Tukhachevsky's future at that moment seemed radiant. Only a few months earlier he had become Marshal of the Soviet Union. Sounds impressive? And a year and a half later he was shot. And by chance I remained alive. Which of us was luckier?
Back at that time, in 1 936, I was called to Moscow for a show whipping. Like the sergeant's widow, I had to declare to the whole world that I had whipped myself. I was completely destroyed. It was a blow that wiped out my past. And my future.
To whom could I turn for advice? To whom could I go? I went to Marshal Tukhachevsky. He had recently returned from his triUmphant visit to London and Paris. Pravda wrote about him every day.
And I was a leper, people were afraid to come up to me. I was shunned. Tukhachevsky agreed to see me. We locked ourselves in his office. He turned off his phones. We sat in silence. And then we started talking very softly. I spoke softly because my grief and despair wouldn't let me speak in my normal voice. Tukhachevsky spoke softly because he feared prying ears.
Even then you had to take a guest to the bathroom to tell him a 98
joke. You turned on the water full force and then whispered the joke.
You even laughed quietly, into your fist. This marvelous tradition did not die out. It continues in our day.
But we were in no mood for jokes then. Tukhachevsky knew Stalin incomparably better than I. He knew that Stalin pursued a man to the end. In those days it looked as though that would happen to me. A second article in Pravda, destroying my ballet this time, confirmed my direst fears.
Tukhachevsky promised to do what he could. He spoke carefully. I could see him controlling himself when the talk turned to Stalin. And what could he have said then?
Tukhachevsky's plans have remained a mystery. Had he wanted to become a dictator? Why not, I think now. But I doubt that it would have been possible under those conditions. Now it's well known that Tukhachevsky was destroyed through the joint action of Stalin and Hitler. But one mustn't exaggerate the role of German espionage in this matter. If there hadn't been those faked documents that "exposed"
Tukhachevsky, Stalin would have got rid of him anyway. The Germans just played into Stalin's hands. It was an accompaniment.
Whether there was a reason or not-what was the difference? Tukhachevsky's fate was sealed.
Tukhachevsky's recommendations on military matters always rankled Stalin, and yet it was Stalin who decided which recommendations to approve. I know that Tukhachevsky had to resort to trickery. He and his deputy would plan it this way: They would appear together before Stalin. Tukhachevsky would make his. proposal and the deputy would "correct" him. This always made Stalin very happy. Stalin would add to and develop the "correction." He liked the fact that Tukhachevsky was "wrong." In the end the idea would be accepted. But it was no longer Tukhachevsky's, it was Stalin's idea. Another marvelous illustration of where Stalin's ideas came from.
They sometimes say that Tukhachevsky was powerless before Stalin, that Stalin was more clever. That's nonsense. Stalin attacked from around the corner, like a bandit. You don't need to be cleverer for that.
You just have to be meaner.
Tukhachevsky was alone. He had no friends, only fawners and companions Cot amorous expeditions. Tukhachevsky was attacked by 99
the "old cavalrymen": Budyonny and Voroshilov.* Tukhachevsky maintained, after all, that the next war would be won by tanks and aviation. As we all know, the marshal was right. But the former cavalrymen didn't want to listen. They thought that they could easily gallop over to Paris and Berlin.
Tukhachevsky, who discussed the meaning of Einstein's theory of relativity as it applied to warfare, stuck in their craw. It was easier for Stalin to talk with the cavalrymen. They looked up to him. That allowed Voroshilov, for instance, to live through all the unpleasant events. Of course, in his last days, Stalin began saying that Voroshilov was a British spy, but he didn't remember what he was saying any more. Voroshilov survived.
Voroshilov loved choral singing. He sang himself, he was a tenor, and that's probably why he felt he was as much a specialist in music as Zhdanov. He longed to give valuable advice to composers and performers. His favorite works were Ukrainian folk songs. He used to sing them with his puny tenor voice. One of my actor friends told me how he sang with Stalin, Voroshilov, and Zhdanov after a reception.
The soloists of the Bolshoi modestly sang along with the leaders. A horrible dissonance hung in the air. Stalin conducted. He wanted to command even here. Of course, they were all quite drunk.
It's obvious to everyone that I'm no judge in military matters. I'm a total amateur in the field and very happy that it's so. But I heard a lot about various military matters from Tukhachevsky. He naturally realized that it was stupid to discuss military affairs with me, but he couldn't stop himself.
We met often, and went out a lot. He liked driving to the country and he used to take me with him. We would leave the car and go deep into the woods. It was easier to talk freely there.
Tukhachevsky was always professional, everywhere, in any situation. He wanted to be a patron of the arts, but his mind swirled with military affairs. Sometimes he told me a thing or two.
In those moments I liked him and didn't like him. I liked him because he talked about the subject he knew. I don't care for dilettantes.
•Semyon Mikhailovich Budyonny (1 883-1973) and Kliment Efremovich Voroshilov (1881-1969), marshals of the Soviet Union, both of whom began their careers as cavalrymen. Budyonny, famed for his huge mustache and his outstanding stupidity, became a figurehead even before World War II, but Voroshilov continued on top almost until his death.
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I find professionals more simpatico. But Tukhachevsky was a specialist in a terrible profession. His profession was walking over the dead.
Tukhachevsky strove to do it as successfully as possible, and his enthusiasm for military matters repelled me.
Tukhachevsky loved impersonating Harun al-Rashid. Actually, the uniform became Tukhachevsky and he knew it. But he was recognized immediately in uniform, and therefore he often went into town in blatantly civilian clothes. His suit would also be well made. Tukhachevsky loved the cinema. He could have seen the films in private screening rooms for the top brass. But he preferred putting on his civilian clothes and going to a seedy movie house. Alone, without a bodyguard. It was more interesting for him that way.
Once Tukhachevsky went to a theater and saw that the piano player was the former music teacher from the Cadet Corps. He had taught Tukhachevsky. The piano player's name was Erdenko, and he was related to the famous violinist Mikhail Erdenko. The old man was in pathetic straits. Tukhachevsky decided to bestow favors on him. He went up to him and introduced himself. He said that he wanted to study with him again, that the lessons of his youth were so good that he, Marshal Tukhachevsky, still couldn't forget them.
Naturally, Tukhachevsky didn't start taking lessons from his old teacher. But the old man did get a tidy sum. Tukhachevsky paid for something like a year's lessons in advance. He wanted to help the old man in a gracious way, without insulting him. He liked looking gracious.