Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

When Mariya had left, the two women sat looking at each other in silence After a moment Olga rose and, walking across the room, picked up a small side chair and placed it deliberately next to Madame Wrenskaya’s chair. Sitting down she leant towards the old woman and spoke quietly and distinctly.

“Thank you for seeing me, Anna Christianovna. I need to talk to you in confidence about something important that is happening in the town.”

Madame Wrenskaya nodded, her impassive expression not betraying her awakened interest.

“So this is a serious conversation?” she responded.

“Yes, very serious.”

The maid reappeared with a tray bearing two glasses and a small jug of water. Putting it down on an occasional table, she carried the table and tray together and placed them carefully beside Olga Nadnikova’s chair.

“Now go away,” ordered Madame Wrenskaya, “and make sure that we are not disturbed by any more visitors.”

Gesturing towards the glasses she motioned to Olga to pour them both a drink.

“You must tell me what has happened,” she said, “and don’t leave anything out.”

It did not take long for Olga to summarise the main points of her problem: the exposure of Kavelin’s infidelity; the Mayor’s craven capitulation to Kuibyshev’s demands, Kavelin’s expulsion from the Town Council and Tolkach’s election.

“Over the last fortnight we have seen the final collapse of all moral values in the town,” she concluded unhappily. “The men seem helpless to stop it, or not to care. What should we women do about it? We need your wisdom.”

Is there not one more thing missing from your list of worries? thought Madame Wrenskaya to herself. The misappropriation of civic funds for private speculation, for instance? Or are you not concerned by this because your husband is just as involved as the others?

Instead she asked, “What do you want to do about it?”

“Firstly we want to get rid of Irena Kuibysheva,” replied Olga decisively. “Secondly someone needs to teach Fyodor Gregorovich that he should be running a hotel and not a brothel. Thirdly we must prevent Mayor Pobednyev from driving the town further into the mire.”

“You have a list,” observed Madame Wrenskaya approvingly. Draining her glass, she held it out to Olga.

“I certainly have,” admitted Olga.

Yes, thought Madame Wrenskaya as her guest poured them both generous refills, but only the first and the third items on your list matter to you. The business about the hotel, that is just a filler, a decoy. You want Kuibysheva’s wife gone so that you can try to replace her with your awful daughter and you want Pobednyev weakened or even ousted so that your Pavel Stepanovich can become lead dog. Well, the town could do much worse…

“How do you intend to get rid of Irena Kuibysheva? Are you going to ‘bump her off’?”

Olga shook her head regretfully.

“No, but we do want her to leave town. Her presence here has become intolerable.”

Raising one crooked finger to her lips, Madame Wrenskaya frowned.

“You keep saying ‘we’. Who exactly do you mean?”

“Myself, Raisa Izminskaya, Lidiya Pusnyena, Tatyana Kavelina of course, and several other respectable ladies in the town.”

A bundle of baggages whose husbands hold the affairs of the town in their hands, thought Madame Wrenskaya. I suppose I must be partly to blame for refusing to mix with them after Wrensky’s death, but in truth I would have been outnumbered by these counterjumpers and worn down by the weight of their mediocrity.

“Well,” she said at last, “simply wanting Irena Kuibysheva to leave town is misguided. What you want is for the little tramp herself to want to leave town; to leave of her own accord.”

“But how can that be done?” asked Olga in a puzzled tone.

You see? You are still needed in the town, the old woman told herself, exulting. They cannot get along without you. Everything is a mess and she has come to you for your advice how to clean it up.

“Have you ever heard of the Irish phrase ‘to boycott’?” she asked.

Olga shook her head.