extreme Left, an- other professor, a man of thirty-five, listened to her as if her news moved him to profound grief. Was he not going to tear his hair, wring his hands? He did nothing of the sort. He had never heard of Rublev, but these Russian catastrophes haunted him day and night. are Shake- “They spearean tragedies ... Mademoiselle, I have cried my indignation in this very paper. I cried, the name of our ‘Mercy!’ ‘in love and devotion to the Russian Revolution.’ I was not heard, I aroused reactions which must likewise be accepted in good faith, I tendered my resignation to our managing committee . . . Today, the political situation makes it impos- sible for such an article to appear. We represent the average opinion of an audience which belongs to numerous parties; the ministerial crisis, of which the papers have not yet got wind, imperils all our work of the last few years ... A conflict with the Communists at this moment might have the most disastrous results . . . And should we save Dublev?” Xenia corrected. “Rublev,” Rublev—should we save him? My unfortunate “Yes, experience does not permit me to believe so ... I really cannot see how ... At most, I could try calling on your ambassador at once and expressing my con- cern to him ...” least do that,” murmured Xenia, completely “At discouraged, for she was thinking: won’t do anything, no one will do “They anything, they don’t even understand . . .” She felt like beating her head against the wall . . . She swept through several other editorial offices, so hastily, borne along by such a desperate and exasperated grief, that later she had only a confused memory of where she had gone. An old
extreme Left, an- other professor, a man of thirty-five, listened to her as if her news moved him to profound grief. Was he not going to tear his hair, wring his hands? He did nothing of the sort. He had never heard of Rublev, but these Russian catastrophes haunted him day and night. “They are Shake- spearean tragedies ... Mademoiselle, I have cried my indignation in this very paper. ‘Mercy!’ I cried, ‘in the name of our love and devotion to the Russian Revolution.’ I was not heard, I aroused reactions which must likewise be accepted in good faith, I tendered my resignation to our managing committee . . . Today, the political situation makes it impos- sible for such an article to appear. We represent the average opinion of an audience which belongs to numerous parties; the ministerial crisis, of which the papers have not yet got wind, imperils all our work of the last few years ... A conflict with the Communists at this moment might have the most disastrous results . . . And should we save Dublev?” “Rublev,” Xenia corrected. “Yes, Rublev—should we save him? My unfortunate experience does not permit me to believe so ... I really cannot see how ... At most, I could try calling on your ambassador at once and expressing my con- cern to him ...” “At least do that,” murmured Xenia, completely discouraged, for she was thinking: “They won’t do anything, no one will do anything, they don’t even understand . . .” She felt like beating her head against the wall . . . She swept through several other editorial offices, so hastily, borne along by such a desperate and exasperated grief, that later she had only a confused memory of where she had gone. An old
The%20Case%20of%20Comrade%20Tulayev%20-%20Victor%20Serge.docx