Читать книгу Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia - Alexander Mikhailovich - Страница 28

Thanks to the British Government, Alexander III was given an early opportunity of demonstrating the firmness of his international policy. Less than a year after his ascension to the throne a grave incident took place on the Russo-Afghan border: prompted by the British, who viewed our progress in Turkestan with alarm, the Afghans invaded our territory in the neighborhood of the fortress Koushka. General Komaroff, the commander of that military district, wired to the Emperor and asked for instructions. “Drive them back and give them a sound thrashing,” came the answer from Gatchino. The Afghans were routed and pursued several miles beyond the border, our Cossacks being anxious to catch the group of British instructors who were able, however, to escape owing to the superiority of their mounts.

The Government of Her Britannic Majesty registered a “most strenuous protest” and demanded “apologies.” “We will do nothing of the kind,” said Alexander III, “and what is more, I shall bestow a decoration upon General Komaroff. Nobody is permitted to invade our territory.”

De Giers was trembling.

“Do you realize, Your Majesty, that it may mean war with England?”

“Even so.”

Another threatening note arrived from London. This time the Czar ordered the mobilization of our Baltic fleet. A gesture of supreme courage, considering that the British Navy outnumbered our sea forces by at least five to one. Several weeks passed. London became strangely silent and finally suggested appointing a special commission to settle the Russo-Afghan question.

Europe began to look with different eyes in the direction of Gatchino. The young Russian Czar was obviously a person to be reckoned with.

Provocation number two came from Austria. The Vienna Government objected to our “continuous interference in the zone of influence of the Dual Monarchy,” and the Austrian ambassador in St. Petersburg endeavored to give Alexander III a war scare. At a state dinner in the palace, while seated across the table from the Czar, he began discussing the troublesome Balkan question. The host ignored his remarks. The ambassador grew hotter. He said something about the possibility of Austria mobilizing two or three army corps. Never changing his habitual half-mocking facial expression, Alexander III picked up a silver fork, bent it into a knot, and threw it in the direction of the Austrian ambassador.

“That is what I am going to do to your two or three army corps,” he added quietly.

“We have just two allies in this world,” he used to repeat to his ministers, “our army and our navy. Everybody else will turn on us on a second’s notice.”

He expressed this cynical belief of his in a rather demonstrative form at a dinner given in the honor of the visiting Prince Nicholas of Montenegro and attended by all the foreign ambassadors. Raising his glass to drink the health of the guest, he deemed it advisable to explain his toast in the following words: “I am drinking the health of my friend, Nicholas of Montenegro, who is the only sincere and loyal friend possessed by Russia outside our borders.”

De Giers opened his mouth; the ambassadors turned pale. The London Times next morning spoke of the “most amazing speech made by the Emperor of Russia upsetting all traditions of intercourse between friendly countries.”

While Europe was still debating the consequences of the Koushka incident, the Czar came out with another declaration which made the Government of Her Britannic Majesty question the authenticity of its St. Petersburg ambassador’s dispatch. Ignoring the provisions of the ignominious Peace Treaty of 1855, which forbade Russia’s keeping a battle fleet in the Black Sea, Alexander III decided to launch several modern cruisers right in the same harbor of Sebastopol where the victorious allies had humiliated our country during the Crimean War. He had chosen an extremely opportune moment for his action as with the possible exception of England no European power felt inclined to threaten the Russian Empire. France was bitter against England for the latter’s noncommittal attitude in the war of 1870-1871; Turkey remembered the lesson she received from us in 1877-1878; Austria was being kept in check by Bismarck who dreamed of concluding a Russo-German Alliance. The Iron Chancellor’s project would have, no doubt, become a reality had it not been for the extreme dislike felt by Alexander III for the hysterical young Kaiser. Both the German sovereign and his illustrious Svengali failed to understand the character of the Russian Czar. In the course of their visit to St. Petersburg they behaved in a thoroughly disgusting manner. Kaiser Wilhelm made too many blatant speeches, while Bismarck dared to lecture Alexander III on the art of governing. It ended badly. Bismarck received a terrific calling down. The young Kaiser was simply laughed at. The interview between the two sovereigns had presented to its witnesses an instructive study in contrasts. The Kaiser pacing the floor, gesticulating, raising his voice, and quoting all the stock expressions of the international manipulators; the Czar, cool, reserved, externally amused by Wilhelm’s excitability but internally offended by the cheapness of his methods.

Those of us who lived to see the cataclysm of 1914 are naturally inclined to reproach Alexander III for letting his personal feelings get the better of his richly developed sense of practical politics: how did it happen that this stalwart champion of common sense rejected the propositions of Germany and approved of the perilous pact with France? The explanation is simple. Not counting on the mistakes of his successor and not anticipating to see his empire bled white by the Japanese War and the abortive revolution of 1905, he overestimated our military strength. He believed that the cause of a perpetual peace in Europe would be better served through our extending moral support to the Republic of France and thus warning Germany against any attempts at repeating the adventure of 1870. The possibility of France getting involved in the bitter Anglo-German struggle for commercial supremacy of the world never entered his mind. Had he lived longer he would have rejected indignantly the rôle of a Franco-British steam-roller which was allotted to Russia in 1914.

He wanted peace, a century of uninterrupted peace. Nothing short of an open attack against Russia would have forced him to participate in a war, for the experience of the nineteenth century had taught him that each time we joined this or that party of professional European cock-fighters we shed bitter tears of regret later on. His granduncle Alexander I saved Europe from Napoleon, with the result that we helped to create the powerful states of Germany and Austria right across our border. His grandfather Nicholas I sent our army to Hungary in 1848 to protect the throne of the Hapsburgs against the attacks of the revolutionaries, and was rewarded by seeing the “grateful” Emperor Franz-Joseph standing back of the Allies besieging Sebastopol in 1854. His father Alexander II remained neutral in 1870, keeping good the word given by him to Emperor Wilhelm I, and eight years later Bismarck despoiled us of the fruits of our victory over the Turks.

TWO VIEWS OF THE AY-TODOR ESTATE OF GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER.

CZAR NICHOLAS II WITH GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER IN 1914. GRAND DUCHESS XENIA IS SEATED IN BACK OF GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER

CZAR NICHOLAS II PAYING A VISIT TO GRAND DUKE MICHAEL NICHOLAEVICH (GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER’S FATHER) SHORTLY BEFORE THE LATTER’S DEATH IN 1909

The French, the British, the Germans, the Austrians—they were all alike in their perennial efforts to turn Russia into a weapon for their egotistical combats. Alexander III loathed the whole of Europe. Ever ready to accept its challenges, he made it unmistakably clear, however, that Russia was interested only in that which actually affected the welfare of 150,000,000 Russians.