The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

The administration of the town and the township is to be entrusted to the local zemstvo administration and its chairman, citizen Kushelev.

Citizen Kushelev, until further special instructions, is appointed the commissar of the government.

All police and gendarmes are to turn in their weapons to the local zemstvo administration.

A people’s militia is to be established on the streets.

All offices and trade enterprises are to continue working without interruption.

The garrison stationed in Efremov (a reserve company) is to swear allegiance to the new government, following the example of the garrisons in Pet-rograd, Moscow, and other cities of Russia.”

Konstantin Paustovskii, Save Your Strength

137

At dawn Rachinskii appeared at the printer’s, looking tired and pale, but determined. Pinned to his coat was an enormous red ribbon.

He entered and, in a theatrical gesture, with great clamor, flung a gendarme’s saber and a holstered revolver onto a table. It turned out that the railway workers had disarmed the bearded gendarme at the station, and Rachin-skii, who witnessed the incident, claimed the weapons as the first trophy of the revolutionary committee.

Then came a tall gray-haired man with a kind, bewildered face—the new commissar of the Provisional Government, Kushelev. He didn’t even ask how it came about that he was appointed to this high office.

Instantly a new decree was issued, over his signature, congratulating the populace of the little town on Russia’s liberation from her age-old yoke. A meeting of representatives from all levels of society was scheduled for 1:00 PM in order to discuss immediate concerns related to the latest events.

Never in my life have I seen as many happy tears as in those days. Kushelev wept as he signed the decree.

His daughter had come with him—a tall, shy young woman wearing a kerchief and a short sheepskin coat. As her father was signing the decree, she stroked his graying hair and spoke in a trembling voice:

“Papa, don’t get so agitated.”

In his youth Kushelev had spent ten years in exile in the far north. He had been sentenced for belonging to a revolutionary student group.

A boisterous, incoherent, happy time began.

A people’s assembly met for days on end in the hall of the zemstvo administration. This zemstvo administration became known as the “convention.” It was steamy in the “convention” from the breath of hundreds of people.

Red flags fluttered in the February wind.

People from the villages streamed into town for news and instructions. “If only they’d hurry it up with our land,” said the peasants. All the streets around the zemstvo were blocked with wide sledges and strewn with hay. Everywhere people shouted about land, redemption payments, and peace.

Elderly men with red armbands and revolvers at their belts—the people’s militia—stood at the intersections.

The astounding news would not cease. Nicholas abdicated the throne at the Pskov railway station. Passenger train service was interrupted throughout the country.

Prayer services were conducted in honor of the new government in Efre-mov’s churches. Almost all convicts were released from prison. Classes were suspended, and schoolgirls ran around the town ecstatically distributing orders and announcements of the commissar.

138

Chapter Thirteen

On the fifth or sixth day, I met the shoemaker from Bogovo at the “convention.” He told me that Shuiskii, having learned of the revolution, was preparing to leave for the city. Just before leaving he climbed a ladder to the top of his tiled stove and pulled out from beneath the uppermost tile a small bag of gold coins; then he missed a step, fell, and was dead by evening. The shoemaker had come to town to hand over Shuiskii’s money to the commissar of the Provisional Government.

It was as if the town and people were no longer themselves. Russia had found its voice. Out of the blue, inspired orators appeared in tongue-tied Efre-mov. They were, for the most part, workers from the railway yard. Women cried their hearts out listening to them.

Gone was the typical dejected and sullen appearance of Efremov’s residents. Their faces grew younger, and their eyes thoughtful and kind.

They were passive townspeople no longer. They were all citizens now, and this word brought with it obligations.

And, as if on purpose, the days stayed sunny; crystalline ice thawed, and a warm breeze rustled the flags and carried joyous clouds over the little town. The breath of early spring was in the air—in the thick blue shadows, and in the damp nights that hummed with people’s voices.

I was in a frenzy. I was exhilarated. I could hardly grasp what would happen next. I couldn’t wait to go to Moscow, but the trains were not running yet.

“Wait and see,” Osipenko was saying to me, “this is only a prologue to the great events advancing on Russia. So try to keep a cool head and a warm heart. Save your strength.”