MOSCOW AFTER THE MANIFESTO
_Wednesday, October 1st._
At dinner at the Métropole Restaurant a strange scene occurred. At the
end of dinner the band played the Marseillaise, and after it the
National Anthem. Everybody stood up except one mild-looking man with
spectacles, who went on calmly eating his dinner, upon which a man who
was sitting at the other end of the room, and was rather drunk, rushed
up to him and began to pull him about and drag him to his feet. He made
a display of passive resistance, which proved effectual, and when he had
finished his dinner he went away.
_Thursday, November 2nd._
The outward aspect of the town during these days is strange. Moscow
seems like a city which has been undergoing a siege. Many of the shops
have got great wooden shutters. Some of the doors have a large red cross
on them. The distress, I am told, during the strike was terrible. There
was no light, no gas, no water, all the shops were shut; provisions and
wood were scarce. This afternoon I went to see Bauman’s funeral
procession, which I witnessed from many parts of the town. It was one of
the most impressive sights I have ever seen. A hundred thousand men took
part in it. The whole of the “Intelligenzia” (the professional and
middle class) was in the streets or at the windows. The windows and
balconies were crowded with people. The order was perfect. There was not
a hitch nor a scuffle. The men walking in the procession consisted of
students, doctors, workmen, people in various kinds of uniform. There
were ambulances, with doctors dressed in white in them, in case there
should be casualties. The men bore great red banners and the coffin was
covered with a scarlet pall. As they marched they sang in a low chant
the “Marseillaise,” “Viechni Pamiat,” and the “Funeral March”[1] of the
fighters for freedom. This last tune is the most impressive. From a
musician’s point of view it is a shockingly bad tune; but then, as Du
Maurier said, one should never listen to musicians on the subject of
music any more than one should listen to wine merchants on the subject
of wine. But it is the tune which to my mind is exactly fitting for the
Russian revolution, with its dogged melancholy and invincible passion,
as fitting as the “Marseillaise” (which, by the way, the Russian sings
in parts and slowly) is totally unfitting. The “Funeral March” has
nothing defiant in it; but it is one of those tunes which, when sung by
a multitude, make one’s flesh creep; it is commonplace if you will; and
it expresses—as it were by accident—the commonplaceness of all that is
determined and unflinching, mingled with an accent of weary pathos. As
it grew dark torches were brought out, lighting up the red banners and
the scarlet coffin of the unknown veterinary surgeon, who in a second,
by a strange freak of chance, had become a hero, or rather a symbol, an
emblem and a banner, and who was being carried to his last resting place
with a simplicity which eclipsed the pomp of all royal funerals, and to
the sound of a low song of tired but indefatigable sadness stronger and
more formidable than the pæans which celebrate the triumphs and the
pageants of kings.
Footnote 1:
By a strange irony of fate, this tune, which the revolutionaries have
made their own, was originally an official tune, composed probably by
some obscure military bandmaster, and played at the funerals of
officers and high officials.
The impression left on my mind by this funeral is deep. As I saw these
hundred thousand men march past so quietly, so simply, in their
bourgeois clothes, singing in careless, almost conversational fashion, I
seemed nevertheless to hear the “tramping of innumerable armies,” and to
feel the breath of the
“Courage never to submit or yield,
And what is else not to be overcome.”
It is impossible for the Government or for any one else to accuse these
people of displaying a provoking attitude, of badgering or insulting the
soldiers or the authorities, or of not being able to keep order among
themselves.
_November 3rd._
Last night, after Bauman’s funeral, which passed off without an
incident, at eleven o’clock a number of students and doctors were shot
in front of the university, as they were on their way home, by Cossacks,
who were stationed in the Riding School, opposite the university. The
Cossacks fired without orders. They were incensed, as many of the troops
were, by the display of red flags, and they disliked processions.
_November 6th._
The last three days have been days of curious disorder and anarchy. I
will try and note briefly what has been taking place.
The day after Bauman’s funeral (November 3rd) was the anniversary of the
Emperor’s accession, and all the “hooligans” of the city, who are now
called the “Black Gang,” used the opportunity to make counter
demonstrations under the ægis of the National flag. The students did
nothing, they were in no way aggressive; but the hooligans when they
came across a student beat him and in many cases killed him. The police
did nothing; they seemed to have disappeared. These hooligans paraded
the town in small groups, sometimes uniting, blocking the traffic,
demanding money from well-dressed people, killing students, and making
themselves generally objectionable. When the police were appealed to
they shrugged their shoulders and said: “Liberty.” The hooligans
demanded the release of the man who had killed Bauman. “They have set
free so many of their men,” they said, referring to the revolutionaries,
“we want our man set free.” Practically the town was in a state of
anarchy; anybody could kill any one else with impunity. In one of the
biggest streets a hooligan came up to a man and asked him for money; he
gave him ten kopecks. “Is that all?” said the hooligan, “Take that,” and
he killed him with a Finnish knife. I was myself stopped by a band on
the Twerskaia and asked politely to contribute to their fund, the fund
of the “Black Gang,” which I did with considerable alacrity. However,
students, or those whom they considered to be students in disguise, were
the people they mostly attacked. The citizens of the town in general
soon began to think that this state of things was intolerable, and
vigorous representations were made to the town Duma that some steps
should be taken to put an end to it. The hooligans broke the windows of
the Hôtel Métropole and those of several shops. There was a general
impression among them that liberty meant doing as much damage as they
pleased. This state of things lasted three days, and now it has been
stopped—utterly and completely stopped. A notice is published forbidding
all demonstrations in the streets with flags. The police have
reappeared, and everything has resumed its normal course. These bands of
hooligans were small and exceedingly easy to deal with. The disorders
were completely unnecessary. But they have done some good in one way;
they have brought home to everybody the necessity for order and the
maintenance of order, and the conviction that if the police are removed
the result will be anarchy. However, considering the state of
lawlessness that existed, it is remarkable how little damage was done.
The night before last, as I was walking back to the hotel after dinner,
I met two omnibuses full of wounded students being driven to the
hospital. One student was torn to pieces by a hooligan crowd yesterday
afternoon; and a friend of mine from the windows of the Hôtel National
saw another trampled to death.
The general tenour of opinion among the Liberals is that the Government
must prove their good intentions by deeds and not by words, and that
soothing Manifestoes are of no use now. There are three points on which
they insist. First, they demand that the partial amnesty should be made
complete; that there should be an amnesty for all political offenders
without exception. Secondly, they say that they have no guarantee for
the new reforms, because the Ministers are taken from the Bureaucracy.
They demand new Ministers taken from the Zemstva. Thirdly, they demand
the resignation of General Trepoff. With regard to the first point it
would be a wise step on the part of the Government to satisfy the
Liberals. The concessions will probably be made gradually, and I suppose
their maxim is not to give too much at once or the demands will
increase. It is a pity, if the Government have decided to give in on
this point, that they did not do so at once. Every concession seems, as
it is, to have been extorted by force. That is the general impression of
the Liberals: “We have been given nothing; everything we have obtained
we have extorted by force.” With regard to the resignation of General
Trepoff, if I were a Russian and guarantees were given that the police
were no longer going to interfere with individuals, and that the secret
police force was to be abolished—and I believe this is being done—I
should make a demonstration for the retention of General Trepoff. If
there are to be police at all to keep order, somebody must manage them.
The Russian police are a hopelessly incompetent body, and General
Trepoff is a thoroughly competent man. He may have used too heavy a hand
sometimes, and I can understand the people being indignant that he
should rule Russia like a dictator. On the other hand he knows how to
keep order; he knows how to manage the police, and if the liberty of
individuals is respected—and, so far, since the publication of the
Manifesto it has been—I cannot see why any one should desire his
retirement. However, the discussion of this point is futile. General
Trepoff has become a symbol, like General Galliffet in France after the
Commune. To the ordinary Russian Liberal he represents the Bureaucracy
and all the evils of the old régime, and nothing can change that
impression. His position is probably untenable, and he will be forced to
resign, though, as far as liberty is concerned, at present the people do
exactly what they like in the way of political meetings, the newspapers
write what they please, and the prisons at Moscow and St. Petersburg
have been partially emptied of their political prisoners. The Russians
have, in fact, got the two boons which Matthew Arnold said were so
dearly cherished by the English middle class—liberty to make fools of
themselves, and publicity to show the world how they are doing it. The
extreme revolutionary party wish to do away with the Emperor altogether
and to have a Republic. If this is done some people say there will be a
civil war in every town and village in the Russian Empire. As it is,
half the people do not understand what a Constitution means. A soldier,
for instance, asked whether it meant that the Emperor had resigned; and
some of the educated class understand it still less.
Altogether the Liberals seem to me to be in too great a hurry;
nevertheless things are apparently calming down. The question is—Will
Count Witte between now and then succeed in thoroughly gaining the
confidence of the Liberals and of the representatives of the Zemtsva? If
he succeeds all will be well. The extreme Conservative Party,
represented by the _Moskovski Viedomosti_, is really of no practical
account. Its point of view was admirably represented by the hall porter
of one of the old and conservative families at Moscow, who on the day of
the publication of the Manifesto said: “The Emperor has deserted us.”