"Is it not a sin," exclaimed I, "a great sin? We in the Government of Tambov, as you all know, can buy a good cow for that money, and with that there would be ready food for all the chicks and brats, and no need for them to go about begging for food."
"That may be so," agreed my visitor; and then he became silent and continued to drink his mug of tea.
Watching my poor folk, I would sometimes ask them if they cared for tea, and always received the same reply:
"Why of course we all like tea, but it is too dear for us. Naturally our masters may indulge in it, but we are poor people with empty pockets, while vodka is quite within our reach, and is cheap and plentiful everywhere."
"Yes," I said to myself, "Count Witte has not shrunk from tempting the poor people everywhere in every way. He introduced the diabolical habit amongst them of buying their alcohol in small bottles at a conveniently low price. Thus any beggar can buy one of these bottles and put it in his pocket." This drink question made me feel sometimes exceedingly wretched. Surely, I said to myself, something might be done? The evil done by Witte's demoralising measure is well understood by the Germans. As soon as they occupied the Polish provinces in Russia, one of their first steps was not only to re-open all the alcohol shops, but to add greatly to their number. Let us hope that this evil, like the occupation itself, is only temporary.
If some benevolent person would make alcohol very expensive and tea very cheap and therefore accessible, another of my dreams would be realised. But fairies are scarce. Yet perhaps there exists a means by which this end may be attainable.
If the duty on imported tea were greatly diminished, as well as the excise on sugar, a great step towards sobriety would thereby be assured. People who are indifferent to the moral condition of Russia assure me that this would cause too heavy a loss of Government revenue. They may be right, but I should suppose that any temporary loss of revenue would soon be made up by the increased demand for tea and sugar, which would undoubtedly be immense, both articles being so important to our people's comfort. Still less doubt could there be about the moral advantage. Temperance has, it is agreed, an enormously beneficial effect.
Those who want to see this for themselves and to study this question thoroughly, should go especially to Plotsk in our Polish provinces, and visit there our Old Catholics called "Mariavites" and their bishops. It cannot be sufficiently well known that since this noble religious movement began in the year 1871 (when the Pope's infallibility was proclaimed), 200,000 people have become Mariavites, thanks to the efforts and example of their bishops and priests, and that all the congregation is composed of absolute teetotallers. A leading and curious characteristic of Bishop Kovalsky's parish is that they are all absolute teetotallers—materially very poor, but rich in faith and energy. Each of them joyfully brings to the Church his hard-earned contribution, with the result that the community is well provided with churches, schools, workshops, etc.
Try to understand by this example what voluntary efforts, personal sacrifices and teetotalism may do. Since these lines were written, God has taken pity upon us, and on the declaration of War, our noble and courageous Emperor came to our rescue by ordering the closing of the vodka bars and the total prohibition of alcohol. From all the reports, this measure, drastic though it was, has elicited not the complaints, but rather the blessings of the entire country. A curious fact is also traceable to this wise legislation in many parts of Russia: the village banks have never been in better funds than now, while crime has enormously diminished, and family life flourishes.