Khortiza, September 15, 1919

For five days I have been here on the bank of the Dnieper. From our beautiful sunny house, far up on the slope, I overlook the peaceful settlement which lies below, as if placed there to be carefully preserved after having been brought over from a foreign land. Indeed, these colonists came here some hundred and thirty years ago from distant western countries. Now I turn my eyes to the stream quietly flowing on and on; it makes me think that these waters, coming down from far away, have deposited here a bit of that remote country. Here has grown up a generation which speaks its own language and has its own ways of thinking, akin to the foreign stock from which it descended, though all connection with the parent country was long ago severed.

This colony of Dutch Mennonites is the oldest in South Russia. It was surely a hard struggle for these persecuted, religious people who, after a long and toilsome journey, at last settled down here on the wild steppe These settlers, conserving their habits of European civilization, were always looked upon as intruders, though they came upon invitation of Russian rulers. As time passed there grew up in this vicinity some twenty farm villages, a population of steady-working, earnest-minded men and women. The first primitive huts have disappeared long since; they were built one hundred and thirty years ago and were replaced when prosperity came.

Along the valley, besides the fertile farms, are some fine corn mills, factories producing harvesting machines, and there, on the slope, are the brickworks with high chimneys. Going through the streets one notices banks, stores, schools, and hospitals. It is true, through war and revolution all has deteriorated and everything needs some repairing. But after seeing these industrious people, I realize that agriculture as well as trade and commerce, school and charity work will revive if only these troublesome times pass by.

I am seated near the window looking out above the roofs into a far distance—all steppe, all around, the great vast Russian plain, and I know from geography that one can walk over it thousands of miles from west to east. In this plain lie hundreds and thousands of Russian villages and towns and cities, dreaming under a high blue sky.

Did I say dreaming? It used to be so; we were wont to look upon them in that way. But no—the dream is all over now. The villages have awakened. And yet that dreamy Mushik of the villages is only half awake, has not yet fully found himself. Thoughtlessly and rudely he stretches out his hand, held back by no instinctive restraint.

Today, however, as I look through the branches of a big pear tree and see a piece of the lovely landscape, it appears to me that around us is peace and rest. I am inclined to cherish such a belief just now. I have not come in touch with these people living down there in the valley. I do not know what is agitating their souls, neither do I know what rumors there are about. I do not want to know. A state of rest and peace, that is what I long for just now.

But in speaking of peace, it must be understood, of course, that all conceptions are relative. My ideas of order and peace are different from those I had in Western Europe a year ago. There, surely, nobody would call conditions orderly when the railway ceases to work and all traffic stops. Nobody there is content without newspapers, or with officers who steal. Neither would they be unruffled if housebreakings occurred every night such as we are used to here under the present regime of General Denikin.

But conditions could be much worse than they are now; this we know from recent experience. Therefore I am ready to call the present condition peaceful and quiet.

After all, I find consolation in the thought that we are living in an age of new birth …

Hold on—is there any use of making endless considerations and observations? Have I not already written reams of such stuff, thoughts about evolution in our time and in our country? Yes, I have.

I have chosen this beautiful spot here on the Dnieper as a fitting place to rest after I wearied of that fight with ideas about political and social reforms. I surely do not belong to those who would like to see the old conditions and traditions come back. No. I turn my eyes steadily toward the future, towards progress. But just now I want to stand aside for a little while to balance my last experiences and come to a clear conclusion.

I feel so well after these few days here. The attractive landscape in the Dnieper valley has guided me toward quiet contemplation more than anything else.

Yesterday I stood on the steep rocky bank of the Dnieper, fascinated by the dark pine woods which seemed to guard some mysterious secret I longed to know. Alas, I could not cross the river because I did not know where to find the ferry. And yet the little forest which called me can be reached only after you cross the water, because it is on an islet formed by arms of the Dnieper. Oh, that old Dnieper keeps this dear land tightly in her arms! My curiosity is aroused because I know that piece of land. There, for one hundred and thirty years, lived farmers who had come from the European West. But they are considered as being of German origin; that was sufficient reason during the war to expatriate these most loyal Russian citizens. They say that about fifteen families are still on that island making their living as lease holders of their own possessions. The first outbreak of the revolution had saved them from being sent to the polar regions of Siberia, as the Tzar-government had intended to do. But why that? Did they have any connections with the devilish politics of the Kaiser? That is precisely what they were accused of, these simple-minded farmers. It is so ridiculous.

But now—I must keep calm. As I said, I need rest very badly. Ah! probably I have mingled already too much in the large affairs of our times. And yet, must we not take part in rearranging our state and should we not do it consciously? Such a war as we have passed through must upset all conditions existing hitherto. The war has transformed thinking and revolutionized feeling. Our world has been upset.

We do not really know how to re-establish ourselves. There are many remedies under proposal. The Bolsheviks are asking us to accommodate ourselves to their regime. But, as time goes on, there also appear various generals demanding surrender to their commands as the only solution. And so it goes, one regime following another. Which is the best, which is meant for the future?

After the Tzaristic regime we had the Kerensky Government. Then followed the nationalistic Ukrainian Rada-administration which again was overthrown by the. occupation Army in favor of an autocratic Hetman rule. As soon however, as the Germans had left our territory, that government also disappeared like snow under the spring sunshine. For a time the Ukrainian Petlyura claimed the rule until the Bolsheviks, a second time, seized upon the power. After them Greeks and Frenchmen began to occupy the territory. Bands of all kinds of political creeds took possession of places here and there, just as they liked. Then again some “Red regiments” entered our settlements down here in the South. After a while they too had to leave and new rulers with new promises succeeded them.

Each time the population had to submit to new conditions and had to adapt itself to them. Every new regime insults and derides the preceding one and demands its persecution. Little wonder, that no one is any longer respected, for who knows how soon the very latest rulers will be driven away, and they too, then, will be looked upon as rascals, just as their predecessors were.

Thus our situation is comparable to a revolving stage which, as indeed it seems, can be stopped no more. One drama after another is being enacted before the eyes of Europe. We here happen to be on the stage and must act. A turn of the stage, an actor appears, making a grand announcement; the spectators of the West look curiously to see how we are going to put in practice those high-sounding principles. We do not know how we are going to do it either. We are scattered all over the stage, and I rather guess it is a poor show.

If we were allowed to sit aside and look at the variegated play, we could after a while go home and take the rest we need. But alas! we belong to the acting staff and the moving stage, as we said, does not stop revolving. We are going to play, on and on. … It is like that well-known fairy tale where some bewitched dancers have to dance unable to stop even for a moment.

I tried to leave the stage, but I am realizing now that it is impossible. To leave the stage means to leave Russia. Who knows how to get out of the crucible?

Or should I perhaps not ask for such a relief? What if the play we are playing now rightly should have the title: “Our Destiny”? If that were true, what right do I have to escape my destiny? Possibly one of the thousands of roles was just left over for me to play? What little we know about such things. Well, then, where is the stage manager?—No answer? So it is: nobody knows.

Everything is so strange while we are facing this fate. Perhaps—it just occurs to my mind—perhaps in looking out for a place to rest I was acting according to my part. Indeed, did I really want to find leisure? Did I not rather want to do something constructive in coming to this place? Yes, surely, I came to join in the work of training teachers. I am glad to have this work. More than anything else we need trained men and women to guide our people lost and crying in the wilderness. Even these peaceful Mennonite settlers who up till now remained apart from all history-making events, even they are stirred up by this general upheaval. Now they do not enjoy the peace which dominated their steppes for so long a time. They cannot live any longer in seclusion from the world as they did before.

We must teach them to answer life in the affirmative, to find new ways of living. This universal need at last teaches everyone to feel the beating heart of life, to feel the unity of the world.