THE AGRARIAN QUESTION—ON THE EVE OF THE DUMA
SOSNOFKA, _April 29th_.
To understand the cause of the present state of agriculture in Russia,
owing to the disastrous nature of which the agricultural question is the
acutest of the problems which have to be settled by the Duma, it is
necessary to go back to the time of the emancipation of the serfs.
It is from this epoch that the ruin of Russian agriculture primarily
dates; it was then that the first crash occurred, and it was due to the
following causes. The landlords, who had been accustomed to obtain
manual labour for nothing, proved incapable of adapting themselves at
once to the new conditions, and they did one of two things. They either
spent the money they received from the Government in return for the land
which they had given up in fruitless efforts to make agricultural
improvements—fruitless because, being devoid of practical knowledge,
they did what was not necessary and left undone what was imperative; or
they simply spent the money anyhow until they had none left. Hence
agricultural depression. Half the landlords in Russia disappeared, and
their vacant places were occupied firstly in a small degree by peasants,
and secondly in a greater degree by merchants, who were determined to
extract the uttermost farthing from their possessions. In this manner
there came into existence a new and mixed class of landed proprietors,
who can be divided into two principal sections: (1) Those who let all
their land to the peasants; (2) those who endeavoured as far as possible
to carry on agriculture rationally, and arrived, in spite of the
obstacles inherent in the circumstances, at comparatively good results.
As everybody is probably now aware, the question of expropriation of
private property is being brought forward as a solution of the land
question. And the question of expropriation as it is now being discussed
applies to the second as well as the first class of proprietors
mentioned above. With regard to the first class there is no possible
argument against the expropriation of all their land. With regard to the
second class, their land, considered from the point of view of the
State, represents a considerable asset. If this land were immediately to
be handed over in entirety to the peasants, the value that it represents
to the State would cease to exist, because the peasants have not at this
moment the means of keeping the output of the land up to its present
level. And it would be impossible at this moment for the State to
provide them with the necessary means. It is just because the peasants
are without the necessary means—because, in a word, they are too
poor—that they are asking for more land.
Therefore, from the point of view of the State, it is clear that if a
plan of wholesale expropriation is put into practice the immediate
results will be a decrease of public revenue and an increase of
agricultural depression all over Russia. If we look at the question from
the point of view of the peasants, the relief which they would obtain by
wholesale expropriation would be only of a temporary nature, even if we
presuppose that the distribution of land could be carried out on the
same scale and in the same proportion as at the time of the emancipation
of the serfs, which is improbable. The relief would be only temporary,
because owing to the constant increase of the population the land would
dwindle in an equally constant and increasing process of subdivision,
and the State would be unable to come to the aid of the peasants and to
furnish them with the means of improving their methods of agriculture,
owing to the fall of revenue occasioned as aforesaid by the
expropriation.
Besides the expropriation of private property, what further solutions
are suggested? There are two further schemes which are under discussion:
expropriation of the lands belonging to the State, and emigration into
the undeveloped portions of the Russian Empire. There are in Russia
large stretches of land belonging to the State and to the Crown; but
they consist principally of woods, and it is therefore highly
undesirable that they should be touched, for since Russia suffers from
extremes of heat and cold, from dryness, and from the continental
quality of its climate, the woods, which give moisture, are of the
utmost value, especially at the present moment when so many woods
belonging to private landowners have been and are being cut down.
Next comes the question of emigration. There exist in Siberia and
Turkestan immense stretches of rich and fertile country; this being so
it is obvious that if an emigration scheme could be carried out on a
large scale the land question would be on a fair way towards settlement,
and the State would be in possession of fresh resources.
The Left parties in general meet this plan with two objections: they say
(1) that the peasants are not capable of adapting themselves to the new
local conditions of agriculture which they would have to face; (2) that
the expenses entailed by the agricultural installation of the emigrants,
who would have to be provided with everything, could not possibly be
met, and that therefore emigration cannot be regarded as a definite
solution of the land question.
These objections are in their turn met with the following
counter-arguments. It is said that the first objection has been proved
to be groundless by the cases of emigration in Turkestan, where it is
seen that the peasants who emigrate thither adapt themselves with
surprising facility and rapidity to new conditions, which include a
peculiarly complicated system of irrigation, and have nothing in common
with the agricultural conditions of Russia proper. It might also be
stated that Russians in general, and the peasants in particular, are a
singularly adaptable race, as is proved by the ease and the speed with
which those who emigrate to Europe and America adapt themselves to their
altered circumstances.
As to the second question, that of expense, it is far more serious. But
here it is objected that the premises on which those who are opposed to
emigration on the grounds of expense base their arguments are derived
from the results obtained at an epoch when emigration, like everything
else, was as badly managed as possible; and that owing to this bad
management hostility towards emigration was aroused among the peasants
themselves, who as it is, do not care to leave their homes unless they
are obliged to do so. That emigration is one of the possible radical
methods of solving the land question is obvious. It is further obvious
that if it is to be adopted a system of investigation into the
suitability of places for emigration and likewise a system of means of
communication must be organised. It is equally obvious that the State
must not only furnish material aid but moral aid by furthering
educational progress and the amelioration of general culture by every
means at its disposal.
It is hardly necessary to say now that up to the present the State has
acted in the contrary sense by every means at its disposal. There was a
moment after the emancipation under Alexander II. when this was not so,
and efforts towards general improvement were made; this epoch did not
last long, and progress was definitively checked by the reactionary
_régime_ of Alexander III., which reached its culminating point under
the reign of M. Plehve. That it is feasible to make for progress in
Russia and that this is not a Utopian ideal is proved by the simple fact
that in spite of all the obstacles created by the Government, schools,
instituted by the Zemstva, have flourished, with the result that,
roughly speaking, 40 per cent. of the younger generation in Russia can
now read and write, whereas at the time of the emancipation of the
serfs, when the Zemstva came into existence, 2 per cent. only could read
and write.
This question—the promotion of universal culture by which alone progress
can come—is the most acute of all the questions now existing in Russia,
because the country has been driven by the present system to the extreme
limits of its endurance—to the very brink of ruin, to the uttermost
desperation. And it will not, therefore, be surprising if the reaction
in the opposite direction is equally violent, and Russia passes from one
extreme to the other; in which case those who are responsible for not
having put an end to the present _régime_, until they felt the knife at
their throats, and even then reluctantly, will find food for not
altogether cheerful reflection.
SOSNOFKA, _April 30th_.
I have been ten days in the country and have seen the pageant of early
spring in Russia. The trees are not yet all green, but the blossom is
out everywhere, and the bees are buzzing round it and filling the air
with their noise. To-day we went to see the examination held in the
school. The children were examined in Scripture, geography, and reading.
I did not stay the whole time. The children I heard acquitted themselves
splendidly. I was allowed to look over and mark some of the dictations.
After the examination was over we had dinner with the schoolmaster and
played “preference.” A neighbour, who looked in at the schoolmaster’s,
said that he was pleased to see the Russian Government was coming to its
senses in one respect, and trying to arrive at an understanding with the
British Government.
MOSCOW, _May 7th_.
In a few days the Russian Parliament will be sitting, the curtain will
have risen, the drama will be in full swing, and the echoes and
impressions of to-day will have been forgotten and superseded by the
rumour of more important events. And yet significant things have
happened in the last few days. The resignation of Count Witte did not
come as a surprise; we knew during the last ten days that Count Witte
had sent in his resignation; but the resignation of M. Durnovo was
somewhat unexpected. It was generally said that Count Witte would go,
and that M. Durnovo would remain.
The popular attitude towards Count Witte during the last year must be of
singular interest to those to whom the contemplation of human affairs
affords a melancholy amusement. The enthusiasm with which the hero of
Portsmouth was received; the further enthusiasm created by his report to
the Emperor; the Manifesto of October 17th, which everybody knew would
not and could not have been but for Count Witte; then the gradual tide
of reaction; at first, faults but hinted and dislike but hesitated;
distrust, latent, but scarcely expressed; then impatient questioning;
conflicting criticism; manifold explanation; and very soon unanimous
blame, and venomous vituperation, hatred, and abuse. When time has swept
away the dust-clouds of partiality, partisanship, and passion, the work
of Count Witte will stand out clear in the impartial light of history. I
do not think the verdict can be a severe one. Count Witte’s task was to
get to the Duma somehow or other, to keep things going until the Duma
should meet, without a general breakdown. This task he accomplished, and
he has managed to get a foreign loan into the bargain. That it was an
easy task not the most fanatical of his opponents would say; that he was
hampered on all sides is obvious; that his instruments broke in his
hands is likewise obvious; that not only no shadow of loyal co-operation
was shown to him by his colleagues, but that even his subordinates
flatly refused to obey him, was proved by one or two incidents which
occurred during the last fortnight, such as the case of the Kharkov
Professor, sent to exile by M. Durnovo, in spite of Count Witte’s
express and expressed desire, and the case of M. Sipiagin, who was not
permitted to go to Sevastopol, in spite of Count Witte’s categorical
instructions. Whether Count Witte made the most of his opportunities I
do not know, and the man who passes a sweeping judgment on this point
will be bold; but I am convinced of one thing, and that is that no man
in Russia would have performed the task which was Count Witte’s, given
the peculiar circumstances of the case, better. Count Witte and M.
Durnovo have gone, and their places have been taken by a Cabinet
exclusively bureaucratical and reactionary. What is the meaning of this?
I asked some one yesterday whether this Cabinet was meant to be of a
temporary nature.
“It’s put there to be kicked out,” he answered. “Mind you, I mean
_kicked_ out,” he continued, “and not to go of its own accord.” If this
is the case, what my friend Dimitri Nikolaievitch hinted to me at St.
Petersburg—namely, that the fact that a course was fatal, so far from
constituting a guarantee that it would not be adopted, on the contrary
weighed down the balance of probabilities in its favour—has come true. I
cannot quite bring myself to believe it. It is only when we turn to the
past—to the history of revolutionary movements in every country and at
every epoch—that we see how, in obedience to some mysterious law, a
fatal mist seems to blind those in authority, and how they deliberately
choose the disastrous course the perils of which seem to us so obvious,
and the avoidance of which seems to us so simple. In 1769 Junius
addressed the King as follows:—
“We separate the amiable, good-natured Prince from the folly and
treachery of his servants, and the private virtues of the man from the
vices of his Government. Were it not for this just distinction I know
not whether your Majesty’s condition or that of the English people would
deserve most to be lamented.... Your subjects, Sir, wish for nothing but
that as _they_ are reasonable and affectionate enough to separate your
person from your Government; so _you_, in your turn, would distinguish
between the conduct which becomes the permanent dignity of a King, and
that which serves only to promote the temporary interest and miserable
ambition of a Minister.”
In the same letter he wrote as follows about the Army:—
“From the uses to which one part of the Army has been too frequently
applied you have some reason to expect that there are no services they
would refuse. Here, too, we trace the partiality of your understanding.
You take the sense of the Army from the conduct of the Guards, with the
same justice that you collect the sense of the people from the
representations of the Ministry. Your marching regiments, sir, will not
make the Guards their example either as soldiers or subjects. They feel
and resent, as they ought to do, that invariable undistinguishing favour
with which the Guards are treated; while those gallant troops, by whom
every hazardous, every laborious service is performed, are left to
perish in garrisons abroad or pine in quarters at home, neglected and
forgotten. If they had no sense of the great original duty they owe
their country, their resentment would operate like patriotism, and leave
your cause to be defended by those on whom you have lavished the rewards
and honours of their profession.”
Finally, he makes an appeal which has been made at all times and in all
countries in times of popular dissatisfaction, and has always been made
in vain. The words which I am about to quote embody what has been
thought in this country during all the last months by the vast majority
of thinking people, by all who had brains to think and were not blinded
by fanatical rage.
“Without consulting your Minister, call together your whole Council. Let
it appear to the public that you can determine and act for yourself.
Come forward to your people; lay aside the wretched formalities of a
king and speak to your subjects with the spirit of a man and in the
language of a gentleman. Tell them you have been fatally deceived: the
acknowledgment will be no disgrace, but rather an honour to your
understanding. Tell them you are determined to remove every cause of
complaint against your Government; that you will give your confidence to
no man that does not possess the confidence of your subjects; and leave
to themselves to determine, by their conduct at a future election,
whether or not it be in reality the general sense of the nation that
their rights have been arbitrarily invaded....”
Hope, indeed, springs eternal in the human breast; otherwise people
would not persist in giving such admirable, such simple advice, seeing
how little chance there is that it will ever be adopted.
Yesterday morning a man threw a bomb at the Governor-General’s carriage,
killing his _aide-de-camp_ and losing his own life, while the
Governor-General escaped miraculously. About an hour after the explosion
I went to the Hôtel Dresden with a naval officer who was staying with
me. It appeared that the man who had thrown the bomb was disguised as a
naval officer; a man in such a costume is seldom seen in Moscow, and is
certain to attract attention. I and my naval friend had already been to
the hotel in the morning; when we returned the hotel keeper said to us,
“You are suspected of having thrown the bomb.” It was easy to prove that
we were not guilty, owing to the presence of the dead man who had done
the deed. His naked body was lying in a house on one side of the Square;
he had a horrible wound in his head. The attitude of the general public
with regard to the attempt was curious. When we got home, people said to
us, “Have you heard the news? What a pity that two men were killed
uselessly, and that the Governor-General escaped!” They talked about it
exactly as if they had narrowly missed backing a winner. Later I heard
of two girls who quarrelled because one of them said that she was sorry
the _aide-de-camp_ had been killed. The lower classes do not seem to pay
the slightest attention to the matter. In the middle classes people have
lost all moral sense with regard to these outrages. They consider that
throwing bombs is a kind of lynch-law; they do not distinguish one
individual from another, the honest from the dishonest, the harmless
from the guilty. But the people who are to be blamed are those who, by
bringing certain things to pass, have created this feeling. When the
Government takes no notice of outrages committed on the people, and
allows the perpetrators to go scot free, it is not to be wondered that
the people are “more than usual calm” when they hear that a governor has
been blown up. It is none the less very demoralising for the present
young generation in Russia.
_May 11th._
Two men asked me for some money in the street this morning because they
had been drunk yesterday. I went to the soldiers’ hospital in the
afternoon, and was much struck by the way in which the soldiers talked
of the Duma. These men, during the epoch which had followed the
“Manifesto,” had been violently against what they called the “Strikers.”
They had told me that when the procession attending Bauman’s funeral had
passed the windows of their hospital they would have liked to have shot
the dogs. Now they say that they understand that had there been no
strike there would have been no Duma, and that on the Duma everything
depended. One man asked me how long the Duma would last and when the
first Parliament was made in England. One of the soldiers asked me for
books the other day, and I bought him several of Scott’s novels. He was
so delighted with “Quentin Durward” that the nurse told me he read all
day and would not leave his book for a moment. He told me the whole
story of “Quentin Durward” with the various conversations between the
characters.