Leafing through his notes (from which emanated faces, landscapes, conversations, an entire world so similar to, and yet so different from, the one that existed twelve years earlier, when he had first visited Russia), Herriot tried to condense his impressions, to reduce them to essentials. With his typical pragmatism and wit, he decided that the simplest and most efficient way to do so (for now) would be to repeat the dedication that appeared in his book twelve years ago, as a symbol of the consistency of his views, and thereby silence the malicious. He would repeat it in extenso, the same way he wrote it then, in November 1922, and address it to the same person: Elie-Joseph Bois, editor-in-chief of Petit Parisian. To confirm the validity of this decision, he took out of his briefcase a leather-bound copy of his book, the last of the twenty copies of the special edition (il a ete tire de cet ouvrage 20 exemplaires sur Alfa reserve a Monsieur Herriot), and glanced at the dedication (which we will give herein translation, thereby losing much of the authenticity and style of the original ): "Dear friend: When I set off for Russia not only was I heaped with insults from our most prominent critics, but they foresaw the worst misfortune befalling me. They saw in me the very image of that wretched monk who during the Middle Ages set out from Lyons to convert the Tartars and Khans. That was the rime when the princes of Moscow, to frighten their visitors, would hide mechanical lions under their thrones, whose duty it was to growl at the tight moment and in the right place during the conversation. But you, my dear friend, were prepared to understand my intentions and to believe in my impartiality. I am returning from a journey that passed with ridiculous ease. They didn’t signal their mechanical lions to growl at me, I was able to observe everything freely and in peace. I edited my notes unconcerned as to whether I would please someone or not. And I dedicate them to you as a sign of recognition: accept them. Sincerely yours, Edouard Herriot." Satisfied with his decision, Herriot set the book aside and continued to stare at what he called "the melancholy of the Russian landscape.”
(The consequences of Herriot's second journey to Russia are of historical significance and therefore outside the interest of our story.)
POST FESTUM
A. L. Chelyustnikov was arrested in Moscow in September 1938, four years after the murder of Kirov (and in connection with it), and a little less than four years after the Herriot incident. He was sitting in a movie theater when the usherette approached him and whispered that he was urgently wanted outside. Chelyustnikov got up, adjusted his holster, and walked out into the lobby. “Comrade Chelyustnikov," a stranger said to him, "you are urgently needed at the Provincial Committee. A car is waiting", Chelyustnikov swore inwardly, thinking that it involved another big comedy like the one concocted four years ago, and for which be bad received a medal and a promotion. He got into the car without suspecting anything. He was then disarmed, handcuffed, and taken to Lubyanka prison. He was beaten and tortured for three months, but he would not sign a declaration that he had sabotaged the Soviet rule, that he had participated in the conspiracy against Kirov, or that he had joined the Trotskyites in Spain. They left him in solitary for another ten days to think it over: sign the confession or his wife would be arrested and their one-year-old daughter taken to an orphanage. Chelyustnikov finally broke down and signed the declaration, admitting the charges made in the indictment-among them, that he was a member of a conspiracy led by Avram Romanich Shram. He got ten years. In the prison camp he met an old NKVD acquaintance alongside whom he had fought earlier in Spain. Chelyustnikov became an informer. He was rehabilitated in 1958. Status: Married, three children, In 1963, with a group of tourists, he traveled to Bordeaux, Lyons, and Paris. In Lyons he visited the memorial library dedicated to its famous mayor, and wrote in the guest book: "An admirer of the work of Edouard Herriot.” Signature: A. L. Chelyustnikov.
The Magic Card Dealing
{FOR KARL STEINER}
Dr. Taube, Karl Georgievich Taube, was murdered on December 5, 1956, less than two weeks after his formal rehabilitation, and three weeks after his return from Norilsk prison camp. (Not counting his imprisonment during interrogation, Taube had spent seventeen years in prison camps.) This murder was not solved until June 1960, when they arrested in Moscow one Kostik Korshunidze, called "the Artist” or "the Eagle,” the top safe-cracker in the country, respected by the underworld as the king of thieves- Captain Morozov, who conducted Kostik’s interrogation, was surprised by his behavior: Kostik was trembling. The same Kostik who in his earlier interrogations had talked about himself and his work with the pride and dignity of a master craftsman. In hopeless situations he would even confess, not without pride, to things they didn't question him about; a robbery (for example, the burglary of the Kazan post office) that he had committed two or three years earlier. It was all the easier to get a confession out of Kostik because this brave nighthawk and master chief had one weakness, which, although very human, was seemingly at odds with the rest of his life: Kostik couldn’t take bearings. Even a mere threat-the raised voice or the raised hand of the interrogator-reduced Kostifc the Artist, the Eagle, to a rag of a man. And you can't wring a confession out of a rag, Captain Morozov, who had already met Kostik twice (once in the prison camp as an informer, and once soon after as a burglar), knew, therefore, how one should not talk to him (except in dire need, of course). If they promised not to heat him or shout at him (which insulted his dignity and destroyed his brain cells), Kostik would relate, inside out and in minute technical detail, all his undertakings. He was a born actor-indeed, an inspired one. At one time during his tempestuous life he had belonged to an amateur theatrical company, where he had added some refinement to his crude vocabulary. Later he broadened his acting experience in prison camps as a member of the culture brigade, a director, an actor, and an informer. Incidentally, Kostik thought of his prison term as an inseparable part of his work, just as former revolutionaries regarded theirs as “universities”; his philosophy was not, therefore, at odds with his life style. "Between two great roles" (his word) "there is a logical gap which you have to fill as well as you can." It must be granted that during the time of Kostik Korshunidze's greatest triumph, from the 1930's to the 1950's, prison was for him, as for so many other thieves of all kinds, only an extension of "freedom". Millions of politicals were exposed to all the whims and idiosyncrasies of this group, the so-called socially acceptable. The boldest and most fantastic dreams of a thief were fulfilled in the labor camps: the former masters, around whose dachas great and petty burglars had circled, now became servants, "adjutants" and slaves of the former exiles from paradise; and empresses of justice, women ministers and judges, became mistresses and slaves of those whom formerly they had judged, and to whom they had preached about social justice and class consciousness, quoting Gorky, Makarenko, and other classics. It was, in short, a golden age for criminals, especially those whose name in this new hierarchy was surrounded by the aura of the master craftsman, as was the case with Кostik Korshunidze, called the Artist. The king of the underworld is a real king only in the underworld; but not only did Kostik's former masters work for him, but whole legions of hardened criminals submitted to his will. It was sufficient for Kostik to give a hint of his needs, whether by a word or a glance, and the raspberry-colored boots of the former Chekist Chelyustnikov would flash on the feet of a new owner (Kostik), or, through the kindness and mercy of the cook, a former pimp and murderer, the fair-skinned Nastasia Fedotevna, the wife of the (former) secretary of the Provincial Committee, would be fattened and brought to Kostik, since the Artist liked plump ladies; "Fair and ripe, this is the best type of our Russian women".