CHAPTER IV

MOSCOW AFTER THE MANIFESTO

_Wednesday, October 1st._

At dinner at the Métropole Restaurant a strange scene occurred. At the end of dinner the band played the Marseillaise, and after it the National Anthem. Everybody stood up except one mild-looking man with spectacles, who went on calmly eating his dinner, upon which a man who was sitting at the other end of the room, and was rather drunk, rushed up to him and began to pull him about and drag him to his feet. He made a display of passive resistance, which proved effectual, and when he had finished his dinner he went away.

_Thursday, November 2nd._

The outward aspect of the town during these days is strange. Moscow seems like a city which has been undergoing a siege. Many of the shops have got great wooden shutters. Some of the doors have a large red cross on them. The distress, I am told, during the strike was terrible. There was no light, no gas, no water, all the shops were shut; provisions and wood were scarce. This afternoon I went to see Bauman’s funeral procession, which I witnessed from many parts of the town. It was one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen. A hundred thousand men took

## part in it. The whole of the “Intelligenzia” (the professional and

middle class) was in the streets or at the windows. The windows and balconies were crowded with people. The order was perfect. There was not a hitch nor a scuffle. The men walking in the procession consisted of students, doctors, workmen, people in various kinds of uniform. There were ambulances, with doctors dressed in white in them, in case there should be casualties. The men bore great red banners and the coffin was covered with a scarlet pall. As they marched they sang in a low chant the “Marseillaise,” “Viechni Pamiat,” and the “Funeral March”[1] of the fighters for freedom. This last tune is the most impressive. From a musician’s point of view it is a shockingly bad tune; but then, as Du Maurier said, one should never listen to musicians on the subject of music any more than one should listen to wine merchants on the subject of wine. But it is the tune which to my mind is exactly fitting for the Russian revolution, with its dogged melancholy and invincible passion, as fitting as the “Marseillaise” (which, by the way, the Russian sings in parts and slowly) is totally unfitting. The “Funeral March” has nothing defiant in it; but it is one of those tunes which, when sung by a multitude, make one’s flesh creep; it is commonplace if you will; and it expresses—as it were by accident—the commonplaceness of all that is determined and unflinching, mingled with an accent of weary pathos. As it grew dark torches were brought out, lighting up the red banners and the scarlet coffin of the unknown veterinary surgeon, who in a second, by a strange freak of chance, had become a hero, or rather a symbol, an emblem and a banner, and who was being carried to his last resting place with a simplicity which eclipsed the pomp of all royal funerals, and to the sound of a low song of tired but indefatigable sadness stronger and more formidable than the pæans which celebrate the triumphs and the pageants of kings.

Footnote 1:

By a strange irony of fate, this tune, which the revolutionaries have made their own, was originally an official tune, composed probably by some obscure military bandmaster, and played at the funerals of officers and high officials.

The impression left on my mind by this funeral is deep. As I saw these hundred thousand men march past so quietly, so simply, in their bourgeois clothes, singing in careless, almost conversational fashion, I seemed nevertheless to hear the “tramping of innumerable armies,” and to feel the breath of the

“Courage never to submit or yield, And what is else not to be overcome.”

It is impossible for the Government or for any one else to accuse these people of displaying a provoking attitude, of badgering or insulting the soldiers or the authorities, or of not being able to keep order among themselves.

_November 3rd._

Last night, after Bauman’s funeral, which passed off without an incident, at eleven o’clock a number of students and doctors were shot in front of the university, as they were on their way home, by Cossacks, who were stationed in the Riding School, opposite the university. The Cossacks fired without orders. They were incensed, as many of the troops were, by the display of red flags, and they disliked processions.

_November 6th._

The last three days have been days of curious disorder and anarchy. I will try and note briefly what has been taking place.

The day after Bauman’s funeral (November 3rd) was the anniversary of the Emperor’s accession, and all the “hooligans” of the city, who are now called the “Black Gang,” used the opportunity to make counter demonstrations under the ægis of the National flag. The students did nothing, they were in no way aggressive; but the hooligans when they came across a student beat him and in many cases killed him. The police did nothing; they seemed to have disappeared. These hooligans paraded the town in small groups, sometimes uniting, blocking the traffic, demanding money from well-dressed people, killing students, and making themselves generally objectionable. When the police were appealed to they shrugged their shoulders and said: “Liberty.” The hooligans demanded the release of the man who had killed Bauman. “They have set free so many of their men,” they said, referring to the revolutionaries, “we want our man set free.” Practically the town was in a state of anarchy; anybody could kill any one else with impunity. In one of the biggest streets a hooligan came up to a man and asked him for money; he gave him ten kopecks. “Is that all?” said the hooligan, “Take that,” and he killed him with a Finnish knife. I was myself stopped by a band on the Twerskaia and asked politely to contribute to their fund, the fund of the “Black Gang,” which I did with considerable alacrity. However, students, or those whom they considered to be students in disguise, were the people they mostly attacked. The citizens of the town in general soon began to think that this state of things was intolerable, and vigorous representations were made to the town Duma that some steps should be taken to put an end to it. The hooligans broke the windows of the Hôtel Métropole and those of several shops. There was a general impression among them that liberty meant doing as much damage as they pleased. This state of things lasted three days, and now it has been stopped—utterly and completely stopped. A notice is published forbidding all demonstrations in the streets with flags. The police have reappeared, and everything has resumed its normal course. These bands of hooligans were small and exceedingly easy to deal with. The disorders were completely unnecessary. But they have done some good in one way; they have brought home to everybody the necessity for order and the maintenance of order, and the conviction that if the police are removed the result will be anarchy. However, considering the state of lawlessness that existed, it is remarkable how little damage was done.

The night before last, as I was walking back to the hotel after dinner, I met two omnibuses full of wounded students being driven to the hospital. One student was torn to pieces by a hooligan crowd yesterday afternoon; and a friend of mine from the windows of the Hôtel National saw another trampled to death.

The general tenour of opinion among the Liberals is that the Government must prove their good intentions by deeds and not by words, and that soothing Manifestoes are of no use now. There are three points on which they insist. First, they demand that the partial amnesty should be made complete; that there should be an amnesty for all political offenders without exception. Secondly, they say that they have no guarantee for the new reforms, because the Ministers are taken from the Bureaucracy. They demand new Ministers taken from the Zemstva. Thirdly, they demand the resignation of General Trepoff. With regard to the first point it would be a wise step on the part of the Government to satisfy the Liberals. The concessions will probably be made gradually, and I suppose their maxim is not to give too much at once or the demands will increase. It is a pity, if the Government have decided to give in on this point, that they did not do so at once. Every concession seems, as it is, to have been extorted by force. That is the general impression of the Liberals: “We have been given nothing; everything we have obtained we have extorted by force.” With regard to the resignation of General Trepoff, if I were a Russian and guarantees were given that the police were no longer going to interfere with individuals, and that the secret police force was to be abolished—and I believe this is being done—I should make a demonstration for the retention of General Trepoff. If there are to be police at all to keep order, somebody must manage them. The Russian police are a hopelessly incompetent body, and General Trepoff is a thoroughly competent man. He may have used too heavy a hand sometimes, and I can understand the people being indignant that he should rule Russia like a dictator. On the other hand he knows how to keep order; he knows how to manage the police, and if the liberty of individuals is respected—and, so far, since the publication of the Manifesto it has been—I cannot see why any one should desire his retirement. However, the discussion of this point is futile. General Trepoff has become a symbol, like General Galliffet in France after the Commune. To the ordinary Russian Liberal he represents the Bureaucracy and all the evils of the old régime, and nothing can change that impression. His position is probably untenable, and he will be forced to resign, though, as far as liberty is concerned, at present the people do exactly what they like in the way of political meetings, the newspapers write what they please, and the prisons at Moscow and St. Petersburg have been partially emptied of their political prisoners. The Russians have, in fact, got the two boons which Matthew Arnold said were so dearly cherished by the English middle class—liberty to make fools of themselves, and publicity to show the world how they are doing it. The extreme revolutionary party wish to do away with the Emperor altogether and to have a Republic. If this is done some people say there will be a civil war in every town and village in the Russian Empire. As it is, half the people do not understand what a Constitution means. A soldier, for instance, asked whether it meant that the Emperor had resigned; and some of the educated class understand it still less.

Altogether the Liberals seem to me to be in too great a hurry; nevertheless things are apparently calming down. The question is—Will Count Witte between now and then succeed in thoroughly gaining the confidence of the Liberals and of the representatives of the Zemtsva? If he succeeds all will be well. The extreme Conservative Party, represented by the _Moskovski Viedomosti_, is really of no practical account. Its point of view was admirably represented by the hall porter of one of the old and conservative families at Moscow, who on the day of the publication of the Manifesto said: “The Emperor has deserted us.”

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