The Workshop Of The Revolution. I. N. Steinberg 1953
The decree against the Kadets, which had been passed on December 1, 1917, was, of course, a formidable obstacle in the path of justice. Although it had not been ratified with the enthusiasm the Bolsheviks had anticipated, we could not deny the effect it might have on the aroused emotions of the masses. It was, after all, almost an invitation to terror issued by the most authoritative institution in the country. Once the idea of impunity toward supposed counter-revolutionaries penetrated the minds of irresponsible individuals, one could expect lynching incidents to spread among the population.
But during the first few weeks of the new coalition Soviet Government, both parties strained to prevent such acts of spontaneous “mob justice.” Characteristic, in this sense, was a sudden and sober conflict with the garrison at the Peter and Paul Fortress in Petrograd. This fortress had become a dual symbol of ruthless czarist reaction and sublime revolutionary martyrdom. Inside one of the thick walls of the fortress, the Troubetzkoy Bastion, hundreds of courageous revolutionaries had been held prisoner. Many did not leave the fortress alive. For decades men had dreamt of the day when the Russian “Bastille” would be destroyed forever.
I want to record here in melancholy remembrance that, within a few days of my appointment as Commissar of Justice, Maria Spiridonova, the spiritual leader of our movement, came to see me. Spiridonova herself had experienced revolutionary martyrdom in Siberian prisons from the time she was twenty-one. Her soul was saturated not only with the pain which she had felt, but with the suffering of thousands of prisoners she had known. In their name she came to me demanding that we blow up the Peter and Paul Fortress, the infamy of the shattered regime. Unfortunately it proved impossible to accede to her noble demand because-expert engineers informed us-this prison was no more than one wall in the fortress as a whole. And in the fortress itself huge quantities of dynamite were stored which could not be exploded.
Dozens of leaders from the Liberal camp were now imprisoned in the fortress-they had been arrested immediately after the October revolt. The prison was under the supervision of a commandant and of the council of the fortress’s military garrison.
During the night of January 2, 1918, I received word of a resolution passed by the garrison council which would deprive the prisoners of visits by relatives and food from outside. The soldiers wanted to restrict the life of their high-born captives whom they regarded as their class enemies. This resolution had all the symptoms of terrorist intent. I got in touch with Lenin at once and he willingly agreed to send a joint, urgent letter to the garrison. Because this was an unusual document, it is worth quoting the text in full:
“To the commandant and the garrison council of the Peter and Paul Fortress:
“We have learned that, during the night of January 2, the garrison council voted to deprive prisoners of their right to visits and to provisions. While we respect the revolutionary ardor of the representatives of the garrison, we consider such action against individuals, who are already deprived of their freedom, unnecessary. Since the general supervision of all prisons in Petrograd is the function of the People’s Commissariat of Justice, separate action on the part of individual groups can only hamper its work.
“We therefore suggest that you review your decision and keep us informed of developments.
Chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars: V. Lenin
People’s Commissar of Justice:
I. Steinberg”
Unusual in this letter is its style. In those days even the supreme Government authorities spoke to the rank and file in the form of “requests” and “suggestions.” They issued no orders; instead they asked them to “review the decision” of the soldiers. The tone proved effective and the dangerous resolution was withdrawn.
Unfortunately this kind of co-operation between ourselves and the Bolsheviks did not last long. The poisonous effect of open or overt propaganda in favor of “revolutionary ardor” became evident soon both in the popular psychology and in the leading circles of the new rulers. Two dramatic incidents illuminated this trend of events.
The first concerned an unknown officer by name of Rutkovsky, who was then a prisoner in a Petrograd jail. The second incident ended tragically for two former Liberal ministers of the Kadet Party, imprisoned in the Peter and Paul Fortress.
It was bitterly cold in Petrograd that February day. The People’s Commissars were engaged in the dramatic contest between the Russian Republic and the German military empire, taking place in the city of Brest-Litovsk. The Soviet Government, which had risen to power on the promise of ending the war on international democratic terms, had made intensive efforts to induce the Western powers (United States, Britain and France) to begin joint negotiations for peace. We knew that the peoples of those countries also wished for an end of the bloodshed that was now in its fourth year. But their official spokesmen did not respond to the call of the new Russia. And so the Soviet Government was left alone at the diplomatic table in Brest-Litovsk face to face with its greatest enemy-the German militarists.
The Soviet delegation, led by the Bolsheviks Leon Trotsky and Adolph Yoffe, included also representatives of the Left Social-Revolutionaries. For weeks the bitter struggle went on between the spokesmen of Russia-armed only with the moral prestige of liberation triumphant-and the Kaiser’s Germany, displaying on the battlefields the full strength of its armed forces. Small wonder that the People’s Commissars were harassed by thoughts of the future: Would Russia have to succumb to the armed fist of the Kaiser? And would such submission save the revolution?
But in the offices of the People’s Commissariats the day to day work continued. On that cold morning I, too, sat in my office answering a constant stream of telephone calls.
Smirnov, a Left Social-Revolutionary and chairman of the prison commission at the Kresti jail, was on the line. His voice quivering, he told me that Dzershinsky, chief of the Cheka, was at the prison. He wanted, he said, to investigate the cases of several counter-revolutionaries imprisoned there and ordered their cells searched. In one of them, the Chekists found a revolver, whereupon Dzershinsky ordered the guilty officer into solitary confinement under special guard whence he was eventually to be taken to the Cheka and shot.
“Shot?” I interrupted. “You're mad!”
“It’s true. Dzershinsky suspects a plot. Comrade Commissar, we can’t let this happen.”
“Certainly not. But why did you let him have his way?”
“We protested, but it didn’t help. Comrade Commissar, you must do something at once, or it will be too late.”
“Comrade Smirnov,” I said firmly. “I forbid you to let the prisoner be moved. You will be personally responsible for his safety. In the meantime, I'll see about this situation.”
Smirnov was satisfied with my order, which strengthened his position with the Cheka. But I was far from certain that Dzershinsky would respect it. I knew the temper of the Bolsheviks. They were frantic because of the imminent disgrace of their succumbing to the German imperialists, and sought to compensate for it by retaliating against their enemies at home. I felt that more than the life of a man was at stake: it was the whole character of the new era.
But what could I do? No use telephoning Dzershinsky. He would stall, promise to submit our conflict to the Council of People’s Commissars-and, in the meantime, present us with a fait accompli. Should I speak to Alexandrovitch, the Left Social- Revolutionary in the Cheka? But where would I find him?
Perhaps I should go to the prison and defend the officer personally against the would-be executioners? But would I be in time? And what if Dzershinsky remained stubborn? The confusion in my mind lasted only a few moments-decisions in those days had to be made quickly.
I called Alexander Schreider, a Left Social-Revolutionary and my deputy at the Commissariat. With all the fire of his youth, Schreider was waging a ceaseless battle against the Cheka. I told him to proceed at once to the prison and, in my name, stop the removal of the prisoner by any means he thought fit, and to await further instructions from me. I wrote out an order and handed it to him without waiting for it to be typed. It read:
“This will serve as authority for my deputy, Alexander Schreider, to resort to any measures in preventing the execution or removal of any prisoner in the Kresti jail. If necessary, Comrade Schreider is instructed to use force on orders from the People’s Commissar of Justice. The officials of the Kresti, including the prison Commissioner, are in duty bound to assist him to the full. March 3, 1918.”
There could be no misinterpreting this message; it meant that we were ready to pit our strength against the Cheka. Schreider ran down the stairs and jumped into a car, while I set out as hurriedly for the Smolny Institute, where Lenin lived.
I had no illusions about Lenin’s attitude in matters of this kind. I knew, also, that he was impatient with my continuous protests against the Cheka, mainly because they were continuous. Still, he was the only authority for Dzershinsky; he alone could call off the execution.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon. No official meetings of the Government were scheduled, and I hoped to find Lenin in his office. As I ran up the broad staircase of the Smolny, I met Prosh Proshyan, another Commissar and a member of our party. I seized him by the arm and told him what had occurred. He indignantly exclaimed, “This mustn’t happen. Kill a prisoner without trial, a man who is already in our power? I'll come with you.”
Lenin was at a meeting of the Central Committee of the Bolshevik Party. We sent word asking him to come out for a minute and see us. But the work of his Central Committee- planning Bolshevik program and disciplinary measures-was most important to Lenin, and it was some time before he joined us.
Proshyan immediately plunged into the story, telling it with suppressed emotion and demanding that the projected execution be halted at once. Lenin, preoccupation with other matters obvious in his face, asked in some bewilderment why we were so excited. Proshyan explained again, this time with anger in his voice:
“All right, so they found a gun on the prisoner. Of course that’s against regulations. But you cannot execute a helpless man for that! Let him be tried, but restrain Dzershinsky. Telephone at once and have the execution stayed. Then we'll decide what to do. . . .”
When Lenin realized what it was all about, his face became distorted. Never before had I seen him like that. At public meetings, during sessions of the cabinet, and on all other occasions, his features were calm, showing utter self-confidence, close concentration and, now and then, a faint ironic smile. Now, however, his face was neither calm nor ironical.
“Is this the important matter for which you called me from serious business?” he demanded furiously. “You perpetually worry about trifles. Dzershinsky wants to shoot an officer? What of it? What else would you do with these counter-revolutionaries?”
Our protests were of no avail. Lenin was adamant. At that moment a sentry called me to the telephone. Alexandrovitch, representative of the Left Social-Revolutionaries in the Cheka, was on the line.
“Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “Nothing is going to happen.”
“But how do you know about it already? “ I asked.
“Dzershinsky came back to the office from the prison and demanded official confirmation from the Cheka Council for the shooting of the prisoner. But in line with our party instructions, I refused to vote for it-and so there will be no execution. In the meantime, his fury has abated somewhat and the case will take its normal course.”
Alexandrovitch, the man who had once begged the Central Committee of the Left Social-Revolutionaries not to appoint him to the Cheka Council, had managed to turn the blade of Dzer- shinsky’s sword. Proshyan and I left the Smolny Institute wondering whether this alone was not worth our “co-operation” with the Bolsheviks in the Government.
But it was only the beginning-the beginning of the Red Terror. We had saved the life of one man; only one. What of the future?
A few years later, one of the participants in this drama was forcibly reminded again of this incident. It was not in Russia, but in Poland-inside the headquarters of the Polish political police.
A prisoner was brought in-none other than Alexander Schreider. In 1919, our party had been declared illegal by the Bolsheviks and Schreider was using a forged passport to escape to Germany through Poland. When his papers were examined and his true identity discovered, the Poles decided to impress him with the power of the new Polish republic and to imprison him. At this gloomy moment an officer approached Schreider and asked if he did not recognize him, smiling as he spoke.
“I am Rutkovsky, the officer whom Dzershinsky ordered shot. You and your friends saved my life then, as I shall help you now. You can rely on the word of a Polish officer.”
Nothing is lost in the world-neither a good deed nor an evil one. Back in Petrograd we had fought the Bolsheviks for an abstract principle: the sanctity of human life. A humane voice had once been heard in the Russian Cheka and its echo vibrated in the headquarters of the Polish police.