Unimportant man in the library

Andrei Navrozov

THE REVOLUTION OF 1905: RUSSIA IN DISARRAY by Abraham Ascher

Stanford University Press, $39.50, pp.412

LENIN: THE MAN BEHIND THE MASK by Ronald W. Clark

Faber, £17.95, pp.564

There is a sad joke which these books bring to mind. 'They are talking about Stalin. What is that? A programme about Stalin's youth. They are talking about Stalin. What is that? A programme about Tchaikovsky's youth.'

In the case of contemporary historians of Russia, the joke is not as sad, perhaps, but just as accurate. They are writing about intellectuals. What is that? A book about the Russian intelligentsia. They are writing about intellectuals. What is that? A book about the Russian monarchy.

Professor Ascher's study of Russia's political turmoil during the war with Japan, known as a 'revolution' because Lenin would later claim the years of civil unrest to have been a 'dress rehearsal' for his coup of October 1917, is a work of serious scholarship. Mr Clark's biography of Lenin is nothing of the kind: it is just another biography of Lenin. However dissimilar, these books share a crucial flaw, as their authors are quite incapable of ridding themselves, even in the face of abundant evidence, of the ubiquitous obsession with the role of the intellectual in Russian history.

Early in his study, Professor Ascher describes Nicholas II as 'a narrow-minded, prejudiced man', quoting the remark made by the Tsar when, at a provincial banquet, someone had dropped the word 'intel- ligentsia': 'How repulsive I find that word.' Apparently it does not occur to the histo- rian that, far from proving the Tsar a bigot, this sentiment could have been voiced by Chekhov, whose contempt for people known as intellectuals 'because they use scented soap' animated his perceptions of contemporary Russian society. Far from revealing the ruler's reactionary paranoia, the remark bears witness to his sober judgment and good taste.

Not that the 'intellectuals' did not give Nicholas reasons to fear. As the social and political reforms initiated by his grand- father, Alexander II, afforded increasing numbers of Russians more and more indi- vidual liberty, the so-called 'third element' (as distinct from those appointed or elected to local government) – teachers, lawyers, consultants, administrators, experts and other activists in the zemstvo assemblies continued to grow as well, creating a nucleus of politicised 'intelligentsia' which could be used by groups of subversive extremists like the Bolsheviks as an ideolo- gical breeding-ground. By 1905, popular discontent with an unsuccessful war was precipitating labour unrest, which the 'in- telligentsia' manipulated successfully. The events of 'Bloody Sunday', in January of that year, are a case in point.

The famous petition of 7 January, drafted by the workers of St Petersburg, asked that the Tsar 'consider our demands attentively and without anger, for they are intended not in malice but for good, ours as well as Thine, 0 Sire.' Yet, incon- gruously, amongst the demands of those `seeking justice and protection' were '1.6. Separation of the church from the state'; '11.4. Termination of the war in accordance with the will of the people'; and even '11.5. Freedom of the struggle for labour against capital', whatever that meant. Even today, any responsible government would doubt- less dismiss such 'demands' as spurious; one wonders whether the British govern- ment, in 1905, would have acted different- ly. Unsurprisingly the Tsar thought the `demands' deliberately provocative.

When the petitioners, numbering some 100,000 (many of whom believed that a 'religious procession' was under way), mar- ched to the Winter Palace on 9 January, the police ordered them to disperse. The order was not heeded, and the police opened fire, killing 40 people (total casual- ties, including those trampled in the confu- sion, were 130 dead and 299 seriously injured). Such was the most dramatic moment of Lenin's 'dress rehearsal'. The fearless Bolshevik, of course, was in Switzerland: 'Like most of the other Rus- sians living abroad,' writes Mr Clark, he hoped that

the massacre would spark off a revolution. Indeed, during the next few days he spent some time in the Geneva library brushing up his knowledge of the military tactics he thought would soon be valuable.

It is easy for today's historian to lionise winners like Lenin, investing them with `intellectual' qualities which on closer in- spection turn out to be cowardice, ruthless- ness, or plain old luck of the draw. It is even easier to ridicule Nicholas II for the ineptness of his administration, in 1905 or in 1917; in retrospect, losers often seem deserving of ridicule. Yet, even with the benefit of perfect hindsight, the Tsar's failings are hardly obvious.

Nicholas's Russia has been described as a 'police state'. According to Professor Ascher's data, however, in 1905

in the rural regions of the Empire, where some ninety million people lived, the Minis- try of Internal Affairs could dispose of only 1,582 constables and 6,874 sergeants.

Was not the Tsar's failing, then, that his was not more of a police state? If it had been, perhaps it would have been possible for his government to carry out its boldly liberal reforms and facilitate the processes of civic evolution.

Was Nicholas's Russia a 'nation of cen- sors'? In his research Professor Ascher relies on contemporary organs of political opinion, from the `ultra-right' Citizen to the left' European Messenger, from the Menshevik Beginning to the Bolshevik New Life: dozens upon dozens of legally published periodicals spanning every doc- trinal shade. Political associations prolifer- ated, and their proceedings received wide press coverage: one resolution, passed at a congress of political unions in 1905, proc- laimed that 'All means are now legitimate against the frightful menace posed by the very fact of the continuing existence of the present government.' Was not the Tsar's failing, in fact, that his was not more of a nation of censors? If it had been, perhaps Lenin and his band would not have been able to take advantage of the situation until the foundations of representative democra- cy had had a chance to solidify.

It was not to be. Insignificant as the role of the 'intellectuals' was in the unravelling of the Empire — compared, at least, with such calamities as the Russo-Japanese war and the first world war — it was they, in the end, who seized power. For the histo- rians of the Russian 'revolution', their success has been a source of fascination ever since.