Trip to Russia E-Book

Zweig Stefan

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 63

Beschreibung

"What journey within our immediate world today would be remotely as interesting, enchanting, instructive and exciting as that to Russia? While our Europe, and especially the capitals, are subject to the inexorably contemporary process of mutual assimilation and resemblance, Russia remains utterly unparalleled." Stephen Branch, 1928 After Stefan Zweig's bourgeois world collapsed with the First World War, he went in search of alternative forms of society, which culminated in a journey through the still young Soviet Union. His perceptions and impressions on the trip remained ambivalent and moved between the generally prevailing glorification on the part of the Western European intelligentsia and the harsh reality of life among the soviet population. Stefan Zweig's non-political trip to the USSR is probably one of the most extraordinary travelogues of the 1920s and appears today almost 100 years later as a kaleidoscope into a past that is once again up-to-date.

Leseprobe

TRIP TO RUSSIA

by Stefan Zweig (1928)

Translation by Vanessa Walsh (2021)

Aureon Verlag GmbH

Table of Contents

Honest Preliminary Remark

Border

Conversion Into Russian

Moscow: The Street From The Railway Station

Moscow: The View From The Kremlin

Moscow: The Red Square

The Old And New Sanctuary

Moscow: Museums

Heroism Of Intellectuals

Visit With Gorky

The Young Poets

Theatre

Tolstoy Celebration

Yasnaya Polyana

Trip To Leningrad

Treasure Trove Of The Hermitage

The Most Beautiful Grave In The World

Epilogue

Honest Preliminary Remark

What journey within our nearby world today (1928) would be even remotely as interesting, enchanting, instructive and exciting as one to Russia? Whilst our Europe, and especially the capital cities, are subject to the inexorable process of mutual conformation and similarity, Russia remains entirely without comparison. Not only the eye – not only the aesthetic senses – are constantly surprised by this ancient architecture, this new national entity, but also the spiritual aspects that are formed differently here, from different pasts into a special future. The most important questions of social-spiritual structure inevitably come up on every street corner, in every conversation; and in every encounter, one feels constantly occupied, interested, stimulated and passionately called upon between enthusiasm and doubt – and between amazement and concern. Every hour is so full of worldly matters and thoughts that it would be easy to write a book about just ten days in Russia.

A few dozen European writers have now done so in recent years; I personally envy their courage. Be they wise or foolish, deceitful or truthful, cautious or gung-ho, they all bear a fatal resemblance to those American reporters who, after two weeks of Cook tours, allow themselves a book about Europe. Anyone who speaks no Russian, who has only seen the capitals of Moscow and Leningrad or the two eyes of the Russian giant, and who is not able to compare the new revolutionary regime with the tsarist conditions from a previous experience, should, in my opinion, honestly refrain from prophecy and pathetic discoveries. He should only give impressions – colourful and ephemeral as they were – without any other value or claim than the most important, especially in relation to Russia today: not to exaggerate, not to distort and above all not to lie.

Border

The first stop on Russian soil: Niegoroloie. Late in the evening, so dark already that the famous red train station with the headline "Workers of all nations unite" can no longer be seen. As for the Red Guards, portrayed by the fabulous travellers of the past, so picturesquely and vividly as grimly armed to the teeth, I cannot, with the best will in the world, see any, except a few smart looking, friendly uniformed men – without rifles or flashing weapons. The wooden border is a hall like any other, except that instead of the potentates – pictures of Lenin, Engels, Marx – some other leaders peer off the walls. The check is exact, precise and fast, with all possible politeness; even with the first step on Russian soil, one feels how much untruth and exaggeration one still has to suppress. Nothing happens with any more difficulty, more strictly, or more militarily than at any other border; without any transition you suddenly find yourself in a new world.

But still, a first impression is immediately etched, one of those first impressions that so often divinely encompasses a situation that was only later consciously recognised. All in all, there are perhaps thirty or forty of us crossing the border into Russia today, half of whom are just passing through – Japanese, Chinese, and Americans, rushing home on the Manchurian train without stopping; mathematically speaking, that leaves a remainder of about fifteen to twenty people who really are only travelling to Russia on this train. This train is the only one in the daytime that goes from London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Switzerland – from all over Europe – to the heart of Russia; it runs to its capital, Moscow. Subconsciously, one remembers the last borders one crossed and one remembers how many thousands and tens of thousands enter our tiny countries every day, while here twenty people in total are crossing a giant empire – a continent. Two or three direct railway lines connect Russia with the rest of the European world, and each one of them pulses faintly and timidly. One recalls the border crossings at the time of the war, where even a small number – sieved seven times – crossed the invisible line from state to state; instinctively, one grasps something of the present situation: Russia is an enclosed fortress. It is an economic war zone, closed off from our different-thinking world by a kind of continental barrier, similar to the one Napoleon imposed on England. You have climbed over an invisible wall as soon as you take the hundred steps from the entrance to the exit between these two doors.

Conversion Into Russian

Even before the train starts moving towards Moscow, a friendly fellow traveller reminds me that the clock must be changed now – by one hour – from Western European to Eastern European time. But with this quick movement – this tiny turn of a screw – you will soon notice it is not enough by far. Not just the hour on the clock face has to be changed, but the whole feeling of space and time as soon as you come to Russia. Because within these dimensions everything has an effect in different dimensions and weights. Time will experience a rapid fall in value from the border, as will the sense of distance. Here, one counts the kilometres in thousands instead of hundreds; a journey of twelve hours is considered an excursion, and a journey of three days and three nights is considered relatively short. Time here is counted in copper coins, which nobody saves and collects. An hour's delay in an appointment is still considered a courtesy; a conversation of four hours is but a short chat, and a public speech of one and a half hours is a short speech. But after 24 hours in Russia, your inner adaptability will have gotten used to it. It will come as no surprise that an acquaintance from Tiflis will travel three days and three nights to shake your hand, and eight days later you will take on the small task of a 14-hour train ride to make such a "visit" with the same serenity and matter-of-factness, and seriously consider whether you might go to the Caucasus – it’s just six days and six nights…