only the revolutionary mood embodied in art, and to achieve this
would make a clean sweep, enforcing the writing and performance of
nothing but revolutionary plays and the painting of revolutionary
pictures. Nor can it be argued that they are wrong as to the facts: it
is plain that the preservation of the old artistic tradition has
served very little purpose; but on the other hand it is equally plain
that an artist cannot be drilled like a military recruit. There is,
fortunately, no sign that these tactics will be directly adopted, but
in an indirect fashion they are already being applied. An artist is
not to blame if his temperament leads him to draw cartoons of leading
Bolsheviks, or satirize the various comical aspects--and they are
many--of the Soviet régime. To force such a man, however, to turn his
talent only against Denikin, Yudenitch and Kolchak, or the leaders of
the Entente, is momentarily good for Communism, but it is discouraging
to the artist, and may prove in the long run bad for art, and possibly
for Communism also. It is plain from the religious nature of Communism
in Russia, that such controlling of the impulse to artistic creation
is inevitable, and that propaganda art alone can flourish in such an
atmosphere. For example, no poetry or literature that is not orthodox
will reach the printing press. It is so easy to make the excuse of
lack of paper and the urgent need for manifestoes. Thus there may
well come to be a repetition of the attitude of the mediæval Church to
the sagas and legends of the people, except that, in this case, it is
the folk tales which will be preserved, and the more sensitive and
civilized products banned. The only poet who seems to be much spoken
of at present in Russia is one who writes rough popular songs. There
are revolutionary odes, but one may hazard a guess that they resemble
our patriotic war poetry.

I said that this state of affairs may in the long run be bad for art,