XI THE PEOPLE'S PALACE OF ST. PETERSBURG (NARODNI DOM)

In Potemkin's fatherland the art of government consists principally in hiding the truth not only from the people, but also from the Czar, who must be made to believe that he really strives for the welfare of the people, and not only for that of the all-powerful bureaucracy. Potemkin's art, as is well known, consisted in deceitfully showing to his beloved Empress, in a long journey, prosperous peasant farms, where in reality wretchedness and misery had established their permanent home. What the all-powerful favorite had accomplished by means of pasteboard and bushes, costs the modern Potemkins somewhat more comfort; but like their predecessor, they are in a position to supply it from the richly filled imperial treasury. The "Narodni Dom," the people's institute on the St. Petersburg fortress, is utilized to persuade the philanthropic Nicholas that in his paternally governed empire more ample provision is made for the common people and their welfare than in the heartless, civilized Western countries.

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To the eye of a well-meaning ruler or of a well-disposed globe-trotter this is really a pleasant sight. Framed in alleys of tall trees, there rises in the park a far-stretching stone structure, of St. Petersburg dimensions, surmounted by a great cupola. On the payment of ten kopeks at the entrance we walk into the well-heated central portion under the dome, brightly illuminated by arc-lamps. Furs and overshoes are removed. And now an exclamation of admiration escapes our lips. A well-dressed crowd strolls naturally, without crowding and elbowing, towards a platform rising at the farther end, on which, to judge at a distance, Neapolitan folk-singers are performing. We join the procession, and when scarcely in the middle of the immense hall supported by iron girders, there resound behind us thundering notes that cause us to look upward. An orchestra stationed on a one-story-high cross-gallery has begun a Russian popular song. The singers before us stop for a while. The crowd moves forward. A negro dandy with high, white standing collar and patent-leather boots, proudly leads by the arm a voluptuous blonde of the Orpheum type. He grimly shows his teeth and fists to the scoffers who make fun of the unequal pair; but this does not end in a race conflict, for it is not yet certain whether a negro boy is more in sympathy with the Japanese or the Russians. We finally reach the interesting side of the hall, and there opens before us a still more [Pg 105]enchanting picture. Behind long buffet-tables, kept scrupulously clean, and laden with all the delicacies of Russian cookery, from caviar sandwiches to the splendid mayonnaise of salmon, there bustle neat waitresses in white caps and broad, white aprons. The prices are maintained low throughout. The same is true of the warm dishes, the preparation of which we could watch in the large, open kitchen. Spirituous liquors are not sold, but in their place kvass, and tea from the immense copper samovar blinking in the kitchen. The glasses are continually washed by sparkling water on an automatically turning high stand. The bright nickel, the reddish shimmer of the copper, the bluish white tiles of the floor and walls, the snow-white garments of the cooks, the white light of the arc-lamps could induce a Dutchman to produce a very effective painting of neatness. We allow ourselves to be crowded forward, and after a fruitful pilgrimage, pass the folk-singers, where a part of the crowd is gathered, back towards the central hall, which we now observe at our leisure. We are struck here, in the first place, by the colossal portraits of the Emperor and Empress. They are the hosts here; for the millions for the imposing structure came from the Emperor's private purse. Then there is an immense map of the Russian empire for stimulating patriotic sentiments. But there await us still other pleasures. The entire left wing of the building is occupied by an enormous popular theatre. To-night [Pg 106]Tschaikowski's "Maid of Orleans" is being played. We purchase tickets at the popular price of one ruble per seat, whereby we secure a place at about the middle of the extensive parterre, and are enabled to look over the public in front and at back of us; and this is not less interesting than the play on the stage. The seats in the rows ahead of us cost up to two rubles; in the rows at the back of us up to sixty kopeks. On either side are galleries and standing room that cost "only" from thirty to seventy kopeks. In comparison with the prices in the other St. Petersburg theatres those of the "Narodni Dom" must be considered decidedly popular, even though it is a peculiar class of people that can spare thirty kopeks to two rubles for an evening at the theatre, quite aside from the incidental expenses of an evening drive, of admission, and of wardrobe. But of that later.

We follow the play. The performance is decidedly respectable, from the leader to the chorus. The setting is quite brilliant, and true to style, the orchestra well trained, with some very excellent performers among the soloists. We forget, for the time being, that we are in Russia, notwithstanding the Russian language and the Russian music. It is Schiller's heroic composition which has inspired the composer. Dunoi's Lahire, Lionel, Raymond, Bertram, Agnes Sorel, Charles, the cardinal appear before us in familiar scenes, and we experience at times quite peculiar sensations when we again come[Pg 107] across this northern night, the images, the glowing rhetoric of which in the dear tongue of our own poet had given us the first intoxication of patriotic enthusiasm. The passionately warm music of Tschaikowski, and the swing of his choruses intensify the effect of those reminiscences.

But let us return to Russian reality. A thin, black-bearded young man paces busily through the rows during one of the entr'actes. He exchanges remarks here and there with the officers and officials, whom he leaves with a smile. And in the second entr'acte it becomes evident what preparations had been made here. War had just been declared; the password had just been given out to arouse patriotic enthusiasm, or, at least, to make the attempt. Already in one or another of the theatres the public had thunderingly called for the national hymn. What is proper in the Imperial Theatre must be acceptable in the popular theatre. The curtain had fallen after the second act, when suddenly, from one of the boxlike recesses on the left gallery was heard the call "Hymn! Hymn!" Everybody looked curiously up. There were there a few uniformed young men, as we found later, student-members of that patriotic secret association organized under the patronage of the reactionaries—a stroke of Suvorin—to watch the progressive students. The orchestra replied to the call with remarkable alacrity, and the public rose dutifully smiling and stood to the beautiful hymn. But new[Pg 108] shouts were heard. The choir must join in. The curtain rose obediently, and the entire cast of "The Maid of Orleans," Charles, Agnes, Jean d'Arc, and Lionel, Burgundy and England; the people and knights were already properly grouped and joined in the hymn with the orchestra accompaniment. The public again arose politely and listened standing. The demonstration was not yet at an end. It was reported that the hymn was sung three times in the other theatres, hence that should occur also here. And the public patiently rises for the third time, and lets the song float over it. The thin, black-bearded young man, however, rubs his hands with which he joined in the applause but shortly before, throws a significant glance to his neighbors, and hastens out. I do not know to this day whether he was an entrepreneur of the public resort, or a penny-a-liner who had arranged an interesting piece of local news.

Thus I came to see the birth of one of those patriotic demonstrations of which the papers were full in the following days. The impression was anything but striking. The fine hand of the police could be detected in the arrangement as well as in the audience. It was a forced demonstration that no one could avoid. I remember from my boyhood the explosive enthusiasm after the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war, and the evening after the battle of Sedan. In man's estate I was a non-participating observer of patriotic demonstrations[Pg 109] in Hungary; my heart beat fast at home as well as in Hungary under the stress of sympathy. That was a real storm of feeling. Here—wet straw that would not burn. Worse. An obedient participation—woe to him who did not participate! and then a sarcastic wink felt as a compensation for the coercion just experienced.

The difference was never clearer to me between free citizens and Russian subjects, between national sentiment and obedience, as at these patriotic demonstrations under police supervision and inspiration.

And now I looked at the public more carefully. Where was the "people" among the thousands sitting in the theatre, or eddying up and down the colossal halls? not one hundred, not fifty men or women in the dress of the common people. All of it what is known in St. Petersburg as the "gray public," officials, business-men, the class with an income of two or three thousand rubles. I saw high-school instructors, students with their girls, modistes, the good, small bourgeois, that often stand morally and mentally high above the fashionable world; but the people, in our sense of the term, the workingman, the peasant, for whom the popular house was really built, in whose name the Czar was made to contribute, and to whom the building is dedicated, these were absent, and had to be absent, because they do not possess the schooling that would enable them at all to enjoy the offerings of the "Narodni Dom." The court may be persuaded[Pg 110] that with such an institution they are marching in the vanguard of civilization, and that something of the future state has been realized with an institution that even the republics of the West do not possess; but the Russian patriots who are indeed living for their nation, and who would free it from the fetters of ignorance and superstition, only shake their heads sadly at this Potemkinism. Sand for the eyes of the philanthropic Czar, another winter resort for the St. Petersburg middle class; for the people neither "panem" nor "circenses," but for the paid eulogists a theme at which enthusiasm may be kindled—that is the "Narodni Dom," the pride of St. Petersburg. In Zurich, in Frankfort, in any place with real popular education, this "Narodni Dom" would be an ideal people's house, adapted to inspire sentiment of citizenship and patriotism, and to elevate the general culture level. In St. Petersburg it only shows the good intentions of the Czar and his consort, and the fundamental corruption of the régime. A sober, enlightened, culture-loving people would not submit to the autocracy of bureaucratic dictation shown above. It makes ideal "people's houses," but takes care that as far as possible, this house be kept free from the people.