III.
A PROFESSOR of mental pathology, called Sikorsky, has lately described in the Kiev University Records an epidemic of insanity, called by him "Malevanism," which had appeared in several villages of the Vassilkovsky district in the province of Kiev. This malady arose, in Professor Sikorsky's words, from the fact that several people living in those villages under the influence of a man called Malevanny imagined that the end of the world would come very shortly, and consequently, changing their whole manner of life, began giving away their belongings, dressing up in fine clothes, eating good things and drinking, and gave up working. The Professor considered the condition of these people abnormal. He says: "Their extraordinary serenity often passed into exaltation—a joyful condition resting on no external causes. They were sentimentally disposed; courteous to excess, talkative, emotional, with tears of joy that came easily and as easily vanished. They sold the necessities of life to purchase parasols, silk kerchiefs, and such articles. And the kerchiefs only served them as a decoration. They ate a great many sweet things. Their state of mind was always joyous, and they spent their time making holiday, visiting one another, walking about. … When the obvious absurdity of their refusing to work was pointed out to them, one heard every time by way of answer the stereotyped phrase: 'If I want to, I'll work; if I don't want to, why should I force myself?'"
The learned Professor considers the condition of these people an unmistakable case of epidemic insanity, and advising the Government to take certain steps to prevent it from spreading, concludes his article with the words: "Malevanism is the cry of distress of a sick population, and its prayer for deliverance from drink and for the improvement of education and sanitary conditions."
But if Malevanism is the cry of distress of a sick population and its prayer for deliverance from drink and pernicious social conditions, what a horrifying cry of distress from a sick population and what a prayer to be rescued from drink and false social conditions is this new disease that has broken out in Paris, and with alarming rapidity infected the greater part of the town population of France, and almost the whole governing and civilized well-to-do classes of Russia! And if it is admitted that the mental derangement of the Malevanists is a danger, and that the Government would do well to follow the Professor's advice by removing the leaders of the Malevanists, putting some of them into madhouses and monasteries, and exiling others to remote regions, we must recognize the new epidemic that has lately broken out at Toulon and Paris, and from there has spread over the whole of France and Russia, as a far greater danger, and must regard it as far more necessary for society, if not for the Government, to take resolute measures to prevent the spreading of such epidemics.
The likeness between the two diseases is complete. There is the same extraordinary sense of happiness, that passes into causeless and joyful exaltation, the same sentimentality, exaggerated courtesy, loquacity, the same frequent tears of emotion that come and go for no reason, the same holiday mood, the same walking about and visiting one another, the same dressing up in very smart clothes, the same passion for dainty fare, the same senseless speeches, the same idleness, the same singing and music, the same prominent part played by women, and, in many instances, the same clownish phase of attitudes passionnelles which Professor Sikorsky observed in the Malevanists—that is, as I understand the words, the various unnatural attitudes assumed by people during ceremonious welcomes, receptions, and speeches delivered at banquets.
The resemblance is complete. The only difference—and it is a vast difference for the society in which these phenomena take place—is that in the one case it is the aberration of a few dozens of poor peaceful villagers, who live on their own small means, and so can exercise no force upon their neighbours, and can infect others only by means of personal communication of their mental state by word of mouth; while in the other, it is the madness of millions of men, possessing vast sums of money and means for exercising force on others—guns, bayonets, fortresses, ironclads, melinite, dynamite—and having, moreover, at their disposition, the most powerful means for the diffusion of their madness—the post, the telegraph, an immense number of newspapers and publications of all sorts, incessantly printing and spreading abroad the infection to every end of the earth. Another difference is that those affected by the one craze, far from drinking to excess, touch no intoxicating beverages at all, while those affected by the second are continually in a state of semi-intoxication. And therefore for the society in which these phenomena take place, the difference between the Kiev epidemic, during which, according to Professor Sikorsky's statement, there was no instance of any act of violence or murder, and that which prevailed in Paris, in which during one procession twenty women were crushed to death, is as great as the difference between a hot ember falling out of the stove and glowing on the floor which will obviously not be set alight by it, and a fire which has set the doors and the walls of the house in flames. At the very worst the consequences of the Kiev epidemic will be that the peasants of a millionth part of Russia will spend what they have earned by their toil, and will not be in a position to pay their taxes. The consequences of the epidemic of Toulon and Paris which has seized upon people in the possession of terrible power—enormous sums of money and means for exercising force and for the propaganda of their madness—may, and must, be terrible.
IV.
ONE may listen with compassion to the nonsensical babble of a weak, unarmed, old madman in his peaked cap and his gown and may refrain from contradicting him, and even in jest humour him; but when there is a whole multitude of sturdy madmen who have broken out of their confinement, and these madmen are slung from head to foot with sharp daggers, swords, and loaded revolvers, and are excitedly brandishing these deadly weapons, far from being able to humour them, one cannot even remain for one minute indifferent. It is the same with that state of excitement aroused by the French celebrations in which French and Russian society is now plunged. The people who in this case have been attacked by the epidemic of insanity are in possession of the most terrible weapons of murder and mutilation.
It is true that in all the speeches, in all the toasts uttered during these celebrations, in all the articles concerning these celebrations, it is invariably stated that the significance of all that has taken place lies in its guaranteeing the peace of the world. Even the advocates of war spoke not of hatred for those who had forcibly annexed provinces, but of some sort of love which in some way feels hatred.
But the cunning of all people suffering from mental derangement is well known, and it is just the persistent repeating of the phrase, "We do not want war, but want peace," and the silence about what all are thinking of, that is the most menacing symptom.
In his reply toast at the banquet in the Élysee the Russian Ambassador said: "Before proposing the toast which will meet with the deepest response not merely from all who are within these walls, but also from all those whose hearts, far and near, in every spot in this great fair realm of France, as well as in all Russia, are beating at this moment in unison with ours, allow me to convey to you the expression of our profound gratitude for the words of welcome addressed by you to the Admiral whom our sovereign has charged to return the Cronstadt visit. With that lofty eloquence of which you are the happy possessor, your speech has formulated the true significance of the splendid peaceful festivities which have been celebrated with such remarkable unanimity, loyalty, and purity of heart."
The same irrelevant allusion to peace is found also in the speech of the French President:
"The bonds of love uniting Russia and France," said he, "strengthened two years ago by the touching ovations of which our fleet was the object at Cronstadt, have grown closer every day, and the honourable exchange of our feelings of friendship must be an inspiration to all who care for the benefits of peace, confidence, and security," and so on.
In both speeches the reference to the benefits of peace and peaceful celebrations comes in quite unexpectedly, and without any connection. The same thing happens in the telegrams exchanged by the Russian Emperor and the French President. The Russian Emperor telegraphs:
Au moment où l'escadre russe quitte la France, il me tient à cœur de vous exprimer combien je suis touché et reconnaissant de l'accueil chaleureux et splendide que mes marins ont trouvé partout sur le sol français. Les témoignages de vive sympathie qui se sont manifestés encore une fois avec tant d'éloquence, joindront un nouveau lien à ceux qui unissent les deux pays et contribueront, je l'espère, à l'affermissement de la paix générale, objet de leurs efforts et de leurs vœux les plus constants.
In his reply telegram the President said:
La dépêche dont je remercie votre majesté m'est parvenue au moment où je quittais Toulon pour rentrer à Paris. La belle escadre sur laquelle j'ai eu la vive satisfaction de saluer le pavilion russe dans les eaux françaises, l'accueil cordial et spontané que vos braves marins ont recontré partout en France affirment une fois de plus avec éclat les sympathies sincères qui unissent nos deux pays. Ils marquent en même temps une foi profonde dans l'influence bienfaisante que peuvent exercer ensemble deux grandes nations devouées à la cause de la paix.
Again, in both telegrams, apropos of nothing, mention is made of peace which has nothing in common with the celebrations in honour of the sailors.
There has not been one speech nor one article in which it has not been stated that the object of all these orgies is the peace of Europe. At the dinner given by the representatives of the Russian Press everyone spoke of peace. Monsieur Zola, who not long ago wrote that war was inevitable and indeed beneficial, and Monsieur de Vogüé, who has more than once said the same thing in print, now say not a word of war, but talk only of peace. The sittings of the Chamber were opened with speeches concerning the late celebrations; the speakers declared that these celebrations were the proclamation of the peace of Europe.
It is as though a man should come into a peaceable company and zealously on every occasion assure those present that he has not the slightest intention of knocking out their teeth, blacking their eyes, or breaking their arms, but simply intends to spend the evening peaceably. "No one doubts it," one feels inclined to say to him. "If you have such abominable designs, at any rate don't dare to tell us of them."
Many articles on the celebrations actually contain a direct and naive expression of pleasure that during the celebrations nobody expressed what, tacitu consensu, it had been resolved to conceal from all, and that only one incautious individual (immediately removed by the police) shouted what all were thinking: "À bas l'Allemagne!" In the same way children are sometimes so delighted at having concealed their mischief that their very delight betrays them.
Why be so delighted that no one has said anything about war if we really are not thinking of it?
V.
NO one is thinking of war, but milliards of roubles are being spent on preparations for war, and millions of men are under arms in Russia and France. "But that is all done to secure peace. Si vis pacem, para bellum. L'empire c'est la paix, la republique c'est la paix." But if that is so, why is it that among us in Russia, in all the magazines and newspapers published for the so-called educated classes, the military advantages of our alliance with France in case of war with Germany are clearly explained? And not only that, but even in the Rural News, a newspaper published by the Russian Government for the benefit of the simple people, it is impressed upon that unhappy people, deceived by the Government, that—
Friendship with France is a benefit and advantage for Russia too, because if, contrary to all expectation, the aforementioned Powers (Germany, Austria, and Italy) resolved to break the peace with Russia, though with God's help she might be able alone to defend herself and to be a match for the very powerful alliance of her enemies, it would not be an easy task, and great sacrifices and losses would be inevitable for a successful issue.[1]
And so on.
And why is it that in all the French colleges history is taught from a manual compiled by Monsieur Lavisse, twenty-first edition, 1889, in which the following passage occurs:
Depuis que l'insurrection de la Commune a été vaincue, la France n'a plus été troublée. Au lendemain de la guerre, elle s'est remise au travail. Elle a payé aux Allemands sans difficultes l'énorme contribution de guerre de cinq milliards. Mais la France a perdu sa renommée militaire pendant la guerre de 1870. Elle a perdu une partie de son territoire. Plus de quinze cent mille hommes qui habitaient nos départements du Haut-Rhin, du Bas-Rhin et de la Moselle, et qui étaient de bons Français ont été obligés de devenir Allemands. Ils ne sont pas resignés a leur sort. Ils détestent l'Allemagne; ils espèrent toujours redevenir Français. Mais l'Allemagne tient à sa conquête, et c'est un grand pays dont tous les habitants aiment sincèrement leur patrie et dont les soldats sont braves et disciplinés. Pour reprendre à l'Allemagne ce qu'elle nous a pris, il faut que nous soyons de bons citoyens et de bons soldats. C'est pour que vous deveniez de bons soldats que vos maîtres vous apprennent l'histoire de la France. L'histoire de la France montre que dans notre pays les fils ont toujours vengé les désastres de leurs pères. Les Français du temps du Charles VII. ont vengé leurs pères vaincus a Crécy, à Poitiers, à Azincourt. … C'est à vous,—enfants élévés aujourd'hui dans nos écoles—qu'il appartient à venger vos pères, vaincus à Sedan et à Metz. C'est votre devoir, le grand devoir de votre vie. Vous devez y penser toujours. …
And so on.
At the bottom of the page there is a series of questions corresponding to the paragraph above. The questions are as follows:
"What did France lose in the loss of part of her territory? How many Frenchmen have been turned into Germans through the loss of that territory? Do those Frenchmen love Germany? What ought we to do to regain some day what Germany has taken from us? …" Besides this, there are "Réflexions sur le livre VII.," in which it is said that "The children of France ought to remember our defeats in 1870"; "that they ought to feel the bitterness of this memory in their hearts"; but that "this memory ought not to discourage them: it ought, on the contrary, to arouse their valour."
So that if in official speeches there is talk with great insistence about peace, the simple people, and all Russian and French people in a subordinate position, are invariably impressed with the necessity, lawfulness, advantageousness, and even glory of war.
"We are not thinking of war. We are only anxious for peace."
One is tempted to ask: Qui, diable, trompe-t-on ici? If, indeed, it were necessary to make that inquiry, and it were not all too clear who is the unlucky deceived victim.
That victim is the everlastingly deceived, foolish working people—the people who with their blistered hands have built all those ships, and fortresses, and arsenals, and barracks, and cannons, and steamers, and harbours, and bridges, and all those palaces, halls, and platforms, and triumphal arches, and have printed all the newspapers, and pamphlets, and procured and brought all the pheasants and ortolans, and oysters, and wines eaten and drunk by all those men who are fed, educated, and kept by them, and who, deceiving them, are preparing the most fearful calamities for them; it is always the same good-natured foolish people who, showing their healthy white teeth as they smile, gape like children, naïvely delighted at the dressed-up admirals and presidents, at the flags weaving above them, and at the fireworks, and the playing bands; though before they have time to look about them, there will be neither admirals, nor presidents, nor flags, nor bands, but only the desolate wet plain, cold, hunger, misery—in front of them the slaughtering enemy, behind them the relentless government, blood, wounds, agonies, rotting corpses, and a senseless, useless death.
And men just like those who now are feasting at the celebrations of Toulon and Paris will sit in a pavilion of dark cloth after a good dinner with a cigar between their teeth and unfinished glasses of good wine beside them, and will mark with pins on the map the spots at which so much cannon-flesh made up of those people must be left,—just to take this or that position and to win this or that ribbon or promotion.
- ↑ Rural News, 1893, No. 43.