«…It’s the pain of the soul that takes the longest to go away»
life and work of the Soviet-repressed poet Igor Franceschi (1907-1996)
By Elena Prozorova
As history does not tolerate the subjunctive tense, we will never get a chance to know what Russia would look like today without The Great Purge in its past. We will never fully recreate all the cultural and literary heritage that was lost during that time. As writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn noted in his Nobel lecture in 1970, «A whole national literature remained there, cast into oblivion not only without a grave, but without even underclothes, naked, with a number tagged on to its toe… Those who fell into that abyss already bearing a literary name are at least known, but how many were never recognized, never once mentioned in public? » Indeed, there are many unnamed authors among the repressed, whose fates and works were prohibited, and to whose names a stigma of “an enemy of the people”, was attached by the repressive machine of the totalitarian government.
Among such authors – Igor Franceschi (alternative spelling: Igor Franceski), a talented poet, whose name and poetry was forgotten, whose massive archive holdings remained completely untouched (but luckily preserved) until I started working on his biography in 2007.
I serendipitously ran into mention of Igor Francheski’s name in 2007, when I received a homework assignment to prepare a report on a well-known writer from my native city of Kirov, Leonid Dyakonov. While studying the materials in the archives of the Dyakonov Library, I came across a mention of the writer’s best friend, a poet with a beautiful and unfamiliar to me Italian surname, Franceschi.
It turned out that the poet's surname was not only unfamiliar to me and the library staff, but also in the local history and literature. For example, in the “Encyclopedia of Vyatka” only a few sparse sentences were dedicated to Igor Franceschi: “Participated in the literary life of Vyatka, one of the first slalom skiers. Author of unpublished poems. Repressed twice.”
It was probably the absence of information about the poet that drew me in. Despite the lack of information about Franceschi in free publications, I was inspired to learn more and bring this forgotten name into being. So, with that, my journey began. I had no intention of becoming a historian, but one might say I had no other choice. I was so carried away by the fate and lost work of this person. I wanted to do all that I could to preserve the memory of this wonderful poet, telling about his difficult fate, and to make sure that as many readers as possible could get acquainted with his work.
Since then, it has become my life's work to restore his name in history and literature.
Now I'm introducing Igor Franceschi’s life story and poetry to the international arena. All the poetry below was singlehandedly translated by me from Russian into English.
***
Igor Franceschi was born in Vyatka city of the Vyatka Governorate, Russian Empire (currently – Kirov, Russia) in 1907 to a family of revolutionists.
His father, George Franceschi, was a descendant of Italian immigrants, they had relocated to Odessa (currently – Ukraine) in the middle of the 19th century.
In 1899 George Franceschi was arrested and sent into exile to Vyatka for his revolutionary activity, where he met his future wife, Iya Gromozova (Franceschi), also a revolutionist, and the daughter of a prominent merchant.
The revolution they were hoping for did indeed happen in 1917 and led to the formation of the Soviet government. At that time none of them could have ever imagined that the Soviet power would lead to a drastic totalitarian regime.
The revolution of 1917 caused changes not only in the socio-political system, but also in culture and literature, fostering the appearance of an extraordinary number of new authors. People felt newly-established freedoms, hopes and expectations, and found literature as an outlet for their thoughts and emotions.
The literary boom of the 1920s did not encounter global obstacles from the newly-established Soviet power (except for the exile abroad of some writers, previously loyal to the Tsar), as the Soviets at the time had more urgent priorities, so the state regulation of cultural life was just in the initial phase, where the Soviets took the position of a careful observer, not yet a brutal enforcer. As a result, new writers, poets, creative associations, literary trends and styles actively developed, the artistic diversity of forms grew both in literature and in all other spheres of cultural life.
Under such circumstances, the poetic talent of Igor Francheski, which he had already discovered at the age of 9, further developed. While he was trying different poetic forms and styles, in general, his poetry began to reflect the mood of the young poetic wave of that period - the bright romanticism and joy of life (translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova):
There's a lot of joy in being!
I wanted to call the day—“My Dear,”
And so the wind, for me chasing,
And the tree branches, caressing my ears!
As a new house, the day was bright
And bathed the ground in splashed sunlight
And I fell in love with the sight
As the day swished, fast as the speed of light.
We tread hand in hand, the day and me.
It granted shreds of bliss unbound,
Scattering precious minutes so freely,
Like raging wind—fluttering leaves around.
What a pleasure it is to be alive!
And so that I could absorb this thoroughly,
The cooling cloak of the night
Wrapped my temples gentely[1].
1927
Igor Francheski participated in literary societies, was published in newspapers, and in general took an active part in the cultural life of his native city of Vyatka and later – of Leningrad (currently – Saint Petersburg, Russia), where he stayed with his uncle, Mikhail Matiushin, who was a prominent painter and composer, and leading member of the Russian avant-garde and futurism movements. Mikhail Matiushin highly praised his poetry: “it’s simply magnificent in rhyme, in alliteration! Your poems thrill me so much with its significance... You will undoubtedly shine light on people’s mind and expand their consciousness”.
However, it was not to transpire, as the relatively liberal 1920s were replaced with the 1930s, when the Soviet Party took full control over all spheres of life, introduced severe censorship and proclaimed the one desirable purpose of literature - to reflect the ideology of communism. As a result, writers who did not want to write according to the new rules either emigrated, stopped writing, or were repressed.
As part of the ideological cleansing, cultural associations and educational institutions were massively closed throughout the country. The literary institution where Igor Francheski studied at that time, as well as literary organizations in which he participated – were closed as well. As Igor Francheski forecast in his poetry, that would be just the beginning of the atrocities to come, and the terrible years were just around the corner, and he was right (translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova):
…I know, the terrible years are just around the corner,
And the amount of time, life and happiness left is unknown.
But rest assured, the treasury of my past precious moments
Is to perpetuate forever, like my name, within my soul.
1937
In the 1930s the Soviet government also came up with a brutal political campaign of illumination of “traitors of the Motherland” and “enemies of the people”, what came to be known in history as The Great Purge.
There was not a single city unaffected, and Kirov (current name of Vyatka city since 1934) was no exception. In December of 1937 the fabrication of a criminal case against journalists, writers and poets started there. State investigators claimed that there existed a terror group among writers (the so-called “Literary group”), that was writing anti-Soviet poems and prose and was planning no less than the assassination of Stalin, poisoning the water supply of the city and even overthrowing the Soviet power with the help of foreign states. Analysis of the criminal case’s documents shows that no material evidence was presented to support such strong accusations, but the arrests followed anyway.
On April 8, 1938, Igor Francheski was arrested. He further recalled: “I thought it was something that wasn’t possible at Soviet time, I truly believed that a completely innocent person would never be arrested, I thought I would sit there for a little while, they would understand that they had made a mistake, and would shortly release me. But it all turned out to be much worse than I ever could imagine."
All the arrested members of the Literary group were subjected to various types of moral and physical abuse and pressure: long-term interrogations, tortures of sitting or standing for days, sleep deprivation, hunger torture, severe beatings and all sorts of humiliation. The investigators did their job with disdain and, aimed to get the accused to sign false confessions that were often written by the investigators themselves beforehand.
One year after the opening of the criminal case, the defendants began to lose hope of any favorable outcome of the Literary group case. What helped was the change of power at the highest echelon, and relevant temporary mitigations, which led to finalizing the case for the court proceedings in April of, 1939. During the hearings the thing that previously seemed impossible, happened: three of the defendants, Igor Francheski included, were released with the wording “not enough evidence to prove guilty”, but were not rehabilitated. As documents show, the court found serious inconsistencies in the case, and only released those who did not admit their guilt, as there was no evidence found. Even in the indictment itself, signed by the State Prosecutor, there was a comment for the court: "There is no material evidence in the case."
Why did everyone not deny their guilt? They were scared to death that if they did, they would not be believed anyway, and the investigators would take revenge on them and their relatives. For instance, the arrested writer and poet Andrei Aldan-Semyonov said the following during the court hearings as per official transcript: “Your Honors, my testimony at the preliminary investigation and at yesterday's court session is from beginning to end slanderous, false and, most importantly, forced... Your Honors, I can assure, that if I am taken back to the investigator's office, and forced to sit there for 5-10 days or stand for 2 days without a break, if they beat me again with a whip till I faint, then I will say again what I said before: that I participated in an anti-Soviet organization, that I am a terrorist. Yesterday I stood here in the courtroom and felt the invisible hand of the investigators on my throat, which can turn your head from right to left, and crack your neck, it is difficult to tell the truth. I declare once again that my previous testimony is in no way true.” That statement (as with many others) wasn’t taken into consideration, Aldan-Semenov was sentenced to imprisonment.
Official rehabilitation of all members of the “Literary group” happened only after the collapse of the USSR. Unfortunately, not all of the participants managed to live until that important moment.
For Igor Franceschi, that terrible story somewhat ended in 1939, but its shadow followed for him for the rest of his life, and brought a radical change to it. Though he was released, he wasn’t rehabilitated until 1992, so the stigma followed him through the years.
He changed a lot after that time, as evidenced by the entries in his mother's diary: “nothing remained from the former cheerful Igor, - he became taciturn and withdrawn. He said almost nothing about the prison and only once said that he wanted to smash his head against the wall, but the attempt failed... There was such suffering on his face that I realized that he had buried his youth, cheerfulness, faith in life and justice… And how could I even console him for his broken life and outraged dreams?! The worst thing in life is when an innocent person suffers. "
It was no wonder that he abandoned poetry as a profession, as without the freedom of creativity, true creativity is impossible. Still, some works were written by him after 1939, and almost all of them bear tragic notes, and are of an autobiographical nature. For example, he wrote "The Poem about Pain" – a recollection on tortures he suffered while was imprisoned (translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova):
Poem about Pain
Any solid object can cause you pain.
Any soft object can do the same.
Even a chair that has a back.
Even a table that has a top.
Everyone knows how nice it’s to sit
When your legs ache a bit.
When your legs ache more,
You can sit for eight hours in a row.
But torment of sitting for multiple days
Is what even hell will dispraise.
Almost everyone can stand for a while.
Five hours can be done sometimes.
By the tenth hour, what comes is the pain.
On your face and back, starts salt to drain.
As another twelve hours pass,
The last drop of cold sweat dries up.
On the second day, you get new pains,
Your boots burst, and so do your veins.
Shoes, glass, even cigarettes if one’s hand is firm—
Any object can cause you pain
If the devil took human form,
If an evil beast sits in one’s brain.
Using words, one can pray or caress.
Using words, one can torture.
One can stab a word into your ear like a blade
If you’re alone, and they’re outweighed!
All pain-causing objects are good in their own way,
But it’s the pain of the soul that takes the longest to go away. [2]
1939
Shortly after his release in 1939, Igor Franceschi was arrested again during the Second World War. He wasn’t mobilized to war, but in 1942 he was sent instead to a Soviet labor camp for a reason as simple as this: his Italian surname. The story of his liberation from the camp is extremely surprising, Igor Franceschi recalled: “At that time Lavrenty Beria [chief of the People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs (NKVD)], wrote a book about the history of the revolutionary movement ... My father read the book in which, by the way, he and his brother Ippolit appeared, and noticed some inaccuracies. My father wrote a letter to Beria about those inaccuracies. As a result, Beria published the second edition of the book, where he took into consideration the proposed changes... So, I decided to take advantage of the fact that my father’s name was known to Beria, and dared to write him the letter, where I said that I was sent into the labor camp as an Italian by mistake... Unimaginable happened: an official order bearing Beria's signature came… and I was released from the camp. Miracles do happen."
He was just 36 years old when he was released. Upon return home he writes a poignant piece of poetry (translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova):
The fourth decade is almost spent,
And the fifth knocks on my door.
Resembling its predecessor,
Like a chip off the old block.
Last shreds of my “I” are scattered
Somewhere between these years,
And my guiding star in the darkness
Flickers faintly, about to die away.
Prison, war, hospital—
Life's mundane game plan
And if good things are to happen
They will find me and wake me up.
…from my dream.
Well, then. Let it be vicious circles
Of our lives that are not easy for all.
But at least there are wandering clouds—
The one last thing we can rely on.
They fly above on the airy high roads
Gliding along the greenest peaks,
Not interfering with our dreams
And never disturbing a thing![3]
After the war, Igor Franceschi started a family and had a son and daughter, who became his moral support when blindness, the hereditary condition, deteriorated and darkened his world in the years to come.
He lived to see the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and his rehabilitation in 1992. However, he would not live to see his ultimate dream of being a published author come to light. On September 28, 1996 at the age of 89, Igor Franceschi passed away.
It wasn’t until 2001, by the efforts of his family, that his first and only poetry book was published in 100 copies. In 2021, I published my first biography of Igor Franceschi, and I’ll continue my work to ensure Igor’s beautiful poetry receive its due praise.
The best way to finish the story about the fate of Igor Franceschi is by his poem "Conclusions", written in 1977, at the age of 70. In the memory of the poet, the past name of his hometown appears - Vyatka, " the sound of the forgotten name" - childhood and youth of the poet and his generation are associated with it, reflecting nostalgia for the old days, for the former city of Vyatka, with whose name the dreams and hopes of young Igor Franceschi, his best friend (“brother-in-school”) and sister were connected:
Conclusions
Crystal frost glimmers,
Humming silver melodies.
I envision or dream of
Our city of youthful reveries.
In the intimate haze of reminiscence,
Revived the sound of the forgotten name.
And through the seemingly endless years,
“Vyatka” – I will call it and reclaim.
We’re summoned by one message,
Vyatichi: Brother-in-school, sister and me.
We are settling down together
Warmed by the campfire’s vivid memory.
Through half a century of ordeals
Our group has made its path,
And now the past is crystal clear,
And what became of us.
We used to race
Towards life as in delirium,
By now our dreams decay,
And in the withered garden of senility
We will calmly pick up flowers,
Thrown to us on the path,
By the very life
That tastes of tears and wrath.
Our waves subside their running
And you and me, let us be stunning,
That our life’s distance
Was full of a bitter happiness of existence.
That there were some friendly faces
Throughout the entire century
So, let it happen what should happen
In an end that’s worth the memory.[4]
1977
[1] Igor Franceschi, 1927. Translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova, 2022
[2] Igor Franceschi, 1939. Translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova, 2022
[3] Igor Franceschi, 1943. Translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova, 2022
[4] Igor Franceschi, 1977. Translated from Russian by Elena Prozorova, 2022