the human instinct of faith is of psychological interest--than in their
bearing on the question as to how far they are united to form a
revolutionary army which could disarm and overthrow the autocracy and
then take in hand the new order of things. I tried to inform myself on
this point from my attractive host's reading. I also asked about it
directly. The answers I received have no room for expectation of a
revolutionary organization in the near future. According to them
deliverance cannot come from below. Absolution no longer has the masses
in hand, but it is at least able to prevent any general, all-inclusive
organization of the dissatisfied; and the thinking class in the
opposition to the government did not find the way to the people until
the most recent times. Only within the last few years has it been
reported that the peasantry is beginning to show symptoms of unusual
fermentation, the authors of which are unknown. The government does what
it can. It has spent nine million rubles for the strengthening of the
provincial mounted police. According to the accepted view the sects
arose because Patriarch Nikon wished to have the sacred writings and
books of ritual then in use, in which textual errors were to be found,
replaced by texts carefully revised according to the originals. The
clergy, however, clinging to the old routine, opposed this. When the
great council of May 13, 1667, declared itself in favor of Nikon's
proposed reform, the division became complete. From that time forward
the opposition of "Old Believers" (Starovertzy) became the heart of all
popular movements against the imperial power. My host represented a
different shade of opinion. According to his idea, the sects arose with
the introduction of Christianity, and they represent the opposition of
the simple paganism of the people to the complicated casuistry of the
Byzantine Church. Until the fourteenth century, he thinks, the church
tried to keep with the sectarians, and suffered the procession to go
according to the old pagan usage, with the sun instead of against it.
Since the fourteenth century, however, the church has identified itself
with the power of the state. From this time dates the hostility of the
sects to the government. Nevertheless, until the seventeenth century,
local gods were tolerated as patron saints. But when Bishop Mascarius
issued a list of the saints recognized by the state, the quarrel with
sects which clung to their own saints was made eternal. Since that time
the sectarians have not troubled themselves at all with the official
religious literature. They print their own books on secret presses.
Sectarianism really represents, therefore, in the first place, the
national opposition of the Russians to Byzantium; next, the opposition
to St. Petersburg, and especially to Peter the Great, who was and is
regarded as antichrist. But side by side with these nationalistic
religious sects, and far in advance of them, have grown up mystically
rationalistic ones also. Some of these, going back to early Christian
ideas, refuse to bear arms and to take oath in court, like the German
Anabaptists, Nazarenes, and Baptists. Others oppose the church on mere
grounds of judgment, and lead a life regulated according to the
teachings of pure reason. The Old Believers, after long and terrible
martyrdoms in which their priests were burned or otherwise executed, and
after a sort of recantation, finally came to an understanding with the
state and are at present in part tolerated.
The great majority of rationalistic--mystic--sects, however, have
remained hostile to the government, and are persecuted on all sides by
the state, although a great part of their members lead much more moral
lives than the orthodox Russians.
They are to be distinguished at present--sects with priests ("Popovtzy")
and sects without priests ("Bezpopovtzy"). The first are the Old
Believers, who are especially well represented in the rich merchant
class in Moscow and are recognized by the state. They may be
distinguished by their uncut beards, by their mode of crossing
themselves, and by their great piety.
The sects without priests are, however, the most interesting. The most
characteristic among them are the Self-burners, or Danielites, the
Beguny, or Pilgrims, the Khlysty, or Scourgers, the Skoptzy and Skakuny,
or Jumpers.[11] Their customs show what psychology knows
already--namely, that religious emotion leads easily to sexual, and then
both tend to revel in bloody ideas. One is led, indeed, to question
whether the fascinating effect of so many of the stories of saints must
not be traced back to that psychological connection in the
subconsciousness. With the Danielites voluntary death by fire is
considered meritorious. The Beguny are vagabonds, "without passport," an
unheard-of thing according to Russian ideas, without name, without
proper institutions. In this sect men and women live together
promiscuously. They are supported by secret members of the sect who live
in towns, and who do not, like the regular Beguny, expose themselves to
the standing curse of antichrist--_i. e._, the state. The Khlysty have
direct revelations from heaven in the state of ecstasy which they
experience at their devotional meetings. They are flagellants, dance in
rings until they are exhausted, and then sink all together in a general
orgy. The Skoptzy castrate themselves in such circumstances. The
Skakuny, or Jumpers, dance in pairs in the woods with frightfully
dislocated limbs until they sink down exhausted. All these sects are
accused of child murder. They are said to wish to send children
unspotted to the kingdom of heaven. It is to be noted that all these
data are unreliable, because no stranger is admitted to the secret
devotions, while the imaginations of the denouncers have just as much
tendency to revel in sexual and sanguinary ideas as that of the exalted
devotees. The persecution of these sects by the government is easy to
understand. Spiritual epidemics must be fought as much as physical
disease.
The persecution of the rationalistic sects is quite unjustifiable. They
do not deserve the name of sects at all, for in other countries similar
ones form simply free political, ethical, or philosophical societies.
Certainly they can only benefit the communities in which they exist by
their high ideal of integrity and strict morality. Count Leo Tolstoï has
already made the banishment of the Doukhobors known to all the world as
an infamous proceeding, and has thereby raised large contributions for
their settlement in Canada. The Shaloputy and the Malevents, for the
most part Ruthenians, have a really ideal character, free from the
narrowness and superstition of the church, without ritual, industrious,
helpful, peaceful, and kindly. They live together in a state of
free-love marriages, without constraint of church or state, neither lie
nor swear, and do good even to their enemies. The Stundists, who are
said to have originated with the German pastor Bonekemper, in the
Rohrbach colony near Odessa, are similarly virtuous communists, who do
not trouble themselves about the state, hold all property in common,
adjust all quarrels among themselves, and harm nobody. The formula of
the report with which the gendarmes are accustomed to give notice of the
discovery of a Stundist is characteristic: "I was passing the house of
Farmer X---- and his son and saw them both reading in a book. I entered
and ascertained that this book is the Gospel. Farmer X---- and his son
are therefore Stundists, and as such are most respectfully reported to
the authorities." Russian nobles have been exiled to Siberia for the
crime of reading the Gospel to their servants. A former officer of the
guards, Vassili Alexandrovitch Pashkov, who dedicated all his means to
philanthropy and held religious exercises, was expelled from St.
Petersburg and the movement named for him was suppressed.
Why is all this? The narrow-mindedness of Pobydonostzev's system permits
no falling-away from the official church. The police state tolerates no
suspicious morality. The thinking class in Russia quote with bitterness
Aksakov's saying, "Be a rascal, but be correct in your politics" ("Bud,
razvraten, no bud, blagonamyeren"). Debauchery is directly commended to
young men of good family because it prevents intense absorption in
politics. The crime of the Stundists, Doukhobors, and Malevents consists
in their wishing to be Christians in the spirit of Christ, and in being
disaffected towards that diabolical machine the Russian state. For this
they are persecuted in the name of Christ and of the state, but, as the
above-quoted figures show, without result. Sectarianism grows
continuously. Thus Leo Tolstoï's religious anarchy is in a certain way
comprehensible. Whoever looks about him sees good people who, without
making any disturbance, simply turn away from the state as something
unchristian and inhuman; and he may easily fall into the delusion that
it will some time be possible to found the kingdom of heaven upon the
earth through the spreading of these teachings. Their rise, however, is
only too comprehensible in a state which has never pretended to
represent the general welfare and justice--means by which even
conscienceless conquerors and despots have spread civilization.
All these sects are limited to the peasantry. The sectarianism of the
cities is called socialism. Here, too, one must use the word
"sectarianism." For even the little bands of organized labor split
immediately, after the Russian fashion, into smaller groups; and even
the intelligent upper classes form just as many little circles, each
with its own doctrine and its own organ. In spite of all efforts I did
not succeed in getting approximately reliable figures for the strength
of the separate socialistic groups. The estimates varied from forty
thousand to two hundred thousand, and are, therefore, entirely
worthless. In regard to the nature of the groups, both in general and in
particular, there is much more definite information.
After the assassination of the Czar Alexander II., which no one in
Russia will believe was committed without the help of these groups, who
knew definitely that the Emperor intended to sign an order for arrest,
the small and entirely isolated group of perhaps a hundred and fifty
desperadoes was simply exterminated, and several thousand people were
exiled to Siberia. With that the so-called aggression of nihilism came
to an end. Malicious persons, however, think it ended with the deed
which was most in the interest of the omnipotent police--namely, the
assassination of Alexander II. In any case, the police was not at all
severe in getting rid of this definitely recognized band. At that time
the doctrine of Marx was beginning to spread in Russia. This doctrine
was looked upon by the authorities as an antidote for the terrorism of
anarchy. The Marxists, whose organ is the _Iskra_ (Ray, or Spark), are
doctrinaires here as everywhere, swear--at least so the Revisionists
declare--by the theory that the poor are growing poorer, and wish the
peasants to abandon their land and to become a wandering proletariat
according to the catechism of Marx. They were opposed by the late
Mikhailovski, who knew Russia better than the founders of the _Iskra_.
To-day the Marxists are supposed to be suppressed. Besides these there
is the league with the two Parisian organs, the _Revolutionary Russia_,
a monthly printed in Russian, and the _Russian Tribune_, the real
monitor of the socialistic movement, and, next to Struve's
_Oswobozhdenie_, the best source of information upon Russian conditions.
The leaguers are former followers of Lasalle. They are exceedingly
troublesome to the police on account of their close organization.
For a while the police cherished the hope of being able to seize the
labor movement for their own purposes. A certain Subatov invented a plan
by which the police were to give financial support to the organization
of labor, and in exchange to require the political good conduct of the
organization. The industrial barons, however, at whose expense this
treaty of peace was to be brought about, put themselves on the
defensive. Gouyon in particular, a manufacturer of Moscow, who employs
over five thousand persons, simply threatened to close his factory if
the inspectors were not withdrawn. So fell Subatov, leaving only his
name behind to designate those who still put in a good word for police
socialism. They are called "Subatovists." With this exception, no one
has thought of an honest factory inspection as an effectual help for the
workmen.
The socialistic movement is seizing not only the working classes, but
also the universities, almost all of which to-day embrace a radicalism
certainly related to socialism. No sharp distinction can be made,
indeed, between these two stages in the general dissatisfaction and
fermentation. The police keeps its strictest guard upon the universities
and all the thinking classes. In the province of Irkutsk there are at
present no fewer than three thousand political exiles. How many are
lashed to death with knouts in police prisons no man knows. The answer,
however, is found in those unplanned outrages which are beginning to
occur again, and to which a governor or a minister falls victim, now in
one place, now in another. An outbreak of many of these is generally
expected in the near future.
There is still, however, a conservative element in Russia. I asked a
well-fed Russian tradesman, a representative "kupetz" (small dealer) of
Moscow, what he thought about the war and the conditions in the country.
His answer was so characteristic that I must give it: "It is not
anybody's business to think, but to obey God and the Czar." The present
order of things in Russia rests on this principle and on the stupidity
of the half-savage Cossacks. Therefore, no one must be deceived by the
symptoms of bitter feeling. A revolution under organized leadership and
with a definite object is impossible. At the most, single nationalities
and the starving peasantry may rise up, to suffer a sanguinary
overthrow. Deliverance is not yet within sight for these most
unfortunate of all men. National bankruptcy, which no one doubts is
imminent, will perhaps bring an improvement. Therefore the Russians
pray, desirous to hasten it, "God help us so that we may be defeated."
FOOTNOTE:
[11] A kind of Shakers.
XXVI
MOSCOW
Blue heavens, golden cupolas, green towers, red houses, pealing bells
above, sleigh-bells on the streets, praying muzhiks before images of the
saints, beautiful women in costly furs--when I wish to reconstruct from
my recollections the picture of Moscow, these are the elements which at
first mingle, charming, chaotic, like the colors in Caucasian
gold-enamel. How beautiful a city this! How often have I stood upon the
tower of the Ivan Veliky and looked down on this endless sea of shining
cupolas and gay roofs crowded upon gently rising hills far into the blue
haze of the distance! Never was the Russian love of home so intelligible
to me as there in the heart of Russia, upon the battlements of the
Kremlin, high above the bank of the Moskva! And involuntarily I
wondered, as, indeed, would any one not a subject of the imperator, who
has looked down from such battlements upon all the subject masses of
Russians, whether he has really subjugated them or whether they have
only been brought to a death-bringing hibernation. Æsthetic,
ethnological, historical, and political suggestions swarm to the mind
of the thoughtful observer in this place. What wonder if the Russian
feels himself here on holy ground and would prefer to put off his shoes
when he treads it?
The tongue of the people has a kindly word for St. Petersburg and a pet
name for Moscow--"Little Mother Moscow," it is called, the real capital
of Russiandom. And even the stranger must remark this difference of
treatment. St. Petersburg astonishes, awes, frightens. Moscow
ingratiates herself at first sight and wins each day a firmer hold on
our hearts. One thinks with a certain tenderness of one's stay in
Moscow, and in spite of unbelief predicts to himself another visit. But
not with faith. For unless business calls him there he is not likely to
make a second visit to Moscow in a lifetime. But one longs to pass many
a pleasant day in this city, so curious and yet so homely, with her
kindly inhabitants. Why? It would be hard to say in a few words. The
city is in too strong a contrast to the forced founding of St.
Petersburg. There the hand of man is all in evidence; nothing is
refreshing. A great prison fortress of granite blocks surrounded by huts
and barracks. Moscow is a product of nature, founded with enthusiasm by
its dwellers in response to the open invitation of nature, and adored
even with devotion. Even the stranger feels this, even though there is
nothing to which he is unaccustomed except the devotion and tenderness
of a people to whom he is bound by not a single tie of common
association. With what shudders one wanders through Rome, from Mont
Pincio to the Vatican! how one is carried on by the ocean of world
history upon the Capitoline, among the excavations of the Forum, among
the palace walls of the Palatine! What is to us, in contrast, the
Kremlin, this sanctuary of half-Asiatic barbarians? Yes, an exoteric
delicacy, nothing else! One cannot free one's self from the charm of
these places. Here a good-natured folk has created a jewel-box, gay and
dazzlingly ornamented, careless of what the culture of the West has
declared beautiful and holy; hither gravitate all the national feelings
of a hundred million people; and, finally, all this is created to the
harm of no one, to frighten no one, to oppress no one. Here the Czar is
not the general-in-chief of so many million bayonets, but "Little Father
Czar," who yields the countless holy images and chapels just the same
devotion as his lowest muzhik. And here is the past--not alone the
brazen, threatening present--the past of a strange people, but a people
of lovable individuals, who, besides, are brought nearer to us than many
of our nearest neighbors by a literature of unparalleled fidelity to
life. One must grow to love this childlike, slow-blooded, and yet
care-free people, with their irresistible heartiness. And he who has
learned to love the Russians must love their Little Mother Moscow, in
spite of, or just on account of, her quietness.
From St. Petersburg an express train brings us to Moscow in thirteen
hours. It is always a night train that disposes of this traffic, for the
Russian likes to sleep in his comfortable berth. And so we arrive in
Moscow in the morning, ready at once to assimilate the first impressions
of the enormous city. Our expectancy is great, of course. Moscow, the
object of all most Russian! It must differ, at first sight, from all we
have as yet seen. But while the hotel omnibus rattles through the
streets from the depot but little that is peculiar is to be seen. An
affable fellow-passenger explains to us that that is only the foreign
business quarter. But now one after another the church cupolas appear,
one after another in increasing brightness and variety. At our "Ah!" in
expression of our satisfaction, we are instructed that we had better be
more sparing of that vowel sound or we might soon become hoarse. Moscow
has no less than four hundred and fifty such churches and twenty
cloisters in addition. So let us be sparing. But the resolution is hard
to keep. A long and mighty wall suddenly rises before us with countless
angles, towers, and turrets. The wall is white, the towers are green,
and through the gate we see long streets and buildings in all possible
colors, dark included. It is Kitay-Gorod, the inner city, with the
bazars. Bokhara cannot appear more Asiatic. Now we feel already all that
we are about to see. A giant modern hotel almost destroys for us the
ensemble. Look quickly to your lodgings and then out again!
We are nicely located. From our windows we see the towers of the
Kremlin, which rise above the nearest roofs. Let him who will endure
remaining behind double windows! After washing and having some tea we
are at the door again, and quickly make a bargain with the "izwozchik"
who is to drive us over the outlined tour of the city. Horse and sleigh
are a bit smaller than in St. Petersburg, but still very good. And so we
are out in the sunshine, off into the snowy landscape, to gain a hurried
general conception of the endless city.
For two hours our good little horse draws us, gliding over bridges and
pikes, up and down hill, and when we return half frozen to the hotel we
have seen scarce a fraction of the periphery, but a thousand teams, with
shaggy muzhiks in wicker sleighs, and, still more, little country-houses
of wood, which might serve in the West for summer cottages, but which
offer an inviting shelter even here in the icy winter. The whole of
Moscow is a complex of official municipal buildings which are crowded
together into the narrowest space, of churches and palaces narrowly
crowded about the Kremlin, and of immense suburbs which lie in rings
about the inner town. But these suburbs have a half-country
character--broad, uneven streets and low, villa-like houses, with little
gardens. Little Mother Moscow gives her children room. They do not have
to crowd together in usuriously paying tenements, and houses of more
than one story are quite the exception. Even in the shadow of the
Kremlin a parterre for the stores and a single story above it are
sufficient. Really, only the hotels stretch with three or four stories
heavenward. The impression is ever recurring that Moscow has no desire
to be a city, and only quite unwillingly yields to the necessity of a
crowded existence.
The Kremlin, which we did not lose sight of once on our whole trip,
entices us strongly. It lies before us; so let us enter.
Yes, if it were as easily done as said! We cross a broad square, across
which lean little horses draw a horse-car high as the first story of a
house, and then we stand before buildings which allow us to go no
farther. It is the Duma, the city hall, on the left, and the historical
museum on the right, both dark-red in color; on the latter the façade is
built entirely of darkened stone, so that it gives the impression of the
whole being incrusted. The style is to be met with frequently. It
belongs to the sixteenth century and is now being revived. The idea of
using a coating of Russian enamel as an element of architectural style
is a brilliant one. We reach a gate of the high wall surrounding the
inner city Kitay-Gorod. But before we pass the gate let us cast a glance
at the peculiar doings in the little chapel, scarcely bigger than a
room, which is built on its left side. It is the Iberian chapel, with
the famed image of the Virgin to which the Czar pays his devotions
before he enters the Kremlin. The original, with its genuine precious
stones, is now in the city, where for a fee it is brought to sick
people. In the mean time a copy takes its place. At the time of the
daily excursions of the Virgin the governor-general, Prince Sergius,
does not allow the Jews to remain on the streets. The Blessed Virgin may
not see upon her way the traces of Jewish feet. Every one crosses
himself before her. But most climb the few steps to her and cross
themselves again, with deep bendings of the upper body; but some, men as
well as women, throw themselves full length upon the ground and touch
the earth with their foreheads. The candle trade flourishes; scarcely a
soul enters who does not buy a candle and light it before some image. No
difference of station can be recognized. The great lady, the high
official, the dirty muzhik, all are the same in their worship. Their
caps are continually removed, and the rather time-consuming Russian
ceremony of making the sign of the cross is performed. But the really
pious ones do not content themselves with worshipping before the gate.
They do the same thing again when inside.