Bolshevism is the catastrophe which has finally brought on the collapse of the building of our old culture. The sum of its achievements, if there were any, has been wiped out. This process parallels in the political and sociological realms that of futurism in art: it is the conclusion to the process of decay. See more
It is Atilla, under whose steed’s hooves the grass will once again grow. Nothing, of course, will be left of the previous cultural inheritance after Bolshevism, only an empty steppe, upon which we will have to cultivate a new culture, or rather, learn again how to cultivate.
A new Duma has been elected. The elections proceeded according to fixed lists. The SRs received the most votes. However, Morev was chosen as head of the city, as we did not have a candidate who was experienced enough to compete against him. Before the new Duma a Soviet of Soldiers’ and Workers’ Deputies was organised. See more
We didn’t, it is true, have any soldiers at the time, besides around a hundred border guards, and we had no workers either, as the overwhelming majority of our craftsmen owned their enterprises and did not hire any workers. But the Soviet has been organised.
From the three sides of the abyss: ahead—the victorious procession of Emperor Wilhelm towards unresisting Russia; to the right—return to the old, general on a white horse, who suffocates life in the name of victory; to the left—the insurrection of the Bolsheviks, anarchy, sea of unnecessary blood, the destruction of Russia and the Revolution.
The feeling of overall confusion and anticipation of a catastrophe overtook me with a particular force in the hall of the Bolshoi Theater. See more
All members of the meeting came ready with opinions, and of course, no one could have found common ground, and in this way the importance of the conference boiled down to a demonstration, one more time, of how the paths of revolution have diverged and what abyss lies before the country.
Everyone immediately understood, that killing is easy not only when your bullets strike an unseen enemy, or when, in the heat of the battle, the soldier forgets himself, but also when, among his own brothers, Russians, when just now the lieutenant stood just there when, thrown together by a mighty crash, the soldiers, the breath sucked out of them, look around and there is no lieutenant, only lumps of torn up flesh, on one of which still hangs an epaulet. See more
It is as if the lieutenant never was. And the soldiers become intoxicated.
In a town as small as Anapa, the revolution should have been felt not only as a tremendous upheaval in the lives of all Russians in general, but also as a complete reshuffling of local relations. See more
“Active figures” who were once falling over one another to acquire the favour of the old government, and to destroy one another with the help of the authorities, are now seeking out new opportunities and connections and using them to fight together.
Dying at the front is now definitely perceived as dying in vain.
На углу Литейной стоит товарищ Шило и говорит о том, что политическая революция только начало, что надо пролетариату готовиться к социальной революции. Народ слушает сочувственно: слова все умные, пусть и непонятно немного.
The enthusiastic girl, looking with curiosity around her, pinned the young soldier to the shop door: “Well, comrade, how was the revolution received at the war front? Tell us about it. After all, you just arrived today.” The soldier is embarrassed and he says quietly: “We were very happy. Immediately all the salo was eaten.” The girl is perplexed.
It is only necessary to go to Nevsky Prospekt and pass it from the Admiralty to Alexander the Third, and everything becomes clear without newspapers.
There are no trams. Everywhere are red flags. A huge crowd does not move, but is scattered across the Nevsky Prospekt, standing and discussing the events. Many soldiers. Many workers. Occasionally you come across a peasant from a distant village. Some girls, students, civilians. At the corner of the Sea agronomist - it is evident, a visitor - is telling the bearded soldiers that it is not so easy to divide the land.
The soldiers listen attentively, but, it is apparent that this is not interesting to them, but something more - maybe to each his own thing. How much, they say, each person in my own Ryazan provence will gain land per capita. And I do not care much about the Vologda region.
A heavy truck flew by. It is carrying armed people: workers, students. On the sides of the truck lie two soldiers with rifles. A red flag is waving. A young lady, following the truck with her eyes, tells her student companion:
“When they will be putting up the monument to the revolution, I think it is best to display a truck which carries the people of the revolution, armed with rifles.”
All over the vast Russian plain, in stuffy freight vans and comfortable apartments, in the severe northern capital and the endless southern steppes, people have been saying the same thing: “A storm is on its way”. But despite this, they have not let down the ship’s anchor or lowered the sails. And the motley people of Russia, scattered throughout the cities and countryside, have felt no desire to stop the wind, or to fight the storm. Their hearts have been crushed by the suffocating atmosphere of recent years; their reason clouded by the poisonous vapours of blood.
Our time is running out. The war is only the beginning. Something more frightful and stronger than revolution is around the corner. I can make no sense of how those who professed to hold our current system dear could ever have led us into this war.