Tag: Russian Revolution

On the End of the Line

The little apartment above the barber shop is still there. Little has changed since 1960 at 716 East Gerrard Street on the edge of Toronto, Canada. In 1960, that’s where the Martemianoff Family lived. Constantine and his wife, Sinaida, had left eastern Europe decades ago and settled in the tight-knit immigrant community, finding the little upstairs apartment both affordable and convenient.

That summer, as the 1960 presidential election dominated the news, the elderly couple found themselves faced with a dilemma. A close friend of theirs, another immigrant, an old widow, needed their help. She’d buried her husband a few years before and had then suffered from a stroke earlier in 1960. After a stint in the hospital, it was determined that she could not take care of herself.

Now, Christian charity only goes so far in my book. The Martemianoffs had a similar give and take; they discussed at length what their obligations were before God and what they could do to help the widow, if anything. It was Constantine who suggested that they allow the now-bedridden old woman to move in for a time. Perhaps, he told his spouse, they could nurse her back to health enough that she could return to her own home and care for herself. Sheepishly, Sinaida agreed.

And so, the widow was released from the hospital and moved into the spare bedroom in the little apartment above the barber shop on Gerrard Street. And soon, any misgivings that either of the hosts may have held about helping the widow were dispersed. She needed care, certainly, but her attitude was bright and cheerful. She told Sinaida, “I always laugh; if I ever start crying, I may never stop!”

She was ever so grateful to the couple for their help and patience with her. There is, I’ve learned, good pride and bad pride. Bad pride is thinking that your crap doesn’t stink; good pride is holding your dignity when you’re in a dire situation. And that good pride, that’s what this widow woman had, the couple saw. Of course, they knew her fairly well already, but you never know what someone is truly like until you have to live with them and care for them day after day.

Sadly, despite her good attitude and the good care of the couple, the widow never recovered. She died a few weeks after coming into the Martemianoff’s home. And, perhaps, it’s fitting that Constantine’s house is where she died at age 79. After all, it had been his job several decades before to take care of the widow and her family when he and she were both young.

You see, Constantine had been a bodyguard for the Russian Imperial Family, and the widow who died in his spare bedroom above the barber shop was Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, the last survivor of the line of the Romanov Dynasty.

On the Kaiser’s Generosity

Ulya and his friends wanted to travel from Switzerland to Russia, desperately. World War 1 was raging, and they deeply desired to go home and work to make their nation better, to solve the issues of the war, and fight–and die, if necessary–for their fellow Russians. And, so, the group of friends boarded a train in Zurich in April of 1917 and headed east.

Now, Ulya is short for Ulyanov, the man’s last name, and it’s what his pals called him. Some friends called him Nicky, but that was a nickname that had nothing to do with his real name and more to do with his larger-than-life personality that came across as a leader like Machiavelli wrote about or like an emperor, a czar–like Russia’s Nicholas II was. Born to an upper middle class family in a large city a few hundred miles east of Moscow, Ulya gave the impression that he felt he was somewhat better than others. His classmates in school agreed with this assessment, as had received the normal private education for a boy from a well-to-do family.

Before the war started, however, Ulya had been studying and writing in London and Munich and other places around Europe. He was, in fact, in Eastern Europe when the war broke out, and circumstances prohibited him from making his way back to Russia to offer his help in the war. He ended up finding a safe haven in neutral Switzerland; it was a place from which he could study and work in relative comfort and also plan to make his way back to Russia.

That was the trick, right? How could he cross the territories of Russia’s enemies, Germany and Austria Hungary, and reach Mother Russia? Even trying to reach water to attempt to reach his homeland by sea would require Ulya to attempt to traverse enemy-controlled land. So, for the first almost three years of the war, Ulya was unable to find a way to Russia.

Then, a miracle happened.

In what seemed like an incredible act of generosity and largesse, the Kaiser of Germany, Wilhelm II, a man who was a cousin of Czar Nicholas, offered to provide a train that would take all Russians who wished to go home back to Russia. That meant that Ulya and several of his fellow Russian citizens and friends could safely cross the enemy territory and return to Russia. A naturally suspicious man, Ulya and some of his buddies talked about the offer. Was this a trap? Could they trust the Kaiser to keep his word?

The desire to reach home finally proved stronger than any possible fear of being captured or imprisoned. And the Kaiser proved to be true to his word. The train was sent to Zurich, and Ulya and his fellow Russians boarded; they couldn’t believe their good fortune and the Kaiser’s miraculous provision. The route proved to be long and arduous, having to travel north into Scandinavia and come into Russia by the north, but it was worth it, Ulya believed. And, before you think that the Kaiser did this out the kindness of his heart, well, think again.

You see, the Kaiser had an ulterior motive. Within a few weeks, Ulya–Vladimir Ulyanov, known to the world as Lenin–and his fellow communists helped to overthrow the Czar and take Russia out of World War 1.