I have been proudly described by my brother Alexander as maintaining a splendid, although a forlorn, struggle in the interests of peace. It may have been splendid, I do not know, but it was certainly forlorn. For a woman to endeavour to keep apart two nations who seemed determined to misunderstand each other, was a folly which, had I been more versed in the ways of the political world, I might have never attempted. Out of my ignorance came my strength; for I dared to hope things at a period when hope was not 'quoted' on the political exchange. One of the curious anomalies of the situation was that, although Bismarck's policy of getting England embroiled with Russia was not overlooked in Britain, yet everyone seemed to be doing their utmost to assist the Iron Chancellor in his designs. It was said that Queen Victoria herself was quite aware that Germany was doing all she could to get the British Army to the East so that her hands {51} might be freed in the West, and the very newspapers that called most loudly for war frankly admitted their conviction that Germany had designs on Belgium. All this puzzled me excessively. With a woman's impatience I felt that I wanted to shake the silly men who would not understand that they were being used as catspaws of the master-mind of Europe. Bismarck was playing his game as only Bismarck could. How he must have smiled to himself! No words of mine can give the slightest idea of what I suffered in those days. I could not sleep and I could not think. My mind was in a whirl. I felt again the torture which came over me when I heard of Nicholas' death. In February I wrote from Moscow as one almost distraught: "I would willingly give my life, a very poor gift indeed, for peace." Soon after the St. James's Hall Conference, as I was passing through Petrograd, I made a point of seeing Prince Gortschakoff: to urge him as well as I could, to do justice to the better part of England. I gave him as vivid a description as I could of the magnificent Conference, and of the sympathies of the real representatives of well-thinking Englishmen. That same evening, as I afterwards heard, he related to the Czar our conversation in every detail. I remember Prince Gortschakoff observing that the British people were powerless and that Beaconsfield would hoodwink them at a moment's notice. I could only reply that I hoped not. But I insisted on rendering justice to a people who, after {52} meeting, had convinced me were as noble, as generous and true as we were ourselves. "You are partial," the Prince said to me. "No," I replied, "I am true."