Froloff, who had listened to me attentively, smiled slyly and pushed our boat, which was keeping close to the shore, into the middle of the

stream.

Bodriaeff did not take his eyes from the East, and from his thin, cleanshaven face and tightly pressed lip, it was evident that he was in a profound emotion.

'Here now, comrade,' after a long silence Froloff began to speak, 'you say everything is communism, but what this communism is, that again we don't know. What sort of a thing is this communism of yours, for example?'

'Communism is like the sun,' I said. 'When after several hours the sun has risen to the very centre of the heavenly vault, in the forest there will not be found one tree, not one branch, not one blade of grass, which is not warmed, illumined, and caressed by it. And on the many acres of wheat fields every spike will be gilded by the sun's kiss. That is what communism is. When it rises over humanity all people will be happy, and among us there will be no unfortunates, no oppressed, no humble ones, none without rights. Communism will destroy greed, envy, and angry feelings, because all will live equally easily and freely. And men will be brothers and not brute beasts.'

"That would be fine, if it were so.' With a touch of amusement in his voice Froloff began to speak, bending his white head to the side. 'But here's what's the trouble: it's absolutely impossible to make people equal, for example.'

'Why is it impossible?'

"They don't want to be equal. People, you know, are not sheep; you won't gather them all into one flock. Each one, for example, will pull over to his own side. I, let us say,

get up to work when it's scarcely light, and my neighbor is still only drinking tea. And here again with respect to rations. I, for example, will eat up a pound; but my neighbor, for example.

'Drop it, your "for example," suddenly burst out Bodriaeff, who up to this time had been silent. 'Why do you spoil the air with your stupid words all for nothing. We have heard these arguments of yours. How, you say, is it possible to make all equal if one devours a lot and another a little; one is lazy and another is industrious.

You're a dung beetle, that's what I'll answer you.

'Pardon me,' I broke in upon Bodriaeff, seeing that the peaceful conversation was again approaching a quarrel. 'Froloff is right according to his own ideas. He does not know what communism is and cannot picture it to himself. And he is not the only one, for I know educated people who think exactly the same. It's a pity that it is already late, and time for us all to go to rest; but otherwise I would explain in detail just what communism is, and it is possible that Froloff would begin to think differently. Here, if you like, to-morrow we can come together again and converse.' "That would be very pleasant,' eagerly agreed Bodriaeff.

Froloff made fast on shore. We got out of the boat, shook hands cordially, and departed our separate ways to our homes.

II

THE commune, 'A Spark of Life,' founded in the township of Voroshilovsky, the district of Roslavsky, the province of Smolensk, shows what harm the so-called 'false communists' can do to the development of the idea of collectivism in the villages. For two whole years civil war has been

waged between the population of the township and the members of the so-called 'farm-commune.' It must be noted that the district unanimously recognizes the soviet government. Until the agricultural communards appeared on the scene, there was no anti-soviet agitation. The population of the district spontaneously concluded that the improvement of agriculture made mutual aid indispensable. They, therefore, decided to organize the 'Voroshilovsky Farmers' Coöperative Association,' which should establish a cultural centre; organize farm demonstration and experimental work; teach hand-weaving, fruitgrowing, cattle-raising, and nurserygardening; and hold lectures and debates on agricultural questions. They decided to utilize a certain expropriated estate, for this purpose.

At that time, in the spring of 1918, two men, Boyaroff and Bobroff, well known to all the surrounding population as rough-necks and robbers, returned from the city. Proclaiming themselves 'communists,' they were able to win the confidence of the district and provincial authorities, and against the wishes of all the people were appointed members of the township and district executive committees. This appointment created indignation in that vicinity, and destroyed popular confidence in the authorities. The further acts of these new communists only aggravated the situation. All the worst characters in the district gathered together around them and formed the farm-commune 'A Spark of Life,' which was allotted the estate which the Coöperative Association had proposed to use for its rural welfare

centre.

Here is how the peasants themselves describe the way these communards live, in complaints which they have sent to the Commissariat of Agriculture.

'Instead of brotherhood and equality the members of that commune have continual disputes, quarrels, and abuse. Toward the people they behave like our former masters, as if we were a lower class and ought to support them, the do-nothings, the way we supported our masters. They confiscate everything in the villages without weighing, measuring, or keeping accounts. They tried, one day, to collect for their farm-commune seven pigs from each village. They have continued to be the same loafers and idlers they always were. They have burned the roofs and fences of the estate for fire-wood. Although they have excellent scythes and rakes, in the summer of 1918 and 1919 they gathered in much less hay than their neighbors, who worked without implements. They pasture their cattle so carelessly that the animals continually go hungry, spoil the grain and meadows, and part of them will die. Their kitchen-gardens are a mass of weeds. Although they have every advantage over us, they have not even raised enough grain and vegetables for their own support.'

One can easily conceive what indignation these communards aroused among the people of the vicinity; since the commune itself owed its existence to Boyaroff and Bobroff, who were on the executive committee. Finally the peasants completely lost patience over some unlawful confiscations and cases of outright robbery, and decided to take forcible measures with the committee itself. They expelled Boyaroff and Bobroff, and chose in their place men who enjoyed their confidence.

This caused an investigation which made clear all the guilt of the district soviet. Bobroff was condemned to be shot, but the sentence was later changed to forced labor.

We do not know the later fortunes of the farm-commune 'A Spark of Life,' or whether the Voroshilovsky Coöperative Association finally received the estate for its own use. But, undoubtedly, the people have viewed with moral satisfaction the punishment of these rogues.

We add another quotation from the complaint of the peasants to the Commissariat of Agriculture, without any change in its wording, because it so aptly characterizes their way of thinking. 'We don't enroll ourselves in the commune, not because we are stubborn, but because, measuring ourselves impartially, we clearly see that we are very unprepared and in the highest degree unfit to become members of a real commune, which strives to put in actual practice brotherhood and equality, in which we are very lacking. But in order to pave the way to that, one must put stone upon stone, and we think that voluntary agricultural coöperative societies will be such stones.'

III

IN the room it was stifling and hot. Sleepy flies, buzzing lazily, flew from place to place. Through an open window came the rattle and rumble of street cars and the noise of street crowds.

Two ugly individuals in worn business suits with dirty stiff-starched collars were seated opposite each other at a writing table, scattered with many-colored hand-bills, books, and written note paper.

'How much have you earned on "Christ"?' gloomily asked one.

'Nothing worth mentioning. Thirty thousand roubles. "Anti-Christ" was better. For four lectures I got a hundred and fifty thousand roubles. And then it is so much easier to give!'

'Yes, it is certainly easier. . . .

You can compare it with the present time. You pass rapidly over Bolshevism. And, in general, certainly. You have lectures to-morrow it

seems?'

'Yes, two. One on the Nevsky: "Christ lived"; the other on the Petersburg side (the manufacturing district): "Christ did not live."'

'How many do you draw?'

'I think there will be sixty thousand roubles for the two lectures.'

'Oh, pretty good!'

'Well, what would you have! This is very difficult, you know! Two at once. And then, you understand, they're quite opposite, so to speak. Very difficult, one is obliged to concentrate terribly. I am giving them for the second time already. The first time there was a little scandal. . . Because I said that Christ lived on Litania street, in the down-town district, and that he did n't live on the Nevsky. Well, you understand, I was confused as to where I must say he lived, and where he did n't live. It came out of a misunderstanding.

"That happens. . . It happened to me some days ago also. . . . I had to give a lecture on Socialism and Christianity, but I mixed up my notes and arrived at the lecture with notes on the Mass Production of Automobiles in America. Lord knows how those old notes got into my hands.'

'Well, what then? Did you get yourself out of the mess?'

'Yes, I stopped myself in time. It was nothing; it was passed over.' 'Yes,' lazily drawled the other, 'now we men of science can live. enlighten the masses... Well, enough of chatter. Let's get to work."

We

'Here, I propose this subject: The Holy Ghost and the Capitalistic Order.' 'Fine, fire ahead. You take that, and I will call my subject: "The Holy Ghost and Socialism.'

999

It was stifling and hot. Only now and then a 'little breeze came through the open window, rustling the packages of hand-bills with their theological names. In the room, both men were hard at work: 'Marriage and the School,' 'Anti-Christ and Agriculture,' "The Soul and the Body,' 'Death after Life,' 'Life after Death,' 'Christ and Anti-Christ.'

It was very oppressive.

But the God-specialists kept on writing.

The many-colored posters which cover the house walls and fences in hundreds, with pompous announcements of lectures, have become a public nuisance. One is on 'The Religion of the Phoenicians and Babylonians,' another is by a 'specialist' on 'The Souls of Animals.' One part of the city is placarded with announcements of a lecture on: 'Lovers at the Time of the French Revolution.' Another poster informs us of a discussion of: 'God and Climate,' and so on.

What calls forth this flood of lectures, arguments, and discussions? Is there really such a demand for the nonsense which is being offered to the general public, in the form of lectures for which an admission fee is invariably charged?

Certainly not. Nor is all this activity due to interest in saving souls or promoting culture.

The existing thirst for knowledge is abundantly satisfied by our extensive school system, our People's Universities, and other institutions of learning. The streams of turbid words and thoughts I have described are not for workmen. Go to any lecture by such a God-seeker,' and you will find a typical middle-class crowd.

from the art stores, these self appointed 'soviet' workers are out for an easy living. Not being restrained as to the means they adopt, they speculate in lectures and audiences.

Religious motives are a mere pretext! In these conventicles a lecturer can pour forth a small but pernicious stream of anti-semitism, Bonapartism, or any other 'ism' disguising insolent counter-revolution. Therefore, in order to put a decisive end to this riot of speculation, the Division of Popular Education of the Petrograd Soviet proposes to order the abolition of all public paid lectures.

Whoever wishes to serve education by speaking or teaching is free to apply to the local educational board, which will know how to use him. Besides, this will render available for other needed uses many public halls, which now are filled almost daily by the audiences of these paid lecturers.

[Der Tag (Berlin Conservative Daily), January 11] SUNBEAMS AND CLOUDBANKS BY CARL MÜLLER

[The reader must judge for himself whether this series of travel anecdotes reflects real sentiment toward Germany in the Near East, or merely the afterglow of Germany's vanished dreams.]

I. GEORGIA

the lecturer is money-making.

Driven out of cafés, smoked out

through the obscurity. A diminutive street car drawn by two mules and

lighted by a single smoky little kerosene lamp trundles past. It is the only means of communication in the city. I rush out to catch it. In vain. In a moment it is lost in the darkness around an unlighted corner. The Bibliotheka, where my steamer friends await me, is an hour's walk distant. How am I to get there? I am ignorant of the locality; the darkness and the increasing violence of the storm are poor guides for a stranger. Not a man is to be seen on the street. I stumble along over the broken pavements, when I hear footsteps approaching. A form appears in the darkness. The tall fur cap and rattling sword indicate a native.

When I ask my way to the Bibliotheka, the man simply shakes his head and says: 'Impossible, Sir! Impossible! You can't find it!'

His English 'Sir' told me that he had mistaken my nationality. I said I was a German. His face at once lighted up with an incredulous grin. 'A German? Here? Not on your life! Since the English came, the Germans have had to get out.'

I explain to him that I am a member of the crew of the Russian steamer at anchor in the harbor. Then he believes me. Shaking my hand heartily, he says: 'Come along. I'll take you to the Bibliotheka.'

I thank him, but protest that the weather is too bad. However, he will listen to no objection, and side by side, we stumble along down the muddy road. The rain whips us angrily in the face. The wind makes conversation difficult. Yet I can understand this much; he keeps praising the Germans.

One has to travel, as I have done, through the new world with which the peace has blessed us, hearing his nation condemned on every hand, to appreciate how gratefully the kindly compliments of this simple Caucasian fell upon my ears.

reach the entrance of the Bibliotheka. Doubly pleased with my adventure, I try to press a rather liberal gratuity upon my good guide. He refuses it, really offended at my offer. 'I am always glad to do a favor to a German.' He shakes my hand warmly and turns back on his hour's walk home.

My heart is warmed with joy. No matter how the press of the world may abuse us, it cannot extinguish friendship and kindly feeling everywhere. There are still people who honor and love us, and who still speak of us to-day with respect and admiration.

II. TIFLIS

Galavinskaya Prospect is fairly baking in the hot sun. Nevertheless, that main thoroughfare of the ancient city upon the Kura is crowded with people, richly costumed men and women, a rainbow effect of bright colored garments, an excitable impressionable throng, where the very intonation of voices and play of countenances betray a high-strung race. Were it not for the variety of nationalities Russians, Persians, Tartars one might almost fancy he were loitering along the promenade of a European seaside resort. But the dominant note is given by the slender forms of the Georgians, with their oval faces, their white skins, their strong features, and their jet black hair and eyes.

I saunter down the well-kept avenue. In the shade of the trees, fruit peddlers display their stocks. Circassians offer us great clusters of grapes, still bejeweled with the morning dew. Others are vending from goat-skin bottles, which they carry on their backs, the aromatic wines of the Caucasus. Pretty Tartar girls are shouting shrilly the merits of their oranges, figs, and chestnuts.