In the Social Storm: Memoirs of the Russian Revolution By Boris Yelensky Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Day after day, more new comrades were arriving in Moscow, particularly from the Ukraine, and I began to feel that the Bolsheviks would not be able to hold on to that territory very long. This feeling pervaded our commissariat also; but since I was an “outsider” and not a member of the party, the matter was not discussed in my presence. Because of all this, I was wondering why Balabanova was so resolved to visit Kharkov and Kiev. When I returned from my visit to the Taratutas, I received a phone cal1 from Balabanova, asking me to come and see her in her rooms. When I arrived, she informed me that she still had some preparation to make for her journey, but that she should be able to leave before the end or the week and that she would apprise me of the exact date of our departure.
The following day I began to prepare the commissariat literature as well as our own. With the aid of two comrades, I managed to carry over all this propaganda material and, as on previous occasions, the members of the Cheka helped to bring in the literature. Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly.
I had prepared everything we needed for the journey and had also persuaded Balabanova to allow my wife’s sister, Ethel Sigalovich, to accompany us to Kiev.
The evening prior to our departure, Nina and a group of other comrades met in my room. The main theme of our conversation involved two or three expropriations which had been very cleverly executed, so that none of our comrades had been arrested. It was evident that the Bolsheviks did not have any suspicions that the underground group had participated in these expropriations.
In addition, we discussed at some length the news we were receiving concerning the political situation and about the menace of the counter-revolution which was rearing its head. This was due in part to the fact that the Red Army was beginning to lose its vantage positions. All those present were deeply concerned over what the times might bring and what it all might lead to. Late that night, after most of the comrades had left for their respective homes, the mood became one of some depression.
The following day we departed with a special military train which was going through non-stop except for emergencies. By noon the next day we were in Kharkov.
Balabanova immediately went to the hotel, while Ethel Sigalovich and I remained to remove the literature. Fortunately this task was much simpler now, partly because it was evident that everything was calm politically. We transferred the literature to the railroad station and Ethel removed our books while I took care of the literature from the commissariat. With that completed, I returned to the hotel where I met Balabanova, and she reported that we would remain here in Kharkov for quite some time. Since I had completed my official duties I soon had a week of vacation. I took advantage of my leisure time to spend my days with our comrades. The Nabat group, headquartered in Kharkov not far from the fighting front, was quite active at that time. Our close ties with Makhno had given us a clear impression that it would not be long before the Bolsheviks would have to abandon the entire Ukraine. As a consequence, the Nabat Confederation set about to organize underground units, prepare propaganda material and weapons and a clandestine rendezvous. Conspiratorial meetings were arranged, enlivened by discussions and debates about the program of resistance. The actual down-to-earth work would be done by those co-mrades who had decided to remain in Kharkov in order to carry on their underground activity.
The main group subdivided into several small, cellular units, so that in the event one was uncovered, it would not harm the other comrades. For the same reason, a number of residences were rented with one group in each and each group handling a share of the activity.
As I have mentioned previously, in the course of my stays in Kharkov, I had encountered a comrade I had known about in the states, Naumke, “the White One.” He appeared to be a born conspirator and the hatching of conspiracies seemed to be the aim of his life. One evening when we met by chance, we drifted into a chat about our Krinky and Bialystok comrades who had remained in America and with whom Naumke had been acquainted for many years. He now evinced a keen interest in knowing what had become of these men in the “Promised Land.” We met several times during my week’s stay in Kharkov. The evening preceding my departure, I joined a group of comrades at an evening’s program and that was the last time I was to see Naumke. When Deniken’s forces penetrated Kharkov, Naumke was arrested and, together with a number of other comrades from different groups, was executed in the city square.
Another comrade with whom I became closely acquainted and with whom I spent considerable time was Katya Christos. She had come to Russia from Philadelphia. I don’t know how or where she met Abram Christos, but there was no doubt that she was deeply in love with him. Nature makes strange bedfellows. Katya was gentle and lovable, a serious-minded, devoted comrade. Despite our brief acquaintance, there was no distance between us and we felt as if we had been friends for a long time. By contrast, her husband was a high-strung, rather unamiable person. He seemed determined to impress all his comrades as a dangerous conspirator. I often wondered how Ivan Apolon and Katya managed to put up with his morose, oppressive temperament. I bade them farewell that night and it was nine months before we met again.
The following day, when we arrived in Kiev, Balabanova revealed that she had a rather special and urgent assignment for me. A carload of literature had to be transported to Odessa. I was instructed to leave our special coach in Kiev, as the material was already packed in a freight car. She directed me to fulfill my mission promptly, return quickly to Kiev and from there to Moscow.
I left that night for Odessa in the company of Bessie’s sister, Ethel. The train was only of moderate size but was conspicuous because of the two large machine guns mounted on top of the locomotive and two more on top of the last coach. Toward nine the next morning the train was delayed at a minor station for some time because the tracks ahead had been dynamited. As a result, the commandant of the train telephoned a larger station to dispatch an army contingent.
The surrounding country was at that time swarming with all manner and type of partisan bands, as well as bandits. We waited until noon but no military units arrived. The commandant then announced that someone who was armed should ride out with the locomotive only to try and find a way for the train to proceed. We set out with that intent, but soon had to return, since the damage from the explosion required the effort of special workers and material for repairs. Back at the station I dispatched a military telegram to communicate what had happened. An hour later I received a phone call from Balabanova ordering me to turn over the coach to those concerned and return to Kiev. Since my sister-in-law, Ethel, was obliged to travel to Odessa where her husband was staying, I issued a directive for her to remain at that spot until passage was secured and returned to Kiev.
It became evident when I arrived at the railroad station in Kiev that a feeling of panic was spreading. The heavy concentration of Red Army forces and the brisk movement of trains coming and going indicated that the military front was not a great distance from the city.
I found my coach intact at the railroad station and A1exey informed me that they were awaiting my arrival and that I was to leave for Moscow. He also notified me that I had an assistant. This was something of a surprise to me, but I soon learned that the man was a diplomatic courier like myself and, since he was to return to Moscow, he had been designated as my assistant; also for the reason that we were to take with us a number of the families of high ranking party officials.
When I reported to Balabanova, she greeted me with a deep sigh and voiced the opinion that before long we would probably have to abandon Kiev, which meant virtually the entire Ukraine. She warned me to be ready to depart for Kiev in a few days and inquired about how many people I could accommodate in my coach, as well as the capacity for a load of products and provisions and articles for the workers in our commissariat. I replied that I thought we could handle everyone who wished to make the journey. Balabanova stated that we would prepare a list of the passengers, and a day or two later she would provide the provisions. On completing the official tasks with Balabanova, I left to make contact with our own comrades.
Arriving at the home where the comrades normally congregated, I met a considerable number who had arrived that same day from Kharkov, which ws in the midst of evacuation. General Denikin’s army was approaching the gates of the city with the result that, except for a few comrades who remained there to carry on underground activity, the great majority had departed. There existed no possibility of reaching Moscow directly, so they had come to Kiev in the hopes of eventually making their way from there to Moscow. Among the arrivals were several members of Makhno’s partisan army. The arrivals told us of an interesting episode. It appears that General Denikin, who by this time was receiving military and financial aid from the Allied powers, feared Makhno’s partisans much more than he did the Red Army, which was later to become so famous. The White Army general fully realized, corrrectly as subsequent events brought out, that unless he first eliminated Makhno’s forces, he would be in serious trouble. When the Red Army began to retreat more deeply into central Russia, Denikin marshalled his choicest regiments, consisting of officers and cossacks, and launched a vicious attack on Makhno’s troops. The latter then withdrew into the depths of the forests, where General Denikin managed to surround them, but was powerless to destroy them.
Makhno and his forces became aware of their precarious situation and made several valiant attempts to break out of the iron ring but this only resulted in severe losses for the partisans. Since among Makhno’s partisan ranks there prevailed a free spirit and a high sense of initiative, Makhno summoned his most trusted and veteran warriors to discuss possible ways of escaping from their trap. It appeared that the only possible prospect was for a relatively small group of partisans to make a forced march toward a town not far away, where they could by stealth attack and wipe out the night watch, penetrate the community, engage and if possible rout the White Army contingent there. They would be followed by another, larger unit of partisans and the two combined would then attempt to liquidate the various contigents of Denikin’s army.
That same day, a patrol of selected men made their way to the outskirts of the town to learn there the main enemy force was located and, in particular, to ascertain how many patrols were circling the place. By evening, Makhno’s staff had the needed information. The commander then turned to his followers and asked who would volunteer for the perilous assignment. The response was almost unanimous. He then chose men for both the first and second contingents, while the entire force prepared for the general assault, should things work out according to plan.
The “armaments” of Makhno’s forces were not very formidable. They consisted in large part of light wagons harnessed to two sturdy, swift horses, with a number of machine guns mounted on top of the wagons. Otherwise, the partisan army consisted of calvary units.
That night, Makhno and the first contingent, with some of the wagons, set out on their dangerous mission, moving noiselessly through the dense forest. When the first rays of dawn appeared, they were already close to their objective. At that hour when most people are normally in their deepest slumber, Makhno, with a handful of companions, silently dismounted and swiftly moved toward the pre-arranged spot where they slew the sentries guarding the city. With this preliminary step accomplished, the main force joined Makhno and they moved forward to attempt to wipe out the enemy watch.
Meanwhile the second unit had arrived and the carnage began. Makhno and his men surrounded the drowsy military units and the combined partisan forces then undertook to annihilate Denikin’s elite units. In this bitter battle, Denikin lost the greater part of his choicest fighting units. The survivors fled hastily and Makhno’s army succeeded in breaking out of their encirclement. This was undoubtedly one of the more decisive victories won in the civil war against the White Army.
In spit of this signal triumph, Makhno and his partisans realized that they were still in dire peril, but to a man they were prepared to sacrifice their lives for the social revolution. What is equally significant is the fact that, thought they fought like tigers, they were not permeated by that spirit of reckless romanticism and vain illusions from which so much of the rest of our movement suffered. Rather they cherished a firm faith in constructive effort in close touch with reality. This is what made the Makhno movement almost legendary and lent it its strength. In a certain sense, this mass movement can be likened to such historic folk uprisings as those of Pugachev and Stenka Razin, though to be sure their methods and tactics differed widely. I shall return later to the remarkable story of Makhno and his partisans.
Now the burning question among the comrades in Kiev was where they could safely evacuate to. Everyone wanted to head for Moscow but that entailed numerous complications, since it was next to impossible to secure a ticket to leave Kiev. Of course all the comrades were aware of the fact that I had a railroad coach at my disposal and wanted me to take them along to Moscow. They could not understand that, in the middle of this panic situation, it was out of the question. I nonetheless pledged to do my utmost to help my comrades get out of Kiev. Since I was in possession of official passes and had influential connections, I found certain doors open for me and thus managed to secure a limited number of permits and railway tickets for Moscow. The task was then to make some provisions for the other comrades who sought to leave the city.
I finally decided to make a plea to Angelica Balabanova to allow me to take along a certain number of my comrades in my railway car. I assured her that they would not monopolize the places reserved for the families travelling with me. She understood the situation and readily granted my plea but asked my firm assurance that none of my companions were counter-revolutionaries or were waging an armed fight against the Soviet regime. This placed me in a predicament since I knew quite well that among those clamoring to travel with me were those young comrades who had just reached us from Makhno’s army; still, they also had to be rescued. Hence, I gave her my word as she had requested. She then directed her secretary to prepare a permit which authorized me to take along a certain number of persons in my coach. I then explained to my comrades that I had given my word of honor that there were no counter-revolutionaries in their midst and I added that, while I had no intention of trying to control their thoughts or convictions, they must promise not to engage in arguments with the other people travelling in my coach, since these latter were family members of high Bolshevik officials. I also exacted from them the pledge that, until their arrival in Moscow, they would not reveal who they were, and stated flatly that only those willing to fulfill these conditions would be able to come along. “One more thing,” I told them, “none of you can occupy any seats until all the evacuees have been installed in their places.”
My comrades readily assented to these conditions and promised to “behave,” though I had a presentiment that some of them might cause me grief before the journey was over. But I could not very well abandon them to almost certain death, though it was a matter of deep concern to me not to break my word to or lose the respect of Angelica Balabanova. In the end, willy-nilly, I had to pack into my coach all my comrades.
The next day when I called on Balabanova, she informed me that she had already received a directive to hitch my coach at night on to the passenger train that was to leave for Moscow two days later. She instructed my assistant and myself to call at the commissariat in charge of provisions and, if everything was in readiness, to load them aboard the coach.
At this juncture, I encountered some embarrassment from my assistant. He was a party member; I was not only not a member of the party but was an anarchist to boot And here I was, entrusted with an important mission while he was reduced to the level of an auxiliary. I noticed his glumness and, eager to forestall any difficulties with him, I requested Balabanova to designate him in my place while I would be content to serve as his assistant. She wondered at my willingness to give up a post which I had so far filled so successfully and I admitted to her my feelings that my assistant was disgruntled over my being “top dog.” I assured her that I did not crave any honor, and since he thought his experience equal to mine, I was prepared to turn the responsibility over to him. Balabanova listened to me patiently and then proceeded to deliver a stern lecture to the young Communist, reminding him that I had already fulfilled a number of missions with high success, while he was only beginning his career as a diplomatic courier; that he had indeed been assigned as my assistant so that he could learn something, and that if he was too proud to serve as an assistant she would procure a regular railway ticket for him. Abashed by this rebuke, the young man apologized to Balabanova and accepted his lesser rank.
She then informed me that all my “fellow travelers” would carry slips or stubs with her signature, and she provided me with a list of the passengers assigned to my coach. That night my comrades and I staged a farewell party with those of our co-workers who had chosen to remain in Kiev for underground work. At the same time I arranged with my prospective train companions to meet us at the railroad station. Our gathering lasted into the night. We discussed with special zest the question of the clandestine group in moscow, and whether their activities were constructive or destructive. The majority among us opposed the group. The main sentiment at our meeting was that here we were evacuating territory threatened by the White Army, which could restore the ancient regime of the Czars. If now we should attack or sabotage the Bolsheviks, it would be tantamount to abetting directly or indirectly the reactionary forces all over Russia. However the romanticists in our midst refused to see it that way. The great danger envisaged in those days, when faith and trust were still present, was the fear that after shattering the reactionary forces, other dictatorial tendencies might arise which would nullify the gains of the social revolution.
Since my coach stood close to the railroad station, my passengers began to arrive soon after noon, despite the fact that the train was not due to pull out until midnight. The ladies, these “grande dames” of the new bureaucratic elite, expected that there would be compartments in my coach where they could sleep peacefully. Several hours passed before all my passengers had entered and occupied their places in the coach, which was already coupled to the train. I then returned to the waiting room of the station where my comrades were impatiently waiting for me. With the aid of my array official permits I managed to conduct them through the gates of the station and guided them to my coach. They were taken to the section crammed with crates of provisions where we contrived to clear a space for them.
As a result of all the hurrying about that day, I was nearly exhausted and feeling quite faint. Late that night when the train began to chug along on its long journey and most of the passengers had gone to sleep, I bade my assistant lie down and catch three or four hours sleep, while I stayed alert so that our car was not uncoupled somewhere at one of the larger stations. I stretched out on my bunk, but the farther the train ground and crunched into the blackness, the more acute my pain became. When the train arrived at one of the larger stations, I awakened my assistant, but I lacked the strength to rise from my bed. I felt sickness creeping up on me. I was carrying a bottle of whiskey with me, so I asked my aide to procure some hot water for tea at the following station. I mixed this with the whiskey and after sipping a couple of glasses of this concoction, I begged my assistant to let me sleep for awhile. I told him that if he needed any help he should call on my comrades.
I slept until well past noon. My fellow passengers tried to persuade me to leave the train at a town which we ,would be passing through and enter a hospital there, but I resolved to go on to Moscow where I knew I would receive good medical care. In the meantime good order prevailed in the coach, with the exception of the displeasure shown by the wives of the Bolshevik bureaucrats when they noticed that my comrades were aboard. However my assistant reassured them by informing them that my comrades were travelling with the express permission of Angelica Balabanova.
My sickness seemed to produce a friendly atmosphere, as everyone around sought to help me in some way. I forced myself to remain in bed the entire day and night and began to feel somewhat better the following day, so that when our train reached a larger station shortly before noon, I had the urge to step out on the platform and catch a breath of fresh air. In this connection, I should mention that at every important railroad station the peasants would bring produce for sale; indeed this was the last major depot in the Ukraine where it was still possible to procure some foodstuffs. I therefore decided to take my helper with me and entrusted our maintenance man, Alexy, to supervise our coach.
Behind the station a regular market had sprung up. The large number of passengers, plus a goodly group of arriving peasants created quite a multitude. As I strolled about the grounds with my assistant, I noted at some distance, the four youthful comrades who had come with us from Makhno’s army, each carrying a pack of the special issue of the Nabat journal, which dealt with the question of the Makhno movement and with the Bolsheviks’ ruthless campaign to destroy it. Observing this, I turned in another direction, hoping my companion would not notice this development. I pleaded indisposition and we returned to the coach. However, I sensed from the expression on his face that he had indeed seen the “contraband” which these four comrades were carrying. When we reached our car, he pretended that he wanted to go back to buy some produce, but there was no doubt in my mind that he intended to go to the railway Cheka to report that anarchists were distributing a Makhno paper. To try and forestall serious consequences, I summoned two of my comrades, told them hurriedly of the ominous situation and sent them to follow my helper. When they had left, i approached the other comrades, told them about the matter and reminded them of their collective word of honor, pledged to me in Kiev, not to reveal their identity in any way. I spoke harshly to them on the importance of keeping one’s word, even to a Bolshevik. I gave them an ultimatum: to hurry to the market and immediately halt the distribution of the propaganda material or else to leave the coach, since I would not tolerate such irresponsibility.
The entire incident, coming as it did on top of my recent illness, unnerved me and I began to feel weak again, but the thought that the following morning would bring us to Moscow sustained me. Barely half an hour later, the comrades returned and the four offenders secluded themselves in a corner of the coach and did not show their faces until we reached Moscow. Shortly thereafter, my aide arrived carrying a load of produce; the two comrades who had trailed him informed me that he had spent the entire time at the market!
To this day I fail to understand why this young Bolshevik, who in Kiev was very unhappy over the prospect of serving as a subordinate to an anarchist, did not report to the railway Cheka that he had seen anarchists distributing the Nabat newspaper. This alone would have made a hero of him and elevated him to take over my post. Whatever it was that inhibited him from acting remains a riddle to me.
In the evening when the train arrived at another major station, I dispatched a telegram to Karochan, informing him that I had fallen seriously ill for a time and that he should arrange to have someone from the Commissariat come with a wagon to remove the provisions from the coach. I also requested him to provide a room for me. When we reached Moscow the following day, an automobile, along with a wagon carrying two men from the Commissariat awaited us. I was told that this time a room had been reserved for me in the Hotel Metropol, a portion of which was occupied by the Foreign Commissariat. They also assured me that I would find in my room all the produce we had brought with us.
Promptly upon my arrival at the hotel a physician arrived. After a thorough examination, he ordered me to remain in bed for not less than a week. He was accompanied by a woman doctor who was living in the hotel and who was charged with taking care of me. The following morning the bulk of the edibles were distributed and I saw to it that our comrades did not go hungry.
That same evening I was visited by a roomful of comrades. Among them were Mark Mrochny, Nina and Fanny Avrutskaya. The latter two settled themselves in my room, which was quite large and contained two beds, besides the a couple of sofas. So I had little rest or privacy that night. Aside from these two “angels,” one or two other comrades would usually spend the night in my room. This was quite illegal of course, since a special permit was required to be admitted to the hotel. Only the general knowledge that I was harboring a supply of valuable edibles helped me to avoid unpleasant consequences.
From the number of visitors who called on me by day and night, one could gain the impression that the bulk of our followers in Russia were concentrated in Moscow. Indeed, one day something like an informal anarchist gathering took place in my hotel room, embracing, among others, Mark Mrochny, Aron Baron, Aronchik, another member of the underground group, and Nina. As usual, the activities of the clandestine group provided the main topic of conversation.
With the exception of the three comrades mentioned above, all of our co-workers sharply criticized the activities of the underground group, several of whose members would also call on us from time to time. During the week of my confinement, my two lady comrades, Nina and Fanny, constantly danced attendance on me and took the best care of me. Likewise the other comrades who visited me cheered me up and kept me from becoming bored, so that in time I began to feel better. Finally the physician permitted me to leave my bed, but it required a full month before I was myself again.
It was only after I got out into the streets and began engaging Bolshevik acquaintances in conversation that I began to feel the political pulse of the land. General Denikin had compelled the Bolshevik forces to abandon the Ukraine and he was now invading the territory of Great Russia proper with the aid of the Czechoslovak army which was stranded in Siberia and wanted to return to its homeland. Admiral Kolchak was neither able nor willing to allow this. The Czechs then proceeded to seize Admiral Kolchak, commander of the White Army who, if I remember correctly, had gained possession of a huge reserve of gold and sequestered it in the town of Yaroslavel. They now offered to bargain with the Bolsheviks; to turn over this gold stock to them and to throw in Kolchak too, provided the Bolsheviks would agree not to interfere with their returning to their native land. The Bolsheviks eagerly agreed to this offer, however at the time Great Russia somewhat resembled an ever-shrinking ring, with a ribbon-like path extending to the Ural Mountains. It is therefore not too surprising that a degree of panic arose and that people quietly began to remove valuable possessions from Leningrad and Moscow.
One day during my convalescence, Angelica Balabanova phoned me and asked me to call on her. Here was a woman who, although a Bolshevik and occupying the high post of Secretary of the Third Intenational, was the incarnation of amiability and simplicity. When I arrived at her office, she asked whether I was able to walk with her to the headquarters of the Third International. This surprised me, as I knew she had an automobile at her disposal and the office was quite a distance away. She explained that she had already walked that distance several times and there were some matters she wanted to discuss with me.
It was only several days later that I learned that Lenin, Radek, and the rest of the Communist hierarchy were bent on ousting her from her post of the Third International. But even Lenin himself did not have the courage to inform her of that decision, and that was the reason they had dispatched her first to Rakovsky in Kharkov. Even on her return to Moscow, she had not known of the fact that a new Secretary had been named in her place, and she would appear daily at the main office of the Third International. They deprived her of her automobile, hoping thus to get rid of her, but she countered their underhanded maneuvers by ignoring their action and reporting every day to the Bureau.
During our walk we talked of various matters, but suddenly she stopped and said: “I must find out something from you. I know that during the several months that you have been engaged as a diplomatic courier you have discharged your duties ably and devotedly and I can assure you that, from Chicherin down to the minor officials, all, including myself, repose high confidence in you, even though you are not a member of the party. However, something has happened which I must have clarified. When, in Kiev, you asked for permission to take along several of your comrades to Moscow, I demanded a guarantee that none of them was engaged in counter-revolutionary activity, and you gave me your word on that. Now I am informed that several of those who accompanied you distributed the Nabat journal at the railway stations.” I now realized that apparently my assistant had reported the incident to her.
Despite my moral inhibitions against lying to her, I was obliged to resort to the device of a half-truth, since it was obvious that the whole truth could provoke dire consequences. I told her that, as she knew, I had been taken quite ill the first night after our departure from Kiev, and that, during the entire journey to Moscow, I had ventured out from our coach only once for a few minutes and therefore knew nothing of the episode. I added that if the informant had immediately reported the matter to me I would have taken the necessary steps to have put a stop to it and would have expelled the “miscreants.” Bellabanova readily accepted my explanation and bade me forget this part of our conversation.
To this day, my conscience bothers me that I was unable to tell her the entire truth. I must emphasize again that such “anarchistic-romanticism” engendered an atmosphere of irresponsibility, leading to infinite arguments and debates but to very little constructive achievement.
With every passing day new comrades arrived, and at the two clubs then in existence, one could encounter all day and late into the night groups of comrades debating endlessly concerning the newly created political situation, particularly regarding the Moscow underground group. This group was taking advantage of the fact that the Bolsheviks were fighting on the various military fronts and had perpetrated several daring expropriations. This issue provoked heated argument, with the majority of the comrades vigorously opposing the tactics of the underground group.
As I have previously remarked, there would take place every day and often also at night, gatherings in my room of comrades with whom I was closely associated. Among the Moscow comrades who had become more or less steady residents in that city was my now deceased friend, G.P. Maximoff. Since I traveled about a great deal and came in contact with numerous comrades and groups, he kept in close touch with me and was keenly interested in what was going on in these circles. In the course of time, a warm friendship developed between us, which lasted until his death (he passed away on March 15, 1950). I would also visit from time to time with Apollon Karelin, an old comrade who was already living largely in the past, out of touch with reality. Occasionally I would drop in at the bookshop and restaurant maintained by the Gordin brothers, though aside from a handful of faddists, they had no real following for their philosophy of “inter-individualism” and their invented language, “Bee-O-Bo.” Our main rendezvous was the “Universalist Club,” where comrades representing all shades of opinion could be encountered and a variety of issues discussed.
On one occasion I met Mark Mrochny there. He was deep in conversation with a rather attractive woman who he introduced to me as Comrade Claudia. On the side, he whispered to me the suggestion that I invite the two of them to my hotel room for some refreshments, as they were both hungry. I accepted the proposal, treated them to a snack and as might be expected, we launched off into a discussion of the general situation, particularly that of the Moscow underground group.
Comrade Claudia was profoundly influenced by the activities of that group and was quite militant in her views. While this didn’t impress me too favorably, it was quite evident that this young woman possessed a resolute character and some hidden springs of personality which evoked in me a feeling of friendship for her. It was not until about a year later that I gained the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with her and Bessie and I became her close friends.
The days and weeks passed quickly and the military and political situations grew worse. A quiet evacuation had begun some weeks previously as more and more persons began to remove their personal effects from Moscow and Leningrad and the general mood of the public deteriorated from day to day. Early one morning near the beginning of September, 1919, I recieved a telephone call from Karochan’s secretary, directing me to report to the Commissariat. Karochan recieved me cordially but came promptly to the point. “I regret this deeply,” he said, “but I have unpleasant news for you. Chicherin (Chief Commissar for Foreign Affairs ) and Balabanova esteem your work highly, but the decision has been made that a non-Bolshevik can no longer serve in the capacity of diplomatic courier.” He added that if I were to join the Communist party all three of them would give me the highest recommendations. He advised me to take ample time to deliberate, and in the meantime I would remain as an employee of the Commissariat. I gave him my reply promptly: that one is justified in becoming a member of the party if one believes in its program, and certainly not merely to hold on to a position. Karochan assured me he understood my point of view, and added that, until I obtained some other employment, I could keep my post in the Commissariat and could also retain my hotel room – quite a concession in those days.
When I left Karochan’s office, his secretary informed me that Boris Reinstein wanted to see me. I found Comrade Moisey also waiting. Both of them expressed regret that I was leaving my post and they even confided in me that a sharp controversy had taken place between Karochan and themselves in the Commissariat party cell, but that they were powerless to retain me as a diplomatic courier in view of the directive from the party. Both of them assured me of their readiness to help me whenever I needed assistance. I had become a particularly close friend of Boris Reinstein and his youthful wife (since his family had remained in the United States and his first wife refused to join him in Russia, he had remarried in Moscow).
I was not too happy over the prospect of joining the ranks of the unemployed and it was against my nature to roam around without a definite occupation, especially in Moscow. I could, to be sure, remain another month or so in my hotel room, but sooner or later I would have to find new lodgings for myself and that was no easy task. In the summertime it was still possible to exist in Moscow, but in winter one could quite literally freeze to death in an ordinary hotel room.
Fortune again favoured me, as it had so frequently in the past when I faced death or some critical situation. My correspondence in those days cme to the home of a comrade of mine and one day he handed me a letter from Ivan Apolon, posted from Ekaterinburg, in which he discussed the possibility of developing some anarchist activity there. It seemed there was ample food as well and he begged me to send him some of our co-workers.
A merciless winter was about to descend on Moscow and the economic situation was growing more desperate from day to day. I therefore summoned several of my comrades to my hotel room and reported to them on the request from Ekaterinburg. The first to volunteer for the mission were Mark and Claudia, and also a woman from Bessarabia of whom I knew very little, but who came highly recommended by Mark. So we decided to go there, but we were then faced with the problem of how to carry out such a journey. For even the smallest trip, one had to procure official permission and for a trip such as this, which might take a week or so, a permit from the military commissariat would be necessary.
Again, Angelica Balabanova came to my rescue. I told her I had lost my post, was not in the best of health and had decided to go to Ekaterinburg where I had friends and where it was easier to find food. She was kind enough to recommend me to a friend of hers who was Commissar of Education and Culture for the entire Red Army. She informed me that she was looking for people to work with a department of the Red Army located not far from Ekaterinburg and issued me an official pass for the journey. I then told her that I had several friends who would also like to work for the Red Army. In about an hour, on my assurance and guarantee that I knew these people well and that they were reliable, I had in my possession all the necessary documentation for myself as well as for Claudia and Mark.
About a week before our departure, two comrades from the underground group came to me and asked me to take along a pack of their proclamations and promised to pay a substantial sum of money for that privilege. I had to state to them bluntly that first of all I was opposed to the tactics of their group, and furthermore, if we should be caught with that sort of propaganda material, Balabanova and her friend, our two benefactors, would be jeopardized and that we had no right to do anything like that to them. Claudia and Mark were in full accord.