Last year no less than three writers, as different from each other as they could well be, writing of visits paid to the Holy Land--Mr. Robert Hichens, the novelist, in _The Holy Land_, Sir Frederick Treves, the well-known and eminent surgeon, in _The Land that is Desolate_, and Mr.

Stephen Graham, in _With the Russian Pilgrims to Jerusalem_--all alike show us that no one had made the same impression upon them as the Russians who had come to realize their LORD in the very place where He had lived our human life. They all so clearly felt that those simple-minded folk, as they followed traditions and visited one place after another from Bethlehem to Calvary, and wept where He had wept, and prayed where He had prayed, looked over the places and the waters upon which His eyes had rested, crossed themselves reverently again and again where He had suffered, and sung _Te Deum_ and _Alleluia_ where He had risen, were looking not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen, believing with all the strength of their great and simple hearts that "the things which are seen are temporal, while the things which are not seen are eternal."

To the devout Russian the so-called good things of this life are unsubstantial and swiftly pa.s.sing experiences, while the great and only realities worth thinking about seriously are those spiritual experiences of the Apostles as they went in and out with CHRIST and companied with Him, which are now described in the Gospels that we may have the same "even to the end of the ages." If Russia gives, as we pray she may, a lead to Christendom in the direction of unity, she will have a wonderfully uplifting and apostolic contribution to offer to the common stock of our Christian heritage.

And yet with all this wealth of very real spiritual experience there goes also a sad deficiency of moral conduct. "But that vitiates it all,"

some of my readers may exclaim. No; it does not. We, with our very different temperament, have come to subst.i.tute morality for religion and the ethical for the spiritual, whereas for the "whole man," as even Ecclesiastes tells us, _both_ are necessary. Morality is not religion at all while the spiritual faculties are absolutely quiescent and the soul knows no need of G.o.d nor cries out for Him. A deep sense of the spiritual and a longing and effort to attain touch with the eternal is religion, although an imperfect morality impairs and cripples the adequate witness, the full unfettered enjoyment of it. And, as another writer has lately done in the political sphere, I would plead for the Russians that "they did not get a fair start."

I have already described the rough-and-ready way in which they were converted to Christianity, never having anything like our opportunities of instruction from the first. I have never heard a Russian sermon! The vast majority of the clergy have never been trained to preach, and would not be able to do so if they tried. The people are not taught at all in church, except by what is read to them in Scripture, or what they read for themselves. Let Englishmen give them "fair play" all round, both in political and const.i.tutional, and also in moral deficiencies; and let us remember that it was to a body of real and earnest Christians--"saints"

and "faithful," he himself calls them--that S. Paul found it necessary to write and caution against "the l.u.s.ts of the flesh, foolish talking and unseemly jesting, covetousness and uncleanness, lying and stealing."

If it was necessary to write those fifth and sixth chapters of the Ephesians to a body of Christian believers of whose sincerity an Apostle had no doubt, we may well have hopeful patience with a great body of our fellow Christians whose want of consistency in conduct provokes such ready criticism. It is well known how a mystical people like the West Indians (I have described it at length in a former book, _A Bishop among Bananas_, in chap. v) resent being accused of theft when helping themselves to "G.o.d'S gifts," as they call them, in the shape of fruit and fowls, when they would not dream of taking money, clothing, or other material things, or would consider themselves thieves if they did.

And so it interested me to learn the other day that the Russian peasant views thefts of the same kind of things in much the same way, drawing in his mind a distinction between that which G.o.d gives for all and that which man produces for himself. It is imperfect reasoning, we know, as there is no real distinction between what a man produces by cultivation and what he manufactures; but we can understand an untrained and rather childlike mind making such a distinction.

The devout Russian peasantry in this stage often seem to ill.u.s.trate our LORD'S words concerning things revealed to "babes" which even the "wise and prudent" seem to miss. Sir Donald M. Wallace again tells the story in _Our Russian Ally_ which he told in his _Russia_--it will bear constant repet.i.tion--as an instance of real spiritual insight in a simple and untrained mind. "I remember once asking a common labourer,"

he says, "what he thought of the Mussulman Tartars among whom he happened to be living; and his reply, given with evident sincerity, was--'Not a bad sort of people.' 'And what about their religion?' I inquired. 'Not at all a bad sort of faith--you see they received it like the colour of their skins, from G.o.d.'" He a.s.sumed, of course, in his simple piety, that whatever comes from G.o.d must be good. It necessitated a very special spiritual experience and real vision before a Christian Apostle could say the same thing, "Of a truth I perceive that G.o.d is no respecter of persons"; but that common labourer in this little incident had taken in the same wide outlook, in a perfectly normal way, from his ordinary surroundings and the religious influences which make up such an important portion of his life.

The lesson is learnt early. I was, one morning, in an elementary school in Siberia, just before the work of the day began, to speak to the children. They opened with prayer, but how different from prayers in our own schools! The master and teachers did nothing except pray with the rest. At a sign that all was ready a boy of twelve stepped out and took his place before the _ikon_ in its corner, and then bowing with that inimitable grace which belongs alone to the Russian when at prayer, and making the sign of the Cross, he gravely led the simple prayers of the whole school, all singing softly and reverently in unison. It was all inexpressibly touching and appealing, and to be treasured up with those other things of which one says, "I shall never forget."

The sign of the Cross is always made very slowly and solemnly, quite differently from other Churches, and from right to left upon the breast, and it is always accompanied by a slow and reverent bowing of the head, and is repeated usually three times. It is the special sign during the public services that a worshipper is just then feeling his or her own part in it. People do not use this devotion at set times during service, but just when they wish, and as the spirit moves them. I have been in the S. Isaac's choir when all the men and boys were singing a hymn, and suddenly a man near me would stop, bow, and cross himself devoutly, and then resume his hymn. No one would take the least notice, but all would go on singing as before. Then a choir-boy, after a moment or two, would do the same, his companions continuing to sing till their turn of being moved within came also. I have seen soldiers in the ranks do just the same when bareheaded at an outdoor service. There is so much spontaneity and elasticity and liberty in Russian worship. They do just as they feel "led by the Spirit" to do.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Cathedral at Riga._]

One of the most interesting experiences I had last year was attending on the Feast of the Epiphany--the appointed day for that and similar services--the blessing of the Neva. The ceremony takes place just outside the Winter Palace at Petrograd. Diplomatists and other visitors who wish to look on, stand within at the windows, but I much preferred to be outside, even though it was bitterly cold and we had to be bareheaded. There was a magnificent and bewildering gathering of Russian ecclesiastics, gorgeously vested. Priceless _ikons_ were carried, and beautiful banners of rich embroideries, the whole effect being strangely Eastern in character. A few only could enter the small _kiosk_ on the river's bank where the water, brought in a silver basin, was blessed.

But the thrilling thing that day was the glorious singing, chant and refrain, which so richly filled the air, stirring the very depths of one's being, and the innumerable rows of deeply attentive soldiers in their long grey coats, whose frequent bowings and devout crossings all through the ranks showed that, though they were there officially, they were there to worship also. The Emperor walked from the palace amongst others and returned to it, bareheaded like any common soldier, with a perfectly plain overcoat like the rest, and nothing whatever to distinguish him from the crowd. He was unattended and moved quite freely with the rest, and could not be recognized except by a few of us standing near the door, who were already familiar with his appearance.

There was but little cheering in consequence, though he acknowledged it in that modest and unaffected way which always distinguishes him. It was then that I saw the Grand Duke Nicholas for the first time, the generalissimo in the war, a magnificent man. He had certain announcements to make, or directions to give, and his grand voice rang out on the clear air so that every one could hear. "A real leader of men that," one felt instinctively without dreaming how soon one would have cause to remember the thought, under tragically altered circ.u.mstances.

We cannot possibly attach too much importance to the fact, admitted on all sides and in the most unexpected quarters, that this great race, coming so very closely into our lives, uniting their destiny in some measure with our own, is above all others a distinctly religious people.

Russia, as must be ever becoming more and more evident, is to be our ally in a way hitherto entirely unknown to our race and nation.

Thoughtful observers have seen it coming for some time, and are not taken at all by surprise, but the idea is still new and not altogether welcome to many. There is no doubt at all about it in my own mind, and I shall return to it more fully in a later chapter, that while we shall still remain the friends of France and act the part of true "friends in need" should occasion again arise, and look with a friendly eye upon other nationalities, and even--how much I hope it--make up our quarrel with Prussia and the German peoples she has influenced against us, yet with Russia our relations are already altogether different, and our two empires are rapidly beginning to realize that they are coming together in an entirely different relationship, to knit up true and enduring ties of brotherly unity with each other, not for selfish purposes at all, but for a great work together for civilization and for G.o.d. We Anglo-Saxons are a deeply religious people at heart, though with our temperamental reticence and reserve we speak least about the things of which we feel the most. The Russians are also a sincerely religious people, and they, on the other hand, bring out most readily, spontaneously, and naturally, the things which mean most to them. We are unlike each other in temperament, yet absolutely like each other in our view of the deep things of G.o.d. Thus complementary to one another, we have a real intelligible hope of a lasting friendship. We should have no hope at all of any such tie between ourselves and them if they did not share our serious view of human life and responsibility, and base that view upon a firm belief in G.o.d. We should feel at heart that we had no real confidence in their stability, grit, and powers of staying and lasting out.

Surely the one thing that has come out during the war is the supreme importance of _morale_. Napoleon went so far, I have seen it stated, as to say it counted for an army, in proportion to its numbers, as three to one. I remember too how the military correspondent of the _Times_, in one of his most interesting articles on the Balkan War, when it was drawing to a close, explained the disastrous defeat of the Turkish army by the gradual loss of _morale_ they had sustained by the decay of religion amongst them under the regime of the Young Turks. Prayers had been largely given up by the troops, who no longer had the ministrations of their spiritual leaders, and _morale_ had gone in consequence. Then had come disaster. He contrasted with all this the tremendous fervour of the Balkan League, and described a picture he had recently seen in a French ill.u.s.trated paper. Two French officers were shown looking at a Bulgarian regiment on their knees, their priest praying for them and blessing them before they went into action. "What would one of our generals get," said one of the French officers to his friend, "if he ordered such a thing as that?" "He would get the victory," quietly said the other.

I am expecting great things from Russia, and for us through Russia, for civilization and for G.o.d, and what I have written is being ever more and more widely felt by others also, and even expressed in daily papers, where at one time we should not have expected such a thing to be thought of in the midst of a great war. "That Russia is one of the most truly religious countries in the world is proved by the crowds which filled and overflowed in all the churches yesterday when thanksgiving services were held in celebration of the victory, _nor is it possible to doubt the sincerity and devotion_ of the worshippers. The firm belief in the divine ruling of the world is to be found among _all cla.s.ses_."[7]

FOOTNOTES:

[7] _The Daily Mail_ correspondent at Petrograd, November 12, 1914.

CHAPTER VI

HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE TSAR

One interesting figure has held the attention of the Continent of Europe for many long years, appealing to the imagination and baffling comprehension, but will never fill the same place again. Another, however, is coming forward very possibly in his stead, without any wish or intention of his own, and that other is the Emperor of Russia. He will do so, I believe, just as the German Emperor has done, because history affords him the opportunity, and because, like the Kaiser, he too is a man who cherishes thoughts of great purposes for his people and ideals for himself.

It affords me the greatest pleasure to write about the Emperor--he is not usually spoken of in Russian society as the Tsar--for I shall always feel most deeply grateful to him for his great personal kindness at my first audience with him, and the great encouragement he gave me at the very beginning of my work abroad.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Her Imperial Majesty the Tsaritsa._]

I have already explained the quaking spirit in which I crossed the frontier. It so happened that Russia was the first country I visited when appointed to take charge of the jurisdiction, and, as to so many others, there was something forbidding to me in the very name of Russia.

I knew at that time also that my visitations would bring me, as they have done, into contact with other sovereigns, and with great personages in other countries, and here at St. Petersburg I was to begin with the most unknown and, as one thought of his vast empire, most overwhelming of them all. And then--but let me describe an audience at the palace at Tsarskoe Selo, for it will probably interest many a reader, and also explain how very different from a somewhat perturbed antic.i.p.ation was the pleasurable reality. I have taken care to satisfy myself beforehand that I shall not be transgressing any of the rules of court etiquette, nor be guilty of any breach of confidence in so doing.

Audiences abroad are always arranged through the British Emba.s.sy or Legation. Court dress is worn in Russia, even though the reception itself is perfectly informal, but, as court dress for a bishop consists in being robed as for Easter services, in red chimere, etc., there was no difficulty in providing it even for one who has to carry everything in a couple of bags, and for months at a time.

Tsarskoe Selo--"The Tsar's village," the words mean--is a little over half an hour by rail from Petrograd, and I was instructed to start from the Imperial Station in Petrograd, and there walked over rich carpets, through saluting soldiers, to the imperial train, most beautifully and comfortably arranged with smoking, writing, and reading compartments.

Upon arrival at Tsarskoe Selo imperial carriages are always waiting for those expected, with coachman and footman on the box, wearing bright scarlet cloaks edged with white fur and very smart c.o.c.ked hats of red and gold.

It was a typical Russian wintry day with a tremendous blizzard blowing, and blinding snow falling. Sentries were stationed at intervals through the streets of the village, saluting all the imperial carriages as they went by, although no occupant could be seen; and having pa.s.sed through it we entered the park and soon drew up at the door of the small palace where the Emperor always resides, and which, white itself, looked that day like a fairy palace rising up amid the snow.

Nothing could be more strikingly different from that white world without, however, than the warmth and richness of colour within. On every side there were brilliant and unfamiliar liveries and dazzlingly rich uniforms. An official, of huge physique, wearing several medals, with a broad gold band round his head, from which, on its right side, stuck out a curious bunch of dark feathers, in velvet and lace dress, and with breeches and silk stockings--there was no one the least like him in the crowd of attendants--at once came forward and led me away to a dressing-room in which to leave my furs and change into my robes. He then conducted me through one beautiful room after another, each one richly furnished and adorned with beautiful china, paintings, _ikons_, trophies, and presents from different parts of the empire, until at length we reached a small room where a number of officers in brilliant uniforms were seated and evidently in attendance.

One of them, the Conte de Grabbe, at once came forward and welcomed me, chatting pleasantly until a servant, very quietly attired like an English butler, came out from a room opposite and, holding the door open, signified that I was to enter.

There was no introduction or announcement of any kind, and, as I entered, the Emperor was already standing there to meet me, smiling pleasantly and encouragingly, with extended hand.

"It is very kind in your Imperial Majesty," I said, "to allow me to come and see you in this informal way."

"It is very kind in you to come and see us, bishop," he replied, so cheerily and unaffectedly, that away went every bit of diffidence and sense of constraint, and, to my great relief and grat.i.tude, I found myself talking as naturally as to an intimate friend. I say "grat.i.tude"

because, being put so entirely at ease, able to say all that it was in my mind to say, and ask anything that it was in my mind to wish to know, enabled me to get a clear idea of the Emperor's attractive personality, and even, as he spoke quite freely, of some at least of the opinions and principles which must rule his conduct and shape his policy and government.

"He gives you confidence," a diplomatist who had had many official audiences with him said to me one day, and that exactly describes the effect he produces. He talked freely of all things before the public mind just then--of the approaching Coronation of King George, for whom he expressed a more than cousinly regard and respect; of domestic duties and family life as the ideals which shape the destinies of races; of the Russian Church, particularly asking if its dignitaries had welcomed me; of our English Church; of travelling; of my own impressions of Russia and other things. It was quite astonishing afterwards to recall the ground we had covered in that interview. And before I left he inquired:--

"When will you be coming to Russia again, bishop?"

"Next year, sir," I said; "for I believe I am to go to Siberia."

"Siberia! How interesting! I've never yet been to Siberia. Then you'll come and tell us all about it when you return, won't you?"

"I shall be much honoured, sir." And praying G.o.d's blessing upon himself and the imperial family, for which he thanked me as simply and modestly as any other layman would have done, I withdrew, feeling that it had been one of the most helpful and memorable interviews I had ever had.

I have been often asked if the Emperor is not very much like our King, and it is a somewhat difficult question to answer. As he stood there that morning, in a simple pale blue uniform, well set up and looking extraordinarily young and boyish, and smilingly happy--so entirely different from one's expectations--it did not occur to me to see any such likeness, but an old courtier said to me, in speaking after luncheon of "the resemblance which is so much talked of"--

"There is no resemblance to be noticed when their two Majesties are together, nor would there be any striking likeness seen between their portraits in colours, but in photographs or anything that is black and white, just bringing out light and shade, then the similarity is most remarkable, you might easily mistake one for the other."

This puts one's own impressions very clearly. There is a well-known photograph, circulated as a postcard in Germany, and from a German negative, of which I have a copy, in which the two Emperors are shown in conversation on the imperial yacht. Any one seeing it in English hands would certainly think that it was our King and the Kaiser, and be quite astonished at learning it was not.

The Emperor received me the first time in a very comfortable but simply furnished study, and the last time, when, in accordance with his invitation, I went to tell him about my two missions to Siberia, in his billiard-room fitted up as a study or library, and in which he led me to the kind of window-seat which we know so well in English country houses, looking out upon the park. Afterwards luncheon was served for me in the _Grand Palais_ of the Great Catherine, a most magnificent and immense palace a little distance away, full of interesting souvenirs of Russia's past.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _His Imperial Highness the Tsarevitch Alexei._]

It is well known how many and different rumours have been circulated during the last two years about the heir to the throne, and it seems rather a pity that the simple truth has not been announced and made fully known from the first, for I am a.s.sured on the best authority in Petrograd, that the Tsarevitch suffers from a skin affection not unknown, unfortunately, to members of our royal family, which, as he is a very high-spirited boy, difficult to watch and caution, has in moments of exuberance and violent exertion caused him to receive injuries which for a time have been disabling.

When last at Tsarskoe Selo, before taking my leave I took out some puzzles from my pocket, made of wood and steel, quite inexpensive, as I thought it likely they would be most welcome because most unfamiliar, and handing them to the Emperor, said:--

"I have brought the Tsarevitch a present, sir, and I bring it out with much hesitation, for it is a very simple one, and I know he must have had many beautiful and costly gifts this Christmas."

"Not at all," he said; "we bring him up very simply, and he loves puzzles. He and I used up all we could get, especially those jig-saw puzzles, while he was ill. These, I see, are new."