VII

DAILY LIFE IN MOSCOW

Daily life in Moscow, so far as I could discover, has neither the horrors depicted by the Northcliffe Press nor the delights imagined by the more ardent of our younger Socialists.

On the one hand, there is no disorder, very little crime, not much insecurity for those who keep clear of politics.  Everybody works hard; the educated people have, by this time, mostly found their way into Government offices or teaching or some other administrative profession in which their education is useful.  The theatres, the opera and the ballet continue as before, and are quite admirable; some of the seats are paid for, others are given free to members of trade unions.  There is, of course, no drunkenness, or at any rate so little that none of us ever saw a sign of it.  There is very little prostitution, infinitely less than in any other capital.  Women are safer from molestation than anywhere else in the world.  The whole impression is one of virtuous, well-ordered activity.

On the other hand, life is very hard for all except men in good posts.  It is hard, first of all, owing to the food shortage.  This is familiar to all who have interested themselves in Russia, and it is unnecessary to dwell upon it.  What is less realized is that most people work much longer hours than in this country.  The eight-hour day was introduced with a flourish of trumpets; then, owing to the pressure of the war, it was extended to ten hours in certain trades.  But no provision exists against extra work at other jobs, and very many people do extra work, because the official rates do not afford a living wage.  This is not the fault of the Government, at any rate as regards the major part; it is due chiefly to war and blockade.  When the day’s work is over, a great deal of time has to be spent in fetching food and water and other necessaries of life.  The sight of the workers going to and fro, shabbily clad, with the inevitable bundle in one hand and tin can in the other, through streets almost entirely empty of traffic, produces the effect of life in some vast village, rather than in an important capital city.

Holidays, such as are common throughout all but the very poorest class in this country, are very difficult in Russia.  A train journey requires a permit, which is only granted on good reasons being shown; with the present shortage of transport, this regulation is quite unavoidable.  Railway queues are a common feature in Moscow; it often takes several days to get a permit.  Then, when it has been obtained, it may take several more days to get a seat in a train.  The ordinary trains are inconceivably crowded, far more so, though that seems impossible, than London trains at the busiest hour.  On the shorter journeys, passengers are even known to ride on the roof and buffers, or cling like flies to the sides of the waggons.  People in Moscow travel to the country whenever they