The Russian Revolution/Chapter 23
XXII.
A REST HOME FOR WORKERS.
Unlike governments in capitalist countries, the Russian Government takes a direct and positive interest in the welfare of the workers. It is especially concerned in looking after their health. As one of the means to this end it has established the famous rest homes, hundreds of which are scattered about the suburbs of the various industrial centers. These are places, usually fine country mansions confiscated from the aristocrats, where the run-down workers from the chemical, tobacco and other health-destroying industries are sent to recuperate. In the rest homes there are no restrictions on diet. All the workers have to do is to eat, sleep, and have a good time generally. The unions decide which of their members shall enjoy the highly-prized two-weeks' vacation. When Russia becomes more prosperous the rest homes will be multiplied and developed to the greatest possible extent.
It was my good fortune to visit one of these rest homes situated about twenty miles from Moscow. It was located in a great white mansion, built upon a hill, All about it lay well-kept park land. In front a beautiful lake, timbered to its edges, lay shimmering in the sun. Across the valley nestled a tiny Russian church, with its white walls and golden cupolas standing out sharply against the rich green foliage of the trees. A quaint village sprawled halfway up the hill. The whole scene was a picture of exquisite beauty.
We were a party of five—Lossovsky, president of the All-Russian Trade Unions; Szanto, a member of the former Hungarian Soviet Government; Fritz Heckert, a prominent German trade unionist; the latter's wife, and myself—and as our automobile dashed up the workers flocked out and gave us a royal welcome. There were a hundred or so of them, and they were attired in all sorts of makeup. Clothes are exceedingly precious in Russia now, and it was one of the rules of the rest home that the sojourners there had to wear whatever bizarre togs the place could provide. This encouraged the workers to loll around and thoroughly relax, which they would not have done in their own clothes.
Our party was shown about the place, which was furnished with the semi-barbaric splendor characteristic of Russian mansions. There was gilt and gold everywhere. Upon the walls hung many old masters, some of which I noted as being as much as 500 years old. There were dozens of rooms—I did not attempt to count them. And the whole business, before the revolution, had been for the pleasure of one old woman who lived alone—if it can be called living alone when one has fifty servants. Her son lived close by in another mansion, almost as large and magnificent. It, too, is now being used as a rest home.
After a hearty supper we strolled about the grounds and soon found ourselves in the yard playing "Gavoreetka"—I think that is what they called it. Gavoreetka is one of the national games of Russia. It is very fascinating and is played as follows: Two six-foot squares are marked off about 50 feet apart, one for each of the opposing teams. In these squares are arranged five six-inch blocks in various curious successive formations, such as the "sausage," "woman at the window," "cannon," "house," "train," "cross," "snake," "registered letter," etc. The point of the game is that the competing teams, each player of which is equipped with two great clubs for throwing, strive to be first in knocking a specified number of the block formations from each other's squares. It is a rough game but a very interesting one. It brings out all a person's strength and skill in throwing. We played it until midnight, when darkness set in. For several days afterward my "soupbone" was as sore as a boil.
Next morning we arose early—that is, early for Russia. We had a good meal and started a busy day of fishing, boating, swimming, playing gavoreetka, and wandering around in the beautiful woods. The part of the program that pleased me most, however, was the concert in the afternoon. It was held in the large ball-room of the mansion. This ball-room, about fifty feet square, was luxuriously fitted out. Wonderful paintings decorated the walls and ceilings. The furniture was exquisite and costly. There must have been a hundred chairs, each of which was delicately carved, enameled, inlaid with gold, and upholstered with the finest of silk.
The ball-room presented a truly revolutionary scene. Its former aristocratic revellers were gone and the useful workers were come in their stead to enjoy themselves. Many of the peasant girls, who had come in from the surrounding villages, were dressed in their gay national costumes. Across the walls were strung great red banners bearing revolutionary watchwords. In front, on the lawn, stood an enormous bust of Karl Marx, flanked by several more of Engels, Liebknecht, and other fighters in the cause. I wondered what the assembled workers thought of it all. Here just a few years ago they were talking in whispers of the masters in the big mansion on the hill and gazing respectfully from afar at their brilliantly lighted festivities. But now they had risen up, driven away these masters, divided up their lands, and were using the sacred ball-room for their own enjoyment. To me the whole incident seemed to bring the revolution very close.
As always with Russian working class concerts, the program was excellent. The artists—a pianist, a singer, and a violinist from Moscow—were superior performers. The work of the pianist particularly interested me. He interspersed his playing with short talks explaining the theory, evolution, history, and technique of music. The hearers were entranced. On that beautiful Sunday afternoon, with all outdoors calling to them, they sat through three hours of classical and folk music and enjoyed every minute of it. The concert wound up by everybody singing "The Internationale."
Tired out, but delighted beyond measure by our experience at the rest home, our party reached Moscow at midnight—after an automobile drive at the breakneck pace habitual to Russian chauffeurs.