A Allen: Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

At Irkutsk he had received more assistance, this time from sympathisers of the Social Revolutionaries. How the world had changed, he reflected. The Essers wouldn’t lift a finger to help him now. After Irkutsk, the three-day railway journey to Samara. From Samara the Party’s underground had moved him through the territory of one empire to another: from Vienna to Zurich, from Zurich to Paris, from Paris to London. What a journey it had seemed!

In Vienna he had had to knock up Victor Adler himself, in the middle of the night, to beg for a loan to continue his escape. Old Adler had been none too pleased at first, but in the end even he had agreed to help.

“ Young man, if ever you bring news of a revolution in Russia you may ring my bell, even at night!”

He had remembered that…

But Obdorskoye was not Verkholensk; and now wasn’t autumn, it was winter. The forces of time, space and nature, the eternal allies of Father Tsar and Mother Russia, were combined against him. Obdorskoye was in the Arctic Circle and over fifteen hundred versts from the nearest railhead. In Obdorskoye, a single night would last six months. And he was no longer unknown. When he escaped his description would be permanently posted in every uchastok from Petersburg to Vladivostok. Above all, he had no friends left.

Perhaps Deutsch was right after all , he thought glumly. Maybe we should have broken out of prison while we could.

Replacing his pince-nez, he forced himself to pick up the pen and resume his letter to Natalya Sedova.

Almost in every village since Tobolsk there have been political exiles, most of them ‘agrarians’ (peasants exiled for rioting) soldiers, workers and only a few intellectuals. Some are ‘administratives’, a few are settlers i.e. exiles condemned to settle there. Altogether we have not yet encountered really desperate poverty among the exiles. This is because life in these parts is extremely cheap: ‘politicals’ pay the peasants six roubles a month for board and lodging. For ten roubles a month you can live quite well. The further north you go, the more expensive it becomes and the more difficult it is to find work.

Yes , he thought, money will be a problem .

He reckoned that he had enough to pay his way south again, but who knew when that opportunity would arise? In the meantime the cost of living from day to day would chip away at his capital. One thing was certain: there would be no more journalism. Even if he could smuggle out a manuscript, no Russian publisher would dare to print it.

Ah well , he thought, a man has to recognise the consequences of his own actions .

It had been his choice, he told himself sternly, to take the first step along the road that had now led him to Obdorskoye and there was no use grieving over this. Instead, he must put a brave face on it and stir himself. Besides, who knew how many pairs of eyes would read his letter before it reached her? It was imperative that he showed them he hadn’t surrendered. At the same time his instincts were warning him to be careful. There was a real danger that the unseen eyes would interpret optimism as confidence in some pre-conceived plan for escape. In his next letter he would invite Natalya to join him and to bring the baby with her. It was essential that he appeared to be resigned to his fate. Cheerful but resigned: that was the way. He picked up his pen and began to write.

We have met some comrades who used to live in Obdorskoye. All of them had good things to say about the place. The village is large with more than one thousand inhabitants and twelve shops. The houses are built on the town model and good lodgings are easy to find. The countryside is mountainous and very beautiful, the climate very healthy. The workers among us will find jobs. It is possible to earn some money giving lessons. Life is quite expensive, it is true, but earnings are also higher. This incomparable place has just one drawback: it is almost entirely cut off from the rest of the world. One and a half thousand versts from the nearest railway, eight hundred versts from the nearest telegraph office. Mail arrives twice a week but when the roads are bad in spring and autumn it stops altogether for six weeks to two months. If a provisional government is formed in Petersburg today, the local policeman will still be king in Obdorsk for a long time. The fact that Obdorsk is so far from the Tobolsk Highway explains its relative liveliness, for it serves as an independent centre for an enormous area.

Reading the paragraph through, Trotsky winced. It was mostly lies but sufficiently credible to convince any prying eyes that he intended to stay put. At the same time it also served to reassure Natalya that she need not be anxious for his safety. He knew her too well to delude himself that she would ever entertain the notion of coming to join him in exile. She would remain safe in Finland, looking after their baby son, Lev. For himself, as bad as the situation was, it could be worse. He had had to endure enough prison before the trial; a period of rest at Obdorskoye after the rigours of the journey might not prove to be too bad. And, he reasoned, enforced exile was better than the alternative: the death cell at the Shlisselburg fortress. As for what life in Obdorskoye would be like, he knew no more than the others in the convoy. He had no choice but to wait until he reached his destination and see what the locals did.

For the sake of appearances he had pledged with the other Soviet Deputies not to attempt an escape en route. They all feared the immediate reprisals that might be taken on themselves and on their families. But this promise meant little to him. When he escaped he would do so alone; it was the only possible option that he would consider. Not that any chance had so far arisen. They had been locked in every night and counted several times during the day while they were on the road. At no time had there been an opportunity of gaining more than a six hour start and the telegraph was always within reach. The telegraph would outrun any man.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table and forced himself to concentrate on the unfinished letter before him. The words had grown cold on the page. Quickly reading through what he had already written, he tried to regain their flow. He read the last paragraph through once more then, dipping his nib into the saucer’s puddle of ink, he resumed his letter writing.

Exiles do not remain in one place very long. They wander incessantly all over the province. The regular steamships on the Ob River carry ‘politicals’ free of charge. The paying passengers have to crowd into corners while the ‘politicals’ take over the whole ship. This may surprise you, dear friend, but such is the firmly established tradition. Everyone is so used to it that our peasant sleigh drivers, hearing that we are going to Obdorsk, tell us, “Never mind, won’t be for long. You’ll be back again on the steam ship next spring.” But who knows under what conditions we of the Soviet will be placed in Obdorsk? For the time being instructions have been issued for us to be given the best sleighs and the best sleeping quarters en route.

He sat for a moment, stroking his pursed lips with the end of the pen. The conditions of travel had gradually worsened. If they continued to decline he could not hope to escape before the convoy reached Obdorskoye. Once they had arrived, he might have to wait three, maybe six months before the guards’ vigilance began to lapse. By then the brief Arctic summer would be over.

By Christmas, he promised himself. By Christmas he would be with Natalya and Baby Lev in Finland. Either in Finland or Geneva, unless events at home took a turn for the better. The Duma was due to be recalled and the prospect of an amnesty was being widely discussed. It was unlikely that the Kadets would support a call for the return of the Soviet’s deputies from exile, much less their release; but stranger things had happened. Until then he must work harder than he had ever worked before.