Chapter IV: Part 4

"The police official is no Russian. He is quite free from national sentiment; he is only an oppressor, a detective. Our ministry of the interior is merely a great detective bureau, a monstrous and costly surveillance institution. When the notorious 'third division' was abolished and subordinated to the ministry of the interior it was considered a step in advance. But it was not the ministry of the interior that absorbed the 'third division,' but the reverse. We no longer have administration, but only surveillance, arrest, deportation. Shall I tell you? Our commission worked honestly. It consisted of noblemen, high-minded patriots, who took part in working out a project for the improvement of economic conditions. Only three hundred copies of the report were printed; it was not meant for general circulation. But the result of the labors undertaken at our instance was the arrest of the outspoken, upright critics. Do you consider that an encouragement for patriotic endeavor? Our merchants and our zemstvos have opened, in the last six years, one hundred and thirty-six schools without one kopek of state aid, and with a yearly expenditure of four million rubles. The instinct for what is necessary is therefore present. Our society should only be let alone and we also might go through the same development, perhaps in a slower measure, which Germany has passed through with such momentous success in the last thirty years--from an agricultural state dependent on the weather to a mighty industrial country. But Germany is a constitutional state and we are a police state. Germany has a middle class; we have none, and the formation of such a class is prevented by every possible means. The commercial schools are subjected to annoying conditions because they are under the jurisdiction of the ministry of finance, where, naturally, a different spirit prevails. The commercial guilds are making enormous material sacrifices, spending annually, besides the four millions for maintenance, five additional millions on buildings, only to retain their autonomy, to keep in their own hands the staffs of instruction and inspection, and to possess a greater elasticity of adaptation to local conditions. This sacrifice is overlooked, and the slightest exhibition of free initiative is jealously suppressed."

"Your excellency, I find that one cannot discuss the least question of pedagogy or economics in Russia without touching high politics."

"Very true. You may see from that to what a pass we have come. We have been going backward uninterruptedly for the last twenty years. The nobility is losing its estates because it has not learned to manage them, and has not recovered to this very day from the abolition of serfdom. But the land does not fall into the hands of the peasants, who need it, but into those of the merchants. The agricultural proletariat remains unprovided for. The peasant cannot raise the taxes. The soil here gives fourfold returns; in Germany eightfold returns. It pays at the same time, this side of the Dnieper, ten to fifteen per cent. annually for tenure; in England two to three per cent.; in France and Germany four to five per cent.; and on the other side of the Dnieper, where long tenures are in vogue, five to six per cent. Remember that this is a yearly tenure. It is a premium on soil robbery. Sixty rubles for the tenure of one desyatin. The peasant cannot raise that amount, and yet he is compelled at the same time to pay taxes. Year after year hunger visits entire governments, for the peasants are utterly impoverished and have not even seed. With an empty stomach and a dark mind the peasant must bear family, communal, and government burdens."

"I read something similar two years ago in a book by an Englishman."

"You mean _The Russian Conditions_, by Lanin, from the _Fortnightly Review_."

"Quite right, your excellency. But I considered the description overdrawn. Moreover, I cannot conceive how abuses could be so clearly painted as in that book, the statements of which your excellency now confirms, without any prospects of redress."

"Who is to give redress?"

"The Czar."

"The Czar is living behind a Wall of China. He has never visited a 'duma' (city council), never a zemstvo (district council), never a village, never an industrial centre. He is kept by the camarilla in constant dread, and is so closely watched that he sees not a finger's-breadth of heaven, much less of earth. He rejoices when an occasional quarrel breaks out among the ministers, for he then has the opportunity to learn here and there a fragment of truth."

"And does no one succeed in representing to him conditions as they are?"

"I will make a confession to you. Not very long ago I myself prepared a paper, not bearing my name--that would have offered certain difficulties--but anonymous, and had it transmitted to the Czar by a trustworthy person. For eight days there was great joy at the court. The Emperor and the Empress were delighted to know where the trouble lay and how it was to be remedied. Then the whole matter, as it were, vanished and was forgotten."

"Then that already is pathological."

A shrug of the shoulders was his answer. "Above all things there is the great anxiety and fear at the responsibility. There is also a weakness on account of conscientious scruples. The Emperor knows nothing thoroughly enough to enable him to overcome the arguments of a skilled sophist, and he is too indulgent to say to one of his counsellors, 'Sir, you are a cheat.' He hears in the reports only praise of somebody, never any censure. For he has a great dread of intrigue, and not without good reason. The atmosphere is a fearful one in the vicinity of every autocrat. The Czar is pathetically well-meaning, and is modesty itself, but he is not the autocrat for an autocracy, who must be equal to his task."

"And what, in your excellency's opinion, should be done to help the country?"

"No more than the rest of the world has already accomplished. Abolition of the police system, security of personal freedom, abolition of the censorship, discontinuance of the persecution of sectarians, who are our best subjects, and--I say the word quietly--a constitution."

"And would the country really be helped thereby?"

"Unconditionally. With these little concessions to-day any political convulsion could be avoided, and the intelligent class freed from its fetters. No one knows what will be offered ten years from now."

"Are there prospects of this concession?"

"Not the slightest. On the contrary, whoever falls under the suspicion of unconditional approval of the present system may be morally destroyed at any time."

"What will then be the end?"

"That the terror from above will awaken the terror from below, that peasant revolts will break out--even now the police must be augmented in the interior--and assassination will increase."

"And is there no possibility of organizing the revolution so that it shall not rage senselessly?"

"Impossible. Our rural nobleman is, to be sure, not a junker; but the strength of the régime consists in the exclusion of any understanding between the land-owners and the peasants because of the social and intellectual chasm between them."

"Your excellency, I remember a saying of Strousberg's, who was a good business man, 'There is nowhere a hole where there once was land.' One learns to doubt that here in Russia. There is not one with whom I have spoken who would fail to paint the future of this country in the darkest colors. Can there be no change of the fatal policy that is ruining the country?"

"Not before a great general catastrophe. When we shall be compelled, for the first time, partly to repudiate our debts--and that may happen sooner than we now believe--on that day, being no longer able to pay our old debts with new ones--for we shall no longer be able to conceal our internal bankruptcy from foreign countries and from the Emperor--steps will be taken, perhaps, towards a general convention. No sooner."

"Is there no mistake possible here?"

"Martin Luther hesitated as long as he had not seen the pope, no longer after that. Whoever, like myself, has known the state kitchen for the last twenty-five years, doubts no longer. The autocracy is not equal to the problems of a modern great power, and it would be against all historical precedents to assume that it would voluntarily yield without external pressure to a constitutional form of government."

"We must wish, then, for Russia's sake, that the catastrophe come as quickly as possible?"

"I repeat to you that it is perhaps nearer than we all think or are willing to admit. That is the hope; that is our secret consolation."

Such was the substance of my long interview with one of the best judges of present-day Russia, from which I have omitted only those places and versions which would render their author easily recognizable. For the rest, I must say here that, with slight variations, the statements of all the other competent persons whom I had the opportunity to meet agreed with those of my present informant. The unwritten public opinion of Russia is absolutely of the same mind in its judgment of existing conditions; it differs only as to the remedies.

"We are near to collapse--an athlete with great muscles and perhaps incurable heart weakness," repeated the statesman at parting. "We still maintain ourselves upright by stimulants, by loans, which, like all stimulants, only help to ruin the system more quickly. With that we are a rich country with all conceivable natural resources, simply ill-governed and prevented from unlocking its resources. But is this the first time that quacks have ruined a Hercules that has fallen into their hands? Whoever shall free us from these quacks will be our benefactor. We need light and air, and we shall then surprise the world by our abilities and achievements."

XIII

THE RUSSIAN FINANCES

It was shortly after the Port Arthur naval catastrophe that I sought out a bank director, with whom I had become acquainted, to talk with him upon the financial effects of the war, that had had such noteworthy results on the floors of European exchanges. To my astonishment, I found the comfortable bank director very calm.

"The system will still help us out," said he, evasively, to my question whether Russia would have to face a financial crisis after the war.

"What system?" said I.

The bank director adjusted his eye-glasses and, with round eyes, gazed at me for a while. Then, with that burst of candor which so often surprises us in the Russians, he began:

"We are not children, after all, and neither you nor I is dancing to the government music to which others are keeping time. We may, therefore, talk it over calmly. Well, we have a great drum, with which there can be no marching out of line. It drums. We have never as yet stopped our payments, like France, Austria, or Turkey. We are, therefore, punctual payers, hence we shall again secure money."

"Is this a serious argument?" I asked.

"God forbid!" was the answer. "We have paid to secure future credit. But it seems that this policy of honest debtor is wiser than the occasional discontinuance of payment, which allows some advance but involves the loss of credit. We can always repeat to the public that wishes to buy our bonds, 'Russia is honest; Russia pays; you need have no fear here of shrinkage.' And so the public buys."

"But the banker must know that the liberality is not real," I rejoined.

"And if he does know it? Is it the banker's business to initiate the public into the secret sciences? Do not forget that no government pays to the world such commissions for loans as we do. Prussia pays one-half per cent., Austria one and a half per cent., we pay three per cent.; and, confidentially, it does not end with that, but the issuing banks also get their six per cent., especially when they appear reluctant at first. For what reason should a commission of three to six per cent. be paid where the business is as bad as it is? It was Offenheim who said, 'You don't build railroads by moral maxims.' And high finance says that dividends and bonuses are not paid with moral maxims."

"According to my perhaps unbusiness-like opinion, this is not much better than stealing."

"Very unbusiness-like, indeed, my friend. The banking world needs no Nietzsche to stand on the other side of good and evil. Ethics, like religion, is only for the masses. Just calculate what a commission of three to six per cent. means on a loan of five hundred to a thousand million rubles that we shall surely need in this war. Let us say only three per cent., officially. That means thirty millions--more than sixty million marks. Do you then think that the banks belong to the Salvation Army, to imagine that they should renounce such a transaction?"

"Slowly, slowly. You said at first that Russia will need in this war about a milliard rubles. That would be contrary to what I have heard from other very reliable sources--namely, that the cash reserve is supposedly equal to about a milliard rubles."

"I will bet you that in three months we shall not have left a single kopek of this milliard, assuming that it exists. In agreement with military experts, who, between ourselves, are not at all optimistic, I estimate the duration of this war at twelve to eighteen months at least. With our management, every month costs us at least a hundred million rubles. Thus you see that a milliard will not be sufficient."

"Well, let us say that the banks cannot reject the business, still they must, in the first place, dispose of the securities, which will not be so easy, since the French are thoroughly satiated with the bonds, and, as the fall in the rate of exchange has recently shown, confidence in these bonds is no longer any too great."

"They may drop still further," said the banker, smiling. "The fall in the rate of exchange would have been still worse had not our banks received a strict order not to turn over the deposited bonds to their owners during these days of convulsion."

"How? I do not understand this. The issue of the deposited securities to their owners is delayed?"

"Yes, my friend, that is being done. You again do me the honor to forget in my office that we are in Russia. Even worse things are done here. At the order of the minister of finance, the owners of the bonds who wish to withdraw their deposits are given only a few hundreds or thousands of rubles for the most pressing needs, but they do not get their bonds. This is in order to prevent, by all means, the bonds being thrown on the market and thus increasing the panic."

"But that can be done only here. You have no such power abroad."

"Well, the first alarm did cost a respectable sum. Then the foreign bondholders came to the rescue and intervened for their own interest. The price of the bonds was maintained, especially in Germany."

"Why particularly in Germany?"

"Because it fluctuates less in France. There it is in the hands of small investors who do not run to the treasury at the first opportunity. It is not as strongly intrenched in Germany, and must be supported there."

"Very well, then, you support my reasoning, and you say that the bond values are maintained artificially alone. How can you say, then, that they may be augmented at will by new issues?"

"I say that, because the buyers are an amorphous mass that crystallizes just as little as a combination of producers is met by a combination of consumers. The masses may be frightened for a while, but in the long run they are irresistibly led to spoliation by the great combinations of capital, and the act of creating current opinion is well known in high financial circles."

"You forget the independent press."

The banker made a very peculiar grimace. Then he said: "That is not nice of you. I am speaking to you as if to a member of the profession--like one augur to another. And when we come to speak of your own profession, you turn out to be a simpleton. How can you speak of an independent press, when under the pressure of the high finance of the Russian and German governments?"

"You will pardon me. I honor your uprightness equally with that of the greatest of my profession. But I must stop at that. Newspapers are still guided by morality. And I am willing to bet anything that among our German papers only a vanishing fraction is susceptible to the arguments of Witte and his associates."

"And what becomes, then, of the millions that our ministry of finance is spending to secure good will in the papers towards our finances?"

"I do not want to suspect any one; but the German papers that I know well are incorruptible."

"Well, let us say that the radical or socialistic press is inaccessible, and cannot be bought either by our ministry of finance or by the German bank combinations. There still remains the influence of the German government, that has its reasons for not allowing the weakening of Russia to too great an extent. For this is still the keystone of the conservative system in Europe, and this influence suffices to keep the unfriendly critics of our financial conditions from all the leading German papers. That is not even an official favor. I consider it quite logical for serious papers not to play mean tricks on their foreign office. But as to the other, the extremely radical writings, they have no significance for the financial world; and you will not doubt, at this day, that Germany is doing her best to keep us in good humor."

"Yes, I see with shame and resentment how the German government has been transformed into something akin to a Russian police ally, with the blessing of Count Bülow."

"Who surely knows what he is doing."

"Perhaps I myself do not believe that Germany has reason to seek Russian security, even though there be certain limits even for friendly services; which limits have long been passed, to the detriment of the dignity of the German empire."

"I am also willing to believe all that you have told me about the influence of the high finance, the Russian noble, and German diplomacy. Yet I cannot conceive how the mass of investors--and after all it is they who are to be considered--will permanently pay a much higher price for securities than corresponds to their intrinsic value, as is the case with the Russian securities, according to the information given me by Russian statesmen."

"Permanently? Some day it will stop. But when? Even the autocracy or the social structure will not maintain itself permanently. But meanwhile there is no power on earth to prevent the great banking institutions from earning thirty million rubles or more, when there is a chance. There will be a great bargaining, especially since the French government will exert itself strenuously to prevent future issue of Russian bonds; for every new issue depresses the value of former issues, and in these a great portion of the French national wealth is invested. In the end, however, German influence will prevail. Germany will advance us the new funds, because Germany wishes to render us a service; for Germany feels itself from day to day more and more isolated in Europe, and we are still not to be despised, either as friends or enemies, in spite of Port Arthur. Hence the German investor must help out; and, after all, he is not making a bad transaction when he buys a four-per-cent. bond at let us say ninety."

"How so?"

"Well, the bank interest is now three per cent. When four rubles are paid on an investment of ninety rubles having a par value of one hundred rubles, then the valuation of Russian government securities is not quite seventy. And that may continue for a long time."

"Do you consider that the real, intrinsic value?"

"The stock exchange knows no intrinsic value. It only knows tendencies. One hundred rubles' worth of Russian government securities can always be disposed of at seventy, if all the strings do not break."

"You are evading me. I asked for your personal opinion on the intrinsic value of the Russian bonds."

"I will give you an answer. As long as our Russian peasant is able to starve and to sell his grain, as long as there are gendarmes to aid the tax-collector, and people who are willing to make further loans to us, so long is the payment of coupons assured. Beyond that the foreign bondholder has no right to inquire."

"Please tell me whether in your opinion there is a hidden deficit in the Russian budget, or whether there is none."

"I am telling you that as long as there are people who are willing to make further loans to us we shall pay the interest. Were our budget a real one, we should not need to contract new debts in order to pay the interest on the old ones."

"That is what I wanted to know. And do you consider Russia a really insolvent country, that cannot really pay its debts, and cannot bear the burdens of modern national life?"

"On the contrary, Russia is intrinsically so rich a land in uncovered treasures that it only needs another and a just régime to pay its debts and to assume still further burdens."

"And this other régime?"

The banker pointed to the east. "Our future is being decided there. If it goes hard with us there, it may become better here more quickly than is suspected."

"Hence, worse for the bankers," said I, jokingly.

"People accustom themselves to honesty when there is no other way," answered the banker, also jokingly. "And when universal honesty comes into vogue, it will no longer be a shame to be honest."

With this I parted from the banker, whose pleasing cynicism always amused me, the more so since I recognized in him the essence of sterling, honorable views. Later interviews with other members of the financial world showed me that my first informant conveyed the generally accepted opinion. Isolated Germany will, for political reasons, and as a favor to the Russian régime, support Russian credit; the great German banks will not renounce the splendid loan-issuing business; and the German investor will permit the imposition upon him of the Russian bonds. "Sheep must be shorn," coolly said one of the brokers to me, when I expressed a doubt that the German imperial government would pay for its political business with the hard-earned pennies of its investors. Your Bismarck did not hesitate for a moment to throw Russian values into the street, and to destroy thereby milliards of German property, when it suited his political convenience. Your present government will not be at all embarrassed in sacrificing again milliards of German property to place us under obligation. And, finally, no one is compelled to it. Whoever is not able to figure sufficiently to see how Wishnegradski prepared the balances to deceive the eye had better keep his money in his stocking and not buy securities. If he does buy them, let him bleed. Another explained, however: "The Germans will buy our bonds. When no other bait is attractive there is still one left to us. When the landowner sells his crops, and is thinking of investing his proceeds, the banker will say to him, 'How about a little of the Russian securities?' 'But those are supposed to be insecure,' answers the good fellow. 'The idea! This is only a Jewish trick. Probably on account of Kishinef.' And the good fellow will hand over his shekels, for he cannot be fooled about Kishinef."

XIV

A FUNERAL

"You are here at an opportune moment," said one of my St. Petersburg friends, who had rendered me important services in my studies. "Mikhailovski died suddenly, and will be buried to-morrow."

"Mikhailovski?" I was almost ashamed to admit that I was entirely ignorant of the services of this man, and did not understand what interest his funeral could have for me. My friend had pronounced the name as if no tolerably well-educated person in all the wide world could have the least doubt as to its significance. I had to acknowledge again how little we, in the West, know of Russian life. I am not of the people who have read least about Russia, but Mikhailovski's name was as unfamiliar to me as that of Julius Rodenberg to a Chinaman.

My friend enlightened me. Mikhailovski was the editor of the most widely read Russian monthly, _Ruskoye Bogatstvo_ (Russian Wealth), a sociologist, and the recognized intellectual leader of radical young Russia. Nowhere in the world do the weekly and monthly magazines play such a rôle in the intellectual life of a nation as in the great Slavic empire. This may be accounted for, on the one hand, by the meagre development of the daily press, existing under strict censorship, and on the other by the high degree of scientific and practical development. The nation is still in a state of nature, and for such a nation there is really but one vocation--that of general education. This need of general culture is in accordance with the general modelling of Russian social life. There is very extensive and fruitful social intercourse; visitors on estates remain for weeks. This requires a periodically renewed supply of topics for conversation. And, finally, the nation is in a state of high political tension. Parliamentary debates wherein this political tension may be discharged are entirely lacking. Thus there remains only the home-bred discussions, which, again, are fed only by the reviews. Thus it happens that the weekly and monthly publications serve at once as books, newspapers, and parliaments, and that the greatest writers are enrolled either as contributors or editors on the staffs of the reviews. Mikhailovski, however, was jointly with the writer Korolenko the editor of the greatest radical monthly; a man who was the object of a reverence such as is only accorded in the West to a great orator or party leader.

"Plehve is a lucky dog," continued my friend. "The outbreak of the war has forced the entire Russian opposition camp into an armistice. It would be considered unpatriotic to create internal difficulties for the government, that needs all its power for an external conflict. It is at least intended to see whether there would be any new provocations on Plehve's part before further steps are taken in the organization of the opposition. At any other time an occasion like Mikhailovski's funeral would lead to great demonstrations and collisions with the Cossacks. Now it will only amount to expressions of devotion; and it is quite probable also that the police will avoid a collision. Hence, you may take part without danger in a demonstration by intellectual St. Petersburg, where, at any other time, you would be exposed at least to a few blows of the knout or a temporary arrest at the police station."

"Why do you speak of the knout and the Cossacks?" I asked. "Are not the police sufficient to maintain order?"

"They are not sufficient in mass-demonstrations, especially where these are participated in by the student body. Formerly use was made of the "dvorniks" (janitors) and butchers' clerks to bring the students to reason. But that is no longer practicable. The "dvorniks" and butchers' clerks have hesitated of late to come out against the students. They have discovered that these persons really take their lives in their hands for the people's sake, and, therefore, are no longer willing to do the jailer's work. And so the Cossacks must hold forth; and they know no pity."

We therefore agreed to meet in front of the deceased publicist's house. Such a Russian funeral is a full day's work. It begins early in the forenoon, and it is dark when you return home. In front of Mikhailovski's house I saw Korolenko--a still robust man, with very curly gray hair and beard--and almost all the master-minds of the intellectual life of St. Petersburg. Even the recently retired minister, Sänger, showed himself. Many a man was named to me with great reverence. The foreign public knows not one of them, and so I may forego the repetition of their names. It should be mentioned here, however, that in Russia a distinguished man tries to show his distinction by his dress and appearance, as far as possible. Here an original way of dressing the hair is one of the marks of distinction, and so one sees many striking heads. There is no getting along without some posing. I noticed, too, that scarcely one of the forty or fifty men I had become acquainted with was absent from the funeral. Now, these forty or fifty persons belong to most widely different social and political groups, so that the radical publicist could not have possibly had the same significance for each of them. But every one was present and was noticed. In fact, every new appearance was noted by the crowd. Most of them knew one another. The loose but yet effective organization of opposition in Russia had never been so clear to me as now. The unwritten public opinion, I had frequently noted, orders every intellectual to take part in this mute demonstration against the régime; and this dictation is more readily submitted to than the legitimate one. I do not believe our newspapers in the West could even approximately replace this intimate contact established day by day among these thousands in a manner mysterious to me. It is as if St. Petersburg were fermented by some medium in which every impulse is propagated with furious speed. And people have an incredible amount of time for politics in St. Petersburg. People in Russia have in general more time than we hurrying Westerners can conceive.

The coffin was carried from the house, where a religious service had already taken place, to the church across the street, and there a new service was begun. The church was so quickly filled that hundreds had to remain outside. But I was advised by my companion to go to the cemetery; for the funeral proper takes place only there, and it is of importance to secure a good place. We attended to various matters in the city, and reached, after more than a half-hour's ride in the sleigh, the cemetery where rest the city's celebrities. Names are again mentioned to me with respect and reverence. What an unsubstantial thing is fame, after all. The few sounds that fill one with awe fall on the unheeding ear of another. Another sphere, and nothing remains of the words that are esteemed in the first.

We stamp through the snow along the narrow paths between the gravestones towards the spot where the deceased is to find his last resting-place. A densely packed multitude is already pushing towards the newly dug grave. Near-by a mausoleum, with open portico, is already entirely occupied by women. We attempt to find a place there. We are met by hostile glances. Then one of the ladies approaches me and says something in Russian, which, of course, I do not understand. I express my regrets in German and French. She now excuses herself, declaring that she had made a mistake. A word from my companion, and the excitement is at once allayed.

"It was nothing," he explained to me. "They did not know whether you were a spy or a foreigner. They know it now, and are no longer uneasy. People know one another in this circle. But you are an entirely new person that must first be classified." Evidently my companion played a prominent part in this society without statutes, for a place was made for me with the greatest readiness; so that I found myself among none but celebrities, whose names were mentioned by the young ladies standing near in respectful whispers. They were mostly writers, scholars, and professors; among them was also the author of a work on Siberia, which I had read with horror years ago. He had already spent twelve years of his life in exile, and now he was again exposing himself to oppression by the authorities. Although the police were still out of sight, it would have hardly been advisable for a spy to appear here. Among the thousands of men, women, and girls who were already densely crowded about the grave, there was not a single person that was not acquainted with at least a part of those present. Suddenly there was a commotion in the crowd. A name is mentioned and repeated resentfully. Suvorin. Who is Suvorin? The editor of the _Novoye Vremya_. He was supposedly seen by some one. What impudence! Where is he? He shall at once leave the cemetery! But it was only a false alarm. Suvorin would not dare to come here; and why not? I inquire about the nature of his paper. Is it a _Libre Parole_ or _Intransigeant_? Is it nationalistic or clerical? An old gentleman who hears my question replies, turning towards me: "No-ism, scoundrelism." I see how the word is winged and is approvingly repeated in a widening circle. Yes, the most widely circulated sheet in Russia, which enjoys government patronage and the best and most authentic news from all the departments, is branded here with the deepest contempt by the flower of Russian intelligence as a well-poisoner, a worthless cynic. Russia is surely a remarkable land, it does not grant a license for baseness even to anti-Semitism. The hours follow one another. The snow under our feet had turned to water, and then again to ice, but it is no longer possible to leave one's place. We are ranged shoulder to shoulder, the men scarcely able to make room enough for the women to keep them from being crushed against the trees and gravestones. An elderly woman, with remarkably delicate features, and wrapped in a thin cloak, is standing quite near me. She has been here since ten o'clock this morning--that is, more than four hours. I feel almost ashamed of my fur coat and my felt overshoes when I see that bit of intelligent poverty standing near me. My neighbor and myself succeed, without her noticing it, in placing her between our coats, so that she might feel somewhat warmer. And thus thousands of women and girls are standing, old and young, down to the unsophisticated school-girl, pretty and homely, all of them patient and orderly; and what impressed me especially was the absence of the least trace of flirting between the men and women students. All of them were possessed by one sentiment--by political passion and the yearning for freedom. I am not foolish enough to think that in Russia erotic tendencies are eliminated in the intercourse between the youth of the opposite sexes, but nothing of it is noticeable here, and I must assume from this that frivolity and cynicism have no abode in this generation. All those who are standing here run the gantlet of imprisonment and deportation, and frivolous thoughts have no room here.

We hear, at last, the indistinct noise that heralds the approach of a great crowd of people. Then the noise becomes more differentiated--it changes into song. It is the student body following the coffin with songs of mourning over the miles of road. They sing beautifully, in wonderful polyphonic choirs, do the Russians; even envy must follow the song. They have a perfect ear. After the long waiting the final deliverance through its solemn notes affects the heart strangely. And now a new wave of approaching humanity. The impossible becomes possible, the students crowd past us and gather about the grave. The coffin is lifted over our heads and into the noose of the dull gravedigger. A moment of silence. Then the pope reads a short prayer and gives a short funeral sermon on the departed brother in Christ. Then only does the funeral ceremony proper begin. The pope steps aside. A white-haired man, a university professor, whose name passes from mouth to mouth, extols the departed champion of freedom. He is followed by a poet speaking in swinging verse. Then a woman. Then a student. Then a woman again, in irregular, improvised order. Then my neighbor, the man from Siberia, calls out to the students. Then begins a song full of fervor and passion. Then a woman speaks again, and after her a young girl. The police, hundreds of them, with many officers, are crowded quite into the background. It is better so. For of all the speeches I distinguished but one word, spoken in passionate tones, "Svoboda! Svoboda!" (Liberty! Liberty!). And, as if that word were a signal, it calls forth sighs and weeping and the gnashing of teeth. It is an indescribable drama, a terribly exciting scene. I cannot control myself, and cry out to my neighbor, "Make the poor girl keep still," and I point towards the police, but I am not understood. They have all been seized by a religious fanaticism that makes martyrdom bliss. How truly lovable they are, these educated people that still have an ideal and are strange to the base satiety that so sadly deforms our Western youth! And how the heart contracts at the thought that all this beautiful enthusiasm must vanish without result; that the longing and inspiration are helplessly shivered against the brutality of the Cossacks and gendarmes!

We left the consecrated ground in a strange intoxication after a tiring struggle with the densely packed crowd that would move neither forward nor backward. "It is not the business of the police to maintain order, but only to keep people under surveillance." I have been astonished to this very day that no one was trampled to death in the crowd.

I heard a few days later that the statistician Annenski, an old man of sixty-five, was arrested for having delivered one of those impassioned speeches at the grave. A number of men of irreproachable character, among them the historian who was the first speaker there, testified that Annenski was not one of the speakers. I could have testified to that myself, for I stood among the speakers, and each one was named to me. But the police would not give up its victim. Annenski was still in confinement when I left Russia. Now he is banished to Reval for four years, because they had found in his house a few numbers of Struve's periodical.

I, however, carried away with me from Mikhailovski's grave the certainty that the coming generation is lost to the reaction. Young Russia, in so far as it possesses an academic education, is liberal, both the men and the women. And thus that funeral day was for me the most hopeful day that I had lived in Russia.

XV

THE CHINOVNIK (THE RUSSIAN OFFICIAL)

Czar Nicholas I. is known to have been a great admirer of Gogol's "Revizor." Yet a more bitter satire on Russian officialdom than this realistic comedy does not exist. Plenty of utterances of the czars who have followed Nicholas are quoted to show that none of the supposedly unlimited monarchs of Russia has been in the least hazy as to the qualities of his most trustworthy servants. When, nevertheless, fifty years after the death of Nicholas I., the camorra of officials makes more havoc than ever, and obstructs all development of the Russian nation with the close meshes of its organization, as with a net of steel wire, this strange phenomenon is to be explained only in two ways. Either the czars who so clearly recognized the evil must have been unscrupulous cynics, who only laughed at corruption and had no feeling for the sufferings of their people, or else their power was not sufficient to break that of their servants. The omnipotence of autocracy must have found its limits in the omnipotence of the oligarchy of functionaries. The first of the possible explanations may be set aside without further consideration. The autocrats, without exception, have desired the good of their people, and have been personally upright men and lovers of justice. If they had been strong enough to create a trustworthy and industrious official service, instead of their idle and corrupt one, they would certainly have done so. Only the second explanation, then, is possible. The power of the czardom has had to capitulate to that of the oligarchy of officials.

This explanation, however, requires a further one. What wrecked the attempts of well-intentioned autocrats at reform? These men did not understand joking; and open opposition to orders of the Czar is absolutely unthinkable, when punishments such as exile to Siberia are given for much slighter offences. Is it possible that the Russian nation stands morally so much lower than all others that honest and industrious servants of the state are not to be found at all? That would be hard to believe. For if men are approximately alike in any one particular it is in average morality. The Russian is not more immoral or dishonorable than the German or the Frenchman. Fifty years ago the officials in Austria and Hungary also were still very corrupt, and Frederick William I. was obliged, even in morally strict Prussia, to use all his energy in taking steps against the state officials, who acted on the principle of the proverb, "Give me the sausage, and I'll quench your thirst" (Gibst du mich die Wurscht, lösch ich dich den Durscht). Besides, the experiment of regenerating the official service with foreigners has also been tried in Russia, especially by Alexander II. In the imperial library at St. Petersburg I came upon a little French pamphlet in which a Russian patriot laments in the most passionate terms because Czar Alexander II. was surrounded by an impenetrable wall of officials from the Baltic provinces, who let no one but their congeners rise on the rounds of the official ladder. The complaints made of the dictatorship of officials were, however, the same, although it was not denied that in industry and honesty the Germans from the Baltic provinces surpassed the native Russians. Under Alexander III. unmistakable orthodox opinions and the purest possible Russian descent were necessary in order to gain the good-will of the omnipotent Pobydonostzev and of the Slavophils. The misery, however, remained the same, except that it was in some degree relieved by the greater corruptibility of the native Russians. For--to show the utter preposterousness of the whole system--the Russian people find it much pleasanter to deal with bribe-taking officials than with honest ones. You may hear it said often enough in Russia, "The Russian autocracy is alleviated by the ruble; without the ruble life would not be at all endurable." There must, therefore, exist some fatal cause which prevents any improvement of conditions. Even evils do not grow old without some necessary reason for their existence.

In order to explain this it must be clearly understood what the Russians really complain of in their officials. They thought themselves no better off under the system of Alexander II., with the infusion into the service of more honest and industrious elements. Hence it appears not to be primarily the dishonesty or idleness of the bureaucracy which provokes the most complaints. This is, indeed, the fact. What drives the Russians to despair, and what they feel to be the grossest evil of the country, much more than the domination of the Czar alone, is the tyranny of the official caste, which forms a state within the state, and has set up a special code of official morality quite peculiar to itself. As to how far the possibility of such a class development is consistent with the autocracy as such will be inquired into below. A ring of officials is not absolutely excluded even in republics, as is shown by Tammany Hall in New York. Only in constitutional states it rests with the people to put an end to evil once recognized, but in an autocracy it does not. Before going further, however, it is necessary to make clear to the foreign reader what is meant in general by such a tyranny.

Therefore, let us say, for example, that you have been seen on the street with a person who, for some reason, and naturally without knowing it himself, is under police surveillance. Of course you yourself are from this moment under suspicion, and therewith delivered up to the official zeal of the whole, widely ramified organization, for the protection of the holy order. From that time forth letters directed to you do not reach you, or else bear a mark showing that by a remarkable accident they were found open in the letter-box and had to be officially sealed. You are surprised some night by the visit of an officer and of a dozen sturdy police officials, who rouse your children from their beds and search through your house from garret to cellar. If there should happen to be found in your possession a German translation of a novel of Tolstoï's, or any book or newspaper which stands on the police index, with which you naturally are not acquainted, off you go to prison with the agents of the law. Here you remain, well taken care of, pending a thorough-going investigation of the facts of the case. This lasts from three days to six months, as the case may be, according to your popularity or to the influence which your friends are able to bring to bear. It is not the slightest protection for you that you are a well-known householder, a busy physician or lawyer, of whom it might be assumed that even without imprisonment he would not immediately turn his back on the place of his profession. To prevent the danger of collusion, so that you may not hide the traces of your crime, you remain to the end under lock and key, with the invaluable right to maintain yourself meanwhile at your own expense. You will endure this little inconvenience calmly, as becomes a man, hoping that your friends will take care of your wife and children during this time and not let them actually starve. It is certainly unpleasant if your pretty daughter, who is studying history or art or philology, attracts the eye of the sacred "hermandad" and is carried off some night as a political suspect, and you can find by no pleading in what prison she is kept pending investigation. It is still more vexatious for you to know that your young son, a student, is in the hands of the police, since this young man has not yet learned self-control, and may possibly come to blows with his tormentors, who drive him so far that, finally, in order to put an end to his sufferings, he sets himself on fire with his own kerosene lamp and ends his life. I cite here only facts which came to my knowledge from the circle of highly respected families which I met during my stay of barely seven weeks. You yourself are, according to the degree of your offence, expelled for several years from the place of your profession or, at the worst, exiled to Archangel or Siberia. Finally, a crime on your part is not necessary. It is sufficient that you are not found loyal and respectful to the police.

These evidently are little unpleasantnesses which do not sweeten life for the citizen or greatly increase his loyal sentiments. They exert, however, a much more injurious effect on those who are in a position to inflict such torments on people who are to any extent in their disfavor. Travellers tell of tropical madness which seizes Europeans in the torrid zone. Since my experiences in Russia I am no longer inclined to regard this phenomenon as climatic. There is only one madness, that is the frenzy of domination to which every morally weak person is exposed when his lust for power meets with little or no opposition. This phenomenon is not less well known in our barrack-rooms, where discipline breaks down all opposition, than in prisons. Non-commissioned officers, and also many officers and prison officials, are easily seized with this madness, which is nothing but the spirit of the Prætorian Guard on a small scale. The German abroad, especially the young German noble, is most easily susceptible to it. He even likes to make up to himself a little in the primitive East for the strict provincial training to which he was subjected among the loyal and more moral ideas of his home. Hence the preference of Alexander II. for German officials caused no improvement in this respect.

In addition to the madness of power, which in itself is bad enough, there is, however, still another thing. The best elements in Russia do not select the political or police services. The pay is wretched, and can only be supplemented by illicit revenues. These illicit revenues arise from prompt releases from formalities, for which the interested persons show themselves grateful, and from carrying into effect orders against the Jews, who, for this very reason indeed, cannot be better established legally, because if they were a great part of the official service would lose a principal source of revenue from toleration-money. Men of the better class turn away as a matter of course from a career which depends upon such revenues. Hence it is not exactly the best who serve as executives of the power of the state. In official service there is also another aim--namely, to rise constantly to higher and more lucrative positions. For this there is only one rule, that of maintaining absolute good conduct in the eyes of the higher authorities. The higher authorities, however, consist of chinovniks, who have only one interest, that of the supremacy of their class and the prevention of anything that could injure its omnipotence. So it goes on up to the highest oracle; to the man to whom primarily is intrusted the protection of the Czar and of the autocracy; to the minister of the interior. Imagine this office held by a man like Plehve, and you will understand what spirit rules under the pashas of sleepy villages down to the last provincial hamlet. Cæsarian madness, aspiration for higher positions, class interest, all work together to produce entirely conscienceless libertines and barbarians, against whom there is no protection whatever. In a land without a parliament or a free press every complaint has only the effect of a denunciation of the devil to his grandmother. The complainant can by no means reckon the consequences, even if, indeed, the culprit is not especially rewarded for his official zeal. It is much better to stand in with the authorities, not to kick against the pricks, but to pay.

And the Czar? Either he hears nothing of all these things or they are represented to him as indispensable for the preservation of order. If it is hard to make a successful stand even in constitutional states with parliament and press, in the rare enough cases of despotic justice, it is immensely harder where the protection of authority is the highest principle of government, and where no institution whatever exists for the protection of the subject. It should not be at all surprising, then, that the reign of terror from above tries to countermine the terror from below. Indeed, it is only a proof of the patience and gentleness of the Russian people that attempts upon official criminals are so rare. I was the more ashamed when, during my stay in Russia, I read that German statesmen were hurling words of condemnation against Russian patriots who, careless of their own lives, had declared war against the brutal officials. However far the desire to preserve a good-neighborly relationship may go, a German politician does not need to ingratiate himself with the Russian régime. In doing so he exposes himself to the condemnation which that régime invariably calls forth when people know its administrative methods. German authorities ought not to lend their assistance to a body which a patriot and strong monarchist like Prince Ukhtomsky, the friend of the Czar, called a Camorra, a band of anarchists in office. Our sympathies ought rather to go out to those who strive to gain for Russia also a court where the shackled nation can bring its cry for help to a hearing--a parliament, however modest; a press not subjugated by the tyranny of the police. Only by these means can a nation full of good qualities be freed from the reign of terror of the chinovniks, from the Camorra of officials.

XVI

THE SUFFERINGS OF THE JEWS