The dawn in Russia

by Henry Woodd Nevinson

But even the oldest members of the Council must have been dimly aware of changing times, for instead of the familiar old Marie Palace on the square opposite St. Isaac’s cathedral, where so many happy afternoons of important idleness had been spent, they now found themselves in the “Noblemen’s Assembly” or Club, quite a dignified and classic place, but not the house they were accustomed to. And actually mixed up among them stood a lot of elected and unknown gentlemen, representing the Church, the Universities, Commerce and Industry, the big towns, and other dubious institutions that hang upon the borderland of vulgarity. What was worse, all the six representatives of the Universities openly professed the Constitutional Democratic faith, and five or six more were known to lean towards that terrible party which dominated the Lower House. The only consolation was that just half the Council were still nominated by the Tsar himself, and that of the rest some eighty per cent. could be trusted to agree with any Tsar’s nominees. It was a relief also to discover that the very few who possessed no uniforms had shown the decency of putting on evening dress when they got up that morning.

By two o’clock a good many members had assembled. Goremykin, the new Premier, was there, languid and neutral in the ministerial stalls. Alexeieff of Manchuria came, and Ignatieff, the Tsar’s fat friend, and no one thought it strange when the Metropolitan of St. Petersburg bestowed three kisses of holy peace upon Golitzin, the slaughterer of the Caucasus. Trepoff, who rules the Imperial circle, and parched old Pobiedonostzeff, so long Russia’s guide to God, were reported present. Durnovo, late ill-omened Minister of Interior, was there, and at his side Witte, his uncertain enemy, had come to hear his own belated appointment as member of the Council read out, and to meditate the tearful appeal for amnesty by which three days later he was to reveal to his brothers the workmen a heart melting in pity over the woes he had himself inflicted.

So they gathered and chatted and sat down, and then, having nothing else to do, they prayed. For forty minutes the golden priests prayed and sang at golden tables placed before the portrait of the Tsar. Then Count Solsky, whom the Tsar had chosen as President, took his seat, a few messages were read, it was agreed to return a gracious answer to the speech from the throne, and Count Solsky, who is much like the late Lord Salisbury in appearance, did what Lord Salisbury himself would have done under the circumstances: he yawned, muttered something inaudible, and adjourned the assembly by turning his back upon it.

The action of the Council throughout would well have become any Second Chamber in the world, but in the Duma things did not go so leisurely, nor were the members so content with the result. On Saturday, May 12th, at eleven, the first true meeting of a popular assembly in Russia began. For nearly twelve hours on end that sitting continued, and yet the immense labour of Russian reform seemed to have advanced no step. Members chafed with impatience. Why not make a beginning since all were agreed, and so much had now to be accomplished? The same impatience was seen lately even in England, where we have spent six centuries in attempting to perfect the method of self-government. But in Russia the lesson began that day, the evils to be amended were incomparably vaster, and the need of haste was such as England cannot conceive. For over the Duma the sword hung by a hair. The very approach to the Taurida Palace passed through long lines of barracks, and in the left wing of the building itself companies of the Guards had just been stationed, ready for any event.

And as to waste of time, let us remember the difficulties that beset the infant Parliament. The chamber itself was a large amphitheatre of seats gently rising on steps, each seat fitted with a desk. In a long gallery at the back of the amphitheatre, ambassadors, strangers, and ladies were allowed to be present, and the Russian ladies are so far advanced in civilization that no metal bars were thought necessary to restrain their savage tendencies. Opposite, in the middle of the semicircle’s diameter, rose the President’s high box, and just below it was the Tribune, from which all members were obliged to speak, except for very short questions or explanations. The President grasped a large bell, but managed to control the assembly without a wig or robes. Behind his chair was a large open space, furnished with tables, where the ballotting and counting took place. On each side of the chamber was a large, empty lobby, and behind it a vast hall with polished floor ran from end to end of the building, for the meetings of groups and the discovery of wisdom by members as they walked. Beyond the hall were dining-rooms, tea-rooms, telegraph rooms, telephones, committee-rooms, receptacles for goloshes, and all else that the nature of a member of parliament requires.

To return to the Chamber, on the right and left of the President’s box, and facing the assembly, were a number of raised seats for any Ministers who might choose to attend. The Ministers had no connection with the assembly; they might not vote; they were responsible only to the Tsar, who appointed them. Among the members there were no Ministers, there was no “Government,” there was no one to arrange the order of business or the introduction of measures. Any member got up and proposed what he pleased. In the subsequent discussion on the Address, for instance, from eleven in the morning till seven at night, members rose in succession and made stupendous proposals of reform that were neither discussed nor rejected. At first the parties did not even divide themselves into Right and Left, but members took their seats anyhow, and when in a few days the inevitable division began to show itself, the Right was so scanty as to be hardly visible. Though the true Right numbered about seventy, they were ashamed to be seen on the right, and all members edged as far left as possible. Votes were taken sometimes by members standing up, sometimes by division into lobbies, but the ultimate appeal was to secret ballot, so that it was impossible to calculate a party’s votes or to control the relation of a member to his constituents’ desire. During the speeches, applause was rare, but at the end members vigorously clapped their hands if they were pleased. They spoke of each other by bare surnames, and would probably use Christian names in Russian fashion as they became more intimate. They addressed the assembly as “Gentlemen,” and even as “Comrades.” The President freely interrupted speakers, argued with them, and gave them little lectures on the procedure and Constitutional Law of other countries. On the first day several members wanted to speak two or three times upon the same question, and explanations of previous speeches were as long as the originals.

There were many difficulties and many differences from our own ancient habits, around which the interesting rags and tatters of the past still flutter. But in starting fresh, the Russian Parliament had at least as much advantage as difficulty, and it will rapidly develop improvements for which we ourselves shall long have to fight against the ghostly influence of our forefathers. One of the first acts of the Duma was to appoint a committee of nineteen to draw up a new scheme of procedure, and they had many lessons to suggest to older Parliaments. But all these discussions on methods and the inevitable mistakes of beginners meant waste of time, and waste of time was more irritating to the Duma members than to our own, because, being peasants and workmen, the majority of them were more serious, their hopes were younger, and, having no Ministers, they had no one to abuse.

As to the course of business itself, almost the whole of the first full day was occupied in nominating candidates as Vice-Presidents and four secretaries. The names of the members proposed had to be collected in boxes and arranged in lists. Then followed a slow march round and round the President’s box for the ballot. That slow march lasted for hours. Next day (Sunday) it was renewed for the election of thirty-three members to draw up an Address in answer to the Tsar’s speech. When that was over the committee of nineteen had to be elected for procedure. Monday there was no meeting because the Address was being prepared. Tuesday they began to talk about the Address. Wednesday they continued talking about the Address, and the wrongs of Russia were at least mentioned. On Thursday the Address was discussed clause by clause, and a week of the Duma had gone.[8]

To most of the Constitutional Democrats who held the majority inside the Duma, to highly educated men like Professor Muromtzeff, the President, or Professor Miliukoff, who directed the party from the outside, because the Government did not allow his election—to men like these it was probably evident that all this talk on procedure and discussion of principles were essential to popular government, and that delay was part of every great beginning. But the Duma was democratic beyond anything that our House of Commons has yet imagined. Certainly it contained only about fifteen workmen from the towns, because the election of others was annulled by the violence of authority. But it contained about 170 of the peasant class, a few of whom had educated themselves highly and quitted their villages; but some could not read, and nearly all were fine, heavy-browed countrymen, with big shoulders and great brown hands. They had left their dear strips of earth, their dear horses and ploughs, and had come to the smelling city for the one and only purpose of winning the land back for the people who work it. What did it profit them to walk on polished floors with top-boots clean and long coats neatly brushed; to listen to discourses on constitutional procedure; to talk in tea-rooms with men who do not know sand from clay; to tramp for hours dropping marbles into green boxes; and to receive invitations to banquets which they most honourably refused?

They yearned for the old horse at home, and for the fragrant earth where the corn was sprouting now. They were on a holy mission; they would not go back. “We dare not go back without the land,” they said; “our villagers would kill us.” In some cases, aged peasants of pious gravity had been sent up at the expense of the village as overseers to watch that the members did their duty, and to complain straight to the Tsar if the land was not restored to its cultivators at once. Forty-three of the peasant members were supposed to belong to the Right and were roughly classed as the “Black Hundred,” though in these early days of the Duma they voted steadily with the rest. But if the Labour Party, as the majority of the peasants and the workmen combined began then to be called, felt a little puzzled and impatient at the number of things that had to be done before anything could be done, it was no wonder. We can also understand the difficulties of a Professor of Constitutional Law brought face to face with such a situation.