NATASHA

published

once again, and that she could find a new circle of writer friends who would 'look on me as one of their own'.¹¹⁴ 'With every passing year she felt the 'milky call' of her native tongue, which she knew was so essential, not just to her art but to her very identity. This physical longing for Russia was far stronger and more immediate than any intellectual rationalization for her continued exile: that Russia was contained inside herself and, like a suitcase filled with Pushkin's works, could be taken anywhere. 'The poet', she concluded, 'cannot survive in emigration: there is no ground on which to stand - no medium or language. There are - no roots.'¹¹⁵ Like the rowanberry tree, her art needed to be rooted in the soil.

In 1937 Efron was exposed as a Soviet agent and implicated in the assassination of a Soviet spy who had refused to return to the Soviet Union. Pursued by the French police, Efron fled to the Soviet Union, where Alya had already settled earlier that year. Now Tsvetaeva could not remain in France. Shunned by everyone, her life there became impossible. Berberova saw her for the last time in the autumn of 1938. It was the funeral of Prince Sergei Volkonsky - at the moment when his coffin was carried out of the church on the Rue Francois Gerard. 'She stood at the entrance, her eyes full of tears, aged, almost grey, hands crossed on her bosom… She stood as if infected with plague: no one approached her. Like everyone else I walked by her.'¹¹⁶ On 12 June 1939, Tsvetaeva and her son left by boat from Le Havre for the Soviet Union. The evening before her departure she wrote to Teskova: 'Goodbye! What comes now is no longer difficult, what comes now is fate.'¹¹⁷

Pasternak had warned Tsvetaeva: 'Don't come back to Russia - it's cold, there is a constant draught.' It was an echo of her own prophetic fear

That the Russian draught should blow away my soul!¹¹⁸

But she was like her husband: she did not hear what she did not want to hear.

Many of the exiles who returned to Stalin's Russia did so in the knowledge, or with the intuition, that they were going back to a life of slavery. It was a mark of their desperate situation in the West, of their longing

for a social context in which they could work, that they were prepared to close their eyes to the harsh realities of the 'new life' in the Soviet Union. Homesickness overcame their basic instinct of survival.

Maxim Gorky was the first major cultural figure to discover the perils of return. The writer, who had championed the Revolution's cause in his early novels like Mother, became disillusioned by its violence and chaos during 1917. He had looked to socialism as a force of cultural progress and enlightenment bringing Russia closer to the ideals of the West. But instead of heralding a new civilization, the street fighting that brought Lenin into power also brought the country, as Gorky had warned, to the brink of a 'dark age' of 'Asiatic barbarism'. The people's class hatred and desire for revenge, stoked up by the rhetoric of the Bolsheviks, threatened to destroy all that was good. The savage terror of the civil war, followed by the famine in which millions perished, seemed a gruesome proof of Gorky's prophecy. Bravely, he spoke out against the Leninist regime between 1917 and 1921, when, profoundly shaken by everything he had seen in those years, he left Russia for Berlin. Unable to live in Soviet Russia, neither could Gorky bear to live abroad. For several years, he wavered in this schizophrenic state, homesick for Russia and yet too sick of it to return home. From Berlin, he wandered restlessly through the spa towns of Germany and Czechoslovakia before settling in the Italian resort of Sorrento. 'No, I cannot go to Russia', he wrote to Romain Rolland in 1924. 'In Russia I would be the enemy of everything and everyone, it would be like banging my head against a wall.'¹¹⁹

On Lenin's death in 1924, however, Gorky revised his attitude. He was overwhelmed with remorse for having broken off with the Bolshevik leader and convinced himself, as Berberova put it, 'that Lenin's death had left him orphaned with the whole of Russia'.¹²⁰ His eulogistic Memories of Lenin was the first step towards his reconciliation with Lenin's successors in the Kremlin. He began to think about the idea of returning to the Soviet Union but put off a decision, perhaps afraid of what he might find there. Meanwhile, his two epic novels, The Artamonov Business (1925) and The Life of Klim Samgin (1925-36) did poorly in the West, where his didactic style no longer found favour. The rise of fascism in his adopted homeland of Italy made Gorky question all his earlier ideals - ideals that had formed the basis

of his opposition to the Bolsheviks - about Europe as a historic force of moral progress and civilization. The more disillusioned he became with fascist Europe the more he was inclined to extol Soviet Russia as a morally superior system. In 1928 Gorky returned on the first of five summer trips to the Soviet Union, settling there for good in 1931. The prodigal son was showered with honours; he was given as his residence the famous Riabushinsky mansion (built by Shekhtel) in Moscow; two large country dachas; private servants (who turned out to be Lubianka spies); and supplies of special foods from the same NKVD department that catered for Stalin. All of this was given with the aim of securing Gorky's political support and of presenting him as a Soviet author to the Western world.¹²¹ At that time opinion in the West was equally divided over whether Gorky or Bunin should win the Nobel Prize. Once the Kremlin took up Gorky's cause, the competition between the two writers became a broader political struggle over who should have the right to speak in the name of the cultural tradition that went back to Pushkin and Tolstoy - Moscow or the Paris emigres?

The Soviet regime to which Gorky had returned was deeply split between the Stalinists and the so-called Rightists, like Tomsky and Bukharin, who opposed Stalin's murderous policies of collectivization and industrialization. To begin with, Gorky occupied a place somewhere between the two: he broadly supported Stalin's goals while attempting to restrain his extremist policies. But increasingly he found himself in opposition to the Stalinist regime. Gorky had never been the sort of person who could remain silent when he did not like something. He had opposed Lenin and his reign of terror, now he was a thorn in Stalin's side as well. He protested against the persecution of Zamyatin, Bulgakov and Pilnyak - though he failed to draw attention to the arrest of Mandelstam in 1934. He voiced his objections to the cult of Stalin's personality and even refused a commission from the Kremlin to write a hagiographic essay about him. In his diaries of the 1930s - locked up in the NKVD archives on his death - Gorky compared Stalin to a 'monstrous flea' which propaganda and mass fear had 'enlarged to incredible proportions'.¹²²

The NKVD placed Gorky under close surveillance. There is evidence that Gorky was involved in a plot against Stalin with Bukharin and Kirov, the Party boss of Leningrad who was assassinated, perhaps

on Stalin's orders, in 1934. Gorky's death in 1936 may also have been a consequence of the plot. For some time he had been suffering from chronic influenza caused by lung and heart disease. During the Buk-harin show trial of 1938 Gorky's doctors were found guilty of the writer's 'medical murder'. Perhaps Stalin used the writer's natural death as a pretext to destroy his political enemies, but Gorky's involvement with the opposition makes it just as likely that Stalin had him killed. It is almost certain that the NKVD murdered Gorky's son, Maxim Peshkov, in 1934; and this may have been part of a plan to weaken Gorky.¹²³ Certainly the writer's death came at a highly convenient time for Stalin - just before the show trials of Zinoviev and Kamenev, which Gorky had intended to expose as a sham in the Western press. Gorky's widow was adamant that her husband had been killed by Stalin's agents when she was asked about this in 1963. But the truth will probably never be known.¹²⁴

Prokofiev was the other major figure to return to Stalin's Russia -at the height of the Great Terror in 1936. The composer had never been known for his political acumen but the unhappy timing of his return was, even by his standards, the outcome of extraordinary naivety. Politics meant little to Prokofiev. He thought his music was above all that. He seemed to believe that he could return to the Soviet Union and remain unaffected by Stalin's politics.

Perhaps it was connected with his rise to fame as an infant prodigy in St Petersburg. The child of prosperous and doting parents, Prokofiev had had instilled in him from an early age an unshakeable belief in his own destiny. By the age of thirteen, when he entered the St Petersburg Conservatory, he already had four operas to his name. Here was the Russian Mozart. In 1917 he escaped the Revolution by travelling with his mother to the Caucasus and then emigrated via Vladivostok and Japan to the United States. Since Rachmaninov had recently arrived in America, the press inevitably made comparisons between the two. Prokofiev's more experimental style made him second best in the view of the generally conservative American critics. Years later, Prokofiev recalled wandering through New York's Central Park and

chinking with a cold fury of the wonderful American orchestras that cared nothing for my music… I arrived here too early; this enfant- America - still

had not matured to an understanding of new music. Should I have gone back home? But how? Russia was surrounded on all sides by the forces of the Whites, and anyway, who wants to return home empty-handed?¹²⁵