Together with Comrade Adolf Pashinsky,--a Pole from the dreadnaught
"Andrey Pervozvanny,"--I am walking on the Great Liberty Street,
and inside of the fence, watching the prisoners in the Mansion, and
watching to see that _supreme justice_--the will of the people--be
done.
My companion--is a muscular man of thirty, without front teeth; his
thin lips are always curved in a bad smile; his brain is such that
he cannot think and speak of anything that would not be vulgar and
vicious.
The very first night we came to change sentinels--I felt embarrassed,
as I do not know the ritual; but--there is nothing military about
these things nowadays, all is abolished. The soldiers come to
change sentinels, talk freely, laugh loudly. Instead of military
traditions--like parole, pass-words, exchange of salutes, etc.,
etc.,--they ask:
"Ah, howdy! What are "they" (meaning the prisoners) doing? Anything to
look at? All right--now you go, we'll stay."
They have, however, a tradition. When the changed jailors are
assembled near the entrance,--they start to knock on the rain pipes of
the Mansion with their rifles, to throw sand and small stones into
the windows of the Heir and the Princesses. When they think enough
frightening has been done, they start to sing something hideous and
pornographic.
"She went to the ma-a-rket,
Bought a bell as a locket...."
begins a thin trembling voice very calmly and even bashfully, as if
nothing bad will come out of this quiet song. And then, suddenly, a
chorus of twelve big fat swine would belch the notorious refrain:
"Ah, you brunette of mine,
O-oh, curly girl of mine...."
and so forth, with the licentious words of this song accompanying
it with whistles and jazzing with bayonettes, field-pans and general
noise.
I tried to analyze all of this. Why? Why is there such a hatred for
these,--this poor man, these five women and a boy? Such unnecessary
torture of people of the past,--nothing but a man who awaits the end
of his tragedy, nothing but a frail boy, nothing but five trembling
ladies. And the picture of the old woman that broke her hip on the
deck--and provoked laughter, comes to me.
The second day of my occupation,--it was about eleven when the
sentinels were changed and the night was warm and bluish, the
demonstration, perhaps in my honor, was exceptionally noisy and
obscene.
"How do you like it?" asked Pashinsky gloriously, looking at me and
showing, instead of teeth, a burned-out cemetery in his mouth. "Don't
they get enough? They just went to bed--and here is the music."
"Fine!" I answered. "Why don't we shoot? It makes more noise and
frightens much more."
"We used to do so," he said with regret, "but all these burjoois, and
the popes, and the whole carrion of Tobolsk did not like it. So we
have decided for the moment not to. Nobody can forbid singing. We are
free. The air belongs to the Soviet Government."
Then he continued:
"You should have seen those little ones"--he winked his eyes--"they
got scared to death the first time we sang the "Parson's Daughter"
right near their windows! And I'll tell you...." he whispered
something in my ear.
I decided to start with him when it comes to rid the world of some of
these Reds.
"Good!" I said with extreme pleasure and tapping him on the shoulder,
"Where are their rooms?"
"Right where the white curtain hangs ... you see ... one ... two ...
three ... fourth window on the second floor. They all are there in one
room, they are never alone lately. They used to be on the first floor.
That--was a holiday for us boys. Everything seen,--and we would...."
The smile on his face stretched from ear to ear.
"But," he continued,--"again the popes intervened. I hope they'll
croak soon. And Kobylinsky consented. He is with us, of course,--but
we _must_ get rid of him."
"Well, you boys have good times here," (I said dreamily) "I am glad I
came. It's great! All these people had enough of our blood. Now--the
people rule themselves! Great life!"
"You bet! Stay with us longer and you'll see better things...."
43
Next day,--it was about four,--Pashinsky, who sticks near me thinking
I am his best friend and admirer, punched me with his elbow and said:
"Look, look. Who is coming."
The Emperor, stooping and walking with tottering steps, was passing
from the garden into the house. Dr. Botkin was with him. The Emperor's
hands were clasped behind him, his eyes were staring downwards. An
old, soiled soldier's blouse of khaki flannel was hanging on his
spare, bowed, bony body. He was walking slowly, evidently trying to
appear indifferent and calm.
I had not seen him for a year and a half or even more. There was more
gray in his whiskers,--and to me, at this moment he never seemed to so
strikingly resemble his more fortunate English cousin.
They passed very near us. Pashinsky loudly yawned and stretched
right in the Emperor's face, who looked at him blankly; but under a
dignified and elaborate calm--I detected a spark of wounded majesty.
Then he looked at me,--evidently seeing in me nothing but a new
jailer,--sighed, and turned his suffering face away. Dr. Botkin looked
at me, too; he recognized me with a start.
"Ever see the bloodsucker before? Did you see how I treat him?"
"Never saw him. Where in the hell could I?... As for you--you
certainly are some boy!"
I was so near to the Emperor that for a moment I feared he could
recognize me. But he did not, for he glanced twice at me and--passed
by. When they were on the stairs, Botkin said something to him, and
the Emperor turned around, his eyes resting for a moment on my figure.
I brought up my hand,--so, that for the Emperor--it was a salute; for
Pashinsky--a mosquito which I killed on my forehead. Both Emperor and
Botkin immediately turned away and entered the Mansion.
"You watch him closer, Syva," Pashinsky said, "I think we'll take him
away for good pretty soon."
Today,--during my watch hours I had time to make observations,
especially, when the evening came and the night began.
In the house silent figures were walking; these delicate shadows of
yesterday; later--Princess Tatiana sat near the window with a book.
... (_line illegible_).... has not changed much. From time to time
she would stop turning the pages,--and look--without expression,
without moving--down at Pashinsky and me, and at the quiet city, at
clear skies, at the distant golden crosses shining under the moon.
There was something natural,--and yet not ordinary, in this dark
figure behind the curtain.
Did she think of our black ingratitude, she who did so much for the
wounded soldiers and for the families of those killed? Did she think
of the capricious Fate, which played with her young life so nastily?
Did she pray--crushed, humble, and lost? Did she cry for the past, or
dream of the future?... Or, perhaps, in her mind was the present,--and
behind those noble eyebrows, were thoughts and plans to fight
still.... Perhaps there was hope?
This dark figure and the other frightened silhouettes of the
endangered ladies in the Mansion, surrounded by their jailers, keep me
turning from side to side each night.
I see crooked smiles full of rotting teeth; I see perspiring low
foreheads and piercing oily eyes; and I know that New Russia has no
compassion.
44
Nachman invited me to a dinner. Later Dutzman came and brought a
smirking girl with him. Nothing very interesting. A girl. She sang
gypsy songs accompanied by a guitar. Good voice--and bad manners. We
had champagne, caviar and cigars,--_real Uppman_.
"Eh," he said, "After all--this life _is_ good! Much better even than
when I was secretary of the 'Courier of Moscow.' Of course, it is
transitory.... Won't you take some more, please?... and we all will be
out. Perhaps those of us who will not, by that time, hang, will have
already some money put aside. Not I--I am a spender. I can't keep this
money."
He was happy and therefore talkative and sincere.
He continued.... "You ask how we get this money? Easily, comrad, very
easily, indeed. Besides what we receive from Petrograd, we have other
incomes. For instance, here, take this case of the Emperor. Why do you
think we intend to send him to Ekaterinburg? Why should we send him
towards the approaching Czechs?"
"Everything has been taken by them; they threaten to crush us if the
Allies will assist them, even in the slightest way. Still we send. It
is a question of two hundred thousand rubles,--but nobody knows that
I, Nachman, a scabby Jew, got about fifty thousand out of them. Now
another thing: who got the pay for the heavy trucks, and for the
benzine, and for the tents, and for the ... oh, many other things!...
who got it? This very Nachman, yes, comrad ... have some more, please,
it's good!..."
45
"Quod forti placuit legis habet valorem."
Sailor Khokhriakov--the special envoy of the Sovnarkom--and his band.
Here is the real danger, but only in case Colonel Kobylinsky and his
Detachment of Special Destination would consent to join the Soviets.
They all hesitate, not the Colonel, however.
The meeting of the Peoples' Commissaries from Petrograd (Khokhriakov)
and Kaganitsky (from Ural, I guess) is certainly worthy of
description. I went there, leaving for that reason my Mansion
duties--(simply by saying to Pashinsky "tell them I am not coming
to the Mansion as I have to attend the meeting"); nowadays military
service is really a pleasure.
We all were sitting in the recreation room, about sixty or seventy
of us in all. Khokhriakov presided. His neck is like a bull's, but
rougher--and red. He started the meeting by a thunderous "Shut up,
you over there!" and "Somebody open the window; who in hell is smoking
such ... tobacco (I omit the adjective, though correct and strikingly
expressive, but profane)?"
The noise stopped under this voice, the windows were thrown open, and
our Peoples' Commissary began:
"Comrades,--before us are three questions; 1st--whether to release the
prisoners and give them to the Tobolsk people under the auspices of
Comrade Kobylinsky and his men, or 2d--whether to try the prisoners
right here by the people's tribunal, or 3d--to comply with some other
requests--which I have the authority to propose--to send the prisoners
to a Ural city. Let us proceed with the first question. I put this
proposition to the ballot in this way: the Tobolians, and amongst them
the popes, the monarchists, all of the counter-revolutionary trash do
not want the Peoples' rule. So they say that the Nikolai family must
be given to the Constituent Assembly. Now, what in the hell of hells,
do they mean by this? What _is_ a Constituant Assembly? Isn't it
a crowd of the same enemies of the people? Isn't this 'Parliament'
against our will? Shall we, proletarians, consider the question of a
Constituent Assembly? Would it not be an act of counter-revolution?
Come out here, right before me, the one that will dare to propose such
a thing," and the ten pound wooly fist of the sailor was lifted and
held for moments in the filthy air of the recreation room.
This rhetorical question, in fact, was not necessary, as we all,
hearing the word "Proletariat" in the middle of Khokhriakov's speech
had already started to make a noise and to applaud, the cheers densely
hung in the room,--and even before he said, "I knew you are
good proletarians and would drown this proposition, God damn
you,--carried,"--the fate of this weak and impossible thing at that
time, the hope for a Constituent Assembly,--was told. In no way would
it do.
"Now comrades,"--Khokhriakov continued after a short confidential chat
with the curly, blond, small-faced and long-eared Kaganitsky,--"comes
the next proposition. I warn you, however; no matter how tempting this
proposition is, do not make any harsh decision. We know your zeal in
Petrograd--that's why we all would want you to say your word, but ...
if I see that someone is too zealous, I'd rather keep silent if I were
he. Can we try these bloodsuckers here?"
An impossible noise began after his words.
"Try?"--"Why? Kill them all, that's all." "Kill the Czar,"--"Kill the
brat." "Let them go." "To hell with all of them." "Let's try them, of
course." "Give the women to the people." "Put their guts out," etc.,
etc....
"Shut up you all," shouted Khokhriakov, "let me count the votes. I see
you cannot decide, though you _all_ don't want the trial _here!_ Is
that so? All right, as you wish, the will of people must prevail.
What? Who said it is _not_ so? Come out you counter-revolutionary,
you monarchist, you royal carrion,--come out and say it to _my face_,
don't hide, you...." Nobody came out. This categorical imperative
could surpass the Kant's.... Kaganitzky's face, smiling, and with
moving flappy ears, was in accord with this understanding, and when
Khokhriakov barked his--"Carried," he bowed his head.
The audience was then silenced.
"Now, comrades, comes the next proposition,--to send the prisoners
away,--to the Ural city, probably Ekaterinburg. Comrade Kaganitzky is
here. He says, they will be treated _very well_ (Laughter) and they
_will not be in danger_ of the Czecks, and popes, and monarchists. The
comrades of the detachment and Comrade Kobylinsky--agreed. How do you
like _this_? Say, _who_ is against it? Come out!"
Free people in a free country--consented. After which consent a
commission under the chairmanship of Kaganitzky was appointed to
elaborate particulars. The Detachment of Special Destination was thus
dissolved and Comrade Kobylinsky was allowed to proceed to Petrograd.
With a headache from the noise and smoke I left the court-room and
went out in the City Square to breathe a little fresh air. Children
were playing with sand and toys. Children of the New Russia! Russia
of free speech, free thoughts, free ways! God, what will grow out of
_you_?... I wanted to pet one of them, a little thing with gray eyes,
but frightened to death of a "Red"--the child yelled and ran; from a
distance it shook at me a little trembling fist. So--it is not so bad.
While in the garden--the court room probably was emptied, as few
shots were fired behind me,--on the hill, and shortly after, a
gala-demonstration started--with a rattling of stones on the roof
of the Mansion, whistles, songs and a general delirium of the
uncontrolled and wicked _mob_ ...
Feeling the bridles of the High Commissaries, unable to do something
to them, understanding the guidance under a sauce of self government,
the _mob_ was avenging itself on the inhabitants of the Mansion.
46