Chapter 9

The emperor impressed me as a man of extraordinarily quick perception and of broad intelligence. His memory also is marvelous, which I believe is a characteristic of the Romanoffs. It was just after it had become generally known in St. Petersburg that the Czar had taken an unalterable stand on the question of indemnity, and while the issue of peace or the continuation of the war was hanging in the balance, that I was accorded an interview with him. I may say that his imperial poise, his kinglike dignity, in this tremendous crisis in the affairs of his empire, was what impressed me most.

Lewis Nixon, who has recently been in Russia constructing torpedo-boats, and who talked with the Czar at Tsar-koye-Selo so short a time ago as last December, says of him, according to the _Sun_:

His majesty, contrary to reports, was in perfect health, and had not broken down at all under the strain of recent events in Russia. There is not a gray hair in his head.

Asked by the reporter: "Did the Czar impress you as a man of great strength of character?" Mr. Nixon replied:

Well, a man of his rank and power naturally creates a great impression on one. The Czar is a man of remarkable intelligence.

Andrew D. White's Somber Picture.

Not every one who has been brought into personal contact with the Czar names him but to praise, however. In an article that appeared in the _Century Magazine_ just after the beginning of the war with Japan, Andrew D. White, who as minister to Russia during Harrison's administration saw something of the Czar before he succeeded to the throne; says of him:

I was told by a person who had known him intimately from his childhood that, though courteous, his main characteristic was an absolute indifference to all persons and things about him, and that he never showed any application to business or 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 that went on about him. After his ascension to the throne, one of the ablest judges in Europe, who had every opportunity 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."

Referring to the denationalization of Finland, in the same article Mr. White says:

It is the saddest spectacle of our time. Former emperors, however much they have wished to do so, have not dared break their oaths to Finland, but the present weakling sovereign, in his indifference, carelessness, and absolute unfitness to rule, has allowed the dominant reactionary clique about him to accomplish its own good pleasure.

Scathing Censure From Tolstoy.

Nor is Mr. White alone in expressing an uncomplimentary opinion of the Czar. In an article published in the _Free Age Press_, of England, last August, Count Tolstoy, in acquitting his emperor of the charge of bringing about the war, declares:

About Nicholas II, I do know that he is a most commonplace man, standing lower than the average level, coarsely superstitious and unenlightened, and therefore who could not in himself possibly be the cause of those events, enormous in their scope and consequence, which are now taking place in the Far East. Can it be possible that the activity of millions of men should be directed against their will and interest merely because this is desired by a man in every respect standing lower than the intellectual and moral level of all those who are perishing as it seems by his will?

Two other Russians, both anonymous--Tolstoy being the only man in Russia who dares openly speak his mind about the throne and its occupant--but whose standing is guaranteed by the publications in which their articles appear, have written of their hereditary ruler in much the same strain.

The first of these articles was published in the London _Quarterly Review_ after the beginning of the war, the author, according to the editor of the review, being "a Russian official of high rank." This writer devotes several pages to a bitter denunciation of the Czar and his entourage. Of Nicholas he says:

Unsteady and Self-Complacent.

Unsteady, half-hearted, self-complacent and fickle, he changes his favorites with his fitful moods, allowing a band of casual, obscure, and dangerous men to usurp the functions of his responsible ministers, whose recommendations are ignored, whose warnings are disregarded, and whose measures for the defense of the state are not only baffled but resented as symptoms of disobedience.

The other anonymous article appeared in the _National Review_, of London, last May. The author of it says:

The leader of the nation during this terrible crisis is a sickly youth of arrested development and morbid will, whose inability to govern might pass unnoticed if he would but allow any man of intellect or will-power to grapple with the warring elements. This, however, he refuses to permit, while allotting to obscure soldiers and seaman, tricksters and money-grabbers, a share of the supreme power, to the detriment of the nation.

The mental and moral impotency of this well-intentioned marplot, who cannot be said to have had even experience, unless ten years of uniform failure could impart it, is one of the commonplaces of conversation in town and country. Even the rough and ready drosky drivers say of him that he has been thrust among rulers like a pestle among spoons.

Yet apprised of his impotence by the "boudoir council," he wishes to will, and he takes the volition for the deed. No occurrence, no event makes a lasting impression on his mind. Abroad, our armies may be scattered, our ships sunk, our credit ruined; he is serene in spite of all. At home the whole framework of society may be going to pieces; Nicholas sits still and fondly annotates state papers, a very Narcissus of the inkpot.

Only a short time before this article appeared the _Times_ had published an interview, obtained by its Paris correspondent with "a prominent European diplomat just arrived from St. Petersburg," who described the Czar as "a little, commonplace, family man, never happier than when playing with his children in their nursery, and quite unequal to the task of government."

The diplomat added that the autocrat of all the Russias was so afraid of the present Count Witte (who was then plain monsieur) that he trembled when the minister came into his presence.

In endeavoring to arrive at a conclusion as to the real character of the Czar from the mass of conflicting evidence cited, it is essential to consider the relation of the witnesses to the subject of our inquiry, in order to ascertain if their testimony is likely to be prejudiced, consciously or otherwise, for or against him.

It should be borne in mind, in the first place, that so effective are the artificial adjuncts that lend grandeur to the occupant of a throne it sometimes occurs that a visitor unaccustomed to such environments is unable to retain the complete use of his ordinary faculties.

The Majesty That Hedges a King.

That is to say that it is often difficult for one who has hitherto pursued the commonplace routine of life, on accomplishing the protracted and arduous negotiations essential to obtain access to a palace, then being introduced with pomp and ceremony into the royal precincts and attended through one stately apartment after another by court functionaries, themselves of high rank and distinguished name, to realize, on being reverently ushered into the kingly presence, that he is face to face with a mere human like himself--nay, that in nine cases out of ten he is the superior of the royal personage in all that constitutes real worth.

It may be remembered that the arrogant Samuel Johnson, in the presence of George III, his inferior in everything that was not superficial, was properly subdued; and that, according to Boswell, the incident of his visit to royalty was one that he "loved to relate with all its circumstances when requested by his friends."

Human vanity also may be considered as a factor in the value of the testimony of him who comes forth from the seats of the mighty to relate his experiences. Does he not speak ill of the great one who has given him an audience, the listener's inference is that the visitor has found something in the manner of his treatment to resent; whereas he who sounds the monarch's praises is put down as having met with a cordial reception. None of these generalizations necessarily apply to the gentlemen whose views concerning Nicholas II have been quoted, however.

William T. Stead's Opportunities.

At fifty-five years of age, and in spite of many bitter experiences, Mr. Stead is still a man of many enthusiasms. He has always had the courage of his convictions, and has known what it is to suffer for them. He has probably never, in the course of a long and honorable journalistic career, sought the popular side of a controversy; indeed, during the Boer war he was one of a mere handful of Englishmen to stand out against the entire nation.

As he himself shows, he has had abundant opportunity to form an opinion of Nicholas, and sufficient experience of men to make that opinion valuable. It may be recalled, however, that after spending an hour or two with Richard Croker during a voyage across the Atlantic, when that eminent politician was at the height of his power, Mr. Stead described the boss of Tammany Hall as a benefactor of his countrymen.

No one would think of accusing Mr. Stead of wilful misstatement, but it may be mentioned that, while Mr. Stead informs us that the interview quoted from is the fourth he has had with the Russian sovereign, it is probable that if he had ventured to publish anything detrimental about him in any one of them that one would have been the last. And access to a reigning monarch is a valuable asset to any journalist.

Mr. Hodgetts is a different type of journalist from Mr. Stead. He is of the school which, as a matter of public policy, invariably treats with outward reverence men in high station. More than that, an article like Mr. Hodgetts's appearing in a journal of the standing of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ might secure for its author any degree of consideration on the occasion of a visit to Russia.

Mr. Hodgetts, however, does not pretend to come by his ideas about Nicholas II at first hand, but gives an instructor of the young emperor as his authority; and who ever heard of an instructor having opinions other than complimentary of a royal pupil, even when we get down to the tutors of the princes of the cannibal islands?

Dr. Dillon's rather involved despatch to the _Daily Telegraph_, quoted above, bears internal evidence of having been produced under some sort of pressure. As a matter of fact, it was his first contribution to his paper after his release from arrest to which he had been subjected by reason of his association with Maxim Gorky and other liberals with whom the Russian officials knew him to be in sympathy. If, in the circumstances, Dr. Dillon allowed his name to be attached to a telegram dictated by Trepoff he is not to be severely blamed.

Both Mr. Flint and Mr. Nixon take an admiring view of the Czar, and agree that he is a man of unusual intelligence, the former crediting him with "imperial poise and kingly dignity." It may be noted, however, that both of these gentlemen come within the category of witnesses who, Dr. Johnson believes, may from gratitude exaggerate the praises of kings.

The unnecessary use of the word "imperial" by both Mr. Flint and Mr. Hodgetts, by the way, seems to be palpable flattery, though either gentleman may have employed it merely for rhetorical purposes.

Mr. White, in his estimate of the character of Nicholas, seems to have come very close to the facts. Mr. White is not only an unprejudiced witness, but a trained observer and thinker. He is an American who has spent a considerable portion of his life in European courts, and thus has come out of the ordeal a truer democrat than ever, and he is, above everything else, a truth-seeker and a truth-speaker.

His testimony is the more valuable in that he violates one of the unwritten laws that help to make diplomacy ridiculous in these times, in venturing to make public property of information obtained in a diplomatic capacity within the awesome precincts of a court.

That Mr. White's picture of Nicholas is true to life is evidenced by the present plight of Russia, as well as by the fact that the American diplomat's views are corroborated, not only by the three Russian witnesses who may be considered as testifying against him, but by Messrs. Flint, Nixon and Stead, who speak in his favor. Mr. Stead declares that during his recent interview with the Czar "his spirits were as high, his courage as calm, and his outlook as cheerful as ever." Only a weakling sovereign, careless and unfit to rule, could remain serene, indifferent, and passive--whether his demeanor be characterized as kingly dignity or the self-complacency of mental and moral impotence--under the conditions that exist in Russia to-day.

ANECDOTES OF AUTHORS.

A.T. Quiller-Couch told a good Cornish story the other day in presenting certificates to the members of an ambulance class in his own town of Troy.

"Years ago," he said, "an old Cornish fisherman at a similar class was asked how he would treat the apparently drowned.

"'Well,' he replied, 'the first thing we always did was to empty the man's pockets.'"--_Westminster Gazette._

When Archibald Clavering Gunter began the series of novels which was to make him famous, he tried in vain to find a publisher. As none of them would have anything to do with his books, he was obliged to bring them out himself.

Shortly after the appearance of "Mr. Barnes of New York," he met the head of one of the big publishing houses, who inquired how his last book was selling.

"Fine," responded the cheerful commercialist; "I've sold two tons of it already."

Thackeray chanced to be dining at his club when a pompous officer of the Guards stopped beside the table and said:

"Haw, Thackeray, old boy, I hear Lawrence has been painting yer portrait!"

"So he has," was the reply.

"Full length?"

"No; full-length portraits are for soldiers, that we may see their spurs. But the other end of the man is the principal thing with authors," said Thackeray.--_London Tit-Bits._

Mr. Gladstone was once guilty of deliberately evading an international regulation at the Franco-Italian frontier. He was carrying for his refreshment a basket of fine grapes, which stringent regulations at the time forbade being taken from one country to the other, on account of phylloxera, an insect that attacks the roots and leaves of the grapevines.

Mr. Gladstone's great brain reviewed the situation; he must obey the law, but he was determined to have the grapes, so he sat down then and there on the railway station bench and--ate them.

Irving Bacheller, the author of "Eben Holden," went a little farther north than usual last summer while on his vacation, and penetrated Newfoundland. He caught a good many fish, but this did not prevent his keeping an eye on the natives. He was particularly impressed by the men who spent the day lounging about the village stores.

"What do you fellows do when you sit around the store like this?" he asked of the crowd arranged in a circle of tilted chairs and empty boxes and maintaining a profound silence.

"Well," drawled one of the oldest, "sometimes we set and think, and then again other times we just set."--_Woman's Home Companion._

Marie Corelli's domestic quiet at Stratford-on-Avon seemed likely to be destroyed not long since by the opening of a girls' school in the house immediately adjoining her own. The famous novelist found that the recitations of the pupils greatly interrupted her literary work. She stood it, however, as long as she could, but finally wrote a letter of protest to the proprietor of the school. The reply she received from the elderly school-mistress was prompt, and ran as follows:

"Dear Miss Corelli: Judging from the literary work of yours which it has been my privilege to see, I should say that it would be just as well if you were interrupted even more frequently."--_New York Times._

* * * * *

Emerson Hough once wrote a story called "Hasenberg's Cross-Eyed Horse," which he sought diligently, but unsuccessfully, to market with the greater number of the known periodicals of the world. At last the story found a resting-place in Mr. Hough's desk. Three years ago, feeling a bit let down physically, he took the advice of a distinguished publisher of New York and put himself in the hands of an osteopathic physician.

Some doubts as to the beneficial results existed, but no doubt whatever as to the size of the bill. Mr. Hough pondered long and seriously on the question of getting even with his doctor. At length he happened to think of his old story of the cross-eyed horse.

"I'll have the osteopath treat the horse's cross-eyes," said the author to himself. Whereupon he rewrote the story, sold it promptly at a good figure, and made it a chapter of his last novel, "Heart's Desire," where it is known as "Science at Heart's Desire."--_Bookman._

WHEN THE MUSE CUTS BAIT.

Fish Don't Always Bite, but Everything Is Grist for the Poet's Mill, So Here Are a Few Verses Anglers May Con When the Tide is Out and the Boat's High and Dry on a Mud Flat.

THE COLD-WATER MAN.

By John G. Saxe.

It was an honest fisherman, I knew him passing well; And he lived by a little pond, Within a little dell.

A grave and quiet man was he, Who loved his hook and rod; So even ran his line of life, His neighbors thought it odd.

For science and for books he said He never had a wish; No school to him was worth a fig Except a school of fish.

In short, this honest fisherman All other toils forsook; And, though no vagrant man was he, He lived by hook and crook.

He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth, Nor cared about a name; For, though much famed for fish was he, He never fished for fame.

To charm the fish he never spoke, Although his voice was fine; He found the most convenient way Was just to drop a line!

And many a gudgeon of the pond, If made to speak to-day, Would own, with grief, the angler had A mighty taking way!

One day, while fishing on a log, He mourned his want of luck-- When, suddenly, he felt a bite, And, jerking--caught a duck!

Alas! that day this fisherman Had taken too much grog; And, being but a landsman, too, He couldn't keep the log!

'Twas all in vain, with might and main, He strove to reach the shore; Down, down he went to feed the fish He'd baited oft before!

The jury gave their verdict that 'Twas nothing else but gin That caused the fisherman to be So sadly taken in.

Though one stood out upon a whim, And said the angler's slaughter-- To be exact about the fact-- Was clearly gin-and-water!

The moral of this mournful tale To all is plain and clear-- That drinking habits bring a man Too often to his bier.

And he who scorns to "take the pledge," And keep the promise fast, May be, in spite of fate, a stiff Cold-water man at last!

THE ANGLER'S CHANT.

By Isaac M'Lellan.

Oh, the shriek of the reel, the trout-fisher's-reel! No sound is so sweet to the ear; The hum of the line, the buzz of the wheel! Where the crystalline brook runs so clear.

Here's a shade on the stream, where the willows bend down, Where the waters sleep drowsy and dim, And there where the ripples whirl amber and brown, The lords of the rivulet swim.

Then fling the light tackle with delicate cast, Let your fly like a cobweb alight, A dash and a splash and the victim's fast, While your reel sings a song of delight.

See, yonder a green-moss'd boulder enchecks The stress of the turbulent tides, And there amid bubbles and foam-bell flecks The gold-spotted brook-trout hides.

The sweet breezes blow, the morning sun shines, The white clouds drift slow down the sky; 'Tis a day that is perfect for sport with the lines, For artistic cast of the fly.

Ah, haste to the shore, brother angler, to-day, On the weedy, gray rock take your place, Where the surf, at its base, makes glorious race, And, like rainbows, glitters the spray.

Cast your eye o'er the blue expanses of sea; How lovely, how grand is the scene! The great rolling waves, now dusky, now green, Forever rejoicing and free.

See the flash of the bluefish over the main, The gleam of the bright striped bass! Then the braided line fling, let the reel hum its strain, And so the gay moments shall pass.

FISH LINES.

By Jessica H. Lowell.

A fish sat him down with a blink to think, And dipped his fin thoughtfully into the ink; Then finned this short note: "Dear Tommy," he wrote, "In response to your line of the other day I hasten to thank you without delay. But had not that squirming, delicious young worm Shown a set in his curves too suspiciously firm, I might not be here To write you, my dear (What you may not believe, 'tis so monstrously queer), That the wriggler you sent With most kindly intent Had swallowed a pin that was frightfully bent!

"You see--if I'd greedily taken a bite, The pain and the shock would have finished me quite; So, the next time you send, My juvenile friend, Just mark if the worm has a natural bend Ere you dangle him temptingly down here to be The death of some innocent young thing like me." And he grinned as he used some dry sand for a blotter (Ink dries rather slowly, you know, under water), Then signed it in haste And sealed it with paste.

It was growing quite dark and he's no time to waste, So he posted it slyly, without wasting more, On the crest of a ripple that ran toward shore; Then, shaking his scales in a satisfied glow, All shining and shimmering, sank down below, Where he soon fell asleep In an oyster bed deep, With the green sheets of water his slumber to keep.

_St. Nicholas._

THREE FISHERS.

Three fishers went strolling away to the stream, To the babbling brook where the fishes swim. Of speckled beauties they all did dream, And each felt certain they'd bite for him. For men will tramp from morning till night, And suffer the fierce mosquito's bite, And drink to stop their groaning.

Three fishers strolled into the market-place, 'Twas some two hours after the sun went down, And a look of gloom was on each man's face, For at empty baskets they each did frown, For men may fish, but may get no bite, And tired and hungry go home at night, And vent their wrath in groaning.

Three fishers strolled into the beer saloon, Where the crowd sat round and the gas was bright, And each gaily whistled a merry tune, And showed his fish with assumed delight, For men will fish, yea, and men will lie, And boast of catching the fish they buy, While inwardly they're groaning.

BULLS IN PARLIAMENT.

Some of the Mixed Metaphors Perpetrated in the English House of Commons Have Afforded Amusement for the Entire World.