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Non-fiction

Project 1917 is a series of events that took place a hundred years ago as described by those involved. It is composed only of diaries, letters, memoirs, newspapers and other documents

I keep recalling those memorable days and nights. A cold, starry night. The smell of freshly mown hay. A cloud of smoke from the little bonfire where we brewed tea in a big kettle. Strolling with Vladimir Ilyich.


At first, Ilyich is silent, and at times downcast. Later he cheers up, sketching out great ideas from future great works, recalling the past, and depicting the future in bold colours. The day comes to an end, and we lie down in our little shelter. It’s cold. We cover ourselves with an old blanket. The blanket is too narrow, so each of us tries, surreptitiously, to pull the larger part of it over the other, and leave less for ourselves. Ilyich mentions that he is wearing a padded jacket, and so can do easily without a blanket. Sometimes I lie for a long time, unable to get to sleep. In the absolute silence, I can hear Ilyich’s heart beating... We sleep pressed close together. Even now, ten years later, the smell of hay and the smoke from a bonfire often bring to mind that time, and I will feel a stab of pain in my heart, as if it were pierced by a needle. Why is Ilyich no longer with us? Everything could have been different...No matter what, Ilyich’s cause will triumph.

✍    Also today

I spent the morning in the garden, where I met with some officers. All of them were mad with rage and spoke openly of restoring the monarchy in the person of Aleksey Nikolaevich. I advised them to be careful with their tongues.

A little after 9 we left the Tura and entered the Tobol. We stopped twice to take on food and fuel. On one of these occasions the children went for a walk in the woods. I rose at around 3 as my cabin was very hot. After 6 we arrived at Tobolsk-on-Irtish. See more

We navigated toward the Tobol. I got up late because I did not sleep very well with all the pounding and stopping. During the night we went from the Tura to the Tobol. See more

Someone sent us flowers in prison, and Semyon racked his brains until evening, losing himself in romantic speculation. And the next day, Roshal and I were summoned to the prison guard office, where a girl from some organization like the political Red Cross was waiting for us. See more

I have a cellmate. An American woman. A dancer. Suspected of espionage. She's a noisy, demanding person. She "fights" with the prison guards via a translator. She brings "prison inspection" upon herself. See more