IN THE MASTERTON LIBRARY.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8491, 20 July 1907, Page 5

IN THE MASTERTON LIBRARY.

(Specially Written for the Wairarapa Age.) No. X. RED RUSSIA.. —John Foster Fraser.. "Red Russia"—the title is well chosen; no one can fairly accuse Foster Fraser of inaptnes3. But, despite his virtues, the author does not satisfy his readers, according to the writer's mind. One cannot deny that. the book is interesting, yet it is disappointing, and one would not seriously describe it as a "work." One gathers the impression perhaps wrongly—that only a historian of great genius, literary ability, and erudition could at all comprehensively describe Russia, as she stands before the world to-day in the red light of' revolution. Anyone who has, let us say, but cursorily glanced into Carlyle's French Revolution,. or into Rocquain's work on "The Revolutionary Spirit Preceding the French Revolution," will understand the thought which it is attempted to convey. The book is simply something less than a mere sketch of a great nation arriving at an important epoch in the course of its. existence. However, Mr Fraser is not a historian, and one must not criticise an enterprising journalist toosharply, even if his book does bear the somewhat pretentious title "Red Russia." The book is not without dramatic incidents with which Fraser loves to embellish his writings. Here is one—as a pen picture it could scarcely be improved, upon. The incident occurs at the Bear Restaurant, St. Petersburg. " . . . . the military men are flushed with champagne, and they are very loyal. They cheer. They insist upon the national hymn again. Once more they demand it, and once more. Their blood is warm. A young man, pale, with the features of a student, looks upon the soldiers with a smile of disdain. He has one knee resting on the seat of his chair. "Stand up, you !" a winesoaked officer bawls with wrath. He hurls a foul insult upon the mother of the student. The student stiffens and quivers, and all the blood goes from his countenance. "It is not from you 1 take my manners," he replies. The officer heeds not. He is laughing with his ladies. Everybody sits down, and the band swings into a coon song tune; there are impatient cries for more champagne, heavily iced, and in silver buckets; the Tartar waiters scurry, and the riot of Russian gaiety breaks loose. The student has ashen features, and his eyes are fixed like steel on the officer. A lady with the student is quietly, earnestly, talking tohim. He pays no attention. Hisgaze is fixed. Occasionally the eyes of the two men meet, those of the student piercing and cold, those of the officer tauntingly scornful. An hour goes by. The officer rises to conduct one of his ladies to her carriage. The ? ;adent rises and follows him. In the hall, L.y the marble tank, where a few fish are still sporting, he suddenly faces the officer, raises his arm, and gives him a blow on the side of the ear. The retort comes quick—a drawn revolver and a shot. The student turns, walks quickly back to the restaurant. Behind him, features distorted by passion, hastens the officer with revolver still in his fist. Nigh everybody is too busy with merriment to notice the pair. "Look what this blackguard has done," exclaims the student. He half raises his arm, and shows a hand dripping with blood. Bang! Another shot has been fired. The student groans, and sinks in a heap. Bang! Bang again! Once more bang! The soldier empties his revolver into the body of the dead man. Some women shriek. But the band is busy, and the laughter is loud, and people in distant parts of the room mistake the shots for popping corks. The man is dead. The lady who is with him bends over him and sobs. The murderer stands defiant. The manager approaches him. The Prefect' of Police must be called; he must not leave till he comes. The soldier makes no sign except to put away his revolver and sit down. Blood is running freely from the dead man and making a pool about the carpet. One or two ladies, nervous and pale, go away. Others turn in their chairs and look. Really a very unpleasant sight, and likely to spoil the evening!" The author has succeeded in illustrating—if not in exaggerating —the callousness of the Russian nature, but the spirit that sustains the revolutionists in their tremendous straggle is, apparently, somewhat misunderstood by him. We remember reading that the farewell message to her friends of an unfortunate girl student, sentenced to death, were the words: "I gave my life; it was all I had." The girl was a murderess in the eyes of the Russian law, but surely such sublime patriotism as she possessed did not indicate a callous disposition! The revolutionists are patriots, and the devotion which they display in the cause of the Fatherland is incompatible with a callous nature. An elderly, refined lady, who shocks Mr Fraser, talks thus: "In England you argue and you vote. Here the Government are brutal; the only answer is to be brutal to the Government. Killing is the only argument the Government understand." The revolutionists are prepared to kill and to be killed, but it is scarcely justifiable to accuse them of being apathetic and callous because they regard acts of violence from a philosophical point of view. One or two more brief observations must conclude this review. The author makes reference to the assassination of Alexander 11. in 1881, and asserts—a statement which will certainly surprise many of his readers—that it is an open

secret that Alexander was assassinated, not by the Nihilists, but by the bureaucracy and Grand Ducal Party, just as he was on the point of giving political freedom to his people. Many foul crimes have been attributed to the bureaucracy and Grand Ducal Party, but this is probably one of the worst. Mr Fraser even goes on to say that the present Czar will also be removed "if he shows any real disposition towards reform." But one could keep on commenting in this manner ad infinitum. The book, despite whatever defects it may possess, is well worth reading. It is brightly written, and many of the scenes are cleverly described. There are several hours of enjoyment in "Red Russia" even for the Library .subscriber who only cares, at rare intervals, for a book that is not .mere fiction.