Whatever beautiful things Russia still had, however, were placed in the stores along with the necessities. They were not regarded as luxuries for the few. Art belongs to every one in Soviet Russia.
I learned that the high wall which used to surround the Winter Palace of the Czar had been torn down, and when I asked why this had been done, was told that there was a beautiful garden back of this wall, and since “beauty should not be hidden from the people,” they had torn down the wall so that all might see the garden. The palace itself was unoccupied. Its art treasures had been removed to Moscow, and placed in museums there. It was planned to make a museum of the palace later.
On my second day in Petrograd I went out to Smolny Institute, a large stone structure overlooking the Neva, formerly a school for the daughters of the aristocracy, now the office building of the officials and workers of the Northern Commune and Petrograd Soviet.
In front of the institute there was set up a large statue of Karl Marx. It looked impressive enough from a distance. But when I passed on my way into the building and looked back at the statue I discovered Karl Marx—a silk hat in his hand. I have not yet been able to get over my memory of the great economist standing there, heroically erect, before the headquarters of the workingmen’s government, holding a silk hat.
In Smolny Institute I met Zinovieff, president of the Petrograd Soviet, a curly-haired, impetuous Jew, full of energy and with a deep understanding of the Russian revolutionary movement. He has been a life-long friend of Lenin and was his companion in exile. I found him distrustful at first, but very cordial when convinced that my intentions were honest.
“Do you still talk about nationalization of women in America?” he asked me with a broad grin. He was the only official in Soviet Russia who ever mentioned the subject to me.
Later in the day I attended a meeting of the Petrograd Soviets which included representatives of all unions, army, navy and peasants. They were assembled in the Tauride Palace, where the Duma met formerly. A decree for compulsory education for adults was under consideration, and Zinovieff spoke for the adoption of the decree. I could not, of course, understand his impassioned address, which subsequent translation revealed to be a clear analysis of the whole educational problem. He has a high-pitched voice, which grated on my ears sometimes, but rang with earnestness and conviction. The decree, which is now in effect, was passed by a practically unanimous vote.
It provided that after November 1, 1919, all adults of the Northern Commune unable to read and write would have to attend public school classes two hours daily for six months, at the end of which time those unable to pass the examinations were to be denied the right to work. For their hours of study the decree provided that they be paid wages at the rate in effect in their branches of industry.
For those illiterates in occupations requiring eight hours labor, the working day was reduced to six, giving them the opportunity to spend the full two hours in school. The six-hour day in force in the hazardous occupations was reduced to four hours.
Soviet officials informed me that passage of the decree did not mean that those who were unable to assimilate knowledge would be denied the right to work. That disciplining would be invoked only for those capable ones who wilfully refused to study. The measure was but one of the efforts of the Soviet Government to hasten the development of the intellectual side of the people’s life and to raise culture in general. Under Czars there were few public schools, and these were inefficiently conducted. Seventy-five percent of the people could not read or write.