Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
RUSSIAN LIFE TO-DAY
[Illustration: _His Imperial Majesty the Tsar._]
RUSSIAN LIFE
TO-DAY
BY THE
RIGHT REV. HERBERT BURY, D.D.
_Bishop for Northern and Central Europe
Author of "A Bishop among Bananas"_
A. R. MOWBRAY & CO. LTD.
LONDON: 28 Margaret Street, Oxford Circus, W.
OXFORD: 9 High Street
MILWAUKEE, U.S.A.: The Young Churchman Co.
_TO MY FELLOW COUNTRYMEN
AT WORK IN SIBERIA_
First impression, March, 1915
New impressions, April, July, December, 1915
INTRODUCTION
My first inclination, when the entirely unexpected proposal of the
Publishers came to me to write this book, was immediately to decline.
There are so many well-known writers on Russia, whose books are an
unfailing pleasure and source of information, that it seemed to me to be
nothing less than presumption to add to their number. But when I was
assured that there seems to be a great desire just now for a book which,
as the Publishers expressed it, "should not attempt an elaborate sketch
of the country, nor any detailed description of its system of government
and administration, or any exhaustive study of the Russian Church, and
yet should give the _impressions_ of a sympathetic observer of some of
the chief aspects of Russian Life which are likely to appeal to an
English Churchman," I felt that I might venture to attempt it.
It has been given to me to get to understand thoroughly from close and
intimate knowledge the commercial development of Siberia by our
countrymen; and yet everywhere, both there and in Russia proper, I have
to go to every place specially and primarily to give the ministrations
of religion. It can be permitted to few, if any, to see those two sides
of the life of a great and growing Empire at the same time. This has
been my reason, therefore, for undertaking this small effort, and my
object is to give, as the Publishers expressed it, "personal
impressions." I hope my readers will accept this book, therefore, as an
impressionist description of Russian life of to-day, of which it would
have been quite impossible to keep personal experiences from forming an
important part. And though I write as an English Churchman, yet I wish
to speak, and I trust in no narrow spirit, to the whole religious
public, that I may draw them more closely into intelligent sympathy with
this great nation which has seemed to come so suddenly, unexpectedly,
and intimately into our own national life and destiny--and I believe as
a friend.
HERBERT BURY,
_Bishop_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. RUSSIA'S GREAT SPACES 1
II. GENERAL SOCIAL LIFE 21
III. THE PEASANTRY 46
IV. THE CLERGY 71
V. RELIGIOUS LIFE AND WORSHIP 95
VI. HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE TSAR 118
VII. A PATERNAL GOVERNMENT 139
VIII. THE STEPPES 162
IX. RUSSIA'S PROBLEM 186
X. THE ANGLICAN CHURCH IN RUSSIA 205
XI. THE JEWS 228
XII. OUR COUNTRYMEN IN THE EMPIRE 248
INDEX 268
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE TSAR _Frontispiece_
RUSSIA'S GREAT SPACES--WINTER _facing page_ 4
RUSSIA'S GREAT SPACES--SUMMER " " 8
THE KREMLIN " " 21
THE GATE OF THE REDEEMER, MOSCOW " " 29
A WELL-CLAD COACHMAN " " 33
A VILLAGE SCENE " " 46
THE METROPOLITAN OF MOSCOW " " 71
THE CONVENT AT EKATERINBURG, SIBERIA " " 78
THE ABBESS MAGDALENA " " 84
THE RUSSIAN PRIEST AT SPASSKY " " 90
S. ISAAC'S CATHEDRAL, PETROGRAD " " 95
INTERIOR OF A RUSSIAN CHURCH " " 102
THE CATHEDRAL AT RIGA " " 112
HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE TSARITSA " " 118
HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS THE TSAREVITCH ALEXEI " " 125
HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS THE GRAND DUCHESS
ELIZABETH, THE FRIEND OF THE POOR " " 139
CHARACTERISTIC GROUP OF RUSSIANS " " 144
A GROUP OF RUSSIAN PEASANTS " " 152
CONSECRATION OF BURIAL GROUND IN THE
SIBERIAN STEPPES " " 162
OUTSIDE A KIRGHIZ UERTA " " 166
TARANTASS WITH ITS TROIKA FOR THE STEPPES " " 170
INSIDE A KIRGHIZ UERTA " " 180
RUSSIAN SERVICE AT THE ATBAZAR MINE " " 186
A CLASS OF RUSSIAN STUDENTS WITH TEACHER " " 195
THE ENGLISH CHURCH OF S. ANDREW, MOSCOW " " 205
THE BISHOP AND RUSSIAN CHAUFFEUR " " 216
THE BRITISH COMMUNITY AT ATBAZAR, SIBERIA " " 224
THE ARCHBISHOP OF WARSAW " " 228
A POLISH JEW " " 236
CAMELS AT WORK--SUMMER " " 256
CAMELS AT WORK--WINTER " " 262
MAP _at end_
RUSSIAN LIFE TO-DAY
CHAPTER I
RUSSIA'S GREAT SPACES
I will begin my opening chapter by explaining how I come to have the joy
and privilege of travelling far and wide, as I have done, in the great
Russian Empire. I go there as Assistant Bishop to the Bishop of London,
holding a commission from him as bishop in charge of Anglican work in
North and Central Europe.
It may seem strange that Anglican work in that distant land should be
directly connected with the Diocese of London, but the connection
between them, and between all the countries of Northern and Central
Europe, as far as our Church of England work is concerned, is of long
standing. It dates from the reign of Charles I, and from an Order in
Council which was passed in 1633, and placed the congregations of the
Church of England in _all_ foreign countries at that time under the
jurisdiction of the Bishop of London "as their Diocesan." It may be
remembered that when the present Bishop of London went to Washington
some years ago he took with him some interesting documents which he had
found in the library at Fulham Palace, and which were connected with the
time when Church work in the United States looked to London for
superintendence and episcopal leadership. These he handed over to the
custody of the Episcopal Church of America, knowing how interested that
Church would be to possess them, and to keep them amongst other
historical records.
The same rapid progress as that which has attended the American Church
has been made in the Colonies and other parts of the world. New dioceses
and provinces have been formed one after another, and in 1842 the
Diocese of Gibraltar was formed, taking in the congregations of the
English Church in Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Roumania, and all places
bordering upon the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. But the other
countries of Europe, to the north and in the centre, remain still, as
far as Church work goes, where that old Order in Council placed them, in
the jurisdiction of the Bishop of London.
It is impossible, of course, that he should attempt to meet this
responsibility himself and bear the burden of such a diocese as that of
London, and so the rule has been, since 1825, to issue a commission to
another bishop, who, while being an assistant, yet has to feel himself
fully responsible, and in this way spare the Bishop of London as much as
he possibly can.
It will therefore be understood, as I have said in my few words of
introduction, that, filling such a position and having such work to
superintend, and also, for many reasons to be more fully explained in
succeeding pages, finding the Orthodox Church of Russia very friendly
towards our own, I shall write throughout with those whom I have termed
the "religious public" very clearly in my mind and sympathies. At the
same time I am hoping to interest the general reader also, and therefore
shall try my utmost to give a comprehensive view of Russian life as it
will be found to-day by travellers on the one hand if they give
themselves time and opportunity enough, and by those, on the other, who
have to go and live and work in Russia.
First impressions are usually interesting to recall. Mine were immediate
and extraordinarily vivid, and were all associated with thoughts--which
have gradually become convictions--of Russia's vast potentialities and
future greatness.
When first I had the honour and pleasure of an audience with the Emperor
of Russia--I will speak of it at greater length in a later chapter--one
of the first questions he asked me was:--
"And what has most impressed you, so far, on coming, as a new
experience, into my country?"
I was not prepared for the question, but answered at once and without
the least hesitation--for there seemed to come into my mind even as His
Majesty spoke, the vivid impression I had received--
"Russia's great spaces!"
"Ah, yes!" he said, evidently thinking very deeply; "that is true.
Russia's _great_ spaces--what a striking impression they must make, for
the first time!"
[Illustration: _Russia's Great Spaces--Winter._]
I went on to explain that one can see great spaces elsewhere. On the
ocean when for days together no other vessel is seen; on some of the
great plains in the other hemisphere; riding across the great Hungarian
tableland; and even in Central France or in the Landes to the west I
have felt this sense of space and distance; but Russia's great flat or
gently undulating expanses have always seemed to me to suggest other
spaces on beyond them still, and to give an impression of the vast
and illimitable, such as I have never known elsewhere. It is under this
impression of vast resources, no doubt, that so many military
correspondents of our daily papers constantly speak of the Russian
forces as "inexhaustible." It is the same with other things also. They
suggest such marvellous possibilities.
This is the impression I would like to give at once in this my opening
chapter--a sense of spaciousness--power to expand, to develop, to open
out, to make progress, to advance and grow. It is not the impression the
word "Russia" usually makes upon people who know little about her inner
life, and have received their ideas from those who have experienced the
repressive and restrictive side of her policy and administration. But I
can only give, and am glad of the opportunity, the results of my own
experiences and observations; and those are embodied in my reply to the
Emperor.
When I crossed the Russian frontier for the first time it was with a
very quaking and apprehensive spirit. All that lay beyond was full of
the mysterious and unknown, so entirely different, one felt it must be,
from all one's previous experiences of life! Anything might happen, for
this was Russia! "Russia" has stood so long with us in this country for
the repressive and reactionary, for the grim and forbidding and
restricting, that it will be difficult for many to part with those
ideas, and I can hardly hope to remove impressions now deeply rooted. I
can only say, however, that my own prejudices and preconceptions in the
same direction disappeared, one after another, with astonishing rapidity
in my first year; and now my spirits rise every time I cross the
frontier of that great country, and my heart warms to that great people
as soon as I see their kindly and friendly faces, their interesting and
picturesque houses, and catch my first sight of their beautiful
churches, with the fine cupolas above them with their hanging chains,
painted and gilded domes, and delicate finials glittering in the sun and
outlined against a sky of blue. Russia to me presents at once a kindly,
friendly atmosphere, and others feel it also; for I have, just before
writing these words, laid down a copy of _The Times_ in which Mr.
Stephen Graham--no one knows the heart and soul of Russia quite as he
does, I fancy--writing one of his illuminating articles on "Russia's
Holy War," says "People in Russia are naturally kind. They have become
even gentler since the war began." Those who enter Russia expecting the
unfriendly will find, I feel sure, as we have done, exactly the
opposite--nothing but kindness and courtesy. It will be the same in
other experiences also if I mistake not.
One of the chief difficulties ordinary travellers or tourists expect to
encounter, for instance, in Russia is that of language.
"Isn't it extraordinarily difficult to acquire, and to make yourself
understood?" is an invariable question, and certainly in long journeys
across country, as from Warsaw up to Riga, and from Libau on the Baltic
to Moscow, and especially in my Mining Camp Mission in Siberia, I
expected to have very great difficulties; but, as so often happens, they
were difficulties in anticipation rather than in reality.
Even off the beaten track in Russia any one who can travel comfortably
in other European countries can travel equally satisfactorily there.
Most educated people speak French, and an ever-increasing number--for
English governesses and nurses are in great request--speak English.
Great numbers of the working class speak German, the national language,
of course, of Russia's Baltic provinces, on railway trains as conductors
and in restaurants as waiters, and at railway stations as porters.
Indeed, if any one is in the dining-car of a train or in the buffet or
dining-room of a railway station or other public place, and has the
courage to stand up and say, "Does any one here speak French?" or "Does
any one here speak German?" some one ready to help and be friendly will
invariably come forward.
In my first Siberian Mission, however, I found myself in a real
difficulty. I had to drive across the Kirghiz Steppes from the railway
at Petropavlosk, about four days and nights east of Moscow, to the
Spassky Copper Mine, and the management had sent down a very reliable
Kirghiz servant of theirs to be my interpreter; but I found that his
only qualification for the work of interpreting was that, in addition to
his own Kirghiz tongue, he could speak Russian!
For the inside of a week, travelling day and night, we had to get on as
best we could together, and arrange all the business of changing horses,
getting food, and paying expenses, largely by signs. Once only, and then
in the dead of night when changing horses, did we encounter a
German-speaking farmer from Courland or Lettland on the Baltic, and a
great joy it was to him to meet some one who knew those fair parts of
the Russian Empire where agricultural work brings much more encouraging
results for the toil bestowed upon it than Siberia, with its terrible
winter season.
[Illustration: _Russia's Great Spaces--Summer._]
But though to acquire a knowledge of Russian for literary purposes, so
as to write and compose correctly, must be most difficult, owing to
the number of letters in the alphabet--forty-six as compared with our
twenty-six--and the entirely different way from our own in which they
are written, I do not think it is difficult to acquire a fair knowledge
of the language in a comparatively short time so as to make one's self
understood and get along. I find young Englishmen, going to work in
Russia and beyond the Urals, very quickly come to understand what is
being said, and to make known their own wishes and requirements; and in
a couple of years, or sometimes less, they speak quite fluently.
It always seems to me that the Russians pronounce their words with more
syllabic distinctness than either the French or Germans. And that
natural kindness and friendliness of the whole people, of which I have
already written, makes them wish to be understood and to help those with
whom they are speaking to grasp their meaning. This, of course, makes
all the difference!
When the question of the great difficulty of the language is raised
another remark nearly always follows:
"But then the Russians are such great linguists that they easily
understand!" And it is usually supposed that they "easily learn other
languages because their own is so difficult," though they encounter no
more difficulty, probably, than any one else when talking in their own
tongue in infancy. They are "great linguists" for the same reason as the
Dutch--and that is because, if they wish to be in educated society or in
business on any large scale, their own language will only go a very
short way.
In Russia as in Holland, as I have been told in both countries, an
educated household will contain a German nurse and an English governess,
while French will be the rule at table. It used to be a French
governess, but now the English governess is in great request everywhere
in Russia and Poland; and, in the great nobles' houses, there is the
English tutor also--not always for the language, but to impart English
ideas to the boys of the family. When I was last in Warsaw, an Oxford
graduate came up at a reception and introduced himself, and told me he
was with a Polish prince who had astonished him on the first morning
after his arrival by saying:--
"I have engaged you as a tutor for my two boys, but it will not be
necessary for you to teach them anything--that is already provided for.
I want you to be their companion, walk out with them, play games with
them, and help them to grow up after the manner of English gentlemen."
There is no real difficulty, therefore, with the language, nor is there
with the money of the country as soon as one realizes the value of the
rouble, eight of which make nearly a pound, and that it is divided into
a hundred _kopecks_, pronounced _kopeeks_, two of which are equal to
about a farthing.
And now to speak of the actual travelling. Everything in the way of
communication in Russia is on a large scale and in keeping with the
answer I gave to the Emperor, and which I have placed at the head of
this chapter. As soon as one passes the frontier, for instance, the
travellers change into carriages adapted for a broad-gauge railway, and
are at once in more commodious quarters. There is no land, I suppose,
where travelling over great distances is so comfortable as in Russia for
all classes; and it is incredibly cheap, first-class tickets costing
less than third in our own country, for those using the ordinary post
train, which every year becomes more comfortable and nearer to the
standard of the wagon-lit. There are excellent lavatories, kept
perfectly clean, where one can wash, shave, and almost have a sponge
bath, for--though without the luxuries of the Trans-Siberian
express--there is more room.
There is usually a restaurant-car on the long-distance trains--and
practically all the trains in Russia are for long distances--and, if
not, there is plenty of time to get food at the stations on the way.
Conductors will take every care and trouble to get what is necessary,
and first and second-class compartments are never overcrowded, as far as
my experience goes. I believe, indeed, that not more than four people
may be put into a compartment for the night, and, as the cushioned back
of the seats can be lifted up, all the four travellers can be sure of
being able to lie down. The first-class compartments on a post train are
divided into two by folding-doors, and one is allowed to buy a
_platzcarte_ and so have the whole compartment to one's self. Every
accommodation too is provided for lying down comfortably in the
third-class, and the travellers there are always the happiest-looking on
the train.
Another consideration shown to the public is that the scale of charges
falls in proportion to the distance to be traversed. The stations are
specially spacious, particularly along the routes beyond Moscow, where
emigration continually goes on into the great pastoral lands of Siberia.
In the summer months the traffic is very great, and it is one of the
most touching and appealing experiences I can recall to pass through one
of the great waiting-halls of such a station as Samara, at night, and
pick one's way amongst the sleeping families of peasants waiting to get
their connection with another line, and resting in the meantime. Their
little possessions are all about them, and father and mother and sons
and daughters lie gathered close up together, pillowing their heads upon
each other, good-looking, prettily dressed, and fast asleep--as
attractive a picture as any one could wish to see.
There is a great freedom of movement everywhere in Russia, and I do not
remember having seen the word _verboten_ (the German for "forbidden"),
or its equivalent, in any part of a Russian or Siberian station. The
rule of having three bells to announce approaching departure is a most
excellent one, whether the pause is long or short, the first ringing
very audibly about five minutes, the second one minute, and the third
immediately before departure. If travelling long distances, the
ten-minutes' stop at all large towns gives plenty of opportunity for
exercise and fresh air, and the absolute certainty of hearing the bells
gives a perfect sense of security that no one will be left behind. If
the bell rings twice just as the train enters the station, every one
knows that the stay will be short, and that it is not worth while
getting out.
Some of the most resting and refreshing experiences I have ever had have
been those of travelling day after day for some two or three thousand
miles in Russia, getting one's correspondence straight, for writing is
quite easy in those steady and slow-moving express trains, reading up
reviews and periodicals or making plans for future journeys, looking out
of the windows in the early morning or late evening, all varied by meals
in the _coupe_ or at a station, seeing all kinds of interesting people
in strange costumes, and many attractive incidents at places where one
alights for a walk and exercise.
More interesting than the railways, however, are the rivers. How large
these are, and how important a part they have filled in the past, before
the days of railways, and still play in the commerce and life of the
people, will be seen at once by a glance at the map at the end of the
book. None of them, however, though one gets a real affection for the
Neva after sledging over it in the winter and sailing upon it in the
summer, attracts and indeed fascinates, as the Volga never fails to do.
It is magnificent in size, and is the largest in Europe, 2,305 miles in
length, three times as long as the Rhine. Many of us know what the
Rhine is to the Germans. Treitschke, as we have been reminded in one of
the most widely read of modern books, when leaving Bonn, wrote to a
friend, "To-morrow I shall see the Rhine for the last time. The memory
of that noble river will keep my heart pure, and save me from sad and
evil thoughts throughout all the days of my life."
I have always understood the strong appeal to the historic, and even the
poetic, sense which the Rhine puts forth, but I never understood the
sense of the ideal which a river might convey until I saw, approached,
and crossed the Volga.
It was a May evening, three years ago, as we drew near and then passed
along its right bank before crossing. It was of the loveliest colour of
rich and living brown, like that of a healthy human skin, carrying life
and burdens of every description upon its ample bosom, fostering all
kinds of enterprise and activity on its shores, and flowing on with
stately dignity, as if it would not be hurried from its calm
consciousness of its own strength and significance for those nine
provinces through which it passes on its way to the Caspian. I felt its
spell at once, and, as I crossed the great bridge over which the
Trans-Siberian line is carried--an exquisite piece of engineering a mile
and a quarter in length--I knew that I should always feel a curious
sense of personality in connection with that glorious river. I think
Merriman, in one of his novels, speaks of associating a sense of
consciousness with the Volga; and that is just what I have felt each
time of crossing over its bounteous-looking, calm, and steady flow. It
seems to live and know.
The third and last "difficulty" which I will speak of in this opening
chapter, and which is no difficulty at all, is the passport. Every one
in Russia must possess one; and, if travelling and intending to spend
one or two nights in a place, it must be sent to the proper official and
be duly stamped. It must be _vised_ by the Russian ambassador, or
minister, at the place from which one starts before entering Russia;
and, which is even more important, it must be _vised_ by the right
official at some important town or place of government, and stamped with
the necessary permission, before one is able to _leave_ Russia.
It is natural to feel at the frontier, when entering the country, "I
hope it is all right," as the passport is handed to the customs officer,
and, with just a little approach to anxious uncertainty, after all one
has heard and read; but it is almost impossible to avoid real anxiety
that it will be found correct and in order as it is presented at the
frontier when _leaving_, as the difficulties of being kept back there,
so far away from the great cities, would be far greater than those of
being refused _admission_ from some technicality that could probably be
put right by a telegram to and from England.
"But surely the passport must prevent you from feeling that sense of
freedom that you have spoken of more than once--surely _that_ must give
a sense of repression and suspicion and being watched and having an eye
kept on your doings," my reader will be thinking, and perhaps many other
people have the same feeling. It is, however, exactly the opposite with
me, for my passport in Russia and Siberia is a great stand-by, and gives
me a great sense of being always able to establish my own identity.
There can be little doubt that the passport was established from the
first in the interests of the community, for it is entirely in their own
interests that people should possess them. No one who is honest in
purpose can have any difficulty in procuring one or be brought to any
trouble through it. The necessity of frequently producing them, in
moving from place to place, is always in the interests of the traveller
in a vast empire like Russia. It has given me a great feeling of
confidence in launching out, as has been necessary now and then, into
the unknown, to feel "They will be able to trace me all along by the
entries made in official registers, as the passport has been stamped."
If any one disappeared in Russia the police would be able to trace his
movements to very near the place of disappearance.
It is a great help in getting letters also to have a passport, for we
are just as anxious as the officials can be that our letters should not
go to the wrong people; and in travelling in out-of-the-way places it is
simply invaluable in getting the help, advice, and recognition that
sometimes are so very necessary. Even the passport, therefore, helps to
deepen the sense of security and freedom with which one launches out
into Russian travel, anxious to gain all that it has to give in
information and stimulating experience.
It will be remembered, however, that I speak always not as a resident,
but as a traveller; and there is just this difference--_indeed, it is a
vast difference_--between my own opportunities and those of an ordinary
traveller. Travelling as the bishop for the English Church work in
Russia, in every place our clergy and residents have only been too happy
to speak of their own experiences and impressions, some of them lifelong
and all-important. When travelling in Siberia, and the guest from time
to time of managers of the great mines, I go out with them day after day
and get long conversations with them, their wives, and members of the
staff. I hear all about early struggles, hopes and fears, difficulties
and triumphs extending over many years. The conditions of life and
characteristics of the people in vast tracts of country are described to
me by those who know them well. No one but a bishop travelling through
the country would have the same information so freely volunteered to
him. And it is this which has led me to feel that I might, without undue
presumption, write for ordinary readers about the life of a country in
which I have not, as yet, spent a great many years.
It _is_ a great country, as all we who know it feel, and "It doth not
yet appear what it shall be." If some of us are right in thinking of the
Russians as a great race with a vast country of tremendous resources;
who can in any way picture the great and wonderful possibilities of
their future? It will be my task to try and show how little opportunity
they have had as yet of getting their share of modern civilization, how
imperfectly, as yet, the ethical side of their religion has been
imparted to them; and still, in spite of all this and of other defects
of their social and religious life, how much they have accomplished in
the way of real achievement.
I fail to see how any one can help feeling the greatest
interest--hopeful and expectant--about their future, or feel anything
else but the great thankfulness that I feel myself, that we and they as
peoples have been brought so intimately together by circumstances which
few could have foreseen only a very few years ago, but which have come
about not only, as some would say, in the course of Providence, but in a
very true sense, as I trust our and their national histories shall show
in time to come, "According to the good hand of our GOD upon us."
[Illustration: _The Kremlin._]