Chapter I: Front Matter

THE
MAINSPRINGS OF RUSSIA

BY
MAURICE BARING

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS

LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN, LEEDS PARIS, LEIPZIG, AND NEW YORK

DEDICATION.
TO H. G. WELLS.

MY DEAR H. G.,

I dedicate this book to you in the hope that you will read it; for if you do, I shall feel certain of having at least one reader who will understand exactly what I have tried to say, however inadequate the expression may have been, and who, at any rate, will not misunderstand me.

Not long ago I was looking on at a play in London. The audience was, on the whole, of that kind which the Americans call “high-browed,” with a certain sprinkling of the semi-intelligent and the wholly elegant. Behind me were sitting a young man and a young lady, who were discussing intellectual topics suited to the rarer atmosphere of that interesting theatre. Among other subjects, they talked about Mr. Stephen Grahame’s books and articles on Russia. I do not know if you have read his books; if not, I advise you to do so. But you probably know that they deal with the Russian people; that Mr. Grahame walked on foot from Moscow to Archangel; and travelled, as a pilgrim, with Russian pilgrims to Jerusalem. It is therefore obvious that he came into close contact with the Russian people, and that his knowledge was at first hand and derived from direct experience.

Well, would you believe it, the highly educated young gentleman who was sitting behind me, who had read Mr. Grahame’s books and articles, said—I could hardly believe my ears, but he said it—that the trouble about Mr. Grahame was his blind faith in _the Russian Bureaucracy_. I confess, when these words caught my ear, I thought to myself what is the use of writing books if intelligent people in reading them derive an impression which is the exact opposite of that which you think you have expressed with some clearness?

The young man in question went on to say that such was Mr. Grahame’s fierce faith in political reaction that he dared to compare a half-starved Russian peasant with a free American citizen, and here again he revealed fresh vistas of misapprehension.

I have often had similar experiences myself since I began to write about Russian things. I have at various times been accused of being a revolutionary, a conservative, a liberal, a fanatical reactionary. But these accusations have left me indifferent, since, as they contradict themselves, they cancel out into nothingness.

As far as the subject of Russia is concerned, I have always, and only, had one object in view: to stimulate in others an interest which I have myself experienced. I know—I cannot explain why it is—but I know that between the Russian and the English peoples there are curious possibilities of sympathy, curious analogies, and still more curious differences which complement one another. I know the Russians and the English do get on well when they meet and get to know each other. I know the sympathy I myself have felt, and do feel, for the Russians is a sympathy which would, can, and could be felt by many of my countrymen. This has been my whole and sole object in writing about Russia. I am engaged on one more very short book on Russian literature, and then I shall drop the subject for ever. I have said my say. I leave it to the newer and better writers to say theirs.

But in the meantime, in regard to this book, I repeat I wish to secure at least one reader who will understand and who will not misunderstand. That is why I dedicate this book to you. At the same time I hope, even if you do not read it, that it will remind you of the strenuous days and the Attic nights which we spent together in St. Petersburg.

Yours ever,
MAURICE BARING.

ST. PETERSBURG,
_February 22-March 7, 1914_.