CHAPTER XVII

THE OPENING OF THE DUMA

ST. PETERSBURG, _May 14th_.

I had the good fortune to gain admission to the Duma yesterday afternoon. I think it is the most interesting sight I have ever seen. When you arrive at the Tauris Palace, which outside has an appearance of dignified stateliness, the stateliness of the end of the Eighteenth Century, you walk through a spacious front hall into what looks like a gigantic white ball-room built in the late Louis XVI. style. This is the lobby; beyond it is the Hall of the Duma itself. In this long gallery members and visitors were already flocking, walking up and down, talking, and smoking cigarettes and throwing away the ashes and the ends on the polished floor. One saw peasants in their long black coats, some of them wearing military medals and crosses; popes, Tartars, Poles, men in every kind of dress except uniform. When the sitting began I went up into the gallery. The Hall of the Duma itself is likewise white, delicate in decoration, an essentially gentlemanlike room. The sitting began about three o’clock. The members go to their appointed places, on which their cards are fixed, and the impression of diversity of dress and type becomes still stronger and more picturesque.

You see dignified old men in frock coats, aggressively democratic-looking “intelligents,” with long hair and pince-nez, a Polish bishop dressed in purple, who looks like the Pope; men without collars; members of the proletariate, men in loose Russian shirts with belts; men dressed by Davies or Poole, and men dressed in the costume of two centuries ago. The President walked in to his seat under the portrait of the Emperor, which is a rather shiny study in blue and white. One thanked Heaven the Duma had not been redecorated in the _art nouveau_ style, for almost all the modern buildings in Russia, from Moscow to Kharbin, are built in the mixture of Munich, Maple, and Japan which is called _art nouveau_ (modern style), and in Russia “decadent.”

The President, C. A. Muromzev, strikes one as dignity itself. He exercises his functions with perfect serenity and absolute fairness. After reading congratulatory telegrams from various parts of the Empire he proceeded to read a motion proposed by a workman of the Government of Moscow that before proceeding further a telegram should be sent to the Emperor asking for a general amnesty for political offenders, and another motion asking for an immediate amnesty, proposed by a peasant. A debate ensued. The speeches were sensible and moderate. Most of the members spoke against the motion, and it seemed as if the matter was settled in the sense that the question of amnesty would be dealt with in the Reply to the Address and not before, when Professor Kovolievski proposed a third course, that the President of the Duma should inform the Emperor of the unanimous desire of the Duma for a general amnesty. What struck me most in the speeches I heard was the naturalness of their tone, and the absence of declamatory emphasis. Several of the speeches were eloquent; only one was tedious. Professor Kovolievski began speaking in his seat, and went on with his speech quietly and in the most natural manner conceivable, as he walked up to the tribune, where he continued it, just as if he were engaged in a quiet talk with a few intimate friends. A second thing which struck me was the respect and the instantaneous obedience shown to the President; when he called to order by ringing his bell the silence was immediate and complete. Soon after four o’clock there was an _entr’acte_, and the Duma proceeded to elect the thirty-three members by whom the Reply to the Address is to be drawn up. The members poured into the gallery, and everywhere small groups collected discussing various matters; some carried on their discussions in the adjacent lobbies and rooms; many went to drink tea or have some food in the dining-room, where the accommodation is excellent.

Many of the small groups where the discussion was being carried on were interesting. One heard violent ideas and wild words being bandied about. One peasant said to a friend of mine: “When I look upon this palace my blood boils; it was built out of the blood and the sweat of the poor.” So it was. “Then you are a person who nurses hatred?” said my friend. “Yes,” he answered. “I hate, hate, hate the rich!” Another man told a lady of my acquaintance that he was a Socialist. She asked him if he was in favour of the land being made over to the State. He said, “No.” He explained his views, which were really rather those of an extreme Radical than of a Socialist, clearly and with intelligence, and at the end she said to him, “But you are not a Socialist?” “Yes, I am,” he answered; and asked her who she was. She said that she was the daughter of a Count who is a member of the Duma. “I am very pleased to have spoken with a Countess,” he answered, perfectly simply. I saw a big landed proprietor, he came up to me and said, “This is very amusing for you; but to me it is life and death.” After the interval the sitting was continued. At 6.45 p.m. the result of the election of the thirty-three members was read out, and Professor Kovolievski’s motion was debated shortly and rejected. After this the question of closure was discussed and referred to a committee. Then I left. The sitting came to an end shortly afterwards.

My impression of the whole is that the Duma is far more moderate than I expected. I do not think, and I never have thought, that the Cadet leaders are a set of unpractical idealists or terrorists in disguise. Both these ideas seem to me both to be _a priori_ absurd, and to be confuted by the facts. Supposing England had been governed for years solely by the permanent officials without any control whatsoever—and the only difference that I have ever seen between Russian officials and those of England or any other country is that the Russian officials are uncontrolled, and those of other countries are not—supposing that there were in England a large party headed, let us say, by men such as Mr. Haldane, Mr. Asquith, Mr. Birrell, Mr. Balfour, Mr. Keir Hardie, Lord Wemyss, and Lord Percy—I mix up Liberals and Conservatives on purpose, because if in England there were an autocracy, it is probable that all our Statesmen, whether Liberal or Conservative, would be on the side of the opposition—would not the officials and all their supporters with one voice say that these men were not practical men? The Cadets are not idealist professors or men of letters or philosophers. They are educated men, some of them learned and experienced lawyers, some of them acute men of business, who in any other country would unquestionably play a

## part in the government of their country. In Russia (if they have not

been lawyers) they have been of necessity professors—if they have wished to play any part in public life save that of an official—because no other course has been open to them. On the day of the opening of the Duma I went to a Cadet meeting of one branch of the party at Moscow, a branch representing one small part of the town. The conduct of the meeting and the character of the speeches were exactly on the level of the best political meetings in other countries. A lawyer made a most brilliant speech, based on the soundest common sense. And I am certain that if any of our leading political men had been present they would have found nothing to criticise and much to praise.

Of course, the question which is being anxiously asked is whether the leaders of the Cadets will be able to keep the more violent elements of their party in hand. The violent element does not seem to me to be a very large one. And I think that the future violence or moderation of the Duma will depend very largely on the action of the higher authorities, and of what is at present the official Government.

Will the Emperor trust M. Muromzev, the President of the Duma? If he does, the two together will save the situation. Unfortunately, the impression seems to be prevalent among higher circles in St. Petersburg that the Cadets are revolutionaries, Jacobins, and terrorists. If one has attended the Cadet meetings, where they are among themselves and have no object in concealing either their ideas or their tactics, one sees that they are entirely separated from the Social Revolutionary Party, which in its turn looks upon the Cadets with contemptuous scorn.

Yesterday a peasant said in his speech: “We hear it said that we have millions of men behind us, and we must demand, not ask; these high-sounding phrases are all very well for a private meeting, but are out of place in the Duma.” This was a very sensible thing to say; but it is true, nevertheless, that the Duma has the whole country behind it. Another peasant, speaking at a small meeting a few days ago, said: “Russia has waited for the Duma as the chosen people had waited for the Messiah. Will they dare to crucify it? No, they will not dare. For who would be the Pilate? The Emperor will not be the Pilate, for, if he were to call for water in which to wash his hands, he would have to wash his hands, not in the waters of the Neva, but in the blood of the whole Russian people.”

ST. PETERSBURG, _May 18th_.

Last night the second reading of the Address in reply to the Speech from the Throne was passed by the Duma. What will be the attitude of the Government with regard to the demands which have been formulated? As far as I have been able to gauge it, the attitude of the supporters of the Government and of the more Conservative element in the Council of Empire is this: they say the demands of the Duma are impossible; that the Duma is not a representative Duma; that no notice must be paid to its extravagant and foolish talk; that it must be allowed to talk on, and that Russia will then see that its demands are preposterous. This I believe to be the attitude of the Government. In support of its contention that the Duma is not representative, it alleges that Count Witte is to blame in having insisted on suffrage by three degrees. Had there been universal suffrage, they add, the Duma would have been more Conservative. The day before yesterday I attended the sitting of the Council of Empire, and during the interval I had some conversation with some of the members, and these were the kind of things I heard. Then I went to the Duma and I talked to the peasants. I asked one of them if he thought it was true that the Duma was not representative and whether the opinions it expressed were a faithful reflection of the opinion of the country. He said that the opinion in the country was far stronger than anything which had been expressed in the Duma. I believe that he was perfectly right. One can only judge by one’s personal experience, and wherever I have been during the last month I have found the feeling among the people dangerously tense and inexpressibly vehement. I said to this peasant, who came from the Government of Archangel: “Do they expect much of the Duma in your part of the country?” “They expect nothing at all,” he answered, “because the Government will never give the Duma what it wants, and we shall have to disperse.” “And then?” I asked. “Then we shall take what we want,” he said very calmly. “There has always been a wall of bureaucracy between us and the Emperor,” he continued, “and that wall is still there.” Talking to other members I found that they were just as little illusioned with regard to the attitude of the Government as the peasant from Archangel. One of them said to me: “Yes; it means there will be a conflict.” Another said: “There is no connecting link between us and the Emperor. We must have a responsible Ministry, and it is on that point that the struggle will be centred.” Another peasant said to me: “We are not opposed to having two Houses; but we are opposed to the Council of Empire as it now stands, because half of it consists of the same Bureaucrats who have been the cause of all our trouble.”

I spent the whole of yesterday and most of the day before in the Duma, and listened to a great many speeches. The most salient fact about the sittings of the Duma is their extreme orderliness. People say that this is because the members are new to their business and that the Duma will soon learn to be as disorderly as the House of Commons. It is a fact, of course, that the absence of conflict arising from the friction between sharply-defined parties contributes to the general harmony. But I doubt if the Duma will ever be a very turbulent Parliament. Russians have a peculiar talent for listening to public speaking. I have noticed this constantly. I have sometimes wondered, for instance, whether it was possible for a play to be hissed off the stage in Russia just because it is tedious. A Russian audience seems to me capable of listening patiently to act after act of uneventful and colourless dialogue, to things which would drive an Italian audience to frenzy in five minutes, and would bore the British public into throwing a dead cat on the stage. When they act “Julius Cæsar” in Russia the scene in which Mark Antony makes his speech loses half its effect by the attitude of the crowd on the stage, who stand listening in perfect silence, like moujiks listening to a sermon in church.

Yesterday the Duma sat from 11.30 a.m. until past midnight, with a very short interval. The weather was stiflingly hot, and yet the House listened to a series of not very lively speeches, not only with decorous patience, but with keen interest. The most striking orators so far seem to be Professor Kovolievski, and MM. Rodichev and Aladin, the first being remarkable for his perfect naturalness, the second for his rather theatrical eloquence, which, I confess, does not appeal to me personally, but pleases most people, and the third for his uncompromising directness of speech and powerful driving force. There are others besides these, and among them some of the peasants, who speak extremely well. I asked a peasant who spoke best. He said: “Rodichev spoke very well, and Jilkin (principal representative of the peasant group) spoke well and quietly.” I mentioned Aladin. “He is an angry speaker,” he said. “He knows, but he ought to speak more gently.” M. Aladin has spent many years in England, whither he went as an immigrant. Mirabeau heard Robespierre speak at the States-General (I think), and said: “That young man will go very far, for he believes everything he says.” I think this would apply to M. Aladin.

I heard some one say to a peasant who came from the South of Russia: “You should think of your common interests; if each class only thinks of itself what will happen? Do you think that one can be happy just by possessing land?” Then, in the course of discussion on the state of the peasants in Russia, he suddenly asked: “How long ago is it since Christ died?” When he was told he answered: “When will people begin to be Christians?”

Last night, when I was driving home from the Duma, my cabman asked me many questions about it, and he said that he had been a soldier himself and saw a great deal of the soldiers here, and that if the Duma was dispersed or came to nothing and the Government attempted to exercise repressive measures they would refuse to fight, because what applied to the peasants applied to them. They were peasants, and the only way in which their lot could be bettered was by the lot of the peasants being bettered. “The Government,” he added, “does not want things to go quietly.” It wants a _bunt_ (a rising), so that it can put it down by force and then go on as before as in the good old days, but this time it will not succeed, because the soldiers will refuse to fire, and there will be a row such as there was at Kronstadt, only on a far larger scale, and St. Petersburg will be looted.

_May 20th._

This evening, as I was walking home to my lodgings, I was attracted by signs of disturbance in a side street off the Big Morskaia, where I live. I went to see what was happening. A drunken soldier was lurching down the street, making rude remarks to the passers-by. He was arrested and with difficulty guided to the police station, which happened to be in that street, by two policemen.

When they went into the police station a small crowd of men, women, and children collected round the door, which was guarded by a small boy of about twelve years of age.

A woman, with a shawl over her head, made an indignant speech to the assembled public about the arbitrariness of the police in arresting the poor soldiers. “We know,” she said, “what goes on in there. They’re beating him now.”

“Shame!” cried the crowd, and made a move for the door. But the unkempt little boy who was guarding it said: “You can’t come in here.”

“Ah, we know you _dvorniks_” (door-keepers), said the woman, “you are worse than the police.” “Yah!” joined in the crowd, and a child said to the boy, with inexpressible contempt, “Ugh! _Satrap!_ Police station chicken!”

Then the crowd broke up.

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