Russia under the tzars

Chapter I, Page

FAR USSLANGEUEP UB L1G sy tarvtape chet or ehec cuscorara co wiclesevesale ec cvesertistatorekeroiesye oe 15 CHAPTER IV.

Din MAKING) OF THEM DESPOTISM 2.0 fo enc fccacce pales «soled oslo eee 24 CHAPTER VI.

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DARK PLACES.

CHAPTER X.

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THe Houst oF PREVENTATIVE DETENTION. ...........-.+++-cece 78 CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XXI.

CONTENTS. Vil

PART JIT, ADMINISTRATIVE EXILE,

CHAPTER XXII.

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ENNOCENTSLHERMMORE) PUNISHED seers cence seatne ae te ees 175 CHAPTER XXIII.

@ETAP TIE) Rexexexe

CHAPTER XXXII.

PARTI,

DHE PAST,

CHAPTER I.

THE MIR.

Natrons, like men, are judged by their appearance. The despotism which rules the Russian people is naturally regarded as the outcome and expression of the national character. It is true that of late years Russia has produced both men and women who, in patriotic zeal and devotion to freedom, have never been outdone; yet, in the seeming futility of their efforts, the public opinion of Europe sees but an additional proof of the stubborn servility of the masses, equally unable to understand any liberal aspiration and unwilling to take part in any liberal movement.

The facts cannot be gainsaid. The tillers of the soil, who form the bulk of the Russian nation, still profess devotion to an ideal T'zar—the creature of their own imagination—believe that the day is at hand when he will drive all landowners out of the country, and bestow their possessions on his faithful peasants.

But if we go beyond mere externals, if we study more deeply, and observe more closely, the character and lives of our lower orders, we shall be struck by many peculiarities altogether at variance with the received ideas as to their servility and degradation.

In a country where everything depends on the will of an autocrat, it might be expected that there would be found inferior officers of government invested with plenary powers of action within the limited spheres of activity assigned to them. But in Russia it is not so. By a strange inconsistency the peasantry of that despotic country enjoy—save for some abuses—almost as great a measure of self-government as the rural communes of Switzerland and Norway. The village assembly, composed of all adult males free from paternal authority, decides without appeal every local question. Since the emancipation (1861) the State has made several changes in the methods of rural self-government. For instance, it created a special village court consisting of ten judges elected by the assembly, whereas, in former times, the mir, or popular assembly, was the sole legal tribunal. Next followed an attempt on the part of the State to lay hands on the assembly, and curtail its prerogatives by augmenting the power of the starosta (the village Mayor), recognizing as valid only such meetings as he might convene, and making his own election contingent on the approval of the so-called mediator, a high functionary appointed jointly by the Government and the local nobility. In the original state, however, that is to say, where the administration has not been strong enough to enforce the measures it proposed, the communal autonomy has suffered no restriction.

The mir of Central Russia—in Southern Russia the gromada —is the peasant’s conception of supreme authority ; it safeguards the welfare of the entire community, and is entitled to the implicit obedience of every individual of whom it is composed, It may be convened by its humblest member at any time and at every place within the limits of the village. The communal authorities must respond respectfully to the summons, and, if they fail in their duty, the assembly may

THE MIR. 3 dismiss them from their offices without notice, or deprive them for an indefinite period of all their authority.

The meetings of a village commune, like those of the Landesgemeinde of the primitive Swiss cantons, are held under the vault of heaven, before the starosta’s house, before a tavern, or at any other convenient place. The thing that strikes a person who is present for the first time at one of these meetings is the utter confusion which seems to characterize its proceedings. Chairman there is none; the debates are scenes of the wildest disorder. After the convener has explained his reasons for calling the meeting, everybody rushes in to express his opinion, and for a while the debate resembles a free fight of pugilists. The right of speaking belongs to him who can command attention. If an orator pleases his audience, interrupters are promptly silenced ; but if he says nothing worth hearing, nobody heeds him, and he is “shut up” by the first opponent. When the question is somewhat of a burning one, and the meeting begins to grow warm, all speak at once, and none listen. On these occasions the assembly breaks up into groups, each of which discusses the subject on its own account. Everybody shouts his arguments at the top of his voice ; shrieks and objurgations, words of contumely and derision are heard on every hand, and a wild uproar goes on, from which it does not seem possible that any good can result.

But this apparent confusion is of no moment. It is a necessary means to acertain end. In our village assemblies voting is unknown ; controversies are never decided by a majority of voices. Every question must be settled unanimously. Hence the general debate as well as private discussions have to be continued until a proposal is brought forward which conciliates all interests and wins the suffrage of the entire mir. It is, moreover, evident that to reach this consummation the debates must be thorough and the subject well threshed out ; and, in order to overcome isolated opposition, it is essential for the advocates of conflicting views to be brought face to face, and compelled to fight out their differences in single combat.

The method of adjustment I have described is eminently characteristic of the Russian mir. The assembly does not force on the minority resolutions with which the latter is unable to agree. Everybody must make concessions for the general good and the peace and welfare of the community. The majority are too generous to take advantage of their numerical strength. The mir is nota master, but a loving parent, equally compassionate to all its children. It is this quality of our village self-government that explains the high sense of humanity which forms so marked a feature of our rural customs—the mutual help in field labor, the aid given to the poor, the fatherless, and the afflicted—which have elicited the warm admiration of every observer of our village life. To the same cause must be ascribed the unswerving loyalty of Russian peasants to their mir. ‘* Whatever the mir decides is ordained of God,” says a popular . proverb. There are many other sayings as, for instance: “‘ Nobody but God dare judge the mir ;” <* Who is greater than the mir? who can dispute with it?” “The mir receives no bribes ;”” ‘‘ Where the mir’s hand is, there my head is ;” “Although last in the mir, a man is always one of the flock ; but once separated from the mir, he is but an orphan ;” “‘Hyery member of the mir is as a member of the same family.” :

An indispensable corollary to the integrity of the mir, and, seeing how the country is ruled, one of its most surprising peculiarities, is the full liberty of speech and debate enjoyed by our rural assemblies. Indispensable, for how could business be done and justice enforced if, instead of speaking their minds freely, members of a commune were to fear giving offence to Peter or John, and resort to subterfuge and falsehood? Rough frankness of manner and unre-

THE MIR. 5 strained liberty of speech being adopted as a rule and sanctioned by tradition, they are not abandoned when by chance there comes under discussion some subject outside the modest sphere of peasant life. It is a fact admitted by all observers that, while in the cities words implying “ disrespect of existing institutions” are uttered even in private with bated breath and heard with trembling, the peasants in their public meetings talk as they list, criticise the very institutions which others are permitted only to admire, censure with easy impartiality the most illustrious members of the administrative oligarchy, treat boldly the burning agrarian question, and often express opinions concerning the sacred imperial presence itself which would make the hair of a wellbred townsman stand on end.

It must not, however, be supposed that this license of language bespeaks an insubordinate temper or a rebellious spirit. It is nothing more than an inveterate habit begotten of long usage, ‘The peasants have no-idea that in speaking their minds they are breaking the law. They do not understand how speech, opinion—whatever the method of its expression —can be considered a crime. There are cases on record of a starosta receiving revolutionary proclamations by post and, in the innocence of his heart, reading them aloud before the village assembly as something curious and suggestive. If a revolutionary propagandist happens to enter a village he is invited to meet the assembly and read or tell whatever he may think likely to edify the community. What harm could arise from so natural a proceeding ? And if the fact becomes known nothing can exceed the surprise of the peasants when told by the gendarmes that they have committed a heinous offence. So great is their ignorance that they believe liberty of speech to be a right inherent in every rational being !

Such are the main features of our village self-government. Nothing can well be more striking than the contrast between the institutions which prevail among the lower: orders of Russia and the institutions which regulate the lives of its upper classes. The former are essentially republican and democratic ; the latter are based on imperial despotism, and organized on the strictest principles of bureaucratic control.

This contrast, so palpable and portentous, having endured for centuries, has produced, as its inevitable consequence, a phenomenon of great importance — that strongly marked tendency of the Russian people to hold themselves aloof from the State, which is one of their most significant characteristics. On the one hand, the peasant saw before him his mir, the embodiment of justice and brotherly love ; on the other, official Russia, represented by the tchinovniks of the Tzar, his magistrates, gendarmes, and administrators— through all the centuries of our history the embodiment of rapacity, venality, and violence. In these circumstances it was not difficult to make a choice. ‘It is better,” says the peasant of to-day, ‘‘to stand guilty before the mir than innocent before the judge.” And his forefathers said, ‘‘ Live and enjoy yourselves, children, while Moscow takes no notice of you.”

From the very dawn of our national history the Russian peasant has shunned intercourse with the Russia of the tchinovniks. ‘The two have never mingled, a fact which explains why the political evolutions of ages have made go little impression on the habits of our toiling millions. It is no exaggeration to say that the lives of the bulk of the nation and of its upper classes have flowed in two contiguous yet separate and distinct streams. The common folks live in their liliputian republics like snails in their shells. To them official Russia—the world of tchinovniks, soldiers and policemen—is a horde of foreign conquerors, who from time to time send their agents into the country to demand the tribute of myone and the tribute of blood—taxes for the Tzar’s treasury and soldiers for his army. Yet by a startling ano-

THE MIR. i maly—one of those strange contrasts of which, as a celebrated geographer has said, Russia is full—these rudimentary republics, which enjoy so large a measure of social and personal freedom, are at once the surest foundations and the strongest bulwarks of despotic power.

By what vagary of fortune or caprice of history, it may be asked, has this crying anomaly arisen ? How comes it that institutions in so flagrant contradiction with the whole of our political régime as these peasant parliaments should flourish under the egis of an arbitrary monarch ?

The anomaly is only in appearance ; we have to deal neither with an historical riddle nor the fortuitous results of incidental combinations. I lay so much stress on our system of popular self-government because I am convinced that the form which it takes and ideas whereon it is based are more in conformity with the political aspirations of the Russian people than the autocratic and centralized form of the existing system. If there be aught anomalous in our polity, aught imposed on the nation by outward and accidental causes, it is the despotism itself.

Chapter II. The Vetche

Av the beginning of authentic history the vast country now known as Russia was divided into a number of principalities, varying in extent, having each a capital and several more or less important towns and villages. The rulers, however, were not supreme ; they reigned, but they did not govern, all legislative and executive power being vested in the popular assembly. This assembly was composed of free citizens without distinction of rank or fortune, the prince being no more than a public functionary, elected by the people and obedient to their will, By traditional custom the princes were chosen among the members of the same family from generation to generation, or, rather, from a race of warriors of royal blood, all of whom claimed descent from Rurik, the supposed founder of the Russian Empire. The principle of heredity was not, however, regarded as an immutable law ; the vetche recognized no such right, and when a native prince was not to the taste of his people, they changed him for one more to their liking. The prince was subject, not superior to his people ; the subjection of the people being an idea which did not come into vogue until several centuries later. The privilege was however seldom exercised. Russian history contains but few instances of the deposition of a native prince in favor of a foreign ruler ; and once only, when the people of Galitia deemed a change expedient, was a simple boyard raised to princely rank. But the custom of choosing

THE VETCHE. 9 rulers from the same family was really no restriction on the liberty of election ; for the royal stock so increased and multiplied, and established so many off-shoots in different parts of the country, that suitable candidates were always forthcoming.

Some historians of the so-called Muscovite school, out of pure love for monarchic principles, have pretended to discover the germ of this form of government in the supposed laws of succession and right of birth among the princes of ancient Russia. But the more thorough and impartial researches of the new school prove that no such laws existed, that no such rights were recognized—the relations between the reigning prince and the people being in every case regulated by the vetche. The nearest of kin to the ruler had naturally the best opportunities of making himself favorably known; and in ancient Russia, as among all patriarchal nations, age commanded popular respect. When a prince died or was banished, the ruler generally chosen to succeed him was his eldest brother, who was probably also the head of the family, or of that branch of it which the people delighted to honor. If, however, the brother were unpopular, he would be passed over, the choice in that event falling on the son of the late prince; or, again, if the people so willed it, the uncle and the nephew might both be superseded by a prince whose kinship to the royal line was attenuated almost past recognition ; for mere genealogy counted for nothing in the matter, and early Russian history affords abundant evidence that the one immutable privilege which regulated the succession was the will of the vetche.

The call of a prince was, however, only the first step in his election. ‘The next proceeding was the conclusion of a conyention—the riada—between the new ruler and the city. Both parties swore faithfully to observe the contract, and without the riada no prince could consider his position safe. The riada, in fact, was the constitutional pact. It defined

1* the mutual obligations of the contracting parties. The conditions of the compact were subject to modifications, not only in different principalities and from time to time, but as between one prince and another. The leading conditions of the pact were nevertheless almost always identical. The highest function of the prince was that of judge. In the smaller principalities he alone filled this office, and in many of the contracts it was specially stipulated that the prince should act in person, never by deputy, the people having - more confidence in the impartiality and independence of their prince than in any of his men. At a later period, when princes, influenced by other ideas, began to trespass on the popular rights, it was specified in the constitutional pacts that the prince should only act as judge when assisted by a colleague appointed by the vetche.

A second duty of the prince, hardly less important than the first, was to defend the country from its enemies; but the right to declare war, or to dispose of the military forces, which were composed of all citizens able to bear arms, was vested in the vetche. The prince, generally a man trained to arms from his youth upwards, was appointed to the command of the army only after the declaration of war, and in the more important principalities he shared the responsibilities of command with a special officer elected by the vetche. ‘The prince had always in his service a more or less numerous corps of volunteers—free fighters—half of them native, and half foreign, denominated drugina, or ‘‘ friends of the prince.” And so they were—literally his friends— meeting every day in the same hall, sitting at the same table, the companions of all his amusements, his advisers in every difficulty. They were, moreover, maintained entirely at his expense, either out of the revenues granted to him by the vetche or his own private resources. If he desired to make war, the vetche was at liberty to refuse him the co-operation of the militia. In this event, he could, however,

THE VETCHE. len undertake it at his own risk and peril, with the help of his drugina, a privilege of which the princes of that age often availed themselves to their great advantage. The drugina, being the prince’s personal companions, followed him everywhere. If he left his principality to rule over a richer and larger community, they accompanied him and shared his good fortune. On the other hand, when the citizens dismissed an unpopular ruler, the drugina were expelled at the same time.

Changes like these were of frequent occurrence, and there were few princes who had not occupied in the course of their lives half-a-dozen thrones (or ‘‘ dinner-tables,” according to the suggestive phrase then in vogue). A change of rulers was easily effected. Whena prince became unpopular, the vetche had simply to meet and pronounce the sacramental phrase ‘‘ We salute thee, O Prince !” whereupon his Highness would retire, feeling no more ill-will for his former constituents than if he were a candidate for parliamentary honors beaten at an election. If his successor did not prove a success, and the vetche again changed their minds and recalled him, he would resume his former position with the greatest alacrity. It sometimes came to pass that a prince was elected, dismissed and re-elected three or four times in succession by the very same city.

Thus the principalities of medizval Russia, notwithstanding the monarchical form of their government, were in reality so many republics, and republics they are called by the best of our modern historians, Mr. Kostomaroff, although with a delicate consideration for the susceptibilities of the censorship, he avoids the use of the Latin term, substituting for it the Slav equivalent narodopravstvo. The princes were practically soldiers of fortune, with a following of volunteers whom the republics took into their service. A state of things not very dissimilar prevailed in the small Italian republics of the Middle Ages, the sole difference being the Russian condottiert formed a separate caste and were all descended from the same royal stock.

Yet this difference was far from being detrimental to the democratic institutions of the period, for the most striking fact in our early history is the entire absence of any tendencies toward tyranny. Rarely, indeed, do we find a prince opposing by force the popular will. There was too much to lose thereby and too little to gain. A people half nomad, living in a country so thinly inhabited that the land had no value, could have no strong local ties. Neither did the prince’s love of country count for much. As nomadic as the people themselves, he and his drugina cared not whither they went nor where they settled. Every prince for himself, - and the drugina for their master, were always on the lookout for promotion; that is to say, for a larger city and better pay. It was therefore against a prince’s own interest to resist the will of the vetche, for such a stain on his reputation would greatly impair his chances of advancement. In default of anything better, moreover, he could always find some petty principality ready to receive him ; for a town governed by a simple posadnik always added to its distinction and independence by exchanging his rule for that of a prince. In the mean time he might look forward with confidence to something better. Princes were so often dethroned and conflicts with the vetche were so common that a royal adventurer with a good character who kept his eyes open had little difficulty in obtaining the promotion to which he aspired, Atthe worst, it was always possible for a prince of enterprise to win honor and wealth by force of arms at the expense of his less warlike kinsmen. In these conquests there was nothing tyrannical or hostile to liberty. A popular prince ran little risk of attack; for would-be aggressors knew that they would have to deal not with the drugina alone, but the entire military force of the country. On the other hand, when the people had no particular love for

THE VETCHE. 13 their prince it was a matter of indifference to them whether he won or lost. In the latter event they were quite ready to accept as ruler the prince who had proved himself the better man. The vetche elected the victor, who immediately signed the riada, and, after taking the usual oath, entered on his functions precisely as if he had acquired his position in the ordinary way. If he in his turn made himself unpopular, there was a simple and infallible way of getting rid of him. ‘The vetche had only to offer the throne on more than usually favorable terms to some prince of military capacity, whereupon the latter would appear on the scene with his drugina, and, aiced by the citizens, depose his rival and reign in his stead.

It was thus to the rivalry among members of the princely caste that the ancient Russian republics chiefly owed the preservation of their liberty ; and the more important cities, which by their example naturally influenced the others, could always, by very reason of their extent, and the eagerness with which their suffrages were sought, turn this rivalry to the best account.

The relations that prevailed between the prince and the vetche explain how, in older Russia, freedom so complete and democratic was maintained without effort and without internal strife. All other republics, either of antiquity or of the Middle Ages, were, so to speak, limited republics or constitutional democracies, the will of the people being always more or less controlled by other social forces, while our early Russian republics were absolute and unlimited democracies. The people were supreme ; every citizen had an equal voice in the government of the country, and neither the ruling prince, nor any other public functionary, had a vested interest in his place. The vetche could annul all or any of his decrees. Though he appointed officers to assist him in the administration, the vefche controlled his choice and could dismiss his nominee. They were not protected by the prince, and the vetche no more hesitated to punish a prince’s nominee than a functionary elected by themselves. Neither the prince nor any other servant. of the State was appointed for a fixed term. All held their places at the pleasure of the people. The bishops alone were nominally elected for life, but even they were sometimes summarily dismissed by the vetche. Thus the vetche was the sovereign power which regulated all the affairs of the country. There was no divided authority ; the vetche spoke the voice and expressed the will of the people. In a word, the republics of ancient Russia were primitive states, elementary in their institutions, and purely democratic in their government,

Chapter III. A Russian Republic

Ir from the fragmentary notices dispersed throughout our old chronicles we endeavor to draw a living picture of these same vetches, the primitive and simple character of our ancient republican régime will be rendered more visible and striking.

On the banks of the river Volchow, and not far from Lake Iimen, lies the famous city of Novgerod—now only a small provincial ‘‘ chief-town ” with some 18,000 inhabitants, but centuries ago one of the greatest of European cities, worthy, by its power and riches, of being called the Northern Venice. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries Novgorod was the capital of a vast republic, which included the northern half of modern Russia, stretching as far as the Ural mountains, and containing large towns and important cities. Favored by its splendid position on the great highway which united Medieval Europe with the Levant, Novgorod the Great waxed rich and powerful on the commerce and industry of her sons, and for centuries successfully defended her liberties against the ever-growing power of the Muscovite Tzars. It was not until the sixteenth century that the resistance of the heroic republic was finally overcome. None of our old republics ever attained to the same power and splendor as Novgorod the Great, and none has left us records so rich of a glorious past. In these priceless documents we find the best material for the study of our early institutions.

On one of the squares of the now depopulated city, the stranger is shown the place where, at the stroke of the great bell which was there suspended, the sovereign people were wont to meet. Its sacred rope was free to all, every citizen being competent to summon the vetche for deliberation on any subject affecting the welfare of individuals or the State. The people were masters, even, as we have seen, despots, sometimes violent and hasty, but always noble and generous, like legendary Oriental kings, fathers of their country, eve accessible to the humblest of their subjects, ever ready to redress their wrongs, and prompt to punish the trespasses of the great and powerful. If none dared disturb for trivial or inadequate cause the repose of the sleeping lion, none, on the other hand, could hinder the humblest burgher from convoking the people and making complaint of any injustice committed against him ; and forcing the aggressor—whosoever he might be, whether posadnik (lord mayor) or prince —to appear and answer to the charge.

The rules touching the convocation of the vetche were few and simple, its meetings being marked by an almost entire absence of formality. Supreme power was vested in the entire body of the people, and wherever and whenever they met their will was law. There are instances on record of the militia of Novgorod while encamped in the face of the enemy constituting themselves into a vetche, and adopting resolutions which were held as binding as if they had been passed by the assembled citizens in the great square of the capital.

But that which differentiates our ancient vetche, as well as our mirs, from all similar assemblies, is the absence of any system of voting. In every other republic, however free or democratic it might be—at Sparta and Rome, as well as at Athens and Florence—voting in one shape or another existed, and the principle that the minority should conform to the rule of the majority was the basis of all their political

A RUSSIAN REPUBLIC. 17 procedure. In the Slay nature there seems something antagonistic to this principle. I say Slay, and not Russian, because among all the peoples of that race, possessed of genuinely free institutions, we invariably find that the principle of unanimous decision is the only principle which the popular conscience is able to accept. In Poland these principles were embodied in an unalterable law, than which nothing could be more fatal and absurd. In the national Polish diets, if one man—who might be bribed by a foreign enemy—shouted his liberwm veto, it sufficed to annul the decision of the entire assembly. In the Ruthenian republics —those of the Ukranian Cossacks on either side of the Dnieper, and in warlike Zaporogia—the principle of unanimity equally prevailed, and the system of legislation by vote was never practised. There were, however, occasions in which the more numerous, or, at any rate, the stronger party found an effective way of overcoming opposition. When some burning question arose—for instance, the choice of a military chief or higher magistrate—and none of the disputants would yield, they generally came to blows, and so soon as the physically weaker party had been sufficiently belabored, they abandoned their opposition, the desired unanimity was attained, and the candidates were elected by acclamation. These disputes were sometimes settled in a manner still more summary—with knife instead of fist. The vetche of old Russia, especially those of Novgorod the Great, as to which we have more complete information than any other, seem to have been also at times very turbulent. The chroniclers tell of frequent disputes, some of which ended in sanguinary struggles and loss of life. But these cases were evidently exceptional. The republic could not have existed, much less prospered and grown in power, if civil war had been chronic in its capital. As arule, moderate counsels prevailed, and differences were pacifically settled by persuasion and mutual concession. The mildness and docility of the Slav character rendered possible the application, on a large scale, ofa principle based on an undeniably generous sentiment—respect for the rights of minorities, a sentiment declared by an eminent English political writer to be the foundation of true liberty.