Part 5

Russia has no gold in circulation, but also she has no silver and no copper. Russian silver coinage became last year, at least in popular estimation, worth its weight in silver, and people began hoarding it; copper also was hoarded, and after the retreat from the Carpathians there were a series of small-change panics in the towns in the background. Many shops were sacked because the shopkeepers refused to give change; people travelled free on the trams because the conductors could not change their rouble notes. On other occasions you were obliged to accept sticky postage stamps as change. Thorough Government action swiftly followed, and paper tokens for all the small coins were introduced. Postage stamps without gummy backs were issued for 10, 15 and 20 copecks, a shilling note (50 copecks) was issued, and slips were printed for 1, 2, 3 and 5 copecks. How filthy this money became may be imagined. People gave it to beggars saying, “I give you this not because I pity your state, but because the money is so dirty.” Still this new paper was accepted without riots, and the people soon realised that it was more convenient than “sounding” money, and that five roubles’ worth of it could be put in a small purse without adding a considerable weight to one’s pockets. Thoughtful people welcomed it as teaching the ignorant that money had no value in itself, but only as a token of exchange. To-day one never sees a silver piece in Russia. All is being hoarded.

Perhaps, however, the war and the substitution of paper for coin has taught some people to care less for money. The Russian word is _dengy_, which is really a Tartar word. Indeed, where money is concerned the Russian is a bit of a Tartar and loves to feel the metal between his hands. If a substantial sum is mentioned, he nods his head and exclaims, “That is money!” as if he could see it being emptied out with a joyous clash on the table in front of him. Of course the people who see money that way always see it in small quantities. The Russian business man is crafty over small deals. I imagine his money sense fails him more or less in very large deals and financial operations. To the true financier money must be somewhat of an abstraction and high finance a sort of higher thought.

XI

WITHOUT VODKA, BEER, OR WINE

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.

_To the Editor of The Times._

“SIR,--In your issue of the 8th inst. Mr. Stephen Graham writes: ‘No wine or beer ... is obtainable in Russia except clandestinely, as at Archangel.’

“Mr. Graham’s knowledge of Russia is admittedly unique; he may be able to explain, therefore, what is a puzzle to those who are interested in the subject.

“I take from your Russian Section of October 28 the following excerpts:

“_Page 6._--‘The Imperial Duma, while generally prohibiting the consumption of liquors containing alcohol, adopted an indulgent attitude towards grape wine. On July 14 (27), 1915, the Government imposed upon grape wine a small excise at the rate of 1 rouble 60 copeck per vedro. In the case of grape wine, consumption amounts to 40,000,000 vedros (120,000,000 gallons).’

* * * * *

“Then, again, referring to mild beer:

* * * * *

“‘This drink is supposed to contain not more than 1-1/2 per cent. of alcohol, although it is manufactured almost without Excise inspection and might easily be made stronger. The breweries are earning big profits from the sale of this beverage, bigger even than their former profits from beer; the State itself gets nothing.’

* * * * *

“Again, in the Returns of State Revenue, page 14, there is given as receipts in 1916 from Liquor Excise, 41,322,000 roubles in 1916, as against 18,084,000 roubles in 1915.

“Again, on page 15.--‘Profits of Liquor Monopoly, 503,904,000 roubles in 1916, as compared with 30,718,000 roubles in 1915.’

“Can Mr. Graham reconcile the total prohibition which he affirms now obtains in Russia with these excerpts, or are there some errors in the figures which can be explained?

“Yours faithfully, “H---- S. K----”

“----, “_November 9_.”

The following answer was given:

_To the Editor The Times._

“SIR,--It is quite profitable to consider Mr. K----’s letter because of the blurred notion of Russian temperance reform which is prevalent in this country. It is most important that whatever opinion we may hold regarding enforced temperance or other questions, we should yet keep a clear picture of the current life of our Allies.

“I am now just six weeks back in England after a four months’ journey in which I visited places so wide apart in the Russian Empire as Ekaterina, in the far north, and villages of the Central Caucasian range, in the south; and I stayed a while in Petrograd and Moscow, Rostof, Orel, and other considerable cities, and I can say by the evidence of my eyes that intoxicating liquor has disappeared. The only drunken men I saw were in Archangel. Officers to-day sit down to talk over a bottle of _citro_. In the restaurants you are given _kvas_, a sort of fruity ginger-beer, which in truth is not allowed to have more than 1-1/2 per cent. of alcohol, and is in no sense a beer.

“The article in the Russian Section is by the Petrograd Correspondent of _The Times_, and consists chiefly of extracts from an article by the Russian Professor Migulin. I find the phrase in the translation is ‘malt beverage,’ and not ‘mild beer,’ as Mr. K---- puts it; and I think it refers to a beverage something like birch beer as sold in America, a sort of empty symbol of beer taken not because it is pleasant but because one must order something with one’s meals. It has no alcoholic reality, is sold in bottles, and is of a standardised taste and quality.

“As regards wine, it must be remembered that in the Caucasus, in Transcaucasia, and in Russian Central Asia there are wine industries, wine is the local popular drink, not tea as in Russia proper. This wine is usually kept in skins and sold in pots. There is also a bottling industry, but the export of this wine from these remote parts of the Empire to Russia proper has been prohibited except in cases of specially guaranteed orders.

“I believe British and American and other foreign subjects are allowed to purchase wine for their private use on the presentation of a certificate. Professor Migulin appears to be advocating a State monopoly in the sale of wine on the ground that ‘only on condition of a State monopoly would it be safe to allow the free circulation of grape-wine; otherwise under the guise of wine vodka will again make its appearance.’ For the phrase ‘grape wine’ read ‘grape juice.’ Professor Migulin’s figures are apparently incorrect--the population of Russia is not consuming a gallon of grape-juice per head in addition to what it drinks in the way of _citro_, _kvas_, _narzan_, birch beer, etc.

“As regards the revenue returns, may I make the following remarks:

“1. Although the sale of alcohol in the form of drink has been abolished, the manufacture continues in perhaps larger quantities.

“Enormous quantities have been exported to France for use in the manufacture of high explosives, and I do not need to say more than that on the head of the extensive industrial uses of alcohol.

“2. In the figures of profits of liquor monopoly are included (_a_) debts recovered; (_b_) sums brought in after the winding-up of big shops where the accounts were not simple; (_c_) sale of vodka in Russian Central Asia and Transcaucasia (lately prohibited in both these districts also); (_d_) sale abroad; (_e_) the sale in Government shops of Caucasian mineral waters, now very extensive.

“3. Under the heading Liquor Excise is included the tax on mineral waters, grape-juice, etc., tax on real wine in Central Asia and Transcaucasia, on wine specially supplied for foreign consumption, on wines allotted to chemists for medical purposes, etc.

“4. The great increase in the returns is due to the tax on non-alcoholic drinks and Government sales.

“5. In these revenue returns the classification and nomenclature is not scientific, and the primary intention is to give a rough guide to the figures of the Budget.

“I hope these remarks do something to clear away the doubt in the minds of students of figures and papers. For the rest I can only reiterate the evidence of my eyes--Russia is without spirits, beer, or wine, and, if I may add it, she does not feel in any way persecuted or tyrannised over because of it.

“Your obedient servant, “STEPHEN GRAHAM.”

XII

GAY LIFE

I WAS at Petrograd and also at Kislovodsk, which is a sort of Petrograd set in the midst of the Caucasus, Russia’s greatest watering-place, a resort of the rich. As is commonly said, you leave your children behind when you go to Kislovodsk; they would only be in the way. Here turn up in these war years many who would otherwise be at Nauheim and Carlsbad or on the Riviera. It is a place of few conveniences, but it has an army of doctors, it has the springs, and it has “society.” It was so crowded this summer of 1916 that people slept in passages, in outhouses, in ramshackle cupboards and bathhouse, and paid fancy prices for the privilege. Return seats in the trains were all booked for two months ahead, and but for “the loop-holes of escape” I should have been forced to stay in the Caucasus until the end of September.

Petrograd and Moscow being so desperately serious in tone, many pleasure-lovers decided to extend the summer season, and even to try Kislovodsk as a winter resort. There was lively speculation in rooms and _datchas_ with a view to high prices reigning throughout the winter.

An unhealthy spot this Kislovodsk, the air of its little streets heavy with the odour of decay and dirt. It is in a valley and there are glorious moors and hills about it. But one never sees any visitor on the hills. The visitors keep to the leafy promenades in the park, within hearing of the music of the bandstands and in reach of the café and the ice-cream bar. The women are mostly in white, but more coarse of feature than in most places in Russia--the faces of women on a low level of intelligence, of the sort who pride themselves on being “interesting” to men. They wear their diamonds in the afternoon. A lady was robbed of her diamonds in broad daylight in Essentuki, a neighbouring resort, and on being reproached for wearing diamonds in wartime, replied, “Where else should I show them except at the waters?”

The people who have made fortunes out of the war are prominent at Kislovodsk, and the emptiness of their gay life is an unpleasant contrast to the realities of the time. Not the cultured of Russia, these, not the noble and the wise, not the people who really are the nation! Yet enter into conversation with one of these commercial parvenus and you find boundless vanity and self-importance. “We are the people who count in Russia,” they say. Go into a restaurant and your senses will be lacerated as you see them all around you eating with their knives. The books they are reading are Artsibashef, Fonvizin, Verbitskaya. Ask about the real artists of Russia and they raise their eyebrows or express contempt. They are nearest to the class in America that invented the word “high-brow” and for whom commercial talent must go on manufacturing huge quantities of loathsome “low-brow” literature, art, music and drama.

Many people asked me about England, but I was obliged to say the spirit of England would not tolerate a Kislovodsk; we have nothing quite so shameless during the war. We have people who are profiting by death and destruction and calamity and sorrow, but public opinion does not allow these venal gains to be flaunted in this way.

At Russian theatres, as indeed in English theatres at home, flippant and indecent farces, the theatres themselves going ahead of the people and leading downward. One thing we may generally surmise, comparing one side of the footlights with the other--the life of the people looking on is ten thousand times better than the life presented on the stage. The vulgar and cynical notions expressed by the actors and actresses are only regarded as curious or amusing or spicily outrageous by the people who have paid so much money for the doubtful privilege of listening.

I witnessed a three-act play, translated or adapted from the French, where there was the usual dressing and undressing on the stage and scampering about in undergarments. Suddenly the lady who had the most abominable part to play, in the midst of one of the most unpleasant parts clutched at her breast with her hand and fell with a loud thud on the stage. Then the curtain came down. We waited. Presently out came a weedy-looking pale-faced commercial and made the following statement:

As Mme. A. has had a heart seizure we cannot continue the performance. The management, however, hope that the audience will not on that account feel a grievance or that the money ought to be returned. To-night’s tickets will be available to-morrow night, when a substitute will be found for Mme. A.

At this there were angry shouts from all over the theatre:

“What is the money to do with it?”

“We don’t want to see the wretched play again.”

“How is her health?”

“Tell us how she is.”

Some one else came out from behind the curtain and asked:

“Is there a doctor here?”

A young woman at once came up. But the audience left its seat and crowded forward towards the curtain asking angrily how the actress was. The actress was not a particular favourite. But the people cared, and what is more, they had been made ashamed by the callous but sincere statement of the management on the more important aspect of the interruption of the programme. Life on the stage and life, how wide apart!

Intoxication through alcohol has disappeared, and with it a certain amount of abnormal and bestial vice, but the world remains as evil and human.

Drink, as the porter in _Macbeth_ said, is the great equivocator, it sets on and sets off, persuades and then disheartens. The removal of drink has left men more restless--at least in the towns. Probably in the village the removal of all kinds of drink has been an unmixed blessing. But in the towns the roving eye of man has roved further. It is impossible to clear up the immorality of the towns by Imperial _ukase_. The Russian boy of the town is born into a world of more temptations and risks than the English boy. A great deal of disclosed Russian genius must be poisoned between the ages of twelve and twenty by certain social conditions which no one in Russia seems capable of making an effort to clear up. The Russian town of to-day is no doubt none too easy for the young woman, and it seems a sort of hell for the young man, a long burning and the worm which dieth not. Health, health, how to obtain conditions of health, that is the problem!

I was speaking to a somewhat famous Russian senator about the deportation of superfluous population from Petrograd and he said: “The decentralisation of our cities’ populations is one of the things which are coming. Why should Moscow and Petrograd increase in size? They only do so at the expense of Russia as a whole. We have plenty of room for all----”

I strayed into various cafés in strange towns this summer and ordered my coffee and settled down to write parts of a long book on religion and life with which I was preoccupied all these months in Russia. I was generally intent to sit down and write out some idea which had occurred to me whilst I had been walking. One evening I found myself in a typical den--the long alley of a café with women on each side, painted, powdered, striking, their legs crossed or spread about the table legs, cigarettes in their hands, half-finished glasses of coffee in front of them.

Down the alley came young men with flickering eyes and lips, now and then a leer, a sickly smile, a cynical or satirical grin. “This is the world,” think the young men, “this is the gay wicked world where what should never be sold can be bought.”

But they are wrong--it is only a wee wicked corner. The great wide world is sweeter, healthier.

XIII

OLD FRIENDS

I MET Alexander Alexandrovitch Beekof, the hunter of Archangel at Moscow. He had purchased three fine pictures by our friend Pereplotchikof, and they stood in his room in the Gostinny Dvor in wooden packing cases. Alexander Alexandrovitch stood me a lunch at Martianitch’s in the Red Square on a meatless day--a merchant’s restaurant where you may see many antique Russian types of merchants wearing knee boots and blouses and longish hair. We had a nice dish of fish-pie (_rastegai_) with our soup, and though no wine was available, the bill, as I saw, for the two of us was twenty roubles, and three roubles more went for the tip. In that way war prosperity expressed itself. My friend had to spend many days in Moscow collecting boots in small parcels. As the Government allows no packing-cases with goods to be taken by train from Moscow to Archangel (I imagine fine art is exempted from this regulation), Alexander Alexandrovitch Beekof had to buy some twenty portmanteaus to take his purchases of boots back to his native city.