Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Don’t mock me,” he warned her. “She was my first love.”

Unbidden, the memory of Natalya Sedova, the beautiful stranger, formed in his mind.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“My God, it gets worse,” Vera was teasing him. “And how old were you when this Venus came into your life?”

“Only a schoolboy. I used to scrimp and save to be able to see her on stage. The costumes, the lights... you know…”

“A frustrated actor as well as a writer. It hardly seems fair.”

He laughed guiltily.

“An actor, no. Frustrated, maybe.”

“And now? If someone handed you a play to read, could you do it?”

“I suppose so. But,” he added, picking up the speech which lay on his lap, “to hold an audience like that I would need a better script than this.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Vera assured him. “Your own script is just fine. You know all the facts. All you have to do is to remember to speak up and not to gabble. Give people time to digest what you have said, otherwise they won’t be able to follow you and that’s when they stop listening. Above all, don’t care about yourself so much.”

“But I do care!” he protested.

“Then you’re a fool,” she said, laughing. “At the beginning, the secret of public speaking is not to worry about whether they like you or not, but to change as many of their minds as you can. If you start worrying about what sort of figure you are cutting, it will only get in your way. Sing it if you like, or recite it like poetry; we won’t care, much less the audience. If they don’t agree with you, too bad! They are hardly likely to start throwing things, now are they? The worse you can expect is a ripple of indifferent applause. Anyway,” she added with a sniff, “come the time, you won’t care much either way. Since it looks as if we shall arrive at least an hour before the meeting is due to start, we shall have time for a few drinks.”

“Good idea! I need at least two brandies before I go in.”

“You’ll have beer and like it,” she admonished him. “Brandy is for heroes.”

Whether it had been the alcohol that had strengthened his confidence, or the cool luxury of the new shirt against his back, or the sudden rush of gratification at the response produced by his flashes of humour, he could not say, but the evening had been a success. It was true that the audience that had listened attentively to him in the seedy room above the public house in Plumbers Road probably had had more to drink and less to eat than he had… And certainly a new face amongst them was as welcome as a window thrown open to the summer breeze… But when all was said and done, it was an indisputable fact that his lecture was a success. Even the unexpected sight of Nicolai at the back of the room clutching a bundle of the latest issue of Iskra had not thrown him. Nicolai’s presence was indeed unexpected as he rarely ventured so far eastwards, preferring the more mannered population around Bloomsbury, but his journey was not wasted. Helped by his oratory, Iskra was in demand and Trotsky had the great satisfaction at the end of the evening of knowing that all but four of the copies had been sold. As he, Vera and Nicolai left the crowded downstairs bar and made their way back towards Aldgate, Trotsky was elated. As he explained airily, oratory was a gift; either one had it or one hadn’t.

Whatever his private views, Nicolai had apparently shared his newfound confidence for the following morning he had suggested to Vera and Jules that their Young Eagle should immediately be sent abroad on a short lecture tour of other groups of RSDLP supporters. Originally Nicolai had himself intended to speak at the meetings, but there was still so much to be done in London that he could not afford to be absent. Let Vera’s Young Eagle try his wings. Despite Trotsky’s own misgivings, the editors had agreed.

Standing over his protégé as he unhappily packed and repacked his battered travelling case, Nicolai had told Trotsky that he owed it to himself, to Iskra, and above all to Vera Zasulich who had helped him to unlock his talent for oratory, to go. After all, Nicolai had enquired, their political viewpoints were identical, weren’t they? The editorial board of Iskra believed he could be trusted to present the correct analysis to the paper’s wavering supporters, and bring in more recruits from the ranks of the uncommitted.

Naturally, Nicolai had added, there would be other duties he would be asked to perform; duties that were part and parcel of the work of any revolutionary movement. He would be expected to act as a courier extraordinaire and to interview and report back on the activities of the local Iskra cells and their methods of circulation. He was also to meet and assess the capacities of various individuals in whom Nicolai was interested, and upon his return report his impressions privately to him. A fresh age demanded a fresh eye: a thorough and objective observer who could detect hidden strengths and weaknesses in an organisation. It was an important assignment.