There were riots, escapes, suicides, and executions. Even Arosev, in his comfortable prison, might be playing leapfrog in the courtyard when, “suddenly, they would bring in a comrade who had been sentenced to death, and we knew that tomorrow or the day after he would be led out into this courtyard, not far from where we were playing, and hanged, and this comrade would be no more.”45
Valentin Trifonov
(Courtesy of Olga Trifonova)
But most Bolshevik prison memoirs are about the education of a true Bolshevik, and most of them refer to prison as a “university.” “Strange as it may sound,” writes Kon, “the years I spent in prison were the best years of my life. I did a lot of studying, tested my strength in a long and bitter struggle, and, in constant interaction with other prisoners, learned the difference between words and deeds, firm convictions and fleeting fancies. It was in prison that I learned how to judge my own life and the lives of others from the point of view of the good of the cause.” Osinsky and Bukharin cemented their friendship when they lived “in perfect harmony” in the same prison cell, and Platon Kerzhentsev, who had defeated Osinsky in the high school debate on the Decembrists, “studied thoroughly … the literature of both Marxism and populism and left prison—the best university of [his] life—as a Bolshevik.” Iosif Tarshis’s (Osip Piatnitsky’s) time in prison was “a university” because he “studied systematically under the guidance of a comrade who knew Marxist revolutionary literature,” and Grigory Petrovsky’s time in prison was a university because he “not only read the best Marxist literature, but also studied arithmetic, geometry, and German.”46
The education of a true Bolshevik consisted in learning how to judge his own life and the lives of others from the point of view of the good of the cause, but it also consisted in learning as much as possible about everything else. Once the faith in the coming of the real day was in place and “the key to the understanding of reality,” in hand, the study of arithmetic, geometry, and German helped enlist all things for the good of the cause. The more one knew, the easier it was to perceive the “moving forces” behind people and things and “the fantastic, enchanting, and transparent light over everything and everyone.”
During his first stay in prison, and with nothing but the prison library at his disposal, Kanatchikov read “Turgenev, Uspensky, Dostoevsky, Spielhagen (Between the Hammer and the Anvil), Shchedrin, and others.” Shchedrin was his particular favorite. “I laughed so hard that the guard repeatedly opened the transom and stared at my face, evidently wondering if I’d lost my mind.” By the time he was arrested again, he had more experience, a higher consciousness, and much better comrades. Faina Rykova (the sister of the student revolutionary, Aleksei Rykov), brought him a year’s worth of books. “The selection had not been made very systematically, but that really didn’t matter; I wanted to know everything there was that could aid the cause of the revolution, whether directly or indirectly…. I recall that my collection included Lippert’s History of Primitive Culture, Kliuchevsky’s lectures on Russian history, Timiriazev’s Popular Exposition of Darwin’s Theory, Zheleznov’s Political Economy, and V. Ilyin’s The Development of Capitalism in Russia. At that time, I still didn’t know that Ilyin was the pseudonym of Lenin.”47
Voronsky began by reading Marx, Kropotkin, Balzac, Flaubert, and Dostoevsky, but when he was put in a “semi-dungeon” with “damp corners crawling with woodlice,” he relaxed his schedule. “Morning and evening—calisthenics and a brisk towel rubdown; three hours of German; and the remaining hours I reserved for Homer, Dickens, Ibsen, Tolstoy, Leskov, indolent and sluggish daydreaming, and unhurried reflections and recollections.”48
Yakov Sverdlov seems to have been incapable of anything indolent or unhurried. He walked fast, talked loudly, followed the “Mueller system” of calisthenics, slept no more than five hours a night, and kept his personal “consumption statistics” (ten cigarettes, one prison lunch, one bottle of milk, one pound of white bread, and three cups of tea a day, four to six pounds of sugar a month …). In the Ekaterinburg prison, when he was not doing some combination of the above or playing leapfrog, he was reading Lenin, Marx, Kautsky, Plekhanov, and Mehring, as well as Werner Sombart on capitalism, Paul Louis on socialism, Sidney and Beatrice Webb on trade unionism, Charles Gide on cooperation, and Victor S. Clark on the Australian labor movement. He read German books in the original, worked hard on his French and mathematics, and picked up a teach-yourself-English textbook. His constant rereading of Das Kapital, What Is to Be Done?, and the Marx–Engels correspondence allowed him to profit from reading journal articles about women’s history (the author “is correct to relate the rise of individualism to the capitalist mode of production, which has led to the economic independence of women”), sports (“in different historical periods, sports have always served the interests of the ruling classes”), and a great variety of poetry, from proletarian autodidacts to Shelley, Verhaeren, Verlaine, Baudelaire, Poe, Kipling, and his particular favorite, Heinrich Heine. “Literature and the arts interest me very much,” he wrote in a letter. “They help me understand the development of mankind, which has already been explained theoretically.” According to Sverdlov’s common-law wife and Bolshevik party comrade, Klavdia Novgorodtseva, his motto was: “I put books to the test of life, and life to the test of books.”49
In March 1911, when Sverdlov was in the St. Petersburg House of Pretrial Detention and Novgorodtseva was about to have their first child, his reading turned to “various approaches to the sexual question and, in particular, the question of reproduction.” She was thirty-four; he was twenty-five and had a seven-year-old daughter by another comrade (although he does not seem to have stayed in close touch with them). Among the “questions” he was considering were:
The special selection of partners for the production of offspring in Plato’s ideal state; More’s Utopia, where, before marriage, the two sides appeared before each other with nothing on; the most recent theories, principally by the so-called men of science, at the head of which one would have to put Auguste Forel [the author of the recently published The Sexual Question], who recommends a preliminary medical examination of the whole organism in order to determine whether reproduction is desirable. I am also reminded of various descriptions of the act of birth in different cultural epochs, contained in both histories of culture and works of literature. Everything leads me to believe that the “pangs of birth” are directly related to the condition of the mother’s organism: the more normal the organism, the less acute the pain, less frequent the accidents, etc. I am also thinking of various political programs that rely on scientific data to demand the termination of work for a certain period of time before birth, etc. Thinking of all these things and weighing them relative to each other, I am inclined to reach a favorable conclusion, although of course I am not a specialist and there is so much I still don’t know.