Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

The four of them made way for the scene changers who had already begun removing some of the furniture and sweeping up the fragments of Averbuch’s cunning joinery.

* * *

At the foot of the stage, Alexandra Dresnyakova nodded to the two violinists and the trio launched into a discordant polka. Queues had begun forming at the refreshment tables in the main body of the barrack hall, while behind the stage curtains the transformation from Madame Popova’s drawing room to Murashkin’s study was being engineered unseen. Conversations held sotto voce throughout the performance now broke out into the open, with Madame Pobednyeva’s pained voice rising high above the din.

“No, Tolly! That isn’t good enough,” she said, berating her husband. “You should go and see the Colonel immediately. It’s a disgrace to allow them to get away with it.”

Hearing his name, Colonel Izorov edged his way towards her through the crowd.

“What is the matter, Madame Pobednyeva?”

The Mayor’s wife pushed her husband aside fussily.

“Colonel, I demand that you take action against these exiles. I have been told by Madame Pusnyena that not one of them stood up when the National Anthem was being played.”

“That’s right,” said Lidiya Pusnyena, coming to Madame Pobednyeva’s support. “They just sat there, muttering to themselves. It’s an outrage.”

“They probably didn’t recognise it,” suggested Dresnyakov, joining the small group. “That piano can’t have been tuned since the day it left the factory.”

“I’m surprised you find it so amusing, Nicolai Alexeyevich,” retorted Madame Pobednyeva. “As a schoolmaster, I expected you to show a more responsible attitude. At least Colonel Izorov here has the sense to recognise a political demonstration when he sees one.”

“There’s not much I can do now,” answered Colonel Izorov good-naturedly. “This is Captain Steklov’s barracks. Perhaps he is the person you should speak to? Excuse me.”

He began to move away but Madame Pusnyena placed herself in his path.

“Do you mean that you intend to stand by and let the Tsar be insulted without doing a thing about it?”

“No of course not,” he said patiently. “First I will go and collect a drink and then I will go and speak to them. Will that satisfy you?”

“That’s the very least you can do,” grumbled Madame Pobednyeva. “It’s too bad! A touch of the knout would teach them some manners.”

The little group broke up. All around them snatches of conversation filled the air as the queue for the refreshments lengthened.

“I believe she describes it as ‘creme’. But really it’s off white.”

“Very off white.”

“Her maid said her body is a mass of bruises.”

“I’d give her more than bruises if she ever made a play for my Pyotr!”

“Oh really? Then why didn’t you?”

* * *

“I hear one of the soldiers threw a boot at him during the rehearsal.”

“It should have been a knife!”

“That poor woman…”

“They’ll never catch him now. Not now he’s a Councillor.”

* * *

“Did you see the way they held each other?”

“Mmmm.”

“I suppose there is nothing between those two?”

“Surely not…”

“Still…”

* * *

“Are you feeling cold?”

“Freezing!”

“Here, share my coat…”

“No, I couldn’t…”

* * *

“Well, I enjoyed it! Especially when Skyralenko’s beard fell off!”

“It was hanging from his ear like a dead rat!”

“What about those oats, eh?”

“‘Tell them in the stables that Toby isn’t to have any oats today’. Ha!”

“Poor old Toby!”

“Are you going for another drink? Here, see if you can get a bottle. We’ll split it.”

* * *

Their rendition of a polka concluded, the trio of musicians at the side of stage struck up an unsteady gavotte. In the middle of the exiles, Trotsky sat talking to Tamara Karseneva. They became aware by the sudden fall in the level of conversation that Colonel Izorov was making his way towards them. Automatically, Tamara Karseneva began to rise, but Trotsky held her back down in her seat.

“Good evening, Madame Karseneva, Trotsky,” Izorov greeted them affably. “Are you enjoying the play?”

“Yes, thank you, Colonel,” replied Trotsky.

“Good, good. And how are you feeling tonight?”

“As a matter of fact,” Trotsky informed him, “I believe that I am recovering faster than the Doctor expected.”

“Are you now?” said Colonel Izorov, his eyebrows raised in feigned surprise.

“Yes. I should be fit to travel in a day or so.”

“In a day or so?” repeated the Colonel thoughtfully. “I see. You mean by Tuesday?”

“Yes, by Tuesday,” agreed Trotsky, adding quickly, “Provided that I am left alone to complete my convalescence in peace.”

Colonel Izorov inclined his head in agreement.

“Then we must see to it that you are not disturbed,” he said and began moving away.

Remembering Madame Pobednyev’s complaint, he paused and turned back to address Tamara Karseneva.

“In future, Karseneva,” he announced stiffly, “you and your friends will stand for the National Anthem.”

Tamara’s reply was brusque and to the point.

“Certainly not, Colonel.”

“In that case, you will be banned from attending future performances.”