. A few persons have made an effort to open their eyes, and discovered a well-established fact. That is all. It is an important discovery, no doubt, so important that nervous politicians tremble in their shoes, and appeal to all sorts of magic sounds: “Balance of power,” cries one; “immediate danger,” shouts the other; “traditional policy,” exclaims the third. But all these appeals might as well not be made. The “newly discovered fact” has been known to Russians for years, although clever Westerns have only just found it out. It is, however, only natural that we should know it first, for it relates to our Emperor. Europe has learned to feel that there is once more an Emperor Nicholas on the Russian throne, and that in Alexander III. even the most imperious of Chancellors has found a Sovereign whom no intimidation can dismay and no menaces deter from the path of duty. Some Englishmen, I regret to see, do not like the memory of the great Emperor whose noble and generous qualities are more and more appreciated by history. His resolute courage and unswerving will appear to be reproduced by his grandson, our present ruler. The Emperor Nicholas was undoubtedly a great man, chivalrous, devoted to his country, full of determination. Imperious, he was no doubt—it is an imperial fault!—but he was not only disinterested, he was generous and noble to the last degree. There was a charm in his address which can never be forgotten. Books could be written about his kind proceedings. He was driving once, on a cold winter day, when he perceived a poor hearse, and a still poorer coffin. There were no followers, but the young driver, almost a child, was sobbing bitterly, and evidently absorbed by his grief. The Emperor stopped his horse and asked who the departed was. “It was my father,” answered the boy, through a new torrent of tears. “He was a blind beggar, and I had him under my care.” The Emperor left his sledge and followed the humble coffin to the burial-ground. Naturally, many people followed his Majesty’s example, and the procession became a strange sight. Strange, but fine—paternal, showing once more the link between the great autocrat and his people—a link based on devotion and trust. As a very young child I have myself experienced the kindness of his smile, and felt the kindness of his powerful hand. I remember, when my father died, the Emperor paid a visit of condolence to my mother, and desired to see the orphans. My two brothers and I appeared. I, as the only girl, received from my governess stringent orders before entering the drawing-room to “look well and to make a deep Court reverence.” Penetrated with my new role, and full of zeal, I did my best—which, alas! turned out to be my very worst—I bowed so deeply that suddenly all became confused. A horrified glance from mother—the roof with its painted flowers and Cupids—misery and bewilderment. But all this lasted one second. The dear Emperor rushed to me, seized my trembling hands, and began praising me as if I had really covered myself not with ridicule, but with glory. So he cheered me and made me happy. People who knew him intimately speak of him with an unlimited devotion. But the fascination he exercised did not render less commanding the conscious power which abode within. For he was a power—perhaps the greatest power of his day—and in that also he resembles our present Emperor, who is the one man in Europe for whose decision the “Iron Chancellor” has respect. “Every day,” they say in Russia, “he more and more reminds us of his grandfather.”

One of the great desires of the Emperor Nicholas was to establish that close and cordial alliance between Russia and England which even nowadays would form a solid guarantee of peace in the world. It was his desire to cement that alliance that led him to make those overtures to Sir Hamilton Seymour which were so basely misrepresented and so perfidiously employed to destroy the good understanding they were intended to promote. “You know my feelings”—so Mr. Kinglake begins the story, in the vivacious and charming but slightly unjust “Crimean War”—“you know my feelings,” said the Emperor to Sir H. Seymour, “with regard to England. What I have told you before, I say again: it was intended that the two countries should be upon terms of close amity; and I feel sure that this will continue to be the case; and I repeat that it is very essential that the two Governments should be on the best terms, and the necessity was never greater than at present. When we are agreed, I am quite without anxiety as to the west of Europe. It is immaterial what the others may think or do.”

This is what the Emperor Nicholas always said, and it was with him a fixed idea. “I desire to speak to you,” he said on another occasion, “as a friend and as a gentleman.” (The Emperor little knew how the confidence he placed in the “gentleman” would be requited.) “If England and I arrive at an understanding in this matter it is indifferent what others do or think.” In 1846, during his visit to London, the Emperor expressed a wish that, while he would do all in his power to keep the “Sick Man” alive, we should keep the possible and eventual case of a collapse honestly and reasonably before our eyes. This is not the only reason why the memory of the Emperor Nicholas is ever grateful to those who labour for the Anglo-Russian alliance. Nor is it the only one why I recall these suggestive passages just now. Mr. Ashmead Bartlett and Mr. Howard Vincent, who are positively haunted by a dread of Russian aggression, perpetually invoke the prejudices of the past to poison the friendship of the future. Let me take a more grateful course of recalling the repeated attempts of Russia to arrive at a good understanding with England. There is a good continuity about Russian policy, and the principles laid down by the grandfather are followed by the grandson. You wonder at the irritation which we feel at the illegal Regency in Bulgaria. Have you forgotten that Russia for years refused to enter into diplomatic relations with Belgium, “because it was impossible to be friends with a gentleman who took into his service persons who had rebelled against his friend”? It was the Poles in Belgium who in Emperor Nicholas’s time caused mischief. It is the Nihilist-Revolutionists in Bulgaria who are causing the difficulty between Sophia and St. Petersburg. The Emperor Nicholas expressly, however, declared to Sir Hamilton Seymour that he would not tolerate the breaking up of Turkey into little Republics, asylums for the Kossuths, Mazzinis, and other Revolutionists of Europe. Now, what is Bulgaria at present? Is it not a Republic in all but in name, in which M. Stambouloff, a Nihilist expelled from a Russian ecclesiastical academy for revolutionary tendencies, and accused of some crimes, usurps authority as one of the trio of Regents whom Prince Battenberg had no power to appoint? If Stambouloff persists in maintaining his position the consequences may be serious—may even be fatal: who knows?

It is about Constantinople, however, that I wish more especially to speak. There has been a most interesting discussion in the Times, initiated with charming intrepidity by Mr. Reginald Brett, as to Constantinople, which must have been read by every one with the greatest interest. But in the discussion it is assumed that Russia is anxious to seize Constantinople and to annex(.)* I really do not know how much of Turkey to our Empire(?)*. Now, we have often been at war with the Turks, but if you look on the map you will see how little territory we have taken from them this century. Both Austria and England, the friends of the Porte, have taken more of its possessions than we, its hereditary foes. These are known, obvious facts, and thus easily verified. Our interest in the Ottoman Empire is not to annex it, but to establish the independence of the Slavs, and to fulfil those obligations to all the Christians of the East which, as the Emperor Nicholas told Sir Hamilton Seymour, must never be lost sight of, since Russia cannot recede from the discharge of a distinct duty, however inconvenient it may sometimes be. But beyond that we have no antagonism to Turkey; and at this moment we have no reason to complain of her, for she seems to be acting in a straightforward way.

“What!” I think I hear Mr. Howard Vincent exclaim, “did not your Emperor Nicholas offer us Egypt in exchange for Constantinople?” He certainly did no such thing. What he did was very different; and his remarks were really so prescient and so true that I will recall them to your memory. The first suggestion was made by the Emperor Nicholas to Sir Robert Peel in 1846. “I do not claim an inch of Turkish soil,” he said; “but neither will I allow that any other shall have an inch of it” Sir Robert made a very significant reply: “That,” he said, “is England’s position so far as Egypt was concerned. Too powerful a Government there—a Government that might close the communication road across Egypt against England, or refuse the transit of the English westward mails, could not be agreeable to England.” The Emperor declined to make any stipulation then; but when he reopened the subject, seven years later, he decided to concede to England all she wanted concerning Egypt; and in return, so far from stipulating for the possession of Constantinople, he offered to take an engagement not to establish himself there as possessor, not even if circumstances compelled him to undertake a temporary occupation of the city. What then was the Emperor’s proposal? It was that of a friendly understanding, “as between gentlemen,” that certain things should not be done in case of a sudden collapse of the Ottoman Empire. 

Such were the earnest wishes of Russia, but England remained deaf and prejudiced, suspicious and hostile. She preferred a bloody struggle to a hearty alliance, and a tremendous war was fought— thousands of innocent people killed, millions of money spent on both sides—and with no actual result. Does anything remain of the famous Treaty of Paris? I remember having once asked Prince Gortschakoff whether it was he or the Count Nesselrode who signed that treaty. The Chancellor was ill, and thought he could not leave his chair; but the question electrified him. “No,” he exclaimed, jumping on his feet, “I did not put my name to that document, but I spent a good part of my life in tearing it to pieces. And it is torn to pieces,” repeated he, with a vivid, delighted look. In order to be on good terms with Russia now, England is simply wanted not to interfere in her dealings with the Slavs, her co-religionists; not to demoralize the latter, not to support elements contrary to our Church and our nationality. In fact, it is an easy, negative part she should play. Instead of this, she fidgets and quarrels like a nervous woman. What is the use of that?

It is of a vital importance for the Slavs who are no traitors to their country to cling to Russia, because she is the only Power who cares for their Church and their nationality. The Slavs incorporated in Germany have been thoroughly Germanized. Austria is not as clever as her master, but she successfully introduces the Roman Catholic propaganda among the Slavs, imprisons men like Father Naoumovitch for his devotion to the Eastern Church, and morally does almost more harm to the poor young nationalities than Turkey. In Bulgaria the influence exercised by Prince Alexander and his English advisers has been bad and unscrupulous to the last degree. In this moment, if it were not for Russia’s interference, men who read and propagated our Emperor’s telegrams would be judged by court martial for high treason. The soldiers are betrayed, misled, and instigated by Nihilists, who sold themselves to the enemies of the Slavs. Stambouloff seized all the telegraphic offices and forged his telegrams. The famous “Shumla demonstration” has never taken place, and was one of the numerous canards which delighted English doubters. It is difficult for outsiders to judge Slavonic troubles and Slavonic needs. It is a private, family affair, which ought to be left for us to settle. The Slavs awoke your sympathies only since you thought them our enemies. “Pig-dealers” was their pet name in England, and now they “suddenly have become men of a great political sense.” It is laughable, and not “gentlemanlike.”

Is it rational to awaken a general indignation in a country which as an ally could be as useful as Russia? We have common enemies in Asia. Fancy the power which would be represented by two great Christian countries if they were united and friendly! Is it really not worth having?                                                 

О. K.