X SÄNGER'S FALL
The sudden dismissal of the minister of public instruction, the former university professor Sänger, led me to discuss it more exhaustively with several high dignitaries who willingly gave me information during my sojourn in St. Petersburg. I had the opportunity of conversing with persons exceptionally well-informed, but, for reasons easily conceivable, I am not permitted to mention their names. I report here, from my notes, an interview with a person standing near to the retired minister, and still in active government service, because it seems interesting to me even now.
"In the first place," said my informant, "you must not believe that Sänger was dismissed. He himself insisted that his resignation, repeatedly offered, be finally accepted. Scarcely two days ago the Czar asked a general, highly esteemed by him, who came here from Warsaw, where Sänger had formerly acted as curator of the university, as to his opinion of Sänger, and the general answered that he considered Sänger a very honest and learned man. 'I have just that opinion of him myself,' said the Czar, complainingly, 'but he positively would not remain.'"
"Why does your excellency believe that Sänger had become so tired of his position?"
"There are permanent and special reasons. The permanent ones are harder to explain than the special ones. I therefore begin with the more difficult. A minister of public instruction—'lucus a non lucendo'—has here a very difficult post when he is an honest man and really desires to live up to his duties. For what he is really asked to do is, that he do not enlighten the people, that he do nothing for education, that he merely pretend activity. We need no education; we need obedience. That, of course, is not said to the Czar, who really believes that he is being served honestly. But in the end it amounts to this, that only one man rules here, the minister of the interior and chief of the secret police, and that all the other ministers must dance to his music. I make exception here, to a certain extent, of the ministers of war and of finance. But if in any case there be a possibility of conflict between any other department and the omnipotent police ministry, that other department must subordinate itself to the rule of the latter. For von Plehve stands guard over the security of the empire. You understand that all other considerations are silenced here. The third division (the secret police) and the Holy Synod are the pillars of our empire. Of what importance is here an inoffensive minister of instruction, or culture, as he is called in your country?"
"I should be obliged to your excellency for concrete examples."
"Here they are. There was, for instance, General Wannowski, a really competent and influential man. While he was at the head of the department of instruction he could not be so easily turned down at the court as our ordinary university professor. Wannowski even effected some reforms in our universities, but finally he, too, found it desirable to retire from the field. Do you think it possible for a minister to remain in office when a regulation prepared by him, approved by the Czar, and made public, must next day be withdrawn because the minister of the interior states in a special report that this regulation is in opposition to the general government policy and is a danger to the security of the country?"
"And has that occurred?"
"Something of that kind was a secondary cause also of Sänger's resignation. As former curator of the University of Warsaw, he knew Poland well. With the Czar's approval, he framed a regulation for instruction in Poland that was pedagogically wise and politically conciliating. Instantly Plehve made objection—for a relief of the tension everywhere prevailing does not suit his system—and secured the withdrawal of the regulation."
"But could not Sänger defend his measures?"
"His position was already weakened. Above all, his enemies succeeded in placing him under suspicion as guilty of philo-Semitism. You know, or perhaps do not know, that it is also a part of the system here to keep the Jews—particularly the Jews—from higher education; and this higher education in itself runs contrary to the desire of the dictator-general of the Holy Synod and to that of the police. A minister of public instruction, particularly when he hails from the learned professions, may easily commit the error of making science readily accessible to all properly qualified. Sänger granted some alleviation to the Jews, so that the most gifted among them, especially when their academy professor had already taken a warm interest in them, could enter the university without great difficulty. He was reproached with that, and that would have been sufficient to weaken the position of a stronger man."
"I am not familiar with the disabilities of Jewish students."
"A detailed description of these disabilities would carry you too far afield. Suffice it to state that we possess a very complicated system, particularly developed in Moscow, for the exclusion of Jewish children from the schools. The ratio of three to one hundred must, however, be conveniently tolerated. Now it happens quite frequently that, no matter how strict the director at admission, on promotion from the lower to the higher class this relation is shifted in favor of the Jews, because of their diligence and sobriety in contrast to the characteristics of the sons of the Russian officials. Then the trouble begins anew. Splendidly qualified candidates cannot enter the university, since the prescribed percentage has already been reached. The professors, however, who are not pronounced anti-Semites really like these Jewish students who have survived this process of selection, for they are really studious. But that again is opposed to the principles of the accepted policy. And whoever is inclined to take sides with the professors rather than with the bulwarks of this general policy may easily find himself in the toils, as it happened, for instance, in Sänger's case."
"Who are these bulwarks of this general policy?" An involuntary glance towards the door, as if to see whether some uninvited listener was not accidentally near—a glance I have frequently seen only in Russia—was the first answer. Then, even in lower tones than before, he proceeded.
"That is still a portion of the legacy of Alexander III., rigidly guarded by the dowager-empress, and particularly by the Grand-Duke Sergius in Moscow. When in the Russo-Turkish war enormous peculations of the military stores were discovered, the heir to the throne, then commander of a corps in the reserve, was persuaded that the Jewish contractors had defrauded the army, and the officer of the secret police, Zhikharev, exerted himself to prove that two-thirds of all the revolutionaries were Jews. That belief remained, just as a great portion of the French still cling to the belief that Dreyfus is a traitor because he is used as a scapegoat for the information-mongers of high rank on the general staff. Something similar happened here. I really have no desire to defend any Jewish contractor; but when there was in our stores lime-dust instead of flour in the sacks, quite other people than the Jews pocketed the difference. However, that is another story. Grand-Duke Sergius, of Moscow, has among his other passions bigotry and a fanatical hatred of Jews. And he is the uncle and brother-in-law of the Czar."
"Then Sänger found himself in a rather dubious position mainly as a philo-Semite?"
"At least as a man of not sufficiently pronounced anti-Semitism. But also because he was not really the man to hold his own with the generals and talents of the career-maker von Plehve. Finally, he was blamed for adverse criticism of the general principles of the government expressed at various conventions."
"At what conventions?"
"There was lately a convention of public-school teachers that presumed to criticise by speaking the truth about an intimate of Plehve's, Pronin, of Kishinef. I must emphasize here, by-the-way, that there was only an insignificant minority of Jews at that convention. Then there was a medical congress whose hygienic resolutions hid under a very thin hygienic disguise an arraignment of the system of stupefying the populace. The Lord knows Sänger had surely no premonition of these occurrences. But they concerned his department; the spirit of his staff was not right, and he alone was to blame for it, especially since von Plehve knew very well what Sänger thought of him."
"Always Plehve, and only Plehve!"
"He is our little Metternich. A representative man, to quote Emerson. The régime cannot be discussed without the mention of his name. Here is another little sample of Plehve. There is a Professor Kuzmin-Karavayev at the academy of military and international law. He was elected member of the St. Petersburg city council, and is a member of the zemstvo of Tver, a highly respected, upright man, interested in popular education. But now he has been forbidden any public activity by the following letter of von Plehve. Plehve wrote to Kuropatkin, the minister of war: 'By virtue of the authority vested in me by the Emperor on January 8, 1904, I would simply dismiss Professor Kuzmin-Karavayev as politically inconvenient. But since he is in the government service I ask you to insist that the aforesaid professor renounce all public activity.' This is literally true. You see how the omnipotent Plehve treats even a favorite like Kuropatkin, to say nothing of a timid, good professor like our Sänger! You may rest assured that, with all his upright views, we lost little in his resignation; he was without influence and too weak."
"And who will succeed him?"
"That is quite immaterial. Major-General Shilder, superintendent of the cadet corps, has already been offered the position, but he declined it. As long as Plehve's spirit and that of his minions is sweeping over the waters nothing will happen save what favors the suppression of public enlightenment and the prevention of revolution. The name is but an empty sound."
"Your excellency, should I commit an indiscretion by publishing our conversation just as it took place?"
"With the necessary precaution of leaving out my name, for I naturally have no inclination to attract the especial anger of our dictator-general. For the rest, I do not believe I have told you anything that could not be said in almost the same words by any one at all familiar with conditions as they are."
"That, your excellency, I must confirm. One of the greatest riddles for me is the formation of a public opinion in St. Petersburg, where the papers dare not even hint of what is spoken in the circles of the intelligent classes."
"Russia also has its constitution," said he, rising, and smiling significantly. "That constitution consists of the dissensions among the ministers. And when among ourselves, a certain discretion assumed, we do not stand on ceremony. Here you have the sources of public opinion"—again the significant smile—"you will perhaps understand why no minister fares well."
"Hence also Plehve?"
(A motion of despairing defence.) "He? No! speaking seriously. It is the curse of our country. May the Lord save us!"
XI THE PEOPLE'S PALACE OF ST. PETERSBURG
(NARODNI DOM)
In Potemkin's fatherland the art of government consists principally in hiding the truth not only from the people, but also from the Czar, who must be made to believe that he really strives for the welfare of the people, and not only for that of the all-powerful bureaucracy. Potemkin's art, as is well known, consisted in deceitfully showing to his beloved Empress, in a long journey, prosperous peasant farms, where in reality wretchedness and misery had established their permanent home. What the all-powerful favorite had accomplished by means of pasteboard and bushes, costs the modern Potemkins somewhat more comfort; but like their predecessor, they are in a position to supply it from the richly filled imperial treasury. The "Narodni Dom," the people's institute on the St. Petersburg fortress, is utilized to persuade the philanthropic Nicholas that in his paternally governed empire more ample provision is made for the common people and their welfare than in the heartless, civilized Western countries.
To the eye of a well-meaning ruler or of a well-disposed globe-trotter this is really a pleasant sight. Framed in alleys of tall trees, there rises in the park a far-stretching stone structure, of St. Petersburg dimensions, surmounted by a great cupola. On the payment of ten kopeks at the entrance we walk into the well-heated central portion under the dome, brightly illuminated by arc-lamps. Furs and overshoes are removed. And now an exclamation of admiration escapes our lips. A well-dressed crowd strolls naturally, without crowding and elbowing, towards a platform rising at the farther end, on which, to judge at a distance, Neapolitan folk-singers are performing. We join the procession, and when scarcely in the middle of the immense hall supported by iron girders, there resound behind us thundering notes that cause us to look upward. An orchestra stationed on a one-story-high cross-gallery has begun a Russian popular song. The singers before us stop for a while. The crowd moves forward. A negro dandy with high, white standing collar and patent-leather boots, proudly leads by the arm a voluptuous blonde of the Orpheum type. He grimly shows his teeth and fists to the scoffers who make fun of the unequal pair; but this does not end in a race conflict, for it is not yet certain whether a negro boy is more in sympathy with the Japanese or the Russians. We finally reach the interesting side of the hall, and there opens before us a still more enchanting picture. Behind long buffet-tables, kept scrupulously clean, and laden with all the delicacies of Russian cookery, from caviar sandwiches to the splendid mayonnaise of salmon, there bustle neat waitresses in white caps and broad, white aprons. The prices are maintained low throughout. The same is true of the warm dishes, the preparation of which we could watch in the large, open kitchen. Spirituous liquors are not sold, but in their place kvass, and tea from the immense copper samovar blinking in the kitchen. The glasses are continually washed by sparkling water on an automatically turning high stand. The bright nickel, the reddish shimmer of the copper, the bluish white tiles of the floor and walls, the snow-white garments of the cooks, the white light of the arc-lamps could induce a Dutchman to produce a very effective painting of neatness. We allow ourselves to be crowded forward, and after a fruitful pilgrimage, pass the folk-singers, where a part of the crowd is gathered, back towards the central hall, which we now observe at our leisure. We are struck here, in the first place, by the colossal portraits of the Emperor and Empress. They are the hosts here; for the millions for the imposing structure came from the Emperor's private purse. Then there is an immense map of the Russian empire for stimulating patriotic sentiments. But there await us still other pleasures. The entire left wing of the building is occupied by an enormous popular theatre. To-night Tschaikowski's "Maid of Orleans" is being played. We purchase tickets at the popular price of one ruble per seat, whereby we secure a place at about the middle of the extensive parterre, and are enabled to look over the public in front and at back of us; and this is not less interesting than the play on the stage. The seats in the rows ahead of us cost up to two rubles; in the rows at the back of us up to sixty kopeks. On either side are galleries and standing room that cost "only" from thirty to seventy kopeks. In comparison with the prices in the other St. Petersburg theatres those of the "Narodni Dom" must be considered decidedly popular, even though it is a peculiar class of people that can spare thirty kopeks to two rubles for an evening at the theatre, quite aside from the incidental expenses of an evening drive, of admission, and of wardrobe. But of that later.
We follow the play. The performance is decidedly respectable, from the leader to the chorus. The setting is quite brilliant, and true to style, the orchestra well trained, with some very excellent performers among the soloists. We forget, for the time being, that we are in Russia, notwithstanding the Russian language and the Russian music. It is Schiller's heroic composition which has inspired the composer. Dunoi's Lahire, Lionel, Raymond, Bertram, Agnes Sorel, Charles, the cardinal appear before us in familiar scenes, and we experience at times quite peculiar sensations when we again come across this northern night, the images, the glowing rhetoric of which in the dear tongue of our own poet had given us the first intoxication of patriotic enthusiasm. The passionately warm music of Tschaikowski, and the swing of his choruses intensify the effect of those reminiscences.
But let us return to Russian reality. A thin, black-bearded young man paces busily through the rows during one of the entr'actes. He exchanges remarks here and there with the officers and officials, whom he leaves with a smile. And in the second entr'acte it becomes evident what preparations had been made here. War had just been declared; the password had just been given out to arouse patriotic enthusiasm, or, at least, to make the attempt. Already in one or another of the theatres the public had thunderingly called for the national hymn. What is proper in the Imperial Theatre must be acceptable in the popular theatre. The curtain had fallen after the second act, when suddenly, from one of the boxlike recesses on the left gallery was heard the call "Hymn! Hymn!" Everybody looked curiously up. There were there a few uniformed young men, as we found later, student-members of that patriotic secret association organized under the patronage of the reactionaries—a stroke of Suvorin—to watch the progressive students. The orchestra replied to the call with remarkable alacrity, and the public rose dutifully smiling and stood to the beautiful hymn. But new shouts were heard. The choir must join in. The curtain rose obediently, and the entire cast of "The Maid of Orleans," Charles, Agnes, Jean d'Arc, and Lionel, Burgundy and England; the people and knights were already properly grouped and joined in the hymn with the orchestra accompaniment. The public again arose politely and listened standing. The demonstration was not yet at an end. It was reported that the hymn was sung three times in the other theatres, hence that should occur also here. And the public patiently rises for the third time, and lets the song float over it. The thin, black-bearded young man, however, rubs his hands with which he joined in the applause but shortly before, throws a significant glance to his neighbors, and hastens out. I do not know to this day whether he was an entrepreneur of the public resort, or a penny-a-liner who had arranged an interesting piece of local news.
Thus I came to see the birth of one of those patriotic demonstrations of which the papers were full in the following days. The impression was anything but striking. The fine hand of the police could be detected in the arrangement as well as in the audience. It was a forced demonstration that no one could avoid. I remember from my boyhood the explosive enthusiasm after the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war, and the evening after the battle of Sedan. In man's estate I was a non-participating observer of patriotic demonstrations in Hungary; my heart beat fast at home as well as in Hungary under the stress of sympathy. That was a real storm of feeling. Here—wet straw that would not burn. Worse. An obedient participation—woe to him who did not participate! and then a sarcastic wink felt as a compensation for the coercion just experienced.
The difference was never clearer to me between free citizens and Russian subjects, between national sentiment and obedience, as at these patriotic demonstrations under police supervision and inspiration.
And now I looked at the public more carefully. Where was the "people" among the thousands sitting in the theatre, or eddying up and down the colossal halls? not one hundred, not fifty men or women in the dress of the common people. All of it what is known in St. Petersburg as the "gray public," officials, business-men, the class with an income of two or three thousand rubles. I saw high-school instructors, students with their girls, modistes, the good, small bourgeois, that often stand morally and mentally high above the fashionable world; but the people, in our sense of the term, the workingman, the peasant, for whom the popular house was really built, in whose name the Czar was made to contribute, and to whom the building is dedicated, these were absent, and had to be absent, because they do not possess the schooling that would enable them at all to enjoy the offerings of the "Narodni Dom." The court may be persuaded that with such an institution they are marching in the vanguard of civilization, and that something of the future state has been realized with an institution that even the republics of the West do not possess; but the Russian patriots who are indeed living for their nation, and who would free it from the fetters of ignorance and superstition, only shake their heads sadly at this Potemkinism. Sand for the eyes of the philanthropic Czar, another winter resort for the St. Petersburg middle class; for the people neither "panem" nor "circenses," but for the paid eulogists a theme at which enthusiasm may be kindled—that is the "Narodni Dom," the pride of St. Petersburg. In Zurich, in Frankfort, in any place with real popular education, this "Narodni Dom" would be an ideal people's house, adapted to inspire sentiment of citizenship and patriotism, and to elevate the general culture level. In St. Petersburg it only shows the good intentions of the Czar and his consort, and the fundamental corruption of the régime. A sober, enlightened, culture-loving people would not submit to the autocracy of bureaucratic dictation shown above. It makes ideal "people's houses," but takes care that as far as possible, this house be kept free from the people.