Red Dusk and the Morrow

it manifests itself most often, especially in the peasantry, in religion. The calculated efforts of the Bolsheviks to suppress religion were shattered on the rocks of popular belief. Their categorical prohibition to participate in or attend any religious rites was ultimately confined solely to Communists, who when convicted of attending divine services are liable to expulsion from the privileged ranks for “tarnishing the reputation of the party.” As regards the general populace, to proclaim that Christianity is “the opium of the people” is as far as the Communists now dare go in their dissuasions. But the people flock to church more than ever they did before, and this applies not only to the peasants and factory hands but also to the bourgeoisie, who it was thought were growing indifferent to religion. This is not the first time that under national affliction the Russian people have sought solace in higher things. Under the Tartar yoke they did the same, forgetting their material woes in the creation of many of those architectural monuments, often quaint and fantastic but always impressive, in which they now worship. I will not venture to predict what precisely may be the outcome of the religious revival which undoubtedly is slowly developing, but will content myself with quoting the words of a Moscow workman, just arrived from the Red capital, whom I met in the northern Ukraine in November, 1920. “There is only one man in the whole of Russia,” said this workman, “whom the Bolsheviks fear from the bottom of their hearts, and that is Tihon, the Patriarch of the Russian Church.”

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A story runs of a Russian peasant, who dreamt that he was presented with a huge bowl of delicious gruel. But, alas, he was given no spoon to eat it with. And he awoke. And his mortification at having been unable to enjoy the gruel was so great that on the following night, in anticipation of a recurrence of the same dream, he was careful to take with him to bed a large wooden spoon to eat the gruel with when next it should appear.

The untouched plate of gruel is like the priceless gift of liberty presented to the Russian people by the Revolution. Was it, after all, to be expected that after centuries of despotism, and amid circumstances of world cataclysm, the Russian nation would all at once be inspired with knowledge of how to use the newfound treasure, and of the duties and responsibilities that accompany it? But I am convinced that during these dark years of affliction the Russian peasant is, so to speak, fashioning for himself a spoon, and when again the dream occurs, he will possess the wherewithal to eat his gruel. Much faith is needed to look ahead through the black night of the present and see the dawn, but eleven years of life amongst all classes from peasant to courtier have perhaps infected me with a spark of that patriotic love which, despite an affectation of pessimism and self-deprecation, does almost invariably glow deep down in the heart of every Russian. I make no excuse for concluding this book with the oft-quoted lines of “the people’s poet,” Tyutchev, who said more about his country in four simple lines than all other poets, writers, and philosophers together. In their simplicity and beauty the lines are quite untranslatable, and my free adaptation to the English, which must needs be inadequate, I append with apologies to all Russians:

Umom Rossii nie poniatj;
Arshinom obshchym nie izmieritj;
U niei osobiennaya statj⁠—
V Rossiu mozhno tolko vieritj.

Seek not by Reason to discern
The soul of Russia: or to learn
Her thoughts by measurements designed
For other lands. Her heart, her mind,
Her ways in suffering, woe, and need,
Her aspirations and her creed,
Are all her own⁠—
Depths undefined,
To be discovered, fathomed, known
By Faith alone.

Endnotes

1. In March, 1918, the Bolsheviks changed their official title from “Bolshevist Party” to that of “Communist Party of Bolsheviks.” Throughout this book, therefore, the words Bolshevik and Communist are employed, as in Russia, as interchangeable terms. ↩

2. A prominent pre-revolutionary journal. ↩

3. The Bolsheviks assert that I lent the National Centre financial assistance. This is unfortunately untrue, for the British Government had furnished me with no funds for such a purpose. I drew the Government’s attention to the existence of the National Centre, but the latter was suppressed by the Reds too early for any action to be taken. ↩

4. Trotsky, by Dr. G. A. Ziv, New York, Narodopravsto, 1921, p. 93. ↩

5. Trotsky, by Dr. G. A. Ziv, New York, Narodopravsto, 1921, p. 26. ↩

6. In such company I was regarded as an invalid, suffering in body and mind from the ill-treatment received at the hands of a capitalistic Government. The story ran that I was born in one of the Russian border provinces, but that my father, a musician, had been expelled from Russia for political reasons when I was still young. My family had led a nomadic existence in England, Australia, and America. The outbreak of the war found me in England, where I was imprisoned and suffered cruel treatment for refusal to fight. Bad food, brutality, and hunger-striking had reduced me physically and mentally, and after the Revolution I was deported as an undesirable alien to my native land. The story was a plausible one and went down very well. It accounted for mannerisms and any deficiency in speech. It also relieved me of the necessity of participation in discussions, but I took care that it should be known that there burned within me an undying hatred of the malicious Government at whose hands I had suffered wrong. ↩

7. Published in the New York Times, August 24, 1921. ↩

List of Illustrations

1. Sir Paul Dukes, K.B.E.

2. The Author, Disguised

3. A