I was greeted with: “The Pero has arrived!” At once I unloaded my modest list of impressions of Russia: the connections in the South are bad, the secret Iskra address in Kharkov is wrong, the editors of the Southern Worker oppose amalgamation8, the crossing at the Austrian frontier is in the hands of a student at the gymnasium who refuses help to followers10 of the Iskra. The facts in themselves were not of a sort to fill one with much hope, but there was faith enough to make up for it, and to spare.
Either the same or the next morning, Vladimir Ilyich and I went for a long walk around London. From a bridge, Lenin pointed12 out Westminster and some other famous buildings. I don’t remember the exact words he used, but what he con7 veyed was: “This is their famous Westminster,” and “their” referred of course not to the English but to the ruling classes. This implication, which was not in the least emphasized, but coming as it did from the very innermost depths of the man, and expressed more by the tone of his voice than by anything else, was always present, whether Lenin was speaking of the treasures of culture, of new achievements, of the wealth of books in the British Museum, of the information of the larger European newspapers, or, years later, of German artillery13 or French aviation. They know this or they have that, they have made this or achieved that — but what enemies they are! To his eyes, the invisible shadow of the ruling classes always overlay the whole of human culture — a shadow that was as real to him as daylight.
The architecture of London scarcely attracted my attention at that time. Transferred bodily from Verkholensk to countries beyond the Russian border which I was seeing for the first time, I absorbed Vienna, Paris and London in a most summary fashion, and details like the Westminster Palace seemed quite superfluous14. It wasn’t for that, of course, that Lenin had taken me out for this long walk. His object was to become acquainted with me, and to question me. His examination, it must be admitted, was very thorough indeed.
I told him all about our Siberian discussions, especially on the question of a centralized organization; about my essay on the subject; about the violent encounters I had had with the old Populists in Irkutsk, where I had stayed for a few weeks; about the three essays by Makhaysky, and so forth15. Lenin knew how to listen.
“And how did you fare in questions of theory?”
I told him how we, as a group, had studied his book, The Development of Capitalism16 in Russia, in the transfer-prison in Moscow, and how in exile we had worked on Marx’s Capital, but had stopped at the second volume. We had studied the controversy17 between Bernstein and Kautsky intently, using the original sources. There were no followers of Bernstein among us. In philosophy, we had been much impressed by Bogdanov’s book, which combined Marxism with the theory of knowledge put forward by Mach and Avenarius. Lenin also thought, at the time, that Bogdanov’s theories were right. “I am not a philosopher,” he said, with a slightly timorous18 expression, “but Plekhanov denounces Bogdanov’s philosophy as a disguised sort of idealism.” A few years later, Lenin dedicated19 a big volume to the discussion of Mach and Avenarius; his criticism of their theories was fundamentally identical with that voiced by Plekhanov.
I mentioned, during our conversation, that the Siberian exiles had been greatly impressed by the enormous amount of statistical20 data analyzed21 in Lenin’s book on Russian capitalism. “Well, it was not done all at once, you know,” he answered, as if somewhat embarrassed. He was apparently22 greatly pleased that the younger comrades appreciated the tremendous amount of work he had put into his principal opus on economics. My own future work was discussed then only in a very general way. We assumed that I would stay abroad for a time, get acquainted with current literature, look around, and the rest would be discussed afterward23. At any event, I intended to return illegally to Russia for revolutionary work some time later.
Nadyezhda Konstantinovna took me to a house a few blocks away, where lived Vera Zasulitch, Martov, and Blumenfeld, the Iskra printing-press manager, and where they found a room for me. According to the English custom, the rooms were arranged vertically24, and not on the same floor, as in Russia: the lowest room was occupied by the landlady25, and the lodgers26 had rooms one above another. There was also a common room in which we drank coffee, smoked, and engaged in endless discussions. This room, thanks chiefly to Zasulitch, but not without help from Martov, was always in a state of rank disorder27. Plekhanov, after his first visit to the room, described it as a “den.”
That was the beginning of my brief London episode. I took to studying the published issues of the Iskra, and the review of Zarya, which came from the same offices. These were brilliant periodicals, combining scientific profundity28 with revolutionary passion. I actually fell in love with the Iskra, and was so ashamed of my ignorance that I strained every nerve in my effort to overcome it. Soon I began to write for the Iskra. At first it was only short notes, but a little later I wrote political articles and even editorials.
At that time, too, I gave a public lecture in Whitechapel, when I had a passage-at-arms with the patriarch of the Russian émigrés, Tchaikovsky, and with the anarchist29 Tcherkezov, also a man of advanced years. I was honestly amazed at the infantile arguments with which these worthy30 elders were trying to crush Marxism. I returned home, I remember, as if I were walking on air. In my contacts with Whitechapel, and with the outside world in general, my go-between was an old Londoner, Alexeyev, an émigré Marxist who was closely allied31 with the editors of the Iskra. He initiated32 me into the mysteries of English life, and in general was my source of information on all sorts of things. Of Lenin, Alexeyev spoke33 with very great respect. “I believe,” he said to me once, “that Lenin is more important for the revolution than Plekhanov.” I did not mention this to Lenin, of course, but I did to Martov. Martov made no comment.
One Sunday I went with Lenin and Krupskaya to a Social Democratic meeting in a church, where speeches alternated with the singing of hymns34. The principal speaker was a compositor who had just returned from Australia. He spoke of the Social revolution. Then everybody rose and sang: “Lord Almighty35, let there be no more kings or rich men!” I could scarcely believe my eyes or ears. When we came out of the church, Lenin said: “There are many revolutionary and socialistic elements among the English proletariat, but they are mixed up with conservatism, religion, and prejudices, and can’t somehow break through to the surface and unite.”
After attending the Social Democratic church, we had dinner in the tiny kitchen of a two-room apartment. My friends jested as usual about my finding my way home. I was very bad at making my way about the streets and, with my usual penchant36 for systematic37 thinking, called this defect “a topographic cretinism.” Later I did better in this respect, but my improvement was not won without a great deal of effort.
My modest knowledge of English acquired in the prison at Odessa was increased very little by my stay in London. I was too much absorbed in Russian affairs. British Marxism was not interesting. The intellectual centre of the Social Democracy at that time was Germany, and we watched intently the struggle then going on between the “orthodox” Marxists and the “revisionists.”
In London, as well as later on in Geneva, I met Zasulitch and Martov much more often than Lenin. Since we lived in the same house in London, and in Geneva usually had our meals in the same restaurants, I was with Martov and Zasulitch several times a day, whereas Lenin led the life of a family man, and every meeting with him, aside from the official meetings, was a small event. The Bohemian habits and tastes which weighed so heavily with Martov were utterly38 alien to Lenin. He knew that time, be it ever so relative, was the most absolute of gifts. He spent a great deal of time in the library of the British Museum, where he carried on his theoretical studies, and where he usually wrote his newspaper articles. With his assistance, I obtained admission to that sanctuary39 too. I was insatiable, and simply gorged40 myself on the super abundance of books there. Soon, however, I had to leave for the continent.
After my “test” public appearance in Whitechapel, I was sent on a lecture tour of Brussels, Liège and Paris. My lecture was devoted41 to the defense42 of historical materialism43 against the criticisms of the so-called “Russian subjective44 school.” Lenin was very much interested in my subject. I gave him my detailed45 synopsis46 to look over, and he advised me to revise the lecture so that it could be published in an article in the next issue of the Zarya. But I didn’t have the courage to appear by the side of Plekhanov and the others with a strictly47 theoretical essay.
From Paris, I was soon summoned by cable to London. They were planning to smuggle48 me over to Russia again, as reports from there complained about wholesale49 arrests and the shortage of men, and demanded my return. But I had hardly set foot in London when the plan was changed. Deutsch, who lived in London then and treated me very kindly, told me afterward how he had stood up for me, urging that the “youth” (he had no other name for me) needed a stay abroad for a while to improve his education, and how Lenin had agreed with him. The prospect50 of working in the Russian organization of the Iskra was tempting51, but nevertheless I was very glad to be able to stay abroad a little longer.
I returned to Paris, where, unlike London, the Russian stu dent9 colony was very large. The revolutionary parties were fighting each other bitterly to win over the mass of the students. Here is an excerpt52 from the recollections of that period by N.I. Sedova:
“The autumn of 1902 was marked by frequent lectures in the Russian colony in Paris. The Iskra group, to which I be longed, saw first Martov, and then Lenin. A war was being fought against the ‘Economists’ and the Socialist-Revolutionists. In our group there was some talk about the arrival of a young comrade who had escaped from Siberia. He called at the house of E.M. Alexandrova, formerly53 one of the Narodovoltsi, who had joined the Iskra. We of the younger generation were very fond of Ekaterina Mikhailovna, listened to her talks with great interest, and were much under her influence. When the young contributor to the Iskra made his appearance in Paris, Ekaterina Mikhailovna bade me find out if there was a vacant room near by. There happened to be one in the house where I lived. The rent for it was 12 francs a month, but the room was small, dark and narrow, just like a prison cell. When I began describing the room to her, Ekaterina Mikhailovna cut me short with: ‘That’s enough describing — it will do. Let him take it.’
“After the young comrade (whose name was not revealed to us) established himself in the room, Ekaterina Mikhailovna asked me: ‘Is he preparing for his lecture?’
“‘I don’t know, I suppose so,’ I answered. ‘Last night as I was coming up-stairs I heard him whistling in his room.’
“‘Then tell him to work hard and not whistle.’ She was very anxious that ‘he’ should be successful. But her anxiety was uncalled for. The lecture went off very well and the colony was delighted, as the young follower11 of the Iskra exceeded all expectations.”
I was much more interested in learning about Paris than I had been about London. This was because of the influence of N.I. Sedova. I was born and brought up in the country, but it was in Paris that I began to draw close to nature. And there, too, I came face to face with real art. I learned to appreciate painting, as well as nature, with great difficulty. One of Se dova s later entries says: “He expressed his general impression of Paris in this way: ‘Resembles Odessa, but Odessa is better.’ This absurd conclusion can be explained by the fact that L.D. was utterly absorbed in political life, and could see something else only when it forced itself upon him. He reacted to it as if it were a bother, something unavoidable. I did not agree with him in his estimate of Paris, and twitted him a little for this.”
Yes, it was just like that. I was entering the atmosphere of a world centre with an obstinate54 and antagonistic55 attitude. At first, I “denied” Paris, and even tried to ignore it. Rightly considered, it was the case of a barbarian56 struggling for self-preservation. I felt that in order to get close to Paris and understand it fully57, I would have to spend a great deal of mental energy. But I had my own world of revolution, and this was very exacting58 and brooked59 no rival interests. With difficulty, and by degrees, I was getting closer to art. I resisted the Louvre, the Luxembourg, and the exhibitions. Rubens seemed to me too well-fed and self-satisfied, Puvis de Chavannes too ascetic60 and faded, Carrière’s portraits irritated me with their twilight61 ambiguousness. The same applied62 to sculpture and architecture. In point of fact, I was resisting art as I had resisted revolution earlier in life, and later, Marxism; as I had resisted, for several years, Lenin and his methods. The revolution of 1905 soon interrupted the progress of my communings with Europe and its culture. It was only during my second exile from Russia that I came closer to art — saw things, read, and even wrote a little about it. I never went beyond the stage of pure dilettantism63, however.
In Paris, I heard Jaurès. It was at a time when Waldeck Rousseau was at the head of the government, with Millerand as the minister of the Posts, and General Galiffet as the minister of war. I took part in a street demonstration64 of the Guesdists and shouted diligently65, with the rest, all sorts of unpleasant things against Millerand. Jaurès did not make any great impression on me then. I felt too intensely that he was an enemy. Only several years later did I learn to appreciate that magnificent figure, even if my attitude toward Jaurèsism remained as hostile as before.
Pressed by the Marxist section of the students, Lenin agreed to give three lectures on the agrarian66 question at the Higher School organized in Paris by professors expelled from Russian universities. The liberal professors asked the undesirable67 lecturer to refrain from polemics68 as far as possible. But Lenin made no promise on this score, and began his first lecture with the statement that Marxism is a revolutionary theory, and therefore fundamentally polemical. I remember that Vladimir Ilyich was considerably69 excited before his first lecture, but as soon as he was on the platform he completely mastered himself, at least to all outward appearances. Professor Gambarov, who came to hear him speak, gave his impression to Deutsch in these words: “A perfect professor.” He obviously thought this the highest praise.
Once we decided70 to take Lenin to the opera. All arrangements were instrusted to Sedova. Lenin went to the Opera Comique with the same briefcase71 that accompanied him to his lectures. We sat in a group in the top gallery. Besides Lenin, Sedova, and myself, I believe the company included also Martov. An utterly unmusical reminiscence is always associated in my mind with this visit to the opera. In Paris Lenin had bought himself a pair of shoes that had turned out to be too tight. As fate would have it, I badly needed a new pair of shoes just then. I was given Lenin’s, and at first I thought they fitted me perfectly72. The trip to the opera was all right. But in the theatre I began to have pains. On the way home I suffered agonies, while Lenin twitted me all the more mercilessly because he had gone through the same thing for several hours in those very shoes.
From Paris, I went on a lecture tour of the Russian student colonies in Brussels, Liege, in Switzerland, and in some German towns. In Heidelberg, I listened to old Kuno Fischer, but I wasn’t tempted73 by his Kantian teaching. The normative philosophy was foreign to my whole being. How could one prefer dry hay when next to it there was soft, juicy grass? Heidelberg had the name of being the centre of philosophical74 idealism among Russian students. One of their number was Avksentiev, the future minister of the Interior under the Kerensky government. I broke more than one lance there in my hot defense of materialist75 dialectics.
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1
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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amalgamation
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| n.合并，重组；；汞齐化 | |
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dent
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| n.凹痕，凹坑；初步进展 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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statistical
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| adj.统计的，统计学的 | |
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analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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vertically
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| adv.垂直地 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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penchant
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| n.爱好，嗜好；（强烈的）倾向 | |
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systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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synopsis
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| n.提要，梗概 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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excerpt
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| n.摘录，选录，节录 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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brooked
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| 容忍，忍受（brook的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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dilettantism
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| n.业余的艺术爱好，浅涉文艺，浅薄涉猎 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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agrarian
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| adj.土地的，农村的，农业的 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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polemics
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| n.辩论术，辩论法；争论( polemic的名词复数 )；辩论；辩论术；辩论法 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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72
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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73
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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74
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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75
materialist
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| n. 唯物主义者 | |
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