Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White — Volume 2

by Andrew Dickson White

The impression made by the Emperor upon me at that time was deepened during my whole stay. He was evidently a strong character, but within very unfortunate limits—upright, devoted to his family, with a strong sense of his duty to his people and of his accountability to the Almighty. But more and more it became evident that his political and religious theories were narrow, and that the assassination of his father had thrown him back into the hands of reactionists. At court and elsewhere I often found myself looking at him and expressing my thoughts inwardly much as follows: "You are honest, true-hearted, with a deep sense of duty; but what a world of harm you are destined to do! With your immense physical frame and giant strength, you will last fifty years longer; you will try by main force to hold back the whole tide of Russian thought; and after you will come the deluge." There was nothing to indicate the fact that he was just at the close of his life.

At a later period I was presented to the heir to the throne, now the Emperor Nicholas II. He seemed a kindly young man; but one of his remarks amazed and disappointed me. During the previous year the famine, which had become chronic in large parts of Russia, had taken an acute form, and in its train had come typhus and cholera. It was, in fact, the same wide-spread and deadly combination of starvation and disease which similar causes produced so often in Western-Europe during the middle ages. From the United States had come large contributions of money and grain; and as, during the year after my arrival, there had been a recurrence of the famine, about forty thousand rubles more had been sent me from Philadelphia for distribution. I therefore spoke on the general subject to him, referring to the fact that he was president of the Imperial Relief Commission. He answered that since the crops of the last year there was no longer any suffering; that there was no famine worthy of mention; and that he was no longer giving attention to the subject. This was said in an offhand, easy-going way which appalled me. The simple fact was that the famine, though not so wide-spread, was more trying than during the year before; for it found the peasant population in Finland and in the central districts of the empire even less prepared to meet it. They had, during the previous winter, very generally eaten their draught-animals and burned everything not absolutely necessary for their own shelter; from Finland specimens of bread made largely of ferns had been brought me which it would seem a shame to give to horses or cattle; and yet his imperial highness the heir to the throne evidently knew nothing of all this.

In explanation, I was afterward told by a person who had known him intimately from his childhood, that, though courteous, his main characteristic was an absolute indifference to most persons and things about him, and that he never showed a spark of ambition of any sort. This was confirmed by what I afterward saw of him at court. He seemed to stand about listlessly, speaking in a good-natured way to this or that person when it was easier than not to do so; but, on the whole, indifferent to all which went on about him.

After his accession to the throne, one of the best judges in Europe, who had many opportunities to observe him closely, said to me, "He knows nothing of his empire or of his people; he never goes out of his house, if he can help it." This explains in some degree the insufficiency of his programme for the Peace Conference at The Hague and for the Japanese War, which, as I revise these lines, is bringing fearful disaster and disgrace upon Russia.

The representative of a foreign power in any European capital must be presented to the principal members of the reigning family, and so I paid my respects to the grand dukes and duchesses. The first and most interesting of these to me was the old Grand Duke Michael—the last surviving son of the first Nicholas. He was generally, and doubtless rightly, regarded as, next to his elder brother, Alexander II, the flower of the flock; and his reputation was evidently much enhanced by comparison with his brother next above him in age, the Grand Duke Nicholas. It was generally charged that the conduct of the latter during the Turkish campaign was not only unpatriotic, but inhuman. An army officer once speaking to me regarding the suffering of his soldiers at that time for want of shoes, I asked him where the shoes were, and he answered: "In the pockets of the Grand Duke Nicholas."

Michael was evidently different from his brother—not haughty and careless toward all other created beings; but kindly, and with a strong sense of duty. One thing touched me. I said to him that the last time I had seen him was when he reached St. Petersburg from the seat of the Crimean War in the spring of 1855, and drove from the railway to the palace in company with his brother Nicholas. Instantly the tears came into his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. He answered: "Yes, that was sad indeed. My father"—meaning the first Emperor Nicholas—"telegraphed us that our mother was in very poor health, longed to see us, and insisted on our coming to her bedside. On our way home we learned of his death."

Of the younger generation of grand dukes,—the brothers of Alexander III,—the greatest impression was made upon me by Vladimir. He was apparently the strongest of all the sons of Alexander II, being of the great Romanoff breed—big, strong, muscular, like his brother the Emperor. He chatted pleasantly; and I remember that he referred to Mr. James Gordon Bennett—whom he had met on a yachting cruise—as "my friend."

Another of these big Romanoff grand dukes was Alexis, the grand admiral. He referred to his recollections of the United States with apparent pleasure, in spite of the wretched Catacazy imbroglio which hindered President Grant from showing him any hospitality at the White House, and which so vexed his father the Emperor Alexander II.

The ladies of the imperial family were very agreeable. A remark of one of them—a beautiful and cultivated woman, born a princess of one of the Saxon duchies—surprised me; for, when I happened to mention Dresden, she told me that her great desire had been to visit that capital of her own country, but that she had never been able to do so. She spoke of German literature, and as I mentioned receiving a letter the day before from Professor Georg Ebers, the historical novelist, she said: "You are happy indeed that you can meet such people; how I should like to know Ebers!" Such are the limitations of royalty.

Meantime, I made visits to my colleagues of the diplomatic corps, and found them interesting and agreeable—as it is the business of diplomatists to be. The dean was the German ambassador, General von Schweinitz, a man ideally fit for such a position—of wide experience, high character, and evidently strong and firm, though kindly. When ambassador at Vienna he had married the daughter of his colleague, the American minister, Mr. John Jay, an old friend and colleague of mine in the American Historical Association; and so came very pleasant relations between us. His plain, strong sense was of use to me in more than one difficult question.