‘Two Months in Soviet Russia’ was penned in 1928 by Irish author and academic Violet Conolly, and published across two volumes of Studies in December 1928 and March 1929. A follow-up penned by Conolly nearly a decade after the publication of the initial article(s), ‘On Revisiting Soviet Russia’, was published in 1937 and will be the subject of a future entry on this site.
There is little information available on Conolly herself, though she was published numerous times in Studies throughout the late 1920s and 1930s. Her work focused on life in disparate locations, including Sweden and Iran, but the majority of her academic output was contemporary analysis of Soviet life as it was in the first half of the 20th century. Much of this research focused on Soviet economic policy and global trade links.
In contrast, ‘Two Months in Soviet Russia’ (Parts I & II) is broader in scope, instead providing the reader with the author’s first-hand experiences and impressions as she travelled from Reval (now Tallinn) to Leningrad, Leningrad to Moscow, and onwards to Crimea. As will be seen in the extracts below, Conolly discusses the aspects of daily life she witnessed and experienced, from shopping and religion to education and culture.
Violet Conolly, ‘Two Months in Soviet Russia’, Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review, Vol. 17, No. 68 (Dec., 1928), 637-648. JSTOR link: https://www.jstor.org/stable/30094416
Violet Conolly, ‘Two Months in Soviet Russia: Part II’, Studies: An Irish Review, Vol. 18, No. 69 (Mar., 1929), 64-78. JSTOR link: https://www.jstor.org/stable/30094450
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Anybody trying to disentangle the truth about Russia or to obtain from the press a consistent
idea of the realities of daily life under Soviet rule will soon become exasperated. Many rival interests are vitally concerned in the fortunes of that country, and they most diligently doctor the news that is presented to the public…The lack of sound information from the ordinary channels is further complicated by the abnormal difficulties of communication (visas, censorship of letters, etc.), which make the traveller to and from Russia a sort of rara avis, and by the arbitrary scepticism with which the Russian émigrés abroad regard every development in the new Russia. The result is that sweeping generalisations, based on ignorance or prejudice, easily gain wide credence: indeed the actual situation is too full of awkward contradictions and anomalies to serve any side.
Our minds are still haunted, on the one hand, by the romantic back ground of old Russia, with its golden-domed churches, picturesque peasants, tziganes, etc.; and on the other, by the ghastly episodes of the Bolshevik Revolution and the oppression attending the era of pure Communism which, of course, was discarded even before Lenin’s death.
With such confused notions I went to Russia, wishing to see this legendary landscape, talk to people who were fast becoming mere abstractions in my mind, and learn something about their lives. I had no particular mission, and have only the impressions of a casual visitor to recall. The Soviet Government does not grant visas with any semblance of largesse. Long forms have to be filled in, and the traveller’s ardour is damped in the first place by the curt announcement that at least two months are required to consider each application! When, however, my passport was duly stamped in Berlin for a modest charge of 11s. 6d. (I say modest, because the ordinary Russian citizen, seeking a visa for one journey abroad, is charged 300 roubles – approximately £33), I started out for the Soviet frontier.
Travelling through the former Russian provinces of Latvia and Esthonia, I was tempted to linger in Reval. Though a delightful town, I should advise anybody going to Russia for the first time to avoid Reval. A centre of Russian emigration, lying very near the Soviet frontier, it is full of alarming stories about the latest Communist enormities. Most of the Russians who live there relate extraordinary tales of their own adventures in escaping, and regard it as tempting Providence to venture into Russia of one’s own free will. The presence of a number of British officers instructing the Esthonian army in the newest branches of military science, also increased the significance of the boundary between the two countries. So many tales of the “Guepeou”* and of the “Checka”** were poured into my ears that I felt I must run away from Reval before I became as scared of the Bolsheviks as the people there.
* Word formed from the first letters of the Russian for “supreme political administration” – in plain English, “The Russian Secret Police”. ** Special police system which preceded the Guepeou.
I was lucky in having only one companion in the third class compartment on the journey to Leningrad, and slept quite comfortably on my wooden bunk with the help of the mattress and bedding which can always be hired on a Russian train. My fellow traveller, returning to visit her mother in Moscow after seven years absence, was terrified of the rencontre with the Soviet customs officials and fortified herself steadily through the night with cognac, cachets and large slices of ham.
Early next morning we woke up to find that we had arrived at the frontier, and that two Red officials were waiting to examine our luggage. Their long black Russian blouses (like Fascists) and faded khaki uniforms were rather an anti-climax, for I had always pictured the Red army garbed in brilliant crimson! Only the sickle and hammer encircled with wheat, the consecrated emblems of the State, were neatly engraved in red and gold on each collar.
The customs examination, though conducted with smiles and courtesy, was a very lengthy performance. My lady companion had to surrender several garments, and was then led away for a personal body search. I paid dearly for not devoting more time to perusing Soviet regulations for incoming travellers. The articles which may be brought in are strictly limited in number, and certain objects (i.e. cameras) may not be brought in at all without a permit. Though I had only what might be considered a minimum outfit for a few months visit, I had evidently overstepped the allowance. My clock was taken (I was informed that only time-pieces worn on the person were permitted), my camera, two pairs of shoes, and all the Russian money in my purse (150 roubles).* Once in Russia I soon learned the reason for this annoying interference. Everybody there wants to buy foreign goods – Russian products being inadequate, expensive and inferior. Therefore any traveller with a large trunkful of even old and worn garments could do excellent business without the smallest difficulty. I was frequently addressed in the streets by people whom I did not know, and asked whether I wanted to sell my clothes. I know people who did so and obtained exorbitant prices for very simple garments.
* A special receipt is given for all objects (including money) confiscated at the frontier, which may be recovered at the same place when leaving the country, or forwarded to any address abroad given by the owner.
With regard to the importation of Russian currency, the law is very severe and forbids it in toto. A recent Soviet decree has also declared that the rouble is not negotiable on the international exchange. This practically means that roubles must only be bought in Russia, in the State banks, and at the official rate of exchange (9.94 roubles to the pound sterling). On the other hand foreign money (in cheques, notes or coin) may be brought in to an unlimited extent, and I may remark, incidentally, that there is no difficulty in changing money; travellers’ cheques are accepted in all the banks, and Lloyds Bank have agents all over the country. The temptation to smuggle in roubles is very strong, as they can be bought in Berlin or Warsaw for half what they cost in Russia.
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After nearly three hours delay we left the little frontier station. The train resounded with an excited buzz of voices comparing notes about their various experiences with the customs authorities. Kettles of boiling water were energetically produced, and the eternal tea drinking began for the day. In this friendly, gossiping atmosphere all my fears vanished, and I passed into Russia with a feeling of tranquillity and security which I never lost while I stayed there…The news soon spread that there was a foreigner from an unknown country, called Ireland, on the train. An unceasing flood of questions was directed at my head: “Why are you coming to Russia?” “Isn’t this a poor country?” “There’s surely nothing to see here?” “What do they think of us abroad?” Then with a smile: “They don’t like the Communists there, do they?” “We can buy nothing, no boots or clothing here. Food is scarce and dear. It’s not like that abroad, is it?” – and so the litany went on. Soon the bundles were opened, and from all sides I was offered black bread and cheese, black bread and sausage, apples and pears, and “pirojki” – i.e. little buns containing a sort of salad of cold cabbage and hard-boiled eggs. With all this gossip and friendliness the time passed very quickly until we arrived at Leningrad.
From the first moment there was no mistaking the Communist challenge. The flaming red hoardings in the station inscribed with appeals to the proletariat, the triumphant statue of Lenin, the stern-looking portraits of his disciples on the walls, and the abundant Marxist literature on the book-stalls – all revealed the position. This is the enemy’s camp. Are you Communist or Bourgeois? There can be no sitting on the fence now; you must choose your side and declare your allegiance.
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The first impression of Moscow is entirely different. There is great movement in the streets, and the people seem more buoyant and smart. There are government taxis (about 800), comfortable motor buses, and an absurdly insufficient number of tramcars, which race along with a clanging peal of bells instead of the thin little jingle which warns pedestrians out of the way in other cities. Many of the conductors are women, sturdy wenches with scarlet handkerchiefs on their heads, who manage the jostling crowds very capably. An interesting feature of the tram is the seat always reserved for the conductor, no matter how many passengers have to stand. In this detail, as in a hundred others of daily life, the finger of the Revolution is apparent.
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During my stay in Moscow, and later in Sebastopol, I lived in Russian families. Hotels are expensive, state-managed, and quite up-to-date; but they afford no opportunity of getting acquainted with the ordinary routine of Russian life…I often ate at the “Tsekebou” Club and the Tolstoy Vegetarian Restaurant, which provide a good medium between the rather slovenly “Stolovaya” (generally frequented by the people) and the large hotel restaurants. The club-house formerly belonged to a wealthy old lady; a quiet, refined atmosphere still lingers in its beautiful rooms, now placed at the disposal of Russian professors and savants. This place, which has not yet been invaded by the proletariat, was like an oasis in the desert. There is an indefinable charm about the cultivated Russian of the old school – an unassuming kindliness, gracious manners, and a wide range of knowledge – which it is a thousand pities that the present system does not emulate.
Apart from the regular theatres – the excellence of which is admitted by everybody – there is a very general interest in dramatics. Nearly every factory has its own theatre, and the different Trade Union Clubs have dramatic groups which are doing very interesting work. I saw one of the shows organised with the simplest possible elements by the workers at the Central Club in Moscow. There was a good deal of rather crude political propaganda and waving of the communist flag, but these amateur actors had all the assurance, vitality and resiliency of the Chauve Souris Company. Two or three hundred young people were collected in the hall, and their attention was rivetted on the stage from the moment the curtain rose. Not a whisper was to be heard among the audience, so noisy and jesting a few minutes before. Subsequently a short, simple address was given on personal cleanliness and the value of the cultural revolution, to which they listened with equal attention. I was informed by one of my neighbours that such efforts to spread the use of the toothbrush, etc., were quite usual on such occasions.
This club is typical of many throughout Russia. There is no attempt at outward attraction, but all sorts of valuable social and educational activities flourish within bleak-looking houses. In the one I visited there was a library, gymnasium, instrumental music group and brass band, classes in economics, sociology, etc. (undoubtedly with a violent communist bias), as well as a buffet with cheap, good food and hot drinks for the members. These clubs are entirely in the hands of the workers, and are one of the most successful developments of the new Russia.
Though the Russian housewife may justly complain of her trials, shopping is full of exciting surprises for the traveller fresh from well-stocked establishments in bourgeois towns. Every good citizen is expected to buy at the government stores, but a little experience soon reveals that shopping in a government store is like looking for a needle in a bundle of straw. Half the goods they should sell are lacking, even though they may be occasionally displayed in the windows to camouflage the scanty supplies within…Much is said of government co-operative schemes and state trade, but I have never seen so many small hucksters’ stalls as line the streets of Moscow…Small private traders often set up business literally on the steps of the government stores. Though their prices are higher, the public like to be able to buy directly without waiting for a ticket in a crowded state shop.* They are also attracted by the certainty of a great deal of persuasive personal attention. Here there are no fixed prices; and the inhuman rigidity of the state store vanishes into thin air. Banter and bartering make the transactions all the more interesting, and the people seem to like it.
*The price of each article must first be ascertained at the counter, and a corresponding ticket purchased at the cash desk. Then only, upon presentation of this ticket at the counter, can the good finally be obtained. When many objects have to be bought and the shop is crowded, this is a most tedious procedure, which generally means queueing up at the cash desk.
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Though many churches are still open and religious services crowded, it must not be forgotten that the government policy remains severely anti-religious. Hundreds of priests and nuns still linger in Soviet prisons, but any reliable information about their condition is extremely difficult to obtain. Many others are to be seen in the street begging for a few kopeks to keep body and soul together – gaunt, piteous figures with despairing eyes for whom the future can only mean protracted agony. All the monasteries and convents without exception have been closed. No applicant for a government position, and no teacher, if he values his job, would dare to be seen in a church.
There is a unique institution in Moscow called the “Bezboshny Shop”. The “Bezboshny”, i.e. Godless Society, edits a periodical, organises meetings, and publishes large quantities of tracts and posters. The Communists attach enormous importance to this “Bezboshny” crusade, and the shop is an arsenal of popular anti-religious propaganda. The weapons are mostly pictorial – the work of rational persuasion being left to the libraries. There are numbers of cheap, crudely-coloured posters depicting the corruption of the Christian Church in Russia and abroad. The posters are certainly effective and, in a country where the majority cannot read, must carry weight. The licentious treatment of Christian ideals and the bestiality of most of the conceptions would shock anybody with the most elementary sense of decency.
Many temptations are held out to renounce the church ceremonies of baptism and marriage. For example, if a mother declares that her child will not be baptised she is rewarded with a layette. However, having secured the layette – which is worth its weight in gold in Russia – many mothers bring their children secretly to the church and soothe their consciences by having them christened.
According to the Communists themselves, the anti religious movement is not meeting with universal success. During the months of August and September, Isvestia (the government organ) frequently complained of the lack of active anti-religious fervour, and even mentioned definite instances of Orthodox groups organised in the factory clubs. The Catholic churches in Moscow, Kieff and Sebastopol still hold regular services. I saw good congregations, mostly consisting of Poles, at Mass in all of them. I believe several Lutheran churches belonging to the German population are also open, but I did not see them myself. Three Quakers still linger on in Moscow since their famine relief work, and their little house, under the care of an Irishwoman, Miss Dorice White, is a charming centre of hospitality to any foreigner who comes their way.
In spite of the elastic marriage laws and the lax moral theories officially promulgated, the streets in the large Russian cities must strike anybody coming from Europe as singularly decent. I often walked home after midnight in Moscow and never experienced the smallest unpleasantness. In July and August the banks of the Moscow river, in the centre of the city, were covered with men and women bathing without costumes. All along the Black Sea coast it was the same, but nobody took the smallest notice of the bathers. Bathing places for the different sexes are not enclosed, but are as a rule separate.
Having spent a few weeks in Moscow, I started out for the Crimea. The long journey through the Ukrainian Steppes was very much enlivened by the conversation of my travelling companions and their ingenious solicitude for my comfort. As on all long-distance trains, there were four bunks in each compartment, two on each side, one above the other. During the day, however, the upper bunks were let down and we sat side by side, discussing religion, politics, international affairs…with the greatest animation. My companions consisted of a young Red Army soldier, a Communist university student, and a Korean boy in Soviet uniform. In spite of our heated arguments we were soon fast friends, and at every station there was a rush to get me some delicacy of the country: Ukrainian honey cakes, sweet little pears, hot cheese buns bought from the peasants on the platform, innumerable glasses of steaming tea, bottles of kefir, everything had to be tasted.
The young Russian soldier, a well-drilled, hardy, country lad, with shining blue eyes, was a typical example of the influence of the Communist school training. He argued hotly with me about the blessings of the new order, Russia’s international mission…Then, observing my British passport, a torrent of abuse poured forth against the crimes of Great Britain in her colonies and “iniquitous” capitalistic system. The Korean was less exuberant. He knew a little English, and delighted his companions by stringing together a few phrases. He was very curious about conditions abroad, and explained to me that he had joined the Red Army because he disliked the arrogance of the Japanese towards his countrymen and was grateful to the Soviets for allowing cultural autonomy to other nations. The student had a scholarship at Moscow University, where he was studying science. He spoke with great pride of the lecture halls and laboratories in Moscow, the scientific achievements of his professors, and the international audience they attracted to their lectures. Though distinctly Communist in outlook, he was quite frank about the hardships of the student’s lot in Russia to-day. In view of the desperate economic situation, the scholarships provided to enable students to go to the University are always maintenance scholarships; but, as he declared from his own experience, they represent a bare minimum for subsistence.
Conversation never flagged until the train came abruptly to a standstill, and we were curtly informed that we must clear out of our carriage and make the best shift we could elsewhere in the train. We learned later that it had only just pulled up in time to avoid a very nasty accident, as the wheels of our carriage were in a perilously defective condition. I blessed my friends at this stage, as we struggled along the platform, hampered by our luggage, vainly seeking places in the already crowded train. They raced up and down the corridors, frantically exclaiming that there was a foreigner without a seat, and something must be done before the train moved on. All the available space was occupied, and so we seemed doomed to spend the next sixteen hours on our feet. Then the Red soldier suddenly had a brilliant idea. I should sleep on the luggage rack-one story above the two rows of “lying places”. There was no time to express any opinion on this suggestion. Everybody else was very enthusiastic about it, and the luggage was speedily taken down. The soldier’s long, heavy army cloak, the Korean’s blanket and the student’s threadbare coat were all requisitioned for my comfort on the luggage rack. I finally clambered up to my perch amid the triumphant excitement of all concerned, and fell asleep persuading myself that I was not really so close to the clammy, filthy ceiling as I imagined. Morning revealed the radiant blue skies of the Crimea, and so very reluctantly I said farewell to my kind fellow-travellers at Sebastopol station.
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The Crimea, as the independent Tartar Republic, now forms an autonomous unit within the Soviet Federation of Republics. According to the constitution, all the republics have absolute freedom of action with regard to educational and cultural questions. This means that various languages hitherto having no official status, like Tartar, Georgian or Ukrainian, are now officially enforced in the government services and the schools. In the Ukraine there is a certain enthusiasm for the national language, and I found that modern literature and dictionaries from many languages were being translated into Ukrainian. On the other hand, many of the teachers in the Crimean schools were by no means enthusiastic about the compulsory teaching of Tartar. The arguments we are so familiar with in Ireland were brought forward, i.e., Tartar has no commercial value; it is a primitive language, inadequate for modern needs, lacks proper text books, and there are scarcely any educated people to teach it. In this respect Soviet policy has been very shrewd.
While the different ethnological units within the Union can cultivate their own languages without interference, which flatters their national amour propre and is perfectly innocuous, in matters economic, political and financial the so-called independent republics are directly controlled from Moscow.
It is commonly asserted that a wholesale exodus of Russian scholars and scientists took place during the revolution. A little investigation will show that this is far from true. Too much attention has been focused on the groups of émigrés professors in Paris, Prague and Belgrade, and on individual scholars like Rostovtzeff, Wassilieff, Maximoff and others, who had to fly their country. The many important scientists who heroically continued their work, in spite of all the hardships of the famine and revolution, have been practically forgotten. Petrograd, the seat of the Academy of Science and always the centre of Russian scientific life, only lost about 25 percent of her men of science, though the majority fled from Moscow.
The Izvestia of December 1, 1928 contained a list of the scientific journals published in Russia, classified under the following headings: Architecture, Biology, Exact Sciences, Experimental Sciences, Geology, Minerology, Geodesy, Geography, Anthropology, Ethnography, Psychology – some fifty periodicals in all. Among the names of the editors and contributors may be found some of the foremost personalities in pre-revolutionary scientific life, i.e., Professor Pavlov, editor of the “Russian Physiological Journal”; Platonoff, the celebrated historian; Oldenbourg, the permanent secretary of the Academy of Sciences and editor of “Ethnography”…This enumeration clearly shows the active importance of non-Communist elements in the scientific life of Soviet Russia. During the last few years the restrictions have been considerably relaxed in the case of Russian intellectuals wishing to visit foreign countries for purposes of scientific research, though, of course, when abroad they must still behave with the greatest circumspection. Russian delegates are also present at almost all European scientific congresses.
However depressing their situation is at the present time, I believe that the future is promising for Russian scientists. Their avocation has an honoured place in the Soviet ideology, and the development of the country from every point of view depends to a large extent upon their co-operation. Even now writers of good scientific articles for the daily and weekly papers with a large circulation are quite well paid (i.e., as well as in England). Among the privileged workers (with regard to salary) are factory chemists, analysts, and all classes of engineers, and as the economic situation becomes more normal and healthy these categories must be greatly enlarged from the ranks of trained scientific workers.
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Though it is necessary to visit Russia in order to understand the country to some extent, most people had better reserve their judgment until they have had time to cool their heads at home. Some “go native” and see everything through rose-coloured spectacles (such people are known as “pinks” in Russia), while others, who cling to European standards, are apt to become so irritated with the inconveniences of life that they damn the whole system without discrimination…the larger issues are quickly obscured. It is important, in the first place, to ascertain how much of this is really characteristic of Bolshevism. Public life never functioned like clockwork in Russia. Communism, with all its scheduling and formulisation, like Fascism in Italy, is only a superimposed discipline which is not easily moulded to the genius of the people. The Fascist is orderly, autocratic, efficient. The Communist is equally so – but, at the very highest estimation, there are only 1,000,000 Communists in a population of l40,000,000.
What, then, are the characteristics of the Soviet regime? A first glance at U.S.S.R. shows many features common to capitalistic society; banks, monetary transactions, private enterprise, domestic servants, a privileged class of commissars corresponding to ministers elsewhere, unemployment, etc. The parallel, however, needs qualification and lies largely in externals. If there are banks, and even different banking groups interested in one or other branch of the country’s business – i.e., Agricultural Bank, Foreign Trade Bank, Bank for Trade with the East, etc. – they are all State banks. Therefore the large fortunes realised by international financiers are impossible. Private enterprise has been admitted as a principle of the national economy, but only to a very limited extent. Whereas on payment of an expensive licence a shop may be opened, a factory may not. Concessions are only made to foreign capitalists for this purpose – i.e., the Hammar pencil factory, etc. – but not to Russians. Rigorous State control and heavy taxation intervene at an early stage to keep private business (of which the State is very jealous) on a small scale. In theory professional men (doctors, engineers, etc.) may have private practice; but their service belongs, in the first place, to the State institutions, by which they are paid a certain relatively small salary. Under present conditions it would be practically impossible for even the greatest surgeon in Russia to make a decent private income: the official attitude is expressed by the fact that a doctor is only allowed one extra room, and any private practice he may happen to find time for is enormously taxed.
Commissars and high State officials are in quite a different category. My impression was that many of them live pretty much as ministers in bourgeois countries. Their wives wear smart French clothes, and have servants and foreign governesses for their children. They visit Carlsbad and the Riviera in proper ministerial fashion, and know little of the restrictions generally felt by the people. Unemployment certainly exists, but the unemployed retain their rooms without payment during the period of unemployment. Factory workers are usually provided with free quarters by the factory, and in case of unemployment or dismissal the worker cannot be dislodged until he finds new employment. Though the unemployment dole is small, unemployment insurance is entirely paid by the employer.
The traveller in Russia awakens to a new consciousness of the extent to which the time-honoured privileges of birth and money have permeated the minds of men – rich and poor alike – elsewhere. In spite of the glaring and grave discrepancies of the present system, and the abnormal tyranny by which it has been enforced, the fusion of the classes and the abolition of the pre-revolutionary disparity of wealth and poverty are factors of permanent and far-reaching sociological influence.
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