THE history of Russia and the history of England present two clearly defined and widely different types of national progress. In England we have had several important revolutions, but we may fairly say that the thread of historic con tinuity has never been broken, and accordingly the history of the nation presents a long and regular development little affected by foreign influences. The reform movements, whether in peaceful or in stormy times, have always proceeded-at least until quite recently, when theoretical considerations have been occasionally used for party purposes-from keenly felt practical wants, and have subsided as soon as those wants were satisfied. The legislative and administrative authority has never slipped into the hands of pedantic professors or bureaucratic doctrinaires, but has always been wielded, or at least controlled, by men of the world, who had for the most NEW SERIES.-VOL. XXVI., No. 4

Old Series Com plete in 63 vols.

part learned to manage their own private affairs before undertaking to manage the affairs of the State. Thus the upper classes, having constantly received a political education, have been preserved from political dreaming, and the root-and-branch method of reform has never come into fashion. Very different has been the history of Russia during the last two centuries. In the reign of Peter the Great the thread of historical continuity was rudely snapped asunder. The old traditional methods of government were suddenly abandoned, and since that time the Tsars and their official advisers have ruled and reorganized according to foreign principles without the sympathy or co-operation of the people. Being men of theory and trammelled neither by tradition nor by practical knowledge, these legislators of the new school have habitually launched into grand schemes that would make a

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prosaic, practical House of Commons stand aghast, and the country has been periodically subjected to "revolutions from above" such as are inconceivable among a people accustomed to self-gov

ernment.

I have no intention of discussing here the various advantages and disadvantages of these two systems of government, but I wish to point out one practical result which is closely connected with the subject of the present paper. In England the reform movement has been slow but steady, and where reformers have gained a new position they have generally been able to hold it, for the simple reason that a very large section of the people has been ready to support them. In Russia, on the contrary, the advance has been rapid and spasmodic. It is easy, of course, to make any number of grand schemes on paper, and in a country where an uncontrolled autocrat rules over a politically passive population it is not difficult to transform any bit of paper into a law; but it is a very difficult thing, in Russia as elsewhere, to make a grand legislative scheme work well in real life among a people unprepared for it. Unforeseen practical difficulties arise, unknown disturbing forces are called into existence, the instruments do not effect what was expected of them -in a word, the plausible programme, which looked so well on paper, cannot be carried out, and the consequent despondency is in proportion to the warmth of the preceding inordinate expectations. Thus a period of violent reform is pretty sure to be succeeded by a period of equally violent reaction.

The history of the present campaign in Asia Minor has so far illustrated well the Russian character and habitual mode of action. First, great enthusiasm, inordinate expectations, and a haughty contempt for difficulties; next, a rapid advance, obstacles surmounted with wonderful facility, difficult positions stormed with reckless, dashing gallantry; and as a result of all this, overweening confidence whispering to them that, as one of their proverbs graphically and quaintly puts it, "if they tried to ford the ocean, the waters would not rise higher than their knees." Then comes a check, obstacles are met which no amount of dash and gallantry can surmount, the

overheated enthusiasm cools, the retreat begins, the imprudence of neglecting to secure firmly and methodically the positions gained becomes apparent, and the great shadowy conquest collapses into the most modest of acquisitions. This has been the history of the campaign in Asia Minor, and it has likewise been the political history of Russia since the time of Peter the Great-a fact which may be recommended to the consideration of those who imagine that impulsiveness and spasmodic enthusiasm can flourish only in southern climes. In the opening chapter of Macaulay's history, it will be remembered, there is an eloquent passage in which national progress is compared to the advancing tide. First the wave advances, and then it recedes, but only in order to gain new force to advance further than before. To use this metaphor, I should say that in a country like ours the waves are mere ripples. If we have what may be termed periods of Liberal enthusiasm and periods of Conservative reaction, the enthusiasm does not drive us very far forward, and the Conservatism simply stops us without perceptibly pulling us back. In countries like Russia, on the contrary, the tide advances in great rolling, foamcrested waves, and the recoil is, of course, in proportion to the impulse. It is in these moments of recoil that Secret Societies are likely to appear.

I say likely, because other conditions are also requisite. If a people is in a state of complete political passivity and indifference, there may be conspiracies among those who surround the throne, but there cannot be secret societies in the proper sense of the term. It is only when a certain portion of the public, excluded from political influence, have imbibed political aspirations which they are prevented from expressing freely, that the formation of secret societies becomes possible. This is well illustrated in the history of Russia. Since the end of the seventeenth century there have been four great reforming epochs, associated respectively with the names of Peter the Great, Catherine II., Alexander I., and Alexander II. Each of these violent advances was succeeded by a corresponding recoil, but the first two produced no secret societies, because the reform enthusiasm which produced them

was confined to the rulers. There was no outside public sharing the enthusiasm, and excluded from the sobering influence which experience and the possession of authority naturally generate. All who moved forward in the impulsion retreated voluntarily in the recoil, and when the Emperor Paul, Catherine's son and successor, carried his reactionary policy ad absurdum, he was opposed, not by secret societies, but merely by a little band of conspirators-men belonging to the Court-who removed him by assassination. The two more recent movements had a very different character, and of them I must speak more in detail. Whilst resembling each other in their origin, they are very different in their character and aim, and the points of similarity and contrast were reflected in the secret societies which they produced. Let us glance first at those in the time of Alexander I.

In 1801, Alexander I. ascended the throne after the violently repressive reign of his father Paul, who had a fanatical hatred of everything which had the least odor of liberalism. Alexander presented in almost every respect a marked contrast to his father. He had been trained under the eyes of the philosophic Catherine II. by a Swiss tutor called Laharpe, a man of high moral character and imbued with the liberalism then in fashion. Under the influence of this teacher he had, at the age of nineteen, in spite of the reactionary spirit that was then dominant at Court, learned to hate despotism in all its forms, to love liberty as something to which every human being had an inalienable right, and even to rejoice at the success of the French Revolution! He wished to see republics established everywhere, and regarded that form of government as the only one consistent with the rights of

man.

For the first time in her history, Russia received as her legitimate, autocratic Tsar, a young sentimental Republican!

As soon as this young Republican succeeded to the throne, he determined to put his philosophical principles into practice on a grand scale. A boundless field of activity opened itself up to his imagination. He would make his subjects free, civilised, prosperous, and happy, and would then retire like Washington

to the ranks of private life, where he would enjoy, without the cares and responsibilities of office, the love and veneration of his emancipated countrymen.

These youthful dreams, I need scarcely say, were not destined to be realised. Alexander was not of the stuff of which great reformers are made. His policy did not proceed from vigorous natural instincts, as in the case of Peter the Great, nor from keen political sagacity, as in the case of Catherine II. His political aspirations were the result of education on a weak impressionable character, and, as such, could ill bear the rough handling of real life. He had been taught to believe that a sovereign had merely to be virtuous, well-intentioned, and animated with the liberal spirit of the time, in order to render his people prosperous and happy. But gradually he discovered how different real life is from theory. By bitter experience he learned that high aims, liberal convictions, and autocratic power do not suffice to make a successful reformer. Looking back over a reign of more than twenty years, he could not but feel that he had realised few of his youthful aspirations, and that his humanitarianism and liberalism had proved a mistake. In the army he saw insubordination and disaffection; in the civil administration venality, theft, and abuses of every kind. "These fainéants," he said, speaking of the officials, "would steal my ships of war if they had the chance, and if they could draw my teeth without my noticing it, I should have been long since without a tooth in my head." In his foreign policy he felt that he had been equally unsuccessful. The sovereigns whom he had saved in the hour of danger showed themselves ungrateful, and the nations. whom he had helped to free from the Napoleonic yoke now forgot their liberator and regarded him-not altogether without reason-with profound distrust.. Even many of his own subjects, on ac

count of his Polish schemes and his refusal to aid the Greeks against the Turks, regarded him as almost a traitor to his country and to the national faith. As is often the case with ambitious natures who fail and have not the moral energy to begin anew, he sought consolation in religious contemplation and mysticisma world in which no energy is required,