ANARCHISTS
With the idea of coaxing the prisoners into their association the Bolsheviks used to arrange “evenings” for them. There would be speeches, plays, some music, and, at the end of it all, dancing. The Anarchists always attended, and were easily the most interesting people present. Their leader was the man I have described in a previous chapter as having murdered two whole families. He was thought to be insane, and there was a horrible set stare in his eyes as if he were haunted by the ghosts of his victims. His manners seemed to indicate that among other laws to be abolished were those of good society. He used to come smoking a long thick pipe, and when he saw that any one was at the proper distance behind him, he used to swing round suddenly and hit the man a smack in the face with the hot bowl. Then his pipe used to be passed round from one to other of the Anarchists, and, with the terrible eye of their leader upon them, they would have to look as if they enjoyed it. The Bolsheviks did not quite know what to do with the Anarchists, as none of their hirelings were anxious to pull this particular chestnut out of the fire for them. They gave a great deal of trouble. They once raided the Police Office and destroyed all the criminal records. On another occasion they surrounded the market, and after having fired into the air, stole everything they could grab in the panic that followed. At last the Bolsheviks hit upon the plan of sending them to fight Simeonof. They rode through the town in fine style, their band playing, their black flag flying, and a pleased crowd to see them off. But when the train reached the front scarcely an Anarchist was left. They had nearly all sold their rifles and run away en route.
PRO-GERMANISM
Meanwhile the treaty with Germany had been signed and ratified, and German influence once more became dominant in Russia. German officers travelled up and down Siberia inspecting positions for defence. Under their directions, it was said, a great camp had been built on the River Selenga in order to hold up any advance from the east. At Irkutsk a building was got ready to house a staff of eighty German officers. From time to time prisoners of war occupied the telegraph office, took notes of all telegrams that had been sent, and for days together were in immediate communication with the Fatherland. German trade agents were busy in Irkutsk concluding contracts on terms which the Russians protested were very easy. Delivery of the goods was promised for August, payment was to be in three instalments, the third not to be till a year after the close of war, and the rouble was to be taken at par. The rich merchant class, I found, were quite reconciled to the separate peace, since it gave them an opportunity of trading with Germany. They violently objected to doing business with any one else. They understood the Germans and the Germans understood them. It is so all over Russia, and when the peace of the world is restored, the Russian merchants will welcome the chance of returning to their German friends. Nearly all the newspapers wrote in the German interest. An account of the attack on Zeebrugge appeared in a Soviet newspaper under the heading, “How they lie.” Even now German influence is still almost as strong as ever. Within the last month or two newspapers have been suppressed because of their rabid Anglophobia combined with pro-Germanism. At a certain Siberian town, when the English Consul gave to the local papers an account of the terms of the Armistice, they absolutely refused to print them. They declared that Germany would never assent to a fifth of those terms. And finally the Bolsheviks appointed as their Commander-in-Chief a German noble from Riga—Baron von Taube. How came a nobleman to be in that galley? The relations between the Bolsheviks and the Germans were hard to fathom. On the one hand, there was the pro-German, anti-Entente propaganda of their newspapers, and the fact that some hundreds of German officers of high rank were in the Bolshevik service assuming control of operations. On the other hand, there was the Socialist, anti-monarchical propaganda among the prisoners, which must have been extremely distasteful to the German Government. With characteristic perfidity the Bolsheviks were trying to make the best of both worlds, taking from the Capitalist Governments what they were willing to give, and using the breathing-space they gained in order to undermine Capitalism everywhere. But it is still not clear how far the German Government was ready to go, and whether they would have allowed all the prisoners to be armed and sent to the Japanese front. The concentration of prisoners at Irkutsk could not have taken place without their consent, and it must have meant something. It seems very much as if the recent sudden activity in the Bolshevik armies was due to a German brain. This vigorous and successful fighting north, east, south and west points to a superior intellect at work somewhere. And the Bolsheviks have shown no such military genius in their campaigns that one might expect it to come from them.
BRITISH CONSUL
Meanwhile in this nest of German intrigue my position became very difficult. I have not dwelt at length upon my reasons for severing my connection with Germany. I think they will be obvious to any civilized person. In renouncing my allegiance I left all I possessed in the hands of the Germans, so that [at] any rate I did not get the best of the bargain. In the circumstances I went to the English Consul, explained to him how I stood, and that I feared that I might be made to fight for Germany or the Bolsheviks in the immediate future, and asked him for a paper enabling me to get out of Russia. There followed weary months of waiting while we telegraphed to the Home Government. The Bolsheviks delayed all and suppressed half of what we tried to send. At last a wire arrived announcing that British protection was to be accorded to me. But that was only half the battle, the more strenuous half was with the Soviet. They absolutely refused to let me go. The British Consul at Irkutsk had a great name with them; they were more afraid of him than of all the other consuls put together. When they heard that he was interested in a matter, they used to give up resistance to him as a bad job. But in my case some influence stiffened them, and they were obstinate. Not that they wished me ill. With that touch of topsy-turvydom, which is never absent from Russian affairs, they urged the Consul to let me escape. “Why doesn’t he escape?” they said. “It is quite easy.” And it was—for Germans. Meanwhile I was spied on wherever I went. In the morning when I went down to the Consul’s, a tall Austrian officer used to pick me up and march behind me with set military pace until I had “reached my objective.” Afterwards he would follow me home again, keeping exactly the same distance all the while. His countenance was so lean and mournful that I could not help christening him “Don Quixote.” But I was sorry for the Austrians; I thought they had more brains than to spy like that. Then, quite unexpectedly, the Central Soviet at Moscow telegraphed that I was to be allowed to go. I have since found out that it was through a lucky misunderstanding.[1] Anyhow the Irkutsk people at last gave me a licence to travel. But my troubles were not over yet. The stations all along the line were picketed with prisoners of war, whose business it was to see that only the right prisoners escaped. They cared nothing for the Soviet’s licence. At other stations there were Red Guards whose business it was to see that no one left Russia too rich. Our journey was full of thrills, but fortunately without adventure. We only just escaped, however. We wanted to leave the train and go down the river by boat from Stretensk; but as our passports said nothing about this route, the local Soviet would not allow us to go. We watched the others depart with envy and regret. That boat was held up by brigands, and the passengers robbed of all they possessed. At other times it is a journey I can recommend—especially in May. Once more the hills were purple with rhododendron, and the woods were deep with a profusion of wild flowers, all the prettier for being unknown. At last one evening our train ran down into Vladivostok, and we saw again the sea, and the Suffolk flying the English flag.
RELEASE
I have tried in these papers to avoid as much as possible questions of principle, and without malice or favour to relate what my experiences were. To some I may appear like those Catholic historians, who think that they have demolished the Reformation when they have proved the land-hunger of the great Protestant nobles, or like the Protestants, who imagine that they have demonstrated the absurdity of Catholicism when they have made out a list of the crimes of the Borgias. What I have said has scarcely anything to do with first principles. The Revolution will fail, as all Revolutions fail, in that it will be followed by a violent reaction apparently sweeping away every trace of its existence. The Revolution will succeed, as all Revolutions succeed, in that it has planted an idea in men’s minds, where it is inviolable, and in due time it will ripen and bring forth fruit an hundredfold. I should be sorry if it should be thought that I have done an injustice to Russia. There is no country so difficult for an Englishman to understand. Nothing is certain about it except its surprises. The Russians are as muddle-headed and stupid as the Englishman of a Daily Mail nightmare, and as quick in perception and polished as a Frenchman, as fond of tea and talk as an Oriental, as open-minded, acute, and subtle as an Athenian, as lazy as a Spaniard, as passionate as an Italian, as cold at heart and calculating as an Irishman, honest, simple, and kindly as the German of the good old fairy tales, yet, in their wrath, as brutal as the Tartars from whom they spring, and, in revenge, as cunning and implacable as a Jew, capable in one and the same person of superb devotion and repellent treachery, dreamers and idealists, yet with a terrible gift of clear vision, especially with regard to themselves, in the highest examples of the race the body all fire and the brain all light, the inheritors of a language the most flexible, persuasive, and harmonious ever moulded by the lips of man—how could I do justice to them? There is no need to fear for Russia. When, in the words of Shelley’s famous chorus, the world’s great age begins anew and the golden years return, Russia, made alive in every part of her by the struggle for freedom, is sure to take a giant’s share in the building up again of our shattered universe.