The Non-Geometric Lenin: Essays on the Development of the Bolshevik Party 1910-1914

The Non-Geometric Lenin

Figure 1. Lenin in the Carpathians, 1914.

The Non-Geometric Lenin Essays on the Development of the Bolshevik Party 1910 –1914 Carter Elwood

Anthem Press An imprint of Wimbledon Publishing Company www.anthempress.com This edition first published in UK and USA 2011 by ANTHEM PRESS 75-76 Blackfriars Road, London SE1 8HA, UK or PO Box 9779, London SW19 7ZG, UK and 244 Madison Ave. #116, New York, NY 10016, USA Copyright © Carter Elwood 2011 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Elwood, Ralph Carter, 1936The non-geometric Lenin : essays on the development of the Bolshevik Party 1910 –1914 / Carter Elwood. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-85728-778-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-85728-778-8 (hardcover) 1. Rossiiskaia sotsial-demokraticheskaia rabochaia partiia (bol’shevikov)–History. 2. Lenin, Vladimir Il’ich, 1870 –1924. 3. Russia–Politics and government–1904 –1914. I. Title. JN6598.S6E35 2011 324.247’075–dc22 2011007395 ISBN-13: 978 0 85728 778 6 (Hbk) ISBN-10: 0 85728 778 8 (Hbk) This title is also available as an eBook.

TO Nadezhda Konstantinova Krupskaya, who devoted her life to the cause of revolution and to the well-being of her often unappreciative husband. Her self-effacing memoirs and letters reflect better than any other source the non-geometric character of V. I. Lenin

CONTENTS List of Illustrations Introduction Part One. Lenin’s Attempt to Build a Bolshevik Party, 1910–1914 1. Lenin and the Social Democratic Schools for Underground Party Workers, 1909–1911

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1 3

2. The Art of Calling a Party Conference (Prague, 1912)

17

3. Lenin and Pravda, 1912–1914

37

4. The Congress that Never Was: Lenin’s Attempt to Call a ‘Sixth’ Party Congress in 1914

57

5. Lenin and the Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference of July 1914

73

Part Two. The ‘Other’ Lenin 6. The Malinovskii Affair: ‘A Very Fishy Business’

87 89

7. Lenin’s Testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission 101 8. Lenin and Armand: New Evidence on an Old Affair

111

9. What Lenin Ate

125

10. Lenin on Vacation

137

11. The Sporting Life of V. I. Lenin

155

Notes

167

Bibliography of Works Cited

207

Index

217

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 1. Lenin in the Carpathians, 1914

Cover and Frontispiece

2. Roman Malinovskii

89

3. Extract from Lenin’s Testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission

108

4. Extract from Lenin’s Testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission (RTsKhIDNI, fond 2, opis 1, delo 4579, list 8)

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5. Police Photograph of Inessa Armand (Hoover Institution, Okhrana Collection, file XIIIf, (4) (2), folder 1)

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6. ‘Der Russische Revolutioär’, 1915 (Kurhaus, Fluhli, Switzerland)

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7. Map of Lenin’s Hike across Switzerland, July – August 1904

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8. Kurhaus Tschudiwiese

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When we read the various descriptions of Lenin’s life, his biographies, and most of the memoirs about him, we see him all the time only as a producer of political resolutions, as an organizer of the Bolshevik party and the Comintern, as a man wholly absorbed by party strife and the destruction of people who thought differently from him. How he lived outside the political sphere, what his habits were, how he dressed, etc. – none of this finds any place. All the trifles that fill out the life of any man are, as a rule, carefully excised from the descriptions of Lenin’s life. The result is a kind of geometric figure instead of a living one... That is why, in contrast to other writers of memoirs about him, I would like to talk about some small matters I happen to know of – facts which do not add anything new to the portrait of Lenin as a ‘politician’, yet which are interesting as a contribution to the portrait of the living, ‘non-geometric’ Lenin. Nikolay Valentinov (1953)

INTRODUCTION This modest volume makes no pretence of being a ‘definitive’ biography of V. I. Lenin. Readers seeking such are referred with confidence to Robert Service’s trilogy. It is not even a standard biography of the first Soviet leader in that I have not sought to discuss any aspects of his childhood or to replicate James White’s treatment of his intellectual evolution. Neil Harding’s study of Lenin’s ideological contributions to Marxism is unchallenged herein, and the study of the early history of Russian Social Democracy has been left to the admirable works of Allan Wildman, Leopold Haimson and John Keep. Lenin’s role in 1917 and in leading the early Soviet state is also beyond the scope of my study. The objective of this volume is more limited. I wish to examine the period from Lenin’s defeat at a plenum of his Central Committee in January 1910 until the outbreak of the First World War, and at the same time to present a more nuanced picture of his personality. The four and a half years before the war are the murkiest and least studied in party history. During this time Lenin sought to build an all-Bolshevik Party. The degree to which he was successful is important to an understanding of its contribution to the rising unrest in Russia on the eve of the war and perhaps also to its subsequent success during the revolutions of 1917. I have also sought to fill another lacuna in Lenin scholarship by looking at his personal relationships with a police spy and a female Bolshevik colleague during this period, as well as at his broader non-political interests and daily life in emigration. I hope that readers will find the cumulative effect of these eleven essays to be a more complete portrayal of Lenin’s life and one that will challenge some prevailing biographical stereotypes. *

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The literature on Lenin is immense. Much of what emanated from the former Soviet Union, however, can safely be categorized as hagiographic. Lenin, according to these, was the most perfect of men, who wisely and

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unquestioningly led his party to victory in October 1917 and then guided the Soviet state through its early turbulent years. Outside of the selective publication of letters and documents, this approach offers little of interest to the modern reader. Disregarding the demonic accounts of writers such as Stefan Possony and Dmitri Volkogonov, most of the rest of the literature deals with the linear Lenin – the committed and successful revolutionary who devoted his career to the political struggle at the expense of a personal life. In 1953, N. V. Volsky, writing as Nikolay Valentinov, referred to this as the ‘geometric Lenin’ – the writer of resolutions, the schismatic politician, the dedicated revolutionary. In contrast, he called attention to the ‘non-geometric Lenin’ – a man with non-revolutionary interests and very human foibles. Tamara Deutscher, and more recently Aleksandr Maisurian, are exceptions in seeking to cast light on the non-geometric side of Lenin’s personality. Robert Service also touched on some of these themes, though his threevolume study remains true to its sub-title: ‘A Political Life’. Increasingly, my own work has been in the Valentinov tradition. I have come to my view of the non-geometric Lenin slowly, over a period of forty-five years of reading about his life and that of his acquaintances. At first, I was primarily interested in his efforts to build a Bolshevik Party in the aftermath of the failed 1905 Revolution. Like almost all Western historians, I rebelled against the picture of the perfect Lenin propagated by Soviet writers. And yet it could not be denied that he was consistent in his views and objectives and that he was above all successful in seizing power in October 1917. He had qualities and abilities that his revolutionary rivals lacked. I unconsciously adopted the linear approach of many of my colleagues. Neither the hagiographic nor the linear Lenin was a very interesting individual. Indeed, in his dedication he seemed rather dull and devoid of usual human weaknesses. I accepted the old cliché that Lenin loved power, Beethoven and his wife Krupskaya – in that order. Since my doctoral research concerned the organization, activities and composition of the Social Democratic Party in the Russian underground after 1907, it stood to reason that I should look next at party activities in emigration during the same period. My point of departure was the January 1910 Plenum of the Central Committee held in Paris, perhaps the low point in Lenin’s pre-revolutionary career, when he was forced to accept parity with his factional rivals in the leading Social Democratic bodies abroad, to close down the Bolshevik ‘Centre’, and to divest himself of his factional treasury. Lenin’s reaction to this defeat was to turn his back on the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party created in 1898 and to work instead for the establishment of an all-Bolshevik Party in which he controlled the institutional hierarchy. His efforts to do so and the degree to which he was

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successful before the outbreak of the First World War are the subject of the first five essays in this collection. The first step towards the creation of a Bolshevik Party was the establishment of an émigré school for underground party members outside of Paris, which could indoctrinate Russian workers in his interpretations of Marxism and party unity. It could also teach them the skills of agitation and propaganda exercised before 1907 by the now departed revolutionary intelligentsia. The operation of his three-month school at Longjumeau, as well as Lenin’s efforts to subvert similar educational ventures by his factional rivals in Italy, is discussed in Chapter One. The key to the development of a new Bolshevik Party was the calling of an all-Bolshevik conference that could repair the damage done by the 1910 Plenum. To ensure its pliable composition, Lenin used a variety of machinations and blatantly illegal bodies to select delegates from unsophisticated Russian organizations seduced by his talk of factional unity. Three Longjumeau students were instrumental in the calling of the Prague Conference, which attracted eighteen delegates, all but two of whom were Bolsheviks. Eight of the delegates who showed up in the Czech capital in January 1912 were former Longjumeau students or lecturers. Chapter Two discusses their sometimes acrimonious efforts to create a new, virtually all-Bolshevik hierarchy and to adjust party strategy to fit changing conditions in Russia. Several months after the conference adjourned, Lenin turned his back on the howls of protest which his ‘raid on the party’ evoked in émigré circles and moved to Austrian Galicia where he would be closer to the rising worker unrest in tsarist Russia. One of the new party ventures that sought to take advantage of the more relaxed political atmosphere in Russia was the creation of a legal daily newspaper in St. Petersburg. Chapter Three discusses Lenin’s curious relationship with Pravda. Contrary to the ‘Pravda legend’, he had little to do with its initial publication in April 1912; he disagreed with the conciliatory tone its editors adopted; and he was frustrated by the cavalier treatment they accorded many of his articles. In time, he imposed his will and his personnel on the newspaper that increasingly reflected the growing unrest of the urban Russian masses. Buoyed by this and by other evidence of Bolshevik popularity, Lenin felt in early 1914 that the time had come to complete the work of the Prague Conference in creating an all-Bolshevik Party by calling a ‘Sixth’ Party Congress. This body would solidify his faction’s organizational machinery in Russia, confirm Bolshevik supremacy, and perhaps come up with new theoretical positions on the agrarian and nationality questions. Chapter Four deals with Lenin’s replicating of the strategems used to call the Prague Conference to ensure the proper composition of his Sixth Congress.

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In May 1914, however, these preparations were compromised and overtaken by the sudden resignation of the chair of the Bolshevik Duma fraction and member of the Central Committee, Roman Malinovskii, over rumours that he was in fact an agent of the tsarist secret police. Even more disastrous was the calling of the Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference by the International Socialist Bureau in early July 1914 in a final attempt to end the factional infighting in Russia. Lenin was out-manoeuvred and put on the defensive. As discussed in Chapter Five, he refused to attend in person, was poorly represented by his surrogates, and out-voted by his factional rivals on all issues. He was faced with the very real possibility that he would be expelled from the European socialist movement by the forthcoming Tenth Congress of the Second International and that his Russian rivals would succeed in forming a united bloc against him. The outbreak of the First World War in August 1914 saved him from both indignities, but also forced him to postpone his planned Sixth Party Congress. While Lenin may not have succeeded in creating a formal Bolshevik Party in 1914, his actions in the four years before the war clearly divorced him from other factions of Russian Social Democracy, they helped form his hostile attitude towards the Second International, and they focussed his attention on the restive labour movement in tsarist Russia, which increasingly looked to the Bolsheviks if not to Lenin himself for leadership. He clearly had staked out his position as offering the most radical option, both domestically and internationally, which not surprisingly became ever more popular as the disastrous war dragged on into 1917. These five essays, on relatively unexplored topics in Bolshevik history, were originally published before the fall of the Soviet Union. The Lenin who emerges from them was neither the omnipotent leader of Soviet historiography nor the linear figure familiar to Western readers. He faced opposition from his hand-picked delegates at the Prague Conference, he was frustrated in his early efforts to control Pravda, he was embarrassed by the leaders of European socialism, and his ‘Sixth’ Congress was stillborn. While I have concentrated on the political Lenin in these essays, on occasion his human side also peeps through, such as when he went swimming with the Longjumeau students or drank beer with the Prague delegates. His unattractive qualities – overbearing, condescending and dictatorial – are even more evident. While studying Lenin’s efforts to develop a Bolshevik Party, I kept crossing paths with two controversial individuals in his life, Roman Malinovskii and Inessa Armand, where his judgment was questionable and his actions not those of the idealized vozhd or of a single-minded revolutionary. Here ‘the other Lenin’, the more personal Lenin, starts to emerge. Malinovskii was a scoundrel and a police spy with a fondness for drink. Lenin, however, was impressed by his supposed proletarian origins, his forceful personality and

INTRODUCTION

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his articulate demeanour. He insisted that Malinovskii be elected to the new Bolshevik Central Committee in 1912, he travelled with him in western Europe for three weeks in 1914, he closed his ears to rumours that his friend was serving the police while sitting as a Bolshevik deputy in the Fourth Duma, and he defended him on three occasions when his guilt was obvious to almost everyone else. Lenin was not, in other words, a good judge of character, nor did his closed mindedness further the interests of the Bolshevik Party. A re-examination of the Lenin–Malinovskii relationship in Chapter Six is made possible by the revelations of glasnost’ and the opening of Russian archives to revisionist scholars. Special attention is paid in the next chapter to Lenin’s long-suppressed testimony concerning Malinovskii to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission called by the Provisional Government in May 1917 and to conflicting interpretations of archival accounts of that testimony found in RTsKhIDNI and GARF. Lenin’s relationship with Armand was different. At first he was attracted by her vibrant personality, her attractive appearance and her musical abilities. He also was willing to take advantage of her linguistic skills and her willingness to take on dangerous or disagreeable assignments. The fact that she was a close friend of his wife Krupskaya did not prevent Lenin from having an affair with her. When this ménage á trois became too complicated and disruptive, Lenin terminated the romantic side of their friendship. While different from his blind commitment to Malinovskii, the Armand episode reveals a very personal side of Lenin. The key to understanding their complex relationship is to be found in the very extensive correspondence that they conducted from December 1913 to Armand’s death seven years later. These letters, especially those of Lenin published after the collapse of the Soviet Union and one unpublished letter of Armand, are examined in Chapter Eight. More than any other source, it was the reading of these letters that convinced me that there was a non-geometric side to Lenin’s personality that was missing from the standard political biographies of his life. In them he lets down his guard to reveal his happiness or his irritation at actions Armand took or did not take or at how she responded to his suggestions, pleas and orders. He was at times considerate and friendly, or on other occasions condescending and demeaning, in the same fashion as many other people are when confronted with complex personal problems. The non-geometric side of Lenin’s personality and life can also be seen in the extensive correspondence he and his wife carried on with his relatives as well as in Krupskaya’s revealing Reminiscences of her husband. Among other things, these documents shed light on Lenin’s culinary interests, on his holiday habits and on his athletic pursuits. Lenin, who could not abide carelessness in the transcribing of his written word, accepted his wife’s uninspired cooking with humour and good grace. As discussed in Chapter Nine, his tastes were

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simple, uncomplicated and perhaps a contributing factor to his relatively early death. Contrary to the prevailing image of the abstemious leader, this examination also shows that Lenin was not alone in enjoying an occasional glass of wine or a mug of beer. Equally unexplored in the literature but even more revealing of his non-geometric side was his habit of taking an annual summer holiday at the seashore or in the mountains before the revolution. In this Lenin was unlike most of his Social Democratic colleagues in emigration and certainly unlike the industrial workers whose cause he professed. While on holiday he occupied himself with swimming, cycling and hiking. Perhaps these breaks in routine better prepared him physically and mentally for the tasks at hand, but the often overlooked fact remains that his vacations sometimes occurred at times when his leadership was desperately needed. He had no ideological problems hiring teenage girls to help out in the kitchen, which allowed him to take extensive hiking excursions with his wife. The reader accustomed to the single-minded Lenin at party congresses will have difficulty recognizing the same individual in Chapters Ten and Eleven losing chess matches with ill humour on Capri, carrying a rucksack half-way across Switzerland, wearing a business suit while climbing in the Carpathians, and perhaps wearing nothing at all when swimming in the Alps. It is not my intention in publishing these essays to rehabilitate Lenin. I recognize that as a political leader he was uncompromising and that the party he sought to create before the war was consistent with the undemocratic, highly centralized body that emerged after the revolution and was used to subvert all of the humanitarian ideals of social democracy. The pre-war party was not, however, as monolithic as its successor and its leader was not successful in all of his political endeavours, as I have tried to point out. Moreover, to get a balanced and comprehensive view of Lenin, it is necessary to go beyond politics and to study his relations with those around him, be they police spies, his wife or her rival for his affections. It is important to see him as a person with normal interests in food, drink, holidays and tramping through the mountains. These aspects of his life have often been overlooked in our absorption with seeing him solely as a political leader. I do not particularly ‘like’ Lenin, but I hope I have been successful in presenting a more complete picture of him as a ‘non-geometric’ human being. *

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These studies originally appeared in journals in Great Britain, the United States and Canada. My justification for publishing them again is that I do not believe they have been superseded by more recent secondary accounts or

INTRODUCTION

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proven wrong by material found in previously closed Soviet archives. While some readers may disagree, I feel that most remain standard Western treatments of their subjects. The essays have been abridged to remove repetitive sections and to impose consistency in matters of spelling, transliteration and dating. All events and publications in western Europe have been rendered according to the ‘new style’ Gregorian calendar while references to those in tsarist or revolutionary Russia have been expressed according to the ‘old style’ Julien calendar then in use in that country. Where the interaction of the two sets of dates may cause confusion, I have provided both for clarification. In a few instances, I have inserted endnotes to call the reader’s attention to relevant sources or contradictory information that has become available since my work was originally published. I am indebted to the editors of the journals in which my articles appeared for their judicious editing and for allowing them to be included in this collection. I also wish to express my appreciation to colleagues and students with whom I have discussed Lenin over the years or who have assisted in other ways in bringing this book to fruition. John Keep, in particular, has shared his knowledge of Russian Social Democracy and of Switzerland, as we hiked trails Lenin blazed while on his vacations. Harry Shukman and Bob Service, both esteemed Lenin scholars, have answered questions I have raised and have encouraged the publication of this volume. S. V. Listikov called my attention to archival items of great value to my work. My colleagues at Carleton University, Rod Phillips and Harald von Riekhoff, have compensated for some of my linguistic shortcomings. Katy Turton has tried to straighten out my thinking concerning Krupskaya while Richard Davies has given me a useful lesson in Finnish geography. Harun Vilmaz produced the excellent map in Chapter Ten which makes Lenin’s wanderings in Switzerland more comprehensible. Helen Rappaport, who has investigated Lenin’s vacation habits elsewhere, has provided me with very revealing information about his days in Galicia. Many of the topics discussed herein were originally explored in my graduate seminars at Carleton. Janet Hyer, Natalie Slawinski, Vicky Arnold and Bianca Pelchat may recognize some of their ideas as well as sources they suggested I consult. Jill St. Germain, as usual, has done her best to impose some grace on my writing. Like many writers in Canada, I am grateful to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council for its surprisingly generous financial support. Needless to say, errors which crept into the earlier versions of these essays have not always been corrected and remain solely my responsibility.

PART ONE Lenin’s Attempt to Build a Bolshevik Party, 1910–1914

CHAPTER 1 Lenin and the Social Democratic Schools for Underground Party Workers, 1909–1911* It is interesting to speculate on the career V. I. Lenin would have chosen had he not lived in a time and a place where most intellectual professions were closed to men and women of non-conformist thought. It has been suggested that he had the makings of an admirable university teacher: his mind was well-disciplined, his speech was articulate and his knowledge was impressive. Only once, however, did the pressures of revolutionary and governmental leadership allow him to practice his pedagogical talents. During the summer of 1911, while living in the small French town of Longjumeau, he organized a little-known school for underground party workers. This chapter is primarily an account of that school. It is also a study of Lenin’s schismatic approach towards two earlier schools established by his factional opponents in Capri and Bologna.1 *

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The unsuccessful Revolution of 1905 had two deleterious effects on the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party (RSDRP). Inside Imperial Russia, the revolutionary intelligentsia – who had borne the burden of organizing, agitating and propagandizing the urban masses – were now disillusioned with the underground and went into emigration, retired from revolutionary activity, or found themselves in tsarist prisons. This meant that the tasks of leading and organizing the workers’ movement had to be assumed by the workers themselves who lacked their predecessors’ theoretical training and practical experience necessary for revolutionary propagation and underground survival.2 This training, which was received by socialists in other European countries through apprenticeships in trade unions or the party apparatus, was

* An expanded version of this chapter appeared in the Political Science Quarterly 81, no. 3 (September 1966): 370–91.

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unobtainable under Russian conditions since unions were de facto illegal and party activity de jure cause for arrest. The second problem concerned the superstructure of the party in emigration which once again was rent by factional disagreements. The personality and organizational differences, which had split the party into majority (Bolshevik) and minority (Menshevik) groups in 1903, were intensified by different responses to the failure of revolution in 1905. Both factions wished to utilize a combination of legal and illegal activities but their emphases were different. The Mensheviks stressed legal work through the State Duma, trade unions and cooperatives while the Bolsheviks concentrated on illegal agitation and propaganda. No sooner had Lenin gained a tenuous victory over the Mensheviks at the London Congress of 1907, than a tendency developed inside his own faction that disavowed all legal activity and sought to continue the revolution despite the preponderance of counterrevolutionary forces. The leader of this new, left-Bolshevik tendency was Lenin’s former right-hand man, A. A. Bogdanov. He gathered around him a prestigious group of émigrés who had in common a desire to escape Lenin’s tutelage and an optimism concerning the immediate prospects of revolution. Included in this amorphous group were otzovists, such as Bogdanov and G. Aleksinskii, who opposed all Duma participation; expropriators, such as L. B. Krasin, who advocated armed robberies for revolutionary causes; Godconstructionists, such as A. V. Lunacharskii and Maxim Gorky, who deified Marxism for popular consumption; and Machists, such as V. A. Bazarov, who tried to reconcile Marxism with positivism. While intellectually impressive and financially solvent (owing to the expropriations), these left-Bolsheviks were isolated from the foreign institutions controlled by Lenin and from the local Russian organizations. A possible solution to the problems of both the local groups and the émigré dissidents was found in the ‘higher party schools’ organized by the German, French and Belgian Social Democrats.3 For leaderless organizations in Imperial Russia, a foreign party school could train a new generation of workers in the practical arts of propaganda, agitation and illegal organization to replace the disillusioned intelligentsia. For the isolated left-Bolsheviks in emigration, a school under their control could indoctrinate a select group of workers who, upon returning to Russia, would form the cadres and contacts necessary for Bogdanov to circumvent Lenin’s control of the foreign hierarchy. For Lenin, the logic of these different rationales posed both a dilemma and an opportunity. He recognized the legitimate desire of the inexperienced workers for revolutionary training but he also feared that a school in someone else’s hands could be used to his factional disadvantage. He therefore opposed Bogdanov’s efforts to establish schools in Capri and

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5

Bologna; but then, after left-Bolshevism had run its course in 1911, he set up an identical institution at Longjumeau to strengthen his own factional position vis-á-vis the Mensheviks. *

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The idea of a party school began to be voiced in left-Bolshevik circles during 1908. N. E. Vilonov, who knew the weaknesses of the local organizations from personal experience in the Urals, first suggested the formation of a ‘party university’ when he visited Gorky on the Isle of Capri.4 In September, Aleksinskii publicly proposed that a ‘higher party school’ be established to train émigrés for work in the Russian underground. Several months later, at the Fifth Party Conference, some of the Russian delegates expressed a similar desire for their own personnel. Seizing on these suggestions, Aleksinskii, Gorky and Vilonov (later joined by Bogdanov and Lunacharskii) formed an Organizational Committee for convening a school at Gorky’s villa. Vilonov drafted an appeal to the local Russian organizations concerning the proposed school which he sent to Lenin’s Proletarii for publication. The editorial board of Proletarii, which served as the unofficial Bolshevik ‘Centre’ abroad, rejected this request as it had Aleksinskii’s earlier proposal. The editors instead called on the committee to transfer its funds to the Bolshevik ‘Centre’, which then would establish a school in Paris. Undaunted, Vilonov and Gorky sent another appeal directly to the Moscow organizations requesting their participation. Proletarii replied with a resolution linking the proposed school with God-constructionism and implied that it would be neither Bolshevik nor Marxist in content. The Moscow Committee accepted the Proletarii version while the Oblast Bureau of the important Central Industrial Region supported the Organizational Committee. Before the Bureau could sanction the school, however, its otzovist secretary (S. Vol’skii) was arrested. Faced with the obstructionism of Proletarii and the possibility of the school’s stillbirth, Vilonov left for Moscow to present his case personally. The local organizations readily acknowledged their desire for the school and agreed to sanction it on the condition that ideological leadership would rest with the Bolshevik ‘Centre’. Vilonov accepted this condition and promptly informed the Organizational Committee of his intention to visit Paris to negotiate the final details with Lenin.5 But as he was to find out later, his nonfactional approach was not shared by his associates. This should have been evident when he was ordered to return directly to Capri without stopping in the French capital. Lenin, in the meantime, had noted that ‘our affairs at present are in a very sorry state. There will probably be a split’.6 He had tolerated Bogdanov’s

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ideological differences as long as they did not present an organizational threat. But the formation of an independent left-Bolshevik school presented just such a threat. The split took place at the June 1909 meeting of the enlarged editorial board of Proletarii. Otzovism was condemned, Bogdanov was read out of the faction, and the Bolshevik ‘Centre’ formally stated that it took ‘no responsibility for the school’.7 In early August Vilonov and his 12 protégés arrived on the idyllic Isle of Capri where they were joined by three additional Russian students and 13 émigré auditors8 for the ‘First Higher Social Democratic PropagandistAgitator School for Workers’. The setting was incongruous to say the least. The school was situated in the aristocratic Villa Blaesus, it was financed by Gorky’s royalties and the contributions of his non-revolutionary admirers, and it was taught by some of the foremost Russian intellectuals of the early twentieth century. Its impressive curriculum included lectures by Gorky on Russian literature, M. N. Pokrovskii on Russian history, by Lunacharskii on Russian culture, by M. N. Liadov on party history, and by Bogdanov on political economy. The lectures were, in fact, too theoretical for the young and inadequately educated students. Consequently, increased attention was paid during the last half of the course to more practical if less stimulating material.9 Even on Capri the factional struggle could not be forgotten. Two weeks after his arrival, Vilonov told the students that they should fulfil their mandates by inviting the Bolshevik ‘Centre’ to assume ideological leadership as well as requesting its literary and financial assistance. They also asked Lenin and two of his associates to speak at the school so as to counterbalance the eight leftBolshevik lecturers. Lenin’s reply of 18 August was curt and negative. The only assistance he would extend the school was to send a backfile of Proletarii and to invite the students to visit Paris for a supplementary set of lectures on their return trip to Russia. Eight Capri students reacted in a manner that must have surprised the Bolshevik leader. They wrote to him again, this time in the name of the Moscow Committee, threatening him with party discipline should he not appear. Lenin’s condescending response detailed the facts of party life for these ‘good little lads [rebiata] who still lacked political sophistication’.10 He attacked their lecturers and again invited the students to Paris. Since Lenin would not come to them, the students decided to go to him. On the suggestion of their mentors, they insisted that the entire school should be accommodated in the French capital and that the Bolshevik ‘Centre’ should pay all expenses. Lenin, as expected, rejected these conditions but a split was developing within the school as a result of his correspondence. This schism became overt in late October when Bogdanov enumerated his beliefs and suggested that they become the basis of a formal political platform. This clearly factional step was

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unacceptable to Vilonov and five of the students. The latter wrote to Lenin about Bogdanov’s intentions, stating their unwillingness to remain within the school, and requesting that Proletarii inform the Moscow organization of recent developments. Lenin replied that they should try to win over the neutral students; the Oblast Bureau withdrew its sanction of the school and told its students to go to Paris; and Proletarii published the entire correspondence for the party to see.11 The five students and the school’s organizer, Vilonov, were promptly expelled for corresponding with the Bolshevik ‘Centre’. In early November, they went to the ‘foreign Petersburg’, as Lenin referred to Paris, where they heard two dozen lectures given by Lenin and seven other Bolsheviks. A month later the remaining students came to Paris and listened (perhaps less receptively) to the same set of lectures. By January 1910 most of the Capri students were back in Russia practising their new skills. One less proficient graduate, A. S. Romanov, however, allowed himself to fall into police hands. To ease his punishment he provided the Okhrana with the names of his colleagues who were then promptly removed from circulation.12 As Lenin had anticipated, Capri became a new factional centre. Just before the second group of students departed, they and their lecturers established a newspaper, Vperëd, a ‘literary’ faction of the same name, and a new Organizational Committee to call a second factional school. *

*

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This split in the Bolshevik ranks came at a very inopportune moment for Lenin. In January 1910 a plenum of the Central Committee, which was summoned against his wishes, tried once again to impose unity upon the party’s centrifugal factions. Deserted by the Vperëdists and by some ‘Conciliator’ Bolsheviks, who sincerely wished to conciliate factional differences, Lenin lost control of the party machinery. He was forced to suspend Proletarii, to divide his factional treasury between the Central Committee and three German ‘trustees’, and to accept the existence of the Vperëdists within the party. While rejecting the Vperëdist suggestion that the plenum sanction a second school under their control, the Central Committee recognized the necessity for a school and established a nine-man, inter-factional School Commission in which the Bolsheviks like the Vperëdists had only two representatives. The meeting expressed the hope that the Vperëdists could be dissuaded from organizing a separate school and would join in the planning of a unified school.13 This expectation was, however, ephemeral, since the Vperëdist plans were already well advanced. In March 1910 Aleksinskii and Pokrovskii left the School Commission on the pretext that it would not allow students and

8

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lecturers a decisive voice in the proposed ‘unified school’. They also claimed, with some justification, that the School Commission ‘lacked serious intent’.14 The 1,500 francs allocated to the commission was indeed insufficient for its professed intentions and the one leaflet that it published during the first 11 months of 1910 was aimed more at counteracting Vperëdist efforts than at recruiting students.15 Lenin’s opponents were more diligent. In June the new Organizational Committee issued an appeal for local groups to elect experienced students to what it defined as a ‘party but not an all-party school’.16 To assist in these elections, F. I. Kalinin – the secretary of the Vperëdist faction and a graduate of Capri – was sent to Russia with instructions that ‘only in rare cases’ should the students be ‘members of other factions’.17 He encountered opposition, however, from local organizations which wanted a truly ‘all-party school’ and from the Okhrana which wanted no school at all. Consequently, Kalinin was forced to appoint many of the 20 designated students and of these only 12 made it abroad where they were joined by nine émigré auditors. The Organizational Committee, in the meantime, had found financial supporters to replace Gorky and his literary friends who were tired of Godconstructionism and factionalism. In the summer of 1909 a post office in Miass in the Urals had been raided by some party members who subsequently decided to invest 16,000 francs of the expropriated funds in a school that would teach their para-military techniques. Since expropriations were in disrepute with the rest of the party, the Vperëdists became the recipients of this legacy. Four of the Miass participants also took advantage of their enforced absence from Russia to enrol in the school where, according to a police spy, they used their ‘independent income’ to live a life of comparative luxury.18 Bologna was selected as the site of the second Vperëd school since its socialist municipal government was amenable to such enterprises and promised to keep tsarist interlopers at bay. The school held its opening ceremony on 21 November 1910 in an auditorium of the Garibaldi Peoples University. Shortly thereafter classes were moved to a four room apartment rented by Bogdanov and Lunacharskii. As at Capri, there were two lectures daily except on Sunday, when the students visited local museums under the guidance of Lunacharskii who served as the school’s director and only translator. Unlike at Capri, the 12 lecturers included some non-Vperëdists – Leon Trotsky and Aleksandra Kollontai – and their classes tended to be more practical and less theoretical than at the first school. The evenings in particular were devoted to practising agitational speeches, setting up mock propaganda circles, and editing two ‘underground’ newspapers.19 Lenin’s efforts were again directed towards disrupting his competitors’ school. To discredit Bologna, the Bolsheviks spread rumours about the

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source of the school’s finances and then demanded the establishment of a special commission to investigate these rumours after the Vperëdists had denied them.20 Lenin also wrote to I. K. Vul’pe, the one Bolshevik student at Bologna, encouraging him to disorganize and even to destroy the school from within.21 Repeating his Capri tactics, Lenin declined to lecture at Bologna and again invited the students to come to Paris for a supplementary course of instruction. The Vperëdists, however, had learned from their Capri experience. They first requested an official invitation from the Foreign Bureau of the Central Committee and 3,000 francs from the School Commission for travelling and living expenses. When the latter offered to reimburse the Russian students but not the émigré auditors, the Vperëdists demanded that the students be given the right to determine lecturers and topics in Paris. The School Commission refused and instead sent its Bolshevik representative, N. A. Semashko, to negotiate with individual students. When this divisive tactic failed, Semashko reiterated the commission’s earlier offer to accommodate all except the auditors. In March 1911, having completed their studies in Bologna, the entire school – students, auditors, and lecturers – packed their belongings and went to Paris. Upon arrival they demanded total compensation for their trip and the continuation of their Bologna lectures. The School Commission not only refused but also stopped paying for their room and board. The students then took their case before the sympathetic and non-Bolshevik Foreign Bureau and threatened to tell their story to the ‘international socialist proletariat’.22 Grudgingly, the School Commission paid the bill but cancelled the supplementary lectures.23 Despite this token victory over Lenin, Vperëdism was dead by the end of 1911. The faction’s proposed third school never materialized, its journal ceased publication, and its students once again found themselves in tsarist prisons thanks to the information provided to the Okhrana by Bologna’s assistant secretary and sometime provocateur. The true cause of the faction’s demise lay in its loss of popular appeal. The Russian workers no longer had faith in Vperëd’s revolutionary slogans as reaction waxed and the chances for revolution waned. Even the émigré leaders sensed this – Bogdanov devoted more of his time to science, Gorky to literature, and Pokrovskii to the writing rather than the making of history. *

*

*

Now that he was free from Vperëd competition, Lenin turned his attention to the Mensheviks. The experience of the past five years had convinced him that even nominal unity with the Mensheviks was impossible and that a clear break

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THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

was desirable. His immediate objective was to escape the restrictions placed upon the Bolsheviks by the January 1910 Plenum. In this he was assisted by the withdrawal of the Mensheviks from Sotsial-demokrat, leaving him in control of the party’s Central Organ, and by the departure of the Vperëdists and frequent absence of the Mensheviks from the School Commission. The commission, in effect, became a five-man body controlled by its Bolshevik representatives, G. E. Zinoviev and Semashko, with the assistance of their Polish ally, V. L. Leder. Thus Lenin could use the Central Organ and the School Commission to pave the way for his ultimate objective – an exclusively Bolshevik conference that would formally expel the Mensheviks from the party. In these changed circumstances, a factional school that could provide the trained conveners and indoctrinated delegates for his conference would be of immense practical importance to Lenin. The two prerequisites for a successful school, as the Vperëdists had demonstrated, were money and hand-picked students. The commission’s treasury was at first very modest; it had received 1,500 francs from the January Plenum and a similar amount from a party musicale (vecherinka) held for the school’s benefit. This sum was paltry when compared to the 20,587 francs spent by the Vperëdists on the Bologna school24 and was obviously insufficient when the estimated cost of transporting and training one student was 800 francs. During 1910 the School Commission turned to the usually generous German Social Democratic Party, but the latter had committed all of its available funds to the forthcoming Reichstag election campaign. They also appealed to the Russian émigré groups in western Europe and the United States but the ‘response was not sufficient to begin school preparations. These material difficulties completely paralyzed’25 the commission until the Bolsheviks gained effective control of the body in late 1910. Overnight the school’s financial problems were solved. Lenin released 10,000 francs from the funds that should have been transferred to the German ‘trustees’ the previous January.26 The School Commission now began to recruit students in earnest. It drafted an elaborate curriculum for the school and it issued a second appeal for local organizations to elect prospective students.27 In March 1911, when it was evident that the response to the appeal was negligible, the commission borrowed the Vperëd tactic of sending a foreign agent to expedite the elections. The commission’s rules clearly stated that ‘students will be elected by local organizations’ and suggested that a raion (district) committee or conference was the appropriate electoral body.28 Nevertheless, the agent of the commission, S. M. Semkov, received instructions from Lenin to select students himself if he could not find a ‘suitable’ local organization to do the job. In St. Petersburg the first group he contacted refused to discuss the proposed school. He then held an informal meeting of party workers which approved the idea of the school

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but declined the responsibility of sending students. In the end, and against the vigorous protests of two powerful but non-Bolshevik raion committees, Semkov personally chose three party members – a draft dodger, a pregnant woman and a very surprised worker – to represent St. Petersburg. This story was repeated in Ekaterinoslav where he selected a young student after the only existing organization opposed the school.29 Thus, by a variety of stratagems, Semkov found 13 students supposedly from nine local organizations, gave them 150 francs each, and sent them off to Lenin. The students began arriving in Paris in May. They made their way to Lenin’s modest apartment on Rue Marie Rose where he interrogated them at length about conditions in Russia. In the interim, while awaiting the late arrivals, Lenin and Zinoviev gave the less advanced students some preparatory instruction in political theory. Together with their protégés they constructed a mock-up of a trade union journal. Finally in June 1911, when two -thirds of the pupils had arrived, the school was officially opened. Paris, however, was an unsuitable location for this so-called ‘embryo of the...communist universities of the future.’30 Not only were prices higher in the French capital, but the émigré colony of some 80,000 Russians was interlaced with factional feuds and agents provocateur. Lenin thus chose to convene the school in Longjumeau, a small rural town 19 kilometres south of Paris, which he and Krupskaya had passed through on one of their frequent bicycle trips. The location of Longjumeau made it possible for lecturers to come from Paris, either by tram or more often by bicycle, while at the same time discouraging student distractions and outside observation. Lenin developed a fetish for security. All cyclists peddling down from Paris were instructed to keep a sharp watch over their shoulder for unwanted ‘shadows’. Lenin insisted that every student be given a nickname that had no relation to either his or her Christian name or party pseudonym. Even Longjumeau was given a nom de guerre: oslitsa or she-ass,31 which reflects rather poorly on Lenin’s linguistic and agrarian knowledge since he had apparently confused jumeau (twin) with jument (mare). Longjumeau’s prior claim to fame was inconsequential. It was the site of an inconclusive truce during the religious wars and the setting for Adolphe Adam’s comic opera Le Postillion de Longjumeau. The town was located in the valley of the Yvette River surrounded by monotonous fields of wheat. Other than the occasional fisherman, few visitors found cause to visit this dreary place during the hot summer months. Consequently, the sudden influx of several dozen Russians did not go unnoticed and indeed caused some alarm. The several thousand inhabitants of Longjumeau, who at first considered their strange visitors to be anarchists, were reassured only when their mayor was informed by a French socialist deputy that the Russians were merely village school teachers using their summer to ‘improve their education’.32

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In the evening the villagers would listen to the students singing songs of their native country in the local café.33 One student recalled, perhaps apocryphally, how Lenin once directed a joint chorus of the ‘Marseillaise’ with the students and peasants singing at the same time but in different languages Lenin, Krupskaya and her mother lived at one end of the town’s only street at 91 Grande Rue in two small, dark and barely furnished rooms rented from a village tanner. In the morning, the future Chair of the Council of People’s Commissars would be seen in his shirt sleeves queuing up at the well to fetch the day’s water.34 In the evening they were forced to listen to the endless succession of carts rumbling through Longjumeau on their way to the Paris market. Zinoviev, his family, and most of the students also lived in rooms rented for them by the School Commission in private homes or in the one uncomfortable workers’ hostel. The centre of school operations was at number 17 – a house, courtyard and metal worker’s shop leased for the summer by Inessa Armand. On the first floor of the house was a kitchen, presided over by a Paris émigré, and a large communal dining room where the students as well as the Ul’ianovs and the Zinovievs usually took their meals. Inessa, her seven year-old son and three of the older students had quarters on the second floor. Out in the courtyard, unintentionally segregated from the other students, slept still another Russian who also happened to be an agent of the police. The metal worker’s shop became the school’s classroom after the students cleaned out the debris of its previous occupant. Its furnishings were Spartan – 20 wicker chairs, a long, homemade table, a lecturer’s desk. In these rather remote and dingy surroundings, which were a marked contrast to Villa Blaesus and Garibaldi University, Lenin opened his first and only party school.35 Ten of the 13 students from the Russian underground had arrived in Longjumeau when the first class met on 20 June 1911. These students, like their counterparts at Capri and Bologna, were representative of the younger generation of non-intelligentsia which the émigré hierarchy was attempting to train for factional and local party responsibilities. The majority were in their mid-twenties and had been in the party for an average of seven years, twothirds were Russian by nationality and, with one exception, they were industrial workers or artisans by profession. The five auditors, carefully chosen by Lenin from the Paris émigré colony, were slightly older and more experienced. Factional allegiance rather than intellectual capacity had obviously been the criterion used by Lenin and Semkov in selecting these students. Twelve of the 18 trainees were Bolsheviks, one was a follower of Plekhanov who at this time followed Lenin, one was a Vperëdist, one claimed to be a non-factionalist and three were Mensheviks. With the exception of the auditors, who spent most of their time running errands for Lenin, they were surprisingly undistinguished

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13

and undedicated considering the importance which both Lenin and the local organizations attached to the school. Two students spent most of the summer incapacitated – one having a baby and the other recovering from typhus – while two others undermined Lenin’s elaborate security measures by devoting their time to collecting information for the Okhrana.36 The students theoretically had an equal voice in the management of their school. Five of them were co-opted to the School Commission which was empowered to decide matters pertaining to courses and lecturers with the concurrence of the newly formed College of Students. This exclusively student body, in addition to ‘discussing independently all questions of student life’,37 elected a president--treasurer, I. S. Belostotskii, who presided over student meetings and dispensed pocket money; a secretary, I. V. Prisiagin, who arranged the lecture schedule; and a librarian, I. D. Chugurin. But as everyone realized, ‘the one and only manager and master of the school’38 was Lenin who, by dint of his personality, popularity and prestige, determined overall school policy. The organization of the school’s faculty posed the only real challenge to Lenin’s preeminent position. Since the Bolsheviks did not possess sufficient intellectual talent to staff the school, the School Commission was forced by necessity and by party opinion to invite outside lecturers. As the price for their participation, seven leading Menshevik and Vperëdist intellectuals demanded the establishment of a College of Lecturers. Lenin, realizing that his followers might be outvoted in the proposed body, used the threat of his resignation to have the college rejected. This prompted I. O. Martov and F. I. Dan to decline their invitations. Pokrovskii announced that he had ‘promised himself not to participate in further factional undertakings’39 and Gorky wrote that ill health would keep him from coming to Longjumeau. Their former Capri associates, Vol’skii and Lunacharskii, agreed to lecture but soon quarrelled with Lenin and left before their courses were completed. Less welcome were the refusals of Rosa Luxemburg and G. V. Plekhanov owing to the Reichstag election and the ‘Paris heat’ respectively. In all, only 13 of the 25 invited lecturers took part in the school. Thus Lenin and his four Bolshevik colleagues were assured of ideological domination by their teaching of the controversial political courses and by the absence of their factional opponents. Lenin began the school day with an hour and a half talk at eight in the morning after which Inessa Armand often conducted his seminar leaving him free to cycle to Paris on party business. After lunch in the communal dining room, two of the other teachers gave two-hour lectures. Near the end of the summer, an occasional sparsely attended lecture was held following the evening meal in an effort to cover the planned curriculum. The subject matter was mostly historical or theoretical. L. B. Kamenev gave a ‘clear and

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systematic’ history of the RSDRP, D. B. Riazanov was ‘dry, scholarly and hard to understand’ when lecturing on trade unions in Russia and the West, Inessa ‘showed herself to be a very weak lecturer and nothing was gained’ from her talks on Belgian socialism.40 Probably the most interesting and least useful were Lunacharskii’s four discourses on Russian culture supplemented by guided tours of the Louvre. Owing to the nature of Soviet historiography, far more is known about Lenin’s 56 lectures on dialectical materialism, political economy, the Stolypin agrarian reforms and the party platform. He was one of the few speakers competent to lecture on his subject matter and, as one would expect, he was well organized, articulate and a disciplinarian. To test his students’ knowledge, Lenin often posed questions for discussion such as ‘After the revolution, what would you do with the banks if you were leading the nation?’. The correct answer was not, as one student suggested, ‘Do away with them, Vladimir Ilyich’.41 In the occasional seminars students were taught to write articles, to deliver speeches, or to conduct party correspondence. Generally, however, their instruction had little relevance to the realities of local party life. Lenin apparently was more interested in developing loyal Bolsheviks who were ideologically consistent with his point of view than he was in training workers in the arts of the underground. Some of the students, still failing to realize that Lenin’s purpose in holding the school was different from theirs in coming to Longjumeau, later criticized this lack of practical training.42 The summer at Longjumeau was not entirely spent in the classroom. Lenin insisted that no work be done on Sundays when the students often took cycling trips or walks through the French countryside. One of the most popular excursions was to cycle 12 kilometres to the Seine for an afternoon of swimming. Belostotskii relates how Lenin once challenged him to a twolap race across the river and then scolded his younger protégé for tiring out an old man.43 One senses that the Lenin the students saw on these trips, or the Lenin who sang peasant songs and played chess with his students, was a more relaxed and human individual than the cold, calculating factional leader usually encountered in his many biographies. On their free days the students might also go to Paris where they would visit a museum with Lunacharskii, the landmarks of the French Revolution or the Chamber of Deputies to hear Jean Jaurès speak. They celebrated Bastille Day in Paris but, according to the observant Okhrana agent, spent too much of the school’s money drinking wine.44 Occasionally, ‘the closest group – Ilyich [Lenin], Armand, Sergo [Ordzhonikidze], Lunacharskii – went to the theatre on the outskirts of Paris’45 to see one of the proletarian plays forbidden in the city proper. What is interesting about these evenings at the theatre is not so

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much Lenin’s early appreciation of socialist realism, but the fact that Inessa Armand and not Krupskaya was included in his ‘closest group’ (bolee tesnoi kompaniei). Here is another side of Ilyich not seen by his biographers until 40 years after his death. According to Krupskaya, Inessa Armand ‘took an active part in organizing the party school’46 and, as already mentioned, conducted Lenin’s seminars and lectured without great skill on Belgian socialism. No other woman, not even Krupskaya who had previously instructed the Capri students in Paris, taught at Longjumeau, and no other speaker had Lenin in attendance at all of their lectures. Despite these signs of comradely favour, there is no firm evidence to support claims Lenin formed a romantic attachment to Armand at Longjumeau or that Krupskaya dutifully offered to leave her husband during the summer of 1911. The available information indicates that Inessa occupied a privileged place in Lenin’s life and that their relationship probably grew closer as a result of the three months spent together in the summer of 1911.47 While Longjumeau was one of the most relaxing interludes in Lenin’s revolutionary career, he never lost sight of the school’s raison d’être. Inside the school itself there was none of the factional quarrelling that nearly destroyed the earlier schools. By a combination of selecting his students carefully, using his imposing personality judiciously and having his wife inspect all student mail,48 Lenin was able to preserve internal unity. On 30 August 1911 a farewell party was held in Longjumeau. Each student was given 200 francs, the address of a new underground organization and instructions to work for the convening of the Prague Conference and if possible their own election to it. *

*

*

It has been suggested that the successful conclusion of the Longjumeau school was a Pyrrhic victory for Lenin.49 Since the Okhrana had two of its representatives at the school, every student who returned to Russia found him or herself in jail by the end of 1912. The local organizations, which had counted on the émigré schools to develop a new generation of underground leaders, still lacked trained propagandists, agitators and organizers. Thus, the revival of worker unrest that took place in many parts of Russia before the war was often independent of the incapacitated Social Democratic movement. Judged in these terms, the party schools were a failure. But Lenin’s purpose in disrupting the Vperëd schools and in creating Longjumeau was not so much to satisfy underground requirements as it was to gain control of the party machinery and to educate pliable delegates for the forthcoming Prague Conference. Judged by these criteria, his policy was indeed a success.

CHAPTER 2 The Art of Calling a Party Conference (Prague, 1912)* The Sixth Party Conference held in Prague in January 1912 was a watershed in the history of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party (RSDRP). Prior to this gathering, many party members had hoped that divisive factionalism, which had begun with the Menshevik-Bolshevik split at the Second Congress in 1903, could be cured, and that the two groups could exploit in concert the growing worker unrest in Russia. Social Democrats, particularly rank and file members in the underground, were encouraged by the results of the ‘Unification’ Congress held in Stockholm in 1906 and the ‘Unification’ Plenum of the Central Committee which met in Paris in January 1910. In each instance, the émigré leaders were forced to acknowledge the principle of party unity and to agree to work within common leadership bodies. But in 1912 this façade of unity collapsed. The two factions met separately that year – the Bolsheviks in Prague during January, the Mensheviks in Vienna during August – and the outcome was in effect the creation of two separate Social Democratic parties, each with its own leadership bodies, programme and contacts with the underground. Never again would the two factions meet together. From 1912 to 1917, instead of working in concert for the overthrow of the autocracy, they were in competition for worker support. The ultimate winner of the contest was V. I. Lenin and his Bolshevik Party. Many of the reasons for his triumph can be found in the manner in which he called the Prague Conference, the resolutions which it passed, and the reorganization which it achieved. *

*

*

The origin of the conference lay in the January 1910 Plenum which was called into session in an effort to revive the moribund Central Committee. By the end of 1909 all the subordinate bodies of the committee inside Russia * An expanded version of this chapter appeared as the introduction to Vserossiiskaya Konferentsiya Ros. Sots.-Dem. Rab. Partii 1912 goda (London, 1982), ix–xxxvi.

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had been broken by the police, its Central Organ (Sotsial-demokrat) appeared only very irregularly, and the committee itself had met but twice since the Fifth Party Congress in 1907. In its stead the various factions had established their own leadership bodies, their own newspapers and treasuries, and were taking steps to organize their own factional schools. Lenin and his followers concentrated on publishing Proletarii from Geneva and they created around its editorial board an illegal Bolshevik ‘Centre’. The Mensheviks devoted their attention to Golos Sotsial-demokrata in Paris. Between the two major factions stood a pair of Social Democrats – Leon Trotsky and George Plekhanov – who preached party unity but in effect created their own factions: the Trotskyite ‘non-factionalists’ around the Vienna Pravda and the Plekhanovite Party Mensheviks around Dnevnik Sotsial-demokrata. Complicating the situation was the growth, in the extreme wings of the party, of two groups, which denied for different reasons the operative philosophy that in the period of reaction Social Democrats should exploit both legal and illegal opportunities under the guidance of the illegal party. On the far right, the so-called ‘Liquidator’ Mensheviks, who wanted a broadly based workers’ party rather than a conspiratorial organization controlled by professional revolutionaries, felt that the underground tended to compromise effective Social Democratic activity within legal trade unions, newspapers and cooperatives. At the other extreme, a number of left-Bolsheviks argued that party activity in these legal bodies, and especially in the State Duma, created illusions amongst the workers that lasting gains could be achieved by legal means. Using funds derived from illegal expropriations of tsarist banks and post offices, these left-Bolsheviks held their own factional school at Capri and laid plans for a separate newspaper, Vperëd. Lenin, who always believed a faction should be made up of only ‘likeminded men’,1 responded to this organizational threat from within his own ranks by expelling most of the Vperëdists from the Bolshevik faction in 1909. It was in part because of this recent ‘house-cleaning’ that the Bolshevik leader opposed the calling of the January Plenum. Indeed, G. V. Chicherin, one of the Menshevik representatives, sought to exploit Lenin’s relative weakness by reading a list of Bolshevik sins – continued expropriations, intraparty financial manipulations, the Tiflis bank-note scandal – which should have been sufficient to bring him before a party court and might even have led to his expulsion from the party. The majority of the 19 delegates, however, still had faith in the panacea of party unity and voted instead merely to condemn these ‘derogations from party discipline’2 and to force Lenin to turn over most of his disputed funds either to the Central Committee or to three German ‘trustees’. The same spirit may have spared the Liquidators and the Vperëdists. Lenin sought their expulsion for refusing to accept the orthodox formula concerning the combination of legal and illegal activities. Much to his

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frustration, even some of his own Bolsheviks favoured a ‘conciliatory’ policy based on a reprimand rather than outright expulsion. In the interests of party unity, the plenum ordered that the Bolshevik ‘Centre’ and Proletarii along with the Mensheviks’ Golos Sotsial-demokrata be closed down. Henceforth, the two major factions were to cooperate on equal terms in the revival of the Central Organ, in a joint School Commission, in the Central Committee’s Foreign Bureau (ZBTsK) and in its new Russian Board (RBTsK). In each instance the deciding votes were to be held by representatives of the three non-Russian parties within the RSDRP – the General Jewish Workers’ Union of Lithuania, Poland and Russia (the Bund), Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania, and the Social Democratic Party of the Latvian Region. Once these organizational correctives had been taken abroad, an all-party conference was to be called by the Central Committee to investigate ways of strengthening the RSDRP within Russia itself.3 The various factions appraised the work of the ‘Unification’ Plenum differently. Most underground workers saw it as an encouraging sign that debilitating factionalism was on the wane.4 Some may even have agreed with Trotsky, who was the moving spirit behind the plenum, that it was the ‘greatest event in the history of Russian Social Democracy’.5 The Mensheviks felt that they had scored a ‘moral victory’ in Paris. But, as one historian has pointed out, they ‘barked at the Bolsheviks...but they did not bite’; they ‘allowed themselves to be so impressed by their own undoubted moral victory that they neglected to translate it into realistic power-positions and guarantees, or even to have it clearly registered in the official resolutions’.6 The Liquidators and the Vperëdists simply ignored the decisions of the plenum. The former refused to cooperate in the establishment of the illegal Russian Board while the latter went ahead with the planning of a second factional school in Bologna. To Lenin, the threeweek plenum had been ‘torture’ and an exercise in ‘idiotic conciliationism’7 in which he had been forced to make the ‘utmost concessions’ on organizational issues.8 As he had told A. V. Lunacharskii in 1906, ‘we will not permit the idea of unity to be a noose around our necks, and we shall under no circumstances permit the Mensheviks to lead us by the rope’.9 To free himself of the rope and as a direct result of the January Plenum, Lenin started working not just for a faction of ‘like-minded men’ but for a homogeneous party united behind his programme and accepting his unquestioned leadership. This was to culminate two years later in an irrevocable split and in the creation of an all-Bolshevik ‘party of the new type’ at the Prague Conference. Lenin’s efforts to reverse his defeat in 1910 were aided in no small measure by the errors and miscalculations of his rivals. The first of these came in February when I. O. Martov and F. I. Dan, the leaders of the Menshevik

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faction and their representatives on the new editorial board of Sotsial-demokrat, protested Lenin’s divisive editorial (ironically called ‘Towards Unity’) and the refusal of the other editors to print their counter-article, by withdrawing from further activities of the Central Organ. This left the party’s most prestigious paper in Lenin’s hands and he used its next 12 issues to good effect to promote the calling of the Prague Conference. Several months after the departure of Martov and Dan, Lenin suggested that Plekhanov join the editorial board. While this alliance did not materialize, the ‘father of Russian Marxism’ lent prestige to Lenin’s cause by contributing to Sotsialdemokrat throughout the rest of 1910. Perhaps even more significantly, his Party Menshevik followers in Russia increasingly cooperated with their Bolshevik counterparts on the local level. On 26 November 1910 Trotsky reiterated the January Plenum’s call for an all-party conference which he said should be convened by local and regional party organizations.10 This appeal struck a responsive chord among many Social Democrats in Russia who were tired of émigré factional strife11 and it echoed the sentiments of the Vperëdists and Party Mensheviks abroad.12 It even found support among influential German Social Democrats. ‘The only way to preserve unity’, wrote Rosa Luxemburg, ‘is to bring about a general conference of delegates from Russia, for the people in Russia all desire peace and unity, and they are the only power that can bring the fighting cocks living abroad to reason’.13 While Trotsky’s initiative ultimately resulted in the Vienna Conference in August 1912, he did nothing during the next nine months to exploit this support for an all-party conference or to organize the subordinate bodies that were needed to call it. By this inactivity, he allowed the initiative to pass to Lenin who also wanted a conference but one of an entirely different type. The Bolshevik leader was adamantly opposed to any conference that would be ‘all-party’ in Trotsky’s sense of the word, that is, encompassing everyone from the Liquidators on the right to the Vperëdists on the left. He therefore accused Trotsky of circumventing the legal party institutions, the Foreign Bureau and the Russian Board of the Central Committee, and of violating the provision of the January resolution that called for a plenum to precede a series of regional conferences, which in turn would lead to an all-party conference. Who will call the conference so that it would consist of active party members? The answer of the party is completely clear: the conference must be called by the Central Committee of our party. But there is no Central Committee, the Liquidators cry joyfully from all sides. We say this to Social Democratic workers: if there is no Central Committee, work to construct one.14

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As Lenin realized from past experience, the faction which controlled the reconstructed Central Committee (or is facsimile) would probably control the conference. Thus, while he denied the validity of Trotsky’s conference, he attempted to convene a plenum which would itself call a conference. On 5 December, Lenin and two of his principal lieutenants, G. E. Zinoviev and L. B. Kamenev, requested that the Foreign Bureau call a plenum of the Central Committee to discuss ways of unifying the party and of returning to the Bolsheviks the funds held by the German ‘trustees’. In January 1911, the ZBTsK replied that the number of Central Committee members abroad was insufficient to warrant the calling of a plenum. Lenin then turned to the Russian Board of the Central Committee, which had been dormant since its inception the previous January, with the proposal that it call a plenum abroad. This suggestion was turned down by the non-Bolshevik members of the RBTsK who insisted that any future plenum meet inside Russia. This alternative, which was not acceptable to Lenin, was forestalled in April 1911 by the arrest of the two Bolshevik representatives to the board.15 The failure of the two subordinate bodies to call a plenum gave him an excuse to act independently. Shortly after the arrest of the Bolshevik representatives, Lenin and Zinoviev invited A.S. Warski (their co-editor of Sotsial-demokrat), Leo Jogiches (Tyszka) and A. I . Rykov to a meeting in Paris to discuss plans for calling a plenum.16 This gathering duly instructed N. A. Semashko, the Bolshevik representative on the ZBTsK, to leave that body, and Rykov, as the only remaining Bolshevik member of the Russian Board, to call a meeting of all Central Committee members living abroad.17 On 26 May, Semashko, as a pretext for his departure, demanded once again that the Foreign Bureau call a plenum. The next day, as Lenin expected, the majority of the ZBTsK voted in favour of its postponement.18 Semashko then accused the bureau of being ‘undisciplined’, picked up the records and the treasury of the party and ‘rode off on a bicycle’.19 On that same day, Rykov sent the following invitation to a select group of Central Committee members: Esteemed Comrades: In view of the collapse of the Russian Board of the Central Committee (as you know), and in view of the refusal of the ZBTsK to support the calling of a Central Committee [TsK] plenum – despite this collapse and despite the clear meaning of the TsK regulations – it is the duty of the members of the TsK living abroad to take upon themselves the calling of a plenum. Taking the initiative in this matter, we invite you to attend a meeting of Central Committee members living abroad on Monday [5 June] at 3 o’clock, 110 Avenue d’Orleans, [Paris].20

22

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

Since the prerequisite for attendance was residence abroad, Lenin through Rykov was able to exclude the three Liquidator members of the Central Committee then in Russia. The meeting opened on 10 June, five days later than planned, with only eight of the 45 Central Committee members or candidates in attendance. F. M. Koigen of the Bund, who had been invited, claimed that he was too ill to attend. His colleague, M. I. Liber, said that he ‘represented himself and no one else’ and surely not the Bund.21 Before the day was out, he clashed with Lenin, walked out of the meeting and did not return. He was soon joined by the Menshevik B. I. Gorev (Gol’dman) who objected to this ‘attempt by a private group of individuals to seize power in the name of the party’.22 M. V. Ozolin remained but only with the understanding that he would abstain on most issues and that the meeting’s resolutions would not be binding on the Latvian Party which he represented. This meant that all decisions would be made by the remaining five members: Lenin, Zinoviev, Rykov, Jogiches and F. E. Dzerzhinskii (who had replaced Warski as the second Polish representative). Lenin felt that while this small gathering was ‘legally able to proclaim itself a plenum’, this was in fact stretching credulity too far.23 The delegates compromised by declaring themselves a ‘meeting of Central Committee members presently living abroad’, and gave themselves the right to consider the ‘question of restructuring the Central Committee’ and other matters of general importance.24 It soon became clear that the ‘calling of a plenum’ (as stated in the initial invitation) or the ‘restructuring of the Central Committee’ (as stated in their self-proclaimed mandate) was not the real purpose of the Paris meeting. To call a full plenum would mean co-opting additional candidates and this, Lenin concluded, was improbable under the Central Committee’s rule requiring unanimity. Even if it were possible, the time required to arrange the escape of these new members would be too great. After one and a half years of failing to reconstruct the Central Committee the party is again told ‘tomorrow’: tomorrow there will be a Central Committee – this makes mockery of the party [wrote Lenin before the Paris meeting]. We do not intend to take part in such mockery.25

The true purpose of the meeting became evident on 14 June 1911 when Lenin introduced the following resolution: The forthcoming elections to the Fourth Duma and the resurgence of the workers’ movement, on the one hand, and the intra-party situation, on the other, make it urgently necessary to call an all-party conference. Since it is impossible

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quickly to convene the TsK, which could itself call the conference, the meeting of the Central Committee members considers that it is its duty to the party to take the initiative in this matter.26

To implement this decision the meeting formed two émigré commissions, a Foreign Organizing Commission (ZOK) and a Technical Commission (TK). The Foreign Organizing Commission was given the primary responsibility for calling the conference. It was instructed: (a) to promote the election of delegates to the conference from local organizations; (b) to form a Russian Organizing Commission (ROK) from representatives of local groups ‘that would carry out all the practical work of calling the conference under the general supervision of the [Foreign] Organizing Commission’; (c) to enter into negotiations with various workers’ associations and the Social Democratic Duma fraction concerning the conference; and (d) ‘to invite all party organizations abroad to delegate one representative each to the [Foreign] Organizing Commission for joint work on the immediate convocation of the conference’.27 To clarify this last and very vital point, the Polish representatives, with the support of Rykov, inserted the following footnote: This invitation must be sent to the Party Mensheviks, the Vperëd group, the Pravda group, the Bund and the Latvian Social Democrats. As regards other tendencies [for example, the Menshevik supporters of Golos Sotsial-demokrata] taking part in the [Foreign] Organizing Commission, a suggestion to this effect by one of the above groups is sufficient for their representatives to be invited.28

This unexpected clarification was not to Lenin’s liking. It reflected the growing differences of opinion between Lenin and Zinoviev, on the one hand, and their Polish allies on the other. Earlier in the meeting, and in an effort not to exacerbate relations, Lenin had let pass Jogiches’ strongly worded protest against the manner of Semashko’s departure from the Foreign Bureau and Polish unwillingness to restructure that recalcitrant body.29 The footnote also reflected the Conciliator tendency, first seen at the January Plenum, to vote against Lenin on questions of party unity. Since the purpose of the June meeting was to call a particular type of conference, Lenin introduced an explanatory footnote of his own wherein he vigorously protested against foreign Golosites and Vperëdists being invited to the [Foreign] Organizing Commission – that is, anti-party representatives of special factions and groups...who are capable only of activity against the party, only of obstructing work...30

24

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

This momentous, if blatantly illegal, meeting closed on a happier note by approving an appeal to the party: We appeal to all party organizations and groups without distinction as to faction or direction: comrades, discuss our resolutions, tie yourselves to the [Foreign] Organizing Commission...and quickly begin practical work for calling the conference which alone can unite the party and prepare it for the forthcoming struggle.31

Thus while Lenin had denied Trotsky’s right seven months earlier to call a conference without the authorization of the Central Committee, he himself did precisely that in June. Trotsky was furious. He accused the Bolshevik leader of ‘usurping the name of the party’ in an effort to ‘demoralize and smash the party’.32 The Foreign Bureau, whose functions had in part been taken over by the new Technical Commission, suggested on 31 July 1911 that all émigré organizations and newspaper editors meet to discuss counter-measures.33 The Bolsheviks and the Poles, not surprisingly, ignored the invitation; the Vperëdists remained aloof while Plekhanov responded that he ‘did not have the time or the desire to take part in what is in our party jargon called “intraparty squabbles”’.34 The six delegates that did show up at the Café Bubenberg in Bern on 2 September included two – Liber and Gorev – who had walked out of Lenin’s gathering two and a half months earlier. They were joined by Trotsky, Dan, K. I. Elias and a Latvian named Ludas. This far-from-imposing group denied the right of the June meeting ‘to speak and act in the name of the RSDRP’ and accused it of trying to carry out ‘an internal party coup’ and of ‘a crude violation of all standards of party life’.35 It too came to the conclusion that an ‘all-party conference’ was essential and authorized the initiative of the Caucasus Oblast Committee, the Central Committee of the Bund, and the Latvian Central Committee in setting up a three-man ‘Organizational Committee’ to call this conference. Except for adding several Mensheviks to their number, however, the members of this Organizational Committee did nothing to fulfil their mandate until January 1912 and the conference which they ultimately called did not meet until the following August. By then Lenin had long since stolen a march at Prague. Another error of his rivals, which Lenin exploited, was the failure of the Mensheviks and the Vperëdists to participate in the work of the School Commission set up by the January Plenum. This allowed the Bolsheviks to use the name and the money of the commission to convene their own party school at Longjumeau outside of Paris in the summer of 1911. It was at this school, which attracted 18 Social Democratic students, that Lenin screened, trained and indoctrinated the relatively unknown party workers who were to organize

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and in large measure comprise the Prague Conference. The importance of this reservoir of new talent became evident when relations with the new Technical and Foreign Organizing Commissions rapidly deteriorated. Contrary to Lenin’s initial expectation, he did not control the two bodies created by his pseudoplenum in June. The one Leninist on the three-man Technical Commission and the two Bolsheviks on the five-man Foreign Organizing Commission could be outvoted by their Polish and Conciliator colleagues.36 Almost from the start there were disagreements with the Technical Commission over the allocation and accountability of party funds. On 3 July Lenin and four other leading Bolsheviks – in what was probably a bluff – threatened to break off all relations with the commission.37 The Technical Commission responded by issuing a statement in which it disavowed all ‘responsibility for the organizational policies of the Bolshevik-Leninists’ and attacked those ‘methods of party rebuilding in which ideological differences are suppressed by organizational means’.38 The commission reiterated the June appeal for a genuine all-party conference of all factions, including the non-Liquidator Mensheviks, and invited all groups to join it in organizing such a conference. To avoid ‘a genuine all-party conference’ and to circumvent the uncooperative foreign commissions, Lenin sent three Longjumeau students – I. I Shvarts, B. A. Breslav and G. K. Ordzhonikidze – to Russia with instructions to establish the ‘Russian Organizing Commission’. It will be recalled that, according to the resolution of the June meeting, this commission was to carry out all the ‘practical work of organizing the conference’ under the ‘general supervision’ of the Foreign Organizing Commission which, by implication, would appoint it. In practice, however, only Ordzhonikidze’s trip was authorized by the parent body. To check up on the activities of Lenin’s protégés, the commission sent Rykov, one of its members and a leading Conciliator, to Moscow in mid-August. Before his report could be received, he was arrested on information provided by a police agent employed by the Technical Commission.39 His report would not have been reassuring. Breslav was at this time busy scouring Moscow and St. Petersburg for trusted Leninists both for the Russian Organizing Commission and for the conference it was to call. Shvarts was on a similar mission in the Urals while Ordzhonikidze was touring Ukraine and the Caucasus. The absence of a viable Russian centre and regional organizations not only made their work more difficult, in that they lacked contacts and organizational support, but it also facilitated manipulation and fraud. Using leaflets and money initially provided by the Foreign Organizing Commission, the Bolsheviks were able ‘to create the impression before the Russian organizations and the Russian workers, who wanted unity, that all groups except the Leninists were fighting against the Organizing Commission and consequently hindering unity’.40

26

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

Local organizations, many of them long inactive and isolated from events abroad, passed resolutions favouring the creation of a new Russian centre and the calling of an ‘all-party’ conference.41 By September, the Leninists’ supply of money and promotional literature was running out. On 29 August/11 September Ordzhonikidze wrote to the Foreign Organizing Commission charging that it had failed to answer almost a dozen of his communications during the past month.42 A week later Shvarts informed Krupskaya that he was desperately in need of money.43 S. G. Shaumian, a leading Caucasian Bolshevik, summed up local party feeling concerning relations with the émigré commissions in another letter to Krupskaya. Your silence has been especially sad with respect to S-o [‘Sergo’ Ordzhonikidze]... For nearly a month this man has been left in ignorance and without money for continuing his work. He has tried to operate under the most terrible conditions. In view of the attitude of the [Z]OK toward party matters and comrades, we have very little faith in its efficiency... These relations [with the ZOK] have aroused indignation in all comrades.44

In late September the hand-picked representatives of various local organizations finally began to assemble in Baku for the formal establishment of the Russian Organizing Commission. Police raids in that city on 28 and 30 September/11 and 13 October, however, forced the delegates to flee to Tiflis, where on 3/16 October they reconvened in the apartment of Elena Stasova. Only three delegates claiming to represent four organizations were in attendance along with seven non-voting consultants. The most notable absentees were the representatives from Moscow and St. Petersburg who had been detained by the police. Nevertheless, the delegates declared themselves to be the ‘Russian Organizing Commission for calling an all-party conference’.45 The next day they discussed a possible agenda for the conference and established certain minimum requirements for the election of delegates.46 The ROK also issued carefully worded invitations to the national parties and the legal worker associations but reserved for itself the right to determine which of these non-Bolshevik organizations should be represented at the conference. Discussion then turned to their relations with the increasingly uncooperative Foreign Organizing Commission. Ordzhonikidze reported that all the local delegates felt that the continued existence of the ZOK would yield nothing useful, that it was surrounded by too many quarrels, and that our entry into formal relations with it over matters which concerned only local organizations would be an impediment.47

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He opposed, however, breaking off relations with the commission. In its final resolution the ROK pointed out ‘to the ZOK and the Technical Commission that henceforth no literature or other statements [involving] the expenditure of party funds are permissible without the consent, agreement and instruction of the ROK’.48 The Russian Organizing Commission closed its sessions in Tiflis on 6/19 October with an appeal to all party workers: The Russian Organizing Commission begins with resolute faith the great task of party reconstruction, the foundation of which will be the all-party conference, and calls upon all party elements to rally around it in executing the historic task of reviving the RSDRP. To work, comrades! Down with clannishness, factionalism, squabbling and quarrelling; Long live the united, illegal revolutionary RSDRP.49

The formation of the Russian Organizing Commission served three purposes. First, it provided in itself a temporary but urgently needed Russian centre for the coordination and supervision of legal and illegal party activities inside Imperial Russia. Second, it became the main force behind the calling of the Prague Conference. Finally, the ROK provided a means of restraining and circumventing the increasingly divergent powers of the foreign commissions. Immediately after its formation, Shvarts and Spandarian left on a tour of Imperial Russia in pursuit of the first two objectives. Ordzhonikidze, who had emerged as the leader of the Russian Organizing Commission, left for western Europe to enforce the new edicts against the conciliatory commissions. By the time Ordzhonikidze arrived in Paris on 8 November, he found the Bolshevik representatives had walked out of both commissions after they had refused to subordinate themselves to the Russian Organizing Commission. When Ordzhonikidze met with the three remaining members of the Foreign Organizing Commission on 12 November, it seemed at first that they were willing to be guided by the decisions of the ROK and to instruct the Technical Commission to hand over the necessary funds for the calling of the conference.50 When he asked that money be sent to help Shvarts escape from St. Petersburg, however, his request was denied. The hapless Bolshevik organizer was arrested on 24 November/7 December. Shortly thereafter the Foreign Organizing Commission made one last effort to reassert its authority over the body that was to have operated under its ‘general supervision’. In an ‘Open Letter to the ROK’, the ZOK set forth, in very lucid form, all the violations of the Russian Organizing Commission. Among the enumerated sins were: calling the conference too quickly, organizing without the participation

28

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

of representatives from Moscow, St. Petersburg, Poland and Latvia, refusing to obey the instructions of the ZOK and delegating membership in the ROK to a small Leninist circle at the expense of long-established party elements.51 Ordzhonikidze did not even try to answer these charges; he simply severed all relations between the ROK and the foreign commissions.52 The howls of protest that emanated from the two commissions were like ‘voices crying in the wilderness’. The Mensheviks wasted little sympathy on the Polish and Conciliator members of these ‘Bonapartist creations’53 who they felt had received their just deserts for having tried to treat with the devil. Their participation in Sotsial-demokrat and the June meeting, not to mention their hesitant early support of the Russian Organizing Commission, gave Lenin the votes he had needed and the appearance that his conference would in fact be ‘all-party’. Had they instead joined with the Menshevik Organizational Committee the previous summer, Lenin would have been left isolated and discredited. Now the reverse was true. Even the Okhrana sensed that Lenin’s victory was complete. One must conclude that as a result of their actions the group of Conciliators is no longer able to influence party matters. Thus, the Russian Organizing Commission, completely ignoring relations with its foreign centres, is able to have its own way in preparing for a strictly Leninist conference.54

During the remaining month of 1911 Lenin turned his attention to the formation of a new Committee of Foreign Organizations in Paris that would take over some of the former duties of the Foreign Bureau and also coordinate Bolshevik groups abroad.55 Ordzhonikidze and Krupskaya concentrated on last-minute arrangements for the Prague Conference – lining up mandates, sending instructions to the remaining members of the Russian Organizing Committee, arranging for border crossings and accommodation in Prague. *

*

*

Lenin had chosen Prague, a city in which he had pleasantly spent an earlier period of emigration, as the site of his conference primarily for reasons of conspiracy. Not only was it close to the Russian frontier, it was also relatively free of the inquisitive Russian émigrés and tsarist police spies who plagued the capitals of western Europe where such conferences were usually held. Lenin stressed in a letter to Antonin Nemec, one of the leaders of the Czech Social Democratic Party, that ‘it is very important for us to organize the affair arch-conspiratorially. No one, not even a single organization, must get wind of it’.56

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Delegates from Russia arrived in the Bohemian capital by roundabout routes and were assigned rooms in the homes of Czech Social Democrats. In their leisure hours before the conference convened, they frequently met in the lobby of the Hotel Belveder to discuss the situation in the party. They soon realized that the Prague Conference was not going to be like previous party gatherings. Where were the bright, if ideologically flickering lights of Russian Social Democracy? Ordzhonikidze confirmed that Plekhanov, Trotsky, Aksel’rod, Martov and the other leaders of the party either had not been invited or had not accepted on Bolshevik terms. The young and politically unsophisticated Russians, some of whom had not been indoctrinated in Lenin’s meaning of ‘unity’ and ‘party’, felt that ‘the conference was restricted within too narrow limits, and that some divergence from orthodoxy ought to be represented at [the] deliberations’.57 Thus, without Lenin’s knowledge, six of the local delegates issued ten new invitations to the various national parties and to the editors of Pravda, Vperëd and Dnevnik Sotsial-demokrata;58 invitations which, if accepted, would have changed the entire character of Lenin’s conference. One of those present rather imaginatively recalled Lenin’s reaction: Some days later Sergo [Ordzhonikidze], looking greatly alarmed, rushed breathlessly into our lodging. ‘Get dressed quickly,’ he said. ‘Comrade Lenin has arrived, and is in a great wax. Aie! Aie!’ Sergo clicked his tongue, whistled through his teeth, and shook his head. ‘He is scalding mad and swearing like a trooper’... Lenin greeted us coldly... ‘So, that’s it, eh? You propose to call an open Conference? With Plekhanov, I suppose; with Martov and Dan?... ‘Include, include. You have every right to include whom you like. It is a pity only that you did not first ask our group if we were willing to sit at the same table with your invited guests!... Every man to his own opinion. You unite and we disunite. You open your Conference and we will open our own; another one, a different one, not with you but against you! Good-bye!’59

Fortunately for Lenin, most of these invitations arrived too late. Trotsky and the national groups refused, the Vperëd editors said they would like to send an observer, and Plekhanov remarked that ‘the composition of your conference is so uniform that it would be better for me, that is, conforming with the interests of a unified party, not to participate’.60 In the end, this episode worked to Lenin’s advantage since it provided convenient evidence that he intended to call an ‘all-party’ conference. On the morning of 18 January 1912, the long-awaited conference, in which Lenin placed so many of his hopes, convened at the Workers’ House of the

30

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Czech Social Democratic Party. This long, grey and rather impressive building at No. 7 Hybernska Street had formerly been the Kinsky Palace. Now it served as the printing office for Pravo Lidu and a place where Czech workers could discuss their problems over a bottle of beer. Their frequent coming and going made a convenient cover for a revolutionary gathering. The delegates would enter the large courtyard and then climb two flights of stone stairs to a room on the third floor where the meetings were held. In this modest room, with its three windows overlooking the tiled roofs of Prague, were a small table for the presidium, benches and chairs for the delegates, stacks of illegal literature along the walls, and a bust of Karl Marx on the bookcase.61 It was here that the Prague Conference (or Sixth Party Conference as it was known in Soviet nomenclature) met for the next 13 days. Of the 18 delegates at the conference, 14 claimed to represent ten local organizations inside Russia. In considering the constitutionality of the conference, the delegates pointed out that ten other organizations either had elected representatives who had been arrested or had expressed solidarity with the aims of the meeting. This statement of supposed fact was later inflated in the Short Course so that ‘over twenty party organizations were represented’ at Prague.62 N. N. Popov went one step further in asserting that ‘practically all the illegal organizations in existence at the time were represented’.63 The statement has also been deflated. Leon Trotsky not only denied the comprehensiveness of the conference’s representation but also challenged the legality of the mandates possessed by those delegates that did attend. According to Lenin’s chief rival, only one of the 14 delegates had been legitimately elected by a recognized party organization. An examination of the credentials of these delegates would indicate that Trotsky was closer to the truth. None had been elected by regional or national organizations, as specified in the party statutes; and very few, despite the inflated assertions of the delegates themselves, even met the ROK’s minimal requirements of having been elected by an organization of 30 or more members that had been in existence for at least two months. Moscow had the dubious honour of sending the largest and the most questionable delegation. F. I. Goloshchekin went to the former Russian capital in early December and, on Lenin’s instructions, formed a five-member group which called itself the ‘Moscow Committee’. This group promptly elected Goloshchekin and a female newspaper editor as its representatives to the conference. The latter, however, felt that her husband was too ill for her to go abroad, so she gave her mandate to Goloshchekin who subsequently transferred it to Zinoviev, then residing in Paris.64 The other Moscow delegate, R. V. Malinovskii, was an agent of the police as was A. S. Romanov from Tula. The two delegates from St. Petersburg, E. P. Onufriev and P. A. Zalutskii, owed their election to Shvarts’ visit to the capital on behalf of the Russian Organizing Commission in October. The first was chosen by a mass meeting

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at the Putilov Works (rather than by a party organization) and the second by an ad hoc ‘St. Petersburg Committee’ which passed out of existence after his election.65 Ordzhonikidze himself claimed to represent one of four Social Democratic organizations in Tiflis while S. S. Spandarian, who was sent by that city to the ROK, showed up in Prague claiming that he was elected by 200 workers in Baku. This was contested by a correspondent to Trotsky’s Pravda: Your newspaper recently carried the news that an all-Russian conference had met abroad where, to our great surprise, there took part a delegate from Baku... We declare we know nothing about the electing or delegating of this ‘delegate’; the only thing we know is what the newspapers say. Who was elected and by whom was his mandate provided without the knowledge of the local organization are questions whose answers must be sought from the Bolsheviks... We do know that a letter was received from...comrade S. [Ordzhonikidze] by one of his followers... which said: ‘comrades, quickly elect a delegate to the conference, make all efforts to elect a Bolshevik, but in no event elect a Menshevik’. Herein is buried the answer to the question of how the ‘delegate’ was elected.66

A. K. Voronskii, who was a member of the Nikolaev organization, received a letter from Lenin’s sister in Saratov offering him ‘the opportunity’ to represent that city which he had visited briefly the previous winter.67 Nikolaev sent L. P. Serebriakov who, according to Trotsky, ‘was delegated by a circle of Leninists without the knowledge of the [local] collective’ which in any case numbered less than a dozen workers.68 A. I. Dogadov claimed to represent the otherwise dormant organization in Kazan which he visited after concluding his studies at Longjumeau. Another Longjumeau student, 18-year-old M. I. Gurovich, held a questionable mandate from a hitherto unknown organization in Vilna-Dvinsk. It is interesting to note that the only two nonBolshevik delegates – I. D. Zevin from Ekaterinoslav and D. M. Shvartsman from Kiev, both Party Mensheviks – had the most authentic mandates.69 In addition to these 14 delegates, supposedly from local organizations, there were also four non-voting representatives from various émigré groups: Lenin, Kamenev, Semashko and O. A. Piatnitskii. The average age of the 18 delegates was 27.8, they had been in the party for an average of 8.8 years, a third of them were Jewish and half claimed to be workers by profession.70 Perhaps the most important statistic is that all but two were Bolsheviks and that eight had attended the Longjumeau school.71 While Trotsky might have been technically correct concerning the legality of their mandates, more to the point is that Lenin had succeeded through the machinations of the Russian Organizing Commission in assembling what he thought was a compliant group of ‘likeminded men’. He had proved himself a master of the arcane art of calling a party conference.

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Despite the fact that the conference had not been called by the Central Committee as party rules stipulated, that none of the national organizations was present, that the Mensheviks, Vperëdists and Trotskyites were conspicuously absent, and that most of the representatives in attendance had questionable mandates, few objections were raised in Prague concerning the conference’s constitutionality. Only Zevin, with the hesitant support of Shvartsman, suggested that the representation of the meeting was too limited for it to constitute itself ‘all-party’. He declared that legally it should be called a ‘conference of representatives from Russian organizations’ without the authority of a party conference.72 The other delegates, however, backed Lenin in constituting themselves ‘as an all-party conference of the RSDRP – the highest organ of the party’. As such, the Prague Conference assumed the right of a party congress to change the rules of the party, to elect its executive bodies, and to pass binding resolutions. In Lenin’s mind the raison d’être of the conference had always been to reconstruct the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party and, as much as possible, to equate the Bolshevik faction with the party. To do this, it was first necessary to determine who were Russian Social Democrats. There was no disagreement that the Liquidators were not Social Democrats. One of the Party Mensheviks even questioned the need for the conference to discuss relations with them, since everyone realized they had ceased to be Social Democrats. Lenin, however, wished to finish the work of the January Plenum, which had condemned Liquidationism as a tendency, by formally excluding them from the party. He therefore introduced a resolution whereby the delegates declared ‘that through its own conduct the group around Nasha zaria and Delo zhizni has once and for all placed itself outside the party’. It is important to note the mild terminology and limited scope of the resolution. Those connected with the two legal journals, which to the delegates at Prague were synonymous with Liquidationism, were not expelled (izgnat’) but had merely ‘placed themselves outside’ the party (postavila sebia vne).73 Furthermore, the resolution applied only to the extreme right-wing of Menshevism and not to the Golosite Mensheviks, the Trotskyites, the Vperëdists or the Conciliators. By implication at least, these factions were still defined as ‘Social Democratic’. This rather broad definition of ‘Social Democratic’ was qualified, however, by another less well-known resolution concerning party organizations abroad. All foreign groups, without exception, may communicate with Russian organizations only through the TsK. The conference states that groups abroad not subordinating themselves to the Russian centre for Social Democratic work, that is the TsK, and causing disorganization by communicating with Russia independently of the TsK, are not able to use the name of the RSDRP.74

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If the TsK were composed only of Bolsheviks then the other factions could either surrender their independence and operate through Lenin’s Central Committee or, as was more likely, they could operate outside of it and thus place themselves, like the Liquidators, outside the RSDRP. The conference implied that a future meeting would be called to determine whether this resolution had been obeyed and, if it had not, to carry it to its logical conclusion. The combination of these two resolutions was an astute manoeuvre on the part of Lenin. He realized that the local delegates at Prague were not prepared to expel Trotsky, Martov and Bogdanov from the party. He also recognized that they considered factionalism abroad to be the major deterrent to party unity and efficiency in Russia. By explicitly expelling only the Liquidators and by placing the remaining non-Bolshevik factions in an untenable position, he was able to achieve the same result of equating Bolshevism with Social Democracy and the Bolshevik faction with the revolutionary name of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party. This is not to say, as some Soviet historians have said,75 that the Prague Conference expelled all the Mensheviks, Trotskyites and Vperëdists from the party. Lenin’s opponents had too much prestige, his delegates had too many scruples, and he himself was too sensible to take such an overt action when the same result could be achieved by more devious means. After requisitioning the name of the RSDRP, the conference proceeded to abscond with the other ‘hard’ name – that of the Central Committee. The old Central Committee, which had been in eclipse since the January Plenum, was declared non-existent. The delegates, on the basis of their selfappointed powers as the ‘highest organ of the party’, then named a new Central Committee composed in large part of Lenin’s most experienced and loyal followers. Of its seven members, five (Lenin, Zinoviev, Ordzhonikidze, Spandarian and Goloshchekin) had been active in calling the conference, one (Shvartsman) represented the Party Mensheviks inside Russia, and one (Malinovskii) ‘represented’ the Okhrana.76 The conference also named five candidates (Shaumian, Stasova, A. S. Bubnov, A. P. Smirnov and M. I. Kalinin) who would be advanced to the Central Committee if any member of that body were arrested. And four of the Central Committee members – Malinovskii, Ordzhonikidze, Spandarian and Goloshchekin – were instructed to work inside Russia as the Russian Bureau of the TsK. To this new Russian ‘centre’ was named J. V. Stalin, a relatively unknown Georgian Bolshevik then in gaol. The conference also confirmed the Committee of Foreign Organizations as the party bureau abroad. It emphasized, however, that both it and the Russian Bureau were to be subordinate in all matters to the Central Committee.77

34

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In order to facilitate the calling of future conferences, the Prague Conference legalized some of the questionable methods employed by Lenin in 1911. Point 8 in the party rules, which called for periodic meetings (soveshchenie) with the representatives of the national organizations, was reworded so that the emphasis was on conferences (konferentsiia) of local organizations. The norm of representation for future congresses was to be decided by the Central Committee in consultation with local representatives rather than at the former rate of one delegate per 1000 party members (point 9). The conference also altered the party rules to allow co-optation to the Central Committee without requiring unanimity.78 Under this provision, Lenin was able to co-opt Stalin and I. S. Belostotskii (another Longjumeau graduate) shortly after the conference. These changes in the organizational structure and regulations primarily affected the superstructure of the party. Considerable attention was also given to the organizational tactics on the local party level. Time and again the conference reiterated the importance and the correctness of the old formula for combining legal and illegal activities under the direction of an illegal, highly centralized party. It stressed, however, that conditions had changed since this formula had been devised in 1908. Now the resurgence in the worker movement required more energy, flexibility and ingenuity in the area of steadfast ‘legal’ Social Democratic work.79 This did not mean, however, that the party was moving away from illegal activity or that it had reassessed trade unionism, cooperatives or Duma participation as more suitable avenues to power. These legal opportunities were to serve as ‘fronts’ behind which and through which the party could increase political consciousness and its own control over the restive proletarian movement. Soviet scholars sought to portray the conference as obedient to Lenin’s every wish and placid in most of its debates. This is not entirely so. Zevin on occasion introduced objections ‘in the name of Plekhanov’ and voted against some of Lenin’s resolutions.80 From the relatively recent publication of the incomplete minutes of the conference, it is evident that other delegates from Russia time and again protested attempts by the émigré superstructure to dictate party policy and to control party operations. The familiar picture of the geometric Lenin and the monolithic Bolshevik Party is out of focus when these minutes are looked at closely.81 In the end, however, the organizational changes Lenin wanted were adopted, perhaps on division, and an all-Bolshevik ‘party of the new type’ was created. Unlike at earlier party congresses, the Prague delegates did not engage in substantive discussion on programmatic issues nor did they suggest any doctrinal innovations. Most of the conference’s non-organizational resolutions dealt with either tactical problems (for example, how to conduct

THE ART OF CALLING A PARTY CONFERENCE (PRAGUE, 1912)

35

the forthcoming Duma election campaign) or topical issues (the overthrow of the Manchu dynasty) and are of less interest a century later. *

*

*

Outside of Prague, Lenin’s ‘raid on the party’82 created a storm of protest. Non-Bolshevik émigrés were unanimous in condemning the conference and in restating their legitimate claims to be Social Democrats. Lunacharskii called the conference a ‘subterfuge’83 and a Vperëdist newspaper asked whether ‘this small group of Lenin’s followers, representing only a scanty insignificant part of the party, had the right to proclaim themselves the highest organ of the party’.84 Plekhanov refused to associate himself with the conference and disavowed the two Party Mensheviks who spoke in his name. Vorwärts, the organ of the German Social Democratic Party, attacked the conference editorially and the Bureau of the Socialist International raised some critical questions about its legality.85 On 13 March, representatives of six anti-Leninist groups met in Paris to coordinate their opposition. They declared that the ‘conference was a clear attempt at usurping the banner of the party by a group of persons who are deliberately leading the party toward a split’. Local organizations were told to ignore both its resolutions and its elected bodies and to send their delegates instead to the conference that Trotsky was organizing in Vienna in order to repair the damage done by the Leninists in Prague and if possible to reunify the party.86 Lenin ignored the subsequent Vienna Conference87 and concentrated instead on the rising unrest in Russia and on the possibilities of publishing a new legal newspaper in St. Petersburg. Even the police recognized that he had stolen a march on his rivals. ‘According to agents’ information’, reported the Okhrana in the summer of 1912, the only well-organized and cohesive faction in the RSDRP at the present time is the Bolshevik-Leninist faction. They established their ‘all-Russian’ Conference, they have their Central Committee, their illegal organs abroad and legal ones in Russia, they have their committees.88

CHAPTER 3 Lenin and Pravda, 1912–1914* In 1962 a gathering of Soviet historians at the Academy of Sciences chose the fiftieth anniversary of Pravda’s founding to call attention to certain shortcomings in Soviet scholarship concerning V. I. Lenin’s leadership of the famous Bolshevik daily. It was noted that although a considerable amount had been written on Lenin’s literary contributions to the paper, insufficient attention had been paid to the problem of its political leadership during the crucial two years before the war.1 This observation heralded the publication of several detailed studies that predictably found that Stalin, Molotov and certain other ‘conciliatory elements’ within Pravda’s editorial board had hindered Lenin’s efforts to complete the work of the Prague Conference in equating the Bolshevik faction with the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party.2 These studies minimized, however, the degree of his dissatisfaction with the paper and the hostility which his efforts to control Pravda engendered among its editors. Moreover, no Soviet historians and very few of their Western counterparts questioned the basic assumptions that Lenin was instrumental in founding Pravda and that through it he stimulated and directed the growing unrest that characterized Russia’s pre-war industrial society. The reticence of Soviet historians to question the ‘Pravda legend’ might be understandable. But it is harder to explain why Western scholars ignored the wealth of material found in Lenin’s published correspondence and in the resolutions of his Central Committee that would indicate that the relations between the Bolshevik leader and his famous newspaper were anything but smooth and harmonious.3 The basic reason for Lenin’s difficulties with Pravda was that he in fact had very little to do with its creation and thus had little control over its initial operation. When the Mensheviks first broached the idea of establishing a legal workers’ daily in late 1910, Lenin was unenthusiastic and uncooperative. He said that a legal newspaper would give the workers of Russia the impression * An expanded version of this chapter first appeared in the Slavic Review 31, no. 2 ( June 1972): 355–80.

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that lasting political change could be obtained through legal, evolutionary means. Moreover, he felt that such a venture would be both expensive and impractical, owing to the restraints placed on newspapers by the tsarist press law.4 Unstated but fundamental in his decision was the realization that since at that time he did not control the organizational machinery of the party, it was highly unlikely that he could dominate a major undertaking such as the creation of a daily newspaper inside Russia. The idea of a workers’ newspaper evoked a warmer response among trade unionists and party members in St. Petersburg. Zvezda, the semi-Bolshevik weekly publication of the Social Democratic Duma fraction, established a commission in April 1911 to explore the matter and carried extensive correspondence regarding its feasibility. The consensus of this discussion was that a daily workers’ newspaper was indeed needed to unite the scattered proletariat in the capital as well as to win back the worker-readers who, in the absence of other alternatives, bought cheap and readable but non-Social Democratic papers such as Gazeta kopeika and Sovremennoe slovo. Many workers stressed, however, that the proposed paper should be written by the workers themselves, unlike the abortive attempts at legal dailies during the 1905–1907 period that were written by members of the intelligentsia either for their own consumption or in a condescending manner ‘for the workers’. It was noted that in papers of the latter kind the editors avoided contentious or theoretical questions which they felt the workers either were not interested in or would not understand. At the same time, the proponents of a legal daily wanted to avoid the excessive attention given to factional politics by the illegal émigré newspapers which reached St. Petersburg irregularly and in small numbers from abroad. What was needed, according to the editors of Zvezda, was a cheap daily, run by the workers themselves, written in reasonably simple language, void of factional squabbling, but nevertheless taking a Social Democratic approach to all of the important issues facing the growing Russian proletariat.5 This sentiment was communicated to Lenin by St. Petersburg workers both at the Longjumeau school during the summer of 1911 and at the Prague Conference in January 1912.6 At the latter gathering, some of the delegates criticized the existing illegal press and in their own name wrote to Maxim Gorky asking for financial and organizational assistance in ‘setting up in Russia a daily Social Democratic kopek newspaper’.7 Although the conference did not pass a formal resolution on the question, it was approved in principle and received Lenin’s qualified support.8 The Bolshevik leader reversed his earlier position for at least four reasons. First, as a result of the conference, he now controlled what purported to be the official machinery of the party in the form of a new, Bolshevik-dominated Central Committee and its Russian Bureau. Second, he was in the process of shifting his overall

LENIN AND PRAVDA, 1912–1914

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emphasis towards operating through so-called legal opportunities, as a result of the underground’s lack of productivity and the concurrent easing up of the government’s restrictions on legal trade unions, the open press, and so forth. Moreover, the most important of these legal opportunities was the State Duma; and the Bolsheviks, who had largely ignored the Third Duma, were determined to exploit the agitational potential of the forthcoming elections to the Fourth Duma. ‘Everyone realizes’, Lenin later wrote in Pravda, ‘that without a [daily workers’] newspaper, participation in the elections would be virtually a sham. A newspaper is the chief weapon in the election campaign, the chief means for Marxist agitation among the masses’.9 Finally, Lenin probably felt that a popular newspaper under his control would help to complete the work of the Prague Conference in expelling all the nonBolshevik elements from the RSDRP.10 Immediately after the conference, Lenin and two other members of his new Central Committee, S. S. Spandarian and R. V. Malinovskii, went to Leipzig where they met on 19 January/1 February 1912 with N. G. Poletaev and V. E. Shurkanov, who represented the Social Democratic group in the Third Duma. Poletaev, moreover, was the publisher of Zvezda and a leading exponent of a daily newspaper. The chief question under discussion, according to the police,11 was precisely the publication of a Bolshevik daily and more particularly the acquisition of the necessary financial support for such a venture. The proposal was once again approved in principle, and the Central Committee promised 1,000 rubles for its support and suggested that Zvezda turn to wealthy private individuals for the remainder. After this moderately encouraging discussion, Poletaev returned to St. Petersburg to make the necessary preparations concerning the paper’s editorial guidance, financing and nomenclature. The first question was resolved in early February when a meeting of six or seven of Zvezda’s leading contributors decided that they themselves would direct the future newspaper, perhaps in cooperation with some of the Party Menshevik followers of George Plekhanov.12 The meeting also determined that 10,000 to 12,000 rubles would be needed to launch the new paper. It is part of the Pravda legend that this money was raised solely from amongst the Russian workers. In fact, the fundraising campaign that Zvezda started in February collected only 3,858 rubles (or 30 per cent of the total sum) from this source.13 The Central Committee, besides its initial 1,000 rubles, contributed an additional 3,000 rubles in two instalments during March and early April. For the remaining money Zvezda turned to wealthy sympathizers. Gorky, in response to the request of the Prague delegates, contributed 2,000 rubles but was pessimistic about finding further money from among his bourgeois acquaintances, who he felt ‘looked on such a publication only as a means

40

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of curbing worker socialists and of turning them into worker liberals’ and would therefore present unacceptable conditions in return for their financial support.14 Poletaev did, however, find one other wealthy contributor. On 20 March 1912 he wrote to the Central Committee that ‘the heir of a certain factory owner’ had promised 3,000 rubles for the venture.15 It is interesting to speculate whether this unnamed ‘heir’ was V. A. Tikhomirnov. Tikhomirnov, the son of a successful Kazan merchant, had inherited some 300,000 rubles. He joined the Social Democratic Party in 1906, was arrested three years later, and in 1911 went abroad, where he saw Lenin before returning to St. Petersburg in 1912. According to one early Soviet source, ‘he gave his material support’ for the founding of a daily Bolshevik newspaper, though the size and the recipient of this legacy are left unstated.16 Thus, although the paper was not ‘created exclusively by the workers’ own means’ as Pravda claimed17 and Soviet historians asserted, neither is there evidence that it was financed by the Okhrana as Groza and other right-wing contemporary newspapers charged and some Western biographers maintain.18 On 10 April 1912, after having collected the stipulated 12,000 rubles, Poletaev received a permit to publish a daily newspaper called Pravda. The name was not his first choice. Originally the intention had been to transform Zvezda into a daily. Indeed, that paper increased its frequency to twice weekly on 21 January and to three times a week on 8 March. At the same time, its circulation climbed from 7,000 to around 30,000. This scheme, however, had two drawbacks. Zvezda was an old-style intelligentsia newspaper: its articles were long, abstract, and neither particularly comprehensible nor enjoyable for the new audience the editors wanted to attract. Second and more important, Zvezda had run afoul of the censor in January. The result was a court decision, confirmed by the Senate in April, that the paper had to be closed and the use of its name terminated. This left the émigré leaders in a quandary. Lenin, for a time, thought that the new paper would be called ‘Izvestiia’, and G. E. Zinoviev was upset when he heard that the editors might expropriate the title of the Bolsheviks’ foreign journal, Rabochaia gazeta.19 Since any name chosen had to be approved by the Press Commission, other traditional titles of party newspapers (Sotsial-demokrat, Proletarii) were discarded as unnecessary provocations. Still others were turned down because they were either already in use or were reserved for prospective publications. While perusing a list of approved titles, Poletaev noticed that an option to print a ‘religious-moralistic’ newspaper called Pravda had been granted to an official of the Holy Synod. Since the option had been allowed to lapse, Poletaev approached the official in question and received his permission to use the title to publish a daily newspaper of rather different orientation.20 Poletaev, of course, was well aware that Leon

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Trotsky had been publishing a paper of the same name for the past four years in Vienna. The fact that Trotsky’s Pravda, which was written in the workers’ idiom and preached party unity, was quite clearly the most popular of the émigré papers reaching the Russian workers served as an added, if unpremeditated inducement to publish a paper by this name.21 *

*

*

The first issue of the St. Petersburg Pravda appeared on 22 April 1912. It had four pages and cost two kopeks.22 On the first and second pages were five short articles, mostly concerning economic matters, and two proletarian poems. On the remaining two pages were the beginnings of special, and later very popular, feature sections – ‘Chronicle’, ‘In the Workers Movement’, ‘Strikes in Progress’, ‘Duma Affairs’, and so forth – that were mostly contributed by the workers themselves. The masthead listed as editor one M. E. Egorov and the publisher, Poletaev. Egorov (like the 42 other nonentities who followed him) was the responsible or ‘sitting’ editor (sitz-redakteur) whose sole function was to go to jail when necessary to save the party from paying a large fine or losing a valuable but unpublicized member of the editorial staff.23 The publisher, who was the legal owner of the paper and controller of its finances, had to be individually responsible if not journalistically competent. The party often chose its publishers from among the members of the Social Democratic Duma fraction, who had the additional advantage of having parliamentary immunity. Also listed on the masthead of the first issue of Pravda were its contributors, among them Gorky,24 Rosa Luxemburg, Plekhanov,25 Lenin (under his pseudonym ‘Il’in’), Zinoviev and L. B. Kamenev. The masthead did not list, for obvious reasons, the Social Democratic secretary of the editorial board (at first F. F. Raskolnikov and after his arrest in May 1912, V. M. Molotov), who took care of the secret correspondence with the Central Committee abroad, or the actual editors who decided editorial policy and selected articles for publication.26 Pravda initially was a great success. During April and May, between 40,000 and 60,000 copies of each issue were sold, and the editors even managed to make a profit of several hundred rubles on retail sales and a modest amount of beer, cigarette and book advertising.27 Its appearance coincided with the sharp increase in worker unrest that followed the shooting of the Lena gold miners on 4 April 1912. During the month that followed, over a quarter million workers went out on strike. Pravda served to illuminate, reflect and intensify this unrest. Even abroad the paper met with a favourable reception. Martov wrote to Aksel’rod on 16 May that the new ‘Bolshevik daily Pravda has taken a very moderate tone and even spouts unity phrases’.28

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The one person who was strangely quiet about the appearance of Pravda was Lenin. The first issue contained neither his greetings nor an article from his pen. Indeed, no article by the Bolshevik leader appeared until the thirteenth issue (8 May 1912), and then there was silence again until 12 July – 12 weeks after the publication of the paper which he allegedly founded and led. This silence is especially surprising, since the editorial board, noting the lack of publishable material,29 requested his contributions on 16 June, and since Lenin was a prolific and usually generous writer when it came to helping new ventures of a proper political perspective. In articles which Lenin published elsewhere during this time he did not mention the appearance of Pravda until 1 July 1912 when he wrote in Nevskaia zvezda (Zvezda’s weekly successor), ‘Only in Petersburg is there even a tolerably well-organized working class press, one which…is able to reflect, however faintly, the views of worker democrats’.30 He was no more enthusiastic in his private correspondence, wherein Pravda went unmentioned until 11/24 July. One of the reasons often given for Lenin’s lack of participation was that he was involved in the time-consuming task of moving closer to Pravda’s base of operations. Krupskaya recounted, ‘When the first number of Pravda came out we were preparing to move to Cracow’.31 Judging from Lenin’s own correspondence, however, this move was neither planned before Pravda’s appearance nor hastily executed after 22 April. He wrote to his mother on 25 March/7 April, ‘We intend to go to Fonteney near Paris during the summer and are considering moving there for the year around’.32 On 14/27 May and again on 20 May/2 June he informed her that they still had no definite plans for the summer. The Ul’ianovs showed no real interest in moving closer to the Russian frontier until 21 May/3 June when Krupskaya inquired through V. A. Karpinskii about living conditions in Galicia.33 One month later – that is, two months after Pravda appeared – Lenin finally took up residence in Galicia. One might note that Zinoviev, who also moved to Cracow, managed to publish at least 31 articles in Pravda during the time that Lenin wrote one.34 The real causes of Lenin’s unexpected silence are to be found in the independent origins of Pravda and in his strained relations with its editors. Shortly after the Leipzig meeting with Poletaev, Lenin sent G. K. Ordzhonikidze (a Longjumeau graduate and recently elected member of the Central Committee) to St. Petersburg to oversee preparations for the daily newspaper. His reports were hardly encouraging. On 10/23 February he wrote to Krupskaya that the Central Committee would be allowed to name only one of the three members of Pravda’s editorial board and that Poletaev was ‘threatening to turn to our competitors’ unless more money was sent immediately.35 Shortly thereafter Ordzhonikidze was forced to leave St. Petersburg and was arrested before the paper appeared. Lenin was left in the lurch. He wrote to Poletaev

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in mid-March, ‘Write precisely about when the daily newspaper [will be published], its format, and so forth’.36 He tried again on 9/22 April: ‘Let us know immediately concerning the daily newspaper. What will be its format? What length articles can be sent?’37 In desperation he turned to his protégés in the Russian Bureau of the Central Committee: ‘Nothing from Ivanovich. What is he doing? Where is he? What is going on? It is absolutely necessary to have someone legally in Petersburg...We have neither information, nor guidance, nor supervision of the newspaper.’38 ‘Ivanovich’ was, of course, one of the pseudonyms of J. V. Stalin, who had been co-opted to the Central Committee shortly after the Prague Conference while still in exile. He had been visited by Ordzhonikidze in February and apparently had been given instructions to replace his visitor as the Central Committee’s man in St. Petersburg.39 Stalin escaped from Solvychegodsk on 29 February, but for unexplained reasons did not show up in the capital until 10 April. By that time the preparatory work for publishing Pravda had been completed.40 During the next 12 days he wrote eight articles for Zvezda and almost single-handedly edited three issues of that paper, thus freeing its regular editors for more important work in bringing out the new daily. On 22 April, the day that Pravda appeared, Stalin was arrested. Not only was Lenin uninvolved in and uninformed about the actual preparation of ‘his’ newspaper, but he also experienced a cooling off of relations with its organizers. During the spring of 1912 the editors of Zvezda, in addition to delivering ultimatums concerning Pravda’s financing, also exercised their discretion in editing several of his articles intended for their newspaper. In mid-March Lenin wrote that they ‘should abstain and keep quiet’ when it came to altering his election platform for publication.41 Poletaev’s rather condescending reply42 did not please him, and on 9/22 April the Bolshevik leader threatened to break off all relations if he was not allowed to defend the Prague Conference in Zvezda against Poletaev’s attacks on it.43 The final straw probably came when Lenin saw the first issue of Pravda itself. The conciliatory tone which Martov had noted44 was readily evident in Stalin’s lead article entitled ‘Our Aims’: In pursuing these aims, we by no means intend to gloss over differences that exist among Social Democratic workers... ‘Complete identity of views’ can only exist in the graveyard. But this does not mean that points of disagreement will be more significant than points of agreement... Pravda will call, first and foremost, for unity in the proletarian class struggle, for unity at all costs... Peace and cooperation within the movement – that is what Pravda will be guided by in its daily work.

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If this policy were implemented, it would mean a reversal of the decisions taken at the Prague Conference. Rather than narrowing the definition of Social Democrat still further, the editors of Pravda apparently were seeking to reunify the party against Lenin’s wishes. *

*

*

During the summer of 1912, after having settled in Galicia and with the Duma elections rapidly approaching, Lenin finally began to take an active interest in writing for Pravda. His relations with the newspaper during the last six months of 1912, however, were anything but cordial. A whole series of minor irritants developed. He complained, for example, that the editors were slow in sending him his honorarium of 100 rubles a month, which he was entitled to as ‘permanent political contributor’.45 He was upset that Pravda arrived in the afternoon mail rather than in the morning delivery with the bourgeois papers. ‘Clearly the dispatch department is functioning carelessly’, he chided the editors.46 Lenin also complained that the editorial board was reluctant to send him the books he needed for writing his articles, and suggested that someone in the St. Petersburg office was removing material intended for him. ‘We repeat that it is impossible to work without books’, he reminded the editors.47 This problem was compounded by the fact that he ‘knew only five words of Polish’ and thus was unable to use the rich resources of Cracow’s libraries.48 More serious problems also developed with Pravda. It soon became evident that the editors in St. Petersburg were altering Lenin’s articles to remove the abrasive terms he habitually used when referring to his factional opponents. Lenin complained on 19 July/1 August 1912, ‘Why does Pravda persistently and systematically strike out any mention of the Liquidators both from my articles and from those of other colleagues?’49 The editors’ stated policy of avoiding pejorative terms such as ‘Liquidator’ and of ignoring ‘painful’ factional questions which they felt would be of little interest to the average Pravda reader50 was modified somewhat in August when Lenin was allowed to refer to ‘so-called Liquidators’.51 One of the editors, M. S. Ol’minskii, informed him on 27 August: ‘The paper, as you can see, has broken its silence concerning the Liquidators... [However] strong language and sharpness go too far: the tone should be mocking or regretful condescension [toward the Mensheviks] while explaining the facts to the public’. He concluded by cautioning Lenin, ‘The form of your article should not be polemical’.52 These explanations and minor concessions obviously did not please the Bolshevik leader. As Krupskaya remembered, ‘Vladimir Ilyich was so upset when Pravda at first persistently kept striking out of his articles his polemics with the Liquidators. He wrote angry letters to Pravda protesting about this’.53

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‘Worse things than this happened’, continued Krupskaya. ‘Sometimes – but not often – Ilyich’s articles got lost. At other times they were held up and inserted only after some delay. Ilyich used to worry; he wrote angry letters to Pravda, but this did not help much’.54 Soviet scholars liked to emphasize that Pravda printed more than 284 of Lenin’s articles. What they did not mention, and what Krupskaya was reticent to acknowledge, is that the editors also rejected many of his articles. A close reading of Lenin’s correspondence with the editorial board and of his subsequently printed manuscripts would indicate that he wrote 47 articles between March 1912 and July 1914 that the editors in St. Petersburg chose not to publish. Lenin expressed the sentiment of many aspiring writers when he wrote his editors: ‘Why did you kill my article on the Italian Congress? In general, it would do no harm to inform [authors] about rejected articles. This is by no means an excessive request. To write “for the wastebasket”, that is, articles to be thrown out, is not very enjoyable. Unpublished articles should be returned. Any contributor, even to bourgeois newspapers, would demand this’.55 Ol’minskii later acknowledged that Pravda did indeed reject articles of numerous prestigious émigrés. He noted that some were unaccustomed to writing for legal publications and thus produced manuscripts that clearly could never get past the censor.56 Other articles – and many of Lenin’s probably fall into this category – were considered too factional in content and not ‘popular’ enough in tone for Pravda’s readership.57 Still others were ‘killed’ because they were too intellectual in tone. For this reason one émigré who sent in 15 articles, received 13 rejection slips, and another was told that ‘phrases in French, German and Spanish’ were inappropriate in a proletarian newspaper.58 One consequence of having to please conciliatory editors and suspicious censors was that Lenin wrote on numerous safe but exceedingly dull topics. It is hard to imagine the average worker receiving much edification or stimulation from his accounts on margarine consumption in western Europe, or ‘On the Development of Worker Choirs in Germany’ (rejected by the editors), or on the implications of Switzerland’s changing from a nation of innkeepers to a nation of proletarians as industrialization was introduced in the Alps. Later he even tried his hand at yellow journalism when he discussed the rape of an 11-year-old Indian girl by a British colonel, who was subsequently acquitted by a British judge.59 The raison d’être for Pravda, at least in Lenin’s mind, had been the Duma election campaign. He therefore was very upset when the editors failed to exploit the agitational potential of this campaign sufficiently or espoused election alliances contrary to those approved by the Prague Conference. He wrote to the editors in early October, ‘The undersigned, now in the capacity of a permanent political contributor to Pravda and Nevskii zvezda, considers it his

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duty to protest against the conduct of his colleagues in charge of these papers at this crucial time’. ‘Pravda’, he said, ‘conducts itself now, at election time, like a sleepy old maid. Pravda doesn’t know how to fight. It neither attacks nor goes after the Kadets [Constitutional Democrats] or the Liquidators... Pravda is “serious”, affectatious and totally uncombative!! Is this really Marxism?’60 All these petty annoyances and more substantial complaints led Lenin to the conclusion that Pravda’s editors sought to take advantage of their somewhat independent creation and their geographic isolation to create an autonomous position for themselves viv-á-vis the Central Committee. This was re-enforced by the board’s apparent lack of respect. He complained at one point, ‘I have received a stupid and insolent letter from the editorial board [which] I shall not answer’.61 On another occasion he must have been less than happy to be told by Molotov, Pravda’s 22-year-old secretary, that the editors in St. Petersburg knew better than the Central Committee in Galicia what the Russian workers wanted to read, and that too many articles from his pen attacking the Kadets made for ‘monotonous reading’.62 Soviet historians subsequently claimed that the retirement of Poletaev and I. P. Pokrovskii from active participation in Pravda after the termination of the Third Duma in June, as well as the arrest of N. N. Baturin in November, left the paper in the hands of the ‘autonomists’ – Ol’minskii, S. S. Danilov, S. M. Zaks-Gladnev, S. M. Nakhimson, N. N. Lebedev – the majority of whom desired to be conciliatory towards the other Social Democratic factions and autonomous from the central institutions of their own faction.63 The incorrectness of this approach seemed evident to Lenin in the paper’s falling circulation and revenue. From a circulation of 60,000 in the spring of 1912, Pravda fell to 20,000 in the summer. Instead of making a profit the paper was now losing 1,500 rubles a month. Collections, which had come from 396 worker groups in the second quarter of 1912, were received from only 81 groups in the third quarter, and from 35 groups in the fourth quarter.64 As a result Pravda was in a difficult financial position by the end of the year. As Lenin wrote to Gorky in December, ‘The paper is in trouble: since the summer decline in circulation, the rise has been very slow and a deficit remains’. ‘If we cannot find cash to expand and strengthen Pravda, it will perish’.65 Lenin tried a number of ways to solve these problems during the last half of 1912, but none of them proved satisfactory. He wrote many of those ‘angry letters’, which Krupskaya remembered, in an attempt to force the editors to accept his point of view. On 11/24 July he informed them: I have received your long letter and see that we most certainly must have it out... You complain about monotony. But this will always be the case if you don’t carry polemics, if...you reduce everything to ‘positive liquidationism’. Moreover,

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you will drive away all of your contributors if you don’t print them, don’t even answer [their letters], and don’t send back their articles (for example, mine)... By avoiding ‘painful questions’, Pravda and Zvezda make themselves dry, monotonous, uninteresting, uncombative organs. A socialist organ must conduct polemics.66

A little later he wrote to Pravda: ‘You will spoil everything and provoke protests from the workers on the left, if you keep silent about this. The Liquidators must be rebuffed... If you don’t want to spoil and aggravate everything “on the left”, publish this “Reply to the Liquidators”’.67 The ‘Reply’ typically went unpublished. Lenin also suggested, with an equal lack of success, that the editors come to Galicia to discuss their mutual differences.68 When these efforts failed, he tried to use the good offices of personal representatives in St. Petersburg to bring about editorial changes. Inessa Armand, after a short stay in Cracow, was sent to the Russian capital to negotiate with the editors through the local party organization. Soviet historians claimed to see some improvement after these talks took place in August, but they could point to nothing specific. Shortly after Armand’s arrest on 14 September, Stalin arrived back in St. Petersburg with the commission, according to A. E. Badaev, of running Pravda, organizing the last stage of the election campaign, and setting up the Bolshevik portion of the Duma fraction.69 During the fall and early winter Stalin did in fact write five articles for Pravda and he made three trips to Galicia to confer with Lenin on newspaper tactics. As will be seen, these endeavours had little effect. Finally, it might be noted that Lenin tried to recruit Demian Bedny, the author of forgettable revolutionary lyrics, as an inside informant on editorial board personalities and policies.70 Bedny had appeared on the list of Pravda’s original contributors and had published ‘useful propagandistic doggerel’ in numerous issues during 1912. Later in the year, because of his rather eccentric personal behaviour or some political indiscretion, he had a falling out with the editors. Lenin, however, continued to champion his cause with the board, and at the same time sought useful information from his new protégé. Judging from Bedny’s letters, it is doubtful whether he was a better spy than he was a poet.71 Despairing of a negotiated settlement, Lenin tried to impose changes on the editorial board in October. After a meeting of the Central Committee in Galicia, it was decided that henceforth there would be two ‘troikas’ – one for editorial matters and the other for business affairs – both responsible to the Central Committee.72 Since it was felt ‘from past experience that local forces [were] unable to provide the necessary leadership’,73 Stalin, as the Central Committee’s illegal resident in St. Petersburg, was told to implement this decision. Krupskaya wrote to him that ‘everything sent to “V” [Pravda] should

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be seen by you and without your approval nothing should be done’.74 On 1 November Molotov informed Lenin of the results: ‘Inside the editorial board, as you probably know, some changes have been made in the direction you desired. In general there have been no radical alterations – there has been a replenishment of the board and perhaps a more correct distribution of editorial functions’.75 This was not enough, as events during December were to demonstrate. The first blow came when Pravda’s rather inactive publisher was suspected of embezzlement. In what was probably nothing more than a case of lax financial accounting, Malinovskii sowed seeds of suspicion when he informed Lenin that ‘it smacks of a criminal act’,76 while Stalin compared it to the Panama Canal scandal of the 1890s. He went on to say that the resulting financial difficulties forced the board to suspend payment of Lenin’s honorarium. The Bolshevik leader angrily replied that this would compel him and the Central Committee to leave Cracow.77 ‘For God’s sake’, he wrote to Stalin, ‘take the most energetic steps to get “W” [Pravda] away from “Krass” [Poletaev] and put it formally in [Duma deputy M. K.] Muranov’s name; in particular, take over the funds and the subscription money. Without these we are lost’.78 One crisis led to another in December. On 11 December Pravda included in its list of contributors the name of Lenin’s philosophical and factional bête noire, A. A. Bogdanov, who had been expelled from the Bolshevik ranks three and a half years earlier. Shortly thereafter some of his articles began to appear in Pravda. Lenin, who was ‘staggered’ to learn about this only from the newspaper itself, wrote to Gorky that Bogdanov’s articles were ‘the same old Machism-idealism concealed in such a way that...the stupid editors of Pravda could not understand’ them.79 Matters came to a head on 15 December when 11 of the 13 Social Democratic members of the Fourth Duma voted to merge the Menshevik Luch with the Bolshevik Pravda. While this was being arranged, the Menshevik and Bolshevik deputies (with the exception of Malinovskii and Muranov) agreed to contribute to each other’s papers, and on 18 December Pravda duly listed the seven Menshevik deputies among its contributors. This, to Lenin, was the outcome of the conciliatory attitude taken by Pravda from its very first issue. It threatened still further to undermine the work of the Prague Conference, and could lead to the loss of the organizational advantages gained a year earlier. Accordingly, he called the Duma deputies and a few available party workers to Cracow for a decisive meeting with the Central Committee. *

*

*

The fact that the Cracow or ‘February’ Meeting, as it was called for conspiratorial reasons, even considered the Pravda crisis was ignored by Soviet

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historians until 1956. It is difficult to say whether this was because of a lack of documentation,80 or because candid discussion of it would have contradicted the Pravda legend, or because the meeting implicitly criticized Stalin’s handling of the paper during the preceding fall. In any case, the resolution passed by a closed meeting of the Central Committee on 1/14 January 1913 sharply attacked the editorial board for being ‘insufficiently firm in its party spirit’ and for ‘responding weakly to the party life of the Petersburg Social Democratic workers’. It instructed the editors to ‘devote more attention to explaining the incorrectness and harmfulness of Liquidationism’, and noted that ‘steps were being taken to reorganize the editorial board’.81 This time the reorganization was entrusted to Iakov Sverdlov (who was co-opted to the Central Committee and named de facto editor) rather than to Stalin. Perhaps realizing that the plans for a joint newspaper82 had more local support than Lenin would admit, Sverdlov was forced to seek allies among the Duma deputies and editorial workers as well as to negotiate with his opponents before trying to impose the Cracow settlement on Pravda. During the resulting delay the paper’s old editors committed still more errors from Lenin’s point of view. This brought forth a spate of angry letters from Cracow. Lenin wrote to the Bolshevik Duma deputies on 12/25 January 1913: ‘The absence of news about the plan to reorganize the editorial board is extremely disturbing. What is going on?... Reorganization, or better yet the complete expulsion of all the old-timers, is absolutely essential’.83 On 27 January/9 February he reiterated the problem in even stronger terms to Sverdlov: The key to the present situation is precisely Den’ [Pravda] and its management. Unless we secure reform and proper management here, we shall be bankrupt both financially and politically... Things are bad in Petersburg primarily because Den’ is bad... It is essential to insert our own editorial board and to throw out the present one...Would you call these people editors? They are not men but miserable milksops and wreckers of the cause... You must put an end to the so-called ‘autonomy’ of these good-for-nothing editors. You must do this before all else. Stay put in a ‘sanctuary’ with No. 1 [Duma deputy Badaev]. Install a telephone. Take the editorial board into your own hands. Draw in assistants. You on your own – with some of these people as mere functionaries – given our work from here, can fully cope with the job.84

Lenin did not know that five days earlier, in the room of Duma deputy G. I. Petrovskii, a meeting of 12 Bolsheviks had taken place where the reorganization had finally been effected. Sverdlov had been confirmed as editor-in-chief with veto powers; Badaev had been confirmed as publisher replacing Poletaev; K. N. Samoilova had replaced Molotov as secretary; two

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three-man boards had been established – one for editorial matters under Petrovskii and the other for business affairs under Badaev. Most of the earlier editors were quietly given other, less crucial, assignments where their skills could be used but their opinions ignored.85 Lenin was overjoyed on 6/19 February when he heard the results of Sverdlov’s meeting: ‘We learned today about the beginning of the reform in Den’. A thousand greetings, congratulations, and best wishes for success. At last you have managed to begin the reform. You cannot imagine how tired we are of working with a sullenly hostile editorial board’.86 Four days later, however, Sverdlov was arrested, and on 23 February Stalin, who had returned to the capital a week earlier, was also picked up at a benefit concert for Pravda, on the basis of information provided to the police by Malinovskii. Just before his arrest Stalin had written to the Central Committee that the next de facto editor of Pravda should be a legal resident of St. Petersburg who could take an active part in the paper’s daily work, rather than an illegal operative (such as himself or Sverdlov) who had to stay in hiding much of the time. He suggested that S. G. Shaumian, an Armenian Social Democrat and a candidate member of the Central Committee, be considered for this post.87 Shaumian came to St. Petersburg but refused the job when he found that certain editorial changes he wanted would not be made. The party also approached I. I. Skvortsov-Stepanov, who, like Shaumian, was an experienced Bolshevik just released from detention, but he too found reasons to avoid accepting a position that was very likely to bring down upon him the wrath of Lenin and the Okhrana alike.88 Thus, because of the arrest or the reluctance of experienced and trusted party publicists, editorial responsibility by default was left to the Bolshevik deputies in the Fourth Duma and especially to Petrovskii. As Krupskaya remembered, these were honest and ‘dependable proletarians’,89 but they were untrained and perhaps unable to edit a large daily newspaper under trying conditions. Lenin acknowledged to Kamenev, ‘There is a general complaint that we lack the men. The Liquidators have intelligentsia by the score while all ours get arrested’.90 He continued in the same vein to Gorky in September: ‘I have heard that you are dissatisfied with Pravda. Because of its dryness? You are right. But it is not easy to correct this shortcoming all at once. We haven’t the personnel. With great difficulty, one year after it was established, we have secured a merely tolerable editorial board’.91 To develop the resources he had available, Lenin began planning another party school, this time especially for Duma deputies so that he might improve their political and journalistic competence.92 His personal contributions to Pravda also increased: during May and June of 1913 50 of his articles, longer and more polemical than before, appeared on its pages. He regularly discussed with the editors plans to publish a Sunday supplement (which he hoped would

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attract 100,000 new readers) as well as the technicalities of increasing Pravda’s format now that circulation had once again risen to 32,000.93 There were occasional rough periods during the spring and early summer of 1913, such as the time Lenin threatened to resign because Pravda printed Bogdanov’s rejoinder to him under the heading ‘A Factual Explanation’,94 but generally he took a milder tone and seemed to assume that mistakes were the result of inexperience rather than a purposely conciliatory or autonomous policy as before. Thus he wrote to the editors on 3/16 June that they had ‘clearly made a mistake on the question of the seven-hour day for postal employees. We all make mistakes; there is nothing particularly wrong in this’.95 Of far more concern to Lenin at this time was the sickness of his wife, and on 10/23 June they left for Switzerland so that she might have an operation. *

*

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During Lenin’s six-week absence a new problem developed within Pravda which required his hasty return for a meeting with Zinoviev and Malinovskii on 27 July/9 August. Malinovskii, according to a police report which he himself probably filed, told of a strange meeting he had had with the new editor of Pravda, Miron Chernomazov. Chernomazov had for several years been active in the publishing of the party’s Central Organ, Sotsial-demokrat, in Paris. In May he had returned to Russia to assume the editorship of Pravda and had promptly been arrested. Upon being released from custody he told Malinovskii that ‘five days after his arrest [he had been] invited to the Okhrana where, during questioning, they began to suggest that he take on the duty of being a secret informer for the investigatory body. The interrogator said that though the Okhrana “knew all”, they wanted to obtain information “firsthand” with the help of Chernomazov. In an effort to persuade him to take on [this] role...the interrogator proceeded to demonstrate the Okhrana’s thorough knowledge of recent party developments’. The meeting concluded that ‘all circumstances merely confirmed the fact that near to the “six” [Bolshevik Duma deputies] there was a person tied to the investigatory branch of the government’.96 In all likelihood Chernomazov did indeed become an Okhrana agent as a result of his arrest, perhaps under the inducement of a monthly salary of 200 rubles.97 Despite these suspicions, he was retained in his new position for another six months, during which he did immense harm to the paper and to Social Democracy. The government’s crackdown on Pravda coincided with Chernomazov’s editorship but was the result, the Central Committee felt, of pressure by the Council of United Nobility, which saw the workers’ press as primarily responsible for the resurgence of factory unrest.98 On 5 July 1913 Pravda was

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closed ‘in view of its distinctly party character’.99 One week later it reappeared as Rabochaia pravda with a new responsible editor and a new publisher (police agent Shurkanov) but with the same editorial board headed by Chernomazov. Rabochaia pravda lasted only 17 issues, and then it too was closed by order of the Press Commission. In the succeeding five months three more versions of Pravda were suppressed. Moreover, the rate of daily confiscation increased so that in the period from July to September 80 per cent of the issues were seized for displeasing the censor. As a result of the newspaper’s irregular appearance, circulation in the autumn of 1913 fell to 18,000, and by the end of the year there was a deficit of 3,000 rubles.100 Lenin reacted to these events by preaching legality to Chernomazov and by considering other means of party agitation. ‘It seems to me’, he wrote to Chernomazov in September, ‘that you are making a gigantic mistake in drifting unconsciously with the current and in not changing the tone of the paper. Everything indicates that both the tone and the content must be changed... It is necessary to strive for legality, to be able to pass the censor. This can and must be achieved. Otherwise you are destroying, for no purpose at all, the work you have undertaken’.101 He also criticized the editor for writing articles on topics, such as the party’s autumn conference in Poronin and the connection between the various Pravdas, which justified suppression of the paper.102 At the same time, Lenin asked the editors, ‘Why publish a daily? I don’t understand. I advise changing over to a weekly paper’.103 With this in mind he revived plans for the increased publication of illegal newspapers abroad and of underground literature in Russia.104 During the winter of 1913 the problem of Chernomazov’s editorship came to a head over the question of his dictatorial methods. Colleagues informed the Central Committee that he refused to circulate contentious articles, that he printed his own articles under the heading ‘From the Editors’, that he insisted on receiving Lenin’s correspondence unopened, and that he treated his fellow editors rudely.105 On 13/26 November A. A. Troianovskii replied from Cracow that although these complaints seemed justified, it would be ‘awkward’ to act on them immediately. He therefore suggested that the Russian Bureau of the Central Committee should merely investigate the matter more thoroughly.106 During the first three weeks of December Chernomazov was out of town, perhaps on vacation. In his absence the paper was run by M. A. Savel’ev, and to the Central Committee’s pleasure,107 the rate of confiscation dropped drastically. On 27 December 1913/9 January 1914 a special meeting of the Central Committee was called in Cracow to consider the Pravda problem once again. The job of ‘strengthening Pravda’, whose position had been ‘severely shaken’, was considered the ‘most urgent and important task’ facing the party. The members of the Duma fraction were instructed to ‘concentrate their

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efforts on strengthening Pravda even if work in the Duma should temporarily suffer’. They were told to watch over the paper’s legality, to improve its business operations, and to increase its circulation. Pravda’s editors were told that their work must be ‘strictly collective’; that the paper must become more varied by including belles-lettres, poetry, satire and history; and that locally written articles or those of a polemical nature had to be sent abroad for approval if any member of the editorial board deemed it necessary.108 More direct steps to limit Chernomazov’s influence were being taken in St. Petersburg. Elena Rozmirovich who served as Pravda’s secretary at the time wrote to Cracow in mid-January 1914 that the old problems still remained. The complete ‘reform of Pravda is necessary’, she said. ‘But to do all that we planned is impossible. First of all, the absence of Malinovskii [he was in western Europe with Lenin] hinders our work... I have undertaken to mobilize the necessary people so that we can act resolutely when Malinovskii returns’.109 The decisive factor was not Malinovskii’s return, but rather evidence presented by Ol’minskii in early February that Chernomazov was indeed tied to the Okhrana. Since the evidence was considered inconclusive, his colleagues merely transferred him from the editorial board to the job of managing Pravda’s warehouse. Several days later, however, the Bolshevik Duma fraction voted to remove him from all party posts.110 *

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To pick up the pieces after Chernomazov’s removal, Lenin sent his number three man and one of the party’s most experienced publicists, L. B. Kamenev, to St. Petersburg to take over Pravda. Under Kamenev’s leadership, which lasted until the war, Pravda achieved its greatest success since the spring of 1912 and its most harmonious relations with its Galician overseer. Lenin wrote to Inessa Armand in March 1914: ‘How much better looking Pravda has become under Brother [Kamenev] – it’s getting to be a real beauty! It is pleasant just to look at it. For the first time, one can see the leadership of a cultured and knowledgeable local editor’.111 And to Kamenev he sent ‘a thousand greetings to the paper – which has become a thousand times better’.112 Lenin was particularly pleased with the special supplements for miners and for workers of particular regions as well as features on insurance matters and agrarian problems which his new editor introduced. Under Kamenev the financial position of the paper also improved. The number of permanent subscribers doubled, and the average daily circulation climbed back to 40,000 copies, even reaching 130,000 on Pravda’s second anniversary. In honour of the occasion a commemorative double issue was published and a special fund-raising drive was started which ultimately brought in more than 18,000 rubles.113

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Pravda’s literary and financial improvement during the spring of 1914 hardly made it ‘the most popular paper in the country’, as one Soviet historian claimed.114 Nevertheless, the paper had acquired a national audience, being distributed to some 944 cities in Imperial Russia.115 Its columns about workers’ problems and interests undoubtedly gave a sense of class identity and solidarity to its readers. Its accounts of economic abuses and of successful strikes helped spread social and economic unrest. By constantly harping on the correctness of the six Bolshevik Duma deputies and championing Bolshevik candidates in trade union and insurance elections, it promoted factional identification which had been conspicuously absent before 1912. Pravda, for all its difficulties, provided a degree of political coordination and leadership that had been lacking since 1905.116 As a result of two and a half years work, the majority of the Social Democratic workers in Russia now apparently identified themselves as Pravdaists. It seemed to Lenin that the work of the Prague Conference in equating the Bolshevik faction with the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party was finally nearing completion and needed only to be formalized at the forthcoming Sixth Party Congress scheduled to convene in Galicia during August 1914. Even his opponents realized the gains of Bolshevism in Russia as the war approached.117 *

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The epilogue to Lenin’s troubled relations with Pravda before the war was played out in March 1917. One week after the formation of the Petrograd Soviet of Workers’ Deputies, Pravda once again appeared under the direction of several of its leading pre-war managers: Molotov, Ol’minskii and Eremeev. N. N. Sukhanov called it ‘the muddle-headed organ of some very dubious politicians and writers’, and said, ‘Its rabid articles and appeals to passion had no clearly defined goals. There was no “line” at all, merely a pogromist form’.118 The only ‘line’ it did have during its first ten days was close to the one that Lenin had adopted independently in Switzerland. Pravda attacked cooperation with the Provisional Government, any form of defensive war, and any faith in the Menshevik leaders of the Petrograd Soviet. On 12 March, however, three higher ranking Pravdaists returned from Siberia, and on 15 March it was announced in the newspaper: ‘Member of the Central Organ of the party, comrade I. Kamenev, and member of the Central Committee of the party, comrade K. Stalin, having arrived from exile, have joined the editorial board of Pravda, the general leadership of which has been taken over by the workers’ deputy to the State Duma, comrade Muranov’. It was to no avail that the leading Bolshevik in

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Petrograd, A. G. Shliapnikov, attacked this action as an ‘editorial coup d’état’ and threatened to take it before the next party conference.119 Under the leadership of Kamenev and Stalin, Pravda’s line towards the war and the Provisional Government moderated. Kamenev advocated a policy of ‘pressuring’ the government for reform and of continuing a revolutionary defensive war.120 Stalin, at the party’s March Conference, suggested that unity with the mainstream of Menshevism was desirable.121 Lenin’s manuscripts sent to Pravda were once again consigned to the ‘wastebasket’. The only article of his published before his return in April, the first ‘Letter from Afar’, was cut by 20 per cent in order to remove his hostile remarks concerning the moderate leaders of the Soviet and the policies that they were following.122 It is no wonder that when Kamenev boarded Lenin’s train as it was approaching the Finland Station, the Bolshevik leader greeted him by asking, ‘What is this that is being written in Pravda? We saw several numbers and really gave you hell!’123 In the context of his relations with Pravda before the war, this was not the first time he swore at the paper he supposedly founded and directed.

CHAPTER 4 The Congress that Never Was: Lenin’s Attempt to Call a ‘Sixth’ Party Congress in 1914* Only twice in its 93-year history did the RSDRP-CPSU fail to call a party congress more or less within the prescribed time-span – the ten-year lapse that followed the Fifth (London) Congress in 1907 and the 13-year gap after the Eighteenth Congress in 1939. In each instance the absence of a congress was a result in part of the current leader’s disinclination to hold one, in part of the party’s own atrophy, and in part of more pressing concerns of a military nature. While the congresses that did meet in the 1930s were dismal, predictable and perhaps avoidable affairs, the same cannot be said of those of the pre-revolutionary period. The Russian Social Democratic Labour Party (RSDRP) accorded its congresses the position of being ‘the highest organ of the party’.1 Only such gatherings had the power to pass binding resolutions, to alter the party’s programme, to amend its statutes, or to elect its central bodies. It is not surprising, therefore, that much of the early history of the party has been written around the struggles and the changes that occurred at its congresses, particularly the Second (1903), Fourth (1906) and Fifth. These three gatherings – all of which took place in the relative safety of western Europe – were large, long and expensive.2 Nevertheless, they were seen as essential in the building of the party and in the defining of its role. The Fifth Congress declared that henceforth congresses should be called every year by the Central Committee. All local party organizations that had been in existence for a minimum of three months had the right to send one delegate for every 1,000 members enrolled.3 Despite these provisions, the Sixth Party Congress did not meet until July 1917. There was, in fact, only one serious attempt to rectify this omission, and that came in 1914 when Lenin belatedly tried to call a congress on the eve of the First World War. Had this attempt, which has been ignored by almost all Western historians, come to fruition, it would very likely have completed * An expanded version of this chapter first appeared in Soviet Studies 31, no. 3 ( July 1979): 343–63.

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the task of building an all-Bolshevik ‘party of the new type’ which Lenin had begun more than a decade earlier. It also would have updated the party’s programme, statutes and organization and in so doing, quite possibly, would have put the party in a better position to capitalize on the economic unrest preceding the war as well as on the political confusion following the abdication of the tsar two and a half years later. *

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In the years immediately following the Fifth Congress, Lenin was in no hurry to see another congress convened. He could argue with some justification that the repression and the disillusionment which accompanied P. A. Stolypin’s proroguing of the Second Duma had left few local organizations in a position to match the representational requirements of a congress nor had the party itself the resources to finance such an undertaking. More to the point were factional considerations. Lenin, whose Bolsheviks had had a majority at the Fifth Congress and had therefore gained proportionate control of the Central Committee and the bodies it appointed, had no desire to give the Mensheviks an opportunity to reverse this situation. Thus, when his rivals introduced a resolution at the Fifth Party Conference ( January 1909) calling for a party congress by the following summer, he persuaded his followers to defeat the motion and introduce instead a resolution favouring a survey of local opinion by means of a questionnaire.4 Despite the fact that this survey revealed almost unanimous support for a congress if the norms of representation were reduced and the Central Committee assumed most of the expenses involved, the Bolshevik ‘Centre’ vetoed the idea when it met in June 1909.5 Seven months later the factional situation changed drastically when a conciliatory plenum of the Central Committee, in a last attempt but one at true party unity, stripped Lenin of his control of the party’s central organs and of his own factional treasury. The Bolshevik leader’s response was to create several bogus bodies whose sole purpose was to call an all-Bolshevik conference. The 14 hand-picked local delegates who showed up in Prague in January 1912 promptly declared themselves to be an ‘all-party conference of the RSDRP – the highest organ of the party’.6 In violation of the party rules, the so-called Sixth or Prague Conference assumed the powers of a party congress in passing supposedly binding resolutions, in electing a new Central Committee and in changing several articles in the party statutes.7 Despite the blatant illegality of this ‘rump parliament’, which brought down on the heads of the Bolsheviks the opprobrium of almost all the leaders of European Social Democracy, Lenin had stolen a march on his rivals. The August Conference, which Trotsky called seven months later in

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Vienna, could agree on little other than its hostility toward the Bolsheviks. Its Organizational Committee was no match for Lenin’s new Central Committee either in ‘hardness’ of name or in firmness of purpose.8 The Bolshevik leader turned his back on the furore which his ‘raid on the party’ created abroad and instead concentrated his attentions on the resurgent labour movement in Russia. The new Bolshevik legal daily Pravda, which began coming off the St. Petersburg presses in April 1912, reflected and articulated this unrest. The Mensheviks’ Luch, appearing five months later, never equalled Pravda in circulation or in contributions by workers. The Bolsheviks also scored notable victories that autumn in the workers’ curia elections to the Fourth Duma. Even in the trade unions, for long a bastion of the Menshevik ‘practicals’, the Leninists took over the majority of the directorates in the two capitals. This pattern was repeated in the election of workers’ insurance councils, which soon provided a legal haven for many Bolshevik activists. Whether the growing strike movement and militancy which characterized urban Russia after 1912 was a product of Bolshevik agitation and organization (as Soviet historians claimed) or was merely reflected and exploited by them (as seems to have been the case) is immaterial. What is germane is that Lenin’s party was more attuned than the Mensheviks to the resurgent labour movement and accordingly profited more from it. It was in these changed circumstances that the party congress, which Lenin had earlier sought to avoid, now became desirable. A congress, if properly constituted, could legitimize and complete the work of the Prague Conference in equating the Bolshevik faction with the entire RSDRP, it could formalize and give organizational expression to the victories the Bolsheviks had recently scored in the labour movement, and it could revise the party’s programme in the light of Lenin’s current rethinking of the nationality and agrarian problems. The first mention of a possible congress came when the Central Committee, meeting in Lenin’s rented dacha in the Carpathians on 9 August 1913, suggested that one be called for the following December.9 Two months later an enlarged version of the Central Committee meeting in Poronin formally put ‘the question of convoking a party congress on the agenda. The growth of the labour movement, the maturing of the political crisis in the country and the need for unified action by the working class on a nation-wide scale, all make the calling of such a congress both necessary and possible, after sufficient preparations have been made’.10 Since these preparations obviously could not be effected by December, the Committee postponed the date to ‘not later than the summer of 1914’.11 Lenin gave those returning to Russia a draft report to be used when discussing norms of representation and agenda items with their local organizations.12 Acting on this information, the St. Petersburg

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Committee approved the initiative of the Central Committee and took steps early in 1914 to set up the necessary financial and electoral machinery.13 Outside the capital, however, little progress was made. To correct this situation, the Central Committee was summoned into session once again, this time at Lenin’s winter home in Cracow. Little is known about the circumstances of this April or ‘Easter Meeting’ other than that it lasted three days (2–4/15–17 April 1914) and was attended by Lenin, Krupskaya, Duma deputy G. I. Petrovskii and probably G. E. Zinoviev.14 The second item on their agenda was the question of calling a party congress. They noted that ‘while the party had done enormous work in the area of agitation and propaganda during the last two or three years of the resurgence, disproportionately little had been done in the area of consolidating the party organizationally’.15 Lenin, in the ensuing debate, stressed that the lack of an underground structure hindered the party’s ability to capitalize on worker unrest.16 All this just reinforced the need ‘to begin immediately preparations for the convocation of a regular congress of the RSDRP’.17 The meeting also noted the happy coincidence that the Tenth Congress of the Socialist (Second) International was scheduled to convene in Vienna during August. This, it was agreed, ‘would serve as a good “cover” [prikrytie] and make it easier for a large number of worker delegates’ to attend the party congress.18 By scheduling his own congress just before the International’s, Lenin would reap the added bonus of having a strong, loyal and well-prepared delegation ready for Vienna. There are some indications that he planned to use the resolutions and representation of the Sixth Congress as grounds for claiming all 20 Russian votes rather than sharing them with the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries as had been done at previous congresses of the International.19 For the present, however, the prime concern was with his own congress. For reasons of conspiracy and because the International Socialist Bureau had not yet set firm dates for the Vienna gathering, the April Meeting merely stated that the party congress would convene in ‘X or Y’ sometime in the middle of August.20 The key to the control of a party congress or conference lay in the make-up of the bodies that called it, as the editorial board of Iskra had shown in 1903 and as Lenin had proved in 1912. Therefore, it is not surprising that the April Meeting paid considerable attention to the establishment of these instrumentalities. Rather than relying on a general call for the election of delegates by local party committees, as had been the practice before, Lenin and his cohorts set up special oblast organizational commissions in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kiev (for Ukraine), Tiflis (for the Caucasus), Vologda (for Siberia), Gomel (for the North-West Region), Samara (for the Volga Region) and in the Urals. These commissions had the long-term task of providing much-needed

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regional coordination and were to ‘assist in the day-to-day practical work of the local organizations’. Their more immediate responsibility, however, was to promote the party congress by providing information on the draft agenda, helping to prepare mandates, and reporting back to the Central Committee on local conditions.21 While the committee promised that the ‘congress would be called on the most democratic basis’22 and that ‘all Social Democratic underground organizations...without exception were invited’ to attend, it was the organizational commissions which were to determine ‘precisely which organizations and groups could and should be represented at the congress’.23 The resolution stated that the members of these three-man commissions were ‘to be elected by the local committees and groups or set up by authorization of the Central Committee’. By exercising the latter option and by staffing the commissions solely with trusted Leninists, the April Meeting virtually guaranteed that the congress would be made up of ‘like-minded men’.24 To coordinate the work of the eight oblast organizational commissions and to ‘guide preparations for the party congress’ in Russia, the meeting also established an Organizational Section of the Central Committee. Based in St. Petersburg, it was in reality designed to replace the defunct Russian Bureau as the party’s leading underground body inside Imperial Russia. Its ambitious mandate included ‘supervising the work of the Petersburg Committee’, ‘linking together the work of all [party groups] in legal organizations’ and ‘unifying [illegal party] work on a nation-wide scale’.25 So as to avoid the arrests which had plagued the Russian Bureau, the Organizational Section was to be called the ‘Workers Cooperative Commission’ and its members were instructed to avoid all contact with the Central Committee abroad. The men that were to make up this new Russian centre, between three and five in number, were to be chosen by the remnants of the Russian Bureau (that is, the Bolshevik Duma deputies) from the Central Committee’s list of 11 Bolsheviks then active in the St. Petersburg labour movement.26 Just in case these subterfuges did not succeed in protecting the oblast commissions and the Organizational Section from police interference, the meeting instructed its five operative Duma deputies (F. I. Samoilov, was then recuperating in Switzerland from a nervous breakdown) to take advantage of their parliamentary immunities by travelling throughout the country promoting both the Sixth and Tenth Congresses. Lenin himself drew up their itineraries: Petrovskii was to go to Ukraine and Estonia, M. K. Muranov to the Urals, A. E. Badaev along the Volga and into the Caucasus, and so forth.27 To assist them in their work, the Central Committee drafted four sample mandates which different types of worker and party groups could use in expressing their support for the congresses.28 One of the striking features about these drafts is that in three of the four cases the local groups were encouraged to transfer

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their mandates to either the Central Committee or the Duma fraction for reassignment to loyal but otherwise unelected Bolsheviks. While in the past some of the émigré party leaders had received their credentials to Social Democratic congresses in this questionable fashion, the practice had never been so widespread or so organized. Indeed, one is struck by the number of violations of existing party statutes which Lenin’s organizational plan for the Sixth Congress entailed. No size or longevity requirements were established for organizations wishing to be represented; rather, the oblast commissions were to determine representational norms in light of ‘local conditions’.29 Whereas in the past only underground city committees or regional bodies had been allowed representation, the April Meeting specifically stated that ill-defined ‘party cells in legal organizations’ should be encouraged to send their delegates. The meeting also took the unique step of specifying the minimum and maximum number of delegates permitted from each region rather than letting the size of the local membership determine its representation. Some interesting discrepancies emerge from these figures. St. Petersburg (allotted 15 delegates) and Moscow (eight to ten), both of which were relative Bolshevik strongholds in 1914, accounted for about half of the delegates Lenin expected at the congress. The Caucasus, on the other hand, which had sent 20 Mensheviks and three Bolsheviks to the Fourth Congress, was to receive only two or three seats at the Sixth Congress. The far weaker but nevertheless more Bolshevik organizations in the Urals were allotted three times as many delegates.30 An even more striking example of Lenin’s electoral manipulations emerges when one looks at the proposed representation of the various national Social Democratic parties and émigré bodies at the Sixth Congress. In 1907 the Jewish Bund, the Social Democratic Party of Poland and Lithuania, and the Latvian Social Democratic Party made up over 40 per cent of the RSDRP’s total membership and were accordingly allocated 126 of the 303 voting delegates at the Fifth Congress. In recognition of their strength, these parties also received positions on the RSDRP’s pre-1912 Central Committee and Central Organ with the result that they often held the balance of power between the Mensheviks and the Bolsheviks. To Lenin, this was ‘federation of the worst type’31 which he was determined to correct at the Sixth Congress. The formal resolution of the April Meeting stated that the three parties would be invited to the congress, but that the norms of their representation ‘would be determined by the Central Committee in consultation with the oblast organizational commissions’.32 The notes that Lenin or Krupskaya took at the meeting were more specific: the Poles would be allowed five seats, the Latvians one or two, and the Lithuanians one. The Bund, the largest single component of the RSDRP, was left out entirely, though it was noted that they were ‘to be

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sent an official invitation at the last moment’.33 According to the police, this much-reduced national contingent was not to have the right to vote; they were to be simply invited as ‘guests’.34 Even this was more than what the émigré factional centres were accorded. Lenin decided that it would be a ‘hopeless task’ to try to work with the Trotskyite ‘non-factionalists’, Bogdanov’s Vperëdists, or the Martov Mensheviks, and thus they were ignored altogether. Only G. V. Plekhanov was to be rendered the honour of a personal (and presumably non-voting) invitation.35 While Lenin could be fairly certain that these organizational machinations would produce a compliant group of largely Bolshevik delegates, he still had to raise the necessary money for travel and sustenance. To keep these expenses to a minimum, the projected size of the congress was modest and the delegates had to travel only to Galicia where Lenin’s large summer house offered an inexpensive base of operations. Even so, estimates of the cost of the congress ranged from his own figure of 3,000 – 4,000 rubles36 to the more realistic police estimate of 10,000 rubles.37 But as Lenin acknowledged shortly before the April Meeting, ‘the treasury is completely empty; we haven’t a kopek for organizational trips or for any organizational work.’38 Various stratagems were devised to fill the party coffers. As early as November 1913 Lenin recommended establishing a ‘Congress Fund’ to which local organizations would be encouraged to contribute 300 rubles for each delegate they wished to send.39 The April Meeting stressed the desirability of soliciting representatives from trade unions and workers’ clubs which supposedly had the wherewithal to pay the way of their own delegations.40 Moreover, the Bolshevik Duma deputies, who were reckoned by party standards to be over-paid, were to have their collective salaries debited by 1,000 rubles.41 Put’ pravdy was to forward 2,000 rubles, perhaps from the proceeds of Press Day on 22 April, and another 500 rubles was to be realized through the sale of illegal literature.42 Even the Belgian miners were to help finance the congress. Lenin heard that 865 rubles remained from funds raised by St. Petersburg workers to help their striking brothers in Belgium and he proposed that this money be diverted to the Central Committee.43 The Bolshevik leader also hoped to use the pretext of the congress to get his hands on two much larger sums that could finance other party ventures as well. After hearing in March that a group of liberal intelligenty in Moscow was again willing to contribute to revolutionary causes, Lenin urged both E. F. Rozmirovich and I. I. Skvortsov-Stepanov to seek a special donation for the calling of the congress.44 When these overtures proved unproductive, the April Meeting resolved to send a member of the Central Committee to Moscow to request between 20,000 and 25,000 rubles.45 To impress upon the liberals that the tide was definitely turning against the government, the meeting

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ordered that special efforts be made for the largest possible demonstrations on the forthcoming May Day.46 The other large sum of money was at the time in the hands of the German socialist Klara Zetkin. Back in 1910 the January Plenum had forced Lenin to turn over his factional treasury (much of it coming from the Shmidt inheritance) to three German ‘trustees’ who were to administer it impartially for truly all-party ventures.47 After the Prague Conference, Lenin unsuccessfully claimed this money on the grounds that the Bolsheviks were now the party. This argument, he felt, would be all the stronger after the Sixth Congress had legitimized and institutionalized measures begun at Prague. The question of the German money was therefore put on the agenda of the party congress and plans were laid for strong representations to be made by the united Bolshevik delegation at the International’s congress if Zetkin did not return the remaining 30,000 rubles before August.48 *

*

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Had the congress met in late April 1914, rather than being scheduled for midAugust, Lenin might have achieved his objective of creating a ‘party of the new type’. The police noted that the steps taken to implement the decisions of the April Meeting had given the impression that the Bolsheviks were the only viable faction in Russia.49 The anti-Bolshevik forces abroad were still in disarray and disagreement. Lenin seemed well on his way to consolidating the gains made since the Prague Conference. The congress, had it met in April, would certainly have altered the organizational structure and composition of the party. One of the changes would have involved the privileged position of the various national organizations within the RSDRP. The Prague Conference had already condemned this in principle50 and the April Meeting had taken practical steps to make sure that the Bund, the Poles and Latvians would not have the same influence at the Sixth Congress that they had enjoyed at the Fifth. During the course of 1913 and 1914 Lenin courted dissident and schismatic elements within the Polish, Latvian, Lithuanian, Estonian and Ukrainian Social Democratic movements, most of whose representatives had been lined up to attend the congress as invited non-voting guests.51 Some had already agreed to the new organizational formula worked out by the Central Committee in January 1913 and reiterated in 1914, to the effect that all Social Democrats, no matter what their nationality, had to work within a single party organization on the local level.52 In return for being allowed to carry on agitation in their own language, they would give up their separate Central Committees, Central Organs, and especially their right to special representation on the central bodies of the RSDRP. Needless to say, the Bund and many Polish Social Democrats found this unitary principle

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unacceptable and as a result would probably have found themselves upon the conclusion of the Sixth Congress outside the new RSDRP.53 The same was likely to be the fate of the Russian Mensheviks and Vperëdists whose leaders had purposely not been invited to the congress. Orthodox Mensheviks such as I. O. Martov and F. I. Dan were in Lenin’s eyes increasingly identified with the Liquidator Mensheviks who, according to the Prague Conference, had ‘placed themselves outside the party’ two years earlier. The Vperëdists were guilty of promoting anarcho-syndicalism, which, he felt, offered a dangerous alternative to Social Democracy for the embittered, resurgent and often leaderless urban proletariat.54 The April Meeting resolved ‘to intensify the fight to destroy the Liquidators and Vperëdists’,55 while Lenin made the formal conditions for unity with these tendencies intentionally unacceptable.56 The only non-Bolshevik tendency which he apparently was willing to countenance within the restructured party was Plekhanov’s Party Mensheviks. A similar alliance had proved useful in 1911–12 to offset charges that the party was a narrow sectarian band of Leninists. This same tactical argument might explain why Pravda was suddenly willing to allow a Party Menshevik onto its editorial board and why Plekhanov, alone of all the émigré leaders, was invited to attend the Sixth Congress.57 Not only would the congress have created a unitary party of ‘like-minded men’, it also would certainly have taken steps to centralize the RSDRP. Even though revision of the party statutes was not on the draft agenda, Lenin had already noted the need to strengthen the party’s underground component while at the same time recognizing that the base of its operations inside legal worker organizations had become far broader and more diverse than ever envisaged in the past. The powers of the Central Committee in Galicia would probably have been expanded and made more explicit, especially in relation to the editorial board of the party’s legal daily and to the Social Democratic Duma fraction, both of which had shown some unwelcome signs of independence. The committee itself was scheduled for re-election and would have been enlarged to compensate for recent arrests. To the existing members – Lenin, Zinoviev,58 Petrovskii and R. V. Malinovskii – would probably have been added several Bolsheviks active in the legal movement59 and perhaps I. M. Sverdlov and J. V. Stalin, if plans made at the April Meeting to free these former members of the Central Committee from Siberian exile60 had proven successful. One suspects that the Organizational Section in St. Petersburg would formally have taken over the difficult task of overseeing all underground activities inside Russia with the eight oblast commissions serving as permanent bodies of regional coordination answerable to the section. The Bolshevik Duma fraction, whose growing importance and parliamentary immunities were recognized by the presence of three of its members on the Central Committee, would most

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probably have assumed the parallel function of guiding the party’s rapidly expanding operations inside the various legal worker organizations. Another item specifically on the agenda of the congress was the reformulation of aspects of the party’s 1903 programme. In 1913 the Central Committee – not without opposition – had sought to define the right of all peoples to self-determination, which had been acknowledged at the Second Congress, to mean ‘the right to secede and to form an independent state’ as well as recognizing the right to regional autonomy and local self-government. These, it stated, were ‘preliminary formulations’ meant for party discussion and elaboration at the next congress. It is very possible that the Sixth Congress would also have amended the agrarian part of the party’s programme had it met in 1914. This problem, like the nationality question, had been the subject of much of Lenin’s research in Galicia. He was never happy with the minor concessions promised by the 1903 programme or with the municipalization resolution passed at the Fourth Congress and was well aware of the Bolsheviks’ weakness in the countryside. He felt that the party, at the very least, should support the confiscation of all landed estates, which may explain item 9 (‘Supplement to the Minimum Programme’) on the agenda of the congress.61 It is interesting to speculate what would have happened had the congress met in April 1914 and succeeded in building a ‘party of the new type’ and modernizing its programme. One suspects that Lenin would have presented the Socialist International with a fait accompli, asked for its endorsement and, if this were denied, taken his party out of that body several years earlier than he in fact did, confident that he had a reformed organization and the support of the Russian workers behind him. Very possibly he would have been in a better position to exploit and guide the near-insurrections that shook the tsarist regime on the eve of the war. While it is unlikely that the new party structure would have proved any more durable in the face of the repression that accompanied the war, it is possible that the debates over unity with the Mensheviks and nationality policy toward Ukraine would have been avoided in 1917 had party positions on these questions been firmly established in 1914. This, of course, is just speculation, for the Sixth Congress did not meet in late April 1914. In fact, events inside the Russian and European socialist movements during the next few months caused Lenin to reconsider holding the congress at all and to lose sight of problems of far greater political importance. *

*

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The first blow came on 8 May 1914 when Roman Malinovskii resigned from the Duma and left St. Petersburg without giving any explanation for his questionable conduct. Not only was Malinovskii a talented orator and

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head of the Bolshevik Duma fraction, he was also a member of Lenin’s depleted Central Committee, head of its Russian Bureau, its representativedesignate to the International Socialist Bureau, the party’s watchdog on police penetration into Bolshevik ranks, and one of two key persons inside Imperial Russia involved in the planning of the Sixth Congress. The April Meeting had insisted that all ‘serious matters’ relating to the congress, such as arranging the escape of Stalin and Sverdlov or obtaining money from the Progressivists, had to be handled by Malinovskii or Petrovskii.62 The Mensheviks were quick to capitalize on Malinovskii’s mysterious disappearance by resurrecting rumours that Lenin’s close colleague was in fact an agent provocateur. By the time he finally appeared in Poronin on 15/28 May, Lenin was on the defensive. While a hastily convened Bolshevik tribunal expressed questionable confidence in Malinovskii’s ‘political honesty’, it expelled him from the party for a ‘scandalous breach of discipline’ in leaving the Duma.63 This verdict failed to satisfy many party workers and to some it raised doubts about Lenin’s own political honesty. The Malinovskii affair caused the Bolsheviks to lose momentum in May and early June as Lenin was forced to devote himself almost exclusively to this unexpected crisis. One of the projects which suffered as a result was the preparation of the party congress. The Progressivists, perhaps out of fear of dealing with an alleged police agent, procrastinated in fulfilling their promise to help finance the event.64 ‘Our situation is desperate,’ wrote Krupskaya, ‘the soup is boiling but there is no money.’65 The elaborate security measures devised by the April Meeting to protect these preparations from police interference were obviously of little use thanks to the information provided to the Okhrana by Malinovskii and two other agents (A. S. Romanov and A. I. Lobov) involved in the calling of the congress. This might help explain the failure to free Stalin and Sverdlov and also the difficulties experienced by the oblast organizational commissions in carrying out their assigned tasks. Of the eight organizational commissions envisaged by the Central Committee in April, those for the North-West Region and Siberia were never constituted. In St. Petersburg, despite Badaev’s enthusiastic recollections of having organized successful meetings in nearby forests,66 Krupskaya complained about the lack of progress by the local commission,67 whose functions were soon taken over by the Organizational Section. The Volga Region was treated like a hot potato that no one wanted to handle. Badaev never found the time to make his proposed trip there; O. A. Piatnitskii said that business pressures prevented him from forming an oblast committee in Samara; A. N. Nikiforova, a neophyte to whom he delegated the task, went to St. Petersburg to have these instructions authorized, only to be told that she had to see Lenin; Lenin kept her around Poronin for three weeks

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while he attended to other matters and then sent her back to St. Petersburg where she was arrested. It was left to Muranov to try to salvage something along the Volga on the eve of the war.68 His detailed reports from there and especially from the Urals reveal all the difficulties these oblast commissions faced: lack of local party organizations, contacts and precise addresses, police interference, Menshevik opposition to the congress. He succeeded, however, in soliciting at least three mandates for Lenin from the Urals.69 In this he was more successful than the Ukrainian Oblast Organizational Commission which, despite considerable hard work by Rozmirovich, was frustrated by police raids in Kiev and Kharkov.70 One of the difficulties the commissions encountered in both the Urals and Ukraine was that local Mensheviks were also now talking about a party congress or conference. Realizing that they did not stand a chance at the Sixth Congress, if that body were called by exclusively Bolshevik agencies, Menshevik leaders proposed the setting up of a ‘federated committee’ which would call a ‘general congress’ of all factions. When Lenin predictably refused to ‘mess around’ with these schemes,71 the Mensheviks decided to boycott the Sixth Congress and to organize an ‘all-Russian’ conference of their own.72 The calling of two separate but supposedly ‘all-Russian’ gatherings at the same time must have confused many party members in Russia. It certainly confused the leaders of the Socialist International, whose intervention in Russian affairs in July 1914 by calling a ‘Unity’ Conference in Brussels represented yet another serious blow to the planned Bolshevik congress. In late June the International Socialist Bureau called a meeting of eleven Russian factions to discuss the unification of the RSDRP. Lenin, realizing that his definition of ‘unity’ differed markedly from that of the bureau, refused to go to Brussels to subject himself to the criticism of his fellow Russian and European socialist leaders. He sent Inessa Armand to present his unacceptable demands. When these were rejected, he was faced with the united opposition of his Russian rivals in the form of the ‘3 July Bloc’ and threats by European socialist leaders to bring his conduct before the Tenth Congress of the International in Vienna.73 To Lenin, waiting anxiously in Poronin for word from Brussels, the formation of the ‘3 July Bloc’ seemed like a prearranged plot whereby the Mensheviks sought to counterbalance their defeats in the workers movement with the ‘moral pressure of the International’ and ‘the support of foreigners who know nothing about affairs in Russia’.74 Suddenly the Vienna Congress, which he had previously seen as merely the epilogue of his own congress, began to assume more importance. ‘They are out to join “battle” (decisive battle) with us in Vienna’, he wrote to Armand.75 If the Mensheviks were going to use the Brussels resolution as a club with which to beat him into

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submission before the open court of the International, then his best answer would be a strong delegation of authentic Russian workers (rather than a few émigré intellectuals as in the past), who would prove by their very numbers that the RSDRP was overwhelmingly Bolshevik. During the last week of June Trudovaia pravda, which had been surprisingly quiet about the congress, started a concerted campaign to get enough mandates to exploit the International’s rule that each vote could be shared by six delegates. While Lenin searched for more statistics with which to bombard the International, Krupskaya took care of the technical details – arranging Finnish passports for those who needed them, sending out logistical instructions (‘You must have your own pillow, warm blanket and sheet’), and checking up on the reliability of delegates.76 Efforts were also made to ensure that leading non-Bolsheviks did not receive mandates to go to Vienna77 and that pro-Bolshevik trade unions did not fall for the Menshevik suggestion of dividing their delegations in order to give minority representation.78 Preparation first for Brussels and then for Vienna took an unexpected amount of time and money, with the result that planning for the party congress once again went into abeyance. A meeting with the representatives of the eight oblast organizational commissions, scheduled for mid-June, was indefinitely postponed as Lenin attended to more pressing matters. He must also have realized that the recent pressure from the Mensheviks and from the International Socialist Bureau for a ‘general congress’ of the party made it more difficult for him to stage a purely Bolshevik congress in advance of Vienna. One alternative, which he began considering in mid-June, was the calling of a less ambitious and more private Bolshevik conference.79 Lenin finally decided the fate of the Sixth Congress during mid-July. For eight days he met in Poronin with Zinoviev, Petrovskii and three party workers from Russia (A. S. Kiselev, N. P. Glebov-Avilov. A. N. Nikiforova). Their conversations were dilatory at best: the draft agenda for the party congress was amended to include reports on the departure of Malinovskii and the Brussels meeting, the proposed distribution of delegates was changed and reduced in size to reflect realities and the difficulties encountered by the oblast commissions, codes were devised to indicate through Trudovaia pravda how many delegates had left for the frontier, and Inessa Armand was thanked for taking the rap for the Bolshevik leadership and asked to make a report on the Brussels proceedings at the forthcoming ‘party congress or conference’.80 Lenin now was no more certain about where and when the party was going to meet than he was about the type of gathering it was to be. Kiselev remembered their conversations being solely about an ‘All-Russian Party Conference’.81 Nikiforova felt that a congress was still on the agenda but noted that there was considerable disagreement as to whether it should be held in

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Vienna simultaneously with the International’s or, as originally planned, in Poronin beforehand so as to be ‘free of Menshevik-Liquidator spies’.82 The matter apparently was not resolved. On 18 July Krupskaya wrote to the Moscow organization that the party ‘congress has been postponed until 28 August’, that is, until after the International’s, now scheduled for 23–28 August.83 The next day, however, Lenin himself wrote to Armand that ‘our congress will meet here [Poronin] about 20–25 August’.84 Both Lenin and Krupskaya clearly were primarily concerned with the socialist congress, ‘where undoubtedly there will be new dirty tricks,’ and with the ‘necessity of arriving fully armed’ in Vienna.85 If the credentials of the large Bolshevik delegation were denied or if subsequent debates went against them, then Lenin could always walk out, fall back on his own congress or conference, and try to salvage something of his original plans. One is struck by the fact that the Bolshevik leader, in his preoccupation with events in Brussels and Vienna, virtually ignored not only his own congress but also far more important events in the Caucasus, St. Petersburg and Sarajevo. His correspondence and other writings of the time show no realization at all of the implications of the general strike which broke out in Baku in June or the insurrection that began in St. Petersburg on 4/17 July. Indeed, his eight-day meeting in Poronin (29 June – 6 July/12–19 July) did not touch on these matters and deprived the St. Petersburg workers of the much-needed leadership which Kiselev, Glebov-Avilov and Petrovskii might have been able to provide.86 Realizing the seriousness of the clashes only after Trudovaia pravda was closed down on 8/21 July, Lenin had to seek information from friends in Berlin and Stockholm about what was happening in the Russian capital.87 Even more startling, there is not one suggestion in his published writings that the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo on 15/28 June had put Europe on a course that was very rapidly leading to the First World War.88 The dénouement came exactly one month later when the Austrian artillery started to bombard Belgrade. On that same day Lenin wrote to the editors of the Granat Encyclopedia that, contrary to his letter of a week earlier when ‘exceptional and unforeseen circumstances beginning with the resignation of Malinovskii’ had forced him to postpone writing a short biography of Karl Marx, he would now be able to fulfil their commission. ‘The war’, he wrote, ‘will apparently curtail a number of urgent political affairs with which I was burdened’.89 One of the burdens which had conveniently been lifted from his shoulders was the calling of the Sixth Party Congress. Never again did Lenin mention it in his correspondence or his articles. On 29 July the International Socialist Bureau met in Brussels in extraordinary session to consider the implications of the war for its own plans. Rather than cancelling the Vienna

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Congress, the Bureau chose to advance it from 23 August to the 9th and to hold it in Paris.90 Lenin learned about this change on 31 July and immediately decided he could not attend. He did, however, write to G. L. Shklovskii in Bern urging that he and Samoilov go to Paris to represent Bolshevik interests.91 The next day Germany attacked Russia and all thoughts of the International’s congress vanished as well. *

*

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One senses a certain relief in the ease with which Lenin forgot about the two congresses. The Malinovskii scandal and the Brussels fiasco had distracted him from preparations for the Sixth Party Congress and had made its success far less certain in August than it had seemed in April. Moreover, these same two ‘unforeseen circumstances’ had rallied his factional opponents and made it possible for them to neutralize Bolshevik popularity in Russia. The Vienna Congress, instead of confirming Bolshevik supremacy, as Lenin anticipated in April, might have precipitated his party’s expulsion from the international socialist movement. This embarrassing possibility plus the frustrations caused to his plans by the European socialist leaders during 1914 surely contributed to Lenin’s decision to read the Second International’s death sentence immediately upon hearing that the German Social Democrats had voted for war credits.92 It is a moot point whether preparations for the Sixth Congress strengthened the Bolsheviks, as Soviet historians claimed. As has been noted above, the organizational commissions did not provide the much-needed regional co-ordination. There is no evidence that the Organizational Section contributed substantially to party leadership in St. Petersburg; indeed, lack of Bolshevik organization and guidance were cited by the Petersburg Committee as reasons for calling off the general strike on 10/23 July.93 One is struck by the fact that in the volumes of memoirs published after the revolution nobody claimed to have actually been elected to attend the party congress. What we are left with then are Lenin’s ambitious plans drafted in April 1914 which reflect his aspirations of the time rather than actual party achievements on the eve of the war. They do, however, give an indication that the organizational principles first enunciated in Chto delat? were still valid as well as providing a glimpse of the highly centralized party of the future.

CHAPTER 5 Lenin and the Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference of July 1914* ‘The most important thing is to prove that only we are the party... Unless they accept our conditions, there will be no rapprochement’. Alternatively, ‘agree to nothing, walk out, promise to submit the “counter-proposals” of our dear comrades to our own congress’1 which will complete the task of building an all-Bolshevik Social Democratic Party. With these uncompromising words of wisdom Lenin sent Inessa Armand off to do battle with G. V. Plekhanov, L. D. Trotsky, P. B. Aksel’rod and I. O. Martov at the ‘Unity’ Conference which the International Socialist Bureau (ISB) called in a last vain attempt to unify the factious groups of Russian Social Democracy. The 28 delegates who attended this three-day meeting in Brussels were impressed neither by Armand’s reluctant presentation nor by Lenin’s vitriolic arguments. Indeed, Bolshevik conduct in Brussels served only to unify the disparate non-Bolshevik groups and to ensure them the firm support of Karl Kautsky, Emile Vandervelde, Camille Huysmans and the other influential leaders of the Socialist (Second) International. As a result of the conference, the Tenth Congress of the International, scheduled to convene in Vienna on 23 August 1914, very likely would have witnessed the expulsion of the Bolsheviks from the European socialist movement. The outbreak of the First World War, however, saved Lenin this indignity. It also served for many years to obscure from historical scrutiny the events which transpired in Brussels2 and the potential consequences of the Bolshevik defeat. The belated recovery of Lenin’s Galician archives and the partial publication of his correspondence and Bolshevik protocol notes contained therein3 provide an opportunity for a fresh look at the precarious situation of the party on the eve of the war. *

*

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* A slightly modified version of his chapter first appeared in the Russian Review 39, no. 1 ( January 1980): 32–49.

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Soviet scholars, who acknowledged that the ‘Unity’ Conference had received ‘insufficient illumination in the pages of party history’,4 traditionally viewed the gathering as a product of desperate Menshevik attempts to offset growing Bolshevik popularity in Russia with prestigious alliances abroad. This, they claimed, combined with the International’s desire to see a Western-style, broadly based labour party in Russia to produce the Brussels Conference. This interpretation, which is reflected in many Western studies as well, clearly misrepresents the intentions of both groups. The idea of a unification conference called under the auspices of the International first came from George Plekhanov at a meeting of the ISB in October 1912. When nothing came of this suggestion and in exasperation over the splitting of the Social Democratic Duma fraction a year later, Plekhanov demonstratively resigned from the bureau but once again urged that it take the initiative in unifying ‘healthy elements’ within the RSDRP.5 This coincided with the thinking of Rosa Luxemburg who, in mid-November 1913, proposed that the bureau consider the matter at its forthcoming December meeting. Her reasons were primarily political. The leadership of the Social Democratic Party of the Kingdom of Poland had split in 1912 into a Main Presidium (of which she was a prominent member) in Berlin and a Regional Presidium in Warsaw. She charged with some justification that Lenin had been instrumental in inciting this division and in keeping it alive through his support of the Warsaw oppositionists, or Rozlamovists.6 The question of a unification conference and of the International’s intervention had also come up in German socialist circles. In 1912 the German Socialist Party had offered 80,000 marks for the Duma election campaign if only their Russian comrades could agree on a joint candidate in each curia and on equitable means of distributing this money. Much to their frustration, two attempts to hold conferences of the various Russian factions to discuss these conditions came to nought.7 This frustration was shared by Klara Zetkin, a leading member of the German party. In 1910 she, along with Franz Mehring and Karl Kautsky, had agreed to serve as a ‘trustee’ for some disputed Bolshevik funds and to allocate this money for truly all-party ventures. In 1912 Lenin unsuccessfully demanded the return of these funds which now were entirely in Zetkin’s hands. A year later he instructed four different lawyers to threaten legal action unless she complied with his wish.8 From Zetkin’s point of view it was desirable that the bureau take the problem off her hands by either unifying the RSDRP or administering the funds itself. She communicated these sentiments to Kautsky who, together with Friedrich Ebert and Herman Molkenbuhr, formally proposed that the bureau discuss the question of Russian unification at its December meeting in London.

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Contrary to Soviet interpretation, not only were the Mensheviks not involved in bringing the question before the International but the bureau itself intervened with the utmost reluctance. Most of its members considered Russian affairs peripheral, incomprehensible, or just plain boring. Aside from Kautsky, few bothered to look at the quantities of literature (most of it in Russian) which the competing factions circulated to bolster their positions. They were far more interested in the problems of British socialism and accordingly spent the first day and a half of the two-day December meeting discussing ways of unifying the Fabian Society, the Independent Labour Party and the British Socialist Party. All Russian topics were relegated to the last item on the agenda. To ensure that the ensuing debate did not get out of hand, speakers were limited to five minutes each and adjournment was prearranged for 5:30 p.m. Lenin, who had been a member of the bureau from 1907 to 1912, seemingly attached no more significance to these discussions than did his former colleagues. He had no objections to the bureau’s discussing ‘the substance of our controversies’, but he saw no need to advance his own scheduled departure for western Europe by two weeks so as to attend the London meeting.9 L. B. Kamenev (who had served as his replacement at recent meetings) and R. V. Malinovskii (who had been named the Bolsheviks’ Duma representative to the bureau) were deemed to be otherwise occupied. To save money and possible personal embarrassment, Lenin asked Maksim Litvinov, then an unknown émigré living in London, to represent Bolshevik interests.10 Debate on Russian unification finally began at 5 p.m. on 14 December. Kautsky introduced a resolution in the name of the German delegation calling on the International Socialist Bureau to offer its services as ‘mediator’ to the various Russian factions and through its Executive Committee to facilitate an ‘exchange of opinions’ among them. In support of his resolution he noted that Russian differences appeared less acute than those within the united German and French socialist parties and that if these disputes were revealed to be of a purely personal nature, then it would be easier for the Russian workers to take matters into their own hands. Rosa Luxemburg promptly offered an amendment specifying that this ‘exchange of opinions’ should take place at a ‘general conference’ which would determine conditions necessary for the re-establishment of a unified RSDRP. She stressed, however, that only those groups represented in the ISB should be invited to the conference. Litvinov objected to Rosa’s exclusion of Lenin’s Rozlamovist allies (who were not in the bureau) and opined that the ‘exchange of opinions’ should be limited to those groups active in Russia itself rather than including factions found only in emigration. Before he could protest the idea of a ‘general conference’, the chair intervened to say that his five minutes were up. Without further debate, save for

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a half-hearted intervention by I. A. Rubanovich that Socialist Revolutionary– Social Democratic unity should also be considered, the meeting unanimously passed Kautsky’s original resolution with very little modification. Litvinov later complained to Lenin of the ‘complete indifference’ of the western European delegates who remained silent throughout the brief debate, spent most of the time looking at their watches, and who, he felt, ‘would have voted for any resolution mentioning the word “unity”’.11 Lenin’s initial reaction to the bureau’s resolution was one of equal indifference or at best benign acceptance. ‘An exchange of opinions’, he wrote to Inessa Armand, ‘is quite acceptable’ and certainly preferable to Luxemburg’s proposed unification conference.12 ‘We heartily welcome the decision of the International on the necessity of ascertaining fully and completely the essential and fundamental dissensions which exist in Russia’, wrote Lenin and ‘A Group of Organized Marxists’ to Proletarskaia pravda.13 But obviously his emphasis even then was on pointing out ‘fundamental dissensions’ rather than looking for areas of agreement. Not only did an ‘exchange of opinions’ at first seem harmless and even of some propaganda value, but also the Bolshevik leader was dealing from a position of strength in late 1913 which perhaps caused him to underestimate the potential liabilities of the bureau’s initiative. His faction was more attuned to the rising militancy of the Russian urban labour force than were his Menshevik rivals and was accordingly profiting more from it. Pravda, which reflected and articulated this unrest, had a vastly greater circulation than its Menshevik counterpart, Novaia rabochaia gazeta. The Bolsheviks had scored gains in the elections to the Fourth Duma in 1912 and were steadily taking over the directorates of formerly Menshevik trade unions. Similar victories were registered in the new workers’ insurance councils. Aboard, Lenin’s Central Committee was more active and more unified than the Mensheviks’ Organizational Committee in trying to provide guidance and coordination for these activities in Russia. Plans were well underway for the calling of a ‘Sixth’ Party Congress in the summer of 1914 that would complete the work of the 1912 Prague Conference of building an all-Bolshevik ‘party of the new type’. Thus Lenin could write with confidence that what ‘we are witnessing is a new wave of idiotic conciliationism which the ISB is trying to exploit to stage a comedy in the spirit of the January 1910 Plenum. Well, we are now standing on our own two feet and will expose this riff-raff ’.14 Lenin’s attitude started to change during the spring of 1914 as the Executive Committee procrastinated in fulfilling its December mandate. As Krupskaya had foreseen,15 new groups such as those around Trotsky’s Bor’ba and Plekhanov’s Edinstvo, started springing up in Russia demanding consideration in whatever plans the bureau might ultimately devise. Huysmans, the bureau’s secretary, contrary to the Okhrana’s information, did not call a meeting for

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March16 but merely asked each faction to set down in writing its version of party differences. Although Lenin complied, his patience was wearing thin to the point that he threatened to break off all personal relations with the secretary over what he considered to be an intemperate letter.17 By April he had come to the conclusion that the exchange of opinions, as reflected in the factional press if not in the chambers of the bureau, had clearly shown that unity was impossible and by implication that the International’s plans were a waste of time.18 Moreover, the sudden resignation from the State Duma by Malinovskii in early May, amid rumours that Lenin’s close political colleague and fellow Central Committee member was an agent of the tsarist police, put the Bolshevik leader in a much more vulnerable position than had been the case five months earlier. The bureau finally acted on 29 June when it issued invitations to ten Russian Social Democratic groups to attend a ‘unity conference’ in Brussels two and a half weeks later. Lenin now was ‘furious’.19 Not only was a formal conference involving émigré party leaders something more than a simple ‘exchange of opinions’ among those working in Russia which Litvinov had agreed to in December, but its delayed convocation meant that it would come on the eve of the Bolsheviks’ own long-awaited Sixth Congress. With his limited resources, Lenin could not plan for both at the same time. As a result, the party congress was tacitly postponed until after the implications of the Brussels meeting became clearer. The preliminary implications were not good. Several weeks before the invitations were issued, the chair of the ISB, Emile Vandervelde, had shown up unannounced in St. Petersburg. While his visit was brief and personal, he took time off from the ballet and conversations with his liberal friends to attend a banquet arranged by the Social Democratic Duma deputies and to visit the editorial offices of the two factional newspapers. During informal discussions he broached the question of whether the various groups might accept the International’s arbitration rather than just its mediation, and he implied that his own sympathies were definitely on the side of the Mensheviks.20 Word of these discussions soon reached Lenin in Galicia and only served to increase his anger and anxiety over the forthcoming meeting in Brussels. What had begun as harmless meddling primarily by German and Polish Social Democrats was rapidly becoming, in Lenin’s mind, a plot by his Menshevik rivals and the opportunistic leaders of the Second International to neutralize his faction’s growing popularity in Russia. For a while Lenin debated boycotting the conference altogether. This, he felt, would have been the ‘wiser’ policy in the long run but one ‘which the Russian workers would not have understood’.21 The Okhrana had earlier speculated that the Bolsheviks would in fact be represented by their two most

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influential leaders – Lenin and Malinovskii.22 Obviously Malinovskii was ruled out after he had been expelled from the party for deserting the Duma and generally suspected of being a police agent. Lenin also very soon eliminated himself from consideration, claiming that this was an unexplained matter of ‘principle’ and that ‘the Germans are out to annoy us’. ‘I would probably have blown up at them’, he wrote to Armand, ‘and that is what they want’.23 In reality, his schismatic activities within the RSDRP, the Malinovskii affair, his quarrel with Huysmans and legal troubles with Zetkin, all put the Bolshevik leader in a vulnerable and embarrassing position which his enemies, as he realized, would surely have capitalized on had he gone to Brussels. They ‘only want to scold me before the International’, he supposedly remarked, ‘and I’m not going to give them the pleasure’.24 Apparently none of his leading subordinates was willing to take the scolding either. Zinoviev, a long-time member of the Bolshevik Central Committee, begged off on the grounds that his wife was ill. Besides, added Lenin, ‘his nerves are shot’ and he ‘speaks only German (and bad German at that)’.25 Kamenev was otherwise engaged in editing Proletarskaia pravda in St. Petersburg and Litvinov claimed he could not take time off from his job in London.26 Lenin’s choice thus fell to an obscure Bolshevik but close personal friend, Inessa Armand. Armand, who had been a student in Brussels in 1909, had not attended a previous party congress or conference. Her experience was limited to lecturing at Lenin’s school at Longjumeau in 1911, serving as the secretary for the Bolsheviks’ Committee of Foreign Organizations from 1912 to 1914, and helping edit the party’s new women’s publication, Rabotnitsa. Lenin argued that she made up for her inexperience by the fact that she was ‘familiar’ with party matters, ‘spoke French perfectly, read Pravda’, and had the ‘tact’ which he lacked. He asked her to go to Brussels for a week, or, if that were impossible, three days, or even just for a day to read his report. Judging from the imploring tone of his six letters and the week that elapsed before she eventually gave in,27 Inessa was reluctant to accept the assignment. Perhaps, as she stated to Krupskaya, she wished to remain at her summer home near Trieste because of the poor health of her children;28 perhaps, as her Soviet biographer implied, she had doubts about her ability to carry out the task;29 perhaps she simply had no desire to be the Bolsheviks’ sacrificial lamb in Brussels; or perhaps she realized that her personal relations with Lenin were bound to excite the speculation and comment of the other delegates. Lenin only added to this speculation when he suggested that her mandate be made out in the name of ‘Petrova’ since ‘it is inadvisable to let the Liquidators know your name’ in advance.30 The rest of the Bolshevik delegation was filled out, though not without difficulty, with even more obscure émigrés. A. A. Bekzadian declined unless

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Lenin or Zinoviev were there to provide the expertise which he lacked.31 G. I. Safarov refused unless all of his expenses were paid. Lenin finally recruited M. F. Vladimirskii and I. F. Popov but stressed that their ‘chief duty (since Inessa will do the speaking in French) is to write down everything as accurately as possible, particularly the speeches of the Germans, and especially those of Kautsky, and to send a report to the Central Committee’.32 He then turned to finding some allies for his out-gunned delegation. The Mensheviks, the Jewish Bund and Trotsky were obviously out of the question as were his sometime allies, Plekhanov and A. A. Bogdanov, whom he had been attacking with considerable vehemence for the past two years. He found support, curiously enough, among several of the non-Russian parties attending the conference. The émigré leadership of the Latvian Social Democratic Party, which with Lenin’s assistance had split with the Organizational Committee earlier in the year, agreed to second most of his proposals. The Lithuanian Social Democratic Party, whose Foreign Bureau was conveniently located in Cracow, also promised limited support.33 When Lenin heard that Luxemburg had temporarily succeeded in denying his Rozlamovist friends equal representation, he threatened that the Bolsheviks themselves would not participate unless this decision were reversed. It was therefore ironic that after this tactic succeeded in getting them invited, Lenin received an ultimatum of his own from the Rozlamovists, who refused to attend unless he paid them 250 kronen for their troubles.34 If Lenin was unwilling to expose himself personally to the assaults of his rivals, this did not mean that he was not going to fight back. He devoted much of the two weeks before the conference opened to collecting documentation which would support the Bolshevik position. Popov was deluged with protocols of past party gatherings, proofs of Lenin’s as yet unpublished book Marxism and Liquidationism, long runs of Pravda, Novaia rabochaia gazeta, and even some SR and bourgeois newspapers.35 Lenin also spent eight days drafting a lengthy formal report, which was made legible by his wife or mother-in-law before being sent section-by-section by registered mail to Armand in Lovran. She was to translate it ‘immediately’ into idiomatic French, ‘tone down’ passages which were ‘too sharply worded’ or involved ‘name calling’, and then dispatch it to Popov in Brussels for reproduction.36 Lenin readily acknowledged that Inessa was ‘going to have [her] work cut out’ for herself since ‘everybody will be very mad at my not being there and will probably take it out on you’. He therefore took the liberty of offering her ‘heaps of advice’ as to how she should react. ‘Please don’t take it in a “bad sense” if I offer you some private advice. This is only meant to make your difficult task easier’.37 ‘I advise you to ask for the floor first to make your report on the grounds, if necessary, that your children are sick and that you may

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have to leave for home in a hurry’. ‘Try to make it sound as if you are giving a speech while merely referring to your notes. Take the Russian text with you but do not give it to the Liquidators; say that you did not bring it’ if they ask for a copy.38 She was to ‘deliver her speech in excellent French...otherwise nine-tenths will be lost in translation’. Moreover, ‘the Germans will hardly understand you, if they understand at all; sit close to the Executive Committee and speak to them. After every German speech, [however,] ask Huysmans for a French translation as you have every right to do’. She was warned that ‘Plekhanov likes to “disconcert” female comrades with “sudden” gallantries in French’ and that he also ‘liked to “interrogate” and mock’ his opponents. She should respond with ‘quick repartees (“you old spark, you”)...that would politely rebuff him’. If this did not work, then she was to ‘take the offensive’ against him.39 Additional counsel was given on how she should handle Luxemburg, Vandervelde, Kautsky and others whom Lenin preferred not to tackle himself as well as detailed answers to a dozen or so questions she might be asked. Armed with little more than this ‘private advice’ and a haphazard two-hour report, Armand reluctantly set off for the Belgian capital. The Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference opened at 10 a.m. on Thursday, 16 July 1914, in the Maison du Peuple. Vandervelde sat in the chair flanked by the only other members of the International Socialist Bureau who had showed enough interest in Russian affairs to accept the Executive Committee’s open invitation: Kautsky, Eduard Anseele from Belgium, Antonin Nemec from Prague, and the SR’s Rubanovich. In front of them were 22 delegates representing 11 different Russian organizations.40 As they arranged their chairs, Huysmans asked, ‘Et Lenine, est-il venu ou viendra? Pourquoi donc il n’est pas venu? Franchement, pourquoi?’ Popov replied that the Bolshevik delegation had been named by the Central Committee and that he ‘frankly’ did not know why Lenin had not been designated.41 To several this answer was evasive and the rumour soon made the rounds that the Bolshevik leader was in fact hiding somewhere in Brussels directing the work of his delegation.42 Vandervelde opened the session by saying that the ISB felt unity was entirely possible and that the matter should not be reduced to figures and arguments purporting to prove the supremacy of one faction over another. ‘The question’, he said, ‘begins not with statistics but with conditions for unification’. Aksel’rod, Plekhanov, Kautsky and G. A. Aleksinskii expressed their wholehearted agreement. Kautsky then introduced a three-point agenda. The conference, he suggested, should first discuss programmatic differences preventing unity, then turn to tactical differences, and finally look at organizational differences. This beginning did not augur well for the Bolshevik delegation. Not only was Vandervelde going beyond the December resolution by suggesting a solution rather than just facilitating an ‘exchange of opinions’, but also much of Lenin’s

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case was built precisely on statistics derived from newspaper circulations, trade union resolutions, and Duma elections. Moreover, Armand had been given a long and detailed report unrelated to the suggested agenda. ‘Statistics’, she informed the gathering, ‘are closely related to the question of unity. We have produced figures [which she circulated]; the other delegations ought to do likewise’. The first order of business, she insisted, should be the hearing of prepared reports by all delegations.43 However, since only the Latvians agreed with her, Kautsky’s agenda was adopted. After lunch the conference began to debate programmatic differences. Aleksinskii and S. I. Semkovskii stated that there simply were no major differences concerning the interpretation of the party’s 1903 programme. The Latvian delegate disagreed. He noted that his party rejected national-cultural autonomy as contrary to the official programme and called on the conference to affirm this position. As expected, the Bund and several Mensheviks defended the concept which had received wide support at Trotsky’s August 1912 Conference. The Executive Committee sought to paper over this apparent contradiction by introducing a resolution whereby ‘all Social Democratic organizations in Russia acknowledge that they accept one and the same programme’; that ‘this programme is presently subject to interpretation exclusively on the basis of the decisions of pre-split congresses’; and that ‘only the restoration of unity makes new interpretations possible’.44 At this point Inessa, who lacking a script had been inactive in the afternoon debate, intervened to say that her delegation did not have instructions on this question and would therefore abstain. She reiterated that the conference should be listening to reports rather than taking votes. After ‘warm debate’ on proper procedure, Anseele sought to preserve the semblance of unity by suggesting that the vote be postponed, the agenda discarded, and the reports heard as Armand insisted. That evening Popov wrote to Lenin that the Bolshevik delegation had indeed ‘blundered’ in the morning session ‘and had not adopted a bold and independent approach’. ‘But don’t judge us too harshly’, he implored. He urged Lenin to remember the unusual and high-powered surroundings in which they were operating and noted that ‘the presidium conducted itself dictatorially towards us while showing favouritism to Plekhanov and Rosa. Many times we were not permitted to speak in the debate’ and thus could not use much of the material Lenin had sent. He felt that the ‘plan of the Executive Committee is clear: [to secure passage of] a plump resolution. The plan of the Liquidators is to jabber and to ignore principles’. He was certain that ‘tomorrow things will go more satisfactorily’ now that the meeting had given in to Bolshevik obstinacy. The next morning the three Bolsheviks caucused at 7 a.m. and then met with their Polish and Latvian allies to plot common strategy. Armand was

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obviously nervous when she began to deliver Lenin’s report. According to Popov, she ‘read it in such a quiet voice’ that Kautsky and Vandervelde were forced to cup their hands behind their ears and thus much of the ‘value of the report was lost’. Vandervelde also started to look at his watch. After Inessa finished the first section, in which Lenin sketched the substance and history of his differences with the Mensheviks, the chair interrupted to say that her allotted time was running out. As a result she was forced to omit or to summarize the second and third sections in which Lenin provided detailed statistics to ‘prove’ Bolshevik superiority and traced the breakup of the August Bloc to demonstrate the inability of his rivals to unite even amongst themselves. The concluding section, which Lenin considered the most important, contained his ‘14 conditions’ for unity with his opponents: ‘if our dear comrades want unity, then here are our conditions...take them or leave them!!’45 These included condemnation of Liquidationism and national-cultural autonomy, closure of Menshevik newspapers where they were in competition with Bolshevik papers, subordination of the Menshevik Duma fraction to the Bolshevik Central Committee and communication only through the latter by groups abroad, acceptance by the national organizations of a unified RSDRP, and so forth.46 Lenin had foreseen that ‘people will go out of their way to attack us for our “monstrous” proposals’.47 He was not wrong. According to the police, ‘the majority of the delegates were greatly disgusted with Petrova’s report. No one expected that the impudence of the “Leninists” would reach such dimensions’.48 Semkovskii acted ‘as if his virtue had been insulted’. Plekhanov called Lenin’s conditions ‘the articles of a new criminal code’ and felt that his uncompromising attitude was a consequence of not wanting to give up his claim to party funds now in his or Zetkin’s hands.49 Kautsky charged that the conditions were a ‘slap in the face’ and a ‘demand for self-destruction which no one could accept’. Vandervelde concluded that ‘if they are accepted, they will create an atmosphere in which it will be impossible to breathe’ and implied that the International would not sanction unity on these grounds.50 Debate on Lenin’s report went on the rest of the day despite the fact that speakers were limited to one statement each of no more than 15 minutes duration. Hesitant support came only from Armand’s rather inarticulate Latvian and Polish allies. Berzins said that while his delegation could not accept all 14 conditions, it did agree with the ‘principal demands’ of the Central Committee.51 Hanecki noted that ‘in general’ the Rozlamovists also supported Lenin and called on all other delegations to present their concrete conditions for unity.52 None, however, availed themselves of the opportunity. Some delegates, such as Trotsky, remained silent throughout the entire debate despite suggestions from the chair that statements of their positions

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would be welcome. Others appeared quite content to allow the Bolsheviks to dig their own grave. The Executive Committee concluded that the length and tone of the day’s debate made it inadvisable to return to the original agenda. To bring matters to an amiable conclusion, the next morning Huysmans introduced in the name of the committee a mild resolution drafted by Kautsky. The delegates were asked to confirm ‘that at the present moment there are no tactical disagreements between them which are sufficiently important to justify the split’. Unification, it was suggested, could be achieved on the basis of acceptance of the present programme, subordination of the minority to the decisions of the majority, and recognition that the party must be illegal and that blocs with bourgeois parties were unacceptable. All groups had to agree to participate as soon as possible in a ‘general congress that would resolve all questions now under dispute’.53 Inessa was in a quandary. She could not vote for the resolution, despite its innocuous nature, since Lenin had given her explicit instructions ‘not to consent to any steps in the direction of a general congress, a federation or a rapprochement, even in the slightest degree, so long as the Liquidators do not agree to our conditions’.54 Not only had they not done so but, she realized, a ‘general congress’ would seriously compromise Bolshevik plans for a Sixth Party Congress in August. At the other extreme, she did not have the courage to follow Lenin’s initial advice: ‘agree to nothing, walk out’. Popov argued that it would be better simply to vote against the resolution. Armand hesitated. She protested to the chair that the resolution was beyond the competency of the meeting, and that only the Central Committee could make a decision on the matter. Vandervelde ignored these objections and in anticipation of Inessa’s only other alternative threatened ‘that those who did not take part in the voting will be held responsible before the International for wrecking attempts at unity and that this would be reported to the Vienna Congress’.55 Armand, backed by Vladimirskii and the Latvians, chose Vandervelde’s wrath over Lenin’s or decisive action of her own by once again abstaining. The nine other delegations, including the Polish Rozlamovists who decided that the Bolshevik path ‘was not the way to obtain unity’,56 voted in favour of the Executive Committee’s resolution. The meeting then, to the relief of its organizers and most of its participants, adjourned after passing without debate a very general resolution endorsing the unification of the various Polish factions.57 Lenin anxiously awaited word on the outcome of the proceedings in Poronin. Throughout the conference he criticized his hard-pressed delegation for failing to keep him informed. He bombarded them with last-minute instructions, new information concerning Vandervelde’s trip to Russia, and protests about rumours that he was in Brussels.58 When information about

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the results of the Brussels Conference finally reached Poronin, an impromptu meeting of the Central Committee thanked the delegation for its ‘skilful and vigorous defence of the party line’, asked Inessa to report on its activities to the forthcoming party congress, and voted to discontinue financial and moral support of the vacillating Rozlamovists.59 Lenin privately tried to patch up relations with his ‘dear and dearest friend’. ‘You have rendered a very great service to our party’, he wrote to Inessa on 19 July. ‘I am especially thankful because you have replaced me… Write – are you very tired, very upset? Are you angry at me for having persuaded you to go?’60 *

*

*

There is no doubt that the Bolsheviks harmed their cause and suffered what could have been a decisive defeat in Brussels. This was not, however, the result, as Soviet historians claimed, of Menshevik plotting to offset Bolshevik gains in Russia or of purposeful intervention by the leaders of the Second International in an effort to liquidate the Bolshevik Party. The wound was largely self-inflicted. The Bolsheviks lost many of their friends and unified many of their enemies through the Malinovskii affair, threats of law suits against fellow socialists, Lenin’s intransigence, and Armand’s inept performance. Moreover, the Bolshevik leader had miscalculated. Had he known that the ‘Unity’ Conference was going to be delayed until July, he might very well have advanced the date of his own Sixth Congress which presumably would have consolidated his gains in Russia and provided a firm foundation for a truly independent party. Failing this, he might have been better off in Brussels agreeing in general terms to unity and then arguing about the details after the Vienna Congress. True to his personality, he chose instead to ‘stonewall’. In doing so, he provided the opposition with much-needed ammunition and lost the initiative which he had possessed six months earlier. The Mensheviks, while they may not have initiated the events that led to the Brussels Conference, certainly took advantage of the opportunities which Lenin presented to them. On the day the conference adjourned, all but the Latvian and Bolshevik delegates met privately to plan common strategy. They agreed to forget past differences, to open their respective journals to one another, to keep factional fighting to a minimum on the local level, and to meet again on the eve of the Vienna Congress where they would be represented by a joint delegation. While the August Bloc of 1912 may have disintegrated as Lenin claimed, his own actions and those of his protégés in 1914 had succeeded in bringing into existence a new ‘3 July Bloc’. Martov, Trotsky and Plekhanov were instructed by this Bloc to draft an ‘Appeal to All Russian Workers’ describing the background and substance of the Brussels

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discussions.61 Since distaste for factional feuding was still extremely strong among the majority of Russian workers,62 this appeal to unity very likely would have won many adherents for the 3 July Bloc even among those who had previously supported Pravda and the Central Committee. Through their heavy-handed attempts to ‘prove that only we are the party’, Lenin and Armand also succeeded in alienating the influential leaders of the Second International. No longer could the Bolsheviks count on the ISB’s official neutrality. The repercussions of this would likely have been felt in Vienna. Huysmans had already noted that Lenin’s claim to the entire Russian delegation would not be honoured,63 while Vandervelde made it quite clear that Bolshevik conduct in Brussels would be called to the attention of the congress. Those ‘idiots and intrigants [sic] with the aid of Kautsky will get a resolution against us at the Vienna Congress’, wrote Lenin in English to Inessa. ‘Soit!!’64 Because of the very real threat that his faction might be ignominiously expelled from the European socialist movement, Lenin bent every effort ‘to come fully armed to Vienna’.65 Pravda was told to step up its recruitment of delegates and to ‘alter the tone of the newspaper pending the Vienna Congress. We are in for a period of struggle’.66 Krupskaya attended to local arrangements, passports, secret codes, and means of crossing the border. Lenin’s own congress, on which he had pinned so many hopes earlier in the year, once again had to be postponed as he attended to more pressing matters. Whether these efforts would have succeeded in off-setting the adverse effects of Brussels is doubtful. This speculation is also completely hypothetical. On the day before the Executive Committee issued its invitation to the ‘Unity’ Conference, Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in Sarajevo. Lenin, in his absorption with events in Brussels, took virtually no notice of the shooting or of rising tensions in the Balkans. Ten days after the conference adjourned, Austria declared war on Serbia. Events during the next few days prevented publication of the anti-Bolshevik ‘Appeal’ and convocation of the Vienna Congress. The outbreak of the Great War, which was ultimately to bring down the Second International and the tsarist regime, thus had an additional but long overlooked benefit: it allowed Lenin to escape an embarrassing situation of his own making.

PART TWO The ‘Other’ Lenin

CHAPTER 6 The Malinovskii Affair: ‘A Very Fishy Business’*

Figure 2. Roman Malinovskii.

One of the occupational hazards of living and working in a capital city such as Ottawa is ‘the diplomatic lunch’. In 1978 I was invited by a Second Secretary at the Soviet Embassy to join him for a meal at the ‘Auberge Cossack’, a nondescript and short-lived restaurant which served Russian food at French prices. After the borsch, I was asked the usual question of ‘what are you working on now?’ I responded that as a journal editor I had little time for anything else but I had recently published a short biography of * A slightly modified version of this chapter first appeared in Revolutionary Russia 11, no. 1 ( June 1998): 1–16.

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Roman Malinovskii.1 ‘Malinovskii’, said my host, his eyes aglimmer, ‘a very fishy business’. Indeed it was. Whether he knew it or not, he was echoing words spoken by V. I. Lenin some sixty years earlier shortly after Malinovskii had been executed in Moscow for ‘injuring and discrediting the revolution and its leaders in the eyes of the working masses’.2 It soon became apparent that my Soviet friend knew only the vague outline of Malinovskii’s extraordinary career: that he had been a leading member of the pre-revolutionary Bolshevik Party, a Social Democratic deputy to the Fourth State Duma, and concurrently an agent of the tsarist secret police. After I had filled in some of the details, he asked if he could borrow my book. Reluctantly, since I had but two copies, I agreed and he promised to return it in a couple of weeks. When I had not heard from him in a month, I called the embassy and was informed that the book had been ‘expropriated’ by the ambassador. ‘Not to worry’, I was told, it would be returned in the near future. Another month passed and in response to a second call I was informed, after lengthy muffled consultations at the other end, that Malinovsky had flown off to Moscow in the diplomatic pouch. Again I was told not to worry, maybe a Russian edition would be the result. This seemed highly unlikely. The ‘Malinovskii Affair’ had not only been ‘fishy’, it had also been a major embarrassment for the Bolshevik Party in general and for Lenin in particular. At Lenin’s insistence, Malinovskii had been elected to the Bolshevik Central Committee at the Sixth (Prague) Party Conference in January 1912.3 He was subsequently chosen to head the committee’s Russian Bureau, to be its representative to the International Socialist Bureau, and to be the party’s watchdog on police penetration of revolutionary ranks. Within a year, Malinovskii’s wife was the official publisher of Pravda, the party’s new legal daily in St. Petersburg, while Malinovskii himself was the publisher of Nash put’ in Moscow. Next to G. E. Zinoviev and L. B. Kamenev, he was Lenin’s closest political confidant between 1912 and 1914, his frequent visitor in Galicia, and his travelling companion on a lengthy trip to western Europe. When the police forced Malinovskii to resign from the Duma in May 1914, the deputy fled to Galicia amidst a swirl of rumours that his true allegiance had been to the Okhrana. Lenin’s hastily convened Tribunal, which acknowledged that Malinovskii’s unauthorized resignation had ‘put him outside the ranks of organized Marxists’, nevertheless chose to defend his ‘political honesty’ and to attack his Menshevik detractors.4 And then, less than five weeks before the February Revolution, the Bolshevik leader publicly rehabilitated Malinovskii for services rendered to the party during the war. It was thus with no little embarrassment that Lenin acknowledged his mistaken judgement before the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission

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of the Provisional Government which from April to July of 1917 presented the Russian public with incontrovertible evidence of Malinovskii’s provocation. The final act of this strange drama was played out in October 1918 when Malinovskii returned voluntarily to Soviet Russia, requested that he be tried for his past conduct, and was duly executed in the early hours of 6 November 1918. For the next 40 years, outside of a few random references in memoirs published in the 1920s,5 Malinovskii’s name was relegated to the ‘and others’ category in Soviet publications. All Bolshevik testimony was omitted when the proceedings of the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission were finally published.6 The editors of the various editions of Lenin’s supposedly ‘Complete Collected Works’ left out letters he had sent to Malinovskii, all but one of the articles he had written in Malinovskii’s defence,7 and references to his former colleague made in letters to other associates. In the 1960s, Malinovskii’s existence was once again acknowledged in the form of two brief encyclopaedia entries8 and a few accusatory articles.9 Typical of this selective memory of the past was the treatment accorded to the six Bolshevik Duma deputies in a display at Cracow’s former Lenin Museum: large portrait photographs were provided for five of the deputies while Malinovskii warranted only an equally large black square with his name underneath. In these circumstances, I did not think it very likely that anyone in Moscow would decide to publish my biography in a Russian translation. It was not Malinovskii’s duplicitous conduct that really bothered the keepers of the marble mausoleum, but rather Lenin’s. Why had the Bolshevik leader placed so much confidence in an unemployed and relatively unknown metalworker in 1912 and defended him so strenuously in 1914? Why had he rehabilitated Malinovskii on two occasions during the war when all the evidence continued to point to his guilt? Did Lenin have a role in Malinovskii’s suicidal return to Soviet Russia in the midst of the ‘Red Terror’ of 1918? I had tried to provide tentative answers to these and other questions on the basis of published and Western archival materials: contemporary newspaper accounts,10 manuscripts and letters in the Boris Nicolaevsky and Okhrana Collections at the Hoover Institution, often contradictory articles written by Vladimir Burtsev,11 and police testimony before the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission. I concluded in 1977 that ‘despite four formal investigations into the “Malinovsky Affair”, much of the crucial evidence needed to answer these questions is not and probably never will be available’12 since it was locked away in Soviet archives. Like most Western observers, I had clearly not foreseen the coming of glasnost’, the subsequent unlocking of the archives, and the unexpected publication of illuminating material from three of these investigations.13

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This can of pre-revolutionary worms was initially opened by two journals not known for their revisionist tendencies – Voprosy istorii KPSS and Voprosy istorii. After several reasonably detailed articles in the mid-1980s on the general problem of provocation,14 attention was turned to a review of available evidence on Malinovskii in particular, and to the dropping of hints about unpublished material in the archives.15 Once Malinovskii’s name was in the public domain, the more sensationalistic aspects of his career and the scandal he had caused were reported for a broader audience in the popular press during 1990 and 1991.16 Of more interest to Western scholars was the gradual publication of long-suppressed documents. First came Zinoviev’s memoirs, written in the early 1930s but not published until 1989, which included a candid chapter on Malinovskii.17 A year later Lenin’s mea culpa before the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission appeared in Voprosy istorii KPSS.18 Then the editors of Istoriia SSSR devoted six instalments to the unpublished testimony of 15 other Social Democrats before the commission and to evidence given at Malinovskii’s final trial in November 1918.19 Not to be outdone, in 1993 Voprosy istorii published 84 pages of supposedly ‘lost’ documents which had been presented to the 1914 Tribunal in Galicia.20 More recently, Istoricheskii arkhiv in 1994 and 1995 printed for the first time seven letters or postcards which Lenin exchanged with his wayward protégé in 1913 and while Malinovskii was in German captivity during the First World War.21 Even émigré accounts of Malinovskii’s sins were reprinted for Russian consumption.22 When the time came for a full-length biography, however, my expropriated version was overlooked in favour of a judicious Russian study by I. S. Rozental’ which incorporated much of the newly available archival material.23 The mining of the archives was continued by Richard Pipes who in 1996 published translations of three of Lenin’s wartime postcards to Malinovskii as well as two revealing letters about the Tribunal written to Inessa Armand in June and July 1914.24 Why this sudden and unexpected interest in Malinovskii after decades of his being an ‘un-person’? For latter-day Soviet historians, he was one of those ‘blank pages’ in Russian history which Gorbachev had urged them to fill in. For the Soviet and Russian public, he represented ‘forbidden fruit’ which they vaguely knew existed but had not been allowed to sample. For revisionists, he was a case study in how history had been distorted in ‘former times’ from which interesting parallels could be drawn to the party’s relationship with J. V. Stalin.25 Moreover, once the Communist Party had been discredited in 1991, the door was open to publish revealing documents specifically about Lenin’s mistaken judgements and in this way strip the Lenin icon of some of its glitter as well as question the legitimacy of the

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party that he had created.26 For more conservative writers such as Rozental’ Malinovskii’s life could be seen, not as a symbol of the party’s failure, but in the context of his police employment and as an example of the amorality and abuses that occur once a police regime – be it the Okhrana, the Cheka or the KGB – is allowed free rein.27 *

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Of greatest interest to Western scholars is the new light which these documents shed (or do not shed) on four of the more controversial theories that have been proposed in the past to explain Malinovskii’s or Lenin’s curious conduct. The first of these was advanced in 1954 when Stefan Possony suggested that Malinovskii was in fact a double agent working in the first instance and with Lenin’s prior knowledge for the Bolsheviks rather than for the police. He argued that only this explained Malinovskii’s insistence on returning to Soviet Russia to prove his innocence in 1918, that Lenin tried to defend him at his last trial, and that in the end he was ‘sacrificed to protect the inner secrets of the organization’.28 Contrary to this hypothesis, there has never been any evidence that the party derived inside information on police activities as a result of Malinovskii’s alleged double role or that he purposefully sowed ‘disinformation’ in his reports to his police superiors. In fact, the Bolsheviks had virtually no knowledge of other agents in their midst and the ‘provocation commission’ which Malinovskii chaired not surprisingly had no success in neutralizing police infiltration. The Okhrana, on the other hand, knew almost all the party secrets from Malinovskii and used this information to excellent advantage during the two years before the war. Had he been a double agent, Malinovskii surely would have called this to the attention of his accusers at the 1914 Tribunal and at his 1918 trial. The newly released documents, however, give no indication that he used this argument in his defence. It also would have been far less embarrassing for Lenin, when asked to justify his own conduct before the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission, to have cited Malinovskii’s supposed penetration of the police and to have called him a revolutionary hero29 rather than having to acknowledge that he was a police spy.30 A second controversial theory advanced to explain Malinovskii’s voluntary return to Soviet Russia in October 1918 was that he did so only after receiving Lenin’s promise of personal safety. This suggestion, first put forward by Alexander Solzhenitsyn,31 also does not find support in the recently published documents. Given the trend to de-mythologize Lenin and reveal his mistaken judgements, there is no reason to believe that such a guarantee, if it existed,

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would still be suppressed. It is obvious that Malinovskii was eager to return to Russia, even after revelations of his provocation, and was determined to do so with or without a safe-conduct pass. In June 1917 he wrote J. S. Hanecki (Furstenberg) requesting that he be allowed to appear before the Central Committee and seeking his assistance in returning to Russia, only to be told that the ‘affair’ was now a state rather than a party matter.32 He therefore turned to A. S. Zarudnyi, the Minister of Justice in the Provisional Government, seeking his help in gaining an early release from German captivity.33 In June and November of 1917 he unsuccessfully petitioned the German Minister of War to the same end.34 Even after the signing of the Brest-Litovsk peace, the Bolshevik Central Committee showed little interest in facilitating his return or in arresting him when he finally showed up unannounced in Petrograd with 850 other POWs on 20 October 1918.35 Documents from his subsequent trial in November do not confirm earlier suggestions that Lenin attended these proceedings, much less that he spoke in Malinovskii’s behalf. A third theory which unfortunately does not find clear archival support concerns police motivation in forcing their star agent to leave the State Duma in May 1914. In 1977 I suggested that this was a calculated manoeuvre by the Okhrana designed to embarrass and weaken the Bolshevik Party.36 In January 1912 it served police interests to foster Lenin’s schismatic tendencies by planting a militant Malinovskii in the new Bolshevik Central Committee. By 1914, however, the resurgent Bolsheviks were riding the wave of worker discontent and were using their Duma fraction led by Malinovskii to its fullest propaganda advantage. What better way to discredit the Bolshevik leadership with the urban masses and to silence their vocal Duma fraction than by firing their most effective speaker and by discretely allowing it to be known that a leading member of the Central Committee was in fact an agent provocateur? It might be argued that Malinovskii was more valuable to the police in disgrace than he was in situ. It was, however, not in police interest to admit to such a devious strategy before the Provisional Government’s Investigatory Commission or at Malinovskii’s final trial. The published proceedings of both investigations indicate that V. F. Dzhunkovskii (Junkovsky), who became Deputy Minister of the Interior in 1913, sought to give his actions the best possible spin by professing shock on learning in January 1914 that his ministry had penetrated the Duma and that he ordered Malinovskii to resign so as to avoid having his own organization involved in a scandal.37 This self-protective testimony has been accepted at its face value by Malinovskii’s recent Russian biographer who argues that Dzhunkovskii, in comparison with most of his colleagues, was uniquely reform-minded and moralistic.38

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For those sceptical of the Okhrana’s morality, the fact remains that Dzhunkovskii was indirectly the source of the rumours concerning Malinovskii’s true allegiance which, to the embarrassment of the Bolsheviks, began to appear in the right-wing press immediately after the deputy’s resignation.39 Two months later A. S. Romanov, at the time a trusted Bolshevik who knew Malinovskii well, kept the pot boiling by informing Lenin of rumours he had heard in Moscow about Malinovskii’s police connections.40 What Lenin did not know until 1917 was that Romanov was also an agent provocateur who may have been acting on the orders of his police superiors. Finally, there is the curious treatment accorded to Elena Rozmirovich, Malinovskii’s most vociferous accuser inside Bolshevik ranks. Rozmirovich, who worked as the illegal party secretary of the Bolshevik Duma fraction in 1914 and lived in the Malinovskiis’ apartment, was arrested on 19 February of that year on information she was certain came from Malinovskii. Much to her surprise, Dzhunkovskii ordered her release in April (shortly before Malinovskii’s dismissal) and allowed her, while still under police surveillance, to go abroad in July to testify against her former boss at the Bolshevik Tribunal. In doing so, he helped perpetuate a scandal in Bolshevik ranks which may indeed have been more important than his professed objective of avoiding one inside his own organization.41 A fourth area of controversy concerns Lenin’s defence of Malinovskii’s ‘political honesty’ in May and June 1914 after the latter’s hasty departure from the Duma. According to at least one police official42 and many Mensheviks, Lenin ‘had already decided long ago under the pressure of the evidence (circumstantial, if not direct) that Malinovsky was an agent of the Okhrana. He was hardly troubled...by the morality of such an act, for Lenin worked from the point of view of usefulness, not morality.’43 By this reasoning, the Bolshevik leader subsequently came to the cynical conclusion that it would do more harm than good to admit this mistake. thus the cover-up from 1914 to 1917. It is interesting to note that revisionist Russian historians have not accepted this argument despite its appeal to those wishing to question either the legitimacy or the morality of the early Bolshevik party.44 The recently published documents from the Tribunal and later testimony before the Investigatory Commission make it possible to reconstruct the sequence of events in Galicia and to offer a different interpretation of Lenin’s conduct. Malinovskii left the Duma on 8 May and for a week dropped out of sight. When it became evident that the Mensheviks could not substantiate their suspicions and that some Bolsheviks were initially prepared to go part way in his defence, he went to Lenin’s summer retreat near Poronin. Within a couple of days Lenin, Zinoviev and their Polish Social Democratic ally J. S. Hanecki constituted themselves as a ‘Commission of Inquiry’ or Tribunal and assigned

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to themselves the power to look into the allegations against Malinovskii. On sunny days the three men met informally on Zinoviev’s porch with Hanecki serving as chair, Zinoviev as secretary, while Lenin directed the discussion. Their wives were relegated to the kitchen, presumably preparing meals for their menfolk.45 The Tribunal first cabled Burtsev, Russian socialism’s leading expert on police penetration, for advice46 and were initially told that while Malinovskii was ‘an unsavoury individual’, he was not a provocateur.47 They then interviewed Malinovskii at length concerning his background and early career and (more briefly) his conduct in 1914.48 His answers seemed open rather than evasive and were successful then as now in giving the impression that he was a committed revolutionary. Nervous exhaustion plus increasing fear about revelations concerning his private life as a young man, he said, had been the cause of his sudden resignation from the Duma.49 The Tribunal also reviewed second-hand information passed on earlier by N. I. Bukharin and others concerning Malinovskii’s questionable activities in 1910 and 1911. Lenin and Zinoviev had already discussed these rumours in 1913 and had responded then that they took ‘complete responsibility for Malinovskii’.50 In a sense, that guarantee put them on trial as well in 1914 and may have influenced their subsequent decision. The members of the Tribunal were well aware that most of Malinovskii’s current accusers were Mensheviks who stood to gain the most from the resulting scandal but to date had neither published nor communicated any conclusive evidence of his guilt.51 Without bothering to interview these detractors, the Tribunal decided to accept Malinovskii’s explanation and not to prolong the agony with a lengthy investigation. In reaching its decision the Tribunal relied heavily on the advice of Zinoviev who had known Malinovskii since 1906, had been impressed by his work as a trade unionist in St. Petersburg, and had recommended him for membership in the Russian Bureau of the Central Committee in 1910. Like Lenin, he never wavered before the revolution in his support of Malinovskii.52 On 5 June, after only a week of testimony, Zinoviev informed the editors of the party’s newspaper in St. Petersburg that Malinovskii had ‘committed political suicide’ by leaving the Duma but that there was no doubt about his political honesty.53 Two days later Lenin also exonerated him of the charges of provocation but noted that he ‘had placed himself outside the party’ by deserting his post.54 Shortly thereafter Bukharin finally appeared in Galicia to put his case personally to the hastily reconvened Tribunal. Without knowing the precise nature of his testimony, Western observers have long assumed that it was a damning indictment of Malinovskii which Lenin chose to ignore and in doing so damaged relations with Bukharin for years to come.55 Recently

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published documents tell a different story. Bukharin had known Malinovskii slightly in Moscow prior to his own arrest in 1910. While he had no reason personally to suspect him, he met four young Mensheviks in gaol who raised suspicions of their own. As promised, Bukharin transmitted these concerns to a member of the Moscow Committee after he was released but apparently did not bother to tell Lenin, who he met for the first time in Cracow in September 1912. A year later, after Rozmirovich’s first arrest in Kiev, Bukharin discussed these suspicions with her husband, A. A. Troianovskii, who in turn raised them at a meeting of the Central Committee in Galicia in the fall of 1913. Malinovskii, who was present, was able to divert attention onto M. E. Chernomazov, one of Pravda’s editors and also a police agent, who was duly removed from his post.56 In December 1913, after Bukharin had been reminded of the earlier suspicions concerning Malinovskii by two Mensheviks visiting Vienna, he wrote to Lenin to appraise him of the rumours.57 He then repeated them when he appeared before the Tribunal in the second week of June 1914. As he acknowledged, most of the events in question, which he knew about only from hearsay, had occurred three or four years earlier at a time when Moscow was overrun by police agents and the local party organization was gripped by a ‘spy mania’. He admitted that this second-hand information was ‘of a vague character’, that he ‘wavered’ in his own acceptance of it, and that it was ‘possibly sufficient for suspicion, but insufficient for an accusation’.58 Not surprisingly, it did nothing to alter the Tribunal’s earlier decision. On 13 June and again on the 27th Lenin and Zinoviev, writing this time in the name of the Central Committee, reaffirmed that Malinovskii ‘was an honest man’.59 Six months later, when Bukharin saw a draft of the Tribunal’s final report, he objected that some of his confidential Menshevik informants were identified but he had no problem with the conclusions Lenin reached.60 During the course of hearing testimony in Poronin, Lenin also engaged in much-needed damage control. The Bolshevik Duma fraction was told to elect a new chair, Malinovskii’s wife was removed from her position with Pravda, M. M. Litvinov replaced Malinovskii as the party’s representative to the International Socialist Bureau, and A. S. Kiselev took his position on the Central Committee. Both the Duma deputies and Pravda’s editors were to told to ‘bear the irresponsible departure of Malinovskii more firmly, stop worrying... The Liquidators are not branded enough for their mud-slinging and dirt... To work, down with muckrakers!!’61 In late June Lenin wrote: ‘We have judged and ruthlessly condemned the deserter. There is nothing more to be said. The case is closed’.62 Unfortunately, for many people the case was not ‘closed’. The right-wing press gleefully and repeatedly reported rumours of Malinovskii’s provocation.

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The Mensheviks stepped up their more restrained assault on the pages of Nasha rabochaia gazeta and, frustrated that they were denied an opportunity to appear before Lenin’s Tribunal, laid plans for their own ‘Commission of Inquiry’. Equally disturbing, the recently published documents make it clear that long-time Bolsheviks continued to show up in Poronin wanting to give additional evidence against Malinovskii after members of the Tribunal had already publicly exonerated him on four occasions. On 21 June Bukharin and his wife appeared for a second time and two days later the testimony of M. A. Savel’ev was heard.63 Evidence was also received from A. S. Romanov and N. V. Krylenko. The most damning and persistent of these late witnesses, however, was Elena Rozmirovich. Three times in early June she wrote to the Tribunal from Ukraine about her suspicions only to be told that she would have to make her accusations in person. With police connivance, she crossed the border on the eve of the war. Over the course of four days between 17 and 24 July she tried to convince her male colleagues that Malinovskii had been responsible for her arrest in the summer of 1913 and then again in February 1914. Unlike Bukharin, on the basis of her first-hand experience she was willing to levy a formal charge of provocation. Malinovskii in turn was given an opportunity to cross-examine her during which he used his considerable debating skills to browbeat her and to make some insinuations of his own about her personal character.64 Lenin was obviously frustrated that the ‘Malinovskii Affair’ would not go away and that he was forced to listen to these endless exchanges at a time when more important matters required his attention. During the midst of Rozmirovich’s testimony, he conveyed his ire in very broken English to Inessa Armand: Here extremely unpleasant ‘stories’ with the stupid wife of the army [Rozmirovich]. She is here with army & two her new friends [N. V. Krylenko and M. A. Savel’ev]… Both hate Malinowsky… [Rozmirovich] is ‘convinced’ that he is an agent-provocateur!! We in our quality as a committee of investigation, have lost many many hours to hear the ‘evidence’of the wife of the army. Stupid talks, hystery [sic], – nothing serious. She accuses us to be partial (in relation to Mal[inovskii]!! Confrontation of her with Mal[inovskii]…[he] reveals her intime [sic] discourses. Now come ‘the three’…and will have almost a duel with Mal[inovskii] & so on & so on … Oh, quelle misère! These hysterical stupid creatures, I am so angry, so angry!! Losing of time for such stupid stories!!!65

It is obvious from this long-suppressed letter that Lenin did not find this new evidence convincing, a conviction which Zinoviev shared.66 They preferred to

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put their faith in Malinovskii’s credible explanation of his conduct, Burtsev’s clean bill of health, and Bukharin’s very qualified testimony rather than giving credence to ‘stupid stories’. Had they done so, the political fallout of admitting that the Tribunal had been wrong would have been almost as great as acknowledging Malinovskii’s crimes. Lenin had backed himself into a corner from which there seemingly was no escape. His only recourse was to continue to lash out at his factional opponents. A week or so after writing to Armand, the unexpected beginning of the First World War presented the leaders of Russian Social Democracy with more pressing problems than whether a cover-up was being perpetrated in Galicia. Malinovskii was called up to serve as a non-commissioned officer in the Russian army while Lenin and Zinoviev sought sanctuary in neutral Switzerland. One of their first tasks there was to revise the Tribunal’s final report. This new version, which remained unpublished until 1993, omitted any reference to Rozmirovich’s testimony, and once again defended Malinovskii’s political honesty. Half of it was devoted to an attack on the Mensheviks for rumour-mongering.67 Work on the report stopped when word was received that the former Duma deputy had been killed fighting on the eastern front. Lenin and Zinoviev, perhaps relieved but still unrepentant, published an obituary in Sotsial-demokrat in which they noted the ‘necessity of preserving [Malinovskii’s] memory from malicious rumours, of cleansing his name and his honour of disgraceful slander’. ‘Roman Malinovskii’, they continued, ‘was an honest man and accusations of political dishonesty were filthy fabrications’.68 This posthumous rehabilitation turned out to be premature as well as wrong. Malinovskii survived but was injured and captured by the Germans near Lodz on 15 November 1914. By the fall of 1915 Lenin had once again entered into a cordial but unrevealing correspondence with his wayward friend69 and had started to supply him with Social Democratic literature for distribution in the camp. While ‘very enthusiastic reports’ soon reached Switzerland about Malinovskii’s propaganda work,70 Lenin was less happy when a reactionary deputy stood up before the Duma in November 1916 to charge openly that his protégé had been a provocateur.71 Moreover, Burtsev, having received new information ‘from persons close to the police’, reversed his earlier position and said in December that continued Bolshevik silence would imply acceptance on their part of Malinovskii’s guilt.72 Lenin took the bait. ‘Malinovskii is presently in a German prisoner-of-war camp and therefore unable to defend himself ’, he wrote in January 1917. He emphasized once again that the 1914 Tribunal had ‘unanimously confirmed the charges of provocation were absolute nonsense’.73 One month later revolution broke out in Petrograd. As Lenin’s train neared the Finland Station, he was ‘stunned’ to learn from a recent issue of Pravda that the charges were in fact absolutely

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correct. ‘What a swine!’, he said to Zinoviev. ‘He really put one over on us. The traitor! Shooting is too good for him.’74 *

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Where does this mass of new evidence leave us? First, so far no startling revelations have come out of Russian archives, no ‘smoking guns’ found, no evidence to support some of the more fanciful conspiracy theories. Second, it is now clear that some Bolsheviks as well as most Mensheviks thought that Malinovskii was guilty of provocation in 1914 even if no one except perhaps Rozmirovich had concrete evidence to prove it. Third, there is no doubt that Lenin was a poor judge of character. Whether it be Malinovskii or Stalin, the Bolshevik leader was often impressed by ‘unsavoury individuals’ of low social origin who had forceful personalities and a lack of political scruples. He developed a very special relationship with Malinovskii in 1912, was reluctant to listen to rumours he heard about him in 1913, and chose to believe his own instincts as well as Malinovskii’s explanations when more serious accusations were raised in May 1914. Once this premature decision had been reached and publicized, he closed his mind to new evidence and to the possibility that he might have been wrong. If ‘Lenin knew’ and if the Tribunal had been a deliberate cover-up, it stands to reason that he would have been better off to have allowed Malinovskii to sink quietly into oblivion during the war rather than using his services once again and constantly coming to his public defence. By doing so, however, he may have convinced Malinovskii that he did indeed know of his guilt and had forgiven it, thus encouraging the exposed provocateur to return to Russia in 1918. On the other hand, it is worth noting that of the 18 Social Democrats – many of whom had raised doubts about Malinovskii’s political honesty in 1914 – who testified before the Investigatory Commission in 1917, only Troianovskii accused Lenin of a cover-up.75 Two years after the revolution had proved Lenin wrong and Malinovskii had finally been put to rest in an unmarked Moscow grave, Lenin sheepishly admitted to Maxim Gorky: ‘I never could see through that scoundrel Malinovskii. It was a very fishy business...that Malinovskii Affair.’76

CHAPTER 7 Lenin’s Testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission* One topic the editors of the first four editions of V. I. Lenin’s ‘collected works’ carefully avoided was the Bolshevik leader’s testimony before the Provisional Government’s Extraordinary Investigatory Commission on 26 May 1917. No mention of the commission or of Lenin’s nine-page written deposition to it is to be found in these editions. In 1962 the editors of the fifth edition, his supposedly Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, were only slightly less reticent. The deposition itself is absent from the text of volume 32, which covers the period from 2 May to 8 July 1917, and his appearance before the commission is not included in the detailed ‘chronology of the life and activity of V. I. Lenin’ at the end of the volume. Buried in one of the endnotes, however, are three short paragraphs from his testimony in which he sought to explain his actions in 1914 when he defended Roman Malinovskii, a member of his Central Committee and the leader of the Bolshevik fraction in the Fourth State Duma, against widespread rumours that he was an agent of the tsarist police.1 The fact that Lenin’s judgement in 1914 was proven wrong when the police files were opened in March 1917 explains why the original deposition and a contemporary copy of it remained unpublished in two Soviet archives for more than seventy years. Under the influence of glasnost’, this ‘blank spot’ in Lenin’s biography was finally illuminated in 1990 and 1991 with the publication of both documents in two leading Soviet journals.2 And in 1996 Richard Pipes published an English translation of what purported to be a third archival copy.3 The fact that these documents differ in content raises an important question concerning the veracity of material coming out of Russian archives. It is the intention in this chapter to discuss the relatively unknown history of the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission, the background and content of Lenin’s testimony before it, and the provenance of the three archival versions of that testimony which have come to light. *

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* This chapter originally appeared in the Canadian Slavonic Papers 41, nos. 3/4 (September/ December 1999): 259–71.

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When Alexander Kerenskii became Minister of Justice in the new Provisional Government, his first and one of his more important acts was to create an Extraordinary Investigatory Commission (Chrezvychainaia sledstvennaia komissiia). Announced on 4 March, only two days after the abdication of Nicholas II, the commission was officially charged with ‘the investigation of malfeasance in office of former ministers, chief administrators, and other persons in high office of both the civil and the military and naval services’.4 Kerenskii asked N. K. Murav’ev, a Social Democrat and wellknown Moscow defence lawyer, to chair the seven-man commission and he gave him the authority of an assistant minister of justice.5 The initial vicechairs, S. V. Ivanov and S. V. Zavadskii, were both former members of the Russian Senate. The composition of the rest of the commission was overtly non-political and it fluctuated during the course of the next eight months. Its members generally were drawn from ‘intelligent men of independent character’ who had previously served as procurators in various imperial Russian courts.6 Academician S. F. Ol’denburg became the commission’s secretary, the poet Alexander Blok edited its protocols, and E. V. Tarle provided historical advice.7 Much of the work of the commission was done by 25 legally trained investigators who collected government and police documents, interrogated former tsarist officials, and took written depositions from witnesses of varying political persuasion. The setting for the commission’s work was incongruous, to say the least. After finding its initial quarters in the Senate too cramped, the commission moved to the Winter Palace. On formal occasions it met in a large hall on the first floor of the tsar’s former residence surrounded by footmen and porters still wearing imperial livery and protected by soldiers from the elite Preobrazhenskii Regiment. Slightly less pretentious quarters on the second floor offered rooms for the investigators to do their work and to take testimony. Carriages left behind by the palace’s earlier occupants were assigned to members of the commission and used to transport them to the Trubetskoi Bastion of the Peter and Paul Fortress where the interrogation of ex-tsarist officials, now in protective custody, took place.8 The commission interpreted its mandate to mean that it should look at events which occurred between the first Russian revolution in 1905 and the second in February 1917. It asked questions about the use of provocateurs such as Envo Azef and Malinovskii, the censorship of the press and the interception of private mail, the involvement by government officials in the Rasputin scandal, the shooting of strikers at the Lena goldfields in April 1912 and of demonstrators in Petrograd during February 1917, and ministerial incompetence and corruption during the war.9 Its objective was to ascertain by 1 September where the breaching of constitutional and criminal law of the old

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regime warranted laying formal charges against these officials. Judicial legality rather than a desire for revolutionary vengeance governed its proceedings. ‘Technical and logistical problems’, however, made it impossible either to keep to this timetable or to achieve the intended result. The commission heard its first witness, a former Minister of the Interior, A. N. Khvostov, on 18 March and was still taking testimony on 11 October. Two weeks later, on 25 October, as crowds hostile to the Provisional Government started to surround the Winter Palace, the commission’s remaining members thought it prudent to move their written records to a more secure location before seeking sanctuary for themselves.10 Most of this evidence, if not the commission itself, survived the ‘storming’ of the palace that evening. During the course of the next year, a new and more vengeful Bolshevik regime used some of it in trials of police officials, ministers of the former government, and agents provocateurs who were destined to summary execution. From 1924 to 1927 the Soviet government published the stenographic reports of the commission under the title Padenie tsarskogo rezhima. This seven-volume series, which has been called ‘the most important single source on the last years of the monarchy’,11 contains the testimony of 59 witnesses and potential defendants. Not surprisingly, much of this testimony is evasive and self-protective; less predictable is the incomplete nature of the published reports. Some police testimony is absent12 but far more telling is the omission of the depositions given by 18 Social Democrats.13 Most of this dealt with the activities of R.V. Malinovskii and the most significant omission is the deposition given by V. I. Lenin. *

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The commission’s interest in Malinovskii rested primarily in determining whether various ministers of the interior and police directors were culpable in penetrating the State Duma with a police agent, in breaking Russian laws to ensure Malinovskii’s election, and in ordering him to carry out political and revolutionary activity at their behest. Malinovskii, who was then in a German prisoner-of-war camp, was obviously unable to testify and was not a potential defendant in any case. Lenin, while simply called as a witness, was in a very disadvantageous position and in a sense was also on trial. He shared in the responsibility for the penetration of the Duma by a police agent; he had dismissed rumours of Malinovskii’s police connections when he first heard them in 1913; his hand-picked tribunal had cleared the deputy of suspicion of provocation when Malinovskii suddenly quit the Duma on police orders in May 1914; and on two occasions during the war the Bolshevik leader had rehabilitated his former colleague on the pages of the émigré party press.14

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Whether this was misjudgement or connivance, the resulting scandal was a situation his political opponents were bound to exploit. Lenin, his wife Nadezhda Krupskaya and G. E. Zinoviev were called to testify, presumably in the Winter Palace, on Friday, 26 May 1917. There was both excitement and animosity in the hall when they arrived.15 Like all of the thirty-odd witnesses whose testimony bore on Malinovskii, they were questioned by N. A. Kolokolov, a former assistant procurator who served as the commission’s chief investigator of this affair. In his written deposition, Lenin explained how he first met Malinovskii in January 1912 at the Sixth Party Conference in Prague. He admitted that he was immediately impressed by the latter’s forceful personality, by his earlier reputation as an experienced trade unionist in St. Petersburg, and by his subsequent conversion from Menshevism to Bolshevism. He noted that the conference elected Malinovskii to the Bolshevik Central Committee and nominated him as a candidate in the forthcoming elections to the Fourth State Duma.16 Unlike Zinoviev, who according to one member of the commission was aggressive, brief and unhelpful in his testimony, Lenin was ‘a proper and extremely modest’ witness.17 He acknowledged the damage done to the party by Malinovskii but he also maintained that to justify his own position the agent had to protect and further the interests of Pravda and the Duma fraction. Lenin speculated, not without some merit, that perhaps the reason the Okhrana forced Malinovskii to leave the Duma was that he had been too successful in his revolutionary role and had contributed to the growing popularity of the Bolshevik cause. Some of his most interesting and potentially damaging testimony related to Malinovskii’s ‘trial’ in Galicia by his Bolshevik peers in May and June 1914. He stressed that the evidence against the deputy was scant and unconvincing, that his stated reasons for leaving the Duma were plausible, and that while after the Azef affair in 1909 ‘nothing could surprise me’, he could not bring himself to believe in 1914 that Malinovskii was a provocateur.18 It was an explanation which at least one observer found to be sincere and believable.19 After reading Lenin’s initial written and signed deposition, Kolokolov asked him a series of supplemental questions concerning Malinovskii’s role in establishing an illegal printing press in Finland and about their personal relationship. The Bolshevik leader acknowledged that Malinovskii came to visit him six or seven times in Galicia, which was more than any of the other deputies, and that they had travelled together to Brussels and Paris on party business in January 1914. He also noted that they corresponded frequently after Malinovskii’s capture and that he had heard good things about his work in the POW camp. He concluded by telling the commission what it already knew: that ‘intelligent people’ in the Okhrana must have ‘stood behind [Malinovskii],

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directing his every political step, because he could not have pursued such a subtle course of action on his own’.20 These replies were written down by the investigator and then signed again by both Lenin and Kolokolov. As Lenin anticipated, his political opponents were quick to capitalize on his embarrassing admissions. Two days after his appearance before the commission, he tried to gain the initiative by reminding the Mensheviks and the Socialist Revolutionaries that they too had been penetrated by the police. ‘All parties without exception have made mistakes in failing to detect agents provocateurs’, he wrote in Pravda.21 Several weeks later, many of the major newspapers in Petrograd took advantage of the release of Kolokolov’s interim report on the Malinovskii investigation22 to stress the close ties the Bolsheviks apparently had with the police before the war. Portions of Lenin’s and Zinoviev’s testimony, as reproduced by Kolokolov, were used to support their case.23 Lenin was irate. On 17 June he accused Den’ and Novaia zhizn of misquoting him and of implying that he still did not believe Malinovskii was guilty of provocation.24 He also used evidence uncovered by the commission to charge that M. V. Rodzianko should be brought to trial because the ex-Duma president had not informed the Bolsheviks in May 1914 that he had firm evidence of Malinovskii’s police connections.25 In late October 1918, after the Bolshevik seizure of power and the signing of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk with Germany, Malinovskii returned voluntarily to Soviet Russia and asked to be tried for his past conduct. In lieu of calling his former colleagues once again as witnesses, Social Democratic depositions given to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission were submitted to a hastily convened Revolutionary Tribunal.26 Malinovskii was quickly found guilty of ‘injuring and discrediting the revolution and its leaders in the eyes of the working masses’27 and was duly executed in the early hours of 6 November 1918. A year and a half later Lenin repeated some of the arguments he had made in his deposition when he referred to the Malinovskii affair for the last time in The Infantile Disease of ‘Leftism’ in Communism.28 *

*

*

For the next 70 years Lenin’s image-makers made sure the embarrassing deposition remained unpublished in Soviet archives. In 1990, however, these restrictions were lifted, Malinovskii emerged from the shadows, and the complete testimony appeared for the first time in Voprosy istorii KPSS.29 Several months later Istoriia SSSR also published Lenin’s deposition.30 These versions are identical except in minor matters of paragraphing. In 1995 the editors of Istoricheskii arkhiv added to the historical record by publishing the long-suppressed postcards which Lenin exchanged with his wayward

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colleague while the latter was in German captivity.31 The deposition and these cards gained even wider circulation in 1996 when Richard Pipes included translated versions of them in his The Unknown Lenin: From the Secret Archive.32 Professor Pipes implied that he was publishing these documents for the first time in any language and he gave no indication of knowing of their prior appearance in Russian.33 More significantly, his translations differ in several instances from the published Soviet versions. In one case, Pipes’ Lenin listens to a speech given by Malinovskii ‘in January 1912 at the congress of the Latvian Social Democratic Party in Brussels’ whereas both Soviet versions correctly give the date as January 1914.34 Near the end of the deposition, according to the 1990/91 versions, Lenin noted that Malinovskii ‘initiated party activity among our prisoners of war, gave lectures, explained the Erfurt program. I know this from letters Malinovskii sent to me and also from the letters of several other prisoners of war.’35 Professor Pipes’ translation does not contain the italicized phrase. This leads him to add a footnote that Lenin was being ‘highly disingenuous here, implying that he has heard thirdhand about Malinovsky’s capture’ whereas the newly published postcards clearly proved that they were in direct contact.36 When these discrepancies were called to his attention on the pages of Revolutionary Russia37 Professor Pipes responded that the Soviet editors, ‘aware that Lenin received mail from Malinovskii and that this correspondence might leak, wanted to protect him from accusations of lying’ and thus they may have inserted the italicized clause.38 To support his argument, Pipes provided a photocopy of an archival typescript of this portion of Lenin’s deposition wherein the disputed clause is nowhere to be seen (see illustration 3). He also felt that I had somehow accused him ‘of wilful tampering with a documentary text’, that this challenged his ‘integrity as a scholar’, and that my observation ‘border[ed] on the libelous’.39 He was uninterested in my subsequent denial, in other possible explanations I offered for the omission,40 or in a scholarly exchange of published correspondence concerning the veracity of documents coming out of Russian archives. Instead, his lawyers used the threat of a libel suit to force the publication of an ‘Apology’ which appeared on the contents page of the Revolutionary Russia in June 1998 and effectively terminated further discussion. This action also leads to the conclusion that only Pipes’ version of Lenin’s previously unpublished deposition is authentic. Is this in fact true? In the ‘Document and Illustration Credits’ to The Unknown Lenin, Professor Pipes notes that he found the deposition in the Russian Centre for the Preservation and Study of Documents of Recent History (RTsKhIDNI), ‘f[ond] 2, op[is] 1, d[elo] 4578, l[isty] 1–6, 9. Handwritten by Lenin and Kolokolov... The text first appeared in Vestnik of the Provisional Government, 16 June 1917, p. 3.’41 Contrary to this information, the page of archival

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evidence he produced was typed (not handwritten) in the new, post-1917 orthography. Moreover, the ‘text’ of the deposition did not ’appear’ in the Vestnik of the Provisional Government on 16 June. That issue contained instead a nearly verbatim summary of Kolokolov’s interim report wherein only a few brief excerpts from Lenin’s testimony were reproduced. Finally, it should be noted that the archival source cited – f.2, op.1, d.4578 – holds the manuscript of Lenin’s published ‘Rezoliutsiia ob ekonomicheskikh merakh bor’by s razukhoi’;42 it does not include his unpublished deposition. Istoriia SSSR also claimed that its version was based on a typed archival copy. In their case, the editors cited the Central State Archive of the October Revolution (TsGAOR), fond 1005, opis 8, delo 2. This delo contained materials collected for use at Malinovskii’s 1918 trial including, inter alia, typed copies of Social Democratic depositions given to the commission and reproduced from the manuscripts before the October Revolution.43 These holdings have since been transferred to the State Archive of the Russian Federation (GARF). When the delo in question was consulted in GARF, Lenin’s deposition was found. It is typed in the old orthography and is identical to the version published in Istoriia SSSR. It includes the phrase ‘from letters Malinovskii sent to me and also’ (iz pisem Malinovskogo ko mne, a takzhe...) which is missing from the version published by Professor Pipes. Which of these two typed but different archival copies correctly reflects Lenin’s original deposition? A clue may be found in the fact that in June 1917 at least three Petrograd newspapers, basing themselves on Kolokolov’s interim report, alluded to Lenin’s corresponding with Malinovskii although none quoted him directly.44 Conclusive evidence would seem to lie in the contents of the handwritten original. The Institute of Marxism–Leninism, which claimed to have reproduced this text in Voprosy istorii KPSS, did not cite its archival source. A bibliography of Lenin’s writings published by that same institute in 1962, however, provides an indication as to its origin. It lists seven other non-Bolshevik newspapers which in June 1917 carried excerpts from Lenin’s testimony and it refers the researcher to the institute’s Central Party Archive, fond 2, opis 1, delo 4579.45 This archive has since been transferred to the RTsKhIDNI. When delo 4579 (rather than 4578) was consulted, it revealed the long-lost, nine-page handwritten deposition signed by both Lenin and Kolokolov. This document agrees with that in GARF, with those in the two Soviet journals, and more significantly it includes the clause which Professor Pipes’ typed version omits (see illustration 4, four lines up). How is this discrepancy explained? I would surmise that Professor Pipes or his Moscow associates did indeed see delo 4579 but mistakenly cited it as delo 4578. According to I. N. Selezneva, a prominent archivist at the RTsKhIDNI, researchers requesting rare or handwritten manuscripts such as this are often

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Figure 3. Extract from Lenin’s Testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission.

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Figure 4. Extract from Lenin’s Testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission (RTsKhIDNI, fond 2, opis 1, delo 4579, list 8).

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given a typed ‘rasshifrovka’ which serves as a more legible working copy. It is understood that these must be collated with the original before they are cited or published.46 It is very possible that Professor Pipes was given an imperfect ‘working copy’ which he subsequently translated, published and submitted to the editor of Revolutionary Russia as proof of his case but which he had not verified against the handwritten original. Another possibility is that he had a new copy typed from the original and then simply failed to collate the two. The repetition in the sentence structure, with lines 4 and 5 up each ending with the words ‘iz pisem’ (from letters), makes it easy to understand how an entire line could accidentally have been dropped by an unidentified archival typist of either the rasshifrovka or of a specifically ordered copy. Five conclusions can be drawn from this examination of these conflicting archival documents. First, I do not feel now and I have never felt that Richard Pipes was guilty ‘of wilful tampering with a documentary text’ or that he ‘deliberately distorted source material’.47 However, this example suggests that he was careless in his use of archival material. Second, the editors of Voprosy istorii KPSS and Istoriia SSSR definitely did not insert the disputed clause so as ‘to protect [Lenin] from accusations of lying’, as Professor Pipes suggested. Third, future scholars interested in Lenin’s testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission are advised to consult the Russian version and not the translation published by Yale University Press.48 Fourth, Western researchers using Russian archives must be careful to follow the same procedures practiced in North American and other European archives. They should be aware that variants of documents often exist and that it is necessary to seek the earliest version extant. Finally, it is better to engage in scholarly disputation on pages of academic journals than it is to hire lawyers.

CHAPTER 8 Lenin and Armand: New Evidence on an Old Affair*

Figure 5. Police Photograph of Inessa Armand (Hoover Institution, Okhrana Collection, file XIIIf, (4) (2), folder 1).

It is the nightmare of most authors that just before or immediately after the publication of a book that has taken years to complete, someone will find an unknown archive or gain access to a previously closed file and that material found therein will seriously undermine an argument the author has made. This happened to me in 1992. A year and a half earlier I had delivered * This chapter originally appeared in the Canadian Slavonic Papers 43 no. 1 (March 2001): 49–65.

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a 400-page manuscript entitled Inessa Armand: Revolutionary and Feminist to Cambridge University Press. I had consulted the few relevant archives in the West, all of the pertinent primary materials published in the Soviet Union, and the secondary literature on my topic. I was aware that the Central Party Archives of the Institute of Marxism–Leninism had unpublished material in Moscow but I knew from personal experience and that of other researchers that access to these particular records, even in the name of glasnost’, was virtually impossible. The publisher’s referees recognized this fact and accepted my argument that Armand’s long overlooked career as a Bolshevik revolutionary and later as a Soviet feminist could be convincingly documented with the evidence then available. I was reasonably certain that no ‘smoking gun’ lay in Soviet archives that might demolish my picture of her professional career. Armand’s private life was another matter. Western scholarship, ever since Bertram Wolfe’s exposé in 19631, has concentrated on her relationship with Lenin. The perceived wisdom was that the two revolutionaries were lovers intermittently or continuously from 1911 to at least 1917 and that any accomplishments she might have had as a revolutionary or feminist were secondary to that fact and usually obscured by it. My primary intention was to lift this veil of obscurity and to call attention to her work first as an underground propagandist, then as a Bolshevik organizer in emigration, and finally as a defender of women’s rights in the workplace and in society. I could not avoid, however, her relationship with Lenin. It is impossible to prove [I wrote in 1992] that two persons who saw each other frequently over a six-year period and also were obviously very close friends were not at the same time emotionally involved or that they did not have an isolated affair. It is almost as difficult to prove that they did not have an extended romantic involvement with one another. It is possible, however, to examine the evidence that has been used to support the hypothesis that they were lovers and to suggest, if the veracity of this evidence is in question, other possible interpretations of their relationship.2

In examining that evidence I found much of it to be based on conjecture, gossip and clearly erroneous information. My conclusion that the case of the ‘romantic school’ of historians could not be proven was tempered by the realization that unpublished letters from both parties remained inaccessible in Soviet archives. These were obviously historical guns; I took the chance that they were not loaded with ammunition that would destroy the secondary case I sought to make in my biography. I corrected the proofs of Inessa Armand as the Communist Party and the Soviet Union collapsed in the second half of 1991. By the time the book

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appeared the next June, nothing that I had found in the post-Soviet press proved me wrong. I breathed a sigh of relief when reviewers, while noting my lack of research in Soviet archives, recognized the reasons for it and produced no new documents to undermine my major conclusions. Almost without exception, I was credited with having rehabilitated Armand’s revolutionary reputation and most were willing to accept my view of her relationship with Lenin. It was reassuring and gratifying six months later to receive the Heldt Prize awarded annually by the American Association for Women in Slavic Studies to the best book published in the field of Slavic women’s studies. This sense of relief proved premature and the author’s nightmare soon became a reality. My reviewers and I missed the fact that Svobodnaia mysl’ had published in 1992 a long letter which Armand had written to Lenin in January 1914 as well as extensive portions of a ‘diary’ which she kept in the last month of her life.3 Less than two years later Rossiiskaia gazeta made available eight previously unpublished letters and censored portions of six others which Lenin had sent to Armand between January 1914 and March 1917.4 A. G. Latyshev, the compiler of these documents, found ten more by the time he published his Rassekrechennyi Lenin in 1996,5 the same year that Richard Pipes provided an English translation of eight letters.6 In the meantime, Dmitri Volkogonov, using archival copies of some of these, published a highly critical and influential biography of Lenin in both English and Russian.7 The frequency with which portions of these letters appeared in more sensational secondary accounts,8 television documentaries and London newspapers,9 gave the illusion of a never-ending flow of archival documents relating to the love life of the first Soviet leader. The purpose of this chapter is to put these revelations into proper perspective: how many new letters have in fact appeared? Why were they previously suppressed? Do further documents still remain in the archives? And what light does this ‘new evidence’ cast on an ‘old affair’? *

*

*

Armand and Lenin lived in an age when educated Europeans communicated with one another by letters. Postal services at the beginning of the twentieth century were inexpensive, transportation of mail by rail was quicker than it is today by air, and home deliveries were frequent. Lenin was an assiduous letter writer. His supposedly ‘complete’ Polnoe sobranie sochinenii contains over 4300 letters,10 and at least another 700 have been published since it appeared in 1965. His most frequent correspondent, other than his mother, was Inessa Armand. This corpus provides a rich source of information about Lenin’s political thinking of the time and his personality as well as about his personal relationships which would have been lost to historians and biographers had

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the principals been living in the age of the long-distance telephone and electronic mail. Fortunately, Armand kept virtually all of his letters no matter how brief or inconsequential they may have been. Postscripts to letters written by Lenin’s wife Nadezhda Krupskaya were preserved even when the letter itself was discarded.11 When Lenin failed to date a message, Armand carefully noted when she received the communication.12 One can only speculate on the reasons for this archival instinct. Perhaps she was saving the words of the Great Man for posterity, perhaps she was simply being sentimental. Lenin was more practical and pragmatic about the matter. On 6 July 1914 Armand was invited to visit him in Austrian Galicia later in the summer. Lenin went on to add in broken English ‘please bring when You will come (i.e., bring with you) all our letters (sending them by registered mail here is not convenient: the registered packet can very easily be opened by friends). And so on... Please, bring all letters Yourself and we shall speak about it.’13 The logical conclusion to be derived from this recently published excerpt is that he disapproved of her maintaining a written record of their relationship and that he did not want it to fall into the hands of ‘friends’, that is, Krupskaya. It is a moot point why he did not simply ask her to destroy the 25 letters she had by then received unless he did not trust her to do so. In any case, she did not go to Galicia in the summer of 1914. With war clouds looming over Europe and irritated at Lenin’s criticism over other matters, she preferred to vacation along the Adriatic with her children. By early October, Lenin, Krupskaya, Armand and presumably their correspondence were re-united in neutral Bern where they lived in close proximity and harmony for the next 15 months. There were few occasions when letter writing was necessary and there is no record of whether the fate of the earlier letters was again discussed. In April 1916, after an arduous fourmonth trip to wartime Paris and more criticism, she chose not to join Lenin and his wife in Zurich but lived instead in a series of isolated Swiss towns. Physical separation necessitated correspondence, sometimes several letters in one day.14 By the time Armand boarded the famous ‘sealed train’ with Lenin in April 1917, she had added 97 more letters to her growing cache. Lenin had more important things to do once they returned to Russia than to write personal letters. She received three from him in May 1917 and another ten, most of them brief notes about her failing health, in 1920. Once they both were working in Moscow, the telephone replaced the pen as the easiest form of communication.15 After Armand died in September 1920, the 135 letters, cards and telegrams she had received from her now-famous correspondent passed into the hands of her daughter Inna. When Lenin himself was on his deathbed three years later,

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Inna ignored an appeal from the Central Committee to turn in all Leniniana for safekeeping and eventual publication. It was not until his widow died in 1939 that she felt comfortable in sharing her mother’s correspondence with Lenin’s successors.16 The subsequent publication of these letters has been sporadic and, until recently, incomplete. In 1939 the editors of Bol’shevik rushed into publication two letters from January 1915 in which Lenin ridiculed Armand’s desire to discuss the issue of ‘free love’ in a brochure she was planning on marriage and the family.17 These, plus 21 other letters, appeared in 1950 in the fourth edition of his Sochineniia. More complete versions of some of these, along with 77 new communications, were included in the fifth edition a decade later. Subsequently, another 18 letters, most of them brief and innocuous in nature, appeared in the Leninskii sbornik and the Izvestiia TsK KPSS.18 While glasnost’ shed light on some of the ‘dark spots’ in Lenin’s life, such as his friendship and patronage of police agent Roman Malinovskii,19 Gorbachev was determined that his predecessor’s true relationship with Armand should remain in official obscurity. While analysing the 118 letters published before 1992, I came to the conclusion that nowhere in them could the historian find evidence of a romantic nature – endearments, arrangements for assignations, personal asides between lovers. I was, however, very much concerned that 14 of these letters appeared incomplete and that another 15 had been identified with archival numbers but unaccountably remained unpublished in the Central Party Archives.20 Shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union, these archival holdings were transferred to the Russian Centre for the Preservation and Study of Documents of Recent History (RTsKhIDNI) and opened to select Russian and Western scholars. This resulted in a flood of new Leniniana that culminated in 1999 with the publication of Neizvestnye dokumenty by the RTsKhIDNI in cooperation with the Russian Political Encyclopaedia (ROSSPIAN). Each of the 420 ‘unknown documents’ in this scholarly, definitive edition contained its original archival number and among these were the 15 Armand items earlier cited as unpublished.21 The editors maintained that no unpublished letters or sections of letters to Armand still remained in the archives.22 A casual observer of Russian and Western scholarship over the past decade might conclude that previously unpublished Lenin letters to Armand were sufficient in number to fill an entire volume of his Sochineniia, as Roy Medvedev predicted in 1988.23 In reality, a small pamphlet would suffice. A total of 30 new items have been published since the collapse of the Soviet Union and the appearance of my book.24 Thirteen are new letters or postcards, another 13 are sentences or paragraphs excised from previously published letters which serve to make 11 of these letters complete, two are postscripts to letters

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written by Krupskaya, one is an excerpt from a previously unpublished letter, and one is a brief telegram. It would be a mistake to conclude that all of these are love letters which were suppressed by puritanical Soviet censors bent on protecting the reputation of an allegedly monogamous vozhd. • Seven refer favourably to Roman Malinovskii, whom Lenin defended in 1914 and early 1917 against growing suspicion (soon proven correct) that he was an agent of the tsarist secret police, or they attacked party members who dared question Lenin’s credulity in this matter.25 The ‘Malinovskii Affair’ was an anathema to Soviet editors until glasnost’ started to lift the veil of secrecy. Neizvestnye dokumenty contains 31 previously suppressed Malinovskii items – 13 letters or telegrams to Armand or other socialists about him, 10 letters to the editor or articles defending Malinovskii, 6 letters to Malinovskii himself, and 2 unpublished reports.26 • At least five of the letters to Armand were probably omitted from the official Soviet record because in them Lenin referred to various Russian and European socialists in an uncomplimentary and occasionally vulgar fashion. Two long-time Bolsheviks drew his ire: I. F. Popov was a ‘villain’ (merzavets) and a ‘swine’ (svoloch’) while G. A. Usievich was ‘spineless’ (beskhrebetnyi) and ‘a dolt’ (duren’) when they failed to execute his orders properly. A. A. Troianovskii, a future Soviet ambassador to the United States, was also a ‘villain’ as well as being a ‘scoundrel’ (negodliai). In 1914 Ukrainian Social Democrats were deemed ‘idiots’ (durach’e) and ‘swine’ while Polish socialists were ‘vile’ (podlyi) as well as ‘scum’ (svoloch’). The Menshevik A. S. Martynov was an ‘idiot’ and a ‘blockhead’ (bolvan) while another of Lenin’s travelling companions on the ‘sealed train’, Feliks Kon whom he ‘couldn’t stand’, was simply an ‘old fool’ (staryi duren).27 The Soviet editors of Lenin’s collected works obviously had a rule about how candid he could be when referring to fellow socialists and this rule had nothing to do with Inessa Armand. • If Lenin’s kind words about a police agent and his crude comments about fellow socialists were embarrassments that needed to be censored, then so also were his efforts to gain German assistance for his return to Russia after the February Revolution. In an expurgated section to a previously published letter of 19 March 1917, he tells Armand ‘in moments such as this one has to be resourceful and adventurous. You need to go quickly to the German Embassy, make up some personal excuse to obtain a pass to Copenhagen, hire a Zurich lawyer. I’ll give you 300 frs. if you obtain a pass from the Germans.’28 • Another eight recently published communications with Armand were quite rightly overlooked by earlier Soviet editors because of their brevity and inconsequential nature. One is a five-word telegram, two are brief postscripts,

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and two more are probably postcards. On four occasions Lenin merely notes that he has sent a book or an article and reminds her to return them. Another asks her to pass on a letter to three fellow socialists. His impatience at the lack of news and brief comments about his wife’s health are hardly new and are of little interest even to the most dedicated Leninist (if one still exists).29 These miscellaneous communications more properly belong in the now-defunct Leninskii sbornik than in any edition of his Sochineniia. Only nine of the 30 newly published letters to Inessa Armand can be said to be personal in tone and most of these are surprisingly innocuous. Over half replicate themes discussed in previously published letters written in 1916 or 1917: irritation with Armand’s sloppy translation of his articles, advice on where she should live in Switzerland, concern about her mental and physical health.30 Since similar letters appeared in the Polnoe sobranie sochinenii,31 perhaps these were excluded only because the sheer volume of correspondence would cause unwanted speculation. Two comments, both written in English and deleted from previously published material, are of greater interest. On 6 July 1914 Armand received a letter in which Lenin said ‘Never, never have I written that I esteem only three women. Never!! I’ve written that fullest friendship, absolute esteem and confiance of mine are confined to only 2–3 women. That is quite another, quite, quite another thing.’32 To whom and about what Lenin was referring is lost on the modern reader and probably on his editors as well. To be safe, they cut it out of the letter. It is very easy to see why the other comment frightened his editors and how it could be taken out of context. On 16 July 1914 Armand read a letter addressed to her as ‘My dear & dearest friend!’ which explained in very un-Lenin-like fashion ‘Oh, I would like to kiss you thousand times greeting you & wishing you but success: I am fully sure that you will be victorious.’33 The explanation for a thousand kisses is very simple and not at all romantic: Armand had just agreed to suspend a family holiday so as to represent Lenin at the Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference. He was unwilling to face the leaders of European social democracy, who rightly considered him the chief source of disunity inside the RSDRP, and was therefore delighted when she finally gave in to his entreaties.34 Those looking for the proverbial ‘smoking gun’ in Lenin’s previously suppressed correspondence to Inessa Armand will be disappointed not to find it anywhere in Neizvestnye dokumenty. More important than what has been found in Lenin’s archival fond is what has not been found. Eight previously published letters, all written in the first five months of 1914, plus one newly published letter of 7 November 1916 are still missing one of more pages which the editors of Neizvestnye dokumenty now acknowledge no longer exist.35 Another five letters

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lack either a salutation or an ending and thus may also be incomplete36 while at least eight others include unexplained ellipses which may or may not have been a stylistic device employed by Lenin himself. Whether this censorship was done by Armand at Lenin’s behest, jointly with Lenin during or after the war, or by Armand’s daughter before she surrendered the letters to Soviet authorities in 1939 is impossible to tell from the available evidence. It seems doubtful, given what has subsequently been published, that this can be blamed on Soviet archivists or editors. In light of what has recently been found in the Armand fond, one can only conclude that the missing pages were highly personal in nature and that their ‘loss’ was intentional. From internal evidence in Lenin’s letters it is obvious that Armand was an equally prodigious writer. Lenin, however, was neither a pack rat nor an archivist and apparently saved few if any of her letters. Only two, both dealing with international rather than personal issues, were published during the Soviet period.37 A French communist, when working on a sanitized biography of Armand in the 1950s, hinted that he had seen personal letters in her Soviet archive but he quoted from none of them.38 In January 1992, the New York Times announced that these were going to be released for publication abroad later that year.39 This has not happened. With the exception of one long letter, presumably sent by Armand in Paris to Lenin in Cracow, none of her other correspondence with him has been published for the simple reason that none exists in the archives.40 The background to this letter and much of its content are unclear as is the date on which it was mailed,41 if indeed it was ever sent. These details are important since the letter can only be interpreted as a declaration of love and is the best and perhaps the only conclusive evidence of an affair. According to the editors of Svobodnaia mysl’, the letter was sent in midDecember 1913, shortly after Armand returned from Cracow: When I found myself on the Boulevard Saint-Michel, [Avenue] d’Orléans, etc., [she wrote,] so many memories lay around every corner. It was sad and even awful. Past moods, feelings, thoughts surged up; it is such a pity because these will never return...We have parted, my darling, you and I have parted! And it is so painful... As I gazed at familiar places, I recognized – as I never did before – what a large place you occupied in my life here in Paris. Almost every activity in Paris is tied by a thousand threads to thoughts of you. I definitely was not in love with you at the time though even then I loved you very much.42

This letter tells more about their relationship than all 135 of Lenin’s published letters to her. Armand had first returned to Paris, the city of her birth, in the fall of 1910. For the next year she was involved with the work of the Paris

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Bolshevik section and in the setting up of a school for underground party workers outside the French capital at Longjumeau in the summer of 1911.43 Armand’s comments on that period make her sound more like a star-struck, infatuated teenager than a woman of 37 supposedly engaged in a torrid, secretive affair. In Paris I loved visiting with [Krupskaya], sitting in her room... During that time I was terribly scared of you. I wanted to see you, but I would have preferred to die on the spot than to have approached you, and when for some reason you came into N. K.’s room, I at once became flustered and behaved like a fool... It was only in Longjumeau and the following autumn in connection with the translations, etc., that I got used to you a little.44

In September 1911, after the school closed, Armand and three of her children rented an apartment at 2 Rue Marie Rose. Lenin and Krupskaya lived next door until June 1912 when they moved to Cracow in Austrian Galicia where they remained until the outbreak of the war. Armand left Paris a month after Lenin and stopped for two days in Cracow before departing for Russia on a party assignment. On 14 September 1912 she was arrested in St. Petersburg, incarcerated for six months before being freed on bail put up by her estranged husband. Sometime in August she fled the country and immediately thereafter rejoined Lenin and Krupskaya in Galicia where she remained until mid-December 1913. Her letter offers some tantalizing hints, indeed the only written evidence, about her relations with Lenin during this time. ‘It was sad’, she wrote in a wistful and perplexing fashion, ‘because Arosa was so temporary, such a passing moment. Arosa was so close to Cracow while Paris has a finality about it.’45 One might surmise from this that sometime after the closing of the Longjumeau school Armand had overcome her earlier trepidation of Lenin and that the two of them had spent a few delightful, private days in the remote Swiss alpine town of Arosa. When that rendezvous supposedly took place is difficult to establish since nowhere in the vast Soviet literature on Lenin is Arosa ever mentioned. In late September 1911 Lenin was in fact in Zurich, attending a meeting of the International Socialist Bureau. His Biograficheskaia khronika provides ample detail on how Vladimir Ilyich climbed the Pilatus near Lucerne on 27 or 28 September and then gave reports to local party groups in Bern and Geneva.46 From 2 October to 18 October, when he returned to Paris and Krupskaya, it is uncharacteristically silent about his whereabouts and activities. Perhaps he visited Arosa during that period with Armand who, according to undocumented sources,47 was also in Switzerland at the time.

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In August 2000, while on a hiking holiday in Switzerland, I visited Arosa to check hotel registers for October 1911. Once before I had found valuable information on Lenin’s precise whereabouts thanks to the careful recordkeeping of Swiss hoteliers.48 While over half of the hotels in Arosa in 1911 are still in existence, most of them have changed family hands several times and none kept systematic records from before the Second World War let alone the First. I was, however, given access to a complete run of Aroser Fremdenblatt, a weekly newsletter which listed in which hotels the town’s 500 to 800 guests were staying. My search for the names Ul’ianov, Armand and their various commonly used pseudonyms proved fruitless for October 1911. While they may have met privately elsewhere in Switzerland during this period, I was reasonably confident it was not in Arosa.49 Another possible explanation for Armand’s wistful mention of Arosa is suggested by the opening sentence of Lenin’s very first but incomplete letter sent to her ‘after 18 December 1913’. ‘I have just received the telegram’, he wrote, ‘and changed the envelope which had been marked for A...’50 I had assumed that ‘A’ was either Armand’s friend Abram Skovno or her sister-inlaw Anna Konstantinovich in care of whom the letter conceivably had been sent. It could equally well stand for Arosa. A search of the Aroser Fremdenblatt for the first three weeks of December revealed nothing but on 23 December and then again on 1 January 1914 ‘Madame Armand of Paris’ is listed as staying in the Hotel und Pension Merkur. She had a travelling companion but it was her sister-in-law, not Lenin.51 The Merkur, which offered rooms for two and a half or three francs a night, was the cheapest establishment in Arosa at the time,52 and as such three-quarters of its guests were frugal Swiss rather than affluent English and Germans tourists who usually chose more stylish hotels. It offered as attractions only a concert on Sunday night with Pilsner Urquell available on draught every Thursday night.53 It can be assumed Armand went to Arosa not for the beer but for the clean mountain air and as a place to recuperate from tuberculosis contracted in damp Russian prisons or perhaps from marital discord in Cracow. Armand finally arrived in Paris at the end of the first week of January 1914 and not mid-December as previously assumed. On Saturday and Sunday, probably the 10th and the 11th of January, she wrote her now famous letter to Lenin. ‘Even now I could manage without the kisses, [she confessed,] if only I could see you; to talk with you occasionally would be such joy – and it could harm no one. Why was it necessary to deprive me of this? You ask if I am angry that it was you who “brought about” the separation. No, I don’t think you did it for your own sake.’54 One logical interpretation of this passage is that hiking in the Carpathians and concerts in Cracow had brought the affair to fruition or at the very least had allowed it to be resumed. Eventually, this

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ménage à trois proved too much for the Bolshevik leader. Perhaps he ‘brought about the separation’ for Krupskaya’s sake or in response to an ultimatum from his long-suffering wife. Or perhaps his attraction to Armand turned out to be less than hers for him. Only Chernyshevskii would have the audacity to suggest that he ‘did it’ for the revolution. In any case, at his insistence the four-month idyll in Galicia came to an abrupt end, plans were cancelled for Armand’s children to join her and for her to draft the minutes of the recent meeting of the Central Committee,55 and she left for Paris by way of Arosa. ‘I know, I just feel that you won’t be coming here’, she wrote on 10 January. But he did come. Travelling with Roman Malinovskii, Lenin stopped off in Berlin on the 15th and arrived in Paris on the 17th. News of these plans was probably transmitted in one of the five still incomplete letters which Lenin mailed Armand from Cracow during the first half of January56 and which she received before she had a chance to mail her own long and revealing letter. If Lenin never received it, then this would explain why it almost alone in her extensive correspondence with him escaped destruction. Lenin and Malinovskii stayed with Armand in the home of a Russian émigré for the next eight days57 while he conducted party and presumably personal business. The two men went to Brussels on 25 January where they remained for another week meeting with Latvian Social Democrats and the secretary of the International Socialist Bureau. There is a hint in one letter that Armand may have joined them on 2 February just before Lenin returned to Cracow.58 Her letter and this sequence of events help to explain anomalies in Lenin’s subsequent correspondence. While he continued to use the familiar ty form of address until the outbreak of the war, he was equally determined to stick to the agreement they had reached before she departed for Arosa. Three more letters sent before 26 March are missing two or more pages wherein the arrangement may have been re-enforced.59 In one recently restored excerpt, written while Lenin was still in Brussels, he tried to reassure her: ‘if you thought I was “consoling” you with thoughts [of work that needed to be done] in Paris, then you are mistaken’. He then proceeded to list a series of party chores he wanted her to undertake in the French capital.60 To the modern reader and probably to Armand these do in fact seem like make-work projects designed to keep her busy and to justify her return to Paris. In another recently published letter, he hoped that she was not ‘angry’ about a joke he had made concerning pseudonyms in a missing portion of a letter sent on 26 March.61 If he had reminded her that he had once used the name of ‘Petrov’ while she on occasion had ironically been known as ‘Petrova’, then she certainly would not have been amused any more than when he called her ‘the Holy Virgin’ (bogoroditsa) in the same letter.62

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Lenin’s conscience must have been bothering him when he wrote to her in broken English on 7 June 1914: ‘If possible, do not be angry against me. I have caused you a great pain, I know it...’63 This same motivation prompted an exchange of previously unpublished correspondence two years later. Armand had just returned from a difficult trip to Paris, where her conduct of party business had been criticized by Lenin. Either out of spite or to fulfill her ‘separation agreement’ with him, she refused repeatedly to live in Zurich where he and Krupskaya now resided. Her mood was depressed and her health questionable living in remote mountain villages. ‘I am very happy about your plan to get some fresh summer air for a while’, he wrote on 7 June 1916, ‘only don’t choose Sör[enberg], but a new place with new people in order to cheer up’.64 She ignored his advice and returned to Sörenberg where she, Lenin and Krupskaya had vacationed the previous summer.65 ‘I felt like saying a few friendly words to you and very firmly pressing your hand’, he wrote on 26 November. ‘I am very glad that you are getting ready to leave [Sörenberg] and from the depth of my soul I hope things will be easier for you elsewhere.’66 Life in Clarens was no better. ‘Your latest letters were so full of sadness’, he wrote on 12 January 1917, ‘and evoked such sorrowful thoughts in me and stirred up such pangs of conscience that I simply cannot compose myself. I would like to say at least something friendly and urgently beg you not to sit in virtual isolation in a little town where there is no social life, but go somewhere where you can find old and new friends, and cheer up.’67 A week later his patience was wearing a bit thin with their imbroglio. ‘I urge you, when choosing your place of residence, not to take into account whether I might go there. It would be quite absurd, preposterous and ridiculous if I were to restrict you in your choice of a town by the notion that it ‘may’ turn out in the future that I too will be there!!!’68 Armand’s fond contains evidence of yet another revealing letter which she wrote to Lenin but never sent. In February 1919, on the eve of a potentially dangerous trip to France under the cover of being a member of a Russian Red Cross delegation, she sent a letter to her daughter Inna. I’m enclosing a letter for Sasha, a second one for Fedya [her sons] and a third for Ilyich. Only you are to know about the last one. Give the first two letters to them right away, but keep the third one yourself for the time being. When we get back I’ll tear it up. If something happens to me...then you must give this letter personally to Vl. Il. The way to do it is as follows: go to [the editorial office of] Pravda where Mariia Il’inichna [Lenin’s sister] works, give her the letter and say its from me and is personal for V. I. In the meantime, hang onto it... [Its] sealed in an envelope.69

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In late May she returned safely. Since the letter was presumably torn up, we can only speculate as to its contents. Three months later, in August 1919, Armand became the first Director of Zhenotdel – the Women’s Section of the Central Committee. For the next year she worked hard to put Bolshevik rhetoric concerning the equality of women into practice. In late July 1920 she single-handedly organized and led the First Conference of Communist Women held in conjunction with the Second Congress of the Comintern. Much of this work was frustrating; she was discouraged by quarrels with her more famous feminist colleague, Aleksandra Kollontai; and her health was once again failing.70 In mid-August, after her conference was over, she acceded to Lenin’s pestering that she take a vacation in the Caucasus. While staying in Kislovodsk with her youngest son Andre, surrounded by White Russian guerrillas and pestilence, Armand recorded her last thoughts about love and death. Writing in a commemorative Comintern notebook, which was published only in 1992, she returned to the theme of love first raised in her letter of January 1914. I used to approach everyone with a warm feeling. Now I’m indifferent to everyone... I have warm feelings only for the children and V. I. In all other respects, it is as if my heart has died. As if, having given all my strength and all my passion to V. I. and the cause, the springs of love and sympathy for people have dried up in me... I have none left except for V. I. and my children.71

In her last entry, written on 11 September, she clearly was reflecting back and trying to justify in her own mind the agreement she made with Lenin in December 1913. For romantics, love occupies the most important place in a person’s life – love is all. I used to be much closer to this idea than I am now... In my life, in the past, there were a lot of occasions when, for the sake of the cause, I sacrificed my happiness and my love. But previously, it seemed that in its meaning, love had a significance equal to that of the social cause. Now, that is not the case. The importance of love, compared to public activity, has become quite small and cannot be compared to the social cause. True, in my own life love still occupies a big place, it makes me suffer a lot and takes up a lot of my thoughts. But still, not for a moment do I cease to recognize that, however painful for me, love and personal relationships are nothing compared to the needs of the struggle. That is why the views of the romantics, which before seemed fully acceptable, now seem...72

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At this point she stopped writing and 12 days later died at the age of 46 in the near-by town of Nal’chik. The theme of death also pervades her last writing. ‘Will this feeling of inner death ever pass?’ she asked herself on 1 September 1920. ‘I am a person whose heart is dying little by little... Lazarus unwittingly remembered his resurrection from the dead...Lazarus knew death and on him there remained the imprint of death which frightened and alienated people from him. I am also a living corpse, and it is dreadful!’73 These morbid thoughts returned on 9 September. It seems to me, as I move among people, that I am trying not to reveal my secret to them that I am a dead person among the living, a living corpse. Like a good actor, in a scene that has been rehearsed a hundred times...I repeat from memory appropriate gestures, smiles, facial expressions, even words which I have used before when I genuinely experienced the feelings which they convey. My heart remains dead, my soul is silent, and I can’t completely hide my sad secret...my inner death remains.74

Her deep depression and despair are obvious in these last passages. One cannot help but conclude that perhaps there is some truth in the rumour passed on to me by a member of her family that Armand chose to end her own life with poison in the Caucasus.75 Officially, she died of cholera on 24 September 1920. Lenin met her coffin when it was returned to Moscow on 11 October and he was the most prominent mourner as it was lowered into her grave in Red Square the next day.

CHAPTER 9 What Lenin Ate* In September 1915 the First International Socialist Conference of antiwar Marxists met in the Hotel-Pension Beau Séjour in the Swiss village of Zimmerwald. Ninety years later, Ralf Beck, owner of the Gasthaus Löwen in the same picturesque village, announced plans to commemorate the event by offering his customers delicacies such as a ‘Trotsky plat du jour’ and a ‘Lenin dessert’. His announcement was doubly ironic. As Leon Trotsky, one of the participants of the 1915 conference, recalled, a few days after the 38 delegates dispersed, ‘the hitherto unknown name of Zimmerwald was echoed throughout the world. This had a staggering effect on the hotel proprietor – the valiant Swiss told [Robert] Grimm [the conference’s organizer] that he looked for a great increase in the value of his property and accordingly was ready to subscribe a certain sum to the funds of the [proposed] Third International. I suspect, however, that he soon changed his mind.’1 Indeed he did. After the war and the Russian Revolution, his visitors were mostly frugal European Marxists and Soviet officials bent on making a Leninist shrine out of his hotel. To the staunchly anti-communist villagers, this was not a welcome development. In 1971 most of the Beau Séjour was torn down, the rest was turned into a private residence, and village resistance prevented the erection of any form of plaque or monument to mark the event.2 With the passage of time and of the Soviet Union, Herr Beck decided to capitalize on Zimmerwald’s only claim to fame, other than its glorious view of the Bernese Oberland, by expanding his menu. It is also ironic that he chose to commemorate Lenin with a dessert (a Lenin meringue pie, perhaps?) for Vladimir Ilyich had no interest in sweets other than an occasional chocolate bar when hiking. ‘I don’t know what Lenin liked to eat’, the owner of the Löwen admitted to a Bern reporter. ‘Perhaps [the Russian Embassy] can help me’.3 After hearing of Herr Beck’s dilemma, the same question was put to me by a friend living in Switzerland. I responded that I was sure Lenin’s culinary * A version of this chapter appeared in Revolutionary Russia 29, no. 2 (December 2007): 137–49.

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tastes could readily be ascertained by checking the biographical record left by his wife, Nadezhda Krupskaya. She not only wrote her Reminiscences of Lenin, but also with her husband sent some 235 letters to his family.4 These sources provide a picture of what Nikolay Valentinov-Volsky called the ‘nongeometric Lenin’.5 Instead of being simply a schismatic politician, Lenin is seen as an avid if not particularly skilled hunter in Siberia, an athletic iceskater in Shushenskoe and Galicia, a chess player of considerable talent, an absent-minded bicycler in the cities of western Europe, and a dedicated hiker in the Carpathians and the Alps.6 Krupskaya went out of her way to relate to Lenin’s mother such mundane facts as the weather and the difficulties of apartment living. I was reasonably certain what her husband ate would fall into the same category. If the resulting picture was incomplete, I felt it could be supplemented by other memoirs such as those by Valentinov himself, by biographies of Lenin by Robert Service7 and of Krupskaya by Robert McNeal,8 and by detailed accounts about how Lenin lived in the various cities of western Europe.9 My findings from these sources were surprisingly sparse and for this (as will be discussed later) I blame Lenin himself rather than his observers. What follows is my contribution to the growing field of gastronomy and the declining interest in the first Soviet leader. To provide a more ‘non-geometric’ picture of Lenin, this chapter discusses who cooked his meals, where he ate, what he ate, and what he drank. *

*

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Lenin did no cooking. This comes as no surprise given his gender, class, upbringing, nationality and era. And yet, he did not avoid the purchase and preparation of food simply because it was ‘women’s work’. Valentinov relates how Lenin was quite content to sew on his own buttons, clean his own jacket, polish his own shoes, and dust his papers and desk on a daily basis.10 He fetched the water from the communal well but not the bread from the bakery. Like most men, Lenin over time did however learn how to raid the kitchen. This may have been the cause of the distress of a young serving girl hired in Siberia for two and a half rubles a month and a pair of shoes. Given a place to sleep on the kitchen floor, she was understandably startled when Vladimir Ilyich tripped over her on a nocturnal visit to her work place.11 Thirteen years later, Krupskaya was equally surprised when she informed Lenin’s sister that ‘Volodya has even learned to help himself from the [kitchen] cupboard when he pleases, that is, not at the proper time. Whenever he comes in, he has a snack’.12 After the October Revolution, a cleaning lady in the Smolny Institute found her boss one night in the empty

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canteen helping himself to black bread and herring. ‘I felt very hungry, you know’, was his meek excuse.13 Krupskaya herself was neither an enthusiastic nor a particularly skilled cook. Time and again, while living in western Europe, she complained to Lenin’s female relatives about the ‘nuisance’ of ‘housekeeping’.14 Since their rented quarters rarely exceeded three rooms and Lenin did his own dusting, house-cleaning was hardly an onerous chore. At times she reduced it still further by paying her landladies to make their beds and wash their dishes.15 So, by default, ‘housekeeping’ to Krupskaya meant acquiring and preparing her family’s meals and perhaps doing their laundry. She had little experience in the kitchen. In Siberia she had trouble figuring out how to use the traditional big Russian stove. When visiting one of her husband’s female relatives in Ufa a few years later, she confessed that I ‘wanted to do her a favour by offering to help make jam, only I remembered in time that I had never made jam. Lord knows what I might have made...’16 When Lenin’s brother-in-law, Mark Elizarov, visited them in Paris in 1909, he was so appalled by Krupskaya’s cooking that he insisted they hire a maid to do the work.17 A somewhat kinder assessment was rendered by S. J. Bagotsky who shared some meals with the Ul’ianovs in Cracow. ‘Her culinary talents did not produce outstanding results...but Vladimir Ilyich was not difficult to please and used to remark jokingly that too often he had to eat “burning-hot” meat, by which he meant stewed meat slightly burnt’.18 Only once did the usually self-effacing Krupskaya react to this criticism. In 1913 she curtly informed two of her female in-laws: ‘About the mustard – that was Volodya inquiring on his own initiative [for a recipe] – I know how to make mustard’!19 Krupskaya felt that her last landlord in Zurich finally taught her ‘how to cook satisfying meals cheaply and quickly’.20 The landlord in question, Titus Kammerer, had a slightly different recollection. ‘Mrs Lenin’, he recalled, ‘would have been a good Hausfrau, but she had her mind always on her other work... For the noon meal Mrs Lenin often boiled only oatmeal. Now and then it happened that the oatmeal was burned, and then Mr. Lenin always told me, “Mr Kammerer, you see we live in grand style! We have roasts every day”’.21 Alexander Solzhenitsyn concurred with this assessment. ‘Will you eat now?’, he has Krupskaya asking Lenin in Zurich. ‘But her voice held no promise of carnivorous delights. She had never learned to cook’.22 Lenin, who could not stand carelessness in someone transcribing or translating his written word, had lower standards in culinary matters. As his wife admitted, ‘he pretty submissively ate everything given to him’.23 There were good reasons for Krupskaya’s shortcomings in the kitchen. Like her husband, she was brought up to expect that someone else would provide her meals. Moreover, again like her husband, she felt that she had more

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important things to do than keeping house. She was, after all, the one-woman and unpaid Bolshevik secretariat for 17 years. She also wished to have time to research and write on the ‘woman question’ and on educational matters. In this case, what is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose as well.24 Krupskaya had some help in the kitchen from her widowed mother. In 1898 Elizaveta Vasilevna Krupskaya moved to Siberia and remained with her daughter and son-in-law for most of the time prior to her death in 1915. While she had no more cooking experience than Nadezhda, she was less occupied with other matters and willingly helped out with the housework. Lenin, who once said the ‘worst punishment for a bigamist was that he acquired two mothers-in-law’,25 accepted his permanent house guest as magnanimously as he did his wife’s cooking. On one occasion, however, he aroused Elizaveta Vasilevna’s ire when he tried to compliment her by saying that the grouse she had just prepared was a remarkably good goose and surprisingly free of fat.26 By the time they moved to Paris in December 1908, Krupskaya’s mother was nearing the age of 70, often unwell, and not much of an improvement over her daughter in the kitchen. One solution was to follow Mark Elizarov’s advice to hire a live-in cook. Lenin and Krupskaya had in fact employed teenage girls to help out in Siberia, in Finland in 1906, and later in Galicia.27 Not all could cook but at least they could wash the dishes and acquire the raw materials, thus freeing Krupskaya for other activities. In Paris, they found experienced help reluctant to work for Russian émigrés who were considered to be demanding and unpredictable employers. Eventually, a new housekeeper was engaged and, in the words of Robert Service, ‘the siege on the stomachs of the Ulyanovs was lifted’.28 The feeding of Lenin remained a problem even after the revolution when he had the resources of the state at his disposal. Krupskaya, who acknowledged that she ‘was hardly ever at home’, was concerned that her husband ‘had no one to take regular care of his meals’ while he was living in the Smolny Institute.29 And so she should. One visitor to the Smolny canteen was given only bread, soup and tea rather than the ‘hearty meal’ he expected. He was placated when told that this was Lenin’s regular fare as well.30 Both Maxim Gorky and Klara Zetkin noted that the problem still had not been resolved after the Ul’ianovs had moved into the Kremlin in 1918.31 It is reasonable to conclude that this casual approach to the dietary needs of the first Soviet leader may have contributed to Lenin’s declining health. *

*

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While eating at home was unavoidable in Siberia and Galicia, there were alternatives in the larger cities of western Europe before the revolution. One

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which Lenin favoured was to make arrangements for full board in the rooming houses in which he stayed. On at least four occasions, when Krupskaya was elsewhere, he reported to his mother his satisfaction with these arrangements.32 He found these meals reasonably cheap, convenient and after Krupskaya and her mother joined him a way of relieving them of household chores.33 At the time of the Longjumeau school for underground party workers in 1911, Lenin and his family stayed in a rented house about a kilometre from the school. But, as Krupskaya informed her mother-in-law, ‘we eat in [the school’s] commune since the food is Russian, filling [and] home-cooked’. They even tried ‘takeout’ from the commune but found washing the dishes at their home to be a ‘bother’.34 In Zurich, where Lenin and his wife settled in 1916, they continued to take their meals for two months in a shabby rooming house after having to surrender their rooms because the ‘plain’ food was ‘fairly cheap’ and Lenin liked the lack of ambiance of eating in the kitchen with some of the ‘lower depths’ of the city.35 Perhaps this experience with boarding-house dining in western Europe before the war helps explain Lenin’s strong commitment to communal kitchens and cafeterias after the revolution against the protests of many housewives he was seeking to protect.36 Another alternative to home cooking, but one which was more expensive, time-consuming and occasionally nerve-wracking, was to eat in cafés or restaurants. In each city where they lived, Lenin and Krupskaya had their ‘local’ – a neighbouring eatery which they frequented when ‘dining out’. In Geneva it was either the Café Landolt or the Lepeshinskiis’ Émigré Café. The latter, which was run by two Bolsheviks – Olga and P. N. Lepeshinskii, mixed cheap food with an abundance of Social Democratic gossip.37 In London, when Lenin attended the Fifth Party Congress in 1907 without his wife, he took his evening meals with some of the other delegates at a workers’ restaurant on Gray’s Inn Road which he later recommended to Soviet diplomats stationed in the English capital.38 In Paris, where they lived from 1909 to 1912, Lenin stopped by the ‘Bolshevik café’ at 11 Avenue d’Orléans where an order of tea or wine was sufficient to gain admittance to the second floor where his faction often met.39 In Bern during the war, Lenin and Krupskaya rarely ate at home, preferring to take their meals at a near-by students’ restaurant which offered dinner for a mere 65 centimes.40 In Zurich, during 1916 and the first three months of 1917, Lenin patronized the ‘Eintracht’ – a workers’ club near the Kammerers’ where he could avoid his wife’s ‘roasts’ by eating his noon meal in an inexpensive dining room and also use the club’s library and read its newspapers.41 Lenin saw meals, whether taken at home or in restaurants, as functional affairs; not as occasions for casual conversation or places to conduct business. Few of his colleagues – Bukharin, Trotsky and Natasha Gopner were exceptions – report

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being invited to share a Spartan meal in his apartment.42 His lexicon and his practice did not include power breakfasts, business lunches or expense-account dinners. When Alexander Helphand-Parvus, a man who certainly enjoyed food and drink, interrupted Lenin’s dinner at the students’ restaurant in Bern, the Bolshevik leader did not invite ‘Fatty’ (as Parvus was known in party circles) to join Krupskaya, Inessa Armand and V. M. Kasparov for a bite to eat or a drink. Instead, the two men left the restaurant and walked the short distance to Lenin’s apartment on the Distelweg to conduct their business.43 Lenin’s choice of what and where to eat was not dictated by financial considerations. Unlike many impoverished Russian émigrés, he had a reasonably steady income. He was, however, frugal and he was a family man. Unlike Trotsky, Martov, Aksel’rod and many unmarried Russian émigrés or others living abroad without their wives, he felt some compunction to eat with his wife and mother-in-law.44 Moreover, as Solzhenitsyn observed, Lenin ‘hated cafés, those smoke-filled dens of logorrhea, where nine-tenths of the compulsive revolutionary windbags were in permanent session’.45 These attitudes have served to limit the number of witnesses to Lenin’s dining habits and thus our knowledge of what he ate. *

*

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Other than Krupskaya, we have few accounts about what he had for breakfast. His food of choice was eggs.46 His wife was proud of the fact that she could prepare eggs twelve different ways but, as Robert McNeal unkindly adds, ‘when questioned it turned out that they were all the same, except for the addition of onions, or bread, or tomatoes, and so on’.47 His morning repast before early party congresses leaves even modern readers queasy. His landlady in Brussels produced radishes and Dutch cheese before sessions of the Second Congress and then was annoyed with Vladimir Ilyich’s negative reaction.48 According to Andrew Rothstein, fish and chips were brought to Lenin’s room every morning prior to meetings of the Fifth Party Congress in London.49 To restore his metabolism and his strength after this ordeal, he was plied with ‘nourishing omelettes and [rein]deer ham’ for breakfast upon his return to Finland.50 For the record, he ate a stale roll for breakfast on the first morning of the ‘sealed train’s’ journey through Germany in 1917 and a sandwich on the morning before arriving at the Finland Station.51 Ironically, Lenin probably had his best and most balanced meals in Siberian exile. During all or part of the three years spent in Shushenskoe, he had Krupskaya, her mother, his landlord and the serving girl to take care of his culinary needs. And he had a state stipend of eight rubles a month, plus money from his mother, to buy groceries and pay the help. A sheep was

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occasionally slaughtered by his landlord, which would provide meat for a week. This was supplemented by the grouse and rabbits which Lenin bagged when hunting. Whether he cleaned his kill, as is the disagreeable chore of most modern-day hunters, is highly unlikely. Krupskaya and her mother, with Lenin turning the soil, planted a vegetable garden in Siberia that produced radishes, carrots, lettuce, dill, tomatoes, pumpkins and beet roots. They even preserved raspberries and pickles for winter use.52 It is no wonder that Vladimir Ilyich put on weight during his sojourn east of the Urals.53 The sources are less helpful in recording what Lenin ate for his major midday meal and supper in European emigration. We learn from Krupskaya’s letters that her husband liked the theatre in Paris but she says nothing about French sauces or coq au vin.54 Lenin praises Swiss libraries in his correspondence but is silent about Swiss cheese. Everyone knows that he liked the music of Beethoven, but German schnitzels are never mentioned. Krupskaya relates how her husband devoured nineteenth-century Russian literature and reproductions of Russian art but the same nostalgia curiously did not pertain to Russian food. What we do know from these and other sources is that Lenin and his wife did not like English food. Oxtail stew, deep-fried fish and ‘indigestible cakes were not made for Russian stomachs’, according to Krupskaya,55 with the result that she and her mother cooked at home during their stay in London. When they took walks through the English countryside, they brought their own sandwiches rather than having to stop at rural pubs for lunch.56 Delegates to the Fifth Congress in 1907 ate sandwiches between sessions and in the evening Lenin adjourned with a few of the other delegates to the workers’ restaurant on Gray’s Inn Road for supper. According to Rothstein, he had more ham sandwiches.57 Gorky, who was actually there, recorded that Vladimir Ilyich had ‘two or three fried eggs [and] a small piece of ham’.58 One is struck with how often sandwiches, the most bland and uninteresting of foods, appear in Lenin’s diet, not only in England, the country of their origin, but also elsewhere on his travels in Europe. If there was one food that Lenin was enthusiastic about, it was mushrooms. After a certain hesitation about how and what to pick in Siberia, he became what Krupskaya called a ‘passionate mushroomer’. While on vacation during 1915 in Sörenberg in central Switzerland, where there were ‘edible mushrooms galore’, he and Krupskaya would ‘argue fiercely over the different kinds and names as if it were a resolution on some vital issue’.59 The next summer, the story was the same. ‘As we were descending through the woods’, Krupskaya recalled, ‘Vladimir Ilyich suddenly caught sight of some edible mushrooms, and although it was raining, he began to pick them eagerly, as if they were so many Left Zimmerwaldians he were enlisting to our side. We were drenched to

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the skin, but picked a bagful of mushrooms. Naturally, we missed the train...’60 One assumes they were picked to be eaten but how and by whom they were cooked is left unstated. Fish also formed a modest part of Lenin’s diet. While he fished in the Yenisei in Siberia and later in the Mediterranean, he never developed the same passion or skill for the sport that he did for hunting. His catches were minimal and there is no record of them ever making it to his dinner table. His experience with commercially caught fish was mixed. A poorly prepared fish at a Berlin restaurant in early 1908 resulted in food poisoning for both husband and wife.61 Later in the year, however, he reported having excellent fresh fish at Gorky’s villa on the Isle of Capri.62 Even more to his liking were the crayfish prepared for him by his landlord while Lenin and his small family were on holiday in Brittany two years later.63 Recognizing her son’s tastes in this regard, Lenin’s mother on three occasions shipped him a supply of salmon, caviar and smoked sturgeon.64 The last of these arrived in Cracow in early 1913 and served as an excuse for Krupskaya to have what she called a ‘bliny party’.65 Shortly thereafter, during the war, herring became their standard evening meal in Switzerland. It is therefore unfortunate that a combination of nerves and pressing business kept Lenin from partaking in the zakuska-type smorgåsbord the Swedes prepared for the returning Russians in Malmö during April 1917.66 He did, however, have a chance to indulge himself with black caviar when hiding in Finland during September 1917.67 Bliny, such as Krupskaya served in 1913, were eaten on special occasions and could be topped with jam or sugar as well as caviar or salmon. As such, they can be considered a form of dessert. Lenin’s reaction to the ‘bliny party’ was equivocal. ‘Vladimir Ilyich was tickled by the whole affair’, Krupskaya later recalled. ‘He loved to treat his comrades to good and satisfying fare’.68 At the same time he chastised his mother for sending a ‘mountain of sweets’ with the fish, especially since the duty on the former was very high.69 Krupskaya viewed the matter differently and for a long time tried to break down her husband’s resistance. In 1899, after receiving a similar food package from her mother-in-law, she wrote that ‘I must admit I have a very sweet tooth... I am now converting Volodya to my faith. I regularly feed him sweets after each dinner and each supper, and every time he says its “disgraceful”, but he always eats them with pleasure’.70 Or perhaps he was simply trying to humour his wife. He certainly was not as ‘passionate’ about desserts as he was about mushrooms. Outside of an occasional chocolate bar, sweets are rarely mentioned and presumably seldom eaten. His reaction to the ‘Easter Cake’ which Krupskaya made out of curds can be surmised but has gone unrecorded.71

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The fact of the matter is, Lenin did not particularly like food and he rarely thought about it. Solzhenitsyn is correct when he has Lenin day-dreaming in Zurich about his past, his friends, his enemies, the foibles of the Swiss and of his wife. With the exception of a brief recall about his days in Siberia, he never reflects on meals, past or present. This disinterest in food may have been a result of having experienced too much institutional cooking in prison, in boarding houses, at endless congresses or even at home. It is also because food was not an important part of his daily existence. He ate regularly and in moderation because he realized instinctively that to do otherwise would be bad for his health and his productivity. Lenin did not eat sausages, perhaps because of an ulcerous condition developed in a St. Petersburg gaol as a young man, but there is no evidence that he intentionally ate certain foods because they were considered ‘healthy’ or avoided others because he knew they were not. This approach is consistent with his psychological and geometric profile. Western biographers have unintentionally recognized this feature of Lenin’s life simply by not writing about it. It is curious that Soviet writers, in portraying a disciplined and self-sacrificing leader, failed to see this approach as a virtue. Mariia Essen, an old Bolshevik with a very appropriate name, is an exception. She wrote that ‘Vladimir Ilyich was not an ascetic: he loved life in all its aspects; but surroundings, food, clothes, played no role in his life. It wasn’t a matter of depriving himself, of a conscious renunciation; he simply did not feel the need. I do not remember at Vladimir Ilyich’s place, anyone ever talking about a delicious meal, even in casual conversation... People ate...but this side of life was of no interest to anyone’.72 Perhaps for this reason, few if any photographs exist of Lenin with a fork in hand. *

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Finally, what did Lenin drink? It certainly was not mineral water. This had been prescribed because of the stomach problems he was experiencing in 1895. After he had regained his health in Siberia, however, he emphatically told his mother ‘I gave it up...and have never felt any desire or need to return to’ what Krupskaya later described as ‘abominable filth’.73 His drink of choice was tea. He had it on some of the more memorable days of his life: after his first arrest in St. Petersburg, at his wedding reception in Siberia, on the ‘sealed train’, at Kshesinskaia’s mansion soon after arriving at the Finland Station, on New Year’s Eve in 1918, shortly thereafter while preparing to close down the Constituent Assembly, and immediately after he was shot in 1918. When he left Switzerland for the last time in April 1917, he gave many of his belongings to Titus Kammerer. The only cooking utensil he possessed and could leave behind was not surprisingly a tea kettle plus a strainer and several

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tea glasses.74 Fortunately, Krupskaya took a kerosene burner onto the ‘sealed train’ to keep her husband supplied with tea while passing through Germany.75 The literature mentions coffee only four times: once when Krupskaya served it to Trotsky, again to wash down Lenin’s fish and chips before the meetings of the Fifth Congress, while on holiday in France in 1908, and finally when he was forced to drink it at a health retreat in Switzerland.76 It is generally assumed that Lenin did not drink alcohol. ‘Lenin himself ’, according to Stephen White, ‘was a firmly committed abstentionist’.77 While this may have been his view for public consumption in 1920, it certainly was not true of his personal consumption before the revolution. Krupskaya mentions that he developed a taste for a strong Polish-type vodka (mocna starka) while living in Cracow78 and there is ample proof that he partook of beer and wine elsewhere. After the gruelling sessions of the Fifth Congress, Lenin adjourned to the near-by workers’ restaurant where he had a glass of porter or stout, according to Rothstein, or a ‘mug of thick, dark beer’ by Gorky’s recollection.79 The Prague Conference in 1912 also brought on a thirst. He joined the hand-picked delegates for a beer at the conclusion of the meeting but warned one of them not to drink too much.80 On his way through Munich a year later, he spent an evening with friends at the Hofbräuhaus where he ‘praised the beer with the air of a connoisseur’ according to his wife.81 And, after the outbreak of the war, he gave a lecture before an audience in Geneva with a ‘pot of beer in his hand’.82 Perhaps Lenin was proud of the fact that he was a self-denier, but the claim made many years earlier by A. N. Potresov that the Bolshevik leader ‘was the only man in the world who derived positive enjoyment from refusing a second beer’ has to be taken with a pinch of salt.83 Wine of the mulled variety was drunk by Lenin, Krupskaya and her mother on New Year’s Eve 1899 in Siberia and during subsequent Christmas seasons.84 He also washed down his cheese and salami with a glass of wine or two while hiking in the Swiss Alps in 1904.85 He wrote to Maxim Gorky that ‘by the spring we shall find ourselves drinking the white wine of Capri’ during his pending visit in 1908.86 Two years later, he was again praising his host’s local wine.87 In one of her more telling statements, Krupskaya informed Lenin’s sister in 1912 that he ‘now was drinking milk at night rather than wine’.88 But a year later, while living in Galicia, he willingly joined Zinoviev in cycling 100 kilometres to buy a bottle of Hungarian wine.89 Vladimir Ilyich’s liking for wine did not diminish during the war. On his way to and from his summer retreat at Sörenberg, he often stopped at the way station of Flühli where he visited the local Kurhaus while waiting for transportation. In the lobby of the Kurhaus today there is a photograph of what purports to be ‘der Russische revolutioär’ (sic) standing on the front steps with a glass of red wine in his hand and a waitress at his side with a carafe at the ready (see illustration 6).

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When staying at the same hotel in the summer of 2006, I mentioned to the owner that ‘Lenin’ looked like a slimmed down and over-dressed Pancho Villa with a full head of hair. She assured me that the picture came from the hotel’s files of the period and that many old timers had confirmed that it was indeed the future leader of the Soviet state. Frankly, I would prefer to think that she was right. A Lenin who drank beer and sipped wine, even if in moderation, would be less ‘geometrical’ and more like the rest of us.

Figure 6. ‘Der Russische Revolutioär’, 1915 (Kurhaus, Fluhli, Switzerland).

CHAPTER 10 Lenin on Vacation* The ‘July Days’ were a pivotal period in the history of the Russian Revolution. They also nearly led to the destruction of the Bolshevik Party. On the evening of 3 July 1917, soldiers from the First Machine Gun Regiment began demonstrating against the Provisional Government and the possibility that they might be sent off to fight in the disastrous Kerensky Offensive. They were soon joined by other soldiers from Petrograd’s revolutionary garrison, by workers from the striking Putilov Works and, the next morning, by 20,000 sailors from the Kronstadt naval base. This growing but leaderless mob posed a problem for the Bolshevik Central Committee as well as for the Provisional Government. The soldiers were reacting to agitation by lower-echelon Bolsheviks in the city’s Military Organization; they were shouting Bolshevik slogans about ‘Down with the Provisional Government’ and ‘All Power to the Soviets’; and they were well armed. The party leadership, however, felt that any attempt to seize power in the summer of 1917 was ill advised and premature. Initially, the demonstrators were urged to call off their protests and then, when this appeal was ignored, to make sure their actions were ‘peaceful’ so as not to justify government countermeasures. This hesitant advice also went unheeded by many of the 400,000 demonstrators.1 One reason that the Central Committee was following rather than leading events in the streets was that its own leader, V. I. Lenin, was not on the scene. He was on vacation, a fact that most Soviet historians of the July Days long tried to ignore.2 Several days earlier, on 29 June, with unrest in the capital clearly on the rise, Lenin, his sister Mariia Il’inichna and the poet Demian Bedny left Petrograd bound for the hamlet of Neivola in the Karelian Isthmus. For some time Lenin had been complaining of headaches and insomnia brought on by overwork and nervous tension.3 Always one to look after his health, he cancelled his engagements and on the spur of the moment decided to spend some time in the country. After a surprisingly long train trip, the trio disembarked at * A slightly different version of this chapter originally appeared in Revolutionary Russia 21, no. 2 (December 2008): 115–34.

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Mustamäki and then walked five kilometres to Vladimir Bonch-Bruevich’s summer home in Neivola. For the next four days, Lenin did no work4 but instead spent his time walking, swimming in a nearby lake, and enjoying his friend’s sauna.5 Much to his surprise, at 6 a.m. on the morning of 4 July he was awoken by M. A. Savel’ev, the editor of Pravda, who had come to tell him about the disturbing events in the capital. After a hurried breakfast, the vacationers retraced their steps, arriving in Petrograd at midday. By 2 p.m. Lenin was back in Kshesinskaia’s mansion, meeting with his vacillating colleagues. Poorly informed and perhaps lacking sleep, his ensuing speech to the crowd outside was unimpressive and his leadership was at best indecisive.6 Against his better judgment, he grudgingly acquiesced to his party joining the tide of discontent just as it was starting to ebb. During the next two days the Provisional Government, backed by the Soviet of Workers and Soldiers Deputies and troops from the front, moved against the demonstrators and cracked down on the apparatus of the Bolshevik Party forcing Lenin once again to flee to Finland, this time to avoid arrest and imprisonment. *

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The fact that he was on vacation at this crucial moment in the revolution is not surprising or out of character. During the preceding 15 years, Lenin almost always spent part of his summers at the seashore or in the mountains. Like many of Europe’s affluent bourgeois, he took advantage of the railway network which had grown up in the second half of the nineteenth century to get out of the city for a least a couple of weeks a year.7 There is a certain irony in the leader of the party of the proletariat taking vacations which workers could not afford in western Europe, let alone in Russia, until the advent of paid holidays much later in the twentieth century.8 Lenin was also unique when compared to most of his revolutionary colleagues with whom he shared European emigration prior to 1917. Many Mensheviks especially did not have the financial resources to leave their limited employment or to establish temporary residences in the country during the summer. This certainly was true of Vera Zasulich, Eva Broido, Pavel Aksel’rod before 1908, and George Plekhanov for much of his émigré life. Others were committed to the urban lifestyle of the intelligentsia and saw no appeal in rustic living. Yuli Martov, for instance, much preferred drinking tea at La Rotonde in Paris to sitting on a beach. These generalities are borne out in a survey of the standard biographies of these individuals. The only time that Israel Getzler and Abraham Ascher discuss vacations taken by their subjects – Martov and Aksel’rod, respectively – was when they joined Fedor Dan and A. S. Martynov at Arcachon on the

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Atlantic coast in the summer of 1909. Their purpose, however, was to work on a joint publication (Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii), not to sit on the sandy beaches or to eat the oysters for which Arcachon is famous.9 Vera Zasulich appears to have ventured into the countryside only once – in the summer of 1909 when she stayed at a cottage in Tula Province writing her memoirs.10 Plekhanov, who suffered from tuberculosis, lived a life of vacation-less poverty until his wife established herself as a doctor. After 1908 he escaped Geneva’s damp winters by staying in her sanatorium at San Remo on the Italian Riviera.11 The only vacations Barbara Clements mentions Aleksandra Kollontai taking were when she went to Bad Kohlgrub in Bavaria for a week on the eve of the First World War and then again during the summer of 1916 when she forsook revolutionary activity to stay with her son in New Jersey.12 Leon Trotsky took a holiday with his wife in Saxony after the Fifth Party Congress in 1907.13 Neither his biographers nor Trotsky himself mention further holidays once he moved to Vienna in October of that year.14 Lenin, and curiously some of his Bolshevik entourage,15 was different. Unlike most of the Mensheviks mentioned, he had a reasonable if fluctuating income thanks to his party salary, his writing, periodic gifts from his mother, and his wife’s maternal inheritance.16 While Martov, Aksel’rod and Plekhanov often used what little money they had to finance their publishing ventures, Lenin took advantage of his relative affluence to pack his bags every summer, to pay full board in the places he vacationed, and sometimes to maintain simultaneously the leases on his urban residences. Lenin was also different from his Menshevik rivals in that he preferred the solitude of the country to the hothouse atmosphere of émigré life in Geneva or Paris. He liked vigorous activity such as bicycling or mountain climbing and may have recognized that it contributed to his physical and psychological well being. One of the few observers to recognize this predisposition was Nikolay Valentinov-Volsky. To Valentinov, the true Lenin was not the ‘geometric’ figure found in most of his biographies – simply a writer of resolutions, a schismatic politician, a single-minded revolutionary. He was instead a man with extrarevolutionary interests and very human foibles.17 While Valentinov did not cite it as such, one of these interests was Vladimir Ilyich’s penchant for taking vacations and his often curious behaviour while on these holidays. Fortunately for the modern writer wishing to flesh out the ‘non-geometric Lenin’, there are ample sources of information of a type unavailable to the biographers of his rivals who did not subsequently become legendary heads of state with a vast publishing empire devoted to them. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Lenin’s wife has left her Reminiscences which touch on many non-political aspects of his daily life. She and her husband wrote 235 informative letters to his relatives.18 The Institute of Marxism-Leninism edited

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a multi-volume Biograficheskaia khronika which sought to track where he was and what he did on a daily basis. Finally, his subsequent fame encouraged writers, both foreign and Soviet, to examine in detail his life in the countries in which he took his holidays.19 From these there emerges a picture of a non-geometric Lenin on vacation with his mother, with Maxim Gorky, occasionally by himself, and much but not all of the time with his wife Nadezhda Krupskaya. This picture not only reveals a relatively unexplored aspect of his life,20 it also illuminates biographical background which makes his unusual conduct in the summer of 1917 more comprehensible. *

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Lenin’s first experience with the joys of a vacation came as a boy growing up in a prosperous middle-class family along the Volga. Every summer he and his five siblings went to the Ul’ianovs’ country estate at Kokushkino, 30 kilometres north-west of Kazan, which they shared with the sisters of Lenin’s mother, Mariia Aleksandrovna. The children spent their teenage summers swimming, boating, picking berries, and learning to hunt. As a result of this idyllic upbringing, Lenin developed a love for the country and its diversions which was to last throughout his life. ‘It was good to be on the Volga in the summer’, he wrote his mother after leaving Russia. ‘How marvellous it was to travel along it with you and Anna [his sister] in the spring of 1900! Well, if [political reasons] keep me from coming to the Volga, then the Volga people will have to come here. We have good places, albeit of a different kind’.21 The first of two occasions when he was able to entice his mother to join him on a vacation abroad came in the summer of 1902. Lenin had found that the logistics of publishing the new émigré newspaper Iskra were more difficult than expected and he was fatigued from an ongoing struggle with one of his co-editors, G. V. Plekhanov. As a result, the 32 year old revolutionary informed Plekhanov that he was going to take a holiday with his mother since ‘my nerves are worn to a “frazzle” and I am feeling rather ill’.22 The place he chose was the remote French fishing village of Loguivy on the northern coast of Brittany. He arrived in late June, several days in advance of his mother and older sister Anna Il’inichna, and rented a small room in a fisherman’s house for himself as well as a room in an adjoining building for the other two members of his family. Loguivy may not have been on Baedeker’s list of tourist attractions in France but it suited Lenin’s needs in that it was quiet and peaceful. His daily routine included wandering through the port and neighbouring villages, taking care of his limited correspondence,23 and having meals with his kin in the village’s only pension.24 Krupskaya, who stayed behind in London, recorded that her

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husband ‘loved the sea with its incessant movement and vast spaces, and could relax properly there’.25 His mother and sister were less pleased with a village of 900 residents that had no social amenities of interest to them, no beach suitable for bathing, and only one other Russian family with whom they could talk. After three weeks of doing little more than sitting in a garden looking at the sea,26 they started making plans to go elsewhere. Even Lenin, who reported on 24 July that ‘on the whole I liked it here very much and have had a good rest’,27 decided that the time had come to return to civilization. Lenin saw his mother briefly in Finland in 1906 but his next extended family vacation did not come until September 1910. This time he chose to meet her and his younger sister Mariia in Stockholm. The train and boat trip to the Swedish capital was much easier for the 75-year-old woman than the long journey to Brittany. It also was convenient for Lenin inasmuch as he had to be in Copenhagen for a week in late August and early September to attend the Eighth Congress of the Socialist International. On 12 September he made the short trip to Stockholm in time to check out the two rooms he had rented through a Swedish colleague. Mariia Aleksandrovna, who at first did not recognize her son waiting on the pier, felt that he looked ‘distracted and changed’.28 She did like the light and airy accommodation he had found for them and the fact that it was located close to the centre of the city. This meant that she and her daughter could go shopping and sightseeing while her son was otherwise occupied. She reported enthusiastically to her other daughter about ‘the charming public gardens and parks, the mass of colour and the beautiful fountains’.29 Lenin frequently devoted his mornings to research in the Royal Library before joining them for a midday meal. The afternoons were spent as a family visiting other parts of the city and its environs. In the evening they sometimes sat in the park listening to music. On two occasions Lenin gave reports to local Social Democratic groups on affairs inside the Russian party and the recent Copenhagen Congress. His sister attended the first and his mother the second – the only time she ever heard her son speak in public. The family vacation in Stockholm was certainly an improvement over the monotony of Loguivy eight years earlier, but after 12 days in the Swedish capital one senses that Mariia Aleksandrovna had grown tired of being a tourist. She gave Vladimir Ilyich a chequered blanket30 as a memento of the occasion and on 25 September returned to more familiar surroundings in Moscow. It was the last time she was to see her son before her death in 1916. Two days later, after a month in Scandinavia, Lenin returned to Paris and Krupskaya. The fact that his wife did not accompany him to either Loguivy or Stockholm, nor for that matter to Neivola in July 1917, has caused some problems for the biographers of the principals. To Robert McNeal it was a reflection that there had ‘been a bit of coolness in the family atmosphere’

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and especially between Lenin’s sisters and Krupskaya.31 To Robert Service, Lenin’s ‘family retained its frostiness toward his wife’.32 A recent biographer of Lenin’s siblings, however, found little firm evidence that Krupskaya did not get along with her sisters-in-law, both of whom were actively involved in the Bolshevik movement.33 It should be noted that for much of the time between 1898 and 1915 she had her own aged mother living with her who could not be left alone for extended periods and who might have complicated an Ul’ianov family vacation. Moreover, when Lenin went to Loguivy in 1902, someone had to take care of the correspondence Iskra received. To Mariia Aleksandrovna, however, these were just excuses her daughter-in-law used to justify staying away.34 These were not the only occasions when Krupskaya did not accompany her husband on his vacations. In January 1908 Maxim Gorky invited him to visit Villa Blaesus on the picturesque Isle of Capri. The villa was the unofficial headquarters of a group of left-wing Bolsheviks – Aleksander Bogdanov, Anatoli Lunacharskii and V. A. Bazarov – once Lenin’s allies against the Mensheviks but increasingly his rivals within his own faction. While Lenin turned down Gorky’s initial invitation, he did not want to antagonize his influential friend whose money, articles and smuggling apparatus were crucial to any Bolshevik publishing venture abroad.35 He therefore acquiesced in the spring of 1908, taking a train from Geneva to Naples to spend the last week of April on Capri. He repeated the trip by ship from Marseille in July 1910 when he stayed for two weeks. On both occasions, Krupskaya remained at home. These three weeks were working holidays. Most commentators stress the working part of this equation focussing on the political debates and negotiations carried on. Lenin also played the tourist on holiday. He joined Gorky to visit museums in Naples, the ruins of Pompeii and he climbed Mt. Vesuvius. He spent several days with local fishermen fishing in the Mediterranean and he took long walks along the stony beaches of Capri.36 He was charmed by the beautiful setting, the local wine, and the freshly caught fish offered at the Villa Blaesus.37 One senses that these were ideal vacations and that he returned home well rested. He was less taken by some of his fellow guests. He became involved in fiercely competitive chess matches with Bogdanov and, according to Gorky, was a poor loser.38 Heated debates over philosophical issues poisoned the air at the villa during his first visit. Lenin later wrote ‘I declared to all three comrades [Bogdanov, Lunacharskii and Bazarov] my complete disagreement with them on matters of philosophy’39 and ended up telling Bogdanov ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to separate for two or three years’.40 The lure of a holiday on Capri was strong enough, however, for him to return for a longer stay in July 1910. His three ‘comrades’ were there once again and now they also had

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a left-Bolshevik school organized at Capri in 1909 and another planned for Bologna later in 1910 to argue about.41 The fact that he stayed for two weeks would seem to indicate that fishing and relaxing won out over politics for at least a short spell. Lenin’s relations with Gorky, however, were never the same. In January 1911 he wrote to his brother-in-law that ‘with respect to my trip to Italy – it seems that it will not come off now (or in the near future)’.42 When he tried to reciprocate Gorky’s hospitality in the summer of 1913 by inviting him to visit his own summer retreat in the Carpathians, Bolshevism’s foremost writer showed no interest.43 Lenin on two or three occasions went off by himself on holidays that had no familial or political purpose. While living in Geneva he frequently took day hiking trips to the nearby hills with Krupskaya and Valentinov.44 In early August 1908 he left his hiking companions behind and headed into the higher mountains by himself. The reasons for this trip are unclear except that he always enjoyed physical exercise and scrambling about the Alps. After two and a half hours by train and another four by foot, he reached the small village of Vers l’Eglise. He stayed there for several days climbing the mountains in the Les Diablerets chain. The written record about this excursion, unfortunately, is limited to a postcard he sent his sister in which he noted that ‘bad weather prevented my staying longer. Nevertheless, I had an excellent holiday’.45 Seven months later, shortly after having moved from Geneva to Paris, Lenin left on another holiday. This time it was to regain his health after writing Materialism and Empiriocritism, a tendentious attack on Bogdanov. As Krupskaya recalled, ‘the conflict within the group was a nerve-wracking business. I remember Ilyich once coming home after having words with [the left-Bolsheviks]. He looked awful, and even his tongue seemed to have turned grey. We decided that he was...to get away from the hurly-burly and take it easy in the sunshine’,46 while she stayed home to take care of her mother. Since the mountains were inhospitable at that time of the year, he went to Nice on the French Riviera – long a favourite retreat for the Russian nobility. ‘This place is luxurious’, he reported to his sister Anna on 2 March 1909, ‘sunny, warm, dry and a southern sea’.47 ‘After a splendid holiday’ of 11 days when he did no work,48 Lenin returned to Paris refreshed. On 28 September 1911, he sent another postcard, this time to his mother from Lucerne: ‘I came to Switzerland unexpectedly on account of the meeting of the International Socialist Bureau in Zurich’, he informed her. ‘I am [now] travelling around lecturing. Yesterday I climbed the Pilatus – 2122 metres. The weather is wonderful so far and I am having an excellent break’.49 After a lecture in Geneva four days later,50 Lenin disappears from the historical record and does not re-emerge until he arrived back in Paris on 18 October. His Biograficheskaia khronika says nothing about

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his whereabouts or his activity during this 16-day period. To add to the mystery, Lenin on two occasions wrote in confidence to L. B. Kamenev about setting up a meeting with ‘citizen incognito’.51 The identity of this person is unknown as is the purpose of the meeting.52 It remains a moot point whether Lenin was in fact ‘on vacation’ during these three poorly documented weeks in Switzerland in 1911. *

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In late June 1904 Lenin left on a hiking holiday with Krupskaya, the first of eight extended vacations they were to take together before the revolution. The justification for this trip, just as in 1902 and 1909, was nerves and overwork. As Krupskaya reported to his mother, ‘It has been a difficult winter and our nerves are so frayed that to take a month’s holiday is not a sin, although I am already feeling guilty about it’.53 Actually, they were gone two and a half months and Lenin shared none of his wife’s remorse at deserting his few factional followers at a low point in Bolshevik history. Taking advantage of his mother-in-law’s trip to Russia, the two ‘tramps’, as Lenin styled themselves,54 left Geneva on foot with their rucksacks weighted down with books. By the time they reached Lausanne, where they stopped to ‘muster a little strength’,55 it was decided to ship the books back to Geneva unread and not to discuss politics. On 3 July, they left Lausanne by steamer for Montreux, where they paid homage to Lord Byron at the Castle of Chillon, and Lenin climbed the nearby Rochers de Neye while Krupskaya rested in a local hotel. After visiting an old friend in Bex-les-Bains, they continued up the Rhone valley for 70 kilometres which Krupskaya later described as the ‘most tiring’ and one suspects most boring part of their journey.56 At Leuk they turned north and climbed up the Gemmi Pass, one of the steepest crossings into the Bernese Oberland. Their reward was a beautiful downhill walk to Kandersteg and from there a pleasant stroll down the Kandertal to Frutigen. They wandered along the shores of the Lake Thun until in mid-July they reached the ‘pretty village’ of Iseltwald on a spit of land jutting out into the Brienzer See.57 There, ‘with our legs aching and completely worn out’,58 they stayed in a local inn for a week (see map, illustration 7). Lenin and Krupskaya were strong hikers, often walking over 20 kilometres a day. Krupskaya recalled that they sometimes got up at 4 a.m., ‘chose the loneliest trails that led into the wilds, away from any people... [We] lived mostly on cold food such as eggs and cheese, washed down with wine or water from a spring; we rarely had a proper dinner’. And when they did, according to the politically correct Krupskaya, it was in a place patronized by local workers, not tourists.59

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Figure 7. Map of Lenin’s Hike across Switzerland, July – August 1904.

After catching their breath in Iseltwald, the two hikers retraced their steps to visit Interlaken before going up the Lauterbrunnental as far as Wengen. From there they traversed the Wengenalp with its beautiful views of the Jungfrau range. They stopped at Kleine Scheidegg to send a postcard to Lenin’s mother and to marvel at the Jungfraubahn being built through the mountain.60 Their route continued through some of the most spectacular parts of the Bernese Oberland, down to Grindelwald, up the other side of the valley to Grosse Scheidegg and then down again to Meiringen. There Lenin picked up his first mail since Lausanne. This must have brought him back to reality for last leg of their journey to Brunnen and then to their ultimate destination of Lucerne was done in a couple of days by foot and by rail. In a little over a month, Lenin and Krupskaya had walked more than 400 kilometres and in doing so had crossed half of Switzerland. The two ‘tramps’ then took the train to Lausanne. Rather than returning immediately to Geneva, they decided to stay for a while in a pension overlooking Lac de Bret in the hills east of Lausanne. They remained there for the next six weeks catching up on correspondence and reading as well as dealing with problems that had cropped up in Lenin’s extended absence. The chief of these was a revolt within his own faction led by V. A. Noskov who objected to Lenin’s schismatic policies and his determination to hold an all-Bolshevik Third Party Congress. Sometime during August, they were joined by Bogdanov and his

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wife and several other loyal Bolsheviks. Bogdanov, who was then a rising star in the party, would become Lenin’s chief ally for the next three years before philosophical issues divided them at Capri. In the summer of 1904, he backed Vladimir Ilyich in his plans for a Third Congress and agreed to help publish a new émigré newspaper.61 On 28 August Lenin informed his mother, ‘I am still enjoying the summer way of life – walking, swimming and loafing. As a matter of fact, I have had an excellent rest this summer!’62 Two and a half weeks later, he finally returned to Geneva. Preoccupied with factional politics, Lenin was slow to recognize the significance of revolutionary events in Russia and even slower to return to his homeland after the outbreak of revolution in January 1905. He spent most of 1906 and 1907 in Finland and at various party gatherings. He returned from the Fifth or London Congress in mid-June 1907 utterly exhausted. Krupskaya insisted that they ‘cut themselves off from the whole world’.63 The place she chose was the dacha owned by the family of her friend, Lidiia Knipovich, in the seaside village of Stirsudden (Ozerki). There for three weeks in late June and early July Lenin swam in the Gulf of Finland, bicycled, played chess and cards, and listened to a neighbour play the violin.64 ‘No people and no work – that is the best thing for me’, he told his mother on 10 July.65 ‘I am having a rest such as I have not had in several years... I am still putting off all business matters, large and small’.66 According to his wife, he was also putting on weight.67 In December 1908 Lenin, Krupskaya and her mother moved to Paris. The next summer, like many Parisians, past and present, they spent the month of August on holiday. According to Krupskaya, ‘Ilyich began to scan the French papers for notices of cheap boarding houses. He found one such pension in the village of Bombon’ 50 kilometres east of the capital.68 For 10 francs a day, he could get rooms and meals for the three of them plus his sister Mariia who was recuperating from an appendectomy. Lenin was also recovering from his latest bout of political in-fighting. The cure for this, according his wife, was that he had to promise to avoid all talk about politics for the next six weeks. At first, he kept his promise. Krupskaya and her husband spent their days bicycling, walking through the countryside, and visiting ruins from previous centuries. Bombon was peaceful and quiet and probably rather dull. Their rooms were in a small rustic house on the edge of the village to which someone brought coffee every morning. They took their meals in another building with the other guests. Lenin found the food good69 but Krupskaya was less impressed with the very bourgeois manner of her fellow diners. ‘Too large a dose of this mediocrity was rather boring’, she wrote. ‘It was a good thing that we were able to keep aloof from them and live our own way’.70

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‘After three weeks of holiday’, Lenin told G. E. Zinoviev on 24 August, ‘I am beginning to come around. Perhaps I could take on’ the job of editing the next two issues of Sotsial-demokrat’.71 During the second half of his stay in Bombon, he in addition wrote a number of articles, resumed his party correspondence, and even bicycled 50 kilometres to visit Laura and Paul Lafargue, the aged daughter and son-in-law of Karl Marx. ‘On the whole, Ilyich had a good holiday in Bombon’, Krupskaya recalled, but she did not.72 One is tempted to surmise that Lenin’s approval was in part based on the fact that he picked their remote hideaway. Of all the vacations he spent before the revolution, the one in Bombon seems to the observer to have been the most dreary and uninteresting. The next spring, when considering what was now their annual summer holiday, Lenin was inclined to go back to Bombon with its ‘cheap pension and complete quiet’.73 Krupskaya would have none of it and suggested instead a summer colony run by the French Socialist Party in the Vendée which her mother had visited the previous summer. The two women went there while Lenin was paying his second visit to Capri in July 1910. As Krupskaya recalled, it ‘was not a success’.74 The other holiday makers, who she took to be French bourgeoisie rather than socialist workers, kept to themselves and showed no interest in their Russian visitors. Disappointed, she and her mother moved to the near-by seaport of Pornic on the Bay of Biscay where she rented two rooms in the Villa des Roses prior to the arrival of her husband on 22 July. Lenin liked the picturesque town of Pornic with its old stone buildings and pleasant vistas.75 He spent much of his time bathing in the ocean and bicycling along the coast. He got along well with his landlord who caught and prepared local crayfish for Lenin’s dinner while the owner’s wife entertained Krupskaya with anti-clerical stories.76 For a month he did no work except to respond to letters, most of which concerned the forthcoming Copenhagen Congress. On 24 August, the day after he left for the congress, Krupskaya told to his sister Anna ‘it’s really nice here... Mother and I are thinking of staying on until midSeptember’.77 The sources do not indicate who paid the rent on their Paris apartment during the two and a half months they were vacationing.78 Lenin and Krupskaya skipped their annual family vacations in 1911 and 1912. During the first year, they were preoccupied with the running of a school for underground party workers at Longjumeau outside of Paris.79 In June 1912, they left Paris and moved to Cracow. ‘I am better off here than I was in Paris’, Lenin later explained to his sister Mariia. ‘The commotion of life in the [émigré] colony was incredible, one’s nerves got terribly worn out for no reason at all’.80 Cracow, in the Austrian part of Poland, was not only closer to the growing unrest in tsarist Russia, but also reasonably near to the High Tatras which offered some of the best hiking in Europe. In August 1912,

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together with a Polish associate, Lenin on two occasions took off a few days to do some climbing near Zakopane.81 Liking what he saw, he chose to return to the area the following summer for a longer stay. In early April 1913 he made arrangements to rent a rural house in Biały Dunajec seven kilometres north of Zakopane. Lenin was ecstatic with his choice. As he informed Mariia, ‘we have rented a dacha (a huge one, far too large!) for the entire summer... This is a wonderful place. The air is excellent... We have started leading a rural life here – we get up early and go to bed almost with the roosters... It is pure Switzerland!’82 To the somewhat less enthusiastic Krupskaya, who disliked the constant rain and mist, ‘this is the real dacha routine’83 but at least ‘it will be good to put Shkurka [that is Lenin] out to pasture’.84 One of the reasons they moved to Biały Dunajec was that the clean air of the mountains had been recommended as a cure for Krupskaya’s rapidly developing thyroid problem. When her heart palpitations and shortness of breath got worse rather than better, even though they were now living at an altitude of 700 metres, Lenin decided that the only solution was an operation by Dr Theodor Kocher, a noted surgeon and Nobel laureate in Bern. They left Biały Dunajec in mid-June, had the operation on 6 July, and rather than recuperating for a couple of weeks in the Alps as Kocher recommended, returned to Galicia in early August. Krupskaya was better but far from cured.85 In part for that reason, they chose to return to Biały Dunajec the following May and to spend the entire summer of 1914 in the foothills of the Tatras. ‘This year’, Krupskaya told Mariia Aleksandrovna, ‘we intend to take a live-in servant so that...we shall be able to go on long outings’.86 Twice a day Lenin either walked or cycled to the nearby village of Poronin to collect his mail. Correspondence with Russia was quicker than it had been in Paris and it was easier for Duma deputies and party workers to visit him in Biały Dunajec. He took advantage of this to hold several meetings of his Central Committee in Poronin and even to convene a commission of enquiry into the sudden and suspicious resignation from the State Duma of Roman Malinovskii.87 This, and other party crises, absorbed much of the early summer of 1914 at the expense of excursions into the High Tatras. Lenin, with his attention diverted elsewhere, failed to see the war clouds hovering over the Balkans. When they burst in late July 1914, he was caught as a Russian national vacationing in Austrian territory. Through the intervention of fellow socialists in Vienna, he was fortunate to be released from a Galician gaol and, on 26 August, allowed to make his way to neutral Switzerland. Lenin did not permit the Great War to alter the established pattern of his summers. When Krupskaya’s new doctor again prescribed clean mountain air for her thyroid condition, her husband perused advertisements until he found a ‘cheap boarding house in a non-fashionable locality’.88 The ‘cheap boarding

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house’ turned out to be the Hotel Mariental which offered a room and full board for 5 Swiss francs a day, the minimum price suggested by the Association of Swiss Hoteliers.89 The ‘non-fashionable’ location was Sörenberg, a onestreet village bereft of alpine charm, located some 80 kilometres by train, postal coach and horse-drawn carriage east of their new residence in Bern. ‘We fixed up nicely in Sörenberg’, recalled Krupskaya. ‘All around there were woods and mountains... The mail was delivered with Swiss punctuality’ and books could be ordered ‘free of charge’ and with ‘no questions asked’ from libraries in Bern or Zurich.90 Moreover, the hotel had a telephone which led Lenin to instruct his non-writing associates to call at precisely 8:30 each morning.91 After their arrival in late May or early June of 1915, a daily routine evolved. Every morning Lenin would sit under a large tree working in the Mariental’s garden. After the noon-day meal, usually served separately to the Ul’ianovs in the hotel’s library, the afternoon was given over to excursions. Immediately behind the hotel was the Schrattenflue, a glacier-worn rocky ridge that was unpleasant to climb but offered marvellous views. Lenin had his mind set on more adventuresome hikes. On at least three occasions he climbed the nearby Brienzer Rothorn – at 2,350 metres, the highest mountain in the region – in the company of his wife and Inessa Armand. ‘From these tall peaks’, Inessa informed her daughter Inna, ‘a magnificent view opens up of almost all of Switzerland. You can see not only the Bernese Oberland, not only Lake Lucerne, but also on a clear day (so they say) Mont Blanc. Unfortunately, there are not many clear days’.92 On those days when hiking was inappropriate, Lenin would borrow a bicycle to tour the surrounding countryside or he and Krupskaya would walk through the woods collecting alpine roses, berries and mushrooms.93 On one occasion, after Zinoviev had sent him some cherries from nearby Hertenstein, Lenin reciprocated by mailing his colleague a box of freshly picked mushrooms.94 Lenin and his entourage made a curious impression on the residents of Sörenberg, if one is to believe statements made to a Swiss interviewer 40 years later. Lenin, according to these accounts, did not cultivate close relations with the villagers. In contrast, Inessa and her visiting friend Liudmila Stal’ were considered to be far friendlier. Indeed, a rumour was started that the strange Russian ‘with a pointed beard’ was vacationing with three women, not just his wife Krupskaya.95 Even more scandalous was the time a senior counsellor from Lucerne supposedly came across Lenin bathing in the nude (‘in Adamskostüm’) in the Emme River and chased him away with a stick.96 Soviet observers were also uneasy about Lenin’s stay in Sörenberg but for other reasons. While spending a summer hiking, bicycling and swimming was often seen as a sign of his vitality and healthy commonsense, during

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wartime these activities could be viewed as frivolous. Thus, one commentator stressed the work that Lenin did in the mornings in the garden: his extensive correspondence, his writing of a few newspaper articles, his editing of Sotsialdemokrat and Kommunist, and his preparations for the First International Socialist Conference in Zimmerwald.97 Left unsaid is the fact that this work and much more could just as easily have been done at less cost in Bern, a centre of considerably more political activity than Sörenberg. On 2 or 3 September, Lenin left for the Zimmerwald Conference. A week later, he returned to Sörenberg dejected and out of sorts. The next day, Krupskaya related, ‘we climbed the Rothorn...with “glorious zest”, but when we got to the top Ilyich suddenly lay down on the ground, and fell asleep almost right in the snow... he slept for over an hour. Zimmerwald must have taken it out of him pretty badly. It took several days rambling about the mountains and the general bracing air of Sörenberg to bring Ilyich around’.98 They initially had planned to stay on vacation well into the fall but unseasonably cold weather and snow drove them back to reality in Bern in early October.99 There was no pretence about their vacation in the summer of 1916. Lenin and Krupskaya had moved to Zurich earlier in the year and wanted to escape the ‘cramped, sunless, but humid streets of the old city’,100 especially when their new apartment was down wind from a sausage factory. Krupskaya’s thyroid was acting up again and she felt ‘Ilyich was anxious to work out his ideas and give them time to fully mature, and so we decided to go to the mountains’.101 Rather than returning to Sörenberg, in mid-July they travelled 75 kilometres southeast of Zurich to the village of Flums. From there they walked eight kilometres, mostly up a steep narrow trail, to the Kurhaus Tschudiwiese ‘high up in the mountain wilds quite close to the snowy summits’102 (see illustration 8). The choice of the Tschudiwiese was a curious one. Perhaps Lenin found mention of it when looking once again for cheap summer accommodations. For half of what they had paid at Sörenberg, they received room and full board. Since Tschudiwiese was a health retreat, this meant undergoing the required ‘milk cure’ consisting of milk and cheese four times a day. Fortunately, they were able to supplement their ‘dairy diet’ with raspberries and bilberries found in abundance around the old wooden Kurhaus. Lenin’s only real complaint about their accommodation was the tradition of serenading departing guests at 6 a.m. with a song that repeated the refrain ‘Good-bye, cuckoo’. ‘Vladimir Ilyich liked his morning nap’, Krupskaya recalled, ‘and used to grumble and pull the blanket over his head’.103 Lacking books to read and other Russians to talk to, Lenin and his wife spent their days walking in the surrounding mountains.104 In the evening, the owner’s son played an accordion and, with the possible exception of the Ul’ianovs,

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Figure 8. Kurhaus Tschudiwiese.

the guests ‘danced for all they were worth’. ‘The crowd was anything but politically minded’, Krupskaya recalled. ‘Even the war was a subject that was never touched upon’.105 For six weeks they escaped to this remote, peaceful mountain retreat unaware that six months later their lives would be changed forever by the forced abdication of Tsar Nicholas II. *

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Lenin took another holiday, albeit a short one, after his successful seizure of power in October 1917. On the morning of 24 December, he met his wife and sister Mariia at the Finland Station where they boarded a train bound for the village of Uusikirkko, 65 kilometres north of Petrograd. There, at Halila, a Finnish rest home, he sought to relax and regain his emotional equilibrium and physical strength. There were elements of his earlier vacations in this venture. He once again was avoiding the problems at hand – in this case, the pending Constituent Assembly, a possible separate peace with Germany, the need for economic reorganization – by escaping to the countryside. Even though he sought to rejuvenate himself by taking extensive walks through the snowy forests, Krupskaya felt his mind was somewhere else. The problems of his office could not be avoided during the

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long winter nights and led to frustrating hours writing articles that were unfit for publication. Even his colleagues would not leave him alone. J. V. Stalin, the new Commissar of Nationalities, insisted that his advice was needed in Petrograd on the growing crisis in Ukraine.106 ‘As a holiday’, Krupskaya concluded, ‘it wasn’t much of a success’.107 After five days at Uusikirkko, they returned to the capital on 28 December. Lenin’s subsequent holidays were largely involuntary. Following an unsuccessful attempt on his life, he was taken in September 1918 to the village of Gorki, 30 kilometres south of Moscow, where he recuperated in the stately country home of General Anatoli Reinbot, the former governor of the region. Set in wooded parkland, it provided a clean and tranquil place for him to work and rest for the next five summers. When his health deteriorated in late 1921 and especially after a series of strokes, his colleagues insisted that he remain in Gorki. It was there, at the age of 53, that he died in January 1924.108 *

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This account has sought to contribute to a more accurate and non-geometric picture of V. I. Lenin by showing that his personal well-being and that of his wife often took precedence over the political demands of the day. In 1904 he left his troubled Bolshevik faction leaderless for over two months as he hiked through the Swiss Alps. In 1915 he retreated to Sörenberg, a remote mountain village, for four months as war consumed Europe. He spent six weeks in the summer of 1916 isolated and seemingly uninterested in events which soon were to topple the tsar of Russia. And in 1917 he left Petrograd on the eve of the July Days to take a short vacation in Finland. His vacations were prompted by a personal need to convalesce from the tensions of city and political life. But they also reflected at times a desire to be with his aged mother or concern for the failing health of his wife. The non-geometric Lenin pictured herein lost chess matches on Gorky’s verandah in Capri; he wore a business suit and carried an umbrella while climbing in the Carpathians; he walked half-way across Switzerland for the fun of it; he went skinny-dipping in Sörenberg; and he endured six weeks of a ‘diary diet’ for some unknown reason. There is something very bourgeois and often attractive about Lenin on vacation – qualities rarely seen in the obsessive revolutionary found in his many biographies. History, which is increasingly critical of Lenin’s political accomplishments, has also not been kind to the places he visited on vacation. Lidiia Knipovich’s dacha on the Gulf of Finland was destroyed during World War II. Plaques were placed on most of Lenin’s summer retreats in France which presumably are there today for the few people interested in them. The Hotel Mariental in

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Sörenberg still exists but shortly after the First World War its owners changed the number of room 13, where Vladimir Ilyich resided for four months, to 12A on the grounds that their conservative Swiss guests ‘did not want to share the room with Lenin’.109 Today the Mariental serves as a training institution for hotel administrators. Its current manager has no interest in when Lenin stayed in his establishment and has done nothing to commemorate it. The Kurhaus Tschudiwiese continued to put up guests for many years before being taken over by the Roman Catholic Church’s controversial Opus Dei which tore it down in 2006.110 Museums dedicated to Lenin’s stays in Cracow and Poronin were closed to visitors after the fall of communism and replaced by ‘Good-bye Lenin’ hostels in Cracow and Zakopane.111 Perhaps the greatest indignity, his rustic retreat in Biały Dunajec, once a Leninist shrine, has been turned into a bed and breakfast for tourists visiting the Carpathians.112 Lenin’s last summer residence in Gorki remains open but only to the occasional group that books a tour in advance.113

CHAPTER 11 The Sporting Life of V. I. Lenin* March 15, 1917, was a dismal day in Zurich. There was a heavy mist in the air and patches of dirty snow on the ground. The mood of V. I. Lenin was no better than the Swiss weather when a fellow émigré burst into his apartment to announce that there had been a revolution in Petrograd. The response of the disbelieving Bolshevik leader was to wander down to the offices of the Neue Zürcher Zeitung where press clippings confirmed the rumours but offered few details. A brief visit to the Russian Reading Room did little to relieve either his depression or his uncertainty. Abandoning plans to work in the cantonal library, Lenin set off instead to climb the Zurichberg. It was hardly a strenuous excursion. The crest of the Zurichberg was only 270 metres above the city and a couple of kilometres from its centre. The walk, however, cleared his head and helped to restore his optimism concerning the day’s unexpected news.1 It was to be the last of his many forays into the Swiss mountains, for on that same day Tsar Nicholas II abdicated his throne in the first of a series of events that was to bring Lenin to power eight months later. The fact that he should choose to climb a mountain, albeit a small mountain, on a crucial day of the February Revolution was not inconsistent with Lenin’s character. His response to political or emotional pressures was frequently to seek physical release through hiking. Mountain climbing, however, was but one of Lenin’s many athletic endeavours. He was also a strong swimmer, a passionate hunter, a skilled skater, a gymnast, a rower and a cyclist at a time when ‘sports were by no means fashionable among the democratic intelligentsia’.2 Lenin’s fellow revolutionaries much preferred the café to the beach and none shared his obsession with physical exercise. Nikolay Valentinov, one of the few observers to recognize the breadth of Lenin’s sporting interests, considered these to be a reflection of his ‘non-geometric’ personality; an indication that he was not just the single-minded compulsive revolutionary found in most of his biographies.3 While evidence supporting Valentinov’s assertion has long been available in * A version of this chapter appeared in the Canadian Slavonic Papers 52, nos. 1–2 (March– June 2010): 79–94.

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the Reminiscences of Lenin’s wife, Nadezhda Krupskaya, and in their extensive correspondence with his family, no biographer has used it to provide a detailed study of his multi-faceted sporting life.4 It is the intention of this chapter to fill that lacuna and in doing so to contribute to a more nuanced, non-geometric picture of the first Soviet leader. *

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Lenin’s initiation into outdoor sports came during his youth. He spent every summer from the early 1880s until 1893 either at a family estate at Kokushkino near Kazan or at Alekaevka, a country house outside of Samara. Both were near the Volga and surrounded by fields and woods where the Ul’ianov children whiled away their teenage summers. It was in these ‘nests of gentlefolk’, to the embarrassment of Lenin’s Soviet biographers, that he developed his lifelong appreciation of nature and the opportunities it offered for athletic pursuits. Lenin’s expulsion from the University of Kazan in December 1886 and his subsequent enforced residence for six months at Kokushkino gave him a chance to take up skiing on the country lanes near the estate and to try his hand at tobogganing.5 ‘A winter without snow is unpleasant’, he later wrote to his mother from Munich. ‘I recall with pleasure the real Russian winter, the sleigh rides and clean frosty air’.6 His fond memories of cross-country skiing were still strong in late 1916 when he asked his friend Inessa Armand ‘Do you go skiing? You really should! Learn how, get some skis and go to the mountains – you must. It is good in the mountains in the winter! Its lovely and smells of Russia’.7 Lenin also acquired a fondness for water sports during his summers along the Volga. Experience gained rowing in the treacherous currents near Kokushkino proved useful later on when he took longer and more demanding trips down the Volga from Samara and then back up the Usa River. These three- or four-day excursions covered more than a hundred kilometres and required great stamina, especially when hauling his boat overland between the two rivers at Perevoloka. On several occasions, when bored with academic reading at Alekaevka or desiring a physical challenge and freedom from his family, Lenin repeated these self-styled ‘round the world tours’.8 Unlike rowing, swimming was a water sport learned at Kokushkino which Lenin was able to pursue throughout his life. By the age of eight he had learned to swim across the Ushna River. ‘The swimming course, however, was not yet over’, one of his sisters recalled. ‘We had to learn to float on our back without moving, to make a running dive head first, to recover a ball of clay from the bottom of the river, to jump into the river from the roof of the bath house...’9 Such antics terrified his parents, especially given the strong river currents. On two occasions, according to Robert Service, the future leader of the Soviet state

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had to be rescued by passers-by.10 The pond on the family estate at Alekaevka offered a safer opportunity for Lenin to perfect his swimming techniques.11 *

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Lenin’s next opportunity to swim on a regular basis came in 1897 after he was sentenced to three years ‘administrative exile’ in central Siberia for revolutionary activity. He was fortunate to be sent to Shushenskoe, a village south of Krasnoyarsk, in an area referred to as ‘Siberian Italy’ because of its relatively benign climate. This allowed him to swim in a tributary of the Yenisei River. This was not as convenient as it had been in the Volga since it required a two-kilometre walk through mosquito-infested fields. It nevertheless provided an outlet for his pent-up energies. ‘A plan was drawn up for swimming whereby we get up each morning at 6 a.m.’, reported Krupskaya shortly after joining Lenin in 1898. ‘I don’t know how long it will last’.12 As she was soon to find out, her husband’s urge for aquatic exercise overcame his dislike of mosquitoes to the point that he often made two trips a day to the Yenisei.13 Many years later he demonstrated swimming skills developed in the Volga and the Yenisei by challenging his much younger students at the Longjumeau school to a two-lap race across the Seine.14 Another sport which Lenin pursued in Siberia, just as he had without great success along the Volga,15 was hunting small game. Taking advantage of lax tsarist security regulations, he not only travelled unescorted on the TransSiberian Railway to Krasnoyarsk but also, soon after arriving, purchased a shotgun for use in the temperate forests surrounding Shushenskoe. In one of his first letters to his mother, he reported that ‘the shooting here is not bad. Yesterday I walked about 12 kilometres to shoot duck and great snipe. There is a lot of game’.16 Several months later he informed her ‘I still go hunting... Whenever there is a fine autumn day I grab my gun and wander off across the fields and forest’.17 In jocular fashion, he told her he was ‘clever enough’ to be off shooting on the day his wife-to-be arrived in Shushenskoe.18 Krupskaya soon recognized that Vladimir Ilyich had become ‘a passionate hunter’19 and accordingly accommodated herself to his new obsession. ‘He is terribly carried away with shooting’, she wrote. ‘They are all such enthusiastic hunters that I too will probably soon be on the constant look-out for duck, teal and other such creatures’.20 And so she was. That fall she wrote that ‘the season is now open for grey hen and partridge. They are noble birds – you don’t have to go into swamps for them like you do for ducks and things’. ‘We once saw about twenty partridge...a whole flock of them rose from both sides of the road; you can imagine what our hunters were like. Volodya [i.e., Lenin] actually groaned. Still, he managed to take aim but the partridge simply walked away without bothering to fly’.21

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Hunting required accessories not always easily obtained in Siberia. ‘Shooting without a game dog is difficult’, Lenin confided in his mother several months after his arrival.22 By October he had acquired a young Gordon setter named Jenny which he planned to train to point and retrieve. Either the trainer or the dog was not up to the task. Rather than finding birds for Lenin to shoot, Jenny preferred to chase them to the indignation of her master.23 On one memorable occasion, Lenin and his colleagues missed a score of partridges but managed to shoot their ‘game dog’. Even though Jenny survived, one suspects that her master regretted turning down an earlier offer by his brother-in-law to ship a trained dog from Moscow via the Trans-Siberian.24 Lenin had more success acquiring hip-high waders for spring shooting in swampy areas and he requested that his mother send some moleskin trousers to replace those torn by rugged brush.25 For protection against mosquitoes, which Krupskaya said ‘went out of their way to bite Volodya’,26 he asked that she send kid gloves to go with the net he wore over his head.27 And then in December 1898 a new crisis developed when he dropped his gun on the ice and cracked its barrel. When the local gunsmith declared it beyond repair, the convicted revolutionary entered into an extensive correspondence with his brother that resulted in a new double-barrelled shotgun being sent to him just in time for the spring hunting season. To confuse the already lenient authorities, Lenin instructed that it be addressed to his aged mother-in-law who was living with them at the time.28 Lenin clearly developed an addiction to hunting while in Siberia. ‘Life here goes on as usual’, he informed his mother. ‘I am not working much at present and as soon as the hunting season opens, I shall probably work even less’.29 In the spring, summer and well into the fall, rather than spending his time writing The Development of Capitalism in Russia, as Soviet commentators would have preferred, Vladimir Ilyich hunted partridge, snipe, grouse and ducks in the forests and swamps near Shushenskoe. As winter approached, he went to the islands in the Yenisei where rabbits were easy prey.30 He did not, however, venture 40 kilometres to the taiga where bigger game was to be found. While not a good shot, as he himself admitted,31 he brought home enough birds to feed his family and to receive their praise for his marksmanship.32 Lenin’s aptitude for hunting is probably best summed up by a fellow exile, P. N. Lepeshinskii: The amount of game he used to bring back from his expeditions was generally minimal. The birds at which he aimed his deadly weapon nearly always had an opportunity to jeer at the art of this amateur marksman. But this in no way discouraged him. The instinct of a hunter was quite satisfied when he could steal cleverly towards his prey perched on a branch of a tree, when he could measure

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with his ‘practised’ eye the distance between the unfortunate woodcock and the muzzle of his gun, when he could savour with all his being the anticipation of his ‘perfect’ shot, without, however, worrying unduly when his feathery victim, after the ‘deadly shot’ was fired, would soar towards the blue sky and disappear into the brightness of the day instead of toppling head over heels to the ground.33

An alternative to hunting was fishing. Lenin had earlier been prohibited from pursuing the sport after a near-fatal accident while fishing in the Volga as a youth.34 Free of parental control in Siberia, he tried his luck in the Yenisei. As Krupskaya informed his mother in June 1898, at this time of the year Volodya does not go hunting...it is nesting time or something, and even his waders have been put in the cellar. Instead of shooting, Volodya has tried his hand at fishing. Occasionally, he goes at night to the Yenisei to fish for burbot but since the last time, when he came back without even a minnow, there has been no more talk of burbot.35

Later in western Europe, where hunting was not an option for impoverished Russian émigrés, he fished on occasion in the Mediterranean. As Maxim Gorky later recalled, the local fishermen explained to him that the fish must be hooked when the finger feels the vibration of the line. ‘Cosi: drin, drin. Capisce?’ A second later he hooked a fish, drew it in and cried out with child-like joy and hunter’s excitement, ‘drin, drin’. The fishermen roared with laughter, gay as children, and nicknamed the fisherman ‘Signor Drin-Drin’.36

Trotsky was probably right that in general Lenin ‘couldn’t endure sitting still with a hooked line’.37 Hunting at least gave him an opportunity to walk for hours on end through the forests. In November of his second year in Siberia, Lenin noted that ‘the only change is in the form of relaxation – now that winter has come I go skating instead of hunting. I recall the old days and find that I have not forgotten how, although it is ten years since I skated last’.38 According to Olga Lepeshinskaia, ice skating was Vladimir Ilyich’s favourite sport and one where his skill was far more evident than in hunting. Once the Yenisei froze and before too much snow had fallen, it was possible to skate for miles on the river. Ever competitive, Lenin challenged his fellow skaters to a race. ‘Our skates would cut into the ice. In front of everybody [was] Ilyich, straining all his willpower and his muscles in order to win at any price, no matter how big the effort’.39 After the snow came, the exiled socialists of Shushenskoe cleared the ice on the Shush River in

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front of their village to make a skating rink. Krupskaya provided an admiring audience. ‘Volodya is an excellent skater’, she informed his sister Anna; he ‘even keeps his hands in his pockets of his grey jacket like a true sportsman’.40 After a Christmas trip to the nearby town of Minusinsk, where Lenin was given a new pair of Mercury skates and some lessons in figure skating, they returned home where he ‘amazed the people of Shushenskoe with his “giant steps” and “Spanish leaps”’. The self-effacing Krupskaya admitted that she in contrast ‘strutted around like a chicken on skates’.41 Fourteen years later, when bored with émigré life in Cracow, Lenin bought himself another pair of skates and reported to his mother ‘with great enthusiasm’ how skating ‘brought back memories of Simbirsk and Siberia’.42 Once again he impressed the locals by ‘executing elaborate figures on ice’.43 This time, however, his entreaties to Krupskaya to join him fell on deaf ears.44 *

*

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In 1900, after his term of administrative exile was over, Lenin left Russia and spent most of the next 17 years living as an émigré in various European cities with regular breaks in the summer for holidays at the seashore or in the mountains. Perforce, many of his sporting interests changed while abroad. When Valentinov arrived in Geneva in 1904, one of the first persons he met was Lenin. He was immediately impressed by his fellow Bolshevik’s muscular build and his interest in all forms of sport and physical exercise. Lenin, when he heard that Valentinov had once been a champion weight-lifter, insisted that he demonstrate the proper ways to lift weights. Lacking equipment, Valentinov used one of the Ul’ianov household brooms to make his points. Lenin then replicated the moves, much to the amusement of his mother-in-law. ‘Don’t disturb us’, was Vladimir Ilyich’s response to her laughter, ‘we are engaged in very important business’.45 The two men also discussed gymnastics and exercise regimens. Lenin told his colleague that while living in Alekaevka he had rigged up two posts with a horizontal bar between them to use as a make-shift trapeze. He used this to show his brother how to do chin-ups and how to balance on the bar.46 Later he advised both Dmitri and his sister Mariia that daily exercise was imperative while in prison. On the basis of his own incarceration, he recommended that they do push-ups, sit-ups and touch their toes 50 times from a standing position. ‘The main thing is never to forget the obligatory daily gymnastics. Force yourself to do all kinds of stretches, several dozen at a time, without slacking’.47 He also, according to Dmitri, ‘always polished the cell floor himself since this was a good form of gymnastics. And so he acted like a real old

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floor-polisher – with his hands held behind him, he would begin to dance to and fro across the cell with a brush or a rag under his foot. “Good gymnastics, and you even get a sweat up”’.48 Lenin was proud of the fact that he did at least ten minutes a day of more normal calisthenics while living in emigration.49 Another form of exercise he favoured was walking. Initially, when Valentinov heard that his new friend was hard at work on One Step Forward, Two Steps Back, he expressed his fear that their conversations would come to an end. ‘Not at all’, answered Lenin. ‘I don’t intend to work without a break: I shall work and relax by turns. For example, at about four o’clock each day I shall without fail go for a walk for half an hour or forty minutes. It’s an old habit of mine. I have nothing against your calling on me at that time so that we can go out together’.50 He confessed that he much preferred ‘wondering around and seeing the evening amusements and pastimes of the people to visiting museums, theatres, shopping arcades, etc.’51 For over 17 years, his correspondence and that of his wife was filled with the details of walks they had taken in the various places they resided. From London, for instance, he informed his mother ‘in general, we do not miss a chance to go for a walk. Of the local comrades, we are the only ones who have explored every bit of the surrounding countryside. We have discovered various “rural” paths, we know all the places nearby, and intend to go further afield’.52 S. J. Bagotsky recalled that in Cracow Lenin ‘would get up at eight o’clock and, no matter what the weather was, go for a short walk…[at] about five o’clock there was [another] break for a walk’.53 He and some friends formed what Krupskaya referred to as the ‘excursionist party which is always finding excuses for excursions’. ‘It is our local joke’, she continued in a politically incorrect fashion, ‘that we have a “cinemist” party (of cinema lovers [Lenin’s Jewish friends Zinoviev and Kamenev]), and an “anti-cinemist” or “anti-semitic” party... Volodya is a confirmed anti-cinemist and an enthusiastic excursionist... After all, what else is there to do in Cracow but to go walking?’54 One of the things he could do was swim in the Vistula, which he did regularly, just as he had done earlier in the Volga and the Yenisei and on summer vacations along the Gulf of Finland and the Bay of Biscay.55 On many other occasions, Lenin and his wife simply went ‘bathing’ in smaller bodies of water or municipal facilities. Since it is safe to assume that virtually all of their modest accommodations in western Europe did not come with a shower or a bath,56 one might conclude that these outings were for hygienic reasons. This raises the interesting question of Lenin’s bathing attire. What he wore in general is another of the non-political aspects of his biography that has attracted little attention. The limited number of photographs of him during the pre-revolutionary period always show him wearing conservative business clothing even when playing chess in the Mediterranean sun on Capri

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or climbing mountains in the Carpathians (illustration 1).57 There is certainly no photograph of him in a bathing suit and no mention of such a garment in the extensive correspondence with his family. As already noted, an intriguing possibility was raised by a Swiss writer who interviewed residents of Sörenberg where Lenin vacationed in 1915. According to one old-timer, the future head of the Soviet state was once found by an irate tourist bathing in the Emme River wearing nothing at all.58 Like swimming, bicycling can be considered a semi-utilitarian sport in that Lenin used his cycle both as a source of cheap transportation in Geneva and Paris and as a means for long and strenuous excursions in the countryside surrounding these cities. Curiously, he did not learn to ride until Dmitri Ul’ianov gave him a lesson in 1894.59 He purchased his first bicycle, which he kept ‘as clean as a surgical instrument’,60 only after arriving in Munich in 1901. Riding in urban areas may have saved money but it had its hazards. In 1904, while daydreaming on a ride through Geneva, he ran into the rear end of a tram car and, according to Krupskaya, ‘very nearly had his eye knocked out’.61 Paris, where traffic a century ago was already ‘simply hellish’,62 was no better than Geneva. In December 1909, on a short trip to watch an air show at Orly, Lenin’s bicycle was demolished by a motor car driven by a viscount. While he eventually gained financial revenge through a French court,63 its replacement was stolen shortly thereafter outside the Bibliothéque Nationale despite his paying a neighbouring concierge for parking privileges on her front steps.64 To the chronicler of Lenin’s sporting life, his longer trips into the Swiss and French countryside are of much greater interest. ‘This week we have been cycling our heads off ’, Krupskaya informed her mother-in-law in 1911. ‘We made three excursions of 70 to 75 kilometres each exploring three forests... Volodya is extremely fond of excursions that begin at six or seven in the morning and last until late at night. But the result is that we don’t get our work done’.65 He made at least six lengthy day trips through the forests and parks surrounding the French capital.66 Krupskaya, who joined her husband on most of these outings, must have had second thoughts about the sport. In May 1913, after moving to Galicia where the unpaved roads were often muddy, she wrote to her mother-in-law that ‘fortunately, you cannot do a lot of cycling [here] because Volodya used to abuse this sport and overtire himself; it is better to walk more’.67 Her optimism was misplaced for the next summer her husband and G.E. Zinoviev hopped on their cycles and peddled 100 kilometres simply to buy a bottle of Hungarian wine.68 The less athletic Zinoviev apparently learned a lesson from this experience. A year later, while holidaying in Hertenstein in central Switzerland, he resisted Lenin’s efforts to coax him to bicycle to Sörenberg – a distance of less than 60 kilometres. ‘I am greatly surprised’, Lenin responded, ‘that for no apparent reason, you

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have shirked a meeting’. The ‘reason’ was an elevation gain of over 700 metres. Lenin himself had often done part of the trip to expedite delivery of his mail but arguments about free-wheeling one way could not convince his colleague that this was worth the considerable effort of going uphill in the other direction.69 *

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In January 1904 Lenin and Krupskaya walked up the Grand Salève, a limestone ridge just south of Geneva. It was the first of many mountains he was to climb prior to returning to Russia in 1917. ‘Down below in Geneva’, he informed his mother, it was all fog and gloom, but up on the mountain (about 1,200 metres above sea level) there was glorious sunshine, snow, tobogganing – all and all, a good Russian winter’s day. And at the foot of the mountain – la mer du brouillard, a veritable sea of fog and clouds, concealing everything except the mountains jutting up through it...We are beginning to know Switzerland and its scenery. In the spring we intend to make a long walking tour.70

To prepare themselves for their tour, they frequently went hiking in the hills around Geneva. Valentinov, who initially accompanied them, soon found that Lenin was not only an accomplished gymnast but also ‘a very good walker’. After three excursions, he dropped out simply ‘because I could not keep up with Lenin as he clambered up the mountain paths’.71 In late June, their nerves frayed from factional infighting, Lenin and Krupskaya set off on their ‘long walking tour’. What had been planned as a two-week excursion, turned out to be an absence of over two months during which they covered 400 kilometres on foot and in doing so crossed half of Switzerland.72 After reaching Montreux, Lenin took time off to climb Rochers de Naye. Mariia Essen, a family friend who accompanied them on the first part of their journey, later described Lenin’s style of hiking. To get to the top [of the 2,045-metre mountain] more quickly we left the path and climbed straight up the slope. With each step the climb became more difficult. Vladimir Ilyich strode briskly and confidently, chuckling at my efforts to keep up with him. After a while I was climbing on all fours, clutching at the snow which melted in my hands, but still managing to keep up with Vladimir Ilyich.73

Like Valentinov, she also soon went back to more normal pursuits. The two remaining hikers then proceeded up the Rhone valley as far as Leuk where they turned north and climbed the Gemmi Pass, one of steepest

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crossings into the Bernese Oberland. Mark Twain, who had traversed the Gemmi 26 years earlier, described the ‘path as steep as a ladder, almost cut in the face of a mighty precipice’ over which he claimed numerous incautious hikers had plunged to their deaths in the past.74 Lenin survived to enjoy a long walk down the Kandertal to the Lake of Thun. After a short rest, they climbed up to the col at Kleine Scheidegg where they stopped long enough to admire the Jungfrau before descending past the North Face of the Eiger and the Wetterhorn.75 As Krupskaya later recalled, ‘we always chose the loneliest trails that led into the wilds away from any people. We tramped for about a month... This restored Vladimir Ilyich’s nerves to normal. It was if he had bathed in a mountain stream and washed off all the cobwebs of sordid intrigue’.76 As a result of this excursion, Lenin became a committed hiker in Europe just as he had been a ‘passionate hunter’ in Siberia. Whenever the opportunity presented itself and especially when depressed, he grabbed his rucksack and headed for the high mountains. In August 1908 he left Geneva on the spur of the moment to hike alone in the nearby Les Diablerets chain. If he made it to the 3,210-metre summit despite heavy rain, it would have marked the highest climb of his hiking career.77 Three years later, while in Switzerland for meetings of the International Socialist Bureau, he took time off from an impromptu lecture tour to climb the Pilatus, another peak over 2,100 metres.78 In 1912 Lenin and Krupskaya moved to Austrian Galicia. The stated reasons were to get away from the tensions of the Paris émigré community and to be nearer the rising unrest in tsarist Russia. An unmentioned factor was that Cracow was close to the High Tatras, a part of the Carpathians, where hiking opportunities rivalled those in Switzerland. Very soon after arriving, Lenin joined Bagotsky for a hike in the foothills of the Tatras. True to form, ‘wanting to shorten the way, Vladimir Ilyich suggested we should walk straight up’ with the result that the two hikers got lost and very wet and barely avoided spending the night in the woods. On a second attempt a few days later, they made it to the summit of the Babya and there, ‘in the distance, lit up by the bright rays of the sun, [we saw] a long range of the Tatra peaks as if suspended in the air’.79 Lenin and Krupskaya spent the summers of 1913 and 1914 living near Poronin, within cycling distance of the mountains, which gave Vladimir Ilyich an excellent opportunity to climb some of these peaks. Delegates attending party meetings at his summer home were hauled off on these excursions and were amused at the sight of their leader wearing a business suit and climbing with an umbrella. With his wife, he hiked up to Czarny Staw, ‘a mountain lake of remarkable beauty’. On other occasions, he went off alone to peaks over 2,600 metres.80 Krupskaya told his mother the obvious: that ‘Volodya is very fond of Poronin and particularly likes scrambling up the mountains’.81

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On 5 July 1914, as war clouds hung heavy over Europe and unrest was increasingly evident in St. Petersburg, Lenin took time off from party and political crises to go scrambling one last time in the Tatras. He justified this on the grounds that ‘the weather is good after weeks of rains’.82 The First World War forced the Ul’ianovs to flee to Switzerland but it did not alter Lenin’s summer hiking habits. In early June 1915 he and Krupskaya left their winter residence in Bern for the village of Sörenberg higher in the Alps. Besides an occasional dip in the Emme and bicycle trips to pick up his mail, Lenin spent much of his time mountain climbing. Soon after arriving, he asked Inessa Armand to stop at the offices of the Swiss Alpine Club in Bern before coming to Sörenberg herself to get information about the use of the club’s huts by non-members and about group expeditions that climbed peaks between 3,000 and 3,500 metres ‘just in case we have an opportunity to go on a long excursion’.83 Such an opportunity did not materialize but this did not stop the intrepid hikers from climbing the Brienzer Rothorn – at 2,350 metres, the highest peak in the region. Rather than taking the rack-and-pinion railway to the summit from Brienz, as was the custom of most tourists, Lenin, Krupskaya and occasionally Armand ascended from Sörenberg. It was a strenuous eighthour hike with an elevation gain of 1,200 metres which they did without the recommended guide. Not surprisingly, Zinoviev declined an invitation to join them.84 The last of the three times Lenin climbed the Rothorn came after the Zimmerwald Conference in September 1915. He returned, according to Krupskaya, in ‘a pretty irritable frame of mind. Several days of strenuous hiking were needed to restore his equilibrium’.85 The story was much the same the next summer. Lenin and his wife spent most of July and August 1916 at the remote Kurhaus Tschudiwiese southeast of Zurich. There, Krupskaya wrote, ‘we lived a carefree existence, spending all day rambling about the mountains. Ilyich did no work at all’.86 Perhaps for that reason, Soviet scholars paid little attention to this chapter in Lenin’s life and we know nothing about the peaks he climbed six months before the February Revolution. After leaving the Tschudiwiese, the next and last mountain he climbed was the Zurichberg. After his own seizure of power and the transfer of the capital to Moscow, Lenin relaxed by walking around the Kremlin and in the surrounding countryside.87 He also went hunting for the first time since Shushenskoe but ‘with nothing like the old zest’. Lepeshinskii would have nodded his head in agreement had he witnessed Lenin’s participation in a fox hunt outside Moscow. ‘The beaters drove the fox straight towards him, but he seized his gun when it was too late. The fox stopped and looked at him, then slipped away into the woods. “Why didn’t you shoot?”, [Krupskaya] asked him. “The fox

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was so beautiful”, he said.’88 The reaction of Vladimir Putin many years later when faced with a less attractive wild boar would be much different. *

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The diversity and intensity of Lenin’s sporting interests set him apart not only from his revolutionary colleagues of a century ago but also from political leaders of other countries. Fidel Castro and Lester Pearson undoubtedly had considerable baseball skills. Chairman Mao may have swum in the Yangtze. Theodore Roosevelt certainly shot big game. John Turner and Pierre Trudeau were skilled canoeists and Dwight Eisenhower preferred the golf course to the Oval Office. Only the Kennedys, however, with their passion for sailing, touch football and skiing, came anywhere near equalling Lenin’s enthusiasm for sports of all types – swimming, rowing, hunting, skating, gymnastics, cycling, walking and especially mountain climbing. How is this obsession with physical activity explained? Valentinov was quite correct that these activities are inconsistent with the usual picture of a man absorbed solely with politics and revolution. They add yet another dimension to his non-geometric biographical portrait. He is incorrect, however, to see Lenin in the Rakhmetov mould.89 He did not climb mountains simply to make himself a better revolutionary. While he may have admired Chernyshevskii’s aesthetic hero, I doubt if he ever would have said that ‘good health was the revolutionary’s main asset’90 – an interpretation which Valentinov shares with Leon Trotsky, Alexander Solzhenitsyn and Robert Service. It is, interestingly, a conclusion resisted by Nadezhda Krupskaya, who certainly knew her husband better than his biographers and who deserves credit in her own right for gamely joining him on many of his arduous excursions. Lenin was an avid sportsman for two reasons. First, physical exercise was his response to psychological stress and emotional uncertainty. When faced with factional division and personal defeat in 1904, he went off on an extended hike through the Swiss mountains. After the Zimmerwald Conference had marginalized his few followers, he escaped to the Rothorn. And, when he did not anticipate or comprehend the rumours of massive unrest in Petrograd in March 1917, he retreated to the Zurichberg. Second, like many sportsmen, Lenin truly liked to challenge himself physically even to the point of exhaustion that often comes from a day spent rowing long distances or scrambling up a mountain. It would be a mistake to deny that he enjoyed being in close touch with nature while hunting in the woods of Siberia or cycling through the forests outside Paris. I suspect, however, the physical challenge of climbing the Rothorn was for him greater than his appreciation of the glorious view from its summit but he did not climb the mountain because he thought it would make him a better revolutionary.

NOTES Chapter 1 Lenin and the Social Democratic Schools for Underground Party Workers, 1909–1911 1

2 3 4 5

6 7 8

9

10 11

Western historians of party history, while occasionally noting the existence of these schools, have never studied their operations or significance. Soviet historians showed some interest in Longjumeau but no systematic treatment of the three schools appeared after S. I. Lifshits’ Partiinyi universitety podpol’ia (Moscow, 1929). Several Western historians, most notably Robert Williams and Zenovia Sochor, have discussed the schools in Capri and Bologna since the appearance of this article. See Robert C. Williams, The Other Bolsheviks: Lenin and His Critics, 1904 – 1914 (Bloomington, 1986), and Zenovia A. Sochor, Revolution and Culture: The Bogdanov – Lenin Controversy (Ithaca, 1988). See results of a questionnaire circulated by L. D. Trotsky to members of the Social Democratic underground. Pravda (Vienna), no. 16 (6 October 1910), 2. ‘Ob organizatsii partiinoi shkoly’ (leaflet), June 1910. A. V. Lunacharskii, Velikii perevorot (oktiabr’skaia revoliutsiia), ch I (Petrograd, 1919), 45. Otchet pervoi vysshei sotsialdemokraticheskoi propagandistsko-agitatorskoi shkoly dlia robochikh (n.p., [1910]), 2; S. I. Lifshits, ‘Kapriiskaia partiinaia shkola (1909 g.)’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1924, no. 29: 36–48, 74. V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 5th edn (Moscow, 1958–65), 55: 292 (hereafter cited as PSS ). Kommunisticheskaia partiia sovetskogo soiuza v rezoliutsiiakh i resheniiakh s”ezdov, konferentsii i plenumov TsK, 9th edn (Moscow, 1983), 1: 345 (hereafter cited as KPSS v rez.). The distinction between auditors and students was administrative rather than pedagogical. Auditors, unlike students, represented themselves rather than local organizations and thus they could neither vote at school meetings nor expect their expenses to be paid by the institution. The majority had to commit themselves to returning to Russia upon the termination of the school. For descriptions of the Capri School, see Otchet pervoi, 3–13; Lifshits, ‘Kapriiskaia partiinaia shkola’, 33–74; V. Kosarev, ‘Partiinaia shkola na ostrove Kapri’, Revoliutsiia i VKP (b) v materialakh i dokumentakh (Moscow, 1927), 5: 310–22; I. I. Pankratov, ‘V Parizh k Lenina’, O Vladimire Il’iche Lenina (Moscow, 1963), 102–6; A. V. Lunacharskii, Sobranie sochinenii (Moscow, 1964), 2: 36–40; V. Kosarev, ‘Il’ich protiv “Vperedovtsev”’, O Lenine: vospominaniia (Moscow, 1925), 2: 133–8. Kosarev, ‘Partiinaia shkola na ostrove Kapri’, 316. The tortuous course of this correspondence can be followed in Sotsial-demokrat, nos. 9–11 (13 November 1909 – 26 February 1910); Proletarii, nos. 47/48–50 plus supplements (18 September – 11 December 1909); Lenin, PSS, 47: 183–126; Otchet pervoi, 13–22.

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12 M. A. Tsiavlovskii (ed.), Bol’sheviki: dokumenty po istorii bol’shevizma s 1903 po 1916 god byvshago moskovskago okhrannago otdeleniia (Moscow, 1918), xxiv. Romanov was not, as sometimes stated, in the service of the Okhrana when he came to Capri but he surely was when he appeared at the Prague Conference two years later. For his account of the school, see ibid., 24–5. 13 KPSS v rez., 1: 357. 14 Otchet vtoroi vysshei sotsialdemokraticheskoi propagandistsko-agitatorskoi shkoly dlia rabochikh (Paris, 1911), 3. 15 ‘Ob organizatsii partiinoi shkoly’. This leaflet succeeded in soliciting at least one student, G. K. Ordzhonikidze, who was then living in Persia. Ordzhonikidze soon became one of Lenin’s chief lieutenants in the forthcoming campaign against the Mensheviks. See I. M. Dubinskii-Mukhadze, Ordzhonikidze (Moscow, 1963), 89–90. 16 Otchet vtoroi, 5. 17 S. I. Lifshits, ‘Partiinaia shkola v Bolon’e (1910–1911)’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, no.50 (1926): 118. 18 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 47. 19 For accounts of the Bologna school, see ibid., 44–8; Lifshits, ‘Partiinaia shkola v Bolon’e’, 109–44; N. A. Semashko, ‘O dvukh zagranichnykh partiinykh shkolakh’, Poletarskaia revoliutsiia, no. 74 (1928): 142–51; Lunacharskii, Velikii perevorot, 50–1. 20 Golos Sotsial-demokrata, no. 26 (December 1911), 19; Lenin, PSS, 20: 159. 21 Lifshits, ‘Partiinaia shkola v Bolon’e’, 128. 22 Otchet vtoroi, 31. These protacted negotiations can be followed in ibid., 25–30; Lenin, PSS, 48: 4–5; ‘Otchet pervoi partiinoi shkoly v Lonzhiumo’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1962, no. 5: 50–4; Semashko, ‘O dvukh zagranichnykh partiinykh shkolakh’, 142–51; Otchet vtoroi, pp. 11–25; Lunacharskii, Velikii perevorot, 50–1. 23 Lenin had gone to some length planning these lectures which seemingly were intended for the Paris émigré colony as well as for the Bologna students. See N. N. Surovtseva and R. Z. Iunitskaia, ‘O deiatel’nosti V. I. Lenin v 1911 goda’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1961, no. 5: 104–7. The only lectures the students heard while in Paris were given by I. O. Martov and F. I. Dan concerning the Menshevik position on party issues. 24 Otchet vtoroi, 31. 25 ‘Otchet...Lonzhiumo’, 39 26 The loss of Longjumeau’s financial report makes accurate accounting of its expenses difficult. For available information, see ibid., 39, 51; Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 59, 65; Lifshits, Partiinyi universitety podpol’ia, 107, 132–3. These sources disagree whether the 10,000 francs came from the funds Lenin should have transferred to the Central Committee or to the German ‘trustees’ after the January 1910 Plenum. The distinction is somewhat academic since Lenin apparently kept both portions in his own hands until June 1911 when the ‘trustees’ finally demanded custody. See Leonard Schapiro, The Communist Party of the Soviet Union (New York, 1960), 119–21. 27 For the texts of these announcements, see Semashko, ‘O dvukh zagranichnykh partiinykh shkolakh’, 145–6; and ‘Otchet...Lonzhiumo’, 50–2. 28 ‘Ob organizatsii partiinoi shkoly’. 29 For a more detailed account, see my ‘RSDRP in Ekaterinoslav: Profile of an Underground Organization, 1907–14’, Canadian Slavonic Papers 7 (1965): 212–3. 30 P. Kerzhentsev, Life of Lenin (New York, 1939), 133. 31 N. A. Semashko, ‘Partiinaia shkola pod Parizhem v 1911 g.’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1923, no. 2: 606. 32 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 69–70.

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33 I. S. Belostotskii, ‘Moi vstrechi s Leninym’, Ural, 1962, no. 4: 135. 34 I. Mordkovich, ‘Parizhskie vpechatleniia’, Staryi bol’shevik, 1933, no. 1: 136. 35 For descriptions of Longjumeau’s physical surroundings, see B. A. Breslav, O V. I. Lenine: Beglye vospominaniia (Moscow, 1934), 36–40; Jean Fréville, Inessa Armand: Une grand figure de la revolution russe (Paris, 1957), 219–21; M. Aldanov, ‘Lonzhiumo’, Sovremennye zapiski, 60 (1936): 428–34. Photographs of the school will be found in E. Kazakevich, ‘Lenin v Parizhe’, Inostrannaia literatura, 1962, no. 11: 186–90. 36 Very little biographical information is available concerning the Longjumeau students, partially because few of them reached positions of prominence during the Soviet period. See particularly, Lifshits, Partiinyi universitety podpol’ia, 108–13, and Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 61–5. Some additional and at times contradictory material can be culled from the memoirs of Krupskaya and Breslav. 37 ‘Otchet...Lonzhiumo’, 42. 38 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 65. 39 ‘Otchet...Lonzhiumo’, 44. 40 These course descriptions were provided the Okhrana by one of their agents at Longjumeau. Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 66–7. 41 A. Ivanova, ‘Vstrechi v Lonzhiumo’, Don, 1958, no. 4: 23. For Lenin as a lecturer, see Breslav, O V. I. Lenine, 47–51; I. S. Belostotskii, ‘Vstrechi s Leninym’, Iuzhnyi ural, 1958, no. 30: 5; Marc Vichniac, Lénine (Paris, 1932), 74. 42 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 70; ‘Otchet...Lonzhiumo’, 49. 43 Belostotskii, ‘Vstrechi s Leninym’, 6. See also Breslav, O V. I. Lenine, 42; David Shub, Lenin: A Biography (New York, 1966), 142; Kartashov and Konstantinovskii, ‘Uchenik Lenina’, 75–6; A. I. Dogadov, ‘Pamiati uchetelia-tovarishcha’, O Lenine: vospominaniia (Moscow, 1925), 2: 139–41. 44 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 70. For the Paris excursions, see also ‘Otchet...Lonzhiumo’, 48–9. 45 Dubinskii-Mukhadze, Ordzhonikidze, 91. 46 Pravda, 3 October 1920: 6. 47 For a more detailed discussion of their relationship, see Chapter 8, below. 48 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 69. 49 Schapiro, CPSU, 120.

Chapter 2 The Art of Calling a Party Conference (Prague, 1912) 1 V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), 19: 6–7 (hereafter cited as PSS ). 2 Kommunisticheskaia partiia sovetskogo soiuza v rezoliutsiiakh i resheniiakh s”ezdov, konferentsii i plenumov TsK, 9th edn (Moscow, 1983), 1: 360 (hereafter cited as KPSS v rez.). 3 The resolutions of the plenum can be found in ibid., 351–60. 4 See, for example, the correspondence from an Odessa worker to Pravda (Vienna), no. 13 (28 May 1910), 2–3. 5 Pravda (Vienna), no. 10 (25 February 1910),1. 6 Israel Getzler, Martov: A Political Biography of a Russian Social Democrat (Cambridge, 1967), 121, 132. A Menshevik appraisal of the plenum’s achievements can be found in Golos Sotsial-demokrata, nos. 19/20 ( January/February 1910), 17–20. 7 See his letter to Maxim Gorky in Lenin, PSS, 47: 248–51. 8 N. K. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin (Moscow, 1959), 206.

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9 Cited in R. V. Daniels, The Conscience of the Revolution: Communist Opposition in Soviet Russia (Cambridge, Mass., 1960), 17. 10 Lenin, PSS, 20: 44; see also Pravda (Vienna), nos. 18–19 (11 February 1911), 2–3. 11 See, for example, the letter from two St. Petersburg Bolsheviks to Pravda (Vienna), no. 20 (29 April 1911), 5. 12 N. Voitinskii, ‘O gruppe Vperëd (1909–1917)’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1929, no, 12 (95), 99; K obshchepartiinoi konferentsii (platforma Menshevikov-Partiitsev) (Geneva, 1911), 1. 13 Rosa Luxemburg, Letters to Karl and Luise Kautsky from 1896 to 1918 (New York, 1925), 163 (Luxemburg’s emphasis). 14 Supplement to Sotsial-demokrat, nos. 19–20 (26 January 1911), 3 (Lenin’s emphasis). 15 Leninskii sbornik, 40 vols (Moscow, 1924–85), 18: 9–10. This was in fact the second time the Bolshevik representatives had been arrested. This, together with the refusal of the Liquidators to participate, helps explain why the RBTsK never met. See Golos Sotsialdemokrata, no. 23 (November 1910), 9. 16 Leninskii sbornik, 25: 78. 17 O. Bosh, ‘Prazhskaia konferentsiia’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1925, no. 4 (39), 180. It should be noted that Rykov had been conspicuously inactive in party politics for the previous two years. Had Lenin realized his conciliatory tendencies, he might have been less insistent that Rykov participate in the proposed meeting. 18 Listok zagranichnago biuro tsentral’nago komiteta, no. 1 (8 September 1911), 5. 19 N. A. Semashko, Prozhitoe i perezhitoe (Moscow, 1960), 52. 20 Leninskii sbornik, 25: 80. 21 Ibid., 88. 22 Ibid., 88–9. 23 Ibid., 84–5. 24 KPSS v rez., 1: 363–4. 25 Leninskii sbornik, 25: 85. 26 KPSS v rez., 1: 365. 27 Ibid., 365–6. 28 Ibid., 366. As an afterthought, the Central Committee members, again contrary to Lenin’s wishes, stated that ‘if other party tendencies decide to call another party conference, it would be advisable to reach an agreement with its organizers to ensure that only one all-party conference takes place’ (ibid.). 29 Leninskii sbornik, 25: 93. 30 KPSS v rez., 1: 366 (Lenin’s emphasis). 31 Ibid., 363 (emphasis in the original). 32 Pravda (Vienna), no. 21 (8 July 1911), 5. 33 Listok ZBTsK, no. 1 ( 8 September 1911), 1. 34 Ibid. 35 Ibid., 4. 36 The Technical Commission was composed of Jogiches, M. F. Vladimirskii (Bolshevik) and M. K. Vladimirov (Conciliator); the Foreign Organizing Commission was made up of Kamenev and Semashko from the Bolsheviks, A. I. Liubimov and Rykov from the Conciliators, and Jogiches. 37 Leninskii sbornik, 25: 95–6. 38 Informatsionnyi biulleten’, Zagranichnaia tekhnicheskaia komissiia, no. 1 (11 August 1911), 1. 39 M. A. Tsiavlovskii, ed., Bol’sheviki: dokumenty po istorii bol’shevizma s 1903 po 1916 god byvsh. Moskovskago okhrannago otdeleniia (Moscow, 1918), xix and 73; O. A. Piatnitsky, Memoirs of a Bolshevik (London, n.d.). 142.

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40 ‘Iz perepiski TsK RSDRP s mestnymi bol’shevistskimi organizatsiiami, 1911–1912 gg.’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1964, no. 10: 80. 41 See, for instance, resolutions in Dnevnik Sotsial-demokrata, no. 15 (December 1911), supplement no. 1, 9–10; Sotsial-demokrat, no. 23 (14 September 1911), supplement. 42 G. K. Ordzhonikidze, Stat’i i rechi (Moscow, 1956), 4–5. 43 ‘K istorii Prazhskoi konferentsii’, Krasnyi arkhiv 97 (1939): 101. 44 S. G. Shaumian, Pis’ma (1896–1918) (Erevan, 1959), 163–4. 45 The Russian Organizing Commission was composed of four Bolsheviks – Ordzhonikidze, Shvarts, Shaumian and S. S. Spandarian – and one Party Menshevik, I. Sokolin, representing the interests of Kiev and Ekaterinoslav. Trotsky was not far off the mark when he charged that the ‘so-called ROK consisted [solely] of two or three agents from the foreign Leninist circle’. Pravda (Vienna), no. 24 (27 March 1912), 6. 46 KPSS v rez., 1: 372. 47 Z. G. Ordzhonikidze, Put’ Bol’shevika: stranitsy iz zhizni G. K. Ordzhonikidze (Moscow, 1956), 103 (Orzhonikidze’s emphasis). 48 KPSS v rez., 1: 371. 49 Ibid., 370. 50 Lenin, PSS, 21: 8; V.I. Lenin, Sochineniia, 2nd edn, 30 vols (Moscow, 1925–32), 15: 632–3, n. 102. 51 Bosh, ‘Prazhskaia konferentsiia’, 193–8. 52 Sotsial-demokrat, no. 25 (21 December 1911), 9. 53 Listok ZBTsK, no 1 (8 September 1911), 8. 54 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 75. 55 For information on the Committee of Foreign Organizations, see Leninskii sbornik, 25: 105–11; A.P. Iakushina, ‘Iz istorii deiatel’nosti komiteta zagranichnoi organiziatsii RSDRP, 1911–1914 gg.’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1966, no. 4: 72–80. 56 Lenin, PSS, 48: 40. 57 A. K. Voronsky, The Waters of Life and Death (London, [1936]), 301. 58 Za partiiu, no. 1 (29 April 1912), 2; Tsiavlovskii. Bol’sheviki, 93. 59 Voronsky, Waters of Life and Death, 301–2. 60 Prazhskaia konferentsiia RSDRP 1912 goda: Stat’i i dokumenty (Moscow, 1937), xxxii–xxxiii; Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 93–5. 61 For descriptions of the conference’s setting by two of its participants, see the reminiscences of Semashko and E. P. Onufriev in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 2: 299–305. 62 History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (Bolsheviks): Short Course (New York, 1939), 141. 63 N. Popov, Outline History of the CPSU, 2 vols (New York, 1934), 1: 269. 64 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 76–80, 87; Pravda (Moscow), 18 January 1937, 3. 65 For contrasting information on the selection of the St. Petersburg delegates, see K. Ostroukhova, Shestaia (Prazhskaia) vserossiiskaia konferentsiia RSDRP (Moscow, 1950), 37; Pravda (Moscow), 18 January 1937, 3; Pravda (Vienna), no. 24 (27 March 1912), 3. 66 Pravda (Vienna), no. 24 (27 March 1912), 5. 67 Voronsky, Waters of Life and Death, 293. 68 Pravda (Vienna), no. 24 (27 March 1912), 6; Voronsky, Waters of Life and Death, 293. On another occasion, Trotsky charged that Serebriakov ‘picked himself ’ to go to the conference. See ‘Iz perepiski’, 78. 69 The police and Trotsky agreed that Shvartsman was ‘the only one at the conference with a firm and unquestioned mandate’ (Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 53; Pravda [Vienna],

172

70 71 72 73 74 75 76

77 78 79 80

81

82 83 84 85 86 87 88

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

no. 24 [27 March 1912], 6). On Zevin, see Za partiiu, no. 1 (29 April 1912), 2; M. Maiorov, ‘K perepiske N. K. Krupskoi so Shvartsmanom’, Letopis’ revoliutsii, 1928, no. 4, 154. For further statistical information, see my Russian Social Democracy in the Underground: A Study of the RSDRP in Ukraine, 1907–1914 (Assen, 1974), 65. Two other Longjumeau students – probably I. V. Prisiagin and Shvarts – were elected as delegates but arrested before they could cross the border. Rabochaia gazeta, no. 8 (30 March 1912), 2; Za partiiu, no. 1 (29 April 1912), 2. KPSS v rez., 1: 400 (emphasis in the original). Ibid., 403. See, for example, Em. Iaroslavskii, Prazhskaia konferentsiia partii bol’shevikov (Moscow, 1937), 43. Lenin, who first met Malinovskii at the Prague Conference, insisted that he be elected to the Central Committee. He had to use a bit of chicanery to overcome the opposition of some of the delegates to this proposal. See Voronsky, Waters of Life and Death, 314–15; Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 48; Piatnitsky, Memoirs, 163; M. Rozanov, ‘S Leninym v Prage’, Literaturnyi sovremennik, 1938, no. 2: 161–2. KPSS v rez., 1: 402. Ibid., 401. Ibid., 388–90, 393–4 Lenin, PSS, 48: 50; Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 99; Ostroukhova, Shestaya...konferentsaia, 53. Zevin later complained that all by himself he was unable to overcome ‘the authority and the oratory of the Bolshevik leaders’. Za partiiu, no. 1 (29 April 1912), 2. ‘Protokoly VI (Prazhskoi) vserossiiskoi konferentsii RSDRP’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1988, nos. 5 (39–56), 6 (47–78) and 7 (31–57). This interpretation was first advanced by G. R. Swain in ‘The Bolsheviks’ Prague Conference Revisited’, Revolutionary Russia 2, no. 1 ( June 1989): 134–41. Pravda (Vienna), no. 24 (27 March 1912), 6; Na temy dnia, no. 1 (April 1912), 13. Quoted in Lenin, PSS, 48: 49. Quoted in Voitinskii, ‘O gruppe ‘Vperëd’’, 99. Vorwärts, 26 March 1912, 5; Lenin, PSS, 48: 55–7. Pravda (Vienna), no. 25 (6 May 1912), 5. For Lenin’s response to this meeting, see his PSS, 21: 215–8. The rest of the Introduction from which this chapter has been taken deals with the calling and debates of the Trotsky’s August Conference. Report 917 of 25 July 1912 in the Okhrana Archives (Hoover Institution), file XVIb, folder 2.

Chapter 3 Lenin and Pravda, 1912–1914 1 ‘V otdelenii istoricheskikh nauk AN SSSR i nauchnykh sovetakh’, Voprosy istorii, 1962, no. 2: 122–3. 2 See, for example, S. A. Andronov, Boevoe oruzhie partii: Gazeta ‘Pravda’ v 1912–1917 godov (Leningrad, 1962); V. T. Loginov, Lenin i ‘Pravda’ v 1912–1914 godov (Moscow, 1962); and numerous journal articles cited below. 3 V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 5th edn, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), 48: 66–297; (hereafter cited as PSS), which includes 52 letters to the editors of Pravda, half of which did not appear in his ‘collected works’ before 1957. ‘Deiatel’nost’ TsK RSDRP

NOTES

4 5

6 7 8

9 10

11

12 13

14 15 16

173

po rukovodstvu gazetoi ‘Pravda’, 1912–1914 gg.’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1959, no. 4: 39–56; ‘Zasedaniia TsK RSDRP 15–17 aprelia 1914 goda’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1957, no. 4: 112–25; G. V. Petriakov, ‘Deiatel’nost’ V. I. Lenina po rukovodstvu ‘Pravdoi’ v 1912–1914 godakh’, Voprosy istorii, 1956, no. 11: 3–16. Many of these resolutions, which were omitted from earlier volumes of collected party documents, were first published in the eighth edition of Kommunisticheskaia partiia sovetskogo soiuza v rezoliutsiiakh i resheniiakh s”ezdov, konferentsii i plenumov TsK (Moscow, 1970), vol. I: 1898–1917. Lenin, PSS, 48:33–4. These arguments are summarized by one of Zvezda’s editors, N. N. Baturin, in Zvezda, no. 1 (6 January 1912), 1. See also correspondence in Zvezda, no. 28 (5 November 1911), 1–2; no. 33 (10 December 1911), 2; no. 35 (22 December 1911), 5; no. 36 (31 December 1911), 3; no. 2 (15 January 1912), 3; and comments by M. S. Ol’minskii in Pravda, no. 101 (26 August 1912), 3. V. T. Loginov, ‘Lenin i “Pravda”,’ in Bol’shevistskaia pechat’ i rabochii klass rossii v gody revoliutsionnogo pod”ema, 1910–1914 (Moscow, 1965), 49–50. ‘O podgotovke prazhskoi konferentsii RSDRP’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1958, no. 5: 20. A. K. Voronsky, The Waters of Life and Death (London, [1936]), 314; Lenin, PSS, 48: 81. According to G. E. Zinoviev, however, a number of the émigré Bolsheviks at the conference still had serious reservations about the scheme. Pravda, no. 98 (5 May 1922), 1. Lenin, PSS, 21: 453. Lenin might also have been motivated by a desire to counteract Menshevik plans for a joint or competing publication (Lenin, PSS, 48: 37–8). Menshevik efforts in this direction during early 1912 were frustrated by a combination of a lack of money, inopportune arrests, and Bolshevik uncooperativeness now that they had stolen a march on their factional rivals. As a result, the Menshevik daily Luch did not appear until 16 September 1912. See N. G. Poletaev, Pravda, no. 100 (5 May 1925), 3; and Pis’ma P. B. Aksel’roda i Iu. O. Martova, 1901–1916 (Berlin, 1924), 223–6. M. A. Tsiavlovskii (ed.), Bol’sheviki: Dokumenty po istorii bol’shevizma s 1903 po 1916 god byvsh. Moskovskago okhrannago otdeleniia (Moscow, 1918), 102–3. Since both Malinovskii and Shurkanov were their agents, the police should have been well informed about this meeting. Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 1911–1914 gg., 3 vols (Moscow, 1921–24), 3: 232; G. Zinoviev, Histoire du parti communiste Russe (Paris, 1926), 156. Zvezda, no. 33 (22 April 1912), 4. Of this sum, 1,100 rubles came in four relatively large donations of more than 100 rubles each from individuals who probably could not be properly classified as ‘workers’. Indeed, the published figures may have been purposely inflated and falsified to hide money derived from other, illicit sources mentioned below. Poletaev, in a letter written to the Central Committee on 20 March, when Zvezda was publicly acknowledging receipt of 1,600 rubles, stated that worker contributions had brought in only 600 rubles. Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 236. Maksim Gor’kii, Sobranie sochinenii, 30 vols (Moscow, 1949–55), 29: 222–3. ‘Daty zhizni i deiatel’nosti A. M. Gor’kogo’, Krasnyi arkhiv, 1936, no. 5: 76. Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 236. See the biography of V. M. Molotov (who was active in the Kazan organization at the same time as Tikhomirnov) in Deiateli SSSR i Oktiabr’skoi revoliutsii: Avtobiografii i biografii (Moscow, 1926), 2: 63. Additional information will be found in Iu. Denike, ‘Kupecheskaia sem’ia Tikhomirnovykh’, Novyi zhurnal 68 (1962), 280–7; and in Bertram D. Wolfe, Three Who Made a Revolution: A Biographical History (Boston, 1948), 559.

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17 Pravda, no. 101 (26 August 1912), 3. 18 See, for example, Stefan T. Possony, Lenin: The Compulsive Revolutionary (Chicago, 1964), 259. Police reports indicate that the Okhrana was well aware of the potential danger of the proposed legal papers and did everything in its power to nip them in the bud, rather than financing their establishment (see reports in V. G. Kikoin, ‘“Zvezda” i “Pravda”’, Krasnaia letopis’, 1930, no. 2: 67–100; and F. Drabkina (ed.), ‘Tsarskoe pravitel’stvo i “Pravda”’, Istoricheskii zhurnal, 1937, nos. 3/4: 115–23. 19 Lenin, PSS, 48: 58; Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 182. 20 Istoriia ‘Pravdy’ v datakh i chislakh, 1912–1927 (Leningrad, 1927), 7; G. V. Petriakov, Kollektivnyi agitator, propagandist i organizator: Leninskaia ‘Pravda’ v 1912–1914 gg. (Moscow, 1967),14. 21 Trotsky, who clearly thought that Poletaev had intentionally expropriated the name of his paper, accused the editors and Lenin of ‘plagiarism’ and ‘usurpation’ and called on them ‘officially’ to change its name (Pravda [Vienna], no. 25 [23 April/6 May 1912], 6; and letter to N. S. Chkheidze in Lenin o Trotskom i o trotskizma [Moscow, 1925], 171–3). For Lenin’s suggested reply, see Lenin, PSS, 48: 69. 22 Pravda was published daily, except on Monday, and kept to a four-page format except on Christmas, New Year’s, occasional Sundays, and such ‘red letter’ days as Marx’ birthday and International Women’s Day, when it appeared in a six-page edition. 23 An interesting police account of the role of the responsible editor will be found in ‘Zhandarmy o “Pravde”’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1923, no. 2: 460–1. See also Whitman Bassow, ‘The Pre-Revolutionary Pravda and Tsarist Censorship’, American Slavic and East European Review, 13, no. 1 (February 1954): 47–65. 24 It is part of the Pravda legend that Gorky, the ‘first proletarian writer’, contributed regularly to the party’s first proletarian daily. Actually Gorky contributed only four stories (and two of these were initially written for other publications) despite constant entreaties for more by both Lenin and the editors. 25 Plekhanov, however, protested sharply that he had not given permission for his name to be listed as a contributor. G. V. Plekhanov, Sochineniia, 24 vols (Moscow, 1923–7), 10: 562–3. 26 Because of Soviet reticence on the subject, the exact composition of Pravda’s editorial board during 1912 is difficult to determine. It probably included Poletaev, Baturin, Ol’minskii, S. M. Zaks-Gladnev, I. P. Pokrovskii, S. S. Danilov and K. S. Eremeev. 27 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 245. 28 Pis’ma Aksel’roda i Martova, 231. 29 See Molotov’s letter in ‘Novyi pod”em rabochego dvizheniia, 1910–1914’, Krasnyi arkhiv, 1934, no. 1: 234. 30 Lenin, PSS, 21: 375 (italics added). 31 N. K. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin (Moscow, 1959), 233. 32 Lenin, PSS, 55: 323. 33 Cited in Petriakov, Kollektivnyi agitator, 26. 34 See M. S. Ol’minskii and M. A. Savel’ev, eds, Pravda, 3 vols (Moscow, 1933), wherein the editors attempted to identify the pseudonyms of authors of reprinted articles. 35 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 232. 36 Lenin, PSS, 48: 52. 37 Ibid., 62. 38 Ibid., 53–4. 39 See Ordzhonikidze’s letter of 24 February to the Central Committee in Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’. 3: 233.

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40 Stalin himself claimed to the contrary. In 1922 he wrote, ‘One evening in the middle of April 1912, in the apartment of comrade Poletaev, two Duma deputies (Pokrovskii and Pletaev), two writers (Ol’minskii and Baturin), and I (a member of the Central Committee)...agreed on the platform of Pravda and drew up the first issue’. I. V. Stalin, Sochineniia, 13 vols (Moscow, 1947–53), 5: 130. This statement became the basis of the Pravda legend that the paper was ‘founded on the instructions of V. I. Lenin by the initiative of I. V. Stalin’ (ibid., 2: 389). 41 Lenin, PSS, 48: 52. 42 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 235–9. 43 Lenin, PSS, 48: 61. 44 Martov was quite correct when he informed P. A. Garvi, ‘The tone taken by Pravda undoubtedly testifies to the fact that Lenin has almost no one to serve as his “conscience” in Russia’. He speculated that Zinoviev would soon be sent to replace Ordzhonikidze and Stalin. Pis’ma Aksel’roda i Martova, 235. 45 Lenin, PSS, 48: 66, 116, 191 and 207. Lenin’s salary, which was considerably higher than that paid to the actual editors in St. Petersburg (see financial report in ‘Deiatel’nost’ TsK’, 44–5), provided him with his first regular income. His conscience must have bothered him, for he wrote to Gorky, ‘There is nothing wrong about contributors to a workers’ paper receiving regular payment; to the contrary, this is all to the good ... What is bad about everyone working for a workers’ paper beginning to earn a little? What is offensive about this proposal?’ (PSS, 48: 100). 46 Lenin, PSS, 48:164. See also pp. 208 and 213. 47 Ibid., 68 (Lenin’s emphasis). 48 See letters to his mother and sister in ibid., 55: 339, 347 and 444. 49 Ibid., 48: 78. 50 Cited in Zinoviev’s letter to the editors of 8/21 July 1912 in Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ and ‘Pravdy’, 3: 188–9. 51 Pravda, no. 80 (1 August 1912), 1. This qualification does not appear in articles Lenin published in journals under his own editorship. 52 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 243. 53 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 241. 54 Ibid., 261. 55 Lenin, PSS, 48: 74 (Lenin’s emphasis). This article did in fact appear somewhat later in Pravda, no. 66 (15 July 1912), 1. 56 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i Pravdy’, 1: 44. 57 On occasion, some of these were published in Nevskaia zvezda, much to the displeasure of Lenin who wanted the larger Pravda audience. See Lenin, PSS, 48: 73. 58 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 1: 44. It is quite possible that a number of these articles were written by Kamenev, who, to Lenin’s irritation, had his first eight manuscripts rejected by Pravda’s editors. See Lenin, PSS, 48: 70 and 87. 59 Ibid., 21: 397–9 and 466–8; 22: 275–6; 23: 89–90. 60 Ibid., 48: 97–8, 95. 61 Ibid., 152. 62 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 240. It is perhaps as a result of this correspondence that Lenin developed a rather negative view of Molotov, whom he later allegedly referred to as an ‘incurable dumbbell’ and a ‘glorified filing clerk’. 63 See, for example, Loginov, ‘Lenin i “Pravda”’, 56. 64 Statistics on Pravda’s circulation and income can be found in Lenin, PSS, 23: 97–8; 48: 133; Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 245.

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65 Lenin, PSS, 48: 137 and 139 (Lenin’s emphasis). See also letters to Kamenev, PSS, 48: 121, 143 and 145. 66 Ibid., 70–1 (Lenin’s emphasis). 67 Ibid., 21: 395–6 (Lenin’s emphasis). 68 Ibid., 48: 72 and 76; Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 244. 69 A. Badayev, The Bolsheviks in the Tsarist Duma (London, n.d.), 25. 70 Lenin, PSS, 48: 117. 71 See Peter Reddaway, ‘Literature, the Arts and the Personality of Lenin’, in Lenin: The Man, the Theorist, the Leader (London, 1967), 49–50. 72 V. T. Loginov, ‘O rukovodstve TsK RSDRP bol’shevistskoi gazetoi ‘Pravda” v 1912– 1914 gg.’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1957, no. 1: 121. 73 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 201. 74 Ibid., 203. 75 Ibid., 245. 76 Quoted in Lenin, PSS, 48: 126 and 129. 77 See letter to Stalin of 10/23 December 1912 in Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 201–2. Although this letter is attributed to Krupskaya and is not to be found in Lenin’s collected works, it is obviously of his authorship. 78 Lenin, PSS, 48: 127. See also his letter to the Duma fraction of 4/17 December 1912 (ibid., 129–30). 79 Ibid., 101; see also Krupskaya’s letter to Stalin of 14/27 December 1912 in Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 203. Ironically, Bogdanov protested that his name had been listed among Pravda’s contributors without his permission and should be removed. Pravda, no. 24 (30 January 1913), 2. 80 Considerable material concerning Central Committee activities in Galicia, which Lenin had to abandon when World War I broke out, was turned over to the Soviet Union only in 1954. 81 Kommunisticheskaia partiia sovetskogo soiuza v rezoliutsiiakh i resheniiakh s”ezdov, konferentsii i plenumov TsK, 9th edn (Moscow, 1983), 1: 426. 82 It is difficult to piece together information about this abortive venture. It apparently had a name (Rabochii golos), a coalitional editorial board under Poletaev, and a treasury of several thousand rubles. It collapsed when the Bolshevik Duma deputies fell into line behind Lenin. See letters from Zinoviev (‘Lenin i “Pravda”, 1912–1913 gg: Perepiska’, Krasnaia letopis, 1924, no. 1: 72–3) and from Stalin (Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 246–7). 83 Lenin, PSS, 48: 152. 84 Ibid., 156–8 (Lenin’s emphasis). See also letters from Zinoviev and Krupskaya in Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 203–10. 85 See police report in ‘K 20-letiiu smerti I. M. Sverdlova’, Krasnyi arkhiv, 1939, no. 1: 80. Trotsky concluded (Stalin: An Appraisal of the Man and His Influence [New York, 1967], 146–51) that Stalin was also in momentary disgrace because he was sent to Vienna to work on the nationality problem rather than back to St. Petersburg. Although it is evident that he had been unsuccessful in bringing Pravda under the Central Committee’s thumb and had probably contributed to its conciliatory trend (see, for example, his article on E. O. Jagiello in Pravda, no. 182 [1 December 1912]), it should be noted that none of the five letters Lenin sent to him during this period imply dissatisfaction (Lenin, PSS, 48: 117–29; Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 201–2). It might be argued that it was consistent with Stalin’s character that he leaned one direction in St. Petersburg and another in Cracow and thus escaped censure from either side.

NOTES

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86 Lenin, PSS, 48: 163. 87 Iz epokhi ‘Zvezdy’ i ‘Pravdy’, 3: 246. This letter was mistakenly attributed to Sverdlov. 88 A. M. Volodarskaia, Lenin i partiia v gody nazrevaniia revoliutsionnogo krizisa, 1913–1914 (Moscow, 1960), 126–7; Petriakov, ‘Deiatel’nost’ V. I. Lenina po rukovodstvu “Pravdoi”’, 9. The choice of Skvortsov-Stepanov is curious, because Lenin at the time had a very negative view of his political and journalistic abilities. See letter to Gorky in Lenin, PSS, 48: 153–4. 89 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 244. 90 Lenin, PSS, 48: 172. 91 Ibid., 211 (Lenin’s emphasis). 92 See letters to Gorky, Plekhanov and Kamenev in ibid., 139, 198–9, 201–2. The school, which would have met at Lenin’s summer home near Poronin, never was held owing to a lack of money, the arrest of the school’s organizer, and the reluctance of some of the deputies to leave Russia during the Duma recess. Volodarskaia, Lenin i partiia, 144, 154–61. 93 Lenin, PSS, 48: 182–3, 188–9; and letter from the Central Committee to N. I. Podvoiskii in ‘1912 – 1913 gg.’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1923, no. 2: 442–3. 94 Pravda, no. 120 (26 May 1913), 2; Lenin, PSS, 23: 246–7. 95 Lenin, PSS, 48: 189. 96 Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 131. 97 Ibid., xxii. Soviet historians tried to minimize Chernomazov’s role in Pravda’s operations by claiming that he was merely the secretary of the editorial board. Some Western writers, on the other hand, have tried to magnify his role by claiming that he was the ‘official editor’ from the paper’s very inception. In reality, while Chernomazov had no association with Pravda before May 1913, after that date he was its de facto editor. 98 See police report of 15 August 1913 in ‘Novyi pod”em’, 242. 99 See court decision in Kikoin, ‘“Zvezda’ i ‘Pravda”’, 106. 100 Ibid., 105; Loginov, ‘Lenin i “Pravda”’, 66; ‘Deiatel’nost’ TsK’, 53. 101 Lenin, PSS, 48: 212 (Lenin’s emphasis). 102 Ibid., 214 and 260. Judging from Lenin’s correspondence, he did not suspect that these were deliberate provocations. See, for instance, the very friendly and complimentary letter which he and Kamenev sent to Chernomazov on 21 October 1913 in ‘Lenin i “Pravda”’, 78–9. 103 Lenin, PSS, 48: 207. 104 Ibid., 200. Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki 132–3; KPSS v rez., 9th edn, 1: 443. 105 See letters from K. N. Samoilova and E. F. Rozmirovich in ‘Deiatel’nost’ TsK’, 45–8. 106 ‘Iz perepiski TsK RSDRP s mestnymi partiinymi organizatsiiami, 1912–1914 gg.’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1960, no. 2: 30. 107 ‘Deiatel’nost’ TsK’, 42. 108 Ibid., 41–3. 109 Ibid., 46. 110 See letters from Rozmirovich (5/18 February 1914) and Samoilova (9/22 February 1914) to the Central Committee, ibid., 50–2. Lenin’s account of Chernomazov’s dismissal, written in 1917, differs somewhat in detail from the above summary. See Lenin, PSS, 31: 79–82. 111 Ibid., 48: 272 (Lenin’s emphasis). 112 Ibid., 279. 113 Ibid., 25: 420.

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114 I. A. Portiankin, ‘V. I. Lenin i bol’shevistskaia pechat’, 1895–1914 godov’, Voprosy istorii, 1961, no. 4: 20. 115 B. N. Ponomarev, ed., Istoriia kommunisticheskoi partii sovetskogo soiuza, 3rd edn (Moscow, 1969), 147. 116 See police report of 30 June 1914, in ‘Zhandarmy o “Pravde”’, 456. 117 See, for example, letter of 10 April 1914 from Potresov to Aksel’rod in A. N. Potresov and B. I. Nikolaevskii (eds), Sotsial-demokraticheskoe dvizhenie v Rossii: Materialy (Moscow, 1928), 1: 270; and letter of 15 September 1913 from Martov to Potresov quoted in Leopold Haimson, ‘The Problem of Social Stability in Urban Russia, 1905–1917’, Slavic Review 23, no. 4 (December 1964): 632. 118 N. N. Sukhanov, The Russian Revolution, 1917, 2 vols (New York, 1962), 1: 224. 119 A. G. Shliapnikov, Semnadtsatyi god’ (Moscow, 1925), 2: 180; ‘Protokoly i rezoliutsii Biuro TsK RSDRP(b), mart 1917 g.’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1962, no. 3: 150. 120 Pravda, no. 9 (15 March 1917), 2. 121 ‘Protokoly vserossiiskogo (martovskogo) soveshchanie partiinykh rabotnikov’. Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1962. no. 6: 139. 122 For a textual comparison of Lenin’s original manuscript with the published Pravda version, see A. V. Snegov, ‘Neskol’ko stranits iz istorii partii, mart-nachalo aprelia 1917g.’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1963, no. 2: 22–4. 123 Quoted in F. F. Raskolnikov, ‘Priezd tov. Lenina v Rossiiu’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1923, no. 1: 221.

Chapter 4 The Congress that Never Was: Lenin’s Attempt to Call a ‘Sixth’ Party Congress in 1914 1 Kommunisticheskaia partiia sovetskogo soiuza v rezoliutsiiakh i resheniiakh s”ezdov, konferentsii i plenumov TsK, 9th edn (Moscow, 1983), 1: 67 (hereafter cited as KPSS v rez.). 2 The Fifth Congress, for example, attracted 392 delegates and guests, lasted for nearly three weeks and cost 100,000 rubles. Piatyi (Londonskii) S”ezd RSDRP, aprel’-mai 1907 g.: protokoly (Moscow, 1963), xii, 621–31, 694. 3 KPSS v rez., 1: 264. 4 Ibid., I, 320–1. For the questionnaire, see Sotsial-demokrat, no. 2 (10 February 1909), 7. 5 KPSS v rez., 1: 346. For responses, see Sotsial-demokrat, no. 5 (6 May 1909), 9; nos. 7/8 (21 August 1909), 10; no. 9 (13 November 1909), 7; Proletarii, no. 46 (24 July 1909), 7. 6 KPSS v rez., 1: 386. 7 One of the articles which the Prague delegates changed gave the Central Committee rather than the preceding congress the right to determine election norms (ibid., 401). Lenin’s notes indicate that he felt 30 to 50 members were sufficient to send a delegate rather than the 1,000 set down by the Fifth Congress (‘Dokumenty V. I. Lenina o Prazhskoi konferentsii’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1941, no. 1: 146). See Chapter Two for a discussion of the calling and deliberations of this conference. 8 The Bolshevik Central Committee, despite its questionable parentage, was considerably more active than either its rival or its predecessors. During the two and a half years before the war, it met 12 times and on a third of these occasions discussed the proposed congress. 9 Hoover Institution, Okhrana Archives, report 166180 of 25 January 1914, file XVIb (2), folder 1. See also V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), 25: 391 (hereafter cited as PSS ).

NOTES

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10 KPSS v rez., 1: 441. 11 Police report 106732 of 12 November 1913 in M. A. Tsiavlovskii (ed.), Bol’sheviki: dokumenty po istorii bol’shevizma s 1903 po 1916 god byvsh. Moskovskago okhrannago otdeleniia (Moscow, 1918), 137. 12 Lenin, PSS, 24: 380. 13 ‘Perepiska TsK RSDRP s mestnymi partiinymi organizatsiiami v gody novogo revoliutsionnogo pod”ema’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1957, no. 1: 22–3. 14 None of the participants mention the meeting in letters, articles or subsequent memoirs. Information on it comes in part from an Okhrana summary of a report made to the Duma fraction by Petrovskii (report 291815 of 27 April 1914 reprinted in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda bol’shevistskoi partii v 1914 g.’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1958, no. 6: 8–12) and in part from several resolutions and ‘extremely laconic notes’ found in Lenin’s Galician papers which were returned to the Soviet Union in 1954 (see ‘Zasedaniia TsK RSDRP, 15–17 aprelia 1914 goda’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1957, no. 4: 112–25). 15 KPSS v rez., 1: 454 (emphasis in the original). 16 Police report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 9. There is no question that the illegal structure of the party was in a sorry state: seven of the 11 Central Committee members elected at or co-opted shortly after the Prague Conference had been arrested; the Russian Bureau of the Central Committee was dormant; the transportation system for smuggling illegal literature had broken down; and there was no regional coordination for the few remaining city committees of the party. The police and Lenin agreed on this assessment of the Bolshevik underground. See report 101901 of 7 July 1913 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 135; report 97738 of 10 April 1913 in the Okhrana Archives, file XVIb (2), folder 1; Lenin, PSS, 48: 267–8; Krupskaya’s letter of 6 March 1914 to E.D. Stasova in ‘Perepiska TsK RSDRP’, 26–7. 17 KPSS v rez., 1: 454 (emphasis in the original). Lenin’s draft of this resolution used the word ‘Sixth’ instead of ocherednoi (‘regular’ or ‘next’). The numerical omission by the meeting may have been an attempt to dissociate the post-Prague faction from the formerly unified party. It should be noted, however, that the designation RSDRP was used in preference to ‘Bolshevik’. 18 Ibid., 454–5. 19 Notes taken on the first day of the April Meeting state: ‘20 delegates in connection with the Vienna Congress’ (‘Zasedaniia TsK RSDRP’, 115). See also police report 106732 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 140. 20 KPSS v rez., 1: 454. Only the ‘confidential agents’ of the Central Committee were to know the precise date of the congress and the fact that ‘X’ and ‘Y’ stood for Poronin and Cracow, respectively. 21 Ibid., 455–6. 22 Police report 106732 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 137. 23 KPSS v rez., 1: 455. 24 Police report of 31 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 17. For a similar assessment, see report 172935 of 15 June 1914 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 145. Among those appointed to the commissions were E. F. Rozmirovich, N. V. Krylenko, M. A. Savel’ev, A. S. Enukidze, V. N. Mantsev, T. S. Bobrovskaia, A. S. Romanov, O. A. Piatnitskii, A. E. Badaev and M. K. Muranov. All were experienced Bolsheviks, except for Romanov who was a police agent, and many had previous training as ‘confidential agents’ of the Central Committee. See police report of 31 May 1914 in ibid., 18–9; and notes of meeting of 17 April 1914 in ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 122.

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25 Resolution in ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 115. 26 This list included such individuals as A. S. Kiselev, V. V. Schmidt and M. I. Kalinin (ibid., 125). For a slightly different police listing of possible members, see report 291815 and that of 31 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 9 and 18. 27 Lenin, PSS, 25: 482. 28 These mandates are found in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 14–5. 29 KPSS v rez., 1: 456. 30 Three different lists exist: an early draft, the April Meeting’s resolution, and a corrected version of the latter (‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 115 and 118). The first and the third more or less agree while the second is somewhat larger and perhaps meant for public consumption. I have used the later corrected version for the figures cited. 31 Lenin, PSS, 48: 320. 32 KPSS v rez., 1: 456; ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 119. They were, of course, not represented on these commissions. 33 ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 116. It will be recalled from Chapter Two, that a similar discourtesy at the time of the Prague Conference had the desired result of causing the Bund and the other national organizations to stay at home (Za partiiu, no. 1 [29 April 1912], 2). 34 Report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 10. See also A. Badayev, The Bolsheviks in the Tsarist Duma (London, n.d.), 187. At one stage Lenin even considered not inviting the powerful Polish Central Committee. Opposition to this scheme led to the removal of Piatnitskii from the émigré hierarchy of the party. See O. Piatnitsky, Memoirs of a Bolshevik (New York, n.d.), 183–4. 35 ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 116. 36 Ibid., 115. 37 Report of 16 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 13. 38 Lenin, PSS, 48: 268. 39 Ibid., 24: 380–1. This was a case of soaking the rich to pay the poor since Lenin calculated it would cost between 100 and 150 rubles actually to send a delegate (KPSS v rez., 1: 456; Lenin, PSS, 24: 381). 40 KPSS v rez., 1: 456. The original draft of this resolution indicated that the meeting felt a minimum of 25 delegates could be obtained in this fashion (‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 118). This may explain the discrepancy between Lenin’s overall cost estimates and those of the police. 41 Police report of 31 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 19. 42 ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 116. Pravda’s second anniversary netted the newspaper over 18,000 rubles (Lenin, PSS, 25: 420). 43 Police report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 16. See also ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 121 and 125. 44 ‘Otvet V. I. Lenina na pis’mo I. I. Skvortsova-Stepanova (Mart 1914 g.)’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1959, no. 2: 11–16; Lenin, PSS, 48: 268 and 276. The Bolsheviks had in fact already received some 8,000 rubles from the Progressive Information Committee for other purposes (see police report of 13 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 12). 45 See ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 120, and police report of 13 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 12. 46 Police report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 11. 47 KPSS v rez., 1: 402. In 1906 N.P. Shmidt, a wealthy student of radical views, left a large sum of money to the unified RSDRP. Over time, and by very devious means, Lenin was able temporarily to secure the entire inheritance for his faction.

NOTES

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48 ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 119; police report 106732 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 140. It is interesting that V. A. Tikhomirnov, whose inheritance had helped to underwrite Pravda in 1912, apparently did not contribute to the Sixth Congress other than by collecting much of the statistical information that Lenin used to prove the superiority of his faction (Lenin, PSS, 25: 227 and 412). 49 Report of 31 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 18; report 172935 in Tsiavlovskii. Bol’sheviki, 145. 50 KPSS v rez., 1: 387. 51 The Poles, Latvians, Lithuanians and Estonians as well as the Armenian Social Democrats and the Bund were invited to send observers (ibid., 456). The Ukrainian Social Democratic Labour Party, which like the Social Democratic Party of Lithuania and the Armenian Social Democratic Organization was outside the RSDRP, was not invited but perhaps might have been had Lenin’s efforts to find ‘a Ukrainian Social Democratic group of our own, however small’ been successful (Lenin, PSS, 48: 272; Lenin’s emphasis). His schismatic actions and financial inducements with respect to these various national parties warrant further study. 52 KPSS v rez., 1: 424; Lenin, PSS, 25: 386. 53 Lenin anticipated that some people might object to this new configuration of the party: ‘Is an All-Russian [Rossiiskaia] SDRP legitimate without the [non-Russian] nationalities?’, he asked rhetorically in June 1914. ‘It is, because the party was All-Russian from 1898 to 1903 without the Poles and the Latvians and from 1903 to 1906 without the Poles, Latvians and the Bund!!’ Lenin, PSS, 25: 402–3 (Lenin’s emphasis). 54 This somewhat unique perception of the danger of anarchism may explain Lenin’s renewed assault on the Vperëdist leader, A. A. Bogdanov, in 1914 (Lenin, PSS, 24: 307–8, 338–41. 55 Police report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 11. 56 Lenin, PSS, 25: 387. 57 Police report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 11 and 32; ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 116. 58 Notes taken at the April Meeting contain the curious comment that Zinoviev ‘is to be allowed to leave in July and to spread the rumour that he has resigned from the Central Committee’ (‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 120). The reasons for this manoeuvre by Lenin’s closest collaborator are unclear. 59 Duma deputy Badaev and trade unionist A. S. Kiselev were in fact co-opted to the Central Committee in April and July 1914, respectively. 60 Police report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’. 9; Badayev, Bolsheviks in the Tsarist Duma, 187. 61 ‘Zasedaniia TsK’, 116. 62 Police report 291815 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 11. 63 Trudovaia pravda, no. 3 (31 May 1914), 2. For a fuller discussion of the entire Malinovskii ‘affair’, see my Roman Malinovsky: A Life Without a Cause (Newtonville, Mass., 1977), 40–60, and Chapter Six, below. 64 See police reports of 13 and 16 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 13. It does not appear that this money was ever given. 65 Letter of 17 July to A. E. Aksel’rod, in ibid., 26. See also letter of 17 June 1914 to Urals Oblast Committee, ibid., 20. 66 Badayev, Bolsheviks in the Tsarist Duma, 190. 67 Letter of 10/23 June 1914 to Moscow Oblast Bureau, in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda, 22. 68 Badayev, Bolsheviks in the Tsarist Duma, 190–1; Piatnitsky, Memoirs of a Bolshevik, 199; A. N. Nikiforova, ‘21 den’ v sem’e V. I. Lenina’, in O Vladimire Il’iche Lenine (Moscow, 1963), 164–72.

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69 ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 29–31; ‘Perepiska TsK’, 34–6. 70 For more detail on operations in Ukraine, see my Russian Social Democracy in the Underground: A Study of the RSDRP in the Ukraine, 1907–1914 (Assen, 1974), 111–12, 245–52. Little information is available on the activities of the oblast commissions in the Menshevikdominated Caucasus or in police-ridden Moscow. 71 Lenin, PSS, 48: 319. See also ibid., 25: 399–400. 72 Police report of 31 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 19; Badayev, Bolsheviks in the Tsarist Duma, 188. 73 See Chapter Five for a more detailed discussion of the Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference. 74 Krupskaya to the Perm’ organization on 17 June 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 21. 75 Lenin, PSS, 48: 298. 76 See her correspondence in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 24 and 26. 77 See Petrovskii’s letter to M. M. Terletskii in Kharkov, in ibid., 24. 78 Trudovaia pravda, no. 25 (26 June 1914), 1. 79 Lenin, PSS, 25: 392. See also police report of 16 May 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 13. 80 ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 27 (emphasis added). 81 A. Kiselev, ‘V iiule 1914 g. (Iz vospominanii)’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1924, no. 7: 42. 82 Nikiforova, ‘21 den’’, 171. 83 ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 26. 84 Lenin, PSS, 48: 324. 85 Krupskaya to the Russian Bureau of 9/22 July 1914 in ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 28. See also Lenin’s letter to Inessa Armand of 24 July 1914 in Lenin, PSS, 48: 326. 86 Plans were in fact laid at the July Central Committee meeting to send them first to the Baltic region and Ukraine to line up last-minute support for the congresses rather than to the capital. Kiselev, ‘V iiule 1914’, 42–3. 87 Lenin, PSS, 48: 327–8. 88 Twenty years after the publication of this article, in a previously suppressed letter written to Inessa Armand before 12/25 July 1914, Lenin did in fact allude to a possible war between Serbia and Austria. He also acknowledged in broken English ‘We are here without news [about what was happening in St. Petersburg]. Extremely eager to know what is happening – but no telegramms!!’. V. I. Lenin. Neizvestnye dokumenty, 1891–1922 (Moscow, 1999), 158. 89 Lenin, PSS, 48: 324–5 and 330. 90 O. H. Gankin and H. H. Fisher, The Bolsheviks and the World War: The Origins of the Third International (Stanford, 1940), 28–9. 91 Lenin, PSS, 48: 331. 92 Vladimir Il’ich Lenin: Biograficheskaia khronika, 12 vols (Moscow, 1970–82), 3: 266. 93 T. Shatilova, ‘Rabochee dvizhenie v Petersburge v 1914 g. – do voiny’, Krasnaia letopis’, 1927, no. 1: 166.

Chapter 5 Lenin and the Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference of July 1914 1 V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 5th edn, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), 48: 308; 25: 403 (Lenin’s emphasis; hereafter cited as PSS ). 2 The International Socialist Bureau asked participants not to discuss the conference in writing until after the official report was published. Since the war prevented its

NOTES

3

4

5 6 7 8

9 10

11

183

publication and obviously overshadowed its significance, few accounts of the Brussels Conference (especially by non-Bolshevik participants) ever appeared. This was also one of the rare pre-war conferences where the Okhrana was not represented. Several second-hand police reports can be found in M.A. Tsiavlovskii (ed.), Bol’sheviki: dokumanty po istorii bol’shevizma s 1903 po 1916 g. byvsh. Moskovskago okhrannago otdeleniia (Moscow, 1918), 143–7. For an excellent collection of documents and commentary on the events leading up to the conference, see Olga H. Gankin and H. H. Fisher, The Bolsheviks and the World War: The Origins of the Third International (Stanford, 1940), 88–131. Most Western writers, basing themselves on Gankin and Fisher, mistakenly maintain the conference lasted only two days. Lenin’s papers, which were left behind in Austrian Galicia when the war broke out, were the subject of considerable negotiation between the Soviet Union and various Polish governments. Segments were returned in 1924, 1933 and 1951 with the bulk (but not all) being given to the Institute of Marxism–Leninism only in 1954. The latter shipment included 78 sheets of protocol notes taken by M. F. Vladimirskii as well as detailed reports and correspondence from M. M. Litvinov, I. F. Popov, Inessa Armand and Lenin himself. See especially Lenin, PSS, 48: 221–332; ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii 1914 g.: dokumenty Instituta marksizma-leninizma pri TsK KPSS’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1959, no, 4: 9–38; ‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma M. M. Litvinova V. I. Leninu (1913–1915 gg.)’, Novaia i noveishaia istoriia, 1966, no. 4: 120–8. A. V. Ovcharova and K. V. Shakhnazarova, ‘Briussel’skoe “ob”edinitel’noe” soveshchanie’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1959, no. 5: 152. See also S. S. Shaumian, ‘V. I. Lenin i briussel’skoe “ob”edinetel’noe” soveshchanie’, Istoriia SSSR, 1966, no. 2: 27–43. As noted below, these authors had access to and often cited from otherwise unpublished portions of Lenin’s Galician archives. Bulletin périodique, no. 11 (supplement, 1914), 6. Vorwärts, no. 306 (21 November 1913). See also Lenin, PSS, 24: 170. V. I. Lenin, Sochineniia, 2nd ed., 30 vols (Moscow, 1925–32), 16: 705–7 n. 31. For Lenin’s reaction to these attempts, see ibid., 56–72, and PSS, 48: 79 and 143. Leninskii sbornik, 40 vols (Moscow, 1924–85), 38: 38–45. See also Leonhard Haas (ed.), Lenin: Unbekannte Briefe, 1912–1914 (Zurich, 1967); G. Shklovskii, ‘Iz moikh vospominanii’, Zapiski Instituta Lenina, 1927, no. 1: 119–20; Dietrich Geyer, Kautskys Russisches Dossier: Deutsche Sozialdemokraten als Treuhänder des russischen Parteievermögens 1910–1915 (Frankfurt, 1981). Lenin, PSS, 24: 170, 187–8. For Lenin’s unwillingness to attend, see his letter to G. L. Shklovskii of 10 November 1913 in Haas, Unbekannte Briefe, 51. Lenin, PSS, 24: 400–1. Litvinov was well aware of his inexperience and lack of standing with the bureau. On several occasions he suggested that Lenin or Kamenev and Malinovskii jointly would have been preferable (‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma’, 120, 122). Rosa Luxemburg shared this preference. On 14 December she wrote to Leo Jogiches that ‘the Bolsheviks were represented by a complete idiot while the Mensheviks came in droves’ (Comrade and Lover: Rosa Luxemburg’s Letters to Leo Jogiches, edited and translated by Elz˙bieta Ettinger [Cambridge, Mass., 1979], 182). Litvinov to Lenin and Krupskaya (15 December 1913), ‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma’, 125. Accounts of this session can be found in Litvinov’s four letters to Lenin, ibid., 122–5), in his report to Proletarskaia pravda, no. 2 (8 December 1913), 1, in the Mensheviks’ Novaia rabochaia gazeta, no. 101 (7 December 1913), and in the ISB’s Bulletin périodique. no. 11 (supplement, 1914), 4–5. The resolution itself is in Proletarskaia pravda, no. 2 (8 December 1913), 1–2.

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12 Lenin, PSS, 48: 211–13. 13 Proletarskaia pravda, no. 9 (17 December 1913), 2. For the initial reaction of the other Russian factions, see Gankin and Fisher, The Bolsheviks and the World War, 95–8. 14 Lenin to Armand (late January 1914), in Lenin, PSS, 48: 253. 15 See letter to V. M. Kasparov (13 January 1914), in ‘Perepiska TsK RSDRP s mestnymi partiinymi organizatsiiami v gody novogo revoliutsionnogo pod”ema’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1957, no. 1: 16. 16 Report 167664 of March 1914 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 144. 17 Lenin, PSS, 48: 268–9. 18 Ibid., 25: 117. The Mensheviks were also concerned with Huysmans’ procrastination and not particularly optimistic about the prospects for unity, if indeed they wanted union with Lenin any more than he did with them. However, being disunited abroad and weaker in Russia, they had nothing to lose by appearing to cooperate with the bureau. See exchange of letters between A. N. Potresov and P. B. Aksel’rod in A. N. Potresov and B. I. Nikolaevskii (eds), Sotsial-demokraticheskoe dvizhenie v Rossii: Materialy (Moscow, 1928), 258 and 271. 19 I. S. Ganetskii ( J. Hanicki), ‘Lenin nakanune imperialisticheskoi voiny’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 2: 330; N. K. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin (Moscow, 1959), 274. For the invitation dated 16/29 June 1914, see ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 20. 20 Both sides felt that they had gained as a result of Vandervelde’s visit: the Bolsheviks through A. G. Shliapnikov’s frank speech which was unexpectedly delivered in French at the banquet (A. Shliapnikov, Kanun semnadtsatogo goda, 2 vols (Moscow, 1923), 1: 8–9; the Mensheviks through the ‘psychological preparation of the “Romans”’ thanks to the Bolsheviks ‘showing themselves in all their oriental splendor’ (Martov to Aksel’rod, 2/15 June 1914, in Pis’ma P. B. Aksel’roda i I. O. Martova, 1901–1916 [Berlin, 1924], 290–1). One observer speculated that Vandervelde, who two months later entered the Belgian cabinet, had a semi-official mission of contacting members of the Russian government about war plans and that Social Democratic fact-finding was just a smokescreen (N. N. Krestinskii, ‘Iz vospominanii o 1914 gode’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1924, no. 7: 56–8). 21 Lenin to Armand (19 July 1914), PSS, 48: 323. 22 Report 167664 of March 1914 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 143. 23 Lenin, PSS, 48: 298 and 323 (Lenin’s emphasis). 24 Ganetskii, ‘Lenin nakanune imperialisticheskoi voiny’, 331. Many of his associates felt that this decision was a mistake. Litvinov wrote on 5 May 1914 that ‘only you can exercise an influence on the bureau’ (‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma’, 126 [Litvinov’s emphasis]) while the Latvian Social Democrats argued that he would be blamed for ‘destroying the meeting if he did not attend’ (J. Berzins to Lenin, 6 July 1914, ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 22). 25 Lenin to Armand (early July 1914), Lenin, PSS, 48: 301. 26 In his letter of 5 May 1914 Litvinov explicitly refused to attend the Vienna Congress and expressed the desire not to sit on the bureau (‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma’, 125–6). In the absence of Lenin’s correspondence to Litvinov, it is possible to speculate that the Bolshevik leader had earlier expressed dissatisfaction with his conduct at the December meeting and that the future Commissar of Foreign Affairs was reacting to this criticism. 27 Lenin, PSS, 48: 297–304, 313–14; Vladimir Il’ich Lenin: Biograficheskaia khronika, 12 vols. (Moscow, 1970–82), 2: 244. See also Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 274. 28 I. F. Armand, Stat’i, rechi, pis’ma (Moscow, 1975), 219–20.

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29 Pavel Podliashuk, Tovarishch Inessa: dokumental’naia provest’ (Moscow, 1963), 89. Lenin’s correspondence indicates that other Bolsheviks shared this concern (see PSS, 48: 307). 30 Lenin PSS, 48: 305. See Chapter Eight, below, for a more detailed discussion of Lenin’s relationship with Armand during the first half of 1914. 31 ‘Pis’ma A. A. Bekzadiana V. I. Leninu’, Sovetskie arkhivy, 1969, no. 6: 29. 32 Lenin to Popov (July 1914), PSS, 48: 307 (Lenin’s emphasis). Lenin did not place much faith in either of the secondary delegates. He admitted that Vladimirskii was ‘deadwood’ while he blamed Popov (who was selected primarily because he lived in Brussels and thus could take care of local arrangements) for causing unnecessary misunderstandings with Huysmans (ibid., 257 and 271). 33 See letter from Berzins to Lenin (6 July 1914) and from the Lithuanian Foreign Bureau to the ISB in ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 18–9, 22–3. 34 Lenin, PSS, 48: 298–9, 317–18. 35 See, for example, Lenin’s instructions of 11 July 1914 to the Priboi publishing house in ibid., 312–13. 36 Ibid., 305 (Lenin’s emphasis). It is not surprising, given the manner in which the report was written and translated, that the final version is poorly organized and admittedly incomplete (ibid., 25: 363–405, 526 n. 142; for variants, see Leninskii sbornik, 37: 24–9). 37 Lenin, PSS, 48: pp. 304, 314, 317. 38 Ibid., 305–6 (Lenin’s emphasis). 39 Ibid., 300, 314–15 (Lenin’s emphasis). 40 Besides the Bolsheviks, the following organizations were represented: the Mensheviks’ Organizational Committee together with the Caucasus Oblast Committee and Bor’ba by Martov, Trotsky, Aksel’rod, S. I. Semkovskii, A. B. Romanov, V. D. Mgeladze and A. Zurabov; the Menshevik Duma fraction by A. I. Chkhenkeli; Edinstvo by Plekhanov; Vperëd by G. A. Aleksinskii; the Bund by Ionov and Borisov; Latvian Social Democrats by J. Berzins; Lithuanian Social Democrats by Mukiewicz-Kapsukas; Polish Social Democrats (Main Presidium) by Rosa Luxemburg; Polish Social Democrats (Regional Presidium) by J. Hanecki, A. Malecki and Dolecki; and the Polish Socialist Party (‘Levitsa’) by S. Lapinski. 41 Popov to Lenin (16 July 1914), ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 25. Unless otherwise indicated and for reasons mentioned earlier (see note 2), all citations concerning the conference come from this letter (pp. 24–5), Popov’s previously unpublished report to Pravda (pp. 26–7), or his second letter to Lenin of 21 July (pp. 30–5). 42 Ibid., p. 30; and V. M. Kasparov to Lenin (27 July 1914), in ibid., p. 36. 43 Shaumian, ‘Lenin i briussel’skoe soveshchanie’, 35; and Ovcharova and Shakhnazarova, ‘Briussel’skoe soveshchanie’, 156 (both citing from archival sources). 44 ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 26. 45 Lenin, PSS, 48: 298 (Lenin’s emphasis). 46 Ibid., 25: 384–96. 47 Ibid., p. 404. 48 Report 261 in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 147. 49 Ibid.; Lenin, PSS, 25: 528 n. 142. 50 Shaumian, ‘Lenin i briussel’skoe soveshchanie’, 37 (citing from archival sources). 51 ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 28. 52 Ibid., 27; Ovcharova and Shakhnazarova, ‘Briussel’skoe soveshchanie’, 159. 53 The resolution was first published in the Informatsionnyi listok zagranichnoi organizatsii Bunda, no. 7 ( January 1915), 15.

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54 Lenin, PSS, 25: 400. 55 Cited in Lenin, Soch. (2nd edn), 27: 745 n. 177. 56 Shaumian, ‘Lenin i briussel’skoe soveshchanie’, 39 (citing from archival sources). Soviet historians explained the defection of the Polish and Lithuanian Social Democrats on the grounds that they were ‘confused’ by the high-powered setting in which they found themselves, by the ‘pompous speeches of the leaders of the Second International’, and by the ‘unrestrained abuse of the Liquidators’ (Ovcharova and Shakhnazarova, ‘Briussel’skom soveshchanie’, 162). 57 Resolution in Informatsionnyi listok zagranichnoi organizatsii Bunda, no. 7 ( January 1915), 15. 58 Lenin, PSS, 48: 318 and 323; V. I. Lenin, Neizvestnye dokumenty, 1891–1922 (Moscow, 1999), 156–8; Shaumian, ‘Lenin i briussel’skoe soveshchanie’, 41–2. 59 ‘Podgotovka s”ezda bol’shevistskoi partii v 1914 g.’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1958, no. 6: 27. 60 Lenin, PSS, 48: 323–4 (the salutation and the first two sentences were written in English). Armand was clearly dispirited after Brussels and found the prospect of making the requested report ‘extremely unpleasant’ (quoted by Lenin in ibid., 325). Whether this was because of ill health (as Lenin speculated), his earlier criticism of her, the fight within the delegation over its final vote, or her own embarrassing situation in Brussels, is impossible to tell from the extant correspondence. Despite these difficulties, Inessa agreed less than a year later to serve once again as Lenin’s surrogate – this time at the International Conference of Youth Organizations in Bern. She was 41 years old at the time. 61 The ‘Appeal’ as well as the resolutions of the 3 July Bloc can be found in Informatsionnyi listok zagranichnoi organizatsii Bunda, no. 7 (January 1915), 14–16. The Bloc took its name from the Old Style starting date of the Brussels conference. See also Popov to Lenin (21 July 1914), ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 33; and Martov to Semkovskii (31 July 1914), Pis’ma Aksel’roda i Martova, 297–8. 62 This trend was noted by the police (report 172935 of 15 June 1914, in Tsiavlovskii, Bol’sheviki, 144) and by the new Bolshevik Duma chair (G. I. Petrovskii to Lenin [21 July 1914], in ‘Bol’sheviki na briussel’skom soveshchanii’, 35–6). 63 Krupskaya to the Russian Bureau of the Central Committee (22 July 1914), ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 28. 64 V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, 45 vols. (Moscow, 1960–70), 43: 426 (Lenin’s emphasis). 65 Krupskaya to the Russian Bureau of the Central Committee (22 July 1914), ‘Podgotovka s”ezda’, 28. 66 Lenin, PSS, 48: 297. Just as he had personally avoided the London and Brussels meetings, so also Lenin was planning to stay in the background in Vienna. ‘Our enemies wish to demonstrate against us’, he wrote to Shklovskii on 25 May 1914. ‘I would only help them if I appeared’ personally in the congress hall (Leninskii sbornik, 38: 146).

Chapter 6 The Malinovskii Affair: ‘A Very Fishy Business’ 1 R. C. Elwood, Roman Malinovsky: A Life Without a Cause (Newtonville, Mass., 1977). 2 Vechernie izvestiia Moskovskogo Soveta, no. 91 (5 November 1918). 3 A. K. Voronsky, The Waters of Life and Death (London, n.d.), 314–5. See footnote 76 in Chapter 2 (above) for further details on Malinovskii’s election. 4 Trudovaia pravda, no. 3 (31 May 1914), 2.

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5 See, for example, N. V. Krylenko, ‘Delo provokatora Malinovskogo’, Za piat’ let, 1918–1922’ (Moscow, 1923); A. Kiselev, ‘V iiule 1914 goda (Iz vospominanii)’, Proletarskaia revoliutsiia, 1924, no. 7: 40–72; V. Kraevskii, ‘Iz vospominanii o V.I. Lenine’, Pechat’ i revoliutsiia, 1922, nos. 1–2: 5–7. 6 Padenie tsarskogo rezhima: stenograficheskie otchety doprosov i pokazanii, dannykh v 1917 g. v Chrezvychainoi sledstvennoi komissii Vremennogo pravitel’stva, 7 vols. Moscow, 1924–7 (hereafter cited as PTsR). 7 The one exception was an article published in May 1914 which consisted almost entirely of quoting an earlier Menshevik piece praising Malinovskii. See V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), 25: 159–62 (hereafter cited as PSS). For a more detailed discussion of the Soviet handling of this material, see my ‘How Complete is Lenin’s Polnoe sobranie sochinenii?’, Slavic Review 38, no. 1 (March 1979): 97–105, and Chapter Seven, below. 8 Sovetskaia istoricheskaia entsiklopediia (Moscow, 1965), 8: 976; Bol’shaia sovetskaia entsiklopediia (Moscow, 1974), 15: 286. 9 See B. K. Erenfel’d, ‘Delo Malinovskogo (Iz istorii politicheskikh provokatsii tsarskoi tainoi politsii)’, Voprosy istorii, 1965, no. 7: 106–16; Arkadii Vaksberg, ‘Dva suda’, Znaniesila, 1964, no. 5: 48–51. 10 Put’ pravdy, nos. 82–92 (10–21 May 1914); Rabochii, nos. 2–6 (22–29 May 1914); Trudovaia pravda, nos. 1–27 (30 May–28 June 1914); Nasha rabochaia gazeta, nos. 6–31 (9 May–10 June 1914); Bor’ba, nos. 1–7/8 (22 February–6 July 1914); Edinstvo, nos. 1–4 (18 May–29 June 1914); Nasha zaria, nos. 1–5 ( January–June 1914). 11 V. L. Burtsev, ‘Eshche o dele Malinovskogo’, undated and unsigned manuscript in the Nicolaevsky Collection (Hoover Institution), file 132, box 4, no. 27; ‘Vopros, trebuiushchii otveta’, Birzhevye vedomosti, 5 December 1916; ‘Otvet chlenu G. Dumy Muranovu’, Birzhevye vedomosti, 18 December 1916; ‘Otvet na postavlennyi vopros’, Russkoe slovo, 25 March 1917; ‘Lenin i Malinovskii’, La Cause Commune, 1 January 1919; ‘Lenin and Malinovsky’, Struggling Russia, nos. 9/10 (17 May 1919), 138–40; Bor’ba za svobodnuiu Rossiiu: Moi vospominanii (1882–1922), vol. I (Berlin, 1923); ‘Provokatory sredi Bol’shevikov’, Byloe (Paris), no. 1 (1926), 67–9. 12 Elwood, Malinovsky, 13. 13 The one exception is the Mensheviks’ ‘Commission of Inquiry’ formed on the eve of the First World War and known only through a four-page police report of its deliberations (Dispatch 1313, 7/20 August 1914, in the Okhrana Archives [Hoover Institution], file XVIIj, folder 1). The other three investigations – Lenin’s 1914 Tribunal, the Provisional Government’s Extraordinary Investigatory Commission, and Malinovskii’s 1918 trial – are discussed below. According to A. E. Badaev, testifying before the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission, there was in fact a fifth investigation held in St. Petersburg in May 1914. Outside of its composition – two Bolsheviks, two Mensheviks and a nonparty chair – nothing is known about its deliberations. ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala po delu provokatora Malinovskogo’, Istoriia SSSR, 1991, no. 1: 177. 14 A. P. Koznov, ‘Bor’ba bol’shevikov s podryvnoi agenturoi tsarizma v period reaktsii (1907–1910 gg)’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1986, no. 12: 56–70; ‘Bor’ba bol’shevikov s podryvnymi aktsiiami tsarskoi okhranki v 1910 – 1914 gg.’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1988, no. 9: 59–74. 15 I. S. Rozental’, ‘Eshche raz o dele provokatora Malinovskogo’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1989, no. 5: 103–17; S. V. Tiutiukin and V. V. Shelokhaev, ‘Revoliutsiia i nravstvennost’, Voprosy istorii, 1990, no. 6: 3–20. 16 V. Gerasimov, ‘Sluga dvukh gospod’, Moskovskogo pravda, 20 August 1989: 3; ‘History of a Betrayal’, Moscow News, no. 46 (25 November – 2 December 1990), 10; Ia. Gavrilov,

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‘Provokatory’, Ogonok, 1990, no. 3: 29–31; Andrei Vlasenko and Vladimir Razuvaev, ‘Deputat-provokator’, Novoe vremia, no. 8 (16 February 1990), 36–8; Iu. Moskovskii, ‘Ch’im agentom byl Roman Malinovskii?’, Obshchina, 1990, no. 45: 6–8; D. Rudnev, ‘Ispoved Romana Malinovskogo’, Tallin, 1991, no. 5 (80): 124–35. 17. G. E. Zinov’ev, ‘Vospominaniia’, Izvestiia TsK KPSS, 1989, no. 6: 184–209. 18 ‘Novyi dokument V. I. Lenina’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1990, no. 11: 20–6. 19 ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala po delu provokatora Malinovskogo’, Istoriia SSSR, 1991, no. 1: 169–82; no. 2: 151–60; no. 3: 158–70; no. 4: 122–37; no. 5: 120–33; no. 6: 137–51. This material, along with expanded versions of police testimony and excerpts from some of the 1920s memoirs, was reprinted in Delo Provokatora Malinovskogo (Moscow, 1992). 20 ‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii TsK RSDRP po delu R. V. Malinovskogo (mai – noiabr’ 1914 g.)’, Voprosy istorii, 1993, no. 9: 104–25; no. 10: 91–108; nos. 11/12: 50–93. 21 ‘“Derzhite nas v kurse dela”: Pis’ma V. I. Lenina v Rossiiu 1910–1913 gg.’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1994, no. 3: 6–9; and ‘Dorogoi drug: Roman Vatslavovich’: V. I. Lenin i R. V. Malinovskii’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1995, no. 4: 4–14. 22 G. Aronson, ‘Bol’shevistskii Azev’, Russkii arkhiv, 1992, no. 2: 145–75, which originally appeared in Aronson’s Rossiia nakanune revoliutsii: istoricheskie etiudy (New York, 1962). 23 I. S. Rozental’, Provokator: kar’era Romana Malinovskogo (Moscow, 1994). 24 Richard Pipes (ed.), The Unknown Lenin: From the Secret Archive (New Haven, 1996), 26–32. The Russian versions of these will be found in V. I. Lenin, Neizvestnye dokumenty, 1891– 1922 (Moscow, 1999), 135–6, 158–60, 184–5, 195–6. 25 See, for example, Tiutiukin and Shelokhaev, ‘Revoliutsiia i nravstvennost’, 20. 26 See, for example, B. Sudarushkin (ed.), ‘“Temnoe delo” bol’shevika Malinovskogo’, Rus (Rostov), 1992, no. 1: 8–41. 27 See the conclusion to his Provokator, 151–9. 28 Stefan Possony, ‘Spitzel oder Revolutionär? Das Geheimnis um Roman Malinowski’, Der Monat, (August 1954), 496. See also his Lenin: The Compulsive Revolutionary (Chicago, 1964), 142–3. More recently this argument has been advanced by John J. Dziak, Chekisty: A History of the KGB (Lexington, MA, 1988), 6–8. 29 This was in fact done in the case of a true double agent. See E. H. Wilcox, ‘Secret Police of the Old Regime’, Fortnightly Review, 108 (December 1917), 829. 30 For a Soviet attack on the ‘double agent theory’, see Vlasenko and Razuvaev, ‘Deputatprovokator’, 36–8. See Chapter Seven, below, for a discussion of Lenin’s testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission. 31 Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Lenin in Zurich: Chapters (New York, 1976), 283. 32 Rozental’, Provokator, 142 (citing archival sources). 33 ‘Pis’mo Malinovskogo ministru iustitsii’, Russkaia volia, 8 August 1917. 34 Possony, ‘Spitzel oder Revolutionär?’, 495. 35 Vaksberg, ‘Dva suda’, 51; Victor Serge, Memoirs of a Revolutionary, 1901–1944 (Oxford, 1967), 98. 36 Elwood, Malinovsky, 42–4. 37 PTsR, 5: 82–4; 7: 168; ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 5: 125–7; Delo provokatora Malinovskogo, 75–6. 38 Rozental’, Provokator, 100–4. 39 Ibid., 105–6. 40 ‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii’, nos. 11–12: 69. 41 Ibid., 50–68; ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 3: 159–60.

NOTES

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42 A. I. Spiridovich, Istoriia bol’shevizma v Rossii ot vozniknoveniia o zakhvata vlasti, 1893–1903– 1917 (Paris, 1922), 260. 43 David Anin, ‘Lenin and Malinovsky’, Survey 21 no. 4 (Autumn 1975):151–2. See also Aronson, Rossiia nakanune revoliutsii, 59. 44 The one possible exception is Iurii Moskovskii who raises the possibility that the amoral Lenin may have known of Malinovskii’s police contacts but frankly did not care as long as he was useful to the party (‘Ch’im agentom byl Roman Malinovskii?’, 6–8). Moskovskii produces no evidence to support this speculation. 45 Zinov’ev, ‘Vospominaniia’, 197. 46 Nicolaevsky Collection (Hoover Institution), file 132, box, 4, folder 27. 47 PTsR,1: 314. 48 These comments (‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii’, no. 9: 106–109), plus a 3000-word autobiography which Malinovskii wrote at the request of the Tribunal in Galicia (ibid., nos. 11–12: 70–4, 76–8) and autobiographical information given to investigators in 1918 (‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 3: 163–6), provide an insight into Malinovskii’s childhood, military duty and early life in St. Petersburg that was lacking before 1991. It should be noted that Malinovskii was inconsistent in what he revealed about his past. Such basic facts as the year of his birth, his family surname and the occupations of his parents are still matters of dispute. 49 ‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii’, no. 9: 106–109; ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 1: 180; no. 2: 152; Zinov’ev, ‘Vospominaniia’, 199. 50 See testimony of A. A. Troianovskii before the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission in ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 2: 154. 51 At the time of this trial I. O. Martov wrote to P. B. Aksel’rod: ‘All of our affairs revolve around one thing – the Malinovskii affair... We are certain without the slightest doubt that he is a provocateur...but whether we will be able to prove it is another matter’. Pis’ma P. B. Aksel’roda i Iu. O. Martova, 1901–1916 (Berlin, 1924), 292. 52 See his memoirs (‘Vospominaniia’, 184–209) and his testimony before the Investigatory Commission (‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 2: 179–81). 53 Tiutiukin and Shelokhaev, ‘Revoliutsii i nravstvennost’, 17–8 (citing archival sources). 54 ‘Konets klevete’, Rabochii, no. 4 (25 May/7 June 1914), 1. 55 See, for instance, Stephen F. Cohen, Bukharin and the Bolshevik Revolution: A Political Biography, 1888–1938 (New York, 1974), 13–24; Elwood, Malinovsky, 49–50. 56 Rozental’, Provokator, 87–8, 93–4. 57 Zinov’ev, ‘Vospominaniia’, 206–7. 58 ‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii’, no. 9: 112; see also his testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission in ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 3: 162. 59 Trudovaia pravda, no. 3 (31 May/13 June 1914), 2; no. 15 (14/27 June 1914), 2. 60 See letter from Bukharin to the Central Committee, written between 14 November and 18 December 1914, in ‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii’, nos. 11–12: 83–4. 61 Letter to G. I. Petrovskii of 25 May 1914 in Lenin, PSS, 48: 294 (Lenin’s emphasis). 62 Ibid., 25: 341. 63 ‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii’, no. 10: 100–3. 64 Ibid., no. 10: 97–99; nos. 11/12: 50–68. See also Rozmirovich’s testimony before the Investigatory Commission in ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 3: 158–61. 65 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 158–9. For a photographic reproduction of this letter, see Pipes, Unknown Lenin, 28–9. Throughout this letter Rozmirovich is referred to for conspiratorial reasons as ‘wife of the army’ with ‘army’ being A. A. Troianovskii. The

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Tribunal refused Troianovskii’s request to testify on the grounds that he had been in emigration since 1910 and could add nothing to the information provided by Bukharin and Rozmirovich. 66 Zinov’ev, ‘Vospominaniia’, 198. 67 ‘Materialy sledstvennoi komissii’, nos. 11–12: 75–83. 68 Sotsial-demokrat, no. 33 (1 November 1914), 2. 69. ‘“Dorogoi drug”’, 4–14. 70 ‘Novyi dokument V. I. Lenina’, 25. See also Zinoviev’s remarks to the Investigatory Commission in ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 1: 180. 71 Gosudarstvennaia duma, Chetvertyi sozyv: Stenograficheskie otchety, sess. 5, ch. 1: 200. 72 PTsR, 1: 315; Burtsev, ‘Vopros, trebuiushchii otveta’ and ‘Otvet chlenu G. Dumy Muranovu’. 73 Sotsial-demokrat, no. 58 (31 January 1917), 2 (Lenin’s emphasis). 74 As quoted by Zinov’ev in ‘Vospominaniia’, 201. 75 See his testimony in ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 2: 153–5. 76 V. I. Lenin i A. M. Gor’kii: Pis’ma, vospominaniia, dokumenty (Moscow, 1969), 333. One Russian commentator, noting the ellipses in this quote, has speculated that Lenin might have said more than his editors wished to see in print and that this may not be the last word on the ‘Malinovskii Affair’. See Sudarushkin ‘Temnoe delo’, 8.

Chapter 7 Lenin’s Testimony to the Extraordinary Investigatory Commission 1 V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), 32: 511–12 (hereafter cited as PSS). 2 ‘Novyi dokument V. I. Lenina’, Voprosy istorii KPSS, 1990, no. 11: 20–6; ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala po delu provokatora Malinovskogo’, Istoriia SSSR, 1991, no. 2: 151–3. 3 Richard Pipes (ed.), The Unknown Lenin: From the Secret Archive (New Haven, 1996), 35–41. 4 Robert P. Browder and Alexander F. Kerensky (eds), The Russian Provisional Government, 1917: Documents, 3 vols (Stanford, 1961), 1: 194. This body was initially called the Supreme (Verkhovanaia) Investigatory Commission and was sometimes referred to as the ‘Murav’ev Commission’, after its chair. 5 V. A. Maklakov, preface to La chute du régime tsariste: Interrogatoires (Paris, 1927), 16. According to Maklakov, a liberal leader in the last three Dumas, Kerenskii initially offered him the position of chair which he declined. 6 George Katkov, Russia 1917: The February Revolution (New York, 1967), 438. 7 For sometimes conflicting information on the composition of the commission, see P. E. Shchegolev (ed.), Padenie tsarskogo rezhima: stenograficheskie otchety doprosov i pokazanii dannykh v 1917 g. v Chrezvychainoi sledstvennoi komissii Vremennogo pravitel’stva, 7 vols (Moscow, 1924–7), 1: viii, xxiv (hereafter cited as PTsR); S. V. Zavadskii, ‘Na velikom izlome (Otchet grazhdanina o perezhitom v 1916–17 godakh): Pod znakom vremennago pravitel’stva’, Arkhiv russkoi revoliutsii 11 (1923): 39–40. 8 S. A. Korenev, ‘Chrezvychainaia komissiia po delam o byvshikh ministrakh’, Arkhiv russkoi revoliutsii, 7 (1922), 15–16, 26–7; Zavadskii, ‘Na velikom izlome’, 40; PTsR, 1: xxiii. 9 For a summary of topics investigated by the commission, see Shchegolev’s introduction to PTsR, 1: xxv–xxvii. 10 Korenev, ‘Chrezvychainaia komissiia’, 30–1.

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11 Paul L. Horecky (ed.), Basic Russian Publications: A Selected and Annotated Bibliography on Russia and the Soviet Union (Chicago, 1962), 87. 12 See additional testimony by four police officials in Delo provocatora Malinovskogo (Moscow, 1992), pp. 102–28, 130–6. Another contentious topic which received surprisingly little attention in the official printed record was the Rasputin affair. This lacuna was filled in 1964 and 1965 by A.L. Sidorov (ed.), ‘Poslednii vremenshchik poslednego tsaria (Materialy Chrezvychainoi sledstvennoi komissiia Vremennogo pravitel’stva o Rasputine i razlozhenii samoderzhaviia)’, Voprosy istorii, 1964, no. 10, 117–35; no. 12, 90–103; 1965, no. 1, pp 98–110; no. 2, 103–21. 13 These are to be found in Delo provokatora Malinovskogo, 32–57, 76–102. 128–29; and ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala po delu provokatora Malinovskogo’, Istoriia SSSR, 1991, no. 1: 171–82; no. 2: 151–60; no. 3: 158–63. N. S. Chkheidze, the Menshevik leader in the Fourth Duma, was the only Social Democrat whose testimony was included in Padenie tsarskogo rezhima (see 3: 484–506). 14 Lenin’s relations with Malinovskii are discussed in more detail in Chapter Six, above, and in my Roman Malinovsky: A Life Without a Cause (Newtonville, Mass., 1977). 15 Korenev, ‘Chrezvychainaia komissiia’, 26. 16 ‘Novyi dokument’, 21. All of Lenin’s testimony to the commission has been taken from this source. 17 Korenev, ‘Chrezvychainaia komissiia’, 26. Zinoviev’s testimony can be found in ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 1: 179–81. 18 ‘Noyvi dokument’, 23. 19 Korenev, ‘Chrezvychainaia komissiia’, 26. 20 ‘Novyi dokument’, 24. 21 Lenin, PSS, 32: 222 (Lenin’s emphasis). 22 The entire report was published for the first time in Delo provokatora Malinovskogo, pp. 60–76. On the basis of it, the commission announced that charges would be laid against six police officials. 23 See, for example, Den’, no. 86 (16 June 1917), 3; Izvestiia soveta rabochikh i soldatskikh deputatov (Petrograd), no. 94 (17 June 1917), 11–12; Vestnik vremennago pravitel’stva, no. 81 (16 June 1917), 2–3. 24 Lenin, PSS, 32: 354. 25 Ibid., 353. 26 ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 1: 170. 27 Vechernie Izvestiia Moskovskogo Soveta, no. 91 (5 November 1918). 28 Lenin, PSS, 41: 28. 29 ‘Novyi dokument’, 21–6. 30 ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 2: 151–3. 31 ‘“Dorogoi drug: Roman Vatslavovich!”: V. I. Lenin i R. V. Malinovskii, 1915–1916 gg.’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1995, no. 4: 9–12. 32 Pipes, The Unknown Lenin, pp. 31–2, 35–41. 33 Ibid., xv, 5 and 192. 34 Cf., ibid., 36; ‘Novyi dokument’, 22; ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 2: 151. 35 ‘Novyi dokument’, 25; ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 2: 153 (emphasis added). 36 Pipes, The Unknown Lenin, 40–1. 37 R. C. Elwood, ‘The “Unknown” Lenin’, Revolutionary Russia 10, no. 1 ( June 1997): 100.

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38 Richard Pipes to John Slatter, unpublished letter to the editor of Revolutionary Russia, 6 October 1997. 39 Ibid. 40 R.C. Elwood to John Slatter, unpublished letter to the editor of Revolutionary Russia, 30 October 1997. 41 Pipes, The Unknown Lenin, 192. 42 Khronologicheskii ukazatel’ proizvedenii V. I. Lenina (Moscow, 1962), 2: 50, as confirmed by Dr S. V. Listikov in RTsKhIDNI (letter to R. C. Elwood, 31 May 1999). 43 ‘Materialy revoliutsionnogo tribunala’, no. 1: 170. 44 Den’, no. 86 (16 June 1917), 3; Izvestiia rabochikh i soldatskikh deputatov, no. 94 (17 June 1917), 12; Vestnik vremennago pravitel’stva, no. 81 (16 June 1917), 3. The last two papers used wording identical to that found in Kolokolov’s report: ‘in the words of the abovementioned witnesses Ul’ianov and Radomysl’skii [Zinoviev], Malinovskii often wrote to them from Germany...’ Delo provokatora Malinoskogo, 76. 45 Khronologicheskii ukazatel’ proizvedenii V.I. Lenina, 2: 51. 46 Letter from the Deputy Director of the Russian State Archives of Ancient Documents (RGADA), Dr Iu. M. Eskin, to R. C. Elwood, 31 March 1999. 47 ‘Apology’, Revolutionary Russia 11, no. 1 (June 1998): contents page. 48 In 1998 Professor Pipes ‘made some factual and textual corrections’ in the paperback edition of The Unknown Lenin (p. 177). The restoration of the clause about Malinovskii’s letters was not among them.

Chapter 8 Lenin and Armand: New Evidence on an Old Affair 1 Bertram D. Wolfe, ‘Lenin and Inessa Armand’, Slavic Review 22, no. 1 (March 1963): 96–114. 2 R. C. Elwood, Inessa Armand: Revolutionary and Feminist (Cambridge, 1992), 174. 3 Inessa Armand, ‘Neizvestnoe pis’mo Leninu, iz dnevnikov’, Svobodnaia mysl’, 1992, no. 3: 80–5. 4 A. G. Latyshev, ‘Shel poezd cherez Evropu’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 9 December 1993: 7; ‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma Lenina Inesse Armand’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 18 January 1994: 7; ‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma Lenina Inesse Armand’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 19 January 1994: 7. 5 A. G. Latyshev, Rassekrechennyi Lenin (Moscow, 1996), 284–327. 6 Richard Pipes (ed.), The Unknown Lenin: From the Secret Archive (New Haven, 1996), 26–34. 7 Dmitri Volkogonov, Lenin: Life and Legacy, trans. Harold Shukman (New York, 1994); Lenin: Politicheskii portret, 2 vols (Moscow, 1994). 8 See, for example, Larisa Vasil’eva, Kremlevskie zheny (Moscow, 1992); Georges Bardawil, Inès Armand: Biographie (Paris, 1993); Bronislava Orsa-Koidanovskaia, Intimnaia zhizn’ Lenina (Minsk, 1994); Boris Sokolov, Armand i Krupskaia: zhenshchiny vozhdia (Minsk, 1999); Vladimir Mel’nichenko, ‘Ia tebia ochen’ liubila…’ (Moscow, 2002). 9 See, for example, ‘Letter from a fond comrade reveals Lenin’s secret love’, The Times, 10 July 1993: 13; ‘Lenin my love: secrets Russia tried to censor’, The Sunday Times, 7 August 1994: 9; ‘Lenin kept secret lover in Kremlin’, The Sunday Times, 23 November 1997: 8. 10 V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 5th edn, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), vols 46–55 (hereafter cited as PSS).

NOTES

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11 See, for example, V. I. Lenin, Neizvestnye dokumenty, 1891–1922 (Moscow, 1999): 192 (hereafter cited as Neiz. dok.). 12 See, for example, ibid., 198. 13 Ibid., 150 (Lenin’s emphasis). 14 See, for example, two letters dated 19 January 1917 in Lenin, PSS, 49: 368–71. 15 The Sunday Times (23 November 1997: 8), citing research done by Robert Service, suggested that Lenin kept Armand as his mistress in a Kremlin apartment after the revolution and that sensational unpublished correspondence from that period still exists in the archives. Professor Service does not repeat either of these claims in his excellent and more recent Lenin: A Biography (Cambridge, Mass., 2000). 16 Latyshev, Rassekrechennyi Lenin, 296. 17 ‘Pis’ma V. I. Lenina Inesse Armand’, Bol’shevik, 1939, no. 13: 58–61. 18 Leninskii sbornik, 35 (1945), 108–9; 37 (1970), 35–8, 52–8, 233; 40 (1985), 49–50; ‘Novye dokumenty V. I. Lenina’, Izvestiia TsK KPSS, 1989, no. 1: 215–16. See also my article on ‘Lenin’s Correspondence with Inessa Armand’, Slavonic and East European Review 65, no. 2 (April 1987): 218–35. 19 See Chapter Six, above, for a discussion of the recent literature on Lenin’s relations with Malinovskii. 20 Elwood, Inessa Armand, 182. 21 V. I. Lenin, Neizvestnye dokumenty, 1891–1922 (Moscow, 1999). Whenever possible, citations to Lenin’s letters published since 1991 will be from this edition. 22 See review of Neizvestnye dokumenty by I. P. Sharapov in Otechestvennaia istoriia, 2000, no. 3: 187. 23 Paul Quinn-Judge, ‘Soviets Touch the Big Taboo: Lenin’s Reputation’, Christian Science Monitor [weekly edition], 7–13 November 1988. 24 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 120–5, 135–6, 144–5, 149–61, 189–90, 192–211; Latyshev, Rassekrechennyi Lenin, 297, 298, 304.; Latyshev, ‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 19 January 1994: 7. 25 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 135–6, 144, 158–9, 198–202, 206–7; Latyshev, Rassekrechennyi Lenin, 304. 26 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 106–12, 125–48, 158–85, 190–200, 206. 27 Ibid., 120–4, 156, 206–11. 28 Ibid., 210. It is difficult to understand why this paragraph was cut out of the letter but the comment ‘perhaps you will say that the Germans won’t give us a [railway] coach. I bet they will’ is left in (Lenin, PSS, 49: 406; Lenin’s emphasis). The profusion of ellipses in the Neizvestnye dokumenty version suggests that other cuts were made at some stage and subsequently lost. 29 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 189–90, 192, 194–5; Latyshev, Rassekrechennyi Lenin, 297–8; Latyshev, ‘Neopublikovannye pis’ma’, 19 January 1994, p. 7. 30 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 189, 196–202, 208. 31 Cf., Lenin, PSS, 49: 306, 311, 346, 364, 366, 374–5, 389–98. 32 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 150 (Lenin’s emphasis). 33 Ibid., 152 and 154. In the abbreviated version of this letter published in PSS (48: 307) the salutation was rendered simply as ‘My dear friend’. In other cases, entire letters were supposedly excluded by virtue of their salutation (Sharapov, Otechestvennaia istoriia, 2000, no. 3: 188). Because of its content, skittish editors did not include this excerpt in the draft for a new (and never published) sixth edition of Lenin’s writings (see Latyshev, Rassekrechennyi Lenin, 287). 34 For a fuller discussion of the problems surrounding this meeting, see Chapter Five, above.

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35 Lenin, PSS, 48: 242, 248, 251, 252, 256, 280, 285; Lenin, Neiz. dok., 123 and 195. There is internal evidence in Lenin’s published correspondence that he sent a further four or five items which probably were lost in transit or discarded by Armand at the time. These include a postscript to one of Krupskaya’s letters, a postcard sent to poste restante in Bern and two or three letters. There is no evidence that significant topics were discussed in them and no archival numbers were assigned to them. 36 Lenin, PSS, 48: 238 and 323; 49: 351 and 357; Leninskii sbornik, 37 (1970), 35. 37 Blizhe vsekh: Lenin i iunye internatsionalisty (sbornik dokumentov i materialov) (Moscow, 1968), 152–7; N.K. Krupskaia (ed.), Pamiati Inessy Armand (Moscow, 1926), 18–22. 38 Jean Fréville, Une grande figure de la révolution russe: Inessa Armand (Paris, 1957). 39 New York Times, 22 January 1992: A5. 40 Lenin, Neiz. dok., 121, as confirmed by Michael Pearson in a letter to the author of 29 October 2000. Mr Pearson had access to the Armand fond in the summer of 2000 when working on his biography Inessa: Lenin’s Mistress (New York, 2001). 41 Armand wrote the letter over a two-day period and dated it simply ‘Saturday morning’, ‘Saturday evening’ and ‘Sunday evening’. It was subsequently and mistakenly assigned the date ‘December 1913’ probably by Inna Armand (letter to the author from Michael Pearson, 20 November 2000). 42 Armand, ‘Neizvestnoe pis’mo’, 80–1. The last phrase is ‘Ia togda sovsem ne byla vliublena v tebia, no i togda ia tebia ochen’ liubila’. 43 For further information on Armand’s activities after 1910, see my Inessa Armand, 77 ff. 44 Armand, ‘Neizvestnoe pis’mo’, 81. 45 Ibid., 80–1. 46 Vladimir Il’ich Lenin: Biograficheskaia khronika, 12 vols (Moscow, 1970–82), 2: 624–7 (hereafter cited as Biog. khr.). 47 Ladislaus Singer, Korrekturen zu Lenin (Stuttgart, 1980), 188; Stefan Possony, Lenin: The Compulsive Revolutionary (Chicago, 1964), 125. 48 R. C. Elwood, ‘In Mark Twain’s Footsteps: Retracing the Author’s Wanderings in Switzerland’, Boston Sunday Globe, 31 October 1999: M17. 49 I have found no evidence and consider implausible unsubstantiated allegations that Armand had a child by Lenin during this period and that it died at birth or shortly thereafter and was buried in Switzerland. Vasil’eva, Kremlevskie zheny, 74; Orsa-Koidanovskaia, Intimnaia zhizn’, 286; Sokolov, Armard i Krupskaia, 134. 50 Lenin, PSS, 48: 238. 51 Aroser Fremdenblatt, nos. 34 (23 December 1913) and 35 (1 January 1914). 52 Karl Baedeker, Switzerland (Leipzig, 1913), 447. 53 The Merkur today is an undistinguished, un-Swiss looking hotel best known locally for its Chinese restaurant. I am greatly indebted to Hans Eberhard and Renzo Semadeni for their assistance during my stay in their charming town and for making copies of Aroser Fremdenblatt available to me. 54 Armand, ‘Neizvestnoe pis’mo’, 81. 55 N. K. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin (Moscow, 1959), 269. 56 Lenin, PSS, 48:. 238, 242, 248, 251 and 252. 57 Okhrana Archives (Hoover Institution), file XIIIb (1), folder 1E, outgoing dispatch 687 (3/16 April 1914). 58 See letter of 8 March 1914 in Lenin, Neiz. dok., 120. 59 Lenin, PSS, 48: 256, 272 and 280. 60 Latyshev, Rassekrechennyi Lenin, 297; Lenin, PSS, 48: 256–7.

NOTES 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69

70 71 72 73 74 75

195

Lenin, Neiz. dok., 125. Lenin, PSS, 48: 278. Lenin, Neiz. dok., 136. Ibid., 189 (Lenin’s emphasis). See Chapter Ten below for a discussion of their holiday in Sörenberg in 1915. Lenin, PSS, 48: 196–7. Ibid., 198. Ibid., 200 (Lenin’s emphasis). Armand, ‘Neizvestnoe pis’mo’, 83 (Armand’s emphasis). The dangers of this trip were very real. Four members of a similar Russian Red Cross delegation to Poland had been killed in January 1919. See Branko Lazitch and Milorad Drachkovitch, Lenin and the Comintern (Stanford, 1972), 132. See letter from Lenin to Armand written before 28 July 1920 in Leninskii sbornik, 37 (1970), 233. Armand, ‘Neizvestnoe pis’mo’, 83–4. Ibid., 85. Ibid., 84. Ibid. Letter to the author from Igor Nazarenko, 20 December 1990.

Chapter 9 What Lenin Ate 1 Leon Trotsky, My Life: An Attempt at an Autobiography (New York, 1970), 250. 2 R. Craig Nation, War on War: Lenin, the Zimmerwald Left, and the Origins of Communist Internationalism (Durham, 1989), 265 n.67; Fritz Bronnimann, 700 Jahre Zimmerwald: Bilder aus der Geschichte einer alten Dorfgemeinde, 136. 3 ‘Das Lenin – Mahl des “Löwen”- Wirtes’, Berner Zeitung, 3 September 2005, 29. 4 V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 55 vols, 5th edn (Moscow, 1958–65), vol. 55 (hereafter cited as PSS). 5 Nikolay Valentinov [N. V. Volsky], Encounters with Lenin (London, 1968), 77. 6 See Chapter 11 below for a discussion of these activities. 7 Robert Service, Lenin: A Political Life, 3 vols (Bloomington, 1985–95); and Lenin: A Biography (Cambridge, Mass., 2000). 8 Robert H. McNeal, Bride of the Revolution: Krupskaya and Lenin (Ann Arbor, 1972). 9 See, for example, A. S. Kudriavtsev, et al., Lenin v Berne i Tsiurikhe: pamiatnye mesta (Moscow, 1972); P. V. Moskovskii and V. G. Semenov, Lenin vo Frantsii, Bel’gii i Danii (Moscow, 1982); Andrew Rothstein, Lenin in Britain (London, [1970]; Jean Fréville, Lénine à Paris (Paris, 1968); Willi Gautschi, Lenin als Emigrant in der Schweiz (Zurich, 1973); R. Iu. Kaganova, Lenin vo Frantsii, dekabr’ 1908 - iiun’ 1912 (Moscow, 1977). 10 Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin, 79. 11 McNeal, Bride of the Revolution, 74. 12 Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 9 March 1912, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 442. 13 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 413. 14 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 2 July 1904, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 235. See also Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 27 June 1907, in ibid., 238; Krupskaya to M. I. Ul’ianova, end of June 1907, in ibid., 240; Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 16 March 1914, in ibid., 352. 15 [Titus Kammerer], ‘We Rented to the Lenins’, Partisan Review 6, no. 3 (1939): 27.

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16 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 26 July 1900, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 418. 17 Service, Lenin: A Biography, 187. 18 S. I. Bagotskii, ‘V. I. Lenin v Krakove i Poronine’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 2: 313. 19 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova and A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 24 February 1913, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 444. 20 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 318. 21 [Kammerer], ‘We Rented to the Lenins’, 27–8. 22 Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Lenin in Zurich (New York, 1976), 112. 23 Quoted in Service, Lenin: A Biography, 187. 24 To my knowledge, few revolutionary women were skilled in the kitchen. Vera Zasulich, when asked how long she stewed meat, replied ‘All depends. If you’re hungry ten minutes will do – if not, three hours or so’. Cited in Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 56. 25 Cited in Service, Lenin: A Biography, 187. 26 Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 22 November 1898, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 404. 27 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 27 September 1898, in ibid., 399; Krupskaya to M. I. Ul’ianova, 25 May 1913, in ibid., 341; Krupskaya to M. I. Ul’ianova, 16 March 1914, in ibid., 352; McNeal, Bride of the Revolution, 121–2. 28 Service, Lenin: A Biography, 187. 29 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 413 30 John Keep, ‘Lenin’s Time Budget: The Smolny Period’ in Edith Rogovin Frankel, Jonathan Frankel and Baruch Knei-Paz, eds, Revolution in Russia: Reassessments of 1917 (Cambridge, 1992), 340. 31 Maxim Gorky, Days with Lenin (New York, 1932), 49; Aleksandr Maisurian, Drugoi Lenin (Moscow, 2006), 94. 32 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 18 July 1895, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 10; Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 17 April 1897, in ibid., 31; Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 8 June 1897, in ibid., 43; Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 16 January 1901, in ibid., 200. 33 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 24 August 1909, in ibid., 296; Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 10 April 1910, in ibid., 312. 34 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 26 August 1911, in ibid., 440. 35 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 317. 36 Mauricio Borrero, ‘Communal Dining and State Cafeterias’, in Musya Glants and Joyce Toomre, eds, Food in Russian History and Culture (Bloomington, 1977), 162–76. 37 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 121, 129; Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin, 84–5; Gautschi, Lenin als Emigrant in der Schweiz, 53, 61; Service, Lenin: A Biography, 167–8. 38 Rothstein, Lenin in Britain, 23–4; Gorky, Days with Lenin, 18. 39 A. S. Shapovalov, V izgnanii (sredi bel’giiskikh i frantsuzskikh rabochikh) (Moscow, 1927), 153; Service, Lenin: A Biography, 192; Moskovskii and Semenov, Lenin vo Frantsii, 81, 193; Fréville, Lénine à Paris,137. 40 Lenin to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 14 November 1914, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 355; Lenin to M. M. Kharitonov, 27 January 1916, in ibid., 49: 178. 41 Kudriavtsev et al., Lenin v Berne, 191–2; [Kammerer], ‘We Rented to the Lenins’, 27; Maisurian, Drugoi Lenin, 93. 42 McNeal, Bride of the Revolution, 186; Maisurian, Drugoi Lenin, 93–4. 43 Z. A. B. Zeman and W. B. Scharlau, Merchant of Revolution: The Life of Alexander Israel Helphand (Parvus), 1867–1924 (London, 1965), 157–8. 44 Trotsky, My Life, 146.

NOTES 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

53 54

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

197

Solzhenitsyn, Lenin in Zurich, 110. Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 9 March 1912, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 442. McNeal, Bride of the Revolution, 147. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 95. Rothstein, Lenin in Britain, 23. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 158 Michael Pearson, The Sealed Train (New York, 1975), 90, 117. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 36; Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 9 August 1898, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 393; Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 26 August 1898, in ibid., 394–5; Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 20 June 1899, in ibid., 411; Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 3 July 1899, in ibid., 412. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 30 September 1897, in ibid., 54. Krupskaya relates a conversation Lenin had with a new tenant in Paris. ‘He kept asking Ilyich all kinds of domestic questions: “What’s the price of geese? How much is veal?” Ilyich was at a loss. “Geese? Veal?” He had had very little to do with the housekeeping, and I was not helpful either, because we had never eaten goose or veal during our stay in Paris. I could have told [him] the price of horse-flesh and lettuce, but he was not interested in them’ (Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 235). Ibid., 75. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 29 March 1903, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 231. Rothstein, Lenin in Britain, 23. Gorky, Days with Lenin, 18. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 308. See also Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 26 August 1898, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 394–5. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 327. Ibid., 162. Service, Lenin: A Biography, 191. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 209. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 17 January 1899, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 407; Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 8 or 9 March 1912, in ibid., 322; Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianovaElizarova, 9 March 1912, in ibid., 442; Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 262. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 262. She later recalled somewhat nostalgically that she had first met her husband at just such a party in 1894. Ibid., 449. Pearson, The Sealed Train, 110. Maisurian, Drugoi Lenin, 96. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 262. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 24 February 1913, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 334–5. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 17 January 1899, in ibid., 407. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 4 April 1899, in ibid., 410. M. M. Essen, ‘Vstrechi s Leninym’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 2: 119. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 5 May 1900, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 186; McNeal, Bride of the Revolution, 248. [Kammerer], ‘We Rented to the Lenins’, 28. Pearson, The Sealed Train, 90. Service, Lenin: A Biography, 149; Rothstein, Lenin in Britain, 23; Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 325. Stephen White, Russia Goes Dry: Alcohol, State and Society (Cambridge, 1996), 16.

198 78 79 80 81 82 83

84 85 86 87

88 89

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 238. Rothstein, Lenin in Britain, 23; Gorky, Days with Lenin, 18. A. K. Voronsky, The Waters of Life and Death (London, [1936]), 315–16. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 265. Ibid., 288. Cited in Service, Lenin: A Political Life, 1: 55–6. Valentinov, who at one point says Lenin ‘did not smoke or drink’ (Encounters with Lenin, 147), at another supports Potresov by saying he ‘never saw [Lenin] drink more than one glass of beer’ (ibid., 125). Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 10 January 1899, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 405; Maisurian, Drugoi Lenin, 97. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin,106. Lenin to A. M. Gorky and M. F. Andreeva, 15 January 1908, in Lenin, PSS, 47: 123. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, p.184. Gorky, who provided the wine on both occasions, later tried to maintain the myth of the abstemious Lenin when he wrote that Vladimir Ilyich was ‘a stranger to tobacco and wine’ (Gorky, Days with Lenin, p. 48). Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 9 March 1912, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 442. G. E. Zinov’ev, ‘Vospominaniia’, Izvestiia TsK KPSS, 1989, no. 6: 196.

Chapter 10 Lenin on Vacation 1 The best description of the July Days is still Alexander Rabinowitch’s Prelude to Revolution (Bloomington, 1968), especially pages 135–81. 2 See, for example, the multi-volume Istoriia kommunisticheskoi partii sovetskogo soiuza, 5 vols (Moscow, 1964–80), 3, pt. 1: 148–50. 3 V. E. Mushtukov, U shturvala revoliutsii: Lenin v 1917 gody (Moscow, 1974), 186. 4 The editors of Vladimir Il’ich Lenin: Biograficheskaia khronika, 12 vols. (Moscow, 1970–82), 4: 266–71, could find no indication that he wrote any letters or articles during this period (hereafter cited as Biog. khr.). 5 P. V. Moskovskii and V. G. Semenov, Lenin v Finliandii: pamiatnye mesta (Moscow, 1977), 101; V. D. Bonch-Bruevich, Vospominaniia o Lenine, 2nd edn (Moscow, 1969), 96–105. 6 N. N. Sukhanov, The Russian Revolution 1917: Eyewitness Account, 2 vols (New York, 1962), 2: 441. 7 John Towner, An Historical Geography of Recreation and Tourism in the Western World, 1540–1940 (Chichester, 1996), 189. 8 Fred Inglis, The Delicious History of the Holiday (London, 2000), 106. 9 Israel Getzler, Martov: A Political Biography of a Russian Social Democrat (Cambridge, 1972), 126; Abraham Ascher, Pavel Axelrod and the Development of Menshevism (Cambridge, Mass., 1972), 271. Dan and his wife must have enjoyed Arcachon for they returned there again the next summer. André Liebich, From the Other Shore: Russian Social Democracy after 1921 (Cambridge, Mass., 1997), 54. 10 Jay Bergman, Vera Zasulich (Stanford, 1983), 205. 11 Samuel H. Baron, Plekhanov: The Father of Russian Marxism (Stanford, 1963), 254–7. 12 Barbara Evans Clements, Bolshevik Feminist: The Life of Aleksandra Kollontai (Bloomington, 1979), 81–3 and 98. 13 Geoffrey Swain, Trotsky: Profiles in Power (Harlow, 2006), 34. 14 See, for example, ibid.; Ian Thatcher, Trotsky (London, 2003); Isaac Deutscher, The Prophet Armed: Trotsky, 1879–1921 (New York, 1954); Leon Trotsky, My Life: An Attempt at an Autobiography (New York, 1970).

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15 G. E. Zinoviev he took his family to Arcachon in 1909; he spent the summers of 1913 and 1914 with Lenin in the foothills of the Carpathians, and during the next two years left Bern in the summer to live in Hertenstein on the shores of Lake Lucerne. Inessa Armand vacationed with Lenin and Krupskaya in 1913 and 1915 and with her children on several occasions in Russia and on the Adriatic. And L. B. Kamenev went off to the ‘Menshevik beach’ at Arcachon with his Menshevik wife in 1909 and 1910 (Liebich, From the Other Shore, 54; Lenin to G. E. Zinoviev [August 1909], and to L. B. Kamenev [27 August 1909], in V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 55 vols, 5th edn [Moscow, 1958–65], 47: 189 and 192 [hereafter cited as PSS]). 16 Robert Service, Lenin: A Political Life, 3 vols (Bloomington, 1985–95), 2: 32; N. K. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin (Moscow, 1959), 282. 17 Nikolay Valentinov [N. V. Volsky], Encounters with Lenin (London, 1968), 77. 18 Lenin, PSS, vol. 55. 19 See, for example, Jean Fréville, Lénine à Paris (Paris, 1968); Willi Gautschi, Lenin als Emigrant in der Schweiz (Zurich, 1973); R. Iu. Kaganova, Lenin vo Frantsii, dekabr’ 1908 – iiun’ 1912 (Moscow, 1977); A. S. Kudriavtsev et al., Lenin v Berne i Tsiurikhe: pamiatnye mesta (Moscow, 1972); A. S. Kudriavtsev, et al., Zhenevskie adresa Lenina (Moscow, 1967); P. V. Moskovskii and V. G. Semenov, Lenin v Finliandii: pamiatnye mesta (Moscow, 1977); P. V. Moskovskii and V. G. Semenov, Lenin vo Frantsii, Bel’gii i Danii (Moscow, 1982); P. V. Moskovskii and V. G. Semenov, Lenin v Shvetsii (Moscow, 1972); A. Koudriavtsev et al., Séjours de Lenine en Suisse (Moscow, [1971]). 20 Some of Lenin’s recent biographers, most notably Robert Service and Christopher Read, have paid more attention to the ‘personal’ Lenin and in doing so have mentioned in passing some of the vacations discussed herein. 21 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 7 June 1902, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 223. 22 Lenin to G. V. Plekhanov, 23 June 1902, in ibid., 46: 190. See also Lenin to L. I. Aksel’rod, 23 June 1902, in ibid., 189. 23 Lenin’s Biograficheskaia khronika notes that he wrote nine letters in the four weeks that he was in Loguivy (1: 398–400). 24 The fullest descriptions of Lenin’s stay in Loguivy will be found in Fréville, Lénine à Paris, 44–5; and Moskovskii and Semenov, Lenin vo Frantsii, 23–34. 25 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 75. 26 M. A. Ul’ianova to M. I. Ul’ianova, 18 July 1902, in ‘Pis’ma M. A. Ul’ianovoi (1898– 1915 gg)’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1958, no. 2: 10. 27 Lenin to G. D. Leiteizen, 24 July 1902, in Lenin, PSS, 46: 207. Leiteizen, a Social Democrat living in Paris, probably suggested that Lenin go to Loguivy. 28 M. A. Ul’ianova to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 13 September 1910, in Perepiska sem’i Ul’ianovykh, 1883–1917 (Moscow, 1969), 232. 29 M. A. Ul’ianova to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 16 September 1910, in ibid., 234. This letter, and the earlier one of 13 September, are the chief sources of information about their stay in Stockholm. See also Moskovskii and Semenov, Lenin v Shvetsii, 70–80; and Biog. khr., 2: 566–8. 30 Service, Lenin: A Biography, 200. 31 McNeal, Bride of the Revolution, 96. 32 Service, Lenin: A Biography, 152. 33 Katy Turton, ‘After Lenin: The Role of Anna and Mariia Ul’ianova in Soviet Society and Politics from 1924’, Revolutionary Russia 15, no. 2 (December 2002): 112. 34 M. A. Ul’ianova to M. I. Ul’ianova, 18 July 1902, in ‘Pis’ma M. A. Ul’ianovoi’, 10.

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35 Lenin to A. M. Gor’kii, 9 January 1908, in Lenin, PSS, 47: 120; Tovah Yedlin, Maxim Gorky: A Political Biography (Westport, Conn., 1999), 91. 36 Information on Lenin’s stays on Capri can be found in Biog. khr., 2: 406–7, 553–4; Fréville, Lénine à Paris, 111–2; and Gorky, Days with Lenin, 27–8, 38. 37 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 184. 38 A. M. Gor’kii, ‘V. I. Lenin’, in V. I. Lenin i A. M. Gor’kii, 3rd edn (Moscow, 1969), 308. 39 Lenin to the Students of the Capri School, 30 August 1909, in Lenin, PSS, 47: 198. 40 Cited in Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 184. 41 See Chapter One, above, for a discussion of these schools and Lenin’s attitude toward them. 42 Lenin to M. T. Elizarov, 3 January 1911, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 317. 43 Lenin to A. M. Gor’kii, not before 9 May 1913, in ibid., 48: 180. 44 Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin, 47, 81–2; Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 8 January 1904, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 233. 45 Lenin to M. I. Ul’ianova, 9 August 1908, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 253. 46 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 193–4. 47 Lenin to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 2 March 1909, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 277. 48 Lenin to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 9 March 1909, in ibid., 277; Biog. khr., 2: 464. 49 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 28 September 1911, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 321. 50 Biog. khr., 2: 623. 51 Lenin to L. B. Kamenev, 21 September 1911 and 7 October 1911, in V. I. Lenin, Neizvestnye dokumenty, 1891–1922 (Moscow, 1999), 92 and 95–6. 52 See Chapter Eight, above, for some unconvincing gossip that Lenin may have met Inessa Armand during this period. 53 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 2 July 1904, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 235. 54 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 7 or 8 July 1904, in ibid., 236. 55 Krupskaya’s recollections in ibid.,. 500 n. 231. 56 Ibid. 57 Karl Baedeker, Switzerland, 25th edn (Leipzig, 1913), 229. 58 Krupskaya in Lenin, PSS, 55: 500 n. 231. The Ul’ianovs’ hiking itinerary can be pieced together from sometimes conflicting information found in Krupskaya’s account in ibid.; the chronology in Biog. khr., 2: 531–4; Gautschi, Lenin als Emigrant in der Schweiz, 56–8, 304; and Kudriavtsev et al., Zhenevskie adresa Lenina, 69–79 and 189–95. 59 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 105–6. 60 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 20 July 1904, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 237. 61 Biog. khr., 1: 534–45, provides one of the few sources of information about Lenin’s activities at Lac de Bret. See also Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 106–7; and Kudriavtsev et al., Zhenevskie adresa Lenina, 76–9. 62 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 28 August 1904, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 237. 63 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 10 July 1907, in ibid., 238–9. 64 Moskovskii and Semenov, Lenin v Finliandii, 65–8. 65 Lenin to M.A. Ul’ianova, 10 July 1907, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 238. 66 Lenin to M. I. Ul’ianova, after 9 July 1907, in ibid., 239. 67 Krupskaya to M. I. Ul’ianova, after 9 July 1907, in ibid., 240. 68 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 198–9. 69 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 24 August 1909, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 296. 70 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 199. 71 Lenin to G. E. Zinoviev, 24 August 1909, in Lenin, PSS, 47: 187.

NOTES

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72 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 199. For brief accounts of their vacation in Bombon, see also Moskovskii and Semenov, Lenin vo Frantsii, 86–9; Fréville, Lénine à Paris, 88–90; Biog. khr., 2: 493–503. 73 Lenin to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 2 May 1910, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 312. 74 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 209. 75 Karl Baedeker, Northern France, 4th edn (Leipzig, 1905), 251. 76 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 209–10. 77 Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianova-Elizarova, 24 August 1910, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 439. For information on their Pornic holiday, see also Fréville, Lénine à Paris, 109–11; Moskovskii and Semenov, Lenin vo Frantsii, 98–101. 78 Lenin and Krupskaya returned to the same apartment in Paris after their vacations in 1909 and 1910 and also in Zurich in 1916. There is no indication that they sublet their city residences in these instances while on holiday in the country. 79 See Chapter One, above, for a discussion of their summer in Longjumeau. 80 Lenin to M. I. Ul’ianova, 22 April 1914, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 354. 81 S. I. Bagotskii, ‘Lenin v Krakove’, 310–11. For more details on these and other hikes taken in the Tatras, see Chapter Eleven, below. 82 Lenin to M. I. Ul’ianova, 12 or 13 May 1913, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 339. 83 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 25 May 1913, in ibid., 341. 84 Krupskaya to M. I. Ul’ianova, 10 April 1913, in ibid., 446. 85 For a detailed discussion of Krupskaya’s illness, see McNeal, Bride of the Revolution, 147–50. 86 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 16 March 1914, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 352. 87 See Chapter Six, above, for a discussion of the Malinovskii crisis and the commission of enquiry held in Galicia. 88 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 306. 89 Paul P. Bernard, Rush to the Alps: The Evolution of Vacationing in Switzerland (Boulder, 1978), 174. 90 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 307. 91 Lenin to K. B. Radek, after 19 June 1915, and to G. E. Zinoviev, before 5 July 1915, in Lenin, PSS, 49: 82 and 87. 92 Inessa Armand to Inna Armand, summer 1915, in I. F. Armand, Stat’i, rechi, pis’ma (Moscow, 1975), 230. 93 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 308. 94 Gautschi, Lenin als Emigrant in der Schweiz, 134. 95 Ibid.,134 and 138. 96 Paul Scherer, ‘Lenin in Sörenberg’, in Heimatkundliches aus dem Entlebuch: Festgabe für Nationrat Otto Studer zu seinem 60 Geburtstag (Schüpfheim, 1958), 238. 97 Kudriavtsev et al., Lenin v Berne, 61–9. According to his Biograficheskaia khronika (3: 339–92), Lenin wrote four articles which were published in 1915, another four which appeared only after his death, and (together with Zinoviev) a brochure on ‘Socialism and War’. By his prolific standards, this was not an impressive output for a period of four months. 98 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 310–11. 99 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova, 24 September 1915, and Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova, 7 October 1915, in Lenin, PSS, 55: 452 and 361. 100 Bernard, Rush to the Alps, 177. 101 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 325. See also Lenin to A. M. Kollontai, 25 July 1916, in Lenin, PSS, 49: 268.

202 102 103 104 105

106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 325. Ibid., 326. Ibid., 327. Ibid., 326. Kudriavtsev (Lenin v Berne,181–6) tries to counterbalance Krupskaya’s account, which is virtually the only source of information about their stay at Tschudiwiese, by emphasizing that Lenin wrote more than forty letters in these six weeks and sought to organize his thoughts on the nationality question. Gautschi (Lenin als Emigrant in der Schweiz, 208–11), after reviewing the evidence, supports Krupskaya’s version of Lenin’s literary inactivity. Service, Lenin: A Biography, 334. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 425–6. On Lenin’s last years in Gorki, see ibid., 484–5, and Service, Lenin: A Biography, 436–7. Scherer, ‘Lenin in Sörenberg’, 237. ‘Die “Tschudiwiese” im neuen Kleid’, Der Sarganserländer, 27 November 2006. www.goodbyelenin.pl I am indebted to Helen Rappaport for this information. www.russianmuseums.info/M446#web

Chapter 11 The Sporting Life of V. I. Lenin 1 Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Lenin in Zurich, translated by Harry Willetts (New York, 1976), 201–18. Solzhenitsyn’s account of Lenin’s activities on 15 March (2 March, according to the ‘old-style’ Russian calender) is partially confirmed by Nadezhda Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, translated by Bernard Isaacs (Moscow, 1959), 335–6; Willi Gautschi, Lenin als Emigrant in der Schweiz (Zurich and Cologne, 1973), 239; and Lenin’s letter to Inessa Armand of 15 March 1917 in V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 55 vols (Moscow, 1958–65), 49: 254 (hereafter cited as PSS). 2 Leon Trotsky, The Young Lenin, translated by Max Eastman (New York, 1972), 137. 3 Nikolay Valentinov (N. V. Volsky), Encounters with Lenin, translated by Paul Rosta and Brian Pearce (London, 1968), 77. 4 An partial exception is Tamara Deutscher’s edited collection Not by Politics Alone...the Other Lenin (London, 1973), 52–67. Robert Service’s recent and comprehensive Lenin: A Biography (Cambridge, Mass., 2000) touches in passing on many of the points raised in this chapter. 5 Service, Lenin: A Biography, 64. 6 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (26 December 1900), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 197. 7 Lenin to Inessa Armand (18 December 1916), in ibid., 49: 341. See also similar advice of 17 December 1916 in ibid., 339. 8 Lenin’s account of these trips is repeated by Valentinov in his Encounters with Lenin, 80–1, and in his The Early Years of Lenin, translated by Rolf H.W. Theen (Ann Arbor, 1969), 47. 9 Quoted without attribution in Valentinov, Early Years, 46. 10 Robert Service, Lenin: A Political Life, vol. I: The Strengths of Contradiction (Bloomington, 1985), 20. 11 Trotsky, Young Lenin, 134, 137. 12 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (14 June 1898), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 391. 13 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (18 May 1897, 25 May 1897, 19 July 1897, 14 June 1898), in ibid., 35, 40, 47, 92.

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14 I. S. Belostotskii, ‘Vstrechi s Leninym’, Iuzhnyi ural, 1958, no. 30: 6. 15 Trotsky, Young Lenin, 39, 122, 137. 16 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (18 May 1897), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 36. See also his letter to M. A. Ul’ianova (25 May 1897), in ibid., 39–40. 17 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (12 October 1897), in ibid., 54. 18 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (10 May 1898), in ibid., 88. 19 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 39. 20 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (10 May 1898), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 390. 21 Krupskata to M. I. Ul’ianova (11 September 1898), in ibid., 397. 22 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (18 May 1897), in ibid., 36. 23 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (14 June 1898), in ibid., 391. 24 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (30 September 1897) and to M. I. Ul’ianova (27 December 1897), in ibid., 53 and 65. 25 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (4 April 1899) and Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (7 February 1898), in ibid., 409 and 73. 26 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (14 June 1898), in ibid., 391. 27 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (7 February 1898), in ibid., 73. 28 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (20 December 1898), Lenin to D. I. Ul’ianov (26 January 1899), Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (4 April 1899 and 11 April 1899), in ibid., 121, 130–2, 154–5 and 157. 29 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (20 June 1899), in ibid., 165. 30 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 39; Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (19 October 1897), Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (27 September 1898 and 14 October 1898), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 57, 398 and 406. 31 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (18 May 1897), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 36. This verdict is endorsed by both Krupskaya (Reminiscences of Lenin, 39) and Trotsky (Young Lenin, 122). 32 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (26 August 1898 and 3 July 1899) in Lenin, PSS, 55: 395 and 412. 33 P. N. Lepeshinskii, ‘Na rubezhe dvukh vekov’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1969), 2: 70, as cited in Deutscher, Not by Politics Alone, 56. 34 For details of this mishap, see Service, Lenin: A Biography, 44–5. 35 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (14 June 1898), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 391. 36 Maxim Gorky, Days with Lenin (New York, 1932), 28. 37 Trotsky, Young Lenin, 137. 38 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (15 November 1898), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 109. 39 O. Lepeshinskaya, ‘The Siberian Deportee II’, in Deutscher (ed.), Not by Politics Alone, 52–3. See also Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 40. 40 Krupskaya to A. I. Ul’ianova (22 November 1898), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 404. 41 Krupskaya to M. I. Ul’ianova (24 January 1899) and M. A. Ul’ianova (10 January 1899), in ibid., 408 and 406. 42 Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (24 February 1913), in ibid., 335. 43 S. I. Bagotskii, ‘V. I. Lenin v Krakove’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 2: 314. 44 Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (7 January 1914), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 509. 45 Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin, 79. 46 Trotsky, Young Lenin, 137. See also D. I. Ul’ianov, ‘V Alekaevke’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 1: 93–4. 47 Lenin to M. I. Ul’ianova (19 May 1901), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 209. See also Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (7 February 1898), in ibid., 72.

204 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

75 76 77 78 79 80

81

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Quoted in Service, Lenin: A Biography, 108. Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin, 79 and 147. Ibid.,120. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (29 August 1895), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 12. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (29 March 1903), in ibid., 231–2 (Lenin’s emphasis). Bagotskii, ‘V. I. Lenin v Krakove’, 313–14. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (26 December 1913), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 346. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (27 June 1907), in ibid, 238; Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 209 and 238. The only mention I have found to these facilities in their extensive correspondence is Krupskaya’s account of her husband taking a ‘cold shower every day’ in Cracow. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (26 December 1913), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 347. Lenin: sobranie fotografii i kinokadrov, 2 vols (Moscow, 1970), 1: 33–9, 42. See Chapter Ten, above. D. I. Ul’ianov, ‘Vospominaniia o zhizni sem’i Ul’ianovykh v Moskve’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 1: 116. Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin, 147. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 100. Lenin to D. I. Ul’ianov (13 February 1910), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 307. Lenin to M. I. Ul’ianova (early January 1910 and 30 or 31 January 1910), in ibid., 303 and 305. Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 194. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (26 August 1911), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 440. P. V. Moskovskii and V. G. Semenov, Lenin vo Frantsii, Bel’gii i Danii (Moscow, 1982), 89. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (25 May 1913), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 341. G. E. Zinov’ev, ‘Vospominaniia’, Izvestiia TsK KPSS, 1989, no. 6: 196. Lenin to G. E. Zinov’ev (three letters in early July 1915), in Lenin, PSS, 49: 87–90. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (8 January 1904), in ibid., 55: 233. Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin, 81–2. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (2 July 1904), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 235. For a more detailed discussion of this extraordinary hike, see Chapter Ten, above. M. M. Essen, ‘Vstrechi s Leninym’, in Vospominaniia o Vladimire Il’iche Lenine, 5 vols (Moscow, 1968–70), 2: 118. Samuel Clemens to Olivia Clemens (24 August 1878), in The Letters of Mark Twain (London, 1920), 184; Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens), A Tramp Abroad (London, 1898), 344–53. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (20 July 1904), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 237 (with a picture of the Jungfrau). Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 105–6. Lenin to M. I. Ul’ianova (9 August 1908), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 388. Lenin to M. A. Ul’ianova (28 September 1911), in ibid., 321 (picture postcard of the Pilatus). Bagotskii, ‘V. I. Lenin v Krakove’, 310–11. For mention of these excursions, see Vladimir Il’ich Lenin: Biograficheskaia khronika (Moscow, 1971), 2: 130, 144 and 217; Adam B. Ulam, The Bolsheviks: The Intellectual, Personal and Political History of the Origins of Russian Communism (New York, 1965), 265; Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 263 and 268. Krupskaya to M. A. Ul’ianova (16 March 1914), in Lenin, PSS, 55: 352.

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82 Lenin (in English) to Inessa Armand (before 6 July 1914), in V. I. Lenin, Neizvestnye dokumenty (Moscow, 1999), 149. 83 Lenin to Inessa Armand (after 4 June 1915), in Lenin, PSS, 49: 80 (Lenin’s emphasis). 84 Lenin to G. E. Zinov’ev (after 24 June 1915), in ibid., 86; Karl Baedeker, Switzerland, 25th edn (Leipzig, 1913), 171. 85 Krupskaya, Reminiscences of Lenin, 310–11. 86 Ibid., 327. 87 Ibid., 379, 452–3. 88 Ibid., 39. 89 Valentinov, Young Lenin, 140. 90 Solzhenitsyn, Lenin in Zurich, 79.

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Luxemburg, Rosa. Letters to Karl and Luise Kautsky from 1896 to 1918. New York: R. M. McBride, 1925 Maisurian, Aleksandr. Drugoi Lenin. Moscow, 2006 McNeal, Robert H. Bride of the Revolution: Krupskaya and Lenin. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1972 Meijer, J. M. (ed.). The Trotsky Papers, 1917–1922, 2 vols. The Hague: Mouton, 1964–71 Mel’nichenko, Vladimir. ‘Ia tebia ochen’ liubila. . .’: Pravda o Lenine i Armand. Moscow, 2002 Moskovskii, P. V. and V. G. Semenov. Lenin v Finliandii: Pamiatnye mesta. Moscow, 1977 . Lenin vo Frantsii, Bel’gii i Danii. Moscow, 1982 . Lenin v Shvetsii. Moscow, 1972 Mushtukov, V. E. U shturvala revoliutsii: Lenin v 1917 gody. Moscow, 1974 Nation, R. Craig. War on War: Lenin, the Zimmerwald Left, and the Origins of Communist Internationalism. Durham: Duke University Press, 1989 Ol’minskii, M. S. and M. A. Savel’ev, Pravda, 3 vols. Moscow, 1933 Ordzhonikidze, G. K. Stat’i i rechi. Moscow, 1956 Ordzhonikidze, Z. G. Put’ Bol’shevika: stranitsy iz zhizni G. K. Ordzhonikidze. Moscow, 1956 Orsa-Koidanovskaia, Bronislava. Intimnaia zhizn’ Lenina. Minsk, 1994 Ostroukhova, K. A. Shestaia (Prazhskaia) vserossiiskaia konferentsiia RSDRP. Moscow, 1950 Otchet pervoi vysshei sotsialdemokraticheskoi propagandistsko-agitatorskoi shkoly dlia rabochikh. N.p., [1910] Otchet vtoroi vysshei sotsialdemokraticheskoi propagandistko-agitatorskoi shkoly dlia rabochikh. Paris, 1911 Padenie tsarskogo rezhima: stenograficheskie otchety doprosov i pokazanii, dannykh v 1917 g. v Chrezvychainoi sledstvennoi komissii Vremennogo pravitel’stva, 7 vols. Moscow, 1924–7 Pearson, Michael. Inessa: Lenin’s Mistress. New York: Random House, 2001 . The Sealed Train. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1975 Perepiska sem’i Ul’ianovykh, 1883–1917. Moscow, 1969 Petriakov, G. V. Kollektivnyi agitator, propagandist i organizator: Leninskaia ‘Pravda’ v 1912–1914 gg. Moscow, 1967 Piatnitsky, O. A. Memoirs of a Bolshevik. London: M. Laurence, 1933 Piatyi (Londonskii) S”ezd RSDRP, aprel’-mai 1907 g.: protokoly. Mocow, 1963 Pipes, Richard (ed.). The Unknown Lenin: From the Secret Archive. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996 and 1998 (paperback) Pis’ma P. B. Aksel’roda i Iu. O. Martova, 1901–1916. Berlin: Vorwärts, 1924 Plekhanov, G. V. Sochineniia, 24 vols. Moscow, 1923–7 Podliashuk, Pavel. Tovarishch Inessa: dokumental’naia provest’. Moscow, 1963 Possony, Stefan T. Lenin: The Compulsive Revolutionary. Chicago: Regnery, 1964 Potresov, A. N. and B. I. Nikolaevskii (eds). Sotsial-demokraticheskoe dvizhenie v Rossii: Materialy, vol. I. Moscow, 1928 Prazhskaia konferentsiia RSDRP 1912 goda: Stat’i i dokumenty. Moscow, 1937 Rabinowitch, Alexander. Prelude to Revolution: The Petrograd Bolsheviks and the July 1917 Uprising. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1968 Rappaport, Helen. Conspirator: Lenin in Exile. New York: Basic Books, 2010 Read, Christopher. Lenin: A Revolutionary Life. London: Routledge, 2005 Rothstein, Andrew. Lenin in Britain. London: Communist Party, [1970] Rozental’, I. S. Provokator: kar’era Romana Malinovskogo. Moscow, 1994 Schapiro, Leonard. The Communist Party of the Soviet Union. New York: Random House, 1960 Semashko, N. A. Prozhitoe i perezhitoe. Moscow, 1960

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS CITED

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Serge, Victor. Memoirs of a Revolutionary, 1901–1944. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967 Service, Robert. Lenin: A Biography. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000 . Lenin: A Political Life, 3 vols. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985–95 Shapovalov, A. S. V izgnanii (sredi bel’giiskikh i frantsuzskikh rabochikh). Moscow, 1927 Shaumian, S. G. Pis’ma (1896–1918). Erevan, 1959 Shliapnikov, A. G. Kanun semnadtsatogo goda, 2 vols. Moscow, 1923 . Semnadtsatyi god’, 4 vols.. Moscow, 1923–31 Shub, David. Lenin: A Biography. New York: Penguin, 1966 Singer, Ladislaus. Korrekturen zu Lenin. Stuttgart: Seewald, 1980 Sochor, Zenovia A. Revolution and Culture: The Bogdanov – Lenin Controversy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988 Sokolov, Boris. Armand i Krupskaia: zhenshchiny vozhdia. Minsk, 1999 Solzhenitsyn, Alexander. Lenin in Zurich: Chapters, translated by Harry Willetts. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1976 Spiridovich, A. I. Istoriia bol’shevizma v Rossii ot vozniknoveniia do zakhvata vlasti, 1893–1903– 1917. Paris: Société anonyme de presse, de publicité et d’éditions, 1922 Sukhanov, N. N. The Russian Revolution, 1917: Eyewitness Account, 2 vols. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1962 Swain, Geoffrey. Trotsky: Profiles in Power. Harlow: Pearson Longman, 2006 Thatcher, Ian. Trotsky. London: Routledge, 2003 Towner, John. An Historical Geography of Recreation and Tourism in the Western World, 1540–1940. Chichester: John Wiley, 1996 Trotsky, Leon. My Life: An Attempt at an Autobiography. New York: Pathfinder Press, 1970 . Stalin: An Appraisal of the Man and His Influence. New York: Stein and Day, 1967 . The Young Lenin, translated by Max Eastman. New York: Doubleday, 1972 Tsiavlovskii, M. A. (ed.). Bol’sheviki: dokumenty po istorii bol’shevizma s 1903 po 1916 god byvsh. Moskovskago okhrannago otdeleniia. Moscow, 1918 Twain, Mark (Samuel Clemens). A Tramp Abroad. London: Chatto and Windus, 1898 Ulam, Adam B. The Bolsheviks: The Intellectual, Personal, and Political History of the Origins of Russian Communism. New York: Macmillan, 1965 V. I. Lenin i A. M. Gor’kii: Pis’ma, vospominaniia, dokumenty, 3rd ed. Moscow, 1969 Valentinov, Nikolay [N. V. Volsky]. Encounters with Lenin, translated by Paul Rosta and Brian Pearce. London: Oxford University Press, 1968 . The Early Years of Lenin, translated by Rolf H. W. Theen. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1969 Vasil’eva, Larisa. Kremlevskie zheny. Moscow, 1992 Vichniac, Marc. Lénine. Paris: Colin, 1932 Vladimir Il’ich Lenin: Biograficheskaia khronika, 12 vols. Moscow, 1970–82 Volkogonov, Dmitri. Lenin: Life and Legacy, trans. by Harold Shukman. New York: HarperCollins, 1994 Volodarskaia, A. M. Lenin i partiia v gody nazrevaniia revoliutsionnogo krizisa, 1913–1914. Moscow, 1960 Voronsky, A. K. The Waters of Life and Death. London: Allen and Unwin, [1936] White, James D. Lenin: The Practice and Theory of Revolution. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001 White, Stephen. Russia Goes Dry: Alcohol, State and Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996 Williams, Robert C. The Other Bolsheviks: Lenin and His Critics, 1904–1914. Bloomington,: Indiana University Press, 1986

216

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Wolfe, Bertram D. Three Who Made a Revolution: A Biographical History. Boston: Dell, 1948 Yedlin, Tovah. Maxim Gorky: A Political Biography. Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1999 Zeman, Z. A. B. and W. B. Scharlau. The Merchant of Revolution: The Life of Alexander Israel Helphand (Parvus), 1867–1924. London: Oxford University Press, 1965 Zinoviev, G. Histoire du parti communiste Russe. Paris: Librairie de l’Humanité, 1926

INDEX Adam, Adolphe 11 agrarian policy 66 Aksel’rod, P. B. 29, 73, 80, 130, 138, 139, 185n40 Alekaevka (Russia) 156–7 Aleksinskii, G. A. 4, 5, 7, 80, 81, 185n40 American Association for Women in Slavic Studies 113 Anseele, Eduard 80, 81 Arcachon (France) 138, 139 Armand, Inessa (‘Petrova’) 13, 14, 47, 53, 112, 130, 149, 165 at Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference (1914) 68, 69, 73, 82–3 children of 12, 78, 114, 121, 122, 123, 199n15 and Krupskaya xvii and Lenin 15, 112–24, 156, 186n60 Lenin’s correspondence with xvii, 68, 78, 79, 84, 85, 92, 98, 113–22, 193n33, 193n35 Armand, Inna (Inessa’s daughter) 114, 118, 122, 149 Armenian Social Democrats 181n51 Arosa (Switzerland) 119–21 Aroser Fremdenblatt 120 Ascher, Abraham 138 Association of Swiss Hoteliers 149 August Congress (1914) see Second International Azef, Envo 102, 104 Bad Kohlgrub (Bavaria) 139 Badaev, A. E. 47, 49, 50, 61, 67, 179n24

Baedeker tourist guides 140 Bagotsky, S. J. 127, 161, 164 Baku 26, 31, 70 Baturin, N. N. 46, 174n26, 175n40 Bazarov, V. A. 4, 142 Bedny, Demian 47, 137 Beethoven, Ludwig van xiv, 131 Bekzadian. A. A. 78 Belgian miners 63 Belgrade 70 Belostotskii, I. S. 13, 14, 34 Berlin 70, 121, 132 Bern 114, 119, 150 Lenin in 129, 130, 165 Berzins, J. 82, 185n40 Bex-les-Bains (Switzerland) 144 Biały Dunajec (Poland) 148, 153 Bibliothéque Nationale (Paris) 162 Biograficheskaia khronika 119, 140, 143 Blok, Aleksandr 102 Bobrovskaia, T. S. 179n24 Bogdanov, A. A. 4–6, 8, 9, 33, 48, 51, 79, 142, 143, 145–6, 176n79, 181n54 Bologna 8 Bolshevik (faction or party) 3 ‘Centre’ xiv, 5, 7, 18, 19 Committee of Foreign Organizations 28, 33, 78, 171n55 ‘Conciliator’ Bolsheviks 7, 19, 23, 25, 28, 32 opposition to Lenin in xvi, 23, 25, 170n28 Paris Section of 119

218

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

popularity in Russia 54, 59, 71, 74, 76, 77, 94, 104 see also Left Bolsheviks Bol’shevik (journal) 115 Bombon (France) 146–7 Bonch-Bruevich, Vladimir 138 Bor’ba (newspaper) 76, 185n40 Borisov see Ratner, M. B. Breslav, B. A. 25 Brest-Litovsk, Treaty of 94, 105 Brienz (Switzerland) 165 Brienzer Rothorn (mountain, Switzerland) 149, 150, 165, 166 British Socialist Party 75 Brittany 132 Broido, Eva 138 Brunnen (Switzerland) 145 Brussels 68, 77, 80, 83, 104, 121, 130 Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference ( July 1914) xvi, 80, 182n2 Armand at 79–84, 117 calling of 77 composition of 80, 185n40 debates at 81–2 Lenin’s attitude toward 68, 77–84 resolutions of 81–3 see also International Socialist Bureau Bubnov, A. S. 33 Bukharin, N. I. 96–9, 129 Bund see General Jewish Workers’ Union of Lithuania, Poland and Russia Burtsev, V. L. 91, 96, 99, 187n11 Byron, Lord George 144 Capri 132, 134, 142, 146, 147, 152, 161 Carpathians 59, 143, 152, 153, 162, 164 Castro, Fidel 166 Caucasus 25, 61, 123 Caucasus Oblast Committee 24, 185n40

Central Committee (TsK) of RSDRP 18, 21 Foreign Bureau of (ZBTsK) 9, 19, 20, 21, 28 January ‘Unification’ Plenum of (Paris, 1910) xiv, 7, 10, 17–19, 20, 58, 76 Meeting of (June 1911) 21–4 Russian Board of (RBTsK) 19, 20, 21, 96 see also RSDRP Central Committee (TsK) of Bolshevik Faction 32–3, 34, 35, 38, 42, 50, 65, 80, 83, 84, 94, 97, 137, 179n16 ‘confidential agents’ of 179n20, 179n24 meetings of 47, 48–9, 52, 59, 60, 178n8 oblast organizational commissions of 60–1, 62, 65, 67–8, 69, 71, 179n24 Organizational Section of 61, 65, 67, 71 provocation commission of 67, 90, 93 Russian Bureau of 33, 43, 52, 61, 90 Central Party Archives 107, 112, 115 Chernomazov, M. E. 51–3, 97, 177n97 Chernyshevskii, N. G. 121, 166 Chicherin, G. V. 18 Chkheidze, N. S. 191n13 Chkhenkeli, A. I. 185n40 Chto delat? (Lenin) 71 Chugurin, I. D. 13 Clarens (Switzerland) 122 Clements, Barbara 139 Comintern (Communist or Third International) 123 Conference of Communist Women, First (1920) 123 Conference of Youth Organizations (1915) 186n60

INDEX

Constituent Assembly (1918) 133, 151 Constitutional Democratic Party (Kadets) 46 Copenhagen 116 Council of United Nobility 51 Cracow (Poland) 42, 91, 97, 120, 147 Lenin in 48, 119, 127, 134, 153, 160, 161 Czech Social Democratic Party 28–9, 30 Dan, F. I. 13, 19, 24, 29, 65, 138, 168n23, 198n9 Danilov, S. S. 46, 174n26 Delo zhizni (newspaper) 32 Den (newspaper, 1917) 105 Deutscher, Tamara xiv Development of Capitalism in Russia (Lenin) 158 Dnevnik Sotsial-demokrata (newspaper) 18, 29 Dogadov, A. I. 31 Dolecki 185n40 Duma, State 18 Second (1907) 58 Third (1907–1912) 38 elections to Fourth Duma (1912– 1917) 22, 35, 39, 45, 59, 74, 76 Bolshevik fraction in Fourth Duma 49, 50, 51, 52–3, 61, 62, 63, 65, 95, 97, 104 Menshevik fraction in Fourth Duma 48, 185n40 Dzerzhinskii, F. E. 22 Dzhunkovskii, V. F. (Junkovsky) 94–5 Ebert, Friedrich 74 Edinstvo (newspaper) 76, 185n40 Egorov, M. E. 41 Eisenhower, Dwight 166 Ekaterinoslav (Russia) 11, 31 Elias, K. I. 24 Elizarov, Mark (Lenin’s brother-in-law) 127–8, 158

219

Enukidze, A. S. 179n24 Eremeev, K. S. 54, 174n26 Essen, Mariia 133, 163 Estonia 61, 64, 181n51 Expropriations 4, 8, 18 Extraordinary Investigatory Commission (Provisional Government) xvii, 90–1, 92, 94, 100, 105 composition of 102 Lenin’s deposition to 93, 101, 103, 104–10 Fabian Society 75 Ferdinand, Archduke Franz 85 Finland 104, 128, 130, 132, 138, 146, 152 Flühli (Switzerland) 134 Flums (Switzerland) 150 France 152 French Socialist Party 147 Frutigen (Switzerland) 144 Galicia xv, 42, 44, 47, 63, 90, 96, 104, 114, 121, 128, 134, 162, 164 GARF (State Archive of the Russian Federation) xvii, 107 Gazeta kopeika (newspaper) 38 Gemmi Pass (Switzerland) 144, 163–4 General Jewish Workers’ Union of Lithuania, Poland and Russia (Bund) 19, 22, 24, 62, 64, 185n40 Geneva 119, 129, 134, 139, 142, 143, 146, 162, 163 German Social Democratic Party 10, 20, 35, 71, 74, 77 German ‘trustees’ 7, 10, 18, 21, 64, 74, 82, 168n26 Germany 116 Getzler, Israel 138 glasnost’ 17, 91, 101, 112, 115, 116 Glebov-Avilov, N. P. 69, 70 God Constructionists see Left Bolsheviks

220

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

Golos Sotsial-demokrata (newspaper) 18, 19, 23 Goloshchekin, F. I. 30, 33 Gomel’ 60 Gopner, Natasha 129 Gorbachev, M. S. 92, 115 Gorev, B. I. (Gol’dman) 22, 24 Gorki (Russia) 152, 153 Gorky, Maxim 4–6, 8, 9, 13, 38–9, 41, 46, 48, 50, 100, 128, 131, 134, 142–3, 159, 174n24 Granat Encyclopedia 70 Grimm, Robert 125 Grindelwald (Switzerland) 145 Groza 40 Gurovich, M. I. 31 Haimson, Leopold xiii Hanecki, J. S. (Furstenberg) 82, 94, 95–6, 185n40 Harding, Neil xiii Hertenstein (Switzerland) 149, 162, 199n15 Hoover Institution 91 Huysmans, Camille 73, 76, 78, 80, 83, 85, 121 Independent Labour Party 75 Inessa Armand: Revolutionary and Feminist (Elwood) 112 Infantile Disease of ‘Leftism’ in Communism (Lenin) 105 intelligentsia 3, 138, 155 Institute of Marxism-Leninism 107, 139 International Socialist Bureau (ISB) xvi, 35, 60, 67, 70, 73, 74, 77, 80, 90, 97, 119, 143, 164 Executive Committee of 75, 76, 80, 81, 83, 85 London Meeting of (December 1913) 74–6, 183n11 see also Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference

International Socialist Conference, First (Zimmerwald, 1915) 125, 150, 165, 166 Ionov see Koigan, F. I. Iseltwald (Switzerland) 144–5 Iskra (newspaper) 60, 140, 142 Istoricheskii arkhiv (journal) 92, 105 Istoriia SSSR (journal) 92, 105, 107, 110 Ivanov, S. V. 102 Izvestiia TsK KPSS (journal) 115 Jagiello, E. O. 170n36 Jaurès, Jean 14 Jogiches, Leo (Tyszka) 21, 22 Kalinin, F. I. 8 Kalinin, M. I. 33, 180n26 Kamenev, L. B. 13, 21, 31, 41, 50, 53, 54–5, 75, 78, 90, 144, 161, 170n36, 175n58, 199n15 Kammerer, Titus 127, 129, 133 Kandersteg (Switzerland) 144 Karpinskii, V. A. 42 Kasparov, V. M. 130 Kautsky, Karl 73, 74, 75, 76, 79, 80, 82, 83, 85 Kazan 31, 140, 156 Keep, John xiii, xix Kerenskii, Alexander 102 Kharkov 68 Khvostov, A. N. 103 Kiev 31, 60, 68, 97 Kiselev, A. S. 69, 70, 97, 180n.26, 181n59 Kislovodsk (Russia) 123 Kleine Scheidegg (Switzerland) 145, 164 Knipovich, Lidiia 146, 152 Kocher, Theodor 148 Koigen, F. M. (Ionov) 22, 185n40 Kokushkino (Russia) 140, 156 Kollontai, Aleksandra 8, 123, 139 Kolokolov, N. A. 104–7 Kommunist (journal) 150

INDEX

Kon, Feliks 116 Konstantinovich, Anna (Armand’s sister-in-law) 120 Krasin, L. B. 4 Krasnoyarsk (Russia) 157 Kremlin (Moscow) 128, 165 Kronstadt naval base 137 Krupskaya, Elizaveta Vasilevna (Nadezhda’s mother) 128, 142, 158, 160 Krupskaya, Nadezhda xiv, 11, 26, 28, 42, 44, 50, 60, 62, 67, 69, 70, 76, 78, 85, 104, 114, 115, 116, 121, 122, 126, 129, 130, 131, 132, 134, 140, 141, 143, 144, 145, 146, 149, 150, 157, 159, 162, 166 cooking abilities of 127–8 illness of 51, 148, 150, 152 Reminiscences of Lenin xvii, 126, 139, 156 Krylenko, N. V. 98, 179n24 Kshesinskaia mansion (Petrograd) 133, 138 Lafargue, Laura and Paul 147 Lapinski, S. 185n40 Latvia, Social Democrats in 19, 22, 23, 24, 62, 64, 79, 81, 83, 84, 106, 121, 181n51, 185n40 Latyshev, A. G. 113 Lausanne 144, 145 Lebedev, N. N. 46 Leder, V. L. 10 Left Bolsheviks (Otzovists, Vperëdists, Machists, God Constructionists) 4, 18, 19, 20, 23, 24, 32, 35, 63, 65, 142 Leiteizen, G. D. 199n27 Lena gold fields strike (1912) 102 Lenin, V.I. (Vladimir Ilyich, Volodia, Ilyich, Petrov) and Armand xvi–xvii, 15, 78–80, 112–24, 156, 194n49 athletic interests of

221 bicycling 126, 139, 147, 149, 162–3 fishing 132, 142, 159 gymnastics 160–1 hiking 126, 139, 143, 144–5, 148, 149, 150, 152, 155, 161, 163–6 hunting 126, 131, 157–9, 165–6 ice skating 126, 159–60 rowing156 skiing 156 swimming 14, 146, 149, 156–7, 161 weight lifting 160 biographies of xiii–xiv, 126, 156 and Brussels ‘Unity’ Conference 68, 77–84 as chess player 126, 142, 146, 152, 161 deposition to Extraordinary Investigatory Commission 92, 93, 100, 101, 104–10 drinking habits of xviii, 133–5, 198n83, 198n87 eating habits of xvii, 125–33, 197n54 Galician archives of 73, 183n3 holiday interests of xviii, 138–53 income of 130, 139, 175n45 Lenin in Zurich (Solzhenitsyn) 127 at Longjumeau school 11, 13, 129, 157 and Malinovskii xvi-xvii, 53, 90–100, 104–6, 115, 116, 121, 172n76, 189n44 and his mother (Mariia Aleksandrovna Ul’ianova) 140–2, 152, 156, 157 as a mushroomer 131–2 non-geometric character of xiv, xvii, 14, 126, 135, 139, 152, 155, 166 personality of xviii, 152, 166

222

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

at Prague Conference (1912) 29–34 and Pravda (1912–1914) 37–55, 172n3 preparations for ‘Sixth’ Party Congress (1914) 59–64, 69, 70 publications of Chto delat? 71 collected works 91, 101, 113, 115, 116, 117 Development of Capitalism in Russia 158 The Infantile Disease of ‘Leftism’ and Communism 105 ‘Letter from Afar’ 55 Marxism and Liquidationism 79 Materialism and Empiriocritism 143 One Step Forward, Two Steps Back 161 Neizvestnye dokumenty 115, 116, 117 Socialism and War 201n97 Leninskii sbornik 115, 117 Lepeshinskii, Olga and P. N. 129, 158, 159, 165 Leuk (Switzerland) 144, 163 Liadov, M. N. 6 Liber, M. I. 22, 24 Liquidators see Mensheviks Listikov, S. V. xix Lithuania, Social Democrats in 64, 79, 181n51, 185n40 Litvinov, M. M. 75–7, 78, 97, 183n10, 184n26 Liubimov, A. I. 170n36 Lobov, A. I. 67 Lodz (Poland) 99 Loguivy (France) 140–1, 142 London 129, 161 Longjumeau (France) 11–12 Louvre (Paris) 14 Lovran (Austria) 79 Lucerne 119, 143, 145, 149

Luch (newspaper) 48, 59, 173n10 Ludas 24 Lunacharskii, A. V. 4–6, 8, 13, 14, 19, 35, 142 Luxemburg, Rosa 13, 20, 41, 74, 75, 76, 79, 80, 81, 185n40 Machists see Left Bolsheviks Maisurian, Aleksandr xiv Maklakov, V. A. 190n5 Malecki, A. M. 185n40 Malinovskaia, S. A. 90, 97 Malinovskii, R. V. 30, 33, 39, 48, 65, 78, 84, 103 as deputy in Fourth Duma 67, 75, 89, 103, 104 early career of 90, 96, 104, 189n48 as German POW 92, 99, 103, 104, 106 and Lenin 53, 91, 93, 121 Mensheviks on 67, 96 as police agent 50, 51, 67, 89, 95 ‘rehabilitation’ of (by Lenin) 90, 91, 99–100, 103 resignation from Duma xvi, 66, 70, 77, 94, 96, 103, 104, 148 trials of 67, 90–1, 92, 95–9, 104, 105, 187n15 Malmö (Sweden) 132 Manchu Dynasty 35 Mantsev, V. N. 179n24 Mao, Chairman 166 Marseille (France) 142 Materialism and Empiriocriticism (Lenin) 143 Martov, I. O. 13, 19, 29, 33, 43, 73, 84, 130, 138, 139, 168n.23, 185n40 Martynov, A. S. 116, 138 Marx, Karl 70, 147 Marxism and Liquidationism (Lenin) 79 McNeal, Robert H. 126, 130, 141 Mediterranean Sea 132, 159

INDEX

Medvedev, Roy 115 Mehring, Franz 74 Meiringen (Switzerland) 145 Menshevik faction 4, 32, 63, 65, 74, 76, 84 August Bloc of 82, 84 ‘Liquidator’ Mensheviks 18, 19, 20, 22, 32, 44, 49, 82 and Malinovskii 67, 96, 97, 98, 189n51 Organizational Committee of 24, 28, 59, 76, 185n40 proposed 1914 conference of 68 Vienna or August Conference of (1912) 17, 20, 24, 35, 58–9, 81 Mgeladze, V. D. 185n40 Miass expropriation 8 Minusinsk (Russia) 160 Molkenbuhr, Herman 74 Molotov, V. M. 37, 41, 46, 48, 49, 54, 175n62 Montreux (Switzerland) 144, 163 Moscow 25, 26, 60, 62, 63, 97, 100, 165 Mukiewicz-Kapsukas 185n40 Munich 134, 156, 162 Muranov, M. K. 48, 54, 61, 68, 179n24 Murav’ev, N. K. 102 Mustamäki (Finland) 138 Nakhimson, S. M. 46 Nal’chik (Russia) 124 Naples 142 Nash put’ (newspaper) 90 Nasha zaria (newspaper) 32 nationality policy 66, 81 Neivola (Finland) 137, 138, 141 Neizvestnye dokumanty (Lenin) 115–16, 117 Nemec, Antonin 28, 80 Neue Zürcher Zeitung (newspaper) 155 New Jersey 139 New York Times (newspaper) 118 Nice 143 Nicholas II, Tsar 102, 151, 155 Nicolaevsky, Boris 91

223

Nikiforova, A. N. 67, 69 Nikolaev (Russia) 31 ‘non-factionalists’ (Trotskyites) 18, 32, 63 Noskov, V. A. 145 Novaia rabochaia gazeta (newspaper) 76, 79 Novaia zhizn (newspaper) 105 Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii 139 Okhrana (tsarist secret police) 7, 9, 13, 14, 15, 25, 28, 30, 33, 35, 40, 50, 51, 53, 64, 67, 76, 77, 82, 93, 95, 97, 98, 104 Ol’denburg, S. F. 102 Ol’minskii, M. S. 44–5, 46, 53, 54, 174n26, 175n40 One Step Forward, Two Steps Back (Lenin) 161 Onufriev, E. P. 30 Ordzhonikidze, G. K. (‘Sergo’) 14, 25–8, 29, 31, 33, 42, 43, 168n15, 171n45 Ottawa 89 Otzovists see Left Bolsheviks Ozolin, M. V. 22 Padenie tsarskogo rezhima 103 Panama Canal scandal 48 Paris 6, 7, 104, 114, 118, 119, 120, 122, 128, 129, 131, 138, 139, 141, 162, 164 Lenin in 119, 121, 143, 146 Party Mensheviks 12, 18, 20, 23, 32, 33, 35, 39, 65 party schools 167n1, 167n8 Bologna (1910) 8–9, 10, 19, 143, 168n19 Capri (1909) 5–7, 18, 143, 167n9 Longjumeau (1911) xv, 3, 10–15, 24, 31, 38, 78, 119, 129, 147, 168n26, 169n35 Organizational Committee (Left Bolsheviks) 5, 7, 8

224

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

Poronin (proposed 1914) 50, 177n92 School Commission 7–10, 19, 24 Parvus, Alexander Helphand 130 Pearson, Lester 166 Petrovskii, G. I. 49, 50, 60, 61, 65, 69, 70 Piatnitskii, O. A. 31, 67, 179n24, 180n34 Pipes, Richard 92, 101, 106, 107, 110, 113 The Unknown Lenin: From the Secret Archive106, 192n48 Plekhanov, G. V. 12, 13, 18, 20, 24, 29, 34, 35, 41, 63, 65, 73, 74, 80, 81, 82, 84, 138, 139, 140, 174n25, 185n40 Pletnev, V. F. 175n40 Pokrovskii, I. P. 46, 174n26, 175n40 Pokrovskii, M. N. 6, 7, 9, 13 Polish Social Democrats see Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania Poletaev, N. G. 39, 40, 41, 42, 46, 48, 49, 174n26, 176n82 police see Okhrana Polish Socialist Party (Levitsa) 185n40 Pompeii 142 Popov, I. F. 79–83, 116 Popov, N. N. 30 Pornic (France) 147 Poronin (Poland) 59, 70, 95, 148, 153, 164 Possony, Stefan xiv, 93 Postillion de Longjumeau (Adam) 11 Potresov, A. N. 134 Prague 28–9 Prague (Sixth Party) Conference (1912) see Russian Social Democratic Labour Party Pravda (newspaper, St. Petersburg) 63, 69, 76, 79, 85, 97, 99, 105, 138 circulation of 41, 46, 51, 52, 53, 54 conciliatory approach of 37, 43, 48, 175n44

content of 41, 52, 53, 54 creation of 37–41, 175n40 financing of 39–40, 46, 53, 173n13 Lenin’s publications in 42, 44–5, 50, 175n57 Lenin’s relations with xv, 37–55 naming of 40–1, 174n.21 organization of 41, 47, 49–50, 174n22, 174n26 worker unrest reflected in 37, 41, 54 Pravda (newspaper, Vienna) 18, 23, 29, 31, 41, 59 Pravo Lidu (newspaper) 30 Preobrazhenskii Regiment 102 Press Commission (tsarist) 40, 52 Prisiagin, I. V. 13, 172n71 Progressivists 67, 180n44 Proletarii (newspaper) 5, 6, 7, 18, 19 Provisional Government 54, 94, 102, 137, 138 Vestnik of 106–7 Putilov Works (Petrograd) 31, 137 Putin, Vladimir 166 Rabochaia gazeta (newspaper) 40 Rabotnitsa (newspaper) 78 Rappaport, Helen xix, 202n112 Raskolnikov, F. F. 41 Rasputin 102, 191n12 Rassekrechennyi Lenin (Latyshev) 113 Ratner, M. B. (Borisov) 185n40 Read, Christopher 199n20 Reinbot, Anatoli 152 Reminiscences of Lenin (Krupskaya) 126, 139, 156 Revolution, 1905 3, 102, 146 Revolution, 1917 99, 102, 155, 166 July Days during 137–8, 152 Military Organizations in 137 Revolutionary Russia (journal) 106, 110 Riazanov, D. B. 14 Rodzianko, M. V. 105 Roman Malinovsky: A Life Without a Cause (Elwood) 89, 91

INDEX

Romanov, A. B. 185n40 Romanov, A. S. 7, 30, 67, 95, 98, 168n.12, 179n24 Roosevelt, Theodore 166 Rossiiskaia gazeta (newspaper) 113 Rothstein, Andrew 130, 131, 134 Rozental’, I. S. 92, 93 Rozlamovists see Social Democracy in the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania Rozmirovich, E. F. 53, 63, 68, 95, 97–9, 100, 179n24 RTsKhIDNI see Russian Centre for the Preservation and Study of Documents of Recent History Rubanovich, I. A. 76, 80 Russian Centre for the Preservation and Study of Documents of Recent History (RTsKhIDNI) xvii, 106, 107, 115 Russian Red Cross 122, 195n69 Russian Political Encyclopedia (ROSSPIAN) 115 Russian Social Democratic Labour Party (RSDRP) Second Congress of (1903) 4, 17, 57, 66, 130 Third Congress of (1905) 145–6 Fourth (Unification) Congress of (1906) 17, 57, 62, 66 Fifth (London ) Congress of (1907) 4, 57, 62, 129, 130, 131, 134, 139, 146, 178n2 Fifth Conference of (1909) 58 Sixth (Prague) Conference of (1912) xv, 15, 17, 19, 38, 58, 90, 104, 134 calling of 21–8 composition of 29–31 Lenin’s attitude toward 32–3 opposition to Lenin at 29, 34 resolutions of 32–4 ‘Sixth’ Congress of (proposed 1914) xv, 54, 76, 83, 84

225

cancellation of 70–1, 77 financing of 63–4, 67, 180n39 proposed organizational changes by 64–5 proposed revisions in party programme 66 reasons for calling 58, 59, 60 relation to proposed Tenth Congress of Second International 60, 70 selection of delegates to 61–3, 69 Sixth Congress of (1917) 57 Central Organ of see also Sotsialdemokrat 10, 19 Foreign Organizing Commission of (ZOK) 23–8, 170n36 March Conference of (1917) 55 Moscow Committee of 5, 6, 30, 97 national organizations in 19, 26, 34, 62–3, 64, 79, 82 programme of 34, 66, 81 rules/statutes of 34, 57, 178n7 Russian Organizing Commission of (ROK) 23–8, 30, 31, 171n45 St. Petersburg Committee of 31, 59–60, 61, 71 Technical Commission of (TK) 23–7, 170n36 see also Central Committee Rykov, A. I. 21, 23, 25, 170n17, 170n36 Safarov, G. I. 79 St. Petersburg (Petrograd) 10, 25, 26, 27, 60, 61, 62, 77, 133 July 1914 insurrection in 66, 70, 182n88 Samara (Russia) 60, 156 Samoilov, F. I. 61, 71 Samoilova, K. N. 49 San Remo (Italy) 139 Sarajevo (Bosnia) 70, 85 Savel’ev, M. A. 52, 98, 138, 179n24 Schmidt, V. V. 64, 180n26

226

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

‘sealed train’ (April 1917) 114, 116, 130, 133, 134 Second (Socialist) International xvi, 66, 71, 85 Eighth Congress of (Copenhagen, 1910) 141, 147 proposed Tenth Congress of (Vienna, 1914) xvi, 60, 64, 68–71, 73, 83, 85 see also International Socialist Bureau Selezneva, I. N. 107 Semashko, N. A. 9, 10, 21, 23, 31, 170n36 Semkov, S. M. 10, 11 Semkovskii, S. I. 81, 82, 185n40 Serebriakov, L. P. 31, 171n68 Service, Robert xiii, xix, 126, 128, 142, 156, 166, 193n15, 199n20 Shaumian, S. G. 26, 33, 50, 171n45 Shklovskii, G. L. 71 Shliapnikov, A. G. 55, 184n20 Shmidt inheritance 180n47 Shukman, Harold xix Shurkanov, V. E. 39, 52 Shushenskoe (Russia), Lenin in 126, 130–1, 157–60 Shvarts, I. I. 25, 27, 30, 171n45, 172n76 Shvartsman, D. M. 31, 32, 33, 171n69 Siberia 127, 133, 134 see also Shushenskoe Simbirsk 160 Skovno, Abram 120 Skvortsov-Stepanov, I. I. 50, 63, 177n88 Smirnov, A. P. 33 Smolny Institute (Petrograd) 126, 128 Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania 19, 23, 24, 28, 62, 64, 116, 181n51 Main Presidium of 74, 185n40 Regional Presidium of (Rozlamovists) 74, 75, 79, 82, 83–4, 185n40

Socialist Revolutionary, Party of (SR) 60, 76, 79, 105 Sokolin, I. 171n45 Solvychegodsk (Russia) 43 Solzhenitsyn, Alexander 93, 130, 133, 166 Lenin in Zurich 127 Sörenberg (Switzerland) 122, 134, 149–50, 152–3, 162 Lenin in 131, 162, 165 Sotsial-demokrat (newspaper), 10, 18, 20, 21, 28, 51, 99, 147, 150 see also RSDRP, Central Organ Soviet/Russian historians xiv, 33, 34, 37, 45, 47, 49, 59, 71, 74–5, 84, 92, 95, 133, 137, 149–50, 165 Soviet of Workers and Soldiers Deputies (Petrograd) 54, 138 Sovremennoe slovo (newspaper) 38 Spandarian, S. S. 27, 31, 33, 39, 171n45 Stal’, Ludmila 149 Stalin, J. V. 33, 34, 37, 43, 47–9, 50, 54–5, 65, 67, 92, 100, 152, 175n40, 176n85 Stasova, Elena 26, 33 Stirsudden (Ozerki, Finland) 146 Stockholm 70, 141 Stolypin, P. A. 58 Sukhanov, N. N. 54 Sverdlov, I. M. 49, 50, 65, 67 Svobodnaia mysl’ (journal) 113, 118 Swiss Alpine Club 165 Switzerland 117, 120, 131, 132, 144, 163 Tarle, E. V. 102 Tatra mountains see Carpathians Tchudiwiese, Kurhaus (Switzerland) 150–1, 153, 165, 202n105 ‘3 July Bloc’ (1914) 68, 84, 85 Tiflis (Russia) 18, 26, 27, 31, 60 Tikhomirnov, V. A. 40, 173n16, 181n48 Trans-Siberian Railway157, 158

INDEX

Troianovskii, A. A. 52, 97, 100, 116, 189n65 Trotsky, Leon 8, 18, 19, 20, 24, 29, 30, 31, 33, 41, 58, 73, 79, 82, 84, 125, 129, 130, 134, 139, 159, 166, 185n40 Trudeau, Pierre 166 Tula (Russia) 30, 139 Turner, John 166 Twain, Mark 164 Ufa (Russia) 127 Ukraine 25, 61, 66, 68, 152 Ukrainian Social Democratic Labour Party 64, 116, 181n51 Ul’ianov, Dmitri (Lenin’s brother) 158, 160, 162 Ul’ianova, Anna Il’inichnaia (Lenin’s sister) 122, 140, 142, 143 Ul’ianova, Mariia Aleksandrovna (Lenin’s mother) 132, 140–1, 142, 145, 151 Ul’ianova, Mariia Il’inichnaia (Lenin’s sister) 137, 141–2, 146, 147, 148, 160 The Unknown Lenin: From the Secret Archive (Pipes) 106, 192n48 Urals 5, 25, 60, 61, 62, 68 Usievich, G. A. 116 Uusikirkko (Finland) 151–2 Valentinov, Nikolay (N. V. Volsky) xiv, 126, 139, 143, 155, 160, 161, 163, 166 Vandervelde, Emile 73, 77, 80, 82, 83, 85, 184n20 Vendée 147 Vers l’Eglise (Switzerland) 143 Vesuvius, Mt. 142 Vienna 97, 139 Vienna Conference (1912) see Menshevik faction Vienna Congress (1914) see Second International

227

Vilna 31 Vilonov, N. E. 5, 6 Vladimirov, M. K. 170n36 Vladimirskii, M. F. 79, 83, 170n36 Volkogonov, Dmitri xiv, 113 Vologda (Russia) 60 Vol’skii, S. 5, 13 Voprosy istorii (journal) 92 Voprosy istorii KPSS (journal) 92, 105, 107, 110 Voronskii, A. K. 31 Vorwärts (newspaper) 35 Vperëd (newpaper) 7, 18, 29, 185n40 Vperëdists see Left Bolsheviks Vul’pe, I. K. 9 Warsaw 74 Warski, A. S. 21, 22 Wengen (Switzerland) 145 Western historians xiv, 37, 57, 74, 92, 93, 96, 112, 133 White, James xiii White, Stephen 134 Wildman, Allan xiii Winter Palace (St. Petersburg, Petrograd) 102–4 Wolfe, Bertram D. 112 workers’ insurance councils 59, 76 World War, First 71, 85, 99, 148, 151, 165 Yale University Press 110 Yenisei River (Russia) 132, 157, 158, 159 Zakopane (Poland) 148, 153 Zaks-Gladnev, S. M. 46, 174n26 Zalutskii, P. A. 30 Zarudnyi, A. S. 94 Zasulich, Vera 138, 139, 196n24 Zavadskii, S. V. 102 Zetkin, Klara 64, 74, 78, 82, 128 Zevin, I. D. 31, 32, 34, 172n80

228

THE NON-GEOMETRIC LENIN

Zhenotdel (Women’s Section of the Central Committee) 123 Zimmerwald 125, 150 Zimmerwald Conference see International Socialist Conference, First Zinoviev, G. E. 11, 12, 21, 23, 30, 33, 40, 41, 42, 51, 60, 65, 69, 78, 90,

92, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100, 104, 134, 147, 149, 161, 162, 165, 173n8, 175n44, 181n58, 199n15 Zurabov, A. 185n40 Zurich 114, 119, 122, 129, 143, 150, 155 Zurichberg (mountain, Switzerland) 155, 165, 166 Zvezda (newspaper) 38, 39, 40, 42, 43