CHAPTER XII THE SOBERING OF RUSSIA

Russian Dreamers—Fighting a Curse—First Steps—An Interesting Encounter—A Great Reform—Its Acceptance by the Peasants—The Cabman's interrogative—He Begs me to Intercede with the Tsar—The Temptation of Drink—My Peasant Teas—The Drink Habit—Our Courageous Emperor


There are some people who accuse me of being a dreamer, and I confess they are not altogether wrong. For many years I "dreamed" of an Anglo-Russian understanding; it was the great dream of my life. I could have wished that it had been realised without the shedding of rivers of blood and the wasting of tens of thousands of lives; still, I have been spared to see my dream come true, and I can only hope that out of this terrible sacrifice good may come.

Some of my friends were as inveterate dreamers as I, notably Mr. M. Gringmuth, the editor of The Moscow Gazette, who, in 1908, announced his determination of struggling energetically against drunkenness in our beloved Russia. "We must convince our Government," he said, "of the absolute necessity of stopping this evil and of finding better sources of revenue—sources more worthy of a great country."

I remember with what thankfulness I read these patriotic words. In alcohol I saw a greater enemy {166} to Russia than Nihilism and all its kindred influences. It was the secret enemy eating into our country's very vitals. Then came the day when, with a stroke of the pen, our Tsar did the greatest thing that any monarch has ever done for his subjects—he killed the foe that had been for generations menacing millions of homes.

There have been many dreamers in Russia who, like Mr. Gringmuth, have fought the common enemy. I remember in the year 1899 I was travelling in Finland. It was a bitterly cold September day, and I was glad when we reached Terioki (a station an hour's distance from Petrograd) to get some refreshment. Sitting in a corner of the room I was enjoying my cup of tea, when suddenly I heard a rough and imperious voice.

"A glass of gin (vodka). Be quick!"

"But we have no gin," replied the waiter. "We sell no alcohol here."

"What is the meaning of this? Well, then, give me some wine."

Again the waiter answered quietly, "We sell no wine at this station."

"Dear me! How absurd!" exclaimed the rough voice. "Well, then, give me some beer at once."

"Very well, sir, I can offer you beer, but only if you also take some solid food. Here are beef-steak, chops, patties—choose what you like."

"All right, all right; give me beer and anything you like besides," shouted the thirsty traveller. Grumbling and vexed, he swallowed his steak and drank his beer, looking with disappointed eyes at the half-bottle that had been placed before him.

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I followed the scene from my corner, and was greatly amused. During that time a gentleman who was studying my face seemed to read the meaning of my satisfied and joyful look.

"Madam," he said politely, taking off his hat, "pardon the liberty I take in addressing you, but I see you are pleased with this little scene."

"Pleased," I repeated; "no, I am not pleased, I am delighted."

"Well," continued he, "let me tell you that our struggle against drunkenness has not been in vain. And I am happy to meet people who seem to sympathise with the results of our work."

"Tell me more about it," I said. "I must know how you manage to paralyse drunkenness, even at railway stations, where there are so many sorts of people."

"Ah, it has gone further than those," proudly replied the unknown. "It seems that only a strong step in the right direction was needed to set the whole enterprise at work. The simple but important programme we have adopted is to induce our people to feel that a drunken country—like a drunkard—may easily degenerate and go to ruin. We are determined not to fall in that abyss."

"But what are the practical measures you recommend and which you apply?"

"Since this important duty became clear to us," he said, "we started to work with great energy. We established in every town and every village temperance meetings, conferences, discussions. We distributed useful leaflets, simply but clearly expounding our views on the necessity of our struggle, {168} and I am happy to say we have been all this time extremely successful. Our schemes have been eagerly accepted, and our society has immensely increased. In fact, our success has far exceeded our warmest expectations, both in diminishing the hours for the sale of alcohol and in reducing the number of public-houses. In many places—in Viborg, for instance—even beer is not sold. Those who want to buy alcohol must go elsewhere—that is to say, where our propaganda has not yet been so well established. No doubt it is only a question of time; far wider results are certain.

"Our propaganda," he continued, "at first seemed strange. Now all our societies compete with each other in zeal and energy. During our last elections, all our candidates secured the support of the tee-totallers, and when in Parliament, strengthened by the agitation, they carried most drastic measures."

"And yourself," I asked, "what political party do you belong to?"

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed he, as if I had put the most grotesque question. "I am a business man. All my time is absorbed by my business, and I have never had time for politics. Those who sympathise with our propaganda are my friends, that's all."

"What keeps your societies together? What pledges? For how long is the pledge binding? With us, in Russia proper," continued I, "each new member takes an oath in church, and likes to feel that there is a religious element connected with his pledge."

"We require nothing of the kind," answered he; {169} "the moment a man recognises the harm of alcohol he clearly sees where his duty lies, that's all. The conditions concerning the furtherance of our propaganda differ. In some places there are no alcohol shops at all. In others there are only a limited number of public-houses. As a rule, where they reduce that number they also limit the hours of sale."

"But I understand, according to the charming scene we have just witnessed," said I, "restrictions are also put on beer, whilst Count Witte actually recommended to teetotallers beer as a deviation from alcohol."

"Can it be possible?" exclaimed the gentleman. "What was his object in doing so? Every man knows perfectly well that it is only a question of degree. The substance remains the same. When you start with beer, you gradually go to the gin. This is known everywhere and, I repeat, by everybody. Among certain precautions, which are very useful, though they may seem at first glance trivial, is this. Where the sale of alcohol is not absolutely abolished, only diminished, gin is never sold in small bottles, which could be carried in the pocket. Alcohol is sold only in large bottles, which are too costly for the poor man and too cumbrous. The latter have to go to some other place or town—which is neither a cheap nor easy way of getting what one wants. As to private sale, it is out of the question, as it would be denounced immediately by some teetotal neighbour, and punished by law."

"What is the part of the Government in all these reforms?" I asked.

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"None," replied he, "none whatever, except that they ought to look for their revenue elsewhere, and not be afraid of displeasing the publicans."

Here I remembered that I had to continue my journey to Petrograd, and, thanking my obliging informant, hurriedly rushed to my train.

The terrible evil wrought in Russia by drunkenness has been generally admitted and discussed ever since I can remember. As is very well known, half of our convicts committed their crimes under the influence of this horrible scourge, a fact which is probably equally applicable to other countries, including England.

Some of our officials, my son amongst them, I am happy to say, availed themselves of every opportunity to explain the danger of the drink evil to the peasantry.

When the great reform of the Zemski Natchalnik (a local administrator resembling the English J.P.) was introduced, Alexander Novikoff delivered an address to the peasants on our estate in the following words:

"I came among you to make your acquaintance and to explain to you what was meant by the new reform inaugurated by His Majesty, and the changes which that reform introduces into your life. Let me read you the Imperial manifesto addressed to the Senate."

(Here followed the reading aloud of the ukase, amidst profound and attentive silence.)

"You thus see for yourselves that the object of this reform is the Emperor's desire to abolish certain previous conditions of your life, in order to promote {171} your well-being. The harvest of last year was of medium average. This year is worse; our fields are almost naked; and people are already threatened with famine. Is it possible that during several years of good harvest you could not have provided for one bad year? This and other such negligences on your part have shown His Majesty 'the necessity of coming to your aid in establishing'—as it is said in the ukase—'a help which stands more within your reach.' That help, which is possessed of considerable power, stands nearer to you in two ways: nearer, locally speaking, and also nearer by the confidence which a Zemski Natchalnik hopes to arouse in you. Formerly, every complaint against the rural administration had to be forwarded to the tribunal in the district town; that tribunal could thus form its judgment of a case only on the foundation of written documents, and consequently just rights were sometimes inadequately protected. Other cases necessitated appeals to still more distant authority. Henceforth, in all your business affairs, which your village judges are not allowed to settle, you have simply to appeal to your Zemski Natchalnik who lives close to you. But besides the local proximity there is the proximity of confidence, which I hope to deserve from you. Remember that I am always ready to hear you whenever you are in need, at any time of the day, either at my own house or in your village. I beg you to come to me, not only with your complaints, but also when you require advice or guidance. I shall always be happy to help you to the best of my power.

"Let me now tell you what I expect from {172} yourselves. I begin with your meetings. You must admit that great disorders have taken place at these gatherings. Were they not often accompanied with drinking? What a quantity of land and property has been exchanged for brandy! I have now given strict orders—which I repeat to you now—that the smallest piece of land is not to be disposed of without the consent of your village judges and unless sanctioned by me. You must keep well in mind that a village meeting is not a convivial gathering of friends, but is an administrative assembly, where you have to perform a serious duty conferred upon you. Had you always looked upon that duty in its proper light there would be no question of drunkenness at your meetings, nor could your village judges ever complain of not having the number of householders necessary for a legal meeting.

"I must now point out what is expected from you in your private life. First comes your duty to God. It is not for me to investigate what happens with your soul. That is the duty of your spiritual fathers—your confessors. But remember that I shall severely punish any disorderly behaviour in church or during any service. How often have I seen drunkenness at your marriage festivities—people going to church under the influence of drink. The same happens at Easter and other holidays. I appeal to your spiritual fathers to help me in re-educating you; and I shall also be very happy, so far as the law allows me to do so, to help them, whenever my authority may be needed for their support.

"I now mention your duties to your Sovereign. {173} You beg him to help you in your harvest difficulty. What can you do in return? How can you repay him? Only in helping us, in the execution of his orders, in faithfully obeying the laws and their administrators. Until now you have considered your village chiefs almost as your servants; while their sacred duty is not to flatter your weaknesses, but to lead you in the path of right.

"Now let us refer to your family obligations. It has lately become the custom for the youngsters to attend the village meetings, with loud and idle talk; while the heads of the family, who are best entitled to express their opinions, as they used to do in olden times, shrink from attending. Addressing ourselves to a village meeting, we say 'elders,' but there are only youngsters to be seen. You must admit that, though the old people are less educated than you in reading and writing, they have nevertheless much more experience and are more attentive to their duties.

"As far as your private life is concerned, I must draw your particular attention to two of your shortcomings, which have not been hitherto sufficiently pointed out to you.

"The first is your want of respect to your parents, which I will not tolerate, because how can any man expect respect from others when he is himself disrespectful to his own parents?

"The second fault is drunkenness. How many families are driven to misery; how many crimes are committed only through alcohol? Neither I nor your village judges have the right to break into your homes and prevent you by law from spending your {174} time in drinking. We can only urge and beg you to give up that habit. But remember well: to come to a village meeting or to a tribunal in a state of intoxication is prohibited by law, and for this you may be severely punished. A new election of village judges has now to take place, and this new administration is subject to the control of your Zemski Natchalnik. I have often heard people say: 'He is a happy fellow now. He may drink as much as he likes, now that he is a judge.' For myself, I confidently expect that with the new administration there will be neither drunkenness nor bribery. Your new judges have to give an oath on the gospel. It is your duty to elect men who realise the importance of such an oath. The title of a village judge should command a respect of which every man ought to be proud. I hope that we shall live together in harmony, and that you will help me in my difficult task. Now let us thank God for granting us an Emperor so anxious to help us and to promote our well-being. Let us also pray the Almighty to enlighten us, and to guide us in our choice in the important duties we are now about to undertake."

A Te Deum followed Mr. Novikoff's speech, then the election of the village judges, and the assemblage of peasants, thus rendered serious and thoughtful, presented an impressive scene.

It was satisfactory to see with what intense interest the peasants followed these words of sober advice.

Some years ago, I cannot exactly say when and where, I ventured to describe some of my own personal experiences connected with the same vital {175} question. I remember so well the details of the facts of which I then spoke, that I would like to repeat them even now.

I was driving one evening from the Zarskoe Selo Station in Petrograd to my hotel, some distance away. Although it was the summer season the weather reminded one rather of October or November. It was cold, rainy and windy; under such circumstances one naturally begins dreaming of personal comfort, a warm room and a cup of hot tea. One becomes prosaic. It seemed to me as if my drive would never come to an end.

Suddenly I heard a voice: "Madame," asked my young driver, "are you a Russian?"

"Yes," answered I, "thank God, I am a Russian!"

A few minutes later I heard the same voice say: "Madame, are you a Greek Orthodox?"

I naturally repeated again: "Yes, thank God, I am a Greek Orthodox!"

But my driver seemed to be inquisitive.

"And do you often see the Tsar?" asked the boy.

"No, unfortunately very seldom," answered I.

But I was puzzled to know the cause of all these questions, I even forgot for a few minutes to dream about my cup of hot tea, and took up the dialogue myself.

"But tell me, why do you want to know all these things?"

"Well, I thought that perhaps I could beg you to intercede on our behalf, when you see His Majesty. The fact is, I have been brought up at Mr. Serge {176} Ratchinsky's school as a teetotaller. May God bless him for the good he has done to us children."

The lad went on to explain that on growing up he had to help his parents, who owing to a bad harvest suffered great privations. He left his village and came to Petrograd to work and earn some money. Of course he had to buy a nice horse, a good cab and an overcoat—the authorities are very particular now as to the drivers' appearance in towns. He had to face all these expenses, and to work very hard, as may be imagined. In fact he was at it all day.

"When the evening comes," he continued, "one can really die of starvation: nowhere is a crust of bread obtainable. All the bakeries, all the tea-rooms, sausage-shops and canteens of every sort are closed punctually at 8 p.m. Only the public bars are open all night, but even there no food can be procured. You must admit that no man can live entirely without food," wisely concluded my driver.

Having expressed my acquiescence I became silent, and soon afterwards reached my hotel.

But ever since that day my young cabman's unpretentious conversation has been retained in my memory. Besides, a strange circumstance resulted from it. Mr. Serge Ratchinsky was one of my best friends. I had now met one of his pupils, who are all devoted to him and to his teaching, and are moreover all teetotallers.

THE CLERGY AND CHOIR OF NOVO-ALEXANDROFKA, 1900, ON THE DAY OF THE CONSECRATION OF THE CHURCH
THE CLERGY AND CHOIR OF NOVO-ALEXANDROFKA, 1900, ON THE DAY OF THE CONSECRATION OF THE CHURCH

It is pleasant to see sometimes good work actually bearing good fruit, and to realise that all our efforts are not in vain. Of course we must never hesitate {177} to do our duty because sometimes it results only in disappointment. I also had worked to the best of my ability in the same direction as Ratchinsky, but more and more did I realise my impotence in fighting an evil of such magnitude. It became evident to me that certain measures, in order to be accepted by the whole of Russia, could only be carried out when proclaimed by the highest Power in the land. If only the Tsar would come to our rescue! was my constant thought. Had not the emancipation of forty-eight millions of Serfs been a good enough example to justify this hope? But still in my humble way I continued to do whatever I could, at all events for conscience' sake.

So when I used to go to our village Novo Alexandrovka, I sometimes invited peasants to take tea with me. I confess they always accepted my invitations with pleasure, though they knew that I was an inveterate teetotaller, and that I hated their favourite vodka. So they took one mug after another of my tea, and bit their sugar with evident satisfaction. I took advantage of these informal meetings to explain to them the horror of taking intoxicating liquors. Once I asked one of my guests:

"How many roubles a year do you spend on drink? Tell me frankly." They all seemed very embarrassed at my question, but one of them dolefully replied:

"Well, I believe, not less than fifty roubles a year."

"Is it not a sin," exclaimed I, "a great sin? We in the Government of Tambov, as you all know, can buy a good cow for that money, and with that {178} there would be ready food for all the chicks and brats, and no need for them to go about begging for food."

"That may be so," agreed my visitor; and then he became silent and continued to drink his mug of tea.

Watching my poor folk, I would sometimes ask them if they cared for tea, and always received the same reply:

"Why of course we all like tea, but it is too dear for us. Naturally our masters may indulge in it, but we are poor people with empty pockets, while vodka is quite within our reach, and is cheap and plentiful everywhere."

"Yes," I said to myself, "Count Witte has not shrunk from tempting the poor people everywhere in every way. He introduced the diabolical habit amongst them of buying their alcohol in small bottles at a conveniently low price. Thus any beggar can buy one of these bottles and put it in his pocket." This drink question made me feel sometimes exceedingly wretched. Surely, I said to myself, something might be done? The evil done by Witte's demoralising measure is well understood by the Germans. As soon as they occupied the Polish provinces in Russia, one of their first steps was not only to re-open all the alcohol shops, but to add greatly to their number. Let us hope that this evil, like the occupation itself, is only temporary.

If some benevolent person would make alcohol very expensive and tea very cheap and therefore accessible, another of my dreams would be realised. But fairies are scarce. Yet perhaps there exists a means by which this end may be attainable.

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If the duty on imported tea were greatly diminished, as well as the excise on sugar, a great step towards sobriety would thereby be assured. People who are indifferent to the moral condition of Russia assure me that this would cause too heavy a loss of Government revenue. They may be right, but I should suppose that any temporary loss of revenue would soon be made up by the increased demand for tea and sugar, which would undoubtedly be immense, both articles being so important to our people's comfort. Still less doubt could there be about the moral advantage. Temperance has, it is agreed, an enormously beneficial effect.

Those who want to see this for themselves and to study this question thoroughly, should go especially to Plotsk in our Polish provinces, and visit there our Old Catholics called "Mariavites" and their bishops. It cannot be sufficiently well known that since this noble religious movement began in the year 1871 (when the Pope's infallibility was proclaimed), 200,000 people have become Mariavites, thanks to the efforts and example of their bishops and priests, and that all the congregation is composed of absolute teetotallers. A leading and curious characteristic of Bishop Kovalsky's parish is that they are all absolute teetotallers—materially very poor, but rich in faith and energy. Each of them joyfully brings to the Church his hard-earned contribution, with the result that the community is well provided with churches, schools, workshops, etc.

Try to understand by this example what voluntary efforts, personal sacrifices and teetotalism may do. Since these lines were written, God has taken {180} pity upon us, and on the declaration of War, our noble and courageous Emperor came to our rescue by ordering the closing of the vodka bars and the total prohibition of alcohol. From all the reports, this measure, drastic though it was, has elicited not the complaints, but rather the blessings of the entire country. A curious fact is also traceable to this wise legislation in many parts of Russia: the village banks have never been in better funds than now, while crime has enormously diminished, and family life flourishes.

Reforms in Russia, even of the greatest magnitude, are sometimes carried out with miraculous rapidity.

As a great many people, even in England, well know, the liberation of forty-eight millions of Serfs—half of whom suddenly became freeholders—was actually introduced (19 February, 1862) after two years working out.

The abolition of the village Commune (in many respects resembling the Indian Communal System) has been abolished in still shorter time. It worked fairly well, I am told, before the emancipation, but ceased to do so after the great Reform.

The complete abolition of the Traffic in drink was effected in two days, all over Russia, by the Emperor's order, and at this very moment, in spite of the war and our bewildering expenditure in self-defence, for which Russia never thought of preparing herself, our Minister of Public Instruction, Count Ignatieff, is elaborating another gigantic reform—the execution of which will prove that he is a true son of his celebrated father. The latter, Count Nicolas Ignatieff, our former Ambassador in {181} Turkey, and later Minister of Interior, was well known in the world for his grand schemes and ideas.

At this moment, whilst I am writing this (August, 1916) the intention is to introduce in the whole of our large country, general compulsory education, and ten additional universities. And we Russians firmly believe in the realisation of measures of such gigantic proportions, when they are urgently needed by our people.

With us, what may seem almost incredible becomes perfectly real when guided by one concentrated and intelligent power.