There is a great difference throughout the land, something unmistakable, and you cannot say that it is undefinable, you know at once what it is. Vodka has disappeared. Beer has gone. Wines are sold at the chemists’ only on presentation of a medical certificate endorsed by the police. So far from relaxing, the liquor prohibition vigilance has been increased, and districts to which the Tsar’s original ukase did not apply, such as Russian Central Asia, have been taken in. You see smart officers sitting down to a bottle of citro, and it is rather a surprise that they do not grumble. Male complexions generally are becoming less red.
As a result of over two years’ temperance, violent crime has practically disappeared from whole countrysides, and when occasionally some brutality has occurred, the police have managed to bring to book not only the direct offender, but also the person who was secretly brewing the liquor. The spirit of peace has come into the industrial or mining village on the Sunday and Saint’s Day, where formerly there were often scenes of outrageous public hooliganism on the part of whole populations. Money has increased in the pockets of the poor. There is a higher standard of living; butter is being spread on the black bread. Peasant families are enjoying the eggs which formerly they would have sold for the money to buy drink. One of the reasons given for the shortage of food supplies in the great towns is that owing to the fact that the peasants find nothing on which to spend their money they will not sell their produce. Formerly they could buy vodka. Infant mortality is already very much on the decrease. On the whole, children seem better cared for, though Russian peasants are always inclined to be rather careless of these gifts of God. There is an outbreak of “fashions” in the village, and if you ask your cook or serving-maid she will tell you how cottons are being cut this year, though the details seem to have little reference to modes de Paris. There is a popular joke that the peasant women make a mistake in the word they employ for fine dresses. “Just look at the snariadi (shells) I am wearing,” when they mean to use the word nariadi, a townspeople’s word for Sunday best.
There would also be much new reading in the village but for the fact that for the peasant there is as yet a dearth of printed matter. Children are sent to cry out to passing trains for newspapers, and one finds the wisps of old papers in one’s carriage and throws them on to the wind. They are eagerly picked up.
It is noticeable that the people are more active, less sluggish, particularly in the towns. There is an unwonted amount of energy in play. The suppression of vodka is good, but it would be absurd to say that the energies unleashed are entirely on the side of good. The old Adam can express itself in many ways. The wrong impulse merely prevented is not excised, it breaks out in another place. There is more gambling, more unrestrained sexual sin. I suppose no Tsar’s ukase could clean up the Nevsky Prospect or Tverskaya, or stop love affairs with other men’s wives. But even if it could the sinful impulse would break out somewhere else with perhaps greater vigour.
I have been over thousands of miles of Russia this year, in town and in village, in the melancholy north and in the passionate south, and I can give authentic witness. There is no noticeable leak of vodka. Except in Archangel city, I saw no drunken man anywhere. There they were drunk with English whisky obtained from the boats in the harbour. The pilot taking boats out always expects a bottle of whisky as well as his three-rouble tip. All manner of people are, as a British captain expressed it, “bumming around for whisky.” I believe it is now probable that ships bound for Archangel will only be allowed to take a limited supply in future. Poor thirsty Russians, one can easily understand the wiles of those who think they can get it at Archangel!
Shinkarstvo, or illicit distilling and sale, has, it is true, broken out, as M. Kokofstef predicted when opposing the local option measure before the war. Alcoholic substitutes are prepared and sold in small quantities. There were several hundred prosecutions during the past year. But the police seem to have the suppression of this shinkarstvo well in hand.
Some incurables have taken to methylated spirit, eau de Cologne, furniture polish, and some have died in consequence.
My impression is that enforced temperance in alcoholic drink is going to be permanent in Russia—at least as far as the Tsar’s reign is concerned. National sobriety is one of the ideals of the Tsar. It is not a temporary measure. Licences may be granted after the war on certain conditions, and the rich may have their wines again. But popular drinking is not likely to be reestablished unless some business Government should ever get into power having big alcoholic interests. But business governments are not likely there.
The chief gain to Russia from a military point of view must undoubtedly be held to be the great increase of efficiency in the nation. Their warm sociality always betrayed them heretofore. In Russian character and temperament the elimination of strong drink has not had the effect which it might be expected to have if introduced in this country. Here our efficiency, which is becoming higher than before, would probably be little affected by prohibition, but personal character and outlook on life would be changed beyond doubt.
I have had to answer publicly several letters on the subject of Russian Prohibition and I append one letter and answer as perhaps helpful generally. I am constantly asked to refute false statements concerning the sale of alcoholic liquor in Russia, but as replies take time to write I feel that the many temperance societies might well establish vigilance committees to correct false statements. A reference to the Russian Consul-General in London on the subjects generally elicits a simple confirmation of what I write on the matter.