[Illustration: _A Russian Woman._]
My friend, the late General Skobeleff, once asked me, “How do you
understand the movement of the Socialists and the Anarchists?” He owned
that he himself did not understand at all what they aimed at. “What do
they want? What are they striving to attain?”
“First of all,” I answered, “those people object to wars between
nations; again, their appreciation of art is very limited, the art of
painting not excluded. Thus, if they ever come into power, you, with
your strategic combinations, and I, with my pictures, will both be
shelved immediately. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, I understand this,” rejoined Skobeleff, “and from this time forth
I am determined to fight them.”
There is no mistaking the fact that, as I have said before, society is
seriously threatened at the hands of a large mass of people counting
hundreds of millions. Those are the people, who, for generations, during
entire centuries, have been on the brink of starvation, poorly clad,
living in filthy and unhealthy quarters; paupers, and such people as
have scarcely any property, or no property at all. Well, who is to blame
for their poverty—are not they themselves to be blamed for it?
No, it would be unjust to lay all the blame at their door; it is more
likely that society at large is more to blame for their condition than
they are themselves.
Is there any way out of the situation?
Certainly there is. Christ, our Great Teacher, has long ago pointed out
the way in which the rich and the powerful could remedy the situation
without bringing things to a revolutionary pass, without any upheaval of
the existing social order, if they would only seriously take care of the
miserable; that certainly would have ensured them the undisturbed
enjoyment of the bulk of their fortune. But there is little hope of a
peaceful solution of the question now; it is certain that the well-to-do
classes will still prefer to remain Christians in name only; they will
still hope that palliative measures will be sufficient to remedy the
situation; or else, believing the danger to be distant, they will not be
disposed to give up much; while the paupers—though formerly they were
ready for a compromise—may be soon found unwilling to take the pittance
offered them.
What do they want, then?
Nothing less than the equalization of riches in the society to come.
They claim the material as well as moral equalization of all rights,
trades, all capacities and talents; as we have already said, they strive
to undermine all the foundations of the existing state of society, and,
in inaugurating a new order of things, they claim to be able to open a
real era of liberty, equality, and fraternity, instead of the shadows of
those lofty things, as existing now.
* * * * *
I do not mean to go into the discussion of the matter; I would not
pretend to point out how much justice or injustice, how much soundness
or unsoundness, there is in these claims; I state only the fact that
there is a deep gulf between the former cries for bread and the sharply
formulated claims of the present. It is evident that the appetite of the
masses has grown within the past centuries, and the bill which they
intend to present for payment will not be a small one.
Who will be required to pay this bill?
Society, most certainly.
Will it be done willingly?
Evidently not.
Consequently there will be complications, quarrels, civil wars.
Certainly there will be serious complications; they are already casting
their shadows before them in the shape of disturbances of a socialistic
character that are originating here and there. In America, most likely,
those disturbances are lesser and less pointed; but in Europe, in France
and Belgium, for instance, such disorders assume a very threatening
aspect.
Who is likely to be victorious in this struggle?
Unless Napoleon I. was wrong in his assertion that victory will always
remain with the _gros bataillons_, the “regulators” will win. Their
numbers will be very great; whoever knows human nature will understand
that all such as have not much to lose will, at the decisive moment,
join the claims of those who have nothing to lose.
* * * * *
It is generally supposed that the danger is not so imminent yet; but, as
far as I was able to judge, the imminence of the danger varies in
different countries. France, for instance—that long-suffering country
which is for ever experimenting on herself, whether it be in social or
scientific questions, or in politics—is the nearest to a crisis; then
follow Belgium and other countries.
It is very possible that even the present generation will witness a
serious upheaval. As to the coming generations, there is no doubt that
they will assist at a thorough reconstruction of the social structure in
all countries.
The claims of socialists, and, particularly, the anarchists, as well as
the disorders incited by them, generally produce a great sensation in
society. But no sooner are the disorders suppressed, than society
relapses again into its usual unconcern, and no one gives a thought to
the fact that the frequency of these painful symptoms, recurring with so
much persistency, is in itself a sign of disease.
Far-seeing people begin to realize that palliative measures are no
longer of use; that a change of governments and of rulers will no longer
avail; and that nothing is left but to await developments contingent on
the attitude of the opposed parties—the energetic determination of the
well-to-do classes, not to yield, and that of the proletariat, to keep
their courage and persevere.
* * * * *
The only consolation remaining to the rich consists in the fact that the
“regulators” have not had time as yet to organize their forces for a
successful struggle with society. This is true to a certain extent. But,
though they do it slowly, the “regulators” are steadily perfecting their
organization; on the other hand, can we say that society is well enough
organized not to stand in dread of attacks?
Who are the recognized and official defenders of society?
The Army and the Church.
A soldier, there is no doubt, is a good support, he represents a solid
defence; the only trouble about him is that the soldier himself begins
to get weary of his ungrateful part. It is likely that for many years to
come the soldier will shoot with a light heart at such as are called his
“enemies”; but the time is not far distant when he will refuse to shoot
at his own people.
Who is a good soldier? Only one to whom you can point out his father,
his mother, or his brother in the crowd, saying, “Those are enemies of
society, kill them”—and who will obey.
I may remark here, in passing, that it occurred to me to refer to this
idea in a conversation I had with the well-known French writer and
thinker, Alexandre Dumas, _fils_, and with what success? Conceding the
justice of the apprehension, he had no other comforting suggestion to
offer than to say, “Oh, yes, the soldier will shoot yet!”
The other defender of society, the priest, has been less ill-used than
the soldier, and consequently he is not so tired of his task; but, on
the hand, people begin to tire of him, less heed is paid to his words,
and there arises a doubt as to the truth of all that he preaches.
There was a time when it was possible to tell the people that there is
but one sun in the heavens, as there is but one God-appointed king in
the country. As stars of the first, second, third, and fourth magnitude
are grouping themselves around the sun, so the powerful, the rich, the
poor, and the miserable, surround the king on earth. And, as it all
appeared plausible, people used to believe that such arrangements were
as they ought to be. All was accepted, all went on smoothly: none of
such things can be advanced now-a-days, however; no one will be ready to
believe in them.
* * * * *
Clearly, things assume a serious aspect. Suppose the day comes when the
priests entirely lose their hold on the people, when the soldiers turn
their guns’ muzzles down—where will society look for bulwarks then? Is
it possible that it has no more reliable defence?
Certainly, it has such a defence, and it is nothing else than _talent_,
and its representatives, in science, literature, and art in all its
ramifications.
Art must and will defend society. Its influence is less apparent and
palpable, but it is very great; it might even be said that its influence
over the minds, the hearts, and the actions of people is enormous,
unsurpassed, unrivalled. Art must and will defend society with all the
more care and earnestness, because its devotees know that the
“regulators” are not disposed to give them the honourable, respectable
position they occupy now—for, according to them, a good pair of boots is
more useful than a good picture, a novel, or a statue. Those people
declare that talent is luxury, that talent is aristocratic, and that,
consequently, talent has to be brought down from its pedestal to the
common level—a principle to which we shall never submit.
Let us not deceive ourselves; there will arise new talents, which will
gradually adapt themselves to new conditions, if such will prevail, and
their works may perhaps gain from it; but we shall not agree to the
principle of general demolition and reconstruction, when this has no
other foundation but the well-known thesis—“Let us destroy everything
and clear the ground; as to the reconstruction—about that we shall see
later on.” We shall defend and advocate the improvement of the existing
order by means of peaceful and gradual measures.
* * * * *
It goes without saying that we demand that society, on its side, should
help us to fulfil our task; that it should trust us, give us all the
freedom necessary for the development and exertion of talent.
There is the rub!
Well-fed, self-satisfied society quails at every change, at all blame,
derision, and comment; it distrusts the foremost, daring representatives
of science, literature, and art. Society strives jealously to retain the
right not only to point out the road for talent, but even to regulate
the measure, the degree of its development, and its manifestation.
In this society of ours anything that is common and conventional is
shielded by all kinds of rights and privileges, while anything that is
new and original is bound to awaken animosity and censure, has to go
through a severe struggle under the pressure of wide-spread cant and
hypocrisy.
Try to create anything ingenious in any of the regions of science and
literature, try to present in graphic or plastic form the most original,
striking conception, but only forget or refuse to surround it with the
conventional layer of triviality and vulgarity so dear to the heart of
society, you will be “done for,” you will not even obtain a hearing, you
will be called a charlatan, if nothing worse than that.
Why is that so? Was it society that has shown the way to all great
discoveries? No; it has always delayed them, has always put brakes on
them.
Has society, in its collective form, ever evoked any of the great
manifestations of art or literature? No; society was always eager to
worry, to persecute men of talent, though it erects monuments to them
after their death.
How did society come to display such arrogance and presumption? It was
tempted that way only by the unchristian conviction that “the aim
justifies the means.”
* * * * *
Can there be anything more exasperating than the conversation we hear
sometimes—
“Have you been to the _Salon_?”
“No; we did not happen to go there this year, but last year we were
there more than once.”
There is irony here as well as truth, for in the majority of cases, you
will find in the _Salon_ the same number of pictures nearly of the same
quality, treating on nearly the same subjects, and, most assuredly,
painted nearly in the same style.
“Have you seen the new play of Sardou?”
“Just imagine, could not possibly get to see it yet, had to go to the
country; but then to-morrow we go to the _Comédie Française_ to see that
new thing of Dumas’. They say both plays are very much alike in
conception, as well as in plot.” And this is perfectly true; they are
doubtlessly more or less alike.
Whose fault is this, then, if not the authors’?
Ask the playwrights, whether they would dare to represent the action in
such a way as it has been suggested to them by real life, with its
logical conclusion, made unavoidable by the march of events, omitting,
for once, the long-established, hackneyed, conventional termination?
“No,” the authors would tell you, “such a thing is not to be thought
of,” and they will be in the right. Society, weighed down by cant, will
not go to see such a play, however interesting it may be; so the author
has to humour the public if he does not want to bring ruin on his
manager and on himself.
The same is the case with artists, sculptors, even composers. How many
favourites of the Muses have been driven into early graves by the
animosity of the public against all new construction of poetical as well
as musical ideas?
On one side we hear complaints of the dulness, the monotony, even the
triviality, prevailing in art; people clamour for something inspired,
something original; on the other hand, the same public arbitrarily
chastises you for all that fails to come within the range of
established, conventional ideas!
It is high time, it seems to me, to understand the necessity of treating
art with tolerance and confidence, if we want it to fraternize with
society, to become as one with it, to serve it faithfully and well in
the present troubled times when the poet and the artist are soldiers at
their posts.
* * * * *
“But, you representative of art,” I might be asked, “what are the
tidings that you are so eager to announce to us—what are your
discoveries that would be so entirely new to society?”
Well, what we should say would, perhaps, not be news, yet certainly the
idea of it has not yet penetrated the consciousness of the people. Armed
with the rich, varied resources of art we should tell people some
truths.
“Give up,” we shall say to them, “give up enjoying yourselves amidst the
illusions of the idealism which lulls your senses, of the idealism of
high-sounding words and phrases. Look around you through the eye of
sensible realism, and you will acquire the certitude of your mistake.
You are not the Christians you assume yourselves to be. You are not
representatives of Christian societies, of Christian countries.”
Those who kill their kind by the hundred thousand are not Christians.
Those who are always moved, in private as well as in public life, by the
principle of “eye for eye, and tooth for tooth,” are not Christians.
Those who spend many hours of their lives in churches, yet who give
nothing, or next to nothing, to the poor, are not Christians.
What have you done with the decree of the Saviour concerning Christian
humility, and to help such as are in real need?
What is the stand taken now, let us ask, by those two great branches of
the administration of Christ’s Church, that call themselves the Roman
Catholic and the Orthodox Churches, which have separated, thanks to
their inability to agree as to whether the Holy Ghost proceeded from the
Father and the Son or from the Father alone? Is it possible that they
have not come yet to an understanding, and, blinded by mutual hatred,
are neglecting the loftiness of their mission on earth?
What is the stand taken by those new Churches originated of late,
comparatively speaking, on the plea of a more realistic understanding of
the connection of life with its Originator? Is it possible that, having
concluded the fight with their great adversary, those Churches have also
drifted into a sweet nap over the existing order of things, and have
also renounced taking a hand in any further reforms?
Well, if it be so, let men of talent shake the strong and the powerful
out of the somnolence into which they have fallen; a difficult task it
will be, but a noble one. And if we are refused a hearing, or attempts
are made to muzzle us, why, it will be the worse for society. Rouse
itself it must; but it will be too late—the “Vandals will have burned
Rome” once again. We may be assured that no churches, no bankers’
offices will then be spared.
“If any man have ears to hear, let him hear.”
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