"Holy Russia!" Yes, there were many who made use of those two little words, and spoke them with a sneer. Holy, indeed! Was she not the vilest, the most ignorant and tyrannical nation on earth—a nation of slaves and serfs domineered over by an emperor who, if he could find no one else to trample under foot, would make war upon his own people, would throw them into prison if they but dared to call their heads their own; who tore the newly-married wife from the arms of her husband, lacerated her tender flesh with the knout, and sent her in chains to die amidst the snows of Siberia?
Holy Russia, indeed! Nay, but Russia the despot. Every portion of her bygone history was raked up to help to fill the bill against her—so far, that is, as Britons knew anything about it; all that poets told us about poor Poland for instance, and sang to us about Warsaw's last champion; all about Ivan the Terrible, and goodness knows what else. And Russia was the same now—just as cruel, just as dark-hearted, as blood-thirsty, and tyrannical as ever. Down with her! Back with her to her own Siberian wilds! Crush her, annihilate her!
Yes, certainly; and after we had done all this we should return thanks to Him who had given us the victory—feast and fête our brave soldiers and sailors, or what remained of them—make a kind of a Christmas-time of it, even though it should be midsummer, and eat and drink until we should be ill. Hurrah for war!
But was Russia wholly to blame for the sad Crimean War? And was Russia really so bad as she was called? Did we not rather jump to the conclusion that this great kingdom was all vile and evil, just because we knew nothing at all about it? When I say "we," I of course refer to the ordinary British public.
Nowadays, be it remembered, dear reader, what with school boards, county councils, extra newspapers, and so on and so forth, the public is becoming more enlightened; and if we were going to war now, the people would probably ask their leaders, political and otherwise, what the quarrel was about, and why they were ordered to peel off their spare clothes and go for the enemy pell-mell. And their leaders would feel it incumbent upon them to supply the desired information—that is to say, if they themselves knew anything about it. But in old Crimean times the people were more easily pleased, and took everything for granted that was told them. They were led by the nose, not by the intellect. If you had asked any body of British workmen in those days why the country was going to war, their answer would have been, "'Cause we are. The Russians want whopping—the papers all say so—and we're going to whop them."
Then if you had said, "But what have they done? what have they done?" the workmen would have repeated, "Why, what is it they haven't done? What is it they ain't always a-doing of? Just read the Parleymintary reports for yourself. Is it likely we would go to war if we didn't oughter to? Anyhow we're goin' to fight. Fetch 'em out. Hurray!"
I am told—though personally I was but a boy then—that the ignorance displayed in what is called society, or the "upper circles," was about on a par with that of the British workman concerning the causes that led to the war, and that even some so-called statesmen were densely ignorant on this subject. They had to read up quite a deal before they dare submit themselves to a "heckling" at dinner-parties or over the walnuts and the wine.
Over the walnuts and wine, indeed, some of those great statesmen were less nervous, and could speak more freely, knowing from their own experience that very little of what was said would be remembered next day.
And now—although I should be very sorry indeed to hamper this story of mine by talking politics—it will do you, reader, no harm to know that at this time the Russian peasant or artisan in town or country was—and probably is even yet—an ignorant, good-natured, frequently drink-besotted, credulous, hard-working "sumph," with a good deal of poetry and romance in his nature, nevertheless, and not a little real piety. He lived, perhaps, very much the same sort of life as our own peasantry did before the days of education dawned and the press began to guide and sway public opinion. Next to things heavenly, this people considered it their duty to obey the behests of their emperor and those in authority above them. When I add that ignorance caused them to have just the same erroneous impressions of us as we had of them, I think I have said enough to bring the quality of the Russian peasant before your mind's eye. It was from his ranks that the soldiery were drawn; only after they joined their regiments they were led to believe that Britain was a nation of savages, and that the true faith was not in it; rather, indeed, would its people trample on the most holy things, murder priests at their altars, and desecrate and burn temples and shrines. The Russian soldier, if he thought at all, looked upon his country as a kind of Holy Land, and he himself as a soldier of the Faith and of the Cross.
Well, my own opinion is that the next best thing to fighting an enemy is to respect him, and I am quite sure that if we—the Russians and the British—had known more of each other in those old days, we would have loved each other a little more, even while cutting each other's throats. This reads a little paradoxical, does it not? But if my theory is carried a little further, how then? Why, we should have no bloody wars at all. For the more nations know each other, the more they sympathize with each other; sympathy makes us charitable, even to our neighbours' shortcomings; sympathy begets love, and love makes us sheathe the sword: so war becomes impossible. It is love of this kind that is to lead the millennium in; but knowledge has got to go before—we must not forget that.