By the occupation of the Principalities we desire such security as will ensure the restoration of our dues. It is not conquest that we seek but satisfaction for a just right so clearly infringed.
Tsar Nicholas I, Proclamation, 2 July 1853
When Menshikov returned to St Petersburg to announce the failure of his mission Nicholas is reported to have said that he felt ‘the five fingers of the sultan on my face’. The remark was probably true. The tsar would not have been human had he not felt anger at the rejection of his plans; being Nicholas he was also furious at being outfaced by Stratford, a man for whom he entertained the greatest contempt. For his part Menshikov attempted to excuse himself by claiming that the Great Elchi had ‘bewitched’ the Sultan and that Rifaat had assured him that ‘it was only the disapprobation expressed by Lord Stratford de Redcliffe which prevented the Porte from accepting the Prince’s Note.’
But, in truth, Menshikov only had himself to blame. The British ambassador could hardly be condemned for the lack of diplomacy and intemperate behaviour which had helped to steel the Turkish backbone. While Stratford had exercised considerable tact in solving the tiresome question of the Holy Places by advising the Turks to agree unilaterally to the Russian demands, he had merely supported Mehemet Ali’s contention that there was a distinction between the question of keys and stars and Menshikov’s demands for a sened. That support and the possibility of British naval intervention had been enough for the Sultan to ignore the Russian demands. Nicholas, though, was tired of words. Now he wanted action.
Shortly after Menshikov’s return Nicholas and Field-Marshal Paskevich outlined the plans for implementing offensive operations against the Turks. These centered on Russian forces occupying the Danubian principalities to protect the rights of the Orthodox Christian population but the later stages of the plan would include a naval blockade of the Bosphorus and outright war against Turkey. Although Nicholas admitted that he was ‘not yet of a mind to proceed to such extreme actions’, orders were sent to Prince M.D. Gorchakov, commander of the Russian 4th and 5th Corps, to make preparations to cross the River Pruth, which formed the frontier between Russia and Moldavia, and begin the invasion of the principalities. On 31 May the Nicholas sent a courier to Constantinople ‘to apprize the Turkish Government that eight days were allowed for reconsideration of the terms proposed, but that if at the expiration of the term satisfaction were not afforded, His Majesty, however unwillingly, must give orders for the advance of his forces.’1
On the same day Nicholas summoned Seymour to his palace at Tsarskoe Selo for a meeting which resulted in what the British ambassador was pleased to call ‘a long and extremely interesting conversation’. During its course the tsar underlined his belief that Stratford, his ‘personal enemy’, had been responsible for directing Turkish policy and that his interference was a breach of trust between the two countries. ‘Sir Hamilton Seymour,’ he (Nicholas) said, ‘has had several conversations with the Emperor who spoke to him with a total absence of reserve. Sir Hamilton Seymour must have written a report of those conversations – I have nothing to add to the information of which the English Government is in possession.’2
Seymour concurred that Aberdeen’s cabinet had indeed been assured that Nicholas wanted a peaceful solution and was not intent on war, but he warned that the situation could change if Russia insisted on making bellicose preparations:
I replied that I thought it highly probable, that in this event the public would not fail to reproach the Government with their extreme confidence in the intentions of the Emperor of Russia which had led to the neglect of those precautions which usually resorted to when the safety of Turkey was menaced.3
He then continued to tell the tsar that if the government were to be censured in this way, ‘it is probable that a change of Government under existing circumstances must have very disastrous effects – that is a point which I leave to Your Majesty’s consideration’. Although he did not say so Seymour was offering a broad hint that, if Nicholas were guilty of bad faith, Aberdeen might fall and his place could be taken by Palmerston.
Following that digression – which the tsar chose to ignore – Nicholas returned to the attack by placing the blame for the crisis solely on Britain. The British government had been made privy to his plans and he had been led to believe (or at least had allowed himself to believe) that there was no conflict of interest between the two countries, yet Stratford had conspired with the Porte to thwart them, revealing himself to be ‘more Turkish than the Sultan’s own Ministers’. Therefore, said Nicholas, ‘England must necessarily be a party to any war which might break out in consequence of a refusal by the Sultan to accept the conditions offered by Prince Menshikoff.’ While admitting that any conflict would ‘paralyze commerce in the North and would lead to utter destruction in the South’, Nicholas told Seymour that, unless Constantinople yielded to his wishes, he had no option but to fight for them:
You see what my position is. I am the Head of a People of the Greek religion, our co-religionists of Turkey look up to me as their natural protector, and these are claims which it is impossible for me to disregard.
I have the conviction that good right is on my side, I should therefore begin a War, such as that which now impends, without compunction and should be prepared to carry it on, as I have before remarked to you, as long as there should be a rouble in the Treasury or a man in the country.4
To his credit Seymour stood by his diplomatic colleague in Constantinople by pointing out that Stratford’s aim had been the resolution of the Holy Places question, but the tsar was unmoved by that argument. Then Seymour turned the conversation to the terms of the sened which he believed to have no basis in law. Not so, rejoined Nicholas, the demands were guaranteed by the reaty of Kutchuk-Kainarji. Here he was taking a risk as neither he nor Nesselrode had been convinced of the exact articles of the treaty when the sened was drawn up.
I took the liberty of replying [Seymour told Clarendon] that having looked into the treaty of 1774 I had been unable to discover anything of the kind – I added that perhaps His Majesty would allow me to call upon the Chancellor in his name and ask him to show me the Article or Articles referred to. The Emperor rejoined with much good humour that I was quite at liberty to do so, that I might if I pleased, call for the originals of the Treaties.5
With that, Nicholas concluded the audience and Seymour left the palace to call on Nesselrode who confirmed that his master was indeed intent on securing a sened enshrining Russia’s privileges even if that meant war. (The question of the Treaty of Kutchuk-Kainarji was not raised although in the weeks to come Seymour was to spend much time and trouble investigating its terms.) The chancellor also made it clear that Britain, through Stratford’s actions, must accept some of the blame for the new impasse.
A week later Nicholas underlined the seriousness of the position to the French in an audience with their ambassador, de Castelbajac. In a surprising change of tack he told the ambassador that Britain was the cause of the current friction. If Stratford had not interfered the Russian proposals would have been accepted and military action would not be an issue. As matters stood, though, he had no alternative but to invade Wallachia and Moldavia and to hold them hostage until he was ‘given satisfaction’.
This was a very different message from the assurances which he had presented to Seymour. Although Aberdeen was loath to take any action he had to respond to the changing situation. Nicholas had promised that he did not want war; yet Menshikov’s diplomatic mission had been little more than crude coercion. Now the tsar was threatening to invade the principalities to ensure that his demands would be met by Turkey. On 28 May the cabinet decided to do nothing until they received reports from Constantinople and St Petersburg. When Seymour’s despatches arrived apprising them of the tsar’s threats, it was clear that Britain could no longer stand aside. Given a free vote, the cabinet decided on 30 May to order Dundas’s squadron of six warships to proceed to Besika Bay close to the entrance of the Dardanelles; furthermore Stratford was given local authority to order them to protect Constantinople in the event of a Russian attack. In this way, argued Clarendon, ‘I reasoned this as the least measure that will satisfy public opinion and save the government from shame hereafter, if, as I firmly believe, the Russian hordes pour into Turkey from every side. It may do some good to ourselves, which should not be our least consideration.’6
For Clarendon it was one of the most momentous orders he had given in the course of a public career which had already spanned four decades. In 1820, just out of his teenage years, George Frederick William Villiers had been sent to St Petersburg as an attaché where he showed a natural aptitude for diplomacy. Postings in Dublin and Madrid confirmed his talent, but following his elevation to his uncle’s earldom in 1838 he threw himself into a political career, emerging as a leading free-trader in the Tory Party. Spoken of as a future prime minister – he enjoyed the support of the influential Edinburgh Review but the post never attracted him – he made his name in Ireland where he served as lord-lieutenant between 1847 and 1852. It was a difficult time, made worse by famine in the country areas and the violence which accompanied it, but despite the problems and personal danger he emerged from the experience with enormous personal credit. Appointed foreign secretary in Aberdeen’s government in February 1853 his experience and canniness in public office spoke for themselves.
However, Aberdeen thought that the deployment of the British squadron was dangerous and loaded with implications, because the ships would not be able to shelter in Besika Bay once the winter gales arrived. Then they would either have to withdraw, thereby signalling an ignominious climbdown, or they would have to enter the Dardanelles in breach of the Straits Convention. It was still possible that a diplomatic solution would be found by involving Austria – who did not welcome the prospect of a Russian occupation of the mouth of the Danube – but the deployment of the warships inevitably increased tensions. By the end of June British and French naval forces were in Turkish waters while two Russian Army Corps were positioned on the borders of Turkish-owned possessions. The talking continued but by sanctioning the naval and military deployments each country had given notice that they would be prepared to use them if it became necessary. Indeed Nicholas chose the moment on 10 June to complain to Seymour and de Castelbajac that, while he ‘conceives himself authorised to occupy the Danubian Principalities if he thinks proper, he would consider the consequent entry of the Dardanelles by an English or French fleet as a breach of Treaty agreements.’7
Although Seymour counselled Clarendon that such an explanation ‘would be sought in vain in any Treatise upon the Law of Nations’, he did admit that the turn of events had disconcerted him. Following the audience with the tsar, Nesselrode had elaborated on the reasons for the Russian ultimatum. ‘You have known me,’ he said, ‘two years – you have seen that I am not disposed to violent measures (à caper les vitres). Well, I declare to you that I could not advise the emperor to recede. His dignity would be lowered, his position would be compromised. It would be a triumph for the Turks, and a humiliation for Russia – the inevitable result would be a war with Turkey – the insolence of the Turks would become such that friendly relations with them would become impossible.’8
Nesselrode also made it clear that the orders to invade the principalities would be given as soon as the expected rejection of the ultimatum reached Odessa. To do otherwise would harm Russia’s standing and anything which was seen to damage that reputation also affected Nicholas. Besides, he said, adopting a ‘warmth of manner’ which Seymour believed he had ‘assumed for the occasion’, was it not the case that Russia was being treated as an international pariah? When French warships had blockaded the Ottoman port of Tripoli in Syria in August 1852 to demand the return of naval deserters not a word of blame had been heard from the international community, but when ‘Russia sought temperately for redress of a serious grievance and exceptions were instantly raised – instantly Russia was charged with a wish to destroy the independence of Turkey.’
Seymour responded that the threatened invasion of the principalities was out of all proportion to the refusal of the Porte to accede to Russian coercion. He also reiterated Britain’s position: ‘as regards Her Majesty’s Government there was no wish to raise a crusade against Russia; that as I have said before, all that was desired was, whilst making allowance for the position taken up by the Emperor, to provide for the security and independence (de sauvegarder) of Turkey.’
Nesselrode, though, was not to be moved. He concluded the interview by reminding the British ambassador that the tsar was intent on gaining satisfaction from the Porte and that not even the presence of a British fleet would ‘deprive us of the means of marching our armies into Turkey.’ And there the matter rested. Seymour had to accept that Russia intended to send forces into the principalities, both to protect the interests of the Greek Orthodox Christians and to exert pressure on the Porte to accept the terms laid down by Menshikov. As he told the Russian chancellor when they met a week later, suddenly both countries seemed to be getting into deep waters. Nesselrode did not disagree: he considered the deployment of the fleet ‘very unfortunate’ and ‘he did not see how the Emperor could have the appearance of making any concession under menace.’ Seymour reported:
I replied that I thought the best course which could be followed would be that the two Fleets should withdraw from the Coast upon a clear understanding that there should be no attempt made at occupying the Principalities.
Count Nesselrode made use of some expression signifying the impossibility of the Emperor renouncing his intentions – but the declaration was made in fainter terms than have been lately employed by the Russian government.
The state of the case, I said, M. le Comte, is plainly this. The English and French Fleets have joined for a common purpose; the great object should be to prevent their junction by common action; to prevent this prudence suggests that the Principalities should not be entered, and that time should be given for the settlement of all difficulties by negotiation.9
Curiously, the decision to send Dundas’s squadron to Besika Bay helped to calm nerves in London. At last something was being done although, as ever, Aberdeen warned Clarendon that the country seemed to be drifting towards war. In a sense he was right. Having committed the fleet to Turkish waters in support of the Porte the ships could not be withdrawn without enormous loss of prestige. Even though it was in the throes of modernisation the Royal Navy was the world’s most powerful naval force and the main executor of Britain’s foreign policy. It was unthinkable that it might be deployed and then not used effectively.
Inevitably, perhaps, the question of the deployment of the Mediterranean Fleet was discussed widely in the British press and Aberdeen found himself at the centre of considerable controversy. With the strength of a rip tide running up a beach, press opinion was increasingly in favour of Britain punishing Russia by initiating action in support of Turkey. To a certain extent this enthusiasm mirrored official government policy that Turkey’s integrity had to be maintained and the Straits kept open, otherwise Britain’s imperial holdings in the east might be jeopardised. That being said, Britain had little desire to go to war to maintain the status quo, the foreign policy of the day being based on the peaceful economic expansion provided by the post-Napoleonic settlement of 1815. While it was also policy to signal British intentions by making full use of its superior battle fleet, any military or naval operation would inevitably attract unwelcome increases in defence spending: for that reason alone Aberdeen was keen to solve the crisis through diplomacy.
Those restraints notwithstanding, Britain was gripped by war fever in the summer of 1853. Suddenly it became chic to support the Turks against the Russians and the London press took up the cry that ‘something had to be done’. The uproar gave Rose in Constantinople further cause for concern. Having voiced his disapproval of The Times’s comments on Turkey he had taken the opportunity on 10 March to send a detailed report to the Foreign Office offering his frank view of the current state of the Ottoman Empire. It was an extraordinary document and one which can have done little to persuade the cabinet that Turkey was a cause worth saving. Far from supporting the British line that Turkey had to be propped up – ‘the hope of her friends’ as he put it – Rose painted a gloomy picture of an Islamic empire in decline, of a sick man whose death was imminent. Partly this seemed to be a result of the Koran’s teachings ‘which enjoins polygamy’ and partly it was due to the weakness of the armed forces. To Rose, the two were not unconnected:
Nearly the whole of the Turkish Army, except some of its officers, are either unmarried, or do not take their wives from home. Consequently the flower of the best Mussulman youth of Turkey does not increase the population during five years, the term of their service. And when they do return to their homes these young soldiers are only too often enfeebled and demoralised by wounds, and sickness, an arduous service and the vices of Turkish military life.
Polygamy, besides restricting and diminishing the sources of population, produces, indirectly, another cause which checks population. Mussulmans themselves and Europeans of long experience in Turkey are of the opinion that the unrestricted use of women, allowed by the Koran, gives rise to an unnatural desire for further excitement; and all declare that the prevalence of a horrid vice in Turkey arises in a great measure from that cause.
Abortions, effected either from motives of economy or convenience with the view to prevent the undue increase of children, or for the purpose of preserving the shape, are another depopulating cause. The seclusion of women, also ordained by the Koran, increases this moral pestilence, as I have mentioned, especially in the Turkish Army. There are only too many and too disgusting proofs of this.10
Only by weaning themselves away from ‘the influences of an immoral and unnatural law’ could Turkey be saved and that could only happen if the great powers decided to intervene in the affairs of the infidel empire. ‘In short,’ he warned Lord John Russell, ‘the cross is rising and the crescent is on the wane.’
Rose’s deliberations on Turkey would have been music to Tsar Nicholas’s ears. Here was an intelligent British officer, with ample experience of the Ottoman Empire, predicting a similar outcome to the one he foresaw. True, Rose based his argument on a belief that Islam had enfeebled the empire and that only the triumph of ‘Christian vigour’ could revive it, but his conclusion was the same: ‘if the Powers which are interested in the destiny of Turkey would act with the disinterestedness which has always guided the councils of Great Britain with regard to Turkey, so great and so good a solution of her history would not be impossible.’
It was not as if Turkey were a particularly close ally or, as Rose had demonstrated all too clearly, if much were known about the country and its people. Indeed, in the past it had been considered a potential enemy – in 1827 a British fleet led by Vice-Admiral Sir Edward Codrington had destroyed an Ottoman force at Navarino during the Greek War of Independence – and there were historical prejudices about Turkish massacres of Christians in the Balkans. Thomas Carlyle called the average Turk ‘a lazy, ugly, sensual, dark fanatic’, and even Queen Victoria was dubious about the wisdom of supporting Constantinople ‘without having bound Turkey to any conditions’. She, too, was concerned about French intentions and viewed the cross-Channel alliance with some suspicion: ‘Who can say it is impossible that our own shores may be threatened by Powers now in alliance with us?’ she asked Aberdeen.
While there were longstanding fears about French intentions, Turkey was another matter. To the public it was a distant and romantic country about which little was known but as it was being threatened by Russia it required British support and protection. It might be an Islamic state which had persecuted Christians but such was the antipathy towards Russia that these doubts paled into insignificance. At a diplomatic level there was also a belief that, given time and patience, Turkey could be saved from itself. Both Stratford and Rose thought that Turkey could be saved by reform although they admitted that the process would be slow. By way of unremitting pressure Stratford had used his influence to persuade the Porte to abolish executions for apostasy* but, as he pointed out to Aberdeen, such compromises were impossible ‘without the employment of very decided language’. On another occasion when he suspected the Sultan of profligacy at a time of financial shortages he personally intervened to halt the construction of a new summer palace on the shores of the Bosphorus.
Small wonder that there were those in London who believed that Stratford was too powerful for his own good and that his influence over the Porte was antipathetic to Britain’s interests. Clarendon’s wife Katherine thought him ‘a dreadfully unsafe man’; Graham, the first lord of the Admiralty, remarked that he was ‘a Bashaw [pasha] – too long accustomed to rule alone’, and the suspicion grew that the British ambassador in Constantinople was using his not inconsiderable prestige to force the Turks to stand up to Nicholas’s threats. Certainly, that was the impression nurtured by Kinglake when he wrote his account of the war but far from adding to Stratford’s reputation – Kinglake’s intention – his adulatory comments left the impression to later generations that the Great Elchi had dragged Britain into an unnecessary conflict:
Lord Stratford had brought to a settlement the question of the Holy Places, had baffled all the efforts of the Emperor Nicholas to work an inroad upon the sovereign rights of the sultan, and had enforced upon the Turks a firmness so indomitable and a moderation so unwearied, that from the hour of his arrival at Constantinople they resisted every claim which was fraught with real danger – but always resisted with courtesy – and yielded to every demand, however unjust in principle, if it seemed that they might yield with honour and safety.11
In time that came to be the accepted view – that ‘entrusted with the chief prerogative of kings and living all his time at Therapia, close over the gates of the Bosphorus, he [Stratford] seemed to stand guard against the North, and to answer for the safety of his charge’ – but it is not entirely accurate. While it is true that Stratford had used his authority to solve the question of the keys and the dilapidated cupola the real muscle had been supplied by the cabinet’s decision to deploy Dundas’s squadron. More than any other factor, that was the move which encouraged the Sultan to ignore Menshikov’s demand for a sened, and there is no evidence to suggest that Stratford subjected the Sultan to any undue pressure. None the less, throughout the summer of 1853, London gossip insisted that Stratford was deliberately misrepresenting British policy. As Clarendon wrote to Cowley in Paris on 8 July, ‘my fear is that he will never consent to any arrangement that does not humiliate the Emperor of Russia.’12
To those who knew him only through his office Stratford could appear aloof and austere, a careerist who had allowed himself to become too immersed in the shadowy world of international diplomacy and who had come to believe the myth of his omniscience. It did not mean that he was indifferent to unkind gossip. Far from it: he worried constantly about his relationship with Rose, whom he mistrusted, and his dealings with the British military commanders were not always happy. And in old age, when historians were claiming that he had to bear some of the blame for the war with Russia, he left a sad little note in his private papers excusing himself: ‘To this charge I would not hesitate to plead guilty if it had any foundation for the truth. But the fact is that throughout the whole of my diplomatic career I have been, as occasion served, an instrument of peace.’13 As evidence he pointed to a letter he had written to Clarendon in May 1853 which he believed encapsulated the whole problem:
What Russia requires of the Porte would bear a strange appearance if the principle involved in it were applied to other countries less anomalously situated. What would be thought in Europe if France or Austria were to demand a guarantee from Great Britain for the protection and good treatment of the Roman Catholic priesthood in Ireland? What if Her Majesty’s Government were to interfere in a similar way on behalf of the Protestants in France? Is there a canton in Switzerland endowed with so little spirit and foresight as to submit without a struggle to France asserting her right to take part in the protection of all Roman Catholic churches and priests in that country? In Turkey the dignitaries of the Greek or Ottoman church exercise in some degree the power of civil magistrates. Russia, overstepping the spiritual limit declared by herself, includes these powers in the spirit of privilege, for the ultimate maintenance of which she seeks a treaty right.14
In fact the solution to the impasse in Constantinople was supplied by Russia. When Turkey refused to answer Nicholas’s ultimatum the order was given to the Russian southern army corps to cross the River Pruth and occupy Wallachia and Moldavia. ‘So the Rubicon is passed and we must now see whether the Emperor will be more amenable inside the Principalities than out,’ wrote Clarendon to Cowley on 2 July. ‘I have come to the belief that he will not.’ War was still not certain but the move inflamed further outbreaks of anti-Russian sentiments in the British press: as Clarendon admitted, ‘Our pacific policy is at variance with public opinion, so it cannot long be persisted in.’15
Much of the intensity in the debate was being fanned by Henry Reeve of The Times who had earlier excited Rose’s disgust by arguing for the partition of the Ottoman Empire. It was said of Reeve that he combined the best elements of the historian, the diplomat and the politician – he was widely travelled and enjoyed a number of close friendships with the leading politicians of his day, including, most importantly, Clarendon, with whom he had corresponded on matters of state since 1846. In 1840 he had joined the staff of The Times to guide its foreign policy and was one of Delane’s chief leader writers. In this latter role he had a fair conceit of his abilities: when The Times introduced its new Applegarth presses, which were capable of printing two hundred copies per minute, Reeve visited the printing works to ponder his authority, ‘for by this instrument my own thoughts and opinions are propagated and diffused over the habitable earth, with a power that seems irresistible.’16
At the same time he was a senior civil servant who was appointed Registrar to the Privy Council in April 1853. To read his journal is to be given an insider’s guide to mid-nineteenth century society. Writers and artists were regular guests, amongst them John Millais and Anthony Trollope, but his most rewarding friendship was with Clarendon. In mid-March 1853, when Rose acted unilaterally to call up Dundas’s squadron, Clarendon called Reeve to the Foreign Office to outline the dangers of escalation and to explain the government’s reasons for countermanding he request. Later in the day he sent Reeve a précis of the meeting and, as a result, The Times urged caution in its subsequent leader:
If there is not discretion and moderation on both sides, the whole affair may be complicated and dangerous, but there ought not to be any real difficulty; a European war over the tomb of our Saviour would be too monstrous in the nineteenth century.17
Throughout the crisis the foreign secretary gave him regular briefings, often over breakfast, and Reeve put the information to good use. Early in the crisis The Times supported Aberdeen’s government but as the drama in Constantinople began to unfold Reeve’s attitude started to harden. Not only did he believe that the Ottoman Empire should be partitioned and its European holdings held in trust by the great powers, but he began to criticise Russia’s territorial ambitions. For that reason The Times supported the decision to order the fleet to Besika Bay. The support for a tougher line encouraged Palmerston to urge the Cabinet to be more decisive. On 28 June the home secretary wrote to Clarendon suggesting that Britain should warn St Petersburg that any military deployment would be countered by a British show of strength:
I cannot help but think that such a communication would make the Emperor pause, if when he received it he had not ordered his troops to march; and would make him accessible to reason if he had ordered them to advance.18
Although Palmerston remained the fiercest interventionist in the Cabinet the time was not yet ripe for Aberdeen to abandon hope that Russia and Turkey would see sense, and the suggestion fell on deaf ears. Besides, the advice from Stratford was still ‘the gaining of time for further negotiation with a view to peace’. Contrary to what was being said about him in London, the British ambassador to the Porte was not intent on humiliating the Russians by stiffening Turkish resolve. He understood that the rejection of Menshikov’s demands had helped to fan national pride and that as a result a pro-war faction could take control of the government. In that case war with Russia would be inevitable and Britain would be drawn into it through its offer of naval support. Although Stratford was against what he called ‘shilly-shally’ he was hardly a warmonger and his best efforts were bent towards finding a form of words which would be acceptable to both Turkey and Russia.
Far from encouraging Turkey to continue its rejection of any Russian demand Stratford believed that the best hope for the future lay in the great powers combining their diplomatic efforts. To that end he had spoken to the ambassadors of France, Austria and Russia on 22 May and had reported back to London that ‘this kind of confederacy [is] just the way to impress Constantinople’.19 The outcome was to be the Turkish Ultimatum and this was to form the basis of a proposal known as the Vienna Note: it was the last and best chance for peace.