“A students’ dormitory in an Engineering Technical School was located near our commune. Fedociya had connections with the dormitory (a janitor) and the nearest neighbourhood janitors who informed her secretly about any horrific preparations by the Black Hundred (‘Tonight they will cut students, and could seize the commune too.’). We began some preparations: we dragged all plaster casts, a huge David and all Venuses, all benches and chairs and barricaded doors and windows. Then we moved to the upper floor and blocked a passageway on top. The owner of the house, artist Kurdyumov, showed us the secret passageway through which it was possible to pass, in case of attack, from one house to another and then down to the street (the house of the commune was located in a courtyard).

      My behaviour began to irritate one member of the commune, the artist Antonov. A nice guy, he scolded at me that I painted while it was necessary to go out onto the streets. He was thin and really tall (because of his height he had no room to swing when he took an axe). Blaming me, he sat on a floor with his legs tucked under himself, drank vodka and nibbled a broth bone which was all cartilage and tendons. Brandishing this bone, he forced me to go onto the streets.

      The pressure rose. One evening we did not turn the lights on. Another student appeared among us and I got acquainted with him. That was Cyril Shutko and he informed us about the course of the revolution. I went to the city on Tver Street. At Leontyevsky Lane I was surrounded by members of the Black Hundred. I was dressed in a hat, a coat with a collar, and a black shirt; I had long hair.

      ‘Wait, a socialist!’ one of them called out, and some Finnish knifes flashed. I calmly asked, ‘Do you have a cigarette?’

      Then I immediately scolded them with a familiar profanity. One gave me a cigarette. I took it and put in my mouth and searching for a match, scolded them more and walked away. (I did not smoke at all).

      Then I returned to Lefortovo, to the commune. That was a very disturbing night; we could clearly hear shots. Fights began in the morning. Many members of the commune disappeared. Antonov quarrelled with me, took an axe with which he practised before preparing for a fight and went onto a street. He took a cab and ordered the driver to drive him to the Red Gate (on the barricades). We found out later that the police arrested him in a nearby lane.

      I got a “bulldog” (a British Webley, five chamber, break-top revolver, two – inch barrel, 450 calibre) and bullets. This was a true war. I joined a group who had pockets full of bullets and different types of revolvers. Some other “hunters” joined this group. We went to the Red Gate and there was a fight. Then we returned to the Sooharevskaya Tower. We, and some other members of this group, were placed at Sretenskoj Street for observation. Fences cracked and we began to pile up a barricade. The evening came soon. We noticed that soldiers had moved across Sretenka. The soldiers quickly approached. A command was heard and the soldiers presented their guns at the ready. We spread the word along the barricade. In a moment a silent command spread at our side and we fired.

      Even though the soldiers were prepared, they did not expect such impudence. We shot at them over and over again. I quickly finished all five bullets in my revolver. It was not necessary to reload it. The soldiers found us out and began to shoot at us from passageways. Despite their firing, the bullets didn’t hurt anybody at our post, only plaster was strewed about. We retreated to the barricades, but the soldiers, drawing up into an extended line, continued to shoot at us. We answered them eagerly; bullets whistled around. After each volley from their side, I, for some reason, wanted to jump up, as though bullets could fly at legs.

      The Floor Polishers, 1911.

      Gouache on cardboard, 77.7 × 71 cm.

      Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam.

      The Bather, 1911.

      Gouache on cardboard, 105 × 69 cm.

      Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam.

      The skirmish was short because many of us scattered in different directions. Now, there were some wounded and dead men everywhere. Our group, while firing back, retreated to the courtyard of a house. After that, we closed a gate, took a ladder in the courtyard and started to climb over a fence to the courtyard of a neighbouring house. Our barricade was occupied by soldiers, but our group, almost all of us, passed through another courtyard and made a decision to go to Sretenka and the rear of the solders. In a minute, they entered the courtyard. Those who didn’t have time to climb over the fence rushed away. I entered into the first porch of the house with the idea of getting up onto the roof and then climbing down a drainpipe to the street.

      When I reached the third floor, I read a door card with one of my friends’ names on it. But what should I do? Knock on the door or search for the attic? I decided to search for the attic, but it seemed that there was none. I stood on the stairs and listened to hear if somebody was coming. I counted my remaining bullets – there were five or six. Finally, I decided to knock. The door opened.

      ‘Is that you?’ my friend asked. ‘How did you manage to come through? Do you have a revolver?’

      ‘Yes, I have,’ I answered.

      ‘That is really bad, there’ll soon be a search. OK, undress and put the revolver under the rug in the hallway at the threshold. Take off your coat and shirt and put on a vest.’

      I obeyed; there was no time to quibble. He took off his jacket too and remained in a vest. Then, he got tobacco and lit it up. It was done on purpose to have plenty of smoke. The impression was made that we had been sitting all day long smoking and drinking. He brought out vodka, sausages, and cucumber.

      I drank; it went well, and soon I was “up to heels” – I was hungry and in cases like this vodka always goes “up to heels” and a person becomes drunk quickly. My friend started singing and I joined him.

      ‘Sing at the top of your voice!’ he shouted.

      Then came a knock at the door. He said loudly from his place, ‘Enter!’ A corporal with a revolver in his hand and two soldiers entered.

      ‘Are any runaways in here?’ the corporal asked.

      ‘What runaway? Would you like to have a glass of vodka? It’s my birthday today, so my friend and I, you know…’

      At once the corporal changed his anger to goodwill, drank and asked for more. My friend had to

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