15 November 1917. Vladislav Khodasevich

Москва, 7-й Ростовской пер., д. 11, кв. 24

Семь дней и семь ночей Москва металась
В огне, в бреду. Но грубый лекарь щедро
Пускал ей кровь – и, обессилев, к утру
Восьмого дня она очнулась. Люди
Повыползли из каменных подвалов
На улицы. Так, переждав ненастье,
На задний двор, к широкой луже, крысы
Опасливой выходят вереницей
И прочь бегут, когда вблизи на камень
Последняя спадает с крыши капля...
К полудню стали собираться кучки.
Глазели на пробоины в домах,
На сбитые верхушки башен; молча
Толпились у дымящихся развалин
И на стенах следы скользнувших пуль
Считали. Длинные хвосты тянулись
У лавок. Проволок обрывки висли
Над улицами. Битое стекло
Хрустело под ногами. Желтым оком
Ноябрьское негреющее солнце
Смотрело вниз, на постаревших женщин
И на мужчин небритых. И не кровью,
Но горькой желчью пахло это утро.
А между тем уж из конца в конец,
От Пресненской заставы до Рогожской
И с Балчуга в Лефортово, брели,
Теснясь на тротуарах, люди. Шли проведать
Родных, знакомых, близких: живы ль, нет ли?
Иные узелки несли под мышкой
С убогой снедью: так в былые годы
На кладбище москвич благочестивый
Ходил на Пасхе – красное яичко
Съесть на могиле брата или кума...

К моим друзьям в тот день пошел и я.
Узнал, что живы, целы, дети дома, –
Чего ж еще хотеть? Побрел домой.
По переулкам ветер, гость залетный,
Гонял сухую пыль, окурки, стружки.
Домов за пять от дома моего,
Сквозь мутное окошко, по привычке
Я заглянул в подвал, где мой знакомый
Живет столяр. Необычайным делом
Он занят был. На верстаке, вверх дном,
Лежал продолговатый, узкий ящик
С покатыми боками. Толстой кистью
Водил столяр по ящику, и доски
Под кистью багровели. Мой приятель
Заканчивал работу: красный гроб.
Я постучал в окно. Он обернулся.
И, шляпу сняв, я поклонился низко
Петру Иванычу, его работе, гробу,
И всей земле, и небу, что в стекле
Лазурью отражалось. И столяр
Мне тоже покивал, пожал плечами
И указал на гроб. И я ушел.

А на дворе у нас, вокруг корзины
С плетеной дверцей, суетились дети,
Крича, толкаясь и тесня друг друга.
Сквозь редкие, поломанные прутья
Виднелись перья белые. Но вот –
Протяжно заскрипев, открылась дверца,
И пара голубей, плеща крылами,
Взвилась и закружилась: выше, выше,
Над тихою Плющихой, над рекой...
То падая, то подымаясь, птицы
Ныряли, точно белые ладьи
В дали морской. Вослед им дети
Свистали, хлопали в ладоши... Лишь один,
Лет четырех бутуз, в ушастой шапке,
Присел на камень, растопырил руки,
И вверх смотрел, и тихо улыбался.
Но, заглянув ему в глаза, я понял,
Что улыбается он самому себе,
Той непостижной мысли, что родится
Под выпуклым, еще безбровым лбом,
И слушает в себе биенье сердца,
Движенье соков, рост... Среди Москвы,
Страдающей, растерзанной и падшей, –
Как идол маленький, сидел он, равнодушный,
С бессмысленной, священною улыбкой.
И мальчику я поклонился тоже.

Дома
Я выпил чаю, разобрал бумаги,
Что на столе скопились за неделю,
И сел работать. Но, впервые в жизни,
Ни «Моцарт и Сальери», ни «Цыганы»
В тот день моей не утолили жажды.

, and others

Like

Comment

Anatoliy Lunacharskiy

Smolny Institute, Petrograd, Russian Republic

I’ve just heard from eyewitness about what has happened in Moscow. St. Basil the Blessed cathedral and Uspensky cathedral have been destroyed. The Kremlin, where all of our most important artistic treasures from St Petersburg and Moscow are now being kept, is being bombed. See more

, and others

2 Like

1 Comment

Novyy Satirikon

Nevsky Prospekt, Petrograd, Russian Republic

The Bolsheviks destroyed several churches and the Iversky chapel in Moscow.

Right! This is their way of governing - enough to try the patience of a saint.

, and others

1 Like

Comment

Marina Tsvetaeva

Oryol, Russian Republic

If you are alive, if I am fated to see you again, listen: yesterday, on the road towards Kharkov, I went past the southern border. There were 9000 dead. I can’t tell you about tonight because it has not ended. It’s a grey morning now. I’m in the corridor. You have to understand! I'm on the move and writing to you and I don't know now... but there are words here that I cannot write. See more

, and others

1 Like

Comment

John Reed

Petrograd, Russian Republic

The Provisional Government was no more. On November 15th, in all the churches of the capital, the priests stopped praying for it.

, and others

1 Like

Comment

Vladimir Purishkevich

Petrograd, Russian Republic

There is no state power in Russia. Russia has broken up. You rule the territory of over 5-6 regions, but not over Russia. You are not a government, not an authority, you are a party that has clawed itself into power.

, and others

Like

Comment

Felix Yusupov

Kiev, Russian Republic

When I opened the newspaper by accident, I jumped in my seat: there was a search for a criminal who had the same name as I did in my fake documents. I’m going the commander. He took away my document and easily gave me a new one, also fake.

, and others

Like

Comment

Moscow, Russian Republic

I was in an old Moscow apartment when the Bolshevik coup took place. I began to remodel my first piano concerto, which I was going to play again, and I was plunged into my work and did not notice what was happening around me. As a result, life during the anarchist coup, which brought death to all those people of non-proletarian origin, was relatively easy for me. See more

, and others

1 Like

Comment

Alexander Kerensky

somewhere between Gatchina and Luga, Russian Republic

We reached the forest and stopped. The officer said, "We're here, you should step out, Mr. Kerensky." Sailor Vanya, who arrived with me, joined me and stepped out as well. It was had to realize where we were - I could only see trees around us. Confused, I asked for explanations. "Farewell," said the officer. "Vanya will explain everything. See more

, and others

Like

Comment

Olga Paley with Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich

1, Smolny proezd, Smolny, Petrograd, Russian Republic

Next day, early, I took the children, Miss White, Jacqueline and my maid, and we installed ourselves in the flat of my daughter Olga Kreutz. At three o'clock in the afternoon I went to Smolny with my permit in the hope of carrying back my husband with me. I remained with him until six.

, and others

Like

Comment

Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna (the Younger)

Moscow, Russian Republic

The shooting did not cease. We were cut off from everything. The servants were afraid to go out to get provisions. When such supplies as we had in the house, and which we used very carefully, were completely exhausted, we were obliged to take counsel and consider our situation. Only a short street and a wide square separated us from the Nicholas station. See more

It seemed that the best thing to do would be to go forth, attracting as little attention as possible, and attempt to return to Petrograd. My husband's orderly was with us in Moscow. He volunteered to go that evening, under the shelter of darkness, to the station and find out whether there was any train service. In his grey soldier's coat he would attract, he felt, no particular attention. I remember how anxiously we saw him go forth. He returned shortly with the information that there were some trains to Petrogradj he had also learned that to all appearances the Bolshevist uprising had succeeded, though the losses were great. A great many buildings, he added, had been damaged, the Kremlin worst of all. We decided to pack our things and go to the station. It was quite late when we left the house and, accompanied by the orderly and the janitor, who carried our suitcases, proceeded along the street plunged in complete darkness. The square was like an inkpot. But we did not meet anyone, and reached the station safely. It presented an extraordinary spectacle. People were sitting or lying all over it, their luggage or bundles piled up by their side. Many had been sitting there for three days without eating, without changing their position. The air was thick and close from human exhalations. Talks, arguments, abuse, rose in a hubbub. In the crowd were many wounded, tied up with all sorts of rags. Here and there sneaked suspicious-looking soldiers, and beggars in indescribable tatters loitered about.We were unable to learn anything except that the Bolsheviks had been victorious the troops loyal to the Provisional Government; nor could we learn whether anything had happened in Petrograd. Finally, after endless inquiries and waiting, we discovered the time of departure of the train for Petrograd. It seemed strange beyond belief that there still existed such things as trains. And when we actually got into a carriage, my astonishment knew no bounds. For it was an ordinary, clean, old-fashioned first-class sleeping-car with a polite conductor, electricity, polished mirrors and doors, and clean bed-linen.

, and others

1 Like

Comment

Henri Matisse

paints «Portrait of Georges Besson»

19, Saint-Michel, Paris, France

, and others

Like

Comment

14 November

Kerensky fled, disguised by a sailor

Serge Diaghilev plans a fundraising concert at the Paris Opera

Lenin on the opposition within the Central Committee