THE MIR, OR VILLAGE COMMUNITY
Social and Political Importance of the Mir--The Mir and the Family
Compared--Theory of the Communal System--Practical Deviations from the
Theory--The Mir a Good Specimen of Constitutional Government of the
Extreme Democratic Type--The Village Assembly--Female Members--The
Elections--Distribution of the Communal Land.
When I had gained a clear notion of the family-life and occupations of
the peasantry, I turned my attention to the constitution of the village.
This was a subject which specially interested me, because I was aware
that the Mir is the most peculiar of Russian institutions. Long before
visiting Russia I had looked into Haxthausen's celebrated work, by which
the peculiarities of the Russian village system were first made known
to Western Europe, and during my stay in St. Petersburg I had often
been informed by intelligent, educated Russians that the rural Commune
presented a practical solution of many difficult social problems with
which the philosophers and statesmen of the West had long been vainly
struggling. "The nations of the West"--such was the substance of
innumerable discourses which I had heard--"are at present on the
high-road to political and social anarchy, and England has the
unenviable distinction of being foremost in the race. The natural
increase of population, together with the expropriation of the small
landholders by the great landed proprietors, has created a dangerous and
ever-increasing Proletariat--a great disorganised mass of human beings,
without homes, without permanent domicile, without property of any kind,
without any stake in the existing institutions. Part of these gain a
miserable pittance as agricultural labourers, and live in a condition
infinitely worse than serfage. The others have been forever uprooted
from the soil, and have collected in the large towns, where they earn a
precarious living in the factories and workshops, or swell the ranks of
the criminal classes. In England you have no longer a peasantry in the
proper sense of the term, and unless some radical measures be very soon
adopted, you will never be able to create such a class, for men who
have been long exposed to the unwholesome influences of town life are
physically and morally incapable of becoming agriculturists.
"Hitherto," the disquisition proceeded, "England has enjoyed, in
consequence of her geographical position, her political freedom, and her
vast natural deposits of coal and iron, a wholly exceptional position
in the industrial world. Fearing no competition, she has proclaimed
the principles of Free Trade, and has inundated the world with her
manufactures--using unscrupulously her powerful navy and all the other
forces at her command for breaking down every barrier tending to check
the flood sent forth from Manchester and Birmingham. In that way her
hungry Proletariat has been fed. But the industrial supremacy of England
is drawing to a close. The nations have discovered the perfidious
fallacy of Free-Trade principles, and are now learning to manufacture
for their own wants, instead of paying England enormous sums to
manufacture for them. Very soon English goods will no longer find
foreign markets, and how will the hungry Proletariat then be fed?
Already the grain production of England is far from sufficient for the
wants of the population, so that, even when the harvest is exceptionally
abundant, enormous quantities of wheat are imported from all quarters
of the globe. Hitherto this grain has been paid for by the manufactured
goods annually exported, but how will it be procured when these goods
are no longer wanted by foreign consumers? And what then will the hungry
Proletariat do?"*
* This passage was written, precisely as it stands, long
before the fiscal question was raised by Mr. Chamberlain.
It will be found in the first edition of this work,
published in 1877. (Vol. I., pp. 179-81.)
This sombre picture of England's future had often been presented to me,
and on nearly every occasion I had been assured that Russia had been
saved from these terrible evils by the rural Commune--an institution
which, in spite of its simplicity and incalculable utility, West
Europeans seemed utterly incapable of understanding and appreciating.
The reader will now easily conceive with what interest I took to
studying this wonderful institution, and with what energy I prosecuted
my researches. An institution which professes to solve satisfactorily
the most difficult social problems of the future is not to be met with
every day, even in Russia, which is specially rich in material for the
student of social science.
On my arrival at Ivanofka my knowledge of the institution was of that
vague, superficial kind which is commonly derived from men who are
fonder of sweeping generalisations and rhetorical declamation than of
serious, patient study of phenomena. I knew that the chief personage in
a Russian village is the Selski Starosta, or Village Elder, and that all
important Communal affairs are regulated by the Selski Skhod, or Village
Assembly. Further, I was aware that the land in the vicinity of the
village belongs to the Commune, and is distributed periodically among
the members in such a way that every able-bodied peasant possesses a
share sufficient, or nearly sufficient, for his maintenance. Beyond this
elementary information I knew little or nothing.
My first attempt at extending my knowledge was not very successful.
Hoping that my friend Ivan might be able to assist me, and knowing that
the popular name for the Commune is Mir, which means also "the world," I
put to him the direct, simple question, "What is the Mir?"
Ivan was not easily disconcerted, but for once he looked puzzled, and
stared at me vacantly. When I endeavoured to explain to him my question,
he simply knitted his brows and scratched the back of his head. This
latter movement is the Russian peasant's method of accelerating cerebral
action; but in the present instance it had no practical result. In
spite of his efforts, Ivan could not get much further than the "Kak vam
skazat'?" that is to say, "How am I to tell you?"
It was not difficult to perceive that I had adopted an utterly false
method of investigation, and a moment's reflection sufficed to show
me the absurdity of my question. I had asked from an uneducated man a
philosophical definition, instead of extracting from him material in
the form of concrete facts, and constructing therefrom a definition for
myself. These concrete facts Ivan was both able and willing to supply;
and as soon as I adopted a rational mode of questioning, I obtained from
him all I wanted. The information he gave me, together with the results
of much subsequent conversation and reading, I now propose to present to
the reader in my own words.
The peasant family of the old type is, as we have just seen, a kind of
primitive association in which the members have nearly all things in
common. The village may be roughly described as a primitive association
on a larger scale.
Between these two social units there are many points of analogy. In both
there are common interests and common responsibilities. In both there
is a principal personage, who is in a certain sense ruler within and
representative as regards the outside world: in the one case called
Khozain, or Head of the Household, and in the other Starosta, or Village
Elder. In both the authority of the ruler is limited: in the one case
by the adult members of the family, and in the other by the Heads of
Households. In both there is a certain amount of common property: in the
one case the house and nearly all that it contains, and in the other the
arable land and possibly a little pasturage. In both cases there is a
certain amount of common responsibility: in the one case for all the
debts, and in the other for all the taxes and Communal obligations.
And both are protected to a certain extent against the ordinary legal
consequences of insolvency, for the family cannot be deprived of its
house or necessary agricultural implements, and the Commune cannot be
deprived of its land, by importunate creditors.
On the other hand, there are many important points of contrast. The
Commune is, of course, much larger than the family, and the mutual
relations of its members are by no means so closely interwoven. The
members of a family all farm together, and those of them who earn money
from other sources are expected to put their savings into the common
purse; whilst the households composing a Commune farm independently, and
pay into the common treasury only a certain fixed sum.
From these brief remarks the reader will at once perceive that a Russian
village is something very different from a village in our sense of the
term, and that the villagers are bound together by ties quite unknown to
the English rural population. A family living in an English village has
little reason to take an interest in the affairs of its neighbours. The
isolation of the individual families is never quite perfect, for man,
being a social animal, takes necessarily a certain interest in the
affairs of those around him, and this social duty is sometimes fulfilled
by the weaker sex with more zeal than is absolutely indispensable for
the public welfare; but families may live for many years in the same
village without ever becoming conscious of common interests. So long as
the Jones family do not commit any culpable breach of public order, such
as putting obstructions on the highway or habitually setting their
house on fire, their neighbour Brown takes probably no interest in their
affairs, and has no ground for interfering with their perfect liberty of
action. Amongst the families composing a Russian village, such a state
of isolation is impossible. The Heads of Households must often meet
together and consult in the Village Assembly, and their daily occupation
must be influenced by the Communal decrees. They cannot begin to mow the
hay or plough the fallow field until the Village Assembly has passed
a resolution on the subject. If a peasant becomes a drunkard, or takes
some equally efficient means to become insolvent, every family in the
village has a right to complain, not merely in the interests of public
morality, but from selfish motives, because all the families are
collectively responsible for his taxes.* For the same reason no peasant
can permanently leave the village without the consent of the Commune,
and this consent will not be granted until the applicant gives
satisfactory security for the fulfilment of his actual and future
liabilities. If a peasant wishes to go away for a short time, in order
to work elsewhere, he must obtain a written permission, which serves him
as a passport during his absence; and he may be recalled at any moment
by a Communal decree. In reality he is rarely recalled so long as he
sends home regularly the full amount of his taxes--including the dues
which he has to pay for the temporary passport--but sometimes the
Commune uses the power of recall for purposes of extortion. If it
becomes known, for instance, that an absent member is receiving a good
salary or otherwise making money, he may one day receive a formal order
to return at once to his native village, but he is probably informed at
the same time, unofficially, that his presence will be dispensed with if
he will send to the Commune a certain specified sum. The money thus sent
is generally used by the Commune for convivial purposes. **
* This common responsibility for the taxes was abolished in
1903 by the Emperor, on the advice of M. Witte, and the
other Communal fetters are being gradually relaxed. A
peasant may now, if he wishes, cease to be a member of the
Commune altogether, as soon as he has defrayed all his
outstanding obligations.
** With the recent relaxing of the Communal fetters,
referred to in the foregoing note, this abuse should
disappear.
In all countries the theory of government and administration differs
considerably from the actual practice. Nowhere is this difference
greater than in Russia, and in no Russian institution is it greater than
in the Village Commune. It is necessary, therefore, to know both theory
and practice; and it is well to begin with the former, because it is the
simpler of the two. When we have once thoroughly mastered the theory,
it is easy to understand the deviations that are made to suit peculiar
local conditions.
According, then, to theory, all male peasants in every part of the
Empire are inscribed in census-lists, which form the basis of the direct
taxation. These lists are revised at irregular intervals, and all
males alive at the time of the "revision," from the newborn babe to the
centenarian, are duly inscribed. Each Commune has a list of this kind,
and pays to the Government an annual sum proportionate to the number of
names which the list contains, or, in popular language, according to the
number of "revision souls." During the intervals between the revisions
the financial authorities take no notice of the births and deaths. A
Commune which has a hundred male members at the time of the revision
may have in a few years considerably more or considerably less than that
number, but it has to pay taxes for a hundred members all the same until
a new revision is made for the whole Empire.
Now in Russia, so far at least as the rural population is concerned, the
payment of taxes is inseparably connected with the possession of land.
Every peasant who pays taxes is supposed to have a share of the land
belonging to the Commune. If the Communal revision lists contain a
hundred names, the Communal land ought to be divided into a hundred
shares, and each "revision soul" should enjoy his share in return for
the taxes which he pays.
The reader who has followed my explanations up to this point may
naturally conclude that the taxes paid by the peasants are in reality a
species of rent for the land which they enjoy. Such a conclusion would
not be altogether justified. When a man rents a bit of land he acts
according to his own judgment, and makes a voluntary contract with the
proprietor; but the Russian peasant is obliged to pay his taxes whether
he desires to enjoy land or not. The theory, therefore, that the
taxes are simply the rent of the land will not bear even superficial
examination. Equally untenable is the theory that they are a species of
land-tax. In any reasonable system of land-dues the yearly sum imposed
bears some kind of proportion to the quantity and quality of the land
enjoyed; but in Russia it may be that the members of one Commune possess
six acres of bad land, and the members of the neighbouring Commune seven
acres of good land, and yet the taxes in both cases are the same. The
truth is that the taxes are personal, and are calculated according to
the number of male "souls," and the Government does not take the trouble
to inquire how the Communal land is distributed. The Commune has to pay
into the Imperial Treasury a fixed yearly sum, according to the number
of its "revision souls," and distributes the land among its members as
it thinks fit.
How, then, does the Commune distribute the land? To this question it is
impossible to reply in brief, general terms, because each Commune acts
as it pleases!* Some act strictly according to the theory. These divide
their land at the time of the revision into a number of portions or
shares corresponding to the number of revision souls, and give to each
family a number of shares corresponding to the number of revision souls
which it contains. This is from the administrative point of view by
far the simplest system. The census-list determines how much land each
family will enjoy, and the existing tenures are disturbed only by the
revisions which take place at irregular intervals.** But, on the other
hand, this system has serious defects. The revision-list represents
merely the numerical strength of the families, and the numerical
strength is often not at all in proportion to the working power. Let us
suppose, for example, two families, each containing at the time of
the revision five male members. According to the census-list these two
families are equal, and ought to receive equal shares of the land; but
in reality it may happen that the one contains a father in the prime of
life and four able-bodies sons, whilst the other contains a widow and
five little boys. The wants and working power of these two families are
of course very different; and if the above system of distribution be
applied, the man with four sons and a goodly supply of grandchildren
will probably find that he has too little land, whilst the widow with
her five little boys will find it difficult to cultivate the five shares
alloted to her, and utterly impossible to pay the corresponding amount
of taxation--for in all cases, it must be remembered, the Communal
burdens are distributed in the same proportion as the land.
* A long list of the various systems of allotment to be
found in individual Communes in different parts of the
country is given in the opening chapter of a valuable work
by Karelin, entitled "Obshtchinnoye Vladyenie v Rossii" (St.
Petersburg, 1893). As my object is to convey to the reader
merely a general idea of the institution, I refrain from
confusing him by an enumeration of the endless divergencies
from the original type.
** Since 1719 eleven revisions have been made, the last in
1897. The intervals varied from six to forty-one years.
But why, it may be said, should the widow not accept provisionally the
five shares, and let to others the part which she does not require? The
balance of rent after payment of the taxes might help her to bring up
her young family.
So it seems to one acquainted only with the rural economy of England,
where land is scarce, and always gives a revenue more than sufficient
to defray the taxes. But in Russia the possession of a share of Communal
land is often not a privilege, but a burden. In some Communes the land
is so poor and abundant that it cannot be let at any price. In others
the soil will repay cultivation, but a fair rent will not suffice to pay
the taxes and dues.
To obviate these inconvenient results of the simpler system, many
Communes have adopted the expedient of allotting the land, not according
to the number of revision souls, but according to the working power
of the families. Thus, in the instance above supposed, the widow would
receive perhaps two shares, and the large household, containing five
workers, would receive perhaps seven or eight. Since the breaking-up of
the large families, such inequality as I have supposed is, of course,
rare; but inequality of a less extreme kind does still occur, and
justifies a departure from the system of allotment according to the
revision-lists.
Even if the allotment be fair and equitable at the time of the revision,
it may soon become unfair and burdensome by the natural fluctuations of
the population. Births and deaths may in the course of a very few years
entirely alter the relative working power of the various families.
The sons of the widow may grow up to manhood, whilst two or three
able-bodied members of the other family may be cut off by an epidemic.
Thus, long before a new revision takes place, the distribution of the
land may be no longer in accordance with the wants and capacities of
the various families composing the Commune. To correct this, various
expedients are employed. Some Communes transfer particular lots from one
family to another, as circumstances demand; whilst others make from
time to time, during the intervals between the revisions, a complete
redistribution and reallotment of the land. Of these two systems the
former is now more frequently employed.
The system of allotment adopted depends entirely on the will of the
particular Commune. In this respect the Communes enjoy the most complete
autonomy, and no peasant ever dreams of appealing against a Communal
decree.* The higher authorities not only abstain from all interference
in the allotment of the Communal lands, but remain in profound ignorance
as to which system the Communes habitually adopt. Though the Imperial
Administration has a most voracious appetite for symmetrically
constructed statistical tables--many of them formed chiefly out
of materials supplied by the mysterious inner consciousness of the
subordinate officials--no attempt has yet been made, so far as I know,
to collect statistical data which might throw light on this important
subject. In spite of the systematic and persistent efforts of the
centralised bureaucracy to regulate minutely all departments of the
national life, the rural Communes, which contain about five-sixths of
the population, remain in many respects entirely beyond its influence,
and even beyond its sphere of vision! But let not the reader be
astonished overmuch. He will learn in time that Russia is the land of
paradoxes; and meanwhile he is about to receive a still more startling
bit of information. In "the great stronghold of Caesarian despotism
and centralised bureaucracy," these Village Communes, containing about
five-sixths of the population, are capital specimens of representative
Constitutional government of the extreme democratic type!
* This has been somewhat modified by recent legislation.
According to the Emancipation Law of 1861, redistribution of
the land could take place at any time provided it was voted
by a majority of two-thirds at the Village Assembly. By a
law of 1893 redistribution cannot take place oftener than
once in twelve years, and must receive the sanction of
certain local authorities.
When I say that the rural Commune is a good specimen of Constitutional
government, I use the phrase in the English, and not in the Continental
sense. In the Continental languages a Constitutional regime implies
the existence of a long, formal document, in which the functions of the
various institutions, the powers of the various authorities, and the
methods of procedure are carefully defined. Such a document was never
heard of in Russian Village Communes, except those belonging to the
Imperial Domains, and the special legislation which formerly regulated
their affairs was repealed at the time of the Emancipation. At the
present day the Constitution of all the Village Communes is of the
English type--a body of unwritten, traditional conceptions, which have
grown up and modified themselves under the influence of ever-changing
practical necessity. No doubt certain definitions of the functions and
mutual relations of the Communal authorities might be extracted from
the Emancipation Law and subsequent official documents, but as a rule
neither the Village Elder nor the members of the Village Assembly
ever heard of such definitions; and yet every peasant knows, as if
by instinct, what each of these authorities can do and cannot do. The
Commune is, in fact, a living institution, whose spontaneous vitality
enables it to dispense with the assistance and guidance of the written
law, and its constitution is thoroughly democratic. The Elder represents
merely the executive power. The real authority resides in the Assembly,
of which all Heads of Households are members.*
* An attempt was made by Alexander III. in 1884 to bring the
rural Communes under supervision and control by the
appointment of rural officials called Zemskiye Natchalniki.
Of this so-called reform I shall have occasion to speak
later.
The simple procedure, or rather the absence of all formal procedure,
at the Assemblies, illustrates admirably the essentially practical
character of the institution. The meetings are held in the open air,
because in the village there is no building--except the church, which
can be used only for religious purposes--large enough to contain all the
members; and they almost always take place on Sundays or holidays,
when the peasants have plenty of leisure. Any open space may serve as
a Forum. The discussions are occasionally very animated, but there is
rarely any attempt at speech-making. If any young member should show
an inclination to indulge in oratory, he is sure to be unceremoniously
interrupted by some of the older members, who have never any sympathy
with fine talking. The assemblage has the appearance of a crowd of
people who have accidentally come together and are discussing in little
groups subjects of local interest. Gradually some one group, containing
two or three peasants who have more moral influence than their fellows,
attracts the others, and the discussion becomes general. Two or more
peasants may speak at a time, and interrupt each other freely--using
plain, unvarnished language, not at all parliamentary--and the
discussion may become a confused, unintelligible din; but at the
moment when the spectator imagines that the consultation is about to
be transformed into a free fight, the tumult spontaneously subsides,
or perhaps a general roar of laughter announces that some one has been
successfully hit by a strong argumentum ad hominem, or biting personal
remark. In any case there is no danger of the disputants coming to
blows. No class of men in the world are more good-natured and pacific
than the Russian peasantry. When sober they never fight, and even when
under the influence of alcohol they are more likely to be violently
affectionate than disagreeably quarrelsome. If two of them take to
drinking together, the probability is that in a few minutes, though they
may never have seen each other before, they will be expressing in very
strong terms their mutual regard and affection, confirming their words
with an occasional friendly embrace.
Theoretically speaking, the Village Parliament has a Speaker, in the
person of the Village Elder. The word Speaker is etymologically less
objectionable than the term President, for the personage in question
never sits down, but mingles in the crowd like the ordinary members.
Objection may be taken to the word on the ground that the Elder speaks
much less than many other members, but this may likewise be said of the
Speaker of the House of Commons. Whatever we may call him, the Elder is
officially the principal personage in the crowd, and wears the insignia
of office in the form of a small medal suspended from his neck by a thin
brass chain. His duties, however, are extremely light. To call to order
those who interrupt the discussion is no part of his functions. If he
calls an honourable member "Durak" (blockhead), or interrupts an orator
with a laconic "Moltchi!" (hold your tongue!), he does so in virtue of
no special prerogative, but simply in accordance with a time-honoured
privilege, which is equally enjoyed by all present, and may be employed
with impunity against himself. Indeed, it may be said in general that
the phraseology and the procedure are not subjected to any strict rules.
The Elder comes prominently forward only when it is necessary to take
the sense of the meeting. On such occasions he may stand back a little
from the crowd and say, "Well, orthodox, have you decided so?" and the
crowd will probably shout, "Ladno! ladno!" that is to say, "Agreed!
agreed!"
Communal measures are generally carried in this way by acclamation; but
it sometimes happens that there is such a diversity of opinion that it
is difficult to tell which of the two parties has a majority. In this
case the Elder requests the one party to stand to the right and the
other to the left. The two groups are then counted, and the minority
submits, for no one ever dreams of opposing openly the will of the Mir.
During the reign of Nicholas I. an attempt was made to regulate by the
written law the procedure of Village Assemblies amongst the peasantry
of the State Domains, and among other reforms voting by ballot was
introduced; but the new custom never struck root. The peasants did
not regard with favour the new method, and persisted in calling it,
contemptuously, "playing at marbles." Here, again, we have one of those
wonderful and apparently anomalous facts which frequently meet the
student of Russian affairs: the Emperor Nicholas I., the incarnation of
autocracy and the champion of the Reactionary Party throughout Europe,
forces the ballot-box, the ingenious invention of extreme radicals, on
several millions of his subjects!
In the northern provinces, where a considerable portion of the male
population is always absent, the Village Assembly generally includes a
good many female members. These are women who, on account of the
absence or death of their husbands, happen to be for the moment Heads of
Households. As such they are entitled to be present, and their right to
take part in the deliberations is never called in question. In matters
affecting the general welfare of the Commune they rarely speak, and if
they do venture to enounce an opinion on such occasions they have little
chance of commanding attention, for the Russian peasantry are as yet
little imbued with the modern doctrines of female equality, and express
their opinion of female intelligence by the homely adage: "The hair is
long, but the mind is short." According to one proverb, seven women
have collectively but one soul, and, according to a still more ungallant
popular saying, women have no souls at all, but only a vapour. Woman,
therefore, as woman, is not deserving of much consideration, but a
particular woman, as Head of a Household, is entitled to speak on all
questions directly affecting the household under her care. If, for
instance, it be proposed to increase or diminish her household's share
of the land and the burdens, she will be allowed to speak freely on
the subject, and even to indulge in personal invective against her male
opponents. She thereby exposes herself, it is true, to uncomplimentary
remarks; but any which she happens to receive she is pretty sure to
repay with interest--referring, perhaps, with pertinent virulence to
the domestic affairs of those who attack her. And when argument and
invective fail, she can try the effect of pathetic appeal, supported by
copious tears.
As the Village Assembly is really a representative institution in the
full sense of the term, it reflects faithfully the good and the bad
qualities of the rural population. Its decisions are therefore usually
characterised by plain, practical common sense, but it is subject
to occasional unfortunate aberrations in consequence of pernicious
influences, chiefly of an alcoholic kind. An instance of this fact
occurred during my sojourn at Ivanofka. The question under discussion
was whether a kabak, or gin-shop, should be established in the village.
A trader from the district town desired to establish one, and offered to
pay to the Commune a yearly sum for the necessary permission. The more
industrious, respectable members of the Commune, backed by the whole
female population, were strongly opposed to the project, knowing full
well that a kabak would certainly lead to the ruin of more than one
household; but the enterprising trader had strong arguments wherewith
to seduce a large number of the members, and succeeded in obtaining a
decision in his favour.
The Assembly discusses all matters affecting the Communal welfare,
and, as these matters have never been legally defined, its recognised
competence is very wide. It fixes the time for making the hay, and the
day for commencing the ploughing of the fallow field; it decrees what
measures shall be employed against those who do not punctually pay
their taxes; it decides whether a new member shall be admitted into
the Commune, and whether an old member shall be allowed to change his
domicile; it gives or withholds permission to erect new buildings on
the Communal land; it prepares and signs all contracts which the Commune
makes with one of its own members or with a stranger; it interferes
whenever it thinks necessary in the domestic affairs of its members; it
elects the Elder--as well as the Communal tax-collector and watchman,
where such offices exist--and the Communal herd-boy; above all, it
divides and allots the Communal land among the members as it thinks fit.
Of all these various proceedings the English reader may naturally assume
that the elections are the most noisy and exciting. In reality this is a
mistake. The elections produce little excitement, for the simple reason
that, as a rule, no one desires to be elected. Once, it is said, a
peasant who had been guilty of some misdemeanor was informed by an
Arbiter of the Peace--a species of official of which I shall have
occasion to speak in the sequel--that he would be no longer capable of
filling any Communal office; and instead of regretting this diminution
of his civil rights, he bowed very low, and respectfully expressed his
thanks for the new privilege which he had acquired. This anecdote may
not be true, but it illustrates the undoubted fact that the Russian
peasant regards office as a burden rather than as an honour. There is no
civic ambition in those little rural commonwealths, whilst the privilege
of wearing a bronze medal, which commands no respect, and the reception
of a few roubles as salary afford no adequate compensation for the
trouble, annoyance, and responsibility which a Village Elder has to
bear. The elections are therefore generally very tame and uninteresting.
The following description may serve as an illustration:
It is a Sunday afternoon. The peasants, male and female, have turned out
in Sunday attire, and the bright costumes of the women help the sunshine
to put a little rich colour into the scene, which is at ordinary times
monotonously grey. Slowly the crowd collects on the open space at the
side of the church. All classes of the population are represented. On
the extreme outskirts are a band of fair-haired, merry children--some
of them standing or lying on the grass and gazing attentively at the
proceedings, and others running about and amusing themselves. Close
to these stand a group of young girls, convulsed with half-suppressed
laughter. The cause of their merriment is a youth of some seventeen
summers, evidently the wag of the village, who stands beside them with
an accordion in his hand, and relates to them in a half-whisper how he
is about to be elected Elder, and what mad pranks he will play in that
capacity. When one of the girls happens to laugh outright, the matrons
who are standing near turn round and scowl; and one of them, stepping
forward, orders the offender, in a tone of authority, to go home at once
if she cannot behave herself. Crestfallen, the culprit retires, and the
youth who is the cause of the merriment makes the incident the subject
of a new joke. Meanwhile the deliberations have begun. The majority of
the members are chatting together, or looking at a little group composed
of three peasants and a woman, who are standing a little apart from the
others. Here alone the matter in hand is being really discussed. The
woman is explaining, with tears in her eyes, and with a vast amount of
useless repetition, that her "old man," who is Elder for the time being,
is very ill, and cannot fulfil his duties.
"But he has not yet served a year, and he'll get better," remarks one
peasant, evidently the youngest of the little group.
"Who knows?" replies the woman, sobbing. "It is the will of God, but
I don't believe that he'll ever put his foot to the ground again. The
Feldsher has been four times to see him, and the doctor himself came
once, and said that he must be brought to the hospital."
"And why has he not been taken there?"
"How could he be taken? Who is to carry him? Do you think he's a baby?
The hospital is forty versts off. If you put him in a cart he would die
before he had gone a verst. And then, who knows what they do with people
in the hospital?" This last question contained probably the true reason
why the doctor's orders had been disobeyed.
"Very well, that's enough; hold your tongue," says the grey-beard of
the little group to the woman; and then, turning to the other peasants,
remarks, "There is nothing to be done. The Stanovoi [officer of rural
police] will be here one of these days, and will make a row again if we
don't elect a new Elder. Whom shall we choose?"
As soon as this question is asked several peasants look down to the
ground, or try in some other way to avoid attracting attention, lest
their names should be suggested. When the silence has continued a minute
or two, the greybeard says, "There is Alexei Ivanof; he has not served
yet!"
"Yes, yes, Alexei Ivanof!" shout half-a-dozen voices, belonging probably
to peasants who fear they may be elected.
Alexei protests in the strongest terms. He cannot say that he is ill,
because his big ruddy face would give him the lie direct, but he finds
half-a-dozen other reasons why he should not be chosen, and accordingly
requests to be excused. But his protestations are not listened to, and
the proceedings terminate. A new Village Elder has been duly elected.
Far more important than the elections is the redistribution of the
Communal land. It can matter but little to the Head of a Household how
the elections go, provided he himself is not chosen. He can accept
with perfect equanimity Alexei, or Ivan, or Nikolai, because the
office-bearers have very little influence in Communal affairs. But he
cannot remain a passive, indifferent spectator when the division and
allotment of the land come to be discussed, for the material welfare of
every household depends to a great extent on the amount of land and of
burdens which it receives.
In the southern provinces, where the soil is fertile, and the taxes do
not exceed the normal rent, the process of division and allotment is
comparatively simple. Here each peasant desires to get as much land as
possible, and consequently each household demands all the land to which
it is entitled--that is to say, a number of shares equal to the number
of its members inscribed in the last revision list. The Assembly has
therefore no difficult questions to decide. The Communal revision list
determines the number of shares into which the land must be divided, and
the number of shares to be allotted to each family. The only difficulty
likely to arise is as to which particular shares a particular family
shall receive, and this difficulty is commonly obviated by the custom of
drawing lots. There may be, it is true, some difference of opinion as
to when a redistribution should be made, but this question is easily
decided by a vote of the Assembly.
Very different is the process of division and allotment in many Communes
of the northern provinces. Here the soil is often very unfertile and the
taxes exceed the normal rent, and consequently it may happen that the
peasants strive to have as little land as possible. In these cases such
scenes as the following may occur:
Ivan is being asked how many shares of the Communal land he will take,
and replies in a slow, contemplative way, "I have two sons, and there
is myself, so I'll take three shares, or somewhat less, if it is your
pleasure."
"Less!" exclaims a middle-aged peasant, who is not the Village Elder,
but merely an influential member, and takes the leading part in the
proceedings. "You talk nonsense. Your two sons are already old enough to
help you, and soon they may get married, and so bring you two new female
labourers."
"My eldest son," explains Ivan, "always works in Moscow, and the other
often leaves me in summer."
"But they both send or bring home money, and when they get married, the
wives will remain with you."
"God knows what will be," replies Ivan, passing over in silence the
first part of his opponent's remark. "Who knows if they will marry?"
"You can easily arrange that!"
"That I cannot do. The times are changed now. The young people do as
they wish, and when they do get married they all wish to have houses of
their own. Three shares will be heavy enough for me!"
"No, no. If they wish to separate from you, they will take some land
from you. You must take at least four. The old wives there who have
little children cannot take shares according to the number of souls."
"He is a rich muzhik!" says a voice in the crowd. "Lay on him five
souls!" (that is to say, give him five shares of the land and of the
burdens).
"Five souls I cannot! By God, I cannot!"
"Very well, you shall have four," says the leading spirit to Ivan; and
then, turning to the crowd, inquires, "Shall it be so?"
"Four! four!" murmurs the crowd; and the question is settled.
Next comes one of the old wives just referred to. Her husband is a
permanent invalid, and she has three little boys, only one of whom is
old enough for field labour. If the number of souls were taken as the
basis of distribution, she would receive four shares; but she would
never be able to pay four shares of the Communal burdens. She must
therefore receive less than that amount. When asked how many she will
take, she replies with downcast eyes, "As the Mir decides, so be it!"
"Then you must take three."
"What do you say, little father?" cries the woman, throwing off suddenly
her air of submissive obedience. "Do you hear that, ye orthodox? They
want to lay upon me three souls! Was such a thing ever heard of? Since
St. Peter's Day my husband has been bedridden--bewitched, it seems, for
nothing does him good. He cannot put a foot to the ground--all the same
as if he were dead; only he eats bread!"
"You talk nonsense," says a neighbour; "he was in the kabak [gin-shop]
last week."
"And you!" retorts the woman, wandering from the subject in hand; "what
did YOU do last parish fete? Was it not you who got drunk and beat
your wife till she roused the whole village with her shrieking? And no
further gone than last Sunday--pfu!"
"Listen!" says the old man, sternly cutting short the torrent of
invective. "You must take at least two shares and a half. If you cannot
manage it yourself, you can get some one to help you."
"How can that be? Where am I to get the money to pay a labourer?"
asks the woman, with much wailing and a flood of tears. "Have pity, ye
orthodox, on the poor orphans! God will reward you!" and so on, and so
on.
I need not worry the reader with a further description of these scenes,
which are always very long and sometimes violent. All present are deeply
interested, for the allotment of the land is by far the most important
event in Russian peasant life, and the arrangement cannot be made
without endless talking and discussion. After the number of shares for
each family has been decided, the distribution of the lots gives rise to
new difficulties. The families who have plentifully manured their land
strive to get back their old lots, and the Commune respects their claims
so far as these are consistent with the new arrangement; but often it
happens that it is impossible to conciliate private rights and Communal
interests, and in such cases the former are sacrificed in a way that
would not be tolerated by men of Anglo-Saxon race. This leads, however,
to no serious consequences. The peasants are accustomed to work together
in this way, to make concessions for the Communal welfare, and to bow
unreservedly to the will of the Mir. I know of many instances where
the peasants have set at defiance the authority of the police, of the
provincial governor, and of the central Government itself, but I have
never heard of any instance where the will of the Mir was openly opposed
by one of its members.
In the preceding pages I have repeatedly spoken about "shares of the
Communal land." To prevent misconception I must explain carefully what
this expression means. A share does not mean simply a plot or parcel of
land; on the contrary, it always contains at least four, and may contain
a large number of distinct plots. We have here a new point of difference
between the Russian village and the villages of Western Europe.
Communal land in Russia is of three kinds: the land on which the village
is built, the arable land, and the meadow or hay-field, if the village
is fortunate enough to possess one. On the first of these each family
possesses a house and garden, which are the hereditary property of the
family, and are never affected by the periodical redistributions. The
other two kinds are both subject to redistribution, but on somewhat
different principles.
The whole of the Communal arable land is first of all divided into three
fields, to suit the triennial rotation of crops already described, and
each field is divided into a number of long narrow strips--corresponding
to the number of male members in the Commune--as nearly as possible
equal to each other in area and quality. Sometimes it is necessary to
divide the field into several portions, according to the quality of the
soil, and then to subdivide each of these portions into the requisite
number of strips. Thus in all cases every household possesses at
least one strip in each field; and in those cases where subdivision is
necessary, every household possesses a strip in each of the portions
into which the field is subdivided. It often happens, therefore, that
the strips are very narrow, and the portions belonging to each family
very numerous. Strips six feet wide are by no means rare. In 124
villages of the province of Moscow, regarding which I have special
information, they varied in width from 3 to 45 yards, with an average
of 11 yards. Of these narrow strips a household may possess as many
as thirty in a single field! The complicated process of division and
subdivision is accomplished by the peasants themselves, with the aid
of simple measuring-rods, and the accuracy of the result is truly
marvellous.
The meadow, which is reserved for the production of hay, is divided
into the same number of shares as the arable land. There, however, the
division and distribution take place, not at irregular intervals, but
annually. Every year, on a day fixed by the Assembly, the villagers
proceed in a body to this part of their property, and divide it into
the requisite number of portions. Lots are then cast, and each family
at once mows the portion allotted to it. In some Communes the meadow is
mown by all the peasants in common, and the hay afterwards distributed
by lot among the families; but this system is by no means so frequently
used.
As the whole of the Communal land thus resembles to some extent a big
farm, it is necessary to make certain rules concerning cultivation.
A family may sow what it likes in the land allotted to it, but all
families must at least conform to the accepted system of rotation.
In like manner, a family cannot begin the autumn ploughing before the
appointed time, because it would thereby interfere with the rights of
the other families, who use the fallow field as pasturage.
It is not a little strange that this primitive system of land tenure
should have succeeded in living into the twentieth century, and still
more remarkable that the institution of which it forms an essential
part should be regarded by many intelligent people as one of the great
institutions of the future, and almost as a panacea for social and
political evils. The explanation of these facts will form the subject of
the next chapter.