Chapter XV: Russia in the Far East (1)

No one will be surprised to learn that after these interesting exchanges of view on a burning topic, which were thus occasioned by an unavowable motive, the rulers of the Tsardom wended their way blithely in the same direction as before, bestowing their immediate attention on the Far East under the safe guidance of Witte.

The Manchurian branch of the railway was begun in the year 1899. The Minister of Communications, Prince Khilkoff, was on the point of travelling from Petersburg to Paris via Siberia and China, and had asked the Tsar's permission for me to accompany him and describe my impressions. The imperial authorisation was hardly given, however, when the Boxer insurrection broke out, sections of the railway were destroyed by the rebels, and our plans were upset. I then received permission to travel over all Central Asia, at first in a carriage to myself, which I was allowed to have coupled to any trains I wished, and afterwards in a special train for myself, which served me as bedroom, saloon, and kitchen. In this way I visited most places of note in Central Asia, including Askhabad, Merv, Bokhara, and Samarkand. After the Boxer rebellion Russian troops occupied Manchuria. But yielding to China's solicitations, seconded by Witte, the Tsar consented to a treaty[1] recognising Manchuria as an integral part of China and promising to withdraw his troops gradually from that province, beginning at Mukden, which was to be evacuated within six months, and completing the operation before the expiry of eighteen months from the date on which the convention was signed. Why that promise was not kept, and what came of its breach, are matters of common knowledge. But it was not General Kuropatkin who contributed to hinder the evacuation of Manchuria or the settlement of the dispute with {280} Japan. On this subject his views were orthodox, for in the meanwhile the scales had fallen from his eyes and he saw the error of his former ways. He, and the Foreign Secretary--Count Lamsdorff--and Witte did what they could to have the Russian troops recalled and the dispute with Japan satisfactorily settled, but they failed. For they had _ipso facto_ ceased to represent Russia and were no longer able even to influence her policy.

With the utmost difficulty Witte and his fellow-workers, of whom by this time Kuropatkin was one, contrived by January, 1903, to get some Russian troops recalled from the western part of Manchuria, but thereupon the evacuation of that province ceased. Moreover, Fenhwan and other points were seized. The Japanese were alarmed, for by this time it had leaked out that the source from which this policy of aggression emanated was an obscure group of irresponsible friends of the Tsar, including Bezobrazoff, Abaza, and later on Admiral Alexeyeff. These men had obtained a lumber concession on the Yalu in which certain of the grand dukes and at last, it is alleged, the Tsar himself took shares, and this was to be used for the twofold purpose of private enrichment and territorial aggrandisement. Hence Japan's claims were to be denied brazenly and unflinchingly, for it was taken for granted that, come what might, she would not attempt to enforce them by an appeal to arms. That axiom lay at the very root of the Tsar's policy.

For many years Nippon had been eager for an all-round understanding with Muscovy. But her efforts, which were sincere and strenuous, proved fruitless. It is a well-known fact, publicly admitted by fair-minded Russian politicians, that the government of Tokio had left nothing undone to merit the friendship of Muscovy. The advisers of the Emperor of Japan desired an agreement; the press warmly advocated it; the people would have enthusiastically welcomed it. But Russia, carrying out a policy of aggrandisement, which was forced upon her by the internal condition of things, repelled Japan's advances. Thus she insisted on reserving the markets of the Far East for her industry, {281} which could not yet be said to exist. Again, she spent large sums, which might have helped her own needy peasants of the centre, in order to found a needless school for young Japanese at Khakodate; she despatched naval officers to instruct and train the Mikado's subjects in naval matters, and incurred other expenses in order to prepare the way for acquiring markets. And yet while the treaty ports of Japan were filled with the trading vessels of the principal maritime powers, Russia's commercial flag was absent.

At this conjuncture the Tsar's blinding antipathy to Witte became intense, owing to his determination personally to conduct Russia's Far Eastern business free from the irksome expostulations of that importunate statesman. And in this resolve he was encouraged by the three greedy parasites who formed a secret government of their own on which he conferred power without responsibility. Witte endeavoured to have these anonymous instruments of the Emperor dragged from their obscurity and obliged to accept responsible posts which corresponded to the nature and degree of their activity. But the Tsar refused to give him satisfaction, and the course of the Russo-Japanese negotiations and of the international crisis in which it issued became entirely independent of the words and acts of the legally constituted government of the Tsar.

That was not the only historic occasion on which Nicholas II. intrigued deliberately against his own official government. And yet he would not allow the responsible ministers, whom he thus degraded to the level of lay-figures, to retire with dignity into private life. Witte often answered my question why he did not tender his resignation by urging that the theory of autocratic government excluded any such wilful act on the part of a public servant of the State so long as he possessed the confidence of the Tsar. Whether his impressibility to this motive was as strong as he intimated may well be doubted. When he was ousted from the post of Finance Minister on account of his opposition to the policy that entailed the Japanese war, his friend, Count Lamsdorff, relied on the same plea and remained. His colleague and {282} friend, Prince Obolensky, urged him to tender his resignation and accompany Witte into private life. "If you stay on," he argued, "you will gain little or nothing, for you too have steadily discountenanced the Emperor's policy and he will rid himself of you after the war that is coming." But Lamsdorff answered, "Don't worry about me. The course I am taking will, one day, be justified by the documents I possess. You will then see that I am right in staying on." "Where are they?" asked Obolensky. "They are all stored away in my house in apple-pie order. But they will not be published during my lifetime."

After the war Lamsdorff was brusquely thrust aside by the Tsar and Izvolsky promoted from the Legation at Copenhagen to take his place. This ungenerous treatment practically killed the Foreign Secretary, who soon afterwards left for San Remo and survived the blow for only a brief spell. And the justificative documents, where are they? Nicholas II. had a paralysing fear of tell-tale State papers, and having learned that his late Secretary for Foreign Affairs possessed archives full of them, despatched Prince Dolgoruky and M. Savinsky to take possession of them, examine them, and send in a report on their nature.... And they have never since been heard of.

But to return to the Manchu-Korean difficulties. Japan, now seriously alarmed at the signs and portents noticeable in Russia, was leaving no stone unturned to discover whither her policy tended and how to ward off the conflict that was heaving in sight. And the perplexity of the statesmen of Tokio was all the greater that they at first took it for granted that reasons of State and solid motives of national utility would alone account for the strange oscillations of the imperial government. In vain Witte besought the Tsar to stay his hand, let the Yalu lumber concessions go, and arrange a _modus vivendi_ with Japan. In vain Kuropatkin, committing his views to paper, stated that the provisional occupation of Manchuria would become definitive, Japan's misgivings would be confirmed, the armaments of both empires would be increased, and the only possible outcome would be realised, {283} and all for the sake of a few "districts in Korea which have no serious importance for Russia."[2] In one of his memorials Kuropatkin wrote frankly: "The success or failure of a few enterprises in Manchuria and Korea, timber, coal, and other concerns, is much too unimportant for Russia to risk a war for the sake of them," and he went the length of putting the question whether it would not be the height of wisdom to return Kwantung, Port Arthur, and Dalny to China, in order to keep clear of war. The general's conversion was thorough.

But the political freebooters had an easy task to defeat the Tsar's ministers and to have treaties and promises rated on a level with waste paper, for they now had the support of the minister Plehve, the rising star of the Tsardom. Abaza in one of his telegrams[3] tells Bezobrazoff of a talk he had with the Tsar, and concludes: "In the course of the conversation the Emperor emphatically expressed his most absolute confidence in you." That was the pith of the matter. The crisis was of the monarch's own making, and the pair of intriguers, to whom Alexeyeff was afterwards added, in their quest of pelf plunged the country into a war which cost hundreds of thousands of human lives and led to the collapse of the Tsardom before provision could be made for the organism that was to succeed it.

In one respect, however, my opinion runs counter to that of some Russian publicists who hotly maintained that Nicholas II., in company with the three money grabbers who carried out his behests, "unflinchingly and consciously led Russia into the war" while hypocritically asserting his resolve to make his reign an era of peace.[4] I am convinced that the Tsar deemed himself to be what his foreign friends had proclaimed him, "the mainstay of the world's peace," and that so long as he was averse to war no other power would dare to risk it. Few men of his temperament who had been continually assured, as he had, {284} that he was the Vicar of God and the recipient of special divine grace would have thought or felt much differently. His tearful emotion when the conflict broke out and confronted him with disaster bears out this theory. At the same time, I know for a fact that the Russian minister at Tokio[5] was sending despatches of an alarming tenor, foreboding war and announcing that the only way of hindering it would be a complete change of policy. These prophecies at length became unbearable to the Emperor who one day penned his condemnation of them on one of the envoy's reports, and Baron Rosen was thereafter constrained to be chary of evil prognostications.

The Tsar's optimism permeated his private conversations, his public utterances, and the secret instructions which he had sent to his agents. His views, for instance, as to the most suitable tactics to be observed when dealing with the Japanese were telegraphed by his favourite, Abaza, to the Viceroy Alexeyeff. They have a sub-Machiavellian savour that harmonises entirely with the peculiar sort of worldly wisdom which characterised him throughout his reign. This is the first maxim, "Russia stands to gain enormously by every year of peace. Therefore, every effort must be directed to warding off war, not, however, by concessions which would surely precipitate hostilities." The second runs, "This end may most surely be attained by a firm policy, polite in form and not vexatious in secondary matters."

A few years before that I had learned that Baron Rosen's predecessor[6] at Tokio had written to his chief[7] proposing that Russia should give Korea to the Japanese, who would in return allow her a free hand in Manchuria. And the Russian representative argued impressively in favour of this transaction which would bestow an ample field on the colonising faculties of both. The answer of the Foreign Office was characteristic--characteristic of the man at its {285} head, of the Tsar whom he served, and of the Asiatic[8] State which absorbed their activities. "Korea," he said, "must become to Russia what Bokhara actually is." The minister, Muravieff, can hardly have realised that geographically Bokhara is in Russia and is bounded on one side by little Afghanistan, whereas Korea was outside the Tsar's dominions and within easy reach of the growing arm of Japan.

An amazing incident connected with the Emperor's tactics, as it was the proximate cause of the war and diffuses adequate light on this chapter of Russian history, may fitly find a place here. I wrote it down to Witte's dictation. "Since I had been ousted out of the Finance Ministry I continued to impress upon the remaining ministers the views that had led to my dismissal. I exerted myself thus for the sake of the country. And my exertions were successful. One day[9] the Tsar convoked a special council consisting of the Ministers of War, the Marine, and Foreign Affairs, under the chairmanship of the Grand Duke Alexis. The object of the meeting was praiseworthy: how to steer clear of a conflict with Japan. The means proposed was an accord. Russia had already suggested an arrangement which the Japanese declined because it would have established a neutral zone bounded by the thirtieth parallel. And now the question was whether or no Japan's wishes should be respected and the obnoxious clause expunged. As peace and war hung upon the issue, the council resolved prudently and almost unanimously to strike out the paragraph and draft a modified convention. There was only one dissentient voice--that of Abaza. This schemer, solicitous only about his commercial concern, suggested that the clause be retained, but the boundary altered from the thirtieth parallel to the Yalu Tsian watershed. As it was highly improbable that the Tokio Foreign Office would acquiesce in this, and as, if it {286} did not, the danger of war would be imminent, the council negatived Abaza's motion.

"But that intriguer was not to be baffled thus easily. He secretly saw the Tsar and adroitly led him to believe, without actually asserting, that the grand duke and the other members of the council were of his way of thinking about the contentious provision. That done he requested and obtained permission to telegraph his draft proposal to the viceroy for his guidance. And in his telegram he characterised that proposal as the decision come to by the Emperor himself. That was a scandalous--an unpatriotic--act; for the Viceroy Alexeyeff was sure to behave towards the Japs in accordance with this alleged ordinance of the Emperor. And lest this consequence should make itself felt too late, Abaza sought out the Japanese Minister, Baron Kurino, and had the hardihood to apprise him of the decision! This naval officer, Abaza, behind the back of the Foreign Secretary, called on Japan's representative and gave him a message which--excuse me for the expression--was the diplomatic equivalent to a vicious kick ... the direct consequence of which must, under the circumstances, be war."

"Permit me to ask you a question," I interrupted. "How could Abaza insinuate to the Emperor that his proposal was approved by the council? Were there no minutes of the proceedings, and how and why were they kept from the Tsar?" "There were minutes of the sitting, but they had to be written with great care and verified, and as the work went on very slowly it was not until three whole days had elapsed that they were ready and actually laid before the Emperor. And then the mischief was done. For before that Baron Kurino, who knew full well that the policy of Russia was being shaped without the effective participation of the Foreign Minister, and who was now informed by the spokesman and chief of the secret gang presided over by the Emperor, that Japan's reasonable suggestions had been spurned, drew the practical consequences from that alleged decision. So, too, did his government. Thus it was this untruth, minted by Abaza and passed off on the Mikado's {287} government, that caused the war. Before the Tsar had read the minutes of the council and charged his regular minister with drafting a note in accordance with their conciliatory resolution, Japan had recalled her envoy, broken off diplomatic relations with Russia, and attacked and damaged the Tsar's fleet.

"As you see, Bismarck's 'doctoring' of the Ems telegram is having vogue as a precedent. It will probably be followed again. When hostilities opened our press accused the Japanese of having begun the war without waiting for the official answer to their demand which was in preparation and would, if received, have acted as a sedative. The allegation is formally true, but you can see for yourself what it amounts to when analysed."

Another instance of how Nicholas II. interpreted his rôle and behaved to his Minister of Foreign Affairs, Lamsdorff, is worth recording. He had a secret telegram sent to the Viceroy Alexeyeff of which Lamsdorff never knew anything until long after the war had begun. It was an important message agreeing that the Japanese should enter into full possession of Korea as far as the boundaries of the Russian concessions on the Tuman-Ula on the north and of the Yalu on the west, and ordering this decision to be communicated to the Russian ministers in Tokio, Seoul, and Pekin. It never was communicated to any of them. Had it gone through the Foreign Secretary's hands it would have been brought to the cognisance of the three interested governments and might have made a good impression. What Alexeyeff did with it is unknown, but it is certain that he did not present it.

Witte was so incensed against the gang that was answerable for the war that he could with difficulty curb his tongue when talking about them. "To think," he said, "that all the work I have done for the past twelve years is now being undone by a few contemptible pettifoggers who would be nothing without the reflection of the crown! It is maddening. And when I think of what will happen when the war is over and the troops come home--well, I cannot tell you how profound and poignant the impression is--I feel sorry for {288} the Emperor then. We shall be spectators of a tremendous world-tragedy."

The Japanese were accused of hitting below the belt when they fell foul of the Russian squadron unexpectedly, and the charge is still believed by many. I feel bound to state that having followed the ups and downs of the crisis as closely as my sources of information would permit, I formed the conviction that from beginning to end in war, as in peace, the Mikado's government displayed chivalrous loyalty and moderation. The notion that the Russians would have behaved differently from their enemies in dealing the first blow so unexpectedly is, I fear, erroneous. There is extant a telegram from the Tsar to his viceroy containing this significant injunction: "If on the west of Korea the (Japanese) fleet should sail northwards past the 38th parallel, it is open to you to attack them without waiting for the first shot from their side. I rely on you. May God aid you."[10]

It is needless to recount here the well-known vicissitudes of the Manchurian campaign. The landmarks of the story are familiar. Among its most disquieting features to my thinking was the scope it offered to Russian and Finnish revolutionists to spread their subversive doctrines and perfect their plans of violence. It also united all classes and nationalities in the country, not only against the policy of the State, but also against the regime. With the exception of a few members of the Bezobrazoff-Abaza band nobody wanted the war, and few could account intelligently for the government's having stumbled into it. One of the least edifying sights that passed before my eyes was the joy manifested by senators, professors, students, and other "intellectuals" whenever tidings were received of a Russian defeat. Many of them used to rub their hands with glee. Their own countrymen, their friends, and perhaps their relatives were exposed to death on the remote millet fields of Manchuria, but they had consolations: the circumstances that the army which owed allegiance to the Tsar was being decimated by the enemy, that the test which every regime has to undergo when waging war was racking and humiliating the government, {289} and that it was at last made patent to all that the position occupied by the Tsardom among the powers was usurped and out of all proportion to its internal resources and military strength--were balm to the wounds of the sorely tried subjects of Nicholas II. In this queer behaviour nobody discerned moral incoherence or a culpable lack of patriotism. Even the "moralists" acknowledged that a military defeat would have its political compensations. And yet the degree to which the moral tone of the country was lowered by these exhibitions was considerably less than the foreigner may imagine who was not acquainted with its condition before the war.

The campaign brought no respite to those public men whose plans in peace time had been countered or warped by the direct and mischievous meddling of Nicholas II. He would have his finger in every pie, military and civil. The mere belief that the Emperor took a personal interest in some particular scheme was enough to render all other projects abortive, and when he stepped forward with a definite proposal of which only specialists could appreciate the value, he was sure to find most of these arrayed in its favour. To this rule the plan of campaign against the Japanese was no exception. General Kuropatkin's place in military history is fixed by this time, and, whether high or low, will not be greatly changed by anything new that may be disclosed in these pages. It may not be amiss, therefore, to set down a most interesting and characteristic account which Witte gave me of a conversation he had with that general soon after the Emperor had appointed him to be the commander-in-chief of the land forces.[11]

"Kuropatkin came to take leave of me a few days before setting out for the Far East. He seemed painfully conscious of the arduous nature of the task he was set to achieve. His former buoyancy and self-reliance had given way to an overpowering sense of responsibility. From an optimist he had {290} become a pessimist. He overrated, as it seemed to me then, the military and other qualities of the Japanese, and as I listened to his praise of them I recalled to mind the days when he had been the soul of that policy which brought us to this pass. After the usual small talk Kuropatkin looked at me earnestly and said, 'Serghei Yulievitch, do me a favour. Give me your advice, frankly and fully as a friend. Heaven only knows what awaits me. Your vision and knowledge give weight to your counsel. Let me hear it.' 'If I were a soldier I would with pleasure lay before you my idea of what your plan of campaign should be, but what can I, an ex-minister, urge upon you, our most eminent general, on a subject that lies so far from my ken?' 'Well, then, let me put a plain question to you. If you were in my place, is there anything that you would do, any line of action--I don't mean strategical but general--that you would strike out?' I thought for a moment and then I said, 'Yes, there is. And as you have asked me for advice, here it is. As soon as you get out to the Far East, make straight for the Viceroy Alexeyeff. Get him into your power. Order your men to arrest him. Treat him otherwise with all the distinction due to his position, but send him back to Petersburg. That done you can...' But Kuropatkin would not let me finish. 'Dear Serghei Yulievitch.' he said, 'I asked you to give me a piece of serious advice if you would, but you are now joking on a subject that is serious to the point of tragedy.' 'Exactly,' I retorted, 'it is tragical, and that's why I am giving you advice which, whether you take it or not, will one day appear to you most serious and capable of helping you. Listen. If I were in your place I would arrest Alexeyeff and send him home. Then I would frame an explanation that could not be thrust aside, and telegraph it to the palace. I mean what I say. I would act in this way for the sake of the country, in the interests of the Emperor himself and of my own reputation. For Alexeyeff is only a courtier who will think nothing of marring your plans in order to further those of the Tsar or his own.' Kuropatkin only shrugged his shoulders and spoke of other things. Soon afterwards he left.

{291}

"In that answer of mine I had pointed to the key of the situation. Kuropatkin's plan was to let Port Arthur defend itself as best it could, to concentrate a formidable army at Kharbin, and to wait for the enemy there. Those were the tactics of Kutuzoff in the Napoleonic war. The Japanese would then have to advance into the interior, far from their base, or dispense with a decision and ruin themselves financially, economically, and in the end politically as well. But when he reached the Far East, Alexeyeff, who was his superior, first advised and then constrained him to alter his sound plan in order to carry out the Tsar's heart-felt desire to save Port Arthur. At first Kuropatkin argued, but finally he gave way, and failed in consequence either to succour Port Arthur or to realise his plan of campaign."

Witte bore these things in mind at a later date when the Emperor's orders to him--then Russia's plenipotentiary at Portsmouth--if carried out would have hindered the conclusion of peace with Japan. Therefore he discreetly ignored them.

The Japanese, who during this campaign and the crisis that preceded it gave unmistakable proofs of striking qualities which bid fair to make them one of the main factors in the future ordering of the world, bent their efforts to revolutionising the Russian working men, the intelligentsia, and above all else the army. The design was ingenious, but the technical work of executing it was uncommonly difficult owing to the ease with which a Japanese organiser of strikes, demonstrations, or riots could be spotted among white men and executed. As a matter of fact, a Japanese would not have been tolerated in any Russian city or town during the campaign. But through the medium of a number of Finns and Russians, the problem was tackled satisfactorily and large sums of money spent on revolutionary propaganda, which assumed amazing shapes, and in the purchase of arms, of which great quantities were smuggled into the country.

In the proneness of the population to revolt lay the Achilles' tendon of the Tsardom, as the Japanese and the {292} Germans were aware, and despite the little that one heard of the results of Japanese enterprise in this direction, the smouldering hate entertained by the nationalities and the intelligentsia against the Tsarist State was kept steadily aglow, and from time to time fanned into flames. The Russian prisoners were well supplied with literature of a kind which their native censors would not have tolerated, so too were the soldiers at the front, and by the time they returned home many of them held views wholly incompatible with the kind of allegiance expected of them by the bureaucracy and the Church.[12]

The strikes, the demonstrations, the subterranean agitation, the spread of revolutionary leaflets, and the brisk, illegal traffic between Finland and Russia, were in varying degrees evidences of Japanese propaganda. In Finland, too, it was eminently successful. The enthusiastic patriotism of Poland would also have been fanned into a consuming flame had it not been for the clear vision, ready resource, and enterprise of Poland's most practical statesman, who, in the best interests of his countrymen, promptly adopted efficacious measures to arrest the movement. Thus despite the difficulties with which the Japanese had to cope, they contributed perceptibly to the causes that disorganised the Russian army, cut some of the withes that bound the non-Russian nationalities together, and rendered the conclusion of peace a necessity for the dynasty and perhaps for the {293} State. This necessity was clearly perceived and insistently relied upon by Witte in his representations to the Emperor, while the more cautious and tactful Finance Minister, Kokofftseff, in his confidential reply to the question whether the war should be persisted in or peace negotiations begun,[13] alleged the condition of things at the front, "and more particularly in the interior of the country," as grounds for putting an immediate end to the conflict.

The War Office and the Foreign Office in Tokio took up this work of propaganda, but disagreed on some important matters of detail. And, curiously enough, on the questions which divided these departments the War Office was right.[14]

From time to time Russian voices were uplifted against the continuation of the war. Petitions were sent to the government asking that peace be concluded. The zemstvos, which, working assiduously for the well-being of the troops, were thus rendering noteworthy services to the country, felt and said that similar services might be expected of them in peace time if they were permitted to co-operate. But the authorities refused to follow them into this perilous region. At last the minister Plehve had to forbid under severe penalties the discussion of peace at any assemblies, but the Tsar as an offset was forced to promise a consultative chamber and certain other concessions. In spite of pains and penalties, however, peace was ardently desired and frequently discussed. Sedition was rampant in the country. Japan's propaganda through Finnish agents made rapid headway. Now and again a man of courage would point out the danger to a minister or a grand duke. It is fair to Witte's memory to affirm that few men were endowed with as much moral courage as he. He feared nobody, and thought nothing of the consequences to himself. Here is a letter which he read {294} to me before sending it to the Tsar. It will strike many by its extreme simplicity and bluntness as well as by certain other qualities.

"28th February, 1905.

"YOUR IMPERIAL MAJESTY,--From the present condition of affairs the only rational way out is to open negotiations on the subject of peace terms and to calm Russia, at least to some slight extent, by working out with the utmost promptitude to the broadest possible issue the mission given by imperial rescript to A. T. Bulyghin.[15] To go on with the war is more than dangerous: further sacrifices the country in its present temper will not brook without appalling catastrophes. In order to continue the campaign enormous sums of money are needed, and also the enlistment of a large number of men. But further expenditure will entirely upset the financial and economic conditions of the Empire, and these conditions constitute, so to say, the central life-nerve of latter-day States. The poverty of the population will be intensified, and together with it the embitterment and befogging of their souls will be aggravated.... A new mobilisation on a large scale can be effected only by the application of force. In this way the warriors for the Far East will inaugurate their warlike career on the very place of their recruitment. If in addition the harvest should fall below the average and cholera reappear, agrarian troubles may develop in the country. Generally speaking, under the conditions now prevailing, the troops are needed in Russia itself.

"True, it is terribly painful to open peace negotiations, and it will be necessary to hedge them round with conditions capable of safeguarding the prestige of imperial power. But it is better to do that now than to wait until the future becomes more menacing. Kuropatkin will not be able to hold his ground at Telin. With the loss of Kharbin the Ussuri territory will be cut off. Roshdjestvensky cannot {295} score success. At the same time Russia has still sufficient prestige left to warrant the hope that the peace conditions will not be very irksome. But if we refuse to humble our spirits congruously with our religious faith now after all that we have undergone, and to repent before the Most High, we shall put ourselves into a much more hopeless plight. Even though the peace terms were utterly inacceptable, it would still behove us to enter into negotiations. If they still remained inacceptable in spite of the friendly co-operation of certain great powers, it is unquestionable that in this case the entire nation would arise in defence of the Tsar and its own honour. Then we shall have purified ourselves.

"All-gracious Sovereign! In all things decision is requisite. But if decision is indispensable in happiness, it is doubly necessary in disaster. In disaster, resolution is the first step towards safety. There should be no delay. Peace pourparlers should at once be begun, and also at once your charge to A. T. Bulyghin ought to be carried out, and in a very generous spirit. Your imperial Majesty! I am of sound mind and keenly conscious. This submission is not the letter of a distraught man, but of one who discerns the situation. It is not illness that moves my hand, but resolve, resolve to tell you what others are perhaps afraid to tell you. May God aid you.

"Your imperial Majesty's loyal servant,
"(signed) SERGIUS WITTE."

That letter, which exemplifies some of Witte's defects and qualities, had not the slightest effect on the Tsar, who had been well aware of his eminent subject's opinions and sentiment on the subject from the outset of the war. At the end of July of the same year Witte wrote a sharp private letter[16] to Count A. Heyden, from which I extract the {296} following passage: "I held the opinion that we ought to have accepted the terms which Japan offered us (Kurino himself, I may say, made them to me personally) at the end of July, 1903. These terms were entirely befitting. Had that been done there would have been no war. Next I was of the opinion that we should have made peace before the fall of Port Arthur. Then the conditions offered to us ... would have been somewhat worse. I further maintained that it was incumbent on us to conclude peace before the battle of Mukden. Then the terms as compared with those of 1903 would have been still more unfavourable. It was my conviction that we ought to have made peace when Roshdjestvensky made his appearance in Chinese waters. At that moment the terms would have been almost the same as after the Mukden engagement. Lastly, in my judgment, it is our duty to make peace before a fresh battle is fought with Linievitch's army."

It is known only to a few persons now living that in the early summer of 1904, that is to say some months after the outbreak of the war, Witte had expressed his desire to meet Hayashi in order to consult with him as to the best way to end it. The Japanese minister consented to meet him somewhere on the continent, but the matter was then allowed to drop because the Tsar would not hear of it.

How well the Japanese understood the position of Russian ministers and their entire dependence on the Tsar may be inferred from this passage in one of Hayashi's letters written about that time:[17] "I have great respect and faith in Mr. Witte, but he is not now in a position of influencing[18] the Council of Tsar with his advice, and even supposing he is in power, yet he can never be his own master, since Tsar holds the authority to veto whatever Mr. Witte may do."

This is not the place for a detailed account either of the {297} Portsmouth Peace Conference[19] or of the strenuous but vain efforts which were put forth by a number of private individuals to end the war sooner. The first man to go to work earnestly was Witte, who had incurred the Tsar's displeasure for asking permission to meet the Japanese minister to the court of St. James, Viscount Hayashi, before the war was more than five months old. In the following year the names of a certain M. Galy, Count Benckendorff, the commercial attaché at the Russian Embassy, M. Rutkoffsky, and Baron von Eckhardstein of the German Embassy crop up, but they only write or talk. Nothing can be done. Hayashi quite naturally connected Witte's name with the idea of peace, as did most Japanese. His name was a household word in Nippon. A few years before, when M. Izvolsky was Russia's envoy plenipotentiary in Tokio, several ministers, courtiers, and other notabilities had asked him to endeavour to arrange that Witte should visit Japan, where he was thought much of as Russia's most eminent statesman. And M. Izvolsky wrote or telegraphed to Petersburg transmitting the invitation and urging its acceptance. Witte's reply was curt, and to the effect that travelling to Japan formed no part of his business. Later on, however, it turned out that the only reason why the wish of the Japanese ministers was not fulfilled was the Tsar's resolve that Witte should not go to Japan. Here again the personal intervention of Nicholas II. was felt as an impeding factor. And now once more Hayashi's wish to meet the statesman in Berlin could not be fulfilled because Nicholas II. had set his face against it.

On the other hand, Japan was unwilling to take the first step. "Japan," Hayashi had written in February, "will welcome peace, and will cultivate friendship with her present enemy after the conclusion of peace." But, he added, the proposal must come from the power that began the war.

At last President Roosevelt had the moral courage to take {298} the initiative, without which the appalling human sacrifices in the millet fields of Manchuria might have gone on some months longer. The two belligerent empires closed with the proposal unhesitatingly. As soon as the Tsar had thought the matter over, he offered the dangerous mission to Muravieff,[20] his ambassador in Rome, Nelidoff being unable for reasons of health to travel so far afield. Lamsdorff had suggested the name of Witte, but the monarch negatived it without hesitation. Just when Muravieff had also begged to be excused, a letter was received by Lamsdorff from M. Izvolsky, who, it is alleged, was the Tsar's delegate in petto and was then representing Russia at the court of Denmark. This missive eulogised Witte, declared that his prestige in Japan was enormous and would facilitate his task of peacemaker, and warmly advocated his appointment. Lamsdorff availed himself of this opening to press the matter again, and Nicholas II. finally decided to delegate Witte to the United States.[21] He at once sent for me and asked me to say what answer I, were I in his place, would return to this offer. That was Witte's usual way of eliciting a frank opinion, to which he invariably brought careful consideration and a perfectly open mind. He always consulted those about him in whose judgment he had confidence, even when he had strong grounds for presupposing that the advice would be diametrically opposed to his own leanings or preconceived resolve. When I had given him my views on the offer, he said, "That is exactly how I thought you would look upon it. Now this is what I think: I have been chosen not so much to render a service to my country as--figuratively speaking--to stumble and break my neck. They really want to go on with the war. It is calculated that the chances of my striking up a peace on really acceptable conditions are superlatively slight, and that in all probability, therefore, I shall fail. Then I shall be dead and buried. But my well-wishers go further and argue that if I should succeed in {299} ending the war on the terms that unfortunately are congruous with the military situation, my name will become odious to every self-respecting Russian."

"And what have you decided to do?" I asked.

"I will accept and go. I hope you will come too and help me."

I soon saw that President Roosevelt's invitation had elicited, in the ruling spheres of Russia, the merest notional assent. In the mind of the Tsar the firm intention of putting an end to the war can hardly be said to have existed. Nicholas II. communicated through his ministers with the principal notabilities, military, naval, and civil, and asked them to give him the benefit of their opinion on the advisability of ending the war. And the vast majority of the answers were distinctly unfavourable. Having perused the secret reports of Generals Linievitch, Sakharoff,[22] Kuropatkin, Admiral Birileff, and others, I began to fear that the conflict would go on. The War Minister Sakharoff's report began thus: "In reply to your letter of the 16th June, No. 1060, I have the honour to inform you that, in my judgment, under the present conditions to conclude peace is impossible, because one cannot admit that Russia should confess herself beaten by Japan."[23] Kuropatkin, who, after the death of the Foreign Minister, Muravieff, deliberately inclined to a conciliatory policy in the Far East, and who possessed the ways and means of knowing the true state of things there, was enthusiastic in his plea for continuing the war in Manchuria and for patience in Russia, while his promises of decisive victory were so confident, so emphatic, so frequent and circumstantial that it would have been rash were the crown to treat them slightingly so long as it maintained him at the head of the forces.

Thus on the eve of the Portsmouth Conference the chiefs of the army in Manchuria were quite confident of a speedy victory and ultimate success, and were consequently {300} impatient of the folly of the mere civilian "who craved for peace" before the army had plucked a laurel in the campaign. Russian military critics, who could and should have known the real facts, calculated that, as things then stood, the odds were largely in favour of Linievitch's army, which was also increasing in numbers much more quickly than the enemy's troops. Telegrams and petitions were received by the score from the seat of war imploring the imperial generalissimo to confide in his soldiers, who were thirsting for glory and victory. In a word, the decision to close with Witte's suggestions and enter into negotiations with Japan, although to the few it seemed obvious, imperative, pressing, needed more insight and courage than one imagines at this distance. Those who knew how restless the nation had grown and what ravages disaffection had made in the army rated the estimates of Kuropatkin and Linievitch at their true value, and saw that an immediate peace was Russia's last hope of salvation.

The Finance Minister,[24] who throughout this and the ensuing crisis behaved most patriotically, wrote a very sensible answer to the Tsar's question, which concluded thus, "Generally speaking, in my capacity of Minister of Finance, I feel compelled to admit that the continuation of the campaign--things being in the condition in which they are at the war theatre and more particularly in the interior of the country--appears extremely difficult, and the conclusion of peace is, from the financial point of view, supremely desirable." But the general impression left in the mind of Nicholas II. by all these expressions of opinion was that victory was a mere matter of a few months more. And even later in the year, when Witte was already at Portsmouth negotiating with the Japanese, he received telegrams enjoining on him firmness and enterprise on the ground that the army was now confident of victory. The Marine Minister, for example, telegraphed to his delegate saying, "Tell (Witte) that public opinion in Russia, including that of even the {301} highest circles, holds that no humiliating concessions must be assented to by us. The temper has changed, patriotism is aflame. Self-confident tidings are pouring in from the army." This was the minister whose own patriotism soon afterwards stood in need of defence and who a few months before had assisted the Emperor to perpetrate an act which it is hard not to qualify as treachery.

As soon as Witte had definitely taken upon himself the conduct of the negotiations and the Japanese government had nominated the Mikado's delegate he asked me as a friend whether I would call on the Japanese minister in London, Viscount Hayashi, and lay before him an important proposal which, if accepted, would go far to render his labours in America successful. It was to the effect that instead of Komura the Marquis Ito should be sent to the peace conference by the Japanese government, and should be invested with full powers to arrange not merely such a peace as is ordinarily possible after a hard-fought campaign, but also cordial friendship, the outward sign of which would be an alliance for all purposes of the future development of the two peoples. This idea had already been suggested by Witte to Lamsdorff who had formulated it in one of his instructions. It had also been mooted by Hayashi in a private letter which Witte had read. The passage ran: "Japan will welcome peace, and will cultivate friendship with her present enemy after the conclusion of peace." That, Witte remarked to me, contained the solution of the Far Eastern problem and the clearing up of the misunderstandings between Japan and Russia. The war could not, he added, be followed by formal peace only; it must be obliterated by friendship as well. Then, and only then, would peace be established on a solid basis. That was Witte's view before he started for Portsmouth, and it became the keystone of the arch of Russia's foreign Far Eastern policy as M. Izvolsky envisaged it ever since.

I called on Hayashi and opened to him Witte's desire and on what public grounds it was that he entertained it. As a matter of fact, Witte believed that Komura had thrust {302} himself forward as Japan's chief plenipotentiary, while others held that Ito had declined to accept the mission which Komura had offered him. But whatever the cause of Komura's appointment may have been it was immutable. The Tokio cabinet was unable to accede to either of Witte's demands, and on board the German steamer that was taking us to New York I gave him a detailed written account of my conversation with the Japanese statesman.[25] Hayashi in his memoirs alludes to this matter as follows: "I met (Dr. Dillon) two or three times whilst I was in London. When Count de Witte proceeded to America as the chief Russian plenipotentiary to negotiate the terms of peace at Portsmouth, Dr. Dillon paid me a visit in London, and I had a long conversation with him on various subjects. The principal object of his visit to me was to request me to do everything which I could to induce the Japanese government to dispatch Marquis Ito to America as the principal Japanese peace commissioner.

{303}

"When the negotiations were proceeding at Portsmouth it was Dr. Dillon who controlled the American press for the benefit of De Witte. At that time most of the prominent British and American correspondents who had collected at Portsmouth had gone there inclined to be in favour of Japan.

"Dr. Dillon used these men to publish the real existing state of affairs without any reserve whatsoever, and was unrivalled by anybody on the Japanese side in creating a favourable public opinion. He did it almost entirely by relying on the influence of the American papers, to whose correspondents at Portsmouth he always stated the exact position of affairs. On the Japanese side, on the other hand, nothing was done like this. True, there was a member of the Japanese Foreign Office staff attached to the Peace Commission, and it was supposed to be his duty to receive the newspaper men. In fact he had nothing else to do but that. But he made his principal task the denying of every statement which might appear.

"In view of my experience in diplomacy I considered that such a course was a matter of the greatest regret. Comparing the action of the two sides at Portsmouth, as regards the press, it was only natural that the umpire's fan was pointed at Japan from the very outset of negotiations, and she was never able to recover from the unsatisfactory press position into which she allowed herself to fall, a position which was principally due to the fact that the Japanese authorities preserved far too much silence as to the progress of the negotiations.

"With regard to the Russo-Japanese Agreement, about which I commenced to speak, Prince Yamagata and Prince Ito, as well as M. Isvolsky, recognised the absolute necessity of concluding an agreement such as had been outlined by Dr. Dillon in his articles to which I have referred."

Seldom has a statesman found himself in deeper or more dangerous waters than Russia's first representative at the peace conference, under conditions which were understood to have deterred professional diplomatists. He foresaw at {304} the outset the fate that was expected to overtake him. Having uniformly pleaded for peace when it could have been had on advantageous terms, he was now called upon to conclude it on conditions which must strike every patriotic Russian as irksome and humiliating. Consequently, if he failed to come to an agreement, the finger of scorn would be pointed at the man who had blamed others for not undertaking what he now admitted to be impossible, while if he succeeded he would be open to the charge of having betrayed his country. But there was another consideration more discouraging to him than these: whatever peace he might make would be no better than a truce unless he could also strike up a genuine friendship such as Japan had so often before proffered and Russia refused. And his proposal to work in that direction was now vetoed by the Tsar who, seemingly, was indulging in mental reservation. But was either nation prepared for the sudden transition from war to friendship? That was the question to be solved. Witte's very first step, before he had even set foot upon American soil, was to obtain a clear and correct idea of the light in which Japan would regard a course which seemed the outcome of statesmanlike and comprehensive views. And the result was disheartening. Japan had changed her mind. That dismal fact was elicited before the conference met. The outcome of Witte's ruminations on that reverse was the historic wireless message which I sent across to London from mid-Atlantic.

The course of the negotiations at Portsmouth and the creditable part played by President Roosevelt in preventing their failure have not yet been forgotten. It would, however, be well worth recording the experiences of Witte during that trying ordeal, the influences against which he had to contend, the necessity and the difficulty of winning public opinion in the United States, and of preparing a way for Russia's access to the American money market and conciliating the Jews, with whose leaders there he had a long talk, ending in mutual promises. The Tsar was particularly anxious that the failure of the conference, which he deemed very probable, should not be attributable nor attributed to {305} the Russians, and the ways and means of bringing this to pass--while honestly endeavouring to arrive at a satisfactory agreement--constituted the subject of many of my talks with Witte in the Portsmouth hotel. This was natural seeing that it was I who was designated, in case the conference broke up without a peace treaty to show for its labours, to write a long explanatory telegram in Russian, addressed to the Tsar, stating the case for his plenipotentiaries and exculpating them from all blame for the failure. Witte was to sign that telegram, of which I would send an English translation to the _Daily Telegraph_ and enable all other journalists to telegraph it at the same time to their papers. All our strategy was inspired by these motives from the day when Witte through me sent from mid-ocean one of his most important utterances on the subject of the negotiations down to his manœuvres at the last sittings of Portsmouth.