Chapter XXXVII (4)

The existing monuments of ancient civilisation in China are not of the same kind as those of Egypt and Assyria, of Greece and Rome. Time has spared the mighty structures of these latter empires, as if in compensation for having buried the nations that reared them; but in China, where the dynasties have succeeded one another without interruption, and the people have gone on increasing in numbers, down to our own day, the wars which have swept over it, and the revolutions which have shaken it, have destroyed almost all the monuments which would have attested its former magnificence. We refer particularly to the great revolution effected by the Emperor Che-hoang-te, (about 246 A.C.), who, for political purposes, ordered the destruction of every monument of the past, whether in metal, in stone, or on paper,—a proscription which lasted for nearly a century, and which left comparatively little to be regained by the most persevering researches of after ages. Nevertheless, the early ages of the Chinese empire seem to have been distinguished by not a little science, and many rare discoveries. In their carefully kept ancient annals, we have full particulars of the circumstances attending an eclipse of the sun, which happened 2155 years before Christ; and in the reign of Shun, a century before this, we read of “the instrument adorned with precious stones, which represented the stars, and the movable tube which served to observe them”—words which plainly indicate a celestial sphere, and a telescope, of some kind or other. After speaking of the discussions which took place in Europe last century, in regard to the high antiquity of astronomical observations in China, M. Pauthier remarks,—“All that we know of the reigns of the philosophical emperors, Yao, Shun, and Yu, and of the state of astronomical science in their time, justifies the supposition that, in the days of those emperors, sure methods were known for calculating beforehand the precise date of eclipses of the sun and moon, and all that concerned the calendar.” Another piece of knowledge possessed by the ancient Chinese, which is calculated to astonish our modern astronomers and mathematicians, is that not merely of the general spherical shape of the earth, but of its oblate form, in consequence of the flattening of the poles. We have not space to set forth the grounds we have for holding it probable that they really were acquainted with this recondite fact in physics; we must hasten on to add that the _Sacred Book of Annals_ mentions facts which indirectly prove that music, poetry, and painting were known from the earliest historic times of China, and we know for certain that in the days of Confucius, the first of those arts was carefully studied, and apparently highly developed. Gunpowder was known four centuries before our era, and we read not only of this “devouring fire,” but of “fireboxes,” “fire-tubes,” and “globes containing the fire of heaven,”—which latter expression, by its allusion to lightning, seems to indicate as if powder, even in those days, was used as something more than a mere toy. A knowledge of the properties of the magnet or loadstone is another thing in which the Chinese were some two thousand or more years in advance of us Europeans; and the art of printing (by means of wooden blocks—xylography) was in use among them six centuries before anything of the kind was thought of elsewhere.

The character of Chinese literature may be guessed from what we have said of their system of education, which eschews speculation, and attends to little else than the precepts of public and private morality. The grandest, or we may say, the only grand, achievements of their literature are in the department of practical politics and morals; and next to this are their annals and statistical reports upon the various provinces of the empire. Poetry is much studied by the educated classes in early life for the sake of obtaining command of language and elegance of expression, the latter of which is highly valued in the communications and epistles of the government officials; but the Chinese temperament possesses little of the _vis poetica_; and of the millions of Mandarins who have learned to rhyme, very few indeed have written anything that would pass as mediocre in Europe. They have a good command of poetic figures and expressions, and their descriptive pieces and moral odes are fair productions; but that is all that can be said in their favour. Historical writings occupy a prominent place in their literature, and the greatest pains are taken to insure accuracy of statement; but these works are mere annals or chronologies, and have no pretensions to those intellectual and artistic qualities which distinguish the Livys and Xenophons, the Gibbons and Humes of ancient and modern Europe. It is to the credit of China that it has had a drama from a very early period, although we cannot speak particularly as to its merits. The writing of novels, also, dates as far back as the third century, and seems to be a department of literature very congenial to the Chinese mind. Such works exist in great numbers, and amongst much trash there are some very able productions.

In the appreciation of beauty, the Chinese are below any other nation that ever emerged from barbarism. Their painting is of a very commonplace description,—though not so bad, we believe, as it is generally supposed to be in this country; and their only notion of sculpture is, to represent a thing lusty in order that it may look grand. Their architecture, says Mr Barrow, “is void of taste, grandeur, beauty, solidity, or convenience; their houses are merely tents [an exaggeration]; and there is nothing magnificent even in the palace of the emperor.” One of the few notable exceptions to this remark is the celebrated Porcelain Pagoda at Nanking, which Du Halde thought “the most solid, remarkable, and magnificent structure in the eastern world.” For this want of beauty in their buildings, some excuse may be found in the circumstance that the law does not permit them to deviate from the established rules, and that any Mandarin who should venture to indulge an architectural fancy of his own would quickly draw down upon himself the vengeance of the Board of Rites; but “when there’s a will there’s a way,” and had the general taste ever advanced beyond the tent-shaped domiciles of their early ancestors, the administration of the law would hardly have proved an insurmountable barrier to improvement.

However flattering to the Chinese some of the preceding statements may be, it will be seen, on the whole, that they by no means hold a high place in regard to might of intellect. The discoverers of many important facts, and inventors of many useful arts, they yet seem as if they had stumbled upon them by chance, and were unable to appreciate their value; and the highly civilised race who, ages ago, were familiar with astronomy and printing, gunpowder and the magnetic needle, are now incomparably surpassed in their use by nations comparatively of yesterday. “Their mechanical contrivances,” says Mr Wade, “remain but as monuments of an originality which seems to have exhausted itself by its earlier efforts. They appear never to have investigated the principles of the discoveries by which the requirements of their agriculture, architecture, or navigation, were first satisfied. The means which their genius suggested to meet their immediate wants they adopted, and, without the aid of theory, perfected—in some instances, to a degree not surpassed, if attained, by the most scientific of nations; but errors and defects were left untouched; no spirit of inquiry quickened the dormant powers of their reason, and the lack of a habit of reflection prevented their pushing their invention beyond a certain necessary point.” There is something stunted or microscopic in the intellect of the Chinese, which leads them to magnify trifles, yet to be blind when great facts stare them in the face,—to keep the steam-engine a toy and gunpowder a plaything, yet to spend an infinity of skill and patience upon the manufacture of one of their ivory “puzzles.” Excellent in imitation, and well adapted for details, they are yet deficient in that highest quality of genius, which grasps a subject at once in all its bearings—which reasons outwards and upwards from the centre-object of contemplation, and which discerns in it its latent powers and the uses to which they may be applied,—which sees in the vapour of a kettle the embryo of the mighty steam-engine, and in the fall of an apple the gravitating force that sustains the universe.

There cannot be a doubt, however, that the Chinese character has never yet had fair play. It has never had such advantages as those enjoyed by the nations of Europe, or indeed by every civilised community of modern times. We will not speak of the over-population, and consequent ceaseless and absorbing struggle for the necessaries of life, which ever tends to act injuriously upon the moral and intellectual qualities of the majority of the people,—by extinguishing all high aspirations, and bending down the soul in slavery to the wants of the moment; for that over-population is not peculiar to China, and has, moreover, the attendant, though hardly compensating benefit of sharpening the national wits, and placing a large supply of cheap labour at the disposal of capital. We would rather point out the following peculiarity which affects this people alone of the nations of the earth, and which must ever be kept in mind by those who would correctly appreciate China’s place in universal history.

The Chinese empire belongs to the ancient—indeed, we ought to say to the primitive, world. It has long survived the empires of Egypt and Assyria, and the kingdoms of ancient India,—yet it is with these States alone that the isolated civilisation of China can fairly be compared. Like them, China has reared a civilisation for herself, without any help from without. Throughout her unparalleled existence of more than forty centuries, she has been a world to herself. No influx of new ideas, no inspection of other civilisation than her own, has been granted to her. She has grown up like a Crusoe and his children and grandchildren, upon a solitary island,—forced ever to compare themselves by themselves, and never enjoying the rare privilege, and help to improvement, to “see ourselves as others see us.” We Europeans of the present day—in this age of “running to and fro upon the earth”—are privileged to behold the endless variety of life, manners, and institutions with which the world is stored—to judge of them by their several effects, as revealed in the pages of history, and to draw from them their moral; thus benefiting by the experience of a whole world, and perfecting ourselves upon the model of the best of our race. Moreover, the blood of a dozen different tribes of mankind runs in our veins (as was the case on a smaller scale in ancient Greece), producing a richly-blended nature, excelling in all departments, whether of thought or action—producing now a Shakespeare and now a Napoleon, now a Hildebrand and now a Howard, now a Richard Cœur-de-Lion and now a Peter the Hermit, now a Luther and now a Mozart, now a Cromwell and now a Robespierre, now a Scott, a Watt, a Burns, a Dickens, a Kean, or a Grimaldi. China, on the contrary, presents but one phase of human nature,—but to that phase it has done marvellous justice. Good sense is its only idol—practical usefulness its prime test; but we have yet to learn that the former of these qualities has ever been more wisely or so perseveringly worshipped, or the latter been so unflinchingly and universally applied.

An attentive observation seems to indicate that this most ancient of empires, for long stationary in power and intellect, has of late been in many respects retrograding. “The arts once peculiarly their own,” says Mr Wade, “have declined;—neither their silks nor their porcelain, in their own estimation, equal in quality those of former years.” And Mr Fortune arrives at a similar conclusion from the signs of decay which he met with in his wanderings. “There can be no doubt,” he says, “that the Chinese empire arrived at its highest state of perfection many years ago, and since then it has been rather retrograding than advancing. Many of the northern cities, evidently once in the most flourishing condition, are now in a state of decay, or in ruins; the pagodas which crown the distant hills are crumbling to pieces, and apparently are seldom repaired; the spacious temples are no longer as they used to be in former days; even the celebrated temples on Poo-too-San (an island near Chusan), to which, as to Jerusalem of old, the natives came flocking to worship, show all the signs of having seen better days. And from this I conclude that the Chinese, as a nation, are retrograding.” Were this falling off only visible in the case of the temples, it might be wholly accounted for by the increasing apathy or scepticism of the people in regard to their religion; but, in truth, these signs of decay extend into almost every department of the State. And, writing immediately before the present rebellion broke out, Mr Wade says, “With a fair seeming of immunity from invasion, sedition, or revolt, leave is taken to consider this vast empire as surely, though slowly, decaying. It has, in many respects, retrograded since the commencement of the present dynasty, and in none that we are aware of has it made any sensible progress.”

It would be a great error, however, to suppose that this vast empire is now stooping irretrievably to a fall. The whole tenor of its past history forbids the supposition. Again and again has it reformed itself;—again and again has it passed through the purifying furnace of suffering and convulsion, and re-emerged firm as before. Its periodic convulsions are the healthy efforts of nature to throw off the corruptions which ease engenders in the system; and however much temporary suffering may attend the present, like every other of its score of preceding revolutions, the resultant good will ultimately atone for all. China will never fall. Its homogeneousness, and the unconquerable vastness of its population, endow it with an earthly immortality. We have said that it lacks the variety of Europe; but in that variety, be it noted, there lurks political weakness, as much as intellectual strength. Every unit of Chinese society is homogeneous. The whole population are _one_—in blood, sentiments, and language;—and hence it contains none of those discordant elements, those unwillingly-yoked parts, which proved the destruction of the old “universal empires,” and which are destined ere long to annihilate the present territorial system of Europe. China, in fact, has ever been, and is, what European Germany and Slavonia, and every other great State of the future will be—a _Race-Empire_;—and therefore indestructible. The Monguls may reign in it for eighty years, or the Mantchoos for two hundred,—and even then only by adopting the political and social institutions of the natives. But as time runs on, the wheel ever turns; one after another the foreign hosts are chased from the land, and a native dynasty is destined still to wield the sceptre of the Flowery Land.

But we must say more than this in regard to the fortunes of China. What it has hitherto wanted is, _new ideas_,—and now it is about to get them. In old times, nations could hardly inoculate their neighbours with their ideas save by conquest, and new mental life was only produced after a temporary death of liberty. It is otherwise nowadays, and China is likely to benefit by the change. As long as she was feeble, and as long as the sword was the only civiliser, Providence kept her shut in from the prowess of the restless Western nations. But now that her people have grown like the sands on the sea-shore for multitude, and that steam has become the peaceful “locomotive of principles,” China is opened. Often as she has reformed herself before, the present is her true second-birth. She will now obtain those new ideas of which she has hitherto been starved, and will enter into ever-memorable union with the rest of the civilised world. The energy and science of the Anglo-Saxons will penetrate the empire, and the Chinese will not be slow to avail themselves of the new lights. Aversion to change, when such change is recommended by manifest utility, is not an original element of the Chinese character,—as we learn on the authority of Jesuit writers two centuries ago, before the advent to power of the Tartars, and their jealous exclusion of foreigners. And then, what country in the world can compare with China as a field for the triumphs of mechanical enterprise! Its vast rivers and canals present unrivalled scope for steam-navigation; and its wide plains and valley-lands offer matchless facilities for railways. And then all this amidst the densest and perhaps busiest population in the world. The amount of internal travelling in China is such, that we are assured by those who have penetrated into the interior, that there are continuous streams of travellers on horse, on foot, and on litters, as well as long lines of merchandise, from Canton to the Great Wall, and over distances of fifteen hundred miles;—in many parts so crowded as to impede one another, and even in the mountain-passes so numerous as to leave no traveller out of sight of others before or behind. In what other country of the world are such phenomena to be met with? And though it were vain to enter upon the tempting field for speculation which these few facts—and they could be multiplied indefinitely—present to us; yet we need have no hesitation to predict a striking future for the Chinese race, and one which will benefit the world at large, perhaps not less than themselves.

RELEASE.

I.

Away!—No more, the sport of scorn,
My vassal love shall serve the Past.
The bonded athlete, blind and shorn,
Hath pull’d the darkness down at last!

II.

The gilded wire he once would spurn
The bird shall seek; the slave, once free,
To keep the bonds he burst shall turn;
Ere I return, weak heart, to thee.

III.

I gave thee up my life in thrall.
God wot, it was no silken thread!
Thy pride would make the gyves to gall;
And it has made them break instead.

IV.

Thy smiles might make me smile again:
Thy frowns in me no frown can move:
Thine art is less than my disdain:
Thy scorn is weak, as was my love.

V.

Out of the long lethargic trance
Of tears I wake with sudden strength.
My heart is cold beneath thy glance:
And pain hath grown to power at length.

VI.

The suns _must_ shine: the months _will_ bring
Fresh flowers. New heat my fancy warms.
Young hopes cry out, like birds that sing
Against the wake of thunderstorms.

VII.

A light through tears! new forms, new powers
Arise: new life my spirit fills:
As down dark skirts of drifting showers
The wild light reels among the hills.

VIII.

Where leaves are sear new buds may start:
Spring flowers may blow from winter frost:
But never to the selfish heart
Returns the empire pride hath lost.

IX.

There’s but a moment ’twixt the Past
And all the Future. Now I see
That mystic moment’s o’er at last;
And I am far away from thee.
TREVOR.

TOO LATE.

I.

And we have met, O love, at last!
Thy cheek is wan with wild regret;
The bloom of life is half-way past;
But we have met!—yes, we have met!

II.

My heart was wak’d beneath thy kiss
From dreams which seem to haunt it yet:
But I am I—thou, thou—and this
Is waking truth—and we have met!

III.

Ah, though ’tis late, there may remain
Before the grave—oh yet, even yet—
Some quiet hours; and, free from pain,
Some happy days, now we have met.

IV.

Thine arms! thine arms!—one long embrace!
Ah, what is this? thine eyes are wet—
Thy hand—it waves me from the place—
Ah fool!—O love, too late we met!

V.

Couldst thou not wait?—what hast thou done?
Another’s rights are sharply set
’Twixt thee and me. I come—mine own
Receives me not. In vain we met.

VI.

Farewell! be happy. I forgive.
Yet what remains for both? Forget
That we did ever meet; and live
As tho’ our meeting were not yet,

VII.

But later. We shall meet once more,
When eyes grown dim with care and fret
No longer weep; when life is o’er,
And earth and heaven in God are met.
TREVOR.

THE PROGRESS AND POLICY OF RUSSIA IN CENTRAL ASIA.[36]

It is one of the happiest peculiarities in the construction of the human mind, that it acquires knowledge so gradually, that it cannot realise the extent of that ignorance by which it was once clouded; and forms its opinions so imperceptibly, that no precise period can be attached to their origin. It is just a year since Prince Menschikoff visited Constantinople upon a mission which subsequent events have proved to have been fraught with the most portentous consequences to Europe. If it were possible now to convey to the public any adequate notion of the lamentable want of information which then prevailed upon all matters connected with the Eastern Question, people would be inclined indignantly to deny its accuracy, if they did not go so far as to maintain stoutly that they had always penetrated into the true character of the policy of Russia, and anticipated her schemes of aggression; and, certainly, considering the prominence which this topic has acquired, it is not to be wondered at if familiarity with it should lead us into so natural an error. Nobody now doubts that the occupation of the Principalities formed part of that system of territorial aggrandisement which is the very essence of Russian policy, and which has not the less been successfully at work, because its operations have hitherto been so silently conducted as not to excite the alarm of the great powers of Europe.

The results of that policy were always apparent, no less in the history than on the map of Europe; and if they have only been forced upon our attention by events which have recently occurred, it has not been because the facts themselves were wanting which should have taught us what to expect, and have prepared us to meet that contingency which was inevitable; but unfortunately, even now, our inquiries and our discoveries end here, we are content with recognising the leading principle of Muscovite diplomacy without looking more narrowly into its workings, and thus acquiring the very knowledge and experience best adapted to enable us to cope successfully with the wily and ambitious power which is now defying Europe. For it is a fair inference, that if success has uniformly attended the aggressive schemes of Russia, nothing else than a departure from her established policy could lead to a different result; and therefore it is interesting to investigate the system of frontier extension which she has hitherto pursued, so that, if it has been altered, we may not only be able to account for so important a change, but to show how it may be taken advantage of by the powers opposed to her in the present struggle.

Peter the Great devised a scheme of territorial annexation, which during his own splendid career he practised with the greatest success upon neighbouring countries, which he bequeathed to his successors, and which a very slight knowledge of Russian history will enable us to recognise as the formula since adhered to by the successive occupants of the Muscovite throne. In an able pamphlet recently published, upon the _Progress and Present Position of Russia in the East_, the process is thus described: “It invariably begins with disorganisation, by means of corruption and secret agency, pushed to the extent of disorder and civil contention. Next in order comes military occupation to restore tranquillity; and in every instance the result has been, PROTECTION FOLLOWED BY INCORPORATION.” This process, however, we hope to illustrate in a more detailed account of some of the acquisitions of the last century; but first it will be interesting to observe why the system of Peter the Great was the only one calculated to attain the object for which it was designed. That object was to extend the frontier of the empire in _every_ direction, and to continue to do so to an unlimited amount. There was no single especially-coveted province, which, once gained, was sufficient to satisfy the ambition of the Czars. It was a never-ending process, and one which depended for its successful working entirely upon a strict adherence to the formula; for it is evident, that in proportion as the frontier became extended did the difficulty of guarding it increase, and that caution upon which the whole policy was built became more necessary with every new outpost which was established, in order that the jealousy of neighbouring States might not be awakened, or the tranquillity of the newly-acquired provinces disturbed. Where an influence so destructive to independence, and so blighting to prosperity was at work, it could not steal over the doomed country too imperceptibly; and, therefore, not until this latter had become sufficiently enervated was the disguise under which it had been acquired thrown aside, and the protecting hand of the friend was now recognised to be the iron grasp of an insatiable giant.

Hence it is no longer a matter of surprise if we find that, from Norway to China, the Russian frontier is composed entirely of provinces which have been added to the empire since the accession of Peter the Great. But with the principles of annexation which he inculcated, there were also rules laid down for the guidance of his successors in the administration of new territory; and the success which has attended every scheme of aggression, only renders a strict adherence to these maxims the more indispensable, since the empire is now encircled with a belt of disaffected provinces five thousand miles in length, and varying in breadth from three hundred to one thousand miles—a barrier not to be depended upon, and formed of very combustible materials; indeed, in time of war, a source of weakness rather than of strength, and from which much is to be apprehended. It is easy, then, to see why war formed no part of the policy of the Great Peter. He did not recommend coming Czars to surround themselves with gunpowder and then to thrust in the match, but rather by a slow process to decompose and absorb the combustible particles—and this in many provinces has almost been effected. It is a work of time, which requires both external and internal tranquillity, and to engage in a general war is to undo all that has been going on during some of the quieter years of the last century. Energies which a long course of oppression have now almost crushed, will again develop themselves; and when the work of retribution once begins, there will be a heavy reckoning to be paid.

In all his diplomatic relations hitherto, the Emperor Nicholas has proved himself a worthy disciple of his great ancestor. He has never made a treaty without obtaining fresh territory, or acquiring the exercise of rights over new provinces which have ever proved the inevitable precursors of annexation. Recent attempts at negotiation, indeed, have not terminated in conformity with the uniform policy of the Czars; and we may venture to predict that the history of Russia affords no precedent for any such treaty as that which will probably be made at the termination of the hostilities now impending—and yet the Emperor has nothing to reproach himself with. Everything combined to lead him to suppose that the time had arrived to justify him in entering upon another step of the annexing process in the direction of Turkey. There had been comparatively little difficulty in appropriating Turkish provinces hitherto, and he is going through the customary formalities when his proceedings are most unexpectedly nipped in the bud, by what he had, no doubt, heretofore supposed to be an impossible combination of powers in the West. If the contingency of a war with Europe has never been anticipated by Russian autocrats as an impediment in the way of their aggressive designs, it is simply because the possibility of Europe combined against Russia has never been contemplated. If England and France were not now united to resist Russia, a treaty with Turkey might soon be expected upon conditions no less favourable than that of Adrianople. But, to the dismay and astonishment of the Emperor, the time for making the treaty has arrived, and he finds that it is literally hopeless to attempt to drive a profitable bargain. He has been called upon to choose between unconditional surrender of the countries he has occupied and unmitigated war. How, then, is he prepared to meet this contingency so suddenly forced upon him, how is his position affected by an emergency which has never been provided for, and how are the allied powers best able to profit by it? It is apparent, that if the power of Russia for defence or for attack depended only upon the extent of her resources, it would be enormous. Fortunately, however, the vital question is, not how vast, but how available those resources are—whether their development has been increased with the limits of the empire, or impeded by the acquisition of those extensive territories, the recent subjugation of which, to the rule of the Czar, must exercise an important influence upon the destinies of Russia in a crisis like the present?

In order thoroughly to appreciate these considerations, it would be necessary to dissect the whole extended frontier of the empire, and consider generally:—The political combinations which have in every case led to the annexation of each individual province—the advantage secured to Russia by such annexation—the present internal condition of the conquered province—the reasons which render any further extension of the frontier line in the same direction undesirable—and also to what country in Europe these reasons are more especially applicable—finally, with reference to the war now impending, the comparative strength or weakness of the advanced posts, and their general merits as points of attack. In making this survey the most eastern limit to which Russian influence extends forms the natural starting-point, and, as we explore the sands of Tartary, we shall soon discover that they possess at least far higher claims upon the notice of the British public than the snows of Lapland. At the same time, the information which we possess upon this remote quarter of the globe is so meagre as to render any very full account of the Kirghiz Steppes and their inhabitants impossible—and the historical records are so uncertain as to make it somewhat difficult to follow every step of the process by which Russia gradually exerted her influence over those nomadic hordes who wander between China and the Caspian, between Siberia and Khiva. Nor would there be much use in pursuing the inquiry, did it not derive its interest from the extreme anxiety Russia has manifested for a century past to advance and consolidate her power in this direction—incurring vast expense and sparing no efforts to carry out the apparently insane project of subduing two millions of the most impracticable savages that ever defied civilisation, and annexing a more uninhabitable series of deserts than are to be found in the whole continent of Asia. It is not to be wondered at, if an attempt so long and earnestly persisted in, and apparently so little in accordance with the sagacity which usually characterises Muscovite diplomacy, should attract attention, more especially since the motives ostensibly assigned by Russia are by no means sufficient to account for her course of procedure. The necessity of protecting and encouraging her Eastern trade has been put very prominently forward as the principal ground of interference with independent barbarians; and, in so far as her commercial intercourse with Khiva and Boukhara are likely to promote her ulterior designs, this is doubtless the case. The trade of the East once passed through the Caucasian provinces; but when those provinces fell into the hands of Russia, it was diverted into another channel by the establishment of a restrictive system which proved that the encouragement of commerce was merely the pretext used to acquire a territory, the prosperity of which was a matter of indifference to the government. Had the same energies been expended in the formation of roads, or the construction of canals throughout the empire, which have been devoted to the protection of trade on the Kirghiz Steppes, the best interests of commerce would have been immeasurably further advanced; and therefore, so far as they are concerned, we are fairly entitled to assume that they did not furnish the real motives for any such expenditure. Perhaps a more plausible excuse is to be found in the annual captures by the Kirghiz of Russians who were sold to the Khivans as slaves. But the number of these was very trifling, and the sums spent in a year, for political purposes, would have sufficed to repurchase ten times over those who were thus unfortunately kidnapped.

We have had, indeed, sufficient experience of the intrigues of Russia in the East, to enable us to perceive at once, that the object which she has in view in subjugating Tartary is none other than that which she betrayed in her secret intercourse with Persia; and, in the present state of our political relations with the Russian empire, it is important to inquire how far her designs in the East have been attended with success, in order that we may be able to appreciate at their proper value those rumours respecting the advance of her armies in this direction, which find a ready circulation among those whom ignorance disposes to credulity, and an exaggerated estimate of the power and resources of our enemy excites to alarm. Thus we have had it regularly communicated to us as a fact for the last six months from India, that a Russian army is at Oorjunge, two marches distant from Khiva, with an occasional intimation received from good authority, that it is prepared to invade India, reinforced by levies of indomitable cavalry, supposed to have been raised upon the Steppes of Tartary. Alluding to such reports as these, the _Journal de St Petersburg_ inquires naturally enough whether the _Times_ and its contemporaries have correspondents in the little states of Upper Asia, and records with much amusement some of the most glaring inconsistencies which have been gravely listened to, and credited by the British public. Thus, although Russia was said to have formed a quadruple alliance with the Khans of Khiva and Boukhara, and Dost Mahomed, it was nevertheless necessary to seize the town of Khiva, which succumbed after an energetic resistance of thirty-two days—certainly a most improbable mode this of cementing the alliance. At the same time, it is due to another portion of the home community to give them the benefit of holding views of a very different character. They utterly ignore the influence of Russia in the East—treat her possible advance in that direction as a chimera—and the power which she has already acquired as a bugbear from which nothing is to be apprehended. The fact that views so diametrically opposed to one another are very generally entertained in this country, induces us to hope that any information we may be able to afford upon a subject which has hitherto been scarcely investigated, may prove both useful and interesting.

Among the vast and varied schemes formed by Peter the Great, for increasing his dominions and his influence in the East, he early conceived the design of opening up a trade with those nations to which, of all European powers, Russia was the most contiguous, and whose riches at that period found their outlet by different overland routes to the great markets of the West. In 1717, he sent a mission to the Khan of Khiva, under Prince Bekevitch, to negotiate a commercial treaty. The attempt, however, proved abortive, and Prince Bekevitch and his whole troop were assassinated. This catastrophe served its purpose, in so far as it proved that the really effective way of attaining the desired end would ultimately be by coercion, rather than by alliance. But as the vast tract of intervening country was inhabited by wandering tribes of savages, their subjugation was involved in any scheme of extended conquest. The motives which stimulated and encouraged Russia in the accomplishment of this primary object, have increased in proportion as the possessions and influence of Great Britain in India have been extended, and that trade monopolised by the enterprise and capital of this country, which Peter the Great had destined to flow in a very different direction. The task, however, has proved one which for a century has demanded the exercise of a more than usual share of Muscovite cunning and perseverance; nor has it yet been so perfectly completed as to render the conquest of Khiva a matter of certain practicability. It fortunately does not fall within our limits to enter into any dissertation upon the origin of the Kirghiz Cuzzacks, or to attempt to chronicle the early history of these tribes, which is as vague and uncertain as records of barbarism usually are. It appears that the country now inhabited by the Kirghiz Cuzzacks, was formerly occupied by the Black Kirghiz or Bouroutes, nomades who attained to some degree of civilisation by reason of the commercial relations which they maintained with the Arabs, Boukharians, and above all, with the Khazars, who, inhabiting the Steppes of Southern Russia, kept up a constant intercourse with Constantinople. Towards the close of the seventeenth century, the Bouroutes were compelled finally to emigrate to the neighbourhood of Kashgar, thus relieving the southern provinces of Siberia from the presence of a tribe whose warlike and predatory habits had proved a constant source of annoyance and irritation. The tranquillity of these provinces, however, was of short duration. The Kirghiz Cuzzacks, who now extended their wanderings to the borders of Siberia, claimed to be of Turkish origin, and had formed a portion of the subjects of the celebrated Gengis Khan. They were originally called Cuzzacks, and the prenomen of Kirghiz was merely used as a distinctive appellation. Spreading over the Steppes of Tartary, they made frequent inroads upon the Russian territory, and in 1717 penetrated as far as Kazan. Surrounded, however, by tribes of Bashkirs, Calmucks, Zungars, and Nogais, the Kirghiz were continually attacking or being attacked, while their division into three hordes, the reason of which has never been fully accounted for, did not increase their warlike capabilities. Thus it happened that the great horde was completely subjugated by the powerful tribe of the Zungars, whose territory extended to the Chinese frontier; and it soon after became apparent that the middle and little hordes could not much longer continue to make a successful stand against the western tribes. In this emergency, Aboulkhair, the most celebrated of Kirghiz Khans, perceived the advantage of obtaining the protection of Russia. As, however, both hordes were excessively averse to any such proposal, the negotiations were carried on with great tact and secresy by Tevkelef, a Russian agent, who guaranteed to Aboulkhair the assistance of Russia, in order to enable him to carry his designs into execution. This, however, did not become necessary; the consent of the Kirghiz was ultimately obtained, partly through the persuasive eloquence of Tevkelef, and partly by the influence of Aboulkhair; and in 1734, the middle and little hordes were formally enrolled as subjects of the Empress Ann.

The submission thus obtained was not of any very permanent character, and Kirilof was sent with a small body of troops into the Kirghiz Steppes to take measures, which should insure the permanent subjection of these tribes. His instructions afford us the first glimpse of the ulterior designs of Russia, and the means proposed for their execution. Kirilof was commanded at once to build a town and fort at the embouchure of the Ori; to assemble the Khans and ancients of the two hordes, and obtain from them, in the presence of their subjects, the oath of allegiance, and having succeeded in this, he was to preserve the obedience of the Kirghiz by gentleness or by force, by presents or by menaces, according to circumstances. The Ural was to be considered the boundary of the empire, and the newly-acquired subjects were strictly prohibited from crossing it. A caravan was to be despatched across the Steppes to Boukhara, with the least possible delay, and every effort was to be used in order to attract merchandise from every part of Asia. Kirilof was himself to examine the annexed country, in the hope of discovering mines. A port was to be established upon the Sea of Aral, and ships built upon the Ural, and kept ready to be transported thither as soon as the town should be built, and such terms made with the Kirghiz as would facilitate their conveyance, and that of the artillery with which they were to be provided.

Among his diplomatic instructions Kirilof was told to avail himself of the animosity which existed between the Kirghiz and Bashkirs, to restrain it as much as possible so long as they continued subservient to the designs of Russia; but, in case of disaffection being exhibited on either side, he was to excite their mutual jealousies and thus save the expenditure of Russian troops. The exportation of ammunition was strictly prohibited, nor was Aboulkhair to be supplied with pecuniary assistance to carry on war with the Khivans, or to be encouraged in it. It was considered peculiarly desirable that as much information as possible should be acquired relative to the more distant frontier tribes, and more particularly the Zungars, who possessed Turkistan, and who ranked amongst the most powerful of these. Kirilof, however, had scarcely commenced to carry out these instructions, and had just founded the town of Orenburgh, which has since risen to a position of such importance as the emporium of the Eastern trade of Russia, when he died. Thus had it been reserved for the Empress Ann to take the first step towards accomplishing what Peter the Great had meditated, and was about to attempt after the Swedish war when death terminated his career.

It was not long after Kirilof’s death before a revolt among the Bashkirs and Calmucks rendered it necessary for his successor to stimulate Aboulkhair to attack the rebellious tribes. Indeed the subjects of the Khan, unaccustomed to so much tranquillity, desired nothing better than to be let loose upon their old foes, and entered upon the war with such good will that they not only speedily succeeded in suppressing the rebellion, but created some anxiety to Russia lest a portion of her subjects might be altogether extirpated, and the counter-irritation, which she desired to preserve to keep Aboulkhair in check, destroyed; for it was evidently essential to the success of the system that no one tribe should acquire such a preponderance over the others as no longer to dread them, or require the protection of Russia. The ambition of Aboulkhair, however, was sufficiently restrained by the fear of endangering the life of his son, who was retained at St Petersburg as a hostage. Indeed, without these pledges of the good faith of the border tribes, there was no means of insuring their submission longer than it was consistent with their own convenience; and throughout the later history of the Kirghiz, we find them continually intriguing for assistance with their powerful neighbours, sending hostages to Peking as often as to St Petersburg, and endeavouring so to bring to bear the influence of their protectors as to secure their own ends, without permanently compromising their independence. Thus the allegiance of the Kirghiz to Russia was in a great degree nominal, and was resumed and cast off at pleasure. The advantages, however, which Russia derived from her uncertain dominion over her inconstant neighbours, and the hopes she entertained of rendering it permanent, were so great as to make it expedient to deal leniently with such troublesome conduct; and she soon learnt to discern how far she might extort obedience and make her will felt, without driving those whom she desired to rule to seek some less exacting protector.

Thus it will appear that the governor of Orenburgh was in a good school for diplomatic training, and after a successful administration here, was competent to officiate as minister at any capital in Europe. To know how best to profit by the distresses of his neighbours was the sum and substance of his policy, and just in proportion as they were desirous of propitiating Russia, did Russia refuse to be easily propitiated. So it happened that, after the plunder and massacre of the Calmucks and Bashkirs, Aboulkhair humbly sued for pardon,—for a new bugbear had risen in the person of the warlike Galdane Tsyrène, Khan of the Zungars, who held hostages both from the great and middle hordes; and the governor of Orenburgh, of course, pretended to hesitate before receiving the renewed allegiance of the little horde. This conjuncture of circumstances was deemed favourable to the project of a town on the Sea of Aral, which, at Aboulkhair’s request, was to be built at the mouth of the Syr (Jaxartes), and an engineer officer was despatched to carry it into execution: the difficulties in the way, however, proved insurmountable, and the scheme fell to the ground. An attempt to carry out another article of Kirilof’s instructions was equally unfortunate, and the first caravan ever despatched from Orenburgh to Boukhara was plundered on the steppes. Shortly after this Aboulkhair, who, profiting by the protection of Russia, if not by her assistance, had possessed himself of Khiva, was driven out of that country by the formidable Nadir Shah. From this period his power gradually declined, and he was assassinated not long after the death of his enemy, the Khan of the Zungars. Russia obtained the election of Nourali, his son, as his successor, and offered him the use of a thousand men for fifteen days to erect a tomb to his father, on the condition that it should be four days’ march on the direct road to Khiva, and that a town should be built near it. Engineering and every other assistance was afforded, in the hope that fixed habitations might be established at least at one spot upon the steppes; but the suspicions of the Kirghiz were roused, and they positively refused to permit the attempt, reminding the engineer officer, who endeavoured to overcome their objections, of the conquest of Astrakhan and Kazan, and assuring him that if those nomades had not fixed themselves where they did, their descendants would have been free still. Nourali had not long held the dignity of Khan before he offered to retake Khiva if Russia would furnish him with 10,000 men, and the necessary artillery. This was declined, as it was apparent that the conquest of Khiva by tribes who wished to strengthen themselves against the authority of Russia, would only retard her own views of conquest in the same direction, which could never be accomplished until the Kirghiz themselves were thoroughly reduced to subjection. One of the most striking illustrations of the method by which Russia hoped to arrive at so desirable a consummation, is afforded by an act of singular perfidy, of which Neplouieff, then governor of Orenburgh, was the perpetrator. The Bashkirs who inhabited what is now the province of Orenburgh, although they had been subject to Russia ever since the reign of Ivan Groznoi, had always been most insubordinate. In 1755 they originated a revolt in which the Kazan Tartars took part. It soon spread so widely as to cause the government much alarm, since the possibility of a junction being formed with the Kirghiz to the south rendered the position of the Russian line extremely critical. Neplouieff, however, who was a man of resource, devised a notable plan for extricating himself from his dangerous situation. Raising an army, chiefly composed of Don Cossacks and Calmucks, he succeeded in intimidating the insurgents, and, by promising pardon to those who would submit, he for the time put down the rebellion: those who did not trust his offer sought refuge with the Kirghiz. Fearing that the lull was merely temporary, Neplouieff perceived that the only real safety lay in sowing the seeds of irreconcilable enmity between the Bashkirs and Kirghiz. He determined, therefore, to deliver into the hands of the latter the wives and children of those of the Bashkirs who had trusted in his offers of pardon; upon two conditions—first, that the Kirghiz should come into the province of Orenburgh, and forcibly carry off their prizes; secondly, that they should give up the Bashkir refugees to the Russian government. He communicated this happy thought to St Petersburg, where it met with the royal approval, and an intimation was received by the Kirghiz, to the effect that the Empress in her bounty had made them a present of the wives and children of the Bashkirs. The voluptuous Kirghiz rushed to the spoil. Their unfortunate victims, confiding in the promise of Neplouieff, were taken by surprise; and although they fought well for everything that was most dear to them, those of the men who did not escape were brutally massacred, and the Kirghiz returned triumphantly laden with their living booty. The Bashkirs no sooner came back to their homes than they vowed vengeance, and applied to the Russian government to be allowed to cross the border to obtain satisfaction for such deep injuries. Neplouieff publicly proclaimed that the Empress could not permit so bloodthirsty a proceeding; and when he had thereby thrown the Kirghiz off their guard, he gave secret orders to the commanders of the garrisons on the line, not to stop the transit of armed Bashkirs. When these latter learnt that the way to the Kirghiz steppes was thus open to them, large bands poured across the frontier line, pounced upon the unsuspecting Kirghiz—who, trusting in the promised protection of Russia, were enjoying the possession of their prizes in fancied security—returned with interest the pillage and massacre their own tribe had suffered, and, regaining most of those whom they had supposed lost for ever, conveyed them in safety to their own homes. Nourali complained bitterly of so flagrant a breach of good faith. Neplouieff answered that the Kirghiz had given up all the Bashkir refugees not according to agreement; that the bargain was therefore at an end; and that he might shortly expect another inroad of Bashkirs. The Kirghiz prepared for their reception, and the two tribes continued mutually to slaughter one another, until Neplouieff, judging that they were so much weakened as no longer to be formidable separately, and hated each other too cordially ever to be united, prohibited the Bashkirs from crossing the frontier, and thus put a stop to the war. About this period the empire of the Zungars was overturned by the Chinese, and the Kirghiz grand horde delivered from their conquerors. They increased and spread rapidly under a powerful and enterprising Khan, vanquishing the Calmucks on the east, and extending their incursions to Tashkend. One of the most remarkable events, however, in the history of these steppes, was the Calmuck emigration from the shores of the Volga to join their brethren on the frontiers of China who had at the same time been freed from the yoke of the Zungars. This migration has been ascribed to various causes. Whatever may have originated it, the Russian government exerted all its energies to overtake the fugitives. The cupidity of all the tribes of Central Asia was roused to check the advance of more than twenty-eight thousand tents of Calmucks, who, with their flocks and families, performed this wonderful journey; and, in spite of the most incredible natural obstacles, encountered, with more or less success, the attacks of the three hordes of Kirghiz, fairly distancing a Russian army that was sent in pursuit from the lines of Orenburgh. The Black Kirghiz or Bouroutes, however, made such terrible havoc among these unfortunate adventurers, that they lost about half their number before arriving at their destination.