print, but it proves at least that it is not on behalf of my blood but on behalf of my mind that I speak on this occasion. My sympathy is not with the Jews as Jews, but as the suppressed and ill-treated.

I am the man who a generation ago wrote: "We love Poland, not in the same way that we love Germany or France or England, but as we love liberty. For what is to love Poland but to love liberty, to feel a deep sympathy with misfortune and to admire courage and combative enthusiasm? Poland is the symbol of all that which the supreme among mankind have loved and for which they have fought."

These were my words and hitherto I have adhered to them. Shall I have to feel ashamed of having written them, now that Poland's future is being decided?

RUSSIAN CULTURE1

In this time of crisis, when the clash of ideas seems as fierce as the struggle of the hosts, it is the duty of those who possess authentic information on one or the other points in dispute to speak out firmly and clearly. I should like to contribute some observations on German and Russian conceptions in matters of culture. I base my claim to be heard on the fact that I have had the privilege of being closely connected with the Russian, German, and English life. As a Russian Liberal, who had to give up an honorable position at home for the sake of his opinions, I can hardly be suspected of subserviency to the Russian bureaucracy.

I am struck by the insistence with which the Germans represent their cause in this world-wide struggle as the cause of civilization as opposed to Muscovite barbarism; and I am not sure that some of my English friends do not feel reluctant to side with the subjects of the tsar against the countrymen of Harnack and Eucken. One would like to know, however, since when have the Germans taken up this attitude? They were not so squeamish during the "war of emancipation" which gave birth to modern Germany. At that time the people of

1 From "The Russian Problem," by Paul Vinogradoff. Published by George H. Doran Company. The article here reprinted originally ap peared in the Times, September 14, 1914.

eastern Prussia were anxiously waiting for the appearance of Cossacks, as heralds of the Russian hosts who were to emancipate them from the yoke of Napoleon. Did the PrusIsians and Austrians reflect on the humiliation of an alliance with the Muscovites, and on the superiority of the Code Civil, when the Russian guard at Kulm stood like a rock against the desperate onslaught of Vandamme? Perhaps by this time the inhabitants of Berlin have obliterated the bas-relief in the "Alley of Victories" which represents Prince William of Prussia, the future victor of Sedan, seeking safety within the square of the Kaluga regiment! Russian blood flowed in numberless battles in the cause of the Germans and Austrians. The present Armageddon might perhaps have been avoided if the Tsar Nicholas I had left the Hapsburg monarchy to its own resources in 1849, and had not unwisely crushed the independence of Hungary. Within our own memory, the benevolent neutrality of Russia guarded Germany in 1870 from an attack in the rear by its opponents of Sadowa. Are all such facts to be explained away on the ground that the despised Muscovites may be occasionally useful as "gun meat," but are guilty of sacrilege if they take up a stand against German taskmasters in "shining armor"? The older generations of Germany had not yet reached that comfortable conclusion. The last recommendation which the founder of the German Empire made on his death-bed to his grandson was to keep on good terms with that Russia which is now proclaimed to be a debased mixture of Byzantine, Tartar, and Muscovite abominations.

In

The hour of trial has appealed to the best feelings and the best elements of the Russian nation. It has brought out in striking manner the fundamental tendency of Russian political life and the essence of Russian culture, which so many people have been unable to perceive on account of the chaff on the surface. Russia has been going through a painful crisis. the words of the manifesto of October 17-30, 1905, the outward casing of her administration had become too narrow and oppressive for the development of society with its growing needs, its altered perceptions of rights and duties, its changed relations between government and people. The result was that deep-seated political malaise which made itself felt during the Japanese war, when Russian society at large refused to take any interest in the fate of the army; the feverish rush for

"liberties" after the defeat; the subsequent reign of reaction and repression, which has cast such a gloom over Russian life during these last years. But the effort of the national struggle has dwarfed all these misunderstandings and misfortunes, as in Great Britain the call of the common motherland has dwarfed the dispute between Unionists and Home Rulers. Russian parties have not renounced their aspirations; Russian Liberals in particular believe in self-government and the rule of law as firmly as ever. But they have realized as one man that this war is not an adventure engineered by unscrupulous ambition, but a decisive struggle for independence and existence; and they are glad to be arrayed in close ranks with their opponents from the Conservative side. A friend, a Liberal like myself, writes to me from Moscow: "It is a great, unforgettable time; we are happy to be all at one!" And from the ranks of the most unfortunate of Russia's children, from the haunts of the political exiles in Paris, comes the news that Bourtzeff, one of the most prominent among the revolutionary leaders, has addressed an appeal to his comrades urging them to stand by their country to the utmost of their power.

I may add that whatever may have been the shortcomings and the blunders of the Russian government, it is a blessing in this decisive crisis that Russians should have a firmly-knit organization and a traditional center of authority in the power of the tzar. The present emperor stands as the national leader, not in the histrionic attitude of a war lord, but in the quiet dignity of his office. He has said and done the right thing, and his subjects will follow him to a man. We are sure he will remember in the hour of victory the unstinted devotion and sacrifices of all the nationalities and parties of his vast empire. It is our firm conviction that the sad tale of reaction and oppression is at an end in Russia, and that our country will issue from this momentous crisis with the insight and strength required for the constructive and progressive statesmanship of which it stands in need.

Apart from the details of political and social reform, is the regeneration of Russia a boon or a peril to European civilization? The declamations of the Germans have been as misleading in this respect as in all others. The master-works of Russian literature are accessible in translation nowadays, and the cheap taunts of men like Bernhardi recoil on their own

heads. A nation represented by Pushkin, Turgeneff, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky in literature, by Kramskoy, Verestchagin, Repin, Glinka, Moussorgsky, Tchaikovsky in art, by Mandeleeff, Metchnikoff, Pavloff in science, by Kluchevsky and Solovieff in history, need not be ashamed to enter the lists in an international competition for the prizes of culture. But the German historians ought to have taught their pupils that in the world of ideas it is not such competitions that are important. A nation handicapped by its geography may have to start later in the field, and yet her performance may be relatively better than that of her more favored neighbors. It is astonishing to read German diatribes about Russian backwardness when one remembers that as recently as fifty years ago Austria and Prussia were living under a régime which can hardly be considered more enlightened than the present rule in Russia. The Italians in Lombardy and Venice have still a vivid recollection of Austrian jails; and as for Prussian militarism, one need not go further than the exploits of the Zabern garrison to illustrate its meaning. This being so, it is not particularly to be wondered at that the eastern neighbor of Austria and Prussia has followed to some extent on the same lines.

But the general direction of Russia's evolution is not doubtful. Western students of her history might do well, instead of sedulously collecting damaging evidence, to pay some attention to the building-up of Russia's universities, the persistent efforts of the zemstvos, the independence and the zeal of the press. German scholars should read Herzen's vivid description of the "idealists of the forties." And what about the history of the emancipation of the serfs, or of the regeneration of the judicature? The "reforms of the sixties" are a household word in Russia, and surely they are one of the noblest efforts ever made by a nation in the direction of moral improvement.

Looking somewhat deeper, what right have the Germans to speak of their ideals of culture as superior to those of the Russian people? They deride the superstitions of the mujikh as if tapers and genuflexions were the principal matters of popular religion. Those who have studied the Russian people without prejudice know better than that. Read Selma Lagerlöf's touching description of Russian pilgrims in Palestine. She, the Protestant, has understood the true significance of the

religious impulse which leads these poor men to the Holy Land, and which draws them to the numberless churches of the vast country. These simple people cling to the belief that there is something else in God's world besides toil and greed; they flock towards the light, and find in it the justification of their human craving for peace and mercy. For the Russian people have the Christian virtue of patience in suffering: their pity for the poor and oppressed is more than an occasional manifestation of individual feeling-it is deeply rooted in national psychology. This frame of mind has been scorned as fit for slaves! It is indeed a case where the learning of philosphers is put to shame by the insight of the simple-minded. Conquerors should remember that the greatest victories in history have been won by the unarmed-by the Christian confessors whom the emperors sent to the lions, by the "old believers" of Russia who went to Siberia and to the flames for their unyielding faith, by the Russian serfs who preserved their human dignity and social cohesion in spite of the exactions of their masters, by the Italians, Poles, and Jews, when they were trampled under foot by their rulers. It is such a victory of the spirit that Tolstoy had in mind when he preached his gospel of non-resistance; and I do not think even a German on the warpath would be blind enough to suppose that Tolstoy's message came from a craven soul. The orientation of the so-called "intelligent" class in Russia-that is, the educated middle class, which is much more numerous and influential than people suppose is somewhat different, of course. It is "western" in this sense, that it is imbued with current European ideas as to politics, economics, and law. It has to a certain extent lost the simple faith and religious fervor of the peasants. But it has faithfully preserved the keynote of popular ideals. It is still characteristically humanitarian in its view of the world and in its aims. A book like that of General von Bernhardi would be impossible in Russia. If anybody were to publish it, it would not only fall flat, but earn for its author the reputation of a bloodhound. Many deeds of cruelty and brutality happen, of course, in Russia, but no writer of any standing would dream of building up a theory of violence in vindication of a claim to culture. It may be said, in fact, that the leaders of Russian public opinion are pacific, cosmopolitan, and humanitarian to a fault. The mystic philosopher, Vladimir