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Women in Exile: Wives of the Decembrists
134 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1975
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July 20, 2023
The correct last name of the author of this book is Mazour. It would be nice to see this corrected.
This was a fascinating, yet flawed, book that I really enjoyed reading (one of the flaws was that it simply wasn't long enough - I wanted more). The title tells it all - the story of a number of the wives of the Decembrists, the rebels who either led or participated in the ill-fated revolt of December 1825 following the untimely death of Aleksandr I. Five of the conspirators were to be hung, and some 90 more were to be exiled to hard labor in Siberia, in sentences varying from 10 to 30 years. After their sentence had been fulfilled, the men were to be moved from the prison towns to even more remote areas to live the rest of their lives. They were prohibited from ever returning to western Russia again - well, until an amnesty handed down some many, many years later when only a fraction of the conspirators were still alive.
The heart of the book is the decision on a number of wives and fiancees of the exiles, some as young as 20 years old, to follow their loved ones into exile. The new Emperor, Nikolai I, did his best to dissuade the women, pointing out that the the land they would be headed to would be hostile, perhaps fatal, to the fairer sex - and no walk in the park for their exiled loved ones. Once they arrived, they would face the same fate as their men - not able to return, stripped of their titles, and living among a people whose language was vastly different than their own. Further, for those women who were mothers, they would not be able to bring their children; they would have to part with them forever. The women persisted, even with the understanding that the local leaders along the route would also be trying to persuade them to not fulfill this exodus. Oh, and on top of that, they would need their parents' permission.
Mazour doesn't pull any punches, nor should he. He describes in sometimes gut-wrenching detail the painful sacrifices made by these courageous souls, having to travel in extreme discomfort over 4,000 miles, day and night, in the face of cold, fever, and the potential of highway robbery (which, in a fit of Nikolai's foresight that most likely greatly benefited the State, required the ladies to surrender their money and jewelry to prevent it from being taken by bandits en route). Nothing was much better once they arrived, a little more than a month after the men. The conditions were brutal, the food was sparse and mealy, and yet the women made the best of it. They had no choice, and all seemed to believe their lives were safe in divine hands.
Life went on, marriages took place for the enfianced, and conjugal visits were allowed twice a week for the prisoners and their wives. Babies were born, and babies perished in the cruel land. One poor woman is noted as having given birth to 16 children, only a handful of which survived.
The book introduces the theme of dozens of women riding into exile with their men, but Mazour was only able to provide dense biographical details on four of them: Yekaterina (Katasha) Trubetskaya, Marie Volkonskaya, and two French brides, Camilla Ivasheva (nee Ledantu) and Paulene Annenkova (nee Geueble). While these histories are excellently researched and written, I had hoped to get a feel for some of the other women who had subjected themselves to exile for the love of their men. I understand that, in all likelihood, material on the others might have been difficult to unearth for someone researching Soviet archives from the US in the 1960s and early 1970s, but I'd hope that the topic could be revisited for a stouter book - it's just that fascinating.
Mazour's story in itself could make a great book as well. Born near Kyiv, Ukraine, in 1900, Mazour finished school in 1916 and served in the Tsar's army until the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917. During the civil war he fought with the anti-Communist White Guards and later took part in the Russo-Polish campaign of 1921, aimed at preventing a Polish occupation of Ukraine. At the end of the civil war, fear of reprisal from the winning side caused Mazour to flee Ukraine for Germany. After two short years, possibly recognizing that Germany (in that volatile era following the 14-18 War) was a powder keg, he set off for the United States and eventually came to teach at a number of prestigious universities, ultimately achieving the title of Professor Emeritus at Stanford University.
In reading the book, I must admit that I have a bit of a bone to pick with Mazour's style. First, he is happy to intersperse several quotes in French throughout the book - nice touch if you offer, as well, the English translation of these quotes for your presumably English-speaking readership, even as a footnote.
Next, about a third of the way through the book, Mazour discards the feminine ending of the womens' names and adopts the masculine ending. There is a prolonged passage in which he writes of Trubetskoy the prisoner and Trubetskoy (sic) the wife, eschewing the use of first names, allowing us to plod through with weak context and confusion. No idea why that decision was made; perhaps, as Mazour was 75 years old at the time of publication, the typing was done by an assistant from recordings or handwritten notes? Not a clue.
There are many instances in which Mazour (or his assistant) seemed to adopt a hybrid model of the English- and Russian-language use of commas. Many sentences required a re-read to keep the reader from falling off a cliff.
Finally, a tiny snit was thrown over the casual (and arguably sloppy) translation of the Russian word гимназия as "gymnasium". Yes, it's a cognate, but in the context, it's clear to an English reader with a bit of Russian language education that, for the cases in which the word arises, the phrase "secondary school" or "preparatory school" would have served the author better. If nothing else, this is another case in which a footnote would have been appropriate.
Mazour offers as appendices a number of pieces of correspondence with the exiled women, from governors to parents to friends. This is a nice touch which, while it initially seemed like a bit of padding to help move this book beyond 100 pages, actually turned out to put more of a human face to these desperate souls. And most fitting of all, Mazour was absolutely meticulous in providing the sources he used in researching and writing this book. I would expect that there may be much more material wasting away somewhere in archives across Russia's expanses, and hopefully the rest of the tale can be told. In the meantime, I will start looking for the Russian texts that fed this book and console myself with that.
Four big old stars.
This was a fascinating, yet flawed, book that I really enjoyed reading (one of the flaws was that it simply wasn't long enough - I wanted more). The title tells it all - the story of a number of the wives of the Decembrists, the rebels who either led or participated in the ill-fated revolt of December 1825 following the untimely death of Aleksandr I. Five of the conspirators were to be hung, and some 90 more were to be exiled to hard labor in Siberia, in sentences varying from 10 to 30 years. After their sentence had been fulfilled, the men were to be moved from the prison towns to even more remote areas to live the rest of their lives. They were prohibited from ever returning to western Russia again - well, until an amnesty handed down some many, many years later when only a fraction of the conspirators were still alive.
The heart of the book is the decision on a number of wives and fiancees of the exiles, some as young as 20 years old, to follow their loved ones into exile. The new Emperor, Nikolai I, did his best to dissuade the women, pointing out that the the land they would be headed to would be hostile, perhaps fatal, to the fairer sex - and no walk in the park for their exiled loved ones. Once they arrived, they would face the same fate as their men - not able to return, stripped of their titles, and living among a people whose language was vastly different than their own. Further, for those women who were mothers, they would not be able to bring their children; they would have to part with them forever. The women persisted, even with the understanding that the local leaders along the route would also be trying to persuade them to not fulfill this exodus. Oh, and on top of that, they would need their parents' permission.
Mazour doesn't pull any punches, nor should he. He describes in sometimes gut-wrenching detail the painful sacrifices made by these courageous souls, having to travel in extreme discomfort over 4,000 miles, day and night, in the face of cold, fever, and the potential of highway robbery (which, in a fit of Nikolai's foresight that most likely greatly benefited the State, required the ladies to surrender their money and jewelry to prevent it from being taken by bandits en route). Nothing was much better once they arrived, a little more than a month after the men. The conditions were brutal, the food was sparse and mealy, and yet the women made the best of it. They had no choice, and all seemed to believe their lives were safe in divine hands.
Life went on, marriages took place for the enfianced, and conjugal visits were allowed twice a week for the prisoners and their wives. Babies were born, and babies perished in the cruel land. One poor woman is noted as having given birth to 16 children, only a handful of which survived.
The book introduces the theme of dozens of women riding into exile with their men, but Mazour was only able to provide dense biographical details on four of them: Yekaterina (Katasha) Trubetskaya, Marie Volkonskaya, and two French brides, Camilla Ivasheva (nee Ledantu) and Paulene Annenkova (nee Geueble). While these histories are excellently researched and written, I had hoped to get a feel for some of the other women who had subjected themselves to exile for the love of their men. I understand that, in all likelihood, material on the others might have been difficult to unearth for someone researching Soviet archives from the US in the 1960s and early 1970s, but I'd hope that the topic could be revisited for a stouter book - it's just that fascinating.
Mazour's story in itself could make a great book as well. Born near Kyiv, Ukraine, in 1900, Mazour finished school in 1916 and served in the Tsar's army until the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917. During the civil war he fought with the anti-Communist White Guards and later took part in the Russo-Polish campaign of 1921, aimed at preventing a Polish occupation of Ukraine. At the end of the civil war, fear of reprisal from the winning side caused Mazour to flee Ukraine for Germany. After two short years, possibly recognizing that Germany (in that volatile era following the 14-18 War) was a powder keg, he set off for the United States and eventually came to teach at a number of prestigious universities, ultimately achieving the title of Professor Emeritus at Stanford University.
In reading the book, I must admit that I have a bit of a bone to pick with Mazour's style. First, he is happy to intersperse several quotes in French throughout the book - nice touch if you offer, as well, the English translation of these quotes for your presumably English-speaking readership, even as a footnote.
Next, about a third of the way through the book, Mazour discards the feminine ending of the womens' names and adopts the masculine ending. There is a prolonged passage in which he writes of Trubetskoy the prisoner and Trubetskoy (sic) the wife, eschewing the use of first names, allowing us to plod through with weak context and confusion. No idea why that decision was made; perhaps, as Mazour was 75 years old at the time of publication, the typing was done by an assistant from recordings or handwritten notes? Not a clue.
There are many instances in which Mazour (or his assistant) seemed to adopt a hybrid model of the English- and Russian-language use of commas. Many sentences required a re-read to keep the reader from falling off a cliff.
Finally, a tiny snit was thrown over the casual (and arguably sloppy) translation of the Russian word гимназия as "gymnasium". Yes, it's a cognate, but in the context, it's clear to an English reader with a bit of Russian language education that, for the cases in which the word arises, the phrase "secondary school" or "preparatory school" would have served the author better. If nothing else, this is another case in which a footnote would have been appropriate.
Mazour offers as appendices a number of pieces of correspondence with the exiled women, from governors to parents to friends. This is a nice touch which, while it initially seemed like a bit of padding to help move this book beyond 100 pages, actually turned out to put more of a human face to these desperate souls. And most fitting of all, Mazour was absolutely meticulous in providing the sources he used in researching and writing this book. I would expect that there may be much more material wasting away somewhere in archives across Russia's expanses, and hopefully the rest of the tale can be told. In the meantime, I will start looking for the Russian texts that fed this book and console myself with that.
Four big old stars.
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