as in La Fontaine’s fable. We had supper and tea, and the ex-soldier related the experiences of his life, saying he had travelled much and seen the world (he was a Cossack by birth) and was not merely a Muzhik. This offended one of the peasants, a bearded man, who walked up from his place and grunted in protest, and then walked back again.
They began to talk politics. The Cossack was asked his opinion on the attitude of the Cossacks. He said their attitude had changed, and that they objected to police service. The photographer from Tchelabinsk corroborated this statement, saying he had been present at a Cossack meeting in Siberia. Then we had a short concert. The photographer produced a mandoline and played tunes. All the inmates of the carriage gathered round him. One of the peasants said: “Although I am an ignorant man” (it was the peasant who had grunted) “I could see at once that he wasn’t simply playing with his fingers, but with something else” (the tortoiseshell that twangs the mandoline). He asked the photographer how much a mandoline cost. On being told thirty roubles he said he would give thirty roubles to be able to play as well as that. Somebody, by way of appreciation, put a cigarette into the mouth of the photographer as he was playing.
I went to bed in the next compartment, but not to sleep, because a carpenter, who had the bed opposite mine, told me the whole melancholy story of his life. The volunteer appeared later; he had been educated in the Cadet Corps, and I asked him if he would soon be an officer, “I will never be an officer,” he answered; “I don’t want to be one now.” I asked him if a statement I had read in the newspapers was true, to the effect that several officers had telegraphed to the Government that unless they were relieved of police duty they would resign. He said it was quite true; that discontent prevailed among officers; that the life was becoming unbearable; that they were looked down upon by the rest of the people; and besides this, they were ordered about from one place to another. He liked the officers whom he was with, but they were sick of the whole thing. Then, towards one in the morning, I got a little sleep. As soon as it was daylight, everybody was up making tea and busily discussing politics. The priest and the tradesman were having a discussion about the Duma, and everyone else, including the guard, was joining in.
“Do you understand what the Duma was?” said the tradesman; “the Duma was simply the people. Do you know what all that talk of a movement of liberation means? It means simply this: that we want control, responsibility. That if you are to get or to pay five roubles or fifty roubles, you will get or pay five roubles or fifty roubles, not more and not less, and that nobody will have the right to interfere; and that if someone interferes he will be responsible. The first thing the Duma asked for was a responsible Ministry, and the reason why it was dissolved is that the Government would not give that.”
The priest said that he approved of a Duma, but unless men changed themselves, no change of government was of any use. “Man must change inwardly,” he said.
“I believe in God,” answered the tradesman, “but it is written in the Scripture that God said: ‘Take the earth and cultivate it,’ and that is what we have got to do—to make the best of this earth. When we die we shall go to Heaven, and then”—he spoke in a practical tone of voice which settled the matter—“then we shall have to do with God.” The priest took out his Bible and found a passage in the Gospel. “This revolutionary movement will go on,” he said, “nothing can stop it now; but mark my words, we shall see oceans of blood shed first, and this prophecy will come true,” and he read the text about one stone not being left on another.
They then discussed the priesthood and the part played by priests. “The priests play an abominable part,” said the tradesman; “they are worse than murderers. A murderer is a man who goes and kills someone. He is not so bad as the man who stays at home and tells others to kill. That is what the priests do.” He mentioned a monk who had preached against the Jews in the south of Russia. “I call that man the greatest criminal, because he stirred up the peasants’ blood, and they went to kill the Jews. Lots of peasants cease to go to church and say their prayers at home because of this. When the Cossacks come to beat them, the priests tell them that they are sent by God. Do you believe they are sent by God?” he asked, turning to the bearded peasant.
“No,” answered the peasant; “I think they are sent by the devil.” The priest said that the universal dominion of the Jews was at hand. The tradesman contested this, and said that in Russia the Jews were assimilated more quickly than in other countries. “The Jews are cunning,” said the priest; “the Russians are in a ditch, and they go to the Jews and say: ‘Pull us out.’” “If that is true,” said the tradesman, “we ought to put up a gold statue to the Jews for pulling us out of the ditch. Look at the time of the pogroms; the rich Russians ran away, but the richest Jews stayed behind.” “They are clever; they knew their business. If they stayed you may be sure they gained something by it,” said the merchant from Kursk. “But we ought to be clever, too,” said the tradesman, “and try and imitate their self-sacrifice. Look at the Duma. There were twenty Jews in the Duma, but they did not bring forward the question of equal rights for the Jews before anything else, as they might have done. It is criminal for the priests to attack the Jews, and if they go on like this, the people will leave them.”
“Whereas,” said the merchant from Kursk thoughtfully, “if they helped the people, the people would never desert them.” “The priests,” said one of the other nondescript people, “say that Catherine the Second is a goddess; and for that reason her descendants have a hundred thousand acres. General Trepov will be canonised when he dies, and his bones will work miracles.”
The guard joined in here, and told his grievances at great length.