THE CRIMEAN WAR AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
The Emperor Nicholas and his System--The Men with Aspirations and the
Apathetically Contented--National Humiliation--Popular Discontent
and the Manuscript Literature--Death of Nicholas--Alexander II.--New
Spirit--Reform Enthusiasm--Change in the Periodical Literature--The
Kolokol--The Conservatives--The Tchinovniks--First Specific
Proposals--Joint-Stock Companies--The Serf Question Comes to the Front.
The Russians frankly admit that they were beaten in the Crimean War, but
they regard the heroic defence of Sebastopol as one of the most glorious
events in the military annals of their country. Nor do they altogether
regret the result of the struggle. Often in a half-jocular, half-serious
tone they say that they had reason to be grateful to the Allies. And
there is much truth in this paradoxical statement. The Crimean War
inaugurated a new epoch in the national history. It gave the death-blow
to the repressive system of the Emperor Nicholas, and produced an
intellectual movement and a moral revival which led to gigantic results.
"The affair of December," 1825--I mean the abortive attempt at a
military insurrection in St. Petersburg, to which I have alluded in
the foregoing chapter--gave the key-note to Nicholas's reign. The armed
attempt to overthrow the Imperial power, ending in the execution or
exile of many young members of the first families, struck terror into
the Noblesse, and prepared the way for a period of repressive police
administration. Nicholas had none of the moral limpness and vacillating
character of his predecessor. His was one of those simple, vigorous,
tenacious, straightforward natures--more frequently to be met with
among the Teutonic than among the Slav races--whose conceptions are all
founded on a few deep-rooted, semi-instinctive convictions, and who are
utterly incapable of accommodating themselves with histrionic cleverness
to the changes of external circumstances. From his early youth he had
shown a strong liking for military discipline and a decided repugnance
to the humanitarianism and liberal principles then in fashion. With
"the rights of man," "the spirit of the age," and similar philosophical
abstractions his strong, domineering nature had no sympathy; and for
the vague, loud-sounding phrases of philosophic liberalism he had a most
profound contempt. "Attend to your military duties," he was wont to say
to his officers before his accession; "don't trouble your heads with
philosophy. I cannot bear philosophers!" The tragic event which formed
the prelude to his reign naturally confirmed and fortified his previous
convictions. The representatives of liberalism, who could talk so
eloquently about duty in the abstract, had, whilst wearing the uniform
of the Imperial Guard, openly disobeyed the repeated orders of their
superior officers and attempted to shake the allegiance of the troops
for the purpose of overthrowing the Imperial power! A man who was at
once soldier and autocrat, by nature as well as by position, could of
course admit no extenuating circumstances. The incident stereotyped his
character for life, and made him the sworn enemy of liberalism and
the fanatical defender of autocracy, not only in his own country, but
throughout Europe. In European politics he saw two forces struggling
for mastery--monarchy and democracy, which were in his opinion identical
with order and anarchy; and he was always ready to assist his brother
sovereigns in putting down democratic movements. In his own Empire he
endeavoured by every means in his power to prevent the introduction
of the dangerous ideas. For this purpose a stringent intellectual
quarantine was established on the western frontier. All foreign books
and newspapers, except those of the most harmless kind, were rigorously
excluded. Native writers were placed under strict supervision, and
peremptorily silenced as soon as they departed from what was considered
a "well-intentioned" tone. The number of university students was
diminished, the chairs for political science were suppressed, and the
military schools multiplied. Russians were prevented from travelling
abroad, and foreigners who visited the country were closely watched by
the police. By these and similar measures it was hoped that Russia would
be preserved from the dangers of revolutionary agitation.
Nicholas has been called the Don Quixote of Autocracy, and the
comparison which the term implies is true in many points. By character
and aims he belonged to a time that had passed away; but failure and
mishap could not shake his faith in his ideal, and made no change in his
honest, stubborn nature, which was as loyal and chivalresque as that
of the ill-fated Knight of La Mancha. In spite of all evidence to the
contrary, he believed in the practical omnipotence of autocracy. He
imagined that as his authority was theoretically unlimited, so his power
could work miracles. By nature and training a soldier, he considered
government a slightly modified form of military discipline, and looked
on the nation as an army which might be made to perform any intellectual
or economic evolutions that he might see fit to command. All social ills
seemed to him the consequence of disobedience to his orders, and he
knew only one remedy--more discipline. Any expression of doubt as to
the wisdom of his policy, or any criticism of existing regulations, he
treated as an act of insubordination which a wise sovereign ought not
to tolerate. If he never said, "L'Etat--c'est moi!" it was because he
considered the fact so self-evident that it did not need to be stated.
Hence any attack on the administration, even in the person of the most
insignificant official, was an attack on himself and on the monarchical
principle which he represented. The people must believe--and faith, as
we know, comes not by sight--that they lived under the best possible
government. To doubt this was political heresy. An incautious word or a
foolish joke against the Government was considered a serious crime, and
might be punished by a long exile in some distant and inhospitable part
of the Empire. Progress should by all means be made, but it must be made
by word of command, and in the way ordered. Private initiative in any
form was a thing on no account to be tolerated. Nicholas never
suspected that a ruler, however well-intentioned, energetic, and legally
autocratic he may be, can do but little without the co-operation of
his people. Experience constantly showed him the fruitlessness of his
efforts, but he paid no attention to its teachings. He had formed
once for all his theory of government, and for thirty years he acted
according to it with all the blindness and obstinacy of a reckless,
fanatical doctrinaire. Even at the close of his reign, when the terrible
logic of facts had proved his system to be a mistake--when his armies
had been defeated, his best fleet destroyed, his ports blockaded, and
his treasury well-nigh emptied--he could not recant. "My successor," he
is reported to have said on his deathbed, "may do as he pleases, but I
cannot change."
Had Nicholas lived in the old patriarchal times, when kings were the
uncontrolled "shepherds of the people," he would perhaps have been
an admirable ruler; but in the nineteenth century he was a flagrant
anachronism. His system of administration completely broke down. In vain
he multiplied formalities and inspectors, and punished severely the few
delinquents who happened by some accident to be brought to justice; the
officials continued to pilfer, extort, and misgovern in every possible
way. Though the country was reduced to what would be called in Europe
"a state of siege," the inhabitants might still have said--as they are
reported to have declared a thousand years before--"Our land is great
and fertile, but there is no order in it."
In a nation accustomed to political life and to a certain amount of
self-government, any approach to the system of Nicholas would, of
course, have produced wide-spread dissatisfaction and violent hatred
against the ruling power. But in Russia at that time no such feelings
were awakened. The educated classes--and a fortiori the uneducated--were
profoundly indifferent not only to political questions, but also to
ordinary public affairs, whether local or Imperial, and were quite
content to leave them in the hands of those who were paid for attending
to them. In common with the uneducated peasantry, the nobles had a
boundless respect--one might almost say a superstitious reverence--not
only for the person, but also for the will of the Tsar, and were ready
to show unquestioning obedience to his commands, so long as these did
not interfere with their accustomed mode of life. The Tsar desired them
not to trouble their heads with political questions, and to leave all
public matters to the care of the Administration; and in this respect
the Imperial will coincided so well with their personal inclinations
that they had no difficulty in complying with it.
When the Tsar ordered those of them who held office to refrain from
extortion and peculation, his orders were not so punctiliously obeyed,
but in this disobedience there was no open opposition--no assertion of
a right to pilfer and extort. As the disobedience proceeded, not from a
feeling of insubordination, but merely from the weakness that
official flesh is heir to, it was not regarded as very heinous. In the
aristocratic circles of St. Petersburg and Moscow there was the same
indifference to political questions and public affairs. All strove to
have the reputation of being "well-intentioned," which was the first
requisite for those who desired Court favour or advancement in the
public service; and those whose attention was not entirely occupied
with official duties, card-playing, and the ordinary routine of everyday
life, cultivated belles-lettres or the fine arts. In short, the educated
classes in Russia at that time showed a complete indifference to
political and social questions, an apathetic acquiescence in the
system of administration adopted by the Government, and an unreasoning
contentment with the existing state of things.
About the year 1845, when the reaction against Romanticism was awakening
in the reading public an interest in the affairs of real life,* began to
appear what may be called "the men with aspirations," a little band of
generous enthusiasts, strongly resembling the youth in Longfellow's poem
who carries a banner with the device "Excelsior," and strives ever to
climb higher, without having any clear notion of where he was going or
of what he is to do when he reaches the summit. At first they had little
more than a sentimental enthusiasm for the true, the beautiful, and
the good, and a certain Platonic love for free institutions, liberty,
enlightenment, progress, and everything that was generally comprehended
at that period under the term "liberal." Gradually, under the influence
of current French literature, their ideas became a little clearer, and
they began to look on reality around them with a critical eye. They
could perceive, without much effort, the unrelenting tyranny of the
Administration, the notorious venality of the tribunals, the reckless
squandering of the public money, the miserable condition of the serfs,
the systematic strangulation of all independent opinion or private
initiative, and, above all, the profound apathy of the upper classes,
who seemed quite content with things as they were.
* Vide supra, p. 377 et seq.
With such ugly facts staring them in the face, and with the habit
of looking at things from the moral point of view, these men could
understand how hollow and false were the soothing or triumphant phrases
of official optimism. They did not, indeed, dare to express their
indignation publicly, for the authorities would allow no public
expression of dissatisfaction with the existing state of things, but
they disseminated their ideas among their friends and acquaintances by
means of conversation and manuscript literature, and some of them, as
university professors and writers in the periodical Press, contrived to
awaken in a certain section of the young generation an ardent enthusiasm
for enlightenment and progress, and a vague hope that a brighter day was
about to dawn.
Not a few sympathised with these new conceptions and aspirations, but
the great majority of the nobles regarded them--especially after the
French Revolution of 1848--as revolutionary and dangerous. Thus the
educated classes became divided into two sections, which have sometimes
been called the Liberals and the Conservatives, but which might be
more properly designated the men with aspirations and the apathetically
contented. These latter doubtless felt occasionally the irksomeness of
the existing system, but they had always one consolation--if they were
oppressed at home they were feared abroad. The Tsar was at least a
thorough soldier, possessing an enormous and well-equipped army by
which he might at any moment impose his will on Europe. Ever since the
glorious days of 1812, when Napoleon was forced to make an ignominious
retreat from the ruins of Moscow, the belief that the Russian soldiers
were superior to all others, and that the Russian army was invincible,
had become an article of the popular creed; and the respect which the
voice of Nicholas commanded in Western Europe seemed to prove that
the fact was admitted by foreign nations. In these and similar
considerations the apathetically contented found a justification for
their lethargy.
When it became evident that Russia was about to engage in a trial of
strength with the Western Powers, this optimism became general. "The
heavy burdens," it was said, "which the people have had to bear were
necessary to make Russia the first military Power in Europe, and now
the nation will reap the fruits of its long-suffering and patient
resignation. The West will learn that her boasted liberty and liberal
institutions are of little service in the hour of danger, and the
Russians who admire such institutions will be constrained to admit
that a strong, all-directing autocracy is the only means of preserving
national greatness." As the patriotic fervour and military enthusiasm
increased, nothing was heard but praises of Nicholas and his system. The
war was regarded by many as a kind of crusade--even the Emperor spoke
about the defence of "the native soil and the holy faith"--and the
most exaggerated expectations were entertained of its results. The old
Eastern Question was at last to be solved in accordance with Russian
aspirations, and Nicholas was about to realise Catherine II.'s grand
scheme of driving the Turks out of Europe. The date at which the troops
would arrive at Constantinople was actively discussed, and a Slavophil
poet called on the Emperor to lie down in Constantinople, and rise up as
Tsar of a Panslavonic Empire. Some enthusiasts even expected the speedy
liberation of Jerusalem from the power of the Infidel. To the enemy, who
might possibly hinder the accomplishment of these schemes, very little
attention was paid. "We have only to throw our hats at them!" (Shapkami
zakidaem) became a favourite expression.
There were, however, a few men in whom the prospect of the coming
struggle awoke very different thoughts and feelings. They could not
share the sanguine expectations of those who were confident of success.
"What preparations have we made," they asked, "for the struggle with
civilisation, which now sends its forces against us? With all our vast
territory and countless population we are incapable of coping with it.
When we talk of the glorious campaign against Napoleon, we forget
that since that time Europe has been steadily advancing on the road of
progress while we have been standing still. We march not to victory,
but to defeat, and the only grain of consolation which we have is that
Russia will learn by experience a lesson that will be of use to her in
the future."*
* These are the words of Granovski.
These prophets of evil found, of course, few disciples, and were
generally regarded as unworthy sons of the Fatherland--almost as
traitors to their country. But their predictions were confirmed by
events. The Allies were victorious in the Crimea, and even the despised
Turks made a successful stand on the line of the Danube. In spite of the
efforts of the Government to suppress all unpleasant intelligence, it
soon became known that the military organisation was little, if at all,
better than the civil administration--that the individual bravery of
soldiers and officers was neutralised by the incapacity of the generals,
the venality of the officials, and the shameless peculation of the
commissariat department. The Emperor, it was said, had drilled out of
the officers all energy, individuality, and moral force. Almost the only
men who showed judgment, decision, and energy were the officers of the
Black Sea fleet, which had been less subjected to the prevailing system.
As the struggle went on, it became evident how weak the country really
was--how deficient in the resources necessary to sustain a prolonged
conflict. "Another year of war," writes an eye-witness in 1855, "and
the whole of Southern Russia will be ruined." To meet the extraordinary
demands on the Treasury, recourse was had to an enormous issue of paper
money; but the rapid depreciation of the currency showed that this
resource would soon be exhausted. Militia regiments were everywhere
raised throughout the country, and many proprietors spent large sums in
equipping volunteer corps; but very soon this enthusiasm cooled when
it was found that the patriotic efforts enriched the jobbers without
inflicting any serious injury on the enemy.
Under the sting of the great national humiliation, the upper classes
awoke from their optimistic resignation. They had borne patiently the
oppression of a semi-military administration, and for this! The system
of Nicholas had been put to a crucial test, and found wanting. The
policy which had sacrificed all to increase the military power of
the Empire was seen to be a fatal error, and the worthlessness of
the drill-sergeant regime was proved by bitter experience. Those
administrative fetters which had for more than a quarter of a century
cramped every spontaneous movement had failed to fulfil even the narrow
purpose for which they had been forged. They had, indeed, secured a
certain external tranquillity during those troublous times when Europe
was convulsed by revolutionary agitation; but this tranquillity was not
that of healthy normal action, but of death--and underneath the surface
lay secret and rapidly spreading corruption. The army still possessed
that dashing gallantry which it had displayed in the campaigns of
Suvorof, that dogged, stoical bravery which had checked the advance of
Napoleon on the field of Borodino, and that wondrous power of endurance
which had often redeemed the negligence of generals and the defects of
the commissariat; but the result was now not victory, but defeat. How
could this be explained except by the radical defects of that system
which had been long practised with such inflexible perseverance? The
Government had imagined that it could do everything by its own wisdom
and energy, and in reality it had done nothing, or worse than nothing.
The higher officers had learned only too well to be mere automata; the
ameliorations in the military organisation, on which Nicholas had always
bestowed special attention, were found to exist for the most part only
in the official reports; the shameful exploits of the commissariat
department were such as to excite the indignation of those who had
long lived in an atmosphere of official jobbery and peculation; and
the finances, which people had generally supposed to be in a highly
satisfactory condition, had become seriously crippled by the first great
national effort.
This deep and wide-spread dissatisfaction was not allowed to appear
in the Press, but it found very free expression in the manuscript
literature and in conversation. In almost every house--I mean, of
course, among the educated classes--words were spoken which a few months
before would have seemed treasonable, if not blasphemous. Philippics and
satires in prose and verse were written by the dozen, and circulated
in hundreds of copies. A pasquil on the Commander in Chief, or a tirade
against the Government, was sure to be eagerly read and warmly approved
of. As a specimen of this kind of literature, and an illustration of the
public opinion of the time, I may translate here one of those metrical
tirades. Though it was never printed, it obtained a wide circulation:
"'God has placed me over Russia,' said the Tsar to us, 'and you must bow
down before me, for my throne is His altar. Trouble not yourselves with
public affairs, for I think for you and watch over you every hour. My
watchful eye detects internal evils and the machinations of foreign
enemies; and I have no need of counsel, for God inspires me with wisdom.
Be proud, therefore, of being my slaves, O Russians, and regard my will
as your law.'
"We listened to these words with deep reverence, and gave a tacit
consent; and what was the result? Under mountains of official papers
real interests were forgotten. The letter of the law was observed, but
negligence and crime were allowed to go unpunished. While grovelling in
the dust before ministers and directors of departments in the hope of
receiving tchins and decorations, the officials stole unblushingly;
and theft became so common that he who stole the most was the most
respected. The merits of officers were decided at reviews; and he who
obtained the rank of General was supposed capable of becoming at once an
able governor, an excellent engineer, or a most wise senator. Those who
were appointed governors were for the most part genuine satraps, the
scourges of the provinces entrusted to their care. The other offices
were filled up with as little attention to the merits of the candidates.
A stable-boy became Press censor! an Imperial fool became admiral!
Kleinmichel became a count! In a word, the country was handed over to
the tender mercies of a band of robbers.
"And what did we Russians do all this time?
"We Russians slept! With groans the peasant paid his yearly dues; with
groans the proprietor mortgaged the second half of his estate; groaning,
we all paid our heavy tribute to the officials. Occasionally, with a
grave shaking of the head, we remarked in a whisper that it was a shame
and a disgrace--that there was no justice in the courts--that millions
were squandered on Imperial tours, kiosks, and pavilions--that
everything was wrong; and then, with an easy conscience, we sat down
to our rubber, praised the acting of Rachel, criticised the singing of
Frezzolini, bowed low to venal magnates, and squabbled with each other
for advancement in the very service which we so severely condemned.
If we did not obtain the place we wished we retired to our ancestral
estates, where we talked of the crops, fattened in indolence and
gluttony, and lived a genuine animal life. If any one, amidst the
general lethargy, suddenly called upon us to rise and fight for the
truth and for Russia, how ridiculous did he appear! How cleverly the
Pharisaical official ridiculed him, and how quickly the friends of
yesterday showed him the cold shoulder! Under the anathema of public
opinion, in some distant Siberian mine he recognised what a heinous
sin it was to disturb the heavy sleep of apathetic slaves. Soon he was
forgotten, or remembered as an unfortunate madman; and the few who said,
'Perhaps after all he was right,' hastened to add, 'but that is none of
our business.'
"But amidst all this we had at least one consolation, one thing to be
proud of--the might of Russia in the assembly of kings. 'What need we
care,' we said, 'for the reproaches of foreign nations? We are stronger
than those who reproach us.' And when at great reviews the stately
regiments marched past with waving standards, glittering helmets, and
sparkling bayonets, when we heard the loud hurrah with which the troops
greeted the Emperor, then our hearts swelled with patriotic pride, and
we were ready to repeat the words of the poet--
"Strong is our native country, and great the Russian Tsar."
"Then British statesmen, in company with the crowned conspirator of
France, and with treacherous Austria, raised Western Europe against us,
but we laughed scornfully at the coming storm. 'Let the nations rave,'
we said; 'we have no cause to be afraid. The Tsar doubtless foresaw
all, and has long since made the necessary preparations.' Boldly we went
forth to fight, and confidently awaited the moment of the struggle.
"And lo! after all our boasting we were taken by surprise, and caught
unawares, as by a robber in the dark. The sleep of innate stupidity
blinded our Ambassadors, and our Foreign Minister sold us to
our enemies.* Where were our millions of soldiers? Where was the
well-considered plan of defence? One courier brought the order to
advance; another brought the order to retreat; and the army wandered
about without definite aim or purpose. With loss and shame we retreated
from the forts of Silistria, and the pride of Russia was humbled before
the Hapsburg eagle. The soldiers fought well, but the parade-admiral
(Menshikof)--the amphibious hero of lost battles--did not know
the geography of his own country, and sent his troops to certain
destruction.
* Many people at that time imagined that Count Nesselrode,
who was then Minister for Foreign Affairs, was a traitor to
his adopted country.
"Awake, O Russia! Devoured by foreign enemies, crushed by slavery,
shamefully oppressed by stupid authorities and spies, awaken from your
long sleep of ignorance and apathy! You have been long enough held
in bondage by the successors of the Tartar Khan. Stand forward calmly
before the throne of the despot, and demand from him an account of the
national disaster. Say to him boldly that his throne is not the altar of
God, and that God did not condemn us to be slaves. Russia entrusted to
you, O Tsar, the supreme power, and you were as a God upon earth. And
what have you done? Blinded by ignorance and passion, you have lusted
after power and have forgotten Russia. You have spent your life in
reviewing troops, in modifying uniforms, and in appending your signature
to the legislative projects of ignorant charlatans. You created the
despicable race of Press censors, in order to sleep in peace--in order
not to know the wants and not to hear the groans of the people--in order
not to listen to Truth. You buried Truth, rolled a great stone to the
door of the sepulchre, placed a strong guard over it, and said in the
pride of your heart: For her there is no resurrection! But the third day
has dawned, and Truth has arisen from the dead.
"Stand forward, O Tsar, before the judgment-seat of history and of God!
You have mercilessly trampled Truth under foot, you have denied
Freedom, you have been the slave of your own passions. By your pride and
obstinacy you have exhausted Russia and raised the world in arms against
us. Bow down before your brethren and humble yourself in the dust! Crave
pardon and ask advice! Throw yourself into the arms of the people! There
is now no other salvation!"
The innumerable tirades of which the above is a fair specimen were not
very remarkable for literary merit or political wisdom. For the most
part they were simply bits of bombastic rhetoric couched in doggerel
rhyme, and they have consequently been long since consigned to
well-merited oblivion--so completely that it is now difficult to obtain
copies of them.* They have, however, an historical interest, because
they express in a more or less exaggerated form the public opinion and
prevalent ideas of the educated classes at that moment. In order to
comprehend their real significance, we must remember that the writers
and readers were not a band of conspirators, but ordinary, respectable,
well-intentioned people, who never for a moment dreamed of embarking
in revolutionary designs. It was the same society that had been a few
months before so indifferent to all political questions, and even now
there was no clear conception as to how the loud-sounding phrases could
be translated into action. We can imagine the comical discomfiture of
those who read and listened to these appeals, if the "despot" had obeyed
their summons, and suddenly appeared before them.
* I am indebted for the copies which I possess to friends
who copied and collected these pamphlets at the time.
Was the movement, then, merely an outburst of childish petulance?
Certainly not. The public were really and seriously convinced that
things were all wrong, and they were seriously and enthusiastically
desirous that a new and better order of things should be introduced. It
must be said to their honour that they did not content themselves with
accusing and lampooning the individuals who were supposed to be the
chief culprits. On the contrary, they looked reality boldly in the face,
made a public confession of their past sins, sought conscientiously the
causes which had produced the recent disasters, and endeavoured to find
means by which such calamities might be prevented in the future. The
public feeling and aspirations were not strong enough to conquer the
traditional respect for the Imperial will and create an open opposition
to the Autocratic Power, but they were strong enough to do great things
by aiding the Government, if the Emperor voluntarily undertook a series
of radical reforms.
What Nicholas would have done, had he lived, in face of this national
awakening, it is difficult to say. He declared, indeed, that he could
not change, and we can readily believe that his proud spirit would
have scorned to make concessions to the principles which he had always
condemned; but he gave decided indications in the last days of his life
that his old faith in his system was somewhat shaken, and he did not
exhort his son to persevere in the path along which he himself had
forced his way with such obstinate consistency. It is useless, however,
to speculate on possibilities. Whilst the Government had still to
concentrate all its energies on the defence of the country, the Iron
Tsar died, and was succeeded by his son, a man of a very different type.
Of a kind-hearted, humane disposition, sincerely desirous of maintaining
the national honour, but singularly free from military ambition
and imbued with no fanatical belief in the drill-sergeant system of
government, Alexander II. was by no means insensible to the spirit
of the time. He had, however, none of the sentimental enthusiasm for
liberal institutions which had characterised his uncle, Alexander I.
On the contrary, he had inherited from his father a strong dislike to
sentimentalism and rhetoric of all kinds. This dislike, joined to a
goodly portion of sober common-sense, a limited confidence in his own
judgment, and a consciousness of enormous responsibility, prevented him
from being carried away by the prevailing excitement. With all that was
generous and humane in the movement he thoroughly sympathised, and he
allowed the popular ideas and aspirations to find free utterance; but
he did not at once commit himself to any definite policy, and carefully
refrained from all exaggerated expressions of reforming zeal.
As soon, however, as peace had been concluded, there were unmistakable
symptoms that the rigorously repressive system of Nicholas was about to
be abandoned. In the manifesto announcing the termination of hostilities
the Emperor expressed his conviction that by the combined efforts of the
Government and the people, the public administration would be improved,
and that justice and mercy would reign in the courts of law. Apparently
as a preparation for this great work, to be undertaken by the Tsar and
his people in common, the ministers began to take the public into their
confidence, and submitted to public criticism many official data
which had hitherto been regarded as State secrets. The Minister of the
Interior, for instance, in his annual report, spoke almost in the tone
of a penitent, and confessed openly that the morality of the officials
under his orders left much to be desired. He declared that the Emperor
now showed a paternal confidence in his people, and as a proof of this
he mentioned the significant fact that 9,000 persons had been liberated
from police supervision. The other branches of the Administration
underwent a similar transformation. The haughty, dictatorial tone which
had hitherto been used by superiors to their subordinates, and by all
ranks of officials to the public, was replaced by one of considerate
politeness. About the same time those of the Decembrists who were still
alive were pardoned. The restrictions regarding the number of students
in each university were abolished, the difficulty of obtaining
foreign passports was removed, and the Press censors became singularly
indulgent. Though no decided change had been made in the laws, it was
universally felt that the spirit of Nicholas was no more.
The public, anxiously seeking after a sign, readily took these symptoms
of change as a complete confirmation of their ardent hopes, and leaped
at once to the conclusion that a vast, all-embracing system of radical
reform was about to be undertaken--not secretly by the Administration,
as had been the custom in the preceding reign when any little changes
had to be made, but publicly, by the Government and the people in
common. "The heart trembles with joy," said one of the leading organs of
the Press, "in expectation of the great social reforms that are about to
be effected--reforms that are thoroughly in accordance with the spirit,
the wishes, and the expectations of the public." "The old harmony and
community of feeling," said another, "which has always existed between
the government and the people, save during short exceptional periods,
has been fully re-established. The absence of all sentiment of caste,
and the feeling of common origin and brotherhood which binds all classes
of the Russian people into a homogeneous whole, will enable Russia to
accomplish peacefully and without effort not only those great reforms
which cost Europe centuries of struggle and bloodshed, but also many
which the nations of the West are still unable to accomplish, in
consequence of feudal traditions and caste prejudices." The past was
depicted in the blackest colours, and the nation was called upon to
begin a new and glorious epoch of its history. "We have to struggle," it
was said, "in the name of the highest truth against egotism and the puny
interests of the moment; and we ought to prepare our children from their
infancy to take part in that struggle which awaits every honest man.
We have to thank the war for opening our eyes to the dark sides of our
political and social organisation, and it is now our duty to profit
by the lesson. But it must not be supposed that the Government can,
single-handed, remedy the defects. The destinies of Russia are, as it
were, a stranded vessel which the captain and crew cannot move, and
which nothing, indeed, but the rising tide of the national life can
raise and float."
Hearts beat quicker at the sound of these calls to action. Many heard
this new teaching, if we may believe a contemporary authority, "with
tears in their eyes"; then, "raising boldly their heads, they made a
solemn vow that they would act honourably, perseveringly, fearlessly."
Some of those who had formerly yielded to the force of circumstances
now confessed their misdemeanours with bitterness of heart. "Tears
of repentance," said a popular poet, "give relief, and call us to new
exploits." Russia was compared to a strong giant who awakes from sleep,
stretches his brawny limbs, collects his thoughts, and prepares to atone
for his long inactivity by feats of untold prowess. All believed, or at
least assumed, that the recognition of defects would necessarily entail
their removal. When an actor in one of the St. Petersburg theatres
shouted from the stage, "Let us proclaim throughout all Russia that the
time has come for tearing up evil by the roots!" the audience gave way
to the most frantic enthusiasm. "Altogether a joyful time," says one who
took part in the excitement, "as when, after the long winter, the genial
breath of spring glides over the cold, petrified earth, and nature
awakens from her deathlike sleep. Speech, long restrained by police and
censorial regulations, now flows smoothly, majestically, like a mighty
river that has just been freed from ice."
Under these influences a multitude of newspapers and periodicals were
founded, and the current literature entirely changed its character. The
purely literary and historical questions which had hitherto engaged the
attention of the reading public were thrown aside and forgotten, unless
they could be made to illustrate some principle of political or social
science. Criticisms on style and diction, explanations of aesthetic
principles, metaphysical discussions--all this seemed miserable trifling
to men who wished to devote themselves to gigantic practical interests.
"Science," it was said, "has now descended from the heights of
philosophic abstraction into the arena of real life." The periodicals
were accordingly filled with articles on railways, banks, free-trade,
education, agriculture, communal institutions, local self-government,
joint-stock companies, and with crushing philippics against personal
and national vanity, inordinate luxury, administrative tyranny, and the
habitual peculation of the officials. This last-named subject received
special attention. During the preceding reign any attempt to criticise
publicly the character or acts of an official was regarded as a very
heinous offence; now there was a deluge of sketches, tales, comedies,
and monologues, describing the corruption of the Administration, and
explaining the ingenious devices by which the tchinovniks increased
their scanty salaries. The public would read nothing that had not a
direct or indirect bearing on the questions of the day, and whatever had
such a bearing was read with interest. It did not seem at all strange
that a drama should be written in defence of free-trade, or a poem
in advocacy of some peculiar mode of taxation; that an author should
expound his political ideas in a tale, and his antagonist reply by
a comedy. A few men of the old school protested feebly against this
"prostitution of art," but they received little attention, and the
doctrine that art should be cultivated for its own sake was scouted as
an invention of aristocratic indolence. Here is an ipsa pinxit of the
literature of the time: "Literature has come to look at Russia with her
own eyes, and sees that the idyllic romantic personages which the poets
formerly loved to describe have no objective existence. Having taken
off her French glove, she offers her hand to the rude, hard-working
labourer, and observing lovingly Russian village life, she feels herself
in her native land. The writers of the present have analysed the past,
and, having separated themselves from aristocratic litterateurs and
aristocratic society, have demolished their former idols."
By far the most influential periodical at the commencement of the
movement was the Kolokol, or Bell, a fortnightly journal published in
London by Herzen, who was at that time an important personage among
the political refugees. Herzen was a man of education and culture, with
ultra-radical opinions, and not averse to using revolutionary methods
of reform when he considered them necessary. His intimate relations
with many of the leading men in Russia enabled him to obtain secret
information of the most important and varied kind, and his sparkling
wit, biting satire, and clear, terse, brilliant style secured him a
large number of readers. He seemed to know everything that was done in
the ministries and even in the Cabinet of the Emperor,* and he exposed
most mercilessly every abuse that came to his knowledge. We who are
accustomed to free political discussion can hardly form a conception of
the avidity with which his articles were read, and the effect which they
produced. Though strictly prohibited by the Press censure, the Kolokol
found its way across the frontier in thousands of copies, and was
eagerly perused and commented on by all ranks of the educated classes.
The Emperor himself received it regularly, and high-priced delinquents
examined it with fear and trembling. In this way Herzen was for some
years, though an exile, an important political personage, and did much
to awaken and keep up the reform enthusiasm.
* As an illustration of this, the following anecdote is
told: One number of the Kolokol contained a violent attack
on an important personage of the court, and the accused, or
some one of his friends, considered it advisable to have a
copy specially printed for the Emperor without the
objectionable article. The Emperor did not at first
discover the trick, but shortly afterwards he received from
London a polite note containing the article which had been
omitted, and informing him how he had been deceived.
But where were the Conservatives all this time? How came it that for two
or three years no voice was raised and no protest made even against
the rhetorical exaggerations of the new-born liberalism? Where were the
representatives of the old regime, who had been so thoroughly imbued
with the spirit of Nicholas? Where were those ministers who had
systematically extinguished the least indication of private initiative,
those "satraps" who had stamped out the least symptom of insubordination
or discontent, those Press censors who had diligently suppressed
the mildest expression of liberal opinion, those thousands of
well-intentioned proprietors who had regarded as dangerous free-thinkers
and treasonable republicans all who ventured to express dissatisfaction
with the existing state of things? A short time before, the
Conservatives composed at least nine-tenths of the upper classes, and
now they had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.
It is scarcely necessary to say that in a country accustomed to
political life, such a sudden, unopposed revolution in public opinion
could not possibly take place. The key to the mystery lies in the
fact that for centuries Russia had known nothing of political life or
political parties. Those who were sometimes called Conservatives were
in reality not at all Conservatives in our sense of the term. If we say
that they had a certain amount of conservatism, we must add that it
was of the latent, passive, unreasoned kind--the fruit of indolence and
apathy. Their political creed had but one article: Thou shalt love the
Tsar with all thy might, and carefully abstain from all resistance
to his will--especially when it happens that the Tsar is a man of the
Nicholas type. So long as Nicholas lived they had passively acquiesced
in his system--active acquiescence had been neither demanded nor
desired--but when he died, the system of which he was the soul died with
him. What then could they seek to defend? They were told that the system
which they had been taught to regard as the sheet-anchor of the State
was in reality the chief cause of the national disasters; and to this
they could make no reply, because they had no better explanation of
their own to offer. They were convinced that the Russian soldier was the
best soldier in the world, and they knew that in the recent war the army
had not been victorious; the system, therefore, must be to blame. They
were told that a series of gigantic reforms was necessary in order to
restore Russia to her proper place among the nations; and to this
they could make no answer, for they had never studied such abstract
questions. And one thing they did know: that those who hesitated to
admit the necessity of gigantic reforms were branded by the Press as
ignorant, narrow-minded, prejudiced, and egotistical, and were held up
to derision as men who did not know the most elementary principles of
political and economic science. Freely expressed public opinion was
such a new phenomenon in Russia that the Press was able for some time
to exercise a "Liberal" tyranny scarcely less severe than the
"Conservative" tyranny of the censors in the preceding reign. Men who
would have stood fire gallantly on the field of battle quailed before
the poisoned darts of Herzen in the Kolokol. Under such circumstances,
even the few who possessed some vague Conservative convictions refrained
from publicly expressing them.
The men who had played a more or less active part during the preceding
reign, and who might therefore be expected to have clearer and deeper
convictions, were specially incapable of offering opposition to the
prevailing Liberal enthusiasm. Their Conservatism was of quite as limp
a kind as that of the landed proprietors who were not in the public
service, for under Nicholas the higher a man was placed the less likely
was he to have political convictions of any kind outside the simple
political creed above referred to. Besides this, they belonged to that
class which was for the moment under the anathema of public opinion, and
they had drawn direct personal advantage from the system which was now
recognised as the chief cause of the national disasters.
For a time the name of tchinovnik became a term of reproach and
derision, and the position of those who bore it was comically painful.
They strove to prove that, though they held a post in the public
service, they were entirely free from the tchinovnik spirit--that there
was nothing of the genuine tchinovnik about them. Those who had formerly
paraded their tchin (official rank) on all occasions, in season and
out of season, became half ashamed to admit that they had the rank
of General; for the title no longer commanded respect, and had become
associated with all that was antiquated, formal, and stupid. Among
the young generation it was used most disrespectfully as equivalent
to "pompous blockhead." Zealous officials who had lately regarded the
acquisition of Stars and Orders as among the chief ends of man, were
fain to conceal those hard-won trophies, lest some cynical "Liberal"
might notice them and make them the butt of his satire. "Look at the
depth of humiliation to which you have brought the country"--such was
the chorus of reproach that was ever ringing in their ears--"with
your red tape, your Chinese formalism, and your principle of lifeless,
unreasoning, mechanical obedience! You asserted constantly that you were
the only true patriots, and branded with the name of traitor those who
warned you of the insane folly of your conduct. You see now what it has
all come to. The men whom you helped to send to the mines turn out to
have been the true patriots."*
* It was a common saying at that time that nearly all the
best men in Russia had spent a part of their lives in
Siberia, and it was proposed to publish a biographical
dictionary of remarkable men, in which every article was to
end thus: "Exiled to ---- in 18--." I am not aware how far
the project was seriously entertained, but, of course, the
book was never published.
And to these reproaches what could they reply? Like a child who has in
his frolics inadvertently set the house on fire, they could only look
contrite, and say they did not mean it. They had simply accepted without
criticism the existing order of things, and ranged themselves among
those who were officially recognised as "the well-intentioned." If they
had always avoided the Liberals, and perhaps helped to persecute them,
it was simply because all "well-intentioned" people said that Liberals
were "restless" and dangerous to the State. Those who were not convinced
of their errors simply kept silence, but the great majority passed over
to the ranks of the Progressists, and many endeavoured to redeem their
past by showing extreme zeal for the Liberal cause.
In explanation of this extraordinary outburst of reform enthusiasm, we
must further remember that the Russian educated classes, in spite of the
severe northern climate which is supposed to make the blood circulate
slowly, are extremely impulsive. They are fettered by no venerable
historical prejudices, and are wonderfully sensitive to the seductive
influence of grandiose projects, especially when these excite the
patriotic feelings. Then there was the simple force of reaction--the
rebound which naturally followed the terrific compression of the
preceding reign. Without disrespect, the Russians of that time may
be compared to schoolboys who have just escaped from the rigorous
discipline of a severe schoolmaster. In the first moments of freedom it
was supposed that there would be no more discipline or compulsion. The
utmost respect was to be shown to "human dignity," and every Russian
was to act spontaneously and zealously at the great work of national
regeneration. All thirsted for reforming activity. The men in authority
were inundated with projects of reform--some of them anonymous, and
others from obscure individuals; some of them practical, and very many
wildly fantastic. Even the grammarians showed their sympathy with the
spirit of the time by proposing to expel summarily all redundant letters
from the Russian alphabet!
The fact that very few people had clear, precise ideas as to what was
to be done did not prevent, but rather tended to increase, the reform
enthusiasm. All had at least one common feeling--dislike to what had
previously existed. It was only when it became necessary to forsake pure
negation, and to create something, that the conceptions became clearer,
and a variety of opinions appeared. At the first moment there was
merely unanimity in negation, and an impulsive enthusiasm for beneficent
reforms in general.
The first specific proposals were direct deductions from the lessons
taught by the war. The war had shown in a terrible way the disastrous
consequences of having merely primitive means of communication; the
Press and the public began, accordingly, to speak about the necessity of
constructing railways, roads and river-steamers. The war had shown
that a country which has not developed its natural resources very soon
becomes exhausted if it has to make a great national effort; accordingly
the public and the Press talked about the necessity of developing the
natural resources, and about the means by which this desirable end might
be attained. It had been shown by the war that a system of education
which tends to make men mere apathetic automata cannot produce even a
good army; accordingly the public and the Press began to discuss the
different systems of education and the numerous questions of pedagogical
science. It had been shown by the war that the best intentions of
a Government will necessarily be frustrated if the majority of the
officials are dishonest or incapable; accordingly the public and the
Press began to speak about the paramount necessity of reforming the
Administration in all its branches.
It must not, however, be supposed that in thus laying to heart the
lessons taught by the war and endeavouring to profit by them, the
Russians were actuated by warlike feelings, and desired to avenge
themselves as soon as possible on their victorious enemies. On the
contrary, the whole movement and the spirit which animated it were
eminently pacific. Prince Gortchakof's saying, "La Russie ne boude pas,
elle se recueille," was more than a diplomatic repartee--it was a
true and graphic statement of the case. Though the Russians are very
inflammable, and can be very violent when their patriotic feelings are
aroused, they are, individually and as a nation, singularly free from
rancour and the spirit of revenge. After the termination of hostilities
they really bore little malice towards the Western Powers, except
towards Austria, which was believed to have been treacherous and
ungrateful to the country that had saved her in 1849. Their patriotism
now took the form, not of revenge, but of a desire to raise their
country to the level of the Western nations. If they thought of military
matters at all, they assumed that military power would be obtained as a
natural and inevitable result of high civilisation and good government.
As a first step towards the realisation of the vast schemes
contemplated, voluntary associations began to be formed for industrial
and commercial purposes, and a law was issued for the creation of
limited liability companies. In the space of two years forty-seven
companies of this kind were founded, with a combined capital of 358
millions of roubles. To understand the full significance of these
figures, we must know that from the founding of the first joint-stock
company in 1799 down to 1853 only twenty-six companies had been formed,
and their united capital amounted only to thirty-two millions of
roubles. Thus in the space of two years (1857-58) eleven times as much
capital was subscribed to joint-stock companies as had been subscribed
during half a century previous to the war. The most exaggerated
expectations were entertained as to the national and private advantages
which must necessarily result from these undertakings, and it became
a patriotic duty to subscribe liberally. The periodical literature
depicted in glowing terms the marvellous results that had been obtained
in other countries by the principle of co-operation, and sanguine
readers believed that they had discovered a patriotic way of speedily
becoming rich.
These were, however, mere secondary matters, and the public were
anxiously waiting for the Government to begin the grand reforming
campaign. When the educated classes awoke to the necessity of great
reforms, there was no clear conception as to how the great work should
be undertaken. There was so much to be done that it was no easy matter
to decide what should be done first. Administrative, judicial, social,
economical, financial, and political reforms seemed all equally
pressing. Gradually, however, it became evident that precedence must be
given to the question of serfage. It was absurd to speak about progress,
humanitarianism, education, self-government, equality in the eye of
the law, and similar matters, so long as one half of the population was
excluded from the enjoyment of ordinary civil rights. So long as serfage
existed it was mere mockery to talk about re-organising Russia according
to the latest results of political and social science. How could a
system of even-handed justice be introduced when twenty millions of the
peasantry were subject to the arbitrary will of the landed proprietors?
How could agricultural or industrial progress be made without free
labour? How could the Government take active measures for the spread of
national education when it had no direct control over one-half of
the peasantry? Above all, how could it be hoped that a great moral
regeneration could take place, so long as the nation voluntarily
retained the stigma of serfage and slavery?
All this was very generally felt by the educated classes, but no one
ventured to raise the question until it should be known what were the
views of the Emperor on the subject. How the question was gradually
raised, how it was treated by the nobles, and how it was ultimately
solved by the famous law of February 19th (March 3d), 1861,* I now
propose to relate.
* February 19th according to the old style, which is still
used in Russia, and March 3d according to our method of
reckoning.