Of the legends that have sprung up about me, the greater number have to do with my life in New York. In Norway, which I only touched in passing, the resourceful journalists had me working as a codfish cleaner. In New York, where I stayed for two months, the newspapers had me engaged in any number of occupations, each more fantastic than the one before. If all the adventures that the newspapers ascribed to me were banded to gether in a book, they would make a far more entertaining biography than the one I am writing here.
But I must disappoint my American readers. My only profession in New York was that of a revolutionary socialist1. This was before the war for “liberty” and “democracy,” and in those days mine was a profession no more reprehensible2 than that of a bootlegger. I wrote articles, edited a newspaper, and addressed labor3 meetings. I was up to my neck in work, and consequently I did not feel at all like a stranger. In one of the New York libraries I studied the economic history of the United States assiduously. The figures showing the growth of American exports during the war astounded4 me; they were, in fact, a complete revelation. And it was those same figures that not only predetermined America’s intervention5 in the war, but the decisive part that the United States would play in the world after the war, as well. I wrote several articles about this at the time, and gave several lectures. Since that time the problem of “America versus6 Europe” has been one of my chief interests. And even now I am studying the question with the utmost care, hoping to devote a separate book to it. If one is to understand the future destiny of humanity, this is the most important of all subjects.
The day after I arrived in New York I wrote in the Russian paper, the Novy Mir (The New World): “I left a Europe wallowing in blood, but I left with a profound faith in a coming revolution. And it was with no democratic ‘illusions’ that I stepped on the soil of this old-enough New World.” Ten days later I addressed the international meeting of welcome as follows: “It is a fact of supreme7 importance that the economic life of Europe is being blasted to its very foundations, whereas America is increasing in wealth. As I look enviously8 at New York — I who still think of myself as a European — I ask myself: ‘Will Europe be able to stand it? Will it not sink into nothing but a cemetery9? And will the economic and cultural centres of gravity not shift to America?’” And despite the success of what is called “European stabilization,” this question is just as pertinent10 to-day.
I lectured in Russian and German in various sections of New York, Philadelphia and other nearby cities. My English was even worse than it is to-day, so that I never even thought of making public addresses in English. And yet I have often come across references to my speeches in English in New York. Only the other day an editor of a Constantinople paper described one of those mythical11 public appearances which he witnessed as a student in America. I confess that I didn’t have the courage to tell him that he was the dupe of his own imagination. But alas12! with even greater assurance, he repeated these same recollections of his in his paper.
We rented an apartment in a workers’ district, and furnished it on the instalment plan. That apartment, at eighteen dollars a month, was equipped with all sorts of conveniences that we Europeans were quite unused to: electric lights, gas cooking-range, bath, telephone, automatic service-elevator, and even a chute for the garbage. These things completely won the boys over to New York. For a time the telephone was their main interest; we had not had this mysterious instrument either in Vienna or Paris.
The janitor13 of the house was a negro. My wife paid him three months’ rent in advance, but he gave her no receipt because the landlord had taken the receipt-book away the day before, to verify the accounts. When we moved into the house two days later, we discovered that the Negro had absconded14 with the rent of several of the tenants15. Besides the money, we had intrusted to him the storage of some of our belongings16. The whole incident upset us; it was such a bad beginning. But we found our property after all, and when we opened the wooden box that contained our crockery, we were surprised to find our money hidden away in it, carefully wrapped up in paper. The janitor had taken the money of the tenants who had already received their receipts; he did not mind robbing the landlord, but he was considerate enough not to rob the tenants. A delicate fellow, indeed. My wife and I were deeply touched by his consideration, and we always think of him gratefully. This little incident took on a symptomatic significance for me — it seemed as if a corner of the veil that concealed17 the “black” problem in the United States had lifted.
During those months America was busily getting ready for war. As ever, the greatest help came from the pacifists. Their vulgar speeches about the advantages of peace as opposed to war invariably ended in a promise to support war if it became “necessary.” This was the spirit of the Bryan campaign. The socialists18 sang in tune19 with the pacifists. It is a well-known axiom that pacifists think of war as an enemy only in time of peace. After the Germans came out for unrestricted submarine warfare20, mountains of military supplies blocked the railways and filled all the eastern stations and ports. Prices instantly soared, and I saw thousands of women — mothers, in the wealthiest city of the world — come out into the streets, upset the stalls, and break into shops. What will it be like in the rest of the world after the war? I asked myself.
On February 3 came the long-awaited break in diplomatic relations with Germany. The volume of the chauvinistic21 music was increasing daily. The tenor22 of the pacifists and the falsetto of the socialists did not disrupt the general harmony. But I had seen the same thing in Europe, and the mobilization of American patriotism23 was simply a repetition of what I had seen before. I noted24 the stages of the process in my Russian paper, and meditated25 on the stupidity of men who were so slow to learn their lessons.
I once saw, through the window of my newspaper office, an old man with suppurating eyes and a straggling gray beard stop before a garbage-can and fish out a crust of bread. He tried the crust with his hands, then he touched the petrified26 thing with his teeth, and finally he struck it several times against the can. But the bread did not yield. Finally he looked about him as if he were afraid or embarrassed, thrust his find under his faded coat, and shambled along down St. Mark’s Place. This little episode took place on March 2, 1917. But it did not in any way interfere27 with the plans of the ruling class. War was inevitable28, and the pacifists had to support it.
Bukharin was one of the first people I met in New York; he had been deported29 from Scandinavia only a short time before. He had known us in the Vienna days, and welcomed us with the childish exuberance30 characteristic of him. Although it was late, and we were very tired, Bukharin insisted on dragging us off to the Public Library the very first day. That was the beginning of a close association that warmed — on Bukharin’s part — into an attachment31 for me that grew steadily32 more intense until 1923, when it suddenly changed to an opposite sentiment.
Bukharin’s nature is such that he must always attach himself to some one. He becomes, in such circumstances, nothing more than a medium for someone else’s actions and speeches. You must always keep your eyes on him, or else he will succumb33 quite imperceptibly to the influence of some one directly opposed to you, as other people fall under an automobile34. And then he will deride35 his former idol36 with that same boundless37 enthusiasm with which he has just been lauding38 him to the skies. I never took Bukharin too seriously, and I left him to himself, which really means, to others. After the death of Lenin, he became Zinoviev’s medium, and then Stalin’s. At the very moment that these lines are being written, Bukharin is passing through still another crisis, and other fluids, as yet not known to me, are filtering through him.
Madame Kolontay was in America at that time, but she travelled a great deal and I did not meet her very often. During the war, she veered39 sharply to the left, without transition abandoning the ranks of the Mensheviks for the extreme left wing of the Bolsheviks. Her knowledge of foreign languages and her temperament40 made her a valuable agitator41. Her theoretical views have always been somewhat confused, however. In her New York period, nothing was revolutionary enough for her. She was in correspondence with Lenin and kept him informed of what was happening in America, my own activities included, seeing all facts and ideas through the prism of her ultra-radicalism. Lenin’s replies to her reflected this utterly42 worthless information. Later, in their fight against me, the epigones have not hesitated to make use of mistaken utterances43 by Lenin, utterances that he himself recanted both by word and by deed. In Russia, Kolontay took from the very first an ultra-left stand, not only toward me but toward Lenin as well. She waged many a battle against the “Lenin-Trotsky” regime, only to bow most movingly later on to the Stalin regime.
In ideas the Socialist party of the United States lagged far behind even European patriotic44 Socialism. But the superior airs of the American press — still neutral at the time — toward an “insensate” Europe, were reflected also in the opinions of American socialists. Men like Hillquit welcomed the chance to play the socialist American “uncle” who would appear in Europe at the crucial moment and make peace between the warring factions45 of the Second International. To this day, I smile as I recall the leaders of American Socialism. Immigrants who had played some role in Europe in their youth, they very quickly lost the theoretical premise46 they had brought with them in the confusion of their struggle for success. In the United States there is a large class of successful and semi-successful doctors, lawyers, dentists, engineers, and the like who divide their precious hours of rest between concerts by European celebrities47 and the American Socialist party. Their attitude toward life is composed of shreds48 and fragments of the wisdom they absorbed in their student days. Since they all have automobiles49, they are invariably elected to the important committees, commissions, and delegations50 of the party. It is this vain public that impresses the stamp of its mentality51 on American Socialism. They think that Wilson was infinitely52 more authoritative53 than Marx. And, properly speaking, they are simply variants54 of “Babbitt,” who supplements his commercial activities with dull Sunday meditations55 on the future of humanity. These people live in small national clans57, in which the solidarity58 of ideas usually serves as a screen for business connections. Each clan56 has its own leader, usually the most prosperous of the Babbitts. They tolerate all ideas, provided they do not undermine their traditional authority, and do not threaten — God forbid I— their personal comfort. A Babbitt of Babbitts is Hillquit, the ideal Socialist leader for successful dentists.
My first contact with these men was enough to call forth59 their candid60 hatred61 of me. My feelings toward them, though probably less intense, were likewise not especially sympathetic. We belonged to different worlds. To me they seemed the rottenest part of that world with which I was and still am at war.
Old Eugene Debs stood out prominently among the older generation because of the quenchless62 inner flame of his socialist idealism. Although he was a romantic and a preacher, and not at all a politician or a leader, he was a sincere revolutionary; yet he succumbed63 to the influence of people who were in every respect his inferiors. Hillquit’s art lay in keeping Debs on his left flank while he maintained a business friendship with Gompers. Debs had a captivating personality. Whenever we met, he embraced and kissed me; the old man did not belong to the “drys.” When the Babbitts proclaimed a blockade against me, Debs took no part in it; he simply drew aside, sorrowfully.
I joined the editorial board of the Novy Mir at the very outset. The staff included, besides Bukharin and myself, Volodarsky, who later was killed by the Socialist-Revolutionists in Petrograd, and Chudnovsky, who later was wounded outside Petrograd, and eventually was killed in the Ukraine. The paper was the headquarters for internationalist revolutionary propaganda. In all of the national federations65 of the Socialist party, there were members who spoke66 Russian, and many of the Russian federation64 spoke English. In this way the ideas of the Novy Mir found their way out into the wider circles of American workers. The mandarins of official Socialism grew alarmed. Intrigues67 waxed hot against the European immigrant who, it was said, had set foot on American soil only the day before, did not understand the psychology68 of the American, and was trying to foist69 his fantastic methods on American workers. The struggle grew bitter. In the Russian federation the “tried and trusted” Babbitts were promptly70 shouldered aside. In the German federation old Schlueter, the editor-in-chief of the Volkszeitung, and a comrade in arms of Hiliquit’s, was more and more yielding his influence to the young editor Lore71, who shared our views. The Letts were with us to a man. The Finnish federation gravitated toward us. We were penetrating72 by degrees into the powerful Jewish federation, with its fourteen-story palace from which two hundred thousand copies of the Forward were daily disgorged — a newspaper with the stale odor of sentimentally73 philistine74 socialism, always ready for the most perfidious75 betrayals.
Among the American workers, the connections and influence of the Socialist party as a whole, and of our revolutionary wing in particular, were less effective. The English organ of the party, The Call, was edited in a spirit of innocuous pacifist neutrality. We decided76 to begin by establishing a militant77 Marxist weekly. The preparations for it were in full swing — when the Russian revolution intervened l
After the mysterious silence of the cables for two or three days, came the first confused reports of the uprising in Petrograd. The cosmopolitan78 working-class in New York was all excited. Men hoped and were afraid to hope. The American press was in a state of utter bewilderment. Journalists, interviewers, reporters, came from all sides to the offices of the Novy Mir. For a time our paper was the centre of interest of the New York press. Telephone-calls from the Socialist newspaper offices and organizations never stopped.
“A cablegram has arrived saying that Petrograd has appointed a Guchkov-Miliukoff ministry79. What does it mean?”
“That to-morrow there will be a ministry of Miliukoff and Kerensky.”
“Is that so? And what next?”
“Next? We shall be the next.”
“Oho!”
This sort of thing was repeated dozens of times. Almost every one I talked with took my words as a joke. At a special meeting of “worthy and most worthy” Russian Social Democrats80 I read a paper in which I argued that the proletariat party inevitably81 would assume power in the second stage of the Russian revolution. This produced about the same sort of impression as a stone thrown into a puddle82 alive with pompous83 and phlegmatic84 frogs. Dr. Ingermann did not hesitate to explain that I was ignorant of the four first rules of political arithmetic, and that it was not worth while wasting five minutes to refute my nonsensical dreams.
The working-masses took the prospects85 of revolution quite differently. Meetings, extraordinary for their size and enthusiasm, were held all over New York. Everywhere, the news that the red flag was flying over the Winter Palace brought an excited cheer.
Not only the Russian immigrants, but their children, who knew hardly any Russian, came to these meetings to breathe in the reflected joy of the revolution.
At home they saw me only in abrupt86 flashes. They had a complex life of their own there. My wife was building a nest, and the children had new friends. The closest was the chauffeur87 of Dr. M. The doctor’s wife took my wife and the boys out driving, and was very kind to them. But she was a mere88 mortal, whereas the chauffeur was a magician, a titan, a superman! With a wave of his hand, he made the machine obey his slightest command. To sit beside him was the supreme delight. When they went into a tea-room, the boys would anxiously demand of their mother, “Why doesn’t the chauffeur come in?”
Children have an amazing capacity for adapting themselves to new surroundings. In Vienna we had lived for the most part in the workers’ districts, and my boys mastered the Viennese dialect to perfection, besides speaking Russian and German. Dr. Alfred Adler observed with great satisfaction that they spoke the dialect like the good old Viennese cabmen. In the school in Zurich the boys had to switch to the Zurich dialect, which was the language in use in the lower grades, German being studied as a foreign language. In Paris the boys changed abruptly89 to French, and within a few months had mastered it. Many times I envied them their ease in French conversation. Although they spent, in all, less than a month in Spain and on the Spanish boat, it was long enough for them to pick up the most useful words and expressions. And then in New York, they went to an American school for two months and acquired a rough-and-ready command of English. After the February revolution, they went to school in Petrograd. But school life there was disorganized, and foreign languages vanished from their memory even more quickly than they had been acquired. But they spoke Russian like foreigners. We were often surprised to notice that they would build up a Russian sentence as if it were an exact translation from the French — and yet they could not form the sentence in French. Thus the story of our foreign wanderings was written on the brains of the children as indelibly as if they were palimpsests.
When I telephoned my wife from the newspaper office that Petrograd was in the midst of revolution, the younger boy was in bed with diphtheria. He was nine years old, but he realized definitely — and had for a long time — that revolution meant an amnesty, a return to Russia and a thousand other blessings90. He jumped to his feet and danced on the bed in honor of the revolution. It was a sign of his recovery.
We were anxious to leave by the first boat. I rushed from consulate91 to consulate for papers and visas. On the eve of our departure the doctor allowed the convalescent boy to go out for a walk. My wife let him go for half an hour, and began to pack. How many times she had gone through that same operation? But there was no sign of the boy. I was at the office. Three anxious hours; then came a telephone-call to my wife. First, an unfamiliar92 masculine voice, and then Seryozha’s voice:
“I am here.” “Here” meant a police station at the other end of New York. The boy had taken advantage of his first walk to settle a question that had been worrying him for a long time:
Was there really a First Street? (We lived on 164th Street, if I am not mistaken.) But he had lost his way, had begun to make inquiries93, and was taken to the police station. Fortunately he remembered our telephone number.
When my wife arrived at the station an hour later with our older son, she was greeted gaily94, like a long-awaited guest. Seryozha was playing checkers with the policemen, and his face was quite red. To hide his embarrassment95 over an excess of official attention, he was diligently96 chewing some black American cud with his new friends. He still remembers the telephone number of our New York apartment.
It would be a gross exaggeration to say that I learned much about New York. I plunged97 into the affairs of American Socialism too quickly, and I was straightway up to my neck in work for it. The Russian revolution came so soon that I only managed to catch the general life-rhythm of the monster known as New York. I was leaving for Europe, with the feeling of a man who has had only a peep into the foundry in which the fate of man is to be forged. My only consolation98 was the thought that I might return. Even now I have not given up that hope.
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1
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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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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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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absconded
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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chauvinistic
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| a.沙文主义(者)的 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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deported
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| v.将…驱逐出境( deport的过去式和过去分词 )；举止 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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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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lauding
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的现在分词 ) | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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agitator
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| n.鼓动者；搅拌器 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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premise
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| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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delegations
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| n.代表团( delegation的名词复数 )；委托，委派 | |
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mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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variants
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| n.变体( variant的名词复数 )；变种；变型；（词等的）变体 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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quenchless
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| 不可熄灭的 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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federation
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| n.同盟，联邦，联合，联盟，联合会 | |
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federations
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| n.联邦( federation的名词复数 )；同盟；联盟；联合会 | |
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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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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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foist
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| vt.把…强塞给，骗卖给 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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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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perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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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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militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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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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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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