DONALD MACKENZIE WALLACE
Born in Scotland, Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace (1841-1914) lived in Russia for most of the period 1870-78, latterly as foreign correspondent for The Times of London. In the following extract from his book Russia (London: Cassell, 1912) he gives a glimpse of the extraordinary religious diversity he encountered while travelling through the Russian Empire in the 1870s.
National peculiarities are not obliterated so rapidly in Russia as in America or in British colonies. Among the German colonists in Russia the process of assimilation is hardly perceptible. Though their fathers and grandfathers may have been born in the new country, they would consider it an insult to be called Russians. They look down upon the Russian peasantry as poor, ignorant, lazy, and dishonest, fear the officials on account of their tyranny and extortion, preserve jealously their own language and customs, rarely speak Russian well–sometimes not at all–and never intermarry with those from whom they are separated by nationality and religion. The Russian influence acts, however, more rapidly on the Slavonic colonists–Serbians, Bulgarians, Montenegrins–who profess the Greek [Eastern] Orthodox faith, learn more easily the Russian language, which is closely allied to their own, and in general possess a nature much more pliable than the Teutonic.
Some years ago the government attempted to accelerate the fusing process by withdrawing the privileges enjoyed by the colonists, and abolishing the peculiar administration under which they lived. These measures, especially the imposing of universal military service, may perhaps eventually break down the extreme exclusiveness of the Germans, because the youths, while serving in the army, must at least learn the Russian language, and may possibly imbibe something of the Russian spirit; but the immediate effect of the new policy was the reverse of what the government intended. During the first years of the new regime I often overheard in these colonies bitter complaints of Russian tyranny and uncomplimentary remarks about the Russian national character.
The Mennonites considered themselves specially aggrieved by the so-called reforms. They came to Russia in order to escape military service and with the distinct understanding that they should be exempted from it, and now they were forced to act contrary to the tenets of their religion. This was the ground of complaint which they put forward in the petitions addressed to the government, but they had at the same time another, and perhaps more important, objection to the changes which were being introduced. The men of the old school felt that they could not long maintain, in the new order of things, that stern Puritanical discipline which protected the young generation against immoral influences and contributed largely to the material welfare of the community. Hence, though the government was disposed to make certain concessions to their religious beliefs, hundreds of families sold their properties and emigrated to America. The movement, however, did not become general. At present the Russian Mennonites number, male and female, about 50,000, divided into 160 colonies and possessing over 800,000 acres of land. It is quite possible that under the new system of administration the colonists who profess, in common with the Russians, the Greek Orthodox faith, may be rapidly Russianized; but I am convinced that the others will long resist assimilation. Greek Orthodoxy and Protestant sectarianism are so radically different in spirit that their respective votaries are not likely to intermarry; and without intermarriage it is impossible that the two nationalities should blend together.
As an instance of the ethnological curiosities which the traveler may stumble upon unawares in this curious region, I may mention a strange acquaintance I made when travelling on the great plain which stretches from the Sea of Azov to the Caspian. One day I accidentally noticed on my travelingmap the name “Shotlandskaya Koloniya” (Scottish Colony) near the celebrated baths of Pyatigorsk. I was at that moment in Stavropol, a town about 80 miles to the north, and could not gain any satisfactory information as to what this colony was. Some wellinformed people assured me that it really was what its name implied, while others asserted as confidently that it was simply a small German settlement. To decide the matter I determined to visit the place myself, though it did not lie near my intended route, and I accordingly found myself one morning in the village in question. The first inhabitants whom I encountered were unmistakably German, and they professed to know nothing about the existence of Scotsmen in the locality either at the present or in former times. This was disappointing, and I was about to turn away and drive off, when a young man–who proved to be the schoolmaster–came up, and on hearing what I desired, advised me to consult an old Circassian who lived at the end of the village and was well acquainted with local antiquities. On proceeding to the house indicated, I found a venerable old man, with fine regular features of the Circassian type, coal-black sparkling eyes, and a long grey beard that would have done honor to a patriarch. To him I explained briefly, in Russian, the object of my visit, and asked whether he knew of any Scotsmen in the district.
“And why do you wish to know?” he replied, in the same language, fixing me with his keen, sparkling eyes. “Because I am myself a Scotsman and hoped to find fellow-countrymen here.”
Let the reader imagine my astonishment when, in reply to this, he answered in genuine broad Scotch, “Och, man, I’m a Scotsman tae! My name is John Abercrombie. Did ye never hear tell o’ John Abercrombie, the famous Edinburgh doctor?”
I was fairly puzzled by this extraordinary declaration. Dr. Abercrombie’s name was familiar to me as that of a medical practitioner and writer on psychology, but I knew that he was long since dead. When I had recovered a little from my surprise, I ventured to remark to the enigmatical personage before me that, though his tongue was certainly Scotch, his face was certainly Circassian.
“Weel, weel,” he replied, evidently enjoying my look of mystification, “you’re no’ far wrang. I’m a Circassian Scotsman!”
This extraordinary admission did not diminish my perplexity, so I begged my new acquaintance to be a little more explicit, and he at once complied with my request. His long story may be told in a few words:
In the first years of the last century a band of Scottish missionaries came to Russia for the purpose of converting the Circassian tribes, and received from the Emperor Alexander I a large grant of land in this place, which was then on the frontier of the Empire. Here they founded a mission, and began the work; but they soon discovered that the surrounding population were not idolaters, but Mussulmans [Muslims], and consequently impervious to Christianity. In this difficulty they fell on the happy idea of buying Circassian children from their parents in times of famine, and bringing them up as Christians. (The missionaries had no scruples about adopting this practice, because they knew that the Circassian tribes were in the habit of exporting their superfluous children to Constantinople, to be brought up in the Turkish harems.) One of these children, purchased about the year 1806, was a little boy called Teoona. As he had been purchased with money subscribed by Dr. Abercrombie, he had received in baptism that gentleman’s name, and he considered himself the foster-son of his benefactor. Here was the explanation of the mystery.
Teoona, alias Mr. Abercrombie, was a man of more than average intelligence. Besides his native tongue, he spoke English, German, and Russian perfectly; and he assured me that he knew several other languages equally well. His life had been devoted to missionary work, and especially to translating and printing the Scriptures. He had labored first in Astrakhan, then for four years and a half in Persia–in the service of the Bâle [Basel] mission–and afterwards for six years in Siberia.
The Scottish mission was suppressed by the Emperor Nicholas about the year 1835, and all the missionaries except two returned home. The son of these two (Galloway) was the only genuine Scotsman remaining at the time of my visit. Of the “Circassian Scotsmen” there were several, most of whom had married Germans. The other inhabitants were German colonists from the province of Saratov, and German was the language commonly spoken in the village.
