Chapter IX: Part 9

If the religious fanaticism of the people and the ambition of the governing classes was great in Russia, here in England the political frenzy was no less violent. For reasons which they would probably have found it difficult to explain, the people took up the cause of the Turk with the wildest enthusiasm, and the shibboleth, “Balance of Power,” was continually in the mouths of men who were quite ignorant of its meaning. In France the desire for war was, as I have hinted, confined to the Emperor and his surroundings; but it was a sad disillusion for the Tsar when he saw the temper of England and of the Government of his friend Lord Aberdeen, a temper which that lover of peace was powerless to resist, the man whom, when he was at Windsor in 1844, he believed himself to have talked over to his views. Trusting to his conversations with the then Foreign Secretary, the Tsar was firmly convinced that England would not go to war, in spite of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, whom he hated more than ever for his defeat of Mentschikoff, in spite of Lord Clarendon, and in spite of the fact that at the Colonial Office there was a Minister called Palmerston, who, more than any other man, reflected the spirit of his countrymen, and who, by no great stretch of the imagination, might be supposed to have some little influence in foreign affairs.

During his whole life the chief hobby of the Tsar had been his army. To increase its numbers, its smartness, and its imposing glitter was the object of his most watchful care. But his military aptitudes were confined to those of the drill-sergeant. Company drill, battalion drill, a grand review were his chief joy—a shabby uniform, a button awry, a mistake in some detail of kit were crimes to be suitably punished; no stricter martinet ever existed.[20] But of strategy, tactics and the science of war, he knew no more than the youngest drummer in one of his pet regiments. Whenever he interfered in any of the wars in which he engaged, he only hindered and hampered his generals.

When it became evident that his occupation of the Balkans was a strategic mistake, he had to call in old Prince Paskiewitch, the hero of his Persian War, to get him out of the scrape. Commissariat, equipment, munitions, transport, and the various subordinate necessaries for his army, were matters into which he did not deign to inquire. I do not propose to treat of the Crimean War; I will only say this much: that when I was discussing it one day, in 1863, with a Russian general, he told me that the losses suffered by the Tsar’s army in the terrible marches to the Crimea cost them more men than all the fighting put together. Want of food, clothes, boots, medicine for the sick, the robberies of commissariat and contractors, killed the soldiers by tens of thousands. I was bound to confess that our men were not much better off, until my old friend Billy Russell roused the indignation of the people.

In the autumn of 1854 the Tsar declared that he looked to “le Général Février” to finish the war. It did, but not as he hoped. In the month of February, 1855, he died suddenly and mysteriously. The stories which have been published of a lingering death lasting several days, and of touching farewell interviews with the Empress and the Tsarevitch, may be dismissed as fables; I have dwelt upon this in my “Memories.” However that may be, whether he died a natural death from influenza, or whether, as many people believed, he took poison, it was a broken heart that killed him. The army that he had loved, the army that he had made and drilled, clothed and cherished, had failed him. Paskiewitch, whom he thought invincible, had been compelled to raise the siege of Silistria; the battle of Giurgevo had been lost; his troops, the bugbear of Europe, had been driven across the Danube by the Turks. The heights of the Alma, the night of Inkermann told the same tale. Sevastopol was doomed. The proud man was beaten; there was nothing left to him in this life; he laid him down and died—a man of many mistakes, but to the last the great “gentleman” that he claimed to be.

Once again the angel of death was merciful. He was spared the misery of the final and supreme defeat. His impregnable fortress fallen, his button-perfect army on which he pinned his faith shattered, the whole edifice of his hereditary ambition and his pious strivings crumbled to dust!

That Nicholas was greatly feared by his people must be admitted; at the same time, he was admired as something more than a man; and by those who surrounded him, though none came so often under the stinging lash of his displeasure, he was venerated and loved. His domestic life was perfect. He adored his wife—as he once said: “The first time I saw her I knew that I had met the guardian angel of my life.” She was the sister of that poor King of Prussia who was chiefly famous for his dullness and his love of champagne—le Roi Cliquot, as his Imperial brother-in-law was wont to call him.

Russia had every right to look forward to a happy time under the milder rule of Alexander the Second, who, as Tsarevitch, had greatly endeared himself to the people by travelling through the country, taking pains personally to ascertain what were the wants and aspirations of the millions whom he was one day to rule, and interesting himself on behalf of the political prisoners in Siberia, and endeavouring, so far as in him lay, to soften their hard lot. One of his first acts on coming to the throne was to release so many of the Dekabrists—the men of December—who were still living.

_From a lithograph._

[_To face p. 284._]

It has been the fashion among writers upon Russia to depreciate Alexander as a weak ruler. They are kind enough to accredit him with a heart full of good intentions, but they taunt him with a lack of vigour of character. It is a hard matter for a Tsar to satisfy the requirements of historical critics. A Nicholas, with a stern hand, puts down a poisonous rebellion which aimed at nothing less than by corrupting the army to perpetrate the murder of the whole Imperial family. He is written down and held up to execration as a bloody-minded, revengeful tyrant. Then comes his son, who at once sets about a vast number of reforms for the benefit of his people, such as the emancipation of the Law Courts from the supreme power of the politicians, the publication of an annual Budget, the establishment of provincial and district councils, and, above all, the emancipation of the serfs, of which I shall speak later. All these liberal benefits are ascribed to the feebleness of the Emperor, who, as they say, had not the force to resist the persistent demands of ministers. Such is the injustice of men and historians. Nothing astonished me more when I was in Russia than the freedom of speech. I had been brought up in the faith that to criticize the Emperor meant the knut and Siberia. On the contrary, I found at the clubs and in Society men talking, praising and blaming with all the confidence of truly free citizens, little heeding who should hear them, and I soon became aware that all the fables which I had heard of spies and reporters were just moonshine. Even officials and officers in the army unsparingly criticized the measures which they had to carry out and the men whom they must obey.

One of the shrewdest critics of international politics that I ever knew was old Count Nicholas Pablen, whom I mentioned at the beginning of this paper. A great traveller, and an excellent speaker of modern languages, he had been for half a century intimately associated with all the chief makers of the nineteenth century. He had, moreover, a marvellous memory, of which I may give an example. One day I found him in a great state of mind, fussing and fuming over some annoyance. I asked what was the matter. He said: “I am losing my memory! I wanted to write down the Knights of the Garter—I remembered twenty-four, but for the life of me I could not recollect the twenty-fifth!” All of a sudden his face brightened. “I have it,” he said, “the Duke of Westminster.” The honour of his memory was saved. His memory for political facts never failed him, and his judgment was not to be denied. His view of the state of affairs at the end of the Crimean War is given in one of those delightful letters with which Lord Granville used to keep Lord Canning posted in European matters whilst the latter was Governor-General in India. Lord Granville wrote, on the 3rd of August, 1856 (see “Lord Edmond Fitzmaurice’s Life,” vol. I., page 185):

“Old Pahlen was the most irritable of all on this subject
(the Crimean War). He says it has done no one good; not to
the English, certainly not to the Russians—and has only been
of use to one man in France,[21] whom he is not, as you know,
fond of. He says that in England they considered him as merely
speaking like a Russian parrot when he said that the Emperor
Nicholas did not wish for war, and that he was considered in
Russia almost a treacherous Anglomane when he declared that
our Government did not wish it. He had been right in both
cases, and yet by extraordinary bad management the war had
come. He thinks it will take a whole generation to efface
the recollection of it. He attributes the hatred of us, and
comparative forgiveness of the French, not so much to the
destruction in the Baltic, not so much to our Press and our
public speaking, as to our having been old friends, and their
always having thought of the French as enemies. He does not
believe in any great changes in Russia. The Emperor has good
intentions, but there have always been good intentions at
the beginning of each reign. He has one great advantage over
his father. Alexander during his life told Nicholas nothing.
Nicholas, since his son has been of age, told him everything,
and the latter, being of a very amiable disposition, heard
everything that others did not dare tell his father. He is
supposed not to have military tastes, but he issued new
regulations about uniforms almost before his father was buried;
and he and Constantine appeared in new hussar jackets a day or
two afterwards, which were supposed to be foreign, instead of a
new dress which he had been in such a hurry to exhibit himself
in. He dismissed Klein Michel and another (two great robbers);
and when his mother remonstrated on the ground of their having
been his father’s friends, he made a good answer, which he had
probably previously prepared. He said: ‘I am not a great man
like my father. He could use such men as his tools—I am not
strong enough.’ He (Pahlen) lays much stress on the absolute
poverty of Russia in able men. He thinks Gortchakoff clever,
but indiscreet, vain, and not successful in things which he
undertakes. (This is confirmed by everybody.)

“Tolstoi, a great friend of the Emperor, by whom he is called
‘milord Tolstoi,’ has no ability.

“Kisseleff, who is named Ambassador to Paris, is clever,
but has never been a diplomat and is seventy years old.
Meyendorf, really clever, is done up. Chreptowitch is nobody.
Orloff himself clever, but perfectly ignorant. He says that
Gortchakoff laments to everyone this dearth of men to appoint.
So Bloomfield told me. Pahlen says that in England it does not
signify if we want a man, we can always pick up an intelligent
man in some rank of life or other who will soon master the
specialities of his business. In Russia those who are not
diplomatists by profession are profoundly ignorant of all that
relates to it.”

A long quotation—but the appreciation of the state of affairs in his own country by so competent an observer as Count Pahlen, recorded, moreover, by no less a man than Lord Granville, seems to me to justify and even invite its insertion here. I myself knew almost all the men whom the Count mentioned, and I can appreciate the accuracy of his estimate. In two cases, that of the new Tsar and that of M. Tolstoi, I think he was hardly fair. As it turned out, the reign of Alexander the Second, if by no other measure than that of the liberation of the serfs, marked an important step in Russian history; while M. Jean Tolstoi—the “milord”—who was Postmaster-General in my time, proved to be a capable minister, none the worse for having travelled and being an accomplished man of the world. As Ambassador to England, Count Chreptowitch, a delightful old gentleman, was not an eagle; and it was not long before the astute old Baron Brunnow—with the

“Baroness Brunnow who looked like Juno”

of the “Ingoldsby Legends”—appeared once more as pilot of the diplomatic ship among the rather difficult shoals of British waters.

Nor at the outset of the new reign was English diplomacy any too strong. England, as Count Pablen pointed out, was in bad odour at St. Petersburg, and it needed all the exquisite tact of Lord Granville, when he went as special ambassador for the coronation, to conciliate the Emperor, while at the same time firmly giving His Majesty to understand that he must insist upon being received with the courtesy and consideration due to the Queen’s personal representative. Lord Granville’s letters to Lord Canning, quoted by Lord Fitzmaurice, tell the story in the most interesting way.

The glove was of velvet, but the hand was of steel. It was no easy task, for Count Pahlen was quite right when he warned Lord Granville that the Emperor was deeply prejudiced against England, and had quite thrown himself into the arms of France—a strange infatuation, considering that it was Louis Napoleon’s personal ambition and aggressive policy which raised the question of the Holy Places, and was the cause of the war, whereas England did her best—a bad best, it must be admitted—to preserve the peace. Yet France was in high favour, while for us there was as yet no forgiveness. At any rate, Lord Granville’s special embassy was a great success, and for years afterwards the Russians spoke with enthusiasm of the English _grand seigneur_ who had conquered _à force de plaire_ and upheld the dignity of his country. If in some future decade, century, or æon, I, on the eve of a new incarnation, should be consulted by the gods as to the quality with which I should prefer to be endowed, I should have little hesitation in asking to be blessed with the tact of Lord Granville.

Lord Wodehouse, afterwards Earl of Kimberley, who was our Minister at St. Petersburg, was a man of great ability, singularly well read and thoroughly posted in diplomatic lore. He knew his trade, but he had not the secret of treating business with charm. His talents were better fitted to the fuliginous atmosphere of Downing Street than to the bright sparkling air of the Russian capital. It was single-stick, very doughty single-stick, against the light play of the foils. The contrast with that skilful fencer, Lord Granville, was great. But the victories gained by the latter could only be temporary. He had to go, and Lord Wodehouse remained, a brilliantly dull man—or would it be better to say a dully brilliant man?—quite out of his element in the glittering gaiety of a Russian _salon_. Those who knew his solid worth appreciated his wisdom and scrupulous honesty. But he was rather a great parliamentarian than a courtly diplomatist. When he opened the flood-gates of his talk, it was a Niagara that issued forth, carrying all before it, not to be stopped or stayed, and this deluge was made even more overwhelming by a doctoral or donnish manner, which absolutely staggered the delightfully smart and rather cynical Prince Gortchakoff. As for the Emperor, the voluble envoy frankly bored him. Lord Wodehouse could earn respect for England, but not affection.

Nor was England much better served when his place was taken in 1858 by Sir John Crampton, a most delightful personality, but, in spite of his long experience, little fitted for such a post as St. Petersburg. The truth is that he was a Bohemian of the Bohemians, a man who loved his ease and to whom the donning of a fine coat and a star was little short of torture. I knew him well, for he was a contemporary of my father’s in the service, and there were few days—when he was on leave in London—on which he did not knock at our door. He had all the gifts of the Irish raconteur, and his stories were enhanced by the charm of a musical speaking voice—a great, handsome, leonine figure, with his silver hair and beard, whose advent we always hailed with joy. Probably he was at his best in his beautiful Irish home near Powerscourt, where, with a congenial friend or two—notably old Sharpe, the eccentric Dublin artist—he could sit and smoke after dinner in the same frieze coat that he had worn all day. With us and very few other friends he would sit by the fire, a great tame cat, purring the livelong winter afternoon. However great his personal attractiveness might be, he was certainly not successful as a diplomatist.

When he was at Washington, President Peirce broke off relations with him on account of his recruiting activities—when there were men wanted for the Foreign Legion in the Crimean War. It was the one case in which he overcame his constitutional indolence, and it was not lucky. He had to leave the United States, but Lord Palmerston, always the generous defender of his subordinates, stood up for him, and sent him as Minister to Hanover, at the same time decorating him with the K.C.B., and thence he was transferred to St. Petersburg, a post where the members of the diplomatic body, unless they were prepared to face all the requirements of a delightful but rather exacting society, were bound to become mere cyphers.

That is what happened to Sir John Crampton, and that, too, at a moment when it was very important to bury the hatchet and establish relations of cordial friendship and sympathy with the Tsar and his ministers. It was at last the tame cat nature to which I have alluded above brought about his retirement from Russia in 1860, and his transfer to Spain, where at that moment there was little urgency for activity. In an unlucky moment for all concerned, Balfe came to St. Petersburg, with his beautiful young daughter Victoire, who had been engaged at the Opera. Naturally the Irish Minister and the Irish composer forgathered, and Balfe’s rooms were a delightfully congenial place, where, when the young lady was not singing at the theatre, Crampton could pass the lazy evenings, free from the cramping fetters of a tailcoat and from all the irksome restraint and exigencies of a diplomatist’s life. Balfe, whom I knew well for many years, was himself endowed with all the fascination of Irish wit and bonhomie, while his daughter was as attractive as youth, beauty and talent could make her. They must have been a delightful trio—but the lotus-eating was not to last. There came a day when Balfe, in the character of the _père noble_, told Sir John that his visits must cease—the old story, his daughter’s happiness was at stake—and so the veteran diplomatist hoisted the white flag, surrendered unconditionally, and January and May were united for a very brief time, at the end of which the marriage was annulled, and the lady married the Duc de Friar, a grandee of Spain.

When I reached St. Petersburg in 1863, and went through the archives of the Embassy, which were in my charge, I found that there was a dispatch missing. No trace could be found of it and no one had ever seen it. I wrote to London, asking the Foreign Office to send out a copy. When it came, it turned out to be a severe wigging from Lord Russell, scolding Crampton for not keeping him better informed on Russian affairs. Crampton had burned the dispatch! It was easy for him to do this, for the messenger arrived about ten o’clock at night, and he was in the habit of opening the bag himself, and only sending down its contents to the Chancery on the following morning. This particular document he kept to himself. In 1869 he left the service, and from that time lived chiefly at his Irish home in County Wicklow, where he died, full of years and comfort, in 1886, greatly regretted by all of us who knew him as a dear, kind, affectionate old friend.

Never was there a happier appointment than that of Lord Napier, who succeeded him in Russia in 1860, with the more exalted rank of Ambassador, seconded by an ambassadress who seemed to have been born for the position. The British Embassy soon became the most popular centre of society in Russia. John Lumley—afterwards Lord Savile—was First Secretary (what would now be called Councillor), and he was a most valuable aide-de-camp socially to his chief. In these happy circumstances the prestige and influence increased every day, until at the end, when Lord Napier, in 1864, was transferred to Berlin, the Emperor Alexander wished to give him the Order of St. Andrew, the Garter of Russia, but unfortunately in those days the acceptance of foreign Orders was strictly forbidden. Queen Victoria was like Queen Elizabeth, who said that she would not allow her dogs to wear any collar but her own.

Few men ever had a much more difficult task than that with which Lord Napier was confronted when he took possession of the Embassy. Not only did he conjure into life a new popularity out of the ashes of the dead indifference, and worse, in which England was held, but he succeeded in winning the personal love and affection of all with whom he came in contact; and this he did in spite of the emasculate meddlings in Polish affairs which were the favourite pastime of Lord Russell and the cynical amusement of Prince Gortchakoff.

_From a photograph._

[_To face p. 296._]

It must not be supposed that Lord Napier did not himself openly condemn much that was going on in Poland; but he did so with tact, as an onlooker, and not like Lord Russell, with the appearance of impertinent interference in the internal government of a friendly country. There were, as I have shown in my “Memories,” many Russians in high positions who were outspoken in their detestation of General Muraieff, whom Prince Suvoroff did not hesitate to call a “hangman” in the Tsar’s presence at a banquet at Tsarskoe Selo. Lord Napier would have cried “Amen” to that. But though he was an uncompromising critic, he never forfeited the goodwill of the court to which he was accredited.

The honour and reputation of England were safe in his hands, and he enjoyed an influence which had been vouchsafed to none of his predecessors. What Prince Gortchakoff and all other Russians resented in Lord Russell was the schoolmaster tone of his dispatches. That Prince Suvoroff’s condemnation of the cruelties of Warsaw did not meet with an Imperial reproof was significant enough, and an English ambassador would find plenty of men who would applaud a similar reproof from him. But none of them, even of those who were loudest in their blame, would accept Lord Russell’s sermons and prescriptions. The Polish Revolution was a terrible first act in the drama upon which the curtain was to fall in so tragic a fashion.

The liberation of the serfs in 1861 was manifestly the greatest achievement of Alexander’s reign—indeed, it was one of the greatest and noblest achievements in the whole history of Society. It was a great upheaval, far more wide-reaching and searching than the abolition of negro slavery which rewarded the humane labours of Clarkson, Sharp and Wilberforce. That only affected the planters of the West Indies. There were no negro slaves in London, Edinburgh, or Dublin. In Russia, on the contrary, serfdom was universal. There were serfs even among the tradesmen of St. Petersburg, Moscow and Warsaw, and all the great towns—men who had raised themselves by industry and knowledge into a higher status than that of the drudge or labourer, the hewer of wood and drawer of water, but who yet remained serfs, and had to pay a share of their gains to their lords. The fortunes of rich Boyarin were calculated in the souls of men. There had been more than once talk of putting an end to this horror, but it was left to the generous and good Tsar to carry the reform into execution. He was ably seconded by M. Valouieff, Minister of the Interior, who worked out all the details of the scheme. It was no easy task to carry out so mighty a change, for, of course, the vested interests were powerful and the mighty ego was on guard, as ever; but the Tsar was in deadly earnest, and in spite of all opposition, twenty-three millions of dead souls were born again into life.

It was an audaciously bold piece of statesmanship. Even an autocrat is dependent upon the will of others for his power. He cannot stand up in the Agora, and, like a god, proclaim himself “I am that I am!” He needs support, and in Russia at that time, when the proletariat had not yet even the semblance of political existence, the only prop upon which the Tsar could rely was the _noblesse_, and it was precisely their privileges that he was attacking. It needed moral courage, it needed physical courage, to set such a machinery in motion. Remember who and what were the men who murdered the Emperor Paul. Not a gang of revolutionary _carbonari_—Turgénieff was not yet born and the word “Nihilist” had not yet been coined[22]—but a band of powerful nobles, headed by his own prime minister. Remember who were the leading Dekabrists, men bearing historic names, proud of their descent from the sacred stock of Rurik. It was men of that importance who would be the most affected by the change, and whose opposition was to be feared. No weak man would have braved them. It is true that emancipation had long been in the air, and that a great number—perhaps even a large majority—of the landed aristocracy had pledged themselves to it. But there was a dangerous leaven of discontent, and none could say how far the taint might have penetrated.

M. Valouieff, the minister who was the Tsar’s right-hand man in this difficult business, was a remarkable personality. Strikingly handsome, tall and dignified, with all the characteristics of blue blood, he was not dwarfed even by the mighty stature of his Imperial master. When, two years after the liberation of the serfs in Russia, the measure was extended to Poland, I was present, as I have related in my “Memories,” at the reception of the Tsar of the peasants’ deputation who came to St. Petersburg to thank the Tsar. It was impossible not to be struck by the commanding aspect of the Emperor and his minister, both sons of Anak, towering above the rest of the crowd.

The emancipation of the serfs was, of course, Valouieff’s masterpiece in statesmanship, but he had several other measures of first-class importance to his credit. It was he who in 1864 established the Zemstvo—elected bodies for the local conduct of provincial business—and another of his achievements was the regulation of the laws relating to the Press. He, moreover, had something of a literary reputation as the author of two or three novels. But these were rather amateurish, and it is upon his statesmanship that his fame must rest.

Like the Chancellor, Prince Gortchakoff, he was very kind to me, and whenever we met in Society, he always had a friendly word for me. When I got back to London, he was next to Prince Gortchakoff, the Russian statesman in whom I found Lord Palmerston and Lord Clarendon the most interested. They fully appreciated the greatness of his work in the emancipation business, and were glad to have some first-hand impressions of his very remarkable personality.

The emancipation was a colossal task. It is not possible by a mere stroke of the pen to revolutionize the lives of twenty-three millions of men. The serfs were to be freed—that is easily said; but the interests of the landed aristocracy must also be taken into consideration, and it says much for Valouieff’s statesmanship and wisdom that the measure should have been carried into effect practically without any friction.

It was impossible suddenly to deprive of its labour the whole of the agricultural land of that vast empire. There had to be a transition period during which the peasants, though no longer serfs, still remained under certain obligations to their former masters; but within the space of two years the landlords were bound to make over to them their houses with suitable allotments of land against a fair rent, with the further privilege of purchase, with the consent of the proprietor. The obligations of the peasant and his rent were capitalized on a basis of six per cent. Of this capital, twenty per cent. was to be paid at once to the landlord, while the Government gave him the remaining eighty per cent. in Government bonds bearing five per cent. interest, the Government recouping itself for this advance in forty-nine years by a payment of six per cent. from the peasant. The purchases might be effected by single individuals or by partnerships. This would be facilitated by the Russian communal system, by which the members of each commune were able to combine for the redemption money and other expenses.

It was calculated that about one-third of the property of the landed aristocracy, equal to 390,886 square kilometres, was made over to the peasants. This is Brockhaus’ calculation. He goes on to point out that for various reasons, chiefly the ignorance and intemperance of the peasants, there were not a few troubles arising out of the great economic change. Although in some instances land soon rose in value fifty per cent. above the estimate of 1861, in others it suffered great deterioration.

There is one feature in this great economic change which is worthy of note. If we read the lives, memoirs and correspondence of the ministers who have ruled England in modern times, it is impossible not to recognize an underlying element of personal ambition in all their contentions. That, I take it, is inseparable from a constitutional Government where the “Outs” are always struggling to become “Ins.” Here there was no such motive possible. A Tsar of Russia could become no greater than he already was, and even the minister who did his behest had nothing to fear or to gain from the _arbitrium popularis aurae_. The Emperor had, and could have, nothing in view but the good of his people, and for that those who saw him at work knew that his efforts were untiring. It is strange that it should have been precisely in the reign of so good a monarch, a real benefactor of the world over which he ruled, that the seeds of the poisonous plant of Nihilism should have germinated, spreading like the virus of cancer, which, cut out of one place by the surgeon’s knife, still travels through the system and reappears in some new spot.

Nihilism was not confined, as has been popularly supposed, to the students of the universities and a few clever but discontented literary men and artists. As a matter of fact, it had invaded all classes. The civil service, the army, the police—even the secret police—were infected.

* * * * *

The diplomatic negotiations which took place at St. Petersburg in the winter of 1863-64 were big with the fate of Europe and of the world. It was the result of the grievous blunders made by Lord Russell that Prussia was enabled to take the first step in that career of plunder and aggrandisement which has wrought such terrible tragedies. I have dealt with that story fully in my “Memories.” I was at St. Petersburg at the time, and owing to my confidential relations with Lord Napier, and to the kindness of Prince Gortchakoff and other Russian ministers, I had the opportunity of being well posted, not only in what took place publicly, but also in the feeling which was prevalent in Russia in regard to the Danish war.

In his brilliantly fascinating fourth volume of the “Life of Lord Beaconsfield,” Mr. Buckle[23] revives the time-honoured fallacy that Russia was not ready to join hands with us in defence of Denmark. That fallacy can only owe its existence to the careful handling of persons whose aim it was to whitewash Lord Russell. It is true that his blustering and bullying in the Polish Revolution—followed by the eating of the leek with appetite—had made England very unpopular in Russia; but in regard to Denmark there was another motive at work, and a very powerful one, in the prospective marriage of the Princess Dagmar to the Tsarevitch.

In principle, Russia did not want to go to war, but she was ready to sacrifice her wish for peace if only England would join in with her and cry “Hands off!” to Prussia and Austria. England did not want war in July, 1914, but on the 4th of August war was declared. The cases are exactly similar. In both cases a “scrap of paper” was torn up by Prussia, who only a few months earlier had guaranteed the integrity of King Christian’s dominions. In 1914 mercifully Lord Russell had been long “resting and being thanked” over the mischief he had wrought. Sterner and more chivalrous doctrines prevailed, and this time England was ready to draw the sword for a principle of honour.

It is, I know, an absolute mistake to suppose that if we had carried out the policy indicated by Lord Palmerston in Parliament at the end of the Session of 1863 we should have stood alone. Russia would have been with us. Our position, supposing we had gone to war, would have been all to our advantage—as Lord John Manners pointed out, it would have been “the most popular, the easiest and the cheapest war (for it can be managed by our navy alone) of the century.”[24] Lord John Manners was quite right. We should have sent our navy to Danish waters, and we need not have sent out a single soldier.

To march upon Berlin would have been a mere holiday task for the Russian army, a sort of picnic, like our march upon Magdala. But I can assert that it was the firm conviction of the best informed diplomatists of Europe that the mere knowledge that England and Russia were determined to uphold the rights of Denmark would of itself have sufficed to avert war. I have written elsewhere how, when Lord Napier had to tell Prince Gortchakoff that England would not join with him, the Prince answered: “Alors, milord, je mets de côté la supposition que l’Angleterre fasse jamais la guerre pour une question d’honneur.” That was the conviction which guided him in all his subsequent dealings with England, the advances in Central Asia, in defiance of all treaties, until the gates of Afghanistan were reached, and in 1870, when France was crippled, the tearing up of the Black Sea Treaty obligations of 1856.

Mr. Buckle is so clear-minded a critic of foreign politics that I should hesitate to differ from him were I not possessed of absolute knowledge not from hearsay. A study of the “Origines diplomatiques de la guerre de 1870” can only confirm what I have said; and that exhaustive publication proves up to the hilt my contention that since the origin of the war of 1870 was due to the betrayal of Denmark in 1863-64, it is to the grave political blunders then made that we must ascribe the outrage of 1914.

Free of England and Russia, Bismarck was able to carry out his full programme: (1) Kiel and a navy. (2) The crippling of Austria. (3) The humiliation of France. (4) Who can doubt what that was? The destruction of England’s sea power, and the world under the heel of Prussia.

Lord Russell’s meddling and muddling in the affairs of Poland had, it is true, estranged Russia and France. But the former Power was, nevertheless, keenly in favour of Denmark; as regards France, there was perhaps another consideration which was not without its influence. It is a matter of common knowledge that Louis Napoleon was very ambitious to build up a navy which should be able to hold its own with ours. In the “Origines diplomatiques” there is published a dispatch from the French chargé d’affaires at St. Petersburg, M. de Massignac, a very clever man, with whom I was intimate, urging upon M. Drouyn de Lhuys the expediency of furthering the views of Prussia. He pointed out that the success of Prussia would give her Kiel, and enable her to build a navy which might, in given circumstances, help the other Continental Powers to destroy England’s preponderant supremacy at sea! I am inclined to think that this view may have had more restraining influence with Louis Napoleon even than the snubbing with which Lord Russell met his proposals for a conference or congress at Brussels. We know, moreover, that the Emperor had a distinct leaning towards Prussia, which he looked upon as making for progress in contradistinction to Austria, which in his eyes was antiquated and retrograde.

It was, then, at St. Petersburg that the fate of Denmark was sealed and the first triumph of Bismarck’s policy secured. The Danish Duchies were stolen by Prussia, and, as my old friend M. de Massignac had foreseen, the foundations were laid of a navy which up to that time had been a dream in Cloudcuckooland. For the shameful abandonment of Denmark we are now, fifty years later, paying the just penalty.

THE END

_Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey._

FOOTNOTES

[1] See my “Garter Mission to Japan,” pp. 193-203.

[2] Max Müller, “Chips from a German Workshop,” IX., 178.

[3] Max Müller, _ut supra_.

[4] Even the famous Laws of Manu were only held to be Smriti—tradition.

[5] See Max Müller’s “Ancient Sanskrit Literature,” pp. 57 and 80.

[6] How like a passage in one of Robert Louis Stevenson’s prayers written at Vailima: “We thank Thee, Lord, for the glory of the late days and the excellent face of Thy Sun.”

[7] “Chips from a German Workshop,” Vol. I., p. 13.

[8] Max Müller’s “Chips,” Vol. I., pp. 36-37.

[9] _Picea pungens glauca._

[10] The Japanese, following the horology of the Chinese, used to divide the day of 24 hours into 12 periods, each of which had its sign, something like the sign of the Zodiac.

Midnight until 2 a.m. was the hour of the Rat
2 a.m. ” 4 a.m. ” ” Ox
4 a.m. ” 6 a.m. ” ” Tiger
6 a.m. ” 8 a.m. ” ” Hare
8 a.m. ” 10 a.m. ” ” Dragon
10 a.m. ” 12 noon ” ” Snake
12 noon ” 2 p.m. ” ” Horse
2 p.m. ” 4 p.m. ” ” Ram
4 p.m. ” 6 p.m. ” ” Ape
6 p.m. ” 8 p.m. ” ” Cock
8 p.m. ” 10 p.m. ” ” Hog
10 p.m. ” midnight ” ” Fox

[11] See my “Tales of Old Japan: the Loves of Gompachi and Komurasaki.”

[12] _Morning Post_, May 8th, 1915.

[13] Quoted in the _Spectator_, May 8th, 1915.

[14] Lord March, afterwards “Old Q.”

[15] The Duke of Queensberry.

[16] Mr. Thrale’s profits from the brewery were estimated at £30,000 a year.

[17] Mügge, pp. 131, 134.

[18]

“As when upon a trancèd summer night
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-chainèd by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir.”

HYPERION, I., 72.

[19] Tomini later quarrelled with Napoleon and entered the service of Alexander.

[20] The craze for absolute uniformity was exemplified in the Kurros (snub-nosed) Grenadier Regiment of the Emperor Paul. Not only was every nose in the regiment tip-tilted, but the meter-like brass shakos of the old pattern seen in Hogarth’s pictures—“The March to Finchley,” for example—each has a bullet-hole exactly in the same place. This was to commemorate an attempt on the Tsar’s life. The bullet missed him, but found its billet in the shako of one of his guards. Whether the snub-noses and the shakos still exist I know not. They were very conspicuous in my time.

[21] The Emperor Louis Napoleon.

[22] The word, “Nihilist” first appeared in Turgénieff’s story, “Fathers and Sons,” in 1861.

[23] “The Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield,” Vol. IV., p. 342.

[24] Buckle’s “Life of Disraeli,” _ut supra_, Vol. IV., p. 343.

INDEX

INDEX

Abdul Hamid, Sultan of Turkey, 138, 274.

Aberdeen, George H. Gordon, 4th Earl of, 269, 270.

Abrantès, Junot, Duc d’, 173-4.

Addison, Joseph, 114.

Albert, Prince Consort, 141-2.

Alexander I., Emperor of Russia, 247-8, 253 _et sq._, 258 _et sq._

Alexander II., Emperor of Russia, 264, 284 _et sq._, 296.

Allard, Father, 87.

Ananda, 25, 35, 40, 42.

Anatha Pindaka, 35.

Angeli, Von, 144.

Arnold, Sir Edwin, 18, 23.

Aryans, The, 49 _et sq._, 59 _et sq._

Asōka, King, 18, 51.

Aston, Molly, 241.

Aston, Sir Thomas, 241.

Bacon, Francis (Lord Verulam), 62, 189.

Bagatelle, 162-3, 175, 190-1, 193, 195.

Balfe, Michael William, 294.

Balfe, Victoire, 294-5.

“Bamboo Garden, The,” Lord Redesdale’s, ix.

Barbosa, 49.

Baring, Maurice, 203-4.

Barlaam and Josaphat, The Story of, 27 _et sq._

Batsford, x. _et sq._, xviii., xix., xxi.

Beaconsfield, Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of, 304.

Beal, Samuel, 23.

Beethoven, 151-2, 218, 251.

Benares, King of, 37.

Benfey, Theodor, 60 _et sq._

Berghaus, Heinrich, 52.

Bernhardt, Sarah, 152.

Bezbarooks, Count, 248.

Bhikshus, The, 42 _et sq._, 214.

Bimbisara, King of Maghada, 12, 32, 35.

Bismarck, Prince, 307-8.

Bizet, Georges, 218.

Blümml, Emil, 130.

Bodhisatva Maitriya, 37 _et sq._

Bonjean, M., 87.

Bopp, Franz, 60.

Boutourlin, 256.

Brahmans, The, 48 _et sq._, 65, 68-9

Brockhaus, Professor, 214.

Broughton, John Cam Hobhouse, Lord, 45.

Buckingham, Richard Grenville, 2nd Duke of, 186.

Buckle, George Earle, 304, 306.

Buddha, The, 8 _et sq._, 46 _et sq._, 65 _et sq._, 96, 233.

Bunsen, Baron, 54 _et sq._

Burnouf, Jean Louis, 60.

Byron, Lord, 45, 207.

Cambridge, xx.

Canning, Lord, 287, 290.

Canning, George, 167.

Capell, Edward, 242-3.

Carlisle, Lord, 171-2.

Carlyle, Thomas, 259.

Caste, 48 _et sq._

Castiglione, Countess, 222-31.

Castlereagh, Lord, 167.

Catherine the Great, 248-9, 252.

Cavell, Nurse, 93.

Cellini, Benvenuto, 155.

Chandana, 26.

Charles VI., Emperor, 137, 145.

Charles X. of France, 175.

Chandra Mukherji, 13-14, 18, 30.

Chelsea Hospital, 97.

Chreptowitch, Count, 289, 290.

Christian, King of Denmark, 305.

Cimarosa, Domenico, 151.

Cissey, General, 91.

Clair, Father, 87.

Clarendon, George Villiers, Earl of, 301.

Clarkson, Thomas, 298.

Clopton, Sir Hugh, 240 _et sq._

Commune, The, 78 _et sq._

Confucius, 33, 52-3.

Constantine, Grand Duke, 262, 267-8, 288.

Cook, Dr., 227-8.

Courbet, Gustave, 83 _et sq._

Cowes, Royal Yacht Squadron Castle, xii. _et sq._

Crampton, Sir John, 292 _et sq._

Crawley, George, 79.

Crimean War, 270 _et sq._

Dagmar, Empress of Russia, 304.

Dandapani, 24.

Dante, xix. _et sq._, 206.

Darboy, Monseigneur, Archbishop of Paris, 87 _et sq._

Dasson, M., 180.

Daudet, Alphonse, xxiii.

Daudet, Ernest, xxiii.

Davids Rhys, 23, 31, 37.

Davis, Mr. Charles, 198.

Devadatta, 24-5, 35-6, 40.

Dietrichstein, Count, 134.

Dodgson, Rev. Charles, 229.

Domenichino, 183.

Donay, General, 91.

Dostoieffski, Feodor, 205.

Drummond, Messrs. G. & E., 158.

Ducondray, Father, 87.

Duplessis, Isabella, 132.

Dyer, Sir William, 243.

Edward VII., 93, 200.

Elizabeth, Empress, 132.

Ellis, Sir Arthur, 201.

Enghien, Duc d’, 254.

Esher, Reginald Brett, 2nd Viscount, 189 _et sq._, 199.

Eton College, 209 _et sq._

Eugénie, 94.

Evans, Jennie, 209, 211.

Evans, William, 209 _et sq._

Evelyn, John, 243.

Fagnani, Marchese, 165 _et sq._, 172.

Fagnani, Marchesa, 165 _et sq._

Fagnani, Maria. _See_ LADY HERTFORD.

Fa Hsien, 13.

Faraday, Michael, 53.

Ferronays, M. de la, 263-4.

Fitzmaurice, Lord Edmond, 287, 290.

Fragonard, Jean, 112, 175.

Francis of Assisi, St., 47, 54 _et sq._, 214.

Francis I., Emperor, 134, 137-8, 142, 147.

Fraser, Sir James, 125.

Frederick the Great, 143, 146.

Friar, Duc de, 295.

Fryatt, Captain, 93.

Fuchs, Gräfin, 133.

Gainsborough, Sir Thomas, 101, 172.

Gaisman, 145.

Gallifet, Marquis de, 91 _et sq._

Gallifet, Madame de, 93.

Garrick, David, 241.

Gastrell, Rev. Mr., 241-2.

Genghis Khan, 258.

George IV., 167, 184.

Gluck, Christoph, 145.

Goethe, 152, 206.

Gogol, Nicolai, 205.

Gopā (wife of the Buddha), 18, 24-5, 35.

Gortchakoff, Prince Alexander, 289, 292, 296-7, 301, 306-7.

Graham, Stephen, 279.

Granville, Lord, 287 _et sq._

Greiner, Herr von, 147 _et sq._

Grimm, Jakob, 60.

Grisi, 223.

Grousset, Paschal, 85.

Guerry, Abbé de, 87.

Gurwood, Colonel, 159, 191.

Halloy, Omalius d’, 60, 62.

Hawtrey, Dr., 207.

Haydn, 145, 151-2.

Hearn, Lafcadio, 120 _et sq._

Heine, Heinrich, 138.

Hertford, Francis Seymour, 2nd Marquis of, 186.

Hertford, Francis Charles Seymour, 3rd Marquis of (Thackeray’s “Lord
Steyne”), xx., xxi., 155, 166 _et sq._, 173, 176, 186, 191, 193.

Hertford, Francis Seymour, 5th Marquis of, 163, 194-5.

Hertford, Richard Seymour, 4th Marquis of, xx., xxi., 155, 157 _et
sq._, 173 _et sq._

Hertford, Lady Maria, 159 _et sq._, 192 _et sq._

Hicks-Beach. _See_ ST. ALDWYN.

Hieronymus, Lieutenant Friedrich, 131-2.

Hieronymus, Charlotte, 131 _et sq._, 138 _et sq._, 144, 147 _et sq._

Hogg, James, 215.

Homer, 62, 206.

Houdon, Jean, 180.

Hsi, Emperor-King, 67.

Hsüan Chwang, 11, 13, 68.

Humboldt, Baron von, 60.

James I., 239, 240, 243.

Japanese Gardens, 2 _et sq._, 102, 106;
customs, 118 _et sq._;
legends, 121 _et sq._

Jefferies, Richard, 233.

Jéta, Prince, 35.

Jétavana, 35.

John of Damascus, St., 27 _et sq._

Johnson, Dr., 203, 238, 241 _et sq._

Joseph II., Emperor of Austria, xxiii., 135, 140.

Kalanta, 11.

Karamzin, Nicholas, 205-6.

Kassapa the Prince, 37, 40.

Keats, John, 235.

Kennedy, Mr., xxii.

Kerner, Andreas, 225.

Kew Gardens, 243 _et sq._

Kimberley, John Wodehouse, Earl of, 291-2.

Kisseleff, Sergius, 289.

Kosciusko, 249.

Krüdener, Madame de, 259.

Krylov, Ivan, 204-5.

Kshatriya, The, 48.

Kusinārā, 42, 44.

Laboulaye, M., 29.

Ladmisault, General, 91.

La Harpe, Jean, 260.

Laking, Sir Guy, 201.

Lamington, Baillie Cochrane, Lord, 157.

Lancret, Nicolas, 112.

Lansdowne, Henry Fitzmaurice, 5th Marquis of, 201.

Lao Tze, 52.

Lamballe, Princesse de, 78.

Landseer, Sir Edwin, 144.

Latham, Robert Gordon, 60, 62.

Lavalette, M. de, 271.

Lee, Sir Sidney, 238-9, 245.

Leighton, Sir Frederick, 144.

Lemoyne, 180.

Leopold II., 147.

Lhuys, M. Drouyn de, 307.

Lissauer, Herr, 138.

Liszt, Abbé, 152.

Lofft, Mr., 243.

Louis XV., 271.

Louis-Philippe, Emperor of the French, 184, 269, 272.

Louise, Princess (Duchess of Argyll), 144.

Lowell, John Russell, 99.

Lumbini Garden, 16, 18 _et sq._, 26, 44.

Luther, Martin, 47, 274.

MacColl, Mr., 180 _et sq._, 202.

Macklin, Charles, 241.

Maintenon, Madame de, 193.

Malet, Sir Edward, 85, 201.

Malone, Edmund, 240-1.

Manners, Lord John, 305.

Maria Theresia, Empress of Germany, xv., 129.

Mario, Signor, 223.

Marie Antoinette, Queen, 133-4, 145, 175.

Marlborough Club, xvii.

Massignac, M. de, 307-8.

Mawson, S., 178 _et sq._, 187-8.

Maxwell, Sir John Stirling, 201.

Maya, Queen of Kapilavastu (mother of the Buddha), 15 _et sq._, 30,
40.

“Memories,” Lord Redesdale’s, ix. _et sq._, 283, 297, 304.

Mendelssohn, 54, 218.

Mentschikoff, Prince, 266, 273, 276.

Mercier, Karoline, 135.

Metastasio, 134.

Metternich, Madame de, 93-4.

Meyendorf, 289.

Milarodowitch, General, 263.

Millais, Sir John, 144.

Milton, John, 206.

Mitford, Major the Hon. Clement, xi.

Moffat, Mary Maxwell, 143, 145.

Mohammed, 33.

Montaigne, xxi.

Moore, Sir John, 143.

Moskowa, Prince de la, 267.

Mowatt, Sir Francis, 200.

Mozart, 145, 151-2, 218.

Mrighadeva, The, 32, 44.

Mügge, Dr., 215-16.

Muraieff, General, 297.

Murillo, 188.

Müller, Max, 27-8, 48, 51 _et sq._, 60 _et sq._, 66, 68-9, 72, 75-6.

Murray, Mr., 197.

Napier, Francis, Lord, 296-7, 304, 306.

Napoleon, 13, 152, 251, 254 _et sq._

Napoleon III., 179, 271-2, 287, 291, 307-8.

National Gallery, xvii.

Nesselrode, Count, 275.

Newton, Sir Isaac, 53.

Ney, Marshal, 267.

Nicholas, Emperor of Russia, 167, 247, 262 _et sq._

Nietzsche, xiii., 213 _et sq._

North, Christopher, 215.

Northcote, James, 184.

Northcote, Sir Stafford, 157.

Norns, The, 115-16.

Orloff, Alexis, 289.

Oubrie, M. d’, 254.

Ovid, 116 _et sq._

Paesiello, 151.

Pahlen, Count Nicholas, 251, 286 _et sq._

Pahlen, Count Peter, 250-1.

Palmerston, Henry Temple, Viscount, 293-4, 301, 305.

Paris, the Commune, 78 _et sq._

Parkes, Sir Harry, xvii.

Parsees, The, 65-6.

Paskiewitch, Prince, 267, 282-3.

Paul I., Emperor of Russia, 248 _et sq._, 258, 262, 272, 299.

Pechler, xv.

Peel, Right Hon. Sir Robert, 269.

Peirce, President, 293.

Penka, 60.

Pepys, Samuel, 243 _et sq._

Persigny, Madame de, 93.

Peter III., Emperor of Russia, 249, 250.

Phillips, Sir Claude, 176, 201-2.

Phillips, March, 107, 109, 110, 113.

Pichler, Frau, 130-1, 134, 136-7, 142, 150, 152.

Pigalle, 180.

Plant life, 221 _et sq._

Poesche, 60.

Poe, Edgar Allan, 234.

Pourtalès, Comtesse de, 93-4.

Poynter, Sir Edward, 199, 200.

Prain, Sir David, 245.

Prajapati Gautama, 18, 30.

Pushkin, Alexandre, 205 _et sq._

Queensberry, William Douglas, Duke of, 164, 167-8, 173.

Raglan, Fitzroy Somerset, Lord, 265.

Rahula (son of the Buddha), 22, 32.

Rasumowski, Countess, 251-2.

Redcliffe, Lord Stratford de, 276 _et sq._

Rembrandt, 152, 182-3, 188.

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 101, 172, 176, 186 _et sq._

Rhode, Erwin, xiii., 213.

Ribeaupierre, Count, 252.

Richmond, 104-5.

Robinson, William, 114-15.

Rockhill, William Woodville, 23, 44.

Rogers, Rev. William, 124.

Roscoe, Edward Stanley, 170, 173-4.

Rosebery, Lord, 93-4, 201-2.

Royal Society of Literature, xxii.

Royal Horticultural Society, 97.

Romney, George, 176.

Rostopchin, Fedor, 257 _et sq._, 272.

Rothschild, Alfred de, 200-1.

Rubens, 186.

Russell, Lord John, 295 _et sq._, 304, 307.

Ruysdael, 184.

Russia, 246 _et sq._

Sabatier, Louis, 54, 58.

Sagan, Princesse de, 93-4.

St. Aldwyn, Rt. Hon. Sir Michael Hicks-Beach, 1st Viscount, 201.

St. Hilaire Barthélemy, 11, 23, 40.

Sanguszko, Prince, 267.

Satow, Sir Ernest, xvii.

Savile, John Lumley, Lord, 296.

Scheffer, Ary, 188.

Schlegel, August von, 60.

Schopenhauer, 214, 216.

Schrader, Eberhard, 60.

Schumann, 218.

Schwendener, 226 _et sq._

Scott, Sir John, 156, 159, 177, 190, 194, 197-8, 201-2.

Seaford, Charles Ellis, Lord, 167.

Sedley, Sir Charles, 244-5.

Selwyn, George, 164-5, 167 _et sq._

Selwyn, Bishop John, 210.

Sévigné, Madame de, 46, 171.

Seymour, Sir Hamilton, 195, 273.

Seymour, Lord Henry, 160, 173-4, 177.

Seymour, Lord Henry (son of 1st Marquis of Hertford), 174.

Shakespeare, 206-7, 238 _et sq._

Sharp, Granville, 298.

Siddartha, Prince. _See_ THE BUDDHA.

Smith, Assheton, 45.

Smith, J. R., 186.

Spiegel, 60.

Staël, Madame de, 152.

Stevenson, Robert Louis, 58.

Stockmar, Baron, 142.

Stowe, 182, 188.

Subasio, Mount, 56.

Subhadra, 42, 44.

Suddhōdana, King of Kapilavastu (father of the Buddha), 14 _et sq._,
24 _et sq._, 32 _et sq._

Sudras, The, 49, 51-2.

Sujata, 31.

Suprabuddha, King, 15, 23.

Sutherland, George Leveson-Gower, 3rd Duke of, 79, 156.

Suvoroff, Prince, 297.

Swift, Dean, 229.

Swinbrook, Glos., xxii.

Talbot, Henry, 241.

“Tales of Old Japan,” Lord Redesdale’s, iv., 127.

Talleyrand, Prince, 254.

Terry, Mrs., 171.

Thackeray, W. M., 173.

Thalberg, Sigismund, 152.

Thynne, Lady Edward, 84.

_Times_, 4, 203.

Titian, 176.

Tolstoy, Count, 205, 289 _et sq._

Tomini, 255-6.

Tragedy in Stone, A, x.

Troubetzkoi, Prince, 263.

Turgeniev, Ivan, 205-6, 299.

Underhill, William, 239.

Vaisiyas, The, 49.

Valouieff, M., 299 _et sq._

Vandyck, 176.

Veda, Religion of the, 59, 66 _et sq._

Velasquez, 184-5, 187-8.

Vernon, Hon. W. W., xix.

Veronese, Paul, 184.

Victoria, German Empress (Princess Royal), 144, 150.

Victoria, Queen, 129 _et sq._, 135, 138 _et sq._, 150, 153-4, 269, 277.

Vihara, 12, 34, 36.

Vinoy, General, 91.

Virgil, 206.

Visakha, 36.

Voltaire, 206.

Wagner, Richard, 214 _et sq._

Wagner, Frau Cosima, 215-16, 220.

Wallace, Agnes (Jackson), 159, 192.

Wallace, Sir Richard, 155 _et sq._, 173, 175 _et sq._, 181-2, 188,
190 _et sq._

Wallace, Lady, 194 _et sq._

Wallace Collection, xvii., 155 _et sq._

Walmesley, Mrs., 241.

Warner, Dr., 170.

Watteau, Antoine, 112-113, 188.

Watts, George Frederick, 144.

Weber, Carl von, 152.

Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of, 265.

Whately, Archbishop, 13.

Wilberforce, William, 298.

Wilhelm II., Kaiser, xxiii.

Wilkinson, Sir Gardner, 126.

Winterhalter, Friedrich, 144.

Worth, M., 94.

Yasōdhara (wife of the Buddha), 18, 22, 32, 35-6.

Yule, Sir Henry, 49.

York, Cardinal, 193.

Yriarte, 177-8.

Zarathustra, 66-7.