At the time when the Germans were nearing Paris and the bourgeois7 French patriots8 were deserting it, two émigré Russians set up a tiny daily paper published in Russian. Its object was to explain current events to the Russians whom fate had isolated9 in Paris, and to see that the spirit of international solidarity10 was not utterly11 extinguished. Before the first number appeared, the capital of the paper amounted to exactly thirty francs. No “sane” person could believe it possible to publish a daily paper on so little capital. As a matter of fact, in spite of work donated by the editors and other contributors, at least once a week the paper went through a crisis so acute that there seemed to be no way out. But somehow a way out was found. The compositors, faithful to the paper, went hungry, the editors scoured12 the town in search of francs, and the issue that was due appeared. In this way, withstanding the constant buffets14 of deficit15 and censorship, disappearing and reappearing again under a new name, the paper managed to exist for two years and a half, until the revolution of February, 1917. Arriving in Paris, I began to work actively17 for the Nashe Slovo (Our Word) which then was called the Golos (The Voice). A daily paper proved a valuable aid in orienting myself in the midst of the events that were unfolding. My experience on the Nashe Slovo was useful to me later, when I had to deal with military affairs more closely.
My family came to France in May, 1915. We settled down in Sèvres, in a little house lent to us for a few months by a young friend of ours, an Italian artist, René Parece. Our boys went to the school in Sèvres. The spring was very lovely; its greenness seemed especially caressing18. But the number of women in black was growing constantly; the school-children were losing their fathers. The two armies dug themselves into the ground. One could see no way out. Clémenceau was launching attacks against Joffre in his paper. In the reactionary19 underground circles a coup20 d’état was being prepared; reports of it were passing by word of mouth. In the pages of Le Temps, the parliament for several days was referred to only by the name of “ass.” But the Temps still sternly demanded of the Socialists21 that they preserve the national unity23.
Jaurés was no more. I visited the Café du Croissant where he was killed; I wanted to find a trace of him there. Politically, I had been far removed from him. But one could not help feeling the pull of his powerful personality. Jaurés’ mind, which was a composite of national traditions, of the metaphysics of moral principles, of love for the oppressed, and of poetic24 imagination, showed the mark of the aristocrat25 as dearly as Bebel’s revealed the great simplicity26 of the plebeian27. They were both, however, head and shoulders above the legacy28 which they left.
I had heard Jaurés at popular meetings in Paris, at international congresses, and on committees, and on each occasion it was as if I heard him for the first time. He did not fall into routine; fundamentally he never repeated himself, but was always finding himself again, and mobilizing the latent resources of his spirit. With a mighty29 force as elemental as a waterfall, he combined great gentleness, which shone in his face like a reflection of a higher spiritual culture. He would send rocks tumbling down, he would thunder and bring the earthquake, but himself he never deafened30. He stood always on guard, watched intently for every objection, quick to pick it up and parry it. Sometimes he swept all resistance before him as relentlessly31 as a hurricane, sometimes as generously and gently as a tutor or elder brother. Jaurés and Bebel were at opposite poles, and yet at the same time they were the twin peaks of the Second International. Both were intensely national, Jaurés with his fiery32 Latin rhetoric33, and Bebel with his touch of Protestant dryness. I loved them both, but with a difference. Bebel exhausted34 himself physically35, whereas Jaurés fell in his prime. But both of them died in time. Their deaths marked the line where the progressive historical mission of the Second International ended.
The French Socialist22 party was in a state of complete demoralization. There was no one to take the place Jaurés had left. Vaillant, the old “anti-militarist,” was putting out daily articles in a spirit of intensest chauvinism. I once met the old man in the Committee of Action, which was made up of delegates of the party and the trade-unions. Vaillant looked like a shadow of himself — a shadow of Blanquism, with the traditions of sansculotte warfare36, in an epoch37 of Raymond Poincaré. Pre-war France, with her arrested growth in population, her conservative economic life and thought, seemed to Vaillant the only country of progress or movement, the chosen, liberating38 nation whose contact alone awakens39 others to spiritual life. His socialism was chauvinistic40, just as his chauvinism was messianic. Jules Guesde, the leader of the Marxist wing, who had exhausted himself in a long and trying struggle against the fetiches of democracy, proved to be capable only of laying down his untarnished moral authority on the “altar” of national defense42.
Everything was topsy-turvy. Marcel Sembat, the author of the book, Make a King, or Make Peace, seconded Guesde in the ministry43 of Briand. Pierre Renaudel found himself for a time the “leader” of the Socialist party — after all, somebody had to occupy the place left vacant by Jaurés. Renaudel strained himself to the utmost to imitate the gestures and thundering voice of the murdered leader. Behind him trailed Longuet, with a certain diffidence which he passed off for extreme radicalism44. His ways were a constant reminder45 that Marx was not responsible for his grandsons. The official syndicalism, represented by the president of the Confédération Générale, Jouhaux, faded away in twenty-four hours. He “denied” the state in peace-time, only to kneel before it in time of war. That revolutionary buffoon46, Hervé, the extreme anti-militarist of the day before, turned him self inside out, but remained, as an extreme chauvinist41, the identical, self-satisfied buffoon. As if to make his mockery of his own ideas of yesterday doubly painful, his paper continued to call itself La Guerre Sociale.
Taken all in all, it seemed like making a masquerade of mourning, a carnival47 of death. One could not help saying to oneself: “No, we are made of sterner stuff; events did not catch us unawares; we foresaw something of this, and we foresee much now, and we are prepared for much of what lies ahead of us.” How often we clenched48 our fists when the Renaudels, the Hervés, and their like tried to fraternize, from a distance, with Karl Liebknecht! There were elements of opposition49 scattered50 about, in the party and in the syndicates, but they showed few signs of life.
The outstanding figure among the Russian émigrés in Paris without a doubt was Martov, the leader of the Mensheviks, and one of the most talented men I have ever come across. The man’s misfortune was that fate made him a politician in a time of revolution without endowing him with the necessary resources of will-power. The lack of balance in his spiritual household was tragically51 revealed whenever great events took place. I watched him through three historical cataclysms53: 1905, 1914, and 1917. Martov’s first reaction to events was nearly always revolutionary, but before he could put his ideas on paper, his mind would be besieged54 by doubts from all sides. His rich, pliant55, and multiform intelligence lacked the support of will. In his letters to Axelrod in 1905 he complained ruefully that he could not gather his thoughts together. And he never really did, up to the very day when the reactionaries57 assumed power. At the beginning of the war, he again complained to Axelrod that events had driven him to the very verge58 of insanity59. Finally, in 1917, he made a hesitant step toward the left and then, within his own faction60, yielded the leadership to Tzereteli and Dan, men not even knee-high to him in intellect — in Dan’s case, not in any respect.
On October 14, 1914, Martov wrote to Axelrod: “More readily than with Plekhanov, we could probably come to an understanding with Lenin who, it seems, is preparing to appear in the role of a fighter against opportunism in the International.” But this mood did not last long with Martov. When I arrived in Paris, I found him already fading. From the very first, our collaboration61 in the Nashe Slovo developed into nothing more nor less than a bitter struggle, which ended with Martov’s resigning from the editorial board and finally from the contributing staff.
Soon after I arrived in Paris, Martov and I sought out Monatte, one of the editors of the syndicalist journal, La Vie Ouvriére. A former teacher, later a proofreader, Monatte in appearance was a typical Paris worker, a man of brains as well as character, and he never for a moment inclined toward reconciliation63 with militarism or the bourgeois state. But how was one to find a way out? We differed. Monatte “denied” the state and political struggle, but the state ignored his denial, and made him don the red trousers after he had come out with an open protest against syndicalist chauvinism. Through Monatte, I came into close touch with the journalist Rosmer, who also belonged the anarchist-syndicalist school, but, as events proved, even then stood closer to Marxism fundamentally than to the Guesdists. Since those days I have been bound to Rosmer by ties of friendship which have stood the test of war, of revolution, of Soviet64 power, and of the demolition65 of the opposition. About this time I came to know several active workers in the French labor62 movement whom I had not known before. They included the secretary of the union of metal-workers, Merrheim, a cautious, slyly ingratiating, and calculating man, whose end was in every respect unhappy; the journalist Guilbeaux, later condemned66 to death in contumacy for a treason he had not committed; the secretary of the coopers’ syndicate, “Papa” Bourderon; the teacher Loriot, who was trying to find the way to the road of revolutionary socialism; and many others. We met every week on the Quai de Jemmapes, and sometimes in greater numbers on the Grange-aux-Belles, exchanged “inside” news of the war and the diplomatic goings-on, criticised official socialism, seized upon signs of a socialist reawakening, encouraged the falterers, and mapped out the future.
On August 4, 1915, I wrote in the Nashe Slovo: “And in spite of everything, we meet the bloody67 anniversary without mental distress68 or political scepticism. In the midst of the greatest catastrophe69 we revolutionary internationalists have held to our standards of analysis, criticism, and forethought. We have re fused to view things through the ‘national’ spectacles that the general staffs have been offering us, not merely cheaply but even with a bonus attached. We have continued to see things as they are, to call them by their real names, and to foresee their logical consequences.”
And now, thirteen years later, I can only repeat those words. That feeling of being superior to the official political thought, including patriotic70 socialism a feeling that never left us was not the fruit of unjustified presumption71. There was nothing personal in it; it was the natural result of our theoretical position, for we were standing13 on a higher peak. Our critical view-point enabled us, first of all, to see the war in clearer perspective. Each side, as everybody knows, was counting on an early victory. One could quote innumerable evidences of such optimistic lightness of judgment72. “My French colleague,” Buchanan relates in his memoirs73, “was at one moment so optimistic that he even bet me ￡5 that the war would be over by Christmas.” In his own heart, Buchanan himself did not postpone74 the end of the war any later than Easter. In opposition to this view, we reiterated75 day in and day out in our paper, from the autumn of 1914 on, that the war, regardless of all the official prophecies, would be hopelessly protracted76 and that all Europe would emerge from it utterly broken. Time after time we said in the Nashe Slovo that even in case of victory by the Allies, France would find herself, when the smoke and fumes77 had cleared away, only a larger Belgium in the international arena78. We definitely foresaw the coming world-dictatorship of the United States. “Imperialism,” we wrote for the hundredth time on September 5, 1916, “by virtue79 of this war, has placed its stakes on the strong; they will own the world.”
Long before this, my family had moved from Sèvres to Paris, to the little rue56 Oudry. Paris was growing more and more deserted80. One by one, the street clocks stopped. The Lion de Belfort, for some reason, had dirty straw sticking out of its mouth. The war went on digging farther and farther into the ground. Let us get out of the trenches81, out of this stagnation82, this immobility! that was the cry of patriotism83. Movement! Movement! And out of this, there grew the terrible madness of the Battle of Verdun. In those days, writing in such a way as to elude84 the lightning of the military censors16, I said in the Nashe Slovo: “However great the military significance of the Battle of Verdun may be, the political significance is infinitely85 greater. In Berlin and other places [sic!] they have been wanting ‘movement’ and they will have it. Hark! under Verdun there is being forged our tomorrow.”
In the summer of 1915 there arrived in Paris the Italian deputy Morgari, the secretary of the Socialist faction of the Rome parliament, and a naive86 eclectic, who had come to secure the participation87 of French and English socialists in an international conference. On the terrasse of a café on one of the Grands Boulevards, we held a meeting attended by a few socialist deputies who for some reason thought themselves “lefts,” and Morgari. As long as the conversation held to pacifist talk, and to repeating generalities about the necessity of restoring international connections, everything went smoothly88. But when Morgari spoke89 in a tragic52 whisper of the necessity of getting false passports for the trip to Switzerland he was obviously fascinated by the “carbonari” aspect of the affair the deputies made long faces, and one of them I don’t remember which hurriedly called for the waiter and paid for all the coffee we had had. The ghost of Molière stalked across the terrasse, and, I think, the ghost of Rabelais too. That was the end of the meeting. As we walked back with Martov, we laughed a lot, gaily90, but not without a certain anger.
Monatte and Rosmer had already been called up for the army and could not go to Switzerland. I went to the conference with Merrheim and Bourderon, both very moderate pacifists. We did not need the false passports, after all, because the government, which had not completely shed its pre-war customs, issued legal ones. The organization of the conference was in the hands of the Berne socialist leader, Grimm, who was then trying his utmost to raise himself above the philistine91 level of his party, which was also his own inherent level. He had arranged to hold the meeting in a little village called Zimmerwald, high in the mountains and about ten kilometres distant from Berne. The delegates, filling four stage-coaches, set off for the mountains. The passers-by looked on curiously92 at the strange procession. The delegates themselves joked about the fact that half a century after the founding of the first International, it was still possible to seat all the internationalists in four coaches. But they were not sceptical. The thread of history often breaks then a new knot must be tied. And that is what we were doing in Zimmerwald.
The days of the conference, September 5 to 8, were stormy ones. The revolutionary wing, led by Lenin, and the pacifist wing, which comprised the majority of the delegates, agreed with difficulty on a common manifesto93 of which I had prepared the draft. The manifesto was far from saying all that it should have said, but, even so, it was a long step forward. Lenin was on the extreme left at the conference. In many questions he was in a minority of one, even within the Zimmerwald left wing, to which I did not formally belong, although I was close to it on all-important questions. In Zimmerwald, Lenin was tightening94 up the spring of the future international action. In a Swiss mountain village, he was laying the corner-stone of the revolutionary International.
The French delegates noted95 in their report the value of the Nashe Slovo in establishing a contact of ideas with the international movement in other countries. Rakovsky pointed96 out that the Nashe Slovo had played an important part in setting forth97 the development of the international position of the Balkan Social Democratic parties. The Italian party was acquainted with the Nashe Slovo, thanks to the many translations by Balabanova. The German press, including the government papers, quoted the Nashe Slovo oftenest of all; just as Renaudel tried to lean on Liebknecht, so Scheidemann was not averse98 to listing us as his allies.
Liebknecht himself was not in Zimmerwald; he had been imprisoned99 in the Hohenzollern army before he became a captive in prison. Liebknecht sent a letter to the conference which proclaimed his abrupt100 about-face from pacifism to revolution. His name was mentioned on many occasions at the conference. It was already a watchword in the struggle that was rending101 world-socialism.
The conference put a strict ban on all reports of its proceedings102 written from Zimmerwald, so that news could not reach the press prematurely103 and create difficulties for the returning delegates when they were crossing the frontier. A few days later, however, the hitherto unknown name of Zimmerwald was echoed through out the world. This had a staggering effect on the hotel proprietor104 the valiant105 Swiss told Grimm that he looked for a great increase in the value of his property and accordingly was ready to subscribe106 a certain sum to the funds of the Third International. I suspect, however, that he soon changed his mind.
The conference at Zimmerwald gave to the development of the anti-war movement in many countries a powerful impetus107. In Germany, the Spartacists expanded their activities. In France a “Committee for the Restoration of International Connections” was established. The labor section of the Russian colony in Paris tightened108 its ranks about the Nashe Slovo, giving it the support needed to keep it afloat through constant financial and other difficulties. Martov, who had taken an active part in the work of the Nashe Slovo in the first period, now drew away from it. The essentially109 unimportant differences that still separated me from Lenin at Zimmerwald dwindled110 into nothing during the next few months.
But, in the meantime, clouds were gathering111 overhead, and during 1916 they grew very dark. The reactionary La Liberté was publishing, as advertisements, anonymous112 communications accusing us of being Germanophiles. We were constantly receiving anonymous letters containing threats. Both the accusations113 and the threats clearly had their source in the Russian embassy. Suspicious-looking persons were always prowling about our printing-works. Hervé was threatening us with the arm of the police. Professor Durckheim, who was chairman of the government committee on Russian exiles, was heard to say that there was talk in government circles of closing down the Nashe Slovo and expelling the editors from the country. The action was being delayed, however. They had nothing to base it on, because I had not infringed114 upon the law, not even the censor’s infractions of the law. But there had to be a reasonable excuse, and so in the end it was found, or, to be more exact, manufactured.
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1
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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buffets
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| （火车站的）饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 )； （火车的）餐车； 自助餐 | |
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deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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censors
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| 删剪（书籍、电影等中被认为犯忌、违反道德或政治上危险的内容）( censor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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liberating
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| 解放，释放( liberate的现在分词 ) | |
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awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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chauvinistic
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| a.沙文主义(者)的 | |
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chauvinist
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| n.沙文主义者 | |
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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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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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radicalism
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| n. 急进主义, 根本的改革主义 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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cataclysms
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| n.（突然降临的）大灾难( cataclysm的名词复数 ) | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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reactionaries
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| n.反动分子，反动派( reactionary的名词复数 ) | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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60
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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63
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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66
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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69
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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71
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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83
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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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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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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manifesto
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| n.宣言，声明 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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105
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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108
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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109
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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110
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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112
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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113
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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114
infringed
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| v.违反（规章等）( infringe的过去式和过去分词 )；侵犯（某人的权利）；侵害（某人的自由、权益等） | |
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