By Victor Serge, Richard Greeman
My experiment, OCR'd
1919-1920. St. Petersburg, urban of the tsars, has fallen to the revolution. Camped out within the fabulous palaces of the previous regime, the hot masters of the town search to cement their regulate, while the counter-revolutionary White military musters its forces. Conquered urban, Victor Serge's hardest and such a lot unrelenting narrative, is established like a detective story--one during which the recent political regime seeks to trace down and cast off its enemies--the spies, speculators, and traitors hidden one of the exhausted mass of universal humans. Conquered urban is set terror: the crimson Terror and the White Terror. yet generally concerning the purple, in regards to the Communists who've dared to select up the guns of power--police, weapons, jails, spies, treachery--in the gamble that wielding them with purity, in a righteous reason, they could positioned an finish to the necessity for terror, probably endlessly. And but those that wield those guns understand that they're doomed. Conquered urban is their tragedy and testomony.
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Having crossed the courtyard , Lytaev felt his way carefully up a narrow stairway smelling of damp and of garbage and knocked heavily at the doublε door of what had once been a kitchen. He had to identi상 himself CONQUERED CITY . 29 beforε the servant woman inside would raise the iron bar and unhook rhe safety chain. “ It’smε ， Agrafena, me .... " A gende warmth reigned in the srudy where they were now living around a cast-iron stove and an oillamp. For thirty years the same feminine face had appeared in front ofVadim Mikhailovich at the calm hour of midnight tea , jusr bεfore rest; he had watched that face climb through the fu l1 light oflife , then decline , fade , wane , without losing the clarity of its gaze, thζ only youth that Jasrs; hε knew that face so well that he forgot it, that hε saw it without seeing it, that he rediscovered it at times in his memory with helpless astonishmζnt.
11 . VICTOR SERGE Apostεr announced that thζ Poor Peoplζ’s Committζζ was inaugurating the house clubroom with a lecture on thε Paris Commune. A blue Vendômε column , broken in hal f, was falling into scarlet flames. DANCING WILL FOLLOW!!! 1he lecturer sent by the Cεn. tral Club Service , a thin archivist with a faded goatee , spoke for an hour without raising his voice, which felllike a fine rain. 까le poor man dealt with the hiscory of “ all that political butchery，~ pitiably rewritten to suit the mood of the times, only because it fed him , and with him an ugly wife who suffered from rheumatism.
Thε main ching is to descroy thoroughly. To be afraid of words , of old ideas , of old fcεelings， those feelings that are so firmly riveted into our bεings ， by which che old world sti11 holds us. A poor fighter hε who holds back thinking, when it is necessary to reload your rifle and shoot with thε greatest concentration-iìke shooting dummies on a rifle range-at the men climbing that hi11 over there. Simple truths , certainties hard as granite , formulated with algebraic clarity; that is what we neεd.