<SPAN name="THE_FIRST_STEP" id="THE_FIRST_STEP"></SPAN>
<h3>THE FIRST STEP</h3>
<h4><span class="sc">By</span> LEONID ANDREYEV</h4>
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"O heavens, if within your blue,<br/>
Old God is still alive and mighty,<br/>
Unseen by me alone, ye pray<br/>
For me and for my doom e'er bleeding!<br/>
My lips no more are fraught with hymns,<br/>
No brawn in arm, no hope in heart....<br/>
How long, how long, how long?"<br/>
<p style="margin-left: 10em;" class="sc">—H. Byalik.</p>
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<p>It is with deep emotion that I have read in the Polish <i>New Gazette</i>
an interview about the Jewish question with a personage of high
station who seems to be really well informed. According to this
personage, a number of measures are being proposed and planned, which
are intended to lighten the grievous lot of the Jews in Russia: the
abolition of the "Pale of Settlement" in relation to towns large and
small, the abrogation of the percentage "norm" in the secondary and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</SPAN></span>higher educational institutions, the establishment of special Jewish
schools, the reorganisation of Jewish emigration on a broad and
rational basis. I confess that I was not prompt in giving credence to
these good tidings. And those with whom I shared the news, although
excited no less than I, accepted them also with some degree of
diffidence, which is only natural in Russians: life indulges us so
rarely and so reluctantly. But private rumours corroborate this news,
and to persist in one's disbelief would mean to doubt the very meaning
of the present great "emancipatory" war, which is building a glorious
temple of renovated life on the blood of Russians, Poles, Jews and
Lithuanians. And finally, I simply cannot help believing, for my soul
is weary with waiting and repeating together with the great Jewish
poet: "How long, how long, how long?"</p>
<p>An aged journalist, who, it seems, has lost all fervour and faith, has
recently laughed in his sleeve at the word "miracle," which nowadays
comes so often to our lips: according to him, miracles, generally
speaking, do not exist. It is my opinion also that there are no
miracles, if we understand by a miracle an arbitrary <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</SPAN></span>violation of the
natural, logical, inevitable order of things. But to him who
contemplates life proper, not the table of multiplication,—logic
itself appears as the greatest of all miracles. Oh, if logic would
really reign supreme in life; oh, if in our cursed human existence,
where there are so many aimless and unnecessary sorrows and tears and
wild outrages, the simplest "two and two is four" would not be the
rarest of miracles, equal to the transubstantiation of water into
precious wine. Would millions of individually innocent human beings
perish in this most terrible of wars, if instead of a dark and
terrible <i>alogism</i> a clear and lucid syllogism lay at the basis of our
intricate and enigmatical existence? It is logic that is the true
miracle, and "two and two is four" is that extraordinary happiness,
which falls so seldom to our lot!</p>
<p>And just as I rejoiced as at miracles, at Russia's achievement of
temperance, and Poland's rebirth in the same way, I now marvel at the
coming solution of the "Jewish question," the immemorial and darkest
of alogisms. There is something festive in it; it stirs up in me a
feeling of serene and immense joy, <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</SPAN></span>bordering on religious
exaltation.... And the fact that for me, as well as for many other
Russian writers, <i>all this</i> was never even a problem, does not by any
means diminish the extraordinary character of what is going to happen;
for a plain brotherly kiss is almost a miracle and can move one to
tears at the time when the rule of life and its highest wisdom is a
fierce war of brother against brother.</p>
<p>And how can I help feeling this extraordinary import, I, a Russian
intellectual, if, together with the solution of the "question" my
soul, too, is suddenly set free. It is delivered from all the habitual
and harrowing experiences that, constant companions of my days and
nights as they have been, have acquired all the peculiarities of those
chronic and incurable ailments, to which the grave alone can bring
release. For, if to the Jews themselves the "Pale," the "norm," etc.,
were a fatal and impregnable fact, which deformed their entire life,
they were also for me, a Russian, something in the nature of a hump on
my back, a stationary and ugly growth, arising no one knows when or
under what circumstances. Wherever I went and whatever I did, the hump
was <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</SPAN></span>with me; at night it disturbed my sleep, and in my waking hours,
when I was among people, it filled me with feelings of confusion and
shame.</p>
<p>It is not my intention to demonstrate the soundness and justice of the
proposed measures and to force the door which to me was always open,
but I am going to take the liberty of adding a few more words about my
hump. When did the "Jewish question" leap on my back?—I do not know.
I was born with it and under it. From the very moment I assumed a
conscious attitude towards life until this very day I have lived in
its noisome atmosphere, breathed in the poisoned air which surrounds
all these "problems," all these dark, harrowing alogisms, unbearable
to the intellect.</p>
<p>Who needs it? Whom does it benefit? If all this exists and is
supported, if there are people who assert it fiercely and firmly,
there must be some definite sense in it; evidently, the Pale, the
educational norm, and the rest increase mankind's sum of joy, exalt
life, broaden the limits of human possibilities. Taking a logical
point of departure, that <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</SPAN></span>is what I thought, but this same logic
dictated to me an absolutely negative answer to all these questions:
no one needs it, it brings good to no one: all these discriminations
not only do not increase the sum of joy on this earth, but engender a
multitude of wholly unnecessary, aimless sufferings; some they
oppress, and others they badly corrupt. And yet I, a Russian
intellectual, a happy representative of the sovereign race, although
fully conscious and convinced that the "Jewish question" is no
question at all,—I felt powerless and doomed to the most sterile
tribulation of spirit. For, all the clear-cut arguments of my
intellect, the most fervent tirades and speeches, the sincerest tears
of compassion and outcries of indignation unfailingly broke against a
dull, unresponsive wall. But all powerlessness, if it is unable to
prevent a crime, becomes complicity; and this was the result:
personally guiltless of any offence against my brother, I have become
in the eyes of all those unconcerned and those of my brother himself,
a Cain.</p>
<p>The first consequence of my fatal powerlessness was that the Jew did
not trust me, <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</SPAN></span>which meant that I lost my self-confidence. Living
together with the Jews as my co-citizens, being in constant personal
and business relations with them, in the field of consorted social
work, I came face to face with the Jewish "problem" every single
day,—and every single day of my life I felt with intolerable keenness
all the falsehood and wretched ambiguity of my situation, that of an
oppressor against one's will. In the doctor's office, at my desk, in
the editorial room, in the street, finally in jail, where together
with the Jew I fulfilled the all-Russian prison duty—everywhere I
remained the privileged "Russian," the representative of the sovereign
race, the baron,—without the baronial blazon. And with horror I
noticed that even the eyes of a Jew-friend were dimmed with strange
shadows ... that terrible images surged behind my friendly Russian
shoulders and mingled wholly unsuitable noises and voices with my
sincere plea for "world citizenship." ... And yet he knew me well, he
knew my attitude toward the Jews,—how about those who know only that
I am a "Russian"?</p>
<p>I remember having spent one night in <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span>talking with a very gifted
writer, a Jew, who was my casual and most welcome guest. I was trying
to convince him that he, a great master of the word, ought to write,
but he repeated obstinately that although he loves the Russian
language with all his artist's heart, he cannot write in it, in the
language which has the word <i>zhid</i>.<SPAN name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</SPAN> Of course, logic was on my
side, but on his side there was some dark <i>truth</i>—truth is not always
lucid—and I felt, that my ardent arguments began, little by little,
to sound like false and cheap babbling. So that I have not succeeded
in convincing him, and when we parted I had not the courage to kiss
him: how many <i>unexpected</i> meanings could be disclosed in this plain,
everyday token of friendship and affection?</p>
<p>Things are altogether bad when even a kiss becomes suspicious and can
be susceptible of "interpretation," as a complicated act of intricate
and enigmatic relations! That is exactly what happened. And how many
odd and nightmare-like misunderstandings were engendered by the
poisonous mist in which we all wandered, both friends and foes, and in
which <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span>the outlines of the plainest objects and feelings assumed the
dismal grotesqueness of phantoms. I cannot help recalling here the
case of E.A. Chirikov, which at the time excited much comment: the
noble and fervent champion of the persecuted race, the author of the
drama "Jews," which has more than any other Russian drama contributed
to the dispersion of the evil prejudice,—this man was suddenly, in a
most absurd manner, without a shadow of foundation, insulted by the
accusation of anti-Semitism; and—to think of it!—it was necessary to
furnish <i>proofs</i> that the accusation was false. What a painful, what a
wholly disgraceful absurdity!</p>
<p>"Who needs all this? Who does not know it?" wearily thought every one
of us, again and again realising the harrowing necessity of convincing
some unbeliever, that two and two is four ... nothing but four!</p>
<p>And abroad? "What an injustice!"—thought I, when the cultured West,
having separated me from Tolstoy, as if I had stolen him, handed me on
the spot, a bill for the "excesses" known the world over, at the same
time frowning unambiguously upon my <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</SPAN></span>eternal hump. The West refused to
consider that I, too, am against <i>this</i>. I was considered a Russian,
and the question was put this way: "Tell me, why in your country, in
Russia?..."</p>
<p>It is ridiculous and utterly odd to think that our far-famed
"barbarism" of which our enemies accuse us and which puts our friends
out of countenance, is based wholly and exclusively on our Jewish
question and its bloody excesses. Take away from Russia these
excesses, leave, if you wish, the anti-Semitism, but in that
externally decorous form in which it still exists in the backward
portions of Europe,—and we shall become at once decent Europeans, and
not Asiatics and barbarians, whose proper place is beyond the Ural.
This is a fact the obviousness of which every new day of the present
war makes more strikingly evident.</p>
<p>Of course culturally we are far behind the world, our economic life is
undeveloped, our civic life is at a low level, and all the aspects of
our life show clearly that we have not as yet broken the shell of the
egg. But we are young, we are only beginning, and for a <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</SPAN></span>people who
abolished serfdom only half a century ago, we have done quite a good
deal,—so that, at the worst, lack of culture is the only reproach
which a European with a sense of justice will fling at us. But it is
enough to put side by side the words "Russian" and "Jew,"—and I
become at once a barbarian, a dark and terrible being, who chills and
darkens resplendent Europe. At once in America people begin to hate
me, in England and France to despise me; with the swiftness of
theatrical transformations Tolstoy's compatriot turns into the brother
of those who drive nails into their neighbours' heads,—I become a
<i>barbarian</i>. And even the German anti-Semite, a stupid and dull
creature, looks down at me and warns England: "See with whom you are
friends? Are they not the same people who...?"</p>
<p>"To whose interest is it that Europe should despise me, hate and fear
me?" I mused, perplexed, feeling that in the light of the European sun
my cursed hump assumes immense proportions and like a screen shuts off
the light which comes from the East, and in which the aged and weary
West is quite inclined to <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</SPAN></span>believe. To whom is it necessary for me to
ramble among the cultured nations like a leper, to conceal my race and
obtain the ironical bow so essential to my unacknowledged dignity, by
means of exorbitant "tips" flung right and left? A barbarian, a
barbarian!...</p>
<p>The war has opened our eyes to many things, and therein lies for us
Russians the sad advantages of it. And now when Germany brands France
and England for the union with "the Russian barbarians who...," when
the allies, while relying on our elemental force, tremble with doubts
and fear behind the screen of their noisy sympathies,—I begin to
understand in whose interests it was, who needed it, that in the
legion of European states we should remain all alone with our
barbarism. Whatever is a misfortune for us is favourable for Germany,
with her "well-tried" friendship for us, to which Wilhelm referred so
loudly from the balcony of his palace. As barbarians we are only an
excellent and indispensable market for the Germans' merchandise, a
two-hundred-million flock of sheep ready for the shears. As a cultured
nation we are a power dangerous to the Teuton's dream <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</SPAN></span>of world
dominion. And the Jewish question, with its excesses and nails driven
into heads, is that trump which our honest German neighbour has always
kept hidden in his cuff and which he throws out on the green table at
the necessary moment. And he was right from his standpoint. But why
had we to drink off the bitter cup? Losing our self-respect, having no
faith in our power, growing corrupted by an unnatural existence,
cutting down by means of the celebrated "norm" the number of our
educated and cultured men—a devilish joke!—our entire nation was
diligently performing the "Fools' Dance," which, under the name of a
drama from Russian life, has recently met with such a success in the
Berlin playhouses. It must not be forgotten that the ardent Polish
anti-Semitism, which frightens us so much and which seriously hinders
the upbuilding of a new life, as well as the cold Finnish
anti-Semitism, the power of which is still unknown to us,—that these
two phenomena are nothing but the logical development of the
fundamental absurdity, its natural and poisonous fruits. But the time
has not come yet to speak about that.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</SPAN></span>May I be pardoned that in an hour so momentous for the Jews I persist
in speaking not of them and their sufferings, but of ourselves. I
repeat, the Jewish question was never a question for me, and in order
to justify the proposed measures I need not allege the heroism shown
by the Jews in defending Russia, their love for Russia, tragic in its
faithfulness. As for demonstrating again and again that a Jew, too, is
a human being, to do so would mean not only to bow too low to
absurdity, but also to insult those whom I respect and love. And if I
persist in speaking of ourselves and our suffering, it is not for
personal egoism, nor even class egoism, but the pardonable egoism of a
nation, which has been too long playing a miserable part on Europe's
stage and in its own conscience, and which now repudiates the
suffering of yesterday and, at the dawn of new life, seeks the
possibility—oh, only the possibility!—of respecting itself.</p>
<p>Yes, we are still barbarians, the Poles still mistrust us, we are a
dark terror for Europe, a baffling menace to her civilisation, but we
do not want to be that any more, we long for purity and reason, our
wretched rags burden <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</SPAN></span>us beyond all measure. The Jews' tragic love for
Russia finds a counterpart in our love for Europe, as tragical in its
faithfulness and completeness. Are we not ourselves the Jews of Europe,
and is not our frontier—the same "Pale of Settlement"—something in
the nature of a Russian Ghetto? And try as our Pushkin and Dostoyevsky
and your Byalik may to prove that we, too, are human beings, people do
not believe us, as they do not believe you: here is that equality
whence we all can derive a bitter consolation; here is the punishment
by means of which impartial life takes revenge on the Russians for the
Jews' sufferings.</p>
<p>The thirst for self-respect—that is the fundamental feeling which
now, in the days of the most terrible war, has seized all Russian
society, which has exalted the people to the heights of heroism, and
which makes us fear all that reminds us of our sad past. That is why
persecution of Germans in our own country is so unbearable to us; we
want no persecution; that is why we hate all that, like the belching
of yesterday's drinking, distorts our disinterested aims and
intentions: better yield <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</SPAN></span>than take too much of what belongs to other
people—that is nowadays the motto of the majority. Could the country
become sober if not for this feeling which one has when about to
receive holy communion? Although proud at the victories of our arms,
we scrupulously hide this pride, we treasure it in our hearts as our
most precious possession, and we hate all swaggering and
self-adulation. Not with the haughtiness of a righteous pharisee do we
approach the altar, but with a prayer of penitence: "like a murderer I
profess Thee."</p>
<p>We must all understand that the end of Jewish sufferings is the
beginning of our self-respect, without which <i>Russia cannot exist</i>.
The black days of war will pass, and the "German barbarians" of to-day
will again become cultured Germans, to whose voice the world will once
more hearken with deference. And we must never again allow this or any
other voice to utter aloud: "The Russian barbarians."</p>
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