Another dream of the Tsar Nicholas II. which he realised and which the Bolsheviks ruthlessly suppressed was the abolition of alcohol (vodka), and this great reform was achieved with a stroke of the pen. We must remember the circumstances of His Majesty’s heroic measure. Russia was just embarking upon the greatest war in her history, when all her financial resources had to be thrown into the balance. The income from the drink traffic had in the previous year reached a colossal sum. And yet in the interests of the morality of his subjects the Tsar decided to make this great financial sacrifice. Mr. M. Gringmut, patriotic editor of the Moscow Gazette, was one of the pioneers of the monarchical and temperance movements in Russia. In 1908, he announced his determination of struggling energetically against drunkenness in our beloved land. He wrote: “We must convince our Government of the absolute necessity of stopping this evil, and of finding better sources of revenue—sources more worthy of a great country.” Gringmut was not only Katkoff’s friend and successor, but he worked energetically in the same direction with the greatest self-sacrifice. When he was almost on his deathbed, his doctor ordered him complete rest and forbade all work. The moment the door was closed and the doctor gone—“I must go at once to the station, he said, “as I have a very important meeting for Prohibition in one of the Provinces.’’ Off he went, made his thrilling speech, returned home, and died a few days later. Something exceptional happened on his burial. His poor coffin was followed by a crowd of some ten thousand people, and their spontaneous grief could not be mistaken.

Drink was the canker that was undermining the whole fabric of the State. By his action the Tsar, like another St. George, killed the dragon that was eating at the vitals of his beloved subjects. The terrible evil wrought in Russia by drunkenness has always been admitted, and has formed a subject for argument ever since I can remember. It was generally known that half of the convicts committed their crimes under the influence of this horrible scourge. Some of our officials, my son amongst them, I am happy to say, availed themselves of every opportunity to explain the danger of the drink evil to the peasantry.

When the great reform of the  (a local administrator resembling the English J.P.) was introduced, my son in his maiden speech as Zemski Natchalnik said:

“Let me tell you what I expect from yourselves. I begin with your meetings. You must admit that great disorders have taken place at these gatherings. Were they not often accompanied by drinking? What a quantity of land and property has been exchanged for vodka! I have now given strict orders—which I repeat to you here—that the smallest piece of land is not to be disposed of without the consent of your village judges and unless sanctioned by me. You must keep well in mind that a village meeting is not a convivial gathering of friends, but is an administrative assembly, where you have to perform a serious duty conferred upon you. Had you always looked upon that duty in its proper light, there would be no question of drunkenness at your meetings, nor could your village judges ever complain of not having the number of householders necessary for a legal meeting. . . . How often have I seen drunkenness at your marriage festivities—people going to church under the influence of drink. The same happens at Easter and other holidays. I appeal to your spiritual Father to help me in re-educating you; and I shall also be very happy, so far as the law allows me to do so, to support your good efforts whenever my authority may be needed for their support.”

Later in his speech he again returned to the same subject. After upbraiding them for their lack of respect to the Church and to their parents, he added:

“How many families are driven to misery, how many crimes are committed, only through alcohol? Half the prisons are filled with criminals—thanks to drink. Now remember well: to come to a village meeting or to a tribunal in a state of intoxication is prohibited by law, and for this you may be severely punished. A new election of village judges has now to take place, and this new administration is subject to the control of your Zemski Natchalnik. I have often heard people say: ‘He is a happy fellow now. He may drink as much as he likes now that he is a judge’! For myself, I confidently expect that with the new administration there will be neither drunkenness nor bribery. Your new judges have to give an oath on the gospel. It is your duty to elect men who realize the importance of such an oath. The title of a village judge should command a respect of which every man ought to be proud. I hope that we shall live together in harmony, and that you will help me in my difficult task. Now let us thank God for granting us an Emperor so anxious to help us and to promote well-being. Let us pray the Almighty to enlighten us, and to guide us in our choice in the important duties we are now about to undertake.”

A Te Deum followed my son’s speech, then the election of the village judges; and the assemblage of peasants, thus rendered serious and thoughtful, presented an impressive scene. It was satisfactory to see with what intense interest the peasants followed these words of sober advice.

This is only one of the numerous instances of the efforts made throughout Russia to combat the evils of drunkenness. And the Tsar, by his action at the commencement of the war, interpreted the feelings of all the best minds throughout the country.

In this connection I had a very striking experience one evening, while driving from the Zarskoe Selo station in Petrograd to my hotel some distance away. Although it was the summer season, the weather reminded one of October or November. It was cold, raining, and windy. Under such circumstances one naturally begins dreaming of personal comfort, a warm room and a cup of hot tea. One becomes prosaic. It seemed to me as though my drive would never come to an end. Suddenly I heard a voice. “Madame,” asked my young driver, “are you a Russian?”

“Yes,” I answered, “thank God I am a Russian!”

A few minutes later I heard the same voice say: “Madame, are you a Greek Orthodox?”

I naturally repeated again the same: “Yes, thank God I am a Greek Orthodox!” But my driver seemed to be inquisitive.

“And do you often see the Tsar?” asked the boy.

“No, unfortunately very seldom,” answered I. But I was puzzled to know the cause of all these questions.

“Tell me,” I asked, “why do you want to know all these things?”

“Well, I thought that perhaps I could beg you to intercede on our behalf, when you see His Majesty. The fact is that I have been brought up at Mr. Serge Ratchinsky’s school as a teetotaler. May God bless him for the good he has done to the children.”

Ever since that day my young cabman’s unpretentious conversation has been retained in my memory. Besides, a strange circumstance resulted from it. Mr. Serge Ratchinsky was one of my best friends. I had not met one of his pupils before, who are all devoted to him and to his teaching, and are moreover teetotalers.

It is pleasant to see sometimes good work actually bearing good fruit, and to realize that all our efforts are not in vain; for it had become evident even to the most casual observer that insobriety was positively an obstinate evil of great magnitude.

And indeed, this measure of Prohibition, in order to be accepted by the whole of Russia, could only be carried out, especially in so short a time, when proclaimed by the highest Power in the land. If only the Tsar could come to our rescue! was the constant hope of all Russians who saw the extent of the liquor evil; and the Imperial stroke of the pen in Russia sometimes corrected evils with admirable rapidity.

There is no doubt now that liquor monopoly as administered by M. Witte had grievously aggravated the evil. He had not shrunk from tempting the poor people in every way possible. He introduced the diabolical habit everywhere of selling the alcohol in small as well as in large bottles at a conveniently low price. Thus, any beggar or any child almost could buy one of these bottles and put it in his pocket; and the fact that the Germans relied on M. Witte’s demoralizing measure is proved in this way: as soon as they occupied the Polish provinces in Russia, one of their first steps was not only to reopen all the alcohol shops, but to add greatly to their number.

If any doubt still exists about the Tsar’s truly heroic measure, and the inevitable but perfectly authentic result of the Imperial signature, it will be finally dispelled by the following considerations. A well-known worker in the temperance cause, Mr. D. Tchelyshov, writing in The Messenger of Temperance (Viesinik Tresvosti), stated that, before the Tsar’s suppression of vodka was brought into force in 1914, over one million working-men in the best years of their manhood annually drank themselves to death in public-houses; that many thousands of alcoholic sufferers filled the hospitals; that many publicans allowed peasants to drink away all their substance to buy vodka. Numbers of children under the age of five years died from the want of natural nourishment, and as the result of having parents addicted to alcohol. In the general hospital of the town of Yaroslav, out of a total of 2,014 patients, not less than 908 men and 24 women were admitted for complaints which were inherited in each case from a drunken father. Such analogous statistical figures, as stated by Baron Heyking in his important book “Problems Confronting Russia,” show to what extent this moral evil was sapping away Russia’s vital strength.

But M. Tchelyshov went even further in imploring His Majesty to help the cause of temperance, and he was carried away by his feelings to such an extent that he sank down on his knees before him. This happened not very long before the declaration of the war, and the sudden abolition of liquor, as well as the shutting down of all means of obtaining it, were decreed by the Emperor throughout Russia—civil, military, and naval.

It is not difficult to verify all these facts. I must, however, say that there were some people who were ready to grumble at such drastic measures. They had, however, no power to oppose the good on which the Emperor had set his heart. When Russia and her good qualities are discussed, I sometimes hear speeches and read in many most tedious books great mistakes and horrors attributed to Russia. Naturally there is no country on earth where no mistakes ever happen; and Russia is no exception. Let people be pleased with me when I say: No doubt Russia also has made many mistakes, but surely nobody can deny that real Russians, devoted to her Church and her people, managed in spite of all to make their country Holy, Great, and Powerful, in spite even of human fallibility. Yes, Holy Russia has nothing to do with the present diabolical Bolshevik administration. There is no horror, no blasphemy, which the present usurpers have not introduced. They have established a real Inferno. Yes, indeed, “Lasciate ogni speranza, voi chi entrate qui.”

Those who would dare to go now to Russia in the reign of the Bolsheviks will involuntarily recall Dante’s words. Such quotations, however, show that people sometimes lose all hope, which they have no right to do, and all faith in divine compassion.

With God’s help the present Inferno will be closed, and real Russia resuscitate sooner or later. Perhaps even sooner than later.