XXI PUBLIC OPINION AND THE PRESS

The fine imperial library in St. Petersburg, which I was permitted through the kindness of our legation to use, possesses a specialty in a particular class of works, the collection of so-called "Russica"—i. e., everything that has been written in foreign languages about Russia. Polite attendants, speaking various languages, assist the visitor. One learns from them that it is the business of special agents abroad to report on publications which relate to Russia, and to send them in. So it happens that probably nowhere in the world is there such an accumulation of revolutionary literature as in this imperial collection. For patriotic writings are for the most part in Russian, so that they may be appreciated and quickly rewarded. The semi-official literature in foreign languages is not to be compared in quantity or importance with that which true patriots are forced to their sorrow to write in foreign languages. I looked through piles of this forbidden literature. The impression I received was desperately disheartening. There is nothing which has not been said about Russia. The[Pg 207] severest and best-attested attacks on the régime, on persons, on conditions, stand there quietly, volume by volume, in the imperial library, and have had exactly as much effect as whip-strokes on water. The Russian political writer who wishes to war upon the present system with the weapon of reckless criticism must lose all hope in face of this library. What more can be said than has already been said by Milyukov, by Lanin, by Leroy-Beaulieu? The voice of the prophets does not penetrate to the ears of the rulers, or, if it does, it is drowned by the whispers of parasites who know how to protect their own interests, or it finds no echo in the too weak or too hardened hearts of the rulers.

I had the same sensation when, in the course of my conversations with leading persons in the service of the state, and with members of the "Intelligence," I was more and more struck with the fact that in Russia there is an unusually strong public opinion, which in its criticisms far transcends anything that can be said in foreign papers about Russian conditions, and that this criticism makes no impression whatever upon the authorities. I was, of course, interested next in the problem as to how it could be possible without newspapers—the Russian press is under the most barbarous censorship—to disseminate from St. Petersburg to Odessa with a truly uncanny rapidity, an almost monotonously uniform idea of all the events and personalities of the day. I confess I have not yet solved the riddle.[Pg 208] It is only a hypothesis of mine to suppose that there are three or four centres for the formation of opinion in Russia, one of which is undoubtedly to be found in the ministry itself, and another, perhaps, in the Noblemen's Club, or in other clubs of the intelligent classes in Moscow, and that through the abundance of time which every Russian allows himself for recreation, every newly coined saying or opinion is spread throughout the whole realm by letters or by word of mouth. I have heard from the lips of statesmen high in office literally the same words I have heard at the table of Leo Tolsto?, in Yasnaya Polyana, or in the study of the lawyer who gave me an interview. After I had come to terms with this fact of the absolute uniformity of public opinion, a fact not altogether gratifying to the collector of information, it was no longer possible to ignore the question as to how it is possible that such a unison of wishes and opinions meets only deaf ears in the highest circles, although it has already become a historic legend that Alexander II. was forced into the war with Turkey against his will by public opinion. If public opinion at that time had so much power for evil, why does it not have power now, and power for good?

An annoying question sooner or later finds an answer—whether a correct one or not remains to be seen—no doubt because the mind does not rest until it has found something plausible wherewith[Pg 209] to quiet itself. I finally explained the matter to myself in the following way. The husband is the last to hear of the shame that his consort brings upon him. People point at him, the servants snicker, even anonymous letters flutter on his table, and still he is unsuspecting, or, at the most, is disturbed without definitely knowing why. There is, except in the case of treachery, which is extremely rare, or the taking in the act, which is still rarer, only one possibility of enlightenment for him—namely, that a very intimate friend or a near relative shall play the part of the ruthless physician, and supply evidences which are irrefutable. An autocrat is hardly less interested in the credit of his system than a husband in the reputation of his wife. This system is apparently identical with his personality. He bears all the responsibility. He has reason for the most far-reaching suspicion of all who approach him, because he seldom sees any one who does not wish something of him. Who, then, has the courage, the credit, and the means to approach the Czar, and to tell him the truth concerning what goes on about him and is done in his name? A near friend? That would have to be a foreign monarch. It is well known how carefully kings avoid seeming to advise, especially when the excessively proud Russian dynasty is in question. What other monarch, moreover, must not consider his own interests, which cannot be identical with those of Russia? the German Emperor perhaps[Pg 210] least of all. Unfortunately, however, the relations between William II. and Nicholas II. are none of the most intimate. Indeed, Nicholas openly shuns too frequent intercourse with Emperor William, and prefers when he is in Germany to play tennis with his brother-in-law of Hesse. There remains, then, only near relatives. They, indeed, are much in evidence, and they have the Czar entirely under their influence. They are public opinion for him; and as long as they have no interest in placing themselves on the side of the opposition, so long, according to physico-psychological laws, will the voice of the real public opinion decrease in proportion to the square of the approach to the Czar; and all anonymous or unauthorized enlightenments and memorials by patriots who willingly make themselves victims will make no more than a momentary impression. The public opinion which forced the Czar Alexander II. into the war with Turkey was the opinion of the belligerent grand-dukes; the public opinion which rules the present Czar and thereby prevents the counsels of the opposition from having a hearing is again that of the grand-dukes, who move only in the narrowest court circles and in those of the reactionary bureaucracy. The Czar knows this, but he cannot help himself. He has just now had a new experience of it, when those about him made him firmly believe that the Japanese affair was well on the way towards a peaceful settlement, while at the same time, by dilatory[Pg 211] tactics and constant preparations, they provoked the Japanese to declare war.

There is only one possible position for an intelligent ruler who seeks to secure veracious information. That is to institute a free press and an independent parliament. To be sure, both press and parliament may be led astray, and lead astray. It is unquestionably easier to find one's way in a few reports of the highest counsellors than in the chaotic confusion of voices of unmuzzled newspaper writers and members of parliament, among whom, it cannot be denied, conscienceless demagogues find place only too quickly. But he who bears such heavy responsibility should not avoid difficulties; and there is absolutely no other means of gaining a hearing for the truth than by the free utterance of every criticism. Finally, one learns to read and to hear, and comes to distinguish between real arguments and those of demagogues. No one outside the country can form a conception of how the Russian press and the elements of parliamentary institutions are oppressed by the camorra of officials. The zemstvo of the province of Tver, which had the effrontery to entertain wishes for a constitution, was dissolved; and this is the least that happens in such cases. The persecution of the persons who are under suspicion of exerting especial influence upon their fellows—this is the evil. They are surprised by night, and in the most fortunate cases are held in prison for months during [Pg 212]investigations. In other cases, when the search shows that the smallest bit of forbidden literature was in the hands of the suspected man, his exile to a distant province or to Siberia is a matter of course. These things, however, are unfortunately only too well known. What is not so well known is the way editors are treated who presume to wish to edit a sheet or who draw upon themselves as editors the displeasure of the police. The head censor in St. Petersburg, chief of the highest bureau of the press, is a certain Zvyerev, a former Liberal professor in the University of Moscow. Renegades are always the worst. Since Zvyerev has been censor the restrictions of the Russian press have been severer than ever. I became acquainted with the former editor-in-chief of a great paper, who sketched for me the examination he underwent before permission was granted him to edit a paper under censorship. There are, I should explain, two sorts of papers in Russia. The first are those which appear ostensibly without censorship, at their own risk, and at the slightest slip are simply suppressed. It is easy to guess how ready people are to invest in such enterprises. Those of the second sort are papers under censorship, which are submitted to the censor before they appear, and through his oversight receive a certain protection, not, to be sure, of a very far-reaching kind. This, however, is the only method by which any capital can be secured; and without capital to-day the founding of a paper is an impossibility.

[Pg 213]

Ivan Mikhailitch Golitzyn, then, wishes to start a paper, has taken all preparatory steps, has procured capital and valuable testimonials, and appears now before the mighty Zvyerev to request the final license.

Zvyerev is a snob and bows to a great name. Therefore he cannot immediately say no, for the candidate has taken care to obtain testimonials from the most prominent people. Therefore the following dialogue ensues:

"Ivan Mikhailitch, I know you and your family. You are a Russian noble, and as such are called upon to protect the interests of our Emperor and of the church. There is also nothing to be said against your patrons. But you yourself, ever since your student days, have been under suspicion of harboring Western ideas. Your associations also are not entirely above suspicion. I am informed that you associate with Jews."

"Your excellency knows that my paper is to stand for progress, which certainly is not forbidden, and if Jews are among my acquaintances, it would be unchristian to insult them by turning my back on them."

"Yes, that is all very well. But I should like to know whether you will oppose the impertinences of the Jews with the necessary vigor?"

"Your excellency will perceive that a paper which stands for progress cannot attack the Jews without good reason. But, on the other hand, it[Pg 214] cannot be philo-Semitic, for our mercantile class would not advertise, on account of their anti-Semitic feeling, and the paper could not continue."

"Will your paper support the absurd efforts which are being made towards the introduction of a constitution?"

"We will concern ourselves only with practical questions. The introduction of a constitution does not belong to these."

"But if one of your editors should make an attempt to enter upon the discussion of this question, would you permit it?"

"My editors know the programme and will not attempt any disloyalty to it. But should the case occur, it would be my duty to protect the integrity of the programme."

"Ivan Mikhailitch, you are a clever man and know how to make evasive answers. I cannot refuse you a license. But I warn you! And beware of the Jews. That is the first duty of a Russian nobleman to-day."

That is the conversation which has certainly been carried on more than once in Zvyerev's office before the founding of a paper. In striking agreement with it is the scene which Struve reports in his Osvobozhdenie, when, after the suppression of a paper, the editor presents himself because his license has been taken away unjustly.

Again, take the case of a Moscow paper which has published a poem delivered at the time of a public[Pg 215] festival, but in which the author had afterwards made some changes. The paper—I do not remember its name—was suppressed. The publisher or the editor, who is likewise said to have been a Russian noble, went to St. Petersburg, and objected that, as his paper appeared under censorship, if any one was to blame it was the censor who had let this poem pass. Zvyerev, however, showed plainly that latter-day tendencies did not please him, and that he only wanted an excuse for taking measures against the paper. Of course such measures mean, under some circumstances, financial ruin; in any case, severe injury to all the contributors. Therefore suppression of the license is an unusually effective means of pressure to bring to bear against the convictions of editors. In this case pressure of such a monstrous kind was attempted as it is to be hoped stands alone in the chapter of censor-tyranny. The editor was told in plain words, by Zvyerev, that he might permit it to be stated that the poem had been smuggled into the paper behind his back by the Jews, and that the minister of the interior would at once grant a license for the reappearance of the paper. The editor, of course, refused the demand, and a new page was added to the book of Russian infamy. Zvyerev is still in office as a worthy assistant to his minister, Plehve.

The oppression of independent-minded organs is, however, not the only expedient of Russian policy in regard to the press. Its antithesis is not absent—official[Pg 216] support of the revolutionary and provincial press. Russia rejoices in one journal which has not its equal in untruthfulness and diabolical baseness in the whole world, the Novoye Vremya. This Panslavic sheet, which is ready to eat all Germans and Jews alive, and which finds no lie too infamous, no invention too childish to serve up to its readers, if only their prejudices are tickled, is openly supported by the Russian government. It therefore contains an incomparably greater amount of news than any other, has consequently the most subscribers, and can pay its contributors and correspondents the best, so that every one who wants to read a paper with plenty of news has to take this noble organ. I found it everywhere in Russian houses, and if I asked the master of the house his opinion of it, the answer was everywhere the same: "Infamous, but indispensable."

It is, then, carefully seen that in Russia, as elsewhere, emperors—and other people—do not hear the truth. The autocracy, or rather bureaucracy, surrounds itself with bulwarks which nothing can penetrate. It will need an earthquake to make a breach. This earthquake is, indeed, according to the common opinion of all thinking Russians, nearer than is generally supposed. It is the financial breaking-up of a system now held together only by foreign loans.