полная версия

Browne John Ross
The Land of Thor

If it be a wise child that knows its own father, it would be a very remarkable father who could recognize his own child among such a variegated collection as I saw here. Never upon earth was there a more astonishing mixture of baby flesh – big babies and little babies, pug-nosed, black-eyed, blue-eyed, fat and lean, red, yellow, and white babies – all sorts ever invented or brought to light in this curious world of ours. Yet the utmost order was observed, and the beds, nurses, cribs, and feeding apparatus looked wonderfully clean for a Russian institution, where cleanliness is not generally the prevailing characteristic. But, great guns! what music they must make when they all get started in one grand simultaneous chorus! five or six hundred babies, of both sexes, from one to two or three years old, in one department; as many girls from three to five in another; boys of the same age in another; older boys and older girls innumerable in another! What a luxury it must be to hear them all together! In general, however, they do not make as much noise as might be supposed. I only heard about forty or fifty small choruses while there; but, trifling as that was, it enabled me to form an idea of the style of music that might be made when five or six thousand gave their whole mind to it. I am personally acquainted with one small baby not over a couple of years old, who, when excited of nights, can very nearly raise the roof off the house, and am certain that five hundred of the same kind would burst the whole city of Moscow sky-high if ever they got at it together. These Russian foundlings, however, are generally heavy-faced, lymphatic babies, and fall naturally into the machine existence which becomes their fate; otherwise it would seem a hard life for the poor nurses, who are not always gifted with the patient endurance of mothers. I was told that the children only cried periodically, say at intervals of every four hours, but hardly credit that statement. Being for the most part soggy little animals, they spend a goodly portion of their time in sleep, and doubtless, when not sleeping, are much given to eating and drinking.

During the summer months several thousand of these children are sent out in the country to nurse, after which they are returned in due order. As soon as they become old enough, they are taught reading and writing, and the most intelligent are selected to become teachers. The boys usually receive a military education, and a certain proportion of them furnish recruits for the imperial army.

CHAPTER XVI.
DESPOTISM versus SERFDOM

The reader has probably discovered by this time that I have no great affection for the political institutions of Europe, and am pretty strong in my prejudices against despotic governments of all sorts. The fact is, I believe our own, with all its faults, is the best system of government ever devised by man.

The Emperor Alexander II. is admitted on all hands to be a most estimable and enlightened sovereign. He possesses, in a greater degree, perhaps, than any of his predecessors, the confidence and affection of his people. All his labors since he ascended the throne in February, 1855, have been directed to the emancipation of the serfs and the general welfare of his country. No fault can be found with him by the most ardent advocate of human liberty. His sympathies are – as far as it is practicable for those of an autocrat, clothed with absolute powers, to be – in favor of freedom. Toward the people and the government of the United States he entertains the most kindly feeling, and would doubtless sincerely regret the overthrow of our republican system. He has, moreover, devoted himself with unceasing zeal to the abolition of many onerous and unnecessary restrictions upon the liberty of the press and the civil rights of his subjects; encouraged institutions of learning; prohibited to a considerable extent cruelty and oppression in the subordinate branches of the public service; and in all respects has proved himself equal to the great duty imposed upon him, and worthy the esteem and commendation of the civilized world. Yet I can not see what there is in a despotic form of government, under the very best circumstances, to enlist our admiration or win our sympathies. We may respect and appreciate a good ruler, but every autocrat is not good of his kind; nor is every country in a happy condition because it may be exempt from the horrors of commotion. But no sovereign power can ever attain a rank among the civilized nations of the earth – beyond the respect to which its brute force may entitle it – so long as the very germ of its existence is founded in the suppression of civil and political liberty among its subjects.

What, after all, does the emancipation of the serfs amount to? They are only to be nominally free. The same power that accords them the poor privilege of tilling the earth for their own subsistence may at any time withdraw it. They are not to be owned by individual proprietors, and bought and sold like cattle; but they possess none of the privileges of freemen; have no voice in the laws that govern them; must pay any taxes imposed upon them; may be ordered, at any time, to abandon their homes and sacrifice their lives in foolish and unnecessary wars in which they have no interest; in short, are just as much slaves as they were before, with the exception that during the pleasure of the emperor they can not be sold. But will every emperor be equally humane? There is nothing to prevent the successor of Alexander the Second from restoring the system of serfage, with all its concomitant horrors. It will not be difficult to find a predominating influence among the nobles to accomplish that object; for this has been a long and severe struggle against their influence, and owes its success entirely to the unremitting labors of the sovereign. The next autocrat may labor with equal earnestness to undo this good work; but it matters little, save in name. Despotism and freedom are antipodes, and can not be brought together. It may be said that it would be difficult to enslave a people who had once even partially tasted the sweets of liberty, but the history of Russia does not furnish testimony to that effect.

Since the publication of the ukase abolishing serfdom, there has been a great deal of trouble in the more remote districts between the serfs and their masters, arising chiefly from ignorance on the one side, and discontent and disaffection on the other. Every possible obstacle has been thrown in the way of a fair understanding of its terms. Some idea may be formed of the extreme ignorance and debased condition of the serfs when I mention that in many parts of the country, where the influence of the court is not so immediately felt by the proprietors, they have assumed such despotic powers over their dependents, and exercise to this day such an inexorable command over their lives, liberties, and persons, that the poor creatures have almost learned to regard them as demigods. When a nobleman of high position, owning large tracts of land and many serfs, visits his estates, it is not an uncommon thing to see the enslaved peasantry, who are taught to believe that they exist by his sufferance, cast themselves prostrate before him and kiss the ground, in the Oriental fashion, as he passes. It is a species of idolatry highly soothing to men in official position, who are themselves subjected to almost similar debasement before their imperial master. In some instances, especially at a distance from the capital, the acts of cruelty perpetrated by these cringing and venal nobles, as an offset to the arbitrary rule under which they themselves exist, are enough to make the blood curdle. The knout, a terrible instrument made of thick, heavy leather, and sometimes loaded with leaden balls, is freely used to punish the most trifling offense. Men and women, indiscriminately, are whipped at the pleasure of their masters, the only real restrictions being that if they die within twenty-four hours the owners are subjected to trial for murder; but even that is nearly always evaded. The present emperor has done much to meliorate these abuses; but his orders have to go a great way and through a great many unreliable hands, and it is very difficult to carry them into effect unless they accord with the views of a venal and corrupt bureaucracy and an unprincipled corps of subordinates.

In some of the districts where the serfs were purposely kept in ignorance of the true meaning and intention of the emperor’s ukase, a vague idea took possession of their minds that they were free, and that the proprietors had no right to compel them to labor, or in any way curtail their liberty. Many of them left the estates to which they were attached, and sought occupation elsewhere on their own account; others refused to obey the orders given them by their seigneurs, and a great deal of trouble and bloodshed ensued. In some instances it became necessary to call in the military forces of the district to subdue the mutinous serfs and preserve order. Protests and remonstrances innumerable were addressed to the emperor, pointing out the absolute impracticability of carrying his beneficent scheme into effect, based chiefly on the ground that the serfs themselves were opposed to emancipation. This, of course, occasioned a great deal of anxiety and trouble at head-quarters. It was rather a hard state of things that the very peasants whom he was striving with all his power to serve should, by their insubordination – arising sometimes, it was true, from ignorance, but too often from willful misconduct – do even more than their masters to frustrate his beneficent designs. These troubles went on from time to time, till eventually a deputation of three hundred serfs made their way to St. Petersburg and solicited an audience of the emperor. His majesty, probably in no very amiable mood, called the deputation before him, and demanded what they desired. They answered that they wished an explanation in regard to his order of emancipation, which many of their people did not understand. Some thought they were to be free in two years, but many thought they were free from the date of the order, with the simple condition that they were to pay sixty rubles to their masters the first year, and thirty the second; others, again, that they were free without any condition whatever. All they wanted to know was, were they free or not? If free, why were they forced to labor for other people; and if not free, was there any prospect that they ever would be? The emperor asked, “Can you read?” Some answered that they could read, others that they could not. “Have you read my order?” demanded the emperor of those who could read. “Yes, your majesty,” they replied, “we have read your order, but we don’t understand it.” All who could read and had read the order were removed on one side. “Now,” said the emperor, turning to the others, “has this order been read to you?” “Yes, your majesty,” they replied, “but we don’t understand it.” “Very well,” observed the emperor; “you seem to be an intelligent set of men, capable of learning, and we shall see that the order is made intelligible. We had supposed it was perfectly clear in its terms; but, since you do not or will not comprehend it, all you who can read must be whipped.” The literary portion of the deputation were then taken off by a file of soldiers, treated to a score or two of lashes each, and sent back to their people to explain the manifesto. “And all you,” said the emperor, turning to the unlearned members of the deputation, “must serve three years as soldiers, during which time we shall see that you are taught to read.” They were accordingly taken off, and furnished with a general outfit of uniforms, and are now serving their imperial master in a military capacity.

Summary justice, that, one might say. It seems, at all events, a pretty prompt method of explaining official documents, and could probably be adopted beneficially in other countries.

CHAPTER XVII.
REFORM IN RUSSIA

In my last chapter I took occasion to acknowledge, in terms of sincere respect and admiration, the noble efforts of the present emperor, Alexander II., in the great cause of human freedom. He has already gone very far beyond any of his predecessors in the extension of civil liberty among his subjects, but a great crisis has now arrived which will practically test his sincerity. What he has heretofore done will be worse than nothing unless he remains true to himself and the noble cause which he has espoused. History shows us that the sovereigns of Russia have not always been indifferent to public opinion; but, with one or two honorable exceptions, it also shows us that they have been more liberal in their professions than in their acts. I ventured the assertion that there are insuperable obstacles to a very high order of civilization in Russia. Perhaps this is too gloomy a view of the case, and, considering the wonderful natural capacities of the people, it may be thought rather illiberal for an American; but I must confess the difficulties strike me as very serious. The severity of the climate in the middle and northern parts of the empire, the vast proportion of desert and unavailable lands, and the diversity of fierce and ignorant races to be governed, are certainly obstacles not easily overcome, if we are to understand by civilization a predominance of moral and intellectual cultivation, combined with material prosperity and a reasonable share of liberty and happiness among the mass of the people. It is not that a few shall be learned, and intelligent, and privileged above all others, but that the broad fields of knowledge shall be open to all; that education shall be general, and the right of every class to the fruits of their labor and the enjoyment of civil, political, and religious liberty shall be recognized and protected by the laws of the land. In this view, it seems to me that the most serious obstacle to civilization in Russia is presented by the despotic nature of the government, and the difficulty, under the existing state of things, of substituting another for which the ignorant masses are prepared. The aristocracy are constantly clamoring for increased powers and privileges, but it is very certain they have no affinity, beyond pecuniary interest, with the middle and lower classes, and that their sole aim is to interpose every possible obstacle to the progress of freedom. The emperor is now practically the great conservative power who stands between them and their dependents. Any increase of authority to the aristocracy would deprive the masses of the limited protection which they now enjoy. Already the head and front of Russian despotism are the camarilla and the bureaucracy, who practically administer the affairs of the government. So long as they hold their power, they stand as a barrier to all progress on the part of the people. Thoroughly aristocratic and tyrannical in all their instincts, they have every thing to lose and nothing to hope from a constitutional form of government. Why, it may be asked, if the emperor is sincere in his professions of regard for freedom and civilization, does he not make use of the aristocratic powers vested in him, and cast away from him all these obstacles to the perfection of his plans? The question is easier asked than answered. We are but little enlightened upon the secret councils that prevail at the court of St. Petersburg. Whatever is done there is only known by its results; whatever finds its way into the public press is subject to a rigid censorship, and is worth little so far as it conveys the remotest idea of facts. What you see demonstrated you may possibly be safe in believing, but nothing else. It may be easier to speak of removing obstacles than to do it; or it may be that the emperor has no fixed policy for the future, and therefore hesitates to encounter difficulties through which he can not see his way without any adequate or well-defined object.

No country in the world presents such an anomalous condition of affairs as that presented by Russia at this time. The preliminary steps have been taken to set free over twenty-three millions of white people, so accustomed to a condition of servitude, so generally ignorant, and so incapable of thinking or acting for themselves, that many, if not most of them, look with dread upon the movement made for their emancipation. The rights reserved to them are so little understood, and, indeed, so visionary under any circumstances – for two rights to the same land would be as impracticable in Russia between the proprietors and the peasant as in our country between the whites and the Indians – that they can see nothing beyond abandonment to increased oppressions and sufferings in the proposed movement. Degraded as they are, accustomed from infancy to obey their rulers, kept in a condition of brutish ignorance in order that they may be kept in subjection, it is natural they should be unable to realize the mysterious benefits about to be conferred upon them. In their present abject position they enjoy a certain kind of protection from their owners, who, if not always governed by motives of humanity, are at least generally susceptible of the influences of self-interest, and take care to feed and clothe them, and provide for them in cases of sickness; and although this is done at the expense of their labor, it relieves them from responsibilities which they are scarcely prepared to assume. To set them free against their own will, or even admitting that, in common with all mankind, they must have some general appreciation of liberty – to undertake so radical a change in their condition and future prospects without a practical definition of their rights and the substitution of some substantial benefits for the withdrawal of responsibilities now borne by their owners, is an anomalous movement attended by no ordinary difficulties. When we add to this the adverse influences of the landed proprietors; their determined hostility to the abrogation of rights and privileges which they have so long enjoyed; their entire conviction that, without direct powers of coercion, they can not depend upon the labor of the peasantry; that the natural tendency of free labor is to elevate the masses, and render them less subservient to the will of the aristocracy, then, indeed, it may well be conceived that the natural difficulties arising from the ignorance and improvident habits of the class now held in bondage will be greatly augmented. Believing, however, that all men have a right to their freedom; that such a right is the gift of the Creator, which can only be wrongfully withheld from them by any earthly power; that it is superior to any casual influences or considerations of policy, we can not but admire the moral courage of the movement, and the apparent zeal and constancy with which the emperor has labored, in the face of every obstacle, to carry it into effect. But the question now arises, is it to end before it assumes a substantial form? Is it to be a mere chimera gotten up to entertain and delude the world? If Alexander aspires to the approval of all enlightened people beyond the limits of his own empire, he must make good his claim to it by a determined policy, carrying in it the germ of civil and political liberty. It will not do to “tickle the ears of the groundlings” with high-sounding phrases of human progress, while he fetters their limbs with manacles of iron. There can be no such thing as a graduated despotism – a stringent form of controlling the ignorant and a mild form of controlling the intelligent – under one system of government. The ways to knowledge, to honorable distinction, to wealth and happiness, must be open to all; justice must be administered with impartiality, and wherever there is taxation there must be representation. There can not be one kind of justice for the rich and another for the weak; constitutions for some and despotisms for others. The machine must be complete in all its parts, and work with a common accord, or it will soon become deranged and break to pieces.

Peter the Great did much toward the physical improvement of the country. He built up cities, created a navy, organized an army, extended his dominions, encouraged education, and fostered the mechanical arts; but he held a tight rein upon his subordinate officers, and suppressed what little freedom the masses enjoyed. He was ambitious, and liked to enjoy a reputation for enlightenment, but no regard for civilization beyond the power it gave him to extend his dominions. His subjects were merely his instruments. All he learned in other countries was to sharpen them and keep them in order, that he might use them to the best advantage. His ambition was not of the highest or noblest kind. The page he has left in history is interesting and instructive, but there is nothing in it to warrant the belief that it will be selected by a remote posterity to be bound up among the lives of truly great and good men. Catharine II. extended the privileges of the nobility, made wars upon inoffensive nations, corrupted the morals of her people, and manifested her regard for the serfs by giving large numbers of them away to her paramours. The Emperor Alexander I. was ambitious of distinction, as the most cultivated and enlightened sovereign of his time. He issued liberal edicts, but seldom observed them. He wished to be thought friendly to liberty, without sacrificing any of his despotic privileges. He gave a Constitution to the Poles, but surrounded it by such forms and influences that they could derive no advantage from it. He was weak, cunning, and conceited; given rather to the delicate evasions of diplomacy than to the bold straightforwardness of truth and honor. The Emperor Nicholas was utterly selfish and despotic in all his instincts. He professed to take a profound interest in the cause of emancipation, but it was purely a question of policy with him. He cared nothing about human rights. His dark and cruel nature was unsusceptible of a noble or generous impulse. While he preached liberal generalities, he ruled his subjects with an iron rod. He was bigoted, narrow-minded, and brutal. The sense of right was not in his nature. His ambition was to be an object of heathenish idolatry to his subjects – whether as a god or devil it mattered nothing; fear was the only incense he was capable of craving; and if such a nature can be susceptible of enjoyment, his consisted in the abasement of his fellow-creatures. The severity of his decrees, the rigor of his administration, and the attributes of infallibility which he cast around his person, caused him to be regarded with awe, but not with love. He could brook no opposition nor survive a failure. Few tears were shed when he was stricken down in his pride. He left but a small legacy of good deeds to endear him in the memory of his subjects. The haughty Czar lies dead in his sepulchre – cold, stern, and solitary as he lived.

Nicholas left his country in a distracted and unhappy condition – deeply in debt; commerce deranged; the military service in the worst possible condition, and nearly every branch of the public service in the hands of corrupt and incapable men. Well might he say to his own son upon his dying bed, “Poor Alexander, my beloved son, where lie the ills of unhappy Russia?” Well might he endeavor to make atonement for his errors by recommending at his last hour the emancipation of the serfs.

The milder spirit of Alexander reigns in his place. What future, then, does this humane young sovereign propose to himself and his country? He gives personal liberty to the serfs, but he can not allow them to become intelligent and responsible beings. If they do, they will no longer acknowledge his right to deprive them of political liberty. He removes various restrictions from the press, and the moment the light of intelligence strikes upon the minds of his subjects, they call for a constitution and the overthrow of a despotic camarilla. He undertakes to restrain a powerful, intelligent, and unscrupulous aristocracy, who by instinct, education, and self-interest hate the very name of freedom, and they turn against him, and provoke those whom he would serve to acts of rebellion against his authority. We can scarcely wonder that this is the case when we consider the interests they have at stake. It is not likely that they will quietly relinquish their accustomed source of revenue. On the other hand, the argument is advanced, and with a good share of reason, that the emancipation of the serfs is really a benefit to the owners. It relieves them of enormous responsibilities, and, by encouraging industry, increasing the intelligence, self-reliance, and capacity of the serfs themselves, makes their labor more profitable to the landed proprietors. This is a view of the case, however, in which they have no faith. Believing in nothing free except the free use of authority in their own persons, they can not be brought to understand the advantages of free labor.

But these considerations do not, by any means, comprise all the difficulties in which Russia is now placed. The dependencies are constantly in revolt. Constant troubles are going on in the remote districts. Nine millions of the population – the old believers who do not profess the prevailing religion – have their secret conferences, their plans and purposes, all antagonistical to the existing form of government. A reign of terror exists in Poland. The Finns detest their rulers, and are only kept in a partial state of quietude by a total subversion of the liberties guaranteed to them under the Constitution. The municipal franchises existing in the various provinces of Russia are a mere mockery; mayors and corporate officers are imprisoned or banished without cause or process of law. The councils of the government are secret, and nobody can conjecture how long he may be permitted to enjoy his personal liberty. The exchequer is annually deficient from thirty to forty millions of rubles. Public credit is growing worse and worse every day, and the whole country is falling into a condition of bankruptcy. It is evident, even to the most superficial observer, that a great crisis is at hand. The Poles are united in their resistance to the despotic sway of the government. Witness the late bloody massacres in Warsaw (1862), against which the whole civilized world cries aloud in horror! They will not now be satisfied with empty professions and still emptier concessions. They demand a Constitution – not a mere paper Constitution, like that of 1815, made to be violated by every lackey of the government sent to coerce them. They demand civil, political, and religious liberty. Can the emperor grant it to a dependency, and withhold it from the body of his people?

This has been tried for nearly half a century – ever since 1815 – and what has it resulted in? Are the Poles any better satisfied now than they were then? Are they benefited and enlightened by being cut down and hacked to pieces by a set of drunken and bloodthirsty Cossacks in the name of the great Russian government?

The Emperor Alexander must adopt some other system. He will never reduce the Poles to submission in that way. Overpowered and cut to pieces they may be, but not conquered. They belong to the unconquerable races of mankind. The blood that heroes, and heroines, and martyrs are made of runs in the veins of every man, woman, and child of the Polish nation. If they can not govern themselves, it is equally certain they can not be governed by any despotic power. It is not by slaughtering defenseless women and children; not by forcing churches to be opened; not by sending savage and heartless minions to crush the people down in the dust, that Alexander II. is to win a reputation for humanity and liberality. It is not by issuing edicts of emancipation to his serfs, and then, at the instigation of a cruel and ruthless camarilla, deluging the country with their blood to keep them quiet, that he is going to do it. It is not by extending privileges to the press and the universities, and then, by a sudden and violent suppression of all liberty, undertake to arrest some abuses, that he is likely to achieve it. It is not by countenancing venal and unscrupulous writers to sustain every outrage that his nobles may choose to perpetrate, and banishing all who respectfully remonstrate against their misconduct, that he is to attain the highest eminence as a civilized sovereign. It is not by keeping up a system of foreign surveillance, by which Russians in other countries are watched and their lives threatened, that these glorious results are to be achieved. His secret police may (on their own responsibility or his, it matters little to the victims which) assassinate M. Herzain, the editor of the Kolokol, in London; but if they do, a thousand Herzains will rise in his place. No; it is by no such means as these that the name of Alexander II. is to be transmitted to posterity as the most liberal and enlightened sovereign of the age.

If he would regenerate Russia – if he would avert the dismemberment of a great empire – if he would accomplish the noble mission upon which the world gives him the credit of having started, he must banish from his presence all evil councils; he must be true to himself and the great cause of humanity; he must give all his people, and all his dependencies, a liberal and equitable constitution, which will protect them from the despotic sway of military governors and the aristocracy. He must establish a constitutional government, complete in all its parts; abolish secret tribunals, and open the avenues of knowledge and justice to all. He must see that the laws are fairly and equitably administered. He must enlarge the liberty of the press, and proscribe no man for his opinions, unless in cases of treason, and under peculiar circumstances of civil commotion endangering the public safety. He must abolish the censorship of the colleges, universities, and places of public amusement, and leave them to be regulated by the municipal authorities. In short, he must cease to be a despot and become a constitutional monarch. Will he do it? Can he do it? Does he possess the moral courage to do it? Time alone can answer these questions. I sincerely believe the emperor is a good man, actuated by the best motives, but not always governed by the wisest counsels. I believe he now has an opportunity of earning a name that enlightened men will bless through all time to come. So far, it is to be regretted that he has not pursued the most consistent course, but it is not yet too late to retrieve his errors. One thing is certain – there can be no half-way measures of reform in Russia. The spirit of the age – the general increase of intelligence – requires a radical change. He can not be autocrat and king at the same time. He must be one or the other. If he tries both, the empire will be dismembered before many years.