THE OPENING OF THE DUMA
ST. PETERSBURG, _May 14th_.
I had the good fortune to gain admission to the Duma yesterday
afternoon. I think it is the most interesting sight I have ever seen.
When you arrive at the Tauris Palace, which outside has an appearance of
dignified stateliness, the stateliness of the end of the Eighteenth
Century, you walk through a spacious front hall into what looks like a
gigantic white ball-room built in the late Louis XVI. style. This is the
lobby; beyond it is the Hall of the Duma itself. In this long gallery
members and visitors were already flocking, walking up and down,
talking, and smoking cigarettes and throwing away the ashes and the ends
on the polished floor. One saw peasants in their long black coats, some
of them wearing military medals and crosses; popes, Tartars, Poles, men
in every kind of dress except uniform. When the sitting began I went up
into the gallery. The Hall of the Duma itself is likewise white,
delicate in decoration, an essentially gentlemanlike room. The sitting
began about three o’clock. The members go to their appointed places, on
which their cards are fixed, and the impression of diversity of dress
and type becomes still stronger and more picturesque.
You see dignified old men in frock coats, aggressively
democratic-looking “intelligents,” with long hair and pince-nez, a
Polish bishop dressed in purple, who looks like the Pope; men without
collars; members of the proletariate, men in loose Russian shirts with
belts; men dressed by Davies or Poole, and men dressed in the costume of
two centuries ago. The President walked in to his seat under the
portrait of the Emperor, which is a rather shiny study in blue and
white. One thanked Heaven the Duma had not been redecorated in the _art
nouveau_ style, for almost all the modern buildings in Russia, from
Moscow to Kharbin, are built in the mixture of Munich, Maple, and Japan
which is called _art nouveau_ (modern style), and in Russia “decadent.”
The President, C. A. Muromzev, strikes one as dignity itself. He
exercises his functions with perfect serenity and absolute fairness.
After reading congratulatory telegrams from various parts of the Empire
he proceeded to read a motion proposed by a workman of the Government of
Moscow that before proceeding further a telegram should be sent to the
Emperor asking for a general amnesty for political offenders, and
another motion asking for an immediate amnesty, proposed by a peasant. A
debate ensued. The speeches were sensible and moderate. Most of the
members spoke against the motion, and it seemed as if the matter was
settled in the sense that the question of amnesty would be dealt with in
the Reply to the Address and not before, when Professor Kovolievski
proposed a third course, that the President of the Duma should inform
the Emperor of the unanimous desire of the Duma for a general amnesty.
What struck me most in the speeches I heard was the naturalness of their
tone, and the absence of declamatory emphasis. Several of the speeches
were eloquent; only one was tedious. Professor Kovolievski began
speaking in his seat, and went on with his speech quietly and in the
most natural manner conceivable, as he walked up to the tribune, where
he continued it, just as if he were engaged in a quiet talk with a few
intimate friends. A second thing which struck me was the respect and the
instantaneous obedience shown to the President; when he called to order
by ringing his bell the silence was immediate and complete. Soon after
four o’clock there was an _entr’acte_, and the Duma proceeded to elect
the thirty-three members by whom the Reply to the Address is to be drawn
up. The members poured into the gallery, and everywhere small groups
collected discussing various matters; some carried on their discussions
in the adjacent lobbies and rooms; many went to drink tea or have some
food in the dining-room, where the accommodation is excellent.
Many of the small groups where the discussion was being carried on were
interesting. One heard violent ideas and wild words being bandied about.
One peasant said to a friend of mine: “When I look upon this palace my
blood boils; it was built out of the blood and the sweat of the poor.”
So it was. “Then you are a person who nurses hatred?” said my friend.
“Yes,” he answered. “I hate, hate, hate the rich!” Another man told a
lady of my acquaintance that he was a Socialist. She asked him if he was
in favour of the land being made over to the State. He said, “No.” He
explained his views, which were really rather those of an extreme
Radical than of a Socialist, clearly and with intelligence, and at the
end she said to him, “But you are not a Socialist?” “Yes, I am,” he
answered; and asked her who she was. She said that she was the daughter
of a Count who is a member of the Duma. “I am very pleased to have
spoken with a Countess,” he answered, perfectly simply. I saw a big
landed proprietor, he came up to me and said, “This is very amusing for
you; but to me it is life and death.” After the interval the sitting was
continued. At 6.45 p.m. the result of the election of the thirty-three
members was read out, and Professor Kovolievski’s motion was debated
shortly and rejected. After this the question of closure was discussed
and referred to a committee. Then I left. The sitting came to an end
shortly afterwards.
My impression of the whole is that the Duma is far more moderate than I
expected. I do not think, and I never have thought, that the Cadet
leaders are a set of unpractical idealists or terrorists in disguise.
Both these ideas seem to me both to be _a priori_ absurd, and to be
confuted by the facts. Supposing England had been governed for years
solely by the permanent officials without any control whatsoever—and the
only difference that I have ever seen between Russian officials and
those of England or any other country is that the Russian officials are
uncontrolled, and those of other countries are not—supposing that there
were in England a large party headed, let us say, by men such as Mr.
Haldane, Mr. Asquith, Mr. Birrell, Mr. Balfour, Mr. Keir Hardie, Lord
Wemyss, and Lord Percy—I mix up Liberals and Conservatives on purpose,
because if in England there were an autocracy, it is probable that all
our Statesmen, whether Liberal or Conservative, would be on the side of
the opposition—would not the officials and all their supporters with one
voice say that these men were not practical men? The Cadets are not
idealist professors or men of letters or philosophers. They are educated
men, some of them learned and experienced lawyers, some of them acute
men of business, who in any other country would unquestionably play a
part in the government of their country. In Russia (if they have not
been lawyers) they have been of necessity professors—if they have wished
to play any part in public life save that of an official—because no
other course has been open to them. On the day of the opening of the
Duma I went to a Cadet meeting of one branch of the party at Moscow, a
branch representing one small part of the town. The conduct of the
meeting and the character of the speeches were exactly on the level of
the best political meetings in other countries. A lawyer made a most
brilliant speech, based on the soundest common sense. And I am certain
that if any of our leading political men had been present they would
have found nothing to criticise and much to praise.
Of course, the question which is being anxiously asked is whether the
leaders of the Cadets will be able to keep the more violent elements of
their party in hand. The violent element does not seem to me to be a
very large one. And I think that the future violence or moderation of
the Duma will depend very largely on the action of the higher
authorities, and of what is at present the official Government.
Will the Emperor trust M. Muromzev, the President of the Duma? If he
does, the two together will save the situation. Unfortunately, the
impression seems to be prevalent among higher circles in St. Petersburg
that the Cadets are revolutionaries, Jacobins, and terrorists. If one
has attended the Cadet meetings, where they are among themselves and
have no object in concealing either their ideas or their tactics, one
sees that they are entirely separated from the Social Revolutionary
Party, which in its turn looks upon the Cadets with contemptuous scorn.
Yesterday a peasant said in his speech: “We hear it said that we have
millions of men behind us, and we must demand, not ask; these
high-sounding phrases are all very well for a private meeting, but are
out of place in the Duma.” This was a very sensible thing to say; but it
is true, nevertheless, that the Duma has the whole country behind it.
Another peasant, speaking at a small meeting a few days ago, said:
“Russia has waited for the Duma as the chosen people had waited for the
Messiah. Will they dare to crucify it? No, they will not dare. For who
would be the Pilate? The Emperor will not be the Pilate, for, if he were
to call for water in which to wash his hands, he would have to wash his
hands, not in the waters of the Neva, but in the blood of the whole
Russian people.”
ST. PETERSBURG, _May 18th_.
Last night the second reading of the Address in reply to the Speech from
the Throne was passed by the Duma. What will be the attitude of the
Government with regard to the demands which have been formulated? As far
as I have been able to gauge it, the attitude of the supporters of the
Government and of the more Conservative element in the Council of Empire
is this: they say the demands of the Duma are impossible; that the Duma
is not a representative Duma; that no notice must be paid to its
extravagant and foolish talk; that it must be allowed to talk on, and
that Russia will then see that its demands are preposterous. This I
believe to be the attitude of the Government. In support of its
contention that the Duma is not representative, it alleges that Count
Witte is to blame in having insisted on suffrage by three degrees. Had
there been universal suffrage, they add, the Duma would have been more
Conservative. The day before yesterday I attended the sitting of the
Council of Empire, and during the interval I had some conversation with
some of the members, and these were the kind of things I heard. Then I
went to the Duma and I talked to the peasants. I asked one of them if he
thought it was true that the Duma was not representative and whether the
opinions it expressed were a faithful reflection of the opinion of the
country. He said that the opinion in the country was far stronger than
anything which had been expressed in the Duma. I believe that he was
perfectly right. One can only judge by one’s personal experience, and
wherever I have been during the last month I have found the feeling
among the people dangerously tense and inexpressibly vehement. I said to
this peasant, who came from the Government of Archangel: “Do they expect
much of the Duma in your part of the country?” “They expect nothing at
all,” he answered, “because the Government will never give the Duma what
it wants, and we shall have to disperse.” “And then?” I asked. “Then we
shall take what we want,” he said very calmly. “There has always been a
wall of bureaucracy between us and the Emperor,” he continued, “and that
wall is still there.” Talking to other members I found that they were
just as little illusioned with regard to the attitude of the Government
as the peasant from Archangel. One of them said to me: “Yes; it means
there will be a conflict.” Another said: “There is no connecting link
between us and the Emperor. We must have a responsible Ministry, and it
is on that point that the struggle will be centred.” Another peasant
said to me: “We are not opposed to having two Houses; but we are opposed
to the Council of Empire as it now stands, because half of it consists
of the same Bureaucrats who have been the cause of all our trouble.”
I spent the whole of yesterday and most of the day before in the Duma,
and listened to a great many speeches. The most salient fact about the
sittings of the Duma is their extreme orderliness. People say that this
is because the members are new to their business and that the Duma will
soon learn to be as disorderly as the House of Commons. It is a fact, of
course, that the absence of conflict arising from the friction between
sharply-defined parties contributes to the general harmony. But I doubt
if the Duma will ever be a very turbulent Parliament. Russians have a
peculiar talent for listening to public speaking. I have noticed this
constantly. I have sometimes wondered, for instance, whether it was
possible for a play to be hissed off the stage in Russia just because it
is tedious. A Russian audience seems to me capable of listening
patiently to act after act of uneventful and colourless dialogue, to
things which would drive an Italian audience to frenzy in five minutes,
and would bore the British public into throwing a dead cat on the stage.
When they act “Julius Cæsar” in Russia the scene in which Mark Antony
makes his speech loses half its effect by the attitude of the crowd on
the stage, who stand listening in perfect silence, like moujiks
listening to a sermon in church.
Yesterday the Duma sat from 11.30 a.m. until past midnight, with a very
short interval. The weather was stiflingly hot, and yet the House
listened to a series of not very lively speeches, not only with decorous
patience, but with keen interest. The most striking orators so far seem
to be Professor Kovolievski, and MM. Rodichev and Aladin, the first
being remarkable for his perfect naturalness, the second for his rather
theatrical eloquence, which, I confess, does not appeal to me
personally, but pleases most people, and the third for his
uncompromising directness of speech and powerful driving force. There
are others besides these, and among them some of the peasants, who speak
extremely well. I asked a peasant who spoke best. He said: “Rodichev
spoke very well, and Jilkin (principal representative of the peasant
group) spoke well and quietly.” I mentioned Aladin. “He is an angry
speaker,” he said. “He knows, but he ought to speak more gently.” M.
Aladin has spent many years in England, whither he went as an immigrant.
Mirabeau heard Robespierre speak at the States-General (I think), and
said: “That young man will go very far, for he believes everything he
says.” I think this would apply to M. Aladin.
I heard some one say to a peasant who came from the South of Russia:
“You should think of your common interests; if each class only thinks of
itself what will happen? Do you think that one can be happy just by
possessing land?” Then, in the course of discussion on the state of the
peasants in Russia, he suddenly asked: “How long ago is it since Christ
died?” When he was told he answered: “When will people begin to be
Christians?”
Last night, when I was driving home from the Duma, my cabman asked me
many questions about it, and he said that he had been a soldier himself
and saw a great deal of the soldiers here, and that if the Duma was
dispersed or came to nothing and the Government attempted to exercise
repressive measures they would refuse to fight, because what applied to
the peasants applied to them. They were peasants, and the only way in
which their lot could be bettered was by the lot of the peasants being
bettered. “The Government,” he added, “does not want things to go
quietly.” It wants a _bunt_ (a rising), so that it can put it down by
force and then go on as before as in the good old days, but this time it
will not succeed, because the soldiers will refuse to fire, and there
will be a row such as there was at Kronstadt, only on a far larger
scale, and St. Petersburg will be looted.
_May 20th._
This evening, as I was walking home to my lodgings, I was attracted by
signs of disturbance in a side street off the Big Morskaia, where I
live. I went to see what was happening. A drunken soldier was lurching
down the street, making rude remarks to the passers-by. He was arrested
and with difficulty guided to the police station, which happened to be
in that street, by two policemen.
When they went into the police station a small crowd of men, women, and
children collected round the door, which was guarded by a small boy of
about twelve years of age.
A woman, with a shawl over her head, made an indignant speech to the
assembled public about the arbitrariness of the police in arresting the
poor soldiers. “We know,” she said, “what goes on in there. They’re
beating him now.”
“Shame!” cried the crowd, and made a move for the door. But the unkempt
little boy who was guarding it said: “You can’t come in here.”
“Ah, we know you _dvorniks_” (door-keepers), said the woman, “you are
worse than the police.” “Yah!” joined in the crowd, and a child said to
the boy, with inexpressible contempt, “Ugh! _Satrap!_ Police station
chicken!”
Then the crowd broke up.