When I returned from Russia to England in 1896, one of the first things I saw on reaching London was "Plain words to the Assassin," in large letters on the newspaper posters, staring down upon me from the hoardings, and I found people still telling each other what a dreadful fellow the Turk really was! Plain words, strong words, fierce words was the diet presented to the Sultan in varied diplomatic sauces; but the dish was always the same, and his response was quite as monotonous. To empty words, plain or flavoured, he replied by massacres, and this seemed likely to go on for ever. For us this _passe-temps_ was monotony. To the poor Armenian, alas, it is death! I rejoiced to see that the English nation was weary of the vaticinations of diplomatists, and was urgently demanding not words, but deeds. It reminded me of 1876, that great year when so many brave attempts were made to change its traditional policy--attempts which, unfortunately, met with but partial success. And above all I rejoiced to hear once more sounding deep and loud, like the great bell of our grand Kremlin, above the general hubbub, the commanding note of Mr. Gladstone's voice--that voice through which the heart and conscience of nations has so often found utterance. But although in some respects like 1876, there was this difference, which, as a Russian, I felt more keenly than any one. In 1876 Russia led, and {156} though no other Power followed, we fought, we suffered, we triumphed! In the Armenian question the initiative of chivalrous action was no longer ours, and bitterly I regretted it. It did not seem, however, to have passed into any other hands. But that made things worse. Why was it that Russia was not as in 1876? The answer was easy. Because of the Treaty of 1878. Mr. Gladstone lamented and condemned the policy of Prince Lobanoff. With the lament I concurred. From the condemnation I dissented. Prince Lobanoff's policy in Turkey was inevitable. The responsibility for that departure from our traditional policy rested with England, and it was for England to say how long it should continue. The vividness with which England's Armenian agitation brought 1876 back to my mind also recalled not less vividly, the hideous disillusionment of 1878; and I had reason. For through these years of trial and of triumph I did my utmost to persuade my countrymen that England was Mr. Gladstone and not Lord Beaconsfield. The generous enthusiasm of St. James's Hall made me wrongly suppose that it was equivalent to a resolute reversal of England's traditional policy. But when we had made our sacrifices and settling day came, we found, alas! to our cost, that England was Lord Beaconsfield after all, and not Mr. Gladstone. Imagine the reproaches that were addressed to me! No one can ever realise the reproaches I addressed to myself.