
Public-domain ebook
The mainsprings of Russia
Language: en407 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #77805.

Public-domain ebook
Language: en407 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #77805.
The opening · free to read
I dedicate this book to you in the hope that you will read it; for if you do, I shall feel certain of having at least one reader who will understand exactly what I have tried to say, however inadequate the expression may have been, and who, at any rate, will not misunderstand me.
Not long ago I was looking on at a play in London. The audience was, on the whole, of that kind which the Americans call “high-browed,” with a certain sprinkling of the semi-intelligent and the wholly elegant. Behind me were sitting a young man and a young lady, who were discussing intellectual topics suited to the rarer atmosphere of that interesting theatre. Among other subjects, they talked about Mr. Stephen Grahame’s books and articles on Russia. I do not know if you have read his books; if not, I advise you to do so. But you probably know that they deal with the Russian people; that Mr. Grahame walked on foot from Moscow to Archangel; and travelled, as a pilgrim, with Russian pilgrims to Jerusalem. It is therefore obvious that he came into close contact with the Russian people, and that his knowledge was at first hand and derived from direct experience.
Well, would you believe it, the highly educated young gentleman who was sitting behind me, who had read Mr. Grahame’s books and articles, said—I could hardly believe my ears, but he said it—that the trouble about Mr. Grahame was his blind faith in the Russian Bureaucracy. I confess, when these words caught my ear, I thought to myself what is the use of writing books if intelligent people in reading them derive an impression which is the exact opposite of that which you think you have expressed with some clearness?
The young man in question went on to say that such was Mr. Grahame’s fierce faith in political reaction that he dared to compare a half-starved Russian peasant with a free American citizen, and here again he revealed fresh vistas of misapprehension.
I have often had similar experiences myself since I began to write about Russian things. I have at various times been accused of being a revolutionary, a conservative, a liberal, a fanatical reactionary. But these accusations have left me indifferent, since, as they contradict themselves, they cancel out into nothingness.
As far as the subject of Russia is concerned, I have always, and only, had one object in view: to stimulate in others an interest which I have myself experienced. I know—I cannot explain why it is—but I know that between the Russian and the English peoples there are curious possibilities of sympathy, curious analogies, and still more curious differences which complement one another. I know the Russians and the English do get on well when they meet and get to know each other. I know the sympathy I myself have felt, and do feel, for the Russians is a sympathy which would, can, and could be felt by many of my countrymen. This has been my whole and sole object in writing about Russia. I am engaged on one more very short book on Russian literature, and then I shall drop the subject for ever. I have said my say. I leave it to the newer and better writers to say theirs.
But in the meantime, in regard to this book, I repeat I wish to secure at least one reader who will understand and who will not misunderstand. That is why I dedicate this book to you. At the same time I hope, even if you do not read it, that it will remind you of the strenuous days and the Attic nights which we spent together in St. Petersburg.
Yours ever, MAURICE BARING.
ST. PETERSBURG, February 22-March 7, 1914.
PREFACE.
I have endeavoured in this book to provide some kind of answer to the questions which I found by experience are generally put by the traveller who comes to Russia for the first time, and whose curiosity is stimulated with regard to the way in which the people live and to the manner of their government.
I have endeavoured to convey to the reader a single idea of the nature of the more important factors in Russian life. I am only too well aware that what I have to supply in the way of explanation and elucidation is inadequate, incomplete, and superficial. My excuse is that the questions of the average inquirer are, as a rule, neither profound nor comprehensive; and that profound or comprehensive replies, were I capable of giving them—which I am not—would be received neither with attention nor interest. They would be like arrows shot into empty space. For the average inquirer has neither time nor inclination for exhaustive inquiry or minute research. He wishes to be told what he wishes to know in a manner he can understand, and as briefly as possible. But my hope is that I may stimulate the interest of the reader in the subject, and in a manner which may lead him to seek for more exhaustive information at the fountainhead, or at richer sources than mine. This is every day becoming easier.
Some years ago books on Russia which had any serious value or substantial interest were few and far between. Lately the interest in Russian affairs has been stimulated by many causes: by the coming of Russian artists, singers, and dancers to England; by the appearance in the press of valuable articles written by Russian authors; by the publication of adequate translations from Russian authors (Mrs. Garnett’s translations of Dostoievsky, for instance); and by several excellent books written by English authors on Russia, such as the books of Mr. Stephen Grahame dealing with the Russian people, the admirable and encyclopædic work of Mr. Harold Williams, and, in a somewhat lighter vein, Mr. Reynold’s “My Russian Year.” All these books reveal a standpoint, a mastery of the subject, that are far removed from the fantastic, false, and melodramatic concoctions that were abundant some years ago.
In calling this book the “Mainsprings” of Russia, I am conscious of having omitted several of the most important mainsprings of Russian life: chief among them its commerce and industry. The subject is so large that, had I dealt with it at all, there would have been no room for anything else in a book of this size. Also, as far as the actual facts are concerned they are to be found clearly stated in Dr. Kennard’s excellent “Russian Year Book.”
Nor have I attempted to deal with the Army and the Navy, which I consider to be factors which are likely to be dealt with by experts, since they cannot afford to be altogether neglected by foreigners. There is another subject I have omitted—it is not, it is true, a mainspring of Russian life; but it is a sore spot and a question of burning vital interest—I mean the Jewish question.
In a book as short as this it would be impossible to devote sufficient space to the matter without crowding out other things which concern the greater majority; but it is most desirable that competent observers should deal with the Jewish question in Russia, which at present, as far as the rest of Europe is concerned, is almost entirely handled either by bitter Anti-Semites, or by those who are the actors in the drama itself. And there is no question in Modern Russia which is fraught with more far-reaching effects, and probably none which is at present more difficult of solution.
My thanks are due to A. J. Halpern of the Russian Bar for his valuable help in regard to the chapter on “Justice,” to Mr. Dimitriev-Mamonov, and to many other Russian friends for their criticism and advice.
CONTENTS.
I. RETROSPECT 13 II. THE RUSSIAN PEASANT 31 III. THE NOBILITY 72 IV. THE GOVERNMENT MACHINE 97 V. CAUSES OF DISCONTENT 129 VI. THE AVERAGE RUSSIAN 155 VII. THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS 183 VIII. THE RUSSIAN CHURCH 216 IX. EDUCATION 246 X. JUSTICE 269 XI. THE FASCINATION OF RUSSIA 299
THE MAINSPRINGS OF RUSSIA.
I should like to set the reader’s mind at rest at once. I am not going to ask him to read a historical treatise on the origins of the Russian people, nor am I going to lead him into the obscure pathways and dim shadows of the remote past.
Firstly, even if I wished to do so, I have not the necessary erudition, nor the requisite powers of learned exposition. Secondly, the origin of the Russian people is a debatable question; the theories with regard to it are constantly changing, and vary with the fickle fashion of the day; the orthodox views of forty, of thirty, of twenty years ago are now said to be old-fashioned; and the orthodox views of to-day will probably be considered old-fashioned before very long. The reason being that all such views are highly conjectural, and that very little is known about the shifting tides, eddies, and currents in the immeasurably far-off floods of races and tribes out of which the Russian people emerged.
Thirdly, whenever I open a book that begins with a historical retrospect, I feel that it is the reader’s duty to skip that chapter.
Why, then, write anything of the kind? The answer is that I am writing on the assumption that the reader is an average reader, and that if he has bought or borrowed a book about Russia, he will be sufficiently interested in the subject to be able to stand a few simple facts to begin with, even if they are historical. I also assume that, if he has bought or borrowed this book, and has not gone to a public library to get a more learned book, he is not a specialist—that is to say, he knows as much or as little as the average Englishman knows about Russia who has received an average English education, who reads The Times, and takes a moderate but intelligent interest in international politics and foreign countries, and who has perhaps read one or two standard books on Russia, and not only My Official Wife by Savage, Michael Strogoff by Jules Verne, and all that picturesque tribe of books called either Red Russia, Scarlet Russia, Crimson Russia, Free Russia, the Real Russia, Russia as she is, or Russia as she isn’t.
There is also another class of reader who may take up the book, also an average reader, with an average education, but whose knowledge of Russia is of a different and wider kind—the reader of translations of Russian novels, the devotee of Tolstoy and Turgeniev and Gorky; the man or woman—it is generally a woman—who has seen translations of Chekhov’s plays at the Stage Society, and who is a fervent admirer of the Russian ballet. He or she is interested in Russia, but has never been there; and although familiar with Russian novels and plays, he or she is more inclined to form an opinion of the Russian people on data derived from English novels on Russian life than from Russian novels on Russian life.
I have often come across cases of this kind—I mean people who do not appear to realize that the intensely realistic Russian fiction that they so much admire probably has some basis and counterpart in real life, and who, in spite of this documentary evidence with regard to Russian life, with which they are familiar, still continue to form a picture of Russian life based on English fiction such as is written by English journalists and novelists.
Such readers, my experience is, if they come across certain historical facts about Russia in the past or the present, meet them with a shock of surprise and often with a smile of incredulity.
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