spontaneity of the artistic impulse, and therefore while they
controlled or destroyed the counter-revolutionary in all other social
activities, they allowed the artist, whatever his political creed,
complete freedom to continue his work. Moreover, as regards clothing
and rations they treated him especially well. This, and the care
devoted to the upkeep of churches, public monuments, and museums, are
well-known facts, to which there has already been ample testimony.

The preservation of the old artistic community practically intact was
the more remarkable in view of the pronounced sympathy of most of them
with the old régime. The theory, however, was that art and politics
belonged to two separate realms; but great honour would of course be
the portion of those artists who would be inspired by the revolution.

Three years' experience, however, have proved the falsity of this
doctrine and led to a divorce between art and popular feeling which a
sensitive observer cannot fail to remark. It is glaringly apparent in
the hitherto most vital of all Russian arts, the theatre. The artists
have continued to perform the old classics in tragedy or comedy, and
the old-style operette. The theatre programmes have remained the same
for the last two years, and, but for the higher standard of artistic
performance, might belong to the theatres of Paris or London. As one
sits in the theatre, one is so acutely conscious of the discrepancy
between the daily life of the audience and that depicted in the play
that the latter seems utterly dead and meaningless. To some of the
more fiery Communists it appears that a mistake has been made. They
complain that _bourgeois_ art is being preserved long after its time,
they accuse the artists of showing contempt for their public, of being
as untouched by the revolutionary mood as an elderly _bourgeoise_
bewailing the loss of her personal comfort; they would like to see