While travelling in England I saw John Ruskin. This fact contains more happiness to me than I can easily make people understand. I wanted to see him more than any other man, crowned or uncrowned. When I was in England at other times Mr. Ruskin was always absent or sick, but this time I found him. I was visiting the Lake district of England, and one afternoon I took a drive that will be for ever memorable. I said, "Drive out to Mr. Ruskin's place," which was some eight miles away. The landlord from whom I got the conveyance said, "You will not be able to see Mr. Ruskin. No one sees him or has seen him for years." Well, I have a way of keeping on when I start. After an hour and a half of a delightful ride we entered the gates of Mr. Ruskin's home. The door of the vine-covered, picturesque house was open, and I stood in the hall-way. Handing my card to a servant I said, "I wish to see Mr. Ruskin." The reply was, "Mr. Ruskin is not in, and he never sees anyone." Disappointed, I turned back, took the carriage and went down the road. I said to the driver, "Do you know Mr. Ruskin when you see him?" "Yes," said he; "but I have not seen him for years." We rode on a few moments, then the driver cried out to me, "There he comes now." In a minute we had arrived at where Mr. Ruskin was walking toward us. I alighted, and he greeted me with a quiet manner and a genial smile. He looked like a great man worn out; beard full and tangled; soft hat drawn down over his forehead; signs of physical weakness with determination not to show it. His valet walked beside him ready to help or direct his steps. He deprecated any remarks appreciatory of his wonderful services. He had the appearance of one whose work is completely done, and is waiting for the time to start homeward. He was in appearance more like myself than any person I ever saw, and if I should live to be his age the likeness will be complete.
I did not think then that Mr. Ruskin would ever write another paragraph. He would continue to saunter along the English lane very slowly, his valet by his side, for a year or two, and then fold his hands for his last sleep. Then the whole world would speak words of gratitude and praise which it had denied him all through the years in which he was laboriously writing "Modern Painters," "The Seven Lamps of Architecture," "The Stones of Venice," and "Ethics of the Dust." We cannot imagine what the world's literature would have been if Thomas Carlyle and John Ruskin had never entered it. I shall never forget how in the early years of my ministry I picked up in Wynkoop's store, in Syracuse, for the first time, one of Ruskin's works. I read that book under the trees, because it was the best place to read it. Ruskin was the first great interpreter of the language of leaves, of clouds, of rivers, of lakes, of seas.
In July, 1892,1 went to Russia. It was summer in the land of snow and ice, so that we saw it in the glow of sunny days, in the long gold-tipped twilights of balmy air. In America we still regarded Russia as a land of cruel mystery and imperial oppression. There was as much ignorance about the Russians, their Government, their country, as there was about the Fiji Islands. Americans had been taught that Siberia was Russia, that Russia and Siberia were the same, one vast infinite waste of misery and cruelty. Granted that I went to Russia on an errand of mercy, and as a representative of the most powerful nation in the world, nevertheless I contend that the Russian people and their Government were hugely misrepresented. There was no need for the Emperor of Russia to give audience to so humble a representative as a minister of the Gospel unless he had been sincerely touched by the evidence of American generosity and mercy for his starving peasants in Central Russia. His courtesy and reception of me was a complete contradiction of his reported arrogance and hard-heartedness. There was no need for the Town Council of St. Petersburg to honour myself and my party with receptions and dinners, and there was no reason for the enthusiasm and cheers of the Russian people in the streets unless they were intensely kind and enthusiastic in nature. When the famine conditions occurred in the ten provinces of Russia a relief committee was formed in St. Petersburg, with the Grand Duke himself at the head of it, and such men as Count Tolstoi and Count Bobrinsky in active assistance. America answered the appeal for food, but their was sincere sympathy and compassion for their compatriots in the imperial circles of Russia.
In the famine districts, which were vast enough to hold several nations, a drought that had lasted for six consecutive years had devastated the country. According to the estimate of the Russian Famine Relief Committee we saved the lives of 125,000 Russians.
As at the hunger relief stations the bread was handed out—for it was made into loaves and distributed—many people would halt before taking it and religiously cross themselves and utter a prayer for the donors. Some of them would come staggering back and say:—
"Please tell us who sent this bread to us?" And when told it came from America, they would say: "What part of America? Please give us the names of those who sent it."
My visit to the Czar of Russia, Alexander III., was made at the Imperial Palace. I was ushered into a small, very plain apartment, in which I found the Emperor seated alone, quietly engaged with his official cares. He immediately arose, extended his hand with hearty cordiality, and said in the purest English, as he himself placed a chair for me beside his table, "Doctor Talmage, I am very happy to meet you."
This was the beginning of a long conversation during which the Emperor manifested both the liveliest interest and thorough familiarity with American politics, and, after a lengthy discussion of everything American, the Emperor said, "Dr. Talmage, you must see my eldest son, Nicholas," with which he touched a bell, calling his aide-de-camp, who promptly summoned the Grand Duke Nicholas, who appeared with the youngest daughter of the Emperor skipping along behind him—a plump, bright little girl of probably eight or nine years. She jumped upon the Emperor's lap and threw her arms about his neck. When she had been introduced to me she gave "The American gentleman" the keenest scrutiny of which her sparkling eyes were capable. The Grand Duke was a fine young man, of about twenty-five years of age, tall, of athletic build, graceful carriage, and noticeably amiable features. On being introduced to me the Grand Duke extended his hand and said, "Dr. Talmage, I am also glad to meet you, for we all feel that we have become acquainted with you through your sermons, in which we have found much interest and religious edification."
Noticing the magnificent physique of both father and son, I asked the Emperor, when the conversation turned incidentally upon matters of health, what he did to maintain such fine strength in the midst of all the cares of State. He replied, "Doctor, the secret of my strength is in my physical exercise. This I never fail to take regularly and freely every day before I enter upon any of the work of my official duties, and to it I attribute the excellent health which I enjoy."
The Emperor insisted that I should see the Empress and the rest of the Imperial Family, and we proceeded to another equally plain, unpretentious apartment where, with her daughters, we found the Empress. After a long conversation, and just as I was leaving, I asked the Emperor whether there was much discontent among the nobility as a result of the emancipation among the serfs, and he replied, "Yes, all the trouble with my empire arises from the turbulence and discontent of the nobility. The people are perfectly quiet and contented."